A Halloween Story

Halloween was Patrick’s favorite holiday of the year. He loved dressing up in costume and going to bars and parties around the city with his friends. This Halloween would be special though because Patrick was meeting Mario for the first time. He and Mario met online and had been texting and FaceTiming each other for a few weeks. Tonight would be their first date and Patrick was excited to finally meet Mario in person.

Patrick carefully attached the long Spartan cape to the leather straps that fit snugly across his thickly muscled chest. He purchased the Spartan costume online when he and Mario had agreed to dress as ancient warriors for their Halloween date. Mario would be wearing a gladiator costume he put together himself from various online sources. Both young men had perfectly muscled physiques, the results of countless hours spent in the gym. They both were eager to show off their toned bodies in the scant warrior costumes they would wear. Their muscular torsos would be fully exposed, much like those of the Spartans and gladiators they emulated in their virtual role-playing.

The two young men met on a gladiator-themed message board and both shared the same sexual fantasies…fighting as ancient warriors; sometimes slaying their bare-chested opponents with a sword or spear, and sometimes being killed in battle in the same manner. For the last few weeks, the young men had been role-playing on FaceTime while previewing their Halloween costumes for each other, Patrick as a Spartan warrior and Mario as a gladiator. They took turns describing in graphic detail how they would kill each other in battle with their swords and spears, and then the slain warrior would act out his death scene, often dramatically, by clutching his belly with both hands while moaning and groaning and falling to the floor. Both men were sexually aroused by the hours-long sessions which invariably included multiple acts of sexual self-gratification.

Patrick suggested they meet at a local bar hosting a Halloween party but Mario insisted they meet at Patrick’s apartment. Patrick was hesitant at first but wanted to make this relationship work, so he finally relented. They agreed to be fully dressed in costume when they met to keep the fantasy role-playing they started virtually going in person.

Patrick was nervous while waiting in his apartment fully dressed in his Spartan costume. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror for several minutes, flexing as he turned from side to side.

“Damn, I look good,” Patrick muttered, as he stared at himself in full Spartan warrior attire, confident his impressively muscled body looked great in his costume.

The leather straps wrapped around his chest made Patrick’s pectorals look even fuller and more defined than usual. His chiseled abs looked like they were carved from stone, no doubt due to the aggressive dieting and tanning Patrick did the last few weeks in preparation for tonight. He looked like an actual Spartan warrior ready for battle. Patrick knew he looked great and hoped Mario thought so too.

The doorbell rang and Patrick put down the prop spear he was holding and opened the door. Neither man said anything, instead, each immediately fixed their gaze admiringly on the other’s muscular torso. Neither young man was disappointed.

Mario's body was magnificent, more impressive in person than what Patrick had remembered from their virtual role-playing sessions. His broad shoulders and narrow waist formed the perfect “V” shaped torso. His two large pectorals hung low over his thickly muscled abdomen. Mario’s tanned olive skin sharpened the definition of every muscle in his sculpted torso. He looked like a Greek god in his gladiator costume. Mario flexed his huge biceps as he held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He was an impressive sight standing in the doorway, half-naked, wearing only a leather skirt that sat low on his hips and a black leather harness that fitted snugly around his huge chest. 

Patrick sensed that Mario was pleased with the Spartan warrior he saw standing on the other side of the doorway. Both men were flexing their muscles hard trying to impress the other. 

Without saying a word Mario lifted his sword and pressed the tip of the blade firmly into Patrick’s abdomen just above his navel. Patrick inhaled sharply and reflexively drew in his stomach and flexed his abs when he felt the tip of the cold steel blade touch his bare skin. 

“Damn, that’s a real sword…and sharp as hell,” Patrick thought to himself.

Mario slowly dragged the sword blade up the middle of Patrick’s smooth muscular torso, pausing at each row of Patrick’s sculpted abs and pushing the blade forward a little firmer into Patrick’s hard belly. Patrick flinched each time he felt the tip of the cold blade press harder into his tightly flexed abs. Mario continued dragging the sword blade up to the center of Patrick’s chest, pausing again, with the sword blade aimed between Patrick’s two large but perfectly shaped pectorals. 

Mario pushed Patrick back with his sword pressing firmly into Patrick’s chest. Patrick flexed his pecs hard and slowly stepped back into the apartment as the blade was pushed harder into his bare chest. Mario kicked the door closed behind him. The young men were breathing heavier and starting to get aroused as the sensual swordplay continued inside the apartment.

  

Mario dragged the sword blade across Patrick’s chest and pressed the tip of the blade under Patrick’s left pectoral, just below his nipple. Patrick flexed his chest hard when he felt a twinge of pain as Mario pushed the finely sharpened blade into his skin a little too hard, almost breaking the skin. Mario then slowly dragged the sword blade back down the center of Patrick’s torso, stopping when the blade was a few inches above Patrick’s navel.

Both young men were fully aroused as their imaginations ran wild with erotic scenarios they had role-played thousands of times. Patrick was quivering slightly as he imagined Mario suddenly thrusting his sword forward into his tightly flexed abs and running him through with the sword. Mario was flush with sensual excitement imagining thrusting his sword into Patrick’s rock-hard belly and driving his sword completely through Patrick’s thickly muscled naked torso.

Mario squeezed the sword's grip tighter in his right hand and flexed his right bicep hard. He grabbed Patrick’s right shoulder with his left hand and leaned into him with the sword blade pressed into Patrick’s abs.

“HAAAA!!!,” Mario yelled out menacingly, as he forcefully thrust his sword forward, flicking his wrist to the right so that the full length of the sword blade slid harmlessly against the left side of Patrick’s muscular torso until the hilt of the sword was even with his abdomen.

“AAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!” Patrick yelled out wildly when he felt the sword blade rub against the bare skin on the left side of his torso as Mario thrust the sword fully forward. 

Patrick bent forward at the waist and flexed every muscle in his upper body hard, imagining the full length of the sword blade had been driven into his belly and run completely through his hard muscled torso to the hilt of the sword, with the sword blade protruding out his back.

Mario jammed his left hand into Patrick’s chest and abruptly pulled his sword back violently, again sliding the blade flat against Patrick’s side, as if pulling the blade out of his belly. 

“UUUUUUUhhhhhhh!!!!” Patrick grunted and his body recoiled as Mario pulled his sword back.

Patrick gritted his teeth and flexed his abs hard imagining the pain of a deep stab wound in his belly. He yelled out again and pulled back his shoulders and threw his arms out to his sides; his muscular torso was fully exposed and vulnerable with his abdomen wide open, giving Mario an enticing target for another thrust of his sword.

Mario hesitated a moment to gaze at Patrick's incredibly muscular body and his seductive pose, but then couldn’t resist the temptation to continue the role-playing battle and stab the Spartan warrior again with his sword.

Mario stepped forward with his sword arm fully cocked back and forcefully thrust the sword forward, again deflecting the blade to the right at the last moment so that it scraped along the side of Patrick’s torso. 

“AAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!” Patrick yelled out uncontrollably and his body shuddered, as he felt the sword blade against the side of his abdomen, imagining he had been stabbed again.

Mario held the blade tucked tightly against the side of Patrick’s torso so that it appeared half the blade had been driven into Patrick's belly. Mario then wrapped his muscular left arm around Patrick’s back and pulled him closer. Both men were sweating and their bare bodies were moist with perspiration.

