Message from John Carter

This blog is rated R and is not appropriate for people under the age of 18. If you are offended by gay content, please move on and read some other blog.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Almost March

Is it just me, or is winter dragging its heels about leaving?

We keep getting rain and sleet, and even snow--while I look in vain each morning for a blue sky and seventy degree weather.

But, March is just around the corner and I have a lot of wrestling set up.  The weekend of the ninth, I'm headed to Memphis to do some wrestling.  A guy I've been corresponding with for many months is coming to town and we're going to hit the mats (in his hotel room).  I'm looking forward to this visit.  I've spoken with him several times over the phone, and he seems really nice.  I'm hoping we get in a lot of great wrestling.  Lots of sweat and hard work.

Later in March, I will be in Des Moines, Iowa for the NCAA Wrestling Tournament.  I'm looking forward to that not only because I love college wrestling, but also because I will get a chance to wrestle several cool guys.  In particular, one guy, who will be sharing my hotel room.  I've never met him, but we've talked and corresponded for quite a while.  We intend to get in a lot of wrestling between sessions at the tournament.

As you can tell from the picture I posted above, I've been hitting the gym really hard.  I'm lifting heavier weights and really giving it hell.  My weight is back down to 145 (from 150), and I've decided that's okay with me.  I tried to gain weight.  I tried to get to 155.  But I just didn't like the way I was carrying the weight.  So, I backed off on the number of calories and started running again.  I feel better.

I hope you guys are enjoying Middleboro.  I've been working hard to get lots of sex into each episode and to keep the horror coming (so to speak).  The book is basically a species of fan fiction--the practice of taking an existing story or television show--and re-working it for a particular sexual fetish.  In this case, of course, gay wrestling.  I have used Stephen King's It as my jumping off point.  I always liked the idea of a creature that could take on the fears of those it stalks--but what if it took on the form of your most dearly held sexual fantasies?  Could you fight it off, or would you surrender to it?

I guess we'll have to wait and see if Chris, Jack, Spanky and Foster can fight it off.  But they'll need to find David, first.

Hopefully, episode 10 will be posted later this week.

Thanks for all the encouragement, and let's all hit the gym, get the clothes off that treadmill, and get in shape.  Then: wrestle.  Do it.  Now.   

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Middleboro Part 9

Foster sat in the back seat, his arms folded across his chest.  “I thought we were going to wrestle,” he said, his lower lip thrust out.  “I want to wrestle Jack.  We still haven’t wrestled since you came back to town.”

“Jesus, Fost, haven’t you been listening to a word we’ve said?” David knocked Foster upside the head.  “There’s some sort of monster on the loose.”


Chris twisted around in his seat.  “You saw the video.”

Foster sighed.  “I want to wrestle.  Let’s go to David’s house.”

Jack, who was driving, looked at Chris.  “Can we just let him out someplace around here?”

“I wish,” said Chris.  “But I wouldn’t hand even him off to that thing.  Who knows what it does once you’ve cum?”

“I wanna wrestle…”

“Does he ever stop?” Asked Jack.

“”I wanna WRESTLE!!!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Yelled Chris.  Then, more calmly, to Jack, “Apparently not.”

“Is this it?”  Jack was pulling up in front of a three-story Victorian just off River Street. 

“Yeah, this is Spanky’s place.” Said Chris.  “Pull up in the drive and I’ll check on him.”

“I wanna wrestle,” muttered Foster.

David leaned forward across the seat.  “His front door is open…”

He was right. The front door stood open and a potted plant on the front porch had been over-turned. 

Chris gripped Jack’s arm.  “It could be here.  Jesus!  We…we have to fight it…!”

“Okay, okay, Chris.  We will.  Let’s all go in together. Stick together.  Whatever this thing is, we’ll kill it or capture it or something…”  Jack wasn’t really sure what they would do. 

Jack put the car in park and he, Chris and David all got out.  Foster remained in the backseat, his arms folded across his chest.

“C’mon, Foster, we need to stick together,” said David, leaning into the backseat.

“Are we gonna wrestle?” Asked Foster, looking straight ahead.

“No, Fost.  We’re…we’re gonna look for this thing…this monster…  So, come on.”

“No.  If we’re not gonna wrestle, I’m not coming.”

“You can’t stay out here by yourself, Fost.  What if that thing finds you?”

“No wrestling, no Foster.”



David looked back at Jack and Chris who were waiting up the walk.  “He won’t come.”

“Screw him.”

“You hear that Foster?  They don’t care if you get eaten or not.”

Foster just sat there.

“Fine.  Have it your way, asshole.”  David slammed the car door and joined Jack and Chris.

“Is he always a dick like that?” Asked Jack.

“Not, always,” said David.  “But sometimes…”

“Come on,” said Chris.  “He’ll be fine in the car.  Let’s go check on Spanky.”

The three guys walked quietly up the walk and up the short flight of stairs to the front porch.  The light from the street did not reach there and the front of the house was cast in gloom.  The door was open, and there were scratches in the wood around the doorknob.   Jack ran his hand over them, and cast a look back at Chris and David.  He was scared, and he didn’t like the fact that the house was dark.  If Spanky had been home, why weren’t any lights on?

