The White Trash Veteran: Chapter 9

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.

Workers in the Dark

Eagle and Tekaronhonte are high-rise construction workers in New York, but they’re not from the city, they’re Mohawk Indians, and Eagle is still new. He’s not comfortable with urban living or the heights he scales every day, until one night he finds solace and comfort in Tekaronhonte’s arms.

Can Eagle That Soars find a way to flourish so far from home?

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New York City was a scary place. On his first day in the city, Eagle That Soars Mailloux had seen more people than he had ever seen before. A sea of cars flowed over the roads, and tpeople on the sidewalks thronged like a human river. Even the battlefields of Europe hadn’t been so crowded.
The rise and fall of Tekaronhonte’s breath was relaxing for Eagle. He didn’t know Tekaronhonte until recently, but they were both Mohawk Indians, so Eagle felt a certain kinship for the older man and tribemate. Tekaronhonte had been in the city for more than twelve years. Eagle couldn’t imagine living in a place like this for twelve years. He’d go crazy if he had to live here even half that long.
But then, he couldn’t imagine fighting a war in Europe, and he had done precisely that. Eagle had gone home to the reservation after Germany surrendered, but there was nothing for him there. There were no jobs, and the only excitement was the nightly brawl in the bar parking lot. The young people had left for the Army when the war broke out, and few came back. Some died in Germany or Japan, others found a wife or work or who-knows-what-else, something not found in the Mohawk village Eagle was from.
A construction company was recruiting. Eagle signed up because — like signing up for the Army before the draft board came calling — that was what young Mohawk men did. He was, or would become no matter what, a fearless warrior and a fearless worker. He would not be good enough for a wife if he did not have a job.
Yet Eagle had never felt fearless. He thought he might be able to look brave when he made it through boot camp with ease. But his first day in battle in Europe, he threw up in his own helmet and nearly shot his foot off. He hoped that, by the time he came to New York and signed up to work in high-rise construction, the fear would have been blasted out of him. Maybe he had left his fear on the bloody grassy fields of France.
He sure wished he left it there.
But he was scared after all. The other Indians on the project literally danced on the steel beams that connected like solid clouds as they labored together the framework of a skyscraper. They were fearless. They showed no emotions, no trace of awareness that they could plummet to their doom at any moment.
Eagle barely got any work done his first day. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting. It took all his concentration not to look down, because when he did the world reeled and he had to clutch whatever was nearby lest his sudden dizziness make him fall.
He was proud that he at least hadn’t vomited. He wouldn’t have told anyone that, because the other Indians would have called him a weakling for being afraid at all.
Maybe, he thought, the war did make him braver after all. In the war, he did throw up. Now he didn’t. That was something, but it wasn’t bravery.
And after two weeks working, Eagle managed to feel a modicum of comfort up there on the steel girders. He had had to sit down only once today, when he was overcome with terror and dizziness. It had happened maybe fifteen times on his first day. So that was an improvement.
It happens to a lot of us. Not me. I was a natural up here.
I never panicked. I am like a cat in a tree. But a lot of workers are afraid when they are new.
Their words were not that reassuring. The only reason the Mohawks were hired was because of their lack of fear, and none of the old-timers admitted they had been afraid when they were new. So Eagle still felt like an outsider who might never fit in. Maybe the reason the old-timers denied being afraid was that the weakest among them quit (or fell), so only the bravest remained in New York.
Tekaronhonte’s hand touched Eagle’s chest, which brought Eagle out of his reverie. Eagle drew in his breath and rolled over to see Tekaronhonte’s face staring at him in the dark. He put one finger to his lips.
“Ssssh,” Tekaronhonte said, his voice an achingly low thrumming murmur.
The apartment was chock-full of Indians. It was a four-bedroom apartment with sixteen men living in it. There were three people in each bedroom and four scattered among the hallway and the living room. Eagle and Tekaronhonte took the living room. The couch was too short for either Eagle or Tekaronhonte, both of whom were tall, so they slept on the floor. Tekaronhonte was by the window, but Eagle didn’t want to see outside — this was a ninth floor apartment, plenty high enough to reawaken Eagle’s fear. Nothing in any Mohawk village was nine floors high, and this building went up twice that far. The building Eagle was putting up was going to be twice that even, which blew Eagle’s mind.
It was Tekaronhonte who slipped over to Eagle’s bedspread and slid under the thin sheet he used, his worn older body rubbing up against Eagle’s thinner frame. The hard wood floor underneath was unyielding and cold. Sometimes Eagle could hear the Spanish-inflected arguments of the Cuban couple who lived underneath this apartment.
Eagle raised his eyebrows. “What… What are you doing?”
“There are no women here,” Tekaronhonte whispered as though that explained it. Then he leaned his head down and kissed Eagle on the lips.
