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Billy and the Enforcers
|When I was a kid, I was one of those weak, scrawny guys who always got picked on by the stronger, athletic guys in our class. Even when kids are 8 or 9, there are some guys who are just more muscular and stronger than the rest of the kids in their class. Call it genetics or evolution or whatever. Some kids just get strong at a young age and are physically superior to other kids. In my class at school there were three of those kids - Mike, Chris and Matt. For as long as I can remember, these three kids kind of ruled the rest of us. They were always fast and strong and well-coordinated, even as little kids. They were the best athletes in our class. They were always chosen first for any team. My friend Bobby and I were always chosen last.
Because they were the strongest and we were the weakest, they loved to pick on us. They called themselves The Enforcers. What they enforced was whatever rule or order they made up for Bobby, me and the other kids to obey. Sometimes we had to give them money. Sometimes we had to give them our lunches if they were hungry, and they were hungry a lot of the time. Sometimes we had to do their homework for them. Bobby and I were really good students and The Enforcers were just total jocks, so they never studied or anything and would force us to help them so they wouldn't flunk.
If we ever tried to disobey them, they would punch us in the gut or wrap their muscular young arms around our necks and choke us. Their punches were really hard and my gut was really soft, so it wasn't much of a contest. When they would flex their biceps into my neck, I could feel their small but hard kid muscles pushing into my windpipe, cutting off my breathing. Sometimes they would come up behind Bobby and me and twist our arms way up our backs until it really hurt. They did this just for fun. Just to show that they were so much stronger than we were. For them, picking on us was just a fun sport, kind of an amusement, like playing a shooting game at a video game arcade. But as the targets of their "sport," Bobby and I sure didn't think it was much fun.
There was also a kid in our class named Richie. Richie was retarded. Or, as the teacher said, he was mentally handicapped. Richie looked just like a normal kid. He was average height and had brown hair and brown eyes. He was actually rather good-looking. But his brain didn't work very well and he had a very hard time learning anything. He was "mainstreamed" into our class because his doctor and his parents thought he would do better being with normal kids. But he was such a slow learner that most of the time he just sat there in the back of the room, not really understanding what the class was doing. Sometimes Bobby and I would try to help him with the lessons. When he finally understood something, he would look at us with his big brown eyes wide open - sort of the look of innocent wonder - and smile broadly. "I did it," he would say. "I did it." And he would smile some more. I felt really sorry for Richie. He was such a sweet and innocent kid. What a shame that fate had given him only half of a brain.
Needless to say, The Enforcers picked on Richie too. They were equal-opportunity torturers. They called him "Richie the Retard." Or just "Retard." They didn't try to force money or food from Richie. And they didn't physically pick on him the way they picked on Bobby and me, at least not too much. They just treated him like shit. Richie never played any sports with the other kids at recess. He always came to school in a big sweatshirt and baggy pants. He seemed to be very self-conscious about his body although I didn't know why. I had never seen his body. He never took off those clothes, even when it was hot outside. I thought to myself that maybe he had some kind of physical deformity along with his mental deformity. He never stayed after school to play with any of us kids. His mom always picked him up right when the bell rang and took him home.
The Enforcers would ridicule Richie for not playing football or basketball or baseball during recess with the rest of the boys. "Hey Retard," they would tell him, "I guess you're a wuss as well as a retard. You're even worse than Bobby and John. At least they try to play, even though they're such pathetic wimps. You don't even try. You're just a total loser - both in the brain and in the body." Sometimes after this kind of ridicule, one of The Enforcers would ram his chest or shoulder into Richie, who was standing at the side of the field, and knocked him to the ground. Then they would do the same thing to me and Bobby, just for fun. There was nothing Richie or Bobby or I could do. The Enforcers were strong and we were weak. The strong boys rule the weak boys. I figured that this was the natural order of things and there was nothing I could do about it.
Fast forward to the beginning of our seventh grade year. The kids in my class were now 12 and 13 years old. On the first day of class The Enforcers showed up in tight white tee shirts and black shorts. My mouth dropped open. I couldn't believe how much muscle they had put on over the summer. They told us that Mike's parents had bought him a big weight set and that they had lifted weights all summer in Mike's garage. They said that they each gained 15 to 20 pounds of muscle over the summer. Mike now weighed 125 pounds and Chris and Matt were about 120. And it was all muscle. Strong kid muscle. Their chests bulged under their straining tee shirts. I could see the round muscle mass of their young pecs proudly pushing out the tight cotton fabric. They had rolled up the sleeves of their tee shirts to show off their muscular arms. Their solid biceps and triceps rippled under their tan skin. Mike had rolled up his sleeves so high that I could see his muscle-capped shoulders. His delts looked like thick globs of hard clay that had been slapped on his shoulders, striated with fibers that flexed and unflexed as he moved his arms. Mike was clearly the biggest and most muscular of the three Enforcers.
