"Well, that sucked,” I grumbled to myself as I walked out of the theater.
“It sure did,” a voice from behind me said. I turned. “The first new gladiator movie in decades and it turns out to be major disappointment."
“Yeah.” was the most intelligent thing I could come up with as my eyes scanned him from head to toe.
"Wow!" I thought to myself.
He was about my height, dark hair, with an intriguing smile. His over-sized white T-shirt hung off his wide shoulders and clung to his chest, then fell loosely over the top of his jeans. The veins on the insides of his arms ran into his nicely rounded biceps.
We walked and talked for hours as we each mentioned every one of our favorite scenes from every gladiator movie we ever saw. I don’t know how we ended up at his doorstep but there we were. It was late.
“Come on in,” he said, holding the door open for me.
“Nice furniture,” I said in a really sarcastic voice. There was a gold leather sofa on one wall and a purple velvet chair that didn’t quite match the purple wallpaper on another.
“Yeah, I know. It’s only temporary,” he said apologetically.
We watched dozens of scenes from his video collection of half naked guys being stabbed or impaled with swords, knives, arrows and spears. He showed me some great sites online.
“Wow! I had no idea so many guys were into this,” I said excitedly.
He just nodded in agreement as he navigated his way through edited images and video clips of guys getting stabbed in every way imaginable.
“Ever do any role playing?” he asked as he shut down the computer.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know…pretend…gladiators…swords…in the arena…ROME!” his voice got louder as he went on.
Before I could say anything more, he had stripped off his shirt and pulled off his jeans. He had an awesome body; chiseled, muscular pecs that hung over a great set of really defined abs.
“Come on...take it off!” he coaxed, as he tugged on the bottom of my shirt. “I’m pretty sure gladiators never wore Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirts and Old Navy jeans,” he chuckled.
I pulled off my shirt and jeans.
“You work out!” he said as his eyes traced every curve of every muscle in my upper body. He then fixed his gaze on my midsection. “Nice six pack ,” he continued, as he tapped the back of his hand on my firm stomach a couple of times.
We stood in the middle of his living room in just our white briefs and socks. I was getting excited as my imagination raced.
“What about weapons?” I asked.
He held up one finger, motioning for me to wait. He opened a closet door in the hallway and dragged out a laundry bag. He pulled out two swords from the bag.
“What do you think of these?” he said proudly, as he swiped the air several times with one of the swords. “I got them on e-bay.”
The swords were identical…twenty inches of gleaming steel, two inches wide, attached to a nicely carved, but rather plain looking wooden grip.
“You know, from the shape of the blade and the lack of detail in the grip, I would guess twelfth century, but definitely not Roman,” I offered.
He moved closer and pointed one of the swords at my stomach. The tip of the blade pushed against the skin just above my navel. I instinctively flexed my ab muscles as I felt the blade press against my skin.
"These swords were the real thing and damn sharp", I thought to myself.
“When you have eight inches of steel stuck in your belly, what difference does it make what period the swords are from,” he said, somewhat annoyed. The sudden change of tone in his voice surprised me.
I pushed the blade away from me. He flipped the sword around and smiled as he offered me the grip.
“Come on. We’ll just clang the swords together and pretend to run each other through a few times,” he explained.
He grabbed the other sword and we circled each other in the center of the room. My heart raced.
Our swords met violently several times, filling the small room with clings and clangs as the blades crashed into each other. I raised my sword for an overhead attack, he countered with a low thrust. He aimed at the center of my gut but he steered the blade off to my left at the last second. The blade missed me by an inch or two.
“Gotcha!!!” he boasted and slapped the blade against my left side a few times. He pushed the full length of the blade along my side and then pulled it back towards him, pretending to run me through. The blade scratched my skin as he pulled it back.
“Hey, careful,” I said as I ran my hand along my side. I glanced down and saw a speck of blood mixed with beads of perspiration that were beginning to show on my skin.
“Its only a scratch,” he argued excitedly. “Let’s go again.”
We banged our swords together over and over, each of us looking for an opening. I lunged forward with a thrust at his belly. He jumped out of the way and grabbed and held my sword arm with his left hand. He put the tip of his blade under my left pectoral and pushed with just enough pressure to indent the skin without breaking it.
