whistling – Mansploitation

The Clerk

Rob is in a big-box retail store when he spies a hunky redneck clerk shirking his job duties. Rob is all too eager to help out, in exchange for a chance to swing on this store clerk’s alpha male meat!

Can he handle the surprise in the Outdoor Supplies aisle?!

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The white guy looked like he was trying to sneak a nap among the shelves. He was tall, broad-shouldered, red-necked both literally and figuratively, and he had a lean ropy-muscled body beneath the blue All-Mart apron he wore. He also had on civilian clothes: a long-sleeve camo tee and camo pants, which Rob suspected were not regulation.
It was two o’clock in the morning at a twenty-four hour All-Mart. Rob had come here for beer before remembering that he was in Nebraska, where only liquor stores sold beer. He was disappointed. There was a black guy in the motel room next to him whom Rob thought he could jerk off in exchange for a few beers.
But this All-Mart clerk was also an attractive target. Jacob was the name on the nametag pinned to his chest. He was young, scruff-bearded, with dark hair and eyes. He appeared to be assigned to stock some hunting vests, which he had stacked in boxes on a handcart. But he was doing it so lazily he could only be wasting time deliberately. He leaned against the shelves and closed his eyes, as though going to take a nap standing up right here in the hunting and camping aisle.
“Excuse me,” Rob said. “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars if you let me jerk you off.”
His bleary eyes blinked. “What?” Jacob paused. “Wait, what?” He wrapped one hand over his All-Mart apron. “I…”
“Here, just a tip,” Rob said as he put a twenty-dollar bill in Jacob’s pants. He stuck it in the waist of his pants — making sure to get a feel of Jacob’s kinky pubic hair — then took Jacob’s big meaty hand in his. He got Jacob’s finger out and sucked on it, making Jacob’s eyes pop out and his face blush. Rob deep-throated his finger all the way down until he gagged. Rob grinned. “I’ll make you feel better than your girlfriend ever could. You ever cornhole a man, Jacob?”
“No…” He sounded nervous.
“It is dirty. It is nasty, and you will never blow a more satisfying nut,” Rob said. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars to ram me in the ass. C’mon… Let me go to town all over your cock. You’ll forget about your girlfriend, you won’t remember her name.”
“Felicia…” Jacob looked up and down the aisle to make sure nobody could hear this conversation.
“She sounds like a bitch.”
“Yeah. She kinda is.”
“A thousand dollars. What would you do with a thousand dollars?”
“Shit, buy a dirtbike,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
“A dirtbike, that sounds fun,” Rob said. He plastered on a jovial smile. “What do you say? You don’t have to touch my dick.”
He looked around. “Let’s go in the back. Hey, if this black guy named Terrell walks in, I’m making you take it cuz you’s a snitch,” he said.
“Okay.”
He led Rob away from the hunting gear into the backroom. There was a small hidden corner there, blocked from view by a row of boxes. It smelled vaguely like weed, and there was ash on the floor, which suggested to Rob why Jacob thought they might be interrupted — this was where the employees came to smoke weed. Jacob closed his eyes and leaned against the wall.
He unzipped the fly of those camo pants and let his hoggish prick flop out. It was musty and musky, and it made Rob’s dick twitch in his pants. Rob put the tip in his mouth, looking up at Jacob to gauge his reaction — Jacob was horrified, eyes open wide, tongue lolling out of his mouth — but he didn’t complain, and in fact his back stiffened up as though he was steeling his nerves.
It stayed limp there at first, like Jacob was too nervous to get hard. Then Rob gurgled merrily on it, savoring the flavor, and that seemed to trigger Jacob to relax. He took a deep breath. His dick trembled and firmed up in Rob’s mouth.
Jacob wrapped his hands around Rob’s head. He acted like he was going to throat down Rob — which Rob would have loved — but instead he just gingerly guided Rob’s head up and down. He licked his lips.
“Damn, boy, you do that pretty good,” he said. He whispered, looking through the rows of shelves every few seconds to be sure no one was coming. It was late enough at night that Rob felt confident no one would interrupt them — there weren’t that many people even working right now to begin with, so what were the chances they would come into this little corner of the storage area?
Jacob, where are you?
The radio flickered into life from where it was clipped to Jacob’s pants. He sighed and bristled like he didn’t want to be interrupted. He bent down and picked up the radio. “This is my jerkoff boss,” he said. He pushed the ‘transmit’ button down. “I’m here.”
Are you done with Outdoor Supplies?
Jacob rolled his eyes. “No. I’m helping a customer right now. I’ll be back to finish it off in a few minutes.”
The boss’ voice sounded clipped, like he was angry but didn’t want to say anything inappropriate because he thought there was a customer nearby. I appreciate your commitment to customer service. However, your current assignment is stocking in Outdoor Supplies.
“Understood,” Jacob said. He made a mock military salute, as if Jerry could see through the radio. “My first commitment is to customer care, Jerry, and I take that very seriously.”
“Thanks so much for your help, Jacob!” Rob called out while the button was pushed, aiming his voice towards the radio. He and Jacob smirked while waiting for the boss to answer.
I’m glad you watched the training video, Jacob. Get back to Outdoor Supplies.
“Yes, sir,” Jacob said into the radio. Then he made a masturbation-gesture with one hand. “Fuckin’ dickhead. I swear to God, on my last day here, I am gonna beat that pencil-necked shitface until there ain’t nothin’ left to beat.” He paused and sneered down at Rob. “I never said that, by the way. I never threatened him.”
“Okay, yeah, no problem, I didn’t hear anything,” Rob said, breathless as he took a deep breath before resuming his deep-throating of Jacob’s magnificent meat.
Jacob groaned. “Every time I see him I wanna rip his goddamn head off. You heard the way he was talkin’ to me. He’s always like that. Talkin’ to me like I’m a shithead and he’s a fuckin’ saint for givin’ me a job. He’s just a fucking night manager at a All-Mart. That is the smallest amount of power that has ever gone to somebody’s head.”
Don’t forget to take care of the parking lot too, Jacob. You forgot last night.
Jacob scoffed. “I ain’t forget,” he said out loud. “I ain’t nevuh done that, Jerry. Never will neither. He don’t even usually notice if I do it or not.” He pushed the button down on the radio again. “Thanks Jerry, I’ll do that. I can’t wait to go the extra mile to help our customers enjoy our parking lot.”
I could do without the sarcasm.
“Me too!” Jacob said. He kept his eyes aimed down at his cock disappearing in Rob’s throat, and he shuddered as a frisson of pleasure ran up his spine.
Jacob…
“Thanks so much for your direction and management, Jerry. Your customer-centric philosophy and stick-to-it-iveness is really an inspiration to me. You’re like a father to me. Can you explain where babies come from?” Jacob chuckled, making his entire muscular body shift and his cock twitch in Rob’s mouth. Jacob was getting excited now, as his erection sent a wave of adrenaline through his body.
Jacob!
“Will you be my mentor? Heal my troubled soul with the power of customer service!”
