Meathead-Hawg-in-Training

Who Wants to Get Hurt

The two of them walked out of the AWO store together. Jack took a deep breath of fresh air and let out a sigh of contentment. Just standing there, anybody could tell that Jack was enjoying every moment of his newfound power, his newfound presence. Alan on the other hand stood there looking at somebody who has started to look like a monster and wondered if his friend, the guy who came to know as a good guy was still in there somewhere.

Jack caught Alan’s glance and said, “You’re quiet. What’s up bro?”

Bro. Fuck. He’s even starting to talk like a musclebound frat bro. “I’m trying to figure out if my best friend is still in there,” Alan said.

Jack smiled as he looked at Alan. “First, calm down bro,” he said as he flexed a little bit. “Look at who I am now. And stop worrying about finding the old me. The new me is 100 percent better.”

“Yeah,” Alan said unconvinced. “Sure. All right. Sorry to do this but I need to head home for the evening. If you need me for anything, message me okay?”

Alan turned away from Jack and headed home. As he got back to his own apartment, his phone buzzed and it was a message from AWO:

Stage One Assessment Complete

Recommended Archetype: The Spotlight

Primary Traits: Charm, display, confidence, desire, social control.

Your humor hides your hunger.

Ever since Alan left Jack, his mind had been going over everything that had happened in the AWO store. The whole thing made him sick to his stomach. Seeing what was happening to Jack and the feeling like he was nothing more than data point to Terry and Cindy, Alan tried to figure out what the hell he had been doing there to begin with.

The worst part of it was that Alan had fallen for the sales pitch. That was what made it even worse. He had gone in there wanting to prove to himself and Jack that it was all bullshit and smoke and mirrors and instead Jack came out physically stronger, more arrogant and more sure of himself than ever before. Because of that, he had allowed himself to actually sit down and get analyzed.

It was a slow moving train wreck but Jack was about to hit the wall. At least Alan had the ability to stop and get off the train before the disaster happened. The problem was that the last line of the message hit home for Alan. Thinking back on just the last few days, he could see where his humor hid things, where it was easier just to step into the shadows and not be noticed and just be what everybody else needed him to be.

Alan went to bed with those thoughts in his head. It was going to be a long night.

Jack meanwhile stood in front of his bathroom mirror and basked in the new physique that he had been gifted. He wasn’t a full blown genetic freak yet but he had to make sure that he was going to get new clothes from a bodybuilding store when he got the chance. Doing a double bicep pose, Jack grinned and landed up kissing his bicep and it made him feel so alive.

While he was getting ready for bed, Jack’s phone went off and just like Alan across town, there was a message from AWO:

Stage Three Integration Active

Archetype: Genetic Freak

Dominance must be expressed.

Visibility is no longer enough. Impact is required.

Do not soften. Do not retreat. Do not apologize.

Fuck, Jack thought to himself. With this newfound body and newfound attitude, there was no way he was going to back away and let others take control of his life or what he did. It was time for him to grab life by the balls and do exactly what he was meant to do. Instead of waiting for others to push him in the right direction, it was time for him to chart his own course and fuck anybody who got in his way.

Jack went to bed feeling more confident, more alive tham he had been in years. Fuck, maybe his entire adult life.

The next day, Jack walked into the office and everybody noticed the change. He saw out of the corner of his eye Annie looking at him with a slight frown on her face. Mabel on the other looked like she had a question and thought better of it and just turned back to work at her desk. Jack immediately felt the tension go up in the office by his mere presence. It felt so fucking good to be respected and looked at. They should be grateful that they could see him like this every day.

Alan walked into the office a few minutes later and immediately got stopped by Annie. “What the hell is going on with Jack?” she asked. “Do you know?”

“I’m as confused as you are,” Alan replied. “I’ve tried to talk to him to figure out what’s going on but all I get is static.”

“Was this something to do with that blowup you two had the other day?” Annie asked. “Because that sure didn’t sound like it was a simple conversation about sports.”

“There’s a lot of stuff going on in his personal life,” Alan replied. “Ex-wife and all that. He’s just trying to reinvent himself you know?”

“Great,” Annie replied. “So what… a mid life crisis? Just what I need.”

“Well, at least he hasn’t decided to move to Hawaii and start driving a sports car,” Alan said with a smile. “At least not on this salary.”

Annie chuckled at that. Alan noticed it immediately that yet again his humor had tamed a situation that could have spiraled into a crisis. “All right,” she said. “He’s your best friend. Keep an eye on him and please for the love of God talk him out of whatever he’s doing to himself. He looks like…”

“A professional wrestler?” Alan said as he looked at Jack’s back.

“Or a bodybuilder who is on too many steroids,” Annie replied as she walked back to her desk.

Oh, Alan thought to himself, you have no idea how close to the truth you are. He walked by Jack’s desk on to the way to his own and he heard Jack say under his breath, “That fucking bitch.”

That made Alan stop and he said, “What’s up?”

Jack looked at Alan with anger in his eyes before he dropped his cell phone on his desk with a thud. “Oh, just the battle axe ex-wife sending me yet another message about the divorce papers,” he said. “I’ll sign those damn papers when I feel like it.”

Alan noticed that a couple of people looked in their general direction and realized that Jack’s voice didn’t have an ‘inside’ voice any more. “All right,” Alan said. “Just don’t do anything you are going to regret all right?”

“I regret marrying that bitch,” Jack replied as he got back to work.

The rest of the morning luckily passed without incident. Alan was hard at work trying to get through the daily tasks while Jack had a hard time concentrating because of his ex-wife’s text message. Of course, from everything that had gone on the last few days, Jack was still trying to sort out what had actually happened to him.

Lunch time came and as Jack was walking to the break room, his phone went off. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath as his ex-wife’s number came up.

“Hello Linda,” he said sighing as he answered the call.

“Hello to you too,” his ex-wife replied. “Just wanted to talk to you to see if we can move things along.”

“Right,” Jack replied. “So… which guy did you jump in bed with this time? Adam? Jason? I forget.”

“I just want this chapter of our lives over,” Linda replied. “Why can’t you understand that?”

At that moment, Jack’s anger burst out. “Listen you cunt,” Jack said.

“Cunt?” Linda interrupted with. “Jack, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m… well… was your wife!”

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “You were my wife. And not a good one at that if I’m being honest with myself. Don’t know what I saw in you back then.”

“Jack… this isn’t you,” Linda said after a moment still shocked over what he called her. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but… it’s not good.”

“Of course it’s not good,” Jack said ignoring the fact that there were others around him that could hear the conversation. “You and everybody else just want me to do whatever I’m told like a good fucking dog. Don’t worry. I’ll sign the papers tonight so you can get on with your life and I can find somebody who actually is good in bed.”

“Fine,” Linda screamed on the phone. “Whatever the fuck you want. You know something? I wish I had never met you.”

“Same fucking goes for me you little whore,” Jack said as he hung up the phone and looked at everybody staring at him. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he said as he glared and walked away.

Finding a place by himself for a moment, Jack closed his eyes and then let out a laugh. My god, he thought to himself. It felt so good to finally stand up for himself and actually have true power. He had finally said what he wanted to say for the last six months and finally when he was able to say it and let go it felt so damn good.

Fifteen minutes later, Annie walked over to Alan’s desk and said, “We need to talk. Now.”

Alan looked at Annie and frowned. He knew exactly what this was about. Actually, who it was about. “What did Jack do?” he asked.

“You need to talk to him,” Annie replied. “Before I have to suspend him for a few days. What he did in the break room… can’t happen again.”

“Oh hell,” Alan said as he closed his eyes. “His ex-wife?”

“I’m not going to repeat what everybody in the break room heard but yeah,” Annie said. “He needs to calm down really fast. I’ve already got a few complaints from people. I don’t know what’s got into him but he needs to cool down really fast.”

“Got it,” Alan said as he stood up from his desk. “I’ll take care of it. Consider me the Jack Whisperer.”

