MN Manmacker's mansploitation
Well, more like fifty, but he seemed ancient to Buck, and he smelled like a soggy newspaper.
Not much to do upon Rig E19 but play ’round with the only other American. T’was this old black feller named Lem. He was like a hundred. Well, more like fifty, but he seemed ancient to Buck, and he smelled like a soggy newspaper.
“You nevuh in yo’ life read a newspaper!” Lem said with a cackle and a jab with his cigarette. “You dunno nuffin’, whiteboy.”
He wagged his dick in Mason’s direction. “Cain I do a complaint? Lem got a dirty dick.”
He wagged his dick in Mason’s direction. “Cain I do a complaint? Lem got a dirty dick-“
“Nuh-uh, I cleans it. I’mma do a complaint ’bout Buckums’s dick. Honky-ass whiteboy hillbilly got weak-dick syndrome, I seen that. He fat-“
“Shut ya old fool mouth, Lem, you don’t know nuttin’ ’bout whiteboy dingdong,” Buck said.
Mason saw them standing there, dicks in hand, mid-thwack upon each other.
They were swordfighting in the center of their living space.
Their soft dicks dangled afront them, but it was clear they had been swinging ’em at each other just a second ago. Both men’s hips were angled towards each other, underwear around their ankles. Wry grins popped up on both Buck and Lem. Both men’s bare asses were still dappled with shower water.
Mason stopped short, unable to tear his eyes from their bared crotches. Buck’s cock was huge, and Lem’s was knobbly and darker-skinned than the rest of him. Actually Buck’s was darker than the rest of his skin as well.
Lem’s cock was not as big as Buck’s but seemed bigger cuz Lem was rangy and ropy-muscled. His cock was as thick as his biceps, and Lem was dense like he had crammed a more muscular man inside of himself. Lem and Buck both held back laughter when Mason saw them standing there, dicks in hand, mid-thwack upon each other.
They both stood up on their chagrin.
Buck’s cheeks turned burgundy underneath his unshaved beard. He chuckled, which made his pecker jiggle and his pecs flex. He was meaty and thick all over, but Lem was dark-skinned and taut from head to toe, his muscles dotted with bluish-gray tatttoos, and he had only a smattering of ebon body hair on his sternum. Mason chuckled. “Who’s winning the swordfight, gentleman?”
“Me!”
“Nah, me! Mah hog wrecked his piglet!”
That chagrined look remained on both they faces, then Buck grinned at the same time Lem scowled, and the both them slapped dicks at each other at the same moment.
Detente broken, the swordfight resumed. Buck and Lem battled dick to dick, both of them leaning their upper halves back and their lower halves forward to get better leverage. It was unclear what the point of the competition was.
“Gotcha, Buckums-!”
“Ow, don’t hit mah balls!”
“Whiteboy, yo’ ugly dick best surrenduh, or I’mma treat it harsh-“
“You narsty, Lem!”
“You smell like velveeta, hillbilly!”
If’n you tells him, he gonna be comin’ he’uh all the time! All the time like weather!
“Hell yeah. J’st don’t tell Lem. Or anywhom, but ‘specially not Lem. Lem do it too, he steady tryin’-a jack off wit’ me. I tells him he cain get me off any way he want, but I ain’t admire touchin’ his narsty old-feller dingdong. Feels like a sad baseball bat. I done went to prison, Mason. I know ’bout gettin’ off wit’ a feller,” Buck said. “I j’st don’t admire to touch Lem’s wigwam. If’n you tells him, he gonna be comin’ he’uh all the time! All the time like weather! He like that, he is like that, Mason.” He wagged a finger at Mason as if scolding Lem.
Don’choo tell me I smell like coffee grounds, you smell like a turtle, Buckums.
Buck bunked down in that dead-end with this old black feller the color of coffee grounds, smelled like ’em too, shit he mighta been made outta old coffee grounds. Buck told that man — his name was Lem — that one evening after they day off, when they done come back to they bunk.
“You hillbilly sucka, you don’t tell me-” Lem drunk from his flask. He stayed drinking from that flask, hiding it when he could get away with it, like he thinked Buck’s hillbilly eyes don’t see. “-don’t tell me I smell like coffee grounds, you smell like a turtle, Buckums.”
From The Redneck Ex-Con, Cellmate Memories and Overwhelming Manhood
She got no hankering for no elderly homeboy who smelled like a basement. She want whiteboy dingdong, most likeishly.
She ported a tray of drinks past the front door and delivered a curtsy nod at Buck. Him and Lem stopped short, though she ain’t have eyes fer Lem, prolly cuz she got no hankering for no elderly homeboy who smelled like a basement. She want whiteboy dingdong, most likeishly.
From Buck on the Oil Rig
They learnt from a mandatory video that the most important part of drilling fer oil was respeck fer diversity.
Whatever status made Habib hafta put Buck’s and Lem’s feet in his mouth, it might as well be slavery. They ain’t ax cuz they ain’t wanna be distolerant of his culture — they learnt from a mandatory video that the most important part of drilling fer oil was respeck fer diversity.
Imagine that! The most important part! That wrinkled Buck’s brain.
From Buck on the Oil Rig
Buck best not say shit ’bout Lem looking like a tire that exploded on the highway.
Lem was a young cat then, built like a steel mill, not like that portly hillbilly Buck, who got a fat hairy ass like a ape with a ugly mama, yes he do, and he best not say shit ’bout Lem looking like a tire that exploded on the highway.
From Buck on the Oil Rig
Lem done ate his fried chicken and sides. He don’t eat Muslim food, and the curries give his belly the bumptions. He do stick to American food.
Lem don’t eat Muslim food, and the curries give his belly the bumptions. He do stick to American food.
But Buck was still filling his barrel with curry goat and Cuban picadeeyo. Buck ain’t reckon that that rice don’t go with the sauce cuz he ain’t read the placards labeling each thang. “I’s gonna be fartin’ up a storm tonight-“
“Don’chu eat that curry!” Lem said.
“You might wanna get ya nose removed b’fore lights-out, Lemmy.”
“Don’chu call me Lemmy! That’s — you’s bein’ drogatory, Buckums, that’s — that’s prolly racist, and I won’t take it from some hillbilly sister-fucker-“
“I don’t got a sister, Lem.”
“-who look like a cartoon basset hound-“
“Fuck you, Lem, you look like a hobo. I think you tried-a redd up my windshield fer a dollah back in Abilene-“
“Hurry up and eat, whiteboy!” Lem wanna drink, he wanna get back to the dead-end and drink. He thinked Buck ain’t know t’was why Lem got hurry in his bones, but Buck knewed. Buck may be a hillbilly, but he know which way was up.
“Stop talkin’ to me then!” Buck said. He shoved another fullawful fulla pepper slaw in his mouth. “I is eatin’ e’ery single one these fullawfuls, old head!”
From Buck on the Oil Rig