“Why don’t you go ahead and undress, big man? Lemme see what you’re working with,” Annie said with a blush and a giggle. Buck tore his clothes off, and his giant manhood unfurled. Annie stopped giggling, and she let out a groan of excitement. “Ooh, that’s nice and hefty.” She took a deep drink from her cup of creme de menthe.
“He heavy as hell, baby,” Lem said. “He’ll crush you. Lemme go first. I ain’t gonna break you apart.”
“Neither will I! I is real gentle, ma’am,” Buck said. He bent over and plowed his massive tongue all the way into her pussy. Lem dropped his briefs and raced to thwack his dick on Buck’s tongue, leaving a layer of precum dripping from his lip to her clit. “Get off me, Lem, that’s gross!”
“No fighting, boys,” Annie said. She let out a well-rehearsed moan, then patted Buck on the mullet. His hair was wet and smelled like the brothel’s shampoo. He looked up, face and beard moist with her pussyjuice, tongue still lapping at her womanhood. “C’mon up here, Buck, lemme see your dick.”
From Buck the Roughneck
But Vinnie just grabbed Nathan by the back of the head and slammed him face-first into his armpit — he’d been doing push-ups in front of the stove to be sure it was real sweaty; his undershirt was sopping wet by now, and sweat dripped in rivulets down the small of his back. Greg and two other employees stood and watched, smirking with vicarious disgust at first, then gradually laughing.
It took Nathan a moment to even realize what had happened. His nose was squashed into the coarse black hairs, as dense as a jungle and just as moist, and bracingly salty sweat slipped into his mouth. It was so astringent Nathan squealed and squirmed, but Vinnie kept a tight grip on the back of his head.
“C’mon, baby, suck it clean!” Vinnie said with a whoop and a holler. He beamed like he really enjoyed this — which he kind of did; after years of people — even other greasy guidos like himself — making fun of his hairy, sweaty body, he had decided to lean into it. Especially working in front of a hot stove all day, he had no choice but to be “the gross, hairy, sweaty guy”.
From The Redneck Ex-Con
Dale and Poahi wore their togs under trousers, and Poahi wore leggings below that. They came to the beach in big puffy coats. It was, of course, deserted. Wind-swept waves battered the beach, and the sun beat down on the sand, adding bright light but not a mote of heat.
They brought tarps too. So did Keith and the other dudes in the 504 Crew. They arranged the tarps over the top and openings of the showerhouse on the beach, then they put lawnchairs in, turned on the hot water and rolled some joints. Heat from the hot water was trapped in the showers by the tarps. The heat reacted with the cold to create a billowing cloud of steam that stayed beneath the tarps.
So that was the annual beach sauna tradition. They sat in the heat, drank beer from an ice-filled cooler and smoked joints, had a real-man korero and, eventually, if they got drunk enough, they’d go for a brief swim before scurrying back into the warm sauna.
That was a tradition Poahi loved. He wished the others would quiet — it seemed meditative, Poahi thought. It should be meditative. The steam was relaxing. If this were a Maori tradition, it would have a spiritual side. People would be silent mostly, interrupting it with an occasional waiata. But Americans do not have a spiritual side, and they simply chatted and drank beer and dared each other to enter the freezing cold ocean.
From Poahi the Lackey
Benji and Dwight both groaned and sighed. Dwight’s turn was next, so after taking a deep steam-filled breath, he said, “Dare.”
Marshall smiled. “Put your face in Benji’s armpit for a full minute.” He was gonna add ‘without puking’, but Benji cackled in his big-ass baritone way, and Dwight groaned. Benji was big and hairy for a twenty-year-old, which was cuz he was part-Egyptian, supposedly, that was what Marshall heard. His chest was coated in black fur, and his ass and the small of his back and his arms and thighs and even his shoulders were hairy too. His armpits made him look like he was smuggling skunks.
To his credit, Dwight did it, and Marshall ain’t even gotta make him — as a team captain, he had the right to do that. A man’s gotta do what he’s committed to, even if it’s just a game of truth or dare. Dwight rammed his face into Benji’s sweat-silkened armpit hair, and a ferocious retch came outta him.
“Ooh-“
“Don’t pull away, don’t pull away. One. Two. Three.” Marshall stopped counting cuz he laughed at the frenzied wriggling of Dwight.
“Ewww — ihh — ell — ell — eye — -iiiiiht!” That last word was ‘shit’, for sure, but neither them caught the resta what Dwight said. Salty sweat trickled into Dwight’s mouth, and he gagged again.