I could see that their lats were thick and wide. Their tight white tee shirts could hardly contain their wings of muscle. Their legs, both their thighs and their calves, were tan and muscular. Wow, I thought to myself, I don't want to play football against these guys. They could just push me aside like an insect or knock me down and run right over me. I thought to myself how unfair life could be. The strong get stronger and the weak just stay weak. These guys were now twice as strong as they were last year. And last year they were already more than twice as strong as Bobby and me. Omygod, I thought. This year is going to be truly miserable.
Mike walked over to me and flexed his right arm right in my face. "Check that out, Johnny-Wimp," he said. "Feel how big and hard my muscle is now." I reached up and wrapped my hand around Mike's flexed bicep. It was as big as a tennis ball and almost as hard as a rock. I felt weak in the knees as I comprehended how strong and muscular this kid, who was the same age as me, had gotten. His bicep was way bigger than it had been just last spring. My biceps were just and small and just as flabby as they had been three months ago, but Mike's were much, much bigger and very, very hard. He had really put on a lot of muscle during the summer. "Squeeze it, dweeb. Let's see what you can do to that muscle." Mike turned to Chris and Matt and smiled. I squeezed Mike's bicep as hard as I could, but I couldn't make the slightest dent in the rock-like muscle. Mike curled his arm up and down a few times so I could feel the hardness and power of his bicep as it stretched and then contracted. The fibers of muscle in his bicep felt like steel cords when they were stretched out and then when they contracted they formed a solid ball of rock. "Yeah, I figured you were too weak to do anything to that muscle," said Mike, kind of sneering at me. "I think I'll test how strong that muscle has gotten. I'm gonna test it on you, Johnny-Wimp. You know how much I like to do this, and I know I'm going to like it even more now that my bicep is so much bigger and stronger. So much bigger, so much stronger, and so much better to crush you with!" Mike was almost singing the last part. He was so into his muscles that he couldn't wait to test how strong they were - on a human test subject like me.
Mike wrapped his right arm around my neck, pulled in his forearm and flexed his bicep right into my windpipe. Mike had done this to me lots of times ever since we were about 8 years old. But nothing could prepare me for the enormous crushing force of his big, round, rock-hard, weight-trained bicep. The muscle immediately crushed through my windpipe into the back of my neck. It was like my neck was just a little column of mush that Mike's bicep powered through like it was nothing. I immediately started gagging and choking for lack of air. Plus my neck really hurt, since it was being crushed beyond anything it had experienced before. Mike relaxed and contracted his bicep over and over. Each time that big muscle contracted it rammed farther and farther into my neck. Mike was playing with me, using me like some kind of rag doll, a rag doll that could be crushed again and again to show off the strength of his new, weight-trained muscles. He didn't care how the rag doll felt. He didn't care about my pain. The only important thing to Mike was showing off his big muscles and how strong they were.
Chris and Matt were cheering and clapping as their muscular friend crushed my neck like a grape. Bobby and some of the other kids started yelling at Mike to stop, since my face was turning beet red and they could see I was about ready to pass out. Finally, Mike relaxed his bicep and let go. He smiled at me like some kid who had just gotten a new bicycle for Christmas. "Wow, that was fun," he said. "That really felt cool. I could feel your windpipe kinda crackling when my muscle busted through it. It was totally easy for this big bicep to just smash through your scrawny neck. I didn't even have to try hard." He flexed his arm again and looked admiringly at his bulging bicep. "This mother is really strong," he said, confirming that his big muscle had passed the strength test with flying colors. I looked at the bulging muscle in awe and fear.
"We're going to have a lot of fun this year, aren't we, wimp boy?" said Mike. I shuddered at the thought. Mike looked at me like he knew he was in total control. "Hey check these out. You haven't seen them yet," said Mike as he pulled up his tee shirt exposing a rock-solid 6 pack. Mike always had good abs. He was one of those kids who just naturally had a ripped, defined mid-section. But now his abs were even more muscular and shredded. Not an ounce of fat covered the corrugated washboard of muscle. "Go ahead, feel 'em, Johnny. Feel how hard they are." Mike was smiling proudly. He was proud of his muscles. I reached over and ran my little fingers over those ridges of muscle. When I pushed in, the muscle felt like corrugated iron. I couldn't believe how hard the muscles were and how the individual ridges of muscle bulged and then disappeared into crevices, forming the washboard. In contrast, I had no abs at all. Just a soft belly covered by a big layer of babyfat.
