Santa Claus

Avery has long sought the ultimate alpha: Santa Claus! He never thought he’d make it to the North Pole and land that holly-jolly slice of manmeat, but a secret NATO mission north of Greenland gives him the opportunity of a lifetime. Can he satisfy Santa’s most masculine of needs?

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Avery and his Inuit guides all thought they were seeing things when the North Pole finally came into view. The wind raged like a hurricane — it wasn’t snowing, but it felt like it was because the wind kicked up the snow that covered the ice-pack ocean surface. Avery thought for sure he’d never be able to leave. He’d been a fool to come this far. How could he go back and go through this whole trip again in reverse?
Everything was frozen. The snow and ice beneath his feet was meters thick, and beneath it was water so cold it made Avery shiver just to think about it. The boots he wore were so frozen they crackled as he walked, as did his outermost two layers of socks. The water on the sled dogs’s fur was frozen too. Avery’s bones and his blood and his heart all felt frozen solid, like he had become an ice golem somewhere between Nuuk and here.
Somehow Tukkuttok and Qannik were fine, but then, it was hard to tell because they wore insulated masks (as did Avery). He couldn’t see any of their faces. It was almost claustrophobic, Avery thought, even though he was in a wide-open wilderness. It was like he was trapped in a little room, just that little room was the insulated space beneath his layers of clothes.
The idea of traveling to the North Pole had been ridiculous even if Avery had had a serious reason for going. But it was just a joke that had gone too far. Now he had spent thousands of dollars — and he’d eaten dog meat! — all for one little tawdry encounter.
One which might not even ever happen.
He wasn’t sure this was going to work. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he was surprised with each foot forward he traveled that they hadn’t fallen off. The dogs barked. They didn’t need to be directed where to go now. They went straight for the North Pole.
“There it is, it’s amazing,” Tukkuttok said. He had a stilted, clipped accent, half-Inuit, half-Danish. Avery was pretty sure he was handsome, but he’d only seen a small part of Tukkuttok’s face. The other Inuit was Qannik, who hadn’t spoken much. Tukkuttok spoke for him. “We must hurry to enact the plan.” He glanced at Avery but didn’t make eye contact with him.
Avery was fine with that. He didn’t officially know what Tukkuttok and Qannik planned on doing. It was coming from the Danish government, and it had something to do with NATO submarines operating in the area. Avery had paid for this expedition, but he was not the reason Tukkuttok and Qannik had come along. He was just their cover story.
He was here for the North Pole. It gleamed, marbled spires rising from the frozen wasteland, and beyond those gates Avery could virtually see the warmth. He’d finally get the chill out of his bones once he got in there. He hurried away from Tukkuttok and Qannik.
He staggered to the gate. It was harder to walk the closer he got to it. The gate loomed in front of him like a beast, a burning beast of pure cold, sunlight glittering off endless heaps of snow. Awe entered Avery like a cock in his ass, and he could do little more than fall to his knees and beg for entrance. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever make it back either. He couldn’t imagine turning around and going through that again.
Now that he was here, he was here, and he both couldn’t and didn’t want to leave, or at least a part of him didn’t. Or maybe, he thought, forcing his mind to whir despite the feelings wracking his body, maybe it was just a magical enchantment coming off the North Pole. Maybe he was actually freezing to death.
On the other side of the gate, a two-foot-tall elf stood as though waiting for him. He had green skin and pointed ears. “Greetings, traveler! Welcome to Santa’s Workshop! Is Christmas in your heart?”
“Wh-What?” Avery’s mouth was virtually frozen shut. He couldn’t think about anything but getting past that gate. The warmth emanated from it like an aura.
“Do you have the spirit of Christmas in your heart?” the elf asked.
“Uh… Yes.”
The elf nodded and opened the gate. Avery toppled into the North Pole, landing on green grass. The elf beamed. “I’m so glad you said that. People sometimes laugh or make a sarcastic quip, and that’s how I know I can’t let them in. It always breaks my heart when that happens, and I have to leave them out there in the wintry cold. So I’m glad you told the truth.”
Here, it was warm and summer. Avery crawled away from the gate so the elf could shut it, snapping off the roaring wind and freezing bluster that billowed in from outside. He sighed and took a deep breath as he tried to stop shivering. He was drastically overdressed for the warm weather here, but the cold had seeped into his very soul, so he didn’t want to remove any clothes yet. He might not ever, he thought. His bones were still cold.
Finally he made it to his feet. His knees felt like jelly. A few elves had gathered around Avery, who smiled wanly.
