Mark Lowry vs The Gunslinger
The next morning, the Drill Instructors made us strip down for the medical evaluation.
Twenty-four dudes were herded into a large room, told to remove all of our clothing, including our underwear, and wait in line.
When Remington stripped, his muscular physique was so well-defined that the other recruits gaped in astonishment. He actually looked better than a model or a sculpted bodybuilder because his muscularity was natural. Ruggedly handsome. Even the football-jock-types let loose with low whistles. Several dudes got self-consciously erect, including the jocks.
The jocks in the group stood there, trying to look macho with their six and eight inch erections.
Remington, with 10 inches curving upright, didn't have to try to look macho. Remington was beyond macho without even trying.
For my part, my claim to fame came from two things: my erection and my muscular development.
The first thing was that my boner was the longest and the biggest in my unit, bigger than Remington's.
The second thing was my physique.
Though Remington had top honors as the most chiseled dude in the room, I took second place on overall definition and development. Personally, I thought my leg muscles were stronger than Remington's, and I would be looking for an opportunity to impress him.
While we were standing naked and waiting, I was positioned behind Brad Johnson, Lowry's pal. I sized him up.
Johnson had been a defensive lineman for one of our academy rivals in the Southeast. He and his twin brother Norman had always had muscles on their muscles. They were also over-sexed. Rumor had it that Brad Johnson had slept with every girl in his graduating class. Reliable rumors also said that he had outmuscled all his coaches in the locker room.
Johnson's boner was about six by six inches and jutted straight with only a slight aim down.
Being a football player, Johnson had always put an emphasis on building bulk. Though strong as an ox, he lacked muscular definition. In other words, he was a thick-bodied jock. Compared to the sleek and slender muscles of my good friend The Cowboy, Johnson was what you might call stocky.
Standing in front of Johnson was Mark Lowry, another defensive lineman. Lowry was stockier than Johnson, but he was as handsome as Johnson and had rivaled Johnson in the romance department in high school.
Lowry's dick was bigger, about eight inches long by six inches around. Lowry's erection tended to curve to the left. Because of the bend in Lowry's boner, I figured I could womp him with a cock rub.
Lowry and Johnson started teasing the recruit in front of them, the smaller Asian dude from the bus. The Asian was more modest, and hence more self-conscious, than most of the guys in the group. It made him a bullet magnet for the bullies.
"Pansy," Brad Johnson was saying to the scrawny Asian. "You're not tough enough to make it through Boot Camp."
The Asian dude blushed and looked down at the floor as if he wished it would swallow him. His penis shrank into its foreskin.
By contrast, Johnson's boner was raging in the midst of our Testosterone Jungle of naked marine recruits.
Johnson continued harassing the little modest dude with comments like "You're a momma's boy. You've probably never had an erection except when your momma cleans your little pussy-dick."
I glanced in the direction of the Drill Instructors who were watching Johnson browbeat the smaller guy. They stood back and said nothing. Probably waiting to see if the runt had any fight. Ainsworth was actually smirking.
Johnson was petting his raging football penis and saying to the skinny Asian, "You want to be a marine? When the lights go out tonight, maybe I'll let you suck a real he-man dick."
The Asian looked like he might want to fight, but he was scared. His timidity only provoked Johnson to get louder, which attracted the attention of the other recruits and diverted them from their own self-conscious feelings about the size of their pecker and the shape of their body. It was safer for them to watch the scrawny Asian getting bullied than to be the target of the bully themselves.
I shoved Johnson and said, "Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"
Johnson had made his remarks loud enough so that everybody was watching.
I heard a couple of recruits suck in their breath. Another recruit whispered to his pals, "I'll give two-to-one odds that the football jock can whip the wrestler's ass."
Remington piped up. "I'll take your odds," he said. "I've seen the wrestler in action on the mat, and I've seen him kickboxing."
Remington turned toward Lowry and continued. "In a fair fight, the SuperKid can whip any recruit in this room."
Remington's claim may not have been true, but he sure as hell scored brownie points. It made up for the night before when he had rooted for The Cowboy.
Ainsworth rubbed his hands together and said, "Now we're going to see some real action."
Johnson looked at me like a rapist ready to prey on his victim. His hard-on bolted upright and he moved into my face.
I felt his hard erection press against my penis. My hefty boner bristled and punched his potent pecker. My hard-on was almost twice the size of his full erection. The sheer weight of my big dick gave it the advantage, not to mention the extra muscle in my lengthy cockshaft.
