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Hazardous Waste

By: NOIRTRASH



All characters are adults.

Dear Reader, this series is noire. Noire is over the top, offensive crime writing. It's intended to be unpleasant and expose how life is for most people. Feral dogs probably behave better than noire characters. I suggest you leave immediately and try some erotic poetry.

*****

Life is a prison sentence you can't escape alive.

Serial killers are antisocial personalities and violent psychopaths. Antisocial means these people treat everyone as things and psychopath means 'by all means' when it comes to goals and problem solving. They use any tool they need; they're folks who know right from wrong and don't give a shit. They'll steal your purse, your heart, or your life without second thoughts or remorse. They'll eat their lunch or your's, doesn't matter to them.

My name is Marlin Kane. My first helping of life got served me when my folks died and the state tossed me in foster care. That is, I got thrown into a lion's den of assholes, perverts, and assheads. Then one day I turned eighteen and the assheads threw me out the door onto the street; this was soon after I graduated high school.

I needed money. I got a job at a bakery. The minimum wage in 1967 was a buck-forty. What I did was come to work at four in the morning and wash steel trays till the bakers stopped work about ten or eleven o'clock. Then I spent the rest of the day cleaning the equipment, scrubbing the floor, filling sugar and flour barrels, and washing hundreds of cake and bread pans. Most days I finished about six o'clock.

Fortunately I'm a big guy at six feet, six inches tall, and was three hundred pounds in those days. 

I started seeing one of the bakery clerks, her name was Crystal.

Crystal was eighteen, too, and a new grad but from a different high school. Crystal was dum but wasn't like totally dum, mostly she was clueless and immature. But it don't take brains to boink, and fucking and eating was what Crystal liked to do. I kept her supplied with sweets and the pizza's we made for ourselves. After two weeks of devouring donuts and pastry you want no more of it for many years. So bakers make pizza to munch on. 

Crystal had a car and drove me to my trailer where we fucked until she got knocked up. Her daddy wanted my ass so I joined the air force and got the hell outta Dodge. The air force sent me to a hot shithole in Vietnam.

What old daddy didn't know about was me fucking Crystal's mom, Crystal didn't know about it, either.

The first time we got together, Julie, Crystal's mom, wanted me to help her install some floor tile. I agreed to do it and she picked me up one day when Crystal and the husband were both working. There on the floor was a pile of tile boxes, with Julie acting frustrated at a job that hadn't even begun. She had all the right tools and stuff for the job, but had no clue where to start. So she said. She really wanted to get laid. As often as her daughter, if possible.

A woman wanting cock wants a man who gets lotsa pussy. No woman wants a guy who goes without. Plenty want virgins but none want love's losers.

I sat on the floor and read the directions printed on one of the tile boxes while Julie got down there with me, sat close, and chattered away about everything and nothing. To be honest she was a distraction but I kept my mouth shut and tried to focus on the mental math to start the tile in the exact right place. You want it symmetrical.

Julie had nice tits, they were close at hand, and more exposed than not. Julie was not drop dead gorgeous but she had her charms. She was 40 year's old and a big woman at 5'10" and 220 pounds. I thought she was sexy. She had a belly, but not lotsa rolls of fat. Her ass was plump and round and full and her legs and thighs were nice and proportional. That is, her boobs and ass carried much of her extra weight. And soon enough she jabbered to me about her size and lack of attention from her husband.

"You mind if I ask you something sorta embarrassing?" She smiled. 

"Embarrassing for who?" I grinned. 

"Me, Sweetie. I want your honest male opinion about something." 

Uh, oh, I thought to myself. This can't be good.

"Am I too fat?" 

"Too fat for what?"

"You know, too fat for men to want?"

"Depends on the man, Julie. Some men love big girls, and you're nowhere close to the size of most big women." 

Julie smiled and said "You're a natural born politician."

"Lotsa men love um. Crystal is heavy."

"Yeah," she replied, "that's why I asked you. In fact, to tell yuh the truth, that's why I called you here. I can build this dumb thing myself, but I wanted to talk to a man who likes big girls," she said. 

"Well, you're tall, too, Julie. But for men like me who like big women, you're attractive," I smiled. 

She seemed pleased. But there was more. Her eyes betrayed a warmth. "Yuh really think so? Am I sexy?" 

"I'd fuck you in a heart beat," I confessed. 

"Don't flatter an old woman," she said, then shifted position a bit and leaned forward. Her abundant cleavage was more obvious than ever and I was looking down it. She knew it and showed me plenty. 

I felt horny, imagining groping her chest as I'd wanted to since forever. I looked at her legs and feet, and thought about how the whole package. I had lied to her and did not usually date girls as large as Julie, but she wasn't a girl, she was a sexy woman.

"So, if you were my age, would you find me attractive?" 

"I find you attractive now. And the only reason I haven't 'gone out with a mature woman yet is because I'm young, so most mature women don't mess with boys, not unless they're a teacher!" She laughed but the nervous silence returned. I tried to busy myself with the tile pieces and all, but felt her eyes boring a hole through me. I looked up and the next thing I knew she was looking at the swelling bulge in my jeans. I could not hide it and did not bother to try. She seemed pleased that my body was responding and not just my mouth.

"Well, enough of this," she said, throwing to the floor the instruction sheet she'd held tight. "Want a beer?" 

"Sure," I said." 

"Don't say a word to my husband!" Julie grinned. 

"This new generation gets right to the point," she smiled. "So, any chance any young guys would find me desirable?" 

I went for it. What's the worst that can happen, I thought to myself, get screamed at, thrown out of the house and banished for life! No big deal. "I think you're one helluva woman myself," I tossed it out. 

"Me?" she cooed. 

"Yeah Julie, you're hot!" She smiled and it looked like a tear welled up in the corner of her eye. I figured now came the bawling and the 'you're so nice,' but Julie had other things in mind. 

She rose from the floor and I studied her. Her shorts were tight. She had plump thighs and a really nice, bubble butt. Her loose tee-shirt was a couple sizes too large and the neck was old and stretched out so when she leaned over to hand me the beer there was miles of cleavage inches from me. I stared at her tits as she displayed them for me. Seeing my reaction, the one on my face and the one in my jeans, she tossed her line in one last attempt to land her prey.

"If I weren't Crystal's mom, and you were older, would you really think I was desirable?" 

In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought, then replied, looking her in the eyes. "Julie, if I ever thought I could have you I'd jump at the chance." 

She smiled. "C'mon, get up. Enough of this nonsense."

I rose, she took my hand in hers, and led me to her bedroom. "I know you get high, so get me stoned. I'm feeling depressed and wanna have some fun." She got the joint from out of her jewelry box. "I stole it from Crystal."

I acted innocent.

In fact Bill and I" she said, referring to her husband "used to drink nearly every day, but I haven't gotten a buzz in a long time, and about now I think it's what I want most, besides getting laid." 

We sat on her bed next to each other. We giggled and she kept up the sex questions. "So, you like us old women? Is this a common thing?" 

"Sure,. I mean what young guy doesn't want to get naked with a hot mature woman?"

"How about you? You wanna 'get naked' with a hot mature woman?" 

"Sure." 

She smiled at me, took another hit off the joint and said "Why wait?" 

I looked at her and she went dead serious on me. "Have you ever fantasized about me?" She looked at me and studied my reaction to her question.

"I gotta admit I think about you. I mean, you're pretty sexy and I compare you all the time to other girls and women."

Julie took my hand, looked at me and whispered, "If you want to compare, lemme give yuh something to compare to." 

I looked in her eyes. "So, if I were to just jump on you right now, you wouldn't call the cops, or say anything to Crystal?" 

"Why don't yuh try, and we'll see,"

I leaned over and we kissed and it was hot. She took my hands and put them on her tits. "God that feels good," she whispered in my ear as we explored each other's mouths with our tongues, and I kneaded her tits. She felt my cock with her hand. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this. Don't you dare breathe a word to Crystal." 

"But I sure am glad it's happening!" 

"Really?" she asked, her hand rubbing my cock through my jeans. 

"Fuck yes, Julie!"

We lay back on the bed and kissed passionately. I grabbed her tits and pulled on them hard and she sighed. She unfastened my belt, unsnapped my jeans, and pulled my zipper down. Then pushed her hand inside my underwear and gripped my fattening cock. "Oh my God, that feels so good," she huffed under her breath. 

She took the lead. "Take off my shirt," she commanded, and I did. Her tits filled her bra. 

"Jesus Julie!' was all I could say.

"Take off my bra, baby."

I unsnapped the four metal stays, one hand mind you, and her tits fell free. Her puckered and swollen nipples were dark and hard and stood an inch tall. I lifted first one tit, then the other, to my mouth. 

She placed one hand on the back of my neck and guided me to the right tit, all the while her left hand pulled at my underwear. I sucked a nipple into my mouth.

While I sucked her nipples, she freed my cock and slid her hand under the bottom side of it, then gently pulled at it. "Goddamn baby, you're quite a big man there."

I dropped her tits and pushed my jeans and underwear past my hips and pushed off off my sneakers, letting my pants fall to the floor. I stepped out of them and peeled off my tee-shirt, now totally naked before Julie. She smiled at me. That done, I tugged at her shorts and had her naked in no time.

Her belly was fleshy, but her snatch was pretty, and hairy in just the right amount. I pulled her naked body to me and pressed my mouth against hers, my tongue wanted to stroke her tonsils. Then she pulled me atop her, where I hovered over her and kissed her as she guided my cock into her wet pussy. "Oh yeah baby, fill me up with your cock."

Two shoves did it, our pubic bones were pressed together tight. She squirmed and put her hands on my ass to hold me close. I pulled back then pushed back into her till we touched again.

She gasped for air after a few minutes.

"Had enough?" I wondered.

"No, baby, fuck me," she hissed in my ear and smiled. Julie let go of my ass while I kept the rhythm just right. She soon lifted her tits from the sides of her chest and held each up for me to suck while I pumped her. I licked, nibbled, and sucked on each nipple until she made moaning sounds. 

She moved her head from side to side and closed her eyes as her orgasm took hold. "Make me cum, baby," she whimpered as she surrendered to the feelings. Her face turned red and her mouth opened from the pleasure. I pumped her harder and she came for me and soaked the bed under her ass. My balls felt wet and warm as she did it.

I slowed and she lay under me trying to catch her breath. She still held one tit in each hand and I went back to sucking them. "Bite my nipples honey." I did and she orgasmed again as I kept the rhythm going until she sighed from her second nut.

I lay beside her. "Get on me Julie. I want those tits smacking me in the face." I pulled her onto me, she mounted my cock, and slowly fucked my cock.

"That's a big cock!" She said as we fucked and talked. 

"Yep, and I have wanted it in you since forever." 

She came again and collapsed onto me. I put my arms around her then moved my hands to her ass, and helped her raise herself up on her palms to dangle her titties in my face. I licked and grabbed each one with my tongue and lips as she swayed them back and forth. 

"I'm gonna cum!" 

"Cum in me honey. Fill me up, baby. I've wanted you to make love to me for a long time sweetie. Give it to me." I grabbed her ass hard, she moaned "Yeah baby, grab my ass," and I began to fill her hot, tight, cunt with cum. She held herself upright on her palms and swayed her tits back and forth in my face as I filled her full.

She slowed her pace and let herself down onto me when I was done. Then we kissed again. "Can you stay here a while?"

"Sure." 

"I want you to come in my mouth and on my face before you go." 

My cock got hard again.

"I need a drink of water."

I pulled her mouth back to mine and licked her lips and chin before she got out of the bed.

When she was back in bed I lit another joint we smoked together. Somewhere along the way we fell asleep. I awoke with my cock in her mouth. It was getting late. "Lemme taste your cum."

"I wanna lick your cum off my titties. God, you make me so hot! I can't believe we're doing this "Oh God. Fuck me. Cum on my face honey. Make me feel like the slutty woman I wanna be."

"Get on your knees Julie" She crawled off of me and knelt on the floor by the side of the bed.

I rose and stood before her. "Jack my cock and suck it." She swallowed me almost to the balls and looked up into my eyes as she sucked and jacked my cock. One hand held onto my ass as my cum built. "Oh fuck, I'm close." She then stood and held her tits up. I took over jacking my cock.

"Cum for me honey. Cum all over me. I wanna taste it and lick it off my fat titties. Wanna see me do that, baby?" 

I jacked my cock until I felt the semen on its way to the head. It felt glorious as I spurted onto Julie's face and dribbled onto her chin. The second shot hit her lips and nose, she opened her mouth wide, looked into my eyes, and said, "That's right, cum all over me!" The next wad hit her cheek, and finally all over her tits. She never let her eyes leave mine.

Done spurting, she swallowed my cock all the way down. I felt her throat muscles massaging the head. Then she let my cock fall from her mouth and held up each tit to lick the cum off it. She sucked each nipple into her mouth. She did the trick with the right titty, too. I lay on the bed where she buried her face back in my crotch and sucked the head of my dick. 

"Mind if I kiss you?"

She was covered with cum. I pulled her to me and kissed her. She then kissed me and got busy cleaning cum from my skin when we were done. My cock got hard again. 

"You own my pussy, if yuh ever want to do this again." She leaned down, kissed me, and whispered, "Baby, as far as I am concerned, I am yours. You can do whatever you want with me or to me whenever you want." 

I pushed her off of me, lay her on her back, opened her legs, and held them in my hands. I sucked her toes and licked the bottoms of her feet. I held her in that position as I pushed my cock in her again. We fucked for several minutes. As her orgasm built she moaned, "Fuck this horny pussy honey. This is your pussy. I have wanted you to have it for so long. Fuck it baby. I have been so horny for you for so long, I just don't think I could take it anymore."

I started to speak.

"Now, I think a bath is in order. Wouldn't want yuh to go home smelling like me, now would we? Besides, I'll help wash yuh, and hopefully I won't need to rape yuh before you go." She grinned. 

We got up and went in her bathroom where she filled the large tub with hot water and stuff she added to the water. In the tub she told me about how one night she and my mom came home drunk and found me asleep on the sofa with my cock sticking outta my shorts. "I wanted to put it in my mouth, in front of God and everbody. Baby I want you to fuck me some more after I suck you hard." 

Then she washed me and dried me and dressed me and sent me home with a passionate kiss. "I meant what I said, I belong to you, now, to use however and whenever you want." 

We got together a lot till Crystal got a baby bump and I hadda get outta Dodge or kill Crystal's dad. He maybe woulda shot me, as soon as he learned I was porking his wife. Bull was a skinny little fuck.

I did okay in basic training till I hadda kill a nigger from New York City called 'Fish' cause his lips were so big. One day I called him 'Fish' and he went off on me cause he didn't want any white calling him Fish. The others enjoyed the collision, so I let it ride till I awoke one night with a knife blade pressed against my throat. It was Fish holding the knife and whining about what I said.

I let him whine but the blade cut my skin slightly, and that did it for me. I draw the line at blood. It's my Rubicon. I waited for an opportunity to fix his ass, and it came along after a couple of weeks.

In those days, 1968, the Air Force housed us in wood barracks built for army draftees back in 1942. By 1968 the Air Force needed too many recruits and couldn't accommodate the huge numbers in its modest number of modern barracks.

I took care of business after our training instructor changed our bunks to an alphabetical arrangement and Fish got moved to the bunk next to mine. What followed was I did was I got up in the middle of the night for three hours of barracks guard duty and killed him while I sat on the edge of my bunk putting on socks and boots; I stuck an icepick into his brain through his ear canal. I didn't know what he'd do but wasn't too surprised that he flopped about after the deed was done. It wasn't enough to wake anyone up, and he didn't bleed much, plus I was where I was supposed to be should anyone awake and see me near him. Fish looked like he couldn't find a comfortable position for sleeping, but he lay still after a while. My motto is: If you lose your head with me expect to lose your ass, too. 

