Category: Buck Sampson

On black cops

Buck immediately took off his sandals and briefs, and he sat on the bench in the center of the locker area. Lem undressed more slowly, as he continued a long story that had begun before they entered the corridor.

Finally they went out to the showers, their pace quickening as soon as they left their heated home and ventured out into the unheated corridor. Their sandaled feet clopped loudly on the cold steel floor.
It was cold enough to take Buck’s breath away, the exhilaration waking him up like the opposite of a hot cup of coffee. It felt good, his chest literally steaming because he had been so hot on the other side of their makeshift blanket wall and now the air out in the corridor was around the freezing point. Pinpoints of ice prickled the tips of his chest hair. He wore only his briefs and his shower sandals, so his skin ruddened and tingled.
Lem hot-tailed it into the bathroom, and Buck arrived more slowly after. They were glad to see they had the whole space for themselves. Most roughnecks showered in little nationality groupings, and Buck and Lem were the only two Americans.
The rig shower looked trashy — it was trashy — because it was rarely cleaned. It smelled strongly of feet. A garbage can overflowing with soap boxes, shampoo bottles and abandoned underwear sat in one corner of the showering area.
But there was something cozy about it, Buck thought. It was warm and inviting, and it felt like a sauna in here. People had hung towels up, some of them apparently having been left for years because they were abandoned and never cleaned up — you could tell because there was algae growing on them. In a few places, there were cracks in the walls, filled with makeshift rags and remnants of old life preservers as insulation.
He immediately took off his sandals and briefs, and he sat on the bench in the center of the locker area. Lem undressed more slowly, as he continued a long story that had begun before they entered the corridor.
“So I tolds the cops that that nigga was my daddy, he ain’t sayin’ I took his car — I was r’trievin’ his car from them othuh nigguhs I don’t know,” Lem said. “And the white fellah, he says he believe me but he still gettin’ his taser out and shit, and he lookin’ at me like he ain’t believe me. The other po-liceman, he a nigga — he a redbone nigga, you know ’bout them right? He redbone as fuck, nigga, lookin’ like a crayon and shit.” He wasn’t even undressing anymore. Lem had gotten down to his drawers and shirt, but he didn’t want to take his shirt off because he would have to lift it over his head and that would break eye contact with Buck and interrupt his story. He paused with his shirt half up, baring his ropy chest. “He say outright he ain’t believe me. Black cops is the worst, lemme tell you-“
“Yeah,” Buck said. “Black cops is a buncha shitheads-” He hung his head and sighed because Lem was on a tear and not listening to him.
“I was like, you ain’t gotta tase a brother just cuz you ain’t call the man who reported his car missin’,” Lem said. “My pops’ll say I gots permissy-on to come get it. Them nigguhs who took it ain’t even try to stop me, on account of they know I’ll pop ’em off in a heartbeat.” He stopped suddenly because someone walked in.

From Buck the Roughneck

Annie and two big men

“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

Rig gets cold at night

It was going to get colder, eventually cold enough for Buck to want to put some clothes on. Being allowed to walk around naked was one of the things Buck liked about the rig — he was a hefty lad who liked to let his bits hang free when he could — so he was gonna lay here until he woke up cold. Then he’d put some night clothes on and get under a blanket, and then Lem’s body curled up next to him like an elderly cat would feel nice.
“Psst, hey Buck,” Lem said softly, cooing, trying not to wake Buck up all the way. He gently poked him with one finger. “Can you roll ovuh?”
Buck grunted sleepily.
Lem poked Buck’s hairy, tattooed bicep with a finger again. “Roll ovuh for a sec. I gotta reach somethin’.” They did often have to move each other in order to reach something or in order to get out of the dead-end and head out to the bathroom, stuff like that.
So Buck did roll over. “Huh? Why?” Buck murmured, still half-asleep. He sprawled out on his belly.
“So I can attempt at’cha,” Lem said softly, kindly. Buck’s ass was bare and thick like a pleasantly fat female, but it was too hairy to be really enticing. Lem was hard enough not to care. He sat up and mounted Buck from behind. He got a massive fleshy-thick backside. Lotta meat in those buttcheeks to spread apart. Lem gotta use all his fingers to spread them. “Ssssh, don’t move, Buckums. I’mma get up ya guts.”
He got more lotion out and smeared it over his dick. Lem spread Buck’s hairy asscheeks with one hand, then used his other to guide his dong into the hole. He moved slow to avoid waking Buck up.

From Buck the Roughneck

Pull-ups

“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.”

