Bobby was the Boss - Part 3
by Arablover
It's amazing. I hadn't seen Bobby in almost twenty years. Then I turned a corner and ran smack into that straight bastard. In an instant my head was back where it used to be. And a couple of hours after that I was under his rim seat taking his dump.
One late Friday afternoon (I was 37 and that would have made Bobby 39), I came off the PATH train at Christopher Street and literally bumped into Bobby. The years had only made him handsomer, harder.
"Jimmy, where you been?" he said right off, as if I'd gone missing for five minutes. "Come here, I need you."
Gripping my arm Bobby hustled me to West Street where his truck was parked. He pushed me down on the step up to the truck's door. "There's never a toilet when you need one," Bobby said to no one in particular. "Be glad for the Jimmys of this world." He unzipped and hauled out that uncircumcised fagbreaker and pushed it against my lips. I was stunned by all this but in an instant his dick was in my mouth and I was gulping his piss. He farted. "No need for any convincing any more, eh?" he said midstream. I shook my head "no." No need to crack me across the face anymore to get me to do what he wanted. His piss was a hot blend of bitter and salty and my prick was hard as a poker. The embarassment of having to taking his piss on the street was probably unnecessary. The gay guys passing by were probably jealous.
Later I found out that Bobby was in the housepainting business now. Had a team of men under him. Just before I ran into him, he had drawn money at the Citibank branch to pay them for the job they finished that day painting 6 apartments in a house on Perry Street.
Bobby said he was taking me home. Okay. He told me to climb on the open trailer and sit down. My head was swimming and I couldn't even remember what mission I was on before I ran into Bobby. Now I was in his power again and was helpless except to follow his lead wherever it took me.
My man drove a few bumpy blocks to where the men waited. After Bobby paid them off they climbed onto the trailer paying me little attention. They were six tired Latino men in paint-stained work clothes. Bobby would give drop them off in the South Bronx at a plaza where he picked up them up in the morning.
"He's a fag," he told the men. "I'm taking him home to meet the family."
That got them hooting and saying stuff in Spanish like "maricone" and "mama bicho" and other words of greeting I didn't quite catch.
"If you need to piss...." Bobby didn't need to finish the sentence. "You don't need to piss off the side tonight, right? That guy last night didn't need his car washed,"
"Si,si, boss."
"You guys are fuckin' nuts."
Heading east for the FDR Drive is slow going from the Village at rush hour. Aside from an evil look from one guy and a gob of spit that just missed from another not much happened. The guys drowsed. But once we hit the FDR Drive and traffic began to move, a couple of them roused. A short, squat Mexican guy got himself up and came to me. He stood with a my legs between his feet. Out came his fat, stubby prick. "En su ropa o en su boca." My clothes were already a mess but, of course, I opened my mouth. When he finished pissing down my throat he turned and made the guys hoot when pushed the seat of his pants into my face and started wiping up and down. He farted and sat down again by his buddies. Unless you love a guy (and I didn't love Pancho) a stinking fart is a stinking fart is a stinking fart. The only other guy to use me was they guy who aimed his spit near me earlier. He kicked my legs apart and stood with the toe of his boot pressing painfully into my testicles. I opened up when the gusher started. He pushed me back when I leaned forward to take him in. I guess he didn't want to stick his cock in a just-used pisspot.
At 141st Street they hopped off without any goodbyes to me, just another evil look from one of the guys who had snoozed through the trip.
Bobby took the Triboro Bridge into Queens and soon we were on the L.I.E. to Hempstead. He parked in the driveway and yelled for me to get off the trailer. As soon as were in the garage, he pulled down the gate with a crash. The place smelled of paint and turpentine and piss.
"I'm gonna eat," he said. "Wait for me under there." He pointed to the rimseat.
How I wished for a hug or a deep kiss or to get down and lick his boots. But, no. He stood stock still, uninviting. I got down under the seat and lay on my back. Through the hole I looked up at the blank metal ceiling. I heard Bobby open the side door and shut it behind him as he went into his house.
Over the next half hour I was mostly in a daze. But I could hear two male voices from inside the house. And a women's voice. But I couldn't make out what was being said. I did catch one line. I heard Bobby call out as if to someone off in another room. "Elizabeth, no garage time tonight. Got a different deal goin' in there. Shine all of Tommy's shoes real good. Inspection time later."
