Early preview of A Summer in the Farm: Part II, chapter XI; The arm wrestling! (Patreon)

Kyle's back at The Corral, diving headfirst into the biker den with Mick and his wild gang! This time? They're playing big boys' games. Our big boy, Kyle throws down in an arm wrestling match against Hank, an old Army veteran. Kyle, all raw power, youthful hurricane, and defiant enthusiasm against Hank, with its hardened experience and iron discipline. This pulse-pounding showdown is just the warm-up. Later chapters bring even crazier challenges – eating contests that go HUGE, and other insane games you won't see coming.

Mick said, “Well, dude, how about some arm wrestling to show us that he-man strength?”

“Arm wrestling, huh? I’m in!” Kyle answered without thinking twice. He downed the rest of his beer, then slammed the mug down on the table and growled, “So, where do we start?” eager to get going.

Mick put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Mind giving this grandpa a shot?” he said, nodding toward Hank. “He’s won several arm wrestling competitions, though.”

Kyle glanced at Hank, who already had a smirk on his face. Kyle said, “Alright, bring it on, grandpa! Let’s see if the legends are true.” Then he reached out for a handshake.

Hank clasped Kyle’s hand firmly, “Time to show what you’re made of, city boy!”

Mick chuckled, "Hank, you might have to make way for the new generation today ...", he said while they were still shaking hands in a hard grip. The biker stood up and called out to the rest of the group, "Alright, everyone, get ready; the arm wrestling match is about to begin!"

Chairs scraped back, and boots thudded on the wooden floor as the crowd of bikers eagerly murmured and dragged tables away from the center of the bar to leave just one for the contest. In the middle of that buzz of anticipation, Mark slapped Kyle on the back and pumped his fist, “C’mon, beast, crush him! You’ve got this! Tear that table apart!”

Kyle rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers, “I´m gonna retire him from the arm wrestling world, bro. You´ll see!”

Then, Kyle felt little fingers softly resting on his thick forearm. He looked down, met Jeremy’s smile, and read on his lips through the tumult around, “You’re the world’s strongest man, Kyle.”

Kyle took a deep, swelling breath as he smiled at Jeremy, like his friend´s encouragement filled his chest with determination and energy, and then breathed out with satisfaction.

Once the table was ready, in the middle of a circle of bikers—and even many of the regulars—Kyle sat down as Hank took off his army jacket, locking eyes with him, watching for any reaction to his now-exposed corded biceps, thicker than any other part of his muscular frame, clearly visible beneath his black tank top. Kyle’s face didn’t change; he just planted his elbow on the table and said, “I’m ready!”

Hank pulled out his chair and sat down opposite Kyle, firmly gripping his hand as their forearms tensed, locked in place without breaking eye contact. Just then, Mick stepped forward, raising his voice to cut through the uproar of the crowd.  

“Alright, fellas, clean match—elbows on the table, hands locked, no lifting from the seat. First to pin the other’s hand wins. I’ll count you in.” Mick briefly placed his hand over theirs to steady the grip, then pulled back, “Three… two… one… go!”