Chapter Two: The Sandwich
Mason went to the kitchen after ten bells. Dinner was done then, but there were usually snacks available until they ran out. Mason went to make himself a sandwich and bring it to his clinic. He’d eat that before bed, or maybe first thing in the morning so he didn’t have to get up for breakfast.
Salami, sliced onions, lettuce, mayonnaise and mustard. For some reason, there were eight varieties of mustard in the fridge. Mason used two of them.
He saw Buck outside the clinic, having just knocked — and presumably not noticed the handwritten sign on the door — be right back, wait five minutes. Buck looked like he was embarrassed to be seen here.
“Hey, uh, I’s wonderin’ if’n you gots eyebooproefen,” Buck said. With all the holler in his accent, it took Mason a second to understand what he was asking for. Then he saw the hungry look in Buck’s eyes, aimed at the sandwich, and Mason sighed. He both wondered if and hoped that Buck was here to get jacked off again.
“Yeah, yeah, c’mon in. What hurts, Buck?” Mason said as he opened the clinic door. He went in, and Buck plopped his giant frame down on the bunk. He kept his eyes on the sandwich.
And those eyes stayed on the sandwich. Mason cleared his throat, but Buck looked fixated. Buck had made it clear on this rig that he was always hungry, that he wanted whatever leftovers were available, and that the food was insufficient. It had become clear that no amount of food would be sufficient.
“What hurts, Buck?” Mason asked again. “And do you want my sandwich?” He pointed to the sandwich on his desk. Mason felt a curious urge to watch him eat. He’d seen Buck eat in the mess, and there was something strangely arousing about it.
Damn was Buck good at it too! He really shoveled it in. The mess made three lines of food — Indian, Middle-Eastern and Western. The cooks were mostly Portuguese, but they catered to a diverse crowd. Buck was the only one who went through all three lines. Last week, Mason saw him eat a croque monsieur tagine wrapped up in a garlic naan.
“Ah, I mean… hell yeah,” Buck said. He ran his fingers through his mullet. “You don’t want it?”
Mason shook his head. “I only made it cuz I planned earlier on eating it. Then after I made it… I’m not hungry anymore,” he said. Then, yet again, he said, “What hurts?”
But Buck was fixated on the sandwich, which he grabbed and ripped off a huge bite of — his giant frame meant he had a giant mouth that took giant bites. Mason was impressed. But Buck seemed to have forgotten he didn’t come here for a sandwich.
“What can I do for you, Buck?” Mason asked between bites. He had to ask it a couple times before Buck heard. Mason had a feeling that, if he stood too close to Buck, he might get chomped on along with the sandwich.
“I was hopin’ fer some eyebooproefen,” Buck said around mouthfuls of sandwich. Crumbs dropped to the floor.
“What hurts, Buck?” Mason asked, more insistently this time. “I can’t give you anything without writing something down in the logbook.”
“I got pain!” Buck said. “Mah shoulders is sore as the dickens! Feels like I nogginned up onna pile of crawdads this morn’, hoss.”
Mason flattened his nose. He grabbed a pen and the logbook. “Okay, well, Buck… I recognize some of the words in there. Your shoulders hurt.”
“Yep. I done all the auntychambuh stuff yestuhday, tha’ss why. Habibby was sick, so I gots to do it all. Hard on the shoulders, it is, reckon.” He stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth. “And I’s hungry. You cain’t get me more food, right? Cuz I’m bigguh than the li’l fellahs, reckon I oughta get more suppuh.”
“That’s not how it works, I don’t have any authority over the mess hall,” Mason said. He filled out the logbook, then gave Buck a dose of ibuprofen and a little plastic cup of water. Buck downed the pills. “Do you want me to rub your shoulders?”
Buck nodded a little too eagerly. He leaned into it, and the look in his eyes suggested to Mason he wanted to get jacked off again. That was probably why he came here in the first place. His shoulders were probably sore, that wasn’t just an excuse, but that came with the roughneck life. Buck probably brought his own over-the-counter stuff and maybe some black-market stronger stuff. Lem definitely got opiates on the downlow, Mason thought. He seemed like the type. In his experience, most roughnecks did, and essentially all of them over fifty years old did.
So if Buck wanted stronger painkillers, he could get them one way or another. The real reason he came to see Mason was cuz he wanted Mason’s soft fingers to touch him again.
Mason wanted that too, and he eagerly got behind Buck. Buck was so tall that Mason was dwarfed by his broad back, the muscles of which were so thick they looked painful.
Sweat clung to the groove between Buck’s shoulderblades. Mason’s fingers gripped Buck’s meaty back, and he kneaded the flesh. As Mason rubbed the firmness of his shoulders, Buck let out a low lingering moan, his muscles turning to hot silly-putty in Mason’s fingers.
