Guysmiley's blog

Sometimes the actions people take befuddle me. I am planning a trip in the near future and reached out to a younger man about a possible meet up. He responded, no interest. In my mind, no problem. But the next thing I know, a second message pops up that I have been blocked from his profile. Really? Why was that necessary. Was I not respectful in my request? Had I said something disturbing or continued to make overtures? Like I said, it befuddles me.

It wasn’t a typical night at the gym, not really too many working out. Maybe it had to do with school or football starting up again. Whatever the reason, I didn’t really mind pretty much having the place to myself. I was working biceps and triceps, plus some chest and had just moved into the third set of hammer fist bicep curls using 50 pound dumbbells. I had picked up the weights and was moving backwards, intending to do them seated, when someone bumped me from behind, almost knocking me over.

“Watch out, old man,” a voice said from behind me. I had kept myself from falling and glanced up in the mirror. A well-muscled Asian man had sat down on the very bench I was heading for. Odd thing was, his hands were empty of weights of any kind. I placed my weights back in the rack before turning toward him.

“Really, you couldn’t choose another bench to sit on? You had to choose this one?” He starred at me coldly for several seconds before standing up. I stood at 5’7” and a firm 170 pounds. As he came up, I could see he was close to 6 foot and probably 250-275 pounds of solid muscle, a definite body builder type. He moved forward into my space.

“You want to do something about it, old man,” he said with a slight English tone that offset his Asian tongue. Frankly, I was getting a little tired of his slight to my age. Now while I was a tender 63 years old, many thought I acted like a twenty year old. It is always hard to determine the age of most Asians, but I’m going to guess he was in his late 30’s to early 40’s. His muscles bristled as he stood there in front of me.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” I replied, bringing my hands up in front of me in a slight defensive posture. At least, that is what it would look like to anybody observing us, that I was showing a “I don’t want to fight,” posture. In reality, I had moved closer to my fighting stance, not wanting to be caught off guard. He glowered at me for a moment more, leaning his mass in toward me.

“Is there a problem here,” a third voice cut into the heated air between us like a knife? I glanced over with a slight turn of my head, not wanting to take my eyes completely off the body builder. It was the desk man, an athletic young man named Wade, a nice kid, but more of a ladies man than a fighter. He never even saw the punch coming. The muscled man’s fist caught him square on the knock out line and Wade went down like a sack of potatoes, his head landing hard on the matted floor. He wasn’t moving anytime soon.

By the time the muscled man turned his attention back in my direction, I was gone, taking advantage of the distraction to make my exit, stage left. I was grabbing my stuff out of my locker, shoving it in my gym bag, not even thinking of changing, just intent of getting out while the getting was good. Then I heard it, the swish of the large door leading into the gym proper as it opened. The handle crashed into the wall, smashing the tile behind. He definitely wasn’t trying to be quiet. I stopped dead in my tracks, almost afraid to breath.

“Where are you, old man?” I glanced toward the mirrors over the sinks. I couldn’t see him yet, which meant he couldn’t see me either. By the time he reached the end of the lockers and looked down my aisle, I was no longer there. But my gym bag was. “You have nowhere to go, old man. Come on out and let’s get this over with.”

I rushed to the emergency exit only to find it chained closed. My mind was reeling. Had he done that or was it just something I’d never noticed because I’d never needed it. I could hear his bulk moving throughout the room, his fists banging on the lockers. At least he was making himself easy to track. But I needed space; I knew I didn’t want to be trapped in the small quarters that the locker room offered. I figured if I could get back out into the main gym, I would at least have a chance for escape.

I’m not sure what it was that told me to duck, but I did so, just in time to avoid being smashed by one of the locker benches he held in his grip. The bench was in full swing, like a baseball bat, and it slammed against the lockers with such force that it snapped. I hoped he felt the repercussions up into his arms. Not that it would stop him, but it might slow him. He dropped the remaining piece and threw a wild right hook toward my head. I ducked under it, changed my level, and slammed my own left hook into his side, intent on connecting with his liver. My blow was spot on and the resounding grunt told me I’d found my intended target. The blow dropped him to one knee and I scuttled past him, heading for the door. I hoped the pain would last long enough to give me time to get out of the place.

+++++++

I glanced back at the weight area, disappointed to see Wade still lying on the floor. I got to the front door only to find it locked. I checked the lock for the keys but they weren’t there. I was quickly searching the desk area when I heard the roaring voice coming from the locker room.

