Donovan Sallenthorne is a college student and a tutor.
Descriptions
Donovan, this sniveling spectacled knowitall who be eye-gauging Buck up a retard… Donovan was a stick of a nerd in Buck’s gaze though, weak as a thimble in the stormy sea. He was short and beaky-nosed and soft-spoke, and he was kinda feminine in a weird way. It made Buck wanna give him a wedgie… Donovan went to a small private school fulla skinny nerds with pocket protectors and thick-rimmed glasses; Donovan was virtually a jock there. Even the gym teacher had a degree in kinesiology.
Malcolm got up then, ready to open the doors and facilimake an orderly exit after services. Cherrymore’s sermon was almost done.
“-so the victory that matters most,” Pastor Cherrymore said, “-is the spiritual victory over sin.” Malcolm got up then, ready to open the doors and facilimake an orderly exit after services. Cherrymore’s sermon was almost done. “A Christian life gonna give you othuh victories, shure, shure, shure, of course. It might get’cha a promotion or a new job. It might get the Bobcats a victory over Tipson next week-” The conflagration went wild with cheers. Birmingham was a community college football town. There weren’t no pro team nearby, nor even semi-pro. Folks enjoyed proper college ball too, of course, but this corner of Alabama got no universities. The local high schools got teams, and they was plenty popular, but loyalties was divided amongst of the schools.
It was a chaotic panoply of monochrome — all black — yet it seemed somehow more vibrant than it had any right to be. It was sturdy like a tool, solid like its sculptor, with a bewildering firmness like a mountain. But it had wiggled when Avery leaned on it, and now it gently swayed ...
Then he added a inscrutable hand gesture and sound effect that presumably signified the inevitableness of entropy, the creeping spread of chaos in a post-capitalist society and his stoic acceptance of dhukha, the imperfection and dissatisfaction inherent to existence in Buddhist theology.
“Hmmm,” Mistah Yancey said with a vague but comfortable cluck of his tongue, a sound that gestured at and acknowledged the futility of combatting the creep of caducity, that communicated and demonstrated his compassion at a socioculturally appropriate level and that constituted and signified his acceptance of the inevitable entropy of the soma and the ...
“Damn it, that traffic pisst me off, yu know,” Wojo said, plopping his site slip onto Teddy’s desk. He let out a hollow chuckle as he unbuttoned and shrugged off his workshirt. “Fuggett’boutit, yu know.” He shrugged again, his broad shoulders rising up and going down, cuz the workshirt he wore was too small for ...
Prostitutes were merely a warm orifice for a man to use and abuse, that manhood required utilization and hierarchy to embody itself lest its precariousness lead to subordination and that empathy for fallen women marked a man as weak and vincible.
Like rock and roll, but you could just tell the singer ain’t never get laid — plus it got a banjo.
One foursome used they phone to play something that sounded like a water-brain retard screaming obscenities over a romantic movie soundtrack and then took phone-photos of theyselfs listening to it.
But just off campus, there was a house with a rowdy party going on. Thumper’s ears hopped onto that sound like a city bus. He heard young’uns laughing and carrying on to loud music — like rock and roll, but you could just tell the singer ain’t never get laid — plus it got a banjo — and all them deep on the slur.
It looked like a Nickelodeon show had exploded, with perky young bodies and skinny arms everywhere, haircuts more complex than any man had a right to.
This college party had been a bunch of skinny bozos, he thought. It looked like a Nickelodeon show had exploded, with perky young bodies and skinny arms everywhere, haircuts more complex than any man had a right to. College boys, Avery thought, were pansies these days. What happened to the days when college boys lifted weights and grew their hair long? That was nice.
You spend all day telling them how to spend their life just so you can go home to what I’m guessing is a sad little apartment all by yourself, microwave a sad little TV dinner, lift your little weights like a fucking convict. Hey, how much furniture do you have that isn’t a bench press?
Thickman growled, making that mustache shake. “I ain’t bullyin’ no one. You a grown man. Kinda.” He throatily chuckled. “Okay, well, I’ve had enough of that. I am a man, you piece of shit. At least I’m man enough to pursue my own life instead of domineering some fucking college boys. You spend all day telling them how to spend their life just so you can go home to what I’m guessing is a sad little apartment all by yourself, microwave a sad little TV dinner, lift your little weights like a fucking convict. Hey, how much furniture do you have that isn’t a bench press?”
