Under the Mask

April 8, 1978

This guy is crazy. Seriously. I think he must be an escapee from an insane asylum. And I made the mistake of getting in his car. How was I supposed to know?

The thing is, I need to get the hell out of Denver. Fast. And unseen. I did a stupid thing (or more accurately, a couple stupid things) and now I’m a wanted man. I have no money, no resources and no friends. Not here anyway. Not anymore. It’s time to cut and run, but my options are limited. That’s why I was hitchhiking. That’s why I was glad when my new companion here picked me up. But then he opened his mouth and said words. I’m not glad anymore.

We ease to a stop at a red light and Crazy Guy turns to me and says, “Why would you want to go anywhere near Chicago? That’s where Jack McGee’s paper has its offices. You need to stay far away from there.”

I already explained, with way more patience than he deserves, that I am not headed to Chicago, that my name is NOT David Banner and that I do not change into The Hulk. I am a real person, not a fictional character on a science fiction TV show. Crazy Guy is not believing me. I wait until the traffic light for the cross street turns yellow before I whip my door open and explode out of the car.

I try to get lost among the pedestrians on the sidewalk, but I am a standout. Not because I’m a green monster, but because I’m wearing a ski mask. Yes, April in Denver can be cold, and it is in the 40’s today, but it’s not ski-mask cold. I just can’t show my face. Again, not because I’m David Banner, on the run from the law for murders I did not commit, but because I’m me. On the run from the law for my own reasons.

As I walk, I realize that hitching a ride is still my only option. I can’t even afford a bus ticket at this point. I hear commotion behind me and turn to see Crazy Guy is pushing his way up the sidewalk. He must have pulled over and is now chasing me on foot. Shit! Two ladies in LYCRA tights and sneakers come out of a storefront door. I duck inside as the door is swinging closed, and turn the thumb lock, sealing out my chaser.

“Excuse me!” I hear from behind me. “Did you just lock our door?”

I turn around and find that I’m face-to-face with two burly men. They look like clones of each other. They are both six feet tall with short brown hair, mustaches, barrel chests, muscular arms and the exact same outfits. Skin tight black t-shirts that say “Reflexology”, black sweatpants and shiny new Adidas Samoa shoes. But as similar as they look, I can tell they are not brothers. For some odd reason, I mentally decide that their names are Ivan. Ivan 1 and Ivan 2.

I take a look around at the place I just invaded. This is not a store at all. It’s a small open space with floor mats, chairs and what look like examination tables, kind of like those found in doctors’ offices. What is this? I look at their t-shirts again. Reflexology? Is that a real word?

I hold up my hands and spread my fingers, hoping to show that I am not a threat. “I’m so sorry. There’s a crazy guy after me. I ducked in the first door I saw.”

Crazy Guy appears at the door, gives the handle an unsuccessful tug and calmly asks through the glass, “May I come in?”

I plead with these guys, “He is insane! You have to believe me! You can’t let him in here.” I’m panting breathlessly.

Ivan 2 says, “You are the one who is frantic. You bust in here and lock our door? And what’s with the ridiculous ski mask? If you were us, who would you think the crazy guy is?”

He has a point. I lower my hands and try to take the edge out of my voice. “I’m leaving town. I’m done with Denver. But I have no money and hitchhiking is my only way out. I have a friend in Detroit who I can stay with for a while as I try to start over. Life here, for me, has fallen apart really quickly. I just need to get away.”

Crazy Guy calmly raps on the glass, “I can explain everything.”

Ivan 1 asks, “How does your friend here fit in?”

“He picked me up. I’d been out there for an hour and he was the only one who stopped. I was grateful at first, but then I realized he’s truly insane.”

Ivan 2 says, “Maybe the mask is deterring drivers from stopping. I wouldn’t stop for you. You look like you just held up a bank. What’s up with that?”

Well, not a bank… I say, “I have to keep it on until I’m safely outside of Denver. I made a mistake and now I’m kind of being looked for.”

“By this guy?” Ivan 1 points a thumb at the door.

I shake my head, “By the cops.”

Ivan 2 raises an eyebrow, “And you chose our place of business to put at risk as you run around town with crazy guys and police chasing you?”

Ivan 1 puts a hand on Ivan 2’s shoulder, “Let’s hear him out. And let’s get this mask off and see who he is.” They move toward me in concert, but before I could protest, Crazy Guy flips out on the other side of the door.

