The 13th Step
When trying to sleep in someone’s bushes, it is best to park your shopping cart at a distance. What I first noticed was a shopping cart pulled into my driveway, next to some tall bushes. The bushes were shaking with the motions of a man behind them.
My name is Daven, and I’m an alcoholic.
I enjoy living in an urban area, close to downtown and shopping, and still having a small yard and bushes around my 100 year old home. Unfortunately, it means that shopping-cart people pass by periodically, some to take cans to the recycling center, and others to find a bush to sleep in. The stately old bushes are filled with hollows, providing good privacy and sometimes a soft bed of humus on which to sleep.
It was late winter, and weather had been awful. Days of sleet and hail, blustery wind and near freezing temperature. No bush would really keep the rain off. A year ago, I went through treatment for alcoholism. A hospital detoxed me, and I joined the local 12-step group. It wasn’t easy at the time, but I no longer drink at all, and don’t have any cravings.
Part of 12-step work is to carry the message, be humble and exercise compassion. I also didn’t want my bushes broken. We were just steps away from my basement door anyway.
“You can’t stay outside you know”, I called to the shaking bush.
There was no answer. The bush stilled. I rolled my eyes.
“I’ve got a cot in the basement”, I continued. “You can stay the night there”.
Like many old houses, my basement was separate from the house, with an outside entrance. There is no danger to me to have someone sleep there. There’s no heat, but it’s warmer than outside. I have a full bathroom in the basement, old claw foot tub and all, and the laundry room.
I moved back to open the door. I could see the bushes moving. I ducked down the stairs to get out a cot. I pulled an old army cot down from my camping gear, and threw a couple old blankets on it. I was getting out a camp pillow when a shadow came across the door. I had a moment of fear, wondering what kind of fool I was, and then he stumbled into the dim light of the overhead bulb.
He was wearing a grey hoodie with the hood over his head. Under the sweatshirt he wore stained and faded padded coveralls. I could see from the way he moved, he was probably wearing several layers of clothing, and most likely long underwear. Being covered in such a way it was nearly impossible to gauge his size or his build.
He appeared to be old, and yet not as old as his posture indicated. His face was dirty and grizzled. He wore a black patch over his left eye. His right eye was faded and bloodshot in the dim glow of the bulb. His coveralls were torn, his sweatshirt smudged by many nights of sleeping outside in the winter. He was clearly drunk. He stumbled down, and I helped him sit on the bed.
“I’ll put your cart at the top of the driveway”, I told him. “You can sleep here tonight. Clear out when it gets light in the morning.” I turned to check the laundry area to insure nothing valuable was there. I then left him to his sleep, and his hangover.
I got up early and got to work the following day. I actually didn’t even remember he was there. I just assumed he would clear out after sleeping off his drunk. It wasn’t until I got home the next evening that I saw the shopping cart in the driveway. I was surprised. His bottles, bags and junk were all there, just as they had been the prior night. I stormed down to the basement in anger. What did he think, that he would just live there?
“What are you still doing here?”, I demanded as I looked at the cot. He was there; just lying there, still in his coveralls and hoodie. Just lying there with his eyes still blurred. My eyes went around the room. I couldn’t believe he would just stay in one spot for 24 hours. Then I saw it. An empty half-gallon bottle of vodka.
It all came to me in a flash. Back when I was at my worst drinking, I tended to hide extra bottles around the house. That was so no one would take all of them. I was always worried about running out on a Sunday when the liquor stores were closed. I must have had a full half-gallon bottle* in the basement with my camping gear. Obviously, the drunk found it, and drained it.
(* US Measure for liquor, a fifth is a 750ml, a half gallon is 1.75L)
I was a bit envious. Spending a day drunk is an activity I know full well, and have now left behind. It all came in a flash, the anger, the resentment, and then the compassion and pity.
“One more night, then. Then you go,” I said. I walked up the stairs and got myself upstairs for the evening.
The following day went the same. I went to work, came home, saw the shopping cart still in my driveway.
I stormed into the basement door and down the basement stairs. “God-damnit!”, I yelled. “I told you to get out.”
He was sitting on the cot. Sober. Shivering. I’m not sure if his shivers were from the cold. His eyes were pinched and his face pained. He looked miserable. A wave of pity came over me again.
“What do you expect me to do?” I ask. “Feed you? House you? Give you a job?”
He just looked at me with his one eye. He looked, and his eye bore into me. I knew exactly what he needed. He needed a drink. His whole body was in withdrawal. The cravings were clawing at his psyche, his heart and his soul. His patch, his hood, his coveralls could not hide the desperation that gleamed through his one eye.
“How are you going to pay for it?” I ask. “You expect me to be your errand boy?”
His eye stared at me. Then he moved his jaw slowly. He slowly moved his jaw, and opened his mouth. Then his eye shifted down to stare at my crotch, and his mouth opened to a round shape.
“Trade?” I ask. “You want to suck off my dick for a drink?”
He slowly nodded. I was beginning to realize that he would not speak.
I must have been desperate. My boyfriend had moved out when I stopped drinking and I had lived single for nearly two years. I figure I must be out of my mind to think of letting a derelict bum suck me off. Then again, I’m an alcoholic, so I’m pretty used to doing things out of my mind.
I went back up to the driveway, and got in my car. I slowly drove to the liquor store. I bought a fifth of vodka, my favorite brand. I wondered what would happen if my sponsor saw me. It’s just a suckoff, I said to myself. I got back home and got back in the basement.
