Date: Mon, 15 Feb 2021 16:48:57 -0500
From: Dirty OldMan <dirtyoldmanwriter@gmail.com>
Subject: Son of a Whore

Author's note:

This story is purely fiction! Any resemblance to actual real persons or
places is completely coincidental and entirely unintended. The world and
characters only exist in my mind and on the pages I write.

The story will contain explicit descriptions of sexual activity and
relationships. The activity will ultimately include MM, Mb, bb, bf, Mf, MF,
even a bit of Ff and ff, as well as instances of bestiality in future
chapters. Also, while no one is ever really `hurt' in my tale, some of the
sexual activity will be non-consensual and/or coerced, for those with
`triggers' about that type of activity.

While I was writing, I had it in my mind that the time-frame of the tale
was somewhere after the American Civil War in the late 1800s, through maybe
the first decade of the 1900s. I have tried to keep my wording and
references in sync with that time, although shit happens and there may be
parts where the continuity is off.

I also have used a few `racial epitaphs' from the time period, which would
NOT be used today, only to try and keep the story `real' as possible in the
historic setting. I have also chosen not to give the main character a name,
since it's being told in first-person perspective, I didn't feel the
need... Use your imagination if you must.

I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on the story (or any other thoughts you
might have...) - Please feel free to e-mail me at
DirtyOldManWriter@gmail.com and I promise to respond to all e-mails I
receive!!

And finally - Please consider donating to Nifty if you have the
means... They really do provide a wonderful service and every little bit
helps!!!

Now on with the tale.....

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Son of a Whore

By, A Dirty Old Man

Chapter 1 - The Coach

I was twelve, nearly thirteen when it all began. Up until then, I had a
good life, or at least I though so. That I grew up in a brothel didn't seem
one bit strange, nor that I didn't know who my father was. It wasn't until
I was made to leave after my mother died and saw how others reacted upon
finding out about my upbringing that I understood how different it was. I
was was bastard son of a whore, something I'd never really thought about
until I was forced to leave my childhood home and received multiple
reminders every day regarding my 'station' in life from the man I was sent
to live with. The man, who I later discovered actually bought me from the
brothels owner, spared little kindness toward me, except for the rare
occasion that he chose to pleasure me, rather than making me please him as
he usually did.

His name was Winston Russell Rothbury, a confirmed bachelor who owned a
decent-sized estate nearly a full days journey from the city where I was
born. My mother was barely cold in her pauper's grave, when the owner of
the brothel summoned me to his rooms and I saw Mr. Win for the first
time. He was a big man in his mid-to-late thirties, and despite his
impeccable grooming and finely tailored clothing, it was evident that his
strong, manly physique was a result of hard manual work, unlike the vast
majority of lean, or doughy men who I'd watched coming and going from the
house over the years.

The big man took me in with an appraising eye, making me feel like he was
somehow looking inside me or through me, rather than just looking at me. I
stood there for what seemed like forever as the big man's eyes raked up and
down my body.

"I've never been partial to redheads," the man said to the brothel owner as
though I wasn't standing right there listening to him talk about me, "but
this boy doesn't seem as repugnant as so many of his kind do. And he is a
bit young for my tastes, only just though, but within a year or so he'll be
perfect in that regard. And he is rather small for his age."

I was beginning to become scared. I didn't know what was happening. And
considering that my mother had died less than a week before and I was still
grieving for her made it all seem like too much. I was tempted to bolt, to
run away and never look back, but I had no clue where I'd go.

Finally the big man pulled his dark eyes away from me and looked to the
owner and said, "Ok, I suppose he'll do." He looked back to me, the
expression on his face looked like he'd just smelled something rotten, then
he continued, "Do whatever you need to, to get him ready as quick as you
can. I'll be waiting downstairs." He tore his eyes off me again and all-but
growled to the owner, "I want to get out of this wretched city as soon as
soon as possible."

I was told to collect all my belongings, which wasn't much - only a couple
changes of clothes, a few marbles I'd won from some of the other kids in
the area, and the Bible that was given to me by a pastor, who was also one
of my mother's best customers. I a few minutes to say my goodbyes to the
women of the house, basically the only "family" I'd ever known, and then I
was taken downstairs to the lounge. The man was on his feet the instant we
entered the room and came right over to me.

