an Excerpt from my erotic novel, The Price of Dick by Dan Skinner
During what should have been a long, quiet drive home, Dick yammered excitedly. First about the event itself. Then about how great he’d done. And finally about a couple of the other athletes he’d met that morning in the registration tent.
“The ass on the guy in the gray wetsuit, Jesus H. Christ! Ass of death. I could die fucking that ass. He would die from me fucking that ass. Hence, ass of death.” Animated limbs flew everywhere as he talked.
“You okay?” I asked. I was ducking arms.
“He didn’t have much in the coin bag. But you know what they say, the smaller the cock, the quicker the pop. And the last thing I care about is spending time on a front door when the back door is where the action is.” He made a ridiculous thrusting movement with his hips that made me laugh.
“You’re mixing metaphors,” I said, knowing full well he’d ignore me. I was in his periphery during this ride. Just there to listen to what he wanted to say.
The highway ahead of us was seventy miles of blank space. He was in his sweat-cutoffs, and smelled like a barnyard. Instead of being dog-tired, he was bouncing all over the place. I didn’t know if I could tolerate it for the rest of the drive.
“Oh my God, I’m so horny. My nuts feel like sandbags weighing my dick down!” he announced out of the blue like a man unable to restrain any thought that passed through his mind. “I gotta get off! This is crazy. I can’t stand my dick feeling like it’s going to explode. You ever have that?”
I informed him we were still an hour away from the apartment. Small details like that were incidental to him at this point.
An impish giggle burst from him. “Hard cocks don’t wait for anyone or anything,” he said. And with that, he stripped out of his ragged sweat-shorts and briefs. His legs stretched out in the car, filling it with the smell of stale sweat. From my nervous sideways glances at him, I saw his cock release and flip upward to the edge of his shirt. Leaning back and sliding down in his seat, he admired his own hunk of hard flesh as if Michelangelo had personally sculpted it.
“What are you doing?” I asked both thrilled and panicked. “What if we get pulled over, you dipshit? What if a bus drives by, or a guy in a Mack truck?” I was checking my side and rearview mirrors.
That statement appeared to amuse him. “What if I just christen your car?” And with that came another bizarre burst of laughter. “Imagine a priest christening things like that?” He pointed at his dick in three directions as he said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” and then he laughed again.
He began stroking himself. I began thinking of excuses I could make to the cops should I get pulled over.
I should have made more of a protest. Each passing vehicle sent a stab of terror in my chest, worrying we might be caught. On the other hand I thought, how many men have the opportunity for a gorgeous stud to strip half naked in their car and jack off?
“Did I tell you about the priests at Saint Jude’s when I was a kid?” Again, asked for no reason in the middle of his masturbatory act. “It’s the church behind my folks’ house. I went to grade school there. I used to mow the rectory lawn every Saturday during summer, from the age of twelve until I was sixteen, because I could walk the mower from my house to the church. They were supposed to pay me ten bucks for each time I mowed.”
When he remarked how old he had been, I recalled seeing the pictures of him as a pre-teen and teenager on the wall going down into the basement of his folks’ house. The same lantern-jawed face, but with lighter blond hair. He wore glasses back then. Big, nerdy glasses that took up a third of his face. And he still had that same jutting bone structure that made him appear older.
“The first time I mowed the lawn I noticed the priests in the rectory windows watching me. They thought I didn’t see them peeking through those curtains, but I saw their beady little eyes.” He talked without missing a stroke on himself. I had to peek.
“So what did you do?” I wondered.
“Oh dude, it gave me the hardest erection knowing they were watching. I grew this monster between my legs starting at eleven years of age. I knew it was there for a reason ‘cause it went from being a peanut to a banana in less than a year. I knew what I had down there and I knew they were looking at it, standing behind their curtains and yanking on their willies. You think I wasn’t gonna show it off?”
He tightened his grip on himself as he said this. He counted this as a salient trophy memory and not something inappropriate.
“I took off my shirt. I wasn’t as built then. Didn’t have any body hair either. But I had a good tan, and I had on a pair of those pleated shorts that rode up my ass crack real tight so they got a good look at my rear junk.” He spit into his palm and continued to work himself more vigorously. “I kept my dick pushed way down in my shorts so they could see the outline when I mowed toward the window. I bet they were just dripping Holy jizz at the sight of a little boy with a big cock.”
I hazarded a quick look at him. He smiled at me, pointed with his eyes for me to look at the dick in his hands. It was huge, like all the blood in his body had pooled in that specific location. The head glowed shiny with pre-cum, was a deep tropical color, like a jungle snake about to strike.
“The Devil wore tennis shoes,” I quipped, reluctantly turning my eyes back to the lanes ahead of me. Several cars passed. I sighed with relief as each one went by.
“When I was fifteen or sixteen years old, Father James used to ask me in so I could shower in the rectory afterwards. Told me it would help me get used to high school showers when I’d have to be naked in front of other boys. But I knew what he was doing. I let him think I was a dummy; him standing there watching me as I soaped myself up, running my hand up and down my hairless little boy crack for him to see; keeping a nice half-woody worked up.”
“You know you’re giving these priests a defense if they need one, don’t you?” I joked.
That gave him some perverse delight. “Just because they put on black robes with a silly little collar doesn’t mean they ain’t ruled by their dicks like the rest of us. We all got the same dirty little secrets. And my mom thought they were all so holier than thou. That was a kick in the ass. Her bending on her knees, sucking the wine out of their cup and munching their dumb little crackers like God picked them out and put them on a pretty little pedestal. And there they were hankering after her boy’s hot little ass.” There was no mistaking the malice heard in his laughter this time.
I was hesitant to ask, but couldn’t live without the information. “Did you ever do anything with the priests?”
I saw the shadow of his shaking head. “Nope. You only get so much for ten bucks and a cold soda,” he said.
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