featuring hitchhikers – Mansploitation

The Pickup Truck

When Avery has car trouble, he hitches a ride with a pair of rednecks with a pickup truck. They’re eager to get a nut off, a problem Avery is eager to help with, cuz Avery loves nothing more than submitting to alpha male hillbilly manhood.

Can Avery get his truck fixed and satisfy his newfound redneck buddies?

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Avery sighed as his car rattled to a stop on the side of the road. He had just gotten the starter replaced, and now something else was wrong with it. He cursed and kicked at the car when he got out. He opened the hood as though there was some chance he could fix it.
But he didn’t know anything about cars. Unless there was a sign in the hood describing what was wrong and how to fix it, he wouldn’t have known what to do. Unsurprisingly, there was no sign. Even if there was a sign, he’d probably need help.
The engine looked normal. It was hot and dirty and greasy, and it looked just like it always did. He checked the oil because that was one of the few things he knew how to do. The oil level was fine. Well, I successfully ruled out oil, he thought, at least that’s something.
He sighed and started walking. There was no point in hanging out here, in the middle of nowhere, Bumfuck, West Virginia. He could have called AAA, but his cell phone only had a little charge left. He turned it off in case he needed it later. He knew there was a garage up the road, so he thought it would end up being quicker to walk there and arrange a repair job.
As he crested the next hill, he muttered about his car. His Kia was notoriously crappy, he had learned after owning it for a few months. This was only the latest in a series of setbacks for the car. He should have done more research before he picked it out, he thought. That must be why it was so cheap.
He was startled out of his reverie by the sight of a man on the side of the road up ahead. He was a hundred feet or so away from where Avery was overtop the hill, and he faced backwards with a thumb out. When he saw Avery, he waved.
“Howdy, brotha!” he called out.
Avery waved back. The man was shirtless, a lean and lanky redneck in a red backwards baseball cap and muddy camo pants. He was a hillbilly, Avery thought and shivered as a frisson of desire ran up his spine. Avery appreciated the male form, and this ropy-muscled young man was an ideal example.
“Howdy, friend,” said the young man when Avery got closer. He accentuated the word friend as though he called everyone his friend but really meant it this time. He had a charming, dimpled smile.
Avery giggled and said hello. “Nice to meet you,” Avery said.
The man had a Confederate flag belt buckle, and tattoos dotted his bare torso. “You hitchin’?” the man asked. He spat on the ground.
Avery shook his head. “My car broke down right over the hill. I was just going to the garage down the street.”
“Old Ray’s? That place shut down. Ol’ Ray was a fat fuck anyway. He dead now,” said the hillbilly. “Name’s Cody.”
“Nice to meetcha, Cody,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.”
He nodded. “Mah buddy is on his way to come get me. He’ll give you a ride too, reckon.”
“Thanks.”
“Gonna have to ride in the back though. In the bed of his pickup, I mean. Ain’t got room in the cab for three.”
“Okay,” Avery said.
“There he is now. His name Buck,” said Cody. His tongue rolled around in his mouth as though it was too big for him, as he sized Avery up, looking him from head to toe.
They had only gone a little ways when a beat-up red truck came from behind and pulled to a stop on the side of the road.
A beefier hillbilly stuck his head out the window. He was tall enough that he was squashed into the truck cab, and he had a furiously untamed mullet that framed his oversized head. “Need a ride, li’l hoss? You know the rule: cash, grass or ass,” Buck called out and hooted out a series of baritone laughs.
Then he saw Avery, and his eyes turned dark and hostile.
“Hey this man here had a breakdown up the road. He goin’ to Old Ray’s,” Cody said.
“Old Ray dead.”
“I told him that,” Cody said.
“Hop in, li’l hoss,” said Buck. “You got that Kia on the road a f’ur piece back?” He had a grizzled chin, with a lazy look on his face. He was much thicker than Cody and hairier. He also made Avery feel a flush of hormones and a stiffening in his cock, and Avery wondered if he could nab both of these hunky rednecks.
“Yeah, that was me,” Avery said as he got in the back. “The car just died on me.”
“Kias’ll do that. Buy ‘merican next time.”
There were blankets and pads all over the back of the rickety old pickup truck. It looked like Buck had recently helped someone move. The truck pulled away, and Avery crawled to the passenger side, where he could hear through and speak into the little window that opened into the truck cab. Cody’s arm was out the window, its reddish hue ruddening in the brilliant Alabama sun. Avery’s heart pounded as he gathered up the courage to make a proposition.
“Hey, so are you down?” Avery asked, raising his voice so Cody could hear in the truck cab. The wind was loud enough — not to mention the rackety engine — that Avery didn’t think Buck would hear. That was necessary because Cody was gonna offer to jerk him off, and he assumed Cody would want to go somewhere private, not let his buddy know that Cody was messing around on the downlow.
Cody hesitated. “Yeah. Down for what? You got pills?”
“No! I’ll jerk you off, that’s all. If you-“
“You take it in the ass too?”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said. “If you got somewhere private to go.”
Cody told his buddy to stop, then said something quiet enough that Avery didn’t hear. Buck laughed a deep belly laugh. His voice boomed audibly out the driver’s side window. “That boy?”
The truck shivered to a stop
Avery shivered in anticipation. Now that he heard that laugh, he was sure Buck would join in, he thought, if he could get him out from behind the wheel. But before he came up with a plan, Cody hopped into the bed of the truck.
“Ain’t never rammed no feller,” Cody said. He smiled, then blushed as the truck pulled into gear and returned to the road. He almost fell over — Buck laughed again as though he had been trying to knock Cody off-balance — then sat down next to Avery.
As soon as the truck lurched back into motion on the road again, Avery grabbed for Cody’s dick through his camo pants and stroked it. They had turned onto a rural road, so there were no cars around, but even if one came by, this truck had a very low bed with a high wall, so there was plenty of room to avoid being seen. Once Avery’s head was in Cody’s lap, only Cody’s head could be seen from outside the truck.
“Oh fuck, you that kind of freak? Daaaang…” Cody whistled. He played himself off as nonchalant, but Avery could tell he was more nervous than he let on.
Avery inhaled deeply of his musky scent, then pulled down Cody’s pants. His dick popped out of his tattered old boxers. It was long and thick, already getting hard just from Avery handling it through the fabric. Cody was young and horny, that was why, Avery thought, he must get hard so easy.
After just a few strokes, Avery lowered his head so he could swallow Cody’s cock all the way down to the root, nestling his nose deep in Cody’s pubic hair. Cody chuckled, then gasped as though he never thought it would feel this good. His eyes opened wide.
“He doin’ it furreal, yeah!” Cody yelled out to his buddy, Buck, who hooted and reached to the top of the truck, his meaty fist slamming down on the roof. He might have yelled something back, but Avery couldn’t hear it.
His dick zoomed to attention, and it throbbed in Avery’s mouth. It smelled of redneck sweat, which Avery loved, and he slurped down every drop he could get to. Cody tasted of dirt and distilled manhood, and the flavor made Avery want to cum as soon as he got a mouthful of Cody’s cock. He could taste the boisterous four-wheeling and the early morning hunting trips, wild ramps, barbecue sauce and chewing tobacco, he could even taste the unbridled patriotism.
“I love an enthusiastic mouth,” Cody said with a relaxed sigh. It sounded like he had been nervous about getting dome from a man but now was settling into it. He leaned back, resting his shoulders on the wall of the truck bed. “You better at this than most women even, you know that? You should teach lessons and-” Cody stopped talking as the truck taking a sharp turn caused him to slip all the way to the other edge of the truck bed. Avery had to crawl back over to him. The truck swerved all over the road, so Cody and Avery slid on the pads and blankets covering the bed. Cody’s cock bobbed around, and Avery chased after it.
That was fun at first, but it soon became apparent Buck was swerving the truck left and right as a prank — his baritone laughter could be heard emanating from the truck cab — and watching Cody’s naked body sliding around while Avery tried to get ahold of him.
“C’mon!” Avery called out, his voice wavering because he didn’t want to upset the giant redneck behind the wheel and because he was starting to get motion-sick from the motion.
Cody called out to his buddy, “Hey, quit swervin’, asshole!”
“Can’t you control yaself?” Buck shouted from the driver’s seat. He guffawed like a jackal.
Avery settled into the messy pickup bed the best he could with the truck sliding left and right beneath him. Underneath the pads and wadded up sheets was bright orange parkas and other gear — hunting equipment. He grabbed ahold of that stuff to keep under him, to avoid jostling too much as the truck barrelled and rattled down the road.
It didn’t seem that Buck was making any effort to keep the truck steady. He cackled with laughter every time Cody slid into the side of the truck and groaned. Buck opened the window between the cab and the bed, then he said, “Hey sissy! If you havin’ trouble findin’ it, just look for the pimple. Ain’t a pimple. Doctor says it’s a cock, just a li’l bitty withered one-“
“Shut up, Buck. Nobody gives a shit — we all know you got the biggest dick around. Nobody cares, it’s ugly, and girls don’t even like it cuz it’s too big. You got the ugliest dingdong in the world.”
“Shuddup, Cody, girls do so like my dick,” Buck said. He sounded chagrined though, like women really had said his dick was too big or too ugly or both.
That would not be a problem for Avery. He loved a big cock, and he had never seen an ugly one.
“Gonna fill you up, boy!” Cody cackled. He scooted over to block the window between the cab and the bed — that was also the center, the most stable part of the bed of the truck. He gripped Avery’s ears and held onto his head as he aimed his dick for Avery’s mouth.
Once again the wild flavor of stale hillbilly crotch-sweat filled Avery’s senses, and he swallowed as much as he could. Cody was even more into it this time, and he had no reluctance in holding Avery by the head so he could use his mouth like a pussy. He humped his dick down Avery’s throat, ignoring it each time Avery gagged.