Jacob, do I need to come over there?
“I’m with a customer right now, Jerry, giving a hundred and ten percent to make his shopping experience a safe and efficient one,” Jacob said. “Also, I’m respecting diversity.”
Rob nodded, mollywopping himself with Jacob’s cock. “That’s so important.”
Holding the radio in his hand for another minute or two, Jacob watched his dick slide in and out of Rob’s mouth. Soon it was clear that Jerry wasn’t going to respond. He had given up. Jacob scoffed and put the radio back on his belt. “They always make it seem like the radio is a good thing. You have to earn having a radio. But they don’t pay you any more for it, and it just means they get to keep radioing you to tell you to do stuff.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. He held onto Jacob’s dick and licked the shaft from tip to root. That made Jacob shudder and moan, and Rob could see the exquisite sensations wracking his body and making his taut muscles ripple.
As precum flooded Rob’s mouth, he gurgled and suckled loudly. He wanted to make Jacob a little uncomfortable, and that’s what the noise did — Jacob kept looking this way and that to be sure no one was coming.
Then a bolt of bliss shot up Jacob’s spine, and his face screwed up. He grunted and looked shocked. He gripped Rob’s ears and held on tight. He began grinding his dick down deep into Rob’s throat. He threw his head back and licked his lips. It looked like he had possibly never received dome that felt this good. His neck was already ruddy to begin with, but as he got more aroused it turned scarlet like a cooked cranberry.
“God-damn boy, I am gonna ride ya face like a buckin’ bronco,” he said with a deep, throaty chuckle. He yee-hawed and whooped, slapping his own thighs and making his meaty muscle tremble. He fed his dick down Rob’s throat, ignoring the resistance he felt. “Relax ya throat, boy. Relax it.” He rubbed Rob’s neck, caressing it gently.
Rob couldn’t breathe. He loved the taste of redneck cock, and he enjoyed watching Jacob plow his throat too. It was so hot he couldn’t resist pulling his own cock out and jacking off.
“Hey, what’s cum taste like?” Jacob asked with a guilty leer, like he wasn’t supposed to ask. He pulled away from Rob’s mouth so he could answer.
Rob took a deep, hoarse, gasping breath. He tried to go back to Jacob’s cock, but Jacob frowned and kept his head away by holding his forehead.
“Huh? What’s cum taste like?”
“Uh… salty, and uh… it’s… hard to describe.” Rob gulped. It was difficult to concentrate right now, with the scent of Jacob’s cock just in front of his nose. He wanted to go back to slurping on it again but Jacob held his head back.
“Is it gross?”
“No. Well, yeah, kinda, but I like it,” Rob said. He blushed.
“Huh. You embarrassed ‘bout it?” he asked. He threw his hands in the air. His cock bobbed, jutting out from his crotch. “You tell ya daddy you jerk off random dudes?”
“You’re not random. I chose you.”
“No offense or nothin’,” he said. He shrugged. “You don’t feel embarrassed swallowin’ cock? Like a girl?”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Rob said with a shrug. Rob’s voice was cut off by that cock sliding back in his throat.
“I just don’t see how this ain’t humiliatin’ for ya,” he said. “You swallowin’ dick. I pee outta there, man. Fuckin’ nasty. It ain’t even, y’know, I ain’t touchin’ ya dick, so it ain’t even like you gettin’ something outta this.”
Rob gurgled. He wanted to explain further, but his mouth was full of dick, and it was hard to explain the allure the male form had for him. Jacob had resumed plowing his face slowly and gently, just hard enough to make Rob sputter a little. Jacob’s sweaty balls slapped against Rob’s chin and rested there.
“Yee-haw!” He lifted his camo shirt over his head, though he didn’t take it off, he just bared his chest. He was thickly built, without a six-pack though his belly was flat. He was moderately hairy and tattooed. “God-damn, boy. You should be ashamed of this. You shouldn’t be makin’ some other man feel good. That ain’t how a real man should act.”
But he didn’t say that like he expected Rob to respond. He put his hand behind his head as though he didn’t like touching Rob, which let Rob use both hands and his mouth on Jacob’s shaft. Rob bore down on his cock until his nose pressed into Jacob’s hairy crotch. He sucked down every drop of precum.
“You can punch me,” Jacob said. He let go of Rob’s head. He got down on his knees across from Rob, so close that Rob could feel his breath condensing on his cheek. Jacob frowned. “Go’n, I got this theory that wusses can be saved. They just ain’t nevuh done nothin’ real manly, you know? You gotta flip that switch to be a real man. Don’t happen to wussies.”
“What?”
“You evuh punch a man?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Really? A real man?”
“Yes…” Rob said. He sighed. “You really want me to punch you?”
“Yeah. I think it’ll help. I promise, if you do it and you don’t like it, you can go back to jerking me off.” Jacob paused and cocked his head to the side. “You better go back to it, I mean, even if you do like throwing a punch. Don’t blue-ball me, and you gonna have to pay me no matter what.” Jacob stood up straight and lifted Rob up at the same time, so they both stood in the tiny corner of the storage area.
“Fine, I’ll punch you if you want. But then you gotta start cornholing me in the ass,” Rob said. “I wanna feel your dick inside me.”
He scrunched up his nose. “Ew… Fine. You got a tight ass?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t wanna cornhole you if ya sloppy, boy,” Jacob said. He put his hands on his hips. “So go ahead. Punch me.”
Rob nodded. He knew an alpha male like Jacob would never start and then stop because his hole was too lose. That was fine to brag about but not something that any man like that would do. Rob wanted to impress Jacob, so he reared his fist back and punched as hard as he could.
His fist collided with Jacob’s face. Blood spurted from his nose. Jacob stumbled back and would have fallen to the ground except that he was already pinned up against one wall. He just gripped the wood behind himself and supported himself that way.
“Hell yeah, boy!” Jacob shouted. He beamed broadly and wiped a few drops of blood off his face.
Rob was glad he hadn’t embarrassed himself. He had rather hoped he could punch hard enough to knock Jacob down, but that was probably never realistic — Jacob outweighed him considerably, and was a lot tougher, that much was obvious.
“How’d that make ya feel, huh?” Jacob asked.
Rob shrugged. “Nothing really. You ready to ram me?”
He sighed. “Fine. Bend over. Bend over forwards, boy, don’t try and lay on ya back or nothin’, I don’t wanna see your face.”
Rob nodded. He got down on all fours — that was his preferred position anyway. It was perfectly submissive, he thought, bending over like a dog. Jacob’s callused hands gripped Rob’s ass and held on tight as he worked his dick in.
As soon as the tip slid in, Rob let out a moan of pleasure and pain. It hurt bad but that lasted only a few seconds. Once Jacob’s redneck cock hit his prostate, a powerful pang of pleasure rang out deep within Rob. He grunted.
“Ah, shit, you wasn’t kiddin’ ‘bout that tight ass. You should give lessons to my girl,” Jacob said. He relentlessly pounded his cock in, ignoring Rob’s resistance.
Rob moaned uncontrollably. Every movement Jacob made sent a new wave of pleasure through his body. Jacob moved a lot too, not just pivoting his hips but shifting his weight between his legs, clapping his hands together above Rob’s body and shaking his entire chest as he writhed.
