Flex's Little Head

[6 Word Request: "Cursed Flex Lewis' Head Shrinks Sizes"]

[Head shrinking, puppification]

Flex strutted into the gym proudly, excited to show off his newfound bulk. His coach, Neil Hill, was jotting notes on a clipboard when Flex called for his attention. “Hey Neil! Check out all this size!”

Still fifty feet away from Neil, Flex tore off his shirt and hit an impressive double-biceps pose. Neil’s shocked expression was so satisfying! Flex hit a lat spread to truly blow his mind.

“Flex, how the fuck…” Neil said as he approached. “You look gigantic! How’d you get bigger overnight?”

Flex shrugged his huge shoulders. He had gone to bed a massive man, but woke up to a body that looked like it had blown up while he slept. His arms looked bigger, shoulders looked broader; his chest stood out so far it was even more difficult to see the ground. Shirtless, Flex lumbered up to Neil, expecting his mind to be blown a dozen more times before Flex was finished.

“Oh. Hunh.” Neil’s face dropped as Flex approached him.

“What?” Flex asked. He looked down at himself, again blown away by his size. He couldn’t stop looking down at his physique, which looked easily fifty pounds heavier than the body that won him Mr. Olympia so many times. Then he looked up at his coach, whose amazement had dissolved.

“It’s just…” Neil walked a lap around Flex’s big body. “You looked bigger from far away, I guess. Hunh.”

“What do you mean by that?” Flex put a hand on his pec and gave it a squeeze. Now that he thought about it, the pec didn’t really feel any bigger in his hand--but it LOOKED bigger! His hand did, too.

“Hop on the scale,” Neil ordered. Flex did as he was told. “Yeah, see… You’re not any heavier.” Neil pulled out the tape measure and started wrapping it around Flex’s beefy limbs. “Well that is interesting,” he said.

“What’s interesting?” Flex’s confidence in his suddenly increased size was wavering. Was it just some sort of optical illusion? Was that even possible?

“You’re the same size as yesterday,” Neil confirmed. They just recorded his statistics one day before and every measurement matched exactly. Neil stepped a few paces back and looked Flex up and down. The Olympian just stood there, confused. How could he look so much bigger but not actually have gotten any bigger?

“I don’t get it. You look huge, but you’re the same size. Am I just seeing things wrong?” Neil tilted his head to the side, then fetched Flex’s t-shirt from the floor. “Didn’t you notice that your clothes fit the same way?”

Flex couldn’t argue with that fact. He had been so impressed by his swollen-looking body that he hadn’t stopped to think that his XXXL t-shirt fit him exactly the same as it always had.

“Let’s just start working out,” Neil said, snapping a pic with his phone. “Push those plates, big boy. We’ll worry about what you look like later.”

*

Four days later, it was undeniable that Flex looked like he was turning into the Hulk. He’d had Neil take a half-dozen pics of him and put them all on the internet. People--even other bodybuilders--were swooning over Flex’s massive gains.

His body even felt big to him. He was taking corners too short, bumping into tables and knocking things over as he turned around. It was like, despite having been a massive man for his entire adult life, his big body was starting to get in his way. “...BECAUSE it’s bigger than it was yesterday!” Flex insisted to Neil, who agreed.

Flex hit his last set of DB presses and then tossed the heavy weights to the floor. He felt bigger, of course--much bigger--but wasn’t any stronger. Same old 110s he usually pressed. None of his weights had bumped up at all, despite him feeling a foot wider and half a foot thicker.

“When the photographer gets here,” Neil called after Flex as the big man headed into the showers, “we’ll see what he thinks. I bet he’ll flip when he sees you because, for some fucked up reason, you do look MASSIVE, man!”

Flex couldn’t figure out why the shower heads looked higher. He reached out and twisted the knob--that was in the same place, he was pretty sure--and then puzzled over the spray of water that went just over his head. He reached up to twist the showerhead down toward himself.

“Funny,” he thought. “It looks higher up, but I didn’t have to stand on my tiptoes to grab it.” Washing his big body, he once again affirmed his size increase. He looked like a wall of solid flesh. He couldn’t turn his head enough to see under his armpit; getting his back was impossible. His arms could reach, but he just couldn’t see.

After his shower, he hustled out to the gym floor. The photographer had already set up a few shots for him. His eyes lit up at Flex’s appearance just like everyone else’s had the past few days. He looked cartoonishly big, although his statistics hadn’t changed.

