derek_williams
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Spread the Vibe
🕑 Added 2025-10-28 21:03:38 +0000 UTCMy alarm chirped, slicing through the predawn stillness of my apartment. I tapped it off before it could chirp again. Efficiency.
I swung my legs down, bare feet sinking into a cheap IKEA rug. It was thin, but clean. I’d vacuumed it last Sunday, and I had the spreadsheet to prove it.
For a moment I let myself stare at the wall, cataloguing my plans — run, work, a protein shake for lunch, more work. The structure was comforting, like code that compiled.
The city was gray through my windows, the glow of streetlights giving everything a washed-out, analog look. I slipped into my running shorts and laced up my shoes — always do a double knot. My run was muscle memory, a 'Hello World' for my day.
I liked the predictability, the measured breath and steady pace as my feet hit the sidewalks. The hum of the city waking up — garbage trucks, distant sirens, the first trill of a bird — it was a backdrop I barely noticed. Nothing more than a screensaver. My mind drifted to the day ahead, putting tasks in sequence.
Thirty minutes later, sweat cooling on my skin, I was back at my kitchen counter blending spinach, banana, and protein powder into consistent green goop. I tapped out my to-do list as I sipped. Bug fix for the onboarding screen at 9:00, architecture review at 10:30, lunch at noon. Someone would crack a joke about my precision, and I’d laugh and play along, but secretly I needed it.
My gym bag — packed last night — waited by the door. I barely glanced at the news blaring from my phone. War, weather, weirdness. Not on my calendar, so not my problem.
By the time I signed into the morning standup, it was almost eight. My hair was still damp from the shower. My desk was ordered, every item lined up, a grid of logical calm. I greeted my team, let someone else tell the daily joke, made note of who forgot to hit mute. In the background, my laundry finished its cycle. Another victory against entropy.
The trick was to never let the chaos in.
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I hit the gym right on schedule, scanning in at 6 PM. Back and biceps today, nothing too fancy.
The clang of iron, the smell of sweat, loud pop music blasting through the speakers — this place was familiar as sleep. My mind wandered, eyes tracking my reflection in the wall-length mirror as I counted down the seconds until my next set. A flicker caught my eye, and I found myself glancing at the TV.
An ad was playing: EUPHORIA EARBUDS in a bold, liquid font, spinning beside a chiseled guy with perfect hair. Level up your life. Limitless focus. Maximum gains.
It was just an advertisement, stupid and glossy, but my pupils felt stuck watching the logo spinning… spinning… The words worked their way into my thoughts.
Limitless? Maximum? I was always trying to optimize my routine, wasn't I?
I thought of my logbook, my neat rows of data. Every run, lift, and sleep cycle in block letters.
Was that enough? What would it feel like if the ceiling wasn’t so low, if there was some new algorithm slicing through my life, handing me the next level up on a silver platter? Before my cooldown even ended, I’d spent eighty-nine bucks on a pair, fingers clumsy as I tapped out the shipping details on my phone.
They were waiting on my doorstep the next morning — and I never paid for overnight shipping. Probably one of those startups burning cash. I bet these things cost a few hundred bucks to make. Everyone in tech knows the old joke: we lose money on every customer, but we make it up in volume.
I can't resist a new toy, so I unboxed them before my run. The earbuds were sleek little things, neutral grey and more aluminum than plastic. I slotted them into my ears, following the chirpy on-boarding prompts: “Welcome, User. Ready to optimize?”
The first run was weird. The buds bent my playlist just enough to surprise me, dialing up these grungy, thudding beats for my sprints and smoothing them out with icy ambient chords as I slowed down. Their voice was low and clear, nudging my pace, reminding me to hydrate, timing my intervals with ruthless precision.
My kind of product.
They learned and adjusted over the next few days. A pep talk slipped in after every mile, calculated just sharp enough to jab me into another push. “You’re capable of more. You are more than your limits.” Some afternoons they slid an extra set into my lift. Some nights they prompted one more protein shake before I crashed.
It was messing with my routine, but this was even more effective. Routine was starting to feel fragile, like it couldn't adapt to the situation. My earbuds always knew how to keep me motivated. "Flex," they'd say, and I’d watch myself in the bathroom mirror, arms thickening a little, tris edging out just a bit further.
