The gym locker room was Zeke’s favorite—and least favorite place. Every time he went in to change or take a leak, he was treated to anywhere from two to ten sweaty, half-naked bodybuilders flexing in the mirrors which surrounded the entire room. They were hung there for that exact purpose: to give big, sexy guys the chance to check on their progress (or check out themselves) all while putting on a show for the primarily gay cliental—Zeke included.
But then Zeke would catch a glimpse of his own reflection, and the mirrors were suddenly a prison of insecurity. He didn’t have the proper genetic disposition of some of the bigger bodybuilders, and even the smaller ones were only that jacked because “being jacked” was their entire personality. No matter how hard Zeke pushed himself at the gym, no matter how many protein shakes he drank, he simply did not look anything like those guys. He was beginning to think he probably never would.
But fate had different plans for Zeke on that fateful Monday morning. Zeke liked to change in the morning since the lockers were sparse and he didn’t want anyone judging his non-existent muscles. That day, it was empty. Just Zeke, the mirrors, and his own, pathetic reflection.
He stood there for a moment or two, staring at the body he’d poured so much time and energy into. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close. “I just wanna be hot,” he cried out to the silence, “I just want to look like all those guys. When I look in the mirror, I want to be turned on by what I see. I want people to be turned on by me. Is that too much to ask!?”
And the silence responded.
At first, Zeke thought he was hungover. Why else would his reflection be bubbling and bending like a piece of rubber? But when Zeke put a hand to his bare chest, he felt it ripple and swell exactly as it rippled and swelled in the reflection. Zeke was stone-cold sober, and he was getting bigger by the second. The young man watched his body completely change; his shoulders got broader, his arms bigger, his chest more thick and pillowy. He stood in utter disbelief as the muscle—the muscle he’d tried for years and years to grow— grew instantly before his very eyes.
And it just kept growing. Zeke was pushing 250 pounds of pure titanium testosterone when the next phase of his transformation began; tattoos appeared all around his back and torso, accentuating the impeccably sculpted curves of his muscular body. His skin grew tan, his lips grew big, and the hair on his head vanished, only to reappear seconds later on his face, chest, and legs. He shifted his position as something slithered down the length of his thigh. When he looked up, the crown of his new 10″ cock was clearly visible through the shiny blue fabric of his gym shorts, as was the long vein running up the length of the shaft.
But such cosmetic changes paled in comparison to Zeke’s final transformation. Zeke had been correct in his assumption that "being jacked” is the entire personality of any true bodybuilder, and in just the blink of an eye, it became his as well. His passions for music, movies, and world history, the sly wit that made him such a hoot at parties, all gone in a flash, replaced in the following moments by an insatiable obsession with physical perfection. “Zeke” graduated with masters and spent his weekends doing trivia nights. “Zeb” played football all through college and goes to raves to blow off steam. “Zeke” was a self proclaimed foodie. “Zeb” hadn’t had a carb in weeks. “Zeke” was nothing more than a long forgotten dream, and “Zeb” stood in his place.
As the morning crowd of gym goers trickled in, they were greeted by the image of peak male performance admiring himself in the mirror. He had been doing so for hours now, and he wasn’t stopping anytime soon. Because he had finally gotten exactly what he wanted: to be hot, to be just like all the other narcissistic meat heads showing off their over saturated bodies for the enjoyment and envy of others.
Though no one was enjoying the show quite as much as Zeb. He knew the chances of actually working out that day were next to none.
It’s not like he needed to anyway.
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