MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM

by Milton Stern

  “On twenty-fourth and H Streets, Mother Rose’s Restaurant. I’ll see you there at eight.”

  And with that, Mordecai had a date.

  Mordecai arrived at his mother’s restaurant a few minutes early. Rose had opened the restaurant soon after her husband died and Mordecai had moved to Greenburg. She knew her special son would only be able to eat strictly kosher food, and this way she could watch out for his diet without appearing to dote on him by cooking for him at his place or having him over for dinner every night.

  Her eyes lit up at the sight of her only son, and at eighty-four, she was still in phenomenal shape, running her restaurant as she did the day she opened it twenty years before.

  “Mordecai, shall I sit with you?”

  “Actually, Mother, I have a date … I think,” he answered.

  Rose looked concerned as she seated him at a booth in the back, the only one that could accommodate his large frame.

  “With whom?” she asked.

  “His name is Robert Madison, and I met him at the museum this afternoon,” Mordecai said as the waitress placed a bowl of kosher pickles and olives on the table.

  “Mordecai, you have to be careful with the goyim. There are plenty of nice Jewish boys out there …”

  “No, there aren’t, Mother,” Mordecai said. “Sometimes, I get tired of being alone. My life sometimes feels cursed …”

  “Don’t you ever say that,” Rose said as she sat opposite him. “Your life is blessed. You remember that … and you be careful. A shegatz cannot be trusted.”

  “Mother, you’re such a bigot,” Mordecai said with a smile.

  “I am not. I just think one should date his own kind,” she said as she got up.

  “Then I will date no one as I am one of a kind,” Mordecai said, just as he spotted Robert entering the restaurant.

  Robert saw Mordecai and worked his way to the back of the dining room.

  “Now here he is …”

  “The blond? He looks like an Aryan,” Rose said with shock.

  “Mother!”

  Robert walked over to the booth as Mordecai stood and introduced his mother. She nodded, handed him a menu and walked away.

  Dinner went smoothly, considering everyone in the restaurant was staring at them, and Rose appeared to be studying rather than observing the two men.

  Mordecai went to pay the bill, but his mother would have none of it, so he left the equivalent as the tip, and he and Robert left the restaurant.

  “Where to now?” Robert asked.

  “Well, I have an early day tomorrow …”

  “Don’t be silly, come to my place for a drink …”

  “I don’t drink,” Mordecai quickly answered. “My people always eat, but rarely drink.”

  “Mordecai, that was my way of getting you to my apartment to have a little fun,” Robert said with a smile.

  “Oh,” Mordecai said naïvely.

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  Mordecai didn’t answer as they headed to Robert’s apartment.

  Once inside, Robert did not waste any time. He pounced on Mordecai practically ripping off the museum cataloguer’s clothes as he drove his tongue into his mouth, and Mordecai did not resist. Robert then stepped back to remove his shirt, and his eyes popped as he got the first full view of Mordecai in nothing but a pair of white briefs.

  “Oh my God,” Robert said as he slowly undressed himself. “Who knew that under all that baggy clothing stood an Adonis?” He removed the last stitch, and completely naked, walked over to Mordecai and ran his hands all over the superhero’s body, totally unaware that he had seen that physique before, only covered in dark blue tights and wearing a white mask. As he ran his hands up the back of Mordecai’s neck, he went to remove the yarmulke, but Mordecai stopped him.

  “That stays on,” Mordecai said as he grabbed Robert’s wrist. Mordecai then ran his hands down Robert’s furry torso and grabbed his six-inch dick, which was raging hard. Not too large, but Mordecai always marveled at smaller penises, wondering what it would be like to be normal.

  Robert grabbed the waist of Mordecai’s briefs and worked them down but had trouble stretching them past the tall Hebrew’s hard-on.

  “Here, let me help you,” Mordecai said as he eased his foot-long schlong out of his briefs before sliding them down his huge thighs and kicking them away.