Slowly, they walked into the front room.  Jack’s heart was beating so hard it was difficult for him to settle down and listen to the house. But he tried, holding an arm out to keep Chris and David back. 

Nothing.  He heard nothing.  Just the sound of distant cars on the freeway. 

A bump. 

They all three took a step back. 

“Where…?”  That was all Jack could get out.

“I…I…don’t…”  Chris couldn’t quite say.

“The basement,” said David.  “That came from below us.  How do you get to the basement, Chris?”

“Uh…I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know!  Spanky’s into bondage and stuff.  I’ve never been over here.  Not inside, anyway.”

David pushed past them into the dark.  “It’s got to be here someplace.  Someone find a light.”

As David stumbled against an end table, Jack tried to find a light switch or a lamp.  He found one, and clicked it on.


“I think the electricity’s been cut off,” he said, and he turned to Chris.  Even in the dark they could see each other’s faces.  “It turned off the lights?  Can it do that?”

Chris nervously shrugged.  “I…I…don’t know…  I guess…”

“What the hell is this thing, Chris?”

Chris shook his head.  “I don’t know, Jack.”  Then, “Maybe we should leave.  Call the police or something.  We’re not the Hardy Boys.”

“More like the Hardly Boys.”  Jack had to make a joke, otherwise he would have just run back out the door.

“I found it!”  It was David, just down the hall.  He was trying to keep his voice down, but he was plenty loud in the silent house.  “C’mon you guys!”

Jack and Chris looked at each other and then moved deeper into the house.  Entering a hallway, the gloom increased, and it took them a minute for their eyes to adjust.  David was standing in front of an opened door.  In front of him, a square of blackness marked the stairs that led to the basement.

It took Jack a second to realize that someone was standing behind David.  It was Foster.  But how’d he get in into the house?  Through a backdoor?

“Hey…” Jack started to say something, but then realized, it wasn’t Foster.

David suddenly disappeared into the darkness.

“Jesus!” Yelled Chris. 

Jack raced forward and looked into the dark that led downward.  “David!  David!”

A figure rose up in front to of him, and Jack made a fist, ready to strike.

It was David.  A goofy grin on his face.

“David!  You scared the shit out of me, man…  I was so…”

But it wasn’t David.  It was Chris, standing there, naked.  The transition was so startling that Jack was frozen in place.  “Uh…?”

Behind him, Chris said, “Spanky, you’re okay.  Thank God…”

The next few seconds were confused and disorienting.  Chris was thrown backwards and the door slammed shut behind Jack.  The darkness was so utterly overwhelming that Jack actually thought he saw stars, as though his eyes were closed.  But then he realized that something was on him.  Something had him. 

He was on his butt on the landing of the stairs, and something was above him, leaning over him.  And then he saw it.  Chris.  A younger, unbelievably muscled Chris.  He was naked, and his body glistened with oil.  Chris’ cock was so hard, Jack smiled, in spite of his terror.  Man, he thought, Chris looks so good. 

There was a banging on the door behind Jack, and he realized that it was far too dark for him to see anything.  Then how could he see Chris? 

He wasn’t.  It was an image in his mind. 


Banging on the door.


His jeans being undone.  A warm hand slipping under the waistband of his briefs.  Chris—or that thing--had his cock, and he was getting hard.


The voice was David’s and it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of the stairs.  The banging was coming from the closed door behind Jack.  Suddenly Jack realized what was happening.  He kicked out with his foot and caught the thing that was there in front of him in the dark.  There was a scream.  A high-pitched wail.  An insectoid screech that made Jack’s ears ring.  Then there was a sound as of something heavy falling down the stairs.  Jack got to his feet just as the door behind him hit him in the back.  He hadn’t realized it, but he had been holding it closed because he’d fallen against it.

“Jack, what the hell…”  Chris was reaching out and caught Jack by the shoulder.  “Are you okay?”  Then, “Are you…you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  I think it’s down there…”  he pointed down the stairs but it was so dark, he doubted Chris could see his hand.  “David’s down there…”

“David!” Yelled Chris. 

“David!” Added Jack.

“I’m here…”  David’s voice was strange.  “I think I did something to my ankle…”

“It’s down there with you, Davey…”  Said Jack.  “If something comes to you and tries to get it on with you, it’s not us.  Hit it.  Just punch it.  Okay?”

There was no answer.   Jack’s breath caught in his throat and impulsively he bounded blindly down the stairs.  As he hit the bottom, something caught his foot and sent him sprawling, painfully across the floor.  Thankfully, it was carpeted.  Not concrete as he’d expected.  And he climbed to his feet as quickly as he could. 

“David!  Where are you, David!”

It sounded like Chris was coming down the stairs behind him, but slowly.  Almost too slowly.  Was it because he was so scared?  Jack certainly was. 

Jack took a step forward, feeling in front of him as best he could.  David had to be here somewhere, but, then again, so did that thing.  The darkness was so total in the basement. Even the feeble light from the top of the stairs did not penetrate far past the landing.  Jack thought he could see Chris coming toward him, but he couldn’t be sure.  Why wasn’t anyone speaking? 

“Chris?  Is that you?  David?”

