Chapter 2

Ivan 1 suggests, “We can beat the shit out of John. When the anger and pain do not transform him into a raging green creature, Crazy Guy will get the idea that you’re not who he thinks you are.”

A wave of sweat and fear rolls over my whole body. No doubt I’m no match for these two muscular guys. I generally am a big fan of men touching me, but I really don’t want to get beat up.

Ivan 2 laughs, “You know I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Ivan 1 smiles, “You know I know that.”

Okay. An image comes to my mind that I wish I could erase. Or maybe be a part of.

Ivan 1 says, “I have an idea and you don’t have much choice but to trust us and play along. We happen to have a few free hours before this evening’s appointments so instead of an extended dinner break, we’re gonna have some fun with this. We won’t call the cops, but you shouldn’t get off completely unpunished. We’ll see to your punishment.” He winks at his partner who is already grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

Ivan 2 says, “You are going to learn all about the art of reflexology. Our clients are almost exclusively women, so this will be a nice change of pace for us.”

I swallow, “What is reflexology?”

“It is a form of therapy that uses pressure points along your feet to reduce stress and improve health in your whole body,” says Ivan 1. “But in order to prove to your crazy friend that you are not who and what he thinks you are, we will have to expand our efforts to include much more of your body than just your feet.”

“Umm, maybe we can skip the feet altogether? I’m super ticklish.”

“Just on your feet?”

Fuck. Maybe we should revisit them beating the shit out of me. That might be the better choice.

Ivan 2 says, “There is no back door out of here. You’re leaving will involve getting past that guy one way or another. You are completely in our hands. Literally.”

Ivan 1 unlocks the door and Crazy Guy bursts inside. “We don’t have much time. The Hulk was seen by a plane full of people before disappearing into the city yesterday. There is no way the National Register hasn’t been notified yet. Jack McGee is surely on his way.”

Ivan and Ivan are trying hard not to laugh. “He claims he’s not David Banner,” says Ivan 1.

“That’s because I haven’t earned his trust yet. He’s wrongfully wanted for two murders he didn’t commit. That lab explosion was not his fault. Besides, he is one of the two people they think he killed.”

Ivan 2 says to Ivan 1, “Do you know why the producers of the show changed his name from Bruce Banner to David Banner?”

“They thought the name Bruce sounded too gay.”

“I’m serious. You’d think they’d embrace it. If they think gay men aren’t tuning in each week to see an average good looking guy rip out of his clothes and transform into a muscular beast on screen, they’re crazy. They should lean into it and play to their base.”

Crazy Guy is confused, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but time is short here.”

Ivan 1 asks, “What is your name?”

“Jim, what if we can prove to you that this guy is not David Banner? Will you leave him alone and let him go on with his life?”

Jim sighs, “He won’t take off his mask. I already asked. And you can’t force it off him or he’ll get angry and we don’t want that.”

Ivan 2 plays along, “No, we certainly don’t. Hey, Jim. When David turned into The Hulk while flying that plane yesterday, he busted out of his shirt, but somehow his pants stayed on. How do you explain that?”

Jim says, “Your tight t-shirts have way less room than your baggy sweatpants.”

“He’s got you there,” Ivan 1 sticks Ivan 2 with an elbow as he chortles.

“Plus,” Jim continues, “the upper body expands much more than the trunk. It just works out.”

“I wish that just once it wouldn’t,” says Ivan 2. “I would kill to see that big naked green ass.”

Or that naked green cock, I think to myself.

Ivan 1 says, “What I want to know, John – I mean, David – is what did you do when you changed back to you? You ran away from the plane as The Hulk, leaving your duffle bag of clothes behind. Wherever you were when you transformed back, you were shirtless and barefoot with nothing. What did you do?”

I look to the Answer Man, Crazy Jim, but he looks back at me like he’s stumped. He wants to know the answer to the question too. For a moment, I feel bad for him. He’s gonna learn soon enough that I am not Doctor David Banner, but maybe I can delay his disappointment just a little while longer. What could I have done running through Denver half naked and alone? Shit. I don’t know. The writers on the show cheat and only show us what’s convenient. Since this is all fiction anyway, why can’t I cheat too? I can. I’ll make up whatever the fuck I want.

