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Subject: {ASSM} Inner-City Sex Drive in Seven Steamy Episodes
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Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2006 14:10:02 -0500
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Inner-City Sex Drive in Seven Steamy Episodes

This is a work of fiction. It is not intended to be read by minors. It
includes acts of homosexuality and dialogue with racial slurs. If you
are offended by this kind of fantasy, please search for something else
to read.

Now, let's get on with our stories.

Part One: Adventure in the City

It had been a while since my last trip to the city. I wandered down the
dark rainy city streets at night. Bright headlights rushed by; cars
splashed muddy water on my pants and sneakers. I shook my fist and
cursed the reckless drivers, but I'm sure they didn't give a shit.

I spent the early part of the evening gulping down beer in a local
tavern. While I was filling up on the piss-colored liquid I was
thinking about what might be in store for me in the porn movie theater.
I wish I had given some thought to going to the men's room to take a
leak before I left the bar. Now, as I was racing down the grimy alleys
toward the movie house I cursed my lack of foresight. I grabbed my
crotch to keep from pissing in my pants. I danced from toe to toe
looking desperately for a place to relieve myself.

There, in front of me, was a parking garage with a bright Neon sign.

I ducked inside the garage, still clutching my crotch in the bright
glow of the florescent lights as I made my way past the vending
machines. On the far side of the bright hallway was a scruffy looking
metal door marked "Men". I pushed my way inside and raced to the
nearest urinal. I had no time to spare. I ripped my pants open and let
a forceful flow of fresh hot piss stream into the urinal.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

When I could finally relax and began to shake the excess piss off of
the tip of my dick I noticed a soft grunting sound coming from one of
the stalls. There was also the rustling sound of clothing. I thought to
myself, "I'm sure that this is not what I think it is. Nobody would
jerk off in a public men's room."

I zipped myself up and crept over to the stalls. From where I was
standing I could see a pair of red and white sneakers pointing straight
up. A boy's feet were making jerking motions. I drew closer to the
door of the stall and heard a teenager's heavy breathing between deep
grunts, and the steady sound of excited stroking. I peeked through the
crack in the door of the stall and saw a smooth-skinned black boy
pumping his hard cock.

The boy was lost in his own world. His eyes were half-closed and his
lips quivered as he anxiously pumped his hard black cock - it must
have been about 8 or nine inches.

I watched as his baggy pants shook with his vigorous strokes. They were
bunched around his ankles, revealing his smooth black thighs and firm
calves. I pressed my face against the crack in the opening of the door
to his stall, but the kid didn't notice me. His thick, moist dark
brown lips kept quivering as he leaned back and enjoyed himself.

Suddenly he bolted straight up.

His body became rigid.

He let out a loud sigh.

A thick stream of cum exploded from his cock.

He shot two or three more loads of heavy white cream all over his dark
brown thighs.

The boy leaned back, eyes still half closed, and let out a loud sigh,
"Lawwd have Mercy!"

I stifled a laugh and slipped out of the room before he realized he was
being spied on. As I left the men's room I heard him tugging on the
roll of toilet paper and wiping himself off. I felt a rush of
excitement in my gut; so this is what it's going to be like tonight
in the city!

*********************

When I left the garage I was surprised to discover that what began as a
trickle of rain had now became a heavy downpour.

I ran down the rain-slicked sidewalk, which reflected light like a
black mirror. I noticed a shop just up ahead. It looked like it was
still open. The display window was bright, with popular magazines on
display. A neon sign in the display window gave off a steady hum and
cast a red glow on the dark wet streets. The sign read: "Sex, Sex,
Sex."

I ducked inside the store. It felt good to get out of the rain.

The porn shop smelled of air freshener and cigar smoke. A grey-haired
black man behind the counter, with half a cigar clamped between his
teeth quickly gave me the once over.

"May I help you find something?"

I guess I was a little intimidated by the man. I thought, "Maybe I
shouldn't rush into this too quickly. What if someone I know sees me
here? What if the salesclerk thinks I some kind of pervert?" I eyed
the boxed plastic sex dolls hanging on the walls and a line of all
kinds of hard rubber dildos. There were big ones and small ones; black
ones and white ones; veiny ones and smooth ones. I rubbed my shirt
sleeve across my forehead and felt my heart race with anxiety. I looked
sheepishly at the man.

"N-no. It's cool. I'm just ducking out of the rain." I shifted
nervously on my feet as he continued to stare at me.

"Well you can't duck in here..."

"Why not?"

"Because this here is an establishment. We're here to make money.
We aint no shelter for the homeless."

I bit my lip. My face grew red with anger. I glared at him and stalked
toward the door.

His eyes followed me as he chomped on his cigar, "If you wanna stay
here you gotta buy some tokens."

