Tag: defending a woman

The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 5

The White Trash Veteran

“Reckon I shouldn’t say his name,” said Missus Adams with a snooty wrinkle of her nose. “You dunneed anothuh reason fer the judge to take Buck away from ya, Martin Sampson.” She carved a hefty frown upon her lemon-sour face, hair rising into a judgemental updo. She wagged her finger at Goose like a hound-dog.
Goose understood that. He do be simmering like phuh though.
He worked upon a ship mosta this past year, buffetted by winds and beset by man-eating whores in lousy ports. The sailor’s life do turn men into pigs, and Goose don’t like how that seamen treat they whores. Pay was good though. He done return back to Smashwood Trailer Park in the fall of 1981 with his pockets fulla cash. He found Buck staying with Missus Adams, not his foster family.
It turnt out that family with the farm weren’t so nice after all. They was working Buck over and withholding food cuz he was mouthy and don’t know his letters good. Buck was ravenous when he ran away to Smashwood, and he said he ain’t eat in two days. Them foster parents be beating him when he don’t do his farmwork quick enough. That boy got scars on his back like he was getting whipped.
Goose don’t like nobody whipping his boy. So it was maybe wise that Missus Adams wouldn’t tell Goose the foster family’s name, and she made Goose promise not to ask Buck cuz Buck get agitatious when he talk about ’em. Goose liketa lay down the common law upon they skulls.
So they threw a football back and forth behind the trailer, and Buck was impressed by how far Goose could throw the ball. They ate supper and jello for dessert. Buck wanna know all about Goose’s job in a giant ship’s big-ass engine — Buck love machines and trucks and that — and Goose wanna know about Buck starting school and his first-grade teacher. She was strict as sunshine, don’t let Buck give no excuses, which was good as Goose saw it, a boy do need that. Buck had so much energy Missus Adams made ’em go out so Buck could chase fireflies in the early evening dimness. Goose chased ’em too, but he enjoyed watching Buck do it. Then Buck tripped and skinned his knees something terrible on a rock.
“I know it hurts when you falls,” Goose said. He got down on one knee to look Buck square in the face like a man. “No matter the pain, no matter the fear. Never let ’em see it. J’st get back up again. Let ’em know they pain don’t define you.” He patted Buck upon his bloody knee.
“Yes, Pops.”
“I got took captive in that war, you know. Vietnam, you heared-a that? I surrendered. But a man’s gotta go on, provide, do the work that keeps the river flowin’. Them farmers you was livin’ wit’, you stood tough ‘gainst them, reckon, and I’s proud of you. They ain’t win ‘gainst you so long as you don’t let ’em.”
Buck nodded, solemn as a ram, and he sniffled back his tears. Then he spoke in a Cambodian accent, “When you experience something painful, you must move on from it and leave it behind you. The hurt is in you, in your expectations and your cravings. A wise man doesn’t dwell, always moving on, continuing like unflappable time, like a river, which is never late, because it is its own path. When a river bumps into a dam, its relentless flow builds into a lake, and, when it has grown big enough, the lake overcomes, and the river resumes.” Then, in his Appalachian holler, he added. “I’s fittin’ to make a island of mahself, and I strives me to become wise, free of stains and passions.”
Okay, Buck ain’t drop them pearls. What he said was, “I ain’t never afreared cuz I knewed you was gonna come fer me.”
That was a mighty fine lake to sit beside. Goose could sit on the shore of that lake and fish for eternities.
Missus Adams done told the social worker she was Buck’s grandmaw, and Buck be calling her Grammaw Adams now, so they let her take custody. She was a persnickety old lady, she do persnicket like a champion, but Goose got confidence she wouldn’t treat Buck wrong. Goose gave her the dollars he done save. She was on a fixed income, so she was needing help to pay for groceries and that. Buck could and quite possibly has done eat a horse.
Seems like Goose steady gives up his pay packets soon as he gets ’em.
Even back in Vietnam, he sent mosta his pay home to Ellen. He kept a little for himself too, and it went a long way. Money’s cheap out there. Or is it more right to say money’s expensive? You can buy more in US dollars there than here.
