Dan could feel the juice pulsating through his veins, his shoulders felt like bowling bowls as he rubbed the soreness away from the days training.Quickly he dashed to the mirror while removing the medium shirt that had been bought that day.
The mirror painted a mixed picture, well scuplted shoulders were brought down by arms that looked like he barely trained, giving him a T-Rex like silhouette.A Chest which at first he thought was growing muscle had a glandular feel to it, the guys at work had already teased him about it, much to his dissatisfaction.A blonde curtains hairstyle that had been grown like his favorite 90s body builders was also the subject of much ridicule.He disliked those cocksuckers, no he HATED them, he WOULD show them.
His mind then drifted to the next days work, slumped in a cubicle, barely enough room to store the days plastic tupperware cases filled with tuna and rice.The endless lines of buggy code the real software developers sent him to check, a 20k a year job meaning being at the bottom of the barrel for the jobs that nobody of sane mind wanted to do.Out of work he would tell people he was an entrepreneur, bragging about recent company acquisitions....nobody believed him.
Dejected, he collapsed on his worn out sofa and began to flick through a bodybuilding magazine he had shamefully bought at the local Walmart, he could see the smirk on the face of the emo, skinny jean wearing cashier as he nervously put it on the counter.The pages were filled with ebony mountains or muscle and pale skinned Gods, intertwined with the fluff of Womens bodybuilding.While browsing his heart skipped a beat as he saw it, the place he dreamed of, where men could openly walk in thongs, oiled and tanned without ridicule.Venice Beach.THE Mecca.
At that moment he knew he was going to move West, away from the 9-5 drudgery that plagued him daily, to the place where one could ogle muscular hunks whenever they chose.But how would he tell his family?Already he suspected they had suspicions about which team he played for, a move couldnt be made directly to Venice, but it had to be close, close enough he could spend his weekends finding every seedy hole the place had to offer.
He hated himself, a change was needed, to become a whole new person....somebody else.And then it hit him like every cliched flash from every primetime hero show in history....he would change his name.
But what would it be?Wentworth?Rupert?Rock?In the background the radio played against the backdrop of the cold winters night, the sound seemed to echo around his small 3 room "home".The Yankees were playing, they were up and Alex Rodriguez had hit 2 home runs.He thought about his muscular toned frame running around the bases that posed no opposition, free at that moment from everything, the press, female worries, just experiencing the moment as it was ....The King on his throne.And right there he knew the answer to his question, he would call himself Alex...Alex G.
