MN Manmacker's mansploitation
Slim Jay is a hardcore pimp who don’t take no guff from nobody, and that includes his hos, his neighbors and anyone else he meets! That all might change when he meets a twinky young man named Sammy, who sends Slim Jay’s heart a-thumping!
But Slim Jay’s got a rep to maintain! Can he get his rocks off with Sammy without losing face?!
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.
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.
A man’s gotta keep his nose up, no matter what. Women cry and go limp when they get in a bad situation. A man’s gotta take action. Can’t take action when you’s bothered up hot, bawling like a waterfall.
A man’s gotta keep his nose up, no matter what. Women cry and go limp when they get in a bad situation. A man’s gotta take action. Can’t take action when you’s bothered up hot, bawling like a waterfall.
For sure all the parkbodies thunk he shoulda been here, strong enough to control his household like a man, he shoulda been watching over Ellen, providing for her so she don’t gotta sling her cat for horse.
Sly as snakes, oodlins of eyeballs judged him. He wished he weared a black shirt at least. But he done return to Smashwood in his wrinkledy workshirt like any other day, flecks of paint and sawdust clinging to the denim. For sure all the parkbodies thunk he shoulda been here, strong enough to control his household like a man, he shoulda been watching over Ellen, providing for her so she don’t gotta sling her cat for horse.
But there weren’t no work round here for a man like Goose, so he had no choice but to go away. He wanna blame Ellen for spending dollars on drugs steada feeding the boy, but a real man don’t blame a woman. A proper man shoulda been here, shoulda found a way. That’s how the cow ate the cabbage. T’is a woman’s nature to dream and dally. T’is on the nearest man to handle reality. That weren’t a duty Goose was living up to at the moment.
His brain steady came back to Ellen’s death, telling him he shoulda been here. He did heroin in Vietnam, and he quit before coming over on back to America. He coulda, shoulda and woulda made Ellen do the same. A man should be the master of his home or leastways his own self.
“You gotsta be tough, Buck. Stay strong. A man lives in the here and now, takin’ on burdens that ain’t fair, beatin’ back the night by buildin’ up the day. You let ya mama stay in ya heart, where’n e’erythang’s perfect,” Goose said.
The world seemed right before the war, right in a way he couldn’t perceive then or articulate now. Expectations done broke, he thought. Goose went to war, he pulled the appropriate trigger at appropriate times, he followed orders mostly, he came back alive, he got money, he gave it to a woman to spend. He did his part. He completed the minimum requisited of a man.
Goose kissed him goodbye, and he kissed Ellen goodbye too but in a different way, then he went on back to bush in the wilds up behind Smashwood. He ain’t wanna whisk off, but he ain’t wanna stay even harder. It was better this way, for him to be gone. He gotsta get a grip on hisself, and a man gotsta do that alone.
The world seemed right before the war, right in a way he couldn’t perceive then or articulate now. Expectations done broke, he thought. Goose went to war, he pulled the appropriate trigger at appropriate times, he followed orders mostly, he came back alive, he got money, he gave it to a woman to spend. He did his part. He completed the minimum requisited of a man. But it felt like he done jack up every single thing in the world. He was a retard in boot camp, he dropped his rifle, he got scared as a bunny, he was captured, needed rescue, he lost, he failed, he fell, he wailed. He could get done up by the Vietnameys prolly crawly-trawling the countryside anytime. He done develop a sixth sense about ’em, and it been twinging like a siren. Ain’t quit off since Muck Dan Foo. He don’t wanna go look in the woods lest he either get took captive again or see that he imagined phantoms.
And he felt bad that he felt good about leaving. He gotsta skedaddle while the heat was on. And he gotsta go less he lose control of his fists again. That boy ain’t a wall, and the lady ain’t a soldier.
Ellen was Goose’s wife. They ain’t never done live in matrimony, as they jumped the broom only days before Goose shipped out to the steamy greens. Ellen done come up in the family fashion, so they got married with a hurry and a hoop-dee-hoo. Now Goose returned to the joyness of meeting his newborned son Moses and to the sadness of Ellen admitting she been turning tricks to pay the bills. Army don’t pay diddly.
Goose did more shouting than he cared to admit, and he blistered and kicked up purple, raring and pitching, then he punched a hole in the wall and regretted letting his son see that and afrearing from it, and nothing Goose could do would make him stop crying. He said no wife of his gonna go and sell her God-given ladyness to any pecker-toter with dollars and a stiffy, cuz what was the point of being a man if you can’t keep your little lady from hooking it? But he done got drafted to the other side of the ever-blesséd world, so what was he sposedta do about it? Can’t do squat! Goose screamed like a river at a dam, til Ellen begged him to stop or the neighbors gonna call the sheriff, and Goose wanna ram his noggin into the wall until something somewhere broke.