There was no clock in there — and this was decades before cell phones, mind you — clocks was still expensive then — so Marshall had no way of measuring a full minute. He laughed too hard to count off. In any case, it wasn’t manly to niggle, so he didn’t complain when Dwight pulled off and spat up like a cat with a hairball, even though it was probably less than a full minute.
In any case, before Dwight had even stopped gagging, Benji grinned and tousled Dwight’s hair. He said, “Dare.”
“Ewhck, man, ewhck,” Dwight said. He picked an armpit hair outta his mouth. “You are so nasty, Benji.”
Benji’s big round cheeks blushed. He shrugged. “It was Marshall’s dare.” Then Benji repeated himself. “I said dare, c’mon, Dwight.”
Dwight had to regain his composure still. He wiped sweat off with both hands, not that it had much effect — Dwight’s hands were sweaty too. Everything in here was sweaty. Dwight looked at Marshall, who sat there with his cock sticking to his thighs. Dwight grinned.
From Marshall the Coach
So he thought he was well-suited to win Boner Loses. That was a game wherein the player (Willie) stood still while another player (usually someone who had lost a bet, in this case Haruto Amasuzi) had to put his dick in his mouth.
“Do it!”
“Oh, nasty, he’s really doing it!”
“You can lick it if you want, Haruto!”
Haruto just kneeled and winced and gagged before letting Willie’s limp dick flop onto his tongue. Haruto gagged again as he felt wiry pubic hair rub against his cheek and his tongue.
The object of the game was not to get hard. If Willie got an erection, he was required to lick Haruto’s dick. That was it, that was the whole game, just don’t get a boner. When the older cadets had first explained it to Willie, he thought it was beyond stupid. He thought no one would ever play that “game”.
From Boot Camp
The bartender was trying to break up the fight, so Banner reached behind the bar for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two shots (each of which were really doubles, and fat doubles at that). “Come on, let’s do a brüderschaft on this.”
Lance didn’t know what that meant — and the German unnerved him — but he followed along. Banner had Lance’s thin arm interlock with his softball-sized biceps, as though they were chorus line dancers facing in opposite directions. Lance felt another surge of sexual thrill at being so close to Banner’s tattooed biceps. The warmth of his body heat suffused into Lance’s flesh. Then Banner lifted his shot glass to Lance’s lips, and Lance did likewise. With their arms interlocked, they both swallowed each other’s shots, and Banner laughed as the harshness of the straight whiskey brought tears to Lance’s eyes.
From The Abilene Alpha
Lem been suggesting they ‘trade off’ — that meant they both slurp upon each other’s knobs. It sounded narsty to Buck. He’d rather jack his own self off. Buck done made it clear he don’t admire to do that. He don’t wanna taste Lem’s old-homeboy dick. Lem steady went on ’bout it, slapping his limpness ‘tween his ropy thighs.
Supposably, black boys be doing it in prison.
“T’ain’t no thang, Buckums! You just gotsta focus on yo’ own meat steada yo’ mouf! You eat pussy! Ain’t no d’rent dan eatin’ pussy!” Lem don’t eat pussy. He do say it demeans a nigga. Buck’ll lick a female, no problem. Buck got no compinktions ’bout a pussy.
If’n Lem gets drunk ’nuff, he will lick a bitch’s asshole. Buck don’t get that, but he don’t question the ways of crazy old black men. It’s a personal rule, and it do serve him well.
As Lem went on and on like some crackhead’s crackhead uncle, Buck began his workout. He did push-ups, counting hisself off, and his broad shoulders sweated out, wafting his manhood into they dead-end. Eventually he dropped off his jeans and continued his push-ups in his drawers. He weared tight-whites, his asshair peeking round the frayed edges. The fabric was soaked up by the small of his back and his taint, wet ’nuff to be transparent.
“You stink, hillbilly,” Lem said with a harsh-eyed glare when Buck done finisht his push-ups. Buck ain’t respond. He just rested upon his belly ’til he was ready, then he rolled o’er onto his back, his drawers’s poucha fat balls jiggling to a rest ‘tween his legs. Lem put out a frown. “Sweaty whiteboys smell like a closet of ham.”
From Buck on Bottom
He knew culo was ass. He done pick up on that. What was a hombrito culo?
Much to his surprise, one of those Mexicans mounted Sazonito, who situated a pillow under his belly, near his crotch, like it was a plastic pussy and he was gonna fuck it. The pillow propped up his ass at an angle.
