FRESH SQUEEZED

By Bigsqueezer

The rain was steady as it had been for the past four days. Not pouring, much more than a drizzle, rain. I had already given up on trying to get dry. As I opened my coat, I could smell that familiar humid musty smell a sweatshirt gets if it’s been rained on and dried repeatedly. I took off the sweatshirt and stripped down to a muscle-t. The heat in the gym just made steam inside any clothing that was thick.

The gym echoed with the sounds of practice. The occasional yell that’s followed by >>Thump<<. Takedown! It has an unmistakable sound, except for today, it had a heavier wet sound. A walled off corner of my mind told me to remember these sounds because some day I’d be living in a desert and would miss the sound of rain after months of not having any at all to speak of. But that part of my brain was very good at not giving away the future parts of the story so I never knew why, I just remembered the dull thump of wrestlers working on their takedown.

I’m pressing my eyes and holding my forehead trying to remember his name. Brad? Mark? He was a little guy. I’m describing his height. His body was sculpted stone and unpadded muscle. If he weighed more than 120 pounds, it was rare. He had dark hair and brown eyes and ears like an elf. He smiled and laughed all the time, at things even he didn’t understand. I figured it was the mirth of just living that would leak out from time to time.

The best wrestlers on the team had this mirth. A bitter and lonely friend I had described it like this; if you were muscled to the bone, stronger than most every opponent you came across, able to defend yourself, wanted by all the girls and half of the guys, you’d laugh constantly.

That may all be true of the wrestlers, but you know, I don’t think these guys were all that self conscious. They shared food they had with mere strangers. They asked how you were and really meant it. They even touched each other. None of my fat friends did that. But none of my fat friends were able to do 10,000 push-ups a week.

Mark! His name was Mark. He had a friend named Darrin? They wrestled together all the time. They were in the same weight class. But really, Mark was so much better than Darrin, he was never going to be on first string unless Mark was injured.

I was one of the team’s medics. I put them back together when they were too injured to make it on the mats. Part of my job was to watch practices and see if someone wrestling injured and were not taking the injury seriously enough. This happened so often that I grew to expect that I would be working on someone just to make sure they didn’t have an injury.

Mark and Darrin were just finishing takedown drills. They trade back and fourth the role of aggressor and defender, honing their ability to use a particular. They were working on single leg ankle-trip takedowns. They broke for water and Mark took saw me coming.

“Oh Shit! The snitch!” he said and ran for the lockers. He thought this was a joke, calling me the snitch. They all knew in some way or another to disguise a limp and not rub that sore shoulder when they were around me. If I tell them they’re hurt, they might have to believe it. If they have to believe it, they might not be able to wrestle. In the magic of slight-of-mind they shored up their pains and walked strong when around me.

I loved it. I really got off on strong guys, and even more so when they strut their stuff.

“Okay, just make sure you put ice on that before you go to bed,” I shouted in return.

Mark ran back to me with a grave look, “Oh bones, you can’t scare me. I’m a rock! Watch!” He jumped at me snaring my head in a headlock. I lifted him straight up pulling his hold off me like a sweater. Undaunted, he tried to complete the same hold with his legs.

That hold I was worried about. He was not a tall guy. Like I said, but if he wrapped those bulging thick thighs around your head, you might not wake up for dinner. I remember he did that to one of the new heavyweights early in the fall. The guy didn’t think much of the hold at first, but when he blacked out, still on his feet, everyone took note. Watch the legs.

I actually threw him away from me like a sack of potatoes. Mid-air he turned, tumbled, and landed on his feet He took his sweatshirt off in a flash. “Okay Darrin, we have a victim.” He announced. This was another of my roles as medic, believe it or not. I needed to wrestle the guys when I could just to see how they move normally and keep the beer off my gut.

Mark dove at me, again I threw him overhead, and turning to see what Darrin was doing. Sure enough, he was going low as Mark went high. I jumped over his diving tackle, surprising the crap out of him. He covered his head in an instinct, hoping I wasn’t coming down on him. 6’2” is tall when you’re 5’ tall. I towered over him. The idea was to keep Darrin between Mark and I, making sure they had to trip over each other to get to me.

Mark’s torso was very cool to look at. He had striated muscle that rippled as he moved. His body was smooth skin. I had to notice, he even smiled when he wrestled. He vaulted over Darrin and hard into me. We both went down on the mat. I rolled on top with my knee in his gut. He had an amazing torso. I pressed my knee into his gut and felt individual bricks of abdominal muscle snap tight, taking my weight. I stood, dragging Mark to his feet. I knew I was going to lose this, but I would definitely happen faster if I went down. I picked up Mark and held him in a chinlock from behind. He flailed like a carp.

Darrin took his shot, he tried to push us both backward so he could tumble on top of me. Clumsy strategy, but it would take me down. He didn’t get ready for a 6’2” man with a long reach and a deep abiding desire to squeeze muscle guys.

