Seeing my sorry sleeping self my fists instinctively clenched harder. To leisurely lie on the gravel road as if there was nothing to worry about; he really made it easy to hate him.
Punch after punch flew through the air and produced a continuous stream of notifications that my strength had risen by a tiny, tiny amount. Well, to be honest, I could not care any less about raising my strength.
I did all of this for one purpose alone. To give "Joe Doe Nr2", my clothed copycat, the beating he deserved. Fighting a battle without any preparation was just pure arrogance and a waste of time.
This clash was something I had to win no matter the cost. I wanted these clothes...
However, after beating the air as if it was owing me money, my arms had become quite heavy. While death itself was nothing more than a nuisance, it did not stop my body from feeling like it was dead.
The only real workout I did back when I was alive was pressing the keys on my keyboard. Even these fingers could not be lifted anymore. Due to exhaustion, I decided to lay down a bit and gain motivation to continue the training.
A reason was quickly found, as the grass tickling my ass cheeks was convincing enough to me. Since my arms still refused to function properly I settled on training a different group of muscles.
Time to go for the squats, although this decision also proved to have its downsides. Every time I got up, I clearly saw my lack of abs and my wobbly, dangling meat-sword flopping around violently.
Up and down and down and Up. A movement as hypnotic as it was disturbing.
My only saviour was the notification bar that blocked my sight for a brief second after each successful squat. However, the horrible truth lurking beneath it unveiled its ugliness to the world and the flopping resumed once more.
Visions of clothes danced in front of my inner eye, taunting me, laughing at my free tangling bits.
And yet that motherfucker on the screen treated these sacred objects like dirt.
How dare he? They were not something that should be taken for granted; they were a gift to mankind. They represent the peak of human development and the only fabric of higher importance was the fabric of reality itself.
The more I saw Joe Doe Nr2 twisting and turning around on the dirty gravel path, the more I realized that violence was the correct answer. Beating him to a pulp was my divine duty.
At long last, the clothes would be mine. MINE!!!! I would cherish them as if they were my own flesh and blood. Who needs firstborn sons anyway?
Unless you want to make clothing out of your firstborn son... to get the best of both worlds.
I was joking, nobody sane would turn a child into something to wear. Anybody knew you needed more than one to accomplish that. Not everyone had size zero, after all.
Okay, before any unknown entity out there tries to cancel me over this shit, it was a joke. I did not foster any plans to turn children of any kind into my undergarments. Just to clarify, this included any other kind of clothing article one could think of.
Please understand, it was just a humouristic attempt to poke fun at the fact that I was still running around in my adam's costume.
Exercising in the nude was just not that fun, ya know? Do you understand just how hard it was to make this boring-ass activity barely enjoyable? The whole afterlife thingy had been as interesting as reading any terms and conditions, filled to the brim with all the legal jargon shit.
So, hear me out for once. All my entire life I had to listen to any variation of "Joe Mama" joke, that you can possibly imagine. I had so much fun as my mates jerked each other off for their groundbreaking creativity. Stroking each other's ego was the only thing in their sad and pathetic lives that would not make them feel like a waste of DNA.
I should not tempt fate ever again. That is why I shall take every Joe Mama to my grave. Although being as dead as I was, it would be hard to take it to my final resting place.
I sighed heavily, making fun of everything was the one and only thing keeping me remotely sane. But even that began to fail me, as my thoughts just got wackier and wackier.
The squats and my bouncing gummy worm had taken the last remnants of my sanity.
Leaving only soreness, regret and mental anguish behind. Sports were an insidious killer, that did not spare anyone foolish enough to exercise.
And since I loved being in pain this much, it was time to switch to sit-ups. The only other method I could do, with my arms and legs being as fucked as they were. I would pay my other self back tens of times over for all the suffering he has caused me indirectly.
That did not make sense, but to my mind, it was like a much-needed tonic to fuel my desire for vengeance and bloodshed.
Guiding all these negative emotions onto a target was the right way. What was one sit-up more if you could seek revenge for it later on? My mind entertained itself with fantasies of inflicting pain as the body suffered.