That angle also made his asscheeks separate enough that Cody caught another strong whiff of his masculine aroma, joined by the scent of the other Mexican who got behind him. He kneeled behind Sazonito, lining his cock up with Sazonito’s ass.
Cody sucked in his breath. Was this normal? Was he gonna stick his dick in Sazonito’s ass?
It was Nelson who mounted Sazonito. Nelson was the oldest in the apartment. He was wiry and short, wrinkled but powerfully built, like a dehydrated weightlifter. He mounted Sazonito’s massively muscled body from behind and slid his limp cock into Sazonito’s asscrack.
“Aaaah…” Cody’s eyes opened wide. What the sam hill was going on? What Mexican craziness was this? He wanna stand and jump up and down — if he was surrounded by his own kind, that’s what he would do.
But the Mexicans were all treating this as normal, and Cody didn’t want to look like a squeamish, giddy anglo.
As far as Cody knew, no man who went to prison would bare his ass, raised up like that! And Sazonito was just doing it! Letting Nelson get in position to stick it in him! Cody still weren’t even sure that cornholing was a real thing, and apparently it was just happening, easy as pancakes!
“!Ay ay!”
Sazonito’s asscrack was warm and slightly wet with sweat, and the butthairs gave a little friction, it seemed. Nelson humped Sazonito’s buttcrack while watching the teevee screen, and he used both hands to squeeze Sazonito’s meaty cheeks against each other, his wrinkled old knob in between ’em.
It took Cody a few seconds to realize that’s what a hombrito culo was — not cornholing, it was just humping the buttcrack. It must be a prison thing. Or a Mexican thing, since they all knew about it but weren’t all ex-cons. Or maybe it was a Latin Kings thing.
From Roommates in the Dark
“Yo, nigga, what the fuck?!” Lem said. He turned to Buck. “Yo, Buck, you see that?”
“Nah, ya bony asshole was in my way,” Buck said. “What happened?”
Lem darted to where Kareem shivered and stood, his hands at his sides as he was doubled over and gasping, shivering violently. His light brown body gleamed with ice-cold shower water. He faced the wall, so all Lem and Buck could see was his smooth buttcheeks. He didn’t see Lem come up behind him and twirl him around so his back was to the wall. “Yo, nigga, Kareem, what’s up wit’cha dick?”
Kareem blushed and tried to cover himself again with both hands, but he was shivering so bad it hurt, and his teeth chattered so hard he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stand still. Lem batted his hands away. Buck burst into uproarious laughter when he saw.
There was no penis.
Or maybe there was? Buck didn’t see it at all at first, then stepped closer.
Yep, it was a micropenis. It was a a fleck of flesh. “Yo, buddy, you — you just cold, right?” Buck furrowed his brow. “He prolly just cold, Lem.”
“It’s fine, it’s…” Kareem took a deep breath. He couldn’t get warm, and he felt like he was getting colder even though he was out of the water. The whole showering area was freezing quickly because of all the cold water. Lem and Buck weren’t worried because it would be like a sauna when the hot water turned on imminently.
“That ain’t normal shrinkage,” Lem said. He went to the shower and jutted his crotch into the water. He had a serious look on his face until he touched the water, then he laughed and howled. Even knowing the cold water was coming, he still was shocked by the iciness of it, and he danced in place. He showed his dong off to Buck. “See? It only shrink a little.” He pointed to Kareem. “He got little-boy dick. How old is you?”
“I’m eighteen!” Kareem said. “It’s normal! My doctor says it’s fine.” His cheeks were bright red.
“That ain’t fine,” Buck said. “You can’t even get that in a pussy, you know. Ya dick is littler than pussy lips.” He got closer to Kareem and slapped his hand out of the way.
Kareem’s weiner was fingernail-length, and his balls were shrunken — that was indeed just shrinkage from the shower water, as Kareem’s balls were normal-sized. He panted and jumped up and down, still freezing from the water evaporating off his skin. The floor felt like ice.
“Hhhhhnnnnn!” Kareem tried to both warm up and cover his crotch, but Buck kept slapping his hand away.
“I think he might be one of them hermaphorodities,” Lem said. He got up real close to Kareem and cupped his balls and dick in one hand. “Like that ain’t a dick, it’s a clit. He got balls in place of a actual pussy.”
“Really?” Buck said.
“No!”
“Is that a thing?” Buck came closer too, and he even got on his knees to inspect Kareem’s dick more closely.
“No!”
“Yeah-huh, I seen a article ’bout it,” Lem said. The showering area was beginning to fill with steam as the water turned warm finally. “Hey, you you got a pussy I can fuck?”
