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Leader of the Pack
|“Another 15 on each side” grunted Blake, as he and his brother swung their massive arms back and forth, loosening up the huge mounds of muscle on their chests. Their pecs were incredibly pumped — bright red in color, striated with cords of muscle and covered with pulsating veins. Their delts and arms were equally pumped and massive. The other players loaded a 15 pounds of plates on each side of the bar. Now it was really sagging under the enormous weight of those plates. Its total weight was 435 pounds. This is more weight than most college football players can bench. And these two huge 14 year old 9th graders were going to try it. This time Jake got under the bar first. He lifted the bar off the rack and slowly lowered it to his massive chest. All the kids in the room started screaming at the top of their lungs as they rooted for their huge teammate to conquer the heavy iron. Jake got a look of sheer determination in his gray-blue eyes and pushed up on the bar. His pecs just exploded, bulging incredibly under his skin. His massive delts and arms looked like they were made of carved steel. Slowly the big weight went up and it didn’t stop. Jake locked his elbows and rammed the bar back onto the rack. He jumped up off the bench and flexed his massive guns for all to see and admire. Jake was the man!
Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you that Blake got under the bar and did exactly the same thing. Right down to the look of sheer determination in his gray-blue eyes. He jumped up off the bench and flexed his guns right next to his brother. The other players ran over and felt the huge, shredded muscles of these two young giants. The Twin Towers surely were the most massive, strongest 14 year olds in the whole state, probably the whole country.
As they were flexing, the twins looked over at me, that puny little runt standing in front of Johnny. Since I was shorter than any of the players, they let me stand in front. “Hey waterboy,” yelled Jake. “You ain’t tested on the bench yet. You’re a member of this team. You gotta test on the bench and get your tee shirt!” All the other players yelled in agreement. Johnny pushed me towards the bench. The bench that had 435 pounds of iron on the rack. “Uh, OK,” I said. “I’ll do it. But I think that bar’s a little too heavy for me. I can only do 400.” All the players laughed uproariously. Blake and Jake were laughing so hard they were almost crying. “Yeah right, waterboy, 400,” said Blake. “Lets try about 10% of that. Strip it, guys.” The big 9th graders stripped off all the plates, leaving only the 45 pound bar on the rack. Johnny realized that even that weight was going to be a challenge for me. He knew how weak I really was. “Hey, let him warm up first,” said Johnny. “He didn’t have a chance to warm up. Get down and crank out some pushups, John.” So I got on the floor and tried to do some pushups. To my embarrassment and to the other players’ great amusement I could only do three pushups. They could all do at least 100 pushups and the thought of a kid being so weak that he could only do three pushups was almost beyond their comprehension. I did another set, this time only being able to do two pathetic reps. “OK, I’m warmed up,” I said meekly. I got under the bar and one of the 9th graders lifted it off the rack. Then I lowered the bar and I literally couldn’t stop it as it crashed down onto my chest. All the players were laughing. Then I tried to push it up and I couldn’t budge it one inch. The spotter noticed my struggle and finally placed his strong fingers under the bar and lifted it easily off my body whereupon with his help I lifted it up and locked my elbows.
“Jesus you’re weak,” said Blake. “You couldn’t even lift the bar! Hey Jason, go get that little 30 pound barbell over there,” he yelled to one of the other 9th graders. Blake lifted the 45 pound bar off the rack with one hand and did three one-arm reverse curls with the puny weight before tossing in on the floor. Then he took the 30 pound barbell from Jason and put it on the rack. “I used this for benches when I was three years old,” said Blake. “I pumped out reps with this when I was in pre-school.” I gulped at the thought that I was going to attempt a maximum bench press with a weight that Blake and Jake used for reps when they were three years old. I got under the bar and Blake stood over me as the spotter. I looked up in awe at his bulging cock, his shredded abs, his huge pecs hanging over those abs, and his strong jaw. I grabbed the bar and lifted off the rack. Then I lowered it to my chest and without any help at all managed with considerable effort to press it back up and lock my elbows. Blake started clapping and all the other players followed his lead. I pushed the bar back on the rack, jumped up off the bench and flexed my little arms just like Blake and Jake did. Several of the other players came up and squeezed my little biceps, crushing my spongy muscles to the bone with their strong fingers and forearm muscles. “Wow, what a wimp,” said the kid who was digging his thick fingers into my right bicep. “I’m eight times as strong as you, you know that? One of my arms is four times as strong as both of your arms.” The kid was looking at the bulging muscles on his arm and comparing them to the skinny flab on my arm. He was obviously getting off on it. His big muscles were applying incredible force to his fingers, which were digging deeper and deeper into my bicep, literally smashing the little muscle. He didn’t care about the pain he was inflicting on me. He was a muscle jock and he did what he wanted. Frankly at that moment I didn’t care about the pain either. I was deliriously happy. Now I could get my Marauders tee shirt!
