Date: Sat, 24 Mar 2007 11:04:53 -0700 (PDT)
From: fantasies@afroerotik.com
Subject: Taking it to the Hole

"Let's head over to West 4th for a pickup game, whadda ya say?"  It was a
hot summer New York night, the kind where it doesn't dip below 80 degrees
and anyone and everyone is out and about, looking for something to do. The
idea sounded like a great one to Ernesto; his friends, however, weren't as
enthusiastic.

"Whadda ya fucking crazy?  It's fucking hot as fuck.  What the fuck do I
want to fucking go all the way to fucking Manhattan for a fucking game of
fucking basketball to further sweat my big hairy fucking balls off at 10
o'clock at fucking night?  Are you fucking kidding me?"  His cousin Vinny
had the vocabulary of a Soprano and the basketball skills of a third grade
girl and there was no way in hell he was gonna go anywhere to play
basketball at any time.  He needed to play it off so he went on and on
about how hot it was and about how it was too far to travel.  The rest of
the gang; two Tony's, Tony A. and Tony M., and Joey, weren't the worst
basketball players in the world but they certainly knew enough to know that
if they were going to go to W.4th Street for a pickup game, they would get
spanked.  They all moaned about how hot it was and dismissed the idea.

Ernesto couldn't be dissuaded so easily.  It was a hot Saturday night and
he knew the courts would be packed.  He needed to go.  He just couldn't see
himself hanging out in the neighborhood, drinking 40s out of a brown paper
bag, talking about bangin' girls, listening to Tupac and bitching about
over how hard it is to be a white man in today's society.  Ernesto was
different.  Born in Tuscany, he'd moved to Brooklyn when he was 11 to live
with his aunt and uncle when his parents died in a car crash.  Twenty years
later, he had lost his foreign accent but never quite acquired a New York
on either.  He stood out like a sore thumb in so many ways.  He was the
most worldly of the group always looking to experience new adventures, he'd
gone to out of state for college.  Most of the guys around the way had
never gotten past high school, let alone moved out of state.  Truth be
told, a few had never even been to the Bronx.  He had a great job in
Manhattan as a massage therapist; his friends thought that was some fairy
shit.  It was okay when his clients were hot chicks but they were disgusted
by the idea of rubbing on some sweaty dude.  He even looked different.  His
complexion was naturally darker, his jet black hair just touched his
shoulders, steel gray eyes, and a 6'2" body he worked on religiously, all
worked together to make him look like a Calvin Klein model.  Most of his
buddies stood under 5'11" with short hair and were getting little beer
bellies in their 30s.

For all of their differences, Ernesto was accepted and loved in the
community like he was no different at all.  And he loved his family and his
friends.  They had taken care of him when he was at his lowest, most lonely
point.  While most people anticipated he would have gotten an apartment in
Manhattan, Ernesto stayed in the hood to help take care of his grandmother
who had come from Italy 10 years ago because she was aging.  His aunt and
uncle both worked graveyard and didn't have the time to care for her in the
evenings and Vinny and Theresa, his other cousin, only knew how to curse in
Italian so they couldn't really communicate well with her.  Ernesto loved
his family and would do anything for them so leaving Brooklyn, leaving
Carnasie, was really out of the question.

"I'll check you guys later, I'm heading to the city to play some ball."
Nobody was shocked and they barely looked up as he grabbed his gym bag and
headed for the subway.  He plopped down on the cool seat and pulled out the
book he'd been reading, a collection of works by James Baldwin.  He was
fascinated by social commentary and the descriptions of racism that
peppered the dialogue about being a Black gay man in America.  Being a gay
man himself, a closeted gay man, he connected with the words, he connected
with the struggle and the rage.  His friends, even though he had sucked off
most of them when they were kids, including his cousin, were as homophobic
as they come.  They had to be.  It was part and parcel for the good fella's
persona that they had to carry off.  It never occurred to them that Ernesto
could be gay because he was masculine, athletic, and he had women swooning
over him every time he walked in a room.  The stuff that happened when they
were younger was just boys being boys, and they would never admit to anyone
the experimentation they had done as kids so his secret was pretty safe.