“Jesus!” he said, snapping a few shots as Flex walked up. “Bro, you look like someone stuck a little head on a big massive body! How did you get so huge?” They had met only a week before when the shoot had been scheduled. The photographer’s amazement at Flex’s size wiped away any of the bodybuilder’s worry or confusion.

“Where’s the product?” Flex said as he approached the white backdrop.

“Let’s do the first few shots shirtless,” the photographer said. Flex complied, tossing his shirt to Neil, then planting his hands on his hips while thrusting out his enormous chest. “Jesus Christ, you look like a cartoon character.”

Flex chuckled. “Everyone’s going to think this is photoshopped, eh?” he said as he threw up his huge biceps. “I’m the living photoshop now.” It didn’t matter that he wasn’t actually any bigger; he looked bigger. That was all that mattered, at least as far as this photoshoot was concerned.

“Okay, here’s the product,” the photographer said, tossing Flex the hat with his name on it.

He squeezed the flatbrim cap in his thick hands before lifting it up. “You want it on frontways or backways?” he asked.

“Try frontways for now,” he replied.

“Got it.” He popped the hat on its head, shocked as it fell over most of his face. “The fuck?” The hat was huge! He plucked it off his head, looked at it in his hands. It didn’t feel that big, he thought as he turned it over and held it against his body, but when he put it back on his head he felt like a little kid in his dad’s cap; it covered his head down to his upper lip.

“Didn’t you take measurements last time you were here?” Neil snapped at the photographer. “Did you bring the wrong hat?”

“No!” the photographer said. “That’s the right one! We measured it, it’s just…” His eyes narrowed. “Is his head smaller?”

“Is my fucking head SMALLER?” Flex said, muffled by the cap. He pulled it off his head and tossed the hat away.

“Holy fuck his head is smaller,” Neil said, finally having put it together. He approached Flex with his mouth wide open.

“Hey! Back off!” Flex held up his hands. Both his coach and the photographer were advancing on him with a twisted look in their eyes. “Look, a person’s head doesn’t just get smaller, okay? The hat’s too big is all.”

But Neil had his tape measure out. “Let me just measure. We’ll see for sure?”

“Back the fuck off!” Flex said. “I’m fucking warning you!” He flexed his big torso. Neil didn’t react, but the photographer flinched.

“Look,” the photographer said. “I don’t have a smaller hat. Just use that one but hold it against your chest. You look impressive enough--at least, without any reference points. People are going to think your body just got bigger, like we all did.”

Flex went along with the shoot begrudgingly, seething at the looks the two men were giving him. He’d gone from an impressive specimen to a curiosity to them, and neither was shy about their shock at what they thought had happened to the massive Welshman. “All because a damned hat wasn’t sized right,” Flex thought as he hit poses and did his best to keep the hat distant from his head.

“Yeah, hold it up against your pec!” the photographer said. “It looks like your head might actually fit in it!”

*

Flex hadn’t spoken a word to the doctor since they’d arrived--and he didn’t plan on it, either. Neil did all the talking, answering questions and relaying the timeline of exactly what was going on.

The doctor held a stethoscope to Flex’s massive pecs and ordered the bodybuilder to breathe deeply in. Then he exhaled slowly. Flex looked from Neil, to the doctor, then back to Neil.

There was no denying that Flex’s head had shrunk now. It was about the size of an apple atop his massive lumbering body (which, of course, looked that much bigger in comparison). Neil had to lead Flex in by the hand, since the big man’s little head couldn’t see past his traps, shoulders and pecs. He was constantly tripping and kicking things over. He couldn’t even tie his shoes without help!

“I’d be surprised,” Doc Ramsey said as he moved the cold stethoscope around Flex’s pec while the bodybuilder inhaled as instructed. “But to be honest there’s an algae found off the coast of Madagascar that did this to sharks. I read a report of an Australian surfer whose head got shrunk. Have you done any traveling to that area, Mr. Lewis? Or been exposed to anyone that has?”

Flex shook his little head--then, worrying that the gesture wasn’t big enough to be noticed, he raised a hand and made a thumbs-down motion. No matter what, he refused to talk, despite the fact that, to his smaller ears, both Neil and the doctor’s voices were BOOMING.

“Is it possible one of his bodybuilding supplements became contaminated?” Neil posited.

