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1201 Story by Donald Ammer
When I was thirteen, my Uncle Jack came for a visit from Buffalo. He didn’t much care for Philadelphia, but adored my mother – his sister – and she was recovering from a bad bout of pneumonia so he wanted to take a week off work to make sure she was okay.
For my part, I loved Uncle Joe with a passion; he was warm, friendly, about a million laughs with his sarcastic sense of humor … and it didn’t hurt that he resembled Billy Dee Williams, as The Empire Strikes Back had just hit movie theaters that prior summer, and – even at thirteen – I had already had two wet dreams about Lando Calrissian coming to rescue (and fuck) me from dastardly Imperial Forces, to take me back to Cloud City where we could be married at last.
Yeah, I was a weird kid. A weird kid who fantasized about sex with other men. And brother, did I keep it to myself.
For I was also the kid of strict parents, so any delving I made into the world of erotica or porn was done strictly via my imagination. I had no access to adult magazines or movies, so my sessions of solitaire in the shower or bed were severely limited to what I could conjure up in my imagination.
That is, until Uncle Jack’s visit, in that fall of 1980; when the world, my eyes, and my blossoming teenage lust all opened in miraculous ways, when one day during Uncle Jack’s visit – while home alone – I decided to sneak into his suitcase and steal a pair of his underwear. Thinking they would be good masturbation material, I rooted carefully through his things (he was staying in my room while I slept on the couch, so it was easy), delighted to find that he wore very small white briefs for drawers … and, at the very bottom of his ugly, clunky gray suitcase, I found two well-worn videotapes – solid black except for a piece of masking tape on the spine, where a cramped handwriting in faded blue revealed a title on each: Wanda’s Hard Lesson and The Devil Made Her Do It. Realizing instantly that something truly nasty probably existed on these tapes, I rushed to the living room – praying my mother’s doctor appointment was going to be a long one – and shoved the Wanda movie into my parents still-new VCR …
And for the next half-hour or so – until I heard my dad’s Chrysler LeBaron pull into the driveway, Uncle Jack driving because Dad was still at work – I sat in stunned silence, watching (mostly in Fast Forward) my first porn movie. Oh sure, it was straight porn, geared mostly toward gratuitous shots of tits and ass and pussy. But the cast of men consisted of four Black dudes and one Latin guy, and all of them were about my uncle’s age (around thirty), very hot and with big dicks they used to pound Wanda and her sorority sisters into a sexual ecstasy that almost made the girls seem possessed by Satan himself. I got the tapes back to my uncle’s suitcase in time, but took to my bed for the rest of the night, with a boner I couldn’t dare let my parents or uncle see.
Porn movies and magazines have had a special place in my heart since, and as soon as I was old enough to score some, I began a collection that eventually came to fill the foot locker I kept at the food of my bed through high school. Though I got rid of most of the stuff before going off to college, I took a few of my more “precious” items with me … which included a couple of my favorite straight films. Since Uncle Jack’s fateful visit, all through my life I’ve kept at least one or two straight porn films on hand, always ones with hot guys whose looks were still worthy of a rosy-palm session or two, even if the pussy did get in the way at times.
And over twenty years later after seeing my first fuck flick, when I grew tired of living in Los Angeles and gave up my job as a graphic designer to move back to Philadelphia, a half dozen porn films still came with me – two of them straight.
Old habits die hard.√
This was just a couple years ago, I moved back in the summer to the northeast side of town after being offered a job in Center City (technically downtown, but don’t let a native hear you call it that) with a newspaper, as their new graphic design person. I lived off of Rising Sun Avenue, in a neighborhood that, when I had left Philly, was predominantly white. Now it was mixed, mostly Black and Puerto Rican, kind of seedy in spots at night, but the eye candy alone was worth it. I was in my early thirties, still with the sex drive of a nineteen-year-old, and fortunately looked good enough to still attract attention – my skin a honey-brown, hair cut short and faded on the sides, and (at 6’1” tall with a 40-inch chest and 32-inch waist) still handsome enough to garner attention as I walked home from the bus at night (I owned a car, but – though it’s expensive as hell – taking transit to Center City is just easier than trying to find parking). I had two women at work after me, less than three weeks after I started, and had even caught the eye of what I felt sure was a gay brotha who worked at the telemarketing office upstairs in my building. But flattering as all this was, I wasn’t up for getting with any dudes at the time; another main reason I had left L.A. was due to a bad breakup with a crazy, cheatin’ nigga named Raymone, who I’d spent six years of my life trusting like a fool. Philadelphia represented, to me, a fresh start on familiar turf – and the last thing I wanted to do was complicate that with even casual sex … which was, after all, what I’d grown up knowing porn flicks were for.
But then came the first week of October, when late on a Sunday night I realized I hadn’t gotten my daypass yet for the new month’s commute. It was nearly midnight, I was in bed watching an old rerun of “Martin” and found a serious irritation building when I decided I’d better walk to the corner convenience store for change for the bus tonight; I am not a morning person, and usually was running way late by the time I had to rush out the house to get the bus for work.
