“Looking damn good, boy.”
He stepped towards me, stopping about eighteen inches away. I could smell his B.O. Fuck! The funk of a man has always been a turn-on for me.
That was so not what I was expecting that I didn’t take it in. I swallowed hard and gave my standard approach to a customer line: ‘Morning! Can I give you a hand with anything?”
“Yeah. No,” he said, “not your hand I’m interested in. I want your mouth.”
That registered.
He asked me, “Can you take a break?”
I was only forty-five minutes into my shift but technically I could and told him so.
“I’ll wait for you outside the door in front of lumber,” he told me.
I found my department head and let her know I was taking a ten.
There he was, outside the door, grinning at me. He turned and headed into the parking lot. I followed. He fumbled in his pocket and the headlights on a red Ford F-150 flashed. It was a four door. He opened the rear door on the passenger side.
“Go around and come in through that side,” he said.
I circled the truck and opened the door.
“Stretch out on your back, head towards me.”
I caught on to what he had in mind. I climbed up into the cab and came across the seat on all fours. I got on my back so my head was hanging over the edge right at the level of his crotch.
“Good boy,” he told me. He unzipped his Carhartts and out flopped his nice fat dick and balls the size of chicken eggs. I opened my mouth and he shoved it all the way in. It reached just past the back of my tongue, filling my mouth. He proceeded to pump away, grinning down at me.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he said.
I didn’t say anything because my mouth was full.
It didn’t take him long to blow his load. I felt each spurt hit the back of my throat. When he pulled out his dick was slick. Without wiping it off he put it back behind the zipper.
“Fuck yeah,” he said again.
He grabbed me under my arms and hauled me out of the truck, lifting me and setting me down on my feet, my back towards him.
He asked me what time I got done with work. I told him seven o’clock.
“Take out your phone. I’m giving you my address. As soon as you’re done you head over to my place.”
Then he got in his truck, started it up, and drove off.
I could still feel his jizz at the back of my throat but part of me couldn’t believe that just happened. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. For one thing, I live in Bumfuck, Pennsylvania, home of Bumfuck State University. The only action I ever get is at the truck stop out on I-80.
For another thing, I’m a loser. I am a total fuckup. My parents gave me a great childhood but still I got shitty grades all through school and a lot of suspensions for fighting. The only time in my life I had sex with a girl I got her pregnant and my parents had to fork over for the abortion. Because they’re both professors at Bumfuck State, I managed to get in there. I hated every minute of it but found relief from the boredom by dealing Molly and weed to my fellow students. Unfortunately I was stupid about it, because I’m stupid, and so I got caught. Instead of four years in college I did four years in prison, a light sentence because of who my parents are and because it was my first offense. In prison I got three tattoos and lost my two front teeth. So here I am, twenty-nine years old, living at my parents’. My bedroom looks pretty much the same way it did when I was sixteen.
Somehow I made it to the end of my shift. I was scared as hell about going to see the guy but I just put myself on autopilot. There I was getting in my secondhand Hyundai finding my way to his place.
It was an apartment complex, two story, shingled shed roof on the ends. You could almost pick out the month in 1987 when it was built. Apartment 1-D was on the ground floor. I knocked. He answered the door, wearing no shirt and gray sweatpants, a Marlboro burning in his hand, grinning at me again.
“You get in here,” he said.
His apartment: bare white walls, sliding glass doors at the back with vertical blinds missing several panels. There was a card table and four folding chairs, an overstuffed orange sofa, grimy and gray where his butt and back would go when he sat on it, a coffee table positioned in front of it, a television screen sitting on empty bookshelves. Every horizontal surface was covered with beer cans, mostly Miller Lite.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, boy,” he told me.
He put his hand at the back of my neck and guided me through the door into the bedroom. His bedroom smelled just like he did only stronger. The mattress was half off the bed, no sheets, just a couple of pillows and a gray comforter that was probably white at one time. No doors on the closet. A few things were on hangers but most of his clothes were in a pile below. There was a chest of drawers and a matching nightstand next to the bed.
And then I saw it.
It was a toilet seat mounted on four splayed metal legs.
“That’s where you go,” he said.
Okay. Try new things. I dropped to the floor and got into position.
“Look at that handsome face of yours framed by that toilet seat,” he said. He dropped the butt of his cigarette into a can of Miller Lite and lit another one. He dropped his sweatpants and there was that beautiful dick and balls again. For the first time of many, he lowered his hairy butt over my face. The smell was intense. I took a few good whiffs.
