The Hot Bodybuilder And
The Cold Machine Hans had not been able to sleep. Sometimes too hot, cocooned in his blankets, breath rasping from his lungs. Then sweating and shivering with cold fear, mind an unbelieving thought, empty stomach a heavy pit of foreboding, limbs weak and useless, quivering, obstructing his movements. Brittel, his wife beside him, seemingly asleep. Yet when he tried to sit and watch her, listen to her sweet breath, matching his own to it, til one might breathe for the other, live for the other, dream for the other, he found she was awake, caught like a doe in spotlights. Dawn came early, rising into the cloudless sky, pushing shadows back like hair from the face on a windy day. Hans felt a change come over him as if he had awaken. The day was no longer to be dreaded, counted down to as the month wore on, but simply what he was going to do. Hans and Brittel made breakfast, fried egg and sausage. As Brittel cleared away, Hans stepped outside and along the path. A gentle morning breeze caressed him. The world seemed tense, caught up in its own guts and shock, the breeze a herald of the coming heat. He eyed the postbox at the gate, its little red flag erect like a terrible horn. Hans stopped on the path and began to stretch and limber up. Although the morning sun turned its cheerful face on him, his muscles remained cold, bunched and clenched. His stomach could distinguish the slop of egg and sausage meat within. He tried a few press-ups, swung his arms in circles and jogged on the spot. He walked to the postbox, took out two official envelopes and returned with them to the house. Brittel was sitting still, her hands flat on the square kitchen table. Hans sat down at an adjoined side. He offered an envelope to his wife and when she did not take it, laid it between her hands and turned his attention to his own. He ripped it open along the top and took out three sheets of paper, being careful not to allow Brittel a view of the printed sides. The top sheet contained written notice of his wage. It was large: money from his fitness classes; money from private tuition; as a bonus, prize money for a bodybuilding contest in which he had taken first prize. The middle sheet informed him of deductions made to cover his expenses over the past month. Brittel began to finger her envelope. Hans turned to the bottom sheet. Tax. He slipped the first two sheets back into the envelope and the third he palmed against the inner side of his arm. He moved through into the living room and filed the envelope in a cabinet. He stuffed the third sheet into a locked box he kept in the utility room near the shed. He went back and stood in the kitchen doorway. Brittel had opened her envelope. She looked at the table and her hands, which made them twitch. She said 'I may pop out to see Christina in town.There is no dancing today, so we may play a little bridge. "I shall be going by the east gate." Hans replied that "I have no-one to see, but a couple of errands to run. I may be some time." He leant against the door frame and pushed his finger into the latch hole on the other side. "I shall be going." He washed his face and body in the bathroom, quickly changed into dark clothes, and left. He tried not to look at his home or garden as he went, but as he walked along the road towards town, he couldn't help thinking about the bright little bungalow and the low white fence around the neat little garden, which he and Brittel so often gardened, where they exercised together and entertained each other, he with feats of strength, she with the suppleness of her body. Hans passed lawns and wild fields and low slung houses, and once, where a small wood embraced the road, a meadow. By the time he had begun to climb the hill at the top of which stood the town, the sun had pushed the shadows underneath the fragments of dry dirt. He was very hot, and the heat seemed to come from the air itself, defining what everything was and did. For a long time the only sounds were the crunching of gravel under his feet, the scrabbling of some creature deep underground and the sounds of crickets on the earth around him. As the ascent became steeper he heard from above the of gravel sliding downhill. He looked up and saw a man coming towards him. The man was moving unevenly, sometimes fast, then slow, on this side of the road, or that. Through the sweat running into his eyes, Hans recognised him as one of his private pupils. He was throwing his arms about, as if excusing himself to the world. He saw Hans then, and they passed each other without comment or glance together. Soon the road began to level out, and grasses bordering fields advanced to the stones of the path. Hans stopped, exhausted. To his left was the sports arena, nestled on an outcrop of rock by the east gate. Ahead, the fields ceased about seven hundred metres from the town, which was surrounded by a disc of dry brown mud, shingly on top, but compacted hard beneath. Past