Chapter 7: Tingles
The drive back home is shorter than I expect. Joey tells me to sit right beside him and rest my head on his shoulder. About halfway home I have other things on my mind and find the zipper on his jeans.
“What’s going on, Hawk?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear.
I pull his chub out, wrap my palm around its girth, and begin to stroke him off briskly.
He moans, groans, and grunts. His hips rise off the seat as he drives into me, falls away, and rises again. After eight minutes he says, “I’m going to blow.”
“Go for it,” I coach, jacking him off another three times.
The front loader listens. A gush of white spew streams out of his pick and decorates my hand, the front of his jeans, and the steering wheel.
Following his spray, and a quick clean-up with extra fast food na
