After a few more hunches, the wop gasped: “You better watch it, nigger, I’m coming through.” Then he managed to laugh, without breaking stroke. “’Ey, Hogg, send the little cocksucker over here.…”

Hogg came over and stood between me and Denny. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Go on, cocksucker. I wanna see you eat that guinea’s ass out. He likes that.” Denny’s elbow was still swinging.

I went over to them and, for a second, wondered how I was going to do it. Finally, I straddled them and squatted down on the wop’s back. At first I tried not to put all my weight on them because of the nigger on the bottom.

One hand on each of the wop’s buttocks, I pushed my face between. Sometimes I could just set my tongue in his hole. The hair was rough on my face, but the way he started moving, I could tell it was turning him on, so I really got to licking around. Then I went further on down (it was sweaty and stank down there of pussy and three kinds of shit) to lick the back of his balls; he had pretty long ones. I had my hand in there (it was like getting your nose and your fingers and your tongue inside a wet engine, everything going around and in and out and joggling), and though I couldn’t see, I kept trying to get my thumb in beside the wop’s dick, and licking the hilt of the nigger’s cock (I could tell because of the shit), and I remember thinking, while I was prodding at the turned-out rim of her asshole, and trying to get my tongue in it, that maybe licking it for her was making it hurt less. I didn’t even get a hard-on, you know, until I remembered the wop’s scar, where there wasn’t any hair. Then my dick went up in my pants, and I started rubbing myself against the wop’s shoulder.

Some light got in when somebody moved a leg; I could see, about an inch away, the nigger’s wet cock (a thin column molded along the bottom of a thick one) turning out her red ass, and then disappearing again up to his black hair, and the sweat dribbling down his thigh. I lifted up his balls to go after his asshole—that was pretty funky—and he must have felt what I was doing because he farted and I heard him laugh, between grunts, up near my knees. Somebody was opening Big Chico’s tear—skinny, hot hands; so it was Denny. He got behind me and eased his potato cock in, lay down on my back, holding my shoulder and grunting above my head, while I felt Hogg’s callused hand wedging between my belly and the wop’s hairy backbone. Hogg got down to my pants, and in.