hundredand's blog

Ever wonder what all that talk was about Mr. Dix in my first story? Well, here it is, more Jason getting his gut handed to him by a more experienced man:

I absolutely hated Mr. Dix. The history teacher and football coach would never cut me a break, even now that I was on the verge of failing. I really REALLY needed this credit to graduate; otherwise I could kiss my summer goodbye to summer school. At 18, this was probably the last summer I’d have to myself before I got kicked out.

I now stood in this reviled teacher's room after school, the empty classroom eerily quiet as I begged Mr. Dix for some extra credit. The teacher was being especially smug today and it took everything in my power not to punch him in his stupid-ass face.

"Sorry Jason, but I can't give you special treatment. You should have thought of failing every time you didn't turn in your homework. Don't expect that you can slack off and just make it up later, Jason."

I grit my teeth at the word buddy, but he was right. I often spent my time either sleeping or lounging on the couch watching wrestling. I had to try, though, but begging to this fucking asshole was almost unbearable. I stare at the glass paperweight on his desk, a glass ball with an attached handle, watching the light refract and reflect off it. I swallow my pride for a moment, then open my mouth again,

"Please, I just need a-"

"Quiet, I don't wanna hear it. You missed your chance. For once accept some responsibility."
So that was it, my graduation was botched and now I'm heading to summer school. I deflate and slump my shoulders, defeated. Without saying another word, I turn towards the door.

"Oh, and Jason?"

I look back, a little hopeful.

He grins his shit-eating grin at me, "have a nice summer."

I'm not sure what came over me in that moment, but I suddenly lost control. I promptly turned to face him, drew back my fist, and threw it at his face. He obviously wasn't expecting it, but he was fast...too fast. He moved his head quickly to the side, then with casual ease he reaches his arm out from his chair, grasps the front of my shirt, and plows his other fist into my belly.

Now, I had never really been hit in the stomach before. Sure, I'd have moments playing sports where the ball might get me, or take a stray elbow and get my wind knocked out or something...but this, this was a full on concentrated attack straight into the spot above my navel. The fist plows in with ease, pressing past my unflexed abs and deep into my innards. I suppose saying abs might give you the wrong idea. Sure, I had visible muscle on my stomach, but it started to get hazy around my navel where I had collected a bit of pudge from laying around so much. I wasn't fat, but I was a little husky. Anyways, the fist that was currently traveling through my insides was meeting little resistance before it finally had to, as it felt like it had met my spine. I was actually pressed up to my toes for a moment.

He withdrew the punch almost as quickly as he delivered it before I could even finish the incredibly loud "OOOOOOOOOFH!" I practically yelled into the air. Saliva flew from my lips as I stared in shock at his still grinning face, then I crumpled, my forehead hitting his desk as I bent forward, hugging my aching belly. I dimly heard him get up from his chair, walking behind me and closing the door. I clutch the desk with one hand and turn to look at him, my other hand still holding my gut.

"Wh-wha-urghhh..."

I try to ask what he's doing, or what the hell just happened, but I hadn't quite yet recovered my wind. He grins back at me, holding his hands apart. "Jason, do you know what you just did? You just took a swing at a teacher, they could put you in jail for that, you know?"

I grimace back at him, finally straightening up while still rubbing my middle. "I-I didn't mean-"

"Ah!" he holds up a finger, "I won't report you. I mean, as long as you're willing to back up what you just did. You obviously thought you could seriously take me. At least that's what I assume, considering you just threw a punch at my face. Whaddya say we have ourselves a little match. If you win, I'll let you have your extra credit, you lose, you don't get any, and you go to summer school. Either way, I won't report what you just did, deal?"

I stare at him, eyebrows raised. Was I dreaming? What the hell was going on? Sure, I'd love to kick Dix's ass any other time, but this was a bit strange. I feel a little determination rise up in my chest. He'd always been calling me out on my noncommittal attitude, now was my chance to prove him wrong. I walk towards him, forcing my hand off my gut as I stand several feet away. I size him up a bit. He's a good deal bigger than I am, around 6"3' 200lbs. I myself was around 5"9' 185lbs, so he had some weight and height on me.

"Alright, sure, I'll play your little game. Just know that that was a lucky shot."