He had not moved. Not moved at all. He was still sitting, still staring, still with his mouth open. I held out the bottle, and he slowly reached to take it. His hands were stiff and could not move the cap. I took the bottle back and opened it for him. Then, noticing it had the pour-stop in it, I flipped that out with my fingers. I guess that’s one of the skills an alcoholic gets, is to remove the pour-stop from the bottle to avoid slowing the flow of the liquid. I didn’t even think about it. I bet normal people don’t always pull the pour-stop from their bottles.
I handed the open bottle to him. He lifted it to his lips, and with a single motion pulled his head back and started drinking. He drank, and drank, and drank. He drained about half of the fifth in a single long pour, then lowered the bottle again. You could see the shine in his eye. He even got a bit of a smile. He lowered the bottle, and opened his mouth again.
I looked down at my crotch. I had to admit, I got a hardon. I slowly unbuttoned my fly and drew my turgid dick out. He didn’t wait, and went down on it. I could smell the liquor from his mouth. Hot, steamy vodka around my dick. And then he pressed his lips up to my crotch taking my dick full length into his throat.
Clearly this guy was experienced. He knew what he was doing. He worked my dick like an expert, and even fully dressed, in the cold basement, I was soon ready to shoot.
“I’m going to cum now”, I said. “Do you…”
He pressed his face again down to the root. I guess he was a swallower. I got a real thrill through me to think I had an expert cocksucker swallower in my basement for any time I wanted. That was enough to get me off, and I shot my load smack into the back of his throat, or down to his stomach, or wherever it went.
I pulled out and buttoned up my jeans. He raised the bottle again, and without a word, drained it completely. He checked it twice, to be sure it was drained, and lay back on the cot. He shut his eyes and started snoring.
I let myself out. Satisfied for the night, I slept better than I had in months.
The next night I stopped at the liquor store on the way home. I wondered what I would do if he wasn’t there. Certainly having liquor in the house would be a considerable temptation in my sobriety. So it was a great relief that I pulled in the driveway, and saw his cart still there. Relief that I wouldn’t live with temptation, and that I would get my dick serviced.
This time, I knew what to expect. He was sitting on the bed. I took out the fifth bottle in silence, opened the cap, pulled the pour-stop, and handed it to him. He took a good swig, although not the half bottle. I opened my pants and he drained my pipe. Just like that. I said “Thanks” and went upstairs.
That was it. It all became a bit routine. Soon it was Saturday so I had to do some laundry. He sucked me off when I first went down. Mostly though I just pushed my clothes through the washer and the dryer. At one point I looked at him, and said “You can wash your clothes here”. I’m sure he found the bathroom days ago, but didn’t see any evidence that it was used. But I noticed there was no soap in the shower so I put a bar of soap, a razor and some shampoo there, and made sure there was a towel hanging on the rack.
I got a bit tired of giving him fifths, so I started getting half-gallons from the liquor store, and recanting the liquor into pint water bottles. I started carrying two down a night. I really didn’t want him completely drunk. He never spoke. He never asked for anything. Just sucked my dick, and drank my vodka.
After about a week, I noticed that he had indeed washed his clothes. In fact, he had done a pretty good job of it. His coveralls were clean, and his sweatshirt clean and folded on a shelf. His face was scrubbed and even his eye patch was clean. I looked around the basement, and the laundry area was also clean. He must have scrubbed the dust bunnies. Another time, he had finished and folded my laundry from the dryer. Obviously he had once been a capable adult.
I noticed over time that he was younger than I originally thought. I first had thought he was an old man, at least, older than I was. Once he was clean and had some sleep, I could see that he was only in his mid-thirties, or maybe just forty or so. His skin was faded and damaged, probably from too many nights outdoors. His teeth were in awful shape. His front teeth were missing, and what I could see of his molars some were damaged. But clearly he was not a smoker and he actually was pretty handsome.
One Saturday I came down to do some laundry, and he was there doing his. At least he must have been doing his coveralls, because he was standing by the washer in his long underwear. For the first time, I could see that he had a muscular build, nice round butt and thick legs. He had broad shoulders and good thick arms. His whole build looked like a mover or someone who lifted for a living. He turned and I could see his abs were flat and his chest was sturdy. A tuft of dark hair showed from the top of his long underwear.
I must have displayed my admiration. He grinned a bit. Then he slowly unbuttoned his long underwear. It was the single piece type, so as he unbuttoned I could see more and more of his furry chest and treasure trail. The dark fur covering his mature skin. He was really hot.
As he buttoned down to his waist, he pulled his arms out of the top, turned to face the washer and pushed his underwear down to his thighs exposing his hairy buttocks. I was in lust. What a view. I could just barely see his balls between his legs, and he turned to look back at me, and then turned to look at my crotch.
I didn’t need more of an invitation. I spit on my hand, opened my pants, slicked my dick and slid it to his crack. He didn’t need more help. He just slowly lowered his anus over my hard dick, and slid down to the root. Between the two of us, I was ready to shoot in minutes.
“I’m going to cum”, I said. “Do you…”
He answered that by lowering himself further and milking my dick with his ass. My whole load went deeply inside of him. He slowly lifted off and pulled up his underwear. I was a bit embarrassed, but felt great. I was still in awe of his studly body that had been hidden from me. I pondered a bit what his dick would be like.
