ARMY MUSCLE by JL In retrospect, maybe I should have taken the ride... I didn't think much of it at the time. One of my buddies offered me a ride as we left the bar around 2am, but he seemed pretty wasted. Besides, it was only a couple of miles' walk back to campus, and I figured the night air might sober me up a little. I cursed under my breath as I walked along the deserted streets - what the hell was I doing getting drunk when I had a chem exam at 9 o'clock the next morning? Probably trying to forget the fact that I had barely studies, and was dangerously close to flunking the course. Of course, it probably helped that I was banging the TA, a grad student with amazing tits and a stud in her tongue, which meant that she gave incredible head...suddenly my jeans felt two sizes too small. "Down boy," I muttered jokingly, but of course my dick had a mind of its own, poking down my left leg as it went full mast. Between the erotic movie playing in my mind, and the aftereffects of the six (or maybe more) Heinekens, I didn't even notice that I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way. I should have come out by the 7-11 after fifteen minutes or so, but I was completely surrounded my deserted warehouses. "Shit," I grumbled, realizing I couldn't even find the way back to the main road. Suddenly I realized that I had to take a MAJOR piss. I ducked into a nearby alleyway and unzipped (fortunately the ol' hard-on had gone away), so I aimed and let loose for what seemed like an eternity. Finally I left the alley and turned around, hoping to stumble back to the main road...but the area was no longer deserted. A block ahead, two figures stood on the sidewalk, blocking it. Where the hell had they come from? For half a second, I considered crossing the street or going the other way...but then I remembered I wasn't twelve years old anymore. I'm a pretty big guy, 6'1" and 200 pounds, and I've been in my share of scraps. If they were looking for trouble, I wasn't gonna run away. The two of them stood in front of a warehouse, arms folded. As I got closer, I could see the one on the right was Hispanic, maybe 5'9", solid looking under his jacket. The one on the left was my height, clean cut, square jawed. I didn't need to see the Army logo on his sweatshirt to know that they were from the huge base just outside town; the buzzcuts gave it away. Likely grunts recruited right outta high school. I'd seen their kind a million times before, 17 or 18 year olds who thought they were hot shit 'cuz they were in the Army. Even kicked a few of their asses, since the college had a bit of a rivalry going with the base. Adrenaline spiked through my veins as I got closer, close enough for the Hispanic to lock his steely black eyes with mine. "Where the fuck you think yer goin?" he sneered. "This is our turf." That was it. Every muscle tensed in my body. "Okay, soldier boy, you got about two seconds to get the fuck outta my way 'fore I pummel ya. And your pansy-ass little friend." Only close up, the other guy wasn't so little. Even though he was wearing that loose sweatshirt, his block-like shoulders stood out underneath, and his neck looked like a Roman column. "Pansy-ass? You're fuckin' jokin', right?" he said, running one hand over the blond crewcut. His flat Midwestern voice dripped with sarcasm. "Okay, tough boy, show me what ya got. One shot, to the gut. If I double over, we'll let ya go. Otherwise..." He left that part hanging, but it didn't matter. It seemed ridiculously easy...and I hadn't been so drunk, I would have realized I was walking into a trap. The blond guy stood there, impassively, a smirk planted on his face. "Come on, I ain't got all night," he said...and I unloaded. A perfect shot, right to the gut - only I was the one who cried out, not him. Pain shot through my fist as it slammed into what felt, even through the sweatshirt, like a brick wall. "Fuck!" I yelled, shaking my hand out, checking for broken bones. To my surprise, the blond hadn't moved an inch. He just stood there with that damn shit-eating grin. "Maybe I shoulda showed ya this first," he laughed, pulling his sweatshirt up to reveal a perfectly chiseled six-pack, the abs rolling down his stomach in a series of ridges. The kid didn't have an ounce of fat on him! Before I was able to cut and run, the Hispanic guy clamped his hand on my right shoulder. "Shoulda turned around when ya had the chance, college boy. You're playin' by our rules now." He tightened his grip on my collarbone, hard enough that I thought it would break. Wincing with pain, I swung over with my left arm to try and dislodge him, but I would have had better luck trying to uproot a tree. His arm was as thick as a fucking steel girder, and about twice as solid. It strained against the leather jacket, producing a series of muffled squeaks as he continued clamping down on my collarbone. It seemed ready to snap in half - until he suddenly let go, like he knew exactly how much pressure