From: honjohn@gate.net (John E. Smith)
Subject: CHIAROSCURO (M/M Anal Oral Interacial)
Date: Sun, 19 Jul 1998 22:10:16 GMT

			       John E. Smith
			       P.O. Box 7762
			    Port St. Lucie, FL
				34985-7762
                                
				CHIAROSCURO
                                
     In times past, before the scourge of AIDS, when gays could have sex
promiscuously, with only the fear of the police or of contracting a
curable disease like syphilis to inhibit them, I used to cruise the New
York subway T-rooms.  After a night class in Abnormal Psychology at New
York University, on  my way home, I usually cruised the men's room on
the mezzanine of the West  Fourth subway station.  This T-room had been
an excitingly active homosexual  meeting place with group orgies taking
place right there; but, it had become  less active because plain-clothed
cops, acting as paid Peeping Toms, getting  their voyeurist kicks by
looking through the gratings, had made several arrests.  

     My reason for cruising this T-room, even though it was risky, was
because, like a pilot fish, swimming, for protection, under the belly of
a shark, I thought that I could do it safely and turn the police
presence to my advantage. I was not an obvious homosexual -- I did not
swish and scream outrageously.  I even wore a wedding ring, for social
camouflage, when I was cruising.  Therefore, the police did not drive me
off, as they had driven off the flaming queens, who, in safer T-rooms,
always stole the really desirable tricks away from me.  As a result, I
was sometimes able to pick up some lovely, bladder-heavy straight, who
had not heard that the big action had moved elsewhere.  He had to settle
for me, in desperation, because he could not risk loitering. 

     Now, you might think, from what I have said, that I was a
completely satisfied homosexual, skillfully working my ecological niche,
happily feeding on horny strangers, like a sea urchin feeding on unwary
clams.  But, that was not the case.  I felt no great enthusiasm for my
activity, as I walked toward the T-room door, at least not as
enthusiastic as I would have been if I had believed that a naked Mr.
America with a twelve-inch piece of muscular manmeat was eagerly
awaiting me behind that battered, black-metal door.  I had no
anticipation that this occasion would be any different from the other
times when I had risked arrest, assault, blackmail, disease, and
frustration in my never-ending search for that one man who could satisfy
me so completely that I would no longer feel the need to search.  I had
no expectation that I would discover an Eden of carnal pleasure, a
cornucopia of sexual delights behind that T-room door because, you see,
experience had been a bitter teacher.  I had been disappointed and
frustrated enough times so that I had no hint that this particular  
excursion would be more satisfying than the rest.  In fact, as I walked
toward the door, I felt exasperated with myself for not learning from
these experiences, for not resisting my compulsion to cruise.  I had no
premonition, as I dropped the coin into the slot, turned the handle, and
was admitted to the stale urine stench of that tiled netherworld, that,
without suffering the slightest agony of metamorphosis, I was stepping
into Paradise. 

     At first, I thought that I was alone, for I saw no one at the
urinals, or in the first, cut-away booth where the available sex-hungry
studs usually stood, playing with themselves.  I thought to myself, "Oh,
hell.  Nothing here, again, and again, . . . and again."   I nearly
turned and left for home.  But, I didn't.  From force of habit, like a
losing gambler who continues playing because he does not wish to face
the reality of how much he has lost, I continued down the aisle,
checking out the two remaining, fully-screened booths. 

     Then, in the last booth, I saw him.  He was standing at the side of
the stool, half-turned with the door of the booth open, so that he was
exposed to anyone who had a desire to look at him.  He was very tall,
muscular, handsome, and black, with all of the pure negroid features
that I, a white man, had come to find so sexually exciting -- flat nose,
full lips, small ears, closely-cropped wooly hair, thick-muscular neck,
broad shoulders, and slim waist.  He was just standing there, looking
downward as if he were unaware that I was watching.  I followed his gaze
downward to his huge, black hand that was casually stroking his immense,
hard, uncircumcised piece of black horsecock.   