It took Jack a second to realize that something was on his leg.  He brushed at it, but his hand came away wet.  Was it blood?  He smelled it, but before he could begin to figure out what was on his hand, he was pulled to his knees and his shirt was ripped open.  He’d forgotten that his cock was still out from where the thing had unbuckled his jeans at the top of the stairs, and suddenly Jack felt something wrap itself around his cock.  He tired to scoot backwards on his butt, but he came up against something.  Maybe some furniture.  Whatever it was that was on him, it was warm, and moist, and it was messaging his cock with furious intent. 

Jack reached for it, but something caught his arm.  Another warm, moist, coil of snakelike power that pulled his arm down. In another motion, his pants were pulled down and his briefs ripped off.  His legs were pinioned and his chest was being wrapped up in the steely embrace of some sort of tentacled monster.  Jack tried to break its hold but it had him, wrapping him up, working his cock, holding his arms in place.

Then, almost imperceptivity, Jack felt another tentacle work its way up the back of his leg and in between his ass cheeks.  Jack gritted his teeth and the thing plunged into his rectum, and what had been a thin writhing snake expanded to become a huge, forceful cock that began pounding away at him.

He was caught.  Absolutely helpless in this thing’s embrace.  It held his arms and legs in place while it worked his cock and fucked him relentlessly in the ass.  Worse, it had located that exact spot just behind the prostate.  Each thrust of the thing inside Jack reverberated throughout Jack’s groin, making him want to cum.  Making him want to shoot an enormous load.  He struggled, trying to break free, but it was too powerful, too…in control.  He was helpless in its grasp and being fucked and milked against his will.

For a few seconds, Jack gave in.  The pressure in his ass was so absolutely amazing.  The tentacle wrapped tightly around his cock knew exactly what Jack wanted, working it’s way up and down the shaft and over Jack’s increasingly sensitive tip.  Jack had never been worked over like this.  Never been forced to take this sort of abuse.

But, he had thought of this before.  It was a recurring fantasy of Jack’s, this octopus-like milking/fucking machine that could capture a guy and force him to give up…everything.

And that was it, wasn’t it?  Chris had said that the thing worked off your fantasies, your desires.  This was one of Jack’s fantasies.  He had conceived of it in the deep recesses of his lustful mind.  He had lain on his back in bed and thought up this nightmare apparition. In that way, he had brought this on himself.

And that was where he found the resolve to fight back.

“No!”  Jack yelled, as he strained against the tight hold.  “No!  You’re not taking me…you fucking…whatever the hell you are…!!!”

Jack ripped one hand free and then another, and then he swung out into the darkness, madly striking left and right, until he hit the creature--a wet thunk--like striking a side of meat.  The coils released Jack, the cock in his ass fell away, and Jack lurched to his feet and kicked, sending the creature across the room, emitting another scream from the depths of hell.

Just then light flooded the room, temporarily blinding Jack.  He shielded his eyes and realized that someone had turned on the lights.

“Jack!  I found the breaker!”  It was Chris…and it was Chris. 

There were two of them, both standing a few feet apart.  Like mirror images, they assumed the same poses, the same tilt of the head.

But only one of them spoke.

“Jack…?”  Chris was addressing the other Chris.  And it hit Jack, Chris—the real Chris—was looking at the creature.  But instead of seeing what Jack saw—another Chris—he saw Jack. 

The whole thing was starting to make Jack’s head hurt. 

But then something moved in his peripheral vision to his right.  It was Spanky.  He was naked and apparently tied to a chair.  Only there was no chair.  He merely squatted in place as though in a chair, his arms behind his back.

“What the hell…?” But Jack hardly got the words out of his mouth when Chris—the extra Chris—the creature—shoved the real Chris backwards and ran up the stairs, seeming to morph again as it hit the landing into a mass of scrambling black legs.

Jack stood there a moment in stunned silence, unable to internalize everything that he’d seen, everything that he’d experienced. 

And then it hit him. 

Where was David?

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Middleboro Part 8

Hey guys.  Here's part 8 of my continuing story about a town of gay wrestlers terrorized by a supernatural force that takes on the guise of their deepest sexual fantasies.  Hope you are enjoying it.

Meanwhile, I was supposed to wrestle last night with the St. Louis Grizz--always one of the highlights of my wrestling year, but this damned weather!  We had snow and ice yesterday, so he didn't get to town until really late and had to leave early this morning.  So, your faithful blogger is left with no one to wrestle.  [Cue sad music.]  Anyway, hope you guys are all doing well.

The pics today are all from Sean  Check it out.  Great website.

Jack had hardly even gotten the front door open before Chris pushed his way inside.  Jack couldn’t help but notice that Chris’ shirt was open and he looked like he’d just gone two rounds with a python.

“Chris…?  What’s going on?”

Chris shut the door and locked it.  “You won’t believe…you just can’t…I can’t…I just…I can’t!”  He was out of breath and panicky.

Jack tried to calm him, the only way he knew how.  He reached out to give Chris a hug.  But Chris drew back.

“Wait a minute…”  It appeared that something had occurred to him.  He ran his hand over the stubble on Jack’s head and then, oddly, pulled up Jack’s t-shirt and examined his chest.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

“You’ve got hair on your chest.  That’s…that’s good…”

“Yeah,” said Jack. He self-consciously felt of his chest.  “Why?”