“HHHaaa!!!’ Mario yelled out, as he drove the rest of his sword blade forward along the side of Patrick’s torso until the hilt of the sword was even with Patrick’s abdomen, pretending to run Patrick through again. 

“UUUUuuuhhhh!!!” Patrick grunted and flexed his upper body hard as he felt the sword blade thrust forward while held tightly against the side of his torso, imagining the full length of the sword blade had been run through his gut.

Mario dug his left hand into Patrick’s fully pumped chest and aggressively pulled his sword back as if pulling the blade out of Patrick’s gut. 

“UUUHHH!!!” Patrick groaned and his body convulsed.

Patrick staggered forward with his two hands clutching his belly then fell to the floor face down writhing in pain at Mario's feet.

Mario put his left foot under Patrick’s right shoulder and flipped him over on his back. He then straddled Patrick with one leg on either side of his torso. Mario pressed the sword blade into Patrick’s chest under his left pectoral. Patrick instinctively flexed his massive chest hard as he felt the cold steel blade push into the skin under his left pec.

 

“Die Spartan,” Mario said ominously, and flicked the sword blade to the side of Patrick’s chest before forcefully pushing the sword down as if driving the sword blade deep into Patrick’s chest; the blade slid down against the side of Patrick’s chest and into the floor next to him. Mario pushed the sword down so hard that the tip of the razor-sharp blade was embedded into the floorboards.

“UUUUUUhhhhhhh!!!” Patrick groaned loudly as he grabbed the sword blade protruding from his chest with both hands for a few seconds then let his arms slowly fall to his sides. 

Patrick imagined the sword thrust through his chest would have pierced his heart and killed him instantly. He lay still with the sword still stuck in the floor beside him.

Looking down at Patrick, bare-chested, with his big muscular body sprawled on the floor and a sword seemingly driven into his chest, Mario was about to explode in ecstasy. Patrick had the same feeling as he lay on the floor imagining gladiator Mario had run him through the belly twice and stabbed him in the chest with a sword. Both young men were playing out their ultimate sexual fantasies live.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Mario started to giggle…and that got Patrick giggling as well.

“WAIT! FREEZE!” Mario shouted. “I have got to get some photos of this”

“That was so awesome,” Mario exclaimed excitedly as he went to get his iPhone.

“It was incredible,” Patrick agreed, still lying on the floor with the sword stuck in the floor next to him.

Mario snapped a dozen photos, and at just the right angle, it looked like the sword was stuck in Patrick’s chest.

”You died well…as a Spartan warrior should,” Mario said as he helped Patrick off the floor.

“Your sword thrusts were perfect,” Patrick said excitedly. 

Mario air-dropped the photos he took to Patrick and they both took a few moments to bring down the sexual energy.

“Now do me,” Mario pleaded

They reversed roles.

Patrick grabbed the prop spear he had set down earlier. The spear had a wooden shaft and a hard rubber spearhead. Mario put his shield down on the couch and jumped up on the coffee table in the middle of the living room with just his sword in his hand. 

“HAAAAAAA!!!” Mario yelled as he pretended to attack.

Mario held his sword high above his head, intentionally exposing his impressive muscular torso to a counterattack. His leather gladiator tunic slid down a little lower on his hips, exposing more of his veiny lower belly.  Mario’s muscular abdomen was wide open and a seductive target for Patrick’s spear 

Patrick paused for a moment to admire Mario’s beautifully muscled smooth torso and thought how great he looked in his gladiator costume frozen in his alluring attack stance. 

But Patrick couldn’t resist attacking any longer. He lurched forward and rammed his spear into Mario’s chiseled abdomen at full force, the rubber spearhead stabbing hard into Mario’s bare belly.

“AAAAAAAhhhhhhhhh!!!!” Mario yelled out and grabbed the shaft of the spear with his left hand and held it pulled into his belly as he slowly fell from the table.

Mario dropped his sword and grabbed the shaft of the spear with both hands, pulling the spearhead into his tightly flexed belly and moaning loudly. 

Patrick yanked the spear back as if pulling it out of Mario’s body. 

“UUHH!!!” Mario’s body recoiled and he arched his back, threw his big arms out to his sides, and spun around with his back to Patrick.  

Patrick quickly thrust his spear forward again, aiming to the right of Mario’s brawny back so that the spear grazed the right side of Mario’s hard-muscled torso until the spearhead looked like it was protruding from Mario’s abdomen.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHhhhhhh!!!!” Mario yelled out wildly and pulled back his shoulders when he felt the spear rub against his right side. He grabbed the spearhead with both hands imagining the spear had been thrust completely through his back.

Patrick pulled the spear back sharply, pretending to pull it out of Mario’s back.

“UUHH!!!” Mario grunted and fell to the floor on his back, his big muscular body squirming and writhing in agony, and struggling to keep his head off the floor.

Both young men were once again fully aroused by the scenario that was playing out, having fantasized about what they were now role-playing thousands of times. But doing it live in full costume with another lean muscular opponent brought it to another level of sensual ecstasy. 

Patrick stood over Mario as he lay on the floor and lifted his spear high over his head. Patrick then rammed the spear down into Mario’s gut just above his navel.

“AAAHHHhhhhhh!!!” Mario wailed as the rubber spearhead slammed into his belly at full force, almost knocking the wind out of him. 

Mario grabbed the shaft of the spear with both hands and thrashed around on the floor imagining he had been speared through the belly. His head then slowly fell back to the floor and he pretended to die, still holding the spearhead tightly into his belly with both hands grabbing the shaft of the spear.

“STAY DOWN!!!,” Patrick shouted after a few moments of silence. I’ve got to get a photo of this.

Patrick snapped photo after photo of Mario on the floor holding the spear into his belly, trying to find the angle at which it looked most realistic. 

“Okay, got it.” 

Mario got up from the floor and walked over to Patrick.

“Let me see….Yea those are hot,” Mario agreed.

Both men were sexually charged and Mario suggested they forget the Halloween parties and move to the bedroom. Patrick agreed. 

The young men stripped off their costumes and admired each other’s beautifully muscled bodies. Their muscles were fully pumped from all the flexing during the sensual role-playing earlier.  Even out of costume both young men looked like they could have been real Spartans or gladiators. 

They jumped into bed where they spent several hours passionately engaged.

What was supposed to be a one-night date turned into a week's stay for Mario. He and Patrick role-played every scenario they could imagine with swords, spears, and arrows. They even swapped costumes several times with Patrick as the gladiator and Mario as the Spartan warrior.

Their intense role-playing was interspersed with some passionate lovemaking. 

The two young men continued their virtual role-playing but also got together in person frequently to act out their most intimate fantasies in person, posting photos and videos of their role-playing on the website where they first met. 

Diomedes

***

The warship positioned itself as close to the shore of the small isle of Crete as the depth of the sea below her would allow. Any closer would risk splitting the wooden ship's oak keel or damaging its rudder.  The warriors would have to lower themselves into waist-high sea water and then wade in to shore a good distance away. 

When the ship's anchor was dropped Diomedes was the first warrior to release his grip on his oar and leap to his feet at his outside position among the oarsmen nearest the stern of the ship. The big muscular bare-chested warrior pulled back his broad shoulders, arched his back, and stretched his massive chest and lean muscular abdomen. 