"As always, it's been a pleasure," the man said to the owner of the brothel
and at the same time he put one of his big hands between my shoulders, and
started to usher me toward the front door where a horse-drawn carriage
waiting in the street.

I was only able to get a glance of the driver, a lean negro man, dressed in
a black suit, though not as nicely fitted and showing much more wear than
the big man's impeccable finery, before the man moved his big hand from
between my shoulders up, to the base of my neck, and he "helped" me into
the coach.

It was the first time I'd ever ridden in a coach and, once we got under
way, I was so fascinated by watching the city pass by from the windows,
that the silence from the man barely registered in my mind. However, that
whole time it was like I could feel his eyes on me, and with just the two
of us in the passenger compartment, him sitting so he was facing the driver
and me on the bench under the driver, facing the big man.  It seemed that
his stare was more intense than it was in the brothel owner's rooms when I
first saw him. The other thing that I took notice of was that despite the
man's spotless attire and seemingly squeaky-clean grooming, the potent and
masculine odor of his body, of his sweat, filled every breath I took inside
the enclosed coach.

I'm guessing we'd been on the road for about an hour, the city behind us
and all I could see out the windows were fields and woods, and the
occasional farmhouse as we passed by, before the man finally spoke.

"My name is Winston Russell Rothbury," he said in a deep tone of voice,
"but you will refer to me as Mr. Winston, or 'Mr. Win' just as all my other
servants do."

That was the first mention of the role I would be playing in my new
life. While I didn't have the first clue what being Mr. Winston's servant
would entail, at least I knew what my "title" was. Then he reached out one
of his hands to me, I noticed for the first time how hairy his hands and
wrists were (other than his face, his hands were the only bare skin I could
see). The backs of his hands were nearly completely covered with dark hairs
and there were even patches on his fingers, between his knuckles.

"Come sit beside me, boy," the man said as I reached out to take his
offered, hairy hand. And once I did, he pulled me across the coach to sit
on the bench right at his side. And once there, he kept hold of my
hand. That was when I noticed the obscene bulge in the front of his
trousers and, growing up in a whore house, I knew full well what was
causing that bulge. And for some reason, maybe it was the man's body odor
which permeated my every breath and got even stronger sitting right up
against him, or maybe it was me noticing the man's bulge, or maybe it was
his hairy hand holding mine, or maybe it was because I hadn't yet pleasured
myself in a while (something I'd discovered about a year before and in the
last few months actually began to produce something to shoot out upon
climax. I normally did it a couple times a day, but since my mother died I
just hadn't as much), but at that moment I could feel my own little spike
becoming erect inside my pants.

With my hand still in his, the big man looked me right in the eyes and,
like a startled deer, I looked back at him, frozen in his stare. The look
in his eyes was, well, the best description I can think of is that he
looked hungry, like he hadn't eaten in days and I was a perfectly cooked
pork chop. I was terrified. I had no real idea about what was happening to
me, where I was going, nothing. My mind was chaotic - I didn't know what to
think. But my body - being a twelve, almost thirteen year old male, who
hadn't had any relief in a few days, my body was becoming more excited by
the minute.

"You're going to help me out here, boy," the Mr. Win said and as he spoke
he pulled my hand down to his crotch. With his hand over mine, made me cup
the huge bulge there. He made my hand squeeze him a bit and the man let out
a deep moan as he did. Then he pulled his hand off mine, leaving me still
gripping the bulge in his pants and, as though I couldn't help myself, I
gave the bulge another squeeze and he let out another rumbling moan.

"Unfasten my pants, boy, and take it out," he commanded, "I'm sure you're
old enough to know what to do with it once it's out."

With trembling fingers, I did as told, undoing each button of his
trousers. When I had the third button unfastened, the flaps of his fly
spread open enough for me to see a dark, thick mat of curly hair - it was
obvious he wasn't wearing any underclothes - and the scent of his sweaty
body became much stronger. When two more buttons were undone, I saw the
pale skin of his fat shaft. After I unfastened the last button, the man
lifted his butt up off the bench and shoved his pants down to his knees and
his erection popped up big and proud.

