A Man Of Substance
By: Semibu
The boisterous jibes relented as the bluff cluster of tormenting testosterone charged backslapping masculinity bundled out of the double doors of the gymnasium locker room, leaving behind them the heavy hum of their stale perspiration, a whiff of dusty floors, a sad forgotten sock, and woeful Winston. With hands clasped behind his head, he closed his big tired eyes and tipped back his head in despair, not bothering to look round when, moments later, the double doors squeaked open and closed again.
“Oh, hi, Winston!” chirped a familiar unwelcome voice. “It’s you!”
“Yeah, it’s me,” confirmed the seven-footer in a downhearted tone. The last thing he needed now was this guy. “Who were you expecting? Tyson?”
“No. The guys just said...” Billy made his way cautiously toward his towering hero – the kind of guy he could never be but would do anything to help.
“The guys just said what?”
“That you were just leaving,” he was struggling for a polite account of his fleeting encounter. “Oh, and that I’d be the last one out tonight and should I leave the keys with dizzy Shirley on reception…”
“They didn’t mention anything about a freak show, no?”
“Maybe something about the circus being in town.” Seeing Winston’s splendid black, satin skin sweating more than usual – even after the most gruelling of workouts - and his once perfect physique, although momentarily only observed from behind, now somehow out of proportion, Billy wondered if he might have said something horribly inappropriate. “You alright?”
There was a lengthy gap in the uncomfortably abrupt conversation. Winston, deep in thought, maintained his stance as Billy stepped around and squared up to him as best he could. Winston was always the big guy, but now seemed quite the giant. He hadn’t seen him in a couple of days. But how he’d changed. His neck seemed twice its normal girth. His shoulders were jutting out. His pectorals now like upturned soup bowls. His abs more defined than ever. And there seemed to be a restless reptile eager to burst from those stretched blue shorts. But most disturbing of all, his lips appeared loose and plumped. His usually gloriously dashing face seemed to droop. He looked almost demonic. Winston’s now over-grown biceps twitched involuntarily as he lowered his arms, opened his eyes, and glared down at the pale sheepish 5ft 7in wimp before him.
“Like you haven’t heard,” growled the hideous brute.
“Heard what?” Billy dropped his little white shoulder bag and reached out to comfort his friend. “Heard what, Winston?”
Winston grabbed the puny white hand and swiftly dragged his faithful admirer to the showers. Billy repeated his question over and over as he was taken forcefully into the humid white ceramic room. Billy had never been so afraid - his heart pounding as he was flung to the floor in an undignified and crumpled heap. He covered his face and curled up, anticipating a sharp strike from an outsized foot. Instead, he found himself warmed by the splatter of an unexpected deluge. Realising that Winston couldn’t possibly have reached the taps from where he was standing, Billy peered up curiously though cautiously parted fingers to see a fat, ugly eighteen-inch penis pulsating as it delivered torrents of steaming liquid magnolia gold upon him. He clamped his eyes against the steaming stinging gush.
“What are you doing to me?” he dared to enquire, although the answer was most predictable.
“What do you think? I’m pissing on you!” Winston, his shorts long since discarded, swivelled his hips ensuring that Billy was evenly drenched from head to toe – the forceful jet forming a repetitive ‘Z’ from his swaying appendage. “It seems I failed my ‘random’ urine test. I’ve been set up.”
“Winston, no!” spluttered Billy as sluggishly he dragged himself to his knees and gasped against the whiff of ammonia. “What are they going to do?”
“They’ve probably already done it.” Winston, his bladder drained, shook the final drops from his shiny helmet. “I’ll be banned…for life.”
“You can’t be!” snivelled Billy as he looked up into angry eyes. “You’re representing the county in three weeks!”
“Don’t think so,” insisted Winston. “The guys gave me some ‘supplements’. I took them in good faith. Next they organised a urine test.” His voice altered from pensiveness to alarm. “Look what that stuff did to me! Yeah, I gained muscle, yeah I gained height, but I’ve grown out of all proportion. I want to get my hands on the supplier – I think I know who I’m looking for. I’m a freak!”
“No!” Billy, still on his knees, shuffled forward, draped the enormous member over his shoulder and, wrapping his arms around Winston’s waist, buried his face into the folds of his sticky sac. “You’re not a freak!” he slurred lovingly, intoxicated by his soaking. “I’ll stand by you. We’ll get through this.”
“Oh, great! That’s just dandy!” snarled Winston, seemingly unconcerned by this open show of affection. “So suddenly everything’s okay!” He chuckled. “Take a look at yourself -You just want some easy dick!”
“That’s not true!” Billy was horrified. Yes, he’d always admire that mighty body, the competitiveness and confidence, but he’d always loved Winston for being Winston – the rumble of his gravel voice and the depth of his infinite pupils. But now was not the time to reveal any long-held fantasies. “That stuff wears off,” Billy assured. “A couple of weeks and you’ll be back to your normal self.”
