The Six Pack - Chapter Six

By Cris Kane - citizencriskane@yahoo.com
published August 21, 2016
Summary

Three of the poker buddies make their first trip to a gay bar, while the other three have a confrontation.

CHAPTER SIX

“I.D.?”, asked the bouncer at the entrance to the Rusty Nail.

“Forgot it at home,” Seth informed him with sad eyes and a pouty mouth. “If you don’t believe me, you can frithk me.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” said the bouncer, studying the effeminate waif, unable to get a bead on his age. “How old are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”, Seth said coyly. “I’ll let you in on a thecret. My cock growth a new ring every year, and if you’re really nithe to me, I’ll let you count ’em.”

The bouncer was growing weary. He shook his head and waved Seth through. “Next.”

Jeffrey flashed his driver’s license. The guy in the photo looked like a baby compared to the Mariposa-enhanced scruffily handsome man standing in line, but the bouncer was satisfied. “Next!”

Randy, the youthful newcomer to the group, handed over his I.D. confidently. “Oh, I see the birthday boy’s back again,” the bouncer said with a friendly smile.

“Birthday boy? Is today your birthday?”, Ox asked Randy.

“Four days ago. I just turned 21.” Randy chuckled nervously, studying Ox’s expression for any indication that he found 21 too young…or too old.

“And he’s been back every night,” the bouncer declared. “After lookin’ at all the same tired-ass regulars for years, it’s always good to see a fresh new face around here. So, who’s your friend?”, he asked, nodding in Ox’s direction.

“This is Ford,” Randy said. Ox shuffled ahead. His hand hovered over his back pocket, but hoped he wouldn’t have to show his I.D. and reveal his current appearance to be a complete sham.

“Ford, huh?” The bouncer squinted at Ox threateningly. “You be nice to the kid here, or I promise I’ll come lookin’ for you.”

Ox gulped, intimidated. “Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t do anything…”

The bouncer cracked up. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, man. You two have fun.” Ox breathed a sigh of relief as the bouncer motioned him and Randy inside.

Ox paused in the entry way, never having been to a gay bar before and not knowing what to expect. Drag queens and a Village People cover band, maybe? Naked dudes fucking on trapeze swings? Leather-clad oil wrestlers being whipped by creepy, sadistic spectators in Nazi uniforms? He was relieved to discover that the Rusty Nail was not much different from any other loud club he’d been to. True, all the customers were guys, but this front room might have passed for your average sports bar if it weren’t for the fact that some of the guys were dressed in Daisy Dukes or vinyl unitards or assless chaps. Or the fact that, instead of ESPN, the flat-screen TVs were all showing some hokey, grainy ’80s workout video with some sweaty, mustachioed lech doing aerobics in shorty shorts and leg warmers.

Randy grabbed Ox’s hand and dragged him toward the bar, where Seth already looked totally at home, studying both the martini menu and the other patrons. “Mmm, the lemon drop thoundth yummy. Order me one, will ya, Jeffy? I thwear I’ll pay you back.” Seth handed Jeffrey the menu dramatically and announced,“I gotta take a tinkle.”

Seth spun on his heel and slinked slowly toward the men’s room, exaggeratedly waggling his hips and smiling at every man he passed. Jeffrey shook his head at the caricature his old friend had become, then glanced at the menu and gagged when he saw the prices.

“The prices ARE a little stiff,” Randy admitted, “but the good thing is, so are the drinks.” He tapped a finger on Ox’s chest and advised, “You should try the pineapple upside-down-cake martini. It’s my absolute favorite.”

“Sounds good,” Ox said, pulling out his wallet. “What you want, J? First round’s on me.” When Jeffrey said a Pepsi would be fine, Ox gave him the stinkeye. “C’mon, buddy, live a little. This is a special night!” Ox ordered three upside-down cake martinis and “one of those lemon drops for my little buddy.”

Randy waved over a couple of guys, roughly his same age and body type. “TJ and Bucky, these are my new friends Jeff and Ford.” As Ox shook hands with them, he was acutely aware of how warmly and nonjudgmentally they were greeting him. It was a far cry from how people usually reacted when meeting him in his overweight body; most either averted their eyes quickly or unconsciously gawked. It felt good to be instantly accepted, and he was pretty sure they were even checking him out. Rarely had Ox been ogled. His cock grew semi-hard in his tight white jeans. He casually draped his left hand over his crotch, so his bulge wouldn’t be too noticeable.

