Last Laugh

Neal wasn't the sort of guy people noticed much. He could walk through a room of people talking—even a room full of people he knew—and get to the other side without being greeted or noticed. He could have conversations with strangers and then the stranger wouldn't recognize him if they met again. He was a guy of no standout talents, no distinctive looks other than being smaller of stature than his age. He wasn't ugly; he was just plain and forgettable—and a little scrawny.

He also didn't excel at anything. Well, there were a couple of things, but these weren't anything you'd brag about in public.

He hadn't done well in high school and thus was studying auto mechanics at a vocational school instead of going to college. This wasn't really something that interested him all that much, though, so he didn't excel at that either. And he didn't really have many friends in vocational school. He'd had a few undesirable friends in high school, but they hadn't really been friends and they had taken advantage of his weakness and lack of self-respect and had been what had made him the butt of jokes and derision—so much so that he'd embraced his "nonpersonhood."

Still, he did have interests and desires. And that's what brought him into the big box bookstore in Warsaw, Indiana, on a summer Saturday afternoon. He wasn't from Warsaw, and it was important to him that he wasn't. He didn't really want to be known around here, although there wasn't much danger of that.

What it looked like was that he had gone to sleep standing in front of a book shelf, holding a book in his hand, way in the back of the store, oblivious to the funny looks people gave him as they wandered down the aisle. He didn't care what most people thought, though. He was interested in one particular kind of person.

"That the only copy of the book on the shelf?"

Neal turned his face to see who had asked about the book, John Rechy's classic gay journey book,

City of the Night

. That was the book Neal had been standing and holding for all to see in front of the gay and lesbian book section—just half of one shelf really—for more than thirty minutes. He took a deep breath and gave the young man a wan smile. He was more than Neal had hoped for. He looked like a construction worker who had just come off the job. A muscular Scandinavian type, not much taller than Neal was but built like a fireplug. The "coming off a job" look came from the cut-off jeans, muscle T, and heavy construction boots he was wearing.

"You want this one?" Neal asked, broadening his smile a bit.

"I'd like something, but not that," the young man said. "Something with more feel and bite in it than you'd find between the covers of a book. What d'ya think of that?"

"I think you should have whatever you want," Neal answered.

"Interested in going for a drive in my new truck?"

"Sure, why not?" Neal answered. And why not indeed? This was exactly why Neal had come a third of a way across the state of Indiana to stand in front of the gay and lesbian shelf in a big box bookstore.

The truck was a black and shiny Dodge Ram 2500 double cab model, all polished up like it was the guy's pride and joy, which was probably right. On the way to the truck, with the guy palming Neal's butt to guide him in the parking lot, the guy said his name was Chaz. He also was pretty clear about what he wanted and that he didn't want Neal to waste his time if that wasn't what he could have.

Neal introduced himself as an Indiana State University student named Jerry, home from Terre Haute on a short vacation—and said "no problem" to what Chaz said he wanted.

Neither of them believed the other as far as IDs.

Chaz drove the truck no more than four blocks before he nosed the Dodge Ram around to the back of a closed strip mall of five empty storefronts. He stopped the truck, reached over and palmed the back of Neal's head, and pulled him in for a short kiss. The kiss was short enough that it seemed like one fluid movement in which the palming hand moved Neal's head to Chaz' face and then down into Chaz' lap, where he had already unzipped himself.

As he fished his cock out of his shorts, he leaned back in the driver's seat and whispered a moaning, "Suck it, suck it, suck it, baby." With his head encased between Chaz' hands, Neal proceeded to do just that, having trouble opening wide enough for the dick. Chaz was built like a fireplug in equipment too—not long, but extra thick. Neal had some trouble covering the cock and gagged a bit as it pushed into his mouth cavity, but he kept at it. This is what he'd come to Warsaw for.

After a few minutes Chaz tightened his grip and pulled Neal's face out of his lap. "Geez, you've got a talented mouth," he gasped. "I want more, though, this time."

This time? Neal thought. I little chill of thrill went through his body. This wasn't just going to be a blow job and dumped out of the truck four blocks from his own car then, maybe.

Chaz opened the driver's door and rolled out of the vehicle. Turning, he grabbed Neal by the upper arm and pulled him out too.

Neal shuddered. He melted to rough.

