MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM (15 page)

The twin said nothing. He placed a finger over his mouth to indicate that Bobby should stop shouting. Bobby calmed down and waited for the blond to say something. But, nothing was said. Then, the other twin entered the room, dressed in identical lederhosen and stood on the other side of Bobby. The twins looked at each other then the twin to his right spoke.

“If you promise not to shout, we will make this as pleasant as possible, but if you do shout, you will regret the day you were born.”

Quietly, Bobby asked, “Make what pleasant?”

“This experience, of course,” the other twin said. “We just want to have a little fun with you, and if we enjoy ourselves, we will let you go when we are done, but if we find you tedious, we will torture you until you beg for your own death.”

Bobby didn’t have to think long about his options. He was apparently strapped tightly to the table, and even if he did manage to get loose, these guys were twice his size.

They looked at Bobby and smiled, then opened their lederhosen, pulled out their enormous dicks and proceeded to piss all over Bobby. The little muscleman was no stranger to water sports, so this did not bother him as long as they avoided his face, and fortunately they did even though they seemed to piss a gallon each. The stench of their urine permeated the room, and Bobby could only wonder what was yet to come as he had never before been in a situation such as this. Once their bladders were empty, they removed their lederhosen and ran their hands all over Bobby’s thickly muscled body working the piss into every pore.

One grabbed his balls and gave them a good yank, causing Bobby to grunt, while the other squeezed his dick, which was now starting to fill even though he tried to keep it from getting hard. But, it was to no avail, as the hands torturing his cock and balls were doing more to turn him on than frighten him, and within a minute, his dick was at its full ten inches, which on his five-foot-five frame brought the mushroom head to right below his pecs.

The twin to his right hit a button under the table, and suddenly Bobby’s legs were being pulled up and apart by some sort of pulley device he had not noticed before, and the contraption did not stop until Bobby was suspended by his ankles with only his shoulders on the table. Then the twin to his left hit a button, and the same thing happened to his wrists until he was suspended by his wrists and ankles, spreadeagled from both ends with no support for his back. He thought he was going to be quartered, when the twin to his right reached up and pulled down a leather strap, passed it under his back to the other twin, who then connected it to a hook in the ceiling, thus supporting Bobby’s back. The table was then rolled away, and Bobby was lowered until he was just below waist level of his captors.

The twin on his right then moved down to his feet and positioned himself between his legs while the other one went to the other side of the room to get a cart and wheel it over to where his brother was standing. In spite of all this, Bobby’s dick refused to go down. He wondered if he was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
But, doesn’t that take a few months or even years?
He thought.

Bobby could not see what was on the table but guessed at least one of the items was grease or lard, as he felt his ass being slathered with something thick and gloppy. Then he felt the intruder – one, maybe two, maybe even three fingers being forced into his ass, twisting and probing with no finesse at all. Bobby gritted his teeth and took the intrusion like a man as the other twin walked over to his left and stood by his head.

Bobby looked over and saw that he now sported a huge hard-on that rivaled his in size, and it was sticking straight out at his face with precum practically pouring from the slit. Bobby involuntarily licked his lips, and this captor shoved his enormous meat into Bobby’s mouth without ceremony. Bobby figured if they were going to kill him, he might as well go out with a smile, so he sucked hungrily on the huge cock in his mouth, which continued to leak pints of precum that tasted better than he would acknowledge to these two bastards.

As he was chowing down on the manmeat, he felt the fingers exit his asshole, only to be rudely replaced by the other huge cock in the room, all greased up and practically up to his nipples within seconds. Then the pounding began – from both ends.

The twins showed no mercy as they used the little muscle man for their own pleasure as if he were just a hole to be plugged and filled with cock. No attention was given to Bobby’s dick, which now ached it was so hard, while his huge balls drew up, ready to explode.