Still, there was plenty of excitement, but no witnesses, and the icepick was never found, though the air police took the barracks apart. I got rid of it. It didn't help when me and one of Fish's black pal's failed the polygraph. The police fucked with us for a week and transferred us to newer training flights, so we graduated later.

The next killing came almost a year later in Vietnam. The air force sent me to Vietnam, at a place called Phat Twaht, and made me a combat security police augmentee after I got there. The air base hadda perimeter several miles in length, and too few people to guard it. So they trained helpers for a week and assigned us spots to shoot gooks who got past the razor wire fences. We spent a full week learning to use a variety of small arms that included the M16 assault rifle, a 12 gauge shotgun, the M60 machine gun, the M79 grenade launcher, and M29 hand grenades. We spent a full day at the shooting range shooting, throwing grenades, and firing grenades at old trucks.

Phat Twaht was a shithole on the coast about two hundred miles from Saigon. Vietnam was like all jungle and rice paddies except for this place. When I stepped off the airplane I thought I was in Arizona. Most days it was like one hundred and twenty degrees, and the whole area was sand and rocks. We actually had to ration water a few times, and the whole damned country was submerged in water.

Within a few weeks the gooks attacked the airbase one day about sun down. They blew up a section of the gas pipeline that went from the beach to the base, then let loose a barrage of rockets and mortars upon the airplanes, fuel storage area, and ammo dumps. Once it got dark the gooks came through the wire. I got sent to my designated post and was told to shoot whatever tried to cross the perimeter road.


Hazardous Waste Ch. 02



All characters are adults.



When I got outta the air force I needed a job but didn't wanna slave for a dollar forty minimum wage, so I got some business cards printed, and tacked them to bulletin boards around town. I got outta the air force with most of my mechanics tools, bought more, and bought an old Chevy pickup. I became a handyman. Calls came in almost immediately, mostly from people who needed help now not tomorrow.

I did some work for a gal named Velma, then ran into her at the college. Velma liked young guys. I discovered this when I caught her down in the library basement giving an enthusiastic blow job to a guy named Lonnie. I walked in on the party after Velma's sentinel wandered away from her post by the basement door.

She recognized me and soon phoned me. I invited her over to my trailer.

Velma gulped her drink, I made her another one, and sat beside her on the sofa. "Are you gonna say anything to anybody?" She asked. "I don't need any problems. I want you to keep quiet about it."

"A couple hours of your time will buy my silence forever," I offered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She took a sip of her drink.

"It means I want some of what Lonnie's been getting. And it ain't like you didn't enjoy it."

"I need a bath first."

"Just happened to have one down the hall. Take your drink with you and soak for a while." I suggested.

"I gotta pick Harley up at the airport."

"Let him catch a cab, I need some attention for a few hours."

"And will that be it with me?"

"Until the next time you're bad." I got up and brought her a towel and wash cloth. She emptied her glass and I filled it again before she went to bathe. She came out forty-five minutes later wrapped in the towel, drunk and clumsy. The towel dropped off her when she got atop the bed and lay with her head on the pillow. I crawled up beside her, turned her over, and spread her legs apart. She seemed oblivious and started snoring. I wet my finger and pushed it into her gash, she was moist from the bath.

Velma didn't have a beautiful face or sexy anything, what she had was a big appetite for young cock, and that made her appealing to men like me. Get her alone and she'll put out.

Like a lil teapot Velma was short and stout, wore short dirty-blonde hair, and had a plump ass and modest titties that kinda lay flat on her chest. She was OCD about her good teeth. I didn't waste any time on foreplay she wouldn't know she missed. I put pillows under her ass and eased my cock into her hole. No struggle, no resistance, no problem. The stimulation finally aroused her and she lifted her bottom up a little just before I released a fair wad of semen where it does the most good. All she said was, "I almost missed the party." I lay beside her for a while then got up.

"Where you going?"

"To pee and shower."

"Should I stay?"

"Please."

"I need to bathe again."

"I won't be long," I replied. Velma was on the bed sipping vodka from the bottle when I came back. She left the next morning but came back inside to let me know someone slashed a tire on my truck. 

I also connected with a perfesser named Laverne Zbar. My Gothic Horror class was at night, twice a week. It was lame because Laverne was clueless about her subject at a time when Stephen King was cranking out Carrie and Salem's Lot. I doubt she knew who H.P. Lovecraft was, much less Robert Bloch or even Henry James.

In 1972 I was young and fit, had plenty of hair and cock, and was taller than the average guy at six foot, six. I didn't obsess about muscles but I made it a point to do calisthenics and eat and drink sensibly. That is, I had a natural born talent to see how things turned out long before people and things turned to shit. But not always. Nuthin is always.

I rolled my eyes at martial arts, I'd seen too many black belts knocked out by big boys with lethal sucker punches; my thing was boxing and keeping fit to do it. I was a good sparring partner but no champion. I knew my limits. I needed to get a job. The GI Bill paid my college tuition. I drove a 1964 ½ Ford Mustang with the 289 cubic inch V8 and a floor shift. My home was a 1947 Spartan trailer, eight feet wide and thirty feet long. It had a concrete block cabana I used as a living room. The trailer sat in an old park that catered to Canadian snowbirds for twenty-five years or so, but now housed working poor like me.

Laverne, then, was five nine, two hundred pounds she carried on her ass and tits, her hair was brown and cut short in a wifey bob that was easy to deal with. Laverne was Jewish and married to a judge. She wore cheap, plastic frame glasses and no make-up. 

After a couple weeks of classes Laverne invited me to her faculty office one night after class. In her office she cut the cheese. "The word is you're trading book reports for sex?"

"It's true," I replied.

"Who for?"

"I don't kiss and tell," I said. The middle button on her sweater was missing.

"I see. I'm told you stay busy."

"I get results and I get the work done on time, plus my fee won't hurt your pocketbook."

"What's your fee based on?"

"The results you get. If you want an A but get a B, there's no charge. If you get the A I don't insist on anything you can't deliver with a smile but it better be worth what you got in trade."

"You mean, like...."

"Like whatever. I let others have my bad customers." I pulled a business card from my pocket and offered it to her. "You get my best, I want the same."

"What's this?" She asked.

"My address and phone number. Leave a message if I don't answer." I didn't expect the reaction I got.

"When can we get together?"

"Now is good," I said. I assumed she didn't need a ghost writer.

"Lock the door." Laverne clicked on a table lamp by the sofa. I flipped off the overhead fluorescent lights. The room was quiet except for the sound of air flowing through the air conditioning ducts in the ceiling.

Laverne stood up as I walked across the office to her. I put my arms around her lower back and put my mouth on her's. I teased her lips with my tongue and eased it in as I unbuttoned her sweater, then pulled her skirt's zipper down. That done someone knocked softly on the office door. Laverne had her sweater buttoned and was at the door before the knocking stopped. It was her husband, Mel, the judge.

"I'm a little early," he apologized.

I grabbed my book satchel and walked over to the door to go. "I'm Marlin Davis," I said, and offered my hand to the husband to shake.

"I'm her husband, Mel Zbar," he replied with a generic, middle-class smile.

Laverne looked me in the eyes and said," I'll get back with you about your proposal."

"Great," I replied. Her skirt was unzipped in the back. I left. 

Outside I checked my watch, it was after ten o'clock, the campus cafeteria was closed. The Night Owl Diner popped into mind and I went there for a late meal. The diner was a copy of most diners of those times. It was kinda like a double-wide trailer where half of the place was kitchen, storage, and restrooms, and the other half were a counter and booths for customers. The floor was covered with checkerboard linoleum tiles, and every booth had a tabletop jukebox record selector that played Top 40 hits for a quarter, each.

I ordered roast beef atop sliced bread with gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans, plus iced tea. The waitress was in her forties and looked like most ripe, plump moms; I'd seen her around but didn't know her name. After she brought my food I asked," What time you get off?"

"Eleven," she replied.

"Need a ride?"

"To where?" She asked.

"Home or wherever."

"I gotta boyfriend," she volunteered.

"He need a ride, too?" I asked.

"No, but he won't like me bringing home a friend."

"Then he needs to take you home from work."

"He's at work."

"Then how about wherever and I'll get you a cab later?"

"You can take me home, he just don't like it when guys come inside. He knows I have dates. Is your car outside?"

"Uh huh, it's the blue Mustang. I'll wait for you or you wait for me." I finished before she did, and waited for her. Out on the street I handed her twenty bucks. She stuck it in her pocket, pulled out a pack of Salems, took one out, and lit up.

Her name pin said "Pauline." Her uniform was a pink, cotton dress, with white trim, buttons from collar to hem, and a white apron. The shoes were white canvas gym sneakers. Most waitresses sold pussy on the side for twenty bucks, room not included. A motel room cost another five to ten bucks. Most had cars they left parked at the diner.

The motel room cost me nine dollars. It had a double-bed with two pillows, double sheets, and covered with a chenille spread. I pulled the drapes closed, Pauline went in the bathroom, switched on the light, then shut the door and peed. I removed my clothes and got on the bed. She came out of the bathroom after she flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and opened the door.

I was twenty-three then, Pauline looked forty or so. Her hair was cut in a bob and naturally wavy. She was shorter than me, prolyl five-three tall, and two hundred pounds. Her tits, arms and ass concealed much of her weight. She stood by the bed, took her clothes off, and hung them up on a rack next to a chest of drawers. Her muff was thick but not overwhelming. Her tits were full with dark areolas and plump nipples. 

I stretched out with my head on a pillow. "Sit on my face," I said. She climbed atop my abdomen and scooted her bottom toward my face till it touched my chin. She braced her hands against the headboard, and I felt her breasts and squeezed her nipples as I felt for her gash with my tongue. When I looked her eyes were closed and her teeth gripped her lower lip.

Pauline wasn't loud or animated. I guessed she was tired and not far from sleep, but she didn't hurry me when I laid her on her back and pushed into her. She spread her legs wide, squinted her eyes, and kissed my chest twice before I filled her with my semen. Even then she lay where she was for a while, in no hurry to get up and go. She lingered there for a few minutes after I climbed off her and got up, then she got up and went in the bathroom where I heard her unspool paper, to clean herself, I guessed. She flushed the toilet when she was done. 

We dressed and I drove her home. "Don't be a stranger," she said after she opened the door to get out of the car.

"You work the same shift all the time?" I asked.

"Uh huh, ask for me when you come in. Good night."



I went home and went to bed. About the time I fell asleep the shit hit the fan next door. I got up and went next door to Jehmu Brown's trailer and knocked on the door. She looked biracial though her features and skin color were closer to Indian or Mexican. She was short and heavy, with a mane of black corkscrew curls, smallish tits, and a plump ass. Mostly she carried her flab on her thighs and ass with some padding across her belly.

 The pimp-honey opened the door and kicked my face. I then dragged his ass outside, feet first, and kicked his crotch before he could rise. Jehmu attacked me with a broom, naked. I took the broom away from her. She jumped onto my back from the doorway. I got hold of her wrists and peeled her off. She then fled inside, to call the police, but I fucked up her pissant boyfriend before the cops arrived.

The cops wanted to haul all of us to jail but I was saved by another neighbor who saw the whole event and gave the cops a full report. Her name was Angel, her old man was in prison, and she collected welfare from the state. She and her mother shared a trailer. Angel had a baby and quit school in the 9th grade. Angel was eighteen or 19, and her momma, Juanita, wasn't a whole lot older than Angel; early thirties is my guess, and had two kids in state custody. I doubt she got past the 6th grade. They were from Ohio. Juanita modeled lingerie at a shop a few blocks from the trailer park.

In the morning, when I was ready to go to work, the truck wouldn't start, some asshole drained the tank. "Son of a bitch!" I thought. Coulda been anyone in the park but I figgered it was pimpo from next door. I grabbed a gas can and drove to the Quickie Mart in my Mustang to get some.

That done I filled my truck and went to the OWL Diner for breakfast. The place was dead except for two servers, the cook, a cop at the counter, and me. I sat in a booth behind the cop. The server appeared quickly, 'Dolly' was stamped on her name tag, and took my order. 

The cop turned to look at me then turned back and spoke to Dolly, I couldn't hear what was said but Dolly looked at me, over the cop's shoulder, then answered the cop.

The cop then spun around on her stool and stuck a photo in my face. "Ever seen this man?" I took the photo and studied it. It was the pimp next door.

I handed the photo back. "He lives next door to me."

"Where is that?" The cop wanted to know. I pulled a business card outta my shirt pocket and handed it to her. She looked at the card. "You mind talking to a cop?"

"When?"

"Tomorrow maybe?"

"Tomorrow's okay," I replied. She looked at the card again.

"Is this phone number good?" 

"Call me later and find out," I suggested.

 "No problem." She handed me a business card. Phyllis Wexler was the name printed on the card.

"How come I never seen you before?" She looked at my face closely.

"Cause I'm always good," I lied.

"Got lotsa referrals, too?"

"None I can share, you understand. Confidentiality."

"Then how do I know you can fix my problem when I need help?" One of her blouse buttons was unfastened.

"Free samples."

"I'll be in touch."

I ate my breakfast, left a tip, and left to work. It isn't far to the trailer park but the hood is shit with whores and derelicts and thugs on the streets. I got home at the usual time without any problems, shit, showered, shaved, and went to bed. 

It was around midnight when a bullet shattered my bedroom window and sprayed glass shards all over me.

Jehmu (Juh Mooo) Jackson and her pimp-baby daddy were screaming and fighting next door. The boyfriend is the guy the cops wanted. Jehmu called him everything but a child of God, and he was knocking her around, from the sound of things falling and crashing inside the trailer. Jehmu worked at the local golden arches and sold pussy to married white guys she met.



I dressed and went outside about the time the first cop car arrived. I stood and watched the show. After two more cars arrived the cops went inside the trailer and the pimp bolted from the back door hauling ass my way. He fell over something, I think it was me, I jumped on his back, and the cops restrained him. One of the cops was my new friend Phyllis Wexler, the first female street cop in town. After she escorted shit for brains to her car I went inside and cleaned up the mess the shattered window made in the bedroom, mostly broken glass all over my quilt and the floor. I got all the loose glass but still got a small piece in my foot. It bled like a stuck pig for being nothing.

In the morning I went to the local diner for breakfast, my new friend Phyllis was there eating breakfast. The diner was busy, Phyllis saw me and waved me over. "Have a seat," she said. "Thanks for the help last night."

"No problem." About the time I got comfortable a guy walked past the table and drops a plain envelope in front of Phyllis. She stuffed it in her bag.

She continued, "Maybe I can find something at home for you to fix, interested?"

"Um hmm," I replied.

"If you're free at noon gimme a call," she wrote her phone number on a napkin, tucked it in my shirt pocket and left.

After I ate my first stop was at the home of a guy with a shower fulla shit. His sewer line was clogged. I uncapped the line where it came outside and pulled out a dead cat. The guy had put it there after he backed over it with his car. Accidentally. "My wife will cut my nuts off if she finds out. I'll pay you twenty bucks extra to make it disappear." I took his cash, dumped the kitty in a garbage bag, and tossed it in bed of the truck.

Phyllis lived in an older tract home with her girlfriend, Myrtle, and the woman's two daughters. It's Myrtle's house. The girlfriend was retired from the army and went to school days to be a school guidance counselor. Getting some pussy from Phyllis looked good till Myrtle came home unexpectedly and crashed the party. Phyllis told Myrtle I was doing undercover work as a plumber-whatever. But before Myrtle came home Phyllis hinted that she wanted someone like me to cover her ass out on the street. "I got problems with some people maybe you could help me with."

"What's in it for me?" 

She put her hand on my cock and said," I'd be very grateful, and willing to do you some favors in return. I feel we could work together well." I squeezed her titty and she kissed me.

"Who do I gotta kill?" I was joking.

"I'll give you his name the first time we get together," she wasn't joking. Myrtle showed up about then. "Maybe we could meet tomorrow about the same time?"

"I'll expect you about noon." I shook hands with Myrtle and left after a round of happy talk.

