Date: Mon, 17 May 2004 02:08:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Cafe au Lait, The First Part

It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the
height of the decade which actually didn't end until
the oil crunch in 1973.

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 things.

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 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. 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. The all seemed to wear the same
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 I
often found myself thinking of what it would be like
to see a guy as hard as I was.

I laid down on my bed and looked at the moon. 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
story of Fanny Hill in my father's remote library, in
with the magazines I liked to look at.

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 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 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 when my balls boiled I came in
a Technicolor plume that shot up and hit me in the
face.

This night, I looked at the moon and stroked my eager
cock, 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 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.

I was up late with everyone else that night, 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 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. That would reflect
badly on the Men's Department, I thought.