Date: Sat, 11 Jul 2015 09:15:46 -0400
From: robin reed <robinreed1951@gmail.com>
Subject: The Passion Pit

This is a story about the high school awakening of sexual relationships.
The Standard Disclaimer applies here: this story features graphic
depictions of sexual activity between men. If such material is
inappropriate for the jurisdiction where you live, please exit immediately.
This is a work of fiction and the author strongly recommends following safe
sexual practices. This is, as I said, a work of fiction, though I sigh when
I recall how much of it is so true.

This is copyrighted material and may not be used without explicit
permission of the author. I don't mind if you save it to your hard drive
and use the contents to enhance your own pleasure.

Also: NIFTY has been an invaluable resource for hundreds of thousands of
GLBT folks for years. They need your support. Please consider a generous
donation to keep their vital mission of passion, equality and lust going
strong. You know how important this is.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

_____________

The Passion Pit

There are times and there are people that constitute the pivot-points in
life, sudden and dramatic tectonic shifts the course of the rivers of our
lives from everything that comes after.

I am not unlike you. I'm a queer of a certain age, but I forget that when I
am not forced to look in a mirror. When I wake in the night I am the same
as I have always been, young and lean, and with that chestnut brown hair
with the bangs that flip up at the end.

Blue eyes like a mountain lake. Not rheumy and ringed with a pale yellow. A
nice, solid cock, thick around and cut so the tip is proud and prominent,
and it can spit fierce man-cum five times in an encounter.

I forget that when I rise and hobble the first few steps from the bed
toward the bathroom. I don't wear my glasses when I am in front of the
mirror. Sometimes it takes a while to remember to put them on. Only when I
have to read something do I remember that I have to wear glasses at all.

But I am lucky to be alive, and that is where Joe comes in. His deep set
eyes and rich lashes began the tremors of what became a torrent in my life.
Only later did I know how pivotal he was.

Joe was the first boy I had a crush on. He was in my band class. He was
slight and a little dreamy. He wore straight-legged corduroy pants and
tie-shoes, which was an epithet in those days. It meant that your parents
would not trust you to dress yourself, or they were afraid you would grow
pigeon-toes. He had fine sandy hair and he wore glasses with thick frames,
but I could see the fine dark lashes that made his gaze sweeter than any of
the girls.

He was shy and diffident and he held himself with this thin shoulders back.
He usually wore a cardigan sweater, even when it was warm. I made me think
that he was sheltering himself from something.

I couldn't tell him I had a crush on him. The whole thing confused me. Our
middle school students were just starting to pair off and date. We did that
then, rather than what the kids do now, which is to run in a pack and
hook-up when necessary.

We were much more linear in those days. I went on a couple dates because
that is what we were supposed to do. I remember the new couples sneaking
off to the furnace room to neck by the machinery at the first boy-girl
parties, and I remember my first kiss from a girl.

It was exotic, that first brush with passion, that fumbling around. But
what confused me was what I thought about when I masturbated in my bed at
night. I tried to think of the girls at school naked, or of the Playboy
women in the magazines we stole from the store because that is what was
expected of us.

But I found myself thinking of little Joe, and what his cock might look
like, and if it was as long and elegant as the fingers I saw him run up the
neck of his violin in band class.

They said that Joe's Dad had played professional football, that he was as
rough and tough as they came. I heard that he came down to watch us
practice on the football field in the fall, and I heard once that he made a
comment about my aggressive press to cut to the head of the line in the
hitting drills.

But I never knew precisely what he looked like, and I never could put a
face to him.

I could not imagine that Joe's fair skin and delicate features came from a
man that had played in Soldier Field on a Sunday.

The kids were not kind to kids who were different. They called Joe a sissy,
and a homo, and other cruel things. Sometimes I thought I should defend
him, but I could never figure out how to say it in a way that wouldn't have
my big rough friends call me the same thing.

I could imagine it clearly: "Oh, so you like the little faggot? You a homo,
too, Robert?"

I thought about a lot of things when I jerked off. But I always thought
about Joe, one way or another in the days I waited to get my drivers
license and start the road to being a grown-up.

I used to have a fantasy that I would consider as I waited for the drum
part to begin in band class. I would be watching his fingers dance up the
neck of his violin, and I imagined my cock being massaged by my fingers. It
would get me hard in class, but I didn't care, since my snare drum blocked
my crotch from view.

I wondered if I could write him an anonymous note, say that someone who
cared about him was wearing some unique piece of clothing, maybe a tie or a
particular color sweater. Then I would see him the next day in school, in
the hall perhaps, and he would imagine me looking at him from the back of
the band, or in the math class we shared.

And it would not be until the end of the day that he would ask if it was me
who sent the note. Sometimes in my fantasy I told him, and sometimes I was
cruel.

The fantasy I liked was that I nodded and smiled and told him I thought he
was handsome and would he like to walk home from school with me. When I was
really hard, and ready to spew all over myself, I imagined what it would be
like if we went to his house and it was empty and we could kiss and take
our clothes off and rub our cocks together.

But I could never figure out how it got beyond that, or how I could live in
the world I had to live in and be a part of his at the same time.

Reality in 1966 was a lot different than it is now.

I played football, hung around with my idiot buddies who joked about what I
secretly desired. I would see Joe at the big high school where we went
after middle school, but I dropped out of band and only saw him
occasionally in the crowded halls and in my masturbatory imagination.

I got decent enough grades to get into IU and as it turned out, the summer
before college was the time I finally found a man like me, and became what
I knew I was already, a practicing fucking homo. It was supposed o be a big
deal, but I didn't look at it that way. It was just part of me I had to
protect. I couldn't wait to get clear of all this bullshit and be free.

Men on the Moon

It was going to be a wasted summer. It had somehow become 1969, the height
of the crazy decade of sex, drugs and rock and roll that didn't actually
end until the big Oil Crunch in 1973. I'll never forget the night the whole
party ended, and just as a matter of personal bookmarks, it was when Tricky
Dick Nixon came on the tube and told us to drive 55 miles-an-hour to save
fuel.

I almost got killed the next morning trying to do it, run down by angry
white guys in big cars on the Dan Ryan Expressway the next morning. "I
can't drive 55" became a mantra, even though they tried to make us do it,
self righteous assholes.

There were music festivals, and dope, and loud music and I was going to be
off to college soon. I was interested in the concepts of the Age of
Aquarius, though I hadn't seen much of it in the mid-western town I found
myself stuck in.

It was a great time to be alive, but my toes were tapping. I wanted to get
on with life.

I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big City. My family had
moved because of my Dad's reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old
brick city filled with the descendants of the hardy block-headed Dutch who
populated this part of the state. It was staid and boring.

On the upside, it was easy to get alcohol. On the downside there was nobody
to drink it with. I had passable fake ID and it was not hard to get a six
pack to drink in the field out in back of the house. And of course there
were the racks of Dad's home-made wine in the basement.

He fancied himself quite the vintner and had custom labels made up and
liked to give the stuff away when he took Mom to parties. When he decanted
it from the barrel, he used all manner of bottles and consequently there
was no particular rhyme or reason to it and it was easy to take the odd
bottle from the garage.

I was as excited as anyone that summer, following the flight of the Eagle
to the moon. They went in July of that summer and on July 20 at 4:18 p.m.
EDT, the Lunar Module touched down on the Moon. At 10:56 p.m., Neil
Armstrong jumped off the Lander. "That's one small step..." cracked the TV.


Sure was, I thoguht. I was ready for one, too. A giant leap, in fact.

In between I lay in my bed and gazed out the window where the moon hung
silver in space.

I couldn't quite believe it. Interplanetary travel seemed to be possible. I
wondered everything was the same way, possible. I was horny all the time.
It did not take much to tent my trousers.

I wondered about a lot of things. Women. They were such impenetrable
beings. I thought about the airbrushed Playboy images as I stroked myself,
and thought about the strange fortress undergarments they wore under the
mini-skirts when they shot us a look in High School. They all seemed to
wear the same severe foundation garments, of a sort. It was the mid-West
after all.