Eagle instantly felt two equal reactions. A part of him wanted to push Tekaronhonte away and go sleep in the hall with Benjamin and Delisle.
But another part of Eagle’s mind wanted to kiss him back. He wanted to shove his tongue into Tekaronhonte’s mouth. He wanted to taste every inch of Tekaronhonte’s bronze body and feel himself getting lost in Tekaronhonte’s broad muscles.
So he compromised by not doing anything at all. He laid there and let it happen as Tekaronhonte kissed him on the lips. Their tongues collided in Eagle’s mouth. Tekaronhonte rolled over to lay atop Eagle, showering him with kisses as his hands explored Eagle’s smooth chest.
“You are a pretty boy,” Tekaronhonte said when he came up for air. “You do soar, like your namesake. Majestic.”
Eagle smiled and blushed. “Why did you kiss me?” Eagle asked. His hands wrapped around Tekaronhonte’s back as though to hug him close, but he was already so close his chest muscles pressed down on Eagle’s smoothness.
“It is the secret.”
“What?”
“It is the secret to doing well in construction. Once you have been touched by an older man, you will not be so scared of being on a high-rise,” Tekaronhonte said. “I will give you of my bravery.” His face was flat and grim, shadowy in the unlit living room.
Eagle couldn’t tell if he was joking or not or whether he was saying this just to get Eagle to submit. It did seem like the kind of thing Tekaronhonte might say as a joke — he had told Eagle to get a “left-handed smoke-shifter” on his first day, then laughed as though it was the funniest thing in the world when Eagle failed to find it. That prank was actually the only time Eagle had seen Tekaronhonte laugh since he came to the city. So it wasn’t unreasonable to think he was making up stories again to tease Eagle.
But regardless, Eagle didn’t want to refuse. He hadn’t had sex since Europe and even that was with a French prostitute whom Eagle could only afford because she had never screwed an Indian and gave him a discount. She had said he was “cute like a puppy”, which he took as an insult at the time. He had been too frightened to pleasure himself as well, and he was overcome by horniness every time he saw a woman in the city. They were so pretty here… So glamorous.
“You are handsome like an eagle, and I want to pretend you are a woman,” Tekaronhonte whispered into Eagle’s ear. “I do not normally do this. I do not do it anywhere but here. In this apartment, there are no women, so we take care of each other.”
“You mean everyone does this?”
Tekaronhonte nodded. “Do not tell anyone. It is against the white man’s rules, and we do not speak of it-” He pecked Eagle on the cheek.
“So what do I do?” Eagle asked. He inhaled of Tekaronhonte’s musk, and his kisses traveled down Tekaronhonte’s neck to his powerful chest.
“You may pleasure me,” Tekaronhonte said. He bristled. “I will not do the same to you. I am older, stronger, better at work. I will not do it.”
“That, uh, doesn’t seem fair,” Eagle said.
“Then say no.” Tekaronhonte paused and flared his nostrils. When Eagle didn’t say no, he kissed him again. He ran his hands through the long silken hair that ringed Eagle’s head.
Eagle’s mind whirred as he thought of ways to tell Tekaronhonte that he only wanted to do this if Tekaronhonte reciprocated, but Eagle knew that was a hollow threat. It had been so long since anyone touched him intimately — and even longer since anyone had touched it without being paid — that he realized only as Tekaronhonte reached into his shorts how much he wanted this to happen.
Now that he was listening for it, Eagle thought he might have heard two men doing something similar in one of the bedrooms as well. There was some moist kissing and suckling sounds. In the dark apartment, he saw hands reaching under blankets, tented fabric deliberately shaped to conceal erections, he heard the thump-thump of vigorous masturbation, and he smelled the cottony-sour scent of precum.
They were all getting off. Had they been doing that all this time, since Eagle had moved in here? Maybe. Eagle was so focused on his own experiences he hadn’t noticed, and he had been so tired he fell asleep right away. He awoke later than the others. Perhaps he had missed it.
Eagle was glad that he shared a living room with Tekaronhonte, who was in good shape and healthy. He was tall, broad-shouldered, smooth-skinned, and he had his hair pulled back into a long ponytail. He had a square, jutting jaw and a face lined with just a few wrinkles that came from his age — he was nearly forty.
But right now all Eagle could feel was his awe-striking muscles. Tekaronhonte had been a construction worker for a long time, so his body had grown as thick and as solid as the steel he worked with every day. He looked like he was skinny by nature, and his muscles barely fit within his frame.
In comparison, Eagle was lean and wiry. He was strong, but he was not anywhere’s near as big as Tekaronhonte. He was dwarfed by the bigger man’s powerful arms.
As Tekaronhonte pulled away from Eagle’s mouth, he pulled down his underwear. A big, half-hard cock flopped out. All Eagle could see in the darkness was a thick silhouette, which made his mouth water. He was glad that he was in the dark so no one — not even Tekaronhonte — could see that Eagle was eager to taste it.
Then Tekaronhonte pushed his cocktip into Eagle’s mouth. It was a little sour, very salty and had a faintly sweet aftertaste that made Eagle want more and more. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go so he could swallow every inch of that throbbing meat.
Tekaronhonte groaned but muffled the sound. It seemed that the men in the bedroom had finished whatever they were doing, so the only sound Eagle heard now was Tekaronhonte’s arousal and the heavy breathing of Benjamin, who was asleep in the hall near (the much quieter and slimmer) Delisle. Eagle was glad now that he wasn’t with Benjamin, who might also want to blow a nut off but he was fat and mean, so Eagle wouldn’t have wanted to do it.
