addiction – Mansploitation

The Ladysman

Teddy winds up hiring the handsome Turkish gigolo Emre… Emre needs cash and is willing to pleasure anyone who’s willing to pay, giving Teddy a wild ride in gigolo action!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

The convention was as boring as any convention ever was. Teddy wanted to tear his eyeballs out — he had experienced a lot of conventions, and this was the worst one yet. He had to sling drinks to dozens of businessmen in cheap suits while they tromped all over his hotel.
Of course it wasn’t really his hotel, he was just a bartender who worked at a country club that was also owned by this hotel, so he had been transferred here when the regular bartender called out sick. That sickness had continued so long that Teddy now knew every inch of this place.
Mostly the guests had come here to ski, if they weren’t here for the convention, which was for bathroom fixtures. Teddy couldn’t imagine a more boring topic for a convention. He didn’t even understand how people could have the idea to schedule a convention for bathroom fixtures without dying from absolutely boredom. What kind of person would brainstorm ideas for business ventures and think, “yes, a convention for bathroom-fixture salespersons, that would be a compelling thing that people will pay money for”? And then, the most shocking part of it all, they were right! People did pay money for it! It was a sound business venture!
Just seeing them drink after a day spent doing whatever, Teddy had no idea what someone would actually do at a bathroom fixtures convention, was enough to make Teddy bored to tears. Did they discuss toilets all day? Advanced urinal theory? Ten tricks to make a tampon disposal box more festive for the holidays?
Teddy sighed. Mostly the convention-goers were tubby men with pasty cheeks and layers of flab ensconced in cheap suits. A few sturdy women who look like they get plenty of fiber filled out the ranks. Well, he thought, they certainly look like they know their way around the bathroom. These men look like they’ve spent most of their lives sitting on the toilet trying to get rid of the Big Macs they scarfed down.
Teddy was not happy with this weekend.
“Hey, how are you doing? Gin and tonic, please,” said a throaty woman’s voice. “Make it a double. Double gin, single tonic. Don’t bother trying to upsell me on the gin, just gimme the rail. Or hell, gimme vodka that’s been stored near a spice-cabinet, that’ll do.” She put a cigarette in her mouth. “Got a light?”
Teddy nodded. He lit her cigarette and made her drink. She sipped from it. She was pretty in an upper-class, upper-age, upper-bitch way, with soft brown hair and a botoxed face. She was probably beautiful twenty years ago. He liked her already.
“Slim pickings here this weekend, huh?” Teddy said. He made sure to say it as flamboyantly as he could so she would know he was referring to males.
She chuckled throatily. “Yeah. I guess I never thought a bathroom-fixtures convention would be full of excitement, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“You should have been here a couple months ago, we had a bouncer-event. It was pretty hot. Muscle-bound meatheads everywhere,” Teddy said. He blushed. “You’d have had your pick of men then. Assuming you like ’em big and macho.”
She nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m no muscle-queen, but anything would be better than these toilet-shaped dweebs. I wish I was in that field. Bouncers.” She scoffed. “Well, if only there was money in it…”
“There’s not many women here. What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m in marketing. I know, bathroom fixtures is a boy’s club. I’ve talked to all of the women here, and they’re all stuck-up bitches like me,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. A smile appeared on her stretched-taut face, and she sighed as she finished her drink. “Well, I didn’t come here to get laid anyway. I came here to network.” She paused. “Is there a local joint worth visiting in this one-horse town?”
“Not really.” Teddy paused. “Are you… like… horny?”
She furrowed her brow. “Uh… Well, are you propositioning me?” She laughed haughtily.
“No, not me,” Teddy said. He blushed. “Just… if you wanted to… there’s a guy here, a guy who works as a masseur for the country club next door.”
“Uh-huh.” She yawned and took a long but small sip from her gin and tonic. “I don’t normally hook up with, y’know… the help. Sorry if that makes me sound elitist-“
“No worries. He’s not really the help, exactly. I mean, he’s a masseur, but that’s just a way to meet clients and launder his income,” Teddy said. “He’s really a gigolo. The hotel looks the other way.”
“A what?”
“He’ll fuck you for five hundred dollars,” Teddy said. “And he will rock your world. He’ll make you feel so good your pussy falls off.” He paused. “Or so I’ve heard. He licks pussy like nobody’s business.”
“Are you serious?” She looked like she was going to laugh and say no. Then she fell silent. She looked around the room, then back at Teddy. “Five hundred dollars?”
Teddy nodded. “Just call to the front desk. Ask for a massage. Ask for Emre. If you don’t ask for Emre, they’ll send you this fat Polish lady. I don’t know what she’d do for five hundred dollars, but you probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as Emre.” Teddy shrugged. “He’s Turkish.”
Her eyes lit up. She didn’t respond right away. She was a smart, well-adjusted businesswoman. She wasn’t here for some prostitution.
But on the other hand… if she were ever going to pay a man for sex…
Teddy had another customer then, so he had to walk away. He watched the lady at the bar consider the possibility for a few moments before she got up. She smiled at Teddy and walked out into the hotel lobby.
Well, there’s a hundred dollars. Teddy could virtually smell the horniness wafting out from under her skirt. She was definitely going to do it.
The rest of the convention was uneventful. Teddy served drinks and pointed men towards the one brothel in town when they asked about women — which they all started doing a little after midnight. Teddy didn’t get paid per client for the brothel, so he wasn’t too enthusiastic about referring them. Emre, however, paid him for each client he sent that way.
Teddy saw the woman — Wendy Allister — the next morning, looking shame-faced yet relaxed. Emre had treated her right, that was clear. He always did. Teddy wished he could watch sometime. Emre made women feel “like liquid gold”, as one lady had told him.
Teddy blushed when he nodded at Emre, who came over to the bar and surreptitiously slipped Teddy his hundred dollars — that was Teddy’s commission for sending Emre a woman.
“Thanks for the lead,” Emre said. He had a dense spatchocking accent, all clutters of consonants and staccato vowels that made Teddy lose himself in those dimples. Seeing Emre smile at him always made Teddy blush and stammer over his words. “She was a very good client.”
He kept talking, but Teddy was entranced. Emre was so arousing it hurt. He had an incredibly thick mane of black hair, densely curly, extending up and down and out all at once. He was strong but lean and ropy-muscled, not at all bulky, with a square jaw and a hooked nose whose imperfect shape made his face all the more handsome.
Teddy was drawn to those sterling green eyes, so bright they were almost fluorescent. Teddy had insisted for months that Emre must wear colored contacts, but Emre denied it.
“She was a very good woman,” Emre said with a grin. “She was a little old, but I do not mind. Old women need loving too.” He pulled out a lottery ticket. It was a winner — two hundred dollars — but he hadn’t cashed it yet. “She gave me this too.” That was a lie, but Emre was a well-practiced liar. It didn’t even occur to Teddy that Emre had been holding onto the lotto ticket for months.
Emre had a gambling problem.
No one knew about it. Teddy knew that Emre occasionally gambled on sports, and he had seen him scratching lottery tickets, but no one knew that Emre barely managed to keep it together — every month, he paid his bills and then spent most of the remainder on lotto tickets, scratch-offs, betting or even trips to the casino on the Indian reservation nearby.
So that four hundred dollars he made this weekend went away pretty quick. He paid off a debt to his bookie. It meant he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent on time this month, but he could get past that. There was going to be a human resources convention next weekend, and Emre thought he’d make plenty of money then.
He’d held onto this winning lotto ticket for months now. He could always cash it. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was winning. Emre had read somewhere that that was one technique to reduce “problem gambling” — not that Emre believed he was a problem gambler — because he could pull it out anytime and feel like he had just won. He would maybe not feel compelled to gamble if he could feel like he had won anytime.
Once he had it in his pocket for a couple days, he didn’t even think about cashing it. It was only two hundred dollars. No problem. He didn’t need the money.
He did need the feeling. He needed to have it in his pocket, so he could finger it and look at it and anticipate what it would be like to cash it in. The way they would look at him at the lotto place — he could go to any gas station and cash it in, but he wanted to go to the lotto office. It felt righter to do it there. They knew how to do it right. They’d look at him like a winner. He’d feel like a winner.
And as long as he didn’t do it, he could savor that feeling.
Regardless, it was that next weekend that the HR convention was in town. Emre figured a human resources director convention would have to be ground zero for gigolos. So many lonely women! He could make bank.
But then that HR convention didn’t happen. The HR directors didn’t show up — the convention was cancelled after a freak snowstorm shut down the airport for the whole weekend. Emre had no way of making money. He needed a couple hundred bucks to pay his bills this month. He’d counted on that HR convention and spent some money he probably shouldn’t have.
Okay, he put money down on a basketball game. A couple basketball games. And he lost every dime.
Not an app either. Emre had been banned from all the sports betting apps because he showed “problem behaviors” and sent a manic avalanche of emails to the developer of one app, when he found a bug — a real bug, he identified how it worked and everything. He’d told the developer about it in emails sent through LinkedIn, which got him banned both from that app and from LinkedIn, and he even got a “stop harassing people” email from GMail.
Anyway, Emre had a bookie, and he now owed that bookie a hundred dollars. Not that much, but he also was late on rent and had these medical bills due…
He was expecting to make at least two grand out of these HR ladies. That should have been easy. If the HR convention happened, he would have, no problem.
But as he pondered his situation, Emre could think of only one way to make the minimum he needed to pay off his bookie and get up to date on his rent.
Teddy wiped the bar down at the end of the night. It had been slow tonight because there was no convention, just a few dozen lonely businesspeople having small meetings or rendezvousing with their mistresses. Emre watched Teddy clean the bar as the night drew to a close.
Unlike Emre, Teddy was glad the HR convention was canceled. He could think of nothing more boring than spending the entire weekend with a bunch of HR ladies. What did they talk about? The mind boggles. It’s probably a marathon of threats to add things to “the permanent record”, endless self-evaluations and probing questions asked by idiots.
But at least Emre was here. Teddy snuck glances at him as he shut down the bar.
Emre was good at flirting with women. He did it without even thinking about it. But how did he flirt with a man? Emre had no idea. It didn’t come naturally to him, and the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t think he could do it.
He flashed a dimpled smile, hoping to get Teddy’s attention. It worked, but then Teddy just went back to cleaning the counter as though he hadn’t noticed — he hadn’t realized that seductive smile was aimed at him. Teddy was so used to seeing Emre flirt with women he didn’t recognize when he was the actual target.
Only gradually did Teddy realize there were no women around. The bar was empty of women. Who was Emre smiling at?
“Hey,” Emre said when Teddy got near him again.
“Oh, hi. Slim pickings, huh?” Teddy said, laughing to himself — that was the same conversation-starter he had used with that woman. Emre didn’t get why it was funny, but he laughed too.
Emre smoothed his hair and straightened the collar of his shirt. “There was a lady in here earlier who seemed like a good prospect, but then she got all mad at me. Said she’s Mormon. I guess they don’t do gigolos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Mormons don’t do most things.”
A long silence sat between them at the bar. Teddy was ready to take the cash drawer into the back, to put it in the safe, but he sensed Emre wanted to say something more than small-talk. Emre licked his teeth and looked down the drink he was still finishing. Then he knocked back the rest of his brandy and tonic.
Finally, Emre cleared his throat. “I could use a client this weekend for sure. So, uh… you’re… you’re nice, uh.. In the hair.”
“What?” Teddy screwed up his eyes. He had never been complimented like that. He didn’t even understand that Emre was complimenting his hair at first, then when he did get it, Teddy ran his fingers through his hair.
Emre blushed. He was never flustered like this. Women took compliments better than that. He straightened his collar again. How do you compliment men? “I just mean, your hair is nice. Your-“
“My hair? What are you talking about? It’s the same it always is.”
“Sorry, I mean… I just wanted to say, y’know, I know you’re… You have, uh… good… qualities,” Emre said. He was trying to think of things women complimented men on. They always mentioned Emre’s hair, which was dense and jet-black and perfectly wavy, and they liked his dimples and his muscular body. But Teddy was slim and had ordinary white-man hair. Emre wasn’t sure what to compliment on a man like that.
“Okay.” Teddy’s eyes were open wide like he was mystified by what was happening. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Sorry. I, uh… I was just…”
“Do you want to say something to me? Just say it.”
“Will you pay me five hundred dollars to jack me off?!” Emre blurted out. He blushed. He was never that direct. He didn’t even raise his price to give himself room to negotiate down. Teddy knew that was the same price Emre gave to women, but surely it would make sense to charge more for a man. Emre had just forgotten, and now he was leaving money on the table. He couldn’t raise the price now. Oh well, that was enough to get caught up. Five hundred bucks would suffice. He cleared his throat again. “I mean… you know what I mean, right? You do the… You get me off. And pay me. I’ll, you know… treat you like a woman. In ways that you want. That you’ll enjoy.” Emre clammed up. He never got like this with women. Was this how women feel when he made them tongue-tied?
“Hush, you’re babbling,” Teddy said. “You want me to pay you to jack you off?” Emre nodded. Teddy’s mind raced. He had an instinctive desire to say no and tell Emre he’s an arrogant asshole, that Teddy didn’t want him that bad, that he’s not God’s gift to dicks. But Teddy could hardly pretend he didn’t want Emre, and he certainly wanted to do it. “Fine.” He cursed himself immediately because he thought he could have talked Emre down on the price — obviously, Emre was only doing this because he needed the money, so he must have some flexibility.
They both walked away annoyed with themselves for not negotiating more, but neither were willing to call it off for a minor monetary dispute.
And so that was how they ended up in the storage closet just after the bar officially closed. The last of the drinkers had only just left, and the door was locked. The waitresses hadn’t all gone home yet, and some of the tables had yet to be bussed.
Nevertheless, Teddy led Emre into the storage closet in the back, and nobody noticed them sneak in there. In that enclosed space, the reek of Emre’s exotic cologne — something Turkish, vaguely funky, sunny, zesty, like a stretewise lemon — assaulted Teddy’s nostrils and made his dick twitch in his pants. Emre’s solid frame seemed bigger in the dark, his muscles bulging through the fabric of his fancy clothes.
He dressed well, in a Moroccan-style suit. Teddy had never noticed how nice Emre’s clothes were. So few men dressed up these days…
Emre was used to seducing women, and in the dark, he simply did what he would do with a female. Teddy was rather feminine in both shape and mannerisms, so Emre thought he could pretend. He kissed Teddy right on the lips.
Teddy got lost in Emre’s warm arms, and he swooned. He kissed Emre back as his hands explored Emre’s broad chest and shoulders. Their tongues met in Teddy’s mouth.
“Aaaaah…” Emre let out a moan. It was forced, but he knew women were aroused by that sound, so he thought Teddy might be as well.
Teddy’s fumbling fingers undid the buttons of Emre’s shirt, and Emre shrugged off that Moroccan suit. His chest was bare, gleaming in the dim light, and his muscles were firm beneath Teddy’s touch. Teddy’s lips sucked a few droplets of fresh, sparkling sweat off Emre’s broad shoulders.
His kisses traveled down Emre’s body. Emre was glad to get some mouth on the one hand because he very rarely got to do that. When women paid you for sex, he thought, they didn’t want to suck dick. Emre preferred to make love in the womanhood anyway. He stood there, stately and elegant though Teddy couldn’t see him in the darkness, while Teddy kissed a trail down his body.
“Oh, yes, your lips feel so soft and sweet on me…” Emre gulped, hoping he sounded natural. This was the kind of thing he would say to a woman. Somehow it come across as stilted aimed at Teddy, but Teddy either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
It was nice how little effort Teddy required. Women required such constant affirmation, an endless dose of assurances and reassurances and comforting. Every time something was less than perfect, Emre had to apologize and make up for it. With Teddy, all that mattered was his body. It was a tool for Teddy’s pleasure, and it required so little from Emre.
Then Teddy undid Emre’s pants and pulled his dick out. It was big enough to be hefty but not so big as to be painful or intimidating. Teddy thought it was perfect. He kissed it right on the tip, then popped it in his mouth.
Emre moaned. He hoped nobody walked past the closet right now or they would definitely hear him. Normally he moaned in a fake, seductive way — he’d learned what turned most women on — but this time, he had no reason to be seductive. Teddy wanted him already, Emre didn’t need to work to make that happen, and he didn’t even especially want Teddy to like him too much. That would be awkward, and it meant the pleasure suffusing his flesh was more intense and visceral than he was used. His moan was genuine, and it surprised even Emre himself.
His dick stiffened up. Emre shifted his weight into his feet and leaned against the wall of the closet. Precum flowed down Teddy’s throat. Teddy guzzled it greedily, craving every drop. It tasted sweet and sunny, like the Mediterranean islands Emre claimed his ancestors came from (which was a lie, his family had worked in a goat slaughterhouse in urban Istanbul, not that Teddy knew that).
“Ah, man…” Emre sighed. He was surprised by how good this felt. He felt like a teenager again. He wasn’t used to feeling genuinely out-of-control pleasure, rather than carefully-meted out pleasure that he had designed to maximize his clients’s desire for a second go-round. Teddy’s mouth worked up and down on his cock, sending wave after wave of pleasure to rock Emre’s handsome frame.
This time, it was a real orgasm.
He grunted and shook as intense bliss ran through his body. It felt like a real mouth — it was, of course, it was just strange to feel it, no performance, no exaggeration, no seduction, just a real, genuine, authentic climax — and it made Emre’s knees weak. He held onto Teddy’s head for support as he sprayed his cum down his throat.
That was another thing the women who hired him never did: blowjobs. A lot of them just wanted to be eaten out, but even among that minority who wanted to suck his dick, not a single one had ever wanted him to cum in their mouths. So it was nice to shoot his wad directly into Teddy, focusing entirely on his own pleasure for once. His seed coated Teddy’s throat and sat hotly in his belly. Teddy swallowed every drop and begged for more when Emre finally pulled out. Remnants of jizz stuck to Teddy’s face. That was delightfully unclean, so unlike making love to a woman. It made Emre chuckle.
“You taste so good… Let me taste you some more, please?” Teddy crawled to him and thwacked Emre’s till-sensitive cock over his face. That made Emre jerk and twitch. He chased the shaft with his tongue, while a few final drops of cum dribbled from his cocktip. Avery chased those with his tongue too.
Emre grunted and pulled his pants up. He had to pull his cock away from Teddy. “Not now,” he said. “You got what you paid for.”
“And I got my money’s worth!” Teddy blushed and smirked, taking in the body heat emanating from Emre’s body. He stayed where he was though, in that closet, arms wrapped around Emre’s well-muscled body. He had a six-pack like Teddy had never seen on anyone besides movie stars and models before he met Emre. His muscles rippled beneath Teddy’s touch, until eventually he felt he had done enough for the money, and Emre extricated himself.
“Thank you,” Emre said as politely as he could muster. His hair was mussed up now. He’d have to fix it before he headed out there, just in case he found any more women before going home tonight. He hoped he did meet a woman, because the money Teddy gave him was burning a hole in his pocket.
After all, he could stop at the corner shop for a lottery ticket. Or more than one. Surely at least one would be a winner…

