Al said, “Maybe he can look up da kid in town at da Harbor dis evenin’. Dey can share it, ’fore you guys go on out to Gilead. Hell — dere’s enough in dat thing for three cocksuckers! You always sayin’ dat about my loads, Jay. I’m supposed to be a fuckin’ horse, ain’t I? Hey — ” he gestured with the long latex tube to Eric — “slip dat horse rubber in your pocket, boy — and don’ let it bust on ya’.”
Eric took it. “Thanks — I…I guess.” Surprised at how proud he suddenly felt he pushed it, flopping over the ham of his thumb, yielding under his poking fingers, into his pocket beside the returned KY tube. “Thank you, sir!”
Others laughed.
Flat on the tile, Mex’s wide feet were as grubby as Shit’s. They looked as rough and as hard. Inside the doorless stall, with one hand, Mex beckoned Eric — and opened his mouth…
Eric stepped forward.
Jay gripped him, pushed Eric within as Mex closed mouth and tongue around him, and moved his hand away.
His cock the center of it, heat engulfed him, rushed up Eric’s belly, into his chest, down his thighs, pooling at the backs of his knees.
Down below a crease at Mex’s navel, the stocky guy’s amber ankles held apart the infinity sign his jeans made, without drawers. Broad nosed, wide-jawed, hair black and smooth, Eric’s cock rounding his mouth, Mex grinned up with his pitted face. Forward of his foreskin, a ridge of whitish yellow encircled Mex’s own cock head — which Eric could see down between the thick thighs below his chin each time the Mexican’s mouth slid back. With the taste of Dynamite’s cheese and urine and the memory of Jay’s, Eric felt the simple sight of Mex’s turning him on as much as the yearning in the man’s raised eyes. Eric’s cock slid in and out Mex’s mouth. Left of them, the stall wall was thick with blue paint. In it were three ordinary sized glory holes. To the right, another Eric hadn’t seen was wide enough for a whole head!
Beside Eric and, belly to belly with him, both of them turned only a little to the side, now bearded Jay slid his own cock into Mex’s face alongside Eric’s. Eric felt it rubbing, to the side and slightly below, his own.
As he often did, Eric thought: Why did I have to end up cut? It would be great to look like all these guys here; or Mike —
Wetness and heat increased around the flesh thrusting from Eric’s groin.
“Hey, Mex. Here’s that sumpin’ special — ”
Jay was urinating!
Eric could feel the Mexican swallowing around his cock, while he sucked them both.
And Dynamite had wedged up against Eric to hug him from behind. One of the drivers chuckled. “Dere go de white guys again, makin’ some damned spic or a damned nigger do all the real work!” On one side, the boatman pressed against him, while, at his other, Shit slid in. (Eric thought: Well, Shit’s a nigger. God, I wished to hell I was. Maybe they’d like me more…) Again Eric reached to grip barefoot Shit’s thickly veined dick. His green shirt still hanging open, Shit put one arm tight around Eric’s shoulder, staring down like an examining demigod. Looking with him, Eric saw that one of Shit’s bare feet was over one of Mex’s.
In the cave of Mex’s mouth, boiling — it felt like — around Eric’s cock, dripping from Eric’s testicles, running down the barrel-solid Mexican’s chin and chest between Mex’s own black denims, dripping on Mex’s own fist, running over Eric and Mex’s cocks, the boatman’s piss was…well, hot and incredible!
Between himself and Jay, beneath the hair, were crickets, fish, frogs, shells, shooting stars, scalloped leaves, waves spuming, clouds billowing, vine tendriling, atoms exploding, squid spewing.
Flames, red and yellow, flared over Jay’s arm.
Eric came —
— and grabbed Mex’s head, leaning forward. Like beads of buckshot, Mex’s semen — warm — struck the bottom of Eric’s (and probably the boatman’s) testicles. Of course they didn’t hurt — but they hit harder than Eric would have expected.
Jay pushed back, Dynamite loosened his grip, and Mex sat up, now, on the shitter’s enamel rim…
Mex’d reached up and rubbed Jay’s big ball.
Grinning, his cock a rod against his jeans, with his cream-and-coffee wool, Shit reached down where Mex’s wet fist had returned to his dick. As Mex relaxed his grip, Shit pushed a thick forefinger under Mex’s loose skin and, with the skin riding over the forejoint, circled the head. Mex made a sound like, “Urrgghh…!” opening his lips around the dicks in his mouth — piss and something thicker spilled his pitted chin — while Shit pulled his forefinger free with its flaky load, and, standing now, pushed it into Eric’s mouth.
Eric sucked the stuff off, surprised —
— while the Mexican looked equally surprised…and pleased.
Shit stood, dug in his own nose with the same finger, sucked it, then pushed that into Eric’s mouth, too. “I make even more of that stuff than he do.” Shit nodded down at Mex with considered seriousness. “I mean, if you really like it. But mine all got rubbed off up his ass — ” With his other wide, blunt thumb, he pointed at Dynamite (again fixing his bib) — “when you first come in. Otherwise, you coulda’ had mine.” His arm went on around Eric, and he hugged him again — and again thrust his tongue into Eric’s face. While he was doing it, the boatman whispered something into Shit’s ear.
Shit halted long enough to ask, “Huh?”
“Go on,” the boatman said. “Do it again…go on, now. Like you did before. Do it.”
“…Huh?” Shit repeated, frowning. Then he raised that same, heavy forefinger to prod once more in a nostril, turning it one way and the other. Eric has already seen that, where the nails were supposed to be, far back from his nubs, the flesh was gnawed into deep and broken pits. When the loaded forefinger came loose, again Eric opened his mouth.
Grinning, Shit pushed it inside.
“See…” The boatman smiled. “Sex is like cards, Shit, ’specially in this place. Remember. Lead from your strength.”
Shit grinned at him —
“Yeah, you always tell me that.”
— while on the expanded articulations of Jay’s colorful arms, Eric saw:
A web beneath an elbow — violet along the strands’ tops, dark red to black below — the darker flesh at the center gnarled as a walnut, threads decked with drops of dew: inked on each less-than-quarter-inch sphere, a curved reflection of a window that might have been in the parlor where the work had once been done but was not in Turpens’ john. Seahorses, scorpions, moths, and spiders scurried under blond fur. Over a green and blue shrimp, with red highlights from a nearby fire, yellow hair swirled. Barbed wire made a doubled strand, the barbs themselves where one was twisted and cut before it sank through a skull’s socket, emerged from the darkness on the other side of the bone’s ragged nose hole. Through foam, cloud, and hair, a squid leapt from the sea with straining tentacles, two longer and broader than the rest, to challenge a dragon, diving from its cloud, astonishment on both non-human faces. In the same montage, giving the effect of something much, much closer — or much, much larger — a frog clung to a rock in the spume, inked with every bubble, splash, and splatter. It gazed up, where stars shot, yellow, green, and red, beyond curling cumulus, scalloped leaves, breaking waves, tendrils coiled below enfolded buds and bursting atoms. Toward his wide shoulders, red and yellow and orange fires entwined star-dusted galaxies and twisted vegetation, as though the world the boatman’s biceps pictured was burning.
Shit’s salty forefinger in Eric’s mouth and the ruined nail’s roughness in its callused bed prodded desire’s central heat —