Though I had my nose full of its stink, I couldn’t see Red’s cock very well: but it looked like the last inch or so bent straight down in an L! I went lipping after it when the length of it slapped my cheek. “Yeah, eat that pig fucker, boy!” The stink was my shit.

And Rufus was pushing at my asshole. When his dick had been in my mouth, I’d felt the curve. But I couldn’t feel it at all up my ass.

Red got my head in one hand, pushed his dick in my mouth with the other. It was real fat, with an unholy lot of foreskin off the end. (It wasn’t bent, I realized; that was just his goddamned curtains hanging down!) Under the shit, it tasted about like his fingers, only a little less oil, a little more salt. He’d been joking about the nigger’s cheese, but when I tongued inside Red’s long, leathery cuff, I swear, it was like he’d sat down earlier with a half pint of Breakstone and packed a tablespoon of smallcurd in there around the head. The only way I know a guy can raise that much dick cheese is from something the super I stayed with showed me a couple of times, back when I was first with Pedro and Maria: he’d only had about two-and-a-half inches of cock, even hard. Red had more like nine. But they both were guys with two inches of skin overhang; and sometimes, when he’d beat off, the super would keep the scum inside it, tie his foreskin in a knot, and let the stuff stay in there five or six hours, with a little piss. (If you only had as much skin as the wop or Denny, say, I guess you’d have to use a rubber band to hold it to cover the cum.) Inside, it would ferment. After half a day, it was as thick and curdy as you could want. He’d untie the skin and make me suck him off that way—till he realized I liked it. Then he wouldn’t do it for me no more. I think he wanted to eat it himself—’cause I caught him doing that, once, too. But that’s the only way I knew Red could get up that much of the stuff. Even if you never washed it, it just couldn’t get that way without some help. Or he took half the nigger’s and put it in with his own—once I knew some guys who did that, too. I tongued out Red’s crusted sleeve, the soft stuff and the harder stuff under it, went down to the hilt, came back, turned his curtains just about inside out and shoved hard with my tongue, on one side, on the other, then around the top, getting off what was stuck there, peeling it loose, holding the haft in my teeth. (Cheese tastes awful good!) I went down again, then came back to clean the last curds from either side the skin, holding his foreskin to the underside of his dickhead. “Nigger,” Red said, and I could hear his grin was even bigger, “this cocksucker likes me!”