MN Manmacker's mansploitation
Slim Jay is a pimp.
The pimp was Slim Jay, and he was intensely masculine. He had a thick growly voice and broad shoulders, a muscular chest like a quarterback, cradled in a mustard-yellow suit with a bright purple hat and tie. He had a dense beard that was carefully trimmed.
Jaycee is a young man.
One of them stepped forward and wolf-whistled after her.
That was the one with the most masculine shape and face. He was Jaycee. He was tall, with short braids and a powerful body.
He was gloriously thick. That was why Teddy liked him. Teddy loved any man with a massive, incredible ass, and Jaycee’s was bigger and plumper than seemed possible. He was a naturally heavyset man but worked out enough to keep himself an imposing figure, not fat at all, just hefty and curved and chunky in all the right ways.
He turned around, aiming his ass at one of his buddies. His jeans sagged low, so about half of his asscheeks were covered by nothing more than yellow boxers.
Officer Dirtstache is a prison guard.
Officer Dirtstache was a big-body but short-height Mexican fellah with a bricky belly and a hairy beard, one them Mexican muscley niggas who look like they made of melted pringles cans, with a fleshy waist from drinking buncha Coors Light or something, Thumper knew the type. Got a hairy chest he shave too, prolly for wifey, and he do act like he think he’s a smiling-shoulder kinda Mexican, but really he was just another brassy-ass nigga. He kept the hair on his head clipped dead short. You could just tell he wanna be a cholo but gotta keep a clean look for his job.
From Thumper the Mover
Balaam is a young man. He is Senegalese, and his father is a dentist.
Balaam looked like a badger who thought he was better than all the other badgers. His face was cut by a skilled sculptor, and you could just tell he thought all the women was luvvy-duvvy over him and that he was right. He prolly looked at all them girlies like he got a hotter female round the corner. You could tell he got a glass jaw and he only looked tough to girls who never got touched by a real man. Balaam got nice teeth, white as possum bones and straight as stonehenge.
From Thumper the Mover
Scoot is an inmate.
Scoot was young and cute as a boot, looking like a nephew — you could just tell that nigga got uncles — and he sold crack like a rapper who was only doing it to show off. What attracted Thumper to him was that that nigga got a nice phat booty like a white bitch waiting to get fat, and it was intact as a unused rubber band straight outta the drawer. His smutty face was already busted-up when he got transferred to Thumper’s little slice of prison life — cuz he got a beatdown in his cell block.
His darkskin ass shined like a lightbulb in the shower that morning, and you know Thumper love a shiny nigga. Scoot was nice and tall too, almost as tall as Thumper, and his haggard face was sunken and swole-up from his beatdown. His booty was fixing a-burst outta them drawers too. He bin losing weight cuz he was smoking crack — he usedta be thick all over, but now his thickness lingered only on his pair of mahoganies. Looked like he put the ass from a bigger nigga atoppa his own ass. Scoot got nice broad shoulders, tattooed with Bible verses and shit. He smelled like cocoa butter, and it was making Thumper wanna melt that nigga and eat him up.
His back was gonna make some interesting curves, Thumper was sure of that. Real interesting curves, the kinda curves a Asian could do calculus on for days.
From Thumper the Mover
Gonzo is a day laborer.
Gonzo was a bony bottle of bronze-ray, curly-haired and bristly-mustached, with a eternal smile stewing under that stache. Gonzo was thin, hairy, scuzzy, greasy. He had a jolly infectious laugh and a grande smile, obscured by his bandito mustache, which looked too big for his little head. Gonzo was dwarfed as fuck by all three them niggas, but he looked up at ’em with tackle in his eyes, straight-up tackle. You know Thumper love a little nigga with tackle.
From Thumper the Mover
Ruck is an inmate.
Ruck was a shady buttered-butt battery-shape darkskin Blood with a face like a unpopular weasel, a high-honking splat of a nose and broccoli ears. He was ugly as a plug of pigs and stupid as untied shoelaces — not good shoelaces for new sneakers neither, he was dumb as old, frayed shoelaces for like keds or some shit.
From Thumper the Mover
The lawn — the quad, though Thumper ain’t never heard it called that — was clipped clean, crawling with college kids playing frisbee and taking phone-photos of theyselfs playing frisbee. A few picnicked on blankets spread out on the grass and took phone-photos of theyselfs picnicking. One foursome used they phone to play something that sounded like a water-brain retard screaming obscenities over a romantic movie soundtrack and then took phone-photos of theyselfs listening to it.
The locker room was so hot. All the sweat from the game had turned to slime, it seemed, and it took over the air in here. Jimmy just wanted to shower. Body heat and stank emanated from his teammates… Jimmy hung his head as he took off his clothes alone in a funereal locker room that smelled of departed feet. It felt cold in here. Maybe it was always that cold but was heated up by the rest of the team filling it up with their armpits and ball-sweat or maybe he just didn’t notice the cold when he was in a good mood. In any case, he was glad to go into the showers, where he could warm up and rinse off the salt crystals his evaporated sweat had left behind on his body.
He slow-footed into the shower alone, glad that Coach Marshall had gone — and he left through the back door, into the parking lot, not into his office, so he was gone gone. Jimmy had never showered here alone. The showers seemed huge, and the humidity from the others’ showers hung in the air. Somebody had left their bottle of body wash behind… Jimmy and his teammates shared showerheads cuz there were only four, and the water pressure dropped if more than two were in use. They were the big kind, plenty of room for three or four guys to take turns under the water. It was no big deal. Jimmy never even thought about sharing showerheads with them.
It was a slimfire nigga named Patrick Spinnaker who shined on Thumper from the get-go. They both came up in the same housing project, but Patrick was a couple years older. He was always cool as a clam to Thumper. Patrick was a smooth-talking lady-macking kinda nigga, with long fingers and a smooth chest, and you could tell he was used to wearing gems on each finger. He weren’t a big-time nigga, but he carried hisself like one, like he ain’t realize he was skinny and short.
Caden was already drinking a forty of malt liquor from a brown paper bag, sitting on a brick wall by a bank of rented beach-houses and staring at the sea beyond like a poet, a image that was undercut every time he halted his handsomeness to hop on his phone with fingers like bony breadsticks. Thumper disliked him right away. He was a necky sumbitch, a shoulderless chowder-white honky with shiny teeth. He got this foppish mess of blond hair like a limp mop, and he be bitsy-sipping at his brown-bag forty. He also kept a surly eye on Caden, who be running his fingers through his hair and walking with a uptight butt like a prison therapist. He showed off his flatty-flat chest cuz of a tattoo he just got — the word liberation writted in a “hardcore punk font”. Thumper disliked him more with every passing moment. Mr. Gregarian was right: Caden was a smoothpecker. Thumper ain’t even know what that meant, and he was sure it applied.
Somebody oughta slap that boy’s daddy in the balls.