The next day Phyllis gave me the details and I took care of her problem.

Most of my customers were women. Lucy Perez was one of them. She hadda sink leak in her kitchen.

Lucy Perez forgot I was in her house replacing the broken faucet on her kitchen sink, she was sitting in a chair and couldn't see me lying in the sink cabinet connecting the water lines while she gossiped on the phone with a girlfriend.

"He hasn't come near me in months, and I'm so horny I'm climbing the walls," I heard her say. In her forties, she looks good though she is heavy and has some flab on her ass and thighs and around her waist. I kept on working and didn't pay attention to the conversation.

Done, I cleared the cabinet of my tools, got up off the floor, and walked out to get Lucy to come inspect the work. She was still on the phone but her robe and legs were open, and her fingers were inside her panty fingering her hole. She jumped when she saw me. "Janice I gotta go, the plumber guy is done; I'll call you later." She flipped the robe to cover her lap. "I wish you'd say something before you come into a room and scare the crap outta me." She picked up a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it. "Watcha want?"

"I'm done with the faucet but I wouldn't mind helping you with your problem."

"You're pretty fresh aren't you? S'pose your boss knows?"

"I'm my boss; wanna check the work and pay me?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

She got out of the chair and walked to the kitchen where she tested the faucet and looked under the sink to check for leaks." What do I owe you?"

"One hundred."

"Can I drop the money off later, after my husband gets home?"

"No problem, you got my address?" I handed her my card. "It's on the card."

She checked the card. "Is around seven good for you?"

"Sure, what do you drink?"

"Why?"

"So I can offer you refreshments."

"You're pretty fucking self-confident aren't you?"

"I took her hand and stuck it atop my boner." She didn't pull it back.

"I can't stay long."

"I have bourbon and vodka unless you want something else."

"Got tomato juice?"

"I'll pick some up."

"You gonna say anything to anyone?"

"Want me to?"

"Hell no!"

"Then lemme go, I got one more call to make."

"OK, see you at seven." 

She arrived about eight o'clock, dressed in a simple cotton shift with buttons from collar to hem. Her brunette hair had a flower pinned close to her ear. She knocked on the door and I let her in. She set her bag on the kitchen counter, pulled out a check she handed to me, and then dug around for her cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke? I can't stay long." 




Hazardous Waste Ch. 02



"I don't care if you smoke, got enough time for a drink?"

"I better not. He thinks I'm at the library." She looked up into my face," Wanna undress me, or..." I started with the top button and worked my way down. "Lock the door." I locked the front door and walked her back to the bedroom. It's an old trailer but the double bed and mattress are new. She sat on the edge of the bed. I unfastened her sandals and she scooted up to the pillows and lay back while I undressed. I'm tall, hairy on my chest and abdomen, wear a size 15 shoe, and weigh two hundred, fifty Lucy looked to be five-three and weighed close to two hundred.

She unsnapped and pulled her bra off, I tugged her panties down her legs and tossed them onto a chair. "I gotta pee!" She jumped up and fled to the bathroom. When she was back in the bed she asked, "Got any protection?"

"A pistol in the drawer, here." I patted the night table.

"Oh shit, I'm still fertile. Can I take a bath later?"

"Not a problem." I pushed her down on the mattress and pillow. Then I leaned forward and kissed her. She tasted and smelled like cigarettes. She likes to kiss, and took my cock in her hand, feeling it and squeezing it and jacking it, slow at the start. When I was erect I moved my mouth from her's and worked on her fat nipples. They were like wine colored erasers. When she was squirming I moved my mouth to her pussy, draped her legs over my shoulders, and tended to her gash till she yelped and spasmed.

She lowered her legs, spread them, and guided my cock into her until the head was far enough in that I pushed it all the way. Then we fucked for several minutes until I filled her with semen. She held me inside her for a little while then let me pull out. She had a blank look briefly then smiled and lay still for a while. I pushed my cum back inside her with two fingers when it leaked out. I did this for a while till she checked the time and sat up abruptly. "I don't have time for a bath!" She went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and pulled semen from her hole with toilet paper. She tossed it in the bowl and flushed, then dressed. As she headed out she kissed me and asked, "Can I come back again? I don't know when."

"Gimme a heads up before you come?"

"Gotta wife?"

"No."

"A steady girl friend?"

"No."

"Buy some protection." She got in her Sebring and left. I showered, dressed, and walked down the street to the OWL.

One night I had a big surprise waiting for me when I got home. Crystal was sitting out front in her girlfriend's car. She got out of the car as I went to open the door. I held it open for her like we were still dating.

"I can't stay long," she said. "Sherry will be back for me at ten." Sherry, her friend, was a woman she worked with at the car wash. My kitchen clock said it was eight-thirty. Crystal went to the bathroom to pee or whatever. I went in the bedroom and took my clothes off. Soon enough the toilet flushed, the sink faucet came on, and Crystal came out naked but in her panties. She liked to fuck, and I guessed her old man wasn't taking care of business with her.

"I gotta be outta my mind to come here," she said.

I pulled down her panties as she climbed on the bed, then crawled over and straddled me. "Ma asked about you, give her a call," she said as she wrapped her fingers around my cock to guide it into her mouth, but leaned forward and kissed me first.

"What does she want?" I replied as I cupped her ass with my hands and pulled it and her gash to my face to wallow my face in. "Give her my number."

"What in hell are you doing?"

"Checking to see if anyone filled you with jelly already," I lied. 

"You know, you are such an insensitive asshole! I was gonna share a secret with you but now I don't think I will."

"You're pregnant," I said.

"How in hell would you know!" She frowned down at me as she pressed her warm cunt against my face. 

I pulled my mouth away from her long enough to say," You look pregnant."

"I'm not but I want another one by you," she cooed and turned her head to look at her friend. "You're welcome to play, too." Sherry started undressing. 

"Cause I don't let nobody fuck me bareback but you, son of a bitch! Not even my husband."

"You fuckin all them niggers at the car wash?"

She slapped me hard. "You take the prize for bastard!" She growled, then squirted my face when my tongue made her orgasm. "I don't know why I even fuck with you," she said, wiping me with the sheet. "Now fuck me, and make me like you again." She lay on her back spreading her legs across the mattress. "What you waiting for Sherry?" Crystal asked her friend.

"I want you when he's done," Sherry replied.

"Not before you get a load of baby juice to take home to daddy. I'll cut you some slack, you can eat me while asshole fucks you. "Mostly she likes women; I bet she gets more pussy than you do."

When I was sucking on Crystal's pussy I reminded her that niggers didn't eat pussy. They didn't in those days. "So you better keep Sherry handy."

And that's what happened. Sherry was drunk as a lord and a fuck swamp when we got done. I drove both home in Sherry's car.

But I digress.

 Two blocks shy of Martin Luther King I took a right into an alley I followed to a parking area behind an old, warehouse that was a commercial distribution center. Beyond the warehouse, across a busy avenue, the alley separated several blocks of ancient frame duplexes rented to cigar workers a century ago when Salt Springs called itself 'the Cigar City.' The area was known as 'The Slum' now. The alley was added around a railroad track built for box cars to load and unload freight at the warehouses.

I parked, got outta my car, and walked to an open door at the rear of the building. I tried to close it but its hinges were welded with rust. Inside the warehouse it was dark except for the weak light that came in through translucent corrugated glass panes spread around the metal roof. Corrugated glass panes came along in the 1800s and were patented in 1926.

 I walked across the warehouse to the office. The guy I wanted was fucking a ghetto girl laying atop a desk. Her blouse was open, her bra was pushed above her tits, her skirt was above her hips, and her panties were missing. The guy filled her to the rim. I pulled out my pistol, opened the door, aimed, and put a bullet in his head. Ghetto girl got covered in blood and screamed like a banshee. I left. 

Phyllis was fortyish, Italian, five feet-seven tall with shoulder length hair colored blonde. She weighed around one fifty and had a nice face and ass and rack. On this occasion I went to her house and knocked on the kitchen door. Phyllis opened the door and smiled when she saw me. "Come in," she said. "Lemme get my purse, you want money right?" She then left the room but soon returned.

She rummaged through her purse. "I got the money."

I said," Gimme some pussy and keep your money."

"You think I'm worth the money?" She asked.

"Sure," I said.

"You're a sweet boy. You won't try and come back later for the money?"

"You roll the dice and takes your chances."

"But I gotta make sure. Wanna go in the bedroom?" 

I guessed she knew how the hit went. She's a cop. I later learned why she wanted the guy dead.

I followed Phyllis to her bedroom where she untied her robe and pulled it off. I sat on the side of the bed and undressed. Phyllis got atop the bed and moved close against me on her knees. Her body was hot. I turned my head and kissed her. I was hard in no time. Phyllis saw it.

"I am honored that you find me so attractive. I wish my husband did," she said. First I heard about the husband. His name was Sal.

"What's his problem?"

"He'd rather drink and watch tv." They were separated.

"His loss," I said and pushed her back on the mattress.

"Oh, you're just saying that."

"My cock doesn't lie," I put her hand on it and leaned over to suck her tits. She stroked me and reached up and lightly caressed my face with her other hand, 

"You say that because you're horny and on the bed with me."

I sat up and looked her in the eyes. The look of love was there and we moved towards each other to kiss. Connecting in a deep passionate kiss, the fire burned through my body. My cock already stiff, anticipated being touched.

"What you thinking about?" She whispered. 

"I want between your legs and in your cunt."

As we continued to kiss, I felt her wrap her fingers around my cock and jack it slowly. She moaned as our tongues entwined. We traded spit and moved our tongues together for a while till she said, "Oh fuck me! I want your cock between my legs."

"Not yet," I replied. I then bent my head to take her right nipple into my mouth. As I sucked, she started to wiggle trying to give herself pleasure between her legs. I moved to the left nipple and with my right hand, spread her legs to caress her gash. She panted as I teased her.

On her back, spread on the bed, I got between her legs, exposing her fully. She was beautiful and I wanted my cock inside her. But first I wanted the sweet smell of her juices filling my nose, I bent over to get a whiff. She moaned quietly when my warm breath made contact with her pussy. I felt her hand on the back of my head pushing it into her crotch. I opened my mouth and slipped my tongue into her swollen lips.

I slid my tongue up and down her slit. Her juices flowed as I made my way to her clit. Sucking her clit, she grabbed my head and held me tight in her snatch. I inserted one of my fingers into her. It went in but I was surprised how tight she felt for a woman of her age. Spreading her pussy open, I put a second finger in her as I sucked her clit. It was about that time, she moaned and jerked a little with ab orgasm. She squeezed my fingers inside her hole.

My cock pulsated as I watched the slut enjoy her orgasm. I got up on my knees and she grabbed me. She made me want to fuck her hard. 

"Get on your back," she said, and got on her knees after I lay back. On her knees she bent over and took me into her mouth. Her warm moist lips felt good wrapped around my dick. I grabbed her head pushing it down onto my cock. I pumped my hips in and out meeting her mouth sliding up and down on my rock hard tool. I felt the pressure build and I knew that I better push her off. I pushed her off just in time to see my cock pulsate some pre-cum out of the tip. I made her stop and get on me.

 She looked hurt that I didn't want to cum in her mouth.

"I wanna cum in you."

She smiled as she straddled my body, and guided it into her gash. I felt her moist tight hole slide over me, and squeezed me tight as she started to thrust her bottom. I reached up and took hold of her slightly floppy tits. I squeezed her nipples between my fingers.

She was tighter than I expected. I watched her face as she rode my cock. She panted in pleasure as she worked toward our orgasms. Soon I felt my cun build in my cock but I was trying my hardest not to cum so soon. I tensed my muscles trying to hold off. She was just riding me too hard and then I felt the contractions of her orgasm on my cock. I erupted in her when the pressure got too strong.

She fell off me spent. I went limp and she snuggled up against me, draping an arm across my abdomen, she played with my cock with the hand. Soon, I felt the lust return. She must have felt it too as she looked up and smiled at me.

Stroking my cock, she talked about her youth. 

"I was a slut before I married Sal. I musta spread my legs for a hundred guys before I met him. Some of the married men usta pay me. I was popular."

Before long I was hard in her hand and then she leaned over and kissed me on the lips. We kissed passionately as she jacked me. Then she sucked my neck and moved her lips to my ear, she whispered that she wanted me to fuck some more.

I positioned her on the bed facing the dresser mirror. I wanted to watch her face as I penetrated her pussy from behind. I slid between her creamy lips. I watched her reaction in the mirror as I pushed it all the way in her hole. I pumped her hard and felt her reach up and play with her clit. I fucked her slimy hole and watched her bare tits swing.

I kept my hands on her hips as we fucked, and reached around a few times to play with her tits, but I really wanted more of my cum in her. She moaned as I thrust in her, and it didn't take long before I gave her another load. Done we laid on the bed.

After that we fucked a lot. She came over to my trailer a lot when I was home. About the time the primaries started she asked me if I wanted to make some money baby-sitting one of the candidates for President when he came to town.

"Sure."

The year 1972 was an election year and protestors were as common as free pussy and long dirty hair. George Wallace was running for President. Phyllis got me a job watching out for him when he came to town.

I spent the evening in my Mustang outside his motel room. About ten o'clock some fruits in bell bottoms walked across the parking lot to my car and pissed all over it. Wallace wasn't popular with Hippy faggots. I got out of the car to kick ass but they ran off. My replacement came along at midnight and I left. I came upon the fags parked at an A&W drive in. Same crew.

I don't usually just walk up and murder anyone but it's what I did at the A&W. I parked my car behind the building and casually walked over to their car. It was an old piece of shit Simca Aronde from 1959 or whenever. What I did was walk up to the driver's window, pull out my cock, and piss all over the long hair behind the wheel. He had one of those thin pussy goatees hippy's loved. He wasn't happy and opened the door to get out. I then slammed the car door against his hand and crushed it good with mine when I pulled him out. Then I stuck an awl into his skull at the temple. Todd was fucked. The little mother fucker was blind and disoriented, and I led him to the highway where he wandered out onto the road and got run over. His sissy friends called the police, who caught up with me at my trailer. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Sissy boy was a VIP. His momma was a U.S.Senator named Clair Nelson. The cops at the jail wanted to kick my ass for the boy's ma and pa but I was too much to handle short of shooting me. When the deal is murder battery on a cop ain't nothing but a major shit sandwich for the cop. They jumped in and jumped out almost as quick after I took a nightstick from one and made a cop popsicle.



MORE TO COME.



Hazardous Waste Ch. 03



All characters are adults.

*****

My murder trial took all of one morning, and most of its time Todd's ma used for crying and screaming at me. But I didn't go quietly and was restrained to stop the fingers she got from me while she put on her show. I'm not one for thinking shit out, I do, and if I fuck up I take what I get. Math is for pussies. The jury contemplated their own lil sluts and numnutz at home, and I was doomed.

In those days the state put new convicts on a caged bus and sent them to a reception center where we spent a week doing paperwork, being interviewed, and getting a variety of exams and assessments necessary for placement. It reminded me of my first week of air force basic training.

I hadn't been told anything that wasn't bull shit designed to keep me pleasant. They didn't want any problems from me. There were fifteen of us in my batch, and no one got anything except crap released by officials to expedite things and for the "greater good."

Most of us were repeat offenders. I was the lone killer in our group.

Lake Butler Reception was a cold, brick and concrete place lighted by fluorescent lamps and filled with wooden bus benches. They stripped, weighed, measured, cut our hair, and took our stuff. We sat at attention for hours while bully boys shouted, and threatened us. At midnight we were trundled off to lock-down cells, then the next morning at 4 o'clock we started the whole thing again, this time in company with more new cons just arrived from other county jails. 

Some of us had to mop floors, others had to stand at attention, noses pressed to the wall, or risk a beating. Screaming and head slaps were common. Occasionally a man got hauled away. It was another world, a world where the guards screamed and spit and cussed, called you names, and insulted you for any reason.