Settling onto his knees on the bunk, Mason got a good angle to massage Buck’s back. Mason’s legs splayed to each side, and he basked in the heat radiating off Buck’s flesh. Soon Buck seemed on the verge of sleep, and Mason kept working his muscles softly. Mason often massaged the roughnecks on the rig — and most often, his massages turned to at least handjobs. That was why Mason was such a popular medic.
A noose made of barbed wire was tattooed on Buck’s back, running up the length of his spine. The loop of the noose ended right where Buck’s beefy asscheeks began. The tattoo was dotted with the coarse black hairs of Buck’s back. “Is this tattoo significant?” Mason asked.
Buck groaned from the massage. He half-nodded, half-yawned. “Got it when I left prison,” he said. “It’s a Bloods thang.”
“Bloods?”
“The gang,” Buck said. He mimed shooting a gun. “The homeboy gang. I ain’t a shooty-homeboy feller, mind you, I keeps the peace, Mason. I was in the Bloods in prison though, and when I got out, they lemme get the noose on my back. It means I’s allowed to pledge the Bloods in any cell block.”
“What’d you do to earn that?”
Buck wrinkled his nose.
“Oh, if you don’t wanna say, it’s…”
Buck shrugged. “T’wouldn’t be propuh.” He leaned back like he forgot Mason was behind him, and Mason was almost crushed by his weighty body. But he didn’t lay back all the way, just enough to put some heft on Mason. Mason’s hands wandered to Buck’s chest, groping and rubbing his now-relaxed pecs and hairy belly. “Will you, uh, massage mah dick again?” Before Mason could answer, Buck said, “I got a stiffy today fer real, it wouldn’t go down. It’s cuzza that calendar in the Porchagees room, the calendar with a hot babe. I hadta walk by it like a hunnert times today.” He chuckled, making his back bounce up and down on Mason’s lap. “I was waitin’ fer the Porchagees to leave the room so’s I could nab some food outta there. They got stacks of anchovies, Mason! Stacks!” He whistled. “The Porchagees lady on the calendar be callin’ to me though. They got purty ladies in Portugal, reckon. Do they speak English?”
“No. They speak Portuguese,” Mason said. His hands stretched down to Buck’s workpants, which Buck raced to unzip. Buck fished out his own massive shaft, soft but slightly stiff, like it was trying to find something to point at. Buck was so tall Mason had to stretch to reach it, since Buck was still leaning back and pinning him to the wall.
“If’n you could put ya mout’ on it again, it’d be most ‘ppreciated,” Buck said. He finally realized Mason was pinned behind him and lifted his chest up. Mason scooted out to the other side of the bunk, away from the wall, while Buck lay on his back. His dick stuck straight up like a sundial. Even stretched out on the bunk, Buck was too tall to fit. That was why he lived in the dead-end with Lem — Buck didn’t want to cram his big-ass body into a bunk at night. Him and Lem slept on the floor on a pile of mattresses and blankets.
Without another word, Mason dropped his head and licked Buck’s giant shaft, which rocketed straight to full erection. It pulsated against his tongue. Mason’s hands roamed up his chest, making Buck’s powerful pecs ripple. Memories of that Portuguese woman on the calendar thrummed through Buck’s muscles.
“Aaaah…” Buck sighed. “I j’st don’t cotton to jackin’ off wit’ Lem. Not cuz he’s black, I got no prejudices. But he got hands like sandpaper, Mason. And his lips is dry! Oow-eee! Cain’t pretend he a female for any length of time, fer real!” His hand gently lay on Mason’s head, not forcing it down, just guiding it deeper on his cock.
The hand wasn’t necessary though, as Mason tried to get even deeper than last time. He wanted to taste every inch of Buck’s meat. He stretched his neck and lips as wide as he could manage. Buck grunted, chest tensing, pleasure coursing through him. His veiny shaft throbbed in Mason’s mouth, getting thicker as it fully stiffened.
Unable to breathe, Mason held onto his mouth in position. Spit slobbered down Buck’s rod, lubing up Mason’s hands, both of which stroked his cock too. Mason’s throat struggled to open up more and to breathe as well, and eventually Mason couldn’t help but pull off to take a deep breath. Salty precum coated his lips and tongue.
“Goddamn, Mason… you’s a great medic,” Buck said with a laugh that turned into a moan of desire, as he accidentally and suddenly reached his climax. His voice broke cuz that was unexpected. It was just as much a surprise to Mason, who choked on the first flow of jizz.
A burst of cum flowed into Mason’s mouth, followed by another, great creamy gobs of salty goodness sliding down Mason’s gullet. Buck gasped like he didn’t see that coming, and it made his muscles all flex at once. Another wad of creamy jizz hit Mason’s throat, and it coated his tongue.
