Attached is a story in progress. WARNING: If you are under eighteen or find explicit sexual references offensive and male to male sexuality, read no further. By silicondog@earthlink.net Where's Herc? (in progress) by silicondog@earthlink.net The following story features adult content. Be ye warned. The set of a movie: total chaos frozen. In the desert a great caravan of trucks and vans had disgorged cameras, lights, crew, extras. In the circle of this: a bearded, dark-haired bodybuilder, standing before the cameras, staring into the middle distance above the camera lens as he shouts: "I shall save you, my darling!" "Cut!" the director shouts into his walkie-talkie, and the set returns to chaos, workers lunging to move plastic palm and plastic boulders. The bodybuilder actor, having remembered his line, is instantly escorted back into his air- conditioned trailer. The assistant director readies the next shot, directing dozens of warrior extras into position, and brings the walkie-talkie to his lips: "Get the extra!" No response. "Herc! Where's Herc?" From behind a trailer a seven-foot tall extra walks towards the center of action, standing head and shoulders above all the crowd. Wearing only sandals and a loincloth slung low over brown hips, only a light trail of sweat drains down between the deep valleys between his pecs and down the gutters around his six pack. Thighs as broad as the assistant director's chest push the loincloth higher onto his hips as he walks. "Herc here" Miguel said. Miguel's acting career had begun only hours earlier driving his Winnebago south through Los Angeles on Interstate 405, when he had been in a collision with a drunk driver. He knew that much more was at stake, however, when the policemen on the scene asked the driver of the other car, a Porsche, for his autograph after reading him his rights. The drunk's lawyers had reached the police station before their client As the drunk was admitted to the Robert Downey Suite of the Santa Monica Jail, Miguel called his lawyer. Later that morning, Miguel was driving in a studio rental car towards his first acting job, musing over what his lawyer had told him. "Apparently, Miguel" he had said from his El Paso office, "the front bumper of your Winnebago encountered one of Hollywood's rising young stars, and most screwed up ones, to boot. Which, for that town, says a great deal." "This is not the first time he's been involved in an accident" he told Miguel. "The little jerk didn't look old enough to drive yet" Miguel answered, remembering how the little twerp in the foreign car looked after damn near plowing through Miguel and his motor home. "Well, that is the problem. He's a star of a movie that's in production right now, and they're worried that if you press charges, he'll be out of the movie. Then again" he continued, "his insurance company by now considers him about as insurable as Saddam Hussein, especially if you press charges against him." "But they did make you an offer" his lawyer said, carefully. "If you don't press charges, and especially if you don't go to the tabloid TV shows about this, then they will first, pay for a new Winnebago." "A new one? That's a lot of money." "It gets better. Since it'll take a month to deliver the Winnebago, in the meantime, you get a part in the movie this guy was starring in, paid per day, with a share in the profits." "For a month?" A long time without wheels, Miguel mused. "And if I don't agree to this crazy scheme? I can press charges!" "Their lawyers will argue that he was only exhausted from the set." "He had enough drugs in his blood to kill a horse." Miguel answered. "The officer at the Santa Monica station said he tested for blood alcohol at .35. They didn't know how he could even turn the key of the car, much less make it into traffic!" "It was your fault that the collision happened, they'll argue." "He was driving northbound in the southbound lane!" "Look, Miguel, they're Hollywood lawyers. If they have to argue that pigs fly, then they'll dream up migration patterns for them, and charge $400 an hour to do it. But if you agree to this fast, then they'll pay immediately for the new Winnebago, and you get paid well, very well, until it's delivered." Miguel sighed. "Tell them I want a burgundy interior". The same day that the contract was signed, faxed to El Paso, and faxed back to Los Angeles to be faxed to the studio ("Nobody can hit the head in that town without faxing a contract to their lawyer, first" his lawyer explained), Miguel drove to the movie location, in the hills north of Los Angeles. After a lot of confusion, he found the assistant director, as well as "Hercules". Hercules was played by a Venice bodybuilder who had parleyed his status as a trainer to the up-and-coming director of the studio into his current role. On the cover of muscle magazines, buffed and retouched, he looked to be 270 pounds of healthy, primed, confident prime beef. Up close and personal, Miguel found that morning a man whose sunburn didn't match the parts of a body exposed to the sun, and eyes that floated all over the compass. His latest hair seeding had gone badly. "Herc" looked blearily at Miguel and said: "What they fuck, they hired a wetback to --" That was enough. On his thirtieth hour without sleep, Miguel's hand lashed out and twisted Herc's loincloth