He hadn’t realized how much he wanted Tekaronhonte until this started, but now Eagle couldn’t imagine making love to anyone else. He loved the feeling of Tekaronhonte’s massive cock plowing into his throat over and over.
Eagle gagged out of instinct as his throat cried out for a break and for air, but he didn’t want to stop. He loved how Tekaronhonte’s cock throbbed and pulsated, leaking precum down Eagle’s throat and coating his lips and chin with it. Eagle could feel the pleasure emanating throughout Tekaronhonte’s body; he could sense it as though it was his own pleasure, in the tensing of Tekaronhonte’s muscles and the dappling of sweat that appeared on his chest and shoulders.
Finally Tekaronhonte pulled out of Eagle’s mouth, cock flopped over his face and leaving a layer of moist flavor there. Eagle wasn’t sure what was about to happen — or rather, he did know what Tekaronhonte was going to want next, but Eagle was too nervous to think about it.
“Sssh… Do not worry,” Tekaronhonte whispered as though he had read Eagle’s mind. “When it happens in New York City, it does not count.”
“Yes, Tekaronhonte. Please do it.”
“Do not be ashamed. You are just showing respect. You are being respectful. It is appropriate,” Tekaronhonte said. He kissed Eagle on the back of the neck.
Eagle was on his belly now on the floor. He quivered and his whole body tightened just from the fear of what was about to happen — he knew he was going to do it, he wanted to see how it felt and he accepted Tekaronhonte’s promise that it wouldn’t count here in New York.
But in the Army, Eagle had been taught that the most humiliating thing a man can do is accept another man’s penis in his ass. But Mohawks did not see it the same way, and Eagle wanted it in this moment more than he had ever wanted to have sex with a woman. Tekaronhonte’s cock would feel so good in his ass.
That was why Eagle firmly wanted to try it now, despite remaining nervous about what it would be like. He had to admit he enjoyed the feel of Tekaronhonte’s strapping chest muscles rubbing against Eagle’s back as they both got in position. Tekaronhonte was hard and firm, and his cock was likewise, poking like a battering ram at Eagle’s buttcheeks and thighs.
“Lift your butt,” Tekaronhonte said softly, his hand caressed Tekaronhonte’s ass. Tekaronhonte placed a couch cushion underneath Eagle’s belly, then bent Eagle over it, raising his ass up. “I have bear grease.”
Eagle didn’t know why that mattered. No one in New York even used bear grease. Back in the village, bear grease was used mainly in making soap, though bears were scarce in that area nowadays. The gamy smell of it filled Eagle’s nostrils and reminded him of home.
But he figured out the reason for Tekaronhonte using it moments later, when a bolt of pain ran up his spine. Tekaronhonte’s cock squeezed into his ass painfully.
The agony soon diminished, however, as the bear grease did its work. It made Eagle’s entire ass, and Tekaronhonte’s crotch, so slippery Eagle thought he couldn’t have sat down now if he wanted to, he would have just slid right over the floor like a hockey puck. A potent sensation erupted in his ass.
He bit his lip and gasped. The pain was mostly gone, but there was still an intense, not entirely comfortable pressure. He oomphed and his face turned red.
A twinge of pain did hit him then, not too much but enough to make Eagle clench his teeth and suck in his breath. His whole body undulated beneath Tekaronhonte’s heft, his muscles flexing as he gently forced his cock up Eagle’s asshole.
Just when Eagle was about to tell Tekaronhonte to stop, his body relaxed some, and a wave of pleasure flowed through him. Tekaronhonte’s cock sank the rest of the way in, and Eagle felt Tekaronhonte’s balls slap on Eagle’s smooth ass. There was a sensitive spot deep in his behind, and, when Tekaronhonte’s cock touched it, Eagle felt a twang of desire ring out within him.
He lifted his head and gasped. He had to force himself to breathe as the mind-melting pressure and the overwhelming pleasure combined to make his entire mind and body shut down. His lungs clawed for air even though nothing prevented him from breathing — he was just experiencing so much that he didn’t have any real control over his body now.
He went limp, which turned out to be the key to make this feel as good as possible, for both himself and for Tekaronhonte. His limbs were like jelly, his muscles soft, in stark contrast to Tekaronhonte’s stony, hairless body. It felt like a smooth and warm statue slamming onto Eagle’s back and ass over and over again, like Tekaronhonte was made out of granite and Eagle himself was made of nothing more substantial than bear grease.
The bear grease splashed and slipped all over Eagle’s body. He could taste it and smell it now, since it had clung to Tekaronhonte’s hands as his fingers roamed over Eagle’s flesh. He could taste its astringent bitterness, the thick, billowy aroma that was so intense it felt physical, like Eagle could grab clouds of the scent. It smelled like bear-meat and smoke and a little like lipstick, Eagle thought — it reminded him of that French prostitute. She had been so beautiful, but Eagle was glad she wasn’t here; he was glad he hadn’t hired a whore in New York; he was glad to be rammed by Tekaronhonte instead.
At some point, Eagle’s cock had gotten so hard it felt like it was going to burst, and each thrust of Tekaronhonte’s manhood inside him only brought Eagle closer and closer to orgasm. He cried out for more, only for Tekaronhonte to shush him.