Mr. Dix just chuckles and pulls off his dorky sweater...revealing a pair of surprisingly thick biceps underneath his tank top. No wonder his punch had hurt so bad. I'm a little intimidated now, but there's no way I can back down. Feeling like it was expected, I pull off my shirt as well, taking off my snapback. My bare torso comes into view. I had moved pipes all summer for my grandpa's farm, so my biceps were pretty damn big and could get huge when I flexed. As for my chest it was decently broad and muscled. My stomach was wide and somewhat thick, both from muscle and a little fat. The abs were quite visible toward the top, but became fainter around my belt-line. I notice Dix's smug eyes lingering there and I flex my abs to look a bit more solid.

"What are you looking at, you gonna come at me, or what?" I say in a strained voice from the flexing. He points at my belly, to the area above my navel. I look down, spotting the red knuckle marks from his earlier punch.

"You sure you wanna do this, kid? That didn't take much effort."

I bristle at being called kid and start making my way towards him. "Shut up and get your fists up, teach,” I practically growl at him. I had had enough of this asshole. As soon as I reach him I swing my fist up at his chin. Once again, he's much faster than I'm expecting and he just leans back, my fist sailing past the front of his face. His fist comes up quickly, snapping up under my chin. My head bobs up and I let out a grunt before I punch straight at his head this time. He ducks, my fist sailing over his head before-

"Oop! Uup!"

My cheeks puff up slightly twice as I feel his knuckles slap into my gut, my fists still high. On the second blow he holds his knuckles against my bare belly, as if testing the consistency. In reaction I flex against the fist and glance down, giving my teacher a glare.

"Little tender down here, are we?" He gives me another one of his smiles and a shove, forcing me to stumble back a few steps.

"Shut up!" I rasp out. I force myself not to grab my stomach again and instead run straight at him, hoping to catch him off guard. He quickly sidesteps my spear attempt and smacks my face as I run by. I flinch and stumble again before feeling him grab me by the shoulders and haul me up to face him. I immediately try to bring up my fists again, forgetting what seemed to be becoming his favorite target...

WUMP!

"Oooooomph!"

I freeze, eyes wide, staring up into Mr. Dix's calm face, the air that had just escaped my lungs blowing his hair back a bit. He was crouched down slightly, having pumped in a heavy uppercut between my elbows. Slowly, I follow his heavily muscled and bulging arm down all the way to his fist, well, if I could see the fist. Most of it was obscured by my belly flesh, though I at least knew it was lodged somewhere in the pit of my belly. Although I had somewhat flexed, he had hit me so hard he had practically obliterated my abs. I croaked loudly at him which earns me a chuckle. He had managed to punch his fist in then up, trapping me and my guts in place and putting me on tiptoes.

"Hehe, you're slow, kid. Your gut’s pretty soft when you’re not ready.”

I think he's teasing me and as he lectures me he gives his fist a slight pump, squelching my guts further into my ribcage. I freeze up, then, as if invisible strings have been cut, I fold to Dix's will. My abs wrap around his knuckles, then close around his wrist as I dangle there, the pressure on my poor stomach only increasing. His entire fist and wrist are folded into my middle made possible by my thickness. Dix doesn't seem to be having any trouble holding me up, patting my back with his other hand as I moan and groan over his fist.

"I'll let you back out now, if you want. I know this can't feel good at all..."

My stomach heaves against his punch as I angrily gather my wits, flexing as hard as I can, pushing his fist out a bit with my abs before shoving away from him, managing to get off his fist. I double immediately, both hands clasping my tortured belly. The skin is getting a reddish hue at this point and it's actually hurting just to flex. I stare at the ground, a bit of saliva dripping to the carpet as I hear Dix commenting on my abs again. I can't really hear him over the ache in my body, so I continue to massage myself, realizing how soft my stomach was when it wasn’t flexed. I try to come up with a new plan. This guy was good, way better than I thought he was gonna be. He was trained in some kind of fighting style, I was sure, and here I was coming at him like a pro-wrestler. I needed to be a bit more forward, try some fisticuffs.

He's walked right up to me at this point, and I use this moment to come up with an uppercut at his own stomach, but my fist just bounces off...painfully. I gasp in shock; it felt like I had just hit a wall. I get another laugh from the asshole before I watch six rapid punches thud into my core, concentrating them all on my lower belly. I swear he was using my navel as a bullseye as I watch it disappear under his flurry of fists.