“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

The whole room

Lem was the one who told Buck about “the hole room”. Buck first thought Lem said “the whole room”, and he was mystified about what that meant.
“You can stick it in the hole in the hole room,” Lem said — Buck thought — and when Lem saw that Buck didn’t get it, Lem repeated it. “The hole room. Stick ya dick in it.”
“I stick my dick in the whole room?”
Lem nodded. He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, whiteboy, you walkin’ ’round wit’ a hardon, I seen that. Let’s go. It’s nasty, and ain’t nobody enjoy peepin’ that. You got a hundred bucks?” He grabbed Buck’s dick through his oil-soaked jeans.
“I still dunno what you mean!” Buck said with a grin. “I put my whole dick in the room?”
“That ain’t what I said,” Lem said. “You are one straight-up retarded white-trash bigfoot.” He opened the door and went in. Buck followed. Lem pointed to a hole in the wall and said, “There.”
Buck looked at the hole. He furrowed his brow. He still hadn’t realize this was the hole room, not the whole room — Buck wasn’t much of a reader, so he wasn’t even aware those words were spelled differently. “This is it?” Buck asked, meaning is this the entire room?
So he was surprised when Lem nodded. “Yep. Ain’t you was in jail a couple weeks, right?”
Buck had told Lem that, about when Buck and his post-high-school wrestling team had gotten drunk and picked a fight, Buck spent two weeks in jail. Lem had spent nine years in prison.
The hole was the only thing in the room. It stank in here, but other than that, Buck didn’t know why he had come here. He smiled like this was a prank he understood. He looked into the hole, but all he saw on the other side of the wall was another empty room.
“Ain’t ya jail got a gloryhole?” Lem said. He had a lopsided grin, which revealed his yellowed teeth. He took a folded hundred-dollar bill out of the pocket of his workjeans. He undid the belt, let the jeans fall to his ankles, then waddled to the hole. He lowered his underwear just enough to bare his crotch.
“You put ya dick in there?! You pissin’?” Buck’s eyes opened wide and he stepped back. He couldn’t actually see Lem’s cock from behind, but it was obvious where he had placed it. “What — What the fuck, Lem? What’s in there?! Is it gettin’ cut off?”
“You gots a fool mind, redneck. You think I’s stickin’ my dick in a hole to cut it off?” Lem asked. He had an odd look on his face that Buck couldn’t identify, and Lem’s ropy muscles all flexed like he was humping the hole.

From Buck the Roughneck

That word went upon forever, despite Buck not pronouncing mosta it.

“You gotta finish our laundry still, I’s tired of wearin’ dirty shirts, and I’s nearabout outta drawers.”

“You gotta finish our laundry still, I’s tired of wearin’ dirty shirts, and I’s nearabout outta drawers.” That made Lem laugh, cuz the way Buck said drawers was funny: “dra’ueuhiuhs”. That word went upon forever, despite Buck not pronouncing mosta it. Buck frowned at Lem but spoke to Habib. “And redd up the flo’oh.”

From Buck on the Oil Rig

He fit a universe of vowels into that word.

“Numbuhs ain’t my strong suit, Simon.”

“I got no math skills, okay? Ya daddy, he tells me the figgahs to collect, but sometimes he gets aftuh me, I vexes him fer sho’, on account of me not exactementay doin’ it right. Addin’ it up, or like…” He paused and bristled. “You’d think he do be saying, oh go rassimble ten dollah from Monjwa Prêteur. But it ain’t, it’s more go get ten pehcent of this or get five pehcent of it wort’ outta sugah from de mill, and ya gotta convuht between dollahs and pounds of sookuh,” Buck said. “And sometimes folks be payin’ in fuckin’ bushels of cohn or automo-bile ti’es or some shit, and I ain’t… Numbuhs ain’t my strong suit, Simon.”

Simon ain’t never seen Buck blush before, but beneath his scruffy chin and cheeks, rouge deluged his skin. Simon patted him on the arm, clad in cotton and with palpable hairs beneath the fabric. Simon smiled too, because he liked hearing Buck swear — Simon was still young, and men often didn’t swear in front of him. Additionally, Simon enjoyed hearing Buck say ‘tires’: tiha’uhz. He fit a universe of vowels into that word.

From The Alphas of Louisiana

Buck and Cody

Cody was on the lookout for excitement, not Buck’s burdensome plondering voice.

“You gotta focus, li’l buddy,” Buck said. He got this deep voice with long hollow vowels, a meandering drawl that made his voice easy to hear but hard to pay attention to, at least for someone like Cody. Cody was on the lookout for excitement, not Buck’s burdensome plondering voice. All Cody heard was a dull-edged no, and he ignored it.
Cody got a drawl too. They both growed up together, so they got the same accent. But Cody’s was brighter, quicker, sparkling, all consonants tumbling head over heels like a chaotic waterfall.

From Buck and Cody Locked Up Again

Hirrabirry

“Mistah Chow prolly mad as a steamed bun. Bap! Bap! Bap-bap-bappity-bap!”

“Hey, you on a broke-record, Buckums. Shut up, hillbilly. Hirrabirry.”
Finally Buck’s face softened and he laughed sheepish-like. Hirrabirry was how Mistah Chow said ‘hillbilly’, and it do make Buck laugh when he hear it. “Mistah Chow prolly mad as a steamed bun. Bap! Bap! Bap-bap-bappity-bap!”
“You is a hirrabirry, he right ’bout that, Buckums,” Lem said. “Mistah Chow tell it how it is.” He leggo Buck’s balls. “He tell it wit’ his Rs and his Ls mixed up, but othuh than that, he got yo’ hillbilly number.”

From Buck on the Oil Rig