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|I think it was either Bruce Willis in ‘Die Hard 2’ or Jeff Goldblum in ‘Jurassic Park 2’, or maybe both of them, who said, “This can’t be happening to the same guy a second time.” Only in my case, I wasn’t being paid millions of dollars to get thrown into a situation like that again. No, completely for free I was once again being gripped by a vice-like hand, my whole body being suspended off the ground by a muscled behemoth who now was going to control my life. So much for the therapy of getting right back on the horse.
I never really looked at Mitch’s hand before, because usually it was out of my direct line of sight. Now, however, it was right in front of me and it was huge. I believe that with one open handed blow, he could have cracked every rib in my body. His forearm, intensely big when he came over, had gotten a pump from the resistance training I helped him with, the same resistance training that inflated his bicep from a mind boggling 28 inches to and uber mind boggling 32 inches. That forearm looked almost as wide as my body, which was smaller than it used to be because of lack of eating or any kind of working out due to the nightmares and fatigue that went with it. I was now about 170, I guessed…smaller than a dumbbell that Mitch claimed to do warm ups with.
So here I was, trapped once again, with Mitch now insisting that if I could inflate one bicep to that size, I could do the same with his other bicep...and that he would see from there what else I could inflate for him. There was also something in his gaze that was never in Chuck’s. As best as I can describe it, there was a hunger. Whether that was for me, for growth, or for release, I wasn’t sure, but it was there.
I did have one advantage over the last time I was in this situation. I had a way to get help. Doctor Morgan and I were in contact via a few separate avenues. The trouble was the primary avenue was the computer and instant messaging, which right now I could not get to seeing I was dangling 2 feet off the floor. It wouldn’t matter in a minute, however.
Reviving out of that hungry gaze, Mitch smiled at me and said, “Oh, just in case you were looking to call for help…”, and walked over to the phone. I cringed as Chuck had pulled down half the wall with one good yank of the cord…and walls were expensive to repair. Being the…um…gentler soul that he was, Mitch just grabbed the phone and crushed it like an empty beer can. “Hmm, and that was with my ‘weak’ arm”, he said with a smile. He then walked over to the computer, all the while carrying me around like dry cleaning, took his ‘weak’ arm, balled up his fist, and smashed first the monitor and then the CPU. Sparks flew everywhere. “That will prevent any other communication you might want to try to get out. Now we will be all alone”, he said, and caressed my cheek. In the confusion of his smashing and the resulting sparks, I quickly and quietly took the Blackberry I had as the backup to the backup and slid it into my…well…let’s just say it wouldn’t smell very nicely when I used it. I then took the Blackberry holder and tossed it behind the couch.
“Now, shall we get to the other bicep?”, he said, raising me directly to his face. Screwing up whatever courage I had, I looked at him directly and said, “And what if I don’t want to?” I prepared for the worst. Instead, I was put down on the floor. Mitch folded his trunk like arms in front of me, looked down, and said, “Then I guess I am going to have to teach you the meaning of the word ‘big’.”
He gently pressed me against the wall and began to walk into me. “Let me remind you of how big I am. Seven foot two, by last measure, with pecs that are a big around as some people are tall.”, he said as he continued to walk into me, smothering my face with his pecs. He kept applying pressure. I pushed back with all my strength, which redefined the word ‘futile’. Eventually he was so close I could not even move my arms. I could hear his voice still, “And since you are such a tiny thing and your head only comes up to my pecs, all I have to do is now flex these pecs, and..”, which he proceeded to do. My nose, which was lodged right between his pecs, began to be compressed and then crushed. He was going to break my nose! He released the flex of his pecs, but still drew closer to me, cutting off my supply of oxygen. The edges of my consciousness went fuzzy and I felt myself growing weak in the legs. Then as suddenly as it came, the pressure released. “Can’t have you pass out before your lesson is done”, Mitch said, gently slapping my face.
Before I could respond I was once again raised by one arm, high enough to see his other bicep in my direct line of sight. “Now just look at how big this arm is, tiny one.”, he said. He raised my arm up and then placed his outstretched forearm next to it. It looked like a sapling next to a sequoia. He turned his arm slightly and raised it up slowly to form a bicep. “Now realize this is the ‘small’ arm, so it might not be as impressive”, he said half laughingly. That ‘small’ arm was not, of course, and the growing mound of muscle piled upon muscle until it became its 28” mass. My head was almost dwarfed by that mountain, a point Mitch made sure I saw by positioning my eye level just in the center of the flexed arm, so I could see how his bicep and tricep reached the top and bottom of my head respectively. He flexed again and again to drive the point home, repeating the word, “big”.
“Now can you imagine the big power that this arm and the rest of my body has?”, he said, putting down his arm. He effortlessly lifted my body up to his full arm extension and then positioned his hand to where it was on my stomach. From there he began to do one armed shoulder presses with my body. “Wish I had some REAL weight here”, he said, removing his hand from my stomach. Instantly gravity took effect, but Mitch caught me one handed, by my shirt collar, before my feet hit the floor. He threw me into the same armchair he brought over to worship him previously, the one he used two hands with. He slipped one hand under the chair and lifted the chair up to his face. “Big”, he said, and then lifted up the chair above his head and began to do shoulder presses. “Now this is a bit better”, he said.
He placed the chair down on the floor, grabbed me by my shirt once again, and gently lifted me to my feet and pressed me against the wall. He took both his arms and placed his palms on the wall, leaning on it, and looked down at me. “I’m not a violent person, so I am ASKING you to help me out. I can convince you some more if you want, however”, he said in a very calm and practiced manner. He had done stuff like this before, I had guessed. I could do nothing but agree, but I would also try one more gambit.
“I….see what you mean”, I said, “can I at least go use the bathroom before we begin?” He smiled that winning smile of his. “Well, there aren’t any routes of escape there, so go ahead…but don’t be long”. I thanked him and walked under his arm, my hair brushing against his tricep. I hope I was walking pretty normally, seeing that a Blackberry was rubbing against my cheeks. I could feel him looking at me as I walked to the bathroom and thought I heard him say, “I’ll have some of that later”.
I calmly walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Not knowing if he was going to be listening, I tried to make the usual bathroom sounds. After finishing the first part of my routine, I bent over and gingerly pulled out the Blackberry. I lost my grip on it and fumbled for a few seconds before catching it again. If he had heard that fall on the tile floor, he would have torn that door off in a second, I was sure.
I sat down and began the second part of the journey, all the while furiously working the Blackberry. I knew I would not have too much time, as Mitch was already calling for me to get out. I found the Doctor’s email address, and punched in “SOS 911 911 911” and sent the message. As fast as I could I checked to see if it was sent, but saw the door begin to buckle. I got up, went to the linen hamper, and tucked the Blackberry into a set of discarded towels. I raced back to the toilet only to see the door fly off its hinges and fly towards the living room. “It’s time, tiny one”, he said, looking down at me. “Hmm…not bad…we can deal with that later”, he said. I wiped, flushed, and pulled up my pants, only after getting permission from him. Oh for the hope that Doctor Morgan had received my page.
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