Traffic Jammed

Short story by silicondog@earthlink.net

The truck sat stalled in the freeway, jacknived across all lanes.  The huge cab 
was still upright, but its bumper had tangled in the bumper of a SUV before 
stopping.  The trailer had skidded almost off the hardtop entirely, and its 
cargo of great logs lay spilled across the side of the road.  The uninjured 
truck driver was staring at the twisted steel of bumpers when a broad shadow 
fell over both him and the front of the truck.  He looked up...and up....across 
an immense black uniformed chest, a cop badge and buttons glittering over skin-
tight fabric stretched around and over shield-sized pecs.  The truck driver's 
eyes carried over the broad muscled column of neck and trapezius until his own 
eyes met two mirrored lenses.  His first thought was that this guy was wearing a 
bullet proof vest, to accommodate the great bulk of his torso.  But when he 
looked underneath the skin-hugging shirt, he could only see glistening, defined 
skin.

"Can I help?"  Officer Cole asked.  The driver looked back at the stalled five 
lanes of traffic, all using their horns.  "Go ahead" he said helplessly.

"Yo, Sonny, Flex, let's get this thing fixed and moving!" the iron-skinned giant 
called out.  Right behind the trailer, two huge men got out of a van, one as 
black as Officer Cole but slightly smaller, and the other a moustached Samoan, 
both dressed in spandex shorts and baggy tops.  Flex walked over to the tilted 
trailer rig, while Sonny went to the stack of spilled redwood logs.  

Flex tucked his hands into the back of his collar and shucked off the fabric to 
reveal the great mounds of muscle across his shoulders and pecs, ridges of abs 
flexing over each other even as he stood relaxed, judging the weight of the 
trailer.   If he could lift the right rear wheels onto the pavement.......he 
tucked his immense shoulder under the bumper, braced long blocks of thigh 
muscles, and rubbed his traps against the bumper, bracing it against the metal.   
In one smooth heave, he straighted his body, each muscle swelling against the 
other.  Even under his boots, the soles and heels of his feet began to sink a 
few inches into the pavement, as the great weight of the trailer creaked under 
his shoulder......and the wheels were floating over a feet off the ground.  The 
shifting mass of welded steel under his shoulder, Flex straightened his densely 
and intricately muscled body until, step by step, he walked the trailer's end 
back until its rear wheels, even carried in his arms, were over the pavement.  
Carefully balancing the tons of metal, he slowly squatted down and the trailer 
was again on the road.   Shrugging great delts, Flex glared at the BMW only a 
few feet behind, its driver both honking the horn and yelling into his cellular 
phone.

In the meantime, Sonny had gone over to where the huge logs had spilled.   He 
too had stripped down his waist, the planes of his muscles pulling the cotton 
shorts so tight that it fit him like a loincloth.  At least forty feet long and 
twice again as wide as a man, a dozen logs lay in a heap like sticks.  Taking 
great teak-colored arms around the first, Sonny gave one first heave that sent 
the log floating off the ground in iron arms, its muscles crunching into the 
sides of the redwood log and its length bobbing slightly in his brutal grip.  
Heaving it across his shoulder, the skin over his delts grinding away the few 
scraps of bark still attached to the log.  Leaving inch-thick footprints in the 
compacted earth, he walked back and tossed the log down to the ground parallel 
to the righted trailer, sending vibrations that rattled the drivers of the 
surrounding stalled cars, even through their suspensions.   

Officer Cole hunched down on his beer keg-sized thighs and carefully studied the 
jammed bumpers of the trailer truck and the SUV.   Long thick fingers that could 
pull apart a padlock gently unbuttoned his shirt uniform, and he carefully hung 
it on the rear view mirror of the truck.  Reveling in the feel of the wind 
across the great planes of his torso, he playfully flexed one pec and then the 
other as he faced the truck's cab, over twice as tall as him.  Wrapping the 
fingers of his right hand around the iron grill of the SUV, and bracing his left 
hand on its chassis, the great tendons and cables of his wrist swelled -- and 
the metal under his fingers crackled and squeaked as it bent away from the 
truck's bumper, twisting under Officer Cole's immense hands like a licorice 
stick.  Peeling it away at last, Officer Cole straightened his huge body in 
front of the SUV, still holding the bumper, and the car tilted back and up in 
his arms like a wheelbarrow.  Behind the driver's seat, its driver feverishly 
pumped his cock through his fly.  Pausing to gauge the distance, Cole walked the 
SUV back twenty feet and gently placed the three tons of metal on the road.

Immediately behind the wreck, the BMW kept honking at Flex.  Glaring, he walked 
over to the car's hood and lifted it up off the ground by its bumper.  He 
wrestled with it briefly to get the best grip and the car flipped back and forth 
as his grip tightened.  The luxury car bobbing in his arms, he shoved back and 
the car skidded back on braked rear wheels until it touched bumpers with a 
Mercedes-Benz behind it.  Flex's immense legs swelled -- and the Mercedes-Benz 
began to move backwards with the BMW, their wheels slipping and skidding across 
the tarmac.  His feet leaving one thick dent in the road after another, Flex's 
great back and legs swelled as the Mercedes slid back into the front of a Jeep 
Cherokee, their bumpers meshed, and the Jeep began bumping backwards as well, 
tons upon tons of metal pushed in a muscle daisy chain.  Flex shifted his great 
arms back and forth across the BMW's hood to keep the three huge cars lined up 
straight behind his chest.  

