This is a story for mature audiences who like to read this type of material. It is pure fantasy.
A - H I - P Q - Z Newest Files
THE RUNNER He could hear a audible gasp among the spectators as he placed his foot on the starting line, and crouched into his best take off position. The sun reflected his warm naked body, one among others as he waited for the flag to descend. Splitting and whipping the wind he ran like a wild young steed. There was eleven behind him, somewhere so far back he didnt allow them into his consciousness. He no longer ran for them, or the race. He ran for the blaze. His head burnt, and the track danced with him. His bare feet pressed into the harden dirt, as he transformed into Mercury. Only men were there to observe him as he streaked by. This was an invitation by special ticket only. An Olympic staged like the original. It had been going on for five years. Naked men and boys competing with, and for each other. He had been spotted when he was fifteen, lightning fast and radiant. He loved the sport, the freedom of it all. He heard a concentrated cheer as he finished the five thousand yards, barely panting. He only slowed now so the crowd could appreciate his slender muscled body, glistening, his golden hair glowing with life, his almost streamlined crotch that had been carved into the year before. He ran into the arms of the man who had been his Coach and lover for the past five years. The man looked at this youth with sorrow. That would have been a world record I know. They smiled, their secret look telling of moments to come later, and he went off to graciously meet his challengers, and exchange compliments with them. But he would never now get to compete for the world. No one would see his sport except for the patrons here, because: the year before the friend of a competitor posted film on the internet, of his run. Cameras had never been permitted in, and yet someone had taken a spy camera, and hid it under their Grecian robe, and subverted any other type of race for him. But that was not the worse piece of sabotage to befall him last year. After the race unaware it had been recorded, he went into the locker room to be scraped down as in the ancient customary fashion. He never heard the locks fashioned on the door to keep others out. He shouted as he was pulled into a large supplyroom floor, struggling but out- numbered and tied securely, then gagged, he didnt have a chance. the others had worn masks, his foes who had bet against him all these years. They worked quickly, with a band quickly tied around his scrotum and the sharp sting of a shot to numb the localized area, at least they gave him that, so he wouldnt feel the immediate pain. It quickly became the logistics of a dream, there was some one else lying there, he couldnt fathom that it was him. He arrested his terror to watch what they were doing with an almost clinical eye. This had to be a nightmare he was dragged into. He wondered if he had hit his head on the track. He couldnt see much or read their masked faces, but the one who used the scalpel knew what he was doing. He smelt blood, and moved his head forward to see hands lifting a bluish ball from a delicate cord, and severing it, he half realized that it was one of his testes. He felt nauseous and collapsed back. He was sure that they were repeating the larceny on his other helpless gonad. Finally he smelled burnt flesh, even with the pain killers it still felt like an incredible sun burn as they cauterized their inhuman work. Quickly they departed and he was left to lay in his own grief and suspended disbelief. He wondered if it had been hinted at, and he should have known this was being planned, a conspiracy to slow him down and take the wind from his high sails. It was at least an hour until someone came and discovered him. By then he was half mad. He never knew why he agreed to keep silent about it. Maybe because deep down he had wanted it to happen, he had talked and joked about becoming a eunuch for a long time. They had been listening. Well, he wasnt about to let a thing like that discourage him, and make him lose his love of racing by quitting. Let them see him now! Oddly he was able to increase his speed, he had even talked about finishing the job they started, streamlining himself for more propulsion. Hell, he was already a gelding, the audience could see that for themselves! So this year he ran again brilliantly, he had run for his lover, and for the society who felt privileged to see him tear down the track. He ran for the fire.