Somebody whistled. It was a brief melody, just a few notes, but it sounded very deliberate, almost like a signal.
“Fuck, hey, remember what I said? Remember? This is Terrell. I’m gonna tell him you a snitch-“
That seemed like a bad plan. If Rob weren’t overwhelmed with desire and pressure in his asshole, he would have said so. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak, and in any case, he didn’t have enough time to come up with a better idea.
Terrell appeared right then. He was bopping along to a beat only he heard. When he turned the corner and saw Jacob cock-deep in Rob’s ass, he stopped moving for a moment as though he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
“Take that shit, bitch!” Jacob said with a roar. “Ah, there you is, Terrell. This here is a snitch. My brother sent him-“
“What the fuck are you doin’, boi?!”
Jacob laughed. From Rob’s position with Jacob’s cock in his ass, he could sense that Jacob was uncomfortable bluffing like this, but he needed to puff up his image in front of Terrell. Terrell was a tubby duckydoo, with a big round face and long dreadlocks.
“I’m punishin’ this snitch,” Jacob said.
“What?”
Jacob guffawed. He slapped Rob’s cheeks hard, then punched him in the back. Rob howled in pain, which he exaggerated for effect. Jacob smiled. “Remember my brother in prison?”
“Yeah.”
“This snitch here tried to squeal on ‘im. So when he got out, my brother sent ‘im to me, so I can make ‘im squeal instead.” He paused and grabbed Rob by the hair. “You hear that, bitch? Huh? Squeal like a piggie.”
He drove his dick in so deep and so hard that Rob had trouble doing so. He opened his mouth to let out a delicate, gentle oinking sound, as his whole body undulated with the power of his imminent orgasm.
“Nah, louder, bitch! Huh? Lemme hear it!”
“Oink!” Rob squealed as loud as he could.
“Yeah…” Jacob groaned. He hefted his entire body up over Rob’s back and pressed down. He pinned Rob to the ground, keeping a tight hold on his hair. That upped the pressure and the pleasure emanating from deep in Rob’s asshole.
Terrell watched with wide-eyed amazement. He clutched his belly, and his dreadlocks trembled. “Damn, Jacob, I take back what I said ‘bout whiteboys. You know how to lay down the law.” He paused. “I can’t watch this shit. Jerry is lookin’ for you.”
“Tell Jerry to go fuck his mother.”
Terrell chuckled. “No,” he said. “I ain’t tellin’ him that, cuz you prolly gonna make him do it. Damn, rednecks is crazy.” He walked away, shaking his head. “I am nevuh gonna smoke a blunt there again. Gonna smell like whiteboy booty forevuh.”
Jacob scoffed and chuckled. He smiled. He pinned Rob down, moving his hips from side to side as he shifted his cock around inside Rob’s ass. Though Jacob didn’t notice it, Rob shot his load right then, spraying his wad all over the floor. He shuddered and clenched down on Jacob’s cock.
“Thanks, man,” Jacob said. “He was really impressed.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said as his orgasm flowed through his veins.
He groaned right into Rob’s ear. “I’m gonna nut now, man, I’m gonna nut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” It sounded like his orgasm was almost painful — or maybe just so stressful his voice was clipped and tense. He jabbed his dick all the way and moaned loudly, his hairy chest rumbling against Rob’s smooth back.
A hot wad of cum sprayed into him. There was something warm and sunny about it, a summery feeling to its texture, which seemed to fit with Jacob’s redneck look. His breathing was jagged and rough, moistly condensing on Rob’s ear. His muscles rippled.
“Damn, boy…”
“Oink! Oink! Oink!” Rob squealed like a piglet again without waiting for Jacob to demand it
That load of cum spurted into every corner of Rob’s body, its heat seeping into his flesh as Rob squealed. The sound was loud, and he could hear Terrell laughing from not too far away — he must have gone nearby to smoke that blunt, and could hear Rob’s oinking. It was one of the biggest loads Rob had ever taken, great big jets of it filling him up and dripping down between his thighs.
Jacob stayed there for what felt like forever. His cock slowly limpened inside of Rob, who moaned and squirmed. His fingers tightened into claws that dug at the grimy concrete floor beneath him.
“Ah, shit,” Jacob said with a chuckle and a long, slow sigh. He lifted his head up but kept his dick in Rob’s ass. “Hey, boy, I ain’t sayin’ I care on ‘ccount of I ain’t no sissy. I was just… Do I do that good?”
“Wha’?” Rob was too engrossed in his post-orgasmic bliss and the pain in his ass to think of an answer. He fumbled with his wallet to get out the money and pay Jacob.
“Do I do that good? Is my dick good? Like… if you was a girl, and I fucked you like that — in the pussy, not the ass — would that be good? Would you tell ya girlfriends I was good?”
“Uh… I don’t have a vagina, Jacob. I don’t really know-” Rob found it hard to concentrate with Jacob’s rapidly limpening dick in his ass.
“I know, I know, I just mean… Nevermind. What about the ass? Some girls like getting fucked in the ass, right? Is it the same? Like, if I’m good at plowing a man in the ass, does that mean I’d be good at fucking a girl in the ass?” When Rob didn’t immediately respond, Jacob pulled on his hair. “Huh? Pay attention, man, I’m talkin’ at ya.”
“Yeah. You do that good. You really… If a girl likes getting fucked in the ass, she’ll like you fucking her in the ass,” Rob said.
He nodded and sighed. “Okay. I guess that’s pretty good.” He pulled his dick out. Rob sighed grandly. Jacob looked at his ass-juiced cock like it was too gross to touch. “The only girls I know who like anal are sluts. They like anything.”
“Uh-huh. That’s normal. Some nice women like anal, but they probably only ever tell their boyfriends that. So the only women you find out about are the slutty ones. That’s what makes them sluts, after all,” Rob said. He sat up, dizzy and groggy.
“That makes sense.” Jacob nodded. He submitted to Rob getting some paper towels from a roll in storage and wiping Jacob’s dick clean. Jacob watched with intent interest as though there was going to be a test on it later.
The radio on Jacob’s belt flickered into life again. Jerry’s voice filled the air. Jacob. Where are you? I see a cart full of shit in Outdoor Supplies.
Jacob quickly pulled his pants up and smiled. “Jerry,” he said, “You’re not supposed to curse on the radio. My tender ears are in pain. It’s unprofessional and contrary to the All-Mart Statement of Purpose. That’s not a community-building way to speak, Jerry.”
Jacob… Get out here and do the Outdoor Supplies.
Jacob shrugged, as Rob headed for the exit. “Hey, go out the back, man. Terrell gonna be out there smoking his blunt. Act like you scared of me and you runnin’ away.”
“Okay. See ya,” Rob said as he headed out, but Jacob was already ignoring him. Jacob was on the radio needling his boss, while Rob headed out the back door.
He took a deep breath before fresh air — and the fragrant smell of weed — flooded his lungs. Rob managed to pretend to cry as he ran past Terrell and out into the night. Terrell laughed and catcalled after him. Rob didn’t need to pretend to walk bow-legged because his ass did hurt, but it felt good too, and he was still experiencing the aftereffects of his orgasm as he fled into the Nebraska night.
Rob grinned as he ran, revelling in the satisfaction he gained from that more rewarding experience than he thought possible at a second-rate All-Mart in the middle of the night. Jacob was right, he thought, he really did give excellent customer service.

