The Guido

Avery’s up for another adventure in rough trade, and this time it’s a cocky guido named Joey Rizzoli. He’s got manhood to prove, money to earn and balls to drain…

Can Avery satisfy Joey’s needs?!

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Avery forced himself to exercise. If he didn’t make an effort to move around, he’d burn about fifty calories a day because he could do all his work sitting at a desk. So he occasionally stopped by a Cornerside Gym — he traveled around the country, and Cornerside Gyms were common enough he could usually find one somewhere not too far away from wherever he was.
He was in north New Jersey when he decided to go in for a workout. He had to do it quickly because he hadn’t done any work yet today. But he wanted to do his workout first, so he could finish up before the place filled with overweight divorcées working off their mimosas.
But when he walked in the front door, Avery’s plans changed instantly.
There was a young man there, maybe nineteen years old or so, short and broad-shouldered, wiry-muscled, with a few tattoos dotting his body. He wore a sleeveless shredder — that’s one of those muscle shirts without sleeves or sides, so it was really just a hunk of fabric that covered his chest. He had a fantastic body, short and compact but stunning, six-packed, bulging where it needed to be, smooth and nut-brown.
“Yo, man, whatchoo sayin? I ain’t gotta show no ID, I know that-“
“I’m afraid I’m required to ask for it in this case.”
“Ain’t not a single other motherfucker here that you ask fo’ ID. Nah. That ain’t right.” The young man grunted and his hands formed fists at his side.
“You’ll need to purchase your own membership, sir,” said the clerk, who stammered and blushed.
The guido, Joey, ran his fingers through his dense mane of black hair. He clucked his tongue and feinted like he was going to punch the clerk. “Man, this ain’t ‘bout money.”
“I know you’re not Thomas Molloni,” the clerk said. “Sorry. I don’t care if you share passes. But my boss said we have to put a stop to it. You can buy a year-long membership for only-“
“Man, it ain’t ‘bout the money.” Joey paused. “Ain’t Tommy got some kinda guest passes on his account?”
The clerk shook his head. “Sorry. He had three for the year, but he used them up in January.”
“Man, this is fucked! I been comin’ in here on Tommy’s pass for two years, boy, I swear to God!” Joey had a thick Italian New Yorker stawk. Avery wasn’t sure if that was genuine or an affectation, but it sounded real to him. Joey must have made a face or a gesture that got the clerk scared, something Avery couldn’t see from where he stood. The clerk took a step back and put his hands up. Joey scoffed. “I ain’t gonna hitcha, boy. Man, just… Fuck you. Alright, go fuck yaself.” He spat, turned and licked his lips. He saw Avery and nodded as though they knew each other.
Joey sauntered outside. His hands were clenched in fists, and since his shredder didn’t cover most of his chest, Avery could see that his muscles were tense all over. He walked like he didn’t care though.
“Hey, man, I can help you out,” Avery said. He followed Joey outside. Joey was distracted by his anger, so he didn’t realize Avery was talking to him. “I’ll buy you a membership for a whole year.”
“What?” He paused and thought. “Wait, what? Huh?”
“Will you ramrod me? I’ll buy you a membership for a whole year if you cornhole me,” Avery said.
There was a long pause. Then Joey guffawed. He clasped his belly and bellowed, “Yo, what?!”
“I’ll jerk you off better than any girl, and you can demolish my ass,” Avery said. “Come on… A whole year of gym membership.”
“Yo, man…” He made a face like he was going to say no, like he was going to shout ‘of course not’. He grabbed his dick through his workout shorts. “Yo… Yo, man… Hey… Uh…” He sighed. “Yo, I ain’t poor or nothin’. Don’t get that impression. I ain’t, y’know, I ain’t not buy that membership myself cuz I can’t afford it. Ain’t ‘bout that, man, I swear to God. I’ll light a twenty-dollar Avery on fire now just to prove it-” he took his wallet out then put it back. “I ain’t got no cash, man, but I would, I swear to God-“
“Okay, I believe you. Even when you can afford something, it’s always better to get it for free, right? Plus you get to ram me silly,” Avery said.
“Yeah, but I mean… I got a rep to protec’,” he said. He shrugged his shoulders. “Lotta… I mean, a lotta guys do that, right? Like… fo’ real? That’s true, right? People say that. Like… old guys. Old motherfuckers, y’know, when I was comin’ up… I ain’t nevuh think I get no freak swinging on my nuts. Man, they say that’s how it used to be…” He took a step back towards the door. Then he paused. “Yo, this gonna mean you my puttana. In the old country, a man who get rammed is a lesser man, a bitch, a puttana. That’s old-school, man, but that’s how I roll. You feel me?”
