Going Shopping I

[Series written by Gym Dude for my old website. He was one of my most prolific contributors.  Some of his stories are more violent than others.]

Part 1 of 5

Going Shopping I
by
Gym Dude

My friends know I’m a people watcher.  I find it fascinating to sit in a park, at the beach, downtown or in a mall and just watch people.  It’s much more interesting than TV.  I wonder what their life is like and what brought them to this point, who they know and what they are going to do with the rest of their lives.  I wonder what changes they will make that will dramatically change their future.  What if they won the lottery, or turned a corner and found their perfect mate?  What if they already had a mate? Young, old and in-between, they are all interesting to me.


My buddies think that only older people sit and think about things like that, not some young horse like me at only 21.  People say I’m good looking and consider me athletic.  I try to stay in shape.  I’m just an inch short of six feet and I maintain my weight at a solid 206 pounds with just under 6% body fat.  I’ve been pumping iron since I was 14 and got interested in bodybuilding at 17.  Working out with the guys for sports, we would always push each other and I just started to grow.  I liked what I saw and kept it up. I enjoy the way girls go goo-goo over me and I have fun intimidating other guys.  I’m not mean or anything, I guess I’m just a little imposing to those jocks that haven’t developed yet.  The only guys I really ‘lean on’ are bullies.  I just can’t stand seeing defenseless little dweebs get picked on.

Anyhow, I’m walking through the mall a couple of weeks ago and I see these guys come in.  They’re laughing and joking and pushing each other around, you could tell they were jocks, about 18 years old, and most of them were pretty big, a couple even taller than me and judging from the ripples in their t-shirts and the size of their biceps, I could tell they spend their share of time in the weight room.  They are probably football players and most certainly wrestlers.

One of them seemed to stand out from the crowd, even though he was in the center of the group.  The kid was shorter than the others; I pegged him to be about 5’9” and about 180 pounds.  His shirt was loose but you could tell the beef inside it was well-developed.  He was one of those guys who just exude confidence.  He walks like he has staked out his territory and no one is going to screw with him.

All the guys sported the same t-shirt, so they must be a team or club.  As they walked nearer, I could make out a logo of the high school wrestling team on the left chest.  That explains a lot.

I watched the guys for a while, interested in their interaction and watching how the ‘pecking order’ worked.  While he was a shade smaller than the others, the kid in the middle seemed to be at the top of the pack.  I pegged him as the “Alpha Male”.

Even though the gray, athletic t-shirt was a little too large for the guy, it still fit well enough to show off his chest, shoulder and arm development. Tucked in, but hanging loose around his waist.  I guessed his buddies wore the same size, but it fit them a lot better.

They turned to window shop at the sports department, looking at weight training gear, naturally.  You could hear one of them look at the kid and say, hell, you’re already warming up with more than that!  They were looking at 50-pound dumbbells.  Yeah, I suppose he would.

The kid flexed his biceps and it jumped to attention. The peak was tall and I was impressed at the thickness as it stretched the oversized shirt sleeve.  The kid looks pretty strong.

The t-shirt stretched across his back, showing powerfully built, thick lats running down each side giving him that buff V-shaped look.  That’s when I noticed the printing on the back of his shirt..... WARNING! The Surgeon General has determined that wrestling me will be hazardous to your health.

It’s one thing when a really well-built heavyweight wears a shirt like that, but even with this kid’s obviously muscular build, he’s throwing down the gauntlet to be challenged by every stud he runs across, regardless of size.

I love it.  I’ve got to have that shirt!

Just about then, the kid parted from his buddies and headed across the mall, I couldn’t help but follow him.  Down by the food court I ran into a few weightlifter friends of mine, just as the kid headed down a hall toward the restrooms.  After a quick conference, my big buddies took position at the entrance to the hall to make sure we wouldn’t be disturbed as I gave the kid some time to do his business.  Passing the open door to the maintenance room, I picked up an orange cone marked “closed for cleaning” to drop in front of the door before I headed in.

The kid was just washing up.  Leaning over, those lats looked even more impressive as they flared out giving his back an incredibly broad look, before curving sharply and trailing all the way down to his narrow waist.

