Date: Fri, 1 Mar 2013 10:55:42 -0800 (PST) From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com> Subject: HUSTLER TALES 5 These are short stories about male prostitution, "one night stands" involving guys. If the idea of that turns you off, or if you are underage, please read no further. Otherwise, please enjoy. All characters and events are fictional. You can reach the author at macoutmann@yahoo.com. He appreciates your input and will answer all your emails. Reading the story is free, but if you wish to keep this service available to all, please make a contribution to nifty.org. Thank you. HUSTLER TALES V BACK HOME by Macout Mann Like they say, "There's no place like home." Home's Atlanta, but now when I'm there I stay with my older brother. Me and my folks don't get along. Nathan knows I hustle but he don't give a shit. In the daytime, I think the best hustling's at Grant Park. I say that 'cause that's where I got started. About eight years ago. South of downtown off Broadway, it's got a lot going on. The zoo's there, the Atlanta Cyclorama. Wandering around you don't attract a lot of attention, but guys looking for action can find you pretty easy. The other big park, Piedmont, is north of downtown. It's fancier. Up there a guy like me's more likely to get stopped by a passing cop than a john. At night, I stick to downtown. I'll ramble from the library up Peachtree to Ponce de Leon, turn around at the Georgian Terrace Hotel or the Fox and head back. Sometimes I'll attract some dude staying at one of the hotels like the Hyatt. Lots of cars cruisin' by too. Some guys hang out up at Lenox Square or around Buckhead. Not me. Too fancy. They say Underground Atlanta used to be good. Pretty crappy these days. I was passing by one of the Grant Park tea rooms the other morning, and this huge black dude comes along. Now I don't mean huge like obese; I mean huge like a fucking linebacker. "Hey," he calls out, just like he knows me, "what'cha up to, Mac?" He's wearing a tailored white shirt with a black tie and black pants. Looks like a fucking preacher. Turns out he is. "Uh?" I respond. "You don't remember me, Mac?" He shakes my hand, almost crushes it. "Reverend Dewayne Griffin." He winks and I think I get the message. "Oh, sure," I say, "I was just thinkin' about somethin' else...brother." "Let's have a Coke," he offers. And he puts his arm around me and guides me toward a refreshment stand. When we get there, he lets go of my shoulder and lets his big palm brush my ass. He keeps talking like he wants everybody in town to hear what he's saying, until we get our Cokes and sit down at a table. Then he's very quiet. "I've seen you before," he says. "I know what you're looking for. Come back to my church with me, and I'll make it worth your while." "Wait a minute." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You're saying you wanna have sex with me?" "What's the matter? You never been with a black guy?" "Aint that. I just never been with a preacher!" He broke into a big grin. Showed the whitest teeth I'd ever seen. "We all got urges, man. The Lord knows all about it. He made us in his image, you know." I smiled right back. "I aint got no hangups, if you don't. Fifty bucks?" "I aint got much time. I suck you. You suck me. I bring you back here. Twenty five?" "Twenty five." We get up and head toward his car. His voice gets loud again. "I'll show you what I'm talking about back at the church." When his caddie turned into Broadway, he reached over to rub my groin. "Don't sqeeze too hard," I said, "I may wanna have kids one of these days." "Oh, I'm very gentle," he replied. "But lemme see whatcha got." I unzipped and pulled out my prong. He was gentle. Got it up in no time. "You got a pretty big dick for a white boy," he teased. "I aint never had no complaints," I answered. We pulled up at the Zion Chapel Baptist Church. "Better tuck it back in 'til we get inside," he told me, as if I wouldn't anyway. A pretty little black gal was at the desk inside. "We'll be up in the pastor's study, Magda," he said in passing. "Don't wanna be interrupted." Upstairs, he locked the door and stripped me bare. Wasn't hard to do. Took me longer to get his clothes off, ending with his silk boxers. What they say about black dudes' dicks is sure as shit true. It stuck out a fucking foot. I wasn't sure I could get my mouth around it. I knew damned well I couldn't take it all. He went down on me first. I got on my back down on the rug. He was so fucking tall that with him on his knees and me standing up, he'd still be kissing my chest. Shit, was he good! I was seeing stars. But after a couple of minutes, he stopped and ordered me to do him. I obeyed. I could take his tip with no problem. I opened as wide as I could and sucked in as much of the monster as I could. Tried to use my tongue to help stimulate his knob. I beat the base with my hand as I slid my lips up and down his shaft. We switched off again. This time as he ate my bone, he pinched my tits and rubbed my gut. I blew an unbelievable wad down his throat. He swallowed most of it. A little overflow dripped down into my pubes. I tried to pleasure him as much as he had me. His grunts told me I wasn't failing. I slurped down as much of his shlong as I could, and when he came, I gagged big time. But I drank his cum like he'd drunk mine. And he said I sucked dick good "for a white boy." I told him he sucked as good as anybody I'd ever been with. We dressed. He paid me. He took me back to Grant Park and dropped me at the Broadway gate. Said he'd like to get together again. I still thought it was strange, him being a preacher and all. Well, at least he wasn't hitting on the altar boys. But I guess Baptists don't have altar boys, do they? I walked back to the same refreshment stand and used the five spot he'd given me for a hot dog and another Coke. Then I went to take a piss. I did need one. There was a dude with salt and pepper hair, grey slacks and a blue blazer at one of the urinals. I went to the one next to him. No reason to be shy. I always open my fly all the way; so if anybody's interested, they can see all I've got and that I aint got nothing but skin under my jeans. That turns a lot of guys on. I glanced over and noticed that he was already hard. When I finished pissing, he started playing with his. I didn't move. "Nice," he said. "Thanks," I replied. "Uh...oh, I mean the Cyclorama. I just came from there. I'm visiting from Houston." Funny. A guy's got his hand on his stiff dick, but he's not willing to talk about the one thing that's on his mind. "Yeah," I keep the conversation going. "Biggest oil painting in the world, they say." "And so much history! My great, great, grandfather was in the Battle of Atlanta." "Stupid fucking war, I think." I turned to face him. Weatherbeaten face, clean shaven, maybe fifty, he's a mark if I ever saw one. I grabbed my dick and said, "You want this or not?" "You have anyplace to go?" "Nah. You?" "No. I'm heading back to Texas in a little while." "If you got a car, there's some deserted streets around here." "Oh? That would work." "It'll cost ya twenty bucks." "I don't pay for sex!" he spat. Haughty motherfucker. "No pay, no play," I laughed. Zipped up and took off. Can't win 'em all. Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.