Date: Wed, 12 Aug 2009 01:53:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: Evan Williams <classic14rider@yahoo.com>
Subject: Tyreese

************************************

The following is a work of erotic fiction. It is about a man and a teenager
and is not intended to be read by minors or anyone who might be offended or
unduly influenced by its contents. It is for expressive and entertainment
purposes only.

************************************

Tyreese whipped down the street, shirtless, on his bike. His lean, muscular
brown body glistened with sweat under in the mid-summer sun, his
shoulder-length dreadlocks tossed wildly behind him by the breeze. "Damn, I
knew I shouldn't have stayed in the bed for that extra 15 minutes to jack
off," the sixteen year old youth thought as he swerved into the parking lot
of the Addison Recreation Center on Hamilton Street.

"First fuckin' day of community service and Imma be late already."

The boy hopped off his bike and secured it to a pole outside of the rec
center. He made long, quick strides toward the door, his white t-shirt
still stuffed in his back pocket, waved behind him like flag.

He rushed through the door and slammed squarely into a man wearing a white
shirt and tie. It was Mr. Haskell, the administrator of the center whom he
had just met the other day. Tyreese nearly knocking the tall, skinny man
down. Tyreese's eyes grew wide when he realized who the man was and what he
had just done. He shuttered at the sight of the dark stain on the man's
white shirt -- an imprint left by the sweat from the teenage boy's body.

Tyreese's hands involuntarily covered his mouth in a moment's shock,
followed by a rush of words, "Oh I'm sorry Mr. Haskell. I didn't mean to
run into you like dat. I wasn't lookin' where I was goin.'"

The skinny white man seemed disoriented to Tyreese. He adjusted his
glasses. "I-it's okay," he stammered. "You just kinda took me by surprise
there." The man made a short chuckle that sounded more nervous than
genuine. "It's Tyreese, isn't it?"

Haskell extended his hand to the black youth. Tyreese grabbed the man's
hand and shook it.

"Yeah, Tyreese Johnson. I'm here to do my three weeks of community
service."

Once Haskell adjusted his glasses and tie he eyed the youth who was
standing, breathless, in front of him. "The boy's got a nice, solid build,"
he thought, "and he's lean, probably agile -- despite this little
mishap. Seems bright too -- articulate and polite -- I bet I can get
some good work out of him while he's here." Haskell thought that Tyreese
seemed much better mannered than most of the boys who were sent to the rec
center from juvenile court to do community service as an alternative to
house arrest or spending time in a detention center.

Tyreese fumbled with a wad of crumpled sheets of papers that were stuffed
in his jeans. He smoothed them out on the counter. "Mr. Haskell, could you
do me a favor and initial my papers to prove that I showed up today?"

Haskell pulled out a pen but hesitated. His eyes drifted to where the boy's
jeans ended, just below the knees. His eyes fixated for a moment on the
teenager's hairy brown calves. "Nice strong legs," the white man thought,
"He's fully into puberty -- I bet he's got a lot of testosterone pumping
through his body, keeping his hands busy at night."

Haskell quickly shook his head to clear it of these unprofessional
thoughts. His face flushed red as he fixed his gaze on the boy's smooth
brown shirtless chest.

"Ah, Tyreese. You know, even though this is a rec center and you are here
to do community service, as if you were staff. You should wear a shirt any
time you are in the building unless you are actually in the gym playing
sports."

"Oh, my bad," Tyreese quickly apologized. "I meant to put my shirt on, but
I was in such a rush to get in here and I forgot."

Mr. Haskell couldn't take his eyes off of the boy's soft brown face. The
boy's lips seemed lush and rosy; making the older man wish he could taste
them. Haskell found himself wanting to lean down and put his face near the
boy's nose and mouth so that he could smell the breath from the boy's body.

Tyreese slipped the extra-large t-shirt over his sturdy frame. He adjusted
the shirt at the shoulders, as it seemed to stick to the sweat of his
body. The bottom of the shirt hung well below the boy's groin, resting
mid-way down his thighs, like a short dress.

Haskell instantly regretted asking the boy to cover himself. The fresh
smell of the laundered t-shirt covered the boy's natural earthy smell while
cutting off Haskell's view of the boy's half-naked body.

Again, the white man silently chastised himself, "I mustn't think this
way. It could lead to trouble. This boy is a troubled black youth who is in
desperate need of my professional help."