I acted like I had not seen his shirt before.  He looked up in the mirror to see me staring at his back and smiled, giving me a knowing look of acceptance that another, older lifter was impressed with his muscular development.

I laughed out loud toward his reflection and commented, “God, I love your shirt.  That is really funny.  I gotta have it to show my friends.  I’ll trade you for it, right now.”

His voice was about an octave lower than I expected from a kid of 18.  His words didn’t actually have the tone of a threat, but weren’t far from it, “It’s not meant to be funny and they’re only worn by our best fighters.”

“So you’re taking that shit seriously?  You think because you can take down some scrawny kid in your class that you’re ready to take on all comers?”

“Listen, dude.  They don’t pass these out for nothing.  You gotta earn ‘em”

“And, it looks like after you earn one, you might have to be man enough to keep it.” I said as I flexed, feeling the fabric of my shirt stretch against my muscular chest and arms.

I had positioned myself between the wrestle dude and the door.  The kid turned to face me, and then cracked a smile as his knees bent, he leaned slightly forward, his well-muscled arms stretched out and forward and his body flexed.  Young stud was fully prepared for combat and as he flexed, his upper body began to take up the slack in that shirt.  Our conversation and body language had made it clear that he was either going to freely give up his shirt or fight me to keep it and he had made his choice.

“Wait! Wait!”  I said to the kid’s surprise.

“What?  All that and now the big muscle dude is gonna back down?  Shit, just like the rest.  All talk and no walk.”  The kid was pumped and ready to have some fun and now it looked like it wasn’t going to happen.

“No that’s not it, Sparky.  I just want you to take off the shirt first.  I don’t want my new shirt to get all screwed up before I even get a chance to wear it!”  I already was pulling my shirt off, knowing that I looked a lot better and more intimidating without it anyway.

Junior reluctantly began pulling the shirt off and for the first time I could see the misfortune of a shirt that size on this body.  Damn!  The kid was ripped!  I swear his abs looked sharper than mine, and that’s saying something.  This is good, that shirt is going to look a lot better on my big body, than it does on his anyhow.

Sparky was about to discover the disadvantages of youth.  As the shirt was half off, over his face and with his arms extended and tangled up, I let him have it with a straight front-kick to the center of his chest, sending his muscular body crashing solidly into the wall.

The kid was shaken by the unexpected attack and unprepared for the series of powerful combination shots to his ripped abs.  Sparky grunted and groaned as each fist smashed home to its undefended target.

I was impressed at the kid’s body and his ability to take the punishment I was dealing out.  Damn, he’s still on his feet!  By then, he had worked his big arms out of the shirt and thrown it aside.  I better do some real damage here or the wrestle stud is going to show me how he earned that shirt!

The kid was still taking my body shots but they didn’t seem to be wearing him down at all.  In fact, he wasn’t grunting or groaning anymore.  I paused for a moment to look up and the rugged little shit was actually smiling.  Those muscular abs were not going to break down like I hoped, but being a man who is used to fighting by a clear set of rules leaves the wrestle stud at a distinct disadvantage.

I pushed the smaller man against the wall then drilled him with a knee lift between the legs.

Sparky’s smile disappeared and his eyes got glassy. The color began to fade from his handsome face as the kid’s jaw dropped and he began to gasp for air.  Two more knee lifts and junior was well on his way to becoming my wrestling dummy.  I would enjoy teaching the wrestle stud some holds his coach never mentioned and put his muscular body under stresses he never imagined.

After all, I need to EARN that shirt.  Don’t I?

With Sparky doubled over fighting for air, I had little trouble controlling his arms and locking mine behind his back.  The dude began to struggle until I started slamming knee lifts into his worked over abs. The young stud couldn’t escape my grip as my knee continued smashing into his stomach.  My legs are pretty strong and I felt more like a place kicker as the power of my blows lifted the well-muscled stud clear off the floor.  I must have laid in a dozen or more before I noticed the battering was no longer having an effect on this rugged dude.  Getting nowhere, I switched to plan “B”, gripping one arm, I used my weight advantage to power the kid into the wall again, hoping to knock him senseless.