“Don’t!” He screams. “You can’t! If you make him angry, he’ll turn into The Hulk , destroy your shop and run away! Don’t hurt him!”

They stop and lower their hands. Ivan 2 says, “Score one point for you. Maybe you are not the crazy one after all. I’m about ready to call the police on the two of you. If you want any chance of us helping you out here, you better tell us your story right now. And it better be the truth.”

What choice do I have? I don’t want to go to jail. I guess I have no other option but to trust these guys. These business partners, though I still have no idea what their business is. Crazy Guy knocks again and I nod at The Ivans.

Ivan 1 speaks to the door, “Just wait your turn, sir. This guy isn’t going anywhere and we promise we won’t touch him.”

I tell my new saviors, “Thank you.” I take a deep breath, “Last month, I got fired from my job at the factory. I’ve been trying to find a new job, but there’s nothing. I’ve been sharing an apartment with my girlfriend for the last two years, but a week ago, she left me. She went back home to her parent’s house in Florida. I was not invited to tag along. Here I am, jobless, friendless and penniless in a town that quit on me. Rent is due next week and I don’t have it.”

Ivan 2 says, “Back up. Why did your girlfriend leave you?”

These guys made me promise to tell them the truth. The truth is that while I like having sex with my girlfriend, I love having sex other people too. Sometimes those other people are guys. Okay, they’re usually guys. Fine, they’re always guys. I look Ivan 2 in the eyes and say, “She caught me cheating on her.” That is the truth.

Ivan 1 asks, “And why did you get fired from your job?”

Because I’m a moron. My latest (and cutest ever) conquest was the boss’s son. Why did he have to be so damn adorable? Why did he have to be the one in charge of issuing uniforms and work boots? Why, when I told him my pants size and boot size, did he grin at me and tell me the new policy – for safety and liability reasons – was that he was obligated to take exact measurements? Why did he insist that for the sake of accuracy, I had to take off my pants? Why when he had finished with my waist, my inseam and my feet, did he require one final measurement? One final measurement that took several attempts because each new attempt yielded a bigger result than the previous. Was it his tape measure, his hands or his smile that gave me a raging hardon? Once satisfied that I had topped out, why did my confirmed seven inches end up in his mouth right there in the storeroom where anyone could walk right in? And why did the person who did walk in have to be the boss himself? Oh…and why did the cute son of the boss tell me he was twenty-two when he was only eighteen?

I tell Ivan 2, “One of the people I cheated with was a relative of the boss. We were caught on site. I was fired on the spot.” Again, all true.

Neither of them say anything, so I continue, “I’m in my thirties and I’m starting over with nothing. The only thing I have is an old friend in Detroit who I can crash with while I figure shit out. The steel industry isn’t exactly booming these days, but at least I’ll have a place to stay.”

“So that’s why you were hitchhiking,” Ivan 2 is putting the pieces together.

“Right. But Crazy Guy out there thinks I’m Doctor David Banner. He thinks I turn into The Hulk. That I was on my way to Chicago yesterday to meet some other doctor when there was a problem with the plane and we had to make an emergency landing here in Denver. Apparently I saved the plane full of people from dying in the averted crash but I was the big green creature seen by hundreds when I deboarded and ran off into the night. He thinks I’m wearing this mask and hiding from the police because I’m wanted for murder. The murder of David Banner, who I supposedly am. Does that even make sense?”

Ivan 1 lights up, “We watched it! It was on last night. David and The Hulk safely landed a doomed plane full of people. The 747 had been headed to Chicago but had to make its emergency landing in Denver. It was quite exciting. A great episode.”

Ivan 2 rolls his eyes, “He liked it more than I did.”

“Whatever.” Ivan 1 gives me a knowing look, “He loves it as much as I do when that average man rips out of his clothes all green, muscular and shirtless.”

Maybe I should have watched it too. I wouldn’t hate seeing a regular dude bust out of his regular clothes all naked and powerful. My dick twitches thinking about it. I realize that The Ivans are still thinking about it too. They smile at each other and it occurs to me that business partners might not be the only kind of partners that these two guys are.

Ivan 2 says, “I’ve heard of a delusional disorder with people who can’t tell fiction from reality. Your friend out there might be one of those people. He watched the show last night and he thinks it all really happened. And today, you’re a guy in your thirties, hitching a ride and wearing a mask in the town where The Hulk was last seen.”

