The Time Warp… Again

Author's note - This story is the third segment in a series. It comes after "That Old Black Magic" and "What's In a Name?" and if you aren't a big fan of gay erotic stories involving sex, mind games and heavy sarcasm, OR you're under 18, don't scroll any further cause I ain't responsible. It's probably better that you don't read this, anyway. It'll give the unprepared nightmares.

Chapter One

Sunday night was not one of my finest moments. I was still very hung over from my excursion to the party at what was once Gabe and Genie's and was now Gabriel and David's place. I had stacks of papers to go over for my classes on Monday, and I was feeling pensive. To be blunt, I was being a real bitch. I was sulking in the living room surrounded by a fortification of dusty library books.

I had my Lauren Hill blasting to such ear-piercing levels that the neighbors probably assumed she was in concert in our kitchen. The reason I had cranked the volume up was to drown out the tireless thumping emanating from Brian's room. He had come home earlier that evening with a girl and took her straight up the stairs without passing 'go'. She was cute enough, with a blonde ponytail and Capri pants. I didn't know why I had not been informed that the "Gidget" look had somehow come back in vogue. As she followed Brian up to his room, you could see in her big doe eyes, the zealotous adoration of a young peasant girl going to worship at the altar of her god. Brian, on the other hand, looked like he was trying to remember just exactly what her name was. Then again, he always had a look of perpetual confusion. Hell, he might have been trying to remember which room was his.

It turned out that Brian was such a slave to convention and stereotype that he actually had his bedpost right up against the wall so it would slam whenever he was slamming, if you know what I mean, and boy, was he slamming tonight. It sounded like we were drilling for oil on our second floor.

It was in the middle of Lauren's ballad "Dat thing" that Gino sauntered in with a big grin. He wore a pair of plastic green pants and a tight black T-shirt, oil stains smudged his smooth arms and face. His blonde hair was in disarray, and my only thought was he either just got off work or he'd been blowing the guys at the gas station again. He had a nasty tendency to take the term 'full service' to the extremes.

He didn't even pause before he joined the chorus and began to coyly and painfully serenading me. "That thing that thing… That thi-I-I-I-ing." His hips moved back and forth, and he swayed powerfully to the beat.

I turned the stereo off almost immediately.

"Aww c'mon!" he complained.

I looked back at him in innocent curiosity. "Oh, do you like Lauren Hill?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Then why are you trying to offend her by brutalizing her music like that?"

He gave me a dark look and then rolled his hulking shoulders in a deep laugh. "Oh no you didn't!" Gino walked around my wall of work and sat down across from me. "Why are you so happy tonight?"

"Unlike some irresponsible party boys, I have classwork to do. I can't just go to work and come home with all the time to listen to 'I Will Survive' and work out I want," I replied acidly.

Gino looked at me and then shot his gaze down. "Well neither do I now… "


"I kinda quit my job at the garage." His deep Italian voice had the tone of a reluctant child.

"Why did you do that you big dumb Guido?" I asked exasperated.

"The guys at the garage man, they keep ridin' me about how I dress and stuff. They started callin' me Ms. Salvatore, and I mean I can only beat the hell out of them so many times." His dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration, and I suddenly had a twinge of guilt. Nothing big but just a twinge though. It's hard to get real upset when you don't have a conscience. Whatever I did to Gabriel and David in my drunken stupor, it had somehow managed to provide them both with new jobs to go with their new lives. Maybe I just wasn't as thorough with Gino.

I put down a tome and looked at his big green eyes. "Do you want me to do something about them? I could go over there and have a little talk with your… "

"No!" he answered vehemently waving his hands wildly making the bracelets he wore on his right hand clank loudly. "No you don't have to do anything Damien. I got a new job lined up anyway."

I eyed him suspiciously from behind my black bangs. Why in the world would he be so adamant about me not getting involved? Then a really shocking thought occurred to me. Perhaps Gino had some kind of inclination as to how I might plan to deal with them. I considered it for a moment and then quickly pushed it aside. If he realized what was really going on, he'd have to be as smart as me, maybe even smarter. And there just was no WAY that was the case.

"You got a new job? … Where?"

"Up on 64th. I'm going to interview to manage a gym," he said proudly flashing his big pearly grin.

"Well, you better get it. I'm not going to carry your rent because you're too damn sensitive to work."

Gino and I both looked up to see Eric's unannounced presence in the doorway. He stood there in a crisp new blue suit with his briefcase slung over his shoulder. His neatly trimmed brown hair was slicked back away from his face and it gleamed with hairgel. He took off a pair of circular Donna Karen sunglasses and regarded the both of us with undisguised contempt. "I hope you plan to clean up this mess," he looked at me. "I don't want to have to stop inviting people over to my own house because I'm embarrassed of the way you people live." The tone in which he said "you people" was not flattering at all.

I looked him in the eye. "Oh no. My plan was to continue piling 300-year-old priceless antique books around the house as if they were old TV Guides until me and Gino here had enough to recycle them and get a whole nickel."

Gino slapped his plastic covered knee and convulsed in a gale of laughter. Eric, on the other hand, was unamused. "Keep laughing Gino. You're going to need that nickel while you're down at the unemployment line."

"Christ man, why don't you lay the hell off?" the Italian man stood up and faced his accuser. Eric's tight swimmer's build paled in comparison to Gino's broad chest and granite arms. They stood there facing off for a few tense minutes, the tall Italian muscular bottle blonde and the fit 5'9" brown-haired executive. Eric faced him down however with his cool uncaring stare and brushed passed him to the kitchen.

"I'm outta here," Gino declared and grabbed a shiny leatherjacket from the hall closet.

I called after him, "Gino you left the closet door open… "

Eric broke into cruel barking laughter, "Yeah in more ways then one."

Gino's only response was the violent slamming of the front door.

All right, the pretty boy now officially had it coming to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" I asked him as he took a swig from a bottle of Evian.

"I don't have any type of problem. Why?"

"Then what was all that bullshit about Gino being in the unemployment line just cause he's switching jobs."

He gave me a long suffering look, "Come on Damien." That was the first time the man had actually acknowledged that I had a name. "You know his kind, they're out of work and then suddenly they're collecting welfare, and my hard earned money is going to support there whole family."

"His kind of people? And what exactly are his kind of people?"

"White trash," he said bluntly. "I mean, the man was a mechanic."

By now I was already mentally thinking of all the interesting mindnumbing migraines my West Indian voodoo doll would give the son of a bitch.

Eric looked at himself in the hall mirror and made sure he had no telltale five o'clock shadow on his perfectly angular jaw. "For as stupid as he is, I guess I should be glad he's got a job at all, and isn't in some government assistance program for the mentally handicapped."

I sat back and just let the jerk dig his hole deeper and deeper. "You know Brian isn't exactly reciting the Iliad off the top of his head either."

Eric turned to me in agitation; the snot was pissed because I had the nerve to question him. "Brian at least serves some kind of purpose in the world. He goes out there and runs into some other big dumb jock so that the great unwashed masses can stay mindlessly entertained for another weekend of their dull little lives."

I focused intently on Eric's arrogant smile. "And what's your opinion of me?" My voice was a little darker and threatening then I had intended.

His smile broadened realizing he had pushed several of my very accessible buttons. "You seem to be somewhat intelligent, but you're a little too impressed with your own individuality."


"And what is your major anyway,… History?" he scoffed.

"Ancient Civilizations, with a focus on their beliefs and religious ceremonies."

