Jesus…! Eric thought — and got chills.
Who is that? Frack’s brother…?
The newcomer moved into sight. Eric thought (though he couldn’t be sure) it’s the white guy Eric had followed into the place, who’d earlier gone into the front john, now here in the back. The man said: “Damn, Al, I hope you gonna shove that up my fuckin’ hole. I thought you wasn’t here — ”
Eric reached up and got hold of Shit’s dick again.
Laughing, bald Al said, “Soon as I get my motherfuckin’ raincoat on.” Digging in his pants, while, hooded in its crepe cuff, a foot-plus of charred hatchet handle, webbed in black cable and all that only half-hard, swung in front of him. Al pulled loose a square packet. Raising his hands (as though he might be nearsighted), he tore through brown plastic to pull loose an ivory condom that fell, unfolding, from his fingers. He shook it out.
“Goddamn, nigger!” one of the other black drivers said. “Dat ain’t no raincoat! Al — da’s a goddam umbrella cover — family size!”
“Yeah — well, I need me de big ones.” (Someone else chuckled — probably the white guy Jay had called Dynamite.) With two thumbs in the latex collar, Al stretched it a couple of times. “Ted got such a sweet ass, I wait aroun’ for this honkey motherfucker sometimes.”
The white guy in the yellow shirt already had his slacks unbuttoned. His belt dangled open, and, held in one hand, his pants drooped down one leg. He grinned around the room.
Al grinned back. “Come on, you honkey fuck hole!” Al pulled the condom on. Stretching latex wrinkled first on one side, then pulled out smooth. “Back up on dis, Ted, and le’s see you do what both the ol’ ladies I’m livin’ with is too scared to, ’cept in the damned dark.”
His own stubby cock still in his fist, the black driver said, “Well, you can’t fuckin’ blame ’em. I’d be scared of dat thing too.”
Leaning over, gripping the urinal’s rolled edge, Ted moved toward Al’s end, slacks slipping further down his legs.
“You ain’t too scared to suck it.” Al chuckled again. “At least de first seven or eight inches.” While more guys laughed, he set cockhead in place, and, in his orange vest, embraced white Ted from behind. Unreadable in this ceiling light, black tattoos swarmed like bugs over Al’s black arms. As Eric kneeled up, again Jay’s scrotum pushed into his chin. In his pants, Eric’s cock head dragged across a wet spot.
Sympathetic electricity made Eric’s back tingle. (No, Al’s was not as big as Frack’s; still, it was in the same foot-plus ballpark.) He released the kid’s cock he held — Shit’s hand, covering Eric’s, gave an acknowledging squeeze — and, while his other hand held the bearded boatman’s hip, Eric slipped his fingers free and put them on the floor.
And something warm and rough covered them — Shit had moved his foot on top of Eric’s hand. Eric rotated it beneath (the weight lightened in response), gripped the naked foot, and squeezed. Hard toes grasped the edge of Eric’s palm. The foot seemed too wide for any shoe.
Eric pulled his hand loose — because, crouching low, he couldn’t really get the base of Jay’s cock in his mouth.
“You don’t use no fuckin’ spit?” asked a wondering driver.
Thrusting, retreating, thrusting, Al said, “He don’t need no…fuckin’ spit — he keep a…fuckin’ tin o’ lard…up there, anyway…Or sumpin’ greazy — least when…he come lookin’ for me, he do…Spit?” Al’s voice had dropped almost an octave with disdain. “I’d spit in his goddam ear — or tear ’im de fuck open!”
“Ted, you musta been practicin’ to take dat nigger,” someone said.
“Come on, Al…!” Ted whispered. His arms and shoulders rocked above the urinal’s rim he gripped, the pink gone from his knuckles to the skin between. “Shut up, and fuck my white ass, huh?”
“Oh, yeah! I remember what you like, motherfucker.” Al was speeding up; his rhythm inflected his speech. “That’s right — y’always wanna leave here…with your damn proof…o’ purchase, doncha?…Okay. Here you go — ” Al dropped his face onto Ted’s neck, who put his head back and grunted:
“Oh, shit…yeah!”
The black man, Eric realized, had bitten him!
Helped on by Al and Ted (Eric suspected but was not sure), the boatman’s big hands tightened: he shot in Eric’s mouth.
Eric pressed his face into the rough denim, taking the cock as deep as he could get it — which was pretty fuckin’ deep. God, it felt good, even if he couldn’t see the two at the piss trough. For moments it was as if the orchitis was a pillow beneath Eric’s jaw.
With one hand and the other, the boatman rubbed the back of Eric’s head; and — slowly — pulled out.
The black driver with his fat cock had come forward to wait on Eric’s other side from Shit. As the boatman’s cock fell free to rest beside the enlarged testicle, Eric turned, expecting to see Al and the guy he was humping at the urinal. Instead he saw the cock in the driver’s brown fist — and took it in his mouth, turning on his knees to face him.
“Sweet Jesus — ” the driver breathed in sharply — “this boy got a’ educated mouth.” Though he was uncut and thick, he was…well, free of cheese and perspiration. And he only put one hand — too lightly for Eric — on Eric’s shoulder.
Still, Eric was enjoying his enthusiasm. The driver came in under a minute. Eric took him deep and held him there, while he listened to the breathing above.
Finally, Eric slid off and grinned up. “You got an educated dick.”
“I do?” The driver looked down, heavy brown face surprised. “Well, thank you, son. That’s nice to hear. Real nice.” His cock was softening. “Hey, Jay — he say I got a’ educated dick. How you like that?”
As Eric kneeled back, the hood slipped forward.
“Well, I’m glad sumpin’ about you’s educated,” Jay returned. “Somebody told me they seen you at Johnston’s speakin’ rally at the Interdenominational over at Hemmings. Don’t tell me you gonna vote for a dumb white man like that? And vicious, besides. Nope!” Jay’s forearm raised, his hand opened. “Nope. Nope! No politics in the damned john. I don’t believe in it. And I ain’t gonna start now.”
The driver laughed, putting himself away.
A hand grasped Eric’s other shoulder, slid under his arm, and pulled Eric up. He looked over and smiling at him was the tall unshaven white guy — Dynamite, yeah, that’s right — in his overalls and work shoes. The bib hid most of the garbage truck. “Hey, there — we don’t want your knees gettin’ sore.”
“Uh…thanks,” Eric said.
Dynamite smiled: half his teeth were gone — and Eric thought, this forty-odd-year-old cracker, smiling at me, with his hazel eyes and brown hair — a head taller than both Eric and Shit — could have been cousin or brother to any hillbilly he’d ever had under the highway. Both Shit and the big boatman and the taller of the black drivers (in Eric’s estimation) were better looking. Still, for pure raw sex appeal only the Mexican sitting on the shitter rivaled him.
With his thumb, Dynamite pointed over at Jay, lingering now by the Mexican’s stall. “Jay MacAmon over there says you might be around awhile — you interested in a job?”
(So colorful before, across the john, the boatman’s biceps — thick as tire tubes — were now wrapped in shadow.)