Washing your car

(part 2)

...before I know it, I'm whisked into the garage. What if the kids come out? What if the neighboors see me? What if the dog starts licking my ass again? So many questions running through my mind, quickly quieted by the passion. With unbridled testosterone obviously coursing through Patrick's body, he kicks my legs apart and bends me over a workbench covered in tools, grease, and sawdust. Being the nimble thinker that he is, Pat grabs some Slick50® (forum sponsor) and pours it all over my warm buttocks. He begins to slide in me, then I realize it. OUCH OUCH OUCH. The Frappichino is still in me. I beg him to stop so that I can remove this now uncomfortable piece of glass from my man cave.

Patrick won't stop. He's like the Terminator (forum sponsor) of starfish. I try to lean forward, but Patrick slams my face into the sawdust and starts pounding my meathole harder. Slowly my whimper turns into tears as the anal tears increase. "Make this stop, it isnt fun anymore, no daddy no." Wait, was that me that was begging to stop? Was that in my head or had I just heard it elsewhere? I open my one sawdust free eye and see a boy with mouth wide open in total shock. How had Sarcasmo's son gotten here? WHO LET HIM OUT OF THE BATHROOM HE WAS CONCEIVED IN...
 
w_a_w said:
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fly said:
(part 1)

So the other day, I was washing my car...

I was bending down detailing the wheels, when I watched a pair of boots walk up the other side of my vehicle. Thick, black cowboy boots. I was not expecting anyone yet, but was hoping for a fun surprise. As I stood up to greet this man, I wiped my brow of sweat and accidentally got armour all in my eyes. Fuck. Quickly, I wipe it out, cursing the vile stuff in my eyes. As my vision clears, I see Patrick. Wearing nothing but his signature cowboy boots (with the silver ring along the ankle) and a Bub's World t-shirt. Peeking out from under the shirt is a limp, but swollen, Texas beefsteak. OH. MY. GOD. I instantly feel blood rush into areas that very few men have seen or felt. My pupils dilate, a thin layer of sweat coats my skin as my heart begins to race. As I tense up, I can now distinctly notice the Frappichino bottle buried deep in my brown pinkness. Suddenly, he stops moving towards me and I feel my heart misfire. He raises his left hand and shows me a four pack of Frappichinos, but one is missing! He smiles.

As our eyes lock together in a moment that can only be described as swallowing the load of Jesus, I knew this would be no ordinary 'Take Your Daughter To Work Day'...
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I worked Summer Stock in college; I have familiarity with Rabelais and the script of Boys in the Band, but somehow I am left wanting in the imagery between beefsteak and wherein lies the Frappichino bottle.
 
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