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Rob was smoking a ciggie near the CentreLink on Bulumbaga Road. It was a bright and sunny day, but the gray squat building in front of Rob made the whole area dismal and bleak; it exuded an aura of dull-edged banality. Craggy bogans bustled in and out of CentreLink, interspersed with a few elderly schmucks and a disabled man accompanied by a nurse. There must have been a separate employee entrance and exit, Rob thought, because he didn’t see anyone who worked here.
He was just waiting for the bus anyway. He had ended up missing it by two minutes, so now he had most of an hour to wait for the next one.
That’s when he heard a fight break out. It was down in the car park. First, he heard a bunch of gruff macho shouting, vowels extending broadly like sunbeams, consonants clipped — he couldn’t make out the words, but he could make out the accent.
They were bogans, fighting.
“You bloody tosser, get off me!”
“Razza, you prick-“
“Where’d you go last night, huh, mate?”
“Why’d you hit me-?”
He made out the names Keith and Razza before he snuck down there to take a peek.
Razza was the shirtless one, wearing a bushranger hat. He was shorter than his brother, Keith, but thicker-built, and heavily tattooed all over like a bikie — he wasn’t a bikie, though he used to own a motorcycle, he just had bikie-like tattoos because his bikie dad was also his tattoo artist. Keith only had one tattoo, of Uluru, on his shoulderblade — he didn’t get along with dad — and he had terrible teeth and a greasy mullet.
They shouted and heaved as their sweat-glistening bodies tore into each other. The fight seemed half-real and half-playful, with punches interspersed with more casual smacks and winking slaps. They both wore short black shorts that showed off their powerful thighs, and Rob lost himself trying to see up those shorts to see if the boys wore grundies or not.
“Don’t pull my hair, mate, that makes you a bitch-“
“Get off me, you little ratbag, Razza! I’ll smash your teeth in!”
Razza’s superior thickness and powerful arms gave him an advantage though, and his shortness wasn’t much of a hindrance. He finally landed a powerful blow to Keith’s belly, knocking him to the ground.
“Who’s the petrol-sniffing ratbag now?!” Razza took off one of his thongs and slapped his brother in the face. He laughed like this was all a big prank — he had looked serious moments ago, but now that he was the winner, he joked and smacked his brother with his thong.
Keith slapped the thong out of his face. “Get your fuckin’ thong off me, you abo bastard-“
“You better pay me for that fuckin’ petrol!” Razza said, having to pause for a moment to remember what this fight was even about.
He had loaned Keith his car, a vintage Holden he’d been restoring for years, to drive to his job last night. That should have been a five-kilometer trip in total. But an entire tank of petrol had gone missing, a fact that Razza only realized when he had come here to CentreLink to see his case manager. His Holden had barely puttered into the car park.
Keith had come later in the day to see his own case manager as well, and Razza was here waiting for him. Keith backed away, ripping his shirt off, ready to have a go at Razza, because it had been obvious from the beginning that Razza was looking for a fight.
That happened a lot. The Histexile brothers were known throughout their suburb for fighting each other, and anyone else available. Razza pumped his fists after beating his brother down and didn’t even notice Rob there watching. Razza was glad to win because his brother had called him a racial slur — an Abo. Though Keith and Razza were brothers, Razza claimed to be Aboriginal (1/32 Gadigal clan) and Keith claimed to be descended from convict stock. Both found each other’s claims spurious and worth brawling over.
“Come hit me then, fight me like a man-“
“I just whooped your ass!” Razza shouted, feinting forward, his broad chest greasy with old sweat. “Remember? Like two seconds ago?”
“You hit me with your thong, that’s not whooping-“
“Bullshit, you little fucker, I’ll do it again-“
“You are such a moron!” Keith gestured towards the CentreLink building, where people had stopped to watch. One person — Rob — came close enough to hear. Keith and Razza were both momentarily self-conscious, then smiled broadly and stamped their feet. Keith wiped the trickle of blood off his nose.
“You wasted a whole tank of petrol!”
“Katie wanted to root, man! I drove to her place in Gagamazoo!”
