I show up with my friend at the Garage on Church in Toronto on #FriskyFriday. My friend doesn’t drink, so I have a couple of beers while he enjoys some chicken fingers basted in suicide hot sauce. Frisky friday featured a couple of drag performers, but we quickly grew bored of them.
On my phone I Google “Strip clubs” and that a place called Flash is practically next store, so we pay our bill and leave.
We walk through the doors and immediately see a nude dancer on stage. The guard smiles and feigns blocking our view, motioning to the desk where we have to pay $5 to get in.
A performer is on stage, stroking his hopelessly soft dick. He’s bathed in red green and purple laser lights that highlight his solid abs, and he moves them smoothly to the music. He lays back and fucks the air before leaping up and gyrating around the pole.
“Just get some ginger ale for me, would you?” my friend says as I walk to the back of the place for some beer. There’s a line. Just as the bartender is pouring it my friend comes running up to me, panic in his eyes.
“Save me!” He says.
“What?”
“Did you see what happened?”
“No..”
Turns out that he had been propositioned immediately. A shirtless guy had introduced himself has Kevin, put my friend’s hand down his pants, licked his ear and asked if he wanted to fuck.
This place is a lot more interesting than the Garage!
One thing about the performers though, they are all soft! A dark skinned man with Jamaican hair performs. He has a small body, but is very strong. He pulls himself up the pole with one arm, suspended in the air. He dances, looking at me in the eye as he slowly pulls down his underwear, stroking his soft cock.
Soon he disappears and my friend and I discuss who is our favourite. We are complete opposites. He likes hairy white guys. We make a pact – we will both go to see what goes in on the back room.
The Jamaican comes up to me unexpectedly and my eyes light up, glued to his body. If you’ve been reading my adventures, you know that I can never resist Black. He notices and sits down beside me, caressing my arm like we’re old friends. “Wow, I was nervous up there! It feels like it was my first night, though I’ve been here three weeks.”
“Well, it’s my first time at a gay strip club. Anyway you were quite good,” I tell him. “I really liked it…”
“Really?” he says, moving closer to me.
“Actually, I’ve been wondering what goes on in those back rooms…”
“Only one way to find out,” he says grinning.
Right away, my friend, ever dutiful, spouts, “You should take him, you are his favourite!”
I nodd, setting down my beer. “Yeah, lets go.”
“Great!” the man says. “I just need to check in with the DJ.”
I follow him to the DJ’s closet and wait beside as he chats a bit. Two other shirtless performers move close to me but I motion that I’ve already made my choice. Then he comes out and leads me to the back. We go through the wooden doorway to the hallway full of stalls, past a sign that says it is $20 per dance.
“One please!” I said, going in feeling drunk and elated. “Just a taste, I’ve always been curious what happens in the back.”
“Sure.” He locks the door and turns to me. “Have you ever been with a guy?”
“Sure, a few on Grindr,” I say.
“What do you like to do?’
“Oral only…. Bottoming mostly. Orally.” I tell him. Apparently when I’m drunk I’m super obvious about everything.
“Oh wow, good to know…” he says, pulling me closer to him. My sweatered chest is up against his naked pecs, and I feel his cock, still soft but substantial nonetheless, up against my jeans.
I run my hands around his back and squeeze his butt. It feels like I could just slip my hands inside his expensive briefs, but I hold myself back, unsure of how far I’m allowed to go, what I’m allowed to do.
“That was one song,” he said, looking into my eyes mournfully.
Holy crap. “Well I guess I can go for TWO then,” I say. “Maybe you can move it around near my face or something.” I sit down.
He smiles and reaches a thumb under his underwear, gyrating his hips to the music. Somehow, as the music speeds up, it becomes clear than that he has a hardon, the first I’ve seen in this place.
I feel entitled, a little miffed that I’ve now spent 40 bucks to see this through his underwear, so I’m brazen. “Wow, I didn’t see that on stage!”
“Oh man I know, I wish!” he said. “But you get to see it here though. Yeah, I’m a grower!”
He isn’t kidding. He skillfully lowers his underwear just a little while I listen to the music. Is this still the same song? I can’t tell… I’m just mesmerized by his dancing. But he seems distracted now. This is not as fun as when I was pressed up against him, so why not?
