Mule's Blog: MULE v. The Confederate Army: A Mule and Mongo adventure

How Mule won the final battle
of the Civil War
and struck these colors!

Back in college, my best buddy was a guy nicknamed Mongo. One day we were at the Shoney’s on Hillandale when I hear Mongo sucking in air like he hit vacuum,

and a waitress with a sultry voice sayin’:

“What can I get for you big boys?” I looked up to see the most beautiful goddess ever to grace a family restaurant. Now usually when we out at a place like this, me and Mongo just hand back the menus and say, "Yes……" but with this beauty, I know we were going to take our time, ordering just a few items at a time to keep her coming back. The way she lingers and drinks in my muscles with her eyes, the more I can tell she is as intensely attracted to me as I am to her.

Mongo and I were definitely smitten, although Mongo, God love him, had no game, and Mule as you know puts other men to shame.

This southern beauty’s name was Harper, because her Momma loved To Catch a Mockingbird, but everybody called her “Scout” for obvious reasons. I know from the look in her eyes that she wanted me, and I ached for her. Still despite being on my A-game and serving up my sure fire never fail lines, and taking opportunities to flex muscles invitingly in ways that had other chicks swooning, this fish was just not taking the bait. Scout was having none of either ME or Mongo.

MULE

No thanks, I have a boyfriend!

Still I was not ready to give up and the more she demurred, the more I was resolved that I MUST have her. Mongo wanted her too, but his infatuation was manifest in him being tongue tied and awkward. We kept getting the “I have a boyfriend” line as if we had not heard that from scores of girl’s we had fucked, sometimes even while we were fucking them. So this Shoney’s came to be our new “hangout spot” as I continued to redouble my efforts at pursuit, while Mongo stuttered, sputtered and drooled imbecilically into his fries, looking like he had downs syndrome in his unrequited affection for Scout.

Scout while generally ignoring Mongo, was constantly flirting with me as we returned again and again in our obsession over the Trailer Park Queen. Still just as I thought I was making headway, the door swung shut again with the “I have a boyfriend” line that was growing increasingly tedious. “Tell me sweet cheeks, is your boyfriend as good-looking and jacked as me?” I said pulling an impressive double bi. I could tell from the way she blushed a bright scarlet, that the answer was a definite no. When she was able to compose herself she remarked that Jake was big and mean, and he was not going to like me hounding after her the way I was. I was undecided who she was trying to convince more: herself or me.

I found excuses to brush her bangs to the side, slip my big hands around her waist, take her hand in mine when she went to collect the menus and smooch it like some exotic French gentleman.

She could of easily avoided all of these encounters…but she elected not to…she was clearly enjoying my attentions. Yet she never let her feet step over the threshold and allow me to sweep her off her feet and carry her away…well that is not quite completely accurate, I did once take the opportunity to sweep her off her feet and carry her like Tarzan out the door, while she giggled and feebly, and unconvincingly asked me to put her down, but once outside she began to get more assertive, saying “You want to get me fired, Mule”, but never during all these overt advances did the topic of Jake come up except as an afterthought after she allowed me quite a few liberties, and the liberties were lasting longer and longer. I could taste the sizzle of victory. I was increasingly confident I would get Scout in the sack.

I guess she was sensing it too and panicked, because near closing time, as Mongo and I lingered on as the last customers of her shift, she let me know that:

“Jake is on his way, I texted him about you two, and he and his boys are coming to teach you a lesson!”

Scout was clearly expecting this would get us both to skedaddle, removing the Mule-temptation from her life once and for all.

Rather than fleeing, Mongo and I were both eager to meet this “Jake”. Although he turned out not to be what we were expecting....

The Jake we were expecting.

This clearly distressed Scout, who kept trying to convince us both to leave. First to spare us from a painful beatdown, and when that line of argument had no traction, she moved on to: “I don’t want no trouble here, I need this job…”

I was sympathetic to this secondary case, but there was no way I was going to seem like a pussy and hightail it out of there especially when this was a fight both Mongo and I both relished, having had our fill of “I have a boyfriend.”

Jake and three friends roll up on their bikes all badass, wearing leather jackets with some lame ass confederate battle flag ensign with Harley’s on top of it and words: Confederate Army emblazoned on the back. Jake is the hugest of the four huge bearded hosses. The group looked like a ZZ top cover band.

They were big and muscular but not in a lean but more of a heavily marbled way. Brutish biker beasts, not sure why mean, ugly cusses like these managed to attract hot chicks like Scout, but they commonly did. I suspect it is because a lot of women mistake cowardly bullying for strength, arrogant douchery for confidence, brutality for alphaness and the whole ex-con outlaw thing that has that bad boy appeal that chicks dig. Now sure Mule has some of these negative qualities, but it comes in an endearing, charismatic and purty packaging—so it is not the same thing!!!

These mountain men clowns enter the Shoney’s and Jake locks the door, lowers the shade and flips the sign to ‘closed’. Then, Jake and his posse peel off their jackets to reveal bare barrel chests covered in confederate, Nazi and Aryan Nation prison-style tattoos. We stand up, and leave the booth, to give ourselves room for maneuver. Jake and his chief goon lieutenant come for me, and the other two members of his crew go for Mongo.