When Eagle felt Tekaronhonte’s imminent climax, he was glad. He enjoyed the feeling of giant cockmeat sliding into him, and he loved how it stimulated every inch of his insides, but Eagle was ready to be done. He still hoped he wasn’t seen by the others — no matter how normal and acceptable it was here and even if their roommates did the same thing, Eagle wanted to be able to deny it had happened.
But then Tekaronhonte grunted like he did not approve of something, as his hand stretched around Eagle’s delicate body. He caressed Eagle’s chest muscles — which were basically nonexistent compared to Tekaronhonte’s powerful pecs — and then lowered his hand to Eagle’s cock.
“I will give you pleasure,” Tekaronhonte said as though it was a rare and special gift, which, Eagle supposed, it probably was.
Almost immediately, Eagle could feel his orgasm rising. It grew a little more potent with each downstroke of Tekaronhonte’s hand, when it was all the way at the base of Eagle’s cock. Shivers of desire flowed through Eagle’s body.
It felt like he was being penetrated by all of Tekaronhonte’s muscles; Eagle could feel each muscle fiber flexing and stretching atop his back, intertwining with his limbs. Eagle felt so good he gasped and couldn’t muffle the sound in time — he hoped no one else in the apartment was awake.
His toes curled and his fingers tightened into claws that grabbed at the floor beneath him. His face was bright red, his back covered in both his own sweat and Tekaronhonte’s, which clung to Eagle’s skin. He didn’t get why people acted like this was bad, it certainly didn’t feel bad, Eagle thought. He went with the flow, moving in sync with Tekaronhonte’s cock. He enjoyed the sensation, and he wanted to make it last.
“I am going to fill you up now, boy,” Tekaronhonte said. His deep voice boomed in Eagle’s ear. In addition to hearing his promise, Eagle could feel Tekaronhonte’s words through his chest muscles throbbing against Eagle’s back.
Then it came. An orgasm overwhelmed them both at once. Eagle threw his head back and bit his lip to avoid screaming out his climax. The most intense pleasure of his life rocketed up and down his spine. He writhed, the sensation so good it felt bad, but then became so bad it felt good all over again. Eagle’s eyes bugged out.
Cum sprayed within him, great big wads of hot juice that coated Eagle’s insides. He felt its creaminess sinking into his flesh, spreading to every inch of his body. He sighed, and Tekaronhonte did so at the same time, like they were harmonizing together.
Eagle’s own load was big too — bigger than he thought he had ever shot before, though it was dark so he couldn’t quite tell. Tekaronhonte kept stroking his cock even as it became more and more sensitive, and every motion of Tekaronhonte’s hand on his shaft made Eagle writhe beneath Tekaronhonte’s body.
He had no idea how long it lasted. It felt like eons. Eagle was aware of nothing but Tekaronhonte’s slowly limpening cock in his ass, sending aftershocks of orgasmic bliss through Eagle’s body.
Then he pulled out, and the real world came rushing back to Eagle. Eagle’s sigh turned from an expression of intense excitement to incredible relief. His ass was briefly in pain again, but then Eagle relaxed.
He sank back into Tekaronhonte’s arms. The living room was cramped, so it was more comfortable to move closer to Tekaronhonte than to try to sleep by himself like he had done his first week here. He rested his head between Tekaronhonte’s bicep and his chest.
There, Eagle tasted his smooth, clean flesh and the fresh salty sweat that collected there. He inhaled of Tekaronhonte’s steely aroma. His delicate fingers rested on Tekaronhonte’s flat belly and bulging chest.
“Thank you, Tekaronhonte. I hope that was respectful enough for you.” Eagle shivered and looked around, realizing only now that the apartment was filled with writhing construction workers.
“It was. You are a very good boy. Very good respect,” Tekaronhonte said. “You will be a good construction worker. You will find that tomorrow, there is no fear in you. You are a real man.”
“That made me a real man?”
“The most enjoyable summer comes only on those warm days in the middle of winter,” Tekaronhonte said. He kissed Eagle on the cheek. “Do not tell anyone back on the reservation. It is… different there than it is here.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Sleep now. You will have to stretch in the morning, or your bottom will hurt very bad all day,” he said. “Now that you have shown respect, you will be expected to do a full day’s worth of men’s work on the tower tomorrow. Do not worry. You will be stronger, braver now.”
“Oh… I don’t feel braver.”
“When you are scared from now on, you can think of me,” Tekaronhonte said. “Now go to sleep.”
Eagle sighed and fell silent. He didn’t think that would work. He remembered the terror he felt every time he looked down. Tekaronhonte wasn’t going to make that fear go away.
But somehow, Eagle realized, that was exactly what happened. The next day, when Eagle thought of his fear and recalled his moments of terror on that tower, he had been overcome with panic again. He wanted to flee downstairs to the safety of the ground. Now though, he felt that Tekaronhonte would catch him if he fell. He could see the ground beneath him and the cars like bugs crawling along the crowded streets, and there was no fear in him.
Tekaronhonte was right. It worked. Eagle had no fear in the morning. He danced along those steel girders just like Tekaronhonte did.
And that night once again, Eagle smiled and nuzzled closer to Tekaronhonte, whose warm muscles rose and fell in sleep once more. Eagle kissed the side of his chest.
“Thank you, Tekaronhonte. I’m glad we’re roommates.”