"Go ahead, Johnny. Give me a punch in the gut. Let's see what you got." Mike flexed his abs and stood there right in front of me, daring me to hit him. "No, Mike," I said. "I know your muscles are too strong for me." Mike had challenged me many times in the past to hit him, either in the abs or in the chest. Every time I did, my weak little punches would just bounce off his athletic, muscular body. Mike would laugh at my feeble attempt and then make a fist and punch me in the gut. I would buckle over in pain and Mike would laugh uproarously. I had tried to stop doing this long ago. The problem was that Mike wouldn't take no for an answer. He always made me hit him, and then I guess he thought he was entitled to hit me in return. I could see that this was not going to stop this year. Only now Mike was a lot stronger and his punches were going to be even more devastating.
Mike moved right in front of me and bumped me with his big chest. "You punch me in the gut or I'll tear you apart, you miserable wimp," ordered Mike. "I'll make it easy for you. I won't even flex my abs." Then he stood back and just stood there, not flexing his abs. Even relaxed, his abs were still corrugated like a washboard.
"Don't do it, John, don't do it," yelled Bobby. He knew what would happen if I punched Mike in the gut and he didn't want me to go through with it, as if I had any choice. Matt walked up to Bobby, wrapped his muscular arms around Bobby's little chest and squeezed. Matt's lats exploded under his tight tee shirt as they pulled his muscular arms into Bobby's body. His biceps and triceps rippled as his arms closed in like a vise, almost like hydraulic pistons. Matt's powerful muscles forced all the air out of Bobby's lungs. Bobby started to gasp, trying to breathe in some air, but every time he gasped Matt just pulled his strong arms harder and crushed Bobby's chest even more. Matt's muscles looked incredible - big, lean and very tan. Every time he squeezed his arms, his biceps got bigger and more defined. His muscles looked like steel cords applying enormous crushing force to the weak little chest of my friend. "Feel the power, wimp-boy," said Matt into Bobby's ear. "Feel the power of real muscle. Feel the power of muscle that's been getting bigger and stronger all summer. Have you been getting bigger and stronger, wimp-boy? I don't think so. You're just a wimp. Feel the power of muscle that is now so much stronger than your weak, flabby little body that it isn't even funny. Feel the power of muscle that could break you in two if I felt like it. I'm a fucking Superman kid and you're just a miserable wimp that deserves to be crushed by my big muscles. And you know what? I don't even care how you feel about it. I can do what ever I want to you and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it. So just get used to it, Bobby. The Enforcers are going to kick your ass anytime we want." Bobby's face was turning beet-red from lack of oxygen. It looked like he was almost ready to pass out. Matt gave his chest one more powerful squeeze and then tossed him on the ground. Matt turned around and flexed his big biceps for all the kids who were watching. They all knew who ruled the school.
Mike turned to me and said "Your friend's a real wimp, ya know that? Now go ahead and punch me in the gut or I'll make what Matt did to him look like child's play." I knew that I would never win this game, so I made a fist, wound up my arm and punched Mike in the abs as hard as I could. Even unflexed, his abs felt like a brick wall. My fist made a loud smacking sound as it bounced off the steel wall of muscle. Mike smiled. "Jesus, you're weak, wimp. I wasn't even flexing and I still couldn't even feel your little punch. You're pathetic."
I knew what was coming now, and I was powerless to stop it. "Feel what a real man's punch is like, wimp. I've gotten real, real strong and this is going to be real fun." He made a fist and pulled back his right arm. I could see the muscles in his shoulder and arm flexing and bulging, getting ready to deliver all their power to Mike's big fist. I flexed my flabby little abs as much as I could and closed my eyes. Whhhhammm! Mike's fist hit my gut like a cannonball. His punch was much, much harder than it had been last year. His summer of weightlifting had made his muscles really big and strong. I curled up in pain, fell to the ground and started crying. I was crying not only because of the pain but also because I knew that Bobby and I and our friends would be the punching bags for the muscular Enforcers all year and there was nothing we could do about it. "See ya around, wimp," said Mike as he turned around and gave high-fives to Chris and Matt. Then the three Enforcers swaggered away.
As I lay on the ground in tears, I looked up and saw Richie standing about 20 feet away in his baggy sweatshirt and pants looking at me. He had seen the whole thing. For the first time in my life I thought I saw a look of anger come over Richie's innocent face. His eyes narrowed as he watched the Enforcers walking away, laughing at what Mike had just done to me. Then he turned around and walked to our classroom.