Randy told Ox and Jeffrey that he, TJ and Bucky were all on the college track team, but that he hadn’t even known they were gay – let alone a couple – until he spotted them here on his birthday night. It had been a cathartic and bonding experience for the three teammates. It made Ox realize that he had been self-consciously keeping his head down, afraid that he would spot someone he knew or, worse, that they would spot him. When it suddenly struck Ox that he was currently unrecognizable, his anxiety abated and he raised his head, scanning the room for familiar faces. Truth was, Ox didn’t have many friends beyond his longtime poker pals anyway, and one of them was currently chatting it up with some guy in a mesh tank top, wrapping his fingers around the dude’s arm to feel how solid his biceps were. Ox had to hand it to Seth: he was going all-in on this whole pretending-to-be-gay thing.

The bartender brought the martinis and Ox suggested they should drink a toast. Randy asked, “Shouldn’t we wait until Haywood gets back?”

Jeffrey spotted Seth and the tank top guy heading into the men’s room together. “I think ‘Haywood’ might be a while.”


Brendan was stretched out on his bed, bare foot tapping restlessly on the floor. He was bursting with energy since his last orgasm, and his muscles felt more pumped than ever. Yet Nick had dozed off, their vigorous fuck session seemingly having tuckered out the little dude. Brendan’s stomach rumbled, loud enough he thought it might wake Nick. Brendan realized that he hadn’t eaten anything at the poker game, and it seemed likely that this new body must require a lot more fuel to keep going than his old one. He gently patted Nick’s ivory ass cheeks and climbed slowly out of bed, the mattress springs sighing with relief. He pulled on a pair of baggy basketball shorts, which only stretched halfway down the thigh of his new body and no longer qualified as baggy. He tiptoed into the living room, softly closing the door behind him.

Feeling ravenous, Brendan raided the fridge, lugging armloads of munchies toward the couch. He fired up his video game system, lowering the volume so it wouldn’t disturb Nick, and booted up NBA Live. He played for a while, but his enormous hands felt clumsy on the controls and he was disappointed that the Mariposa had not improved his skill at the game.

He decided that some porn would better relieve his growing stress, but before he could access any, he heard a fierce pounding on his front door. He walked slowly to the entranceway bending down to peek through the peephole. What he saw startled him: a mountainous man with long white hair and a snowy beard, scowling with rage and wearing nothing but a bedsheet tied loosely around his waist to preserve his decency.

“Nick? Brendan? Open up!” Hearing a squeak, he looked over to see a tiny woman peeking out of the adjacent apartment. His furious glare was enough to make her gasp and slam her door in terror. He resumed pummeling the door, his fists forming dents in the wood.

Brendan backed away from the door, knowing that the intruder could only be one person. “Dalton?”

“Damn fuckin’ right,” Dalton bellowed in his rumbling basso profondo.

Brendan was shocked to see the new Dalton, and knew that Mariposa must be involved. The depressed blob they had left back at Seth’s place had somehow mutated into a seven-foot Santa-On-Roids, and when he spoke, he sounded like Groot with a slightly larger vocabulary. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I improved,” Dalton said with an arrogant grin and an ominous chuckle. “Lemme in. I’m takin’ Nick home.”

“Fuck off! Nicky doesn’t want to go with you.” Brendan dug into his hall closet and returned with a metal baseball bat, choking up on it defensively.

Dalton relentlessly battered the door, which grew a little less sturdy with every punch. He summoned all of his anger and smashed both fists against the door simultaneously, splintering the wood and sending the door flying off its hinges. Swatting aside the debris, Dalton squeezed his way into the apartment and lumbered toward Brendan. Although they were of similar heights, Dalton’s bulk made Brendan seem like a lightweight in comparison.

Brendan swung the bat toward Dalton in wide whooshing arcs, trying to keep him at bay. “Stay back, Dalton, I’m warning you.”

