Pounded In The Butt By The Physical Manifestation Of Awkward Political Dinner Discussion Over The Thanksgiving Holiday - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

hey there buckaroos hope you are having a great autumnal trot these days. THANKSGIVING is right around the corner and you KNOW i have a new tingler coming, but until then i wanted to post this throwback trot that i put up on social media this morning.

i remember writing this and finding a difficult balance of WHAT TO EVEN DO in this situation. what is the message? lots of buckaroos have a political disparity in their family and while i understand that these are extreme times, suggesting that others cut off their family members is something that feels much easier to SAY and harder to actually do yourself. i am fortunate because i am not in this situation, i do not have any tromper family, not even one, so i did not want to go talkin like i owned the place.

i think what i landed on was pretty good though. really this is a story about FINDING YOUR VOICE, which i think we can all agree on. it is good to speak your mind and stand up for your beliefs, and i think the main character here has a GREAT TIME learning this lesson.

please enjoy this classic tingler POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF AWKWARD POLITICAL DINNER DISCUSSION OVER THE THANKSGIVING HOLIDAY

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Ronto loves his family, but he’s dreading his trip home to small town Idaho over the Thanksgiving holiday. Of course, he cares about his parents, but their politics are a little strange, and they’re definitely not afraid to talk about it.

Ronto, on the other hand, would rather just enjoy his time with his family. Unfortunately, after Tromp announces plans to ban the moon, the parade of ignorance becomes just too much for Ronto to bear.

Hiding out in the garage on Thanksgiving, Ronto suddenly find himself confronted by the physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday, and quickly learns the only way of overcoming his awkwardness is by standing up for what he believes in and opening his butt to confrontation.

This erotic tale is 4,100 words of sizzling human on sentient holiday concept action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, facials, and manifested Thanksgiving dinner love.

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POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF AWKWARD POLITICAL DINNER DISCUSSION OVER THE THANKSGIVING HOLIDAY

By Chuck Tingle

“What are you doing Thursday?” my friend, Hoppy, asks as he suddenly erupts over the edge of my cubicle, smiling wide.

         “Thursday is Thanksgiving,” I remind him, glancing up from the heaps of work I’m struggling to finish up before the big day arrives.

         My wild-eyed friend continues with his spastic diatribe. “Come over to my place,” Hoppy offers. “Friendsgiving! Everyone from the office is coming.”

         I let out a long sigh, suddenly realizing why he was asking in the first place. The invitation is sweet, but unfortunately I’ll have to decline this year.

         “I’m leaving town,” I inform him. “Flying up to Idaho for the long weekend and celebrating Thanksgiving with my family.”

         Hoppy grimaces when I say this. “Your family?”

         “I know,” I offer, having no trouble at all in translating my friend’s strained expression. “It’s gonna be… interesting, but my dad wanted me to go. I haven’t taken a trip up north in a long time and it’ll be nice to get out of the big city for a bit.”

         As I say these words I’m filled with confidence, but deep in the back of my mind I know there’s plenty of wishful thinking going on. Sure, it’s always nice to see my family, but some of their opinions on the world at large can be a little hard to stomach. The food will be wonderful; the conversation, not so much.

         The more I think about it, the more I realize just how nice it would be to stay here in Los Angeles and hang out with my friends. The awkward dinner conversation in small towns across America can wait until Christmas.

         Then again, I can’t just walk out on the flight I’ve purchased, and if I change plans now then my parents will be devastated.

         “Tempting, huh?” Hoppy continues. “Dude, everyone’s gonna be there, even that guy from accounting.”

         I let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. As fun as it would be to spend the evening with you all, I’ll be home for Thanksgiving this year.”
         Hoppy’s expression slowly changes from playful to concerned, sensing now just how much I’m dreading this vacation.

         “You’re worried they’re gonna talk politics again?” my friend observes.

         I nod. “Among other things. Honestly, the fact that these people raised me blows my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, but some of the things my family believes are crazy.”

         “Well, that’s easy enough. Just don’t talk about it if you don’t want the heat,” offers Hoppy.

         “If only,” I reply, throwing my hands up into the air. “I’ve tried that before and it never works. I can only listen to people be that wrong for so long before I need to jump in and correct them.”

         Me friend takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “Well, I can’t say that I envy you.”