Ivan 1 asks, “What’s your name?”

“John.” I’m not giving them my real name.

“Uh huh. Look, John. Your delusional friend would realize that you are not who he thinks you are if you would just take off your mask and show him your face. Unless you are Bill Bixby’s long lost twin brother, the drama will be over. But something is stopping you from doing that. Why the mask? What did you do?”

I drop my head, “I’d spent my last dollar. I’m out of money. I thought if I could get my hands on just 50 bucks, I’d have enough for a decent meal or two and a bus or train ticket to Detroit. So… I went to a convenience store and I asked for some money.”

“Wait. What? You asked for some money?” Ivan 2 is confused.

Ivan 1 says, “He means he tried to rob them.”

“I’m the world’s worst criminal. Probably because I’m not a criminal at all. Or at least until yesterday I never have been. I put a can opener in my pocket and pretended it was a gun. The shop’s owner was not fooled. He pulled a Polaroid Camera out from under the counter and took my picture before I could run away.”

“So why are you still wearing the mask?” Ivan 2 asks. “Wouldn’t the police be looking for a masked man?”

I shake my head, “I told you, I’m the world’s worst criminal. It didn’t occur to me to put a mask on before attempting robbery. I put it on after to not look the guy whose photo has been featured on every local news program and newspaper since yesterday afternoon. Rent isn’t due until next week, but I left today because my landlord will recognize my picture in the paper.”

“Then Crazy Guy picks you up in the street, thinking you’re David Banner scrambling your way out of town,” Ivan 2 observes.

“Right. And the leaving town part is true, but as soon as my screwball friend realizes that I am not David Banner, he will recognize me for the wanted man that I really am. We know he was watching TV last night. Surely he saw my face.”

Ivan 1 nods, “Everything on TV is reality to this guy.”

Ivan 2 bristles at me, “We saw you on the news too. How dare you rob those nice people!”

My hands instinctively go up again, “I didn’t! I mean, I would have taken some cash if I could have, but it didn’t happen. And I never would have hurt anyone. I didn’t even have a real weapon.”

“But I’m sure you scared the hell out of those poor people.”

I shake my head, “They just laughed at me. I only managed to scare myself.”

Ivan 1 says, “Why shouldn’t we just let the police deal with you?”

A tear pools in my eye. “I made a stupid mistake that I will never repeat. I lost everything all at once. It was all too much. I was overwhelmed. If I can just get out of town and make my way to Detroit, I can get my life back on track. 1978 has sucked so far, but I have more than eight months to turn it around.”

They look at each other and nod. “But we still have to deal with this guy,” says Ivan 2. We all look at the door where Crazy Guy patiently watches. “How do we convince him that you are not David Banner without removing the mask?”

Ivan 1 suggests, “We can beat the shit out of John. When the anger and pain do not transform him into a raging green creature, Crazy Guy will get the idea that you’re not who he thinks you are.”

A wave of sweat and fear rolls over my whole body. No doubt I’m no match for these two muscular guys. I generally am a big fan of men touching me, but I really don’t want to get beat up.

Ivan 2 laughs, “You know I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Ivan 1 smiles, “You know I know that.”

Okay. An image comes to my mind that I wish I could erase. Or maybe be a part of.

Ivan 1 says, “I have an idea and you don’t have much choice but to trust us and play along. We happen to have a few free hours before this evening’s appointments so instead of an extended dinner break, we’re gonna have some fun with this. We won’t call the cops, but you shouldn’t get off completely unpunished. We’ll see to your punishment.” He winks at his partner who is already grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

Ivan 2 says, “You are going to learn all about the art of reflexology. Our clients are almost exclusively women, so this will be a nice change of pace for us.”

I swallow, “What is reflexology?”

“It is a form of therapy that uses pressure points along your feet to reduce stress and improve health in your whole body,” says Ivan 1. “But in order to prove to your crazy friend that you are not who and what he thinks you are, we will have to expand our efforts to include much more of your body than just your feet.”

“Umm, maybe we can skip the feet altogether? I’m super ticklish.”

“Just on your feet?”

“Everywhere.”

Their grins widen.

Fuck. Maybe we should revisit them beating the shit out of me. That might be the better choice.