“What would you know about that stuff?” demanded the now suspicious athlete.
“It’s only temporary, honest.”
“Just as I thought. You’re the supplier, right?” Winston grabbed Billy’s ears and stood him up. “You made that crap!”
“It wasn’t ready,” confessed Billy, his face contorted with pain. “The guys took it off me – they stole it. But really, it’s harmless!”
“Harmless, eh? I notice you haven’t taken any.” Winston pushed Billy against the wall. He had a most peculiar urge. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he insisted. “You stink of piss. And I’m going to make you stink a whole lot more!”
“What do you mean?” asked Billy, obediently kicking off his sneakers and clumsily unfastening and tugging off his waterlogged jeans. “What are you talking about?”
“Food is just shit waiting to happen,” came the hushed, calculated reply.
“I don’t understand.” Billy peeled off his shorts and pulled his yellowed top over his head. It clung to the contours of his face before falling to the chilly floor with a plop. “Don’t go all weird on me.”
“You’ve screwed up my life. You’ve turned me into a ogre.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Billy trembled. “Don’t hurt me, Winston. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t be nervous,” whispered Winston. “Now, I guess we’ll need a little space for this.” He grabbed Billy’s shoulders and guided him into the shower’s communal area.
Billy, looking suitably troubled, said nothing as Winston shook his head vigorously. His jowls flapped and loosened noisily. His bottom jaw seemed to contort as it dropped, a broad gloating enamel smile matching the glare of the surrounding pure white tiles. Billy, his view filled by the fearsome visage, felt Winston’s colossal hands sliding down from his shoulders and pressing his arms to his sides. He remained speechless as he beheld the enormous hot-breathed grin now but inches from his worried face. He took in Winston’s dank exhalations as the man-mountain began breathing deeply. Occasionally, the big guy would wince, his lips pursing, as he gulped down air. He then began to ventilate through his nose as he collected and stored saliva in his distorted cavernous mouth.
“Winston, about the ban,” squeaked Billy eventually. “I’m sure it won’t be a lifetime - A season perhaps but not a lifetime. It’s all new gear – they won’t know what it is.” Winston didn’t respond. Billy, completely naked and very cold, was disturbed by his captor’s almost trans-like state. “Winston, did you hear me?”
To Billy the next few seconds seemed like an age. He wondered if he should dare to suggest that Winston had himself chosen to try performance-enhancing pills. Then, before he had the chance to speak, an adrenalin rush as the horrified runt watched a sticky, foaming waterfall of dribble slopping toward him. Winston’s jaws had opened wide. They descended at lightning speed over his head and shoulders. Next, after the briefest of pauses, they loosened, lowered and clamped around his chest. The back of Billy’s head was pressed into the tough, ridged recess of the roof of Winston’s mouth, his face forced into the tender textures of an undulating tongue. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Winston wrapped his fingers around Billy’s waist and made ready for the meal of a lifetime. He hoisted Billy into the air as he tipped back his vast head. As he manoeuvred his lips around his now vertical prey, tiny shafts of light seeped in, illuminating a most incredible throat. Billy’s legs clattered against the ceiling water pipes as he glimpsed beyond the greedy gape and the downward curve of the excited tongue. Screaming out in horror, he was jolted towards the welcoming stretch of the forbidding shaft. His body was completely drenched in thick, slippery saliva. Smooth inner flesh and velvet-soft taste buds massaged and warmed his chilled skin. He yelled again as his head plunged between Winston’s fat spongy tonsils. And, as a soggy uvula flopped against the back of his neck, he realised that this was no joke, not a scare tactic, he was going to sink.
“This is all my fault!” bellowed Billy, now curiously aroused but nonetheless painfully in fear of his life. “I’m sorry, Winston!” He began to struggle wildly. “No, Winston. We can work it out! No!”
With his relentless writhing, Billy had unwittingly signed his own death warrant. By slowly moving his head from side to side, with some flexing and relaxation, and a little help from gravity, Winston was engulfing his panicking meal with the greatest of ease. The deeper Billy sank, the harder he wriggled. The harder Billy wriggled the deeper he sank. Winston’s teeth scraped against his victim’s heels. His tongue curled up and licked the sole’s of two twitching feet. He gulped. Billy battled for breath as he was sucked mercilessly into the smothering darkness of Winston’s ruthless rippling gullet. Winston’s lips closed with a smirk. He gulped for a second and third time, oblivious to fact that Billy had just ejaculated.
“Down in one piece!” rejoiced Winston, after wiping his gruesome mouth along his forearm. “Down in one fuckin’ piece!”