He opened his gullet wide to let that entire cockshaft in. Avery loved how Cody visibly lost control of his muscles even though he hadn’t orgasmed yet, and his muscles rippled. Cody sucked in his breath. “Damn…” he murmured.
Precum began to flow from Cody’s cock, and Avery slurped it down like a delicacy. Cody’s whole body shook, both from the pickup truck moving beneath him and from the pleasure that exploded in his veins. His arms and legs went limp like a rag doll as Avery swallowed his dick down to the root.
“Who? That bitch?” Cody said. At first Avery thought he was talking to him and he looked up, confused, then realized Cody was talking to Buck through the window separating the cab and the bed of the truck. Avery couldn’t hear Buck’s part of the conversation. “Yeah, he’s hella better than her. She only sucked dick good in ya ‘magination, and she looked like an overinflated clown — she was not hot, you are so wrong, that was ya ‘fuckin’ oinkers’ phase — don’t gimme that ‘I need fat chicks for mah big dick shit’ — oh hell, you hafta bring up ya cock e’ery goddamn time — I don’t believe you fo’ a second about that, no women is that into big dicks — it is so ugly! It looks like a dead barbarian! — shut up, anyway, I’m gettin’ head. I don’t wanna talk to you.”
There was a commotion, and Avery looked up from Cody’s precum-oozing cocktip. Buck kept the truck rolling forward slowly, jerking every few seconds because Buck was riding the brake. He poked his burly, furry head through the window between the cab and the bed, guffawing so hard he slapped his knees as he plastered a sloppy kiss on Cody’s cheek. Cody screamed and pushed him away — he had closed his eyes, so he didn’t see until it was too late.
“You fuckin’ prick, you ruined my boner!” Cody said, trying to punch Buck through the window. He couldn’t quite reach though. Avery just kept swallowing his meat — in fact Buck’s kiss hadn’t weakened Cody’s erection in the slightest.
“Okay, ya mouth is nice, sissy, but I want some ass. A real man needs ass,” Cody said with a sigh. He pulled out of Avery’s mouth and wiped his dick off on Avery’s cheek. “Girls never wanna take it in the ass. But you do, right?”
“Hell yeah,” Avery said. He took a deep breath.
“You gonna take the whole thang?!” Cody asked, and Avery nodded as he gathered his breath. Cody arranged himself behind Avery — a difficult feat as the truck continued down the road. He pushed into Avery’s ass, his thick cock sending a twinge of pain up Avery’s back. He remained sitting, so Avery was in control, pushing back onto Cody’s crotch, as they got into something approaching a reverse-cowgirl position, or at least as close as they could come in a moving truck bed.
The truck pulled to a sudden stop, and Avery slid across the bed. He and Cody both bumped into the edge of the truck, this time with enough of a bang that Cody cried out in pain. The motion forced Cody’s whole cock all the way into Avery’s ass, more dick and more quickly than Avery was expecting. A howl of surprise and pain came from Avery’s mouth, and the sound quickly turned into a moan of pleasure as Cody’s cock stimulated his prostate.
Buck’s booming laugh echoed in the woods surrounding the road. He got out of the driver’s seat, then jumped into the bed — he was surprisingly limber for a big man. His damn near seven-foot-tall frame effortlessly hefted his bigness up into the truck bed. He stripped his shirt off as he moved, revealing a furry barrel chest and several tattoos: a broken heart with four drops of blood around it, a gray coiled snake on his belly, the Grateful Dead bears on his shoulder and an American flag on the side of his neck.
“Go drive for a minute, Cody,” Buck said. He frowned down at Avery’s ass, in which Cody had his cock sliding back and forth. “I ain’t know he was givin’ up the ass — all you said was dome. You best believe I’s takin’ mah turn, and it won’t be sloppy seconds from my little buddy.”
“Man-“
Since Avery was facing away, he didn’t see exactly what Buck did. But apparently it intimidated Cody enough that he gave in, and he pushed Avery off his cock. Cody hopped off the bed with his pants around his ankles, landing on the ground on his belly. He groaned in pain.
“Fuck you, Buck! He was mine! I’m the one who found him!”
“I’s bigguh,” Buck said with a shrug. He dropped his pants. He had a huge cock, as thick as a forearm, and his entire body was hairy. He was well more than a foot taller than his buddy and at least a hundred pounds heavier. He had a thick, crude face, like a caveman, like every part of his head was too big for all the other parts.
“Hi, I’m Avery-“
He didn’t even look Avery in the eye. He just grabbed him by the hair, pulled him into position for doggystyle and rammed his cock in. A burst of pain wracked Avery’s body, and he clawed at the truck bed. That pain quickly melted into an oozing pleasure, as Buck’s reawakened Avery’s sensitive prostate.
“Don’t talk,” Buck said in his gravelly baritone. “Reminds me you ain’t a chick.”
“Okay. I won’t,” Avery gasped.
“I said don’t talk,” he said. He worked his dick in deeper, holding Avery still with both hands when he squirmed in pain and tension. Avery desperately wanted to jack himself off, but he couldn’t reach his cock with his face jammed in the corner. Buck called out to his buddy, as he got in the driver’s seat. “Gonna ruin this hole for ya, lil bro.”
“Fuck you. Get down, man, someone’s gonna see you.”
Buck, it seemed, was not concerned with being seen. He stayed well atop the truck bed, so it was obvious what he was doing. Anybody going by would have seen that he could only be plowing his cock back and forth, so they’d assume he was fucking a woman, probably. This was a deserted country road though, and no cars passed by., Avery was still pretty low, so anyone driving by could see only Buck’s hairy bare ass dimpling and bouncing up and down.
“There’s only one way I know how to ram a man. Hope that’s what you is into. I only ram ‘em one way: hard and rough, just like I ram my prison bitch. You-“
“Ha! Don’t let him scare you!” Cody called out, as he was climbing into the driver’s seat. “He was in jail for two weeks. It was local county lockup. The only other person there was a ninety year old man.”
“Shut up, Cody!” Buck roared. He reached through the little window between the bed and the cab, and he tussled with Cody, who was navigating the truck back into motion on the road. When he got Cody’s nape in one hand, Cody squealed. The truck swerved, pushing Avery deeper into the corner of the truck. “That ain’t true anyway.”
Buck grabbed Avery by the hair with his other hand and pushed his head through that window between the cab and the bed. Avery moaned in ecstasy — he could finally reach his own dick, which was on the verge of ejaculating already — as his head appeared right next to Cody’s. He was so close he could smell the sweat of Cody’s unwashed armpit.
“Oh, man, get his face outta here…” Cody murmured, seemingly resigned to his buddy ignoring him. “I don’t wanna watch a man as you sodomize, Buck.”
“Yeah but fuck you,” Buck boomed. He banged on the top of the truck cab. “Hey, sissy, kiss him. He won’t hitcha or nothin’. Just kiss him. Use tongue.”
Avery placed his head in the crook of Cody’s neck. He kissed the best he could as he himself was orgasming, spraying cum all over the bed of the truck. Buck, it seemed, didn’t notice. A fat puddle of jizz spread over the bed, while Avery stuck his tongue out and slurped up the dried sweat on Cody’s skin. He tasted the dried salt crystals on the nape of Cody’s neck, as a wave of pleasure washed over him.
Cody swerved all over the road. It would have been terrifying but he was only going about five miles per hour, and there was no one else anywhere to be seen — they weren’t even on a paved road anymore, it was gravel. It was a two-lane road technically, but it was barely wide enough for the truck.
“Oh, man, get the sissy off me,” Cody said. He leaned over a bit but didn’t seriously stop Avery, who craned his neck to reach the corner of Cody’s mouth. He tried kiss Cody on the mouth, but when Cody both resisted and showed off the hardon that never went away, Avery lowered his head to swallow his meat once more instead.
Now that Avery wasn’t trying to stroke himself off, he could lean even farther through the window. He could easily get his upper half in, which was enough to put his head in Cody’s crotch. He tasted the familiar funk of Cody’s goopy erection, and Avery moaned around the shaft in his mouth.
Cody’s ass-stained cock was still half-hard. Avery picked it up and put it in his mouth before Cody even realized what was happening.
“Oh yeah, he doin’ that ass-to-mouth sheeit,” Cody said. “He swallowin’ up mah dick, sheeit!”
Buck banged on the roof again. His voice was so deep it sent a chill up Avery’s spine just as the truck went over a rough spot and jostled, which in turn caused a spasm of pain from Buck’s rod ramming into Avery’s ass. Buck laughed. “That hurt, man? Hit some more bumps there, bro.”
Cody pulled to a stop as he approached orgasm. His dick pulsated in Avery’s ass, and both rednecks moaned at once.
That was when Avery realized they were going to cum simultaneously. But he actually tasted Cody first, his youthfully spicy cum spraying into Avery’s mouth a half-second before Buck went off. Avery liked making a mess, so he didn’t swallow any of the jizz, he just held it in his mouth then let it dribble out to soak into Cody’s pubic hair and the torn upholstery of the seat. He wondered how many other nuts had been spewed in this truck.
Then a load of cum sprayed into Avery’s ass. Buck roared and pounded on the roof of the cab, then said, “Like this, bro?” He pulled his cock out at the last second and aimed into into the cab. He had to aim very precisely to get it through the window and onto his buddy’s face, and he didn’t succeed, most of it landing on Avery’s bare ass, the rest on the window frame.
Cody was gasping for air after his own orgasm so he didn’t notice right away. Then he screamed, “Oh what the fuck man?!”
“Just gettin’ you back, man, you pulled that sheeit last munf-” Buck said.
“You done got me back! You beat me up fo’ that!”
“Yeah, so? We were even, and now I’s ahead by one, which is right as sunshine, cuz I’m bigguh and stronguh and I got a bigguh cock,” Buck said. He whacked his softening meat against Avery’s asscheek.
Avery licked the cum off Cody’s cheek. Cody shuddered in disgust, then called out to Buck — who was still above the cab and couldn’t see in — “You missed me anyway. A couple drops got on my pants, that’s it.”
“Yeah right.”
“Fuck you anyway,” Buck said. He took his pants all the way off and sat on the edge of the truck bed. Avery pulled out of the window and kneeled next to him, so his head was between those trunk-like thighs. He licked the cum and assjuice off Buck’s massive dangling meat. Buck chuckled in disgust. He lit a cigarette.
“You’re a dickhead, Buck.”
“Shut up and drive home, Cody.”
“Home?”
“Yeah. I’ll get my tools. Least I can do is fix the man’s car,” Buck said. “And when I’m done, he’ll take some more cock.”

