Date: Sat, 21 Feb 2004 14:03:15 -0800 (PST) From: Niftyguy <niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com> Subject: southern nights, chapter 6 Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. If you have any feedback or encouragement, feel free to drop me a line at niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com. I appreciate the emails! (That's how we authors know guys are reading.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alt F N. Fingers in place on the keys. And away we go. . . The city wakes up. Lights flicker on and off, engines turn over, bundles of coarse, gray paper fly through the air, a tabby cat pads down the stairs, looking to see if breakfast has appeared, hardy souls climb onto bicycles that have never known the freedom of the open road. The subway starts to sort people, swallowing them up at one point in time and space and depositing them at another. Thousands of people go up this escalator and down the other, in this tunnel and onto that track, changing trains without ever thinking why, just because that is what they do. We all started from different places, and we all have different destinations, but here and now, we are together. Our lives are temporarily one on top of the other, caught up in wonderful and terrible ways. And on that train, at that time, in a most peculiar way, enduring threads are being woven together. . . Hours passed as I sat at my uncle's desk, words pouring out of the tips of my fingers, starting once again at the beginning and channeling the lives that were growing in my imagination. Images flashed before my eyes, connections revealed between seemingly unrelated ideas and people and places and things. And threaded through everything, thoughts of Beau, his smile, his voice, his body, his cock, the hard buds of his nipples, the fine hairs leading from his navel to his pubic thatch, his heavy balls, the round curve of his calves, his muscular buttcheeks, the bloom of sweat on his back when I'm fucking him, the feel of his mouth on my cock, and mine on his, and everything else about his young, ripe sexiness that left me sitting there working the whole morning with a hard-on. I finally was ready to break for lunch after hearing the clock strike one. A quick scrounge in the kitchen revealed only a couple of pretty meager options, so I decided to stroll downtown to grab a quick bite at the old-fashioned lunch counter. It was the real deal: an old brick building with the Coca-Cola sign painted on the side, a Formica counter, chrome stools covered in red vinyl, and a twenty-something counter man who wore a striped shirt with a bow tie, a long apron, a white cap over his black crew cut, and a nametag that identified him as George. Almost instinctively, I sized him up as I took a seat up at the counter. "So what's your pleasure?" he asked, taking my measure with his green eyes. My eyes flicked back and forth from the menu to the muscular forearms that emerged from his rolled up shirtsleeves. "Well, how about the ham sandwich and an iced tea. And can I substitute a salad for the potato chips?" "It'll be a dollar extra, that's all. What kinda dressing d'you want?" "Oh, how about blue cheese." "No problem. You want sweet tea or unsweetened?" "Well, I like the sweet tea, but I should probably go for the unsweetened." "I guess not as many folks around here do what they should do, compared to what they want to do. Maybe it's different wherever you're from." Just the corners of George's mouth curved up as he winked and turned to take my order back to the kitchen, leaving me to try to interpret his words. Before my attention could drift down to the Atlanta paper I had picked up on my walk into town, the bell on the front door jingled, and a very handsome young African-American man, neatly dressed in a shirt and tie, came in and sat down at the counter, two stools down from me. "Hey Ziggy, how's it hanging?" George exclaimed with a smile when he came back and saw the newcomer. "To my knees, Georgie boy. How `bout you?" The new customer's straight, white teeth positively shone as he grinned back at an obviously familiar face. "Pretty good. The lunch rush's just about over," he said, looking pointedly at me. "You want the usual?" "Sounds good." My counter mate turned to me as soon as George walked off, scratching out a lunch order on his pad. "So you're not from around here, are you?" he asked, smiling in a completely charming way. "Is it that obvious?" I asked, feigning deep disappointment. "I didn't even need to open my Yankee mouth." "Well, let's just say that this town is so small, any new face stands out. And I'm sure I would've remembered yours. Ziggy Watkins," he said, extending his hand over the intervening stool. "Jefferson MacNeil." His grip was strong and athletic. "I have to confess I'm not a local. I'm just here to bury my uncle and take care of his affairs. He died a couple of weeks ago." "You mean Ed Mayhew? He was your uncle?" I nodded. "Damn. He was one of our favorites down at the bank, First National of Dumont. That's where I work. I'm real sorry, Mr. MacNeil. We couldn't believe it when we heard the news." "You can call me Jeff. And I couldn't believe it, either." "And you can call me Ziggy." He fished into his pocket and pulled out a small leather case. "Here's my card. I'm sure you're going to work with Mr. Mayhew's attorney, but let me know if you need help with any business at the bank." "That's very kind of you. I appreciate it." Sitting there, I could almost feel the warmth that Ziggy's personality radiated; his golden brown skin almost seemed to glow. "I have to confess, though, I really haven't gotten very far into Uncle Ed's affairs yet. I guess that I just haven't been motivated enough." Ziggy nodded knowingly. "It's the heat. It's real hard for Northerners to get used to it." "Yeah, I suppose that's it. The heat." I couldn't help but reflect on how I'd lately