Dalton merely laughed, unintimidated. “I’m not afraid of you, Brendan. I’m not afraid of anything.”

That’s what Brendan was afraid of.

Dalton continued relentlessly forward, backing Brendan further and further into the room until his legs hit the couch. His knees buckled, but he regained his balance and stepped onto the couch, never taking his eyes away from Dalton as he continued to take swipes with the bat. Dalton stretched out an monstrous arm to grab the bat, barely flinching when the aluminum rod connected with bone. A dull metallic twang sang out through the apartment. Dalton wrested the bat out of Brendan’s grip and flung it to the floor. He had Brendan pinned in the corner and was raising a fist when he felt something land upon his back.

“Leave him alone!”, Nick screamed, digging his fingers through the abundant body hair into Dalton’s neck muscles and hanging on for dear life. Dalton stretched his arms behind his head, attempting to grab Nick, but his thick muscles made it impossible to reach far enough. He spun violently, hoping to shake Nick loose, then lost his balance, backpedaling swiftly, toward the opposite wall. Nick had no time to leap free before impact and was crushed between Dalton’s gargantuan body and the shattered stucco.

“You motherfucker!”, Brendan shouted, charging toward Dalton and launching a flurry of punches toward his face. Dalton was dazed. Blood spurted from his nose, forming red splotches on his snowy beard. Brendan grabbed Dalton’s arm and yanked him toward the middle of the room, freeing Nick, who slid down the wall and crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Dalton staggered in the middle of the room like a wounded beast, gathering his strength while Brendan continued to rain blows on him. Dalton crouched into fighting stance, nostrils flaring with rage, and bounded in Brendan’s direction. Dalton backpedaled away quickly, but soon found himself trapped against the kitchen wall. He saw Dalton’s fist zooming his direction, but used his superior agility to duck out of the way in time. Dalton punched through the wall like tissue paper, his entire forearm disappearing into the neighbor’s place. As he yanked his arm back in a cloud of powdered plaster and wood fragments, a jagged two-foot portal opened onto the next-door apartment.

“Miz McHenry, you okay?”, Brendan yelled through the hole, genuinely concerned for his elderly neighbor. That brief show of compassion came at a price, as Dalton used that moment to hoist Brendan’s microwave oven off the counter and smash it against Brendan’s head.

Brendan reeled, dropping to his knees. Dalton raised the microwave toward the ceiling again, ready to administer the coup de grâce on his weakened foe, when he heard Nick’s trembling voice pleading from behind him. “Stop, Dalton. Please?”

Dalton looked down. Tears filled the tattooed waif’s eyes as he spoke softly. “I’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt Brendan.”

Dalton’s rage abated slightly. He looked back at Brendan, cowering on the floor, and felt satisfied that he had made his point. He tossed the microwave away like it was made of Nerf, but it hit the linoleum with a deafening clatter. Dalton grinned victoriously, then turned back toward Nick and demanded, “Get your clothes.”

Dalton felt a tug as Brendan yanked on one corner of the bedsheet that served as Dalton’s makeshift toga. It was just enough to throw Dalton’s gargantuan body off balance. Dalton’s arms flailed, searching for something to grab for support but finding nothing but air. He toppled forward, stumbling furiously through the living room like a gored bull, his momentum growing greater with each off-kilter step. Nick scampered safely to the side as Dalton braced himself for what was now inevitable.

Dalton crashed through the sliding glass door, entangled in its curtains, and staggered onto Brendan’s tiny balcony which creaked with strain under his weight. The wooden railing put up little resistance against the force of Dalton’s colossal body, splitting into toothpicks and sending Dalton plummeting to earth. When he landed on the sloping lawn, the impact formed a meteor crater beneath him and activated a nearby car alarm. His agonized moan could be heard for half a mile.

Brendan crawled across the living room on his knees, clutching his hand to his throbbing skull. He reached Nick’s side and looked through the broken window at Dalton, sprawled on the grass, the curtains wrapped like a sash around his titanic naked body.

Nick placed a hand gently on Brendan’s shoulder and sighed with relief, then detected a faint sound in the distance. “Is that a siren?”