Thumper the Booty Bandit: Chapter 2

Read it now for free from Smashwords!

Thumper the Booty Bandit

Chapter One: The Old Head

Chapter Two: Still Whistlin’

Chapter Three: On the Systemic Racism of the So-Called “Road” and Its Origins in Patriarchal Patterns of Oppression

Chapter Four: Debt

Chapter Five: Crossing the Bridge

Chapter Six: The Sauciest Noodle

Chapter Seven: Nights of Long Love

Chapter Eight: Hazing

Chapter Nine: The Trustee

Chapter Ten: Missus

Chapter Eleven: Whitey

When Thumper woke up, that meth freak he messed with last night was gone. Thumper long snored on the solo while the booty boy smoked meth, haphazardly cleaned the apartment like a overclocked robot and then scuppered sideways in the pre-dawn light.
That was good. Thumper ain’t want no meth freak sticking around, after all.
He got up just after dawn. It ain’t feel early to him. In prison, he be getting up at the north side of dawn. Nowadays, in the free outside present-day here-and-now of the real world, early rising got niggas tripping, looking at Thumper like sad question marks when he said he got up at six. Lazy-ass punks all over.
His sneakers was old-fashion now. He done forgot how to dress. In prison, all the niggas was sporting sameness — orange jumpsuits and tee shirts, scruffy beard, Bloods tats, crucifix cuz no other jewelry was allowable. Out here, niggas was dudding up in polo shirts and tight-leg jeans, with pink drawers showing. Thumper ain’t know how to wear that, cuz ain’t none that flied before. He’d look ridiculous in that.
What was up with them homeboys with bleached hair? Thumper pontificated to hisself on on that topic when a recycling truck rattled down the road — there ain’t never was recycling trucks before neither — the driver was a reflective-vest redbone with bleached hair, a shiny grill, steel rods in his eyebrows and a center-of-his-nose ring. That nigga was presenting like a tinfoil supervillain.
Ain’t not a single nigga bleach they curls platinum before.
What made young cats come up with crazy shit like that? How did Thumper and his homeboys avoid it back in the before? They acted proper. Young pups was freak-show niggas now. He stood mean-mugging the recycling truck. The nigga inside paid him no mind, and neither did the truck as well.
The world bin moving on since before, and it weren’t gonna stop now for some creaky-knee nigga heaping harsh at the history of here.
He was still scowling short when this nigga Carson arrived at the barbershop on the ground floor. Thumper bin standing out smoking fugs and marinating his grays in dawnlight, cogitating upon the years that done gone and the recycling trucks that passed.
The sun was baking the boulevards of Baltimore early this morn. It was gonna be a scorcher today, and the humidity already hung about in the air like a sauna of spiderwebs. But it felt good to be exposed to the weather and the heat and the Chesapeake wind blowing the day’s haze astride the sky. Moisture done condense on Thumper’s skin, and that felt right as rum.
“Wendell, hey, nigga,” Carson said. He was a lieutenant in the Bloods, but he got a respectable look about him. He was one them roundbody niggas, in a button-down shirt and nice pants, got a graveled-down voice with a throaty murmur. He run the barbershop on the outfront for the Bloods, and since Thumper done his time standing up for them, Carson was supervising his freedom.
Carson gave Thumper a dapper nod. “You out early this morn.”
“Yep. Gettin’ a head-start on the day.” Thumper licked his teeth. He ain’t wanna admit that he got up outta prison-toned habit and that he ain’t got nothing on the agenda today.
He did have one chore he done got tasked with: his parole officer bin fussing at him to snag some employ. He was sposedta hump it to a job center to apply for work online. The job center was at a library, and it got this dickless sniveling smudgy-specs sunnyskin college-high nothing-muffin with a bone up his butt and quakes in his loafers to teach him how to use the internet. That Chinese boy’s name was Fancypunches, but Thumper ain’t tell him so yet.
Thumper weren’t shook up over the job search. Carson said he would arrange it.
So Thumper just be milling like a footless fighter on the street, where a stoop mighta been thirty-four years ago. Did they stop making stoops? He ain’t seen no new ones, and plentya old ones he remembered was gone.
Everything new looked the same, he thunk. Every building younger than him in Baltimore was identikit boxes in gray and black, like the world’s only architect musta got locked up at the same time he did.
He dithered in the barbershop when it opened, checking out the lookbook and considering hisself without no cornrows. He hoped sitting among niggas would feel like coming home again.
But they was ticking and tocking on they phones and conversating over soccer, and one them niggas said he got new pajamas, and another one’s girlfriend only ate raw vegans, and Thumper gathered that every single one them males be shaving they pubes, and they was drinking coffees made with butter, mochachiatto and “dragon’s fruit”, and the teevee got a scrawny honky plastic-surgeoning hisself into a starfish to protest the weather and ain’t nobody act like they was confuse about that, and then that grown-ass nigga who wore pajamas said the best teevee shows was not on the teevee, they was streaming outta cloud that his sister changed the password to, and ain’t nobody act like they got confuse about that neither. Something called “Poke He-Man Go” came up, but Thumper ain’t wanna ask what it was and look like some out-of-touch old head, because that was exactly what he was.
All morning they listened to some nutty-butter rap, Thumper could hardly believe it. Niggas rapping like a deflating balloon, beats dry as a frigid bitch, and every head in that barbershop a nod-along nelly. They was all sneaking eyes at Thumper like there was something wrong with him that only they could see.
When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he got a chill of not knowing what to do, and all them niggas saw it. Thumper wanna punch one’s lightbulb out, just to give ’em something else to remember, but he restrainted the urge.
Before, only bankers and coke dealers got cell phones, and they was as big as dictionaries. This one was a plasticy pop-tart as heavy as a nun’s fart. Every single nigga got one too, and mostly they was lost inside they’uns.

He looked at the phone with a flatness. Buncha them in the barbershop was facing him down like a trash-high, offroading, institutionized, broke-apart jailbird numb-nut nigga. The phone was like alien technology in his too-big hand, and all he could think about was them cool cats cackling up his kicks last night.

