The Trucker

Rob is in for a rough time when he stops at a Ramwide Truck Stop. That’s a chain whose locations are known for no-holds-barred man-on-man action, which is exactly what Rob is hoping for?

Can he handle the studly Southern trucker that the Ramwide is sending him?

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Rob walked to the truck stop. He sometimes drove there, but he wanted to get some exercise. The older he got, the more difficult it was to inspire him to take walks, but he insisted on doing it every day no matter what. This way, he’d get his walk in while doing something else he wanted to do.
The truck stop outside of Norbilly, Oklahoma, didn’t usually see a lot of use. It did back in the seventies, when Norbilly was a major manufacturing center, with factories and trucks streaming in and out of town. Those factories were all gone now, the worker housing torn down, trucks no longer coming to town at all.
But there was definitely a truck there today, or there would be soon — Rob thought he would probably beat the trucker there. He had seen the truck drive into the All-Mart in town, and he caught a glimpse of the trucker as he brought merchandise into the back of the store. The trucker hadn’t finished unloading yet when Rob started walking to the truck-stop.
The trucker was a tall, broad-shouldered redneck in a flannel shirt with cut-off sleeves, chest bulging out of his clothes, a big cock that barely fit in his scuffed jeans. He had an unkempt beard and deep-set eyes. Rob had seen him at the All-Mart, and he had a feeling that the man would stop at the truck stop before heading out. He fully intended to be there.
It was a Ramwide Truck Stop. Everyone knew that that meant — at least, everyone who was a trucker or who liked jerking truckers off. That included Rob.
He was glad that no one was there when he finally got to the truck stop, and he was glad to have a few minutes to recover his breath. It didn’t seem like a far way to walk when he drove it, but actually walking it was more difficult. The last part was uphill. He sat down near one of the showerhouses to regain his breath, and he bought a bottle of water from the vending machine.
His timing was impeccable. About fifteen minutes after he arrived, the All-Mart truck came barreling down the highway. At first it looked like he wouldn’t get off into the truck stop, but at the last moment he swerved into the offramp lane.
Not wanting to seem like a stalker, Rob waited in the bushes behind the truck stop showerhouse. There were two showerhouses, one for women, but it didn’t see much use. Rob went to the men’s showerhouse, which was a small concrete rectangle that smelled of athlete’s foot cream and armpit hair.
Rob hadn’t gone in yet. He waited in the bushes behind the parking lot. He saw the trucker get out of the cab of the truck, stretch and yawn, then head into the showerhouse.
That was Rob’s cue. He casually walked around to the front of the building. He knew it would look suspicious since he wasn’t a trucker himself — and he didn’t even have a car parked here — but he didn’t think the trucker would worry about that.
When he walked into the showerhouse, he got hit with that humid, showery scent that always made Rob hard because he associated it with naked men. There was a sign on the door explaining that this showerhouse was for adults with an interest in hardcore plowing (it used more polite language, but that was the gist). Inside it smelled of semen and body hair and piss, sweat, saliva and linoleum, with the faint afterscent of cheap soap.
The trucker stood there at one of the open showering areas — the old-fashioned pillar kind, with a central column that sprayed water in every direction, so the bathers were expected to stand around it in a circle. He hadn’t taken off any of his clothes yet, not even his heavy boots, so there were muddy bootprints leading from the door to the shower.
The shower wasn’t on though. The trucker just stood there with those filthy jeans around his ankles, hairy ass flapping in the breeze, as he let loose with piss. Even though there was a bank of urinals against one wall, he pissed onto the drain in the showering area.
He turned around, belched and flopped his dick between his fingers, the last few drops of piss soaking into his skin. He didn’t seem to mind. He was surprised to see Rob standing there. He grunted a hello.
“Hi,” Rob said. “My name is Rob.”
The trucker grunted again but didn’t say anything.
Rob said, “I love your muscles, you must work out a lot. Great physique.”
The trucker nodded like a hill. He pumped his right bicep. He had never redone the fly of his jeans, so his cock flopped out of his hairy crotch. He had big, curvy biceps that Rob darted forward to lick.
The taste was sour with dried-on sweat and dust from the road, flavored with diesel exhaust and the trucker’s natural odor. His arm was hairy, and his fur scratched at Rob’s tongue. He pulled his arm away.
“You one of dem truck stop queers?”
Rob nodded. “Can I jerk you off?”
He curled his upper lip as though he had to think about it, though Rob had the strong impression he already knew the answer was yes. “You nasty.”
“That wasn’t a no,” Rob said. He sidled forward, but the trucker snarled.
“Weren’t no yes neither,” he said. “You swallow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lemme see,” he said. “Suck my finger.” He held out his middle-finger as though he was flipping Rob off.
Rob blushed and nodded. He would gladly suck on any body part this nasty, raunchy trucker wanted him to suck on. He stepped forward and moved seductively, opening his mouth into an O-shape even before he got to the trucker’s hand.
He easily deep-throated the man’s middle-finger. Rob was good at it, so he could get the whole thing into his throat without choking, and he even pushed forward farther as though trying to get the man’s entire hand in his mouth. That, of course, didn’t work, but he did force the trucker’s index finger in as well. The taste was sour and salty from sweat.
It looked like the trucker was about to take his finger away. Rob moved his head. But then the trucker angrily rammed his finger back in, so deep Rob couldn’t help but choke. A fresh explosion of grimy-skin flavor hit Rob’s tongue.
He cackled and pushed Rob back. “I only ram males one way, dig? I fuck girls any way they want — nice, slow, hard, fast, I don’t care. I’ll do anything to get my dick wet in some lady-pussy. But I only ram males if they don’t mind gettin’ nasty. That describe you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Don’chu dare back out once we start. You understan’ me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’m-a ram yer tonsils, and I’m-a ram yer ass. You gonna lick some asshole too.”
“Yes, sir.”
“T’weren’t a question.” He spat on the linoleum floor of the showerhouse.
“Will you spit on me, sir?”
“What?”
“Your spit smells so bad. Spit on my face and in my throat. Please,” Rob said, quaking and blushing. “You’re such a superior alpha male. I need to feel you use me and abuse me. I need-“
He lightly slapped Rob, just hard enough to make a loud slapping sound. A twinge of pain ran up his face, and a twinge of desire ran up his spine. Rob stopped talking.
“Don’t tell me ‘bout your needs, cumbucket,” the trucker said. “You ain’t a girl, I ain’t gotta listen as you babble on ’bout what you want.”
