Witch Hunt 3: The Exercise-ist, Chapters 1-2

(Do any other authors, find that they just love to write titles? I mean this story had like four:

1.) "Physical Redux"
2.) "Let's Get Meta-Physical"
3.) "Damein Vaughn and the Obviously Self-referential Gym Story ... of Fire"

I love titles.

So here's the next story of in the WitchHunt Series. It's a throwback to one of my old ones, while continuing the current arc. Damien's giving Peter some lessons. Peter's trying to figure out, what the hell's going on with Damien's Corporeal State ... then Shag and Scoob show up and hilarity ensues. ... ;)

These are the set up chapters, the magic, sex, mind control and transformation will follow, so please be aware.

As always please inform us of any suggestions you may have that would make your stay more pleasurable. We strive for excellence here, which is why we stopped leasing to Lindsey Lohan.

Honestly guys, Writer's block happens. You got an idea, let me know.

... Love and Best Hexes, From my Cauldron to yours:



"Oh Autumn, I love this time of year." Damien announced, as he savored his coffee.

"Why?" Peter asked, hurrying behind him. He was blowing on his own piping hot, cardboard cup. "Is it because the fall is so mystical?" The mousy gay boy asked. "Because it's the season of death and change? Halloween and the Harvest ... when the veil is thin and ... ."

"No you nerd. I like it, Cause they put pumpkin spice in EVERYTHING ... jeez ... " He answered, rolling his crystal blue eyes. "Also I love Hoodies." He emphasized the statement by nuzzling deeper into his heavy black sweatshirt.

"Oh well I just assumed ... " Peter fumbled.

"You assumed that I liked the dark aspects of the season ... you know ... cause I'm a witch."

"Well, that AND you're a dick." Peter added, with a grin. He was really enjoying his newfound self-respect.

Damien smiled ruefully, "Magic is equal parts light and dark ... balance ... You have to find the light in your spells ... or the dark will consume you." His voice trailed off sadly. Damien's hands began to twitch nervously. Peter was struck by how terribly vulnerable and damaged he sometimes appeared. "If all you do is punish people, the magic is dark ... " He caught himself, and gave Peter a big forced grin. "Punishment and reward. That's a good spell. Teaching a lesson."

"You don't like to teach." Peter grumbled.

"I used to."

"Well when are you going to teach me something useful?" Peter demanded.

"Such as?" Damien asked in a dangerous tone.

"How to you know ... use magic for myself, like change how I look or something." He said, embarrassed at his honesty.

"Who's to say I'm not doing that?"

"Well i ... I mean ... you ... .ARGH!" Peter fumed at the cryptic answer.

Damien just smiled benignly and they walked on in silence.

The men walked briskly down the crowded, early morning, City Street. Damien wore a voluminous black Hoody, and a pair of dark jeans. Peter wore a scarf, a pea coat and a pair of ragged corduroy pants. His overdone hair was hidden beneath a knit hunter's cap ... (that probably looked amazing on a catalogue model ... but looked like ELMER FUDD on Peter). The only thing he was missing was an ascot ...

Damien broke the silence, "Have I told you that you look like a scarecrow? ... that's been dressed by blind drag queens?"

"I can't help that I'm thin."

"skinny-fat" Damien corrected.


"Skinny-fat. You're pundgy with no real shape to your buddy or muscles. It appears "Thin" under layers of clothes. It's your generations plague. You're all skinny-fat: Soft as marshmallows with all the contour of a lamppost."

Peter scowled. "I hate you, sometimes."

"I can understand that. I get that alot."

The cold air brushed passed them, as Damien led Peter through the throng of urban suits and skirts hurrying to work. The hoard of busy drones bumped, jostled and stampeded over Peter, as he clumsily tried to avoid getting trampled.

Damien however ...

Damien navigated the crowd with an elegant ease ...

He practically ... "ghosted" ... right through them.

... Peter had many lingering questions about his evasive mentor. No one noticed him or seemed to see him, as he effortlessly passed by them ... but he was holding and drinking his coffee ... It was very confusing. As were his answers to questions, regarding the situation.

"I did that reading, you suggested." Peter said.

"Oh, and what did you think of it?"

"Well, I understand the basics of transformation ... it's just taking the materials available and shifting reality to achieve the desired effect. Letting changes in the past alter the present and using the person's personality as the catalyst to alter them physically." He offered.