“Are you from OSHA?” asked one of the elves. “We’ve fixed the toy chute. No one was ever in any danger, we know how to protect ourselves-“
“No, no, nothing like that,” Avery said. “I need to see Santa. Alone. It’s very important.”
One of the elves nodded and led Avery away from the gate. He walked briskly, pumping his arms as he went. Since he was only two feet tall, Avery struggled to avoid outpacing the elf’s tiny legs.
“If you’re here to get your name removed from the naughty list, it won’t work,” the elf said. “In fact, he’ll probably put you on the naughty list for next year instead.”
“No, that’s not it,” Avery said. He looked at the factory the elf had led him to. It looked like an ordinary factory. He was rather expecting a Hansel-and-Gretel-esque factory made of candy and cake and ornaments. Instead, this was just a plain brick building with smokestacks rising from it.
Avery went in the door the elf pointed to. He came in through an office, where a couple muscle-bound elves in sleeveless shirts nodded at him. They were refilling water bottles (tiny ones) at a water cooler. Behind them sat a desk, and behind that was Santa himself.
“Hi,” Avery said. The elves went back to the factory floor, leaving Avery and Santa there alone. “I’m Avery. Avery Flowers.”
“Yes, I know,” Santa said. He didn’t stop writing, seemingly making a list on a long piece of paper that rolled up as he moved down the sheet. His big bushy beard trembled.
“Uh, well, I wanted to meet you, first of all. Hi, Santa, it’s nice to meet you.”
Santa grunted. “I’m only required to be jolly to children. You can get to the point,” he said. He glanced up at Avery for the first time his stout frame shifting in the scarlet robes he wore.
“I heard a rumor that you had a problem with the International Brotherhood of Machinist-Men, Carpenters, Letter-Carriers and Wallet-Stainers,” Avery said.
“IBOMMCLAWS, yeah,” Santa said with a scoff. “Not a real problem. They’ve been threatening to go on strike for decades.” He went back to his writing. “They’re all talk.”
“Well, I think I can help. I have connections within IBOMMCLAWS,” Avery said. “I can get the leadership to make a deal. They don’t want Christmas to be cancelled-“
“No one’s canceling Christmas. The worst-case scenario is that no one gets any stuffed animals this year, that’s the only part of the factory that union covers,” Santa said. He threw his hands up and scoffed in no particular direction. “Stuffing-stuffers are in IBOMMCLAWS for some reason. Never tangle with unions-“
“I wouldn’t, I never would,” Avery said.
“They’re recalcitrant. They know — or they think, wrongly — they think I’ll give in, that I won’t let a Christmas go by without stuffed animals,” Santa said. He leaned in close to Avery. He whispered, “But you know what? I have a secret.”
“Oh-“
Santa Claus shouted. “The secret is nobody cares about stuffed animals! That was a state-of-the-art gift two hundred years ago! You know what everyone wants this year? A Tomaha Stacato.”
A long pause lay between them. Avery furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s…?”
“I have no idea! There’s thirteen thousand of them in the warehouse! I asked if they need batteries and got a forty-five minute lecture on lithium-ion cells. Do you know what a lithium-ion cell is-?”
“No-“
“Nobody does!” Santa Claus grimaced. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He sighed. “Wait, did you say you could get me a deal with IBOMMCLAWS?”
Avery nodded. “No promises, but I have some connections. I’ll do what I can to get them to yes. I’m sure you’d rather have a deal. Some kids still like stuffed animals.”
“It’s not Thanksgiving, so I’m not gonna talk turkey,” Santa said. He looked up at Avery with a dour look on his big round face. “I’ll give it to you straight. I can’t match retirement savings-“
“I’m not here to negotiate on that stuff.”
“Oh?”
“I’m here to get your dick in my ass.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I came here so you would stick me. I want to taste your dick, I want you to stick it in me hard. In return, I’ll put in a good word for you at IBOMMCLAWS,” Avery said. “You can trust me, I swear, I know this guy-“
“I know, Avery. I see all, remember. I know of your connection to him, and I know all about the disgusting things you do — it’s on my list, of course-“
“I’m not here for judgement.”
Santa furrowed his brow. “You know this would make you officially naughty for the year, right? I’m married.”
“I know. I can skip a Christmas, go ahead and put coal in my stocking,” Avery said. He put his hands on his hips. “The price of coal is going up anyway. Could be good for me, financially.”
Santa frowned. “And you want me to… booty bandit you?”
“Nobody uses booty bandit as a verb.”