As Alan walked over to Jack’s desk, his thoughts wandered for a moment. The amount of attention that Jack was getting was undeniable. The problem was that in the AWO store, if Alan went through with the entire process, he could just turn out to be a freak like Jack was turning out to be. But there was a part of him that envied Jack even if it seemed like he had taken the macho alpha thing way too far.

“What the hell did you say to your ex-wife?” Alan said as he looked at Jack when he got to his friend’s desk.

“I said the fucking truth for one,” Jack replied. “And it felt fucking good.”

“Truth for who?” Alan asked. “Because from what I’ve heard they want to suspend your ass for what you said.”

“Suspend? Me?” Jack said followed by a laugh. “I’d like to see them try some bullshit like that.”

“Dude,” Alan said. “Listen to yourself. Fuck man… you’re starting to scare me.”

Jack looked at Alan and smiled. “Everybody is starting to notice me and now you’re scared of me?” he asked.

“I don’t know what I am,” Alan replied. “I saw that screen in the store. I saw what they think I am. I see what you’ve become and… well… it scares me. I keep thinking about it.”

“Good,” Jack replied. “That means it saw something real. This me was inside all of the time bro. It just took somebody else to take it out and show it to the world. Just think about what it is going to do for you. Let it fucking happen will you? Stop lying to yourself.”

Alan went back to his desk and sighed when he saw a message pop up on his phone. It was like a disease that kept on returning. Another message from his ‘saviors’ at AWO:

Stage 2: Beginnings Available

Archetype: The Spotlight

Stop fitting in. Start being followed.

Wear black. Be ready to be seen.

This whole situation was fucking insane. Seeing Jack change so much in such a short period of time terrified him. But at the same time, Alan knew that all he had to do was walk away from the entire thing, delete the message and not go back to that damn store. Thinking about Jack however, Alan knew that if he was to help his best friend, he needed to know what the hell actually happened in that store behind the curtains.

The rest of the afternoon flew by without any incident. When it was time to leave, Alan saw Jack walk over with an AWO bag in his hand.

“Here,” Jack said as he put the bag down on Alan’s desk. “I bought this for you to get you into the right frame of mind.”

Alan looked in the bag and sighed. “Of course you did,” he said as he picked up the AWO shirt out of the bag. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome bro,” Jack said. “You’ve got an appointment to start Stage 2 right?”

“Yeah,” Alan replied somewhat reluctantly. “Yeah I do.”

“I knew you would keep with it,” Jack replied grinning. “Bro, you’re going to fucking love it. I know I do.”

“Yeah yeah,” Alan replied. “I certainly see you loving it. All right. If we’re going to do this, let’s do this before my better senses get a hold of me and I run away from this nightmare.”

The two of them headed to the AWO store, Alan now dressed in the AWO shirt that Jack had bought him and Jack wearing his own AWO shirt that seemed even tighter than it had been a few short days ago.

When they walked in, Jack looked at Alan and saw the worry and concern on his face. “Relax bro,” he said. “Stage 2 is where things start making sense.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alan said as he saw Terry walk over to the two of them.

“Looking good brother,” Terry said as he fist bumped Jack. “Really looking the part now. Amazing transformation huh?”

“You have no fucking idea how good it feels,” Jack replied with a grin on his face.

Terry looked at Alan and said, “And look who came back. The doubting Alan.”

“Hello to you too,” Alan said with a smile. “And I thought I was the only one who made jokes around here.”

“Trust me,” Terry said. “The only thing you will need to joke about soon is how many people flock to your side. Come on. Cindy’s ready for you.”

“Lead on,” Alan said with a sigh.

The three of them found themselves back in the same room where Jack had gone through Stage 3 but now instead of Jack on the platform, Alan found himself on the platform. Cindy was working at a console and was totally clinical about everything that was going on. Jack was standing next to Terry and they both had smiles on their faces like somebody was about to join the brotherhood of bros.

Cindy was finally ready and the screen in front of Alan populated the Spotlight archetype and all of the information that had been gone over during the Stage 1 evaluation. Standing there on the platform, Alan felt like he was about to step off a cliff and that there was no going back. But at the same time, he looked at Jack and realized for his best friend’s sake, he needed to do this in order to help him.

“First,” Cindy said as she looked at Alan. “Let’s start with posture and your smile. All right. Give us your best movie star pose.”

“My what?” Alan said with a chuckle.

“Movie star,” Cindy replied. “Every time a movie star walks into a room, they have a smile on their face and everybody looks at them. Let’s start with that.”

“All right,” Alan said. “But I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“That’ll change in time,” Terry replied from where he was standing next to Jack.

For the next thirty minutes, Alan went through a number of exercises that were built around social control. From learning when to actually make jokes to how he should smile and present himself in a crowded room, it was a massive bit of social engineering. The more Alan practiced, the less he felt like a fool. He could see subtle changes in his posture and how he handled himself as each exercise was completed.

“Now,” Cindy said. “Repeat after me. I don’t disappear into a room any more. The room adjusts to me.”

Alan looked at Cindy and shrugged. “I don’t disappear into a room any more. The room adjusts to me,” he said.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

Every time Alan repeated what Cindy had told him to say, it felt more comfortable. A part of Alan thought that it was a subtle version of social engineering and brainwashing but another part of him actually enjoyed what he was saying.

Finally, Cindy smiled and said, “I think that’s enough for today. Let’s take a look at you shall we?”

Alan looked at the screen as it changed to show him as he was now. His hair was styled better, tighter and more clean. Unlike Jack’s muscles which had turned freakishly big, Alan’s muscles were a bit more toned. His shoulders were back, his grin more practiced. He was wearing sunglasses and an AWO wristband.

“There,” Terry said. “Hold that smile bro.”

“It feels so fucking fake,” Alan replied.

“So did every version of yourself that you made for everybody else,” Terry pointed out.

Standing there watching the entire situation play out, Jack looked at his friend Alan and saw the subtle changes that were occurring. He felt proud looking at his best friend, starting to keep eye contact, posing as though he was somebody and starting to enjoy being the center of attention.

“There’s the man I knew was hiding inside,” Jack said to Alan.

Five minutes later, Alan, Jack and Terry stood in the Gallery. Terry grabbed a sleeveless AWO vest and gave it to Alan to try on.

“Now,” Terry said. “Walk through the store as though everybody came to see you.”

“You have got to be fucking joking,” Alan said. “I’m not… well… fake.”

“No, you aren’t,” Terry replied. “This is who you are now. Do it for you.”

With a hint of swagger, a smile on his face and a confidence that Alan honestly never had felt before, he walked around the store as though he owned the place. When a young woman shopping with her boyfriend looked at him and smiled, he returned the smile and a part of him thought that she deserved better than her current boyfriend.

As Alan took his new look and personality for a spin, Terry looked at Jack and said, “You really are becoming a genetic freak aren’t you?”

“Fuck yeah brother,” Jack replied. “Feels good too.”

“Good,” Terry said. “Cindy told me that Stage 4 was getting closer for you. Seems like you might be ahead of schedule.”

Terry looked at Alan as he continued to walk around the store and said, “Your friend is getting the hang of it isn’t he?”

“He just needed to be pushed in the right direction,” Jack replied with a smile.

Finally, Jack and Alan left the store together. Alan now had a bag of AWO gear including a couple of shirts, a sleeveless vest and tights that had the AWO logo spray painted on them.

Outside, Jack looked at Alan and said, “See? Told you they could find you.”

Instead of answering, Alan looked at his reflection in the store’s window. He smiled at what he saw and fixed his collar.

They walked away together, not yet finished, not yet lost. But close enough that the city reflected two men where only one had entered before.

The next morning, Alan woke up with a headache. He laid in bed with his eyes closed thinking about what the hell happened the previous night in the AWO store. He couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that Jack fell for that shit that was being sold hook line and sinker. And that Terry guy who thinks he’s the second coming of what… Hulk Hogan? Fuck him and his manipulative attitude. Alan had dealt with narcissists who only cared about themselves and commissions and Terry was the fucking poster child for that shit.

Alan got up and walked over to his bedroom dresser and frowned. Fuck. There was that stupid card again. Alan knew he had thrown it out as soon as he got home last night but there it was. Picking it up, he looked at the words again:

THE SPOTLIGHT

You already know how to be watched.