Amazing.
I knew this was called a rim job but I had never given one before. I decided to kiss these lips the same way I would kiss the other lips. Now I had a taste to go with the smell. I swear I couldn’t get enough. It felt so intimate, crazy intimate. It was hypnotizing. Not a thought was in my head. Except for my mouth, the rest of my body sort of went to sleep. Even though I wasn’t sure it counted as sex, this was the best sex I ever had.
“Nothing I like better than a hot boy’s mouth working my poo hole,” he growled.
For how long it went on I don’t know. I lost all track of time. But then it happened: my tongue was working its way as far as I could get it up his hole and suddenly something about the size of my thumb came out in the opposite direction. I was so lost in the experience that what happened didn’t register until I had swallowed it.
“Goddamn,” he said. “Goddamn!”
He rose to his feet and turned, looking down at me. “Goddamn!”
“Now I know what kind of a pervert you are! Goddamn!”
“On your feet,” he ordered. And I complied, standing facing him.
“Turn around, hands behind your back.”
I did what he told me. I heard a drawer slide open and a metallic sound. Then I felt handcuffs swiftly secured to my wrists.
For the first time, I got nervous. He was bigger than me and powerfully built, but if I had to I thought I could take him in a fight, at least long enough to get away. Now he held all the cards.
He was totally the boss.
He pushed me down on the bed and took out his phone. He swiped up and started typing with his thumb. I heard the chirp indicating an incoming message. More typing. Another chirp. Then he raised his phone and took a photo of me sitting there handcuffed on his bed. Another chirp. More typing.
“Don’t go nowhere,” he told me and left the bedroom.
He shit in my mouth, I thought. His shit is inside me. Did he mean for that to happen? “Now I know what kind of pervert you are.” But I’m not that kind of pervert. If he had asked at any point up until then I would have tapped out. But he didn’t ask. And he shit in my mouth and I swallowed it down like it was a doughnut, the taste barely registering.
In the other room, I heard a knock at the door and then voices, his and another man’s. He came first through the door and behind him was a bodybuilder guy wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. His beard was jet black. At first I thought the other guy was Hispanic – turned out he’s from Algeria.
“There he is. Hot fucking boy, right?”
The other man agreed and his hand went to his dick under his gym shorts.
“Up for it?”
That question was not directed at me.
“I am definitely up for it.”
“You heard the man,” said the man who had just shit in my mouth, “get back down where you belong.”
He removed the handcuffs. Like I was in a trance, I got down under the rim chair. I felt lightheaded. My legs were shaking.
The man I had met that day at work sat down on the floor next to me. His voice became soft, almost sweet. “Just take it easy. Just let it happen. I’ll help you get through it. It’s gonna be okay. Just go with it.’
The other man removed his gym shorts. As his ass descended over my face I admired how muscular it was. He spread his cheeks and for the second time in my life I got a close-up of an asshole.
“Yeah, buddy. Get to work. Get your mouth on it.”
I did what I was told.
“Okay, here it comes,” said the man sitting on the rim chair.
My coach lied down on the floor next to me. His face was inches away from mine.
“Hey,” he said. I turned and looked into his eyes. They seemed kind. His voice was low and tender.
“You got this,” he told me. “You got this. It’s a lot but I know you can do it.”
I nodded.
“Okay: head down and open your mouth wide.”
As soon as my mouth was open I saw a little dot of brown opening up his hole. I kept my mouth open and shut my eyes tight. “Just let it happen,” I told myself. “You got this.”
As the turd exited his hole, it made a crackling sound. Then, I felt my mouth filling up with shit.
My body convulsed. I retched.
“Easy… easy… keep breathing…”
I felt a surge of adrenaline, panic rising.
“We’re almost there, buddy. Now here’s what you do: just move it around in your mouth, like it’s ice cream. Take all the time you need. Then just move it to the back. You got this. You’re doing so good. You’re doing great.”
Now I know how shit tastes. A little bitter, a little like brown rice. I did what he told me, just moving it around in my mouth. Because I was lying down it went towards the back. Without even trying, I swallowed some of it. Another retch. The man started stroking my chest and my abdomen.
“Oh beautiful. You are doing so good. So proud of you.”
I don’t remember anyone ever telling me they were proud of me. I don’t remember ever being particularly proud of myself. Tears came to my eyes. I let out a little moan.