He laughed right in my face, "And what are you going to do with that? Take all that wasted education and use it to what? Teach?" His laughter continued, "Do you know what teachers make? You might as well be a bagboy. Why would you want to strive for mediocrity?"

"Actually I've recently decided to use it for behavioral rehabilitation."

Eric was confused. "I don't get it"

"Oh you will… believe me… you will."

He looked taken aback not knowing why the statement sounded so ominous. "I don't have time for this. I'm supposed to meet Claire Eddington for drinks at the MountDyne Club." He said the names "Claire Eddington" and "the MountDyne club" as if he expected me to be impressed. When it was obvious I wasn't, he sighed in disgust grabbed his Armani coat and left. "My time is too valuable to waste on you people," was his parting remark.

My plans for Eric began to coalesce the second the door shut. My mind was racing and I could tell you it sure as hell wasn't sugarplums dancing in my head.

It took me three hours to find just the right passage in one of my books and by then Gino was walking through the front door, drunk and searching for balance. I looked up from the dusty pages with a smile of genuine pleasure. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

"What's happenin'?" he asked happily as he plopped down next to me.

I put my arms around his shoulders. "How would you like to do me a big favor,"

"For you buddy, anything," he slurred.

"Go break into Eric's room and bring me his alarm clock." I had to admit I had an almost child-like glee in my voice.

Gino was up and moving before he even considered asking why. "Why'd you want his clock?" he hiccuped.

"Because Gino, my friend, Eric says his time is precious. I think we should help him savor every minute of the day."

"Whatever." He shrugged his massive shoulders and trudged up the stairs on his muscled calves.

I waited patiently and hummed happily, "It's astounding … Time is fleeting … Madness takes its toll … now listen closely … Not for very much longer … I've got to keep control."


Eric Redman awoke promptly at six on Monday morning. He stepped out of his bed and slid off his pajamas and quickly put on a pair of jogging shorts and a sweatshirt. He left his home and took careful mental note that his roommates all still lay lazily in their beds. His jog lasted a half of an hour and carried him a good few miles.

He absolutely despised jogging, but it kept him in shape, and physical stamina and appearance were two very important factors in business.

When he got back to the house he got right into the shower. He let the refreshing steam roll over him, and he meticulously planned his itinerary for the day. He washed his hair with expensive imported shampoo and conditioned it afterwards. He slowly shaved his face paying close attention so as to attain a perfect shave. He finished up by moisturizing and then cleaning the shower floor.

Eric wiped the steam away from the bathroom mirror and admired his reflection. It was not vain to admit he was a handsome man. He had had the kind of chiseled angular face one might find in an Abercrombie and Finch catalogue. His blue eyes shone brightly in the granite rock of his cheekbones and were accentuated by slim brown eyebrows. He put a dab of gel precisely the size of a dime in his hand and slicked his chestnut hair back against his forehead. He was a picture right out of GQ.

He stepped back and took in the appearance of his whole trim frame. His chest was compact without being to muscular, his arms were cut without being too bulky and the only hair he had was a sprinkling across his pecs and a bunny trail that lead to his dick. His embarrassing morning wood still lingered, his penis lying half-hard against his smooth leg. He paid the need in his shaft no mind. Guys who let themselves be lead around by their dick were thinking with the wrong head. They were the kind of men who judged their dick size like it meant something. Eric knew it was the size of your stock portfolio, not your dick, that mattered

Athletic but completely proportionate. Perfect… in his own mind.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to his room to get dressed.

Once in his room, he pulled out a pair of fresh silk Calvin Klein boxers and quickly put them on. Then he perused his closet for a good ten minutes indecisively until settling finally on a blue Brooks Brothers suit. He finished off his attire with his gold Rolex and a red tie that cost him a small fortune. He grabbed his briefcase and headed down stairs for breakfast.

He was irritated to find his roommates all huddled around the table eating like pigs at slop. Brian mindlessly chewed on a piece of toast in a pair of his jogging shorts. Gino was furiously shoving Fruit Loops into his mouth and was wearing nothing but a small and very revealing flannel bathrobe. And Damien, dressed in baggy sweats, eyed him strangely from over the morning paper.

Instead of engaging in useless small talk he made himself a bagel and sliced a grapefruit. He finished his breakfast and quickly rushed to his car without so much as a "good morning".

He slid into the driver's side of his Jaguar and sped off to the offices were he was completing his Marketing internship. Sure the Jag was expensive but he had to maintain a certain appearance.

His father had pulled some strings and Eric's "internship" was more or less an executive level position. He had his own office, responsibilities and, best of all, a secretary.

On the way to his sixth floor office he shared an elevator with one of the guys in his intern program. Daniel Prescot was another prep school alumnus with a Daddy who could toe the line. He was the golden boy in every sense of the world. Too tan skin, too blonde hair, and too white teeth. He was Eric's kind of people.

They talked casually about recent stock rises and falls, the best new restaurants, which VPs were in and which execs were out. Just basic shop talk.

"Where have you been hiding yourself lately?" he asked politely.

"Now that you mention it, I just got back from the Bahamas," the blonde answered.

"I can tell by all that tan skin," Eric replied staring straight ahead at the elevator doors.

Daniel began to laugh lightly. "What?" Eric asked turning to look at him.

His fellow executive gave him a weird little wink, "Yeah, ALL this skin is tan man." And then the other man actually pulled his pants down a little on the side to expose the deep brown skin on his hip. "No tan lines."

Who knew Prescot was a fruit?

After Daniel's ridiculous display Eric refused to make conversation. He retreated from the confining space and with relief slyly said "Good morning Patty" to his blonde-haired assistant as he entered his office.

"Mr. Redman, I've asked you before to call me Ms. Emery or if you must Patricia." She had her blonde mane piled up on her head in a braid showcasing her long neck. Patricia Emery almost had a model's good looks. Her smart red pants-suit jacket plunged deep into her neckline revealing the large cleft of her cleavage. And Eric took every opportunity to glare evidently at it. She became uncomfortable under his intense gaze and re-situated her blazer.

"Whatever you say, Patty. Now what's on the agenda for today?"

She sighed and resigned herself to another day of Eric Redman's special brand of personality warfare. "Your morning is booked until 12 for federal regulations reports, then your scheduled for lunch with Mr. Jarvis the VP of marketing, after which you have to go down to shipping for a brief meeting with the foreman of the second shift loaders." She paused looking up from her electric planner, "Oh and Ms. Eddington called she wants you to meet her for dinner."

Eric gave her a leering stare, "Thank you Patty." He turned toward the paperwork on his desk. Patricia was almost out of the door before he suddenly realized what she had said and stopped her short. "What do you mean I have to meet with someone in shipping?"

"Company policy, Mr. Redman. All interns are to get a thorough overview of the company from top to bottom. You're to discuss quality control with one Mr. Hank Thomas," she told him patiently.

"Why would any executive have to know how the neanderthals down in grunt labor do their job. It's not that difficult. We could get Mexican pack mules to do the same work," he complained.

"That being said," she replied in cold distaste, "Your appointment with him is for 2."

"That will be all patty." Eric said dismissing her angrily. He watched in undisguised interest the way her ass moved under the soft fabric of her pants as she quickly left his office.

Eric breezed through the Fed reports in almost 2 hours. The math was simple calculations he could easily estimate in his head and the ridiculous legal jargon that the government constantly tried to trip you up with was easy for someone of his intelligence to understand.

At 12 he walked across the street from his offices and met Mr. Jarvis at a classic Venetian restaurant for lunch. Jarvis was easy to charm with urbane stories about company gossip and new policies. They discussed recent events in the market and talked extensively about Eric's plans for the future.