he could safely exert. I stumbled backward, my eyes wide, a mixture of fear and awe. "Yo, Private Logan, why dont'cha show college boy here what you'll do ta him if he calls you a pansy-ass again?" "My pleasure, Private Hernandez," Logan smiled, offering him a mock salute. Reaching across his buddy, Logan seized a set of iron security bars that covered one of the warehouse windows. With a sharp breath and a quick yank, he wrenched the entire contraption out of the wall. At first, I thought it had to be some kind of trick, until Logan held the iron gate in front of him, hands on opposite ends - and started squeezing. A goddamn viper's nest sprang to life in his forearms, corded muscle writhing as the outside bars trembled slightly, then bent smoothly as he forced them inward. Logan's lips curled into a snarl as he kept pouring it on, folding the iron bars inward like a fucking accordion. His knuckles scraped against the second set of bars, forcing them inward as well, as his biceps pressed out against the rolled-up flannel sleeves. The iron squealed as he bent it out of shape, muscling it inward with hands that shook only slightly. Finally he'd had enough, and dropped it to the sidewalk where it hit with a loud CLANG. I felt like I was going to throw up. Logan caught my disbelieving stare. I swore I could see his chest swell up with pride. "Feel it for yourself, man. That's 100% solid fuckin' iron." As I kneeled down to touch the twisted bars (real, of course), Logan raised his arms and slowly flexed. "Not as tough as the iron in these guns." Even in the dim light I could see the peaks rising under the flannel, pushing it up a good two or three inches. Logan pumped his arms a few times, admiring those peaks. "You college guys think y'all are so much better 'n us, like your shit don't stink 'cuz you can write some paper about how great Shakespeare was or somethin'. But you're dealin' with somethin' different here. I'd like to see one of your pussy frat brothers do THIS." With that, he walked a few paces to a mailbox which stood on the corner. Logan cracked his knuckles and placed his massive hands on top of the box, left on right. Gritting his teeth, he let out a low growl and pressed down. Those thick arms swelled again under the sweatshirt as veins popped up in his neck. He shifted his hands slightly, as if waiting for something to happen...then I heard it, a sound like a rusty car door being opened. The four supports at the base were bending outward, twisting as he crushed the sturdy metal box down to the sidewalk. Shit, I thought, this kid has some SERIOUS power! "Come on soldier, put some damn muscle in it!" Hernandez suddenly barked. Spurred on by his friend, Logan somehow pushed down even harder, obliterating the supports and slamming the mailbox into the concrete, cracking the sidewalk in two directions. By now, his surging neck and traps had stretched the collar as far as it would go, and his mounding pecs stretched the Army logo tight. Glancing at me, he crunched down again, his low moan matching the groaning steel as he pressed the goddamn thing into the ground. Chunks of concrete flew up from the sidewalk as the mailbox started to distend, like a beer can stuck in a vise. Rivets snapped in two under the extreme pressure, pressure exerted by a fucking kid who was barely out of high school. I wished then I could have blamed the whole thing on a drunken hallucination, but there was no way to deny what I was seeing, the ripples appearing in solid steel as it buckled, the concrete being ground to powder, the iron muscles straining under the sweatshirt. "FUCK YEAH!" Logan roared, his face red with the strain, angry veins pulsing in his neck. One last grunt and shove reduced the mailbox to half its former height. Logan kicked the crumpled box into the street, pumping his fist in the air a couple of times. "Good job, soldier," Hernandez said, clapping his buddy on the back. Logan, smirking again, glared in my direction. "You know it. But my little brother could'a done that. I think it's time college boy here lived up to his end of the deal." "Yeah, and we got all night," Hernandez added. "We ain't gotta be back on base til 0600. Not that Sarge could do anything to us." My heart stopped. Oh Christ, I had forgotten about that challenge before, they hadn't said what they'd do if I lost. After seeing what Logan could do (and only guessing at what Hernandez was capable of, by the feel of that arm), I had no intention of sticking around. My eyes darted left and right, desperate for an escape route. The door - from the warehouse they'd been in - it was open! Turning on my heels, I barreled through the doorway, hoping to find a back exit, a good hiding place, anything. The huge, dimly-lit space was nearly empty, except for some old machines in the corner. But once my eyes adjusted, I could see they weren't machines, they were weights. Massive weights. Thick iron bars sagged in the middle from the dozens