Colonial Relics

[hairymuscle]

50 and still working heavy construction. Of course I own the company. The only jew in a "Guido" industry. Jewish - Italian, is there a difference? I can of course hold my own. At 5 10 and 285 I'm used to getting my way. Even my paunch is rock hard. Years of working heavy machinery and the gym have blessed me. It seems that my partner, my son, inherited the same gifts. At 27 he is magnificent.





I envy him. In my time you did not admit homosexuality. Damn homophobia! I married my college sweetheart and we created the perfect American life. I satisfied my needs at the gym or within the confines of xxx emporiums. Never did have to work at finding action - it always came to me. With 21 arms, 53 chest and 34 waist (till recently) it is easy. Even my wife was satisfied. You'd be too with 10 cut thick inches.





My son expressed his sexual tendencies early. A star athlete in school and ripped he never held back. He was never threatened by his love of men. He reeked of manliness and if you even hesitated to doubt it he'd simply pump his massive pecs up and down and flex every muscle leaving you dumbfounded. Even I dreamt of making passionate love with Abraham.





We were working on a new development for an adult community. The town recently released the land to me after court fights that lasted 9 years. A prior developer had submitted documentation that an ancient colonial burial ground was moved in accordance with NY State law and the Church's okay. Local civic groups fought my friend Anthony's attempts to build so he gave up. I in turn, never one to turn from a fight, offered the community low income housing on property I own by the train tracks and a new fire house. Needless to say they gave in. Fucking the shit out of Mel, the 33 year old lawyer and head of the civic association, didn't hurt.





Abraham and I went out to survey the 45 acres. We pulled the bulldozer off the trailer to clear a space for our trailer office. In the dirt I found some chips of what looked like old headstones. Well, it was a burial ground. Abe and I joked of digging up some corpses and the curses that might affect us for stirring up the dead. We heard a horn in the distance. It was Abe's boyfriend, a new wide receiver for the NY Jets. Abraham had it all. Looks, muscles, gay and rookie of the year Anthony Moullato. At 6 8 362 he is huge. I normally top but I'd bottom for him.

Anyone want this to continue????

Give me some ideas!!!!

[Mad Dog]

I assume the "curse" is to grow massively muscled. :b

[average_joe]

Or they absorb the life force/energy of the people buried there (secret sect of gay men? Victims of persecution/witch trials?)

[Mdlftr]

Hm,
Intriguing set up. I especially like the strong character you've sketched out for the narrator in a few sentences. The physical description is good, but the ethnic background and "fighter" personality adds to the depth of the back story.

Some suggestions:

Narrator and son are setting up on the site. They put up a construction trailer, and are going to start doing some intensive site review, surveying, etc. , when they get a visitor. This tall, lean, square-jawed stern man comes to the office, dressed in dark clothing. He fixes them with a grim, forbidding countenance, and warns them against "disturbing hallowed ground". The narrator bristles at this, but then the visitor really ups the ante by making a reference, while sternly and scornfully looking the narrator up and down, to "such as you, a heathen and an unbeliever, a practitioner of depraved acts and unholy creeds." Then the visitor exits. The narrator is initially shocked into immobility, then outraged. He jumps up and runs to the trailer door, intending to chase the visitor off the land. When he opens the door, he has a clear view of the windswept field, edged by leafless trees 150 yards away. Anyone leaving the trailer would be clearly visible against the cold, grey sky, but there is no one there.....


Later, while surveying the site, the narrator and his son discover an old crypt, half hidden in the weeds. When they open the sagging door all the way, they find a coffin, weighted down with heavy stones, with indeciperable symbols painted on the stones. As they begin to move the stones, they hear a moaning sigh, then nothing. As the coffin is opened, they are momentarily blinded by a sudden gust of cold wind which whips through the crypt, stirring up dust. Abraham coughs, and sneezes, as he has accidentally inhaled some of the dust stirred up by the wind. The narrator checks him out, but Abraham appears o.k. The coffin is empty. Subsequent investigation reveals the crypt to not be listed on the inventory of the grave yard prepared for the original excavation. The crypt is actually outside the surveyor's marks for the old graveyard, and should not exist, according to the records. The carved places in the crypt which should hold a name have been defaced, the stone chiseled out, and the damaged stone covered with the strange markings. The Narrator and his son close up the crypt and leave the area.

At a conversation later that night with his buds at the local bar, a historically minded friend of the Narrator's mentions some of the old colonial practices for dealing with outsiders and those who did not fit into the community: ostracization, shunning, forcing them to wear symbols or marks identifying their status as outsiders. The historian friend then proceeds to talk about the ultimate punishment meted out: death by pressing with stones. There is a moment's silence, then Abraham pipes up with a lewd comment about "being 'bout pressed to death by Anthony when he's plowing my ass! He isn't rookie of the year for nothing!" After startled laughter at the juxtaposition of subjects, from grim colonial punishments to explosive sex, they change the subject. Unseen in the background, a tall, lean, grim-faced man in dark clothing puts down his drink and leaves the bar....