Now learn how to be wanted.

Alan sighed and hated this entire situation. That fucking Terry seemed so sure of himself and how to manipulate anybody that came into that damn store what they were missing in their lives and how to get it through a few easy steps that probably cost a lot of fucking cash and a lot of self respect. But the problem was that the line was effective. Because Alan felt like nobody really knew him or wanted him for himself.

Putting the card out of his mind, Alan headed to the office hoping that he wouldn’t run into Jack that morning. He needed a little time to think things through. Whatever was going on with Jack made Alan really uncomfortable and seeing him so soon after their last argument might not be such a good idea.

As soon as he walked into the office, Annie was standing there with her patented smile on her face. “Morning Alan,” she said. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Morning Annie,” he said putting his relaxed office smile on hoping that she wouldn’t see through it. “Sure. What’s up?”

Annie looked at him for a moment. “Mind telling me what happened with you and Jack yesterday?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you both worked up like that.”

Alan shook his head. “He and I were discussing some sports stuff,” Alan replied. “I never seemed he so worked up over a loss myself.”

That was a lie and both of them knew it. But Alan didn’t want to tell Annie what really happened during that discussion or what happened last night.

“Sports?” Annie said. “Really? Okay… well… try not to scream again about last night’s scores okay? People might start to think.”

“No worries,” Alan said as he walked away. “Won’t happen again Annie.”

As he sat down at this desk, Alan thought back to the conversation he had last night with Terry. Fuck… the manipulative douchebag bro had a point.

Jack meanwhile came into work that morning and immediately went to his desk. A couple of people looked at him and the glance that he gave them told them that he was not in a mood to deal with anybody’s shit. The whole conversation with Alan the day before and then the fact that he landed up going to the store because he was concerned about what was happening to Jack was touching but misplaced. Jack knew what he was doing and he wanted Alan to stay out of it.

A few minutes later, Jack received a message on his phone from the AWO store:

Stage Three: Transformation Confirmed

Archetype: The Genetic Freak

Observer Recommended

Visibility strengthens commitment

Bring somebody who needs to see what you are becoming.

Jack looked at the message again and immediately thought about Alan. Alan had gone to the store, confronted people there probably, rejected what he was seeing and walked out in a storm probably. He would deny the AWO could help with anything and thinking for a moment, Jack knew that he wanted Alan to come along.

An hour or so later, Jack walked into the breakroom and saw Alan there holding a cup of coffee in his hands looking out the window at the parking lot.

“Hey,” Jack said as he walked over to where Alan was standing.

“Hey,” Alan said looking at Jack with a very timid smile.

“So… you went to the store,” Jack began with.

“Yeah,” Alan replied after a moment. “That place… holy fuck dude. It’s insane. It was like walking into some cult. I was expecting somebody to induct me through some blood ritual and a complementary tin foil hat.”

“So if you think its a cult,” Jack said. “Do you still have the card?”

“Yeah,” Alan said with a chuckle. “I still do. I want proof that I’m not batshit crazy if something happens.”

“So,” Jack responded. “If you think’s its a cult and its all fake, then come and prove it.”

Alan looked at Jack and frowned. “What do you mean? Prove it?” he asked.

“Prove it to yourself,” Jack said. “I am going back for Stage 3 after work. Join me, watch and prove it to yourself that its BS.”

“Fine,” Alan said after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m not joining, not signing up for any shit and sure as hell not putting a shirt on. I’m there to watch and make sure you still have a brain after you’re done with them all right?”

“That’s fine. Nobody is asking you to join the cult,” Jack said with a smile. “You are just there to watch right? Concerned about your friend.”

The two of them went their separate ways with Alan trying to concentrate on his work and Jack knowing that Alan was going to try to do anything that was possible in order to ‘protect’ him without thinking about the fact that Jack didn’t need protection. He had chosen this and he was proud of the choice that he made. Why couldn’t Alan figure that out.

Right before quitting time, Jack walked into the bathroom and took off his work shirt and put the AWO shirt on. Today, it felt even tighter than it had been the last couple of days. Jack flexed his right bicep and smiled when he saw more definition in it. Whatever was going on made him feel like he was becoming a new man. A better man.

He walked out of the bathroom and Alan was standing there waiting for him. “Ah,” Alan said as he motioned to Jack wearing the shirt. “The believer arrives. All right. Let’s get this over with.”

The two of them walked out of the office without saying a word to each other. Jack wasn’t in the mood to talk and Alan kept on looking over to him as though he was going to leap on Alan for some reason. Finally, when they reached the store, Alan opened the door and smiled. “After you initiate,” he said.

Jack walked in and immediately his posture changed. He walked over to the counter with more confidence and more power in the step. Alan noticed it immediately too and it was off putting to say the least. The store to him still felt like it was some sort of scheme and nothing so far had changed his mind.

“Hey,” the woman behind the counter said. “Good to see you again Jack. Here for Stage 3?”

“Yep,” Jack said with a smile as his voice seemed to change slightly to be more forceful, more arrogant. “Terry and Cindy around?”

“Cindy’s finishing up with somebody’s Stage 1,” the woman said. “Terry is around here somewhere… oh… there he is.”

Jack turned and saw Terry walk towards him and shook his hand. “Bro,” Terry said. “Good to see you back. Ready for Stage 3?”

“Ready and willing,” Jack replied as he noticed Terry look at Alan. “He promised not to destroy the place. He’s here to observe that’s all.”

Terry nodded and smiled. “Brother,” he replied. “That’s how it starts.”

As Alan looked around the store trying to ignore the bromance that was developing between Terry and Jack, he realized that Jack was in fact different. There was less nervous energy, more intensity in how he talked and handled himself. The problem was that the changes that he saw were in fact real and not some illusion through some self-help nonsense where it was 8 Easy steps to get all the women.

Terry walked over to Alan and smiled. “Surprised to see you back,” Terry said. “Just wanted to lay down some ground rules.”

“Lay it on me Hulk… I mean Terry,” Alan replied.

“You are allowed to watch. Second, you can talk to Jack and ask any questions you might have after each sequence is completed. When a sequence starts, you can’t interrupt the process,” Terry said. “Finally, you can leave at any time. Jack has chosen this and stays.”

“Fine,” Alan said as he turned and saw Jack talking to a woman who had just come out of one of the back rooms. Terry smiled and nodded. “All right,” he said. “That’s Cindy. Let’s get this show on the road shall we bro?”

As Terry walked to where Jack and Cindy were standing, Alan muttered under his breath, “I’m not your fucking bro… bro.”

The four of them walked into a room that Jack, Terry and Cindy had been in before. Cindy motioned to Jack to step up on the platform to get a baseline comparison while Terry motioned Alan to stand in one of the corners seemingly out of the way.

The screens on the wall lit up and Alan watched as everything about Jack had turned into nothing more than data. Cindy and Terry were smiling as the information scrolled by but Alan found it so dehumanizing like Jack was nothing more than a slab of meat or an experiment.

Posture improved.

Grip strength increased within standard parameters.

Body Composition changed.

Vocal confidence confirmed.

Aggressive response heightened.

Genetic Freak baseline data confirmed.

The next twenty minutes was filled with things that Alan knew were wrong but somehow Jack was in fact enjoying it. First there was the resistance training where Jack would lift a greater and greater weight. As that happened, Alan noticed that his veins started to show more and more. It was like Jack was disappearing and somebody else was taking his place.

Followed the workout that Alan could only describe as brutal, Jack moved on with the help of Terry to flex and pose in the mirror. At first, Jack looked as though he was embarrassed by making the poses but the muscles and the changes that were occurring made him grin instead. The more aggressive Jack became with the posing, the more sweat that appeared on his body, the more Jack seemed to enjoy himself.

Once the workout was completed and the pose fest was done, the screen changed once more and different words appeared:

Mass. Mouth. Dominance. Presence. Loyalty.

Cindy looked at Jack said, “Repeat what we told you previously.”