I was mesmerized. Of course I'd seen men's pricks before, usually while
peeping into the rooms of my mother's coworkers. But I'd never seen
anything like what protruding from Mr. Win's crotch. Much like the man
himself, it was big, thick and hairy. I knew that if I were to stick my
pinkey finger at its base and spread my hand wide, my thumb wouldn't be
able to reach its tip and it was so thick that I was sure my fingers
wouldn't reach all the way around it if I gripped it that way. And that was
exactly what the man wanted me to do. As I took in his big, fat cock, which
had dark hair growing from the pelt at its base up an inch or so along the
sides of its thick shaft, and his huge, hair-covered balls, I began to feel
a tingling of some sort in my belly.

"Get your hand around it and you know what to do from there," he said, his
breaths beginning to become rougher. I did as told and, as best as I could,
wrapped my hands around it - I was right in that there was a bit of a gap,
maybe half an inch or so, between the tip of my forefinger and thumb as I
encircled my hand around it. Once it was in my grip, I began to slowly pull
my hand up and down, stroking the thick prick and watching the fleshy
foreskin, which despite the man being as stiff and rigid as surely
possible, still covered his entire cock-head with a little nib at its
tip. And, even more fascinating was the clear drops of fluid oozing from
within that little nib at its tip, which all but disappeared, revealing the
slit at the tip with each down-stroke.

Mr. Win talked me through what he wanted, telling me to stroke faster, or
harder, or to squeeze his prick tighter as I manipulated it. His voice
became breathier and his grunts and groans louder the longer I worked his
cock. After several minutes I was squeezing it as tight as I could, pumping
it harder and faster as I was instructed, the odor of his body and sweat
becoming more and more intense, the clear fluid flowing from its tip was
oozing down his shaft, making my hand wet, and just when I thought my arm
might give out the man commanded me to stop. I did as told, keeping my hand
wrapped around his fat shaft.

"I'm almost there, boy," he grunted and I felt one of his hands move up my
spine to the back of my neck, "but I don't want to soil my clothing with my
seed." He applied a gentle pressure to the back of my head, pushing me down
toward his angry-looking, rigid and dripping cock.

"You're going to keep stroking it," he said as my face was mere inches from
his cock, "and now put your mouth around it, so when I erupt you can catch
all the spunk and swallow it, so it doesn't mess my outfit."

Once again, growing up in a brothel was advantageous. While I'd never
before done what the man wanted from me, I had heard my mother and the
other whores talking about doing it to their customers, so while the act
itself didn't necessarily appeal to me, I knew it wouldn't be harmful or,
hopefully, as disgusting as it sounded.

He pushed my head down just a bit more, until the tip of his prick made
contact with my lips. "Now open up and suck it, boy, and squeeze it a bit
tighter as you stroke it," he commanded. I did as I was told.

It tasted salty, not as bad as I was expecting - despite having no clue
what to expect, with a somewhat bitter flavor as an undertone, which seemed
to taste a bit stronger with each down-stroke I made. He kept his hand on
the back of my head and, without forcing it too deep in my mouth, moved me
up and down the first couple inches of his prick, with the same rhythm as
my stroking hand.

It all seemed so nasty, so dirty, but for some reason the thought of how
perverted and depraved the act was made that tingling in my belly become
stronger and my hard, little spike was throbbing inside my pants. We went
like that for several minutes, me jerking my hand up and down his shaft as
he held my head, keeping me from letting it slip out of my mouth. He was
grunting and groaning, telling me how good I was making him feel in between
giving me instructions of what he wanted.

And then he cried out, "Here it comes, boy!" The pressure on the back of my
head increased and another inch or so of his cock was forced into my mouth,
nearly causing me to gag. A moment later Mr. Win let out a loud and
animalistic sounding howl, as the first wad of his spunk shot into my
mouth.

Now, as I mentioned previously, I had been pleasuring myself for around a
year at that point and in the last few months I'd begun to squirt when I
did. But the small bit of opaque, watery goo that came out of me upon
climax was nothing compared to the substantial shots of hot, thick, creamy
spunk that the man was spurting into my mouth.

I was caught off my guard by the amount of salty but bitter seed that he
released. The first shot nearly filled my mouth and I didn't start gulping
it down until after the second shot. Then the third wad shot out, and the
fourth... I did my best to do as Mr. Win had told me, to drink down
everything he deposited into my mouth, so as not to soil his clothing, but
despite my best efforts I could feel some of the hot goo seeping from where
I was trying to keep my lips sealed around his fat shaft. Every mouthful of
his spunk that I swallowed was just as quickly replaced by the next wad he
shot out.