been spending my days and nights; maybe the physical distractions had something to do with my inattentiveness to business. At that moment, just as George returned with my lunch, the bell on the front door jingled once more, and Forrest Hamilton marched inside like he owned the place. For all I knew, maybe he did. The elderly gentleman just stood there for maybe half a minute, surveying the lunch counter like it was the sands of Arabia. Ziggy caught my eye before pursing his lips and shaking his head. "Here comes His Lordship," he whispered softly, almost under his breath. I don't think that Forrest Hamilton immediately recognized me. In fact, it was only on the second or third glance my way that his face finally lit up with recognition, and he made his way over to me. "Why Mr. MacNeil, what a pleasant surprise. I had been meaning to look you up again, and now I must insist that you join me for lunch." I reached out and grasped his extended hand. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Hamilton, but I'm afraid that I'll have to take a rain check. You see, I'm having lunch here with Mr. Watkins. We have some business to talk about. But it is a pleasure to see you again so soon." "I see," the older man said, all trace of welcome draining out of his face as he turned to contemplate the young black man. "You say you have business to discuss, the two of you. And I thought I knew about all of the business in this town. At least all the business worth mentioning." He paused briefly before continuing. "Well, you leave me no choice but to insist that you join me for dinner, then. Shall we say 7:00?" It was more a command than a request, but I was curious enough to give my consent. "Very well, then. 100 State Street is my address. You shouldn't have any trouble finding it, just ask anyone you see on the street if you need direction. And now if you'll excuse me, I just recalled some of my own business that I must attend to. My luncheon shall have to wait. Good day, gentlemen." With that, he turned abruptly on his heel and was gone. Ziggy shook his head. "Well, I see you don't need any warning about him. How long were you here before he corralled you?" "Oh, he came by the house a couple of days after the funeral. He had a business proposition." "I'm not surprised. I guess the only advice I'd give you is to read the fine print. That man has exactly one thing on his mind, and it's not his fellow man." Ziggy and I continued to talk while we ate our lunches. George came over and joined us after the only other customer paid up and left, and it came out that they had formerly played together on the local semi-pro baseball team, before Ziggy gave it up to get serious about life, as he put it. "I still play in the outfield," George explained, pretending to shag a fly ball. "Yeah, playing with yourself, you mean," Ziggy teased. "Fuck you," George retorted jokingly. "Yeah, you and who else?" George playfully punched his friend's shoulder. "Your mouth best not write a check your butt can't cash." I finally pushed back my empty plate. "Well, I suppose I should settle up and get out of here and let you two settle it." I glanced down at the check before dropping some bills on the counter. "Are you on your way back to the bank, now? I'm walking that direction." "You said you were going to take the deposit back, remember?" George quickly chimed in. "I gotta get that together." "Looks like I'll have to take care of some business, first," Ziggy said, smiling. He extended his hand. "But it was sure nice to meet you." "Likewise. I hope to see you again soon." I was only half a block away from the lunch counter before I realized that I had left my Atlanta Journal-Constitution sitting on the stool next to mine, and I quickly walked back to retrieve it. I was a little surprised to find that the door was already locked and the "Closed" sign had been flipped over. Peering inside, there was no sign of either Ziggy or George, and no one answered my knock. I guessed that they must have gone back into the office to collect the deposit George had mentioned, so I quickly jogged around the building to see if I could get their attention. In the back alley, I found an unlocked door, which opened into the deserted kitchen. Pausing for a second, I heard a low voice coming from the other side of a partially open door. Even though I could not hear what was being said, I could immediately tell from the tone what was going on. Tip-toeing across the tiled floor, I peered around the corner of the door marked "Office." Ziggy was leaning against the desk, totally naked from the waist down. Squatting in front of him, George was sucking on his friend's enormous, darkly glistening cock. He, too, had lost his trousers somewhere between the counter and this back room, and his hand was busy stroking his own hard tool. As I watched, Ziggy slowly extracted his entire length from George's mouth. "What do you want? You want my cock?" "Oh yeah," George groaned breathlessly. "I need your cock. Oh fuck." He tried to snare Ziggy's bobbing erection between his moist, red lips, but the muscular, golden-skinned man kept pulling it just out of reach. "So you want my cock, do you? You want my big, black cock? Well that's what you're gonna get." Ziggy began to use his long, thick organ like a cudgel, slapping it against George's flushed cheeks, bouncing it off of his grasping mouth, frustrating him to the point where he began to whimper. "Oh, I get it," Ziggy observed playfully. "You don't just want my cock, you want my cock down your throat. Is that it?" George just groaned in response. "Well, you'd better get ready, then, 'cause here it comes." The handsome African American man grasped his friend's cheeks, holding him still, and inserted just the tip of his twitching erection between parted lips. Slowly, deliberately, Ziggy sank his cock into the deep recesses of George's mouth. I watched mesmerized as inch