The White Trash Veteran
By the end of 1987, Goose found his hillbilly ass on a oil rig in the North Atlantic, nigh to a place called the Pharaoh Islands. Goose never heared of ’em. It wasn’t Egyptian, though it sounded like it, it was much farther north than that. It was cold as frozen turds up there!
The oil rig itself was toasty warm though. Got plentya heat throughout, and the pay was good, so they could live it up when back on land on leave.
Till then, there weren’t much to do besides work. Goose was tuckered as a tire for sure. He did get mail from Buck and Missus Bridge though. She kept Goose in the loop on Buck’s school troubles. He was getting remedials, which she thinked was gonna help.
He be wilding, got hisself suspended. That schoolteacher said he gotsta “decorate his binder how he likes it”, but he don’t like it decorated, so he up and ran around, raising hell, you know how a hillbilly do! He ain’t yet understand that when a woman says to do something as you like it, what she means is to do it as she likes it.
Buck took it on the chin. He was like that, he take it all in stride. All he gots is women in his life though. He lives with Missus Bridge, he got a lady schoolteacher, his daddy be gone all the time. Maybe that was why he was struggling in school, Goose thought. He sees it as a womanly thing.
Even Buck’s gym teacher was a woman! A sturdy lass for sure, but she don’t let ‘em do no wrestling or tackle football or nothing. Buck do get in trouble when he’s bored.
Buck sent him drawings of school and the tree fort he built with his buddy Cody, and Goose be sending him back drawings of the oil rig’s drilling room. Buck love that shit. Goose even got this feller with a camera to take some pictures of the machinery, and Goose sent ‘em on to Buck.
“Shit, man, aftuh I drop off them pitchers in the mail, I’mma kick off in town tomorruh,” Goose said when him and the other Americans all got back on down to they barrack after suppuh one night. They all lived together by nationality. It helped avoid conflicts, or so the old-timers said.
“Shit yeah, booooy!” said Jamal. He was the black feller — the black American feller, as there was other black fellers from like Africa and such. Jamal ain’t get along with them one bit though. He wanted nothing to do with the Africans or the Dominicans. Neither did Goose. Leave he to his own, that’s in the Bible. He do make a exception for the wisdom of the Orient that Sam introduced him to, prior to Goose eating his brains that one time.
Goose wondered if Sam’s teachings on rivers and meditation done stuck to Goose’s mind cuz Sam’s brain got in Goose’s mouth. Prolly not. Prolly no science in behind that. But he do dwell on it.
“I’mma get that lamb, with the sauce! Heckfire!” said Jenderson, a tall reedy motherfucker from Minnesota.
They all agreed on that one. The restaurant on the Pharoah Islands where they got dinner on leave had a rack of lamb that was pricey as fuck but tasted so good it made Goose drool just thinking about it.
“The beer with the bear on the label too-“
“Oooh yeah!”
“Remembuh that blonde waitress?”
“My god, she was hot as hell!”
“Hmmphh!” said this youngish feller Jethro Wilde with a mustache and a scruffy beard beneath it. He grabbed his crotch through his workjeans. He pumped his hips like he was fucking a invisible woman. Then he loosened his belt and dropped his jeans.
They all stripped to drawers after work. The living quarters was warm, often uncomfortably hot, so they gots to get as undressed as possible. With them all grabbing they peckers and miming what they wanna do to the blonde waitress, stiffies was popping up.
And the black feller Jamal was the one with the most obvious stiffy. “Hey, I’mma see if anyone put on that miniskirt,” Jamal said with a guilty laugh. He been dancing along with rap music, which was new then, Goose ain’t never heared it — t’was like calypso but worse, he found. He played calypso instead, but Jamal be plussing. Goose settled. Jamal got a ear for that rap. He grappled with his crotch as the others all laughed alongside him. “Needta find a lady, don’t care how ugly!”
Them’all guffawed and slapped they knees. Jamal was short as a petunia, but he steady popped stiffies. He was little enough that his medium-sized pecker looked big as hell on him. He weared only tight-white drawers, as he went off into the corridors of the oil rig in search of the “barrel room”.
That was a small bedroom with a box in it. Inside the box was a miniskirt. The old-timers did say over and over that anybody who want to can put on the miniskirt. Then the other fellers was “allowed” to ram him up the booty — course ain’t nobody gonna scotch ya even without the miniskirt. On rig, a feller can either hold his own or he can’t. Don’t need a miniskirt to let a man in ya backdoor.
But anyway, if he put on a miniskirt, another man is allowed to put it up behind, gotsta pay out in likker, that was all. The old-timers would enforce that one, if a feller refused to pay up.
