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By sollasollewmn

Chris - Mike

I saw the ad in my college newspaper: ACTORS (MALE) WANTED FOR SCHOOL FILM PROJECT: MARTIAL ARTISTS PREFERRED. Now, I'd never taken a martial arts class in my life but back in high school, my friends and I made backyard wrestling videos and we used to fake all sorts of martial arts shit. I could throw a decent fake kick and punch for the camera so I figured I'd give this a go. Beats the shit out of being bored all semester.

I went to the open call which was in a field behind the dorms. I expected some kind of audition process but since they didn't have a lot of guys show up, they just cast every body who came. Mainly it was a lot of scrawny, awkward looking guys and overhearing them talk, they didn't have a lot of martial arts experience between them so I wasn't too worried. The director, Dave, was this skinny kid I'd seen in the Film Arts building. He went around handing script pages to people, looking everyone up and down before assigning them a part. He was being followed by this blonde guy in a sleeveless jean jacket. The blonde guy-I heard the director call him Chris-was a few years older than the rest of us and if his tight muscled arms were any sign, the rest of his body was pretty built too. When the director got to me, he looked me up and down and whispered to Chris, who nodded. Dave smiled and said, "What's your name?"

"Mike," I said and out of the corner of my eye, I could swear Chris was really checking me out.

"Well, Mike," Dave said, "could you take your shirt off for us?"

Without saying anything, I whipped it off. Not to brag, but I'm kinda easy on the eyes. I hit the gym pretty regularly and I figured that might make up for my lack of a black belt or whatever they needed. Dave and Chris nodded again, confirming their suspicions.

"You win, Mike," Dave said, softly so no one else could hear. "You got the best bod of anybody here. You get the other leading role. You get to do the big fight scene with Chris here."

I looked at Chris who was grinning and tightening his fists so his arm muscles rippled. I got a little nervous. This was all acting, right? Because I was pretty sure I could hold my own in a fight and if it came down to it, I'd give this guy a run for his money. But he moved so fluid that I had a feeling I'd get in only a few good shots before this guy would wipe the walls with me. At 6' 2", I had about four inches on Chris but something about him seemed fast, wiry. My size wouldn't help me.

"Listen," I said, "I can fake karate but I haven't got any formal training."

Chris shook his head. "No biggie. I'm also the fight choreographer. I'll teach you everything you need to know. We need a guy who looks like he could take me on and you're the only one who qualifies. C'mon, let's go over the moves."

Chris clamped his hand on my shoulder and led me down a dirt path into a nearby forest as Dave began rehearsing the other guys. I glanced at the script as we walked: pretty standard stuff. I was playing Big Fighter #1. Not a lot of dialogue, just an excuse for guys to start brawling and for Chris, who was the star, to come out on top.

We got to a clearing and Chris took off his jean jacket, exposing his muscular chest, and kicked off his flip flops. I tried not to make it obvious that I was taking him in from head to toe. He had some of the leanest muscle I'd ever seen, perfectly arched feet, and a flat stomach ribbed with an eight pack. I tossed my shirt aside and peeled off my sneakers and socks as he did a few warm up stretches. I didn't know what to do so I mimicked him. After a few minutes, he began teaching me the fight choreography. The dude really knew his stuff. He taught me how to throw a kick that would look good for the camera and we worked on the routine over and over again until we could do it at lightning speed. At first, as we did the fight, we just gave each other light taps to simulate the contact. I couldn't take my eyes off his muscles, how they rippled with each precise punch and kick. I took in a sharp breath every time his hands ran down my arm to correct the direction of my punch and held my hips to correct my stance. And, again, I got the feeling that he wasn't just watching to make sure I got the choreography right.

After an hour, we had it down. We were both sweaty and we laid down in the grass to catch our breath.