The gods had not been kind to the sailors that day and the steady nautical breezes that usually blew from the north across the Adriatic were silent for the last few hours rendering the ship's large sail impotent. The warship relied solely on the muscle of its oarsmen to propel it forward toward its destination and to carry its warriors to battle. 

Diomedes' thickly muscled torso was stiff from the day's rowing but the endless hours of pulling on the oar had swollen the muscles in his arms, shoulders, back, and chest to impressive proportions.  Blood surged through the rope-like veins throbbing under the warrior's taut skin, hardening Diomedes' sore muscles while replenishing them with much needed oxygen and nutrients. 

The sun's relentless rays had baked Diomedes' smooth skin to a golden hue that accentuated the curves and crevices of every bulging muscle in the warrior's fully exposed torso, arms, and legs. The sharp definition of Diomedes' musculature was exaggerated by his meager diet for the last several weeks that consisted of nothing more than fish, dates, and nuts. The warrior's nearly naked body looked as if it had been carved from marble with a finely sharpened chisel and a skilled hand. 

Beads of perspiration ran off Diomedes' huge pectorals and rolled down his belly, streaming over the mounds of thick muscle that covered his abdomen. The steady streams of moisture running down the warrior's body disappeared  briefly behind his leather tunic and then reappeared, aimlessly rolling down his thick muscular thighs. Diomedes elicited the amorous, but muted, stares of several other warriors on the ship as he twisted his sculpted torso from side to side and stretched and flexed his muscular body in preparation for battle.       

                   

***

Squabbles between the city states of the Macedonian Peninsula were common but King Philip was intent on conquering the Mycenaeans on Crete and occupying the small island in the southern Adriatic. The island's natural harbors were essential for Macedonia to expand its trade routes to Egypt and the rest of the African continent. 

The Mycenaeans were proud of their independence and resisted Philip's diplomatic efforts to bring them into the fold of the Macedonian Nation. The single warship anchored off the coast of the island had been sent to probe the defenses of the island with a large scale invasion still in the planning stages and several months off. 

***

The other crew members were slow to transition themselves from oarsmen to warriors, meticulously attending to their armor, helmets, and weapons. But Diomedes readied himself quickly and was determined to be the first warrior in the water, eager to reach the beach and engage the Mycenaean soldiers in battle. 

The warriors strapped leather armor onto their torsos, bronze greaves around their legs, and light helmets on their heads. But Diomedes preferred to fight bare-chested, wearing no body armor or helmet. Diomedes was an experienced warrior and favored the unencumbered agility that fighting with a bare torso and legs allowed and he was confident enough in his skill with a sword that he derided body armor as an unnecessary hindrance. Diomedes was also keenly aware of how intimidating his fully exposed massive muscular body could be on the battlefield and exploited the advantage that it provided. 

Diomedes knew the armor the other warriors were wearing would slow them down in the water and tire them needlessly before the battle. The considerable distance between the ship and the beach convinced Diomedes to remove even the short waist-high leather tunic that he usually wore in battle. Diomedes was anxious to meet the Mycenaeans in battle and wanted to move through the water a quickly as possible. 

As he prepared to enter the sea Diomedes drew in his muscular abdomen and undid the clasp below his navel that secured the goatskin tunic wrapped tightly around his narrow waist. The weathered leather tunic dropped unceremoniously to the deck when the clasp was undone. Diomedes was left wearing just a thin linen cloth that fit snugly under his crotch with just enough material to cover his loins and hindquarters. The black linen was trimmed with a thin white band and a thicker red band at the top…the colors of his native province. The black cloth clung low on Diomedes' hips and was secured in place with a decorative bronze pin. 

Diomedes liked showing off his impressively muscled body and he was looking forward to fighting the Mycenaeans wearing even less around his waist than he usually did in battle and just about as little clothing as his Macedonian customs would allow. The warrior grabbed his sword from the ship's armory and hoisted it high above his head while letting out a series of enthusiastic war cries that rallied the other warriors. Diomedes was convinced he was invincible. 

***

Orestes had spotted the ship on the horizon a full half day before it dropped anchor. From his perch high in the hills overlooking the beach the archer had an unobstructed view of the harbor on the north side of the island.

Orestes was sure the other archers, who were strategically positioned in the hills around him, saw the warship approach as well. 
 

Orestes was the most skilled bowman of all the Mycenaean archers and it was predetermined before the archers were dispatched to the hills that, in the event the Macedonians attacked from the northern harbor, Orestes would take out the first warrior to reach the beach. His launched volley of arrow would be the signal to the other archers that the Macedonians were attacking. 

***

Diomedes was the first warrior to lower himself into the sea. The cool water of the Adriatic was welcome relief from the sweltering heat of the late summer day. With his bare feet touching the sandy sea bottom Diomedes' lower body was fully submerged with the water level reaching about even with his navel. The heavily muscled warrior took a moment to scoop up a few handfuls of cool water and splash it on his massive chest and shoulders…the briny sea water glistened on Diomedes' smooth muscular torso under the golden rays of the late day sun. 

Diomedes' powerful thighs easily propelled him through the water and towards shore. Cool water washed over Diomedes' thickly muscled belly as he moved quickly through the gentle swells of the sea, with an occasional rogue wake bringing the sea water lapping higher against his glistening muscular body to splash his large pectorals. The warrior held his beefy arms high over his head as he waded closer to shore, hoping to keep the grip of his sword dry before he engaged the Mycenaeans in battle. 

The other warriors were far behind Diomedes as he approached the shoreline of the island. The beach was deserted but he knew the Mycenaeans were lurking among the cypress trees that lined the beach a stone's throw from the water's edge. The Mycenaeans were brave warriors and Diomedes anticipated a full frontal assault and a brutal battle when the rest of the Macedonian soldiers reached the beach. 

***

Orestes gazed intently at the warship as the first Macedonian warrior lowered himself into the water and started wading towards shore.

The other warriors followed at a considerable distance behind. The archer was slightly surprised that the first Macedonian in the water wore no armor or helmet. From their distance to the shore, the archers' arrows would easily pierce the leather armor worn by the other warriors, rendering it useless. But Orestes was still bemused by the overly confident warrior charging through the water almost naked with his full torso completely exposed and unprotected. 

Orestes' interest was piqued considerably when the first warrior reached knee-deep water closer to shore. The archer noticed that the bare-chested warrior was incredibly muscular. The warrior's two beefy arms were held high over his head and his thick pectorals bounced rhythmically on his large frame as he galloped through the shallower water. The warrior's sharply defined abs were fully flexed as his bounded through the water and approached the beach. Orestes was impressed that such a heavily muscled warrior could move with such agility through the water. 

Orestes was a seasoned warrior who had killed many men in battle with his bow but he had never launched his arrows into the naked torso of a bare-chested warrior before and certainly never one as big and muscular as the Macedonian who now had his attention below. 

As the archer set an arrow on his bow the thought of his arrows ripping into the charging warrior's perfectly muscled bare torso had his heart racing and his loins stirring.

Orestes drew back his bow as far as he could and waited with excited anticipation for the warrior to reach the shoreline. 

***

Diomedes was still charging hard as he neared the shoreline. He held his sword high above his head and arched his back slightly to avoid the rogue waves that were breaking on shore.

