DREADLOCKS by silicondog@earthlink.net

This story involves male to male sexual activity.  If you are under
age 18 or are not interested in this topic, please stop here.  All
characters in this story are fictional with no resemblance to any
real persons implied.  Looking to trade other muscle stories.


     I was drunk.  The bars had started to close and now all I
wanted to do was find a cab, go home, and pass out for the night. 
I was walking back towards Sixth Avenue to find a cab when it
started.

     "Hey, faggot!" I heard a split second before the sidewalk
leaped up to clip me in the back of my head.  Even drunk, I had
enough sense to roll once I hit the ground and missed getting
skulled by the bastard's follow through.  Scrambling and staggering
up to my feet, I saw five things:  four bashers standing between me
and the end of the alley, and that I was in deep trouble.  In the
streetlight I saw two of the punks holding baseball bats, one other
playing with a switchblade in front of his eyes, and the fourth,
rubbing his fist, the guy who probably had hit me from behind. 
Even worse, I was in an alley lined with dumpsters and they stood
between me and the street.  On the other three sides of the alley
were the grey walls of emptied office buildings.  The street, only
a few second ago alive with people, now was deserted.  Knowing it
was putting me further away from the safety of the street, I backed
further into the alley looking something to use as a weapon.  

     "You gonna make us work for this, faggot?" the bastard with
the switchblade asked?  The four moved into the alley towards me
and my eyes were switching between the thugs and the dumpsters,
looking for something to use.  With some luck, I could make them do
overtime, even outnumbered.  But the dumpsters were shut and they
split up to circle me in the middle of the alley.  The one with the
knife began to playfully swing his knife in front of me, driving me
further into the center of the circle.  I could see a tatoo on the
arm of the guy playing with the knife, all four of them were
laughing.

     "Put that knife down."

     A voice from where?  All four turned around and I took the
chance; I bolted between two of them towards the streetlight.  One
of them turned and tripped me; I fell headlong and felt a bomb
explode on the back of my head.  I turned over on my ass to see
where the voice came from.

     A shadow walked out from between two of the dumpsters, and the
streetlight made it into a man.  Taller than the dumpsters, dressed
only in leather jeans and sandals, he pointed to me.

     "Let him go."  The voice was a deep bass with a hint of an
accent.  West Indian?  Dazed, my vision began to blur in and out,
I thought I saw a giant, a dreadlocked, obsidian-skinned giant,
well over seven feet, emerge further from the shadows of the
dumpsters.  The bashers were trying to decide whether to attack him
as well, shouting at each other for the other to move first.

     The tattooed punk tried first, slashing at the giant's chest
or would have slashed had an arm of iron cable leashed out to pluck
the knife right out of his hand.  He casually tossed it over into
an open dumpster; the only sound in the alley beside their
panicking breaths was the clatter of it hitting the bottom.  

     "You're next."  In a casual-looking swipe, the punk found
himself flying over into the air, and found himself being the first
dunk shot of the evening, falling into the dumpster with his knife.

     "You're gonna get it now, faggot!"  One of the thugs gripped
his bat for courage and took a swing at the giant's chest, who
watched it coming and didn't even bother to dodge it.  The bat fell
with a hard clunk across a belly with muscles as big and hard as
the cobblestones of the alley, and its clunk was matched by the
"crack" of the bat snapping in half across his abs; one half flying
across to the wall, the other still held in the thug's hands.  From
the asshole's face, I could tell that his swing had hurt his hands
far more than the giant.

     The other guy with the bat leaned in to swing at the guy's
skull; as if swatting a fly he plucked the aluminum bat out of his
hands, and with no more effort than hauling a handful of laundry,
grabbed the dude's shirt and lifted him over and over into the air
to join his comrade in the dumpster.

     In the streetlight I squinted, trying to see more.  The man
was indeed a giant, with a massive mane of braided hair that swept
back over monstrous shoulders and halfway down a back that showed
each muscle working against each other.  

     "Get out of here, man!" he told me as the guy who had ruined
a perfectly good Louisville slugger over this guy's belly decided
to make one good move that night and run for his life.  The
skinhead decided to compound his felony by making one last swing
with his crowbar and before he could even finish cocking his arms
he found himself flying head over heels into the corner of the
alley, the giant following him, the crowbar in the fingers of a
massive hand.

     "Did you drop this?" a quiet calm voice.   The giant followed
the jerk further until they both were in the far corner, the
skinhead's hands tattooing a beat against the alley's walls,
whimpering.  The skinhead, cornered in several senses of the word,
looked up at the bearded guy's face as, casually as handling a
pencil, the crowbar appeared at the tips of his fingers.

     "I asked you if you dropped this, brave little boy."  The
voice was playful, but the crowbar's tip waved in front of his
face.  I could see a pierced nose and the panicked eyes of a
cornered rat.  

     "Maybe you should learn to carry your property, my man."