     As soon as I realized what I was looking at, that this beautiful
black man was sexually available, it hit me like a bolt of lightning on
a clear summer's day.  My heart skipped two beats and the surge of
prickly tingles that formed in the pit of my stomach, raced outward
through my blood stream to my extremities, where, when it hit my brain,
it made me feel as giddy as a sailor on shore leave who had just
chug-a-lugged a couple of shots of whiskey.  
 
    Even though he seemed to sense that I was looking at him, he
continued to look at his rampantly hard piece of black stud meat; then,
he turned and looked directly at me.  His eyes did not have the
calloused cynicism or lackluster indifference of a hustler.  Rather, his
eyes seemed to reveal an inner intelligence, good humor, and kindness
that warmed my heart.  Our eyes embraced, for a few seconds, then he
smiled as he returned his gaze to his cock, so insistantly, so
directively, that I also looked again, and in looking, was hypnotized by
the blacksnake, like a helpless bird.  

     It was his deep bass voice, rumbling like Paul Robeson in the
shower, that aroused me from my hypnotic state.  "Do you have a place
where we can go?" he asked.  His voice and movements completed the
picture.  I am sexually excited by masculine men.  Any trace of
effeminacy and I am chilled sexually.  His voice and movements strongly
communicated his masculinity.   

     "Yes, but its outside of the city.  We could go there in my car," I
replied. 

     "Alright with me," he continued, "I've got all night."  Then he
added, somewhat hesitantly, "Will you bring me back to the city sometime
tomorrow?" 

     "Sure." 

     "Where's your car?" 

     "Across the bridge.  We have to take the subway to get to it," I
replied. 

     "By the way, my name is Dave.  What's yours?"  He offered me a big,
black ham of a hand. 

     "Brad."  I replied. 

     "Well, then, Brad.  Lets go." 

     We took the subway to the place where my car was parked, drove to
my apartment, and went inside.  

     "Nice place you've got here," Dave said. 

     "Yeh, its big enough," I said as I rubbed my hand over the
prominant bulge   down the leg of Dave's Levis. 

     "I need to take a leak," he said. 

     "Alright.  The bathroom is in here," I said.  I led the way up
three steps through the walnut-paneled dining room to the mirrored
bedroom.  Dave went into the bathroom and took a leak without closing
the bathroom door.  

     When he had finished, he turned toward me with his hank of black
manmeat still hanging out. "Do you want it now?" he asked.  
 
    "Any time you do." 

     "Well, then, come take it." 

     He stood akimbo, legs apart, pelvis tilted forward, like an ebony
Colossus, head lowered, abdominal muscles tensed, waiting for me to take
him.  I heard my breath exhale in a little sigh as I felt myself float,
dreamlike, onto my knees on the bathroom floor, before him. 

     Now, I should tell you that I don't enjoy any of those silly
vanilly "slave and master" games when I have sex.  Even though, in my
life as an active homosexual, I have knelt before many men, I never
viewed my kneeling as an act of subservience.  I had dirtied and torn
many trouser knees kneeling in many T-rooms, in front of glory holes, in
wooded glens by the side of the road, servicing a veritable army of
horny truckers, servicemen, and civilians, eager to present their "short
arms" for my intimate inspection, eager to use my mouth for their sexual
release; but, I had never felt humiliated by the act. Kneeling was
merely a matter of convenience.  It placed my mouth close to the cock
that I wanted to service in order to satisfy my own carnal lust.  It had 
no more significance to me than any other bodily movement such as
lifting my foot or bending my elbow. 

     Unlike kneeling before all those other men, kneeling before Dave
had a profoundly moving effect on me.  Even in this age of civilized
democratic equality, when no man bows to another man, Dave's regal
bearing stirred some primal urge in me so demanding that my obeyisance
to his superior masculinity seemed as natural as if I were a medieval
peasant kneeling before his lord or a primitive tribesman humiliating
himself before his chief.  Now, as I knelt before Dave, I could never
remember being so spiritually moved by the experience.  Piously, I
accepted his proffered symbol of masculinity, slid the hood from the
head of his love-scepter, that primitive symbol of regal power, and
savored the heady aroma.  "Don't take Tiny's overcoat off unless he's
doing something," he said. 