I began to repeat " I will beat him" over and over again─ entranced by the potential that the future held. Chanting it like a mantra that encapsulated my darkest and deepest desire.
My cavemen ancestors nodded in admiration as they saw my single-minded focus to deal with my prey. I became one of them in spirit and in flesh. Strange grunts of pure enjoyment began to escape my throat as I pushed this body of mine well beyond its limits.
Fueled by the lowest instincts of human nature, a strange wave of liberation overcame me. As if I had been freed of chains and shackles that unknowingly had hindered me my whole life.
It felt right.
This animalistic side of mine had always been there. Like a best friend; it was always ready to smash somebodies face in with a baseball bat─much like your average yakuza in a bar when no one paid.
Did this comparison have any deeper meaning, or was my brain already mush? Who cared about that; it was time for push-ups to let your arms know just how much they are loved.
Should they fail me, which I highly doubt, I would be just aggressively dry-humping the floor instead. My pelvis would certainly not like it, but giving in to my urges caused me to feel a little bit aroused.
Of course, I could just stand up straight and get some hand-to-meat combat done to assert my dominance, but that was way too easy. This bliss had to be earned.
Not going to lie, I should have done this way sooner. Of course, as a healthy teenager, I had cranked it a few times here and there per day, but nothing made me feel like what I was doing now. There was this feeling of hunger that could not be quenched unless I let all of this energy out.
It was like a volcano, threatening to erupt at any moment. If someone wanted to know why the [Endless Grasslands] was soon to be covered in holes, tell them it was me letting off a bit of steam.
The urge got stronger and stronger the more push-ups I did. I was a machine that ran on raunchy thoughts. The drive of procreation drove me deeper to the point of no return, turning me into a mindless beast lusting after penetrating the fertile soil.
Okay, I had no fitting comparisons anymore. I was just horny. It was the same sensation I had back when I had discovered the incognito mode and all the hidden treasures the internet had to offer.
Though it had been a little awkward as my mom walked in after hearing the "commotion" in my room. With my pants at my ankles, our gazes met, with my hands mid-stroke she offered to give me hand...
Stop dirty mind, this is no "step-mom I am stuck" shit. That made it sound way worse than it actually was.
She offered me her knowledge of what my father seemed to enjoy when she did it for him. While certainly informative, it had not been something I ever wanted to know. Those 5 minutes felt like an eternity to me.
She also taught me to always lock my door twice, before pulling any risky stuns.
Just remembering that situation caused my boner to deflate like a sad balloon animal, after being left alone for a few days. I was elated, I did not have to imagine my grandma showering to get rid of it. Talk about a blessing in disguise.
Everything was normal again.
Which also caused my body to let me know just how much I had fucked up by doing this kind of reckless training. My muscles spasmed and I was shaking around like a fish on land. If regret had not been in my vocabulary, it certainly was now.
As I contemplated my existence and my decision-making, naked and full of sweat, I came to see that my clothed copy had finally woken up. Groggily he raised himself upwards and swiftly moved to the next tree.
Freeing his willy, a steady stream of yellow liquid shot out to nourish the ground. A long groan escaped his mouth as the bladder emptied its seemingly boundless contents. One shake to get the last drops out later, he began to scratch the itching balls, before tucking them back in.
I felt more than reassured, knowing that my hatred for myself still persisted. Although I could not move a muscle now, I swore to exact justice on his sorry ass. It had only been about clothing before but now it was personal.
Something just irked me the wrong way, when I saw myself treating everything so nonchalantly.
I know I did the same, yet seeing myself acting so high and mighty really pissed me off. It was a wave of irrational anger, aimed at this smug and haughty behaviour. Taking pride in a mighty and large dick, when I was an even bigger dick myself.
I saw the same mistakes that I had done and the same arrogance, which would cause his downfall. in the near future, Joe Doe Nr 2 would certainly bite the dust because he did something soundly stupid.
A suitable reward for not using his head the way it was intended to.
Regardless, all I could do was wait for the day─ the day when my copy would finally arrive here.
Best of luck to the other me, may he enjoy it as long as it would last. Because only I would be having fun afterwards.