Went into a hardware store and saw two old men whose giant bellies and swollen ankles told the tale of their lives drinking shitty beer and eating gas station corn dogs. The fatter one said to the also fatter one the following:
“I had kidney stones and went to the doctor. He put me thru some surgery that lasted 16 hours. Now I can’t get an erection, my dick don’t work all around. And my penis is now so small I can barely grab it to pee. You know how shitty it is on a cold day and you have to pee and your peter is so small you can’t grab it and you piss all over your leg?”
Then he looked at his fatter friend who has a tracheotomy and said, “You’re the only one I know who can fart out of his throat. That’s original. There’s plenty of guys out there with small dicks.”
Then he shifted gears and said, “We did so many 8 balls in the 80’s that the Swiss alps ran out of snow.”
“I’m Mormon,” said the throat tube guy.
“Well, you weren’t then. Anyway, I’ve got to head out. On to the next catastrophe.”
The small penis man headed for the door and I couldn’t resist so I said, ”Sir, I don’t know who you are, but thank you.”
He seemed pleased and waddled out the door into the cold unknown. It was a dark, winter’s afternoon. The weak sun had already begun to creep behind the mountains.
After 12 years, 33,000 hits and 750 subscribers I’m actually getting some donations from my blog. It’s not enough for me to quit my job and move to Thailand, but damn it feels good. God Bless you donators out there. You keep the hope alive and hope is all a person needs to keep going.
A real cowboy; not one of those wannabes wearing clean boots, new shirts, and chewing Zyn like a cow munches on hay.
I admire him greatly.
I visited my friend who lives in the country and has cows and horses. The cows were afraid of me but the horses showed affection with big, black eyes. The most innocent of creatures. I fancy myself an animal whisperer. Animals seem to like me and children seem to be fascinated or fearful of me. Both animals and children can sniff ghosts and demons. There are both in my life.
Because my friend lives out in the country, plumbing is not too reliable. We drank lots of beer, ate lots of red meat and smoked lots of cigarettes. All those things lead to having an epic bowel movement.
I got up after my friend left for work and had to let one go. My stomach was churning and I could feel the hot geyser of filth that demanded to be released. I had about 30 seconds before Armageddon.
I ran into the bathroom naked because I always sleep naked even though it’s probably a bad idea on your couch. Sorry CJ if you’re reading this. The toilet was not working properly. I did not want to leave my friend with a giant stinking gift when he got home from work in his broken toilet, so I walked out the back door into the pasture.
The early mountain sun massaged my naked white ass. I felt like the legend of the Great White Buffalo.
The neighbors were several hundred yards away so I hope they didn’t see me, but they could see if anyone happened to be enjoying a cup of coffee on their porch. I squatted down in the caveman shitting position and the hot mess came out of me. It looked like someone was stomping on a brand new tube of toothpaste.
The cows looked on and the horses sniffed because they knew an Alpha had just claimed their territory.
I felt bad about soiling the ground with human excrement, but there was years worth of cow shit all over the place.
What a great way to release the brown tar of sin; squatting down butt-naked while looking at the mountains; hearing the cows fart and whispering to the horses.
The following is a chapter from my new novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”
The brute took three steps and slashed at my head with the huge hunting knife. I ducked down and rolled underneath the attack thankful that my head was still attached to my body. At least for the time being.
I jumped up to my feet just as the man spun around. He paused this time to rethink his next attack. I looked on the ground and the closest weapon to me that had fallen off the table was the 6 pound hammer. I scooped up the hammer just as the large man charged at me a second time and swiped the glaring knife at my face. I stepped back and could hear the metal whiff through the air. It missed my nose by an inch.
The man was now off balance, so I swung the hammer like a tennis forehand and connected with the right side of his rib cage. I heard his ribs crack and he grunted. He swung the knife again and the blade bit into my left shoulder. I felt nothing but I knew that the cut was fairly deep.
We both regained our senses and squared off again. I decided to take a diplomatic approach and said, “We don’t have to do this. We can walk out of here. Fuck those guys.”
He held his ribs while he thought it over then said, “I’m just happy they gave me this much of a chance.”
“Wait you dumb fuck, let’s talk about this.” I said, and instead of answering he charged again. He waved the knife back and forth as he closed the distance. I ducked down and swung the heavy weapon towards his left knee. The hammer connected and the man buckled and went down onto all fours.