Grumbling and suddenly grouchy as a motherfucker, I slipped on jeans and a white t-shirt and loafers, ignoring the chill – and a jacket – as I trudged the half-block up the street to the mini-mart at the corner for change.
The doors were locked, guarding against robbery; you had to go to the bulletproof glass window for service. A green Nissan was just pulling away from one of the gas pumps as I walked up to the window … and blinked twice at what I saw there.
The young guy behind the window, blinking his big black eyes at me questioningly from behind the scratched and dusky glass, was the most beautiful kid I had seen in a long, long time. Literally, the dude took my breath away. Maybe legal – maybe not – he was a light-skinned Indian guy with golden skin and big, sleepy eyes that I would have given my eye-teeth to wake up to in the morning. Short – maybe 5’5”, if that – he was incredibly cute, with short black hair combed forward with gel and spiked in front to stand up like sleek, dark stalagmites on his head … the kid boyish to the point of making me feel like some old perv … and when I smiled, he returned it with a grin that lit up his handsome face and showed me the whitest teeth I maybe have ever seen on a guy. My heart did a back-flip in my chest, and when he shouted “Can I help you?” in a clear, deep voice through the glass, I suddenly had enough wood in my jeans to build a coffee table from.
Jesus Christ, was this kid hot.
“Uhhh … change,” I said, remembering why I was there. “I need change for a dollar; do I have to buy something?”
“No, you’re cool.” He pushed the metal tray out to me, so that I could lay my dollar in it, then pulled it back and made the change for me from his register. I watched his fingers as he punched the register keys; slim, long, young – the hands of a piano player, or artist. Perfectly clean, with nails the color of pale chocolate milk.
Good God, was I losing it, standing there with a hard-on at a mini-mart window.
The metal tray jabbed back in my direction with a thunk! and I removed my change from the raggedy cardboard box inside. Glancing up one final time at this phenomenal beauty, I smiled again. “Thanks, uh … ”
“Bill,” he replied, grinning in return and winning my heart again.
“John,” I told him, turning to go. “Thanks again, Bill.”
“No problem,” he said, in a voice only barely tinged with an Indian accent. You have a good night, John.”
I walked back home on shaky legs – the twenty minute jack-off session, once back in bed, indeed providing a good night.
The more I saw of him, the more beautiful and charming he became. For the next week I haunted that mini-mart (which I had never even been in before) like The Phantom of the Opera, learning his schedule (4pm-midnight), a bit more of his background (his uncle owned the place, which he was only working at until he went off to college in Chicago, to study medicine) and personal life (he did, indeed, have a girlfriend of two years – a white girl). Unfortunately, on my third trip in I also learned that Bill was only seventeen; a fact about him that sent me home that evening feeling old and sad. Not that s straight Indian boy would be up for fooling around with a 34-year-old Black dude, anyway – but somehow, for some reason, it just depressed the fuck out of me that the kid wasn’t even legal.
But still, all that week I couldn’t get him out of my mind; I dreamt about him, whacked off thinking about him … even found myself doodling “Bill” on a pastel green Post-It Note pad at work. Finally, by that Friday, I had decided enough was enough; I would go in one last time, to see him one last time – then forget that mini-mart even existed. The whole situation was beginning to work my nerves.
I entered the store about 9:45 that night, just fifteen minutes before he locked the front doors, and only the window would be available. I had yet to even find a reason to touch Bill, but tonight was determined to at least find an excuse to shake his hand. Feeling like some dumb schoolgirl with a crush, I entered the mini-mart and grabbed up a loaf of wheat bread I didn’t even need, getting in line behind a short, fat Latin woman and her whining kid – the only other customers in the store.
When they were gone, Bill turned to me with that smile that could melt cement. “Hey John, what’s up?” he asked.
I handed him the bread. “Not much – how’s work?”
He shrugged. “Same old shit. Kind of slow.” He rang up the bread, smile fading from his face.
“You okay?” I asked.
He looked up from the register, smile weaker this time. “Yeah, I’m cool. Just pissed off at my girl.”
I blinked. “Oh?”
He shrugged again as he bagged the bread. “Yeah, she’s going out of town with her aunt and mom this weekend, and Sunday’s my birthday. It’s like she totally forgot, or something, and it sort of pisses me off.”
My nerve endings were on fire. God, how I loved his voice; his faint accent. But … birthday? Did he really, for-fucking-real say birthday?
I cleared my throat, mouth dry as cotton now. “Uhhhh … your birthday?”
Bill nodded, setting the bagged bread on the counter between us. “Yep. I turn eighteen on Sunday – and she ain’t even going to be here for it! Ain’t that a bitch? That’ll be a dollar-eighty-nine for the bread.”