“The Emperor says thumbs down!” he shouted enthusiastically, and then he flicked his wrist. The blade made a two inch gash just below my left nipple. A streak of blood appeared.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled at him as I covered the gash in my chest with my left hand. “What happened to pretend?”
“Playtimes over my friend,” he shouted wildly with a crazed look on his face. His sudden change of personality scared me.
He came at me with a vengeance that could not have been mistaken for anything but genuine rage. He was going to kill me. His sword swung wildly, punctuated with jabs and thrusts, everyone narrowly missing me by only inches. I countered as best I could but I was tiring quickly. I moved back and tripped over a sofa cushion that had fallen to the floor. I fell backwards and was on my back. He stood over me and thrust his sword down at the center of my gut as I lay on the floor. I rolled out of the way and behind him as his blade cut through the carpet and stuck into the floorboards underneath.
As he struggled to pull his sword out of the floor, I got to my knees behind him and had my sword pulled back, ready to strike. He pulled his blade out of the floor and spun around wildly with his sword held high at his side. I thrust my sword forward and the blade cut into the right side of his belly six inches deep.
“Aaahhh!” he yelled and his body stiffened. He took a step forward as I pulled the blade out of him.
“Ok, that’s enough,” I said as I got to my feet. “Let's put the swords down.”
He looked down at the cut in his abdomen and covered the wound with his hand. He looked up at me.
"To the death," he whispered.
He swiped his sword at me and I crouched to avoid being slashed across the chest. As I stood up, I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand and and I drove my sword through the center of his gut as hard as I could. His mouth opened wide as the blade sliced through his muscular belly.
I held him up with my left hand grabbing his armpit and I whispered in his ear.
“Thumbs Down! asshole....”
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!" he yelled as I shoved the rest of the blade into his belly to the hilt.
The crisp sound of the blade slicing through his muscular torso sent a chill down my spine. I ripped the blade out of his gut and he cupped both hands over the wound. He staggered on his feet for a few moments and then fell to the floor. Blood flowed from the two cuts in his belly. He squirmed on the floor for a few minutes and then was still.
I didn't know what to feel. I was frightened, but I didn't have any guilt about what I had just done. In fact, I was excited and wanted to do it again.
I grabbed my clothes, both swords, and ran out off the house.
“It sure did,” a voice from behind me said. I turned. “The first new gladiator movie in decades and it turns out to be major disappointment."
“Yeah.” was the most intelligent thing I could come up with as my eyes scanned him from head to toe.
"Wow!" I thought to myself.
He was about my height, dark hair, with an intriguing smile. His over-sized white T-shirt hung off his wide shoulders and clung to his chest, then fell loosely over the top of his jeans. The veins on the insides of his arms ran into his nicely rounded biceps.
We walked and talked for hours as we each mentioned every one of our favorite scenes from every gladiator movie we ever saw. I don’t know how we ended up at his doorstep but there we were. It was late.
“Come on in,” he said, holding the door open for me.
“Nice furniture,” I said in a really sarcastic voice. There was a gold leather sofa on one wall and a purple velvet chair that didn’t quite match the purple wallpaper on another.
“Yeah, I know. It’s only temporary,” he said apologetically.
We watched dozens of scenes from his video collection of half naked guys being stabbed or impaled with swords, knives, arrows and spears. He showed me some great sites online.
“Wow! I had no idea so many guys were into this,” I said excitedly.
He just nodded in agreement as he navigated his way through edited images and video clips of guys getting stabbed in every way imaginable.
“Ever do any role playing?” he asked as he shut down the computer.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know…pretend…gladiators…swords…in the arena…ROME!” his voice got louder as he went on.
Before I could say anything more, he had stripped off his shirt and pulled off his jeans. He had an awesome body; chiseled, muscular pecs that hung over a great set of really defined abs.
“Come on...take it off!” he coaxed, as he tugged on the bottom of my shirt. “I’m pretty sure gladiators never wore Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirts and Old Navy jeans,” he chuckled.
I pulled off my shirt and jeans.
“You work out!” he said as his eyes traced every curve of every muscle in my upper body. He then fixed his gaze on my midsection. “Nice six pack ,” he continued, as he tapped the back of his hand on my firm stomach a couple of times.
We stood in the middle of his living room in just our white briefs and socks. I was getting excited as my imagination raced.
“What about weapons?” I asked.
