Sheldon's Nutshuckers and The Six-Legged Dog Trot

Copyright 2012 -- Nicholas Hall

Midnight, the bewitching hour, that brief interlude between the day past, the day present, and the day after was passed an hour or so, and settled deeply, and I mean deeply, into that lovely, warm, soft, undulating, pleasurable, cock-milking passage of Tony Perez's, I wondered aloud, "How in the world did I get us in such a pickle?"

From underneath me, bare back resting comfortably against my chest, the sweet, firm mounds of his butt enveloping my bush and rod, securing my hands more tightly around his male endowment in order to bring him off as I reached my thrusting, pumping goal, Tony sighed contentedly, "Well, Sheldon, we stripped naked, you stretched across my back, inserted your magnificent torpedo into my submarine and we began an around the world journey."

"No," I moaned in ecstasy as Tony flexed, squeezed, twisted his inner core causing me to hump more rapidly and excitably, "I mean two weeks ago at the Community Christmas program," and began unloading my own liquid gift into Tony's warm, inviting, human stocking.

"Umph, dubva, nnpmt," was the muffled response coming from my near right in the semi-darkness of the recreation room where we'd celebrated the coming of the New Year the previous evening and capped it off with a bit of a tryst.

"Don't try to talk with your mouth full, Sweet Boy," admonished the soft, loving voice of Lou Pianetta.

There was a soft "plop" and Clayton Johnson's, Lou's boyfriend, head poked up from under the blankets covering him and Lou, where moments before he was happily devouring Lou's generous appendage, giving him what was the first of many loving experiences throughout the New Year and Lou, not wanting to be thought of as ungrateful, would reciprocate tit for tat or mouth to cock, so to speak, repeated with confidence, "It wasn't your fault, Sheldon. We all agreed to it, didn't we Jakeil?"

"Just a second, Clayton," Jakeil squealed, "We're both just about there," and pumped himself deeply into Tyler Well's back door. How Tyler was able to accommodate that epic shaft, I'll never know -- practice, I would suppose.

Jakeil finally caught his breath enough to say, "If we hadn't wanted to do it, we wouldn't have."

"Yeah," added Tyler from Jakeil's underneath, "It was the least we could do for your Mom, Shell, after all she does for us. She bakes some awesome lemon bars."

The Nutshuckers were in agreement, commiserating on our latest adventure, the fiasco prior to Christmas at the First Reformed Evangelical Apostolic Christian Church. It really was the "right thing" to do, although there may be those who were in attendance that evening who might differ with that opinion and, through some twisted logic, blame us for what they might consider a very lurid, public display of lewdness and vulgarity. I sometimes wonder what people think of, don't you?

Christmas time, that yearly occurrence in our lives wherein the joys of the season cascade about us, effusing us with song, shopping, presents, good will to all, massive feasts designed to satisfy our desire for gluttony, adding inches to our waist (instead of our cocks), and languidness to our very being, and, I might add, that time-honored tradition found in every community, in every church, on every list of things to do to celebrate -- the children's Christmas program. Some church groups have their own individual congregational programs while others have a desire for an ecumenical program wherein all of the Christian churches in a community come together to celebrate, to commune together, to share in the feeling of "Peace on Earth, Good Will to all Men," and enjoying sharing together, this yearly event.

This year it fell upon Aunt Mildred's (my Dad's oldest sister) church, the First Reformed Evangelical Apostolic Christian Church, to host the community program. Mother, commented to Dad it was the first time Aunt Mildred's church hosted it since they were a bit conservative.

"Conservative, my ass," muttered my Dad, "They're so far to the right you couldn't spot them with the Hubble Telescope. It's a wonder they ever have families, everything people do seems to be sinful in their eyes." I agreed with him, but I didn't think this was the time to speak up about it, not wanting to jeopardize the New Year's party the Nutshuckers were planning.

"Now, now," cautioned Mother, "she is your oldest sister, so be kind."

