From Day One

[tortolis]

This story could be the first in a series of self-contained episodes with the same characters. It's based on an actual Incident.

- Tortolis

From Day One - part 1A

“Oh my fucking god. Who the fuck are you? My fucking roommate?”

So far, college life wasn’t what I expected. My suite-mate and I didn’t meet until the afternoon of move-in day. By the time I arrived with my cartons, his bedroom was neatly arranged and there was no sign of him, and apparently this was his idea of a greeting. I just offered my hand and said “I’m Chris.” I had about six inches on him. I do on most guys.

“You’re you a Greek god, right?” he said. “Wait, I know. You’re visiting from the planet Krypton.”

“I’m from a town in upstate New York called Montgomery,” I said, “but I went to high school in New York. How about you?”

“You went to private school, right? And now you’re here on a football scholarship, everything paid? What are you doing in a dorm, didn’t they give you cushy off-campus housing with the other jocks?”

He looked freshman age but wasn’t dressed like a college student: chinos with a sharp crease, button-down shirt. His eyes were bright and darting around, maybe from an amphetamine boost. He had wavy, longish dark hair parted in the middle and round wire-rims. “I’m not an athlete,” I said. “How about you?”

“Call me Boot,” he said. “It’s short for Arbuthnot, but don’t let it get around. See how I’m trusting you already? We’re bonding! I’m not in the least intimidated. What do you mean you’re not an athlete? Look at you. This was fate. Anybody else would want to kill you or fuck you, what a nuisance, you’d go insane before Thanksgiving break. I just have to figure out your deal.”

“My deal?”

“What the hell you’re doing in Madison, and what we can do with those muscles. What are your stats?”

I was wearing a tee-shirt as big as a tent, and it was un-tucked. Straight or gay, most guys pretend not to take notice of my build at first, even when much more of it is showing. But Boot seemed to take an ownership stake in anything he set eyes on, and anything out of the ordinary excited him as a business opportunity. He’d apparently been wheeling and dealing since childhood and had targeted Madison for a venture, claiming much of the population was underserved by fast food franchises. By the time he arrived on campus, he had already financed a pizza-and-subs joint that was raking in money. His full scholarship, he called it. And now he was targeting me. But I wasn’t about to start discussing my stats with Boot, and at first I found his assumptions really annoying. Still, Boot was basically guileless; in fact, he wanted to help everybody, especially me. After ten minutes he sounded a little like a televangelist and couldn’t help shouting. “There’s money spread out before you, lying in the street, and you don’t even want to bend over and pick it up!” He said. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to be rich? Let me see what you’ve got!”

With that he came over and grabbed the hem of my shirt. I’m not sure what he expected to do with it. “Are you kidding me?” I said. “You don’t want to do that.”

The look on Boot’s face reminded me of a kindergarten teacher at her wits’ end, as if I were a troublemaker in for a spanking. He was quiet for about five seconds, probably about as long as he’s ever stopped talking. Then he said, “I’ll make you a bet that I can get you a job for a thou a week for five hours’ work. Perfectly legal and wholesome.” I had an idea he was lying about the wholesome part, but why not find out? I can take care of myself.

“What if I lose?” I asked.

“I’ll think of something. Something reasonable.”

Boot’s car was an Alfa Spider convertible, cherry red, and cherry. He took us to a gigantic bar and club called Boston Charlie’s. It was about 4:30 and the happy hour crowd wasn’t in yet, but the bar section was open for just a couple drinkers. When Boot and I sat down the bartender ignored us and a guy in a suit came over. Boot stood up; the guy glowered at him and said, “We card here, college boy.”

“No problem,” said Boot, “we won’t be ordering alcohol. Are you Abe?”

“That’s right. And who might you be?”

“I’m Boot, I own Boot’s Pizza about two blocks down.”

“Is that right. You look a little young to be playing around with a grownup business,” said Abe.

“I guess I am,” said Boot. “You know how it is. Rich parents thought it would keep me busy. But hey, it can’t hurt to know the target market, and I’m it, right? I think we’ll do each other good. In fact, I specifically located the place to be near Boston Charlie’s. Gonna be great.”

“Maybe,” said Abe.

“But I really came by to introduce you to my new friend Chris,” said Boot. When I stood up and shook Abe’s hand, the bartender came over and Boot asked for two Cokes. “Make mine an orange juice,” I said. I could see the wheels turning in Abe’s head. He checked out Boot’s hair and my arms and figured one plus one equals two.