Ivan 2 says, “There is no back door out of here. You’re leaving will involve getting past that guy one way or another. You are completely in our hands. Literally.”

~~

Ivan 1 unlocks the door and Crazy Guy bursts inside. “We don’t have much time. The Hulk was seen by a plane full of people before disappearing into the city yesterday. There is no way the National Register hasn’t been notified yet. Jack McGee is surely on his way.”

Ivan and Ivan are trying hard not to laugh. “He claims he’s not David Banner,” says Ivan 1.

“That’s because I haven’t earned his trust yet. He’s wrongfully wanted for two murders he didn’t commit. That lab explosion was not his fault. Besides, he is one of the two people they think he killed.”

Ivan 2 says to Ivan 1, “Do you know why the producers of the show changed his name from Bruce Banner to David Banner?”

“No. Why?”

“They thought the name Bruce sounded too gay.”

“Get out.”

“I’m serious. You’d think they’d embrace it. If they think gay men aren’t tuning in each week to see an average good looking guy rip out of his clothes and transform into a muscular beast on screen, they’re crazy. They should lean into it and play to their base.”

Crazy Guy is confused, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but time is short here.”

Ivan 1 asks, “What is your name?”

“Jim.”

“Jim, what if we can prove to you that this guy is not David Banner? Will you leave him alone and let him go on with his life?”

Jim sighs, “He won’t take off his mask. I already asked. And you can’t force it off him or he’ll get angry and we don’t want that.”

Ivan 2 plays along, “No, we certainly don’t. Hey, Jim. When David turned into The Hulk while flying that plane yesterday, he busted out of his shirt, but somehow his pants stayed on. How do you explain that?”

Ivan 1 laughs.

Jim says, “Your tight t-shirts have way less room than your baggy sweatpants.”

“He’s got you there,” Ivan 1 sticks Ivan 2 with an elbow as he chortles.

“Plus,” Jim continues, “the upper body expands much more than the trunk. It just works out.”

“I wish that just once it wouldn’t,” says Ivan 2. “I would kill to see that big naked green ass.”

Or that naked green cock, I think to myself.

Ivan 1 says, “What I want to know, John – I mean, David – is what did you do when you changed back to you? You ran away from the plane as The Hulk, leaving your duffle bag of clothes behind. Wherever you were when you transformed back, you were shirtless and barefoot with nothing. What did you do?”

I look to the Answer Man, Crazy Jim, but he looks back at me like he’s stumped. He wants to know the answer to the question too. For a moment, I feel bad for him. He’s gonna learn soon enough that I am not Doctor David Banner, but maybe I can delay his disappointment just a little while longer. What could I have done running through Denver half naked and alone? Shit. I don’t know. The writers on the show cheat and only show us what’s convenient. Since this is all fiction anyway, why can’t I cheat too? I can. I’ll make up whatever the fuck I want.

“When I came to, I was in the backroom of a men’s clothing store. I took this shirt off a shelf and found these old boots and jacket by the receiving dock. I left a twenty dollar bill on the desk as payment.”

“Nicely played,” says Ivan 1, tipping an imaginary cap my way.

Jim seems satisfied too. Maybe I should become a television writer for my next career.

Ivan 2 redirects to Jim, “So, if he isn’t David Banner, you’ll leave him alone?”

“Well, yeah. But you’ll have to really prove it to me. Without making him angry or hurting him.”

Ivan 1 grins, “We’re gonna make him the opposite of angry.” He winks at me.

~~

My jacket is off and I’m lying on my back on one of the massage tables. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I’m extra sensitive to tickling. This is going to be pure torture.

Ivan 1 explains to Jim that if I’m laughing, I’m happy, not angry. So, if I release my mask and lower my arms, I’m basically giving Jim permission to remove it and I won’t hulk out. While Ivan 1 and Jim are occupied in this conversation, I whisper to Ivan 2, “You know I can’t let the mask come off.”

He replies simply, “Then don’t let go. No matter what we put you through.” He makes it clear to me that if they are to ultimately let me walk free without calling the cops, then punishing me for the attempted robbery – my can opener stunt – is a task that has fallen to them, and they will not take their responsibility lightly.

Letting Crazy Jimmy see my face is not an option, so I have to persevere through whatever The Ivans have in store for me. I can’t drop my hands.

