@realness365, Sorry for completely forgetting about this request. Super excited.
“Yo! Dude!” You stop, your simple jog in the park interrupted by some voice calling out to you. Turning to the left, you see a kid you’ve never seen before doing pull ups at the fitness park. This surprised you for a couple of reasons. Primarily, when you jogged this route the day before, there had been no fitness park. Secondary, his gym bag, haphazardly tossed next to the tree, had the unfamiliar name of Sunnmore University in big collegiate lettering. You’d lived in your town for a good long while now, and you didn’t know of any University popping up recently. Nervously, you call back.
“Yeah?” The jock drops from his pull up, sauntering over to you. Was he going to mug you? Berate you? The uncertainty of his intentions made his approach seem all the more ominous. Grasping the small canister of pepper spray you ironically bought the day before, you stood your ground, doing your best to suppress the sight of your increasing anxiety. Mere feet away from you, he finally came to a stop, his bulging muscles glistening with beads of sweat and the dirt of the park.
“Could you do me a favour and time me? I gotta do 100 pushups in 5 minutes for coach.” He hands you his phone, taking it upon himself to just plop down on the dry, dirt covered ground and get into a pushup position. Stunned, you awkwardly give a three second countdown and begin timing him.
20 pushups each minute. He swung up and down, up and down, as if it were nothing. At the halfway mark, he started to clap in between each dip, as you stared in awe of his energy and dexterity. Five minutes having past, he jumped up and snatched the phone out of your hands. With a quick thanks, he started back to his pull-up bar, when you stopped him.
“Hey, how the hell do you get that fit, dude? That was incredible!” He smiles and flexes a little, clearly putting on a show for his eager audience.
“Hard work and a little somethin’ somethin’. Why? You see something you like?” He flexes his biceps, sauntering back to you. He jovially places his hand on your shoulder, letting out a friendly laugh. “You wanna see?” Mesmerized, you nod in a lusty stupor, and he throws his sweaty arm around your shoulders, leading you over to his bag by the big sycamore tree. He ruffles through the bag for a minute, giving you a glimpse of lacrosse boots and uniforms. Eventually he pulls out a small, turquoise puck. At first, you think it’s a hair gel or paste, but when he opens it up, it’s a dark black lotion.
“Coach calls it Thermicore. It’s some weird company out in Estonia, but if it works, it works.” He hands you the puck, and you glance at the strange black lotion. It has no scent, and looks almost as if it has little crystals or grains inside it, like bits of sparking obsidian. “Hey, you wanna take a break from your little jog and try it out?” You consider walking away. You don’t know this kid, in fact, he’s the type of douchey college frat boy you intentionally distance yourself from. Yet, there was something about those sparkling beads of sweat, looking like he was covered in glistening diamonds, that made your heart fill with envy. Damn, if a kid with a body like this gives you advice, take it!
The overwhelming nervousness seems to melt away as you dip the tip of your finger into the Thermicore. Your spine tingles, and goosebumps erupt across your body: it’s cold. Unnaturally cold. Like just the little smidgen of it that graces your fingertip equates to an arctic polar plunge. The jockboy laughs at your obvious reluctance, before snatching the puck out of your hands. Cupping a copious amount of it, he strips you of your shirt, and begins to lather you with the paint-like lotion.You thought just a small amount of it was unbearably cold, now with it covering your body, unbearable was an understatement.
The thick, black goo, under the guiding hand of the still unintroduced jockboy, now covers your entire torso. Physically, it doesn’t make sense. He grabbed a good dollop, but not enough to cover your entire upper body! Further, as you look down at your belly, it begins to disappear. Or, rather, seep into you. It is an invasive, confusing, yet strangely titillating tingle that overtakes your senses. In seconds, every single pore had absorbed the dense slime.
“Aight, bro, come on! Gotta get started before it kicks in!” Your arm is nearly tugged out of socket as the jock drags you to the pull up bar. Effortlessly, he jumps up and goes rep after rep of chin ups. Feeling minorly empowered, you leap up and grab the bar, and struggle to pull your body up to the corrugated metal bar. Grunting, moaning, and panting, you manage to pull your chin to the base of the bar. One down, ten to go. Yet, as you hung there like a strung up shark, a sudden flash of heat struck you. Just a momentary burst of energy, enough for you to do your second rep, much easier than before. Chin up, burst of heat. Chin up, explosion of energy. In no time, you had brushed ten reps off like it was nothing. You had worked up quite a sweat in the process, as the Thermicore kicks into gear and heats your body up- an all natural sauna.
Feeling the need to just hit the ground and smash out some pushups, you drop from the bar and go to town, feeling as if the earth was moving under your powerful hands. Sweat began to trickle down your sides, down your arms, down your chest like little rivers flowing to your toes. The dirt beneath your fingers combined with the dripping sweat, pooling into a puddle. Damn, you are sweating like a beast! Pulsating waves crash over your throbbing muscles, as you push up, and down.
You flip over onto your back, throwing your thick, muscled arms around the back of your head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Each rep crunching your abs, strengthening your core, creating that washboard six pack you always wanted. Your shirt clings to your bulging pecs, and rippled torso, drenched in sweat.
The jock extends his hand to help you up, which you take in exhilarating zeal. He hands you your phone, which you haphazardly left at the campus gym the day before. Smiling, you put in your earbuds, and listen to coach’s soothing voice caress all your troubles away. Reps, after that, seemed seconds apart, accomplished at the slightest ease. Burpees. Jumping Jacks. Windmills. High Knees. Squats. A full body workout intense enough to down Arnold Schwarzenegger passed by in the blink of an eye. Your bro limped over, clearly exhausted from the amazing progress he made.
“Yo, dude. I’mma head home. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow!” You wave goodbye to your captain, and start jogging to catch your train back to campus. Just barely making it, you plop down on the seat, knowingly ignoring the studying glances of the girls seated adjacent to you. A star Lax bro is used to attention like that, nothing a nice Playboy and your fleshlight can’t handle. Besides, coach wants you to keep focused for the game. Only then can you slam some tail. In the meantime, you gotta go pick up your puck of Thermicore, can’t get swole without it.