Kareem tried to get away but slipped and landed on the floor on his ass. Before he knew it, he was pinned by Lem’s knees, and Lem’s big black dick was in his face. “Get off me!”
“Shut up, Buck!” Cody grinned and jumped off the top bunk onto Buck’s shoulders, as Buck, still naked, was reaching for his foot powder. “Let’s wrassle!” Cody tried to sit on Buck’s shoulders, but he was still wet, and Cody slipped down to clutch him piggyback. Cody wore sweatpants and a heavy shirt, but his feet was bare and dug into Buck’s side as he tried to keep a stable hold on his wet flesh. The jostling made Buck’s jigglesome schlong sling back and forth.
“Is the Salisbury steak good?” Buck said, foot powder in hand, with Cody climbing on his back. Cody gripped his head and squealed as he almost fell. His feet pummeled Buck’s moist back, attempting to keep a tight hold.
Kax flared his nostrils. “No. Is it evah?” He looked up from his manga to see Cody climbing Buck’s back like a mountain. Buck waggled his dick — he was going to apply foot powder to his balls, so he was handling his junk, but Cody’s jostling made him stop to avoid spilling the foot powder.
“It’s okay sometimes, I had it good before. My grandmoms used to make good Salisbury steak,” Buck said. He ignored Cody wrestling with him from behind. They used to wrestle for real, when they was both the same size. Then Buck kept growing. So now when they “wrestled”, Buck basically ain’t participate. Cody tried to do pro-wrestling moves to his boulder-like buddy, and Buck gamely let him.
“Only good thing they make is here the tacos. And the chicken nuggets is okay,” Kax said. He put down his manga and laid on his side to face Buck and Cody. He got a comb sticking outta his afro, and he looked stoned, though it wasn’t clear if that was a perpetual expression or if he was managing to smoke weed on the downlow in here.
“Oooooooh, man, dawgie, shit, I can eat me some chicken nuggets. I could eat a mountain of chicken nuggets,” Buck said. He gestured with one arm to show how big the mountain of chicken nuggets could be, as Cody gripped him by the neck and trampled his back with his bare feet. Buck held his carton of foot powder in his hand, so every time Cody kicked him, white powder puffed out the top. “I was in Maryland State awhile back, man, they got chicken nuggets that was good as hell, you wouldn’t even believe it-“
“Got you, Buck!” Cody said. His tiny arm put Buck in a headlock, which ain’t slow Buck down at all. Buck got animated about prison food, and his hefty-lad voice boomed out, oblivious to Cody’s arm across his neck. “Got you in a double-headlock! You can’t get out of it! It’s impossible!”
“-better than McDonald’s, man, swear to God. But they ain’t barely give you none, you only get like four.” Buck held up four fingers on one hand, his other still holding his foot powder. Cody had one thin forearm around Buck’s neck. “And they ain’t big. So I was goin’ aftuh ’em in the kitchen, like sayin’ — there’s lotta little guys in there, right, they ain’t need all that. Some of ’em don’t even finish ’em!”
“I’m gonna suplex you, Buck,” Cody said. He pulled on Buck’s mullet. Buck ignored him, so Cody dropped to the floor and got himself in position to use his twiggy arms to pick up Buck’s massive frame. He even tried — his little muscles flexed as he pushed on Buck’s flesh — but he couldn’t even shove Buck much less pick him up. “Gonna smash you on the floor!”
“But this screwface say I can’t take ’em from the specs or he put me on light-time work detail, and I ain’t gonna get my early release,” Buck said, a hand gesture — fingers forming lenses in front of his eyes — indicating that ‘specs’ meant ‘guys wearing glasses’. Cody ascended Buck’s back again and pulled his hair while pretending to shiv him in the belly. “So I tol’ the kitchen feller, I oughta get more than four, y’know. My dick can eat four chicken nuggets, and it ain’t even got a mouth,” Buck said. Kax laughed.
“Did they give you any more?” Kax asked.
Buck shook his head, his shaggy mullet going back and forth. “Nah, the kitchen feller say he ain’t allowed ‘nless’n I get the doctor to say it, and the doctor, he don’t say it. He just gimme extra carrot stick. I’s like, carrots ain’t nevuh gonna fill me up, doc. You need-a gimme a whole carrot farm if you want me to stop askin’ for more. I bought buncha sardines in the commissary. Sardines is little, but they fills ya up.” Cody hugged Buck’s naked pecs from behind and shimmied him like a tree. “Ow, Cody, you pullin’ my chest hair out.”