The Casino Security Guy

Ben can’t believe he lost everything at the casino, and he’ll do whatever it takes for another chance to win… even if that means submitting to an ultra-humiliating bout of man-on-man action with the terrifying bouncer Cue! Can Ben beg his way into a second chance? Or is he all out of luck?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Ben Wastermeek still couldn’t believe it had happened. He had never gambled before in his life, and now it was all gone. How did that even happen? He could remember every moment of it, but he remembered it like it had happened to someone else, like it was an awful movie he saw.
There were a lot of reasons, but mainly there was just one: Ben wanted to feel like a winner. And he had been a winner. He had been sixty thousand dollars richer at one point in the night. He had been a king for about three hours. Those three hours were everything.
And now he had cashed out everything.
The tuition money from his college loan, his retirement money and all of his savings. He had even maxed out the cash advances on his credit card and gotten an advance on his next paycheck at the nearest payday loan place. He was ruined.
So, as he pled with the bouncer, Ben couldn’t quite conceive of this not working. It had to work. Everything was riding on it. He had won sixty thousand dollars. That had to count for something.
“Look, mistuh, I’m sorry you lost e’rything,” said the bouncer at the club Lipsweet in central Las Vegas. He was Cue, according to the name-tag on his suit. He was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He was powerfully strapped and barrel-chested, gristly neck, crooked nose. He was square-jawed, white as bone, looked like he dressed like a biker outside of work. Ben also wouldn’t have been surprised at all to see an iron cross or even a swastika tattooed on his chest or back.
But Ben couldn’t give up. He had to get his money back, or at least enough to pay back the cash advances he had gotten. That would ruin his credit for years. Casinos have serious corporate management, he thought, they must have a way to do that. “Please, just let me talk to the manager. I know it’s not your decision to make-“
“It is, though. The decision is no. That’s the rules of the game, sir,” Cue said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Please step aside. I need to be watching the entrance to the casino.” He sighed deeply. “Look, man, I get it that you’re upset. You have every right to be-“
“You don’t understand, I just need to explain what happened. I’m sure the manager-“
“The manager ain’t even here, man. The manager is Mickey Garelli, and he ain’t gonna be impressed by no beggin’. Please… I don’t wanna have to kick you out,” he said. “I don’t wanna wrinkle my suit. Or get your blood on it. You know if I get a deadbeat’s blood on me, I gotta get tested for AIDS four times a year for like five years? Insurance rules.”
“Yeah, look, I-“
“Come on, man. Don’t be a fuckin’ deadbeat,” Cue said. “You gonna stand here like a shitball and beg me? Have some fuckin’ dignity.” He flared his nostrils. His muscles flexed under his too-small suit like he was ready to throw a punch, but Ben didn’t think he was in any danger. Casinos were underground mob boss things anymore. They were nice. Normal. They wouldn’t hire a thug. Cue was just a security guy. A rent-a-cop basically.
“You have to let me talk to whoever’s in charge-“
A new bouncer appeared from behind Ben. He was a big black man with cornrows, much taller than Cue. He wore a suit as well, but his fit better. “Yo, Cue, you havin’ trouble?”
“I’m just showin’ this asshole some mercy, Tyrell, but he ain’t takin’ it.”
“You know deadbeats don’t respond to that,” the black man Tyrell said.
He shrugged. “I know. I guess I should-a just ripped his nuts off, but I don’t know… He looks like a sad puppy dog.”
Ben blushed. He realized how pitiful he must look, but he straightened his back. He needed to get his money back. If he made a big enough fuss, they’d have to give him something, he thought.
“So he’s a gambling man, huh?” said the black bouncer, Tyrell. “I’ll bet you he’d ‘clean the back-office’ for a chance to win his money back.”
“Yes! I would!” Ben blurted out before he even heard what the man said. It was obvious from his tone that ‘clean the back-office’ was code for something, but Ben didn’t care. If there was even a chance he could get his money back, he wanted to take it. He pictured himself cleaning. That’d be fine.
Besides, he was a gambling man. He had been down for a long time. Surely he was about to get back on top. Even if they only gave him one chip, that would be worth it because he’d have a chance, a real chance, to win back his money and even more. The lights would go off, people would cheer, waitresses would come by and kiss him on the cheek and give him free drinks. He’d be a winner again.
Cue and the other bouncer Tyrell laughed. Cue seemed annoyed, like he would never have offered ‘cleaning the back office’ as an option if the other bouncer hadn’t brought it up. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll show you the office.”
He followed Cue through the casino. Ben saw the blinking lights and the excited squealing of the people who won, and he almost forgot that he was penniless. He could have stayed here for hours just watching other people win, but he hung close to Cue. He wanted a chance to play.
Cue looked scary enough that people moved out of his way. He moved like he was used to that, shoving past people. The punks and tourists and gambling freaks parted like the red sea.
He led Ben down an empty corridor to a small bathroom, barely big enough for the two of them. Ben breathed a sigh of relief. They probably just wanted him to clean the toilets, and they’d give him bus fare, or something like that. It’d be like washing the dishes to pay for a meal in a restaurant.
But the bathroom appeared spotless. Pristine, even. There was a small shelf attached to one wall, and on it was a tube of anal lube, a clothespin, a large dildo, a few condoms and a few other odds and ends.
This bathroom didn’t need cleaning.
“We don’t use this bathroom,” Cue said with a craggy frown and a baritone rumble in his chest. He closed the door and produced one blue chip from his pocket. “Or, well, we don’t use it for poopin’.”
“Oh. Uh, okay. What do you-?”
“This is the cornhole-closet,” Cue said. He laughed at Ben, who turned white as a cloud and his knees buckled. Cue shook his head. He held up the blue chip in his hand. “You can leave anytime, bitch. But if you stay, I’m gonna treat you real bad. My girl’s been holdin’ out on me, and she a real bitch anyway. I oughta dump her ass but she used to give good head and, uh… Well, I’m gonna take out my frustrations on ya. It’s gonna hurt. I got a big dick. I’m-a tear yo’ guts up. And all you gettin’ is this one twenty dollar chip. You can cash it out, or you can gamble it. That’s up to you.”
“Oh, uh…”
“I ain’t even into this, just so you know. I ain’t even think of it. That big black feller out there, he love it. He try to cornhole at least one deadbeat every shift he work. Black fellers love ass, I do reckon,” Cue said. “He been sayin’ I’m too weak to do it.”
“I dunno…”
“Us bouncers compete to see who can cornhole a intact ass as hard as possible. Not me, really, usually. The black ones do. They gonna wanna hear all about it, and there’s even a camera in here, so they is gonna watch. There’s prolly some security man watching right now.” He waved at the camera in the corner, and he forced Ben to wave too.
A tear leaked down Ben’s cheek. He tried to soberly consider his options, but that blue chip danced above Cue’s knuckles. Ben wanted to kiss it and make love to it. He would have done anything to get just one more chance to win.
He nodded wordlessly.
“Damn… I really thought you was gonna back out. That makes me sad, man. It really does. I’m glad I can be part of makin’ you hit rock-bottom though. Remembuh you can always quit. And you know, Jesus and shit. Go to church,” Cue said. “Take off your clothes.”
Ben gulped and did as he was told. He felt skinny next to Cue, who was as thick as a bodybuilder, though he didn’t look quite that cut. He looked like an offseason bodybuilder. His muscles bulged from the ill-fitting suit he wore. Ben left his boxers on at first, then Cue motioned for him to take them off too.
He gingerly picked up Ben’s underwear with his fingertips and threw it in the toilet bowl. He added Ben’s socks as well. Then he picked up Ben’s shirt, pants and shoes and took them out of the bathroom.
“Stay here. I can sell these to a homeless man for a few bucks. That’s virtually a charity,” Cue said, beaming like he expected Ben to congratulate him on doing something nice. He must have put the clothes in a locker or something like that nearby because he returned moments later. He sighed. “Now you gotta get me hard. I mean… you don’t gotta. You can take your toilet-dripping underwear and get out.”
“Please, I don’t have anything…”
“I know. You got one tiny shred of dignity left. You can take it and leave if you want, or you can decide how you wanna get me hard. You wanna swallow my cum or slurp on my asshole?”
Ben sobbed. Was this really what he was reduced to? He couldn’t believe it had come to this.
But if he got paid with that casino chip, he was going to gamble it. There was still that to look forward to. He had a chance. He could be a big winner. What game should he play it on? Blackjack? Roulette? Did they have a twenty-dollar roulette wheel here? Probably not. Should be blackjack, he thought, that has a skill component.
“I’ll… swallow your cum,” Ben said. He sunk to his knees and sniffed back tears.
“Well, go ahead.” Cue smiled. He put his hands on his hips. He lifted his suit jacket to given Ben easy access, but he didn’t take his pants off.
Ben shuddered. He unzipped the fly of Cue’s slacks. Then he reached in and shuddered again at the feel of Cue’s greasy cockshaft. It was dark brown and sticky with dried-on sweat.
“Sorry, I been workin’ all day,” Cue said. “My balls prolly smell.”
Ben nodded. He gagged. Cue’s huge cock popped out of the fly, and a pair of hairy, low-hanging balls. It smelled so badly of sweat and old cum that Ben thought he would throw up. His cockmeat was moist with a sheet of moisture and emanated heat so intensely Ben could feel it from a foot away.
Cue just sighed again and pried Ben’s mouth open. He gripped Ben’s cheeks and fed his dick in. Ben gagged as soon as he tasted it, and he coughed up a big ball of spit that plopped onto the bathroom floor.
“Don’t spit that on the floor.” Cue slapped Ben on the cheek, just hard enough to hurt. “And if you get my pants dirty, I won’t give you the chip when you’re done.”
“Come on… Man, I’m tryin’…” Ben said.
But Cue was relentless. He grabbed ahold of Ben’s chin and squeezed until his mouth opened. He pushed the tip of his dick past Ben’s lower lip. Salty sweat again assaulted Ben’s senses. “Now, I’m gonna use ya mouth as my pussy, deadbeat. Try to make sounds like a female, I gotta imagine you a female, I ain’t a black feller who’s a fuckin’ booty bandit! Tyrell!” He yelled in the direction of the doorway, though it didn’t seem likely Tyrell was out there.
Ben opened his mouth wide but Cue’s fat cock was so long Ben couldn’t get anything more than the glans in his mouth. He choked again, and his eyes watered from both shame and the revolting taste of unwashed cock. Cue’s muscles rippled beneath his suit.
But Cue’s cock remained limp and floppy, like a meaty dead animal. It was at least twelve inches long and lined with blue and red veins. It gleamed with moisture, and its texture made Ben gag.
“You ain’t gettin’ me hard, boy,” Cue said. “Spit on it some.”
Ben spat. He found it difficult to produce much saliva though. Cue sighed as though this was a great imposition for him. He slapped Ben over the face with his cock, which was thick and heavy enough to hurt a little bit.
Holding back tears and blushing, Ben tried to catch Cue’s cock with his mouth. He thought maybe if he tried his best, Cue would go easy on him. He really didn’t want to take that entire cock in his ass.
“Alright, I gave you a chance to mouth me off, and that ain’t working. Nothin’ personal, nobody really mouths my dick right. It’s too big,” Cue said. “Now you get to eat my asshole instead. Anyone with a working tongue can do that.”
“What, no!”
“Then get out,” Cue said. “Don’t get ya chip.” He turned around, dropped his slacks and his boxers, revealing a thick plump ass. The crack was dark and hairy, and it gleamed with sweat. It was humid like a jungle. Ben imagined he could see its funk emanating like an aura from Cue’s muscular cheeks.
Ben wanted to leave, but he didn’t. He wanted to gamble one last time.
When he was done — if he didn’t win, though he didn’t like to think about that — then he would quit gambling, maybe go to rehab. But before he could even say yes, Cue backed his ass right into Ben’s face. His asscheeks were cold and rock-hard, and he had a big fat scar on one of them.
“Get your tongue out, dumbass. Don’t try licking my asscheek or something either. I want a proper rimjob. Get your tongue inside my ass. If you ain’t tastin’ rectum, you ain’t doin’ it right,” Cue said with a laugh as though that was his motto.
Ben hadn’t really thought about the mechanics of this. Was that really what a rimjob was supposed to be? He slowly opened his mouth, a physically painful gag rolling through his body. He heaved and probably would have thrown up if there was anything in his stomach.
But opening his mouth to heave heightened the nauseating aroma — the smell of Cue’s ass tasted even worse on his tongue than it was in his nose. Ben could feel the funk, like a humid mist on the inside of his mouth even before he actually came into contact with Cue’s ass.
And then the funk flowed into his mouth, the sweat of Cue’s body trickling onto Ben’s tongue. He gagged continuously, retching loudly even as his tongue poked through the tangled nest of ass-hair. His head may have been bald and his asscheeks were smooth, but Cue’s buttcrack was choked with black hairs.
He wasn’t sure he’d know when his tongue hit Cue’s asshole, but then when he did hit it, he absolutely knew. His tongue sank in. Cue grunted, and Ben could tell that his dick started to harden even though Cue faced away from him so he couldn’t see.
Cue was a muscular man, so his ass was tight and hard. As he got aroused, his cheeks and even his asshole squeezed as though he was trying to hold Ben in place with his ass.
“Don’t take your tongue out, man, stick it all the way in,” Cue said. He began grinding his muscular hips, rubbing his asshair on Ben’s face. “Now blow a raspberry, like this.” He blew a loud raspberry that echoed in the linoleum bathroom.
Ben did the same, the sound muted and muffled by Cue’s body. It made a sound like a fart though, which was tremendously loud in Ben’s ears because it happened right on his face. He could even feel air escaping from Cue’s ass, going right down Ben’s throat, and Cue’s whole body vibrated. He groaned.
“Damn, you rim pretty good for a first-timer,” Cue said. “But I don’t wanna blow my wad like this. You got me hard, now let’s get on to the main show. You got any final words before I cornhole you?”
“No,” Ben said. He was glad to pull away from Ben’s ass, but he trembled in fear at the thought of taking that inch-long cock into his ass. “I mean yes. Please, uh… Lemme just, I dunno, give you a handjob or somethin’.”
“You serious? Do I look like a punk-ass bitch?”
“No, just… I don’t think I can take it.”
“Course you can. I’ll just have to bust you wide. You might not walk straight for a couple days, or maybe forevuh, I dunno,” Cue said. “You can still walk outta here, but I know you won’t. You’re gonna play that chip, ain’t ya? You’re gonna lose. You know that, right? Even if you win, you’re gonna lose. Because you’re a loser.”
Ben sobbed. He knew that was right. He bent over on all fours in front of the toilet. Only a loser would be in this position. Ben would never be anything else.
Unless, of course, he used that chip to win.
“You’re lucky my shift is over, and I wanna get home. Otherwise I wouldn’t use lube, just so I have an excuse to spend hours in here stretching you out,” Cue said with a chuckle. “Mickey would say that was a good use of my time.” He squeezed lube into Ben’s ass. It was cold and goopy, and he shuddered.
Then he bit his lip as pain hit his ass. It was just the tip of Cue’s cock, but the agony was already arduous. Ben had an urge to lower his head, but that would put his face in the toilet, so he didn’t.
Cue gripped Ben’s hair as he squeezed the first couple inches in. He grunted and sighed, and he slapped Ben’s cheeks. He laughed at their jiggling. His fingers massaged Ben’s rim trying to stretch it, but that made the pain so much worse than Ben cried out.
“Alright, you got about a third of it befo’ I hit resistance,” Cue said. “I got techniques to get you to open up, but it’s better if you do it consciously. Can you open up any more?”
Gritting his teeth, Ben managed to loosen himself up some. That caused a flood of pain that made him arch his back, and the movement made the pain even worse. Ben spasmed and squealed.
But Cue had a firm grip on his chest and his waist, holding him in place. Cue clucked his tongue and squeezed Ben until he stopped moving.
“Alright. Good. You at almost half. That’s real good, deadbeat,” Cue said. “Now, here comes the first little trick I got. It’s gonna hurt. Most men use it for dome, but my dick’s too big for that to really help.” He put a clothespin on Ben’s nose, so he had to breathe through his mouth. After a few seconds, Ben’s throat opened, followed by his ass. Cue sighed as some more cock slid into Ben’s ass. Ben screamed right into the toilet water just in front of his face. “I ain’t ramroddin’ you, by the way. I’m holdin’ you in place to make it easier, but you can leave anytime. This ain’t a ramroddin’. It ain’t even really extortion.”
Ben was in too much pain to think about Cue’s words. His ass was splitting, ripping, and he couldn’t help but scream at the top of his lungs. The oldies rock playing through the speakers outside muffled the sound though, so no one could hear it.
“I love that sound. That’s the sound of a deadbeat learnin’ what a useless shit he really is,” Cue said. “Now you got maybe three quarters of my dick inside you. How’s that feel?”
All Ben could do was grunt and gag at the smell of porcelain and toilet water.
“No. Use your words, deadbeat. You got words? Or did you gamble them away.”
Ben spoke through gritted teeth. “It hurts. I can’t talk. Hurts.”
“Good. Now I got one last trick. It’s gonna feel like you’re drowning, but don’t worry. I won’t let you die,” Cue said.
Before Ben could respond, Cue pushed his head into the water. As Ben’s body panicked and his lungs filled with nasty water, his asshole loosened all the way. Ben screamed in agony and shame, while Cue grunted and howled.
His dick slid all the way in. Cue’s balls swung between Ben’s legs. Cue pumped his biceps — he still wore his shirt and suit jacket, his tie now loosened and his shirt-tails lifted up so he could watch his cock slide in.
“Ain’t nothin’ like rammin’ the bitch outuva chokin” deadbeat…” Cue moaned and laughed, flexing his muscles for the men he assumed still watched on the security cameras.
He pistoned his hips back and forth. Ben screamed with every thrust, squirming when Cue hit the deepest extent within Ben’s ass. It felt so good. Cue sighed. He didn’t even mind the toilet water splashing on him.
Cue pulled his hair to give Ben a chance to breathe. His whole body shuddered, and his ass clenched around Cue’s cock. He pushed Ben’s face back into the water, cutting him off mid-gasp.
Ben’s socks and underwear had sunk to the bottom of the toilet bowl, so they clung to Ben’s face when he touched them. Cue’s cock throbbed and spasmed within him, its every tremor sending shockwaves of agony through Ben’s body.
“Here I go, deadbeat, gonna fill you up!”
At last Cue orgasmed. He smashed Ben’s face into the bottom of the toilet so hard Ben was dizzy, his lungs crying out for oxygen. He thought he might black out from the pain and the water.
Cum flowed into him like it was being piped in. He could feel it trickling through his body, its heat and its snotty texture making it palpable within him. It dripped out of his overstuffed hole and stuck to his legs. The smell of santorum filled the air. Cue pumped what seemed like too much jizz up Ben’s backside.
It was hot and creamy, and it seeped into him. Cue pumped his hips each time he spewed another wad into him. Ben couldn’t hear it because his head was underwater, but Cue grunted too with each gyration of his powerful body.
Finally, just when he was beginning to lose consciousness, Cue pulled him out of the water and threw him on the ground. Cue stood up. He sneered at Ben, whom he lightly kicked in the belly.
Ben vomited up toilet water onto the floor. It seemed like way more than he had expected, he thought, wondering how he had swallowed so much. He gasped for air on the floor.
“I’m gonna start pissin’ in a second,” Cue said.His fat dick dangled between his legs and above Ben. “I always piss after I plow. If you’re still there on the floor, I’m gonna piss on you. Crawl away, deadbeat.”
But Ben both couldn’t and didn’t want to crawl away. He deserved this, he thought. He was a deadbeat.
The piss was hot and acrid, and it smelled terrible. It smelled like both piss and cum, and a little bit like shit, Ben thought. It coated his skin and made him gag uncontrollably. He couldn’t even dry-heave though, so his body just spasmed.
Cue tucked his cock away. He flipped the blue chip onto the puddle of fluids on the ground. “Here. You should exchange that for cash and at least go get a shower at the YMCA. You won’t. But you should. Goodbye, deadbeat.” As he walked to the door, he started whistling. “Don’t come back to this casino.”
“I won’t,” Ben said. He took a deep breath. He knew that wasn’t really true, he would probably be back at some point, and he was certainly going to gamble this blue chip here. After going through all this, he thought the universe was sure to reward him with a winning streak.
He struggled to his feet, his asshole and his face aching. He felt filthy, and he had nothing but underwear to wear. But he had one blue chip.
He just needed to find a table he could gamble it at. He was, after all, a gamblin’ man.

The Drifter

Rob has paid off a child support beef for the legendary drifter and hobo Tommy Weathers, and for that, Rob is ready to taste his filthy, raunchy meat. Is Tommy willing to give it up?