“Okay, fine. Let’s suppose I maintain my grip on my mask throughout this extra special reflexology session and I maintain my anonymity. How does that prove to Jim that I am not David Banner? Why will he let me go?”

Ivan 2 whispers something to Ivan 1 eliciting a diabolical smile and a nod. “We have a plan.”

“And I have no choice but to trust you.” It’s a statement of resignation, not a question.

They nod in unison.

I guess we’re ready. The Ivans each pull up a stool and they sit chest-level to my feet. I’m already anxious and twitchy. They push up my pant legs and begin to untie my battered and worn work boots. They are taking their time, going all slow and methodical, already enjoying this way too much. They loosen my laces and the boots slide off.

Ivan 2 bends back the tongue of the boot and says, “Size 10. Hey, it was really lucky that the boots you found in the storeroom of that shop were your size. That’s a pretty big coincidence. Funny how that worked out.”

“I’ve been nothing but lucky all day,” I deadpan and The Ivans chuckle at that.

Jim says, “It’s not that lucky. Size 10 is average for adult men. Odds were it would have been close.”

I don’t want to know why he knows this. My tube socks are clinging to my sensitive feet as a lone and feeble layer of defense. The thin fabric isn’t as white as it once was. Something tells me that reflexology is not performed through socks and my feet are about to be stripped naked. Ivan 1 hooks his fingers underneath while Ivan 2 grips the bunched fabric at my toes and pulls. In both cases, it’s a slow peel. Like carefully unwrapping delicate presents.

Ivan 1 asks, “Where did the socks come from?”

Isn’t whatever torture they have in mind for me enough? Why try to trip me up with these games too? I glare at him, “They were stuffed inside the boots.”

“Convenient,” he replies.

 “I thought so too,” I glare at him.

Jim does not have a stool. He is standing at the ready by my head. I dare not let go of my mask.

My socks are off and I can feel the eyes of the room on my bare, exposed feet. The skin is damp and the air of the room feels cool. No one has touched me yet but I shiver. There is a tray of odd looking wooden tools next to Ivan 2, but they are ignored. For now. They each wrap a strong, meaty paw around a foot and even though I saw it coming, I jolt from the touch.

Jim says, “Wait. I know a little about reflexology.”

The Ivans sigh in unison. “You seem to know at least a little about most things,” Ivan 1 says with fading patience.

“Aren’t you supposed to wash his feet before you begin?”

Ivan 2 says, “Usually we would. This is a special case. We aren’t giving a traditional treatment today. Washing his feet first would desensitize them. We need him to be as sensitive as possible to prove our point.”

Jim isn’t so sure, “This is highly irregular. Plus, his feet are a little smelly. I’m getting it all the way up here. It’s got to be even worse for the two of you right up in there.”

I blush under my mask. Why did I wear the boots today instead of my sneakers? Maybe my foul funk will ultimately shorten whatever routine The Ivans have planned.

Ivan 1 says, “Remember, Jim. These aren’t his own boots or socks. This odor is not his fault. Plus,” he buries his nose in my toes and inhales deeply, “this is a nice change of pace for us. I told you, our regular clients are all women. I find his manly scent refreshing.”

I giggle from his mustache on my foot and Jim seems ready to move on. He tells me, “Reflexology is generally performed without the use of oils or lotions. You can expect a lot of pressure and friction.”

“Great.”

Ivan 2 doesn’t want to be left out, so breathes in my left foot and lets out an exaggerated, “Ahhhh” sound. I giggle again. He observes, “For a guy who finds himself running around barefoot frequently, your feet are in nice shape. Smooth and blemish free. Pinkish, bulbous toes, well-trimmed nails, not too much hair. No callouses… Pretty nice. And we should know. Our job involves hours of feet every day.”

They each commence with a gentle stroking up and down my soles. I realize that this is nothing compared to what’s to come, but I’m already on the brink of thrashing myself right off of this table. Realizing just how sensitive I am, they each reach under the table and unroll Velcro straps. Within seconds, my legs are secured to the table by the unyielding bindings of my tormentors.

And then they really begin. Fingernails slowly scrape up my arches and I laugh like I haven’t laughed in ages. Thumbs and knuckles press and prod all over my average size ten feet. My two sensitive, naked and bound feet are no match for those four strong hands. My feet are captive victims as every square inch gets teased and tormented. I am literally screaming and trouncing as my tears soak my ski mask.