"Now comes the hard question," he said slowly. He rolled over to face me, leaning on his elbow. "See, my little brother is making this movie so it can be a demo reel for me. I want to be a pro-stunt man and I need an example of my work. This movie has to look as real as possible. You're good, Mike. Real good. I need to ask you a favor. To make this look as good as possible, I want to do this full contact. That's why we picked you. You saw those other guys: I'd tear them apart. But I think you can take it. Think carefully before you answer. It means we have to do that routine several times so Dave can get it from lots of different angles. We'll both be taking a beating for a long time. I know I'm up to it. How about you?"

Thinking we'd be doing some action shots, I'd worn a cup that day. Good thing so he couldn't see the raging hard-on I got at the thought of exchanging real blows with this guy. I closed my eyes as if I were thinking about it. That's when I felt his rough, calloused hand slide over my sweaty chest and cup around my right pec. He squeezed softly.

"If you do this for me," he whispered, "I think I can make it worth your while."

I shuddered as he tweaked my nipple just a bit. I exhaled, "OK, I'm in."

Grinning, he did a kip-up to get to his feet, then bent over and helped me up. As I sprang up, he grabbed me around my waist and pulled me in tight so our chests touched. Looking deep into my eyes, he said, "I hope you know what you just got yourself into. Just remember. No matter what: keep going. OK. Let's go shoot this."




When Chris and I got back to the clearing, Dave and his film crew had set up a couple cameras and got the equipment going. The other actors had been briefed on their roles. Basically, Chris would walk along and the others would ambush him. He would make short work of them with a series of fake punches and kicks and then the camera would swish-pan to me. I'd take off my shirt, Chris would take off his jacket, we'd circle each other, and then we'd do the routine we'd just rehearsed for an hour. As Chris and the extras did a quick walk through of their routine, I got nervous. We'd worked on our choreography for an hour and I was pretty tired and sore. Chris hardly looked fazed. Even now, walking through his "fight" with the extras, he was enjoying the physical challenge. Had I really just agreed to do this full contact? Holy shit, was I nuts? Nuts or not, I tingled all over at the thought of Chris working me over… over and over as the camera captured every sweet moment. And, to be honest, I couldn't wait to find out what Chris had meant when he said he'd make it worth my while….

The cameras started rolling and I took my mark. I watched Chris walk into the clearly. The extras harassed him, shoving him around. They began throwing fake punches, which Chris dodged before "knocking them out" with his own fake punches and kicks. Once all the extras were strewn about unconscious, the camera spun to me. I stuck out my chin and shouted my one line, "You think you're tough, dude? You ain't nothing." I managed not to laugh at the cheesy line and whipped my shirt off. Chris threw off his jean jacket and, bare-chested and barefoot, we circled each other.

Just as we rehearsed, I went in with a fake left jab and then followed through with a right cross that connected with his chin. I hadn't been in a fight since high school and I forgot how much it hurts to hit someone. Chris rolled with the blow, his head whipping to the right. He blocked my follow-up jab and sent a powerful uppercut into my exposed gut. In rehearsal, he'd tapped me and I faked pain. Here, with his entire body weight behind the very focused blow, there was no faking it. Air rushed from my lungs. My tensed abs protected me from most of the blow but I bent forward, my face grimacing…if only because I knew what came next.

Chris stepped back and did the spinning-back kick we'd rehearsed a dozen time, driving it into my hard pecs and sending me flying. Even bracing for it, I felt my head snap back as the pain shot across my chest and down my arms. Again, I thought about how nuts it was. But I remembered how important this video was for Chris's career so I quickly recovered and continued.

I leapt forward with a punch to his forehead. His eyes crossed as the blow connected. I wanted to stop to make sure I hadn't hurt him but then I remembered him saying, "No matter what…keep going." So I followed through with the roundhouse kick, the top of my foot connecting with his cheek. Even I was surprised at the strength I put into the kick. A loud snap as flesh met flesh and Chris went sprawling, losing his balance but instead of falling, he turned it into a handspring and was back in fighting stance instantly.