It fell upon Aunt Mildred's church to not only sponsor the program, but provide the participants or actors, costumes, animals and other stage props for the event, with the intent of inspiring the community attendees to great heights of religious fervor and experience, and, although with subtly I'm certain, bring positive light to their own church. Without saying, a side-bar mission of the program held in their church, might bring more zealot worshippers and financial contributions into the folds of their small congregation who's coffers were desperate in need of cash, green backs, coin of the realm, moola. Their shrinking congregation was becoming smaller and smaller and in need of a membership boost. Personally, I thought some serious, unshackled, unbridled fucking on the part of the breeders in the bunch might do a lot for them, but no one asked me.

Now at this point, you're probably wondering how the Nutshuckers got involved in such a project, given our own personal proclivities? Well, I'll tell you, it wasn't easy, but there are times you just have to do what's right, don't you?

Influenza, the flu, "the green-apple quick step", "don't trust a fart", and "up-chuck the lunch" type disease rocketed through the elementary schools two weeks before Christmas vacation. Once leaving there, it headed toward the middle school with the same shitty, pukey, results. By the time Christmas break came, it still hadn't run its course. It was this age group, the middle school group, those members of the First Reformed Evangelical Apostolic Christian Church who Aunt Mildred was given charge of, to perform the pageant. She was to coach them through their parts for the Christmas program and direct the performance. They were going to do a living Nativity scene, live people and live animals. However, when the flu hit, just prior to the program, Aunt Mildred panicked! All of her players were ill and couldn't possibly make the performance.

For whatever reason, she was making one of her very rare visits to our home (she often referred to my father as a "heathen" and I'm certain thought it was contagious, filtering its way to her nephew; if she only knew) and was pouring out her tale of woe and missed religious experience to my mother.

"I just don't know what I will do," she sniffed (gag, gag), "we had such high hopes of a stellar performance. Do you have any suggestions? We just need seven young people is all."

Listening from the hall outside the kitchen, I could smell the rat hunting for the cheese and could almost hear him or her, in this case, salivating in anticipation. I knew damn well what the old crone was up to and was hopeful mother would back away and not be the extra, special nice person she was.

No luck at the crap table tonight, folks; nope, Mom just volunteered me AND MY FRIENDS!

"Well, Mildred," she offered, "Sheldon has five very nice young men that he's friends with. I'm certain they'd be more than willing to pitch in. What do they have to do?"

Aha; the rat grabbed the cheese and is gobbling it up as fast as she could. "Really, not that much; three will dress in robes as the Wise Men, one person will dress as Joseph, one will be swaddled as the Babe in the Manger, and one person will be the narrator. My daughter, Jennifer, will dress as the Virgin Mary."

Well, that's going to be interesting. What Aunt Mildred doesn't know, is Cousin Jenny's legs bow and her panties dampen every time she walks by the YMCA; not to mention the fact she can size out the dicks of half of the guys in the senior class from smallest to largest. I haven't heard if she has been checking out the juniors yet. Give her time and she'll add that group to her list.

When called to the kitchen by mother, I could do nothing but agree to ask my friends, knowing full well they wouldn't turn my mom down. Sure enough, when I made the calls that evening, all of the Nutshuckers agreed. I informed my mom, who informed Aunt Mildred, and we were off to the races or Christmas Program, I should correct.

The night of the performance, standing in the little room reserved for us to change, we dressed in our costumes. Tyler, Jakeil, and Tony were the Three Wise Men, Lou was Joseph, I was the narrator, and Clayton was the Babe in the Manager. His costume was the simplest of all; a white cotton dish towel pinned on him in the manner of a diaper, and that was it; nothing on underneath. I think that's why Lou insisted on being Joseph, so he could keep an eye on his nearly naked boyfriend. We agreed Cousin Jenny (Mary) and Lou would wheel the straw-lined feed bunker (aka: manger), with Clayton inside, out on the stage where we were to perform when they entered. Aunt Mildred looked us over, pronounced us ready to go, and then brought the animals out. She explained she was unable to obtain a sheep so she persuaded the pastor to substitute his wife's poodle, Fifi, and hung a sign around her neck announcing it was a "sheep." The donkey, she explained, came from a hunter in the congregation who had a collection of coon hounds. The hound, with a "donkey" sign around its neck, was a flop-eared, long-legged, skinny thing, with a big set of balls that waggled when he was taken out on the stage by Aunt Mildred.