I pulled out my wallet with trembling fingers, willing my hand not to shake as I extracted two dollars from it and placed the money in his young palm. My brain was whirling, working a mile a minute, my heart thudding in my chest like Herman Munster trying to tango. “Uhh … so you’re not doing anything for your birthday?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Uh-uh. And I got the day off, too.” He rang up the cash, the register sounding loud as it dinged in the small, crowded-with-merchandise store, and his fingers finally brushed mine – on accident – as he handed me the change. “I’ll figure out somethin’, though.”
I pocketed my change, fingers tingling like made just from his touch, and mumbled, “Uh, tell you what … uhhh, you could come over my place, if you want. We could hang out, order in pizza, watch a flick – you know, whatever.” I paused, trying to find the spit that seemed to have evaporated from my mouth, in order to continue speaking. “We could maybe pop open a couple of beers and just hang out. I hate to see you alone on your birthday, man.”
“Ahh, thanks John, that’s cool – but I don’t drink,” Bill replied. He handed me the bread. “I couldn’t be out that late on a school night, anyway – not with the test I got in Physics on Monday.”
“Oh. Okay.” Taking the bread and trying not to look like a crushed suitor who’d just been turned down flat by the most popular girl in school, I turned to walk away and out of this guy’s life forever, thinking he just wasn’t interested in even a friendship …
When Bill’s voice stopped me. “Tell you what, though, John,” he said. “I get off tomorrow night at midnight, and technically – as of 12:01 – it’s my birthday. If you got no plans and wanna get together for some pizza tomorrow night instead of Sunday night, I’m down for that. In fact, I appreciate the offer.”
Cool sweat had broken out all over my arms. What was wrong with me? But I turned back to face Bill, who was smiling that million-watt smile at me, it felt like Christmas had come two months early.
“I’ll be here,” I told him. “Pick you up at 12:01.”
“Great!” Bill seemed genuinely happy at the idea. “Like I said man, I appreciate it. See ya tomorrow.”
I nodded, numb, and again turned to go – willing my wobbly legs to work. But again, Bill’s voice stopped me.
A blush was beginning to creep up Bill’s face. “Uh, you got any porno flicks at your house, man? I always wanted to see one, but never have. Might be cool to catch one tomorrow night, see some girls, if you have any – but if ya don’t, that’s cool.”
I could have done a cartwheel in the store.
Saturday afternoon I turned down lunch with a friend and cleaned the house top to bottom. An afternoon trip to the grocery store for chips, dip, a small birthday cake, three kinds of juice, and four kinds of soda took over two hours, as I questioned every purchase I made, trying to determine what might be “too much” and make Bill wonder about my true intentions (in the end, I settled for the smallest birthday cake they had). Truth be known, I was stoked and excited, with every nerve ending in my body on fire and my adrenaline peaked to capacity … but if all tonight had in store was two buddies hanging out and watching straight porn, I was confident I could deal with that. Just having him on my turf, in my home, was (I kept telling myself) enough.
Just before midnight, dressed in black jeans and a navy polo shirt that hugged my trim, v-shaped frame like a lover’s embrace, I slipped on a light jacket and strolled through a light breeze down the dark street to the mini-mart. My steps were measure, slow, and I made it to the store at exactly twelve o’clock. By 12:01, as he’d said, Bill had handed over the reins of the store to a young Indian dude of about 25, with bad skin, and left through the back door to come around the front of the mini-mart to meet me.
“Hey John,” he said, grinning. “Thanks for comin’.”
“My pleasure, man.” And I meant it; Bill was dressed in dark, tight blue jeans that showed off a slim body with a little, round bubble-butt, and a snow-white dress shirt with the two top buttons undone, that showed off his golden-brown skin flawlessly … the open buttons at the top revealing a hairless chest that emphasized this was still just a kid I was talking to. I started getting hard again, just looking down at him; he was about eight inches shorter than me, gorgeous as hell, and all eager to see me. What more could a brotha ask for?
“Happy Birthday, Bill,” I told him, extending my hand. He shook, his small fingers seeming to get lost in my big, dark ones, and the current that shook through me when our hands touched could have lit up a city block.
“I only live a few doors down,” I told him. “Come on.”
It was unseasonably mild for October, a warm night as we walked under a sky crammed with stars, past a half-block or so of rowhouses until we reached mine. Once inside, I told him to take a seat on the living room couch, and after learning what he liked on his pizza, I phoned a local place I knew was good and ordered two large pepperoni-and-mushroom pizzas for delivery.
When I hung up the phone, Bill was already sorting through the four DVDs I’d left sitting on the coffee table, leaning over from where he sat on my chocolate-brown velour couch. “Any of these have white or Hispanic girls in them?” he asked.
I came over to the couch, pointing. “That blue one in your right hand. Nasty Nymphs. You can put it in while I get some drinks; what do you like?”
