Buzzy goes down to Dixie -- Part II (The Lucky Penny)
The scene was Raleigh Wide Open IV and the ghosts of Minny Pearl, Roy Acuff n Granpa Jones rode in joyfully on the warm evening breeze that wafted gently through the downtown streets of the City of Oaks. I walked along Peace and Martin for some time and eventually found my way to where the grammy award winning artists, Delbert McClinton, were making their magical and uplifting music to a sea of mesmerized fans.
I understood then and there that I had misjudged every Bush voter. These people of the Red States were separate from the United States. They were Americans but they were Southerners first and I pondered the likelihood of a second attempt at the Confederate States of America. This was a way of life, deeply rooted in history, pride n tradition. For a moment, I actually forgot I was Canadian and was so caught up in the moment I actually found myself waving a confederate flag and chanting loudly as the band played on. I had visions of a glorious Southland -- not the demonized images my mind would normally conjure up with the thoughts of slavery and hangings. It was moving.
After the concert, I walked along the downtown streets and wandered into a hip section of town (now about 30 minutes walk from downtown). I dined at the Mellow Mushroom, much to my delight, and was so satisfied with the meal that I decided to actually pay the bill. After a couple pints of Guinness at an Irish pub a block or two down the road, I continued my walk.
It was now well past midnight and the city was quiet. While approaching a set of train tracks I was struck by a truly exceptionally handsome young man who had sprinted onto the tracks and stooped over for a moment. He stepped aside and a very short train (maybe 7 carts) approached.
"What were you doing there?" I asked.
He wore khakis and a thin gray cotton sweater, with a black t-shirt underneath. His hair was just a little shorter than shoulder length and he was lean, with a defined and strong jaw line.
"Makin' my own luck," he responded, in the most flirtatious and classic Southern gentlemanly accent I had ever heard.
I smiled playfully and lifted my head inquisitively. He continued, as the train approached.
"When the train runs over my penny, it will become my lucky penny."
We stood next to each other and awaited the luck creating moment in unison. The distinct and loud pop occurred and we quickly returned to the tracks to look for the now lucky penny.
"There it is!" he picked it up and offered me a look, palm stretched open. The penny had been flattened and the imprint of the train left thereon.
"So you're hopin' to change your luck, eh?" I asked, moving a bit closer and gently scratching my flexed abs underneath my black t-shirt.
"Not at all. Always been lucky. I guess I'm jus' tryna make sure it continues to be that way." The way he playfully looked at me then and there I knew he understood we were meant to have this encounter.
"Turns out that is one damn lucky penny after all, feller." I moved even closer.
I was in a most Christian mood that night, what with the whole Southern experience, and decided twas far better to give than to receive indeed so right then n there I proceeded to escort him to the alleyway and give him the best head of his life. His cock was average size but he was most proud of it and thought it was large. I decided I would not emasculate him by revealing mine. I would simply give back to the South with my selfless act of affection in this manner.
At first, his treasure was a tad briny in my mouth, understandable given how late we were into the night and the warm air, but quickly his sweet nectar began to flow and transformed his member into perfect ambrosia on my tongue. As his climax approached, he moaned and shook and when he was at the point of no return I swear the very deepest innards of the planet shook vehemently along with him. I quickly, jumped up and stood behind him, grasping his kok with a vice like grip and jerking it mightily.
He erupted with a loud scream of never before experienced sensual pleasure as his riotous spasms of tapioca hit the ground with seismic force.
5 minutes later we found ourselves in a good-bye embrace.
"Look at you!" I said. "All happy and contented. You have life figured out and don't need to search the globe for anything."
He smiled and stroked the side of my face gently with the back of his left hand.
"Southern pride?" I asked.
"Southern pride, my friend," he responded. I nodded and walked off into the night, now that much closer to understanding life and Southern ways.
I understood then and there that I had misjudged every Bush voter. These people of the Red States were separate from the United States. They were Americans but they were Southerners first and I pondered the likelihood of a second attempt at the Confederate States of America. This was a way of life, deeply rooted in history, pride n tradition. For a moment, I actually forgot I was Canadian and was so caught up in the moment I actually found myself waving a confederate flag and chanting loudly as the band played on. I had visions of a glorious Southland -- not the demonized images my mind would normally conjure up with the thoughts of slavery and hangings. It was moving.
After the concert, I walked along the downtown streets and wandered into a hip section of town (now about 30 minutes walk from downtown). I dined at the Mellow Mushroom, much to my delight, and was so satisfied with the meal that I decided to actually pay the bill. After a couple pints of Guinness at an Irish pub a block or two down the road, I continued my walk.
It was now well past midnight and the city was quiet. While approaching a set of train tracks I was struck by a truly exceptionally handsome young man who had sprinted onto the tracks and stooped over for a moment. He stepped aside and a very short train (maybe 7 carts) approached.
"What were you doing there?" I asked.
He wore khakis and a thin gray cotton sweater, with a black t-shirt underneath. His hair was just a little shorter than shoulder length and he was lean, with a defined and strong jaw line.
"Makin' my own luck," he responded, in the most flirtatious and classic Southern gentlemanly accent I had ever heard.
I smiled playfully and lifted my head inquisitively. He continued, as the train approached.
"When the train runs over my penny, it will become my lucky penny."
We stood next to each other and awaited the luck creating moment in unison. The distinct and loud pop occurred and we quickly returned to the tracks to look for the now lucky penny.
"There it is!" he picked it up and offered me a look, palm stretched open. The penny had been flattened and the imprint of the train left thereon.
"So you're hopin' to change your luck, eh?" I asked, moving a bit closer and gently scratching my flexed abs underneath my black t-shirt.
"Not at all. Always been lucky. I guess I'm jus' tryna make sure it continues to be that way." The way he playfully looked at me then and there I knew he understood we were meant to have this encounter.
"Turns out that is one damn lucky penny after all, feller." I moved even closer.
I was in a most Christian mood that night, what with the whole Southern experience, and decided twas far better to give than to receive indeed so right then n there I proceeded to escort him to the alleyway and give him the best head of his life. His cock was average size but he was most proud of it and thought it was large. I decided I would not emasculate him by revealing mine. I would simply give back to the South with my selfless act of affection in this manner.
At first, his treasure was a tad briny in my mouth, understandable given how late we were into the night and the warm air, but quickly his sweet nectar began to flow and transformed his member into perfect ambrosia on my tongue. As his climax approached, he moaned and shook and when he was at the point of no return I swear the very deepest innards of the planet shook vehemently along with him. I quickly, jumped up and stood behind him, grasping his kok with a vice like grip and jerking it mightily.
He erupted with a loud scream of never before experienced sensual pleasure as his riotous spasms of tapioca hit the ground with seismic force. 5 minutes later we found ourselves in a good-bye embrace.
"Look at you!" I said. "All happy and contented. You have life figured out and don't need to search the globe for anything."
He smiled and stroked the side of my face gently with the back of his left hand.
"Southern pride?" I asked.
"Southern pride, my friend," he responded. I nodded and walked off into the night, now that much closer to understanding life and Southern ways.
I really wish I didn't read that. Should have probably read part 1 instead. 