     "Why?" 

     "I don't like to feel him uncovered.  .  .  Feels cold or
something." 

     "I'll fix that." I put the chalice to my lips, took a hearty
draught, and moved my head back and forth eagerly on his mating tool
like a child gobbling the ice cream from the top of an icecream cone. 

     "Keep your teeth covered," he ordered. 

     I replaced the napkin over the rim of the goblet so that none of
the intoxicating aroma would be lost.  "Its so damn big that I can
hardly do anything with it." 

     "Sure you can.  You've got to keep a regular motion up and down.  . 
.    Keep a tight suction, but no teeth.  .  .  Harder with the lips.  . 
.  Ah!    That's better.  .  .  Now just stick with it.  .  .  Take more
of it in your   mouth.  You're hardly even taking the head.  .  .  Come
on, take it!"  With his   hands on the back of my head, he forced
himself deeper and deeper into my   throat until I gasped for air and
gagged on my own saliva.  "You're not very good at sucking, are you?" 

     "I'm better in other ways," I replied. 

     "I'm going to teach you to take care of me that way because
sometimes I like a good head job," he said.  "Alright, lets get
undressed and go to bed." 

     Even though I tried not to be obvious about it, I could not help
watching Dave out of the corner of my eye.  He undressed, with not a
sign of embarrassment, laid his clothes neatly on a chair, then proudly
handsome as an African prince, in complete nudity, he strode
majestically to the bed and lay down, as regally as if he were King
Louis holding court in his bedroom at Versailles. 

     "You're going to finish me off with a good head job first, aren't
you?" he asked.  

     I nodded my head, "I'll certainly try."  

     "Alright, come and take it!" he ordered.  I undressed quickly,
layed on my belly between his legs, pressed on the veins on top of his
cock, close to his body, to make it engourge more fully, and took his
cock into my mouth.  "Not so much tongue," he said.  "Keep a tight
suction in your cheeks.  .  .  Tighter   with the lips, but no teeth.  . 
.  That's better.  .  .  A little faster.  .  .  Keep up the motion,
don't slow down.  .  .  That's better.  .  .  Now, just   take it a
little deeper.  .  .  That the way.  .  .  Now you're getting it."  

     Giving him good head was very painful to me.  Moving my head so
rapidly up and down while squeezing down on the shaft with my lips
caused the inside of my lips to be chaffed by my teeth.  My jaw muscles
ached and my neck muscles burned from the strain.  My throat was sore
from forcing the big head of his cock deep down into my esophagus while
suppressing the gagging reflex.  Occasionally, when I tried to relieve
the pain by missing a stroke and tonguing around the head, he said,
"Keep up the rhythm.  Don't change the beat like that because I lose the
feeling," and the pressure of his hand on the back of my head, forced
his cock back down in my throat with the rhythm he wanted.  

     I kept up this agony for what felt like hours, synchronizing my
motions with breathing and swallowing so that I would not choke on my
own saliva.  Just when I thought I could take the pain no longer, he
said, "That's it, Brad, that's it.  Now you've got the rhythm.  .  . 
Keep it up a little longer.  I'm just about to come."  

     I kept plunging on him at the frantic pace that he needed.  I
didn't break the rhythm, until, "Now, don't move!" he ordered, as he
forced his cock all the way into my throat and held it there with his
hand on the back of my head.    "AAAAGGGGGGHHHHH," he moaned, as his
chalice relinquished its precious burden of delicious sexual wine and I
felt spurt after spurt of the elixor of life conveyed to my eagerly
receptive esophagus by the most erotically exciting delivery system that
I had ever before experienced in my life.  I lay there, held
motionlessly by his hand's firm grip around my head, impaled on his love 
spear, like a suckling pig skewered on a spit, until his lust had spent
itself in my body. 