His frown intensified, and he held up a finger in front of Avery’s face. “Do not lecture Santa Claus about grammar. That’s a good way to get on the permanent naughty list. Ask Will Self if I’m kidding.”
“I don’t know Will Self-“
“He’ll tell you I’m not kidding.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Avery said. “Look, it’s no big deal, I’ve just always thought you were handsome, and you have an a amazing physique-“
“Aren’t I… a little old?”
“Well, yeah, kinda, but I like a mature man,” Avery said. “You’re what, a thousand years old?”
Santa scoffed. He stood up, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Avery laughed. “I just realized you mentioned booty bandits. What does Santa Claus know about booty bandits? Have you… been to prison?”
“They celebrate Christmas in prison, you know,” Santa said.
“Ooooooh, yeah, that makes sense.”
Santa began taking off his robe. “Fine, I’ll do it. You had better follow through. I’ll put you on all the naughty lists — you won’t get birthday presents, you won’t get Easter baskets, you won’t get money from the tooth fairy, who’s a total whore by the way. Cocktease.”
“Really?”
His broad chest was visible now, his robe untied, and the cinnamony smell of his armpits — or maybe his cologne — hit Avery’s nostrils. Avery licked his lips. He was both hungry and horny now. Avery said, “There’s a naughty list for birthdays?”
Santa nodded. He stood up and locked the door to the factory floor, then the front door. “I’ll do it. Don’t tell Mrs. Claus.”
“When would I ever talk to her?” Avery said with a giggle. He dropped to his knees in front of Santa, caressing his thick legs through those bright red pants. Santa undid his red robe, revealing dingy white long underwear that cradled his belly and powerful chest.
He wasn’t as fat as most depictions of him. He was stout, sure, and he looked like he had never had a six-pack, even when he was very young. But he was broad-shouldered and well-muscled beneath all that meaty flesh; he had a big barrel chest that shook and flexed as he undressed. He had a civilized-bear look to him, with a big jaw and a powerful face. His beard was bushy and full, and when Avery got closer, he realized the beard was where that cinnamon scent came from. Avery unbuttoned the crotch of his long underwear and let his thick cock flop out.
Avery had had a crush on Santa Claus for a long time, and he never thought he’d get to act on it. The North Pole was so far away after all, it had seemed like an impossible dream.
His dick tasted salty and sweet, with a minty bite to it — it tasted like a savory candy-cane. He smiled and slathered it with spit, licking a trail from the tip to the root. He glanced up at Santa beyond the belly and had to suppress a laugh at Santa’s harsh stare.
“This might put you on the naughty list for two years,” Santa said. Then he closed his eyes and his jolly beard quivered as his dick got hard. It perked right up in Avery’s mouth. He didn’t stop slurping on it, he just let it get bigger until he choked and sputtered.
Soon Avery had his mouth all the way down on Santa’s dick, his face nuzzling the silvered hair of his crotch, while his hands reached up to caress that giant barrel-shaped body. Santa’s muscles rippled under Avery’s touch, his pecs bouncing up and down.
“Hmmm… Mrs. Claus hasn’t touched me like this in a long time.” Santa sighed once more, and Avery could see the stress leaving his body.
“You poor baby…” Avery said, rubbing Santa’s cock all over his face. He knew men loved it when he did that. He flopped it over his mouth and nose and chased it with his tongue, giggling like it was his favorite game. “Are you ready to put it in my ass?”
Santa nodded. A jolly grin flickered across his face, then he frowned. “You shouldn’t curse, son.”
“Sorry, Santa. I’m ready for you to wreck my ass,” Avery said. He turned around and lifted his ass high in the air.
“That’s three years of naughty-list!” Santa said. He stroked his dick, gulping and looking around nervously to be sure no one was going to interrupt them. Then he gingerly stuck his dick in Avery’s ass, just the tip, right at the entrance for a moment. Santa paused.
“Santa? Are you okay?”
“Four years!”
“How is asking if you’re okay naughty?” Avery turned his head to see Santa’s face turn red.
“I’m… Just shut up! I’ve never done this, not even with Mrs. Claus,” Santa said. He closed his eyes.
“Mrs. Claus doesn’t do anal? Honestly, she looks like the type. Have you ever asked? She might like it-” Avery said.
“Five years!” Santa slapped Avery’s cheeks, which jiggled and prompted Avery to jerk. Then Avery backed up, slipping his ass onto Santa’s cock. Santa gasped. He gripped Avery’s ass and drilled in even deeper. Santa bit his lip, beard quivering.
Avery rolled his eyes. “I was just kidding. Jeez… You’re touchy,” he said. “You need a dose of holiday cheer.”