And while I'm sure his climax didn't last anymore than a minute to a minute
and a half, if even that long, it seemed like I'd spent at least an hour
sucking on his prick and gulping down his semen. My jaws were aching and it
was like I could feel the heat of his offering burning the inside of my
mouth and down my throat, coating it all as I tried to ingest as much of it
as I could.

The man didn't release his hold on my head, keeping me where I was and his
prick in my mouth, even as his climax subsided. His breaths were coming in
shallow gasps as I felt his cock pulse a few more times and then begin to
lose its rigidity a bit. I kept sucking and swallowing, not wanting any
more of his spunk to escape me. And for a moment or two, the man seemed
happy just to let me do my thing. But then, his fingers entwined in the
hair at the back of my head, he pulled my mouth away from his cock and then
pushed my face back down, so that my nose was buried in his lush, sweat and
spunk coated bush of pubic hair, the shaft of his prick, still slowly going
flaccid, resting against my cheek.

"Not bad boy," he said when he'd gotten his breath back, "but you did let
some of my seed spill and I'm going to need you to clean that up before I
can put my pants back on properly." He pulled my head back a bit and I
could see a few glistening globs of pearly white beginning to soak into the
thick, dark, curly hair at the base of his softening prick and even a blob
or two on the dark and curly hairs covering the sac containing his huge
pair of balls.

Not knowing what else to do - I didn't have a towel or rag handy to clean
the man up, so I pushed my face back into his crotch and started to lick
and suck at his pubic hair, reclaiming the spunk that I'd allowed to seep
out of my mouth. The taste as I did this was much stronger than when I had
his semen in my mouth alone. I reasoned that not only was I licking and
sucking his spunk from the dense growth of hair down there, but I was also
tasting his sweat, which had been collecting there for who knows how long -
I guessed it had been at least a day or two, if not longer, since he'd last
bathed. Next I moved down and began lapping at his hairy ball-sac, again
tasting his bitter sweat more than the few drops of spunk that had landed
there.

I can't explain it, but for some reason as I was licking and sucking on
Mr. Win's rank, sweaty balls, that tingling in my belly came back, stronger
than ever and my hard, little dick was once again throbbing in my pants. I
kept at it, moving from just licking at his hairy sac to pulling the
wrinkly skin into my mouth and sucking on that - and then my first attempt
to draw one of his egg-sized nuts into my mouth. It was too big but I tried
for a little while - the man seemed to like it, but then I went back to
just liking and sucking on the hair.

After a bit he grabbed me by the hair again and pulled my head out of his
crotch and pushed me away from him. He reached down and pulled his trousers
up and, as I sat there thinking about all that had happened in the last ten
minutes or so, he buttoned his pants up and went quiet again.

It was maybe an hour later when Mr. Win pounded on the roof of the coach
and a moment later we pulled over and came to a stop. The man opened the
door of the coach and called out to the driver, "I need to take a piss and
I'm getting hungry." He climbed out of the passenger compartment and, with
a look at me which let me know that he expected me to follow him, he took a
few steps off the road into the bushes along side. I was right behind him,
but when he stopped walking, he turned to face me.

"Undo my pants," he said. I did as told. "Now pull it out and hold it for
me while I relieve myself." I thought this was a bit strange, I mean, how
hard is it for a guy to hold his own dick when he's pissing, but it wasn't
my place to question, my job was to do as I was told and that's what I
did. I gently took a hold of the man's cock and aimed it into the bushes. A
moment later I felt it shift a bit in my grasp and a second after that his
golden piss began to flow. His only remark as he relieved himself was
telling me to pull his foreskin back a bit, so the piss didn't collect
between the skin and the head of his cock.

I'd had it happen before that I was so full of urine that it seemed like I
was standing there pissing for hours and that was how it seemed to me as I
stood there holding Mr. Win's cock while he pissed. The flow was strong, as
was the odor of his piss and it was a deep yellow and just kept coming and
coming. I'll admit that it was somewhat awkward for me, after all how many
times have you held a man's prick while he was pissing? So instead of
looking down at the man's crotch, I did what I thought was the polite thing
and turned my head to the side, and found my eyes on the skinny black
driver, who was looking right at us and our eyes locked.