     Finally, his grip on my head relaxed and I was able to move so that
just the head of his cock was in my mouth.  I stripped down his urethra
with my fingers so that I could get every last drop of his precious male
juices.  Then, remembering to suck Tiny's overcoat over his naked head,
I took Dave's cock from my mouth, and said, "Whew! Dave, that was wild." 

     "Yeh.  That was a pretty good head job," he said.  "With a few more
hours of practice on Tiny, you should be one of the best cocksuckers
around."  

     I moved up the bed so that I was laying along side of him, still
stroking his cock, and said, "I hope so, Dave, because I sure want to
please you." 

     "You do, Brad, believe me, you do."  He put his arm around me and
kissed me.  We lay there together resting and holding each other.  
 
    "Let's take a shower," he announced, as he got out of bed.  I got
up, too, and followed him into the bathroom.  He adjusted the shower,
and got in. 

     "Want me to scrub your back?" I asked. 

     "Alright.  Just wait 'til I get wet." 

     I opened the curtain and was overwhelmed by the beauty of his dark
skin sparkling under the droplets of water like tropical rain on a black
orchid, London drizzle on a black Rolls Royce, a spring shower on a
black-leather clad biker, surf on a black wetsuit, spray on a fireman's
shiny black rubber rain coat.  

     Dave's quizical expression returned me from my reverie.  I put my
left hand on the middle of his chest and, using a wash cloth that I had
previously lathered, I scrubbed his back with my right hand.  He
relaxed, head tipped forward, eyes closed, apparently enjoying the
feeling.  Creamy white suds spilled over his shoulders, tracing white
lines down his dark-brown chest where tightly curled hair at the center
of his chest, divided the rivulets into two   streams that cascaded down
each side of his belly.  I moved my hand on his   chest, exploring every
ridge and valley with my finger tips, memorizing every contour in my
minds eye like a blind man, envisioning the slabs of muscles that lay
under the polished ebony of his satiny black skin, savoring the
contrasting textures that titillated the sensitive nerves of my fingers. 
He did not object so I smeared the lines of suds into the hair on his
chest with my left hand while I ran the cloth over his sides and
buttocks with my right hand. 

     As I scrubbed him, I marveled that here, under my soapy hands was
the tangible result of thousands of hours spent searching.  Here was my
reward for enduring the stench of hundreds of public toilets, steam
baths, and all-night movies.  Here was my prize for suffering through
the sight of thousands of ugly little penises, thousands of ugly little
bodies, and thousands of ugly little souls.  Here, under my hands was
the results of rejecting hundreds of drug-addicted hustlers, tramps,
bums, thieves, swishy queens, and violently insane criminals.  Here was
the winner from a long line of candidates chosen from innumerable
soldiers, sailors, motorcyclists, students, body builders, laborers,
truckers, and tradesmen, not to mention, doctors, lawyers, preachers,
and teachers.  Here was the man I wanted to live with forever.  Here was
the man who could make me end my search. 

     In addition, when I thought of the thousands of furtive moments of
sexual pleasure stolen in YMCA shower rooms, through "glory holes" cut
in the walls of public toilets, in steam rooms, in cars, in the sleeping
compartment of trucks, why I even had sex with a black railroad
switchman on the floor of the switching tower, forty feet above the
trains, being able to enjoy hours of ecstacy with the man I loved was
statistically highly improbable.  Compared with those other situations,
I was in Paradise. 

