Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

  There’s nothing more amazing than having possessed a body. Being dead gets kinda fuckin’ awful, bruh. You’re floating around, looking at others live their lives, knowing you’d live it better… I mean, that’s Emilio! Look at him. He’s got so much potential, and he’d rather be taking fuckin’ filter selfies on Instagram for his 300 followers. If only he’d have hit the gym for a few years, joined the football team… Woulda been a whole different story. He wouldn’t have needed my help. But, I mean, I can’t complain. Profits flow upward, bruh. I’m in charge now, so I get the gold. So first of all, that tackle was bullshit. We were winning, some fucker had to come knock the life outta me and shut down our sports program. I watched the school get less and less swole, less fit, and it killed me. I needed to do something. That’s where little Emilio came into play.  He was a little prep. You know, that little shit who would walk around and talk shit about people he doesn’t even know. He ...

  I am indebted to Chase and Ryder. To Blue and Yellow. To the Minibar Ibiza. I am who I am today because of them, because I obeyed. I used to be so independent. A loner, quiet and reserved, and above all, ashamed. My body wasn’t what I wanted to be, it was almost as if I were completely disconnected from it. Who I saw in the mirror wasn’t who I was meant to be, and there was nothing I could do about it. That’s the person that Chase and Ryder saw that hot Saturday afternoon in South Beach, Miami: the loner.  I had gone to Miami to visit some distant relative I don’t remember anymore. Walking from Mercy Hospital to the oceanside, I remember needing a break from whatever stressful emergency brought me down here, so I took a walk. I was brooding over something or another, when I heard this melodic, sexy tenor voice. “Hey you, you okay bud?” I turned my head to see a beautiful, shirtless adonis staring at me from behind his blue sunglasses. He stood sporting only a black speedo in...

  Jamie walked through the doors of the UFC gym and sat down on a bench, waiting for Alex to come out. For years, Alex had been a shut-in, shy nerd who spent days on the computer; it drove his father nuts. Jamie reminisced of all the times neighborhood kids came to the house, asking for Alex to come outside and play, and every time being sent away sans Alex. Even years later, as a college student, he never once left his room outside of the occasional class. Jamie looked up into the ring with pride, as his reinvented son dominated his opponent, immediately pinning him to the ground.  You see, one dreary September day, Jamie had had enough of Alex’s lethargy. Convincing his son that a gaming convention was in town, Alex needed no coaxing to rush to his father’s Mercedes. However, when he pulled up next to Iron Sweat Martial Arts, he nearly walked home. But after being promised whatever DLC he dreamed of, Alex reluctantly relented. Jamie drove away, as Alex walked in the doors an...

  “My god, haha! Look at me, bro!” Your friend spoke with an unfamiliar lush and velvety voice. Demarcus stood laughing uncontrollably at his abrupt transformation. The mystic boardshorts glowed a bright fluorescent green, as he flexed his new ebony muscles. A stirring in your pants brought you back to earth. You walked up to him, flabbergasted, and felt the muscles under his beautiful black skin: strong and shiny as diamonds. “I told you it’d work!” He grasped you in a bear hug, his newfound height aided him significantly in raising you a foot off the ground. “You mean, your aunt wasn’t joking? She really is a voodoo queen?” Demarcus dropped you onto the ground, your bum landing hard on the old wooden floors. An eyebrow raised, he crosses his arms, waiting for you to finally concede. “Alright. Fine. You were right, I was wrong. Now gimme the damn briefs!” He smiled that joyful grin, and spun around, rummaging through his backpack. You plopped backward onto the bed, head spinning. ...

  You loved the show Fireproof. The drama, the action, the sexy men barely clothed… Every Wednesday at 7, you tuned into the show, excited to see what your favourite firefighters were going up against. As you turn on the television, the opening credits rolled. You can barely contain your excitement as you mindlessly munch on your sandwich and chips. The episode opens as it normally does, with your two favourite characters walking into the station. Ben and Shane were notorious for having particularly gratuitous scenes showing off their built bodies walking around the station. And today’s was no different. They walk barefoot, their trousers around their waists, into the station, talking about the wild night they had before partying.  As they start to hang up their trousers, Carlos, a fan favourite, announces that his wife demanded he leave his career. They were kicking Carlos off the show? You are truly shocked. As Ben and Shane bro-hug their friend goodbye, a peculiar scene beg...

  “It’s on the house, brother. That guy over there paid for it already.” The bartender handed you the Amaretto Sour, and pointed down the empty bar to a guy at the end. You didn’t recognize him. It’d be impossible for you to forget a gorgeous man like that. He shot you a glance with two big blue eyes, and you felt your stomach drop. He winked at you, grabbed his drink, and walked away. In your head, you know he wanted you to follow him. Trying to play it cool, you causally glance around the bar, hoping to see where he ended up, only to see him by the entrance to the smoking alley. He’s still watching you with that adorable smirk on his face. Despite the muscles, tattoos, piercings, and all around bad boy persona, there was a sense of genuine innocence behind his eyes. You knew he was a good catch. You down your drink and the remains of a tequila shot next to you, and approach the guy. Up close he’s even more delectable than before, his breath smells of Orange Tic Tacs, and a sprawl...

  Deandre was an ebony God: tall, dark and handsome. He was a friendly, good-natured, all around great guy. He had a girlfriend, a steady job, and a dream life on Hawaii. Every day at lunch he’d throw on a pair of boardshorts and go surfing for thirty minutes or so; and it was a typical Wednesday afternoon that his life was effectively taken over.  It was a beautiful day. Blue skies, 89 degrees, sunny, and crashing waves. A beach full of tourists wasn’t enough to deter Deandre and his surfboard, so as he walked past sunburnt retirees from deep in the midwest, he payed no attention to the pair of eyes watching him like a hawk. Hiding from sight behind a surfboard of his own, the man’s blacked out eyes and curious demeanour strangely caught the attention of no one. Deandre paddled out to catch some waves, missing a few decent ones. His attention focused on the horizon, he didn’t notice the man slowly entering the water. Sporting glasses to hide his darting eyes, he searched his ...