rains had poured gorges through the dirt. Scattered about, stonelike boulders of earth. The town was a near circular collection of tall brown brick buildings, all walls bending into the centre. Closed in, it resembled a punctured ball set in the ground at the top of the hill. It would be cool in the alleyways, and Hans almost welcomed the thought of arriving. He sat down on a flat stone by the side of the road. Perhaps he was ill and should go home, for on any other day he could quite easily have sprinted to his destination. "I'm ill, yeh, I'm ill." he muttered. He had to go on. The road continued haphazard to the north gate, but so as not to be seen, Hans walked along the dry rivulets. He paused and crouched now and again inside the meagre shade of boulders. He came to the first building. Its dark grime stained bricks had shrivelled in the sun, and mortar protruded around them like squashed tongues squirted between teeth. Panting, Hans felt his way along the wall, granules of brick cascading over his head and hands. He came to the corner of the building, between which and the next was the entrance to a narrow passage. Not one of the four main gates but provision for further extension. Hans stepped into the passageway. He could smell the chillness around him- permeating the buildings, emanating from the ground, from the air. He slipped the first two sheets back into the envelope and the third he palmed against the inner side of his arm. He moved through into the living room and filed the envelope in a cabinet. He stuffed the third sheet into a locked box he kept in the utility room near the shed. He went back and stood in the kitchen doorway. Brittel had opened her envelope. She looked at the table and her hands, which made them twitch. She said 'I may pop out to see Christina in town.There is no dancing today, so we may play a little bridge. "I shall be going by the east gate." Hans replied that "I have no-one to see, but a couple of errands to run. I may be some time." He leant against the door frame and pushed his finger into the latch hole on the other side. "I shall be going." He washed his face and body in the bathroom, quickly changed into dark clothes, and left. He tried not to look at his home or garden as he went, but as he walked along the road towards town, he couldn't help thinking about the bright little bungalow and the low white fence around the neat little garden, which he and Brittel so often gardened, where they exercised together and entertained each other, he with feats of strength, she with the suppleness of her body. Hans passed lawns and wild fields and low slung houses, and once, where a small wood embraced the road, a meadow. By the time he had begun to climb the hill at the top of which stood the town, the sun had pushed the shadows underneath the fragments of dry dirt. He was very hot, and the heat seemed to come from the air itself, defining what everything was and did. For a long time the only sounds were the crunching of gravel under his feet, the scrabbling of some creature deep underground and the sounds of crickets on the earth around him. As the ascent became steeper he heard from above the of gravel sliding downhill. He looked up and saw a man coming towards him. The man was moving unevenly, sometimes fast, then slow, on this side of the road, or that. Through the sweat running into his eyes, Hans recognised him as one of his private pupils. He was throwing his arms about, as if excusing himself to the world. He saw Hans then, and they passed each other without comment or glance together. Soon the road began to level out, and grasses bordering fields advanced to the stones of the path. Hans stopped, exhausted. To his left was the sports arena, nestled on an outcrop of rock by the east gate. Ahead, the fields ceased about seven hundred metres from the town, which was surrounded by a disc of dry brown mud, shingly on top, but compacted hard beneath. Past rains had poured gorges through the dirt. Scattered about, stonelike boulders of earth. The town was a near circular collection of tall brown brick buildings, all walls bending into the centre. Closed in, it resembled a punctured ball set in the ground at the top of the hill. It would be cool in the alleyways, and Hans almost welcomed the thought of arriving. He sat down on a flat stone by the side of the road. Perhaps he was ill and should go home, for on any other day he could quite easily have sprinted to his destination. "I'm ill, yeh, I'm ill." he muttered. He had to go on. The road continued haphazard to the north gate, but so as not to be seen, Hans walked along the dry rivulets. He paused and crouched now and again inside the meagre shade of boulders. He came to the first building. Its dark grime stained bricks had shrivelled in the sun, and mortar protruded around them like squashed tongues squirted between teeth. Panting, Hans felt his way along the wall, granules of brick cascading over