Handjob for a Hitchhiker

Rob picks up a hitchhiker who would never let him get a grope on in exchange for a ride… unless Rob asks in just the right way!

Can Robert figure out how to get a handle on this studly born-again hitchhiker?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob rarely picked up hitchhikers. This man, however, seemed a worthy exception. He was a dirty-blond redneck with dirty skin, dirty clothes and a ripped, lanky body, his six-pack showing from underneath his torn t-shirt. Despite his look, he smelled like cologne because, he said, he had spilled most of a bottle on these pants a year ago and the smell still hadn’t worked its way out.
The hot Kansas sun beat down on the car, but Rob didn’t run the air-conditioner. He just kept the fan on, which was enough — the temperature wasn’t really that high, so the wind kept it cool. Once the hitchhiker’s sun-baked body entered the car, however, the heat radiating off him made the air so warm that Rob had to flick the air conditioner on.
The highway continued through the woods of northern Alabama, which was where the hitchhiker had stuck out his thumb. He’d kept walking as he hitched, thumbing out when he heard a car coming up behind him.
Rob had pulled over to pick him up, and he gave a polite nod before getting in the passenger seat of Rob’s car. The hitchhiker’s ropy muscles dripped with sweat, and the smell of his unwashed body flooded the car and Rob’s nose from the moment he stepped in. He looked homeless, or rather, he looked like he had no stable address — he didn’t look quite dirty enough to be a hobo, but he probably drifted between halfway homes, homeless shelters and various girls’s houses, maybe interspersed with an occasional kindly priest’s couch. He seemed like that type. He kissed the St. Christopher medal dangling over his chest as he settled into the passenger seat. He didn’t put his seat belt on.
“Yee howdy, thanks fer pickin’ me up, hoss, that’s a mighty kindness of ya,” the hitchhiker said with an enthusiastic grin as Rob got back onto the road. “Don’t bother me none where you is goin’ neither. I don’t have a firm destination, myself, I do declare. I got the ramblin’ bug in me. I got a need to get outta here, ya dig?”
“Yep-“
“This town ain’t big enough for me. Name’s Thomas,” he said. “You’s headin’ south. You gonna keep goin’ that? All the way to Oklahoma? That’d be with me, indeedy-doo, but not a bit further south cuz that way lies Texas, and I ain’t goin’ there. Nosir, just ‘bout e’ry sheriff in Texas has got it out for ol’ Thomas Weathers. The Lone Star State ain’t fo’ me!” He paused. “And they got a warrant out on me.” He looked at Rob, then said, having seemingly forgotten he already introduced himself, “I’s Thomas. Thomas Weathers.”
“I’m Rob.”
“Rob, nice to meetcha. You one of them god-botherers?”
“Uh… no.”
“That’s good. Reckon a preacher picked me up ‘couple miles back, and I swear to God after a couple hours of listenin’ to him sermonize, I says to him, ‘you let me out right here, rev’rnd, cuz I’d rather die in the desert than let you talk my ears into committin’ suicide’.” He cackled and slapped his knee. “We was in the desert, see. And I knew Mesa, Arizona was right down the road. Still just ‘bout died of thirst befo’ I got there, yessuh. And a rattlesnake done try and bite me, but I swear to God, mistuh, I chop that damn rattlesnake’s head right off and made a stew outta his carcass. That’s just how Thomas Weathers rolls, hoss, ya dig?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Now don’t get me wrong, suh, I is a believer, through and through. I done saved and lost my soul so many times I got a direct line to both our glorious Lord above and that sulfurous bastard down below, ya dig?”
“Yeah-“
“I just ain’t a preacher and I don’t cotton to none of that reformin’ and repostulatin’ and re-understandin’ that them God-botherers do. I ain’t lookin’ to integrate Hindus into Christ, if ya catch my meanin’.”
“Uh… yeah,” Rob said, though he had no idea what Thomas was talking about. “Right, uh-huh.”
“I got a real understandin’ of my own relationship with God, and He know the demons I got, boy, He knows it all. He puts them demons in those of whomsoever he has faith can struggle onward. A man’s gotta have a code even if he don’t often follow it.”
Finally there was a moment of silence, as Rob was still flummoxed and didn’t know what kind of response Thomas expected. This was a lot more theology than he expected from hitchhikers. The air conditioner whirred, struggling to cool the air down while heat emanated from Thomas’s body. Thomas looked at Rob and sniffled.
“You a sissy?” He even flashed a limp wrist as though Rob might not understand the question.
Rob blushed and nodded.
“Ain’t not a thing wrong wit’ that, lemme tell you.” He paused. “I mean, there’s a lot wrong wit’ it, don’t think I ‘pprove, cuz I don’t. You motivated by lust, reckon, and that ain’t right. Should be motivated by piety. But it ain’t my place to say. A lotta folk get up all up in arms ‘bout shit that ain’t none of they business, swear to God, ain’t that right, sissy? I bet you gonna make me whip it out, huh, to pay for this ride? Ain’t ya?”
“Well-“
“I wouldn’t blame ya for it, nosirree, when I was growin’ up, that’s how it went down. You could always hitch a ride with someone — trucker, most likely — but ya gotta provide gas, cash, grass or ass!” He whooped, hollered and slammed one hand on the roof of the car. “I always had grass on me in those days.” He paused. “Don’t think you gettin’ any of my ass, boy, no way, no how. I’ll visit some very bloody sin upon you, swear to God, and I will gladly do the time behind bars afterwards. I let you look at it, maybe touch it a bit, if you ask me real nice and respec’ful-like.”
“Uh-huh-“
“Now I gots rules, mistuh, lemme tell you that. I don’t do nothin’ weird, no way. Remember, I is a believer and I been saved again most recently just a couple months ago, swear to God. The Lord Jesus Christ is my personal Lord and Savior, amen and amen again!” His voice gradually rose to an emphatic crescendo. “He does warsh me in the blood and the… the, uh… love of His own very son.” It sounded like Thomas had lost the thread of his theology. “Hallelujah!”
“Oh. I-” Rob was disappointed.
“Don’t get me wrong, I is a sinner, that’s fo’ sho’. I am not gonna cast the first stone, no way, I don’t even cast the second stone. I wait, till maybe the twentieth stone,” he said with a dry chuckle. “You can play wit’ it a little, mistuh, but no butt-stuff. That’s it. Just playin’. Ain’t much sin in playin’, reckon.”
“Uh… okay,” Rob said. He loved handjobs, so he didn’t mind that at all. Besides that, he wasn’t sure there was any other way to get Thomas to stop talking.
Thomas snorted and unzipped his dirty jeans. He pulled his cock out and let it flop against his thigh. He lit a cigarette too. Rob normally didn’t let people smoke in his car, but he didn’t want to do anything that would make Thomas want to leave. His fat dick jiggled as the car vibrated underneath.
“There it is, ain’t gonna get hard for ya, don’t even hope fo’ that, man,” he said. “I can’t get hard wit’out the smell of pussy, swear to God, the stronger the smell the better. I loves it, boy, you don’t even know!” Then he added, “You definitely don’t even know.” He licked his teeth. “I don’t fornicate in a pre-marital fashion. I done give in to urges, for sure, for sure! But I ain’t a believer in that kinda perversion. A man ought save his seed for his ever-begotted wife.”
As he drove down the highway, Rob reached over and touched Thomas’s dick. When he did, Thomas’s whole body spasmed like it hurt. He snorted, took a deep drag on his cigarette and looked out the window. His cock was hot and slick with sweat, the kind of slick texture that suggested Thomas hadn’t showered in some time. Maybe weeks.
That didn’t bother Rob at all. He enjoyed a filthy slice of alpha male rough trade.
“Reckon that’s a big piece of meat, ain’t it? I know you ain’t seen a lotta white men wit’ dicks like that, have ya?” he asked. He cackled and nodded as though Rob had agreed with him even before Rob did so. He did have a huge cock, nice and thick, veiny, swarthier than the rest of his flesh.
Rob stroked it lazily as he drove. He didn’t want to rush things. As Thomas had promised, his dick didn’t get hard, at least not right away. Rob liked the squishy soft feel of a limp cock.
“I don’t get no stiffy without a female. I just can’t do it,” Thomas said. “Not unless I get real drunk, and I don’t do that no more, nosir. No gettin’ drunk for me! I shouldn’t nevuh drink so much — or at all — on ‘ccount of I do things that are unchristianlike when I’s drunk, ya see, ‘ccording to God and my mama on her deathbed and several district court judges and a rack of rev’rnds and a few teachers and a whole squadron of social workers, they all agreed on that, I can’t handle my liquor and I need to quit that. Get my life in order. I done do so. All ’bout the Lawd now!” He called out like a preacher. His cock twitched and Thomas cackled, his dusty muscles flickering beneath his torn t-shirt. He stripped it off, revealing his powerful though lean chest. He made his cock twitch again, laughing at Rob’s girlish blush. “He’s twitchin’ at’cha, boy, he sayin’ hello.”
“You sure you can’t get hard? It kinda feels like you’re getting hard,” Rob said. Tommy’s dick was definitely firming up in his hand, no matter what Thomas claimed. His thick dick was poking up now, not roping around, and Rob paused long enough to spit on his palm to provide additional lube. Then he resumed stroking with one hand, his other steering the car down the highway.
“No suh!” Thomas snapped down. He glared at Rob, even as his dick slowly awakened in Rob’s grasp. “Don’t even think that! I is in control of my meat and my decisions and my theological destination, you feel me? I don’t — I is a Christian soul, reckon, I got the power to resist the lusts and urges flowing through mah veins. I do thank the good Lord above every day that he give me something to resist. That’s how a man does prove his loyalty and his faith. You know about faith, my man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know about faith,” Rob said. He rolled his eyes, which Thomas couldn’t see because Rob faced the road ahead. Thomas’s Christian prattling was getting old quick. When he asked if Rob was a god-botherer when he first got in the car, Rob thought that was a good sign. He thought that meant Thomas was not so Christian, or at least no aggressively Christian.
“Can you make sounds like a girl?” Thomas asked. “I might get hard if’n you can make some sounds that make me think of a girl. A pretty white girl with blond hair and… a Christian soul.”
Rob blushed. “I guess. I can try.” He moaned a little, in what he thought was a feminine tone of voice. He didn’t know how to moan like a Christian girl, but he did the best he could. When he was done though, Thomas just scoffed at him.