     "Fuck you, faggot!  Fuck you!" the punk said over and over as
the man reached behind the jerk's neck with the crowbar and with
one brief pause to summon the strength of his arms, I saw the
muscles of his arms and shoulders underneath the dreadlocks swell
and the crowbar twisted around his neck until it was beyond a U
shape, the ends of the crowbar crossing over the animal's neck. 
His swearing died away and I saw his crotch turn dark as he pissed
himself, whimpering.

     "Now, you've got a nice new necklace, my man."  The giant had
one massive hand on the twisted metal of the crowbar.  Casually,
the hand went up and the punk with it, the punk holding his neck
over the loop of bent crowbar as the giant walked over to the
dumpster holding his other friends and tossed him in as well.

     Inside the thugs were yelling for help, the police, anybody. 
The giant gave the dumpster an uppercut with his right fist and
there was a deafening clang of metal.  The side of the dumpster
showed a deep dimple where his massive fist had made contact.  The
yelling changed into screaming for mercy as the giant flipped the
dumpster lid shut, and grabbed the handles of its side.

     "Bottoms up, fellows!"  The dumpster floated off the ground in
his massive arms and in one twirl, it overturned, floating off the
ground as his massive back muscles writhed under black marble skin. 
The rattling of trash inside not quite drowning out their cries, he
carefully put the dumpster back on the ground upside down, lid
down, the three thugs trapped inside!

     "Are you all right?" 

     I was still on the ground, trying to back away from what was
happening.  I was scared of both the superman who had appeared out
of the blue and the wet trail I was leaving in the pavement as I
tried to crawl away.

     I saw him closer and in the glare of the streetlight I could
see his face, a close thick beard and a high forehead below the
roof of hair.  On the two massive plates of his chest I could see
curled hairs in a thick mat.  I tried to open my mouth, but the
banging in the back of my head turned into a sound that drowned out
all other thoughts as I saw his hands reach for me.

______________________

     "Open your eyes."

     I awoke to that same voice.  I was lying on my back, and from
the air on my body I was shirtless, stripped down to my jeans,
socks gone.

     When I obeyed, I saw a bright light in my eyes.

     "Now, follow the light with your eyes" the voice said, and
then the light went up, down and from side to side, my eyes
tracking as he told me to.

     "There!" the light clicked off and after a moment of red, I
could see him clearer.  I was in a bed of some sort and he was
leaning over me, still bare from the chest up.  

     "I'm Marcus" he introduced himself.  "I was worried, you know. 
They clipped you in the back of the neck and then cut you there as
well.  I had to close that wound but I couldn't move you too far." 
Move me?  The late realization that I was not, in fact, in the St.
Vincent Emergency Room gave me the strength to push up on my elbows
to see where in the world I was.

     The walls were brick and concrete, but there were no windows. 
The roof had concrete and metal beams cross over utility cables. 
It had the feeling of a giant studio but of an underground garage
as well.  The floor was carpeted and the space had the usual
furniture.  The lights and the computer on a desk had cords which
trailed along the ceiling up to the wires in the roof.

     I felt a warm steel girder curl around under my shoulders.

     "Now, we get you up," Marcus said, lifting me carefully until
I stood.  I reached to a bandage on the back of my neck.  "That
where they cut you."

     "Thank you for saving my life."  What I really wanted to say
was "Why the hell didn't you call 911?" but standing shakily
looking at his chest at (my) eye level, I didn't want to ask any
questions I didn't know the answers to.  In the even light of his
space the giant looked even more awesome than in the darkness of
the alley.  I could not help but staring at his monstrous
shoulders, which even relaxed showed cuts over cuts.

     "And as for those jerks! -- he smiled, like a fox -- "I had to
scare them away.  Those dumpsters are good for me, you know.  I've
picked some excellent stuff out of those things.  I don' need the
cops circling them."  He pointed towards a table with computer
equipment on it.  "All trashed, and all still work, work just fine. 
Why do people do that?"

     "What were you doing up there?"

     "I got out of the bars and got lost.  I was sorta drunk."

     "Bad move."  He shook his head slightly, the great dreads
swaying lightly across a coal-black iron back.  "Those fools could
have killed you, you have to watch your back."

     He was walking me around his space as we talked, and I felt
the strength returning to my legs and I soon could walk without
having to lean on him, but I couldn't keep from rubbing alongside
his velvet granite skin.  And enough of my brains were returning to
sense somehow that he didn't seem to mind it, either.

     We stopped at the desk with the computer equipment he said he
had stolen.  Most of it was old, but all of it worked and was
clean.  "How I make my living.  They send me work on the internet
and I send it back that way.  They don't have to worry about
finding a cubicle big enough for me to fit in and I don't have to
deal with those fools up there in person."  He waved around at his
space.  "All of this" he showed me more of his thick white teeth
"filched.  Taken out of the trash, deserted buildings, scraps.  All
for free.  The power?"  He answered his own question.  "I tap into
the utilities for the phone and lights; they don't know I'm here
and they can't tell, either."