"Very Good, Peter," Damien murmured sipping his coffee.

" ... but the theories of transmogrification ... they seem like well like..."

Damien smiled, "Like total Bullshit?"


Damien pushed back his hood, revealing his masculine but angular face. "That's because it is. Transforming a person into an animal is almost impossible. It tears at the fabric of reality. It takes the impossible and makes it possible ... That's wizardry. Not witchcraft. Witchcraft takes the implausible and makes it plausible. The magic a witch uses has a certain natural logic to it. It can't be used in an illogical paradigm."

Peter's head swam ... "huh?"

Damien stared at the orange leaves of a nearby tree. "It's implausible for a man to suddenly WANT to be a gay man ... but a witch can take all the factors of his life and his past ... tweak them ... and force them to fit a new reality ... and BAM! The dude turns gay."

Peter nodded.

"A witch can take a man ... reach into his past, change parentage far off done the line, or change where he grew up ... in a far off distant past ... and BAM!" Damien snapped his fingers, "Race, culture ... behavior ... . All things change to reflect the adjustment in the present."

"Like changing the recipe, ... only AFTER the cakes baked?" Peter thought.

"Basically, creating two parallel worlds but only one result ... It's complicated but Plausible. It's actually impossible for a man to turn into a dolphin. In all the plausible futures or pasts for one man ... spontaneously becoming flipper ain't one of em. It takes a Wizard's Power to do that."

"Like Gandalf?"

"Well less homeless looking ... but yes ... A wizard's power defies the structure of reality. That's why there aren't many wizards left. They usually end up discorporating themselves out of sheer existentialism."

Peter nodded, "Plus there's the messiness of a dog's body with a man's brain. The man would eventually just be a dog ... "

Damien turned a corner down a side-street, "Yup ... Function follows form. Make a man's body into a huge bodybuilder, and he'll find he suddenly LOVES to workout. Turn a man into a dog ... and eventually you get a dog." Damien's grin turned nasty, "It's much easier to make a man believe he is a dog. Not as flashy ... but gets the job done."

"Like Drake." Peter said flatly and stopped.

Damien flinched and turned, "Peter, I told you ... we're going to get to helping Drake."

"When?" Peter said angrily. Now: the old Peter world have coward and backed-off. But this Peter had been spending enough time with the Wicked Witch, that he wasn't as timid as he had once been. "You say a lot of things ... " He charged forward, "I did some other reading too ... on "Astral projection."

Damien's face went perfectly still.

"Apparently, some witches can separate their mind from their body. They can send out their spirit to roam free. APPARENTLY, Some Witches are so powerful; they can even make the spirit form SEEM real." Peter glared triumphantly at his teacher, feeling for the first time, that he had the upper-hand.

Damien was very quiet and then dramatically sipped his coffee. "Very Good, Peter. You're getting very sharp ... careful you don't cut yourself."

"You're not dead, are you?" Peter demanded

"I think I am." Damien answered simply. "And as I've been trying to TEACH you ... reality is just your perception ... "

"That's not ... "

"ENOUGH! PETER! You've made your point." Damien shouted.

Peter sulked, "Yes, master ... "

Damien grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and pulled him close. Blue eyes of ice, bored into him, "Do not call me that again. I am not your master. No man is another's master."

Peter shrugged out of the rough grip, and was cowed by the strange intensity in the other man's eyes, "I'm sorry Damien."

Damien sighed, "I'm sorry too ... Now let's change the subject ... you're going to give me frown lines." He rubbed his temples irritably.

Peter shuffled his feet and tried to change the topic. "So where are we going, anyway? I thought you said you wanted to go to your friends' wedding."

Damien calmed himself and surprisingly; smiled. "Well, that's something I need to do. Today is about something YOU need to do."

"Ugh, are we going to ANOTHER library?"

"Oh no, today's lesson is a more ... active one."

"So where are we going?"

"We're already here." Damien answered, nodding at a huge, window-lined building across the street.

" ... oh ... no ... "

" ... oh ... yes ... "

Peter stared in abject terror.

He started to shake with horror.

Damien smiled beatifically.

"Oh ... no ... " Peter whined.

"Oh ... yes ... " Damien giggled.

