Gang Warfare

 

 

Gang Warfare

by Gym Dude

Every gym seems to be comprised of the same type of people. Most of the members stop by periodically, work through the machines for a while then head home so they can casually drop into conversations that they “work out at the gym”. It makes them feel good and they stay out of our way, so that’s cool with me, especially since they help pay the bills and keep the price down for those of us who really need this place.

There are always a few who seem to just come here to talk, which I don’t mind either. I just wish they would sit in the lobby instead of on the equipment, but since I don’t frequent the machines, it’s no skin off my nose.

Most of the others are like myself, and are here almost every day, usually so regular you could set your watch by them. You’ll find us all at the end of the gym with the heavy weights. If you ever see a simile or nod of recognition, it is between sets. Other than a few words of encouragement if you happen to have a workout partner, you will hear very little conversation until after the workout. We may not always be quiet about it, but we take our gym time very seriously and we’re proud of the fact that it shows. I have to admit that at 26, I’m 6’1”, 223 pounds and damn happy that I “look like I could bench press a Buick”, as my friends say. I’ve worked out seriously for years and my buddies say I look better than many of those guys you see in the muscle mags. I train for strength and to improve my athletic ability, but like most of the guys I train with, we don’t mind the appearance that comes from all that hard work.

That covers almost everyone you find in most gyms, except one. For some reason unknown to me, every gym has to have at least one real jerk. Ours is this guy named R.J. It always “weirds me out” when some guy goes by his initials instead of at least a nickname. That type of guy is almost always strange, and R.J. is no exception to the rule. Now I’ve got nothing against the guy or that he likes to work out on the weights with the big boys when he should really be over on the nautilus machines with the kids, ladies and old men. I wouldn’t mind where he was if he’d keep his damn mouth shut.

The guy is not in bad shape. He’s about 23 or so, 5’11” and must be 185 to 190 pounds. He looks strong for his size and you can tell he works out. If he paid a lot closer attention to his nutrition and got a decent workout program, he could make some real progress. I mean, he’s not in bad shape as it is, his arms look like they’re 17 or 17 ½ inches and he could use some leg work. If he took half the energy used by his jaw and put it into iron, he’d be a lot better off and so would we.

The jerk does occasionally workout with some pretty big guys, but I don’t see them here nearly as often as R.J. They stay pretty much to themselves when they’re around so he’s much easier to tolerate. Some of these guys are really buff and most of them look like fairly tough customers. I have no idea how R.J. fits in that group, except that when they’re here he’s a lot quieter.

Unfortunately for us, R.J. is here alone much of the time. He talks up a storm and tries to pass himself off as some big, strong, tough dude and while that might be the case if he were where he belongs on the other side of the gym, all he has to do is look in the mirror or count the plates on the bar to know he’s in way over his head. He’s just so damn annoying, but we’re all too much of a gentleman to send him away so we just work around him as best we can.

Tolerance seemed to be working until one day. I’m walking back from the water cooler as he’s setting down a pair of fairly light dumbbells. The guy backs right into me! He tried to make it look like an accident, but I gotta believe he set it up. The jerk isn’t quiet about anything and shouts out, “Hey watch where you’re going, you big ox”.

I’ll admit that I try not to pay any more attention to this guy than I have to, but I am coordinated enough to walk across a floor without too much damage. “Relax, little guy.” I said, “You bumped into me. Just quiet down and go back to your little 20-pound dumbbell curls.”

R.J. got right in my face and screamed, “You bumped into me and you need to say you’re sorry!”

This is the way of the jerk. Pick on the biggest, strongest man in the gym and make a scene. When you try to quiet things down and get on with your workout, he thinks it makes him look like some big tough guy.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” I told him, “I’m sorry you’re such a jerk!”

I swear the guy turned purple. “That’s it, ass-hole!” he screamed. “You think those muscles make you tough. Somebody needs to put you in your place and teach you some manners!”

