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Hooky by Donald Ammer
I took Friday off to celebrate, but what made me go into that particular restaurant I’ll never know. Usually when a person celebrates a major victory, he or she will go out for lobster, or prime rib – certainly a bottle of Dom Perignon, or at least the best house win a five-star restaurant has to offer.
But the #22 bus happened to be passing Paco’s Taco Haven, across the street from Wrigley Field, and I hadn’t had Mexican food in so long … plus Paco’s makes the best enchiladas in the Midwest …
And suddenly there I was – eating off a cheap blue plastic tray, complete with a cigarette burn on its corner, in my small corner table in the dimly-lit diner with a view of Clark Street and the Cubs’ ballpark.
Not the actions of a rich man, huh?
It was just about 11am on Tuesday, November 2. The temperature in Chicago was a chilly thirty-seven degrees, but I wasn’t feeling it. Not because of my fleece-lined black leather jacket, either; I was still just numb to any and all sensations, thanks to the news I’d just received about twelve hours earlier. The phone call from Sharon Cochran, my agent in Los Angeles who’d graciously signed me to her client roster but four months ago, had been the last of a series of eight phone calls I’d received throughout the day yesterday … until Sharon gotten hold of me last night with the final verdict.
Paramount got hold of a copy, somehow …
Warner Brothers wants in on it …
Jesus, Andy, it’s a fucking bidding war now …
And then, finally – at just after midnight last night:
Thomas, are you sitting down … ?
I was. Or, at least, I did. And shit, was I glad I had.
My screenplay for A Face in the Dark had sold – at last – to Morgan Creek Productions.
My first sale, after four complete scripts. And the studios were wanting to see the other three now.
As I raised my Diet Pepsi to my lips, slurping noisily through the candy-cane-striped straw, I silently thanked God for my good fortune. God, and then Stephen. Stephen the asshole. Stephen the cheat. If I hadn’t caught that fucker in our bed with another guy, I never would have dumped his mangy ass and devoted the last year of my life to that screenplay; A Face in the Dark never would have been completed.
Still staring out the window, I raised my soda toward it, in silent thanks to Stephen the prick. In fact, at that moment – gazing half-interested out the window – I was also just thinking how a year of celibacy hadn’t been such a bad (or difficult) thing, after all, either …
And that’s when I spotted them.
Chicago isn’t called The Windy City for nothing, and this day was proving to be a prime example. Although the actual temperature was nearly forty degrees, with the wind whipping down Addison Street from the east – coming right off the lake – you would have sworn it was closer to the teens.
And speaking of teens, the young men heading toward Paco’s from the corner of Addison and Clark looked barely out of theirs. There were three of them – two young black guys and one Mexican – all dressed in black denim jackets two or three sizes too big for their thin bodies. Each had a backpack or bookbag of some kind slung over one young, slumped shoulder, and as a trio they walked with all the laidback confidence of banjee boys on their home turf.
The amazing thing was, either I was hornier than I thought – or these were possibly the most physically attractive guys I had seen in a hell of a long time, each in his own different and unique way. My mouth froze on the straw of my diet soda in mid-suck; they were heading straight for the restaurant.
The tallest, maybe also the oldest, came in first – a handsome young black guy with dark skin and intense, almost dangerous-looking black eyes sauntered through the door and looked around the diner as he’d just bought the place and realized he’d been ripped off. He had sharp, masculine features and appeared thin but well-muscled under a white t-shirt, black and white checked oversized flannel shirt, and a black denim jacket that matched his jeans. A glittering silver dollar sign twice the size of the hood ornament on a car dangled on an equally sparkling silver chain around his neck, a symbol of the bling he couldn’t possibly really have (at least, not legally) at his young age. His head had a dark five o’clock shadow of hair on it, and he wore a tiny silver hoop in each ear. He was clean-shaven and had thick lips barely parted over perfect white teeth. The good-looking thug immediately slid into the first booth on his left like a piece of limp bacon sliding into a frying pan, the casualness practiced and affected. His legs seemed longer than my whole body, and he easily could have picked up a basketball in just one of his huge, strong hands. He was really hot, very slick, and moved like an athlete. As graceful as a panther, and probably twice as dangerous.