“This is not a costume,” Jack replied. “This is the new me.”

“Good,” Cindy said and looked at Terry for a moment. “Remember to stop asking permission, stop softening when around others. Take what you want, say what you mean and say what you deserve.”

This went on for another ten to fifteen minutes with Jack repeating what flashed on the screens and Alan continued to look on horrified. It was shocking what was happening, the brainwashing, the overwriting of who Jack was to whatever he was becoming. The word ‘freak’ didn’t do what was happening justice. It was more like Jack was becoming a genetic monster.

Finally, when there was a pause Alan took a step forward towards Jack. “Dude,” Alan said almost pleading with him. “Look at what’s happening to you. Listen to what you are saying.”

Jack turned and looked at his friend and Alan saw something flash across his face. It wasn’t realization of what was happening, it was more like annoyance that Alan dared interrupt him. 

“I am,” Jack replied. “And this is who I am.”

Alan looked at Cindy as though she was going to stop this but Alan sighed and walked back to stand in the corner and continued to watch what was transpiring. After a minute, Terry walked over to stand next to Alan.

“What bothers you more? That he’s changing? Or that our process isn’t fake?” he asked conversationally.

“He’s not changing,” Alan challenged. “I don’t know what’s happening… but…”

“What?” Terry said. “Look at him. He’s stronger. He’s taking up more of the room. He’s no longer cowering in the corner making sure that nobody hurts him. He doesn’t look tired…”

After a minute, Terry said, “Look at me Alan. What would happen if you stopped changing for everybody else and changed for yourself instead?”

Instead of answering, Alan sighed and tried to find a place to look without paying attention what was happening ot his friend. He found a spot and sighed when the screen nearby lit up with another archetype:

The Spotlight

Charm Sharpened Into Ego

Humor refined into control

Stop fitting in. Start being followed.

Alan looks back at Terry and Cindy to see if they pulled something to show that but they were both looking at Jack who was continuing to go through whatever he was going through. When Alan looked back at the screen, he saw the preview image of what he could be as The Spotlight: sharper hair, a sleeveless AWO vest, a cocky grin, eyes that expected to be the center of attention.

The sight of what Alan was seeing was disgusting in its vanity. But at the same time, deep in the back of Alan’s mind, something craved that attention.

Alan looked back at Jack and frowned. His friends’ arms were fuller, his shoulders wider. Somehow his skin seemed more tan too. The posture that once was a little bit on the timid side was extremely aggressive and strong like Jack was ready to take on the world and he meant it.  And the only guys who could wear a shirt that fit as tight as the AWO shirt Jack was wearing was somebody who went to the gym every day twice a day.

Cindy asked Jack a question, “Who made this possible?”

“AWO,” Jack replied with a grin.

“And what are you becoming?”

“The Genetic Freak,” replied Jack.

“And what was the old Jack? Who is he?” Cindy asked.

Jack hesitated for a moment and then said, “A limitation that needs to be discarded.”

“Good,” Cindy said as she looked at Terry. “He’s all yours.”

Terry walked over to Jack and gave him a hug and motioned him back out onto the sales floor. Alan stood there for a moment in absolute shock and then followed when Terry looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

Going back to the Gallery, Terry motioned to the full length mirror and said, “Look at what you are becoming brother.”

Jack walked over to where the mirror was and flexed. Instead of a joke, instead of a weak man trying to fit in, here was a man who was sure of himself. The smile that crossed Jack’s face was assured, powerful and proud.

“There he is,” Terry said as he grinned. “Looking good bro.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jack replied while Alan looked at the two of them and couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

After a minute, Alan walked over to Jack and said, “This isn’t you. You know that right?”

Jack looked at his friend and smiled. “That’s kind of the point isn’t it?” he said.

“The point? You’re turning into some sort of jackass roided freak. They’re taking away what makes you you and is replacing him with… well… a fucking meme,” Alan countered with.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Jack asked. “Come on bro. You’ve seen what they’ve done for me. Aren’t you just a bit curious about what they could do for you? Think about the fucking possibilities man.”

“No,” Alan said as he turned away trying to look for anything, anything at all that could give him something to look at that wasn’t toxic and angry and so… alpha. “Those possibilities suck.”

“Then,” Jack said after he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why the hell are you still here? You could have walked out at any time.”

At that moment, Terry walked back to the two of them and said, “Am I interrupting something? I can head away if you two need to talk some more.”

“No,” Jack said. “I think we’re good. I’m going to grab a few more shirts and shorts. This shirt is a bit too tight even for somebody like me.”

After Jack walked away, Terry didn’t say anything to Alan for a moment and then he said, “So?”

“So what?” Alan asked.

“So… you saw what we did for Jack. Impressive isn’t it?” Terry asked.

“Impressive?” Alan said as he sighed. “Yeah… I guess so. I’ve got… fuck… can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Terry said. “What’s on your mind?”

“These… Stages… I know this is Stage 3. But what happens… what if somebody signs up for Stage 1? What happens then?” Alan asked honestly.

Terry looked at Alan and grinned. “Bro,” he said. “Stage One is how we evaluate you. We figure out the person you can be. Some say it's mentally challenging because we dig down into your psyche a bit to find out how you really tick.”

“Really?” Alan asked as he looked at Jack. He couldn’t deny the transformation that his friend had undergone. “And what… happens… I guess if somebody gets cold feet? And says no?”

“Nothing,” Terry replies. “Each Stage is up to you. We’re not going to hold a gun to your head or hold it in a headlock until you go complete the process. No money up front… just honesty and openness.”

“Hey Jack,” Alan called and waited for his musclebound friend to come over.

To Terry, Alan sighed and said, “One assessment. Right now..”

Jack and Terry both grinned at the statement that Alan just said. Terry was seeing a new recruit and Jack was seeing confirmation that changing himself for the better made Alan want to change for the better. Alan had finally stopped joking and started to take things seriously. Good. He deserved to be a winner like Jack was.

A few minutes later, Alan sat in the same room that Jack had found himself in during Stage 1.

The screen in front of him says:

Selected Candidate: Alan.

Recommended Archetype: The Spotlight

“I haven’t chosen anything yet,” Alan said as he looked at Terry.

The screen added a line quickly:

Candidate response noted: Resistance through humor.

Terry smiled and looked at Alan, “Let’s find out what you were always afraid to accept brother.”

Alan looked at Jack for help.

Jack only smiled as he crossed his massive arms.

For the first time, Alan realized that Jack hadn’t brought him here so that Alan could save him.

He had brought Alan to be chosen.

The masterful @c0rruptedz brings all the ideas to the table.

The apartment was tidy, the windows were welcoming in a gentle breeze, and the space smelled of lavender, just the way I liked it. I had always been a clean-cut kind of guy–it was one of the first things that my boyfriend and I had bonded over. “Cluttered space, cluttered mind” is what they always said, and boy was it true. Having the floor swept and the bed made kept me in check.

From my phone, I heard a soft ping.

“Babe,” I called out. “Maycee’s on her way!”

“Maycee who?”

“Maycee from Psych. We have our final coming up on Friday so we're gonna do some prep work together.”

Hayden strolled out of our shared bedroom. He was twunkish; as a swimmer his build had always been sculpted and shaven. Hayden was a perfect counter to my slimmer frame, which I topped off with a meticulously-styled head of luscious chestnut hair. The amount of money and time I spent on looking sharp was embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry, when did you tell me this?” Hayden knew that he was in the wrong. I was always on top of everything. 

“Hmmm…last week?” I coyly replied. “Don’t worry, Maycee and I won’t get too rambunctious.”

Hayden had been studying for his own finals, although he liked to do so in silence. “Do I know at least know this Maycee?”

“Um, maybe?” I thought for a moment. “Medium height, long brown hair, kinda loud but still nice. We have had a few classes together.”

“Wait, Maycee Evans?” Hayden’s face flopped into a frown. “Dec, I can’t stand her!”

“Really?”

“She’s siblings with Trent, one of the guys on the team,” Hayden explained. “She shows up at like every party and gets super messy. I don’t care if you want to have fun but then she always comes over to me and bitches and moans about her life. And you know why, because she LOVES gay guys. I’m talking obsessed.”