She was pretty hot — tits like those big apples — and she loved to suck dick.
All throughout the spring semester, Jimmy was dating this chick Elaine. She was pretty hot — tits like those big apples — and she loved to suck dick. She wouldn’t give up the pussy, she said she was saving herself. Seemed like bullshit to Jimmy, but he stayed true to her.
“If you puke in my car, I will beat’cha ass, and I don’t care who yo’ daddy is, whiteboy. Don’t nobody come puking on Goober! Nossuh! And you gonna be cleanin’ it, son, not me! Nuh-uh. Goober don’t clean up no whiteboy puke. No, he do not!” The cop car drove slowly through Ann Arbor. Goober paused his rant only when he saw a paira college-age girls stumbling drunk as turtles into they house. “Hmmm-hmm…” Goober made a noise like he disapproved of them but also enjoyed looking at ’em. The girls was giggling all over each other. They mighta been at the party Jimmy was just at, the one at the team house. Jimmy couldn’t tell cuz he didn’t really remember faces that well, plus it was dark and the world was blurry. Blurry and wobbly. That’s what’s wrong with the world today. It’s both blurry and wobbly. President Clinton oughta fix that. “Offisshuh, I got… don’t… mah team,” Jimmy said. “The foooootball.” He was having trouble putting those words together into a sentence. But he felt sure the gist was coming across. “You on the football team? Oh… Jimmy Spokes, yeah.” Officer Goober said. He didn’t follow the local team as closely as some, but he’d heard that name. He connected it now to the name James Spokes on the ID. “You is Jimmy Spokes. Coach Marshall gonna pop a gasket if I tell him you was drunken-scootin’ around town in the middle of the night, son. Prolly lookin’ for females to grope. Nossuh! Nuh-uh!” “I waaaant… a cake,” Jimmy said emphatically. “A shocolate… gannnnash and, uh… German-“ “A cake? Boy, you crazy!” Officer Goober said as he pulled into the parking lot of the police precinct. “Crazy-ass whiteboy, ain’t no cake! No cake here!” He chuckled. The click-blink-click-blink of the turn signal seemed impossibly loud to Jimmy. It sounded like a rave. When he parked and opened up the rear door of the cop car, Officer Goober wrinkled his nose yet again — he did that a lot, it seemed — and he grunted. “Don’ arreshhh me.” “You not under arrest, son. Don’t fight me and you won’t be in no trouble. You can sleep it off in the drunk tank,” Goober said. “I won’t tell yo’ coach if you just go sleep it off. And don’t puke on me. I will not hesitate to beat a whiteboy ass if he puke on me, nosirr-” He kept going, possibly having forgotten he already went off on this topic, as Jimmy hefted himself outta the cop car and lurched after him towards the precinct. “Goober do not play that way, nuh-uh. Beat’cha ass any day of the week and twice on Sundays, ya hear?! You a big’un too, son, you can take a beating. Swear to God, I will put that to the test, and yo’ mama cam come watch if she wanna. I’ll take her out fo’ tea and crumpets and a nigga dick after, sure will-“ The precinct was a maze of little rooms and doors that needed to be unlocked, fluorescent lights glaring and turning Jimmy’s joyous drunkenness into a splitting headache. Jimmy turned ruddy and pale. He was suddenly very worried he’d puke on Goober, not cuz he felt like it but cuz Goober was still going on about the terrible things he’d do to any whiteboy who puked on him. “-and I don’t care if the city gin up a lynch mob, swear to God! No football team got nothing — I arrested a Kuwaiti nigga, billionaire sunna bitch, he ain’t shook me! Nossuh, son! No prince gonna grab a waitress in Goober’s town, nuh-uh! Bet’cha mama’s left titty on that!”