  Robert reached for Mordecai’s kosher meat with his mouth agape and his eyes wide open. “I can’t get my hand around it. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Mordecai eased him over to the bed, and as Robert sat on the edge of the bed facing the Hebrew sausage, he tried to get his mouth around the baseball-sized head, but it was no use.

  I am cursed, Mordecai thought. But his dick was leaking so much precum that Robert worked the entire shaft and head with his tongue and lapped up every drop of the delicious nectar, moaning and leaking himself at the same time. With one hand, he stroked the length of it, and with the other, he felt every inch of Mordecai’s smooth, powerful body.

  Mordecai eased him on his back and worked his legs over Robert’s head as he faced the shegatz’s crotch. Six inches was fine for Mordecai, for he could get the entire length in his mouth and enjoy every drop. Robert continued doing what he could with all that cock he was given to play with – stroking and licking – and his tongue found the sweet spot between the ball sac and the asshole, marveling at how hard even that was. He reached around and ran his hands all over Mordecai’s enormous muscular butt, all the while moaning in total ecstasy as his cock was deep into the hunky Hebrew’s mouth. Mordecai worked Robert’s cock, making it leak almost as much as his own while he rolled the gentile’s pink balls in his hand. He then worked his mouth down to those balls and sucked them individually and together before working his way back to the leaking head and slurping up all that tasty non-kosher precum. Mordecai wanted to make it last, but he was so turned on by what Robert was doing to him and what he was doing to Robert that he could not hold out much longer.

  With one hand on Mordecai’s cock, one finger working its way into Mordecai’s hole, and his tongue working back to the superhero’s plum-sized balls, Robert managed to bring Mordecai over the edge. With a scream that was surely heard in all the adjacent apartments, Mordecai shot a load that splashed his own chin as he continued sucking on the gentile’s cock. Spurt after spurt of his kosher spunk erupted between them before Robert also lost control and shot clear into Mordecai’s mouth. Mordecai hungrily lapped up the treyf (non-kosher) treat and swallowed all he could.

  Robert was satiated, and said, “Damn, that was hot.”

  But, Mordecai didn’t speak. Still hovering over Robert, he started to feel a burning sensation in his gut, then he rolled off the bed onto the floor. He held his stomach and felt a pain like no other he felt before. He started to cry out, then he began to convulse to the horror of Robert who didn’t know what to do.

  “Oh no … what do I do … Oh shit,” Robert whined as he went to put on his jeans and located his cell phone. He was fumbling with it, when he heard a knock at the door. With a flourish, he opened the door, and who was standing there, but Mordecai’s mother.

  Rose looked at Robert who was wearing only a pair of jeans that he had not had a chance to button up then saw Mordecai, naked and crying in pain and convulsing in the middle of the bedroom floor. By now, Mordecai had turned almost red as his blood was starting to boil, and he was sweating profusely. Eighty-four-year-old Rose shoved Robert out of the way and ran to her only son, the son she prayed for, the son who was a gift from God, the son who was dying right in front of her eyes.

  “What did he eat?” she screamed at Robert as she knelt beside Mordecai.

  Robert stood there frozen.

  “What did he eat?” she screamed again. “Say something. He must have eaten something forbidden. What kind of treyf did you feed him? I have to know! My son is dying. What did you feed him?”

  “I … I …” Robert sta
mmered.

  “Answer me!” she screamed as she opened her purse.

  “He … he swallowed my …,”Robert began. “He swallowed my …”

  “Oy vay! Just say it. He swallowed your load. Now what did you eat today? Did you have ham? Shell fish? Bird of prey? Answer me, I need to know!” Rose screamed.

  “I … had a ham sandwich for lunch,” Robert answered confused.

  Rose then reached into her purse and pulled out a syringe and a vial with purple liquid in it. While Mordecai continued to convulse on the floor, she drew some of the liquid into the syringe.

  “Get over here and help me hold him down. I need to plunge this into his heart,” Rose bellowed.

  Robert hesitated.

  “Now!” she yelled as he looked right at her.