“Chris here is from New York. He was telling me that he used to work as a bouncer at a bar less than half this size, one night a week, and they’d gross ten thousand more a night when he was there. They used to pay him two g’s plus tips to work shirtless.” This was total invention on his part. What would he do if I didn’t play along? He’d probably bluff his way out of it. Remind me never to play poker with this guy, I thought.

“Yeah, right,” said Abe. “Tips. For a bouncer.”

“Some customers asked him to flex. Nothing more than that. And no fraternization. Right, Chris?”

“Definitely no fraternization.”

“Take your shirt off,” said Abe.

So I did.

“Holy fucking shit,” said Abe. “We used to have someone like you two nights a week, but he was smaller.” He actually walked around me. “For that matter, our regular bouncer is smaller than you. And not ripped like you. He’s off Sundays and Mondays. But he really has to enforce. You okay with that?”

“You serve on Sundays?” said Chris.

“No booze, no music, but it can still get rowdy,” said Abe. Then he turned back to me. “Let me see you flex.”

“Biceps?”

“Yeah.”

I was holding my shirt and gave it to Boot, then hit a double-bi.

“You must be doing ‘roids,” said Abe. “You look like that all the time, or do you compete?”

“I don’t compete and I don’t take steroids. I’m still getting bigger on my own.” I held the pose while he came over and put both hands around my left bicep. Boots’ eyes were on me and were oscillating crazily, as if he were being electrocuted. I wondered if Abe might notice, but he was staring hungrily as well.

“Well, you’re fucking huge. If you’re doing ‘roids that’s no business of mine but there’s no dealing in this place, it’s clean as a whistle. You okay with enforcing?”

I nodded. I had never done that kind of thing, but it’s child’s play for me to beat up any five guys, drunk or sober.

“Well,” said Abe, “at two g’s we could use you for Sundays from eight to midnight and Mondays from ten to two. Mondays will definitely be the tougher night for you.”

We shook hands all around and I found myself with a part-time college job that might well pay more than I expected to make full-time after graduation. And all the way back, Boot was chattering about the economics of the deal and how much money the two of us stood to clear from a thousand angles. He’d made reality conform to his Plan A, but he still seemed delusional to me.

When we got back to our dorm suite, I said, “I think I lost our bet. What do I owe you? Remember, you said nothing unreasonable.”

Boot still hadn’t calmed down. “Jackpot,” he said. “You are a fucking jackpot. I can’t believe it. I’ll tell you what you owe me: Take off your shirt. This is just the beginning. We’ll be millionaires before we graduate.” He came over and grabbed one bicep with both hands. My arms were just hanging, unflexed, but he said, “they’re like a fucking rock! How big are they?”

I shrugged. For training purposes, I measure them cold, which is not what people want to know. Besides, when I tell them, they don’t believe me.

“Flex!” he said. “Flex!” He was gasping out the words. “You gay or straight? What do people do?” He started to rub my arms like a standing massage. “How did you get like this? I have to know! Your muscles, they are like…they’re not like rocks, but they are. So hard. So big. But here…” He wedged the side of his hand in the ridgeline between my abs. “What’s your waist, thirty-two? No bigger than mine.” Then he started running one finger around my abs. “Ooh, I could play tic-tac-toe here. We could have the world tic-tac-toe invitational on your stomach.” Then started in on my pecs, rubbing them with the palm of his hand. “I can’t believe you. You are the fucking jackpot. What do people do?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do people do’?”

“When you fuck, what do they do about your muscles? It’s the main event, right? No, no, keep them flexed.”

I had dropped my arms, but raised them again. He grabbed onto my right bicep with both hands and then just hung from my arm with his feet in the air. Then he stood on the floor again and put his cheek on my pecs, rubbing it in a circular motion. He closed his eyes. It reminded me of a kitten, but it was actually pretty hot and I was going erect. Then he closed his right fist and hit my left pec, gingerly at first, then harder. I lowered my arms again and just stood there. “You’re so calm and strong, like a tree,” he said. Then he pounded my pec harder and said, “Does that hurt?”

I had to laugh. “Not really,” I said.

Again. “How about now?”

“You’re not really going to be able to hurt me,” I said.

“Can you even feel it?”