“Jack…oh, wait! Where’s David?”

“He’s right there.”

Chris spun around as David walked up from the basement.  “Hey Chris.”

“You’re all right!  Both of you.  You’re okay.  Right?  You’re okay!”

Jack and David exchanged a look, and then Jack said.  “Chris, what’s got into you?  You’re freaking out, man.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair and then clutched at his crotch.  Jack could see that he was hard.

“C’mon,” said Chris, suddenly catching Jack by the hand and pulling him down the hall.  He yelled over his shoulder to David.  “Give us just a few minutes, Davey.  And if someone comes to the front door, don’t you answer it!  You hear me!  Don’t!”

Chris pulled Jack into his bedroom, and was all over him.  Kissing him and yanking his t-shirt up over his head.

“Chris…what are you doing…?”

“Please, Jack.  No talking.  Let’s just fuck.  Okay?  I have to get fucked.  Now.”

Jack grinned.  “Well, if you have to.”

Chris was undressed almost before Jack knew it, and Jack couldn’t help but note that Chris was incredibly hard.  It had been so long since they’d been together.  God, he was so happy.  It didn’t matter why Chris was suddenly there…suddenly wanting to fuck.  He just wanted to get naked, roll on the bed, and take Chris.  The way they used to in high school.

Once Jack was undressed, he shut the door to his room and he and Chris faced each other.  Chris was breathing hard, and his body appeared to be streaked red, as though he’d already been wrestling.  Jack moved in closer, and put a hand on his chest where a large red mark was. 

“Chris, what’s going on?  Have you been wrestling?”

Chris leaned in close and their cocks touched.  Chris seemed to catch his breath, and then he put his arms around Jack’s torso and pulled him in so that they were chest to chest. 

“Yes…I’ve been wrestling,” he said.  “But it’s not what you think…it was…I…”  He pulled back and they looked each other in the eyes.  Jack thought Chris looked upset.

“What?  Please tell me…”

“Let’s just have sex first, please?  I have got to get off.  I’m dying.”

They didn’t say another word.  Jack pushed Chris back onto the bed and pinned him to the mattress.  Chris was searching for Jack’s mouth, wanting to kiss, but Jack kept pulling back, and turning his head.  Chris liked to be teased and taunted.  Jack knew that.  Chris also liked to have his nips worked, so Jack caught one between his fingers and twisted, leaning into Chris to emphasize his helplessness under Jack.

Chris moaned.  Loudly.  “Oh God, Jack, please just fuck me.  I need to cum.  For Christ sakes, just let me cum.”

Jack pulled Chris’ legs up to expose his ass, and spit into Chris’ asshole.  Then he plunged in.  Chris’ back arched and he reached down to pull Jack in further. 


Jack began to pump and Chris caught hold of his own cock and began to jack himself off. 

Jack was mesmerized by the look on Chris’ face.  He was in absolute ecstasy.  His eyes literally rolled back in his head, and Jack pumped harder, feeling himself getting ready to cum.  He didn’t want to hurry it, but it had been so long, so damned long.

Then, they came.  Both of them.  Jack felt the tip of his cock shooting into Chris’ rectum and at the same time, Chris ejaculated a huge amount of cum up over his chest, onto his chin, and even onto his forehead.  Jack laughed as he continued to pump, and Chris started to laugh too, but they both kept at it, losing their loads, spraying the contents of their balls.

Then Jack fell over onto the bed beside Chris.  Chris was breathing heavily, a grin on his face.  “Oh, thank God.  Thank God you were here.  I needed that so bad.  I thought I was…”  He laughed again.  “I thought I was gonna die.”

“Man, that’s a big load.  Been saving it up for me?”

Chris didn’t answer.  Instead he ran his hand along his still hard cock and shot out another, much smaller, load.

“Man, Chris,” said Jack.  “Aren’t you…potent?”

Chris wiped his face and chin.  “Jack, you would not believe what happened to me tonight.  I can’t believe it.  I mean…it’s just too crazy!”

Jack sat up.  “What?”

“The in town…I met the thing that’s taking them…”


“It’s…well I don’t know what the hell it is.  A chameleon or something.  It changes shapes.  Wrestles you.  It’s sexy as hell.  And it’s trying to make you…it was trying to make me cum.  I swear.  It wanted me to cum.”

“Chris, slow down.  What are you talking about?”

Chris looked at his chest, and Jack reached over and got one of his t-shirts.  “Here.”

Chris wiped himself off and sat up on the bed.  “Jack, you came to my house tonight.  I mean, it wasn’t you, but it was.  It was you from high school.  You were in your old gym shorts, from Middleboro High.  I thought it was you.  We started wrestling.  It was so hot.  You were so damned hot.  But then you called.  You left a message on the voice mail…”


“Then I realized it couldn’t be you.  I mean, you were leaving me a message, but you were on top of me, about to fuck me.”


“Then it wasn’t you.  It changed into…well…never mind what…but it changed.  I had to fight it off.  I hit it with a lamp.  It crawled out the front door and ran away.”

Jack scratched his head.  “This makes no sense, Chris.  Have you been drinking?”

“No!  I haven’t.  It was the thing.  The thing that’s taking everyone.  I think it makes you cum and then drags you away or eats you or something…”

Jack smiled.  He didn’t mean to.  “Okay.”