Coach Mad Dog handed out the tee shirts. The Twin Towers had just benched 35 pounds more than the biggest weight on Mad Dog’s tee shirts. Mad Dog gave them each a 400 pound tee shirt. Then he got a Magic Marker, crossed out the middle zero and wrote a “3” over the top. Blake and Jake seemed to be satisfied with this solution. They were actually proud they had busted through the highest number the Coach had. Coach Mad Dog promised he would order some bigger tee shirts because he knew the Twin Towers were going to get even stronger during the school year. At first they didn’t know what to do with me. They didn’t have a shirt that said 30 pounds. Then one of the players got an idea and took a 130 pound shirt and crossed out the “1” with the Magic Marker. I proudly put on my Madison Football 30 tee shirt. I had an altered tee shirt just like the Twin Towers. I was really happy to be a Marauder, albeit the scrawny waterboy. Some of the other players came over and gave me high fives. One of them punched me in the gut and I keeled over in pain. He was just playing, of course. These kids all play rough.
After the bench test, Coach Mad Dog announced that the team was going to go out on the field for some drills. All the players followed the Coach out to the field where they stood at attention in their shorts and shoes. Their bodies were radiant. At Coach’s orders, they had all taken off their new tee shirts. Coach Mad Dog didn’t want those tee shirts to get ripped up on the first day of practice. The first drill was wind sprints. The Coach ordered the players to put on their jock straps. Instantly the players stripped off their shorts and underwear. I noticed that about 2/3 of the players wore jockey shorts and the other 1/3 wore boxers. A matter of personal taste, I guess. More ball room in the boxers. The players didn’t seem embarrassed at all as they stood there totally naked on the field, letting it all hang out. Like most jocks, they were totally uninhibited. They fished around in their backpacks looking for their jockstraps. This gave me my first opportunity to inspect their endowment, and just like their bodies it was incredible. My eyes were immediately drawn to the cocks of Blake and Jake, which hung about four inches down from their crotches and swung back and forth like big thick snakes. Then I spotted Kevin’s cock, which believe it or not was just as big and thick as the Twin Towers’. No wonder he got to fuck every girl in the 9th grade. He was just irresistible in every way. Then my eyes saw Rasheed’s big hanging dick and they about bulged out of my head. His black cock was longer and thicker than the Twin Towers’. That dude was built! Finally I looked at Johnny’s cock, which I had seen many times. I was impressed to see that Johnny’s cock measured up very well against this stud team. It wasn’t yet as big as Kevin’s, but it was bigger than any of the other 7th graders’ and I could tell it was destined for glory, just like the rest of Johnny.
The players put on their jocks and shorts and headed out to the field for wind sprints. Coach Mad Dog made them run 10 yards up the field, then stop and rest for a few seconds, then run another 20 yards, then stop and rest for a few seconds, then run another 30 yards, then stop and rest for a few seconds, and then run another 40 yards, when they would be done with that “set”. Then they had to do it all over again. They did this 20 times. I couldn’t believe the shape these muscular kids were in. I would have collapsed after one or two of these “sets” but all these kids did them easily and ran damn fast as well. At the start of every sprint, their big thigh and calf muscles exploded with power as they propelled the muscular bodies of the young players forward with tremendous acceleration. I marveled at the tremendous power and speed these kids had in their legs. At the end of the 20 “sets” they all came running over to me and grabbed the big cups of water that I had set up. They gulped them down and asked for more. Sweat was pouring off their toned bodies. They were like efficient machines, burning fuel and soaking up lots of water, much of which came pouring off their hot sweaty skin.