“Sure, I can feel it. There’s just not really anything you could do to hurt me, really.”

“That is so hot. What’s it like to be you? I want to be you. Usually people want to be me. I’ve never had this.” He started pounding my pec over and over. “Like hitting a tree,” he said. “How strong are you? What are your stats?”

“You couldn’t imagine,” I said. I was getting into it. “You couldn’t fucking imagine.”

Now he was rubbing his cheek along my upper arm. “You’re so hard. You’ve got ridges carved into you. It’s like marble, your arm. Marble corduroy for the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk.” He just closed his eyes and kept rubbing his cheek around. He grabbed my upper arm with both hands and ran his lips along my tricep. Then he said, “Oh my god, I’m going to have a volcanic eruption and these are Zimmerli briefs,” and ran to the bathroom.

I was a little worried, but couldn’t help smiling. It seemed unlikely that the job would actually work out, but who knew? And what the hell were Zimmerli briefs?

[arpeejay]

Oh VERY nice!

And I want to know Chris' stats, TOO, dammit! :-)

xoxo

Richard

[worshipper]

this is hot. Wonder if we ever find out what those stats are?

[sexiscriptor]

i very very much like this....especially

• How open ended his size is
• The unsual characters: so often the characters are structured with a dominant type and a submissive type, and it's pretty black & white or whatever. However boot is commanding without being....i dunno. annoying. perhaps because of how disarmed he is by Chris.
• That it was well written, heh. Always a plus.

anyway, you damn well better continue
~Ille

[philat99]

You've given us a very good beginning, wanting us to know more, much more. You're accelerated dialogue for the fast talker reads well. Keep it coming.
Mike

[collegebud]

what ARE zimmerli briefs?

[nnnrg]

Originally Posted by collegebud

what ARE zimmerli briefs?

Take a look here: http://www.zimmerliofswitzerland.com/

[tortolis]

The Swiss are global innovators in personal luxury products of a certain kind, and Zimmerli is a prime example: extremely high-quality underwear that's very expensive and has a certain mystique based on quality of fabric and workmanship rather than, say, erotic suggestiveness. Similarly, Bally (Swiss) shoes aren't that big a brand, but they created the global market for high-end manufactured (as opposed to hand-made) footwear. In Hollywood this whole discussion would be considered product placement and I'd get a commission.
- Tortolis

[Lucas88]

Why does this remind me of the cartoon where a big, bull of a bulldog is strutting down the street, unfazed by anything as a yappy little terrier is running circles around him, peppering him with questions, and being a TOTAL pain in the a$$?

Ok...I just dated myself BIG TIME!

Very well done! Hope to see more.

Lucas

PS...what's Boot's cut of the fees and tips? AND...though I'm a numbers guy like arpeejay, the reactions to Chris clearly let you know he's a brute.

[Geek2Jock]

Originally Posted by Lucas88

Why does this remind me of the cartoon where a big, bull of a bulldog is strutting down the street, unfazed by anything as a yappy little terrier is running circles around him, peppering him with questions, and being a TOTAL pain in the a$$?

Ok...I just dated myself BIG TIME!

Well then I'm in the same boat, I totally remember that cartoon!

I am enjoying this story, I like the atypical character types but for my own part I'd prefer a little more description of the imagery, more about the characters' appearances, surroundings and such. I think it just adds some 'flavor' to the storyline as opposed to nondescript characters performing in an imaginary vacuum. But that's just me. I'm still looking forward to the next chapter AND ordering some of those Zimmerlis!

[tortolis]

Lucas88, your feedback was interesting and on point. This story is a first-person narrative and the narrator is not particularly observant, but the secondary character is VERY observant. Maybe another episode could be from his point of view and include more descriptive detail. Of course, I was trying to suggest a lot and leave a lot unsaid, and that allowed me to rap this story out quickly. - t

[Mdlftr]

A bit of detail is helpful to get your imagination rolling.

In this case, the dialogue of the characters is providing context. Lucas88 and Geek2Jock are both reminded of a Depati (sp?)- Freeling cartoon(the Bugs Bunny illustrators) with the bulldog and the terrier.

[Yes, I remember that cartoon too! The bulldog often starred in cartoons with either Sylvester and Tweety, and, very occasionally, Foghorn Leghorn. But I digress...]