     Dave swayed gently under the pressure of my motions.  I lathered my
hands, smeared more soap on his neck and shoulders, then proceeded to
his belly.  He seemed to enjoy what I was doing because he neither moved
nor opened his eyes, but his pendulous penis protruded from his body and
swung back and forth.  I soaped my hands and gently stroked the shaft of
that beautiful penis, from the base to the foreskin.  Now, even though
his cock stuck out quite prominently, I did not move to arouse him
further.  I teased him a bit by gently lathering his testicles, the
inside of his thighs, between his buttocks, and down each leg. He
accommodated me by putting one foot at a time on the side of the tub so
that   I could lather the soles of his feet and in between his toes. 

     Now I returned to his cock.  First, I lathered my hands, then I
worked the   soap along the shaft, gently peeling his foreskin back to
expose the head of his cock, a little at a time.  His black foreskin was
quite long and generous.  In fact it was long enough to completely cover
the head of his cock when it was fully erect. But, unlike many men with
a long foreskin, his had plenty of looseness so that the head was easily
unsheathed and his foreskin became invisible along the shaft when it was
pushed back. 

     Under my gentle massaging, his cock got fully hard.  It was very
large, and while it was not the largest I had ever seen, it was the most
beautiful cock that I had ever seen.  It was straight and it angled
upward slightly from   his body.  The shaft had no massive veins to scar
its smooth symmetry and it had the same diameter from his body to the
head.  The head of his cock, with its two pouty little vertical lips at
the end, was perfectly sculpted at the end of the shaft and was a little
larger, in diameter, than the shaft.  The inner, firmly engourged shaft,
was covered with unblemished, tissue-thin, satin-smooth black skin that,
combined with the freedom of his foreskin, gave exceptional mobility to
the surface.  I amused myself with this work of art by gently pushing
and pulling his skin to its limits in each direction.  

     "Want to rinse off, now?" I asked. 

     He opened his eyes and looked at me sternly.  "I'm going to tell
you once again and I want you to remember it.  Don't leave 'Tiny' with
his overcoat off unless he is doing something.  Now cover him!" 

     Since I was startled by his severe tone, I moved quickly to replace
his foreskin over the head of his cock.  "Do you want me to rinse you
off?" I asked.  

     "Do you have any shampoo?" 

     "Yes." 

     "Wash my hair.  All of it," he ordered. 

     I reached a bottle of shampoo from a shelf over the sink as he
soaked his closely cropped wooly black hair. I massaged the shampoo onto
his bent-down head until he bore a crown of white lather.  When I had
finished, he tipped his head back under the stream.  His crown dissolved
into puffy clouds of foam that raced down his body like children's
sailboats before a summer gale.  I massaged shampoo into his pubic hair,
converting it into a radiant white halo of foam that was starkly pierced
by the black-onyx shaft of his magnificent love-baton. 

     He reached for his cock to rinse it.  "That's my job," I said
severly, mocking his stern reprimand about Tiny.  He smiled, dropped his
arms to his sides, and obligingly thrust his pelvis toward me.  I took
his soft penis in my hand, stroking it gently, exciting it so that, with
each beat of his pulse, it flipped up toward my face.  I glanced up to
his eyes to appraise his mood and expectations.  He met my gaze with a
faint smile and an almost imperceptible flick of his head that I
interpreted to mean, "Take me."  I lowered myself to my knees, put the
covered head of his cock in my mouth and tongued around the head of his
cock, underneath the foreskin.  I peeled back the foreskin with my
tongue and forced the head down my throat while gripping that
tissue-thin, amazingly mobile skin of the shaft with my lip-covered
teeth.  He responded with an erection that was as hard as iron.  "Wow! 
Almost too big to suck," I thought. 

     I moved on his cock in an irregular fashion, occasionaly plunging,
but mostly just tickling it with my tongue because I wanted to prolong
our embrace and I didn't know how much it would take to make him come
again.  He solved the problem.  "Hey!  Lets dry off," he said, gently
running his hard hand under my chin and lifting me up.  When I was
standing, he bent and kissed me, his thick negroid lips covering mine.   

     I did not forget to put Tiny's overcoat back on him, this time,
before I shut off the shower.  I reached an immense beach towel around
Dave, and scrubbed him dry.  