Eric ordered a cob salad and mushroom antipasta with raspberry vinaigrette. He spoke to the waitress exclusively in Italian, and although the entrée's in the menu were all presented with their Italian names, the poor young girl who took their order was very confused. After she asked if he needed a translator, Eric rolled his eyes and condescendingly replaced his order not only in English but in a slow almost baby talk.

Eric oozed charm and class from every pore of his body "… and so you see Mr. Jarvis I simply told her if all she had was an 82, I was willing to take something else of a better vintage, Kool-Aid perhaps."

Jarvis laughed tightly, his wrinkled cheeks shaking in polite mirth. "Eric you are very much your father's son. And if you're as ambitious as he is, I'm sure you're going to go far with the company."

Eric smiled, absolutely pleased with himself.

His day was going absolutely perfect until promptly at a quarter of two patty buzzed in to tell him that he had better get down to the loading docks or he was going to be late for his meeting. He angrily put aside his files and put on his coat. He was fuming about the bother of having to dignify the rank and file with his precious time the whole way through the building.

The shipping docks were crowded with heavy loading machinery, forklifts and crates making it hard for Mr. Redman to find his way to the foreman's office. He was stepping carefully around the various puddles of water, motor oil, and strange unidentifiable liquids so as to not destroy his expensive Italian loafers. After ten minutes of hopeless wandering he decided to flag down one of the random neanderthals milling around aimlessly. He reluctantly turned to a tall man walking passed him. The man looked to be only a little older then him, but he outweighed him by about fifty pounds. Eric mentally noted that the man, with his short beard and bulky frame, looked like the lumberjack on the Bounty commercials. That was, of course, if the Bounty lumberjack had shopped exclusively at K-mart.

"You," Eric said pointing to him, "Where is Mr. Thomas's office?"

The man looked at him with a scowl. "Who's askin'?"

That remark made him suddenly very impatient "Excuse me… but have you noticed that I have on a suit and tie?" he asked condescendingly. "And that you would be wearing a pair of dirty overalls. Now I know you're probably not used to seeing people in ties, unless you're at a funeral… or a hearing… but in the business world, a tie denotes some kind of importance. Overalls don't. Which makes me important … you not. So hurry up and tell me where the head unimportant person's office is."

The guy bit down on his lower lip and began squeezing his huge hands into balled up fists. Eric had the frightening thought that this brute might hit him. "You don't have to go to my office, I'm right here." Hank answered.

The young executive was slightly taken aback but quickly regained his arrogant edge. "Oh … I couldn't tell shouldn't you be wearing some sort of name tag. How do people tell you apart from your crew."

"I don't know. How do they tell you apart from the rest of the kiss-ass suits upstairs?" Hank answered gruffly.

"Pardon me?"


Eric looked at the big man angrily. But Hank just regarded him blankly from under his heavy brown eyebrows. "Look, I know you're down here to tour shipping, but I don't really want to lead another spoiled brat around by the hand so he can complain about the smell and how his little suit might get dirty. And my men don't like the disgusted way you pussies look at them while they're doin real man's work. So why don't we just tell the brass up stairs that we went through with this bullshit, and I can get back to work, and you can get back to doing nothing alright?"

"Spectacular idea," Eric replied shortly and turned in such a little tantrum that he stepped right in a puddle, splashing dark water al over his shoes. The men working around him all turned and laughed like a bunch of monkeys. The crew of manual labors all laughed raucously at him the whole way out. The only thing that kept him from causing a scene was the comforting thought that someday he would make more in a year then these farm animals would in their whole lives.

After the unpleasantness in shipping, Eric was glad to relax with a simple dinner with Claire at the MountDyne club. Claire was not exactly his idea of a hot date. She didn't have patty's cleavage or legs or blonde hair, but she did thankfully have one thing patty did not—money, and lots of it. The Eddingtons were Old Money, the kind of old money that came across the Atlantic not on the Mayflower but on the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa Maria. With her wealth and connections, Eric was more then willing to put up with her vapid conversation, her less-than-beautiful face and emaciated little body.

He picked idly at his foie gras while he listened to her prattle on about the latest gossip from the Hamptons and how a certain sorority sister of hers had gotten her nose done. He interspersed her insipid little conversation with "Really Claire?" and "Isn't that great." Meanwhile he was thinking almost exclusively of his assistant Patty in and out of her pants suit.

He dropped Claire off with a parting kiss and a lustful glance at her estate.

He arrived home to a darkened house. Brian was probably out at some lasvicious frat party; Gino was most likely at a club; and Damien… God only knows where he was.

He poured himself a glass of brandy from his private stash, watched a little CSPAN and then went right to bed.

… Damien walked through the front door just in time to see the light from Eric's room wink out. "Now the real fun begins," he chuckled.


Chapter Two

Eric got up on Monday morning to both the sound of the high-pitched siren of his alarm clock and an incessant pounding on his door. "Either get the hell up or turn off the damn alarm!" someone shouted from behind the door. He clumsily smacked his hand down on the snooze button. Whoever had been thumping on his door, satisfied, now returned to his own room.

Eric stumbled out of bed, rubbing his head in a fog. He felt like he had a hangover, like he had gone on some terrible bender the night before, but he had only had a couple of drinks with Claire on Monday night. No, it had been Sunday night. Today was Monday… wasn't it?

He spent a good ten minutes trying to find his bearings before he realized that he should already be done with his morning run. He threw on his sweats and flew out of the house. After about 6 blocks of brisk running he was ready to die. He had never been so sluggish. He hit the wall before even getting a third of the way into his routine. Where it normally took him about a half an hour this one had him huffing and puffing and holding his side for a good 60 minutes. The only thing that kept him going was determination and the mantra, "To be an executive, you have to LOOK one."

He practically collapsed into the shower. He was running late so he quickly scrubbed up. He grabbed the nearest bottle of shampoo and ran it through his hair without regard to label or brand. When he went to shave his face his thick coating of whiskers made it hard for him to rush the job. But even with careful strokes he still managed to cut himself. He kept nicking his jaw and chin, it was almost as if he wasn't used to shaving the planes and angles of his own face…

He jumped out of the shower with out even enough time to slap on some aftershave.

Toweling away the steam from the mirror, he was momentarily stunned with confusion. Something seemed out of place… but he just couldn't put his finger on it. He took quick inventory of his appearance. He thought his face seemed somehow broader… but no he always had the impressive strong jawline and broad chin. His neck tapered down unto his wide shoulders and his lightly developed chest was covered with a healthy rug of brown hair.

He shrugged away his concern and put a big glob of gel in his hands and slicked his mop of shaggy brown hair back away from his face, so the errant strands rested loosely at the nap of his neck. The length of his hair gave him pause and made him think that he needed a haircut, but his hair was always this long, wasn't it?

The first suit he put his hands on was the one he decided to wear and he accessorized it with the nearest available tie. The clothes seemed very confining and bunched up in odd places when he walked and moved, like it was three sizes too small for him. It made him very uncomfortable and self-conscious. He must be putting on weight or something. He rushed through dressing with thoughts of breakfast, for some reason he was insanely hungry.

The roommates were all huddled around the table eating like pigs at slop. Brian chewed mindlessly on a piece of toast in a pair of jogging shorts. Gino furiously shoveled Fruit Loops into his mouth and Damien, dressed in baggy sweats, eyed him strangely over the morning paper.

