Date: Sat, 26 Dec 2009 17:48:12 -0500
From: te92963@gmail.com
Subject: George's Legacy

George's Legacy (1st, anal, interr, MB)

Copyright 2009 by te92963@gmail.com
All Rights Reserved

WARNING!

If you are under 18 years of age, offended by stories which depict sex
between men or boys and men or live in a jurisdiction where the reading or
the possessing such materials is illegal, exit now. I do not condone this
behavior, nor practice it.

This story is fiction; any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely
coincidental. This story is set in a far-away land, a long, long time ago.
Please remember to practice safe sex and to be responsible in your actions.

Constructive criticism will be acknowledged -- flames will be ignored.

***********

Mother emailed me an obituary of an old neighbor of ours several blocks
over from my childhood home.  Odd, really, when even she hasn?t lived in
that area for nearly a decade and many years since I called the place
home. I wondered whether my mother knew more about my neighbor and me but
then I realized that her interest was purely racist. ?Why did he have to
live here?? my mother would often say. 81 years after his birth, the man
died in the small home he built himself, built on a piece of property he
inherited ? a thorn in the side of the town council and his neighbors.  I
think he had a good life, despite his skin color. I hadn?t seen him in
nearly 30 years, but I had been supplementing his small income for years. I
was shocked and saddened by the notice and the shame of my ignorance hit me
in the stomach. I knew I had to attend his funeral services.

As I write this, I wonder whether this is a tribute to George or an
indictment.  Did he ?prey? on young boys habitually, or was I just a fluke?
It matters somehow, in the trite ?grand scheme of things.? In many ways he
gave me my life as I know it: successful, proud, out, partnered contentedly
for over a decade and a half.  Would I be who I am without him?  Did he
seduce and/or scar young men over the years, men who would otherwise be
whole if not for him?  Or was I simply ?special? as he said? I have to
believe the latter, as a habit of younger men would have drawn attention in
our town.

George McNeil lived a few streets behind me in a tidy white bungalow, neat
and well kept in all ways, a fact that was constantly discussed in the
neighborhood, given that George was black, in his 50s and single.  As a
child we all knew we shouldn?t go near George?s house, simply because he
was black and we didn?t ?associate? with black people.

I remember that spring so vividly; I felt a charge of impending change, as
if I was on the edge of a precipice, where safety and conformity were
behind me and fear and desire were in front of me.  I had been fighting my
burgeoning homosexuality for several years and though my friend John and I
had been jacking off together since puberty hit, he had already moved on to
girls and I knew that I wasn?t going with him.

Where I was going wasn?t clear, as there weren?t many social signs pointing
the way.  The spring dance was on a Saturday and I went with my friend Sara
in a parody of dating.  She had to be home early and all our friends were
out at after-parties where lots of pretend screwing and tonguing were going
on.  One of my friends on George?s block was having a party so after going
home to change out of my suit and tie, I wandered over to check out the
action.  As I got within a few houses of the party, I stopped, knowing I
didn?t want to go in.  Adult experience now tells me I was depressed and
alienated, but then I just knew I couldn?t go.

As I stood there thinking, a voice from the darkness said quietly, ?Go on
son, it sounds like a good time.?  I turned toward the voice and peered
into the inky blackness of the front porch, the pungency of a thick cigar
wafting toward me.  I could see the fiery embers of the cigar glowing in
the dark as the speaker took a drag from it.  I don?t know why I moved
toward him.  I knew whose house it was and had my mother been there she
would have upbraided me for being ill-mannered and ?lowering? myself to
this black man.  Still, I turned and walked to the porch where my eyes
adjusted to the blackness and I saw George, sitting in a metal porch swing,
cigar in one hand, a small tumbler of amber liquid in another.  Recognizing
the smell of bourbon (mother tried to hide her Mint Julep habit but I knew
the aroma), I smiled at his openness.

?Have a seat? George gestured to the swing, and I hesitated just a moment
before accepting.  A low chuckle came from George, ?Don?t worry, son. Being
a Negro isn?t catching and no one is going to see you sitting here.  Name?s
George.?  He shoved the cigar in his mouth and offered me his thick, beefy
hand, which easily encased mine.

?I?m pleased to meet you, I?m Jeffrey Bergston? I said automatically, with
the practiced air of one whose mother lived for social events at which she
paraded her beautifully turned out children.  Another low chuckle came from
George. I?m sure that I was quite a sight to the man, sitting there in
slacks, a button down shirt, loafers and a sport coat ? the quintessential
white boy from the suburbs.  ?So,? George said, ?why don?t you want to go
on in?? He waved the cigar in the direction of the party.

Perhaps it was loneliness or frustration, but I opened my mouth and I began
to pour out my feelings, something I?d never done before.  ?I?m not sure,?
I began, ?but I don?t fit in there.  I don?t fit in anywhere. I don?t know
where to go.?  I wasn?t about to cry or anything of the sort, but I felt
lost.

