Wassup, gayfags.
I apologise for my extended absence but I've been on a 'healing journey.' Just trying to protect myself from toxic behaviours by spending some time doing self-care rituals, and learning to love myself again.
Just joking. Been busy, but I'm often without internet so I thought I'd keep Fitness Frenzy's
Uranus Space Mission story going with some new chapters.
I should preface it by stating that Karen is obviously a good-looking and dignified lady. I sought to rob her of that in the story purely for comedic value and because it contrasts sharply with how she's viewed by people on here. It's all banter (aside from TBombz, the sicko). It's also a celebration of Goodrum, and a tribute to our ageing bruiser, Vince B— of whom I've always been an admirer of the non-sexual variety.
Wes, hope it cheers you up and provides some form of escapism for a little bit. And Getbiggers, feel free to contribute to the next chapters to keep it going, and also volunteer if you'd like to get the piss ripped out of you in some of them, if it continues.
Chapter I
The old man was dead long before his wearied body left Earth and ascended towards the heavens. He had at one time been a strong and handsome fellow —a champion—but that was a lifetime ago, and there is a limit to what a man can endure before the weight of the world will deprive him of his resolution to carry on. It wasn’t so much the failed patents, or the accusations of handpicked judges, or Goodrum’s libellous website featuring doctored images of young lads pissing in the old man’s face that broke him. It was simply regret. That uncomfortable, lingering feeling that he did not give enough of himself to that which he loved.
He was nestled into a tired old lounge chair against the spaceship’s window. His head resting on the viewport as he gazed outside into the endless black. “If only I upped the dose,” he thought. “Just a few more of those Dianabol tablets… maybe a cycle or two of Deca. I could have been Mr. Olympia! That sure would have shut the flotsam up. I wonder if Zane ever had a hunch that the reason he mashed his stupid penis in between that deck-chair was because I’d tampered with the screws.”
“Hey, Basile! What do you think is out there, among all those incredible stars? TBombz called out from the opposite chair.
“I’ll tell you what’s NOT out there, Taylor. Blue stars! At least not for a bloody mongrel like you!” Vince snapped—irritated that he’d been disturbed by the pockmarked AIDS patient.
“Yeah, but I mean it, Basile. Don’t you think it’s cool? To see God’s creations up close like this? It’s like he’s giving me a personal tour of his back garden. He’s with us on this mission, you know? I can feel him protecting me.”
“Give it a rest, Taylor. You talk as though you’re God’s chosen one; as though you’ll somehow evade death through your subservience towards a thing more capricious and conceited than even yourself. Look outside. All that crap out there… it’s just bits of rock and burning balls of gas, and it will die one day the same as you. But by the time it does, whatever species that’s around to witness it will be something far different to what we are now. We are nothing but a brief note in an entirely godless process!”
TBombz threw his head back and laughed. “Ha! Oh, no… Not the old ‘evolution’ argument again. Yikes! I’m guessing
someone’s not heard of a little thing called monogenesis!”
“Look at yourself, Taylor. If ever one doubts that we share a common ape ancestor with chimpanzees, they need only look at your stupid monkey face and listen to one of your rambling fucking YouTube sermons.”
A deep red hue coloured TBombz’ hideous visage as he exploded violently. “You’re wrong, Vince! I have TWO master's degrees in theology; I think I know what I’m talking about! God loves me. He’s forgiven me for being a shameless drug-addled narcissist who made his parents feel like having children was the worst decision they ever made. I had to sin in order to be brought closer to God. I am a prodigal son!”
“You’re a bloody dingbat, Taylor. A self-assured waste of oxygen and I’m sick of listening to your rambling bullshit, so rack off!”
Taylor stared intensely at Basile as the old man stood up from his chair and walked off towards the sleeping quarters. Violent thoughts of drugging and raping him while he slept flashed through Taylor’s mind as he squeezed down hard on the arms of his chair and tried to control his breathing.
“I swear I’ll get you for this, Basile,” snarled TBombz under his breath. “Nobody talks to the Reverend Taylor Tay that way. Just you wait.”