As the other recruits and the Drill Instructors watched, Johnson suddenly gritted his teeth, lunged forward, and locked me in a cock-to-cock bearhug.
Lowry hollered. "Crush his cock! Watch out for his arms!"
Johnson snarled at me. "My football cock can whip your Super-Dick."
Johnson tightened his muscle-bound buttocks and thrust his football jock against my wrestler's cock.
My enormous erection felt the hard muscle of his smaller penis punching and rubbing. I flexed my boner and fought back.
Our hard cocks rubbed together like wildfire as our bodies flooded with testosterone.
I spread my legs apart.
Johnson thought it was an act of submission and smirked. "What's the matter, cock-hard SUPER-KIDDDD? Don't you have any power in that foot-long muscledick?"
I grunted as I exuded my manhood into my erection.
Johnson dared me to wrestle his cock. "Fight my jock," he challenged.
My boner felt his potent six-inch penis pouring on the pressure.
Since he was holding me upright in a bearhug and supporting my body weight, I used my heels to punch the back of his knees, causing his legs to fold.
Johnson fell forward on top of me, confident that his football haunches could hump me down.
Some of the other football jocks, including Lowry and Jennings, cheered for him to crush my cock with his jock muscle.
"Power him down!" Lowry shouted. "Pump him with your ass!"
Jennings added fuel to the fire. "Grind his big dick. Use your crotch power!"
The Drill Instructors smiled and tugged at their bulging cockshafts.
"Your ass is mine," Johnson sneered.
He grinded his muscular penis down against my big dick. His muscular football butt pumped up and down like a rapid-fire piston. His erection felt like the barrel of a hot pistol as his boner beat against my big dick with stroke after stroke of athletic jock power.
"Candy-ass wrestler," Johnson grunted contemptuously. "You're no match for the power in my crotch."
The football player pinned me down while grinding against my dick.
He smiled confidently, holding my hands against the concrete and punching our cocks together. I felt his swollen dickhead punching against my cockshaft.
Brad Johnson's voice took on the hoarseness of a prison rapist who knows he's dominating a weaker male as he said, "Fight me or suck me."
I hooked his legs in a grapevine and stretched him out.
He smirked. "Your little amateur wrestling tricks won't help you, pansy-boy. I'll crush your crotch."
His boner grinded hard against my pecker as his football jock tried to punish my wrestler's cock.
I flexed my groin area, flooding my crotch with male aggression.
Though Johnson humped and pumped his haunches, his jock wasn't strong enough to beat my boner down.
My muscular legs hooked their grapevine tight. There would be no escape. With a slight touch of Male Pride Syndrome, I hoped Remington was watching.
When my legs had Johnson's legs splayed, I tensed my leg muscles and stretched his groin until he winced and stopped pumping against my penis.
All at once I flexed my pectorals and my torso, I pumped up the muscles in my shoulders, and I pushed up with my arms.
The jock's face showed astonishment and consternation.
The thrust of my muscular upper body overpowered his schoolboy pin.
It was my turn to snarl at Johnson. "Egotistical bigot. Whip my ass, if you can."
Knowing that he was in trouble, Johnson tried to press his body weight against me to hold me down, but my leg grapevine had his lower body locked in position.
As I dominated the football jock in a contest of strength and rolled him over, I saw Lowry headed in my direction with a kick aimed for my shoulder blades.
Lowry's foot never found its mark because the skinny Asian dude suddenly found his courage and tackled Lowry in mid-kick.
Lowry was furious. He flailed into the Asian with fists and elbows, but Remington charged to the rescue.
As my battle with Johnson continued, Remington pulled Lowry from the Asian.
Lowry and Remington went to the concrete floor in a tangle of fists.
Their legs locked together.
Lowry started swinging his fists ferociously toward Remington's face.
Remington returned the slugs blow for blow.
Either Remington punched harder than Lowry, or else Lowry couldn't take the punishment, because Lowry quickly abandoned the fist fight after a few powerhouse punches from Remington's clenched fists.
Lowry tried to get control of Remington's hands.
They rolled from side to side, two young warriors locked in hand to hand combat.
Sergeant Ainsworth was delirious with joy over the fights. He shouted to Lowry, "Whip the fuck out of the Dago! Show him who's the boss!"
As Lowry tried to control Remington's upper body strength, Lowry growled at Remington, "I'm gonna make you beg for mercy."
Remington hooked his ankles around Lowry's calves and rolled on top.
Their stiff penises slapped together and made a smacking sound.
Remington's erection was harder than Lowry's.
The other recruits could see Remington's Rambo-Cock putting a squash on Lowry's thick dick.