The twins had great staying power and pumped and pumped for quite a while, or at least it seemed quite a while, until the one in Bobby’s mouth exploded with a yell, and shot pint after pint of his thick cum down Bobby’s throat, which he didn’t lose a drop of. Then, his brother yelled identically and left his own quart of milk in Bobby’s ass, causing Bobby to shoot a load to be envied all over his torso with a few shots hitting his chin.

The twins exited their respective holes, and Bobby thought,
That’s it?
And, with that, a hand with a handkerchief was placed over his face again.

Bobby opened his eyes, and after looking up, saw that a couple of people were staring down at him, including a police officer. He shook his head, and after looking around, realized he was in Meridian Hill Park.

The police officer helped him up and asked, “Are you OK? How long have you been lying there?”

“What time is it?” Bobby asked.

“Around 8:00 am,” the officer answered, and Bobby took a good look at him. He was over six feet tall, blond and obviously built and hung. He then looked out to 16th Street at the patrol car and saw an identical officer waiting for his partner.

“Only two hours?” Bobby asked. “That’s the best you could do?”

And, Bobby stood up and walked away with a smile.

GAYDAR

Every morning, he jogs past me as I walk my dog. Then on the way back, he jogs by again and says hello. And, this happens every morning at 4:30 am.

I wonder about him, this man who jogs that early in the morning. I have been getting up that early for years to walk my dog then go to the gym. For months, he has jogged past me then back again in the other direction.

I want to say more, ask him his name, see what he is about, but who stops a jogger to have a conversation?

Then it stops.

I don’t see him jogging at that early hour anymore.

I also walk my dog after the gym around 6:30 am. And, one morning he jogs past me? Does he jog twice, or have his hours changed?

Why am I so obsessed with him? Why do I care?

It is over 90 degrees, why doesn’t he take his shirt off?

He always wears the same thing, blue shorts and yellow muscle shirt. It isn’t even a tank top.

He doesn’t have an iPod, so saying hello is no problem.

Where does his run stop, so I can approach him?

I need to get over myself.

I think of ways to get his attention. I have a wife-beater on under my T-shirt, and I am all pumped from the gym. It is hotter than blazes and humid, too, even at this early hour, so I take off my shirt as if I am just a little too hot.

There I am, walking my dog in nothing but a wife beater, all pumped and sweaty. This will get his attention.

He jogs past me again in the other direction – so predictable. He stares at me and checks out my body for more than a few seconds, then says something like have a good morning, or good morning, or nice seeing you this morning. And, he is up the street before I can respond.

He
is
gay. No straight guy checks a guy out like that. He was eyeing me from head to toe.

The next morning, he jogs by again. I walk my dog in nothing but the wife-beater, and I decide to take it off. Now I am pumped and shirtless, and just as always, he jogs by me again in the other direction.

But, this time he doesn’t look, and when I say good morning, he mumbles.

That is what I get for being obvious. I immediately put the wife-beater back on.

Now, I have made a fool of myself, and I obsess about it all day.

I never see him again – not at 4:30 am, not at 6:30 am.

I guess that is the end of that.

A few weeks later, I am walking my dog at night. I see him walking toward me with a woman. The closer he gets, I notice the woman is pregnant, quite pregnant.

He says hello and introduces his wife and tells me he stopped jogging due to a knee injury.

I forget his name.

What does it matter? He’s straight, married and expecting a baby.

My gaydar is all fucked up.

But, I’ll go to my grave swearing he cruised me that one morning.

THE WINDOW ESTIMATE

I hate being an apartment manager, and I only agreed to do it because my landlords promised me a fifty percent reduction in the rent for the four years they would be in Brazil. The worst part is that I have to listen to the constant complaining from the fat redneck, her drunk asshole of a husband and her future serial killer, slut daughter upstairs. I just wish the daughter would get it over with and kill them already, so I can clean up the mess and rent the place out to a couple of hotties. But, until then, I have to be the responsible one and that includes getting estimates for work that I would rather let go in the hopes the cast from
Cops
upstairs will leave in frustration.