That night, I left him a double dose of vodka as a sort of reward.
Clearly, the reward worked. The next day when I went down, he was bare ass naked on the cot, face down, butt in the air. He moved his butt up as an invitation. That’s all I needed. I settled down and fucked him good, leaving my load deep inside again. Very nice.
We kept this up for a week or so. One night, I was a bit slow getting up. I just wanted to feel his hole, and my jizz inside. I slowly slipped a few fingers in his hole, and without warning he backed up to my hand and my fist was right at his sphincter. I wondered what kind of pig I had on my hands. I had fisted a few guys before, so I knew what to do. I tucked my thumb into my hand and pressed it on his pucker. His hole opened like a flower and took my hand to the wrist. I twisted gently, and moved by hand in and out. He just spread his legs and pumped over my hand. It felt good. His warm body fucking itself over my outstretched hand.
I left another double dose of vodka.
Within a few weeks I was elbow deep in him nearly every day. He just kept pushing back and I loved the attention. I loved seeing his hot body and feeling his internal heat over my arm and wrist. One day he was working back and turned sideways, and I saw his dick.
His dick was a very fine thing indeed. A huge banana, uncut. With my arm in his ass, he was half hard. I could see his glans covered by his healthy foreskin. I couldn’t help myself and reached out to pull his skin a bit. He allowed me that. I had already cum, but put my dick head up to his, and pulled his skin over. I’ve always been hot for docking, and he must have known that. I pulled his skin up over my dick and rubbed it back and forth. I could see him breathing, his hairy abs and muscled chest gently expanding as I rubbed my dick inside of his.
My laundry room was spic and span now. My camping gear was neatly organized. He must be working every day to make things clean and nice in my basement. I never saw him eat. He could leave by going out the door. I never saw or heard him do that. After about a week I pushed his shopping cart back to the store, the contents thrown away.
One day he was sucking me. I cringed a bit when one of his teeth hit my dick. I scowled, and left. That night, I didn’t bring any vodka down.
I was a bit conflicted at this point. I didn’t want him to stay. It’s silly to have a derelict bum living in your basement. I loved the sex. I almost let it go another night. I finally relented at bedtime, and went down again. I brought some vodka. I said “I’ll let you stay, but no more teeth!”
It was a stupid thing. I didn’t even think about it. I went down the next night, and he looked piteous and in pain. I handed him his bottle, but decided not to play. I turned to go upstairs and noticed on the shelf was a row of small objects. A row of teeth. I looked back at him, and he looked at me with his one eye. He opened his mouth so I could see. Where his ragged and dirty teeth had been was a bloody but smooth gum line. He had pulled out his teeth. With what? I thought and looked. I realized my tools were all stored in the basement. I could see a pair of plumbing pliers was out of place. He had pulled his teeth with pliers. I went back up, and brought down two bottles of vodka and left it for him.
Later that week, his mouth was healed, and I can tell you, his sucking was better than ever.
One Saturday I came down in the morning, not intending to have sex at all. I just wanted to get some laundry done. He looked playful on the bed, and spread his legs out and lay back, with his mouth open. I couldn’t resist the invitation. I dropped my pants and planted my ass on his face.
He was right into it. That surprised me. He hadn’t rimmed me or anything before. Suddenly he was hovering my hole like a champion. Not only did it feel good, I realized that I had not taken my morning dump that day. The more he got my ass relaxed, the more I realized I really needed to take a shit.
He kept up the action, working his tongue deeper and deeper into my ever relaxing ass. It felt great and my dick was hard as a rock. I could feel my insides churning and my balls tightening to shoot. It all felt like a whirlwind in my ass.
“Hey buddy! I gotta take a dump”, I said. “I’ll be…”
He clamped onto my hole and pulled some massive suction. I could feel my shit moving out of my ass. I couldn’t help it at all. It went right into his mouth, and just at that moment I shot a huge load of jizz halfway across the room. My eyes saw stars.
He gave a big burp. A shitty big burp. Then licked my ass closed and clean. I stood up. I couldn’t believe this guy sucked my shit up. I looked at him. He burped again, reached down, and grabbed a bottle and sucked it down. He looked at me and nodded slightly, and lay back on the bed.
I brought him two bottles again that night.
And so it went on. I never quite knew after that what we would do. Sometimes I fisted him. Sometimes he ate my shit or drank my piss. Sometimes it was just a simple suckoff. I always made sure to keep him supplied with alcohol. He kept the basement clean and neat.
One day I was on the rim seat, and he was sucking out my ass. I noticed that his dick was rigid. I had never seen him get fully hard, but this looked different. I reached out and pulled back his skin. I could see that he had stuffed something up his urethra. I felt it. Well, I kind of owned him anyway, and he never spoke. I just reached out and felt what he had in his dick. It was metallic and somewhat thick. A bit bigger than a large sound. I didn’t quite know the meaning of it. I knew some guys liked sounding and liked to open up their urethra, but it’s not something I could really identify with.
Not long after, I was docking on his dick. He seemed to want a bit more. He worked his mouth up, and looked at me with his tongue between his lips. I didn’t really know what he meant. I got a gob of spit and put it on my dick. I slicked my dick pretty good with spit. That seemed to be what he wanted. Then he moved his foreskin over my dick, and slid his entire dick down the full length.