Cody finally stopped wriggling, arms hugging Buck’s shoulders and riding him piggyback. “Put ya drawers on, Buck! Your dong is so ugly!”
“I’s tryin’-a put my drawers on, Cody! I gotta powder my balls first, but you keep pullin’ my hair ‘nd shit.” Buck swayed his body left and right, at first trying to shake Cody off him, then helicoptering his dick so it slapped his thighs.
Kax sat up. “Yo, they the same way here — you get five chicken nuggets. They pretty big. It ain’t that bad. The spaghetti is the bad one, oh dawg, it is awful, and it’s all sauce — sauce is mostly water — it’s basically tomato soup wit’ some noodles in it. They say it got meat, but I don’t taste no meat. Mostly water.” He paused. “You get bread though, with that one.”
The smell of medicinal foot powder filled the air as Buck dumped some out into the palm of one hand. A cloud of it spilled out. He stood on one foot to powder the other foot. “Man, is the doctor cool? I gotta get more foot powder, and the nurse tol’ me-“
“He puts it on his balls too!” Cody said, still riding Buck’s back and poking him in the ribs with his feet. His face was right next to Buck’s. “He uses so much, it’s crazy!”
Nostrils flaring, Buck said, “Yeah — Cody, get off me. I gotta — I can tell him ’bout my balls.”
“You talk soooo slow!” Cody said. He again pantomimed like he was stabbing Buck in the belly. Cody’s little arms could barely reach around his barrel chest. His feet was resting on Buck’s asscheeks, which was now dry enough he could clutch the skin with his toes. “Hey, Kax, we’re gonna brew some hooch. We need sugar and canned peaches and mashed-potato flakes and apple juice and a bucket and a funnel and sliced apples and baby carrots-“
“We don’t need all that, and shut the fuck up, Cody!” Buck said. “Don’t say that so loud.” He looked at Kax. “Are they strict about prison hooch here?”
Kax shook his head. “Nah. Officer Messypants will make you dump it out if he see it. Most of ’em don’t care though,” he said. “You can’t sell it to none of the Mexicans, or the Latin Kings’ll shank you.”
“Okay.” Buck lifted up his giant meaty dick so he could finally powder his balls, only for Cody to laugh and shake Buck’s back, making him spill all the powder on his hand. “Get off me, Cody!” Buck shook him off as Cody cackled. He dropped off Buck’s back and smacked Buck’s cuelows. He again moved as though to suplex Buck and slam him on the ground. Cody strained to pick up his giant buddy, who outweighed him by some two hundred pounds. Kax snickered at the sight, while Buck got his balls powdered.
“Lost it, Buck, got’cha,” said Jermaine. He was a muscle-bound homeboy, t’other muscle-man in the cell with Buck — the two them worked out loads. He been counting off Buck’s push-ups, and when Buck laughed, his push-ups missed the beat. Buck skipped one.
That meant Buck lost the game him and Jermaine played. One counted off, t’other did his workout. Whoever lost the rhythm lost the game. T’other could make him lose the beat by teasing, light punching, snubbing cigarettes out upon his back, that kinda thang. Punishment fer losing was nuttin’ really, sometimes teasing, light punches, snubbing cigarettes out upon the loser’s back, that kinda thang.
T’weren’t muchuva game.
Jermaine kicked Buck hard in the side, and Buck yelped. Then he stood up and scowled at Jermaine — the resta the cell was still laughing at Reggie Winner. “That don’t count, Jermaine. Li’l one distracted me-” He motioned to Reggie Winner, who be laughing and carrying on like a silly sally.
Or like a pengwin, they’s funny! Reggie Winner was funning up like a pengwin!
But his funning up was in t’other corner of the cell. Buck and Jermaine was sposedta focus on they push-ups.
With a shrug, Jermaine said, “You lost the beat. That’s the game, Buck.” He puffed upon his cigarette, then made liketa gutpunch Buck, and when Buck blistered and feinted, Jermaine snubbed his cigarette out on Buck’s bicep instead. “Got’cha-“
“Damn!” Buck yelp-laughed and grabbed fer Jermaine, who danced away.
Pitnutting was a common practice among some prison gangs. Buck done work out his inhibitions over that long time back. So this afternoon, when he and his work-crew was just about done, they got to chatting about females. Buck ain’t get lotta man-talk about ladies these days, since he be bunking up with Jeb the preacher’s boy.
So when he and Gooey got to daydreaming out loud, they both was hard in seconds. Gooey was Gui Tengku, Buck’s partner on the Valve Crew. The rest of the Crew was scattered around monitoring, repairing and cursing at the valves that kept the rig working.