As he emerged from the bowels of the train system, into the humid night air
of Greenwich Village, except for the fact that it was dark, it could have
been 11:00 in the afternoon instead of 11:00 at night.  The streets were
bustling with activity, packed with people out doing anything and
everything you could think of.  He made his way to the courts and just
watched the first two games.  Ever since he could remember, he'd loved
Black men.  As cliche as it sounds, after his first Black lover, he had no
desire to be with another white man again so the old "once you go black"
adage was true in his case.  For the better part of 7 years he'd dated
Black men exclusively.  Sitting there, seeing all of those toned and
muscled bodies, gave him an even further appreciation of the Black male
form.  It wasn't a lustful appreciation, well, at least not in the overtly
sexual sense.  It was a profound and deep respect for not just their
physical bodies, but for the struggle they endured that he read about in
the pages of his book.

He was always certain to get picked for a team.  There's an unspoken code
that says that white boys who hang out on basketball courts are looking to
get served so people was always looking to school them make sure they play.
Three on three, half court, to 21, shirt vs. skins.  He was shirts and he
was playing the team who had just won the last game.  Skins got the ball
first and scored three points right off the bat.  Ernesto was guarding a
guy who had dominated the previous game and he knew he had to be tired so
he was body-checking and going toe to toe under the rim.  They were the
same height, even the same body type, but his opponent was the color of
caramel with a shiny bald head.  It was a queer guy's heaven, being able to
publicly run his hands over that smooth flesh, the rippling muscles,
sweaty, hard thighs pressed against his own.  It was all about the game for
Ernesto and he played hard, making sure everyone knew he was there to ball.
The guy Ernesto was guarding gave him an elbow and sent him to the ground.
There ain't no fouls in street ball so he was right back up and in the
game; he didn't miss a beat.  He got the ball and showed he had some
skills.  The other part of the unspoken code is, that when a white boy has
skills on the court, he becomes the unofficial court favorite, getting his
own cheering squad on the sidelines and everything.

The score was 19 to 20 with the skins leading and the shirts had the ball.
Dude was blocking him, checking him hard, when Ernesto got the ball in the
paint.  He pivoted and -- whoosh, nothing but net.  In the split second
right before the shot, he thought . . .  maybe he was mistaken, but he
could have sworn he felt ole boy grabbing for his dick.  Not just body
contact that happens during the course of a game, but actually palming his
crotch, almost caressing it.  It had happened so quickly and the score was
tied so he couldn't dwell on it.  The two adversaries stood toe to toe,
making intense eye contact.  The court lights made every drop of sweat
glisten on his shirtless opponent.  One of the skins sank the final shot
ending the game.  The entire court erupted in cheers and back slapping and
kudos about the great game.

Ernesto sat on the bench and pulled out his towel.  His book was on the top
of the bag so he sat it next to him.  While he was toweling off and
catching his breath, drinking a little Gatorade, he saw a hand reaching out
to him.

"Good game man, I'm impressed."

He extended his hand and looked up, "Yeah, congratulations, great game,"
Ernesto replied, still trying to catch his breath.

"Name's Flex.  Anytime you want to play a little game of pick up, let me
know, I'd love to have you on my team."  He smiled a gorgeous smile and
Ernesto looked up and then down, his eyes resting on the crotch directly
eye level in front of him.

"Your mom named you Flex," Ernesto asked, trying to sound aloof but still
out of breath and doing his best not to show it.

"My pops named me Eugene, Jr. but I'll beat somebody's ass if they call me
that.  So it's Flex."  They both laughed.

"Yeah, my name is Ernesto and we got problems if you call me Ernie, so I'm
really feeling you.  Here have a seat."  He moved his book out the way and
slid down a half a foot to let Flex sit down next to him.  They watched a
little bit of the next game in silence.

"You from around here," Flex asked?

"Nah, I live in Brooklyn,"

"Oh, I see."

