“Hold that lift!” The voice boomed through the deserted foyer. Automatically, I stuck my hand out to cut the beam so the door would remain open, but as soon as I saw who belonged to the voice, I regretted my politeness. Ever since the asshole had moved into the penthouse apartment above ours, we’d had nothing but aggravation.

He beamed as he shoved his way into the elevator, knocking me to the back wall with his body. Fucker!

“Thanks, faggot!” he spat as he poked the button for his own floor before I had a chance to press ours.

My boyfriend, Carlos, gripped my arm as a warning not to start a fight.

“Oh, ain’t that sweet, the faggot’s little fuck boy doesn’t want any trouble.”

He chucked Carlos under the chin like he was some kind of animal. “What’s the matter, fuck boy? Scared of a real man?”

He flexed his arm, his bicep expanding like a small mountain, almost ripping his muscle T-shirt.

“Have a feel. That’s real solid muscle. It’ll make your little boy cunt juice up. Go on, put your hand on it.”

I could sense Carlos wanted to take the dare; he’d always had a thing for muscles, something I’m rather scarce of, but his fear of the skinhead from upstairs and of my reaction made him hesitate.

“Don’t be frightened of what Mr. Flabby here thinks. This is your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get up close to a fuckin’ honest-to-god piece of real man flesh.”

When Carlos still looked indecisive, Bull grabbed his hand and placed it on his bicep, flexing again. Carlos squeezed it timidly.

“Put some force into it, sweetheart. I’m not fragile like your boyfriend there.”

Carlos squeezed again and I could see Bull’s mouth form into a sneer.

“If you like that, babe, then you’re gonna love these.”

He lifted his T-shirt over his head, lodging it behind his neck so that his chest and abdomen were shown off to great effect. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from gasping.

“That’s it, baby. Have a good feel, store up those sensations so next time your piss weak shit of a lover is fucking his teeny weenie in that nasty little ass of yours…” To emphasize his point, Bull squeezed Carlos’s butt making my boyfriend squeal. “Good little faggot fuck pig. I’ll let you dream it’s this body pressing against you.”

Bull ran Carlos’s hand across his hairy pecs, and then down over his chiseled abs. Carlos was having problems controlling his breathing. The bully took his hand off Carlos’s just as it reached the waist band of his slung-too-low gym shorts so my boyfriend was free to move it any which way he desired. There was a tense stand-off. The atmosphere in the elevator was ripe with testosterone. Sure, I could have wrenched Carlos’s hand away from the skinhead’s body but I was rather intrigued what he would do next.