“Some girl.” Thomas looked out the window like he wasn’t involved in the handjob Rob was still giving him.
“Sorry,” Rob said. He quickened up his handjob as he felt Thomas’s dick firming up under his fingers. Soon it was stiff and stuck up. The veins that ran up and down the shaft pulsated beneath Rob’s grip. Thomas closed his eyes like he was shocked to see his own stiffy.
A police car drove by, and Rob’s heart flooded with fear. He thought for a moment he had been made. But the cop in the driver’s seat appeared to be focused on the sports car in front of it. Rob hummed right along in the slow lane, attracting no attention. He kept an even speed, a few miles per hour below the speed limit.
A few drops of pearly, sticky precum dripped out of Thomas’s cock, slicking up Rob’s hand, and he groaned like he was disappointed in himself for getting this far. He shook his head. “Can’t believe this, man, ya hand feels like velvet, man, like an Italian whore on payday, like you don’t even know, man… or I guess you do know, it’s ya hand, I guess you’ve used… it.” His voice broke there at the end, and he chuckled at himself.
He leaned the passenger seat all the way back, so he was laying down. His chest muscles rippled, and a few beads of sweat appeared over his wiry shoulders and pecs. He was unwashed, so his sweat made his body hairs cling to his taut skin.
Rob took a break to move his hand from Thomas’s dick to his body. He caressed his muscles, which were work-toned — you could tell he didn’t get a body like this in the gym. He got it working hard on road crews, day labor, that kind of thing; when he described it, Thomas always said, “I work like a dog, man, I do the work they usually hire Mexicans for. I got nothin’ ‘gainst Mexicans, mind you, ‘cept they don’t provide much conversation in English when we’s on the same crew.”
As a wave of pleasure moved over Thomas’s body, he licked his lips and a fresh burst of precum flowed down his shaft. He murmured and groaned, at a loss for words for the first time since he had gotten in Rob’s car, maybe the first time in a long time. He blushed, the ruddiness of his cheeks barely visible through his deeply tanned skin. It was obvious he never thought a handjob could feel this good, especially coming from a man.
Thomas laughed. “This is some kinda nasty, man, swear to God. I ain’t nevuh done nothin’ this nasty, I just need a ride somethin’ fierce. A man can’t walk e’ry hour of e’ry day, ya dig? Don’t think I do this all the time.”
“I won’t,” Rob said. He imagined he could taste the precum that leaked out from Thomas’s cocktip. It would be so salty and strong. Rob had to suppress a moan just thinking about it. Thomas’s cock spasmed and twitched in his grasp, the precum flowing plentifully now.
“Now I done my share of nasty shit, ‘specially before I found God. I don’t behave that way no more, mind you,” he said. “I gangbanged this girl one time — she was a white girl who chose to get fucked by black men, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’s just sayin’ it — and we was on this hunting trip. I just ‘bout threw up when I realized it was a gangbang. I thought we was gonna take turns, y’know, she’d wash up between each guy. I was a young whelp then, I had balls that controlled me — no, I’m sorry, that ain’t right. I wasn’t controlled by my balls. I was controlled by my lusts and my urges and by Satan hisself, ya dig? He do set traps for the most virtuous of man.”
“Uh-huh-” Precum smeared over Rob’s hand as Thomas’s veiny shaft pulsated like a heartbeat.
“But what happened right then and there was that I got this big hillbilly motherfucker right behind me, and he’s plowing her in the ass while I fuck her pussy. But I can’t even feel her pussy-lips on my dick on account of gobs of cum dripping onto my balls, hoss, I swear, I could hear that shit splashin’ when I got started. And that big-ass hillbilly was behind me, like he was gonna ram me — he ain’t get it in me, he just put it in her ass, but he was in position to ram me, and I could feel his pubes on my asscheek, man, and I couldn’t even smell that slut on account of him behind me. All I smelled was his nasty-ass armpits.”
“Sounds, uh… Kinda hot.”
“It was not hot, you is wrong and unchristian ’bout that,” Thomas said. He scoffed and leaned back. He lowered his pants all the way, and Rob took the opportunity to caress his hairy thighs and chest again. His muscles rippled beneath Rob’s fingertips. Thomas sighed. “You gonna feel me up? Fine. But you can’t, y’know… do nothin’ unchristian about it. No thoughts of a untoward nature.”
“I won’t,” Rob said with a smile. “I’ll keep my thoughts pristine.” He went back to Thomas’s cock, which throbbed mightily. The precum flowed freely.
“You got mighty pretty lips. If I was drunker or I was in lockup — rules is different in there, ya know — but if I was there, I might be able to let you put ya lips on my dick,” he said. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to but couldn’t let himself. “Lemme see whatchoo can do with them lips.”
Rob removed his hand and put his middle finger on his lips. Then he slid it slowly into his mouth, until he deep-throated it. Thomas watched the whole time, staring. Rob did the same thing with each of his fingers, tasting all of Thomas’s salty precum. He kept his face straight ahead, watching the road and the signs zoom past.
“You do real pretty things wit’ ya mouth, boy, but I’s still Christian. Don’t you try and seduce me,” he said. “That ain’t right.”
“I won’t. I’m not trying to seduce you. This was your idea, remember.”
He sniffled. It looked like he had indeed forgotten that he had brought this up first. “I dunno if I’ll be able to cum like this, wit’ you feelin’ me up,” Thomas said, though his voice lacked confidence like he was already on the verge of orgasm. It sure felt like that was the case, Rob thought when he gripped his cock again. It was spasming and twitching, precum flowing like water froma hose now.
“I bet you can do it,” Rob said. He smiled because it was obvious that Thomas was going to cum no matter what he said. Ruddiness bloomed up Thomas’s chest.
“Nah. My heart won’t let me…” Thomas said, his voice already trailing off. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I got principles, man, I won’t cum wit’ sin in my heart. I just… I can’t do it.”
He grunted and bit his lip. His wiry, tattooed muscles all flexed and shook in sync with each other, and a burst of hot cum sprayed over his chest and belly. Thomas grunted, twisting as though his orgasm felt so good it hurt. His face turned beet-red and he gasped. A second spray of jizz got up Rob’s wrist to his elbow, and it soaked into the grimy fabric of Thomas’s pants.
The smell of cottony cum filled the tiny car. Rob giggled, moaning as he felt cum running between his fingers and down the skin of his smooth wrist. He wished he could jack himself off at the same time, but forcing himself to resist was kind of hot too — he kept his attention half-trained on the road, but luckily there weren’t many cars on the highway at this time of day. Rob’s cock throbbed in his pants, demanding attention.
“Aw, fuck, man, man…” Thomas’s orgasm continued, spurting wad after wad of creamy hot cum. It coated his lean belly and scarred muscles, dripping down onto his jeans and his hairy crotch. It soaked his pants, and the sour, salty smell of it filled the car.
“Shit, you shoot a hell of a load,” Rob said, his eyes oepning wide.
Thomas grunted in a way that suggested he heard Rob’s words and maybe even tried to respond. But intense pleasure wracked his body, making him squirm in his seat as a final jet of jizz got him across the chest and even on his chin. His cock pulsated beneath Rob’s touch. No matter how animated and seemingly-pained Thomas’s reaction was, Rob kept stroking. He didn’t miss a beat, even as he felt Thomas’s erection diminish.
His cock slowly limpened in Rob’s hand. A few drops of cum continued to ooze out, and Rob knew from experience they were the sexiest, saltiest, tastiest drops. He wished he could swallow Thomas’s dick and taste his cumload. He was already fantasizing about it — in his fantasy, the car could drive itself, so Rob was able to lean over and deep-throat every inch of Thomas’s filthy redneck cock.
It would taste so good — bad, but in a good way, Rob thought. He loved a trashy man’s nasty dick and cumload. Maybe if he wasn’t driving, he thought, he’d be able to talk Thomas into getting some dome. Most men did agree. Why would you ever turn it down? Rob certainly wouldn’t.
In any case, Rob kept going with his hand on Thomas’s cock until he had gotten every last bit of cum. His dick was still hard but softening swiftly, and Rob stroked it until he had gotten every last drop. The smell was potent, and the feeling of sticky cum on his fingers made Rob moan.
Rob brought his hand to his mouth and licked up every drop of cum he could get. “You taste so good…” he said, blushing as he slurped up all the jizz on his hand.
Thomas grunted, watching Rob eat up cum. Thomas had a sickened look on his face. “That’s unbiblical, sir. You shouldn’t behave like this. God don’t like it.”
But Rob merely shrugged. Then he wiped up all the cum off Thomas’s flat belly, and he sucked all that off his hand as well. He moved slowly just like when he had sucked the precum off his finger, and just like then, Thomas watched as though it turned him on. The intense flavor of salty jizz and dirty manhood overwhelmed Rob’s mind, nearly making him drive off the road as he cleaned the semen off his hand. Thomas grimaced and sneered at him but didn’t make him stop.
“Hope that was worth it, boy,” Thomas said with a nervous chuckle. “Cuz that just might cost you ya immortal soul. I ain’t gonna judge. Ain’t up to me. Reckon you should let Jesus into ya heart.”
“Isn’t it just as sinful for you?”
“What?”
“You got a handjob just like I gave one,” Rob said. “That’s a sin on your part-“
“Don’t work like that. Sin ain’t a mathematical equation,” Thomas said with a whistle.
“So it’s not sinful to receive a handjob from a stranger?”
Thomas shifted his weight in his seat. He tucked his cock away in his tattered boxer shorts, which were plain white and thin — they looked like prison-issued boxers. He kept his shirt off. “It’s a sin to give in to lust, to satisfy one’s urges in a base and villainous way. I let you done that cuz I’s repayin’ ya kindness in givin’ me a ride. I ain’t succumbin’ to no lust. I got resistance in mah heart, you hear? I don’t surrender to the forces of Satan, no sir!”
“Oh…” Rob couldn’t dispute the theology of that, though it sounded like a loose justification. He shrugged. “Fine, whatever.”
There was a long awkward silence, then Thomas lit a cigarette. He sighed. “You got a nice hand, boy. I’m real glad you picked me up.”
“Me too.”

Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil: Chapter 7

Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil

Chapter One: Out of Touch
Chapter Two: The Fossil
Chapter Three: That Ain’t Gangsta
Chapter Four: Old Nigga
Chapter Five: Unfashioned
Chapter Six: A Corrective Statement
Chapter Seven: Cool at Last

Thumper waited in the locker room at the homeless shelter. He was outta the Lipsweet building. He was outta Bangor. He found the furthest homeless shelter there was. Couldn’t even see that city from here.
It felt good. Back when he was in lockup, imagining hisself leaving prison only to stay in a homeless shelter felt like a disaster. He’d be a trash-high nigga if he did that, flopping into lowness cuz he be too default to rise above anything.
But now, he was glad to be here.
And it was sure to rain tonight. Thumper’s phone said it would start late tonight, and Thumper fully intended to go outside and feel it. Thumper got a app on his phone that predicts the weather. He’d prefer it if the weather was unknown, but now that he got the app, he couldn’t stop checking it. The phone got itself in Thumper’s noggin and wouldn’t let go.
Thumper done left Bangor for good and told Rico to get out too. He ain’t tell him Carson wanted him dead, cuz Rico was the kinda dumb nigga who might think he was big enough to take Carson down. But he told Rico he best bounce, and he told Carson Rico was gone. Both those things was true.
He lay on his bunk, the lower one — ain’t nobody even take the upper jawn, prolly cuz his biggish body and bumping looks scared ’em off. It felt like a prison bunk. Prolly was the same as a prison bunk. He could leave anytime though, that’s what made the bunk feel comfortable. Thumper could handle anything so long as he could leave.
That’s when he saw a hunky-dory whiteboy with a big fat head of blond hair like a girl, like a pretty girl who don’t know how slutty she is. He was slim but thick-butted, and you just know he was pink under them clothes. Thumper could dig a pink whiteboy. He was marble-hard too. Nice.
Lights was off, but nobody made niggas go to bed in a homeless shelter. Guards’d be hollering if they was this loud in prison. Niggas was gabbing on, using phones as flashlights — seriously, everything was a phone nowadays — laughing, smoking tobacco and weed and maybe something more too, watching teevee on they phones, texting females, playing dumbass phone games, arguing over chargers and outlets, looking at nudie pics on they phone screens. Every. Damn. Thing. A. Phone.
That hunky-dory marble-hard returned from the shower, carrying his shower shit in a cute plastic basket like a female might have on her bike. His phone was in there too, in a plastic baggie so it don’t get wet.

“Hey, whiteboy, what’s yo’ name?” Thumper asked. He stood there in his drawers. He ain’t take his shower yet, cuz he still finna get dirty. The good kind of dirty.