Chaz slid Neal down the line of the shiny black Dodge to the tailgate, which he unlatched and let fall, with a bang. There was a pile of gunny sacks on the bed of the truck, which Chaz quickly fanned out. With a jerk, he pulled Neal's T-shirt over his head and tossed it into the bed of the truck.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed. He jerked Neal's shorts down off his legs. "What the fuck is this?" he exclaimed again.

"Try it, you'll like it."

"A slip? You're wearing a woman's slip."

And Neal was. It was a black silky number, with lace cut into the plunging neckline and spaghetti straps holding it on Neal's shoulders.

"Don't it make you feel horny? Feel how silky it is. You can have a lot of new fantasies with this," Neal said in a husky whisper. "You feel horny, don't 'cha?" He was cupping Chaz' balls. Chaz hadn't bothered to push his cock back into his shorts or zip back up while he was pulling Neal out of the front seat.

"God, you're right," Chaz growled. His cock was hard and throbbing. He placed his hands on Neal's waist and hoisted him up onto the tailgate of the truck. He stared into Neal's eyes as his hands ran over the silkiness of the black slip, gathering up material and bunching the slithery garment around Neal's waist.

"Shit. And black panties too." He started to pull these off Neal's hips, but Neal reached down and grasped his wrists.

"No need," he whispered coquettishly. "There's a slit."

And so there was. Chaz slipped a hand into the slit to find Neal naked underneath. The fingers of one hand went to rimming and then slowly invading Neal's hole. His other hand grasped Neal's throat, holding his head down on the surface of the truck bed.

Neal groaned and moved his hips, aiding in the finger fuck. He was whispering, "You're a real stud. Fuck me good. Make me feel it," in a small, breathless voice.

His hands went under the hem of Chaz' athletic T, rising to the young man's hard nipples. Chaz took time to move his hands to pull off the T and toss it aside in the bed of the truck, and then he moved back to holding Neal down with a one-handed choke hold and finger fucking him with the other. Neal lifted his ankles to Chaz' shoulders on either side and continued to run his hands over the man's muscular torso and down to cup and squeeze his balls and shake and stroke his cock. Neal's own cock remained encased in the black panties.

"There. Rub me there again. Make me come for you."

Chaz was spending a lot a time in the finger-fucking phase, so Neal finally pointed over to his shorts and said, "Rubbers. In my shorts. Fuck me, stud. Give me your cock. Don't make me wait too long."

The young man snapped out of the rut he seemed to be in, let loose of Neal's neck, and reached over for his shorts, which had been tossed in the bed of the truck. He whistled and gave Neal a sharp look. There were a dozen packets of condoms, all connected in a long string. Chaz took time to count them out loud. A full dozen.

"You've come to party," he growled.

"Don't you know it? So party," Neal answered in a Betty Boop voice. He waited until he heard the snap of the condom being pulled up to Chaz' root, and then he reached down and guided the cock head to his hole. For the next twenty minutes all that could be heard were grunts, groans, gasps, and low moans, as Neal's channel slowly pulled the thick cock inside and the two set up a rhythm of the fuck.

Afterward, still inside Neal, Chaz leaned close down into him, their foreheads touching, and said, "You wanna be dropped back at the bookstore now, or do you wanna go for a beer? And maybe an afterward—or a bigger party."

"The beer sounds good."

While Neal readjusted his clothing, donning his camouflaging T-shirt and shorts again, Chaz went to the driver's side of the truck, pulled a cell phone from underneath the front seat, and made a few quick calls.

They drove to a seedy-looking roadhouse at the edge of Warsaw. The first thing Neal saw when they walked in were four beefy guys, looking as much like construction workers as Chaz did, sitting in a booth at the back corner of the place, the table top littered with full, but uncapped, beer bottles, and four sets of eyes glued to the entrance. The four faces, three white and one black, wore the identical grin.

"Bill, Alphonse, Mickey, and Jeb," Chaz said, in introduction, as they approached the booth. Instantly, all four faces took on an expression of confusion, but they quickly were smart enough to catch that these were their names for the day. "This here's Jerry," Chaz told them. "All sweetness, he is. And

has

he got a surprise for anyone interested in checking him out."

With that, Chaz, slid in beside Bill and Alphonse on one side, and Mickey rolled out of the booth so that Neal could wedge between him and Jeb on the other side of the booth. Both Bill and Jeb tried to give Neal a bottle of beer at the same time, but Bill won the race. He took a moment longer than necessary to release Neal's hand and was giving him a warm smile. Both Jeb and Mickey put arms around Neal's shoulders on either side.