I looked at him in shock. He had just put my entire hard dick inside his urethra. I could see my dick head, just at the base of his torso. He pushed his hips up, and my dick head must have gone into his bladder because I could feel it open up a bit. His eye looked into mine. Sure it was hot, but I don’t think I ever fucked a guy’s dick before.
His dick, a flaccid covering over mine for the full length, started to swell. I could tell it started to be painful for him, and his breathing grew ragged. More and more, he was breathing hard, but his dick continued to swell. It must have felt like tearing inside because he started moaning and giving a bit of a scream. I couldn’t really pull out, because it was making me hot. This guy was torturing his dick, by having mine inside, and getting hard because of it. Suddenly, his hips started shaking and I could feel liquid all over my dick. He must have started to cum. The jizz in his urethra lubricated my dick enough for me to gently slide out. He moaned loudly as I slid out, and his dick collapsed into an empty tube of flesh. I could see how stretched it was from my hardon being inside. I didn’t cum that night. I brought down another double-dose of vodka.
A couple more weeks passed. One day, he tied up his balls. Over a week they turned black. Soon they joined his teeth on the shelf. After a time, his dick couldn’t handle the strain of my fucking it, and it too got put on the shelf. In the end, he fashioned his urethra to a large fuckable opening, almost like a woman. I double fisted his ass until there was nothing left of his sphincter. His inside was as familiar to my penis and my hands a well worn pair of gloves.
He started a digging project under the porch. A portion of my basement had only a dirt floor. I had intended to dig it level with the rest, and get concrete over it. It looks like he understood that and he carefully excavated in the corner. I was a bit surprised, however, when he excavated deeper and deeper. In the end, the hole was almost deep as he was tall. I pondered a bit. It had become spring, and the basement was increasingly warm. I enjoyed coming down and seeing him buck naked, sweaty and covered with a fine layer of dirt. He would stop through the shower, and then we would fuck. Sometimes I just fucked him dirty.
I pretty much kept a steady flow of vodka to him. Usually a fifth a day or so, delivered in two water bottles. If he made me hot, I gave a bit of extra. Sometimes I forgot. One time, I got a cold, and didn’t see him for three days. When I got down there, he was shaking and fearful. I gave him a triple dose that time.
One warm day I went down. I just felt good all over. I just wanted to relax, shoot a load, and enjoy life. I lay back on his cot, and he sucked me all the way down. It was just a nice low key moment. I lay back, with my dick hard, and watched him work it. All that work had made his arms and body very muscular. He had really no body fat. As I watched his head go down, his glutes would tighten. I thought about all the times my arm was way up deep inside his ass. I thought about how much I owned his teeth, his balls, his dick and all his fuckholes.
He reached up, and pulled off his eye patch. I pondered what this meant. I never knew what he had under it. He reached with his right hand, and pulled out a glass eye. I guess I never wanted to know. He got up slowly, and put the glass eye on the shelf. He then moved down, but instead of putting his mouth around my dick, he moved my dick to his eye socket. He slowly moved the socket around the head of my dick, putting his head down slowly then raising it.
I began to get an inkling of where he was going with this. I pulled up a bottle of vodka, and gave it to him. He took it, and leaned back and drained it. Then slowly returned to “socketing” my dick into his eye. He kept doing it, on and on. A bit deeper each time. I could feel something dripping between my legs. I wondered whether he was spitting or drooling. I noticed a flow of fresh blood from his eye socket, down my dick and balls.
It must be painful. There must be something broken in his eye socket, where he keeps pushing my dick. Deeper and deeper he is pushing it. I’m getting rock hard now, because it’s becoming clear to me. Slowly he lowers down, farther and farther. It seems impossible as my dick shaft reaches into his eye socket. Suddenly something breaks inside and his head slams down to my pubic hair. My dick is fully inside his eye socket, burst through into his brain. He gives a moan, and moves his head up and down slowly on my dick. My dick head has got to be tearing through his temporal lobe in his brain. Blood is draining freely, and I shoot my load from my rock hard dick. I shoot and shoot. My jizz surging into his brain, his body moving into stillness.
I’m slowly aware of his sweat, and his motionless body. I feel bad. I wonder if I’m at fault. I gave him too much vodka. What will I do with the body.
I remember the digging. A grave. He dug himself a grave. That’s what the hole was. I get up and shower. I look over at the excavation. It is the right size, and the dirt pile arranged exactly. He planned to do it, and this was his way of ending his life.
I look down at the bottom of the hole. Neatly arranged in a row, are six of the vodka bottles I had brought down. Clearly he had saved them over time, going without, to place them here. Why?
The alcoholic in me reminded me. Of course I know why. So he never would be away from his drink. This is what makes alcohol addiction so insidious. At the height of the disease, our craving is so strong we seek nothing more than a way to make it last forever. The derelict bum had found his own heaven and his own way of being joined to his substance forever. I buried his body in the hole. I put his glass eye, his teeth, his balls and his severed penis neatly next to his body. Him and his six bottles of vodka, and covered it all over. I put the concrete over the top, and now I have a nice level basement floor.
I don’t mind being sober. It’s not bad at all. The stupid things I did in my addiction, the risks and dangers, the blackouts and crimes are all in my past. Life truly begins again. It is better than ever before.
With the derelict I failed in my 12th step. I failed to help another person. I continue to ponder the failure in my program. I hope I might somehow make amends to the derelict bums of the future. So I wrote this story.