"Tokens?"

"Yeah, so you can go into the back and watch some movies."

By this time I was standing by the glass door and could hear the
torrent of rain pounding the sidewalk.

I didn't want to go back outside in that.

"How much for the tokens?"

"You gotta buy five dollars worth; then you can go in the back."

I pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill and slapped it on the counter.
The gray-haired man pulled a silver lever on the token dispenser beside
the cash register. He pulled five times, as shiny aluminum coins piled
into the palm of his hand.

"Okay." He slapped the tower of coins down on the counter. "You
can go watch your movie."

I swallowed hard and barely mumbled, "Thank you."

****************************************************

I brushed past strings of beads that covered the archway leading to the
back. I had no idea what to expect; there was no way of telling what
might be in store for me.

The backroom smelled of cigarette smoke, urine and cum.

It was dark, except for the dull glow of low lights in the display case
outside of each booth. Most of signs read something like this:
"Preview Movie 25 cents a Token"

It felt like I was walking into a haunted house in an amusement park.
You never know what creatures will jump out at you from the shadows. As
I crept past the video booths I noticed that none of them had doors.
Somebody later explained to me that this was because it is state law,
to discourage sexual activity, but from what I could see, the doorless
booths only seemed to make cruising easier.

The booths were laid out in a maze-like design, and the lights were
low.

I stumbled down a dark narrow corridor, hoping to find an empty booth
where I could sit down and dry off. There was a booth at the end of the
corridor, but before I could turn the corner to enter it I noticed a
soft moaning sound. I peeked inside the booth and saw two figures
bathed in the dim blue light from the TV screen. An old white man, must
have been in his sixties, leaned back in the seat. His pale frame
glowed in the dim light. His white hair was askew and his face was
slick with sweat. His shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing a
shriveled wrinkled body. His pants were also unzipped and open.

Kneeling at his feet, on the floor, was a black teenager. The boy's
mouth was buried in the old man's crotch and he bobbed his head up
and down on the white man's cock. The man held the black boy's head
between his hands, pushing the boy's face back down each time he
tried to come up for air.

The white man hissed at the boy, "Yeah - suck that dick, nigger."
The boy dutifully kept sucking. His lips slurped on the white man's
cock. The boy's eyes seemed to flash in the darkness, in contrast to
rest of his face.

I stood there transfixed as I watched the young boy service the old
white man's cock. The man was clearly enjoying it. He sighed and
heaved in his seat.

I slowly pulled out my own cock and quietly stroked it.

Suddenly the older man entered an orgasm. His pelvis jerked wildly in
the young boy's mouth. He let out a loud sigh and a series of rapid
gasps. The black boy gagged and coughed. The old man pressed the
boy's face into his crotch. The black boy closed his eyes and took
the white man's cum. The man's body continued to shake while the
boy choked and coughed. There was thick white cum dripping out of the
boy's mouth. It dribbled down the black boy's chin. There was even
cum trickling out of the boy's nose.

When the white man relaxed and eased back in his seat the black
teenager wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The older man
quickly grabbed the boy by the back of his head and rubbed his face all
over his softening white cock and balls. He wiped the side of the
boy's face with his cum covered dick and pubes. Some of his cum clung
to the boy's nappy hair. The boy looked embarrassed.

The man looked down at him and frowned, "Kiss my dick, boy." The
black teenager rolled his eyes and gently kissed the white man's
cock. The man hissed with satisfaction, "Yeeeah. Atta boy." He
grabbed the black boy's jaw and forced the boy's thick tender lips
open. The white man cleaned his shriveling cock off in the black
boy's mouth.

I thought I was going to shoot my load right there. I quickly slid back
into the dark corridor, searching for another booth where I could be
alone.

*************************************************

As I stumbled down the corridor I heard loud dull thumping sounds
coming from one of the booths. With my curiosity already piqued I
decided to check it out. In the soft glow of the video screen I saw a
handsome brown-skinned teenager who was buck naked on the seat of the
booth. His legs were stretched up in the air and resting on the
shoulders of a fat hairy older white man. The boy was getting his ass
plowed - but good. His head bumped against the wall with every thrust
the big white man made in his tight young black ass.

The teenager's clothes had been carelessly tossed all over the cruddy
porn booth floor. I noticed his balled up FUBU t-shirt, his Timberland
boots, and a discarded silk do-rag on the floor. The floor was also
covered with sweat, cum and saliva; probably from people who had been
in there before. The boy curled his toes and bit his lip while he took
his ass-pounding from that thick white cock.

The boy's eyes were closed and his lips quivered, as if he was hoping
for the whole thing to end, but the hefty white man never let up.
"You like that big white cock in yer black ass, Nigger?"