"Oof! Ooof! Mmph! Ugh!"

I run out of wind after the fourth blow and only a thud followed by silence accompanies the last two. He stops and looks at my face, which was etched with winded agony, before thudding his fist one last time right below my navel, right on my beltline. I huff and fold over like paper, but he steps in and my forehead instead comes to rest on his bulky shoulder.

"Tired?" He asks me sarcastically, patting my back. He withdraws the fist, and instead of another punch like I expected, he just presses his palm into my heaving belly, over my navel. I grunt in response, "oof!" his hand sinking in a bit before I have the right of mind to flex against the pressing, pushing my stomach back out a little.

"Hehe, so you can be solid when you want to, boy, you just need to learn how."

He gives my tender gut a squeeze, forcing a little choking gasp of surprise from my maw, “Gough!?” Then he withdraws it and slams a huge palm strike into my center, his hand spread over the entirety of my belly. I'm flexed and ready, but air still whistles out my nose as I back away, trying to keep straight as I see Dix coming at me again. He swings first this time, at my cheek. I lean back and I feel his fist brush my nose, wind rushing past as well. I grit my teeth and set my jaw. Hell, if I was going down, I might as well land at least one blow.

I swing at his head, but he easily ducks, pumping in a fist to my hunched belly, landing it with a smack.

"Oof!"

I recover and try to throw another, this time at his jaw. He leans to the side this time, then comes back with an uppercut to my navel.

"Uuugh!"

I lurch forward and try to throw a headbutt into his chin, he moves back with me, tapping my solar plexus with his middle knuckle.

"Huugf!"

I deflate and slump down, shoulder in my teachers stomach as I rest against him, letting out long groans of pain.

"Hehe, quiet down, kid, you're gonna let the janitor hear you with that racket."

At this point my face is about as red as my stomach. I had been humiliated and I was prepared to take everything back. With a yell, I push forward and slam Mr. Dix against the desk. I actually feel my shoulder sink in a bit as his back hits the metal, and I hear his lungs deflate from the impact. I grin fiercely, pulling back and letting the teacher fold down in front of me off the desk. I hold him by the shoulders as he hunches over in front of me, arms cradled under his belly. MY confidence skyrockets.

"HA! Looks like I finally got you, Dix! Hold on, this will only take a second, get ready to say goodni-HOOOOOOOOMPH!"

My eyes bug out and my lips purse, cheeks puffed out as a gush of air and spit fly from my mouth as something very cold, very round, and very heavy slams up into my unprepared belly. My feet actually lift from the carpet for a split second. My eyes slowly look down and I discover the glass paperweight globe planted firmly above my navel, the handle clutched in both hands by Mr. Dix. He must have grabbed it off his desk when he landed against it. He looks up at me and gives a shove, forcing my gut to practically swallow the thing whole, lifting my feet off the ground once again. "Ooooough...." I respond, this time more quietly, my guts crunching up under my ribcage.

"Didn't see that coming, did ya?" Mr. Dix says, standing up straight while still holding his battering ram in my breadbasket. “I’ve been a football coach for the past five years; you should know I’m trained to pick out kids’ weaknesses. If you hadn’t quit so early on in the season maybe I would have had you improve these sorry excuses for abs you got here.”

I stare up at him as he stands over me, seeing double as my eyes cross from the pressing. He laughs at my ridiculous cross-eyed and drooling expression and lectures me some more as he puts a hand on my shoulder, folding me over the globe.

"What's the matter, got a bellyache? I'm surprised you challenged me with such a soft spot.” He’s practically holding me up with the paperweight now, my abs soft and useless around it.

“You don't have the guts-" He presses it in again, forcing a loud 'Hurk!' out of my mouth, "to stand up to me!" He pulls the thing out of my guts, allowing my bowled in belly to fill back out, a giant circular print above my navel.

I heave and gag, about to vomit, the small lunch I had churning inside me, trying to fill my chest and belly back up with air…which seemed unlikely considering the massive belly-buster he had just given me. He steps back and holds me up, grinning. "See you in summer school, kid. Did I tell you I was teaching that?"

I can barely hear him over the agony in my midriff, he doesn't seem to care. With a final smirk of victory, he swings the globe into my belly, landing it with a loud splat into my soft abs and I fold forward, completely concealing the paperweight in my midsection as I go down. I passed out at that point, no air left in me as I curl around the cool glass, arms around my gut as I lay on the ground, his method of victory buried deep in the pit of my being.