But as soon as Diomedes was out of the water and with his feet planted firmly on the sandy beach the warrior heard something whiz through the air at him followed by a muffled aqueous thud. Diomedes grunted and felt a sudden sharp sting on the right side of his abdomen. He looked down and was stunned to see the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his belly. Before he could bring down his sword arm another arrow ripped into the center of Diomedes' gut with a dull thud and enough force to push the big muscular warrior back a few steps. 

Diomedes' massive body recoiled violently when the second arrow tore into his thick abs and lodged deep in his tightly flexed belly. 

"AAAAAHHHHHhhhh!!!" Diomedes yelled out wildly as Orestes' arrows hit their target with lethal accuracy. 

Diomedes' sword slipped out of his hand and fell back into the water and was quickly submerged in shallow water near the edge of the beach. 

Diomedes hunched over and grabbed the shafts of both arrows that were stuck in his belly, one with each hand. His hands were quickly stained red as blood spurted from the two wounds in his abdomen. 

Diomedes flexed every muscle in his upper body hard and gritted his teeth as he tried to endure the fiery pain in his gut. He staggered forward a few steps but managed to stay on his feet. 

***

Orestes was pleased that his two arrows had found their mark. Watching his arrows rip into the overly confident warrior's naked muscular torso had excited the archer beyond any kill he had scored before. 

Orestes set another arrow on his bow as he watched the warrior struggle with the two arrows already lodged deep in his abdomen. The archer hoped to send at least one more arrow into the warrior's hard-muscled torso before he fell to the ground. 

 Orestes pulled back the arrow and waited patiently for an opening.

***

Diomedes was still reeling from the two arrows in his gut and when he pulled back his boulder-like shoulders and arched his back to yell out again, another arrow suddenly slammed into his chest, ripping into his body just below his left pectoral. 
 

Diomedes instinctively covered his beefy left pectoral with his right hand…the shaft of the arrow protruding between his bloodied fingers. The warrior made some guttural sounds from deep in his throat and then fell straight back onto the sandy beach. 

Orestes' third arrow had pierced the muscular warrior's heart and he was dead within moments of falling to the ground.  Diomedes, who wanted to believe he was invincible, lay dead at the water's edge with three Mycenaean arrows stuck in his nearly naked muscular body. Blood flowed freely from the wounds in his abdomen and chest and rolled off his thick torso, staining the sand under him red.

***

Orestes looked down at the dead warrior on the beach and was pleased with the kill.

***

The other warriors charging the beach never made it close enough for the archer's arrows to reach them. As soon as the first arrow hit Diomedes they turned back to the ship.

At dusk, two Macedonian warriors came ashore to retrieve Diomedes' body and carry it back to their ship. The warship pulled up anchor soon after and slowly disappeared over the fading horizon. 

Tom

Tom had a few hours to kill before he had to be behind the bar at Roids. He mixed himself a drink and stripped down to his white silk briefs and sat on the edge of the hot tub. Tom spent the morning laying out on the beach and he noticed his chest was sunburned.

Steve isnt gonna like that, Tom thought to himself. Steve, the manager at Roids liked his bartenders buffed and tanned. Thats what brought in the crowds, he always said.

I pay you guys to look good with your shirts off. If you can mix a drink, thats a bonus, Tom remembered Steve saying half jokingly.

Tom leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. He twisted his upper body from side to side a few times to stretch out his thick back muscles and then flexed his abs a few times. Tom was jacked and he knew it. His perfectly proportioned body earned him the most admirers at the bar and, more importantly, the biggest tips. He closed his eyes and dozed off, wondering if he would meet any one at the bar that night.

Tom never heard the two intruders when they hopped the fence and slowly moved towards him. Tom awoke with a gasp. One of the attackers grabbed Toms arms from behind him and pulled them back over his head, stretching his well muscled torso to its limit. He tried to move his legs but the second attacker jumped in front of Tom and straddled his legs so that they were pinned. The more Tom struggled, the harder his arms were pulled back leaving his chest and abdomen fully stretched and completely vulnerable.

Tom saw the flash of the blade and a second later felt a sudden burst of pain in his gut as the attacker in front of him brutally stabbed Tom in the belly.

AAAHHHhhhhhh!!! Tom screamed in agony, his body stiffened as the razor sharp blade cut easily through the flesh and muscle of his chiseled abdomen.

Tom wailed as the eight inch knife was rammed into his belly twice more, the blade cutting crisply into his thick abs with each violent thrust. The attacker left the knife stuck in Toms belly and both intruders ran off as Toms blood swirled down the drain of the hot tub.

Cody

Cody walked in the door a little after 2:00AM. It was a long night of partying, but how often do you get to be the number one draft pick in the NFL? 

Cody held a fist full of records as a half back for Penn State. He never rushed for less than a thousand yards in any one of his four seasons as a Nittany Lion and he was scouted early on by every franchise in the NFL. Cody signed with the San Francisco 49ers for a record multimillion dollar deal that was the envy of every college ball player in the NCAA.

Cody unzipped the tan knit shirt he was wearing and let it hang loose as he stumbled around the dark living room of his apartment. He ran his right hand over his smooth muscular chest and stomach, tracing every curve of every muscle of his chiseled torso as he considered whether to down a protein bar to satisfy the pangs of hunger he was feeling. His body was as lean and muscular as one would expect of a star running back. The countless hours Cody spent in the gym building his nearly perfect body was about to pay off in a big way as the Niners newest halfback.

Cody suddenly heard a loud crash that sobered him up almost immediately. This was the fourth time Cody’s apartment was broken into, but the first time he was home when it was happening. Cody hadn’t turned on the lights when he walked in the door and he figured whoever broke in didn’t expect to find anyone home.

Cody grabbed the baseball bat he kept under the sofa and moved toward the window. He flicked on the lamp and saw one of the neighborhood derelicts coming at him. Cody lifted the bat over his head and charged at the intruder. He swung the bat down wildly but missed as the young kid jumped to the left and then moved behind Cody. Cody spun around with the bat high over his head and suddenly felt a searing sharp pain in his gut. He dropped the bat and doubled over gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him.

Cody had been in a few fights before and took a few punches to the stomach, but he knew something was different this time. He looked down and saw the scruffy kid's hand holding a knife handle flush against Cody's bare abdomen. Cody had been stabbed and the full length of the knife blade was driven into his belly.

The kid pulled the knife out of Cody’s gut and then wildly stabbed him again and again. Cody flexed his abs hard and grunted as the knife was repeatedly rammed into his thickly muscled belly. Each violent thrust drove the razor sharp blade into Cody’s fully flexed abs to the hilt of the knife. The blade sliced crisply through the flesh and muscle of Cody's rock had belly with a sharp thud.

Cody was brutally stabbed in the belly six times and once in the left side of his chest. The attacker left the knife stuck in Cody's chest as he panicked and ran out of the apartment.

Cody’s head fell back. He arched his back and gasped for air then fell to the floor. The deep stab wounds in Cody's belly and chest bled profusely and Cody was dead within minutes.

The Death of Roccia

This story was inspired by the still frame above from "Spartacus and the Ten Gladiators" starring Dan Vadis.