I started to laugh, “And you think you can do that?” I asked. I don’t know what this guy was thinking but without any more warning than that he hauled off and fired a solid right hand to my gut. I never expected anyone to start a fight on the gym floor, it just isn’t done. I wasn’t flexed but it didn’t make any difference since my abs are like rock anyhow.

R.J.’s first punch just bounced off his target which made him all the madder and he opened up with a barrage of punches, pounding my stomach with everything he had. At first, I was too stunned to react, but as the crazy man stood there slamming his fists into my abs, I started laughing at how ridiculous it was. I mean, he looked like a little five-year-old in his first fight against a much bigger brother.

My laughter and the chuckles of everyone around us just made him all the more furious. “I think you can stop now”, I told him calmly. “You seem to have beaten me up just about as much as you can. It’s time for you to go home.”

The jerk just kept pounding away. He wasn’t bothering me, except that he was making a scene and keeping the rest of us from getting our workouts done. After a few more minutes, R.J. had thrown a few hundred punches and it didn’t look like he was going to stop any time soon, just for fun I nailed him with a clean half-power right to the jaw and knocked the silly bastard right on his ass! Damn, I hardly hit him at all!

R.J. had tried to bully the wrong man and now he was on his ass, rubbing his jaw in front of all the guys. The jerk scrambled to his feet, took one look at all the guys laughing, then glared back at me, “This isn’t over, Big Man. This isn’t over, at all.” Then he grabbed his stuff and left by the back exit.

Like I said, the guy has a big mouth and we all had a good laugh before getting back to business.

Things went well for about a week. In fact, I hadn’t seen the annoying punk at all. I was working out in the evening and the gym was quiet, just as I like it. I finished my routine, showered and headed to my Jeep. I heard a twig snap behind me, but before I could turn, I felt a sharp impact on the back of my head and the lights went out.

I have no idea how long I was out, but at some point, I start to come around. It’s cold and everything is spinning. I find myself face down on the ground. No, it’s a slab of concrete. My shirt is gone and I’m very cold. There are voices not far away. I can wiggle my fingers, and move my arms and legs, but something is wrong. My waist is very cold.

Nothing is making sense. Finally, things stop spinning and I slowly start to come around. I open my eyes and begin to take stock of the situation.

I’m in some old building, a huge building, like a warehouse, but it doesn’t look like it’s used anymore. There are motorcycles parked by one wall and a bunch of guys milling about.

I lift my head slightly and a loud voice comes from right behind me, “Hey R.J., it looks like your buddy is waking up!” The sound of many boots head my way.

Before I can get my wits together, my muscular arms are wrenched behind my back and I’m yanked to my feet. I hear some strange metallic sound, remotely familiar, but out of place.

Oh, Man. Not so fast! My head is screaming. My eyes slowly focus and before me is the punk from the gym surrounded by a dozen or so of some dangerous looking dudes I expect are his buddies. All dressed in Levis and black t-shirts, motorcycle boots, a few still wearing black leather jackets. From those without their jackets, I can see that these are some strong dudes. “Damn, R.J., when you pick on somebody you sure pick ‘em big enough. From the look of these muscles I’m surprised “Mr. America” here didn’t break your freaking jaw!

“We’ll see just how tough Mr. America’s big muscles are. When I’m done with him, he’ll be at my feet, on his knees begging me to put him out of his misery!” R.J. stepped forward, grabbed my jaw and yanked my head upward, screaming in my face with rage. “So! You think you’re the big, tough muscleman. You like to show off and knock any man down with your big powerful muscles! Well, tonight, Tough Guy, we’re gonna find out just how strong and how tough those big muscles ARE!” R.J. let loose with the laugh of a mad-man and threw my head to one side.

Any motion caused blinding pain deep inside my skull and it took a moment for my eyes to re-focus. I didn’t like what I saw.

I discovered the strange cold feeling on my waist was caused by a thick two-inch anchor chain wrapped twice around my midsection, the ends trailing to my right and left, secured to the bumpers of pick-up trucks.