I stand up again, embrace him and again we are grinding together. I gently kiss his shoulder, not wanting to push my luck with anything further. But I feel my hands move over his massive cock on their own. He is pushing his underwear down further for me.
“I haven’t been this hard at work before, so there you go.” he tells me in amazement.
I’m sitting down again on the bench, so I can get full view of my prize. And it is there, in full glory, a massive hardon. I tentatively move my hands over it, grasping it lightly, moving my hands over its huge head.
“So how well can you suck cock?” he asks me.
“Oh, I’m pretty good,” I say. But I’m not sure if this is an invitation. Maybe he’s making lighthearted conversation. What are the damn rules? For now I grasp it,
A single drop of wetness wells up in his slit as I slowly move it forward into my mouth, not touching it as he gazes down at me, muscles tensed in anticipation.
Suddenly I realize the song has ended.
“How many songs has it been?” I ask him.
“Four,” he says automatically.
Holy shit, was he just gonna let me go broke? “Well, that’s probably enough for tonight!” I tell him, reaching for my coat on the bench.
“Oh–” he says dejectedly. Then regaining his composure, suddenly he’s all business. “Do you need an ATM?”
“No, no I should be fine, I say, drunkenly rifling through my bills, the first two of which are only fives. “Do I pay you directly then?”
“Let’s make it 60.” he says.
“Yeah, yeah, great!” I tell him. I can’t wait to tell my friend what happened. But when I get there he’s gone. Oh shit, he’s not gonna know they don’t tell you when songs end… I hope he’s ok…
But after a minute my friend returns through the crowd.
“Where were you,” I ask, “Did you go with your favourite?”
“I was just in the bathroom,” he says. “When you left they kept coming over, so I went there to hide! But when I saw your guy come in I knew you were done.”
“Really?” I say. “That doesn’t make sense, he couldn’t have gone to the bathroom so quickly!”
“Yup he must have liked you, he was totally jerking off in there!”
It takes some time to find his car. He told me he has to leave for work at 3:00 and it’s already 3:15. “It’s the white honda in the right parking lot,” he texts. My right or your right? I step over the puddles in the rain, and find nothing. I hear a honk, and see the nose of a white honda poke out of the space and then back in again. That’s him?
I open the passenger side and step in. Yup, that’s him – he’s black. “Hi, nice to meet you,” I say.
“Yeah, same.” He smiles at me with his white teeth. The 20 year old is thin and lanky, with afro hair that’s a little too big, as if he stepped out of the 80’s. He sits at the steering wheel.
I gesture to the windshield, which is already opaque with fog. “It’s a good thing it’s raining. You can’t see a thing from the outside.”
When I look down at his crotch, he thrusts his seat back and pulls down his red track pants. I get down, one hand on the floor between his legs, the other on the cup holder between the seats, and wrap my mouth around his dark skinned penis. He’s still soft, but I can already tell I won’t need to break a sweat. He has one of the smallest dicks I’ve encountered.
It’s smooth and cut, and I really enjoy sucking on it. I really hope he doesn’t block me. Before long it’s hard and I take a breath before plunging down again. He doesn’t even reach the back of my throat, and I go right down to the tiny black curls of his crotch, inhaling his heady scent.
We didn’t really clarify what to do when he came. There’s been more than one time when a guy pulls out at the last second, wasting his load all over his belly. I’m afraid I’ll have to stop and tell him I swallow.
I feel his hands on the back of my head, pushing me down. He thrusts deeply, banging his sensitive head against the back of my mouth. I’m pleasantly surprised when he stops, hands weighing me down, gasping while he empties his load into me. I taste it, thick and sweet, and I stay there with his dick in my mouth for a moment before I get up and swallow.
“Short and sweet,” I tell him. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
This is different. I don’t typically get a wristband when I check in to the Sheraton in Toronto. It seems out of place, and cheapens the experience. I look at the petite Chinese woman at the check-in counter quizzically.
“This is for your security, sir. This weekend we are not allowing overnight visitors due to an event.”
“What’s the event?” I asked.
She looks shocked, leans forward and mouths, “It’s the Pride parade.”
