“Oh, well, I wasn’t, uh, planning, but—”
He stared at me for a moment, his broad Neanderthal brow furrowing, until I began babbling again.
“But I could whip something together, I suppose.”
He grunted in approval, nodded, and turned back to his game. I hopped into the kitchen; my face flushed. I couldn’t believe I was being treated this way in my own home by an unwanted guest. I was doing this guy a favor for my dad, and now I was making him dinner. However, I did enjoy cooking when I had the time. As I laid out cookware and ingredients, I rationalized what I was doing. Lilly and I always wanted to be as friendly as possible to house guests. Maybe the Sarge is a bit pushy. I might as well make the best of it.
Forty minutes later, I had put together a pretty good meal. We ate on the deck overlooking the pool, toasting a good bottle of wine the Sarge had taken off the wine rack and had me open. The sunset was beautiful.
“Damn, you make one hell of a spread, boy. You always did take after your momma,” the Sarge said and laughed.
I smiled, but I knew he insulted me with that phony praise. He was calling me a girl.
“What do you do, Willy?”
I tried to explain my job as an independent computer programmer that worked from home most of the time.
“A computer geek, eh? And yet you probably can’t even change a tire?” he asked, staring me down with a big derisive grin.
“You’re right there.”
I laughed bashfully, and he pinched me in the ribs, sending me hopping off my chair.
“Men today, eh? Big brains and little dicks.”
He seemed to speak in jest, but his eyes stared at me coldly as he chewed. I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded, smiling foolishly. I felt my face red because I agreed with him that I had a little dick. He took a long sip of his wine, smiling to himself like he was enjoying an inside joke, then filled our glasses high.
“So, how long have you been with Lilly?”
The Sarge had a way of maintaining intense eye contact so that even small talk like this felt confrontational, like an interrogation.
“Well, married for five years and two years before that,” I said with pride.
The Sarge guffawed. “God damn, seven years, and you haven’t squirted any kids in her yet?”
He looked at me in disbelief.
“Well, uh, you know she has her career, and I do too,” I said, feeling squirmy. “We figured we’d start trying in a couple of years.”
He slapped the table roughly, shaking it. “Huh. When I was your age, I had already sewn my seed in six different countries.”
“Have you ever been married? Or were you just fertilizer?”
I smiled and could tell he appreciated my attempt to dish it back.
“Two ex-wives, kiddo. Seven kids. Believe me, Willy, the life of a bachelor is ideal. I get more pussy single than I ever did with a wedding ring around my finger,” he boasted, reaching across the table to jab at my ring finger, rubbing it.
I watched our hands next to each other. Mine was smooth and delicate compared to the Sarge’s big, rough, hairy hand. His big finger stroked mine for a few more moments, and I held my breath.
“Is that so?” I asked, taking a sip of wine.
For some reason, I enjoyed his boasting and his unsolicited touch.
“Oh, fuck yeah. All kinds of pussy, Willy, my boy. And let me tell you, married pussy is just the best pussy out there.” He raised his eyebrows at me, and I laughed nervously. “There’s nothing sweeter than getting your wang wet in pussy that belongs to another man,” he added lewdly, finishing his glass and then holding it out for me to refill.
That bothered me because I knew he was close to my parents. He saw me frowning and laughed at my discomfort.
“Relax, Willy,” the Sarge said condescendingly. “I’d never fuck the wife of a friend. Bro’s before Ho’s and all that. Not after what your dad and I went through in the Gulf War. That man has my total respect, and that goes for your mom too.”
“Good to know,” I said, feeling relieved.
As the meal finished, he continued bragging about his sexual exploits. He seemed noticeably upset when I told him I hadn’t made a dessert, but I said we had some ice cream in the freezer, which he insisted on having. I went into homemaker mode again for him, putting together a good sundae with chocolate sauce, whipped cream, crumbled nuts, and even some mint for presentation. He laughed at my offering, slapping me on the backside, then quickly devoured it.
The big guy loved to eat and drink. After dessert, he found a bottle of whiskey in my office and began pouring for us.
“So, Willy, I do appreciate your hospitality. I appreciate you cooking all my meals for me too.”
He leaned back in his chair and kicked his bare feet on the table as I cleared the dishes.
“Oh, well, um—” I trailed off.
He looked at me expectantly. Waiting for me to cave in.
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” I said.
Again, after giving in submissively, he merely nodded and grunted. The shrewder part of me wanted to ask whether he was planning to chip in some money to pay for his food and drink, but I held my tongue. ‘Why was I agreeing to all of this?’ I wondered. ‘Why did I need the Sarge’s approval?’
He kept pouring drinks for us, and when he said he wanted to see the pool, I followed him to the deck. Before reaching the pool, he stopped and turned right to stand profile to me. I watched him fiddle with his cargo shorts and whip his cock out. I could only see it in shadow, but I was shocked and impressed. It looked big and fat. He did not attempt to avoid me and conceal it. I just had to wait there and avert my eyes. I excused it as the big man had overserved himself, and my strong buzz likewise justified my standing there mutely.
It was dark, but I saw an oversized silhouette in the deck lights. I knew that even completely soft; it was a sizable piece of equipment. The Sarge shook it and let out a long thick stream of piss, noisily slicing into the lawn below. He bucked and twisted his hips as he pissed as if he wanted to spread it around as much as possible, watering my yard like a dog marking his territory. When he finished pissing, he groaned with satisfaction.
“Ah, that’s good. Nothing like draining the snake outside as nature intended,” he said, shaking his big black cock in my direction.
I cringed in the dark, feeling flecks of his urine hit my bare shins.
We sat together on the deck, bare feet in the water. The Sarge shimmied beside me so that his big broad shoulder was against mine. He threw an arm around me and squeezed. I would have been uncomfortable with his closeness, but he had forced me to keep up with him drink for drink, so I felt no pain.
“You always were a sweet kid, Willy,” the Sarge said. “We’re gonna be good friends, I can tell.”
*****
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