It’s November during the pandemic, I haven’t been out in a long time. A guy named A messages me. He’s black. That’s all I know. He tells me we’ve been together a couple of times last winter. I try to remember. Pre-covid times seem like years ago. Two? Three? Yes, black, around 20 years old–that narrows it down to three possibilities. I don’t tell him that. I’m busy tonight on boring things.
One Friday he messages me at 6:55 am. How about now? I tell him I can come at 9:30.
“Can’t you come any earlier?” I love his impatience. He is desperate for me.
I get to his place. It’s a massive group of townhouses that share the same address, but he won’t tell me the unit number. He say’s he’s standing outside. I walk around, looking. People are everywhere. Some are construction workers, others are just out for the heck of it. They’re watching a back hoe back up. I walk past it, until I get to the end of the complex.
No no, near the construction, he writes. I turn around, wondering how many people are watching me and thinking I’m crazy as I walk in a slow circuit around the complex. “Just tell me the unit.”
He does, and I see him standing outside the door. Instantly I know who he is. We met twice. I remember the first time now.
It was at the university. He was equally mysterious about meeting that time too. We had texted each-other and I tried to figure out where he wanted to meet. Finally I worked out that he was in the cafeteria building. I sat down in the crowded cafeteria on a bench near the water fountain. It was crowded. Moments later a a black kid wearing a dark winter coat and a toque had sat down beside me. He’d tapped on his phone, and I got a message that I still remember to this day:
“It’s me. You can leave now if you want.”
I didn’t leave then. Now, 11 months later, we’re meeting again.
He disappears into the unit and I walk in the white door, closing it behind me. He’s standing there with his phone, in pajama pants and a white t-shirt, and I can see his long hard dick through the plaid pattern. He steps onto the stairs leading to the upper floor, and turns to face me, blocking my path. It’s clear I would only be welcome in the entrance way. I kneel in front of him on the carpet, and he sits down on the fourth step, spreads his legs open and looks at his phone.
I lower my mouth to his crotch and mouth his hard dick through his plaid cotton pants. I look up at him. Expressionless, avoids my eyes, focusing on his phone.
I pull down his pants, but he does not shift his body at all so I can only pull waistband down under his balls. I’m stuck holding the band down, because if I let go I’m afraid they’ll go snapping up into his balls, which are black and pleasantly wrinkled. His dick is long, but not thick. I bend down to lick his nuts but he quickly pushes his dick toward my mouth. I pull it inside happily.
His cut cock is smooth and tastes freshly showered. I smell only the fabric softener of his pajamas. I mouth his dick and see how much I can take in. It is a good 8″ long, but just thick enough that I can comfortably get it all the way into my throat.
When I come up to breath, he pulls my head away and grabs my hand, which I have been using to hold his waistband away from his nuts. I let it spring back, and he places my hand on his dick. I barely begin to stroke it before he pulls it away and pushes my head down again. I hear heavy breathing, but it is only the tinny sound of porn playing on his phone.
Glad he’s not filming.
He yanks my head away again and puts my hand on his dick. He does not speak. Instead, he motions stroking in the air. I give a few strokes, but again, almost frustrated, he yanks my hand away and pushes my head down.
“Faster.” His voice is raspy, almost a whisper.
I try my best, and he grabs my head and pushes me up and down. I try my best to match his speed, and go all the way to the base. His cock head bangs against the back of my throat.
He pushes me off, and I reach for his dick. Instead, he slaps my hand away and stands up. I reel backwards on my knees, stumbling over the shoes all over the ground before hitting the wall behind me with my elbows.
He shoves his dick into my face, rubbing it, and I open wide. He slaps it in circles against my lips and I try my best to cover my teeth, making a funny O with my mouth for him. I look up at him and I can see his nostrils flaring. I really hope he doesn’t have Covid. I can feel his hot breath over me as he uses my lips to get himself off.
With a grunt, he lets go of his dick and thrusts in. I feel him spurt out a big glob of nut onto my tongue. I take over, closing my mouth over it and stroking it with the warm, wet insides of my mouth. He keeps cumming, filling my mouth. My hands fly up to his pajama covered ass and I pull myself to him, impaling my face on his dick. I can feel his dick pulsing, and with each pulse, hot spurts of the black boy’s cum down slide my throat into my belly. My nose scrapes against his tiny black curls of pubes, and I suck in a breath through them. I could get drunk on his scent. He smells so clean, it is the scent of pure black. When he is done I pull off a little, and suckle him long enough to pull out a few more tasty drops. I look up again into his eyes, and he is expressionless, maybe even a little bored, so I let him go.
As soon as I stand up and take a breath, I start to cough. Hurriedly I put on my mask. I see him tear up the stairs as fast as he can. My throat is burning. I can’t even talk because I can’t stop choking on it. I open the door and leave.
When I get to my car, I message him, “Thanks. I was just choking on your cum. Not coughing:)”
A minute later he writes back, “I’ll stay in touch.”