I can't say what it was, but as I looked the driver in his eyes, I somehow
knew that he knew what I'd done to Mr. Win earlier - maybe it was the grin
on his face as he stared into my eyes, or some other sort of non-verbal
communication... I can't explain it, but I could just tell that the negro
man knew I'd sucked the man's cock. (I later found out that the negro man,
who's name was Rufus, had heard Mr. Win's moans and groans as he shot his
load and, in the past, that Rufus had performed that same service for the
man, among many others that I would soon have to perform.)

When the man's piss finally did slow to a dribble and then to just a few
drips and drops, I kept my eyes on the driver, knowing my face was probably
more red than my hair, until Mr. Win cleared his throat to get my
attention. I snapped my head around to see his eyes glaring down at me.

"You should know to shake it, boy!" he growled and I almost thought I was
going to piss myself. "But since you can't seem to understand such a simple
concept, why don't you clean it the same way you did an hour ago, after you
swallowed my spunk."

My whole body felt like it had turned to ice. Doing that to him inside the
carriage, where nobody could see what I was doing, was bad enough. But
doing it here, out in the open, within plain view of the driver. I knew I
should do as I was told, but I was frozen.

Until the man spoke again, this time his voice was softer in volume, but
much "growlier" in tone, "Get down there and suck my cock, Boy!"

I immediately dropped to my knees in front of him and took his mostly
flaccid cock into my mouth. The taste was more bitter this time, the drops
of piss overpowering the salty taste. The man continued growling at me as I
started to follow his order. "Because you're new and because you're so
young, I'm going to go easy on you this time," and, as I nursed on his
cock, flicking my tongue over the fleshy nub at the tip of it, all the
sudden I feel him relax and a second later, a rush of hot, bitter liquid
was filling my mouth.

He ordered me to swallow and I did. It wasn't a powerful stream as when
he'd first started pissing, but he gave me enough for four good gulps,
before he finished. But he wasn't finished using my mouth yet. After he
stopped pissing, he grabbed my head in both his big hands and started to
ram his big, still mostly flaccid cock in and out of my mouth. He pushed it
in until it hit the entrance to my throat and then kept on pushing, I
managed to keep it from pushing down deep, but his squishy cock kept
pushing in making my cheeks bulge out.

Since he hadn't blocked my windpipe I could still breathe through my nose
and, as he handled me roughly I began to breathe deeply. He never did get
his entire cock in my mouth that day, but he did manage to get enough
inside to force my nose to get buried in his thick bush of pubic hair. And
as I inhaled that first breath of air deep into my lungs, air that had been
filtered through the man's unwashed crotch, the odor was so strong and
bitter and, well, so manly... It was the strangest thing. Despite the fact
that I was truly repulsed by the stench between the man's legs, I couldn't
snort enough of it into my nose.

The closest thing I could compare how I felt in that moment, how the
craving burst forth and grew within me and kept me inhaling Mr. Win's
bitter stink, was the time I'd been given a bag of honey and clove candies
and gorged myself on those too. It was like something had switched inside
me and taken away all reason in my mind. The man's body odor, at least that
concentrated in the profuse bush of his pubic hair, was strong and in so
many ways incredibly offensive. And yet I couldn't stop myself from
breathing it in as deeply as I could and, for whatever reason, my erect
little dick wouldn't stop throbbing inside my pants.

But, as they say, all good things must come to an end and it didn't' take
long for Mr. Win's cock to start getting hard and being as big as it was,
and me unable to take more than the first three or four inches of it into
my mouth, my face was pushed away from his pungent bush as it became
erect. However, with how tightly I pressed my face into his pubes and
rubbed it all over the thick hair there, I'd managed to cover my face in
his sweaty stink and I could still smell him, even if not as strongly as
when my nose was right there in the thick of it.

As his cock grew and became rigid, the man's hands tightened their grip in
my hair and slowly moved it in and out of my mouth, although he never fully
removed it. And the harder it got, the harder he pushed it in and out of
me. By the time it was fully erect, he was using my mouth so roughly that
there were tears dripping from my eyes. I was grateful that he didn't try
to force it down my throat, at least not yet.

Much as he'd done in the coach earlier, he worked himself up to his climax
but then stopped before going over the edge. He released his grasp on my
hair with one hand, keeping my head firmly in place with his other, and his
now free hand went and wrapped around the shaft of his cock.

"Now here's what's going to happen, boy," he growled, "You are going to
start sucking on the head of my cock and I'm going to pull back my
skin. And you're going to keep on sucking and swallowing until I tell you
to stop."

