Standing on the platform, Dennis is less bold than yesterday. Dressed down to loose boxers and a pair of gym shorts, the RPGs look back and forth between him and the machine with intense concentration. The electrode patches are cold against his skin, he can feel blood already pounding through every vein.
Autumn types away on the laptop, black glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, an acre of cleavage pressed together by her biceps as she works. H-cup boobs jiggle with the motion of typing as they sway back and forth in response to every motion. She's not wearing a bra, a fact Dennis steadfastly acknowledges and ignores every time his gaze accidentally fixates on the pair of perky nipples pressing against thin cotton of her v-neck t-shirt. Casey hovers over her shoulder, stripped down to a comfortable sports bra and gym shorts. She's shredded. Wiry and strong with a six-pack and striations up from forearm to shoulder. Ready to level someone with a roundhouse kick, or grind out a dozen pull-ups.
A pair of green yoga shorts stuffed full of round, juicy glutes disappear under the machine as Deidre examines the control board for loose wires. Cathy steps up next to him, and gently presses each electrode one last time. A skintight tanktop shows every crease of her powerful muscles.
The RPGs are confident now, in the way only someone formerly cursed by crippling insecurities can be. But powered up to fantasy proportions, they stride through the apartment free and at ease with their new bodies.
Dennis would love to feel the same, when all is said and done. For now he's a little cold and wishes he had decided on a shirt.
"Let the machine do all the work. Don't fight it."
"Fight what?"
"Follow what feels right." Cathy responds. "It's hard to explain, but you'll know what I mean."
"Ready." Deidre slides out from underneath.
"Ready." Cathy confirms.
"Ready." Autumn looks up from the laptop.
"Dennis?" Cathy steps off the podium.
"Ready." He grips the handles tightly, headphones secure.
He watches Autumn hit enter.
Overlapping tones swell in his ears. The projectors cut on, bathing his skinny body in tie dye patterns flashing faster than the eye can process. A buzz tingles from each electrode on his skin.
And then Dennis is out. His mind is floating. A foot behind, and a foot above his body. Just off the ground, floating on a warm breeze.
"Whoa." The words are calm in his mind's eye.
"W-whoa." The body echoes shakily.
Time flows like a leaky faucet, in drips and drabs. No world exists outside the lights, the sounds, and his body. There's a pull, low at the base of his skull. He follows the feeling, and focuses with ever-increasing intensity on the body before him. A current of unspoken messages drives his actions.
Follow what feels right. Cathy's advice echoes.
He lets it happen. The pull turns into a sharp tug. A safe unlocks, deep inside. A torrent of something flows through him and around him. The rushing rapids wash over every inch of his body, and he knows just what to do.
Grow. He prods. The body responds. Every fiber of muscle clenches and releases, pumped up full at his insistence. Back muscles ripple to life. His body trembles a hair.
More. The torrent and Dennis insist. Every muscle heeds his call. Thighs quiver a half-inch thicker. Lats spread wider with a shudder. Thin traps pop to life across his shoulders. Definition. Musculature. Words never before used to describe him.
He pushes again, and again. A half-dozen times. Triceps push fuller and thicker from his slender arms. Biceps pound and pulse rounder and juicier with each passing moment. The outline of eight ab muscles press forward eagerly, rising like bread rolls on the countertop.
The strongest surge yet rushes in, an overwhelming current to follow. Finish. Every muscle seizes and shudders. Dennis pulses and pumps larger than ever before. He grunts and groans.
The lights go dark. The headphones go silent.
His mind slams back home. For the first time, Dennis feels himself again, distantly. Feels arms shaking like a leaf, lungs gasping for air, and blood thundering through his veins. He pants desperately, sweat pouring down his brow. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see abs, his abs heaving in time with full-body gasps.
A strong hand lands on his shoulder.
"Good?" Cathy's voice is quiet in his ear.
Dennis stands up to full height.
"Great."