That sat in silence some more, watching the game and neither one of them
willing to address what had happened on the court.  Ernesto figured he'd
been mistaken.  It was a physical game and maybe Flex didn't know he was
grabbing his dick.  Maybe he thought it was his arm or something.  That had
to be it.

"Is this your book?  Man, I love James Baldwin.  `I am what time,
circumstance, and history, have made of me, certainly, but I am also, much
more than that.'  Now that some deep shit right there."  Just then, it was
as if the wall of ice had been broken.  The two men started talking and
sharing and letting down their guards. They had a connection more than
sports and it was electric. "Are you busy right now, I mean, are you in a
rush to head back to Brooklyn, because I only live around the corner from
here.  We can go to my place and hang out if you want.  I'm not a serial
killer . . . any more, I promise."  They both laughed and Flex flashed that
gorgeous smile and before Ernesto knew what was happening, they were
walking towards 10th street and in a cute little studio apartment.  Flex
was a graphic designer for and advertising firm and had moved from his own
roots in Queens to his little apartment 7 years ago.

Once inside the apartment, the only place to sit comfortably was the futon.
Ernesto looked uncomfortable.  He didn't want to put his smelly, sweaty ass
on the sofa.  He was really feeling this guy and wanted to be invited back
and he didn't think that would make such a great first impression to leave
his scent, so to speak, so he was trying to figure out how he could sit on
the floor without looking like a dork.

Flex came to the rescue before he could even process the thought completely
in his head.  "Hey, it's pretty hot out there; you can take a shower if you
want to cool off.  Guests first.  Here's a towel and everything's in the
bathroom you should need."  He dropped his gym bag by the door inside in
the small bathroom.  He took off his sweaty clothes and stepped in the
shower, feeling the warm water wash away the layer of sweat.  Shutting his
eyes, he thought back to the court.  Had he gotten his signals mixed?
Maybe Flex was just a nice guy who wanted to hang out; maybe he happened to
like James Baldwin because he was a great writer, not because he was a
great gay Black writer.  Maybe that hand caressing his dick wasn't really
caressing it; maybe it was just part of the game, maybe to make him miss
his shot.  Whatever it was, Ernesto was deep in thought, remembering the
feel of Flex's hand on his cock, the same cock that he had in his hand now
and was stroking, thinking about his sexy, sweaty new friend.

He shut his eyes tightly and started thinking all sorts of nasty thoughts,
jerking off and fantasizing.  A knock at the door shocked him back to
reality.

"Hey, don't mean to interrupt or anything," Flex yelled through the door,
but do you want something to drink?  A martini, a beer, a glass of wine,
water, Kool Aid.  Anything?"

"A beer's cool, thanks," he yelled back and quickly turned off the water to
dry off.  He didn't want to put the same stinky clothes back on so he tied
the towel around his waist and headed out to see if Flex had anything he
could put on.  His cock was still hard but he pushed it down and tried to
will it so stay soft.

That thought lasted an entire 1.5 seconds because when he opened the
bathroom door, he saw Flex, standing naked in front of the closet, grabbing
for a towel to put around him.  "Hey, how was the shower?"  He turned,
wrapped the towel around himself and, not waiting for an answer, he said,
"Your beer is on the coffee table, make yourself at home, I'll be right
back, I need to take a shower myself."

Ernesto was impressed with the tiny apartment.  His music collection was
eclectic but mostly all Black: jazz, blues, R&B, hip hop, even some gospel.
The art on the walls was amazing and inspecting further, he saw that most
were signed with the name Flex.  Because the place was so small, every
square inch of space was utilized.  Oddly enough, the place didn't look
cluttered at all; it might have been small on space but it was big on
style.  The timer on the oven went off and Flex was still in the shower so
he decided to take out whatever was in there.  He opened the door and a
fantastic aroma came wafting out.  He pulled out the dish and it was some
sort of dip that had been heated to go with the tri colored chips that had
been put out on a platter.  Ernesto was blown away.  "This guy can play
ball, he can quote James Baldwin, he has a great apartment, he's creative,
he can cook and he's sexy as hell.  Damn, I think I just met my future
husband," he said under his breath.