Carson done hookt him up with the phone and showed him how to use it, but Thumper blanked on what he said now. He touched the phone. That musta worked, cuz he heard Carson’s voice. “Yo, Thump? You in the barbershop?”
“Uh… Yeah.” Thumper said. He held the phone up to his face like a handheld radio.
“Come into the backroom, I’ll be there in a sec.”
Some in the shop simmered with subdued snickers like slippery niggas. Sidefacing that whack pack of rats, Thumper stepped out, still holding the phone up though he ain’t think Carson was there no more. Did folks leave the room if they took a cell call? Seemed like niggas be broadcasting private tidbits on the flagrant.
But he ain’t want them to know he be fucking this up, so he strutted fly and blithe into the back the barbershop, and he ain’t return the phone to his pocket till nobody could see him unsure if it was hung up or not.
“Yo, you wanna check out some females tonight?” Carson asked when Thumper got to the office. “I’ll take you to Lipsweet. You remember Lipsweet, right?”
“Hell yeah…” Thumper said with a soft whistle, realizing he ain’t heard no niggas whistle since his release — did niggas stop whistling?
Lipsweet was a strip club around long before Thumper’s lockup. Entirely different ladies dancing there now, of course. He’d like to find the ladies who was dancing a couple decades ago and see what they was up to. Bet they’d still purr fine as foxfur in they own way.
Thumper could dig a old lady with nice flappy pussylips too. He ain’t mind that one bit. Some sag’d sit nice on his pecker, and Thumper could dig a droopy tit or two. A old bitch wouldn’t snigga when he ask how to use his phone neither.
Carson said he’d “text him the details”. Couple minutes later, his phone vibrated again. Some words popped up on the screen and got a time on it.
So Thumper went up to his apartment and was ready to dip at that time. Sure enough, Carson swung by in a SUV then and drove him to Lipsweet.
The neighborhood was different than Thumper recollected it. All the neighborhoods they drove through was different — Ramspoint was ritzy and white, Bay North ain’t even a thing no more, Castle Street was desolate, East Middle was fulla young white folk with unpleasant hairstyles, and Factory Ridge got some kinda burnt-bamboo Chinese that Carson said was Lay-Oceans. But Lipsweet was still a grime-down shithole. The grime made it feel like home, and he liked that it was the same as ever.
Actually, a few things did change — the bar area was bigger, so there was less tables, and there weren’t no tiki jawns no more, plus it looked like the backrooms done got expanded.
Place was slow and low now though.
To a lazy beat with a hazy melody, a couple dozen niggas watched the dancers as if none them mattered, sneaking peeks at they phones like beepy crack-pipes. Droopy-eyed black girls be dancing like they was tired of it. Prolly wishing they was back on they phones. One them females looked at Thumper with a fraction of a smile and a beckonsome finger.
“Yo, you wanna get a private lapdance?” Carson asked. He carried a chocolatey grin when he reckoned the graceless hardon rocking Thumper’s pants.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” Thumper said. He ain’t realize how blatant his boner was until he stood up and Carson bugged at it. His stiffy was stabbing like a dagger, making Thumper bent over, too awkward to stand up straight.
“Arrange yo’ dick, old man,” Carson said with a dryness.
Thumper pointed his pecker up so the hardon weren’t so obvious. “Shit, nigga, lookit all them females…” He whistled. “Ain’t see females like that in prison.”
“Which one you want?”
“That one ovuh there, wigglin’ like a riddle,” Thumper said without a second think. He let out a low-boil growl at the sight of her. She was a fancy-fine lightskin gal with a ripe badonkadonk and tits spilling outta her skimpy top. She made Thumper’s dick hurt, and her thighs made the hurt worth it.
A silver grin on his foolish-ass face, Thumper widewalked around his hardon to the champagne room, while Carson retrieved the black girl with the bounciful booty. She came to Thumper with a shimmy in her hips and her eyes wide like a cartoon skunk.
“Aw, fuck yeah, guhl,” Thumper murmured. He plopped his erection into the chair in the center of the champagne room.
Wither-dicking R&B boomed out the speakers as she backed her ass up to him, but Thumper’s manhood drooled regardless. “I’m Sherry,” she said with a shrug and a snort, like she preferred no nigga remember her name. Thumper grabbed at her booty, moaning at its plumpness and tensing tall when she dragged his hands up her side to her tits.
She mighta said something else, Thumper ain’t know cuz the music was loud and nauseating and her sultry bosoms was soft as Santa’s belly. His dick throbbed like a hypertensive nigga and leaked precum all over his balls. She rubbed her booty, grinding it hard atop his crotch, like she was trying-a make him nut down under.
That was exactly what he did too, like a drippy teenager. Just as the song ended, Thumper closed his eyes and filled his drawers with a massive wad of cream. The jissom kept on flooding his thighs and his asscheeks and soaking into his socks.
But then the song was over, and Sherry murmured some words of low import before she slid out into the bar proper, on the prowl for another nigga with a prick aimed at her. Thumper grimaced when he stood, his swampy crotch marinating in his own juices now. He found some napkins to get up what he could, then he headed outta the champagne room hoping nobody could see.
A cigarette puffed in Carson’s lips, while uninterestedly he watched a girl dance onstage. Smoke fumed above Carson’s head, his stubbled mien lit by his cherry and the glow of the phone he ain’t never put down. Thumper came back to the table and sat in the cummy puddle of his pants.
“You the man, Carson,” Thumper said. “I know you ain’t gotsta do this much fo’ me.”
Carson scoffed. He got a cool-capping tone to his voice, like he want listeners to know he could honky down if he wanted to. “Nonsense, nigga. This organization has to respect its elders. You done yo’ time for us.”
“Wish I had my old homies around. But they scattered like peanuts, nigga.”
Carson shook his head and exhaled a thick plume of cigarette smoke. They both watched a new girl, a swarthy Asian lady, begin her dance — Lay-Ocean — real pretty but short and bony like a ant-farm scarecrow, with a tiny ass — Thumper seen bigger ballsacs on niggas in prison — but she look pretty enough if you sat real close. Then Carson said, “You can look ’em up on Facebook.” He saw Thumper’s face frumping aloud, and Carson picked up his phone. “Gimme a name.”
“Jerome Barkley.”
It took a few minutes. Finally Carson said, “Oh. He died three years ago.”
“Tyrone Franks.”
Carson sighed. “He died in prison in Oregon.” They went through all Thumper’s old niggas, but his face soured and sagged lower with each one. Reg O’Leary overdosed on his own supply. Tangiers Garraty shot hisself. Carl Munters got run over by a bus. Shankem Jones and Willie Donald both got shot by some nigga or another. Casey Carlisle’s fat heart gave out. Elsa Spit — the only dancer at Lipsweet whose real name Thumper recalled — got breast cancer and died just eight months ago.
There wasn’t a head from before who was still alive, ‘cept for Thumper.
He sat there nursing his drink, his dick limper than ever and shrinking like it done run outta shit to do in this life, while Carson be mad beeping and booping at his phone on the hunt for Thumper’s final nigga — Robert Smith, which ain’t a easy name to look up — there was about a million of ’em, including a rock singer.