Jake came at me from the front, while his lieutenant tried to flank me and get my back. I clubbed the big henchman with a cross: backhanding him with a thrust of my fist, which connected solidly with his face causing his eyes to go cross and the big man to go TIMBER. With the other hand I sent an uppercut flying like a missile into the underside of Jake’s jaw. Sending the goofball staggering back… I pursue slamming him with a series of left and right hooks so that his head was wobbling back and forth like Faye Dunaway to Jack Nicholson’s slaps in Chinatown. Then I Goldberg Jackhammered him, and while he was busing identifying stars in the spinning constellations above him, turned to face his lieutenant who was struggling to his feet. In quick succession:

· Left Jab to the gut, then right cross to the head.

· Knee to the gut, then right cross to the head.

· Left hook to the body. Then a right cross to head

· Left hook to the head. Then a right cross to the gobber

Then I take him up in a Batista bomb and slam him to the ground and leave him lying unconscious before turning back to Jake.

Mongo takes out Goon #3

I got a glimpse of Mongo connecting with a series of plastic-surgery-requiring-deadly jabs to Goon #4’s face before picking him up and doing a Cena Attitude adjustment on him bodyslamming the battered flunky onto a table, while a bloody Goon #3 was already crawling away from Mongo on hands and knees in agony and terror! Goon #3’s efforts were futile as Mongo stepped up on the booth seat and came down in a SUPERFLY SPLASH on the hapless biker.

We were like Batman and Robin taking out the hapless henchmen of some super-villain. I don’t know what prison these guys went to, but if this was the best they could do it was clearly junior varsity…of course perhaps they expected a couple of college jocks to be easy pickings. Townies do tend to underestimate the fighting abilities of college jocks, even big fucking hosses like Mongo and I.

A groggy Jake rose to his feet and charged me, and I swung up my fist in time for him to impale his face on it. It went from convex to concave, and a splatter of blood and teeth hit the ground.

Mule’s advice when fighting against foes that outnumber you:

1. Hulk out (check, check for both Mongo and I)

2. Gain, press and keep the initiative (check, check)

You never want to allow your adversaries to recover and regroup. These villains were sporting brass knuckles and shit, one misstep and Mongo and I would be toast. Thus we kept up at an exhausting no-pause onslaught.

3. Be merciless! (check, check)

These were ex-con fighters which meant dirty, no holds barred brawling, they didn’t just give you a drubbing, these were the kinds of guys that put you in the hospital or in the morgue. You must take the fight to them relentlessly and without pity. That means kicking, punching, biting, and eye-gouging. We would slam heads onto or into tables and walls whenever any of the gang made even the semblance of recovery.

At last the four bikers lay in a muscular heap on the floor, none of them moving, or making a sound. These four bloody mounds of battered flesh were all still breathing…which we determined when we taking trophies: collecting an array of brass knuckles, saps, knives, etc. which they never got to use on us. We also collected their biker jackets. As Scout got the blood mop and wiped up the blood and shattered teeth, we helped her close up, hauling out the trash (including the Bikers) out into the dumpster.

I could see that the threshold had been crossed with Scout and there were no longer any obstacles to her finally surrendering to me…and to Mongo. She was looking at us both like a fat kid looks at cake. Watching us beat the Confederate army had really got her horned up hotter than Hades.

We all get in our vehicles and follow Scout to her doublewide in the Euglina Junction Park and there we take turns having Rough Rider sex with Harper (Scout). Now usually it is Mule policy that there never be more dicks than chicks in such entanglements, but we gave each other space and there never was danger of our light-swords crossing. We took turns plying her fore and aft, her savory body between us. Mongo had earned his shot after all.

Was the sex worth the risk that the fight could have gone the other way? Well you betcha! I have been with quite a few women since that time, and I barely remember their faces and probably never learned most of their names, much less retained them, but I can still see her beautiful face and I know her name. That girl knew how to shake, rattle and roll! Not only was she a good fuck, allowing us first to tear up her pussy, as well as piitb, but she also was a champ in the cocksucking department. The girl was like a hoover! Note to self: Do more hot biker chicks.

Had lots of fun not only with her mouth, anus and pussy, but also waterboating and slurping on her large titties. She kissed and caressed ever muscle on our big brawny bodies, and fucked and sucked us both into submission and a few hours later while we were both laying there like spent forces, she made sammitches for us. Needless to say we were frequent return customers after that (albeit each of us visiting her solo) and she always gave us service with a smile. Our infatuation lasted for another month for me, and seven weeks for Mongo, where upon the evolutionary call for fresh pussy won through and greener pastures were pursued.

A couple of years later I was reading in the “News and Observer” that the Rev. Jake Matthews and His Angels on Two Wheels were conducting a prayer breakfast to help underprivileged kids in the area or some shit like that, apparently after the beating Jake and the boys had FOUND JESUS. Hallelujah!