Or anywhat, Goose don’t know economics. But they could live like kings when they got somewhere with stuff worth buying. That ain’t happen often. They did eventually hire a Vietnamese feller named Sam as a camp cook though.
Hootenanny holler could that gook cook! He made noodles in a wok, flavors like the almighty beyond, got spices and jungle shit in it, tasted like a nun’s tits, you know Goose could spoon that stuff up! All the Vietnameys could cook.
But Sam was the goodest.
Them Vietnameys was needful for US dollars. A couple weeks after hiring Sam, Harley reckoned he could pay just a dollar to get Sam to jerk him off and even swallow his nut. Sam be panting and gagging the whole time, and he got a shallow throat, but Harley don’t mind. Harley’s pecker weren’t that big, recall, and Sam could just barely get the whole thing in his mouth.
T’was very possible that Sam ain’t never agree to do that. Goose never once heared Sam agree. But he don’t fight back vigorous-like, and as Harley seed it, not fighting back was agreeing to it.
For a feller. Harley don’t rape no woman.
“Aaah shit, Goose, bet you wish you could-” Harley’s knees went weak and he steadied hisself, as Sam squirmed on his knees afronta him. Sam was in the middle of washing dishes after supper, and he was on his knees with a bucket of water and a rag. He winced with his eyes as Harley rammed his ugly pecker in and outta Sam’s li’l bitty throat. Harley got one hand on Sam’s head, the other on his chin. “Bet you wish you could get ya whole pecker in there.” His balls slapped on Sam’s throat.
Goose nodded and shrugged.
“You should ramrod him. Wreck his asshole, that’d be so funny,” Harley said. He closed his eyes as cum poured into Sam’s throat. Sam choked but managed not to spit it out, as the jiss filled up his belly. “I bet he’d do it for like two bucks.” Harley’s voice broke, and he sighed. He pumped his hips.
At last Sam could resist retching no longer, and a mouthload of jizz spilled onto the ground. He spat up a second mouthload, while Harley spewed jizz onto his face.
Goose shook his head. “No way, that’d be…” He chuckled. He ain’t have much experience then, so he assumed there was no way Sam’s ass’d open up that much. Sam was barely five feet tall and weighed maybe a hundred pounds. He was well-muscled for his size, ain’t have a lick of fat on him.
Plus he was nice. Goose don’t wanna wreck a nice man’s ass. Vietnam was too stressful for him to get horny easy. Harley was different — Harley loved blowjobs, and when there wasn’t a woman around — most always — he would bust a nut in Sam’s mouth every chance he got. He usedta have some shame about it. He’d sneak away into his tent and do it when nobody noticed. Goose did notice, cuz it was his tent too.
But the more time they unit spent together, the less Harley bothered to hide it.
They had leave of the next day, and they went down on into town. The brothel was the second place they went, after the bar. T’was the same place, but they went to the bar first to get a drink and a plate of something that looked like collards but tasted like fire, then they both hired a whore in the backa the bar.
But when Goose got into the back room with his whore, she took one look at his baseball bat and whisked off. Goose sighed. That weren’t a surprise. It happened. They prolly got a fat lady for men with big dicks. He could fuck with a fat lady. Wouldn’t even be fat by American standards. Goose ain’t see a proper fat Vietnamey yet.
But then the crying lady with the Chinese lettering tattooed on her back was shoved back into the room. She quaked and quivered as she got on her knees and picked up Goose’s dick with her delicate fingers. His dick looked like a club next to her, it was thicker than any parta her body.
“Nah, nah,” Goose said. “I don’t rape a woman.” He said it in English, then in halting Vietnameyse, which Sam been teaching him. Goose don’t know the word for ‘rape’ yet, but he got his point across.
He pulled his britches up, went into the backroom and laid out a series of punches upon the burly-faced Vietnamey who done push her back into the room. He gave that pimp a pair of black eyes and a smashed nose and took out one his teeth for him. Ain’t even send him a dental work bill, which Goose considered a kindness.