Lowry's jock turned bluish as Remington's penis roughly rubbed against it.
Remington's boner pressed down against Lowry's erection and slightly flattened the aroused cockhead.
Lowry yelped like a bit dog.
For a moment, Lowry felt distracted by the whipping Remington's crotch was putting on his jock penis.
Lowry felt his jock getting beat by the Italian muscledick on top of him.
"Fucking Fruit Loop!" Lowry shouted, embarrassed that his jock cock was getting whipped. "Get off my dick!"
Lowry's pal Howard Jennings made a move to pull Remington away from Lowry. Jennings decided against the maneuver when he saw Martinez and The Cowboy headed in his direction.
Martinez and The Cowboy continued to watch the fighting, but they kept a close eye on Jennings as well as Lowry's other buddies.
Remington pinned Lowry's powerful arms to the concrete.
Their eyes met.
In that moment, Lowry knew that the muscleboy on top of him could grind him to oblivion.
Lowry's legs twisted and turned in an effort to break free of the Italian muscleboy's double grapevine. Remington tensed his leg muscles and split Lowry's legs wide apart.
At the same moment, Remington's muscular buttocks pumped and squeezed, forcing his dick to grind against Lowry's jock cock.
Lowry tried to make his erection harder. His jock penis swelled upward against its foe.
Remington grinded down on the jock erection.
Lowry broke free of Remington's pin.
Lowry's hand reached between his legs to save his penis. He pulled his dick from under the aggressive Italian musclecock.
As Remington reached for Lowry's hand to regain control, Lowry quickly clawed into Remington's testicles.
Lowry snarled. "See how you like this, Wop."
When Lowry made a fist on Remington's balls, Remington loosened his grapevine and pulled back.
The Italian muscleboy punched his fist into Lowry's ballsack to even the score.
Lowry released his testicle claw, and the two grappling recruits locked together in mutual headlocks.
Using a wrist-hold, Lowry managed to break free from Remington's headlock.
He quickly locked Remington in a full nelson.
Lowry stood upright and pulled Remington's arms up while pressing down on his neck.
The jock sneered, "I gotcha, muscleboy Wop. Nobody can break this hold."
Lowry's jock cock swelled with macho power. The inflated cockhead rubbed itself domineeringly against Remington's muscular backside.
Lowry clasped his fingers tightly behind Remington's head and cinched the full nelson tighter.
Remington grimaced as Lowry's thick jock arms pressured his head downward and worked on his neck muscles.
Remington's penis dropped from full mast to half mast.
Lowry laughed and taunted Remington. "You're beat, Wop-Wimp. Submit to the superior strength of a football jock."
Lowry applied more force to the full nelson while jamming his rigid cock against Remington's muscular buns.
When Remington refused to submit to the jock's mastery, Lowry brazenly warned him, "My muscles can make you kiss your own cock."
Remington winced under the jock's awesome strength.
Lowry's full nelson was brutal and Lowry knew it.
Remington flexed his biceps.
Lowry was incensed by the muscleboy's impudence in trying to fight back.
The football jock pumped his arms and grinded Remington's head forward.
Remington struggled and fought back.
Their biceps locked together.
"Weak-dick," Lowry snarled. "I'll teach you what muscles feel like."
Lowry pumped up his upper body. He was rushing with adrenaline. His jock penis shot upright.
"Attaboy, Lowry!" Ainsworth hollered. "You're making him look like a sissy!"
Though Martinez and The Cowboy had tried to keep quiet, they didn't appreciate Ainsworth's big mouth.
Martinez glared at Ainsworth and cheered for Remington. "Come on, Gunslinger. Resist his muscles!"
The Cowboy added, "Fight him, Gunslinger! The football jock can't go the distance!"
The cheers from the Latino and the Cowboy infuriated Lowry.
Lowry pulled Remington up to his tiptoes and planted his penis into Remington's butt crack while trying to simultaneously force Remington's chin to his chest.
After hearing the two recruits take sides with Remington, Lowry was determined to emasculate the Italian muscleboy.
Lowry laughed loudly and sneered as his cockhead pressed against Remington's butt. "You can't beat a football jock, Garlic-Breath!"
Lowry barked at Martinez and Steadman. "Watch me turn your champion into a girl!"
In a display of machismo, Lowry muscled Remington.
Suspended in Lowry's powerful arms, Remington spread his Tarzan legs and kicked outward, pulling Lowry forward.
Remington's forward thrust compelled the big muscle jock to exert an enormous amount of energy to maintain the full nelson and keep his balance.