Now I was determined. Yeah, I do got this.
I swallowed the rest of the shit in my mouth. I started breathing heavily. I let out a little giggle.
“Yeah? You did it? Show me… stick out your tongue.”
I did what he told me.
Big smile. Big smile from him. “Yeah, boy! You’re in the brown tongue club!”
The bodybuilder guy got up from the rim chair and lifted it out of the way. He stretched out on the floor on the other side of me. All four of their hands were on me. We laid like this together for a while. I felt peaceful and sleepy. These two handsome men next to me, smelling their smells, feeling their skin touching mine.
“Okay, next step,” said the man I met at work. He asked the other man, “You brought it, right?”
The other man nodded and reached for his gym shorts.
“Tonight, boy, your life changes.”
The other man got up and sat on my chest but without putting his full weight on me, just holding me in place. He had an impassive look on his face. I felt hands on my dick, then thumb and forefinger encircling my dick and nut sack. I felt myself getting hard.
“No, not helpful,” said the first man and I felt him slap my dick. I yelped. A few more slaps.
“There we go, that’s what we want.”
Around my dick and balls I felt a ring of cold metal, then the same cold metal on the head of my dick. The bodybuilder guy grinned at me.
More fumbling, then I just felt pressure on my dick. The bodybuilder guy got off me. I looked down. A steel cage now covered my dick. In the man’s hand was a tiny key. The man took my hands and again hoisted me to my feet, then the three of us sat on the bed together.
“So let me explain this all to you, boy,” he began. “Both of our shit is in you now, right there in your belly. Your body is digesting it and absorbing it. It’s going to become a part of you. It will always be a part of you. From now on, you’re our shit boy. Understand? That’s why I locked your dick up. And I locked it up for good. A shit boy doesn’t need a dick. From now on, whenever you think about your dick, just tell yourself, ‘I’m a shit boy.’ Your dick is locked up so you never forget that.”
“Now,” he said, “what’s your schedule at work? You have it on your phone? Open it up and let me see.”
I took my phone from my pocket and opened the app that showed my schedule. I handed my phone over.
“Aww, perfect. You’re done at 7 P.M. on Friday and you’re off on Saturday. Same as today, when you’re done work you come here. Understand, shit boy?”
I said I did.
——————–
Just don’t go.
That was my plan. I mean, fuck no. They locked my dick up in a little steel cage. There was no way I could get out of it. I tried. Even with a bolt cutter I couldn’t get the leverage I needed to snap the loop around my balls. Maybe a drill could drill out the lock but I couldn’t do that myself; who the hell could I ask for help with that. And let’s not forget: they shit in my mouth.
They shit in my mouth.
But Friday after work I drove my Hyundai to the apartment complex and found a guest parking spot. Maybe I was thinking that explaining “thanks but no thanks” would do it. But there I was knocking on the door.
The guy answered and grinned at me. Damn if he didn’t check all my boxes.
“Hey, shit boy,” he said as I entered.
He grabbed my crotch and squeezed the steel cage. “Bet you’re hating that, huh?”
The bodybuilder guy got up off the sofa and stood beside the guy but said nothing.
The guy went into the kitchen and came back with a black plastic trash bag. “You make yourself useful. Clear off that table.”
I did what I was told. Half empty beer cans, dirty paper plates, red Solo cups went into the trash bag. I emptied an ashtray full of cigarette butts into the same bag. In the kitchen I found a roll of paper towels on the counter, tore a few off, wet them under the faucet and wiped down the folding card table. Might as well do a good job of it.
As I was putting the wad of wet paper towels in the trash bag, there was another knock at the door. The guy went to answer it. When he opened the door, he said “Gene! Good timing!”
“Gene” said to the guy, “Hey, Murphy. Oh, hi Kamal.”
Now I had names for them.
Gene was older than Murphy and Kamal. He was about 5’8”, muscular arms, wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, boots, and a ball cap. He had a gray beard. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “I would not miss this opportunity.”
Gene was carrying three pizza boxes and from one hand dangled a plastic grocery bag with two six packs. He set his load down on the table.
“Alright,” said Murphy, “let’s dig in. But first…”
Murphy dug in the back pocket of his Carhartt’s and came out with a pair of handcuffs. Without being asked, I put my hands behind my back. Murphy cuffed me.
“You get comfortable right there on the floor, shit boy,” he told me.
I got down on one knee, then the other, dropped down on my haunches, then awkwardly got my legs in front of me, managing not to fall over.