“I’m coming for you, old man.” I had to find a secure place to hide. As the door from the locker room swung open, I ducked behind the counter, pretty sure he hadn’t seen me. I was digging through the desk drawers, looking for anything that might double as a weapon. My own knife was still in my bag in the locker room. All I could come up with was a stapler and to my surprise, a kubaton. They weren’t much, but they were something. Staying low, I moved to the opposite side of the front desk area, trying to put space between him and myself. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

I heard some rattling and raised myself up to see what he was doing. He had picked up a bar bell and was stripping the weights off it. As the last weight fell to the ground, he brought the bar up, holding it in two hands across his chest, like a spear. His spear against my stapler and kubaton, not exactly fair odds. He passed by my hiding place. Lucky for me, he didn’t look down but just walked past. I jumped up, my feet leaving the ground, slammed the stapler against his ear and hit the top part, driving a staple through the fleshy part of his ear. He bellowed in surprise, but it wasn’t enough to stop him, as the spear in his hand came swinging around in a forward slash. I barely managed to avoid the tip of the bar, but I also knew what was coming next. As the backslash started toward me, I was already on the move, my arms in a classic general defense posture, my body moving forward. My arms wrapped the bar at the same time my shoulder slammed into him. Even with his massive bulk, this drove him back. Wrapping the bar with both hands, I had to use other weapons on him. A knee to his groin, an elbow to the back of his neck as he bent over, another knee to his face, a side head butt as he came back up, a side kick to his left knee. Then I had the spear in my hands. He bellowed again and charged. I slammed the tip of the bar as hard as I could into his gut, brought it up under his chin, swung it from the side, catching his head, then a repeat from the opposite direction. Holding it tight, I brought it straight up into his groin. His knees buckled and he sank down to them. Still wielding the bar, I moved behind him and brought it up under his chin, choking him. His meaty hands grabbed the bar on both sides and he started trying to push it away from his throat. I knew I didn’t have long before his obvious strength would beat my precarious hold. I put a knee to his back and pulled back harder but I could tell it wasn’t being effective. That’s when I got an idea. I suddenly let go of the bar and his arms shot forward. My right arm snaked down his chest and back up around his throat, my elbow crook closing on the Adams apple portion of his throat. My left hand came up and my right grabbed that bicep and the hand went behind his head. I dropped back, pulling him into my guard, locking in my hooks. I tightened the rear naked choke, giving it everything I had. He didn’t even have time to let the bar go, freeing up his own hands, before the lack of blood shut his systems down and he went slack in my arms. I kept the hold on for several more seconds to make sure he was out. Finally I let go, rolling him to one side. As I was getting up, Wade came over, one hand to his bruised jaw.

“What happened,” he queried, seeing the unconscious mountain of muscle on the floor.

“I have no idea, but you got something we can tie him up with before we call the police?” Wade stepped behind the desk and came back out with some zip-ties. Between the two of us, we had him hog-tied in a manner of moments, including using the bar bell to help hold his arms. He started coming to just after we finished and Wade was on the phone.
I leaned in close so only he could hear. “Chose more carefully what old man you pick on next time, punk.”

He was glaring at me as I walked away.

+++++

I did this past week. It had to do with my healing and recovery phases from my surgery. You see, I had a note from my surgeon earlier on in the summer that mentioned that at sixteen weeks out from my surgery date, I should be able to begin resuming my NORMAL activities. I took that at literal translation and because of some upcoming travel plans and holidays, started booking some events. Now my normal activities include training in Krav Maga, of which I'm a black belt, six days a week, doing HIIT, high intensity interval training, 3 days a week, strength training 3 days a week, time on the mats grappling and sparring ... well, I think you get the picture. After 4 months of off time, I was more than ready to begin, even if slowly, to resume those activities.

But then logic got the best of me. While I knew my surgeon was aware of my proclivities of over achieving, and knew my activities, I thought it best to send him an email asking for clarification on just what his earlier email meant.
His reply was less than desirable for me. He insists waiting a minimum of 60 more days, into the month of October before I begin any of my former activities. In fact, he further says we will assess my condition at my next appointment, 30 Sept, and go from there. Yes, I was TERRIBLY disappointed in reading that email. Almost wished I hadn't sent it.

But then a dear friend, my Krav Master, who I told of this news said, "Remember, you've just had massive upper neck and cervical surgery and the risks were inherent and explained as well as the time to heal and recuperate up front. I believe this is great news and the impact should remain at a minimum. Remember, you did this surgery to improve the rest of your life. Six months to a year is nothing in the grand scheme of it all and the results you are already achieving in both mobility and strength are simply astounding and amazing. You sure don't want to suffer a set back by doing something stupid at this point."

You gotta love friends who are honest with you, and friends who forgive you for cancelling planned activities. Thank you all for your patience as my healing and recovery continue. I promise some really good match ups once I'm allowed.