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Read the whole thing here

It took a long time after Rob paid off the child support for Tommy to be released. Rob’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his latest lust striding cockily through the jail, his eyes darting suspiciously towards the uniformed cop who escorted him out.
“I thanks ya kindly, suh,” Tommy said when he was in the waiting area and his handcuffs were unlocked. “You a real prince among men.”
The situation was awkward, the waiting area clogged with dour-looking girlfriends, mothers and lawyers, all of them pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. Tommy was oblivious though and shamelessly spoke loudly and at great length in front of them.
“Uh, yeah, no problem. You’re welcome,” Rob said.
Tommy’s deep voice boomed. He was tall and big-bodied by nature, but with the lean, ropy build of a drifter. He was white but with very sun-tanned skin, burnt and reburnt by his days of shirtless work. He was missing several teeth. His accent was so thick it reminded Rob of the incomprehensible hillbilly, Boomhauer, from King of the Hill. He talked incessantly too, as though he was required to verbalize every thought he had.
“I’m gonna pay you back, suh. Not in money, you know I ain’t got none of that, and if’n I did, I’d just spend it all on booze, ya hear. The ol’ Tommy, he would-a say he gonna pay you back in cold hard cash, ya hear, but he wouldn’t do it. Nosirree. He just use ya and abuse ya for as much as he can, then spend it all on fentunill, uh-huh, ya hear, son? I ain’t that kinda man no mo’, suh, and I thanks ya rightly for all that you done. I’s gonna tell ya upfront that if I gets any cash, I be buyin’ liquor wit’ it. Ain’t proud of it, ’s just my weakness, ya hear? God ain’t see fit to gimme the strength to resist sweet lady drink.”
He kept talking as they walked back to Rob’s car and drove away from the jail. Rob found his accent alluring, and his intense energy made Rob horny. He couldn’t focus on Tommy’s words because he was so aroused.
So far, Rob had only managed to jack Tommy off once when he was drunk. They met because Tommy was holding up a sign asking for money at a busy intersection — he had insisted even as he begged for handouts that he didn’t accept welfare (he offered to write down every person’s address and pay them back at some point in the future, but most people understandably declined). Rob had offered him thirty bucks to jack him off.
Tommy agreed without giving it a second thought and jumped into the passenger seat. Once he was there, however, he made a big show of this being contrary to his ideals as a Christian. Those ideals didn’t slow him down any, but he did make Rob buy him liquor first, and by the time he had his dick out in the shadowy corner of an All-Mart parking lot, Tommy had been piss-drunk.
His dick was thick and fleshy, nice and long, and it throbbed beneath Rob’s fingertips. Tommy had demonstrated its thickness by holding it next to his forearm — it was just a bit thicker than his cock. He cackled with pride.
“Mah friends always used to say I got color cock,” he grinned, showing off his gap-toothed jaw. “You know what that mean? I got dick like a color boy. Ain’t prejudice now, ya hear?”
“Uh-huh.”
He went on, talking about his lack of prejudice and, at the same time, all the groups of people he was prejudiced against: Filipinos, blacks, foreigners, electricians, feminists, Marylanders, Jews, Frenchmen, people named Bruce, Canadians, psychiatrists, people who eat smooth peanut butter, Texans, politicians, Mexicans and Mormons, among others. Even as his dick got hard in Rob’s hand and leaked precum into his fingers, Tommy didn’t stop talking.
“I used to fuck this color girl, she loved me somethin’ fierce. Ah, damn, she got this ass, man… It’s enough to make me unchristian, it rightly is, suh. I tell you one thing. Uh-huh.”
When he orgasmed, he shut up for about half a second, then let loose with a loud torrent of moaning. Even his moans had a redneck accent though, which made Rob giggle.
Sitting there in the car in the All-Mart parking lot, Rob had nearly busted his own load just from the sight of Tommy’s muscles writhing beneath his t-shirt, his scruffy chin and his unwashed hair shaking. He finally stopped talking for a few seconds, long enough to spray sweet, sunny-smelling semen all over Rob’s hand. It spurted over Tommy’s t-shirt too, soaking into it. That made Tommy drunkenly groan with disgust, but Rob had given him a new t-shirt. Tommy allowed him to keep the old one, which Rob had fallen asleep sniffing and licking.
So that had been how he met Tommy. He had paid Tommy thirty bucks and the bottle and said he could stay at Rob’s place. He slept on the couch. That first night, he had spent the whole thirty bucks on more booze. He said that it would last him a week, but he actually finished it in two days — he shared some with a couple of homeless men, but he drank most of it himself.
Since then Tommy had been out and about — “testifyin’ at ‘bout the Lord on heaven” — so Rob hadn’t had the chance to get at his dick again.
Until today.
Tommy had spent a day and a half in jail after being arrested for being drunk in public. It turned out he owed five hundred in child support, which Rob paid to get him out.
When they pulled into Rob’s house, Tommy cleared his throat. “Ya need any more work done, suh?”
Rob shook his head no. Tommy had refused to take charity, so he had done some work around the house in exchange for a couch to sleep on. But that work was all done.
“You gonna wanna jack me off, huh?”
“Yeah,” Rob said.
He sighed. “Fine. I knew it was gonna come to that. I don’t take charity, so I’ll do whatevuh it take,” he said.
“I might know someone who needs work done,” Rob said. “Why don’t I make some calls? I might be able to find you a job.”
“I’d be much obliged,” he said. He sniffed his pits. “I should go take a shower. I got jailstink in me.”
“No.” Rob blushed. “Wait. Lemme… y’know… first.”
“Oh, you like it stinky, huh?”
“The stinkier the better,” Rob said. He sent off a text message to a friend of his, asking about a job for Tommy. Then he dropped to his knees and massaged Tommy’s cock through his jeans. Tommy snorted and was silent for a moment — that was highly unusual for him, and it was enough to make Rob chuckle. He undid the fly and let Tommy’s cock flop out.
Rob opened his mouth and swallowed it down. That triggered Tommy to start talking again, but Rob ignored him. He focused on the taste of his meat; it was salty and musky, with a sun-drenched summery flavor that made Rob drool all over it.
“You really like jackin’ dick, huh? What’s up wit’ dat? Huh? Dick don’t taste good, I never put it in my mouth — no how, no way — but I knows dat, yessuh, you best believe it. That’s where piss come from, why don’t it just taste like piss?” He paused, his voice scrunched up as he pondered this conundrum. “Oh, but girls piss too. Pussy does piss I know dat, suh. But they’s cleaner. That’s the diff’rence. Tastes like piss, yessuh. I know dat.”
His dick got hard easily — Rob was glad to see he didn’t have whiskey dick, despite the bottle of whiskey he had drunk before getting arrested. It was massively thick, one of those rare cocks that Rob actually needed to struggle to deep-throat.
There were two reasons in Rob’s book to practice rough trade. Firstly, he just plain enjoyed it. Secondly, and even more important, Rob loved to humiliate his father. Dad was an upper-class elitist who hated the lower classes. He genuinely thought poor people shouldn’t be allowed to speak to the wealthy unless spoken to first.
So as Rob swallowed, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dad. As expected, it went straight to voice mail — Dad knew what it meant when Rob called him. Rob was fine with the voice mail, since Dad couldn’t hang it up. Rob left the phone recording while he moistly put his mouth on Tommy’s cock, whose incessant yammering in his Southern dialect would enrage Dad so much it made Rob smile.
“You got nice lips, damn, suh. I wasn’t expectin’ that, nosirree. I never do no pervy shit wit’ no male person befo’, nope, no, no, no, no way, and I will slap the bitch off anyone say different,” he said. “But I’s a Christian man, so I won’t do that. I don’t slap no one. I would though, I’d do it and get meself some fo’giveness later. I’s Christian fo’ real, suh. Don’t hit anyone who question me, not even men. Nope, that ain’t Christian. But don’t doubt that I ain’t nevuh do none of that pervuht shit befo’, or I will hit ya, and that’s a Christian promise.” He continued swearing that he both would definitely hit this hypothetical person and definitely would not, apparently having no realization that he was contradicting himself over and over. He peered down at his cock as it disappeared down Rob’s throat. He covered his eyes with one hand, peeking through his fingers before looking away again.
Rob loved hearing Tommy’s rumbling drawl, his gravelly voice filling the air with the words that dripped out of him like molasses. His cock dripped too, salty precum flowing down Rob’s throat. He gurgled on it, letting some leak out from his lips and down his chin.
The phone rang — not Rob’s personal phone, but his landline. Rob wasn’t going to answer until he saw he caller ID. It was a friend who owned a small bakery in town.
“I should take this,” Rob said. “It’s the guy I asked about giving you a job. I sent him a text. He called on the landline-“
“Hell yeah, answer that, suh, I rightly need dat, yeah,” he said. He wrinkled his nose as Rob lazily stroked his dick and answered the phone. He stared at the cock as he had to fight back the urge to start jacking on it again — he needed his mouth free to talk on the phone.
It turned out his friend did have a job available. He needed someone to re-tile his bathroom, and, when Rob asked, Tommy nodded as though he didn’t have experiencing tiling but was willing to pretend he did.
So Rob passed the phone over. Tommy took a deep breath before answering, and Rob couldn’t help but lick his dick. He didn’t put it in his mouth again while Tommy interviewed over the phone, he just licked and lightly stroked the shaft.
“Hello, suh. Yessuh, I swears, I do got experience. Yessuh, I ain’t gonna lie to ya, ain’t nevuh tiled a bathroom all by myself. But I done it. I know all ‘bout that, yessuh. And you can rest yerself unworried, suh, I’s a Christian man. I’s a God-fearin’ man, uh-huh.” His voice broke when a drop of precum leaked onto Rob’s tongue. “Yessuh. I got dat punc-tual-ity, yessuh, I always do. I do good work. I was raised propuh.”
His dick twitched in Rob’s mouth. Rob kissed the tip as loudly as he could, giggling when Tommy frowned at him. Rob licked up all the precum that dripped out of his dick.
“I only ask that ya treat me wit’ respect as well. I only ask fo’ you to treat me like a man, ya hear. I don’t like to hear no kinda disrespec’. Ya got me? Huh? I see, yeah. Yessuh,” he said. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, suh. I do gots a problem wit’ the drink, yeah. I’s man enough to admit dat. Uh-huh.”
Tommy used one hand to keep the phone on his ear, while his other hand grabbed Rob by the head. He bucked his hips one time, slamming his dick all the way into Rob’s throat. He listened intently to the phone as he did, like he didn’t even notice what his cock was doing. He smiled and stuck his tongue out when he was all the way in Rob’s gullet, and he moaned loudly.
Then he blushed and stammered into the phone. “Sorry, suh, I was, uh… I just stubbed my toe, so sorry,” he said. “I ain’t know ‘bout that, suh. It might not be the best way to go. I do drink me some ‘lcohol, that’s fo’ sho’. Uh-huh. I ain’t gonna lie to you, suh, I’s a Christian man, I do drink e’ry night. The Lord ain’t seen fit to take that burden from my back. I pray e’ry night, both befo’ and aftuh I get drunk, ya hear. I pray fo’ guidance, yessuh, and I pray for forgiveness.”
As Rob started to stroke Tommy’s cock in earnest again, he looked up at Tommy’s serious face. Tommy had one arm crossed over his flat belly, rubbing against the blond hairs there. Rob suckled loudly and moistly on his cockshaft, which throbbed and precummed down Rob’s throat.
“Alright, yessuh, thank you, thank you fo’ the oppo’tunity, yessuh, I do ‘ppreciate it, mighty fine,” Tommy said. Then he hung up the phone. He snorted. “He ain’t hire me.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“He say he gonna need me to do some drivin’. The tiles he wanna use is in some far-away warehouse or somethin’. He say he gonna make me take a breathalyzer first. He say insurance make him do it,” Tommy said. “I can’t get no kinda DUI no mo’, or I do some big-boy time in the slammer. That’s what my lawyer say last time. So I tell him, I tells ya friend, I tells him nah, I can’t lie. I gonna be drunk, at least at the legal limit from the night befo’. ‘nless you pick me up from jail like you done today, that’s ‘bout the only way I might be sober fo’ him. God ain’t seen fit to take the burden of drink off my back, ya hear.”
“Uh-huh. That’s too bad, I’m sorry to hear that,” Rob said. He was too horny to really care, though a part of him was annoyed that Tommy hadn’t even been willing to try to quit drinking for the job. Rob was also certain that his friend was making that up — he had no breathalyzer, he was just saying that to scare Tommy into admitting he would never show up sober.
“Hey, suh, I wanna-” Tommy said. He snorted and threw his head back to moan, biting his lip as he nearly orgasmed right then and there. He pulled his dick out and let it flop against Rob’s face. It smelled like hay and saliva and sweat, and it made Rob’s mind race as dizzying desire overwhelmed him. Tommy took a deep breath. “I’s in need, ya know that, ya hear. You seem like the kinda man who wanna help a Christian brotha out, and ya know I don’t take no kinda charity, no way. Huh-huh. I don’t do dat. I got some pride left in these old bones.”
“What do you want, Tommy?” Rob didn’t meant to be impatient, but he desperately wanted to get back to swallowing his dick.
“I want you to forgive me my debt fo’ that child support shit, and I need more. If you gimme ‘bout two hundred, I can buy enough liquor to last me for weeks and still have enough to pay child support fo’ this month, ya hear. That’ll keep me outta jail long enough to get a job.”
“A job that doesn’t expect you to come to work sober?” Rob asked. Tommy wrinkled his nose, and Rob smiled. He didn’t mean to be confrontational — he wasn’t Tommy’s social worker, after all.
“That’s fair, I say. I say that’s fair,” Tommy said. “But the Lord ain’t seen fit to tell me to quit drinkin’. The Lord ain’t say that yet. Maybe it’ll happen tomorrow. Maybe the day aftuh that, I dunno. The Lord works in mysterious ways, suh, as I’m sure you well know.”
“Uh-huh.” Rob inhaled deeply from the musky cock that rested and pulsated atop his face, as he looked up into Tommy’s ultra-serious mien.
“So I’s askin’ for two hundred, suh, but I wouldn’t be askin’ if I ain’t wanna earn it, like a real man. I dunno if you know this ‘bout me, but I don’t take charity. Nope, no way, no how,” he said, and even though he had told Rob that maybe a hundred times in the week or so they had known each other, he seemed to be genuinely unaware that he had said it before. He took a deep breath. “I’s willin’ to treat you in a most unchristian way, if that’s the way you want it.”
Rob would have had no idea what that meant, but from the way Tommy raised his eyebrows and stroked his twitching cock, Rob guessed it was exactly what he wanted. He glanced over at the phone to be sure his father’s voicemail would pick up this conversation.
“You’ll stick it in my ass?”
