At the downtown gym, the group showers were small and cramped, with a central pillar spraying in every direction at once. The water was always a little colder than Carl liked, and the shower was lined with chipped cement and graffitied walls.
But the men…
That was where the young guys in the Riverside District worked out — they were young, mainly factory workers or dockworkers. Muscles, jaws, shoulders you just wanted to suck on like nipples. Carl had a big hardon whenever he was here — Carl wasn’t very good with women, but he got stiffies easily around men. He had to hide it at the gym, so he wore big billowy trackpants.
The other men at the Cornerside Gym wore shorts, mostly, except for a few who must have been making weight by working out in sweatpants and sweatshirts. Even they turned Carl on, their muscles bulging, roundly, asses prortruding like shelves against the fabric of their sweatpants.
Author: MNManmacker
How to make a fist
“Go’n, hit me. As hard as you can, go fer it, Simon, wit’ all ya might,” Buck said. His voice stayed jagged cuzza Simon jostling him up and down, back and forth. He bobbed and weaved with his body like he was boxing — Buck usedta be a amateur boxer — and pretended liketa dodge Simon’s strikes. He ain’t move away though, just kept letting Simon bag on him. “You gotsta put ya thumb on the outsidea ya fist,” Buck said, “Or you gonna break ya thumb.”
Readjusting his fist, Simon punched harder and harder. His shoulders ached, but he didn’t stop. His punches did slow down and get weaker though. Finally he got Buck right above the navel, which was nuff to make Buck grunt. His belly and pecs rippled. The punch ain’t hurt, it just hit right ‘tween breaths, and Buck threw his eyebrows way back. But he played it up to encourage Simon.
“Damn, Simon, you throw a firm fist fer a li’l feller!” Buck said with a whistle.
“I’m tired, Buck,” Simon said. He blushed. He didn’t move away though, he just stopped punching Buck’s chest and started groping it. Buck’s pecs rippled when Simon’s fingers gripped it tight like he wanna see how firm it was under the layer of padding Buck had. He was so tall Simon couldn’t reach past his shoulders. Simon’s hands crept into the hefty under-pec area, the sweaty crevice ‘neath his pectoral muscles, and Simon even stuck his nose under there and took a long deep sniff.
“A’ight, buddy,” Buck said with a shrug. He gently pushed Simon off his pecs, then sat down upon the edge of the bed. “Relax, relax, you don’t gotta…”
Simon nodded. Though Buck done move, Simon moved with him, and he was again caressing the curves of Buck’s powerful chest. “How’d you get so strong, Buck?”
Not muchuva game
“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.
Who knows what frotting is?
That’s called ‘frotting’. Kax don’t know it had a name, and he was surprised Buck knewed sump’in he don’t. Buck don’t got a reputation as a smarty-pants.
“Fuck you, Buckums!” Lem said and groaned. But he sat down, facing Buck, still holding Buck’s thirteen-inch dick in both hands. He flopped it left and right. He scooted closer and thwacked both his dick and Buck’s in both hands. They was both soft. Slightly hard but mostly soft. Maybe ten percent hard.
That’s called ‘frotting’. Kax don’t know it had a name, and he was surprised Buck knewed sump’in he don’t. Buck don’t got a reputation as a smarty-pants. But he knewed ’bout frotting — rubbing two dicks together til they both nut. Seemed pointless to Buck. It was just like jacking off, but less enjoyable, more time-consuming, messier and you get touched by a elderly homeboy who smell like he’s about ninety percent armpits.
But black boys in prison stay frotting. T’is like a eggplant salad in there. Kax be making faces like he wanna dispute that but can’t cuz Buck got facts and truth and testymonials and witnesses and Lem’s ugly pecker all vouching for its accuracy. Anywayhowwhatever, Lem be frotting his hardon with Buck’s softy, and Buck just endured it like a bored sausage. Lem be panting and huffing on Buck’s chest, complaining about the body hair — why he admireta frot a honky if’n he don’t like body hair? Homeboys do be like that.
Buck groaned and looked away. He picked up the safety manual. He liked the pitcher of the light-skinned gal showing off how to use the eyewarshing station. She was fully clothed but got a banging paira tits. He tried to ignore the feel of Lem’s narsty old-man hands stroking both dingdongs together. Buck’s dick stayed soft still, while Lem’s was gradually turning firm as hot marshmallows.