It has to have been at least fifteen minutes before they finally ease up and I catch a break. I honestly think I was close to blacking out.

Ivan 1 says, “What do you think, Jim? Surely David Banner would have hulked out by now.”

Jim looks skeptical. “But it’s like you said before. This wasn’t pain or anger. It was the opposite. He was laughing.”

Ivan 2 grins, “I was hoping the show wouldn’t end so soon. Now we’re going to slowly transition extreme pleasure into excruciating pain.”

“But you can’t—”

“Jim!” Ivan 2 cuts him off. “Trust me. We’ll all be safe and you’ll have the proof you need.”

They pull their chairs up next to me on opposite sides of the table. They begin methodically unbuttoning my flannel shirt. There’s nothing I can do about it. My feet are still strapped down and don’t dare let go of my mask. All three of them stare down at my exposed chest and stomach. My nipples firm up.

Ivan 1 asks, “Jim, does this look like the same shirtless body when The Hulk turns back into David Banner?”

“I can’t tell. I think so? Average build, in his thirties, not much body hair, I guess the innie belly button looks the same. I never seem to get a good look at David before his next shirt is back on.”

“I know, right?” asks Ivan 2. “It’s like they use up their shirtless quota on the muscly guy and the regular guy is always covered.”

Ivan 1 asks, “Doesn’t Bill Bixby have a little scar right here?” He drags a finger along the right side of my navel and I twist and giggle.

Ivan 2 says, “Or is it on this side?” and he drags his finger along the left side of my navel. I flinch the other way.

Jim asks, “Again, who is Bill Bixby?”

The Ivans sigh in unison. “Never mind,” one of them says.

“Let’s get him ready.”

They start stroking and caressing my chest and belly. My skin blossoms with goosebumps and my nipples get even tighter still. This is not a tickle torture, like my poor feet went through, so I’m not surprised when I notice that my cock is coming to life. The Ivans are making me tingle all over. When Ivan 1 glides his fingertips in swiping motions across my lower abdomen from side to side, my sensitive belly bounces and quivers as my breath turns choppy. At the same time, Ivan 2 goes at my nipples and I can’t help but moan. My dick is now raging against its denim barrier.

The button of my jeans is undone. Two hands pull my jeans down to my hips and those swiping hands continue to swipe even lower. I am shuddering so much, I fear I might pull a muscle. Then my zipper is tugged and my jeans come down to my knees. All three of them stare at the giant wet spot on my white briefs at the peak of the mountain beneath the fabric. I can’t help it. I am incredibly turned on. I’m a sensitive guy. These feelings are what lost me my job and my girlfriend, but right now, I don’t even care.

The tray of tools is placed on a cart. They look like ancient tools used in an archeological dig. Now I’m a little scared again. Ivan 1 picks up a large pair of scissors.”

“Umm…” My eyes widen. “What are those for?”

“Our very own X-rated transformation. You are about to hulk out of your underwear.”

He snips the fabric from the leg hole to the waistband on both sides and they fall away like a snapped rubber band. Suddenly my full sevens inches of glory springs free. Seven inches is not enormous, but I know from experience that it is above average. All three of them gasp.

Jim stares for a full minute as my bobbing member points toward my belly button. Eventually he recovers enough to say, “I really do know a little about reflexology. It’s mostly about the feet and sometimes the hands. You didn’t use the tools on his feet at all, you just tickled him. Now what are you going to do?”

I’d like to know the answer to that question myself.

Ivan 2 says, “Today we’re experimenting with a new treatment. Consider John…I mean David…to be our test subject.” He cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck. “It’s tool time.”

My erection has not at all subsided.

Ivan 2 whispers in my ear, “You wouldn’t be this ready if you weren’t into it. Tell me the truth. The boss’s relative who got you fired? It wasn’t a wife or a daughter, was it? Was it his son or his brother?”

I gulp. “Son. Cute as a button.”

He chortles. “You’re kind of cute yourself.”

My dick twitches.

Ivan 1 picks up a wooden tool with bumps and rollers on it. He grabs my cock and presses the tool to the base of my shaft, rolling slowly up my length. With no lubrication and a serious amount of pressure, I have never felt such a sensation in my life. Those nubs glide and slide and my eyes roll back into my head.