As he jumped to get a bigger push, he ran straight into my open arms. To Mark’s surprise, I bearhugged them into each other’s chest. In a burst of pressure, I hoisted them both off the mats and squeezed! Darrin groaned as his breath left him. Struggling to get his breath, he kicked his legs. Mark made that low groan as Darrin inadvertently kicked him somewhere that hurt. I squeezed hard. Mark squirmed under the pressure. His solidly muscled back rubbed into my chest.

Setting my chin into Mark’s traps, my nose right next to his ear, I held on tight. He smelled like warm clean sweat. Mark was in a great disadvantage. With his back to me, he couldn’t reach my legs or hands, Darrin was in the way. His struggles hurt Darrin more than me. I could see his face partly. He just held on and took the punishment, resolved not to submit, but doomed to be held without struggle.

I slackened the hold just to regrip. Instead of drawing my closed hands toward my chest, I straightened my arms, bringing my biceps and elbows closer together, forcing the captives to change how they flexed and defended against the crushing pressure closing in on them. Just when they got used to defending that pressure. I quickly snapped my clenched hands toward my chest, using the former attack. Darrin cried out and Mark groaned and squirmed as Darrin wriggled on Marks chest.

Mark tried to get to my hands again. He tried to reach around Darrin. He could get one hand on the back of my wrist and scratched there to get some kind of hold. He suddenly threw his head backward. I was glad I was taking time to smell that clean shaven nape of his neck, otherwise I would’ve had a nose full of headslam. He tried a few times, but I clenched my head to the side of his neck. Mark stopped struggling and resigned to his constricting trap.

Darrin was not so proud. “I submit…sir…please” He tried to suck in some breath but had not much luck. And besides, he said the magic word.

Hoisting them both a few inches higher, I quickly let go of Darrin and wrapped Mark in the exclusive embrace. He groaned loud and long as Darrin fell in a gasping heap on the mat and I closed my arms around him treating him to my full power. I squeezed very hard now. “Submit,” I whispered in Mark’s ear. He didn’t seem to hear me.

He closed his eyes, shaking under the strain, and grabbed both my hands with his and pushed. I felt my hands slip. Damn he’s strong. I turned in time to see Darrin not so wasted and ready to attack again. So much for the rewards of mercy.

I let go of Mark. His feet hit the floor and he turned immediately to face me. I pushed him back as hard as I could. Unable to set his feet and block his retreat, he ran into Darrin. With a deep sweep, I scooped them both up into the bearhug again – smaller muscled fireplugs at the mercy of my long long reach - , this time face to face with Mark. My hands closed around Darrin’s back.

Mark’s face pressed next to mine, his bare shadow of beard roughed against my cheek. “Oh man, ugh…agh, you can’t beat me with just a squeeze.” I did what I called The Meatgrinder, a pulsing constriction, hard soft, and hard again, in a pumping crush. Mark tried to push my chin back. I shook my head violently and slipped his hold.

Even in the heavy work, he seemed to sweat very little. I had a hard on by now as his tough abs pumped into my body over and over. I really didn’t know what it would be like for him to know how much I wanted him.

Darrin was pressed into Mark’s muscular back and rested his face on Mark, right between the shoulder blades. I squeezed him again. He groaned in the rhythm of the pulsing Meatgrinder. Then Mark did a big thing. “Stop, you’re hurting Darrin.”

“Do you submit?” I asked him.

“Yes, you’re hurting Darrin,” he said.

I dropped them both, Mark landing on his feet, Darrin on his ass. Mark turned to check on Darrin. “You okay?”

“Sure,” he said between heavy breaths. I knew better. He would say that even if he had broken ribs and was visibly bleeding. True to form, before I was finished looking Darrin over, Mark tackled me and laid me flat on my back. Instinctively trying to get myself up off my back, I let an opening. Mark tried to slip his legs around my torso. I knew better than to let that happen. He fought hard to close his legs. I fought hard to keep him from getting there. Hand fighting continued, me trying to press his legs apart, him trying to push my hands away and close his thick legs around me and get on his way with the payback squeezer.

He eventually prevailed and I felt his thick quads lock around my waist. I flexed hard to resist the coming crush but like before that didn’t matter. Like a warm hydraulic press he squeezed deep into my ribs and waist. Collapsing onto his chest, I pounded and flailed… no escape! Stars played in front of my eyes as this little muscle tank crushed the shit out of me. I tapped on his chest indicating surrender. Nothing. He was going to hold me tight…

A whistle pierced the gym’s gray din and the lights were turned up to their full brightness. I was suddenly released as Mark disentangles himself from my crushed body. Everyone assembled. Without a second of concern, Mark broke hold and ran to the line at his place near the end where the smaller guys stood. I took three quick breaths and stood eventually taking my position with the coaching staff, shifting my pants so the bulge didn’t show.

Coach Manzano called for push-ups and they began the next part of practice.

I remember wrestling around with Mark a few times after that, none so fun as this one. Mark went on to take state championships, but missed the National title. Darrin left the team a few short months later. He got a new girlfriend and she thought wrestling was wrong so he quit. I didn’t even think about this much until I met Jason. But that’s another story.