Sweaty Men

“Matos”

“Krotos”

“Jeremys”

“The three fucking parallel musketeers…” Maxwell thought, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to think.

Before him stood three young, muscular, beautiful, and bare-chested men – the type drenched in sweat all over their big and juicy muscles. Each carried a gigantic sword on their back and showed a proud smile as they announced their name, from the left one to the right one.

“Yeah… fucking parallel musketeers.” He thought with a desperate expression, sighing and emptying his lungs of all air.

A few minutes earlier, while Maxwell was doing air hula-hoop in front of the quest board to test the solidity of his hips, the three men approached and called out to him. Maxwell had turned slowly before jumping back at the sight of them. He wasn’t wrong to react like that – when you see three huge men approaching, it’s either to beat you up or…

“So… Matos… Krotos… and Jeremys? How can I help you?” Maxwell asked in a calm tone, puffing out his chest, trying to show that even without big muscles he could still be imposing.

The three of them looked at each other with a foolish air. After a nod, they all began moving, making the floor tremble under their heavy footsteps.

One took the center – legs tensed, arms raised on both sides, pectorals flexed, and chin raised proudly toward the sky. Jeremys was showing off his muscles, his red shorts threatening to tear and reveal the little bird at any moment – the button desperately trying to hold back the pressure, the last barrier between dignity and shame.

Matos and Krotos, respectively at the right and left of Jeremys, were down on one knee, flexing their muscles as well, pride glowing on their sweaty faces. Matos’ blue shorts and Krotos’ yellow ones looked as if they were crying for help.

“Help us, you say? Look at these muscles and the big swords on our backs! We don’t need help… but you… Yeah, you may have quite the athletic build, but with no weapon, not much muscles, and wearing these strange clothes, you won’t be able to do anything in the wild – especially if you want to be the next victim of this quest.” Jeremys said, his deep voice full of confidence.

“So you want me to join you and be the d’Artagnan of your stinky and sweaty team of super swordsmen?” Maxwell uttered, laughing awkwardly.

“How dare you insulting us? We’re offering you to join the way of the muscles – the very path the gods showed us and that we swore to follow until our deaths – and yet you insult us? It’s the path that has been chosen for you. We’re here to reveal it to you – you have to follow us! That’s fate!” Matos shouted angrily, while Jeremys and Krotos held him back from jumping at Maxwell.

Maxwell didn’t move an inch – just watched the scene. The three men whispered among themselves, occasionally glancing his way, but he couldn’t catch anything they said.

“Well… having people to move around freely in the city with would be a great thing, because I don’t know what I’ll face in this world. It’s not like the quest gives more information except for the place, the reward, and the strange title.”

Maxwell advanced toward them, stood on his tiptoes, and reach to Krotos’ shoulder. He gently tapped it, and they all stopped talking, turning to him.

“I might have been a little harsh… but your help would really be welcome! Do you still want me in?” Maxwell asked in the gentlest voice he could muster.

Their surprised looks quickly faded into strange, and mischievous smiles. Jeremys handed him a small emerald-colored dagger, inviting Maxwell to take it – so he did.

“Wait… you’re only wearing shorts without pockets, and the swords are in their sheaths, which are tied to your backs with ropes... so where did this dagger come from?” Maxwell asked, slightly alarmed.

They didn’t answer – instead they motioned for him to follow them outside.

“Wait… where… how?!”

A question better left unanswered.

He slipped the dagger into his pants pocket, which was just large enough to fit it.

As the men left the guild, Maxwell noticed that everyone around him had stopped chatting and drinking just to stare at the spectacle.

He rushed outside to join the group, only to see them mounting their horses and waiting silently – at least until they noticed Maxwell.

“We’ll discuss more at the place we’re staying. Starting tomorrow, we’ll train you and equip you… properly.” Jeremys said, staring at the confused Maxwell.

“We’ll make you one of us in no time!” Krotos added.

“Wait! One of us? Does that mean–?” Maxwell asked, panicked.

“You’ll earn the right to wear one of these beautiful shorts!” Matos shouted, laughing.

“Oh boy… My ass won’t fit inside these shorts.” Maxwell thought, swallowing hard at the sight of them.

“Get on behind me and hold tight. Our horses get a little violent when they start galloping.” Jeremys said, tapping the back of his horse to show Maxwell where to climb.

Maxwell did as he was told, and as soon as he was on, he quickly realized he couldn’t wrap his arms around Jeremys’ massive torso.

“His muscles are too big… ah, fuck it, I’ll hold onto his shorts. Come what may! If they tear, they tear!” He thought, gripping the fabric as if his life depended on it.

The horses began galloping through the alleys, dodging pedestrians in the middle of the road and carts of adventurers heading home as the sun began to fall.

“What made you want to help me, or even talk to me? I don’t exactly fit in with all those terrifying adventurers back there. So... why me?” Maxwell asked, the rushing wind whipping his hair.

“It’s not like we knew it’d be you. We were guided to you.” Jeremys replied. “It was the same with Matos when we met him – Krotos and I just felt like we were being pushed toward him, and he joined us instantly. That’s what you can call fate. We didn’t know anything about him or why, but that’s how it was. And look at us today – the perfect team!” He said, turning his head to offer Maxwell a smile.

“A path shown by the gods? Fate…? A semblance of choice when there's no choice at all...? It's strange...” Maxwell thought.

They stopped in front of a place called ‘Comin’inn’, as Maxwell read on the sign. The three sweaty men tied their horses to a wooden post in front of the building and placed their swords beside it, taking only a purse from the saddles before heading inside.

“Aren’t you scared someone will steal your swords?” Maxwell asked, a bit confused.

Krotos stopped halfway up the stairs to the entrance, signaling the others to continue without him.

“They won’t. Nobody would dare steal our swords. They’ll be here all night and in the exact same place tomorrow morning.” He answered seriously.

Maxwell felt a little embarrassed, like he’d asked the wrong question.

He then climbed the stairs and pushed the inn’s door open. Nobody was inside except few drunkards, the sweaty men, and one muscular old man behind the counter on the left, where Jeremys was giving him coins.

The old man looked at Maxwell up and down, a grin stretching across his face.

“Fresh meat, huh? You’re going to go at it with him all night?” The innkeeper asked loudly to Jeremys.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be as loud as last time. Just bear with it – fresh meat needs to be kneaded well to reveal its true potential.” Jeremys replied jokingly.

“By the way, what’s your name? We forgot to ask.” Matos said to Maxwell while heading toward a door to the right of the counter.

“Name’s... Maxwell.” He stammered.

As the men entered the room, Maxwell remained frozen in front of the door, head down, anxiety rising and eyes wide open.

“What’s going to happen to me inside? Nothing serious, right? I just misheard or misunderstood? Don’t worry, Maxwell! It’s a new world, a new life, a new way of living, a new way of understanding, a new way of seeing life – so maybe the words they’re saying don’t mean anything like what you think!” He panicked intently.

The innkeeper glanced at him and burst out laughing at the sight.

“Don't worry, they'll just lubricate your joints and help you get to know your body better than you ever have before!”