Sweaty Shoe Fun at the Gym

Two bangs of an HK416 interrupted me, before I could wipe the white pill dust into my palms. The muffled party sounds had gone still. When for once life was going to turn for the better with a little help of white powder, bad guys had come knocking. Quiet assignment my ass. I looked in the mirror. Two tired bagged eyes looked back it me. They were blood red shot from the abuse that I put my body through. My hair shaggy and styled into a mess with gel. Was this the hero that was going to save the people outside or to drag them down into hell with him?

I slowly pulled the door ajar. Five goons with HK416 assault rivals were standing in the center of the room. They had the same bandanas wrapped over their mouth that the guys from the bar had. Everyone was flat on the ground. This one 25 year old girl was wearing white-and-pink bunny ears. They were the only thing that stood higher than a foot. She had her hands curled up right under her face to make her fingers appear like bunny teeth. These lunatic Japanese couldn't stop appearing cute even when they were deathly afraid.

So, the guy with the black bandana was clearly in charge. He was yelling the loudest. Mr Kanagawa was pleading with him. The black bandana guy quickly pistol whipped him to the ground. Suzu was running out of the room with her hands dialing on the phone. She did these cutesy little mini steps that made her seem like she was running like Road Runner from Bugs Bunny, yet she was moving at the speed of Goofy. One of the goons ran after her down the hallway. These fools were going to get themselves killed quickly.

I was going to save at least one of these party girls. Reaching bag, I grabbed one of those fluffy, white oversized full body towels. A girl with tight black leather pants that were so shiny that they seemed wet and liquid was lying the closest to the bathroom. I threw the white towel low to wrap it around her ankle. Then, I pulled her slowly and steadily toward me. Her face looked panicked. She didn't make a sound. Somehow she thought by looking around wilder into many directions, it would help her situation.

Once I got her, she kind of realized. I told her to hide in the tub. The metal would block stray bullets. She docilely agreed. She looked at me like a puppy with black wet hair from behind the tub. Only her eyes peaked over the rim. She had these full black pupils. She must have been wearing those trendy contacts that give you anime eyes.

I had to make a decision. I could have been banging that party girl. I could envision putting her right over the rim of the tub, so that her ass would stick up and bang her from behind. I'd probably finish the job before a bullet would hit the back of my head. I could keep fishing people out of the room. Though, the tub would get seriously overcrowded. Or, I could go for plan C, which I didn't know yet. Pedro was probably banging one of the sexy chicks in one of the bed rooms. He had a thing for the long legged once with the big fake, round tits.

The gang banger minions were pushing an elder gentleman in a suit forward. The head honcho was pulling down the top of a young dancer with a t-shirt and tiny white fur jacket. Nodding at the boobs, he stated, "We'll take her as a bonus for entertainment." Now, he shouldn't have done that. He had me glowing with red hot anger. I slung out of the bathroom entry way to hide behind a couch with my Colt Mustang drawn.

"Tell the Gringo to meet us at the bar, if he wants to free these innocent people," said the guy with the black mask to the whole room, while he stuffed a red bandana into the girl's mouth. The party was all Japanese, except for one gringo and one South American.

The tall lad from the dance floor jumped up and charged toward the gang bangers: "Charge!" Five yard from the gang bangers, he realized that nobody else was charging. "We need to surge against them. We are one hundred against five." The black masked guy tilted his head sideways to patiently wait out the desperate battle cry. Then, he smashed the bottle of whisky on the bar counter into the lads head. The lad sunk to the floor. That was my bottle. He had the second strike against him. I was near blasting him full of bullets without letting the other hommies have any.

I crawled behind a big palm tree planter. A twenty something girl gave me a pleading look that broke my heart. "I'm a professional. Don't worry." Who was I kidding? I was the drunk with a gun, who had utterly failed in laying a perimeter and scouting the incoming traffic. I couldn't let another of my charges die.

"Give me your high heels and your bra."

"Nani!?"

The poor girl was quizzical. I pointed her feet and her chest. I loved watching those stubby toes on her feet. Her fingers first poked from the inside through her t-shirt. Then, her nipples stood out through her t-shirt. It was a nice underwire a-cup that still gave her a nice round appearance. I tied the shoes to either side of the bra. I had seen on the Australian Discover Channel that Aborigines would make bolas weapons. With the dance civilian presence, I couldn't afford an all-out gun fight.