“That’s fine. I’ll be your bitch,” Avery said. He followed Joey inside, and they went to the fearful clerk. Avery paid for a year-long membership, while Joey mean-mugged the clerk. Joey jutted his chin out, flexed his pecs in the clerk’s direction and snarled arrogantly when Avery paid the Avery.
Then they went to the back, into the sauna. As soon as he got in there, Joey took a deep breath like he was nervous. He didn’t say anything though. He just bit his lip and flipped his shirt off.
“Yo, I got a sick body, don’t I?” He licked his lips. “Yeah, girls love me. I don’t even need the gym, man, I swear. The world is my gym, y’know.” He paused. “Like black guys in prison, y’know, you can get hard just in ya bedroom or whatever. You don’t need a gym.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery murmured as he sunk to his knees and pulled Joey’s shorts down. Joey gasped, but covered it up with a cocky chuckle. He leaned back like he was trying to escape.
After a pause, Joey blurted out, “not that I can’t afford it, man. That ain’t why I work out, y’know, wherever. I just…” He gasped a little as his cock popped out. “Damn, boy, you eager.” Then, like he needed to remind himself that he was supposed to be arrogant, he added, “‘Course you is. You wanna taste my meat. Y’ain’t no kinda vegetarian, I bet, no way.” He chuckled to himself.
Despite his cocky words, Avery thought Joey was perhaps the most nervous guy he had ever jerked off. Avery was glad to see that Joey had a big horse-cock — he had been worried that Joey was overcompensating for a small piece of meat, but that wasn’t the case. It was long and thick and veiny, and it twitched as soon as Avery popped the tip in his mouth.
“Yo, man, yeah… I, uh… swallow that shit, bitch,” Joey said. His voice was tremulous, like he had read somewhere that guys should trashtalk when they get dome from a man, but he didn’t really know how to do it. “You some kinda girlyboy, huh? I bet… Pansy, uh… You’s a pansy-ass.”
His dick stiffened up in Avery’s mouth. Joey tasted strong and firm, his cock warm and sending flavors of musk, salt and expensive soap through Avery’s senses. He could tell that Joey used some kind of fruity lotion, either as lube when he jacked off or just as lotion and then he jacked off; either way his cock tasted like it.
“I bet you like this, huh? You into it, girlyboy? Huh? This the best dick you evuh ate? I bet so,” he said with a throaty chuckle.
Avery took his dick out and thwacked it over his face. He shrugged. “Could be better. You can ram my face, y’know. Just grab my head and go for it.”
Joey’s eyes bugged out. “I, uh… I know, man.” He screwed up his eyes as though it was obvious. “Yeah. I assumed that was gonna happen. I was just lettin’ you get started. I’m hardcore, man, swear to God, you don’t even know.” He gingerly grabbed Avery’s scalp and held on tight to his hair. He gulped. “I ram, man, that’s what I do.” He danced a little on his feet. “I don’t let up neither. I tell girls, don’t mess wit’ me if you don’t want yo’ mind blown. It’s gonna be difficult, but it’s worth it, ya know? E’rything good is difficult, swear to God. Ya gotta work at it, baby. So yeah, I’m-a ram ya throat. You my puttana, that’s just right. It’d be wrong fo’ me to be gentle on ya throat, bitch. God don’t want that. God want puttanas treated like puttanas.” He gulped again and pivoted his hips.
His dick slid down Avery’s throat once more. Avery opened up as wide as he could to swallow it, and when he couldn’t take any more, he gagged. He loved that meaty feeling crowding up his throat, making his eyes water as he accepted it all.
“Oh, wait, I seen my uncle do this,” Joey said, his voice finally betraying his excitement. Then he made a serious face. “No gaggin’, baby, show me that you love me.” He lightly slapped Avery’s face and rammed his dick down again. When Avery gagged, Joey said, “No gaggin’, baby, show me that you love me.” He did it again, and again, his words not exactly mean but firm and strict, like he was talking to a disobedient prostitute.
Avery loved it. He made no effort to stop gagging. He loved being facefucked, and he loved Joey talking to him like a slutty girl. Joey’s balls slapped against Avery’s chin as he savored the salty taste of precum that flowed down his throat.
“No gaggin’, baby, show me that you love me.”
Finally Joey managed to get his dick all the way in, balls dangling against Avery’s chin. Joey pumped his biceps and cheered. He grunted loudly like a caveman, then realized he might be heard outside the sauna so he stopped.
“Yo, yeah, you my puttana now, hell yeah! Ram! Turnin’ yo’ throat into my pussy, bitch!” Joey said. “Got my balls on yo’ chin. You got chinballs, that’s what you got. I see that, bitch. Yo’ daddy must be ‘shamed of yo’ chinballs, ain’t he? Should be.” He sniffled.