“Have you asked her to stop?” I asked.

“Yeah, and it went horribly,” Hayden sighed. “I explained that it was getting to be a bit much and she blew up on me. Full psycho. Heck, there’s probably a diagnosis for her in your textbook.”

I frowned. “I had no idea, I’m sorry. She’s already on her way though.”

Glumly, Hayden surrendered. “No, don’t worry about it. You had no idea. I’m just going to hide in the bedroom until she’s gone.”

“Ok.” A text popped up on my screen, announcing Maycee’s arrival. “I’m really sorry again.”

“You're fine,” Hayden replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

“I’ll bring you snacks every hour!” I shouted. Hearing Hayden chuckle behind the closed door brought a smile to my face.

— 

“Holy smokes! I had no idea your apartment was so gorgeous, Declan.”

“I had no idea anyone still said ‘Holy smokes’,” I replied, closing the door behind us.

“Seriously, I’m so jealous. This place is so nice.” Maycee strolled around the main living space, taking in every piece of furniture. The white couch Hayden and I had spent hours cleaning after purchasing it online. The perfectly aligned gallery wall filled with pictures of our friends. Even the coffee table books had a particular order to which they were laid out.

“Well, should we get to this then?” I eventually said. “I don’t know about you but I’m definitely feeling worried about this final.”

“Whatever,” Maycee scoffed, approaching the dining table. “You’re one of the smartest guys I know. And the cutest.”

Maycee ended her remark with a wink. I smiled awkwardly before taking my seat, Hayden’s prior statement flashing through my head.

“So, tell me,” Maycee started as she flipped open a textbook. “Are you currently seeing anyone?”

I shook my head. “I had no idea your procrastination tactics were so impressive.”

“Hey! I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“And I thought we were here to study.”

Maycee laughed, “Can't we do both?”

“I’ll tell you what, we can earn it,” I countered. “Let’s at least do a little work before we digress. Is that fair?”

Maycee pouted before softening into a smile. “Ok…”

We studied together for an hour, absorbing as much information as we could. Sometimes we asked each other a question or two, other times we read in silence. Every now and then, I could feel Maycee’s eyes on me. If I had had any hair on my body, it would have sprung up in these instances. But I ignored her glances and continued my work. Eventually, Maycee announced that she had to go to the bathroom.

“BRB!” 

The bathroom door locked behind her and within the same revolution the bedroom opened up. Hayden stepped out and made his way into the kitchen. 

“Just gonna grab a few things,” Hayden said in passing.

“You know, you could just come out whenever you wanted,” I teased. “This is our apartment after all.”

“Yours,” Hayden corrected, as I did in fact willingly pay a larger portion of the rent. “And no, I don’t want to interact with her.”

In less than a minute, Hayden had snatched his snacks and refilled his water bottle. He almost made it back to the bedroom unnoticed.

“You HAVE to tell me where you got this soap!” Maycee swung open the door, revealing Hayden mid-scurry. “It’s so-”

The pair locked eyes. The tension in the room grew thick.

Hayden was the one who spoke first. “Maycee…It’s uh, good to see you.”

Maycee raised an eyebrow. “Why, because I’m sober?”

“Wow, that was fast,” I said. “Look uh, Maycee, why don’t we just get back to studying.”

“Hold up, are you two…” 

Hayden and I watched as the puzzle was pieced together in her mind. Not that it was a big puzzle, but enough to momentarily silence her.

“Oh, this is just too good,” Maycee finally said. There was a darker undertone to her voice.

“Maycee, I-”

“Shut up, Hayden.”

With a flick of the wrist in his direction, Hayden’s lips snapped shut. Immediately, I knew something was off.

“Maycee, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly, Declan,” Maycee grinned. “But I think I’ll close you up for now too.”

She wove a hand towards me and my mouth instantly closed. I tried to say something in response, make any noise, but I was silenced. Hayden and I made eye contact, both stunned by this shared development.

“I’ve been meaning to get back at you for the things you said, Hayden.” Maycee’s voice had grown icy. “Because of you, I’m no longer invited to any campus parties. Trent said it ‘wasn’t healthy for me’.”

Maycee had Hayden drop what he was holding and move into the living room. It was at this point I realized I could not move.

“I honestly don’t know what Declan sees in you,” Maycee continued. “He’s one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met. Is that why you like him?”

Maycee allowed Hayden’s mouth to open so that he could reply. “Yes! I-”

“Stop.” 

Hayden’s mouth slammed shut once more. I shifted my gaze between Hayden and Maycee, unaware of what was to happen next.

“Tell me, Hayden,” Maycee’s grin returned, crueler than before. “What else do you like about Declan?”

Hayden’s face was freed, but before he could speak, Maycee specified her question.

“Let’s start physically.”

“He’s my type!”

The words came out rushed, as if the truth was being ripped from Hayden’s brain.

“And what’s your type?”

“Skinny, on the shorter side-”

Maycee cut him off and then turned her head to face me. The three of us sat in silence again for a moment–two of us forced to–as we waited for something to happen. Suddenly, I felt a strange ache blossoming through my system. Although I could not contort my frozen face much, I was able to close my eyes. When I reopened them, I was surprised to find that the room had shifted. Before, I had been just below eye-level with Maycee and had had to tilt my head to meet Hayden.

Speaking of Hayden, his eyes had dramatically widened, but I had no idea why. To be fair though, I was probably just seeing things. Being well above six feet did that to a guy, everything seemed a bit out of proportion when compared to what the average human being saw. And I was anything but average. I was not one to brag but one should recognize the hard work they had put into their body. Spending night after night in the gym for over half a decade could really create results.

Satisfied by something–I was not sure what–Maycee asked her question again. “What else?”

This time, I noticed Hayden trying to keep his mouth shut. He failed: “Twinkish-!”

I had been that way for the longest time. While all the other boys had hit puberty, I missed the cutoff. For some reason, the bus decided to pass my stop.

Until it arrived a couple of years later of course. And it made up for lost time! The other boys used to joke that I was some kind of bear thanks to the pelt of hair I had. Furry legs, furry arms, a full rug up my chest and down some of my back. I had to shave my body every day for Hayden, even if it annoyed me. But by nightfall I would already have a stubble. The hair was just too dense-

“-and odorless!”

And it brought a funk with it too! No matter how much deodorant I put on, how much body wash I lathered in, how long we kept the diffusers running, there was always a bit of my natural musk hanging around. It was on the heavier side, more footy than sweaty. Hayden and I sometimes argued over it, I tried to explain that I could not block out that locker room cloud no matter how hard I tried. But I still did, for him.

“Let’s go over some mental qualities next,” Maycee said. “What makes Declan’s personality so attractive to you, Hayden?”

“He’s clean and coordinated-”

“Is he?” Mayce taunted. Had I been able to, I would have defended myself. Was the apartment not enough evidence? Did my general attitude not prove itself? If she wanted, I could have walked over to the bedroom and grabbed the stacks of planners that I kept handy.

Well, had kept handy. I had thrown them all out because they proved to be useless. I just went with the flow, wherever the wind took me. Why would I need to be so anal about everything? Money, politics, even my hair, which was just one simple scoop of product to swoop the dull brown up into something manageable for the day.

The apartment set the scene too: dishes piled up in the sink, dirty laundry scattered across the floor. I was sure Maycee had spotted the yellow stains around the toilet bowl, and the floor. Who cared about all this crap? It was just too difficult to freak out about it all when there were more fun things in life, like drinking and working out and having sex. Hayden did not agree with me, except for that last part sometimes.

“What else?”

“-he’s thoughtful!”

Hayden’s eyes were tearing up. No matter how rocky the current situation and our relationship at large were, I still felt for him. I was worried about him. I wanted to know why he was in pain, why he was so worried. I wanted to know-

…I wanted to know why he was being such a bitch. I wanted to know how much longer this stupid magical interrogation was going to take. I was getting sick of Maycee and even more sick of my pathetic situationship. Yeah, we were both gay and yeah, we sometimes fucked, but it was not like serious or anything. A hole should not have feelings attached, you know? I have more important things to care about: my wants and needs.