Again, the low chuckle came from George.  ?Son, you can?t tell me anything
about not fitting in.  The thing is not to find where you fit, but to learn
not to care that you don?t. If you don?t want to go to that party, then
don?t. Why don?t you think you don?t fit in??

Without realizing it fully, I had begun to appraise George: stocky, a
slight paunch under his shirt but not fat, large biceps teasing the fabric
of his shirt, full features with large, almond-shaped eyes that one could
see in the dark, and thick thighs filled his khaki pants to bursting.
Between them was a large and bountiful basket of genitals, pushed up and
filling the space between his legs.  My cock suddenly stirred and strained
slightly against my slacks.  Panicked, I crossed my legs to hide it, too
ashamed to realize that in the dark, George couldn?t see it.  ?I just?I
don?t?? I began to say, but the words were lost in the headiness of the
moment and I became mute as I struggled to stay afloat on the emotions that
filled my nostrils, as if I had just jumped in the swimming pool.  I began
to cough, just as if I had inhaled water.  I had to get away; I had to run,
run to anywhere.  I rose quickly from the bench and found my voice, ?Excuse
me,? I began and stupidly backed toward the porch stairs.  The heel of my
right foot went off the edge and I saw George reaching for me as the sky
came into view.  I watched as wisps of inky black began thread themselves
into the stars; the threads began to widen into pools and then there was
only black.

I opened my eyes and felt the throbbing pain as the light pierced my
skull. Wisely, I closed them again.  Someone?s hand was on my forehead,
holding a wet cloth and I felt the sharp stab of ice at the back of my
head.  In a rush, I realized I had no idea where I was, and I pushed at the
platform I was on.  A large, strong hand found its way to my abdomen and
pushed hard.  ?Shhh.  Easy now, just lay there and we?ll see what?s what.?
I opened my eyes again, and there was a smiling black man staring at me.  I
searched the face a moment and then the memory of the man came back to me,
only this time came the tears, more from pain and fear than from anything
else.

The large hand began to caress my stomach and up to my chest, easing me
into a less frightened mode, ?You?re okay.  Just a bump to the head is all.
You?ll be fine, if you don?t go jumping up and running around.?  George
pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the tears from my
face.  It smelled of Old Spice, cigar smoke and something I couldn?t place,
something exotic and foreign.

As George stood up from the side of the bed, I looked around the room.  I
was in a bedroom, neat and tidy, no pictures on the wall, but a few pieces
of bric-a-brac on the tables and bureau.  The bed was large and soft, with
beautifully white sheets.  ?Now, you just stay there and I?m going to get
you something to drink.?

I noticed that my shoes and sport coat were not on me and my belt and pants
had been loosened.  My shirt had been opened several buttons, exposing the
small thatch of chest hair that had begun to sprout.  While I?d had pubic
hair for years, I wanted to have hairy forearms like my older brothers, but
that didn?t seem to be in the cards for me.  I was therefore thrilled when
a few hairs began to sprout around my nipples and on my breastbone.  I
tended them carefully, little to know that in my late teens I would surpass
both my brothers in the body hair department (especially in the crack of my
ass), but still not have much on my forearms.

George returned with a small glass of brandy, and told me to sip it.  ?I
know you?re just a youngster, but this will do you good.  Put hair on your
chest.?  Smiling playfully, he reached down and flipped open my shirt.
?But you seem to be working on that just fine yourself.?  I felt a small
charge of electricity when George rubbed his thumb over the few hairs, and
I realized that I did not feel odd or embarrassed to have him touch me.  I
noticed again the bulge in his pants as he stood over me.  I pushed myself
up to a sitting position and took the glass.  As I sipped, the brandy
burned a little, and then the warmth began to spread.  A few sips more and
I began to feel hot.

George moved to sit on the side of the bed, and put his hand on my thigh.
?Why don?t you tell me about why you don?t fit in.?

?I don?t feel like my friends.? I began, ?I don?t want to?? I trailed off,
not wanting to admit to my feelings for men.

?Don?t want to what?? George prodded, ?You can tell me. There?s nothing
that will shock me.? He paused.  ?Bet it has something to do with sex.?

I blushed and noticed that George?s hand had moved further up my thigh, and
my dick was beginning to harden. Fortunately, my pants were still undone,
and provided an extra measure of fabric protection.  ?Yeah.  See, I don?t?I
don?t think about? well?? Again I trailed off.

?Girls?? George asked.  ?If that?s all it is, then hell, that?s not so
bad.?

 ?I know I?m supposed to like girls, but I don?t.? I wanted to say that I
think about men?s bodies, men?s cocks, their shoulders, and the curve of
their ass, that I think about men the way that boys think about girls.  I
wanted to let all this out, but the fear of my secret was too strong to
loosen my tongue.