“When I came to, I was in the backroom of a men’s clothing store. I took this shirt off a shelf and found these old boots and jacket by the receiving dock. I left a twenty dollar bill on the desk as payment.”

“Nicely played,” says Ivan 1, tipping an imaginary cap my way.

Jim seems satisfied too. Maybe I should become a television writer for my next career.

Ivan 2 redirects to Jim, “So, if he isn’t David Banner, you’ll leave him alone?”

“Well, yeah. But you’ll have to really prove it to me. Without making him angry or hurting him.”

Ivan 1 grins, “We’re gonna make him the opposite of angry.” He winks at me.

My jacket is off and I’m lying on my back on one of the massage tables. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I’m extra sensitive to tickling. This is going to be pure torture.

Ivan 1 explains to Jim that if I’m laughing, I’m happy, not angry. So, if I release my mask and lower my arms, I’m basically giving Jim permission to remove it and I won’t hulk out. While Ivan 1 and Jim are occupied in this conversation, I whisper to Ivan 2, “You know I can’t let the mask come off.”

He replies simply, “Then don’t let go. No matter what we put you through.” He makes it clear to me that if they are to ultimately let me walk free without calling the cops, then punishing me for the attempted robbery – my can opener stunt – is a task that has fallen to them, and they will not take their responsibility lightly.

Letting Crazy Jimmy see my face is not an option, so I have to persevere through whatever The Ivans have in store for me. I can’t drop my hands.

“Okay, fine. Let’s suppose I maintain my grip on my mask throughout this extra special reflexology session and I maintain my anonymity. How does that prove to Jim that I am not David Banner? Why will he let me go?”

Ivan 2 whispers something to Ivan 1 eliciting a diabolical smile and a nod. “We have a plan.”

“And I have no choice but to trust you.” It’s a statement of resignation, not a question.

I guess we’re ready. The Ivans each pull up a stool and they sit chest-level to my feet. I’m already anxious and twitchy. They push up my pant legs and begin to untie my battered and worn work boots. They are taking their time, going all slow and methodical, already enjoying this way too much. They loosen my laces and the boots slide off.

Ivan 2 bends back the tongue of the boot and says, “Size 10. Hey, it was really lucky that the boots you found in the storeroom of that shop were your size. That’s a pretty big coincidence. Funny how that worked out.”

“I’ve been nothing but lucky all day,” I deadpan and The Ivans chuckle at that.

Jim says, “It’s not that lucky. Size 10 is average for adult men. Odds were it would have been close.”

I don’t want to know why he knows this. My tube socks are clinging to my sensitive feet as a lone and feeble layer of defense. The thin fabric isn’t as white as it once was. Something tells me that reflexology is not performed through socks and my feet are about to be stripped naked. Ivan 1 hooks his fingers underneath while Ivan 2 grips the bunched fabric at my toes and pulls. In both cases, it’s a slow peel. Like carefully unwrapping delicate presents.

Ivan 1 asks, “Where did the socks come from?”

Isn’t whatever torture they have in mind for me enough? Why try to trip me up with these games too? I glare at him, “They were stuffed inside the boots.”

“Convenient,” he replies.

“I thought so too,” I glare at him.

Jim does not have a stool. He is standing at the ready by my head. I dare not let go of my mask.

My socks are off and I can feel the eyes of the room on my bare, exposed feet. The skin is damp and the air of the room feels cool. No one has touched me yet but I shiver. There is a tray of odd looking wooden tools next to Ivan 2, but they are ignored. For now. They each wrap a strong, meaty paw around a foot and even though I saw it coming, I jolt from the touch.

Jim says, “Wait. I know a little about reflexology.”

The Ivans sigh in unison. “You seem to know at least a little about most things,” Ivan 1 says with fading patience.

“Aren’t you supposed to wash his feet before you begin?”

Ivan 2 says, “Usually we would. This is a special case. We aren’t giving a traditional treatment today. Washing his feet first would desensitize them. We need him to be as sensitive as possible to prove our point.”