When Seth eventually emerged from the men’s room, he was shirtless and shiny, the glow of the neon bar signs reflected in the perspiration on his skinny torso which commingled with his body glitter. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then licked his lips, still tasting the salty cum of the man he had just blown. For someone who had received his share of fellatio over the years but had never performed the act – or even considered the possibility – before tonight, Seth had developed an instant and instinctive knack for its nuances, eagerly accepting the guy’s on-the-short-side cock into his mouth and lapping up ejaculate like a puppy slobber-licking an ice-cream cone. As he swallowed down the man’s hot load, Seth had shot his own wad into his thong, and the feel of sticky jizz pooling around his ballsack was only increasing his insatiable horniness. He knew he was going to need to get his aching hole filled, and soon.

Reaching the bar, Seth grabbed his lemon-drop martini and guzzled it down greedily. He leaned back against the bar, tangling his fingers through the sweat-drenched curls of his platinum ’do as he sized up the two hot young jocks who had joined their group. “Haywood,” said Randy, “these are my friends TJ and Bucky.”

“Nithe to meet you, BJ and Fucky,” Seth said with a high-pitched cackle as he leered at them out of the corners of his eyes. Jeffrey hadn’t thought it possible, but Seth seemed to have grown even swishier in the bathroom, his arms now flailing like an inflatable noodle man beckoning customers to the grand opening of a car wash. His lips had plumped to a size that rivaled Angelina Jolie, and maybe it was just the lighting in here, but Jeffrey could swear Seth’s eye color had shifted to an unworldly baby blue.

Ox barely noticed Seth’s changes, as he was preoccupied with unfamiliar sensations of his own. He hadn’t truly felt drunk in years, as it took a good six beers to give his enormous body even a slight buzz, but the trim physique he currently inhabited had a completely different metabolism. His head was swimming from the effects of his first martini, and he was already halfway through a second one which Randy had insisted on buying for him. This was only compounding the inhibition-lowering and libido-enhancing effects of the Mariposa, which were wreaking havoc on his hormones and making it impossible for him to take his eyes off Randy.

As someone who had repeatedly tried but failed to reshape his flab into muscle, Ox had long harbored a mild streak of jealousy when it came to seemingly effortlessly-fit guys like Randy and his buddies, but tonight he felt nothing but admiration and lust for their taut, firm bodies. No, what he found himself envying was their nonchalance about their sexuality. Ox had never socialized with gay people. Nick was the first he had ever spent significant time around and, while he had remained basically the same affable guy he had always been, he never seemed 100% comfortable with himself since coming out, at least not when he was around the rest of the poker guys. When Nick started bringing Dalton to the games, Ox had taken an immediate dislike to him, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t homophobia. Dalton just seemed to be a world-class dick. But Randy, Bucky and TJ appeared to be so easygoing and at peace with themselves, just like, ya know, regular guys. Ox found himself desperately wishing he could be more like them…well, at least for tonight.

Seth’s eyes popped wide as a particularly sick beat reverberated its way from the dance floor straight to his crotch. His body automatically undulated to the rhythm, his pelvis thrusting provocatively in tempo. “Who wanth to danth?”, he screamed, wrapping his fingers around TJ’s wrist and dragging him helplessly toward the main room of the club.

As Bucky chased after them, Randy polished off his drink and slipped his hand in Ox’s palm. Ox looked baffled. “C’mon and dance,” Randy said enticingly.

Randy begged off, clutching the bar rail with his other hand. “I don’t really dance.”

“Tonight you do,” Randy insisted, peeling Ox’s fingers off the rail one by one until he could no longer resist.

As he passed Jeffrey, Ox shrugged and muttered, “Here goes nothin’.”

Jeffrey picked up his half-full martini glass and strolled casually into the dance hall, curious to watch what happened next.

Rounding the corner, Jeffrey felt physically buffeted by the sound vibrations blasting from the speakers and was dazzled by the strobes and lasers that were synched with the music. He watched as Randy hauled Ox onto the fringe of the dance floor, yanking Ox’s arms like taffy in hopes that the rest of his body would be forced to move. At first, Ox was embarrassed and self-conscious but he didn’t want to disappoint Randy. Gradually, he began to get into it, and Jeffrey was impressed to witness the increasingly supple movements of Ox’s lithe body.