"What did you say?  Oh good, I'm glad you pulled that out. Thanks."  Flex
looked even more amazing fresh from the shower with his towel around his
waist.  Ernesto didn't bother answering his question and instead took the
tray and set it on the coffee table while Flex was opening up the futon.
"Here, this will be more comfortable.  Have a seat, take a load off."

The two men lounged on the futon, talking about everything under the sun,
sharing details about their lives, drinking beer, listening to music,
eating.  It was very apparent that Flex was gay, out, and very confident in
his sexuality, so much so, he didn't even make it an issue.  Because
Ernesto was so ruled by his hidden identity, everything had more impact on
him, he had to analyze and dissect everything as if there was a hidden
meaning behind it.  When Flex offered to let him spend the night, he didn't
know if it was a sexual invitation or not; he didn't know how to respond.

Flex could sense his hesitation and he left the question open for him to
decide.  He got up, turned off all the lights, lit a few candles and came
back, this time, taking off his towel and letting it fall to the floor.  He
stood there for a few seconds, letting his new friend take everything in.
"Does this make you uncomfortable?"  Ernesto shook his head but didn't say
a word.  He climbed back on the futon, this time even closer to Ernesto.
His heart started beating faster, the blood started pumping in his veins;
he was being seduced.  Flex reached out to kiss him softly; Ernesto forgot
to close his eyes; he wanted to see everything.  The kiss was soft and
gentle and in many ways atypical of most of kisses Ernesto had ever shared
with someone.  Usually the men he was with were closeted, intent on proving
their masculinity, on dominating the proverbial white man behind closed
doors, playing up the thug/Mandingo role.  He let his eyes close gently,
experiencing the kiss with the rest of his senses.  He could smell the
clean scent of Flex's skin, still fresh from the shower; he could feel the
softness of his lips against his own.  He could taste his tongue gently
exploring his mouth and he could hear the soft moan escape from his own
lips in awe of the sensations he was feeling.

"Okay, Mr. Massage therapist," Flex said, "let me check out some of your
magic," as he pulled away from the sensual kiss.  He stretched out on his
stomach, adding, "Let's see if you can work out some of this tension I have
in my shoulders."

Ernesto said, "Hold on, let me get my bag." He returned a few seconds later
with a special blend of massage oil he used for work.  This time, he also
took off his towel and let it fall to the floor as well, exposing his cock
that had been half hard since they left the courts.  Flex didn't even look,
he had his head resting on his arms and his eyes closed, waiting for his
massage.  Ernesto straddled his legs and looked down at the gorgeous body
he was about to caress.  He warmed the oil on his hands and started at the
shoulders, aroused by the contrast in skin colors.  Flex let out a moan and
shifted a little but he didn't say a word.  Working his way downwards, he
found the spots that were tight and loosened them; he rubbed the sore
muscles and left that smooth brown skin glowing in the candlelight.  He
worked his way further down, hesitating for a few moments before he started
massaging the full, round ass cheeks of his new friend.  Flex let out more
of a moan and started grinding his hips more, even adjusting himself to
make his thickening tool more comfortable under him.  Grabbing the bottle
of oil, he drizzled it on his skin and started massaging those magnificent
mounds of flesh.  He wanted to stroke his own cock, now fully erect, but he
didn't, he was intent on doing a good job, better than he'd ever done
before.

He worked his way down Flex's thighs and even used a few reflexology
techniques on his feet.  "Here, do the fronts of my legs now, I'm sore from
that workout you gave me earlier."  He turned over and Ernesto couldn't
move.  Flex flashed that gorgeous smile again but that paled in comparison
to the body of perfection before him.  Shoulders that were broad leading
down to muscular toned arms, a hairless, well-developed chest and six pack
abs that looked like a washboard.  His dick stood up straight and tall and
his balls were resting on his thighs.  Ernesto didn't even want to look at
the rest of him; he just wanted to drink in the beauty of that magnificent
hard cock.

