So You Wanna Be A Meathead

So You Wanna Be a Meathead

dedicated to anyone who is just starting out, or who wants to start out

The day comes, and you’re all like, fuck yeah, I’m gonna start working out. And it takes awhile, it always kinda does at first, you’re just kinda pissin along, you do a ton of cardio and maybe play with some of the machines. Like testing the waters, you know? That’s how it starts. You don’t even know it yet, but there you are, on the elliptical, or the treadmill or whatever, and you come up for air sorta. You kinda shake your head from side to side and refocus on the digital numbers in front of you. One is counting down, one is counting up. You’re halfway to halfway there, and you’re so out of breath, and you keep going, pumping, pushing, and there’s no real reason to stop going, so you just keep going. The months pass like that. Sure, from time to time, you get a little frustrated. You ask yourself, why do I keep going to the gym? But there’s no answer. There isn’t even really a question. It’s like shouting into the wind. Your voice gets ripped away from you. It might be a little tiny hiccup of doubt, but there’s a louder, gusting roar going on inside of you. Something is building. You start getting a little, oh, what’s the word, obsessed. Old habits are shedding like dead skin. It isn’t huge, not like those fantasy stories you read. It’s a little bit at a time. Little flickers of thought that lick their way into your head without your even really stopping to notice them. It’s like seeing something move out of the corner of your eye as you whiz by on a freeway. Was it real? Was it really there? There’s no way to go back and check to see if it was, because you’re hurtling forward, you’re moving so fast, there’s no way you can slam on the brakes. You actually end up hitting the gas. You lunge forward. You’re watching a game on TV. Could be streaming it, could be at a bar, could be on your TV, whatever. It’s gonna happen - sports is everywhere, you can’t really escape it. It trends on Facebook. You click the hashtag, the link, idly scroll through. You don’t realize that you have been doing this for some time now, that you seem to continually expose yourself to sports. You see logos of teams more often than you used to - are more people wearing sports swag, or are you just noticing it now? - but it doesn’t matter, it’s just sort of there, out of the corner of your eye. You wouldn’t say that it’s an obsession, not really. Not yet. Well, maybe a little. And then there’s the whole world of the Internet spread out in front of you, a buffet of information. You can choose what goes on your plate. You look at your bookmarks and you’re genuinely surprised how many of them have the word Bodybuilding or Muscle or Nutrition in the titles. You don’t remember bookmarking those, saving those links on Facebook. There’s your watch list, on eBay, and you seem to be constantly getting notifications on your - bling - phone, because another tank-top or sleeveless t-shirt or basketball shorts is ending, and you just gotta cop that shit, you can see yourself wearing it, wearing it to the gym again in the not-too-distant future, and you honestly don’t know what to say when you get a package in the mail like, every day or some shit, and your roommate is like, yo, what the heck are all these packages you’re getting lately? There’s no way to make up a story, and man, lying about it, coming up with something, just seems so hard, your brain is really fried from the last workout, and you just shrug and say “Gym clothes, bro” and oh my god you just flexed your arm in front of him. It’s like time stands still, like everything is frozen, even you, and then you drop your arm and laugh a little, and he laughs too, and everything swells into a kaleidoscope of colors in front of your eyes, something like a spiral has been laid over everything you see. “Gotta show off my gains, right?” And it’s half-a-joke, half not-a-joke, and he shrugs too, and laughs easily, says something about how you’re a real meathead, and it’s half-a-joke, half not-a-joke. And he’s telling you about this book he’s reading, and how he knows you’re gonna be super into it, because it’s meta-post something and - bling - Your phone is going off in your pocket, and you ignore it at first, you’re really trying to pay attention to your roommate, and you find yourself kinda nodding, and saying “yeah” a lot, but not really like, connecting, you know, to what he’s saying. And your phone just keeps going off, and you’re going crazy with distraction, until finally he can tell you’re not paying attention and goes into his room and you dig out your phone and scramble to see what it is. It’s a chat dialog. Someone with a ridiculous name, actually, not even a name, a number. Like they’re on a team or something, and a part of you is kind of intrigued. And there’s a game on the TV, and you’re watching it, and you’re lifting a 15-pounder handweight while staring at the screen. It’s not like you know why, but it kinda makes sense to be doing that. There’s a mirror nearby too, and you keep looking at yourself, watching the muscle grow and move and shift underneath your skin. And before you know it, you’re back at the gym. And then you’re home again, mixing up your first protein shake that you got the protein from that supp center, that one that sells the tanks you see everyone at the gym wearing all the time. You might get one of those one day, you think to yourself. You should, it’s like repping, and you wanna rep your supp center, you want people to know where you get your supps. Right? Of course. When you think about it, it’s really kinda weird, it doesn’t make sense. The day came, you said you were gonna start lifting, working out, going to the gym. You told everyone. You posted about it on Facebook. You don’t remember that you did that, but you did, and you got all these likes, and people are all like, good for you, and how exciting, and keep it up. Soon enough, that turns into wow, you look good and have you been working out and you’re flexing for people you know - at first, privately, secretly, just to show your friends your work - but then, more and more, in public. You stretch your arms over your head when you’re tired, showing off your triceps. Showing off your biceps. You find excuses to stretch out where people can see. You wear shorts even when it’s cold. You want people to see your legs, your calves, your quads. The day came, and you did it, you started doing it, you never looked back. You can’t hit the brakes, you’re going too fast. And sometimes you think about it, you think, why did I make this choice, why did my life change so radically and - bling - You look at your phone, and it could be anything. Someone commenting on your most recent profile pic on Facebook, your friend #37 just chatting about his leg day at the gym, showing you pics of his quads, the teardrop and the outer sweep starting to really show through, it could be another item of gear ending on eBay that you just have to have. What were you thinking about? Something. It’s hard to recall. Must not have been that important. What is important? Well, it’s getting late in the evening. Gotta get that protein. Gotta get to bed. Gotta rest up for the gym tomorrow. Leg day, and you wanna be able to show #37 just how hard you worked because you want your own number someday, don’t you? Sure you do. It’ll come to you. One of these days, you’ll just remember that you have a number in mind for yourself. And then the day comes - you look at the last selfie you took, the dumb one, the one of you with the blank eyes and the big fuckin muscles and well, yeah, you’re shirtless, you’re almost always shirtless at home now, and you’re pretending like you’re surprised, surprised that you got so big, surprised that all the hard work you did is paying off, surprised that you can’t remember your life before, and just for a second, something out of the corner of your eye flickers, and you almost turn your head to look at it, but then you press down on the gas, you leap forward, you lunge ahead, you pick up the weights, you grunt, you sweat, you grow. And what, you ask yourself, is more satisfying than that? The answer comes loudly, in a rush, like a crowd standing on its feet to cheer: nothing. Nothing is more satisfying than that. And you answer yourself, you grunt to yourself, under your breath: Fuck yeah.