I moved in for the kill but the sneaky bastard hacked at my leg and sliced into my left shin bone. This time it hurt like a motherfucker. I yelped and stepped back but I stumbled and fell onto my back. I dropped the hammer and it skipped across the concrete floor. The man slithered over to me and got on top. He put all of his weight down and pointed the knife at my eyeball. I put both hands up and was barely able to keep the blade from carving my eye out.
He grunted and spit in my face. My strength was ebbing. I only had a few seconds before his hulking weight sent the knife into my brain. As quickly as possible, I held his knife hand with my left hand and grabbed his larynx with my right and tore at his throat with everything I had. I felt his squishy Adam’s apple break free and the man instinctively dropped the knife by my face. He reached at his throat and started gargling. Blood filled his mouth and began dripping all over my face. Now I know how chicks at bukkake parties feel.
Still holding his throat, I pulled him to my right and rolled over so that I was now on top of him. He thrashed and grabbed at my face. I bit down on his finger and chomped as hard as possible. I heard his finger snap and could taste his salty blood. He tried to scream but it didn’t sound right.
He kept kicking and slapping at my face and I had had enough of this bullshit. I grabbed the knife off of the ground and stabbed down at his face. The blade buried into his cheek and he gurgled another scream and I pulled the knife out and sawed into his throat. The sharp knife cut through effortlessly. He grabbed at his throat again and I clutched the weapon with both hands and brought it down into his chest cavity. The knife went all the way into his heart. I tried to turn the blade but it was stuck in his breast plate. I held the knife there until I saw the light leave his eyes. The last breath he exhaled into my face smelled like blood and vomit.
I rolled off of him and surveyed my own wounds. The shoulder injury wasn’t a big deal but my shin looked terrible. I saw a flap of skin hanging down and thick blood poured down my leg.
I limped over to the door and banged the shit out of it. After 30 seconds the door opened and Julian stood there smiling at me. “Fuck yeah Marshall, I knew you had it in you!”
“Yeah,” was all I could say. Then I threw a huge right hand that landed flush on Julian’s jaw. He went down and wasn’t smiling anymore.
The next day I called Julian and he told me to go to an Italian restaurant downtown. I took a shit, showered and shaved. Might as well look my best, I thought. I borrowed some of Mason’s nicer clothes and hit the street. The bright sunlight felt good and so did I. The world was still full of possibilities I kept telling myself. And sometimes I actually believed it.
I took the bus downtown and eye fucked a hot redhead sitting next to me. She noticed me leering and quickly looked away. Whatever, she didn’t stack up to Camille anyway but I still promised myself that I’d jack off later thinking about her… slut.
I got off the bus and walked a few blocks until I found the restaurant Julian had told me to go to. It wasn’t what I expected. The outside looked like a slaughterhouse that had been shut down long ago due to numerous health code violations. I decided I wouldn’t be eating my lunch there.
I tried to open the door but it was locked so I knocked a few times and waited. After 30 seconds Julian answered.
“Hey, you made it, come on in,” Julian said with a cock-eating grin on his face. I walked in and the décor of the place looked like it hadn’t changed in 40 years. The restaurant was empty except for an obese man in his 50’s who was sitting at a table eating lunch. At first I almost didn’t notice him because he was so fat it didn’t seem possible that he was human. He was overdressed for the place but his pinstriped suit was outdated.
Julian led me to the table and the human elephant acknowledged my presence. Julian introduced me, “This is Marshall. He’s my friend from the joint I was telling you about.”
The man looked me up and down and said, “Not big enough. Sorry kid. Come back when you put on another 20 pounds.”
I glared at Julian and he tried to recover by saying, “The kid’s got skill but he looks, you know, forgettable. Who’s gonna remember that face huh?”
Fatty looked down at his food then said, “Yeah I already forgot it. Fuck it, we’ll see how he does.” Fatty put his fork down, got up and walked towards the back of the restaurant. We followed. He led us down a narrow set of stairs and the air smelled dank, like a tomb. I started feeling uneasy because for all I knew he could have been leading me to a fist fucking party. My asshole clinched up.
At the end of the stairs there was a thick metal door. Fatty took out a set of keys and opened it. Inside there was a man tied to a chair with a burlap sack covering his head. Fatty and Julian looked at me, judging my reaction. I stared back at them with vacant eyes.
Next to the chair was a table with a bunch of medieval looking tools on it. I could see a couple of large hunting knives and an oversized hammer.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked both of the men.
Fatty coughed, spit on the floor. I looked at Julian who said, “This is your interview.”
“You want me to torture this guy?” I asked, not liking where this was going. I had the urge to bolt out of the room and never look back but I stayed put.
“No, this is more of a tryout.” Fatty explained.