“Aww, yeah, lemme see that,” Lem said. Buck held it up so’s the lady with hydraulic fluid in her eyes could be seen by both them, while Lem stroked both they cocks together. Lem was badmouthing the idea of jacking off with the manual earlier. T’was why he paid fer the porno magazine.
The eyewarshing gal was purdier’an a’ry the porno ladies. But she was fully clothed in all the safety gear. Somehow she ain’t even get wet using that eyewarshing station.
Arthur takes a hit
Arthur sighed and nodded. He put down the weights and stood up, then took off his sweatshirt, even though the gym was cold now that it was empty. His chowder white chest was pale, and goosebumps dappled his arms. He flexed his pecs and abs.
Buck punched Arthur in the gut. Not that hard the first time, but hard nuff to make Arthur’s chest ripple.
“You okay?”
Arthur nodded. “I’m fine — I can fight, Buck. I can. Them glasses woulda-” He oomphed as Buck’s fist collided with his belly once more. “They woulda got broke if I fought that man too.”
“Uh-huh,” Buck said. Again, again and again, Buck punched him in the stomach. Then Buck paused to make sh’ore Arthur weren’t plussing. Arthur stayed still with his arms flexed, hands gripping each other behind his back. Arthur’s face was tense, his perfect six-pack ruddying up with each smack.
Arthur bit back a grunt. He stonefaced, as punch after punch landed upon his gut. Ruddy skin and blooming bruises spread o’er his midsection.
“A’ight, you done good,” Buck said when his shoulders begun to weary.
Then when Arthur took a breath and relaxed, Buck let loose as hard as he could, driving a fat fist into Arthur’s flat belly. Arthur oomphed that one down and doubled o’er, but he took it okay. Buck laughed, patted him on the back with one hand and twisted his nipple with t’other.
A prudent nigga
So Thumper walked all rappy-dapper, like his rickety walk was a gangsta lean, as he brought the other two to the back porch, where a sheet-curtained corner got a hole in the sheet and a nigga sticking his dick in that hole. That duckydoo nigga was moaning like a moist walrus when they got there, his voice breaking and him rabbit-ramming his crotch at the sheet.
His jiggly asscheeks was covered by his pants — he ain’t drop his pants, just undone the fly — a prudent nigga wouldn’t bare his butthole in a place like this — but that duckydoo nigga got giant meaty cheeks jiggling up a quake in them pants. “C’mon, swallow it, bitch, swallow, ah, fuck yeah… You slut…” he murmured with a sneer.
“There ain’t no pretty lady on the other side of that hole, Thump,” Jaekwel said when he and Deon added up what they was seeing and what Thumper done said. The ram-face nigga with his dick in the hole pulled it out, and his shaft gleamed with spit and droplets of his own nutjuice. He glanced over at Jaekwel and them like they was assholes for walking in here before he was done.From Thumper the Mover
Making bigger manhood
“He says if I rub our manhoods together, it will make mine bigger,” Faisal said.
That was another Arab idea Omar ain’t never cotton to but stopped arguing with. Lotta Muslims in prison did that — they thought rubbing dicks together made the smaller one bigger, like rubbing sticks to make a fire, shit, it was dumb. Conversely, they thought ramrodding a man made that man’s dick smaller and the ram’s bigger. That was also dumb.
But Omar wouldn’t say that now. Faisal’d tell Mister Alzam, and Omar would have to endure a lengthy lecture about how all that was in the Koran or something. Mister Alzam didn’t like to be contradicted.
And Omar was used to it anyway. More than a handful of pinkie-dicked Arabs had rubbed their peckers on his in that prison.
So he let Faisal hump his cock. Omar shrugged and grabbed another of the stack of flatbread. He smeared it into the olive oil and parsley sauce that came with it, and he, for the first time, tried to pay attention to the soccer game. The one team was beating the other one, 1-0.
His cock flopped like a sad baseball bat in Faisal’s hands. Faisal got hard easy enough — his dick worked, it was just small — like a baby carrot — but then he struggled to actually cum. His cock rubbed against the root of Omar’s dick, and the tip didn’t even extend halfway to the knob. Faisal held it upright with two fingers so it was firm enough to rub against.From Omar the Muslim
Not a Muslim lady
There was a sheet strung up on the side of one abandoned trailer. Most of the way down on the sheet was a hole. Omar had seen this before. The Vasquenzas had one in prison — it was called a gloryhole in English — the Vasquenzas made each of their new hombres work the gloryhole for one free-time block.