Well, as I predicted, life in seventh grade was total hell. The Enforcers were even more aggressive than they had been the year before. I guess all their new muscle was coupled with lots of testosterone surging through their young bodies. The testosterone made them really aggressive and wanting to kick ass all the time. It seemed like they were always looking for an excuse to pick on some kid. And because they were now so strong and muscular, they could do just about anything they wanted to anybody they picked on. They started inventing strength contests for themselves, like picking up me or Bobby -- we only weighed about 85 pounds - and pressing us overhead like living barbells. They would see which one of them could press us the most times. Mike always won, but Chris and Matt were right behind him. After they were done pressing us, they just tossed us on the ground. They didn't care if it hurt. Sometimes one Enforcer would lift me or Bobby off the ground and throw us like a big sack of potatoes to his muscular friend who was standing about five feet away. The other Enforcer would catch us and throw us back. They thought this was great fun. It wasn't much fun for us when one of them would miss catching us and we would go crashing onto the ground.
Richie was still in our class. He still wore a baggy sweatshirt and pants every day to class and sat at the back of the room trying as best he could to understand what the teacher was talking about. And every day his mother came to pick him up right after school.
One day about three months after school had started, Richie came up to Bobby and me during recess and said, "I want to show you something." Bobby and I looked at each other with puzzled looks. Richie had never had anything to show us before. "What is it, Richie?" Bobby asked. "It's a secret," said Richie. "Follow me."
We followed Richie to a secluded area behind some bushes. Richie turned around and stood facing us in his baggy clothes. We looked around for whatever he wanted to show us. "Well, what is it, Richie?" I said with a bit of exasperation in my voice. Slowly, Richie started to pull up the right sleeve of his sweatshirt. Almost immediately we could see big, writhing muscles in Richie's forearm. My mouth dropped open. "Holy shit!" yelled Bobby. Richie continued pulling up his sleeve until his upper arm was exposed. By this time, Bobby's and my eyes were almost popping out of our faces. Then Richie slowly flexed his arm. A huge bicep grew like a boulder, a high-peaked bicep with incredible mass and roundness. Richie looked at his bicep. "Do you think my muscle is bigger than Mike's?" he asked. I ran up and wrapped my fingers around Richie's huge bicep. It was incredibly hard, harder than Mike's. And it was obviously much bigger than Mike's. "Oh, yes," I gasped. "Your muscle is way bigger than Mike's. And it's harder too." Richie turned and looked at Bobby and me. "Good," he said. "Now we are ready."
"Ready for what?" I asked. "Ready to fight The Enforcers," said Richie. At that, he reached down and ripped off his sweatshirt, revealing the biggest, most muscular body I had ever seen on a teenager. "Omygod!" exclaimed Bobby. I just stood there with my mouth open, stunned by the incredible size and density of Richie's amazing muscles. His skin was as white as a sheet. He obviously had never been out in the sun without his big sweatshirt on. In fact, he told us later that this was the first time he had let anybody except his parents see his body.
Underneath his white skin, his muscles just bulged with raw power. His shoulders were broad and straight, with his delts forming big melon-like caps of striated muscle. Each fiber of muscle was clearly visible under his thin skin. His chest was huge, with big, round pecs that bulged out from his big ribcage. His pecs looked like they were several inches thick with deep cleavage between the striated melons of muscle. He had thick, wide, slablike lats that flared out below his wide shoulders and tapered to his trim, muscular waist. The whiteness of his thin skin made his veins stand out very starkly across his pecs, lats, arms and abs. Veins were crisscrossing everywhere as his muscles pushed against the skin. Those big blue veins were pumping huge quantities of blood through his bulging muscles. His arms looked like big hams hanging at his side. Both the biceps and triceps were huge and shredded. Even when relaxed the muscle looked tensed and hard. His forearms looked like a bulging pit of snakes, with the shredded muscle writhing and twisting with every small movement of his arms and hands and blue veins coursing with blood.
His abs were absolutely incredible. He had an 8 pack of solid muscle that looked like corrugated steel. The muscles were so defined that they looked like they had been carved by a knife. Richie smiled as Bobby and I took in the enormity of what we were seeing. He had obviously looked forward to this moment for a long time. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and let them drop to his feet. He flexed his quads and the big slabs of muscle sprang to attention, shredded to the bone. His calves bulged with diamond-shaped massive hardness. Then he turned around and flexed his traps and lats. His back was huge, wide and powerful. The massive muscle tapered down to narrow, athletic hips. He had a firm, round ass that pressed against his white jockey shorts.
Bobby and I couldn't help ourselves. We both rushed up to Richie and started feeling his muscles. Richie smiled and flexed for us. We got to feel his huge biceps and triceps, his big, shredded delts and his thick, wide lats. I actually pushed my nose and face into the cleavage between Richie's big pecs. He flexed his pecs and crushed my cheeks with the rock-hard muscle. For once in my life, I liked the feeling of being crushed by massive muscle - massive muscle belonging to my friend. I punched Richie in the abs several times as hard as I could, just like Mike made me do to him. Richie's abs felt even harder and more solid than Mike's. Richie just smiled. And he didn't hit me back.