***

Roccia’s arm ached from the full weight of his body as he hung from the large tree in the center of the Roman camp. One end of the rope was lashed around a tree limb several times and the other tied tightly around Roccia’s wrist, suspending him six feet above the ground. The coarse cord had rubbed the skin on his wrist raw but Roccia hardly noticed the gnawing pain...his thoughts instead racing ahead to what he knew was to come. The groans of the other two gladiators dangling on either side of him drew Roccia’s attention back to the throbbing pain that radiated from his wrist, down his muscular arm, and settled in his shoulder.

Severely outnumbered and quickly overpowered by the Roman garrison, Roccia and the other gladiators were captured the night before while attempting to enter the camp. The Roman general ordered the gladiators’ public execution for the following day and had the condemned gladiators stripped of everything except the cloth tunics that wrapped around their waists. The half-naked gladiators were hung by their right arms from the large cypress in the center of the camp and their public and very brutal execution would serve as a warning to the scores of slaves held captive by the Romans. Roccia, knowing he and the others would soon feel the sting of the archers’ arrows, struggled unsuccessfully throughout the night to free himself.

The hours passed slowly and the dark of the night slowly yielded to the pale morning sun. Soon the punishing afternoon rays beat down mercilessly on the nearly naked gladiators as they awaited their fate. Their skin slowly baked to a golden brown. Roccia’s body was soaked with perspiration and his smooth muscular torso glistened in the late afternoon sun. Beads of moisture on his chest formed streams that rolled down Roccia’s large pectorals and weaved their way through the maze of muscles that covered his abdomen. An occasional breeze gently twisted his body and the others as they hung helplessly from the tree. Roccia felt the strength of his powerful body slowly fade.

The Roman archers that would be their executioners passed by the gladiators several times during the day, cruelly taunting their live targets each time they walked by. One of the archers was especially focused in Roccia and slowly scanned the full length of the gladiator’s impressively muscled body each time he passed. His gaze invariably fixed on Roccia's thickly muscled abdomen, and the archer seemed genuinely excited at the thought of sending one of his arrows tearing into Roccia’s rock hard bare belly.

When the slaves in the camp were gathered around the tree to witness the execution Roccia knew his death was near. The three archers that had passed several times during the day were now positioned ten feet in front of the gladiators with more Roman soldiers standing behind them. The archers readied their bows and searched their quivers for the sharpest arrows.

The Roman general briefly addressed the soldiers and slaves gathered around the tree and then called the archers to attention. The three archers raised their bows and took aim at the live targets that hung from the tree like ripe fruit ready to be picked.

“READYYYYY....” the general’s voice bellowed. “...SHOOT!”

Roccia squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He flexed his abdominals hard and waited with panicked anticipation for the arrows to strike. Roccia heard the arrows wiz through the thick humid air but felt nothing.

“Ahhhhh...Uuuhhh.” The sharp thud of two arrows piercing flesh was quickly followed by the howls of the gladiator hanging to Roccia’s left.

Roccia looked to his left and saw that the gladiator had been hit in the belly with both arrows. The third archer then launched his arrow and it severed the rope that held the gladiator suspended in the air and the gladiator fell to the ground. Roccia looked down as the mortally wounded gladiator grabbed the two arrows that were stuck deep in his gut, thrashing around violently on the ground. He was soon motionless.

“READYYYYY...” the general’s emotionless voice droned again. “...SHOOT!”

Once again Roccia closed his eyes and squeezed his abs tightly, waiting for the arrows to rip into his body. Roccia instinctively flinched at the sharp thud of the two arrows solidly hitting their target.

“Uuuuhhh!!!......Aaaaahhhhhhh!!!” The gladiator to Roccia’s right wailed widely.

Roccia’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head. Two arrows were stuck in the muscular torso of the gladiator hanging next to Roccia. One arrow had lodged deep in the gladiator’s belly and the other had hit him in the chest, piercing his heart and killing him instantly.

The gladiator’s limp body fell to the ground when the rope that tethered him to the tree limb was severed by a third arrow. Roccia looked down at the two dead gladiators below him and then turned his attention to the archers as they afixed more arrows to their bows.

Roccia knew it was his turn to die and he prepared himself as best he could. When the general again called ready, Roccia closed his eyes and flexed every muscle in his upper body as hard as his waning strength allowed. Roccia trembled slightly while waiting for the general’s order to shoot.

But before the General could give the order there was a loud commotion at the front gate and the camp was suddenly flooded with rebel gladiators and slaves...Spartacus’ rag tag army of former gladiators and slaves. The archers that were about to launch their arrows at Roccia had turned their bows toward the attacking horde of rebels instead and were shooting arrows indiscriminately.

Roccia exhaled a sigh of relief and relaxed his body. Although he was no longer in immediate danger of being hit with arrows he was still dangling precariously from the tree with a bloody battle raging below him.

A rebel gladiator spotted Roccia hanging from the tree limb and raced towards him. The gladiator scaled the knotted trunk of the cypress and reached out to the limb that held Roccia. One sharp blow of the gladiator’s sword cut the rope that suspended Roccia in the air. Roccia fell to the ground and quickly untied the rope that was still bound to his wrist. Although half-naked and unarmed, Roccia was anxious to join the battle.

Roccia worked his right arm in a circular motion until blood slowly began to circulate again taking away the numbness in his huge bicep and shoulder. Roccia felt his strength slowly returning and he stretched and flexed his muscular torso a few times as he prepared to join the battle.

“ROCCIA...TAKE MY SWORD!” A gladiator ten feet to Roccia’s right shouted.

And when Roccia turned his head the gladiator tossed the sword high in the air towards Roccia.

Roccia reached out with his right arm, anxious to catch the sword when it reached him. His eyes followed the sword as it flew end over end through the air, the polished blade glinting rhythmically as it reflected the sun’s strong rays each time the sword somersaulted in the air. Roccia eagerly reached even further with his right arm when the sword was about to reach his hand. 

Roccia's naked muscular torso was fully extended when he snatched the sword out of the air with his fingertips, and a Roman soldier, who had been running toward Roccia, lunged forward with his sword arm cocked fully back and viciously thrust his sword into Roccia’s fully exposed belly, brutally stabbing the gladiator, and driving half the blade deep into Roccia’s gut.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” The crisp sound of the soldier’s blade slicing into the flesh and muscle of Roccia’s torso was quickly followed by Roccia’s raucous roar.

The Roman's powerful sword thrust pushed Roccia back a few steps. Roccia’s fully flexed upper body snapped forward when he was stabbed and the sword he had just snatched out of the air fell out of his hand and to the ground.

Roccia’s attention was so fixed on the sword that was thrown to him that he didn’t see the Roman soldier running at him. The soldier's brutal sword thrust to Roccia's gut caught him totally off guard. 

Roccia’s head snapped forward and he looked into the face of the soldier who stabbed him and realized it was the very archer who was so intrigued with Roccia earlier in the day. The archer had shed his bow and was now wielding a sword. The archer, who was so intent on having one of his arrows pierce Roccia’s gut, was no less content with his blade run through the gladiator's muscular belly. 

The archer jabbed his left hand into Roccia’s chest then ripped his blade out of Roccia’s belly just as viciously as he had stabbed him.

“Uuuhhh,” Roccia took a step forward and groaned when the blade was pulled out of his gut and he covered the stab wound with both hands, blood spurted between his fingers.