I pointed at the next girl over: "More." That girl reached under her mini skirt and pulled down her panties. They were these cute Hello Kitty g-strings. I had to take a moment to deal with all the erotic feeling bubbling up in me. "No, your bra."

She shook her head, "No bra."

I must have made a grimace. She lifted up her star sparkled white t-shirts to bare her boobs. They were tender, young, succulent things. "I need a bra."

"I don't need a bra. My tits are so firm that they stand up on their own."

"Does anybody have a bra?"

"I have one in the car. Do you want me to go get it?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, why don't you ask the nice gangster, if they let you out early?"

"Mister, mister, can I leave early?" She raised her index finger like a school girl into the air and stood up. She gave me a nice look at her butt cheeks popping out beneath the Native American style mini skirt.

All the shiny muzzles swiveled around in her direction. I rose up from behind the palm tree jumping forward. One shot hit the guy with the blue bandana. The bra and high heel bolas was thrown out wide with my non-dominant arm. It flung across the air, wrapped itself around the ankles of the yellow bandana due. And the he lost his balance and fell flat on his face. Gravity pulled me down. I landed crashing on the floor behind a couch. My bones were hurting. I was missing that white powder left behind on the bathroom sink. The white couch was fluffing up with feathers shooting into the air as a bout a pound of lead was unleashed with ear drum blasting explosions from the H416s.

After ten seconds there was silence. They all needed to reload. "Oops-y, my bad," said the standing girl shrugging her shoulders up and blushing. I looked at her dumbfounded as her long slender limbs folded themselves to lie back down on her belly. "I'll get my bra later," she said reassuringly to me in a hushed voice.

I popped up from behind the couch and jumped over the bar. Mid-air, I leaned sideways, and popped one more bad guy in the knee. He went down with a wide open mouth and spit flying from it. My head hit the bar shelf. Bottles went sprawling away from it. My ankle hit the counter hard. I kind of collapsed onto the floor before the next hail of fully automatic gunfire unleashed itself in my direction. At least, I didn't have civilians behind me anymore to minimize casualties.

When the gun fire rang out again ten seconds later, I popped up. The last two standing guys were gun. They had used suppressive fire on me to withdraw back to the entrance door with their hostages. The door snapped shut. I jumped over the counter and ran for the door. By the time, I reached it, they must have jammed the door thoroughly. I ran into the door with my shoulder. It hurt terribly.

Pedro came running with his ass sticking out of the pants. A tall Jap girl with bleach blond hair was running behind him. She was only dressed in a bed sheet.

"What happened, Jack?"

"They took two hostages down the hallway. There are only two of them left. Three of them are lying around here somewhere. The door is jammed."

Pedro flushed red in the face grabbed a fire axe and started pounding a hole through the wall. The pant wasn't locked in place. It slid down. There is always something hilarious about seeing a professional literally with his pants down. The pants pooled around his ankle. His butt stuck in its birthday suit out in the air. And he still had a raging boner. Viagra was both the answer to his erection and his flushed face.

"Rock on, I love method acting," cheered the fake blond. She pumped her fist in the air. Her wrist was bend to make the gesture look rather weak and girlish, despite her face trying to make a tough expression. She got on her knees and sucked his cock, while he was sweating to crack through the wall blow-after-blow with the heavy axe. Welcome to the comedy about the incompetent has-never-been Latino and the drunk has-been gringo.

I ran out to the balcony through the crowd of party goers, who were slowly getting onto their hands and knees. A brisk wind was gushing around my face on the balcony. The ocean fog was rolling in. The tiny sidewalk thirty stories below looked dark and almost wet. Three lanes were going in either direction. Two of these roads intersected. There were about twenty pedestrians waiting on each side of the traffic light. There were numerous green taxicabs driving around. A group of four stormed out of the building faster than anyone else. I lowered my Colt Mustang over the railing. The peered over the gun sights. The front sight seemed as thick as a fat finger in comparison to the tiny humans on the sidewalk. I put the safety back. That train had passed.

"You can stop now. It'll be hard for another two hours. I don't want your jaws to lock up," said Pedro way too loudly inside.