He made himself his customary bagel and grapefruit but after he ravenously finished them both in record speed, he was still hungry. He managed to pry the sports page away from Brian and read it as he helped himself to two big bowls of Gino's cereal. As Brian was leaving he turned to Eric and asked, "Hey man, you want to get a few brewskis tonight."

"No buddy, I gotta spend some time with the little woman, if you know what I mean," he answered with a knee-jerk response and then to his surprise they both laughed the same vulgar laugh.

He finished his bowl spilling a little milk down his tie and made a mad dash to his Jag. Even speeding didn't help escape being twenty minutes late for work.

Patricia Emery was waiting patiently in the doorframe of his office. "You're late," she said simply. He brushed passed her hurriedly throwing his briefcase on his desk.

"Patricia, What's my… my… uh.." he struggled searching for the word.

"Itinerary?" She offered.

"Yeah that," he said relieved.

She looked at him suspiciously "First you have a stack of federal Regulation reports that need to be completed."

"Aww shit," he complained.

Patricia looked up shocked, at his use of an obscenity. "Then you're having lunch with Mr. Jarvis, After which you're supposed to go to shipping and meet with Hank Tomas."

Eric ran his hands frustratedly though his shaggy brown hair, "Aww fuck I don't want to have to spend a whole lunch hour with that old fart."

Patty looked around the room for the hidden camera.

Eric began sorting through his paperwork, and she quickly excused herself from the weirdness that was occurring in Mr. Redman's Office. "Oh by the way, Claire Eddington called. She wants to meet for dinner." Eric's reaction was to let loose another string of obscenities. He let her leave his office without even a passing notice to the low cut red blouse or her butt as she hurriedly escaped his presence.

The morning was terrible; he poured over his reports in confusion. As hard as he tried he couldn't get through them without calling Patricia in and asking her for help. The numbers all just seemed to run together. The regulations and technical bullshit made his head swim, and he more then once angrily hurled a report across the office floor. It was like he was having trouble thinking today. He had only gotten through half of them when Patricia buzzed into tell him that e was late for his lunch with old man Jarvis.

Jarvis made him go to some fancy Italian place where the menu was all in French or something. He asked the waitress to explain what everything was almost twice. He hurriedly ordered a salad and some pasta, but before she left he changed his mind. "Hey sweetheart, fuck the grass… bring me a big steak and some fries." He said hungrily.

Jarvis looked at him strangely, 'That's a little heavy for lunch isn't it Mr. Redman."

Eric laughed loudly, "Shit, I gotta keep myself fueled, don't I?"

"I suppose… "

"How would you like your steak, sir?" the waitress asked.

"Anyway you want to bring it, just as long as it ain't fuckin' mooin', am I right Jarvis?" He barked while slapping the aged executive on the back.

The remainder of the lunch was spent in intervals of awkward silence and equally awkward conversation. Jarvis would discuss company policy and Eric would interject with vulgar anecdotes that he didn't even know he knew but found extremely funny.

Mr. Jarvis excused himself prematurely, creating some excuse about how he needed to finish some work, leaving Eric to enjoy his steak in peace.

He went right from lunch to the shipping docks, seeing the tour of the docks as a welcome reprieve from his mountain of paperwork.

Standing somewhat unconfidently near the loading doors Eric waited for the foreman to show up. All around him large men in work clothes grunted over the heavy packages they were struggling to get onto the bed of a Mac truck. There wasn't a man in the entire docking area who looked like he weighed less then 200 pounds of corded muscle. They were hard working, hard sweating brutes of men and strangely Eric Redman found himself a little intimidated by them. Deep in his mind he found himself thinking quietly about how much he admired men like these guys big manly guys who could lift three times there weight and didn't have to mess with the bullshit of the corporate rat race. Salt of the earth dudes who didn't take any shit.

"You look lost buddy, need some help?" a good-natured voice asked from behind him.

"I'm looking for Hank," he said as he turned to meet the speaker.

"You found him, pal." The stranger laughed a barking full-chested chuckle. The man who had answered him was about an inch or two shorter than him. And a lot wider with strong lifting shoulders that sat on top of his frame like a shelf. He had close cut curly hair and a thin, short-beard that covered his tan jaw in fuzz of whiskers. The hair on his head and chin was a golden brown that shone with the natural highlights of working in the sun and his tan was a deep brown enriched by constant exposure to the elements. From behind the tan skin two green eyes sparkled at him friendly.

Eric was struck at how handsome the foreman was. It was a strange observation for him to make, but it was just a simple fact. And he had gorgeous eyes too…

"Eric Redman," he mumbled, self-consciously still staring into the other man's eyes intently. "They sent me from upstairs," he finished extending his hand.

Hank grabbed his extended palm forcefully with his thick hairy forearm and shook his out stretched palm with such ferocity it made him want to laugh. "Good to meet ya Eric… Or should I call ya Red? I bet all your buddies call ya Red, Am I right?"

He coughed uncomfortably, "Uh no they don't."

"Oh okay then." Hank rolled his bull shoulders in agreement and put his dirty hands in the pockets of his overalls. "Guess we better start the grand tour."

Hank happily showed him around the entire shipping floor and introduced him to all the men on the 2nd shift crew. Each time Eric found his hand grasped by the firm sturdy grip of the workers and look into their dusky faces at the open and simple eyes he was a little more ashamed of his corporate attitude. And found himself envying the simple lifestyle they maintained the average workday. No stress, no hassles just good old-fashioned work. He wondered why they were such foreign concepts to him.

The best part of the afternoon was getting to know Hank. He was a genuinely nice guy. Hank kept cracking jokes try to put him at ease and told him if he ever needed somewhere to hide when the paperwork or the bullshit upstairs piled up to high, he could always come down to shipping.

"Hey me and a couple of the boys are goin down to Smitty's to get some beers after work why don't you come?" Eric was really grateful for the offer and went back to work to his cell… office. He was thinking incessantly about what a great guy Hank was and occasionally thinking how great Hank's ass looked in those overalls.

At the end of the day he was so tired from the stress that he cancelled dinner with Claire and went right home. He contemplated meeting Hank and the other guys at the bar but decided against it. He just didn't fit in with those guys, no matter how much he wished he did.

The house was dark; all his roommates must be out. He sat down on the couch and downed a couple of beers. He was on his fourth when he was so damned bored with the news that he began channel surfing. He flipped across the channels until stopping suddenly. The TV flashed with a view of a locker room and a huge mountain of a man in tights yelling threats into a microphone. Eric watched in rapt fascination for a half-hour before he realized that he was watching professional wrestling. But by the time he made the shocking realization he was already too involved.

There was a guy with dark skin, who seemed to be hiding some kind of ethnicity beneath his ridiculously tight costume. He seemed Hispanic or Arab, and another one who looked like an exaggerated caricature of white-bread masculinity and who had a shaven head and a goatee on top of a neck the size of a telephone pole. And they were rolling around the ring and beating each other into a pulp. Eric admired both competitors thinking of what good shape the men were in and how strong they were. He watched the match to its end, yelling at the television more than once before the massive bald man was declared the winner.

While he watched the two brutes roll around with each other he got a massive hard on. He was so turned on that he uncharacteristically pulled out his dick and began to stroke it right there on the couch. He heatedly massaged his excited cock; he lay his head on the back of the couch and let his hair fall heavily across his neck. As he continued jerking off his warmly aroused cock, he let his mind wander in a half masturbation fantasy half-dream state.

At first he was having a regular stroke fantasy. He was in the wrestling ring from television and was fucking one of the ring girls. She was blonde and wore a scandalous little T&A outfit. Eric was wearing his suit and tie and only had his pants unbuttoned far enough to drive his rock hard dick into her.