But the way they crossed their legs under the desks and that resolute
aspect of their crotches filled me with wonder, and a certain amount of
dread.

It wasn't like that with the guys. I used to love Phys Ed, and the shower
afterwards. I could see that I stacked up pretty well with the other guys,
and  often found myself thinking of what it would be like to see a guy as
hard as I was.

I laid on my back on my bed and looked at the moon through the window. I
thought of Playboy images with airbrushed pneumatic women. But increasingly
I found myself daydreaming about hard penises. I had found a copy of the
shocking Victorian story of Fanny Hill by a fellow named John Cleland. It
was in my father's remote library, in his shop, concealed with the
magazines he kept tucked away that I liked to examine once I had discovered
their location.

It was quite a revelation. The heroine of the book was Fanny, and she was
poked and prodded by all manner of lusty rakes. I found it curious that I
found myself wishing to be on her end of things rather than being one of
the horny lads. I inserted a candle in my ass one day to see what she
experienced. I pulled it in and out just like the fat cocks that filled
Fanny up on nearly every page.

I didn't understand why this felt so good, or why I was so attracted to the
idea of having it in me. It just felt good, and seemed to touch something
deep inside me that tingled. God, it felt good. In fact, when I stroked
myself I clenched my tight ring around the smooth intruder and my balls
boiled, I shot Technicolor plumes that arced from the tip of my straining
cock and hit me in the face.

This night, I looked at the Moon and stroked my eager member, thinking of
astronauts and hard dicks. Mine rose to the occasion for the second time
that day, spewing hot milk on my hand. I shuddered with the intensity of
the release.

In the silvery light I licked the back of my right hand, tasting my warm
seed. It was slippery, with a slightly sweet musky taste and a hint of
something else that made my throat tingle, seeming to close it of its own
volition.

It was powerful stuff. I knew that. For sure.

The Men's Department

I was up late with everyone else the night man landed on the moon and was
tired when I drove my little red VW Beetle to the Mall the next day.

The department store I had worked for back home had an outlet here, and I
was able to secure a job selling clothes. They were stricter here in the
smaller town, more formal, but I got the same employee discount on clothes
and I enjoyed interacting with the customers. I was a born salesman, and so
long as I moved product, the management left me alone.

This morning the Manager of the men's department caught me early. I had a
cigarette going in one of the dressing rooms, so I tried to sidle away from
him and put it out. He was a nerdy type, a little old maid guy. He grasped
me on the upper arm to keep me fixed

in place.

"Listen," he said. "We have a new employee coming in today."

"O.K." I said. "I can handle that."

"No." He scowled. "This is different. He is a Negro."

I gave him a puzzled look. I had worked with black people all the time back
home.

"Our first Negro," he said, as if I was supposed to understand the enormity
of it.

"O.K.," I said again. "I'll try to be nice."

He gave me one of those looks. "I just don't want any problems that would
reflect badly on the Men's Department."

I promised him that I would be on my best behavior and got back to stub out
my cigarette before it fell out of the ashtray and caused a fire. Now THAT
would reflect badly on the Men's Department, I thought.

I straightened up and killed time through the first hour of opening.
Sometimes, on sale days, things started out with a rush. Sometimes the
men's Department was as silent as a tomb. Today was one of the latter, and
it seemed like even if men where on the Moon, it was going to be an endless
summer.

And it was not going to be one with surfboards, even if that surf
documentary came around to the movie theaters again.

I could see taking off for something completely different. I wanted to go.



Alexander the Great


The Negro my boss had warned me about arrived just before lunch.

I don't know what I had been expecting. He had been so concerned about the
racial thing, I thought it might be some dark skinned H. Rap Brown thug. I
knew that wasn't true. I had been working with the black guys on the
loading dock and in the parking shack since I was fifteen and could get my
work papers.

I knew they were just people, and when the summer of '67 and '68 came with
all the riots I gained a deep respect for what they had to deal with,
things I had no comprehension about. So even if this person was a tough guy
I was confident I could get along with him.

I was selling a pair of jeans to a woman who had a disinterested pimply kid
in tow when I heard my name being called. I completed the transaction,
closed the register, and slid the pants into a sack with the Department
Store logo on it and turned around.

My nerd manager had a tall young man with him. I took an involuntary
breath. His skin had the rich color of caramel, just lighter than a the
sweet rich cup of cafe au lait with which I started my mornings. His hair
was a sort of light brunette in a million tight curls, cut close on the
sides and rising a little on top. He was the essence of style.

His eyes were the strangest shade of hazel and his aristocratic nose had
just a hint of African flare. I was stunned. This was no Negro. This young
man looked like the pictures of Malcom X when he was still Detroit Red.

"Bob," I want you to meet Alexander. He will be joining the staff here
today and I want you to show him the ropes. How to open up and close out."

"I'd be happy to" I said, hoping I didn't look too startled. "Nice to meet
you, Alex."

He smiled and I saw radiant white teeth behind his lips that were not much
fuller than mine. Just rich and sensuous.

"I prefer Alexander," he said softly "But just don't call me late for
dinner." He finished the joke with a smile and I grinned right back.

"Alexander it is," I said. "Sorry."

The manager looked at us and pursed his lips. "I'll handle the register
here. Why don't you show him the break room and where he can get some lunch
if he is hungry. We have a half hour for lunch here, no more, and two
fifteen minute breaks."

"We are very organized here" I said. "We run a tight department."

The manager knew I was ribbing him but he let it go. He was such a wimp.
"Come on, Alexander. Let me show you the ropes." He smiled and we walked
off past the display counters and the suit racks. I pointed to the door
between the slacks and sports coats. "Back there are the dressing rooms. We
are supposed to keep an eye on them to make sure no one is doing any
shoplifting or tag-changing."

"Do you have much of that here?" asked Alexander in that soft voice. His
inflection rose on the word "that."

"Nah," I said. "Mostly we have hard-working blockhead Dutch in here. It is
a boring clientele." I paused. "I'm sorry, are you from around here? I
didn't mean anything by that."

"Goodness, no," he said firmly. "I am from Chicago. They sent me here for
the summer."

"Who did? The family?"

"Yeah," he responded with a sigh. "There were some issues. We have kin
here. I'll tell you about it sometime, if you are interested."

I found that interesting. I wondered if he had to cool off from something.
But that could come in time. "Let me show you the break room. It has the
only Coke machine on this side of the Mall." We took the escalator down to
the basement where we sold tools and patio crap. I don't know why the heavy
stuff was in the basement, but I just work there.

We looked at the Coke machine and the ultra-modern industrial microwave.
"That thing will cook a hot dog in about three seconds," I said. "And
sometimes the machine actually gets the ice right in the cup, unless it
turns it over and spills everything."

He laughed, a melodious sound like water flowing over smooth stones.

"I've seen worse," he said, eyes twinkling. "Now why don't you show me how
to work."

We went back upstairs and relieved the Nerd at the register. I showed him
the buttons to mash for "no sale" and how to do the credit vouchers and how
to place the card just so on the register plate so when you pressed the
handle the name and account number came through on the carbon. I showed him
the tally sheet we each had to fill out for all the sales we did, and how
we would close it out at the end of the day.

Since it was slow, we chatted through the afternoon. I found out he was
recently graduated, too. He was headed for college, though his family
wanted him to attend a historically black school in Washington DC rather
than the University of Illinois.

"Why is that?" I asked. I was headed there myself. I looked forward to the
challenge of the big campus and all the activity.

"They want me to be Black for a while, so that I don't forget."

That stopped me dead. I didn't know what to say, and preferred to say
nothing rather than something that might be inadvertently offensive.
Thankfully a 44-short suit customer showed up and I taught Alexander how to
mark up the cut job instructions for the tailor. That is the only part of
the job that is complicated. People come in such a variety of sizes.