The next drill was called “hitting”. For this, they all had to put on their shoulderpads and helmets. They were going to hit each other extremely hard, and the shoulderpads and helmets would protect their shoulders from dislocation and their heads from a concussion. They could also be used as offensive weapons to hit an opposing player even harder. The rest of their bodies were totally exposed. They would have to rely on the armor-like muscle of their rippling arms, their slab-like lats, their bulging pecs, their shredded abs and their tree trunk legs to protect them from the opposing player who would be hitting them with devastating force. All the players loved the “hitting” drill. This was what football was all about. There was no limit on how hard you could hit an opposing player. The harder the better. You could take out all your pent-up aggression and just smash your shoulder into the gut of the opposing player. All the Marauders loved to hit. They were so much bigger and stronger than the opposing players on the other Junior High School teams that they just mowed them over like big bulls plowing through a flock of sheep. They were even bigger and stronger this year than last. One big Marauder would be able to plow through two or three wimpy opposing players. One Marauder would be able to hit an opposing player so hard that the kid would be out cold. They loved it. They loved to dominate. Coach Mad Dog taught them how to hit hard and to completely dominate every opposing team.
When the Coach gave them the order to put on shoulderpads, the players came over to the sidelines looking for some pads that would fit. The Twin Towers found the biggest pads there, the ones they had used last year, and tried to tie them on. “Get over here, waterboy,” yelled Jake. “These pads are too small. Help me get them on.” I ran over to Blake and Jake and saw them struggling to get the pads over their massive shoulders, traps and chests. The pads that had fit them just fine a year ago were now way too small. I did my best to help them put on their shoulderpads. Their shoulders were pumped and sweaty from the wind sprints. I couldn’t resist poking my fingers into Jake’s thick, solid delts. The muscle felt like rock. Jake turned his head, looked at me and winked. Then he raised his arms, flexing his huge shoulders as I cupped my little hands around them. I could smell powerful scent of Jake’s sweat coming from his armpits as he raised his huge arms and flexed his delts for me. I wished I didn’t have to put pads over those glorious monsters but I did. I used my small hands to maneuver the pads over the huge shoulders, traps and chests of the twins and then managed to tie the very ends of the laces together to keep the pads on. Clearly these big studs were going to need some new pads, most definitely in a size NFL players use.
Not surprisingly I also had to help many of the other players on the team with their shoulderpads. The pads they used last year were way too small for their vastly more muscular shoulders and chests. Some of them were able to find pads from last year’s 9th graders which were big enough for them to use now. Others, like Kevin, Rasheed and Tony, had grown even bigger than last year’s 9th graders and finding pads big enough for them was a struggle. As part of fitting on their pads, I made sure I poked and felt the bulging delts of all these players. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Putting shoulder pads on the biggest, buffest most muscular 13 and 14 year olds in the entire state was a job I would have killed to get. And here I was. I was pretty good at tying on pads that were too small. Finally I was able to tie the final strings. I made a note of all the bigger sizes we needed.
The kids went out on the field and started hitting. I was amazed how loud the sound was of their shoulderpads hitting together. These kids were really hitting each other hard and it sounded like rams hitting their horns together as the shoulderpads smashed into each other. Coach Mad Dog had them get in lines about five yards apart. At the sound of his whistle, the lines would come crashing together, each player trying to knock down the other with sheer brute force. At first, the Coach had 9th graders against 9th graders, 8th graders against 8th graders and 7th graders against 7th graders. Except for the Twin Towers smashing and running over everyone they hit, these matches were pretty even. Then Mad Dog let ’em loose. He let the 8th and 9th graders hit anyone they wanted, including the 7th graders. He told them this was what it was going to be like hitting the opposing players from the other schools. Our 7th graders were about the same size and strength of most of these opposing players. So hit some 7th graders and feel what its like to have your big muscles crush the other player, said Big Dog. Its a rush, he said. You’ll feel like a stud.
