Andy 11: Andy and the Goths

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Just my second day in Germany, and I found myself in hand to hand combat against a giant freak of nature, surrounded by his group of nearly equally muscled goons. Our hands over our heads, we were linked up in a test of strength. He was an inch or two taller than me. And bigger. I knew he was their leader. They called him Braga, and waited for his signal. When he gave it, with a slight nod of his head, his huge neck muscles bulging like a column, they went after the strongmen competitors behind me, including my cousin Horst.

The two of us continued our struggle, feeling out each other's power. Our hands were nearly matched in size, but his were thicker, heavier with muscle. I could feel the tremendous strength of each finger, as if each segment was made up of its own powerful biceps, hard as marbles. Big marbles. Bonecrushing marbles. We clenched and shoved against each other, our arms straining and bulging, veins snaking up and down, thick as hoses. Nose to nose, I could smell his stench, the stench of unfettered brute strength coming off his deeps pits like a fog. He glared at me with cocky aggression, and I glared back. His thick bushy eyebrows crunched together like giant caterpillars.Our nostrils flared as our breathing grew deeper. I could sense his limitless strength, and I also sensed that he might even be toying with me, gauging my own power and stamina. I squeezed down on his hands as hard as I could, and he squeezed back, harder. I would just begin to get his massive arms to bend down slightly, and he would muscle me back up. Then he began to muscle my arms down. Slowly. Methodically. A man used to muscling other men down. Both of our arms shaking with crushing power. He pulled me into him and brought his head crashing into mine, his forehead thick and hard as armor. I headed butted him back. I was dizzy as hell, but this extreme test of strength was also giving me a hard on. Braga had one too.

Behind me, I heard the grunting of big men fighting. In a sudden power move, Braga spun us around so that I could see the battle. Each of the Goths was manhandling two or three of the strongmen. With ease. Like it was a joke to them, toying with these massive beefed up powerhouses, none of whom were under 290lbs. I saw the Goths start piling up the defeated strongmen, like plundered booty. The immense muscularity of the Goths was a sight to behold. One of them lifted two of the biggest strongmen,one under each arm, then tossed them to the top of the pile like sacks of potatoes. Then he crunched his arms into a most-muscular crab pose, the thick muscles of his upper torso exploding with striated fibers of steel hard sinew. He looked strong enough to flip a semi.

Then I saw my cousin. One of the huge Goths had him from behind, in a one-armed choke hold. He was jacking Horst around, back and forth, laughing at his weakness. Horst's feet weren't even touching the ground, and his thick legs flailed around like a floppy doll's. Occasionally, the behemoth would raise his free fist and slam it into Horst's side. It sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a side of beef. I could hear the wind being knocked out of my cousin.

"Let him go," I said to Braga. I knew he could command an end to this.

"He is perhaps your relative?" he growled.

"Yes. Let him go."

"Gainas is one of our strongest young men. He could break his opponent into many pieces."

"What do you want?"  I asked him, as we continued to struggle.

"Come with us back to our village."

"I will explain to you on the way. No harm will come to you or him," he said, nodding toward Horst.

"He stays here," I said.

"No, he comes too," said Braga, and he nodded to Gainas, who lifted Horst up and over his head, racking him onto his shoulders, "unless you want to see him snapped."

"OK, ok, take it easy, we'll go."

Braga nodded again, and Gainas dropped Horst behind him. Horst hit the ground with a solid thud, but was unharmed. Braga chuckled. Gainas walked over toward us, his huge thighs pushed his workout shorts up, bunching them at his crotch, every muscle in his quads rippling as he strutted. He had to roll one keg-sized leg around the other in order to walk. He was only a few inches taller than Horst, but his body seemed to hold nearly double the muscularity. The teardrop muscles above his kneecaps stuck out a good six inches, and popped up and down with every step he took. He came to a stop when he got to us.

"Gainas grows bigger and stronger with ever minute," said Braga. "Soon, he will be strong as me." And to show just how strong that would be, Braga forced my arms down to my sides and pinned them there. "Now, the four of us will go to our truck in the parking lot, and take a little trip."

As Braga led the way to the van, I considered our options. We could make a break for it, but that seemed cowardly. Plus, Horst was just a big friendly hulk. Gainas was a beast, nearly twice as thick and wide as Horst, who would do anything Braga asked of him. It wasn't hard to imagine what might happen in a full out battle between the two of them. Besides, part of me didn't want to get away. I very much wanted to see where these giants came from, to learn more about them. Although it was hard to imagine what they wanted of us. I was soon to find out.