?How old are you?? George asked.

?Fifteen,? I replied.

?Seems like at fifteen, you?d know what you want.  If you don?t like girls,
then what about boys??

The question shocked me; to openly discuss it was unthinkable.  But oddly,
I began to pour out my feelings.  Sadly, I realize today that my openness
was the result of my racism.  I had always been taught that other races
were ?less than?, somehow not whole or part of ?our? race.  I simply didn?t
view George as a threat to my life, so in a strange way, he was a safe
confessor.

?Yes, I think about men all the time.? I began to cry, the tears rolling
down my cheeks in a steady stream. ?I have a friend, John, and I want to
kiss him, touch him. We used to masturbate together, but we haven?t done
that in a while.  I know it?s wrong, but I can?t help it.? As the words
tumbled out, the pressure in my chest and the pounding in my head began to
lessen.  I didn?t feel any shame or disgust at revealing this to him.

George reached up with his handkerchief and wiped up my tears.  ?It?s not
so bad, Jeff.  The world doesn?t understand how we are.  You just have to
find a way to live with it.? Gently, his large hand cupped the side of my
face, and his thumb caressed the top of my cheek. He lifted my head to look
me straight in the eye.

In the self-absorption of a fifteen-year-old, I missed the import of the
statement as he made it, too wrapped in the feelings and thoughts in my
head. As he looked at me, his eyes held the pain and wisdom that only a
black man in a white world can know.

I wish I could say that this was a beautiful love story, full of gentle
kisses and patient love-making.  But no, it isn?t.  George?s lust combined
with my defenselessness pushed him into the animal.  The adult in me can?t
blame him, as I would likely have done the same.  Lord knows I have had my
share of carnal, heathen sex, the kind that operates on a base level, with
no rational thought, no quarter asked, none given. I have to believe that
what happened next was the culmination of all the slights, taunts, slurs,
and discrimination that George had experienced.  I wasn?t a person, but the
white race there to be conquered, taught a lesson, and fucked into
submission.

George moved on top of me, one hand holding my throat and the other pushing
roughly into my shirt, callously rubbing my left nipple raw in but a few
seconds.  His mouth came on to mine, stifling the cry of surprise and fear
that was just beginning.  His tongue, warm and probing, pushed into my
mouth.  In fear, I bit down, causing George to pull back, his left hand
around my throat pushing me into the pillow.  His right hand drew back and
slapped me. Again, he put his mouth to mine, the blood of his tongue acrid
and metallic in my mouth.  My hands pushed up on his chest, which was
heaving in his passion.  George?s right hand found my left hand, and to my
surprise he grabbed it and placed it squarely on his crotch.  For the first
time, I felt the power of a man?s cock, its hardness pulsating, the heat of
passion flowing in waves.  I gasped, and drew back my hand.  George rose
back from me.

?Here?s how it?s going to go.  You and I are going to fuck.  All those
things you?ve been dreaming of, we?re going to do.  You?re going to suck my
cock.  You?re going to lick this black man?s ass.  And I?m going to stuff
this cock up that pink hole of yours.  You?re going to scream, you?re going
to bleed.  And when we?re done, you?re going to thank me.  Take off your
clothes.?

In fear and lust, I complied.  My dick was at full attention.  I pulled off
my pants and my underwear, as George took off his shirt.  He got off the
bed to remove his pants, and I never thought to run.  I took off my opened
shirt and laid there naked before him.  As he stood up, I saw my first
naked, adult man. He stood at around 6 feet, bulky arms and thighs, and a
slight paunch beginning.  Small tufts of coarse black hair were sprinkled
on his chest, then nothing until the black bush of hair surrounding his
cock and balls.  His cock was fat and hooded, a small drop of pre-come
formed at the piss slit.  I laugh now to think that I didn?t know what it
was. I remember thinking, ?He looks just like a man.?

Roughly, he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me to a sitting position
on the edge of the bed. He took two of his long, fat fingers and pushed
them into my mouth. ?Lick them good, suck on them, boy. I want you to get
used to having mouthful, so you don?t choke and bite my cock.? In a daze, I
complied.  I licked and sucked on his fingers and he began to push them in
and out, in and out. George grabbed my hand, placed it on his dick and
began to stroke himself using my hand.  ?Keep it up, boy, just keep
stroking my dick.?

Everyone says their first dick was huge, and I?m no exception, but I think
it was inexperience more that its actual size.  I glanced down at George?s
member to see a thick, black, uncircumcised organ, the bright pink head
peeking out from the foreskin when my hand went back into his pubic
hair. The head was shiny and sticky from his pre-come, and his balls,
hanging in their black, leathery bag, were hanging loosely between his
thighs.