Haskell's stream of thought was interrupted when he heard the boy softly,
but deliberately, clear his throat.

Haskell's eyes met the lad's eyes and he realized how much his mind had
wandered. He felt a surge of anxiety. Had Tyreese picked up on what he was
thinking? Could the lad see through his professional façade?

Haskell thought that they youth's brown eyes were warm and
attractive. Tyreese shifted his gaze from the white man's eyes to the
crumpled paper that was spread out on the counter, waiting for the older
man's signature.

Haskell gave the youth a firm but disciplined stare as if seeking to
re-establish their respective roles. "I'm sorry Tyreese," he said, trying
to sound both friendly and official, "I can't sign your papers until the
end of the day -- after you've put in a full day's work."

"That's okay Mr. Haskell," the black youth said, carefully re-folding the
crumpled documents and shoving them back in his pocket, "I didn't know the
rules. I don't want you to do nuthin that will get you in trouble."

Haskell felt his heart pounding. The boy sounded confident and mature. Even
the soft dark shadow of barely blossoming facial hair over the boy's upper
lip seemed to lend Tyreese an air of streetwise sophistication. Haskell
thought that the boy's voice sounded as though he was offering reassurance,
giving the man permission to pull rank when he should have been
intimidated.

Now it was Haskell's turn to clear his voice, if for no more reason than to
jolt himself from the hypnotic grip of the boy's youthfully masculine
face. "Ah, perhaps you should wait in the storage room at the end of the
hall," Mr. Haskell said, pointing the way, "I'll be along shortly to show
you what to do."

Once again Mr. Haskell stuck out his hand, this time even more awkwardly
and artificially official than the first time, "Welcome aboard young man."

Tyreese gave the man a short accommodating shrug as if to say he was
willing to play along with whatever official behavior the professional
environment required. He shook the white man's hand a second time.

Haskell turned, with all of the professional coolness he could muster, and
opened the door to the air-conditioned administrators' office. Tyreese
rhythmically strutted down the hallway to the storage room, the humidity of
the building already forming another sheen of moisture over his skin.

************************************

About 20 minutes later Mr. Haskell entered the storage room. Tyreese was
sitting on top of a small stack of boxes. He was shirtless again, his
smooth brown body glistening with sweat from the humidity. His dreadlocks
were now tied in a pony tail behind his neck. The boy's legs dangled over
the side of the box he was sitting on; his firm hairy brown calves brushed
gently against the brown cardboard.

Haskell gave the boy a glance and quickly looked away. He felt a lump in
his throat, and another in his pants. He wanted to tell the boy to put his
shirt back on, but his throat felt so constricted that he was afraid the
only thing that would come out of his mouth would be a raspy squeal, like a
thirteen year old going through a voice change.

When Mr. Haskell found his voice again he motioned to Tyreese, "Come over
here -- I have some gloves in the drawer. You'll need them if you're
going to move these boxes."

The black teenager casually slid off the top box while Mr. Haskell bent
over a metal cabinet, fishing through the drawers for a pair of work
gloves.

For Tyreese it was one of those moments when one acts without thinking --
seeing the white man's ass jutting out, instinct rushed ahead of
reason. Whenever his teenage buddies made the mistake of bending over they
would get smacked hard in the ass. Seeing his target, and forgetting about
where he was and whose ass was about to be smacked, Tyreese hauled back as
far as he could and swatted the white man's ass with his open palm.

Mr. Haskell lurched forward into the metal cabinet, and bolted upright in
alarm. Tyreese, realizing what he had done, covered his mouth once again in
shock. "I-I'm sorry Mr. Haskell, sir...I, I didn't mean...I didn't mean..."

But the next thing the white man did took the teenager completely by
surprise. The man giggled like a nervous teenager. He seemed more
embarrassed than Tyreese was. Mr. Haskell reached out to touch the boy on
his shoulder and reassured him that he wasn't in any trouble. "That's
alright. I know boys will be boys...heh, heh..."

Tyreese was too embarrassed to look the man in the eyes. He let his eyes
drop to the floor, thinking that if he didn't look directly at Mr. Haskell,
maybe what he had just done would go away.

But as he lowered his eyes he noticed something strange, something
unexpected. The white man was sporting a lump in the front of his
chinos. Tyreese wasn't sure he was seeing it right, so he did a
double-take. Sure as fuck this white man was sporting a hard-on. He was
turned on by this shit. This official-assed white dude was a fuckin freak
-- and a faggot freak at that.