“There’s a whore on the other side. Not Muslim, it’s fine,” Mister Alzam said with a proud nod. He handed money to the burly man standing nearby, then he sniffled and approached the sheet. He unzipped his pants. His cock unfurled and dropped into the gloryhole. He gripped the sheet the best he could — it was stretched taut, so he couldn’t really hold onto it. There was no wall on the other side to grip onto.
He had that massive pubic bush, which made Omar both sneer in disgust and chuckle to himself. Arabs were so hairy, it was disgusting. They’re like people who never finished evolving outta gorillas. He stayed far away and faced the other direction. This was all some low-rent shit.From Omar the Muslim
The slurpy side
Buck ain’t axe what a gloryhole was, not even when he overheard a Portuguese feller exclaim how good the gloryhole on the rig was. Finally, Lem showed it to him one night, and he said there was a bootyful A-rab gal on t’other side of the hole drilled ‘tween two unused rooms. “She love dick, whiteboy,” Lem said. “That’s why she sign up fo’ it. Pay’s prolly good, reckon. But she love swallowin’ nuts. She wish she got jizz on tap.”
“Really? I ain’t think no guhls like cum,” Buck said. “H’ain’t it gross?” He eyed Lem suspicious-like. Lem got a crooked-serious face, like he was maybe funning. But t’other fellers on the rig all agreed it was a fine A-rab lady on her knees, not no fleshlight.
And it was the A-rabs on the rig who ran the gloryhole. A-rabs was way more likely to do it to a fleshlight ‘an a Muslim lady, Buck thought. So’n it must be a fleshlight. But t’other hand, they wouldn’t claim it was a A-rab lady if’n it wasn’t true, since that’d be shameful upon them Muslim cultures. So’n they’d only say it was a woman if’n it was.
In the end, that was what he settled on. He wouldn’t bet money it was a woman, but he guessed it was. Besides’n, he could talk to a woman as though she was real, and t’wouldn’t hurt nuttin’ if’n turned out to be a fleshlight. He invited her to come see him in his and Lem’s li’l home on the rig, but she ain’t ne’er come.
The weird thing was that Buck ne’er did see nobody come in or outta the gloryhole room — that’s the room on t’other side, where’n the purportory lady was on her knees. Lotta fellers came in and outta the hole side, but not the side with the lady. Even if’n it was a fleshlight, somebody gotsta go in and out.
Buck poked his head into the slurpy side once, during the day, and there wasn’t nuttin’ ‘t all in it ‘cept the ghosts of cigarettes. No fleshlight, no knee pads, no hijabis, no ashtray, no bucketful of nutjuice. Smelled of unfiltered cigarettes though. Later on, Buck’s buddy Lem started going in and outta the hole room. Lem said that he was allowed cuz the lady in there love black dick so much — Lem was black as charcoal, and he got a dick that was somehow even darker ‘an him.
Cody gets warm
Cody was plenty warm now, with his blankets and Buck’s, and his little feet resting in Buck’s crotch, he fell asleep in Buck’s arms. Once the prison staff got the heat back on, Cody was warm enough to take off most of his clothes in the night. It was the most comfortable sleep he’d had since he got here.
He woke up when something hard touched his legs. Cody ain’t realize what it was at first or why it had woken him up. His head rested on Buck’s forearm, and he smelled Buck’s armpit. He wrinkled his nose.
Buck was moving. His giant meaty hand caressed Cody’s chest.
“Hmmmmmmmmm… Looossshhy…” Buck murmured — that was his girlfriend’s name: Lucy.
Cody realized that hard thing rubbing on and between his thighs was Buck’s thirteen-inch peenga. It was hot, hard and wet with precum. Cody squirmed, but Buck was drunk and sleeping deeply.
“Buck, Buck, wake up,” Cody said.
He was just a bit too slow though. Buck blinked his eyes open and groaned like he was in pain, moments before his cock slammed between Cody’s legs. It jutted towards Cody’s own crotch. Creamy cum spurted up, coating Cody’s dick and his chest.
“Ew, Buck!”
“Sorry, buddy…” Buck said, bleary-eyed and yawnsome, but he ain’t stop. He kept humping Cody’s legs. “Sorry, I was-” He moaned into Cody’s ear as another cumwad spurted up onto Cody’s chest. “I was dreamin’-“