Peter made a few short steps backward, but Damien caught him by the arm and hauled him straight across the street

... and into The 64th STREET GYM.

"WHY ARE WE HERE!!!" Peter practically wailed.

"Because Peter, if you want to survive in our culture, you need to learn SOME kind of exercise habit and I don' have the time to teach you both magic and how to use a damn treadmill." Damien surveyed the lobby, like he was gazing at a familiar haunt.

Peter raised his ire and slinked toward the door, "I don't need you, pushing me to conform to the body ideals of a superficial culture."

Damien turned with a dramatic and deliberate pause, "That's quite a sanctimonious statement from someone who was just whining about wanting to learn 'transformation magic.'"

"That's different I ... "

"Peter. How did we meet?"

" ... you rescued me from a mob of angry jocks that were chasing me."

"And WHY, were they chasing you?"

"Because I stole one of their jock straps."

"And WHY did you steal the jock strap?"

"Because I wanted to cast a spell that gave me a body like them." Peter grumbled.

"Well, I'm glad that we both see the point of this little excursion." His voiced dripped with disapproving venom. "Also, there's someone here who needs my help."

"Another friend?" Peter asked, retreating from the door and resigning himself to the situation.

Damien almost choked, "Oh god no ... he's more of a 'frenemy.'"

Peter was confused, "Then why are you helping him?"

Damien looked away irritably, "because the road to redemption is LONG ... and there aren't near enough Starbucks on it." He threw out his coffee cup and walked up to a perky desk girl, "Please let the owner know : Damien Vaughn is here and would like a word with her ... . Er him ... ."

The girl grinned brightly, "Oh you want to talk to Eddie?"

Damien scowled, "Yes, I want to talk to Eddie."



Eddie, The gym owner was a thirty-ish Muscle queen with A Chelsea body, an upper eastside attitude and a lower village fashion sense. He was Corn-silk blonde, and his mature face was extremely youthful and handsome. His body was extraordinary, like a photo-shopped Abercrombie and Fitch Model. His tan muscles bulged tantalizingly from his tiny Under Armor Polo, his thick, long thigh muscles were displayed brazenly in his tiny blue lycra shorts. He gave off the air of a warrior and a whore all at once. Damien had described this combination simply as: Power Bottom.

Peter and Damien stepped into the office and the air practically sizzled with tension. Damien smiled, "Edward."

The blonde flinched, "No one calls me that."

"I know." Damien grinned. "Rumor has it, that you're the new owner of the 64th St. gym." He added neutrally.

Eddie returned the smile, "Rumor has it that you're dead. Gino's been going around to every fag bar in the city crying into his beer, about how you died." The pretty face grimaced, "I didn't believe it though."

"Really?" Damien said still smiling.

"No," Eddie responded sweetly, "I didn't see any munchkins dancing in joy."

"I've missed you Eddie. What have you been up to lately ... eating large amounts of potatoes ... from the looks of it.

"Go to hell." Eddie snarled shrilly.

"You first, tater-tot."

"This couldn't possibly get any weirder." Eddie twittered.

Damien rose to the challenge. He let his eyes go unfocused, his grin was eerie and he started to sing in a creepy child-like way. "If you go down to the woods today, you're in for a big surprise. If you go down to the woods today be sure to cover your eyes, for todays the day ... . The teddy bears have their picnic."

Eddie rolled his eyes, "I stand corrected."

"He can't resist a challenge." Peter admitted.

Eddie's glossy head turned to survey Peter for the first time, "Who the hell is she?"

"Peter." Damien responded. "My assistant."

"Is it bring your doughty daughter to work day, down at the coven? " The gym owner asked maliciously.

"Uhm ... If you guys want to continue having this little girl fight, I can leave you two alone, to pull each other's hair in private." Peter snapped.


That was bold.

... and he wasn't even anxious or worried.

Two, handsome, arrogant faces turned to regard in him in shock. "Very good, Peter." Damien murmered.

Eddie considered him with a new appreciation. "It looks like your new girlfriend has some potential." He told Damien.

" ... And that is why we're here. He needs a trainer."

"I don't paper train other men's boytoy's."

Damien sighed and rubber his temples, "Eddie ... we could continue to play witty zingers like a golden girls marathon or we could just agree to act like adults and play nice."