“Greg.” His eyes bugged out like he ain’t never seen a uncool nigga before.
“Hmm, nice to meetcha, Greg,” Thumper said. He like a whiteboy with a name no nigga has. That got him hard. Betcha Greg got a sexy mama too. That kinda whiteboy always do. She prolly crackerlicious, with sinkwater-blonde hair and tits that sag at the perfect angle. Hmm-hmm! If she got ass like her son, she be perfect. Bet she do gobble up nigga dicks, gobble ’em up like chicken nuggets. White people love nuggets. “You got a mama around here, Greg?”
“What? No. My mom died fifteen years ago,” Greg said. He set down his shower basket next to his duffel bag.
That gave Thumper a sadness. Sometimes a nigga forget other folk got they own shit going on. Greg woulda been little when she died. But Thumper ain’t wanna show softness, less Greg get the wrong idea, or even worse the bunchesa niggas all around picked up the notion Thumper was weak. So Thumper sucked on his teeth like Greg should be embarrassed his mama was dead. “Shit, whiteboy, Greg, hey, you wanna share a bunk wit’ me?”
“What? No,” Greg said with a wrinkle of his nose.
He grabbed Greg by the neck. “Listen, whiteboy, you best do as I say, quiet as a rat, or e’rry nigga in this place go’n come watch.” He squeezed his whiteboy neck just hard enough that Greg struggled to breathe, mouth gaping like a lake trout. Greg sat on his bunk, with Thumper standing afront him, so Greg’s wriggling made the whole double-bunk shake.
“Waaaatch what?” Greg asked through his quiet chokes.
Thumper lowered the front of his prison boxers with one hand, his other pushing Greg by the neck to kneel. He slapped Greg’s cheeks with his dick, then forced it into his mouth.
With a gag and a writhe, Greg almost got away. But Thumper shoved him back onto his bunk, where he sat with his mouth open like another, sadder lake trout. Ain’t nobody could see. They mighta peeped Thumper push him to his knees, but ain’t nobody give a damn about some hoboish whiteboy with thin lips. Thumper kept his boxers on, he just lowered the front to take his dick out, so nobody could see what he done unless they was right there. The bunk got sheets draped all around it, which blocked Greg, who crouched in there with just a pillow and Thumper’s dingadingdoo to keep him company.
He musta done this before, cuz he ain’t seem too confused. Greg stayed there like a surrendered soldier, and he let Thumper impregnate his mouth. He ain’t even discooperate and make Thumper force it. He parted his lips obedient-like, and Thumper rammed his part-hard meat right in.
The tight warmth and moisture of Greg’s mouth got him all firm up soon as summer, and Greg’s dome made buncha moist slapping sounds. The noise wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the general thrum and din of the shelter. Whoever was bunking up nearby musta heard, but they mighta all been asleep. Nobody said nothing anyhow.
Soon enough Thumper’s dick was throbbing like a drummer, and a fat load of precum burst onto Greg’s face. Greg pulled off Thumper’s knob to gag.
“Ewwhhck, man, c’mon-” Greg retched, and every inch of whiteboy on him rippled like a breezy autumn. He spat up quietly into his hands.
While Greg tried to stop gagging, Thumper crawled into the lower bunk with him, careful to not make noise or pull down the sheets that acted as curtains around the bunkspace. In the bunk, it smelled like scaredy saliva and nigga meat. Thumper do love that smell. They oughta bottle it and get a hefty bitch with a skanky ass to endorse it.
The whiteboy wiggled like a piglet in a oven. “Hey, get off me, what-?”
But Thumper put one hand over his mouth. “Yo, quit squirmin’, Greg, I’mma ram ya. Hold still-“
“What does that mean?!” His voice was muffled cuz of Thumper’s hand, but Thumper could still make out the words. Greg be squirming like a winter worm.
“Hold still, and I’ll show you,” Thumper said. He got one hand on the whiteboy’s mouth, the other holding his nape and squeezing hard enough to hurt. He bucked like a weak bull, as Thumper rammed his now-hard dick at the whiteboy’s ass.
Thumper kept them prison boxers on, just lowered to bare his crotch. Thumper liked the way that felt like prison again — like prison in a good way.
Greg tensed up and grunted in pain. Thumper clucked his tongue, grinding his dick into that hole. Greg’s back arched as a pang of pleasure ran through Thumper’s body. His dick done precum up, so the goo lubed his shaft and made it hard for Greg to pucker with enough force to kick Thumper’s meat out. Thumper got plentya experience breaking open whiteboys. Reluctant crackers thicken the tastiest of chowders, nigga, and you can take that to the bank!
‘Cept you can’t, cuz banks is just apps now. Every. Damn. Thing. A. Phone. Everything ‘cept this whiteboy’s butthole.
“Ow, shit!” Greg seethed through his teeth. “C’mon, be cool, man, be cool!”
“Sssssh…” Thumper murmured. He smacked first one asscheek, then the other, and each time it caused a twitch in the whiteboy’s spine, followed by another inch or two of dickmeat sliding into him. A jolt of pre-orgasmic pleasure ran up Thumper’s spine, and he rammed hard.
“Owwww!” Greg screamed the best he could, but since Thumper squeezed his neck, Greg couldn’t take a deep breath. All he did was oomph and squirm and squeeze his guts around Thumper’s dick. That sent Thumper over the edge.
A grunt and a groan condensed hotly on Greg’s cheek. Thumper moaned right into his ear, making Greg cringe and cry out. Thumper swallowed them whiteboy tears up. “Hmm-hmm, boy, don’t make buncha noise, or all the niggas here go’n want a turn.”
A flood of cum hit the whiteboy’s guts, great creamy gobs of it flowing into him. He hung his head low and let his ass fill up, while Thumper moaned again and his muscles undulated above the whiteboy’s body. He stopped holding him down. Greg was too numpetty to realize he could just crawl away now.
Instead, Greg grimaced as a continuous flow of jizz seeped into his flesh. It felt better than Thumper had experienced in some time, as he was relaxed and calm, no longer worried about Her. All that mattered was this moment, draining his balls up Greg’s backside. It made him feel serene as a waterfall in the springtime, in like Ireland or some shit — Thumper saw a commercial for soap that made him wanna buy a sweater and move to Ireland to lounge around in moss, not buy soap. But Thumper ain’t allowed to leave Maine, so instead, Thumper closed his eyes and moaned into Greg’s ears.
“Ow, c’mon, man…” Greg whimpered like a forgotten puppy. He shuddered, which massaged Thumper’s shaft and sent a wave of pleasure through his body.
When his dick was good and limp, Thumper let Greg expel it. He ain’t take it out, and he ain’t let Greg use his hand. But he stopped fighting back when Greg grunted and writhed and squeezed Thumper’s sensitive cockshaft out, bit by bit. As Thumper’s cock popped free, a moment of post-nut clarity lightbulbed up in his mind.
I gotta do somethin’ to stop that play.
His shaft was gooey and warm, dripping into Greg’s buttcheeks. Greg still had no idea he could crawl away. Thumper got no hold on him and no interest in him anymore. Greg got choices but was too weak to pick one.

If Thumper don’t wanna be a flee-away filly, he could go back, not to do it, but to stop it. A man do take action, and Thumper was a nigga who did.

He done got focused on how Delsinerr affected him. Thumper ain’t wanna lose his soul. Prison was hellish enough for a nigga. But now that he was away from that building and from her, he understood what she did say — this “play” was a invocation, which Thumper’s phone said was “a summoning of a deity”.
Thumper don’t like that kinda play. He liked the kinda theater where pretty whitegirls sing annoying songs. Like Grease. That’s a good play. He saw that movie in prison buncha times.
There was only one deity Thumper approved of, and He weren’t no deity that Bitch in White would summon.
He could stop that play. He was in a unique position. For damn near every day he been on this earth, all Thumper could do was stay alive and fight. A virtuous day was a day with nothing to do. But now, Thumper got a chore, and it was a good one.
Thumper wiped off and put his clothes back on, ignoring Greg’s frantic attempts to clean his butthole without being seen. Greg steady shot dirty-dog looks at Thumper, who saved all them looks up for later. Then Thumper left the homeless shelter and hitchhiked back into downtown Bangor.
The trucker who picked Thumper up, after a good half-hour of thumbing it on the side of the road, was a roly-poly pinkthumb, like a pile of uncooked pastry came to life and cultivated a forest of body hair. He said he weren’t worried about Thumper looking like a cast-iron nigga cuz he went to prison too; he did five years inside and five years on parole. He started trucking cuz that was the only way to get permission to leave the state from his parole officer.
So maybe it was possible to get permission to go to Maryland! Thumper don’t have a driver’s license though.
The trucker was on some uppers that kept him jabbing and jawing, and he made Thumper stroke him off too. He tried to make Thumper slurpy-slurp on his knob, but Thumper don’t play that way. He just used two fingers to jimmy the trucker’s runty niblet up and down. By the time the trucker’s amphetamine-addled wang dribbled out his watery nut, the truck was approaching Bangor.
Thumper’s heart sank. Jacking that trucker off at least distracted him from what he gotta do. Before the trucker dropped him off, Thumper told the man what was going on. He looked at Thumper like a somebody-nigga’s crazy old uncle graybeard, like he regretted picking Thumper up.
“The Bilderberg Group controls all that shit, don’t worry about it,” said the trucker when Thumper got outta the cab. He be sniffling and rubbing his nose like his brain was leaking out his nostrils. “Bohemian Grove, etc. They won’t let the world end, Thumper. It’d be bad for business.” The truck door shut, and he gave Thumper a nod and a bob through the open window. “Stay cool, friend.”
That pondered itself around in Thumper’s noggin. But he went to the Gregarian building anyway. His heart pounded faster the closer he got, until he arrived at the block and saw the building. Then his heart slowed to a measured pace, like when he got into it with the Crips in prison. He stayed calm as a cucumber and composed as a cantaloupe.