his head and hands. He came to the corner of the building, between which and the next was the entrance to a narrow passage. Not one of the four main gates but provision for further extension. Hans stepped into the passageway. He could smell the chillness around him- permeating the buildings, emanating from the ground, from the air. He slipped the first two sheets back into the envelope and the third he palmed against the inner side of his arm. He moved through into the living room and filed the envelope in a cabinet. He stuffed the third sheet into a locked box he kept in the utility room near the shed. He went back and stood in the kitchen doorway. Brittel had opened her envelope. She looked at the table and her hands, which made them twitch. She said 'I may pop out to see Christina in town.There is no dancing today, so we may play a little bridge. "I shall be going by the east gate." Hans replied that "I have no-one to see, but a couple of errands to run. I may be some time." He leant against the door frame and pushed his finger into the latch hole on the other side. "I shall be going." He washed his face and body in the bathroom, quickly changed into dark clothes, and left. He tried not to look at his home or garden as he went, but as he walked along the road towards town, he couldn't help thinking about the bright little bungalow and the low white fence around the neat little garden, which he and Brittel so often gardened, where they exercised together and entertained each other, he with feats of strength, she with the suppleness of her body. Hans passed lawns and wild fields and low slung houses, and once, where a small wood embraced the road, a meadow. By the time he had begun to climb the hill at the top of which stood the town, the sun had pushed the shadows underneath the fragments of dry dirt. He was very hot, and the heat seemed to come from the air itself, defining what everything was and did. For a long time the only sounds were the crunching of gravel under his feet, the scrabbling of some creature deep underground and the sounds of crickets on the earth around him. As the ascent became steeper he heard from above the of gravel sliding downhill. He looked up and saw a man coming towards him. The man was moving unevenly, sometimes fast, then slow, on this side of the road, or that. Through the sweat running into his eyes, Hans recognised him as one of his private pupils. He was throwing his arms about, as if excusing himself to the world. He saw Hans then, and they passed each other without comment or glance together. Soon the road began to level out, and grasses bordering fields advanced to the stones of the path. Hans stopped, exhausted. To his left was the sports arena, nestled on an outcrop of rock by the east gate. Ahead, the fields ceased about seven hundred metres from the town, which was surrounded by a disc of dry brown mud, shingly on top, but compacted hard beneath. Past rains had poured gorges through the dirt. Scattered about, stonelike boulders of earth. The town was a near circular collection of tall brown brick buildings, all walls bending into the centre. Closed in, it resembled a punctured ball set in the ground at the top of the hill. It would be cool in the alleyways, and Hans almost welcomed the thought of arriving. He sat down on a flat stone by the side of the road. Perhaps he was ill and should go home, for on any other day he could quite easily have sprinted to his destination. "I'm ill, yeh, I'm ill." he muttered. He had to go on. The road continued haphazard to the north gate, but so as not to be seen, Hans walked along the dry rivulets. He paused and crouched now and again inside the meagre shade of boulders. He came to the first building. Its dark grime stained bricks had shrivelled in the sun, and mortar protruded around them like squashed tongues squirted between teeth. Panting, Hans felt his way along the wall, granules of brick cascading over his head and hands. He came to the corner of the building, between which and the next was the entrance to a narrow passage. Not one of the four main gates but provision for further extension. Hans stepped into the passageway. He could smell the chillness around him- permeating the buildings, emanating from the ground, from the air. When he could see a little, Hans looked about and moved forwards. There were windows at odd intervals up the walls around him which seemed to have been tarred over, sometimes from the inside. There was a door a few feet up a wall, holes in the brickwork in which wooden steps had once been set. He came to a wider street crossing his own. Some of the buildings here could almost be called houses. Rusted frameworks blocked his path and fallen stoneworks lined the way. He turned right along it until an alleyway to his left led him to a still wider street. Even here there was no light, so far did the buildings lean towards the centre of town, their summits curled over. Here in the