Gooey was Malay, and he ain’t a big man. He was skinny by Buck’s standards but ripped, muscles so tight and taut they looked painful, and the trackmarks on his arms was big like pimples. He got a hardon and stuck it in Buck’s shirtless armpit with a big grin — he ain’t even know Buck was down. He just smiled with bloodshot eyes dull-glassed, as his cock humped its way in and out of Buck’s armpit hair. “Whatchoo doin’, Gooey?” Buck asked with a jagged-dagger laugh, watching Gooey’s pecker poke out his armpit. Eventually, in halting English, they negotiated, even as Gooey’s dick still rubbed precum into Buck’s armpit hair.
The agreement was that Gooey would hand over a dub of weed and that Buck would let him keep pitnutting until they contract was over. Neither communicated this well — Gooey thought Buck done promise to smoke the weed with him, while Buck thought it was a one-time transaction.
So they was gonna be steady disputating the details, but for now, both thought they was on the same page.
Then the rest of the Valve Crew showed up, and they all got to nutting on Buck’s back just like Gooey was doing when they walked in. There was Agebisu, the portly Ivorian with a French accent, a trio of hairy and truculent Turks, a older Uzbek with gray hair and a wrinkled face, and a gaggle of Canadians from the far North. Each one of ’em stuck they dicks in Buck’s armpit and shot they wad on Buck’s back.
He ain’t mind one bit. There ain’t no benefit to being squeamish, after all, and if’n Buck could negotiate some exchanges with all them, he got plenty outta it.
It’s just an armpit, he told himself. Lotta them fellers was stinky, but so was Buck. Gooey got a skinny dick, shooting a thin wad out Buck’s armpit. He was followed up by the stubbiest-dicked Turk. Buck know for a fact that Muslims always try and stick it in, so he was ready for it when that Turk rammed his cummy dick onto Buck’s mouth. Buck ain’t open up, and he punch that Turk mid-orgasm in the buttcheek — he gotta reach around his portly ass to get him good.
From Jeb the Farmboy
“This is my space too!” Lem said. “I don’t wanna live in ya pigsty!” He licked his teeth as Buck resumed doing pullups. “Don’t get all sweaty neithuh. You stink at night.”
“You stink at night! You smell like asphalt, old man,” Buck said with a grin. He was getting good at these pullups. It was more like a gymnast on the parallel bars than a traditional pullup, and he could feel it working his shoulders and his thighs real good. “Asphalt and menthol cigarettes. Why you smoke menthols anyway? Taste like toothpaste.” He did another pullup, angling his hairy feet towards Lem, who dodged them and took a drag on his cigarette.
“Bullshit! You a redneck hillbilly mothahfuckah! You got so much hair! Why can’t you shave nothing?”
“Just makes it grow back thicker,” Buck said. His biceps strained to keep him parallel to the ceiling, his feet now above Lem’s head. Buck placed one foot on Lem’s cornrows. His scalp was palpable and smooth beneath the coarse rows of silver-and-black hair. “Old black men with cornrows look ridiculous, Lem, you know that, right?”
“Shut the fuck up. What do you know about black hair?” Lem glared at the foot resting on his scalp, but he didn’t push it off. Buck’s balls dangled between his legs in front of Lem’s face.
“I know it ain’t nevuh been cool to got cornrows lookin’ like graverows. Ya scalp look like the cemetery you ’bout to move into, Lem-” He put both feet on Lem’s shoulders.
With both of Buck’s feet on his shoulders, his cock and balls were right in front of Lem’s face. Lem didn’t complain because Buck’s heavy feet weighed him down, and he didn’t want to look like he was unable to handle that. “I ain’t — ain’t nothin’ wrong with cornrows on a man who got some years — I ain’t gotta justify myself to some knuckle-headed honky who look like he too trashy for the trailer park.”
“What’s that mean? I am from a trailer park-“
“Figures. Ain’t nothin’ worse than white trash-” Lem stopped because Buck had used his feet on Lem’s shoulders to pull him closer. Still dangling from the pull-up bar, Buck had his ankles on Lem’s shoulders, holding him in place as Buck humped the air to make his dick flop forward — he was trying to slap Lem on the head with his dong. Lem still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of complaining about the weight on his shoulders.
“What’s so bad about trailer parks? I like mine. It’s called Smashwood,” Buck said. He got enough momentum to angle his body and angle Lem’s too, a little closer, and that was enough for his fatty pecker to land on Lem’s forehead.