"What's in it for me?"

"I know you need help. I know you'll never admit it and I know without it ... . This gym will close."

Eddie wasn't as practiced at hiding his emotions as Damien, shame and worry were plain on his handsome face. "This economy is not the best for the fitness industry ... . And running a gym in a gay neighborhood isn't easy, especially when the only trainers you can find are homophobic muscle heads."

"You can't find Gay personal Trainers? What? Southern California stopped mass producing them?" Damien asked.

The stunning gym-owner looked away irritably, "Apparently so." He looked back at Damien, "We're the last of our Kind Mr. Vaughn. The Era of the Muscle-boy is over. It's all twinks and cubs in this generation. The Muscle Mary's have all retired."

The witch's eyes became a solid grey of contemplation and gleamed with sympathy at his frenemy, "They passed down all the old roads long ago, and the red bull followed close behind them, covering their treks." Eddie completely missed the reference, so Damien added ... "I feel that way too, sometimes. That we're relics from a by-gone era ... like dinosaurs or ... grunge rock."

Eddie stood, revealing the impossible symmetry of his ripped torso, "No Gay trainers = No gay clients, which means no gay gym."

"Well ... it seems we're just going to have to do a talent recruitment drive." The witch suggested.

"What do you have in mind?" Eddie asked.

Damien stood, "Let's assess the applicants ... I'd like to meet some of your 'homophobic muscle head trainers.'"

Eddie grinned in glee. He clapped his hands in girlish muscle-bound delight. "I love a make-over."

They moved toward the office door ... and again Peter watched in apprehension as Damien's hand passed right through it.

He looked at his teacher with dread.

Damien coughed uncomfortably and shoved his hands in his pockets. "On second thought ... I think Peter can handle this ... " He turned to Eddie, "If you agree to train Peter, he will pay you in services rendered."

The Gym Owner's face melted into a petulant scowl, "You're going to pawn me off on the B-team? I'm getting out-sourced?"

Peter watched as Damien suddenly fumbled in frustration. The witch was too proud to admit he COULDN'T even open a door, much less hit a weight floor. Watching the proud, dark-haired man become suddenly helpless galvanized Peter and he rallied "I can handle it. It'll be fine."

Damien smiled gratefully, "Thank you."

Peter discreetly opened the door for the faltering mage, "Uhm ... er ... . What am I supposed to do?"

Damien considered quietly, a contemplative look in his azure eyes, "Give them want they want." He said simply, "AND what they need."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Like a fairy godmother?"

Damien's hands became suddenly very substantial and held his wrist tight, "No. Like a fairy God-FATHER. Grant them a wish they can't refuse." He let go and turned to leave, but added slyly ... "And if anyone shows you disrespect, Leave a Unicorn's head in their bed." His laughter cut off abruptly, and his eyes grew panicked, "I have to go Peter ... I ... "


He was gone.

He merely just vanished. The effect made Peter's head swim.

From behind him, Eddie looked up from his desk, "Where'd Morticia go?"

Peter scrambled for answer, "Ah ... He had to ... ah split."

"Typical, Bitch is harder to pin down then ... well me." Peter turned and looked at the Gorgeous muscle Mary. Eddie gave him his petulant scowl. Eddie rolled his eyes, "Alright kid, Let's go make a man out of you."


They headed out to the weight floor. Eddie Provided him some baggy Gym T-shirts and shorts with the gym's logo, and prodded him impatiently.

"This is your new recess yard. Live it. Love it. Now I think we should start with some core training ... DAMMIT!!!" Eddie stalked toward three huge bodybuilders. "NIKO! Niko! Niko, I told you that you can't wear those steel toed boots on the weight floor."

A huge man turned and gave Eddie an indifferent glance, "Need the ankle support" he growled. The guy was a wall of muscle and olive colored beauty. He had sleazy features in a heavy bodybuilder's face. His Tank-top distended over his pec's and ABS like a second skin. His swollen thighs were hugged by pair of camo-pants that were hastily cut-off above the knee. His short and gleaming dark Grecian hair, was held back by a Green Bandanna. He was, off course, wearing giant steel-toed boots. The Greek bodybuilder was maybe 6' foot and had to weigh at least 250 lbs, judging by his sheer, frightening mass. He gave Eddie an unsubtle look of contempt and continued doing bicep curls. His biceps were almost the size of peter's waist and there every pump made angry thick veins appear and disappear like pythons.

