BULGE!
(Crisco's Memoirs #1 - #4 Collection)
by
Christopher Scott
Copyright © 2012, Christopher Scott
SMASHWORDS Edition 2012
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Please purchase only authorized editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials
MAN OF THE HOUSE
(Crisco's Memoirs #1)
My name is Christopher Scott, or Crisco, which is a nickname I got a few years back. I'll tell you how I got it in a minute, but first, you should know, I've lived a very interesting life so far.
My number was 19865411 over at Folsom State where I spent three years for possession and intent to sell. I guess you could say that I liked to hang out with Mary Jane, the only lady I'd ever want to touch. But what the fuck, right? Three fucking years? Who the fuck gets three years for a little pot? I tell you who, whoever has my fucking attorney, is who. The fucking douchey prick!
All while I was laid up in the pen, I swore every mother fucking day that when I got out, I was gonna find him, rip his fucking Calvin Kline's off then take my fist and pound it up his ass, one time for each and every fucking night I was laid up in this shithole; although, you gotta know, not every night was bad, but he don't need to know that.
I've been out now for a few years and I still ain't done what I promised I would yet. The white collared pin-up boy might like my fist too much, you know? He's got this wife and all with some kids, but I could tell what he really liked. I knew by the way he was always eye fucking me. He ain't really my type though, but I don't know… maybe I'll still teach him that lesson someday. We'll see.
So, maybe you could tell already that I like guys… men really. Actually, I don't just like them, I fucking love them. But I ain't into those little twinky boys, I like muscle and meat with a little scary hairy. And I always knew I liked that, even when I was a little boy. I had the choice to play tennis or football when I was ten, and I chose football. Not because it was the more manly sport to play and I was trying to hide my urges or some shit like that, but because I wanted to knock around with the other boys. Then when I was fifteen, I dropped football when I watched my first ever high school team's wrestling match and those skin tight spandex with their big bulges pushing out between their legs, just giving me a hint at what was underneath. Whoever invented wrestling had to have been an ankle grabber like me. They made it so easy to rub my cheek against the other guy's package or get a good whiff of his sweaty ass-crack, and the sweatier the better. Football was getting too difficult to cop a feel anyway; too much fucking padding.
Needless to say, I didn't win much; always too distracted, but I learned how to keep the game going for as long as I needed it to, so I made sure I felt every inch of my opponent's body. That's when I met this guy named Mark Gorman, he taught me a lot, but he's not what I wanted to tell you about. He's a story for another time.
What I wanted to tell you about was my time over at Folsom and how I got my nickname, Crisco. You see, no one ever called me that until I was doing my time. And to tell you the truth, prison wasn't really all that bad for a guy like me. I got so much fucking cock in that joint, cock I'd never get on the outside either. Not because I'm ugly like some quazzy-looking mother fucker. It's only because most of the guys really liked the ladies and weren't really into men, but they learned to adapt and took what they could get. I bet you some of them even liked it better than they thought they would. And I wasn't the only one givin' it away either.
But like I said, I ain't ugly. In fact, my shit is pretty fuckin' hot! And if you saw me, you'd know I ain't lying; five foot nine with light olive skin, green eyes, a 32-inch waist with 42-inch chest. And my ass is a nice firm bubble that I like to have pricked.
I got a little bit of body hair on me too, just enough to entice those bear lovers, but not enough to get a rug burn off me if you know what I'm saying. And I got one of those treasure trails too that leads down to my extra something special. And let me fuckin' tell you, my cock is definitely extra special. It's my most favorite part of my body, and I ain't just sayin' that. I love my cock. At seven inches, it's big without being too big, and it's pretty too. Nice and clean cut, and the harder it gets, the prettier it looks. God, I really do love my fucking cock. I always wished I could suck myself like I've seen some of those skinny cunt-boys do, I'd do it to myself all day long. Just keep sucking myself until I came into my own mouth and swallowed every drop of my own sweetness, and then do it all over again and again. I've drank my own cum before, but I'm sure there's nothing like the taste of it when it's freshly squeezed.
Sorry, I'm gettin' side-tracked again. I try not to, but it's hard when I got so many stories I gotta get outta me. But this one, my first story, is definitely one of my personal favorites, and it's about inmate 17658944, Jackson Reed.