When trying to sleep in someone’s bushes, it is best to park your shopping cart at a distance. What I first noticed was a shopping cart pulled into my driveway, next to some tall bushes. The bushes were shaking with the motions of a man behind them.
My name is Daven, and I’m an alcoholic.
I enjoy living in an urban area, close to downtown and shopping, and still having a small yard and bushes around my 100 year old home. Unfortunately, it means that shopping-cart people pass by periodically, some to take cans to the recycling center, and others to find a bush to sleep in. The stately old bushes are filled with hollows, providing good privacy and sometimes a soft bed of humus on which to sleep.
It was late winter, and weather had been awful. Days of sleet and hail, blustery wind and near freezing temperature. No bush would really keep the rain off. A year ago, I went through treatment for alcoholism. A hospital detoxed me, and I joined the local 12-step group. It wasn’t easy at the time, but I no longer drink at all, and don’t have any cravings.
Part of 12-step work is to carry the message, be humble and exercise compassion. I also didn’t want my bushes broken. We were just steps away from my basement door anyway.
“You can’t stay outside you know”, I called to the shaking bush.
There was no answer. The bush stilled. I rolled my eyes.
“I’ve got a cot in the basement”, I continued. “You can stay the night there”.
Like many old houses, my basement was separate from the house, with an outside entrance. There is no danger to me to have someone sleep there. There’s no heat, but it’s warmer than outside. I have a full bathroom in the basement, old claw foot tub and all, and the laundry room.
I moved back to open the door. I could see the bushes moving. I ducked down the stairs to get out a cot. I pulled an old army cot down from my camping gear, and threw a couple old blankets on it. I was getting out a camp pillow when a shadow came across the door. I had a moment of fear, wondering what kind of fool I was, and then he stumbled into the dim light of the overhead bulb.
He was wearing a grey hoodie with the hood over his head. Under the sweatshirt he wore stained and faded padded coveralls. I could see from the way he moved, he was probably wearing several layers of clothing, and most likely long underwear. Being covered in such a way it was nearly impossible to gauge his size or his build.
He appeared to be old, and yet not as old as his posture indicated. His face was dirty and grizzled. He wore a black patch over his left eye. His right eye was faded and bloodshot in the dim glow of the bulb. His coveralls were torn, his sweatshirt smudged by many nights of sleeping outside in the winter. He was clearly drunk. He stumbled down, and I helped him sit on the bed.
“I’ll put your cart at the top of the driveway”, I told him. “You can sleep here tonight. Clear out when it gets light in the morning.” I turned to check the laundry area to insure nothing valuable was there. I then left him to his sleep, and his hangover.
I got up early and got to work the following day. I actually didn’t even remember he was there. I just assumed he would clear out after sleeping off his drunk. It wasn’t until I got home the next evening that I saw the shopping cart in the driveway. I was surprised. His bottles, bags and junk were all there, just as they had been the prior night. I stormed down to the basement in anger. What did he think, that he would just live there?
“What are you still doing here?”, I demanded as I looked at the cot. He was there; just lying there, still in his coveralls and hoodie. Just lying there with his eyes still blurred. My eyes went around the room. I couldn’t believe he would just stay in one spot for 24 hours. Then I saw it. An empty half-gallon bottle of vodka.
It all came to me in a flash. Back when I was at my worst drinking, I tended to hide extra bottles around the house. That was so no one would take all of them. I was always worried about running out on a Sunday when the liquor stores were closed. I must have had a full half-gallon bottle* in the basement with my camping gear. Obviously, the drunk found it, and drained it.
(* US Measure for liquor, a fifth is a 750ml, a half gallon is 1.75L)
I was a bit envious. Spending a day drunk is an activity I know full well, and have now left behind. It all came in a flash, the anger, the resentment, and then the compassion and pity.
“One more night, then. Then you go,” I said. I walked up the stairs and got myself upstairs for the evening.
The following day went the same. I went to work, came home, saw the shopping cart still in my driveway.
I stormed into the basement door and down the basement stairs. “God-damnit!”, I yelled. “I told you to get out.”
He was sitting on the cot. Sober. Shivering. I’m not sure if his shivers were from the cold. His eyes were pinched and his face pained. He looked miserable. A wave of pity came over me again.
“What do you expect me to do?” I ask. “Feed you? House you? Give you a job?”
He just looked at me with his one eye. He looked, and his eye bore into me. I knew exactly what he needed. He needed a drink. His whole body was in withdrawal. The cravings were clawing at his psyche, his heart and his soul. His patch, his hood, his coveralls could not hide the desperation that gleamed through his one eye.
“How are you going to pay for it?” I ask. “You expect me to be your errand boy?”
His eye stared at me. Then he moved his jaw slowly. He slowly moved his jaw, and opened his mouth. Then his eye shifted down to stare at my crotch, and his mouth opened to a round shape.
“Trade?” I ask. “You want to suck off my dick for a drink?”
He slowly nodded. I was beginning to realize that he would not speak.
I must have been desperate. My boyfriend had moved out when I stopped drinking and I had lived single for nearly two years. I figure I must be out of my mind to think of letting a derelict bum suck me off. Then again, I’m an alcoholic, so I’m pretty used to doing things out of my mind.
I went back up to the driveway, and got in my car. I slowly drove to the liquor store. I bought a fifth of vodka, my favorite brand. I wondered what would happen if my sponsor saw me. It’s just a suckoff, I said to myself. I got back home and got back in the basement.