         I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the invite anyway.”

The second I step off the plane I can tell that the air up here is much different than it is down in hazy Los Angeles. Sure, it’s obviously quite a bit colder as the night wind swirls around me, but the indefinable freshness is also impossible to ignore.

         The airport is small, forcing a small collection of passengers and me to walk across the tarmac and enter a lone building before any warmth is provided to us. Once inside, however, warm greetings immediately start popping up all around me, families hugging and celebrating excitedly.

         I scan the crowd, then immediately break out into a heartfelt smile when I notice my parents waving to me from across the room.

         In this brief moment all my anxiety disappears. There really is nothing like being in the presence of loved ones over the holidays, and the second I wrap my arms around them I feel at ease.

         “It’s good to see you, Ronto,” my father, Greg, offers.

         “You too, dad,” I gush, then turn to my mother, Eileen. “Love you both.”

         We quickly grab my bags, which are already waiting for me in the baggage carousel, then head out to the car. We climb inside and taking off towards home through the frigid night.

         As I gaze out through the window, delicate snowflakes begin to drift down from the black sky above, swirling and dancing through the air but melting before they hit the ground.

         Despite all of my anxiety about coming here, I truly feel at peace.

         Of course, this moment of calm doesn’t last long.

         “You hear about Tromp saying he’s finally gonna ban the moon?” my dad suddenly calls back over his shoulder from the driver’s seat, breaking through the silence.

         I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep my head clear as I allow the potent ignorance to wash over me. “Nope,” is all that I offer in return, hoping the conversation might end right then and there.

         “That’s right, it’s finally happening, and the moon is gonna pay for it, too,” my father continues.

         I have so many questions about what this could possibly mean, or why anyone would want to ban the moon in the first place, but I bite my tongue. This year, I’m trying my best not to engage, despite how difficult it is to hear all of this insanity spilling out from the mouth of someone that I deeply care for.

         It takes all the strength I can muster, but I finally calm myself and accept my place in all of this. Instead of offering words of affirmation or denial regarding my father’s bizarre space news, I simply ignore it.

         Unfortunately, this only causes my dad to be more direct.

         “You don’t care much for Tromp do ya, Ronto?” my dad questions.   

         My mind is working overtime as I struggle to figure out how exactly how I should play this. It appears that my father is actively trying to create a conflict now, and the more I resist, the more he’ll pull out all the stops in his attempts to bring me in.

         Instead of playing his game I take evasive maneuvers, blowing off the question completely.

         “Has it been snowing like this every day?” I finally ask.

         “Yep,” Greg replies with a nod.

         I try to focus of the sight of my hometown after dark as various familiar buildings drift by outside the car window, but now it’s hard to think about anything other than my dad’s strange comments about the moon. How does someone ban the moon, anyway?

         I keep trying to come at it from various angles within my mind, but regardless of how I arrange my thoughts, I just can’t make sense of this strange political stance. It’s simmering inside me, just aching to be unleashed as I demand an explanation, but I somehow hold myself back.

         It’s just not worth it. I’m just too tired.

         Eventually, we arrive home and pull up into the driveway. Parking out front.

         It’s late, so the plan is to turn in for the night and then start with the holiday festivities tomorrow, Thanksgiving morning.

         “Thanks for picking me up,” I tell my parents as I gather my bags, hoisting them over my shoulder and heading towards the house.

         “Don’t mention it,” my father offers in return. “Your bedroom is all ready for you. I’ve got a few things in there but otherwise it’s just like you left it. We’ll see you in the morning, son.”
         We get inside and branch off towards separate ends of the house, my parent disappearing into the darkness while I make my way down the nearby hallway to my old bedroom.

         I push open the door and flip on the light, then gasp aloud at what I see.

         For the most part, everything in here is exactly how I left it when I moved out all those years ago. However, one enormous glaring change sits in the corner, massive and ominous. There before me is an huge brass statue of Domald Tromp, sculpted in great detail as enormous tentacles sprout from his back and mouth. The stone appendages wrap down around the base of the shrine, where hundreds of tall white candles have been placed, burned to various lengths from consistent use.

         Clearly, this is the shine where my parents have been praying to their god.