He flexed and primped for the girls giggling nearby. Three Gym girls surrounded him like an audience. Each nymph was giggling and thrusting her chest at him, without shame. Niko, gave them the attention of a Lion appreciating his Pride.

Eddie's big gay body twitched angrily, "Niko, you know my policy ... those damn boots destroy the mats and ... "

The muscle model put down his weight and gave Eddie his full attention, "Listen boss man ... I'm sorry, next time ... Oh wait ... I got take this ... " He pulled a phone from his pockets and his voice got sexy and low, "Hey baby ... ya ... I got your text ... . Ya I'm free tonight ... "

Eddie tapped his foot and waited till the call was over. "You were saying?"

The big sexual brute's eyes refocused and gave Eddie a dominant patronizing grin, "Listen chief, I promise that next time ... . Oh wait I got to take this ... " He answered his again ringing phone. "Hey baby-girl ... . What!? No! No! You're my only girl ... . Ya ... no ... that chick ... oh yeah ... . She was ... er my ah sister ... c'mon don't get jealous baby ... "

Eddie rolled his eyes and stalked away from the Roided-up Don Juan.

"EDDIE! WE NEED TO TALK TO YOU!" a voice demanded shrilly.

Three young men approached them. The tallest was maybe 6'3? He was dressed in a tight black "My Chemical Romance" concert t-shirt and tight faded black jean shorts. He wore leather wrist bands that circled his hands like manacles and two big gauge ear piercings. Tattoo's covered his thin and pale arms, and horned rim glasses adorned his face. His hair was dirty blonde and styled in a greasy shag, covered with a knit-cap. His smug face was lined with fuzzy muttonchops. He was handsome, if not a little chubby: gangly with a bit of a paunch. He stalked toward Eddie with a fiery resolve that made him look bratty. He was definitely every urban hipster cliché that Peter had heard of. The band on his shirt was trendy. The hair was trendy. His tattooed arms were trendy with ironic references and designs ...

Peter mused, if you put THAT much work into how you look ... why wouldn't you do a sit up or two?... and who wears that to workout?

The second was an immaculately dressed Indian man. He was 5'10 and svelte. His red-brown muscles were tight and aquiline. He was wearing a tight, garishly colored, sleeveless, V-neck top. It was bright with hues of orange and red and accents of gold. Although the fabric was gaudy it looked terribly expensive. The pants were tight and traveled down to his ankles. They were made of the black moisture resistant fabric that marathon runners often used. A mop of silky Indian hair fell over his forehead, framing a pretty and coldly reserved face. His Big eyes were framed by Long lashes and he had a very feminine cast to his good-looks.

He gave Peter the impression of a tightly wound clock, all ticks and gears but made out of glass. He smiled, perfunctorily and had all the warmth of a Timex.

The last of this trio looked like a circus act. His body was short and ... lush. He looked athletic, but was soft and thick. His pecs were chubby, his thighs cherubic, and he had a big fat ass on his tiny frame. He was roguishly handsome but dressed like a Pride Parade reject. The athletic 5'8 boy wore some kind of vintage gym uniform from the 70's. His big booty was bursting out of tiny little shorts. He sported a t-shirt, that was faded and torn, in shades of canary yellow across his big tits. Vibrant lime green sweat bands adorned his wrist and held back Inky styled curls. His handsome face looked petulant, with its thick lips, button nose and big doe eyes. Peter suspected he had some kind of Hispanic background; His skin was rich and sultry. His hair was thick and dark ... but his features were bold and neutral.

Peter thought he would look like just another member of his college Soccer team ... if not for the EXTREME fashion choices. The worst part of the "costume" was two knee high, green-ribbed, tube sox. Peter wondered out loud, this time : "Who dresses like that?! ... To work out?!?"

"What's the problem Bruce?" Eddie asked dejectedly.

Bruce, the tall kid in all black, fumed, "Those goons are hogging the weight floor again!"

"Yeah, and they being bitches." The goofy li'l kid trilled with a slight accent. Peter blanched at what a gay voice the kid had. He was looking on the floor to see if a Brazilian purse had fallen out.

"It is most disrespectful." T he Indian man, agreed calmly.

