INTRODUCTION
First off, this here story is expressed in the vernacular, that is it corresponds with the way people talk. Our two protagonists, as you will surely recognize, are not rocket scientists. These are just two dumb highly sexed Texas kids who join the Navy because they are patriotic and get ramrodded right up the ass by the local enlistment officer. The various miss-spellings are dialectic. These great guys are not the sharpest pencils in the pack.
All usual we are dealing only with people who are 18 years old or better. There is no violence or animals injured, just two "Buttheads" butting their heads against the world. Oh yeah, there is a lot of anal fetish stuff and also heterosexual stuffings as well. Good luck and may you read this story to the ass end. Best wishes to all my followers. If you enjoy this saga please favor it and give it a good vote.
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TITLE: BEANIE AND SPIRO'S AND GREAT ADVENTURE, SEXUAL THAT IS!
Subtitle: "WE JOINED THE NAVY TO SEE THE WORLD,
AND WHAT DID WE SEE,
WE SAW GAY SEX
AND OTHER STUFF"
Do you know or do you not know? That is the fucking question mark, Bozo. You may think you know all about your best friends, but do you? Do you truly know what is in the deepest recess of their hearts, their minds, the darkest channels of the cerebellum where synapses fire like the 80 mm cannons on a battleship.
I grew up in a little town on the outskirts of in Palo Duro Canyon in Texas. Of course you never heard of it. Why would ya. So I'll tell ya, this is one of a series of canyons cut out of the Texas Panhandle. We were not far from Amarillo and our little town shared a high school with several other small towns within a 10 mile circle.
My Mom just thought the world of Spiro Agnew. You may remember he was Trick Dickey Nixon's VP who got drummed out of office and replaced by Bob Ford. Not the dirty little coward who shot Jesse James, that was another Ford. This was the one who came from the Ford Motor Car Company, his wheels were round. Anyway, long story shouted, I got stuck with the moniker Spiro J. Thompson.
When did I first meet Beanie? I knew Beanie from the time Miss Rose, our teacher, brought this little red haired freckled faced kid into our second grade classroom and introduced the twenty-seven of us to Bernard Callahan Thelonious, who immediately contradicted the teacher saying, "Just call me Beanie."
He wore his hair in a crew cut back then, and he still does. Aside from his diminutive stature, Beanie was a regular kid, I never noticed anything strange about him. The teacher sat him in the back of the class room next to me where there was an empty desk. All I can say is that he was always fiddling with something; rocks pencils, toys and I think the teacher's bottom desk draw was filled with these contraband artifacts that were seized from him just about every day.
We always played basketball in the morning before the school opened, unless it was raining. Beanie always carried a ball with him when he came to school. He was an amazing accurate. The two of us would play "Four Horses." I have no idea why it was called that, but if your opponent made a shot into the basket, you had to duplicate the shot or earn a "horse." If you got 4 horses you were out, that is you lost. Of course Beanie had a specialty of left handed underhand shots that were amazing and neither I nor the other kid could master them.
As short as he was, I rarely won the competition. In fact he changed the name of the game to "Four Donkeys," just to make fun of me. I didn't mind, we were buddies, and when Remus, the school bully grabbed the ball away from me, it was Beanie who flew through the air like "Mighty Mouse" and tackled him by the neck. "Small but deadly" was what Arthur Delmar called him. Arty was the class president and chronicler of a one page mimeographed sheet called "Canyon Dust" that kept track of our progress or lack thereof.
It seemed Beanie and I were always buds. We had the same teachers throughout grade school and we shared the same interests. We loved football, in the winter we played tag football in the dusty lot at the side of the brick schoolhouse. In the fall it was baseball, I couldn't believe how Beanie could field the ball, it was as if his legs were made of rubber. Just when you'd think the ball was moving too fast he'd fall to the ground and scoop it up in his old yeller glove.
We stayed good friends through high school. Neither of our families were well off. I lived in an old white wooden clapboard house, built in the 1920s. Beanie lived in a similar house, originally painted red. I guessed the peeling paint was the only thing holding the houses together, that and the termites that polka dotted the clapboards.
Beanie had a sister. I was an only child. My Dad was a roofer. Beanies' Mom was a house cleaner, a maid for one of the well to do families over on the North side. If Beanie had a dad, I never met him, nor did he talk about him. I do remember one time when I went over to get Beanie I saw his mom had one of those tall memorial candles lit. The candle's glass container was on a plate.
"Don't ya know," said his mom, "if ya don't put something under them there candles it'll burn a hole right through the table."
"What's it for?" I asked.
