Chapter 9: The WorkOut

Martin drove his piece of shit Honda to the sporting goods store to buy a pair of five-pound dumbbells then he drove home to begin his exercise program. He wanted the program in his mind before he went to work tomorrow, so he started the process of purifying his soul. He walked down to the basement of his newly found father's house. He had to make three trips. First to carry Professor Attila's book, then he had to carry the five-pound dumbbells downstairs one at a time. He placed the dumbbells on the floor and the book on his desk. He rubbed his eyes for a moment and an image of Sammy's face flashed before his eyes. Her face was beautiful with those thick glasses and that sexy ponytail. Martin shook his head. These were the thoughts that he had to get out of his mind. He did not think that Sammy looked like him. She must look like her mother. I know that Jack is a widower, but I haven't seen a picture of Sammy's mother and I'm too afraid to ask about it.

Martin felt a tightness between his legs and looked down at his private area. There were tears in his eyes as he thought to himself, "Will I ever be free of this infatuation?"

Martin opened the book that Bart had given him. It had no introduction to the exercises. The exercises featured a black and white picture of a model dressed in shorts, shoes, and no shirt. He had good muscle tone, but lacked the chest development of the modern bodybuilder. The instructions told Martin to do a basic biceps curls with the dumbbells fifty to a hundred times. Martin took off his shirt. His body looked much different from the models. Martin's stomach was round and soft, but not really large. Martin looked at his chest and noticed the shape of his breasts. They really were rounded like a woman's and they stuck out perky and small. Damn, soybeans. I need to end this battle with the patriarchy and start focusing on me.

Martin started through the exercises. The routine had an exercise for nearly every muscle. Martin turned the radio on and the disc jockey played Little Sister by Elvis Presley. Martin just shook his head and continued his workout. Finally, he was really into the exercises and he didn't hear Billy Ranter walk into his room. Billy was shocked to see that Martin was working out.

"Nice tits, dude," grinned Billy.

Martin flipped Billy off and answered, "Hey, it's the price you pay for fighting the patriarchy. But, now I have decided to stop being a social justice warrior and start focusing on myself. It's time I showed the world a brand-new Martin Fargo."

Billy took a cigarette from the pack in his hand and lit it. "So what kind of exercise program are you doing?"

Martin sat his dumbbells down and handed Billy the book.

"Professor Attila's Five Pound Dumbbell Exercises. That's cool, dude, but where did you learn about this book?"

Martin smiled. "From my friend Bart Finn. You know of Finn Brother's Detective Agency?"

"That's impressive," spoke Billy, as he thumbed through the book.

"I have heard of these old school exercise programs. The secret to this program is to tense the muscles the best you can as you go through the exercises and to think about your muscles growing. A good system to use to establish the mind-muscle connection."

Martin wanted to roll his eyes. "How do you know about this shit?"

"Research. I spend a lot of my free time surfing the Internet. You are working out with a program that the Cabal doesn't want you to know about. Keep it up, Martin, and you will look like this in no time," said Billy, as he took off his shirt. Unlike Martin, Billy's stomach was flat with his muscles standing out like a washboard. Billy's pecs danced in the cool air as he flexed them. "Not bad, huh?"

"Wow, dude. You are built like Tarzan."

Billy put his shirt back on, lit his cigarette, and left the room. Martin finished up his exercises, stripped off naked, and took a shower. He was feeling sore and he didn't think about Samantha once while showering. Perhaps, tomorrow at work, he would make it through the day without doing anything too embarrassing.