Drunken Softball Yokels By Sammy Garvin (Troublefunk101@yahoo.com)
Richie Schiffmann was a good Christian man who lived what he considered to be The Good Life in a tiny little Wisconsin town, just off I-94, right square in the boonies. He farmed 450 acres with his wife, Holly, and their two sons, Carter and Brody. Richie and Holly were married right out of high school and in fact, he had never dated anyone else. They were Maukapee High School's Homecoming King and Queen, they both came from good Maukapee families and at 34, they were still young and fun, good looking and still very deeply in love. The town considered them golden, untouchable. Holly had put on some pounds since the boys were born but she was still cute and smiley and strawberry-blonde. She loved to scrapbook and bowl and go dancing with the girls on Friday nights but mostly she loved to ride motorcycle with Richie and watch him play softball. Everyone in Maukapee loved to watch Richie play softball. Firstly, he was a fairly stellar athlete -- he gave up an opportunity to play bush-league baseball so that he could work the Schiffmann family farm back in 1997. But the real reason The Turkey Trot Tavern Trotters packed the bleachers on hot summer nights was Richie Schiffman's big beefy bubble butt packed into the tightest softball pants imaginable. Those white warpknit Rawlings leggings fit him like a second skin. On a clear night your average piss-drunk Trotter fan could make out the fuzzy crack of his dimpled ass framed in bas relief by his jock-strap from the bleachers. At a stocky 5'8" of thick-necked, beer-fed, farm worked musculature he was hot sex on a platter but utterly oblivious to his carnal magnetism. He was a goofball of epic proportion: Famous for mugging and pulling pranks -- anything for a laugh. Maukapee, Wisconsin adored his ass. Literally. The town considered Holly Schiffmann to be one lucky, lucky well-fucked farmwife. Women would melt whenever Richie flashed his puppy-dog brown eyes at them. Teammates tried a little too hard to get him to crack that cock-eyed grin or to scratch a laugh from that husky, gravelly gullet of his at The Turkey Trot after games. Anything at all to get his attention. His rippling, hair-dusted Popeye forearms alone sent hearts into overdrive. Ultimately, Richie didn't give two shits who checked out his ass or forearms: He fucked his wife every Sunday morning before church, went to church, hunted pheasant, plowed his acreage, played buckets in the driveway with his sons and rode his Harley with his two best softball buds, Mikey and Doodle. And he loooooved his beer. Loved it. Couldn't get enough of the stuff.
Summer 2011. The Trotters advance to a round robin tournament in Madison. Maukapee goes wild. Thursday night and beers are packed into Styrofoam coolers and packed into pickup trucks. Richie Schiffmann straddles his Harley and his wife follows suit, riding bitch. His ass juts back into her crotch but she couldn't care less. To her, the masculine behind is purely functional so she blithely ignores the triangular batch of dusky hair pointing south on the small of his brawny back as his t-shirt rides up. Richie had asked her ("please?") to lick his asshole on one or two occasions and she wrinkled her nose, scoffed and joked about divorce. Meanwhile, Bill Durham, outfielder for The Trotters, tugs himself raw late at night after games just thinking about that musky little man-hole. He would pay cash money to bury his face in that thoroughbred Schiffmann ass. Sometimes he cries himself to sleep and his wife can hear all of it; the furtive masturbation, the stifled sobs. That's fine with her because she's getting it doggy-style from Doug Fitch, Maukapee City Bank loan officer and that big dick of his makes her squirt.
Richie has been looking forward to this Madison getaway since softball season began. Madison, Wisconsin: Party town. He, Holly, The Boys & wives check into a Days Inn on State Street. Richie, Mikey & Doodle crack celebratory pre-game beers in Doodle and Denean's room.
"Cheers, motherfuckers!", Richie hoists a can of Miller Genuine Draft and winks as his boys toast and clink cans.
"We're gonna route these doorknobs!", Doodle explains with a squirrelly smirk creasing his boyish face.
"Fuck yeah." Curley-haired fireplug Mikey Bruha, already half-crocked, chimes in.
"Where's Doug?", Doodle cracks, quoting their favorite movie.
"Paging Dr. Faggot!" Richie retorts, slaying the room.
Doodle cackles and rips a richly-textured fart and his wife giggles like a toddler.
"Might want to check for skid in them NEWLY PURCHASED Rawlings pants, dillweed!", Richie snorts.
Doodle shotguns another can of MGD and says:
"ohfuckyou."
The three men had gone to school together from ever since any of them could remember. They played football, wrestled, and played baseball together all four years of high school. They hunted together, drank together, talked some deep shit on fishing getaways over campfires but never once brought up gay stuff ever. It simply never occurred to them to explore it or even discuss it. "Faggot" was a meaningless word that served as the punchline to every joke. All three were married and it was simply understood that they were All-American, red-blooded heterosexuals.
