Date: Sun, 3 Jul 2005 07:28:46 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Alexander the Great- Beginnings

This is a work of fiction.

It features explicit descriptions of sex between men.

It is set in the past, so protect yourself here in the
future.

If you are under eighteen or your locality prohibits
material of this sort, stop reading immediately and
get the heck out of here.

All rights reserved. Comments appreciated
any_mouse2003@yahoo.com


Alexander the Great

Men on the Moon

It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the
height of the decade which didn't actually end until
the 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
expressway going to the mall.

Then it was Disco, and coke, that is about all I
remember of the fabulous 80's.

But at the end of the 1960s there were music
festivals, 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.

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 descendents 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.

He fancied himself quite the vintner and had custom
labels made up and liked to give the stuff away when
he went out. When he decanted it from the barrel, he
used all manner of bottles and consequently there was
not 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 Lunar Lander.

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. There I was, on my bed,
and there was Neil Armstrong, way up there.
Interplanetary travel now seemed to be possible. I
wondered if everything really was possible. I could go
about three or four minutes before my mind came back
to the subject of sex. I wondered if the astronauts
got hard-ons in their space suits and what they could
do about it.

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 reached down and caressed
by hardening cock. 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.
The all seemed to wear the same formidable foundation
garments. 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, and I wondered why
I thought of astronauts with erections. I used to love
Phys Ed, and the shower afterwards. Judging by the
surreptitious sideways glance, I could see that I
stacked up pretty well with the other guys, and I
often found myself thinking of what it would be like
to see a guy as hard as I was.

I looked at the moon out the window. I thought of
Playboy images with airbrushed pneumatic women. But my
mind began to drift. As I stroked I thought of hard
cocks. I drifted off into images from Fanny Hill, the
period pornographic book by Thomas Fielding that I
found in my father's remote library.

Fanny was poked and prodded by all manner of lusty
rakes. It was curious that I found myself wishing to
be on her end of things. I was curious, and inserted a
candle in my ass one day, and pulled it in and out
just like the fat cocks that filled up Fielding's
heroine.

I didn't understand why this felt so fulfilling, 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 when my balls boiled I shot
Technicolor plumes that arced from the tip of my cock
and hit me in the face.

This night, looking at the moon and stroking my eager
cock, I thought 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
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.

The Men's Department

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

The department store I had worked for back home before
my Dad had been transferred had an outlet here, and I
was able to secure a job selling clothes. They were
stricter here in the smaller town, and 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, 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 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 papers.

I knew they were just people, and when the summer came
with all the riots I gained a deep respect for what
they had to deal with that 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
coffee 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. 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. I knew that from the Autbiography we had
to read in Junior Year.

"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 I don't care
what you call me, just so long as you are respectful."
He finished with a smile, as if the notion of respect
was comical. 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." He directed his attention at Alexander. "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 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, not wanting to say
that the idea of making love to any women filled me
with discomfort.

"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
enough to pass 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, 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
goodnight 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.

The vinyl seats were hotter than shit, and I roared
home with the windows down, wishing the little car had
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
out there as the shadows grew longer and night fell.

I was day-dreaming 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.

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 what I would like to do with it
but I was running late and did not get a chance to do
anything about it but thrash in the shower. Under the
water the beat of the water thrusting down from the
faucet, I thought about what I had been thinking night
when cock had been this hard and I resigned myself to
the inevitable. I 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 in the house 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 stay up late and sleep
in untill eleven in the morning if I wanted to. It was
a pity the only thing mildly interesting to do in town
after work was go to the big double screen drive-in.

There was nobody to date, even if I felt like meeting
one of the girls at the store. And I didn't. 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
trailer 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 Detectives 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 fire up the Beetle's litte
four banger engine and navigate sedately out of the
theater, 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.

I was convincing, and 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
cuff at his well-polished brown shoes. The whole thing
was a package of 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."

There was a fair amount of traffic through the Men's
Department and my ass was starting to drag around
dinner time. 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 put 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."

"I'm not much of a western guy, Bob, 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 wild feeling that it was possible I might
find out. It made my stomach tighten, and I don't know
if he noticed my cock twitch in my chino slacks.

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 un-tied it.