Thumper parked the Jaguar near the Baltimore County College campus. He ain’t never gone to college as a student or even as a visitor before. The lawn — the quad, though Thumper ain’t never heard it called that — was clipped clean, crawling with college kids playing frisbee and taking phone-photos of theyselfs playing frisbee. A few picnicked on blankets spread out on the grass and took phone-photos of theyselfs picnicking. One foursome used they phone to play something that sounded like a water-brain retard screaming obscenities over a romantic movie soundtrack and then took phone-photos of theyselfs listening to it. He looked around for Miriam. She done called her dad to ask for a ride home from college. She be getting rides from her friend Katie, but Katie got car trouble and “oobered”. Mr. Gregarian said Miriam gotta wait for Thumper, not do a “oober”. When Thumper asked what a “oober” was, Mr. Gregarian said it was a phone company that sent a Pakistani to give women a ride home and rape them. So Thumper strode onto campus, hoping he resembled the kinda nigga who went to college. He ain’t know where to go. Miriam weren’t a-loiter-about in the parking lot. Thumper ventured deeper into the campus on the peep for her. “Keep it up, men!” came a laughing voice. “Don’t drop the line!” “Hold those tomatoes, men!” Thumper saw a line of naked fellahs coming this way. He stopped short and threw his eyebrows way back. The boys in they buff was marching like soldiers, but they got an odd pace about ’em. Most ’em was white but one was a nightcheek nigga you could just tell was like Nigerian or some shit, and a couple was sundry Asian squint-a-lots. When they got closer, he saw they wasn’t fully naked — they was all wearing jockstraps and nothing else, so even they feets was bare. They sniggled out giggles, and the fully clothed men watching them go counted off they pace. The reason they be moving like defective soldiers was that each one got a tomato a-squeeze between they buttcheeks. “Keep it up, Danny! You won’t get through pledge week if that’s as fast as you can go!” “If you make tomato sauce, you’re goin’ straight to the Beta house!” The ones in charge was laughing harder and harder, as the young’uns sallied through the quad. The other dopes and drips scattered around looked at ’em like naked bugaboos when they bare bottoms got in the backgrounds of they phone-photos. Thumper ain’t never seen nothing like this. Was it a college class? Ain’t none ’em look like teachers. “Thumper?” Miriam was behind him. She somehow found him without taking her face outta her phone. Maybe she got a nigga-finder on that jawn. “Oh, there you is,” Thumper said. He stood to spare her seeing them fellahs in they jockstraps, though she musta spied ’em on the way here. “C’mon, you ready to go home?”
That sea of plump behinds was dancing in Thumper’s eyes. Every single one them was likely intact in the booty, he thunk. College whombutts locked up usually was, till Thumper got ahold of ’em.
“Yes. Today was horrible, Wendell! My social justice in American media professor hates me,” Miriam said. She harped on about an unfair grade on an essay, while he led her to the Jag. “I spent hours writing it. He said it lacked verve. What does that even mean?!” She ain’t act like she was expecting an answer, so Thumper ain’t give her one. They left the tomato-butt boys behind. “He’s kinda hot, actually. My professor, I mean. Oh god, don’t tell my dad I said that. He’s old, he’s like thirty. My professor, I mean, not my dad.” She snorted back a laugh. “What was up with those boys in they drawers?” Thumper asked when he opened the door to the Jag. Miriam slid into the passenger seat this time, not the back. “Drawers? You mean their jockstraps? Don’t say ‘drawers’, this isn’t like Kentucky or wherever they say that.” “They say it in Baltimore,” Thumper said with a snapdown. “I’m from here.” “Those Kappa boys are so gross, I, like, totally got trauma from it. I’m probably gonna dissociate from it. Or anxiety. Maybe I’ll get anxiety. This whole week has been like that,” she said. “I heard the Kappa boys were farting on each other this morning. Boys are disgusting.” “Uh-huh, sure are.” Thumper sat behind the wheel and started the engine. “It’s fraternity hazing,” she said. “Frat boys are lame. I’m so over them.” She done pull her hair back, so it ain’t block her face. “I’m not joining a sorority. I was gonna. The Epsilon Tau Gamma sisters are the hottest sorority, but… They’re a bunch of slutty bitches. Whatever, grr. One of them is like so fat, it’s hilarious.” She snorted. They drove past the line of fraternity