Tommy blanched, frowned and chuckled nervously. “Damn, you really speak blunt, suh, but yeah, that’s what I’s sayin’.”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“Nossuh!” he said. Then he paused. “I been drinkin’ a lotta drink fo’ a long time, suh.” He put his hand over his heart. “I ain’t wanna lie to ya, suh. This man I know — Willie — he tells me one time that we get drunk together in a tramp camp out near the highway — not the highway here in Tuscaloosa, this was down in Florida — and we get so drunk, me and Willie, we get so drunk we can’t even stand, I swear to God. I wasn’t composed-mentis — that’s a legal term, ya hear — and I ain’t even remembuh it the next day. But Willie, he a color boy, not that I’s prejudice, but he say the next day, he say that we was real drunk and I was attemptin’ at his asshole all night. Color boys say dat, yessuh. But I wasn’t right in the mind then, and I don’t rightly remembuh it. I punched that Willie in the face and I ain’t even ask fo’giveness. He say we was drunk and messin’ each other off — color boys call that ‘sixty-ninin’’, yessuh, and then he say he stick me in the asshole, and I say no way, no how, I don’t do that, nossuh. I don’t let no white man in my ass, and I don’t let no color man in there neither. I ain’t prejudice. He say we both do it, but I punch him in the face.” Tommy laughed. “He punch me back, but we make up and get to smokin’ some ice togethuh, all forgotten. We was both smokin’ that crystal meth-am-phetamine then. I quit that now, by the grace of God, thank you, suh.”
As he told that long story, Rob got into position. He bent over on all fours, above his own cell phone so he could be sure his father would listen to every moist sound and intense moan. He slathered lube all over his ass.
It was only as he finished his story, talking about smoking meth and over-enunciating the word methamphetamine, that Tommy got in position to enter Rob’s ass. He kneeled and got behind Rob, who cringed as soon as he felt that thick prick at the entrance to his ass.
Tommy grabbed Rob’s hair, which was just long enough that he could grip it. He screwed up his face like a mean thug for a moment, and he slapped Rob’s asscheek.
“I ain’t gonna stick ya real mean-like. Ya reckon it’s okay if I hold onto yer hair, suh?”
“That’s fine.”
“I just likes to hold on, like for somethin’ to grip. Plus I can pull on it just a bit, make ya tighten up some. Ya just gotta tell me to stop or slow down,” Tommy said, sounding like he really hoped Rob would make him stop.
But Rob didn’t. He was so horny he backed his ass up while Tommy was still talking, so in the end, Tommy didn’t penetrate Rob — instead Rob penetrated himself with Tommy’s dick.
He threw his head back and moaned as Tommy’s cock hit his prostate, inch after inch of it squeezing into his ass. Rob had rarely accepted such a thick slab of meat, so he struggled to take in the whole thing.
“Oh god! It’s so big!” Rob knew that men like Tommy pounded better if their ego was stroked, so Rob kept shouting about how huge Tommy’s cock was. Sure enough, that made Tommy grin like an ape and bristle with pride.
“Here we go, suh, I do hope this is worth it,” Tommy said. He groaned and grunted as he forced the last few inches of his dick in.
They were both motionless for a moment. Rob shivered as he struggled to adjust to the cock in his ass and the wave of pleasure enveloping him. Tommy looked down at his dick disappearing in Rob’s ass as though he had no idea how it had gotten there. He chuckled to himself and was again struck silent for a few seconds. Though Tommy’s accent had turned him on, Rob was glad to have a few moments to think as his prostate came alive.
Then at last Tommy began pounding away at Rob’s ass. He pulled gently on Rob’s hair to keep his head up, even as Tommy pushed down on Rob’s upper back. He placed Rob’s shoulders on the floor, his ass in the air and his head upraised just enough that he could see.
“Damn, suh, from behind you look a lot like a girl,” Tommy said. “A girl who got a real athletic back, that’s nice. A li’l hairy, but hey, I know I ain’t no prize. I met girls a lot hairier than you and I ain’t kick ‘em out of bed. Or outta the tent I be sleepin’ in, or whatevuh. I don’t fuck wit’ prostitutes, mind you suh.” He groaned again and slammed his dick in so hard his balls slapped against Rob’s thigh.
“Uh-huh.” Rob reached behind himself and massaged Tommy’s balls. It wasn’t clear Tommy even realized he was doing it — Tommy’s mind was fixated on the pleasure and the horror of his dick in a man’s asshole. Rob’s fingers slipped behind Tommy’s balls, rubbing that sensitive spot where his sac met his taint. The thick nest of blond hairs there was choked with dried-on sweat.
Tommy stopped moving. He coughed. “Ah, damn, does this make me a rentboy, suh?”
“Uh… No, you’re just…” Rob winced. It was hard to concentrate on speaking with such a huge cock throbbing inside his ass. It was right on his prostate, sending jolts of bliss through his body. “You’re just givin’ me a lesson on masculinity. I’m small and weak-“
Tommy chortled. He mulled around the word masculinity in his mouth and repeated it, dick twitching inside Rob’s twisting body. “Muscle-innity? Wuzzat?”
“It’s, a, uh… bein’ a man” Rob said.
“Well hooty toot, ain’t that right. I ain’t no pervuht, just doin’ what I gotta do to make some scratch. Wish I could tell my sister that and have her get impressed. She called me a failure and a loser, can you believe that? She accuse me of stealin’ cash from her when I was sleepin’ on her couch,” Tommy said. He started moving his hips again, rubbing his dick on every surface of Rob’s guts. Tommy moaned and bit his lip. “I did steal cash from her, mind you. I done sought forgiveness fo’ it already,” he said. “But she ain’t know I done it. She ain’t have no kinda clues ‘bout that. She just ‘ssumed. To me, that ain’t right. She my sister. She should gimme the benefit of the doubt. Ya hear me, suh?”
“Yeah. Uh-huh.”
He chuckled dryly. “I can tell you want me to blow my load. You like, uh, nut, huh, suh?” He shuddered as though that thought was unspeakably disgusting.
“Yeah. Stick it in me,” Rob said, still too distracted by his ass to speak normally, so his voice was wrenched by moans.
“Now when I fuck a girl in the ass, she nevuh want me to fill her up inside. Huh? You want me to pull out? I like to fill her up, cuz that’s in the Bible,” Tommy said. “Spillin’ yer seed is bad, I know that. I hears this preacher say it one time.”
“Yeah. Just cum inside me, okay,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes while he shot his own load into his hand. Some of it even landed on the phone on the floor, which still whirred as it recorded Tommy’s voice and the sound of Rob’s orgasm. Rob smiled — his father was going to hate this. Tommy’s earnest nature, his Christianity, his dirtiness, his redneck accent, he was everything Rob’s dad despised.
“Yessuh, I am glad you say dat,” he said. He spat into the palm of his hand and used that as additional lube. He groaned and slammed his dick in. He pulled it all the way out and did so again, grunting each time, as Rob bit his own lip, the waves of pleasure overwhelming him with each thrust of Tommy’s cock.
Rob could feel his orgasm approach. He writhed, his sensitive ass tingling so intensely Rob could do nothing but bury his face in his own arms. But that didn’t last long because Tommy pulled on his hair as he climaxed.
“Aw, fuck yeah…” He spoke softly for once, and he paused, allowing a moment of delectable silence to fill the room. “Gonna shoot so much you ain’t nevuh stop drippin’, suh… Got a ‘nfinite ‘mount of cum to fill ya up wit’, suh. I always shoots some big loads, like a color boy. I ain’t color, mind ya, and I ain’t prejudice.”
A big jet of creamy cum hit Rob’s prostate, reawakening his own orgasm. Rob twisted and contorted, but Tommy kept a tight grip on his hair.
Then Tommy collapsed his body onto Rob’s back. That pinned Rob down as Tommy gyrated his hips, shooting wad after wad of hot cum inside his ass. It was thicker than most cum, or so Rob thought he sensed as it trickled into his body. He could feel it sticking to his innards, soaking into him, its heat seeping into his flesh.
Rob moaned, but the sound was overpowered by Tommy’s own moan. Tommy’s ropy, dusty, sunburnt muscles flexed where they pressed against Rob’s bare back, and Rob moaned beneath his grasp.
“Ya feel me fillin’ you up, suh? That how you like it? Huh? Girls don’t like that, or some of them do but I think they just prostitutes and sluts, that’s what they is. They usually make me pull out, shoot all over the floor, but I don’t like dat, nossuh. I like-” he paused and his voice broke as he moaned again, another few drops of cum dripping into Rob’s ass. “I likes this, yessuh. I do this fo’ two hundred anytime, yessuh, that’s fo’ sho’. Ain’t Christian to do it, ain’t propuhly Christian, but that’s why the Cath-olics invented forgiveness, yessuh.”
At last they were both done. Rob didn’t know how long he laid there. It felt like eons. All he could focus on was the feel of Tommy’s muscles writhing above his back, his cum trickling into his ass and his breath condensing on Rob’s neck.
“Alright, suh, that okay?”
“Yeah, Tommy, you can get off me now,” Rob said, breathless and strained.
“Yessuh,” he pulled off. He wrinkled his face at sight of his cum-coated cock, dripping with santorum and goop. He laughed at himself. “Well, shit, I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I did it. Yessuh, I did.”
“Yeah. That was good, Tommy,” Rob said. He took a deep breath.
Tommy crossed his arms over his wiry chest and shot Rob a suspicious look. “You ain’t gonna stiff me, right? Two hundred. That’s what you said.” He thought for a moment. “You pretty rich, right?”
“Well, not exactly,” Rob said. His own cock was rock-hard, even though he had cum a couple minutes ago. That’s because the stink of Tommy’s hobo armpits filled the room, and Rob kept playing with Tommy’s rubbery soft cock and wiry muscles. “But I do okay. You said you’ve been in prison before, right? Not just jail-“
“Ayyuh, yessuh, I been gone to lockup buncha times, big-boy prison too, a year and a half once, back befo’ I was a God-fearin’ man,” he said. “That’s how I seen pervuhsion befo’, I know how bad that taste, so I bet — I ain’t taste it, mind you, I know from rep’tation. I hold my own in prison.” He looked away.
“So you’ve never tasted cock?”
“Nosuh, nosuh, nosuh,” he said. “And I nevuh would, nevuh. I tol’ this one color fella he best shank me, cuz no how no way, uh-huh, I ain’t puttin’ his nasty old thing in my mouth.”
“Oh, okay,” Rob said. He had hoped maybe there was a chance he could get his dick in Tommy’s mouth, but he knew that was always a longshot, so he just shrugged.
But Rob saw a hesitant look on Tommy’s face. Rob said, “Four hundred.”
“Eight. I don’t taste no color fella prick, nosuh.”
Rob nodded. “Fine,” he said. His heart pounded. Was he really about to get his dick wet in this redneck?
Tommy got on his knees, weary look on his face, his mouth already puckering. He looked at Rob’s dick and wrinkled his nose. “I nevuh done it — I love me some drugs, you see, but I tol’ that color fella I ain’t tastin’ no hog fo’ it,” he said. “Tastin’ like shit anyhows, on ‘ccount of he always stickin’ his homeboys in the butthole.” He picked up Rob’s dick with two fingers and winced. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. Just before it touched Rob’s dick, he closed his mouth again. “You ain’t gonna stiff me, right?”
“Swear to God,” Rob said.
Tommy closed his eyes. “Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, you feel me?”
Rob nodded. “No judgement, it’s-” He gasped as his cock slid into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy immediately deep-throated him most of the way down, but as soon as Rob’s cock touched the back of his tongue, Tommy violently retched.
Tommy sat back and closed his mouth like he thought he might vomit. He paused. “First taste is always the nastiest,” he said as though that was a cliche he’d said before. “I-” His face turned pale and he snapped his mouth shut. He got up and hurried the best he could with his pants around his ankles. He went to the bathroom and bent over the toilet, retching into it. “Sorry, suh, sorry, I’s tryin’ — first taste is always the worst, makes ya puke, but I’ll get-” He retched again. “I’ll get through it, swear to God.”
Rob came into the bathroom then. Tommy was bent over the toilet dry-heaving and spitting. His pants were still down so his asshole was bare, wrinkled, pale as could be but studded with off-blond hairs, especially running up his asscrack. Rob came up behind Tommy and thwacked his cock against Tommy’s asscrack.
“Don’chu even try and stick it in my hole,” Tommy said. He turned back around, leaning his back against the toilet. He eyed Rob’s cock with disdain.
“I wasn’t tryin’ to stick it in, just playin’,” Rob said. He slowly got closer, expecting Tommy to open his mouth. But he didn’t. Rob got closer and closer, until his dick touched Tommy’s lip. He didn’t react.
Then he opened his mouth a crack. Rob slid his dick in. Again, Tommy gagged, but not as violently, and Rob was able to keep his dick in there.
Tommy kept his mouth opened wide and his tongue low, minimizing the amount of Rob’s dick that touched his tongue. His chapped lip rubbed against it.
“Oh god, yeah…” Rob moaned loudly. He grabbed Tommy by the ears and pushed his dick in as a sudden orgasm overwhelmed him. The change in angle meant his cock rubbed thoroughly against Tommy’s tongue, and he gagged once more.
“No wai-sshh, I cauuhn’t-” Tommy tried to pull off Rob’s dick, but he was pinned with the toilet behind him, and Rob had a grip on both ears. He let go to hold onto Tommy by the mullet on the back of his head. His hairy was dusty and coarse, and he let out a furious stomach-churning retch as Rob’s dick slid all the way into Tommy’s throat.
“Sorry, just a sec, just a second,” Rob said softly, his face turning red. A jet of cum hit the back of Tommy’s throat, dripping straight down his gullet.
This time when Tommy gagged as the second cumwad hit him, he spat up all the cum he had swallowed so far. His whole body writhed as a big ball of spit and semen slipped out onto Rob’s cock. Tommy finally managed to get himself off Rob’s dick.
“Nasssshuh-” Tommy tried to hold back a vomit, but he couldn’t. He twisted sideways so he could vomit into the toilet bowl. His stomach was empty because he had thrown up before, then spat up Rob’s first cumwad. Rob wasn’t done cumming though. His third spurt of cum landed on the strap of Tommy’s wifebeater on his shoulder.
Then Rob moved to the side of the toilet, so he could jam his dick back into Tommy’s mouth, as Tommy let out a hoarse breath and spat again. Tommy didn’t see it coming, so Rob managed to get his fourth and final cumwad into Tommy’s mouth.
“Sorry, sorry,” Rob said. He thought he shouldn’t have to apologize, since he was paying good money for this, but he figured apologizing would make Tommy more likely to come back. “I’m all done.”
Despite being done, Rob didn’t stop moving his limpening dick in and out of Tommy’s mouth. Tommy was hunched over the toilet, letting fluids drip from his mouth into the bowl. Finally he took Rob’s dick in two fingers and held him back. He closed his mouth, spit again and took a deep breath.
“Alright, alright, you got’cha money’s worth. Damn, that’s the dickens! Still, you ain’t taste as bad as that color fella,” he said. “Or so I hears.” He stood up and pulled his pants up.
“I’ll get you your money. I’ll have to write a check, I don’t have that much cash. What kinda fee will you pay at the check-cashing place.”
“Like five percent plus, uh…” His voice trailed off. “Hundred bucks. Five percent plus a hundred bucks.”
That was clearly a lie, he was exaggerating the cost. But Rob didn’t care. Money was no object to him. He wrote out a check for two hundred dollars, which would more than cover any check-cashing fee. He didn’t get up, his body still too weak and basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. He passed the check over to Tommy.
“Thank ya, suh,” Tommy said. He stood, stretched his knees and wiped his cock off with a napkin. “I thanks ya mightily. I’m just gonna go cash this check, yessuh. I got big plans fo’ it. Gonna buy just a little liquor. Enough to get me drunk fo’ a couple nights. Gonna make this money last, yessuh.”
“And child support,” Rob said weakly while Tommy got dressed. “Don’t forget, you want to be able to pay your child support for a couple months. Or else you’ll just get arrested again.”
Tommy paused for a long time. It was clear he had no intention of paying his child support. He stared at the check for a long time. He smiled at Rob. “Yessuh, ‘course. Thanks a lot fo’ ya help, suh. I swear, I be back. I am gonna turn my life around, yessuh.”
“Okay, see ya, Tommy,” Rob said.
As the door slammed shut behind Tommy, Rob knew that was it, he was not going to see Tommy again. All of that money would be spent on booze, and it would all be gone in a week or two. Tommy was a drifter, and it was time for him to drift away.