As if having witnessed some horrible event, silent streams began to flow down Hayden’s frozen face. God he was such a fucking loser.

“Hayden, don’t cry,” Maycee frowned. “It makes you look so messy.”

Hayden’s eyes grew red.

“Our boy Declan here is almost finished, but I think there’s just one more thing we’re missing.”

Hayden's tears stopped, the floodgates closed.

“This is kind of a leading question but, Hayden, in regards to sexuality, would you say that Declan is your type?”

“-yEs!” Hayden choked out.

“And why’s that?”

Hayden’s red face grew purple. Whatever he was about to say, he did not want it to escape. 

“--because…he’s...gAY!”

Hayden gasped for breath, finally freed from Maycee’s power. I however remained frozen, forced to continue watching the scene before me. Hayden’s muscular frame was covered in sweat, his body begging for someone’s aid. Someone to tell him everything was alright. Someone to tell him he was loved.

Obviously though, that was not going to be me. It was not my fault the faggot was, well, whatever the way he was. Plus, why was I supposed to give a fuck about him when I instead could stare at the juicy breasts pushing out the front of Maycee's shirt. How had I never noticed the size of those knockers before? Despite being frozen, my thick schlong began throbbing against the seams of my smelly gym shorts.

“I hope you’ve learned something from this, Hayden,” Maycee said. Suddenly, I felt a certain looseness to my body. I had finally been freed of whatever had been holding me in place. The first thing I did was let out a juicy fart, adding to the wet, masculine blanket of stench that suffocated the room. Then, after giving my hungry pouch a hard squeeze, I shifted over to Maycee, placing an invisible line between us and the homo.

“Baby, you done yet?” I asked impatiently, slapping one of my mitts onto her soft ass and giving it a squeeze. “I wanna dump a load, pronto.”

Maycee smiled, “I think we are, Derek.” She said my name like there was some kind of double meaning behind it. “Hayden was just about to leave. After all, it's probably too messy here for him.”

I blinked, bored and too horny to play into whatever she was getting at. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

Not bothering to wait for the stranger’s departure, I picked my girl up and brought her to the bedroom. The walls were covered in miscellaneous trophies and jerseys, like the one I was wearing. Within moments, I had her on the bed with my fat cock driving deep into her, ready to unload. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the faggot watching us from the doorframe, but I did not mind giving him a free show. Not like he was ever going to get a piece of this anyway.

Cannot thank @c0rruptedz enough for this amazing prompt!

“You must be the new neighbor.” The fatherly male filled the open doorway. “Brent, I live across the street.”

“Nice to meet you,” Soren replied, wincing a bit from the overly firm handshake. “Soren, and yeah, I just moved in a couple of days ago.”

“Has it all been going smoothly?”

Brent peered past Soren’s shoulder to the mismatched pile of boxes. It was Tuesday now, and Soren had yet to open a package that was not necessary.

“More or less," Soren replied.

Brent looked like the kind of guy who boasted about the local high school football team. He practically smelled of backyard grilling. And the more he spoke, the more a loose “champ” or “sport” threatened to escape at the end of each sentence. The decade or more between them would justify the slip-up.

“Just so you know, you’re in good hands,” Brent affirmed. “The last owner, Joe, God he was a great fella. Fixed this place up real good. Always kept the lawn mowed and had a truck or two to spare when asked. Wasn’t too sure at first–kinda flamboyant, if ya know what I mean.”

A thunderous laugh burst forth from Brent, silencing Soren. Not like he had anything to say anyway. He was hoping to replace the grass with local clover so that he would never have to maintain it. His sedan could fit four people on a good day. 

“Any idea why he left?” Soren asked. “I mean, this really is a great house.”

“Got too small for him,” Brent replied. “Within the few years I’ve known Joe he’s already loaded the wife up with a couple of kids. And now he’s got more coming: twins too. That wife’s been pumping out boys for as long as I can remember!”

Brent howled again. Soren added another item to his mental list of things he would not be replacing. A wife, or any woman for that matter.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Brent finished. “If ya need anything just give me a holler. Or any of the fellas on the cul-de-sac for that matter. We’ve all kinda the same run-o’-the-mill kinda guys.”

Soren watched as the fatherly figure strolled down the driveway and across the street, his posture remaining straight the entire time. After Brent had shut his front door, Soren closed his own and returned to his previous task. Working as a remote data analyst at a high-earning company had made the process of moving a lot easier. Not only had Soren been able to occasionally unload his belongings during work, but the job had made it possible to purchase the house in the first place. 

The combination of work and infrequent unpacking was monotonous, and soon the sun had fallen below the horizon. Soren began his nightly routine: brushing his teeth, night-time skincare, donning a fresh robe, and tucking himself underneath the linen covers. He read from his book a bit before turning off the lamp and settling down.

A few hours later, the corner of Soren’s bedroom began to glow a faint green. It slowly began to pulse and expand, growing larger and brighter by the second. Had Soren not been faintly snoring and buried deep within his dreams, he may have noticed the strange apparition approaching his bed. His nose however did pick up on the musky scent as the green gas grew near, perching over Soren’s bed.

“Another fairy?” The green gas was disappointed. “What are they teaching men nowadays? How to put on makeup and don a skirt?”

The green gas floated across Soren’s sleeping body, inspecting every inch.

“I shouldn’t have made the last one so obsessed with breeding, then he wouldn’t have moved away. Now I’m stuck with this colorful piece of work.”

Without wasting another second, the green gas rose up into the air and then dived down towards its latest victim. It slurped itself through Soren’s nose, crawling and squeezing through the narrow passageways. The gas then dispersed throughout Soren’s body, covering every bit of available real estate. Once all was said and done, the green gas settled into its new home, planning its next steps.

why are you looking at my like that kiddo? you look so sad. you know most men in their early twenties would kill for a stache like the once i just gave you but you look so sad. its pathetic. youre not a woman, youre a man! you should look like a man and it starts with a good stache. look at me boy.

look at my bush of a beard, my cross necklace, my hat. this is what a real man looks like. not some sissy little twink with a smooth face and smoother body. you gotta get hairy! masculine! big! what? you dont want that? thats a shame because the cum i shot into your system is working over time adding on the muscle, the hair, changing your mind. youre going to be my perfect son. do you even remember asking me for the hat youre wearing? what hat? the hat you put on your head boy! the one youre wearing right now.

heres the part where your mind starts changing boy. when your dick gets hard the moment i mention pussy... there you go. what? you think youre still gay? alright, if youre gay why is your dick so hard at the thought of pussy, tits, women, breeeeeding. you want it bad, dont you? dont try to hide it, i can see that cock straining, fighting, begging for sweet, wet, release. dont worry youll still get a chance to fuck some guys but no more bottoming. youre gonna be a good dl top who fills up unsuspecting twinks to help continue this family. thats how it works. we go hunting, we breed men to make more country boys. its family tradition and you love our family, dont you kiddo? heres a play boy, kiddo, go crazy on that new cock. itll help speed up the process. like it? feel how big and tick it is? its begging for pussy, isnt it? you wanna fuck those girls so bad, dont you? give in kiddo to the new world of pussy, tits, girls, breeding, fucking, masculinity. give in! nice job son. looking good. you like the stache? me too. its fitting for a guy like you.

As the MagaConmp3 file begins to play, a dull, persistent buzz starts to resonate in the back of your head. This buzz gradually builds into an invasive whisper, its harsh, cruel tone cutting through your thoughts. You glance down at the rainbow flags and protest signs around you, your expression contorting into a sneer of disgust.

Suddenly, a sharp pain knifes through your stomach, causing you to double over in discomfort. You release a huge, resounding fart that ripples through the air, the sound echoing with a strangely unsettling clarity. PPPPPPFFFFFFFT The unexpected noise is accompanied by a violent bout of coughing, each hack reverberating through your chest.

