Part 1

I know not many people will believe this. Hell, I KNOW I wouldn’t if it hadn’t happened to me. I mean, the changes have been so unimaginable, so extreme, it borders on the realm of fantasy. I look at myself now and think of what it was like and even I have trouble believing it. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It all started around two years ago. I had just turned 28 and I was finally stable enough to start working to my life-long dream. I wanted to be huge. I’m not talking about bodybuilder huge or lineman huge. I’m talking about the type of huge that makes people do a double and sometimes a triple take. I’m talking about the kinda huge that makes a sea of people part like you were Moses. I’m talking about being so huge that you can’t squeeze through doors sideways. H-U-G-E. Mind-blowingly, pants shredding, traps up to your ears, no-neck having, XXXL shirt ripping, muscle on top of muscle huge. Just thinking about being that size made me get hard so quick.

Back then though, I was nothing compared to what I am now. I was the stereotypical geek. I was pudgy all over and never played a sport in my life. But thankfully, I had brains. As much as I hated being the geek instead of the jock, being the geek did make me rich. And after I got rich, I started on the journey to my dream.

I also was shy and introverted. Even now, I laugh at that. I was so hung up on how I looked and how everyone was better than me, I would shrink anytime someone with some pumped up muscle would come near me. As much as I lusted over them, I would never even hint at my attraction to the power and physique they had. Man, how things have changed.

It was one fateful day that I was in the gym. I had gotten a plan from a really nice trainer, who was amazingly well put together, and I was working hard. It was a high-rep, low-weight training regimen that always left me tired at the end. But that day was completely different. The night before, I had the privilege to see a bench press competition. It was so amazing. Guys that I would’ve killed to had a few moments with alone packed the bar that was hosting. People that had chests that had to be 70” around and arms the size of some people’s legs were lined up along the wall and I had to conjure up every ounce of self control to keep from drooling.

The three hour event was spectacular. After the first flight, which were the lightweights finished, the big boys came out to play. There was not a man there under 225 lbs. Even the spotters were huge. Stud after stud went to the bench and laid down, their massive chests heaving with anticipation. Then they unracked weights that I couldn’t even imagine rolling across the floor and did bench presses with it. I was painfully aroused as the night went on.

One thing that stuck with me the entire time was a combination of what the emcee was saying and what some of the competitors were doing. Occasionally, one of the guys would come up to the bench and his spotters would all huddle around him. There would be some yelling and even some slapping, hard I might add, before the beast would lie down and start his rep. Even the emcee would be screaming into the microphone, “That’s right big dawg! Get mad! Get pumped!”

It intrigued me at the time, but I didn’t give it much thought because I was too enthralled in seeing pecs the size of watermelons threatening to burst from the tight shirts they seemed to wear. Only the next day did the memory come back.

I was standing in front of a cable pulley machine. I was on my second set of triceps pulldowns. The first set I had failed to get to twenty and I was extremely upset. It was the same amount of weight I had done last week and I could do three sets of twenty, so why couldn’t I do one set. It was putting a major league damper on my workout. Then I thought about what the guys were doing. Not the slapping in the face thing, I wasn’t ready for that level of intensity, but the getting mad part.

Now, I was a really… what’s the word I wanna use here… controlled person. I didn’t get mad very often. There was only a few things that got under my skin, people not respecting our armed forces or public servants for example, but I couldn’t remember the last time something actually made me “mad”. I remember times that I would feel something rising up in me but I would end up just pushing it down and controlling it.

I decided that today was going to be a good test. I looked at the weights, then at my arms, and I let myself get mad. I started by being angry at the weight. Then it shifted to anger at myself for letting the weight get the best of me. A familiar, yet unexplored feeling rose from the pit of my gut and I let it come to the surface. Instead of repressing it like I did so many times before, I let it engulf my entire being.

Something changed that day. I can see it now that I look back, but then, I didn’t quite understand. I just let it happen. I felt myself balling up my fists and I started to pace back and forth in front of the machine. “HOW DARE I LET THIS MACHINE BEAT ME!” I screamed to myself. I reached back and punched the steel bar that held up the cable. It wasn’t a full power punch, but it was enough to make a distinct ringing sound. I didn’t even notice half of the guys near me turn to look.

I was about to go into my next set when one of them walked up to me. He was the biggest and had by far the nicest physique in the gym. He was also the man I idolized the most in the place. He came up to me and said, “Hey man, whatcha doing? Hitting the weights?”

I looked at him with rage flooding my senses and said, “I let the weight beat me.”

“Oh ho ho ho! That’s right, get mad,” he said as he upped the weight 30 lbs. I growled at the machine and went to work. I got a good ten reps before I hit failure, then he switched the weight to something lower and I finished out my set. “That’s the way to do it man!”

His praise meant to me a lot more than he would ever know. Anything I could do to garner praise from this man I would’ve had done. But I digress. I finished the set with a roar. Not a loud one, but a lot more than I would’ve done before. He grinned and then went back with his bodybuilder friends, leaving me to my exercises.

The rest of the day I was filled with an indescribable drive. Rage and anger fueled all my lifts. It wasn’t a huge or dramatic improvement, but I did have a better day than any day I had before. But at the end of the workout, I was still fuming with anger. I had nothing else to do but I was still angry at myself for the few times I let the weight beat me. I was pacing around aimlessly like a caged beast and hitting the heavy steel dumbbells with my fists. It was then that I tried to calm down. I stress the word ‘tried.’

It took a little while but I calmed down a little. But every time I looked back at any of the weights, the rage overwhelmed me. It started to scare me at that point. In my mind I wanted to calm down, but I couldn’t. The big guy that helped me earlier saw me and said, “What’s wrong man? Why ya still hitting shit?”

I flatly responded, “I can’t calm down.”

He simply laughed as if it were a joke, but I was panicking. I quickly raced off to the aerobic room where there was a heavy bag, snarling and spitting as I went. Thankfully, the gym wasn’t crowded at all, so I got no looks as I went. Once there, I wailed on it with all the force I could muster. Blow after blow of my bare fists pounded the bag until I was completely drained. I leaned against the bag and thought one more time about the weights beating me and the rage rose again, but not quite as strong as before. I battered the bag a little more until I felt ever trace of the rage drain from my being.

I finally stood up and went back into the main gym. Thankfully, I felt nothing trying to rise from the depths again. I sighed to myself as the big man walked by. “You alright,” he said casually as he went to get some water.

“Yeah, I’m good now,” I replied. But inside of myself, I was completely lost in thought. I had never had anything like that happen before. Even if I did get angry, I could always bring myself under control within a few moments. But I had never been angry for so long or so helpless to control my rage. What had happened just then scared me beyond belief.

And thinking back, what scared me the most was that I liked it.


Part 2

The rest of the week, my workouts were…uninspired. I maintained the same weight I had lifted before and the same number of reps. There wasn’t much improvement, but that wasn’t the major concern on my mind. The primary thought that I had was my triceps. Every time I looked in the mirror, they called to me. They seemed to say, “Look at us. See this indention? Yeah, that workout really kicked ass.” Then I would flex them, always where no one could see, and amaze myself at how they actually popped out. Now, it wasn’t as if I had 23 inch guns on my body, but for a fat guy like I was, to see even a little muscle obey a command was a exhilarating experience.

But, on the flip side of that coin, I knew, deep down inside, it was because I had let that rage overcome me. I was torn: One half of me relished the power. It was like The Incredible Hulk. Not the turning green and growing into a huge monster, but the feeling of primal strength that Bruce Banner felt when he transformed. I had felt that and it was liberating. The freedom and primitive nature of it was so far from the calculating and examinating nature I was used to. And I could tell that I wanted to be able to feel that more, to be released from all the knowledge and thoughts that clouded my head.

The other half of me looked at this from a logical standpoint. I had no idea what this feeling was. I knew some stuff about psychology, but nothing I had read or heard about gave me any clue to what I was experiencing. It wasn’t bi-polar or schizoid or any of the common mental illnesses. What if it were something serious and letting it run rampant caused me more harm than good in the end?

All these questions ran through my head the whole week. I kept weighing the pros and cons of each possibility through my head, but in the end, it was my arms that made the decision. Every day I saw them, I saw the potential. To my eyes, my triceps stood out like a sore thumb. They were one silver lining in the dark cloud of my body and on my chest day, I finally decided I would try it one more time.