"Oh that's for Beanies dad, he died in Iraq when Beanie was just a baby."
When I asked Beanie about it some years later, he said matter of factly,
"That's about as true as the Tooth fairy or Santa Fuck'in Claus. If I had a Dad who was a vet, we'd be getting money every month. We ain't seen the first nickel. Mom just got fucked by a married guy who got killed and we got shit."
"But even so, you are the son of a vet?"
"I ain't got no proof who my father was. Even if you could prove it, illegitimate children don't get even a cunt hair to chew on from Uncle Samshit."
But those of us raised in Texas know a thing about hard luck and a hard life. My Dad fell off a 3rd story roof when I was in my first year of junior high school. He never got up off the ground. As a paraplegic, he was wheelchair bound ever since. Why'd he fall of that roof? Shit, roofers are supposed to know how not to fall off?
Well, I'll tell ya why. He was what we'd call a pocket alcoholic. He always had a small half pint of Dumont's Blackberry Brandy or some alcoholic sweet fruit substitute. Even after his accident he still managed to wheel himself over to O'Malley's liquor store to get refueled before the day started.
My mother had left us a few year earlier, saying
"I can't take it anymore, that drunken pervert ain't gonna put his hands on me again."
I don't rightly know what she was referring to and quite frankly I don't wanna know.
After Mom left us, she hooked up with her high school boyfriend who had just his divorced his wife Irma. Seems Irma was the night manager at Caskal's Log Cabin Motel over on Ottley Street. Besides managing the place, Irma was renting her pussy by the hour. One of the cops, to whom she gave freebee blowjobs as a payoff, let it slip to her husband Dan, one night over at the Crossroad Bar that Irma was a working girl with more than a big heart. Dan knew that description fit her to a tee.
So Dan kicked Irma out of his Mom's home that they'd rented from Mossy Black's family for God knows how many years. Dan's Mom had passed a few years earlier. Irma didn't give no shit, she just moved into one of them little cabins over at the motel. She did so well in the pussy business that eventually she bought the damn motel from Old Man Menzer who was in the first stage of dementia. I remember her saying to some old lady at his funeral,
"Now Old Man Menzer was a man, even when his mind was gone he could still sport a full hard on."
To which, the old lady replied,
"Maybe his heart wouldn't a given out if you hadn't been a fucking him to death."
So Dan Figler, Mom's high school sweetheart, got free of any legal entanglements and went on to divorcing Irma. That was when Mom moved in with Dan. The two of them seemed to get along quite well and Dad would say,
"When I couldn't fuck her anymore, she left me for a bigger dick."
"How do you now he's got a bigger dick?"
"Cause that whore of your mother told me so."
But that dick business wasn't fair. They'd been estranged for years as far as I could tell. Of course Dad had his own take on the failure of their marriage.
"That bitch used to suck Dan Figler off under the football bleachers. I started fucking her when she was a bookkeeper at the roofer place I worked for. If I hadn't a got her pregnant with you I'da never married the little whore. She was the easiest piece of ass I ever got. Three drinks and ya could fuck her upsides down. Why one time she fucked me, her boss and..."
"That's enough Dad," I said, "I really don't want to hear any more."
Anyway, my parents separated but never divorced. Dad and I seemed to manage pretty well. I did the cooking and he got a disability payment so we were ok. Shit, a few cans of beans and franks can keep most anyone alive.
As I've explained, Dad was pretty bitter about the split. Still, both Mom and Dad showed up
for my graduation although they sat one seat apart. The day after we all graduated, a Park Ranger found Dad's wheelchair at the bottom of Caprock Escarpment, a 60 foot drop into the base of the canyon. The sign there says a river channel cut through the sedimentary rock in prehistoric times. That was where the wooden safety rail was broken. Of course Dad was dead stiff.
We had a small funeral for Dad, a closed casket as his head was pretty much fucked up by the fall. Was it suicide? Christ if I know, I prefer to think he was just too drunk to slow down on the down slope to the observation deck. He just blasted through the old wooden fence, which was filled with termite rot.
Once Dad was dead, I figured I'd get the house. But since my parents were still married, Mom inherited the house and next thing I knew she and Dan Figler moved in. I put up with it for a while but the sounds of their lovemaking through the thin walls made me want to vomit. Why? because it was my Mom and I didn't wanta think of her as a sexual being, especially with Dan who was always feeling her up, grabbing her big tits from behind while she was cooking dinner. OK, I admit it, my bad.
I was thinking about taking off, shit, I was too old to be living with my mom and her old flame who wasn't in the least pleased with me smoking his weed.