of iron plates on each side. And next to that, some kind of squat machine piled high with dozens more plates, plus a couple of truck engines. That's what this place was, some kind of freaky-ass gym! But I barely had time to register the thought before I sensed the two of them behind me. I frantically looked for something to throw at them, maybe slow them down a little. Reaching to my right, I seized an old oil drum (empty, thank God), heaved it overhead, and hurled it at them. Hernandez met it with his sequoia-root forearm, knocking it easily out of the way. With cat-like reflexes, Logan snagged the dented barrel mid-air and hurled it back in my direction. I instinctively flinched, but it sailed ten feet over my head before slamming into the far wall. So much for THAT bright idea. Not even bothering to look back, I raced into what looked like a storage locker at the far end of the warehouse. My heart raced as I slammed the heavy steel door, bolting it shut. It sure as hell felt sturdy enough, but I wouldn't have bet my life on it. This room was even darker; the only light came through a small window. It looked barely big enough to fit through, but it was gonna have to do. As I searched for something to break the window with, I heard voices from beyond the door: "20 bucks says I can knock that fucker off its hinges in under a minute." That was Hernandez. "All right, dude, you're on." Logan. BANG! The sound of fists slamming into metal echoed throughout the room. Dents punched inward where Hernandez's fists hit, appearing at a frightening speed. The entire door shook in its frame from the relentless beating. I had a feeling Logan was gonna lose this bet, but I didn't really want to hang around to find out. I grabbed a rusted tire iron and smashed out the window, hauling myself out carefully, but still managing to cut myself. But some minor scratches were better than whatever punishment those freaks had in mind. Just as I jumped down to the alley below, I heard the lock snap over the tortured sound of groaning metal. Another couple of bangs and the door clattered to the floor. "Christ almighty" I muttered, remembering how heavy the door had seemed. I backed into the shadows, looking for an escape route, and saw none. But I breathed a sigh of relief anyway, there was NO way those pumped-up Army grunts were gonna fit through that window. I should have known better. A pair of brown hands shot through the broken window, grabbing the frame and ripping it from the wall. Then a pair of paler hands, covered in a network of veins, closed around the masonry and dug in. Cracks shot outward as masonry crumbled around his hands, forcing the window space bigger. "Nice try, college boy, but we'll knock down this fuckin' wall if we have to!" Not sure who that was, but I was so terrified by this point that I didn't care. Having no clue where I was going, I tore off down the alley. A couple of left turns, that had to be the way back to the street..but no, I was at a dead end! "ShitshitSHIT," I whispered, careful not to raise my voice, but it was no use, I could hear them behind me. The closest thing to a hiding place was an old Dodge pickup nearby. I tugged on the door - open, thank God! - and crouched down as best I could. All thoughts of chem exams and TAs and tongue studs were banished from my head. About thirty seconds passed, enough for me to think I was out of the woods. Then I heard footsteps, getting closer. Good thing I'd pissed before, or I'd have been pissing my pants about then. I tried not to breathe; it was silent enough that I could hear whispered voices. Nothing for another thirty seconds...although I thought I could hear something beneath me. Suddenly the truck rocked violently, enough for me to knock my head on the dashboard - but the truck wasn't moving forward or backward. I peered over the dashboard, enough to catch a glimpse of Logan leaning against a wall. The truck rocked again, and my heart sank as I realized the whole thing was off the ground. Hernandez was benching a goddamn pickup truck! Three tons of metal rose shakily up, then down, powered by those girder-thick arms. Hernandez grunted loudly as he pounded out each rep, six, seven, eight..."C'mon man, quit hoggin' it," Logan said, and the tires finally touched pavement. For a moment. Now it was Logan's turn. The Dodge rose off the ground again, a little steadier, a little higher. "THREE...FOUR... FIVE..." Logan barked out with military precision. On the eighth rep, something banged off my forehead - a set of spare keys, they must have fallen from the visor! After the tenth rep, Logan set the pickup back down. I could hear his exuberant voice just outside my window. "Sonuvabitch, I thought those things was heavier! I could never do more'n six reps with my daddy's pickup back on the farm. Maybe if we loaded a coupl'a truck engines in the back..." It was now or never. I jammed the key in the ignition, bolted upright, and cranked 'er to life. The