   "Got any vasoline," he asked.  My heart missed a beat.  Vasoline had
come to be associated in my mind with anal intercourse, which I
preferred.  I inter  preted his question as an exciting proposition. 

     "Sure." 

     He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.  "My skin gets flakey
and vasoline keeps it smooth."  

     "Oh, damn!" I thought to myself, disappointed that I had
misinterpreted his question.  To cover my mistake, I responded, "I have
some body lotion.  Do you want me to put some of that on you?" 

     "Alright," he replied.  I took a bottle from the shelf and massaged
spice-  scented body lotion into his skin.  

   "I'll never understand why some blacks don't love their black skin,"
I thought as I ran my hands over Dave's beautiful black body.  "When H.
Rapp Brown says, 'We are black and we are beautiful,' I say, "Amen to
that Brother Brown." 

     Dave's body, coated with the lotion, glistened like the polished
black marble of a Rodin statue.  I reached out and touched him gently,
wanting only to confirm his presence, wanting only to reassure myself
that he was really there, that he was not some heavenly hallucination. 

     "What's the matter?" he asked when he felt my touch. 

     "Nothing.  You're just so beautiful." 

     "A man isn't beautiful!" he declared. 

     "Alright, then, you are the most handsome hunk of masculine
pulchritude that I have ever laid my eyes and hands on." 

     I think my declaration embarrassed him because he changed the
subject abruptly.  "Here, put some more lotion on my chest.  It looks
dry."  
 
    "Sure," I said, massaging more lotion onto his muscular chest.  
     "That looks better," he said as he turned from the mirror.  "Do you
want me again?" he asked. 

     "Oh, yes, Dave," I replied. 

     He got back in bed.  "Make it hard," he ordered.  I climbed between
his legs, took his cock in my mouth, and tongued and sucked it.  He
reached down and guided my head in the motion that he found most
satisfying.  

     When he was fully hard, he lifted my head from his cock and said,
"Lay on your back."  I did as I was told; I rolled over on my back.  He
climbed between my legs, lifted them, and leaned forward so that the
head of his cock was pres  sing on my ass hole.  Now, the chalice was
transformed in function from a passive vessel, waiting to deliver Dave's
sexual wine to my eager lips, into an extension of Dave's will, like a
knife in the hand of a priest in a pagan sac  rifice.  "Loosen it," he
ordered. 

     "I'm trying to, but you're so big." 

     "You wanted it!  You made me hot!  Now you take it!" 

     "Please, a little vasoline.  Its on the bed table next to the
towel," I begged.  He greased his cock, and wiped his hand on the towel
as I greased my ass. 

     There was never a sacrificial lamb that reached out so willingly
for the priest's knife, that prayed for the ecstacy of insertion, that
sought to pro  long the ritual.  "Not so fast, your hurting a little. 
Give me time to relax.  Ah!  That's it.  .  .  Let me put a pillow under
my ass.  Maybe that will help.  

 .  .  Good.  The angle is better."  Dave groaned as his ass-sticker was
im  mersed to the hilt, instigating a dialogue with his victim's
entrails.  "Oh, God!  That's good!" I sighed. 

      Dave pressed his thick negroid lips against mine as he darted his
tongue in and out of my mouth in imitation of his cock that darted in
and out of my asshole like a humming bird sipping necter from a flower,
savoring each de  licious plunge.  My hands on Dave's back felt his
muscles flex as he rolled and ground his cock into me with little
sideways twitching motions.  I matched his every motion, to increase his
pleasure, gyrating when he rolled, tightening my ass hole when he moved
away, relaxing it when he plunged, all the time kissing his lips,
tonguing his neck and his tiny ears, so beautifully unlike a white
man's. 

     "Alright, roll over," he said.  "I want to finish you off from the
other side."  Dave withdrew his lust sword from the sacrifice, rolled me
over on the alter, slipped his arms under my armpits, grabbed my
shoulders to hold me under him, and reinserted his hot flesh blade back
into the living sacrifrice beneath him.