So the 8th and 9th graders had a field day hitting the 7th graders, using their big weight-trained bodies to literally annihilate their little teammates. The only 7th grader who stood a chance against these guys was Johnny, who hit back with incredible fury, leveling several 8th and 9th graders who tried to hit him. After about 15 minutes of this, most of the 7th graders were totally exhausted and some were lying on the field unable to get up. The 8th and 9th graders felt great. They felt like the studs they were. Coach Mad Dog blew his whistle and ordered me to go out and help the 7th graders. I brought them water and made sure none of them was seriously injured. Luckily they weren’t. When the 7th graders stood up, Mad Dog went over to them and shook their hands. “You guys are tough,” he said. “You stood up to those big guys and even though their muscles were too big and strong for you, you didn’t give up. Welcome to the team.” It seems this was a little initiation Mad Dog did every year to the 7th graders. Letting them get pulverized by the big 8th and 9th graders to see if they had the guts to be real Marauders. Bigger, stronger, faster, meaner. Next year, when these 7th graders had packed over 50 pounds — maybe 80 or 90 pounds — of muscle on their bodies, they’d be able to do the same thing to the new 7th graders. Its a Marauder tradition.
Practice was now over and the players ripped off their shoulderpads and helmets. They gulped down tons of water. Their bodies were radiant, glistening with sweat. Then Coach Mad Dog brought out containers of white liquid for each player. It was his special supplement. It contained protein, vitamins and minerals, amino acids, creatine, and some other secret stuff the Coach wouldn’t reveal. Whatever it was, it produced fantastic results as I could see from looking at the bodies of the 8th and 9th grade players. The Coach’s nutrition program consisted of having his players eat huge quantities of good food, mainly protein, and drinking three pints of his special supplement every day — mid morning, after practice and before going to bed. For the 7th graders, Coach Mad Dog ordered them to double the amount of food they were eating, effective immediately. He said that the combination of the extra food, his super-intense weight program and his special supplement would pack more muscle on their little bodies than they ever thought possible. And they would begin packing on the muscle immediately. The Coach predicted that when we played our first game in two weeks against Hamilton Junior High, all of the 7th graders would have gained 10 to 20 pounds of solid muscle. They would be turning in their tee shirts for bigger numbers sometimes more than once per week. They would be getting huge. They would be getting Bigger, Faster, Stronger and Meaner. They would be able to dominate opposing players like they were little girls. He pointed to the 8th and 9th graders and said that this is what the 7th graders will look like next year, maybe even sooner for some of them. The 7th graders were really stoked. I could see they were all very excited about getting big and muscular and being able to kick ass. I looked at Johnny and flexed my little muscles. Johnny smiled and flexed back. He knew he was going to get huge.
The 7th graders looked at the special supplement with great curiosity. This was their first taste of it and they drank it slowly, tasting for any strange flavor. All the 8th and 9th graders gulped it down. They loved it and loved what it did to their bodies.
After drinking the special supplement all the players headed for the showers. I was right behind them. We all stripped in the locker room. The big football players were all noisy and carousing, snapping each other’s bare ass with towels and doing all sorts of other horseplay. Standing around totally nude, they were showing off their muscles again to each other and challenging their teammates to punch them in the gut. A couple of players were arm-wrestling on the bench, testing their young muscles to see who was the strongest.
I headed into the shower and saw that Kevin and some other players were already there. Kevin was soaping up his beautiful body, slowly moving his hands across his pecs and abs as he lathered his golden tan skin with the soap. Then he moved his hands down to his crotch and legs, slathering the soap all over his big balls and cock and his incredibly muscular legs. When he looked up and saw me, he said “Hey waterboy, get over here and lather up my back.” I walked over and stood directly behind the tall, blond quarterback, marveling at the width of his shoulders and the taper of his lats. I took the soap and started rubbing my hands across Kevin’s broad back, lathering up the soap and washing his beautiful, clear skin. Kevin stood perfectly still, letting me feel the thickness and hardness of his back muscles as my hands roamed around freely. I moved my hands out to the edges of his lats and then up into his armpits, cleaning his sweaty pits with the oozing soap. Kevin flexed his lats while I was touching them and the big slabs of muscle bulged out like wings. I grabbed the big wings with my hands and felt the hardness of the muscle as I rubbed soap all over the vast expanse.