Cousin Jenny made her appearance, dressed in gown and head covering, looked at Clayton lying in the manger, licked her lips in anticipation of a light snack perhaps, but changed her mind when Lou growled something in her ear. After the children's choir (those who were sufficiently recovered to attend) sang their little ditties, accompanied by cute faces, fingers in noses, and ass scratching, before the high school music group was to screech out their renditions of various festive and religious arias, our little group of troubadours marched out, took our places and began. It was then I noticed the organist was none other than Mrs. Thwactman and Mr. Twachtman (you remember him don't you?) and two of his daughters were sitting in the front row.

Joseph, Mary, and Clayton were in their places, the make-believe donkey and sheep standing on either side of the bunker, the Wise Men entered, the music played, and at that crucial point when all eyes fell upon the manger and I read the words, "brought forth a babe," Mary looked up, then about desperately, despair, fear in her face, and suddenly, completely, inexplicably, totally emptied the contents of her stomach into the manger, lobbing a load befitting a teamster, coating Clayton, ensconced therein, with the mess.

Jakeil, Wise Man Number Two, shouted out, not with glee, but dismay, "Shit, she done barfed all over the Baby Jesus!"

Clayton howled in disgust, "What the fuck did you do that for?" and, leaping up in the feed bunk in an attempt to escape the foul smelling slime coating his almost naked body, tipped the bunk over, spilling him out onto the sanctuary floor, hooking a corner of his diaper on the corner of the bunk in the process, leaving him as naked as the day he was born, exposing his pecker and balls to the hysterical and now the sympathetic retching audience.

The Wise Men, also dodging about, fearful Mary was going to spew another load, left the animals unattended. Unfortunately, to add to the chaos now engulfing the pageant, the donkey decided to ride to Jerusalem on the back of the sheep, rather vigorously, amid much yowling and howling from the sheep being straddled by the larger critter, now buried deeply, knotted and pulsing a goodly stream of baby makers inside her, brought the preacher's wife to her feet, screaming at the good reverend, demanding he put a stop to this outrage and the debauching of her poodle. He, the good reverend, in an attempt to slow the progress to Jerusalem down, grabbed the bowl of water from the baptismal font, lined up on the two romancing dogs, locked together dancing the Six-legged Dogtrot, and gave a toss of the water therein, dousing not only the errant pooches, but sending water cascading over Mrs. Thwactman, getting her organ all wet. Leonard Cantril, helpful, but lecherous man that he is, jumped up from the audience to assist the irate and surprised Mrs. Twachtman in sopping up the water, was sent sailing with a well-placed hymnal alongside of his head with a screeching admonition to, "get your filthy hands off of my organ."

Her outrage brought forth Mr. Thwactman, in an effort to rescue his wife's honor and prevent anyone else from touching her organ, unfortunately left his two daughters unattended. The two high school girls, spotting Clayton's cock flopping up and down as he danced around doing the "I'll Beat Myself Black and Blue with a Flopping Dick" polka, trying to find something to cover himself with, committing an act of self-flagellation in the process, zeroed in on that piece of meat like two pointing hunting dogs, nose pointed at a quail or pheasant hiding in the grass, only they didn't stand still. No, they hurled themselves toward the stage and Clayton, fully intending I should imagine, to rescue him with an act of Christian kindness and charity by hiding his most important part in some dark, warm, moist place of their choosing, at least twice.

