grading – Mansploitation

Thumper parked the Jaguar near the Baltimore County College campus. He ain’t never gone to college as a student or even as a visitor before. The lawn — the quad, though Thumper ain’t never heard it called that — was clipped clean, crawling with college kids playing frisbee and taking phone-photos of theyselfs playing frisbee. A few picnicked on blankets spread out on the grass and took phone-photos of theyselfs picnicking. One foursome used they phone to play something that sounded like a water-brain retard screaming obscenities over a romantic movie soundtrack and then took phone-photos of theyselfs listening to it.
He looked around for Miriam. She done called her dad to ask for a ride home from college. She be getting rides from her friend Katie, but Katie got car trouble and “oobered”. Mr. Gregarian said Miriam gotta wait for Thumper, not do a “oober”. When Thumper asked what a “oober” was, Mr. Gregarian said it was a phone company that sent a Pakistani to give women a ride home and rape them.
So Thumper strode onto campus, hoping he resembled the kinda nigga who went to college. He ain’t know where to go. Miriam weren’t a-loiter-about in the parking lot. Thumper ventured deeper into the campus on the peep for her.
“Keep it up, men!” came a laughing voice.
“Don’t drop the line!”
“Hold those tomatoes, men!”
Thumper saw a line of naked fellahs coming this way. He stopped short and threw his eyebrows way back. The boys in they buff was marching like soldiers, but they got an odd pace about ’em. Most ’em was white but one was a nightcheek nigga you could just tell was like Nigerian or some shit, and a couple was sundry Asian squint-a-lots.
When they got closer, he saw they wasn’t fully naked — they was all wearing jockstraps and nothing else, so even they feets was bare. They sniggled out giggles, and the fully clothed men watching them go counted off they pace. The reason they be moving like defective soldiers was that each one got a tomato a-squeeze between they buttcheeks.
“Keep it up, Danny! You won’t get through pledge week if that’s as fast as you can go!”
“If you make tomato sauce, you’re goin’ straight to the Beta house!”
The ones in charge was laughing harder and harder, as the young’uns sallied through the quad. The other dopes and drips scattered around looked at ’em like naked bugaboos when they bare bottoms got in the backgrounds of they phone-photos. Thumper ain’t never seen nothing like this. Was it a college class? Ain’t none ’em look like teachers.
“Thumper?” Miriam was behind him. She somehow found him without taking her face outta her phone. Maybe she got a nigga-finder on that jawn.
“Oh, there you is,” Thumper said. He stood to spare her seeing them fellahs in they jockstraps, though she musta spied ’em on the way here. “C’mon, you ready to go home?”

That sea of plump behinds was dancing in Thumper’s eyes. Every single one them was likely intact in the booty, he thunk. College whombutts locked up usually was, till Thumper got ahold of ’em.

“Yes. Today was horrible, Wendell! My social justice in American media professor hates me,” Miriam said. She harped on about an unfair grade on an essay, while he led her to the Jag. “I spent hours writing it. He said it lacked verve. What does that even mean?!” She ain’t act like she was expecting an answer, so Thumper ain’t give her one. They left the tomato-butt boys behind. “He’s kinda hot, actually. My professor, I mean. Oh god, don’t tell my dad I said that. He’s old, he’s like thirty. My professor, I mean, not my dad.” She snorted back a laugh.
“What was up with those boys in they drawers?” Thumper asked when he opened the door to the Jag. Miriam slid into the passenger seat this time, not the back.
“Drawers? You mean their jockstraps? Don’t say ‘drawers’, this isn’t like Kentucky or wherever they say that.”
“They say it in Baltimore,” Thumper said with a snapdown. “I’m from here.”
“Those Kappa boys are so gross, I, like, totally got trauma from it. I’m probably gonna dissociate from it. Or anxiety. Maybe I’ll get anxiety. This whole week has been like that,” she said. “I heard the Kappa boys were farting on each other this morning. Boys are disgusting.”
“Uh-huh, sure are.” Thumper sat behind the wheel and started the engine.
“It’s fraternity hazing,” she said. “Frat boys are lame. I’m so over them.” She done pull her hair back, so it ain’t block her face. “I’m not joining a sorority. I was gonna. The Epsilon Tau Gamma sisters are the hottest sorority, but… They’re a bunch of slutty bitches. Whatever, grr. One of them is like so fat, it’s hilarious.” She snorted. They drove past the line of fraternity freshmen, they pale asscheeks jiggling in the bright sunshine. Miriam watched them go past. She sighed. “Popularity is dumb, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter after high school.”
