Homeboys

by Shane Allison

  “Goddamn!” I groan. Alfonzo laughs. He starts fucking me with a hard urgency, lips bared, eyes fierce, his cock slamming in and out my ass like a pile driver, his balls slapping against me with a soft thwack with each thrust. I wrap my legs around his hips and push back, meeting him stroke for stroke. Alfonzo gives a low whimper. I plant my mouth on his and shove my tongue deep down his throat. We play dueling tongues for a while, and then Alfonzo breaks away, gasping. “Get on your hands and knees,” he gasps. “I want to fuck you from behind.”

  Alfonzo starts plowing my ass doggy-style, his hands holding on to my hips as his cock tears up my asshole like so many miles of bad road. I look up and watch Rocco beating his pud, his gun-metal blue eyes trained on us. “Come over here,” I growl, and Rocco doesn’t waste any time. He comes up next to me, squats and shoves his fat dick down my throat. I start making hungry love to it, sucking on it, my tongue playing with it. Rocco pulls out, grasps my head with both hands, gives me a long, lingering kiss and then slides his dick back into my mouth.

  It is so fuckin’ hot to be stuffed with dick at both ends! The two men slam into me, pull out together, leaving me empty and hungry, and then fill me again with their hard, fat dicks. I close my eyes and sink into the sensation of getting my holes plowed. Rocco and Alfonzo lean over me and kiss, never missing a stroke.

  Rocco pulls out and turns around. His ass is a very pretty thing, pale cream and downed with fine blond hairs, the crack a tight line between the muscular half-moons of his cheeks. He bends down, and I bury my face in the crack, lapping up the tight, pink pucker of his bunghole. “Ah, fuck, yeah,” he growls. I push my tongue into his asshole, feeling the ass flesh press in against my slobber-drenched face. I reach in front of him and slide my hand up and down his spit-slicked cock as I tongue his asshole. Alfonzo skewers me with another long thrust and leaves his dick full up my ass, churning his hips, pushing my face even deeper into Rocco’s asscrack.

  Rocco straightens up and turns around again. He starts beating off, putting on a show for me, his eyes locked with mine. It’s such a fuckin’ hot sight. Rocco’s body isn’t as massively muscular as Alfonzo’s, but it’s lean and cut, every muscle beautifully defined. He spits in his hand and slides his fist down his fat dick, the gumdrop head winking in and out of sight with each stroke. I watch hungrily, eating this up, while Alfonzo plows my ass like it’s springtime in Kansas. “Get the fuck over here,” I snarl, and, grinning, Rocco steps forward and stuffs his cock down my throat again.

  We go back to the old rhythm of me getting plugged at both ends. I can hear Alfonzo’s labored breath, like some draft horse struggling up a steep hill. He’s leaning forward, with his arms wrapped around my torso, his dick sliding in and out of my ass in quick, staccato thrusts. “Fuck,” he gasps. “I’m going to pop any second now.”

  Rocco’s cock is crammed down my throat, and I can’t do anything but grunt in reply. Alfonzo pulls out until only the tip of his boner is in my ass, and as he slides full into me, I clamp my ass muscles tight and push back. Alfonzo gives a long, trailing groan, and I can feel his body shudder violently. No condoms are needed in cybersex, and Alfonzo cries out as his cock squirts his spunk deep into my asshole. His body spasms with each pulse of his dick. “Fuckin’ A,” Rocco growls. Even after he’s shot the last of his load, Alfonzo stands behind me, his dick full up my ass, panting. He finally slides off me onto his knees, and collapses onto the pavement. A last few drops of jizz ooze out of his cockhead.

  “Get on your back,” Rocco orders. I obey him, and Rocco sits on my chest and drops his balls into my mouth. I suck on them as he beats off, interrupting his strokes from time to time to slap my face with his stiff cock. Alfonzo wedges himself between the V of my legs and blows me, his finger sliding in and out of my asshole. I push my hips up and fuck Alfonzo’s face as I slurp and suck on Rocco’s meaty pouch. Rocco’s breath is coming out in quick gasps, and he cranes his head up, eyes closed. “Oh, yeah,” he pants, as he beats himself off. “That’s right, that’s right. Yeah, okay, yeah, here I come, aw fuuuuuck…” He groans, and his spunk splatters against my face, one volley after another. Rocco bucks and heaves, knees clamping my sides, and right at the moment, when the last of his load comes blasting out, Alfonzo’s wet mouth and busy finger take me over the edge and I blow my load.