  At that point, he figured she may be over eighty, but she could still probably kick his ass. Robert hurried over and helped her hold Mordecai, who although in pain and clearly dying, was still stronger than ever. He held the big man’s shoulders while she aimed for his heart with the syringe of purple liquid. She may have been elderly, but her aim was perfect. The syringe went straight into his heart, and she pressed the plunger, releasing the liquid.

  Within seconds, Mordecai quit convulsing. He quieted down, and his skin went from bright red to olive again. His body temperature also started to return to normal.

  “Get me a blanket to cover him up,” Rose said to Robert.

  He pulled a blanket off the bed and handed it to Rose. She covered her son from the waist down and then pulled her cell phone out of her purse.

  “I may have changed his diapers and potty trained him, and I have always known it was a large one, but I don’t think he needs to wake up and find his mother staring at his naked body,” Rose said as she started dialing the phone.

  “What was in that syringe?” Robert asked.

  “Manischewitz Concorde Grape,” she answered matter-of-factly.

  Rose called her friend Gert, and with Robert’s help, they walked Mordecai to Rose’s car – a brown Eldorado. Before she got behind the wheel, Rose said to Robert who was still in a state of shock, “I am truly sorry, but you cannot see my son again. It is a matter of life and death.”

  Robert did not argue; he understood. Well, he didn’t really understand, but he also didn’t want to witness anything like that again. He also never wanted to sleep with another Jew for fear he would accidentally kill him.

  Rose spent the night at Mordecai’s to be sure he was all right. The next morning, she lectured him, ending with, “Superman has Kryptonite, and you have treyf. If you ever eat treyf again, I cannot guarantee I will be there to save your life. Perhaps you should carry a Manischewitz pen.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Mordecai said, then he kissed her on the cheek. He then looked up and cocked one ear toward the window.

  With a flash and a whoosh that almost blew off her wig, all Rose saw was a dark blue and white streak go out the window followed by a crash of glass as he had forgotten to open it.

  “What do you call a Jewish superhero?” she said out loud, while shaking her head and smiling, “A klutz.”

  A REAL GYM

  Michael spent more time than he wanted on the road. When he accepted the job as a consultant for the Department of Homeland Security, he thought he would be spending his time in Washington, New York, Los Angeles and Chicago, but that was not the case. Michael found himself waking up in sleepy little towns that cartographers did not take the time to notice. Towns with names like Pungo, Kincaid, Swelterville and Destination, a town so small it was named for being a stop on a long abandoned railroad.

  In an effort to ensure that the government would function in the event of a national emergency, Michael’s job was to negotiate contracts for bunkers and other sites to house the country’s leaders. Uncharted towns made the perfect locations for these future government facilities. The secret was negotiating a deal that did not bring attention to the sleepy hamlets. Many of the civic leaders wanted the attention and hoped to boost their economies with the government contracts. Michael, however, managed to quiet their aspirations with promises of infrastructure improvements, new schools and other necessary projects.

  One Monday, Michael arrived in Erlach, Virginia, a town, located southwest of Richmond, but so small, that even the citizens of Virginia’s capital had never heard of it. He was pleasantly surprised to find a motel off the main highway through town. At sixty miles per hour, one blink and the motel would have been missed; two blinks and the town would have disappeared.

  Michael grabbed his bag from the trunk of his car and knocked on the office door to the Erlach Motel, which was attached to the Erlach Diner, a converted railroad dining car that held the promise of good Southern cooking that Michael always craved. No one answered the door, so Michael walked over to the diner and entered.

  It was three-thirty in the afternoon, and only a couple of patrons, mostly elderly gentlemen who looked as if they had retired from a lifetime of dairy farming, were sitting at the counter. Michael sat on a stool and removed his jacket.

  At forty-one, Michael looked to be in his prime. He was wearing a dark blue T-shirt and jeans. Michael loved working out, and it showed. He was six-foot-two and weighed 240 pounds. Although on the road, Michael managed to find a gym most every place he went, and when none was available, he would work out with the sixty-pound dumbbells and the push-up bars he picked up in a fitness store he stumbled upon in Swelterville. Michael’s favorite exercise was push-ups. He would do a set between every exercise even when working out in a gym. If he had a couple of hours free, he would spend them doing set after set of push-ups. Michael lived for the feeling of his chest getting pumped with every rep.