As you cough, you notice an odd sensation creeping over you—your voice deepens, taking on a new, resonant timbre. You begin to rise, but your growing height goes unnoticed. Your boyish face starts to undergo a dramatic transformation, the soft, youthful contours giving way to something more angular and sculpted. The fat of youth melts away, replaced by the sharp lines of a face carved from the very essence of bro’s bravado.

The jawline is pronounced, almost exaggerated, proclaiming “I lift weights, bro!” in bold, silent declarations. Your skin shifts to a bronzed hue, a testament to excessive tanning and an artificial glow of faux-confidence. Your eyes, now squinting through a perpetual smirk, reflect a sense of entitlement and privilege. Your hair is meticulously styled, each strand set in place with military precision, though it perpetually looks like it’s one touch-up away from perfection.

Sorry, uh I have to get to work…

Come on… it’s for a quick survey. Just one question. Can’t you help a guy out?

Err fine. But have to make this quick.

Sure thing. Just wanted to know. How would you define a dumb jock?

Huh??

Come on humor me.

Ok fine. Well a jock usually means someone who is fit, likes to get to the gym.

Sure thing. Kinda like you no?

Me? No I mean, sure I guess I work out a little, but stereotypical jocks are kind of vapid, really into getting bigger, and into their own bodies, and when I think of a jock I usually think of guys in college.

Yeah totally get that. Still seems kinda like you but go on.

Well yeah, I work hard on this body, but also on school. Dumb jocks, well they’re like dumb and cocky, saying things like bro all the time, into flexin in the mirror, showing off, and stuff like that. Not much in their heads but thinking about muscle and sex. Ya know?

Sure do. I mean that’s totally you no? And are dumb jocks all straight?

Huhu bro like they don’t have to be. They can totally be into cock or fucking a good ass. They’re like so horny and obsessed with fuckin. Like can’t think of nothin else but sex and their massive jock cocks huhu

So what do ya think is a dumb jock?

Huhu like bro. Check me out. Ain’t too smart huhu. But got the bod and the cock. So we gonna fuck or what?

Ain't desiring assimilation in full but wanna fit in but have some way to bring others more to my way of things. I know its a niche request but you got anything that’d work?

Dude! Ever heard ’bout them Relocation Coaches from Chronivac Inc.? Reckon that’s jus’ the thing fer ya!

You step off the bus. Gettin’ here by bus was already a challenge. But it was what your relocation coach recommended. The bus ride gave ya closer, more intense contact with the locals. Honestly, you coulda done without that experience. The locals thought your weekender was fake. Like you’d move around with a fake bag. Ridiculous!

Your coach asks how the trip went and if you’re happy with your new home. If you could, you’d crawl through the screen, strangle him, and ask if he’s lost his damn mind. You’re livin’ like a piece of white trash in a shed! Your coach types a few keys on his keyboard.

“Yo, man! All good!” you say, scratching yourself a little down south.

Your first day at the hardware store. Your coach said this job’d get ya close to normal folks ’round here. And you’d learn the local talk easier that way. A guy comes up to ya:

“Scuse me, buddy! Where d’you keep them drill machines? My old one jus’ up ’n’ died on me.”

You don’t understand a word. Seems like it’s about drills. You ain’t got a clue ’bout drills! You say, “Sorry, gotta take this quick!” Pull out your phone and call your coach. Tell him you can’t understand the folks here, need some help.

“Already handled,” says your coach.

So you turn back to the customer: “Ya need somethin’ fer the house, or ya want a machine that’ll drill through reinforced concrete like a real man?”

The guy pats ya on the shoulder, sayin’ he’s glad to finally meet a decent worker he can talk to.

After a week, your boss tells ya that while you’re clickin’ with the customers, you still look like some city dude sellin’ books to nerds. But, as a bonus, you get a $200 voucher fer the workwear section. Should pick somethin’ soon.

You think the store’s packed with customers.

“Son, what’s the problem? Ain’t nothin’ ya got that the fellas ’round this store ain’t seen a hundred times.”

On the way to pick work clothes, you call your coach, ask what to do. He asks what your problem is. Your boss is right — you’re a man like any other. And so far, you ain’t had no problem showin’ off your gym-hardened body.

“Hahaha, hell yeah, man! Reckon you can damn well bet yer ass on that!”

Your coach apologizes, says he didn’t get ya. He’s just one of them city snobs… You make an effort to speak slow so he understands.

“Yeah, you got that right! You can bet yer ass on that!” you repeat, slow and clear.

Damn, $200’s a lotta money. Plus you get employee discount. Pants fit just fine. A customer asks if you can help mix some paint. That you’re bare-chested don’t seem to bother him. Why would it? Don’t bother you none either.

Mornin’ gym, then hardware store, evenin’ football with the boys or sports bar. Life’s good here. Could be worse. A bit lonely, maybe. You text your buddy — your coach. He asked ya to stop callin’. Can’t understand you anymore, the idiot.

“Dude 😩 I’m all lonely out here 😭. Folks’re real cool 😎 but dang, I cain’t find me no gal 😕💔”

He replies, “No worries, meet up with yer boys fer a beer, rest’ll sort itself out.”

Cleatus you met at the hardware store. Had to redo the barn roof a few weeks back. Cool dude! Y’all already had a couple crazy nights together. Shit, the guy drinks almost as much as you — rare. He asked if he could come by. Got a six-pack too many cold ones. Y’all laugh your asses off.

You’d been workin’ on your new grill. Your boss gave ya two bags of cement and lent you the mixer for the evening. Cold beer comes just right. Cleatus even lends a hand. Shit, you get real close a few times. And you swear he’s rock hard. And damn, so are you.

When y’all finish and sit on your porch, Cleatus asks if it’s true what folks say ’bout men and their noses. You laugh. And unzip.

“Dang, man, you’d need a gun permit just to run that beast!” he tells you.

John, a staunch liberal and openly gay, felt a pang of disgust. How had he ended up here?

"This is a nightmare," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

John stood motionless for a moment, taking in the room's overpowering display of conservative regalia. Then, a thought struck him. Maybe he could just remove all this stuff. After all, it was his apartment now.

But as soon as he attempted to take down one of the MAGA banners, he realized something strange was happening. The banner refused to budge. It seemed to cling to the wall, as if the very paint was glue.

Frustrated, John tried again, putting more force into the pull. But the result was still the same. The banner seemed stuck in place, mocking him with its stubborn resistance.

He tried another item, attempting to remove a small MAGA badge from the dresser. But just like the banner, the badge defied movement. It felt glued to the surface, no matter how hard he tugged.

John's heart began to race, a mix of confusion and panic setting in. These items were immovable. Why? How was this possible? And more importantly, what was their purpose here?

He sank down onto the bed, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. This had to be a prank. Someone had planted these items here as a cruel joke, or some weird form of psychological experiment. There was no other reasonable explanation. Or... was there?

John scanned the room again, his gaze falling on more Trump-themed items - a red "Make America Great Again" mug, a framed photo of the former president, and even a small American flag with the slogan "Keep America Great" stitched onto it.

Each item seemed to stare back at him, its presence like a slap in the face. As if the room was mocking his own political beliefs and identity.

John felt a wave of anger wash over him, but it was swiftly followed by a pang of fear. Was he trapped here? Stuck in this MAGA-themed prison, with no escape?

He stood up and began pacing, the room feeling smaller with each step. He needed to think, to figure out what the hell was going on.

Frustration grew within John as he attempted to leave the apartment, only to discover the door was impossibly stuck. No matter how much force he applied, it remained sealed, as if it had been fused to the frame.

Panic set in as he tried to use his phone to call for help, but no signal could be found. He was completely cut off from the outside world.

He turned on the TV it was on Fox News. As John frantically flicked through the television channels, he was met with an unsettling sight. Every channel was broadcasting Fox News, without exception.

No matter how many times he clicked the buttons on the remote, the channel stubbornly remained on Fox News. It was as if the TV itself had been calibrated to play only this particular station.

Frustrated and bewildered, John tossed the remote onto the coffee table, the clatter echoing through the room. He couldn't escape the barrage of conservative news and commentary, no matter what he tried.