By contrast, the Mexican guy behind him was short but very well-built, a wrestler’s frame but with a flat stomach (from what I could see) and beefy, sturdy man’s legs. His black denim jacket was of a different style than that of the first guy, and whereas the black kid had worn his open, the Mexican guy’s was buttoned almost up to the neck. As he entered the restaurant, he immediately withdrew his big hands from the coat’s pockets, blowing on them repeatedly for warmth. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty, if that, with dark, golden-brown skin and big brown eyes that blinked out from under the longest, straightest lashes I’d ever seen on a man. His hair was cut spiky on top, buzzed on the sides and in back – his thin, barely-old-enough-to-grow-it moustache and round cheeks only adding to an already intensely boyish look. His thin, pink mouth was extremely kissable; fuckable. In short, he was one sexy-as-hell man-boy, and as I watched him slide into the booth across from the tall black kid I caught sight of a round, full bubble-butt in a pair of black sweatpants that made my breath catch somewhere in my neck. I set my Diet Pepsi down before my shaky fingers had a chance to drop it.
The third guy was only a couple of inches taller than the Mexican – maybe 5’10”, which is my height. A young, good-looking black man with a medium-dark complexion, he had close-cropped hair and eyes as expressive as a Disney character – and, for some reason, this guy affected me differently than the other two. His walk wasn’t as sure as that of his two buddies; his brief glance around the restaurant more like “Wow, is it nice and warm in here” than “Maybe this place is good enough for me” – the attitude that came off his friends in waves. There was a curiosity – a naiveté, and realness – about him that I found kind of charming as he look around; our eyes met for a second, and he glanced quickly away again, confirming my opinion of his personality. The black denim jacket he wore looked way too big on his small frame, the sleeves extending below the wrists toward his small fingers. He wore faded blue jeans with the left knee ripped open, and on him it didn’t seem like a fashion gimmick. Whereas his buddies wore Nike hi-tops on their large feet, he’d settled for black tasseled deck shoes with dark gray socks. He was clean-shaven and very cute, reminding me a little of the singer Usher – complete with a generous, pouty mouth and tiny ears that stuck out a little at the top. A simple gold cross hung on a thin chain around his neck; I could see it easily, even from this distance, against the stark whiteness of the t-shirt he wore under his half-buttoned denim jacket. Still, it was the yes that had my full attention. There was more soul in his eyes than in the entire Motown music library.
Quietly, he slid a dark red bookbag off his shoulders and onto the floor, as he took his place next to his Mexican friend on the right side of the booth. I guess the guy with the hoop earrings needed all the leg room on his side. As I watched, he and the Mexican dude handed their duffel/bookbags over to the young black kid, making him the official caretaker. He placed them on the floor between his feet, which made it awkward for him to sit with his feet flat on the floor. Still, he didn’t seem to complain.
They stripped off their coats in the oppressive heat of the restaurant’s interior, smiling and cutting up. None of the three were dressed properly for the cold November wind outside, but they were too cool to let the weather rule their mode of dress. Inside Paco’s, where none of their buds could see them, each of the guys rubbed their hands together, trying to warm up again.
The chubby Korean waitress, Elvira (don’t ask – you have to see her to believe her) came over and they guys gave her their orders without even asking for a menu. As she waddled away, the Mexican kid made some crack that made the skinny hoop-guy roar with laughter, slamming one hand on the table as he covered his mouth with the other. It was an unfriendly laugh, and suddenly I knew the comment had been about Elvira, whom I think - all in all – is a really sweet lady.
The scowl froze on my face, and remained there while I finished my meal. Hot as they were, I didn’t even look at the trio again until I got up to use the john. The young black kid, the really cute one, was gone – although all three bags were still on the floor below where he’d sat.
I paid my check, tipping Elvira extra, and went to the bathroom. The cute guy was in there, standing at one of the only two urinals. I joined him at the other, unzipped, and began my business, staring straight ahead at the pale-green tiled wall.
I heard him finish, heard the splick! as the final shake forced the last drop of piss from his young cock. Glancing over automatically at the noise, I was surprised to see that he was zipping up his fly, but also eyeing my own dick out of the corner of his eye at the same time.
He glanced up then, saw that I had spotted him staring and knew what he’d been staring at – and bolted out of the bathroom, after a quick dash to the sink to barely rinse his hands.
The attention from such an attractive young man was enough to make me check my appearance in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. I’m 5’11”, with short wavy blond hair and blue eyes. Toned, but not particularly muscular really. A good smile, I think. A couple of people have told me I look like the actor from “Baywatch,” David Chokachi, although “not as plastic as him.” Masculine, yet guy-next-door-looking, I guess. The fact that a 31-year-old budding screenwriter could even get a glance from someone as young and hot as the guy who’d just left the bathroom was enough of an ego stroke to pump my mood to full-happy again.