“Meaning what?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” Fatty said. He picked up a knife with a 10-inch blade and walked behind the man who was tied to the chair. I could see a wet spot on the man’s pants indicating that he had pissed his pants, probably more than once.
Fatty ripped the bag off of the man’s head and the guy stared at us with terror in his eyes. I stared back at him and readied myself to do what was necessary. I didn’t want to torture the guy but I also wouldn’t feel too bad about it.
Fatty leaned down behind the man and cut him free from the ropes which surprised me. What the fuck was going on, I wondered.
Julian walked up to the table with the tools on it and kicked it over. The knives and hammer clanked and spread out all across the dirty floor. Both Julian and Fatty headed for the door. I didn’t move, not knowing what was expected of me.
Fatty opened the door and the men walked out. Fatty turned back and said, “Only one of you is getting out of this room alive. I would say good luck to you but I really don’t give a shit. Try to take your time so I can finish my lunch in peace. Knock on the door when it’s over.”
I stared with my mouth open at Julian, he shrugged and slammed the heavy door closed. I heard him lock the door but I tried to open it anyway. When I turned around I saw that the man had stood up and he was much larger than he had appeared earlier. He had the wild eyes of a desperate man but that didn’t bother me. What did bother me was that he had already picked up the largest knife on the ground and was waving it back and forth. He was armed and ready and I was still too stunned to know what to do.
“Hold on a second,” I said and put my hands up. The man took a deep breath and charged at me like a bull going after a fresh piece of cow pussy.
Here’s a chapter from my new novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.” You can check out my previous novel, “HITMAN WITH A LIMP,” by clicking this link:
I got kicked out of the strip club I stood on the street alone feeling like a dumbass. Five minutes went by, then ten, then thirty and I was still waiting in the parking lot for my asshole brother to get his money shot. Rage was slowly filling me up, replacing the giant load I had launched in my pants earlier. Mason always had a severe weakness for hookers and strippers but this was a bit much even for him. He must’ve robbed someone in the bathroom to keep the tits and ass binge going. I thought about barging inside and smashing his face. Then I remembered that a black man the size of a golf cart was blocking the way. Waiting was my only option.
The doors opened and I clenched my fists expecting to see Mason. Instead, Raven walked out. She put a cigarette in her mouth and rummaged around in her humongous purse for a lighter. I pulled out my lighter and jogged up to her.
“Hey Raven, need a light?” I asked looking way too eager.
“No, I’ll just light it with my pussy, thanks.” She said and stared at me. I laughed and handed her the lighter. “Thanks, you heading home to change your underwear?” She asked.
“Not yet, I’m waiting for my brother who probably has a stripper’s fist up his ass by now.”
“He’ll pay extra for that.” She said and I wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “Look, you seem harmless enough but it’s always creepy when a client is waiting outside. So leave me alone okay? Don’t make me go get Davonne.”
“Is Davonne the bitchy Asian lady working the bar?” I said and smiled.
“No that’s the owner, Ling Sui. She’s even scarier.”
“I believe that.” I said and stood there like a fucking moron. She started to walk away but I couldn’t let her go so easily, “Hey wait, I don’t want to freak you out, I just ah, wanted to tell you I think you’re a talented dancer.”
Raven had heard this line before so she said, “Meaning I’ve got great tits and a tight pussy?”
“Oh God yes. Well the tits for sure, but I’d have to take a closer examination to vouch for your vagina’s structural integrity.”
“Sorry, but a dry hump is as far as you’re getting as long as you pay for it. Besides, it usually takes me longer than 20 seconds to get off and that seems like it’s out of your range.”
“Don’t let tonight’s performance be a representation of my future potential. I just got out of prison so cut me some slack. I’m surprised I didn’t blow my load in the car on the way over here.”
“Charming.” She said and walked away at a brisk pace.
“Hey when are you working next?” I asked resisting the urge to go after her.
“Thursday, but becoming a regular doesn’t get you any discounts.”
“Okay, great see you later!” I yelled way too loud feeling good about myself.
“Only if you have cash.” She said and turned to leave.
“You just motivated the shit out of me to get a job, so thanks for that. Come on, tell me your real name. I’m as harmless as a pickle and smaller as you know.”
She laughed and threw her cigarette on the ground which I took as a positive sign. She looked me over trying to figure out if I was harmless like I claimed. After a few seconds of staring at me like I was some old leftovers that she’d probably regret eating she said, “It’s Camille, but tell any of these other perverts and I’ll make sure you’re never let inside again.”