But Santa ignored him, gyrating like it took all of his concentration to do so. His eyes were closed as he pistoned his hips, slowly and awkwardly at first. But with every thrust of his cock into Avery’s ass, he got a little more smooth and comfortable with it.
Soon he was gyrating like he’d done it before, his face alternating between jolly grins and fearful grimaces, his belly slapping against Avery’s ass. Avery’s knees were sore so he scooted over until he could use Santa’s thick red robe, now crumpled on the floor, like a kneepad.
At last he felt every inch of Santa’s dick sliding in and out of him. Avery’s prostate came alive, and he let out a long, blood-curdling moan.
Yeah, he thought, this trip was totally worth it. He still he might be able to get Tukkuttok off on the way back, which would be a bonus. Avery stroked his own cock, which was on the verge of orgasm already.
Avery took the upper-hand by grinding his ass deep onto Santa’s cock. He lifted his head and leaned back — he wasn’t going to take it up the ass from Santa and not feel that jolly belly and beard. So he rubbed his back against Santa’s silver-furred belly and broad chest, while he nuzzled the beard and kissed his neck. Santa seemed to barely notice, his eyes still closed, slamming into Avery’s ass as hard as he could.
“Ho ho ho…” Santa said, his voice breaking as his dick twitched within Avery’s ass. He let out a spine-cringing moan aimed directly into Avery’s ear.
Avery shot his load then, just moments before Santa’s balls crawled up in his sac. Semen sprayed onto the floor of the factory office, while Santa’s jolly load filled Avery’s ass with creamy warmth. It seeped into his flesh, finally erasing the chill that had settled into his bones on the voyage up here.
“Ah…” Avery let out a long, low howl. He slathered his tongue over Santa’s well-muscled chest and his silver fur. Then he kissed Santa on that lips, that dense bristly beard scratching at his cheek the whole time.
It was a potent orgasm that hung in Avery’s body for what felt like forever. He sighed again as relief flooded him — this was as good as he had hoped, it had been worth the trip and the risk and everything he had spent to get here.
“Damn…” Avery said as he at last fell limp in Santa’s arms.
It was done. With Avery’s and Santa’s tongues still interlocked, Avery shot the last of his cum into his hand, while Santa’s load trickled down Avery’s thighs.
Avery pulled off and sighed. He suckled on one of Santa’s perky nipples until Santa had enough and gently shoved him away. “Alright, you had what you needed. You’ll help me with my union troubles?”
“You can call me Pinkerton,” Avery said. He giggled again at Santa’s frown. “Don’t be cross…”
“You’re about to get a sixth year of naughty-list, young man, if you don’t show a little respect,” Santa said sternly. He pulled his long underwear up and slowly donned his red robes again.
“Are you really going to deliver me coal for five years?”
Santa frowned. “Possibly. Some of the elves want to cancel coal deliveries because it isn’t green enough. We might replace the coal with something else useless, like DVDs of old reality shows.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be a great idea. I could put a lump of coal on a stand and call it un objet d’art. But a Season One DVD of Survivor would be utterly useless,” Avery said. He put his clothes back on. He sighed. “I guess it’s about time for me to be heading back. Thanks, Santa.”
“Have a merry Christmas,” Santa said before flinging the door open and striding into the factory floor. “Alright elves, I see a lot of lollygagging and grabassing! I don’t see a lot of manufacturing!” The door swung shut behind him.
Avery sighed. He was glad to have finally gotten some of Santa’s dick, but now that it was over, he dreaded the next five years of bad Christmases. What would he do with all those DVDs? He’d feel bad even giving them to Goodwill.
Oh well, he thought, he had five years to figure that out. His goal for now was to gin up the endurance to get back in the sled with Tukkuttok and Qannik.
That reminded him he still thought he could jack Tukkuttok off inside his snowpants. Avery had always wanted to try that, and he had a long voyage back to Nuuk to make it happen. He hoped his Inuit guides had completed whatever NATO mission they set out for.
The gate was opened for him before he got there. Avery hesitated, unsure if he wanted to do it. It was so cold out there. Couldn’t he live at the North Pole forever?
There was a loud boom behind him.
Avery cocked his head to the side, wondering what that was, but his attention remained looking out past the gate into the raging weather of the North Pole. The snow was piled high just a few feet away, but here, it was plenty warm.
The elves screamed, running around and wagging their arms in front of their faces. They were red-faced and sweaty. The well-muscled guards were gone — running off with weapons drawn.