The Hobo

Carlos goes to a legendary homeless encampment in order to swing in the dirt with a filthy hobo named Tommy. He’s filthy, he’s drunk and he’s willing to let Carlos service his nasty homeless body.

Can Carlos get the raunchy manmeat he craves?

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Father Carlos brought food to the hobo encampment called Ditchway, out by the interstate in Jackson, Mississippi, but he didn’t wear his collar. The hardscrabble men who swamped the area from the hardware store parking lot to the highway tolerated him because he brought food, but it didn’t stop them from demanding other things. Mainly malt liquor, sometimes just plain cash. They lived in tents and cardboard boxes, strewn with radios and clothes hung up to dry like in a prison cell. Interspersed here and there were overturned shopping carts, municipal trash cans and legions of scavenged buckets, barrels and crates of all kinds.
But since he didn’t bring any alcohol or give them any cash, most of them left pretty soon after the meal. They headed off to panhandle during the evening rush hour. That left Carlos with Tommy Weathers, one of those poor benighted souls who live here. He was sober for now, but Tommy fully intended for that to be a temporary condition
Tommy was a broad shouldered white man with skin tanned brown as a Mexican, or a Texan at least. He was dirty, like all the rest, with greasy hair and smudges of filth all over his skin. He wasn’t exactly skinny, but he was lean, ropy-muscled and long-limbed, with a square jaw and deep-set, dark green eyes. He spoke with the accent of his native South Carolina, with a Low Country drawl that Carlos found alluring.
“I’s homeless on ‘ccount of my lying bitch of an ex-wife. Glenda Shay, that’s what she go by now. Got remarried, to an ‘ccountant who talks like a fuckin’ college professor. Glenda Shay. You know that bitch?”
“Uh… no.”
“If’n you evuh meet her, suh, you run far away,” he said. He ate the last of his hot dog and licked the ketchup off his fingertips. That’s what Carlos had brought him. He paid for it with his own money, not church funds. “I love ketchup. I put it on e’rything at the soup kitchen. I even put some in dat minestrone-” he pronounced it minnuhstrahn, as he licked ketchup out of his unkempt gray-tinged beard — “did that in lockup, yessuh. Pissed off this one off’cer so bad he swipe my head off. Said ya can’t put ketchup in soup. I lodge a complaint, suh, cuz I gots mah pride, even in lockup, yessuh, and I gots rights. I ain’t no Commie, ‘fter all. Ronald Reagan won, y’know. Dat guard gots an offishul reprimand, sho’ nuff, yessuh. I gots a right to put ketchup in dat minestrone.”
“Uh-huh. Ketchup in your minestrone, huh? I’ve never tried that. I think they put tomato paste in the broth anyway-“
“Mah mama always done say I eat so much ketchup mah head gonna turn into a tomatah, yessuh, she was a real saint, y’know. She always stand by me even when I get in trouble, yessuh.”
“Uh-huh-“
“But she pass on couple years back. I reckon it was for the best, she had dat livuh cancer, on ‘ccount of her drinkin’ like a Texan, y’know,” he said.
“Right.”
“Lordy, if she knew I was livin’ in the hobo camp with dem colored boys and a Chinaman, she would be rollin’ ovuh in dat grave,” he said.
“Sure, sure.” Carlos would have reprimanded him about his language if he was here in an official capacity. That’s why Carlos had come all the way to the far side of Jackson, Mississippi. He didn’t want to meet anyone he knew as a priest. Carlos was not here in a priestly capacity, and he didn’t have to correct the man. “So, uh, you don’t have a girlfriend or anythin’?”
“Girlfriend? What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout? Hobos don’t got girlfriends. There’s a female I know, she suck my dick sometime. She a whore though. She suck me off for free. She say I’m cute,” he said, beaming, showing off his gap-toothed grin. “But she ain’t been ‘round much no mo’. She got a pimp, say she can’t be givin’ out no freebies. He a black man, ya see. They don’t like dat. I ain’t prejudice. Just speakin’ the God’s honest truth.”
“Uh-huh.” Carlos cleared his throat. “You wanna bust a nut?”
“‘Course. You got a female?”
“I’ll give you five hundred bucks if you treat me like one. Treat me like a filthy whore,” Carlos said. His heart skipped a beat as Tommy looked him up and down.
He burped and frowned. “Five hun’red bucks is a lotta money,” he said. “You got beer?”
“No. You gotta do it before you start drinking,” Carlos said.
He nodded. “Fine. If you stiff me, I’s gonna rip yo’ goddamn head off.”
“Yes, sir,” Carlos said. His heart skipped a beat. He got on his knees in front of Tommy, who sat on the dirt in the woody copse of trees by the highway. Just twenty yards to the east was the onramp, and maybe fifty yards to the north was the highway itself. Cars whizzed by. The foliage was dense along the road though, with forsythia bushes in full bloom providing dense cover and rendering this piece of wilderness cut off from the outside world. A couple dozen tents and sleeping bags were scattered around, and the remains of two campfires. Empty bottles of liquor and abandoned crackpipes lay scattered like headstones after a tornado.
Tommy burped up a rancid smell, then apologized. Carlos ignored it. He undid Tommy’s belt and made him lift his ass up so Tommy could lower his pants. His fat cock flopped out of his tattered prison-issue boxer shorts.
“Hang on just a moment, suh, I gotta beg fo’ forgiveness fo’ mah everbegottened lusts,” Tommy said. He moved his dick out of the way at the last moment as Carlos tried to take it in his mouth. Tommy closed his eyes and looked up at the sky. He clasped his hands together and murmured a prayer. Carlos didn’t hear the words, he just sat quietly watching Tommy’s greasy dick sway between his legs. His mouth watered like a hungry dog.
It felt good that nobody knew he was a priest. He didn’t have be in charge, didn’t have to report anything to the archbishop, didn’t have to be the voice of moral clarity. He could just be. He didn’t pray. Carlo kneeled before Tommy’s cock, which dangled and sway as he prayed in a rumbling murmur that Carlos didn’t hear.
Then at last Tommy finished praying. He smiled down at Carlos and flopped his dick between his fingers. Then he thwacked it over Carlos’s face.
“God say it’s alright, cuz I gots a need, man,” Tommy said. “I got real pain, and I gotta do what I gotta do. He do want me to get a promise from you though.”
“Oh, what?”
“Go to church,” he said.
“Oh…”
“Just go one time,” he said. “God will forgive you your trespasses, suh. He always do.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Carlos said. His heart quickened, because he felt like he was getting away with something not mentioning that he was a priest. Normally it was all anybody could see him as. They only ever spoke to him as a priest, even in a casual setting. This was the first time in a long time he’d spoke to someone who didn’t know.
“Alright. If He can forgive me, suh, He can forgive you, fo’ sho’,” he said. “You get a man off good? Wit’cha mouth? Huh?”
“Real good,” Carlos said. He licked his lips and opened his mouth as wide as possible. He wiggled his tongue right in front of Tommy’s cock.
Tommy smiled. He pushed his dick in, its limp, long shaft filling Carlos’s mouth with raunchy, sweaty flesh. It tasted like soil: dry, dusty, infertile dirt, but with a thick, greasy texture that Carlos loved. He felt a shiver of desire run through him. His heart raced as fast as the cars flying by just past the trees and forsythias that lined the hobo camp.
He opened his throat and let that deliciously nasty cock slide down it. Sometimes jerking off hobos was a double-edged sword — all that nastiness and filthy Carlos craved made them unhealthy, cocks unable to get hard (especially if they smoked crack). But Tommy was not a crackhead, and his dick popped right into full erection in Carlos’s mouth. It tasted stale but warm and savory, yeasty like good bread or bad beer. He sniffed deeply of it like a sacraent.
“Ooh, boy, you handle my dick nice, damn, that feels good,” Tommy said with a hoot. He pulled out a ziploc baggie filled with cigarette butts he had scavenged from a public ashtray. He lit one that still had a good half-inch of unsmoked cigarette. He took a deep breath and exhaled it right into Carlos’s face.
The acrid smoke brought tears to his eyes, as did lack of oxygen as he kept guzzling down cockmeat. Carlos pushed his head down until his nose nuzzled Tommy’s unkempt pubic bush. Tommy gasped like he was surprised, and a shiver of pleasure visibly shook his spine. Tommy licked his teeth.
“Damn, boy, you swallow like a sissy in prison, hell yeah,” Tommy said. He groaned as he took a deep breath. Then he grabbed Carlos’s ears and pulled his head off his cock. “Hey. Can I throat down ya face, boy? You okay wit’ dat?”
“Yes, please do,” Carlos said through his gasps for air.
“You nasty,” he said. He dropped the cigarette butt, smoked down to the filter, on the muddy ground. Then he stood up. He gave his dick one stroke and then grabbed Carlos by the ear again. “Open up.”
He fed his dick down Carlos’s throat inch by inch. When he got almost the whole thing down there, Carlos instinctively choked and sputtered. Tommy gripped his ears tighter and shook his head, causing a torrent of more choking.
“Nah, open up, you payin’ fo’ it, now take it,” Tommy said through his thin lips. He closed his eyes and groaned, his hips gyrating as he slammed his dick in.
At last that entire shaft throbbed in Tommy’s throat. Precum flowed like water from a hose, coating his entire gullet. It had a thick texture and a savory flavor that made Tommy crave more.
Tommy grumbled. “Don’t get the wrong impression ‘bout me, suh. I ain’t ram no sissy in prison, no sir. That’s just an ‘xpression I learned, and I ain’t nevuh ramrod no one in prison neither. God don’t like ugly. So that’s what I, uh… My time behind bars was a time of spirit’al reflection, suh, and I used that time to get closuh to God hisself. God is, uh, there… in, uh… God is in a’rrything, you know. In the soul of the…” He blinked and twitched as another surge of pleasure visibly wafted through the taut musculature. He must have forgot the point he had been failing to make. “Prison food was real bad, suh, you don’t even know.”
He kept talking about God and his time in prison, but he continued to lose track of his thoughts as well. He seemed to almost forget that his dick was in Carlos’s throat until there was a tiny bit of give, and Carlos almost backed off. Then he growled, grabbed Carlos’s ears again and held on tight as he moved his hips in circles, hitting every corner of Carlos’s throat.
“Reckon there was a lot of sissies in lockup, yessuh, you prolly know some of ‘em. Like a Julius. You know Julius…? I dunno his last name. Got big soft lips. I rammed him one time cuz he ast me to,” Tommy said.
He didn’t give Carlos time to actually answer whether or not he knew Julius. Carlos was more focused on working that greasy dickshaft to full tumescence. It was now moist with clumps of spit and precum. The dusty hobo camp ground beneath Tommy’s feet was turning wet with all the fluids that dripped from Carlos’s mouth.