freshmen, they pale asscheeks jiggling in the bright sunshine. Miriam watched them go past. She sighed. “Popularity is dumb, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter after high school.” “A free adult can choose whose popularity matters. That’s a freedom ain’t nobody can take from you. The people you choose is yo’ niggas. Or whatevuh the white-girl equivalent of a nigga is.” She laughed. Thumper ain’t never heard her laugh like she meant it. There was a long pause. “I don’t want to know what you got arrested for. I was thinking, before, about how to ask you and whether it would be rude. But I decided I’m not asking because I don’t want to know. People aren’t just the sum of how everybody has seen them.” She touched Thumper’s arm, just like she done in the Jag on the way home from Ocean City. Just like then, it got Thumper’s heart pounding and his head circling. He kept feeling her touch after she let go. She kept talking on the ride, and Thumper even responded, but he ain’t listen. He was savoring the softness of her fingers on his skin. After dropping Miriam off at the Gregarian house, Thumper gotsta swap noses with his parole officer. Mr. Perry again scolded Thumper like a disagreeable diaper about being late and finding a job, even though he both got gainful employment and wasn’t late. Thumper scowled through it. Mr. Perry was just delivering the only messages in his databank. Then, Thumper ain’t scoot his booty back to Lipsweet to see Mr. Gregarian. He shoulda — he was trying-a garner greens and Mr. Gregarian often got odd jobs for him. Something, however, drew him back to that college campus. He ain’t get in a trembling whiteboy since Ocean City couple weeks back, and he was eager to drop a load. He could go back to Lipsweet and likely end up in one of the dancers by the time the night was done. But them dancers was worn through, and that lightskin badonkadonk Sherry made him stop over and over so she could do new facebooks and check up on her prior facebooks. Once she blueballed him cuz the computer voted down her facebook and put her in “facebook jail” for “subposting the truth about Mexican sluts” — Thumper seen niggas on fire less freaked out than she was, and her pussy snapped shut like a shy clam. After that she wasn’t hot no more to Thumper. Thumper craved them clean college boys with intact booties and dirty jockstraps. They looked smooth as platypuses and perky as morning coffee. So he wandered about the campus. Whatever kinda hazing was going on before, it musta got done with. The quad was quiet as a quackless duck, ‘cept for the raucous rhythmic chorus of crickets ringing the campus. But just off campus, there was a house with a rowdy party going on. Thumper’s ears hopped onto that sound like a city bus. He heard young’uns laughing and carrying on to loud music — like rock and roll, but you could just tell the singer ain’t never get laid — plus it got a banjo — and all them deep on the slur. They was drunk enough to struggle to take photos of theyselfs with they phones. The party sounded wild as werewolves with phone addictions. Thumper sauntered over to check it out. It seemed they was all drunk enough to ignore him, or maybe it was dark enough outside that they ain’t notice he weren’t one among them, so long as he stayed outta the house itself. He sidled up into the frontyard, which was dark and shadowy and filled with couples kissing, frat boys doped out in the grass and two girls arguing in frantic hushes. Every single one got a phone in hand. In the backyard though, the hazing was still going on. A half-dozen freshface buttsniffers in jockstraps chugged beers while older dipsticks cheered them on, and one by one, they each passed out. Thumper stood in the shadows and watched. He grabbed a Natty Boh, and he drank it quick as candy. Couple fellahs did see him and realize he was old and prison-tatted and not a college student by far, but they was too drunk to come to any kinda conclusion — Thumper was just standing and smoking ciggies, not doing a dillynigging thing, not even dithering at his phone, so not a bone wiggled a niggle about him. A mountain of empty beers pyramided up beside the sliding-glass door in the rear of the party house. The smell of puke was barely overpowered by the reek of spilled drink. One pimple-face curled-olive gal showed off her titties soon enough, and that got Thumper’s root reviving. She was maybe involved with a sorority or some shit, Thumper gathered, but he ain’t know enough about college life to pick up on what he eyeballed. In any case, she got fine bazoombas, but he ain’t the kinda nigga to mess with a