Jeff & Mike


By Cleety

Then one day, phone rings. Right away I know it's Jeff. Long/short, he says sorry dude, it's time we talk again, you gotta fly across the country and meet me, yadda yadda. Well, frankly, his disappearing act has been something of a freak-out, and I'm pissed as hell. But fuck, I gotta see what the fuck, right? So I go. Fly out like he tells me, take a cab out to this weird industrial part of LA, that's like, turning over into artists' lofts but some of the places are still pretty rough. I think the neighborhood looks pretty cool myself - abandoned, secluded, mysterious. Like you could get knifed if you weren't careful - but not exactly Jeff's kind of area. He likes green places. Parks. The ocean. The mountains. He even bought us a vacation cabin on one of the Keys, so we'd have a place to fuck and swim and lift weights naked as the hot Florida sun shone on our red-glowing, blood-engorged muscles. We'd drive down there in the convertible, shirtless OF COURSE, sometimes with Brandon in the back seat massaging Jeff's blown-out traps. And when we got there, we'd spend days without showering, or even eating, living off each other's cum and drinking only sweat straight from each other's pits. Ahhhh…Good times!

But I digress. Anyway the taxi pulls away and I'm alone in this brick industrial nowhere's-ville east of downtown LA. And I ring the bell at the top of this old loading-dock, as instructed. Door opens. Its XXX - ! You know - guy who just won the Olympia last year. I knew him instantly - the insane, mind-boggling thickness of each individual muscle, the mean, handsome face, the shaved head. And he's naked, and pumped as hell. Whoa! I spring a boner, and he looks at my crotch and smiles, but kinda condescending. Like he's such hot shit he can't believe he's even wasting TIME making a comparatively muscle-less boy like me throw a woodie. "What do you want?" He yanks me in impatiently. "Get the FUCK off the street, you want someone to see us?" Yo, man! I didn't know it was anything SECRET…he picks me up bodily and pulls me into the dark warehouse. "Where the fuck's Jeff," I ask, pissed off.

Mr. O doesn't deign to answer. He turns and leads me through this dark dusty warehouse, a cobwebby, abandoned kinda place with skylights, you know. There's mattresses and clothes all over, like people are living here. He leads me to a sliding steel door at the back. I watch him from behind, boggling as his meat-ass bounces up and down with each step. His back is so fuckin' wide! He braces himself, yanks open the steel door - shit, it must've weighed a ton!! But he can handle it. Looking through the doorway, it's dark, but the whooshing air currents and musty wind indicate to me that another big warehouse must lie beyond the steel door. Now, it's fuckin' dark inside, remember -- not PITCH dark, because there's these brilliant shafts of light, beaming straight down from the tiny chinks in the roof, and a few clerestories overhead. The dust that was drifting in the cool, stale air made the light columns seem opaque and slightly solid. You know me, the photographer - I was standing there like a geek appreciating the effect, when the huge-ass Mr. O. 'roid-queen bodybuilder picks me up and throws all 215 pounds of me in. Literally! All of a sudden it's dark, and I'm rolling across the concrete floor, and hearing the steel door bang shut behind me. "Son of a goddamn bitch!! You fucker, I can't see shit! Let me out!!" My husky voice comes back to me in echoes.

Then I hear laughing. Coming out of the dark in the room. My eyes are still adjusting to the dark. Okay, I'm not alone in here. What is this place? When into one of the shafts of light stepped - well shit. Let's just say my life was about to get REALLY bizarre •

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