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"We have bad news and good news, business partners. The bad news is that innocent people are held hostage. Very terrible! The good news is that we are infamous. So many people want to come to my parties now. You are gold, Mr. Daniels. Some people think that the Yakuza is coming to America. Some people think that we are battling evil forces, perhaps demons or vampires. Do you realized a public relations company wanted to charge me 10 million dollars to reach this kind of notoriety?"

Mr. Kanagawa looked very excited behind his mahogany desk with the golden telephone and his Italian leather slippers. He was stretching out his legs. Pedro and I stood at attention with our hands folded in front of us.

"Mr. Kanagawa, we are trying to get your friends back. Right now, the police have staked out the bar. So, we can't go there. Apparently, they were after Jack, because he had an incident with that gang earlier. Our only play is to use Jack to draw them out. We'll have him be very public, so that they can spot him. Hopefully, they will come after him." Pedro was pleading with his hands as hard as he was pleading with his words.

"That is very exciting. You will have to tweet about it every step of the way. I will have my publicist join you. Maybe, we can weave it all into a documentary."

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I had about enough of their chit-chat. Mr. Kanagawa had a disdain for human life and passion for film. Pedro was trying to educate him about private security work. The most frustrating part was perhaps that Mr. Kanagawa leapt up all the details about sec-ops, yet constantly spun it into his movie and publicity. He didn't get the hint to get out of the way of the professionals. Or, perhaps he should finally hire professionals.

For me, I was standing out in the street. The high rises funneled the air into gusts. The creeping ocean fog was chilling my bones. I still had forgotten that neat pile of white powder in the bathroom. I still had no penny to my person, except for an expired credit card. Payday apparently wasn't on the first day. There were a few pretty bruises forming on the side that I had landed my air jumps on. On the bright side, I was holding a full bottle of vodka in my hand, which I had snagged from the bar.

There was a wide window stretching half the block in front of me. College gals and the occasional dude were running on treadmills behind it. Free entertainment. I counted twenty machines. Then I sauntered over to a trash bin. The black plastic bag had lost its hold onto the rim. A sheet of newspaper was stretched out against the mesh of the bin and pinned in place by the wind. Some liquid had run out, dried, and left a black mark.

And I found one of those white and green Starbucks cups with the mermaid. I poured out the left over coffee from the venti sized cup. Then, I poured my vodka into it. I tried it. The vodka tasted like coffee. I guess, this is what the life of an office worker tastes like, constant doses of coffee. Gyms tend to frown on heavy boozing out in the open. This would do.

I nuzzled through the coffee cup lid, while I asked the receptionist of the gym for a trial membership. Jenny was her name, a real cheery sophomore with blond hair in a ponytail. She had little makeup. She had a pink and purple workout short and Adidas shorts. She wasn't rich or pretentious. She was dressed down to earth like a student living on the cheap and being real proud about the few assets of clothing that she could afford. She was wearing a sports bra. Biology was it that she studied. She had a pet hamster and was afraid of gold fish in public pools. Young bubbly girls are really forward in that way.

Barry Snapple's was my name today. There was a fridge of Snapple's behind Jenny. I didn't quite feel like being called Apple or Peaches all day. Definitely, being called peaches would tick me off. Hey peaches, wanna have a piece of me? 23 Main Street was a street address that worked for most cities. I'd always pick the day of the month as the house number.

"We are closing in an hour. So, you better make it count." Jenny had this fist pumping motion that was supposed to be motivating and get me excited about working out and reaching my fitness goals. I took another zip of coffee flavored vodka. Yeah, I wasn't here to clear my mind. Generally clearing my mind made all the nasty bits raise up. I was here to flood it. The booze and the pain killer were helping. Yet, there was one more thing.

Only a few steps away against the back wall was a treadmill. Is sat down there. I loosened my tie. I put my hands behind me and leaned back against them. In front of me were ten college girls running on the treadmills in the window. I had my pick of asses. There was a tender little girl with a running skirt. It was a joy to see the flap of her skirt bounce up and down -- just never high enough to let me peak under. There was definitely the black girl with the big bootie. I called her Big Ol' Judy in my head. The spandex of her black pants was stretched so wide that I could see the shiny silver of her panties. The line ran straight across her butt. Of course, there was also prime butt. There was Sybille, as I called her. She was pounding away at easily 8 mph. Her ass was so tight with no panty line in sight that I just wanted to pull her pants down to right beneath her ass and take her hard from behind.