As he was happily fucking the blonde, the two big muscle bound behemoth wrestlers watched and cheered him on. The dark guy… the dark-skinned man with black hair and mountains of tanned muscle, and the other guy… the bruiser with the goatee and shaved head watched from the sidelines while calling and egging him on in camaraderie.

Eric found himself staring more at the glistening pecs, bulging guns and thick thighs of both wrestlers instead of the humpy girl beneath him. He continued to stare in adoration at their magnificent brawny bodies, until they took quick cocky strides toward him, their hips rolling their big legs across each other.

The dark wrestler in his black trunk briefs and black boots made the first move. He grabbed Eric's suit jacket pulling it off him, and then ripped the white shirt off of him, snapping all the buttons. He could feel the strength in the other guy's hands.

The bald guy Began undoing Eric's pants the rest of the way, his gargantuan back showing like a plateau of muscled white flesh as he bent over.

The blonde had all but disappeared.

He was eventually naked before both masculine gods and dropped to his knees in a move to begin sucking on the dark-haired wrestler's hidden package, but they both pulled him up with little effort and handed him some clothes to put on.

He looked down on the material, a pair of red tights and boots to match. In his head he was screaming to throw the stuff down and wake up, but he was fucking turned on, more than he had ever been in his life. So against his better judgement, he slipped into the constricting tights and slipped on the padded molded boots. As he dressed the two primal men felt every inch of his body pressing their huge arms, and legs against him, never leaving him without the glory of their physical contact. Their thick exaggerated muscles never stopped touching his skin.

When he was done dressing, they broke their contact making him gasp in regret.

He stood alone in the center of the ring naked except for the similar costume they had handed him.

When they were done he didn't look like himself. Both brawlers gave an approving look at their handiwork. He looked like them, big exposed hairy chest, concrete legs stuffed into a pair of red tights, sweat-soaked hair.

He looked just like the steroid-exaggerated men who had made him one of them. He wanted to get away or wake up, but it was hard to think. All he could manage to focus on was how hard his dick felt and how hard the dark-skinned wrestler's dick looked.

The dark-skinned wrestler came close to him, grabbed his big ass and met him on his new eye level and said, "Now you're one of us RED, buddy." And then he forced his mouth big and wide unto Red's waiting lips. Red melted into the sweaty kiss, but when the wrestler from TV pulled away… It was Hank.

Red… Eric awoke from the nightmare with a start his hands resting comfortably around his balls and his expensive shirt and tie covered in loads of cum.

He finished his sixth beer quickly and crawled into bed. He turned out his light and his last thoughts before drifting off into sleep were strangely of Hank…

… Damien walked through the door just in time to see the light in Eric's room go off. "Now the real fun begins," he chuckled.


Chapter Three

Red got up reluctantly yawning loudly and stretching his arms in a wide arc. He chopped his lips noisily and lumbered to the bathroom groggily. He scratched his heavy balls through the material of his confining tight Hane's briefs.

He pounded one big fist on the bathroom door and yelled at whoever was in the shower to get the hell out.

After a couple of minutes and sounds of hectic movement, Gino scrambled through the door, his hunky body still wet and his towel clinging seductively to his waist. He patted the Italian buck on his blonde head and said, "Don't worry sweetheart, even without all the primping, yer still the prettiest girl on the block."

Gino regarded him under one dark eyebrow, "And you're still as ugly as sin."

Red barked a laugh and swatted him on his inviting bubble butt, forcing the cheeks to vibrate hotly.

He showered for all of about ten seconds not even bothering to wash his hair. He just pulled it back out of the line of the nozzle and soaped down enough to scrape the grime of yesterday's work off of him. He sauntered to his room buck-naked pausing only slightly to check the length of the gristle on his chin in the hall mirror. It looked as if it had been a week since his last shave and he had a very healthy five o'clock shadow thick on his neck and jaw. The glance tapered down his massive hirsute form to the heavy cock surrounded by his dense furry bush. He grabbed at his thick shaft absently, trying to decide if he should jack of before work or not… The clock was ticking so he decided against it.

He slipped into a pair of jeans without even thinking of putting on draws and then threw on a shirt and went down stairs.

The other guys were all sitting around the table. Brian was eating toast looking at nothing; Gino was sitting with his bathrobe wide opened, and Red gave him an appraising look, taking a good look at the bald crotch and balls. Gino caught his look and smiled back appreciatively. Damien regarded him with a big smile that was hardly hidden by the newspaper he pretended to read.

The dark eyes of his new roommate made him uncomfortable, so he hastily pulled on his heavy shit-kicker work boots, pulled his hair behind his head with a ragged Nascar baseball cap and headed out the door to his truck. He lifted himself up into the high cab of his imposing truck and roared of to work. He stopped on the way at one of those greasy spoon diners and had a big helping of chicken fried steak and Home fries.

Without even thinking about for some reason, Red rode the elevator up to the 6th floor got off and headed to a closed office door. It was the weirdest fucking thing. He opened the door almost unconsciously like he was doing it out of habit.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?" A pretty woman sitting behind a wide desk with her long blonde hair in a tight bun.

"Uh sorry I'm was just… I mean fuck… I was… " he sputtered, confused.

"Mr. Redman?" the woman asked standing up and crossing toward him, her tight little red pant suit displaying her well formed calves. "I'm sorry I'm Patricia Emery, one of the VPs here in marketing. I thought my secretary told you, I was just going to send down the intern that I want you to show the loading docks too. You didn't have to come up here to get him."

Red looked around uncomprehendingly and then took of his grubby cap and scratched his head in a very ape like fashion, "Sure thing Ms. Emery, just send your boy on down, and I'll show him the ropes."

"I'll send him down after lunch then, thank you Mr. Redman," she said politely.

He smiled a big wide grin of pleasure at making Ms. Emery happy and turned to leave. His boots thudded along the carpeted floor, and he slowly became aware of how much he stood out against the power ties and blue suits of the other men in the office. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he walked by them, maybe he should button a couple of the top buttons on his shirt. Before he hit the elevator he turned around and caught Ms. Emery covertly sneaking a look at his ass. He chuckled a little, thinking about how he couldn't much blame her. His ass looked good as shit in his tight jeans. The denim clinging to his developed glutes and making his hefty cheeks rub against each other. He was glad she liked what she saw.

After getting back down to shipping and getting his head together, he punched in and began the day's first unloading with the rest of the guys on his crew. They were about twelve trucks in when Ms. Emery sent her little suit from upstairs to bother him.

The kid looked like he was gonna faint from the smell of real men. He was cookie cutter clean, blonde hair tailored suit, Red supposed he was handsome, but he was absolutely not his type.

The punk introduced himself as Daniel Prescot; he was no better than a suit-in-training. Ten minutes with Daniel Prescot and Red was ready to take his skinny pussy ass out back and beat some respect into him, and he felt that way the rest of the bruisers on his team were probably ready to draw blood. Red took him into his office so the rest of the guys wouldn't get pissed off by his bitchy little attitude.

"I thought we were taking a tour," the suit said flippantly.

"Look you don't want to be here and I don't have the fuckin' time to bullshit with you. There ain't nothin' down here you want to see." He crossed his arms forcing the big mounds of hairy pec flesh out.

The asshole actually looked away shyly and mumbled. "I've already seen something I want,"

One of those, Red thought irritably just another boy to big for his britches wanting a daddy to straighten him out. How many of these little bitches was he gonna find?