A bolt of fear shot down my spine. This is getting serious! “What the fuck are you doing? Shit, Man. If you want a fight, I’ll be more than happy to fight you or any of your buddies. Come on, one-on-one, any or all of you. Or are you chicken?” I hoped that attacking their ego would get me out of this, even if it meant facing every one of them. I’d never fought a dozen big guys before, but I had to have a better chance in a fight than what was set up before me.

R.J. just laughed his mad-man cackle. You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t a FIGHT, although that might come later if there’s anything left of you to fight. This is just a test. I just want to find out how strong and how tough those big Mr. America muscles really are. That’s all. I mean, you were happy to use that musclebound body to knock a smaller guy down, I just want to see how much YOU can take.”

R.J. waved his hands to the right and left, “Start ‘em up, guys. Let the show begin”.

I was trying desperately to think of some way out of this, some bargain I could make, some way to talk sense into this crazy man. All I could come up with was, “Come on, man. You don’t want to do this.”

As the big V-8 engines cranked then roared to life, R.J.’s eyes twinkled with electricity. “Oh, Yeah. I do, I really DO! This is going to be so great! Do you remember when my fists just bounced off those washboard abs? We were in front of all the other guys at the gym and you just stood there and let me hit you. You could have relaxed and at least made it look like I was doing some damage, but NO! You just stood there like I was some weakling swatting at thin air! I hit you with everything I had and you wouldn’t even flinch! Do you have any idea how that makes a man feel? I’m a laughing stock at that gym now, all because of you and your big muscles! You could have relaxed and at least let me get in some shots!”

R.J.’s frustrations were coming out. I hadn’t embarrassed him by knocking him on his ass, it was the humiliation of being so weak and ineffective in a fight. “Damn, I’m sorry R.J., I really wasn’t thinking. It all happened so fast. But if it makes any difference, my abs WERE relaxed. You just couldn’t hurt me. I really didn’t intend for you to show off your weakness.”

R.J. turned red and flushed with rage. “I’ll show you weakness, you musclebound bastard! I’ll have you on your knees, begging.”

He turned toward his drivers, “Alright guys, low gear and ease off the brakes. Take up the slack and let’s see just how tough big ol’ Mr. America is now.”

The big trucks idled just ten feet on each side of me. The brake lights flashed brightly in my face. My head didn’t need bright lights, but I knew things would be worse once those lights went off!

Exhaust fumes filled the air and as the pick-ups inched forward the heavy chain lifted off the ground. The big men holding my arms on each side released me as the chain began tightening around my waist. One of the guys patted my shoulder as he stepped away and said “OK, big man. You look like you’re in great shape. Show us what that big muscular body is made of!” I don’t know if he had seen this done before, but it sounded like he was encouraging me. I gripped the chain on each side as hard as I could and began flexing my abs for the test that was about to come. My big guns can handle bench presses over 400 pounds for a dozen reps, but I don’t know how long they can hold back two trucks!

As the brakes were slowly released, I could feel the cold steel links begin digging into my back and obloquies. My abs are tough and held solid, but I never trained for a situation like this. I gripped harder and my massive arms began to swell with power.

I checked a quick glance at each arm straining against the heavy chain. Damn! I thought to myself, you’re looking good tonight! If I survive this, I’m going to set it up again for a photo shoot! That kind of thought at a time like this almost made me laugh, but as the brake lights went off the force of both truck’s big V-8 engines at idle was unleashed on my body. I could hear the popping and straining of the anchor chain as the links were forced into alignment from the pressure.

I’m an athletic guy and have really enjoyed the years of sport and lifting, building my body to be bigger and stronger, but I had never faced a test like this! I impressed myself that my rock-solid abs were holding tight and my arms were still able to absorb a major share of the pressure.