Most of the time, these estimates are for things they have broken, and I know that the constant yelling and banging that goes on is the reason the frame of the large bay window in their master bedroom was cracked causing the glass to fall down into the wall, leaving a four-inch gap on the top.

I took my sweet time getting an estimate, but when the rain seeped in causing water to leak into my apartment, it became my personal problem, so I called a couple of window companies. I figured I would punish the landlords as well for sticking me with these assholes and get an estimate for all the windows.

Two salesmen had been here already, but they were so slick, I threw away their estimates before the door closed behind them.

On the day the third and final guy was to arrive, I pretty much didn’t care anymore. I decided to work from home that day, so it was amazing I even bothered to shower, although I only wore a pair of gym shorts (actually cut-off sweat pants) and a wife-beater. I was totally engrossed in work when I heard a knock at the door.

I opened the door and standing there was what looked to be a teenager, wearing a loose fitting All-Weather Window Company polo shirt. He gave me the taillights to headlights three-second once over I tend to get from guys who see me for the first time, which doesn’t even faze me anymore.

You see, I am an ex-professional football player (not that anyone remembers – third string center), and I am six-foot even, weighing in at around two-hundred-sixty pounds. At thirty-five, I still work out as if I am being paid to, and I won’t deny I ever took a needle in the ass. We’ll leave it at that. Now, I work as a bookkeeper for a nondescript company in a nondescript cubicle located in a nondescript building. I am one of the lucky few to have actually gotten paid to be a professional football player, but after almost five years on the bench, I got bored. I was told I was too nice, not aggressive enough, but the coach liked me, so I held onto my job.

Now, the kid in front of me may have played some sports. He had that college jock, too many frat parties body. You know the type – broad shoulders, decent arms, and remnants of the ‘freshman forty’ still around the middle. If they are straight, the paunch is there for life, and if they are gay, well, they wouldn’t have taken on the freshman-forty in the first place. No gay boy in his twenties would allow such a thing to happen to him. This kid was definitely straight, which was fine with me as I don’t like them young. I like them older, much older. I like being fucked silly by a big musclebear with gray hair. If this kid had a twelve-inch dick, I couldn’t have cared less.

“Mr. Kennedy?”

I let him in, and he introduced himself as Allan. I showed him all the windows upstairs and downstairs in all the apartments. Of course, the redneck had to butt in and say what she wanted in a window, but I shut her up immediately and continued to follow Allan from wall to wall while he measured and wrote on his legal pad.

When we were done, we returned to my apartment, and I had to ask him his age.

“I’m twenty-three. I couldn’t find a job in my field, so I took this sales job, which has made my college education a waste … can I ask you a question, a personal question?”

I said sure.

“I can see you work out …”

He could see I work out. He was brilliant. My arms relaxed are eighteen inches around. My pecs are so huge, I can’t see my feet, and he can see I work out.

“I’ve been trying to lose this gut since I graduated, and nothing I do works. Should I do more cardio?”

“You should quit drinking so much beer,” I said and raised my eyebrows. I may let a quack doc shoot what is probably horse piss into my ass to get huge and ripped, but I never drank or did drugs. Yeah, I know, what I do is just as bad. Whatever. You’d fuck me if you had a chance, especially if you saw my rock hard and huge bubble-butt.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So, how long before I get an estimate?” I asked.

“Oh, I can have one for you this afternoon. I’ll email it to you.”

And with that, he was gone.

I went back to work and took a mid-day break to go to the gym because I have body dysmorphia or manorexia or some other psychological shit because I think I’m fat or skinny and have deep emotional issues. Please. I know what I look like. I look like a fucking freak, but I like the freak look, and the old musclebear dads I let fuck me like it, too. Don’t assume you know guys like me.

After I returned from the gym, I was mixing myself a protein shake when there was a knock at the door. I was back in my cut-off sweat shorts but not wearing a shirt anymore. I opened the door, and it was frat-boy window guy.