Truth be known, Neal wasn't worried or nervous at all. He hadn't been shown this much attention by a group of guys for some time. Entertaining groups of guys had once been a specialty of his, though. Even the slip and panties idea was nothing new for him.

The four new guys spent time trying to get Neal's attention and one-upping each other in their form of charm as they plied him with beer. As soon as Neal started to act woozy, though, they increasingly joked and engaged in sexual innuendo talk among themselves and acted like Neal wasn't even there—although he continued to be the center of attention.

"You'll be floored with this cutie's secret," Chaz said when he thought Neal's ears were buzzing too loudly to hear what they were saying.

"Give good head, does he?" That was Mickey.

"That and more," answered Chaz. "And a real surprise."

"I've put in for about all the beer I can afford," Bill said. "We gonna do this or not?"

"So, wanna take the chicken for a little ride?" Chaz asked.

"In your new Dodge Ram?" Mickey asked.

"Ram," Alphonse, the black dude said. Then he laughed. "The man said ram and my dick stood up and saluted. I feel like ramming something. Ram, ram, ram."

"Careful, big guy," Jeb said. "You could kill what you ram with what you got."

"So, again, wanna go for a ram . . . I mean a ride?" The offer was extended by Chaz again, who added his chuckle to the rest at his little joke.

"We could take him to my place," Mickey offered. "The old lady's at her mother's for the weekend. Neighbors not close enough to hear him."

"I say we make a picnic of him," Alphonse said. "Down by the river. On Zeke's—I mean Jeb's— river property. I've got firsties."

"The hell you do, Alphonse," Jeb chimed in. "You can use my place, but if you go first he won't feel any of the rest of us inside him."

"Let's stop for weed and beer to go on the way," Bill said.

Through all of this, Neal was moving his head back and forth, pointing it to whoever was talking the loudest at the moment, but giving a good indication from the sloppy grin on his face that he either didn't really hear any of it or was OK with it all. Just like he'd done in school for attention.

Five beefy studs and a scrawny Neal were loaded into the Dodge truck. Chaz and Alphonse were in front, the rest were in back, with Neal sitting on the lap of the middle guy, Bill.

"Jesuzz Chriist!" Bill yelled from the backseat while the truck was buzzing through the countryside.

"Found the secret, did ja?" Chaz called from the front seat.

"The guy's got on a black slip and panties," Jeb informed the front seat.

"So, enjoy," Chaz called back. "I found it a turn-on. There's a slit in the panties."

"Too late," Mickey said, with a laugh. "They're off. He's already on Bill's cock. Bill knows all about that slit."

All that could be heard inside the double cab for several miles were the sounds of sex from the backseat. Neal wasn't doing much more than groaning and moaning, but when he gave a sharp cry, Chaz exclaimed a "What the fuck?" pulled over to the side of the road, and turned to look into the back. "Geez, guys, couldn't you wait for that. You'll finish him off before we even get there."

"Pull off more on the shoulder," Alphonse said. "We can all do him right here."

Bill was sitting in the center of the backseat. Neal was crouched in his lap, facing him, his legs bent on either side of Bill's hips and knees buried into the edge where the seat back met the cushion. He was still wearing the black slip, bunched up around his chest, but that was all. He was sitting on Bill's cock. Jeb had moved around to Neal's back, his own back pressed into the back of the front seat, and also had his cock inside Neal's ass, on top of Bill's. Mickey's hand was between Bill's and Neal's bellies, and he was stroking Neal's cock. Neal was flopping around between the two men double fucking him and moaning and groaning deeply. He had his eyes closed. His fists were grasping and digging into Bill's shoulders, the fingers opening and closing in the rhythm of whoever's cock was actively stroking inside him.

With a snort of disgust, Chaz put the truck back on the road. "Not here, Alphonse. The cops police this road."

Chaz parked the Dodge Ram at the end of a track a quarter of a mile off the main road into Jeb's heavily wooded river property. Jeb had cleared an area there, in a depression below the vehicle track and right next to a shallow river bed where water raced over exposed rocks. Jeb had put a picnic table down there, and whoever wasn't occupied with Neal up at the truck sat around the picnic table smoking pot, drinking beer, and joking about the gang bang they were sharing. They were all naked, for quicker transitions. They left their clothes in the bed of the truck.