The whatnots rising in him, Goose only regained hisself when he saw Vietnameys watching him like sentries from the woods behind the trailer. That turned out to be an illusion, but it got Goose calm as a clam, sending Ellen and Moses inside. Then he felt hisself a fool when he reckoned t’was just some shadowy tree swaying in the breeze, and he pretended ain’t nothing happen. He don’t want Ellen to think he couldn’t cope or Moses to think his pops was fearful.
So he steeled up for the woman and the boy. They got needs, and a rock don’t. He ain’t think twice about giving Ellen the cash-money from the robbery. “Don’t spend it all at oncet,” he said.
And he felt bad that he felt good about leaving. He gotsta skedaddle while the heat was on. And he gotsta go less he lose control of his fists again. That boy ain’t a wall, and the lady ain’t a soldier.
She nodded, and she whispered, “Thank you…”. She kissed Goose upon the cheek. That felt good. Damn good. Something about tenderness from a lady reassures a man he is alright and cures a touchous soul. Her lips wouldn’t tremble so soft-like if he was a monster. Ellen wouldn’t kiss a john the way she kissed Goose. He ain’t tell her not to whore it out no more cuz it was implied from the hole in the wall and cuz he ain’t want her to lie and say she would quit off when she really wouldn’t.
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.
“Reckon I shouldn’t say his name,” said Missus Adams with a snooty wrinkle of her nose. “You dunneed anothuh reason fer the judge to take Buck away from ya, Martin Sampson.” She carved a hefty frown upon her lemon-sour face, hair rising into a judgemental updo. She wagged her finger at Goose like a hound-dog.
Goose understood that. He do be simmering like phuh though.
He worked upon a ship mosta this past year, buffetted by winds and beset by man-eating whores in lousy ports. The sailor’s life do turn men into pigs, and Goose don’t like how that seamen treat they whores. Pay was good though. He done return back to Smashwood Trailer Park in the fall of 1981 with his pockets fulla cash. He found Buck staying with Missus Adams, not his foster family.
It turnt out that family with the farm weren’t so nice after all. They was working Buck over and withholding food cuz he was mouthy and don’t know his letters good. Buck was ravenous when he ran away to Smashwood, and he said he ain’t eat in two days. Them foster parents be beating him when he don’t do his farmwork quick enough. That boy got scars on his back like he was getting whipped.
Goose don’t like nobody whipping his boy. So it was maybe wise that Missus Adams wouldn’t tell Goose the foster family’s name, and she made Goose promise not to ask Buck cuz Buck get agitatious when he talk about ’em. Goose liketa lay down the common law upon they skulls.
So they threw a football back and forth behind the trailer, and Buck was impressed by how far Goose could throw the ball. They ate supper and jello for dessert. Buck wanna know all about Goose’s job in a giant ship’s big-ass engine — Buck love machines and trucks and that — and Goose wanna know about Buck starting school and his first-grade teacher. She was strict as sunshine, don’t let Buck give no excuses, which was good as Goose saw it, a boy do need that. Buck had so much energy Missus Adams made ’em go out so Buck could chase fireflies in the early evening dimness. Goose chased ’em too, but he enjoyed watching Buck do it. Then Buck tripped and skinned his knees something terrible on a rock.
“I know it hurts when you falls,” Goose said. He got down on one knee to look Buck square in the face like a man. “No matter the pain, no matter the fear. Never let ’em see it. J’st get back up again. Let ’em know they pain don’t define you.” He patted Buck upon his bloody knee.
“Yes, Pops.”
“I got took captive in that war, you know. Vietnam, you heared-a that? I surrendered. But a man’s gotta go on, provide, do the work that keeps the river flowin’. Them farmers you was livin’ wit’, you stood tough ‘gainst them, reckon, and I’s proud of you. They ain’t win ‘gainst you so long as you don’t let ’em.”
Buck nodded, solemn as a ram, and he sniffled back his tears. Then he spoke in a Cambodian accent, “When you experience something painful, you must move on from it and leave it behind you. The hurt is in you, in your expectations and your cravings. A wise man doesn’t dwell, always moving on, continuing like unflappable time, like a river, which is never late, because it is its own path. When a river bumps into a dam, its relentless flow builds into a lake, and, when it has grown big enough, the lake overcomes, and the river resumes.” Then, in his Appalachian holler, he added. “I’s fittin’ to make a island of mahself, and I strives me to become wise, free of stains and passions.”
Okay, Buck ain’t drop them pearls. What he said was, “I ain’t never afreared cuz I knewed you was gonna come fer me.”
That was a mighty fine lake to sit beside. Goose could sit on the shore of that lake and fish for eternities.