Next I moved my hands down to Kevin’s lower back. The two ridges of muscle there were incredibly hard, and Kevin wasn’t even flexing them. These were the muscles that enabled Kevin to deadlift incredible poundages and they were very big and very solid. I moved my hands even lower and started massaging Kevin’s firm, round, muscle butt. His butt was very white compared with the golden tan of the rest of his body. The skin was clear and soft, just like a baby’s, but the muscle underneath was as hard as a rock when Kevin flexed it. I lathered the soap all over Kevin’s butt, sticking my fingers deep into his crack as I cleaned. Kevin flexed his glutes while my fingers were in his crack and the two globes of muscle crushed my little fingers with tremendous power. I couldn’t believe how strong and hard Kevin’s ass muscles were. I loved the feeling of Kevin’s firm, round ass as I massaged it with the soap.
Suddenly without warning Kevin turned around and faced me. “You can do this side too,” he said. He looked down and saw my totally hard little cock and smiled. His cock was getting hard too. The big weapon was starting to enlarge and rise up from his crotch. I looked into Kevin’s beautiful blue eyes and just about came right then. But I controlled myself and started lathering his big shoulders with the soap. I rubbed my hands across the striated fibers of muscle as Kevin willed his delts to twitch and flex for me. They were like cannonballs. Big mounds of striated muscle capping his wide shoulders like thick, hard clay. I moved my hands down to his arms and rubbed the soap all over his biceps and triceps. Kevin flexed and unflexed his muscles as I rubbed them. I couldn’t believe how big and hard Kevin’s biceps and triceps were. The three heads of his triceps bulged out from his arm when he flexed them and they felt like iron snakes under his skin. Next I lathered up his forearms. Kevin’s forearms were much bigger and far more muscular than my upper arms. Kevin rolled his wrists up and down several times, which caused his forearms to flex into the shape of bowling pins. Veins covered the big fibers of muscle on his incredibly ripped forearms. Next I soaped up Kevin’s big hands. The skin on the palms of his hands was thick, rough and callused, built up from years of throwing footballs, basketballs, baseballs, lifting weights and other jock activities. The contrast between Kevin’s big, strong, thick hands and my little dainty hands was amazing. As I placed my hands on Kevin’s, he squeezed. Without even trying his huge hands crushed my little hands like they were Jello. Kevin laughed as I tried in vain to pull my hands away from his iron grip and then he let go.
I moved my hands over to Kevin’s pecs and lathered the soap all over the big, round muscles. Kevin flexed his pecs while I placed my hands directly on top of them and it felt like rocks were forming under my fingers. His nipples stood out firmly erect and actually pressed into my hands. Kevin relaxed his flex and I kneaded the big, dense mounds of muscle with my fingers, paying special attention to his erect nipples. Kevin let out little groans of pleasure. Then I moved my hands down to Kevin’s incredible abs. I had been waiting for this moment. First I lathered up the whole area with lots of oozing soap. Then very slowly I ran my fingers through every crevice of Kevin’s shredded abs, poking in occasionally and being met with a brick wall of resistance. I felt the rippling hardness of the corrugated muscle fibers that could resist the hardest punch with ease. I ran my fingers down to his oblique muscles, those flaring, slashing muscles that start just above the hips and cut down to the crotch. Kevin’s obliques were exceptional, just like the obliques of many swimmers. They were just as hard as the rest of his muscles.
Before I got to Kevin’s waiting crotch, I slathered the soap all over his big legs and rubbed my hands and fingers over the thick muscle. As I rubbed his thighs, he relaxed his quads and I was able to knead my fingers a little way into the massive muscle. Then he flexed and his quads exploded into the most shredded, dense muscle I had ever seen or felt. The big muscles looked like teardrops just above his knees. The fibers stood out in bold relief and veins were crisscrossing everywhere under his skin. I tried to poke into the flexed muscle, but it was like steel. I ran my hands down to his calves and felt the incredible size and hardness of the two heads of calf muscle that bulged out from his shins. I even soaped up his feet. He had big feet and like his hands the bottoms were tough and callused. He had obviously gone barefoot a lot. I cleaned between his toes and marveled at how even his toes were bigger and thicker than mine. It was clear that Kevin had done a lot of hard running as well as heavy lifting. His 14-year-old legs and feet were big, strong and fit.