Chaz had told them about the twelve condoms Neal had been carrying in his shorts—eleven when Chaz and Neal had gotten to the roadhouse, and nine when they had arrived at the picnic spot. They decided that they'd use them all—that would be their goal.

Chaz looked up the hill at the truck and laughed. He was high enough to be amused by the tableau of Alphonse, the big black stud, standing on a log behind the truck's tailgate, between Neal's thin white legs, which were spread and raised and were quavering such that Chaz could discern every thrust of Alphones' dick. Glimpses of Neal's hands scrabbling around on Alphonse's torso and the rim of the truck bed as he screamed his taking of a cock thicker than Bill's and Jeb's together amused Chaz.

All the guys other than Chaz had already fucked Neal separately twice in the truck by the river—or en route to the river. Chaz had held Alphonse off. He knew that the big black would ream the scrawny little chicken a wide one. From Neal's cries, this seemed to be the case.

This was the eleventh fuck. Chaz was holding the twelfth condom packet. He was providing the chicken, so he would have the last helping.

When Alphonse was finished and had turned to climb down the hill to the picnic table, Chaz rose and made his way up the hill. He lifted Neal out of the bed of the truck and, making sympathetic clucking noises, helped Neal hobble around to the door to the backseat. He opened the rear door, and Neal made to sit on the seat gingerly. But with a laugh, Chaz pushed Neal onto his back on the seat, his legs still out of the truck. Neal moaned as Chaz rolled the last condom on his cock, and then, with a groan, Neal lifted his legs and spread them and planted his heels in the top frame of the doors on that side of the truck, arched his back, and gave a little cry as Chaz planted his feet on the running board, pushed his torso into the truck's backseat, suspended over Neal's, thrust inside Neal, and began to pump him hard and fast.

After putting their clothes back on, the beefy construction workers climbed back into the truck cab. They left Neal lying on his back on the gunny sacks in the bed of the truck, an arm flung over his face, and groaning.

Chaz let his four friends out at the roadhouse at the edge of Warsaw and then drove back to the shopping center where the big box bookstore was located. He pulled over to the far edge of the parking area, where there were no cars even remotely close, backed the truck to some trees, turned it off, and got out. He marched around to the tailgate, lowered it, grabbed Neal by one of his ankles and pulled him to the edge. Then he lifted the moaning Neal out of the truck. Neal wasn't moving a muscle. He let Chaz manipulate him like a rag doll. Chaz laid him down on the mulch at the fringe of the parking lot. Neal had struggled back into his shorts and T-shirt during the ride back into town.

"Thanks for the party, bitch," Chaz growled. "The slip and panties were a fun surprise. Sorry, I don't know what happened to the panties. One of the guys took them as a souvenir probably. But that's what you get for taking chances like that. Bet you don't do that again anytime soon. No charge for the lesson."

Neal opened his eyes, peeking at Chaz' truck as it moved off, across the empty zone of the parking lot.

Bet I do it again next weekend, he thought. Although maybe not with as good results.

He scampered up, belying the weakness he had been displaying, and pulled back into the woods at the edge of the parking lot. He'd work his way around to his Camaro, parked at the other end of the shopping center from the big box bookstore. He suspected Chaz would be back—maybe sooner than later. Neal would watch for this as he went to his car.

He had just endured the riskiest part of all of this. It wasn't the pickup or the gang bang, or the double fuck, or Alphonse's monster cock, or being fucked twelve times. Neal had enjoyed all of that. That was one of the talents he couldn't brag about in public. He loved taking cock and could take it all day and in super sizes. Alphonse had been the best fuck of the lot—because Neal was an unabashed size queen.

It was because of his other talent. There had been a distinct danger that one of those dummies would notice that they'd all been stripped of their credit cards and folding money during the gang bang. While one was leaving him and the other arriving at the truck's tailgate, Neal had been rifling their wallets. The roadhouse gang would discover that as soon as they tried to pay for beer at the roadhouse. Chaz could realize it even sooner than that.

But Neal had disarmed them all with his act that he couldn't hold his beer and that he had become so incapacitated that he just let them gangbang him. The truth was that he'd never lost control over himself and he loved being gangbanged. He loved being the center of attention for groups of beefy and hung men.