I had to pass the thug trio’s booth on the way out of the bathroom, and that’s when I spotted the Chicago State University insignias on the bags between the cute little guy’s feet. They were kind of far from school, I thought – Chicago State is on the south side of the city, Paco’s on the north. Evidently the boys had cut classes for the day – were playing hooky to see what kind of trouble they could get into (and get a three-day weekend, too).
My eyes turned away when I caught the nervous glance of the Usher-like black kid who’d peeked at me in the bathroom. Man, were his eyes even better up-close; I had had dreams, in the past, of waking up to a boyfriend with exactly those same eyes. Involuntarily, the corner of my mouth raised a bit in a smile before I moved on toward the front door of the diner.
And that was when I heard, “HEY – what the fuck was that for?”
I turned around to face the person who had spoken: Mr. Hoop-Earrings. Fear entered my gut at the thought that he’d seen me smile at his friend. The Mexican guy chuckled, and I was about to explain myself … when I realized that the thug with the earrings hadn’t even been speaking to me. The Mexican guy had blown the paper from his straw into Hoop’s face, and it was he who Hoop had yelled at.
Still – there I was, standing still pretty directly in front of their table, looking like a moron. I had to say something.
“Uh … excuse me. You guys got the time?”
A pair of dark, lazy but predatory cobra eyes slid themselves over at me, then up my body to affix themselves on my face, and without looking away from my gaze, the black dude with the legs out to New Jersey said, “Angel?”
“Ten-forty-five,” the Mexican guy replied, right on cue from somewhere to my right. I was glad I’d forgotten my watch that morning. The sun was peeking through fluffy white clouds outside, the sun pushing in weakly through the grimy windows to where the little refugees from college sat. It rested dully on Hoops’ left silver earring as the thin guy’s eyes dropped a bit toward my chest. With a start, I realized he’d spotted my “fruit loops” – the Pride necklace that hung around my throat. His look, as his eyes roamed back up to meet mine, was the cold and personal stare of a crocodile.
Great, I thought. A gay basher.
Which made it all the more surprising when he finally said, “Nice necklace, man.”
I heard myself – without realizing it, I’d actually been holding my breath. “Thanks,” I said, smiling now.
“What’s you name?” he asked, stretching both arms across the back of his side of the booth. They were long, and easily reached all the way across.
He nodded, as if appraising the name in his mind. A couple of seconds passed, during which he glanced over at his two companions across the table, before he returned his attention to me and said – in a raspy voice barely loud enough for me and his buds to hear – “You ever get fucked by a black dude, Andy?”
The younger black guy gasped. I could even sense Angel shifting uncomfortably in his set, embarrassed. Feeling the heat rising in my own face, I blinked a couple of times and looked Mr. Hoops straight in the eye as I spoke my answer.
“No. But only because when I have sex … I do all the fucking.”
Again, surprisingly – he smiled. The silver hoops dangled a bit in his ears as he even snorted a little chuckle. “Really? Well, dat’s good,” he said, then softly began to laugh. For a hard-ass thug he had a great smile – masculine and sensuous and playful, as the hard look in his eyes at last seemed to slip away. He moved over in the booth, toward the window, patting the empty seat of honor next to him. “Have a seat, Andy,” he said. “Lemme buy you somethin’ to drink.”
I protested, saying I was in a hurry, but the idea of sitting next to – and getting to know – three sexy, young college guys definitely had its appeal.
“You guys off school today?” I asked, sitting down next to Hoops and gesturing at their backpacks.
“Shit man, we took off,” Hoops replied. “Mid-terms are comin’ up and we needed tha break. This is Angel … ” he added, pointing to the good-looking Mexican guy sitting across from him, who was even hotter up close. “And this – ” he pointed to the main object of my affection. “This here is Dirty Boy.”
My eyebrows shot up. Directly across the table from me, the young black kid was shooting Hoops a look of pure hatred.
“That wasn’t funny, BD,” he said in a soft but husky voice.
Hoops, now who I knew as BD, leaned over and nudged me. “They caught him with a Hustler magazine back in the fifth grade. He’s been ‘Dirty Boy’ ever since.”
“Fuck you, man,” Dirty Boy hissed. I smiled at the kid, to show him I was cool with the nickname before turning back to my seatmate to ask:
“What’s the ‘BD’ for?”
“Big Dick,” he answered nonchalantly, taking a sip on his soda.
“Brain Dead,” Dirty Boy replied, a triumphant smirk on his face … that was knocked off again second later by the look BD gave him.