Haskell's eyes followed the boy's gaze and realized that his secret was
out. The man laughed nervously, swinging his arms back and forth and
finally folding them in front of him to cover his crotch. He tried to sound
relaxed and causal -- hoping to convey confidence and break the tension
so that he could resume control of the situation.

"Well, now...let's get to work."

Tyreese wasn't having it.

The boy moved right up to Mr. Haskell. His naked brown chest almost
touching the white man's body. Mr. Haskell could feel the body heat coming
off of the boy. His head was filled with the boy's healthy young smell,
along with the smell of the mustiness of the boy's hair.

Haskell was nearly overpowered by the odor of the boy's youthful
masculinity. He felt as though he had taken a deep whiff of a nasally
administered aphrodisiac and was overwhelmed by its potency. He felt as
though the boy's sexual energy was now entering inside of his body.

The white man's knees became unsteady and he lowered himself so that he
could rest on top of the metal cabinet. His head was swimming. He was
dazzled by the smooth glistening skin of the boy's brown body. He felt the
urge to suck on the boy's dark nipples and lick the hair under the his arm
pits.

Now, Mr. Haskell's face was level with the boy's crotch. He could see and
smell the top of the boy's boxer shorts as they were exposed by the way his
pants sagged low on his hips. He looked up at the boy who towered over him
like a lean teenage god.

Haskell watched the movement of the lean muscles of the boy's forearms that
glistened with sweat in the storage room. Haskell slowly realized why the
boy's forearms were moving. Tyreese was undoing his belt and allowing his
trousers to drop to the floor. The smell of the boy's pubic hair, still
covered by his boxers, made the older man wilt like a rootless plant on the
pavement of a sidewalk.

Tyreese was clearly a well-endowed young man. The size of the tent in the
boy's briefs was enough to let Haskell know that the boy was packing a well
developed sample of healthy young manhood, which seemed more than the white
man would expect from a 16 year old.

Tyreese's movement seemed hypnotically slow. He seductively unveiled his
stiff dark member and allowed it to bounce up and down once it was freed
from the boy's cotton boxers. Tyreese's throbbing black cock jutted in
Mr. Haskell's face. The man took a deep whiff of the lad's musky dark balls
which were dangling just beneath the man's chin.

Mr. Haskell kept telling himself over and over again, "I can't do this. I
can't do this. I could get fired. I could go to court. I could wind up in
jail. I could lose everything I've worked on. Goodness man, get a grip on
yourself. This is a black teenager. You're the authority in the room. Stand
up and tell the boy to put his clothes back on. Restore order. Get
control."

But Mr. Haskell's desperate efforts to gain control were lost when he heard
the teenager's deep, soft demanding voice saying, "Suck it."

Mr. Haskell trembled at the sound of the boy's voice. He felt as though he
was being enveloped by the musky warmth of the boy's body.

"C'mon. Suck it," the teenager chided, "I need a horny freak like you to
get me off."

Mr. Haskell felt the boy's hands wrap behind the back of his head, gently
guiding him toward his warm, throbbing black cock.

Haskell felt defeated. "This is destiny," the white man thought. "I need
this black teenager's cum inside of me. I need the taste of this boy's
manhood in my mouth. I need this boy."

Haskell's lips trembled. He opened his mouth and allowed the black boy to
push his hard throbbing cock between his lips.

"Yeah, atta girl. Suck on this nigga's cock. Make me nutt."

Haskell tasted the boy's lightly sweet pre-cum. The teenager's cock slid up
and down the man's moist tongue. The boy's penis felt thick and warm in the
man's mouth. It tasted of masculine sweat and teenaged sexuality. Haskell
thought he detected the faint flavor of adolescent jism from when the boy
jacked off earlier that morning.

Tyreese held the man's head tightly and pumped his thighs against the white
man's face in his urgent teenage need for sexual relief. The boy's smooth,
brown thighs caressed the sides of the white man's face with boyish
masculine warmth.

"Yeah, suck that dick, bytch. Suck it."

Haskell hated the insulting names the boy was calling him, but he enjoyed
obeying the boy's commands too much to raise any objections.

He knew that he enjoyed the sensation of being used by the boy.

"I got needs," the teenager moaned, "Make me nutt inside yo mouf you nasty
freak."