drunk-to-fuck woman. He ain’t lose his morals in prison. ‘Sides that, them frat boys got booties that was looking mighty fine and ain’t require no woo or obsess about “tweet ratios”. The backyard was empty of consciousness, and just a half-dozen or so freshmen was there, sleeping it off, they phones resting in they pockets. Thumper ain’t sure if that meant they passed the hazing or they failed it. In any case, he already got his sights set on one. His name was Danny, and he played college lacrosse, not that Thumper knew that. Danny was a champion laxxer back in his elite prep school — all the elite prep schools in Maryland had well-regarded lacrosse teams because it was the state team sport. Thumper ain’t know that either, despite having never left the state, nor did he know what a prep school was. He got only a glimmer of a idea what lacrosse was. Danny was unconscious clutching his phone when Thumper grabbed him from the backyard and dragged him to the row of cars parked on the grass. He got him behind a car, walled off by another car on one side and a cold brick wall on the other. “Hmph, whatchoo doin’?” Danny said, awakening enough to grip the back of the car when Thumper telled him to. He looked around like he wondered if he was dreaming. Thumper pulled down Danny’s pants and made him spread his legs. Danny was still too drunk to realize he oughta resist. Thumper slipped his erect dick right into the hole, and Danny hissed. Thumper laughed. He pushed his whole cocktip in. There weren’t no resistance, cuz Danny was too drunk to clench, even in tremendous pain. “You just hangin’ out wit’ a slappy-dappy nigga, spunkface. You the coolest honky in the world.” “Ow, shit. Really? Whaaaat?” Danny wriggled and tensed, unaware of what was happening to his backside. His hands flailed above the car like he was trying-a fight someone off from that direction. He held back a gag, then erupted in dry heaving, still too goggled to understand what was happening. He tried lamely to push Thumper away. “Whassshhhh…?” “Shush, whiteboy, don’t be loud,” Thumper said, as his cock slid in past Danny’s hole. He smacked Danny’s bare asscheeks. Danny clawed at the car. “Owwww!” But Thumper was relentless, ramming his unlubed dick in and out over and over. Every time Danny wiggled, his butthole clenched, which sent a wave of pleasure through Thumper’s body. He aimed his pecker in different directions to hump each angle of Danny’s guts, and the fact that he ain’t use no lube only made it all the more visceral and real. It was like Danny’s guts was holding onto Thumper’s cock and ain’t gonna let him go till he fill Danny up with seed. “Ow, shsshshshiiii!” Danny screamed, but he was too drunk to make much noise. He still ain’t understand what the strange black man behind him was doing or why his insides hurt so bad. He thought maybe he had got stabbed or shot. But Thumper ignored his pain, threw his head back and groaned as he neared his orgasm. Danny’s asshole pulsated around his throbbing cock. Creamy pre-jizz now provided a little lube, which made it easier for Thumper to plow in and out. With every drop of precum, he could ram deeper in and smoother out, while Danny’s huffing and puffing turned into a squealing whine. “Ew oo ah — ew oo ah — ew oo ah — hwwwwwhwhwhwhwhwhnnnnnnn!” “G’on, squeal like a piggie, whiteboy,” Thumper murmured. He wrapped an arm around Danny’s neck and lifted his upper half up. Danny was entirely enconsced in his grip. “Got’choo good, shit… Sorry, I ain’t got a diaper to give you, you gonna need it…” At last, he blew a massive wad deep into Danny’s guts. Only then did Danny’s drunken mind understand what was happening to him. He felt that goopy jizz seeping into him. He felt Thumper’s manhood throbbing in his sensitive asshole. He felt the heat of the cum flowing throughout his body. But he ain’t feel the jizz itself until it dripped down his taint. Another jerk of Thumper’s hips came with another explosion of jissom inside him. Danny panted. Thumper moaned. He smacked one of Danny’s asscheeks, which made him writhe as Thumper ejaculated again and again. Thumper pounded into him with each thrust of his daggersome dick resulting in a splashy spurt of juices. “All done, honky,” Thumper said when his cock plopped out with a satisfyingly heavy thump. Jissom ran down his thighs. “Love you, baby.” He kissed Danny on the lips. Then Thumper sauntered off, leaving Danny there with his phone and his pants around his ankles in the party house’s overparked driveway. As he abandoned Danny, Thumper tucked his dick away and said, “You’d make yo’ cellmate the happiest nigga in the world.”