Razza threw another punch. “Why didn’t you pick me up? I’d bone that root-rat, mate! We were gonna do donuts today! We were talking about it — right before you went to work, we decided we were gonna kill a case of goddamn stubbies and do-“
“Hey, guys, you know they’re calling the police?” Rob said. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Keith and Razza exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. Razza looked to the white van Keith had come here in — a work van. Keith was a tradie — so was Razza, technically, but he had been suspended for punching his supervisor. Keith went right to the driver’s seat, and Razza to the passenger’s side as though he was going to get in.
“No, rack off, mate,” Keith said. “I’m not supposed to have anyone else in the van. It’s a rule-“
“Oh, fuck you!” Razza shouted from the other side of the van. He had one of his thongs in hand, smacking the van on the side of it when Keith drove away. “You stupid asshole, Keith!” Razza stood there, glowering at Rob. “What do you want?”
Rob shrugged. “I’ll jack your dick.”
“What?”
“You need a ride out of here, right? Let me jack your dick. I’ll give you a ride, let you do some donuts in my car and buy you a slab of beer,” Rob said.
Razza heard sirens off in the distance. He laughed nervously, covering it up with a macho chuckle as though he got propositioned like this all the time. He shrugged. “Yeah. Where’s your car?”
He scoffed when he saw the tiny Kia. “I can barely fit my dick in this thing, mate,” he said as he got in. “Doin’ donuts’ll wreck this car’s suspension to fuck and back. Could blow out the tyres too.” He had to adjust the driver’s seat so he could fit, hurrying when the sirens got closer. Rob sat in the passenger seat.
“I don’t care, it’s a rental,” Rob said. He blushed. He knew he sounded like a wealthy jerk — he was going to have to pay to fix the transmission one way or another — but he couldn’t help it. He could afford it.
“Well, shit… Let’s do some circlework! I chucked a sicky to blodge off for the day, so me and my brother were gonna hoon all day. I know a great spot, a dirt road you’d never know it’s there unless you knew it was there. We can stop for stubbies on the way,” Razza said. He was hesitant to really go at it in his own Holden — he’d replaced the suspension several times because of doing donuts in it; he could do it again, but it was expensive and time-consuming, so he tried to avoid it. If this weird pervy stranger was willing to wreck a rental, he could do that.
Even if it was a Kia.
He headed away from CentreLink at top speed before the police could arrive. He sped to the bottle-o a few kilometers away.
Rob went in and bought stubbies of Carlton Draught. He was already hot and horny because Razza’s shirtless body had filled the Kia up with his musk. It occurred to Rob only then that he shouldn’t have left Razza out there with the keys and the car. He could drive away anytime. Razza would lose the beer Rob was buying, but he’d gain a rental car he could do donuts in and then sell for parts. Rob’s heart quickened. He peered into the car park. Razza was still there, showing no signs of leaving. Rob paid for the beer.
When he got out there, Razza popped the boot, and Rob plopped the stubbies of beer in there.
“Later, mate!” That was when Razza stole the car.
After Rob put the beer in the boot.
He guffawed and slapped his hand on the roof of the Kia. Then Razza sped out of there bottle-o’s car park, and Rob watched the Kia disappear down the road. Razza whooped and hollered like a cowboy, loud enough for Rob to hear from back at the Dan Murphy’s.
So Razza did steal the beer after all. Rob had been right to be nervous, he was just off on his timing.
Not sure what else to do, Rob just walked away. He could have called the police. He’d have to eventually, or the car-rental place would accuse him of stealing it. But he didn’t feel like dealing with an Australian cop right now — they were all knobs, and dumber than dirt, as useless as a kangaroo’s crib. So he decided to tell them that his cell phone’s battery was dead, which it very nearly was, so that was why he didn’t call them right away.
He just walked down the road. He wasn’t even sure where he was going. He didn’t know how to get back to his hotel, or the CentreLink, from here.
He saw a dirt road that came right off the main road. It was unmarked. It was indeed, as Razza had said, tucked in amongst some trees such that, if you didn’t know it was there, you’d never see it. It was around the bend of a curve.