"Dude. You eat babies or what?" Doodle's fart was cracking Richie right the fuck up.
"As far as you know, Hombre."
"Swamp-ass motherfucker!" dopey-eyed Mikey accused.
"Alright, let's hit it and quit it." Richie guzzled another beer real quick and then herded everyone out the door.
So, The Turkey Trot Tavern Trotters lose a heartbreaker to The Frog's Log Lumberjacks by one run. The thing about softball is that many, many, many beers can be consumed without compromising any softball skills. Richie, Doodle and Mikey are no worse for the wear and still standing so the three men convince the wives to do their own thing while they themselves carouse State Street Bars for more beer and possibly some "trouble" while still dressed in their dirty Trotter softball uniforms. Holly, Denean and Angela giggle at the thought of their dirty men amongst all those younger, pretty, big-city college girls and they shrug, opting instead to go dancing at a Marriott's out by the mall. Holly hopes the dj will rock some Carrie Underwood or maybe some Miranda Lambert or Big & Rich. She loves new country, hates hip-hop. And so the boys kiss their wives good night and tell them not to wait up but they'll be home soon enough.
The three find a beer n' brats sports bar on the lower end of State Street, closer to campus. They suck down a couple pitchers of cheap domestic beer and are bought a round of shots by a couple of sporty looking fraternity types. Richie catches one of the two checking out his ass but laughs it off. Then the other one pats him on the ass as a "joke" and he frowns and decides it's time for The Trotters to head out. Richie, Mikey and Doodle are shit-faced as they walk north up State and decide they're a little too drunk to ride their choppers back to the hotel. The three stagger past a brightly lit dirty book store. They crack up, punch the shit out of each other and opt to go in as a funny joke. So in they go.
Richie tips his ballcap to the goth-girl counter clerk. She is not amused and continues to text nonchalantly without saying a word. Doodle checks out the ginormous black dildos and giggles helplessly. Mikey is simply dumbstruck by the spectacle. The men cruising on the downlow are on red alert: Straight, drunk guys are either trade or lethal, hard to tell.
The preview booths are downstairs. All three Maukapee men are curious to know what goes on down there but all are too shy to make the first move. The smell is animal: Cigarettes, semen and disinfectant. Church-going Richie's heart is racing. Doodle is tickled pink. This shit is hilarious! Mikey Jr. is on the verge of possibly puking or not, he's so fucking drunk. Richie senses instinctively that he could squirt in here -- somehow, someway -- and get his rocks off in a freaky, filthy way. He bones up despite all the whiskey and beer in his system. He reaches down and adjusts his plump nutsack causing a low, guttural mutter among the closeted cruisers. Mouths are watering. One married suburban troll in particular is positively gobsmacked by Richie's virility and especially That Ass. Married suburban troll's eyes are bugging at the perfect meaty orbular roundness of Richie Schiffmann's perfect, jumbo-sized buttocks. Richie senses the heat emanating from suburban troll's laser-eyed stare and it stiffens his woody for some reason. He drifts toward the staircase leading the dark pit of pornographic whatnot. And down the stairs he disappears as Doodle and Mikey Jr. peruse pregnant slut porn on the racks.
Down below, under a nauseating fluorescent glow, Richie Schiffmann tugs at the bloated, swollen package tucked away between his tree-trunk thighs. Married suburban troll, hot on his trail, meanders down the stairs after him. Troll can't help but gawk at the vision before him. He can smell the dirt and sweat from where he stands gawking. Trembling, he steps up to the drunk stud before him and reaches for that unbelievable butt. He squeezes it. The stubby Adonis before him seems okay with the molestation. The ass is unbelievably sturdy but with a layer of squishy, baby-ish beer-fat. Suburban troll is this close to cumming at the sheer riskiness of what he's so stupidly doing.
"What the fuck are you doing?" The stud asks, all pissy and drunk and aggressive.
"Touching your ass."
"Oh."
"Let's go in here." Troll indicates viewing booth.
"Why?"
"I need to get on my knees and sniff your asshole."
"Oh okay. Whatever."
Richie, stone cold Catholic, husband and father of two boys, staggers into the viewing booth and undoes his newly purchased Rawlings softball pants.
"Oh my god." Suburban married troll can't believe his sweet, sweet Irish luck as he gets on his knees to receive his fuzzy bounty. Richie squirms and wiggles his big beefy ass out of his super-snug polyester-blend pants, assumes the position, face to the booth wall, spreads his thick legs, cops a slight squat and lets the faggot troll spread his cheeks and go to town with his warm, wet tongue.