  “Goddamn,” I groan, as my spunk squirts down his throat. Alfonzo sucks greedily, draining my dick of every drop as I splatter his tonsils. Rocco bends down and kisses me hard while the orgasm sweeps over me. When I’m finally spent, Rocco rolls off me, and the three of us collapse onto the pavement in a tangle of arms and legs. Rocco’s load drips sluggishly down my chin, and I wipe my hand across my face and lick my fingers, one by one. I look over at Rocco and grin. “My favorite flavor,” I say. Rocco laughs.

  The three of us climb unsteadily to our feet. I take Alfonzo’s head in my hands and plant a big, wet kiss on his mouth. I can taste my load on his tongue. I do the same for Rocco. “So long, guys,” I say.

  “So long, Spike,” Rocco says. Alfonzo just grins. I look up into the night sky. “Abort program,” I say loudly.

  Rocco, Alfonzo, the alley around us blink out of existence. I’m back in my chair in front of the blank computer screen. These program aborts are always something of a shock. It takes a couple of moments to adjust to reality. I climb, a little unsteadily, to my feet, unzip the cyber suit and step out of it. My dick is still half-hard, and there are a couple of drops of jizz dribbling out of my cock-slit.

  I take a shower, shave, pick up the newspaper from the front step. I fix breakfast. I’ll give myself another hour to prime the pump, I think, as I sip my coffee. Then I’ll try trailer trash. I should be through with the T’s by Sunday evening. I can’t remember exactly when I last set foot outside my apartment. Four days? Five? I glance through the paper. It’s full of murders, war, natural catastrophes, the usual shit. Thank god for fantasy, I think. I eat everything on my plate. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and I’ll need my energy.

  After the Dollar Died

  David Holly

  The streetlights had dimmed out forever, so that the storefronts appeared to lean toward each other. I crouched in the humid dark, savoring the fetid shit stink from the gutter, waiting for a friend and an enemy. Soft ratty footfalls. Hushed silence. I held my blade flicked open and ready to cut.

  “Boats?”

  “I’m here, Grank.” Grank was the war chief of the Gash, whereas I wore the black stripe of the Horn. My name is Jim Boatman, known on the street as Boats these past five years.

  I heard Grank close his knife, so I folded mine and put it back into my pocket. I wouldn’t be gutting a man that night. Grank came closer, his hot breath touching my bare shoulder. “Are you hot for it, Boats?”

  “Yeah, I want your cock up my ass.”

  “Here?”

  “Shit, yeah.”

  “Shit is right. It fuckin’ stinks.”

  “I don’t care. I want your fuckin’ dick in my ass, Grank. I want your cum in my ass.”

  Grank laughed. “Dick. Nobody’s used the word dick since the day the dollar died.”

  “That’s ’cause Dick Fuckin’ Toohoo was president of the United States then.”

  Grank ran his hands over my torso. He tweaked my left nipple while his lips pressed close to my mouth. His hands explored farther. “Shit, for a minute I thought you were already naked.”

  I laughed then, touching his lips with mine as I let out my breath. “I’m wearing cutoff jeans. Probably belonged to some girl back when. The rear pockets have been removed.”

  “Man, somebody poured your gay ass into them, Boats. What’s that in your pocket?”

  “My switch.”

  “Nice one.”

  “Yeah. Top of the line. Would’ve cost five hundred back in the day.”

  “Before the dollar died?”

  Grank unbuttoned my cutoffs, pulled down the zipper and pushed them down to my sneakers. “I’m go
nna take your ass up against the wall.”

  I let him press my face to the sordid brick wall. I pushed back my butt to meet his cock. “Fuck me, Grank.”

  Grank spit into his hand and lubricated his cock. He spat twice more, getting his cockhead slick. I pushed my ass back to meet him.

  “This is fucking strange,” Grank said, his cock hard against my asshole. “You’re the accountant for the Horn.”

  “The Horn don’t know that I take it up the ass.”

  Grank laughed. “That’s right. The Gash don’t know that I like a guy’s ass. Your asshole is better than the cunt of any woman, Boats.”