         I let out a long sigh, rolling my eyes as I pull the top blanket from my bed and drape it over the statue. I turn off the lights and climb into bed, turning away from the looming shadow that remains silent in my bedroom corner.

The next morning and afternoon I do my best to keep my mouth shut and avoid any potential conflict, focusing on the present as I spend time with my family.

         Subjects that I’m forced to endure while holding my tongue: Tromp’s new golf score of two hundred and sixty under par, which nobody else witnessed but has been approved through executive order. The assertion that highly illegal magic spells have been used to sway elections in favor of liberal candidates. Voter frogs; a phenomenon where frogs and toads are being recruited to vote against the one true god Tromp on numerous important legislations.

         None of it makes any sense.

         At first I try to follow along, keeping my mouth shut as I listen politely, but eventually my patience wears thin and I’m forced to zone out, letting the words flow into one ear and out the other.      

         Fortunately for me, Thanksgiving dinner tends to start early around here. It’s not long before my extended family begins stopping by to carry some of the weight in these mind-numbing conversations. Granted, most of them are just as onboard with this wackiness as my parents are, but at least it gives me a moment to step away and rest my weary head.

         During one of these breaks I make my way out into the backyard, wrapping my coat tight around my body as I pull my phone out from my pocket. I dial Hoppy’s number and listen as the phone rings once, twice, three times. Clearly, he’s a little busy.

         When my friend finally answers he seems exhausted and out of breath, a slight chuckle still lingering in his voice.

         “Hey Ronto,” Hoppy offers warmly. “What’s going on?”

         “How’s Friendsgiving?” I question.

         I can hear shouting and laugher in the background now, the pleasant tones teasing me with what could have been.

         “It’s great!” my friend replies. “Everyone is here, man. We’ve got so much food. What about you? How’s the fam?”
         I let out a long sigh. “I mean… it’s nice. I love to see them, but the politics are a little… overwhelming.”

         I can hear my friend shuffling on the other end of the line, stepping off into a quieter room so he can focus on the conversation at hand. “Did you get into a fight yet?” he asks.

         “Not exactly,” I explain. “I haven’t really given my opinion on anything. I’m sitting it out this year. I just don’t wanna show up and start fighting with everyone on Thanksgiving.”

         My friend laughs. “Ronto, telling them how you feel is not fighting. I mean, maybe it is if you start screaming in everyone’s face, but there are plenty of ways to disagree without being a jerk. You can say how you feel, and if they have a problem with that then who cares. You’re always gonna be family, but you’re also always gonna be you. Don’t deny yourself.”

         “Easier said than done,” I counter. “And besides, you were the one who told me I could just ignore them.”

         “I said that you could, I didn’t say that you should,” my friend counters. “It’s a case by case basis, but I’ve met your parents before and I think they’ll be fine if you wanna speak your mind. I know they’re fully registered in the cult of Tromp, but they also care about you.”

         I let out a long sigh. “You’re right, I can stand up to all the craziness without it becoming a fight. It’s gonna take a lot of restraint, but I can do it.”

         “There ya go,” my friend replies enthusiastically.

         “Thanks for talking,” I tell Hoppy, then hang up the phone and stand in silence for a moment. It’s so peaceful and quiet out here in the cold, while inside the conversation appears to do nothing but grow louder and louder.

         Dinner is almost ready.

         I head back through the door and stroll into my parent’s kitchen, immediately greeted by my cousin Tumbus.

         “We’re finally banning the moon!” he shouts, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he pushes his face towards mine, unaware of how flagrantly he has intruded on my personal space.

         I step back a bit, reeling from his energy.

         “Isn’t that great?” Tumbus continues, nearly foaming at the mouth with excitement. “Don’t you think that’s great we’re going to ban the moon?”

         I struggle to center myself, collecting my thoughts as I remember Hoppy’s advice. I don’t need to be an asshole, but it’s important to state my boundaries and allow myself the space to disagree.

         “I don’t… I don’t,” the words begin to fall out of my mouth, trembling slightly.

         “The moon! Ban the moon!” Tumbus continues to cry, significantly riled up now as he howls into the air and rolls his gaze in frantic circles. “Tromp says ‘ban the moon’ and we’re gonna do it!”

         Finally, the anxiety is just too much for me and I turn to leave, taking off towards the nearest exit I can find, which just so happens to be the garage. I throw open the door and step outside, slamming it behind me and plunging my surroundings into powerful silence once more.