The four of us got into the cab of Braga's big German semi, he and I in the front, Horst and Gainas in the back. Braga began to explain things to me as we got onto the autobahn and headed south.

"Once a year or so, my cousins and I make this trip up north from our mountain village. We sell our lumber at the docks in exchange for goods that we cannot get in the mountains. Sometimes, these other goods are men we find who are most like us." When I looked at him, confused, he continued. "You know of the Goths?"

"The barbarians from the north, who sacked Rome in like the fourth century?"

"Yes, that is know. What most don't know is that a small group splintered off from the rest, a small group of the strongest and most powerful Goths. My ancestors retreated to some hidden valleys of the Alps, valleys so remote that there are still no roads. You will see, it is very beautiful, but we will have to hike that last part of our trip to get up to our village. My ancestors wanted to perfect our people, to make them the biggest and strongest Goths the world had ever known. Over the centuries, we have been breeding the strongest with the strongest, weeding out any weakness. This was successful, but only to a point. What we have come to realize is that new lines must be introduced from time to time, to avoid the problems of too much inbreeding."

The purpose of our journey was beginning to dawn on me. "So you want my cousin and I to 'freshen up' your bloodlines?"

"Not your cousin so much, as you. You are by far the strongest outsider I have ever come across. We knew the minute you came into the gym, we could make use of you." He took his right arm off the steering wheel and flexed it. "Your arm strength is nearly a match for mine."

I raised my left arm next to his and flexed. We matched alright. Inch for inch and pound for pound. He flexed harder, making his peak rise up higher. I pushed my arm against his, shoving it over, and flexed mine to match his. Not often you get to see two 28" arms battling each other. I was getting riled up, and so was he. I felt like reaching over and ripping the steering wheel right off the column, to show off my strength. But he was swerving as it was, and when a car zoomed past us at 130mph, horn blaring, we stopped comparing mass. Just those simple flexes had swollen up our arms, though. His thick veins were bulging out, roping thru his fores, just like mine.

"You will only have to be at the village for a short time. Then, when we take more lumber up to the north, you will be released."

"That's mighty thoughtful of ya," I said sarcastically.

Meanwhile, Horst and Gainas had taken to punching each other in the thighs. Gainas had started it by pulling up his shorts and pointing to his monstrous quad, all ropey with muscle. Horst punched him, and Gainas laughed, a deep guttural sound of an animal. Then he punched Horst back. The sound of the smack alone made my stomach tighten. I could hear Horst stiffling a cry of pain. I heard Gainas chuckle. I knew he had only used a fraction of his strength. I shuddered to think if he hit Horst full on, or in anger. They continued to trade punches in the back seat, like two brothers on a long car ride. And like brothers, the roughhousing began to escalate, the punches growing harder and harder. Horst would hit Gainas, and Gainas would chortle in amusement, his hide as thick and tough as a rhino's. Then he would hit Horst back, and I would hear my cousin yelp from the force of the blow. Somewhere between blows, Gainas ripped off his shirt. His thick animal musk filled the cab. I didn't know if I was going to gag, or jack off from it. He had a massive gorilla-sized chest, with thumb-sized nipples jutting out proudly. Gainas looked down at his pecs, then bounced them back and forth, admiring himself as his slabs mounded up like two over inflated beach balls. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed Horst's leg right about his knee. His iron grip caused Horst to arch back in pain. He grabbed Gainas's wrist with both his hands, and tried to pry him off, but Gainas just dug in deeper with his clawed fingers. He lifted Horst's leg right off the seat, and shook it back and forth. Horst writhed in pain. Gainas released his grip, dropping Horst's bruised leg to the seat, but then Gainas pounced on top of him, pinning him down. Their grappling was causing the truck to sway, but Horst was no match for Gainas's extreme strength. Once he had Horst secured down to the seat, he began to grapple with Horst's shorts. I saw Braga looking back at them in the rearview mirror.