He pulled off and let Avery gasp for air. Thick tendrils of spit connected Avery’s lips to Joey’s cock. Joey’s face was a little reddish, both from sexual arousal and embarrassment, not to mention a physiological reaction to the warm, humid air of the sauna.
“You worshipin’ my shit, right? Yo, you ever seen a man wit’ a body like this, huh?” He gestured to his six-pack. “Fuckin’ bomb, right?!”
“Yeah-“
“Yo, man, I try to strip and the woman — who was a total fuckin’ bitch, lemme tell you. But she say nah, she won’t hire me, she say no way on ‘ccount of I’m too short.” He looked like that was the biggest injustice he had ever heard of. His eyes popped out, jaw jutting forward. “Fuck that, man! Fuckin’ hell!”
“You have a great body-“
“I know, man, I know it! Whatevuh, fuck her, I don’t even care.” He paused. “It weren’t about the money, neither. Strippers make good money, but I got money, no problem. That ain’t it. I just wanted to give girls access, ya know. They deserve it. They need it. Ya dig?” He paused. “I ain’t poor, swear to God.”
“Uh-huh,” Avery said as he rubbed Joey’s precum leaking cock over his face. Then he slowly licked a trail up Joey’s body, licking his chest and savoring the salty sweat that collected there. Joey was visibly uncomfortable with that — it looked like he was ticklish and trying to suppress his giggling — but he didn’t want to stop Avery; he puffed up his chest to make his muscles bigger. Avery smiled. “You know if you were a male stripper, you’d get hired by a lot of men. It’d be a lot of dudes feeling you up, appreciating your physique.”
He narrowed his eyes to slits. “I wouldn’t be that kind of stripper. Unless they pay good.” He paused. “I mean, no… No way, not for no amount of money. I got money, man. My papa got money, yo. He work for the Mafia. You ain’t hear that from me.”
“Sure, yeah.” Avery sucked the sweat off his biceps. “You have amazing arms. I’ve never seen anyone with biceps like yours. So big… You must be so strong.”
“That’s right, puttana, I swear to God. People don’t even know. I’m short, I know that, people’s always, y’know, talkin’ smack ‘bout me bein’ short. But y’know, I got meat, I got muscle, and I work out like none other, swear to God. I be in this gym e’ry day, man, you don’t even know,” he said. He flexed his biceps. “I’m gonna be a stuntman, yo, I swear to God.”
Avery dropped back to his knees and licked Joey’s cock until it was fully hard again, while he rubbed lube into his asshole. Joey didn’t seem to notice, he had his arms folded over his chest as he daydreamed about being a stuntman.
“My papa don’t even know, man, he always talkin’ ‘bout how I gotta go work at McDonald’s or somethin’,” Joey said with a groan. Then he startled and stood up. “I mean… as a front, ‘course. He want me to have a visible source of income, ya know? For the IRS or whatever.” He paused. “I don’t live wit’ my parents. I mean… Wait, yeah, I live wit’ my parents, but only so I can protect ‘em, y’know. There’s all kinda families who wanna hit ‘em, who wanna hit me and might stoop so low as to hit my mama to get at me.” He peered down at Avery to see if Avery was buying this. Avery didn’t care, he focused on slathering spit up and down Joey’s cockshaft. Avery didn’t believe Joey at all about any of this, but he saw no reason to let on. Joey sniffled like he was satisfied. “That’s, y’know, that’s part of bein’ hardcore. You gotta put up wit’ risk, ya dig? Always someone tryin’ to come at me.”
“You ready to ram me?” Avery asked. He kissed Joey’s dicktip, then turned around and guided it towards his ass.
“Hell yeah.” Joey’s voice again betrayed his lack of confidence. Avery wondered if he had ever even rammed a girl in the ass; he suspected not, but Joey, of course, would never admit that. Joey jerked in his breath as his dick pushed into Avery’s ass. Joey closed his eyes and gasped. He leaned against the wall of the sauna.
“Gonna wreck, uh… Gonna wreck ya butthole, man,” Joey said. He sounded like he was near tears, which made Avery suppress a giggle as Joey continued to haltingly, tensely talk shit. “Damn, boy, shit… You, uh… Gonna turn yo’ asshole into my, uh… Uh… pussy. Or, uh… Yeah.”
His hands jumped around in the air above Avery’s back, like he didn’t want to touch a man’s flesh any more than absolutely necessary. He pumped his biceps, showing off his muscles in the mirror on the sauna wall — no one was here to watch except for Avery, who faced the wrong way, so the only person who could see Joey’s muscles was himself.