"Peter, these are some of MY clients ... I train all of them ... mostly because they REFUSE to work with any of the other trainers." Eddie explained, with a long suffering glance of distaste.

"It would be ludicrous for us to invest our money into spending time with those Neanderthals," Bruce replied hotly. "I'm Bruce." He announced and thrust his hand at Peter.

The tattooed kid shook his hand a little too hard. He had intelligent green eyes that seemed to be challenging Peter, as if to say: Don't you know who I am?

"I'm Casey!" The busty short guy chirped ... it sounded more like Kay-Thee. He didn't want to shake hands ... he just waved happily, like he was leaving for a cruise.

"My name Is Rominon Hajesh-Gula. My acquaintances call me Romi. I'd prefer you call me Mr. Hajesh." The very formal, third man explained.

"I'm Peter," he said, giving the three gym-bunnies a look of deep apprehension. "I just started."

"Werk!" Casey cheered.

The tattooed man in black sniffed, "Just what we need, one more closet-case eyeballing us in the locker room." He folded his garishly tattooed arms in distaste.

Romi picked fussily at some dust on his shirt and stared blankly, completely uninterested.

"I'm not in a closet!" Peter declared, obviously insulted.

"Your attire and appearance suggest otherwise." Bruce said with condescending sarcasm.

"He's with me girls ... now if you can't be nice, you don't have to ... "

"DON'T TELL US HOW TO BEHAVE." Bruce snapped. "We pay your bills." His 0' gauge ear plugs shook with fury.

"Speaking of which, we have some formal complaints regarding our membership we would like you to address." Romi added with prissy conviction.

"Ja, puta. We's mad as hell." Casey pouted.

"What now?"

The three young gay men rattled off a litany of grievances that kept poor Eddie's head lolling in defeat. Most of their bitching and moaning was about the Training Staff: How they were rude, Smelly, Arrogant, unhelpful and (not-surprisingly) homophobic. The tantrum wore on for a while, and the whole time Peter just stared at the three queens thinking; ... "this is why I don't date."

Eddie finally pumped his big chest and said with finality, "I'll talk to the trainers."

Peter watched the three gay guys march-off haughtily toward the elliptical machine, like ... well like a bunch of queens. "They seemed ... "

"Demanding, entitled and lazy." Eddie spat.

"I was going to say: Bitchy."

Eddie shrugged his big tan delts angrily/ "That about sums it up."

"They complain a lot, huh?"

"Every damn day. Bunch of queens that think the world revolves around their skinny asses. Romi's the oldest, but he just has the manners to be polite when he's whining."

"They seem pretty demanding."

The Tan Adonis shrugged and motioned Peter to follow his muscular lycra covered ass. They moved toward a squat rack and as Eddie set it up, he explained further. "Well Bruce ... the loud punky one, he's a programmer at some web-design firm; A real savant or something. He's got a good job and a bad attitude." Then Eddie smirked, "fancies himself a little Leather DOM ... that's where he gets that beer gut. She spends all her time drinking down at the leather bar looking for losers to dominate."

"What's with all of those Tattoo's?" Peter asked, giving the slightly chubby guy a sour look.

"What do you mean?"

"Well it's all comic art and tribal thorns ... but he's got Venom, the Joker, The Red Skull ... "


"I just can't imagine getting all those villain tattoos. They're pretty dark to have on your body don't you think."

Eddie rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm not fluent in Nerd. I suppose he thinks they make him seem like a Bad ass."

"He's certainly got the attitude for it." Peter offered, eying the squat bar anxiously.

"Hmmmphhf! He's no Leather DOM. Believe me. My boyfriend Jarod is a Leather DOM, there's a big fucking difference."

"You have a boyfriend?" Peter asked.

"Honey of course I do. Who dya think bought me this gym?" he laughed, "Now I want to gauge your core and lower body strength. Let's do a set of ten. I'll add weight, you do another ten ... and so on ... until I decided you're done."

Peter gripped the bar and started to squat. "Shouldn't I tell you when I can't do anymore ... "

"No. I tell you. I'm the trainer." Peter set to work and forced the bar up and down as Eddie added weight and gossiped. "Now, Romi ... He's li'l miss manners. He's some fancy acquisitions executive for Macy's or something. He makes big money, and although he's courteous and quiet, he still expects the VIP treatment. Total Virgin from what I hear. No wonder he's so up-tight."