One of the big bikers spoke up in amazement, “I’ll tell you one thing R.J., your Mr. America is one freaking strong dude! Look at those muscles! Damn! This stud looks like he’s made of solid steel!”

R.J. was really pissed. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ll show you how to CRUSH solid steel!” he screamed. “Give me some gas!”

The big engines started to rev up and the chain began to vibrate with the strain. I could feel the links digging into my sides. I gripped and pulled with my arms as hard as I could but the thick chain continued to tighten around my waist.

Time seemed to slow as I took inventory of my muscles. My abs are holding with no problem, they could take a great deal more. The obloquies are feeling a lot of pressure but if they fail, I think I will still be able to handle it. My big guns are impressing even me. My biceps and cooking, exploding with power and I’m gladder than ever that I’ve worked my forearms as hard as I have.

I don’t know if they’ve ever done this to anyone before, but I find it hard to imagine that any man has taken this kind of force and held on. I don’t know what he has planned but so far, I’m Ok.

“Man, check this dude out!” One of the guys shouted. “He looks like fucking Hercules. Better watch out, R.J. this stud looks like he could eat your trucks for lunch then come after you!” They all laughed, except for R.J.

Muscular in his own right, but no match for me, R.J. stepped up directly in front of my straining body. My arms and shoulders were vibrating as they fought to hold back the amazing force. My abs were flexed to the max, struggling to resist the relentless pressure crushing my waist. I was breathing in short bursts, forcing oxygen into my lungs while straining against the two powerful engines.

R.J. faked a knee-lift toward my crotch and I flinched. That’s all I’d need now to take me down. He laughed and fired a playful right fist to my jaw. “Look at the big tough muscleman now. Go ahead, big man. Use up all your power. Show these guys how strong those big muscles are! I can stand here and pound on that Mr. America body all night and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Or! I can crank up the power until those big muscles fail and crush those cast iron abs into jelly. And when you’re breathless on your knees and those big muscles are exhausted and useless, then I’ll have my fun and beat the shit out of you, just so you big tough musclemen know what it’s like! What do you think of that, Mr. America?” He faked another knee to the groin and I flinched again. R.J. roared with laughter and yelled, “A little more gas! The fun is just beginning!”

As the truck engines increased power, I envisioned Steve Reeves in the old Hercules movie, chained between two marble pillars. I remember seeing those muscles flex and right then I knew I wanted to be big, strong and muscular, just like Steve. I never imagined I would live my dream only to be caught in the same situation.

R.J. continued the laugh of a mad-man as the strain became greater and greater. My arms were being pulled farther apart as my biceps and shoulders weakened. My obloquies had done their job and lasted as long as they could. As my thick muscles failed, I could feel the chain digging deeper and deeper into my aching body. The pressure was now maximized on my abdominals, my last line of defense. As the chain pulled tighter and tighter, R.J. got more and more excited. Sweat was pouring off my body as my arms fought harder and harder against the incredible pressure.

“Damn. What a stud!” Another of the bikers shouted in amazement. “This has to be the toughest man I’ve ever seen!”

R.J.’s laughter stopped as pure anger raged across his face. “Shut UP! This man is done! No man can stand up to two pick-up trucks. It’s not possible! I’m going to show you how to tear a man down to size!”

The mighty truck engines were still cranking on the pressure as the pissed-off make-believe-tough-guy stepped before me once again. Every muscle in my body was fighting the force threatening to crush my mid-section. My abs were at full flex but the agony was beginning to wear me down. I knew even my powerful build could not withstand much more. The force was now so great I could hardly breathe. Even my big muscles would not function without oxygen. As our eyes met, we both knew I was finished.

R.J. reached up and gently patted me on the cheek. “Look at the big muscle-stud now! Here’s your big tough guy.” He ran his hands across my bulging arms. “Check out those massive biceps. Look at how big and strong they are, and yet not strong enough! Huh, big muscleman?” R.J. grabbed my right biceps with both hands in an effort to crush the muscle. What an idiot, he couldn’t even make a dent! Hell, both his hands don’t even fit around my arm.