He had not moved. Not moved at all. He was still sitting, still staring, still with his mouth open. I held out the bottle, and he slowly reached to take it. His hands were stiff and could not move the cap. I took the bottle back and opened it for him. Then, noticing it had the pour-stop in it, I flipped that out with my fingers. I guess that’s one of the skills an alcoholic gets, is to remove the pour-stop from the bottle to avoid slowing the flow of the liquid. I didn’t even think about it. I bet normal people don’t always pull the pour-stop from their bottles.
I handed the open bottle to him. He lifted it to his lips, and with a single motion pulled his head back and started drinking. He drank, and drank, and drank. He drained about half of the fifth in a single long pour, then lowered the bottle again. You could see the shine in his eye. He even got a bit of a smile. He lowered the bottle, and opened his mouth again.
I looked down at my crotch. I had to admit, I got a hardon. I slowly unbuttoned my fly and drew my turgid dick out. He didn’t wait, and went down on it. I could smell the liquor from his mouth. Hot, steamy vodka around my dick. And then he pressed his lips up to my crotch taking my dick full length into his throat.
Clearly this guy was experienced. He knew what he was doing. He worked my dick like an expert, and even fully dressed, in the cold basement, I was soon ready to shoot.
“I’m going to cum now”, I said. “Do you…”
He pressed his face again down to the root. I guess he was a swallower. I got a real thrill through me to think I had an expert cocksucker swallower in my basement for any time I wanted. That was enough to get me off, and I shot my load smack into the back of his throat, or down to his stomach, or wherever it went.
I pulled out and buttoned up my jeans. He raised the bottle again, and without a word, drained it completely. He checked it twice, to be sure it was drained, and lay back on the cot. He shut his eyes and started snoring.
I let myself out. Satisfied for the night, I slept better than I had in months.
The next night I stopped at the liquor store on the way home. I wondered what I would do if he wasn’t there. Certainly having liquor in the house would be a considerable temptation in my sobriety. So it was a great relief that I pulled in the driveway, and saw his cart still there. Relief that I wouldn’t live with temptation, and that I would get my dick serviced.
This time, I knew what to expect. He was sitting on the bed. I took out the fifth bottle in silence, opened the cap, pulled the pour-stop, and handed it to him. He took a good swig, although not the half bottle. I opened my pants and he drained my pipe. Just like that. I said “Thanks” and went upstairs.
That was it. It all became a bit routine. Soon it was Saturday so I had to do some laundry. He sucked me off when I first went down. Mostly though I just pushed my clothes through the washer and the dryer. At one point I looked at him, and said “You can wash your clothes here”. I’m sure he found the bathroom days ago, but didn’t see any evidence that it was used. But I noticed there was no soap in the shower so I put a bar of soap, a razor and some shampoo there, and made sure there was a towel hanging on the rack.
I got a bit tired of giving him fifths, so I started getting half-gallons from the liquor store, and recanting the liquor into pint water bottles. I started carrying two down a night. I really didn’t want him completely drunk. He never spoke. He never asked for anything. Just sucked my dick, and drank my vodka.
After about a week, I noticed that he had indeed washed his clothes. In fact, he had done a pretty good job of it. His coveralls were clean, and his sweatshirt clean and folded on a shelf. His face was scrubbed and even his eye patch was clean. I looked around the basement, and the laundry area was also clean. He must have scrubbed the dust bunnies. Another time, he had finished and folded my laundry from the dryer. Obviously he had once been a capable adult.
I noticed over time that he was younger than I originally thought. I first had thought he was an old man, at least, older than I was. Once he was clean and had some sleep, I could see that he was only in his mid-thirties, or maybe just forty or so. His skin was faded and damaged, probably from too many nights outdoors. His teeth were in awful shape. His front teeth were missing, and what I could see of his molars some were damaged. But clearly he was not a smoker and he actually was pretty handsome.
One Saturday I came down to do some laundry, and he was there doing his. At least he must have been doing his coveralls, because he was standing by the washer in his long underwear. For the first time, I could see that he had a muscular build, nice round butt and thick legs. He had broad shoulders and good thick arms. His whole build looked like a mover or someone who lifted for a living. He turned and I could see his abs were flat and his chest was sturdy. A tuft of dark hair showed from the top of his long underwear.
I must have displayed my admiration. He grinned a bit. Then he slowly unbuttoned his long underwear. It was the single piece type, so as he unbuttoned I could see more and more of his furry chest and treasure trail. The dark fur covering his mature skin. He was really hot.
As he buttoned down to his waist, he pulled his arms out of the top, turned to face the washer and pushed his underwear down to his thighs exposing his hairy buttocks. I was in lust. What a view. I could just barely see his balls between his legs, and he turned to look back at me, and then turned to look at my crotch.
I didn’t need more of an invitation. I spit on my hand, opened my pants, slicked my dick and slid it to his crack. He didn’t need more help. He just slowly lowered his anus over my hard dick, and slid down to the root. Between the two of us, I was ready to shoot in minutes.
“I’m going to cum”, I said. “Do you…”
He answered that by lowering himself further and milking my dick with his ass. My whole load went deeply inside of him. He slowly lifted off and pulled up his underwear. I was a bit embarrassed, but felt great. I was still in awe of his studly body that had been hidden from me. I pondered a bit what his dick would be like.