I warmed up normally, a few stretches, then a light set of machine bench presses. After I was finished, I got up and turned to the machine. I stared at it with all the intensity I could muster and thought to myself, “You will not beat me today!” I focused myself into getting myself angry again, to let that rage consume me.

But this time, nothing happened. I stood there for a few minutes, listening to the horrible music, trying to draw strength from that rage but was accomplishing nothing. I was dumbfounded for the longest, until I realized that I really wasn’t trying. It was like I was standing on the edge of a pool. I knew the water was cold and I would probably drown, so I was just dipping a foot or a finger in, expecting the same results. I knew, deep down inside, that if I wanted to experience that again, I would have to jump in feet first and let it completely engulf me. The only question that remained was, “Am I really ready for this?”

And in my mind, I jumped head first into the blacky depths of my unknown rage. I let out a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said to myself, “I am a monster. I am strong, I am powerful, there is nothing in this gym that can beat me. These weights are MINE!”

As I kept repeating my impromptu mantra, I could feel it rising again. But this time, instead of cautiously approaching it, I embraced it fully. I felt the heat of the rage wash over me like a tsunami wave and I opened my eyes with a focus I had never experienced before.

It was exhilarating! My body seemed to thrive with each rep I did. I pushed harder than I ever had before and I reveled in the power and strength that I was feeling. I went from exercise to exercise with determination and the single-mindedness of a man on a mission. And I knew exactly what that mission was. It was the complete and utter dominance of every single chest exercise. I can’t even recall how much poundage I was tossing around, but I know it was a lot more than my normal workout.

I went through my workout a lot faster than normal, but something happened near the end that once again scared me. My idol, my mentor, the guy I wanted to be like more than anything just happened to walk by and saw the ferociousness that I was applying to my workout. He came up to me with a smile and laid his huge hand on my shoulder. I spun around and was about to slug him before I even knew it. Thankfully, I stopped myself just in time, but it slightly jarred him. He laughed and said, “Kinda jumpy aren’t we.”

I could do nothing but nod. He smiled some more at me and then went back to his group. I snarled at myself, wishing I could be right there, lifting with a huge stud like him. I wanted to be there, spotting him as he pumped out those huge weights. I wanted to be able to openly watch him as his muscles bulged and flexed. I wanted to be part of the gang so badly. A random though crossed my mind, “I know I’m better than that twig right there. I should show him how weak his is and take his spot. I could crush him easily, break his stick legs.”

I shook my head hard. I had never, in my entire life, wished to harm someone. Not even the bullies who beat me up constantly in high school and here I was thinking about breaking someone’s legs just to take their spot in a clique? I reeled at the thought and immediately ran to the aerobics room and the heavy bag. Again, I pounded away on it, trying my best to drain away the rage that was clouding my senses and reason. But this time, it wasn’t draining as fast. The bag thrashed around its anchor and I could feel the skin on my knuckles wearing down. It wasn’t until they were bleeding and streaks of crimson were running down the bag and pooling on the hardwood floor did the last remnants of the rage faded from me.

I stood there, staring with morbid curiosity at my ravaged hands and the blood flowing from my open wounds. I knew that it took a lot more to come back. The red puddles on the floor was testament to that. I said to myself, “This can’t be a good thing. If I do this any more, I could hurt someone, not just myself.” I resigned myself to never try that again.

But, when I looked up and saw my chest in the mirror, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep that promise.


Part 3

Before this day, I would’ve never said I had a ‘chest’ or ‘pecs’. I had man-boobs. My chest was always flabby and they drooped downward. But now, it was completely different. I swore my chest was looking great. With all the heavy breathing I was doing while coming down from that rage-induced high, my pecs rose up and down with authority. I thought to myself, “This looks great.” I could feel the muscle in my chest, and with a little concentration, I could flex them. I started with both, then flexed one, then the other. Even with the baggy shirt on, I could see my chest obey. Granted, like my triceps, they weren’t all of the sudden world class boulders sitting on a bodybuilder, but again, the change was more than noticeable to me.

I did something I rarely did. I took off my shirt in public. Even though I was alone in the aerobics room, someone could have walked in on me at any time. But at that moment, I was still on a muscle high. Once the shirt was off, I gasped. My gut was still there, flabby as ever, but that did nothing to detract from the simple beauty I was seeing. I knew for a fact that my chest hung downward, but there I was, staring at a chest that looked so much like what I was used to, yet so alien. Instead of drooping, they stood erect on my body. The nipples, which used to sag, now pointed straight ahead.

I focused on my chest. It was something amazing going on. I could make out the striations in the muscles if I looked hard enough. These pecs belonged on a guy at least half my body fat. I was almost overtaken with joy. Then, my gaze fell on my arms. My triceps, which already had benefited from one day of rage, now were showing a lot of improvement. The muscle definition was really beginning to show. At rest, the muscle didn’t stand out, but when I stretched my arm down, the muscle popped to attention. Not only did it become more defined, but it was also bigger. The muscle was asserting itself as the dominate feature of my arm. The muscle hung so well on the back of my arm, it looked like it had been shaped and sculpted for years.

As I flexed and relaxed my triceps, my eyes caught my biceps. Since I had been working chest, my biceps didn’t get hit as hard, but nevertheless, they also benefited from the workout. I held my arm parallel to the floor and just stared. What used to be just a mound of unmistakable fat, I could actually see separation between my newly enhanced triceps and bicep. It was still somewhat raw, but there was a lot of obvious potential. Then, I slowly began to flex my arm like I’ve seen so many times in my favorite muscle worship videos. I intently stared at my arm, slowly balling my fist up. With a deep breath, I started to raise my fist towards my face. My face was screwed in concentration as I focused all my attention on the new ball of muscle. As my arm drew closer to a full flex, I could feel myself getting hard at the sight of my muscle responding to my will. Finally, I reached the top of the flex and squeezed as hard as I could. I could do nothing but stare at my arm. Like the rest of my muscles that had been ‘enhanced’, it wasn’t huge, but to my eyes, the improvement was nothing short of startling.

I took my free hand and rubbed it along the crest of my arm. I was met with somewhat solid resistance, something that astonished me. I was so used to being a flabby guy, the feel of firm muscle beneath my hand had me enthralled. I was so mesmerized by my arm, I didn’t hear the door open.

“Hey man, whatcha doing in here,” I heard someone say. I quickly lowered my arm and cursed myself for being so blatant. I glanced to the side and saw the huge reflection of my favorite gym rat smiling at me. Either he was smiling or smirking, I couldn’t tell from this distance. Immediately, I felt the blood rush to my face.

“Oh, um…I was doing nothing much. Just….um….you know.”

“Looks like you were flexing a little,” he said with obvious humor in his voice.

I looked down at the blood drying on the floor, “Yeah man, I was…I mean, you don’t know how it is, I mean…well, I just noticed that I’m getting a little beefier and shit and you know…”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain it to me little man, I remember how it was myself when I was just getting started. Excited at every little change, flexing in the mirror, and then eventually running around shirtless and in real short shorts. It’s no big thing, it’s why we’re all here.”

Immediately, I felt relieved. I smiled at him and slid my shirt back on. “But just for reference, there is a posing room if you want some more ‘privacy’.” I heard the clear inflection of the word “privacy” and wondered what he could have meant by that, but my attention was drawn to the pool of blood on the floor.

“Damn man,” he said as he noticed the drops of blood falling from the bag, “you really tore the shit out of your hands. You should get some wraps if you’re going to be hitting the heavy bag like that. Go grab the first aid kit from the front desk while I clean this up.”

I nodded and immediately rushed to the counter while he grabbed a towel and a bottle of disinfectant. Thankfully, the sudden interruption of my self-admiration session caused my cock to deflate rather quickly, so I didn’t have anything to worry about there, at least that’s what I thought.

The sting of the alcohol quickly brought me back to reality. As I cleaned my ravaged hands, I couldn’t help but think about how all this was happening. What was I going to do. The results were nothing short of amazing to me. Weeks of training did nothing compared to two sessions under a rage induced focus. Even muscles that weren’t directly trained got more results than when I trained them normally.

But, even with the amazing results, the side effects were becoming frightening. Even thought this was only the second time I’ve done this, I could plainly see that it was more intense and harder to return to normal this time. Logically, I could only presume that each successive time I delved into the wellspring of rage, it would be progressively harder to return to normal.