But then Carson’s phone rang, startling both them. Carson was peering at the screen and dropped it with a little yelp when it vibrated. He picked it up to answer it. “Yo, what?” Carson’s calm smile turned into a tense frown. “Yo, what?! He… Aw, shit, Rico, that fuckin’ nigga… I’ll get him.” He hung up and like swiped or something at his phone, then he looked at Thumper. “You wanna take a ride?”
They dipped. Outside, the streets was a swampy night, and the sidewalks was choked with shiesty scrubs. They all knew Carson though and stayed outta his way. Thumper sat in the passenger seat of Carson’s SUV. It turned out that one of Carson’s dealers got arrested, not for nothing too serious — some itty-bitty possession beef, plus resisting arrest and disorderly conduct. Carson drove to the police station and went inside to bail him out.
“Oooooh, shit…” Thumper licked his teeth when Carson emerged from the jailhouse with the young cat. That nigga was darkskin and glamor-muscle but not big, with a nice smooth face like any shebody would fall in love with.
Thumper loved him too. He got feelings in his heart from the moment he spied that nigga. Thumper ain’t feel much love in prison, and he got used to finding it where he could.
And if he saw that nigga behind bars, he’d brew up a pot of love in that nigga’s phat booty, and he’d season that stew with all the right herbs and spices. You just know he got a drumskin-tight intact booty too. Could load lotta love into that dumptruck.
“Rico, this is Thumper. He a ex-con, just got released,” Carson said. “You two make nice, cuz you gonna be rooming together for awhile-“
“Aw, man, Carson, what?” Rico said with bickerish bitterness, like he ain’t never got disappoint before. Thumper was already imagineering how Rico would look without no clothes on. He’d be smooth and dark and undulating when the lights was off. He’d shimmy and shake just like that Sherry creature, and remembrancing her movements got Thumper so hard his nuts was finna splode in his soupy pants again. But for now, Rico was whipping out whine and sucking on his teeth. “I gotta share a place with him? Old head smells like a band-aid, nigga! Gimme my own place. I can’t live with old nigga, he prolly drink tea and shit. Put his hair in the drain-“
“Coffee gimme lumpy throat, nigga!” Thumper wagged a finger at Rico.
“Bullshit, Rico, fuck you!” Carson said. He got behind the wheel and drove off, Thumper and Rico in the back. “I gotta come bail you out. You got a ounce of coke confiscated. You was arrested just cuz you can’t shut your fool mouth. Now I am givin’ you a home to lay your dome down in, and you bitchin’ cuz you gotta share it? You best recalibrate your expectations, cuz I am not a endless nigga. You done reach my limit, I gone beyond it, and if I gotta go any farther, you gonna feel some consequences from the great beyond.”
Rico rolled his eyes but murmured, “Yeah, fine, whatevuh. Makin’ me move in wit’ old nigga past his prime, he a would-be has-been…”
Carson muttered out his mean-muggery. “Shit, nigguh can’t even act right when I am in the middle of doing him a favor…”
That car was fulla hostile mumbles, but Thumper was lost in his need for booty and maybe some decaf tea. Nigga got him thirsty.
Soon enough they was back in the hood, and the shivering silence in the car ain’t diminish when they all got out. Thumper showed Rico to the apartment above the barbershop — the Bloods gave him that apartment on the free-up, so Thumper ain’t mind sharing it, specially with a prettyface nigga like Rico.
Rico wore that handsome frown as his crown the whole time. He be sneaking dirty-dog eyes in Thumper’s direction as though any Rico’s predickyment was Thumper’s fault.
“You only got one bed,” Rico said when he saw the bedroom and its lonesome mattress.
“You count good. We gotsta double up,” Thumper said. “We gonna be snug as a hug, mah nigga.” He grinned. He patted Rico on the back. His hands lingered there, then moved under Rico’s shirt to rub his smooth back.
“Lemme uh…” Rico shrugged his shoulders to make Thumper leggo his back. “Lemme call my lawyer. And my girlfriend.”
“Oh, you got a guhl? Bring her ovuh!” Thumper said. He returned his hands to Rico’s back, and he whispered right into Rico’s ear. “Lemme mack on her. I’ll suck her clit while you fuck her.”
“Whaaat?!” Rico held his phone in hand.
“If yo’ dick slip out and I lick it some, won’t bothuh me none. C’mon, nigga… Get me some trim,” Thumper said. He rammed his hand down the back of Rico’s saggy jeans. He gripped his asscheek hard, like he was trying-a rip it off. It was damn smooth, pert near hairless, and you could just tell it was gonna shine — Thumper loved a shiny nigga. He growled into Rico’s ear. “Lemme fuck yo’ guhl. Tell her to give up her booty if she bleedin’ outta her period. She do booty, right? Does she lick yo’ butthole? Cuz I will lick her’n. I will eat her asshole like a chicky pot pie.” He mimed eating a very big pot pie with a itty-bitty spoon.
“What, no?!” Rico backed away. “Step off, nigga!” He shortfooted from Thumper, then left the apartment without dropping his hound-dog frown. Thumper heard him out in the hallway on that relentless phone, talking to his lawyer, then his girl, then some niggas, then his mama — Rico be mad after a place to park his poker.
Not wanting to make his roommate discomfitted, Thumper showered and cleaned his cummy balls. Then he went out in stale-scent duds straight from the thrift shop. It was getting to early evening, past suppertime in prison, and his clock-happy stomach let him know it. So he hightailed it to a pizza jawn and bringed back food. When he returned to the apartment, Rico done dip.
Thumper weren’t shook up. Rico prolly staying with his girlie, Thumper thunk. Or he sleeping on some nigga’s couch. That won’t last.
He ate his pizza alone. All he thinking about was choking down mushy food at crowded tables that smelled like too many niggas. In prison, everywhere was cramped and full-up. Out here, everyspot was empty ‘cept for phone screens. Baltimore was a quiet blip upon the world’s surface. The longer Thumper spent past the prison gates, the worse he got with the broad open tangles of the free world. Confinatory walls circumscribed chaos into legibility, but the night-sky teemed fulla forever, and Thumper got lost in the sterile black screen of the buttonless teevee. He ain’t even try working that remote control. Them sky-bound stars in the window ain’t sparkle the same as those precious stars he peeped seldom as angels behind bars.
When his belly was fulla greasy pizza, Thumper worked his jimmies out. Carson bought him a gym membership, but Thumper ain’t know where the gym was or what the plastic jawn Carson gave him meant — presumitably, he gotsta display it to get through the door, but it ain’t look like no identification. Thumper just did burpees like he was used to, and he lifted a gallon of milk before gulping from it.
So he bedded down lonefully. About thirty seconds after he laid his melon, there came a knockity-knock at the door.
“Rico?” Thumper opened it on Rico a-frowning that face, so forlorn like a frayed wire. He pushed past Thumper to enter the apartment.
“Alright, old head, I’ll stay here,” Rico said with a scowl. He be mad on that frowning trip. “My girl dumped me!”
“Aw, shit, nigga, that’s some horsehockey, yes it is,” Thumper said. He touched Rico on the cheek. “You forget about that bitch. She ain’t worth yo’ time.”
Rico wrinkled his nose at notice of Thumper wearing nothing but prison drawers, his biggity dickmeat bulging against the fabric, his unkempt pubes poking out the fly. “Nigga, put some shorts on or some shit.”