The boy just sniffed and whimpered. He clutched his seat while his long
teenaged cock swung from side to side in rhythm with the pounding he
was taking. The boys smooth brown butt cheeks bounced up and down on
the plastic seat while the white man dominated his young black ass.

The man drove his dick hard into the boy, giving him a taste of real
manhood that he could never find in the ghetto. The man grunted. Sweat
dripped from his face and chest onto the boy's smooth brown body. The
boy let out a pained moan while he was being thoroughly used by the
large white man.

Suddenly the man let out a groan. His body shook in wild ecstasy. His
dick remained buried deep inside the boy's ass. Then the big white
man's ass cheeks clinched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed - as he
pumped his hot semen into the black boy's ass. Long thick strands of
white cum oozed out of the boy's ass and made a puddle on the floor
below the seat. The boy's mouth hung open as he gasped for air.

The boy stared off into space. I had to get away from there because I
was afraid one of them would see me watching them and stroking.

**************************************

As I made my way further down the corridor I noticed a young
brown-skinned Mexican youth. He was leaning against the wall. He barely
had a mustache over his youthful red lips. The soft black facial hairs,
barely coming in, contrasted against his smooth brown face. He appeared
to be chewing on a toothpick as he was talking to an older white man.
The Mexican youth clutched his crotch. The white man give him money and
they ducked into a booth.

As I crept closer to the booth I heard the boy say, "Yeah, suck on
that dick, Papi. Suck it good." I looked inside and saw the Mexican
kid with his pants down below his thighs and the older man stooped on
one knee, sucking the kid's young thug cock. The boy had thick plumes
of black public hair that looked like a wild bush rubbing against the
white man's face.

The boy's eyes were aflame as he looked down at the older white
cocksucker, serving his dick. The man seemed to be doing a good job -
licking the kid's caramel colored penis and tossing the boy's brown
balls with his tongue. He also licked inside the boy's ass. The kid
tried to act like he was indifferent to all of this, but his hard
Mexican cock told another story.

The man rubbed his hands over the kid's lean rippled abs. Then he
moved his hand further up the boy's body until he exposed the boy's
smooth brown chest. He played with the boy's soft nipples. The young
Mexican let out a sigh of pleasure in spite of himself. The older man
slurped on the Mexican kid's dick while the boy dug his fingers into
the man's unkempt hair, making the man suck harder.

Without warning the boy heaved and let out a sigh. Loads of hot,
Mexican cum shot out of the corner of the older man's mouth. The boy
spurted more cum that splattered across the man's face. The white man
sheepishly bowed his head and kissed the Mexican kid's balls. When
the kid was through shooting his load, he pulled up his pants and left
the booth without a second glance - wads of bills sticking out of his
pocket.

By this time I was hidden in the shadows of a corner. The scenes from
these dark booths rushed through my head. I stroked my cock hard with
reckless abandon. I forget about where I was. I forgot about everything
that was going on around me. All that mattered was my throbbing hard
cock and the sights, sounds and smells I had just witnessed. Suddenly I
felt the dull thump of someone tapping my ass with his shoe. I whirled
around and looked up to see who it was.

***********************************

I found myself staring in the face of a young black thug. He leered
down at me with his smooth dark brown face. He was wearing a heavy
leather jacket and his hand was thrust in his pocket. The boy was
silent. He just watched me and smirked. He motioned to the covered hand
in his pocket. I swallowed hard.

"T-take whatever you want. You want my wallet? You want my Ipod? You
want my cell phone? You want my jacket?"

The boy hissed in a low voice, "I want more than just them things."
He bit his lip to suppress a laugh. His white teeth shone against his
black face in the darkness.

"Since you already on yur knees, you kin start by lickin my boots."

He stuck his dirty Timberlands under my mouth. I looked up at the
concealed weapon in his pocket and lowered my head. I dutifully licked
that boy's dirty boots.

"Thas it. Be a good byatch and lick dis nigga's boots."

I tasted the dirt and leather of his soiled boots. I licked over his
toes and thick shoe laces. My face turned bright red with humiliation.
The boy let out a softly amused laugh.

"Yeah, get em clean.."

After awhile he motioned for me to move into another booth.

We went into an empty booth where he dumped a handful of silver tokens
into the coin slot. He slowly undid his belt and let his sagging pants
drop to the floor. He kept the covered weapon pointed at my head. The
boy motioned me with his jacket pocket, "Pull my boxers down."

I slid my fingers under the waistband of his silk red boxer shorts and
slowly pulled them down to his knees. His long black cock dangled in my
face. It was supported by his thick jungle balls. I smelled the heavy
scent of pubic ghetto hair and felt waves of heat from the black
teenager's groin. Somehow, against my will, my dick grew hard inside
my pants.