Some cheap tacos and a huge double-order of nachos and guacamole arrived then, and I stayed while the guys ate, in order to chat – refusing Dirty Boy’s offer to share his food. I was still willing to tell the news about selling my screenplay to anyone willing to listen, and the three college students seemed impressed upon hearing about it – particularly with the dollar amount, of course. In fact, it was while BD was slurping the last of the ketchup off his long, thin fingers that he invited himself over to my place to read it. Seems that thought they’d skipped school, my new “friends” had no money to actually do anything with in the city – and they didn’t want to go home. I think mentioning that I loved movies so much, I’d recently purchased a big-screen HD television was also a strong incentive for them to come hang out – the only incentive BD and Angel evidently needed, for it was actually Dirty Boy who said, “That is so cool, man. I’ve done some writing; would really like to read your screenplay someday” … and that had been the reason I’d invited them home.
Besides, I think that in the back of my head – hell, even in the front of my head – I was kind of hoping something might happen with them there.
I wasn’t disappointed.
By three o’clock that afternoon, I’d given the guys the 50-cent tour of my small, one-bedroom apartment. BD, upon seeing my Siamese cat Molly sitting on my big double bed all alone, proclaimed, “Wow, I’ll be that’s the only pussy you’ll ever see on that bed!”
I offered them juice or sodas and ended up giving them beer, even though Dirty Boy was only nineteen and Angel and BD only twenty. Dirty Boy took on sip of his Heineken, then set it carefully on the coffee table before curling up in my favorite armchair with a copy of A Face in the Dark. We didn’t hear from him for awhile, as BD, Angel and I sat on my black leather couch and watched The Day After Tomorrow in full surround stereo on a 53-inch screen. By the time the film ended BD was on his fifth beer, Angel his fourth (I, fortunately, hadn’t even made it to a third one). Dirty Boy, trim body still folded into my chair, remained caught up in my script, reading it for a second time – which made me feel great. His untouched beer became BD’s sixth as the New York remained frozen in ice on screen.
I got up to throw away empty beer cans and use the bathroom again while the end credits on the movie were still running. While washing my hands in the john, I heard the music from the film come to an abrupt stop … and a few seconds later a very different kind of music started up. Curious – and maybe a bit concerned – I quickly dried my hands and hurried back into my living room.
My new TV, which took up most of the space in my small, square living room, was now brightly projecting the image of two very hot bodybuilders – one white and one black, both of them bare-ass naked – sucking hungrily on each other’s cocks on a white shag rug before a fireplace. Angel, standing in front of the DVD player on top of the television, stared in shocked silence – jaw slack – at the gay porn movie he’d accidentally popped into the machine.
“Whoa!” I heard BD say softly, from his position on the sofa. He was splayed out on the couch, drunk but not drunk, long legs stretched out awkwardly under my low coffee table.
Dirty Boy had lowered the script a half-inch and was staring wide-eyed at the set, as well..
I turned back to BD, moving toward and couch, figuring he’d be the one most freaked by a film entitled Truck Stop Tricks. I glance back as Angel, who remained quiet – his eyes glues to the big TV screen. I was surprised he hadn’t jabbed the STOP button on the DVD player’s remote by now.
Quickly, I scrambled for the universal remote on the coffee table near BD, beginning to make my apologies. BD, not paying much attention to my floundering, sat up suddenly on the couch, grabbing my wrist. I stared into his sleepy, sexy drunken eyes.
“Hey,” he said, smiling slyly. His words were slurred. “Hey Andy. You – you wanna see why they call me ‘BD’?”
I swallowed, hard, as hell back onto the couch. He didn’t wait for my answer – eyes flicking back and forth between me and the television – as he stretched out, and his long, black fingers with the chocolate milk-colored nails yanked the zipper down on his baggy b-boy jeans.
“BD … ” Dirty Boy began.
He was already hard – his dick a dark, dark brown with an even slightly darker head, massively huge and stiff as a black marble billy club as he pulled it out of the hole in his blue-and-gray boxers. He wrapped both hands around the base (and he needed both hands), squeezing hard as he hissed in a breath of air and a fat pink tongue licked hungrily at his large, kissable lips. Over ten inches in length already, BD’s cock reacted beautifully as he stroked up its dark, thick shaft – two thin lines of pale, white pre-cum rolled like melted icing from the fat brown head down his cock, toward a pair of sweaty, low-hanging and heavy black balls that seemed full to bursting with a college boy’s cum. Without provocation he began jacking himself off, moaning as his eyes closed to slits and he licked those incredibly thick lips … lips I would have kissed for hours, if given the chance.