He held up one finger, motioning for me to wait. He opened a closet door in the hallway and dragged out a laundry bag. He pulled out two swords from the bag.
“What do you think of these?” he said proudly, as he swiped the air several times with one of the swords. “I got them on e-bay.”
The swords were identical…twenty inches of gleaming steel, two inches wide, attached to a nicely carved, but rather plain looking wooden grip.
“You know, from the shape of the blade and the lack of detail in the grip, I would guess twelfth century, but definitely not Roman,” I offered.
He moved closer and pointed one of the swords at my stomach. The tip of the blade pushed against the skin just above my navel. I instinctively flexed my ab muscles as I felt the blade press against my skin.
"These swords were the real thing and damn sharp", I thought to myself.
“When you have eight inches of steel stuck in your belly, what difference does it make what period the swords are from,” he said, somewhat annoyed. The sudden change of tone in his voice surprised me.
I pushed the blade away from me. He flipped the sword around and smiled as he offered me the grip.
“Come on. We’ll just clang the swords together and pretend to run each other through a few times,” he explained.
He grabbed the other sword and we circled each other in the center of the room. My heart raced.
Our swords met violently several times, filling the small room with clings and clangs as the blades crashed into each other. I raised my sword for an overhead attack, he countered with a low thrust. He aimed at the center of my gut but he steered the blade off to my left at the last second. The blade missed me by an inch or two.
“Gotcha!!!” he boasted and slapped the blade against my left side a few times. He pushed the full length of the blade along my side and then pulled it back towards him, pretending to run me through. The blade scratched my skin as he pulled it back.
“Hey, careful,” I said as I ran my hand along my side. I glanced down and saw a speck of blood mixed with beads of perspiration that were beginning to show on my skin.
“Its only a scratch,” he argued excitedly. “Let’s go again.”
We banged our swords together over and over, each of us looking for an opening. I lunged forward with a thrust at his belly. He jumped out of the way and grabbed and held my sword arm with his left hand. He put the tip of his blade under my left pectoral and pushed with just enough pressure to indent the skin without breaking it.
“The Emperor says thumbs down!” he shouted enthusiastically, and then he flicked his wrist. The blade made a two inch gash just below my left nipple. A streak of blood appeared.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled at him as I covered the gash in my chest with my left hand. “What happened to pretend?”
“Playtimes over my friend,” he shouted wildly with a crazed look on his face. His sudden change of personality scared me.
He came at me with a vengeance that could not have been mistaken for anything but genuine rage. He was going to kill me. His sword swung wildly, punctuated with jabs and thrusts, everyone narrowly missing me by only inches. I countered as best I could but I was tiring quickly. I moved back and tripped over a sofa cushion that had fallen to the floor. I fell backwards and was on my back. He stood over me and thrust his sword down at the center of my gut as I lay on the floor. I rolled out of the way and behind him as his blade cut through the carpet and stuck into the floorboards underneath.
As he struggled to pull his sword out of the floor, I got to my knees behind him and had my sword pulled back, ready to strike. He pulled his blade out of the floor and spun around wildly with his sword held high at his side. I thrust my sword forward and the blade cut into the right side of his belly six inches deep.
“Aaahhh!” he yelled and his body stiffened. He took a step forward as I pulled the blade out of him.
“Ok, that’s enough,” I said as I got to my feet. “Let's put the swords down.”
He looked down at the cut in his abdomen and covered the wound with his hand. He looked up at me.
"To the death," he whispered.
He swiped his sword at me and I crouched to avoid being slashed across the chest. As I stood up, I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand and and I drove my sword through the center of his gut as hard as I could. His mouth opened wide as the blade sliced through his muscular belly.
I held him up with my left hand grabbing his armpit and I whispered in his ear.
“Thumbs Down! asshole....”
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!" he yelled as I shoved the rest of the blade into his belly to the hilt.
The crisp sound of the blade slicing through his muscular torso sent a chill down my spine. I ripped the blade out of his gut and he cupped both hands over the wound. He staggered on his feet for a few moments and then fell to the floor. Blood flowed from the two cuts in his belly. He squirmed on the floor for a few minutes and then was still.
I didn't know what to feel. I was frightened, but I didn't have any guilt about what I had just done. In fact, I was excited and wanted to do it again.
I grabbed my clothes, both swords, and ran out off the house.
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