“See how good he listens?” Murphy asked.
Gene called out the toppings and they divvied up the boxes of pizza.
“I can’t believe I’m eating garbage food like this,” said Kamal, accepting his pizza. Then to me he said, “I eat clean. Five meals a day. Forty to fifty grams of protein at every meal. I hope you appreciate my sacrifice for you, shit boy.”
They cracked open beers and dug in, slice after slice, while I watched in silence. I put it together. They wanted me to watch. They were eating this big meal for me. I was going to be spending the night. In the morning, I would be getting all that shit.
As this took shape in my mind, I became aware that my dick was straining against the steel cage.
After all the pizza had been eaten, the empty boxes were stacked on the table. They got themselves new beers.
“Time for cigars, gentlemen,” Murphy announced. He fetched a plastic ziplock bag from the kitchen and passed out the cigars. Gene and Kamal settled themselves on the filthy sofa and Murphy brought in a folding chair for himself. Before he sat down, he dragged the coffee table a few more feet away from the sofa. Then he grabbed me under the arms and repositioned me on the floor where the coffee table had been.
Gene sat forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “This part was my idea,” he said. “Tonight you start your new life as an ashtray.”
Murphy handed the cigars to Gene. One by one he cut the tips off and distributed them to Murphy and Kamal. He passed around a torch lighter and the cigars were lit. They made a point of blowing the smoke in my face.
The three of them, on the sofa and the folding chair, were in a loose semicircle around me.
“Gene’s idea,” said Murphy, “and I agreed immediately. We’re gonna send you home tomorrow filled up with shit and ash.”
“And one more thing,” Gene added. “We’re gonna get you good and smoked up, too.”
Gene got up from the sofa and got down on his knees on the floor behind me, holding the cigar in his mouth. He leaned in so his face was next to mine. I noticed his brown eyes were caramel colored, almost golden.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do, boy,” he said. “Take a few puffs on the cigar, then a good puff. Let the smoke hang in your mouth for a second, then haul it down, inhale deep into your lungs.’
He demonstrated, then put the cigar to my lips.
Not two months ago I had given up smoking. I had started when I was fourteen. I realized how much I missed it. Just like he showed me, a few initial puffs. I saw the cherry on the end glow red. Then I did a full draw. I let the smoke rest in my mouth, noting the rich taste. Then I expanded my chest, pulling the smoke in. I successfully fought the urge to choke. Then I slowly exhaled through my nose.
“Goddamn,” said Gene, “nose jets on your first try. We’re gonna get those virgin pink lungs of yours good and black in no time.”
I didn’t correct him on the virginity of my lungs.
I repeated this a few more times. The ash on the end of the cigar had grown to a little over an inch.
“Alright, ashtray, open wide,” said Gene.
Gene lightly tapped his cigar on my bottom front teeth. I felt the ash fall on my tongue. I was expecting it to burn but it didn’t at all. There was hardly any taste, just more of a sensation. I closed my mouth, let the saliva flow, and then swallowed it down.
Gene, Murphy, and Kamal smoked their cigars and fed me their ash.
“Ashtray, shit boy, and smoke pig,” Kamal observed.
From time to time, each of them would let me have a haul on their cigars before they put the ash in my mouth. I started to get high from the nicotine. Damn, I really missed smoking. Glad I got that quitting bullshit out of the way. Time to buy a fresh carton.
After cigars, they talked for a while, mostly watching me as they did.
Finally, Gene announced that it was time to get me ready to get some rest because I had a big day tomorrow. He made a trip to the bedroom and came back with a tub of lube and a large butt plug. A look of panic must have crossed my face because the three of them laughed.
It was Kamal’s turn to take the lead. “I got this,” he said.
From behind, Kamal pulled me up by my hips until I was kneeling with my back straight. He undid my belt and the button and zipper on my pants and pulled them down. Then he pushed my head down until my forehead hit the floor. He dipped his fingers in the lube and began gently working my hole.
“If I wasn’t going to be using you as my toilet I would like to train this hole of yours. But I don’t want to distract you from your purpose.”
One finger, then two, then three, then four. I did my best to relax my hole. Then the tip of the plug hit my hole. “Tighten that hole up. Good. Hold it,” Kamal ordered.
“Very good, boy. Now breathe in, hold it, and when you exhale, relax your hole. Relax everything.”
