Rivals Reunited
by Tyler Bernard
Everyone at the gymnasium had their own opinion on what had happened to the two star athletes. Anyone who had spent any time at the club would have seen the two young jocks, deadly rivals, competing against each other on the weights, in the pool, in the showers.
The blond one was Tyler, all American high school champion, 19 years old, strongly built, 6ft tall, sharp and defined, able to turn heads when he marched to the pool dressed only in Speedos, ready to brush all others aside to set another pool lap record.
The other one was Kraig, also 19, distinctive by his mop of unkempt brown hair, always flopping in front of his dark soulful eyes, and his lightly tanned muscle-bound body, not over developed but perfectly balanced, wiry and strong, like a young puma. When they first began training, they seemed perfectly matched. They would work out, swim and spar together. No one knew where the rivalry came from, but it developed from friendly competition to an all-out war, where any slip, any imperfection was a victory for the other side. They both worked out hard at opposite ends of the gym, oblivious to the admiring and often lustful eyes of others, engaged in a silent battle for perfection.
And then the battles suddenly became angry and physical. Reports of a brief fight in the locker rooms, broken up by other members (a rumour spreading that the fight was naked, and that at least one of the men who broke up the fight took the opportunity for a good feel as he pulled the two boys apart).A shove and a push in the corridor. Harsh words yelled across the basketball court.
This was no friendly rivalry something had happened to tear the two of them apart. Some speculated that Tyler, with his poor working class background, having to work in the pizza place every night to make ends meet, envied Kraig’s listless, trust-fund background. It was certainly known that Tyler had a temper just look at the bruised and bloodied faces of the poor saps who dared suggest to him that he might like to go back to their place to try some other forms of exercise...
The day they both failed to turn up for a booked training session, tongues began to wag. Firstly in jest ‘I bet they really killed each other this time’. Then concern. A wicked rumour that ‘the boys’ just put on an act of hating each other, because secretly they didn’t want anyone to know that they were secretly going home together sharing a room spending the long hot summer evenings examining every inch of each other’s perfect bodies... The rumour sent many an interested party rushing to the privacy of a cubicle, holding their bags and towels in front of them to conceal the large bulges appearing in their shorts...
After a few days the boy’s presence began to be missed. Tyler had not shown up at work either, and Kraig’s fancy downtown apartment had mail piling up behind the door. Other Gym members missed-the sexual energy that the two boys gave off as they forced every inch of power from their straining muscles on the courts, or the shimmer of moisture on their perfect chests as they hauled themselves from the pool after an exhausting swim, or the tensing and posturing of those perfect muscles when they encountered each other in a corridor, ready for another knock-down fight.
And then the car was found. Kraig’s bright red 5 litre mustang, abandoned up by the cliffs, door open, windscreen smashed, a small amount of blood on the seats. The local police swung into action in their usual laboured way, and the investigation began.
Then the news everyone dreaded -there were two types of blood found in the car Kraig and Tyler’s.
The police inspector turned up a few days later to begin to question the Gym members, creating a background picture of the boys, getting a timeline of who did what and when. Tyler had no family to speak of, and although Kraig’s millionaire aunt and uncle demanded an investigation, it was never really because they cared what had happened to the boy he had always been a rebel and an outcast. No, it was more that they wanted to preserve the family name. They would let the matter fade away quietly a few weeks later when the investigation stalled, and that would be the last time anyone would wonder what happened to the rivals. Almost the last time, because Jason... well, that’s another story for another time.
The inspector talked to gym members past and present. He interviewed the management and the lifeguards, the trainers and the receptionists. He interviewed the staff at the Pizza bar. He got a lot of conflicting information and began to form an idea of what had happened. However he never even thought of interviewing Bernard.
Bernard was almost a piece of furniture in the place, un-noticed by all the men who ran back and forth between the changing rooms and the sports facilities. Bernard had been sweeping up behind them for years, mopping the floors, removing the suspect stains found in the more private cubicles. Bernard created no fuss, and no one worried about Bernard. For Bernard had strong reserves of patience. After 30 years, he knew how to avoid being seen staring at the young bodies as he worked his rounds, he avoided conflict. And, as he overheard the inspector discussing what he believed was the most likely reason for the disappearance of the boys, he restrained his instinct to smile.