“Nah.” Thumper led Rico to the bedroom. “C’mon, it’s bedtime.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” Rico said.
It took Thumper a second to realize Rico said the time because that was early to him. “Ten o’clock bin lights-out for damn near e’ry night I spent on God’s green Earth,” Thumper said. “So c’mon.” He went into the bedroom. “Leave yo’ phone out here.”
“I ain’t tired,” Rico said.
Thumper ain’t used to niggas being free men making they own choices. In the cell, if he telled a nigga it was time for bed, that nigga best get sleepy. Thumper ran that cell on point. “Go take a shower, nigga. Shower is in the hall.”
Rico sucked on his teeth and nodded. “I ain’t got… y’know, no towel or nothin’.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Thumper murmured. He liked the idea of Rico hiking up the hall buffly brown, his tight tushy dripping like a nigga popsicle melting in the night.
But that old bat Vera might see his dingading-doo. So Thumper gave him a towel, a washcloth and a bar soap, and Rico frowned out that not a single nigga in the universe used bar soap no more — a modern nigga be using “body wash” — but he scampered off to the shower to scrub up irregardless. Thumper wanted Rico clean as a squeaky puppy.
Somebody must buy bar soap, they got ’em in the store, Thumper thunk.
He lay down waiting for Rico. Sleep hit him good and hard up the skull — Thumper got that regulatory sleep schedule. Ten o’clock came, and his body was presumitave that the time for slumber was now.
So he was only dimly awake when Rico returned from the shower, his skin a-tingling and burnished. Rico hesitated in the dark apartment, but he sensed that Thumper wouldn’t tolerate him turning on the teevee or no lights or nothing, so he plugged his phone in and slipped into bed when it seemed Thumper was deep in nod.
He lay there in the darkness and silence. Thumper’s body radiated warmth and that old-band-aid smell, and his weight hefted heavy on the mattress, which made Rico slide bit by bit closer to him. He ain’t feel hisself moving, but he gotsta keep scooting back to the edge or he’d be nuzzling Thumper’s shoulder.
Rico sighed and closed his eyes. He wished he ain’t backtalk that cop.
Soon, Rico found Thumper’s heavy body curling up around him. He smelled musty and salty as a few beads of nightsweat popped up on Thumper’s shoulders, and his arm was thicker than Rico’s head. His nose nuzzled Rico’s neck.
That rendered Rico wide awake.
“Yo, nigga! Nigga!” Rico hissed, quiet though there weren’t nobody around to overhear. Thumper’s nuzzles turned to moist kissery on Rico’s handsome cheekbones. “Thumper, wake up! Get off me!”
“Ssshhh…” Thumper’s lips planted on Rico’s. Thumper moaned into Rico’s mouth as his tongue invaded. That nigga tasted as sweet as Thumper bin expecting, sweet as a free summer’s day, sweet as meadowy candy. Thumper licked his loving face.
Rico squirmed. His tight little muscles was hard as metal bars beneath Thumper’s grasp, but they wasn’t big. He got no heft on Thumper, whose chest pressed down on Rico’s tautness. His muscles flexed perky under Thumper’s callused fingers like battering bats.
The bedroom filled with Rico squealing outta the sides of his mouth plugged up by Thumper’s tongue. The smell and taste of Thumper’s liniment or pomade or some old-nigga shit like that overwhelmed Rico and bringed tears to his eyes. Thumper’s callused hands roamed over Rico’s smooth body, rough-handling him like a disobedient steak.
Thumper was immovable, despite Rico on claw at his back. Thumper ain’t care. He just kissed.
It felt damn good to kiss a clean nigga like Rico. In prison, a nigga like that would be expensive. A nigga like Carson wouldn’t just put a nigga like Rico in with a nigga like Thumper in prison.
He pulled down Rico’s boxers, tongue still invading Rico’s mouth, and he gripped Rico’s cock and balls with both hands. Rico finally squirmed his mouth off Thumper’s.
“What the fuck, old man?!” he sputtered.
“You said you ain’t got no female no more,” Thumper said. Rico sat up, but Thumper kissed him on the cheek, hugging his little body close. He stroked Rico’s limp dick too. Rico panted and pushed Thumper’s chest. Thumper was too heavy though, and he just moaned at Rico’s touch. His scratchy voice resonated in Rico’s ear. “C’mon, nigga, lemme pull a nut out. I’ll fill you up so good you forget where babies come from. We be deep in the downlow, nigga, ain’t nobody gotsta know.”
“I don’t — what does that mean?!?!?!!” Rico cried out, but Thumper plugged up that nonsense with his tongue again. He grabbed a tube of lube from the bedside table, and he smeared a big wad of it over Rico’s shiny booty. He pulled Rico to lay on his side, and one Thumper’s hands massaged his buttcrack with a palmful of lube, while Thumper’s other callus-thick hand aggressively stroked Rico’s limp pecker.
“Hey, nigga, what’s Poke He-Man Go?” Thumper asked.
The question was so incongruent Rico stopped a-wriggling. “Huh?” Rico gulped. Thumper’s brick-like fingers smeared more cold goop in his ass, then he rolled Rico over. Thumper’s chest hair rubbed against Rico’s back, and Rico struggled but remained ensconced in Thumper’s powerful arms.
Thumper took that moment to ram his cocktip into Rico’s tight asshole. Rico squealed, and his whole body tightened. His butt clenched around Thumper’s cock. “I axed, what’s a Poke He-Man Go?”
“Wha…? Ow, shit, nigga, ow, ow, ow, shit, whatchoo doin’, Thumper? Thump! Quit playin’-“
“What’s Poke He-Man Go?” Thumper asked again. He was kneeling behind Rico, who be on his knees too. The bed creaked under them. Rico tried to squirm away, but the pain made him wince, and Thumper drilled in a little deeper. “What’s Poke He-Man Go? Explain this shit, c’mon. You my nigga, right? So help a nigga out, damn. Why’s it a pro’lem when a li’l Lay-Ocean guhl come to a barbershop for a Poke He-Man Go Jim?”
“You mean Pokemon Go! It’s a game!” Rico said. His voice was tense and clipped. “It’s a mobile game!” His hands waved around behind hisself as he tried to dig at Thumper. “It’s… augmented reality.”
Thumpter stopped moving. He lowered his noggin and furrowed his forehead at Rico. “What?”
“Nigga, lemme go!”
“Whats’at mean?” Thumper asked. He gripped Rico’s shoulders and held on tight, drilling his dick in deeper. He threw out a moan and slapped Rico’s buttcheek. That broke something open, and Thumper was able to ram mad inches into that nigga behind.
Intense pain erupted in Rico’s backside. He squirmed and tried to scream, but Thumper placed one meaty hand over his mouth. His other hand gripped Rico’s cock and gave it a few strokes. It was limp as a spineless snake. Shivers of pleasure ran through Thumper’s body, and he let out a creaky moan like a crypt being opened.
That made Rico shudder. He bit at the pillow beneath his head.
“It’s — ow, fuck, c’mon, nigga, whatchoo doin’?” Rico panted. He hung his head, his whole body sagging like he wanted to lay down but it hurt.
“C’mon, nigga, don’t be shamey,” Thumper said. “We just messin’ around on the downlow. You want a reacharound, right? You ain’t a punk if you get yo’ nut off at the same time.” His callused old-man hand kept on jacking Rico’s dick as he plowed into his butt, like Thumper ain’t realize yet that Rico’s meat stayed soft. “Yo’ butt feel damn good. Squeeze it around my dick some, squeeze it good-“