They dared us to speak or stare at them or suck our teeth or show any kind of defiance.

I spent the second night in a shit hole identified as F-Dorm (I think), with five others. I was tired.

F-Dorm was a bizarre hospital-kinda place from some East German commie movie in which cripples limped and wheeled about and washed body parts and made sick, suppurating noises and spent a good deal of time grossly, pinkly naked. There were a lot of them, too, sick and unhappy losers. New prison meat was a side-show at Lake Butler.

F-Dorm was a well of lost souls, where all manner of personal frailties and tragedies displayed themselves like balloons at a party. We had a dwarf, a pair of obese fat men in wheelchairs awaiting heart operations, several cirrhotic alcoholics with their frail limbs supporting distended, poisoned guts that made them look like wading birds, and there was a guy with a drain in his navel, which twice a day filled a bag with a yellowish cloudy fluid that smelled like bad teeth. There were amputees and multiple amputees, paralyzed cases, imminent deaths, intemperance, wheedling, whining crybabies, manic queers quarreling like street hookers.

I was there about ten days before they moved me, so, to kill time, I pushed an old fuck's wheelchair to the chow hall and filled his lunch tray for him. He and I ate quickly in silence, shoveling down as much of the food as possible before the guards threw us out. The old man had done 16 years of a 120 year sentence, and was ravaged by diabetes, his legs no longer supported him. I remember he took his showers in the early evening with the other crippled men, all sitting in wheel chairs under the communal spray. He was there for a ticket to a state hospital like Chattahoochee with a forensics unit...crazy criminals.

I didn't wanna shower with the other men and expose myself to the guards and them. I'd wait until the freak show ended and the freaks wheeled or limped or shuffled off to bed or their card games. Then I acted quickly and quietly, undressed, showered in the fluorescent glare in front of the picture window where the guards stood watching TV; then I dried myself, dressed, and left. 

Every afternoon at count time, I sat on my bunk and endured the stare-down from a pair of goons or ugly illiterate women in uniform. I never figured out what the women were there for.

I was a tough guy. I was a Vietnam Vet with some combat experiences. I had no real idea what to expect but I wasn't all that scared. I was too fucking big to play with. So they needed a reason to shoot me. Few were man enough or anything enough to try and fuck my ass. Their cocks were too short to get close enough to do it before I unscrewed their heads and shit down their necks.

The guards all dressed for combat. Airborne jumpsuits tucked into combat boots, web-belts with all kinds of useless stuff, including a night stick. These guys were serious. Then it dawned on me. They had no idea who we were. We could be mass murderers, or peeping toms. But they took no chances. 

We went through the strip search, and started our way through 'the show': the booking process into prison. During this process they occasionally sent in the goon squad to take some guy out. The goon squad was five big guys, all decked out for a war, who went to a cell, called out a guy's name, and yelled at him to "Put your hands behind your back, and back up to the cell door; turn around and we'll beat the shit out of you." And off they went. 

They had us filling out paper work. I never saw so much paper work since I was in basic training. The first paper you filled out was what you wanted them to do with your ass if you died in prison. Then you talked to a counselor who decided where you'd spend your time. I was easy: Death Row. Then the Supremes halted executions and I got re-sentenced to life with no parole.

In those days, state prison was divided into four levels: Level One was road camps for the poser-pussy Cool Hand Lukes. Killers didn't go to road camps, road camps were for non-violent convicts with short sentences. Level Two were farms around the state prison complex and a relatively sweet gig for convicts with friends in high places. Level Three were the car tag plant, the chow hall, and other prison programs for folks with longer non-violent convictions and no friends. Level Four was for us lifers with murder convictions. Level Four was called The Gladiator School. 

Gladiator School did all the shit work. If it involved animal or human waste it belonged to us. Human waste got loaded onto wagons and spread over fallow pastures and hay fields around the prison. Animal waste got made into compost for the farms. We also did the hot roofing work, the demolitions, and unloaded trucks. We replaced sewer lines and urinals.

Prison is pretty much like every place where people must associate and cope with each other. The reception center wasn't as intense as my Air Force basic training reception. The Air Force sent two of the largest, loudest men I ever saw, to greet us at the airport. The prison goons weren't so spit and polished as the Air Force greeters but they impressed me as meaner and dummer. Their job was to make your mind right.

They want your mind right so you don't annoy the wrong folks. Prison ain't like what you seen on SCARED STRAIGHT. Most cons don't like troublemakers or trouble. Troublemakers cause problems for all. And once a con has a compatible cellmate and a regular job and some privileges he don't want anyone rocking the boat or stirring shit up, which is what fools and nuts do. Reception center goons try to nip it in the bud cuz the cons will kill the nuts and fools. The men who get fucked and hurt in prison are the nuts and fools who start shit. Charlie Manson went in solitary to stop shit before it got started...by him.

So...don't snitch or talk shit about anyone. Don't fuck anyone over for personal advantage or gain. Don't set anyone up to do your dirty work. Don't steal; pay your debts. Carry your end of the log.

At the beginning they put me on Death Row where I had a cell to myself. I stayed inside the cell twenty-three hours a day with time out to shower and walk around a small court yard. I ate my meals in my cell. Once a week an inmate from the library rolled a cart of books around.

But the Supremes saved my ass, and the state moved me to Q Wing where I did shit work till I hadda kick a guard's ass. Life in the yard can be hard. We were walking back to Q Wing from a shit detail when a fight broke out between two men, over some god damned bull shit, and quickly sucked everyone into the melee. It was a three ring cluster fuck. The guards shit and went blind, and got sucked into the fight, too. One little fuck waved his stick around at everyone, hit me, and I took it away from him. I threw it as far as I could away from the brawl. He wanted to kick my ass but I was too big.

But the situation was a disorganized mess and didn't work out for the other guard's to shoot me or anyone. Too many people too close together. So I raised my hands, walked away from the scene, and spent some time in solitary. 

In the seventies solitary was a string of cells violent cons went, if they weren't shot outright. The cells had one bunk, a toilet, and a sink. No windows. The door was covered completely. And meals were pushed through a doggy door attached to bottom of the cell door. You got fed breakfast and supper. Scrambled eggs, grits, and sausage for breakfast. With coffee or water. Supper was whatever, but often bologna on white bread. With water. Once a week they replaced your dirty drawers. If you needed shit paper you put the empty spool outside your dog door. An overhead light came on at five in the morning, and went off at nine at night.

Today solitary is a cluster fuck. The cons flood their cells with water. Pour bodily fluids under their doors. Cut themselves with razor blades. Smear blood and feces on their windows. Punch and kick the walls. Howl at the guards. Cut themselves some more. Today they take you outta solitary for walks and showers and clinic visits. You got a 1-800 toll free number to call if your feelings get hurt.

For some the old days were like being buried alive, you were someplace alive, but you were no place anybody wanted you or gave a shit about you. Any con who hurt himself was screwed. Today they cover their windows and cut their veins and whine to counselors. 

A month in solitary gave you time to think and go cold turkey from all the social games you usually played. I mostly lay on the bunk and played mind games. At such times I created mental problems to explore. I slept on it, you might say. On death row I read an old book about how to do hypnosis: ALL IN THE MIND, by Andrew Newton. But such manuals are mostly well-intentioned bull shit. Hypnosis really isn't all that different from fucking. And when your honey wants to fuck and cum she does all the work for you. All she really needs is a hard, hot cock to get her mind and pussy right. You provide the bits and pieces she can't. Hypnosis is the same.

A month of such activity was often useful.

Your subject needs what's missing from his bag of tricks to get off on a new direction. And if he's really stuck in the mud he'll accept any suggestion that seems plausible. It ain't brain surgery with a rusty #10 can lid.

Near the end of my time there I got a visit from the warden. "You planning on being a problem?" He asked. 

"If I hafta," I replied. "If trouble comes along I'll deal with it."

"Then, your time here will go hard for you."

"And those who bring it on will go home at the end of day worse for wear. Plus I get paid to sit on my ass."

"You like boxing?" He asked.

"What's in it for me?" I replied.

That was when I got off the shit details and started my prison boxing career. About every month the prison featured a boxing tournament, hosted by the warden for staff, corrections department officials, princes, and interested politicians. The facilities and resources were rude and crude, I made my training stuff from what was available to me, but the payoffs were okay though losers got shit. I was told the king of the hill lived like a real king for a whole night after the fight. No one got any money. They got what was available and whatever gifts the pols contributed. Mostly cigarette cartons and small bottles of booze. It was an ongoing tournament where you advanced as you won fights.

The first few bouts were easy. I started at the bottom of the pile and worked my way up. The king of the hill was an old man of thirty-something named Red Chastain. He'd been there for many years, but was a long way off for me, a full year later. When the year passed I believed I was ten thousand evil mother fuckers. Like when I left basic training. I was a bad mother fucker for a day or two. The bouts were held in an arena where the prison farms displayed their best hogs and steers for sale. A ring was built in the middle of it. The fights started early.

Man! I was fulla piss and vinegar and ready to kick Red's old ass. He was thirty-six or seven. I was twenty-four. When I walked to the ring in the center of the arena, the crowd went wild with bursts of greetings and applause. Most of them were already drunk by the time the king of the hill bout happened. I acknowledged it, right and left, like I was fucking Queen Elizabeth walking to her throne, but I knew few of them. Almost all were strangers to me. 

At the ring I leaped onto the raised platform, ducked through the ropes, and strutted to my corner, where I sat on a milking stool. Jack Ball, the referee, came over and shook my hand. Red was an old acquaintance of Ball. They were both old cons and pals. If Red should fuck with me a little beyond the rules, Red expected Ball would look the other way. I expected it, too.

The audience applauded Red when he sprang through the ropes and walked to his corner. Red was a sure thing. I looked across the ring at Red, for in a few minutes we would be locked together in combat, each trying to knock the other out. But I saw shit, for Red, like me, had dungarees and sweat-shirt on over his ring trunks. Red was a good looking man, crowned with a curly mop of hair, atop a thick, muscular neck. Reminded me of Dusty Rhodes with red hair.

A few years before, in his own heyday, Red found these preliminaries amusing and boring. But now he sat fascinated and captured by the aura of it all. Youngsters constantly rose up in the prison boxing game, springing through the ropes and shouting their defiance and bull shit; and always the old men fell before them. The kiddies climbed to the top of the hill over the bodies of the old men. And always they came, more and more youngsters, fulla piss and vinegar and shit, and they put the old men away, becoming old men, soon enough, who traveled the same path, pushed along by other kids, to the end of time. 

Red glanced over to the VIP box and nodded to the warden. The warden saluted Red. Then Red held out his hands, while his crew, slipped on his gloves and laced them tight, closely watched by the referee, who first checked the tape on Red's knuckles. Ball then watched a guy do the same for me. Red, watched, saw Youth incarnate, deep-chested, fulla muscles that slipped and slid like live things under the skin. The whole body was fulla life, and Red knew it was a life that had never oozed its freshness out through the aching pores during the long fights wherein the youth paid his toll and departed not quite so young as when he started. He didn't act to worried about me. Red and me are about the same size.

Ball announced the start of the bout and we advanced to meet each other, and, as the horn tooted and the crews got out of the ring with our stools and shit, we touched gloves and instantly took fighting stances. And instantly, like machines of steel and springs balanced on hair triggers, we went at it. I was in and out and in again, landing a left to his eyes, a right to his ribs, ducking a counter from him, dancing lightly away and dancing back again. I was swift and clever. I was fucking dazzling. The house agreed. But Red was not dazzled. He had fought too many fights and too many young punks. He knew the blows for what they were, too quick and too deft to be dangerous. I looked to him like I was gonna be like all the others and rush things from the git-go. It was to be expected. It was the way of youngsters.

And I was no different, in and out, here, there, and everywhere, light-footed and eager, a living wonder of white flesh and stinging muscle that wove itself into a dazzling fabric of attack, slipping and leaping like a Tasmanian devil from action to action through a thousand actions, all of them centered upon the destruction of Red, who stood between me and victory. Red patiently endured me. He knew his business, and he knew kids. We both endured each other. There was nothing to do till I lost some steam, was his thought, and he grinned to himself as he ducked a heavy blow I aimed at his head.

I won the first round and the house yelled. I overwhelmed Red with avalanches of punches, and Red did shit. He never struck once, he covered up, blocked and ducked and clinched to avoid punishment. He feinted, shook his head when a punch hit, and moved about, never wasting an ounce of strength. He waited for me to tire and slow before he dared counter-attack. All Red's movements were slow and methodical, and his heavy-lidded, slow-moving eyes gave him the appearance of being half asleep or dazed. Yet he saw everything, and was trained to see everything through all his years in the ring. 

Red's eyes did not blink or waver before a blow, but calmly saw and measured distance. Seated in his corner for the minute's rest at the end of the round, he lay back with outstretched legs, his arms resting on the right angle of the ropes, his chest and abdomen heaving frankly and deeply as he gulped down the air driven by the towels of his team. He listened with shut eyes to the voices of the house, "Kick his ass, Red?" many were crying. "Muscle-bound and meat-headed," a man on a front seat said. "He can't move quicker. Two to one on Kane." He looked to me like Mister Cool Breeze.

After the horn blew I came forward three-quarters of the distance, eager to start again, and Red was content to let me do it. It was congruent with his policy of economy. He was well trained, and well fed, and every step counted because of the extra weight he carried. His battery was fully charged.

The second round was a repeat of the first round, I was a whirlwind, and the audience pissed and moaned about why Red did not kill me right off. Beyond feinting and several slowly delivered and ineffectual blows he did nothing but block and stall and clinch. I wanted to make the pace fast, while Red, out of his wisdom, refused to help me out. He grinned with a certain wistful pathos in his ring-tempered countenance, and saved his strength from the wisdom only Old Age has. I was the punk kid, and threw my strength away with abandon. To Red belonged the ring generalship, the wisdom bred of long, aching fights. 

He watched with cool eyes and head, moving slowly and waited for my fizz to evaporate. To many in the audience it seemed as though Red was hopelessly outclassed, and they voiced their opinion in offers of three to one on me. But there were wise ones, a few, who knew Red of old, and who covered what they considered easy money. 

Round three began as usual, one-sided, with me doing all the leading, and delivering all the punishment. A half-minute had passed when I, over-confident, left an opening. Red's eyes and right arm flashed in the same instant he saw the opening. It was his first real blow, a hook, with the twisted arch of the arm to make it rigid, and with all the weight of his half-pivoted body behind it. he was like a sleepy lion suddenly thrusting out a lightning paw. It, caught me on the side of the jaw, and I dropped in a heap. The audience gasped and murmured awe-stricken applause. The man was not muscle-bound, after all, and he could drive a blow like a trip-hammer.




Hazardous Waste Ch. 03



It shook me. I rolled over and tried to rise, but the yells from my crew to take the count restrained me. I knelt on one knee, ready to rise, and waited, while the referee stood above me, counting the seconds loudly. At the ninth I rose, and Red, facing me, realized that his blow was an inch short of the spot guaranteed to knock me out. But a knock on my ass wasn't a knock-out, and he missed a sure victory by an inch.

The round went its full three minutes. Me, finally respectful of my opponent, and Red lethargic and sleepy-eyed as ever. As the round neared its close, Red, warned of it by sight of his people crouching outside the ring checking their watches and ready to leap through the ropes, worked me around to his corner. And when the horn blew, he quickly sat down on his stool, while I had to walk all the way across the ring to my corner. It was a little thing, but it's the sum of little things that add up. I hadda walk that many more steps, give up extra energy, and lose part of the minute of rest. At the beginning of every round Red shuffled out from his corner, forcing me to come the greater distance. The end of every round found the fight back at Red's corner so that he might sit quickly. 

Another two rounds went by; Red hoarded his energy like an old miser, and I pissed mine away. My attempt to force a faster pace made Red uncomfortable, for plenty of my blows hit home. Yet Red stuck to his stubborn slowness, despite the crying of the hot-heads for him to kick ass. Again, in the sixth round, I got careless and Red's right hit me. I fell, and again I took the count. Nine seconds of it.

