Full Tank, No Reloads

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Every year since I was a kid, my Mom packed me two weeks worth of clean underwear and sent me down south to spend the summer with my cousin, Neil McCallahan. He lived in a bright yellow trailer elevated by four cinder blocks, with a trashbag stretched taut behind a broken window and a chipped bird bath on the front lawn. My own place back in the city was ten stories up, crawling with roaches, and leaky when it rained.

It was hard to say which I hated more.

Neil had a brain like a paddle ball bat but an ass shaped like two inflated balloons. He thought he was smart, but he was really just good at storing information and wore glasses to cover up the fact that he had eyelashes like a Maybelline commercial. Whenever he talked it was always yesterday’s dinner – the same leftovers from the same subjects regurgitated across six different days.

“Matt,” Neil called nervously from behind a tree trunk. “I can’t do this.”

Case in point. He’d been insisting we were going to get caught ever since earlier today, when we shook on the terms of our bet. I leaned back in the collapsible lawn chair and stretched my feet out in the grass to finish off a beer. Once the can was empty I crushed it between my hands and tried to peg him with it. When he didn’t emerge from behind his hiding spot I stood up with a sigh.

“Don’t be such a little bitch,” I complained.

I shrugged off the camo jacket and tossed my hat on top, priming the oversized plastic gun in my arms. The lube I stole from the pharmacy sloshed in the tank when I took aim at my target: a pathetic loser in a girl’s one piece bathing suit. He had the strawberry blond hair of a cabbage patch kid and a slight enough build that he could pass, if not for the way his cock and balls bulged behind the spandex.

“Wow,” I gaped. “You stupid motherfucker. You’re really wearing it.”

We were cousins, sure, but not by blood. That’s probably why Neil couldn’t take a ten pound chihuahua on a good day and I was built like a brick house. His pits were smooth even though I already had hair coming in on my upper lip and side burns like a grizzly bear. I gave a couple of well intentioned squirts at his crotch while he tried to cover himself.

“Cut it out,” he cried, gaze trained on the ground. “You told me to wear it, so I wore it.”

I ran a hand through the my dark brown hair – buzzed short, but overgrown – and took a step into his personal space. He stiffened when I leaned in close, one hand gripping the back of his neck. The gun was the only boundary between us, hanging from a strap over my shoulder. I pulled a smaller one from the waistband of my swim trunks and aimed it at his chest.

“Don’t!” Neil urged, wringing out his hands.

“Or what?” He didn’t speak, or even blink. “This is the Super Soaker 50,” I reminded him. Escort Bayan “That means it shoots up to fifty feet.”

Neil jumped, like my tone was so serious he forgot the weapon was just a toy. We were nearly the same height, but he had about as much presence as a bowl of oatmeal. Our foreheads collided when I surged forward, pinning him with a tight grip in his hair.

“Shut the fuck up and open your mouth.”

The smell of bug spray burned my nose when I pushed my tongue past his lips. Once I got him to stop resisting, he softened, jaw slack as I scrubbed my tongue over his and across the roof of his mouth. His whole body jolted, hips trembling and unsteady. My hands roamed across the material hugging his chest before sliding under it to terrorize his nipples.

“Please,” he said, struggling to withhold a whimper. “Someone might see.”

Neil was a middle child with five sisters but none of them were home. They went shopping together with his Mom on the first Friday of every month, while Neil’s Dad pretended to be at the bowling alley when he was really having an affair with the lady who checked him out at the gas station. I had two brothers, both older, one in jail. I might as well had been an only child.

“Someone who? Someone like Tammy?”

Tammy was his oldest sister – it was her bathing suit – and I’d been thinking about screwing her since the day she bought it at the Walmart last month. I didn’t stand a chance. She was two years older than me and she only dated dudes who were old enough to be her dad. Me and Neil were the same age, give or take two months, but every step of maturity took him twice as long to master.

“You wish,” Neil managed, weak, but defiant.

When our gazes locked he looked as surprised as I did. He tried to backpedal, but I pushed him into an overturned shopping cart and slammed into him from behind before he could blink. I curled my fingers around the crotch of the bathing suit, pulling the skintight material aside until I got a glimpse of his pinched hole.

“Scared I’ll see your pussy again?” I goaded. “This is your fault, spit mop.” I dug the gun into his side, just for show. “In fact, I think you lost that bet on purpose.”

I had done messed up stuff to Neil before, but nothing that came close to this. Usually we just looked at dirty magazines, and one time, when we couldn’t find any, I made him eat a dead moth. Later, he insisted he hadn’t cried because he was scared, but because he felt bad for it. Feeling bad about anything was a waste of time.

Time continued on, in slow-motion. I wedged the lip of the gun between his cheeks, blindly poking around until he gave away my position with a flinch. He tensed up but didn’t try to escape when I pressed the tool forward, past the first ring of resisting muscle and into his ass. His entire body lurched like a marionette and my cock jumped, thrilled at the thought of power.