Man, I ain't never met such a mother fucking bad-ass pretty boy before. The first time I saw Jackson was when I was coming off the bus. He'd already been at Folsom for a few years for assault and battery. Jackson was standing, mixed in with all the other shit-for-brains who liked to yell and heckle at the newcomers. But even though he was in the crowd with the other hundreds of assholes, I noticed him immediately. But after a few days in lock up, I knew better than to ever try to get with him. Word was that you had to watch your fucking back when Jackson was around, and you didn't want to fuck with him… ever! He never lost a fight, or got punched in the face from what I'd seen; which was probably why he stayed so pretty. Rumor was he even killed a man just before I arrived.
You see, Jackson was involved with the Aryan Brotherhood. He didn't have any visible tats, but once, when I was taking a shower with him, I saw that he had one… a huge tat across his stomach of a swastika. It was only me and him in the shower at that time too, and let me tell you, I was fucking scared shitless. Although I'm mostly Irish, it's hard to tell with the light olive toned skin I get from the little bit of Italian I got in me. But that wasn't the only fuckin' reason why I was scared.
Like I said, it was just the two of us in the shower that day. I'd just gotten back from the doctor for my annual checkup and Jackson was just let out of solitaire for beating some poor Jew to his near death, so everyone else had showered and were out in the yard already.
We were a few showerheads apart and I tried not to look at Jackson or think about him because if he were to catch me, he'd kill me for sure, but once he turned his back to me and I watched the water trickle down the curvature of his spine and slip in-between the crack of the two hardest ass cheeks I'd ever seen, I couldn't stop staring. And then there was something else I couldn't stop; my man piece hardening to the point that there was no way of hiding it. This was the curse of being well hung.
But Jackson wasn't turning back around. It was like he didn't even know I was there, which was fine with me. I was getting an eyeful to take with me back to my cell to use for hours and hours of lights out pleasure while playing with myself and fingering my hole, or my cellmate, Troy, might do it for me which he was prone to do.
I continued to stare, becoming more and more jealous of the water that dripped inside his two cheeks then down to his hole that wet his pink rim. I could almost taste the sweetness as I imagined each small ripple of flesh scraping across my tongue.
My hand reached for my cock and I began to stoke it, still thinking of my mouth muscle sliding up and down Jacksons' man pussy when he suddenly turned towards me.
I turned around too, not sure if I did it fast enough to use my ass to shield the stiff pole I was raising, which was hard enough to become a weapon.
When Jackson didn't say a word or come up from behind to slam my naked ass to the concrete, I just had to twist my head around. Lucky me, he had his eyes shut while washing the shampoo out of his hair, that's when I noticed the meat dangling between his legs. It had to be at least 9 inches of uncut cock just flapping there, letting the water flow off it like a steady stream of piss. I never had any idea how big he was. And after nearly getting caught, you'd think I'd learned my lesson, but no chance.
I kept one eye on Jackson's face while the other watched Jackson's priced piece lay on top of his nut sack that dropped down half the length of his prick. There wasn't any part of his body that I would deny tasting right about then.
But common sense came back to me when his eyes opened.
I twisted my head back around and listened to the water across the room shut off. His wet bare feet slapped the puddles on the floor as he walked away.
It was just me now in the shower, all alone, but I couldn't wait until tonight to unload. I needed to do something about it now or my dick was never gonna go down.
I soaped up my hand real good then wrapped it around my cock. It didn't take but a few strokes before I came all over the floor, but catching some seed in my hand for a taste of what my 'want for Jackson Reed cum' tasted like. It had never tasted better.
Two years had gone by since that day in the shower and I knew I needed to keep my eyes off of Jackson, but let me tell you, that was fucking harder than it sounded. And by this time, most of the other guys knew what I was into because I had developed my own reputation and my own nickname.
Whether I drank it or just held it up my ass, I was a walking cum bucket. Most of it came from my cellmate, Troy. I don't need to repeat his number because it really ain't worth repeating. I like a big pig every now and then to satisfy my daddy issues, but not every night. Although, Troy did sweat a lot, which I like, and he liked to keep things dirty too. If Troy didn't shower that day, I knew it was going to be a night of manly fun with a strong natural musk odor whether I wanted it or not. The other thing Troy liked was a nice smooth glide in and out of my ass, so if he was smelling ripe, I knew that, at dinner, I needed to squeeze out as much oil from the tater tots, fries, fried fish or whatever the fuck else deep fried shit they served, and put it into a cup, and then bring that cup of oil with me back to our cell so that Troy was nice lubricated, because Troy may have been a fat fucker, but he was strong and could overpower me when I didn't concede. And that's how I got the nickname Crisco.