“There’s that word again, logic,” I said under my breath. “Why do I have to examine everything so much? Maybe I should just flow with it.”

I felt a giant hand on my shoulder and I turned to see the big man again. Instantly, all my thoughts were blown away like flower petals on a spring day. “Hey man,” he started in his silky baritone, “I saw you working out today and I have to say, I’m impressed. You keep that up and you’ll be ready to work out with us in no time.” He smiled a dazzling grin, flexed his free arm and, as I melted inside from seeing the huge ball of muscle, I knew that I was going to do anything to please him.

I just hoped that I didn’t hurt anyone in the process.


Part 4

He left me standing there, mouth wide open in shock, and returned to his group. Every now and again, he would turn to my direction, point and do some other hand gestures that I couldn’t figure out. But the smile on his face told me all I needed to know. He wasn’t lying when he said he was impressed.

It was that simple fact that sealed the deal for me. I knew that I would have to do everything in my power to keep on lifting like I did today, not only because he was impressed and he would let me work out with him, but because it was obviously working. Even standing there, I could feel new muscle occupying my upper torso. It was scintillating.

I quickly went to the bathroom, not wanting to bone up in front of the mid-day gym rats. But soon as I got in the bathroom, I stripped off my shirt. Funny, a few moments earlier, I would never have even thought about rolling up my sleeves, and there I was exposing my chest again to anyone that wanted to see.

The bathroom had a handful of mirrors. Most were over the sink, but on the wall opposite of them were large ones that you could use to examine your face or shave or what have you. Next to those, though, was my target. The full body mirrors that I loathed passing were now my best friend. I stood there, bare-chested, and examined myself with a furor that I never did before.

The mirrors in the aerobics room did nothing to prepare me for a close up view. I stood there dumbfounded as I stared at my new chest. It was breathtaking. I almost started crying. Granted, it wasn’t huge like the trainers or ripped like the twinks, but to me, it was nothing short of miraculous. They were two solid mounds of muscle sitting there, waiting to obey any command I could think of. The combination of the incline, flat, and decline presses I performed did a great deal. The definition I now possessed compared to what I had not three hours ago was undeniable. I spent at least an half hour focusing on how to contract and relax the various muscles in my newly enhanced chest. By the time I saw another person walk through forty-five minutes later, I could flex my chest like a pro. It made me so hard seeing my chest in the mirror flexing. I could even roll the muscles at that point.

After the period of self-realization, followed by a quick jerk in the stalls, I got dressed and left the gym. Even though I had resigned myself to allowing the rage to take over all my workouts, I still had reservations. My logical nature wanted to test different stimuli and situations to see if it applied to those as well as it did lifting. I also wanted to see if there was any information online about what I was experiencing.

The next week was spent doing so many experiments, I was almost driven insane. I tried to see if I could draw the rage up when I was doing other stuff, like cooking or cleaning. That was a bust. I then tried to see if I could do it while playing football down at the park. That experiment didn’t proceed as well as planned, but it did provide some insight.

I got to the park and saw several college age students tossing the football around. I smiled and approached them, something I would’ve never done a scant few weeks before, and asked to join their game. I could see the laughter in their eyes as they examined my body, but they agreed. What followed was something my pride took a few days to overcome, but it was worth it in the end. They stood there for around five minutes arguing who would have me on their team, because I was obviously a handicap.

Being talked about like that was definitely not what I was expecting, but I stood there and took it because I was more curious about myself than I was worried about their comments. Finally, I was placed on a team and we started. The first few plays went by without incident, but around the fifth play, one of the bigger of the guys that was playing lineman opposite of me decided he was going to take it a little too far. I unexpectedly took a hard hit from him and was knocked on my ass. But what really annoyed me was he said afterwards, “Fat guys like you don’t have no place out here.”

Instantly, I felt that familiar sensation rise up from the depths. I didn’t even hesitate a moment this time. I knew I wanted it more than ever. In the gym, I was tentative, but here was different. Here, I wanted nothing more than to show this little punk what this ‘fat guy’ could do. By the time I was back into my three-point stance, the rage had completely engulfed me. The ball was hiked and I powered up with a force that would’ve moved a bus. I put my forearm ahead of me slightly and I hit him straight on before he fully stood up. I ended up lifting him a few feet off the ground before I slammed him into the grass. It sounded like he landed a little hard, but I didn’t care. My target was their quarterback. He barely got the ball out of his hands before I engulfed him and drove him into the ground.

Both of the people I hit were slow to get up, but I was more energized than I ever felt before. The guy that was talking shit earlier yelled, “What the fuck man?” at me.

I simply looked over my shoulder, and with a growl, said, “What? Did this poor little fat guy hurt you? Fragile guys like you have no place out here.”

The rest of the game was amazing. It became a contest between me and him. But I had my rage fueling me. As the game went on, I kept getting faster and faster while he seemed to tire. I felt unstoppable. Every snap of the ball he did his best to try and deter or stop me, but I felt strong as a bull. I slammed him or shoved him aside each time. He even tried playing dirty. A few times he tried to chop-block me, but my legs just absorbed the impact, which should’ve surprised me.

It was a few hours later as the game winded down that I started to realize what was happening. My shirt was fitting a lot looser, my sweatpants were getting uncomfortably tight around my thighs and, even though I was pushing myself harder than I ever had before, I wasn’t even winded. Somewhere deep inside of me, my brain stored that information away, but at that moment, nothing mattered but the game.

The kid who decided that I didn’t belong went for one final act of defiance. The last play he would be in would be his undoing. Before our guy hiked the ball, he decided to rush me. Normally, that would be a foul, offsides, but we had no ref. He was intending to go a lot farther than offsides though. He was trying to hit me squarely in the jaw with his knee, but my rage heightened reflexes let me do so many things he didn’t expect. I saw him rushing at me, and at the last second, I shifted to the side and powered straight up. His leg, which missed its target, was hooked onto my shoulder, and when my legs muscled me upward, he lost his balance. I took one step forward and he started to fall, which in turn caused me to fall on top of him. His leg was still stuck and when we both hit the ground, an audible pop was heard, followed by him screaming in agony.

I got up as his friends ran over and dusted myself off. I glared at him with no remorse and said, “I guess that means the game is over.” I don’t think he heard me, but his friends did.

“Don’t you care man, you probably dislocated his leg!”

“Fuck man, it was only a game!”

“You didn’t have to play so rough!”

I could feel the rage draining from me, but I didn’t even turn around to see if he was ok. I knew I should’ve felt some pity or sorrow or something, but there was only one emotion that was left after the rage receded.



Part 5

I looked at the clock once I reached my car and saw that I only had about half an hour to get to my monthly dinner with my best friend. I cursed my lack of foresight and quickly rushed to get to the restaurant. I knew I was dripping with sweat and the clothes were getting a little uncomfortable, but we never missed a dinner in the fifteen years we’ve been doing it, and I didn’t want to miss this one especially.

I arrived only five minutes late, after deftly avoiding several speeding tickets. I saw him sitting there with a Yuengling Draft, his favorite drink. When he looked up and saw me come in, I saw his face run through a gambit of emotions. First there was confusion, then realization, then shock, then awe. I smirked slightly because I knew what he was thinking. I quickly sat down and motioned to the waiter.

“Water with lemon and a Rolling Rock please.”

“Right away sir,” he said as he glanced at me with a look that I was becoming very familiar with.

As soon as he left, my buddy leaned over the table. “Fuck man, is that really you?” I smiled and nodded. “Dude, you look amazing. You’ve come a hella long way since I saw you last month. Whatever you’re doing, you’ve got to let me in on it!”

I looked down at the table briefly and was about to make up something, but he knew me so well, he caught on to my body language and immediately countered, “Hey man, you’re not doing anything illegal, are ya? No ‘roids or any of that shit right? I mean, you would tell me the truth, right?”

I warmly smiled at him and said, “No, we’ve known each other too long. I wouldn’t do that.” That was true. I couldn’t lie to him. We’ve known each other since I was a fat kid in high school and he was a jock stud. We were like night and day. He was big, handsome, popular and as straight as an arrow. I was the exact opposite. But we were brought together by our love of comic books. Now, years later, we still hang out, even though he knows about my attraction. He’s married with two strapping young boys but he still takes time out to hang with me, even though we both haven’t read a comic in years.