It was a beautiful morning in Paris, a light misty rain falling, cooling the city, making the air fresh. The rented apartment had large windows which were now wide open,letting the coolness into the apartment. 3 of us were in the apartment, including my host, a young friend from another country, and having eaten a hearty breakfast, we were awaiting a fourth.

A bell rings from the courtyard door and we know our 4th has arrived. I go out to greet him, interested to see this young hardy man who is coming for a gut punching session. He is beautiful to the eyes though he is still dressed in a pull over shirt and levi pants. Guiding him into the large apartment, I introduce him to my host and my other friend, Andre. Andre and my host are preparing to leave to go to a specialty shop that sells platters, records, vinyl, whatever you want to call them, while Seb and I meet. That is, until he lays his own eyes on Seb, then he too decides to stay, wanting some of the action. My host seems fine with the change in arrangements and he leaves, not returning until we text him that we are done.

Wanting to leave the windows open for the cool air, but not wanting to alarm neighbors who can see in the apartment, we retire to the separate bedroom that is mine. The furniture is already pushed aside, giving us plenty of room for our planned activities. Seb pulls off his shirt and reveals a set of abs that is to die for, even better looking than any of his pictures revealed. I speak only English while Andre speaks a couple of languages including English but not French, but Seb speaks it also, so communication isn't any problem. We start getting set up. I strip out of my own shirt and shorts, standing now in black square cuts. Not to be out done, Andre also strips down to his under shorts only. I am now standing in the room with two gorgeous young men and getting to do what I love most, gut punch them.

With Seb standing against the wall, arms up over his head, I trail my hands down his torso, loving the hardness of his chest muscles, the striations deep and hard as I reach his abs. He truly is a beautiful man. I deliver the first punch, solid, bare fisted, and pleased to hear him grunt. This is going to be fun. I follow with a combination, left jab, right cross. He breaths out with each, and I feel the hardness of his wall against my fingers. I look into his eyes and can tell he is already enjoying my punches. I look down and see further evidence as I punch again and again, as he hardens within his jeans. Andre is also getting excited.

It is about now that Seb leans down, he is several inches taller than me, and places a sensual kiss on me. I don't resist, but rather explore his mouth some with my tongue. Then while kissing, I punch him again, a nice hard upper cut sort of punch. He moans and breaks away. Andre steps in and kisses him as well. I start rubbing his torso, enjoying the hard muscles even more at this point. I lean in and Andre turns and kisses me as well. Then Seb again. I push Seb's hands back up above his head and begin punching him again, harder now, combinations, upper cuts, even some hooks into his side muscles. He's breathing harder, struggling to keep his abs hard. It is exciting for us all. I continue until he asks me to stop in jilted breath. We then resume the threesome kissing, rubbing, enticing, enthralling, enjoying being together.

Our three hard muscled body's bump and grind, switching positions, rubbing, kissing, entwined like branches of a tree. I offer to punch Andre a few times. He is hesitant but stands like a man to take a few. Then Seb moves back into position and I start punching him again. His ab muscles are weakening and I start delivering more upper cuts, hard to enough to lift his heels off the ground. We have made it clear it will continue until he calls my punches to a stop. This isn't always the case, but for him, it is. My punches are digging in deep, his breath stilted, his moans deep and clear, then he says he's had enough. As promised, I stop. His torso heaves in and out as he recaptures his breath. Andre moves in for more kissing and fondling, the two young studs now enraptured with each other. I slowly excuse myself from the room to allow them some alone time.

Soon enough, they emerge, sheepish grins on their faces. The cool air must chill them a little from the sweat. Seb gets dressed and we say our good byes, finishing off with some more kisses and desires of meeting again some day. Maybe even the three of us, who knows.

Yes, September was a good month in Paris for gut punching.

Hello my fellow conspirators. I appreciate all the messages and well wishes I have received since news of my surgery was announced. Let me assure you, none of this has been fun. My original surgery date was postponed but only after was already out on the table. They discovered a problem that needed treated before opening me up to avoid a chance of infection.

Got past that so found myself repeating all the same routine one week later, 10 April. My surgery started round 1300 hours and was to last approximately 2 to 2.5 hours. But while much good was found inside, much mess was found also. Overall, the surgery took over 8 hours and required a total of 4 transfusions.

On the most positive part was that my bone structure was solid, like alderwood, so when they put the titantium screws in to support my head, they ain't coming out.

I am totally restricted from any activity other than walking. No bending, twisting, lifting ... nothing, until at least 16 June, my next appointment. I must wear a lumbar brace except when sleeping. I am weaning from the meds that only make me muddied and muddier, would rather deal with a little discomfort than what they do to me.

I will keep you informed as I progress.
Guy Smiley.