Another month, another rent payment, and the possibility that you’re going to run up some late fees on it again. Life hasn’t been easy since graduating college. You weren’t top of your class, not by a long shot, but you think that you did pretty well for yourself. You even have an Honours degree. But what does that matter when the job market is the way that it is, your field seems nigh-impenetrable to anyone that doesn’t have the years of experience necessary to get an entry-level job. It’s misery, and you’re done with it. But it’s not like you can just drop everything at this point. That means being homeless, and as much as you hate having to participate in the gig economy, it sure beats not having any place to live.

But the fact that you’re tired and wiped out whenever you get back home at the end of the day only exacerbates your lack of motivation. You’ve always wanted to work out. You’ve just never wanted to put the effort it. Now that you’re always exhausted at the end of the day only makes it more difficult to want to put the effort in.

One day, it all changes. You don’t know why or how. You only remember the faintest details of a dream that you had. You were in a grey city of some sort, in the driving ice-cold rain. But even as you try to recall more of the dream it fades from your mind.

Your day still starts off mostly the same, though. You get a breakfast of stale cereal, like you usually do. You get on your ride-sharing app and pack a bag of resumes to run around the city in between gigs. But something new happens at around lunch time. You stop. And then you hit the gym.

It’s entirely unexplored territory. You feel like a fish out of water. But you tell yourself that if you want to change things, now is the time. And besides, there is a strange idea in the back of your head, an opportunity to get out of the rut that you’ve been stuck in for the last couple of months.

The details are a little hazy and sketchy, but your whole brain has been feeling that way since this morning. You’ve been finding it hard to concentrate on anything. But the gym helps. Pumping iron, the mindless repetition of it, it helps soothe your frazzled nerves. At first you’re pretty clumsy with the weights and the machines, but one of the bros at the gym helps you out and eventually you’re acting like you’ve been going to the gym all your life.

You know that you’re going to need a lot more work, and while normally you would find that incredibly discouraging, at this point you only feel more motivated to keep coming back. It’s strange. It’s new. But it’s not entirely unwelcome. It’s what you’ve wanted all this time, after all.

When you get home you jump on your computer. It takes you a moment to remember how to log in. It takes you a few more moments to remember your password. It’s weird. Almost like the knowledge had drifted out of your head. But you dismiss it as soon as you log on. You start looking up male cam shows. Jerking off for the camera. How much money can be made from that sort of thing if you’re popular enough.

The results surprise you. It would be more than enough to pay your rent, if you worked hard enough at it. You know you don’t have the body for it yet, but you will. Eventually. That settles it for you. You know what you’re going to do. What you’re going to work toward.

Over the next few days you keep going back to the gym after finishing half a day of "work." You’re missing out on a good sum of money, but it’s for the best. You can’t concentrate anymore, anyway. You keep taking wrong turns and getting your passengers lost. It’s a wonder you haven’t been booted from the service yet, but you figure it’s only a matter of time.

You don’t care. Not anymore. You’re chasing after the dream of making money just showing off your body, not having to worry about a thing and letting other people pay your way through life. Not only that but you’ve become hooked on the mindless euphoria of working out. With every day that passes you feel foggier and emptier and simpler and dumber, like all the bros that you’re now regularly working out with.

At some other time it would have alarmed you, but now it only feels good. You start feeling more confident. You even think about asking women out. But the thought seems oddly unappealing. If anything you start looking at your bros more, eyeing up their impressive bodies, not only wishing to be like them, but wishing to have their skin pressed bare against yours. You’re turning gay, you realize, but you don’t care. You feel so dumb and so mindless and so happy. You don’t want to go back.

Eventually you start your cam show. You make a good buck the first time. But you want more. So you do a bit more research. Guys who stick things up their asses get more money, apparently. So you decide to buy a dildo. You tell yourself that it’s only for the show, but the first time you experience it is mindblowing. You start riding that dildo whenever you have a free moment.

You notice that your workouts are giving you a nice fat ass. It feels good. It makes you giggle whenever it jiggles. And the way that the other men at the gym eye you up makes you horny. You’re making a killing with your cam show and one of the guys recognizes you from it. He chats you up, asks you if you want to have a partner on the show. You’ve read that actual sex shows paid even better, so you jump on it.

Whatever remnants of your old self are fucked out of you on camera later that evening, your butt bouncing as you ride the fuck out of your gym bro’s fuckpole. It feels so good to be fucked dumb, to be fucked empty, to be fucked, period.

When the show is over, your friend asks you to fuck him. It’s not really your thing. Not anymore. Since you discovered the pleasure you can get from riding dildos and now, real cocks, you’ve not wanted to top at all. But he’s so cute and has such a nice muscular butt that you can’t resist. Besides, he helped you, didn’t he?

The next time you see him, he’s ditzy and giggly and dumb like you. But he’s a lot more aggressive with flirting at some of the guys at the gym. It just means you have to up your game.

Another thought occurs to you. You’re not particularly smart anymore, so the thought is actually something of a surprise. But you begin to wonder how much happier your audience is going to be if they had not one, but two slutty empty-headed himbos to watch on your show.