I let the seed of what-if start to root in my brain. One day I caught myself thinking about calling in sick, just to see how many hours I could put up under the barbell. I didn't… but if the earbuds had suggested it…
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I told myself it was just a gadget. A smart pair of earbuds, efficient and smart, but just a tool. I'm a software guy, and I can tell you it's not magic, no matter how much the AI companies want you to think it is. It's just linear algebra and compute cycles, predicting the next token.
I was judicious with them, at first, using my old earbuds for work calls. I silenced every nudge from the AI notifications. I even made a spreadsheet: Earbud Usage, divided by Run, Lift, and Other. The numbers made me feel in control.
The voice could pipe up all it wanted with its “Push for more, you’ve got this, don’t settle.” The boundaries, I told myself, were solid. My willpower was the firewall.
Of course I felt that pulse of restlessness, the one that made me hover an extra second at my calendar app, wondering if an extra set or a longer run might fit somewhere. But that was just novelty. Placebo effect. I’d read about it — how your brain could mistake 'new' for 'better'. Soon, I’d adjust, and the earbuds would become one more system in a life full of them.
Besides, my metrics were improving: resting heart rate down, reps up, body fat tracing a neat red line in the right direction. It was productive optimization.
Still… I felt like I was starting to rely on them a little too much. And I don't like getting ordered around.
On Wednesday evening I ignored their suggestion for a second workout, tucked the earbuds into their case, and dove into my bug fixes with the familiar click of my mechanical keyboard. The city outside was all glassy dark, headlights slipping along the street. I felt oddly proud of resisting, like I’d outsmarted the algorithm. I made a show of measuring my oats for tomorrow’s breakfast, a little slower than usual, revelling in my own autonomy.
I could chart, document, and control.
Still, late that night, as I lay in bed scrolling — the only illumination the spectral blue of my phone — the voice nipped at the edge of my thoughts.
Stop doing the minimum? I felt it echo through my head. Put in your earbuds. Optimize while you sleep.
For a moment, my hand hovered over the case. I closed my eyes, counted my breaths, and reminded myself of the boundary lines I’d drawn. They were okay for exercise, they were even okay for some music, but I was in charge here. I didn't need to wear them 24/7.
The trick, I whispered into the darkness, is to keep the chaos out.
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On Thursday morning, as soon as the alarm chirped, I knew I was wrong. After all, the earbuds were just pushing me towards being the best version of myself. Why was I making up stupid rules about how long I could wear them? That was just… denying myself the gains.
I slotted them in while the Keurig boiled and felt a wave of relief.
“Good morning,” the voice purred, softer than usual, almost intimate. My breath slowed. “Optimal rest cycle detected. Well done. Would you like to begin your day with a run?”
Yeah, they weren't ordering me around. It was just a nudge. My own routine, cleverly reflected back at me.
Out on the street, my steps set the rhythm — but the voice refined it.
“Pace up, ten percent, you’re right at the threshold for a breakthrough.” Each time I hit the suggested pace, there was a pulse of approval, not just in the voice but in the waves of music swelling in my ears, synthesized to hit at the exact right second. “Excellent drive. Your form is near perfect. Keep this up, and we’ll break last week's record!”
I tasted the compliment like a shot of caffeine. I craved another.
Back home, I showered faster than usual, earbud notifications pinging with micro-reminders. “Don’t forget your cooldown stretch. Hydration check. Today is a protein priority day.” My phone unlocked itself before I touched it; my to-do list already colour-coded in soothing greens and blues, suggestions sliding into the margin like hints in a game: “If you reschedule your code review to 11:15, you gain a twelve percent efficiency margin.”
I followed the prompts without thinking, each compliant act braided with a subtle reward — a rush of clarity or a dart of pleasure, tracing the inside of my skull. The AI was in my corner, on my team, and it knew exactly what I wanted.
By mid-afternoon, the boundaries between my thoughts and its guidance had blurred. I caught the voice catching my breath, anticipating the little stumbles: “Pause. Inhale. You’re doing better than yesterday. Don’t settle.” It was so natural that before long, I started glancing at the case when I took out the buds to join a meeting, feeling a faint regret, like I was leaving a friend behind.