“Fair enough, have a good night Camille!” I said. Camille turned and walked away leaving me with a giddy feeling like a teenage girl who just found her mom’s vibrator.
The front entrance opened and Mason walked out and he was smiling like a necrophilia addict who works as a mortician. “Hey bro,” Mason said.
“You fucking cunt, I’ve been out here damn near an hour waiting for your stupid ass.”
“It’s not my fault, after a while they started giving me money.”
“Are they also going to pay for the shot of penicillin? Let’s get the fuck out of here. I need a drink.”
“What like some Gatorade?” Mason asked.
“No, why do you say that?”
“Fifty bucks says you came in your pants in 90 seconds.” Mason bet.
“Fuck off, come on let’s go somewhere where they don’t change ten bucks for a glass of water.”
“Sorry bro, I’m tapped out. I guess I kinda overdid it. No worries though, I’ve got a nice bottle of Old Crow back at my place.”
“Old Crow? Wow, that’s some top shelf shit there.”
“Nothing but the best.” Mason said and got into the car. I got in the driver’s seat. He fired it up and we took off out of the parking lot.
It was four in the morning when Mason finally went to bed leaving me alone on his couch with my thoughts, an empty bottle of Old Crow and half a hard-on. Camille was something. She had been a little bitchy towards me but you can’t blame her for that. I’m sure she had guys like me trying to bang her for her entire life and somehow that knowledge just made me more obsessed with having her. I couldn’t get her out of my head and I still had no idea who she was. She was a smartass and unlike most women, she made me laugh. I started creating her personality in my mind with only the little bits of her that I had been exposed to, her personality I mean. Her body obviously deserved to be fast tracked into the tits and ass Hall of Fame, but I was sure there was so much more to her and I felt more determined than I had ever been before to at least see her again, even if it meant paying for her company. Shame has no meaning to a person who is desperately infatuated with someone.
Thinking about her recharged my batteries and I rubbed one out. I didn’t worry about clean up but instead I just let it go on the carpet. Fuck Mason and besides sometimes masturbating is only really satisfying when you don’t care where the mess goes. Using a rag or doing it into a sink doesn’t quit cut it. It’s like wearing a condom. Fuck condoms.
After my head was clear I started thinking about what the hell I was going to do for money. I’m sure Mason could hook me up with some shit job but I didn’t want his help. I sure as hell didn’t want to flip burgers or rot in some cubicle farm with all the other zombies who had given up on life. Not that I’d be able to get a job like that anyway. I needed action and I needed to get paid for it.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper to look up Julian’s number. Using Mason’s phone, I dialed it. He answered after one ring.
“Who the fuck is this?” Julian asked like I was a telemarketer.
“Julian, it’s Marshall. From ah, well you know.”
After a pause he said, “Marshall, how’s it going? Last time I saw you I was whipping up a batch of my personalized jizz-filled mayonnaise. How’s the outside world treating you?”
“I got two orgasms and a fifth of whiskey under my belt so yeah, life is pretty fucking peachy.”
“Nice, it sure beats drinking hooch and slamming ass in the joint don’t it?”
“Depends on whose ass you’re talking about.” I said.
He laughed then said, “So you ready to go to work?”
“Maybe, what’s the job?”
“Let’s meet up tomorrow and talk about it. There’s a whole world of possibility out there for a young stud like you.”
“Great, can’t fucking wait.”
“Call me at this number at noon tomorrow okay?”
“Okay.”
“And get some sleep,” Julian said, “this isn’t just a simple chat, I want to give you a job interview.”
“What kind of job interview?”
“The kind you want to be at your best for. Tomorrow at noon. Now go to sleep.” Julian hung up and I lay down on the couch. What kind of job interview would a sleazy gangster like Julian give me, I wondered. I hoped it didn’t involve computers because I can’t type for shit. But when it comes to searching for free internet porn I’m like Neo in that movie, The Matrix.
I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and scratched my itchy balls. I felt my cock plump up again and decided to try one more spank off. I was still wired from whiskey and freedom and even if I couldn’t get one off, it was worth a shot… for the record, I came again like a fire-hose.