I hardly remember the next bit. The flurry of kicks had looked very cool in rehearsal. I'd taken the time to admire his form and technique with each one. There was none of that now because each was landing with bone-crushing force. First a powerful front kick into my stomach, doubling me over. Next a side kick, smashing into my nose and almost breaking it. Then a step-in sidekick to my chest, followed by two, fast succession roundhouse kicks to each temple. Each impact made my crotch grow harder, now matter how much it hurt.

I was stunned, trying to remember the routine. This was where I was supposed to drop to the ground and kick his feet out from under him with a leg sweep. But before I could do that, he charged forward with an uppercut so intense it lifted me off my feet. My body curled up around his fist and I fell back, landing on my shoulder blades as the air shot from my lungs for a second time. For the first time, I felt genuine panic. This wasn't part of what we rehearsed.

I looked around to see if Dave was going to shout cut. That's when Chris leapt forward and stomped down hard on my stomach. The heel of his size twelve foot drove mercilessly into my navel and I couldn't help but cry out, my eyes squeezing shut. That's when he reached down and pulled me up by my hair. I opened my eyes just long enough to watch him throw an elbow into my temple. Dazed, I barely realized when he grabbed me behind the neck with both hands, pulled my head down, and drove his knee up into my chin. Bright white lights filled my vision as I landed on my back.

"Cut!" Dave's voice seemed distant and distorted. I heard cheers and applause from the extras. As my vision returned, some of the scrawny guys were clapping Chris on the back, congratulating him on how "real" it all looked. He shrugged if off, saying he couldn't take all the credit.

"Isn't that right, partner?" he asked, reaching down to help me up. I flinched. This guy was psychotic. Everything in my brain said I should get my stuff and get the hell out of there. But as he looked down at me, he gave me a small smile and winked. A lump caught in my throat. Cautiously, I took his hand and he pulled me up. As I stood, he leaned in and whispered, "Sorry. The fight felt a little too rehearsed. Decided to mix it up a little. Hope you can remember all that stuff we improvised. We have to do it again for another take."

I was about to tell him to shove his demo reel up his ass when his hand brushed surreptitiously against my crotch. It occurred to me that, even with the beating I'd taken, he could have hurt me a lot worse if he'd wanted to. And that clandestine crotch rub served as a promise that he'd make it up to me.

I threw him a cocky smirk. "Is that all you got?"




Chris and I shot the full fight two more times, each time Dave setting the cameras up for new angles. I could only imagine how bruised and sore I'd be tomorrow. But I couldn't ignore the thrill I got every time this hot guy lashed out. By the third take, it took all my concentration to pretend I wasn't enjoying it as I relaxed my muscles and let each punch and kick sink deeper and deeper into my defenseless gut. My skin was already bright red from each punch and kick and I'd gotten a couple small scratches where his toenails had grazed my face. After the master shots, we shot just short segments of the fight, mainly close-ups of the individual blows. These we had to do slowly at Dave's request, which was good because I wasn't sure I could take any more full contact blows from Chris. For a smaller guy, he knew how to make a punch and kick count.

The sun was starting to set when Dave called it a wrap. He started thanking the extras as Chris and I pulled our shirts and shoes back on.

"Got any plans tonight?" he asked quietly, sliding his feet into his flip-flops.

I snorted. "I was gonna hit the bars tonight but now I think I'm just gonna go soak in a hot tub and pretend I didn't get my ass seriously kicked six ways to Sunday."

Dave laughed at this. "That was nothing. You know I could have done some serious damage if I wanted to, right?"

Just hearing him say that sent lightning through me. Yes. I knew that. I knew that even though he was hitting me hard, he'd been holding back.

"You know," he continued, "you're really not that bad. You should have taken martial arts. You're limber enough and you've got the idea behind the punches and kicks. You just need someone to show you the finer points."

I pulled my shirt back on, every muscle in my torso screaming in protest as I raised my arms up over my head. "You offering?" I asked, half-joking.