Jim isn’t so sure, “This is highly irregular. Plus, his feet are a little smelly. I’m getting it all the way up here. It’s got to be even worse for the two of you right up in there.”

I blush under my mask. Why did I wear the boots today instead of my sneakers? Maybe my foul funk will ultimately shorten whatever routine The Ivans have planned.

Ivan 1 says, “Remember, Jim. These aren’t his own boots or socks. This odor is not his fault. Plus,” he buries his nose in my toes and inhales deeply, “this is a nice change of pace for us. I told you, our regular clients are all women. I find his manly scent refreshing.”

I giggle from his mustache on my foot and Jim seems ready to move on. He tells me, “Reflexology is generally performed without the use of oils or lotions. You can expect a lot of pressure and friction.”

Ivan 2 doesn’t want to be left out, so breathes in my left foot and lets out an exaggerated, “Ahhhh” sound. I giggle again. He observes, “For a guy who finds himself running around barefoot frequently, your feet are in nice shape. Smooth and blemish free. Pinkish, bulbous toes, well-trimmed nails, not too much hair. No callouses… Pretty nice. And we should know. Our job involves hours of feet every day.”

They each commence with a gentle stroking up and down my soles. I realize that this is nothing compared to what’s to come, but I’m already on the brink of thrashing myself right off of this table. Realizing just how sensitive I am, they each reach under the table and unroll Velcro straps. Within seconds, my legs are secured to the table by the unyielding bindings of my tormentors.

And then they really begin. Fingernails slowly scrape up my arches and I laugh like I haven’t laughed in ages. Thumbs and knuckles press and prod all over my average size ten feet. My two sensitive, naked and bound feet are no match for those four strong hands. My feet are captive victims as every square inch gets teased and tormented. I am literally screaming and trouncing as my tears soak my ski mask.

It has to have been at least fifteen minutes before they finally ease up and I catch a break. I honestly think I was close to blacking out.

Ivan 1 says, “What do you think, Jim? Surely David Banner would have hulked out by now.”

Jim looks skeptical. “But it’s like you said before. This wasn’t pain or anger. It was the opposite. He was laughing.”

Ivan 2 grins, “I was hoping the show wouldn’t end so soon. Now we’re going to slowly transition extreme pleasure into excruciating pain.”

“But you can’t—”

“Jim!” Ivan 2 cuts him off. “Trust me. We’ll all be safe and you’ll have the proof you need.”

They pull their chairs up next to me on opposite sides of the table. They begin methodically unbuttoning my flannel shirt. There’s nothing I can do about it. My feet are still strapped down and don’t dare let go of my mask. All three of them stare down at my exposed chest and stomach. My nipples firm up.

Ivan 1 asks, “Jim, does this look like the same shirtless body when The Hulk turns back into David Banner?”

“I can’t tell. I think so? Average build, in his thirties, not much body hair, I guess the innie belly button looks the same. I never seem to get a good look at David before his next shirt is back on.”

“I know, right?” asks Ivan 2. “It’s like they use up their shirtless quota on the muscly guy and the regular guy is always covered.”

Ivan 1 asks, “Doesn’t Bill Bixby have a little scar right here?” He drags a finger along the right side of my navel and I twist and giggle.

Ivan 2 says, “Or is it on this side?” and he drags his finger along the left side of my navel. I flinch the other way.

Jim asks, “Again, who is Bill Bixby?”

The Ivans sigh in unison. “Never mind,” one of them says.

“Let’s get him ready.”

They start stroking and caressing my chest and belly. My skin blossoms with goosebumps and my nipples get even tighter still. This is not a tickle torture, like my poor feet went through, so I’m not surprised when I notice that my cock is coming to life. The Ivans are making me tingle all over. When Ivan 1 glides his fingertips in swiping motions across my lower abdomen from side to side, my sensitive belly bounces and quivers as my breath turns choppy. At the same time, Ivan 2 goes at my nipples and I can’t help but moan. My dick is now raging against its denim barrier.