The following is a chapter from my latest novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”
“Was it good for you?” I asked Raven. She smiled and even let out a little laugh. The rays of the strobe lights bounced off of her eyes making them sparkle. Now that I had squirted all of my lust into my pants, I could focus on her and not just her tits. She had a tough look but with a touch of sadness that I could relate to. I wanted to know about her life, like how she ended up here and not on the cover of some fashion magazine. But it was premature for me to ask her such questions. I didn’t want her to go. I felt a real connection, more than your average strip club hard-on. There are only a few people in the world that when you’re near them the world just seems better. There’s an energy that pulls you in and the idea of not being near them is sickening. There was also an undeniable desire to have her, to own her, to lock her up in my basement so no one else could have her but me…but in a romantic way. Maybe it was her tits, or eyes or some kind of pheromone thing. Or maybe it was just the first piece of ass I’d been close to in two years but something had happened. I wanted her like a junkie wants a glass pipe full of the finest meth and if that’s not love I don’t know what love is. I decided that whatever this feeling was, it was worth taking a shot to get to know her, as unlikely as that seemed at the time.
“We can keep this party going for another 20 bucks.” She offered and smiled.
“I’m broke,” I said, “but if you want to throw in an encore for free—“ Raven stopped smiling and jumped off of my crotch like my balls were on fire. It was clear to her that the job was done and my potentially lucrative desire was extinguished for the moment. Relationships are not born from the dark, jizz-drenched walls of a strip club; at least not the ones that last longer than twenty bucks.
I went into the men’s room to clean the spunk out of my underwear. When I looked in my pants it look like a bottle of conditioner had exploded in there. I had built up a super nut from my days spent in prison, even if I was spanking off three times a day on average.
After a quick wipe down I left the men’s room and headed for the bar. I was going to buy a drink but realized that I had blown, pun intended, all the money Mason had given me. I desperately needed whiskey but I’d have to wait.
The bartender was an Asian lady who looked like she had seen it all and she probably had. I ordered a glass of water. She replied, “No, you buy drink or go.”
“Relax Mrs. Miyagi. I just spent a bunch of cash on a very satisfying lap dance.”
“No, buy drink or go.” She insisted.
“Fuck off, I’ve paid enough.” As soon as I had uttered the words I realized that a very large black man was standing behind me. I tried to defuse the situation by saying to him, “Twenty bucks for a lap dance right brown sugar? But be gentle with me, I’m still sore from the last time.”
He smiled then said, “All right, another honky motherfucker I get the pleasure of kicking the shit out of.”
Since I didn’t want to be having a black man’s gigantic Nike surgically removed from my ass, I decided to do as he told me.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m leaving; just let me tell my brother that I’ll be waiting out in the parking lot.” He thought it over and reluctantly agreed.
The massive man escorted me into the VIP room where I saw three strippers grinding on Mason. Evidently he spared no expense on treating himself. I walked up to him and said, “These cocksuckers are bouncing me, let’s go.”
Mason motioned to the strippers and said, “Well these cocksuckers are getting ready to go to work.”
“Quit fucking around. If they’re kicking me out, you’re coming with me.”
“Oh, I’ll be cumming, just not with you.”
“Fuck you, let’s go.”
“Fine, just let me finish this lap dance, I still have like five minutes,” Mason said, as he buried his face into a pair of tits.
I left the VIP room and headed out to the parking lot. The black bouncer followed me out and he said, “Don’t come back less you got some money.”
“Sure thing, what time does your mom’s shift start?” I said, lighting up a smoke.
He smiled and said, “Shit, more like my daughter. And she’s got the finest ass in here.”
“Can you get me a discount?”
The smile left, “Don’t push it motherfucker.” He said then slammed the door leaving me alone in the parking lot. I leaned against Mason’s car and smoked. I could smell the glorious whore-scent of Raven, or whatever her real name was. I said a silent prayer that there was a girl out there for me; a girl like Raven. Beautiful, mysterious, perfect tits, and the open mind of a porn star. And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t even have to pay for it.
This is the latest chapter of my new novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”
All strip clubs smell like cheap perfume and a zillion dead sperm cells. Mason took me to one of his favorites. He handed me a little cash and now I was ready. My penis started growing before we even got in the door.
We went inside and Mason said, “Take your time, I’m gonna mingle.” He walked away and I looked around the room with a watering mouth and tightening pants. A short blonde with big thighs was wrapping her set up which meant her well-manicured pussy and winking asshole were on display like two rare butterflies that were fighting over the same banana. It was comforting and deliciously evil. The forgiving red lights hid her wrinkles and almost totally concealed the sadness in her eyes.
Some men get off on the sadness, like it’s better for them when the stripper has no choice but to be there. Not me, I’m in it for the pleasant shock of seeing a new set of tits and ass no matter what shape they may be in. Every woman has the goods, but they are all unique, especially the pussy lips. I prefer a little flesh hanging off as opposed to a neat slit. The blonde dancer was really flapping in the breeze like some roast beef curtains but I didn’t care. She could’ve been a double amputee and my cock still would’ve been pointing towards the heavens.