“Yes, sir.”
He bristled and shifted his weight on his feet. “Now it so happens I was gonna spit on yer face. Not cuz you axt me to though.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on your knees and open your mouth,” he said. He hocked up a loogie, then displayed his rancid mouth full of saliva and phlegm. He hocked again as Rob sunk to his weak knees. He was excited, giddy even, to be doing this — it had been awhile since he bagged a redneck trucker. He opened his mouth and aimed it upward. The trucker formed a kissy face, then let his mouthful of fluids slop out. It plopped moistly into Rob’s mouth, some of it landing on his lower lip. “No swallowin’, bitch.”
The trucker watched Rob squirm with his arms crossed over his chest. He inserted his middle finger back into Rob’s mouth, making him gag this time as he smeared his own spit all over Rob’s tongue. It was foul, fetid, rancid, but it made Rob’s dick so hard he thought it might explode.
“Beg me to let you swallow it.”
“Pleashe? I want your filshe in muh belluh,” Rob said the best he could with a mouth full of moisture. Some of it spilled out onto his cheeks.
The trucker spat again, this time aiming it right for Rob’s nose. It plopped there, sending a fresh wave of that musky scent into Rob’s nostrils. Rob pulled his cock out of his jeans. The trucker glanced at it and scrunched up his nose as though he was going to make Rob stop masturbating, then didn’t.
“You may swallow.”
Rob smacked his lips and let that big ball of fluids flow down his throat. He gurgled as it settled in his belly, warm and moist and a bit nauseating, but he loved it just the same.
“What should I call you, sir?” Rob asked with a gasp. He left his mouth open and stuck his tongue out as though begging for more spit.
“My friends call me Rectum,” he said. “Cuz when I done see bitches with they ass in the air, I wrecked ‘em.” He cackled. “But you keep callin’ me sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I like that. Normally ain’t no one call me sir ‘cept prison guards,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Take off your clothes and dance,” he said. “Shake your ass in my face. Wink your asshole.”
Rob nodded and stood up. He was about to take off his shirt when the trucker grabbed him by the neck. He squeezed just hard enough to make it hard to breathe.
“When I tell you to do somethin’, you say yes. Use your words. Don’t just nod at me like I’s a bitch. I ain’t a bitch, and I definitely ain’t yer bitch.” He let go and threw Rob to the ground.
“Yes, sir, I apologize,” Rob said, gasping for air. “It’s just that you’re such a real man, and I’m such a weakling, I find you intimidating and scary. You’re so much bigger and stronger than me.”
He nodded. “That’s understandable.” He belched right in Rob’s face. “Must feel pretty shitty to be a worthless excuse for a man.”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said as he took his shirt off. He dropped his pants while the trucker finally did the same, revealing a massive, broad chest and trunk-like thighs. His body was matted with hair. His skin was dusky and dark — he was clearly white, just swarthy and tanned, not to mention dirty. There were smudges of engine grease on his chest muscles.
Rob had seduced more than a few truckers in his younger days, so he thought he knew what the trucker wanted next. He bared his ass, facing away so as to avoid reminding the trucker he had no tits or a pussy. He stuck his ass in the air, winking his asshole as he slipped his pinkie finger in. He grimaced as though he was so tight that his tiny finger hurt.
“Nice,” said the trucker. “I ain’t gonna shower. We gonna be dirty. No point in gettin’ clean first, reckon.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Come here and kiss my feet. Then you can jerk me off,” he said.
Rob crawled over the dirty floor on his hands and knees. He made it to the bench on which the trucker sat, and lowered his head to the trucker’s burly feet. There were a few scattered hairs over the top of the foot and his toes.
He didn’t just kiss, he licked, the whole foot from toe to ankle. He got up every drop of grimy boot-flavor, the scent of leather and sweat, distilled musk so potent it brought tears to Rob’s eyes. He could have cum just from that, jacking himself off as he licked every inch of the trucker’s foot.
Then he traveled up the man’s leg, from his calf to his knee to his thigh. The hairs grew increasingly dense, thick and coarse as he went, and the man’s body grew fleshier, meatier the farther upwards his tongue voyaged. He collected a layer of dried sweat on his tongue, which he swallowed, smacking his lips and displaying an empty mouth to the trucker.
He just grunted, and aimed his dicktip into Rob’s mouth. An explosion of intense cock-taste hit his senses. Rob gurgled. He hocked up a mouth full of spit of his own, and he let it run down that limp cockshaft. Rob slathered spit up and down the shaft.
It didn’t stay limp for long. The trucker groaned and grunted. His muscular upper body roiled. Rob got the impression he had intended to complain that Rob didn’t do it right — that he was going to complain, maybe smack him, and throat him violently — but Rob did slurp, slather and lick just right, so there was nothing to complain about. Rob always did it right.
He had his nose buried deep in the trucker’s cock even before he got totally hard, and he kept it there as the trucker’s meat turned into an iron rod in his neck. It strained and throbbed, making Rob choke and sputter.
But that was exactly how he liked it. He enjoyed the struggle to swallow a massive cock, and he loved being throated hard. He grabbed the trucker’s hairy asscheeks with both hands.
That was the universal signal for ram my face as hard as you can and the trucker picked up on it. He chortled and wrapped his own hands around Rob’s head. He interlaced his fingers in Rob’s hair on the back of his head. He belched, the sound and the vibrations rumbling through his body and his cock in Rob’s throat.
He let Rob take one deep breath, then the trucker rammed his dick all the way in until his balls flopped onto Rob’s chin. His ball-sweat was slick and greasy, sticking to Rob’s skin. He groaned and closed his eyes.
His nose squashed into the trucker’s hairy crotch. Rob inhaled deeply of it, lungs crying out for oxygen as that massive cock throbbed in his throat.
“Don’t let go, swallow that dick, damn…” the trucker said, his eyes closed. He sighed. Rob could sense the waves of pleasure moving up the man’s body from his cock, as Rob’s throat spasmed and squeezed around it. Tears welled up in Rob’s eyes. “Ten more seconds, bitch.”
He held up one hand, his other keeping a tight grip on Rob’s head. He very slowly counted off with his finger, lifting one finger up. Once he got all five fingers, he did it again with the same hand. He hesitated with the tenth finger, teasing Rob for as long as he could take it.
