BODriver

Photo-iIllustrated gay fantasy w/ muscle growth, mind control, hypnosis, & the making of dumb bros & meatheads. Also post regular photos of jockboys, athletes, bodybuilders, & alpha studs for inspiration.

[bodriversblog]

You fool. What kinda Texan would ever question suddenly becoming a god at football and dedicating every waking moment to better contribute to a winning team like mine? Why’s it matter that you never cared about football before? That helmet-less, flabby version of you never even had anything to live for like you do now. You don’t want to lose control whenever I put the helmet on you? Fine, Aaron, I’m merging your soul with the demon possessing your helmet. Silas once was human too, you know. And he was an unstoppable tight end in the 60s. You’ll get all his memories of his mortal life and his demonic corruption in hell. And he’ll be freed from the helmet and forever share your body, mind, and soul. And thanks to Silas’ obedience to his demonic Master, you’ll never want to disobey your Coach ever again.

[muscleryb]

Joshua Taubes

[bodriversblog]

boing boing boing boing

ha ha ha

[bodriversblog]

Can’t believe I ever wanted to escape Doc’s Happy Boy School before Doc finished turning me into a Happy Boy for Daddy. It feels so good to have a brain like cotton candy that’s sweet and simple and easy to mush into whatever my Daddy wants. Being a Happy Boy means I only feel bad when Daddy ignores me or leaves me at home for too long. But it takes a lot of work to keep myself looking perfect for him so I just do that until he comes back home. So simple. Simple boys are happy boys.

[bodriversblog]

Once you realize that football is everything, it’s easier to let go of anything else. Give yourself over to Coach, and let him remake you into the perfect tool for his vision on the field. Leave your silly life of books and useless thoughts. Enter a new world of muscle and glory, and perfecting your role in your position.

[bodriversblog]

What giving urself to Coach gets u

So like, 3 years ago, sum guy sent me a pic of himself. Said he wanted to submit to Coach. Which is always the rite move, haha. Always wanting to help a bro out, I got him talking with my old Coach Ross, who first forced me through the jocking process and changed me 4 good. I never herd from the guy again but I just got a text from Coach Ross and he still has the bro with him and he's been training him everyday. Bro had a name before but just goes by "Gunz" now. The pic of Gunz, pre-jockification:

And Coach with Gunz now, who's completely M.T.d of everything except Coach's programming:

Isn't it sweet, bros? Gunz got totally M.T.ed out and remade into Coach's perfect muscle machine. Now he's one of us 💪

[bodriversblog]

The old you is finally awake again. It must’ve been twenty months since this self had control of your own body and mind. It felt like a never-ending bad dream as you watched yourself obey your jock roommate’s every hypnotic suggestion. You pledged a frat with him and surrounded yourself with only your—actually his frat bros, pumped iron with him every day, wore only his gymbro wardrobe, and talked like a chill bro neanderthal while the thoughts in your head felt like molasses trying to drip through cotton candy. He even made you only take classes that you could fully bullshit with the magic brain box... No, um... A large language model.

“What’s wrong, bro?” your bro captor Colton says, noticing a change in your demeanor.

“All this is wrong, bro!” Wait, why can’t you stop saying that word? You try again:

“Colton, you’re not my bro. You’re a sick bastard trying to make me into some dumb ass clone of your frat bros for brojobs and muscle worship seshes! But none of that’s me!”

“Calm down, bro,” he says. You suddenly slump a bit and lower the arm that was pointing a finger at him.

“Here, wear your chain, bro.” You feel Colton place the thick gold chain you’ve been wearing 24/7 around your neck—though you took it off this morning. And you suddenly feel a cozy warmth wash over you.

“If none of this is you, and I’m not your bro, then who are you? What is your name? If you can tell me your name, I’ll let you go back to normal and never bother you again.”

“That’s not fair! You put the dumb jock chain on me, bro! The hypnotic trigger… I… I… can’t remember shit!”

In horror, you grasp your head tightly through your BPO ball cap, as if to keep your memories from draining away and this vestige of your old self from being suppressed once again.

“Bro, my head hurts,” you eventually say to your bro Colton.

“Just try not to think too hard, Tank.”

[bodriversblog]

I know your secret, Ken. I know you have a cannon for a leg, and I won’t let you keep such an asset from me just because you don’t appreciate real football. You thought you’d given up your fake “football” for good once you came here, a school with no soccer team. You thought your studies at a good engineering department were more important. But the thing is, American football—the real football—is our religion here at Jefferson. It’s the lifeblood of the whole city. And now I’ve got a gaping hole in our roster at kicker, with only two weeks before our first game. So you need to dedicate that leg of yours to the team. You need to dedicate your whole body, and all your time to the team. Keep watching this spiral. Learn to love obeying my every command. Learn to love wearing the team uniform. The pads. The helmet. The maroon and white. Obey Coach. Join the Team. Football is life.