Missus Adams done told the social worker she was Buck’s grandmaw, and Buck be calling her Grammaw Adams now, so they let her take custody. She was a persnickety old lady, she do persnicket like a champion, but Goose got confidence she wouldn’t treat Buck wrong. Goose gave her the dollars he done save. She was on a fixed income, so she was needing help to pay for groceries and that. Buck could and quite possibly has done eat a horse.
Seems like Goose steady gives up his pay packets soon as he gets ’em.
Even back in Vietnam, he sent mosta his pay home to Ellen. He kept a little for himself too, and it went a long way. Money’s cheap out there. Or is it more right to say money’s expensive? You can buy more in US dollars there than here.
Or anywhat, Goose don’t know economics. But they could live like kings when they got somewhere with stuff worth buying. That ain’t happen often. They did eventually hire a Vietnamese feller named Sam as a camp cook though.
Hootenanny holler could that gook cook! He made noodles in a wok, flavors like the almighty beyond, got spices and jungle shit in it, tasted like a nun’s tits, you know Goose could spoon that stuff up! All the Vietnameys could cook.
But Sam was the goodest.
Them Vietnameys was needful for US dollars. A couple weeks after hiring Sam, Harley reckoned he could pay just a dollar to get Sam to jerk him off and even swallow his nut. Sam be panting and gagging the whole time, and he got a shallow throat, but Harley don’t mind. Harley’s pecker weren’t that big, recall, and Sam could just barely get the whole thing in his mouth.
T’was very possible that Sam ain’t never agree to do that. Goose never once heared Sam agree. But he don’t fight back vigorous-like, and as Harley seed it, not fighting back was agreeing to it.
For a feller. Harley don’t rape no woman.
“Aaah shit, Goose, bet you wish you could-” Harley’s knees went weak and he steadied hisself, as Sam squirmed on his knees afronta him. Sam was in the middle of washing dishes after supper, and he was on his knees with a bucket of water and a rag. He winced with his eyes as Harley rammed his ugly pecker in and outta Sam’s li’l bitty throat. Harley got one hand on Sam’s head, the other on his chin. “Bet you wish you could get ya whole pecker in there.” His balls slapped on Sam’s throat.
Goose nodded and shrugged.
“You should ramrod him. Wreck his asshole, that’d be so funny,” Harley said. He closed his eyes as cum poured into Sam’s throat. Sam choked but managed not to spit it out, as the jiss filled up his belly. “I bet he’d do it for like two bucks.” Harley’s voice broke, and he sighed. He pumped his hips.
At last Sam could resist retching no longer, and a mouthload of jizz spilled onto the ground. He spat up a second mouthload, while Harley spewed jizz onto his face.
Goose shook his head. “No way, that’d be…” He chuckled. He ain’t have much experience then, so he assumed there was no way Sam’s ass’d open up that much. Sam was barely five feet tall and weighed maybe a hundred pounds. He was well-muscled for his size, ain’t have a lick of fat on him.
Plus he was nice. Goose don’t wanna wreck a nice man’s ass. Vietnam was too stressful for him to get horny easy. Harley was different — Harley loved blowjobs, and when there wasn’t a woman around — most always — he would bust a nut in Sam’s mouth every chance he got. He usedta have some shame about it. He’d sneak away into his tent and do it when nobody noticed. Goose did notice, cuz it was his tent too.
But the more time they unit spent together, the less Harley bothered to hide it.
They had leave of the next day, and they went down on into town. The brothel was the second place they went, after the bar. T’was the same place, but they went to the bar first to get a drink and a plate of something that looked like collards but tasted like fire, then they both hired a whore in the backa the bar.
But when Goose got into the back room with his whore, she took one look at his baseball bat and whisked off. Goose sighed. That weren’t a surprise. It happened. They prolly got a fat lady for men with big dicks. He could fuck with a fat lady. Wouldn’t even be fat by American standards. Goose ain’t see a proper fat Vietnamey yet.
But then the crying lady with the Chinese lettering tattooed on her back was shoved back into the room. She quaked and quivered as she got on her knees and picked up Goose’s dick with her delicate fingers. His dick looked like a club next to her, it was thicker than any parta her body.
“Nah, nah,” Goose said. “I don’t rape a woman.” He said it in English, then in halting Vietnameyse, which Sam been teaching him. Goose don’t know the word for ‘rape’ yet, but he got his point across.
He pulled his britches up, went into the backroom and laid out a series of punches upon the burly-faced Vietnamey who done push her back into the room. He gave that pimp a pair of black eyes and a smashed nose and took out one his teeth for him. Ain’t even send him a dental work bill, which Goose considered a kindness.
Goose went along on down back to camp by hisself. He don’t cotton to fellers treating women improper. Even a whore got a right to choose her men. That was how Goose was raised.