He opted for ginger ale, and though I hate the stuff I poured myself a glass as well. When I came back into the living room from the kitchen, Bill was squatting down in front of my 27-inch TV, starting up the straight fuck flick. I set his drink down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, then took a seat myself in my favorite matching armchair – the same chocolate brown as the sofa, but this time in Corinthian leather. Facing Bill’s back, I watched him set up the movie, his pants riding down on his ass (too bad the shirt was tucked in) as I felt my hard-on grow and remembered a few jack-off sessions I’d had over him in this very chair, only that week.
The DVD menu flickered to life on the TV screen and Bill stood, turning to give me an embarrassed smile. I pointed out the remote on the coffee table as he head back to the couch, and he snatched it up before falling down to the sofa, thanking me for the drink.
Reaching to my left, I turned the three-way bulb on the lamp in the corner, between the couch and my armchair, to its lowest setting before settling back to watch TV. Bill slid back as well, working the remote as he took a sip of ginger ale before stretching out on my sofa, his short frame easily fitting (with room to spare) on my couch as he slipped off his black deck shoes and put his feet up on my sofa. His feet were small, maybe a size eight, and encased in whiter-than-white ankle socks that looked brand new. I could barely glimpse a patch of golden skin at his ankles, as the right legs of his jeans rolled up, and my erection bumped itself up a notch. Having a foot fetish was not helping the situation, and I was glad I had turned the lamp down low.
He must have liked the two girls in scene three, because that’s where he stopped the scene selection and simply let the movie play. As the girl-girl scene went on, he couldn’t take his eyes off the TV and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The soft light coming from the movie seemed to make his face glow, his eyes gleam as they stared in mute fascination at the all-female sex scene playing out before him. When he shifted his position on the couch, absentmindedly pulling at the front of his jeans without (I think) even realizing he was doing it, I knew he was getting hard and wasn’t sure how to handle himself.
“Pretty good, huh?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence that – except for the occasional whimper from one of the girls onscreen – seemed to fill my living room.
“Uhn-huh,” Bill replied, on automatic, eyes glued to the TV.
“You – uhh – you like girl-girl scenes?” I asked, sweat breaking out on my forehead.
“Dunno.” He reached over to get his drink – nearly spilling it, as his eyes still had never left the TV screen – and took a swig to wet his lips before lying back and replying. “Never seen porn before, ya know? But yeah .. I – ooh – yeah I like this, man. For real”
I checked my watch; the pizza would be about another twenty minutes. As Bill continued to watch, shifting occasionally on the couch, I carefully set my drink down on the table next to the lamp, and rose from my chair. Taking what felt like baby steps – my heart beating so hard I was sure it would drown out the movie – I moved toward Bill until I stood next to where he sat on the couch. Slowly, I dropped to one knee beside him.
“Pretty hot, huh?” I asked, voice croaking as I had difficultly speaking – I was that turned on.
“Fuck, yeah,” Bill replied, arms crossed over himself as he lay in his half-sitting, half-lying position on my couch. “Fucking hot, John,” he whispered.
Slowly, holding my breath, I reached over in the semi-darkness – the TV glow the only thing illuminating us now as the lamp was behind us – and took hold of his right wrist, pulling his arm free to lay his hand over his own crotch. He noticed – even glanced sideways at me – but didn’t stop me as his eyes turned back to the TV.
“It’s okay,” I told him, as my hand – on top of his, which was in turn on top of his own hard dick – began to squeeze. “It’s natural, man … especially when watching one of these.”
Applying more pressure, my hand on his, I made Bill stroke himself as he watched the movie. His breath instantly quickened, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth now, as together we massaged his erection through the coarse, thick denim of his jeans. He took over quickly, without hesitation or comment, and I could easily have stopped guiding his hand and just let him do it on his own now. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I glanced up at the wall clock above the TV; this kid had been eighteen a grand total of just 22 minutes, and I wanted him so badly it was making me nauseous.
We massaged him together, Bill’s breath coming in long whooshes of air now, and between his thin, young fingers I could feel the incredible strength and stiffness of his young cock, as it grew to amazing and full life under our hands. He continued to watch the film, occasionally turning his eyes down to watch our two hands, working as one to get him up and off, but his eyes would go nowhere else; they seemed afraid to. Mouth gaping, dark eyes wide, his own face covered in a sheen of sweat in the pale-blue TV light as his lust grew stronger and stronger – the sexual tension in him getting higher and higher – I watched his taut face and felt his hard erection pulsating between our fingers and suddenly my brain caved in and I lost control …
“Bill?” I whispered hoarsely.
He blinked, as if coming back from being hypnotized, but didn’t avert his eyes from the sex scene on my TV.
“Bill,” I said more sharply.
At last, he turned his head – ever so slightly. Those young, scared, huge black Bollywood eyes turned as well, and in them was a mixture of sex and innocent vulnerability so potent, it made my head spin.
“I think your girlfriend is insane to not be with you tonight,” I told him. “Or any night.”