The archer then lurched forward and violently pushed Roccia back against the trunk of the cypress behind him, the same tree that had held the gladiator suspended above the ground. Roccia’s heavily muscled body slammed back against the large tree with a dull thud...the coarse tree trunk dug into his bare back. Roccia was sprawled against the tree trunk with his shoulders pulled back and his arms thrown out to his sides. He was dazed, and his naked muscular torso was fully exposed and vulnerable to the soldier standing in front of him wielding a sword.

The archer pulled back his arm, stepped forward, and furiously rammed his sword into Roccia’s wide open rock-hard belly again with all his strength. The archer’s blade tore through Roccia’s muscular torso and pierced the tree bark behind him, running him through.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" Roccia’s head snapped back against the tree trunk and he let out a long, agonizing yell as the blade cut crisply into his upper abs and was driven completely through his densely muscled torso.

The archer held Roccia pinned against the tree for a few moments with his sword run through the gladiator’s gut and dug into the tree bark. Then, with his hand planted firmly on the center of Roccia’s chest, the archer ripped his sword out of Roccia’s belly and stepped back.

“Uuuuuuhhhhh!” Roccia groaned again as the sword was violently pulled out of him.

Roccia staggered forward and struggled to stay on his feet. He arched his back and flexed every muscle in his upper body hard as he tried to endure the blistering pain of the two stab wounds in his gut.

The archer, who's bloodlust was not quite satisfied with the two brutal sword thrusts to Roccia’s belly, then drew back his sword and was about to stab Roccia again when an arrow suddenly whizzed by his ear from behind him and slammed into Roccia’s chest hitting him just below his left pectoral.

“UUUHHH!!!” Roccia grunted and his body recoiled as the arrow ripped into his chest...he instinctively grabbed his left pectoral with his right hand...the wooden shaft of the arrow sticking through his fingers.

The archer looked behind him and saw the Roman general that was barking orders before now holding a bow.

“Now the execution is done,” the general said coldly.

Roccia fell to his knees and then onto his side clutching the arrow in his chest with both hands. Roccia then rolled onto his back and his arms fell to his sides...his massive chest rose and fell one last time. Roccia was dead.

The general stood over Roccia’s body and grinned. He was pleased with the kill.

Mark

It was late when Mark squeezed out the last few reps on the pec deck. He pushed himself harder than usual and his chest was on fire. His veins surged, pumping fresh blood into his aching muscles, slowly quelling the burn. Mark stripped off his sweat soaked tank top, looked in the mirror across from him and flexed his beefy pectorals hard.

“Not bad for an old man,” Mark thought to himself. His muscular torso was fully pumped from the intense workout and he looked bigger than ever.

Mark was a few months shy of his thirtieth birthday but he still worked out hard and the results showed. He had been packing on muscle steadily since he started working out as a high school wrestler and his lean muscular body was the envy of every other guy at the gym.

Mark stood up and flexed in front of the mirrored wall for a few minutes, systematically working through each muscle group. He finished his flexing routine with an impressive double bicep pose that brought a wry smile to his face.

“Wow!” Mark thought to himself as he slowly scanned his magnificent reflection in the mirror.

Streams of sweat ran down Mark’s well developed chest and worked their way through the crevices of his chiseled muscular abdomen. He held the pose for a moment longer, savoring his muscular reflection in the mirror. Mark’s gaze turned hypnotic when it was drawn to a drop of water that dangled precariously from his rather large left nipple. Mark snickered to himself as thoughts of his high school gym class suddenly flooded his head. Mark closed his eyes and vividly remembered the incessant teasing he endured about the size of his nipples as if it happened yesterday rather than fifteen years ago.

“Mark, the skinny kid with big nipples” The words still brought a twinge of pain to Mark’s face.

Mark had been embarrassed to take off his shirt in the gym locker room and dreaded hearing the word “skins” when the gym teacher pointed in his direction before the start of some team sport or another. The careless teasing of his fellow students was the reason Mark started working out in the first place. The more the other kids teased him the harder Mark worked out and the bigger his body grew. By his senior year of high school, the rest of Mark’s body had caught up to his large nipples. The kids that had once teased him when he was a freshman just stared with envy at his incredibly muscular young body. And Mark’s perfectly muscled torso, large nipples and all, was always fully exposed for envious classmates to gawk at because Mark never wore a shirt during wrestling practice or in gym class in his senior year of high school.

Mark opened his eyes. The drop of perspiration had fallen from his left nipple and took with it the painful memories of his youth. Mark had certainly grown into his nipples and they were now two beautiful exclamation points drawing one’s full attention to Mark’s thickly muscled pecs.

Mark relaxed his body, moved closer to the mirrored wall and looked at his right eye. It was still swollen and red but looked a lot better than it did the night before. Mark didn’t remember much of the fight other than he was sucker punched in the face. He did remember, however, that when it was all over he was still standing and the guy who punched him and his buddy were both laid out cold in the parking lot of the bar. Even with his black eye, Mark was sure he looked considerable better than the two guys that he had brawled.

Mark looked around the gym and saw no one else around. Saving himself a trip to the locker room he pulled off his shorts and briefs in the weight room and threw them into his gym bag, He felt a bit odd standing in the middle of the weight room completely naked and quickly slipped into his bathing suit and then headed for the pool. Mark hated doing cardio but forced himself to swim fifty laps in the pool every other day, convinced swimming was the least objectionable of the aerobic options.

Mark pushed open the door of the pool room and was startled to see someone else there. He thought all the gym rats had gone home by then. He didn’t recognize the other guy as a regular from the gym, but he did look vaguely familiar and he was wearing swim trunks so Mark didn’t give it another thought. Mark gave the other man an obligatory nod and an unenthusiastic “hey” and quickly turned he gaze, not wanting to engage in a conversation. Mark wanted to do his laps and go home.

Mark started his pre-swim stretching routine as usual. With his two hands clenched together, his arms reached for the ceiling and he slowly moved his torso from side to side. Mark slowly pulled back his elbows and stretched his broad chest. His pectorals still ached from his intense workout earlier but the stretch felt good.

With his elbows pulled all the way back, Mark suddenly felt two arms grab him from behind. The man he nodded to just minutes before had quickly weaved his arms under Mark’s and had both hands clenched tightly behind Mark’s neck.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Mark shouted as his struggled to free his arms from the vice-like full nelson hold.

Mark’s attacker said nothing as he secured his grip behind Mark’s neck and then spun him around violently. Mark knew instantly he was in trouble when he saw the second man walking quickly towards him. The man, dressed in jeans and a black tank top, had two black and swollen eyes and his left arm was in a cast.

“Damn! The guys front last night.” Mark suddenly remembered as he struggled to free his two arms from the iron grip of the man behind him.

“Remember me?” the man with the battered face asked in a monotone.

“Yea, I remember you. Take your best shot.” Mark answered defiantly and flexed his abs hard, anticipating a few solid punches to his gut.

Mark had been in a several fights before and knew he could take a few good shots to the belly without much problem. He suspected the guy grabbing him from behind was getting tired and thought it was only a matter of time before he would have both of these thugs unconscious on the pool room floor.

But a look of terror quickly filled Mark’s face as the man standing in front of him pulled a knife from his back pocket. Mark struggled wildly to free his arms but the man holding him from behind would not relent and instead pulled Mark’s upper body back even further, fully exposing Mark’s abdomen to the man standing a few feet in front of him.