Upstairs, Doodle and Mikey Jr. wonder what has happened to their buddy, Richie. The two drunk hicks ask the goth-girl counter clerk if they've seen him.
"He's downstairs in one of the booths." She sneered.
Doodle and Mikey made way for the stairs like two stooges.
"You need to buy tokens to go downstairs, guys."
They fish singles out of their pants pockets in crumpled balls and shove them at her in one big wad. Goth-girl smoothes out the bills, counts them slowly and measuredly exchanges them for tokens.
Down they go, into the darkness. They hear tokens drop heavily, subsequent porn-chick moaning and underneath it all, wet sucking noises and low, guttural male grunting and groaning. Mikey and Doodle check out the booths one by one until they stumble on a sight that takes their breath away: Their buddy, Richie, with his pants and jock-strap down around his bulging calves, his swarthy, muscular thighs spread wide and a middle-aged dude in a crappy Members Only jacket crouched between them sucking on his stiff cock like his life depended on it. Richie was in a whole other world of pure pleasure, practically drooling from the blow-job he was receiving. His pleasure-dulled brown eyes gazed up drunkenly at his buddies and he said:
"Fuckin' `A. I'm gonna cum in this guy's mouth."
...which spurred the cocksucking troll between his legs to nurse more aggressively on the bloated head of his cock. His tongue lapped at the transparent goo oozing from Richie's Christian, married piss-slit.
"ohhhhhhhhh fuck..." Richie was practically hyperventilating as his chest heaved.
Mikey and Doodle couldn't believe their bulging eyeballs as they watched Richie's thighs shudder and his his hips buck while his dick squirted and flexed and convulsed in the troll's suckling mouth. The Suburban Married Troll gulped Richie's cum like it was ambrosia from the gods.
"Jesus god, unhhh."
Richie's eyes crossed as The Troll continued to lap at his pulsing cockhead long after it had spent its load. His dick showed no sign of deflating as The Cocksucker finally let it slip from his cum-slaked mouth with a juicy, wet pop. Richie looked content but frisky as he hefted his own hefty nutsack and waggled his bloated cock at his friends. The Troll swallowed the remainder of thick, creamy cum clinging to his throat and his face reeked of the ass he just ate for roughly ten minutes before he begged Richie to suck his fucking cock. He struggles to his feet, reaches down and awkwardly tweaks Richie's slobber-drenched cock and sac and then excuses himself, clearly in some sort of abysmal shame spiral. Richie watches him go, in some sort of post-orgasmic daze. He blinks blearily and lazily waggles his freshly-sucked cock.
"Goddamn, that felt so fucking good."
Mikey and Doodle have no idea what to say. What they had just witnessed had blown their minds away. Richie is either blacked-out from the whiskey shots or joking around or something, god knows what.
"Dude licked an' sucked my asshole like it had gold up in it or somethin'."
Doodle laughs uncomfortably. Mikey belches. Richie is clearly still horny as fuck which makes for an uncomfortable vibe in this deep, dark porn pit.
"Doodle. Dude. Let me see your ass."
Doodle appears confused.
"C'mon man. It looks so motherfuckin' tight. Pull your pants down, man, an' let's see it."
Doodle's breathing gets shallow all of a sudden and he considers the possibility.
"Richie, man...pull your pants up and let's get out of here. I won't say nothin'about any of this, okay?"
Mikey's sweating and trembling like a motherfucker.
"Wanna see my butt?"
"Naw, man. Shut the fuck up. I wanna see Doodle's ass, not yours, Mikey."
This sets Doodle off in a big way. What was studly Richie Schiffmann gonna do with his bare ass? And so he gets busy undoing his fly and pulling down his softball pants.
"Fuck, man. You're pretty solid. You been working out?" Richie's cock pulses and throbs to a full-on boner as he scans Doodle's sinewy thighs and jock-swaddled junk. He reaches out and plays with Doodle's package until it's full-bore hard. Mikey Jr.'s cock twitches its way to a chubby at the sheer perversion before him.
"Stick this up my asshole." Richie says as he wraps his meaty fingers around the sheer girth of Doodle's dick. Doodle can't believe his ears.
"Dude, we're drunk. Let's just rub one out and get out of here."
Richie stands up, softball pants and jock-strap gathered around his calves and hobbling him as he turns and presents his ass to Doodle and spreads his substantial cheeks with his meaty left hand.
"Fuck me in the ass, Dee. Squirt a load up my shitter with that fat dick of yours. You know you wanna. Let's do this an' I won't say a word about it. Neither will you, Mikey...unnerstan'?"
Mikey is in a state of shock, barely able to breathe.