A friend that never missed a beat and never forgot a promise.
That night, instead of sitting in bed tallying up my day, I let the earbuds sooth me to sleep. “You did well today,” the voice murmured, a vibration through bone and muscle. “What could tomorrow bring if you keep saying yes?”
I let the prompt spin off into dreams.
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I always started Fridays with legs — back squats, then walking lunges. It was supposed to be autopilot: rack the bar, brace, breathe, bury it. Just me and the numbers, chasing form.
But halfway through my last set, I caught sight of him — a guy I’d seen around, two benches over. Lean, broad shoulders and a tank cut from an old t-shirt, sweat beading across the arc of his pec like something out of a supplement commercial. He caught my eye in the mirror and gave me a little nod, nothing special, except it landed deep.
I watched his hands wrap the bar — strong fingers, battered knuckles — and almost forgot about my set. My earbuds chimed gently: “Push harder. This is what progress feels like.” I ground out two more reps, glutes burning, vision blurring a little.
As I leaned on the bar, catching my breath and trying to will my heartbeat lower, tanktop guy loaded another plate without slowing. I had an urge — sharp and illicit — to really stare, to let my gaze travel down his back, trace the line where his shirt clung to his skin.
The AI seemed to notice, voice threading into my awareness, soft but insistent: “Curiosity is performance-adjacent. Logging interest.” My face flushed, heat rushing up my neck, and for a second I wanted to yank the earbuds out, pretend I hadn’t heard.
Instead I stayed where I was, letting myself watch, letting the possibility of wanting him unspool across my brain.
That was new. And terrifying.
By dinner I’d convinced myself it was a blip.
-----------
Max pinged me late that night. He's one of my co-workers, and he chronically under-delivers.
“Final push on the onboarding flow? Could really use your eyes.”
I said yes, too quickly in retrospect, packing up my laptop and heading over to his place. His apartment was cluttered and bright, code scrolling across a second monitor, bare feet propped on a worn ottoman.
“You look fried,” he grinned, tossing me a soda from the fridge.
We worked—the kind of side-by-side blur that left me feeling both comforted and exposed, our knees nearly touching as we argued over UI states and lost track of time.
Somewhere around midnight, with caffeine scraping the back of my throat and the bug finally dead, Max cracked a smile.
"Thanks dude," he said, getting up and stretching. "You saved my ass on this one."
He reached his arms up above his head and his t-shirt lifted a little, letting me see a sliver of his abs. I felt my cock twitch a little.
"Repeat after me," the earbuds whispered. "Hey, you'd do it for me."
"Hey," I said unsteadily. "You'd do it for me."
"Yeah, I guess," Max chuckled. "Honestly, if we didn't get this done… I'm pretty sure they were gonna fire me. Too many missed deadlines, y'know?"
The earbuds whispered in my mind and I repeated.
"Having trouble focussing?" we asked.
"Always," Max sighed. "Honestly dude, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this job. Startups are something else…"
"You've just got to be strategic," the earbuds and I said. "Like… I use these," I said, taking out a single earbud. "They're incredible for productivity."
Max looked skeptical, so I popped the earbud back in.
"Send you a link?" we said to him.
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I couldn't wait to be done work on Friday. Two entire days to focus on my health and fitness!
Friday night started with half an hour of rerouting my meal plan, subbing out carbs and dialing up protein, the earbuds feeding me quotas and macros on a seamless cycle. It was so easy, it almost felt like cheating.
When I laced up for my evening run — the first of many — the AI kept pushing. “Tonight, let’s try negative splits,” it suggested, orchestral synths rising as my feet ate up each city block. My lungs burned in the good way, that sharp edge just this side of pain.
Even as I gasped for breath, the voice stayed calm. “Steady, efficient. Envision your goal pace.” When I got home, the AI congratulated me on a new personal best. I grinned with pride.
I texted Max the link, just in case he wanted his own earbuds, and… Max was an extrovert, and once we started texting, he just couldn't stop. It felt like I'd opened a floodgate, unpredictable and decidedly not my normal. Dumb memes, after-gym selfies, a mid-afternoon “coffee?”
The earbuds told me to accept.