My pink cherry boy condition was history by the seventh round, and I resigned myself to a hard fight. Red was an old fuck, but a better old fuck than I ever expected before the fight, an old fuck who never lost his head, who was remarkably able at defence, whose blows felt like blows from clubs, and who kept a knockout in either glove, handy. Nevertheless, Red dared not go the whole hog. As he sat in his corner, looking at me, I expect the thought came to him that the sum of his wisdom and my youth would make a champion heavyweight of someone. But that was the trouble. I would never become a world champion. I lacked the wisdom and the desire for it. I didn't give a shit. Boxing is better than busting your ass toiling. And I liked the gifts I got. But it wasn't everything to me. And Red was past his prime.

Red took every advantage possible. He never missed a chance to clinch and fuck with me, and making most of the clinches, his shoulder did its work on my ribs.

In the thinking of pugalists a shoulder does as much work as a punch, and is better at saving energy. In the clinches Red rested his weight on me and was slow to remove it. This made Ball tear us apart a lot. I could not refrain from using my huge arms and muscles, and when Red rushed into a clinch, shoulder against ribs, and with head resting under my left arm, I almost always swung my right behind my back and into Red's face. It was a clever stroke, much admired by the audience, but it was not dangerous, and was, therefore, just wasted effort and energy. But I was tireless and unaware of limitations, and Red endured.

I delivered a fierce right to his body, which made it appear Red was getting an old fashioned ass-whipping, but the old men in the stands appreciated the deft touch of Red's left glove to my biceps just before the impact of my blow. It was true, the blow landed each time I launched one, but each time Red robbed it of its power by that glove touch on the biceps. Each touch took a toll of the punch.

In the ninth round, three times within a minute, Red's right hooked its twisted way to my jaw; and three times my body, heavy as it was, fell to the mat. Each time I took the nine seconds allowed me and rose to my feet, shaken and jarred, but still strong. I had lost much of my speed, and wasted less effort. I fought grimly; but drew upon my chief asset, which was my age. I could fuck all night. I could keep it up all night. Red had experience on his side. As his vitality dimmed and his vigor abated, he fell back on cunning, and with wisdom born of the long fights, and with a stingy application of energy. 

He knew never to make an excessive movement, and he knew how to seduce an opponent into throwing strength away. By feint of foot and hand and body he made me leap back, ducking, or countering. Red rested, but he never allowed me rest. It was the strategy of old age.

Early in the tenth round Red stopped my rushes with straight lefts to the face, and I, grown wary, responded by drawing the left, then by ducking it and delivering my right in a swinging hook to the side of Red's head. It was too high up to be effective enough; but when first it landed, Red knew the old, familiar descent of the black veil of unconsciousness across his mind. For the instant, or for the slightest fraction of an instant, rather, he stopped dead in the water. In the one moment he saw me ducking out of his field of vision and the background of white, watching faces; in the next moment he again saw me and the background of faces. It was as if he had slept for a time and just opened his eyes again, and yet the interval of unconsciousness was so short there was no time for him to fall. The audience saw him stumble and his knees bend, and then saw him recover and tuck his chin deeper into the shelter of his left shoulder.

I hit Red several times and kept him partially dazed, and then Red worked out a plan, which was also a counter. Feinting with his left he took a half-step backward, at the same time upper cutting with the whole strength of his right. So accurate was it timed that it hit my face in the full, downward sweep of the duck, and I lifted in the air and curled backward, hitting the mat on my head and shoulders. Red did it twice, then turned loose and hammered me to the ropes. I got no chance to rest or to set myself, but smashed blow in upon blow till the house rose to its feet and the air filled with an unbroken roar of applause. Red was kicking my ass. 

But my strength and endurance were up to it, and I stayed on my feet. A knock-out seemed certain, and the guard captain, appalled at my punishment, approached the ringside to stop it. The horn blew the end of the round and I staggered to my corner, assuring the guard captain I was okay. To prove it, I did a few push-ups on the mat, and the guard captain gave in. Red, leaning back in his corner and breathing hard, frowned. If the fight had been stopped, the referee, would have made Red the decision and the victory would have been his. Instead I rested in my corner.

'Youth will be served'. I imagine this saying flashed into Red's mind as he remembered the first time he heard it, the night when he put an old king of the hill away long ago. The prince who brought him a drink after the fight and patted him on the shoulder used those words.' Youth will be served!' The prince was right. And on that night in the long ago Red had been Youth. On this occasion Youth sat in the opposite corner and was me. As for Red, he fought for half an hour and was an old man. Had he fought like me, he would not have lasted fifteen minutes. But the point was he couldn't recuperate. Those old arteries and tired heart would not enable him to gather strength in the time between rounds. Old bastards in their thirties cant fuck all night, and he started with depleted strength to begin with. His legs were heavy and beginning to cramp. It was hard for an old man to go into a fight with empty balls. 

When the eleventh round opened, I rushed, with a show of freshness I did not really possess. Red knew it for what it was, bull shit as old as the game itself. He clinched to save himself, then, going free, allowed me to get set. This was what Red wanted. He feinted with his left, drew the answering duck and swung an upward hook, then made the half-step backward, delivered an upper cut full to my face and dropped me to the mat. After that he never let me rest, taking punishment himself, but hurting me far more, knocking me to the ropes, hooking and driving all manner of blows into me, tearing away from his clinches or punching me out of attempted clinches, and always catching me with one uplifting glove and with the other, smashing me into the ropes where I could not fall.

The house went wild, and it was his house, nearly every voice yelling: "Get im, Red!" "Get 'im! Get 'im!" "You got 'im, Red! You've got 'im!" It was to be a whirlwind finish, it was what the audience came to see. And Red, who for half an hour had conserved his strength, now expended it prodigally in the one great effort he knew he had left in him. It was his last chance, now or never. His strength was going fast, and his hope was that before the last of it left him he would beat me down for the count. But he soon realized I was too young and too strong to be knocked out. Enough stamina and endurance were mine. I had it in me...barely.

I stumbled and staggered, and Red's legs cramped. Still he steeled himself to strike fierce blows, every one of which added hurt to me and him. Though now he received practically no punishment, he weakened as I did. His blows hit home, but they were impotent, and each blow was the result of a severe effort of will. His legs turned to lead, and they dragged under him; while my backers, cheered by this symptom, yelled encouragement to me. 

Red found a burst of effort and threw two blows at me: a left, a trifle too high, to the solar plexus, and a right cross to my jaw. They were light blows, yet I was so weak and dazed I went down anyway. The referee stood over me, shouting the count in my ear. If I didn't rise before he got to ten, that was it for me. 

The crowd sat in silence. Red rested on wobbly legs. Dizziness was upon him, and before his eyes the sea of faces sagged and swayed, while to his ears, came the count of the referee. Yet he looked upon the fight as his. It was impossible that a man so punished as me could rise.

But I rose and stood, no one more surprised than me. At the count of four I rolled over on my face and groped blindly for the ropes. By the count of seven I had pulled myself to one knee, where I rested, my head loose on my shoulders. As the referee called "Nine!" I stood, in proper stance, my left arm wrapped about my face, my right wrapped about my stomach. Thus were my vital points guarded, while I lurched forward toward Red in the hope of a clinch and gaining more time. 

The moment I stood, Red was upon me, but the two blows he delivered were absorbed by my arms. The next moment I was in a clinch and holding on desperately while the referee worked to pull us apart. Red helped to get himself free. He knew how quickly youngsters recover, and he knew I was his if he could prevent it. One stiff punch was enough to finish me. I believed I was his. I thought he owned me, had out-fought me, and out-pointed me. I fell out of the clinch, and wobbled between defeat and survival. One good blow would do it. 

And Red went for it, but it was not heavy enough nor swift enough. I swayed, but did not fall. I staggered back to the ropes and held on. Red staggered after me, and, hit me again. But his energy had fled and abandoned him. All that was left was what he knew about fighting, and it was useless from exhaustion. The blow aimed for my jaw hit my shoulder. Red willed the blow higher, but his tired muscles failed him. And, from the impact of the blow, Red reeled back and nearly fell. He tried again. This time his punch missed altogether, and, from absolute weakness, he fell against me and clinched, holding on to me to save himself from sinking to the floor.

His load was shot. He was gone. Even in the clinch he felt my superior strength. When the referee pushed us apart, there, before his eyes, he saw me getting my shit together again. My strength endured. My punches, weak and futile at first, were enough and accurate enough. Red's tired eyes saw my gloved fist working at his jaw, and he wanted to guard it with his arm. He saw the danger, willed the act; but his arm was too heavy. It seemed made of lead. It would not rise, and he tried to lift it with his soul. Then my glove hit home. Red felt a sharp snap, and, at the same instant, the veil of darkness fell over him.

Red was back in his corner when he came around. The crowd was yelling. One of his men pressed a wet sponge against the base of Red's brain, while another man sprayed cold water over his face and chest. His gloves were off. Then I stepped to the center of the ring and accepted my victory. Red watched it all while his people cleaned him up. He later told me he thought back to the moment when he had me swaying and on the brink of defeat. He needed help through the ropes but resisted it, got through the ropes, and dropped to the ground, following behind his pals as they opened space for him to leave the arena for the yard. 

Someone shouted at him. "Why didn't yuh kick his ass?" 

"Go to hell!" Red replied, and walked on toward Q Wing. 

I sat on my stool till the arena emptied and the guard captain came to the ring.

"Come along with me," he said.

I followed. We left the arena and went outside but not towards Q Wing. We went to a trailer parked behind a barn. He unlocked the trailer door, opened it, and said," I'll be back for you around noon tomorrow." I went inside and heard him shut and lock the door behind me. 

The trailer was old. Built in the late forties, I supposed. The floor was covered with linoleum, the walls were covered with thin wood veneer panels, there was a bedroom at the far end, a small bathroom and a closet across the hall from it in the middle, a kitchenette, and a dinette-living room. A woman sat on the sofa smoking a cigarette. Never seen her before.

Continued.



Hazardous Waste Ch. 04



All characters are adults.

Reminder: Noire isn't uplift that improves your mind and makes you a better person. Noire is life without its lipstick and perfume. So if you're a delicate snowflake you may want to brew some tea and go read some poems. 

*****

The bad, the worse, and the ugly

Sitting on a sofa across the room from me I saw a good looking older woman who looked to be around forty.

"You ain't Red," she said. "I'm waiting for Red."

"He ain't coming," I replied.

"Are you the one he fought tonight?"

"Uh huh."

"I guess you won."

"Red fell down before I did."

"I'm Red's wife."

"Looks like you're in the wrong place for a visit with Red."

"I'm first prize. The winner gets a woman to spend the night with, and Red always wants me."

I let it go without a response, figuring she'd do whatever she wanted to do, fuck what I thought. She'd put out and make the best of it if fucking me was in her best interest.

I saw a bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. 

She saw me eyeballing it. "The whisky's your's, too. You unhappy with me?" 

"Red came close. No one asked me for my druthers if I won but I got no problem with you or the whisky." 

"My name is Sandy. Oh! And they left some clothes for you, I put them in the bedroom. Who are you?" 

"Marlin Kane."

"Killer Kane?"

"Some call me that. Any more prizes I oughta know about? "

"I'm s'posed to fry you up a steak. How you want it?"

"Rare."

"Pink?"

"Bloody."

I went to the bedroom and pulled my trunks off. They were cheap swimming trunks. I pulled my jock off. I went in the bathroom. The trailer was old and the shower was small and crude, but the water was hot. There was a thick towel for me atop the toilet lid.

Back in the kitchen Sandy had the table set and it blew my mind to see real knives and forks. She had on a man's denim shirt that covered her ass, barely. She was tall and plump. Her head was covered by a pile of curly brown hair, the curls looked natural. She had sloe eyes and a petite turned-up nose with very faint down on her upper lip. Her mouth was wide, generous, with rose-tinted lips and a sudden smile showing even white teeth. 

I sat at the small table between the kitchen and the living room. Sandy sat across from me as I started on the steak.

"How is it?" She asked.

"Half as big as it needs to be,"I replied. It was a pound of New York Strip. She got it close to how I like steak cooked but it wasn't enough.

"You don't talk much," she said.

"I just spent the evening getting my ass kicked out through my nose, and I'm tired."

She shut up except to ask if she could have some of the whisky.

"Help yourself," I replied.

After eating I went in the bedroom and lay on the bed. Sandy fucked around in the front long enough and I fell asleep.

Later I awoke in the dark, and felt a hot and sweaty body pressed against me. I sleep naked. A hand gripped and squeezed my cock. Alcohol breath filled my nose and made me cough as the hot body got on top of me. I felt a hand guiding my cock between spread legs before it became surrounded by moist heat. I was half-asleep but realized that the body was female and that my cock was now ensconced deep into a very wet pussy. 

Then wet, slobbery kisses covered my neck and face as the wet pussy flowed around my cock, contracting then loosening. Firm, tits pressed against my chest and I felt the hardness of the nipples. My assailant uttered drunken words about going without for a long time. She sat up and my cock eased in deeper inside the damp warmth of her gash.

I rested my head on the pillow and I let her fuck me with her wet sex moving up and down, massaging my cock in the best way. My hips helped her as she moved up and down, with her tits swinging to and fro above my chest.

I groped her dangling tits and pinched her nipples as she fucked me. At the same time her pussy squeezed my cock like it had fingers. I wanted to cum but not too soon. Her sex held my cock like a vice and my loins were suddenly showered by warm, sticky liquid as she climaxed. 

I thought she might fall off the bed. She gripped me so hard I was unable to pull out of her. Then, like a balloon deflating, her body went all limp and she collapsed on top of me. She didn't move and I realized that she was out for the count when she began gently snoring. My cock was still wedged inside her and I let her have my load.

She was drunk as a lord as I turned us around so she lay on her back with me on top with my cock still firmly sheathed inside her gooey sex. Her eyes were closed and she breathed gently through her open mouth. She snored and reeked of whisky. But I wanted more of her. 

I began to fuck her. Each thrust made her tits loll from side to side. She showed no signs of waking up so I fucked harder, thrusting as deep as possible. I didn't last long. My cock swelled and I shot a wad of luv deep into her. She was a great piece of ass. I fell asleep.

I woke up next morning and the room reeked of sex. I took a quick shower. As the water cascaded down my body my mind went over what happened during the night and I got a hard-on. I stroked it a couple of times but decided to ease off. I got dressed. I was surprised to find Sandy in the kitchen, in her shirt, sitting at the table nursing a cup of black coffee. She looked terrible. She grunted when I bid her good morning. She complained about her hangover. I got myself some coffee and sat down. She looked miserable. 

Her sex was exposed; a confection of coral hued lips and a deeper pink sheath. The nub of her clitoris poked out as if curious to know what was going on. She looked like shit and ready for another roll in the hay, too.

"I need a shower," she said.

"Go take one," I replied.

"Then what?" She asked.

"Then whatever," I replied.

"I don't remember anything from last night. I wish there was a bath tub." She wasn't in the shower long. I was on the bed when she came out, drying herself, and sat on the side of the bed. "I wish I had something to drink," she said. The whisky bottle was empty.

We fucked again but I never saw Sandy after the first time. Red never shit about me fucking his old lady, and I didn't bring it up. After Sandy I fucked a small inmate from the Lowell State Prison for Women. Her name was 'Nelle.'

Nelle was maybe my age, five-one or two, a hundred and five pounds with long blonde hair. In for drugs. A hippie chick into boys and girls. She volunteered to be my prize for money or whatever. She hadda girlfriend at Lowell, and maybe the girlfriend volunteered Nelle. She taught school before she got caught selling drugs to a cop. She was waiting in the trailer after the fight.

I showered and went through my routine before I joined her on the bed. We looked at each other and smiled, and I put my hand on her small tits. 