[bodriversblog]

Stiles wasn’t phased by the strange girl emerging from the solid hedge and claiming to be a fairy. He’d seen weirder. But he was alarmed and embarrassed that, when she asked him his deepest desire, it immediately spilled out of him like water from cupped hands:

“I wish Derek was into me.”

As he said those words, Stiles pictured Derek waking up one day with his preferences suddenly shifted to include overly talkative skinny goofballs. The fairy pointed her finger at his chest, shooting a light that quickly enveloped his whole body.

Suddenly, Stiles’s mind was filled with vivid scenarios as Derek’s boyfriend. He’d become a disciplined workout partner, dedicating his body to everything Derek demanded of it. No longer belonging to himself, his body would be wholly possessed by Derek’s will, in every early morning run, every chin-up, and every bench press.

He’d even take whatever pills Derek would command him to take and bend over for whatever shots Derek wanted to push into his rear. He’d do anything to achieve a body truly worthy of collecting the Alpha’s seed.

Stiles would also give up all his own ambitions so he could fully serve Derek 24/7. He’d stay at home cooking all their meals. He’d keep Derek’s Camaro spotless. He’d shine Derek’s boots and condition his leather jacket. All while wearing short shorts and tight tanks (or no top at all) for Derek’s viewing pleasure.

As years’ worth of alternate memories reshaped Stiles’ brain, his body shifted with its new history. His shoulders widened, his biceps bulged, his pecs became pillowy enough to catch Derek’s member in the cleft between them. His tee shrank into a tank top, reflecting his new wardrobe.

Stiles blinked as he processed the girl’s question. He worried that she was expecting some abstract answer, and he was never good at those kinds of questions in school. But he also felt relief she wasn’t propositioning him, which happens all the time when you’re built like him. After a long pause he smiled once he realized he actually knew the answer to a question for once.

“My deepest desire? To serve the love of my life. But I already do that every day.”

[bodriversblog]

I told you all I need to regrow the club is six warm bodies, and my power will take care of the rest. Now watch this…

Bam, bam, bam. Our new front row. Bam bam. Two locks. Bam. Our new right wing.

See? Six studly rooks, all even bigger than you. Now lead them through warmups, Coach Paul said he’s running late.

[sson-of-godd]

[bodriversblog]

“OK, before we start training, I’m just gonna take a picture of you. I like to have before and after pictures of all my clients. Just stand there… and… pose. Yeah that flex is perfect. Not too bad for someone who just focuses on running.”

“Um… Is that red light supposed to be so bright?”

“Yeah, it’s just infrared for the rangefinder. Stay still for a few more seconds and—”

“—AAARGH!”

“Perfection. Say cheese.”

[bodriversblog]

Let’s be real, champ. You can try, but there’s no way you’re leaving with your friends. Just look at them. They’re so much bigger than you now, and they want to stay with me. Their Coach. Listen to how they repeat everything I say, and only want what I want for them. The fact is, the friends you once knew are long gone. The last thing they did was choose to be good boys who listen to their Coach, and drink their elixir.

And now their weak bodies and minds have been replaced with perfect vessels for my will. The men you see before you won’t have time for anybody not on my team. Especially not a skinny weakling like you. Drink my elixir and you get your friends, the body you’ve always dreamed of, and an eternal purpose in serving your Coach. Join something greater than yourself. Become someone greater.

[bodriversblog]

Who were they before their jockification? They don’t remember, and they don’t care. Ever since the moment their big bro placed the jocking caps on their heads, they lost their old lives forever, becoming big dumb jock bros who live for the gym, their bros, and the jock lifestyle. When out and about, they keep their eye out for potential new bros: guys with enough brains for the jocking caps to convert into massive gains. They always keep a few caps in their gym bags. Who will be their next victim? Their next jock bro?

[medontmind]

[sirjocktrainer]

no better way for a Jock to spend the day than being trained by his Coach.

[bodriversblog]

Lace-up gloves rock. Not just cuz how of secure and supportive they are, but they make you depend on your coach or your bro at the gym to tie you in and complete your transformation into a fighting machine.

[bodriversblog]

The Bromo Code (2299 words)

A college student receives a gift card for a site that sells only slutty jockwear. He doesn’t think any of it suits him, but nonetheless his fate is already sealed. Clothes make the man, after all.

“This one will do,” I muttered to my phone, as I tapped on the image of a heather grey hoodie.