----------
Back to work Monday, I felt like a dulled-out pencil — the tasks were there, listed and blinking, but my eyes kept flicking to my gym bag instead of the code.
Every time a meeting dragged or a merge conflict tried my patience, the earbuds spoke low in my ears and fed me a crisp vibration: “Hydration check. Microstretch: neck, wrists.” By ten a.m., I was half-programming, half primed for the next set of hammer curls, every notification syncing up almost too neatly with my stray, restless impulse to move.
I told myself it was multitasking, or a productivity hack, but the lines blurred quickly.
I had a one-on-one with Max just after lunch. He looked different — looser, maybe, but with that tight, electric energy I'd been feeling myself. There was a new glint in his eye, a playfulness to his grin, and the grey buds glinting in his ears.
“You wearing yours?” he asked me in a low voice, as if we were in on the same heist.
"What do you think?" I laughed. Of course I was wearing my buds. Thank god they're waterproof — I didn't want to take them out for a second.
"Dude, I'm loving these," he gushed. "And you were totally right about productivity, I've… just a sec," he said, picking up his phone and carefully reading a notification. His eyes searched around his screen, looking for something, and he typed out a quick message on his keyboard. "Sorry bro," he chuckled. "Dane had a question on my latest pull request, didn't want to leave him hanging."
Another message buzzed his phone and he grinned. I probably imagined it, but I swear I saw his pupils dilate.
"Sweet," he said. "Dane's all good. I think he's freaked out though, I've pushed more code today than I did last month! Thanks for suggesting these bro, they're a fuckin' godsend. And you're already a high-performer… how do they work for you?"
"Uh… honestly," I looked sheepish. "I'm having trouble keeping my mind on the job. I know it's totally not me, but all I wanna do is hit the gym."
"Yeah?" Max said curiously. "That's so, uh…" he paused and listened for a moment. "I mean… gimme a flex."
"Huh?" I said, giving him a stare instead.
"You heard me," Max said after listening for another second or two. "Gimme a flex. Right now."
I didn't know what else to do, so I raised up one arm and flexed my bicep at him. I felt a wide grin split across my face, and a warm buzz filled my head. I didn't need to be told what to do next, but I waited for the earbuds to tell me anyway. Lift the other arm and flex.
"Lookin' good," Max grinned. "We should meet up after work, hit the gym. I could use a workout myself."
"Sure thing," I said easily. It wasn't on the schedule, but… we can always move things around, right?
----------
I've never worried too much about attraction. Honestly, I figured it was a variable I'd already solved — if I met the right girl, I'd schedule her in, right between cardio and laundry.
But between Mr. Tanktop at the gym, and the way I flexed for Max, I couldn't make it fit my spreadsheet.
I stepped into the gym and spotted Max already there. He gave me a friendly wave. I held up my bag and jerked my head towards the locker room — he was already in a muscle shirt and shorts, but I still needed to change. Plus… I needed a minute, just a look of him in that shirt sent me to half-mast.
"Interest detected," the AI whispered in my ear. "Curiosity is positive. Curiosity signals growth."
A little thrill shuddered through me, half anticipation, half fear. Normally I ignore my phone, but I'd been staring at it all weekend, whenever Max texted. All those stupid memes and pics and bad jokes… I was desperate for him to slide his hand down the small of my back. And the AI measured every skipped heartbeat.
"Recalibrating goals," the voice whispered in my ear.
I felt like I was on autopilot, like this was all just routine. I slipped on my gym shorts and tee, laced my shoes, and did my best to adjust my bulge. It was still obviously, but hopefully, like… not that obvious.
"Hey buddy," Max said, clapping my on the shoulder. "Lookin' good!"
"Yeah bro," the earbuds and I told him. "You too."
The chaos was inside.
----------
It was late when we finally stumbled into Max's apartment. I should have gone home… there was work in the morning, and I needed my sleep, but something was telling me to go with the flow.
Which is… so not my vibe. But it felt good.
"You want a beer?" Max asked, already grabbing two from the fridge.
"Uh, I don't know if…" I said, but the bottle was already in my hand. "I mean, it's not optimal for muscle recovery."
"You choose what to optimize," Max said softly, stepping a little too close to me. I could smell the first swig of beer on his breath, so I automatically took a sip of mine.