The man that Mark had beaten severely the night before suddenly cocked back his arm, lurched forward, and viciously rammed the knife into Mark’s rock hard gut.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” Mark yelled out widely and instinctively flexed his abdominals hard as the six inch blade ripped into his muscular belly and was driven completely into his gut.

The man wielding the knife pulled the blade out of Mark’s stomach and stepped back.

“How did you like my best shot?” the man asked sarcastically. “Here’s a few more for you.”

The attacker stepped forward and brutally stabbed Mark in the belly several more times. Each thrust of the knife completely buried the blade in Mark’s fully flexed abs.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”

“Uuuuuhhhhhh!”

Uuunnnhhh!”

“Ahhh!”

“Uhhh!!!”

“Aaaahhh!” Mark’s booming yells of agony echoed in the tiled pool room.

Mark’s upper body snapped forward each time the knife was rammed into his gut but the man grabbing him from behind pulled Mark back each time, giving his attacker’s blade an easy target.

The man with the knife shoved the blade into Mark’s belly one last time and left the knife stuck in Mark’s gut. The man behind Mark finally released his hold and Mark’s arms fell down to his sides. Mark staggered forward and groaned; his right hand grabbed the knife that was still stuck in his belly and his left hand covered the stab wounds in his abdomen, which had begun to bleed profusely.

Mark struggled to stay on his feet but the man behind him pushed him forward and Mark fell into the pool and was fully submerged. The water quickly turned red and Mark was soon floating face down in the pool, blood still pouring from the stab wounds in his belly. Mark was dead.

The two men stood at the edge of the pool staring at Mark’s body for a few minutes and then quickly left the gym, the man in swim trunks pulling a shirt on as he went out the door.

Caladus

“That blind witch was wrong again,” Caladus muttered to himself as he peered down through the metal visor of his helmet at the gladiator writhing in the sand at his feet.

Aurelia had predicted Caladus would not leave the arena alive today.

“Your victory will be your death. Your victory will be your death,” the old women croaked over and over again the night before as her boney fingers picked through the entrails of the small lamb she had Caladus slaughter as a sacrifice to the war god Mars. 

Caladus cursed her and threw two coins at her feet.

“I am Caladus, the Emperor’s champion,” he bellowed confidently as he flung open the flimsy door and stormed out of the old woman’s modest shack.

The gladiator at Caladus’ feet covered the two deep stab wounds in his belly with both hands; blood seeped through his fingers and stained his hands red. The muscles in his upper body strained hard as he tried to endure the fiery pain in his gut. He struggled to keep his head and shoulders off the sand but both he and Caladus knew the wounds were fatal. Even a merciful wave of the emperor’s hand could not save the young gladiator from Pluto’s hammer.

The defeated gladiator took his last whiff of this world; his massive chest heaved up and down for the last time. His arms fell to his sides. Blood flowed from the two deep cuts in his belly and ran down both sides of his bare muscular torso, staining the sand beneath him.

The battle had been only mildly entertaining...Caladus’ sword had easily found an opening in the young gladiator’s feeble defenses and his blade cut deep into the gladiator’s muscular bare belly. The gladiator then attempted an overhead blow but Caladus caught the gladiator’s sword arm in the air as it descended...the clumsy attack left the gladiator’s abdomen exposed and vulnerable. Caladus pulled back his sword arm and brutally drove his blade into the gladiator’s gut, running him completely through.

Although trained as a Thracian, Caladus never wore any of the traditional armor of a Greek. To the delight of the women spectators, and many of the men too, Caladus chose vanity over armor and preferred to fight wearing only a short tunic around his waist and a visored helmet on his head. His impressively muscled body was fully exposed as he fought. Both women and men would swoon as Caladus’ smooth muscular torso glistened in the afternoon sun as he wielded his sword in battle.

Caladus stood over the dead gladiator’s body and gripped his sword tighter in his hand as he flexed every muscle in his upper body in celebration of his victory and in defiance of the old woman’s prophecy of his death.

The roaring crowd suddenly became subdued when a centurion leapt from the emperor’s box and charged Caladus from behind with a spear in his hands. When Caladus turned to face the royal spectator box with his beefy arms raised triumphantly above his head, the centurion viciously speared Caladus through the belly.

AAAAAaaaaahhhhh!!! Caladus bellowed.

The centurion rammed his spear into Caladus’ gut with such fury that the spearhead was driven completely through Caladus’ thickly muscled torso and broke through the skin on his back.

Caladus reeled back and grabbed the shaft of the spear with both hands. He fell back against the stone wall of the arena and was dead within moments.

The emperor had a sizable wager that Caladus would die in the arena this day and whether his death came from the blade of his opponent’s sword or whether impaled on a centurion’s spear was of no consequence to the emperor. And the governor of Varese with whom the emperor wagered was in no position to quibble about such minor details.

Aurelia knelt at the emperor’s feet and, although blind, she saw all.

“Your victory will be your death, Caladus,” she whispered as a wry smile came to her wrinkled lips.

Kelly and Brett

“GO LONG,” Kelly shouted as he waved his left arm over his head a few times and then launched the football high in the air...leading Brett by twenty yards.

Brett’s bare feet dug into the loose sand and his powerful legs carried his muscular frame over the beach with lightning speed. He looked back over his left shoulder, tracking the spiraling ball in the air as he ran. The throw was long and Brett dove for the football, snatching it out of the air with his fingertips. He pulled the ball into his bare chest and fell to the ground, rolling over several times in the wet sand.

“WOOHOO!!!” Brett hollered while kneeling with the football hoisted high above his head, he was covered with moist sand from head to toe.

“GREAT CATCH!” Kelly shouted, running over to Brett who was still breathing hard...the two young men touched their fists together as they had done hundreds of times before.

The two Marines had been friends for a long time and they were inseparable since high school. They did everything together, but most of all they worked out and played football together. Kelly was an all-league quarterback and Brett a record setting wide receiver. Although scholarships to different colleges temporarily separated them by a thousand miles, Kelly and Brett stayed in touch throughout four years of college and hung out together whenever they were home from school. It came as no surprise to anyone when they joined the Marines together soon after graduating college.

Back in high school, neither Kelly nor Brett could have ever imagined they would one day be tossing a football around on an sandy African beach on the Indian Ocean. Neither one of them had ever even heard of Somalia and neither one of them could find it on a map when they learned their unit was shipping out to the East African nation soon after completing basic training at Parris Island.

The civil war in Somalia was long and bloody but most of the fighting was over and only a couple of thousand U.S. troops remained in the country as part of an international peacekeeping force. Still, Somalia was a dangerous place and every week for the last year at least one U.S. Marine was killed and several others wounded by IEDs or insurgent snipers that lurked just outside the Marine compound in Mogadishu.

Kelly reached down and offered his hand to Brett who gladly accepted it and got back to his feet. Both men wore standard issue green camouflage pants that were now caked with moist sand from tackling each other and diving for errant passes. Kelly and Brett were barefoot and the two young men had stripped off their shirts earlier after only a couple of passes of the football. Even though it was still morning, the temperature on the beach was already nearing one hundred degrees.

Brett was still panting hard from the sprint and his thickly muscled chest rose and fell rhythmically with his heavy breathing...his chiseled abs flexed tightly each time he inhaled and the muscles relaxed when Brett expelled the air from his lungs. Brett tried to clean himself off and rubbed his hands across his bare chest and abdomen a few times but the sticky granules clung stubbornly to his sweaty skin. Kelly and Brett were both drenched with perspiration and patches of colorless African sand dusted their tanned muscular torsos and arms.