Deeper into the crowd, Bucky had already reclaimed TJ, but Seth seemed unfazed. He was gyrating happily on his own, arms swaying in the air, head on permanent swivel as he ogled the bodies that surrounded him. It suddenly occurred to Jeffrey that he should be capturing some of Seth’s behavior on video, as future blackmail material once the Mariposa ran its course, but when he patted his pockets, he remembered that Seth had tossed Jeffrey’s phone into the glove compartment when they’d gotten in the car, declaring if off-limits for the night so that Jeffrey would be “forthed to ekthperienth life for oneth.” Despite Seth’s intentions, Jeffrey found himself, as usual, hovering on the sidelines quietly, observing as his friends enjoyed themselves rather than “exthperienthing” life for himself.

Jeffrey grabbed a stool at the bar overlooking the dance floor. He wondered how he would kill the time until the others were ready to leave. He felt naked without his phone, although not nearly as naked as Seth, who was at that moment slipping his shorts down to offer the other dancers a peek at his bulging, bethonged buttocks.

As Ox noticed Seth’s strip tease, it finally dawned on him that maybe Seth wasn’t faking after all. He seemed to be having way too much fun for this not to be genuine. Knowing first-hand how liberating Mariposa was, Ox was pleased to see his typically surly friend giving into it and having such a blast. If it weren’t for that little bottle, Ox wouldn’t be out here, relishing how limber he had become as he pressed himself closer and closer to Randy’s sexy body.

“So, your friend, Haywood,” Randy asked, shouting into Ox’s ear, “is he ALWAYS like this?”

Ox shook his head. “Actually, I’ve never seen him like this before,” he assured Randy. Ox felt the urge to confess that he wasn’t always like this either, but he couldn’t bear the thought of spoiling this magical feeling with something stupid like the truth. Instead, he gazed into Randy’s hazel eyes and impulsively gave him a kiss. He immediately feared he had made a tremendous mistake and attempted to pull back, but he felt Randy’s arms wrap around his torso and pull him tight as Randy’s tongue exuberantly slipped its way between Ox’s lips.

Jeffrey nearly fell off his stool. He was coming to regret that he hadn’t finished his bottle of blue Mariposa. Up until now, he’d been satisfied by the way it had modestly hunkified him, but maybe he could have used a total overhaul like the rest of the gang. He wouldn’t have wanted anything as drastic as what had happened to Seth, but Ox sure seemed to be having the time of his life. In one evening, Jeffrey had gone from vigorously asserting his heterosexuality to wondering if a little gayness might not be just what he needed. But neither the Mariposa nor the martini had sufficiently loosened Jeffrey’s inhibitions enough to motivate him to join the dancing throng. He stared wistfully into space and idly drummed his fingers on the bar in time with the music.

“Not your kind of place?”

Jeffrey was surprised to hear a female voice, and even more surprised to hear it directed at him. He shook himself out of his stupor and spotted a petite brunette sitting three stools down, regarding him with a friendly smirk.

“Yeah, no, not exactly,” Jeffrey said, surprised by how smoothly and confidently his Mariposa-lowered voice slid out of his throat. He was usually horribly tongue-tied when starting a conversation with any stranger, let alone one this cute. “Doesn’t seem like your sort of place either.”

“I dunno, it’s kinda nice to go to a club where absolutely no guys are hitting on me,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m here for my brother’s bachelor party.”

Jeffrey mulled that over. “Unusual place for a bachelor party.”

“Well, my brother’s a bartender here,” she explained. Then she pointed toward the stage. “And the oiled-up guy hanging upside down on the stripper pole is his fiance.”

“Ah…” Jeffrey nodded. The woman hopped down from her stool and walked toward Jeffrey with her nearly empty martini glass. “You saving this for somebody?”, she asked, pointing to the stool beside Jeffrey.

While he would typically have stammered out a “no” and looked away nervously, Jeffrey found himself saying, “Apparently so,” with all the suaveness of James Bond. He stood and pulled out the stool for her.