after inch of the dark brown shaft slid past the moist, red opening. At one point a shudder went through George as he struggled to accommodate his friend's length and girth. Ziggy, however, was relentless, and he didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt. Needless to say, I was hard as a rock as I watched this scene develop in front of me. Without even thinking about it, I had started to rub my cock through my khaki pants; this is exactly what I was doing when Ziggy happened to glance over as he pumped George's mouth. He looked slightly alarmed for a split second, but he quickly realized that I was anything but disapproving, and he smiled and beckoned me over. "Hey, no need to be shy. Hurry up and get your butt over here." I quickly complied. As I started to unzip and drop my trousers, I leaned over and placed my mouth on Ziggy's, while he continued to saw in and out of George's mouth. Before long I, too, had kicked off my shoes and shucked my pants off, enabling my hard-on to bob free. "Nice piece of meat you've got there," Ziggy said as he reached down. The golden brown skin of his hand was warm to the touch, and I gasped a little as he manipulated my foreskin over the sensitive, slippery flesh that it covered. "Very nice. I think our friend George here's gonna like sucking on this." Ziggy guided my cock over to his, which he pulled out of his friend's mouth. As we bounced our stiff pricks against each other, George darted his tongue into the mix, enabling him to lick and taste the quivering flesh. He was clearly impatient , and before long he boldly moved in to gobble me up. The sensation was just tremendous as I eased into his voracious mouth; as my shaft slid by, I could feel his tongue darting to and fro like a horny little fish, eagerly tasting every square inch of available skin. When his nose was finally nestled in my pubic hair, I paused for an instant so that I could just savor the feeling of being buried in this moist, warm, pulsating cavern. George was clearly enjoying himself also, at least judging from the way that he was working his shiny red little fireplug dick. As he sucked me and masturbated himself, he deftly unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his muscled chest, which was covered by a fine scattering of dark hairs. Needing something to do as he waited his turn, Ziggy reached down and began twisting and pulling one of George's dark, engorged nipples, eliciting groans that vibrated all along the length of my cock. It didn't take long before the three of us established a rhythm, with Ziggy and me alternating turns at George's ripe mouth. Our young friend was so turned on at the embarrassment of cocksucking riches that bounced in front of him that I really don't think he would have known which way to turn if we hadn't been there to help guide his mouth to the different targets. Slowly, inexorably, the level of excitement ratcheted up, until I had to struggle not to shoot each time I plunged back into George's mouth. "You're getting pretty close, aren't you?" Ziggy finally said, watching the look of intense concentration on my face as I pumped back into George's mouth. Just thinking about cumming was almost enough to make me do it, so I only barely nodded as I fought for control. "How about we just hose this boy down, then." As Ziggy spoke, he thrust his cock up against mine when it emerged from between George's lips. Our young friend must have sensed a change in the air, because his hand began to jack his own cock at a faster and faster tempo. Ziggy caught my eye. "How about if we jerk each other off and just spray him?" Feeling my balls tighten, I pulled all the way out while at the same time grasping my new friend's enormous meat. The hot, slick feeling of his organ was extremely sexy, and a cascade of horny thoughts and sensations began to come crashing down over me. "Oh fuck," I groaned. "I'm gonna fucking come." As I began to spurt, Ziggy used my cock like a firehose, painting droplets of cum across George's face and up and down his torso. A split second later, I could feel strong pulsations begin to ripple up the length of his shaft, which I was furiously pumping, and I aimed it directly at George's crotch. Ziggy's first volley sprayed George's tool, and before he could fire again, I repositioned his fleshy cannon so that it would finish the job of drenching our young cock-sucking friend's face. Witnessing a second big cumshot in the span of less than a minute was too much for George, and he let out a high pitched squeal as he blew the biggest load of the three of us. A shudder went through my body as I savored the afterglow of a most delicious orgasm, and I leaned over to give Ziggy a kiss while dragging the tip of my still-twitching cock across George's mouth. "Boy, service in this place is pretty amazing," I murmured. "Yeah, I always find that this one deserves a big tip," Ziggy snickered. He looked at his watch. "But my lunch hour is over, and then some." He reached down and pulled George up, put his arms around him, and then gave him a swat on his naked butt. "I'll see you after the game on Saturday. I'm guessing that the regular crew will be at the after-game party?" "No doubt," George said before turning to me. "Maybe you should come too. I can guarantee that you'll cum if you come." I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, at the moment I don't have anything else on my calendar, except for my dinner tonight with His Eminence. You might just see me there." The three of us quickly dressed and parted ways. Walking back home, thinking of Beau, I felt a little guilty about my extracurricular activities. I resolved to exercise a little more self-restraint, at least until Beau and I talked about where we were at. Despite all of our differences, in age, background, where we lived, I had a feeling that our relationship might go somewhere. And I didn't want to screw that up.