“Yo Ky! Flex for the chicks back home dude!” - Brian yelled over the roar of the diesel engines, the smell of gunpowder, rust, and testosterone filling the 113 degree air.
“Dude does it look like I fuckin need to flex! These guns are loaded!” Kyle, or Ky as he was known after Basic Training, popped his biceps at his sides.
He’d gained nearly 50lbs in the 6 months he had been “recruited”, 40 of which was packed on his previously lithe, weedy frame in the first few weeks of Bootcamp. Aiden and Brian hadn’t been joking when they said the Corps breaks you down and makes a Man out of you.
What they hadn’t mentioned was the swift, sifi-esque methods they use for a quick turn around. First was the typical bunk delegations, the haircut, which Kyle was none to happy about. They’d had to strap him to the chair while a bulky older man shaved him down to stubble, theb rubbed a sticky, burning gel into his scalp. He’d later find his hair follicles growing slower, and the roots standing straight up, for that perfect High'n Tight look.
Then, it was orientation, where they were given their uniforms, and watched a 2hr, or at least, what felt like a 2hr instructional video on the basics of life in the Marine Corps. The video was actually a 6.5 hr, covert induction method, implanting deep, subliminal messages directly into the minds of the young men watching.
There was a brief break, where you were allowed to free roam parts of the base, most went right for their bunks to change, then the horn announced meal time.
The food was heavily supplemented with well proven, and experimental chemicals enhancers, that got to work right away on the skeletal and muscle systems of the body. Along with the high protien, high carb diet, it would bulk the new boys up fast.
A second puberty almost, shoulders widened, chests barreled out, torsos and legs lengthened adding height to match the new heavy, dense muscle. Thick hair sprouting on your chest, or pits, legs and ass. Some stayed smoother than others due to genetics, leading to a bit of ribbing about the smoothies being pretty pansy boys. It was considered normal to go though several sizes of uniform and boots in a week or two, some virtually exploded up into hulking meat, while others gradually grew to fit the standard Marine stature. Not one Recruit was less than 6’, 140lbs, and the average boot size was a wide, bulky 16.
During this “growth stage” The routine was brutal. Grueling, long workouts, training exercises designed to test you mentally as well as physically, slowly breaking you down, bit by bit, until you were left an empty shell. Albeit a heavy, stomping, sweaty shell. By the end of week one, the new boys were broken, quiet, obedient young men, following orders without question, for fear that theyd be put through an even harsher routine.
It was the sleep cycles that did most of the mental work. The bunks were fitted with electromagnetic, as well as sound systems that emitted a mixture of subliminal white noise, and energy fields that worked hard on the mind, emptying it of anything the Corps felt was unnecessary, or not up to what a Marine should be. It also had the added benefit of inserting their obedient, tough, hardened persona, burying who they were under layers of raw masculinity.
Already masculine recruits found themselves heavily exagerated. Scratching themselves, speaking in heavy “bro” talk, swearing crudely no matter what the context of their conversations. Their body language changed, standing straight, chest out, shoulders back, hard, ever perky nipples poking through their green cotton tshirts. They’d crave a cold beer, or a hard scotch, able to drink far more than they would have before the added bodymass. Belching openly, even things like the constant funk of the barracks, the sweat of their fellow marines didn’t bother them as much, finding it endearing, an outward display of virility. Men stink, Marines reek. It shows how hard you work to protect your country.
The strong minded never stood much of and chance, although they were slower to assimilate, and often required a second or third viewing of that initial video indoctrination. Kyle himself had seen it 3 times, as well as being admitted to the intense training section of the bootcamp facility.
There, he’d be put through hell, as Aiden and Brian said, as they too needed a good ass kicking to fully confrom. Typically, it was the strong willed, the proud, the intelligent, the gay boys, or bi boys, the “progressive liberal” youths that were taken to intensive training, where the white noise and electromagnetic fields wreaked havoc on their minds.
Filling their dreams with propaganda, using some of their liking for men against them with scenes of overtly masculine boys being men. Which changed slowly to hot blondes, perky brunettes, and finally, switching to nothing but drawn out straight sex scenes and instructions on how to be a true man, how to enjoy yourself and a woman’s touch, a new craving for pussy, the desperate desire to rut and strut for them, the boys would all find their minds draining of intelligence as it was filled with sex, workouts, training, rough housing, rowdy displays of manhood, slowly burying their former individuality.
By the end of the 6th month, not one Recruit was left in their original physical or mental state. All clean cut, straight laced, testosterone pumped tough fuckers looking for their next good time and fighting for the country.
Ky, Aiden, and Brian couldn’t wait to get back to the states, Ky especially, as it was a big part of the program to get back, and show who you truly are to your friends and family. Plus, he’d been keeping in touch with Sandra, his “fag hag” who happened to be a drop dead gorgeous young thing he was planning on bedding the first night back! If all goes well, He’ll have left a parting gift deep in her tight, toned belly, and would be crossing the ocean back to the Barracks in a week, a fully converted Marine.
“Dude! You think I should take my shirt off for this? She hasn’t seen a pic since the first fuckin’ week bro! Bet she creams herself when she sees my pecs!” - Ky shouted, giving his pecs a bounce in his shirt.
“Nah, bro! It‘ll be a fucking riot seeing her soak herself when you finally take your uniform off at the pool party they’re throwin’ for our welcome party! Shit’s gonna be SICK!” - Aiden bellowed, taking one last picture of Ky, his best bro, on top of one of the trucks.
The Three of them couldn’t wait to go back, but nothing was better than sweatin’ under the desert sun, showing the world what men are made of, for Good Ol’ Uncle Sam!