Buck laid a smackdown upon this twerpy white thang with a name too big fer his trouser-pants, which he sagged like a yo’ boy. He was MC Nutty or some dumbass college-boy wannabe Vanilla Ice shit like that, and he got loud all night, hooting at the waitresses. Buck hadta go tell him classy-like to keep his voice down. The man looked subduified by Buck’s bigness and firm words, but after couple more drinks, he got gropey as a octopus upon a waitress. Buck don’t like a man who treat a woman unproper, so’n he planked the fuzz outta him. He drug him sputtering, bloody-nosed and bruising up, into the back alley and deposited him beside the dumpster. And then he went back to his eternal post at the door. Nuttin’ much happened after that. Nary the customers or waitresses axed about the man, MC Nutbag. In the alley, the man musta got up, cuz he was gone when Buck went to piss on him later. He been looking forward to that, so’s now he got nuttin’ to do the resta the night, unless’n one the remaindering broh boys got fresh. They simmered on low though, all night long, and Buck was dreary to droop by the time Teddy called last call. Damn but bouncering was a boring-ass job lotta the time. T’was more boring than prison somehow. ‘Least in prison, a feller knows he gonna have nuttin’ to do fer the foreseeable. Ain’t nuttin’ gonna change that. Outsidea prison, here at Lipsweet, sump’in better was always right ’round the corner, a corner Buck couldn’t go round cuz he was stuck at the dingdarn door. T’was enough to remind Buck of school. School gave him that same feeling, that he be jumping thru pointless hoops steada living a life with meaning. Buck always did struggle in school, and he only barely graduated. The only parta school life that felt right was the wrestling team. His coaches ensured he ain’t waste time upon schoolwork, which was good, cuz Buck woulda dropped out if’n he gotta do his work. They even put him in a college-prep class, and then he was recruited by GHU fer they wrestling team. That was what brung him to Ann Arbor in the first place back in the 80s. ‘Course, even when he was a college student, he ain’t do nary his coursework. Officially, Buck done earn mosta his degree in physical education. Ne’er got a diploma though. In Buck’s freshman year, he got a tutor name Donovan, this sniveling spectacled knowitall who be eye-gauging Buck up a retard. At first, Buck ain’t care ’bout them looks. He got bigger things on his mind — tourneyments, coeds, lunch. The longer his freshman year went on, the more Donovan discomfitted Buck. They was both freshmen, though Buck was older cuz he got held back loads in school. Donovan scowled at that when he found out, like he thought Buck shouldn’t-a been allowed to come to GHU cuzza his school record. He always talked like he was struggling not to sneer in Buck’s direction. Donovan was a stick of a nerd in Buck’s gaze though, weak as a thimble in the stormy sea. He was short and beaky-nosed and soft-spoke, and he was kinda feminine in a weird way. It made Buck wanna give him a wedgie. But he resisted the urge. He got back to the team house after practice one afternoon, and Donovan was there upon the front porch waiting fer him. He got a superior arch to his brow. “I have your stat homework.” “Mah what?” “Stat homework,” Donovan said with a harsh snap.
Buck got no idear what that meant — he first heered I have ya’s at homework, which ain’t make sense, and he ain’t connect stat to his statistics class, which he ne’er done attend. He was only vaguely aware that statistics had to do with like percents and shit. Finally, after a awkward pause, Buck said, “Yeah,” as though that was obvious. He took the homework from Donovan. Why’d he make that so difficult? Both Buck and Donovan thought that as they separated. Donovan scurried back to his dorm.
Meanwhile, Buck went inside, where’n his wrestling-team buddies was sitting round drinking beer and talking ’bout girls. T’was a endlessly fruitful topic round here. Buck got into it with ’em, and they discussed the merits of tits versus legs versus ass all evening long, till some real ladies showed up from Omega house to parade ’round they tits, legs and asses. In a’ry case, once him and t’other wrestlers filled they moist womanhoods up, Buck and t’other wrestlers got sleepy. The Omega girls went back to they house so’s they wouldn’t get in trouble, and Buck was slumbering fulla snores in his room. When Donovan came o’er with a page of stat homework he done forget to include b’fore, Buck remained sound asleep in his room. “Buck. Hey, Buck, wake up,” Donovan said. He touched Buck’s broad chest, only slightly hairy then cuz he was a young man still. His pecs were firm and round, like a man in a movie — Donovan went to a small private