After about 10 minutes of feeling Richie's amazing muscles, Bobby and I finally stopped and started asking Richie lots of questions. Richie could only speak in simple sentences so it took us awhile to find out what had happened to make him so big and muscular. It turned out that Richie's father was a construction worker who was also a bodybuilder. He had actually won some state championships when he was a teenager. He still worked out in a home gym, and this summer he invited Richie to work out with him. Father and son would work out every night when Richie's father got home from work. Well, right from the first day, Richie's body responded tremendously to the weight training and all the good, nutritious food that his mother cooked for him. He put on 20 pounds of muscle in his first month of lifting and had been adding about 10 pounds of muscle each month since then. In all, Richie had gained 70 pounds of rock-hard muscle in six months, going from 90 to 160 pounds at a height of 5' 7" and 13 years old (he had just turned 13 last month). Both of his parents had encouraged his lifting. His mother told him that although God had shortchanged him in the brain department it was clear that God had made up for this in the physical department. Richie had a God-given ability to pack tremendous muscle and strength on his body and he was doing just that.
When Richie arrived at school for our first day of classes, the day Mike crushed my neck and punched out my stomach, he was about the same weight and muscularity as The Enforcers. He was tempted to fight them right there, but he figured that he couldn't take on all three of them unless he got a lot bigger and stronger. So he lifted even harder with his dad every night and ate lots of food and supplements. He also started taking a martial arts class right after school. He was smart enough to know that if he wanted to fight The Enforcers he would have to learn how to become a fighter - a strong, muscular fighter. He told us proudly that after three months of taking martial arts, his instructor had told him that he was the best student in the whole class. Richie was obviously very proud of this. It was the first time he had been the best at anything.
Richie looked around and spotted a wooden board, almost an inch thick and four inches wide. He put the board across two benches. "Watch this," he said. He opened his right hand and lifted his big arm over his head. Then with lightening speed, he threw his arm down with enormous power, smashing the board into two pieces with the side of his open right hand. Bobby and I were incredulous. Richie flexed his triceps, displaying the massive heads of muscle that had helped power his hand into the board. Then he showed us the side of his right hand that had just smashed the board. The skin was thick and callused, thick and hard from smashing lots of other things. I could only wonder what that hand and that big muscular arm could do to a living person. "I am ready to fight The Enforcers," Richie said. Bobby and I looked at him in awe and nodded our heads in total agreement. "But we must be a team," he said. "You are the brains and I am the muscle. We need each other to beat The Enforcers." Bobby and I looked at each other and then shook Richie's strong, callused hand. "We're a team," I said. "We're going to beat those Enforcers at their own game." Our team of brains and brawn was going to put those punks right were they belonged.
We spent the next several days planning the attack. Nobody suspected a thing. Richie came to school each day in his baggy sweatshirt and pants and went home right after school with his mother. Only Bobby and I knew what Richie did after school - pack more muscle on his incredible body and hone his devastating fighting skills. The other kids thought he went home and watched cartoons on TV.
A few days after Richie showed us his muscles, he invited Bobby and me to his house to watch him work out with his dad. I could hardly wait. We arrived right after dinner. Richie worked out from 7 to 9 every night. We met Richie's mom and dad. Richie's mom thanked us for being so nice to Richie all these years. I couldn't say this out loud, but I wanted to thank her for giving us Richie, who was about to save me and Bobby from years of torment at school. Richie and his dad were ready for their workout. They were wearing shorts but no shirts. I guess Richie didn't mind showing his growing, muscular body to his dad, even though he was so shy about it at school. Richie's dad was huge. He was 6'3" tall and weighed 260 pounds. And it was all muscle. I looked at Richie standing next to his dad and said to myself in awe "This is what Richie will become. Its in the genes." The 13-year-old kid looked like a smaller - but still very muscular -- version of the 35-year-old father. I was so happy that I was Richie's friend.
Richie's mother gave him and his dad a big glass of a protein and energy drink - to give them lots of power during their workout, she said. Then they headed for the garage to work out. Richie's garage was a completely equipped gym, with lots a very heavy weights and big machines all around. "Today is shoulders and back day," said Richie. "We work out different bodyparts every day. That way they have time to grow and get stronger after every workout." Richie and his dad then commenced the most intense workout I could ever imagine. Richie warmed up with 120 pounds in the military press. He easily did 20 reps with this. Then he kept adding weight every set until he was up to 235 pounds for three reps in his sixth set. His dad stood behind him, spotting, giving him just a little help when he needed it. By the last set, his delts were just ballooning out of his shoulders. The muscles were bulging and shredded with fibers. I walked over and put my hands on Richie's huge, pumped delts and he flexed them for me. My knees got wobbly as I felt the size and hardness of my 13 year-old friend's massive shoulders. Richie looked at me with his big, innocent brown eyes and asked "Are my shoulders big and strong enough for you, John?" I nodded in agreement and tried to massage my fingers into the warm, sweaty muscle. But it was so hard that it felt like I was massaging rocks. Richie smiled as he saw me trying to penetrate the invincible mass of muscle that capped his shoulders like cannonballs. Richie's father looked at him proudly. He knew his son was something very special. Bobby and I couldn't believe how strong Richie's shoulders were. We tried pressing a barbell and could only press 20 pounds, and that was a strain. Richie was more than TEN times stronger than we were. I felt even more weak in the knees. Richie's father could military press 350 pounds. "I'm going to do that some day," said Richie, and I knew he was right. If he continued the way he was going, he would probably be able to press 350 when he was 15 years old.