Frankie Wojohowitz

Wojo swaggered in like it was a chore to carry so many meaty muscles, and his big square face was huffing and ruddy. His shoulders and hair were speckled with brick dust, and clods of mortar clung to his clothes.
Avery inhaled deeply of the work-toned musk and firm muscles of his shoulders. Years of bricklaying made Wojo bulky, his shoulders and upper arms massive, hands callused like a troll, even his wrists felt callused when Avery’s hands roamed down his arms. Avery felt the tension and the roiling heat beneath his furnacey body.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

He sat down across from her at a bite-size table. “I was wearin’ cologne, just so you know,” Wojo said, his voice too deep for the room, it got those high ceilings like a chamber, and Sandra didn’t like it, she ain’t said that, but Wojo could tell, he was pretty sure, she prolly thought he talked like a cannon. “Cologne got washed off by the rain, you know, in the rain.” He gestured out to the downpour through the window, then, realizing he didn’t need to do that, he clammed up and brought his hands down to the table like a teacher told him to keep his hands to himself. “I wore it though. The cologne.” A girlfriend once told him he should always wear cologne when not at work, and he wanted credit for doing so, even if Sandra couldn’t smell it.
Wojo drank his coffee black, no fufu stuff in it. He got a small cuz he don’t really want any coffee, it was just an excuse for a date with Sandra, but now he thought the coffee looked too small in his meaty grip. He got mad clodhopping hands, big as shovels, callused like old workgloves, his knuckles gnarled and thick. She noticed that, she was looking scornful at ’em in the restaurant last week.
But there was no such button, and prolly she’d get turned off when she realized he was just a big-ass bricklayer, dumb as a clod of dirt. And he used to be a Marine. Oorah. He dunno if that was a plus for girls or not. It seemed like girls liked it at the time, but now they was fussing about it like it don’t matter. Maybe calling hisself a “former Marine” made him sound old. Only washed-up old men was former anythings.
Lotta Marines say there ain’t no such thing as a former Marine, just ones that are civilians now. But women sure acted like a currently military Marine was different than a now-civilian one. Or maybe Wojo just don’t put off the right kinda vibes for a Marine anymore. Girls pay alotta attention to vibes. There oughta to be like a tattoo or something that tells women you got a Marine pension, so you don’t gotta tell ’em. Women don’t know about that stuff. There’s no vibe to it.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

“Damn it, that traffic pisst me off, yu know,” Wojo said, plopping his site slip onto Teddy’s desk. He let out a hollow chuckle as he unbuttoned and shrugged off his workshirt. “Fuggett’boutit, yu know.” He shrugged again, his broad shoulders rising up and going down, cuz the workshirt he wore was too small for his wide musculature. His chest tweaked, pecs bouncing and rippling, loosening the beads of sweat clinging to them, which made them drip down his hair-dappled belly. “Man, Teddy, I saw this accident happen, man, it was messt up, swear to God, the car was going this way, and this other car was going that way — maaaan, shiii….” He avoided cursing because he was Christian. He kissed his crucifix, then followed that up with a vociferous series of hand gestures and sound effects that explicated the narrative and its effectuation upon his gestalt, conveyed his sympathy for the victims qua his standpoint’s relation to the incumbent mores of his sociocultural position and satisfyingly exercised the fervor bubbling up from his conception of idiomasculine expression per se. He mimed a steering wheel, careening left and right. “They did that, bam, boom, screeeeeech! Pow! Splat yo, like that, wow, shiiiiip, that was… like, yu know! Whooooah, aww, yo, all ovuh, man. It was messt up, like mad messt up.” He passed to Teddy his truck key and the clipboard with his mileage form. “I got out to help the folks, they wasn’t bad hurt, just shook up, you know, I was like ‘no disrespec’t, man but that was like crazy’, and then the cops showed up.” He undid his belt as though to take his pants off mid-story, then realized he was still wearing his workboots. He held his pants up with his hands as he headed into the locker room, and Teddy followed.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

Books

Wojo’s a big-ass bricklayer with meat to spare, and he’s got a girl on the side… but he’s a Christian man, and he doesn’t mess around with women before marriage. That doesn’t stop him from getting a nut off with the fellers instead! Wojo’s an active top who just needs a passive hole — luckily, there’s plenty of willing passives around!

Can Wojo find what he needs?

Read it now!

They did that, bam, boom, screeeeeech! Pow! Splat yo, like that, wow, shiiiiip, that was… like, yu know! Whooooah, aww, yo, all ovuh, man.