Selling a suit is a big deal, with a lot of interplay with the customer. I
rang up the sale and then measured the stocky mans coat, marking with chalk
the hump where the jacket had to be taken in at the collar, and the rise
and inseam on the trousers. I always feel a little funny about that,
particularly when the guy is such a toad. Alexander seemed to think it was
amusing and grinned when I had completed the process, filled out the tag
and instructions, and thanked the man for his business.

The chunky man ambled away and I turned and said "What's so funny?"

"You are, Bob. I don't think you liked that man, and I think you are afraid
that I don't know I am a Negro."

"Shit, no, I didn't like him. He was a toad. But about the other part, I
don't want to hurt your feelings by saying something stupid."

"Like whether I can get a sunburn?" He paused and smiled. "I can, you know.
And that is because white men have been fucking the women in my family for
three hundred years."

I must have blushed. "It's O.K.," he said. "I didn't say you fucked them."

"It's complicated," I stammered.

"Yes, it is." he said gently. "For white people it is. But relax. Don't for
an instant think that we do not know what is going on around us. When you
are as light as my family is, you get it from both sides. Not white, and
not black enough to be authentic. In New

Orleans, we were aristocracy. Up North we are just colored folks that look
too white."

"Is that what happened to get you exiled here for the summer?"

"Something like that. Sometimes you get the double whammy."

I didn't know what he meant by that, but he touched me on the upper arm as
I looked up to see a family looking at the shirt counter. "Gotta go sell,"
I said, grateful at the opportunity to avoid the sudden honesty. "Maybe we
can catch a smoke in a while."

"I'd like that," he said. Then he smiled and I felt my stomach tighten.

I was glad it was busy. Alexander made his first sale, and I admired the
elegance of the way he bagged the shirts, the little flourish as he handed
it over as though it were a prize of great price and not just a couple
Arrow shirts. The late afternoon traffic stayed pretty brisk and it was
coming up on dinner when the Nerd told me he would keep Alexander and show
him how to close out, since he came in late and I had opened up. "OK," I
said, though I wouldn't have minded staying.

The Nerd said he would be writing a new work schedule to accommodate
Alexander's arrival and I said "good night" to the Nerd and told Alexander
that I looked forward to working with him.

He extended his hand and I noticed for the first time how slender and
graceful his fingers were. I did not clasp his palm in the death grip I
usually use. His touch was firm and his flesh supple and warm. I walked out
into the still-bright sun and found the car thinking about how he felt.

The vinyl seats were hotter than shit, and I roared home with the windows
down, wishing the little car has air conditioning. I took a swim and found
a place in the field out in back of the house to go drink a couple
semi-cold Pabst Blue Ribbons. I was daydreaming as the shadows grew longer
and night fell.

I was daydreaming about Alexander's fingers. I wondered if it were true,
about the proportional relationship between fingers and cock. And if all
the Caucasian blood had any effect on how big it was.

Shoot, I thought. I wonder if I am a fucking homo?

When I lay in my bed later, I got rock hard and images of him flashed
through my mind as I grunted and rubbed my throbbing dick. When I came, I
thought of him shooting all over me. When I licked it up, I imagined it was
his.

Shoot, I am a fucking homo, I thought.

Now what the fuck do I do about that?

The Passion Pit

I woke the next morning with an erection. I blushed when I thought about it
and was running late and did not get a chance to do anything about it but
thrash in the shower. In the water thrusting down from the faucet I thought
about what I had been thinking the last time my dick had been this hard and
came with a shudder with the scalding water cascading down around me.

I dressed in a hurry, chino slacks and a striped shirt and rep tie. They
liked us to look prep at the Department Store, and I didn't mind. I thought
I might grow my hair out in the fall when I went to school. But in the
meantime I was happy to maintain a low profile and slide through the summer.

Everyone else was long gone. The store didn't open until 10:00, and they
wanted us to open up by 9:45. I had slept late. I poured some of the cold
coffee back in the top of the drip percolator and turned it on to give it a
kick.

Then I was out the door and buzzing in the little VW down Westbrook Road to
the Mall.

I made it pretty much on time and was at my place by the register when the
Nerd came by to check.

"I want you to push those new wheat-colored jeans," he said. "And thank-you
for your help with Alexander. I think I will have to watch him, but he
seems clever and will do a fine job for us with adequate supervision."

"I think you are absolutely right, Boss." He took it as a sign of respect
that I called him that. I don't think he knew I was laughing at him, the
pompous shit. Alexander had more going on between his ears than he ever
would.

"I have made up a new schedule for you. For the next week or two I am going
to have you come in late and be with him to close up at 9:00 each night." I
could see that he didn't trust the Negro to close up. But I didn't mind.
That meant I could sleep in till eleven in the morning if I wanted to. It
was a pity the only thing mildly interesting to do in town was go to the
big double screen drive-in.

There was nobody to date and sitting alone in the car drinking a purloined
bottle of my father's homemade wine was hardly my idea of a wild time.
Still, it was out of the house and the buzz was good. It didn't get dark
until then, and if I went to the theatre after we closed it was still light
enough that they were only playing the dancing hotdogs movie trailer to get
us to go to the snack bar when I got there.

There were some truly awful movies out that summer. But I must have seen
"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" about fifty times. I didn't mind
seeing it over and over and after a while I started to memorize the lines
and would recite them along with Robert Redford, looking back at the
Pinkerton agents s chasing them down.

"Who are those guys?" I would say. When it was over I let the rest of the
crowd gather up their kids or put their clothes back on, whichever category
of people they were. Then I would navigate sedately home, lurching over the
mounds of dirt that pointed the noses of the cars up so they could see the
screen better, trying to avoid the poles where the speakers hung down on
the curly wires.

I had to wait patiently through the slow morning traffic for Alexander to
arrive. I decided that the images I had of him were just private things.
After all, I had never had a black friend and with the shortness of the
season before we all moved on, it didn't seem like this was anything more
than a work relationship. I was a little embarrassed by how I had felt,
thinking about the feel of him, when I jerked off last night.

Private thoughts, private moment. Just be professional and aloof. You can
deal with the homo thing when you get further from home and the folks
aren't watching.

That was pretty much how I felt, right up until Alexander actually showed
up for work.

He looked just as good as he had the day before. He had a slim build that
showed off his shoulders in his Norfolk jacket with the little sewed belt
in the back. He had one of the big collar shirts and a wild floral tie. He
had slacks that were tight at the waist, showing a suspicious bulge in the
crotch and flared nicely at the knee. There was a slight break to the at
the well-polished brown shoes. The whole thing was a package of style,
grace and elegance.

"Hey!" he said. "I hear you are going to rescue me from the Nerd from here
out."

"I'll do what I can. That means I get eleven hours today to get onto the
new schedule. I think the Nerd doesn't want to stay late."

"And he doesn't trust the Negro- right?"

"I'm sure that isn't it. You are just new."

"Uh-huh." He shook his head with a knowing look. I think I blushed. I hate
it when that happens.

"The Nerd says we are supposed to move the Wheat Jeans today. Let's get the
stacks sorted and get ready for some selling."

"Yessir, Boss" he said. I gave him that look.

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Alexander."

"Yessir." Then he gave me that gleaming smile and hit me on the shoulder
and we started folding the jeans and stacking them by size.

I felt relaxed again. This guy had a sense of humor and his easy way with
the jeans, the way he folded them back into out-of-the-box condition, made
things go quickly. We yacked about a lot of stuff that day. He didn't know
much about the city, and though I didn't know much more, I told him what I
could. There was not much of a black population in town, and they seemed to
keep pretty much to themselves. I told him how far away the lake was, and
which places sold beer to the under-aged with fake ID.

"Where do you go to drink?" he asked.

I told him about the field in back of my house. And them I told him about
the Drive-in."

"Oh," he said. "The Passion Pit."

"Not here," I said. "You would need a hot date for that. I just like to go
and drink in the car. No one bothers you there, if you are quiet. The
block-head Dutch would never suspect there is anything going on there
except solid respectable people watching a movie..."

"And young kids screwing their brains out!" he said, laughing. "I know what
it was like back home. I thought it was funny, the way they would look at
us when we drove out to Glenn Ellyn and they thought we had another five
kids in the trunk."