But he had a hardon that whole time. Goddamn that whore gave him a stiffy before she fell to sob-a-lobbing, and it was still stiffing! He ain’t notice it when he was punching her pimp, and it seemed like a distant problem when he walked back to camp alone in the dismal jungle rain.
Now it felt real, and it was throbbing, and he couldn’t do nothing about it.
Well, he could jack off.
But daaamn did he hope for a hole to stick it in. He was looking forward to that visit to a brothel for a long time, and that Vietnamey lady was pretty as a bowl of soup on a rainy day!
Goose was alone in camp, so he could slap his own meat like a pimpley teenager. He tried to get ridda his hardon, and he succeeded long enough to drain his bladder — he been aching to piss since he left the brothel. He woulda pissed on the pimp if his dick weren’t stiff at the time.
But soon as he was done peeing, he thunk of that whore’s naked tits again, and he seed a photo-picture of Miss November in a magazine in Harley’s belonguns. Goose sighed and pulled his britches down.
A burst of chingchong chatter attracted Goose’s gaze, and he jumped to his feet. He jumped outta his tent, grabbed his gun and went out.
It was just Sam. He done gone to town too, and he bought seeds, powders and leaves. The chingchong shit was him talking to his rangy mustache-on-a-stick self.
“Hey.” Goose added a hello-howdy in holler-heavy Vietnameyse, and Sam nodded his approval of the pronunciation. Then he went to put his shopping away with the other kitchen stuff. Goose stood there, cuz he was pondering possibilities.
“Hey, Sam, c’m’e’uh,” he said. He motioned to a thick-trunked tree beside him. Sam obediently came closer, and Goose handed over a greenback. Sam winced and sunk to his knees. Goose laughed and patted him on the head. “It’ll be okay, I’ll be gentle,” Goose said. “And quick.”
That was true. It ain’t take long at all. Goose was already rock-hard when he pushed his knob into Sam’s mouth. It was hot and wet like the jungle itself. Goose moved his hips back and forth, cuz Sam couldn’t swallow very deep — he was skinny and Goose’s dickshaft was fat. Sam only got maybe three inches in, four if Goose really pushed it in there.
But he don’t wanna treat Sam’s throat like a pussy like Harley did. Sam weren’t a prison punk. Goose felt sorry for him. He went left and right, humping his knob within Sam’s mouth, but he don’t force it down.
“Aaaah…” That did feel good. Goose got it now. He understood why Harley enjoyed this. Even with Sam’s shallow mouth, it felt nice as napkins. It was like a blowjob but better cuz Goose skipped the woo.
Soon enough, pleasure was rocking Goose’s veins, much delayed pleasure cuz he been anticipating the whorehouse since days ago. He recollected the brothel he just left and the hooker he left there — he recollected her from before she started crying. His cock filled Sam’s mouth with goops of prenut, and Sam obediently swallowed it, or leastways he ain’t try to spit Goose’s knob out.
“He’uh I go,” Goose murmured. He stroked his dick at the root with one hand, the knob filling up Sam’s mouth. So as an orgasm ran through his body, he shot his wad directly onto Sam’s tongue.
A gag overcame Sam, but he was pinned against the tree, so Goose kept his dick there. Sam retched again and again, jizz spilling forth all over his shirt and his crotch and onto the jungle floor. The cum drained outta Goose’s sac like it been building up for weeks, which it kinda was — Goose ain’t feel like busting a nut until recently. War was too stressful for nuts.
A chuckle wracked Goose’s body, making his dingdong dongle and his sac splatter against Sam’s chin. Burst after burst of cream overflowed from Sam’s mouth and puddled up in the mud and muck. Goose shuddered with pleasure, holding onto Sam’s head so he could hump every inch of his tongue.
Goose let his cock dangle free. “Sorry, Sam,” he said as Sam spat up fluids from the deeps of his belly. Goose was about to add I won’t do that again, but he thunk better of it.
He ain’t wanna make a promise he weren’t gonna keep.
When Goose returns from Vietnam, he thought he’d be coming home again. But nothing could be further from the truth! He’s gotta travel for work and to escape the police, and that’s gonna send him an odyssey of alpha male man-on-man action, Buddhist enlightenment and raunchy, filthy situations!
Goose is in for a bevy of rednecks, machos, hicks, hillbillies, soldiers and more, as he overcomes his hangups from war and finds a way home to his family.
It’s free! Read it now as an ebook or read the whole story on this site!
When the legendary boxer Thumper White is released from prison, he never thought he’d be rooming up with a doe-eyed prettyboy named Rico! Neither of them will ever be the same. That’s cuz Thumper gets horny sometimes, and he don’t take no for an answer when it comes from a darkskin slice of handsome pie with a pile of alluring frowns on top!
Can Rico handle Thumper’s brand of downlow love?!