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

Alexander looked unconcerned as he 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 his jacket neatly and removed his
tie, placing them on 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 buttons below it, tugging the shirt up so it
bloused at his waist 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 does fifty gallons
every year. He puts it in any container he can, and he
never can keep it organized. It is like a big liquid
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," I said. "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 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 gear
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 never had before. There had been I time when I had a
crush on a kid in my band class in junior high school.
It scared me a little, the way I felt. 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 in band as he sawed
away on his violin. The word was that his Dad had been
a football player, and maybe it his gentle manner came
as a reaction to that.

I never had gym class with him, so I was never able to
see his creamy skin or what his cock looked like. I
schemed sometimes on how I could let him know that I
liked him, let him in on the secret. I thought about
writing an anonymous note, saying that a secret
admirer wanted to be his friend, and that the admirer
would be wearing some distinctive article of clothing
on a given day, maybe a tie or something, and see if
he felt the same way.

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

I always chickened out about writing the note. I never
did anything. By the time we got to high school, I was
hanging around with the jocks and my infatuation with
the slight boy with the delicate manner had passed
into one of the things I only thought about late at
night, with the astronauts.

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 where he was coming from.
Suppose I was wrong about this and he wound up calling
me a fag, or a homo?

Then the word would get out 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.
It seemed like the brink of the apocalypse. Looking
back it seems ridiculous, but that is how I felt.

I decided it was better to just play it straight and
put the homo business aside. It was chickening out,
but confronting my desire was such a hassle. It would
be easier to put it aside. 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
am supposed to go to Howard, but it would be fun to go
to the University of Illinois."

"It would be cool to see you on campus," I said. He
smiled and the tension in me began to subside. We
started talking about the movies.

We were rolling down 31st Street toward the
expressway. "It is a western theme at the Drive In," 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."

"They have an interesting alternative on a single
theme. Let's do that," he said. "Though I hate to pull
you away from the horses."

"Pull me away, Man," I said. "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 seat.
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.

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 severing it with his pearly
teeth.

I gave 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 film segment was shown over and
over again, and the sound loop was scratched.
Alexander took a sip of wine, grimaced, 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 jackets. I didn't say anything. I wondered what
Alexander was thinking.

"Have you seen Midnight Cowboy 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 a place like this 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 Nillson. I liked the song. So
far nobody was talking 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 was 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
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 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 at the screen. Jon Voight
was wearing a little cowboy hat pushed back on his
blonde hair. Dustin Hoffman looked like a junkie

My stomach knotted at the words. Girlfriend! 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
head me right. I got beat up at school because some of
the brothers called me Queer and I told them to go
stuff themselves. I tried to keep them from finding
out why but Daddy got on his high horse and went to
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 the boy I liked in band was
teased in junior high School. How could I have stood
by and not defended him? 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
comfortable with 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. 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 roaring 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 Nillson 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,
the dark flesh of his cock much darker than the rest
of his skin.

It was the first erect cock I had ever seen, other
than my old Faithful. It was long and narrow, curving
slightly up the right. He was uncircumcised, the tip
of it 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 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 cocksucking queer."

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

"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
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.

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 enhanced senses and I licked his
sack and teased the orbs within. "Suck them, Bob, suck
my balls," said Alexander.

I sucked one into my eager mouth. The tender teste
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. "Your 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 nursed on him as he held my head in place. His semen
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 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.

"I think I have one. My folks have a cabin in
Michigan. It is on a little lake. I bet we can get
there and be alone."

"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 of the car 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 said 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 it 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
she 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 running off to the 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 crashed around and 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 New Orleans 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 buckle, or in
the car when it was dark. But there were risks in
that, and who needed the hassle?

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 the weekend and he was
going to fuck me silly, if he so desired. 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 an 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, he going
down on his knees before me so I could stroke his
tight curls as he gobbled me down. One morning we did
each other in between customers.

I found it curious 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 It was really just Monday, since the 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 a little pot 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.

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 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
sound 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
beer. 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."

"O.K." I said, slowing down. 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 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 a wicked 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 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! 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 desire.

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.

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

"Now I am really 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 bitch."

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 himself
between my legs, on his knees. 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
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 hard 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.

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.

He grunted and groaned and I clutched him desperately,
arching 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 from my asshole.

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 two days we did not venture far from the
bed, and we trashed the comforter and the sheets and I
did not care. 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.

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 to Howard University,' he said.
"I need to get out of the Midwest."

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 and grabbed a bottle of
extra-virgin olive oil from the rack next to the stove
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. 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.

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.

And as to Alexander, he is now the Mayor of
Washington, DC, and wears bow-ties.

Copyright 2004 Any_mouse2003