"Did you?'

"Of course."

My ass was starting to drag around dinnertime. The Nerd gave me an hour for
a dinner break and I took it. I had an idea. I drove home and got a gallon
jug of the homemade wine from the metal storage chest in the garage and put
it in the back of the VW. I stopped at the Mickey-Dees on the way back and
got a sack of burgers that I shared with Alexander. We stashed them back in
one of the dressing rooms and munched them between customers.

We got to the 8:30 slack time and started to do our tallies. It had not
been a bad day, and we had moved some Wheat Jeans. The Nerd had been
pleased before he rushed out to have dinner at home with the wifey.

We held down the last half hour on our own. We dealt with a crazy woman who
had to have a pair of black slacks for her husband and he was a 40-30. It's
an odd size. We had plenty of 40-34's, but she wanted them right away and
we had to look through everything. We finally found one that was the right
size but had a mark on them. She wanted a discount and I patiently
explained we were not authorized to do that. She sniffed and bought them
anyway.

She wasn't happy, though, and let us know it the whole time we made the
sale. By the time she was gone and the register tape was removed and folded
with the tally cards, the grillwork was coming down on the main doors and
the place was closed.

"Whew," I said. "I don't know why it always gets like that at closing.
Makes me all agitated."

"You handled it fine, Bob. But I would have just given them to her. They
don't have any inventory control here. The Store would never have known."

I stood there, a little stunned. "I never thought of that." Jeeze, he was
right. And we wouldn't be minutes late getting out of there.

He picked up his jacket and slipped it over his shoulders. "Got any big
plans tonight?" he asked. "I am not looking forward to watching TV with my
Aunt until it is time to go to bed."

I smiled. This was fantastic. "Well, I thought I might go down to the
movies and catch Butch Cassidy again."

"Quite an original mind, Bob. I'm not much of a Western guy, but that is a
very pretty movie. Mind if I join you? I'll miss the bus, though, and you
will have to give me a lift home."

"I'd be happy to, Alexander. It will be fun to see it with someone. The
dancing hotdog reel for the snack bar is worth the price of admission
alone."

"You don't know the half of that," he said with a smile. I didn't know
precisely what he meant by that, but I had a feeling I was going to find
out.



Midnight Cowboys

We found the red VW out in the parking lot, back in the rows where
Management wanted the employees to park. I loosened my tie, and then
unwrapped it.

"Too hot for work clothes," I said. "I wish I had brought something to
change into."

Alexander looked at he and shrugged off his sport jacket. We stood on both
sides of the car, doors open, letting the evening breeze blow the heat out
of the car. He folded the jacket neatly and removed his tie and placed them
in the backseat. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolled
them up twice with careful precision. He unbuttoned his collar and two more
below it, tugging the shirt so it bloused and hung as thought that was the
way it was supposed to look all the time.

"It's just a question of attitude," He smiled. He pointed at the jug of
home-made wine on the floor behind the driver's seat. "What is that?"

"It's wine my old man makes. He puts down fifty gallons every year. He puts
it in any container he can, and he never can keep it organized. It is like
a big likker lending library."

"Is it any good?"

"Well, it is California concentrate and Illinois Concord grapes. It is a
little sweet, but it seems to work."

He looked a little doubtful. "We'll get ice and some cups at the drive-in.
Trust me, it will be fine."

I got the feeling that homemade wine in paper cups was something he made a
point of not doing. I completed my comfort conversion by doing just what
Alexander had done. We climbed into the car and I turned the key, fired up
the little four-banger engine and turned on the radio.

"Pick any station you want," I said. "Not that there is much to pick from.
You can get both kinds of music here. Country AND Western."

Alexander laughed. "Yeah, I get WLS from home at night when they clear the
crap off the air at sundown and go clear-channel. It makes me homesick."

It was not far from sundown now. I was suddenly aware of how close we were
in the VW. The failing light bathed his fair skin and brought out light
highlights in his tight curly hair. I reached down to the great shift and
brushed his arm as he was reaching for the buttons on the radio.

The touch was electric. For me anyway, he seemed unconcerned. I wondered if
I would have the nerve to do anything.

I had a crush on a kid in my band class in junior high school. His name was
Joe. It was an old fashioned name, and he wore straight-leg corduroy pants,
lace-up shoes and a cardigan sweater with plaid shirts in the winter. His
skin was sallow and smooth, like a girl. He had big expressive eyes and a
sort of sadness about him that I found touching.

The other kids made fun of him because he was slight in build and called
him queer. For some reason that excited me, and I looked at him as he sawed
away on his violin. His Dad had been a football player, or that was the
word around school, and maybe it his gentle manner came as a reaction to
that.

I never had gym class with him. I schemed sometimes on how I could let him
know that I liked him, maybe an anonymous note that said I might be wearing
some article of clothing, maybe a tie or something, and see if we could
start a secret friendship.

I would jerk off, thinking about him, wondering if his dick was long and
thin, whether he would moan like one of the girls, and if I could moan like
that, too.

I always chickened out, thought and never did anything. By the time we got
to high school I was hanging around with the other jocks and my infatuation
with the slight boy with the delicate manner had passed.

Or so I thought. Now here I was sitting with a beautiful young black man. I
wondered if I would chicken out this time, too. He was so cool looking. And
suppose I was wrong? Suppose he was just a nice guy and I didn't understand.

Then the word would get out that I was a homo and the rest of the summer
would be spent with icy coldness from my folks and total isolation at work
and it would drag on forever.

I decided it was better to just play it straight and put the homo business
aside. It was such a hassle. That would be easier. I could wait to explore
this at college, when I was on my own for real. I sighed, pleased that the
decision had been made.

"What's up Bob?" asked Alexander. "Something on your mind?"

I turned and looked at him. Damn, he was good looking. "Nah, I just have
some things going on with my folks. I can't wait to get going for college."

"Yeah," he said. "I'm eager to get on with it, too. I can't wait to get to
Howard and check out DC."

"It is supposed to be a crazy town these days," I said, and  we started
talking about the movies.

We were rolling down 31st Street toward the expressway. "It is a western
theme," I said. "A double feature with True Grit and Butch Cassidy."

"Maybe you better take me home now," said Alexander. "I'm not sure I can do
two westerns in a row." I slowed as we neared the Expressway Twin Drive-In.

"Well, there is Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider on the other screen."

"Let's do that," he said. "Though I hate to pull you away from the horses."

"Pull away, Man," I said, laughing. "I have seen Redford enough. Let's
check out Jon Voight. I haven't seen that one."

I turned into the entrance lanes and pulled to the right side. There was a
line of ticket booths, set up like toll-gates on the turnpike. The two on
the right side served Screen Two, where Midnight Cowboy was going to show.

There were more cars in the Screen One Lot, which was on the other side of
the Snack Bar that served both from its position smack in the middle of the
compound.



The teen-ager in the booth gave a cursory look in the back seat to make
sure there was no one huddled there and I gave him three bucks for the
admission. I put it in first and drove slowly along the perimeter road,
looking down the lanes.

"Where do you want to park?" I asked.

"Not in the middle. Let's get over to the side where we can drink in
private."

"Sounds good. Let me pull up near the Snack Bar and we can get ice and some
cups." I pulled up in the back row next to the entrance and we got out and
walked in through the glass door. There were two girls working the counter
and some kids running around with a harried-looking couple getting a
cardboard platter of hot-dogs. Alexander rolled his eyes at me, as if to
say "how pathetic."

"We have to get something to eat with a drink or they won't give us the
cups," I said in an aside. "I get the Sprite and pour it out and rinse the
ice in the water fountain."

Alexander nodded. When the couple got out of the way I ordered a hot dog
and a big Sprite, plenty of ice.

"Make it two," said Alexander. I could tell the girl was checking him out.
He was a pretty exotic looking guy in this blockhead Dutch town. I envied
him that.