Elizabeth? That was the name of the girl he ditched me for. I guessed he did marry her.
From where I was laying I couldn't see him when he came back into the garage. "Time for us to get re-acqauinted," I heard him say. "Maybe I'll watch some news while we're at it."
I heard the TV click on and presently he was back at the rim chair. He hawked up phlegm and spat it down on my face. "Thank you,sir, " I said.
A look of disgust came over Bobby's face. "Shit man," he said. "You into that S & M fag stuff? Yes, sir', No,sir.' " He mimicked a nelly voice.
"Save it for your fag friends," he said, now serious. "This is no `scene.' You really are a lowlife. And it's up to a guy like me to make sure you don't forget it."
I was silent and little scared.
Bobby turned and pulled down his pants and boxer shorts. I got only a glimpse of his hairy ass before those cheeks covered my face. "Go to work," he said. I immediately got my tongue in that crack and found his pucker. Bobby always liked a vigorous, aggressive tongue job and I went to work with energy.
His asshole still had the musky stink it had all those years ago but it was riper now, more pungent, more of an insult to the nose, the tongue. In the time since our last session I had sucked on a lot of men's assholes -sometimes after I begged , sometimes after I was beaten. I'd even eaten shit. But the smell, the taste of all those manly holes had become indistinct smear in my memory. Perhaps because Bobby was my first I had never forgotten the experience of his ass. Years before I had come to adore Bobby and every thing about him. Sometimes since then I would think of having my face in his crudded ass and the smell, the experience would come back. The memory of those first acts of degradation, of what Bobby had made me do, what he had made me become would get me off.
From upstairs I heard a belt snapping and a women moaning. I wasn't counting but the there were a lot of strokes.
Without warning , Bobby farted in my mouth and with it came a sloppy blow of his crap that went in my mouth and all over my face. I choked and he got off me. He looked down at me through the hole. "I want to see you swallow. You've never eaten my shit before. That's a good boy. Now you've found your place in life." His soft, sour, bitter shit was worse because of the rancid leftovers of some greasy liverwurst he'd eaten lately. The only way I could get it down was to say over and over in my head, "I love you, I love you."
Bobby stood up when the inside door from the house opened.
"What's this?" a young male voice asked.
"In a minute," Bobby said. "How many lashes did you give your mother?"
"Fifteen."
"What for?"
"The mashed potaties weren't as warm as they should have been and she let some of my piss spill down her chin. She says I piss harder than you do."
"Bullshit,' Bobby said. "But 15 lashes. You're a sadist, you know that. For chickenshit stuff like that I'd have given 10. Maybe only a five."
"Dad, I used the cat-o-nine."
"Come hear," Bobby said. I saw him tousle his son's hair. "Sadist. You're a fucking sadist."
Bobby sat on the rim seat again and pulled off a length of toilet paper. He wiped his ass and dropped the used tissue on my face. When he got up he kicked the rim seat away and pulled me up by my hair. Before me stood a shirtless, sockless bewildered young man. He was trim and hard like his father. He was beautiful. And he had nothing on both his jeans.
"Pull that tissue off your face," Bobby said to me.
"Pop," the kid said staring at my messy, browned face, "what's this." He stepped back from the stink.
"Tom, this is Jimmy," Bobby said. "He is a fag. The lowest form of humanity there is."
"You let my father shit in your mouth?"
"Sure," I said. "If that what he wants. Nice to meet you."
"T om, did you ever see me do anything like this to your mother" Bobby asked
his son.
"No, you never go beyond making her drink our piss."
"That's because a good woman deserves respect. Deserves to be spared some things. But a fag is has to be reminded that he's just good enough to be allowed to eat a man's shit," he said. "Otherwise they get uppity."
"How did you meet him?"
"He was my fag a long time ago. When he was your age. Met him again this afternoon, Destiny I guess."
"Gee," Tom said, " I never had a fag."
"Better than women in some ways. Tougher. They can take more. You can be harder with them."
"Really?" the kid said. If I'd even touched my cock I'd have creamed in my pants.
To be continued ? Comments welcome: Arablover100@hotmail.com