school fulla skinny nerds with pocket protectors and thick-rimmed glasses; Donovan was virtually a jock there. Even the gym teacher had a degree in kinesiology. Donovan ain’t ne’er seen a man with real pecs b’fore. Them pics rippled ‘neath Donovan’s fingers. He sucked in his breath. His hands explored Buck’s bare chest, dappled with the remains of fucksweat and Omega-babe juices. Buck’s eyes blinked open, and he stirred. He was bleary, his breath reeking of skunk beer. He belched in Donovan’s face. Though Buck done awake, Donovan was still touching his chest. Them heavyweight muscles all flexed at once, but Donovan ain’t stop. He full-on groped Buck’s muscles like Coach Walker when he gave a massage (he gave very rough massages with painfully callused fingers). “I forgot to give you one of the pages of your stat homework,” Donovan said. Buck shrugged. “‘Kay.” He closed his eyes again. T’weren’t clear he was aware of what Donovan said or even who was speaking to him right now. His muscles kept rippling though, which entranced Donovan. A feminine giggle escaped from Donovan’s lips. God damn Buck was an idiot, he thought. Donovan’s father let him get drunk once a few months ago, so’s he could do it once b’fore coming to college. He said only idiots get pass-out drunk. Buck and his jock buddies did it e’ery weekend and some weekdays. And Buck was huge! Imagine how much he hadta drink to get that drunk. When even Donovan’s giggles didn’t wake Buck up, he slowly, gently pulled Buck’s underwear down. Since he lay on his back upon his bed, Donovan couldn’t get the underwear all the way down — Buck was much too heavy. He did lower his tight-whites enough to bare his massive cock, which made Donovan’s eyes bug out. That thang was more’an a foot long! That was why he admired to tutor Buck in the first place, after all, cuz he heered rumors that he had a giant dick. The rumors came from both women Donovan overheard when him and his nerdy friends peeped on the women’s locker room as well as from one friend who showered and changed with Buck in the men’s locker room. He ain’t believed it. But here it was, in his grip, so hefty t’was actually heavy. It throbbed and pulsated, veiny and knobby. Donovan’s dick was smooth as porcelain in comparison. Was cocks sposeda to be vein-shafted knobbly clubs like Buck’s? Donovan ain’t know. Buck’s shaft flopped left and right in Donovan’s hand, while he sucked in his breath and checked if’n Buck would awake. He ain’t. He slumbered like a log, and his dick remained limp as could be.
Donovan ain’t mind that. He liked the heft of it. It felt right in his hands. T’was as thick as Donovan’s wrist. He bent o’er and put the tip of it in his mouth, and Buck still ain’t respond.
It tasted salty with old sweat — and from the Omega cheerleader who came by so’s Buck could fuck her, but Donovan ain’t know about her and ne’er tasted no cheerleader pussyjuice, so’s he got no frame of reference — and it made Donovan’s whole body tingle. He ain’t ne’er taste nuttin’ like this. T’was warm and soft at first, but as Donovan ran his tongue up and down the shaft, it slowly firmed up in his grasp. A snort came outta Buck’s fat nose, but he ain’t wake up. His cock twitched in Donovan’s mouth. It stayed soft though. T’ain’t stay soft fer long. Donovan ain’t know Buck done blow three loads in Omega-babe snatch couple hours back, but he was young enough then that his balls was already full-up again. His cock was a-mite slow to rouse. Once Donovan started working his hand up and down though, tongue exploring the piss-slit and slathering spit upon the tip, it firmed up bit by bit. He kept stroking Buck’s dick until t’was hard. T’was even thicker now, and Buck stirred slightly but he ain’t wake up. Donovan slurped upon the tip until his spit ran down the shaft into Buck’s crotch hair. Taking his own clothes off, Donovan felt a twinge of embarrassment at his skinny frame and small dick — neither of which was notable — Donovan weren’t ‘specially skinny and his cock was normal-sized, but he looked tiny next to Buck. Donovan was glad ain’t nobody wakeful to see though. His own dick done got hard, and it pulsated in his grip. He straddled Buck and rubbed his manhood upon Buck’s much bigger shaft. Donovan frotted both cocks together until his own was leaking precum. Buck’s dick spat much more prejizz, and his was extra strong-tasting, salty and sweaty. Cum sprayed o’er Buck’s chest. Since Buck was asleep, Donovan was surprised by it, Buck’s stony face giving no cues t’was coming. A long and continuous flow roped o’er and o’er onto his pecs, and then Donovan rammed his mouth back upon Buck’s knob. A sleepy moan came outta Buck’s throat, same time as another wad of jizz spurted out. Donovan caught mosta it in his