I wanted to release my grip on the chain and wrap my guns around his chest. I had the overwhelming desire to crush the wind from his buff little body, but I knew if I let go the force of the anchor chain might rip me clean in half! I struggled, my body vibrating with the strain, but I knew even my big muscles could not fight the power of the two big machines waiting to tear me apart! R.J. stood confidently right before me. Maybe I would have time to crush him before the chain crushed me? It would be a dyeing effort, but shit, it would be worth it. I wanted to crush this weasel so bad I could taste it, but I couldn’t release my killer grip on the chain, not while there was still some chance. I wasn’t beaten yet. I pictured Steve Reeves as his beautifully muscled body flexed bigger than life on the silver screen. “Fuck You, WIMP!” was all I could utter.

R.J. was freaking livid! “Power up, boys. Show Mr. Muscleman what some REAL horsepower can do!”

“Wait! Don’t do it!” One of the bigger more muscular bikers shouted. This guy obviously had spent his share of time in the gym. He knew what it took to build a body like mine. “He’s had enough. This man has proven that he’s every bit as strong and tough as he looks. Let the man go. Let him go now!” The big muscular biker took a few steps toward R.J.

“Bull-shit”, R.J. screamed. “He’s mine and I’m going to crush him to death if I have to. He’s mine and he’s going to kneel at my feet and grovel for his very survival, and you’re not going to stop me!”

I have no idea where R.J. got the balls to talk to a big man like this. I know I sure wouldn’t want to fight him. The big man stepped forward and I felt some relief. But as he passed some of the other bikers, I saw a blur of action in the darkness. The big man dropped to his knees as his eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed face first to the concrete floor. One of R.J.’s cronies stood with a broad smile slapping a tire iron in his hand.

R.J. looked across the crowd, “Does anybody else want to be a hero and step forward to save Mr. America here? Come on. Step right up. We might let you share the same test and see if your muscles hold up as well as the big tough guy here. What do you say? Any takers?” There were none.

“Hit him, men. I want to see how Mr. America’s muscles hold up against some good old-fashioned horsepower!”

I flexed and strained with all I had left. I knew my arms would not be able to hold back the incredible force of two V-8 power-plants. I knew when my grip failed my abs would be subjected to the entire strain. My abs began to burn as I flexed with what little power I had left against the amazing pressure as the chain began tightening even more. I could no longer breathe as I poured every ounce of strength into my tired muscles. The powerful trucks were only wound up part-way. It was impossible for one man to hold back that much power.

I concentrated on the picture of Steve Reeves’ flexed physique in my mind and just as the towers of the temple began to fall in the movie, I heard it. It started as a tearing screeching sound then grew louder and louder. At first, I feared it was the sound of a human body being torn apart, then it came to me. It was TIRES! The sound of tires losing traction! The trucks had plenty of power left, but on the old concrete floor they didn’t have traction! Thank God these guys didn’t have 4-wheel drive!

As the tires spun the force reduced. I had been taken to the breaking point but now my exhausted muscles could pull again! The smell of burning rubber filled the room but I could still gulp down breaths of life-giving oxygen.

The bikers broke out in a cheer, overwhelmed by the most amazing feat of strength they had ever witnessed. Even R.J.’s buddies were cheering me on! Everyone, that is except R.J. The weasel was more pissed off than ever. The guy had a crazy look in his eyes.

“Give it to him. Give it all you got!” He screamed at the drivers and the engines raced even more, but it was useless.

R.J. reached for the tire iron, but one of his big buddies ripped it from his hands.

Irate, R.J. lunged toward me, his fists flying. I stood before him, still gripping the chain, muscles flexed to hold back the damage still threatening from the racing engines. He slammed a right/left combo to my jaw but I was so charged with adrenalin I couldn’t feel it. He slammed punches into my chest, but his fists just bounced off my fully flexed pecs.