Rob’s face turned red, and he was dizzy from lack of oxygen. Still, he loved the feeling of a giant slab of man-meat filling up his throat. The difficulty of swallowing the whole thing made it a challenge that he enjoyed, and his submission meant he could let his alpha solve the challenge. All Rob had to do was open wide and submit.
They both jumped — and the trucker’s cock pulsated in Rob’s throat — when a burst of music filled the air. It was that “Ding-dong! The Witch Is Dead!” song from The Wizard of Oz. The trucker snarled.
He pulled his dick out, and Rob gasped loudly for air. His lungs cried out, his ribs twisted painfully. He heaved to regain his breath.
“It’s my ex-wife. She’s a fuckin’ bitch.” He answered the phone, while using one of his fingers to beckon Rob. He made Rob sit on the ground, resting his head back on the bench. “Hey,” he said into the phone, as he plopped his plump ass right on Rob’s face. His asscrack was slick with sweat and hair that was matted to his flesh. Rob inhaled deeply of that scent. He cringed and crooned.
He stuck his tongue out, getting a taste of that hot flesh. Sweat trickled onto his tongue. The showerhouse was warm and humid, so it had been collecting there, filth building up and clinging to the trucker’s body. Rob licked it all up, listening to the rumble of him on the phone with his wife.
The trucker’s dominance was gone. He was submissive now. His voice was clipped, anxious, like he was angry but had to hide it from her. Rob couldn’t hear every word, but he picked up a lot of what the trucker said.
“Sorry, baby, I gotta be on the move, you know that. I gave you advance notice, like I’s s’posed to. She understood, and we still got- Uh-huh. Well, baby, you know I sent it. First of the month. Was only yesterday, I’m sure it’ll get there.”
Rob’s tongue slipped into the trucker’s asshole at last. A burst of raw masculinity coated his tongue, silky and gooey, pure manhood flowing down his throat. It was sour and gritty and overwhelming, and he stopped listening to the conversation as its tenor grew more and more angry.
The trucker responded to Rob licking too. He groaned and shifted his weight, plopping his asshole directly onto Rob’s mouth so he could explore the inside of the trucker’s ass. He slathered so much spit there that it spilled out and coated Rob’s face. It dripped onto the bench beneath his head.
“Nah. You ain’t allowed to do that, Christine. It’s in the- What? That ain’t true, and it don’t matter neither. You ain’t in charge of my life. You know that ain’t true. You spreadin’ lies. Don’t you say that!” His body tensed, and his asshole clenched around Rob’s tongue. Rob reached around and gave his dick a stroke, which made the trucker’s entire body spasm. He began to rub his ass back and forth over Rob’s head, filling his own ass with Rob’s tongue as he bellowed into the phone. “Well fuck you then! You think I can’t get a lawyer?! My custody rights ain’t somethin’ you dole out when it’s convenient, Christine! You agreed to that schedule, and you knew what it was then! You knew I was a trucker, don’t pretend I sprung that on you last week! I can’t just switch my days off! I’m in fuckin’ Oklahoma!” He took a deep breath. “Listen, go fuck yourself, Christine. Fuck yourself with that Swedish’s retard’s cock, see if I care. If she ain’t waitin’ for me on Friday, I’ll see you in court.” He hung up the phone and turned it off. He growled and got his ass off Rob’s face, then he grumbled and smacked Rob’s ass-slickened face softly. “Females are the worst.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t like women much at all,” Rob said. He liked talking shit about guys with women, and despite his friendships, he was utterly confident that he would hate dating them. “They’re such bitches.” He felt a little bad, but his female friends would understand. They knew what kind of guys he was into, and frankly, they were glad that he kept these sort of men from getting too frisky.
“Uh-huh,” the trucker said with a throaty chuckle. “But damned if I don’t love pussy.” He dragged Rob into position, bending him over the bench with his ass in the air. “Fuck. Ain’t no female let me just go to town on her like you do. I ain’t a bad lover, mind you, I eat pussy. I eat pussy good, I swear.” He grabbed Rob by the hair and lifted his head up. He stuck two fingers out in front of his face and licked. “See? I lick pussy real good. Stick it all the way in.” He showed off how long his tongue was.
“Sir, if I could make a suggestion…” Rob wasn’t sure he would be allowed to say anything. “Women don’t want to be penetrated with a tongue.”
It looked like the trucker was about to tell Rob he just wanted to ram him, not have a real conversation. But he stopped with his dick throbbing between Rob’s cheeks, right atop his asshole.
“What?”
“When you lick a woman’s pussy, don’t stick your tongue as far in as you can,” Rob said. “Just lick her clitoris. That’s the part that feels good.”
“You ain’t s’posed to stick yer tongue in ‘em?”
“Not really. A little bit is fine, it’s not really a bad thing. But you should lick her clit, not her pussy.”
“Her clit’s in her pussy.”
“Uh… No it isn’t,” Rob said. He blushed. “You really shouldn’t be learning about female anatomy from me. The clit is above the pussy, not in it. Lick that.”
“That don’t make any sense. You gotta stick yer tongue in, that’s what fuckin’ is-“
“No, you don’t. Look, ‘Rectum’, or whatever, do whatever you want. You could even ask a girl where she wants your tongue,” Rob said. “I don’t care. I’d rather have you sexually frustrated so you keep plowing dudes. But if you’re gonna eat some pussy, that’s where you should eat it.”
The trucker was quiet for a moment. He grumbled. “I don’t like it when my bitch speaks so forwardly. If you takin’ dick, shut yer mouth and take it.”
“Yes, sir,” Rob said. He rubbed his asshole up and down on Rectum’s dick.
“Good.” He slipped his cock in, just the tip at first. Then he gritted his teeth, grabbed Rob’s shoulders to hold him in place and worked his dick in inch by inch. “No squirmin’ yet. Don’t move. Hey! Don’t move.” He smacked Rob’s asscheeks every time he moved or made a sound.
The pain was incredible, and the dim, mounting sense of pleasure beneath it all was even more intense, even if it was faint at first. Rob moaned. He loved making sounds because it caused the trucker to smack his ass, which sent an additional wave of desire through Rob’s body.
He plumped his entire cock in without pulling out one time. He just kept grinding and forcing it until his balls smacked against Rob’s ass. The pressure was unimaginably potent, making Rob gasp and squirm no matter how the trucker tried to keep him still.
“Please, fill me up! God yes! I love your cock! It’s so big!” Rob moaned breathlessly. A few tears came to his eyes.
