Roué

Chapter 1 - My salami ain't your baloney

Chapter 1 – My salami ain’t your baloney

Chapter Song – Mr. Nice Guy - The Kooks

Down below it will harden.

Up above it will thump.

Oughta be quick, boi.

Run Matty boi, run!!

To have had the words written on a Post-it® and placed under a magnet on the fridge didn’t make it any less nutty. It actually rendered the message more batshiz crazy. I contemplated on what I scribbled as I put on my running shoes. Jesus, I hated running. I was always out of breath. And the last time I did, I was touched, caressed, fondled, kissed, lipped, nuzzled, pawed, rubbed, stroked, palmed, brushed, grazed, skimmed, clasped, clung, clutched, grasped, gripped, handled, held, flicked, fumbled, nibbled, patted, tapped, and slurped by three lady boys from Thailand.

But damn, I had no say in the matter. I needed to do my cardio every day for it was said to benefit my health. Engaging in such physical activities would keep my heart in check. It needed to operate at a steady pace under controlled rhythms. And cardio was a good way to achieve that.

I humped every day with just about anyone I could grab. Even if I wanted my bald-headed hermit to exclusively come home to just one cave, I couldn’t. Life didn’t always work that way. Relationships that were solid and true were hard to come by nowadays. Hence, I could say that I haven’t had the chance to fall in love. I had practically fudged hundreds, but never had I fallen in love. Yeah baby, that was how sad Matty Boi’s life was.

As much as I wanted my salami to be someone’s baloney, I just couldn’t. Or maybe I was yet to meet that one person who would tolerate my red-headed monster. I didn’t think there was anyone who could keep up with a nicely-veined, throbbing twelve-inch hunk of meat. And so this was my life. I would always say to myself, ‘hump Matt, hump!’ because the next could be my last.

‘First it hardens, and then the other one thumps’. God, I really didn’t like it when both went awry, because I had no one close to get me by. It was a cycle I had gotten used to since that unfortunate incident when I was young. I couldn’t even remember what happened then. I was very young. It’s a memory I’d been trying to remember.

Fudge me, there are like millions of horny people in the world. Why did it have to be fudging me? I mean, I didn’t have a degree, nor did I have health insurance. All I had was a hard stick and a thumping heart. Ugh.

I refused to take what I have to the doctors. For starters, it was embarrassing. Second, it wasn’t something medical science could cure at the moment. Though I had Googled it, and there appeared to be loose information regarding my condition. And third … well … yeah ... um, sorry I blanked out. I ain’t smart.

To some, taking a serious matter into your own unprofessional hands might complicate things, but not for me, because apparently I was still alive and absolutely humping. And I sure as hell planned on keeping it that way. Regardless of how many I needed to fudge. Yeah baby! Yeah! High five! (cue Tumbleweeds) Oookay … maybe not … Jeez, loosen up yo swagga muffins. Uh!

Crapola, you must think I’m this douchebag now huh? I’m not. I swear on Martha Stewart’s brownies, which are good by the way. You should try them. My author –the one who’s writing me, duh– said that it’s the best recipe for brownies out there. He tried it a couple times and ended up burning his eyebrows. Just ask him. I think he glued on some pubic hair to replace the singed hair in his brows. Ha-ha!

(Silence)

You just gotta laugh!

(Silence)

Really? Are you for reals right now? Fine, I’ll drop the humor. Lemme start over (cough, clears throat) Hello (smoldering gaze) I don’t believe we’ve met (takes your hand to lick it good) I’m Matthew Holston (wink) and babe do I have a problem. It’s my heart. It will stop if I don’t f**k. Yeah, you heard me. So (wiggles eyebrows) … let’s cut the crap. Can I bed you tonight? (wink wink)

Christ. Is that the time!? Oh man, I need to run. Jesus. Okay … lemme just pop my earphones and the track Mr. Nice Guy by The Kooks. There you go. Aw, such a great song. Now let’s go!

The next track was of Carly Rae Jepsen. Gah! It had been a while since I updated my playlist. The last person who used my iPod® was this girl I hooked up with for a week. She was underaged so we had to break it off. Shiz, I remembered it like it was yesterday. Oh yeah, that was yesterday!

We were like ninjas that crept in the dark last night when I returned her home. We did the same with every night before that, for a week. But dayum, her mother’s got some big arse ears up in her head. She heard the door creak, pulled Mandy from me to her side, and got all Momzilla and shiz! She was like a fudging Energizer rabbit, going on and on and on about teenage pregnancy and shiz.

It was clear that she didn’t approve of us. Duh? I mean, I knew I wouldn’t. If my daughter would date someone like me, I would snap the little boy’s dingus into two like Kit Kat® Anyway, she stood in the front door and shouted ‘you are too old for my daughter! Go f— somebody else!’ It broke little Mandy’s heart as she ran upstairs to her room. God I’ll miss her, and her delectable custard.