“Oh yeah,” I say trying to pretend I only momentarily forgot. This business trip was getting a lot more interesting.
Outwardly, I have always politely ignored pride parades. Inwardly, I used to loath them. Gayness, I reasoned, should not be flaunted. Why could they not suppress their urges, as I had? I had gotten along perfectly well, married a loving woman, had kids. It wasn’t too difficult for me to just keep this side of myself locked away. I kept my eyes up and away in the Goodlife change rooms. Sure, I had gay acquaintances, and made polite conversation, but I always avoided them otherwise. They made no attempt at self-control. I did not hate them, but I hated the unfairness that they saw no need to contain it.
That all changed a year ago. After I took some medication for depression, something inside changed. I felt confident. I brazenly fooled around with men, and it energized me. I fretted at my lack of guilt. It was if my conscience had been switched off. I could see things on two levels at once. Intellectually, I knew that was doing was unquestionably wrong, as I was committed to my wife. But as long as I was careful, it would not hurt anybody, and most importantly, it didn’t feel wrong. It made me happy, and gave me a spring in my step that she noticed and appreciated. My bitterness about our dead bedroom was gone. I was free to love and spoil her, in the nonsexual ways she wanted. What did it matter if I spoiled myself too?
I push open the heavy door to my hotel room, drop my things on the floor, splash some water on my face, and set off in the direction of the festivities.
The streets are barricaded for several blocks approaching Church street. The party is on the long street, the centre of the Toronto Gay Scene. Rainbow coloured and pink tented booths are set on on either side of the wide avenue, and the festivities stretch off endlessly in both directions. One booth offers free corn dogs, and these are easily deep throated by countless jokers. My weakness is poutine. For a moment, I rest my hand on my almost-abs under my thin T-shirt. Fuck it. I buy a container and dig into it with gusto while I slowly stroll through the throng.
Unlike the photos on the news, the people are almost normal. Some are topless, sure, but it’s a hot day. I only saw one thing extreme: A thin, bearded man, his leathery skin parched by the sun, walks nude with his flaccid dick dangling low between his legs. He holds a cardboard sign with his twitter handle scrawled on it in black marker. He enjoys the craning necks of the crowds that pass him.
A familiar face appears in the masses walking towards me. He’s brown-skinned and black-bearded. He walks, guffawing and joking with his arms locked around the shoulders of another man and a woman. He looks up, and when he sees me, his big brown eyes brighten. He grins, breaks away from the group and runs toward me, shouting “Hey. Hey! Don’t be a stranger!”
I smile, spread my arms and we embrace warmly. Back in University Town, while his boyfriend was away, I had sucked his dick many times, and most recently, I had made him writhe in desperation, aching for release in his shower. But I can’t really say anything. Is that his boyfriend there now, eyeing us? The moment passes, and we both continue on our way.
Further on, the crowd grows thick and hard to walk through. Fences confine us to the sidewalks. Suddenly my eyes widened as I see Justin Trudeau, just steps away from me. His aides usher him into a van. He suddenly brushes them aside, flashes his smile at a camera and speaks soundlessly into a microphone, getting in one last sound bite. He keeps talking even as the suits finally succeed in stuffing him inside and the van pulls away
The parade was starting now. A marching band playing trumpets and big booming drums marches past. Maybe if I were with friends, this would be fun, but alone it is just another parade. A group of black women, clad in black and gold march past. One is angry and shouting into the crowd with a megaphone. I leave the commotion, and make my way back down Church street. I have a plan, and it feels like the right time to do it.
If you walk far enough, the crowds disappear, and you get to an unremarkable street. In the middle of a long brick wall are some ornate wooden doors. They are marked simply with the words SPA EXCESS. I slink toward them, pretending that I am on my way somewhere else. A the last second, I pull one open and disappear inside.
I’ve been here before, but there was nobody around at the time. I successfully visited the bathhouse without touching anybody. Today, anything might happen.
Up the stairs, a small cashier’s window has a hastily written sign above it. This weekend, it says, there will be no student discounts. Business is good. I wait awkwardly, ashamed in my own skin, while the clerk lets a couple of guys exit before he gets to me.
