Mirror Man

When I think back, to when all this began, I keep remembering the mirrors. All my life, I’ve been looking at myself in the mirror. At first, it was because I was disatisfied with what I saw, some pudgy teenager, then a slightly pudgier adult, sometimes with a beard, sometimes without, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, but always the same and never what I wanted to see.

But then, something changed. The man in the mirror started talking to me. It started after I found that site, I think. The site I kept going back to. There was somebody nice there, someone who seemed to know everything about me. When I try to remember exactly how it started, though, I end up just thinking about the mirrors.

“Do you like what you see?” The man in the mirror asked me. He looked like me, except a little different. I couldn’t tell at first, what it was. The mirror man was just different enough that I kept staring at him. It made me feel strange, as if instead of looking at a piece of reflective glass I was looking through a window, to a different place, or a different time.

“Well, do you?” The mirror man asked again. I wasn’t sure. I’d always looked at myself in the mirror, and I’ve never liked what I saw, but I started to feel that I liked this man, this mirror man who looked so much like me. He looked like me, except...were his shoulders a little broader? His gut a little smaller? He looked like me, but was maybe a little better. He was me after a few months at the gym, maybe on a diet or something. Healthier.

“Yes,” I answered. The mirror man looked like me but better. Of course I liked what I saw. The mirror man smiled, and I smiled back, suddenly feeling so relaxed and carefree. I realised then just how much I enjoyed looking into mirrors.

I know the mirror man and the guy I chatted with were connected somehow, and for a while I kept going to the site, refreshing the pages over and over again, hoping my new friend would be there. Sometimes he was and sometimes he wasn’t. We chatted through skype, with me listening to his voice through my earphones, letting time slip away, drifting down, drifting....relaxing......thinking about reflections...thinking about mirrors...

I saw the mirror man everywhere after that. Anytime I looked in a mirror, I saw him. Sometimes he’d talk, sometimes he would just smile or nod. I started going to the gym more often, because of all the mirrors. When I stood in front of them, doing my biceps curls or overhead squats, I’d see the mirror man looking back at me, his muscles glistening, just a little bit harder than mine, a little bit bigger. He was always using just a little bit extra weight than I was. And every time I saw him, I would feel so relaxed and carefree.

I started to imagine things about the mirror man. I knew he loved to workout, that he was always at the gym. I started going every day, even if it was just for cardio. I’d get sweaty and out of breath and take a walk by the big mirrors, maybe throwing a flex for him, and watching as the mirror man smiled and flexed back at me. I knew he ate well, because when I looked at the mirror man naked at home, I could see his abs start to come in. He ate protein, vegetables, health food. He ate a lot, which is how he was always just a little bigger than me, but he ate lean. I started to buy the foods at the gym that I thought the mirror man would like: avocados, sweet potatoes, healthy oils and fats, chicken and steak, tuna and turkey, healthy greens and vegetables and fruit I’d never tried before. One day I caught the mirror man in the reflection of a store window. I followed him inside and bought protein powders and creatine, asking the clerk what he thought a muscle guy would use.

Because the mirror man was starting to become a muscle guy. His arms were bigger now, still always a little bigger than mine. I got a personal trainer, some guy who competed as a bodybuilder, just to see if I could catch up with the mirror man, but he only grew faster, I could never catch up.

Sometimes, staring at him, I would feel the need to flex a bit, to throw a double bicep or bounce my new pecs or squeeze my slowly-revealing abs. The mirror man would smile back at me. Sometimes he’d say “Yeah, good boy. Good muscle boy.” and I’d feel warm and happy all over. Sometimes the mirror man would take out his cock, and so would I, and we’d beat off together, the mirror man flexing for me, me flexing for him, both of us cumming at the same time, feeling so good.

The mirror man took care of himself. I started to get my haircut more often so that mine matched his well-tended crewcut. I kept my beard trim, like his was. I bought clothes that helped me look like a real bodybuilder. Tight shirts - like the mirror man’s - to show off my arms and chest. The mirror man liked short shorts that showed off his legs, and so I started to wear those, too. The mirror man loved to wear jock straps, and soon that’s all I ever wore. I remember the day I threw out my last pair of boxers. By then my underwear drawer was filled with jocks, every colour and style. I would pose for the mirror man in them.

The mirror man didn’t really read, so I sold my books. He didn’t play games, so I sold my PS3. I sold most of my CDs, too, because while the mirror man had an MP3 player, he only listened to special files, like the ones I got from my friend on the site. The mirror man didn’t watch TV, didn’t drink, didn’t go out to fancy restaraunts. I cut cable, I gave away my booze, I started not going to my friends’ birthdays and special events.

But by then I was meeting new friends, the guys at the gym. They gave me tips on how to grow, and we’d spot each other, cheer each other on as we pushed our max weights. I wondered if any of them had mirror men, but I never asked. I knew my mirror man was secret. Even so, he would watch me as I hung around those guys, smiling and encouraging me with them.

I only really spent any money on my gym membership, my trainer, and my food and supplements, so when I realised that the mirror man didn’t sit behind a desk all day, I cut back my hours at work. Then, later, I quit. I got a new job where maybe I didn’t make so much, but I was on my feet all day, using my muscles just like the mirror man would do. I started taking classes on personal training. I wanted to help people, to show them how to work my muscles. I knew the mirror man would approve.

“Do you like what you see?” Asked the man in the mirror.

“Yeah,” I’d answer, flexing my abs, my hands behind my head as I stretched and flexed my arms. “Fuck yeah, man.” It made me feel so relaxed, so carefree.

The man in the mirror listened to his trainer, so I made sure to listen to mine. When he told me to start shaving, I did it, my whole body. I did everything my trainer asked, just like the mirror man would. I tanned when my trainer asked me to, I lifted when he told me to, I ate what he told me to. It got so I barely had to think for myself. I realised that this was how the mirror man always looked so happy, because he was obedient and was a good muscle boy who did what he was told. When my trainer told me to get on my knees and suck his cock, I did it, my own cock hard in my posers.

I think my family worried about me. They said I was always looking at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t tell them who I was really looking at, the man who looked just like me only bigger, better, more cut, more fit. They asked me to get some help, but I knew I didn’t need to listen to them. The mirror man only listened to his trainer and his coach, because they knew what was best. I realised one day that the mirror man knew my friend on that website, and that was the same day I learned that my friend was a coach. I begged him to be my coach, and from that day on, he was.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I started seeing the mirror man. He’s always with me now. Once I got my personal trainer certificate, I moved to live closer to my coach. He always has things for me to do, and I never knew how much fun I could have, just by listening to what someone says. I can’t even remember what my life was like before. Whenever I try, I just think of the mirror man, that muscle boy jock who lifts heavy and loves to jerk himself in the mirror, or on webcam, or even with his coach’s friends. The mirror man loves to flex, to show off, to look at himself in the mirror, letting anyone touch and feel his big muscles. He’s happy and relaxed, always horny and ready to go. He only cares about bodybuilding and is getting ready for his first competition. It makes the mirror man hard to pose for his coach, but he only ever comes if coach tells him to.

One day I hope to be as good a muscle boy as the mirror man. Every day I lift harder and heavier, I do my best, I listen to my coach, getting closer and closer to the day when I look in the mirror and know that man is me.

The End