Ivan 2 picks up a tool that might double as an abacus. He manhandles me like he’s grating cheese. It feels like he’s scraping me against bark and I scream out in agony. The next tool looks like something a medieval dentist would use to torture a naughty patient. I look away. It’s better that way. I’d rather not know. But various tools with various features of torment continue to brutalize my most sensitive of places.

Jim has been silent since the second act began. I glance at him and can’t help but notice that his pants are tented in his own erection. A sizable one at that.

I make the mistake of looking at The Ivans again. One of them picks up something the shape of a toilet paper tube, but it is covered in wooden rollers and spikes. It slides down over my pulsing dick – a tight fit, extremely tight – and I scream louder than I did when my feet were being attacked. Then the evil tube is sliding up and down my length. Despite my sensitivity everywhere else, I generally can go for a long time; it takes effort to get me to blow my load. Not tonight. Not if that thing slides up and down me just one more time, there will be no stopping the flood of cum that will surely follow.

Of course the tube thing continues its wicked journey and my whole body begins to rumble and shake. The tube slides faster and I bite my lip hard enough that I taste blood. But I still can’t let go of my mask and my feet are still strapped down. So, my back arches, my toes curl and a guttural growl emanates from deep within. My first shot gets Ivan 2 right on the “X” of his “Reflexology” t-shirt, so he angles me away and my second shot lands on my own chest. Number three is a sticky pool on my belly and after that, creamy pearls ooze down my steely dan. Only once my thrashing subsides is the unholy instrument is removed.

Ivan 1 says to Jim, “Here it is. The moment of truth. This is where pleasure and pain meet.”

What the fuck is he talking about? That wasn’t the end?

Ivan 2 takes my still-rock solid shaft in one hand and rubs its head against the palm of his other hand, like he’s shaping modeling clay. He is aggressive and ruff and in my post-orgasm state, I am extra sensitive.

Jim tries to stop him but Ivan 1 blocks his path. “Polishing him! After what he’s been through! That’s absolute torture!”

“Exactly!” say both Ivans in unison.

I flail and flop on the table like a fish out of water while my screams of pain can probably be heard up and down the block. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow. If anything, he rubs even harder. My dick is redder and rawer than I’ve ever seen it. Actually, it’s less red now and more purple. Eventually, my screaming stops. Not because it doesn’t hurt anymore, but because I’m all screamed out. The polishing continues and I think I might be about to pass out again when inexplicably, I begin to have another orgasm. Round two yields very little man seed, but it still manages to shake me to my core. I convulse like I’m being electrocuted. I’m drenched in sweat. My dick is burning, abused and frightened. It finally begins to deflate and that’s when Ivan mercifully releases me from his clutches. I lie there, panting and gasping.

All Jim can say is, “Wow.”

Ivan 2 says, “I second that,” as he mops my spunk off his shirt with a towel. He then tosses me the towel and unstraps my ankles.

~~

I mopped up my mess as best I best I could, but my own sex juice is still filling my nostrils. My abused dick resents going commando in thick denim jeans, but what choice do I have? My useless, snipped underwear look like thin cloth diaper. My dick will eventually heal, but my underwear paid the ultimate sacrifice. My pants are buttoned, my shirt is buttoned and I’m re-tying my boot laces. All three of them have been watching me for so long now that they can’t seem to stop. They’ve watched every move of my redressing.

Ivan 1 finally says, “So Jim. What do you think?”

He sighs in sorrowful resignation, “I guess I was wrong. If this really was the guy who was exposed to an accidental overdose of gamma radiation, then I suppose…” he trails off.

“We would have brought the beast out of him,” Ivan 2 finishes the thought.

Ivan 1 grins, “A small part of me hoped Crazy Jimmy here was right. How cool would it have been to see that massive cock turn green? How big would it have gotten?”

Ivan 2 playfully swats his partner’s arm. “Jim? Can I ask? What do you do?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you have a car. Do you have a job? Do you live alone? With family? A roommate? How do you live your life? How do you support yourself?”

“My family doesn’t understand me.”

Understandable.

He looks sad, “I moved out a few years ago and we don’t really talk anymore. I had inherited a modest lump of cash five years ago directly from my grandpa when he died. He and I were always close. My parents and brothers kind of resented it.” Jim rubs his neck. “That’s when I moved out on my own. I don’t have a job, though. I wrote a series of fantasy books after college and they just sat there for years. My family thought they were dumb. After I left them, I submitted them to a few agents and I got published under a penname. They were all best sellers and I made ten times what my grandpa left me. So I don’t work a job, but I get paid residuals monthly.”

