"I fight to win, but my weapon is my mind," Peter thought to himself. "He who does not fight with his mind has lost the favor of the universe."
****
The first thing that Peter did after that fateful day was to stop by Office Depot and pick up a giant whiteboard and dry erase markers. He fastened it to the wall in his room and began drawing boxes across the top of it. In these, he wrote headers: Looks, Money, Intelligence, Abilities, and Personality. He drew more boxes below, connecting them with lines to the headers above. Then he began to list all his deficits in each of the categories above. Under "Looks" he scribbled "body". He caught himself in the mirror, and shook his head in disgust. He wrote "fashion sense" as well. Peter continued for another hour, filling the whiteboard to the edges. Under each sub-header, he had listed goals as well as a bulleted list of actionable tasks on how to achieve each goal. When he was satisfied, Peter sat down on his bed and stared at the sprawling diagram on his wall.
"This is my roadmap," he thought. "My roadmap to become who I am meant to be."
Peter understood that this was too simple of a statement. To him, these were not markings on a whiteboard, they were etchings on stone tablets. These were his commandments. The tasks on the board were his Bible verses. And he looked upon them and it was good, so he rested. Before he slept that night, Peter repeated his mantra, his words a prayer to the great unknown.
"...I fear nothing, I am the conqueror."
Sleep was deep and satisfying, the sleep of a man with no regrets.
***
It would be a lie to say that the changes were easy for Peter. Many of the things that are considered "improvements" to society seemed vastly illogical and demeaning. Fashion was the best example of this. The finest garments were the least durable, for the most part, and while companies branded themselves as being the height of European chic, their clothes were sewn and constructed by slave children in a free trade zone. Peter took to fashion, as he did with many things, in a regimented, organized manner. He scoured magazines, internet forums, and sitcoms...collecting clips in Evernote and funneling his choices into well-defined, reasonable columns. He created a list of classic, staple pieces that would mix-and-match efficiently then sourced the most cost-effective for each piece: Slim fitting polo shirts from Sunspel , a few custom tailored button ups, a pair of sevenfold ties from Tom Ford, some hemmed slacks from Incotex, a pair of Levi 501s , and a single made-to-measure navy sportcoat for fancier occasions.
Despite the cost of this new wardrobe, Peter saw them as investments in his image. When it came to investments, Peter was a fish in water. The easiest part of his transition to his best self was to improvements in the "money" header of what he was now calling his "Success Algorithm". He had always been a saver and had taken all of the birthday money he received and invested it into index funds and ETFs. All Peter had to do here was reallocate his portfolio to accept more risk and do some preliminary steps in research for a new dropship side-hustle.
When it came to Peter's body, his naturally thin, muscular frame was the perfect canvas for gaining strength, agility and, most importantly, muscle definition. Gone were days of the herculean meat head, Peter reasoned. It was more about the cut, lithe, ropey look that came from low body fat and strong muscles. Peter picked up a barbell set and began a simple, yet effective Olympic lift workout program, convinced by the benefits of overall symmetrical exercises with progressive overload. He also modified his diet, which was the most painful aspect of this lifestyle change. A foodie from birth, Peter's parents loved to go out to eat for dinner. Cutting simple carbohydrates and desserts from his diet was definitely tough, but sacrifice was part of success. Peter told himself that the pain he felt during that last set, or when he denied himself dessert was all that detestable weakness leaving his body. As the weeks of summer passed, so did the softness in his body and mind.
Peter also began to immerse himself in popular culture, studying the qualities of attractiveness in demeanor and poise. He practiced expressing himself non-verbally, and began standing in confident open posture and fostered the habit of gesturing with his hands. Watching actors in slow motion was enlightening for Peter, as he learned to dissect the micro-expressions in the face that occur during conversation. Replicating these expressions in the mirror helped him internalize these expressions, giving him the ability to use them to compliment his words—ensuring that his messages were never lost in translation. Peter even began forcing himself to initiate conversation with random people at the mall to practice, much to the chagrin of the random passersby who were forced to respond to his ham handed conversation starters. As the weeks turned to months, however, the conversations became more natural, more fluid. As the days once again grew shorter, his random initiations had grown to become the most enjoyable part of Peter's day. He met new friends, and was connected to a diverse social circles of artists, engineers, and athletes.
