Bodybuilder in the Industry Part 1
Disclaimer: some of the pop culture references will seem dated because this takes place in 2010/2011
Mike had always been the kind of guy who thrived on challenges. Towering at six feet two, he had dreams of becoming a professional bodybuilder. He was the epitome of a stud and a real lady's man. His muscular, tanned body was a result of hours at the gym. But when college classes at Penn State became too overwhelming--his passion for lifting clashing with the demands of coursework--he made the bold decision to drop out and chase his dreams in New York City.
The city was a whirlwind of lights, noise, and endless possibilities. He secured a job as a bouncer at a trendy Midtown nightclub, a place where the bass thumped like a heartbeat and the crowd pulsed with energy to the sounds of Lady Gaga and the Black-Eyed Peas among others. Each night, he stood at the entrance, a formidable presence guarding the threshold between the wild nightlife and the outside world. It wasn't glamorous work, but it paid the bills and kept him in the gym.
Yet, despite the adrenaline rush of his job, Mike often found himself envious of his coworker, Jax. Jax was a wiry guy with an easy smile and an easy laugh, but what caught Mike's attention were the sleek cars he drove to work. Each week, it seemed, there was a different luxury vehicle waiting for him, gleaming under the city lights. Mike couldn't help but ask, "How do you afford all those cars, man?" Jax chuckled, leaning against the wall with a casual air. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, glancing around to ensure they wouldn't be overheard. The nightclub buzzed around them, the music thumping through the walls, but Mike was focused solely on Jax. "Try me," Mike urged, intrigued. He had always admired the lavish lifestyles of some of his friends, but he never considered the lengths they might go to achieve it. With a conspiratorial grin, Jax leaned closer. "I've got a side gig..."
The neon lights of New York City flickered outside the sleek office building as Mike adjusted his gym bag, heart racing with excitement and anxiety. He was there to meet Max, a well-known agent in the adult industry. The door swung open, revealing a charismatic man with an easy smile. "Mike, right? You've definitely got the look," Max said, motioning him inside. As they sat down, Mike felt the tension ease slightly, but Max's sharp gaze seemed to size him up. "You know, this industry can be tough," Max began, leaning back slightly in his chair, "but with your physique, the ultimate potential is right at your fingertips."
Mike swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the words. He had always dreamed of making it big, but what did that really mean in the adult industry? Max leaned forward, his expression suddenly more serious. "You need to be ready for anything. It's not just about looks; it's about how far you're willing to go. There aren't too many opportunities in this town of this nature, believe it or not. And I'd hate to send you all the way to the West Coast for work." "West Coast?" Mike echoed, the mention of California sending a flicker of apprehension through him. He had always thought of himself as an east coaster, grounded in the grit of New Jersey and the nearby city that never sleeps. "I thought this meeting was about working here." Max nodded, his smile returning, "If you want to work here, close to home, you might have to make some compromises regarding the type of studio you're interested in. To make the most money, we might as well go for the juggernaut in this industry. They pay good, even by West Hollywood standards."
"That's great. Who are they?" Mike asked. "They are a fetish company." "What's a fetish company? "Unconventional sex" "How unconventional?" Mike pressed. "Unconventional enough to pay models a fortune if they commit. Models fly in from across the country to work with this studio. That's how good the pay is. And everything they do is fully about your consent. Theres nothing they'll force you into that you don't want to do. It's all part of the contract. But the more you're willing to compromise the happier you'll be with that paycheck."
Max continued, locking eyes with Mike. "Trust me, you'll make a shitload of money fast if that is your goal...Let me ask you something, how committed are you to this?" Mike squared his shoulders, trying to project confidence he wasn't entirely sure he felt. "I thrive on challenges, and this is something I really want to try--for the right price." The words tumbled out, his bravado barely concealing the apprehension coiling in his gut. Max leaned in, a satisfied smile creeping across his face. "That's all I need to hear." He rolled back his chair and stood up, the movement fluid and purposeful. "Then you're 100% on board with moving forward?" The air in the room thickened as Mike hesitated. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down like a lead blanket. "Yes," he said finally, his voice hissing with uncertainty.
After starting his relationship with Max, Mike found himself in a world that demanded more than just his performances; it demanded a transformation. One afternoon, sitting in a trendy barber shop in Hell's Kitchen, he watched nervously as the stylist prepared to give him a new look. Max had insisted on the change, claiming it would elevate Mike's marketability, but the idea of a Jersey Shore-inspired haircut made Mike uneasy.
As the clippers buzzed to life, Mike's heart raced. He had always liked his longer, curly hair; it felt more authentic to him. But he wanted this to work with Max, and that meant adapting to a new image. The stylist deftly sculpted his hair into a style that felt foreign, each snip pulling him further from the person he used to be. When the final touches were done, he barely recognized himself in the mirror, the reflection staring back a mix of fresh confidence and discomfort. "Looks great!" Max exclaimed, beaming as he entered the barber shop. Mike forced a smile, but deep down, he was struggling with the change. He felt like he was losing a piece of himself, yet the thrill of being part of a lucrative industry kept him moving forward.
Along with the haircut, there were other demands. Mike now had to keep his chest and thighs meticulously shaven, a regimen that felt more like a chore than a choice. Each week, he found himself in the bathroom, razor in hand, carefully removing hair to achieve the smooth look that was now expected. As days turned into weeks, Mike's discomfort began to morph into a sense of resilience. He started to embrace the new look, realizing that it was a part of the package he was signing up for. Each time he caught a glimpse of his reflection, he reminded himself that this was about more than just appearances; it was about making a shit ton of money, and the ability to navigate a world that constantly shifted beneath him.
After a few shoots, Mike sat down for another meeting with Max, his mind swirling with a mix of confusion and exhilaration. The past weeks had been a whirlwind of experiences that both thrilled and perplexed him. Each shoot had pushed boundaries from the gate that he hadn't anticipated, challenging his understanding of not only the industry but of himself. He was hyper-aware of the personas he was expected to adopt. Sometimes, he could hardly recognize himself in the mirror, reflecting back the mask he had learned to wear. But then came the day he received his first paycheck, and everything shifted. As he opened the envelope, the crisp bills fluttered out like confetti, each one a tangible symbol of his efforts and sacrifices. He stared at the amount, disbelief washing over him, quickly followed by a heady rush of validation. This was real money--enough to cover rent, indulge in a few luxuries, and even treat himself to a night out with friends.
He felt the gears of his mind grinding against the discomfort he had experienced, convincing himself that this was the cost of ambition. He rationalized his choices, telling himself that in an industry this cutthroat, one had to adapt to survive. Brainwashed by the lure of success and the thrill of earning, he immersed himself deeper into the role he had accepted. Meeting Max afterward was like a victory lap. Max sat across from him, an almost paternal grin stretching across his face. "See? I told you it would be worth it!" he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair, exuding confidence. "You're making a name for yourself, Mike. People are starting to talk, and they're impressed. You're in demand!"
"Yeah, I guess it's not what I expected, but it's... interesting," Mike replied cautiously, hoping to navigate the conversation without revealing too much hesitation. "Interesting?" Max chuckled, his laughter warm but laced with an edge. "You're playing in the big leagues now, my friend. This is where the real action happens. You'll learn to love the thrill of it. Just keep your head clear and your goals in sight." As they talked, Mike felt a strange sense of camaraderie forming with Max. The agent had a way of making the absurdities of the industry feel like part of an exhilarating adventure, rather than a descent into chaos.