Being fresh out of prison, my libido was influential which means I could fuck a meat grinder then go for seconds. I sat down and started the methodical process of choosing which girl I would be wasting money on. This part of it was almost my favorite. In the moral world, it’s frowned upon to blatantly leer at a woman. I’ve never understood that. It seems to me that the only thing worse for a woman who gets stared at all the time by filthy-minded men, is to never be stared at, although many women would probably disagree with this. I am not a ladies’ man and have never understood the female mind; that’s more Mason’s area of expertise. I always assumed that woman thought the same way as men but if that was the case, there would be a lot more random fucking going in gas station bathrooms all over the world.
I set my sights on a tall brunette with big tits and a firm ass; just my type. I got up and walked over to her with way more confidence that I would’ve had if she wasn’t a stripper who I was going to be paying. A man with cash in his pockets at a strip club feels like he’s walking around with his cock dragging on the floor.
Just as I approached the brunette, a fat bastard stepped in and took her by the hand. This was unacceptable, so I put my hand on his shoulder then said, “Sorry Charlie, this one is taken.”
Fat bastard replied, “Go fuck yourself, I got here first.” The brunette looked amused.
I said, “Number one; I just got out of prison. Number two; that’s my sister you’re putting your sweaty, fat-fuck fingers on, and number three: one of us has committed multiple homicides and the other one is you.”
The guy looked me over trying to see if I was bluffing. I gave him my murder stare and that was all he needed. He walked away and grumbled something about me sucking on a homeless man’s asshole.
The stripper took me by the hand and led me to a private couch in the corner of the room. “What’s your name?” She asked.
“Marshall, what’s yours?”
“Raven.” She said, trying not to look bored.
“Come on, what’s your real name?”
“I don’t ever use my real name.” She said and took off her top revealing a pair of tits that even Jesus Christ would jack off onto.
“You can rub your pussy on me but you won’t give me your real name?” I asked which seemed like a reasonable question.
“It’s a privacy thing. It balances out.” She said as she sat down on my lap. My cock was forged steel. “Wow,” she said, noticing my erection. “Someone’s eager.”
“It’s been a while; I wasn’t bullshitting when I told Porky I just got out of prison.”
“What did you do?” She asked with genuine interest.
“Got caught fucking a horse.”
“Did the horse notice?” She asked which made me laugh. “So you’re my brother huh? I didn’t know I had one.”
“I hope I’m not, but you never know. If I am it just makes this hotter.”
She smiled then said, “And that part about multiple homicides?”
“Not unless you count being a lady killer.” I said realizing that holy shit that’s a bad line. The truth was that I had only killed two people at that time and both of them deserved it so it didn’t even seem wrong to me.
“Right,” she responded, “that’s why you’re in here.”
“I like to support my local economy. So do you like being a stripper?” I asked, not sure why I was continuing this conversation when I was only a cash transaction away from having her tits bouncing off my face.
She replied, “We prefer the term “dancers” but to me that’s ridiculous. No one is paying to see our snappy moves. I think the dancing is more for the girls so they can distract themselves while creepy dudes stare at them.”
“I don’t mind the dancing, but it is nice seeing some quality T and A,” I admitted. “I’m not such big fan of stretch marks though.”
“Why does that bother you? A lot of woman have those.”
“When I see the stretch marks it makes me think somewhere there’s a little boy or girl that will one day learn that mommy had to let the beaver out to buy their new school clothes.”
“What’s wrong with a parent doing what they have to do to provide for their children?” She asked as her beautiful eyes darkened. Her look made me flinch so I went on damage control mode.
“I don’t blame the women at all but if anyone is getting screwed in this deal, it’s the men. The strippers who have perfected their craft, can sniff these jerk-offs out then zero in on them and that’s all it takes. The men have no chance.”
“Men like you?” She asked and sat down on my lap.
“I’m the worst of all, you could take a shit on my chest and I’d invite you home to visit my parents. Well not my parents, they’re dead, but someone’s parents.”
The beautiful stripper, I mean dancer, put both of her hands on my face. I could smell her inexpensive shampoo and perfume and I marveled at the glitter that sparkled on her face and tits. To me it was better that she was most likely from the wrong side of town. I find people with hard upbringings to be much more interesting than others who grew up soft in a womb of comfort and privilege. But this stripper was different somehow. I actually wanted to talk to her, well after she rubbed her pussy and tits on my face. Getting the lap dance was going to be enjoyable so I figured it was time to get down to business and right on cue she rubbed my things and brushed up against my ball sack that had turned hard like a turtle shell. She was going in for the kill and I didn’t care. “Twenty bucks gets you 5 minutes.” She said as if it mattered what it cost. I would have cut my nose off just to lick her asshole clean after she ate ribs all night.