“You lose!” I screamed, overflowing with triumph.

He didn’t respond but that was nothing new. Neil hadn’t spoken to anyone besides Tammy until he was seven and a half. Most of what we shared was unspoken. I still remembered that first silent summer with remarkable clarity, the hours spent sitting beside Neil while he stared vacantly at the sky.

I shoved the nozzle of the water gun further inside his contracting rectum and released the trigger. He made a broken, choked up noise, like he couldn’t catch his breath. When I started to ease it out he tightened up and tried to get away. I wrenched it from inside him and pinned him to the ground with my knee. Neil sniffled, dandelions crammed halfway up his nose.

“What’s with all the mixed messages?” He wiggled underneath me as I jammed the gun back in. “You don’t even fight back,” I complained, pumping the trigger twice more. “You like all that spunk in your ass? Answer me, cumdump.”

I could tell he was starting to cramp up. My sneaker balanced on the small of his back, leaving a dirt imprint when he tried to squirm away. I fucked him with the barrel of the gun, sliding it in until the tip met resistance before pushing deeper. He groaned as I emptied the tank, spraying another thick stream of lubricant into his guts.

“It hurts,” he said, arms curled around his stomach, tears dripping from his chin. The next words sounded ripped right from his throat. “But I like it.”

The confession fueled my anger, like an oil spill over an open flame. I pushed the water gun in another inch and let it balance on its own, held in place by Neil’s puckered hole. I flipped him over with next to no opposition, grabbed his flailing fists, and leaned in close, pressing his knees into his chest. His eyes were wide, glossy with unshed tears, cheeks smudged with snot and topsoil.

“Think that’s enough?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.

It was starting to leak out of his ass, strung between his thighs in gooey cobwebs. I smelled sunblock when I smothered a scream with my hand, using one to keep him quiet while I continued to move the other, pistoning the plastic in and out of him. He pawed between his legs and I laughed, pressing my fingers into his mouth.

“Don’t even try it,” I warned. “You’re gonna cum from getting your ass fucked, or not at all.”

I wrapped one arm around Neil’s thighs and pulled him up, forcing his weight onto his back, and then his shoulders, as I stuffed the barrel of the water gun back inside him. I dragged it out before slamming it back in, knocking the air from Neil’s lungs with each thrust. He moaned, cock slapping his belly button with precum as he twisted to match my rhythm.

“Matt,” Neil gasped. He sucked on his bottom lip and threw one arm over his face. “I’m really, really close.”

“Go ahead,” I said, dick twitching in my pants. “Ask.”

I watched his rib cage expand before accelerating the pace, ramming the object back into his prostate with quick, shallow strokes. It didn’t take long for his will to give.

“Please can I cum?” he blurted.

“You sure that’s what you want?” His head bobbed helplessly, and I felt the spear of possession carving a hole in my heart. “You gonna jizz from getting your ass filled? From me drilling your ass?”

The muscles in my arm were close to giving when he finally came, cock bouncing against his belly. It sprayed a stream of semen across his parted lips, and with a jerk of my wrist he shot another, smearing his stomach with the rest of his load. I watched the last of it ooze from the tip of his throbbing cock and dribble into a valley on his chest.

My balls tightened. I was thinking about the time I locked Neil in the basement when we were kids, and the way he looked when I let him out, sloppy with fresh tears and gratitude. He made a face like he expected me to fuck him, but when I reached for my dick it was soft. I stared at the jizz stained crotch of my pants, bewildered and embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” Neil asked tentatively, voice hoarse from hollering.

It was still broad daylight out and I was in my cousin Neil’s yard, fucking him with my Super Soaker in front of the pink flamingos.

“Shut up!” I turned to him, eyes narrowed, voice dripping with venom. “It’s because you won’t stop crying like a fucking baby.” I tried not to grind my molars into dust. “Who’d wanna stick it in your gross fuckhole anyway?”

I felt bad after, like when I got pissed and smacked Wendy, my Mom’s yappy shih-tzu terrier. I yanked the gun out from inside him with one swift jerk of my arm and he whimpered, a noise like an animal would make. In my house, I was taught to tear off band aids, not wash them off.

There was lube seeping from his spasming hole as if it were semen, splattered across his greasy thighs. He kept gulping in huge lungfuls of air, gaping like a beached fish. Talk about overkill; the neck of the water gun wasn’t even an inch across. I lowered him carefully into the grass, trying to think up enough excuses for the fingerprint shaped bruises blooming on his skin.

I didn’t want to think about the end of the summer.

“Hey,” Niel whispered, robotic, but urgent. “Hey, pussy.”

He was parroting my own words back at me like a tape recording. Something splashed my cheek and my entire body went rigid. I followed the barrel of my squirt gun to Neil’s smug face. Another spurt of lube hit my nose, and one between my splayed legs. I didn’t want to smile, so I snatched the toy from his hands and aimed it at his chest instead.

“Tell anyone,” I said evenly, “and you’re dead.”

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