Thinkers and Lifters

Terry hit his THC vape hard, letting out a billowing cloud as he pulled his convertible up to a red light. Brock, in the passenger seat, suddenly slapped his buddy on the shoulder. “Fuck, dude dude DUDE! It’s that guy we didn’t let in!”

Crossing the street in front of them was a well-built man in a sweatsuit with a gym bag slung over his shoulder. With his shaved head and his absurdly overdeveloped muscles, he looked more like an ape now than when they denied him entry to their fraternity. Terry shook his head. “If I have any regrets,” he said, feeling buzzed in the afternoon sunlight, “it’s that we made him pledge for eight whole weeks before shutting it down. We denied him his dignity, don’t you think?”

Brock shook his head. “Let’s prove that we’re the bigger man,” he suggested, his eyes never leaving the text he was tapping out on his phone. “Let’s go apologize to him!”

Terry quickly pulled his convertible into a fire lane and the two hopped out of the car. “Hey, big guy!” Terry said, jogging up to the large student, still in the middle of the road. “Wait up!”

The big guy paused, regarding the two of them with disdain. “Uh… guys, I don’t really have time for you to, y’know, start shit with me right now…” he said, backing away.

Terry chuckled. It just went to show you that no matter how big you get, status was what truly defined a man. “We just wanted to apologize for having wasted your time, uh…” He snapped his fingers as he failed to recall the big guy’s name.

“Don,” he said. “Let’s get out of the middle of the fucking street,” Don said, and the three gathered on the sidewalk. “Look, it is what it is. I don’t think I was really meant to be in your fraternity anyway.”

“See, I’m just glad that you realized that!” Brock said. “Because, y’know, we’re a certain type of organization for a certain type of gentleman, y’know?”

Don’s good nature faded suddenly as he squared up his big shoulders. “Uh, maybe I don’t know. Explain it to me.”

“What he’s failing to convey,” Terry said, putting a hand on the oaf’s boulder-sized deltoid, “is that… every man belongs with his own kind. And I’m sure there are many groups on campus that are perfect with a gentleman, just like you, who prioritizes…” He gestured awkwardly at Don’s sweatsuit-clad muscles.

“Size and strength,” Brock finished.

“Yes, exactly,” Terry continued. “In life, there are lifters, and there are thinkers… And we’re a group of thinkers. So you should be out there with other lifters! Our failing was in waiting so long to decide to convey that to you.”

“We should have told you right away you weren’t cut out for our frat,” Brock continued.

Don shook his head as he looked at the two polo-shirt clad men. “Y’know, I bet you guys think you’re going to run shit, just because… what, you have your daddy’s money? Is that what makes you a ‘thinker’?”

Brock shook his head. “Listen, Dan, don’t think we haven’t worked for everything we have. We’ve struggled just as much–if not more–than anyone else.”

“He’s absolutely right,” Terry chimed in. “And you may think that just because we’re men of means, that we were given everything in life, but I assure you… what we’ve accomplished has come from far more blood and sweat than a lifetime in the gym moving inanimate objects.”

Don shook his head. “Look, here’s the thing,” he said. “I was just going to let this one go, because… when I was younger, I thought being in a frat would be cool, but you’re right, we really do have different priorities.”

Terry raised an eyebrow, then nodded. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like this big lunk was accepting their apology.

“But now I think I’ve got to do some fundamental work on the two of you,” he said. His voice seemed to have an otherworldly echo to it. Both of the wealthy fratboys suddenly shivered. “I want you two to listen to my voice… every single word I’m saying… and I want you to hear me deep, deep in your subconscious.” He was holding up a single finger. Neither Terry nor Brock realized that their eyes were focused on it.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Don, but we’ve said our piece…” Terry began, but his posture had relaxed, his jaw hanging open.

“...yeah, and it’s time we get on our way…” Brock said, his head lolling back and forth.

“When I count down to 1, you’ll be totally open to me, understand? 3…”

The sun seemed to go down suddenly, plunging the world into nighttime.

“...2…”

The other people around them seemed to have vanished. The world was empty except just the three of them.

They both waited for the bulky man to say 1, but that moment never came. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity…

…Terry gripped his steering wheel. He blinked and looked around, confused. “The fuck…” he began.