I was undressed. She liked what she saw. Large biceps and arms, heavily tattooed and muscled. Strong hands. A solid six pack of abs. Strong leg muscles and thighs. A firm ass. My hairy chest didn't harm my appeal, either.

"No hickeys!" She warned me. "I gotta girlfriend back at Lowell." 

So I licked her neck, breathed in her ear, pawed her crotch till she responded with heavy breathing and moisture, and moved her hand to my cock. She knew my cock would relieve the tension in her girl parts, and she jacked me till I was ready to push it inside her. She wanted it inside her first, then she'd suck it and clean me up. I helped her climb atop me, and helped her guide it in. She felt wet and tight as she started fucking me. Her tension melted away.

I wasn't inside Nelle five minutes before she felt her orgasm coming, "Baby I can't wait, I'm gonna cum. I'm sorry!" 

When she stopped floating she got off me, kneeled, and told me to dump my load in her mouth. It didn't take long, and cum flowed out her mouth, like warm syrup on hotcakes, over her lips, down her chin, and dripped onto her chest and belly and thighs. She swallowed all she could, cleaned her mouth with her tongue, swallowed a little more, licked her lips, swallowed again, and licked semen off her fingers after she wiped the cum from her belly and tits. Semen was everywhere. She cleaned herself with the bedspread. She thought of how she usta get drenched by super-soaker water pistols when she was a kid.

We got together a few more times before another girl replaced her as a sports prize.

I was king of the hill for a few years until a bigger boy came along and I quit while the quitting was good. They then made me the chief gladiator of Q Wing. I took care of nuts and noobs for the guards. I handled problems no one had the time or appetite to deal with. Like when two queers fought over the same bitch. All the 'whatever' crap. If I kicked ass the guards and wardens shrugged their shoulders and gave the whiner a group hug. But group hugs and shrugged shoulders did shit to stop convict violence.

Here are some of the common problems Q Wing had before I became its enforcer:

Like Jeff. Jeff was an older latrine queen doing eighteen years for two counts of Criminal Negligent Homicide. That's manslaughter. His attiude and social skills ate shit. He'd done ten years and still cussed the guards, refused to shower, and his cell looked like a dump. So they made him the permanent shithouse cleaner.

So one day he's working in the shithouse, scrubbing showers, gets to the third shower, and see's that someone shit diarrhea all over the white tile. The second he see's it, he frowns. He goes to a guard. Most of the guards don't like him. He's rude and disrespectful. He says he's not cleaning it up. The guard let's the shift sergeant know.

The Sergeant says, "Clean it up."

Ten minutes later, Jeff is wiping shit off the shower wall and pissed. No one likes him but we feel his pain.

Later that day he announces, "Whoever sprayed chunky soup from their ass all over the shower wall, is a no good dirty rotten mother fucker! An if I catch who's doing it, I'm gonna smash your face!"

The dayroom went silent. Everyone stared at Jeff. He then walked to his cell. Went in. And slammed the door.

A few days later, it happened again. But this time, not quite as much. It was only about a baker's dozen quarter size chunks sprayed in the diameter of one square foot. An easy clean.

But Jeff did not see it that way. He flipped! He marched straight to the Sergeant's office and said, "Listen you fat son of a bitch. I know you're gonna fuck me. So screw you! One of your punks crapped in the shower again."

The Sergeant stands up and presses the "panic button" on his radio. He says, "Well this time I'm not having you threaten the whole dayroom."

Jeff spats, "The rat who told you that is probably the one crapping his pants all over my shower."

Within seconds, five guards respond to the panic button. They cuff Jeff up and drag him to the hole. The reason: Threatening.

Eighteen days later, here comes Jeff. Right back to the same ol bunk. 

Fast forward thirteen days. Jeff is sitting in the dayroom playing Pinochle. Someone says, "Look, look, look" as he nods towards Scott.

Scott is speed walking to the bathroom in his shorts. Diarrhea is running down his leg. It's dripping all over the floor. He leaves a trail from his cell to the latrine. 

Jeff follows Scott. Scott goes into the toilet stall and latches it shut. He has no idea Jeff is stalking him.

As Scott rinses off using toilet water, Jeff waits. He can hear him splashing around and flushing.

The second Scott un-latches the stall door, Jeff rushes in. Scott is no match for Jeff. Jeff grabs him by the hair with both hands. Scott screams as Jeff pushes Scott's face deep into the toilet bowl.

Scott's arms and legs are flailing all over the place. But to no avail. Jeff has a handle on the situation. Once the bubbles stop, Jeff pulls Scott's head outta the water. He says, "I told you what I'd do if I caught you."

Then he plunged Scotts face back into the toilet water. This time the bubbles were bloody. Jeff broke Scott's nose on the bottom of the toilet bowl.

The second Jeff saw blood, he let go. Then he calmly walked back to the Pinochle table and resumed his game.

Everyone in the dayroom knew something just happened, but they didn't know what. Then Scott walks out of the bathroom. He's soaking wet. He's holding his nose with both hands. He's hunched over. He looks dazed and confused. The front of his white t-shirt is covered with blood. Then all of a sudden, he collapses.

Everyone in the dayroom is trippin! Someone says to Jeff, "What the fuck did you do to him?"

Jeff nonchalantly replies, "I smashed his head in the toilet...just like I said I would."

The guard returns to the pod. He see's Scott on the floor and immediately hits the panic button.

The entire pod is put on lockdown. Medical cones. Off goes Scott on a stretcher. Everyone is looking out their window.

Guards, Sergeant, and counselors are everywhere. They all huddle up for a pow-wow. Then, six of them walk directly to Jeff's cell. They cuff him up and take him to the hole. Reason: Assault.

It was a lot of excitement and trouble for little results. And others hadda clean the toilets and shower while Jeff was in the hole.

Keep your eyes to yourself. Don't stare at female visitors or grab your package when theyre around. If you get caught doing it at someone's visitor, whether it's their mom, sister, grandma, wife, girlfriend, whomever, you could end up looking at some boots upside your face back in the cell block.

Like Bruce. Bruce was a nice young fellow serving 14 years for second degree murder. All through his school years he played sports and had lots of friends.

One night he went to a party with friends. This was a high school party, so everyone there ranged from 15-18 years old. Bruce was 17. The party was going good, everyone was laughing and having fun. Then it happened. Eight football players from the rival high school walked in and crashed the party. They were loud, rude, and disrespectful. When asked to leave, they refused.

Push come to shove and a fight broke out. Most people ran. Within seconds, Bruce and his six buddies were getting man handled by the bullies. Bruce panicked. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. He had no intention of using the knife. He just wanted to break up the brawl and persuade the bullies to leave. It didn't work out. One of the bullies attacked Bruce. Bruce stabbed him. The stab wound was fatal.

Two years into a 14 year sentence, Bruce was enjoying a nice visit from his mom and sister. As the conversation flowed and the mood was light, his sister leaned in close and said, "That creepy guy keeps looking at me."

Bruce turned his head and saw exactly who she was talking about. It was Ray. A convicted sex offender. Bruce turned his chair, then pointed his finger directly at Ray and said, "That guy right there? That's the guy who can't keep his fucking eyes off my sister!" From that point forward, Bruce kept Ray in his sight. The mood shifted. Tension could be felt. Bruce was pissed!

After the visit, Bruce confronted Ray.

"Why were you staring at my sister!" he demanded!

"I wasn't."

"I saw you. Don't fucking lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I wasn't looking at her."

Talk time was over. Bruce kicked Ray in the nuts without warning. Hard! As Ray bent over in pain, Bruce grabbed him by the hair and kneed him in the face 3 times. Ray fell to the floor. Bruce stomped on his face twice, then said, "Don't you ever look at my sister again you piece of shit."

Back in the mid 90's there was this punk running around Q Wing who went by the name 'Lynn'.

Lynn was in a relationship with Cecil. Lynn was white, Cecil was Cuban. For months the two lived together. Until one day administration broke them up.

Lynn got moved to a different cell. His new cellmate was a con named Tommy. Tommy was an old lifer.

It wasn't long before Tommy was butt-fucking Lynn and making him suck his dick. Lynn told Cecil. Cecil was pissed.

Cecil approached Tommy out in the yard and said, "Hey man, Lynn is my bitch. Leave her alone."

Tommy laughed and said, "Her? That punk has a dick bigger than yours."

Cecil wasn't laughing. "Just stay away from her, alright?"

Tommy's face got serious, "That punk is in my cell now. I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want."

Cecil pointed his finger at Tommy's face and said, "If you touch her one more time, we're going to war." Then Cecil walked away.

That night Tommy butt-fucked Lynn for hours. He was extra loud and rough. Cecil heard it all through the open bars. Everyone heard it. Everyone expected war.

The next day everyone was in the yard. The tension was thick. Whites on one side of the yard. Cubans on the other.

Cecil walked to the center of the yard as he called out Tommy's name. Tommy emerged from the white crowd. The second the two got face to face, it was on and fists flew. Cecil landed a solid punch, knocking Tommy to the ground. As Tommy tried to get to his feet, Cecil kicked him in the face knocking him out.

Cecil stomped Tommy's head and neck. All the white boys jumped into the melee. Then the Cubans joined the fun. The whites were out numbered 3 to 1 and a massive brawl ensued.

The guards went crazy up in the gun towers. They shouted "Break it up...get on the ground" through the PA system. It didn't work. They tried tear gas next. Tear gas was everywhere. But the convicts ignored it.

Bullets filled the air and the ground around the brawlers. This caused the convicts to scatter and hunker down till the shit storm ended. It took about five minutes to do the trick.

Tommy got his ass kicked. The Cubans covered Cecil while he stomped Tommy.

Convicts want to control their lives all they can. Back in the old days, everyone sat in the same seat at the chow hall. New guys were constantly getting ran off until they found a seat that could be theirs. This caused so much drama, that prison officials assigned seats and enforced the new rule.

Back in 1992, there was a new guy who went by the nickname, "Cat Piss." Seriously! He introduced himself as "Cat Piss." Why? Because he cooked so much meth, and he used so much meth, that he smelled like cat piss. The shit oozed from his pores and scalp, even months after he got locked up.

His first day at Raiford, Cat Piss sat in the wrong seat. Cat Piss is about 6'4" and 200 lbs.

Matt approached him and said, "This seat is taken. Go ahead and finish your meal, but don't sit here again."

Cat Piss looked at Matt, then continued to eat. Matt dumped his tray and leaves without ever sitting down.

Matt was about 6' and 190 lbs. He was in prison for robbing and stabbing to death a pill dealer. He got sixty years. He was twenty-seven years old.

The next day Matt came to the chow hall and Cat Piss is parked in his seat again. Matt said, "Hey man, I was nice enough to let you finish your meal yesterday. But today, you need to get the fuck outta my seat."

Cat Piss stood up. Matt backed up and re-thought the situation. Then he said, "Look man, just find another seat. I won't tell you again."

Matt dumps his tray and leaves again without eating.

A few hours go by, and its chow time again. And sure enough, Cat Piss sat in Matt's seat. Matt said nothing but walked up behind Cat Piss, and pulled out a razor sharp 3 inch plexiglass shank. Before Cat Piss can react, Matt has stabbed him in the side three times. Then four five six seven...

Matt had Cat Piss on the ground, gripping his hair with his left hand, and stabbing his ass with the shank, in & out of Cat Piss's abdomen. By the time the guards broke it up, Cat Piss had been stabbed over forty times.

Prison has its own language. The word "punk" doesn't seem all that bad. But call someone a "punk" in prison and you could be fighting in the blink of an eye. In prison, a punk is a prison bitch, someone who gets fucked in the ass and sucks dick.




Hazardous Waste Ch. 04



Jason was serving twelve years for breaking into homes and selling cocaine. He was 5'10" and 150 lbs. He had a sharp tongue, he was witty and he a smart ass.

One day Jason was playing handball out in the yard. He was winning just about every game. As he hit a kill shot, he'd yell, "BOOM! Take that motherfucker!" He'd jaw back and forth with the other cons. Then, as he won, he'd say, "Get the fuck off the court! NEXT!!" Well the guy who is next just so happened to be a new guy named Zack. Zack was new to Raiford, not to prison.

As the game starts. Jason takes a quick lead and starts talking shit, "Get the fuck off my court, amateur night is on Broadway."

Zack responds, "Shut up and serve the ball."

Jason says, "Tell your bitch to shut up."

Zack says, "Serve the ball!"

Jason serves a hard shot down the line. It's an ace. He wins 7-0, and yells, "Get the fuck off my court, boy."

Zack says, "You're a cocksucker."

Jason says, "Fuck you punk!"

That's all it took. Zack ran to Jason, swinging hay makers. Jason avoided most of them. But then Zack landed a solid punch to Jason's chin. Jason then fell to the ground and Zack kicked him. Zack was like a wild animal as he mauled Jason all over the handball court. Needless to say, Jason got his ass kicked!

A lot of shit talk is tolerated between people. But once someone says "punk" or "bitch"...it's on!

So you wanna break wind while everyone is enjoying a home cooked meal, huh? Alright you son-of-a-bitch, I'll see you in the yard!

Shane is a 28 year old skinhead. He was in prison for drugs. He got caught with a garbage bag full of hallucinogenic mushrooms in his car when he got pulled over by a state trooper. Book em Dano! He ended up getting 6 years.

Shane is one nasty dude. He loves ripping nasty-ass farts. He even eats match heads because he says the sulfer makes his farts smell even worse. He lives in a 4-man cell. The fart games are constant in that cell. As one guy sleeps, another guy will pull down his pants and place his naked ass inches from his sleeping celly's face. Then he'll blow his hair back with a hot stinky gust of ass air. The victim of this practical joke wakes up to the other 3 laughing, and nose full of microscopic shit particles. Later he returns the favor by farting in his hand and rubbing it in his celly's face.

It's an ongoing cycle that never ends. So naturally, Shane continued his rude antics outside of his cell, too. That included the chow hall. A place where everyone gathers to eat. And not everyone is fond of the "fart game." Especially Donnie. Donnie is an old school convict who's been in and out of prison since the early eighties. He wasn't amused and only smiled once, that anyone remembered. So when Shane let one rip in the chow hall, Donnie reacted.

"Come on you nasty mother fucker, show some god damn respect and put a zipper on your ass." Tension instantly filled the shit scented air. Donnie wasn't messing around, and everyone knew it.

Shane tried to save face, "Oh come on Donnie, lighten up. It was only a joke."

Donnie replied with more agitation in his voice, "It wasn't a fucking joke! Jokes are funny. You farting in the chow line is not funny. Don't do it again!"

Donnie's words hurt Shane's pride. So rather than talk shit back with his mouth, Shane talked more shit with his ass. He lifted one butt cheek off the seat and pushed as hard as he could. His ass ripped the loudest, longest fart anyone had ever heard in the chow hall. Several guys started laughing. Now Donnie's pride was hurt, too. Donnie stood up, grabbed his tray, and said, "Alright son-of-a-bitch. I'll see you in the yard!"

Sure enough, that night Donnie beat the shit outta Shane. It wasn't even a close fight. Donnie knocked him out with one punch, then proceeded to kick Shane in the head and face. He stopped only after a warning shot was fired from the gun tower.

My job was to nip the shit in the bud, doing whatever was necessary, and make killings look like accidents. Most men don't need killing, they need pain to get their minds right.

But pissant shit weren't the only problems. Politics was never a problem till the ragheads come along. They were delicate snowflakes from the start, and everthing was a big fucking problem. It couldn't have been worse if they moved the whole women's prison in with us and give the Muslims their own place. White men, black men, and spics cope with what is. But not the girls or the ragheads.

"Eating pork is a direct violation of Islamic law," explain one Muslim. "We can't eat it, we can't touch it, and it ain't supposed to be prepared around nothing that our meals is prepared in. And that's what they been doin' to us for all these years and years. This has been a long time waitin', and yes I believe Barack Obama and his wife Michelle did this for us." So said a Muslim Member of Congress.