“Oh!” Joey gasped like he had just remembered something. “You gotta play along, man. I’m callin’ my boy.” He bent over to pick his phone out of his pants pocket. Then he dialed a number. His voice was suddenly deep and gruff, betraying no hint about what he was doing. His dick rubbed against Avery’s prostate, forcing Avery to muffle the sound of his tortuous moan of pre-orgasmic bliss. Joey sneered at him. “Yo. Yeah. I just wanted to let you know I’m doin’ that thing we was talkin’ ‘bout, that you said we should all do but nevuh admit-” He laughed cockily. “Nah, not that. Nah. Nah.” He rolled his eyes. Then he whispered, “ain’t a fat chick, man. I don’t ram wit’ fat bitches, quit sayin’ that, and she weren’t that fat. It ain’t no kinda girl. Remember? You said you’d do it and I was like no way. Well, y’know, my balls got swole and-” He laughed. “Yeah, man, yeah, I’m demolishin’ this boy. He owe me money, y’know.”
Avery grunted as he slid all the way back, finally getting every inch of Joey’s dick in his ass. It was thick and hard, throbbing, and it sent waves of intense pressure through Avery’s body. He felt pleasure too, but it was more distant for now, growing with each thrust of Avery’s body back and forth on Joey’s manhood.
“Nah, this is some bitch who owe me money. He ain’t got it on ‘ccount of him being a deadbeat. So I shove my interest rate right up his stupid bitch-ass, to remind him he gotta pay me. Ain’t that right, puttana?”
“Yes! I’m a deadbeat and I’m your bitch!” Avery groaned. He didn’t make an effort to sound like he was really a deadbeat, but the tension in his voice was enough to further the illusion for the friend on the other end of the line.
Joey scoffed at whatever his friend said. “Yeah, man, I don’t gotta tell you e’rything. Ain’t loan-sharkin’, not exactly. I just got some business interests, y’know. I loan out a little money here and there. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ it, I just gotta get a little creative to get paid. I swear, man, whatchoo sayin’? Huh? I don’t tell you ‘bout all the Mafia-shit I do. Ain’t s’posed to, man, it’s secret. Go ram yaself, Tommy. You don’t know e’rything I do. I swear to God, I just make loans — I got money, Tommy, you know that — fuck you! Fuck you! I don’t ‘live in my parents’ basement’, man, it ain’t like that! I’m security! I keeps ‘em safe!” He paused, screamed into the phone and punched the wall behind himself. “Ram you!” He hung up the phone.
Then, before Avery could say anything, Joey grabbed his hips and rammed his cock all the way in. He growled and grabbed Joey by the hair. He held on tight as he rode him hard.
Pain exploded in Avery’s ass. He moaned, biting his lip to avoid making too much noise. Though the pain was intensified by Joey’s angry plowing, the pleasure was magnified as well. Avery grunted and squirmed beneath Joey’s body.
“Man, ram that asshole, I swear to God. I could kick his ass. I should, man, I swear to God, I will. Next time I see him, I gonna demolish him. He don’t know, man, he don’t know jack-shit ‘bout me, swear to God,” he said. “He knows I’m in the Mafia. He knows that. He just denies it to piss me off.” He was so focused on expressing his anger against his friend that he barely noticed when Avery motioned for him to lower his body.
So Joey just did it. He had started off not wanting to touch Avery any more than necessary, but now he slammed his heavy, muscle-dense body on Avery’s back. He grunted into Avery’s ear as he rammed hard, ramming his dick in and out. He was oblivious to everything except his harsh words muttered into Avery’s ear.
“He’s a pussy anyway, man, he didn’t lose his virginity until senior year, swear to God, that is some weak sauce. He always cryin’ bout how he loves some girl or another, man, that ain’t hardcore,” Joey said. “So he don’t even know. He don’t even know, man, swear to God.” He paused and grabbed Avery by the hair, lifting his head up so he could see his face. “You know, man, right? I go hard, huh? You evuh been rammed this hard?”
“No, never. It’s too much!” Avery said, laughing even as he climaxed. His torso twisting, lungs heaving for air, covered up the sound of his laughter, so Joey interpreted it as genuine agreement with his boasts.
“See! Ha! I bet he never got no one sayin’ that,” Joey said with a groan. “He make love, ya know, he don’t cornhole punks. He ain’t hardcore like me, swear to God.”
Avery’s orgasm continued. He gasped, covered in sweat. Joey would have cum already — Avery could sense it in his throbbing cock and his balls rising up in their sac — but he was still angry and more focused on that than his own pleasure, so he just kept pounding numbly while Avery shot his own wad onto the sauna floor.
It was the smell of Avery’s cum that sparked Joey to realize what he was doing. Joey took a deep breath. He licked his lips and grunted. He opened his mouth to speak, but all of the pleasure and climactic bliss that had been building up in him while he was distracted erupted at once. Joey moaned.