“C’mon, Andy,” he growled, voice low and sounding like a DJ on a jazz radio station. “Ain’t no guy ever sucked my dick before. You wanna be the first?” He hissed again, suddenly, then sucked air in again – sharp and sweet. The pump action of his long fingers on that long, dark prick grew faster … harsher … the pre-cum oozing now like thin lines of almost-clear syrup down that amazing dick. “Oh fuck, Andy. Make my dick sing, man. Make me cuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm … ”
My mouth had gone dry. BD’s dick was now close to eleven, maybe twelve inches in length. For real, his mother had to have fucked a horse, or something, to give birth to a child wielding that between its legs as a man. It looked like he was stroking one of those oversized pepperonis you see hanging in butcher shops, his long fingers merciless as he pulled his pud. His hips joined the rhythm of his handstrokes, BD really into his own horsedick, bucking and moaning on the sofa. I couldn’t help watching him beat off – he was that hot. My own seven inches was already stiff in my tight 501’s.
Still … I backed off. I don’t know why. Or maybe I did. As mind-blowing a sexual display as the young, hung and hotter than fire BD was … he wasn’t who I really wanted.
Angel had turned to watch, ignoring the fuck flick now in favor of the live performance. The porn movie, still blaring on the huge TV screen, had been forgotten by us all. I watched as, with some effort, Angel walked toward the couch. On the way over, he hiked down his sweats in the front, and from a pair of white Fruit of the Looms pulled out his own thick eight-inch dick, foreskin sliding loosely up, over and back away from the purple-red head as he stroked, wad after wad of juicy pre-jizz self-lubing his hot chorizo as he jacked off – watching as if hypnotized at BD doing the same on my sofa.
He stood over BD a moment, never taking his eyes from that impossibly-long black rod, then slowly pulled his sweats down to his knees and he took a seat next to BD on the black leather couch.
What the fuck was going on here?
“You wanna suck it Angel?” BD asked, voice thick with sex. He laughed. “Shit man, I seen you lookin’ at me before. Even the gay guy can’t handle me, but that’s okay; I bet you could show him how it’s done, huh? You did some time, Angel. I bet you could suck this big black dick like a real bitch … ”
I knew Angel was twenty, but in his current, semi-drunken state he looked like a high school wrestler, as he licked his lips and shakily nodded yes. His left hand was really going to town on his own cock, pumping it like it was gonna explode in a second, the thick foreskin riding up and down and playing peek-a-boo with the fat mushroom head as his big, sticky, hairy balls bounced up against his closed thighs with soft slaps of slimy wetness.
BD unhooked his jeans, slid out of them and his boxers without comment. As he sat up to push his pants all the way down to the ankles, he let go of his rigid monster-dick – the damn thing stood straight up, pressing into his flat, hairless, chocolate-brown belly. He noticed it and bent still further, his thick lips tongue just barely able to wrap themselves around the head, tongue snaking out lick a bubbly glob of pre-cum out of his own piss-slit. His cock bounced out of his cum-covered lips again with a wet smack as BD shifted to lie back on my sofa. He held his dick only in his right hand now, standing it straight up from his wiry pubic hair like a dark brown barbershop pole as Angel moved shifted away. BD was lying with his head at Angel’s end of the couch, now.
“I – I never done this before, BD. For real,” Angel whispered. His gaspy breath told me he was already close to orgasm from the relentless jacking off he was forcing on his own prick.
“That’s cool – me, either,” was BD’s simple reply – and then, without warning, he reached up on skinny, long arm and grabbed Angel by the back of his dark, wavy hair, forcing the young Mexican to his knees on the floor as BD shoved his shiny black rod between Angel’s (at first) unwilling lips.
Angel came instantly, thick white globs of Mexican man-cream spurting high into the air as he licked and devoured and sucked on the head of BD’s enormous black schlong. The Mexican pumped and pumped his pecker hard, viciously hard, his nuts tight as oversized acorns as fat prick spit and spit the kid’s cum, all over the front of my couch and onto my white Berber carpeting, draining those nuts of their sweet Chicano salsa. Glob after glob just kept spurting from that young piss-slit, drenching my sofa, hitting BD’s strong dark leg like thick streams of liquid snow. I thought he’d never stop shooting, it was one fucking hot orgasm, white rain falling back down onto Angel’s smooth chest and beefy arms as he continued shooting in high arcs into the air – coating his hands, my couch, and BD with fiery white-hot jizz a he knelt over BD, sucking that big black dick and moaning like a spanked puppy as the very lifeforce was drained from his young Hispanic body.