He smacked his chops. Although Winston wasn’t convinced he liked the taste of his own piss, Billy had quite an exquisite flavour to him. He stood with hands on hips and looked down at his spectacular abdomen, smiling as a huge quivering bulge appeared. Having a protruding gut was a first for health-conscience Winston. Having a living human being writhing within his flawless skin was another new experience. This was murder. This was cannibalism. But he felt not the slighted bit guilty – Quite the opposite. He was thrilled.
Billy, rolled into a tight ball and not quite upright, gasped and panted. Air was scarce and stank of the acids and bile that squelched around his lower body and legs. There, in the heat and darkness of Winston’s efficient stomach, he cried out for help. The mighty man-eater heard nothing of this. He so needed to belch but decided to fight the temptation. One burp and Billy would be history. No, he wanted him to suffer for as long as possible. After all, he’d use up any oxygen pretty soon anyway. And the longer Billy survived, the longer he had to repent. And the longer he had to contemplate his fate – exiting this supreme sportsman as steaming excrement.
Although no expert on the disgusting mechanics of the digestive tract, it occurred to Billy that any efforts to escape, apart from being most futile, might accelerate his demise. And, despite the ever-rising fluids around him, chose to calm himself and be still. Slowly, his thoughts began to catch up with him. The physical ordeal had part distracted him from what was actually happening. He had been devoured! Winston had swallowed him alive and whole! He was in Winston’s constricting stomach!
“Winston,” he mumbled sorrowfully, realising that all pleasurable tactile experiences were now over. “Winston, please. It stinks in here. These acids are stinging me.” Although digestion had indeed begun, the sensation was more of a tingle than a burn. “Winston, I’m begging you. Help me!” Billy was, as his eater had predicted, now realising that there was really only one way out of this situation.
The human meal was sloshed to and fro as Winston made ready to leave the locker room. He bundled the urine sodden clothes into Billy’s little white shoulder bag and symbolically stuffed it into his own large black kit carrier. He quickly dressed, although unable to properly fasten his jeans or shirt buttons. Suddenly, Billy was squeezed and squashed as Winston stooped to tie his laces. But he remained perfectly still, not daring to stimulate the deadly hot muscular walls surrounding him. But, as Winston stood up again with a sigh of relief, they contracted and shifted him deeper into the reeking slurry. The rhythmic pounding heartbeats and sounds of rushing breath seemed to intensify. As too did the menacing gurgles from below. Billy recalled Winston’s tease: “Food is just shit waiting to happen.” His entire life was about to be converted into another man’s energy, another man’s waste.
Winston was now ready for home. He kicked aside the lonesome sock on the dusty floor, switched off the lights and stepped out into the corridor. He locked up and, before heading for reception, prodded his belly. Billy, now quite desperate and weak, again decided not to respond. Winston, assuming the inferior little man inside him had already suffocated, belched long and loud. He realised at once that Billy was in fact still alive – but not for long. An evil smile spread across his face as a frantic gastric commotion kicked off. He waited a few moments for the clearly visible struggling to subside and stop. Now he could hand the keys into reception.
“There you go!” he beamed to dizzy Shirley on the front desk.
“You’re not taking me to dinner tonight, big boy?” she giggled, ever hopeful of a date and a lay. “I knock off in twenty minutes.”
“Sorry, babes,” he replied over his shoulder as he made his way toward the main door. “I’ve already eaten.”
“Hey,” added dizzy Shirley, in a slightly confused tone. “Where’s Billy? I thought he was the last one out tonight.”
“Like I said,” added Winston, “I’ve already eaten.” Billy gave a final twitch before sinking peacefully into eternity. “Maybe some other time,” suggested Winston. He then vanished into the night.
Winston would have to wait two long tormenting weeks before enjoying a most satisfactory conclusion to this rather bizarre episode in his sporting career: He locked himself away for the first of these, during which he was much relieved to find himself returning to his normal pristine self. The bulge in his gut shrank away and, after a couple of days, he was smiling down at the toilet bowl and of what remained of his highly nutritious meal. “Food is just shit waiting to happen,” he chuckled as he flushed.
The laboratory had found an unidentifiable substance in his sample, but absolutely nothing from the banned list. They kept a few drops back for future reference and informed the Athletics Executive Board that Winston had taken nothing illegal. No ban was imposed and handsome Winston was to run to victory in the inter-county championships the very next week. Never again did he experiment with the unknown. And, although he would often reflect on that exquisite moment when a helpless struggling man was slithering down his neck, he would never again be tempted to dine on a fellow human being.
As for Billy’s disappearance, the police had broken into his apartment. Other than his trips to the gym, he’d always been a loner - his cluttered home a factory for all and everything from ecstasy to crack cocaine. They assumed he had fled town fearing a life behind bars if the Drug Squad ever caught up with him. But the only imprisonment Billy had ever known was behind a certain belly button. He was gone but not forgotten. Winston would reflect and smile blissfully every time he took a dump. Although he had been a most satisfying meal, Billy would forever be remembered as a few pounds of shit.