What was shocking was how Mrs. Robinson conducted herself when Mandy was gone. Her eyes drank me in from head to crotch. And nope, I didn’t mean from the head between my shoulders either. It’s literally the head dead center in my crotch. So yeah, head to crotch, which basically was just the outline of my p***s that pushed against the sheer khaki shorts I had on last night.

She scanned me like I was a grocery item at Wal-Mart®. Then she approached me and gave her card while mouthing the words ‘call me’ with her right hand forming a makeshift phone. Cougar alert. Dayum, she and her daughter would burn in hell. And I couldn’t wait to see them there. Cos sure as hell that’s where I was going, when the proverbial heavy curtains fall on my fat wad.

I was too caught up in my own head, and no, not the head dead center in my crotch, but the head between my shoulders you bunch’a smexy pervs! By the way, thanks Head & Shoulders® for sponsoring my hair in this episode. Only the ones reading this online would be able to see my lustrous hair (flipping however short a hair I got). Those reading on mobile, well, meh you won’t see it. Ha-ha! Hehe, heh, hmm. Not funny. Anyway, I was too caught up in my own head that I hardly noticed another runner who was pacing towards me. And so our bodies collided like stars.

“Fudge man! Watch the fudging direction you’re fudging going!” I boomed with open hands like a mad Italian. He shrugged and kept going. I wanted to stab him with my sharp p***s, but I didn’t think that’d hurt him. He’s got too tough a skin to cut. My weenie might just end up in a coma.

I let inhospitality slide. It wasn’t worth my time to get into an argument that I could have easily resolved with the slap of my Johnson. I wheezed. So much that I looked like an old coot who happened upon Viagra® Dayum, I could feel my heart race. My throat was like a dry puss too. I needed water badly. And so I rushed to the closest convenience store to get me some Gatorade®.

You know those moments in movies when the protagonist, which by way of association would be me in this circumstance, stopped in his tracks because he was frozen in position upon seeing someone he really, really liked? Well, I was having that moment now as I heard the sliding door close behind me. I just had to stop at the sight of lovely merchandise. She looked so sexy with the fat tube of mayo in her hand. There was something about her long fingers that I liked. If I could only have them wrap tightly around my weenies. Oh man, that would be epic.

“Hey there, I’m Matty Boi,” was how I started hospitably with an outstretched hand.

“Hi, my name is a verb, and it’s called leaving.”

I wasn’t at all disrespectful, “Wait. Wait up!”

“I said I’m leaving,” she squinted, and then beeped the key fob to her Jeep Cherokee®

She was gone like the wind (cue Tumbleweeds)

My gaze dropped to her shadow as my swizzle stick went up. At that moment I realized how turned on I was. The smell of her hair was like crack cocaine laced with ruffies. She was that good. And as I contemplated about how bedazzled I was of her, I remembered the Post-it® on my refrigerator. Oh. My. Wad. I panicked at that point as my other pointer decided to erect a campsite inside my running shorts. f**k my aunt Fanny.

I threw the 7-Eleven® guy ten dollars for my Gatorades.

“Hey, you forgot your change man!”

“Fudging keep it. Laterades!” I yelled past the doorway.

‘Thump, thump, thump’ went my heart like a perverted dance. I was clawing at my damp shirt to try and quell the beating that hammered against my chest. I was drenched in sweat and looked absolutely out of it as I darted left to right like a lion looking for prey. Why now!? Fudge damn.

I knew I was in too deep shiz as I sighted the man I collided with earlier when I was running. I limped my way towards him while I fisted my chest. He was bent over, stretching his extremities. Oh God, he’d have to do. I really didn’t have a choice.

“Hey, hey you, you’re a good man, right?” was how lame I sounded.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry about earlier. That was my fault,” he apologized.

“Don’t freak. Okay? Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure man, anything. I felt bad about earlier—”

“Ssshh, just hear me out,” I cut him off because I was running out of time, “Can. We. f**k?” I proffered in between staccato breaths. I dispensed with the frigging formalities. It was 2013. If you wanted something, just go for it. No beating your bushwhacker around the burning bush. Just get it on and fudge morality. Dayum, this dirty proposition drew another line on my chalkboard, under the category ‘horny quickies’.

His cheeks were all sorts of red, from crimson to vermillion, “How did you know I was gay?” he whispered against my ear. It tickled my third leg.

“I didn’t, could you just— just take me to your car and drive me home,” I gasped every word.

He looked at me like I was a fudging horndog, which I was. It was hard to think and act at the same time as my vision started to betray me. He was becoming two people as I looked at him.

My n*****s were so hard that I could feel the buds skating against the fabric of my soaked white shirt. I thought I heard nerves in his voice, “C-come at my house? It’s just a c-couple b-blocks from here,” was what I thought I heard. Finally.

The drive only took a couple minutes at best. His house was down Alton Road, near Miami Beach. The world spun around me as I stepped out of his red Hyundai Eon® He slung one of my arms, I couldn’t tell which one, over his head and led me inside like I was some drunk invalid.