“Damn it, that traffic pisst me off, yu know,” Wojo said, plopping his site slip onto Teddy’s desk. He let out a hollow chuckle as he unbuttoned and shrugged off his workshirt. “Fuggett’boutit, yu know.” He shrugged again, his broad shoulders rising up and going down, cuz the workshirt he wore was too small for his wide musculature. His chest tweaked, pecs bouncing and rippling, loosening the beads of sweat clinging to them, which made them drip down his hair-dappled belly. “Man, Teddy, I saw this accident happen, man, it was messt up, swear to God, the car was going this way, and this other car was going that way — maaaan, shiii….” He avoided cursing because he was Christian. He kissed his crucifix, then followed that up with a vociferous series of hand gestures and sound effects that explicated the narrative and its effectuation upon his gestalt, conveyed his sympathy for the victims qua his standpoint’s relation to the incumbent mores of his sociocultural position and satisfyingly exercised the fervor bubbling up from his conception of idiomasculine expression per se. He mimed a steering wheel, careening left and right. “They did that, bam, boom, screeeeeech! Pow! Splat yo, like that, wow, shiiiiip, that was… like, yu know! Whooooah, aww, yo, all ovuh, man. It was messt up, like mad messt up.” He passed to Teddy his truck key and the clipboard with his mileage form. “I got out to help the folks, they wasn’t bad hurt, just shook up, you know, I was like ‘no disrespec’t, man but that was like crazy’, and then the cops showed up.” He undid his belt as though to take his pants off mid-story, then realized he was still wearing his workboots. He held his pants up with his hands as he headed into the locker room, and Teddy followed.

Read it now!

Wojo the Bricklayer

Wojo’s a big-ass bricklayer with meat to spare, and he’s got a girl on the side… but he’s a Christian man, and he doesn’t mess around with women before marriage. That doesn’t stop him from getting a nut off with the fellers instead! Wojo’s an active top who just needs a passive hole — luckily, there’s plenty of willing passives around!

Can Wojo find what he needs?

Read it now!

Pitnutting

Pitnutting was a common practice among some prison gangs. Buck done work out his inhibitions over that long time back. So this afternoon, when he and his work-crew was just about done, they got to chatting about females. Buck ain’t get lotta man-talk about ladies these days, since he be bunking up with Jeb the preacher’s boy.
So when he and Gooey got to daydreaming out loud, they both was hard in seconds. Gooey was Gui Tengku, Buck’s partner on the Valve Crew. The rest of the Crew was scattered around monitoring, repairing and cursing at the valves that kept the rig working.
Gooey was Malay, and he ain’t a big man. He was skinny by Buck’s standards but ripped, muscles so tight and taut they looked painful, and the trackmarks on his arms was big like pimples. He got a hardon and stuck it in Buck’s shirtless armpit with a big grin — he ain’t even know Buck was down. He just smiled with bloodshot eyes dull-glassed, as his cock humped its way in and out of Buck’s armpit hair. “Whatchoo doin’, Gooey?” Buck asked with a jagged-dagger laugh, watching Gooey’s pecker poke out his armpit. Eventually, in halting English, they negotiated, even as Gooey’s dick still rubbed precum into Buck’s armpit hair.
The agreement was that Gooey would hand over a dub of weed and that Buck would let him keep pitnutting until they contract was over. Neither communicated this well — Gooey thought Buck done promise to smoke the weed with him, while Buck thought it was a one-time transaction.
So they was gonna be steady disputating the details, but for now, both thought they was on the same page.
Then the rest of the Valve Crew showed up, and they all got to nutting on Buck’s back just like Gooey was doing when they walked in. There was Agebisu, the portly Ivorian with a French accent, a trio of hairy and truculent Turks, a older Uzbek with gray hair and a wrinkled face, and a gaggle of Canadians from the far North. Each one of ’em stuck they dicks in Buck’s armpit and shot they wad on Buck’s back.
He ain’t mind one bit. There ain’t no benefit to being squeamish, after all, and if’n Buck could negotiate some exchanges with all them, he got plenty outta it.
It’s just an armpit, he told himself. Lotta them fellers was stinky, but so was Buck. Gooey got a skinny dick, shooting a thin wad out Buck’s armpit. He was followed up by the stubbiest-dicked Turk. Buck know for a fact that Muslims always try and stick it in, so he was ready for it when that Turk rammed his cummy dick onto Buck’s mouth. Buck ain’t open up, and he punch that Turk mid-orgasm in the buttcheek — he gotta reach around his portly ass to get him good.
From Jeb the Farmboy

