Cooks and Folks

Cooks and Folks

Chapter 2

My bedroom sweltered in the heat of the summer night. The windows were shut and the heavy, mildew-smelling curtains were closed, making it especially stuffy. The only light came from inside the bathroom. Mr. Cook was grunting while he worked to urinate through his 60-plus year old prostate. I heard his pee splashing periodically into the toilet water, stop, and then start again. After 10 minutes of this, I heard the toilet flush, and the elderly man wearing only black argyle socks held up by sock garters walked back into the bedroom.

“Hot as hell,” he remarked, taking out a leather-bound flask from the pocket of his leisure suit jacket.

“Your folks like to keep it this hot?” He asked, taking a long drink of liquor.

“Yes Sir,” I said, “To save money.”

“That what they told you?” He grinned. His teeth were long and stained a grayish yellow. “Funny, the rest of the house is so cool though.”

Mr. Cook sat himself on the dirty, sheet-less mattress next to me. He put his arm around my naked shoulders.

“It's all right,” He said, his breath stinking with scotch, “My Daddy was the same way with me when I was a boy. No Momma though, she died when I was really small.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, watching the sweat bead on his chest and run down over his pot belly.

Mr. Cook cupped the back of my head, and pulled me hard towards him. His mouth covered and sucked hungrily at mine. I kissed him back as best as I could, letting my tongue into his mouth and caressing his aged teeth and gums. We sat next to each other, sweating through the mattress and slurping at each others' mouths for a long time.

Mr. Cook released his grip on my neck and sat back, leaving my mouth slick with saliva. He took my hand and stood me up. He faced me, placing my hands around his neck.

“Dance with me,” he said, putting his hands on my waist.

There in the dark, sauna-like room, Mr. Cook led me in music-less dance. I swayed my hips gently under his wrinkled, bony hands. Hi eyes were closed, and I laid my head gently against the matted gray hair on his chest.

“That's nice,” he said, cupping my head.

I pressed against him, and we danced that way for a while. Then Mr. Cook took one of my hands and placed it against his warm, sweaty crotch.

“Play with me,” he said.

I curled my fingers gently around his thin cock and stroked it while we danced. It grew stiff, and I continued to rub him, taking time to comb through his tangled pubic hair with my fingertips.

“Do your folks give you an allowance?” He asked.

“No Sir,” I replied.

“That's a shame,” he said.

“Would you like to make a little money?” Mr. Cook said after a while.

“Sure,” I said.

Mr. Cook opened his eyes and looked down at me. “I've got a deal for you,” he said. “There's something I've always wanted to do,” he said, “I'll give you $100 if you let me.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Good!” Mr. Cook beamed.

He led me to the bathroom.

“Lay down,” he said, pointing at the warped linoleum floor.

I sat on the floor and lay back, my feet between the bathtub and the toilet. Mr. Cook stepped over me, standing with my head between his feet. He braced his hands on the wall, and began to squat down. His knees popped as he lowered his buttocks more and more. He had swollen, painful looking hemorrhoids that suddenly shook as Mr. Cook let out a series of squeaky farts.

“Get ready,” he said, squatting even lower.

His badly inflamed rectum flexed and expanded, releasing a thin strand of dark feces that landed across the bridge of my nose. My vision was temporarily blocked until the turd broke in half with one part sliding down my cheek onto the floor. “Yeah,” Mr. Cook groaned, “You're doing fine.” He gripped his cock with one hand and started to masturbate. His asshole then opened wide, and a thick, nutty log began working its way out. Mr. Cook grunted hard as he forced the waste out of his body. Grabbing the towel rod for balance, he squatted even more and placed the end of the escaping log onto my upper lip. It rested under my nose as Mr. Cook pushed it out. Finally the heavy loaf dropped onto my mouth before bouncing to the floor.

Mr. Cook stroked his penis furiously, panting and groaning loudly. He paused for a moment, and a loud splattering sound came as a ball of liquefied feces and gas blasted from his anus, covering me with watery brown speckles.

Mr. Cook pointed his erection down at me and roared while stroking it wildly. Soon, a long white strand of viscous fluid leaped from his cock onto my forehead. Mr. Cook trembled as he stroked more strings of milky sperm from his well-experienced testicles.

After the remaining semen had been successfully deposited on my face, Mr. Cook's softening penis jumped a few more times defiantly. He gathered a fistful of toilet paper and bent over, smearing it between his ass cheeks.

“That was pretty good,” he said, throwing away the used toilet paper.

Mr. Cook went to the bedroom and began getting dressed. I got up and used some fresh toilet paper to pick up Mr. Cook's shit.

“Don't wash up yet,” Mr. Cook said, putting his jacket back on.

I followed him out of the bedroom into the living room. He slipped his sandals back on and told me to follow him outside. We walked out to the driveway. Mr. Cook glanced around, and picked up our garden hose.

“Turn on the water,” he said, taking out his flask.

I stepped barefoot through the bark-covered garden and turned on the water faucet.

“Over there,” Mr. Cook said, pointing at a spot on the driveway beneath the glow of a street light.

I walked to the spot as Mr. Cook drank from his flask. I turned to face him, and he squeezed the trigger to the hose's nozzle, spraying me with a stream of cold water. I gasped, raising my hands to block it.

“Arms down,” he snapped.

I kept my arms at my side, and Mr. Cook walked closer, soaking me with the hose. He cut the water off, and stood drinking and watching me shiver. When my shivering got less, he sprayed me again and repeated the act. After 10 or 15 minutes, I was shaking uncontrollably and also sneezing.

A pair of headlights approached, and a black Lincoln Navigator pulled into the driveway.

“Welcome back,” Mr. Cook smiled to his wife exiting the driver side.

“Thank you dear,” Mrs. Cook said, “Are you and the boy having fun?”

“A fabulous time,” he answered.

Father climbed out of the SUV and helped out my 300 lb Mother.

“H-how w-was your ev-vening?” I asked, shivering terribly as they walked by.

Father held Mother close to his side as they passed. Both were glistening and smelled heavily of alcohol and cigarettes. They barely glanced at me, and turned up the driveway without a word. I stood shivering and sneezing as they bid Mr. and Mrs. Cook goodnight. Father called me over to say goodbye too. I knelt on the hard driveway pavement and bent to kiss their shoes under the starry sky.

“Mrs. Cook will have your money when you visit her office on Monday,” Mr. Cook said as I kissed the top and sides of his imitation leather sandals.

We all waved as the Cooks drove off.

I followed Mother and Father inside. They sat on the couch and both pulled off their cowboy boots. I gathered up both pairs, along with Father's work shoes, and carried them to my bedroom for polishing.

I started by licking the surface of their shoes and boots clean. While I was doing this, Mother and Father came walking down the hallway.

“Good night, Mother,” I called out, rushing to kneel at my doorway.

They were walking arm-in-arm and stopped in front of my door. Mother ignored me, talking to Father as I bent to kiss her right foot through her damp sock. Father exhaled in disgust, and shoved a foot at me. I sat back cradling his heel in my hands, and kissed the ball of his foot respectfully.

“Good night, Father,” I said, “Thank you both so much for the wonderful evening. I love you both so much.”

“Quit sucking up you stupid little shit!” Mother said in a drunken slur.

Father jerked his foot out of my hands. He pulled Mother close and they shared a wet, sloppy French kiss. I got on all fours and bowed my head, waiting while they made out passionately over me.

When they finished, Father led Mother to their bedroom, closing the door behind them. Only then did I go back to licking the scuff marks from their shoes and boots in my room.