“So, what’s this all about then?” He looked at me with great concern in his eyes. “I can see that you’re making really good progress, almost too good from the size of your guns.”

I looked at my arm and smiled. It did look bigger than it was this morning. I could even see a few veins pulsing beneath the skin. I looked back at him and exhaled deeply. “Tell me something man. When you were lifting back in school and you were about to do a really hard set, what did you do to get ready for it?”

My question obviously threw him off. “Umm...” he stammered, “Well, I would just focus on some spot on the ground or the ceiling and count my breaths to five until I was focused enough. That usually did it for me.”

I placed my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hands, “Did you know anyone who just got really mad at the weights?”

He leaned back and stretched himself out a little, “Sure man, a few people did that. Some I used to laugh at ‘cause they seemed to be angry all the time but got nothing done. A couple of the guys though would really make you wonder. They would be able to get that one or two reps out just through force of will.”

I nodded in agreement. “You remember back when you wrestled?”

“Hell yeah, it was the only reason I went to school,” he laughed.

I chuckled and continued, “Did you ever injure someone and not really feel bad about it?”

The humor faded from him quickly as he thought. With a measured response, he said, “To be honest, yeah. I was wrestling this cocky guy in the semi-finals of the states. He was talking a lot of shit during our break, like he was the best thing in the world of wrestling. When we got on the mat and started tussling around, I noticed that he was always guarding the left side of his body. I figured he must have a weak arm or an old injury or something from all the matches earlier. So I took advantage of it. Each time I took him down, I made sure that he landed hard on that weak side. I knew I shouldn't have done that. But I wanted to teach him he wasn’t the best. I kept thinking, ‘OK tough guy, you're either going to get pinned or I'll break your arm.’ In the end, I had him so close to being pinned, but he just wouldn’t give up, and it ended up breaking his arm. When I did it, I didn’t feel bad about it. I was on top of the world. I was going to the finals and screw the other guy. It wasn’t till I heard that he couldn’t wrestle the rest of the year that I felt some remorse.”

I nodded, taking it all in. This was one thing I never knew about him. I knew he was competitive, but I never thought he would’ve done something like that. But, he said he felt remorse in the end, and that gave me a little hope that I wasn’t completely losing my humanity.

“Why are you asking all these weird questions?” he said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Well, I’ll start at the beginning. Remember that bench press comp last month?”

“Yeah, I do. Wish I could’ve made it, how did it go?”

“It was awesome. But I saw something there that made me think. A lot of the guys were doing that get angry thing and then lift. So I figure, what the hell, I’ll try it. So when I got to the gym, I did it and let me tell you man, it was amazing.” I hesitated, not because I was exaggerating, but because it really did feel amazing. That fact scared me a little more.

I continued, “But, when I was done with my work out, I couldn’t calm down. Now, you know me, I don’t get angry often and I never stay mad, but that day was different. I had to beat on the heavy bag for about fifteen mins before I could calm down.”

“I don’t see the problem yet,” he mused.

“Yeah, that’s just the start. So, I don’t do that again for like a week. But I’m noticing things. I saw my triceps were looking a lot better. Even more than they did from the couple of months of steady workouts.”

“Hmmm,” he muttered.

“Yeah, same thing I said. So what I did was I got angry again on a chest day. Again, my workout was amazing. It felt soooo good man, I mean I felt so powerful. I felt like I was the fucking man and no one could stop me. But near the end, I happened to look at some of the big guys and I thought that if I just broke one of the smaller guy’s legs, I could take his place in the group.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding me man! You got to be.”

“No, I’m dead serious.”

“Fuck man, I don’t believe it. Hell, you didn’t even fight back when that jerk Tyrell and his buddies kept harassing you every day.”

“That’s not the worst of it.” His eyes widened as I continued my story. “So, soon as that happened, I went back to the heavy bag to try and calm down again, but this time it took a lot longer.” I held up my fist exposing the scarred skin on my knuckles. “By the time I was back to normal, there was blood all over the place.”

He continued to stare at me in disbelief as I continued, “Even though I knew that this wasn’t natural, I wanted to understand it more. I mean seriously man, I was making gains that I didn’t even know were possible. You were always a jock, even now. Think about how I feel now that I’m just starting to get the jock look.”

The waiter returned with our drinks and placed them down on the table. I squeezed the lemon a little in my water then set it on the napkin as my friend took a drink from his beer.

“So, did you figure anything out?”

“To be honest, no. Especially after the football game I had today.”

“Football? YOU were playing football?”

I grinned at the obvious disbelief in his voice. “Yeah man, it was awesome, but at the same time jarring.” He stared at me, silently urging me to continue. “Well, this week I was doing some random tests to see if I could understand it more. In the end, nothing I did worked. But today, I decided to go play football to see if any physical activity while I was raging did it or if it was just weightlifting. Let me rephrase that. I wanted to rage while playing football. I’m not even sure if I was really thinking.”

He continued to listen intently, “It all started going downhill when this little punk started to show how much superior he was to me. He even went as far as to say ‘Fat guys like you don’t belong out here.’


“Yeah man, that did it. I felt it rise so quick and I didn’t even try to stop it. The rest of the game I felt amazing. It was like some kind of adrenaline rush. Everything I did was so full of energy and power. Not only that, but I felt as we went on that I was getting stronger, not tired like normal. But, at the end, I ended up dislocating the kid’s leg.”

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to man.”

I pounded my fists on the table, “That’s the fucking problem!” The echo of rattling silverware resonated through the small restaurant as I lowered my voice. “I did mean to man. I was faster than him and moved into just the right place to do it. I mean, even when I got up, I didn’t even check to see if he was alright. I was smiling man! What kinda man smiles when he hurts someone? I felt good that I was able to do that to him! I was satisfied that I proved who the better man was! Even now, I’m not really sorry that the kid won’t be able to walk for a while.”

I calmed down a bit while I waited for my friend to respond. I finally looked into his eyes and he said, “You’re not kidding, are you?”

Completely disheartened, I responded, “No. Dead serious.”

The waiter returned, looking slightly jumpy, and proceeded to take our orders. I ordered some steak with a side of mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables while my friend got the Lo Mien special.

After the kid left, my friend exhaled deeply. “I don’t know what to tell you man. I never had anything like that happen to me. All I can suggest is you try and stop.”

I sat straight in my chair and looked him dead in the eye. “I KNOW I can’t stop man. I’ve been working out for weeks now and I wasn’t getting any results at all. Now, look at me.” For emphasis, I flexed my right arm. It had already grown from the football game and it even shocked me at how high the ball of muscle rose since the last time I had worked it out. “I might have 17 or 18 inch guns now. Do you know how that feels? My arms were nothing but mounds of fat now they’re fucking balls of muscles. I can feel muscles everywhere now. Hell, even my gut feels like it’s shrunk some.” I untucked my t-shirt out of my sweat pants and lifted it up. From the shock I heard from my friend, I could tell how it looked. “I can’t give this up man. Do you know how many years I’ve wanted this? Every moment of every day I was in middle and high school I wish I could’ve been a jock. You didn’t have to worry about being picked on or teased because you were such a stud.” I paused, trying to make sure I didn’t lash out at him. “I couldn’t stand how I looked and no matter what I did or how much I ate, I never was anything more than a chubby kid. I was too ashamed to even get undressed in the locker room after gym class. I can’t tell you how frustrating it was having to wear sweats and baggy clothes all the time, even in the summer because I was so ashamed of my body. Now, I have a chance to be everything I’ve wanted to be, maybe even more. And to tell you the truth man, I’m willing to pay almost any price for it.”

After I finished, my buddy just stared at me. “Man, I didn’t know.”

I leaned forward again, resting my arms on the table. “I know man. I didn’t let anyone know. I wasn’t going to give those jerks the satisfaction of knowing how much I hated being fat. If you think I had it hard then, imagine if they knew how I really felt.”

The waiter brought our food out and quickly retreated back to the kitchen. “So my man,” my friend said as he picked up his fork, “what are you going to?”

I lowered my head to let the aroma of the seared beef fill my nostrils. “I’m going to find some way to control it. I think the benefits outweigh the risks.”

“And if you can’t?”

I cut a slice of meat off and lifted it to my mouth. “Well, if next month, you see a huge guy walk in and punch the host, that’ll be me.”