Brock sat upright suddenly, looking around in a panic. “Where the…”

They were parked outside their condo. It was nighttime. How long had they been there?

“Fuck, I don’t even remember driving home,” Terry said as he climbed out of the car. “Fuck, I must be high as hell.” He walked with an awkwardly wide gait. “Fuck, I’m sore…”

Brock moaned as he climbed out of the convertible. “Me too,” he said, limping up behind his buddy. “We gotta get ready for that party tonight,” he said as they hobbled into their enormous home.

Terry stripped off his polo shirt and turned on the shower, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He felt… strange. Pale.

“Bro, do I need a tan, do you think?” he asked.

Brock poked his head into the bathroom. “Naw, bro, you like fly as hell. Why?”

Terry leaned forward and examined his chest hair, running his hand through the blonde fluff. “Fuck, you think I’m too hairy?”

“Gina LOVES your chest hair, bro,” Brock said. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at him. “But… you ever wonder what you’d look like without it?”

Terry stared at his chest as Brock stripped his own shirt off, looking at the brown fur on his lean torso. “It feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Why the fuck would it be wrong? It’s not like we’re one of those guys who shaves his chest…” but as Brock said this, his hands opened Terry’s medicine cabinet, fumbling around for some shaving cream. “Wouldn’t it be weird if we, y’know, shaved just once though?”

“For the party,” Terry said, trying to manage the cloud of confusion in his head. “Just this once. No one would know.”

“Who fucking cares if we shave our chests anyway?” Brock said, smearing the foam across his body as he did so. “We’re fucking men, we get to control our own destinies.”

“I thought we always used to say shaving chests was, y’know, gay,” Terry said as he dragged a razor across his skin, revealing smooth flesh underneath.

“It’s not gay if we do it,” Brock said, eagerly snatching the razor from Terry’s hand and rinsing it in the sink.

Before either of them knew it, they were standing in front of the mirror, totally naked, their bodies completely shorn from neck to ankles.

“--the fuck did we just do?” Brock said, shocked as he patted down his body, smooth as a seal's belly.

“Fuck, am I that fucked up?” Terry said, splashing cold water in his face, trying not to look at the foamy pile of hair in the drain. “It was like… I blinked… and like five minutes had passed!”

Terry hopped in the shower, eager to rinse his body clean, as if he could somehow erase the shaving by doing so. He was shocked when Brock hopped in as well.

“Get out of my shower!” he said, shoving his naked friend back.

“Bro, my skin’s all, like, irritated… lemme just rinse off real quick…”

Terry blinked. Suddenly he was rubbing a foamy loofah down the middle of Brock’s back.

When he was done, he turned around and Brock did the same for him, washing his butt, sliding the loofah between his crack. They got out of the shower, casually, before suddenly realizing what had happened.

“--THE FUCK!” Brock sprinted from the bathroom as Terry stood there, sick to his stomach. He’d just washed his roommate in the shower–his roommate had just washed him! He could still remember the feeling of Brock’s fingers on his taint.

He needed to get fucked up. That’s what he needed, just a nice little blackout and maybe he’d fuck Gina. Maybe a couple times.

The party at their fraternity was a formal social event, meaning senior brothers were required to wear shirts and ties. Terry buttoned up his shirt, then coughed, unbuttoning the top few buttons. It all felt so restricting. He held a silk red tie in his hands, about to tie it around his neck. He did it every day for his internship, but now it felt… wrong.

He stumbled into the kitchen with his shirt unbuttoned, his loosened tie dangling around his neck. Brock was shirtless at the kitchen table, scraping the bottom of a container of chinese food and shoveling it into his mouth.

“Bro, what are you…”

“Dude, I’m hungry… so hungry…” he moaned. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry before!”

As Terry opened the fridge, the same sensation hit him. Good god, when’s the last time he ate? Lunch, of course, but… why hadn’t he eaten since then? There was a large bowl of pasta he didn’t remember making–Brock probably made it–and a tupperware container of cooked chicken breast.

He blinked. He was sitting at the table, nearly exhausted from having eaten so fast, several empty containers on the table. Brock sat across from him, also sedated by his fullness.

“We… have to go,” Terry said, rising slowly.

“To the party,” Brock said.