The worst part was that he had missed the rain. Bangor was wet. It done rain earlier, but Thumper was outta the city then. The air remained soggy. Puddles prowled atop the pavement. Thumper splashed through ’em down the streetside to that movie theatre on Stranger Street. The streetlight on the sidewalk was burnt out, so the movie theatre’s door was plagued in dark.
Actually, now that Thumper looked, it weren’t true that the streetlight was burnt out. It wasn’t there.

The city never built a streetlight afronta the theater. The sidewalks was lit up along both sides of the street, but not at the theater. The streetlight niggas skipped that spot.
As Thumper came closer, a pair of drunky-lucky lads lashed down the way like jolly liquids. They crossed the street before they came to the shadowy area afronta the theater, whose door was propped open. They ain’t give it no thought, they just crossed the street, just like the city planners never gave no thought to skipping the streetlight afronta the theater. Thumper never noticed the lack of a streetlight neither.
Come to think of it, Thumper never did walk past the theater before. He came right up to it that one time when he looked in the window, but otherwise when he walked this street, he crossed to the other side without giving it a second thought. Or even a first thought.
The theater be hiding itself from a nigga’s peepers.
No hiding from Thumper though. He went right into them shadows like omens so poor, coming to the open door coated in the old decor of posters well-tore up from long before. His hazy face that once more wore those crazy days of yore did tour his dreamy gaze aboard a maze of fiends and steaming demon blobbies leaning slow in the lobby’s seams like beams of creamy knobs and unclean snow. That Woman there reamed glows redly, rain-day ready, feeling his heady flows and tangling eddies like uncooking spaghetti. She spoke steady as a wheeze to a unsoftened sneeze whose coffiny head bled cotton-thin threads of forgotten-bin pennies, its eyeless sockets peeking like sentries.
Outing from the entry, Thumper fled free on bent knees to the wet concrete of the left-side street. He ain’t know if he was being strategious or showing his yellow belly, but he knew he couldn’t go in the front door past them demons.
The rain was gonna restart soon. The stars was already clouded by darkness, and the air was thick with wetness. He was ready for ark-building weather. He just hoped he don’t die first. He went to the other side of the building, where Lipsweet was on the outfront. He ain’t wanna be seen, so he went to the alley behind the bar. He still got his key to the back door.
But when he stuck it in the knob, the door opened before he could twist it.
Davon stood there, both his smiling mug and the lavender band-aid upon it took aback by Thumper. Davon looked at him like a inconvenient expiration date, then he said, “Yo, Lipsweet’s closed fo’ the night, Thumper, Mister Gregarian said the whole building’s getting fumigated.”
Thumper curled his lip at Davon’s nougaty mug, which stared down Davon’s nose at Thumper at the same time, cuz Davon was uppity like a fog in the sky. Davon still thought he was in charge, cuz Thumper ain’t tell nobody he quit. They call that “ghosting”, Thumper done ghost Davon. Thumper knew about ghosting cuz he savvied today’s slang, he was a full-stack ice-cold nigga a la mode, in touch and in vogue but outta sight, irie as hell, a tubular true blue dawg who got it goin’ on in the fast lane, and he do be turnin’ on, tunin’ in and droppin’ out, which was mighty white of him, but he kept it real, kept it tight, kept it classy and sassy, staying woke on the cutting edge, maintainin’ to the end, groovy like a hit movie far out the park and over the top, as he do pop wicked sang-froid, cuz he still had it and remained down for it, up for it and so over it all, off the hook, off the chain and off-book, like so totally random, a fashionable big man on campus 23 skiddooin’ the zeitgeist with mad skills on a tear, cuz this big fig fights The Man, and he be Da Man and da goat, e’rrybody’s homie who e’rrybody digs, cuz he a man’s man and a ladysman, round-the-clock stylish as gay Paree, slammin’ top-grade salmon, callin’ shots like a sniper on the phone and reppin’ M-D proper as a star who took center-stage suave as the mob, a righteous dude who straight-up got it, rizz, game, gumption, drip and spunk, this hunky-dory bruh be trendy as Japan, with je ne sais quoi all over, hot-rodding in the driver’s seat, he has a gas cookin’ with a full tank of blast, cuz this hep cat got a gold medal in puttin’ on the ritz, that’s how he stays the current thing, the mizzle of the moment, keeping the beat as he walks the line, in like Flynn, stackin’ wins in season, in style and in demand but outta stock, the meowin’ cat’s pajamas and the bee’s knees — hitting the scene right on, this vato sips chido, vibin’ on fleek, on point and on the ball like a state of the art seal, lookin’ smart and snazzy, dapper as a rapper, rockin’ on a roll, daddy-o, no diggity, so fresh and so clean on his brightest days, made in the shade, up to date like a calendar, nifty and spiffy as a kahuna, guns and cheese, funky as fatback, metal as steel and punk as a mohawk, with it to the max, absolute fire, fierce, dope, smooth, bomb, choice, good, boss, def, keen, swell, mean, fly, neat, nice, sweet, high, chic, mint, hot, big, top, hip, ace, slick, great, lit, rad, brill, flash, chill, bad, sick, phat, ill, cash and cool as sunglasses. Gen Z ain’t got nothing on this nigga.
“You ain’t scheduled tonight. Why you here?” Davon asked, oblivious as oblivion, his ignorance as vast as the universe was wide. His handsomeness was unshattered by awareness about what was happening here tonight or about Thumper’s coolness.
“You ain’t in charge of shit, Davon. Move out the way.”
“Lipsweet’s closed.”
“I ain’t goin’ to Lipsweet!” Thumper said, key still in hand. His simmering done boil over, and he squared up at Davon, who stood in the doorway like a clump of handsome cholesterol. “Lemme in, prettyboy, or I’mma ram this key at that band-aid on yo’ cheek until you so ugly yo’ mama don’t love you.” He pushed past Davon. “I suggest you go home and fuck a mirror, nigga.”
A sigh of relief chambered outta him when the door slammed shut, Davon on the outside of it. It wasn’t safe in here, but it wasn’t wide-open like the parking lot, and at least he done got away from Her and them demon-things.
But now the hard part began: he gotta stop the play.
His phone be mad beeping and booping. Thumper got no bandwidth for that though. He got a chore to do. He ain’t read the texts.
He went upstairs to go past his old apartment, because he knew there was a back way to the theater there. So far so good. That maze effect was gone, and he made his way to the correct stairwell no problem, easy as pimping on a Friday. Then he creeped down the stairs to the ground floor.
After that, he weren’t entirely sure of the way. There was some offices or something and a door with a sign marked “server room”. Thumper got no idea what that meant. It weren’t fulla waitresses, he checked. All it got was computers without screens.
The server room door opened, and out came that farty spicetip Rajesh. His eyes lit up when he saw Thumper. “Oh, hey, hey, Mr. Gregarian said to come find you. He needs you to go-“
“Nah, Rajesh.”
Rajesh stopped short, eyebrows flapping like a bland curry. “Oh, uh… He just said — you gotta check your phone, did you see him on Whatsapp?”
“What app?”
“Whatsapp. He sent-“
“What? Which app?”
“No, Whatsapp — he said he made a group — it’s on your phone, I downloaded it last week for you.” Rajesh held out his own phone as if to demonstrate how to hold a phone, and he looked at Thumper like Thumper got shit on his nose and don’t know it.
“Shut the fuck up, Rajesh,” Thumper said. He shoved Rajesh at the wall. Thumper could be dead soon, and he ain’t spending his last moments on Earth talking about what app Mr. Gregarian was on.
Thumper’s phone made some whoopy-doopy-whoop noises. He wanna ask Rajesh how to make that stop or what it means. But Rajesh looked frightened as a gazelle when Thumper lioned at him, and Thumper got no time to delay. Rajesh scurried away like a poppy seed, and Thumper continued on to the theater.
Once he saw a storm of texts from his parole officer complaining he ain’t respond, Thumper clucked his tongue and turned his phone’s volume all the way down. If he died right now, he ain’t spending his last moments abiding by parole.
“Mistuh Chambreux, Mistuh Chambreux!” Thumper said when he saw that wrinkle-tinkle cracker, who was all taciturn jowls. Thumper was glad to find the theater but scairt to see the ebony emptiness in Mr. Chambreux’s soulless ivories.
“Who are you?” Mr. Chambreux asked.
“My name’s Thumper, suh,” he said. Having done got worked up about coming here, Thumper ain’t think of what to do when he found Mr. Chambreux. “Listen, mistuh, you can’t do-“
“Thumper? What kinda name is Thumper.” He pulled his robe’s hood shut to cover his face. “Nevermind, get out of here, I’m about to go on.”