We walked out of the Snack Bar, drank some of the Sprite and poured the
rest out. The cool sweet liquid tasted good. I swirled water from the
cooler over the ice and cupped my fingers over the top of the cup as I
poured it out. He did the same and we climbed back in the Beetle. I drove
slowly over the inclines until we were on the far left side of the parking
area, well away from the knot of cars in the middle and not on the way to
the Snack Bar or the bathroom.

I shut the car off, rolled the window up enough to hook the big gray metal
speaker into the driver's side. The speaker was big enough to intrude a
little into the space in the tiny driver's side and I had to squirm a
little to get comfortable. I brushed Alexander's shirt.

"I love the car," I said. "But it is a little small. Could you reach the
wine in the back?"

"Sure. But I don't mind the size of the car. At least you have one." He
turned and reached between the seats. I looked down the past the unbuttoned
shirt and got a glimpse of smooth hairless honey-colored chest and a nipple
that was a dark bud. I smelled him, too, something beyond the faint scent
of his aftershave. Something rich and tinged with sweat and something else,
musky.

He unscrewed the metal cap on the bottle and I produced my cup from between
my legs. He filled it half up and then he did the same for his. We settled
in, and unwrapped our hot dogs.

It was not full dark yet, but the projector started and the screen was
bathed with pale images of coming attractions. There were three or four of
them, but I was fascinated by the way Alexander was eating his hot dog. He
brought the bun to his lips and opened wide, seeming to tease the
frankfurter with his tongue, and then gently and delicately severed it with
his pearly teeth.

I shivered a little. It was so erotic. I ate mine without the same grace,
but the symbolism was clear. I looked down at the cup between my legs,
finished the dog in a couple gulps. I crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it
in the back seat.

"Easy, Bob. You gotta make things last" he said. He resumed his consumption
of the hotdog and licked his lips. I sipped the wine as the dancing hot
dogs appeared on the screen. The speaker crackled and buzzed, since this
segment was shown over and over

and the sound track was worn on the film. Alexander took a sip of wine,
grimaced at the taste, and then said "Well, the price is right."

"Aw, c'mon. It's not that bad. It will grow on you, promise."

The dancing hot dogs finished counting down the ten minutes to the feature
film, and the wine began to spread a warm glow through my middle. I thought
the dancing dogs looked just like thin erect cocks in warm little
bun-jackets. I didn't say anything. I wondered what Alexander was thinking.

"Have you seen this before?" he asked. "I enjoyed it."

"I heard it was kinda dark," I said. "I mean, you know, depressing."

"Stop it. Don't be so sensitive. It is a real story from the big city. Jon
Voight is just like one of the blockheads from here who gets to the big
city and has to do what he has to do. Ratso is the Dustin Hoffman
character. He teaches Jon the ropes."

The theme music and the credits started. "Everybody's Talkin' `Bout Me"
sang Nilsson. I liked the song. So far nobody did talk about me, but maybe
that was going to change if I hung around with Alexander.

Alexander completed the line: "Can't hear a word they say!" He smiled. "Do
you smoke pot?"

"I'd like to," I said. "I tried it before we moved here and it felt pretty
good. I think it was, anyway. We were pretty drunk." Alexander squirmed
around in his seat and produced his wallet. He extracted a thin hand-rolled
cigarette.

"I only brought a little with me from Chicago, so I only get to smoke one a
day. I might be able to find more, but it will take a while to make
connections."

He punched in the lighter on the dash. When it popped out it bathed his
face in red. He applied it to the end of the joint and inhaled deeply. "You
ever had a Chicago Shotgun?" he asked.

"A what?" I asked apprehensively.

"Don't worry. Here, let me show you." He took the joint from his lips and
inserted the lit end into his mouth. The butt end protruded from his lips
and he leaned over to me. I was startled and drew back in surprise. He
touched my shoulder and brought my face close to his. He began to blow
through the joint and an intense plume of smoke came out. I got the point
and leaned in close and began to inhale.

Our lips were so close it was almost a kiss. and the smoke as cool and rich
and thick. I sucked it down deep into my lungs. When I had a lung full, he
stopped and delicately removed the joint from his mouth. "Now THAT is a
shotgun," he said with a smile.

I was stunned at the intimacy of the ritual. I wanted to do that again. I
wanted to see those lips that close. I exhaled slowly, the sweet smoke
leaving me giddy.

"That was fantastic! Can I do it for you?"

He smiled and passed me the joint. I inserted it in my mouth as he had,
backwards, and leaned close to him. I looked him deep in the eyes and began
to blow air into the joint as if I was whistling. A thin rope of smoke came
from the butt and he gulped it in eagerly, our lips nearly touching. When
he was full I leaned back, and realized my hand had brushed his thigh. I
looked down and in the dim light of the screen I thought I saw there was a
bulge in his crotch.

Alexander let the smoke trickle from his mouth. "Yeah, that feels good.
Relaxing."

We passed he joint back and forth until it was too small to pass. Alexander
inhaled deeply and popped the tiny roach in his mouth.

He gestured to me to lean over toward him and I did. He closed his eyes and
began to exhale the last cloud from his lungs into mine and I drank it in,
getting closer and closer. Close enough to kiss him.

The sweet smoke from his sweet lips was overpowering.

His eyes opened, and then he pressed his lips against mine and blew out the
last.

He pulled away and breathed in deeply.

"So what do you think about the Chicago shotgun?"

My head felt pleasantly expanded and all my nerves tingled. "I like it a
lot," I said. "I'd like to do it again."

Double Feature

We sipped some wine and let the buzz take hold. I was sitting next to this
handsome man and I needed to do something, but I didn't know what. He had
as much as kissed me and I had desperately wanted to kiss him back. It
seemed like now or never. I thought of an excuse to brush his leg, or
something, but with the single joint gone I was not going to get another
chance for a shotgun unless I tried it with a Marlboro and that sounded
gross.

Ratso was trying to convince Jon to do something in Times Square. I felt
dreamy from the marijuana and relaxed from the wine. "So why was it that
your family made you come here for the summer, Alexander?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, it is a bit of a story. But I can make it
simple. They did not like my choice of girlfriend." He looked back a the
screen where Jon Voigt was wearing a little cowboy hat pushed back on his
blonde hair. Dustin Hoffman looked like a junkie

My stomach knotted at the words. I had been on the verge of a huge mistake.
God, I felt like such an idiot. The closeness had only been a way to smoke
the pot. I could have been a complete fool.

I didn't say anything, and took a sip of wine. I tried to sound
sympathetic, though my stomach felt like I had been kicked. "Was it a white
girl?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah, the problem was that she was a white guy."

I spit out some wine. "What?"

He reached over and put a hand on my thigh. "Yes, you heard me right. I got
beat up at school because some of the brothers called me Queer and I told
them to go fuck themselves. I tried to keep them from finding out why but
Daddy got on his high horse and went to up to the school and the counselor
told them the word was that I was a pansy. A fruit. They decided to get me
out of there so I wouldn't get hurt."

"Jeeze," I said lamely. "That is terrible."

"Oh, there is worse I suppose." I touched the back of his hand, stroking it
gently. "It must be terrible to be treated that way." I thought back and
wondered if I had just looked on when Joe was teased in junior high School.
Let him be made fun of when I really liked him. I felt awful. "Have you
always liked boys? When did you know?"

"I've always known I was different. I always was more comfortable with the
company of the women in the family, and I liked the girls at school. I just
wasn't attracted to them. As soon as I started to mature I knew what I
wanted, and it was other boys. When did you know?"

I was stunned. "Well, I'm not sure I do know."

"Oh, come on. You are as queer as I am. I could tell the moment we met. Us
queers can tell."

I sat quietly. "I have been trying to figure it out. Lately I have been
thinking of men when I jerk off. And when I met you...I don't know. I
thought you were very attractive. Beautiful, even. Does that make me queer?"

"Well, you asked me to the Drive-in Movie where we could be alone," he
finished for me. He raised his glass to me and took a drink. "So what do
you want to do about it? Here we are."

"I don't know," I stammered. Alexander laughed and leaned over and kissed
me full on the lips, lingering.