Ivan 1 is grinning, “What series? Would I know it?”

Jim whispers in his ear and Ivan claps his hands and laughs, “No freaking way! Jim! You’re not crazy! You’re a misunderstood genius!”

“But I was wrong about John.”

“So! It was a reasonable deduction. Everyone gets it wrong once in a while.” He puts a meaty hand on Jim’s shoulder, “You should write a book about this!”

While Ivan 1 and Jim chat about the possibilities, Ivan 2 asks me, “How good of a friend is this Detroit guy?”

I shrug. “He’s okay.”

“Maybe you should skip the Detroit thing and hang out with Jim.”

I scoff, incredulous.

“I’m serious. Look, he likes you. He was only trying to protect you. He never wanted you caught or hurt.”

“But he’s crazy.”

“Not really. He’s harmless and he means well. But he could probably use a friend to look out for him. You could be that friend. And now that all of this is over, look at him. He’s actually kind of cute.”

I take a good look for the first time. He is cute. But he’s still crazy.

I tell Ivan 1, “I might not be wanted for the murder of Doctor David Banner, but I am wanted in this town for attempted robbery.”

“So leave town. But do it with Jim. He’s got money. His family has cut him loose. You two could go anywhere and do anything. You could both start over. Together. And like I said, he really likes you. Look at how sad he looks right now. He’s not sad because he was wrong, he’s sad because he thinks this little adventure is over. But it doesn’t have to be.”

Why would he like me? Then I remember the raging boner he had while he watched my rock-hard dick being mercilessly tortured as I lied there helplessly. Maybe he does like me. Maybe it’s a chemistry thing that even he can’t understand. And he does look sad.

“Hey Jim,” I rub my neck. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two. Why?”

That’s how old I am. I usually go for guys a little younger, like just out of college and not sure what to do with the rest of their lives. Although, Jim has the latter going for him. And the more I look at him, the cuter he seems to get.

I say to Ivan, “But I’ll have to wear my mask forever. He’ll recognize me from the paper and TV news last night. We know he was watching television. He saw the report and my photo for sure.”

Ivan sighs, “Just tell him the truth. Tell him what you told us while he was still out on the sidewalk. You were in a bad place and made a mistake. You never would have hurt anyone. He’ll forgive you; he seems to be the forgiving type. And he might not even make the connection. If he watched the news last night, then why didn’t he question why the emergency plane landing and the green creature escaping the plane were not the lead story? Maybe he hasn’t seen the news at all.”

If that’s the case, then I went through these last few hours of torture for nothing. “But I still have to leave town,” I say.

“That is a man who will follow you wherever you go if you let him. But you have to be good to him. Keep him safe. You have to commit. Don’t take him away from his life just to abandon him somewhere.”

Despite the events of the last few weeks, I really am not a bad person. I’m not into hurting people and Jim is no exception.

Ivan 1 asks, “What is your real name?”

I grin, “You won’t believe me. You’ll think I’m making it up.”

He grins back, “No! Really? It can’t be.”

I nod, “I’m David.”

He laughs, “Maybe you should stick with John or you just might blow poor Jim’s mind.”

Ivan 2 and Jim seem to have wrapped up their book talk. Jim is staring down sadly at his own feet. Could I do that? Could I commit to this guy?

I say, “Jim, if you’re still offering, I could use that ride.”

A small smile plays at his lips, “You mean you forgive me?”

He has an adorable smile. I nod.

“You’re still leaving town?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, I have to. But I was thinking about inviting a new friend.” I step up to him so there’s very little space between us. For the first time since I left my place this morning, I pull off my ski mask. I can tell that my hair is sticking out in a million different directions. Jim’s eyes widen and for a moment I’m sure he recognizes me as a wanted man, but then he blushes a crimson red and says, “Wow! You’re way cuter than David Banner.”

All four of us laugh.  Ivan 1 takes Ivan 2’s hand and they both grin at us.

Jim holds my eye and my poor beaten and battered cock twitches back to life. Hmm. Maybe this will all work out. I lean in and he doesn’t back away. I kiss his lips and a warmth spreads in my chest. His cheeks turn pink and he holds my eye, grinning. Yeah, this will work out just fine.