We both laughed out loud, the tension finally sundered. The rest of the evening was filled with happier conversation, but my mind was partly away, thinking about how I needed some private time to explore my new body.

We had our meal, a few drinks at the bar, and a lot of conversation before we decided to finally end the evening. It was around 10:45 at night before I finally made it home. The first thing I wanted to do was to get out of the sweat-stained clothes I had been wearing the whole day. I didn’t go straight to a mirror to undress though. I wanted it to be a surprise.

I dimmed the lights in my master bedroom. I wanted to make sure I couldn’t accidentally see any details until I was completely ready. I had no trouble at all with the shirt. When it was baggy on my frame earlier, it was completely oversized now. My sweat pants on the other hand caused some issues. Earlier, I had to tighten the drawstring to keep them up, but when I untied them, they seemed to get stuck around my thighs. My cock immediately went to full mast at that small revelation. I closed my eyes and tugged hard on the pants. I couldn’t help but get even more excited, but I was determined not to peek. There were a few rips that I could hear, but eventually, they finally came off. My cock was harder than I had ever felt it before and I couldn’t wait to see myself.

I kept my eyes closed as I undressed. After I was finished, I worked my way to the guest room, my stiff cock leading the way in anticipation. Once inside the room, I turned on the light and faced the only full body mirror in the house. With a smile on my face, I opened my eyes.

What I saw there made me shoot the biggest load I had shot in my life.


Part 6

If you had taken a picture of what I looked like before and what I looked like then, you would have never guessed they were the same person. The changes started at my face. The hair and beard were the same, but my entire face was leaner and more angular than it was that morning. I could see the tendons in my jaw flex as I moved it around. My eyes followed the newly revealed contours of my face around, drinking in the masculine beauty I now possessed.

The veins in my face gradually led my eyes downward to my neck and shoulders. While, they hadn’t grown to be huge, they were a bit bigger and a lot more defined. I no longer had that pouch of flat that appeared around my chin every time I looked down. All that was there was a thick, wrestler’s neck. And my shoulders were stunning. I guessed they grew because of all the hitting I was doing. They looked like someone had put some protective pads underneath the skin. They rose up like hills of muscle, capping and protecting my arm.

Speaking of which, my arms were awing. I had not always been an arm man, but what I saw in the mirror tempted me to change my mind. They were already pushed through a rage filled workout, and I could only guess that all the hunkering down in the three-point stance did a lot for them because my forearms looked like someone shoved a basket of snakes in them. They writhed around constantly, even when I wasn’t trying to flex them. And when I did flex them, the veins threatened to burst through the skin. I took my fore finger and thumb and tried to pinch my forearm and I could barely get any skin between them. The fat in my arms were completely melted away, morphed into a pair of forearms that would make any blacksmith proud.

My arms led my eyes naturally to my chest. Once I saw them, I began to drool. Even looking at them earlier in the week couldn’t prepare me for how they looked now. My pecs were completely firm now. I punched them a few times and couldn’t feel the impact. They completely enthralled me. Seeing them so big and so firm simply amazed me. I could clearly see separation between the upper and lower muscles. I began to flex them, slowly at first, but soon I had the hang of it and I could roll the muscles. My cock got hard again seeing how this new huge muscle obeyed my command.

I bypassed my stomach because it had only changed a little and went to my thighs. They were monsters now. I’ve always been a leg guy. My personal view was you could always tell who the real lifters were by the size of their legs. The pretty boys worked chest and arms all the time, but the real men did legs. Now, my legs told the world that I was one of the real lifters. I saw immediately why I had so much trouble taking off the sweatpants earlier. All the squatting and powering forward did wonders for my legs. My guess was that they grew at least five inches. Not only did they grow in size, but they grew in power too. I put one foot out in front of me. Then like I had seen in the bodybuilding videos that I loved to watch, I shook and then flexed it. It was like watching a huge side of beef transform into carved stone. It was simply beautiful to see how the muscles swelled with power as I flexed them. The cuts of the muscles and the indentations were so deep that I could’ve stuck lodged a pencil in my leg and no one would’ve been able to see it.

I was more muscled now than I had imagined becoming. That’s not to say that I was flawless. Quite the opposite actually. I could still see various parts of me that needed work. My chest wasn’t quite big enough, my arms could’ve used some more definition, my midsection was in need of a lot of toning and I wanted my legs to be a lot bigger. But the biggest difference was, before, I saw them as hindrances. They made me feel depressed every time I saw myself naked like this. Now, they were simply challenges. All they were to me were obstacles that I needed to overcome. And I would. I could see that now, I COULD be huge and powerful. It was no longer just pointless wishing, I had the power and the ability to be bigger and stronger.

Realizing that made me want to do a full body flex. I raised my arms up and with all the force I could muster, brought them down in a double bi pose. Seeing every one of my newly enhanced muscles jump to attention sent me over the edge and I once again covered the mirror with a copious amount of my spunk.

By this time, fatigue started to catch up with me. Even though I was excited about my new body and couldn’t wait to go to the gym the next day, I knew I needed rest. I went to the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel. After dampening it in warm water, I returned to the mirror which started to become caked with dry cum. I smiled again, realizing that I had never had an orgasm that felt as good, much less two.

After the clean up, I tossed the used towel into the hamper and went to bed. Sleep eventually came as my head danced around the new me. The next day was chest day, quickly becoming one of my favorite activities at the gym. I prepared a hearty breakfast, but I decided at the last minute to go in and do some cardio. I packed up a couple of meals and a few shakes and headed out the door.

10:00 am in the morning seemed to be a slow time at the gym on a Monday. I walked in to see at the most a dozen people. There were a couple that looked like I did a few weeks ago, but the majority of people there looked like veteran gym members. I glanced around trying to find the stud that I liked to admire, but he wasn’t in.

Something in my head said that I was wasting time, so I quickly went to a locker, put up my food, and headed back to the cardio section. I jumped on an elliptical machine and set it to manual. As I started to slowly move, I urged my rage to the surface. It took about ten minutes, but eventually, I lost all conscious thought. I simply stared at the control panel and kept running.

It was a loud clang of metal that shook me from my focus. I looked up and barely realized that I had been going for at least two and a half hours because all the machines in front of me were being used and the gym was a lot more packed than it was when I had arrived. I shook my head, but quickly regained focus on why I was here. “Chest day. Today is chest day.” That thought was the only thing that was going through my head.

I started towards the machines like I normally did, but I stopped. I was a real lifter now, I thought. Real lifters hang out in the pit. I smirked. Just a few weeks ago, I would’ve rather been shot than head to the pit, but now, it beckoned me like a siren. I wanted to feel what it was like to lift real weights. I wanted to feel the bar in my hand and the pressure as I lowered it towards my chest. I even started drooling in anticipation.

With a glare like a hungry predator, I stalked my way to the pit. Already, the usual people were there, including the big dog himself. He glanced at me, then back to his buddies, then his head snapped in my direction. While I was wearing my normal t-shirt and shorts, I could tell he noticed a difference even if no one else did. This made me smirk, and in the back of my head, I realized I was smirking a lot lately.

But that didn’t matter at the time. What mattered was chest day. I walked over to the farthest bench from the front of the pit. The front was where the pretty boys hung out. I was there to work. I loaded the bar up with two of the 45 lb plates. 135 lbs was my usual max, but I was feeling so strong lately, I knew in my heart I could do more.

I laid on the bench and gripped the bar. Something inside me clicked as soon as my fists wrapped around the cold steel. I knew then and there I could never go back to machines unless I absolutely had to. The bar just felt right in my hands. I knew instinctively where to put my hands and how tight I needed to grip it. I smirked (again) and lifted the bar. It felt amazingly light to me, and before I knew it, I had done thirty reps of a weight that used to make me stop at eight.

The weights returned to the rack with a crash and I sat up, energized. I was the master of the bench. It would never defeat me again. I felt invincible. I went and added an additional 45lb plate to each side. Even though I knew this was more than I had ever lifted before, I was able to do it. I knew once I had benched this, I would be even more in the big lifter’s club. I laid back down and touched the bar again. Instantly, the same sense of familiarity ran through me again and invigorated me. I unracked the weight and while it felt heavier than the last set, I knew deep down that the weight couldn’t beat me.