FML: Match

He never really stood a chance. The moment he walked into our new apartment together his days were numbered. No guy, and I mean no guy, can resist me for long. How could they, when it just feels so good to be me. He tried though. That first week he was a real prick. He would complain about my stuff everywhere, scoff at my friends, and try to cover up my scent. But 24/7 with me around starts to have an effect. I caught him picking up my stuff and stealing a quick sniff before throwing it in my room. The candles sat abandoned in his room. A pair of my boxers went missing. I finally caught him on week three. He was sitting, zoned out in the living room. It’s always so cute the first time they try to embrace it. Sprawled out on the floor, my boxers loose around his legs, hat backwards on his head. He already had a little beard going.

He didn’t even bother getting up when I came in. He was lost in the scent of me, and his body was trying everything to become what it was not.

“Get up!” His body came to as he snapped to attention. He tried making excuses, his face was a mix of confusion and horror at what he was wearing.

“I am so sorry, I have no idea… what’s happening? What are you doing to me?!?”

“I’m just living it up bro, you’re the one sitting in my underwear. You trying to be all of this?” I flexed my biceps in front of him, watching his body begin to pulsate. “Just flex bro. Let it out, let me out.” His arms curled and posed, copying my form. His forearms exploded with muscle, as he began to shout:

“No, please, let me go.”