That night, I left him a double dose of vodka as a sort of reward.
Clearly, the reward worked. The next day when I went down, he was bare ass naked on the cot, face down, butt in the air. He moved his butt up as an invitation. That’s all I needed. I settled down and fucked him good, leaving my load deep inside again. Very nice.
We kept this up for a week or so. One night, I was a bit slow getting up. I just wanted to feel his hole, and my jizz inside. I slowly slipped a few fingers in his hole, and without warning he backed up to my hand and my fist was right at his sphincter. I wondered what kind of pig I had on my hands. I had fisted a few guys before, so I knew what to do. I tucked my thumb into my hand and pressed it on his pucker. His hole opened like a flower and took my hand to the wrist. I twisted gently, and moved by hand in and out. He just spread his legs and pumped over my hand. It felt good. His warm body fucking itself over my outstretched hand.
I left another double dose of vodka.
Within a few weeks I was elbow deep in him nearly every day. He just kept pushing back and I loved the attention. I loved seeing his hot body and feeling his internal heat over my arm and wrist. One day he was working back and turned sideways, and I saw his dick.
His dick was a very fine thing indeed. A huge banana, uncut. With my arm in his ass, he was half hard. I could see his glans covered by his healthy foreskin. I couldn’t help myself and reached out to pull his skin a bit. He allowed me that. I had already cum, but put my dick head up to his, and pulled his skin over. I’ve always been hot for docking, and he must have known that. I pulled his skin up over my dick and rubbed it back and forth. I could see him breathing, his hairy abs and muscled chest gently expanding as I rubbed my dick inside of his.
My laundry room was spic and span now. My camping gear was neatly organized. He must be working every day to make things clean and nice in my basement. I never saw him eat. He could leave by going out the door. I never saw or heard him do that. After about a week I pushed his shopping cart back to the store, the contents thrown away.
One day he was sucking me. I cringed a bit when one of his teeth hit my dick. I scowled, and left. That night, I didn’t bring any vodka down.
I was a bit conflicted at this point. I didn’t want him to stay. It’s silly to have a derelict bum living in your basement. I loved the sex. I almost let it go another night. I finally relented at bedtime, and went down again. I brought some vodka. I said “I’ll let you stay, but no more teeth!”
It was a stupid thing. I didn’t even think about it. I went down the next night, and he looked piteous and in pain. I handed him his bottle, but decided not to play. I turned to go upstairs and noticed on the shelf was a row of small objects. A row of teeth. I looked back at him, and he looked at me with his one eye. He opened his mouth so I could see. Where his ragged and dirty teeth had been was a bloody but smooth gum line. He had pulled out his teeth. With what? I thought and looked. I realized my tools were all stored in the basement. I could see a pair of plumbing pliers was out of place. He had pulled his teeth with pliers. I went back up, and brought down two bottles of vodka and left it for him.
Later that week, his mouth was healed, and I can tell you, his sucking was better than ever.
One Saturday I came down in the morning, not intending to have sex at all. I just wanted to get some laundry done. He looked playful on the bed, and spread his legs out and lay back, with his mouth open. I couldn’t resist the invitation. I dropped my pants and planted my ass on his face.
He was right into it. That surprised me. He hadn’t rimmed me or anything before. Suddenly he was hovering my hole like a champion. Not only did it feel good, I realized that I had not taken my morning dump that day. The more he got my ass relaxed, the more I realized I really needed to take a shit.
He kept up the action, working his tongue deeper and deeper into my ever relaxing ass. It felt great and my dick was hard as a rock. I could feel my insides churning and my balls tightening to shoot. It all felt like a whirlwind in my ass.
“Hey buddy! I gotta take a dump”, I said. “I’ll be…”
He clamped onto my hole and pulled some massive suction. I could feel my shit moving out of my ass. I couldn’t help it at all. It went right into his mouth, and just at that moment I shot a huge load of jizz halfway across the room. My eyes saw stars.
He gave a big burp. A shitty big burp. Then licked my ass closed and clean. I stood up. I couldn’t believe this guy sucked my shit up. I looked at him. He burped again, reached down, and grabbed a bottle and sucked it down. He looked at me and nodded slightly, and lay back on the bed.
I brought him two bottles again that night.
And so it went on. I never quite knew after that what we would do. Sometimes I fisted him. Sometimes he ate my shit or drank my piss. Sometimes it was just a simple suckoff. I always made sure to keep him supplied with alcohol. He kept the basement clean and neat.
One day I was on the rim seat, and he was sucking out my ass. I noticed that his dick was rigid. I had never seen him get fully hard, but this looked different. I reached out and pulled back his skin. I could see that he had stuffed something up his urethra. I felt it. Well, I kind of owned him anyway, and he never spoke. I just reached out and felt what he had in his dick. It was metallic and somewhat thick. A bit bigger than a large sound. I didn’t quite know the meaning of it. I knew some guys liked sounding and liked to open up their urethra, but it’s not something I could really identify with.
Not long after, I was docking on his dick. He seemed to want a bit more. He worked his mouth up, and looked at me with his tongue between his lips. I didn’t really know what he meant. I got a gob of spit and put it on my dick. I slicked my dick pretty good with spit. That seemed to be what he wanted. Then he moved his foreskin over my dick, and slid his entire dick down the full length.
