Mag the Fag

[rawTOP]

Anthony's screeching paused precisely as the pipes overhead took a deep hissing breath. Somewhere in the deep cement walls a furnace turned on, a boiler began driving pressure into the tubes throughout the building. Water rushed overhead, cramming itself down the channels, desperate for release from a valve or faucet. The relief would not come until morning; no one was in the building again until morning, except for Anthony and Trevor. The water built up pressure, causing creaks and moans made by metallic trying to bend, trying to give way. But a tube can only give way so much, before busting itself open in a rainshower of fluids. The hissing subsided. The water overhead found a new, if temporary stasis. Still, deep in the walls, iron moaning could be heard; grunts of iron. Soon echoed by grunts, again, from Anthony. Trevor leaned his arm forward more, raising the volume on Anthony's panicked cries. Soon, the pipes could not be heard over the din of Anthony's terrified wailing.

Trevor shut out the sound of Anthony's voice and leaned inward. Trevor lifted one knee from where he was kneeling. His legs were stiffening from standing on the hard tile for so long. He braced himself with his other knee and pushed his weight forward. Somewhere inside Anthony's guts, organs began shifting position, cramming themselves against his rib cage. Anthony made a fist and banged the wall in time with a rhythmic scream. Trevor's elbow was now entirely within Anthony's sphincter.

In the walls a loud creak began pressing against it's cement casing. Water pressure was building again. Somewhere, a furnace's rumble began churning.

Anthony suddenly swung his arm around. He grabbed Trevor's bicep, patting around, trying to blindly decipher where the young man's arm ended and his sphincter began. He fingered around the edges of the hole, feeling the swollen red lumps of flesh. Then back a bit up Trevor's arm.

"No," Anthony whimpered. He pulled his arm forward again, braced it stiff against the wall beside his other one. "Okay, look - no. This can't happen. Something doesn't feel right."

Anthony's leg began suddenly bobbing up and down from fatigue. He stiffened it, but when he relaxed it again, the bobbing resumed. He hung his head and looked at the wet tiles. A drop of water hung from the tip of his nose. He panted:

"Trevor, you gotta pull out."

The drop of water fell from his nose. The pain began in his stomach again. He thrust his head up and stared at the showerhead sticking out of the wall. He pipes behind it were creaking with pressure. He moaned, long and low, and he felt Trevor leaning inward again.

"Trevor!" he shouted. "For fuck sake NO! Something is fucked up!"

""Shut up," Trevor said, quiet. Anthony wasn't sure he heard him.

"Trevor - fuck - Something is tearing-

"SHUT UP, MAG," Trevor shouted.

"Trev - I can't-"

"Nothing, dude," Trevor interrupted. "This happens. Nothing stops it. Don't make me think about it. Just shut up and get this over with!"

He leaned inward. Anthony's legs gave way and he shrieked. The noise was cut short by his head slamming the wet walls. His knees went down hard, jerking Trevor's arm in a new angle, Anthony let out a shriek and reached around again with his hand.

"Get up," Trevor said. He slapped Anthony's hand away from his arm. "On your feet dude, like we agreed! Get UP" He lifted his huge arm upwards, causing Anthony to holler more.

"I can't man," Anthony cried. Tears began in his eyes. "For the love of god, Trevor, Something is fucked up inside - pull it out man! Please! Please-" He was bawling.

"UP," Trevor yanked his arm up again. Anthony planted one foot on the wet floor, and began walking his arms up the wall. At standing, he reached around again. Trevor slapped his hand, and gave his arm a twist. Anthony howled. As the noise subsided, the pipes overhead began to hiss again.

"Stop, man!" Anthony said, lower, trying to sound controlled. "Look, I'll do Togo's arm again. I'll do it fucking twice! Please! I'll take half the fucking team! Just get that thing OUT OF ME!" "Wouldja shut up, Magliardi? You were the fuckhead who said twenty-one," Trevor shouted. "Togo took Jim's twenty, makes a few bucks, but you gotta be a musclehead tough guy. You said twenty-one, easy. I got four hundred on this. So shut the fuck up, man - this is all on you not me!"

"FUCK YOU, TREV!" Anthony shouted. "I got over a fucking grand from half the team on the fucking line, and I could care the fuck less! You saw what happened to Kevin-"

"Don't mention Kevin!" Trevor twisted his arm quickly. Anthony yowled again. Trevor leaned inward, easing his bicep into Anthony's engorged hole. The yowling continued for a few minutes. The echoes bounced off the shower walls, leaking through the locker room, subsiding a moment after Anthony's own voice eased off.

"It's not worth it," Anthony cried. He began to sob. "Fuck man please," he was sniffling. The drops from his chin weren't from the condensing steam of the shower room, nor from his own sweat. He was crying hard. "God Trevor, you're gonna fuck me up for life!"

"And be four hundred richer," Trevor said quietly. "You're gonna ruin me - fucking rupture some shit-" he interrupted his plea to screech again. Then resumed sobbing. "Please, god, please! Fuck Trevor, PLEASE!"

"Twenty one-inch bicep," Trevor said, low and angry. "'I can easy take a twenty-one,' you told 'em. Took a twenty, so you can do this. Shut your fucking pussy mouth and OPEN-"

Trevor shoved, Anthony screeched

"YOUR-"

More force from the huge arm - higher shrills from the gaping mouth.