Chris stood, picked his pants up off the floor and began to search his pockets.  “I’ll show you.  I have proof.”

There was a knock on the door.  “Hey!  Are you guys done humping?”  It was David.

“Yeah, come on in,” said Chris, who was standing there naked, his hand in his pant’s pocket.

David opened the bedroom door and saw Chris standing there.  Then he saw his brother on the bed.  “Jesus, cover that thing up, will ya, Jack?”

“What about Chris?  His is hanging out there.”

David grinned a sly grin.  “That one’s not family.”

“Here it is!”  Chris almost yelled it.  He’d pulled a flashdrive from his pocket.  “Where’s your PC, David?”

David laughed.  “Is that some porn you guys want to watch?”

“It’s a picture of bigfoot,” said Jack, pulling on his jeans.

Chris was not amused.  “Wait until you see this.  Both of you assholes.  Just wait.”  He pushed past David and walked down the hall.  “Where’s the PC, Davey?”

“On the kitchen table!”  David yelled it over his shoulder at Chris.  He was looking at Jack.  “Everything okay?”

Jack smiled a big satisfied smile.  “Yeah.  Great.”

“I guess he’s not mad at you anymore.”

Jack started to answer, but Chris was yelling from down the hall.  “Guys!  Come here!  Let me show you this!  Oh my God!  My God!  Come here!!  Now!!”

Jack looked at David.  “Something’s weird with him.” 

Jack followed David down the hall.  As they entered the kitchen he leaned across David’s back and wrapped an arm around David’s neck.  He was feeling playful.  Happy.  Damned good, as a matter of fact.

Chris stood back from the table and pointed to the PC screen.  “Look.”

Jack and David moved around so they could see.  Jack still had his arm around David.  “Okay, we’re looking.”

Chris moved the cursor and pressed play on a video.  “This is footage from the security camera trained on my front porch.”

Jack watched but all he saw was a green night vision version of Chris’ front porch.  “Wow.  Great porch, Chris.”

“Wait.  Wait.”

Just then something climbed into view.  It was short and squat, with multiple legs, like some bloated spider.  It was dragging a huge appendage, like a cock, and its mouth was a gaping red hole. 

Jack and David jumped back.

“What the hell…!” Yelled David.

“What is that, Chris?” Asked Jack who had unconsciously put David in one hell of a headlock.

Chris pointed.  “That’s you, Jack.”

Monday, February 18, 2013

Middleboro Part 7

Chris got home after dark.  He’d been on the phone all afternoon, checking with the missing wrestlers’ relatives, employers, boyfriends.   One of them, Skip Duncan, had left town after being fired. That was good news—of a sort.  At least nothing had happened to him.  Skip was a short, compact guy who liked to wrestle submission.  Mitchell, David, Foster, Carl.  Hell, even Chris had wrestled him.  He was popular.  


And he was alive.

But the others…nothing.  No one had seen them. No one had heard from them.  Chris had attempted to check their phone records, but not being in law enforcement, and not being a real reporter (that Nathan really pissed him off) Chris was not privy to that information.  Never the less, it was obvious that something had happened to the other guys.  But what?

Chris threw his keys into the candy dish by the front door and stripped off his shirt.  He had sweat stains under his arms.  He was nervous.  He needed to calm down, maybe get something to eat.  He opened the fridge.

There was a knock at the door, and Chris nearly jumped. 

“Okay,” he thought.  “I need to get a hold on myself.”  This whole wrestler thing was getting to him. 

He walked to the front door, almost opened it, and then thought better of it.  He peered through the peephole.

“Jesus Christ,” thought Chris.  “What the hell is Jack doing here?”

He opened the door and Jack was standing there in just a pair of red gym shorts—they were faded and said Middleboro Wrestling on one leg.  Chris swallowed hard, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Jack…?  What are you…?”

But before he could say more, Jack walked up to him and planted a kiss on him.  Chris pushed Jack back. 

“No…Jack…no.  Not…Not now.”

But Jack was running his hands over Chris’ naked torso and he caught Chris’ nips and pinched—something that always got Chris going.  He lurched backward, pulling loose.  

“Jack…Jesus, man, what the hell are you doing here?  I told you to stay home!’

Chris had backed inside the house, and Jack grinned and closed the door behind him.  Chris could see that Jack was hard, and in an instant, Jack had his gym shorts off and his cock was exposed.  Chris hadn’t seen it in a long time and it looked great.  Bigger than he’d remembered.  Jack’s shaft was thick and veined.  The head was full and red, and a little pre-cum dribbled from it.

“Man, you’re ready to go, aren’t ya stud…?”  Chris started taking off his shoes and socks, and then, hesitating for a moment, he un-did his pants.  “I’ve…I’ve really missed you, Jack.  I’ve been mad at you…but…now that you’re here…”  He let his pants fall to the floor and he stepped out of them.  He then let his briefs slide off, and in an instant, Jack was on him.