Flex teased him, stroking it casually with his other arm behind his head.
"You like that?  Go ahead, touch it."  He put his other arm behind his head
and repeated, "Go ahead, it won't bite."

Ernesto swallowed hard and held the shaft in his hands.  The heat from it
was incredible and the thickness was impressive to say the least.  He
grabbed it at the base and brought his hand all the way to the top,
twisting his hand just a bit for a little more stimulation.  Flex moaned
his approval and licked his lips.  "Don't stop," was all he said.  Putting
more oil on his hands, Ernesto started stroking more, bringing him to full
hardness, coaxing out precum from the head of that delicious looking cock.

"Go ahead, suck it, you know you want to, suck my dick."  The confidence
that oozed from Flex made the situation that much more intense, more erotic
and Ernesto felt light headed.  He wasn't being rude or domineering, he was
just sure of himself, uninhibited.

Ernesto positioned himself between Flex's legs, stroking him some more,
teasing him, and Flex spread his legs to accommodate him.  Fingering his
balls and holding them up, he started his mouth job there, licking and
gently sucking his nuts.  Rolling them around in his fingers, he was
getting them wet with saliva and licking the sensitive sacks.  Flex
appreciated the attention to his balls and let him know how good it felt.
"Oh shit, it's been a long time since someone paid attention to my balls
like that.  Damn, that feels so good. Ohhhh yeah."  He grabbed his knees,
pulled them to his chest, giving Ernesto better access.  Stopping
momentarily to catch his breath, he put one testicle in his mouth and
started flicking his tongue back and forth rapidly.  Flex could barely
breathe it felt so good.  "Damn, if you suck my balls that good, I can't
even imagine how good it's going to feel when you suck my dick and eat my
ass."

Anxious to get to both of those tasks, he said, "Which of those things
would you prefer I do first?"  Flex's dick jumped at those words, his mind
reeling with all the erotic possibilities.

Flex grabbed his dick at the base, tapping the head against Ernesto's lips,
teasing him.  His instructions were clear.  "Suck my dick."

Not needing any more of an invitation, Ernesto set about his task.  He
replaced Flex's hand with his own and started stroking it, using massage
techniques to stimulate spots that would make Michelangelo's David squirm.
Using his tongue, he began softly licking the head, swirling it around and
flicking it gently at the hole.  Flex moved his hands down to Ernesto's
head, but not to face fuck him or force him down on his swollen member, but
to hold his hair out of the way in order to see the expert job he was
doing.  He licked up and down the sides, getting the shaft wet, running his
tongue over every vein.  Flex couldn't help but show his appreciation by
moaning.  Lowering his mouth on that beautiful column of flesh, he took
just half of it in his mouth.  He started sucking it like a baby would suck
a nipple making sure to grip the base of the cock firmly in his hand.  He
took his tongue and started swirling it around the head and shaft and
increasing the suction on his sucking.  Moving his hand away, he started
bobbing up and down on the cock, taking it further and further into his
mouth each time.  He was getting it wetter and wetter, taking the head to
the back of his throat.  Flex could do nothing but grip the sheets for dear
life and moan, "Holy fuck, damn, shit, that's some good shit.  Oh my god
that feels so good."

Just when he thought it couldn't feel any better, Ernesto relaxed his
throat muscles and let the head of Flex's thick cock go several inches
down.  His lips could feel the tickle of his hair so he knew he had
accomplished his mission of taking his full length.  Then, he decided to
perform his magic, he started bobbing up and down, from the head to the
base, taking him deep in his throat every time.  Spit was dripping down his
balls and Flex was breathing so hard he thought he might hyperventilate.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.  I can't take much more of that.  Damn,
where did you . . .  oh shit, you are going to make me cum before the party
even starts."  Flex sat up a little bit and the look of sheer panic on
Ernesto's face was evident.  "Hey, what's wrong?  What's going on in that
pretty head of yours?"

"I just wanted to make you feel good, that's all."  What he really wanted
to say was, "I am used to guys using my mouth as many times as they want
and I feel like I've failed if I didn't make you cum."