"Sometimes, the bigger and stronger one of us gets, the primitive impulses take over. Gainas has grown so strong, so fast, I have seen it coming." Braga yelled out something in a harsh guttural language I didn't understand. Gainas stopped mauling Horst, and sat up, but still looked down at him like he was fresh kill. Braga pulled off the autobahn onto a side road, then pulled over and stopped the truck. He spoke what sounded like an order, and Gainas got out of the cab. "I still have control over him, but maybe for not much longer. He may have to be banished to the higher mountains where the thin air may temper his rage and lust." As we watched, Gainas went to the side of the road and picked up a boulder. The boulder was three times his size, but he ripped it out of the ground and lifted it over his head. He powered the boulder up and down, his face and neck bulging and reddening, veins throbbing. The young giant did rep after rep, his shoulders, lats and arms swelling insanely. Finally, he slammed the boulder into the ground, where it embedded over a foot into the hard soil. Gainas walked around the big rock, staring at it. Then he made a fist, and hit the boulder hard, cracking it right down the middle. He put his fingers into the crack and widened it, splaying the rock open by a few inches. Then he pulled out his huge hardon and started humping the busted boulder.

"Mein Gott," said Horst from the back seat, as he watched Gainas rape the shit out of the boulder. The crack grew bigger and bigger as he thrust into it, and, despite being entrenched in the ground, the boulder was powered forward by every hard buck, leaving a foot deep trough in the rocky soil. Finally, he lifted the boulder out of the ground again, and humped into it as he held it up with his huge arms. As he came, he split the boulder completely in half, and dropped it down. The massive hulk stood over the broken rock like it was his victim. He shook himself violently, as if breaking a trance, then came back to the truck and climbed in. He plopped down in the back, and was asleep even before Braga pulled back out onto the road. We stayed on this side road, and began to climb higher into the mountains. Horst stared at Gainas, transfixed by the brute animal snoring next to him.

"What happens if the thin mountain air doesn't mellow Godzilla out?" I asked Braga.

"He will rage his days away, raping trees and an occasional unfortunate mountain goat....unless.."

"Unless what?"

"Unless he finds his way out of the mountains, and goes after outsiders. You have heard this word "ogre"?

"The fairy tale creature? A beast that feeds on humans?"

Braga didn't answer. He didn't need to. I looked back at the slumbering Gainas. Still pumped from his rape of the rock, he looked more powerful than ever. I shuddered. I heard Horst swallow hard.

As the truck climbed higher and higher into the Bavarian Alps, the air did get fresher and cooler. The thick forest on both sides of the road was filled with evergreens. The mountaintops in the distance were capped with snow. The road continued up, until we turned off it onto a smaller road. I wasn't sure how Braga was navigating some to the sharp turns we were coming into, the big truck hugging the edge of steeper and steeper drop offs. Finally, we pulled into the parking lot of a place called The Black Forest Inn.  

"Here we park the truck, and hike up to village," said Braga. At the back of the lot was a gate that opened up to a steep trail leading into the mountains. Braga, Horst and I got out of the truck. Gainas continued to slumber. "But first we must move truck to clear up parking for owner."  The truck was at a weird angle, taking up more spaces than it needed, but the lot was too small to back it in straight. "Think you can fix?" Braga asked me. I figured out what was expected of me. Braga wanted me to physically move the back of the truck so that it was flush with the front. I walked to the rear of the truck and sized it up.

"Not a problem," I said to him, although I had never tried to deadlift a semi before. And when I walked up to the back and put my hands underneath, I realized that the truck bed was to high to dead. I was going to have to squat down and press it up. I got myself into position, squatting down low, then put my hands up on the bottom of the truck. I pushed upward. The truck strained against my arms.I pushed and pushed. I heard metal groaning as the truck began to lift upward. I heard shocks hissing as weight was lifted from them. I straightened out my arms and locked them out. The big rig tires were sagging down and still touching the pavement. I grunted and then bounced on my glutes, pushing my legs up. The wheels came off the ground as I stood. I shuffled sideways and got the back of the truck in line with the front. I squatted back down and set the truck to the ground. I stood up and brushed off my hands, feeling cocky enough to take on Gainas. Horst came over to me and gave me a high five. "JA!" he exclaimed.

Braga shook his head. "Not bad for American," he said. "Now, we hike." He went over to the cab and pulled the nearly comatose Gainas out, slinging him over his massive shoulders. "He will wake soon, but we must start now, before dark."

"How far is it?" Horst asked.

"Many kilometers, and very steep."

And so we headed upward, toward the roadless Goth enclave in the mountains, Braga with merely an extra 400lbs of muscle on his broad back. Horst and I followed, wondering what lay ahead for us.

To be continued