“I’d like a locker, please.” I shove a crisp twenty dollar bill towards the window. The clerk expressionlessly hands me the key and the small white towel. I take a deep breath and duck in through the door, head down. The bar area is never busy. A fat, bearded man sits at a table, reading his iPhone. He’s wearing nothing but the skimpy towel. I feel conspicuous. I’ve got to get out of these street clothes.
I head past the bar to the stairs. It takes a couple of tries before I find the floor where the lockers are. All around the room, slowly changing rainbow lights illuminate bubbles coursing through plastic tubes. A hot stud is seated there, taking off his shoes. The black light makes his skin purple and his teeth and towel light up like torches. I quickly find my locker in the meagre glow. Without looking at the guy, I quickly take off my shorts, shirt, and boxers, and carefully wrap the towel around myself, and shove my things into a heap in the bottom of the box.
I head upstairs. In the staircase, I pass a tall and blonde haired guy. He looks at me hungrily as I hurry past him.
Upstairs is where the people are, but so are all the walls. A central hallway divides the floor. To the left is a corridor of private rooms. To the right is an opening into darkness. Guys are everywhere., walking briskly through the halls, not speaking, trying not to look at each-other. Dance music blares from the speakers, but it is not enough to drown out the sounds of gasping grunting pleasure from somewhere.
I slowly walk down the central hallway, so I will not look lost. The only one with clothes is an employee. He sits on a stool reading his phone. In front of him on a small table is a basket of condoms and lube.
Just past him is a bathroom, and further on, the other entrance to the maze. The screams are louder here. I turn the corner and enter. Just around another bend is a small alcove, lit with red lights. A small crowd of guys sit on boxes around the edges, looking dour. In the middle, a guy is in the sex swing, screaming rhythmically as he is fucked. The top holds onto his legs firmly, concentrating on his task while the others watch and wait their turn.
I suddenly feel weak and scared. I continue around another corner, leaving the cries behind me. It’s darker here, and there’s a bench, so I sit down.
The only light comes from a long, narrow window in front of me, looking out onto some white tiles. As I watch, a man comes up to the window, pulls out his cock, and pisses on it. It’s one way glass, and this is the bathroom I saw coming in. I watch as another dick comes in and empties into the trough. This one is dark skinned, cut, and very thick. I try to imagine the guy from his crotch. In a moment I am stroking myself, and the towel lays on the bench beside me.
“Hi,” a voice comes from the darkness, and I bolt upright and fling the towel over my penis. The voice came from an Asian man, standing and blocking me into my little corner. He is well built and has defined abs. Only a wisp of grey in his temples belie his age.
“Come, let’s go to your room,” he tells me.
“I don’t have a room,” I tell him. “And I uh, I just like to suck.”
“It’s good. Let’s go,” he says, pointing somewhere outside.
“No I’m OK,” I tell him.
“What you mean?”
“Well I’m a little concerned about STIs…”
“It’s fine. I clean!” he says enthusiastically gesturing to his crotch .
“No.” I say firmly. “I’m good for now.”
The pushy Asian rolls his eyes and disappears into the darkness.
I take a deep breath. I’m flustered and I need to walk. I rush through the rest of the maze now.
The walls feel bumpy. They are just made of plywood, coated with layers of black paint over
layers of use over more layers of paint. I stumble out into the hallway, and keep going. Now I”m in the room section.
Most of the doors are closed or only half open. I peek inside one, and see a large bottom, pointed at the door, its owner’s head buried in the pillow. “Come in,” I hear his muffled voice beckon. I quickly move on.
In the next room, I see a young brown man lying on his back, reading his phone. His cock sticks up into the air, and his balls hang down over his shaved crack. The sight turns me on. I keep going. When I get to the end of the hall, I glance back, and see his head sticking out of the room. He quickly ducks back inside when I spot him.
I circle back around and lazily make the route again, and this time when I arrive at his room, I take a breath and duck inside. The man couldn’t have been more than 20. He lazily lay back on his bed, knees spread apart, looking sexy as fuck.
“Hi there,” I tell him.
“Hey bud, you party?” he asks me, barely moving to face me.
