No, Al’s cock was not as big as Frack’s, but it would have poked from a ripped pocket by two or three inches. And did he care about the difference between fifteen and seventeen?
Three minutes later, Dynamite came.
Five seconds after that, Al grunted, “Oh. Shit…I love dese fuckin’ nasty white holes.” (Jesus, Eric felt really low and really good…) Then the warmth pulled from Eric’s back.
He flinched, because, yes, KY or no, Al’s pullout stung.
“Jesus, that looked fuckin’ great…” someone said; it took a second for Eric to realize that, over Dynamite’s shoulder, it was Shit.
Dynamite had taken seconds to harden — and took seconds to soften. Eric sucked the firm cock as deep as he could and wallowed cum around it, even prizing his tongue beneath the foreskin to let some liquid in, till the man’s hands halted his head.
The muscles at the back of Dynamite’s cock tightened — familiar from Pickle — as a spurt of salt urine flushed Eric’s mouth…surprising him (Pickle primed or not). Eric sucked deep again, swallowing. He kept at it, ten, fifteen, twenty seconds, hoping for more, even as he stilled his tongue. Finally, looking up, he saw the man grinning down. (Eric patted Dynamite’s leg, squeezed it.) But that was all that happened. Dynamite’s grip loosened around his head and he let Eric back away.
Sitting on his heels, Eric worked one foot and another under himself to lever upright, losing Al’s hands from his flank. “Oh, fuck…!” He glanced back, to see Al, buttons opened around the latex sheath. “Hey, thanks,” Eric said. He was breathing hard. As with Frack, he thought: How did I get all that in…? “That was…good!” Maybe I’m learning…
Or just stretching…
Al drawled, “I know damned well it was.” Chuckling at Eric, he moved back toward the urinal. “I don’t bother fuckin’ nobody ’less I do it good.”
Eric looked again at the garbage man —
“Ain’t no point to it.” Al bounced his sheathed cock on his palm.
Penis sagging, Dynamite stepped back; he grinned at Eric, too. Shaking his head, again he began to drag up his pants, then pushed himself into his overalls.
Eric managed to stand and, looking around, saw Shit coming back, over uneven concrete, edging between Jay and the driver Eric had sucked off, leading the other black driver, a solid, dark fellow in a blue T-shirt, in his late thirties or early forties.
Shit held the man’s cock — pulling him by it, it looked like.
As he followed, the second driver smiled, looking somewhat embarrassed. (Dynamite had stepped over to Al. They were whispering about something.) Eric was slightly confused. But Shit reached out with his free hand and — now — took hold of Eric’s cock. The driver Shit led stepped up to Eric and as Shit positioned himself before both of them, smiled at Eric, and put his arm around Eric’s shoulder. His dark face was further shadowed by bushy brows.
Eric smiled back, curious.
Holding both penises, Shit dropped to a squat and, in his large, heavy hands, pulled Eric and the driver’s penises together, both — one dark, thick-veined, and uncut, the other a heavy pink over an ivory skin, circumcised, and bullet-headed. The black one straight, Eric’s slightly up-curved, both were erect.
Eric looked down at Shit’s mustard nap. Already the rough hair had a thinning spot, though he’d have been surprised if the kid was twenty. Behind him, Eric could see his wide, bare feet, his cracked blackened soles, the toes of one propped up and turned under, the pads of the other stretched behind, dirt gone shiny from walking.
Shit put the black guy’s cock in his mouth. Eric felt Shit’s beard against his own dick. Then he came off and took Eric’s cock in his warm, warm mouth.
Eric’s smile became a grin.
Shit’s thick-fingered hands — bitten nails and big knuckles, both lined with black — were grubby from his work. His mouth went back and forth. Looked at from above, his nose seemed particularly broad and Negroid, and — hell — sexy.
Now Shit glanced up. He chuckled. “I wish my dick was more like one of these or the other. But it’s just in the fuckin’ middle.”
Eric was surprised — because Shit’s generously uncut cock was between half and three-quarters of an inch longer than either. It had never occurred to Eric someone could want a cock smaller than his own.
Shit went back to sucking them both.
The black driver beside him smiled at Eric. As Eric looked at his face, the full mouth opened and came forward. The broad lips kissed Eric, who opened his mouth to receive the driver’s tongue, which went no further in than Eric’s lips. His unshaven face turned against Eric’s.
The driver closed his eyes — then opened them; and pulled his mouth away.
Eric blinked.
The driver looked stern.
(Shit’s mouth came back to Eric’s cock. His hand moved around to Eric’s leg, where, as his mouth went in and out, the fingers flexed on the denim.)
Softly, the driver said to Eric: “Did that man you was suckin’ off before piss in your mouth, boy?” He nodded over toward Dynamite.
Momentarily, Eric was flustered: “Uh…Yeah. A little — I guess.”
The driver’s body stiffened. Without dropping, his arm loosened. He moved back a chilly inch. “Dat’s the third time that cracker sonofabitch done that to some good lookin’ fella what come in here in the last two months — it jus’ messes it up for the rest of us. You’d think he was a damn tomcat, markin’ his territory. And Jeb — my partner over there — still likes ’im.” He nodded toward the taller, better-looking driver. “But then, Jeb is strange.” Now he gave Eric’s bare shoulder in its tank top strap a consoling pat, then dropped his hand. “Well, I guess it ain’t your fault. I just gotta get to you guys a’fore he do.” Shaking his head, he turned away, wiping his wrist across his mouth.
And Shit rose before Eric, a hand either side, his chest and then the waist of his pants dragging over Eric’s cock. Shit’s green eyes, his wonderfully broad nose, his mouth were against Eric’s face. Eric’s eyes were open to see both of Shit’s, equally wide. Then Shit’s tongue probed and rolled and wrestled around Eric’s.
Seconds later, Shit pulled back to whisper: “I like how it tastes. It ain’t bad — it’s real nice. It’s just regular redneck cracker piss. That nigger’s crazy!”
Eric was glad of the reminder different people liked different things.
Shit’s hard hand holding Eric’s shoulder moved to Eric’s back. At their groins, in an all-but-uncomfortable position, in which the pleasure of excitement turned into something interesting, their cocks crossed. Their scrotums hung against one another’s.
With one hand, Eric held the back of Shit’s neck and, with the other, the small of Shit’s back. He could feel Shit’s body, breathing, against his, even as he smelled him.
And breathed, thinking, for all the fucking around he’d done with guys he didn’t usually get this close to them. This was really…nice.
Shit whispered, “You okay…?”
Eric whispered, “Yeah.”
“Good.” And Shit released him, and stepped back. “I hope he pisses in your mouth some more. Go on, try somebody else now.”
Not sure he wanted to, Eric watched Shit back up against the wall, where, again (as though he had backed outside the circle of perception of all other eight men in the room, so that the aura of isolation made Shit even sexier), the kid dug his middle finger in one nostril, sucked it clean, dug in the other, sucked it, digging and sucking, digging and sucking —