Peter's legs were on fire.

His butt was soaked in sweat, but he kept on pushing through.

Eddie let him rest periodically and then it was back to hitting the rack.

"That kid Casey is usually sweet as pie, bless his lil gay heart, but when he's around those two ... well he gets just as bad. His claim to fame is that he's the most popular shot-boy/ go-go boy in town, he can really dance."

Peter stopped mid-rep and exclaimed, "That explains the outfit!"

"Don't stop." Eddie barked.

Peter Continued, "He looks ... "

"He's like Blatino or Blaxican? Or something ... " They both observed the boys big booty, caramel skin, sweet features, inky hair and thick muscles ... coughed uncomfortably and ignored their erections, "And yeah, he dresses ridiculously, but all the boys love it. I do not understand your generation at all." It was odd to consider that those city-boys were his peers. They were so different and unfamiliar to what he was used to, perhaps Damien was right. He did have more to learn than just magic tricks.

"He's really cute, looks a little ... young though." Peter observed between reps.

"Old enough to serve the shots, but not old enough to drink em." Eddie pointed out. "It's kids like that, that make me glad I'm a grown up."

"Okay, that's enough leg-work, I can see where you're at. Actually: after you got into it, you were doing better than I expected. Your core is shit, but that's expected." Eddie mused. "We're going to do some bench so I can see how that ... "

Peter looked at the heavy plates that were on the bar. He had been squatting 155lbs! That was crazy! That was like almost as much as he weighed! WOW! The exhaustion and reluctance he felt, was swept away with pride.

"Yo. We need this." A deep voice rumbled behind him.

Peter turned and was face to face with a solid wall of testosterone. The massive bodybuilders looked down at him with contempt. The three muscle beasts inspected him and then turned their unimpressed glare at Eddie.

The hugely muscled Greek God told Eddie, "We're in the middle of a super-set." He oozed sexuality and brawn. He brushed Eddie aside and started racking the weights.

Eddie stepped aside irritably. His eyes followed Niko with lust. "Okay Guys, this is Peter. He is a new Training Client."

"Hi." A booming voice thundered. Peter looked up at a mountain ... that was smiling at him. The Mountain was an older bodybuilder the size of a building. He was in his late forties and was wearing old grey sweats that strained from the weight of his bulk.The sweatshirt read "TRAIN LIKE A FREAK". He was peter's height but weighed an obvious 300lbs. He had a fat face over a swelled neck. He wore a bushy mustache the color of his grey pony tail. The age lines and weathering seemed more prominent in his HGH swollen jowls. "I'm Rodney."

Peter shrank back from the middle-age Mutant gorilla, "Hi," he suppressed the urge to yell, "Please don't eat me."

"Who gives a fuck?" A steroid abusing Wolf-man growled, and then pushed him aside. The Third Trainer was 6'4 and he looked like the cover of a Muscle mag. His XXX-L Tank Top read, "GO HARD OR GO HOME" His shaggy blonde mane of hair was held back with a "METREX" ball cap. His low-hanging blue basketball shorts, had a "Powerhouse" gym logo. The ball cap was on backwards and covered an unkempt Mohawk that traveled down his neck in a shaggy half mullet. His wide, heavy lifting-belt read "GOLD'S". He was young, only a little older then Peter. His muscles were Hard, bloated and vieny. His obviously thin frame looked more "deformed" then built. He had a skinny kid's body beneath the angry skin and distended muscles. The poor guy must have completely altered his chemistry to attain his size and it was obvious in his acne, attitude and red eyed rage.

He had a blunt face, hidden behind a full bushy red/brown beard and shaggy eyebrows. His piggy eyes were tight and cruel. The naturally lean face was bloated and misshapen with his excessive steroid abuse. He was by no means a handsome guy. It seemed like his anger and arrogance had shaped his face into a permanent ugly scowl. His every muscle-bound movement spoke of threats and intimidation.

"Peter, this is Niko ... Rodney, and that charmer over there is Bert." Eddie told him, "This is the training staff."

"OH ... " The young newbie looked at the goon squad, uneasily.

"I was thinking of pairing you off with Bert," he motioned to the testosterone oozing gym-animal. "Since you guys are the same age.