Back inside the tiny 2-man bedroom, Basile finished folding his uniform for the following morning and picked up his wash kit to go and brush his teeth before some well-earned sleep. As he made his way through to the bathroom, he heard a familiar voice calling after him.
“Wasss goin’ ooonnnnn, Basile? Hold the door there for me. Jus’ wanted to talk to ya about the bunkbed situation there, y’know?”
“No, I don’t know about this ‘situation’, Goodrum.” Basile replied sarcastically. “It sounds pretty serious, though. Will the UN Security Council be getting involved?”
“Well, now, y’know, it’s, uuuh, y’know, jus’ that the top bunk there… I noticed you put your sleeping bag on it.”
“Yeah, Goodrum, I did. That’s because I intend to sleep on it. It was an empty room when I arrived, so that’s really the end of it.”
“Well, I’m hearing you, Basile, I do be hearing, but it’s jus’ that I
am now on the comeback trail as a professional bodybuilder here, and the science is pretty clear that I’m s’posed to be sleeping in an elevated position there to improve my oxygen levels or some shit befo’ posing time on stage. Plus, y’know, as a Black man we wuz traditionally denied our privacy there, which the top bunk do be offering in spades…”
Basile was growing tired of listening to Goodrum’s nonsense. “Listen, you big fat bloody bastard, we may be in Space but there’s still gravity inside this ship. Unless those bedsprings are made of titanium, you can get fucked. There’s no way I’m having your giant, Black lunch-lady ass be the last thing I see before my head explodes like one of those watermelons you brought with you.”
Goodrum felt embarrassed and affronted by the realization that Basile had spotted the watermelon stash in his kit-bag, and he responded by uncharacteristically jamming a finger into Basile’s chest.
“Maybe I didn’t s’plain muhself clear enough fo’ you, Basile. I’ll be takin’ that top bunk, an’ there ain’t
nothing yo’ old ass will be doin’ about it! Don’t be forgetting that I’ve had tactical training, y’know, and I can fold you up like a pretzel and leave you on the ground there…wit cum in yo ass.”
Sensing that this dispute was now past the point of being settled by words, Basile let his wash bag drop to the floor as he widened his stance. “Walk away, Goodrum. I won’t tell you again.”
“Make a move, old man! You ain’t shit!”
Quick as a flash, Basile whipped his towel off to expose the ginormous penis between his sturdy old legs. It was thick as a Pringles tin, and surrounded by a leonine mane of silvery-grey pubes.
It was a brilliant tactical move that caught Goodrum completely off guard, and before he even had a chance to avert his bulging eyes, Basile had made a lunge for Goodrum’s ample chest with both hands.
“Pinch Grip Champion, 1973, boy! Not so tough now, eh? Let’s see if we can milk this little piggy!”
Basile’s vice-like grip clamped down on Goodrum’s bare D-cup tits, causing him to emit a high-pitched squeal as Basile twisted his nipples sharply in opposite directions.
“WEEEEEEEE!!!!! WEEEEEEEE!!!!!” Goodrum cried, as he tried in vain to scurry away.
Basile was seeing red, having already been disturbed by TBombz and now accosted by a semi-retarded dumpster diver. “You always were a bloody Sheila. It’s only fitting I give your tits a good slap just like Arnold did to that babysitter at my house. I tried to help you! I offered to send you food! And how do you repay me? You turned me into the world’s biggest pedo online and now try to steal my bunk!”
Basile’s eyes were wild and furious. Sweat poured from his brow as years of pent-up rage released itself while he twisted Goodrum’s nipples with all of his might.
The pain was too much for a man of Goodrum’s weak constitution to take and he was at risk of passing out. He had to do something! A surge of adrenaline suddenly shot through his body as his natural survival instinct took over, and Venom Vince drove a knee up as hard as he could into Basile’s cumbrous sack.