Goose went along on down back to camp by hisself. He don’t cotton to fellers treating women improper. Even a whore got a right to choose her men. That was how Goose was raised.
But he had a hardon that whole time. Goddamn that whore gave him a stiffy before she fell to sob-a-lobbing, and it was still stiffing! He ain’t notice it when he was punching her pimp, and it seemed like a distant problem when he walked back to camp alone in the dismal jungle rain.
Now it felt real, and it was throbbing, and he couldn’t do nothing about it.
Well, he could jack off.
But daaamn did he hope for a hole to stick it in. He was looking forward to that visit to a brothel for a long time, and that Vietnamey lady was pretty as a bowl of soup on a rainy day!
Goose was alone in camp, so he could slap his own meat like a pimpley teenager. He tried to get ridda his hardon, and he succeeded long enough to drain his bladder — he been aching to piss since he left the brothel. He woulda pissed on the pimp if his dick weren’t stiff at the time.
But soon as he was done peeing, he thunk of that whore’s naked tits again, and he seed a photo-picture of Miss November in a magazine in Harley’s belonguns. Goose sighed and pulled his britches down.
A burst of chingchong chatter attracted Goose’s gaze, and he jumped to his feet. He jumped outta his tent, grabbed his gun and went out.
It was just Sam. He done gone to town too, and he bought seeds, powders and leaves. The chingchong shit was him talking to his rangy mustache-on-a-stick self.
“Hey.” Goose added a hello-howdy in holler-heavy Vietnameyse, and Sam nodded his approval of the pronunciation. Then he went to put his shopping away with the other kitchen stuff. Goose stood there, cuz he was pondering possibilities.
“Hey, Sam, c’m’e’uh,” he said. He motioned to a thick-trunked tree beside him. Sam obediently came closer, and Goose handed over a greenback. Sam winced and sunk to his knees. Goose laughed and patted him on the head. “It’ll be okay, I’ll be gentle,” Goose said. “And quick.”
That was true. It ain’t take long at all. Goose was already rock-hard when he pushed his knob into Sam’s mouth. It was hot and wet like the jungle itself. Goose moved his hips back and forth, cuz Sam couldn’t swallow very deep — he was skinny and Goose’s dickshaft was fat. Sam only got maybe three inches in, four if Goose really pushed it in there.
But he don’t wanna treat Sam’s throat like a pussy like Harley did. Sam weren’t a prison punk. Goose felt sorry for him. He went left and right, humping his knob within Sam’s mouth, but he don’t force it down.
“Aaaah…” That did feel good. Goose got it now. He understood why Harley enjoyed this. Even with Sam’s shallow mouth, it felt nice as napkins. It was like a blowjob but better cuz Goose skipped the woo.
Soon enough, pleasure was rocking Goose’s veins, much delayed pleasure cuz he been anticipating the whorehouse since days ago. He recollected the brothel he just left and the hooker he left there — he recollected her from before she started crying. His cock filled Sam’s mouth with goops of prenut, and Sam obediently swallowed it, or leastways he ain’t try to spit Goose’s knob out.
“He’uh I go,” Goose murmured. He stroked his dick at the root with one hand, the knob filling up Sam’s mouth. So as an orgasm ran through his body, he shot his wad directly onto Sam’s tongue.
A gag overcame Sam, but he was pinned against the tree, so Goose kept his dick there. Sam retched again and again, jizz spilling forth all over his shirt and his crotch and onto the jungle floor. The cum drained outta Goose’s sac like it been building up for weeks, which it kinda was — Goose ain’t feel like busting a nut until recently. War was too stressful for nuts.
A chuckle wracked Goose’s body, making his dingdong dongle and his sac splatter against Sam’s chin. Burst after burst of cream overflowed from Sam’s mouth and puddled up in the mud and muck. Goose shuddered with pleasure, holding onto Sam’s head so he could hump every inch of his tongue.
Goose let his cock dangle free. “Sorry, Sam,” he said as Sam spat up fluids from the deeps of his belly. Goose was about to add I won’t do that again, but he thunk better of it.
He ain’t wanna make a promise he weren’t gonna keep.