"You did make me feel good.  Too good in fact, that was incredible.  I just
didn't want to nut too soon.  I like to make things last, go slow, you
know."  He leaned over and kissed Ernesto again, as gently and as tenderly
as before.  Flex lay down on the bed, pulling Ernesto on top of him.  Their
kissing became more urgent, more passionate.  Their tongues and lips were
sucking and licking, their dicks were sensually rubbing against one
another.  Flex was caressing his hands along Ernesto's spine, grabbing his
ass, spreading his cheeks and teasing his hole with his fingertips.

Ready to take things to the next level, Ernesto said, "I want to feel your
big cock in my pussy.  Fuck me."  Quickly repositioning himself, he crawled
to the foot of the bed, got on his knees, and looked back over his shoulder
and said in a lust-filled daze, "Fuck me."  He gripped the frame of the
futon tightly, prepared to get his asshole savagely fucked but what he felt
was entirely different than the searing pain/pleasure he was anxiously
anticipating.  "Nooo," he hollered out.

Flex had repositioned himself as well.  He was laying between Ernesto's
thighs underneath him and sucking his dick.  He wrapped his arms around
Ernesto's back and held him in place while he delivered some equally
spectacular head to his new lover.  Try as he might, Ernesto could not pull
away and he felt his body succumb to the oral pleasures he was receiving.
"No, no, no, no," was all he could say.  He thought to himself, "Can't he
tell that I'm a bottom, whose only use and purpose is to serve and please?"
Flex was fucking with the entire fabric of the universe.  Ernesto got his
pleasure, alone, in the solitude of his bed in shame and in silence, long
after the sexual experience was over, reliving it in his mind, jerking off
to how he had pleased his lover, how he had been the perfect bottom, never
expecting any pleasure whatsoever.  Flex couldn't hear any of that internal
dialogue, all he was doing was focusing on tasting Ernesto's dripping
precum and returning the sensual favor.

The roles had changed again, this time with Ernesto trying to change the
direction of things.  He was able to pull away and this time he lay back on
the bed and spread his legs, holding them up and pleading with his new
lover to be fucked.  "Ram that big dick in my pussy, fuck me hard.  FUCK
THE SHIT OUT OF ME.  Come on, daddy, I need it so bad. Pound that meat in
my slutty asshole and make me beg for more.  I'll be your little whore
daddy.  Spit on that hole and make it nice and wet and shove that fucker in
me and make it hurt."

What happened next sent a chill of panic and pleasure through Ernesto's
body.  Before he could realize what was happening, he felt the soft, gentle
tongue of Flex exploring his hole, kissing it, licking it, tongue fucking
it.  He'd never felt that sensation before in his life.  He grabbed his
knees and pulled them closer to his chest, exposing his hole even more.
All he could feel was the warm, wet sensation of that probing tongue and
while his head wanted to say, "Stop." His mouth was saying, "Oh shit, that
feels so fucking good, don't you dare stop."  As many times as he'd rimmed
his lovers before, he never imagined that being on the receiving end could
feel so damned sexy.

Flex, inspired by his lover's words, didn't disappoint.  He licked and
sucked and tongue fucked that hole, making it wet and ready.  He got on his
knees and aimed his bloated dick at that sexy hole.  He teased it, teased
him, but rubbing his head on that hole.  Just before he pushed it in, he
leaned down and whispered in Ernesto's ear, "I want you so fucking bad."
They kissed again and Ernesto felt the head of Flex's cock enter him.  It
was slow, steady, calculated and giving him pleasure in every cell of his
fucking body.  They were grunting and sweating again as the pace was slow
and agonizingly sensual.  Ernesto was being made love to and he knew it.
He used his fingertips to softly explore Flex's body while the two worked
out a rhythm.  Flex stroked, Ernesto squeezed, they fucked each other like
gorgeous wild animals.  The pounding became more intense, the stroking
harder, deeper.  Their moans grew wilder and their kissing more frenzied.