mouth. Great gobs of jizz exploded into his Donovan’s throat. He couldn’t swallow it, so’n it instantly overflowed and spilled onto Buck’s legs. Some got upon his thick thighs and ran onto the bedsheets below. Just when Donovan thought Buck was done and pulled off, a jerk hit Buck’s body, and his hands fluttered, then falled limp again, and a final cumwad sprayed Donovan in his open, gasping mouth. It spilled o’er his face and onto the mattress below. All that cum dripped off Donovan’s face. T’was warm and gooey, and he savored the feel of it drying there, as his sopping-wet hands rubbed Buck’s limpening meat. T’was so long it took both his hands, and if’n he’d had a third, he coulda used that too. When Buck’s glistening cock was soft again, Donovan finally pulled off it. He frotted his dick upon Buck’s limpness. T’was hot and sopping wet. Cum dripped down Buck’s pecs and streaked his six-pack abs. He was sound asleep now. “Sleepy-deeping” — Donovan done heered Buck say that last month. T’was one of his redneckisms, which lotta men thought was funny, maybe women too. Donovan discottoned to rednecks though. “Good night, Buck,” Donovan said softly. His hands smeared cum all o’er Buck’s chest and even onto his face. Buck wrinkled his crooked nose, but he ain’t respond. Jizz clung milkily upon his cheeks and his square jaw. Donovan stood up and laughed under his breath. Buck was like a rock now, passed out. He done seem deeply asleep couple minutes ago, but now, Donovan could tell he was out fer the night. That orgasm put him under. So’n Donovan could do whatever he admired to Buck’s wrestler muscles. He held back another giggle, more outta habit than stealth — if’n Buck were wakeful, he’d prolly tease Donovan fer giggling like a girl. But nobody was around, so’s Donovan could giggle all he wanted as he massaged Buck’s massive biceps and broad shoulders. His dick poked Buck in his stomach, which was just slightly too meaty to be a perfect six-pack — when he cut weight fer wrestling, he sometimes had a six-pack, but Buck was naturally beefy. Donovan’s dick jabbed Buck in the sternum, and Donovan humped his pecs, holding onto Buck’s massive head fer support. Then he worked his way up Buck’s thick neck to his chin and face. Donovan’s cock dabbed precum onto Buck’s nose and upper lip. When Buck still slept on, Donovan rammed his cock into Buck’s open, ready-to-snore mouth. Buck choked, and Donovan panicked. He pulled his cock out. But Buck stayed sleeping. After a couple seconds, Donovan again let his throbbing-hard cock touch Buck’s chin and lower lip. No response. The scruff of Buck’s unshaven cheeks scratched at Donovan’s shaft. Like most college freshmen, Donovan didn’t need-a shave e’ery day and didn’t get scruff like that. ‘Course, Buck was old fer a freshman. Donovan pushed his dick back in Buck’s waiting mouth, and Buck remained still as a eggplant. His tongue lay flat and moist, waiting fer Donovan to hump his gooey shaft ‘long the top of it. His cock slid into Buck’s throat. Donovan could easily push the whole shaft down there, as Buck was so big his mouth was huge. Donovan gasped. Precum flowed into Buck’s mouth, and Donovan intended to pull out to prolong this, but b’fore’n he could think, an orgasm overcame him. A cumwad spurted into Buck’s mouth, then his second jizz coated Buck’s square jaw and face. A moist choke came outta Buck’s unconscious body, which spat Donovan’s dick out mid-orgasm. “Oh god…” Donovan wondered if’n this was what sex was like. It felt so good, like milk chocolate flowed thru his veins. He had to hold onto Buck’s solid shoulders fer support. He wanna get his cock back into Buck’s mouth, but it felt so incredible Donovan couldn’t coordinate his movements well enough. He rammed Buck in his stony face and spurted wad after wad o’er goo o’er his crooked nose and square cheeks. He got the tip in Buck’s hot mouth again, only fer Buck’s throat to instinctively choke it back out. Donovan sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth as his final jizz coated Buck’s forehead and even reached the bottom of his mullet behind his nape. Donovan kept stroking his limp dick until e’ery last drop had dribbled onto Buck’s chin or into the peach fuzz upon his chest. He was hairy fer a college student. Donovan rubbed his dick in Buck’s chest hair too. He’d ne’er felt anythang like that — Buck wasn’t as hairy as he was as an old man, but fer a college freshman, he might as well have been sasquatch. When Donovan was soft, he got paranoid about being caught. He pulled up his pants in a hurry, suddenly certain Buck was gonna wake up soon. Donovan scurried out into the night. And the best part was, Donovan thought, that Buck was too dumb to realize why he was so sticky in the morning.