Looking back, I admit, I kinda liked the rape. It turns me on now when I don't have nothing but my hand and a slideshow of memories to use when I jerk off.
But after two years of being roomies, Troy got himself released and it was time for me to get a new cellie. I had no idea who the fuck it was going to be either. I didn't know if they were gonna stick me with some freshman off the bus or one of the other thousand pricks who had already been there for a shitload of years. But nothing could have prepared me for when Jackson Reed was standing at my cell door, holding onto his junk, and by junk I mean his real junk: a box of his clothes, beading, pictures, toothbrush, that kind of shit.
The first thing that went through my mind besides "Holy Fuck!" was just kill me now and get it the fuck over with because Jackson had been in the rumor mill again. Talk about him kicking the shit of his last cellie that put him into solitaire again for the last month. Now he was out and being shuffled again, only it was my turn this time.
Jackson stood in the doorframe and glared at me first before stepping inside. He wanted to make eye contact to let me know who the man of the house was going to be.
I submitted by asking, "You a top or a bottom?" then immediately wished I had never opened my mouth since I didn't know how familiar he was with me and my reputation. I was about to add the word, "bunk" to clarify, when he commanded without a flinch…
"Top."
He tossed his belongings on the upper bunk and the cell door closed us in together.
For the rest of the night, I kept my fucking mouth shut until about two in the morning when I heard his voice come out of the dark and ask me a question that I had no choice in answering, "You Crisco?"
At first, I was gonna pretend to be asleep, but then I thought I'd better not because I had a feeling he knew already who I was.
"Yeah."
"Another fucking faggot."
"Not really," I lied, the first time I'd ever been scared enough of anybody to lie about myself.
"Yeah, really. I remember you getting' all fuckin' hard with me in the shower."
Oh, mother fuckin' shit in hell, he saw that! All this time I'd been thinkin' I had gotten away with it, but he knew. Although, why didn't he say anything or do anything about it before?
"Did you fuckin' cum all over yourself after I left?"
How to answer? If I said "yes" I'd be confessing that I really was queer, which is something you never want to do with a neo-Nazi Aryan fuckhead. But if I lied and said, "no", he'd know that I was a liar because he already caught me with my hard on, and you didn't want to lie to Jackson either.
"Yes."
He was silent; didn't say a fuckin' word for what seemed like hours, but then I heard the top bunk squeak above me and the next thing I knew Jackson Reed was standing beside me with his thick muscled legs in white boxers, and hairless arms coming out of the short sleeved white t-shirt.
"You're a fuckin' darky too, ain'tcha?"
"No!" I immediately shouted, louder than I meant to be. "Irish… and Italian."
Jackson didn't say anything, but I could see him thinking while he stared down at me. I held my breath the entire time until he broke his silence and came at me like he was ready to stab me in the gut with his shiv, but I quickly realized he wasn't trying to pull me out of the bunk; Jackson was climbing in… with me!
He slapped his hot, wet tongue all over my face and into my mouth as I felt his growing cock stab me in the gut; the kind of stabbing I liked.
His breath smelled like spearmint from his mouthwash and his body reeked of the house soap from the showers, the same soapy smell that reminded me of our day in the showers.
He continued to lick his fat tongue all over my face while groping every inch of my body until he found my asshole and jabbed his finger up inside me.
Jackson forced his other hand over my mouth before I could scream then whispered, "If you make a fuckin' sound, I'll fuckin' kill you. Got it?"
I nodded.
"Now, I want you to fight me. Try and push me off, make me work for it. I want to fuckin' rape your ass after you lube up my cock with your spit."
I didn't ask why, I already knew he liked it rough and with the satisfaction of dominating me like a helpless victim in some dark alley.
Jackson pulled off his boxers then thrust his cock into my mouth before I could even see it coming.
He face fucked me over and over. I felt the head of his cock beat against the back of my throat, stabbing it while he kept a firm grasp of the back of my neck and pushed me further down his shaft.
I placed my hands across his swastika and did as he told me by pushing away, but he was too strong and I didn't want him to stop anyway as I got a taste of his precum while his cock dragged across my tongue.
With one hand still holding my neck, Jackson twisted around and what I saw coming for me was what I had been fucking hoping for.
He rammed my face into his ass. I tried to spread his cheeks apart, but they were like prying walnuts apart with bare hands. I stretched my tongue inside his crack and flapped it around until I found his butthole.
Sweat had started dripping off his back and slipped into his ass. I could taste his salty nectar while I rubbed it across his clean, soft and fleshy hole that smelled pungent and musky.