         Suddenly, Tumbus is slamming his fists against the door, rattling the whole frame as he pounds away. “Ban the moon! Tromp sixty-six! Nine more years! Ban the moon!”

         “Just a minute,” I call back to my cousin through the hard wood.

         There’s a brief pause before I can here him shuffling away, heading back towards the kitchen where he can find someone else to rant at.

         I slump down against the door, struggling to catch my breath as I savor this moment of sweet relief. I close my eyes and let the moment wash over me.

         When I open them up again, I jump, startled by the figure that has appeared in the garage before me. There, hovering in the air, is an enormous pumpkin pie, around which various political buzzwords spin and cascade through the air.

         “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the strange being says.

         “Who are you?” I counter.

         “I’m the physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday,” the pie explains, “but you can call me Frank.”

         “What are you doing in my parent’s garage?” I continue.

         “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Frank explains. “You’re the one who manifested me.”

         I let out a long sigh. “I suppose the discussion was getting pretty awkward.”

         The physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday nods in understanding. “Yeah, I’ve been making the rounds a lot this year, especially since that whole ‘ban the moon’ thing started.”
         My eyes go wide. “Okay, is it just me or is that utterly insane?”

         Frank cracks a wry grin. “I’m supposed to stay neutral on these things but… yeah, it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

         Hearing this from my new friend is an incredibly pleasant reassurance. I’d started to think I was losing my mind.

         Sitting here across from the pie, I have to admit that there’s something very attractive about his round form. He’s muscular and confident, seemingly unconcerned with the drama that swirls around him.

         “So it was me who manifested you?” I finally state, clarifying the situation.

         “You’re the one who’s feeling awkward,” Frank explains. “But it’s nothing to be ashamed of… you think for yourself. That’s a good thing.”

         “I don’t want to be awkward,” I continue, “but my family is wrong about literally everything.”

         “So tell them,” the floating pie explains. “Disagreeing doesn’t have to be an aggressive act.”

         “I just tried that,” I continue. “It didn’t work out so well.”

         “Well, I should tell you, this is a very nuanced situation,” explains the physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday. “Some people are in the position to confront their nutty family, and some over folks might not be the best position to do that. It’s delicate for younger people, and I can’t just tell you want to do, especially in the limited space of a Chuck Tingle short story.”

         “A what?” I counter. “Who’s that?”

         “Nevermind,” says Frank, pushing onward. “All I’m saying is that I’m not here to give you any advice, because every situation is different. What I can say is that your opinion matters, and I support you no matter what. If you want to stand up and say, I still love you but you’re wrong, that’s okay, and I don’t see that as an aggressive act. I see that as an act of kindness towards yourself.”

         I take a deep breath and let it out, considering the living manifestation’s kind words. “You’re right,” I tell him. “I really need to come to terms with my awkwardness so I can stand up for what I believe in.”

         “If that’s what you want to do, then I fully support it,” the physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday replies.

         “The question is… how?” I continue.

         Frank cracks a smile. “I think you know.”

         Over the course of this conversation, the living concept has done nothing but grow more and more attractive to me. By now, I’m absolutely ravenous for his beautiful body, and as his suggestive words wash across me my arousal only grows.

         By now it’s a raging boil.

         Immediately, I stand up and approach the floating pie, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close. The two of us begin to kiss passionately, locked in a lustful embrace as my hands begin to explore the topography of his body. For a pumpkin pie, Frank is incredibly muscular.

         My hands drift lower and lower until they reach the swollen cock that has started to emerge from somewhere deep within him. I wrap my fingers tightly around the aching rod and begin to pump my fist up and down his length in slow, sensual movement.

         The physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday leans his head back and lets out a long, satisfied groan, reeling from my touch as I drop down to my knees before him.

         I’m staring up at the handsome pie now, hungry for cock. His rod projecting out towards my face, I stare his length down for a moment, taking it all in, then open my mouth wide and slide his girthy member between my lips. Immediately, I get to work pumping my head up and down across Frank’s length, cradling his hanging balls as I work the shaft. I gradually gain speed with the movements of my head, until I’m slamming my face down onto his dick with belligerent enthusiasm.