"Now you know," he said. And then he kissed me again, and I felt my lips
open and my tongue touched his. It was like velvet, and the taste was sweet
from the wine and rich with the marijuana. I felt his arms come around me
and I leaned into him and I could feel something like a freight train in my
head.

And it literally was a freight train, since the tracks ran not far from
this side of the theater. But when the ground shuddered I could not tell if
it was from the movement of the train on the tracks or my heart thudding
against my ribcage. God it felt good! My mouth was open wide to him as his
tongue probed my teeth and my palate. I sucked at his tongue, trying to
capture it and hold it. I twisted in his embrace so that I faced upward to
him. My arms clung to him for support and I felt I was falling upward into
his eyes.

I don't know how long we made out but Nilsson was singing "Everybody's
Talking At Me" again and the movie must have ended. Alexander looked up and
said the dancing hot-dogs were on the screen again. I squirmed around,
still leaning against him. The arc lights had come on at the base of the
screen to show people the way to the snack bar. I screwed up my eyes
against the sudden brightness.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked.

"I think we are just fine right here," he said. I heard the sound of a
zipper opening and I shivered. He pulled open the front of his trousers and
skinned them down with his white briefs. He reached for my hand and drew it
toward him. I could see him in the darkness, dark flesh much darker than
his skin.

It was the first erect cock I had ever seen, other than my own Old
Faithful. It was long and narrow, curving slightly up the right. He was
uncircumcised, the tip of his proud helmet just protruding from the
foreskin. Something on the tip glimmered. I gently placed my palm on the
side of it, toward the base, and slowly wrapped my fingers around it as if
I were griping a bat. He squirmed. I took the pressure off my grip and ran
my hand gently upward. He had to be nearly eight inches in length, but his
cock was as slim and expressive as his fingers.

The story seemed to be true. I continued to gently, so gently, run my hand
up and then down the length of his cock. I leaned over and kissed him
again, and then looked down at the precious dark lance protruding from my
hand.

"You need to put that sweet mouth of yours on that, you know" he said
softly. "If you are going to be queer you may as well be a cocksucker, too.
Goes with the turf."

"I'd love to suck your cock, Alexander,' I said reverently. The words hung
in the air like balloons. "I'm going to suck your cock." I was amazed by
the sound of it, the words spoken out loud and for real.

Bob, I thought to myself, tonight you are a cocksucker. Then I shivered and
began to lower my face toward his lap.

Easy Rider

After the dancing hotdogs were gone, the arc lights below the screen went
out and the speaker cracked with the noise of big motorcycles. My tongue
was licking the tip of Alexander's cock. I could not tell the color now,
but from the glimpse I had before the second feature started it seemed to
have collected all the melanin from his golden body and concentrated into a
stiff black pole.

I held it by the base and swirled my tongue around it. There was not much
taste to the slippery fluid that had collected on the piss slit, but I
lapped it up and then French-kissed it to make sure I had gotten it all. My
lips sought out the extra flesh behind his helmet, an unexpected tactile
treat. I had never seen an un-cut penis up close, and this was too amazing
for words, even if I could have said something with my mouth full of him.

Then I worked my tongue around the flesh that surrounded his heart-shaped
knob and took him in my mouth where I could work my tongue on the velvety
shaft.

"That's good, Bob. No teeth, gentle is good for now." He seemed willing to
let me go at my own pace and I felt empowered by my submission to his
manhood. I was sucking a black man's cock and it was wonderful. The pot and
the wine enhanced my desire and I ran my tongue down the side of his
elegant cock and down to the nest of wiry hairs that covered his balls.

The smell bathed my senses and I licked his sack and teased the orbs
within. "Suck them, Bob, suck my balls, you bitch," said Alexander.

I sucked one into my eager mouth. The tender egg floated softly within the
wiry covering of the silky flesh. The smell of him was making me wild. I
opened my mouth wide managed to get both precious balls in my mouth. I ran
my tongue between them, separating them into my cheeks. I felt his shaft
rub my cheek in the darkness and the roar from the speaker matched the
squirming of his hips.

I felt transported. Alexander's slim fingers caressed my hair, pressing me
down into him. I sucked his balls, my mouth gaping and aching with the
effort not to let my teeth interrupt his pleasure.

The voices from the speaker blurred in my eagerness to serve him. His voice
blended with that of the movie. I was sucking young Jack and violent Dennis
as I sucked

Alexander. I left his balls with a slurp and licked upward, worshiping his
shaft. When I reached the top I plunged down on him till the throbbing tip
lodged in the back of my throat. I felt my gag reflex begin and Alexander
cupped my ears.

"Not yet, Bob, you'll take all of me, oh yes you will. But you can't take
me deep at that angle. You'll have to be on your knees in front of me!"

I squirmed around and gripped the base of his cock and began to vigorously
plunge my soft palate over his silky hardness. My mouth was getting sore
from holding it so wide open but now I could focus and found a little
rhythm that seemed to please him. The sweet liquor of his seed was
beginning to flow, slippery on my tongue and the rich smell drove us wild.

I thought what it must look like to look down from above, to see me bobbing
on that magnificent spear.

I heard him moan and I heard Jack yelling something at Peter about Dennis
and then Alexander's hands pressed against my ears and froze me in my
downward movement. "Damn!" he said. "You're gonna take a load!"

His words made my tongue, the only thing he had not frozen in place with
the firm pressure of his hands.

It might have been the buck of his hips, or maybe it was the backfire of a
Harley from the speaker, but he came in my mouth then, a mixture of sound
and passion. Jets hit the back of my throat, warm and salty. A hint of
chlorine. Acrid and sweet at the same time.

It was almost more than I could take all at once, but I didn't want to lose
his cum and get it on his pants. I nursed on him as he held my head in
place. His semen almost leaked from my mouth but I greedily captured it
between my lips and my hand, and kept sucking until he was dry and clean.

"Ooh, Baby" he said as I suckled on him. "You are going to be one fine
cocksucker."

It thrilled me to hear him say that and I was hard as a rock. He stroked my
hair as I imprisoned his softening shaft in my mouth.

"You keep that up I might get hard again.'

I thought that sounded just fine.

Knights in White Satin

I finally sat up, blinking. The Red Necks were chasing down Peter Fonda and
Dennis Hopper and I was a cocksucker.

I sought Alexander's lips with mine and he kissed me gently, our tongues
meeting and sharing the residue of him that lingered on my teeth. I took a
sip of wine from his cup. Mine was knocked over on the floor. "Do you want
me to do you?" he asked with a smile. I reached over and felt my aching
cock. The fabric of my slacks was slick with pre-cum I had been leaking
like a hydrant while I suckled on him.

His touch was electric. "I'll come in a second," I said. I felt very
strange. I thought that once I came I would be overcome with the
significance of the moment, the strange new reality I had gobbled myself
into.

I had the otherworldly feeling that I was not Bob, suburban teen anymore. I
had walked through a door I had always known was there, but now I was on
the other side. I was a queer cocksucker. I was still weak with desire and
I did not want that to change. I wanted his lips on me, and I wanted more.
I wanted him to make me completely his, complete the transformation.

"I want more, Alexander. I want to fuck."

"Well, we could try it here, but we will be the only ones left in the
Drive-in."

"We have the rest of the summer," I said with wonder.

"Yes we do." I liked the sound of the "we." I was part of something with
him. "but we will have to find a place to hang out with some privacy." He
was very practical and I liked the natural way he took charge in the
relationships. And that thrilled me, too. It was a relationship. Damn!

"I think I have a place we can go. My folks have a little cabin in the
North Woods a couple hours from here. It is on a little lake. We can go
there and have complete privacy."

"Sounds good to me. I'd like that a lot." The credits were rolling on the
film and brake lights were coming on from the cars clustered in the middle
of the parking area.

"So I guess I'll run you home and see you tomorrow at the mall." He leaned
over and kissed me. "I want to sleep with you, Bob. We need to do that.
Soon."