Chris hardly had time to brace himself before Jack caught hold of Chris in a bearhug and lifted him off the ground.  Jack grinned wildly, and Chris got even harder, looking into Jack’s fierce, blue eyes.  They struggled like that a moment, and then Chris broke free and they clasped hands and worked to force each other to submit.  Chris was laughing, in spite of himself.  Jack was so hard, and not just his cock.  Jack’s whole body was muscular and well-defined.  His abs were outstanding, and his chest, always one of his best features, was smooth and muscled. 

Chris worked as hard as he could to control Jack’s arms, but Jack was strong and he was forcing Chris’ arms back.   But, then Jack did a duck under and catching Chris around the hips, he took him down to the carpet where they wrestled back and forth, first Chris on top, and then Jack.

Chris was having such a great time.  Jack was so hot, and he’d missed him.  Missed him so horribly.  But then a thought crossed Chris’ mind.  Hadn’t Jack had short-cropped hair that afternoon?  Here, in Chris’ living room, Jack’s hair was longer, like it had been in high school.  In fact, Jack’s chest had been hairy that afternoon—Chris had seen a tuft of black hair poking out from his t-shirt, but here, Jack was smooth, again, like high school.

“Wait…wait a minute…” gasped Chris.  “C’mon, Jack…hold on a minute...”

But Jack didn’t hold up.  Instead he got Chris in a leg scissors, and grinning wildly, he leaned forward and caught hold of Chris’ cock.

Just then the phone rang.  Chris still had a land-line from when his parents had owned the house.

“Let go, Jack…I need to answer that…”

But Jack didn’t let go, and Chris had to roll over and force his way out of the hold.  Unfortunately, that allowed Jack to get Chris’ back, and Chris felt Jack’s muscular body as it caught hold of him from behind and clamped on a choke hold.  The phone was ringing…once…twice…three times.  Chris tried to break Jack’s hold but the phone was going to the answering machine. 

As Chris pried Jack’s arm away from his neck, he felt Jack’s hard cock in the crack of his ass.  He took a deep breath.  It felt magnificent and he wanted…so desperately wanted…Jack to take him.  


“Chris? This is Jack.”  It was the voice on the phone.  Jack was leaving a message.  “Will you please call me when you get home?”

Wait…if that was Jack, who was on his back?  Chris turned his head and it wasn’t Jack.  It was…what?  He couldn’t really say.  It was naked, and extremely muscular.  Bald with red eyes and a mouth with no teeth.  Only thick red lips that seemed to beg to find Chris’ cock.  A little viscous fluid ran from the corner of its mouth.

Chris tried to get out from under it, but it had its hard cock in the crack of Chris’ ass and it plunged in.  Chris gasped…it felt fantastic…but this wasn’t Jack…this was something else…something horrible…

Chris was down on his belly, the thing across his back.  He felt the thing’s hips rise and fall and it plunged into Chris’ rectum again and again, finding that exact spot that made Chris want to come all over himself.  This thing…what was it?  Where had it come from?

And then it hit Chris.  This was a thing he’d invented.  A thing he’d dreamed up as a child.  An invincible wrestling machine with a huge cock and a sloppy red mouth that could clamp on your cock and work it like there was no tomorrow.  Lying in bed, as a fourteen-year-old, he’d tried to conceive of the perfect thing to wrestle, and this bald, muscular thing was what he’d thought up.  He’d thought about it through a lot of high school—until thoughts of Jack had driven it from his mind.  He’d sketched it numerous times—it peppered the margins of his school papers.  Yet, here it was, slick and muscled, working it sexually powered attack on a weakening Chris. 

But Chris was not out yet.

He gathered his strength and pushed up and over, falling onto his back, the thing beneath him.  Chris then turned, pulling the thing’s cock from his ass.  He was face to face with it, its bloated tongue licking its red lips.  Chris put a hand in the thing’s face and drove it back to the carpet and broke free of it.  They clasped hands and as Chris tried to pull away, he felt a tug at his groin.  He had both of the thing’s arms under control, so what the hell? 

The thing’s hard cock was gone, replaced by a third hand that firmly grasped Chris’ cock and pumped furiously.  Chris screamed with pleasure and tried to break free, but the thing just leaned over him grinning.   With its hands free now, it caught hold of Chris’ nipples and tweaked them, just the way Chris liked.  The way Chris tweaked them himself when he lay in bed and masturbated to thoughts of Jack.  

He was going to cum.  He didn’t want to, but this thing’s assault was so sexual, so perfectly geared to what Chris enjoyed.  Chris could feel himself weakening, giving in to its sexual assault.  He wanted to just let it win.  Wanted to experience what he knew would be a massive ejaculation.  But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t let this thing take him, do with him what it apparently had done—was doing?—to other guys in town.

This was his invention, wasn’t it?  He’d summoned it, somehow, through his own imagination.  His own teenaged lust.  And if his mind could summon it, perhaps his mind could send it away?

Chris closed his eyes and concentrated…not on the muscled hand that pumped his shaft or on the fingers that twisted his nipples, but on…Foster.  His pale, tumescent belly.  His thinning hair.  His under-sized arms.  The huge mole with the single hair growing out of it.  The thing was gone, he told himself.  It was Foster that pumped him.  Foster--that gross little guy.

Chris opened his eyes.

It was Foster that held his dick.

He punched Foster…or whatever it was…right in the face.  There was a horrid scream and Foster collapsed into a sort of black protoplasm that scuttled across the carpet and behind the coach. 