I pause, not knowing how to answer. “By party, do you mean marijuana?”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“No sorry. I just wanted to see if you wanted a blowjob?”
He looks down at his cock and laughs at me. “I’ve been here since Friday,” he tells me. “I’ve fucked so many guys I can’t count. No way, I’m taking a break!”
He spots something on my hand.
“Hey man you’re married?!”
“Yeah I am,” I admit.
He looks agitated, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be here!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
He grabs my wrist, looks at me in the eye, pleading. His pupils are wide as platters. “You gotta be careful bud. People lie.”
Ashamed, I jerk free from his grip and leave his room, closing the door on him behind me.
So far this has been terrible. I’m all tense now, so I head downstairs to the spa.
I hang my towel and key on the hook and hope nobody steals it. A muscular black man is showering. His robust rear is facing me. I take the faucet across from him, and try to look at him as much. When he’s done wiping his face, I spin my head back so he doesn’t see me, close my eyes, and imagine his body. It is a pleasant picture.
I’m nude, and it feels strange as I walk past him, dripping wet, to the hot tub. A couple of guys are in there already. One is watching the TV, and the other leans back against the tiles with his eyes half closed. I strut past him, showing off my body, and slowly lower myself into the hot, surging waters. I find a spot on the side, where I can see the TV, and relax as the jets massage my lower back.
When I look back to the entrance for the black guy, instead I get a shock. There, staring at me, is the pushy Asian. He makes no move to get in. When he catches my eye, he backs away, and disappears into the other room again. Fuck, I feel like I’m being followed. To make sure he’s gone, I watch vintage porn on the TV for a while longer. The other two guys quietly leave before I start to get too hot, and pull myself up onto the tiles again.
I quickly shower off again, trying not to think of the hundreds of loads that must have been dumped into that water. Beside the shower is another door. I open it and peek inside. A blast of dry heat hits my face, with the scent of cedar and cleaning chemicals. I’ve stumbled into a sauna. At the other end, a group of four guys stand around. On the bench, a guy lies on his side, awkwardly getting fucked. He lies at this awkward angle because another man grasps his head, making him suck his dick. It is quiet here, the only sounds are the slurping and sliding of flesh.
One of the men sitting the bench spots me. It is the pushy Asian again. I duck out of the room. I find my towel on the hook and dash up the stairs.
I’m wandering through the darkest part of the maze. In an open area, a large structure with steps lets you climb and look down at the floor below. I climb it, but there is a bald man at the top, so I tip-toe back down. As I walk around the structure, I see eyes peering out. The men have a hiding place, where they wait for their prey, beckoning them to connect. I’m constantly adjusting my towel, pulling it tighter around myself. I feel so vulnerable and out of my element. I have no idea what I want to do. It’s thrilling.
Someone stands in my way, lightly grasping my arm. We’re so close, I can feel his hot breath on my face. I’m looking into the eyes of my Asian friend.
I feel a rush of anger. Reviews of the spa consistently complain of pushy Asians. I thought this was merely racism, but now it’s confirmed. Everything I’ve read in the Bathhouse Blues blog says this is a massive breach of etiquette. I’ve rejected him already and he should move on. I open my mouth to tell him so.
“Suck me,” he says.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He clasps my hand, and turns, briefly surveying the place. This is his territory. He leads me away, through the dark hallways. We pass the window to the urinal without pausing, and head straight toward the sex swing. I wonder what I will do if I have an audience.
At the last moment, we swerve to the side. He opens a door, peeks inside, and motions for me to go in. The space is a closet, with barely enough room for one person. I enter and crouch before him. Everything darkens as he stands in the doorway, and half closes the door behind him. As I look up at him expectantly, he lets down his towel.
I can barely see the outline of his erection. I let it sit against my face, and then, heart pounding, I stick out my tongue and lick his soft ballsack. They smell like the soap in the spa area. Slowly I let my tongue explore,. while his penis rests against my nose, threatening to reach my eye. I try desperately to catch a glimpse of it, but I cannot see any signs of disease in the darkness. Finally, I open my mouth and let it slide in through my lips.