“Keep yer mouth open, boy,” Tommy said. He pulled away and used his fingers to keep Carlos’s mouth open even as Carlos heaved and writhed, grabbing for air. “Gonna give you a prison-kiss. This is how the Mexicans show they love in lockup, man,” he said. He pursed his lips like he was going to kiss, but then just filled his own mouth with saliva and spat into Carlos’s open gullet. His spit tasted like dirt and made Carlos moan with desire. Tommy spat again, then again, this time making sure it landed right on Carlos’s nose, a hot stinking puddle of alpha male redneck nastiness stinking up his nostrils.
Carlos inhaled deeply of it, his mind swimming from lack of oxygen and intense arousal. Tommy didn’t wait long before pushing his dick back in again.
“We call dat throat lube, suh, yes we do,” Tommy said. He cackled and resumed drilling Carlos’s throat. “Get yo’ head down on the ground then, suh, if’n ya please. Get real low in the dirt.”
Carlos laid on his back on the ground. Tommy mounted his head, aiming his dick down so he could just lower himself as well. He was virtually laying down now, with his cock aimed down Carlos’s throat.
And then he began humping. He gyrated his hips like he was fucking an actual pussy, while Carlos’s spit-slickened throat allowed him to get his entire dick down there once more. Tommy’s nasty, sweat-dripping balls landed on Carlos’s nose, so Carlos was overwhelmed by a torrent of raunch covering every part of his face. All he could see was the filth and the hair of Tommy’s balls, taint and asscheeks.
Eventually Tommy pulled off. He looked disappointed in himself. “You want me to get you up the ass too, right?”
“Yeah…” Carlos was too starved for oxygen to say anything else. He gasped. “Can I… Can I lick your ass first?”
Tommy stopped moving and his smile turned into a frown. He furrowed his brow like he was trying to understand Carlos. “You wanna lick hobo ass?”
“God yes, please…” Carlos felt like crying. He was on his knees, so his head lined up with Tommy’s ass anyway. He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed the raunchy ass scent. It was almost enough to make him cum.
“Fine. But just for a minute or two, that’s nasty,” Tommy said with pursed lips, like he was seriously annoyed with Carlos for asking.
Carlos tried to separate Tommy’s cheeks, but Tommy just unceremoniously sat. He didn’t even lower himself slowly, he let Carlos stick his face in Tommy’s hairy ass and then sat down. He squatted like he was about to do a high jump, and most of his weight was on Carlos’s face.
Carlos had no idea how long the rimjob lasted. He was so overwhelmed by the suddenness of it and by the weight of Tommy’s body on his face that he was dizzy from the moment it began. Unfiltered masculine scents assaulted his nostrils. It smelled like dirty underwear or like a crowd of men, like an entire worksite’s worth of men all sitting on his face at once.
His tongue pushed past the layer of thick hair in Tommy’s asscrack. He groaned and moaned, and he even began rubbing his own dick through his jeans — a lot of men were annoyed by the sight of men masturbating, so Carlos kept it low-key. It didn’t look like Tommy really noticed anyway.
“You one nasty freak,” Tommy said with a laugh that shook his entire wiry frame. His ropy thigh muscles trembled, asscheeks flexing around Carlos’s tongue as though he was trying to hold onto it. His voice wavered as he spoke, when a surge of pleasure wracked his body from his prostate to his neck.
Carlos gurgled, letting a big mouthful of spit fill Tommy’s ass before it overflowed back onto Carlos’s face. Carlos groaned. His hands roamed over Tommy’s dick, the veiny shaft spasming beneath his fingers.
Tommy groaned like he was surprised at how good this felt. He murmured incomprehensibly to himself, and he rubbed his ass all over Carlos’s tongue. He moved it up and down, penetrating himself in his asshole with Carlos’s muscular tongue, which grew to be coated with Tommy’s masculine funk. His ass was taut and firm as iron, cuz he ate so little, but it was also strong, cords of firm muscles etched into his tight frame.
“Damn, you one nasty-ass boi,” Tommy said with a cackle. He stood up and pushed Carlos to roll over. “Lemme get in dat ass. Open up. I say open up. Get yer head down in the muck. That’s where God wants ya till you get forgiveness.”
He pushed Carlos’s face into the mud and aimed his dick right for Carlos’s ass. He groaned when it slid in and a bolt of pain erupted in Carlos’s body. As he always did it, he gritted his teeth as he struggled to bear it.
But at last the pain melted away into a tense, uncontrollable pleasure that spread through his body like a convulsion. Tommy was relentless, completely ignoring Carlos’s struggle and his body’s instinctive resistance.
“You want it, suh? Huh? You really like this?”
“Yes, please, god, stick it in me…” Carlos said with a moan, choking on a mouth full of mud and cigarette butts.
“Don’t you dare ask God fo’ dat, suh, I can still walk ‘way. Ain’t gonna tol’rate ya disrespectin’ God,” he said. He stopped moving with his dick deep in Carlos’s ass, hand holding onto Carlos’s hair. Tommy frowned down at Carlos. “Ain’t no man’s dick worth ya eternal soul, young man-“
“Okay, yes, I’m sorry. I won’t use the Lord’s name in… whatever. Please just get back to it me, Tommy, go at me as hard as you can,” Carlos said breathlessly.
“I will,” Tommy said. He sniffled. He laid his wiry chest on Carlos’s back and pounded away. He groaned and grunted right into Carlos’s ear, and he cackled with laughter again as he rubbed muddy dirt into Carlos’s face. “You like it dirty, right? Ain’t you say dat? Take some dirt then, suh. Open up.”
He shoved clumps of dirt into Carlos’s mouth, making him gag and sputter as he tried to jack himself off. Carlos couldn’t reach his own crotch though. All he could do was submit to Tommy’s frenzied pounding, his drilling away at Carlos’s asshole.
“Ew, what the fuck-?”
“Aw damn, that is some nasty shit right there.”
“I knew he weren’t just comin’ up in he’e to give up some food. I tol’ you dat.”
“You said he was gonna try ‘nd fuck Lisa wit’out payin’.”
A foursome of hobos had appeared in the woods, having returned from panhandling. They all groaned like they were disgusted by Carlos getting it up the ass from Tommy, but no one turned around or even faced a different direction. They seemed both disgusted and excited by it.
“Aw fuck, go ‘way, guys, I’m… busy, alright?” Tommy blushed, but he didn’t stop. “Hey where mah money at?” he asked Carlos. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed Carlos’s wallet out of his pants, then pulled out the five hundred dollars in it, as well as the spare fifty bucks that Carlos kept hidden. He swiped the three crackpipes sitting in the dirt. Then he gave one of the other hobos some money, all without missing a beat or slowing down his deep-dicking. “Go get us whiskey. I got all yo’ crackpipes so don’t you dare blow it all on crack. You can buy one rock wit’ dat, bring it back and share it. The whiskey is just for me, but we celebrate this filthy bitch wit’ some crack.” He smacked Carlos’s ass. “Ya got it?”
Yo, gimme some mo’ of dat money-
“Nah, I’s the one gettin’ paid,” Tommy said. “It’s my money. I’s puttin’ my eternal soul at risk by doin’ the nasty wit’ a male. Go on then, get some whiskey and crack and I gonna keep us in clover for a week wit’ this cash. Maybe longer if’n I wreck this man’s ass so good he keep comin’ back for more.”
The hobos grumbled, but took the money and walked away. Tommy scoffed and spat at them. “Fuckin’ pieces of shit, man, I swear. They ain’t God-fearin’ like me,” he said. He looked at Carlos then like this was the first time he had really seen him. He peered into his eyes. “You really enjoyin’ yerself, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah…” Carlos gasped. He managed to finish himself off then, blowing a massive load of cum into the dirt. His whole body tensed as waves of bliss spread through. His fingers and toes tighteneed, and Carlos gasped. He shot a bigger load than he had ever seen.
“Reckon I don’t ‘pprove. When I was growin’ up, a man’d only take it up behind as a punishment, like in boot camp. That’s how my pa raised me — he was a drill sergeant: strict but fair,” Tommy said. “Now this part is gonna hurt, suh. Here, you can bite on my arm.” He placed his smudged forearm in front of Carlos’s mouth.
Carlos knew he could take it, but he nibbled on the worn flesh there, feeling the toned muscles underneath the skin. Tommy sped up his rhythm, groaning and grunting with each flex of his hips.
The pain did grow worse, and Carlos bit down hard enough that he tasted a single drop of coppery blood. Tommy didn’t seem to notice; he just slammed his hips, ramming his dick all the way in as he nutted. His balls crawled up in his sac. A shudder of pain or desire or disgust ran up Tommy’s body.
A load of rancid hobo cum filled Carlos’s ass, a big arcing jet of juices that seeped into his flesh. It was hot and thick, sticky, clinging to every inch of Carlos’s body. Carlos groaned.
It was the most intense orgasm of Carlos’s life, while Tommy reacted as though it was a painful climax. He grunted and snorted, sniffling like an angry bull. He spat over and over onto the back of Carlos’s neck, while grinding his cock so deeply in Carlos’s ass that Carlos couldn’t help but bite down hard on Tommy’s forearm.
Carlos finally stopped squirming. He sighed, totally spent, his gaping ass now in utter submission to Tommy’s rapidly limpening manhood.
“Alright, suh, I’s done,” Tommy said. “Reckon I cornholed you good, right? You ain’t feel cheated, right? You got yer money’s worth?”
“Yeah…” Carlos was too overwhelmed by sensations in his asshole to really respond. He moaned.
“Good. I ain’t wanna cheat ya.” He pulled out and sighed. He stroked his slimy dick, using a hand to get all of those nasty fluids off. He wiped it onto Carlos’s bare ass. He wrinkled his nose. He sat back in the dirt, his spent dick and low-hanging balls dragging in the mud between his legs. He frowned. “I gotta take a piss. You into piss?”
“Uh, no thanks,” Carlos said. He was exhausted, and he was worried about those other hobos now that they knew he could afford to pay Tommy five hundred dollars. Who knew what they might do when they came back with alcohol and crack?
So Carlos just hurried up and got dressed. His body was covered in mud and redneck sweat, not to mention cum still dripping down his ass. Tommy ignored him as he pissed into the rancid dirt of the Ditchway homeless encampment. He looked like he was getting antsy waiting for his whiskey and crack.
“Wait, suh,” Tommy said before Carlos left. “Lemme do one more thing, so anyone who smell you know you’s my bitch.” He pried Carlos’s jaw open, then spat a stinking load of saliva into Carlos’s mouth. “Don’t you go payin’ some other hobo for dick. You come back to me, suh. Ya hear? You mine now.”
“Okay. Yes, sir, I promise,” Carlos said as he walked away, his mouth gurgling over the fetid wad of saliva on his tongue. Despite that, he had no plans on coming back. If he did, sooner or later someone would identify him, and Carlos didn’t want that.
Next time, he’d hafta find a different source of raunchy alpha male men who don’t know him. Luckily, there was a whole world of rough trade out there, and Carlos was eager to get started.