Richie and his dad continued with their brutal shoulder workout. After the military presses, they did dumbbell presses, upright rows, side raises, front raises and bent-over raises with dumbbells. They were using dumbbells in their side raises that were so heavy that neither Bobby nor I could even lift them off the floor. They did six sets of each exercise and only rested about 30 seconds to a minute between sets. By the time they were finished, their shoulders were as red as beets, with veins pulsating with blood and hard striations of muscle fiber bulging under their thin skin.
I thought they would be exhausted, but they seemed totally energized and ready to launch into their back workout. I guess when you have that much muscle you can lift lots of big weights and not get tired. For their backs, they started out with pull-ups. Richie did 20 easy reps as a warmup. Then his dad started strapping dumbbells to his waist to make it harder, adding 20 pounds for each set. In the fourth set, Richie did 10 pull-ups with a 60-pound dumbbell strapped around his trim, muscular waist. His lats flared out like muscular wings - huge slabs of muscle with veins coursing through every inch. His biceps coiled like steel springs when he contracted them to lift his 160 pounds of muscle plus the 60 pounds of iron up and down. I liked the way his firm ass muscles kept the heavy strap from falling to the floor. Before his next set, he turned to me and said, "OK, John, hop on. You weigh 85 pounds. I can lift you easy."
My mouth dropped open as I contemplated what was about to happen. Richie was going to do multiple reps of pull-ups with me hanging on his waist when I couldn't do even one pull-up with just my own body. I felt a pit in my stomach as I thought about the enormous strength of this kid. Richie jumped up and hung from the bar, waiting for me. I approached him from the rear, jumped up and wrapped my arms around his trim, muscular waist. His firm, round ass pushed into my chest. I felt his hard abs flex as he got ready to start. Then with incredible strength, his huge lats and massive arms pulled both of us up to the bar and then slowly lowered us again. He did this five times before he finally dropped to the floor. "See, I told you it was easy," he said, smiling like a little boy.
He flexed his big boulders of biceps proudly right in front of me. I couldn't help feeling their incredible pumped hardness with my hands and even rubbing my nose over the high peak of muscle. I bent down and grabbed ahold of his huge slabs of lat muscle with each hand. The thick, hard muscle filled my hands. My face was really close to his chest and Icould smell the sweat coming from Richie's armpits. I moved my nose into his armpit - his big armpit that was formed by his massive lats, delts and pecs. I took a deep breath. Richie's sweat smelled so good. Like the sweat of a real muscle jock. Like the sweat of a kid who was incredibly muscular and strong. Like a young adonis. Richie's brain might be handicapped but his body was just the opposite. He had the body of a young Greek god.
Well, Richie and his dad did five more exercises for their backs. Lat pulldowns, barbell rows, dumbbell rows, shoulder shrugs - for thick, strong traps, and deadlifts -for a powerful lower back., six sets of each exercise. They used incredibly heavy weights. By the time they were finished, their backs were wide and bulging with muscle and glistening with sweat. Richie did a lat spread and I couldn't believe the V-shape made by his super wide and super thick lats. Bobby and I got one more opportunity to feel Richie's pumped and sweaty muscles. Richie was really proud of his muscles and so was his dad. I could have massaged Richie's muscles all night, but it was now after nine o'clock and I knew we had to get home for school the next day. Bobby and I whispered to Richie that we thought tomorrow would be the big day. Richie flexed his triceps and said, "I'm ready."
The next day, The Enforcers were being bigger jerks than usual. They had just taken two dollars from one of the kids in our class and then Chris twisted the kid's arm up his back until he cried out in pain. Then they tossed him on the ground and headed for the boys' restroom to take a piss. Richie, Bobby and I followed them into the restroom. We got two of our friends to stand outside and not let anyone in. We promised our friends that they would be very happy in just a few minutes. We walked in to the restroom behind The Enforcers and closed the door behind us. No one else was inside. Chris turned around and saw the three of us. "Hey, wimps," he said. "We didn't give you permission to come in here with us. Now get the hell out of here or we'll smash your little bodies into pulp. Hey Retard, what are you doing in here? Did you come in so that you could drool into the sink?" The other Enforcers laughed at this crude joke.