It sure looked like that was the road Razza had described, and just beyond the copse of trees on the hill where the dirt road met the paved road, there was a big dry dusty spot, like someone had clear-cut the area to build houses and then never built them.
That looked right. You could do donuts down there, Rob thought. Razza had said something about “circlework”, which meant doing donuts on dirt in order to create circles on the ground and kick up a circular cloud of dust in the air.
Sure enough, when Rob got beyond the trees, he could see down the hill. There was his Kia, doing donuts, dust kicking up in a grand tornado that filled the air, reaching almost all the way to where Rob stood.
He wrinkled his nose and walked down the hill.
He got almost all the way down when the car stopped. He heard Razza cursing inside the car, swerving all over because he was trying to squash a poisonous spider that had just bit him. When he either killed it or lost track of it, he focused more on the donuts, building up a huge whirlwind of ocher-laden dirt.
Rob shouted, “Hey! You mongrel! Get out of there!”
Razza opened the door and smiled broadly at him. A smile on his face really accentuated how dirty he was — plus he stood on the threshold to the car before the dust had settled, so a layer of it clung to his sweaty skin, giving him a tan coat. He had tied an Australian flag to his shoulder at some point since stealing the car, and it fluttered in the breeze his circlework had kicked up.
“You followed me? Good on ya, mate!”
“Okay, fuck you, Razza, for the following reasons,” Rob said. “First, fuck you just because. Second, fuck you for stealing my car. Third, fuck you for stealing my beer. Fourth, fuck you for not letting me jack you off. Fifth, fuck you for being a goddamn cunt-“
“What? You ratbag-?”
“Shut the hell up — the only part of our deal you welshed on was the part where your dick has to work. What’s up with that? What’s wrong with your pecker?”
“Awwwwww….” Razza groaned. He knew perfectly well that this pervy foreigner was trying to goad him into it. With a sneer, he ate macadamia nuts from a baggie of scroggin. “Americans are a bunch of pansies, mate.”
“If you had asked if you could steal the car, I’d have said you could take it. I’d give you a couple hours before I called the police,” Rob said. “You were scared to get jacked off, weren’t you? You don’t know how to root-“
“I am not scared of shit, mate!” Razza was annoyed with himself for giving in. It was obvious that Rob just wanted his dick. But he couldn’t resist pulling it out to prove it worked. He flopped it between his fingers. He was glad it was a warm day because his cock hadn’t shrunk at all.
Rob giggled inwardly but got back in the passenger car in a huff. He glared at Razza, who sat back behind the wheel.
“I’ve always wanted to jack someone off while they did donuts,” Rob said. “That’s all. So I was pissed you tried to cheat me-“
“Aw, don’t be a shit, mate,” Razza said. “You’re still whinging about that?” He whacked his dick against his palm as he started the engine again. “You’re not gonna bite down if I go spinning or a tyre blows out, will you?”
Rob bent over and put the tip of Razza’s dick in his mouth. “No promises. Don’t blow out.” He giggled and jacked it down, slurping down the dust that had settled on his cock. It tasted filthy, but warm, inviting, sunny, and a little coppery. Rob could even taste the gritty bitterness of brick, which presumably came from Razza’s career as a brickie. Rob wondered if he still tasted like that because he hadn’t washed since then, or if the flavor had seeped into his flesh.
“Crikey!” Razza said with a whoop and a holler.
He put his foot on the accelerator and turned the wheel, struggling to turn it hard enough with Rob’s head in his crotch. It was disconcerting enough that he barely even noticed what his dick felt like at first. He was too focused on the driving and making sure he didn’t jostle Rob so much he bit down.
But then, at last, a shiver of pleasure ran up Razza’s spine, and his dick twitched. His hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel.
“Aaaaaah, shit!” Razza whooped. He wished his brother was here to see this, but it was too late now. He’d have to tell him about it later. He’d say it had been a female on his cock, of course. Keith wouldn’t believe that, but he wouldn’t be able to disprove it either, since Razza was going to be coming home with stubbies and a shitty old Kia. Keith wouldn’t be able to explain where he got that.