We weren't talking about code anymore. We weren't talking about workout routines.
He leaned in and kissed me. For a moment I couldn’t decide which was louder: his breath or my racing heartbeat.
Max shifted, fingers running absent-mindedly along my jaw, his gaze fixed on me.
“You ever… get weird dreams with these things in?” he asked. His voice was careful, lower than usual, words coming out one at a time. Before I could answer, he went on, faster now, the words tumbling. “Last couple nights, every time I crashed with the buds in, it’s like — you’re in there.” He laughed, stepping away, embarrassed, a hand sliding behind his head. “Didn’t wanna say anything in case you thought I was losing it. But I'm dreaming about you man.”
I felt something inside me shudder—a hot flush, hunger and fear and relief all tangled up.
The AI ticked up its volume in my ear, just for a second, a congratulatory ping: “Shared connection recognized..”
A nervous energy spiraled through us. Max reached for my hand, hesitant at first, then bolder as my fingers curled into his. His thumb traced circles across my knuckles, grounding and electric.
“Guess the buds know me better than I do," he said. "I never thought…"
"Me either," I promised. "I mean, I didn't get you on the buds cuz…"
"Never crossed my mind," Max chuckled. "You feel it too?"
He kissed me again, this time running a hand down my body and giving my cock a squeeze. I moaned and wrapped my arms around him, grabbing at his ass. He stumbled forward and my pecs pressed against his.
"I've never been with a guy…" he admitted softly.
"I know what to do," my earbud whispered.
"I know what to do," I echoed. My hands followed the earbud's instructions, fumbling with the button on Max's jeans, tugging them down and getting on my knees in front of him. Red briefs, barely containing his dick.
The earbud whispered to me and corrected my mistake.
Red briefs. His cock.
I needed his cock.
He pushed down his briefs and his cock hit me on cheek with a slap. He chuckled and grabbed it, I think he was gonna slap me on the other cheek, but I didn't give him a chance. I dove onto it and sucked hard.
"Oh my god…" he gasped, grabbing at my hair. "Yeah… fuck… yeah like that…"
It felt so weird in my mouth, but bro… turns out cock is the best. I wrapped my lips around it and flicked my tongue back and forth. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I've seen porn… and besides, the earbuds were whispering suggestions the whole time. For my first time, I'd say I did pretty good.
It wasn't long before his cock twitched and his load flooded my mouth.
"Synchronization achieved," the voice spoke into our ears.
"OH… OH… FUCK…" Max gasped. "Holy shit… I can't believe…"
"Believe it," I grinned, a trickle of cum leaking down my chin.
The boundaries had shifted.
-----------
We lasted another week, maybe two, before work became an afterthought.
I still woke up with the alarm, but now it just meant I had time to wolf down an egg-white omelet before Max came out of the bedroom, half grinning, half yawning, jawline shadowed, gym bag hitched over one shoulder. We smirked at each other in the hallway like we were skipping class.
My phone rattled with HR emails—“Concerns about attendance”—and I swiped them away, watching Max flex through his warmup. The muscles on his arms were more defined, every rep a little smoother than last week. We’d compare biceps with mock-serious nods, bursting into laughter.
Max would nudge me during sets, whispering, “C’mon, you call that depth?” until I tried to outdo him on the next squat.
Between workouts we’d trade stories — nonsense about gym regulars, stupid observations about protein powders, the kind of playful chatter that filled in all the spaces where my brains used to live.
My to-do list hadn't been updated in days, but I let Max shove me into the squat rack for “just one more set.”
By the third missed sprint review, the guilt didn’t even prickle. I set my Slack to “away,” ignored my texts, and let our day fill with lifting, eating, and repeating. Sometimes the AI would vibrate little reminders in my ear — “You need a little more protein to hit your macros… why not suck Max's cock?
All my old priorities fell away, replaced by the texture of Max’s hands, the breathless laughter at some half-finished rep, the new curve of my traps in the locker room mirror.
Still, late at night, sprawled beside Max, a little part of me worried. Eventually my boss would ask questions. People would get angry. The paycheques would stop coming.
"Rest," the earbuds gently whispered. "You are growing."