When he moaned, his open mouth landed on Avery’s cheek. It was close enough to a kiss for Avery, who melted into Joey’s powerful arms. Hot cum sprayed into Avery’s tight ass, while Avery lazily licked Joey’s neck and muscular shoulders.
Joey shot a huge load, thick and creamy, hot, seeping into Avery’s flesh. Avery shuddered as he felt it flow within him. Joey’s cock throbbed and spasmed inside Avery’s ass, making Avery squirm beneath Joey’s massive muscles.
“Hell yeah…” Joey said with a grunt, cum flowing like a river into Avery’s body. Then he jerked up his spit and licked his lips. ” Yeah. Fuckin’ yeah. I fuck girls in the ass all the time. I tells ‘em, y’know, when we first hook up, you best give up the booty. I don’t mess wit’ weak-sauce girls who don’t do anal, y’know, I ain’t no pussy, swear to God. I mean, I fuck pussy, I ain’t too good fo’ some pussy. But sometimes a real man need ass, ya dig?” Even as he was still cumming the last few drops of semen, he was already boasting and talking again. Now his deep, throaty voice was right next to Avery’s ears, making Avery moan, his own orgasm continuing as long as Joey’s dick teased his prostate.
But finally that came to an end as well. Joey backed up and sighed, visibly relieved like he had thought he might not be able to do that. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Alright. Good. Fuck you, pansy,” he said. He chuckled to himself. “Yo, I’m a real paesano, ya know.” He grabbed Avery’s pants, pulled his wallet out and took the twenty-dollar Avery out of it. “I’m chargin’ you an extra twenty bucks cuz I rammed you so good. I ain’t mean to ram you that good.” He sniffled. “Not that I need the money. Ain’t ‘bout that.”
Avery couldn’t respond because his body flooded with endorphins now that his ass was empty. He laid limply on the floor. He didn’t mind losing the extra twenty dollars anyway. He smiled.
Joey tucked his cock away. He flexed his biceps at himself in the mirror. “Yeah. Good, that was cool. Fuck yeah. If anyone ever ask, boy, I swear to God, you had best say you owed me money. You.” He looked at Avery. “Well, whatever. Nobody gonna ask. If we run into each other at the gym again, you pretend you don’t know me.” He paused. “Unless I’m alone. You can, y’know, make another offer if you want. I don’t need the money. But, y’know, maybe I do it, just to pass the time or whatever.” He frowned. He walked to the door, then paused before he walked out. “But you gotta offer me money, man. I won’t do it for the money, but I won’t do it wit’out it either.”
“Okay, yeah, no problem,” Avery said.
“Good.” He paused again. “I mean… Even if I’m wit’ someone, you can offer. Make me an offer. I’ll prolly say fuck no. But hang around and I’ll find you after. Ain’t ‘bout the money. You can suck my swagger, bitch.”
“I know, okay. I can’t wait.”
“I know. You ain’t gotta tell me, bitch,” he said as he slammed the door shut.

Thumper Meets the Ultimate Evil: Chapter 2

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 recognized the humpty-dumpty nigga who came into Lipsweet late on Thursday night. It was only a half-hour till close. The sky done gone dark like it might rain, but it never did. The stars hid like shy cockroaches.
“Yo, Thumper? That you?! Aw, hell!” said that nod-happy nigga who approached the door. His name was Rashid Jenkins. He was cold-shouldering the couple niggas he lined up with, and he gave Thumper a pip and a dap when they gazes met.
“Oh, shit nigga!” Thumper’s eyes opened wide, as him and Rashid hugged it out. Thumper stacked lips at them other niggas waiting in line. Back inside, couple years ago, him and Rashid was in the same cell for awhile. Rashid was a top-heavy nigga, squishy and dense like overstuffed pillows. Thumper ain’t see him in years, and he recollected hard with his arms around Rashid. His fingers gripped that nigga’s thickness. “Goddamn, I ain’t know you was still kickin’ around Bangor. What’choo bin up to, Rashid?”
Rashid scoffed and sucked on his teeth. “J’st keepin’ it real, holdin’ it down, Thumper. You know how a nigga do.” He sucked on his teeth again. “That’s all. You ain’t go back to Baltimore?”
Thumper shook his head. “Parole officer won’t lemme leave the state.”
A harsh air spilled between Rashid and his niggas, plus the dozen or so lippy whiteboys and one Asian impatient-waiting in line behind Rashid. They all finna see some dancers in the club, and they dim-eyed Rashid and Thumper chopping it up. They mumbled on the underhush that Rashid shouldn’t be slowing the line down and that Thumper was a doddery old nigga who dresses like a fossil. Thumper woulda told them to spit and sit, and he’da flurried up a couplea fisty cuffs if they ain’t show the proper respect with a quickness. If Thumper was in prison still and some young cats fussed at him to hurry, he’d correct them kittens sans mercy. Sans mercy as hell.