It takes a lot of focus to determine panty lines. It's endlessly fascinating to watch one side tighten and then the other side. A little hot red of a thong peaking over a yoga pant is always a thrill. It takes a lot of concentration to catch every little mishap or chance to gleam a little more. The occasional angry stares are really hilarious. This black girl had given me the fifth stare already. Yet, she couldn't be bothered getting off her phone. She had this white-and-black checkered banana and workout gloves. She seemed really hands on and active like a go-getter.

When a tall, all-lean-muscle black guy walked into the gym, they gave each other a glance. The tall guy was wearing sweats. He had a band around his forehead to make him look like a martial arts guy. Behind him was an entourage of six shorter guys with eager and stern faces. The black guy and the black gal exchanged looks. Then, she pointed directly at me.

How was it, that trouble would always find me?

The black guy marched up to me with wide strides. The shorter guys followed him so lock step that they more seemed like a flock of chicks flocking around the mother hen for protection. It put an irresistible grin on my face. That stoked the fire under the black lad.

"Why are you staring at my girlfriend? She doesn't like it."

I raised my arm to calm him down.

"Hey, I don't like the foreign policy of Burkhina Faso."

Now he was pounding his legs around. His lips were flying open. He looked like an anguished tiger ready to pounce.

"Yeah, you think you are a smart ass. I'll kick your ass."

It wasn't worth it talking with the rubble. Trina was doing forward stretches that made me see her camel toes. They were these racer type tights that seemed like different material stitched together. It gave her legs a wonderful shape. I waved Tyson, that's what I called him, to get out of my view.

Tyson was like a caged tiger taunting me and parading left and right in front of me. "Hey, you want a piece of this action? Let's fight in the boxing right over there. Let's fight clean, no biting and hair pulling and shit."

That gave me an idea. "Hey, do you fight for money? I'm broke. I need cash. How much do you have?"

Tyson was a little confused. "Money, moneta, dollaros, bling, cash-cash," I helped him. His little gang huddled together and came up with eighty bucks. "Fair enough, lets' fight." The heated tension had almost become jovial. One of his buddies even stretched open the ropes to the ring to let me enter. "Fight -- whoop, whoop," hollered one of his sidekicks.

Quickly enough, I found myself in the ring wearing a tailored suit that was worth $10K, so that I could win $80 to buy a family pack of Tylenol. I might as well look presentable and tighten my tie back. All the females that I was watching like a piece of meat were now watching me like a piece of meat. The irony wasn't lost on me. Only I had watched them for a little harmless admiration of beauty, while they were eager to watch me get beating into a bloody pulp.

Tyson was apparently a triple black belt in something that sounded Asian. The girls cheered hard for him. His girlfriend even lifted her tight shirt to show of her bra. Lavender purple was a bold choice. Her breasts were pretty small. Being a strong athlete diminishes the body fat. Had I known that I could get the front view, I would have climbed into the ring earlier.

One of the sidekicks took the Starbucks cup out of my hand out of which I was still drinking. It was automatic. I hadn't even realized that I was drinking middle in the ring before the fight. Someone rang the bell. Tyson circled around me with fancy foot work. His feet kept constantly switching. I stood with my legs wide and hands at the side and starred at him. There was definitely pain going to be involved, lots of it.

Tyson circled me. He gave me little fake charges, pretending to go in for punches, yet pull back before he got close enough. I didn't flinch or react. The booze had slowed down my reaction time. "Kick his ass, Jason," yelled his girlfriend. Tyson was apparently Jason. I yelled back in drunk stupor, "No he is Tyson. You picked a name for him first." "He's drunk. Kick his ass already," shouted one of his sidekicks.

"Tall, dark, handsome stranger, go!" yelled Jenny to my surprise. Apparently, she had either something for the underdog or dirty old men. Next a blow landed on my right cheek. A follow up punched into the side of my ribs. A high elbow hit me on the temple. Tyson knew that he was doing. He was young. He was well trained. This was going to hurt a lot.