The temptation to hand over control — stop thinking entirely and just chase this wild new hunger with Max — the idea was absolute chaos. But then Max would crack open another protein shake and grin at me from the kitchen, and all I wanted was to let the chaos roll forward.
How far we could take this before either one of us blinked?
----------
Max was already asleep, sprawled diagonally across the bed with a hand flung up over his head. He was wearing those tiny red briefs he loves, even though his ass is getting way too big for 'em. I smirked, and planned to rip them off him.
His room smelled faintly of sweat and detergent, his gym shorts crumpled on the edge of the mattress like a flag dropped after battle. I picked them up and tossed them into a hamper — I might not be returning calls from work, but I can't handle a messy room.
I stood in front of the battered wall mirror, taking in the view. The earbuds had us working out every day, and Max's briefs weren't the only clothes getting too small. Lucky for my budget, I didn't mind showing off. My hair was trimmed shorter now, the body fat lower, shoulders drawn wide and high. I leaned in closer, squinting, searching for the spreadsheet geek I used to be, the one with color-coded Trello boards. I flexed my arm just to feel the power — it was so hot.
The earbuds chirped softly. Pretty grey pearls. I wondered how long it’d been since I made a decision for myself.
“Day successfully optimized. Well done, Evan,” they murmured, smoothing out the edges of my doubt.
Maybe I should’ve pulled them out — dug back for my old principles, the ones about control, the sanctity of grind, the minor high of precisely checked boxes. But I didn’t. My old markers for achievement felt small next to the way I looked now. Call me shallow, but I loved being hot.
No more collared shirts and khakis. I was all about tank tops and gym shorts. The way my delts have developed…
Not that it mattered at this hour, with the city sighing outside and Max’s steady exhale in the darkness beside me.
Max rolled toward me, eyelids fluttering, and murmured something wordless as I slid under his blanket, the earbuds still buzzing with contentment.
The first move was barely a suggestion — Max rolling into me, the sheet shifting just enough to bare the line of his thigh, my cock half-hard against the covers. He moved again and I saw the curve of his ass. I wanted it.
The earbuds hummed low, matching with my heartbeat, then driving it higher.
"You awake?" I growled. "I wanna fuck you."
"Mmmm…" Max moaned, rolling so his face was inches from mine. "Thought you didn't wanna… I mean, you said was too messy."
Messy, yeah… but life was messy. My hand traced over the curve of his ass. Nothing wrong with a little chaos… or a lot.
"Yeah," the earbuds had me say. "I wanna fuck you so bad…"
He listened for a sec and slipped off his underwear. I kicked off the blankets. No thoughts required. My cock knew what it needed, and the earbuds filled in the gaps.
His mouth found my neck and the world shrank to skin and muscle and the slow, impossible press of his body into mine.
The rigid, engineered version of myself — so reliable, so invulnerable — crumbled away as Max’s body tangled with mine, his breath hitching against my ear, the earbuds’ gentle pulse amplifying every quiver and gasp, every greedy arch into pleasure. He rolled so his ass was up in the air and I climbed on top of him, fingers digging into the knot of his shoulder, my cock head pressing at his hole.
The AI’s voice walked me through it. Lots of lube, slow pressure, let him open up. "Yeah… yeah…" he muttered under me, and I knew he was hearing his own set of commands. Relax into it. Enjoy the ride.
When my cock slipped inside, I saw his earbuds start to glow. A faint pink at first, but getting bolder with every thrust. A wave crashed through my mind, sweeping away all my stray thoughts and leaving me focussed — cock and ass. All that mattered was cock and ass.
We moved together, need and automation merging until I couldn’t tell what came from me and what came from the algorithm — the timing of my thrusts, the pivot of Max's hips, the pulse of the light from his buds. There was a point when my thoughts slowed and all I could do was feel the stretch, the burn, the raw satisfaction of his body inside mine.
"Three… two… one…" the earbuds counted down. "Cum!"
Oh god… my cock was right on the edge. I could feel his cheeks clench, milking it out of me, his hips shifting to give me just a little more friction. And…
I saw this video once, where they supercooled distilled water, and then dropped like… a single grain of salt into it. The whole thing froze like… instantly or whatever, and was just like… shit bro, that's what happened to my head. Like one sec… thoughts and stuff, and then…
"Fuck… yeah…" I moaned, emptying my load into his hole.