With a couple inches of his fat cock in my mouth, I couldn't speak but
nodded my head to let the man knew I understood. And I also started to suck
as hard as I could on the part of his cock that was in my mouth.

I could feel the skin of his cock-shaft pulling back through my lips, but
the amount of cock I had in my mouth didn't change. I swiped my tongue over
the tip, feeling the nub created by his fleshy foreskin becoming smaller
and smaller. The man moaned as the bulbous head of his cock was exposed and
my tongue continued to swipe over it. When nearly the entire helmet of
spongy flesh was exposed, I could sense the man was getting close. His body
was beginning to tremble and the fist he still had on my head tightened and
pulled my hair.

Then a few things happened all at once. Mr. Win tugged his foreskin back
just a touch more, which caused the tight ring of skin to pop over the
flared base of the man's cock-head and retracting fully. I actually felt
the 'pop' when it happened. And, with my tongue manically swiping all over
it, I was suddenly assaulted by a powerfully bitter taste - a repulsive
flavor that I'd tasted in a much, much less concentrated and much weaker
form since the man had put his cock in my mouth.

I was familiar with what is called 'cock-cheese.' My mother, the whore,
made sure to teach me very well about how to keep myself clean down there,
having dealt with so many men over her career that did not. I always did my
best to keep myself clean down there, but sometimes I wasn't as careful as
others and I would work-up a bit of the stuff myself. And while I was
always intrigued by the smell and texture of it, especially since I started
spilling a bit of seed when I'd pleasure myself, the thought o tasting it,
not to mention ingesting it had never even popped into my mind.

My body had been so turned-on while I was sniffing Mr. Win's pubes, but
having his disgusting cock-cheese smeared all over my mouth turned me off
quicker than I could have thought possible. I tried to pull away. I tried
to spit his cock out of my mouth. But the man held me firm and actually
chuckled, as he continued to gently fuck my mouth with his fully-unhooded
cock. I guess my struggles spured him on, or maybe it was simply that his
corona wasn't used to direct stimulation - especially from a tongue that
was furiously shoving at it, trying to expel it.

Mr. Win let out a howl, his fist tightened in my hair, he shoved his cock
as deep as it would go into the back of my mouth and a second later his
cock grew even bigger and thicker. A second after that, the first wad of
his hot cream spurted into my mouth. This time I started swallowing before
the second wad erupted and, with the pressure Mr. Win was applying with his
cock to the entrance of my throat, the very tip of his cock-head pushed
through and the second shot of spunk bypassed my mouth and went directly
down my throat.

I gagged. I choked. I tried to pull back, but the man held me firm. When he
shot his third wad, I was coughing violently that the wind being expelled
from my lungs caught his spunk and carried most of it back past my lips and
out of my mouth, landing in Mr. Win's pubic hair and even on his opened
pants. But right after he popped that wad, he yanked his cock out of my
mouth and his fourth white, hot glob of goo was splattered all over my
face. As were the next few, which were shot out with less force and
contained less of his spunk. Regardless I could taste his sperm throughout
my mouth, feel it burning down my throat, and now gobs of it were at first
hot, but now quickly cooling as they drip down all over my face.

I reached up with a hand to wipe off my face. Mr. Win, who still had one
fist tightly wrapped in my hair, yanked my head back and with his free
hand, which had been jerking his cock, he batted my arm away.

"I've given you the gift of my Seed of Life," Mr. Win said flatly, his
breath still a bit rough from his recent orgasm though, "and you will wear
it, bear it as a badge of honor, until I choose have it removed." his tone,
while no longer growling as before, still left no room for complaint. And
then I heard what would become Mr. Win's favorite 'nickname' for me, for
the first time.

"Do you understand me you Filthy Cock Sucker?"

(I used capital letters because the way the man always spit those words
out, you really could hear it in his tone of voice and ,most importantly,
that's how I interpreted them whenever he spoke them to and about me.)

So anyway, because I was a Filthy Cock Sucker, and as the final part of my
punishment for not immediately dropping down and sucking his cock when he
first told me to, I was made to sit up top with the driver. The man who
just watched me service Mr. Win. So, feeling more mortified than I ever
before had felt in my life, with the big hairy man's spunk still dripping
down my face, I climbed up and sat on the bench beside the tall, skinny
black man.