“What happened?” Avery asked, but none of the elves noticed him at first. He overheard bits and pieces from them — the gist was that Santa was gone. IBOMMCLAWS had a Communist splinter group, and their affiliated local had kidnapped Santa. They were demanding that Christmas be cancelled and replaced with a single uniform gift that everyone in the world would get.
Before Avery could decide what to do next, however, he saw Santa’s sleigh overheard, nine reindeer in front of it. A big smile appeared on his face. He hadn’t thought to go find Rudolph, but there he was with the nose shining brightly.
Of course, Santa probably has security, Avery thought as the sleigh landed in front of him. There’s probably some kind of elven SWAT team around. He assumed Santa would be on the sleigh, or that he would appear shortly.
The reindeer, however, all looked at Avery. The elves stopped running around. They kneeled in front of Avery, whose eyes opened wide. “Uh… What’s up, guys…?”
“Sir, you will have to be the new Santa for now-” The elves all spoke at once.
Avery was distracted by a glorious light enveloping him and lifting him above the ground. He was deposited into the sleigh, behind all nine reindeer, who kept their heads aimed in his direction.
He wore that red robe now, and he had gained a big bushy white beard. Before Avery could even respond, the reindeer had jolted into action, and they were off.
As Avery soon learned — Rudolph could speak — there needed to be a Santa, so if the old Santa disappeared, the nearest human would turn into the new Santa. Avery had no choice in the matter, he was Santa, and that was that, until the old Santa was freed.
Avery was going to have to deliver gifts to the world.
“But I don’t… I mean I like Christmas, but it’s not, like… I like men at Christmas-“
“You don’t like women?” Rudolph asked. “You still have to deliver them gifts.”
“Sure, sure, I don’t hate them, I can deliver them gifts,” Avery said. He blushed.
“Good,” Rudolph said.
Avery had to shout to be heard over the rush of wind as the frozen northscape passed beneath them. “I just mean I don’t really do the whole Christmas thing. I celebrate it with my family, my sister, my nieces, my dickhead brother-in-law. But I’m not like… I don’t love the traditional Christmas stuff.” Avery smiled at Rudolph’s confused face. “I like men at Christmas-time. I spend most of the Christmas season looking for men. Let me tell you about them,” Avery said. He figured that, by the time, he finished explaining, this whole Santa thing would be solved. Santa’s own security will have solved this.
I’ll just be Santa for a little while…

The Brooklyn Alpha

Avery meets a senior citizen with some alpha edge, and he does just what comes naturally! He loves to service big macho alphas, so when retired cabbie Mr. Tossini proves willing to give Avery a swing on his meat, Avery’s in for a wild ride…

Can Avery handle this slice of finely aged meat?!

Read it now!

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter10

The White Trash Veteran

Goddamn do kids grow up fast! It felt like just yesterday Buck was a boy scared of his own daddy.
When Goose got back to Martinsburg in the winter of 1988, Buck done shot up another full foot in height. He was almost as tall as Goose now. He was strong — skinny, cuz he got so tall so fast, but strong as a ox. He got sweet on this blonde cutie-patootie Lucy. He do swan his love for her oftensome, fooling up his face every time he calls on her, acting like he invented falling moon over mug in love. He got intentions, he do, he do declare ’em on the daily, can’t hardly get him to talk about anything else. She smittened him, that’s what happened, that boy got straight-up smit!
Still don’t do school right though. He got a smart mouth with his teachers, and he failing all his classes. The principal Mister Jones admiredta expel him. T’was why Goose swapped noses with Mister Jones one sunny Saturday. Goose sat across from him at his desk, stacks of forms afront his snooty face. The color of Mister Jones’s tie was the same tan-brown color of the Vietcong’s uniforms, and as Mister Jones be a lecturing larry, Goose lost hisself in that color.
The Vietcong’s tan-brown uniforms strode along past the cage, whose bamboo bars put blisters upon Goose’s grip. Blood coated his hands — from his back, prolly, where they did whip him this morning — but all Goose saw with his hungry eyes was the cooking fire outside the prisoner of war camp and the plume of smoke rising into the inky blue beyond. One the Vietnameys was doling steam-curling soup into bowls for the other gooks.
“Your boy isn’t really academic material,” Mister Jones said, his voice a soundtrack for the soup being ladled out. “Everybody’s mind works differently, and Buck’s does not have the aptitude for education in math and literature-“
“What’s that mean?” Goose snapped more aggressively than he meant to. Mister Jones sniffled like he was snickety about that and put out a calmish murmur. But it was hard to concentrate on Mister Jones cuzza Goose seeing his hillbilly ass dodging the sharpened sticks the gooks poked in between the bars when they walked past. The sticks was cloyed at the tips with clots and scabs, and those who was stabbed usually got infected.
