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Gym of Dreams: Jasper
|Walking the many highways in America, one has plenty of time to reflect on one’s life. I used to be called Andrew Summers but now I call myself Jasper Baker. If you’re wondering why I had to change my name, I’ll tell you.
Ages long past, my ancestor came across a gypsy. She asked for help, and my ancestor decided to help. Unfortunately, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he would get in return, but he helped nevertheless. After all was said and done, the gypsy told him this, “Your desire to help is admirable, but you are too focused on the reward instead of helping. So I give this to you and your family line. You will become great, but only when you are helping another. Your line will be able to unlock abilities and gifts in others that they will never find alone, and your reward shall come with the assistance of others. Whatever you help someone to do, you shall receive in turn. And this will be how it will always be, you gain only when you help another, and lose when you are not. But you shall retain all the knowledge you gain, so that you may realize what you must do.” And with that, she vanished in a puff of smoke.
I never believed the story when my father told it to me, but I soon realized it around the age of 8. A friend of mine that had spent a few years working in the martial arts came to me. He was concerned that he wasn’t performing well enough for his sensei, and asked if I would join him so he’d have someone to practice with. My head filled with the prospect of learning this art called “Storm-Hammer Ninjutsu” and I accepted the offer. The next few months were interesting. I helped my friend with his studies, and he became exceptionally good at it. I also flew up the ranks of ninja, to the point where both of us were nearing the head of the class by the age of 11. Our sensei was amazed at our progress, both my love for the art and my friends sudden and dramatic improvement. We began to spend more and more time with our sensei, learning the deep mysteries of the ninja when my friend moved away. Slowly but noticeably, my body started to lose the physically abilities that I had gained over the years. I was no longer as nimble or as flexible as I once was, and even my muscles which were toned from years of effort seemed to shrink. In a few months, I had shrunk down to just a sub-average boy of my age where I was once a fit athlete. The day I left the dojo was the same day I realized that what my father said was true. My father said that I was gifted. But it felt more like a curse.
My father tried guiding me through the proper use of my “gift”, saying I shouldn’t try to use it for my gain. I should use it to help those who were worthy and honorable. I didn’t truly understand what he was saying, but if I did, it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.
Throughout middle school, I helped several people. I helped smart kids become smarter, athletes become better and even the band play better. But each person I helped left me after they got what they wanted. The smart kids stopped hanging out with me after they got knowledge and became straight A+ students. The athletes stopped after they grew huge muscles and became super jocks. The band stopped after they won their third national title. And all the effort that my body showed faded. I gained knowledge each time I helped a person, but it only poured sulfur in the wounds of my psyche. What good is it to know exactly the rate my muscles need to move to run a 40 yard dash in 5.0 seconds when my body wouldn’t do it. Who cares if I know exactly how to hold my hands in doing a heavy press when I could barely lift the bar now. I looked in despair at the athletes that I helped, seeing their fit bodies and rippling muscles, and knew that I had them at one time. But soon after they became enthralled with their new status, they tossed me aside like a used napkin, and I slowly but surely regressed to my below average status. It felt horrible, but soon I realized the nature of humanity. I felt that everyone was out to only improve themselves and cared nothing about who or what they used to get there. So, I decided to stop helping. Better to not help than to feel this pain of abandonment every time I did.
I felt like this until I was in high school. There, I met a guy that would give me hope for the future. He was tall, around 6’4’’ to my 5’3’’ and huge. He easily was three times bigger than I was. He saw me in the halls one day and he decided to approach me. I was always dejected and he extended a much needed offer of friendship. His presence lifted me out of my pit of despair and eventually I felt that there were at least some good people in the world. We spent tons of time together. We ate lunch, hung out at our houses, watched movies, and went places together. He didn’t even know about my “gift”, but he was willing to be my friend despite what I looked like.
The one night I will never forget happened at the beginning of the summer. I was comfortable enough with him that I felt that I could even tell him my two deepest secrets. One was my fore mentioned curse. The other was that I thought I was gay. I told him how I longed for the feel of muscles on my body and on others. He looked sternly at me then rose to his full height. I was afraid that I had run off my only friend and I started to rise to meet him, but he pushed me back down to the bed. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked upon his stern countenance. After looking at me crossly for a few moments, he slowly raised his shirt over his head and flexed his pecs. “Is this what you want little guy?” he said to me. I could do nothing but nod. He took my hand and placed it on his massive chest. It rippled with power and was covered with a light layer of fur. It felt so good I could immediately feel my cock start to throb. I closed my eyes and let him guide my hand around the canyons of his chest. I spent at least five minutes just drinking in the power of his muscles. Then he stopped. I opened my eyes as he released my hand and he said to me, “Be ready tomorrow at 8. We start then.”
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