I sank in his swanky couch. I felt really hammered because I didn’t even remember seeing the front door. He sat me down and wasted no time. His shaky hands started tugging at my zipper. The anxiety made him look inexperienced, “Dude stop shaking. Just pull down the goddamned zipper,” I murmured with pain.

“Sorry, I’m … really nervous.”

I could feel my heart wanting escape from my chest. My mutton dagger had probably swelled to the size of a baseball bat right about now. I needed to pitch soon before I got struck out of the game. Apologies for using baseball innuendoes, it came to mind, so I pounced on it like a puss.

He was all sorts of trembling action as he pulled my tight white shirt over my head. He left the sleeves tucked underneath my armpits, making the valleys of my chest look bigger as they got squeezed by the pull of the fabric, “I want you looking like this. Just like in the porn movies. Is that okay?” he asked sheepishly while rubbing at my chest. Jesus. So I was porn material now.

“I. Don’t. f*****g. Care. Alright? Just sit on me. Jeez.” I gruffed every word impatiently. If he didn’t do anything soon, I might become breaking news tonight with an embarrassing headline which was somewhere along the lines of a horny twenty-two year old dying of heart failure after getting fudged. Not good at all.

I was convulsing on the couch as he pulled my shorts down. My briefs followed, releasing my behemoth of a wanker. It jutted out in front of him, making him scream like that of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. Fudge.

“I don’t think I can,” was how he worded his hesitation.

“No, no, no! You can’t back out now. Please!” I begged.

I knew he was going to digress if his retreating body language was any indication. And so I pulled him to me. I clamped both his wrists with one hand in a vice-like grip, while my other hand unzipped his Adidas® track pants. He was a well-off bastard, judging by his choice in apparel, and the swanky crib he got. He was a golden boy.

He frenetically stepped out of his pants to reveal a substantial one-eyed zipper snake. His wasn’t as big as mine. It was basically like looking at a thumb beside an arm. That’s how big I was. Wobbly legs climbed me, scaling my muscular thighs. The sensation made my weenies harder.

“Um, condom?” he searched the pockets from my clothes.

“I’m clean,” was how I worded my assurance. Without giving mind to his tirades, I positioned my pork sword against his crack. I pushed without lubrication which made him cry. He sounded like a pig that was roasting over coaled flames. Aw, he was gonna get it good. So fudging good.

My throbbing mushroom parted his buns as he screamed bloody murder. And so I shushed him with my hands. His whining was so strong that neighbors might start calling 911. After a while, he started groaning against my hand. His tears still brimmed around his eyes. But I was just glad that he seized from screaming. It didn’t sound pretty. Uh-ah.

He was so beautiful as he bounced on top of me. I swept my hand on his sweaty forehead, “Don’t scream, alright?” I asked as I pushed deeper inside of him. I felt all his muscles contract and grip around me like a suction valve as I did this. He was nodding, and so I released his mouth and asked, “Are you a virgin?”

“Yeah, you’re my first,” he professed.

Shoot me. This wasn’t good. You always remembered your first. I couldn’t have him fall in love with me. Virgins always did. Aw shiiizzz.

I didn’t give mind to how mushy he was becoming. He was giving me the look like he was making love to me. I gave an awkward smile as I pumped him vigorously. I couldn’t be bothered with emotions. Hell. I couldn’t be bothered with feeling anything at all. I had a heart to take care of. If I didn’t time my fudging with my heart, then one false move would end me up with a frigging flatline.

I murmured something inaudible through clenched teeth that were tightly clamped around one of his n*****s. Yeah, just one, I made it sound like he had five or ten. He ain’t a pigsie yo! Jeez. And so I kept moaning sounds of pleasure into his bud like how a horny singer would to a mic.

Judging by the look on his face, it seemed like he adjusted to my size. Pain no longer registered in his expression. He made for conversation, “What’s your name?” he whispered breathlessly.

“Matt,” I grunted.

“Matt, I’m coming,” he spoke softly with an undertone that I placed along the lines of eroticism and love. I knew it. He was falling for me.

So I upped the pace of my undulation. Within a few beats, our voices coalesced as we came in unison. Ropes upon ropes erupted from our piccolos. I felt like I expelled tadpoles inside of him. It was that good.

He went down to kiss me with a passion I knew I couldn’t equal nor give, “I love you, Matt…” Oh no. Shiiizzz.

“Ugh!” I pulled him up, and off from being impaled, “Thanks man. You saved my life,” I panted like a pedophile.

I was all kinds of shortened breaths; panting, rickety, and disheveled. I heaved what felt like my first breath of life as my heart settled into quieter beats. I thanked the maker of pretty holes, for I got to live another day, “Here you go,” he threw me seven Benjamins. Aw Christ, not again.

“What the f— I’m not a w***e!” was how hurt I was for him to even consider that I was one.

“Are you sure?” he snorted. And so with a bruised ego, I took the money and then stormed off.