The bar slowly descended to my chest. I could feel each of my muscles twitch in anticipation as the steel touched my chest. Then with a low growl, I pushed back against it. Then again and again. I finished twelve reps before I racked it. Then I jumped up with a roar. It felt amazing. I was so fucking strong and I knew it. I quickly added two 25lb plates to the bar. I knew this weight was more than double what I was lifting last week, but I knew I had this too.

Once again, after I laid down and touched the bar, that tingle coursed through me. I smirked and lifted the bar up. It was a little tougher, but I still had it. I could feel myself pushing against the weight. I heard growls and groans escape as I raised the bar from my chest. After eight reps were done, I racked the weight and held still.

Nothing in the world compared to what I was feeling at that moment. Partly because of my rage, I felt in tune with my body, and my chest felt amazing. I closed my eyes and simply felt the blood rush through my system towards my chest. I could feel it being pumped with blood and growing with new muscle. The way it felt was so erotic, I didn’t know how I wasn’t ripping my cock out of my shorts and jerking it right there.

But, I did know why. Echoing in my mind was a few words, “Today is chest day, I am here to work. Today is chest day, I am here to work.” I got up and quickly re-racked the weights before moving on to the rest of my exercises.

They too were an experience. Each exercise I completely doubled the weight I was using earlier or more, and each time I felt that same feeling from touching the weights and the erotic sensation from the pump I was getting. Nothing else mattered at the time, but I could remember seeing some people on the fringe of the pit looking at me like I was a maniac.

It wasn’t till I was nearing the end of my workout did I start to really notice people. There was one kid in particular that my focus was drawn to. He was one of those college kids that ‘played’ in the gym. I only saw him on Mondays and Thursdays, and he was always doing chest and arms. Not only that, but he was loud, obnoxious, never wiped down the equipment he was using and always left the weights lying around. He had just finished some dumbbell curls earlier, then went to the bench and was working on doing more arm workouts.

I was stalking the weights still. That’s the best way I could describe how I was moving. But then I stubbed my toe on one of the dumbbells he left lying off the stand. I growled then looked to where he was last. No one there, but the bench was soaked with sweat and the bar was still fully loaded. Then I looked around a bit more to find him in the corner, staring at the mirror doing bicep curls. Seeing how I was already deep in my rage, it didn’t take much to get me upset. This guy had me really pissed. I stomped over to him and right as he put down the dumbbells, I grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

“Fuck man! What the hell?” he screamed at me as I lifted him up.

“Does your fucking mother work here?” I screamed back at him.

“Wha?” he said, completely stunned.

I slammed him against the wall again, “I said does your fucking mother work here!”


I slammed him one more time, “Then why in the fuck is all your shit lying all over the place. Can you read goddammned English?” I pointed at the sign that clearly said in black and white, “Your mother doesn’t work here. Clean up after yourself!”

I knew people were probably watching us at this point. It probably was funny to most people. Here I was, a 5’9” guy that used to be chubby and timid, holding this ripped kid a few inches off the ground screaming at him about gym etiquette. I would’ve laughed too if I wasn’t dead serious. Hell, I laugh even now looking back at it.

The kid I was holding up started screaming, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll clean it.”

I threw the kid down and growled at him, “I don’t ever wanna have this conversation again!” When the kid didn’t move fast enough for me, I screamed, “Go on! Git!!”

It was amusing seeing him scramble around cleaning up his mess. By this time, I knew my workout was over, and like at the football game, the rage simply melted away. Once I was back to normal, I started looking around. All eyes were on me and, even though I’ve been very outgoing as of late, I wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Working my way out of the pit, the guys started applauding me. One of the guys laid his hand on my shoulder and said, “Bout time someone starting making people walk the line around here. I get damn tired of always having to clean up other people’s shit.”

I couldn’t help but smile at their praise, but I still wanted to get somewhere where I wasn’t so visible. So, after I got through the mass of lifters, I headed to the locker room. Once I got in there, I let out a deep sigh. I caught sight of my pecs in the corner of my eye and was about to turn and look at them a lot more when I heard a deep voice say, “You’ve changed quite a bit.”

I spun around to see the alpha man of the gym leaning against the doorframe. He stood up and started walking towards me. “Seems the little man has put on some major weight,” he said quietly as if he was telling me a secret. As he ambled toward me, he started to flex. Ever so subtlety, he flexed and relaxed his chest and arms and I stood there mesmerized. “And, occasionally, he seems like a different person.” He stopped right in front of me. I had to lean back to look up at his beautiful face. He looked down over his massive chest with a smirk that seemed familiar to me. “Sometimes, he acts a little cocky and sure.”

I couldn’t help but breathe in his musk. It was on the verge of overpowering. His scent brought me to the edge of sexual insanity. He was so very close now, his voice a low growl, “Sometimes, he acts like a jock.”

I immediately backed up. “You can’t be talking about me. I’m not a jock. I could never be a jock,” I shouted, my voice cracking.

“He’s also very cute because he doesn’t realize it,” he smiled.

“But I’m not. I mean, I would really love to, you know, it’s been something I’ve always wanted, but I can’t. I mean I just…” I couldn’t help but think about everything was up until I joined the gym and I started to curl up, trying to hide myself from his piercing gaze.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and held a finger to his mouth, motioning for me to be quiet. I immediately complied. “I want you to get your stuff together and I want you to follow me to my place. There’s a few things I need to tell you, but this isn’t the best place.”

My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. Was this beast of a man seriously asking me to follow him home? I was about to stutter out an objection, but he immediately quashed any response I had by saying, “Don’t think. Just obey, like a good little jock. A good jock always obeys, right?”

I instantly straighten and my cock, which lost some of its hard-on earlier, came back with a vengeance. I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Sir, yes sir!” It felt so good to obey him, just like a jock would obey his coach. I grabbed my stuff quickly out of the locker and waited for him to lead.

He walked out of the gym, waving at his buddies who were standing around the pit. I wanted to reach out and grab his shirt tail and attach myself to him, but I knew I couldn’t. He lead me to his truck and said, “Follow me, we’re going about five miles. Don’t dawdle.”

I quickly nodded my head and raced to my car. I didn’t bother with opening the trunk. I just threw all my stuff in the back seat and sped around the parking lot to follow the big man’s pickup.

I resisted stroking my cock despite its incessant throbbing. For some reason, I felt I shouldn’t touch it just then. After driving through city traffic for a few moments, we arrived at his apartment. I parked next to him and drooled as he slowly dismounted his massive vehicle. I thought to myself how sexy he looked and how fitting the huge truck was for the huge owner. He motioned for me to follow him and together we went into his building.

The apartment he had was a lot bigger than I first thought. Not quite as big as my house, but it was a very decent size. He dropped his bag by the door then headed towards the kitchen while I stood dumbfounded near the door. I still couldn’t believe what was happening. My mind raced at all the possibilities, from the being beaten to a bloody pulp for eying him at the gym to being invited to his group to, my favorite idea, being fucked for hours.

“It’s ok to relax. I’m not going to bite,” he shouted from the other room. I instantly relaxed, knowing that he could’ve done anything he wanted to me somewhere else so he must have had something special in mind.

A few moments later he returned from the kitchen with two Rolling Rocks. I smiled. This man had the same taste in beer as I did. He sat on the couch and motioned for me to sit next to him. I couldn’t have been happier as I rushed to his side. He handed me the can and I took a nice long sip.

He leaned back and said, “Yeah, you’re making a lot of progress. Why don’t you flex that gun for me?” It was a request, but to me, it felt like an order. My arm almost jumped up automatically in a full flex. He reached over and poked it a few times and said under his breath, “Yeah, coming along great.” He lowered his hand and I lowered my arm. Taking another sip from his beer, he said, “I think you’re about ready.”

My heart was racing as I asked, “Ready for what?” I could only hope it was what I was thinking and he would finally invite me to his group.

“Tell me something, what do you remember when we first met?”

I started spilling my guts. “I first saw you in the pit about two weeks after I joined the gym. You were in the back in a really nice black tank top that looked like it was having trouble staying together on your huge back. I remember because you were doing bent over rows and every time you lifted that weight up, I could see your back bulge and I swore I saw threads popping on your shirt. You were so sexy and I wish I could’ve just walked over and felt you as you were working out.” Normally, I would have never admitted that, but there was something about being that close to him that made me feel like I could tell him the whole truth.