Finally I moved my hands up to Kevin’s crotch and started lathering up his pubic hair, his big, low-hanging balls and his massive cock. Kevin’s pubic hair was blond, just like the rest of his hair. His beautiful tan body was completely hairless except for the blond hair in his armpits and his crotch. Kevin started to moan as I fondled his cock and balls. I also ran my hands over his abs and obliques, taking in the glory of Kevin’s shredded muscles. Kevin was now completely hard and his gigantic cock was standing at full attention, pointing almost directly upward. As I caressed his balls and cock he started moaning louder, which excited me even more. My little cock was totally hard, of course, and the sight of Kevin’s huge, throbbing cock right before my eyes was almost too much for me to take. Kevin started moving his hips back and forth, thrusting his cock forward and backward. I ran my soapy hands all over Kevin’s abs, his butt and his legs as he thrust his hips back and forth while moaning with pleasure. Then he said, “Grab it!” and I wrapped my fingers around his rock-hard cock. Immediately I could feel the big organ pulsate in my hand and a huge blast of jism spurted out and hit the wall of the shower in back of us about 10 feet high. This was followed by about 10 more blasts of pure white cum, huge quantities of jism carrying millions and millions of Kevin’s perfect sperm being spurted out into the shower by his huge, throbbing cock. Kevin was groaning with absolute pleasure as spasms of ecstasy shot through his body. Kevin came for what seemed like over a minute. His balls were full of cum and his thick, long cock shot that cum like a machine gun shooting liquid bullets. Even as the last drops of cum were oozing from the end of his dick, his cock was still as hard as a steel pipe. Finally, when Kevin had finished his long orgasm, I grabbed my own little cock, which was twitching with pleasure and ready to cum.
Then I heard a loud voice over my shoulder. “Not so fast, waterboy. Its time for your initiation.” It was Tony. He was standing there along with eight other 8th and 9th graders. I was surrounded by massive muscle. They had been watching Kevin’s incredible orgasm and most of their cocks were hard too. Kevin looked at his buff teammates, looked at his still-hard cock, and smiled. “That was awesome,” he said. “OK wimp, now the big boys are gonna initiate you onto the team. Lets go, men.” I had no idea what kind of initiation they had in mind. The 7th grade players had been initiated by getting killed during the “hitting” drill. What did these big 8th and 9th graders have in store for me?
“Stay on your knees, waterboy,” ordered Tony. I was already on my knees from lathering up Kevin’s cock and balls. “Get in the middle of the circle.” The ten players had formed a circle and I crawled on my knees into the middle of it. Without warning, the players started flexing their muscles. They did double biceps, lat spreads, quad flexes, side chest shots, ab flexes — everything you could imagine. I was mesmerized, watching ten of the biggest and most muscular 13 and 14 year olds flexing above me. I was so excited that my cock was starting to throb. I placed my right hand on my cock. The buff players knew what I was going to do next. Suddenly they each reached down to their own cocks and pointed them at me. Immediately they all started pissing on me. Thick streams of warm piss hit my face and body from all directions. The streams of piss hit me hard, like they were being fired from big air-powered squirt guns. Like everything else about these big studs, their piss was powerful. The feeling of the piss of ten huge jocks hitting my puny body like watercannons was overwhelming. My cock exploded and the cum shot out about five feet, the farthest it had ever shot. I spurted my cum again and again as the warm piss continued to pour out of the jocks’ big bladders. I had never had a longer orgasm in my life. Finally I was done cumming and they were done pissing. Urine was dripping from every inch of my head, face and body. Tony came up to me and picked me up off my knees with one jerk of his big right arm. Then he gave me a high five. “You’re initiated, waterboy,” he said. “You passed the test with flying colors. If you can take getting pissed on by ten guys, you can take anything. Now get under that shower and wash up.” Kevin handed me his soap and pushed me under the shower. The players laughed and hollered at the initiation they had just given me as they walked out of the shower to dress. I stood under the shower and just reveled in the glorious moment. I never wanted to forget it.