The slurpy side

Buck ain’t axe what a gloryhole was, not even when he overheard a Portuguese feller exclaim how good the gloryhole on the rig was. Finally, Lem showed it to him one night, and he said there was a bootyful A-rab gal on t’other side of the hole drilled ‘tween two unused rooms. “She love dick, whiteboy,” Lem said. “That’s why she sign up fo’ it. Pay’s prolly good, reckon. But she love swallowin’ nuts. She wish she got jizz on tap.”
“Really? I ain’t think no guhls like cum,” Buck said. “H’ain’t it gross?” He eyed Lem suspicious-like. Lem got a crooked-serious face, like he was maybe funning. But t’other fellers on the rig all agreed it was a fine A-rab lady on her knees, not no fleshlight.
And it was the A-rabs on the rig who ran the gloryhole. A-rabs was way more likely to do it to a fleshlight ‘an a Muslim lady, Buck thought. So’n it must be a fleshlight. But t’other hand, they wouldn’t claim it was a A-rab lady if’n it wasn’t true, since that’d be shameful upon them Muslim cultures. So’n they’d only say it was a woman if’n it was.
In the end, that was what he settled on. He wouldn’t bet money it was a woman, but he guessed it was. Besides’n, he could talk to a woman as though she was real, and t’wouldn’t hurt nuttin’ if’n turned out to be a fleshlight. He invited her to come see him in his and Lem’s li’l home on the rig, but she ain’t ne’er come.
The weird thing was that Buck ne’er did see nobody come in or outta the gloryhole room — that’s the room on t’other side, where’n the purportory lady was on her knees. Lotta fellers came in and outta the hole side, but not the side with the lady. Even if’n it was a fleshlight, somebody gotsta go in and out.
Buck poked his head into the slurpy side once, during the day, and there wasn’t nuttin’ ‘t all in it ‘cept the ghosts of cigarettes. No fleshlight, no knee pads, no hijabis, no ashtray, no bucketful of nutjuice. Smelled of unfiltered cigarettes though. Later on, Buck’s buddy Lem started going in and outta the hole room. Lem said that he was allowed cuz the lady in there love black dick so much — Lem was black as charcoal, and he got a dick that was somehow even darker ‘an him.

From Buck the Trailer Trash

Heat on rig

Most nights, Buck and Lem showered with each other. This was the winter contract, which was understaffed — more than half of the roughnecks here a couple days ago had left during their leave. Buck didn’t realize how many fewer workers there would be. That was because, Lem explained, the rig was less efficient in the winter, and Mr. Chow actually lost money pumping oil until it warmed up. He kept it going regardless because otherwise the rig would fall apart and be inoperable in the spring, but it continued with a skeleton crew mainly tasked with maintenance. The drill did run, and oil was pumped, but only the minimum needed every day to ensure smooth operation.
Otherwise it was a lot of cleaning, inventory, weatherproofing, organizing, etc. It was intensely boring and not much work. The chill was intense in the unheated corridors now that it was winter. Buck got a thrill out of walking to the shower every night, which he still did in his briefs and sandals (though he now wore his sandals with two pairs of socks). He thought it was hilarious how steamy his chest was, and it set his heart racing. Most night it was literally cold enough to take his breath away, and he could barely breathe the whole way to and from the shower.
Lem did not do that. He was leaner and lankier than Buck, and like the other roughnecks, Lem wore several layers of clothes in the corridors. So Buck got naked in the showers in seconds, while Lem lazily undressed and smoked a cigarette (which he did only to annoy Buck, because Buck kept hassling him about hurrying up).

From Buck the Roughneck

Shovelwork

He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting.

“You feelin’ okay about ya work, Igo?” Lem asked once they got into it. He had a bottle of wine in hand — he kept wine in a cold box outside their heated area and saved it for special occasions. He drank from it, then pushed it upon Igo. “I seen you keepin’ up with them in the shovel room.”
“It is hard work! My shoulders are very tired,” Igo said. He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting, Igo thought — as Lem’s foot ventured to it and Lem picked it up with his toes. He tried gripping the skin on the top of it, but he couldn’t get it up more than a few inches before it slipped out.
“Yeah, man, shovelwork is fuckin’ awful,” Lem said. His eyes were trained on his toes trying to pick up Buck’s shaft. “I did that on my first contract. You nevuh done shovelwork, Buck?”
Buck shook his head. “When I gots here-” He paused as Lem almost got his dick up with his toes, then it slipped out of his foot-grasp again. “Mistuh Chow said he ain’t want me doin’ shovel stuff on account of my ass bein’ tall and big and shit, and he say he need tall guys in the access chamber, and plus I prolly get hit in the head wit’ them shovels.”
“Oh yeah, yeah, they hit me couple times, hurts like hell,” Lem said. He was focused on picking up Buck’s dick with his toes, which distracted him from what he was saying. “And you… taller ‘an me… Buckums.”
Igo couldn’t tear his eyes away from that. Buck’s dong jiggled like jello as Lem slowly perfected curling his toes around the skin atop it. He finally got it up, slowly, gripping the skin tightly. Buck and Igo both sucked in their breath, Buck exuberantly but Igo with shock and disgust.
Lem finally had it up as high as he could, and then he made to sort of bump it in the air — making Igo shy away — and move his foot to the underside of it, so it landed like a flabby sausage on the top of his off-brown foot.
All three cheered, as all three realized they had gotten distracted from the game. Buck and Lem held cards in their hands, and more were spread out on the blanket in front of them.
Lem didn’t keep Buck’s dong on his foot. The whole reason he had started doing that was to see if he could get his foot close to Buck’s balls, so he could yell “balltap!” and kick him in the cojones. He did so and got Buck harder than he meant to. Buck yowled in pain and laughed, leaning back and gripping his balls to protect them from his foot.
“Owwwww, fuck, Lem, fuck-!” He kicked in the direction of Lem but didn’t really aim it. In this tiny space, it was hard to miss, but it was only a glancing blow to the meat of Lem’s hip, as he twisted away. “Makin’ my… balls achin’! Aw, fuck!”
Buck jumped up, and his dick flopped near Igo’s face. He backed off quietly. Buck paced in the tiny space — he could only take a few steps back and forth — as he held his sore balls. “Ow, shit! Lem, I nevuh hit ya balls that hard!”
Lem laughed. “I ain’t mean it, I ain’t mean to hit ’em that hard-” He held his hands up then went back to protecting his own balls. “Don’t — I ain’t mean to-“
“Fuck!” Buck roared and stamped his feet.
“I ain’t mean to kick that hard, sorry, sorry,” Lem said. He was still laughing too hard to sound genuine. “I ain’t mean to.” Then he did a horsey version of Buck’s Appalachian drawl. “Leeeeehm-uh, you’s mayahkin’ muh bawwwhhhls buh ayahkin! Ayahkin!”
“I don’t say it like that-! Fuck you, Lem!”
“Mah baaaaaaawwwhls iz ayahkin like baaaayahkin-“
Buck was laughing too now, as the pain in his balls eased. He had to admit that was funny — he had a comedic soft spot for guys getting hit in the balls. He still held them in his hand, his dong still dangling free. He bent over a little, realizing only too late that that put his hairy ass near Igo’s face. “Oh, my bad, Igo-“
“Shove somethin’ in there, Igo!” Lem said with a howl. “Just grab whatevuh you got ovuh there. He always used ta put his ass in my face till I jammed a handheld radio in his booty.” He made a little psst sound. “Went right up there. Nevuh came out.”