He chuckled once I finished. I looked at him completely confused and he said, “That wasn’t the first time we had met.”

I shook my head, “No, I’m pretty sure that was the first time. I am sure I would’ve remembered meeting someone as huge and hot as you.”

He laughed again. “I’m flattered you think so.” He put his beer down on the table beside him, then turned slowly to face me. He raised his hands and put his fingers on my forehead and said five little words: “It’s ok to remember now.”


Part 7

Memories rushed into my head so fast, I began to feel dizzy. I fell over and he was there to catch me. If I had been in a better state of mind, I would’ve probably had a hard on from being held by him, but at that moment, I was completely withdrawn.

I suddenly remembered so much. I didn’t meet him two weeks after I joined the gym. I met him the same day. He had come up to me after I signed up and patted me on the back. I was so skittish that I almost jumped out of my shoes when he touched me. I could recall the conflicting emotions of fear and arousal I felt when he was that close to me. He started to ask me questions and before I knew it, I was telling him my entire life story.

He simply smiled at me as I spilled my guts, and eventually we made our way to the locker room. He sat down and said, “Have a seat.” I sat on the bench, giving him a very wide berth. He didn’t comment, but he did smile. He then started, “Look man, I’ll be honest. You seem like a great guy, but with that attitude, you ain’t gonna get shit done in here.”

My head dropped to my chest at his brutal honesty. I muttered, “Ok, thanks,” and started to get up when he stopped me.

“Hold on there bro. I didn’t say you could leave just yet.” I instantly sat back down, obedient, but still heartbroken. “I said with that attitude. Attitudes can be easily changed. You just have to fix your mindset.”

I looked at him like he was from another planet. “I’ve never been anything but a geek. How am I going to change my mind when I’ve never known anything else.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You’ve already had yourself set up to fail. I can bet you would’ve been in the gym for a few months and you might’ve lost a pound or two, but you would’ve stopped after a while and would’ve been worse off than you are now.”

I nodded in agreement as he continued, “Look here man. There’s a little jock inside all of us. I don’t care who you are, there’s always a part of you that wants to be strong and active. It’s what we’re made to do. We can’t just sit on our asses all day, we have to move. All we gotta do is get him to come out.”

“How do I do that? I mean, there’s nothing I want more than to be a jock man.”

“I can only help a little with that. I can’t tell you how to be a jock, but I can make it a little easier for you to figure out what your jock is like.”

I was so confused at this point, but he saw my plight. “I’m talking about hypnosis.”

I reeled. Like any good muscle-worshipping gay man, I had read a lot of stories. A lot of fantasy stuff, and of course there was some hypnosis stories in the mix. Some were good, the type that had an unexpecting character become hypnotized into this sex-crazed muscle god or an obedient servant. Then there were the ones where some evil hypnotist turned the good guys into something they didn’t want to be or made them do stuff they never would’ve done like not being able to cum unless ordered or being unable to disobey their master’s commands.

He noticed my discomfort at the word ‘hypnosis’. He simply smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve heard about people being hypnotized into thinking they’re barnyard animals. I promise you, real hypnotism is nothing like that. If I hypnotize you, you will still be able to act normally even if you were in trance so you wouldn’t be trapped in a burning building or anything. Plus, real hypnotism can not make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

This calmed me down a bit. I thought to myself about the pros and cons and decided that at the very least it would be an interesting experiment. So, I agreed and he handed me a small card with his address on it.

That’s how I found myself standing at his door the next night. He greeted me in a sleeveless t-shirt that looked two sizes too small and a pair of shorts that hugged his quads so tightly, they would’ve burst off him if he flexed. And the package of meat that was stuffed in them was so huge and enticing, I’m sure I started drooling right there on the spot. He simply chuckled and invited me in. Once inside, I looked around. I was still nervous about the whole thing, but I found myself wanting to try. He noticed me being skittish as usual.

He sat me down on the couch and started explaining the process. “What I’m going to do is I’m going to put you under. You seem to be a good candidate for hypnosis, so I’m going to skip that part. Then, once I’ve got you under, I’m going to help you to become less inhibited and help you find that inner jock. This might take a few days, but do you want to remember the sessions or do you want to forget?”

“What’s the difference?” I asked

“Well, if you remember everything, then when you start finding the jock in you and those gains start coming, you won’t be all that surprised. But if you don’t know you’ve been hypnotized, all of it will seem new and mysterious to you. You might have more drive if you didn’t realize what was going on.”

“That sounds good. Can you do that?”

He smiled, “Sure I can. I’ve been doing hypnotherapy for 10 years now.”

So we began reshaping my mind before I could reshape my body. Over the next three days, I went to his apartment and put my mind in his hands. He made me a little less shy and a little more confident, but the majority of the time he worked with me was to help me release my jock nature. “I could hypnotize you into thinking you should act a certain way as a jock, but you might resist it and that would accomplish nothing. So what we’re going to do is I’m going to implant a subconscious desire for you to figure out what you want to be as a jock. I’m not sure how it’s going to manifest itself, but I’ll be watchin’ you and I’ll know when you start. I’ll even think you start getting some great gains when it happens.”

I couldn’t thank him enough for his help on the last night. I had a real good feeling about it all. I was sure his sessions were going to help me get my goals. Finally, he started the last of the triggers. We agreed that after this session, I would go home and forget about the hypnotism, the meeting at the gym and everything else that happened with him and me in those four days. I would take the workout he gave me, go to the gym in the morning and, when I felt the time was right, start working out around his workout time so he could monitor my progress. Nothing about my new habits would seem weird and, of course, there would be a few trigger words.

Finally, my head started to clear and everything at last made sense. I looked up at him with a smile and said, “Man, you don’t know how much better that is! I thought I was going crazy.”

He chuckled, “How do you think I felt? I saw you goin’ through those changes and I was about to blow with anticipation. But, finally, we’re at stage two.”

“Stage two? What’s that?”

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

We both got up and I followed him to his bedroom. The farthest wall in the room was lined with mirrored doors. I could see his beautiful pecs bounce as he strode across the room. He motioned for me to stand next to him, so I tore my gaze from his beauty and moved up.

I couldn’t help but stare at his reflection in the mirror. The man was so ruggedly handsome and built like a brick wall. He snapped his fingers and I was drawn out of my silent worship. “What do you see there?” he said as he pointed to the mirror.

“I see a huge muscle man in a red shirt that looks like it can’t hold his chest, some blue shorts that are way too small with a cock that could choke a horse and some fat guy.”

“Take another look at yourself. You’re not all that fat anymore. You are becoming a jock.”

I looked at myself in the mirror and laughed in disbelief. “You must need some glasses.”

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

I looked at him like a deer in headlights. I just recently got comfortable with being naked by myself, now he wanted me to strip in the same room with him, a muscle god? I couldn’t do it.

He noticed my hesitation and said in a cool voice, “A good jock always obeys his coach, right?”

I stiffened. I remember that trigger. Hell, I even agreed to it. I couldn’t disobey him. I started to get hard as I quickly took my clothes off.

“That’s a good jock. Feels good to obey, doesn’t it. Makes you all hard and hot when you obey coach, doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir, I feel great.” I really did. I wasn’t sure if it was the trigger or if it was the simple act of obeying him that made me feel that good, but it didn’t really matter.

“Ok boy, close your eyes.” I shut my eyes like he said and he continued, “Now, I want you to see yourself in your mind. I also want you to see your jock self. You know, the part of you that you’ve been experiencing these past few weeks. Tell me when you have them both.”

In my mind, I could see two figures materialize. One was what I saw every time I looked in the mirror. The other figure was alien to me. It was a huge body, towering over the image of me. As he sharpened into view, I could see muscles and bulges come into focus. It drew closer and closer to my figure and I could see every detail of the giant. He was the image I had of my perfect man.

He was wider than most doors and his shoulders thick and meaty, bastions of raw muscle power. His neck was bigger than most people’s arms. It was the definition of a wrestler’s neck. His guns looked like huge anacondas of unbridled strength. The torso that those arms were attached to screamed ‘power’. It was a huge barrel of muscle, covered in a layer of hair that made him look more like a mythic animal than a mere man. His stomach wasn’t ripped, but you could tell that it was so solid, you could hit it with a baseball bat and the bat would shatter in your hands. His legs looked like they could make ancient redwoods look small and between those two pillars of power was his manhood, his thick cock dangling huge beneath them, down to his knees. It was a sleeping beast that threatened to harden into a steel pipe and power through any obstacle that prevent its entry. The whole image was covered in a layer of hair that did nothing to obscure his masculine beauty, but instead enhanced the contours of all his muscle.

