I turned around and shuffled back towards him, opened the dented worn door with shaking moist hands, and picked up the cold hard shaft of the sweltering can. Peering up, I could see his jeans undone and his rough right palm was holding a shaft of his own and below it they hung long, and he was swinging them with great heft showing their substantial size and dense weight. They were wrinkled and free of hair. It's likely Barry had someone keep them well trimmed. I'm sure he wouldn't have a hard time. Finding someone who would do that for him. In fact, there's a good chance that he happened upon someone who volunteered for the job. A testicle enthusiast who saw it not as mere volitional labor, but a duty owed to humanity generally. They having been bestowed upon us would certainly invoke in any conscientious man or woman a proper sense of stewardship.
They were sweaty, mostly covered in a thin layer. While not soaking in it, I could tell there was a lot of it. Not due to them being drenched but on account of the sheer surface area. With so much moisture seeping into my mouth while I stared; I noticed how resultantly awfully dry and thirsty my own raw throat felt. I read Gatorade was fabricated by scientists as a way for elite athletes to replenish expended vital fluids. They did it by recreating what's normally lost and loading enough sugar into the shit to render the lab grown perspiration almost palatable. In other words, man sweat is nothing but salty Gatorade for hardcore nattys.
"On your knees bitch," Barry ordered with a smirk as he swung his huge sack and stroked his hard shaft. "You fuck around anymore and you're leaving this stall like I left you last time. C'mon, so we can finish this and watch the rest of the game real comfortable. Or at least I will. Hurry slut, your ale's getting cold."
I began to kneel, hesitated, shook, and opened my mouth to say something but stopped. Not again. Not ever. He humiliated me once. I don't care how much I want to touch them, so bad I'd even put up with the nasty sweat. I'm still a person inside with dignity; not some warped pervert. My left hand slapped over my eyes, body turned, and I hustled out of the stall making sure not to look back.
"We're back to this shit again!?" Barry yelled after me. "I subjugated you once; I'll do it again! Just wait bitch! Hubris will be your ruin!"
My AC chugged and all the blinds pulled down so as to keep out the unrelenting hot sun. The desert would begin to cool starting next month but it was still scorching outside. Like you have to blast full AC in your car even when you wake up and it's still dark in the morning. If you don't, you're liable to pass out and melt until you merge with the searing plastic dashboard. So is my theory on the origin of Transformers. Disaffected salt-of-the-earth blue collar Phoenician proles struggling to maintain health insurance, CDLs, and dwindling vitality during protracted divorces. One day the freon leaks facilitating their synthesis with the very machines they had spent years operating but had in fact always been operated by since the technology was always quietly alienating them from families and preventing them from climbing out of the toxic sludge they've long drowned in. It's not hard to understand why then they become three story tall bitter murder machines. Holding water for fascistic primes and Michael Bay. I was talking on the phone.
"Look, I just can't be here right now."
"What do you mean you don't have a bedroom to spare? Isn't Kenny in college now?"
"No, I don't have a warrant out. Look, if I ever fucked around that way, I'd go voluntarily. I couldn't stand it otherwise. The loathsome anticipation."
"Maybe I could stay in Jason's room? I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"I can't be here. The heat. It's making me delusional. Isn't an apparent? Obviously, I'm not the same as I once was. Look, please."
I sighed, shook my head, and hung up.
My phone rattled and shook, and I looked and saw his enormous twins jostle teasingly. A message. I put the phone down before picking it back up. God, whatever he sent me. It was probably gross.
I sighed and touched his balls.
My hands trembled. Thin guy my age splayed nude against a cheap bare mattress in an otherwise dark empty room. His lurid rouged post-coital face hideously contorted, pinched, his bulging tear-filled eyes nacreous, and he appeared paralyzed. Like he went on the most prurient roller coaster of his young life only to return to the queue so beset by shame and disgust in what he'd done that his nude body erupted into vicious seizures until his circumoral muscles froze into a twisted and uncanny looking O-face of which it was obvious that the euphoria that had originally produced such an expression had long subsided and existed in his head in a historical sense only, something that could be extracted only in a manner like a paleontologist digs dinosaur bones. His legs were spread over the mattress and his asshole on display leaking a huge wad of gooey cum which in the Live Photo slightly oozed out of him before the image stilled. I recognized the tip of Barry's fat cockhead near its bottom edge.
My phone buzzed with the text,
You're next, bitch!
I treaded carefully from that point on. Often wearing disguises when going outside. I had a fake mustache, a prosthetic nose, various old man hats, a red dress, a black wig, heels and some fake tranny boobs. Always checking for Barry wherever I went. Making sure at restaurants to always have my back to a wall. However, over time, I got sloppy. Letting my guard down and not paying as close attention. I stopped altogether with the disguises especially after some older guy asked me for a blowjob. I explained I was in disguise in my regular masculine voice, and he winked, smiled, and told me he could tell. I asked him where about we'd even do something like he said as I sure as hell wasn't going to go home with him nor let him over to my place. He gestured to some bushes, but it was hot outside, and I told him I wouldn't do it but thanked him for the offer. He said he understood, nodded at me, and didn't leave. Finally, I told him he needed to get away from me and he complained that up until that point he had been very impressed with how polite I had been.
It had started to cool off when I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a large Mexican restaurant in Scottsdale. By the mountains, it wasn't near any major roadways. Quiet and scenic. I saw thick gray chains on the main door inside. Maybe it's the type of place that closes for the summer? And here, the summer stretches late into the fall. This ought to end my prandial outing, however I saw Nick's car parked. My door slammed with a thud, and I locked the car which beeped. I shuffled under palo verde trees and in the shade, it felt nice in the wind. "Nick?!" I yelled, walked around the side of the restaurant, and passed an arrangement of tall saguaro.
On the other side, heavily worn wooden outdoor tables stood vacant shaded by even more green-barked palo verde. Their chairs had been collected and stored elsewhere while the place wasn't in business. The concrete patio emptied into the tan sand of open desert left wild skirting the edges of the protruding rocky brown mountain. The Grand Canyon state has large mountains but also much smaller ones and this was of the later variety. I noticed a sheet of paper flutter in the cool breeze atop one of the restaurant tables while a hanging turquoise wind chime tinkled.
My feet shuffled forward, and I looked down and examined the parchment. It was a menu. Next to a picture of the machaca con heuvo was something written in black marker. It read,
HOWDY FAGGOT!
Strong arms grabbed each side of my torso and slammed it down on top of the hard wood table with a thunk. I struggled to free myself, but the man was bigger, and stronger than me and had me pinned. My eyes scoured the desert. It had perhaps cooled enough to merit hikers, but I saw no one. He held me there and all I could do is listen to the cicada's buzz. It wasn't cool enough yet. Not to finally freeze the noisy fucks.
"Not going nowhere this time" Barry's voice bellowed above me. "You ditched me dirty back at that game. Imagine how more comfortable I'd've been the fourth quart. It could have been so relaxing for the both of us. I saw how thirsty you looked. You ruined everyone's mojo. The Cards lost because of you; you realize right? They were up before you neglected my orders and ran away like the emotional bitch you are. Slurping bitter beer when you ought to have been sucking up my benevolent excess. I've put you in your proper place before and I'mma do it again. Uh huh. Damn tired of all the faggotry with you. You don't think I saw through those pathetic attempts at disguises? Those lopsided fake tits weren't fooling anyone, bimbo. You might not have the balls to do what needs done but I've got more than enough of 'em to not only make you do it but with a weird smile on your face always repeating 'yessir.'"
