Tuesday, September 8, 2009

At Marie’s (4)

“Hey, John Boy, you! C’m-‘ere. I got a BONE to pick with you.”

Not at his smartest at this particular hour in his life, JJ swayed back.

“G’NIGHT JOHHHN BOY,” Chris hollered, as he landed a roundhouse kick again to JJ’s abs. The handsome kid bent over double, with a loud groan. Chris laughed and grabbed JJ’s head and pulling it in directly to his kneecap. JJ crumpled and fell on the sharp gravel. Chris kicked his ribs with the pointy steel tip of his leather boot. AAAARGH, JJ groaned as he rolled over on his back.

Chris bent down and helped lift his new friend to his feet. No sooner was he up and standing, JJ dove into Chris with both fists swinging. Chris responded in kind, and for a couple of minutes the two of them managed to stay upright simply through the force of the fast and steady blows they exchanged.

Chris got a good grip on JJ’s head and pulled it up under his right armpit, jabbing his nose and mouth with quick, close-range jabs from the left.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.”

The two of them spun around as if crazily propelled by the force of Chris’s repeated left uppercut. Dizzily, then, the two of them collapsed together on the grassy edge of the parking lot—with John John landing on top of Chris.

The two men lay in a heap on the grass. JJ rolled off Chris, and both men were now on their backs gasping for air as they took a break. Chris sat up first. He spit again, trying to get the taste of bile from his throat. John John remained still. His hands moved to his head, but he made no effort to rise.

Chris looked over at JJ. He slapped his open hand down on JJ’s belly with a loud WHACK. JJ grunted as a red impression of a hand slowly developed on his abs. Chris tried to stand but was still too woozy, so he dropped back down on his ass. JJ began to chuckle at Chris’ dilemma. Another shot to the belly, this time with a closed fist, made JJ stop.

Chris managed to pull himself to his feet, steadying himself against a tree. He looked down at the bloody smears and chunks of puke on his shorts.

“Fuck,” he said, as he began to kick off his boots and strip out of his stained shorts. Chris now stood barefoot, wearing only a pair of low-rise, Batman-patterned briefs. The pouch hung low from the weight of Chris’s big cock and balls. He pulled at the strap getting comfortable as he called to John John.

(To be continued)

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