Prison chow was never anything that won awards or pleased anyone, but once prisons filled with Muslims, Muslims used chow as a weapon against the government. "No pork!" OK! Though almost all Muslims like pork and eat it all the time. "Don't cook pork near our food!"

So prisons stopped serving pork, and went with Muslim fare few Americans like. Been to a Muslim restaurant? Of course not. Muslims got problems with almost everything but chickens and goats. Chicken is okay unless you make traditional American dishes with chicken. Bottom line: No American menu. Muslims won't go with the flow, and politicians gotta kiss their asses or die.

One pissed off con said it all, "These Muslim fellars gotta go ruin everything for everyone else." 

But it wasn't so simple as changing goat for pork, which they did. The government made convicts fill out forms demanding goat. If you didn't want goat or didn't do the paperwork you got rabbit food at every meal. 

Walk up to any Muslim in here, and I don't care if they are black, brown, purple or red, tell them that the Food Service Administrator said we're all getting steak and beef ribs from Denny's today, but that it'll be served in pans along with pork chops and bacon, and see what they do. Not one swinging dick of them would turn it down. They'll be first in the chow line. No one eats goat cuz they like it. They eat goats cuz that's all there is.

I encouraged our jailhouse lawyers to STFU with all their bitching and whining. 

All my work involved situations like the above listed issues. But then a crazy fucking nigger named Donate Sproule came to live at our happy home. He called himself DONTAE, his mother was an illiterate crack whore who spelled it DONATE, but all called him DONTAE. I don't know why he didn't change the spelling legally.

Donate came to us because he murdered several people and his lawyer made a deal with the prosecutor to spare Donate's life for no contest pleas to all the murders. But Donate was a crazy mother fucker and VIPs wanted him dead. "Do it how you want," I was told. No problem.

Then a bleeding heart judge cut him loose, and the mother fucker went home. I'm no lawyer but I'm told the problem hatched when the cops failed to kiss Donate's ass before they talked to him and he alluded to where the bodies were buried and they found stuff of his on a body. The judge was appalled. And Donate cheated the Grim Reaper twice, once with the hangman, and once with me.

To be continued.



Hazardous Waste Ch. 05



All characters are adults.

Reminder. This tale is noire, and noire is neither kind nor gentle nor uplifting. It's supposed to stun and sting and offend.

*****

I got sick as shit one night so they tied my sixty-five year old ass up in a straight jacket and hockey mask, like I was Hannibal fucking Lector, and led me off to the infirmary with an armed escort. 

The faggots there stuck fingers in my ass, squeezed my balls, and the blood work came back a few weeks later. I had cancer of the something. A day later they paroled me, and I was on my way to the bus station with one hundred bucks gate money in my pocket, and a one way bus ticket back to Salt Springs. I took no souvenirs or keep-sakes or other shit with me. I had nothing that mattered.

The two hundred mile bus ride took eight hours including a stop for a greasy burger and a piss. The bus was filled with niggers and white carnival freaks dressed in cowboy hats and leopard spotted hot pants. A kid in jeans and a tee shirt with high top sneakers asked to sit beside me as the circus made him nervous. We rolled into town about four o'clock. I didn't hardly recognize the place after so many years. I got off the bus, waded through a terminal of winos, and got the fuck outta the place.

Since I didn't bring shit with me from the prison, my first stop was the army-navy store close to the bus station. The store was fulla every kind of military gear you can imagine. I needed clothes and shoes but my size is tough to dress, so I bought a duffel bag and left. 

The halfway house I wanted was a good two miles away from downtown, near the state college campus, in an old motel. I handed the clerk my referral and voucher, filled out some papers, and got my room key. 

The clerk was a plump Spic of some racial mix, prolly Mestizo, that is, Indian and something else, usually white. Salt Springs was fulla plump latina girls, all with a dollop of African or Indian or whatever in them. This one looked forty or so with a wide ass, small tits, big lips, long hair, around two hundred thirty pounds, and five-three tall. She wore a gold wedding band and handed me a business card.

Your room is on the second floor, at the very back, and close to the Come & Go convenience store next door," she said.

The air conditioner was broke but the room was clean enough. I opened one of the windows. The water was hot. 

A Filipina maid came in with linen and towels. "You wanna girl friend? Lemme know before I go home." Her name-tag said, 'Feliciata.'

"How much?"

"Twenty dollah," she replied.

I was on my own for meals. I bought a sandwich, a pint of chocolate milk, a tooth brush and paste, and some scratch-off lottery tickets from the store. No tv in the room, so I ate, took a shower, climbed in bed, and thought, "We'll give it hell tomorrow." 

At sixty-five years old I was bald and looked like Mister Clean. I had kept myself up and believed I was healthy, till the clinic visit. But sixty-five ain't twenty-five. 

I slept okay the first night out. After forty-something years in prison falling asleep ain't a problem. I awoke at five, same as at prison, shit, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. I then bought a sandwich and coffee from the store, and set out to find my parole officer and get squared away. It took a while to get aboard the right city bus, that took me close to the parole office where I sat on a bench for an hour, waiting for the place to open. My parole officer was a black girl named Malaysia Kämpfert. I later learned she was married to a white sissy named Kevin.

She studied my paperwork before she spoke.

"You Marlin Kane?" She asked.

"Uh huh," I replied.

She studied my parole paperwork some more. "Why you out? Don't make no sense to me."

"I got cancer."

"For real?"

"That's what they told me."

"How long you got?"

"They told me I won't be around long."

"An you being sixty-five, an a lifer, you got no social security an no Medicare. You're fucked. I don't see where I can do shit for you. What'd you do in prison?"

Her skirt was short. I invented racism but my cock ain't having shit to do with it. It loves every pussy. 

"I made myself useful," I replied.

"Huh?"

"They kept me busy most of the time. Odd jobs and shit work."

"Oh. Got any family?"

"I'm an orphan."

Malaysia looked twenty-two or three. Lotsa white in her blood and she coulda passed for an Indian Desi or one of the Kardashians. Long black hair with small tits. I guessed she weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds. She didn't talk like ghetto trash and I never got the idea she was. Malaysia didn't have Kim's big ass or hips but they coulda passed for sisters. Had a wedding band.

"I need fifty dollars for your parole fee."

"Fifty a month?"

"That's right."

"How much to sniff your coochie?" My cock wanted to know.

She looked at me. "You're never gonna have that kinda money, so gimme the fifty and git lost."

"How much for your coochie?" My cock persisted. I handed her the fifty.

"Come see me if you ever got more in your pocket than lint."

The rest of our interview was blabber and chatter. She gave me a card with our next appointment on it and I left. 

I stopped at the Come & Go for coffee. The store featured a wall filled with machines dispensing coffee, tea, soda, cappuccino, snow-cones, icee-licious flurries, and soft ice cream. A couple with four kids followed me in. Momma got a gallon of milk and bread, daddy fetched a carton of beer, and the kids swarmed about the candy bins and machines. The oldest, a girl who looked about fifteen, had a conspicuous tattoo on her thigh, a pierced eye-brow, and a tee shirt with printing across the front: A WORK IN PROGRESS at the top, and GOOD TO GO at the bottom. She also had a baby bump.

One of my scratch-off tickets was a winner for a free ticket. The free ticket was a winner for five-hundred bucks. The cashier paid me after the manager opened the safe, I bought a few more tickets, and went off to open a bank account some place and get an ATM card. Afterwards I went shopping for a phone, clothes, and other basic essentials. 

Later, back at the halfway house, with my shit, I invited Feliciata to come see me. I went to my room, laid on the bed, and checked my extra tickets. Holy shit! Another winner!

I went back to the store with my ticket. They didn't have that much money, so the cashier gave me the address and phone number for the lottery office. To make a long story short collecting the money was a royal, cluster fuck wrapped in red tape but it all worked out in time, and they deposited six-hundred thousand in my new bank account after the taxes and other shit got deducted from it.

I returned to the motel.

Feliciata was in my room in no time. It was late afternoon, almost five o'clock.

Fucking, to my way of thinking, isn't an arithmetic homework problem to stew about. You make your dick hard, put it in her pussy, and go in and out long enough till you and she ejaculate. She pretty much goes through the same process if she's in the mood. All else is nice but not essential to the outcome. Mother Nature don't give a shit if the woman is horny. Feliciate was there for the money, she got it, mission accomplished...for her.

"I almost went home," she said as she closed the door and locked it. "You got the money?"

I fished twenty bucks from my shirt pocket and handed it to her. Twenty seemed like too little for pussy but I didn't quarrel about it with her.

She started stripping. I helped her. I stood behind her. I moved the hair from her left shoulder and neck, and started kissing her shoulder, then her neck, and finally nibbled on her ear. She put her hand between us feeling and jacking my cock. 

I used both hands to caress her belly. She had a tiny waist and no belly fat. I moved my hands to her bra, where I groped her tits through the fabric. I pulled the bra strap off her left shoulder and kissed the shoulder some more. The top of her head was far beneath my chin, so that made her a few inches under five feet. I hadda bend my head down pretty far. I pulled the right bra strap from her shoulder. I moved the hair from the right side of her neck to the left, and started kissing her right shoulder, neck, and ear. She moaned and continued her hand-job. I unclasped her bra, pulled it off, and cast it aside. I whispered in her ear, "Get on the bed." In her broken English she replied, "Okay."

I then lay on the bed and she joined me. She wanted out of her panties, to get down to business. I wanted to play for a while. I turned her over onto her back. I started at her neck and kissed my way up and down her. I played with her tits and her nipples. I like long nipples. Feliciata's were about one half inch and stood straight out. 

I kissed my way to her crotch. She was maybe twelve inches wide at her hips. I slid my hands underneath her and cupped her ass. I moved her panties aside and kissed her ass cheeks, too. I then ran my tongue around her.

I kissed her thighs and calves. I kissed my way up her legs. I pulled her panties off. She lifted her ass to help. I tossed the panties off the bed. She covered her pussy with both hands when I reached her crotch. I kissed her inner thighs. I reached the spot between her thighs and her pussy then kissed and sucked my way to her pussy. Her hands weren't budging. I took my right hand and moved her hands out of the way, then licked the outer lips of her pussy. 

"You want me to eat you?"

"Yes"

"Good."

I ate her pussy, getting her juices all over my face. Since she was so small, I had no problem grabbing her thighs and pulling her ass to the edge of the bed, giving my neck a break, and allowing me to spread her legs more. I continued eating her pussy. I saw her clit poking out. I tongued her till she moaned some more. 

"You like that?"

"Yes"

I ate her pussy, licked the outer lips, and pushed my tongue in. I rubbed my nose against her clit, I slid a finger into her. I moved to her clit again with my tongue and rubbed her g-spot with my finger. She responded with a light orgasm. 

I removed my finger and kissed her belly, then kissed up to her tits with their long nipples. I sucked her nipples and kissed and fondled her tits for a few minutes then moved to her neck. She finally had enough and wanted to get this over with so she could go home. She started pushing me over. I was much bigger and stronger, but I allowed her to roll me over to my back. She stroked my erection. She started sucking it, doing a very good job. She was getting about half of my cock into her mouth, sucking hard to get me to cum. She reached up with her right hand and started rubbing and pulling my left nipple. This is a trick prostitutes use to get you excited and cum faster. 

She tried getting on top of me, but I rolled out from underneath her. She lay on her back, spreading her legs. I wanted her doggy style first and got her on her knees, to slide my cock into her. Loose pussies should be a crime. It felt great sliding in and out of her. Looking down and seeing my cock going in and out was cool. I pushed her ass down until the back of her thighs pushed against her calves. This gave me a great sight and advantage of controlling her. I kept my hands on her hips and began pounding her. 

I rolled her over and spread her legs wide, I plowed her pussy. She moaned and groaned when my cock hit bottom. She gave me the usual Asian moans. I pushed her knees up to her shoulders and fucked her hard. 

I watched my cock slide into her tight pussy. I almost came. I pulled her legs down and took my cock out. I rolled her over onto her left side, getting behind her to spoon. I put my cock back in her and started long, slow strokes. 

I slid my left hand under her neck and cupped her right tit. I used my right hand to feel the other tit and her abdomen. I moved my finger down to her pussy, rubbing the outer lips and then her clit. She grabbed my hand, trying to pull it from her pussy, but I was much too strong. I continued with my hands and cock, assaulting her body from outside as well from within.

I moved my right hand to her ass and felt it, and moved my left hand to her mouth.

She then sucked my thumb like a small cock. Moving it in and out of her mouth, running her tongue around it. I kept pounding her pussy from behind. I was thinking it would be wonderful to slip my cock out of her pussy and into her ass. Maybe next time. 

I pulled my cock out of her and rolled her back onto all fours. I pulled her until her knees were at the edge of the bed. I spread her knees apart, giving me a great view of her pussy. I slid my cock up and down her slit. Then I eased myself back into her. I had a good rhythm and pace. She soon slipped off the bed and stood flatfooted on the floor. She was bent at a ninety degree angle at the waist supporting herself on the bed with her elbows. This sight drew me closer to orgasm. 

I looked at the clock. I had been inside her for forty five minutes.

I kept pounding her pussy to build to an orgasm. Looking at the tiny waist she had, I could almost encircle it with my thumbs and middle fingers. I was turned on. She pulled really hard and got loose from my grasp.

She pulled me onto the bed and onto my back and started jacking me off. She grabbed some baby oil from the night stand, getting my cock nice and slick. At this point, I had gotten my money's worth and really wanted to cum. I spread my legs and guided her pussy onto my slick cock. She grabbed the baby oil and put it on her fingers. She encircled my dick with her fingers and jacked me as we fucked. I shot stream after stream of cum out. I hadn't cum this hard or much in a long time.

She then grabbed the roll of toilet paper and pulled off several pieces to wipe cum off me, off her hand, and outta her cunt. I went to the bathroom and ran hot water over a hand towel. I washed the baby oil from my cock. I washed my hands and returned to the bedroom. 

"You like?" I said as I rubbed her pussy through her panties.

"No more touch me, I sore now."

I got dressed and smiled. She got dressed and left. But the next day she asked for more when she came to do my room.

"You want me come by, later?"

Later, I got her whole history. 

Feliciata Castro was from San Fernando, Luzon, in the Philippine Islands, and married a retired army sergeant she met via a mail order bride magazine she borrowed from a girlfriend. The magazine was published and edited in Manila. Its subscribers were Americans, Australians, and Kiwi's who wanted Asian wives. Girls and women from Hong Kong, the Philippines, Japan, and Hawaii sent in their photographs, short biographies, and five dollars to be in the magazine. She and her girlfriend both sent in snapshots, biographies, and five-dollar money orders. 

The girlfriend got three letters, Feliciata got two. The girlfriend was too timid to answer her letters, but Feliciata answered one. She ignored the other because it came from a widowed elderly man older than me. Filipina's aren't fussy about age but too old means the man's use by date is past.

The letter from Frank Hancock persuaded her to respond. Frank was handsome and said he wanted a wife and mother for his children. He was retired from the army, owned his own trailer, and had a job. He also owned a late model Ford pickup, and had never been married before. His mother lived with him in the mobile home until she died. He was forty-five and wanted a son to carry on his name. 

They corresponded, and after several letters, back and forth, and discussions with her mother, Feliciata agreed to come to America to marry Frank. She was twenty-one years old with an eighth-grade diploma, and was fluent with English; her prospects for marriage in San Fernando were dismal. 

Frank hired a lawyer who got her a visa, then sent her a thousand dollars and an airplane ticket from Manila to Salt Springs, Florida. She gave her mother half the money, packed a suitcase, and came to America. Frank met her at the airport and they got married within a week. 

Life was good for a while then Frank fell into bad company, starting drinking, and, after three or four months of missing work, and other job problems, got fired. After he lost his job, he drank more, and when he got drunk, he sat around crying. They soon had money problems.