     "UUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH," I moaned, as I felt it plunge, full depth,
into my bowels. 

     Dave was a masterful performer.  He pulled his cock out of me,
complete  ly, then he worked his still-wet cock into me with a grinding
motion that soon had him buried again in me.  We fucked in this position
for a long time, his rough hands sometimes cupping my chest muscles,
like they were a woman's tits, and sometimes pressing my belly to hold
me to him and to guide my motions. 

     He continued this virtuoso fucking, like a skillful musician
extracting every delightful note from his chosen instrument, my body,
until I felt him fucking me with reckless abandon and with unrelenting
regularity, again, and again, and again, faster and faster he stabbed
his sacrificial knife into my willing body, until his body shook, I
heard a mighty groan, I felt it swell in me, and with a final plunge, I
felt pulse after pulse of his sexual offering spurt deep in my bowels as
his body cast out its unwanted demons. 

     We both lay there, pleasantly exhausted and emptied of further
sexual desire.  "Go wash up and wash me again," he ordered.  I did as I
was told.  I washed and dried his cock for him.  When I had finished, he
swung his heavy arm around my neck, pulled me to him, kissed me, then
said, "Did you like that?" he asked.  

     "Oh, yes, Dave, very much." 

     "Thats good.  I'm glad you liked it," he said.  "You'd better pull
up the covers or we'll get cold."  After I had done this, he put his arm
around me, pulled me to him and kissed me, a long affectionate kiss.  We
went to sleep that night in each other's arms. 

     After I had gone to sleep, I awoke during the night.  Dave was
sleeping on his back.  I gently ran my hand down his belly to his soft
cock, "Yep, its still there," I thought to myself.  I went back to sleep
holding his cock in my hand, my cheek against his muscular shoulder.  
 
    In the morning, I was awakened by Dave's getting up to go to the
bathroom.  When he came back to bed, he saw that I was awake and asked,
"What time is it, anyway?"  

     "About eight-thirty," I replied.  

     "I have to be back in the city by noon.  Got to meet a guy.  You'll
take me, won't you?" 

     "Sure," I replied as I ran my hand across his muscular body to his
cock and grabbed it.  

     He looked at me with a sly, sideways glance, and asked, with a
faint smile, "Didn't you get enough of Tiny last night?" 

   "Never," I replied. 

     As I continued to stroke his cock, I asked, "Why don't you come
live here with me?  You could get a job around here." 

     He thought a long time, then replied, "I can't, right now.  I have
to take care of things in the city?" 

     "What things." 

     "Don't push me, Brad!" 

     "OK, Dave.  I'd love to have you live here, but I can't force you.
Will you come out here and visit me again?" 

     "Sure." 

     "When?" 

     "Get me a piece of paper and I'll write down an address for you. 
Pick me up in front of that address next Friday." 

     "Are you sure you'll be there?  I'd hate to make that trip into the
city for nothing." 

     "I'll be there 'cause I want to get some mo' of that nahce whaht
ass of yours," he said, imitating a deep South, black accent, as he
leaned over me, gave me a kiss, ran his hand across my buttocks to the
cheeks of my ass, and played with my ass hole with his finger.  As we
kissed, I stroked his cock, which was getting hard without my sucking on
it.  When it was hard, he greased his cock, lifted my legs onto his
shoulders, and slid his cock into me.  "Oh, Dave," I said.  "I love you
so much that I don't want you to leave.  I'm afraid of losing you." 

     "Don't be afraid.  I'll be back."  He kissed me reassuringly as he
fucked me.  