His dick was rock-hard now. It was happening very fast. Razza moaned and groaned, slamming his fists on the dashboard. It ended up not being very good circlework because he was distracted, but still, it was exciting enough, and it left him dizzy in a giant cloud of dust all around him.
“Oh shit, mate…” Razza’s voice broke, making him laugh with embarrassment. He felt his orgasm coming on and was sure he would run into the ditch he had been avoiding — he was dizzy and distracted and no longer sure where the Kia was in relation to the ditch. It would be too easy for Rob to be startled and bite down if the car slid into the ditch.
So he stopped the car, realizing only as he did, placing one hand on Rob’s head to push him deeper, that it had happened — one of the tyres blew out. He was no longer going that fast, so the car just drifted in a wild, careening circle until at last, it came a stop.
A full quivering stop, with Razza’s foot slammed onto the brake-pedal. “Aw, mate, goddamn — shit-” He jacked in his breath, now aware that he had been close to orgasm for a few seconds, only delaying it because the situation had been so exciting.
He held onto Rob by the back of the head and pistoned his hips up, throating Rob’s face in a way not many girls let him do. It was awkward to do so crammed between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel, especially in this tiny Korean car.
But Razza was too close to cumming to let himself be interrupted by stepping out of the car, or even rolling the window down or putting it in park so he could take his foot off the brake.
All of his concentration went to jamming his dick all the way down Rob’s choking throat. Rob loved being throat-abused more than anything, and he was good at it, so he swallowed every bit of Razza’s uncut shaft.
“Shit, mate, jack it, goddamn!” Razza moaned again, slamming his hand on the dashboard. A few drops of cum spurted into Rob’s mouth and ran down his gullet. “Aw, there I go mate-” He was tense, veins pulsating on the side of his ruddy head and his neck. His orgasm looked almost painful.
Finally it came, great gobs of creamy hot cum spurting into Rob’s throat and down to his belly. Razza kept on spewing more and more, and even he looked surprised by the amount. He kept a tight grip on Rob’s head, the scent of his bogan sweat filling the air once more now that the dust was beginning to dissipate.
“Aww…”
It was salty and warm, intensely flavorful, thick and creamy, coating his throat like a melted milk bar. Rob couldn’t swallow it all because his mouth was filled with raunchy bogan foreskin, and the dust that had settled there made him cloggy and coughy anyway.
But he didn’t mind — Rob liked to make a mess. He swallowed what he could, but the rest spilled out and soaked into Razza’s pubic hair.
Razza groaned at the mess, but even he had to admit he liked it better that way. A sloppy blowjob was better than a clean one. And anyway, having a wet spot in his crotch was going to make this story seem more believable when he told his brother that it was a woman who gave him a car to suck his dick.
“Well, damn, mate, you made a big mess,” Razza said with a chuckle. He patted Rob on the head, and Rob lifted off. “You-“
The Kia jolted forward and slid into a ditch.
They were both so startled they yelped and nearly jumped out of the car. But all that had happened was Razza took his foot off the brake, forgetting that it was on a slight incline, leading into that ditch, and that he had never put it in park. So it rolled right in, nose first.
“Fuck!” Rob shouted as he bumped into the dashboard. He rolled out into the muddy ditch, covered in cum and dust and now, mud.
Razza laughed as he climbed out. He was already dirty, so it was hard to even tell. He looked at the Kia — one tyre blown out, end in the ditch, who-knew-what-else wrong with it.
“You were right. I would have totally bit your dick if that happened when it was in my mouth,” Rob said. He blushed. “Car’s totaled.”
“Wanna walk with me back to that Dan Murphy? There’s a grocery store there too,” Razza said. “I’m hungry. Buy me some snags and lammingtons.”
“Yeah, okay,” Rob said. He shrugged. “I don’t know what those are, but fine.” He wondered if he’d be able to get Razza’s brother before leaving. “Hmmm… I’ll call the car-rental place in awhile.” Rob was not going to enjoy paying whatever they ended up charging him for this.
But, he thought, it had all been worth it.