Honestly, it looked like the most generic, nondescript hooded pullover in the world, but it caught my eye as something I’d actually want to wear. Plain and baggy, it was perfect for blending in and not drawing too much attention to myself. Meanwhile, nothing else on this ridiculous site would fit that bill.

BROMO seemed like some “lifestyle brand” for guys whose entire personalities revolved around muscles and showing them off. Their main focus looked to be athletic or casual short shorts with inseams from 3 to 5 inches, in all sorts of eye-searing colors and patterns. And they also had tanks and form-fitting tees that left little about their hulking models’ upper bodies to the imagination. There were a few modest tops under “Pump Covers,” which was where I found the hoodie, but even those were mostly way too loud and bright, and had brainless slogans such as “GUN SHOW LOADING,” or YOU MIRIN’?”

So why was I shopping at such a site in the first place? Michael—my roommate last year—had texted me a $200 gift card for my birthday in July, saying he hoped to see me back on campus “with a new fit.” His choice of store utterly bewildered me, as he should have known that nothing from this company would appeal to me. Hell, I couldn’t see him wearing any of this stuff, either.

Yet I felt guilty that my plans to visit Michael over the summer fell through, so I committed myself to picking at least one thing to buy and wear the next time we’d see each other. I wanted to show my appreciation for such a generous gift, even if it made no sense at all. Luckily, the first week of the semester had already flown by without us running into each other, but I was running out of time.

I put the hoodie in the cart and tapped “checkout.”

I heard a ping from my inbox: BROMO’s confirmation of my purchase, with an invoice that listed the single item as “HIMBOFY HOOD.”

How weird, I thought. This must be a dropshipper with product names that come from China or something.

The email also had a thumbnail with some super jacked guy wearing a grey sleeveless muscle hoodie, instead of the normal hoodie I picked out.

What the fuck?

Panicking, I clicked on the picture and got directed to the product page of the normal hoodie with sleeves. Must be some weird glitch, I thought, before turning off the light and getting under my bed covers.

👉 Continue reading at Gay Spiral...

[bodriversblog]

That’s right, boy. Breathe… Just breathe. Breathe in and out and feel the fresh air fuel your new body. Feel how powerful and perfectly honed it is for serving its one true purpose: Playing football for your Coach.

Don’t be afraid. There’s no need to fight the new thoughts and memories in your brain. No use trying to hold on to your old self. You were a nobody, anyways. Weak and undedicated to anything greater than yourself. You’re lucky that your old life was gone forever as soon as those shorts slid out of the envelope and into your hand.

Just touching the gear triggered my spell that’s remaking you into my vision of its ideal wearer: a big strapping stud of a tight end to replace the one that’s graduating. Strong. Tall. Fast. Obedient to your Coach. And you couldn’t resist the compulsion to put it all on and meet your new Coach and teammates for practice on my field. Because football is your entire life now. Come on now, son. Just let go. It’ll all be so much better once you completely give in to my will.

[bodriversblog]

Thanks. You look like you’re well on your way too, bro.

My trainer? Not sure where he is, but he’ll be waiting for me when I’m done. He doesn’t need to be here for my stretches and rolling...

How do I like him? You... want my honest answer? I hate him. When I’m awake, anyways.

No, I never hired him. He stole me from my life. He hypnotizes me everyday.

You gotta believe me. I don’t know why I can say this to you this now, but I can’t do anything he didn’t tell me to. And all that he lets me do is meal prep, eat, train, sleep, and work. And work these days is flexing and performing for the subscribers he got me, or letting some guy worship my body, or playing whatever role he wants like a goddamn puppet.

I was a partner at my law firm. Now I can’t even read ever since he basically gave me dyslexia. I can’t use my phone, either, except to receive calls, FaceTime, take selfies, or listen to the playlist he made for me.

And I can’t ever wear a suit again. I’m literally OCD now about having to wear only Nike or Under Armour or else I’m afraid to leave my apartment. And any sleeves on my arms drive me crazy; they make me itch like mad and within a minute I end up ripping them off.

And if the shirt’s not tight enough, I feel claustrophobic, like I’m drowning in the fabric. And it’s the same deal with pants. I can only wear shorts now. Sir says I should thank him he forced me to follow him here to SoCal where the weather’s better.

In the beginning, I used to beg or try to bargain with Sir, or ask him why he was doing this to me. But it gets exhausting. It’s no use cuz I can’t escape. But sometimes, when I remember myself I manage to tell him I hate him.

... Yeah, that’s right Sir, I hate you.

Sorry, bro, looks like he picked you, too. Follow him out the door and don’t say anything. I won’t have to hurt you if you come with us quietly.