tight around his belly. Lifting him two feet off the ground like a 20-pound dumbbell, Miguel gently shook his body and Herc's legs swayed slowly in the air. "You were saying?" Miguel said. "Uh, uh, nothing". "Keep it that way" Miguel warned, gently returning Herc to the ground. It never got better. For the next week Miguel lived in an apartment owned by the studio, going to the movie's location in the desert each day. But to his eye, little seemed to get done -- everybody seemed to wait around for everybody else. All on the set seemed to have needed "assistants"; his was a 20-year-old guy named Rashid who was there to help him with the script, since it was being re- written almost daily, it seemed to Miguel. But Rashid, who had acted in earlier movies, was there to translate the script's directions so Miguel knew when and what he was needed for. Of Lebanese-Egyptian ancestry, Rashid was trim, wearing snug jeans and a polo shirt in the desert sun. Rashid was five nine and 160 to Miguel's seven feet 350+, with twinkling eyes under tight curly black hair. Day after day under the hot desert sun, Miguel stayed stripped down in the loincloth under the sun, his already deep brown skin only sweating slightly across his pecs. His biggest frustration was that his loincloth tended to hitch up his thighs as his jock slipped down his butt. Most of the work seemed to be done by the Guys With Laptops (their nicknames), the computer artists who would design and direct the animated actors after the film was shot. For Rashid, babysitting Miguel was far easier than trying to babysit the other Herc. "He doesn't need an assistant" Rashid had told the assistant director. "He needs a probation officer or psychiatrist, probably both." But after seeing Miguel's friendly brown eyes and beard lightly dusted with white and especially looking at his nude upper body, which looked pumped and defined even relaxed, Rashid was content to assist Miguel without being caught scoping the heavy horsemeat that filled his loincloth. Rashid had overhead one of the Guys With Laptops mutter: "If we don't edit that guy's basket down to human proportions, nobody's gonna even notice the rest of the movie!" "The best reason to leave it in" the other Guy With Laptop said. But Rashid knew that those muscles had been built pushing heavy metal in the real world, not in an air-conditioned gym. One of Miguel's first shots had been a closeup of his right arm with chain wrapped around it. Wanting to deal with the other Herc as little as possible, they had asked Miguel to flex his arm under the chain. The cameras rolling with a thick steel chain wrapped around his bicep and tricep, Miguel had just stood and flexed; and in a moment his brown skin had swelled against the steel, his expanding bicep flattening the steel links wrapped around his arm, metal creaking as it bent over his swelling arm. With a sharp pop, one of the steel links had broke and the chain flew off of his biceps. The only sound after the chain had dropped to the ground was Miguel, who asked "You got any steel bars?" After a week, he muttered to Rashid after another day of standing around, "I need a workout. This standing around is driving me nuts!" Rashid nodded. He also knew that Miguel had no intention of playing with the same dumbbells "Herc" used to pump himself up prior to his shots. Herc tended to stay in his trailer, except for periodic "shopping" trips back to Los Angeles. "Where" Rashid sighs, "he buys that same jungle juice, andro or something, that he's been using to pump himself up for years. He was the fool who got our other star higher than a kite so he could go south in the northbound lane." Miguel shot him a look. That was supposed to be secret. "No offense" Rashid explained. "Look, everybody knows everything else in this town. When they mean secret, they mean it doesn't make the TV shows in the first 48 hours. After that, it's history." They walked towards the cars. "I like burgundy, myself" Rashid added. The two men were walking past a group of horses fitted for chariots. Miguel smiled. "I see my workout!" The two chariots each had two horses in their harness, and a length of heavy chain trailed from them to where Miguel stood. Grabbing one chain with each hand, he gripped the links tightly and stretched, taking up the slack between himself and the chariots. "You're gonna fly" one of the horse's handlers, standing in the chariot, warned. Turning his back towards the two chariots, Miguel gave one sharp tug. Both chariots and their four horses were jolted backwards, and the other man on the chariot yelled "Hey!" as he was rolled backwards. Then the horses took it into their own mind and bolted. Bolted one foot forward. Rooted in the dust like a tree, Miguel's legs swelled against the horse's pull and the heavy chains were pulled by Miguel until his hands met in front of his chest, like doing cable flies except with two horses providing the resistance instead of a stack of iron. He finished his rep, his fingers crushing the steel links of the chain, the great heads of his deltoids and trapezius deepening as he let the horses pull the chain back until his arms swept forward again, pulling the two horses with each arm. The sweating horses were stomping and whining, their hoofs skidding and slipping against Miguel's tremendous