headlights lit up the alley, catching Logan and Hernandez in the glare. At some point they had both removed their shirts. I only had a second to register how powerful they looked, Hernandez with his amazingly thick, slab-like build, and Logan with his ripped physique, covered in criss-crossing veins. "YAAA!" I yelled, punching the gas and throwing the truck in gear. The two huge men glanced at each other and nodded. I didn't have much room to build up speed before I hit them, a three ton Dodge against two muscle-bound teenagers. BANG! The two of them leaned down and rammed their shoulders into the grille, like defensive linemen hitting a tackling dummy. The impact crumpled the front end slightly, but the truck was still going, though slower. Logan reached down under the front end; I could see the thick systolic veins on his arms distend as those biceps bulged hugely. Hernandez did the same on the other side. I gunned the engine, but the truck's progress still slowed. Hernandez sneered at me over the hood, but Logan just stared ahead coldly. Tires squealed, pistons pounded, but it was no use. Lifting the front end a few inches off the ground, they took a few more steps backward, then stopped. Against one of them, I might have been able to get away, but both these goddam freaks together, with those swollen arms holding a Dodge in place...well, I knew when I was beaten. White smoke billowed upward as the back tires wore away against the pavement. "YEAH, HOW DO YA LIKE THAT?" Logan bellowed over the fury. "FUCKIN' ARMY MUSCLE, COMIN" RIGHT AT YA!" Smoke curled up from the engine, so I had to kill it. Not that I was making any progress anyway. The front end bounced back to the ground as they both let go, panting and heaving like wild animals. Rivers of sweat glistened over iron-tough muscle. A few seconds rest, another look, another nod. Logan picked the front end up and wheelbarrowed the truck back a hundred feet or so, til it hit the wall at the dead end. Hernandez was close behind, stretching those impossibly thick arms out, flexing his pecs a couple of times. He took up position on the right side, Logan on the left, as both men crouched down. I caught a view of dozens of ridged muscles bunching up in Logan's shoulders and back as he grabbed the left front end and glanced over at Hernandez. "On the count of three...ONE...TWO... THREE...PUSH!" Both men grunted as they shoved forward, brute male strength at work again. Sweat dripped off Hernandez's brow as the truck shifted slightly, the front end lifting off the ground again. Everything was eerily quiet for 20 or 30 seconds, until my ears registered a tiny sound, like tin foil crackling. I tried to ignore it, but it got louder and louder - the sound of steel being bent out of shape. 'Oh fuck' I thought, praying the frame would hold up... the hood buckled violently as the front headlights blew out. A brown hand grabbed the top of the bent hood, and with a couple of jerks, tore it off completely. Still shoving with his left hand, Hernandez reached up and flexed his right arm. That bicep rose like fucking Everest, round and hard. The sound of squealing and groaning metal reached a fever pitch. One mighty shove, and the back end bent completely out of shape, pulverizing the bricks and mortar behind it. Another shove, and the windshield exploded in a shower of safety glass. With growing despair, I watched creases form in the doors and roof, testament to the Army cadets' unbelievable power. The entire fucking frame was buckling now...I tried to open the door, but it was completely warped. More shoves, more bent metal, even the dashboard was straining as the engine block pushed against it. "Oh Christ, oh Christ..." I mumbled...then it all stopped. I couldn't believe it, they had to be jerking me around again. But this time it was really over. Logan was leaning against the brick wall with one arm, panting, his head hung down. Hernandez was squatting, his head down as well. The air was heavy with sweat. Logan walked over and clapped his friend's shoulder. "That's some damn fine work, soldier. Bent that fucker right outta shape." Hernandez stood up, breathing hard. "You didn't do too bad yourself, man. Even though I did most of the work," he added jokingly. "Like hell you did!" Logan laughed. "C'mon, let's find somethin' bigger to work over. Maybe one of those SUVs out by the base. I'm feelin' hungry tonight." They walked away, bantering back and forth, completely ignoring me. The last thing I heard was Hernandez talking about that 20 bucks, and Logan saying he'd armwrestle him for it. Still, even when their voices faded in the distance, I waited damn near an hour in the twisted wreckage of the truck before venturing out. After wandering around for half an hour, I finally found my way back to the main road, and stumbled onto campus about 3:30, trying to make sense out of what had just happened. Needless to say, I flunked the chem exam. Not that I really cared. END