"Me too" I said. I untangled myself and popped the trunk-lid with the
little handle under the dash-board. I put the speaker back on the post with
the spiral cord hanging down. I got out and put the bottle of wine in an
old cardboard box I kept there to keep it from rolling around. I was still
hard and I would have to avoid talking to my parents when I got in and not
let them see the stains on my pants. I got back in and closed the door.

He smiled at me in the bright glow of the arc lights that announced the
show was over. He touched my thigh, caressing it. I knew this show wasn't
over. It was only beginning.

I drove back up 32nd street past the Mall and another couple miles to the
in-close suburb where the black community was clustered. The trees were
full and the bungalows were old but well kept. There was no ghetto in this
town, except possibly the mental one that keeps us all imprisoned in our
boxes. I was still grappling with being outside of my box, a little giddy
at the prospect of having made a small logical step and seeing where would
take me.

"It is this one up here, on the left." I pulled across the oncoming lane
and stopped at the curb in front. A single light burned downstairs behind a
substantial porch. I was glad there was no one rocking on the chair there
to greet us.

"I'd like to ask you in," said Alexander earnestly. "But it is late."

"Do you mean that?" I asked. "Are you saying you want to be public?" the
thought was a revelation.

"Public about what? We are just friends and you are showing me the ropes.
What else would anyone think? And who cares anyway?"

I was quiet, wondering about having Alexander meet my parents.

"Just relax, Bob. All you did was natural. Pure nature." He leaned over and
kissed me again, quickly, and was gone into the house. I gunned the engine
a little, let out the clutch and drove home where the houses were more
modern and the lawns a little larger.

There was no one awake to greet me except the dog, and though she sniffed
me with a quizzical nose, she was not that interested.

When I got into bed I thought of Alexander's cock in my mouth and I had no
more to do than touch myself and I came in great wave of semen that pooled
on my belly, filling up my navel and ran off down my side. I scooped it up
and licked it off my fingers, marveling in the difference in taste between
us.

I slept and when the light was coming up and after the folks stirred and
showered and the cars started to take them to their jobs, I drifted off
again. You know what I dreamt. A night spent on white satin, with caramel
skin against mine.

August is a Month of Dreams

Being a practicing homo turned out to be a lot more natural than I would
have expected.

I didn't see my folks that much anyway, our hours were not compatible, and
they probably thought I was a little wound up over going away to college.

What I was wound up about, of course, is that I was now a sexual being,
alive and ready for anything. Alexander and I worked at being normal at the
department store, though I suspect there was gossip. The Nerd never picked
up on the fact that when things were slack, or one of us was on break it
was only natural that there was a hard cock being sucked in the changing
rooms.

I'm sure the block-headed Dutch wouldn't suspect anything like that, and
there were no surveillance cameras back there. The most they might have
suspected was the occasional Marlboro being smoked, not Alexander's proud
dark lance.

In the days that followed, and our involvement deepened, I became obsessed
with the idea of being fucked by my handsome Chicago prince.

That was too risky at the store, and we didn't any place else to go except
the woods. A blow-job there, gracefully executed, seemed OK. I took am
immense amount of guilty pleasure, reveling in my submission to his sex, in
sinking to my knees in front of him, and undoing his thick belt with the
Mod-style buckle. Or in the car when it was dark. But there were risks of
getting caught, which made my submission to him just that much intense. I
did not want to be looking up from under him with a cop's flashlight
shining down on my face.

I wanted my first fucking to be someplace we could do it properly and have
some privacy. With September bearing down on us, we arranged to get the
Sunday off together and I schemed a way to go to the cabin when my folks
were pinned down by a social engagement in town.

I told him we had the place for he weekend and he was going to fuck me
silly, if he so desired, and he looked at me with those crazy hazel eyes
that made my heart skip and told me that I would be fucked with his hard
black cock within and inch of my life.

I smiled happily. I was turning into quite the bitch, and obsessed with the
desire to suck him off, and he liked that too. I let him suck me as well.
The first time, he went

on his knees before me so I could stroke the tight curls on his head as he
gobbled me down. One morning at the store we did each other in an hour, in
between customers.

I found it a revelation how quickly we adapted to our roles in the new
relationship. He was the more experienced, after all, so it seemed natural
that I should please him whenever I could. But there was something more to
it.

When I pleased him with my eager mouth it enhanced my desire for him. When
he shot his warm semen in my mouth I felt a reward, and the hotness in my
stomach and groin were only enhanced. When he did me, I felt a feeling
almost of nausea when I erupted into his mouth, emotion coming in the
floods of my spasms, and when they were done I felt release, sweet release,
but also a bit of panic in what I was swiftly becoming.

I felt no such panic when he was in my mouth. It just felt natural and I
stayed hard as a rock. I began to prefer the hardness to the coming, so
long as I could bring him off.

I sure we would have been caught if there had been more time, but September
was near and time was growing short for summer employment. It made each
time we could be intimate that much more precious.

We arranged to get a weekend off together. We worked Saturday, and it was
really just the Sunday, since the religious Dutch had Sunday blue laws that
shut the town down tight as a drum so everyone could spend the day in
Church.

We drove up to the lake after work on Saturday. We listened to tunes and
smoked cigarettes on the drive. This was a week when most of the cabins
were unoccupied, since the lake would be jammed on the Labor Day holiday.

As we got further north, we could smell the pines, and he got me going,
fooling with me as I drove the little red car. I had it in fourth, so I
didn't have to shift, and he sucked me as we rolled along through the green
trees and the lowering sun. When I came, I almost drove off the road,
swerving a bit, and then getting control as he sucked the last juice from
me.

"I almost killed us," I whispered huskily. "Your mouth is so hot."

He smiled and licked his lips at me, smacking them. "You'd better be ready
for more of that, Bobbie boy. I get to sleep with you tonight."

We pulled up the long dirt road to the cabin just at twilight. There was
nobody around, though I could hear the motor of someone with a little boat
out on the lake. We clambered out of the VW and stretched. I showed him the
place. It was a modest little A-Frame, not much to it, really. The point
was to be on the bluff above the dark water of the inland lake, surrounded
by the trees and the silence of the forest.

The place slumbered most of the year, so when I opened it up it smelled a
little musty. I ran around, throwing open all the windows, especially the
ones in the long dormer upstairs so there would be some cross breeze. He
watched me buzzing around, giddy at the prospect of what would soon be
happening. He checked the reefer and found a cold can of Milwaukee's Best.
He looked at it and raised his eyebrows.

"C'mon. It's my old man's stuff. At least there is beer!"

"Point taken," said Alexander. He popped the top and threw the pull tab in
the trash. "Let's get our stuff in here and relax." He gave me a wicked
smile.

"O.K., Lover," I said, my heart racing. We were here, and we were alone at
last.

I walked over to him and kissed him hard on his full inviting lips.
"Welcome to the cabin, Alexander."

We fetched got the bags out of the back seat and smelled the air. I could
not resist caressing his lean back, a little moist from sitting on the
vinyl seat on the trip up. I felt a stirring in my groin. I had just come
an hour ago but I felt like I was ready to go again. He looked at me and
said we should go in. And he gave me another smile that made my knees
almost buckle.

We put the bags down by the door. "There is a master bedroom on this level,
but it has single beds in it. There is a double bed in the front bedroom
upstairs,"

I said.

"That is a no-brainer. Get a beer and let's go look."

I locked the screen door and smelled earth and water and pines. I got a
beer from the kitchen and walked to the stairs with him. I led him up,
holding his hand. I turned right and opened the door to the front bedroom.
I turned on the little lamp on the bedside table and opened the windows
wide. Then I turned around to face him.

He was skinning of his shirt, and his skin glowed in the light. His chest
was smooth and his nipples were dark against his caramel skin.