“He’d be better off learning a trade, I think. There are programs for…” Mister Jones said, his chair squeaking as he rolled back in it. “Are you… okay, Mister Sampson? I’m coming to you out of a sincere desire to find Buck a way forward.” He paused again. “You seem upset.” Sounded like he wrinkled his nose.
The gooks pissed in the cages too, a couple of ’em did, aiming they pinkie-winkies in and letting loose with cloudy streams of piss. Goose don’t feel nothing no more, not the cramped cage around him, not the chair in Mister Jones’s office underneath his ass, not the roiling pit of hunger in his belly or the boiling rage churning everhotly inside him.
“He ain’t learnin’ nuttin’!” Goose bellowed, his cheeks burning as tears streamed down. “You shitheads ain’t helpin’! You j’st givin’ up on helpin’ him!” He rattled the chair he could barely contain himself within. He rocked back and forth, so he’d feel the chair moving. His vision rocked too, the bamboo cage shaking around him. Goose grimaced, clenching his teeth till they hurt. He gotsta do his fatherly duty and keep Buck in school, but all he could think about was dodging them poopy sticks. He growled and roared, but it prolly sounded like a choked sob from a failed father to Mister Jones’s ears. Goose gripped the arms of the chair so hard liketa rip ’em off the frame.
“Sir, Mister Sampson, please calm down. You’ll have to leave if you can’t behave.” Mister Jones cleared his throat. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Buck doesn’t study or do homework-“
“Ain’t’choo got teachuhs? You’s sposedta be teachin’ him! You and the dumb-fuck parade he’uh is ‘bandonin’ mah boy!” Goose shrieked, spittle flecking his lips. He wagged his finger in the direction Mister Jones was, and since he ain’t see it, only felt it, it wagged with such energy it hurt, like he damn near wagged it outta its joint. Harley was in the cage next to Goose, praying and wasting away to nothing, to skin and bones. Goose avoided looking down less he reckon he was just as skinny.
“You can’t speak to me like that, you hillbilly! No wonder Buck struggles in school! How often do you read to him?” Mister Jones’s chair creaked under him, sounded like he was standing up now, leaning over the desk or maybe leaning away from it.
“Whatchoo sayin’ about me?! Huh? What’d you bring me here fo’?! You out he’uh accusin’ me-“
“I wanted to explain the scale of the problem, Mister Sampson! Buck won’t sit still. He disrupts class for the other students,” Mister Jones said. “He hit on Missus Gable! Grabbed her breast! The left one!”
Goose let out a growl. “Tha’ss natural-“
“You need to teach him to respect women!” Mister Jones. “And Buck picked a fight with another boy this week. Ryan Darling. Because Ryan called him a retard-“
“Then Ryan picked the fight!” Goose said.
Mister Jones cleared his throat. “Buck has had his chance, he… Mister Sampson? You seem upset.”
“Damn right I’s upset! You — You! I don’t gotta listen to this! You is runnin’ down mah boy, I ain’t a no-good deadbeat, don’chu think that-“
“Maybe we should do this when you’ve calmed down. I don’t think you’re a deadbeat, Mister Sampson, I’m sure… I didn’t set up this meeting to insult-“
“You can’t tell me nuttin’! You dunno, you dunno!” Goose roared, simmering yet as he stood and felt his way outta the office, just enough sense in his mind to stumble his way for the door. He admiredta punch Mister Jones out. When he got outta the principal’s office, he was — blessedly — in the school lobby.
He was in West Virginia, not ‘Nam.
But he maybe knocked over some chair or something, it mighta looked deliberate. He hurried away before he threw a punch and before he saw Mister Jones’s tie again.
Mister Jones followed him. First, he loosened, then took off the tie in his office — he thinked Goose was raising a ruckus on his way out the building — which Goose did do, he was right — Mister Jones removed the tie in anticipation of a donnybrook.
But no donny was brooked. When they got outside into the brilliant West Virginia sunshine, Goose reckoned that Mister Jones was tieless, and the fight mercifully drained outta him. He stopped beside the bike he rode over here.
“Nice motorcycle,” Mister Jones said. His voice wavered, ready for a fist and skull he don’t want. He let out a whistle that was no doubt meant to be appreciative but came across as plaintive.