I looked at him in shock. He had just put my entire hard dick inside his urethra. I could see my dick head, just at the base of his torso. He pushed his hips up, and my dick head must have gone into his bladder because I could feel it open up a bit. His eye looked into mine. Sure it was hot, but I don’t think I ever fucked a guy’s dick before.
His dick, a flaccid covering over mine for the full length, started to swell. I could tell it started to be painful for him, and his breathing grew ragged. More and more, he was breathing hard, but his dick continued to swell. It must have felt like tearing inside because he started moaning and giving a bit of a scream. I couldn’t really pull out, because it was making me hot. This guy was torturing his dick, by having mine inside, and getting hard because of it. Suddenly, his hips started shaking and I could feel liquid all over my dick. He must have started to cum. The jizz in his urethra lubricated my dick enough for me to gently slide out. He moaned loudly as I slid out, and his dick collapsed into an empty tube of flesh. I could see how stretched it was from my hardon being inside. I didn’t cum that night. I brought down another double-dose of vodka.
A couple more weeks passed. One day, he tied up his balls. Over a week they turned black. Soon they joined his teeth on the shelf. After a time, his dick couldn’t handle the strain of my fucking it, and it too got put on the shelf. In the end, he fashioned his urethra to a large fuckable opening, almost like a woman. I double fisted his ass until there was nothing left of his sphincter. His inside was as familiar to my penis and my hands a well worn pair of gloves.
He started a digging project under the porch. A portion of my basement had only a dirt floor. I had intended to dig it level with the rest, and get concrete over it. It looks like he understood that and he carefully excavated in the corner. I was a bit surprised, however, when he excavated deeper and deeper. In the end, the hole was almost deep as he was tall. I pondered a bit. It had become spring, and the basement was increasingly warm. I enjoyed coming down and seeing him buck naked, sweaty and covered with a fine layer of dirt. He would stop through the shower, and then we would fuck. Sometimes I just fucked him dirty.
I pretty much kept a steady flow of vodka to him. Usually a fifth a day or so, delivered in two water bottles. If he made me hot, I gave a bit of extra. Sometimes I forgot. One time, I got a cold, and didn’t see him for three days. When I got down there, he was shaking and fearful. I gave him a triple dose that time.
One warm day I went down. I just felt good all over. I just wanted to relax, shoot a load, and enjoy life. I lay back on his cot, and he sucked me all the way down. It was just a nice low key moment. I lay back, with my dick hard, and watched him work it. All that work had made his arms and body very muscular. He had really no body fat. As I watched his head go down, his glutes would tighten. I thought about all the times my arm was way up deep inside his ass. I thought about how much I owned his teeth, his balls, his dick and all his fuckholes.
He reached up, and pulled off his eye patch. I pondered what this meant. I never knew what he had under it. He reached with his right hand, and pulled out a glass eye. I guess I never wanted to know. He got up slowly, and put the glass eye on the shelf. He then moved down, but instead of putting his mouth around my dick, he moved my dick to his eye socket. He slowly moved the socket around the head of my dick, putting his head down slowly then raising it.
I began to get an inkling of where he was going with this. I pulled up a bottle of vodka, and gave it to him. He took it, and leaned back and drained it. Then slowly returned to “socketing” my dick into his eye. He kept doing it, on and on. A bit deeper each time. I could feel something dripping between my legs. I wondered whether he was spitting or drooling. I noticed a flow of fresh blood from his eye socket, down my dick and balls.
It must be painful. There must be something broken in his eye socket, where he keeps pushing my dick. Deeper and deeper he is pushing it. I’m getting rock hard now, because it’s becoming clear to me. Slowly he lowers down, farther and farther. It seems impossible as my dick shaft reaches into his eye socket. Suddenly something breaks inside and his head slams down to my pubic hair. My dick is fully inside his eye socket, burst through into his brain. He gives a moan, and moves his head up and down slowly on my dick. My dick head has got to be tearing through his temporal lobe in his brain. Blood is draining freely, and I shoot my load from my rock hard dick. I shoot and shoot. My jizz surging into his brain, his body moving into stillness.
I’m slowly aware of his sweat, and his motionless body. I feel bad. I wonder if I’m at fault. I gave him too much vodka. What will I do with the body.
I remember the digging. A grave. He dug himself a grave. That’s what the hole was. I get up and shower. I look over at the excavation. It is the right size, and the dirt pile arranged exactly. He planned to do it, and this was his way of ending his life.
I look down at the bottom of the hole. Neatly arranged in a row, are six of the vodka bottles I had brought down. Clearly he had saved them over time, going without, to place them here. Why?
The alcoholic in me reminded me. Of course I know why. So he never would be away from his drink. This is what makes alcohol addiction so insidious. At the height of the disease, our craving is so strong we seek nothing more than a way to make it last forever. The derelict bum had found his own heaven and his own way of being joined to his substance forever. I buried his body in the hole. I put his glass eye, his teeth, his balls and his severed penis neatly next to his body. Him and his six bottles of vodka, and covered it all over. I put the concrete over the top, and now I have a nice level basement floor.
I don’t mind being sober. It’s not bad at all. The stupid things I did in my addiction, the risks and dangers, the blackouts and crimes are all in my past. Life truly begins again. It is better than ever before.
With the derelict I failed in my 12th step. I failed to help another person. I continue to ponder the failure in my program. I hope I might somehow make amends to the derelict bums of the future. So I wrote this story.