“We were planning on going to the party tonight, right?” Terry said as they walked to the door, neither of them completely dressed.

“I mean, yeah, right? We’re required. We’re seniors,” Brock said.

They blinked. They were at the Omega Zeta house.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a party tonight,” Terry said, confused as they stumbled up the walkway.

“Maybe it’s just… early…” Brock said as he approached the front door, punching in the code.

The door didn’t open.

Terry shoved him aside and punched in the same code. No access.

The intercom suddenly buzzed to life. “Pretty sure we told you fucks to quit coming around here,” said a familiar voice. It was Reggie, the house president.

“Reggie, man, we’re here for the party,” Terry said, feeling nauseous as he realized he wasn’t even wearing shoes. He was so confused… how had he lost control of the day so badly?

“There’s no party tonight, asshole,” said another voice–Chet, the house’s vice president and Brock’s best friend since high school. “You freaks better get the fuck out of here.”

Terry opened his mouth to bark back–nobody ever told him, Terry Van Nyes, the word NO. Nobody ever denied him anything! His father would sue them into the damned stone age–but the fight suddenly died out in him. He watched the same struggle go on within Brock as his buddy’s face contorted, then dissolved. The two sauntered away.

“My car,” Terry said as the two stood on the sidewalk. It was nowhere to be found. There was a beatup old pickup truck where they’d parked before, the kind of shitty car dumb meatheads drove.

“You parked it right here!” Brock said, slapping the pickup in frustration. He was shocked when his hands crumpled the metal like it was cardboard, the passenger side window suddenly shattering. The two backed away in terror as lights came on in the surrounding houses.

“I barely touched it!” Brock said as the two shuffled away into the night, feeling like criminals for the first time in their lives.

As Terry walked barefoot across campus on a Friday night, rejected by his own brothers, he wanted to cry, but he knew he had to hold it together for Brock’s sake. “It’s gonna be okay, bro,” he said, throwing an arm around Brock’s neck.

“Bro, I know… as long as I’ve got you…”

Terry blinked. Suddenly he was kissing Brock. He couldn’t believe it–but he found so much comfort in his buddy, their hands searching desperately for more flesh to squeeze.

“Fucking freaks!” said a voice. They turned to see a small handful of Omega Zeta brothers–their friends!--in the back of a jeep, snapping photos of them. These guys were all younger, barely out of their pledge period. Terry didn’t even remember their names! One of them threw a beer can at him and Terry slapped it away as they drove away, hooting and mocking them.

“Fuck,” Brock said. “They got pictures of us… kissing…”

“Fuck them!” Terry said. “I don’t even fucking care,” he said. “Let’s just… go home…”

Back in their apartment, the two men assaulted the fridge. “Holy shit, there’s more food!” Brock said.

“I thought we ate it all,” Terry said.

“No, I think we ate… y’know, the proper amount,” Brock said as he ate a pile of ground turkey and rice.

Terry was eating a raw sweet potato and cold steak. He knew it was wrong, and yet… it felt right.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. “The fuck is that?” Terry said, looking around. Their building had a locked front door, a security guard and an intercom system; they didn’t have a doorbell!

They looked around, confused. “Wait, where the fuck are we?” Brock said.

“Our apartment!” Terry said, but as the word left his mouth he immediately knew that they lived in a two-bedroom condominium their fathers had bought for them.

The doorbell rang again. Terry walked through the unfamiliar home like a complete stranger until he found the front door. He opened it to find Don.

“What’s up, big guy!” Don said, giving Terry a pat on the chest. “Looking huge!”

Terry slapped the hand away. “The fuck is wrong with you? What did you do to us?”

Don smirked. “Oh, shit, has it been that long already? Have your minds started returning?”

Brock screamed from the other room. “Terry! Dude, come here! Come look at this!”

Don gestured at the noise and Terry turned from him, walking to his buddy, who was shaking and holding up his phone.

“Those assholes posted that picture of us!”

“Oh yeah,” Don said as he set his backpack on the table. “I saw that. VERY hot, guys. You two make a sexy couple!”

“But it’s not us! It has our names, it’s tagged with us, but it’s two different guys kissing!”

Brock passed over the phone and Terry studied the image. Two MASSIVE men, like human-rhinocerous hybrids, were pressed together, bulging on all sides, passionately and clumsily kissing as much as their huge pecs and inflexible arms would allow.