I did and repeated this a few times. Each time the plug went a little bit deeper in me. Finally, it went all the way in. I looked up from being plugged to see that Murphy was holding a length of heavy gauge chain. “Make sure you don’t have any ideas of taking off in the middle of the night,” he said.
One end of the chain was secured with a padlock around my neck. Murphy looped the other end of the chain around one leg of the sofa, leaving about a foot between my neck and the sofa leg. After he adjusted the length, he secured the other end with another padlock.
“Hope you didn’t think you’d be sleeping on the sofa,” said Gene. “Furniture is not for shit boys. You don’t get to use the furniture ever again.”
And that was that. The three of them went off to the bedroom. From the noises I heard it was pretty obvious that they were fucking. I tried to figure out who was fucking who but all of them sounded like they were having a pretty good time. I got as comfortable as I could given the chain and the handcuffs and drifted off to sleep.
I woke in the morning to the sound of men’s voices and movement. The sun was streaming in the windows. I heard the gurgle of a coffee maker and smelt coffee.
While the coffee brewed, they got me ready. The chain around my neck and the handcuffs were removed. Murphy brought the rim chair in from the bedroom. A piece of plastic tarp was laid out on the floor. One of the pillows was brought in from the bedroom and placed in a plastic bag. They drank their coffee. Murphy and Kamal smoked reds; Gene had his morning cigar.
My heart was pounding in my chest.
I realized that I was afraid. But I wasn’t afraid of eating shit. No. I was afraid that I would not be up to the challenge. I thought about those three large pizzas last night. I was afraid of disappointing them.
“Alright. I’m ready,” said Gene.
“Okay, shit boy, like down on the…”
“No no,” Gene interrupted. “Not how I want to do this. Not the first time.”
Gene told me to kneel on the tarp. Cigar in his mouth, he squatted facing me, his face close to mine so I could feel the warmth when he exhaled, the smoke from his cigar stinging my eyes. Gene and I were looking into each other’s eyes, neither of us looking away for a second. It was hypnotic. Finally, his eyes squinted. He gave a little grunt. Gene had pushed out the shit into his hand, He brought his hand around and showed it to me.
The turd was firm and dark brown, about the shade of the cigar Gene was smoking and the same diameter. It was a good six inches long. I heaved a little bit. Gene drew on his cigar and blew the smoke in my face.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His growly voice had a gentle, singsong quality, just above a whisper. “Just kiss it. Just give it a sweet little kiss.”
Gene raised the turd to my mouth. Through the cigar smoke and Gene’s cigar breath I could smell it now. I took a few deep breaths. Then I puckered up and put my lips on it, letting them linger.
“Good boy,” he said. “Now I want you to stick out your tongue and just give it a little lick. Just like a lollipop. A turd lollipop. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Just do it.”
I barely tasted it when I was licking it. With my mouth closed, that’s when the taste hit me. I fought down another retch.
“You are doing so good, shit boy. Like you’re showing off. I am so damn proud of you.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“Now, you are going to suck my turd like you’re sucking a dick. Not gonna be easy, but remember the first time you sucked dick it wasn’t easy either. Now open your mouth. Keep looking in my eyes.”
I opened my mouth. Smiling and puffing on his cigar, Gene pushed just the tip in my mouth. I closed my lips around it and my tongue got to work. The flavor was different but it was just like sucking dick. I brought more and more of it into my mouth. It started to dissolve. I noticed that there were a few small, undigested chunks. That made me gag but I kept on. Gene broke off about half the turd in my mouth.
“Good boy,” he said, “good shit boy. You’re doing great.”
Just like the other night, I moved it around in my mouth, slowly working it towards the back. I had to force myself to swallow it but I swallowed it. I grinned again.
“Now stick out your tongue, boy.” I did. Murphy and Kamal made appreciative noises.
“Alright, open up again,” Gene told me.
I opened my mouth and Gene shoved the rest of the turd in. He cupped one hand over my mouth and put the other at the back of my head.
“Fuck yeah, shit boy,” he said, his voice now stern and commanding. “Swallow that down. Get that shit in your belly where it fuckin’ belongs.
This time I choked. Gene smiled. He kept his hands in place.
When it was down I stuck out my tongue again. Gene congratulated me.
Next up was Kamal. For Kamal I was on the floor on my back under the rim chair. “This is Grade A high-protein bodybuilder shit. Nutritious. I want gratitude with every mouthful.”
I struggled eating Kamal’s shit but every time I gagged his dick got harder. “Eat that good Berber shit. Swallow that shit down and be grateful, fucking white shit faggot.”