George saw me looking and pulled his fingers from my mouth, ?You want
that?? I nodded mutely.  ?Then get on your knees.?  I did as I was told,
and put my head up compliantly.  Unexpectedly, George was gentle as he
cradled my head and neck with his left hand, and holding his cock, began to
push the head into my mouth.  My inexperience was obvious, for I didn?t
know what to do.  I just kept it in my mouth, not using my tongue, nor
keeping my teeth out of the way. George roared and pushed my head back.

?Don?t hit me.? I cowered covering my head. ?I don?t know what you want;
I?ve never done anything like this.?

In a quick move, George picked me up and tossed me on the bed.  I was
terrified of his brutality.  ?Spread your legs.?  I did as commanded and
George reached down and began to suck my dick. The hotness of his mouth,
the wetness was incredible.  Roughly, George began to push a finger up my
ass.  I don?t think it was but 10 seconds, and I had shot a huge load in
George?s mouth.  I don?t remember the next few seconds, as I must have
passed out, the throbbing in my head from the fall still with me.  I
remember George?s tongue pushing into my mouth and the salty goo of my cum
coming with it. ?Swallow it,? he said.  I could feel his cock pushing into
my stomach, his insistent grinding.  I swallowed and lowered my head.  I
saw his chest heaving before me, the nipple hanging like ripe fruit.
Instinctively, I moved down and sucked his tit into my mouth, sucking on
it.  George roared, pushing my face into his chest with one hand, the other
hand found a jar of petroleum jelly in the nightstand.  He scooped a bit
into his fingers and those fingers found their way to my rectum.  Pushing
me off his tit, he flipped me over and three fingers were pushed into my
ass. I screamed and George pushed my face into the pillow.  The fingers
were removed and the head of his cock went to my hole.  With a grunt, he
pushed into me, not caring of the pain he was inflicting, my screams
muffled by the pillow. He had his left hand placed flat on my back between
my shoulder blades, his full weight upon me.  I was helpless, a young white
boy, being held by an older, powerful man.

The pain never really stopped, but it did lessen, and George fucked me hard
for a few minutes, finally releasing his load in my ass.  As he pulled out,
I felt the warm wetness ooze out of my brutalized hole.  George chuckled as
he looked at my puffy, red ass lips.  ?Guess I tore you a new one, huh
boy??  Dazed and sore, I rolled over. Before I could do anything else,
George wrapped me in his arms and kissed me, deeply.  I responded by
wrapping my arms around him and for the first time, felt the body of a man
against me, his bulk and his power, owning me, making me whole.  I began to
violently tremble and then cry. He held me until it passed. When he
released me, I looked into his eyes and said, ?Thank you.?

George laughed, ?See boy, I told you you?d thank me.  I knew you were
special, that you were made for men. I?m sorry for treating you rough, but
damn, you are a handsome boy.  Next time, you?re going to suck me until I
cum.  I want to see that face covered in my jizz.?

I wasn?t able to walk without pain for weeks.  The next day, I told my
parents that I had fallen and injured myself.  Of course I was taken to the
doctor. After the exam, Dr. Drake called me into his office.  He knew, he
said, that I had had anal intercourse, as he could tell.  He wanted to know
if it was rape.  It wasn?t, I quickly said.  After a few moments, he went
to his cabinet and took out a tube of ointment, giving it to me.  With
instructions on how to use it and that he wasn?t going to tell my parents,
I made for the door.  He stopped me, and gave me a bit of advice.  He told
me that if I was going to do that again, to try to push out as if I was
having a bowel movement.  It would make it easier.  It was years before I
realized what an astonishing act that was.  I would see Dr. Drake until I
left for college but we never discussed anything of the sort again.

As for George, it wouldn?t do to have me coming to his house regularly.  I
did go back again on occasion, and I was treated much the same.  This big
brute of a man used me as a fuck- and suck-bag.  I was never treated to a
blow job by him again.  If I got off, it was because I either came while he
fucked me or because I jacked off.  I learned to suck him, to rim his ass,
and take his cock in my ass with little pain.  Afterward, he would hold me
for a time, each of us coming down from the high of animal sex.  I learned
that he was human, this black man, that his skin was just pigment and not
the measure of the man. In a strange way, I loved him deeply, and he
changed my life.  He showed me how to be a man, a man who loves men and not
a fey, prancing homo, and not to care what others think, to live my life as
God made me, not as what others thought I should be.

I left for college a few years later and never came back.  Several years
ago, I got a handwritten letter from George, an appeal to help him if I
could, just a few hundred, as his doctor bills were large and he could no
longer pay his bills.  He was sorry to ask, but had heard that I had done
well.  I sent him a check that day, and every month after that.  I expected
a note, or a card, something in acknowledgement, but no, so I left it at
that. Had mother never sent me the notice, I wouldn?t have known.