street, Hans found some people. A middle-aged couple and a younger man, all grey ragged. A little girl sat naked in an open drain. Aged probably about seven, she was stunted to the size of a three vear old. Rickets given by the lack of light had warped her legs far beyond use. She slapped her open palm into some shit that lay beside her in the sewer. She had some on her face. Her mouth was twisted as if from a stroke. Hans dithered by the side of the road, unsure of himself with these people. He made a noise with his foot and the people looked at him. He moved forwards as casually and as practically as he could, avoiding their looks. Hans slipped down the nearest alleyway, coming quickly to a dead end. He retraced his steps slowly to the main street and moved fast, looking for the road from the gate which would lead him quickly through the concentric circles to the centre of town. He found and followed it, keeping as close to the side as the piles of filth and rubbish would allow him. Coming to the industrial area of the city, where the buildings are larger and have no doors, Hans saw people coming through the gloom towards him. He returned to the alleyways and by luck found one running parallel to the main road. Horror stuck him, at the inexorable forward process, for which he was wholly responsible. Eventually he came to a circular building. This was his destination. There was a small wooden door through which he went. Inside was a square room of red brick with wooden steps leading to a metal door. Hans opened the door and stepped into an empty corridor. Carpeted in greying beige, plaques and drinking fountains lined the walls. Windows looked into offices. At the end of the corridor stood a door. Beyond was a blank tiled area. Then what seemed to be a hospital with no provision for the patients. A linoleum floored hall led into a high roofed square room with a door in every wall. The floor was of unsanded wood, flecked by the walls and drooled on by the ceiling with white paint. Hans shut the door behind him with a click. He tried all the other doors in the room. They were locked. He tried the door by which he had entered. Locked. Hans sat down against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, arms around them, bound there by his hands. This was the antechamber. From here he would go to pay his tax. He was numb. Hans waited in the silence for a long time. The door to his right clicked. He rose and went to it quickly, pressing his ear to the white paint. He heard nothing and waited for a long while before pulling the door wide. There was no light inside and a freezing chill struck him. He stepped in, his testicles curled up inside him. His scrotum followed, a lump of thick solid skin. Hans closed the door. Some heat came into the room and half shards of light fell on a spherical machine set half in the floor at the centre of the den. Its surface was of smooth black metal, constructed of plates of uneven size. In the shadows the tropics seemed rough and complex, and the darkness seemed less to conceal, but when pressed, hid in the labyrinth, never unveiled. From its grooves snapped a crest of steel claws, up-pointed, outstretched, becrueling the curve of its belly. A section of the hull slid back and hid its darkness on the dark self. Within was a conglomeration of pink prostituted flesh, and curled upon it, such a thick slimy goo that Hans could not think of ever touching it. Penis in hand, Hans tried to imagine the machine was his wife, his maid-his mother! Then the machine began to excite him because of itself. He pushed his penis into the flesh which parted around him. The flesh was of many different parts, some solid, hard and cold, some lukewarm, falling apart at his touch. He rammed his penis into the flesh again and again, and soon he was screaming and wailing and yelling, and then he had to cling on, for the machine was rolling over until he was resting atop it. He ejaculated into the machine and was set down head first to the ground again. The hot young bodybuilder made his way home. As he reached his house, mid afternoon clouds were slipping into the sky. They did not eat that night, but sat in silence long past sunset, as the clouds gathered, opened like a swallowing mouth, spewing out water and gulping down thin sheets and shards of green lightening. They retired to bed with a glance together. For a time they sat upright, staring at the wall, and later lay flat on their backs, sheets gripped tightly at their necks. As exhaustion was about to overtake Hans, Brittel, with a yell and a moan and scream, heaved herself onto the edge of the bed, her belly swollen. Gallons of fluid roared out of her. She pulled the bedpan between her trembling legs, and out dropped, amidst a blundergush of glue, a healthy, red-faced, screaming baby. ©Luke Hardwick Mr. Hardwick has no e-mail address. This story was passed along to us by another great site, The Adams Residence June 1999 HofP |