Cole returned to where the truck's cab was still wedged against the concrete 
beam of the intersection, and called: 

"Yo, Sonny, we need to lever this truck back onto the road.  Will one of those 
logs fit?"

Sonny flashed a white grin under his 'stach and tanned Pacific skin.

"I'll make one that does fit!" he answered.

He went to the last log, as wide as his own huge chest, and braced it with his 
left arm.  His right hand formed a knife-edge and with one blur it descended 
onto the end of the log.  A great "crack" echoed across the stuck cars, like the 
greatest ax ever swung dropping into a tree stump.  Sonny's hand vanished a foot 
into the log, and the split from his hand reached across to the edges of the 
broad stump.  He shoved the huge log over to where it was now braced against the 
concrete embankment, and flipped the end up into his arms before his chest, 
planting thick brown fingers inside the crack, palms down gripping the log.  
Where his fingers braced themselves, the redwood compressed like styrofoam.  

The stuck drivers peered over their windshields to watch Sonny's great back snap 
out like wings, and delts swell under traps which seemed to merge into one 
writhing mass of power.  To those who watched Sonny strain against the log, it 
seemed that even his own bones and tendons would be crushed under the iron surge 
as his hands began to pull the split wide open in the log.  There was a long, 
deep, thick splintering sound as the redwood, after standing and growing strong 
for hundreds of years, was being destroyed in a matter of seconds in Sonny's 
hands.  The sound was like a tree splintering as it was cut down, but this was 
different -- it was a lengthwise tear of feet-thick dense wood losing to 
sweating brown arms which pulled the split wider and wider, the cracking sound 
seeming never to end, until it had split down the middle in its forty foot 
length, its deep core of strong red fibers ripped open under his arms.  In two 
thumps, the halves dropped to the earth, and Sonny took one in his arms like a 
hockey stick -- a forty-foot, three feet-thick hockey stick.  His torso pumped 
from splitting the log in half, to the drivers he looks to have doubled in 
width.

"Where do you want it?" Sonny asked.  Officer Cole pointed to where the tall 
truck cab had wedged itself against the embankment.  

In the meantime, Flex had made twenty more feet of space to move the truck -- by 
then he had shoved back eight cars in their lanes, and a huge boner was so 
obvious in his tights that the first driver could look over his dented hood to 
see its veins.  He went to the next lane over -- but the driver of the first 
car, looking back at the chain of shoved cars, didin't wait.  Flex reached out 
and touched with a finger the hood ornament of his car -- and the driver backed 
away.  The drivers behind him did likewise, having watched the train of cars 
shoved backwards by this giant, a trail of deep dents in the road made by his 
legs shoving steel.

Sonny eased the end of the log inbetween the truck's cab and the concrete, while 
Flex returned to the trailer's rear and Officer Cole squatted down and grabbed 
the twisted bumper.  

"On the count of three" Officer Cole said, a deep rumble of bass with a timbre 
that displayed his muscles as much as his shirt did.  

"One."  Sonny braced his legs and arms, indentations deepening under his arms in 
the redwood.

"Two."  A trickle of sweat ran down the deep planes of Flex's back, and the 
seams of his tights were ripping open from mid-thigh.

"Three!" Under Sonny's arms, the log began bending with a splintering sound 
grinding under his arms.  The truck's cab began to shift out under the log's 
prying while Flex took the trailer's rear off the ground in a shoulder press and 
Officer Cole deadlifted the truck's cab one foot, and then two feet off the 
ground, the wheels turning slowly in the air.  His own thick shoes making 
footprints in the hard road, Officer Cole swung the tons of steel away while 
Sonny gave one great heave that popped the dented side of the truck free with a 
deep groan of ripping steel and plating.  Carrying the trailer's rear over his 
shoulders like a 30 pound barbell, Flex lined up the rear with the trailer's cab 
as Officer Cole squatted the great mass back to the ground.  Looking down behind 
mirrored lenses, Officer Cole smiled as he imagined seeing the fingerprints his 
hands had left in the bumper's steel.  Sonny began to take the logs one by one 
and flip them back into the trailer, shocks rocking under the impacts of tons of 
wood bouncing.  

The truck driver didn't even care about the deep stain of cum in his pants.  
These three guys had moved a mass of dense wood and steel that normally needed 
thousands of horsepower to even move -- and they didn't even look tired!  Flex 
was trying to wrestle his shirt top back on, but it just rode on the top of his 
pumped shoulders.  Sonny was wiping splinters of redwood from his huge hands 
with his tank top.  Officer Cole was mumbling into his radio, casually walking 
back to retrieve his shirt.  

The traffic began to move, but slower -- driver after driver slowed to see 
Officer Cole's swelled armored body.  Pumped, his shirt no longer fit in the 
shoulders, and he left the front open, revealing a Grand Canyon of carved 
muscular power in swelling pecs and the individual bars of his abs that 
mesmerized each driver that passed.   

Fearful of causing another accident, Officer Cole turned to the truck driver and 
extended his hand.  "Good luck" Cole said, and the truck driver's hand vanished 
inside the great fingers of Cole's paw.  Behind him, Flex pulled up.

He called "Hey, Cole, we gotta move if we want to get in a workout before the 
gym closes!"  Cole gracefully eased his bulk in, used to the feel of the shocks 
soggily accommodating his bulk.   With a wave, the three drive away -- at the 
speed limit, since Cole is driving now!