"And what is it that you want?"

"So I guess you do a lot of HARD labor down here, don't you, Red." Daniel said flirtatiously while he played with the number 2 pencils on Eric's desk.

The big foreman's hulking from loomed over the average height of the executive, the pungent aroma of masculinity and sweat running oppressively in the air. Daniel had the frantic fleeting thought that, this man's thigh is as big as my waist…

Red grabbed Daniel Prescot by his overpriced belt and shoved him against his desk chair. Daniel compliantly arched himself over the back of the chair and gave the big man a good look at his eager tight ass. Huge hands that took the width of the compact young butt in their massive palms roamed over the fine cloth of his expensive suit. Red toyed with the kid for a few minutes, kneading the firm flesh with his knuckles, roughly causing the little button down man to moan like a bitch. Then just when he had lulled the prick into a false sense of intimacy he harshly ripped down the pants snapping the belt. Prescot yelped in shock and excitement.

He was pure bottom.

"This what you wanted, pussy?" Red asked tightly. Big fat hands groped the exposed skin of his abs and encircled the width of his ribs.

The feeling of the blue collar Hercules manhandling him fulfilled every truckstop fantasy and lumberjack wet dream he ever had. "God yes," he moaned.

A pair of Calvin Klein briefs clung to the tight ass in an inviting way. Daniel jumped when he felt the big laborer grab his ass with a jarring force that made his teeth shake. His cock was rock hard and painfully locked behind his briefs. He was mindlessly enjoying the rush of having this animal of a man mauling his tight body when Red took a fistful of his coifed hair in one big fist and bent his head back. He strained to follow the pull and felt Red's hot breath in his ear. "This is want you want, you little bitch. To have a real man show you who's boss." Then he took hold of the waistband of his underwear and tore them right off his trembling body. The feeling of having the material torn off him and the adrenaline of this violation almost made Daniel cum on the spot.

Red discarded the scraps of ragged fabric that were all that were left of the Calvins and admired the sight before him. He massaged his expectant cock through his tight denim jeans. The condescending little executive was bent over with his bare pert ass pushed out eagerly toward his hidden bulge, the whole body twitching and begging to be fucked.

He reached under the boy and grabbed him by his sac. "When you're up in that corporate boardroom tomorrow I want you to think about this moment right here, you little cunt." He pulled on the balls, inciting a pitiful yelp from Prescot. "When you're trying to sit gently cause my big man's dick ripped you apart inside, I want you to think of who's really in charge in this company."

One probing hand slid of his ass and was pushed against his face. For a second he thought the 1st shift boss was afraid he was a screamer and was going to cover his mouth. When one grimy finger slid into his mouth however Daniel got the idea. He sucked on the man's index finger with the lust of a trueborn cocksucker. He coated the work worn finger with his tongue sucking up both dirt and sweat and loving every second of it. Just as he was getting into it, Red quickly removed it and left him with an absence he prayed the man would soon let him fill with his horse dick.

Red had other plans. Now that his finger was good and wet, grabbed one ass cheek spreading it apart aggressively. He circled the pink hole of Prescot's almost virgin ass, and then sharply jutted his finger up into him to the knuckle. In and out he slowly and gently finger fucked the other man's ass attentively. The bitch groaned happily and wiggled back onto his fist provocatively.

"You like that, huh?"


The big man smiled to himself in satisfaction. He had given the preppy little asshole the biggest false sense of security he was ever gonna have.

He undid his belt with simple intent and only peeled his jeans down to mid thigh. His excited cock leaped out shuddering back and forth like a javelin pole. He didn't let his fuck turn around to see what he had gotten himself into; he didn't even let him feel its length before he impaled him on it.

He gave Daniel a couple seconds of sweaty anticipation, his compact ass quivering with hesitation.

Then he thrust into the supple ass, without warning, without mercy, without lube… Prescot barely stifled a scream, opting instead to whimper in pain. Red uncaringly began to rhythmically fuck the living shit out of him. The erotic sound of his thighs swatting against the other mans ass made Red fuck even harder.

He fucked the kid like he was a prison bitch. No concern for anyone's pleasure but his own. He was tight, and the size of Red's cock made him clench so the fuck didn't last very long, only enough for Red's best friend to get off on the friction.

It took only a few short minutes until Red put his hands back in Prescot's hair and arched his back with a grunt. The big dick jumped inside Daniel's hot ass like a live wire.

Red pulled out and redid his jeans, gave the used and red ass one last praising glare and put his big lips against the pale skin of Prescot's neck. Daniel bristled at the feeling of the harsh whiskers and big face brushing against his exposed skin. The brawny foreman sucked cruelly on his neck with enough force to leave a very big mark.

"I like to leave all my 'girls' with a little something," he barked. Prescot felt the arms of the Goliath pick him up and lead him to the door, "Next time you want to talk, just shuffle that little man-pussy of yours down here and we'll go another round."

Daniel had just enough time to hastily pull his pants up before he was pushed out into the warehouse.

The rest of the day was pretty basic. All the guys seemed to be on their game and weren't giving him any trouble. So at 5, he clocked out and climbed into the cab of his truck. He was satisfied at a good day's work. The thought occurred to him to go home and change, but he decided to go right on to Hank's. It was so rare for them to get time together now that they were working opposite shifts, he wanted to savor every sweaty minute.


Chapter Four

When he got to Hank's, the lights were off, and the door was locked. He pulled the ring of about a thousand keys of one of the loops of his belt and fumbled with them until finding the right one to unlock the door.

Once inside he found Hank curled up in bed wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and a sheet. He considered crawling in bed with him, but decided to let him sleep instead.

On his way to the kitchen he passed the hall mirror and gave it a passing glance as he through of his baseball cap and resituated his hair.

He kept walking but… suddenly stopped in shock. He rushed back to the mirror and gazed into the dusty glass stunned.

For the first time since the first Monday morning had arrived Eric Redman stared out of his eyes aware of the changes that had occurred. He looked in horror at the monstrosity he had somehow become. He was at the least 5 inches taller and weighed about 200 pounds more. He looked ridiculous. It was like his face on someone else's gargantuan body. Gone was the trim and dignified form of Eric Redman CEO; now there was only the hulking frame and slabs of corded muscle that made up the massive body of "Red" the foreman. He touched his face gingerly, almost afraid of the contact, with one too large and crude hand. He anxiously felt the harsh coating of bristly whiskers that carpeted his short-cropped beard and sideburns. The hands were the size of dinner plates and a thousand bulging highways of veins dissected his thick forearm. The clean cut hair he had once paid 50 dollars a month to be styled lay in a messy mop around his ears and traveled in straight locks over his collar and onto the huge protruding bow of his shoulders.

A red and black flannel shirt was all that covered his torso, and it barely did that. It hung suggestively unbuttoned so that the deep cleft of his mountainous pecs was sure to be on display. Eric couldn't decide what was worse the repulsive slabs of chest meat that hung from his burly chest or the fact that every inch of exposed skin was covered in thick impenetrable fur, making him look like some kind of wild animal. The sleeves of the flannel rag had been ripped off to emphasize the weight of his cumbersome biceps.

Eric would not have been caught dead in the pair of faded and torn jeans that hugged "Red's" grotesquely big legs. Every muscle and fold of skin was accentuated in threadbare denim making it seem as though the blue jeans had been painted on to the huge tree trunk legs and soccer ball sized calves. And from the way the crotch bulged in a heavy distinct form, Red didn't believe in boxers… or any underwear at all for that matter. Eric Redman looked like a Hillbilly mountain man on steroids.