And I leaned in, slowly, to touch my lips to his. Bill jerked on the couch, head pulling back, but then my mouth slid open and so did his and he pushed forward again as our tongues touched, Bill’s sliding into my mouth with sudden eagerness as our lips sucked and explored each other. I saw his eyes close and so did mine and then we were kissing, my hand leaving his crotch to cup his face and hold him steady, hold his mouth to mine, as his hand flew up to grab my arm in response, and in seconds the film was forgotten and we were making out like teenagers on a first date – tongue trading places in each other’s mouth, lips sucking on each other for all we were worth as the passion behind the kissing only increased and fireworks went off in my head like July the 4th and Bill turned his body toward mine, our heads twisting and turning, lips melded together, mouths tasting each other as if we’d been holding all this passion back for years. I wrapped my big arms about his slim torso and pulled him even tighter to me, our chests pressed together as I continued kneeling by my sofa and making out with this beautiful, barely-legal boy Indian boy and wondering when I’d died and gone to heaven and how the hell I couldn’t have noticed it happening …
And that was when the doorbell rang. I heard it, first, on the fringes of my subconscious and dismissed it as part of the ringing that was going off in my head that was part of the dizzying passion I was feeling. By the third long, very insistent ring, I got it – the pizza had arrived.
Slowly, I came back to reality and opened my eyes. Bill’s were still closed, and we were still kissing. Bill’s arms had even gone around my neck, resting on my broad shoulders as we continued frenching each other. Sweet Jesus, did I want to stay like this forever.
But I broke the kiss. “Pizza,” I whispered, voice a croak. “Bill … pizza’s here.”
I stared at his angelic face, eyes still closed. Slowly, they fluttered open, as his arms slipped from my shoulders and he seemed to wake up, as if from a very deep sleep. Then, at once, his eyes flew wide and he stared at me with shock and real terror in his eyes, He jumped back, pushing me away, and hit the back of my couch hard, a What the FUCK? look in his eyes.
Without a word I stood, turned, and retrieved the pizza from the delivery guy at the door. After he was gone, I shut the door but didn’t lock it – anticipating a fast getaway from Bill to be forthcoming – and strolled set the food onto the middle of the coffee table, on top of the porn DVDs, as Bill tried looking at everything in the room but me. The girl-girl scene on my TV was over, and a new scene with a hunky Latino “doctor and his blonde “nurse” was starting up.
He was still gasping, out of breath, and sweating so badly, the white dress shirt he wore was sticking to his slim body. I stood in front of him, as he lay sprawled over my big couch, not really knowing what to say but feeling like something had to be said.
“I – I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to ruin your birthday. If you - if you want to leave, I understand.” I simply didn’t know what else to say.
His big eyes turned, slowly, up to meet mine at last. “Wha … what did you mean, what you said about my girlfriend?” he asked at last. Spittle covered his lips and his eyes were glazed over with confusion and lust.
“Just what I said,” I told him. “Your girlfriend is nuts.” I swallowed. “If you were mine, being away from you would be the hard part.”
God, I wanted to throw up at the corniness of my own words. Worse still, my desire to puke grew stronger as I realized they were true.
We stared at each other a few minutes; silence reigned. I could see Bill was calming down from the shock – but even so, when he swung his legs off the couch and bent down to reach for his shoes, I wasn’t surprised.
What surprised me was when he neatly set his shoes off to the side of my sofa, out of his way, then folded his legs underneath him on the huge couch, sitting cross-legged and wiping some sweat from his brow before looking back up at me.
“I gotta admit,” he said, a little winded, “this is some fucking birthday.”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. It came out of me like a bark, totally unexpected but very much needed. It was the most perfect thing he could have said at that moment, to break the tension, then Bill started chuckling too … and there we were, both cracking up as Bill patted the cushion next to him on the couch. I came around the coffee table and sat down next to him, careful not to touch or even brush up against him, as our laughter subsided.
He wiped his forehead again. “What just happened here?” he asked, glancing briefly over my shoulder to where the blonde nurse was getting her twat eaten out by the horny Latin doctor on the TV.
“I was living out my fantasy,” I replied, without thinking.
Bill blushed, biting his lower lip, but his eyes never left mine. When he leaned in toward me again, I closed my eyes first this time and thanked a kind and generous God … and then his lips left mine again, the fireworks began, and everything slipped away until he and I were the only two things that mattered.
He was an incredible kisser, sucking on my lips as if drawing nectar from them, savoring in the taste of me as I did in him … he tasted sweet yet masculine, clean and soft and moist, a light hint of cinnamon (probably Big Red gum – his favorite) still on his lips as I devoured him. Without thinking I wrapped my arms around him and drew him onto my lap, where sat sideways, little round ass on top of where my nine-inch erection begged to be set free.