Because Bernard knew what had happened to the boys, and it was not, as the inspector’s theory went, as simple as a fight which got out of hand, leaving one boy dead and the other on the run. No, nothing as simple as that.
The inspector had done as much as he could for one day, or as much as he thought necessary. He hated these bullshit jobs where some local bigwig puts pressure on his department for a bullshit investigation. Yep, he thought, one’s dead and the others missing. That will be the core of his report. Either a body will turn up in a few days, or the other boy will turn up in some downtown dive in a few weeks. A fight which got out of hand. Two 19 year old boys, unaware of their own strength. A fight, some blood gets spilt on both sides. Things go bad. A wild punch, someone goes down permanently, won’t wake up, the other panics, hides the body and flees. A pity, but that’s life.
The inspector slipped into the toilets to use the urinal he had been drinking coffee all day and his bladder was killing him. He unzipped his fly and sighed with relief as the pressure was relieved, and he dumped a full half litre of piss into the long metal urinal.
Yes, he thought, there’s no conspiracy here. The boys are miles away by now, one on the road, one in a river or buried in a shallow grave. His work here is done. He shook himself dry, zipped up his fly and left the room. On every one of his conclusions, he was totally wrong.
The inspector’s piss swirled around the drain and descended the pipe below the floor, past all the soundproofing material, heading for the sewer. But, an unusual thing happened. The pipe to the sewer had been split, and a valve put in, leading to a new pipe heading away to a small tank. Attached to the tank, two short hoses each with a shower head at the end, both secured into the ceiling of a dank, filthy but brightly lit room. The inspectors still warm piss began to fill the tank, and after a moment a fine spray emitted from the shower, raining down onto the two objects below, two young, muscular, very much alive objects, hands and feet tied to separate wooden frames, both bent over backwards at a 45 degree angle but facing towards each other, forced to kneel with legs wide apart, blindfolded, mouths held open by a complicated mouth gag that attached to rubber blocks, keeping the jaws wide open.
Tyler and Kraig.
The spray dampened the young face of Tyler, who struggled against the indignity, but was unable to escape the constant, warm, foul smelling shower. The liquid slicked the blond hair to his head, entered the mouth, the nostrils, soaking the blindfold and entering the eyes. Excess liquid poured down the chin, ran down the broad neck and under the black leather dog collar strapped around the throat, dripped onto the naked chest, Forming a stream in the gap between the two impressive pectorals, flowing over the six-pack abs, finding every well proportioned bulge and crevice, running down his naked 10 inch cock. A cuff around his balls was attached to a horizontal taut wire, extended out in front of him, weighted down with 5 pounds of weightlifter’s weights, and finally terminating just over a foot away, where it attached to another identical cuff around Kraig’s testicles.
Kraig, in contrast, was totally still, motionless. helpless...
His mouth began to fill with the fluid, and he tried to cough it up, but more came, flooding his mouth, backing up into his throat and nostrils. To make matters worse, every time Tyler bucked and twisted, the taut wire between them viciously yanked at his balls, the 5 pound weights bouncing and jumping. He blanked out the pain. He felt if he did nothing about the foul liquid spraying his face, he would surely drown, but every mouthful he coughed up was quickly replaced, and there was little he could do. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold, and began swallowing. The warm piss was evil, foul, but it wasn’t the worst thing Kraig had had in his mouth over the last few days. Not by a long shot.
The blond boy coughed and spluttered, and tried to blank out the noise of his rivals gurgling and choking. Tyler was unaware of anything apart from the foul taste and smell, allowing the foul experience to temporarily block his memory of the last few days, of the indignities he had suffered, the pain, the humiliation.
Upstairs, Bernard was alone, mopping the floor, and he permitted himself a smile at the thought of what had just happened, only ten feet away from his present location but a million miles away from what anyone else could possibly imagine. On a whim, Bernard attached the ‘closed for cleaning’ sign onto the other block of toilets. There was a basketball game going on which had overrun, and in a few minutes all the players and spectators would make a dash for the toilets, desperate to relieve themselves. With only one 5 man urinal in operation, there would be a queue out the door, and the scene below stairs in his torture chamber would be a sight that he didn’t want to miss.
Bernard packed away his mop and walked down into the basement, ready for his latest show to begin.