Panic set in.

What the hell was going on?

He started to hyperventilate, steadying himself by slumping against the wall. The vast expanse of his broad back pushing solidly against the wood made him feel even more alien in this new mountain of a body.

He needed a glass of wine to calm his nerves.

No, he needed a nice cold beer.

It was all just a bad dream this was impossible there was no way this could be happening, he would just wake up tomorrow and everything would be fine. He would be back to his normal self and go to the office…

And get ready for that next big shipment coming in, this was peak season and the guys were gonna need some extra pushing…

Eric gently wiped the pouring sweat from his damp forehead with one big clumsy hand and took note with revulsion at how much more he now sweated.

With the other he roughly grabbed at the hefty bulge in his jeans, absently re-situating his half-hard cock, and his uncomfortable balls.

He had to sit down… just sit down and think this through for a minute. As he walked to the couc,h he could feel the simple movement in every muscle in his body. The new sensation of his developed musculature and size was foreign and strange.

He plopped down on the couch with a thud and unconsciously turned on the television and grabbed for the open beer on the coffee table in front of him.

All there was to do was to go to bed and wake up from this horrible nightmare and then he could go back to being his normal self.

The remote was in his hands almost instantaneously and he took turns swigging from the bottle and flipping channels until he stopped suddenly in interest.

The rock hard muscles of a bald statuesque man in leather boots and sporting a goatee were wrapped with bone breaking stress around a similarly clad and well-built man with a dark complexion.

Eric watched with rapt attention as the dark-skinned wrestler and the bald man with a goatee wrestled each other for dominance. Their imposing bodies flying like colliding planets from end of the ring to another. The two brutes pummeled each other repeatedly fighting man to man, their large dominant forms and aggression displaying their prowess and masculinity.

The constant back shots of both men in their tight trunk's showing their meaty asses flex like two basketballs kept Eric incessantly readjusting his unmanageable dick. The length of his painfully erect cock traveled up the length of his thigh and almost threatened to burst out of his snug jeans. Just to relieve the pressure, he undid the huge belt buckle, unzipped and let loose the angry viper that was trapped underneath the denim. The big thick cock rested strongly in the grip of both of his big hands. Red sat staring at the impressive piece of meat, astounded at its size.

Why was he so amazed at his dick? He had always been proud of his big dick… had he always been?

The dark man had his partner pinned down, his big thighs straddling the other man's massive chest. Without thinking Eric began stroking the angry dick in his hands intently. Using the pressure of both fists to send slow thrills down the spine of his shaft. These were real men, big, mean and thick. They were the kind of men wanted in his bed. Huge and huge and rough that was the man's man that Red wanted to fuck and get fucked by. Muscles and no-shit attitude. The stimulation is his cock grew more intense as he fantasized about having either man in his strong arms their mouths fighting each other, tongues thrusting in and out.

He could have on of those guys. Hell, he was one of those guys. He was just as big… if not bigger. All he needed was some tight briefs and a pair of high boots and fuck he could be a wrestler. That thought made him even harder and he began to grunt as he strangled the engorged head of his tense cock and watched lustfully as the two exaggerations of masculinity continued to wrestle.

"Why'd ya have to start without me asshole?" A familiar voice joked from behind him. He could feel strong warm hands running through his mane of long hair and stroking the locks of dirty brown. They rested on his shoulders and began to massage his extended neck muscles. The scruff of whiskers brushed against his own in need of a shave broad jaw and the hot breath of another horny man shot across his face and into his ear, "You're gonna have to give me a chance to catch up."

Red moaned happily and leaned back into a passionate kiss with other man, their sweaty jaws tackling each other excitedly and their lips pulling and tugging on each other. Smiling contentedly red looked up into the green eyes of his lover. Realization dawned on him in a burst of forbidden clarity and he pulled away from the kiss and was on his feet in the space of seconds.

Hank crossed his big arms and brought his heavy brow down in confusion, "What's wrong man?" Hank stood in front of him clad only in a pair of tantalizing faded and worn navy blue briefs. His meaty body displayed perfectly, A musculature almost identical to reds big hard won labor muscle, thick and beefy stretched across his husky shape, covered only by the simple clothe which suggested at the weight of his cock.

"Nothing," his gruff deep voice answered… was it his voice?

"You look sick?"

"Something's wrong… " Was something wrong? He was at home with his lover relaxing after a hard day at the office… No, he didn't have an office… His head began to spin.

Hank caught him up in the arc of his comforting firm grasp. "Do you want me to call a doctor?"

Eric broke free and struggled away clumsily on his wide legs terrified at the density of his own thighs. "No this is wrong… " he almost screamed.

"What's wrong babe, ya gotta tell me?" Hank was worried. In all the time he and Red had been together he had never heard him lose his cool like this, not in a bar fight, on the bench or even at work when he was reaming one of the guys out.

"You… this… me… I mean look at me!" Eric pointed to the hulking man in the mirror. Who could have done this to him… How did this happen to his life… he was someone else he was supposed to be somewhere else… He had an office… and he had a girlfriend.

Why would he have girlfriend he'd always been gay?

He had a Jaguar a nice compact little… A big truck that towered over every other car on the road with a big cab and a bed big enough to haul a whole fuckin' house.

"That kid… he said… he something to me last night… No it was a while ago… ." The days were running together in his head meshing together insubstantially before he could get a hold of a single thought. "He must have done this to me." The rumbling bass of his voice was now on the verge of tears. His shaking paws were pulling through the disgusting mess of long trashy hair in frustration.

A strong hold cupped the solid chin and brought his frantic gaze up to meet the worried green eyes of a man Eric Redman had once contemptuously dismissed. "Buddy you're losin' it. You gotta get control. You're scarin' me here."

"I'm scared of me too. Look at me. I'm a fucking animal." Tears had given way to rage, and he roared loudly. That queer. He had done this. Somehow changed things… turned him from a normal intelligent man on his way up to this… this stupid mass of muscle and hair, who only had dick on his little brain. He had to get back to himself some how go back… He raged on, the mass of his big body feeding into his testosterone-drenched fury.

He had made him a big animal and now he was acting like one. He had turned his athletic frame into this hulking spectacle… of masculinity. A body any man… would be proud to have. Big hairy chest and legs like a real man. Heavy back and good lifting shoulder… like a real man.

He was a real man. A man's man. The type of guy that intimidated pussy ass little shits like Prescot.

His head hurt. Was he going crazy?

Hank was there again. His shoulders steadily holding him tight. "You gotta calm down and tell me what's wrong."

"I don't think it's supposed to be this way Hank… I think it's supposed be different somehow," Red spoke quietly into the deep cleft in his lover's chest and tried in vein to explain.

"Different how?" Hank's voice responded pained.

"I don't know"

"You want a different life. You're not happy here… with me?" Hank was deceptively calm.

Red thought about the question. He had a good paying job, Nice benefits. He was good at what he did, and he didn't have to worry about all the bullshit most people did. He was in good shape, and didn't have to take shit from nobody. Why would he be unhappy?

And of course he was happy with Hank when they could manage to get to be with each other, if their shifts allowed them to spend time together He was always happy with Hank. Hank's strong arms and fucking hot body. Hank's big dick. Gorgeous back with its Herculean cuts. Hank was his kind of man. His equal. His partner. He must love Hank. He did love Hank. They were partners.