Suddenly the booth smells of Richie's musky ass and also spent semen which drives Doodle to make a decision he wouldn't normally make.
He sidles up to Richie's out-thrust bottom and hot-dogs his fully-erect 7" between his buddy's fuzzy, wide-spread cheeks. Richie's scrotum joggles and heaves in anticipation as his best hometown pal Doodle dry-humps him like a thoroughbred in blind, cock-addled heat.
"Want me to shove this up your ass, buddy?" Doodle seethes in Richie's ear.
Richie, blacked-out and horny like a Yeti in rut, groans as he plugs the booth slots with tokens so they can watch straight porn to get off.
"Stick it in me, hombre."
Richie's fuzzy asshole is already slick with anal mucus and Troll-saliva so Doodle easily slips his cock into the cleft and rams it right in with one decisive thrust.
"OOOOOHHH FUUUCK." Richie's anus seizes up like a heifer being ass-raped by an alpha bull. This isn't what he was bargaining for after all.
"Jesus! Take it out! Take it the fuck out!"
Doodle had never stuck his fat dick in anything this snug and warm in his life. There was no way he was going to pull out now. He sets to fucking Richie's cinching asshole like a pile-driving fuck-machine. Richie grunts like a stuck piglet. Goth-girl upstairs at the counter hears the commotion below and rolls her eyes because she knows she's going to have to police the situation and put a stop to these gross country bumpkins fucking each other as per her job description.
Down below in the preview booth at the very end of the hall, Doodle reaches around and jacks Richie's throbbing cock as a friend-to-friend courtesy. Richie's creamy guts are doing a real number on his straining pecker as his sphincter clinches the deal. The sheer tightness is mind-blowing. He's humping like a motherfucker, desperate to dump his load up his best pal's ass. Mikey Jr.'s softball pants are soon enough down around his thighs as he witnesses Richie's substantial buttcheeks shudder and quake as they get pounded by Doodle's punishing thrusts. The distress on Richie's face is priceless as Doodle puts the hurt on his virgin hole.
"Can I have a turn after Doodle's done?" Mikey inquires as he fumbles with his twitching, oozing cock.
"You're gonna need a stool to reach it, dwarf." Richie is practically hyperventilating from the stimulation his prostate is receiving courtesy of Doodle's relentlessly drilling pecker. He sticks his butt out even more for easier access. Doodle grabs Richie's hips viciously as he strains for the jizz delivery.
"Ow! Motherfucker!" Richie complains as Doodle slaps his big ass violently.
Doodle's thin-lipped, boyish face flushes crimson red and crumples into sheer carnal pleasure as he fucks and humps his load up Richie's slackened butthole.
"Ohhhhhhhhh fuck yeah." Doodle shudders as his juicy, limp cock is expelled out of his buddy's spasm-ing bunghole. He shakes the cum-dribble from his dickhead as he motions for Mikey Jr. to sidle up and fuck. Still quivering from the intensity of his orgasm, he pulls up his pants and tucks his still tender dick away.
"Fuck. That was definitely somethin' else, yo."
Mikey Jr. stands up on his tippie-toes so as to uncouthly jam his stumpy little dick into Richie's warm, flush asshole. He does so and promptly orgasms as Doodle's viscous cum and Richie's twitching hole work together to massage his peener into helpless, whining ecstasy. Unfortunately, while trying to breed his hero's hairy ass, goth-girl busts them all and orders them to pull themselves together and get out or she'll call the fucking police. Mikey Jr. pulls his stumpy little prong out of Richie's used and abused asshole with an audible `pop' and pulses his pungent seed all over Doodle's pants and preview booth walls. Mikey Jr. practically swallows his tongue in order to stifle an orgasmic holler all the while.
"Paper towels are over near the janitor's closet. Clean yourselves up and get the fuck out." she sneers. Mikey Jr. squats on the jism-slick floor to recover from his sudden, shattering orgasm and to shield his twitching cock from the lady intruder. Richie squats alongside Mikey Jr., reaches under him, fingers his asshole and takes a whiff of his finger. The tang of Mikey Jr.'s supple, pliant asshole completes the evening for Richie and he stands the fuck up with some difficulty.
"Let's just forget about alla this and go back to the hotel, guys. `Kay?"
"Oh, no doubt about it. Let's hit the road." Doodle agrees.
"Catch a cab, fellas?" Mikey Jr. inquired as he hiked up his pants, still in a post-orgasmic daze.
The freshly sexed Trotters, exhausted and already hungover, shambled up the stairs.
"I mean it. Not a word about this to anybody." Richie slurred as he stumbled out into the night.
Not a word was said because nobody remembered any of it. Life goes on.