Not only did I not succeed, Sparky bounced off the wall and lunged straight for me.  Wait!  Wait!  Wait! He’s not supposed to do that, he’s supposed to know when he’s up against a superior man.  He’s supposed to know when to give up!

Junior was on me before I could block his advance, gripping behind by back and cranking on one of the most powerful bear hugs I have ever felt!  Damn! What’s going on?  This kid is supposed to be beaten by now!

I’ve been locked in this hold by much bigger men, and no one has ever taken me with it, but as I struggle Sparky just cranks up more and more power!  Where the hell is this kid getting this kind of strength?  I try to twist away but the young stud’s grip is too tight. His arms won’t move!  Shit!  It’s getting hard to breathe and I can’t find a way to break his hold. Sparky’s bear hug is really beginning to take its toll on me.  This kid’s arms are too strong, his body too tough, there’s only one way to break this hold.

I lean back as far as I can.  I can feel my ribs bending under the incredible pressure.  I got no choice, as I rake my fingers across the kid’s eyes and Sparky let’s out a scream, but locks down all the harder.  One more rake across the eyes and the hold loosens.  I nail him with another and the kid breaks off, stepping back, temporarily blinded.

Junior has no idea where I am.  I move completely around him firing punches as hard as I can.  The kid is swinging, but catching nothing but air.  He pulls his hands up to relieve the pain in his eyes and I step into his solid body, pull his arms down to his sides and gain a powerful grip behind his back. “Here, let me show you how it’s done”, I put the young stud on notice.

I didn’t build up this body for nothing!  I crush down with my mighty guns as I sweep the smaller man off the floor and gain a loud groan for my efforts.  No man has yet escaped my bear hug once I get it locked on. I want to see just how much punishment young Mr. Hardbody can handle.

With his muscular arms clamped to his sides, there wasn’t much hope for the kid and even though I was able to crush the air from his solid body and the kid groaned in agony with every flex of my powerful arms the kid wouldn’t give up.  What the hell is with that?

As I wore the kid down further and further it became clear that my bear hug was unbreakable.  My streak is intact.  “Alright muscleboy, you’ve shown me how tough you are, now it’s time to give up and admit defeat!” I told him.  Junior just continued struggling for air.

“Come on kid.  You’re beat.  Give up and admit it. You’re up against a bigger, stronger man.  There is no shame in admitting when you’re outclassed.  Give it up!” I crunched down on him again, and the kid’s helpless body slumped across my shoulder.

Panting and puffing with all he had left, Sparky struggled with every word, “I won’t … give up!  You might … crush me … and steal my shirt … but you won’t … get the satisfaction … of winning it from me!”

I’ve got to admit, this kid is really tough.  A lot of bigger guys have caved from my grip long before this. I didn’t want to hurt the guy, I admired his fight and will, but I had to break him.  I wanted him to voluntarily give up the shirt.  Shit, I wanted to earn it!

I crunched and the kid groaned.  I complimented him on his extraordinary toughness.  “You must do real well on the mats.  What did you have to do to earn that shirt, anyhow?”

“Won … state … championship … 184 … pound … division. Three … years … un … defeated.  The kid was in agony, barely able to catch a breath and only able to get out one word at a time.

The kid still wouldn’t give so I tightened my grip again, and again, and again.  Sparky’s young muscular body arched as he groaned.  The kid had earned my admiration.  He is one tough dude, but I really wanted that shirt.  I had him beat, I wanted submission.  He can’t win and he can’t escape, why doesn’t he just give it up?

I didn’t know my own power.  When he refused to give the next time, I cranked on him again.  Then I heard the terrible sound of ribs snapping.  The kid’s fortress of a chest could defend him no more.  The young stud screamed and at least four ribs cracked like popcorn before I could release the amazing pressure of my deadly grip.

I released him and the kid dropped to the floor unconscious.  Grabbing my t-shirt and my new prize, I returned the cone to the maintenance room, and then me and my buddies left the mall.

I had the prize I wanted, but the little shit was right.  I put him out, but he never gave up.  I hadn’t really earned the right to wear that shirt.