I turned to Chris and said kind of mockingly, "Now Chrissie, you know that Richie doesn't drool. He's never drooled in his life. But you're right that Richie is here for a reason. He wants to show you assholes something." Chris looked at me with extreme anger in his eyes. "DID YOU CALL ME CHRISSIE, YOU LITTLE WIMP? DID YOU CALL ME AN ASSHOLE?" he yelled. Nobody ever dared to call him Chrissie, much less an asshole. We all knew that sort of thing would result in an immediate beating. But today was different. I could call him anything I wanted to. I felt great. "Yeah, I did, Chrissie. I called you Chrissie and I called you an asshole too, which you are. But before you beat me up you better see what Richie has to show you." Even though Chris was madder than hell, his curiosity got the better of him so he turned around and looked right at Richie. The other two Enforcers did the same. "OK, Retard," yelled Chris. "What have you got to show us that's so fucking important? It better be good or I'm going to kick your retarded ass just like I'm going to fuck up this little shitface."
At that Richie smiled at the three bullies, reached down and tore off his sweatshirt. Immediately he did a most muscular pose and let out a horrendous yell. The three Enforcers jumped off the floor. Then Mike shouted "Holy shit." The other two Enforcers were frozen in disbelief. "You guys are toast," said Bobby. "Its payback time."
Without hesitation, Richie attacked the three Enforcers with all the devastating force of a kid who had been waiting years for this moment. He landed powerful karate chops and kicks to their bodies. He punched them mercilessly with fists powered by his big, strong delts, pecs and arms. He outweighed each of the Enforcers by at least 30 pounds and all of that extra weight was strong, hard muscle. He was now doing to them what they had been doing to all the weak kids in our class for years. Whenever they tried to hit Richie, he either easily dodged out of the way or let their fists hit his rock-hard body and bounce off harmlessly. When Richie hit Chris with one of his powerful kicks, I thought I heard the sound of one of Chris's ribs cracking. Chris buckled over in pain. Richie walked up to him and punched him hard right in the same area of his chest. Chris fell to the floor, moaning and groaning.
Bobby and I stood by the door, guarding it to make sure none of The Enforcers could escape. Once in awhile, one of the bullies would run to the door and try to push us to the side in a desperate effort to get out. We held firm as long as we could and yelled to Richie. Immediately, he would come over and smash the kid's face or body. There was no escape from Richie's revenge. The whole fight lasted about 10 minutes. At the end, each of The Enforcers was sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain.
But Richie wasn't done yet. He picked up Mike and stood him up on his wobbly feet. Then he wrapped his right arm around Mike's neck, pulled in his forearm and flexed his huge bicep muscle right into Mike's windpipe. Bobby and I could hear the crackling sound as Richie's big, hard, softball-sized muscle bashed though Mike's windpipe. Mike started gagging and choking. "This feels really cool," said Richie. "I'm doing the same thing you did to John. I can feel my big bicep smashing into your neck. That muscle is really big and hard, isn't it Mike. How does it feel to you, Mike? Oh, I forgot. I'm not supposed to care how you feel." Richie looked at me and smiled. I knew it was a big challenge for him to get out that many sentences in a row. Then he looked down at Mike and flexed his bicep even harder into Mike's neck. Finally Mike passed out and Richie threw him on the floor like a sack of garbage.
Next, Richie picked up Matt and stood him on his feet. He wrapped his big arms around Matt's chest and started squeezing. Matt had a lot of muscle on his chest and back, but it was no match for the enormous power of Richie's lats, delts and arms as he crushed the torso of the muscular bully. Billy and I watched in amazement as one muscular 13-year old got the life squeezed out of him by another much more muscular 13-year old. I looked in total awe at Richie's lats - huge slabs of white muscle literally throbbing with power as they pulled Richie's big arms into Matt's body. Richie's delts looked like big melons on his shoulders, striated with cords of muscle that rippled and flexed as Richie increased the pressure. His huge arms were like living vises, crushing Matt's torso like a walnut. Matt started gasping and choking and that just made Richie apply more pressure. Matt had never felt such strength in his life. Finally, Richie said in Matt's ear, "Feel the power, wimp. Feel the power that could break you in two if I felt like it." Bobby was shocked. "Wow, Richie," he said. "That's exactly what Matt said to me when he was crushing me on the first day of class. How did you remember that?" Richie said simply, "I can remember important things." Meanwhile, Matt was almost passed out. Richie released his grip, grabbed Matt's head and jammed his face into the crevice between his two bulging pecs. He rubbed Matt's face in the sweat that was pouring off his hot, muscular body. Then he flexed his massive pecs and crushed Matt's face with the hard muscle, all the while forcing Matt's face into his chest with his big hands. Matt couldn't breathe, as his nose was being crushed along with the sides of his face. Then Richie rubbed Matt's face all over his sweaty, bulging pecs, letting Matt feel their size, their hardness and their power. Finally, he let go and let Matt catch his breath.