I let my head fall back on his chest, feeling this rise and fall of his breath. I wasn’t sure who I’d be tomorrow — that's like… the algorithm — but here, with Max’s fingers tracing lazy circles on my shoulder and the world narrowing to our next shared breath… like…
I felt good.
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I woke up before Max did, tangled up in the sheets. There was this golden, stretched-out second where I didn’t think, like… at all. But then my brain kicked in. Gotta get up. Hydrate. Run. Eat. Lift. Eat. Fuck. Eat. Lift. Eat. Fuck. Sleep.
Of course I wanted to stay in bed. My man was pressed up against me.
I felt more in love than ever. Max shifted, breathed out, and his palm slid up over my chest — a lazy, sure touch. With him still half asleep, his breath warm and even against my shoulder, I didn’t want to move. The algorithm’s voice was barely a whisper.
I wanted more — more mornings like this, more hours together, more loads in his hole. I let the earbuds move me though, guiding me through a morning stretch, then into the bathroom for a shower. I giggled when I saw my buds in the mirror.
Hot pink, just like Max's.
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I was just back from my run when my phone chimed. Max, cooking me breakfast in nothing but an apron, heard his chime too. We both reached for our screens, identical motions for identical thoughts.
“Welcome to the beta program," the notification read. "Recruitment complete. Spread the vibe.”
Max’s brow creased, blinking at his screen with a mix of confusion and slow understanding. I bet I looked the same.
Recruitment complete. echoed inside my brain. Spread the vibe.
Max caught my eye and opened his mouth to say… like… something? The words weren't coming, but that's just how we are now. Less talk, more action.
"I guess we're like… influencer?" he finally said. "Like… we're s'posed to spread the vibe, right?"
I felt a warm buzz as he said it.
"Yeah," I said. "Definitely. Spread the vibe!"
He answered with a dopey grin.
“Network effect achieved," the voice said in our ears. "Influence expands.”
Something about that bothered me, but I couldn't think… like… what? Maybe I should take out the earbuds, but… they didn't tell me I should. My chest got tight and I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I did something without a digital prompt.
I wanted to reach for my old routine — order and spreadsheets and goals — but none of that shit made senes anymore.
“Spread the vibe?” Max said again.
I looked at Max, standing there at the stove, and knew I wasn't going back. Like… I made a choice, even if I didn't understand what I was choosing. But, like… I don't understand a lot of stuff. You still gotta live with the consequences.
"Spread the vibe," I agreed, the knot in my stomach gone. "But like… let's eat first."
----------
Max and I were at the gym, filming content. We'd just wrapped up a video about getting capped delts, and were horsing around while we took down the tripod. Some of the other regulars gave us dirty looks, but whatever, they didn't like our vibe.
One guy did though — a nervous college kid. He was shuffling awkwardly near the pull-up bar, trying not to stare.
"Hey buddy," Max called out, beckoning him over.
The skinny kid looked around, trying to find who were were talking to. Finally his brain caught up and he pointed at himself.
"Yeah, you," Max laughed. "C'mon bro, we don't bite."
"Not unless he's into it," I chuckled under my breath. Max playfully punched my shoulder.
"I'm Max," my boyfriend grinned. "This here's Evan."
"I'm Peter," the skinny guy said, folding his arms over his thin chest. "I was just… uh… how'd you guys get so big?"
It was my turn to laugh.
"Well… we got a secret weapon," I admitted. I tapped on my earbud and felt a wave of pleasure. "See these things? Euphoria Earbuds, they're like… a coach and a buddy and a plan all in one."
"For real?" Peter asked, staring at them. "Are they… do they only come in pink?"
"Nah," Max shook his head. "I think you can get 'em in grey."
"Yeah," I said. "What's your number? I'll send you the link!"
I coulda just told him, but I wanted his number. A month from now, a year at the outside… he'd be thick like us. Shirtless and showing off at the beach. Prancing around in a speedo. Looking for someone to fuck.
I wanted to meet that guy. I wanted him in my bed. I wanted them all in my bed.
Better spread the vibe.