“Damn, hoss!” Buck’s chest muscles rippled as his voice broke again.
This was Mason’s favorite part, so he tried to drag it out. His lungs craved oxygen though, and he couldn’t swallow it all. Buck’s bushy pubic hair became soggy with all the cum that overflowed from Mason’s mouth.
It fell limp in Mason’s grip, even as a few drops of cum kept dribbling out. Buck’s thirteen-inch cock flopped meatily left and right in his grip. Buck lay back, arms and legs spread wide, like he got no intention of going back to his barrack. Cum coated both Mason’s face and Buck’s crotch.
Maybe he did want to sleep here. Mason wasn’t supposed to allow it unless it was for medical reasons — because somebody could come in here with a problem, and Buck’s presence would violate their medical confidentiality. But Mason could always make Buck step out.
Before Mason could bring that up, however, he took his own dick out and gave it a few strokes. Buck ignored it.
“Do you mind if I jack off?” Mason asked. “While I play with your cock?” He blushed, glad that Buck seemed uninterested in what Mason was doing now. Buck yawned and nodded.
Mason climbed on the bunk so as to mount Buck’s powerful body. He frotted both dicks together, his rock-hard one and Buck’s much bigger but soft cock. His shaft, ballsac and crotch hair were all soaked in jizz, the rank smell of which wafted into Mason’s nostrils.
“Can I smoke in here?” Buck asked.
Pointing to the vent, Mason shrugged. “Not really. But if you exhale towards the vent, it’ll be okay.”
Buck nodded. He lit a cigarette like he ain’t notice Mason rubbing his erect dick on Buck’s soft one. Mason used one hand to keep both dick’s together, while his other kneaded the muscles of Buck’s chest. Buck sighed and let out a long plume of smoke, aimed at the vent, which sucked up the fumes.
Everyone smoked on the rig, which was actually very well-ventilated, making the smoke largely irrelevant. As long as nobody was currently hooked up to an oxygen tank in here, Mason wasn’t worried about the smoke. There was little chance of a health inspection in the middle of the frozen North Pacific Ocean.
His muscles were rock-hard beneath Mason’s fingers, and his cock was soft as pudding. Mason’s was hard though. Buck’s dick was too soft to really get him off, Mason needed more friction. But it was enough to get him firm and leaking precum down Buck’s already cummy shaft.
“Is it okay if I cum on your chest?” Mason asked.
Buck shrugged. “You gonna clean it off after?”
Mason nodded.
“Fine then.” Buck closed his eyes and puffed on his cigarette. “Try not to get it on mah face.” It seemed he was trying to ignore Mason’s dick. That was fine with Mason, who let out a bit-back moan as he stroked his hard cock along with Buck’s much bigger one. The smell of Buck’s cum was cloying in Mason’s nostrils. His fingers made Buck’s pecs ripple.
He smelled strongly of sweat. The roughnecks on the rig always accused each other of stinking. Mason didn’t like to admit he didn’t mind the smell, cuz they’d make fun of him for it. He kinda liked it. He let out a moan as precum spurted out his knob and into Buck’s crotch.
“You nevuh been to prison?” Buck asked without opening his eyes. He exhaled a plume of smoke into the vent above his head.
“Nope,” Mason said.
Buck finally opened his eyes again, looking down at Mason’s dick throbbing against his own. “Usually only guys who been to prison do this kinda shit. You been workin’ on rigs loads, right? That must be why.”
Mason nodded and let out a moan as he climaxed at last. A shiver of intense pleasure ran up his body, and he kissed Buck right on the meat of his chest muscles. Buck chortled, which made his whole torso tense up beneath Mason’s grip.
Mason’s fat load spurted out, laying a thick rope of cum over Buck’s strapping chest muscles. That was followed by another jissom that sprayed over Buck’s chest and even up to his chin. Buck chuckled throatily. His neck was splatterd with cum.
A long sigh came outta Mason, as he stroked the last of his cum onto Buck’s chest. Mason shot a huge wad, bigger than he was used to. Maybe Buck’s bigness was rubbing off on him. Mason even thought his dick seemed bigger.
When he was done, Mason scurried off to grab a washcloth. He wiped off both his dick and Buck’s, and he dabbed up all the cum he could get to from Buck’s chest and crotch. Buck lay sprawl-out on the bunk as he finished his cigarette.
Finally, they both finished their tasks, and Buck put out his cigarette in an empty can of coke on the desk. He sighed. “Guess I gots to go back to the dead-end with Lem,” he said. “Come see me sometime, Mason. If’n you cain handle Lem bein’ a crazy old coot.”