And still, his lips and tongue never stopped their relentless suction on BD ruler-length prick. The long-legged Black college kid kept his grip on the back of Angel’s head, hand fisting in Angel’s thick black hair as he forced the young Mexican down further and harder on that massive black cock; the kid was halfway down that black pole now, gagging and choking and yet sucking it up and forcing his head down for more – gasping for breath – his young lips and sparse moustache coated shiny with BD’s pre-jizz as it lubed his raw mouth and throat.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was going crazy, wanting to join in … and yet, not wanting to. But when Angel’s cum-coated hands finally released their deathgrip on his own deflating cock, and he began to smear his warm Mexican kid’s cum all over BD’s huge rod – lubing it up even more before devouring it all down again – I lost it. My dick was screaming to be set free from my jeans, and the sight of Angel tasting and swallowing his own cum off that fat black barber pole seemed the most intensely erotic, sexual moment of my life …
So panting like an asthma patient, I turned around- to see Dirty Boy, still sitting in the armchair directly behind me. With BD’s grunts and groans and cries of “Yeah, baby, yeah – suck that big black dick!” playing like a second porn flick in the background, I grabbed my script from Dirty Boy’s startled hands and threw it aside, dropping to my knees before him. “Spread your legs,” I ordered, in what sounded like someone else’s raspy, choked and oh-so-sterile voice.
Our eyes locked, and he just looked so young. So … beautiful. Slowly, he unfolded his legs from the armchair – eyes never leaving mine – and in seconds was sitting with his small feet flat on the floor. I bent to slip off his deck shoes, but he tried to push my hands away.
“Andy … ”
Like a dog with something new in its dish, I dropped to my knees and dove, burying my face between Dirty Boy’s legs. My lips and tongue slurped and kissed the hot triangle there, his already-thick erection caught in the confines of moist denim. Dirty Boy’s small, golden-brown fingers gripped into my blond hair, making tiny fists as he tried to pull me off of him … but at the same time he started making the sweetest moaning and whimpering noises, as I built him closer and closer to orgasm. It turned me on 150% more that I was able to do that to him, and I buried my face even more deeply into his golden young crotch.
Then his hands were at my face, fingers pushing me away, one nail even scratching my cheek as he grabbed frantically at the fly of his baggy jeans. He unbuttoned the top and tore open the zipper, the front of the jeans bursting open like overripe cantaloupe to reveal a wet, hot triangle of black cotton boxers. His brown, hard boner popped out of the fly on its own, slapping my cheek wetly. His dick was about eight inches in length and very thick, with a darker brown foreskin covering the mushroom-shaped head – leaving only the crown of his prick showing. Milky pre-cum covered the head. I sucked his entire cock down my throat in one quick movement, inhaling that black shaft to the coarse mass of black pubic hair that scratched my nose at its base, as I quickly got lost in the musky male odor between his young, college boy legs.
A sharp intake of breath, then his hands were pulling at my hair again – but this time only to hold me still as he took control. His back arched in the chair, ass bucking off as his nineteen-year-old caramel-brown prick rammed my throat. Bracing his hands on the chair arms, he thrust hard off the chair again, over and over, fucking my throat to the rhythm of some music only he could hear. I never missed a beat, either, as I began tearing away at his clothing – then pants and boxers and socks were flying behind me, toward the couch – where Angel lie on his stomach now, naked and trying desperately to take BD’s entire monster-dick down his throat as BD knelt before him – big hands on either side of Angel’s head as he pushed with his hips to force the last couple of inches deep into Angel’s violated throat. Dirty Boy stripped off his jacket and white t-shirt beneath it – and was naked before me, his body small and hard and (except for a tiny sprig of brillo under each arm, and his pubes) almost completely devoid of hair.
And what a body! I looked up as he continued fucking the living snot out of my smallish mouth – at the hairless chest with the tiny, raisin-like black nipples and a light love-trail of thin, black, criss-crossing hairs that led vertically from belly to crotch … where a thick bush of black pubic hair grew rich and smelled sweaty yet sweet with his natural body scent. His legs were short but with good muscle definition, arms toned and strong – his whole body golden-brown and glistening with sweat in the soft, late-afternoon lighting in the living room.
He looked so young, even for nineteen, but was making me deep-throat his college-boy cock like the macho porn stars that were now fucking each other on my big-screen TV nearby. His body was the color of a coppery Hawaiian sunset, his big dick a shade or two darker, and as Dirty Boy gripped the sides of the armchair even more tightly, out of his mind with pleasure as his ass jerked up yet again from the chair – he growled with the effort of humping my mouth even more deeply. His head threw itself back into the cushioned headrest, eyes squeezed shut in sweet ecstasy as I grabbed each of his bare ankles, raising his size-eight feet up as I shook my head free of his hands and let his cock pop from my throat. My lips surrounded the little toes of his left foot, taking them all in my mouth at once before sucking on each individual little piggy, licking and nibbling at the arch and sole as I draped his right leg high over the arm of the chair.