Or supposably they would. Ain’t not a soul do it yet, and Goose and them all done spread the notion that nobody ever did. T’was just a prank, a way to scare newbies by pretending you was gonna put the miniskirt on ’em.
But Jamal been checking every night, it seemed. You know how black boys is, they love ass. If Jamal was a foot taller, he’d prolly try and put the miniskirt on a small feller. Black boys is like that. Most likeishly, the Africans on rig would do the same, and maybe they did among they own. Nobody talked about that though. Jamal returned to the barrack every night with a stiffy, which he jacked off right there in front of everybody.
That ain’t a fun parta brotherhood, seeing a black boy shooting nut on his belly. Still felt good to Goose though. Lotta the Americans on rig was veterans, not all of ’em went to ‘Nam though. It hurt to hear it the first time, when some feller said he was in the Army in peace. It made Goose feel old, used-up, abandoned like a waste house, irrelevant, forgotted, like everything that happened was never gonna matter. The Army done move on. Vietnam done move on.
But that feller got his own troubles, his own dams blocking up his self-same river. It’s good for a man to get away. Among women and children, a man had gotta keep his head up, keep his shoulders straight. A man falls apart like a jigsaw puzzle; a woman falls apart like shattered glass. Without women, men holds each other together like log cabins. Without men, women holds each other down like a bucket of frogs.
Since leave was upcoming soon, Goose held off on his own wingwang. He was gonna get to that brothel, and he was gonna fuck like a stallion. There was beautiful Nordic ladies — blonde-haired beauties like Viking princesses waited for ’em in the Pharaoh Islands.
Thinking about them Viking ladies got Goose an inconvenient hardon the night before leave. It was too early for lights out, and Goose don’t like to jack hisself off in the lightness, with a dozen fellers watching or worse, whacking it alongside him. That’s nasty, and that’s what Jamal do. If Goose ain’t better than a colored feller, then what’s the point of being white?
T’wasn’t until just before lights-out that Goose reckonized Jamal’s absence. He never did come back from the trip to the barrel room. Did that mean someone did have on the miniskirt after all? Maybe Jamal was deep in some feller’s asshole right now.
So Goose excused hisself to go take a shit, but then he went through to the barrel room, carrying with himself the bottle of rum he been sipping from. Sure nuff, he heared Jamal’s voice in the barrel room, and when he went in, Jamal was plowing into the behind of a much larger man.
It was one the dark-haired ones who lived altogether in a corner barrack, white but swarthy — someone said they was Greek, someone else said Gypsies. Maybe both. This one was Bosko, and he was a broad-shouldered powerhouse, the miniskirt barely fitting round his waist.
“Ah shit, honky, you caught me! This girl is tight!” Jamal said with a big bright smile. Bosko was strong as a ox and a foot taller than Jamal’s bitsy booty, so Jamal looked ridiculous ramming at his backdoor, like it took all of Jamal’s strength just to bump into him. Jamal then closed his eyes as he jetted his nut into Bosko’s tight ass. “Hmm, baby, you okay?” He tenderly rubbed Bosko’s asscheek.
Parta the rule was that whoever weared the miniskirt was “technically” a female. You had to treat “her” like a woman, and you hadta pretend it was a different person. Jamal wasn’t sposedta ever acknowledge that it was Bosko in the miniskirt. Jamal’s whole body twitched as he shot Bosko fulla jizz. Goose got up close to watch, but there weren’t much to see, cuz Jamal done ram his whole manhood up there.
All Goose sawed was Bosko’s ass quivering as he clenched and expelled Jamal’s limpening dickshaft. It plopped out with a moist shlurping sound that made Goose both chuckle and groan.
“No ass.” Bosko had a thin accent to his English. He glared at Goose, as Jamal chuckled and wiped his black boy pecker off, then pulled his drawers up.
Before Jamal left, he grabbed Goose by the balls through his drawers and squeezed hard enough to make Goose squirm. Then Jamal guffawed and stepped outta the barrel room. Jamal thought a white man with a big dingdong was hilarious.
“Good luck, Bosko!” Jamal said. Then he hushed hisself, “I mean… lady… ma’am, whoever you is.”
The door swung shut behind him, and Goose was left alone with Bosko.
Goose looked sheepishly at Bosko. He showed him the third of a bottle of rum he had, which Bosko peered at, then sniffed then put in a corner with a few other bottles of liquor, beer and wine.
“Mouth only.” Bosko said, his miniskirt riding up to bare his hairy Greek thighs. He got on his knees in front of Goose. He got a wide layer of scruff round his lips and a hairy chest. Shit, he was hairy enough to make the whole room smell like body hair.