With tremendous effort, Remington spread his impressive arms outward, locked his hands together, and pulled his arms forward.
Lowry's arms quivered.
Martinez cheered for Remington. "Flex, Gunslinger, Flex!"
The Cowboy taunted Lowry. "What's the matter, Lowry? Is the Wop too tough to hold?"
The football hero's body shook as he struggled to control Remington's flexing muscles. Lowry's jock penis retreated, dropping to half mast as he strained to hold the flexing Italian muscleboy.
The Cowboy hollered to Remington. "You got the football jock's dick on the run!"
Lowry and Remington fought arm to arm.
Their biceps crunched together.
Remington was harder. His bulging biceps put a colossal drain on Lowry's energy.
Remington pumped his biceps in Lowry's arms. The Italian's face grimaced. His lips curled back from his pearly white teeth. In his tight neck muscles, the veins bulged.
Lowry's penis shriveled.
The potent jock felt his strength ebbing under Remington's masculine resistance.
"Attaboy, Gunslinger!" Martinez cheered. "You got him!"
As their bodies pressed close, Remington felt Lowry's dick shrinking into its foreskin. The football jock sucked a deep breath, striving to maintain his hold over Remington.
The Italian muscleboy gave an awe-inspiring shrug of his broad shoulders while punching his musclebutt backwards into Lowry's softening penis.
Remington jerked and broke the football jock's full nelson.
Before Lowry could counter, Remington had spun around with a complete reversal.
Lowry yelped as Remington turned the tables, locking Lowry in a savage full nelson. Remington muscled Lowry's chin to his chest.
Lowry's big muscular arms fought fiercely to break the full nelson, but Remington had him locked tight.
The Italian muscleboy worked on the muscular football jock.
Lowry winced. He struggled. He kicked. He strained.
Nothing in his arsenal could stop the strength of Remington's ruthlessly powerful upper body.
Though Jennings and Ainsworth cheered for Lowry to fight, the football jock was rapidly succumbing to the superior conditioning of his challenger.
Remington kept the pressure on the muscledude, forcing Lowry to drop unwillingly to his knees.
Lowry felt mortified, shamed, and disgraced. His face burned red in anger and frustration. The football jock had locked Remington in his best hold, and Remington had broken it.
Remington's musclepower was making the football jock look like an effeminate weak-dick.
When Remington's he-man full nelson had dropped the muscledude jock to a compliant kneeling position, Remington released his full nelson and quickly clamped Lowry in a headscissors with Lowry's lips hugged against his cock.
As Remington tensed his savage-looking leg muscles, the cruel tendons bulged and flexed tightly through his smooth skin.
Lowry lay powerless and impotent, his head caught in a vicious trap between Remington's Tarzan leg muscles.
The football jock was terrified to struggle against Remington's headscissors.
Lowry feared the punishment of Remington's barbaric legs.
Lowry never wanted to tangle with Remington again.
As Lowry met his Waterloo, Johnson and I were still going at it. We broke apart briefly when Lowry charged toward me for a kick.
When Remington came to the rescue of the skinny Asian dude, Johnson and I were back to our feet.
We faced off again.
Brad Johnson swung a fist toward my jaw.
My hand stopped him in mid-swing.
Reacting instinctively, my fingers flashed foward and caught the outside of Johnson's wrist joint while I pressed my thumb tightly on the inside of his wrist, forcing his fist open.
He tried to kick me in the balls.
I used his momentum to spin him down to the concrete where I clamped my legs around his muscular torso in a brutal bodyscissors.
Johnson's feet kicked as he struggled to break free. I wished that Remington could see it, but he was preoccupied with Lowry.
I tensed my legs tightly around Johnson's well-developed waistline.
Johnson strained for breath and kicked some more.
I taunted him. "Fight me, tough-guy. Fight back or I'll crush you in two."
When Johnson struggled, it made my dick harder.
Watching John kick like a fish out of water, Sergeant Ainsworth rooted for him. "Fight, Brad! Punch his ballsack!"
Johnson aimed his knuckles toward my nutsack.
My thighs squeezed his muscle-bound stomach in a way that would have made an octopus proud.
Johnson's pain affected his shot toward my nutsack. His aim was off.
Instead of busting my balls, Johnson's fist hammered into my stiff boner.
As you can imagine, hitting the muscle of my erect penis caused me about as much discomfort as an inflated truck tire feels when you strike it with a baseball bat.
In fact, my dick enjoyed the rough action; but don't tell Remington.
Johnson's awkward punches to my cock and his kicking feet revealed his sense of desperation under the torment of my unmerciful bodyscissors.