He moans and rests his hands on my head while I suck him to hardness. Soon, I am bobbing up and down on his cock and he is moaning louder and louder. I wonder, how often does he come here? He came after me so casually. I imagine he gets his cock sucked right here in this closet, every single day, just by asking and being shot down over and over.
He grabs his cock and slaps it against my lips, staring down at me in complete comfort. Then he lets go, and I’m forced to resume the bobbing.
“I cum soon,” he says.
I look up at him and keep on sucking. I live for this.
“You swallow?!” he exclaims, thrilled. Then, grabbing my shoulders, he thrusts with a renewed vigor. I feel the smoothness of his cock sliding and hitting the back of my mouth, sometimes scraping against my molars.
“Ooooooh,” he groans and thrusts into my mouth, and I feel him exploding onto my tongue. The man is shaking as an orgasm blasts through every muscle in his body.
Then, without another word, he wipes off my spit with the towel and deftly ties it back onto his body, and he is gone. The door swings shut with a creak, almost hitting me in the face.
The fun is over, and I think I’ve had all I can take.
When I open the door to leave, I am taken aback. There, waiting patiently, is the muscular black guy from the shower. He stares straight at me with his deep set eyes, and it is clear that he has been waiting in a queue of one for his chance to be with me.
I back up into the closet again and beckon him to come in with me. He saunters up and drops his towel. Tiny curls of black hair cover his nether regions. He positions himself in front of my face breathlessly, then looks on with anticipation. His penis is so long, it dangles downwards even while erect.
I run my hands along the smooth, black skin on his legs, feeling every hard curve of his brawn. Then, eager to please him, I engulf his tremendous penis between my lips.
I love the taste of black. I suck in a huge breath, pulling his musky scent into my lungs as if I could consume his manliness and make it mine.
I’m still carried away from the blowjob I just gave, so instead of giving him the buildup he deserves I immediately begin to suck and bob my head. I cup my hands under his balls. Their weight is like two massive ball bearings in my palm. I slide my hands around to his ass, and let my fingers dip slightly into its crevice, admiring the hard muscularity of his body.
I can taste his precum, delicious and sweet, and I try to with futility to force more of it down into my throat.
Inexplicably, he tears himself away. I am stunned, and I almost want to cry. What did I do wrong? The man cock disappears into the towel, out of reach. I look up into his face, searching for an explanation, but I get none. With a turn of his body he is gone, vanishing behind the dark wall into the maze.
I get to my feet, and stumble away, grimacing at my numb legs welling with pins and needles. He just didn’t want to cum yet, I tell myself. Maybe he just got here.
As for myself, I’m done. I walk purposefully down the hall, back towards the locker room. There are fantasies, and there is stupidity, and it’s too easy to give in here .
Back in the locker room my Asian friend is closing his locker. He’s already fully dressed in his shirt and Chinos.
A for-sale sign stands in the melting snow of the rock garden, and a lock box hangs akilter on the door handle. Even so, I check the address on my phone for the eighth time before I ring the doorbell. I take a deep breath and he answers.
Something about the realtor is cute. Maybe it’s his cherubic cheeks, or the way he flashes his perfect white teeth when he smiles. He must sell a lot of houses just because he is beautiful.
“Hi,” I say, walking in, “I’m glad to finally meet you. I’m here for the tour, I guess.”
Black dick is so rare here, the owner of one can afford to be choosy. It was eight months ago that I first offered to suck him off. His reply was, “Are you any good at it?” I tried to persuade him over the coming weeks, until he finally showed me a pic of his member. It shocked me. I feared and desired it. this thick, dark shaft, hard, yet still sheathed in its folds of fleshy skin. The image haunted my dreams. I could not die until I had tasted it. It was my Moby Dick, but I knew I was not yet worthy of it. I told him I would practice for him until I was ready. Possibly starting with a trip to the supermarket.
For months, I kept at him, asking every few weeks so I wouldn’t be annoying.
One day, a message flashed on my phone. “You know, you’re actually starting to convince me.”
“‘Always Be Closing’ is my motto,” I typed back, heart racing.
“A good one!”
At last, the time has come to take on this great challenge. He made it clear, however. Nothing is guaranteed today. I might be here for only a tour. It depends.
“You have some interesting stories lately,” he tells me as I take off my muddy shoes and position them on the mat, so as to not dirty the floor.