Goose grunted. The whole world was rushing by, like time was catching up. He grimaced and let the wind run through his hair. That ain’t happen in Vietnam cuz his hair was short. Malnourishment meant it was dry and frizzled when he got outta there. Took months to come in normal.
After a minute or two of recompositioning hisself, Goose reckoned Mister Jones was serious about liking the motorcycle. He was looking at it like he always wanted one. Prolly got a wife who don’t like motorcycles. Women mostly don’t, in Goose’s experience.
“You want a ride?” Goose asked. He figgered Mister Jones wouldn’t want to ride in the bitch seat — behind Goose — but his eyes lit up.
“Hell yeah! Really?…” Mister Jones hesitated. “Are you okay, Mister Sampson? You seemed… upset in there-“
“I’m fine. Get on the bike. I need a ride, and maybe you do too,” Goose said.
With a shrug, Mister Jones got on the bike behind Goose, and they drove off.
That was good. Goose was ornery yet, but on the motorcycle, he wouldn’t hafta hear Mister Jones’s galding voice talk shit about Buck. By the time he stopped at the Gray Snakes bar, a lotta his anger done drain outta him.
“What is this place?” Mister Jones asked when Goose flipped the engine off. They both dismounted the motorcycle.
“Just a bar. Want a drink? I’ll buy,” Goose said with a shrug. He went in without waiting for a response.
Mister Jones followed him. Goose ain’t explain this was a Gray Snakes bar. He did a gig for ’em hauling untaxed liquor around. The nice thing about the Gray Snakes was that they provided females for they bikers in good standing. Not trashy whores too smacked out to complain neither, they had nice girls, who loved getting fucked by biker dick.
Brotherhood is unity of purpose, and Goose felt the Gray Snakes was a purpose, him and Buck as a family were a purpose. A man needs a purpose. That was Buck’s problem at school, Goose was now sure. Too many women, not enough purpose. Buck has gotta earn his manhood, and that’s not a schoolmarm’s domain.
Before the night was through, Goose got Mister Jones laid. She was the prettymost lady in the club tonight, blonde and buxom and big in the ass. She took Mister Jones’s dick all night long. Goose had his own lady in the same bed, but he ain’t let it turn into an orgy — Mister Jones would feel inadequate if he saw Goose’s cock, and he want him feeling good.
Anyway, it worked, and Buck got a second chance to stick around in school. Maybe Mister Jones was thankful for the beer and the poontang or maybe he was scared Goose would blow his head off. Results is results.
That felt good, and it reminded Goose he did get outta that bamboo cage alive. He barely remembered that whole parta it. The Army doc said he might never remember cuzza malnourishment — he was so hungry his brain ain’t form memories right.
It ain’t feel proper when he was rescued, like he weren’t really outta there, not until he found hisself in Cuba. Him and Harley done hitch a ride on a series of Navy ships heading home. Maybe t’was a good thing it took awhile. It gave ’em time to gain weight again and to realize they wasn’t captives no more.
For a whole week, they was stuck in Guantanamo Bay, an island off the coast of Cuba. They was so close to home, yet they still hadta wait a week to get a ship. Clarkson met them there. He was another Army soldier waiting for a ride home. He been in Guantanamo for a couple months, cuz he was recovering from a injury.
“You guys wanna see somethin’ great?” he axed of one night. Goose and Harley was sitting around smoking cigarettes in the moonlight and listening mournful-like to joyous calypsos when Clarkson approached ’em. T’was past lights-out, but that kinda thang weren’t enforced on Guantanamo.
The only thang to talk about was boredom, aside from all the bloodshed and horror and corpses and getting thrown in a tiger cage and poked with a shit-covered stick — aside from all that, the only thing Goose and Harley been talking about was being bored. Goddamn was it nice to be bored!
Goose and Harley and Clarkson all walked different paths to get here, but they surpassed the same barriers, and that felt right. Goose dunno at the time what civilian life was gonna be like. He ain’t barely recollect what life was like before the Army, before Vietnam, before Masterson and Berringer and the rest got killed. Sam.
Ain’t none of Goose’s problems done start yet. Life was calm in the after war. If only it could last forever and then real life could start. Goose saw dams arising ahead, blocking the river, but for now he was content to float upon the lazy lake of brotherhood.
When Clarkson offered to show Goose and Harley something interesting, they immediately snubbed out they cigarettes and agreed.
Clarkson led ’em to the other side of the base, the side of Guatanamo Bay that was closest to the Cuban mainland, which Goose could see across the water. There was a tiny pier there, just big enough for rowboats. That was how that the Cuban workers came across to clean and serve food and that kinda thing.