One look at the two heading for him, Clayton shrieked for help, and Lou stepped forward, lifted him, clasped him tightly to himself, wrapping him so both of them were enclosed in Lou's robe, and trotted off-stage with him. Tyler intervened as the two young ladies appeared angry, disappointed that their rescue mission should've been thwarted, announcing, "Sorry, ladies, he's already taken." That seemed to dampen their ardor, but not taking any chances, Tyler scooted off of the stage with Jakeil and Tony, leaving me standing behind the podium.

I looked out over the gathered crowd and saying the church was in chaos would be an understatement, not even close to the pandemonium, the cacophony of stifled gags, the moans of despair and disgust as one youngster launched their lunch and then another, drenching neighbors, parents, and the unsuspecting. The panic at the front doors as people wrenched each other aside in their haste to vacate the premises was almost more than I could bear to watch. I don't think there has been that many Christians trying to escape their confinement, depart the premises, or get the hell out of Dodge, with little regard for others since the days of Rome when the lions entered the coliseum to feast on those slower than the person in front of them.

People were scurrying about, husbands helping wives care for children with delicate stomachs, boyfriends or girlfriends looking at each other with wrinkled noses and skewed faces, the preacher's wife continuing to shriek how poor Fifi had been pilastered, the good reverend trying to contain the mayhem and restore order, and me, just looking for a quick way out of there. I headed for the same door the Nutshuckers exited from and when reaching it, I was stopped by Aunt Mildred with an angry, sharp, knifing question, slicing me to the core,

"How could you?" she snarled, as if it was all my fault. I thought seriously about reminding her she was the one who recruited the two dogs currently fucking their way to the vestry, but I thought better of it, instead, I quickly stepped in the dressing room and shut the door. Tyler and Tony were already out of their costumes and in their street clothes. Lou was out of his costume and buried deep in Clayton who had his legs wrapped around Lou's waist taking his own ride to Jerusalem.

Once they disengaged, we beat a hasty retreat for my house. Mom and Dad sat patiently while the six of us poured out our tale of woe, upset that Aunt Mildred would affix the blame for such a conundrum on us, fearful our plans for a New Year's party just might be shot in the ass. When the last word was sputtered, our collective breaths caught, Mom looked at us, smiled, and asked,

"Do you want a pan of lemon bars for your party?"

Tyler, ever the suck-up, stepped forward, thanking Mom for not canceling the party, gave her a big hug, and said, "I knew you'd understand, Mrs. Miller. We tried to help, but everything just went south when Sheldon's cousin barfed all over Clayton."

He paused a moment while Mom returned his hug, knowing Tyler received very few at home, then turned to Dad, "Do you think I should call your sister, Mildred, and volunteer our services for their church's Easter Pageant? I've a great idea for the ride into Jerusalem on an ass," and winked at Jakeil.

OMG!

***

Thank you for reading "Sheldon's Nutshuckers and the Fugly Ucker."  I hope you enjoy following the adventures of Sheldon Miller and friends.  If you enjoy my stories and the many others found on this free site, please consider a donation to Nifty.  It is your donations which make all of our stories free and available for you to read and enjoy.  Thank you.

Nick Hall

 

Other stories of mine can be found at Nifty Prolific Authors or you may browse from the list below:

Nifty- Beginnings - "Table Number Five" -- January 18, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings -"The Carpenter and the Piano Man" -- January 24, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "Gillie" -- January 31, 2012

Nifty-High School - Sheldon's Nutshuckers

                                    "The Stinky Pinky" -- February 14, 2012.

                                    "The Head of Medusa" -- March 8, 2012

                                    "Twachtman's Revenge" -- May 1, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings --"Last House on the Left" -- February 21, 2012

Nifty-College -- "First of May" -- February 29, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings -- "The Heart of a Dancer" -- April 4, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "Parker's Love" -- April 26, 2012

Nifty-High School --"Railroad Bridges" -- May 9, 2012

Nifty-High School -- "Our End is in Sight" -- May 18, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "The Bar-Tender" -- May 29, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "Where there's Will" -- September 5, 2012

The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.

Positive comments are welcome and appreciated at:  nick.hall8440@gmail.com