One day Frank went out and came home with a shopping bag. Frank handed Feliciata the bag. She opened the bag and was shocked to see a pair of red high heel stilettos, a micro mini skirt that seemed to be only a few inches long, and a small halter top. "Put it on," He said. She did. He looked her over and told her to take off her panties. She did. "I got a job for you." 

He took her to an old laundromat in the slum and told her to do what the man said. "I'll be back for you later." The old man sat in the office watching teevee. The laundromat was deserted except for two other girls sitting in chairs outside the office. They looked like prostitutes.

After a few minutes some guys came in the store. There were four of them. 

"I got really scared when they surrounded me and started to touch my long black hair, then one sat beside me and put his hand on my legs, and asked me if I wanted to play with them a little. I was so scared. One of them gave the old man some cash. The old man told me to go with them. I did not know what to do, so I just did what he said. They led me outside. 

"Beside the store was an alley I did not know. They were talking rude and bad words like, slut, bitch, whore, prostitute, and more. When we reached the end of the alley, they made me get in a car; while climbing into the back, one of them lifted my skirt to see my ass and underwear. I started crying and just let tears fall down. Inside they started to touch me everywhere, I tried to stop them but they were very strong, and they were all taller than me. 

"Two sat beside me in the back of the car, one lifted my left leg and the other lifted my right leg; they spread my legs wide. One of them cut my panties with a knife. When my pussy was exposed he started licking it. I told them to stop, but that made them do more. After a few minutes, the car stopped in front of a house in an area I did not know. They took me inside. 

"After doing what they want, they grabbed me and laid me down on a low table then removed my top, leaving my skirt and high heels on. The table was so small that it can only support my body to my shoulders, so my neck was hanging from the table backwards. Two of the guys held my arms, and the other man spread my legs, their hands caressed my tits and touched my body. And then out of nowhere a big man appeared in front of me. He took off his clothes. He had a huge cock! He first licked my pussy hard and spit on it, too. After that he moved to my back and tilted my head so that it would just fall off of the table, he then pushed his cock into my mouth, it was soft at the time, but grew hard quick. 

"That was my first blowjob, after a couple of minutes he moved back in front of me and licked my pussy again. After that, he stood up and touched my pussy with the hard cock, I begged for him to not do it, then he ordered one of the guys to shut me up, so one guy just pushed his cock in my mouth. Then I could feel the pain inside my pussy, he just entered me hard and fast! He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me!! It was so painful. 

"After maybe twenty minutes in my pussy, he pulled his cock out, but then I felt other pain, this time in my ass, He was about to fuck my ass, too, and there was nothing I can do, he just entered my ass like I was some prostitute who doesn't mind at all. He fucked my ass for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, before putting it back in my pussy, then after about twenty more minutes, without warning, he shot his load deep inside my pussy. 




Hazardous Waste Ch. 05



"After that I thought it was over, but another guy replaced him, then another and another. Then one guy laid down on the floor and they put me on top of him. I was so weak that they just carried me without resistance from me. He entered my pussy while another guy entered my ass, they fucked me at the same time. After cumming inside me, they laid me down on the table again so that the remaining guys can fuck me too, after a total of four guys fucking me, they lined up in front of my face while I was on the table, and one by one they shot a load of cum on my face. My pussy was so sore and so was my asshole. But since they thought I was a prostitute, they did one more thing to humiliate me, they took a movie of me covered in cum, and inserted a twenty dollar bill in my pussy, and told me that I was a cheap fucking slut, since I let them fuck me for just 20 dollars. 

"They let me wash myself in the washroom while they watched, then they took me back to the store. At the store some people were waiting for me. The old man tell me I am going to a party with the people. The other girls ask me how my date went.

"I did not tell them what happened, so we went on to the party, with only one thing missing, I no longer have anything under my short skirt. When we got there, there were a lot of people, but I only saw a few girls, I was so tired from the fucking that I couldn't stand straight, so I just sat down in one place on a sofa. 

"My friends went to the back of the house with some of the men. People were drinking. I was the only girl in the front, but I didn't mind since I was so tired. Then one of the guys, with two other guys, came up to me and gave me a shot of tequila. I didn't notice that the guy was sitting beside me on the couch and the other guy on my other side, and the third guy was on the opposite of me in front. I did not notice that my legs were spread and that the guy in front of me can already see my pussy. I had more shots of tequila and got really dizzy, so I asked the guy to help me get to the washroom to pee; I did not notice that the other two guys came along. 

"After I pee, I went out of the washroom, but outside the washroom it was so dark, and I was already a bit drunk, the guy whose name was Ted was standing right in from of me, I did not notice the other two were behind me. Ted grabbed me by my hips, and started to kiss my lips; since he was cute, I kissed back, then I felt his hands go lower and lift my skirt to feel my ass, then I felt one of the other guys, stand behind me while Ted was kissing me, his name was Gary, while Ted was kissing me and feeling my ass, Gary lifted my top and removed my bra, then felt my tits. 

"I felt different, I felt horny. It was the very first time I felt horny. Then the third guy, whose name is Bert, stood beside me and guided his hands to my pussy, and finger fucked me right away. That made me reluctant, because my pussy was still hurting from the fucking I had earlier. So Gary held my neck from behind and the three of them took me to a room down the hall. They laid me on the bed, then Ted laid down beside me and whispered in my ear, 'don't worry I'll take care of you, and we won't hurt you,' that made me relax. 

"Since I no longer had anything covering my pussy, the three had easy access to me. All of them just took off their clothes and got naked. The two held both my arms while they fondled my tits, and sucked on my nipples. Ted started licking my pussy and putting a finger in my asshole. Then Ted started to put his cock into me. Gary put his cock in my mouth. Ted had a huge cock, and so did the other men. They took turns in fucking and feeling me, until they came in my pussy. Just when I thought they were done, Ted opened the door, and some of his other friends were there waiting, with their cocks already pulled out, there were about 5 of them. I couldn't believe what was happening, they were treating me like a fuck toy. The guys, took turns fucking my pussy, ass, and mouth. They all came in my pussy. It was around 2am when they finally finished. 

"Ted let me use his washroom and waited for me to finish fixing myself. After fixing myself, Ted came up to me and said, 'from now on me and my friends will fuck you anytime we want,' then he showed me a video, it was me getting fucked by the first men, earlier. Ted told me that the leader was his older brother, so he will release the video if I will not do as he said. So I agreed. Before we went down, Ted ordered me to open the door, stand in front of it and bend over. 

"Whilst the door was open, Ted fucked me from behind; he was rough and called me nasty names. He shot his load deep inside me. After that he ordered me not to clean anymore and just let his cum drip from my pussy. So while I was walking I could feel his cum slowly coming out of my pussy and running down my thighs. It was dark, so the people can't see it. On the way down the stairs I saw the guys who fucked me looking at me with a grin on their faces. I told Ted I have to go home because it is late. So Ted took me home. I gave Frank my money.

"I then realized Ted, pimped me out to these men. I was his prostitute.

"Ted took me home and put me in the shower, and left. I could barely stand up, my body hurt so bad, I was in the shower for about an hour, when I heard my mom enter the front door, and shout for me.

"After cleaning myself up I went in the kitchen and told my mom that I was not feeling good, so she just left and went to her house which was just a few lots away from me. I slept through the whole day. When I awoke it was around dark already, and I was shocked to see an envelope on my table beside my bed, it was from Ted; he left it there when he brought me home. Inside it was a bundle of money amounting to five hundred dollars, with a note saying this is for being a good little slut and for being a dirty whore. I can't believe it, I just became a prostitute for Ted." I gave all the money to Frank.

She got pregnant soon enough, and kept hooking for Ted. Men like pregnant pussy. Frank didn't care so long as he had money to drink with.

After the baby came Ted made Frank go away. One morning Frank went to the bank, drew out all his savings, and gave Feliciata five hundred of it. She put the baby with grandma, Mayumi. Her vids sold well at the local adult stores, and plenty of men wanted her, but she had to work at the motel, too.

That was almost a year ago. When the money was gone, she applied for welfare and got an extra allowance because of the baby. She got food stamps, but it was all insufficient live on after she paid her mobile home rent and utilities. She got the maid job at the motel and sold pussy to the men there.

I fucked Feliciata a lot for a while. Always in my room. Then one day she suggested I come to her house in the trailer park.

There were twelve trailer homes in her dusty park. A cypress fence surrounded the lot, which had a single entrance. The manager lived in the first trailer beside the entrance, and when Feliciata walked through the entrance, he poked his bald head out of his front door to see who it was and then slammed his door again when he recognized Feliciata. 

Feliciata's trailer was small, with one bedroom and a double bed, a combination living room and galley, and a short corridor to the bedroom. There was a bathroom off one side of the corridor and a closet across from the bathroom. The furniture was mobile home standard crap, with an eating nook and cushioned seats. A window air-conditioner labored away above the table. A thirteen-inch TV set was bolted to the wall beside the entrance door, and Feliciata switched it on when we came inside. There was a nose-tingling odor of mildew and decay, but the trailer was clean. A framed black-and-white photo of her husband in his uniform was on the wall. Frank was handsome enough, but the photo of him was from long ago.

She led me to the bedroom. After we fucked she wanted to talk, and suggested I live with her, pay her bills, and get my sex for free. But she wanted to sell pussy and make porn movies, too. I agreed. Her mom, Mayumi, lived close by, needed money, and I fucked her, too.

My next appointment with Malaysia came around. In her office I gave her my parole fee plus four more fifties.

"What's that for?" She wondered.

"It's the lint I pulled outta my pockets."

"You still at the motel?" I thought of Madonna's old song where she sings, 'gimme money if you want my interest.'

"No, I got a trailer and a gook girlfriend." I gave her my address and cell phone number.

"You got a job?" She asked.

"No," I replied.

"You usually around at noon?"

"Sure."

"What about your honey?"

"She works at the motel."

"Get some protection."

Malaysia stopped by two days later. I had no rubbers but we fucked anyway. She got her two hundred dollars, and I got a piece of her chocolate love.

A few days later Feliciata didn't come home. But Malaysia came by to let me know an animal slaughtered Feliciata and Malaysia's daddy at the daddy's home. The killer was no genius, and left evidence everywhere. The killer was my old prison target Donate Sproule. Kenneth Brown was a local prosecutor and opposed Sproule's release from prison. Sproule wasn't smart enough to simply grab the prize and move on.

Donate Sproule went to the home where he opened the front door and went in. Inside he went around the house until he heard Feliciata in the bedroom and kicked in the door. In the bedroom he subdued both people and stabbed Kenneth Brown through the chest thoracic vertebrae. Feliciata jumped outta bed, ran out of the room to get her clothes and flee. Donate followed. He caught her, restrained her with duct tape, then took care of business.

Mayumi moved in with me. The state took the kid. Mayumi wanted money for Feliciata's burial but 'let the dead bury the dead' is my motto. I stuffed some cash in Mayumi's panty and we took a break from the mourning.

Malaysia wanted me to kill Donate. The city was seriously pissed at the stupid bitch judge who cut him loose. She did the right thing, went on teevee, confessed her error, and expressed her hope that Donate meet a bad end, the sooner the better.

"I want you to kill her, too," Malaysia said.

"Fuck you," I replied. Her immediate problem was she had nothing I wanted. She assumed I was destitute. She assumed I was dead man walking. She knew the prison didn't want me back to care for. She was temporarily stumped, and even I didn't know what I wanted, to kill a couple pieces of shit. But I soon found out.

Mona Futch, the stupid bitch judge, and others, decided to assassinate ex-cons, like me, for Donate's sins. Bribes to the right people usually get your name erased from such lists but there's no honor among politicians. So I decided to send a message to them.

I didn't say shit to Malaysia about my change of mind. Let her do the arithmetic. 

Futch made her home in a gated community; its golf course was in her backyard, almost. I went to the library, looked at the Google maps on-line, then reconnoitered the area at night. It was kinda placed across a swamp, behind a shopping plaza. I found a trail through the swamp, and hiked across the greens to her lot. A convenient copse of trees stood directly behind the house. Cool.

On a dark night I paid Futch a visit, and climbed up one of the trees to assess the situation. One of the drapes was open and I saw into the house, not well, but okay enough to form an idea of what was up. After a while the sliding glass door opened and three fat females came out onto the lanai.

The three gals reminded me of the Fraternal Order of FAGS: Ladie's Auxillary. One of them was Judge Futch, my target. I recognized the others but they weren't game. I hadda wait till Mona was alone. While they got better acquainted in the Jacuzzi I went around front to check things out. A car pulled up and Donate got out, adjusted the pistol stuck in his pants waist, and walked to the front door. I waited till he was inside then paid a visit to the car. I tapped on the driver's window. The driver lowered the window. I stuck my K Bar knife through his head then went to a secluded spot close to the front door and waited for Donate to appear. 

I heard the gunshots. And that was it. Donate came outta the house, and ran into my knife in the dark. "Surprise, surprise, surpise!" Gomer would say. He wilted. Back around back the gals were all in the tub, dead. Cool.

I skeedaddled before the 911 cluster-fuck pissing contest erupted. I got rid of the knife.

Malaysia paid me a visit soon enough.

"I'm glad you changed your mind," she said.

"About what?" I replied.

"About the judge."

"What about the judge?" I played dum.

"She's dead."

"I didn't kill her." No lie.

"I don't believe you. The cops think it was you, too. But I wouldn't worry about them too much."

"You ready for some more lint?" I pulled my roll outta my pocket to show her.



Hazardous Waste



My post was a concrete culvert that went under the perimeter road, it was a great place to conceal yourself and escape shrapnel from mortars and rockets. The culvert was wide enough for me to crawl through though I'm a big man. In place inside the culvert, I stacked two sand bags close to my face so I could shoot from a prone position. The culvert faced a trail the guards used to access a tower and bunker out by the wire. I assumed the gooks would come down the trail not struggle in the thick bush. I made myself comfortable and waited.

I was inside the culvert an hour or so when I heard a helicopter coming my way. It was one of the new Cobra gunships with rocket pods and a gatling-style machine gun. The pilot switched on his search light and turned my area into day time. Two gooks were illuminated but spread apart to dodge the machine gun fire. I aimed and shot one of them. His companion took off like a scalded dog. The gunship went after him. My gook was dead.

Pretty soon a jeep with a master sergeant came along to see what was up with me. The sergeant took my M16 and asked me, 

"How many rounds did you fire?"

"One."

He then fired two more shots from it.

"Didn't they tell you to fire three rounds when you kill a gook?"

The air force had a chicken shit policy that required all sentries to verbally challenge gooks and fire two warning shots before shooting to kill. In practice we killed with the first shot and fired the warning shots afterwards. Some rear echelon mother faggot invented the policy. But the experience made me think about the need to conceal facts in noise no one could examine. The faggot had his three shell cases and no idea which was fired first or last. I was home free.

Nuthin much happened after that. We got ground attacks about once a month, and mortar attacks on the darkest nights.

You got used to the violence. More than once I ate a C rations meal while sitting close to a pile of dead bodies ready for shipment to some fucking place for counting and disposal.

The air force and the army shared the girls who sold pussy from the bars in Dodge City. Dodge City was a stretch of dirt road outside our main gate. It was prolyl one quarter mile of bars and brothels lining both sides of the road. The air force fucked the girls during the daytime, and the army took over at night. The officers fucked the Red Cross girls on the base. Many of us fucked the mama-sans who took care of our barracks.

My first collision with the very different culture was the second day I was there. I went in our latrine to pee, and the place was fulla women doing laundry. The women didn't care we were naked unless they saw a package that impressed them. Then you might get a proposition from one who wanted you to souvenir her some cock.

Coming back to the world was like dying and going to heaven. I didn't see one ugly woman the whole time I was back, prolly a week. The air force sent me to Europe where I fucked my brains out for over two years. Many bars had brothels, and the girls liked to fuck. I fucked girls from everywhere.

Then my enlistment expired and the air force sent me home to Salt Springs where I enrolled at the Salt Springs State College.

More of that next time.