From Buck the Roughneck
“You feelin’ okay about ya work, Igo?” Lem asked once they got into it. He had a bottle of wine in hand — he kept wine in a cold box outside their heated area and saved it for special occasions. He drank from it, then pushed it upon Igo. “I seen you keepin’ up with them in the shovel room.”
“It is hard work! My shoulders are very tired,” Igo said. He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting, Igo thought — as Lem’s foot ventured to it and Lem picked it up with his toes. He tried gripping the skin on the top of it, but he couldn’t get it up more than a few inches before it slipped out.
“Yeah, man, shovelwork is fuckin’ awful,” Lem said. His eyes were trained on his toes trying to pick up Buck’s shaft. “I did that on my first contract. You nevuh done shovelwork, Buck?”
Buck shook his head. “When I gots here-” He paused as Lem almost got his dick up with his toes, then it slipped out of his foot-grasp again. “Mistuh Chow said he ain’t want me doin’ shovel stuff on account of my ass bein’ tall and big and shit, and he say he need tall guys in the access chamber, and plus I prolly get hit in the head wit’ them shovels.”
“Oh yeah, yeah, they hit me couple times, hurts like hell,” Lem said. He was focused on picking up Buck’s dick with his toes, which distracted him from what he was saying. “And you… taller ‘an me… Buckums.”
Igo couldn’t tear his eyes away from that. Buck’s dong jiggled like jello as Lem slowly perfected curling his toes around the skin atop it. He finally got it up, slowly, gripping the skin tightly. Buck and Igo both sucked in their breath, Buck exuberantly but Igo with shock and disgust.
Lem finally had it up as high as he could, and then he made to sort of bump it in the air — making Igo shy away — and move his foot to the underside of it, so it landed like a flabby sausage on the top of his off-brown foot.
All three cheered, as all three realized they had gotten distracted from the game. Buck and Lem held cards in their hands, and more were spread out on the blanket in front of them.
Lem didn’t keep Buck’s dong on his foot. The whole reason he had started doing that was to see if he could get his foot close to Buck’s balls, so he could yell “balltap!” and kick him in the cojones. He did so and got Buck harder than he meant to. Buck yowled in pain and laughed, leaning back and gripping his balls to protect them from his foot.
“Owwwww, fuck, Lem, fuck-!” He kicked in the direction of Lem but didn’t really aim it. In this tiny space, it was hard to miss, but it was only a glancing blow to the meat of Lem’s hip, as he twisted away. “Makin’ my… balls achin’! Aw, fuck!”
Buck jumped up, and his dick flopped near Igo’s face. He backed off quietly. Buck paced in the tiny space — he could only take a few steps back and forth — as he held his sore balls. “Ow, shit! Lem, I nevuh hit ya balls that hard!”
Lem laughed. “I ain’t mean it, I ain’t mean to hit ’em that hard-” He held his hands up then went back to protecting his own balls. “Don’t — I ain’t mean to-“
“Fuck!” Buck roared and stamped his feet.
“I ain’t mean to kick that hard, sorry, sorry,” Lem said. He was still laughing too hard to sound genuine. “I ain’t mean to.” Then he did a horsey version of Buck’s Appalachian drawl. “Leeeeehm-uh, you’s mayahkin’ muh bawwwhhhls buh ayahkin! Ayahkin!”
“I don’t say it like that-! Fuck you, Lem!”
“Mah baaaaaaawwwhls iz ayahkin like baaaayahkin-“
Buck was laughing too now, as the pain in his balls eased. He had to admit that was funny — he had a comedic soft spot for guys getting hit in the balls. He still held them in his hand, his dong still dangling free. He bent over a little, realizing only too late that that put his hairy ass near Igo’s face. “Oh, my bad, Igo-“
“Shove somethin’ in there, Igo!” Lem said with a howl. “Just grab whatevuh you got ovuh there. He always used ta put his ass in my face till I jammed a handheld radio in his booty.” He made a little psst sound. “Went right up there. Nevuh came out.”
From Buck the Roughneck
Buck and that white guy kept talking, but Teddy couldn’t pay attention to their words. There were so many men around, and so much to see. Teddy would have been terrified if he was alone — that was why he showered by himself in his own building, which was not as trashy as Smashwood.
Two naked men were beating up a third in one corner, their cocks flopping about. Nobody even watched as though that was normal. Teddy kept an eye out for cocks as big as Buck’s, but didn’t see any. A lot of them were big though, bigger than Teddy for sure and bigger than most men.
