Interstate Fight Story
There was this
one time about 15 years ago. I was travelling by car to the airport after
spending a week-end at my fraternity reunion. I was feeling pretty damn good at
the time
because I knew I looked good and alot of the guys and their wives had
complimented me as
well. I was about 180 pounds of solid muscle, about 3% bodyfat and I was ripped.
I was
strong as an ox and by this time had been in enough fights to feel cocky about
taking no
shit from anyone. It was a fairly warm April day in Missouri as I travelled
across the state
on some state highway. I had the window down and the radio blasting. (hell, it
was a rental
car anyway, right?).
Since I knew that I was looking good, I put on a very tight
ribbed white
wife beater. It hugged my pecs and showed off a solid set of six packs that
anyone at my
age would be damn proud of, and I was. The shirt also allowed my traps to push
the straps
of my tank way up on my shoulders. My delts were looking like ripped cannon
balls with
great striations. Ocassionally, I would look in the rear view mirror and give
myself a right
bicep flex and admire how it bulged up in a round solid ball of muscle mass. (I
was never,
nor am I today genetically gifted to sport a high �peak� bicep, but it
definitely bulged up and
demanded attention when flexed).
I did the same to the left bicep, admiring it
in the outside
rear view mirror. All this time I kept thinking, �damn, I wish some fucker would
just give me
a reason to show him what I had, I�d show him a thing or two, and if he has a
problem with
it, I�ll kick his ass�. Then I would flex the guns again, real hard till they
almost cramped.
Well, it wasn�t too much longer and my wish seemed to be coming true.....I came
up on a
car with some guy driving and he was alone. He was wearing a t-shirt (not too
terribly tight
fitting) but his sleeves were rolled up to his armpits and the guns were there
in all their
glory. And let me tell you, the tri�s bulged out nicely as he held onto the
steering wheel.
Since it was an interstate and no one was around either in front of us or behind
us, I
adjusted my speed so I could drive right beside him.....he looked fairly cocky
and I figured
him to be slightly younger than me but not by much.
He was wearing a ball cap
and
sunglasses. Naturally after staying beside him for awhile, he looked over at me.
As soon
as he did, I gave him a back right bicep shot. And I mean, there was no
�casualness� about
it. I deliberately let it pop up in all it�s bulging massive glory....and I held
the pose. He kept
looking over at me with this, �I can�t believe what you are doing look� on his
face. That�s
when I stopped the pose and then flexed my left bicep at him....all this time I
was not
smiling at all. As a matter of fact I was giving him that, �you got a problem
with me?� look.
It was only seconds later that he brought his left arm up and flexed his bicep.
The bicep
was very peaked and looked like a rock. He held the pose and just stared back at
me....there was no smiling between us. He then flexed his right arm and it was
equally as
impressive. There was no doubt this guy worked out and he was obviously proud of
his
achievements in the gym. This flexing went on for about 3 or 4
miles.....Eventually, I pulled
off my wife beater and started flexing my pecs in a challenging way....he
immediately pulled
off his t-shirt and flexed his pecs back at me...then he looked at me and made
the motion of
pounding his fist into his hand, like telling me he wanted to fight me.
I stared
at him, flexed
some more and shook my head yes. So I got in behind him and followed him. When
the
next rest stop came up, it was one of those rest stops that had no restroom
facilities and we
were the only ones to pull into it....it curved on back from the interstate
which provided even
more privacy. We parked next to each other, got out of our cars and just stood
there. We
were evenly matched in height and weight. Neither of us said a word, but we were
definitley
sizing each other up. Then, like on cue, we both started walking towards a
grassy spot
away from the parking lot. All the time trash talking each other, telling each
other the other
was a faggot and that we were going to kick the shit out of each other. We
turned and
faced each other, and I said, �let�s go�. We started circling each other with
our fists up,
throwing the occassional jab. Then we went at each other with a fury of blows,
one right
after the other.
Most of them were missing at first or we were hitting each
other�s shoulders
or chest. We separated and as we did, I stepped in and laid a left jab right
into his nose.
He staggered back and I charged him, and threw my shoulder into his rock hard
abs. We
fell to the ground in a crashing thud, both thrashing around and cussing. I got
on top of him
and started beating him in the face, right and left, right and left. Eventually
he threw me off
and got on top of me and started beating the shit out of me. Both of us were
bleeding and I
knew neither one of us was going to give in to the other. We stopped, got back
up and
caught our breaths....our muscled bodies were pumped, the veins in our biceps
were
bulging out, our chests were heaving for air and all this time we didn�t take
our eyes off each
other. Then he called me a fucking pussy and put his fists up and I obliged him
and we
went for another round.
Well after about 35 minutes of this, he connected with a
right cross
to my jaw and knocked the holy crap right out of me. The next thing I knew he
was standing
over me, flexing a double bicep and asked me if I had enough and I had. He told
me that I
better never fuck with him again, and that if I was ever compelled to flex to
some guy on the
road, I�d better be prepared to suffer the consequences. He walked off, got in
his car,
looked at me and did a double bicep flex at me again....then he hollered out,
�by the way,
these babies are 18�s and they kicked your ass.� Well, he did kick my ass, but I
know he
left hurting as well. It was a classic example of two men with muscles willing
to prove who
was tougher and stronger. This time he was.