But the owner Mr. Gregarian was in the club tonight. He was at the bar drinking something tasteful and tasteless. He want Thumper to behave, and Thumper gotta do what he say. So Thumper gave Rashid a hug and a shrug and said he’d talk to him later. Rashid got entranced by a tangerine-cream bitch with tits like sharks. He floated after her like a tasty surfer, and Thumper proceeded to check the idees of them dour niggas, whiteboys and that one sunnyskin in line.
When the tide of hungry horndogs dwindled well into the early morn, Thumper took a break and let Davon watch the door, while he rushed off to piss. He went up to the floor his apartment was on though, rather than use the club’s bathroom. He was self-conscious of how long it took to get a flow going. The prison doctor said he got that old-nigga bladder. His “bladder neck” be bugging. He don’t want Davon to know it took him awhile.
But he ain’t dawdle in the bathroom. He wanna get back down there so Davon don’t fuss. Thumper ain’t trust hisself to react like a outside nigga if that young-body pretty-face jive-white smile-hard nigga Davon tried to correct him.
Davon wore a lor band-aid on his cheekbones. Nigga musta got a rainbow of band-aids cuz he steady wore one to match the drawers he displayed under his sagging jeans — Mr. Gregarian was mad on the “trousers” trip and curled his lip at sagging, but Davon could smile through any of Mr. Gregarian’s tut-tuts. So Davon rumped pink drawers tonight and a pink band-aid to match. Thumper ain’t even got the words to call that out.
When his old-nigga bladder done empty, Thumper hustled to the stairwell.
A glossy piece of paper was on the floor on the stairs. It caught Thumper’s eye cuz it couldn’t-a been there when he went up the stairs. He woulda noticed it for sure. He prolly woulda done slip on it.
He picked it up. It was a playbill for a show called “The Invocation”, and the picture on it featured a familiar woman wearing a barn owl mask.
It was that woman, Delsinerr. That woman he dreamed of, with the dress of screams and beaming tresses of horrid hair. He was gonna recognize her forever.

He ain’t know how long he stood there, eyes agogging that playbill. He was roused only when he heard some hubbubery in Lipsweet. He hustled hisself down and stalked into the backa the bar. He hushed up a heap of honkies, and he made sure to do it loud so Davon would hear. That way it looked like he be working, not shirking.


But before Thumper made it back to the front door, a storm of shouting kicked up. Couple clumps of niggas was standing off at each other, and Rashid was involved. Rashid done step to some slimfire kitkat, and both him and he got posses at they back. Both niggas and both they posses was fronting and saying all the shit niggas and they posses do say.
“Fuck this shit, nigguh!”
“You wanna step?”
“Come at me then-“
“Shit, nigga, I will end you-“
“Fuck that, fuck — fuck — fuck this shit, nigga-“
“I’ll go backta prison, I don’t care-“
“Who the bitch now?!”
Classic nigga shit. Ain’t even much point in saying it out loud. Might as well skip straight to holding a gun sideways and firing into a crowd. Thumper was glad he was a nigga with class. If everybody knows your lines, you might as well leave ’em unsaid.
“C’mon at me, nigguh!”
“Step to me then!”
“You best come correct-!”
Thumper put the fight down before it began. He slipped between them chin-to-chin niggas, finna slap the belligerence off they faces. “Simmuh down, you two-“
Before Thumper could finish, Rashid threw a fist at the slimfire kitkat, knocking him down like a disrespectful domino. Gravity hit him hard too, and the kitkat staggered around on the floor doing his best impression of a spreading piss-stain.
“Settle yaselfs, niggas, why you gotta act like that?!” Davon said, smiling handsomely into the club, laughing all along like he was a joke-a-day nigga and ain’t nothing in the world really matter. He ain’t risk his precious mug by getting between Rashid and the kitkat though.
“You can’t be like that,” Thumper said, pulling Rashid away with his shankin’ hands on Rashid’s jelly. Rashid do be like that though, always was. Thumper hugged Rashid close and talked straight into his ear. Rashid stiffed up like he ain’t notice Thumper, but he ain’t fight against him neither. He kept eye contact with that slimfire nigga and his posse until Thumper had him out the backdoor and into the corridor behind the club proper. “Nigga, slow yo’ roll!”