It took discipline to continue. It took determination. It took failure after failure after failure, but it began to change him. The hard work began to lay the foundations of the great man he was to become, and ne noticed that his shadow casted longer—pulled taut by the strength of his will. On a cool day near the end of August, he caught his reflection in a passing storefront window and, for a second, did not recognize the person staring back at him. He smiled and fixed the dimple on his navy blue grenadine tie looped in a double four in hand knot. He pondered on that a bit—he wondered why he had developed such a love for fashion. Why had he, a former schlub, become someone so detail oriented that he had chosen his tie knot specifically to add a tiny fold of fabric underneath the knot? Literally no one at school (hell, his city), would notice that minute detail. That thought, however, made Peter extremely happy. After all, that attention to detail was now something that truly defined him.
He had started noticing things in people—patterns you could say. An angry person would usually raise one eyebrow higher. A sleepy person would rest their entire head on their palm, while an interested person may only rest their chin on a closed fist. A woman entirely engrossed in your conversation would perhaps bite their lip when more provocative thoughts about you entered her mind. This last one was one that he loved spotting. The first time he had noticed was on a date with Freida, the gargantuan Amazonian who worked at Gamestop. Her features were unremarkable (she had some definite psoriasis going on) but at that point in Peter's life, he just did not care. She had bit her lip while he was talking about the new Fallout game, and Peter had just understood. He asked if she'd like to come over to play. She did want to play.
Peter's first sexual encounter was bumbling and awkward, as most first times are, and the details are just too cringeworthy to put into words for consumption. Suffice it to say, Peter learned to aim before thrusting. But, like everything he set his mind to, Peter got better. Tanya had been his second, and was his first exploration into oral sex. It was almost his last, as the whiff of her musk as she opened her legs hit him like a shotgun blast from a fish's ass. He held his breath and dove in, and, much to his surprise, she enjoyed it. Brianna, a chubby Mexican girl from the tutor center, had given him a handjob in the bathroom at work after he had accurately assessed that she was ovulating. Gina had let him take her virginity, although if we're going to be totally honest, she could hardly give it away if she had tried. But still, the fact that a female had let Peter be their first sexual experience meant that he was progressing. Sandra was the first semi-attractive woman that Peter slept with. She was the daughter of his father's Filipino coworker, who had just picked her up from soccer practice. Peter came into the living room and saw her sitting on the couch in her soccer uniform, her thick brown thighs sprawled out on the leather cushions. Her face was pleasant to look at, if a bit tomboyish, and her jet-black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to sit?" she had said as she shifted her legs off the couch and back onto the floor. He had gotten a tiny glimpse of her white panties and the darker flesh surrounding those panties as she did this. He stood behind the back rest of the couch, hiding his growing erection. They introduced each other and soon began a long meandering conversation about the new Korean place that had opened down the street. Her body language began to change and he knew she was beginning to lose interest. That is when the deep primal id once again emerged from its cave within his psyche.
You are the hunter, not the prey
, it told him. If anyone had cared to look, they would have seen a bright red glimmer flash across his pupil. Peter concentrated on Sandra, looking for any clues to her interests. Soccer, obviously. Manicured nails. A charm bracelet? Bingo.
"Hey, so I noticed you're wearing an Alex and Ani bracelet. You must know your fashion, huh. Can I ask you a favor really quick?" Peter asked casually. Sandra's ears perked up at the compliment and nodded.
"I am having this thing this weekend and don't know which shirt looks better, can you tell me which one looks better?" Peter asked. He led her to his bedroom and had her sit on his bed and walked into the closet, leaving the door ajar just enough so she could catch the reflection of his bare chest as he changed into a magnificently appointed oxford button down from Zegna. He made sure to turn around in the closet to give her a nice look of his now chiseled abdomen before buttoning up his shirt. He left the top 3 buttons undone and stepped back into his bedroom and observed her reaction. She bit her lip.