R.J. was furious! He had planned on destroying me then pounding me to pulp. He dreamed of seeing the big muscleman beaten and helpless at his feet and yet I stood, huge massive and powerful, seemingly indestructible to his attack. In desperation the mad man pulled back his knee and fired his best shot to my groin. I felt unbeatable. With much of the pressure from the chain reduced, I released my grip on the anchor chain and R.J.’s knee met nothing but my fist.

Yelping in pain, R.J. gripped his knee in astonishment as my massive arms encircled his chest, clamping his arms painfully to his sides. My abs had proven they could hold back the remaining pressure, I was even surprised myself. I tightened my own constrictive grip as the air exploded from R.J.’s chest.

“AAAAARGH” he screamed as my muscular arms began to flex up to power. “Get him guys!” He shouted. “Jump him. We can take him! He can’t fight all of us! Take him out, dudes!” R.J. screamed helplessly, but no one came to his defense. The guys shut down their engines, but the chain stayed tightly wrapped around my waist. If R.J. were to escape my grip, the chain would hold me captive. Even without help from his buddies, R.J. would be free to wail on me with any weapon he could find and I’d be helpless to stop him. I had to make sure that didn’t happen.

This had become the most spectacular show these guys had ever seen. And no one was rushing in to end it too soon. “Come on, R.J. Show us how tough your big muscles are! You were going to beat the crap out of Mr. America here. Well, go ahead. Show us what you got, tough guy!”

“Yeah, Mr. worked out biker. You’ve been training those big muscles of yours. Show me what they’re good for.” I said as I flexed up my grip.

I could feel his ribs bending. R.J.’s back arched in agony. His face was beet red and, on its way, to purple. The little stud was finished.

“I give! AAAAARGH! I give! Please, man. Let me go. I can’t take it. You’re killing me! AAAARGH! I give!” R.J. was begging me in front of all his biker buddies. He was wasted in more ways than one.

Even after everything he had planned for me that night, I released the wimp and let him fall to the floor in a heap. All my weight training and muscle building had paid off for me. My powerful body had performed FAR beyond anything I could have expected. It was more than the extreme rush of adrenalin after single-handedly overpowering two pick-up trucks, it was the incredible feeling that for once in my life, just like my boyhood hero, I felt invincible!

R.J. stumbled to his feet still red with embarrassment and rage. I was still captive in the chain’s tight coils around my waist, and just as I expected, the little shit lunged at me again. His fist bounced harmlessly off my chest but before he could land another, R.J. found himself hoisted off the ground in a crushing full-nelson.

“AAAAARGH” he screamed. “Let me go. Let me at him. I can take him. I don’t care about those giant muscles, can take him.” Just as I thought, the little shit was not only stupid, he’s also crazy!

R.J. screamed and fought the big biker holding him until I saw the biker’s massive biceps begin to flex. R.J.’s jaw was driven into his chest and in a moment, all struggling ceased. The big man shook him once, then released him and let him fall unconscious to the floor.

I looked around the room. I felt satisfied at my performance, and then realized that I was still in deep shit. The big, tough muscleman was in no position to fight these guys. I was exhausted, and many of these guys looked pretty damn formidable.

All at once they began stepping toward me. I clinched by fists and prepared for battle. I might go down, but not without one hell of a fight.

One of the biggest men spoke first. “Stud, I’ve never seen anything like what I saw tonight. You are one tough dude. We got no fight with you.” He turned to the drivers and shouted, “I think you better unhook those chains before Mr. America comes over and beats the shit out of you and your trucks! And by the way, don’t worry about R.J., we’ll take care of him.”

All the guys circled around to shake my hand, slap me on the back and drive a few playful punches to see if my muscles were as tough and strong as they looked. Even after the punishment my gut had taken, they still wanted to test their fists against my abs and yes, they still bounced right off.

I got to admit, the cobble stones held up well. And Steve, if you’re looking down from that big gym in the sky, thanks, buddy!