“Oh God, yeah … oh Andy, it feels so jooooooooood … ”
I wanted him. I wanted to taste him – touch him – possess him. I wanted to make love to this kid … be inside him; to fill him, to fuck that little ass. I wanted him to fucking be mine.
My mouth released his tiny wet toes, as I draped his left leg over the other arm of my armchair to dive lower, briefly suckling his delicate little black balls or inhaling that sweet, sexy dusky musk-scent that many African-American men seem to have between their legs. Then, as I held his thighs high and firmly in place, the juicy pink point of my tongue invaded and probed its way up and into my young college kid’s ass.
“Fuck, NO!” he yelped, and leapt from the chair. He shook his head, freaked, letting me know that going there was just a little too much on his poor senses … then he pulled me to my feet instead and was all octopus now, tearing at my shirt and button-down jeans, yanking my own briefs down and off of me. His fat brown cock stood up at an angle from his small body, a formidable weapon on such a small-framed guy – and when I was naked and he was on his knees before me, I was so turned on that I had no problem completely stuffing my own hard prick down his young and willing throat, ramming him. Dirty Boy’s loud, suckling piggy noises as he tried to swallow me, give me head, turned me on all the more, and I fed him every inch of my pale pink cock that he could take, fucking that hot, tight mouth until I though I’d burst as he beat off his own meat furiously, right hand building up speed.
Before I could come – and God, with Dirty Boy was I close – I pulled my dick from his mouth and hurried to the desk in the corner of the living room. Within seconds I was back, rolling a tight condom onto my stiff pole even as I tossed him a small bottle of Wet. Without speaking, Dirty Boy squeezed a generous helping of the lube into his tiny palm.
“You want me to fuck you?” I asked calmly, need to hear him say it. I could still hear Angel slurping on BD’s dick nearby, but paid no attention now.
“Please,” he whispered, coming to me, his trembling hands already working the slick, water-based lubricant liberally up and down my ready-to-burst dick. “Yeah, please,” he said again, breathing heavily. He swallowed hard, then managed to croak out the words I wanted most to hear:
“Please fuck me.”
I turned him around and pushed him downward, back over the front of the armchair he’d just vacated so that he was now kneeling on the carpet – elbows braced on the chair’s dark flower seat cushion. Dropping to my knees behind that hot little ass, I watched as Dirty Boy shoved one of his own little, lube-coated fingers up his asshole, trying to prepare himself for me. Except for the lube, it wasn’t much preparation – I mean, I’m not the biggest, not even as big as Dirty Boy … but his hands were just so small. I kept stroking my dick, watching and getting even more aroused, when Dirty Boy put a second finger up his little round butt – I almost lost my nut right there. Instead, I took a deep breath, gently pulling his hand away, his fingers sliding out of that beautiful black hole with a messy sucking sound … then grabbed his hips with both my hands. I lined up the bulby head of my dick with his impossibly tiny, black-as-ink asshole … then gently pulled him to me.
The head of my dick slid its way softly into his butt like it had eyes, meeting little friction thanks to the generous amount of lubricant he’d used. Even so, Dirty Boy howled and his back arched, teeth clenching even as I cooed, “Relax, baby …” I could feel his sphincter loosen its grip on my hard rod, and pushed about halfway in, getting a better grip on his young, smooth hips … then, before I knew it, I’d gently pushed all the way inside of him, up to my fat, hairy balls and bush of blond pubic hair, and a long and very heavy sigh escaped Dirty Boy – the sigh of a cat stretching out for sleep on a warm summer day. His asshole caressed and wrapped around my dick like a second skin, and I pulled out about halfway only to ram home again harder, forcing my dick up his round little black bubble-butt – fucking him now.
“Ohhhh, man – oh shit – yeaaaahhhh …” Dirty Boy growled, almost to himself, face buried in the armchair’s seat cushion. “Fuck me, Andy – fuck me! Give it to me, man … oh shit, your cock feels so niiiiice … fuck me, hoo-yeah, fuuuck meeeeeee … ”
I thrust harder, butt-fucking the little college boy with every ounce of strength in my system, shoving my big pink meat up that dark black asshole over and over again – harder each time – the sweat soon dripping off my hair and face to fall like big drops of rain all over that tiny bubble ass. His cries grew in strength and volume as I plowed harder and harder up his tight asshole, Dirty Boy’s hands clawing now into the cushions of the armchair …
And then, before I knew it, someone’s hands were all over my ass and Angel was behind me, tongue and lips licking and kissing all over my butt and up and down my asscrack as my speed built and I fucked Dirty Boy’s hot little ass like a dog possessing his bitch – pounding and humping and riding Dirty College Boy until he was crying out loud and could barely take it anymore.