The kissing seemed to last forever, then finally I found myself standing and taking him up in my arms, carrying him as we kissed through the living room and down the hall to my bedroom, where a single lamp on the desk provided the only illumination as I gently lay him down on my kind-sized bed, unbuttoning his shirt as if each opened button opened a treasure worthy of Ali Baba’s attention.
His chest was I’d pictured it, honey-brown and devoid of hair – with the exception of a couple of light swirls of black that surrounded his hard, tiny brown nipples, and a love trail that barely showed up in the dull light, leading down and under the waistband of his jeans. As I pulled the white dress shirt free of his jeans, Bill’s hands found my own polo shirt, quickly jerking it from my own black jeans as I pulled it from my head. Both of us shirtless now, I carefully laid down on top of him, careful not to crush his small frame under my ex-athlete’s weight, his hairless chest warm against my slightly-hairy one as our kissing never ceased – in fact, grew deeper and more passionately felt as clothing began to come off.
I could feel his erection fighting against mine as I broke free from his mouth at last and bent my head to take his right nipple between my teeth. Bill gasped as I sucked it in, my tongue flicking over the hard nub of tit as my hands held firm on either side of his waist as he began to squirm from the sensation. Openly gasping now, I worked his right nipple gently, suckling it and occasionally adding a quick nip with my teeth – making him moan – before shifting to work his other tiny tit, licking at his left nipple first with the flat of my tongue … then at full force with my lips and teeth, Bill now thrashing and openly groaning beneath me, his crotch thrusting into mine as our hard-ons ground viciously against each other, wanting to meet at last.
My mouth slid up that glorious golden body to find a small patch of hair under his left arm … which I dove into nose first, fat tongue out and ready as I dug it into his armpit. “Ohhhh … shiiit … ” Bill moaned, trying to push me away, but I wasn’t stopping – in fact, dug in even further, snorting for air as I inhaled his male muskiness, ate out his armpit as he was driven crazier and crazier, thrashing like an epileptic in the middle of a seizure under me.
But then he found his strength and suddenly I found myself on my back, Bill on top as he rose up … then fell again, his wet little mouth attaching itself like a leech to my wide, flat, black left pec. His suction power was incredible as it had been on my mouth, his lips tight as he pulled on and licked at my tit until I thought I would lose my mind. Without warning he shifted to my other nipple, licking and sucking at my right tit, and the combination of seeing his golden-brown Indian boy’s face sucking on my thicker, darker black man’s nipple nearly drove me to orgasm on its own.
We undressed each other quickly, my dark-skinned, thick, ex-football player’s body a true contrast to this light-skinned kid with the slight Punjabi accent, who was barely eighteen and all mine for the night. When he was nude – his body trim but well-toned, stomach a washboard of muscle – I laid him back onto my bed and marveled at his thick, dark-honey-colored and uncut eight-inch cock, which stood straight up on its own against his belly, trembling and bobbing up and down and oozing fine lines of pre-cum onto his flat belly … as Bill stared at me with nervous eyes, as if wondering what I would think of him nude.
“You’re incredible,” I replied, to his unspoken question, then positioned myself on my belly, between his opened, virtually hairless legs, and buried my face into the bush of wiry black hair that lay hidden beneath his impossibly-hard prick.
Bill gasped, ass bolting off the bed as I swallowed every inch of his cock down my throat, the wide brown mushroom head coming all the way out at last from its foreskin tent as my nose instantly buried itself in his musky pubic hair.
“FUCK!” Bill shouted, ramming again into me, then I could feel the vein that ran along underneath the shaft of his cock pulse once, twice … and suddenly he was coming, shooting his young, sweet cum down my throat, unable to hold back anymore as I could feel jet after jet blasting from his hardened prick and down into my belly – that vein pulsing harder and harder, longer and stronger, as he released everything his balls had. My throat tightened against the salty liquid protein but I held on, my big dark hands cupping his perfect little asscheeeks and holding them up, keeping his dick buried all the way down my throat as Bill cried out and pushed at my head and whimpered like the girls in the porn and shot – over and over, wad after wad, pounding out of his cockhead like a firehose as his little balls drained themselves of everything they had, Bill crying out like he was either being beaten or having the orgasm of his life, my throat chugging and swallowing and delighting in every stream of his sweet Indian cum that shot down my throat until I thought I could drink no more.
Then Bill’s entire body convulse, and he went completely limp in my hands. Panting – almost crying – he collapsed on the bed as I felt the last blasts of his cock throb against my tongue. I let go of him and his ass fell at last, the few inches to my beige bedspread, his cock sliding from my throat to land with a wet plop! against his belly – still hard, but beginning to lose its strength. His left hand flew up to cover his eyes, as Bill continued to lay gasping on my bed – exhausted, sore, and probably freaking out over the orgasm that had obviously drained his brain, as well.