To top it off, he had the most rugged and handsome face I had ever seen. Then I saw the smirk. I knew that smirk, it was the same smirk that I had had for a few weeks. “I see them both,” I said.

“Good boy. Now, I want you to take the best things from both of them and combine them. Don’t be afraid, be honest.

In my mind, the smaller guy vanished. I knew that I wanted to be that huge man. But I wanted to keep some aspects I had already. I knew I liked being confident, but I didn’t wanna be too cocky. I wanted keep my generosity and my happy nature, but I also wanted to be more competitive and eager. I felt the swirl of attributes melding in my head. I wanted the jock attitude, smarts, kindness and aggression all to be balanced.

I barely heard his voice behind me, “I want you to say, ‘I am a jock.’ I want you to keep saying it and when you believe it completely, mind body and soul, you can open your eyes.”

I started quietly as the form in my head kept shifting and morphing. “I am a jock. I am a jock. I am a jock.” The more I said it, the clearer the image became. “I am a jock, I am a jock, I am a jock.” The body sharpened back into its perfect form and I kept repeating, a little louder, “I am a jock, I am a jock, I am a jock.”

Finally, the head started to sharpen and I became even louder and surer. “I’m a jock, I’m a jock, I’m a jock.” Then, the face came into focus and I saw my face had merged with the muscle beast’s face. It was me, but better. That body belonged to me now. That WAS me.”

“I AM A FUCKING JOCK!” I screamed and my eyes flew open. I was panting heavily as I saw myself, and what I saw was amazing….


Part 8

I would like to tell you that when I opened my eyes that the huge muscle beast I saw in my head was looking back at me, but I can’t. My physical body hadn’t changed one little bit. Not a single hair out of place or anything, just me standing there a little sweaty. To be honest, I was kinda hoping that I somehow would’ve magically changed to be that mammoth guy in my mind. It was a little disappointing, but slowly, something started to change. It started with a slight tingle in the back of my head that slowly cascaded through my mind like a warm summer’s rain.

Suddenly, a memory flashed to the front of my head. It was a memory from when I was in high school and I was getting taunted by one of the jocks. But before I could dwell on it, it started to drain away. It became blurry in my head until the point where it was just a jumble of images that made my head hurt when I tried to focus on it. Then, another painful memory popped up, only to fade to nothingness like the first one. Before I knew it, all the memories that held me back all these years were gone.

Then, I felt that familiar feeling of my rage. It started in the back of my head just like the warmth, but this was hotter and more primal. It felt like it was filling in those blocks in my head that were just erased. Now, instead of feeling a sense of pain, humiliation and loss, I simply felt a sensation of power and pride when I thought about the past. I could feel myself becoming less shy and more extroverted as I stood there. I could feel the rage had replaced all those negative feelings with self-confidence and security. I could then feel a level of control of the rage and a new, heightened sense of determination and focus. I wondered briefly to myself if that was how all jocks felt.

As I stood there, I slowly came into complete understanding. I was a jock. Mind, body and soul. The past no longer mattered. It didn’t even exist anymore. I couldn’t remember anything that happened that made me into that shy kid that was scared to even look at people in the eye. All I could remember was the good parts, all my successes, my joys and my victories. And there was a feeling as if the rage had been with me all my life. I closed my eyes and let all these new revelations sink in. Finally, I understood. Finally, I felt free.

“How do you feel now?” my big coach said with a smile.

“I feel like a fuckin’ jock,” I said as I opened my eyes to look at him.

“Do you now? And tell me, how does that feel?” he said.

“Feels like I could take on the world. Feels like I’m the fuckin’ man and shit. Feels like nothing could take me down right now,” I said, flexing a bit while looking at myself in the mirror.

“Sounds like you are doing good. You must really like how it feels.”

“Fuck yea, it’s amazing. I’ve never felt this way before. I feel so fuckin’ good and fuckin’ horny.” I said with a smirk.

“Oh really now, and what do you plan on doing about that?” he replied with the same humor in his voice that I had.

“Oh, I think you should get naked and we should wrestle around, see who can beat who for top and then play around for a few hours.”

“Don’t you think I’ll beat you way too easily? I mean, I am a lot bigger and stronger than you. Aren’t you scared to try and take me on?” he said with mock concern but his shorts revealed his growing interested.

“Doesn’t matter if I win or lose. The point is, I’m sure as hell going to give it everything I got,” I replied with confidence as I let the rage focus my attention.

He started ripping his clothes off as he said, “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

We wrestled and fucked for the rest of the night. It felt so good to be so free of all the hang-ups I had. No longer was I bound by titles like ‘jock’, ‘geek’, ‘fat’, or ‘ugly’. They were just words now. It didn’t matter what other people thought, it was how I felt about myself.

Granted, parts of me are still the same. I still was a cuddly, caring bear cub and as smart as a whip. Even now, I occasionally do Sudoku when I’m alone and want to relax. But the difference is, it’s not the only aspect of me anymore. I’m just a guy who likes lifting, hanging out with the guys, goes down to the homeless shelter and who can rebuild a computer. It is completely liberating to know that all the things I once believed were true were just false limitations I put on myself. My partner helped me to realize that.

Speaking of which, the big man and I got together permanently a few weeks after that wrestling match. He told me how when he first saw me, he said it was like cupid had shot him directly in the heart. He thought I was cute and he could tell I had some really good genetics for muscle growth. He wanted me bad, so he thought he would make the first move since I looked so shy. He wasn’t sure if I was into big guys like him. I’m glad he took the chance to get to know me because he helped me become what I am today and I’ve never been happier or looked better.

Oh, you probably want to know how I look now. Well, I haven’t got to the point I saw in my head that night, but I’m getting closer. Right now, I’m 6’ tall in my socks and 320 lbs before breakfast, all beefy muscle. My husband is the bodybuilder of the two of us. He is the one with the dedication and discipline to do those cutting diets. I like my pasta way too much to go on a cut. I prefer just to be big. I love the way my quads roll around each other when I walk. I love how my arms are always at an angle because my lats are so wide. I love how my chest and abs are so hard I can bounce a medicine ball off of them. I love how I can’t walk into any normal store and find clothes to cover my bulk. I love the stares I get when I walk around in a tank top and spandex shorts. And most of all, I love how it feels when we wrestle around on our padded floor, both of us completely naked, his smooth body against my hairy one as we fight for dominance for the night. Sometimes, I win. Sometimes, he’s the victor. But we both enjoy every minute of it.

My partner said soon after we moved in together that the mind is a powerful thing. I’m living proof of that. We stopped trying long ago to figure out how I grew so much. He thought it might’ve had something with my mind making my body release a bunch of hormones like it wanted to catch up for all the growth I missed in puberty. I knew it had something to do with the rage that was a part of me, but I could never explain it well enough to my husband. So, instead of stressing over it, we just take it in stride now.

Besides, it’s all too amazing to try and explain anyway. Just take a look at me when in the locker room. Now imagine me being 5’9”, gut as wide as I was tall and a peanut for a cock. I was too shy to even look up when I was undressing in the locker room, and heaven forbid if someone was around when I was trying to get ready for the shower. I would’ve just stood there and waited for them to leave before I stripped. Yeah, I can remember being that. But now, I’m huge, burly and hung like I fathered a few elephants. I don’t think twice about walking around in next to nothing or even getting bare ass naked in the locker room. I know, it’s hard to believe. Like I said before, if it didn’t happen to me, I wouldn’t have believed it either.

I know how it was, wishing, hoping some miracle would happen and somehow I became a huge, muscle bound wrecking machine that knew no fear. And, maybe, just maybe, you wish the same for yourself. To that, I have just a few pieces of advice.

One: Stop wishing. Just get out there and do it. If I could get the balls to join the gym, so can you. You might not be as lucky as I was, but you’ll never know unless you put yourself out there. Hell, you might end up better than me.

Two: Being a jock is just simply a state of mind.

And finally: If you ever find yourself in the gym and you just feel angry for no reason, just go with it. What harm could it do?