         “Fuck yes,” the floating pie groans above me, clearly enjoying himself.

         Eventually, I take things even farther by pushing myself down onto the manifested concept’s cock as far as I can go, relaxing my gag reflex and swallowing him whole. Deeper and deeper Frank’s dick plummets until I end up with my face pressed hard against the physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday’s abs.

         I hold here in this expertly performed deep throat, savoring the moment of submission while Frank places his hands against the back of my head. We remain like this for as long as I can muster, then I finally pull back with a sputter and a gasp, spit dangling between my lips and the head of his cock in a long, translucent strand.

         “I need you inside me,” I groan.

         I frantically tear off my clothing and toss it to the side, exposing my body completely as I spin around and pop my ass out towards the handsome living concept. I’m on my hands and knees on the hard floor, reaching back to grab ahold of my ass cheeks and spread them apart for the muscular pumpkin pie.

         “Pound me,” I demand.

         “Gladly,” replies Frank, who climbs down into position behind me and aligns his giant cock with my tightly puckered anal seal.

         The living concept teases me for a moment with the tip of his shaft, playfully exploring the edge of my butthole before finally having mercy and pushing in completely.

         I let out a startled yelp as the handsome physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the thanksgiving holiday slides into my body, stretching me out with his enormous girth. While I’d just finished taking his mammoth dick between my lips, maintaining his member within my ass is another story entirely.

         Thankfully, Frank is a caring and patient lover, taking his time with me and moving in a series of long, slow pumps. It takes some time, but eventually my body begins to adjust to his size, the sensations of discomfort slipping away as they’re replaced by a warm, pleasant ache.

         “Oh fuck, that feels so fucking good,” I groan. “Pound me harder you dirty pumpkin pie fuck!”

         Frank does as he’s told, gradually picking up speed within me as he continues to hammer his shaft up into my body. Soon enough, the two of us have fallen into a confident rhythm together, the pleasure passing back and forth within us like an ever-escalating feedback loop. More and more the sensation of prostate orgasm builds, spilling out down my arms and legs as I begin to tremble and quake.

         “Just like that, just like that,” I start to moan, the blissful mantra falling out of my mouth over and over again in repetition. “Just like that!”

         I reach down between my legs and grab ahold of my hanging cock, beating myself off in time with the pumps up my butthole. Soon enough, these two distinct sources of pleasure are swirling together and creating something even more powerful. I’m shaking so hard now that I feel like I’ll erupt out of my body at any moment, the pleasure simply too much to contain within.

         Seconds later, I’m throwing back my head and letting out a wild howl as orgasm erupts through me. Jizz ejects hard from the head of my shaft, splattering out across the cement garage floor below in a pearly mess.

         Meanwhile, the physical manifestation of awkward political dinner discussion over the Thanksgiving holiday doesn’t let up for a moment, hammering away at me with everything he’s got. He carries me through my entire climax from start to finish, and when the sensations within me finally pass Frank starts in on an eruption of his own.

         “Oh fuck,” the muscular pumpkin pie cries as he pulls out of me, beating his hand frantically across the length of his swollen dick.

         I spin around on the floor just in time to catch a hot rope of his flying seed between my lips, swallowing hungrily and then opening up for more. The cum continues to cascade across my face, painting me with a warm glaze as it runs down my cheeks in thick white streaks.

         When the handsome physical manifestation finally finishes he stumbles back a bit, struggling to catch his breath.

         “That was amazing,” I gush.

         Frank smiles, then reaches into a nearby cardboard box and fishes out a towel, which he tosses over to me. “Now get back in there and speak your mind.”
         I nod, wiping my face off and taking a moment to collect myself.

         Once I’m all cleaned up, I pull back on my clothing and start to head inside, freezing for a moment before I push back through the door. I turn to thank Frank, but immediately find that he’s disappeared just as quickly as he arrived.

         I take a deep breath and then continue on my journey, making my way towards the kitchen. “Banning the moon is a ridiculous idea!” I call out. “It doesn’t make any sense. Also, I’m a vegetarian so I’m not eating any turkey. I love you guys, but you’re wrong about basically everything.”
         I haven’t even reached the kitchen yet and I can already tell there’s a pressure cooker of political discussion just waiting for my arrival.

         The only difference now is that I don’t care.