  With that, I pushed hard with my asshole, pushed as though I was trying to shove out a major crap. At the same time, Grank pushed forward, his cock driving into my ass. I felt fuller and fuller, just like taking a shit in reverse. He was pressing my face into the blackened brick and taking me as if I were a passive whore. He was fucking me, and I loved it.

  “Take me, Grank,” I murmured. “Fuck me and get your rocks off.”

  “I’m gonna come in your ass, Boats. I’m gonna give you a cum enema. After I fill you up, you’re gonna shit in this alley.”

  “Can I wipe my ass after I shit?”

  “Fuck, no.” That’s what I wanted to hear. “I like your shitty ass. I like making you my anal cream pie, my fuck pig.”

  Grank was thrusting harder. His cock filled me all the way. My own cock was soaring. The head of it felt tight and abused. Touching nothing, not my hand, not the brick of the reeking alley, my cock’s head tingled with approaching orgasm. “Ah, fuck, Grank, you’re gonna fuck the cum out of me.”

  “Shoot it, you anal whore,” Grank said. His breath was hot in my ear. Grank was my sworn enemy, my greatest threat, yet he loved fucking my ass, and I did love him so.

  At his command, I was in full orgasm. He thrust within me with his thick cock; every stroke brought me to greater heights of pleasure. He grunted and moaned as my asshole twisted his cockhead and stroked his shaft. Then I was milking him off. Every thrust back, every squeeze with my anal sphincter, every sideways twist brought him closer to supreme ecstasy.

  Then I was his cream pie, my asshole slick with his spent cum. We huddled together beside the Dumpster, and he kissed my lips hard. The after play went on, he stroking my body. His hand fondled my cock and groped my balls. I ran mine over his ass, caressing the firm bulky mounds. His hand slid into my crack.

  He laughed joyously. “Your asshole is leaking, Boats. I sure gave you a cum-butt.”

  “I’m a cream pie. Your cream pie.”

  “My cream pie,” he said in awe of the gift. “What’s your real name, Boats?”

  “Jim Boatman.” Grank looked expectantly at me, as if he wished to know more about my past. “I sold stocks and bonds in a brokerage—up until the day the dollar died.”

  The Day the Dollar Died—Hell Wednesday. Worldwide, markets collapsed in a single morning. In the United States, the stock markets had dropped down to under a thousand points by eleven Eastern Standard Time and were still in free fall. This is the day the dollar dies, I thought. Our office reeked of sweat, fear, piss and shit. I was hoping that those who had crapped in their pants or panties would have the decency to clean up.

  Bob Miles had gone into his office, but he came out with his face looking like death. “Line up,” he ordered in the depths of his insanity. “We’re all going out the window.”

  “We’re on the fifty-second floor, Bob,” I said, but no one paid any attention. To my shock, they began to line up as Bob ordered. Our accountant went out the window of her own free will, followed by two secretaries, one male and one female. My coworkers were jumping to their deaths.

  “I’m not going to commit suicide,” Barb Heller said.

  “We’re all going,” Bob said. “You men help Barb out.”

  Barb screamed as two men and a woman, their faces almost zombified, grabbed her, dragged her to the open window and sent her shrieking down the long, terrible fall to the sidewalk below. The woman followed her down while the two men, my friends and coworkers, turned on me. That’s when I raced for the stairwell. Just before he jumped, Bob ordered the men to catch me, but they were way too late.

  By the end of the first month, the price for an apple or a loaf of bread had jumped to five ounces of gold or ten of silver. Bank tellers were dangling from the lampposts, a slow and gruesome death. High above, the television screens screamed headlines:

  Shootout in Congress. Republicans and Democrats Firing Live Rounds Across the Aisle. Six Confirmed Dead, Fourteen Wounded.

  President Tuvue Orders Martial Law. Freezes All Wages and Prices with Defunct Dollars.

  Senate Dissolved. US Air Force Declares War on the US Marine Corps.

  Nuclear Weapon Detonated Over NATO Headquarters.

  I’d just taken a dump behind the garbage cans. “Why does your cum do that to me?” I wanted to wipe, but there was nothing to use. That was common then. People didn’t smell of scents created in labs. We were all earthier in our odors.

  “I promised that you’d have a shitty ass,” Grank said.

  I nuzzled his face and tongued his ear. “Your butt crack doesn’t smell any better.”

