Dues Ex Machina, What?

"Oh fuckin' yeah! That feels so fuckin' good!" I moaned as I rode on top of Vincents bucking torso. We had rented a twenty dollar a night room at The Gateway Hotel and the bed springs were squeaking overtime. The air conditioner didn't work and our bodies were soaked. I had my palms on the pink walls as Vincent held my hips thrusting himself upward into me. The bed thumped and boinged loudly. Grunts and moans permeated the room.

Bending down, I sucked his thick tongue as he banged harder and faster. I straightened up and smiling I looked up to the ceiling seeing stars and without any assistance I shot hot spurts of jissom across his dark stomach and chest. "Fuck, that's hot", he breathed. I looked down and saw the glaze in his amber eyes, he was about there.

"Here it comes!" He grunted, face contorted in orgasm. I could feel his penis growing in me, ready to shoot. His thick brown hands clutched my hips and with three viscous thrusts he emptied his hot semen inside of me.

With a fluid plop, we fell onto each other, kissing until our heavy breathing subsided. We laughed at each other as we both looked sopping wet like we just emerged from a swimming pool, the sheets were soaked. Vincent slid out from under me to take a piss. I lay on my stomach, asshole throbbing, hugging a pillow, staring at nothing. I grinned, "Baybeeee...I want more!" I kicked my legs like a little kid.

Vincent stood at the door to the bathroom, drying with a ragged towel his short muscular body wet from sweat. His penis pointed downward, that long brown uncut fucker still semi-erect and glistening from cum and lube, "No can do, baby...we hafta get cleaned up and go meet Charlie."

As Vincent took a shower, I crawled over to the nightstand and lit a Lucky Strike. There was a highball glass there and a bottle of Jose Cuervo which I filled the glass. As I lay there watching the old ceiling fan spin, the warmth from the liquor began to take hold and I remembered the reason we were here. Both of us were broke, so Vincent talked me into going with him to get Food Stamps and then selling them. Of coarse, being homeless we both were approved. Since it would take several hours to activate the two cards, we decided to rent a room to romp and play while waiting for the cards to activate. Vincent got on the phone and called an old friend that would sell our cards for us.

Through Vincent I met a man by the name of Fat Charlie. He was this extremely obese nut case that had his fingers in several dubious and illegal affairs. He always seemed to be smiling, even when he was mad. And that shoulder length permed hair just made that six-foot tall behemoth even more disturbed looking.

He agreed to take us to a guy named Savage Henry who was willing to buy our food cards for sixty cents on the dollar. However, Savage Henry was on the other side of town. For a kickback of, say maybe, twenty percent, Fat Charlie agreed to take us there.

And there Vincent and I were, flying down the freeway in a broken-down Ford truck, Johnny Cash blaring Rings of Fire over the 8-track tape player and Fat Charlie screaming along to the music.

When we arrived at Savage Henry’s apartment, we were met at the door by a bitchy old Mexican queen named Ruffo. Waves of hostility flowed out from his large brown eyes like some sort of television broadcast. The effect was almost like a physical impact. His mouth was drawn down at the corners in a grimace of petulant annoyance. Savage Henry was a scraggy old fag chain-smoking in an old armchair full of holes. His fingers were yellow from nicotine. His faded striped shirt was marked here and there with cigarette holes. Fat Charlie tipped his old torn white cowboy hat.

“Well, howdy, Henry. I need to make that business deal I explained to you on the phone. Would you like to purchase two food cards off of these fine young men?” He watched the ash spiral down from the end of the cigarette; it hit the floor in a puff of gray dust.

Savage Henry’s voice sounded like an ungreased machine. “How much is on them?”

“Oh, they have $150.00 on them both.” Fat Charlie’s face wrinkled into a cherub smile. Front tooth missing.

Savage Henry looked us over with cold dead fish eyes. A white tongue flicked across chapped lips. Ruffo stared at us with contempt and hatred. I thought he was going to pull out a gun. Then Savage Henry wheezed, “Sure. I’ll take ‘em. Standard price. You both sure are pretty boys.” He casually stroked a finger across my cheek.

Selling the cards was a piece of cake, so after paying off Fat Charlie we were returned to the mission. We both had about two hundred dollars between us. It's always good to have a little pocket change, right?