“Oh, thanks,” I tell him, and smile. Don’t screw this up.
He starts the tour as we go through the living room. “Hard to believe, but this was a crack house before it was renovated.” He leads me through the dark hardwood floors, proudly pointing out the many improvements. “I’ve done a lot of work in the kitchen.” There, shiny white tile covers everything, including the spacious island in the middle. A bowl of perfect red apples sits on it on it, looking delicious.
I pIck one up and feel it’s made of styrofoam.
“Oh, this is your house?” I exclaim.
“Yeah, I’m flipping it.”
“It’s really nice,” I tell him. “And you did all this work yourself?”
His eyes narrow as he looks at me, then he thows his head back and laughs. “No. I like to pay people to do that for me.”
Shit! I’m a fucking racist. At least I know it.
“It is a great looking kitchen,” I tell him, as I try to balance the apple back on the pile. I take a deep breath. Did I pass his test yet? It’s time to move things forward, before I screw things up. “But I’d really like to see the bedroom.”
He smiles wide, showing his perfect teeth, and motions toward the staircase. I feel lightheaded with anticipation. We go up and the stairs. Though resplendent in oak, they betray their crack-house heritage with each creaking step.
The bedroom is awash the glow from the blue curtains, pillows are delicately deployed on the queen size bed. My host walks around the room, closing each drape until we are hidden inside a world of our own.
I don’t dare make a crease on the bed. I stand beside it. He comes back around, and unzips his pants.
And there it is, still soft yet even thicker than I remembered it. He pulls at it casually. “You’ve been waiting a long time,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say, staring down at it. Fuck, how am I going to do this?
“My boyfriend was going to blow me last night but I figured I’d wait and see if you’re as good as they say.”
In a trance, I drop to my knees in front of him. I lean forward and mouth his ball (I can only fit one). I want to suffocate in the scent of his body. I feel a caress on my cheek, as his penis extends its gratitude.
I open my mouth wide. My jaw complains at me but I push on, managing somehow to get it inside without tooth contact. He rests his hands on his hips and juts forward. I wriggle my tongue inside his foreskin. It is thick like a flap of meat that I push aside as I drill in, and tickle his hole.
He is waiting for me to do more. I desperately want to prove myself to him. I go closer, pushing in more until my jaw hurts. I feel my throat being pried open as I struggle to get it down. I can’t breath except through my nose. I close my eyes and suck in a musky breath, filtered through his curly black pubes. I am in heaven. I could just kneel here forever in front of him. with his penis filling my throat.
Instead I pull off again. My mouth has stretched now to take him, and at last I’m able go through the motions, if only on the tip, of what I’m here for. I reach around and run my hands up under his shirt, caressing his back, as I slurp.
“Oh yeah,” he says. He takes over now, puts one large hand on the back of my head, and starts to shove into me. There physically isn’t any room to move my tongue, as it steamrolls in. Flattened, I just try to lick the bottom with each thrust. After a while it seems to be working as his body heats up.
“You want to take my cum,” he tells me.
“Mmmm hmmm,” I moan, in case it was a question.
He puts both hands on my head now, thrusts harder, faster, the thick fleshy covering scrapes against my tongue now as he rams it against my palette.
Before a man cums, there is always a few seconds when I can taste it, before he even realizes it himself. I take a long breath through my nose, just appreciating the moment, trying to fully experience it, willing it to last forever. I feel the new slickness of his meat. I feel sweat in the small of his back. I smell his scent of sex. I hear his breathing stop. For a moment, like the top of a roller coaster ride, time stops.
“Oh yeah. Shit,” he says, head arched to the ceiling as his body shakes with an uncontrollable orgasm, his hands still locked onto my head. His cock erupts, but with my mouth completely full of flesh, it has nowhere to go. Some goes down and some goes up, and I’m almost choking. I’m being force-fed and I feel like my whole head, my nose, and my brains are being filled with his thick salty cum.
He suddenly lets go and pulls out while it is still draining, and I’m sadly empty again. I nip at it, to get the last bit as it seeps out of his shrinking hose.
But he’s already pulling up his pants. “Shit man, thanks,” he says.