“A free adult can choose whose popularity matters. That’s a freedom ain’t nobody can take from you. The people you choose is yo’ niggas. Or whatevuh the white-girl equivalent of a nigga is.”
She laughed. Thumper ain’t never heard her laugh like she meant it.
There was a long pause. “I don’t want to know what you got arrested for. I was thinking, before, about how to ask you and whether it would be rude. But I decided I’m not asking because I don’t want to know. People aren’t just the sum of how everybody has seen them.” She touched Thumper’s arm, just like she done in the Jag on the way home from Ocean City. Just like then, it got Thumper’s heart pounding and his head circling. He kept feeling her touch after she let go.
She kept talking on the ride, and Thumper even responded, but he ain’t listen. He was savoring the softness of her fingers on his skin.
After dropping Miriam off at the Gregarian house, Thumper gotsta swap noses with his parole officer. Mr. Perry again scolded Thumper like a disagreeable diaper about being late and finding a job, even though he both got gainful employment and wasn’t late. Thumper scowled through it. Mr. Perry was just delivering the only messages in his databank.
Then, Thumper ain’t scoot his booty back to Lipsweet to see Mr. Gregarian. He shoulda — he was trying-a garner greens and Mr. Gregarian often got odd jobs for him.
Something, however, drew him back to that college campus. He ain’t get in a trembling whiteboy since Ocean City couple weeks back, and he was eager to drop a load.
He could go back to Lipsweet and likely end up in one of the dancers by the time the night was done. But them dancers was worn through, and that lightskin badonkadonk Sherry made him stop over and over so she could do new facebooks and check up on her prior facebooks. Once she blueballed him cuz the computer voted down her facebook and put her in “facebook jail” for “subposting the truth about Mexican sluts” — Thumper seen niggas on fire less freaked out than she was, and her pussy snapped shut like a shy clam. After that she wasn’t hot no more to Thumper.
Thumper craved them clean college boys with intact booties and dirty jockstraps. They looked smooth as platypuses and perky as morning coffee. So he wandered about the campus. Whatever kinda hazing was going on before, it musta got done with. The quad was quiet as a quackless duck, ‘cept for the raucous rhythmic chorus of crickets ringing the campus.
But just off campus, there was a house with a rowdy party going on. Thumper’s ears hopped onto that sound like a city bus. He heard young’uns laughing and carrying on to loud music — like rock and roll, but you could just tell the singer ain’t never get laid — plus it got a banjo — and all them deep on the slur. They was drunk enough to struggle to take photos of theyselfs with they phones. The party sounded wild as werewolves with phone addictions. Thumper sauntered over to check it out.
It seemed they was all drunk enough to ignore him, or maybe it was dark enough outside that they ain’t notice he weren’t one among them, so long as he stayed outta the house itself. He sidled up into the frontyard, which was dark and shadowy and filled with couples kissing, frat boys doped out in the grass and two girls arguing in frantic hushes. Every single one got a phone in hand.
In the backyard though, the hazing was still going on. A half-dozen freshface buttsniffers in jockstraps chugged beers while older dipsticks cheered them on, and one by one, they each passed out. Thumper stood in the shadows and watched.
He grabbed a Natty Boh, and he drank it quick as candy. Couple fellahs did see him and realize he was old and prison-tatted and not a college student by far, but they was too drunk to come to any kinda conclusion — Thumper was just standing and smoking ciggies, not doing a dillynigging thing, not even dithering at his phone, so not a bone wiggled a niggle about him.
A mountain of empty beers pyramided up beside the sliding-glass door in the rear of the party house. The smell of puke was barely overpowered by the reek of spilled drink.
One pimple-face curled-olive gal showed off her titties soon enough, and that got Thumper’s root reviving. She was maybe involved with a sorority or some shit, Thumper gathered, but he ain’t know enough about college life to pick up on what he eyeballed.
In any case, she got fine bazoombas, but he ain’t the kinda nigga to mess with a drunk-to-fuck woman. He ain’t lose his morals in prison.
‘Sides that, them frat boys got booties that was looking mighty fine and ain’t require no woo or obsess about “tweet ratios”.