I lie there a few second, unsure of what to do – of what he would be thinking. His legs were half-lying on my thick biceps, and when I couldn’t resist the urge to lean my head over to suck and lick gently on the toes of his left foot, he didn’t recoil. But the real surprise was yet to come … for when I finally did start to rise – wondering if he might need a few moments alone – Bill grunted and uncovered his eyes, instead grabbing for me.
“Come here,” he whispered huskily, pulling me down to him. I repositioned myself so that I was lying on top of him again, and looked at him. He stared into my eyes for a second, then said two words that I was sure I hadn’t heard correctly.
“I’m sorry – w-what?” I asked.
“Fuck me,” he whispered. “You swallowed me, man. You drank my shit. I wanna do as much for you. I … please fuck me.”
I shook my head, started to rise. “Uh-uh. It’s cool, but you don’t have to – ”
But he grabbed onto my arms. “Come on, man. Fuck me. Do this for me, while I got the nerve to try it.”
“But I don’t even keep any condoms in the hou – ”
“You drank me, man,” Bill said, “least I can do for you.”
My mouth fell open. “You sure.”
He nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, this hot little straight eighteen-year-old beneath me actually nodded
I kissed him lightly then lowered my body down from his, pushing his legs into the air as I did so. “Grab your feet,” I told him, and Bill did so, holding onto his ankles as his knees went into his chest. I kissed each of his ten toes first, getting a low moan from him again, then turned my attention to his perfect little ass, which now spread itself open for me to reveal the tiniest pinkish-brown asshole I had ever seen, swirled in a mist of the same fine black hair that barely covered his nipples. Now, I love eating ass as it is, but seeing that vulnerable little hole filled me with a desire and hunger I hadn’t known in years. Still, I went slow, leaning down and gently pressing the fullness of my tongue into his hole, entering his ass as my hands spread his pale cheeks wide. My tongue slid in instantly …
And Bill went insane. I looked up to see him chewing on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, head arched back onto the pillow on my bed, breath wheezing in and out of his body. He lost his grip on both ankles but his knees involuntarily collapsed even further into his chest, opening his tight virgin hole even more as my tongue probed, fully tasting the inside of the Indian boy who had oh-so-obviously never had his ass eaten out before.
I withdrew for a second for air, then dived in again, smelling his sweet, clean scent as once again my tongue entered his tiny hole as far as it could go, Bill crying out loud this time and bucking on my bed, back arched a second before he fell back again. His hands flew to my head, but instead of pushing me away his fingers actually found my short hair and pulled, driving my face further into his ass. I could have done this forever, eating this incredibly-edible boy out on my own bed, fulfilling a fantasy I’d had a hundred times in the last week alone … but my own cock was throbbing so badly, I knew I would come soon. And I wanted to be his first.
I pulled away from him – not easy, the boy had a strong grip on my head – and rolled over and off the bed long enough to grab some lube from the nightstand drawer. Lying him back again – Bill’s chest heaving, his face drenched in sweat – I gently took his pretty feet in my hands and pushed them up again, as Bill once more took hold of his ankles. Generously lubing to of my own thick fingers with the water-based gel, I slathered the slick lube all over Bill’s incredibly-tiny hole … then allowed the middle finger of my right hand to slide in, only up the first knuckle.
Bill gasped again, perfect teeth grinding, as his eyes met mine and his virgin asshole spread open to (barely) accommodate my fat finger. Sweat broke out fresh on his forehead, and I could see his eyes go tight with pain.
“If anything hurts too much,” I told him, “if you want anything to stop … just say so.”
He nodded, feet rising higher into the air, and I rolled over and on top of him. I felt the fat, bulby head of my black, extra-wide nine-inch prick press up against his tiny sphincter, and momentarily panicked; I did not want to hurt this kid – suddenly wasn’t sure I even wanted the sex to go this far.
For the first time, Bill looked down at my hard cock. His eyes great wide at the size and girth, but he said nothing.
“Look at me, Bill,” I told him gently.
He did, and I stared at him as I slowly pushed my hips forward, braced up on my palms on the bed as gently – oh, so gently – my fat-headed prick forced its way into Bill’s, forever popping his cherry.
He grunted, kept up the eye contact, and seemed determined not to show the pain I knew he was feeling. His body went rigid beneath me, eyes starting to water, teeth grinding beneath the tight line of his mouth as I stared into his deep, deep black eyes.
“Relax,” I whispered, then lowered myself to kiss him again.
Our lips melt and his body started to go limp and I pushed further. His asshole strained against me, forbidding entry, but I pushed again and it parted at last to accept the inevitable. Bill grunted against my teeth, hard, but then was back to kissing me and I froze exactly where I was – mouth making out with him in total passion, but my cock buried not even a third of the way into him, as I tried to allow him to get used to the sensation before feeding his shattered-cherry hole any more.