Two black guys in the changing area were jacking off! Teddy craned his head to watch, hoping nobody realized what he was looking at. The black men were crowded around something, presumably a magazine, and they kept aiming their dicks at each other. They were laughing, teasing each other — trying to jab their cocks into each other’s ballsacs hard enough to hurt, it seemed. Teddy wondered if he could go over there and join in.
Before he could ask Buck though, some other guy, a ropy-muscled middle-aged man with a balding head and wrinkled muscles, shouted something incomprehensible at the opening into the showering area that Teddy, Buck and the other white guy were in. The balding man leaned back a little, aiming his cock into the showering area and slightly upward, so that when he started pissing, he got a big arc.
And he was spraying his piss over all of the men in the shower. There was a torrent of laughter and shouting, and one man advanced on him as though to fight, only to get a huge spray of piss all over his chest and dangling dick.
From Aroused by Ex-Cons
They was working they hardons in the melon game. That means they stand in a circle in the buff and stick they dick in a melon — supposed to be a gourd, but they ain’t easy to find — or sometimes a acorn squash. Each of ’em be hanging a gourd on they cock and the last one to keep it impaled on they stiffy wins, so whoever lose they stiffy get disqualified.
Malcolm stood there with his massive knob swinging free, the at-risk young men sneaking giggles at it. His pecker was wrinkled and well-worn, unlike their smooth rods, concealed right now by melons. Malcolm let his manhood flop between his thighs as he looked down on the lot of ’em. “This ain’t just horseplay, ya silly winkles. This goes back to Africa. It’s a tradition that’s gone down the line through ya ancestors. It’s important. It connects you with ya heritage,” he said. The young men all looked up at him, their slim little bodies gleaming with sweat in the overheated locker room. They was all snickering gigglepusses today, and they looked like frightened fringes in the dingy, cramped room — this was the locker and shower for the halfway home in the church basement. They could smell the iron-hard convicts who came through this place. It stank of mildew and men in here.
He held up a pantyhose. He stretched it out so you could see it had a couple holes in it, and makeup was applied around the holes to give it a look like a human face — mascara around the eyeholes, lipstick around the mouth, blush on the cheeks. “This is the mask. Those of you who’ve worked here before know how it works. You can explain it to the newboots.”
It wasn’t until that night, after lights-out, that Lem explained how the mask worked. If you put the pantyhose on, people could pay to ramrod you up the poop-chute or in the mouth. Standard payment was a full flask of liquor. You “couldn’t tell” who was wearing the mask — really, you could, even if you couldn’t see their face, cuz there was height and weight and tattoos and hair — they all showered together, there wasn’t any hiding who it was.
But it was a rule, Lem said, that every fool on the rig gotta pretend they ain’t recognize whoever wear the mask. You was sposedta call him “Sheila” and pretend you was making sweet love to Sheila’s pussy.
It was not until a few days later that Lem revealed the mask didn’t gotta be a choice. If somebody could force it on you, you had to do it just the same. The rule was that you could plow whoever wore the mask, if you paid the price of a flask — that was it, don’t matter if the masker was begging you to stop or even if the masker managed to take it off before you were done. If the Sheila did get it off, then that “you gotta pretend you don’t know who it was” rule got cancelled — you could call that man a bitch for the resta his life.
So mostly, nobody fought it. If you could force the mask on someone and then get your dick in their butthole, they were better off keeping the mask on.
He showered with his teammates and his ROTCmates. That was always awkward at first and even later. But they played around, snapped towels at each other’s asses, tried to fart on each other, competed to piss the furthest distance in the shower, talked about girls — horseplay, basically.
Can’t do horseplay with a grandfather. Coach Walker might not have been a grandfather, Chadwin had no idea. But he was old enough he could be, which was weird enough.
One of the Chadwin’s squadmates in the ROTC was a couple years older, and he was already out of boot camp. He said his drill sergeant came in and showered with his barrack cuz they kept getting in trouble for playing around, making a mess, squirting dandruff shampoo on each other and wasting time. He said his drill sergeant had a fat old wrinkly dick that was hard not to stare out, but they’d get shouted at for being pansies if they got caught looking at it.
From Coachly Bonding
They had a game they called the Crack Game, which basically meant they tried to thwack each other with their dicks in the asscrack. It wasn’t even a real game, there was no way to win or lose, no points, no beginning, no end. Lamar panicked the first time one of those hairy hillbillies attempted at Laequan, ramming his cock between Lamar’s plump brown cheeks — half the reason he had never joined a gang was that people had been telling him since he was a boy that his ass was too perfect for prison.
From The Boss