I like writing gut punching stories, usually with a father/son dynamic. They're completely unrealstic and extreme, but that's why it's a fantasy. Hope to find others into this kind of thing.

About two weeks had passed since the beating I received in my history class. Right now, all my friends were taking their ceremonious walk across the stage, taking their pictures with their fake diplomas. Right now, I was sitting on the couch, guzzling down my third beer.

Fuck this, seriously, fuck this. I should be done with school right now, if it wasn't for goddamned Mr. Dix....I dented the empty can I was holding as I thought about him. Looking over the bent metal, I reached a conclusion. Dix may have beaten me one time, but if I was able to challenge him again, take him down a few notches, he might let me pass the class without doing anything. I got up quickly, heading down into the basement where our makeshift gym was.

So my dad is a former MMA fighter, well, more of just a brawler, really. He had done a some underground cage fighting and had actually done pretty well It made him enough money to help him through college, at least. He liked it enough that he had a ring installed a few years ago to spar with his buddies. It was next to this that I found him, thumping his meaty fists into a sandbag. My dad is a big guy, about 6'2” 280lbs. Quite a bit bigger than my 5"9' 185lbs. Most of his weight was due to the bulging gut that stuck past his waistband, but could also be attributed to his big arms and legs which both bulged with muscle. I swallowed before calling out to him.

“Hey, dad.”

“Son,” my dad responded with a grunt, still working the bag.

“Um, I was wondering if you wanted to show me some fighting moves, just to help me out when me and my friends...uh...tussle.”

I couldn't tell him about the humiliating match I had with Dix, that could lead to all kinds of trouble. But dad looks back at me with a grin. His flushed cheeks and bleary eyes tell me he's drunk, and judging by the twelve cans of beer on the weight bench, he's really drunk. I hesitate as he rolls into the ring, slapping the ground as an indication that I should do the same. My dad wasn't a violent drunk, but I didn't know how it would go if he was given the chance to be.

“Come on son, I've always wanted to do this, why didn't you ask me sooner?”

I get up into the ring slowly. Dammit, he was too excited for me to back out. Oh well, just had to focus, this was about me learning, after all. I straighten up in front of him, my eyes level with his chin. He looks down at me with that stupid grin of his, pushing his big knuckles against my chin affectionately.

“You ever fought before, son?”

I look back at him, the corners of my mouth twitching as I try not to smile. “A bit, but I'm not very good.”

“Well, let's see if we can fix that, take your shirt off.”

I hesitate a second before I comply, about to leave myself in just my jean shorts and a belt. The bruises had healed by this time, but the slight gut I had made me self-conscious in front of my dad, he hadn't seen me shirtless in a while. Sure enough, as I lifted the shirt over my eyes-

“Little early to start on a paunch, eh son?”

I feel his fingers pinch the fat around my navel and my cheeks turn red as I nudge him away with my elbow.

“Hey, I had to bulk up for football. I was a defensive back, remember?” And a pretty damn good one, I fail to add.

My dad raises his eyebrows, but shrugs, “Meh, I suppose it's in the genes, not that bad anyways, I can still see your abs. Just a little bulgy, hehe.”

I glare at him, putting my hands on my hips, “You gonna teach me how to fight, or not?”

“Well, first of all, I wanna see how you fight. If it's a street fight anything goes, anything to put your opponent down. If I was fighting you...” He looks over my bulky form, and by that I mean just my gut, “ I'd immediately go for the keg.”

He jabs at my stomach with his right fist, his knuckles slapping dully against my bare belly. I whoofh softly at the unexpected blow, hands going from hips to middle. I bend forward a bit, grimacing. My dad stares for a second, then starts laughing.

“Really!? I barely hit you! are those even abs? Hahaha!”

I clench my teeth, anger building in my chest. Without warning, I lunge forward at him...I'm not even sure what I was trying to accomplish, I sort of just threw my chest forward in a burst of frustration and I realize that if I had landed, it would have been a sort of chest bump/head butt, which would have done jack shit considering my dad's size and weight, but the thing is, I didn't land....

Wump!