“I know,” the trucker said. “But keep tellin’ me.” He pulled on Rob’s hair with one hand, while using his other to keep Rob’s head in place. He swayed his hips back and forth, teasing every inch of Rob’s insides with his massive cock. It was arduously painful until his touched Rob’s prostate, which sent a wave of bliss through Rob’s body, a sensation so intense it made all the pain up till now vanish from his mind.
Rob melted into a weak pile of submissive flesh. This, he thought, was the part he loved. He couldn’t control any part of his body. He was entirely on autopilot, ass open wider than he thought possible so the trucker could pound away at him. His limbs flailed, mouth gasping, fingers tightening into claws that dug at the air.
“Can you squeal like a piggie?” the trucker asked. He pulled on Rob’s hair, dragging his head upward until they were so close they could nearly kiss.
The feeling of his foot-long cock in Rob’s ass made it difficult to concentrate. The trucker stopped moving and repeated his question, directly into Rob’s ear. His hot breath condensed on Rob’s face.
“Oiiiiiink…” Rob moaned.
“Better. Louder. More pig-like.”
“Oink. Oink! Oink! Oink!” Rob screamed increasingly louder each time. When he did, his asshole clenched, sending waves of agony through his body and pleasure through the trucker’s.
“Yeah, you is one nasty bottom,” the trucker said with a groan. He slammed his cock in and out while Rob continued to make pig-like rutting sounds.
Soon the sensations were too extreme for Rob to make any focused sounds, so all he could do was moan and squirm. The trucker pounded away, groaning directly into Rob’s ear.
“Excuse me, sir, would you like to make some money?” Rob asked, straining to get the words out with the intense feelings welling up within his ass.
“What?” He stopped moving with his cock deep in Rob’s body.
“I’ll write you a check for a hundred dollars if you kiss me while you wreck my ass,” Rob said. He was on the verge of tears. It felt like his entire body was going to explode. That massive cock was inside him, plowing every inch of his innards. “And I’ll write you a check for five-hundred dollars if you both kiss me — with tongue — and you give me a reacharound. I can’t prove the check will clear. You just have to trust me.”
Neither man moved for a long time. The trucker recoiled then, and growled.
“You write that check out to cash, you little bitch,” the trucker said. “I ain’t tellin’ you my real name. Get your checkbook now.” He held onto Rob’s ears as Rob staggered, in great pain and mind-numbing pleasure, to his clothes crumpled up on the floor. The trucker followed him without letting his dick fall out of Rob’s ass. Rob had made sure his checkbook and a pen were ready in case he needed it. He scrawled out the check, made out to cash.
“I didn’t sign it yet,” Rob said with a moan, the bliss wracking his body so intense it hurt. He wrenched his head back and handed the check over. “Do it first. Sir.”
The trucker grimaced. His mouth was right next to Rob’s ear, so their faces were nearby anyway. His bristly beard scratched at Rob’s face. He stuck his tongue out gingerly.
When that thick tongue touched Rob’s lips, the trucker jumped and twitched. He even gagged a little. His tongue hit Rob’s mouth, and Rob kissed him back.
His muscles all tensed, his chest hair rubbing against Rob’s smooth back. The trucker’s body wriggled and squirmed as he fought against his own instincts. His hesitance and reluctance were clear, but he didn’t slow down and he didn’t even try to make it a quick, perfunctory peck on the lips. His hot breath mixed with Rob’s as their tongues interlocked.
Then one of his callused, rough hands wrapped around Rob’s cock. The trucker’s whole body shook again, and his dick twitched. The trucker groaned without removing his mouth, so the sound resonated all the way into Rob’s belly.
At last he resumed plowing. He kept his mouth planted on Rob’s and rammed his dick all the way in, nearly all the way out, then balls deep once more. Rob’s whole body reacted and spasmed, limbs flailing.
The trucker rammed him so hard that Rob’s feet lifted off the ground. He was supported entirely by the trucker’s strong arms, his cock and his tongue in Rob’s mouth.
It was not a passionate kiss, nor a competent one. His tongue fought with Rob’s as though he intended to invade and conquer Rob’s mouth. His handjob was rough and dysrhythmic as well.
But most of the allure of getting rammed by men was the raw, amateur feel to it. Rob was glad to submit to this colossal cockjob, and he loved servicing the man behind and atop him.
Once the trucker got moving, he seemed to forget that his tongue was in a man’s mouth, and he didn’t pay much attention to his hand either. He kept both in position though, even as he focused on drilling his dick in and out.
The motion he created was enough to send Rob over the edge. He was overjoyed to cum like this, with the trucker still in his ass, his hand on Rob’s cock and his tongue in Rob’s mouth. As uncontrollable pleasure wracked his body Rob kissed him back, slathering spit all over his lips and his beard. He sucked on the man’s tongue.
A burst of hot cum sprayed over the man’s callused fingers, coating his tanned skin. He kept on jacking, his hand moving slowly up and down the shaft until every last drop of cum had been drained from Rob’s balls. At last he pulled off Rob’s mouth.
“Could use some lube, bitch,” he said through gritted teeth. He took his cum-coated hand and stroked his dick one time, wiping all that semen up on his shaft.
Then he jammed his dick in and out, the hot, creamy cum providing enough lube to send him over the edge. His hairy muscles all flexed at once, and he pushed Rob’s head back down to the ground. Rob’s face pressed into the cum-splattered linoleum, his ass in the air.
The trucker watched his creamy dick slide in and pulsate there, his veiny shaft spasming as he nutted within Rob’s ass. He grinned at the sight of Rob’s curvy cheeks, his feminine shape and his tight asshole accepting every drop of the trucker’s cum. With Rob’s head on the ground, all the trucker could see was that asshole and the frothy, cummy mess that bubbled out of it.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ nasty-ass cumdump,” he groaned. “Hell yeah… Fuck… Where was you when I was in lockup, damn…”
Every time Rob thought the trucker was done, he groaned and a fresh spurt of cum flowed into Rob’s ass. He shot such a huge load that it dripped into every corner of Rob’s flesh, and it slipped out his ass too, dripping down his thighs and onto the showerhouse floor.
He stayed there, cock deep in Rob’s ass, even when he was finally done. When Rob opened his mouth to speak — but before he could actually make a sound — the trucker roared and pounded on his back. The trucker shifted his cock back and forth, and it twitched inside Rob’s sensitive body.