From Buck the Roughneck

Kareem

Kareem blushed and tried to cover himself again with both hands, but he was shivering so bad it hurt, and his teeth chattered so hard he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stand still. Lem batted his hands away. Buck burst into uproarious laughter when he saw.

“Yo, nigga, what the fuck?!” Lem said. He turned to Buck. “Yo, Buck, you see that?”
“Nah, ya bony asshole was in my way,” Buck said. “What happened?”
Lem darted to where Kareem shivered and stood, his hands at his sides as he was doubled over and gasping, shivering violently. His light brown body gleamed with ice-cold shower water. He faced the wall, so all Lem and Buck could see was his smooth buttcheeks. He didn’t see Lem come up behind him and twirl him around so his back was to the wall. “Yo, nigga, Kareem, what’s up wit’cha dick?”
Kareem blushed and tried to cover himself again with both hands, but he was shivering so bad it hurt, and his teeth chattered so hard he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stand still. Lem batted his hands away. Buck burst into uproarious laughter when he saw.
There was no penis.
Or maybe there was? Buck didn’t see it at all at first, then stepped closer.
Yep, it was a micropenis. It was a a fleck of flesh. “Yo, buddy, you — you just cold, right?” Buck furrowed his brow. “He prolly just cold, Lem.”
“It’s fine, it’s…” Kareem took a deep breath. He couldn’t get warm, and he felt like he was getting colder even though he was out of the water. The whole showering area was freezing quickly because of all the cold water. Lem and Buck weren’t worried because it would be like a sauna when the hot water turned on imminently.
“That ain’t normal shrinkage,” Lem said. He went to the shower and jutted his crotch into the water. He had a serious look on his face until he touched the water, then he laughed and howled. Even knowing the cold water was coming, he still was shocked by the iciness of it, and he danced in place. He showed his dong off to Buck. “See? It only shrink a little.” He pointed to Kareem. “He got little-boy dick. How old is you?”
“I’m eighteen!” Kareem said. “It’s normal! My doctor says it’s fine.” His cheeks were bright red.
“That ain’t fine,” Buck said. “You can’t even get that in a pussy, you know. Ya dick is littler than pussy lips.” He got closer to Kareem and slapped his hand out of the way.
Kareem’s weiner was fingernail-length, and his balls were shrunken — that was indeed just shrinkage from the shower water, as Kareem’s balls were normal-sized. He panted and jumped up and down, still freezing from the water evaporating off his skin. The floor felt like ice.
“Hhhhhnnnnn!” Kareem tried to both warm up and cover his crotch, but Buck kept slapping his hand away.
“I think he might be one of them hermaphorodities,” Lem said. He got up real close to Kareem and cupped his balls and dick in one hand. “Like that ain’t a dick, it’s a clit. He got balls in place of a actual pussy.”
“Really?” Buck said.
“No!”
“Is that a thing?” Buck came closer too, and he even got on his knees to inspect Kareem’s dick more closely.
“No!”
“Yeah-huh, I seen a article ’bout it,” Lem said. The showering area was beginning to fill with steam as the water turned warm finally. “Hey, you you got a pussy I can fuck?”
Kareem tried to get away but slipped and landed on the floor on his ass. Before he knew it, he was pinned by Lem’s knees, and Lem’s big black dick was in his face. “Get off me!”

From Buck the Roughneck