The next day all the members of the football team wore their tight Madison Football tee shirts to school. I was no exception. My shirt was too big for my scrawny body but I didn’t care. I proudly walked around. Kids would look at my shirt and look at me with a puzzled expression on their faces. I sure didn’t look like the rest of the players. The real players strutted around pushing out their chests so everyone could see how much they could bench press. I could tell the 8th grade girls were very impressed when Tony and Rasheed walked up to them with 310 and 290 printed on the tee shirts that could hardly contain their big muscles. They oohed and aahhed at the players’ big muscles and several girls felt their biceps as the boys proudly flexed them. All the other boys in the school were in total awe of the football players. They knew that if they ever crossed a football player they would be toast. The football players took no prisoners and any kid who got in their way got the shit beat out of him.
Right after lunch I was walking outside on the playground getting some fresh air. I saw two boys approaching me and I immediately recognized them as two bullies from my grade school. They were (or used to be) in the class ahead of me, so in grade school they were in 6th grade and I was in 5th grade. Now that I had skipped a grade, we were both in the 7th grade. In grade school they used to pick on me relentlessly. They were both much bigger and stronger than I was and they took great pleasure in inflicting pain on me. I got punched, strangled, arms twisted, bear hugged until I couldn’t breathe — you name it. Ron and Eddie delighted in dreaming up new tortures for me. I dreaded the sight of them here on the playground.
“Well look who’s here,” said Eddie. “Its little John from grade school. Aren’t you supposed to be back in 6th grade with the little kids? What are you doing here with big 7th graders like us? And look at that. You’re impersonating a football player to boot! Look at that, Ron. The pathetic wimp thinks he’s a football player. What a joke!” The two bullies started coming right at me. “Lets teach him a lesson,” said Ron. “He don’t belong in this school and he sure ain’t no football player.” At that Ron grabbed my arms and started twisting them up my back. Eddie wound up his right arm and punched me hard in the gut. I had been through this before. I knew I was about to be beat to a pulp.
Just then I heard a kid yell “Let him go, asshole!” All of a sudden I saw Tony and Rasheed running up to us at full speed. When they arrived Tony grabbed Ron’s arms and pulled them so hard Ron’s hands were literally ripped away from my arms. Rasheed rushed up and placed his big body between Eddie and me so any more of Eddie’s punches to my abs would have to go through Rasheed’s washboard abs first. Rasheed grabbed Eddie in his armpits and lifted him two feet in the air. He held him there with the sheer force of his bulging delts and arms. “You dissin’ a Marauder, dude?” said Eddie. “It ain’t cool to be dissin’ a Marauder, honkey, ’cause bad things gonna happen to you.” Eddie looked down at the “290” on Rasheed’s tee shirt and started trembling.
“This little wimp ain’t no Marauder,” protested Ron. “We used to beat him up all the time. He ain’t no football player. He’s a pathetic little nerd. He probably stole that shirt.” Tony looked Ron in the eye, pulled back his huge right arm, made a fist, and with an explosion of power from his bulging muscles drove his fist into Ron’s gut with such devastating force that Ron’s abs were ruptured and several of his internal organs were damaged. Ron buckled over in abject pain but Tony didn’t let him fall down. He wrapped his huge arms around the bully’s chest in a bear hug and started squeezing. As he squeezed, his face was right next to Ron’s. “Listen up asshole,” said Tony. “The waterboy here is a member of the team just like Rasheed and me. You beat up on him and its just like you beat up on us. And I don’t think you’d like to know what we do to punks who try to beat up on us. But you’re gonna know it, punk, ’cause you beat up on the waterboy. Now you’re gonna pay the price.”
At that, Tony started squeezing his huge arms. “Did you ever give the waterboy a bear hug, asshole?” asked Tony. Tony looked at me and I nodded my head. “I figured you did, asshole” said Tony. “Well, here’s what a real bear hug feels like, punk. Just pretend I’m you and you’re the waterboy. I’m gonna enjoy this.” Tony pulled back on his huge arms, pulling Ron’s chest and ribs into the bulging steel of Tony’s big chest. His massive lats spread out from his back as they applied incredible force to his arms. His big delts and biceps bulged as they helped apply enormous crushing power to Tony’s contracting arms. Immediately all the air was forced out of Ron’s lungs. Tony applied more pressure. I thought I could hear the cracking sound of ribs breaking as Tony’s huge, rippling arms contracted tighter and tighter around the collapsed chest of the gasping bully. Ron’s face was beet red and saliva started drooling out of his mouth. He was rolling his head back in forth in pain. The pain in his chest must have been tremendous.
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