“Here. Sign the check.” The trucker handed it over, his dick still in Rob’s ass, growing limper by the moment.
Rob’s body was tense and tight. He struggled to grip the pen, but he managed to write his name with shaky fingers on the signature line. He handed the check back to the trucker, who finally pulled out.
The most jaw-dropping sense of relief of Rob’s entire life flooded him. He moaned so loud it startled the trucker, who gently kicked his ass with one bare foot. Rob collapsed onto the floor, a squirming mass of post-orgasmic flesh.
He nearly fell asleep. He didn’t quite, but he almost did. He was a warm buzz of desire and arousal, and he couldn’t even think about getting up yet. He heard the trucker walk over to the showers. He belched loudly and bathed, ignoring Rob.
Finally he stood on his weak knees. He stretched his legs. He took a few steps towards the door, intently aware of the trucker watching him leave.
“Hey, bitch!” He had to bellow to be heard over the sound of the shower running.
“Yes, sir?”
He was covered in soap suds, partially obscured by billowing clouds of steam. He licked his lips and sneered. “You like truckers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Next month. This time next month. I be back here in Norbilly. You bring your checkbook,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll bring at least two other truckers. Like me. You pay me, okay? Five hundred each, so fifteen hundred dollars. Don’t tell them you’re paying. They’ll kiss and give a reacharound, maybe more. I can make ‘em do it.”
“Yes, sir. That’s a lot of money, sir.”
“I’m gonna buy my daughter the pony she been beggin’ for. That’ll teach my bitch ex-wife to call me a loser,” he said. “You be ready. Bring lube. Forget the word ‘no’.”
“Yes, sir.” Rob said. He walked out of the door, clothes in hand. He stood naked in the parking lot of the truck stop, then slowly got dressed. He smiled and started to walk back to town. He couldn’t wait for next month.
That was going to be the most exciting day of his life, and he only had one month to prepare.

The Basketball Coach: Chapter 1

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CHAPTER ONE
Professor Thickman

Avery walked slowly through the hallways of the Forrester Building. The corridor was choked with young men and women — more women than men, though Avery was only interested in the latter. He felt a little old and out-of-place because… well, because he was old and out-of-place.
He was hardly ancient, but he didn’t quite fit in here. He didn’t mind too much, it was just very apparent at times like these. Everyone here was wrinkle-free and skinny, with fine, mussed-up hair — apparently college males weren’t allowed to style their hair these days — and active, charming grins. Avery didn’t remember being anywhere’s near this active when he was their age. These folks spent all day running around, taking classes, then spent all night partying, with tons of interpersonal drama and even some occasional studying. Whereas if Avery went to the bank and spent ten minutes there, he considered that “enough errands, I’m too tired to do anything else today”. He couldn’t imagine going to class and partying and giving a crap about social issues — all in one day.
He went into his poetry class and sat down. As usual, he sat near — but not next to — the seat near the back where Rayshawn Mitchell would be. Rayshawn was a star basketball player on the college team. He was a bedimpled, well-coiffed young black man with a six-pack that was so perfect it was nearly an eight-pack. He had females literally hanging off him most of the time — last time Avery saw him outside of class there was a girl hanging off his arm by the bicep and giggling like she wanted him to think it was gross, even though she was obviously about to suck Rayshawn’s dick.
Avery had to admit he thought Rayshawn was alluring. He was immaculate, almost too perfect, like what an alien might conclude was a handsome man after spending years studying human attractiveness. His cornrows were tight and more symmetrical than seemed possible; his eyes were living pools of brown that gleamed and flashed in the light.
Avery stared into his dreamy eyes as Rayshawn sat down. Then Avery slipped over a couple pieces of paper onto Rayshawn’s desk.
It had an interpretation of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” by Thomas Gray. Two thousand words, double-spaced, original material not based on or inspired by any of the online essays about this poem.
Avery had written it, and another one besides to turn in for himself. He wrote all of Rayshawn’s papers for him, in exchange for jacking him off. Rayshawn didn’t like to masturbate but he enjoyed spending time away from women sometimes. Avery was ideal from his perspective. Avery licked his dick but didn’t make him watch comediennes or go to political protests.
Rayshawn leaned over to Avery, holding onto the assignment Avery had done for him. “Thanks… Hey, you gotta go see Coach Thickman.”
“What?”
“You gotta go see Coach Thickman. He wanna see you.”
Avery had no idea who that was or why he would want to see Avery, or why Rayshawn would deliver a message about it. Avery furrowed his brow. “Uh… What?”
“Go see Coach Thickman, man. He’s the industrial development teacher,” Rayshawn said, before smiling at a pretty blonde girl who sat down near him. She shivered and giggled at nothing in particular.
Avery sat back and furrowed his brow. He looked it up on his phone. Mr. Thickman was real; he was an assistant basketball coach, and he taught “industrial development”; Avery had no idea what that was.
It turned out to be something like metalshop, possibly. Avery went to see Coach Thickman after Poetry Appreciation. It was in the Forrester Building, but in the basement — which Avery hadn’t even realized featured any classrooms — and it was dark, dim, smelling of steel and oil and mopwater.
Mr. Thickman taught certain blue-collar skills like welding but mainly focused on Foreman Qualifications Engineering — which was apparently a degree program intended for factory foremen. Avery had never heard of it before because it was mainly taken by athletes who needed an easy A and a simple degree.
He was there in a heavy black apron, a helmet, filthy jeans and little else — no shirt beneath the apron. The helmet, with built-in goggles, was to protect himself from the sparks flying from his welding torch. They illuminated the caliginous workshop like a spotlight aimed at his sweat-gleaming cabled shoulders.
Avery yelped and stepped back, surprised both to see him welding and that he did so without a shirt on. The apron protected his chest, but a few bits of spark scorched his bare arms and shoulders.
Oh god those arms… Professor Reginald Thickman — as the sign on the door said, not Coach Thickman — had incredible arms. He was a black man with very dark skin and big fleshy arms. He had a thick barrel chest too. He was entirely unlike the skinny, lanky college boys Avery had been chasing after.
He was exactly what Avery wanted nowadays.
Avery blushed and cleared his throat. Professor Thickman glanced up at him, turned the welding torch off and removed his helmet and goggles. He had a dense mustache that was well-trimmed and a layer of unkempt beard hairs beneath that.
“Yeah?” His voice boomed like fireworks but rasped like sandpaper.