I think there's something to detail, but the dialogue and action can fill in a lot of blanks. Plus, sometimes, too much detail is overwhelming and kills the mood. In this case, the breezy, fast pace of the story would be bogged down with too much detail of

"..his 6"3.25' physique rippled with glistening muscle, like muscle that had been thoroughly worked out and pumped to an extreme, an extreme that brought thoughts of swollen beefsteaks, pumped basketballs and succulent,ripening grapes on the vine, to mind. As Boot feasted his eyes on Chris' massive, powerful, protruding pectorals, his perspiration popped out on his forehead, his pulse pounded and palpations shook his thin frame. "Damn, he's hot," he thought."

See the buzz kill that too much description can cause?

With appreciation to Sir Edward Bulwar-Lytton.....

Mdlftr

[Lucas88]

Originally Posted by tortolis

Lucas88, your feedback was interesting and on point. This story is a first-person narrative and the narrator is not particularly observant, but the secondary character is VERY observant. Maybe another episode could be from his point of view and include more descriptive detail. Of course, I was trying to suggest a lot and leave a lot unsaid, and that allowed me to rap this story out quickly. - t

WHOOPS! Don't give me credit...geek2jock just quoted my memory of the cartoon and is the one with the more indepth editorial feedback (meant as a compliment, geek2jock, because I NEVER turn my nose up at detail about muscle). Though I don't disagree with the point he raises at all, I understand it's the writer's choice between a short story that actually ends in this life time or a novel that may never end or may never get finished.

I thought the reactions to Chris allowed me to create a pretty decent image in my own mind. I actually prefer the first-person narrative in most cases. I just read Chris as this "gentle giant" kind of guy who is accustomed to the attention his size and muscles attract and he is mildly amused by the excessive and totally unrestrained reaction Boot has at the very first meeting.

I think you could go two ways: 1) keep the first person and have Boot just be more verbal in his observations (you might have to bring Boot out of his shell some)...this gives you the option of more detail AND the muscle stud's reaction to it from his perspective ; 2) switch to Boot's perspective and not only do you get the detail but you might touch on ALL the ideas he has for this muscleman that might not be verbalized...for the moment, anyway. I like option #1 because you get into both their heads...Chris because he's the narrator and Boot...well, Boot because I don't think he holds much back and it would be easily verbalized.

I think the story stands well as is and would love to see more episodes in this style if that's what works for you. If you want to write the novel or anything between this and the novel, I don't think you'll get too many complaints.

THIS is why I don't get into the editorial comments...I end up writing MY OWN novel when given the opening. I hope we'll see more of these guys...I like the way Boot thinks!

Lucas

[tortolis]

This thread is like a writing workshop where I find myself agreeing with all the conflicting opinions, but Mdlftr's comments are also right on. A portrait painter once told me that achieving a deep likeness depends much more on what's left out than what's included (duh, I guess.) In think what's key for us as MGS writers is to activate the reader's imagination and force it to invent, rather than to provide canned imagery, and I find that numbers and overabundant adjectives shut the imagination down. "Show, don't tell," as writing teachers say. Still, those who like inclusion of more detail have given me the idea to retell this episode from Boot's point of view. - tortolis

[Geek2Jock]

Originally Posted by Lucas88

WHOOPS! Don't give me credit...geek2jock just quoted my memory of the cartoon and is the one with the more indepth editorial feedback (meant as a compliment, geek2jock, because I NEVER turn my nose up at detail about muscle).

No sweat, and I was just going to let it slide anyways!

Originally Posted by Mdlftr

With appreciation to Sir Edward Bulwar-Lytton.....

True, one doesn't wish to travel down that road but no doubt there is a happy medium!

G2J

[1bigwoof]

Is there another installment coming??

[portamivia]

Yeah! We, the people, want more! ;-)
That was really a very interesting start...

[skumbum]

I cant believe I missed this story, it is great! And hot!

[ManOMan]

This should be a series? And when will they have actual sex??

[tortolis]

This was the start of a series with each episode told separately from the point of view of both main characters, Chris and Boot. Subsequent episodes had Chris and Boot in the titles, and were also numbered. It has been a while since I worked on this — the next pair of installments has been near completion for quite a while, but I never got round to finishing them up. And no, they don't actually have sex in that one either. I've never been good at integrating sex into these character-driven stories. - Tortolis

[SimonSiro6]

This is really well written, I hope you continue it at some point. This style of writing is one of my favorites.