     Dave fucked me for a long time, I don't know how long, because the
erotic ecstasy he aroused in me, put me into a state of suspended
animation as far as time was concerned.  But, this fuck was different
from the fuck that we had enjoyed the night before.  This time he only
fucked me in the missionary position because this wasn't a
"virtuoso-sexual-performance" fuck.  This was a
"comforting-and-consoling" fuck.  He fucked me and kissed me.  He
stroked my hair soothingly with his hands, as if he were trying to
reassure me of his reliability.  I responded by trying to give him the
best fuck he had ever had, so that he would think of it later and want
to return to me for a repeat performance.  I moved my hips like a
frantic whore trying to please her favorite customer.  I used every
trick with my ass hole on his cock that I knew, and I even invented a
few movements that hadn't been discovered before. 

     Now he was moving more frantically, with that rapid, regular
rhythm, that I knew would bring him to climax.  "UUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH,"
he moaned as I felt his cock swell in me and I felt spurt after spurt of
his semen, loaded with all that black-baby sperm, bury itself deep
inside of me.  I wished that my ass were a uterus and that he could make
me pregnant so that I could have his mulatto baby, to keep, a living
momento, to remind me that he had been there and that he had made love
to me.   

   He got up off of me, went to the bathroom, washed his cock, went to
his clothes, and put them on.  I got up, made breakfast for us, and
drove him to the address in the city he had given me.  When we got
there, he offered me his hand, and said, "I'll see you next Friday."  I
took his hand and shook it believing that I would never see him again. 


     True to his word, Dave met me when he said he would, and, over the
next months, we spent many happy nights with each other.  Then, one day
he phoned.
 
     "Hello, Brad, this is Dave." 

     "Yes, Dave.  What can I do for you?" 

     "Brad, do you still want me to come live with you?" 

     "Yes, Dave.  You know I do." 

     "Well, Brad, I just broke up with the guy I was living with and I
need a place to stay." 

     "Where are you?  I'll come pick you up."  He gave me an address. 

     I got in my car and drove to the address he had given me.  He was
standing there forlornly on the sidewalk with all of his belongings in
bags and boxes around him.  I pulled up and parked the car in front of
him.  We piled his belongings into the trunk of the car and onto the
back seat, got into the car, and headed for my apartment. 

     As we were riding, I asked him, "What happened?" 

     "Oh, I was living with this guy since I got out of prison.  He
wanted me to have sex with him as long as I stayed with him, but he
didn't turn me on like you do.  When I couldn't have sex with him, on
demand, he threw me out." 

     "I'd be a liar if I said that I'm sorry." 

     "I'm not," he said.  "I guess I've known for a long time that I
wanted to be with you.  I only stayed with that guy out of loyalty
because he helped me when I needed it.  But I've known that I wanted to
be with you since the first day I saw you in the men's room of the West
Fourth subway station.  You were so cute, and you looked so lovestruck,
when you looked at me, that I wanted to hold you in my arms and cuddle
you, right there in the subway toilet, and reassure you that it was
alright to love me because I am a caring, responsible person, and I
wouldn't hurt you.  Brad, I'm sorry it took so long, but it just took
this breakup to make me realize that its you that I want to be with."  

     Dave's emotional declaration moved me very much because I knew how
hard it was for him to let down his macho defenses.  I knew how
difficult it was for him to bare his soul to me, as he had, because it
left him vulnerable.  He would be hurt if I rejected him.  Tears swelled
up in my eyes and I had to keep blinking so that I could see the road. 
I reached over, put my white hand into Dave's big black hand and
squeezed it to reassure him.  We rode the rest of the way back to the
apartment in silence, holding hands.  

     When we got to the apartment, we seemed to have the same thing in
mind.  We left Dave's belongings in the car, and went up to the
apartment.  After I had unlocked the door, Dave turned me around, kissed
me, picked me up in his muscular arms, and carried me across the
threshold, like a newly-wed bride.  He bumped the door shut with his
shoulder, carried me up the three steps, and into the bedroom where he
laid me gently down on the bed, lay down on top of me, and kissed me. 
"This is where I belong," he said.  

     Dave sure cured my compulsion to cruise.  Since he moved in, we've
lived happily ever after and I haven't cruised another subway toilet.