“Uh, hi… I’m… Avery,” Avery said, his voice weak and tinny because he felt small in the cavernous space. He blushed and shrank back from Professor Thickman.
“Sup.” He made a face like he was annoyed Avery hadn’t already finished explaining why he was here.
“I, uh… I heard…”
“You wanna sign up for the Factory Skills Seminar?”
“Umm…. No.”
He grunted, which made his mustache quiver. “Good. Cuz you ain’t…” He looked Avery’s slim body up and down. “I dunno if it’d be a good fit.”
Avery blushed. “I like things that aren’t a good fit.” He came closer to Thickman, who furrowed his big squarish brow.
“What?”
“I’m just sayin’… Sometimes it’s fun to take something big and stick it in something small, even if you have to struggle-“
“Oh.” He rolled his eyes and took off his leather apron, revealing that massive chest with protruding muscles, cradled tightly beneath a sleeveless tee. It had been concealed by the apron until now. It may have been a white shirt at some point, but now it was gray in the areas it wasn’t stained with black grease. “Whatchoo want? I got shit to do, get to the point.”
Avery frowned. He had hit a brick wall — he initially thought Thickman seemed like he might be down to mess around, but he now glared at Avery as though that was not an option. Avery shrugged. “Well, Rayshawn Mitchell said you wanted to talk to me-“
“You? You the guy?”
“Well, I dunno about the guy, but I am a guy-“
“Shut up. You the pervert.” Professor Thickman scowled. He went to the door and slammed it shut. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, which showed off his big beefy pecs, a few hairs poking out from under that rancid wifebeater. He must wear that whenever he welds and never washes it… Avery blushed. Professor Thickman came closer. “I know what you doin’. You ain’t even young, man. You like thirty or somethin’, you got no business goin’ after my boys. They some upstanding men, they gonna marry nice girls and not chase skirt or do the nasty on the DL.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb wit’ me, I know about you, man. I know.” He looked like he didn’t want to say anything more specific. But he sighed and added, “you jackin’ off my boys. You goin’ after ’em, chasin’ ’em around like they some goddamn hoes and you the playa callin’ after ’em-“
“I’m sorry, what? I don’t chase them around, first of all — and anyway I don’t mess with your boys — first of all — second of all, I mean — they’re not your boys. They’re adults. They can choose to hang out with me if they choose-“
“They choose no.”
“Have you told them that?” Avery quaked. He was so much smaller than Professor Thickman, but his nostrils flared like he might take him on in a fight.
“Yes, I told them that, you little punk. I told ’em in no uncertain terms, but they say you makin’ pers’stent advances. Rayshawn Mitchell say you always beggin’ him for it, you followin’ him around and givin’ him money and shit-“
“Uh, I don’t think so, you big-ass blockhead! Rayshawn Mitchell calls me! He says he needs to get a nut off every night or his dick’ll fall off. Are you gonna swallow his nut at four in the morning? I gave him twenty dollars to buy some flowers for his mama for her birthday, that’s the only money I ever gave him-“
“You do his homework? His… poetry…homework?” Professor Thickman snickered a little.
“I… I help… and…-“
“No more. I put him in that fuckin’ poetry class cuz it’s easy. You can’t do poetry wrong, man. Make him do it. Nobody has ever failed that class.”
“I…”
“What?”
Avery put his hands on his hips. “No. I don’t want him to do it himself! I like his dick!”
“Man! I said leave my boys alone-“
“Rayshawn is twenty-one! He has a baby of his own! He can ask me to get his nut off if he wants! If you don’t like it, tell him to ask you to jack him off-“
“I oughta smack the pansy outta your garden! You are distractin’ my boys, and I don’t like it one bit!”
“You bullying asshole! First of all, Rayshawn is the only basketball player I mess with — is Jamaal Hartlee telling you shit about me? Cuz I told him no, cuz he is a skinny fuck with a dick that is also a skinny fuck, and he’s a douchebag-“
“You don’t mess wit’ Jamaal Hartlee?”
“The only way I’d touch his dick is if it was full of Rayshawn’s dick.”
“And Tommy Smith?”
“Tommy Smith, didn’t he graduate? I got him off last year.”
“Hmmm… You swear you ain’t messin’ around with them all?”
“Just Rayshawn. And he calls me. He says he’s too busy ‘smashin’ pussy’ to read poems,” Avery said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You make it sound like I hang out in the locker room trying to cop a feel-“
“Well, I don’t much like you messin’ around. The rumors are a distraction for the team, and they spendin’ all they time arguin’ ’bout who got jacked off by you and who don’t do that. You like black boys?”
“No! I like Rayshawn-“
“Then why don’t you leave my boys alone and fuck wit’ the rugby team or some shit? Or lacrosse?”
“Uh, I do! I’m good at seducing jocks, race irrelevant. It’s kinda my thing. I jack off Greg Lambert every day! He’s on the rugby team.” Avery paused. “I didn’t know this school had a lacrosse team. What do they look like? Where do they practice-?”
“They’s intramural. I dunno where they practice. I dunno what they — I never seen ’em.” Professor Thickman frowned. After a long pause, he said, “Look… Just don’t let yo’ mouth distract him from practice, okay?”
“No.” Avery had his hands on his hips. “Your basketball games are a low priority for me. If they’re high priority for Rayshawn, then tell him to appreciate poetry by himself.”
Thickman took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. He was used to bossing around big tough guys, both his students and his players. When he wore this nasty shirt that showed off his arms and he told his “boys” what to do, they jumped to it. They knew he meant business. Professor Thickman did not play around.
So he was annoyed that this fruitcake was so insolent. Thickman frowned again. He shifted his weight between his leather-booted feet.
“You’re not gonna bully me,” Avery said. “Rayshawn is his own man. If he lets you plant your flag in his dick, that’s fine with me. Until then, it’s his dick, it’s my mouth, and it’s happening. Look away if you don’t like it.”
Thickman growled, making that mustache shake. “I ain’t bullyin’ no one. You a grown man. Kinda.” He throatily chuckled.
“Okay, well, I’ve had enough of that. I am a man, you piece of shit. At least I’m man enough to pursue my own life instead of domineering some fucking college boys. You spend all day telling them how to spend their life just so you can go home to what I’m guessing is a sad little apartment all by yourself, microwave a sad little TV dinner, lift your little weights like a fucking convict. Hey, how much furniture do you have that isn’t a bench press?”