I lost count of how many times Kamal filled up my mouth with his shit. It was at least four. He abused me all the way through, calling me every degrading name he could think of and throwing in a few in Arabic and even French.
When Kamal finally stood up, my belly was full. Thanksgiving dinner full. I tried to convey this to Murphy with my eyes. He just lit up a Marlboro and got comfortable on the rim chair.
If Murphy was able to control the pace at which he grunted out his shit, he didn’t do that at all. As soon as he sat down a huge pile covered my mouth, my nose, and my chin. I felt a clump slide down my cheek onto the tarp. I panicked and tried to raise myself up on my elbows.
Murphy planted his feet on my chest, holding me down.
“Naw, naw, shit boy. You’re gonna eat all of that. All that’s going in you. Where it fucking belongs.”
Murphy raised himself then got down on his knees, his face grinning again. He was enjoying this. He grabbed the clump of shit from the tarp and put it on the seat of the rim chair. “We’ll park this here for now until you’re ready for it,” he said.
Murphy worked with the fingers of both hands shoving the shit in my mouth and driving it deeper. I gagged. My body convulsed. A few times I thought I would vomit. The only thing that stopped me is that I was pretty sure Murphy would make me lick all that up, too. I was straight up crying, trying to say “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck” with a mouth full of shit.
When there was no more shit for me to eat—Gene wasn’t done with me but fed me sitting on the rim chair—and when I had licked clean all their shit holes, I was allowed to sit up against the sofa. Murphy and Gene sat on the sofa on either side of me. Kamal sat on the folding chair. He was naked and I could not help but admire his muscular body. My belly was swollen and this was noted and commented on favorably. For a while the four of us just sat in silence.
Finally I spoke: “I hope I did a good job, sorry if I had a hard time…”
A chorus reassured me. I was fucking fantastic. I was a natural. Fucking amazing. Gotta get this on video sometime. Gene bent forward and held my head in his hands, turning me to face him. “Having you as my shit boy is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he told me.
Phone numbers were exchanged. They never asked my name. They put my contact information in their phones as “shit boy.”
Before I was sent on my way, Gene made a trip out to his truck. He came back with three
cigars. He gave these to me along with his cutter and torch lighter.
“You’ve earned these, shit boy. I’ll keep you well supplied from now on. Whenever you’re eating shit, think about how good it will be to enjoy a nice cigar when you’re done. And when you’re smoking a cigar, think how good it will be the next time you get to eat shit.”
——————–
I started wearing Carhartt overalls and I always have a few cigars along with my box of Marlboros in the breast pocket. Murphy gave me a brown handkerchief to stick in the back right pocket.
A few months after we met, they surprised me with a trip to an event called SmokeOut in Las Vegas. First time I’d been on a plane. They all fucking enjoyed it too much when I had to go into a little room and show the airport security guy the cage on my dick. So did I honestly.
SmokeOut was pretty much just a bunch of guys sitting around a pool smoking cigars and talking. Straightforward enough but it was one of the best experiences I have ever had in my life. Murphy, Kamal, and Gene would sit there and I would be sitting on the concrete doing ashtray duty. When they had to shit, I was their toilet. But when other guys attending the event wanted to feed me I got to say yay or nay. This big, built daddy bear wanted to fuck me—and I definitely wanted him to fuck me—but Murphy explained that was not my purpose; I was a shit boy.
Turns out Kamal works as a personal trainer. He became my personal trainer. Compared to what he puts me through in the weight room, eating his shit is as easy as scratching my ass. I have become a fucking beast.
Another surprise: the three of them chipped in and paid my tuition so I could go to a trade school to become a licensed electrician. Gene is already a licensed electrician so I’m working with him. He says that as long as people are using electricity they’re going to need electricians and they’re going to pay whatever I ask for my services.
But here’s the best part: I love those guys. And even though they never say it, I know they love me. I used to not just feel… I was convinced that I was nothing but a fuck-up and a loser. That has not been the case since I met them. I can do something that not a lot of other men can do. I can eat shit. Don’t get me wrong: I hate eating shit. Eating shit is disgusting. I’ve eaten mountains of it and still I struggle. But I overcome all of that and swallow down every mouthful. I am a shit boy. That’s what I am and eating men’s shit is what I do.
Author: Sam Brawley
Photo Credit: Sam Brawley & Luis Acoltzi