Goose wrinkled his nose. He ain’t never decide to do this, he just had liquor in hand and Bosko thinked that was supposed to be payment. Goose did wanna bust a load out, but damn, couldn’t they shave Bosko’s Greek ass? Or Gypsy or anywhat? Whatever race Bosko was, they was some hairballs, that was for sure.
Slipping his limp dick into Bosko’s mouth, Goose furrowed his brow. Bosko made no effort to throat him. Goose had trouble getting hard like that. Bosko’s beard hairs was coarse and reminded Goose there was no woman around, and Bosko ain’t even do nothing, he just sat there gawping like a dead fish.
His mouth was open, and Goose could play round in there all he wanted. Bosko ain’t even gag a bit. But he also ain’t lick it or slurp on it or make any spit or even just move his lips back and forth. Goose did the best he could.
His tongue did feel good, kinda, rubbing on Goose’s meat. It felt better than Goose’s own hand anyway. It ain’t feel much like a blowjob though, more like a discount fleshlight.
“Hey, I’m allowed to ram you up the asshole,” Goose said with a frown. He put his hands on his hips, then swayed his waist to make his dick limply rub over Bosko’s msuatchioed face. “I can’t even see the miniskirt like that, man.”
Bosko grumbled in whatever dumbass language he spoke, but he got up onto the bed in one corner of the room. He laid on his back so his head dangled just off the back edge.
“A’ight, a’ight,” Goose said with a smile. He bent his knees to get his dick into Bosko’s mouth, which stretched open to accommodate it. Goose tried to picture a woman in the miniskirt, ignoring Bosko’s hairy legs and the treasure trail going down his belly and into the miniskirt.
This was more like it.
With Bosko laying over the edge of the bed, Goose had a perfect angle to go deep in his throat. Bosko musta been well broke-in — damn well broke-in — cuz he ain’t resist a bit. Goose’s limpness hit the backa his throat and slipped in past his gag reflex, and that was it! A surge of melted pleasure hit Goose’s body, and he moaned as his cock flexed to full erection in moments.
Goose’s pecker was too big for any woman to deep-throat, so he never got real deep like that. He did throat down some fellers pretty hard in his day, but ain’t none of ’em was as broke-open as Bosko was and ain’t mosta ’em bend over backwards like this neither.
That Gypsy throat opened up deep enough that Goose’s whole erection could ram down there, his balls slapping Bosko on the nose. “Oh fuck yeah, baby…” Goose pictured one the Viking women he was gonna fuck on leave. He ain’t even needta look at the miniskirt.
Later on, Goose found out Bosko was indeed a Gypsy, and they gots a rule that when they run outta liquor on rig, they draw straws and make one of they own take dick till they earn enough liquor to last till leave. Over the next couple days, Bosko musta took gallons of nut. Gypsies is like that, reckon.
Bosko gagged over and over, but he got deeper on Goose’s dick than any man ever had. Goose got so into it that he even pulled down Bosko’s miniskirt as though he might see a pussy. All that was there was Bosko’s uncut cock, bouncing around. Goose chuckled at the sight, then covered it up again.
He shot a fat load down Bosko’s throat. A bigger load than Goose thunk possible, wad after creamy wad filled up Bosko’s belly and overflowed from his throat. Bosko squirmed, but Goose held him tightly in place.
“Fuck yeah…” Goose’s voice wavered and broke. Another flood of jizz spurted right down Bosko’s gullet. Goose’s cock was so deep in his tight throat that Bosko couldn’t spit it up if he hoped to, which he did, and his whole body be twitching as Goose spewed load after load straight into his belly.
His cock plopped out, followed by a frenzy of gags and squirming retches from Bosko. Stomachfuls of jizz spilled outta Bosko’s mouth and soaked his chest, dripping down to his miniskirt. Goose was dribbling yet a few drops of nut and saliva onto Bosko’s head, even as Bosko stood and bent over to spit up into a bucket by the bed.
“Goddamn, that felt good,” Goose said, backing away from Bosko. He twirled his limp dick in hand before wiping his wetness off and tucking it back in his drawers. “Lemme know when you put that thang on again, shit, lady. I’ll get a blowjob outta ya throat anytime.”
Satisfied as a kitten, Goose returned to his barrack, where Jamal and them was fitting to fall asleep like wise lotuses. Goose stayed up for awhile. It felt good to be among men, but it couldn’t last. He needta see his son, rejoin civilization and prove that he could build a lake behind hisself, flowing on to the ocean yanway. Forward, he thought, forward at last.