"FUCKING-"

Another shove, another scream.

"FAG-"

Deeper, louder.

"ASS!"

Anthony's wailing cut short. His body held still; he had a slight nausea building. He stared, mouth agape, at the shower head. His voice would give way to no more wailing; shock had taken over. His eyes quivered. He felt something shifting; felt the bicep sliding into his hole.

The pipes are in the walls, whining, accompanied by a low chuckle from Trevor.

Anthony's throat made clicking noises. He tried to scream, but wheezing came out. He could feel the arm now, only as pressure. The pain was not in his ass, it was in his stomach, his chest.

He reached around, feeling for the girth of Trevor's massive, hard arm. Anthony patted a thick, tense mound of muscle, examining it. He kept tracing the muscle, trying to draw the line up the massive muscle to the shoulder. Suddenly his hand went limp, one finger gently tracing the muscle. Anthony could not find where the muscle met Trevor's shoulder, because, he realized, this WAS Trevor's shoulder.

Trevor held his blonde cheek close to Anthony's ass muscles. He panted from the work, and kept chuckling. Somewhere dripping water could be heard, spattering, sloppy onto cement.

Anthony stayed quiet for fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. The two young men stayed in their position, holding still. A perverse statue of coiled muscle and pain. At one point, Anthony closed his eyes, visualizing his buddy Trevor, seeing him as he looked in the showers that very afternoon. Trevor was the biggest on the team; a steroid junky at 19 years, and a freak of proportions. His was the muscleman distorted into a freak of blonde, swelled muscle. Considered grotesque by so many, and the envy of the entire team. His buddy's knew his measurements like their middle names; 54-inch chest, 34 inch waist, 31 inch quads, 21 inch arms . . .

Trevor's arms were the ultimate bet, the ultimate proof of just how much pain one young man could stand. And how much humiliation. Anthony, indeed, survived the experience, and had no permanent damage. It took quite a while for the pain and cramping to subside, and the lack of lubricant left him with hemhorroids for weeks. However, if his own track was spared, the pipe system of the ancient athletic building was not. The pipes, indeed, could not take the pressure of the relentless, methodical boiler. That night, there was a pipe burst, in the men's locker room,

Inches of water splattered onto the floor.

Two custodians, in the next building, rushed over, barging into the locker room.

As the story was told over and over, Trevor's name was forgotten. Perhaps it was because he was an intimidating young man, whom no one would want to anger with slander casually. Perhaps Trevor was left out of the details because of how shocking, how amazing a sight Anthony must have been to the two confused janitors. The most likely reason was that Anthony was expelled two days later for lewd behavior. Trevor graduated in May.

After graduation, eight of the men from the team took a trip to Cancun. Trevor's was generously paid for. $1,400.00 had found their way into his pocket the very evening Anthony was expelled. The money that was meant for Anthony Magliardi sat in the designated kitty - locker 467 - and when the group of boys who had set up the bet resumed, they saw that Trevor was clearly the hero of the day, and deserved Anthony's share of the loot.

Anthony was not so keen of the idea, and made certain that his former teammates knew this at a house party in June. Togo hastily explained to Anthony that the bet was taking his TEAMMATE'S arm. Seeing as he was expelled, he lost the bet. Anthony's name had been smeared over school as Mag the Fag, he was dumped by his girl, and put into counseling by his folks. The scar of humiliation stuck for years after. Any in-joke to gay sex being known as "Magging out." None of this sat well with Anthony, who had spent his days of expulsion bulking his own frame. He was nowhere near as big as Trevor McGinty, but he could have easily taken Tom Goddard. In fact, at that part, he tried, swinging a solid punch to the jaw of the team's instigator, Togo.

"Now THAT was NOT such a smart thing to do, Mag," Tom Goddard said, rubbing his chin on the ground. Around him stood Trevor McGinty, Kevin Hugo, Bones Garret; all of Anthony's former teammates.

"Get up, Togo you bastard!" Anthony shouted. He whipped off his tanktop, revealing his muscular body in an attempt to intimidate.

"I'm not going to fight you, Mag," Togo said, standing up slowly, hand still on his jaw.

"What, you gonna set the rest of these pricks on me?" Anthony nodded towards his former buddies. They all glared at Anthony, with snarls on their slightly drunken faces. All except Trevor. He leaned against the porch railing, smiling.

"Oh, we're not gone fight you, Mag," Togo said. "We're gonna give you another chance."

"Chance at what," Anthony shouted. "Letting that fucking moose tear me open again? I don't think so."

"No, you won't have to do that," Togo grinned. "You already agreed to not do that. In fact - the way I heard the story - so long as Trevor here doesn't stick his huge ass arm up your cunt, you'd be willing to take my baby twice, and then half the team."

Anthony's face dropped. He looked around at his former teammates faces. One by one, they caught on to Togo's idea. One by one, their snarls turned to grins.

Anthony charged at Togo, but before he could swing, Kevin, Bones and three other guys pounced him. In a moment his shorts were yanked off and he was being dragged by his ankles to a dark back corner of the yard. As they yanked his mighty legs open, someone suggested they drag him a little further out.

"My dad just put in an automatic sprinkler," the voice said. "Take him further into the woods.

As they dragged the 230 pounds of Mag the Fag into the thicket behind the house, Anthony could hear the gurgling of water in pipes buried deep within the lawn.

And somewhere, back near the house, a deep chuckling.