“Ow, fuck, fuck, c’mon, Thump, don’t be a booty bandit!” Rico’s daddy and uncle Jermaine bin told him to stay away from ex-cons and don’t never bend over afront them, and now Rico realized how good that advice was. “That’s nasty pervert shit!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Thumper snapped. His meaty hands caressed Rico’s back and kneaded his flesh. “Ain’t nobody gots a right to judge — nigga, please!” He was annoyed now. He pushed Rico’s head down, pulled his ass up and gripped his nape to keep him in place. His barrel chest done left a sheen of sweat on Rico’s clean back. “You ain’t nevuh got locked up for thirty-four years, nigga, don’chu tell me what to do!”
“Ow, fuck! I ain’t-! It ain’t-! I ain’t-! C’mon, Thumper, c’mon-!” Rico cried out.
Thumper was all the way in now, plowing so hard Rico’s whole body shook. Rico bit back a scream of pain. He pushed hisself face-first into the mattress, which stank like Thumper’s band-aidy ass. Thumper massaged Rico’s back and shoulders as he pounded back and forth. He was so damn lean, ain’t got extra skin and scars and smudgey tattoos done by Italians. It made Thumper wanna own him forever. Thumper kissed him on the prettiness of his back, and Rico squirmed and roared like a sexy cougar.
“Hey nigga,” Thumper said as he lowered hisself again to the apex of his descent, all the way in, so Rico was holding his breath, asscheeks quivering like jello. His booty squeezed and massaged Thumper’s shaft just right, like it was begging for nuts. He was all the way into the wreck of Rico’s guts, his balls laying heavy on Rico’s taint. “Hey nigga?”
“What?!” Rico gritted his teeth and shouted into the mattress.
“If we was in prison, you’d be in love right now,” Thumper grunted out into Rico’s ear.
Thumper’s cock throbbed and spewed a wad into Rico. Thumper groaned into his ear and nibbled on his earlobe, as his voice broke and a wave of pleasure frissoned up Thumper’s spine. Heat seeped into Rico’s flesh, and both them niggas moaned, Thumper’s a croon of desire and Rico’s a cringe of pain. He felt jissom trickling inside him, and Rico winced and gritted.
At last, Thumper pulled most the way out, still nutting, so he could see his veiny shaft pulsate in the dim light. Splashes of manjuice leaked out Rico and down to the mattress.
“Oh shit, nigga, we makin’ a mess. I blame you. You a spillsy nigga,” Thumper said with another thrust all the way into him for one more jissing. That caused Rico’s sensitive asshole to twinge with pain, and he howled.
His final cumwad flowed into Rico, but Thumper ain’t stop right away — he was plowing on auto-pilot. He rammed his dick back in and out, churning his nut into a big frothy mess. Soon his shaft was limp and doubling up like a phone cable on Rico’s shinier-than-ever backside, and it popped out.
“Oh god, fuck, Thumper, don’t… thank god, that hurt, nigga-“
Oodles of ooz gooed up Rico’s buttcrack, but Thumper licked up every drop of that felchy fluid outta Rico’s shine. He tasted like funk-a-butt, and Thumper slathered love in Rico’s tender crack.
Then he mounted Rico’s smoothness and kissed it all into his pretty-nigga mouth.
The taste of his own assjuice and Thumper’s salty semen made Rico’s eyes opened wide, when he realized what that foul taste was. He screamed but Thumper still kissed him, and he swallowed that scream up. The stink smeared between both nigga faces. It got into Thumper’s salty beard hairs and between the cornrows on his old head.
Eventually, Thumper moistly pulled his tongue outta Rico’s mouth. Rico lay, a-breathing heavy and suppressing gags because Thumper pinched him when he retched.
So Thumper again kissed him, and this time Rico didn’t resist, even when he again tasted his own ass-funk on Thumper’s lips. Thumper’s hand wrapped around his cock and stroked. Rico ignored it, trying-a settle his stomach and ignore his sore ass. He whimpered a little. Thumper’s hand was so big and so callused it was like sandpapery leather on Rico’s dick, which shrinky-dinked with every passing moment. Rico wiped his face off, but the smell of cum and ass persisted.
“C’mon, nigga, get hard,” Thumper whispered into Rico’s ear. “I’ll help.” He moved his head down, licking a trail over Rico’s pecs and belly, and he put Rico’s cocktip in his mouth. He suckled on it like he was getting something outta it, and Rico gasped in surprise.
He ain’t expect that at all. He was still in too much pain to get hard, he thunk, but his dick did begin to firm up despite hisself. The goo on his face made it hard to focus on the warm wetness of Thumper’s mouth encircle his shaft. Thumper gripped it with one hand and licked the length of it, shuddering back a gag.
Rico was still rumbling up a retch too, as Thumper soon lay on his side, opposite to Rico, so he could slurp on Rico’s knob. That placed Thumper’s own santorum-coated cock not far from Rico’s face. It flopped onto Rico’s chin. The smell of his own ass and the slimy remains of Thumper’s cumwad clinging to the shaft made Rico wrinkle his nose.
A painful wrack of pleasure made Rico suck in his breath. “Shit, nigga!” Rico banged his head on the wall, as Thumper’s mouth filled with oozes of prenut.
Thumper was merely getting Rico started — that was a prison thing. It cost less than actually paying a nigga to swallow a nut. “Getting a nigga started” meant putting his pecker in your mouth and stiffening it, then pulling off when you taste prenut and finishing the nigga with your hand. Lotta niggas would get’cha started for cheap but consider it humiliating to actually taste a nut.
And Thumper ain’t mind that too bad. But Thumper got carried away when he tasted salty precum, and it felt so real, so visceral, that he ain’t wanna pull off. He be thinking he got more time.
So he throated that nigga dick until his nose smushed into Rico’s trimmed pubes. Thumper let his throat stretch around it, and he savored the feel of its hotness throbbing in his belly like a second heart.
Then Rico shot a big creamy load that coated Thumper’s gullet. Neither them niggas was expecting it — Rico was barely aware he was even hard, while Thumper was off in dreamland and exulting in the smooth young muscles of Rico’s body. He liked the cocoa-butter flavor of Rico’s skin, so he ain’t pull off until his mouth overflowed with sunshines of jissom.
He removed his lips from Rico’s manhood and spat all that cum up onto Rico’s face. He mounted Rico’s limp body so he couldn’t get away, and though Rico shook his head left and right, Thumper pinned him down and coated his face in juices. Eventually the cum dwindled to pure spit, but Thumper liked that too.
All that whatever on Rico’s face made him a extra-shiny nigga.
Rico gagged violently. He tried to get up, but Thumper still wouldn’t let him. “Nah, nah, you done made a mess, lemme make it bigguh.” Thumper smeared the nut all over Rico’s face with his tongue. The bracing saltiness and the intense funk made Thumper wrinkle his nose, but every time he did, Rico let out a shallow-breath gag and undulated his perky frame beneath Thumper’s tired old muscles.
Then he lay down and pulled Rico to lay down with him on the soggy mattress. Rico’s whole body was covered in body fluids.
“C’mon, let’s go to sleep,” Thumper whispered hotly into his ear, which he nibbled on like a juicy raisin. “In the mornin’, you gonna be dry again, and then you can shower.” Making a man sleep covered in jizz made him more amenable to the downlow in the future, and he was likely to make Rico dirty again when he woke up at dawn anyway.
He still got that prison schedule in him, after all.
“Man, nigga, Thumper, that hurt,” Rico said in a hoarse whisper. “That was so gross. Lemme shower-“
“Sorry, nigga. You’ll get used to it,” Thumper said. He hugged Rico buddy-tight and snuffled up the fudgey nuts and full-butt scent that clung to Rico’s lumps. “You nevuh finished explainin’ what ‘Pokemon Go’ is. Do I gotsta get one?”