“You can leave at any time, you just have to want to.” I struck another pose, popping my pecs and flexing my abs. He moved in unison with me, his stomach sucking in as abs pushed out. Pecs punched out of his chest with force as his torso stretched to copy mine.

“Please… I don’t want this. Why- how are you doing this?”

“It’s easy little bro,” I sat into a deep squat. His eyes rolled back in his head as his lower body erupted. Muscle tore through him, filling out calfs, thighs, and ass all at once. “I’m what every guys wants, what everyone craves to be. My scent, my hormones, my whole aura has been filling you for weeks. I’ve been inside. You’ve just got to let me out. Now,” I stood back up, his body parodying along like a puppet. His body was ready, even when his mind was not, “FLEX.” I hit a double-bicep pose.

“Ah…AuGH-AHHHGAUH!”

I was let loose from inside him.

It was like looking in a mirror. Fuck, I’m a stud. He was spacing out:

“Bro… no, fuck. Why, why do I sound like that?”

“You’re getting the full package little bro. You are going to look, sound, smell, think, and fuck just like me. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He shuddered in response. Immediately his cock began swelling, snaking down his leg. His mind was saying no but his body was saying yes. By now his balls were pumping him full of my hormones, invading his mind and filling him with my horny thoughts. Hands gripped his cock as he began jerking off in front of me, speeding up his transformation. Drool dripped from his open mouth and rolled down his chest.

“No, please. Why-why does it… feel…so…goooood? Hu-ungh-uhhhHHHh…”

He was riding the waves of pleasure as they engulfed his brain. He never stood a chance against me, but it was still so hot to watch him submit to his fate. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, and slowly I watched the lights go out upstairs. He was just like me now. No, better. He was me now. It was time. I walked up and pulled his hands from his cock, and replaced them with mine. I furiously began jacking him off as his brain short circuited and he just writhed in pleasure.

“Ha-hahu-ugh-huhuhuhuuuu-uHH-“

I leaned in, and planted one kiss on his sweaty brow and commanded:

“Now CUM.”

Instantly he let loose, hitting the back wall. It covered my hands, just adding to the lubrication as I finished him off. Rope after rope flew across the room, until he was shooting blanks still thrusting against my hands. He slowly slumped to the floor

“How you feeling bro?” I asked him

“Huuuuuuh…fuck bro I’m spent. You’re a god. How do you manage to get that much out of me every time?”

I chucked a bit. “I know all the right buttons to push bro. I just do what I would do to me.”

“God, I’m not gonna be horny for a week”

“Pfft, knowing you? I give it an hour.”

“God we’re so hot bro…”

The question caught me a bit off guard. Did he… no. There wasn’t any part of him left that would know what just happened to him. I leaned in and gave my new doppelgänger a kiss:

“Yeah we are, bruh.”

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jockbroski34

5 months ago

Hot camel clutch sleeper

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jockbroski34

1 year ago

Power incarnate

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jockbroski34

1 year ago

Dalton Chandler | via Snapchat

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jockbroski34

1 year ago

Todd opened his eyes, only to see a gym full of sweaty hunks, instead of the dorm room in which he felt asleep, planning for this to be just a quick nap. He underestimated the chances of waking up in a body of a 6'4 240 lbs brute, with biceps the size of footballs, tree trunks for legs and absolutely jacked upper body.

He didn't have time to panic though, because another sweaty jock came up to him. "'ey bro, am finished with my set for now. You too bro?" Todd would later learn that it was TJ, a tight end from his college's football team. But now he was scrambling to come up with a response.

"Uhm, yes... uhh, yeah, I'm finished, yeah." He half-murmured. TJ didin't wait for a response and sat down next to him on the bench, leaning back and spreading his legs wide apart.

"Bruh, I'm so fuckin' pumped bro, it's unreal dude. That new routine Coach gave us is fuckin' rad bro." TJ then proceeded to flex both his arms, hplding them in a double bicep pose for a moment. Todd just nodded and grunted a quick "Yeah, bro." After a few seconds Tj lowered his arms, but not before sniffing one of his armpits.

"Huhuhuh shit bro, i fuckin' reek dude." He then let out a low laugh, so common in dumb football bros. Todd turned to the jock sitting next to him and the smell of musk and sweat hit him like a train, invading his nostrils. The words "Dude, you need a shower" instintively left his mouth. A moment later he realized what he had just said, and hoped the other jock wouldn't react badly.