“Wait… why would they post this picture and say it was us?” Terry said, confused.

Don smiled as he opened up his backpack, pulling out a small box. He produced two syringes and began filling them with oily fluid.

“Boys, boys, just relax,” Don said. “Just embrace it. How long has it been since you pulled over to talk to me?”

Terry and Brock stared at each other. “It was… earlier today…”

“WRONG. It’s been a year!” Don said. He set the filled syringes down on the table. “And you boys have been busy this year! Do you remember quitting your fraternity? Dropping out of school? Powerlifting twice a day and shooting up massive amounts of steroids and growth hormone? Eating a metric ton of food every day? Getting rejected by everyone and everything you ever cared about before because all you cared about was getting huge?”

Terry felt something in his head–something trying to shake loose.

“Get over here, Brock,” Don ordered.

Suddenly a massive hulk of a man, swollen with muscle on all sides, waddles around the table on legs the size of Terry’s waist. He looked like a human pincushion, so much mass packed on his six foot frame. The face was still Brock’s but the jaw had thickened, the forehead now more prominent. The beast dropped his shorts and produced a massive pair of acne-ridden glutes below a back wider than the doorframe, every bit of it bulging and flexing as the hulk moved.

“There we go,” Don said, giving the big man a massive injection. The beast rubbed his sore glute after, walking away.

“Thanks Don,” he said.

“How about you? You still fighting it?” Don asked.

Terry backed away. “Don’t think… don’t think I won’t kick your ass, just because you’re bigger than me,” Terry threatened, still clinging to his notion of himself.

“Are you kidding? You’re WAY bigger than me. I’ve never seen anyone so obsessed with growth as you are.”

Terry blinked. He had a seat in the chair behind him–and the legs snapped, sending him to the floor. The ground rumbled as he hit it. Don laughed but Brock lumbered over to help him up.

“Everything here is so… damned… small!”

“Well, this is the only place you can afford since your dads cut you off,” Don explained.

Terry looked down. He couldn’t even see the floor past his massive pecs. He couldn’t even put his arms down! His thick thighs pushed his feet apart. He felt so HEAVY… and he moved so slowly. His own thickness was constantly in his own way.

“You remember now?” Don said.

Memories flooded in–of flipping tires and deadlifting as the sun came up, followed by heavy squats and leg presses when the sun went down. He remembered hopping off a scale and running to tell Brock he’d put on another five pounds of muscle… Brock celebrating the fact that he’d ripped through his size XXL shirt… realizing he’d memorized the macros of every food in the house but couldn’t remember what the stock market was.

He was huge–SO much bigger than Don. If he’d wanted, he could have easily one-handed Don through the wall, but Don was their hookup. He gave them their drugs, and said magic words that made them train harder and put them into warm, cozy trances when their heads hurt. Terry’s enormous body relaxed as he settled into his new persona.

Deep down, the old Terry screamed as he tumbled into the darkness of the new Terry’s slow, muddy brain, buried beneath a desire to lift and get huge at all costs–and to do so with the love of his life, Brock.

“You guys make WAY better lifters than you were thinkers,” Don explained. “Ready to film the show?”

Of course! It was the only way they could make money, after all. Don pulled out his camera and tossed Terry a bottle of lube.

“I’m gonna fuck your big ass good!” Brock said, pounding his massive pecs and flexing them, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“With what? You ain’t got no dick!” Terry said. It was true; neither did Terry. Massive amounts of steroids had shrunk their balls to nothing, leaving their cocks shriveled and useless.

Don pulled out the huge dildos the boys loved. Terry clapped his hands, Brock getting into position. They couldn’t wait for Don to fuck their asses good, jamming massive dildos in them until they fired loads from their flaccid dicks. They’d flex and do pushups and slobber all over each other as Don milked load after load from them, until the two muscle beasts came dry and whimpered pathetically. All of it got filmed and Don took a cut of the subscription rate.

“If only you’d let me into your fraternity,” Don said as Terry bounced his oversized ass on a dildo to the delight of their fans, his shriveled dick flapping uselessly as his enormous pecs wobbled up and down. “Just think, I could have done this to the whole house instead of just the two of you.”