Flex pulled out and replaced his dick with his mouth, tonguing out that
gaping, well- fucked hole.  Ernesto made a sound that couldn't be
described.  It was the singular most erotic, nasty, sensual feeling he'd
had in his life.  He grabbed his cock and started pounding it furiously,
ready to spew his load then and there.  Flex had other plans.  Grabbing the
bottle of massage oil, he flipped the top open and poured it on Ernesto's
prick.  Ernesto held his breath, almost sure he knew what was going to
happen next but terrified to think about it.

Flex moved into position and straddled his body.  He could feel his cock
rubbing between those full, round ass cheeks.  In that moment, in his mind,
Ernesto outted himself.  He knew that he could no longer remain in the
closet; he realized that he has handicapped himself by not being able to
love whomever he wanted freely.  He knew that he could not keep his secret
any longer to anyone.  In the darkness of his self imposed closet, he was a
submissive bottom.  In the light of his sexual freedom, he was a man who
loved other men.  His revelation was distracted by the feel of his cock
penetrating Flex's tight asshole.  He felt the ring of his ass gripping
every millimeter of his erection, squeezing it.  He looked up to see a look
of sheer pleasure and bliss on Flex's face, unencumbered by roles of top or
bottom, just expressing his sexuality freely and genuinely.

With his ass settled down on Ernesto's body, Flex started grinding and
winding his ass, using his ass muscles to work that hot dick.  Ernesto
grabbed his hips and started thrusting, fucking him back, working his dick
in harder, trying to go deeper.  Flex started bouncing up and down on his
dick, riding him hard.  The look on his face was one of pure bliss.
Ernesto shut his eyes and got lost in the sensation, "Oh Flex, I love
. . . this, I love this."  He really wanted to say I love you.  It was as
if every fiber of his being wanted to profess his love for the man who was
giving him pleasure in ways he'd never imagined.

Flex leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I love you too."  Both of them
knew it was the lust talking, both of them knew intellectually that it
couldn't be love based on a couple of hours. Both of them knew that there
was a connection there that would last well past a one night stand or
casual sex as well.

Using his muscular arms, Ernesto flipped Flex over and placed him on his
knees.  Flex looked back and said, "Fuck me, ram that dick in me."  They
both groaned as Ernesto pushed the entire length of his cock in that hot
hole and started pounding away.  It was pure, unbridled, sensuous fucking.
He gripped that brown flesh and pulled him closer, he could see the
contrast in skin color, the way Flex's asshole would grip his cock as he
slid in and out, faster, harder, deeper, faster still, harder, using every
muscle in his body to give pleasure.  He was hitting that hot spot, making
Flex moan like a little bitch.  The way his cock felt, surrounded by that
hot, tight ring, he was cursing in a string of Italian and English and what
seemed like another primal language only understood by lovers.

He could feel the cum about to explode from his cock.  He began pistoning
his cock in and out, harder than he thought he was capable of doing.  Flex
was taking it all and begging for more.  He crushed Flex beneath him and
used his ass to pump and pound, His fingers intertwined with Flex as he
unloaded his cum deep inside him.

Six months later, Flex and Ernesto stood as a testament to true interracial
gay love.  They didn't flaunt their sexuality but they certainly didn't
hide it either.  All of his friends in Brooklyn disowned him, wouldn't
speak to him again.  They would have been a little more tolerant of the
idea if Flex hadn't been Black but they couldn't get it out of their minds
that their friend, their paesano, was the bitch to a black guy.  It was
beyond their comprehension that the two were far more than top and bottom,
they were reciprocal, versatile lovers with no roles or labels.

Copyright 2007 AfroerotiK

 Tired of seeing black women being portrayed as ghetto bitches, freaks and
whores, and black men as barely literate thugs, bulls, and pimps, Scottie
Lowe decided it was time to show black people in a positive sexual
light. Ms. Lowe is the sole owner and founder of www.AfroerotiK.com, a
company dedicated to eradicating the negative and stereotypical depictions
of Black sexuality and providing customized, personalized erotic stories
for and about people of color.  Her innovative approach to writing Black
erotica is shattering misperceptions and opening the doors to dialogue
about subjects long considered taboo.