"Huhuhuh" TJ just chuckled like an idiot "That's the smell of a real man, Strand."

Strand just... no, Todd just sat there, almost paralyzed by the odor that enveloped him. TJ meanwhile stretched his arms, his armpits exposed, and his muscle tee damp. As waves of musk and sweat reached Todd, his head began to hurt. The feelings of repulsion and disgust suddenly started changing into normalcy and relaxation. StrandTodd's posture changed, he leaned back on the bench, with his legs now slightly away form each other.

"Bruh, that's life, am I right dawg?" TJ drawled and a grin appeared on StrandTodd's face. He chuckled and responded "Yeah, bro, that's life bro." When Todd realized that he had just said that, and worse, that he felt comfortable, here with TJ, both of their bodies reeking of sweat, dread... was the opposite of what Strand felt as he relaxed with his bro after a killer session in the gym. His arms were pumped, his pecs burned with pain that was a testament to his dedication to working out.

TJ looked at his bro and grinned. "Ey, Strand bro, you goin' to that beer fest at Alpha Phi?" His bro slapped TJ in the back and said "Huhuhuh bruh, the fuck you're asking me bro. Duh, I'm going. And am taking ya with me dude." The both laughed like the two dumb jocks they were, then took their duffels and left the gym.

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jockbroski34

1 year ago

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jockbroski34

1 year ago

I live in a rough neighbourhood not by choice but that’s not the biggest problem. I am in a block flats and I am constantly being woken up by the guy in the next door flat. He is constantly having parties and loud sex. I would confront him but he is a muscly chav lad. What should I do?

He was huge and incredibly intimidating. You had never spoken to him but had heard the parties. The boorish lads drunkenly singing, dancing, and god knows what else.

You've been in the flat below only for a few weeks and the parties are non stop. You're going to have to speak to him at some point and try and sort things out.

One day you notice it seems particularly quiet. You figure everyone is gone. This is your chance.

You knock on his door and wait. After a few moments the door unlocks and swings open. The towering beast of a man stands in front of in nothing but a pair of Nike joggers.

You're not gay but you're left speechless for a few moments. He's chest is huge and covered in dark hair just like his beard. This hair continues over his rock hard abs and down to a snail trail leading to the thickest bulge you have ever seen.

His thighs fill the joggers to the point you think they should rip. His feet are about as big as your face and are probably more muscular that your entire body.

You quickly snap out of your trance and introduce yourself. He listens as you explain your situation and your issues with the noise.

He's surprisingly calm and you wonder why you saw him as intimidating.

He apologises for disturbing you and invites you to enjoy his new shisha pipe with him to make amends.

Although not usually your thing the smell is alluring. You agree and sit down opposite him.

You both start puffing away and getting to know each other. His name's Kieran and he's actually a really nice guy. He works in modelling and says he's got a great eye for new talent as he gestures towards you.

You laugh at first but slowly you begin to lose focus. You quickly look over to him in panic as you start to go faint. He smiles at you just as it all goes black.

----------

When you come to something feels...new... different.

You're still in Kieran's flat but you've changed. You're more slender than before, you weren't fat but not as slender as you are now.

Your ass however isn't slender, it's now bouncy and round. It fills out the tracksuit you find yourself wearing almost too well. The outline of a jockstrap visible through the fabric.

You feel the cold metal of a chain against your skin that now hangs around your neck. A black baseball cap, backwards, finishes your look.

You're confused for a moment but Kieran's entrance to the room catches your attention.

As you look up to him new memories flood into place.

You've lived with Kieran for a few years now. Ever since he recruited you into his modeling/porn company.

He specialises in gay chav porn and modeling the latest outfits from Nike and Adidas. Those parties he always hosts? Not actually parties but drunken orgies.

You've been Kieran's favourite since he met you in the pub after you ditched college. Being his favourite means you're the only one that gets to be bred by him.

You look up to him with puppy dog eyes, he steps towards you rubbing his bulge.

It seems you're going to get a treat before the rest of the lads arrive.