Chris stumbled to his feet, his cock throbbing, and lurched around the Henry-Don, ready to strike out again.  

It got to its feet, slowly, but it wasn’t Foster any more.  It was…Brad Pitt as he’d looked in Troy.  Chris almost burst out laughing.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!  Really?  That’s what I’m thinking?”

He swung a lamp and the thing seemed to recoil away from him into a black mass with spindly legs.  It ran across the carpet and hurriedly opened the front door.  Chris ran after it, out into the front yard, into the warm Spring night.

It took him a moment to realize that he was naked, holding a lamp, his cock still hard as a rock.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Middleboro Part 6

The next morning, Jack and David decided to walk over to Mitchell’s house.  Jack could tell that Mitchell’s refusal to call or text David was eating at him.  He thought that maybe a walk over to Mitchell’s place might help them patch up whatever was going on between them.  And, David seemed eager to go.

It was also a good chance for Jack to take in the old neighborhood.  It had been a long time since he’d walked these streets and everything looked familiar, yet different.  He’d spent his whole life in Middleboro.  He’d played chase through these yards.  Played four square and street hockey between the big storm drains along the street.  He’d climbed the big tree at the corner of 7th and almost broken his arm when he’d fallen.  But Mrs. Wheeler’s house had been repainted in a yuppie, Pottery Barn green and several of the houses had new landscaping, as well as new names on the mailboxes.

It was his old neighborhood, and yet it wasn’t.  For every familiar site, there was something new or just out-of-place.  As though while Jack had been away everything had shifted over a few feet.  Distances seemed compressed and trees that had seemed so huge instead appeared to have shrunk in size.  But, there was something else about the neighborhood; something odd that bothered Jack.  Some of the yards were over-grown and unkempt.  In the old days, no one in that neighborhood would have let his yard go.  But as Jack and David walked along, Jack noted that two or three yards looked as though they hadn’t been mowed in a week or two.

Jack stopped in front of one house whose yard was about a foot high and a tangle of switch-grass and dandelions.  Newspapers were piled in front of the door and the owner’s car sat in the driveway, covered in leaves and a few branches, as though it had not moved in weeks.

“Do the Carpenters still live here?” He asked David.

“No.  They moved to Florida a while back.  Cody lives here, though.”

Jack remembered Cody.  They had been friends and Cody had been the 140-pounder on the Middleboro wrestling team.  “Is Cody out of town or something?”

“I don’t know.  I usually see him down at the Iron hand.  But I haven’t seen him in a while.  His place looks kinda run down, doesn’t it?”

Jack nodded.  “Yeah.  A little.  What about that house down the block?  Wasn’t that the Cooper’s house?”

David looked back down the street.  “Yeah.  They live in that two-story place.  Why?”

“Their yard looks bad, too.”

David shielded his eyes from the sun and nodded in agreement.  “Mr. Cooper used to wrestle quite a bit.  He sometimes came to our wrestling parties.  He was in pretty good shape for an old guy.”  He looked back at Jack.  “I wonder if they moved away or something.”

Jack wasn’t sure how to respond and they continued walking along toward Mitchell’s.  Along the way, they passed Kyle Morgan’s house.  Kyle had been the 120-pounder on the wrestling team.  His yard was in need of a mow, too.

Then, as they turned onto Green Street, David stopped and clasped Jack’s arm.  A Middleboro Police car was parked in a driveway, the car’s red lights flashing.  There were several other cars parked along the road.  One of them was Chris’ Volvo.

“That’s Mitch’s house!” Said David.  He let go of Jack and sprinted down the sidewalk, followed closely by Jack.  As they reached the drive, Chris and another guy came out the front door.

Chris looked at Jack and then David.  He stepped into David’s path and blocked his way.

“You can’t go inside, Davey.”

“Get out of my way, Chris.  I have to see Mitchell.”

The guy standing behind Chris was bespectacled and slight of build.  He pushed his glasses up off his nose and said, “This is a police crime scene.  You can’t go in there.  Besides, there’s not much to see.”

“Where’s Mitchell?” Asked David, sounding frantic.  “Is he hurt?”

Chris put his hands on David’s shoulders.  “Mitchell is missing.  The police are looking for him.”

“Missing?” Said Jack.

Chris gave Jack a look that he couldn’t quite interpret.  “Look, guys.  Sheriff Buddy is doing everything he can to figure out what’s going on.  You guys just need to go home.”

The guy with the glasses chimed in.  “And stay inside your homes.  Don’t let anyone in.  Even if you know them.”

“Who is this?” Asked David, near tears.  “Who the fuck are you?”

The guy with the glasses calmly pushed his glasses up off his nose yet again.  “Why, I am the county crime scene investigator.  Nathan Fix.”  He held out a thin, white hand, but David didn’t take it.

“What happened here, Chris?  And why are you here?”  Asked Jack.

“While you were away, I became a reporter, Jack.  I work for the Sentinel.”  

“Well technically, you’re not a reporter.” Added Nathan, unhelpfully.  “You write a column on antiquing.  That does not really make you a reporter.  More of a contributor.”

“I am a reporter,” said Chris, angrily.  “And I’m investigating this series of disappearances.”