She grinned, surprised. “Oh, so you’re one of those gentlemen I’ve heard about. I thought they were an urban legend.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a legend, but I do okay,” Jeffrey said casually. Where was this coming from?, he wondered as a pleasant tingle flooded his mind. He knew he was acting uncharacteristically, but something deep inside him was telling him not to resist. “Can I get you a martini? The upside-down cake ones are amazingly good.”

“I’d love one,” the woman said with a friendly smile. She extended her hand. “I’m Tina.”

He grabbed it and squeezed, making sure it felt firm but not overbearing. “Jeff,” he said, confidently. For the first time ever, he knew he was the straightest guy in the room.


By the time Brendan and Nick had reached the ground floor to check on Dalton, a police car had arrived and one officer was already kneeling over Dalton.

“How is he?”, Nick asked, still concerned about Dalton’s well-being despite the evening’s events.

“We’re gonna need an ambulance,” the kneeling cop concluded, rising to go back to his cruiser.

The other officer observed the scene cautiously, not knowing what to make of this odd threesome: the gargantuan naked man spread-eagled on the grass, the bony kid covered in tattoos, and the towering black guy clutching a hand to his head. When he saw Brendan walking toward Dalton, the cop stepped forward with a stern warning. “Stay where you are, sir.”

“I just wanna see how he’s doing,” Brendan said.

“You keep that fucker away from me,” Dalton demanded, his face mashed against the grass. “He chucked me out the fuckin’ window!”

“You tripped, you goddamn clumsy-ass liar,” Brendan shouted back, his muscles tensing.

The cop stepped forward, blocking Brendan’s path. “Just chill, okay? All of you! I need you to tell me what happened here.”

Brendan said, “What happened is this motherfucker broke into my house!”

“You saying this is your place?”, the cop asked.

“Damn right it is!”

“Uhhh…huh,” the cop said skeptically. “The caller said she didn’t recognize anyone who entered the apartment.”

“Aw, shit, that’s Miz McHenry. See, she didn’t reckonize me…”

Consulting a notepad, the officer said flatly, “She said this apartment is rented to a young caucasian by the name of Brendan…”

“No shit, Sherlock, that’s ME!”, Brendan said, slapping his palm against his chest.

The cop gave him a seen-it-all stare. “Uh…huh.”

Brendan grew insistent, pointing toward Dalton. “Only this HERE motherfucker slipped me some crazy shit tonight to turn me into this. He made us ALL drink it. And then he breaks into my house, tryin’ to kill me?” He took an angry step in Dalton’s direction, on the verge of losing his shit.

The officer drew his handgun and aimed at Brendan. “Don’t move another inch.”

Brendan froze in position. “Oh, you GOTTA be kiddin’ me.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Place your hands above your head.”

The second officer hustled over from the squad car, standing behind his partner and sizing up the situation. By this point, residents had begun to filter out of the nearby apartment buildings. The second officer asked everyone to stay back.

Brendan glanced toward Nick. “Nicky, can you believe this shit?”

Nick looked scared. “Just do what he says, okay? Don’t be stupid.”

The cop aiming the gun said, “Listen to your little pal, there. PLACE YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD. NOW.”

Brendan shook his head and slowly stretched his long arms high into the air. “Man, you hear about this shit on the news, but ’til it happens to you…” He pointed his chin in Dalton’s direction. “Why ain’t you pointin’ your gun at HIM? He’s the motherfucker who broke in and attacked me!”

The second officer attempted to be the voice of reason. “You’re saying that old man attacked you?”

“He ain’t no old man! He’s usually a weasely little asshole.”

“He stole my boyfriend!”, Dalton’s voice boomed.

Brendan unleashed a harsh cackle. “Your boyfriend wised the fuck UP and dumped your sorry white ass!” For emphasis, he leaned slightly in Dalton’s direction. The officer with a gun moved toward Brendan and ordered him to freeze.

Seeing this, Nick leapt forward, swatting at the cop’s arm to keep him from shooting Brendan.

The other cop snapped into action, pulling out a taser and zapping Nick, who fell to the ground twitching.

Brendan lunged protectively toward Nick and was tackled by both of the cops, who struggled mightily to pin him down. In the midst of the melee, one of the officers managed to grab a walkie-talkie to call for backup.

And Dalton lay on the grass nearby, taking in the chaos he had unleashed and laughing his head off.

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