With a sort of lumbering gait, my dad steps towards me and loops a heavy, deep uppercut into my oncoming breadbasket.

My cheeks puff out in an air-chuffing 'hoohooomph!' sound as my stomach first meets the fist, lets the fist sink in, then folds over it; a familiar feeling. Though it seems to try it's best, my tank isn't quite able to swallow the fist whole, as Mr. Dix seemed to so easily make it do. Dix had pretty normal sized fists, my dad on the other hand had hams that were abnormally fucking large; I could feel the expanse between middle knuckles to top knuckles stretch from my navel to just under my ribcage. But I had the gut-wrenching feeling that with just a little more power he would be able to put it to the wrist, what with the help of my thick body and if he could catch me completely unprepared.... And believe you me, he could put out that power. His bicep was right in front of my bleary eyes, flexing just slightly under my considerable weight. He may be a lot slower, but my dad's stature allowed for much more powerful attacks.

“Oof,” my dad grunted in sympathy, looking me over with raised eyebrows, “gotcha good, eh son?”

I open my maw but only manage a small gurgle in response. My knees had gone completely weak at that point and I was slumped fully over his fist.

“Sorry boy, but you just kinda flopped your paunch on my fist, what was I supposed to do?”

Not put you fist there? I wanted to respond, but I'm too busy trying to push off his bicep with my hands, my guts gurgling in protest. Dad smirks at this.

“Been indulging in my cabinets, son? Looks like we might be able to turn this into a disciplinary lesson as well!” He exclaims as he feels the beer slosh against his knuckles. I finally manage to shove myself away from him, gasping as my diaphragm finally kicked in again. I stumble back and lean forward, one hand on my knee, the other clutching my middle.

“Let's keep going, I think I'm beginning to understand what's wrong with your fighting technique.”

He doesn't give me a chance to recover rushing at me like a bull. I choke in surprise and straighten back up, throwing an awkward chop at his shoulder as he approached. My dad shrugged that off easily, smirking.

“First problem, you don't know how to hit, you threw that with the limpest wrist I've ever seen.”

He pushes that arm up so high I'm lifted to my toes then steps in closer to me, putting my bicep close to our heads for inspection.

“You got good arms, but they're useless in a fight if you don't know how to use 'em. Try throwing something more stiff, like this!”

What follows is a heavy and incredibly stiff left uppercut. Because I was pretty much helpless at the time, my dad has a lot of time to set it up, stepping forward on one foot and looping in a slow, but thunderingly powerful punch. Right as his fist connects he lets go of my wrist, ensuring that my belly was stretched out and proudly presented to receive what was to come.

“Hoooouullph!”

The blow sinks in deep, real deep, the fist landing just below my navel and continuing to sink in so that my belly button, along with the trail of dark hair under it, elongates and dips into the sink-hole that my father had formed in my flesh, fat, abs, and organs. In my subconsciousness, I realize that although the punch was extremely hard, it didn't knock me back at all, in fact it seemed I just sort of melted onto his fist. Unlike Dix, whose punches were quick and almost stung, my father had a way of just powering past my abs with slow determination, sending vibrations through my insides and shaking me to my core. The punch angles up after a moment, pushing everything in my belly up towards my chest, crunching my stomach organ as well. A split second later, I finally react, my abs tightening around the fist in a too-late attempt to protect my insides.

“Second of all, you don't seem to be able to tense on time, felt like I got half-way to your back bone before ya did, and that's not gonna do you any good! Also, notice I targeted your lower gut, seems to be the softest part of ya.”

In the meantime I'm staring at his stern face, my eyes bugging out and drool pooling in my mouth as I feel the beer roil around in my crushed stomach. He suddenly pulls his ham out of my center, but I hold my own position, still starting wide-eyed. He looks at me, then at my stomach and suddenly laughs, crouching down. My eyes slowly swivel down to see what he's looking at. He's pointing at a bowl-shaped indent in my gut, my soft stomach having retained his fist's shape as I had flexed after the blow and continued flexing. I didn’t see what was so funny, but my dad sure seemed to enjoy it.

“Hahaha! Looks like I put a crater in your paunch, son! Think it'll ever come out? Hehehe!”