The backyard was empty of consciousness, and just a half-dozen or so freshmen was there, sleeping it off, they phones resting in they pockets. Thumper ain’t sure if that meant they passed the hazing or they failed it. In any case, he already got his sights set on one.
His name was Danny, and he played college lacrosse, not that Thumper knew that. Danny was a champion laxxer back in his elite prep school — all the elite prep schools in Maryland had well-regarded lacrosse teams because it was the state team sport. Thumper ain’t know that either, despite having never left the state, nor did he know what a prep school was. He got only a glimmer of a idea what lacrosse was.
Danny was unconscious clutching his phone when Thumper grabbed him from the backyard and dragged him to the row of cars parked on the grass. He got him behind a car, walled off by another car on one side and a cold brick wall on the other.
“Hmph, whatchoo doin’?” Danny said, awakening enough to grip the back of the car when Thumper telled him to. He looked around like he wondered if he was dreaming.
Thumper pulled down Danny’s pants and made him spread his legs. Danny was still too drunk to realize he oughta resist. Thumper slipped his erect dick right into the hole, and Danny hissed. Thumper laughed. He pushed his whole cocktip in. There weren’t no resistance, cuz Danny was too drunk to clench, even in tremendous pain. “You just hangin’ out wit’ a slappy-dappy nigga, spunkface. You the coolest honky in the world.”
“Ow, shit. Really? Whaaaat?” Danny wriggled and tensed, unaware of what was happening to his backside. His hands flailed above the car like he was trying-a fight someone off from that direction. He held back a gag, then erupted in dry heaving, still too goggled to understand what was happening. He tried lamely to push Thumper away. “Whassshhhh…?”
“Shush, whiteboy, don’t be loud,” Thumper said, as his cock slid in past Danny’s hole. He smacked Danny’s bare asscheeks.
Danny clawed at the car. “Owwww!”
But Thumper was relentless, ramming his unlubed dick in and out over and over. Every time Danny wiggled, his butthole clenched, which sent a wave of pleasure through Thumper’s body. He aimed his pecker in different directions to hump each angle of Danny’s guts, and the fact that he ain’t use no lube only made it all the more visceral and real. It was like Danny’s guts was holding onto Thumper’s cock and ain’t gonna let him go till he fill Danny up with seed.
“Ow, shsshshshiiii!” Danny screamed, but he was too drunk to make much noise. He still ain’t understand what the strange black man behind him was doing or why his insides hurt so bad. He thought maybe he had got stabbed or shot.
But Thumper ignored his pain, threw his head back and groaned as he neared his orgasm. Danny’s asshole pulsated around his throbbing cock. Creamy pre-jizz now provided a little lube, which made it easier for Thumper to plow in and out.
With every drop of precum, he could ram deeper in and smoother out, while Danny’s huffing and puffing turned into a squealing whine. “Ew oo ah — ew oo ah — ew oo ah — hwwwwwhwhwhwhwhwhnnnnnnn!”
“G’on, squeal like a piggie, whiteboy,” Thumper murmured. He wrapped an arm around Danny’s neck and lifted his upper half up. Danny was entirely enconsced in his grip. “Got’choo good, shit… Sorry, I ain’t got a diaper to give you, you gonna need it…”
At last, he blew a massive wad deep into Danny’s guts. Only then did Danny’s drunken mind understand what was happening to him. He felt that goopy jizz seeping into him. He felt Thumper’s manhood throbbing in his sensitive asshole. He felt the heat of the cum flowing throughout his body. But he ain’t feel the jizz itself until it dripped down his taint.
Another jerk of Thumper’s hips came with another explosion of jissom inside him. Danny panted. Thumper moaned. He smacked one of Danny’s asscheeks, which made him writhe as Thumper ejaculated again and again. Thumper pounded into him with each thrust of his daggersome dick resulting in a splashy spurt of juices.
“All done, honky,” Thumper said when his cock plopped out with a satisfyingly heavy thump. Jissom ran down his thighs. “Love you, baby.” He kissed Danny on the lips.
Then Thumper sauntered off, leaving Danny there with his phone and his pants around his ankles in the party house’s overparked driveway. As he abandoned Danny, Thumper tucked his dick away and said, “You’d make yo’ cellmate the happiest nigga in the world.”