Bert's reaction was immediate and vicious, "No fucking way." He quivered with revulsion. The roided gym freak sneered, "He can't keep up." Then mumbled, "Not training no fucking fag."

Peter, as a college student, was very familiar with the sweltering heat off pure unadulterated Homophobia. Bert gave him the sick disgusted look, one reserve's for lepers or Nickelback fans. "Uh ... that's okay ... I don't think I'm ready to sell my soul to GNC just yet ... "

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean." Bert yelled, stretching his furry jaw like an insane crocodile.

Eddie noticed the tension and quickly said, "You're too intense for him. Jesus, Bert check your dosage ... " Eddie looked at Rodney hopefully, "How bout Rodney here? He's been a coach for lots of sports ... he's older ... more experienced ... "

Rodney gave Peter a hopeful, vacant grin with his big meaty face. The Muscle daddy looked like a World's strongest man contestant had mated with King Kong ... and sent the baby to be raised in 1982. Peter was skeptical ... "maybe" he mumbled .

"Do you know how to Deadlift?" The well-meaning ape asked.


His big face fell in confusion, "Do you know how to Power Squat?"


He looked up at the ceiling in deep, slow witted thought, "How 'bout Power cleans?"

"No ... "

Rodney's face was twisted in agonizing incomprehension, "well errr ... maybe we could ride the bike together ... "

Eddie rolled his eyes and fumed, "Well Niko might ... "

"Nope, sorry "boss", I have a full schedule. I'm back to back with women trying to get 45 minutes with me." Niko smirked and gloated, preening his hairless muscled beauty.

"I don't think spending 45 minutes a day with Gaston is a good idea ... " Peter murmured.

"Fucking Great." Eddie groaned, "How am I supposed to run this damn place, if I have to TRAIN every client?"

"That sounds hard," Rodney dumbly said.

"Fuck if I know." Bert growled.

"Well you could ... . Oh hold on, I gotta take this call ... " Niko added.

They left the three monsters and walked toward the Bench Presses. "Wow ... you got problems." Peter told the gym queen sympathetically. "Those guys are ... uhm ... "

"Three different flavors of train wreck." Eddie growled. "Niko: who only works here to fuck every female member and who has an ego bigger Than his 20in biceps. Rodney, a relic and a moron, He's a former Olympian but that poor guys got to work 24/7 just to pay alimony to his 3 X-wives. Oh and Bert ... The Angriest gym rat in the world."

Peter looked back at Bert. The grizzled young roid beast was raging and yelling ... the veins of his body pulsing grotesquely. "Yeah ... he seems ... angry.

"I feel a little bad for him. Little loser can't dress himself, Can't talk to girls to save his life and has been doing massive juice to grow those skinny legs." Eddie sat down in a defeated huff. "He's like the ring leader of all the wannabe bodybuilders in here. All the guys are too young to know any better and too poor to pay for his training."

Peter watched in fascination as an adoring flock of college guys huddled around Bert. He raged through a set of bicep curls with 60lb dumbbells. He was foaming at the mouth and screaming, "PAIN IS WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY!" He threw the weights like a toddler and they all clapped.

Eddie rolled his eyes, "That man needs a bath, a haircut and a goddamn valium."

"You've got lots of problems." Peter said in a gale of laughter.

Eddie scowled, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, I'm going to get frown lines."

It was in that exact moment, that Peter realized why Damien and Eddie hated each other: they were exactly alike. They couldn't stand each other, because they were so similar. Damien was always drilling that into his head. People hate in other's what they see as a flaw in themselves ... and that gave Peter a very good idea.

He pushed himself off the gym floor, and wiped the sweat from his eyes, "Eddie ... what kind of spell did Damien use on you and your friends ... "

Eddie didn't even pause in his pushups, "Cursed objects. Box of stuff sent to our houses. I still have the dildo. Why?"

Peter sat back and looked from the three roided up bodybuilders at the squat rack to the three bossy queers on the elliptical. "I have an idea."

"Yah?" Eddie asked nonchalantly admiring the vascularity of his forearms.

Peter's mind began to spin and the idea began to form into a plan. "Yeah. Let's go to the locker room ... . You have a master key right?

Eddie smiled, "You bet your pudgy ass I do."

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