He plopped onto the couch, a sense of helplessness washing over him. How was this happening? What strange reality had he stumbled into where every electronic item seemed hell-bent on playing Fox News on repeat?

John clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He loathed Fox News with a passion, every segment feeling like a personal affront to his liberal beliefs. The thought of being forced to watch this drivel on a constant loop was enough to drive him insane.

He considered unplugging the TV entirely, but a sense of unease held him back. What if this was all part of some twisted plan? Unplugging the TV could have unintended consequences. He couldn't risk it.

The hours passed slowly, the TV's constant barrage of conservative news and opinion pieces wearing down John's sanity. The words "Trump" and "MAGA" seemed to be chanted over and over, a maddening chorus that filled the room.

He tried to distract himself with other activities - pacing around the room, flipping through books, even going on his laptop - but nothing could drown out the endless stream of right-wing rhetoric.

By nightfall, John was beginning to waver. He argued with himself internally, trying to hold onto his liberal principles, but the constant exposure to right-wing talking points had begun to chip away at his resolve.

He found himself agreeing with some of the opinions being broadcast, nodding in approval at times, and occasionally even finding himself agreeing with the hosts. This realization terrified him.

As he sat on the couch, John clutched his head, the internal struggle raging within him. He could feel his core beliefs being shaken to the core. Who was he? What did he truly believe?

The TV continued to blast, the host's voice droning on about the virtues of conservative values and the importance of preserving "true American" principles. Each word seemed to sink into his brain, implanting seeds of conservatism that began to take root.

John found himself agreeing more and more with what he was hearing. He started to understand the conservative way of thinking, nodding along to the rhetoric, and even feeling a pang of disappointment when they switched topics.

The liberal ideology that he had always held so dear was slowly fading away, replaced by a growing appreciation for the values being espoused by Fox News.

As the night continued, John could feel his core beliefs crumbling under the onslaught of right-wing propaganda. He was becoming increasingly receptive to the conservative narrative, no longer able to recognize the liberal values he had held for so long.

His mind was changing, slowly but surely. Fox News was rewiring his very identity, molding him into a supporter of the MAGA cause.

As John finally succumbed to exhaustion and dropped off into a fitful sleep, the room around him began to change.

Unseen forces began to take hold, slowly altering his physical form. His features sharpened, his body becoming more toned and muscular. The remnants of his once-liberal appearance faded into memory, replaced by a more rugged, conservative look.

John's hair too changed, falling out leaving him bald as a dark beard begins to grow out of his face.. His skin tone darkened subtly, taking on a more sun-kissed, masculine hue. tattoos form on his neck? thoat, arms. and hands.

As he slept, the physical transformation continued, shaping him into the epitome of a conservative man.

John's wardrobe transformed as well, even in his sleep. The liberal attire he once wore was replaced by more conservative clothing. Jeans became camo pants, his shirt became black with Make Men Men again writen across it, and boots took the place of loafers. Tattoos emerged on his body, each one reflecting a traditional, patriotic image.

He wasn't merely changing; he was being sculpted into a new person entirely.

The physical changes were drastic, but so were the mental ones. As John slept, his mind was being indoctrinated. His liberal beliefs and values were slowly being overwritten by conservative ones. He was dreaming now, visions of a strong America, traditional values, and unyielding patriotism filling his subconscious.

By the time John began to stir, he was a changed man. The physical transformation was complete; he looked every inch the conservative he was now.

His beliefs, too, had undergone a complete metamorphosis. He no longer held onto liberal ideals. In fact, he despised them.

As he sat up, groggy and disoriented, he found himself staring down at the tattoos on his arm, each one a testament to his new persona.

John's eyes flicked up towards a mirror hanging on the wall. The sight of his reflection sent a jolt of surprise through him. He couldn't believe the person staring back at him.

His appearance was that of a stereotypical conservative man. His bald head, the beard, the tattoos, the clothing - everything screamed "MAGA." He looked like a completely different person.

As he stood there, staring at his reflection in disbelief, John struggled to come to terms with his dramatic transformation.

He touched his bald head, feeling the roughness of his shaved skin. He ran his hand over his beard, tracing the thick strands that grew from his once-smooth face. He looked down at his clothing, seeing the MAGA shirt and camo pants that clung to his newly-toned body.

It was a nightmare come true. John tried to deny it, telling himself this was all just a dream. But as he pinched himself and felt the pain, he realized the horrifying truth: this was all too real. He was trapped in a body and mind he no longer recognized.

His heart raced, panic starting to kick in. He had to get out of here, find a way to reverse this nightmare. But when he moved towards the door, he found it still sealed shut.

John froze as a thought suddenly appeared in his mind, seemingly out of nowhere. It was like a strange inner voice, a thought that wasn't his own. It told him to "accept this."

He fought against it at first, resisting the idea of surrendering to the changes. But as the thought echoed in his head, it grew louder and more insistent.

For a long moment, he stood there, wrestling with his inner thoughts. The voice demanded his compliance, and it was becoming harder to resist.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggle, John's resistance broke. He couldn't fight the inner command any longer. He had to "accept this."

He took a deep breath, the realization sinking in. This was his reality now. He was no longer the liberal man he once was. He was a conservative, down to his bones.

With a mixture of resignation and acceptance, he stood a little straighter, embracing his new identity.

But as he made the mental shift, John felt another, more subtle change taking place. His emotions began to reshape themselves, shifting towards the conservative values now ingrained in him.

The panic and disbelief that consumed him moments ago faded away, replaced by a sense of conviction. He no longer felt the need to fight against his new identity. In fact, he felt a growing sense of comfort and even satisfaction with it.

The voice in his head grew louder, reinforcing the new emotional landscape within him. The liberal ideals he once held dear were replaced by a staunch conservatism, fueled by inner feelings of patriotism, tradition, and strength.

John began to understand that his transformation wasn't limited to the physical. It was a full-blown mental and emotional restructuring, shaping him into the perfect American conservative.

The more he delved into this new mindset, the more a sense of calmness washed over John. His past as a liberal seemed distant and almost alien.

Now, he had a deep understanding of conservative values and beliefs. He felt a strong connection to America, its heritage, and its future.

Most strikingly, John felt a growing dislike towards liberals and progressive ideals. He had become the very thing he once despised.

John opened the no longer locked door, stepping into the blistering Florida sun, squinting against the bright light. He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses. As he felt the heat on his skin, his new conservative beliefs began to solidify further.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the humid air. It felt like a homecoming, as if this new persona of his had been waiting to emerge.

With a determined stride, John walked down the street, a sense of comfort and certainty guiding his every step.

As he walked, the city seemed to come to life around him. He passed by people of all ages - some young, some old - but what struck him was the sense of unity that pervaded the air.

He saw American flags flying proudly, MAGA hats on people's heads, and bumper stickers supporting conservative values on cars.

This wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you first made contact with him. A few messages about how horny he looked in his rubber mac and you thought that would be it. Yet somehow you kept messaging even though he wasn’t really your type. There was something hypnotic about the files he kept sending you, and now here you were at his home, kneeling before him, wanting to taste those boots and see what was beyond the mac.

Gently you ease towards him, he knows what he’s doing – he’s done it before – and he encourages you to give in to what your new, unusual urges are. You want to worship those boots, you want to worship the rubbered body under the mac. As you finish licking and salivating at the boots, you begin to work your way up under the mac. Overwhelmed and horny, caving into desire and new thoughts.

As he closes his mac around you, and you start to feel it latching attaching onto your skin, it’s as if it has unfolding unlimited layers, and is absorbing you further and further into it. As his black corrupted cum blasts into your mouth, you struggle and panic at the taste, but he holds your head down onto his pigmeat as the layers begin to engulf you and take you over. He remains calm and seated, sparking up a cigar as his new pig is being created under his mac. You’re being reborn.

As he stubs out the remains of his cigar, the mac opens again, and his new pig  emerges. A filthy rubber mac and boots over a tight full suit with a black rubber cock seeping black corrupted pre-cum. You now look just like your maker. He parts your mac open, and inspects your new rubbered body.