I have time to feel a little indignant before I finally chuff out, muscles relaxing as my diaphragm releases its spasm. I fall forward at the same time, but my dad is there to catch me. Having still had his eyes on my front porch he didn't miss the change in its consistency; he tight, indented muscle suddenly turning into a puffed out globe of flesh as I took in a massive breath. Not wanting to miss his chance, he smoothly, but firmly thwumps his massive hand into my inflated belly. He puts his other hand on my shoulder and continues the motion, angling the palm upwards so that I'm sort of bent over it, intent on flattening my stomach again.

“Huuuuffffffhhhhhh”

The only sound is air leaving my lungs as it's literally pushed out of me. The blow wasn't harsh enough to really paralyze my diaphragm like the previous one, but his all-encompassing hand really left no room for air to hide in my poor belly. Once I stopped making sounds similar to that of a deflating tire...literally a spare tire, I suppose...he stops and we both stare at the image of his hairy hand pressed deeply into my center, in between both sides of my ribcage which were jutting out quite a ways past his hand. He slowly relieves pressure, chuckling as that same hand begins to make massaging motions.

“Breathe, son, that's another thing we need to work on. You stand there gaping like a fish out of water for way too long.”

My head droops forward and my chest leans into his upper arm. My shaky knees gratefully bend and relax, though I'm a bit concerned due to the fact that he's got my entire gut in the palm of his hand. His fingertips actually dip a few centimeters under the waistband of my boxers, resting against the edge of my fat line, and the heel of his palm ending right at the edge of my sternum.

He continues to work my entire belly, kneading the muscle and fat until he feels my stomach relax again, feeling the first breath inflate my midriff.

“There ya go, now wh-”

He pauses, suddenly feeling a gurgle deep in my pit. I feel it too and the next thing I know I'm heaving myself off his hand then stumbling haphazardly toward the metal bucket at the side of the ring before retching mightily into it, all the beer I had drunk in the past hour pouring out. I remember wondering where three can-fulls had room to go in my belly when a hand of that size was pressed so deeply into it...I guess upwards.

I sense my dad is in silent mirth as I finish up, wiping my mouth with the rag next to it. Once again, I had been completely humiliated. I stared down at my bulging stomach, which had now taken on a pinkish hue. Stupid thing, it was its fault I was getting my ass beat. With my dad drunk like this, he wasn't teaching me anything. I glare at the bucket,

“Alright...ugh...you had your fun, I'm going back upstairs.”

As I shift to move out of the ring, I hear thundering footsteps behind me. I roll over from my hands and knees, my back against the corner post, slightly reclined in a sitting position. The first thing I see is my dad in a lunging position, a grin on his face, belying his age with the leap he had just taken. Then I see his fist, pointed out like a comet, headed for...you guessed it...my slightly bulging, reclined stomach, looking as vulnerable as ever, the abs visibly relaxed.

Shloooomp!

My stomach takes it in sloppily, his fist punching into my core without any resistance. Air I had just recovered builds up behind my lips, inflating my cheeks before the pressure is too much and I expel my wind. It happens in such a way that my lips flap, making a raspberry pbbbbttt sound. That gets an even bigger smile from dad.

Then, we both watch in mutual fascination and surprise as my belly first takes in his knuckles, then further up the top of his hand and over the thumb underneath. Then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, my thick gut closes around his wrist. Hell, I didn't think it was possible, my dad's entire massive fist was able to fit between my ribs and my pelvis, guess it was the three cans of beer that were just preventing it earlier, now there was more room.

I look back up at my father and he looks back at me. He's looking a bit more sober now, the flush on his face more likely due to exertion rather than booze at this point. The loopy look he had earlier was replaced with a more disciplinary, but affectionate expression.

“Let's do this again tomorrow, I'll take it serious next time, alright?”

I, of course, can't respond, due to the fact that there's practically a bowling ball inside me, compressing my guts. I croak instead, eyes unfocused, seeing double.

“Though if you get into the beer again...you can expect a similar lesson. It adds to your paunch, you know. And since you're not a 'defensive back' anymore, you don't have any excuses Mr. Johnny Football.”

He gives his fist a little wiggle, shaking up my giblets. I lost track of the amount of time I had been pined to the post against my back, but that doesn't matter as I give a final hic! sound, my dad's smug face getting blurry before fading to black. Only then does he finally tug his fist from the embrace of my belly. My last thoughts are about how much I don't wanna train with my dad anymore, how much I'd actually just rather face Dix instead...