“Hey!” Thickman had to hold himself back. If one of his athletes talked to him like that, he’d grab him by the balls and shout some goddamn respect into his throat. “You ain’t gotta be personal-“
“Oh, I’m personal?! You made accusations at me, Thickman! You called me a pervert first! You virtually accused me of being a gropey stalker! Don’t get all self-righteous now.”
“I ain’t mean it like that, okay? Just…” Thickman growled again. “Just quit fuckin’ bitchin’.”
“No.” Avery crossed his arms over his chest.
“Look… I know you… I ain’t mean for this to get all rude. I wasn’t gonna like… I know I got a rough manner, okay? I ain’t threatenin’ you or nothin’. I ain’t a bully.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“I was gonna let you swing on my dick if you promised to leave Rayshawn alone, I thought, y’know, I was thinkin’ you love black dick-“
“So you were going to do me a favor? Oh well, the great Professor Thickman sees fit to bestow his dick upon me!” Avery threw his hands up and dropped to his knees like he was going to worship him. “Let this day be forevermore remembered as the day Professor Thickman granted the gift of his magnificent manhood-“
“You are such a bitch, dude. You’re as bad as my sister. If you don’t wanna do it, just say no.”
He sighed again and rolled his eyes as Avery grabbed his cock through his paint-splattered jeans. It throbbed beneath his touch. Thickman looked around and sniffled. He didn’t look down, even as his dick twitched beneath Avery’s grasp.
“I didn’t say no,” Avery said. Thickman’s chest muscles flexed beneath his wifebeater, and he lifted his arms up to avoid touching Avery. The smell of his armpits overcame the sulfurous steel and sparks scent that had lingered in the workshop.
“Man… I ain’t… In case you wonderin’, you racist prick, I ain’t a ex-con.” His dick twitched beneath Avery’s touch. He still hadn’t taken his pants off, so it was under the grimy denim of his workpants.
“But you do live in a small apartment by yourself, and lifting weights is your only hobby, and you don’t get why, when you hit thirty-five, your muscles became a turnoff for girls, and you don’t wear enough deodorant-“
“Shut up.”
“No. Do you want me to get you off or not? I promise I won’t come on to Rayshawn, okay? And I’ll make him write his class poem by himself. No help. But he’s going to call me and say he needs me to suck his nut, and I’m going to go, Professor Thickman. I’m going to open wide and swallow every drop I can find. I like him. If some hot chick wanted to skip her, I dunno, jazz recital or whatever, to fuck you, would you tell her no?”

Professor Thickman grumbled and nodded but didn’t answer. He stood there with his arms folded over his chest. He looked hostile, but Avery thought he had technically just agreed to Avery’s offer.


Avery blushed and continued stroking him through his jeans. “You’re really handsome. Would you ever convince Rayshawn to cornhole me?”
Thickman grunted and held back a laugh. “He don’t do that?”
“He says it’s too dirty,” Avery said, shaking his head. He unzipped Professor Thickman’s jeans and pulled his dick out through the fly. Thickman looked away and chewed on his lip. Avery kissed the tip. He flopped it limply over his face. He kept checking up at Thickman’s face, waiting for him to respond, but he just stared at the thing he had been welding — an unidentifiable hunk of metal — and ignored Avery.
So Avery pulled his balls out too, and gave each of them a quick suck. He kept teasing Thickman with his mouth while his hands roamed up, under that disgusting old wifebeater. He tweaked Thickman’s nipples.
Soon his dick twitched where it rubbed against Avery’s lips. Avery spit right on the shaft and then sucked it off. He repeated that a few times, making it as loud as he could. But he still hadn’t actually put Thickman’s cock in his mouth.
“Alright, boy, you just teasin’ me now, that ain’t fair,” Thickman said, voice like an old gravel road. He grunted. “You teasin’. You playin’ games. I don’t like games. Put it in if you gonna put it in.”
“You don’t like games? Aren’t you a basketball coach?”
“Basketball ain’t a game, it’s a war,” Thickman said with a groan. He glanced down at Avery long enough to slap him over the face with his cock. Then he drilled it into Avery’s mouth. He sighed and looked away, glad to have finally got this twerp to shut up. They had both teased each other — Avery had licked his dick and played with it rather than swallow it, just to annoy Thickman, while Thickman had stood there like he was uninterested just to annoy Avery.
Now Thickman’s dick finally firmed up, and they were both eager to get started for real. Thickman refused to admit that though — he tried to look like he was doing a favor for Avery. Once he got his dick ramming in and out of Avery’s throat, he again looked up as though coming up with a lesson plan for tomorrow, like he didn’t have any interest in why Avery choked and loudly gagged on the cockmeat invading his throat.
Avery didn’t mind the choking. He preferred it. As far as he was concerned, if you didn’t struggle a bit, it wasn’t worth it. He throated Thickman down to the root, until his nose nuzzled his pubic hair and that girthy shaft threatened to split his neck wide open.
“Damn, boy, you eager as shit now, huh? I guess I see what Rayshawn sees in ya,” Thickman said with a guilty leer. He watched Avery slurp on his dick as though it had little to do with him, even as his chest heaved and his heart sped up. He didn’t touch Avery’s head except when his dick accidentally popped out, and Avery took a long hoarse breath. Thickman didn’t wait for even a second, he just forced Avery’s head back into place and relentlessly forced his cock back in.
It was so moist and tight, it was unlike any mouth Thickman had had had in years. He had had no intention of sticking Avery in the ass, right up until he heard Rayshawn refused to do so — Thickman wasn’t going to let some punk like that show him up. He was going to have to cornhole this twerp, and he was going to have to do it better than Rayshawn ever would.
“You ready for me to get up in ya guts?” Thickman asked. His voice was throaty and gurgly.
“Oh. God. Yes.” Avery blushed and spoke through his gasps for air. He let Thickman’s cock throb and leave a layer of precum all over his face. He stuck his tongue out to tease it a little more while he lowered his pants and boxers.
Then he turned around and gripped the metal thing Thickman had been welding — was it a plow? It kind of looked like a plow, but Avery assumed that couldn’t be right. Why would any modern-day American human weld a plow? Weren’t they made in factories? In… presumably like Vietnam or something? Avery didn’t know. But he assumed they weren’t made by one middle-aged American with a welding torch in a college basement.
“What is this?” Avery finally asked as he jutted his ass back. It hit Thickman’s cock, and he rubbed it up and down — teasing him once more by making it difficult to aim for his hole.