Then BD appeared from nowhere, flopping into the armchair, and Dirty Boy was taking those black-as-night 11+ inches down his own young throat, brotha sucking off brotha even as Angel’s tongue slid wet and juicy as a peach up my butthole like a doctor’s probe, splitting open my asscheeks to taste the inner core of me.
That, brother, was what did it, and from somewhere I heard myself shout, “I’m coming! Fuckin’ hell – I’m coming!” … and I lost it and exploded, shoving every inch of my dick deep into Dirty Boy’s dirty hole as my thick load blew up his as, filling the rubber, sending jolts of powerful electricity reverberating throughout my sweat-soaked body as I blew gobs of wet sticky jizm up and inside college boy’s behind. At the same time, BD pulled his inhuman dick out of Dirty Boy’s mouth and that extra-large-and-in-charge black prick sprayed firehose streams of mayonnaise-colored cum from its black slit, shooting all over Dirty Boy’s hair and shoulders and back. A couple of globs of his stuff even landed on my cheek as his load just flew everywhere, turning Dirty Boy’s golden skin into a creamy, milky white.
I was suddenly pushed from behind then, and fell on top of Dirty Boy’s sticky-wet back and ass, as Angel shot his second load of the day all over my ass, liquid Chicano salsa hitting with rough pinpricks on my already-sore body, his cum dribbling down the hairy crack of my ass as he pumped a new, full load onto me.
When he was done I finally slid off – and out of – Dirty Boy, falling to land face up on the floor, tired beyond belief. Dirty Boy let go of the armchair and landed next to me, and I gave him the kind of kisses only lovers usually share. I noticed the seat cushion of the armchair, between BD’s long-ass legs, was spotted and stained with cum that ran in thick lines down the front of my chair to puddle on the floor. Dirty Boy had evidently shot his load, too, sometime while I’d been fucking him.
I kissed Dirty Boy one last time, then helped him to his feet, taking him to shower with me. We kissed and held each other under the hot spray until our skin pruned up. I forgot there were two other guys in the apartment, and I forgot I was $450,000 richer, and I forgot …
Well, I forgot everything but him.
I never saw or heard from Angel or BD again. They spent that Friday night at my apartment, BD on the sofa and Angel on a sleeping bag on the living room floor, while Nathan (Dirty Boy’s real name) bedded with me. After they’d all called their families to say they were spending the night out, the four of us ordered pizza and talked about what had happened and had a horror movie festival until dawn.
BD (whose real name was Byron Dion) took it the hardest; that he’d let another man – let alone two, and let alone his best buddies – suck his dick was incomprehensible to him. He considered himself quite the ladies’ man, and had to blame the whole incident on the Heineken, just to ease his conscience.
For Angel, it had been a real eye opener – he’s probably scooping out gay bars on a regular basis by now.
Still, I haven’t heard from either of them. Neither, for that matter, has Nathan. Friends of his for two years, both guys cut off all ties with “Dirty Boy” after That Night, and it hit him pretty hard. A real shame – I thought we’d all bonded that evening together, beyond just the sex, and understood each other pretty well after our all-night talk.
Some things just suck.
Meanwhile, there’s Dirty Boy. He can live up to his racy nickname quite well when he wants to, but mostly he’s just Nathan – the incredibly boyish, charming and sexy young African-American dude with the beautiful brown eyes whose hugs say “Hold me” … whose eyes say “Love me” … whose kisses all-too-often say, “Fuck me.” We’ve been a couple for two years now; in fact, our anniversary is tonight.
A Face in the Dark premiered last week to great reviews and a first-weekend gross of over $8 million. In fact, tonight there’s a huge party in honor of the film’s opening being given at the Omni Hotel on Michigan Avenue downtown, near the theater where the film had its Chicago premiere. Nathan and I are expected around 7:30.
But we’re not going to make it. We have some private celebrating of our own to do.
I’ve bought the Dom Perignon …
Paco’s Taco Haven is special-delivering (for $35) a plate of enchiladas, and nachos with extra guacamole, due to arrive about eight o’clock …
And in the back of the desk drawer of our living room, I’ve stashed away a damned nice pair of gold men’s engagement rings.
So yeah, it’ll be a great night. A great two-year anniversary.
And though the party for the film will be incredible too, I’m sure –
Tonight, we’re playing hooky.