Brett was six feet two inches of solid muscle and was built more like a running back than a wide receiver. His two muscular arms hung from burly shoulders that framed large but well defined pectorals. Brett’s sharply defined abs were perfectly stacked across his midsection and were always clearly visible pushing out from under the taut skin on his abdomen.

Kelly was shorter than Brett by only a couple of inches but his body was every bit as muscular and the two bare-chested Marines were quite an impressive sight as they threw the ball around and tackled one another on the beach. Football was a religion for the two friends but football meant something completely different to the local kids who peered through the compound fence and watched the hulking Americans play with the odd shaped ball.

“Hey, one more pass before my arm gives out,” Kelly said as he adjusted the cap on his head and pushed Brett by the shoulder in the direction he wanted him to run.

“Don’t make me dive for this one,” Brett laughed and took off down the beach.

Brett sprinted twenty yards before he faked a cut to his right, and then went long down the wooded side of the beach. Kelly threw the football and immediately felt a stinging pain in his shoulder.

“Ah! Damned rotator cuff...” Kelly murmured to himself and grabbed his right shoulder with his left hand.

The football went far to the right and took an awkward bounce off a Humvee that was parked on the beach. The ball then flew end over end deep into the thick foliage that bordered the far end of the beach. Brett turned towards Kelly and threw up his arms mockingly and laughed until he saw Kelly rubbing his right shoulder with a pained expression on his face.

“No problem, I’ll get it,” Brett yelled to Kelly and then trotted into the thick jungle of foliage.

Brett stepped carefully through the thick brush pushing overgrown plants and bushes out of his way as he searched for the football. The full canopied trees blocked the sizzling sun and the shade they provided quickly cooled Brett’s bare sunburned skin. Brett spotted a piece of the tan football poking out from behind a tree. He moved slowly towards the ball trying to avoid the thorns and sharp twigs of the unfamiliar plants and trees around him.

Brett bent down to pick up the ball but was startled when he saw a pair of military boots suddenly appear from behind the tree. Brett quickly stood up and saw a man standing in front of him pointing a vintage Russian assault rifle at him. The rifle had a menacing looking bayonet attached to the barrel and the man held the bayonet with the twelve inch blade aimed at Brett's stomach. Another rebel soldier soon appeared and stood behind the first. The second soldier had his rifle slung over his shoulder but he had detached the bayonet and was holding it in his hand. Other than the military style boots they wore both men were dressed in tattered civilian clothes. But there was no doubt in Brett’s mind that these were insurgents, the last vestiges of the once powerful warlords that had torn the country apart.

Brett towered over both Somalis. He knew his brawny body was intimidating to the two slightly built men in front of him, and probably even more so with his shirt off and his muscular torso fully exposed. He raised his arms slowly with the palms of his hands facing forward to show the two men that he was unarmed.

“Easy guys...I just want to get my ball and leave.” Brett said nervously with a slight tremble in his voice.

The soldier holding the rifle looked back at the other soldier standing behind him and then back towards Brett. Neither soldier knew what to make of the bare-chested muscle-bound Marine covered in beach sand standing in front of them. 

The soldier in back whispered something in a language that Brett didn’t understand and the soldier holding the rifle pointed at Brett’s stomach nodded. Without saying a word the soldier suddenly drew back his rifle and then forcefully thrust it forward, viciously spearing Brett in the gut with the bayonet.

“Aaaaahhhhh!!!” Brett yelled out wildly and his body shuddered as more than half of the bayonet's twelve inch blade was driven into his thickly muscled belly.

Brett reached for the barrel of the rifle but before he could grab it the soldier brutally thrust the rifle forward again and drove the rest of the bayonet's blade into Brett’s belly, pushing him back a few steps.

“Uuuuhhhh!” Brett’s eyes opened wide and he threw his head back as the full length of the bayonet's blade was driven into his gut...the muzzle of the rifle was flush against his stomach.

Brett dropped his arms and his upper body snapped forward when the bayonet's full blade was violently shoved into his taut belly. The explosive pain in his abdomen was almost unbearable and Brett flexed his abdominals hard around the blade that was stuck in his gut...twisting his muscular torso from side to side, trying to endure the fiery pain radiating throughout his body.

The soldier jerked his rifle back and pulled the bayonet out of Brett’s gut.

"Uuuuhhh!!!," Brett moaned and arched his back as the blade was ripped out of him. 

The soldier quickly drew the rifle all the way back and then rammed the bayonet into Brett’s bare belly again, driving the blade through Brett’s thick abdominal muscles and deep into his gut. The solid thrust pushed Brett back a few more steps.

“Uuuuuuhhhhhhh!” Brett wailed as the full length of the bayonet's blade was driven into his rock hard gut again with a brutally forceful thrust of the soldiers’ rifle.

The soldier yanked his rifle back sharply and viciously pulled the bayonet out of Brett’s belly...the soldier stepped back a few steps.

“Uuuhhh!” Brett grunted and covered the stab wounds in his gut with both hands and staggered forward.

Brett looked down and pulled his hands away from his stomach; the cuts in his belly were spurting blood which was pooling in his cupped hands. Brett covered the wounds tightly with his hands to try and stop the bleeding and he turned and staggered away from the two soldiers. But the other soldier stepped forward and grabbed Brett’s right shoulder and pulled him back. The Somali spun Brett around and, with his left hand on Brett’s shoulder, the soldier cocked back his right arm with his bayonet in his hand and furiously stabbed Brett hard in the gut, burying the bayonet's full blade in Brett’s belly.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” Brett yelled out widely and flexed his whole upper body as the bayonet's blade cut into his taut belly.

The soldier pulled the blade out of Brett’s gut and Brett fell forward a few steps. Brett’s belly was on fire and he squeezed his abs as hard as he could trying endure the searing pain in his gut. The soldier wrapped his left arm around Brett’s bare back,which was wet with perspiration and moist beach sand, and held Brett steady as he pulled back his arm and rammed the bayonet into Brett’s gut again as hard as he could. The finely sharpened blade sliced through Brett’s fully flexed upper abs with a crisp snap and the blade was driven into his belly to the hilt of the bayonet.

“Uuuuuuuhhhhhh!!!” Brett let out a muffled gasp and the violent thrust lifted Brett to the balls of his feet.

The soldier pushed his left hand into Brett’s massive chest and ripped the blade out of Brett’s belly with a violent jerk of his arm. Brett stepped forward with the momentum of the bayonet blade as it was pulled out of him.

The two soldiers backed away from Brett and were quite pleased that they had taken out another U.S Marine, but a volley of automatic gunfire killed the two Somalis instantly. Brett’s loud yells brought the guards running and they cut down the rebels in seconds.

Brett had staggered back out of the jungle. He was clutching his belly tightly, covering the stab wounds in his gut.

“BRETT, BRETT!!!,” Kelly shouted as he ran towards Brett.

Brett fell back into Kelly’s arms and they both fell back onto the sand. Kelly wrapped his arms around Brett’s chest and yelled for a medic. But there was nothing a medic could do. Brett closed his eyes for the last time and died in Kelly’s arms.