“Crikey!!” Basile cried, as the force of the blow nearly doubled him over. Basile’s coconut-sized testicles were now in his throat, and every ounce of power suddenly evaporated from his body. He threw an embarrassing attempt at a right hook, but an energized Goodrum simply rolled under it and countered with a shot of his own.
As Basile recoiled in agony, Goodrum cartwheeled across the room, snatching a toilet scrubber from its filthy holder as he went. He swung it forcefully at Basile’s head, missing the old man by a whisker.
“Back up, n
igga! Back up!” Goodrum barked.
“Woah, Jesus. Put that fucking thing down, Goodrum. It’s covered in shit!”
What little rage that remained in Basile’s body was quickly replaced by panic. He was battered, and bloodied, and now in immediate danger of being hit with a shit scrubber than had been used on a toilet acquainted with both Tbombz’s and Goodrum’s asses.
Wielding the scrubber like a sword a mere inch or two from Basile’s face, Goodrum slowly backed him up against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. “Gotcha now, boy… don’t fuckin’ move. Oooh, you’ll pay…. You gon’ pay!”
“Goodrum, c’mon now… let’s all just calm down and go to bed!” Basile pleaded, as he tried to bury himself into the brick and mortar behind him. The side of his face was pressed up so hard against the wall that he feared he might fracture something, but he dared not move an inch.
“Ohhh, I don’t know about that, ni
gga. What’s the rush?” Goodrum whispered menacingly. “Maybe we jus’ getting’ started. Unless, of course, you tellin’ me you’s a weak-ass pussy? Is that true?”
“Fine, yes… it’s true, okay.”
Goodrum smiled. “And what do you sniff?”
“Huh?” Basile replied quizzically, genuinely unsure of where Goodrum was heading.
“What do you be sniffin’? Men’s asses, ain’t it?”
Basile was a broken man. He knew he now had to play along, lest he wanted the shit-scrubber to physically touch his face. “Asses, yes. I sniff men’s asses.”
“Dassss right,” Goodrum replied slowly, savouring every second of Basile’s torment. “And what about dicks? We know you be suckin’ those! You be suckin’ dem thaaaangs! What is it you suck?”
“Dicks. For fuck’s sake, Goodrum! I suck loads of dicks! Now get away from me!”
“Say it like I said it!! All sultry and sheeit. Like you love it!”
“I… suck those things.”
“THAAAAANGS! You have to draw it out!”
Basile sighed dejectedly. “I be suckin dem thaaaaangs.”
Goodrum let out a cruel, bellowing laugh. He’d been bullied most of his life for being fat, stupid and gay, and this was his moment of revenge—sweet, cold revenge—and he relished the opportunity to let his inner Biggie Smalls run wild for once. “Okay, nig
ga, turn around and lemme see you twerk.”
There are moments in time that occur so perfectly, a pea-brain like Coach might attribute it to divine intervention. But for a thinking man like Basile, such an illogical explanation would be vacuous and insufficient. Whatever it was that made OneMoreRep walk through the bathroom door at that precise second, though, Basile was eternally thankful for it.
“Good evening, Goodrum. How are you finding the… woah, what the fuck! Basile? Jesus… that’s a huge dick! I mean, what’s going on in here? Put down that fucking toilet brush this instant!”
OneMoreRep was thoroughly taken aback by the disturbing scenario he had stumbled upon so late in the evening, but as the spaceship’s captain, he felt duty-bound to intervene and put a stop to the shenanigans immediately.
“I mean it, you two!” OneMoreRep said calmly and firmly. “Stop whatever bullshit this is at once and get to your beds. We will discuss it in the morning when cooler heads prevail.”
“But boss, he tried to milk me! He had rape in his eyes there an’ was sayin’ something about Jim Crow before I had to…”
OneMoreRep cut Goodrum off before he could finish. “Enough, Vince! I don’t want to hear it. Bed!”
“Fat cu
nt,” hissed Basile under his breath at Goodrum as the two wounded warriors made their way back out of the bathroom block.
“I destroyed you.” Goodrum hissed back. “Also, you said you love dicks so that means you’re gay now!”