Work on the project continues, unevenfully. Abraham and his friend are very happy. Narrator is working hard on the project. Life is good. One of the narrator's best workers is hurt one day, and has to take disability leave. While the narrator sits in his office trailer, bitching to himself and Abraham over "How are we gonna do the steel framing on this project without Vinnie? He's a real Guido--thick, built, squat, strong and a highly skilled steelworker. His not being here leaves a big hole in the team." Abraham replies, "Yes, I'll bet he's really plugged a few holes for you in his time, huh, Dad?!" with a wisecracking smile. The narrator is startled, then throws a clipboard at Abraham, who laughs and ducks. The clipboard skids to a stop against the heavy-soled workboots of a man who has just entered the trailler. The new arrival is tall, wide and BUILT. Dressed in heavy plaid workshirt and jeans, his thick sinewy arms bulge out of his rolled up sleeves. His grizzled, clean-shaven face is scored by wind and weather. He is ruggedly handsome, with salt and pepper dark hair and bronzed skin. His ethnicity is indeterminate--Italian, Jewish, Arabic? Who knows? In the melting pot of New York, he could be anything. He inquires, "I understand that you're looking for some help on this project--an ironworker?"

Narrator thinks it odd that word has gotten out so fast, but he is desperate for the help, and the man looks competent. After the visitor puts on a display of strength by bending and then straightening steel rebar, while Abraham pops a woody, quietly, and the Narrator finds his own temperature rising, the man is hired. When asked his name, he says, "You can call me Ishmael." When Abraham, who studied English lit in college, pipes up and says, "Oh, you mean like the guy in "Moby Dick"?" Ishmael turns to him, smiling slightly as he holds his hard hat in both of his powerful hands, and says, "Yes,.....and like that Ishmael, only I was left to tell the tale." Smiling enigmatically into the Narrator's puzzled face, Ishmael exits the trailer and goes to work. Abraham and the Narrator exchange puzzled glances, then go about their work.


As time goes on, the Narrator finds himself spending more and more time watching Ishmael work. His fluid movements, his competent mastery of ironworking, and his calm demeanor are very appealing to the Narrator, as he frenziedly goes through his day, supervising the project and kicking butt to get the job done. Ishmael is a good ironworker, but he is also HOT! In the crisp fall air, Ishmael often works shirtless, revealing the thick furry pecs and chiseled muscles of his broad back. His powerful arms have no difficulty in manhandling the heavy steel beams and rebar. His powerful legs and full round muscle butt move smoothly beneath the tight denim of his jeans. Abraham is also watching. One night, when the Narrator decides to ask Ishmael to go to the bar for a drink after work to 'discuss the project', he comes upon Abraham and Ishmael playing tonsil hockey in a remote corner of the worksite, not far from the old crypt. The narrator remains hidden, until after Ishmael walks away, leaving Abraham flushed and breathing hard.

The narrator confronts Abraham with his infidelity to Anthony, and Abraham brushes him off, saying, "Hey, Dad, it's not like you never cheated on Mom. What did she think you were doing at the gym all those times?! You couldn't keep lifting forever!" As the words leave his lips, the Narrator rears back with all the strength in his 21" guns and slaps Anthony full across the face. Startled, Abraham staggers back, and puts his hand to his face.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that again!" the Narrator snaps. "What goes on between your Mother and I is our business! We were always faithful to each other where it counted! A man's needs are different, and your Mother understands that. If I were a Christian, I'd say she's a saint. As it is, I'm meshuggah, but I'm a man and I have my needs!"

"Yeah, and you're also a fagelah, in the f**king closet!" Abraham shouts at him, spittle flying. "You want cock as much as I do, but you're too much of a pussy to admit it! Besides, you saw me kissing Ishamael and you're jealous! You're just an old f***ing construction queen, who wants to get off with his "boys", then go home to the wife! At least I'm not a hypocrite, like you! I like cock, and I'm gonna get as much of it as I can! And if you don't like it, you can go f**K yourself!" Abraham turned and stalked off, his broad chest heaving from the emotion.

The Narrator stands in the field, reaching out to his son's departing back,
"Abraham, wait! You don't understand!" but Abraham walks away, ignoring him.

Stunned by Abraham's hostility, the Narrator wanders aimlessly, until he finds himself in front of the old crypt. Going into the cool interior, he plops himself down in the dirt infront of the opened coffin, covers his face with both of his leathery palms and weeps for Abraham, whom he now fears is lost to him forever. He also weeps for himself, for a lifetime of self-denial and lies to himself, his wife and his community. As he sits there, he thinks he is alone. Suddenly, a calloused hand touches his meaty shoulder, gently grasps him and pulls him upright. Without thought, he finds himself in Ishmael's muscular arms, pressed against the handsome man's powerful chest, as their mouths seek and find each other, tongues questing, lips greedily sucking on each other. They make love in the old crypt. They finish in a crescendo of physical pleaure so intense that the Narrator passes out, going down, down, down into the darkness. ................................


=================================

I have a few more ideas, but I'll let someone else get a word in edgewise!

If anyone wants me to continue on this thought, let me know! HM, I'm looking forward to more of this story!

Mdlftr

Mdlftr

[andromass]

Good start. Hopefully you will continue and put some growth into the story. Otherwise what's the point? Methinks maybe this thread should have started in the Story Ideas forum.

[wrestlejock646]

Definitely continue---that was a great addition--and I feel like you've got several more ideas up your sleeve. Thanks for the continuation so far!