It took ten minutes to get entirely inside him – centimeter by centimeter, it seemed, as he would cry out into my mouth or try shifting away from me on the bed. But he never asked me to stop, and he never showed any real pain, as I took him – found myself suddenly and fully inside his beautiful, pale ass … then began to fuck him, pulling out at first and then gently thrusting back in, drilling his hole deep and to the balls in long, slow strokes, getting him used to me as my speed slowly increased, giving him more and more of the kind of fucking I most liked to do …
And all the while we just kept kissing, and then the harder I fucked him the more his own cock began to grow again under my belly. This turned me on and my speed increased and I was fully ramming him now, headboard of my bed striking the wall as Bill grabbed onto my shoulders and I began to roll my hips into him, driving home harder, finally slamming the little Indian kid like I was drilling for oil, pulling nearly all the way out before ramming home again, turning his ass out, making him mine …
And all the while he grunted and gasped and groaned against me, kissing me, his passion building again with each thrust, my cock jackhammering him as he held on for life, biting my lip at one point, scratching my back the next, as I kept riding that ass, taking him, plowing my big black cock up his little pale-brown virgin hole, giving everything I had because he was the hottest I’d ever had, my cock drilling him and filling him and unable to stop hitting that hot little ass, me unable to stop kissing this beautiful Indian boy, until I was sure I was going to …
“Come! I’m gonna come!” I howled, then went back to kissing him as my own nut exploded inside Bill’s ass, there was no hope of pulling out in time as I rammed all the way in once more and then my nuts released everything they had, blowing thick cords of my white jizz up and into Bill’s ass, filling him as he had filled my throat to the point of choking. Simultaneously, I could feel his cock throb under my belly, and for the second time Bill orgasmed again, his fat brown-red cockhead spewing another beyond –belief load of white cream that splattered from his piss-slot and all over both of us like liquid confetti, arcing his into the air to land on my back … his hair … every conceivable surface, as I continued to shoot up his ass and we both just shot and shot and shot, the two of us crying out loud and grabbing onto each other – my left hand grabbing Bill’s hard-as-rock prick to milk it of all he had, forcing even more jizz from his dick until he cried out something in Punjabi and literally screamed … falling back to the bed at last, even as I felt the last of my own juices squirt feebly inside him, balls drained and all that they had held filling the chute of this beautiful Indian boy.
I fell to land on top of Bill, my weight whooshing a gust of air from his lungs. Drenched in sweat, with no strength left to even nod, I could only kiss him on the neck as my cock finally softened enough for me to roll off him – give him enough space to breathe. I pulled the comforter off the other side of the bed and wrapped it around us as best I could, pulling Bill into my arms as his legs fell, at last, to rest on the bed. He rolled into me as if he belonged there, gasping and wet with sweat and still moaning as he adjusted himself to fit my frame.
“Happy Birthday,” I whispered, and kissed him on top of the head - before sheer exhaustion drove both of us to finally fall asleep.
Exactly three years later, that evening is still fresh in my mind – to the smallest detail – as I stare out my living room window, watching the sky turn inky black with the approach of night. Not only has it played over and over again in my head all this time … it’s made me grow as a human being. Helped me to heal, and to realize that not everything – or everyone – comes in shades of just black and white.
The smell of lasagna fills the house. Good God, I’ve even learned how to cook.
I turn from the window to examine some sketches due tomorrow at the office. The transition from graphic designer for an alternative newspaper to art director of a major magazine wasn’t an easy one, but I feel like I am finally settling in at last. Ditto the move to the Windy City, which was feeling more like home every day.
I was happy. Damn, was I happy. Possibly for the first time in my life.
A key in the front door of the apartment makes me glance up from my sketch – the beautiful skyline view of Chicago outside the windwo, wrapped luxuriously around Lake Michigan below, temporarily forgotten. A grin steals across my face as the front door opens.
“Hey,” I call out.
“Hey!” Bill steps into the apartment, immediately shedding his duffel bag on the chair left by the front door for that purpose (the dude is lazy as hell when he first gets home). He steps into the living room, toward me, and I set down the sketch long enough to give him a quick hug and kiss.
“How was class?” I ask.
“Rough.” He steps out of his shoes and picks up my sketch, giving it a quick study. “This is nice.”
I sneak up behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest from behind. “Thanks. I hope so; it’s due tomorrow.”
Bill turns to face me, setting down my work. “You’ll be cool. You always are.”
We share another kiss, this one longer, before turning our attention to the starry night blooming outside our living room window.
“You sure you’re up for staying up late tonight?” he asks, “if you have such a big day tomorrow?”
“Yep.” I squeeze him again from behind. “It’s your birthday, after all.”
Bill snorts, turns his head sideways to look at me. “Well, tomorrow is my birthday. We could just as easily do something tomorrow.”
But I’m already shaking my head. “Uh-uh; 12:01, remember? We always celebrate best at 12:01.”
Bill turns again to the window, holding onto my arms as they wrap themselves more tightly about his chest. He sighs, snuggling even deeper into me.
“We do,” he agrees. “We sure as hell do.”