“My pleasure.” I stand up, snort sharply to clear my nose, and taste thick cum again in the back of my mouth.
He tucks his shirt back into his pants. “The upstairs bathroom’s over here. It was just remodeled last month,” he says, continuing the tour.
I’ve been talking to this black guy on Grindr for a while. He’s impressed by my stories, and wants to meet Mr. Dreadlocks.
I’m not going to tell him who it is. A few weeks ago, the pernicious Adam persuaded me (after a visit to my favourite restroom) to reveal who one of my characters was. When contacted, he freaked out. I think I smoothed it over, but I’m not going through that again!
“Can you just tell him about me?”
Not without feeling used like last week’s Kleenex. I’ve been trying to chat this guy up for a month, and he’s just interested in someone else? “Maybe if I got to know you better!” I fire back.
“I’m free.” he says, flashes his address by.
I look it up on the map. 25 minutes away. “OK.”
“Can you do me a favour and get me a small single cigar? I’m waiting for a delivery and can’t leave the house.”
What? A blowjob and a cigar? I don’t know whether to feel indignant or turned on. I don’t want everyone to start asking me for favours. But OK, just this once. I’ll say no to everyone else. Black dick is so rare here, it’s well worth the $1.55.
I’ve never bought a cigarette in my life. I rush into the gas station and, worried that the cashier think I’m buying for a high school student, nervously ask him if he sells cigars. He rolls his eyes and digs them out from a file cabinet under the counter.
I try to exude confidence. “That one over there. The purple ones, uh, purple sweets.”, as if I always bought this exact brand. Shit, I could buy tampons easier than this.
25 minutes later I pull up to his door and he answers.
“Special delivery,” I say, holding out the cigar. He laughs, thanks me. He’s professional looking, well dressed. I’m comfortable here. He offers me some water.
“Finally, I get to meet the famous author,” he grins and settles into the couch.
My eyes are locked on his crotch. “Yeah, I’m very famous I guess!” I tell him, gulping down my water from the large Christmas tree mug. I’m parched by the unusual heat.
I move in front of him. “Let’s get those shorts off.”
In seconds, he’s nude, standing in front of me. I admire his dark skin, completely hairless except for the tiny curls on his crotch. His body feels so smooth it makes me shiver I run my hands down his sides.
He pushes my head down to his nipples. I oblige, sucking on his left one.
He falls back on the couch and I’m between his legs now, slowly licking up his balls and approaching the mottled circumcision scars on his shaft. I taste salt and the delicious scent of his body. I’m too good at this now. It’s like an artform. Five basic moves, varied with more or less suction. I throw in the deep throat for the wow factor. He’s no Mr. Dreadlocks, but his cut penis presses an inch or so into my esophagus.
“I don’t want to cum yet,” he says. I stop and then go back to giving him gentle licks up his shaft. He lays back, eyes closed, in ecstasy. I hold him there with my gentle licks. When I mouth him again I feel his cock pulse, and I freeze. Just in time; he lets out a long ragged breath and the moment passes. It’s not over yet.
“Let me see your cock,” he tells me.
I pull down my shorts. I’m not hard yet, but I grow quickly as he puts his mouth over my nipple and flicks it with his tongue. I’m on my knees in front of him and he starts to jack me off. It feels awesome. I pay him back by chewing on his nipples again.
I’m close, but I like to stay horny. “I want to taste your cum,” I tell him, and he settles back, fingers on his nipples. I know just what he likes now. I watch what he’s doing with his fingers, then push them aside, flicking his nipples gently. His penis is in my mouth, and once again, he’s in excstasy, but it won’t last this time. I feel it expand and a moment later I can taste his seed. He watches, eyes wide, and gasps as I gently suck it out of him, swallow, then lay his deflated cock down to rest on his thigh.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“We’ll have to do this again,” he says, incredulous.
“I hope so.” It’s great to find someone who appreciates my skills and shows it. When I get back to my parked car he’s got a message waiting for me.
“Fun. Now u shud introduce me to dread locks”
I laugh out loud. I can’t believe it. A cyclist glares at me as he whips by my window. OMFG. “Sure thing, I’ll send your pic to him right now.”