“What is what? That’s my dick-“
“No, this… thing I’m leaning on,” Avery said. He rattled the plow-like collection of steel. “What is it?”
“Oh. It’s a sculpture,” he said. “It ain’t done.” He slipped the tip into Avery’s ass, then wrapped one arm around Avery’s neck to keep his head in position. His other hand brusquely spread Avery’s asscheeks.
“You- Shit, goddamn –” Avery took a deep breath, inhaling the sweaty funk of Professor Thickman’s elbow. “Goddamn, man.” He loosened his ass the best he could. “You’re a sculptor?”
“Shut up. It ain’t only white snobs who can be into art,” he said. He used his hips to mercilessly force more dick in. The nice thing about ramrodding men, he thought, was that they liked as much dick as possible, as hard as possible. Women loved gentle fucking, which annoyed Professor Thickman.
He liked to ram.
“I didn’t say that, I just… Ah shit…” Avery couldn’t even remember exactly what he had been trying to say. He didn’t care. He just held onto the sculpture for support as he accepted every inch of Thickman’s incredible cock.
His prostate sang with every thrust of Thickman’s hips. Once he got into it, Thickman thrusted with all his might, making Avery howl and scream. At first Avery tried to be quiet, but then he realized this entire basement was devoid of people, so he could be as loud as he wanted. He moaned out loud, the sound echoing in the industrial arts basement.
Thickman rammed into him hard, like it really took every muscle in his body to do it the way he wanted. He kept his workpants and wifebeater on the whole time. His balls slapped against the back of Avery’s ass, sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body.
But he wouldn’t let Avery know how good this felt. He tried to make it feel like he was doing a favor for Avery, grinding within him, finding his spongy prostate and ramming into it over and over. But Thickman couldn’t help but moan a little himself, his deep voice carrying and echoing through the empty space.
Finally he was done, and he let out a loud grunt as he smacked Avery’s cheeks, making them ripple around his cockshaft. He tightened the chokehold around Avery’s neck, just enough to make him struggle and clench Thickman’s manhood.
“Take it, almost done, don’t worry, I’s almost done, you got it, you got it, baby, you doin’ great,” Thickman said into Avery’s ear as he squirmed beneath his powerful body. The sculpture rattled beneath Avery.
Just as the first wad of cum hit Avery’s insides, Thickman snarled and grabbed his hands. He pulled Avery off the sculpture, and for a moment, Avery was falling — he had nothing to support himself on but Thickman’s arm wrapped around his neck. Avery gripped Thickman’s sweat-soaked bicep and squealed.
Cum sprayed into him. Avery had been jacking himself off until this moment, but now he panicked and let go of himself to claw at Thickman’s arm. Thickman’s dick felt so good inside him that it didn’t even matter, and Avery orgasmed anyway.
“Oh shit-“
“Ssssssshush, shut up, boy, I’m nuttin’ in ya. Don’t move.” Thickman gurgled throatily into Avery’s ear. Avery struggled to breathe and to remain upright, even though he could tell Thickman had a firm grip on him — Avery’s mind kept panicking, sure he would fall flat on his face any moment now.
But instead he just shot his own wad onto the floor, some of it hitting the sculpture, while he took the biggest load of his life in his ass. It was creamy and hot, seeping through his flesh and sinking into him. Thickman moaned right into Avery’s ear, deafeningly loud and raspy, a little moist because Thickman let out a few drops of drool too, wetting Avery’s face.
Finally he was done, and Thickman put Avery down on the floor. His dick popped out. Avery sighed. Thickman grunted and wiped sweat off his forehead. He waddled to his desk with his dick still jutting straight out through the fly of his workjeans. He wordlessly wiped his cock off with a clean rag.
“You good?” Thickman asked. He tucked his cock away in his jeans, then straightened up his wifebeater. It had been sweaty even before he started today, but now it was like a wet rag again. He knew he needed to bring a new one in so he wasn’t wearing this every day. Some of his students were beginning to make fun of him for smelling bad. And Avery’s comment about needing more deodorant had gotten to him.
But Avery never responded. Thickman chuckled. Sometimes, when he cornholed males, they were too overwhelmed by his massive dick to do anything afterwards but experience the majesty of it. Thickman went over to Avery, who was bent over in front of the sculpture.
“You okay, boy?”
Avery nodded. “I was just… I like your sculpture,” he said. “I can’t really think of why. But it’s very… well, not pretty, but it has a certain, I dunno, elegance to it. All of the joints are different.”
“Yeah.”
Now that he wasn’t getting cornholed, Avery could take a closer look at the sculpture. It was intensely complex, with different kinds of welded joints combining each piece of steel. Some of the steel was more polished than other steel. There was a pattern to it, something consistent in the seemingly haphazard collection of steel beams and rods.
It was a chaotic panoply of monochrome — all black — yet it seemed somehow more vibrant than it had any right to be. It was sturdy like a tool, solid like its sculptor, with a bewildering firmness like a mountain. But it had wiggled when Avery leaned on it, and now it gently swayed in the delicate breeze from the far-off industrial fan that kept this basement cool. It was a plow at heart — an old design, an ancient and functional workhorse that looked already as though it had been used in the fields — but it had the looping whorls, looming grandeur and shimmery sheen of modern space-age materials. Its curves echoed of timelessness, the past and the future leading together into a present that made this very moment feel like a lifetime.
Avery couldn’t look away from it, not until he smelled Professor Thickman’s nasty wifebeater coming closer to him. Then Avery looked up and smiled. “I like your sculpture.”
Thickman grunted. He didn’t take compliments well, especially about something like that. “Fine.” After a long pause, he stroked his mustache and said, “Cool. Thanks.” He added, “If Rayshawn calls you again, I will beat his ass.”
“Sounds hot. Can I watch?”
“I ain’t mean it like that,” Thickman said, his dour voice concealing the smile underneath his mustache.
“I know.” Avery stood. He hugged Thickman around the belly and nuzzled his stinky wifebeater. “Thanks for that. How about the next time Rayshawn calls me, I’ll come over to your place? I’ll make your apartment less sad, then you can stick me. I’ll tell Rayshawn to jack off and do his homework. No promises after that, I might hook up with Rayshawn later. But next time, I’ll give you another chance.”
“Okay.” He wiped his cock off with a paper towel.
Avery smiled and walked away. “I’ll see you soon,” he said.

(continue to Chapter Two)

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