  He would often be in a motel room in some hick town, stripped to his briefs, sweaty and pumped from hours of push-ups. Michael would then flex in the mirror and finish his routine by rubbing out a big load from his thick cock.

  One of the retired farmers took notice of Michael and stared at him. He was used to being ogled for he was a fine looking man with his olive skin, dark curly hair, thick eyebrows and lashes and dark bedroom eyes. His body was big, hairy and muscular, and Michael was often asked if he took steroids. One look at Michael’s large, full balls confirmed that his physique was all natural. Michael liked to eat, and fortunately for him, everything that went into his mouth turned to muscle – everything.

  The cook stepped out from the back and walked over to Michael. Michael liked what he saw. The cook was not quite as tall as Michael, but his white T-shirt and stained apron barely contained his powerful form. There was no hint of hair under his hat, and he had the face of a professional wrestler. Michael noticed the scarred forehead, which was a sure sign of self-inflicted, razor wounds to give a paying crowd the blood they craved. He judged the chef to about fifty or fifty-five, and Michael considered inviting him to his room later that night to see who could do the most push-ups for the longest time. The thought made his cock leak.

  “Can I get you anything?” the cook asked.

  “Actually, I wanted to get a room for few nights at the motel next door, but no one answered when I knocked,” Michael said.

  “That’s because I’m standing right here,” the cook said with a smile. He was missing at least three teeth, probably knocked out by a metal chair in some noisy arena, Michael thought.

  “OK, how much is a room?” Michael asked.

  “Fifty dollars a night,” the cook answered, “paid in advance.”

  Michael leaned forward and removed his wallet, noticing the cook staring at his flexed triceps. Michael looked at the retired farmer and noticed the man had also never taken his eyes off him. He pulled $150 from his wallet and handed it to the cook while rolling his eyes in the farmer’s direction.

  The cook looked over at the retired farmer and back at Michael and said, “Don’t mind Smitty. Every time a big, good looking guy comes into town, he wonders if he is another of my old buddies.”

  “
From wrestling?” Michael asked.

  “Yeah, how did you know?” the cook asked.

  Michael motioned to his forehead and said, “You have the battle scars. I follow professional wrestling, but I cannot place you.”

  The cook put Michael’s money in the cash register and reached under the counter, plucking out one of the keys, hooked below. He handed Michael the key and smiled.

  “Remember the asshole that always wore an orange mask, wrestled dirty, and was hated by the crowd?” the cook asked.

  “You’re the Southern Terror?” Michael asked, and he almost shot a load in his briefs.

  “The one and only,” the cook said. “So, you want anything to eat before you check in?”

  Michael was usually hungry, but he only ordered coffee, explaining, “I really want to work out before dinner. There wouldn’t happen to be a gym in this town, would there be?”

  The cook poured him a cup of coffee and said, “Believe it or not there is. It is located in the building behind the motel.”

  Michael put cream and sugar in his coffee, stirred it and said, “Let me guess. You own that, too.”

  The cook smiled again and told Michael, “As a guest in my motel, you can work out there for free. I warn you, it’s just a gym, no fancy machines or prancing personal trainers, or spandexed pretty boys.”

  The thought of the cook’s gym made Michael’s cock leak again, and he said, “That’s perfect. I haven’t seen a real gym in years. Tell me you don’t play loud bar music, and I may buy a house in this town.”

  “Well, you know that house across the street with a for sale sign in front?” the cook asked.

  Michael laughed, wondering just how much of Erlach, Virginia, this hot, retired wrestler owned.

  Michael checked into Room 24 and put his bag on the bed. He checked his messages, of which there were three from the DHS, one of which confirmed his meeting with the Mayor of Erlach the following morning at ten.

  He opened his bag and pulled out his black sweat pants and an old, gray tank top. Michael was never a slave to health club fashion, so he was sure he would blend in at the cook’s gym just fine.