  “I used to be called Clean Willie,” Grank said. “The cleanest politician in the state.”

  We kissed again, our tongues warring. His cock hardened again, and mine was rigid too. “Do you want to do it again?”

  “I can’t. The Gash is raiding tonight.”

  My heart flopped in my chest. “Who are you raiding?”

  “Not the Horn. We’re looking for food. We’ve been back to eating sewer rats again.”

  “Who hasn’t, Grank? Why can’t the government get it together? Create a new monetary standard? Get the country going again?”

  Grank shrugged. “I’m not in the legislature anymore. I don’t see any more than you see. The airplanes of the superrich flying over our heads. Their occasional limousines plowing through the streets, running down anybody who gets in their path. There’s a rumor that somebody nuked the Panama Canal last week. Brought shipping to a halt.”

  Looking up from his plate of canned wieners and beans, Toes turned his gaze upon me. “Jimmy Boats, where do we stand?”

  Our leader was demanding a reckoning from his accountant. I consulted a sheet of paper, dim with hundreds of erasures. “Eighteen cans of tuna, three dozen cans of corned beef, six cans of corned beef hash, four well-worn disposable razors, three cans of green peas, one can of green beans, a dozen one-pound sacks of wormy cornmeal, five cans of pork and beans and a quarter tube of toothpaste, but no toothbrush since Toots dropped ours down the sewer grate.”

  “No toilet paper?” Though he’d been wiping on scrap paper for the past years, Toes was fanatically clean.

  I shook my head. “Not a square.”

  “No toothpicks?” Doll asked. A pretty boy before the crash, Doll was always protective of his teeth. He’d once worked as a live department store mannequin, a Santa’s helper in Toyland and a male underwear model in the Kohl’s catalog.

  “Not a stick.”

  Pecker tried to get tough—as usual. “What fuckin’ use are you, Boats?”

  “More use than you, Pecker.”

  “We’re getting low on supplies.” Toes was stating the obvious, but I had to point out the bright side. “I heard that the Gash was reduced to dining on sewer rats.”

  “Cooked on a rotisserie with a couple of dog turds,” Pecker quipped.

  “Shut up, Pecker,” Toes said. “How do you know that, Boats?”

  “I heard it around.”

  “From Grank,” Booger chimed in. “Our accountant has been taking cum up his ass from the War Chief of the Gash.”

  I flicked open my switchblade. “I’ll cut you, Boog.”

  “No offense, Boats. I’m only saying…”

  I let it hang. Booger was good in a pinch, and I’d once pulled him out of line of the Blood’s machine gun fire.
He owed me a life.

  “I heard that the Gyno have got a toothbrush.”

  “That gang of ball cutters? A toothbrush?”

  “Swear to Satan.”

  Some of us laughed. Toots and a couple of other boys turned pale. They were still stuck in the paradigm of the past, the Symbolic Order. They were still denying the reality of a cosmos that didn’t give two shits about people.

  “That’s why we’re raiding the Gyno tonight. Who’s in?”

  “I am, Toes.”

  Booger farted out a big air. “So am I, Toes.”

  “How about you, Pecker? Toots?”

  Both men looked abashed. Pecker had been a high school boy’s gym teacher before the day the dollar died, and Toots had been a professional percussionist with Ta Szickts, a popular band at high school proms and county fairs.

  The fog rolled in thick and yellow. Wood and coal smoke from the chimneys of the one percent, a club to which many of us had aspired, mingled with the mist drifting into the city from the sea. Acid rain began to drizzle down onto the wasteland, covering the earth with a little more death.

  I kicked Toots in the ass hard. He owed me and I owed him, but I also owned his ass. My kick was sufficient to send him sprawling into the garbage.

  Toots staggered to his feet and shot me a hurt look. “I’m in,” he said, though clearly not in spirit.

  I turned on Pecker before he could pull his coosh. Pecker was a master of crushing skulls, but I wasn’t going to offer mine. I kicked his legs from under him, got him behind the head and pulled his mouth to my crotch. “Do you smell it, Pecker? Do you?”

  “Ugh. Yeah.”

  He heard my knife go snicker-snack. The razor-sharp blade drew droplets of red blood from his earlobe. “I could make you suck my cock,” I said. “Suck me off with the whole gang watching.”