Nathan squinted at Chris, and then looked at Jack.  “You’re very nice looking.  What’s your name?”

“What’s going on here?” Yelled David.  “Tell me what’s happened to Mitchell!”

Nathan looked at David and seemed to approve.  “Uh, well.  I take it you are a friend of Mitchell’s?”

“Yes.  We were boyfriends.  Well, sort of…I mean…”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much,” said Nathan.  “But, it appears that your boy-friend…” He drew out the word, sarcastically.  “…had sex last night.  A copious amount of sex, I might add, based on the amount of semen left behind.  And then he vanished.  Or was taken.  There are some indications that he was dragged out the back door.”

David looked at Jack with a wild look in his eyes.  He turned back to Nathan. “Dragged?  By who?”

Nathan shrugged.  “There is no evidence to suggest that he was taken by a human being.”

“What the fuck…?!!”  Said David.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Jack.  Then to Chris, “What’s he talking about?”

Chris turned to Nathan.  “We’re leaving, okay?  But call me if you learn anything, please?”

Nathan shrugged again and went back inside.  Chris guided David and Jack to the street.

“What’s this all about, Chris?” Asked Jack.  “What did he mean about no evidence of a human being?”

Chris put a hand on David’s shoulder, but he was looking at Jack.  “I’m not sure exactly what’s going on.  But something is happening in this town.  Something strange.  Guys.  Guys who wrestle…are just…I don’t know…up and vanishing.  The police keep finding their clothes, their belongings…nothing’s been stolen.  These aren’t robberies.  But the guys are just gone.  Mitchell.  Lonnie Douglas.  You remember Lonnie from High School, don’t you, Jack?”

Jack had to think about it, but yeah, he sort of remembered Lonnie.

“This all started a few months ago, but it’s picked up over the last few days.  All they ever find…all the evidence that they find…is a big stain of semen.  Like the guy came all over himself before he was taken.”

“Mitchell’s been taken?” Asked David.  He ran his hand over his forehead as though he was trying to get his mind around what he was being told.  The truth was, Jack couldn’t believe it either. 

“There are several houses in the neighborhood that look like their owners have gone.” Said Jack. 

Chris nodded.  “I know.  Every one of those houses was where a wrestler lived.  I mean, we have a lot of guys in Middleboro who are into wrestling, but whoever or whatever is doing this seems to zero in on our community.  We’ve lost a lot of guys. Maybe eight so far.”

Jack pulled David to him and tried to calm him.  Chris and Jack locked eyes for a second or two, and it seemed that they were trying to communicate with each other.  Jack read fear, but also concern.  Concern for David.  And, Jack hoped, concern for him.

“I’ve got to go,” Chris said suddenly.  “You guys go home.  Don’t let anyone into your house.  If you see anyone weird on the streets, call me…or the police.  Okay?”  He was already on his way to his car. 

Jack nodded.  “Call me, later…please…?”

Chris hesitated before getting in his car.  “I will…maybe…if I have time…”  He closed the door and drove off. 

Saturday, February 16, 2013


I wrestled today.

It was not an intense, aggressive match.  Instead, it was just two guys wrestling around, trading holds, testing each others strength.  It was a fun match.

But not too long ago, I had a match with a guy who was just about my size, and who was, I think, a pretty aggressive wrestler.  By this, I mean that he was really trying to dominate me.  He wanted to pin me to the floor, and hold me there.  He wanted to taunt me with my defeat.

I like these kinds of matches, but for some reason I did not do well in this one.  The match started out well.  I took him down with a headlock and pinned him quickly.  But, once he escaped--and I let him escape--and he had me down, I sort of folded.

I've been bothered by this result ever since.

Do I not have the aggressive gene?  Am I not willing to really wrestle a guy completely and totally?

I have in the past.  I can think of quite a few matches I've wrestled where I put forth a lot of effort, and did relatively well.  I remember a set of matches I wrestled in DC a few years ago--in a guy's basement (you may be able to guess whose), in which I wrestled more than one guy.  And I did okay.

But that match the other day still lingers in my mind.  Why didn't I engage and go after that guy?  Why did I let him dominate me like that when I knew--knew--I could have escaped and turned the tables?

I have been working out like a crazy man lately.  Really, since last summer.  I lift as heavy a weight as I can manage almost every time I go to the gym (which is four times a week).  I run several times a week.  I do 400 crunches and 80 push-ups each morning after my run.  I'm in good shape.

But I still have this nagging perception of myself as this weakling. 

I understand that confidence ebbs and flows.  Some days you can feel invincible.  The next like a total failure.  Work can spur those sorts of feelings.  So can your personal life.  But wrestling should be clean and honest.  A time when you get in touch with your primal self and engage--and I mean really engage--with another man.  Muscle straining against muscle.  Sweat.  All of it should be a time of clear-headedness and focused purpose.

But for me, sometimes, it's just not there.

The point of this post is to assert that I want it to be.  I don't want to succumb to feelings of inadequacy.  I don't want to feel like the skinny kid who got picked on.  I shouldn't have to, not anymore.  But, it seems that we never really escape our psychological background.  Our earliest memories and experiences truly do mark us for life.  We can strive to over-come them--I do--but we are never truly free.

The only answer, I think, is to wrestle some more.