“What do you think, MoJo? You wanna work out some more?” the man smirked at the huge brute, finishing a set at the gym.
“please, I’m tired, I just wanna go home…” MoJo said, “and stop…calling me MoJo, it’s not my name?”
“Oh? Then what is your name? If you can give me another name, a true name, this will all be over. Then again, you can’t, can you? Because I have your name now, which means I get to call you whatever I want.”
MoJo still didn’t understand how this had happened. He’d been downtown, and seen a couple of faggots kissing outside a bar, and chucked a rock at them. Konked one on the head, and then this other guy had been next to him, asking him for his name, and then…and then this! He looked down at himself, unable to believe how big he’d become in just a few hours. He looked like a freak!
“Well, if you really want to stop, we can work on something else, MoJo. I think you’re looking like a proper musclefag anyway.”
“I’m not a musclefag!” MoJo fumed, “Not a fag at all…”
“No?” the man said, “I’m calling you a musclefag. Empty headed, musclefag MoJo, all brawn and no brains, but wouldn’t hurt a fly–you’re too good of a guy for that. More interested in finding some guy to plow one of your holes anyway, though you’ll always stand up for a fag in trouble, right?”
MoJo was shaking his head, but it was emptying out father than he could understand. The guy was right, after all. He’d been called a musclefag all his life, and they were right. He was muscles, and he was a fag! What else could he be? “I don’…” he started to say, but lost his train of thought almost immediately. “Fuck, I’m horny–wanna fuck my ass?”
“Only if I can fuck it right here, where anyone can see you through those windows.”
MoJo nodded dumbly–he was happy for a fuck or a suck anywhere. He bent over the bench and the man yanked down his shorts, sliding into his well used hole, and MoJo sighed, wondering if he could get back to the club before it closed, and find a few other guys willing to plow a dumb musclefag like him before the night was over.