Unrivaled pt. 8 (Patreon)

As the end date kept closing in the various programs were winding down. Trevor was done with all the weird behavior modulation sessions, done with the various physical therapy sessions, the graston massage, the position alignment training. Instead the schedule opened up for more and more unspecified gym time. With more and more time to reflect and control his own day Trevor realized how fucked he was.

He felt like a bus. His range of motion was so much worse than before this all started. Even things he could do just month ago wasn’t possible anymore. And it wasn’t just because he wasn’t limber enough, though that was certainly part of it, but any way he moved swelling muscles would be in the way. He couldn’t even touch most of his back because his shoulders had gotten so wide.

The big change in mass completely changed his entire balance, but what had really messed up his movements was the last change in shoes. As with everything else, his feet had been growing, going through ever larger shoe sizes. The latest one however didn’t have the weird soles in them, and finally, way too late, he had discovered their purpose. He found that his gait was completely changed. Instead of his perky and precise gait he was now swaying like a punched college wrestler.

And the smell. That had gone from insistent to a permanent locker room in June. He stunk like gym sneakers and armpit even immediately after the daily shower, and he sweated like no one he had ever seen before. He had tried to keep off the water bottle for an entire morning, but he just got a headache instead. Similarly he had tried to eat less, now that his meal size wasn’t enforced anymore, but he just felt awful with anything less than an enormous portion.

Finally it was here. The last review session with Mr. Thompson. It wasn’t that different from the more than 51 preceding ones. After going through all statistics, Trevor was on his way to a procedure room to get his final set of shots. One of which would be a protein deactivating the anti-prison-break neurotoxin in his blood. To his surprise the doctor ordered him to strip and lie down on the table. When the doctor started to apply a transparent gel to his dick and balls Trevor started sobbing, repeating “fucking shitfilled cunts” over and over. After the gel had been applied the doctor injected a syringe each of white liquid in his left and right ball. He then produced a black flashlight device, much like the one used on Trevor earlier, but larger. As before he inserted the tube part of device into the dick, pushed a button, and removed it. Finally he produced a new set of milky syringes, and emptied another one each in Trevor’s balls. Tears were still rolling down Trevor’s cheeks as he was waddling from the procedure room, adjusting his lemon sized testicles.

Epilogue

Trevor stepped out of the shower and patted himself dry with a towel. He grabbed a fresh pair of boxer briefs. He needed something to keep things in place during the night. He put on a simple sweatshirt in XX-are-you-fucking-kidding-L size, sat down on the toilet and picked a pair of soccer socks from the stack. After putting them on he put on and laced his night shoes, a pair of Adidas space diver. The socks would be pretty moist in the morning, but the larger mass of soccer socks at least prevented them from being soaked. During the past week he had gone back and forth on wearing shoes to bed, but settled on rather having wet feet than the whole room smelling like a french cheese monger.

He looked at himself in the mirror. It looked more like he was getting ready to go to the gym than to bed, he thought. Or perhaps coming back from gym, as he glanced at the dark patches forming under his arms. At least this way he could use the same bed sheets more than one night. He brushed his teeth and downed a few glasses of water. Anything less than a pint and he would wake up thirsty in the middle of the night from all the sweating. And he needed to be rested tomorrow, as it was his first day working at the lumber yard. His father had negotiated the job with the foreman, saying that Trevor had a sweat gland issue and tourette syndrome. It was essentially the truth. Well, getting paid to lift things would be welcome, as Trevor had found out that not lifting things were not an option anymore.