I took my shirt off, too, and undid my belt. "There is something I need in
the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"Don't be long," he smiled. "I have something for you."  I kissed him as I
brushed by to go to the corridor and through the dorm to the upstairs bath.
I took off my pants and socks and threw them out the open door. I looked in
the medicine cabinet and found the little jar of Vaseline we used for our
lips when they got chapped in the winter. I opened it, and took two fingers
and scooped a little out. Then I spread my legs and reached down next to my
erect cock and deposited it along the crack of my ass, paying special
attention to my brown rosebud, poking in one finger and then two, so the
jelly was inside me.

Then I rinsed my hand, though the jelly did not come off, and I took some
toilet paper and scrubbed it off.

When I returned to the front bedroom, Alexander was by the window, looking
out into the full darkness. The stars were coming out.

He turned and the magic was happening. His elegant dark cock was becoming
full. I will never get over the excitement of watching a cock harden and
his helmet emerge from his delightful foreskin! I marveled at him, fully
naked. How all his color seemed concentrated there in that marvelous spear
of flesh.

How I wanted it buried in me!

It hung down, tumescent, rising as I watched, until it came fully to
attention, the helmet protruding from the little cuff of his foreskin,
pointing at me, the object of it's desire. The ideas made my knees weak.

God, it was sexy! I fell to my knees before him and pressed my lips around
the proud shaft, tonguing his foreskin, tasting the first jewels of his
pre-cum, slavering on him with my eagerness to serve him. He reached down
and brought me to my feet, and our dicks touched, rubbed against each
other. He looked down, and gripped them both together in a tender hand.

I felt I was going to melt, and my mouth sought his, my tongue reaching for
his, needing him desperately. He kissed me deeply, and then released out
cocks, and

gently pushed my chest, backing me up until my calves were against the side
of the bed. I sat down on it, and then reclined, turning sideways so that I
did not miss the intensity of his gaze and his need. His erection seemed
impossibly long, and I wondered if I could take it all inside me.

He laid down beside me, on top of the comforter, and gazed deep into me.

"Now I am going to make you mine, Bob. Are you ready?"

My voice quivered with urgency. "I have never wanted anything more, Lover.
Take me. Please, God, take me. Make me yours. Make me your boy. Breed me."

He turned and raised himself on his forearms, placing them on either side
of me, and pressed a knee between my legs. I spread them for him, and he
placed my ankle on his shoulders, exposing me completely to him. I raised
my legs to expose my ass and cock to him. He reached down and grasped his
lance, and leaning down, drew the tip the length of the crack of my ass. He
felt the slickness of the jelly, and he smiled in the glow of the lamp.

"Good," he said. "Nice and moist." I moaned in anticipation. I hoped it
would not hurt. He was so long, and yet I needed it so much. The tip of his
cock was poised at my asshole. He pushed, experimentally, and I groaned. He
pushed harder, and he gained purchase. I gasped. He brought his hand up and
caressed the side of my face. "This may hurt at first, but just relax. I'll
be gentle."

"Fuck me, Alexander. Just please fuck me. Make me whole."

He pressed against me, inexorable this time, the hardness of him in that
softness, I felt the tip penetrate the ring of muscle. He withdrew
minutely, and then the pressure began again. I groaned at the violation of
my virgin ass, and pressed back against him, the pain welcome, validating
the importance of my submission to his hard cock.

He pressed again, and withdrew again, but with each small stroke gained
depth within me. Presently, a warmth began to glow in my guts and the jelly
had coated everything and I realized that suddenly he was completely within
me, and I could feel his soft scrotum and the wiry hair against the smooth
flesh of my ass. He was filling me completely, the full length of his proud
cock buried to its full length.

He rested there and kissed me deep, filling my throat with his tongue as
fully as he was filling my guts with his cock.

I clutched him to me, my arms around him. My legs waved helplessly in the
air. He began to fuck me then, deep full strokes that churned my insides,
rubbing something within me that drove me mad with desire. This was the
most natural thing in the world, a real cock fucking me, a black cock
splitting me, skewering me on his manhood, a real man, fucking me in and
out.

I was transported somewhere else. I heard someone moaning "Fuck me, fuck
me, God oh Jesus fuck me..." and it must have been me, though I did not
consciously speak. It was purely primal.

He tempo increased and I sensed the semen was rising from his hot balls,
coursing upward through the channels of his dick, rising and burning, and I
looked up at him, his eyes now clenched closed in the throes of his
passion, his passion for me, the depository of his sperm, millions of them
flooding into my guts, making me his. Binding me to him.

He grunted and groaned and I clutched him desperately, arcing my back to
get him as deep within me as I could, crying out for his seed. I shivered
uncontrollably and he jetted in me and I swear I could feel the intensity
of his blasts right to the pit of my stomach.

His rhythm changed once he had shot himself within me, but he kept
stroking, his seed now lubricating everything, and I could feel him leaking
out around the now softening proud lance in my ass. Then he stopped and he
rested against me, kissing my cheek.

"Now that is a fuck. Man, you are one hot bitch."

"That's me," I said breathlessly. "I'm your bitch, Alexander."

My erection was pressed between us, and when he said that word I came in a
vast soft wave of contentment and fulfillment. Eventually he softened and
slid out of me. We turned side to side and breathed each others mouths and
talked of everything and nothing, sweetness. My semen dried on our smooth
skins and his seeped deep inside me.

Later that night I discovered what the taste of semen and Vaseline and shit
was, and how I could get him hard again, and how it felt to be roughly
fucked from behind, my hips raised on a pillow, my dick trapped by softness
as he ravished me with hard, firm strokes, striking my soft ass with a firm
elegant hand, and whimpering in pain and pleasure.

Over the next twenty-four hours we did not venture far from the bed, and we
trashed the comforter and the sheets and I did not care. I was going to
catch hell for that unless I could get them laundered before the folks came
up. Monday, we decided we might want to get something to eat that did not
come from a can or a hard cock, and I was sore and sated and knew we had to
get back to work down south.

We were naked in the kitchen, contemplating the trip back to town, and work
at the store the next day. It seemed a lifetime away. He got a faraway look
in his lovely eyes.

"I have decided to go down to Howard University,' he said. "I need to get
there for registration at the end of the week."

I was stunned at the suddenness. "You have known this for a while, haven't
you?" I said. I could feel tears come to my eyes. "After what we have done
how could you leave me?"

"I'm not leaving you," he said, "Not now, anyway. It is just something I
have to do. A Black Thing, you wouldn't understand." I stood silent, gazing
into his eyes with a sense of loss. "There are other hard dicks out there,"
he said with a smile. "And besides,

I will be back. In the meantime, there is a black thing that you do seem to
understand pretty well, you sweet bitch."

He pushed me forward over the butcher-block table in the middle of the
kitchen, exposing my ass to him and grabbed a bottle of extra-virgin olive
oil from the pantry and drizzled it down the crack of my ass. Then he took
me there and there, with vigor, and having fucked so much, he took a good
long time doing it. I grunted and moaned and was taken to another place
altogether.

We drove back to town, and my guts ached from the thrusting of his cock and
the feeling of loss. I knew I was leaking his cum on the seat through the
fabric of my shorts. But it was OK, I suppose. I would either wait for him,
or possibly something else would come up. He had taught me a lot of lessons
with those impossible hazel eyes, and I knew that for the rest of my life I
would associate the beautiful richness of his caramel skin with lust and
the taste of semen and the feel of his cock thrusting into me.

I took him to the bus station downtown where he was going to catch the
inter-city down to Washington, DC. He had a couple suitcases and a
determined look. I went down on him in the parking lot, in the right seat
of my little VW, just like the first time I sucked a man's cock, and he
adjusted his clothing when he was done shooting his seed down my gullet. He
got on the bus when it was time, and the Greyhound pulled out of the
parking lot in a cloud of black exhaust smoke.

I saw him wave.

He did not come back. I heard he got into the Black Power thing, and it was
time, and a white boyfriend would have interfered with his authenticity.
But at the time I held a pretty strong torch, swearing I would never forget
him. That was completely true. I never will. But there was a guy that I met
in the dorm a month later at IU that helped me get over the pain. Or better
phrased, find a whole new kind.

I'll tell you about him sometime. He was a dreamboat.

Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.