Chris froze. He cocked his head to the side and a small smile slid across his lips. "Walk you back to your place?"

My heart skipped a beat. Thankfully, the two guys I shared an apartment with had left town for the weekend. "If you think you're up to it."

This time, he threw his head back and howled. "You're a feisty one," he chuckled. Then he turned to his brother who, with his crew, was packing up the equipment. "Hey, Dave. Mike and I are gonna go talk over plans for a sequel. I'll catch up with you later."

Dave nodded and Chris and I headed back towards town. As we walked to my place, he told me how he'd started training in martial arts when he was four. Tae kwon do, Shotokan karate, and Brazilian jiujitsu most recently.

"Maybe next time," he said, "we could do a video where we do more grappling. Ground fighting can be the best." And for the second time that day, his hand made a seemingly innocent gesture that just happened to graze my crotch. As a chill ran down my spine, I couldn't wait to get back to my place.

Back home, we both raced to clear a space in the living room, each of us clearly excited about what was to come. Chris's "training" session began with lessons on how to land solid punches. To give me a target, he took off his jean jacket and exposed his bare torso again.

"Nail me," he said. "Hard as you can."

Like I was going to refuse. Over and over, I threw myself into each blow, pounding his stomach relentlessly. Now, I'm no wimp. And I could feel myself getting stronger with every punch. But he just took it. The fucker just sat there, hands held up over his head, taking each and every punch like I was tapping him with a feather duster. As beaten and tired as I was, I was also determined to show him what I could do. Harder and harder, with a grunt accompanying every punch, I punished his stomach until it was glowing red. Towards the end, he clenched his teeth and began moaning. Finally, as I put all my strength into one last punch, I saw a glint in his eyes as he relaxed his taut stomach muscles. This time, instead of bouncing off him, my fist went deep into his gut. He bent over and moaned loud.

He stood up again, gasping for breath and putting his arms over his head. "Now, kick me."

"But we haven't practiced kicks-"

"Do it!"

I started with the simple forward kicks he'd taught me for the routine. Again,he made his stomach tight and impenetrable. He glared at me, daring me to kick harder. I switched over to the step-in sidekicks that he'd used, hitting him hard enough to make him step back to grab his balance. My kicks were a lot more powerful than my punches and I could sense him growing weaker every time my foot sunk into his soft flesh. As before, I went to drive one final kick home and he relaxed his stomach. The length of my foot dug into the width of his stomach, which caved in around my ankle. He flew back and landed on the floor.

Something came over me. Maybe it was a desire for a little revenge for surprising me with unrehearsed moves during that first take. But mostly it was every part of me wanting him. As he lay prone on his back, I leapt over and drove my foot down into his stomach. He cried out in a guttural yell, like the kind you expect from karate students. But this was part karate yell and part pleasure moan. I dropped, pinning his bulging biceps under each knee. For a moment he looked alarmed, like maybe he'd underestimated me. Then, the cocky grin.

"Do your worst."

Sitting on his chest, I reached back and threw several more punches into his relaxed eight pack, each punch going deeper and making him moan louder. When he couldn't take anymore, he bucked up, throwing me off balance. But instead of retaliating, he grabbed my shoulders, pulled me down on top of him, and kissed me. As our tongues jockeyed for pole position, we hurried to undo each other's pants. He tossed my jeans and cup aside and grabbed my crotch, giving it a squeeze. I returned the favor. We rolled around on the ground, groping and throwing playful punches at each other, each blow making us harder. Ten minutes later, we climaxed at the same time.

We laid there, chests heaving for breath, sweat dripping into the carpeting. I turned to him and smiled.

"So is that the way you usually teach karate?"

"If I say it is," he grinned, "will you take more lessons?"

The lessons did continue. For weeks after that, we got together anytime my roommates were out of town for "training" sessions in the living room. We eventually shot that "sequel" that involved more grappling.

But that's another story.