He pulled down Rashid’s pants and drawers in one quick motion. Rashid got a big pair of juicy brown orbs. Thumper recollected slamming into them on the regular while inside — Rashid got self-control troubles, and he put hisself in big-time debt throwing dice, drinking hooch and smoking cigarettes he couldn’t afford. Thumper ain’t mind forgiving that debt in exchange for breaking a nut off.
“Ah, shit, Thump, you into that booty bandit trip, we ain’t inside no mo’. E’rrybody alway knew you was gonna stay a ramrod, old head. That ain’t how a modern nigga act-“
“Shut up, nigga,” Thumper said. His hands ran up Rashid’s back and front, underneath his shirt. Rashid was one them niggas who get chunky in prison — he ain’t got the will to work out on the regular or to stop scarfing down commissary honey buns. He do buy what the candy folk sell him on. Now that he was out though, he be dropping his dollars on calorie-free blunts and nibble-size sluts. Tale as old as time. Even slimmed down, he was still thick as alfredo though, and you know Thumper love a high-carb booty.
Now that they stood in the cool and the still of the corridor, Rashid stayed calm. He was mad on a reluctant front, all lifting hisself up and sucking on his teeth like he was too good to let a old head knock on his backdoor. He weren’t too good for nothing though, and under his gotta-fight shell, Rashid was cool as hot oatmeal. “Shit, Thump, shit…”
“Why you gotta go after that slimfire nigga in there?” Thumper asked with a cluck of his tongue. “Mistuh Gregarian curl lip at niggas who start fights. City council expect him to keep peace.”
He scoffed. “Mistuh Gregarian — that that cracker who own this place? He a damn fool, Thump, he was steppin’ to me couple weeks back. I was ’bout to lay him out like Thanksgiving dinner, somebody gotta do it, shit…”
“You bettuh not, nigga. He keep it real,” Thumper said. “He will dig you a very shallow hole to lay down in, and he won’t think twice about it. Might make me dig it, and I dunno if my back can take that, nigga.” Thumper weren’t sure how much he was exaggerating that honky’s proclivities, but he ain’t want Rashid testing his ire. Mr. Gregarian got a gangster in his mind to live up to, and he seen some violent gangster movies. “Don’t go ruckusin’ in his club.”
“Aw, shit, Thump, shit…” Rashid bristled, as Thumper’s hands spread his buttcheeks. Thumper kissed his meaty shoulders too, over the shirt and then under it when he took Rashid’s shirt off. Rashid stood there with a glumness, pants around his ankles, his jelly browns jiggling beneath Thumper’s firm fingers.
“You ain’t in prison no mo’, you can’t be actin’ like a cast-iron nigga,” Thumper said. “How long you been out?”
“Like six months,” Rashid said. His head hung weary on them shoulders. Rashid stay submitory when he got to. He know how to say ‘yes, nigga’ when the proper kind of nigga was behind him.
“You havin’ trouble cividatin’?”
Rashid shrugged. “Don’t go up my backdoor, Thumper. Be cool,” he said. “C’mon, nigga. You can just stick it ‘tween my thighs. Do that, feels damn good. That’s what-“
Thumper chuckled. “Nah, nah, nigga. I’ll use buncha spit. You know I got good spit. Know that!” He spat on the palm of his hand, then resumed stroking hisself off. One finger on his other hand jammed into Rashid’s asshole. “You done tighten, nigga. I like that.”
“Ain’t nobody do that booty bandit shit on the outside, Thumper,” Rashid said. “You on the ramrod trip, that’s whack, that’s crackerjack-“, then he sucked his breath in as he felt Thumper’s knob touch his asshole. Rashid bent forward and leaned against the wall.
Thumper rammed his cock into that paira roundnesses behind Rashid. His buttcheeks dimpled bright despite the dim light of the back hall. Rashid threw his head back and looked this way and that, his hands fluttering fast behind hisself. Rashid winced and grimaced, but he ain’t struggle. Even when Thumper’s cock slipped outta Rashid’s hole, he ain’t try to get away. He let Thumper jam it right back in.
“Sssh, take yo’ dickload, nigga,” Thumper said. “Don’t play wit’ me.” He pushed it in deeper, and Rashid’s butthole spread open like a wedding invitation. It sucked Thumper’s shaft right back in, like his booty and Thumper’s manhood was best friends.
“Ow, shit, Thump, c’mon, go gentle…” Rashid gulped.
“Relax, I’mma nut real quick, relax, nigga.” Thumper clucked his tongue and plowed hard. His orgasm was coming on swift — something about the smell of Rashid’s backsweat gave him fond memories of prison, and it got his motor going good, like Thumper made a turn and was now driving on a road he recognized. Rashid was a well-trodded road, with little resistance left in his butthole, so Thumper could drive in and out with powerful thrusts. “Aaah, shit, see, already done…”
A fat load of cum sprayed into Rashid’s booty. He hung his head low but took every bit, wincing only when Thumper rammed his meat in deep. A long hot flow of jizz filled Rashid up, while Thumper’s moans echoed in his ear.