“I know. I know what you doin’,” Thumper said. “You puttin’ on a play, the summonin’ of a deity. You can’t do what she wants — Delsinerr, she-“
A hubbub interrupted Thumper from the stage, and Mr. Chambreux shrugged him off. He went to the curtain. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and you’re not going to stop me.” He walked onto the stage and hissed at Thumper, “Get out of here.”
Thumper stayed by the curtain. He watched Mr. Chambreux stand in a brilliant spotlight. The light made it impossible to see who or what was in the audience, but their silhouettes revealed dozens of horrid bodyshapes Thumper don’t wanna see clearly. Hooded humans filled up the front rows with a low murmur of a chant. Mr. Chambreux’s New England-honky voice was thready and warbling, echoing against the theater’s ceiling as he began a monologue in a strange language.
Hooded figures wheeled a coffin onstage. Somebody was in the coffin, banging on it and screaming to be let out. Thumper wanna go out there and open it, but he held back, lightbulbing up a plan — he couldn’t just rush the stage afront all those demons and the chanting cultists.
Reaching a pause in his monologue, Mr. Chambreux pried open the coffin. It weren’t attached firmly, but he got old-honky arms and struggled with it, while the clarion chanting grew louder.
Finally, the coffin lid popped up.
A woman lifted her head and opened her mouth to scream. No sound emerged, she just looked at the audience agape.
The woman was Cherry — the stripper — Heather, the small sweet red fruit. She looked dazed and pale, terrified as a mouse. Her head darted left and right, squinting her asians at the fiendish silhouettes in the audience, stagelights blaring at her pretty little face.
Mr. Chambreux held a ruby- and pearl-encrusted knife in his hand. Thumper connected the dots quick as toast. He was gonna kill that girl. Mr. Chambreux kept intoning arcane syllables in that strange language as he aimed his knife for her chest.
The whole theater shook like a fearful titty, and Thumper held onto the stage curtain for support. A whoosh of air almost knocked him over. It did knock over Cherry, who struggled to get outta the coffin with her arms tied behind her back.
A long green-gray tentacle emerged mid-air in the center of the stage. That was followed by more tentacles, exiting from a warping swirl of cloud and energy. The vortex farted out a palpable odor of rotten eggs.
Cherry’s screams suddenly sounded — pitchy and loud peals like paint, plaintive and sobbing — like a switch got clicked, she yelled like a banshee. Her voice was overpowered by a guttural ancient moan reverberating out the vortex.
A gristly body was clawing its way through now, attached to the tentacles.
Outta mere air, Delsinerr appeared, weird as a meager meerkat. Thumper’s beleagurement ain’t begin till now, so she musta done teleport in from the border within. He clenched fists of bite to ignore her sordid win. She stank like a bin afronta him.
“Mister White,” she said with chords of din. “You returned, so unlike aborted kin. Is you here to short my rim? Or to fork what yo’ been? You go’n drop pork with chagrin in exchange for a fort of skin? You can live with delightful sin in a river rife with the lights of life that has never been. War will sustainably spin, and you can be un-anchored by the petty restraints of bankers and lawmakers, morally slim.”
“I already ain’t do it.”
“You done fold the role of Rico, but this spot here is fulla moles who burrow fo’ souls. You can still steal a part of the goal in this art of tolls,” she spoke, sour as a tart. Onstage, it done start, and Mr. Chambreux made his long curved blade ready to raid in order to trade a heady way for a future to flay. In dishonor’s log, he groaned on along his monologue, and he aimed his knife at Cherry’s stripper skill.
He finna kill her, a sinner in life, to rip her like a miller and bill her for the balance, he might.
Unless Thumper did bite. Sans fright, he could steal the meal and a toe from Mr. Chambreux, take his role and go go go back to blue skies thirty-four dreary years ago.
“That’s the cue fo’ my eyes,” Delsinerr said, slow as the blues make a nigga feel wise, and she spilled like stew onto the stage askew for her size. “Take yo’ prize, He Who Thumps, or die like a lie.”
His brain returned to function, and Thumper knew what he gotsta do. But he needed a weapon of his own. There weren’t nothing backstage he could use.
If he was in prison, he’d get creative about finding a weapon.
So he did what he woulda done then — he made one. He punched the plywood backdrop of a starry night sky, which waited backstage to be wheeled on later. His fist collapsed through the plywood, which splintered around his forearm and drew streams of blood.
He grabbed a chunk and concealed it in his fist. The sharp tip protruded past his fingers.
Then he sprinted onstage, into the confusion of Delsinerr’s cage. He hurried his rage cuz he ain’t know how long this speech got to fade. Mr. Chambreux gonna reach a final stage soon as a endless age.
Thumper could stab him like a wage or the ginger Cherry like a thinner sage to take the offer that was proffered off Her.
Scoffing sure at inner outrage, he hesitated like a bin of blank page, eager to live his life again, unfairly merry amid the deadness of Cherry, no more living free as a dairy cow. Now he was daring to prowl her scary and bow at that Lady of Vows with hellishly hairy howls.
It was a choice he was born to foul, with a scowl he wore like the folds of her gown. In expectation he drowns. Thumper never does respect a section of frowns. Projections of evil unbound like a costume of sound, but Thumper lives up to shoot down.
Yet her boss fumes astound. His plywood shank was battlefield-ground to the sharpest of tips, rank as a bank that flips burial mounds.
It is God’s life that for all-time abounds
With the shiv that he found, he stabbed, not Cherry just barely, nor did he ram ho at Mr. Chambreux. Blowing free will, his street-filled beat aimed his shank at Her mien. Delsinerr screamed. As Thumper do, he stabbed mean, and he stabbed perfectly clean.
From her did stream death and furious beams illuminating things. The shiv kept rivening her belly, driven by He Who Do Thump into her rump and her stump and her jelly. He poked his last, instead grabbing that mask, ripping it fast off her face so so vast. Pinpricks of light did pass out that lass and cash out her vile pack.
Delsinerr slacked a mile and bent over. Though she went to tend clover atop the bug on her mug with both hands like a rug, Thumper saw her near and far dump her fear for raw clumps of the stink she pumped up from the inky beyond.
Nothing was left to do but to at last abscond.
In a dash for the door, Thumper pulled his peepers from her. The theater-crowd screamed jeers and hellfire, but the chanting cultists — the hooded humans, including Mr. Chambreux — stayed entranced by Delsinerr’s grace. Or maybe they was deep in the worship of that tentacled thing coming outta the vortex.
He grabbed Cherry and drug her off the stage. His mind worked clearly now. Delsinerr was there, but her aura was gone, and reality felt real to him. Cherry was stiff as a board though, until he got her away and she rag-dolled in his arms. She still got her white-girl notions caught in the eternity where Delsinerr’s face should be.
The last thing Thumper saw as he got Cherry outta the theater was them tentacles wrapping around both Delsinerr and Mr. Chambreux. Both were dragged into the vortex before it shut.
Then all was silent and still like a birth. Ain’t nothing matter but this moment.
The movie theater was empty of those demon-beasts, and the hoodened cultists — the humans — all exchanged dark glances like sober fiends. The door to the theater closed behind Thumper. He carried Cherry out through the lobby onto the street into the cool night air of the city of Bangor.
“Where are you takin’ me?” Cherry asked, still ashen and limp as spent dingdongs.
“Wherevuh you want, that’s yo’ choice, baby,” Thumper said. He was glad to put her down, cuz he ain’t know till now that his back could take carrying her this far. She asked him to get her dog from her apartment then to her daddy, who lived above a moving company’s offices — her daddy owned the jawn.
That sounded like a job Thumper could do, and sooner or later, somebody from Maine was gonna move to somewhere in Maryland. Then at last, he would see home again.
He took a deep breath of the steamy petrichor blowing by, fresh and fast. His bladder neck be bugging all of a sudden, but he did abide. Swarming with stars, the transcendant sky opened up with a blessed bang of thunder, and thin rain rapped upon him with a chill of perpetual reality. It felt good as grandma’s hugs. Thumper never walked as free as he did right now.

Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil

Chapter One: Out of Touch
Chapter Two: The Fossil
Chapter Three: That Ain’t Gangsta
Chapter Four: Old Nigga
Chapter Five: Unfashioned
Chapter Six: A Corrective Statement
Chapter Seven: Cool at Last