The doctor leaned in with a HUGE flashlight--Flex had to remind himself that it was regular-sized, despite seeming like a massive beacon blasting in his face--and then backed away. “I’ll need a magnifying glass to see his pupils.”

He shuffled around in a drawer as Flex looked forlornly at his coach. To Flex, Neil seemed like he was twenty feet away. But when Flex reached out with his arm, it made contact. Having a head this small on a body this big was giving him a dizzying perspective.

“All right,” said the doctor, leaning in. Flex gasped and flinched as the huge head, with a magnifier over one eye, loomed into view. He had to keep telling himself: just because people seem big doesn’t mean they are.

I’m big! He reminded himself. I could fold this guy in half easily. Still, his asshole puckered as the doctor’s face--big as a movie screen to Flex’s reduced face--blinked a giant eye while studying him.

“How is his coordination?” The doctor asked Neil. Despite the fact that he didn’t want to talk, Flex resented the fact that the doctor didn’t even acknowledge that he was a person.

“It’s horrible,” Neil explained. “He told me it’s like being a little man inside a giant robot. He can barely control his body. And he can’t see much, with his little head dead-center on that really big fucking torso.”

The doctor nodded. “A less developed man would be having an easier time with this. Can you make a muscle?”

Flex responded by flexing his biceps. For added effect, he bounced his pecs. His mind-muscle control had shifted since this condition had struck; he could no longer see his muscles so he just had to feel that they were there and move them the way he remembered.

“Is he still able to lift weights?” the doctor asked. Flex gave a thumbs-up, but Neil answered.

“He doesn’t like going in the gym, at least not around other bodybuilders,” Neil explained. “With that little head his voice is all… well, it sounds like a chipmunk! So high-pitched, it’s actually kind of funny.”

Flex made a fist, wanting to lash out at Neil, but his coach had moved behind him and Flex couldn’t turn his little head enough to see him.

“But he can still move things if they’re simple. He could have lifted before if I’d blindfolded him so it’s the same thing. Strong as fucking ox, too.”

The doctor nodded. “I would keep him somewhere he won’t attract attention. I’m going to call some of my colleagues overseas to see if they’ve generated a cure.”

Neil nodded. “Hear that, big guy? Time to go.” He clapped his hands on Flex’s massive delts and the tiny-headed giant leapt to his feet. Hopping down off the table gave him a momentary start; not being able to see the floor meant he didn’t know how much of a drop to expect.

Neil lead Flex by the shoulders out the door. Flex just kept putting one foot in front of the other, trusting that if he were about to run into anything that Neil would stop him.

As he passed through the waiting room, Flex heard a woman gasp. “Mommy, where’s his head?” one little child asked.

“Is it because his muscles are so big?” asked another child.

Flex seethed with rage--he was used to people gasping at his appearance, but not with pity!

Worst of all was the fact that, despite the fact that he knew he was bigger than these people, he felt so much smaller. Even the children would have made Flex feel insignificant if they were held up to his height. He imagined one of the toddlers climbing up his huge body and squashing his miniaturized head with one chubby little hand.

Being in public was just too much for Flex. It was like all of his muscles didn’t matter when his head was this small. He hustled to the car and finally relaxed when he climbed into the passenger seat. Neil had to help him buckle his seatbelt.

*

“Flex! Buddy!” Neil voice sounded like it was projected by a megaphone--but that’s just how Flex heard people now.

He rolled over in bed, forgetting for a moment what had happened to him. Just the act of rolling over made Flex dizzy as his plum-sized head bucked and rolled while the rest of his lumbering body just shifted and turned. As he had the past few days, he patted the rest of his body to make sure it was all the same size (since he couldn’t see it). Dick, same size. Quads, same size. Pecs… still overflowed from his fists as much as they were supposed to.

Relieved, he sat up--dizzying to his little head, which felt like it had traveled far more distance than his body--and took a look at Neil as he walked in.

“Hey Neil,” Flex squeaked, although Neil couldn’t hear him. “I said, ‘Hey Neil!’” Flex shouted again, but Neil just grinned.

“You know I can’t hear you. Maybe I’ll get you a tiny little megaphone.” Neil leaned over Flex and held a thumb up to his head. Flex’s breath caught in his throat; the thumb seemed the size of a surfboard coming down at him, and wide as a barrel. “Look at that! You’re just under twice the size of my thumb now. I wonder if it’ll stop now.”