“C’mon, Thump…” Rashid muttered. He leaned his face against the wall. He shuddered and shimmied like a shameful snake.
When Thumper was done, he ain’t pull out right away. He let his wang marinate in the warmth of Rashid’s guts. His breath condensed on the backa Rashid’s neck.
Finally, his dick plopped out like a greasy sausage. Thumper swang it between his legs and rubbed the goo off in Rashid’s buttcrack. The last couple drops of cum dripped there between his cheeks. “Hmm, lemme see ya gape, nigga,” Thumper murmured. Rashid’s asshole did gape, whether that was cuz Thumper told him to or if it just happened, Thumper ain’t know. It was a satisfying sight regardless.
When Rashid pulled his jeans up, Thumper was still playing with them buttcheeks. Then he wiped his dick off with paper towels from the janitor’s closet, and they both went back out to the club. Davon was shooing niggas out the door, so Rashid went out to the parking lot too. Thumper helped Teddy shut down the bar and watched Davon get in one the dancer’s cars, then Thumper went up to his apartment on the second floor.
He got a shower and a snack. Thumper microwaved a brick of frozen broccoli and cheese, cuz he was pretending to like broccoli, cuz the world was like that these days, cuz Obama ain’t do nothing! Then he laid his weary head down on his bed. Moonlight shined through the window, and Thumper was glad to bask in the nighttime’s rays without trying to slumber.

The door to his apartment opened with a slow creak, and Thumper rose to stand upon his old feet. He wanna take a shank and shiv whichever nitwit just did strid into his crib unbid.

But no more sound was to be found, and Thumper done dumbfound, dumb as a mute tongue or a brainless hound in a pound of sin.
With thin skin, his breath sucked in and ceaselessly spinned, cuz the air did unfold, as dead and cold as a mortician’s walk-in. That Bitch in White Delsinerr, it must be, cuz of the grim air and his mind behampering, she do be doing that to a nigga. His pot of cheese got the unfriendly gollygees.
“I wholeheartedly offer the sincerest of apologies, Mister White,” she said at her best, looking unlined in a new right-fright dress. She took Thumper’s find, the glossy flier, from his pants pocket. Her dashing socket then faced his dismay like a twist of fate. “This got mislaid, I’m afraid.” Her words clotted and clogged her wave, hobbling wakes and gobbling up meaning.
Thumper nodded, agoggling at that fiend steaming, his noggin beboggling by notions dropped in, misbegotten, stuck in a war he forgot to have foughten in. Layers of bog, his thoughts was tucked in, like befuddled puddles fog goggles — shit! — he was too rotten-hot fried to toggle his hide-or-fight side or even to think and blink when she pried and whitened his wrinkles, too lightened to abide.
She did ride astride his brain a-sprinkling pain, and she tightened her ugly head. “You ain’t frightened of me,” she said.
Thumper again slightened a nod. “I… I… can’t think when you’s around.”
“My words finely decline, making humankind ruint like by fumes, by the tombs of time, by the climb of crime, by a broken rhyme, by plumes of foul weather. Y’all’s cries is all mine.” The gray owl feathers that lined her scowl splayed out like a rainspout, as she peered fears and doubt into him deep as a well. “I hope to see you in hell when you die. Or before, for I like a bride will wait forevermore in store.”
“Why do you talk like that?” he asked like a unironed sheet.
“I don’t speak,” she spoke like a freak. Her mask’s beetley bug scuttled sleek as a sulfury lugnut in the sea of time. “I hammer seeds into yo’ mind. The grammar is your’n that you cling to like a daft raft in a slammer of slime.” The leathery feathers of her mask then did retract, unfit, and drift together into a rift. “I wish to give you a gift, He Who Thumps, a token of hope unsunk.”
Thumper was stumped as oaks. What kinda gift would a goat like this rhyme a nigga like him?
“The gift I chime is time. You had thirty-four years to deplore, but now, with the price of gore, you can go back to before. Be a young nigga again,” she said, her words singing bigger than laws or figures.
A long pause came up like the claws of riffing wiggers rilling open flaws upon prison lawns. Thumper narrowed his paws and stiffened ’em into fists like kisses by his side. “What?”
Looking snide, she unsheathed mist for miles beneath that mask of denial. “Just a fact to flout and file, Mister White. I do offer to undo yo’ last bout in style. You can tout thirty-four vile years of bother and clout. Fear not a rout.” She slipped out like a fatherless shout, leaving Thumper aloner than ever to ramble and pout and fail at draining the heeby-jeebies all the way out.

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