pulls, his arm sweeping them backwards until, with a metallic click, his hands met in front of his chest. "Count out my reps" Miguel called to Rashid, watching wide-eyed as he continued to pull the chariots back and forth, the animals snorting and stomping, until after thirty reps, they gave up. Miguel pulled the four horses and two chariots behind him, and they gave up trying to pull away and stood, exhausted. Miguel dropped the chain to the ground and shook his arms, then stretched his arms over his head. His lats swelled straight from his slim hips from the pump the horses had given his body, and sweat trickled in thin rivers down the vast brown shields of his chest. Rashid gasped when he saw the chains on the ground. Where Miguel's fingers had grabbed, the steel links had bent until they were mashed together into a steel rope. "Damn, that is one fine pump" Miguel commented. Rashid could just nod. Miguel decided to impress Rashid a little more. He liked the kid, and especially liked the bulge of his jeans as he watched Miguel manhandle those big horses back and forth. "You belong on those shows on ESPN, you know, the World's Strongest Men competitions" Rashid told him as they walked towards the parking lot. "They had a competition on the other night, where these huge guys threw big wooden logs for distance." On the other side of the parking lot lay some abandoned telephone poles. In the late afternoon light, Miguel just smiled at Rashid. "Throw?" Miguel asked, grinning. He casually walked over to one of the telephone poles and, grabbing it in the middle, effortlessly floated it up into the air, hanging it across his shoulders and behind his neck. Draping his pumped arms around the pole, he looked at Rashid -- and leaned back with his head against the wood. Immediately there was a sharp heavy creaking sound of wood giving way to pressure and Miguel's own neck seemed to double in thickness over swelling traps. His arms slowly pulled down the telephone pole around his neck -- until with a loud crack the pole broke in two, the two heavy lengths of wood clunking down to the dirt. Miguel picked up one of the halves and draped it again over his shoulders. His huge upper body swelling over skin-tight jeans, he did another wrestler's bridge against the foot-thick wooden pole until it broke like a pencil against his neck and shoulders, its halves dropping to the ground. His delts swelled and broadened against the breaking wood of the phone pole, and his neck and traps seemed to merge into one thick unit of muscle. In a minute, the telephone pole had been reduced to eight lumps of wood, broken under Miguel's iron arms and neck. Impulsively, Rashid reached forward to brush a few of the wood slivers off of the mounds and valleys of Miguel's shoulders. Miguel reached to Rashid, gently hooked each of his little fingers into the loops of Rashid's jeans and lifted him up until they were at eye level. "My aunt always told me, you know, Miguel, brains always beats muscle. But you know" Miguel smiled, "muscle always wins over meat." It was Friday afternoon. Miguel asked "Do you have any plans for this weekend?" His feet floating two feet off the ground, Rashid could only shake his head. "You have now." With a smile. They both walked back towards the lot where their cars were parked. Walking towards Rashid's Toyota and Miguel's rental, Rashid muttered "Shit." A big Humvee was parked diagonally blocking Rashid's car. "That's 'Herc' for you" Rashid muttered. "The guy called me a 'raghead' on my first day here, would you believe that?" "Yep" Miguel said. "And I think I can move him out of the way faster than he could." With that, Miguel leaned down and wrapped his hands under the bumper. With a smooth lean back, the Hummer's front end floated off the ground, bobbing a few inches back and forth in his arms. Carefully so as not to trip the car alarm, he walked the Hummer sideways like a wheelbarrow until Rashid's car was clear. His delts and neck by now had pumped into one yard-wide brown mass of iron, heads and cables under slick skin. Rashid pulled his car out, eyes widening. The pump from lifting the Humvee had pumped Miguel's heavy basket too. He was bigger soft than any cock Rashid had ever seen rock hard. "Follow me" Miguel ordered. With Miguel in the lead, they drove to the studio-rented apartment in Van Nuys. Pulling in, Rashid became a little self-conscious. Miguel hadn't dressed out of his loincloth and as he unfolded his seven foot body out of the rental, its body rocking under his shifting weight, Rashid was thankful that Miguel's boner was on hold. Rashid's boner was still trying to escape out of his jockey shorts. Miguel ducked his head out of practice as they got into the elevator, his thick black hair only a few inches from the elevator's roof. An elderly woman with a dog got in with them. As they all rode up, Rashid could only smile. The woman was facing directly ahead, ignoring the two of them. She had to be a New Yorker, Rashid thought. You get into an elevator with a seven foot Mexican giant wearing a nylon-thin loincloth and sandals and you pay him no mind. Even the dog watched the floor numbers. Up close in the elevator, Rashid could smell Miguel's sweat, a heavy musk of testosterone and spice. Even relaxed, his back looked like it was performing a lat spread, sweeping