~
160 pounds. Ten pounds of muscle in 2 minutes and 43 seconds. He weighed himself twice. Dennis finishes off his second protein shake, shirtless in the kitchen. A free hand can't stop tracing the outline of abs, real abs. Lean, athletic muscle. He's graduated from high school cross-country runner to Division 1 soccer player. Wiry but strong.
"Let's go." He steps up onto the platform again.
"Only fifteen minutes?" Deidre raises an eyebrow and crosses strong arms under her ample chest. "You sure?"
"I took a couple hours between sessions." Autumn says.
"My first class is tomorrow at 10." Dennis reasons. "20 hours away and counting down. The only thing less believable than showing up looking like a bodybuilder, is putting on 40 pounds of muscle between Monday's lecture and Tuesday's TA session."
"Here." Cathy steps up next to him with another set of electrodes ready to go. "If nothing else, we're sure this is safe. We're not pushing any limits other than Dennis' ability to walk home tonight. Worst case, he takes a nap on the couch and we resume at a later date."
"Let him." Casey offers. "It's good data."
"That's all I am to you?" Dennis teases.
"Well you're not the rogue anymore, and not a barbarian yet, so what good are you?" Casey fires back.
"Say that again when I have a battle axe in-hand." Dennis grabs the handles. "Let's do it."
Cathy slips the headphones on, and sticks the electrodes to his chest.
"Three, two, one." Amber counts.
~
Dennis slams back to present once again. Every muscle trembles. Every fiber protests. He feels exhausted, pushed to the limit, strong..
Muscles jump and bulge with each movement. Biceps, real biceps, rise to life as Dennis brings both hands to his chest. The outline of pecs have formed. They push slightly outward into his hands. Two blocky and full muscles he's never known so intimately before. He rips the electrodes free. Thighs bulge a hair with each step as he walks down onto the carpet below.
Feeling a rush of endorphins, exhilarated and strong, Dennis flexes for the crowd. Muscles pop to life all across his body. A thin vein pumps blood to his bicep. A defined lump rises to life on each arm.
Cathy offers him a smoothie. He chugs it fast, nonverbal with hunger and exhaustion. Breaths still comes in greedy gasps between each swallow of fuel for his body. He needs it. Needs energy to keep this transformation going. There are thousands of calories to consume between now and where he needs to be, and no time to waste. He finishes the drink, and smiles for the crowd.
"That was fucking great."
The scale reads 170.
~
"Three. Two. One." Fifteen minutes later, Cathy hits enter. Autumn is in her room, studying for a biochemistry exam. Casey's interest drifts from Dennis on the platform to the Gameboy in her hands. Deidre stands steadfast by the surge protector for safety.
The rush hits him with a thump once again. When the technicolor patterns disappear, biceps the size of tennis balls flex with each motion. The exhaustion barely hits. Dennis feels like an athlete growing accustomed to a new routine. Squats. Deadlifts. Neurological reprogrammer.
180 pounds feels good. Undeniably athletic. There's no question that Dennis has muscles now. No one would assume he was just skinny, or blessed with good genetics.
His back has real width in the mirror. Filling out toward shoulders pumped large and full. He's past soccer player now, and on to the NFL. Built like a star wide receiver.
Not for long. He wants more. Needs more. Now that he knows the goal, he can see it clearly. 30 pounds of muscle added. 60 more to go. He was going to be Arnold. Not precisely, but close. They had combed through forums to find the right measurements. Then Dennis had made his own adjustments. Added a few inches to the already-legendary chest, and trimmed an inch off the waistline to make Olympian measurements even more Classical.
By tomorrow he would be 6' 1", 240 pounds of beefy, thick, Herculean muscle. He would walk into class ready to slay a minotaur, or slay the dragon. The thought aroused a confidence deep inside. This is what he wanted. This is what he asked for. This is what he needs to become.
"Looking good." Cathy squeezes his ripening shoulder muscles as she christens him with praise. He grips her strong forearm, and smiles.
"Double the growth next time." Dennis responds. "I can take it."
"Twenty pounds?" Cathy confirms.
"I can take it." Dennis insists.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