I gave her a twenty and she went to work. When she started doing her thing, I nearly lost consciousness. She gently grazed my face and mouth with her nipples that were so hard they could’ve smashed diamonds. She rubbed her pussy on the tip of my dick and I pushed through the pee-hole in my underwear, leaving my penis exposed to a savage, lap dance pounding. My cock smashed against my jeans and soon chaffed with no buffer between me and the harsh fabric. It didn’t matter. I could’ve been grinding my cock to a nub on a belt sander. She could feel my hard-on and she turned around so her back was facing me. She spread her ass and let me wiggle in between there, in that magical place between pussy and asshole. I could feel the intense heat and it was moist. I wanted to put my face in there, to smell it. Taste it. Fucking move into it. She turned back around and stared into my eyes. It couldn’t be bullshit; no way could she fake this moment. I was the God of Cock. She was dying and the fountain of life only spurted from me. It all became too much. I could feel the orgasm start in my toenails then race up through my knees, then stop in my butt cheeks. I held out as long as I could. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in. Then I let it go. Electric spunk-blasts rocketed out, splashing against my pants and filling them up with sticky goo. More and more filth kept coming until it was all out of me. There was nothing left; a band of horses wouldn’t be able to raise my cock for at least three hours.
The loud stripper music, that ridiculous orchestra, blared away. Something special had happened. Something in my brain would never be the same. Already, I could feel cum cooling and congealing in my pants and tangling in my pubic hair. I didn’t care. Somehow the shame made it that much better. It was worth soiling my only pair of pants, for the second time that day.
The following is a chapter from my latest book, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.” If you like my work feel free to donate since I can’t get any reputable publisher to take me seriously. Fuck those douchebags.
“Now that we’ve hugged it out,” Mason said stifling a laugh, “where do you wanna go little brother?”
“You can drop me off at the nearest bar.” I said.
“Come on man, don’t be like that.”
“What the fuck happened?” I asked.
“The cops came out of nowhere. They must’ve been staking the place out. It’s like they knew we were going to steal that car.”
“They did know, it was a bait care asshole. I mean what the fuck happened to you? You were supposed to watch out for me.”
“Marshall, I was right there with you all the way, that is until you got in and actually started the car.” Mason said with such sincerity that he sounded like he actually believed his own bullshit.
“So why didn’t you get caught then?” I asked.
“I damn near did. When the cops rolled up I had no choice but to walk away. My gut told me something wasn’t right.”
“How come your gut didn’t say shit to me about it?” I interrupted and had to resist the urge to punch him in the face. “You were supposed to be the lookout, but instead you watched me get hauled off like I tried to assassinate the President.”
“That’s a little dramatic, bro,” Mason pointed out. “As far as I could tell, the cops treated you pretty good.”
“I got tasered… twice.”
“You did kinda resist.”
“I resisted because I wanted to break away and beat you to death for leaving me there.”
“I’m sorry, if there was anything I could do I would’ve.” Mason assured me.
“So why didn’t you hire me a real attorney instead of that dumb fuck, grease-ball public defender? That guy spent more time trying to fuck the prosecutor.”
“Oh yeah, she was hot.” Mason pointed out.
“She wasn’t hot when she was telling the judge that I was the next Ted Bundy. Seriously Mason, why didn’t you help me? I could’ve beat the charges or maybe got a reduced sentence.”
“Bro, they had you on video tape stealing a car and you head-butted a cop. No way were you getting off. If you weren’t a white guy they woulda given you the gas chamber.” Mason said and he sort of had a point.
“You could’ve kicked in some money for a lawyer.”
“I didn’t have any money. I used it all to pay off our debts,” Mason said lighting up a smoke. I lit one up too.
“Our debts?” I asked. “You mean your debts.”
“We’re family, for richer or poorer.”
“Fuck you. Find someone else to eat the peanuts out of your shit.” I said.
We rode along in silence for a few minutes then Mason suggested, “It’s been a rough homecoming for both of us. So let’s just take a step back and analyze our feelings for a second here. You know, really connect and by that I mean let’s get shit-faced and have a stripper ride your face like a scooter.”
“You’re paying.” I said and threw my smoke out of the window.