Matt wanted to just collapse on the floor but Richie wasn't finished. He stood right in front of Matt and said "Punch me in the gut, asshole." Matt just stood there, bruised and battered, not wanting to hit the big, muscular kid who was now his boss. "Punch me or I'll rip you apart, you miserable wimp." I couldn't believe it. Those were the exact words that Mike had said to me when he forced me to punch him in his abs. Maybe Richie was smarter than I thought. Matt looked at Richie's big, muscular, pumped body and knew that Richie could indeed rip him apart. So he made a fist, wound up his arm and punched Richie's abs as hard as he could. Richie just stood there and smiled. "Is that all you got, big guy? I could hardly feel that." Then Richie made a fist, pulled back his big right arm and smashed a blow into Matt's gut that looked like it went all the way back to his spine. "I think I'm stronger than you," said Richie in the understatement of the year. Matt fell to the floor and rolled in pain. I thought that his intestines had been relocated.
Finally, Richie picked up Chris, who already had a broken rib and was moaning with pain. He grabbed Chris's right arm and twisted it up his back, just like Chris had done a few minutes earlier to the poor kid they had hit up for two dollars. Chris cried out in pain. Richie's arm was bulging with muscle as he powered Chris's smaller but still muscular arm farther and farther up his back. Finally we all heard a crack, as Chris's shoulder was dislocated from its socket by the sheer force of Richie's muscles. Chris shrieked in abject pain. Richie let go of Chris's arm and tossed him on the floor on top of Mike and Matt, who were lying on top of each other.
"OK, John," said Richie. "Tell them how it's going to be around here from now on." I looked down at the pile of bodies on the floor and smiled. "Attention assholes, you miserable pricks," I said. "As you can see, your reign of terror at this school has just ended. From now on, Richie, Bobby and I are The Enforcers. You pathetic excuses for humans are now The Slaves. You will do whatever we Enforcers order you to do. If you disobey any of our orders, Richie here will make you wish you had never been born." The Slaves looked up at me as if they couldn't believe what I was saying. Then they looked at Richie, who flexed his massive arms and sneered at them. The reality of the situation sank in. In a matter of minutes, they had been reduced from being the kings of the school to miserable kids who were going to have to take orders from the boys they used to torment.
"Bobby," I said, "give one of the Slaves his first order." Bobby looked right at Mike, the biggest and meanest Slave, and said "Kiss my ass, Mike." He unzipped his pants and lowered his briefs, exposing his small, white ass. He bent over, waving his ass right in Mike's face. Mike was horrified. "No way," he said. "I'm not going to kiss your puny ass." Richie calmly walked over, put his big hands under Mike's armpits, and stood him up on his feet. He stood there for a moment looking at Mike and slowly opened his right hand. Then, with such lightening speed that I could hardly see it, Richie raised his right arm and blasted his open hand into Mike's ribcage. "CRAAACK!" we all heard, as Richie's powerful hand powered its way through one of Mike's ribs, breaking it in two. Mike howled in pain. Richie inspected the tough calluses on the side of his hand that had just smashed Mike's rib. The he flexed his huge triceps right in front of Mike's face. All three heads of muscle bulged and twitched with power, so much more power than Mike had that it wasn't even close. "This is fun," said Richie. "I like the sound of your bones breaking." Mike looked at Richie with a look of total horror on his face.
"Bobby gave you an order, slave-boy," I said. "If you know what's good for you you'd better obey him right now." Mike looked at me and hesitated. Kissing Bobby's ass was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. "Time's up," I said, and immediately Richie hit him again, powering his hammer-like hand into another part of Mike's chest and breaking another rib. Mike cried out in pain, buckled over and fell to the floor. But Richie was not about to stop until Mike had carried out Bobby's order. He stood over Mike and raised his powerful right arm one more time. Mike looked up and saw the callused skin on the side Richie's hand and the bulging muscles of his arm. Quickly he said "OK, OK, stop hitting me, Richie. I'll do whatever you guys want." Then he crawled over to Bobby, leaned forward and kissed Bobby's little white ass.
From that point forward, The Slaves did everything that we Enforcers ordered them to do. And life at my school was good, very good. Richie started wearing tee shirts and shorts. His skin got real tan. All of the kids thought he was totally hot. Richie was a great Enforcer.
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