There was a derelict building here too. Maybe a disused office. Maybe this pier usedta be bigger. Coulda been a proper fishing village on the island a long time ago.
Clarkson led Goose and Harley to that building, from which emerged a pair of guilty-smile soldiers. They stopped short as they left cuz they saw Clarkson, Goose and Harley. Them’all gave awkward little nods and went on they way. Goose went into the building.
There stood a burly Cuban man in a linen shirt, who looked disinterested as he took twelve dollars from Clarkson. Behind him was a long curtain that stretched from one side of the building to the other.
The curtain got five holes in it at varying heights. Clarkson walked right up to one them holes, a big shit-eating grin on his face, and he unzipped his camos. He flopped his pecker into the hole, then he turned to look at Goose and Harley. “Go on, I paid for you two, only cost four bucks each. You can pay extra if you wanna piss in the hole.”
“Who…-“
“Aaah, shit, hell yeah!” Harley stepped right up and put his dick in one of the holes.
Feeling more cautious though, Goose ain’t do the same — he weren’t the ram-his-pecker-into-a-hole-in-order-to-find-out-what-was-on-the-other-side kinda guy. That was a very distinct breed of man, and Goose weren’t one of ’em! Instead, Goose bent over and peered through one of the holes.
It was too dark to see anything on the other side, but he sensed movement over there.
“It’s… a machine? What’s on the other side?” Goose asked. “It’s not a woman, right?”
As though the answer had oughta been obvious, Clarkson scoffed, while Harley whooped like a crane and plowed at his hole with enthusiasm. His balls thwapped against the curtain — he got massive balls considering his dingus was dinky. Harley said, “It’s a man, retard. I’ve heard of these, it’s a gloryhole. It’s probably like a rapist from the prison on the mainland.” He gripped the flat curtain the best he could, so he could pound his pecker in there..
Clarkson said something in Spanish to the linen-clad bouncer behind him, who responded likewise. Then Clarkson said in English, “Yeah, he said the guy raped like thirty women.”
“Which guy? There’s five holes,” Goose asked.
Looking at Goose like he was an idiot, Clarkson said, “I guess there’s five rapists, I dunno.”
Harley was already blowing his wad, cuz he was like that. He ain’t hide it neither. He was throwing his head back and moaning like a cowboy. Clarkson rammed at the mouth on the other side of his hole pretty dang hard too, his face tensing up as he neared his orgasm.
Though Goose weren’t horny, he was bored, and he don’t wanna look like wussy willie. He’d rather come back and do this in the middle of the night alone. That’d be better. But they prolly go back to the mainland eventually.
In any case, Goose stuck his dick through the hole. A very awkward warmth overwhelmed him. The man on the other side musta gagged or something, cuz a lotta moisture came running down Goose’s shaft, soaking his pubes.
Or maybe he just used alotta spit. That was nice, it felt good, so long as Goose ain’t think too much about what he was doing. He closed his eyes and pictured women — not Vietnameys, he pictured white women or black women or Indian women, he don’t care, just nothing Vietnamey, not ever.
A potent orgasm wracked his body — he dunno how long it took, Goose was so focused on not picturing no Vietnamey female that he barely noticed hisself getting close. Cum exploded through the gloryhole and soaked the curtain. Goose’s knees buckled, it felt so good yet almost painful. Harley and Clarkson stood behind him and laughed.
“Shit, can’t believe that only cost four bucks,” Goose said, shivers of pleasure still rocking him. His cock slid out the gloryhole. The man on the other side musta stopped slurping the moment he tasted cum, which was kinda disappointing. Mosta Goose’s jizz spurted off into the air.
Yet, for four bucks, Goose couldn’t complain too much.
By the time he done tuck his dick away, Harley was paying the Cuban in the linen shirt to piss in the hole. It was kinda funny, Goose hadta admit that. But they ain’t get to see the man getting pissed on, and there weren’t even no guarantee he was getting pissed on — he coulda moved away. Harley said he could tell he was pissing into a open mouth, but his dick weren’t in that mouth at the time.
They debated all the particulars of that the whole way back. Harley was insistent he pissed on a Cuban rapist, Goose was less sure. Clarkson sided with Harley.
By the time they got back to they bunks, the conversation done drift to the relative merits of blowjobs from different kinds of whores. They all done make acquaintanceships with some in the before-time, before the war. They compared notes on pre-war prostitutes. They all most likely fucked Vietnamey prostitutes too. But nobody talked about that.
The word ‘Vietnam’ wasn’t said one time, and that felt right as rum to Goose.