“Why do you say it like it’s something cool?” Flex squeaked. “This is my fucking life!” He swatted toward Neil with his huge arms but couldn’t make contact. He was just too slow and clumsy. To Flex, his arms were nearly two-hundred feet long. His head sat in what seemed like a football field’s length of tan, corded muscles. The rest of his body was a mystery. He felt like the rest of him was Godzilla-sized, like he could stand up and burst through the ceiling, stomping through the city leaving destruction in his wake. But despite being massive by human standards, he wasn’t anywhere near as big as he felt.

(“And neither is anything else,” he reminded himself as Neil leaned in. His coach seemed the size of a building to Flex’s little head.)

“So I’ve got a temporary solution to this issue, while the doc squares away some things,” Neil said. “First of all, I’m going to try one more time: are you interested in doing some fitness modeling while you’re like this? I’ve talked to some photographers and they said they’d pay good money to put you in scenes that make it looks like your head’s a normal size and your body’s actually gotten bigger.”

“No fucking way!” Flex squeaked. Neil leaned in, cupping a hand over his ear. “I said, ‘No fucking way!’”

Neil just chuckled. “I can’t make out your little squeaks, big man. But I’m gonna guess by your agitation: that was a ‘no.’ But I have a backup plan.”

He held up a little slip of rubber. At first Flex couldn’t see what it was, but Neil dangled it just above the spot where Flex’s massive pec cleavage began. It was a little rubber hood. Flex could make out dog-ears and a dog-nose on the hood. The fuck was Neil up to?

“Now, some guys in Japan have undergone this same situation that you have,” Neil affirmed with a shrug. “And this hood here is next-level tech. It’s been doing wonders helping men cope with the situation. Some say it even helps reverse things! I figured you’d be game to give it a try.”

“Why the fuck is it shaped like a dog?” Flex squeaked.

“What was that?” Neil said. “I mean, honestly, big man, I dunno why you even try to talk. It’s hopless.” He reached forward with the little hood so fast that Flex couldn’t even react.

“No! Quit it! I said no!” He reached out with his big hands to grab at Neil (fumbling in the air until he finally made contact) but Neil still slid the hood on over Flex’s plum-sized head.

“What the fuck?” Flex thought--but no sound came out (not like Neil would have heard it anyway). He felt a wave of serenity pass over him; despite the fact that he hated the hood, and wanted it off immediately, his whole body relaxed.

“Okay, stand up, big guy.” 

Flex’s body stood up on his own. He hadn’t given his limbs the order to move! Terrified, he tried to sit back down. His body wouldn’t respond.

“That’s a good boy.”

Flex felt his huge glutes wiggling back and forth at the praise. Something inside him shifted; he felt good to hear that he had done well. Warmth washed over him. Despite his frustration at the fact that he felt helpless in his own body, Neil’s soothing voice was easing his anxiety.

“Now down, boy. Doggies don’t walk on two legs.”

Flex was suddenly on all fours. The sudden drop for his miniscule head made him queasy.

“Good boy!” Neil said, patting Flex on his massive back muscles. The contact, plus the affirmation, made Flex calm down considerably.

Why is this happening? He thought. I don’t want to be doing this! Why won’t my body listen to me?

“Now speak, boy!”

Flex made a few barking noises--although they were just muffled peeps to Neil, who laughed heartily.

“Voice like a mouse, body like a mastodon,” Neil said. Flex could hear scissors cutting. Cool metal slid along his back muscles with every snip, until a rush of cold air told him he was naked. “Now let’s get a nice tail in this big gigantic backside of yours…” Flex couldn’t see it, but he felt it: something huge and rubbery jammed right into his ass, plugging him up. He wiggled his rear and felt a wobbly rubber tail bobbing from the plug.

“I figured, if we can’t use you as a bodybuilder, we have to do something with you, right boy?” Neil patted Flex’s shoulder and immediately the bodybuilder felt comforted, despite the fact that his senses were telling him this was all wrong. “Turns out you can’t manage much more than pup-speak and pup-behavior while the hoods on. And you’re perfectly obedient. So let’s see if we can’t get a little use out of that big body of yours now, shall we?”

Neil stripped off his clothes, unleashing his dick that, to Flex’s tiny head, looked positively massive. In his rubber hood the bodybuilder found himself panting, wagging his rubber tail, and actually salivating at the sight of Neil’s stiffening dick. Inside, he was still screaming to regain control, but his puppified body was on autopilot and would not obey.