Haskell caressed the boy's hard throbbing penis with his tongue. He licked
the unbending shaft of the boy's cock, making Tyreese gasp involuntarily
-- surprised at the white man's cock sucking abilities.

Haskell licked the slit of the boy's cock head, tasting more of his teenage
pre-cum. He ran his tongue around the edges of the teenager's throbbing
cock head. Now the boy was gasping desperately.

Haskell sensed a subtle and strange role reversal. He felt that he now had
this horny teenage boy where he wanted him. Tyreese's body shuttered and he
let out a loud sigh; he no longer controlled his body or his reactions. He
dropped his façade of streetwise coolness and indifference and yielded to
the pleasure of the white man's hot tongue.

The boy started moaning like a bitch getting her clit licked. Haskell
imagined that the boy had completely surrendered himself to the middle-aged
man's desperate mouth. He sucked and slurped on the boy's insatiable penis
until he was drooling shamelessly. The boy moaned as if he were back in the
privacy of his own bedroom fucking the wet sloppy pussy he had always
dreamt about every time he beat off.

Tyreese let out a high-pitched cry, "Oh yeah, suck that cock -- suck it."

The cry seemed more plaintive than demanding.

Haskell obeyed the boy's cry, not wanting to break the spell or lose
control. He tightened his grip on the boy's cock with his mouth and his
tongue.

"Suck me. Suck me," the teenager pleaded.

Haskell sucked him harder and harder as if he might swallow the boy's stiff
young manhood and become a teenager again himself.

Tyreese tussled the older man's hair and pumped mercilessly in the white
man's mouth.

"Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Tyreese unleashed a flood of thick teenage jism in the white man's
mouth. To Haskell, the boy's cum felt like a hot extra-thick milkshake
sliding down his throat, and it tasted like a plate of fresh
oysters. Tyreese wouldn't stop -- he grabbed the man's hair and shot wave
after wave of his cum juices into Mr. Haskell's mouth. Haskell dutifully
swallowed -- submitting to the teenager's needs, even as the teenager
surrendered his body to the white man's hot mouth.

The boy continued to pump his body fluids inside the older man's mouth
until he was completely drained.

The boy sighed and nearly collapsed, his body limp. His sweaty pubes and
"happy trail," his sweat covered belly button and abs rested on the white
man's face. The black lad continued to breathe heavily, holding
Mr. Haskell's face in place, underneath his sweat soaked loins.

As the two males came to their senses they shook their heads, each
wondering what had come over him. They couldn't look at each other and
dared not breathe a word about what had transpired.

************************************

The next day, the shirtless Tyreese was riding in the summer breeze,
dreadlocks flying, weaving in and out of traffic on is bike. The teenager
kept repeating to himself, "Shit -- I knew I should'a got to bed
earlier. Now I'ma be late again."

Angry drivers honked their horns as they swerved to avoid hitting the agile
black teenager. Tyreese shot into the parking lot of the rec center,
glancing at the clock. "hooo shit, hooo shit," the boy moaned as he secured
his bike to the pole, "fifteen minutes late again."

The boy burst into the rec center. Mr. Haskell was reading official papers
in a manila folder. He looked up and saw the nervous teenager anxiously
making his way through the door. Tyreese's eyes met Mr. Haskell's --
Haskell's met Tyreese's.

Mr. Haskell clucked his tounge and shook his head, "Late again I see,
Mr. Johnson?"

Tyreese opened his mouth to explain, but Haskell cut him off, "Put your
shirt on Mr. Johnson. Staff must always wear their clothes when they are
inside the building."

Tyreese yanked his t-shirt from his back pocket and fumbled with it as it
stuck to his lean, muscular sweaty body while he was putting it on.

"My bad. I'm sorry Mr. Haskell," the boy said sheepishly.

"That's quite alright," Haskell answered in an overly tolerant bureaucratic
sing-song, "We all forget ourselves sometimes. You can get more comfortable
once you get to the storage room..."

Haskell disappeared behind the glass door of the administrators' office.

Tyreese watched the man and smirked, "Yeah, I'll get comfortable aiight,"
the boy mumbled confidently under his breath. "An' you gonna wanna get
`comfortable' too when you come in to `check up' on me."

Tyreese strutted rhythmically down the hall toward the storage room,
grabbing his crotch as he turned to look back at the door of the
administrators' office, knowing it was just a matter of time before Haskell
would once again give into his passions.