directly from his hard narrow hips, swelling up and out to the heads of his delts. His legs were so long you could miss that his thighs were thicker than his waist. The sweat-soaked brown loincloth was almost the same color as his skin, and clung to his butt tighter than a nylon stocking. In other bodybuilders Rashid had seen, all that mass sagged under its own weight. Even relaxed, Miguel's muscles looked pumped across his body. In motion, Rashid was reminded of a big jungle animal, a tiger or lion. While 'Herc's' bulk seemed to clank and clang around his body, Miguel carried his muscles like a tiger wore his skin. Miguel in the lead (ducking his head again), they both went into his apartment. Rashid could tell it was a generic, furniture-rental unit with the belongings Miguel had salvaged from his wrecked Winnebago -- some boxes of papers, an Apple PowerBook and some family pictures -- stacked in the dining room. "Help yourself to the refrigerator, Rashid, I gotta piss" Miguel called, closing the door behind him. Rashid opened the fridge to find it fully stocked, with gallons of milk, gallons of orange juice and bulks of meat and eggs bought by the dozens. The only small can was a clean little blue jar next to the stacks of egg cartons. Pouring a glass of milk, Rashid waited for Miguel to finish pissing. After a full minute, Rashid could only stare at the bathroom door listening to Miguel's loud thick stream in the bowl. After another minute, he finished and the flush woke Rashid out of his trance. He wanted to ask a lot of questions about Miguel without tripping over the first: how the hell did you get this way? Padding barefoot into the kitchen and towering over Rashid, Miguel casually took a few gallon jugs of milk out of the fridge, with a few dozen cartons of eggs and a big cardboard box of protein mix. Pouring the milk, the protein mix and the cracked eggs into the blender, he started the blender and sat down next to Rashid. The floor softly creaking under Miguel's bulk, the chair creaked as well before he settled down and smiled at Rashid. Rashid smiled back, admiring Miguel's eyes and the planes of his face. "Man, haven't had much to eat all day" Miguel said, clicking off the blender. "This stuff with the movie has really knocked me off my workout routine." Pulling the big bowl off the top of the blender and holding it in his hand like a beer stein, he leaned back and began chugging it down his throat. Trying to keep cool and not openly stare at his huge plates of chest only a few feet away, Rashid could almost feel the muscles soaking in the protein like a sponge. Only the pulsing of Miguel's thick neck could tell he was swallowing the gallons of protein until he finally swallowed the last few drops and leaned over to place the blender bowl into the sink. A loud belch that felt like it rattled the glass in Rashid's hand ground out of Miguel's torso as he leaned back in his chair, idly scratching the tops of his carved abs. Casually swinging his huge arms up over his head, he brought them down into a classic double-bicep shot. "Rashid, this standing around all week long with nothing to do is tough as hell. Check this out, man, I am nothing but skin and bones." His basketball-sized upper arm not two feet from Rashid, Miguel smiled. Rashid knew when a show was being put on for him. He leaned over and brushed Miguel's milk moustache with his own lips, tasting the milk and eggs and gently sucked the broth off of his face. Miguel reached behind Rashid's head and Rashid felt the chair float off the ground in his hand like a 10 pound dumbbell. He could already see that Miguel's cock was trying to forklift its way through the loincloth. One hand gently massaging the oaken muscle of Miguel's neck, Rashid could only say "Be careful, Miguel, that loincloth is studio property." Putting Rashid's chair back on the floor, Miguel shrugged his body down and shucked the skimpy sweat-soaked jock off. Freed, a beer can sized brown and olive cock stiffly swayed back and forth filling with blood. His bare rump back in the chair, Miguel asked "Shower first?" Rashid answered by putting his head into the armored junction of arm and torso to run the tip of his nose back and forth across his armpit. "Here" Miguel said, taking the loincloth he had worn and sweated in all day and brought it to Rashid's nose. Back in the chair, Rashid's head was filled with the concentrated musk of Miguel's jock and loincloth, held by Miguel to his nose and mouth like an oxygen mask. He fumbled at the zipper of his jeans before he blew his load into his own underwear but his hand vanished into Miguel's iron fingers. "Not until I say so" he ordered. He pulled his hand away from his zipper and Miguel leaned back until his cock swung under the kitchen table. With a smile, Miguel leaned back a little more -- and the table was tilted under his cock. Rashid got up on rubbery legs and straddled his great torso, lowering himself down into Miguel's lap. Miguel stood with Rashid riding on his cock, a thick iron bar under Rashid's ass. It was Miguel's turn to snuffle Rashid's armpit under his sweat-soaked shirt, standing up and forcing Rashid to duck his head under the ceiling. "There's more room for us both in the bedroom." Miguel purred into Rashid's armpit. Story in progress, to be continued......