Every week the shit’s higher, hows gettin’ whyer

You can figure it out. It’s in the bible, all the wisdoms in the universe is in the bible.

Goober let Steel into the police station proper and then led him into the backa it. That was where the jailhouse sat. A couple flickersome lights cast long shadows, it seemed like every light was aimed at Steel’s eyes. Brightness drilling like a roughneck. Nigga need a beer. His head hurt. He wasn’t hungover, this was just the way he was now, this is what it is to be sober. The drunk tank was up front, it was the big cell that smelled like vomit and got like thirty guys in it passed out. Steel wished he was one of ’em. Then there was a couple one-off cells, prolly empty but it was hard to see in the dark wanna drink wanna drink wanna drink good god Steel maintained though, he was keeping it real, keeping it tight, let sleeping tits lie, his feeling hits rye, the bottle’s a liar, steeples inspire, God’s turtles is dire, this nigga’s feet spits fire, and every week the shit’s higher, hows gettin’ whyer, buyers flipping whiter hips for hire. Steel do now sit in the wisdom of God’s pyre.
Not really cuz Steel apparently don’t know what pyre means, that was gonna sound wise as fuck, it don’t make sense now that he googled it. Don’t google it. But you know, you can figure it out. It’s in the bible, all the wisdoms in the universe is in the bible.

From Winston Steel & the White Man

Steel lost the thread of this metaphor.

The best way to fight addiction is to do it before it starts. Nibble it in the butt!

The at-risk programs was time-consuming for Steel and the others at Ebenezer Baptist. Steel enjoyed it though, spending time with the kiddies, shooting hoops and making music, that kinda thing, turn ’em off from gangsterism. Gotta set ’em on the right road, the road to Jesus, past the roadside attractions of virtue and honesty and forthrightery — no, not past them, they’s the destination — no, Jesus is the destination — or salvation! Jesus is the offramp that leads to the destination of salvation, and the signs pointing a nigga that way are the virtues, like virtue, or maybe… virtues is the offramp? Or the onramp? Steel lost the thread of this metaphor. How can virtue be a virtue? What does virtue even mean? It don’t make sense.
Anyway, he like to feel he’s making a difference, and this was a way to do it. The best way to fight addiction is to do it before it starts. Nibble it in the butt!

The young adults got a program that drew upon a federal grant for young men eighteen to twenty-four with adult criminal records but no violent convictions. That included Rico Salierez. He was a slim kitkat with dimples and all, he got a girlfriend who was pretty as a dumptruck, and he got her pregnant last year. Got an abortion. That was a whole thing Steel ain’t gonna get into right now, cuzza the shit, the Supreme Court, girlies got sensitivites, you seen that Ketanji lady? She fine for a old lawyer bitch, Steel would put it to her, he would, put it to her good. No abortion after neither. Maybe a little one. Steel got qualms about abortion.

Malcolm got rules about cussing during church functions, and bitch was a straight-up violation. Straight up like a gay cup! Nigga too! Nigga, please! Steel don’t keep his tongue that clean mosta the time, cuz the Bible don’t say nothing about cussing, but he don’t argue about it. Church rules is church rules. In prison, Steel said fuck and bitch and stab that fuckin’ bitch, and in church, he scrub his tongue-wungy like he just ate out a ugly female. Gotta apartmentalize ya dickskin, nigga! Anyway, Rico got to flapping about his hardon and about Steel being an old fuddy-duddy who prolly don’t got a puckymoo that even work no more, and Steel wanna prove to him the error of his ways.

Steel ain’t reminiscing about liquor, y’all. His lips stay dry. When Steel get tonguey, he be praying, and Jesus always comes around in the end. To have faith in strength is strength enough, nigga, cuz reality is always weaker. Steel heard that in a sermon or a theology lecture on youtube or something and don’t feel like googling, you google it. Doesn’t matter.

From Winston Steel & the White Man

That’s how they get ya, for every definition of “they” and “get” and “ya”

Anyway again, he did it again, and then again, cuz Whiteness pressured him into doing it a third time. And then Steel knew he was in a bad place. That’s how they get ya, for every definition of “they” and “get” and “ya”. A nigga be purporting he can say no right up until the moment he flap his lips. By then the line is way in his rear-view mirror.

Anyway again, he did it again, and then again, cuz Whiteness pressured him into doing it a third time. And then Steel knew he was in a bad place. That’s how they get ya, for every definition of “they” and “get” and “ya”. A nigga be purporting he can say no right up until the moment he flap his lips. By then the line is way in his rear-view mirror.

From Winston Steel & the White Man

Every time like a watch.

Steel was still letting the demon of alcoholism haunt his brain, so he ain’t even conisder saying no. Addiction gonna put you in that position every single time.

Steel was still letting the demon of alcoholism haunt his brain, so he ain’t even conisder saying no. Addiction gonna put you in that position every single time. Every time! Every time like a watch.

From Winston Steel & the White Man

Winston Steel & the White Man

Steel’s an alcoholic, an ex-con and an alpha male with mixed feelings about white men. His years in prison, dealing drugs and working on an oil rig have given him plenty of opportunities to form opinions on ’em. And he’s ready to share ’em all!

But that’s not the only thing he’s gonna share. Steel’s had legions of man-on-man experiences at the top and on bottom. He’s done it all, and you’re about to get every one of the macho, manly, hardcore and raunchy details!

Read it now!