     My hands were idly fishing around the papers on the desk,
trying to think up a subtle way to ask where I was.  Behind the
machines on a bulletin board I saw scraps of paper with writing in
several languages on them; in the corner I saw a picture.  It
showed a small group of soldiers in brown uniforms standing in the
desert, smiling, posing for the camera, waving the V with their
fingers.  On the far left was what looked like a younger and very
scrawny version of Marcus, beardless, beaming with them.  In the
far background of the picture was an enormous brown cloud of smoke
from an explosion on the ground, a cloud shot through with yellow
streams.

     "Where's that?" I asked.  When in doubt, keep them talking.

     "That's in Iraq, man."  

     "Where was that taken?" I asked.  I looked over to see him
staring at his picture, obsidian arms crossed over his chest.

     "Downwind."

     Uh.  Whatever happened over there had changed him somehow,
more than I could see and more than what he was happy with.  I knew
that if I said anything I would probably make it worse, which of
course is exactly what I did next.

     "And you never sued, or applied for disability, or something?"

     "Disabled?" he arched his eyebrows at me with a edge to his
voice.  He reached down to a corner and came up with a brick in one
hand.  Holding it a foot in front of my face, I watched as the
massive cords of his forearms and biceps swell and split against
each other and his hand clamped around the brick.  In a second, it
crumbled under his fingers like a box of crackers, red dust
dripping around dark broad fingers onto the carpet, until he opened
his hand empty.  He slowly, playfully, touched my chest with his
index finger and ran a light trail of red brick dust from my pecs
down to the top of my briefs.  

     "That's disabled" he purred.  His hand stayed at my underwear
and I lunged at the front of his jeans trying to find the zipper. 
I found it but his chaps were built so strong I couldn't even unzip
them.  "I'll do that" and he did, stripping the tight leather jeans
off of legs that were long, broad kegs of muscle with a thick
spread of hair over his thighs.  Without knowing how we got there,
I found us on the bed.

     My hands ran up over a body that was its own armor until I
reached his head.  Wanting to keep feeling him up but wanting to
set him off differently, I reached to his head and massaged his
scalp under the great mane of his dreads.  For a moment I felt
scared as his body tensed under mine, but after a minute of
massage, I was rewarded with a thick purr and growl of pleasure. 
It took effort to reach around and under his mass of beautiful
hair, but I could see over his shoulder his circumcised cock
swinging slowly up like a derrick, veins inflating as I watched.

     My hands ran up and down a cut cock corded and thick like the
rest of him, and my lips found a vein as thick as a drinking straw
and as hard as the rest of his cock.  My tongue ran down the vein
until I reached the underside of his cockhead and lingered, my tip
slowly circling under that massive head, as Marcus' arms wrapped
around my torso and I found myself locked into his embrace like a
gun in its holster.  He was using his close beard as sandpaper over
my cock and balls, my precum already beginning to flow.  

     I kept the tip of my tongue under his cockhead, lingering and
massaging his tissue there, feeling his massive torso breaking into
a clean-smelling hot sweat.  I switched to running my tongue and
then my teeth back and forth along a pulsing vein in his cock that
was as hard as the rest of him and the purring and growling gave
way to a long moan.  I tried to obsess on his cock because Marcus
was way too close to bringing me off the edge as well, my cock
fitting easily into his hot mouth and throat, his thick fingers
clamped over my butt, massaging its muscles easily, and toying with
my asshole.

     The moan grew and echoed around the room as I felt my head
snapped back by something.  It took the second shot for me to
realize that his cum had knocked my head back with its power, and
I lunged down to capture his cockhead with my lips as my hips began
to pump my own load down Marcus' tight throat.  Shot after shot
followed until I had to break off, the last few spilling across my
shoulders and the last one I felt shoot across both nipples of my
pecs.  The buzzing in my head faded and I could hear Marcus gasp
for air, and I knew he had finished on my cock.  His coal skin
shining like marble under his sweat, he leaned over me and began to
brush his beard across my pecs, turned around and cleaned his own
load off my chest and then to the stray shots that coated my
shoulders.  I returned the favor, licking my own cum that matted
his thick beard.

     Gasping for air, I dropped onto his massive torso, our sweat
mixing over our skins and my tongue following up massaging his
balls.  My legs slid over his sweat and down his barrel chest down
to the bed.  I felt him curl around and over until I was flat on my
back, him towering over me.  His hands were rolling over my
shoulder blades, as big as catcher's mitts.  Flashing a smile
again, he leaned down to kiss and his dreads fell around either
side of his shoulders over our heads as I tasted and smelled my own
cum on his beard.  His fingers massaged around the bandage and then
around my neck as a long kiss turned longer and I melted into his
arms and slept.

______________________

     I woke up with a start.  I was back in my own bed!

     The sun stabbed painfully through the windows of my studio as
I pulled myself up to sit.  I was still wearing my jeans and socks. 
Had it been a dream?

     But I knew it was real.  I felt a bandage on my neck; I
smelled Marcus' sweet sweat on my chest.  I reached into my pocket
and found the slip of paper from Marcus' desk.

     I had his internet address.

(The End.  Comments welcome.)