“Baby brother, I’ll pay for a lot more than that. Cheer up Marshall, the world is a ripe fruit, filled with the sweet nectar of sin and depravity. And we are going to suck that motherfucker dry.” He said, and then cranked the radio up to full blast.
Here’s the next chapter of my new novel, “HITMAN WITH A HEART.”
I was released from prison shortly after my 23rd birthday and it was a day like no other. I had been saved from the bowels of hell. The Man had taken his bite out of my ass and I had survived.
Most people don’t even realize they have choices in their lives and they take the vastness of freedom for granted. Regardless of their situation, they make their own mental prisons. To understand the feeling of incarceration you have to be locked up in a room that smells like shit, cleaning products and utter fucking failure; all the while knowing that you can’t leave until they tell you. Sometimes you have to be locked up with a bunch of animals for a while to appreciate how not-shitty regular life is.
I stood anxiously waiting to be processed which takes forever like every other thing in prison does. A fat guard put my personals on a table in front of me. There was a money clip with no cash in it, a cheap lighter, half a pack of Lucky’s, and a three-inch Gerber lock blade that was sharp enough to circumcise a mosquito. It was all I owned.
I exited like seven fucking doors before I finally got out of the building. The last door was the best of them all. It squeaked opened and fresh air filled my nostrils. The dank stench of misery-soaked concrete was long gone. It was a new day. I could be anything. Then I remembered that I was a convicted felon and a violent one at that. The stamp of a loser would always follow me around. I might as well have gotten a tattoo of a pig fucking a priest on my forehead. I couldn’t vote or own a firearm. I didn’t give a shit about voting though.
I took out the piece of paper Julian had given me and looked at the number. I thought about throwing it away and part of me always wonders how my life would’ve turned out if I did. But I didn’t. I slipped it back into my pocket and lit a cigarette.
I scanned around the parking lot and I saw my brother, Mason, standing next to a running car. He was smiling and waving like I had just come back from a trip abroad. I walked up to Mason and he went to hug me. Instead, I viciously shoved him and knocked him flat on his ass.
Mason laid on the ground laughing which pissed me off even more. He said, “Okay, I deserved that. Now will you hold me?”
“I’m gonna piss on your chest,” I promised. Mason kept laughing.
Mason replied, “Wow, I see prison has opened your mind to all kinds of hot fetishes. If you wanna give me a rim job though, I would proceed with caution. I’ve had nothing but whiskey and Taco Bell for the last week.”
“For two years I’ve done nothing but think about this day and what I would say to you.” I said and realized I had no idea what to say to my older brother.
“And, what did you come up with?” Mason asked as he sat up.
“This,” I said and unzipped my pants. I pulled out my dick and aimed it at Mason. He stared at me and it was the first time I ever saw a look of shock on my brother’s face.
“Well, they say actions speak louder than words,” Mason said. As soon as the first drop of piss came out of me, Mason rolled over lightning fast and kicked my legs out from under me. I fell but continued peeing all over the place. Mason was laughing and jumping up and down. I suppose it was a funny sight; me rolling around trying to grab my dick that was spraying like some human sprinkler. I rolled over on my side and finished peeing.
Mason noticed that I had finished then he asked, “Was it good for you?” I got up and realized that I miraculously had very little pee on my clothes which was good since they were the only clothes I owned. I got up and rushed Mason who grabbed me in a bearhug. As Mason held me he said, “That’s it, let it all out. Find your inner pussy, you knew it’s in there.”
“I’ll fucking kill you!” I screamed in vain. Mason always was a bit bigger and stronger than me and that fact was never more evident than at that moment.
“Hey shitheads!” screamed a prison guard who had come out to see what was going on. “Knock that off Jones or you can get your ass right back in here.”
As much as I was pissed at my brother, I did not want to go back into that building. So, I stepped back.
The guard yelled, “Not a good start, Jones, I give you a three weeks tops before I’ll be seeing you again.”
I yelled back, “The only part of me that you’ll ever see again is my jizz running down your wife’s ass crack.” I said as I got into the car. Mason flipped the guard off and got into the driver’s seat. I turned the radio on and the station was playing, “I Just Want to Celebrate,” by Rare Earth. It’s a kick ass song and was perfect for that moment. I kept finding a few wet spots on my pants and shirt but I didn’t care. Nothing could get me down. We drove away and I watched the prison get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until it was only a gray blob on the horizon. I made the decision that day that I would never go back to prison. It was an invigorating feeling, like when an alcoholic decides to fall off the wagon and start running towards a river of whiskey.
Hitman With a Limp 