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 7

The White Trash Veteran

Goose robbed a grocery store in Wheeling at the tail end of 1983, went off smooth as a cat in a puddle of butter. Nobody said nothing about it when he got back to Martinsburg. He ain’t even spend none the cash yet. He was too focused on Buck, who be shooting up like a sunflower. Lil Buck and his buddy Cody was spending they days exploring the woods, wrassling, getting into shit.
It made Goose wish he was a boy again. Li’l boys like Buck crave the sombriety of adulthood, but soon as they grow up, they only wish was being young again. Goose admired watching Buck and Cody tussle.
That ain’t last long though. The cops showed up to Smashwood one day soon after he returned for his visit, clapped him up and brung him to the clink. Goose ended up pleading guilty so he could claim the money burnt up in a fire. Detectives ain’t believe him, but the judge did. Store got they insurance company to reimburse ’em, so ain’t nobody looking for the cash.
When Goose got outta prison, he’d be able to spend some tender at last. No more cheapy-deeping for this hillbilly! He gonna give mosta it over to Missus Dowdy anyway — that was who Buck was staying with right now. He called her Grammaw Daisy.
Prison turnt out to be not too bad. Food was awful, but leastways there was enough, and the guards let the Army vets all share a cell block.
And holy hokey-pokey, Harley was there!
His old Army buddy Harley was arrested a couple months back and was in the West Virginia Pen for a spell — he was arrested in Huntington, and he weren’t from West Virginia, so he don’t know he’s sposedta be humiliated by that. It felt good as gravy to be with Harley once more. It felt like the army again, but in a good way. Not a Vietnamey in sight.
That’s what Masterson and Berringer was saying, Goose now reckoned. They said to seek brotherhood, and here he was, surrounded by brothers. Dog tag brothers steada womb brothers. They done gone through the same trials and tripplations, and they done survive ’em. Goose was sadly glad to learn ain’t none of ’em — Harley included — make the transition to civilian life. All of ’em was struggling, and though they ain’t much talk about it, them’all got feelings in concert, difficulties in a row, memories sharing silhouettes against the same firelight.
“And I ain’t nevuh menace that man, nuh-huh!” Harley done explain the situation that got him locked up bunchesa times, and he maintained his innocence in the whole affair.
Or at least his innocence as to the menacing charges that got him locked up for a year. He pled guilty to those in exchange for more serious charges getting dropped. He ain’t dispute those more serious charges.
“Cops is fucked, man,” Goose said with a sigh. He was tired of agreeing with Harley on this matter.
Bucket hooch be bubbling away in one corner of the cell, which was filled with the yeasty aroma of drunken futures. Goose got three buckets working off right now, taking up halfa the cell. The guards let ’em get away with it — just this cell block, fulla veterans — and Goose was gonna make a pretty penny selling it soon.
Not ready yet though.
“Cuz I admit — I does admit, I was there, I was waving a gun around. Wouldn’t use it on a lady, mind you, I don’t shoot ladies,” Harley said, tapping his feet in sync with the melody of the calypso song they was listening to — they done bought some cassettes from a Jamaican on another cell block. It reminded them both, Harley and Goose, of boot camp, before anything happened. Neither them two acknowledged that. Neither one done spoke word one of boot camp, Army or Vietnam yet. T’was nice to be with a man who savvied without you savvying him. It was a happy calypso, but they both frowned through it, cuz it reminded them of the unspokeable river that will have done been flowing underneath and of Lucent, who shot hisself last year. Harley be puffing on his cigarette, leaning against the cell bars like he might could see something interesting out there.
Ain’t nothing interesting out there. That’s the whole point of prison. That’s the best parta it from a Asian perspective: prison can be torture or meditation, depending on how you hope to experience it. Goose chose torture at the time, as most people do most always. Enlightenment is the option that’s always at hand but is hard as torture to choose.
Harley was a burly sumbitch, with a rusty mustache that extended down to his beard hairs. He was a ruddynut whombody from Pennsylvania. That means he got red hair, but it’s the darkest possible shade of red with the swarthiest skin color that comes with red hair. He was like a ginger who been baked to crispy brown.
He used the cherry at the end of his smoke to light his next smoke. Harley be doing that. He worked as a mechanic before his arrest and after in the prison automotive shed, so he drew upon a good wage for a convict. He was swimming in cigarettes.
Goose stockpiled his. He waited till he genuinely needed a cigarette before smoking one. He coulda bummed some off Harley. But Harley’d want something in return, likeishly a buncha free pulls on the bucket hooch when it was ready.
But now, as the cell block started to quiet down in advance of lights out, Goose let hisself burn one. He savored the warmly blissful sensation of smoke filling his lungs, filling his veins with calm, filling his mind with sultry relaxation. It made him both alert and sleepy, like a blowjob from a ugly librarian.
He ain’t chain-smoke, so as he could anticipate his next ciggie. In prison, a feller has gotto find things to look forward to, or so did Goose think at the time. Nowadays he do advise a feller to abandon attachments and all that jazz. Pecan, Monongahela, ocean, done. Most fellers in prison got alotta attachments keeping ’em on the riverbank.
“That colored boy is comin’ ’round again,” Harley said with a guilty chuckle. He looked at Goose. “You gunna do it again?”
Goose shook his head. “Go fer it, man,” he said. He took another drag on his cigarette. He assumed ‘the colored boy’ meant this big-ass feller named Wimpy, who be coming round for to sell these larrupin’ apple pies he made in the kitchen. They was like turnovers, and they was tasty as a Vietnamey pussy, swan to God. Goose be eating them up! Last time Wimpy came by, Goose bought one pie with the ciggies he had on him, then two more he paid for with future hooch — first batch to be done, he gotsta give up cupfuls to Wimpy.
He don’t like the idea of being in hock to any man. Not just a colored man neither, any man. So Goose done say he weren’t doing that again.
But damn doodle, them pies was calling to him!
It turned out not to be Wimpy after all, it was a different colored boy. His name was Jugs, and his special skill was that he got lipstick.
He was dark-skinned like charcoal with big white eyes and teeth. He was slim but well-muscled — prolly bigger on the outside, but he been locked up for awhile, and he was owned by this tub of brown Darren who be swiping his food-meals. Darren do make Jugs go on all around and jerk men off for cash. Jugs don’t get to keep none of it neither.
That’s called ‘punking’. It prolly mean Jugs do heroin, and Darren won’t give him none unless he earns his keep. Since Jugs was broke as smoke, he got no way of gathering tender ‘cept by jerking fellers off. He use his mouth too. Narsty!
“Jerk ya off? Jerk ya off?” Jugs strolled among the cells, making offers. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Goose never did see him cry, but he stayed sounding like he was holding back a sob. Maybe that was his normal voice. Goose looked down on that. A man’s gotta keep his nose up, no matter what. Women cry and go limp when they get in a bad situation. A man’s gotta take action. Can’t take action when you’s bothered up hot, bawling like a waterfall.
Somebody musta said yes finally, cuz Jugs couldn’t be heared no more. Some titters of laughter over by Hash and Tingle and them suggested it was one those fellers who done it, prolly Hash, cuz he was like that. Cells was locked, but a feller could stick his dingus ‘tween the cell bars, and Jugs could slurpy-durp no problem that way. He puts a towel over his head, so you ain’t gotta look at him. Used to charge a half-packa smokes more to put a picture of Farrah Fawcett atop the towel, but Warden conscifated the fuck outta that. Gotta respect a lady.
“You should do it,” Harley said with a chuckle. He got out a pack of smokes, ready to do it the moment Jugs came by.
Goose sighed and shrugged. He did kinda wanna blow a nut. But the reason Harley hope him to do it and the reason Goose was reluctant was the same — Goose got a giant cock. That was how that he got his name, after all. It was like a goose’s neck.
But Jugs was little and got a shallow throat, and he don’t even try to swallop deep. Darren don’t care about customer complaints. T’was barely worth it to Goose. His own hand go as far up and down as he want it to. All thirteen inches. Goose done had enough of shallow head.
“C’mon, I wanna see you cover his face again,” Harley said with a cackle and a laugh. He mimed Jugs’s gagging last time when Goose shot his massive wad all over his face — all over his face and not down his throat cuz Jugs don’t swallow worth a goose turd. That made it funny for Harley to watch but disappointing for Goose to pay for. Last time Goose ain’t cum since before he got to the pen, so he had loads built up. He shot so much Jugs was sopping wet, huge wads of it overflowing his mouth, soaking his shirt and making his brown skin gleam white, knappy hair dripping with it. Jugs did retch as Harley guffawed and slapped his knee. Then Jugs scurried away.
It was funny, Goose hadta admit that. But it ain’t feel especially good, and Goose had swollen balls then. That was only a week ago. He ain’t build up that much this time.
“You go’an drown that boy,” Harley said, already laughing as hard as he did last time. Ain’t nothing even happen yet.
Jugs musta done wipe his face offa Hash’s nutjuice but miss a spot, cuz there was some goopy circles of jiss on his forehead and dripping off his earlobe. That made Harley cackle again. He got a hyena-like laugh that irked Goose, though it was infectious, and it made Goose smile along with him, reminding Goose of worse times but in a good way.
“Jerk ya off?” Jugs said. He was hurrying past, no doubt hoping nobody’d say yes.
“Heck yeah, get on ya knees, boy!” Harley clapped and cackled again. He opened up his pack of smokes and put one cigarette behind his ear, then tossed the pack to Jugs — Jugs was required to accept that as payment of a pack of smokes. It was one cigarette short, which made Jugs a better deal than mosta the other punks in this prison. The resta them charged a full pack.
Harley got his britches down and his dick dangling through the cell bars before Jugs even smeared the lipstick on his lips. When he did, he smacked them cherry-red lips together. He picked up Harley’s dick with two fingers and put it in his mouth. He held back a gag as he went down to the root, smearing lipstick along the shaft all the way into Harley’s light burgundy crotch hair.
A sigh escaped from Harley’s lips as Jugs put the towel up over his face. He started off without the towel so the fellers watching could see the lipstick. Was sposedta make it feel more like a woman.
Goose was dubious about that. He finished his cigarette and snubbed it out. He then got up and checked on his hooch, drained his bladder into the toilet and sat back down. He wanna do his workout, but the buckets of hooch took up half the cell and Harley’s bare ass dimpling as he humped the cell bars took up mucha the rest.
Harley ain’t got a huge dick. It weren’t nothing to be ashamed of, it wasn’t small, but it was small enough to be easy for Jugs to swallow it. Even with the cell bars separating him from Harley’s reddish-furred crotch, Jugs got that whole cock in his mouth. His nose was buried in Harley’s pubes.
Every couple seconds Jugs’s whole body undulated, but he held back his gags. He choked up spit that dripped onto the cell bars. A long low moan escaped from Harley, who turned the sound into a laugh, followed by a gut-hurtingly loud retch from Jugs.
“Uhnnk…” Both Jugs and Harley made similar sounds.
First couple bursts of jizz went straight into Jugs’s throat. Jugs squealed moistly and squirmed, pulling off Harley’s pecker in time for one final cumwad to jet onto his face. Harley’s hands pulled through the cell bars in an attempt to get Jugs back on his dick, but he couldn’t reach.
“Ewwck-“
“C’mon, punk, finish it off!” Harley groaned and grunted, his hips still flexing as if to fuck the cell bars themselves. He finished himself off with one hand though, draining the last of his juices onto the floor outside the cell.
Holding back a peal of gags, Jugs wiped his face off with that towel. He paused, clutching his stomach as though to force all that nastiness to stay down.
When he had recovered, Jugs looked at Goose. “Hey, you’re the one they call Goose, right?”
Goose nodded.
“Well, uh… my man, Darren — my husband-” Jugs winced as he said that. “He said, uh… He said you can have a free ride on my ass, if you promise to give up a cupful of hooch when it’s ready.”
“Ah, sheeit, boy, you gettin’ booty!” Harley said. He grabbed for Goose’s crotch to pull his denim prison trouser-pants down, but Goose slapped his hand away.
“Ass? I dunno… Tha’ss dui’ty.” Goose ain’t want a reputation as a booty bandit. He ran his fingers through his hair, but he sighed.
“Ain’t ya big ol’ dick still work?” Harley asked.
Goose said, “Yeah, shuddup, Harley.” A sigh drug its way outta his chest. “But you best take the whole thang, Jugs.” He stood up. “You got lard, right?”
Jugs nodded with a sick frown on his face. He pulled out a little metal tin, half-fulla lard from the kitchen. “I don’t have much, I don’t — just go slow, okay?” Black boys in prison foreverlasting got lard. Ain’t no better lube in the world.
Goose snorted. He stood up and dropped his denims. When Jugs sawn Goose’s cock, he looked even sicker, he musta done forgot how big it was. Well over a foot long and thicker than a can of beer, it unfurled between Goose’s legs and swung back and forth.
Frown lingering on his face, Jugs kneeled with his back to the cell bars, ass pressed against ’em. He let the steel bars pull his cheeks apart. Harley cackled up Jugs’s butthole and smacked each cheek the best he could by reaching between the cell bars. Harley later on claimed Jugs got jisms dripping out his ass, but he was funning, Jugs got dark skin and cum would be visible if it was there. It weren’t. It was just a funnier story to tell if he got a dripsy butthole.
“Nah,” Goose said. “Stand up. Mah knees get sore kneeling.” Plus Goose was much taller than Jugs, so it’d be awkward to plow into his ass kneeling. And through the cell bars? Not easy.
“Oh, c’mon, man, c’mon, it hurts like that,” Jugs said.
Goose shrugged. “No complainin’, or I’s allowed to tell Darren you wasn’t cooperating.”
“No, don’t! I am! I’m doing it!” Jugs said amid a storm of wincing and cringing. “Don’t tell him that.”
“Then don’t fight me, punk. I’ll be quick,” Goose said. He wondered when he had done agreed to this. He ain’t never say yes, but Harley and Jugs both assumed he would, and Goose ain’t wanna back out now. They’d accuse him of having a donkeydoodle that don’t work right.
Jugs stood up, his underpants pulled down to bare his taut asscheeks. He stood with them separated by the cell bars, revealing his tight brown hole, no dribbles of nut. Jugs bent over, keeping his knees straight and pushing his ass up as high as he could. It looked much too small to take all of Goose’s dick.
But Goose done acquire plentya experience forcing his pecker into a man’s behind. They was surprisingly accommodatious, and you know a black punk done took plentya giant black-boy peckers. Goose bent his knees a little to lower it enough to aim for Jugs’s hole.
He got the tip in easy enough, the lard helping it slide right in. But then he hit resistance, and Jugs seethed through his teeth.
“Ow, wait, wait-“
“Okay, okay, just spread it open,” Goose said. He weren’t waiting though. He kept pushing, forcing Jugs’s ass to open wider and wider. Jugs’s hands fluttered behind his back as if he could do something that way, but that made it hard to remain bent over on all fours. His face plopped onto the floor.
“Owwwww!” Jugs cried out and slipped away from the cell bars. “Ow, shit!”
“Hey! Punk-ass, mothahfuckah, get ya black ass back on mah dick,” Goose said. “Or I’s tellin’ Darren-“
“Okay, okay, honky, shit,” Jugs muttered. With a weary groan, he got back in position. He squatted like to force out a troublesome turd, and he again backed his ass up to the cell bars.
When Jugs came in one of slipping off again, Harley saved the day by grabbing Goose’s sweat-soaked tee shirt from the basket of dirty clothes. He lassooed it around Jugs’s head through the cell bars, holding it tight in one hand so Jugs couldn’t complain or move his head.
That forced Jugs to stay in position, even as Goose forced his fist-thick dick into Jugs’s tender tight ass. Jugs seethed through the sweaty tee shirt in his mouth, making a series of rhythmic grunts with each thrust of Goose’s cock into him.
“He’uh I go, boy, he’uh I go, c’mon…” Goose’s voice broke as pleasure hit him hard. The one bad side of a big dick was that it took a lot of effort to get hard and a lot to go over the edge.
Finally Goose stepped over that edge, and a fat wad jetted into Jugs’s asshole. Jugs winced. Goose pumped his hips hard, his heart beating fast now, chest sweating. A grand sigh escaped from his lungs.
More cum spurted into his guts, and Goose let out a long low sigh as an orgasm overwhelmed him. “Aww, sheeit, Jugs…” That felt good, Goose thought, damn good.
Finally his dick popped out, followed by a torrent of jiss that stained Jugs’s ass white. Goose ain’t realize he was still cumming, so he grabbed his cock and stroked his last few spurts of jizz out with both hands. It coated Jugs’s left asscheek in ropes of cream.
Harley cackled and lit yet another cigarette. “Shit, that was hilarious,” he said.
Goose chuckled as he wiped his dick clean with toilet paper. He nodded sheepishly. “That did feel good,” he thunk. But now he owed three whole cupfuls of bucket hooch, and he ain’t even finish making one batch yet. Bucket hooch is temporary as rain, apple pies is fleeting like a waterfall, and orgasms last only a moment. Goose’s hillbilly ass be fording a river fulla them things, when he needta be flowing down ’em. He knew all that, cuz prison was nothing but studyment, but he ain’t yet have a sense of vairagya, ain’t even have the word. He thought the other bank of the river was too far away to reach, but in fact, t’was the distant ocean that was right at hand. Goose kept across the stream disregardless.