"No," was the simple answer And Eric "Red" Redman cemented himself. Red's cool control was back, he pulled his long hair out of his face and brought himself with crushing force against Hank's mouth. The blow of his forceful kiss toppled both men to the ground sending minor tremors across the house. As their lips smacked loudly together, Red's hands moved instinctively to feel and rub the great bulge in his lover's briefs. The familiarity of the curves of Hanks cock and balls comforted him.

They kissed for a long time as Hank undressed him, ripping off the tattered flannel and peeling the jeans off his sweaty legs. The entire time Red's lips never left their probing of Hank's, and his hands never left their tireless groping of the swelling briefs.

They rolled around on the hardwood floors and playfully wrestled with each other, Red in his unashamed nakedness and Hank in his Fruit of a Looms, until Red, too excited from the foreplay, ended it abruptly by pulling the underwear off his partner viciously and hungrily plunged his scruffy face into the mess of thick hair on Hank's groin.

He lingered from a moment in the cleft of the groin and took in the hot smell of sweat and musk. He breathed in heartily the smell of Hank's cock and the manly sent of a Man's balls. He began tongue-bathing the hairy balls zealously. The mess of his long hair veiled his face giving him seclusion with the cock and tickled Hank's abdomen. When he had finished worshipping the big balls and allowed himself to gorge on the wide pole, he felt the swelling of his lover's big dick at the back of his throat, the dense pubes brush against his nose, and the firm flesh of Hank's meaty ass cheeks spilling out of his hands and he was damn happy.

Hank's hands caressed his head through his mane of Samson like hair, and he smiled around the girth of the thick pole that filled his mouth.


"Where does Madonna get off?" I asked to the open air. I grabbed the remote and put the television on mute.

Gino laid lazily in a T-shirt and cut off shorts on the chair opposite me, looking for all the world like a spent porn star. He was woken up by the fierceness of my statement. "What?"

"Where does she get off remaking a classic?" I fumed indignantly.

"Hold on wait a second." Gino said as he quickly got up and crossed to me he got very close to my face, so close in fact that I could smell his exotic cologne. I was stunned when he grabbed me by my collar and brought his fist up threateningly.

I had the momentary fear that maybe whatever enchantment he had been under Gino was now frighteningly aware. But then all my fears melted away in laughter when he said, "Did you just say something' bad about Madonna?" To think my big Italian buddy who had once listened exclusively to DMX, Jay-Z and Tupac now defended the honor of Madonna. Sure it was a lost cause but hey at least his taste in music improved.

"Are you girl's gonna make-out or what?" Red's deep voice boomed behind us.

"You wish. Big manly men like you guys love to see two chicks get it on don't ya?" Gino retorted regrettably pulling away from me.

"Only if the girl's are as pretty as you two chicks." He smacked Gino on the back of his ass with one wide hand.

"What are you doing here anyway?"

He walked around into my line of sight, and I was yet again confronted with my handiwork. The spell I had originally cast on Eric… Red was stronger than I had anticipated, I think it was even affecting me. I remember Eric the power hungry elitist snob but only vaguely. Mostly though that memory was overlaid now with one of Red, bull neck, long hair and all. Eric had been a foul tempered bad mannered arrogant little snot to big for his britches.

Red had horrible manners, but only those involved with the table. And the man had britches, holy mother of god the man had britches and did he ever fill those out. The seat of those Sears-tough skins were so overfull I thought we may have to get some more denim to patch up the cracks. And now the only thing foul about Eric Redman was the way he smelled after a whole day of work.

All in all I guess it was another rousing success.

"Me and Hank are going drinking with the guys on the crew I just stopped by to pick up a couple of bills," he said motioning to Hank who stood tentatively in the doorway.

I got up and walked over to Hank and extended my hand. He shook it with forceful appreciation. "Nice to meet Red's roommates. I've heard a lot about you."

"Really? Only bad things I hope," Gino answered, idly thumbing his nipple.

"Gino," I chastised.


I shook my head ruefully. "Never mind."

"What?" he asked, offended.

"Hank is obviously with Red. Do you want one of those steel-tipped CAT boots up that pretty little butt of yours?" I asked.


"Of course not," I agreed, "because then your love life would be over."

The Love God gave me a dark look and punched me n the shoulder saying, "Yeah for a whole five minutes… I've had better."

He caught me off guard, and I rolled over in laughter.

Hank was getting obviously uncomfortable with our playful banter and witty repartee. He shuffled his big feet and lowered his furry eyebrow in boredom; "Wonder what's taking Red so long."

"You know Red he's kinda slow, It must take a lot of patience to spend so much time with him." I answered jokingly.

"Hey you fellas are the ones that gotta live with him, You must use up all your patience just cleaning up after him," he replied, his big eyes filled with affection.

Gino gave me a sidelong look. I don't think he intended me to notice, "Well lately he's taken some major steps to being a better man." What was that supposed to mean? Eventually Gino and I were going to have to discuss things. This coy hinting at knowing what kind of rabbits I was pulling out of my hat was becoming very annoying.

Hank looked confused, "Oh really? How?"

"Oh nothing big," I covered quickly, "Besides I never had much patience to begin with. Patience is a virtue… and all I got was six deadly sins."

Hank laughed a deep laugh in his belly.

I joined him; "One more and I'll have a full set."

I jumped a little as Gino unexpectedly put his big arms around my neck and pulled me close to his solid chest, he daringly put one hand on my upper thy rubbing suggestively. "I keep trying to teach him the one he doesn't have yet… Lust… " I shrugged out of his alluring grasp. "But the little prude keeps turning me down." He flopped on the couch with a sigh crossing both meaty shaved legs in the air.

"Alright Hank, let's motor," Red hollered as he hurtled down the stairs and toward the door.

"It was nice meeting you guys…," Hank hastily said before he was grabbed up in Red's big embrace and ushered to the door with one big confident hand firmly on his butt.

Gino and I both stared at the closed door for a good 5 minutes of contemplative silence. I started talking to Gino without either one of taking our curious gaze from the door, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"What?" Gino answered in a bemused tone not averting his gaze either.

"That if Red and Hank are here… who's protecting poor little Daisy Duke back in Hazard county?"

Gino barked a laugh, "I knew the two of them together reminded me of someone!"

We both broke into a gale of laughter. Our hysteria took us to the floor and we laid beside each other still rolling in our mirth yntil in Typical Me fashion I broke the mood."Gino can I ask you a question, There's something that been bothering me, and I've been meaning to say something to you."

The blonde club kid got up and looked at me seriously. "I'll answer any question you got, man." He extended his hand and helped me up; however, he pulled me in tightly until I was eye to eye with him and his big arms were around my shoulders. "ON one condition."

"And what's that?" I asked surprised at the timidness in my own voice.

"You gotta dance with me." He smiled his charming player smile.

"I don't dance." I answered flatly.

"It's easy. All you have to do is." He grabbed me hard. "Take a jump to the left." He jumped into the air pulling me with him. We landed and he saw I was still looking at him unimpressed. "… And then a step to the right." He kicked my leg out from under me and stretched both our calves to the side.

He paused obviously waiting for me to continue.

Against my better judgement for some reason I gave in "And then you put your hands on you hips and… "

Together we yelled, "Bring you knees in tight!"

"You do the Pelvic thrust… the one that drives you insane… Let's do the time warp again… "

The Italian stud and me hung out for the rest of the night, and he was so entertaining that he managed to make me forget that question I was going to ask him.

However I did take time to make a mental checkmark next to Eric's name on my to do list. I had a moment of regret that my Mission of justice was almost over. Gino and Eric done… 2 down one to go. I wonder where Brian was anyway….