“Flex your abs for me, Lucky Boy,” instructs he voice coming through my headphones.
It is the deep, soothing voice of my Coach. It makes me happy to do as he says. I flex my abs for him in the mirror, holding my phone up and keeping it steady in my hand, knowing that he is watching my every move through FaceTime on the other end.
“Tighter,” he tells me.
I flex them as tight as I can. I hope that Coach will be happy with them. It makes me happy to sculpt my body for Coach and to show him my progress.
“Very good, Lucky Boy,” his praise lights me up on the inside, though I keep my expression neutral and my eyes cast downwards until Coach gives me permission to look up, “You are my Lucky Boy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Coach…” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.
I know that I am lucky. I am lucky that Coach has chosen me to be one of his Jocks. I am lucky that Coach tells me exactly when and what and how much to eat. I am lucky that he walks me step-by-step through my headphones as I work out for him twice, sometimes three times a day.
“I am a Lucky Boy….” I tell him.
I say it because I know it will make him happy to hear it.