I tensed my muscles tighter on his stomach and watched him squirm.
Johnson grimaced in agony. He broke into a sweat.
He stopped punching my potent penis and tried to separate my legs from his midsection. His fingers tried to claw into my leg muscles.
I felt his fingernails digging into my skin as he tried to hook his fingers under the taut tendons in my legs.
I also felt the sweat dripping down his lower back as his body heated up from its desire for fresh air.
"You can't take it," I taunted. "Give it up."
His fingers clutched desperately for a handhold on my quads.
I revved up the pressure by twisting my body up sideways and holding his torso sandwiched tightly between my thighs.
He grunted under the added pressure. "Arghhh!"
I heard air whishing out of his mouth. It increased my arousal. My body surged with testosterone. My massive boner heaved upward in a gush of power.
My legs squeezed tighter. I worked him over.
His fingers stopped clutching at my thighs, and his muscular body fell limp between my scissored legs.
I knew that he was beginning to feel tame.
Johnson said hoarsely, "I didn't know that the Asian runt was your friend."
"Don't call him a runt," I said. "His name is ...."
I hesitated and looked at the Asian runt.
The skinny dude looked back at me and mouthed the word "Che."
"His name is Che," I said. "You call him 'Mr. Che, Sir'."
Johnson said nothing.
I worked him over, tightening my legs with brutal force, pretending I wanted to crush his body.
Johnson grimaced and groaned.
He tried to punch my balls, but my big dick got in the way.
When Johnson felt the hardness of my erect penis, his eyes widened in alarm.
"You're crushing me," he moaned. "Please have mercy."
When Johnson pleaded, Sergeant Ainsworth spit in disgust.
I kept Johnson scissored but dropped him to the concrete floor where he lay limply, unable to breath.
I repeated my demand, "Say, 'Mr. Che, Sir'."
Johnson almost whined. "Mister Che, Sir."
My leg muscles gave the muscledude a reminding squeeze before releasing him.
Sucking wind, he tried to curl on the cold concrete floor; but I dragged him over to where Lowry lay humbly headscissored between Remington's legs.
With Remington's help, I repositioned the two jocks so that both were headscissored by Remington's legs, facing each other.
Remington squeezed their heads between his awesome thighs, and I forced them to kiss each other.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Sergeant Ainsworth approaching me from the rear.
When Ainsworth was close enough, I jumped up and reared backwards with a bionic elbow to his nose.
"Fuck!" Ainsworth hollered as he fell backward to the floor on his musclebound duff.
Without looking back, I knew that my elbow had busted his nose good. In fact, the bionic elbow had broken his schnozzle.
He sat on the floor with his hands over his face and blood spurting between his fingers.
I turned around, feigned innocence, and stood at rigid attention.
With my ass puckering and my ears popping, I shouted, "SIR! The Recruit didn't know it was a Drill Instructor, Sir! The Recruit thought it was an ambush, Sir!"
The other Drill Instructors were smirking.
Everybody in the room knew that the elbow in the nose was a payback. It was revenge on behalf of the Rainbow Coalition.
Since the processing D.I.'s are not the same people as Boot Camp D.I.'s, I could afford to piss off Ainsworth in the short run.
He jumped to his feet and glared at me. I stood at rigid attention and stared straight ahead.
The truth was that I wanted him to take a punch at me because I wanted a piece of his cocky ass, but the other Drill Instructors intervened.
They broke things up and processing resumed.
Since the D.I.'s had permitted the fights, no reports were filed. Officially, Ainsworth's broken nose was attributed to a training accident.
Though I had made an enemy of Ainsworth and Johnson, I figured it wasn't a great loss because they were never my friends in the first place.
Among the naked recruits, I made several pals who thought that Sergeant Ainsworth deserved to get his nose popped by a recruit.
After that morning, word got around: I was the recruit who punched a Drill Instructor, broke his nose, and got away with it.
Needless to say, as the story was repeated among recruits and D.I.'s, it got embellished. According to one version of the story, I had a "Dick of Steel." Rumor had it that I was cock-hard, able to pull my dick out and whip Godzilla with it.
Privately, the other D.I.'s laughed and joked about the "SuperKid."
For the next twelve weeks of Boot Camp, the other Drill Instructors cautiously approached me from behind, if ever.
Sometimes, they were harder on me, especially during training for hand-to-hand combat.
The Asian's name was Tommy Che. After that day in the Testosterone Jungle, all the recruits called him, "Mr. Che, Sir."
did ya like that dude?
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