He glared down at me, "wash dem ballz."

I hesitated, but then he rubbed his hairy balls against my lips.

"I said 'wash em,' I aint gonna tell you more den twice."

I stuck out my tongue and tasted his hot musty African baby-makers. I
tasted sweat and cum as his balls slid over my tongue. I felt the
course hairs of his balls between my teeth.
The black thug boy filled my mouth. His testicles gave off smell of
masculine teenage sexual potency.

Much as I was humiliated and ashamed I gave that black boy a hot wet
tongue bath. I felt the passion for this black ghetto boy's manhood
building up inside of me.  I licked between his sacs and cleaned his
youthful nut-sac off. I tasted every crevice of that black kid's
groin and licked between his smooth brown thighs.

He hissed, "Yeah. Kiss dem nutts"

I lifted his thick, hard black cock and gently and pressed my lips
against his hairy nut sacs. I kissed them again and again, as if I were
in a trance. When I realized what I was doing - that I had become
completely lost in that young black boy's ghetto prowess - my face
flushed with guilt and shame.

I tried to convince myself that I was only doing this because the kid
was forcing me to. He looked down at me and gloated while I serviced
every private crevice of his young black body.

His hard black cock oozed precum onto my forehead. He put his hand on
my head and guided his dick into my mouth. He barely mumbled, "Suck
dis dick." I knew I had no choice but to obey. He stuffed me with a
mouthful of his thick black cock and pumped it down my throat. He
grabbed the back of my head and worked his cock slowly in and out of my
mouth. He moaned deeply while his hairy black balls slammed against my
chin.

I held onto his soft, firm thighs as his pelvis push against my face.
My face was buried in his thick musty pubes, breathing them in as I
chocked on that big black cock. I felt like a helpless ho.

Suddenly the boy tensed and started to tremble. I felt a rush of cum
rise up his shaft like a tsunami building momentum before it hits the
shore. The boy grabbed my head and held my face in his housing project
pubes. He let out a sigh. Thick, hot, salty cum spurted down my throat.
He gasped as he let out wave after wave of potent jungle power. I
swallowed it all. My mouth tasted of fresh nigger cum.

Shameful as it was, he drained his balls in my mouth. That young black
teenaged thug became a part of me. He held my head tight with my face
embedded in his pubes. My nose was filled with the scent of his teen
boy privates. He eased the pressure off of the back of my head and let
me gasp for air.

When I realized what I had just done I tried frantically to spit his
cum out of my mouth, but most of it had already gone down my throat. I
kept kneeling, bent over with my hands on my knees, breathing heavily
- trying to recover from the fear and the shame.

The boy laughed, amused by my torment. He zipped up his pants and
slipped into the darkness.

***********************************

I stumbled down the main corridor in the dark until I saw a dim sign
that read "Men's Room."

The door creaked as I opened it. The restroom was a small - barely
one person could fit in it at a time. I figured this was probably to
discourage sexual activity. There was a single porcelain toilet and a
dirty sink jammed close together.  I locked the door.

After rinsing out my mouth several times, and washing my face
thoroughly in the lukewarm city water, I sat on the toilet and put my
face in my hands, in exhaustion and shame.

I must have nodded off; I lost track of time. I finally woke up to the
sound of commotion, but didn't know where it was coming from. I
looked at the graffiti-covered drywall, exposed electrical wiring, and
the dingy light bulb dangling from the ceiling. I noticed a closed vent
behind the toilet.

The vents were shut, but I plied them open with my fingers and found
that I could peek through them to get a clear view into the manager's
office. The white manager had a brown-skinned boy bent over the back of
his couch. The boy's black ass was bare; he had few tender hairs on
his slender legs. I couldn't see his face, just his legs and his feet
and his naked black ass.

The manager was a large man with a pot belly. He walked beside the
bare-assed boy barking, "You're hard-headed. You don't do what
you're told. I never should have hired you off the streets in the
first place."

The boy moaned, "Please - please. Give me another chance. I'll do
what you say."

The man grunted. "I need to fire your black ass right now and send
you back to the ghetto to be a drug runner!"

The boy was pleading, his voice muffled by the back of the couch,
"Please. Please. Give me a second chance. I needs to get paid so's
I can buy me some nice clothes some games for my Playstation."

The manager chuckled.

"Damn right you're gonna get paid. You're gonna get paid like you
was a plantation slave boy."

The teen's plea turned into a muffled sob behind the couch.

The man unbuckled his belt and slid it off his waist.  He stuck his
hand inside the boy's ass crack. He felt around inside the boy. That
black boy now belonged to him. He was helpless to anything about it.

The white man spread the boy's black ass cheeks and stuck his fingers
deeper inside of his crack, finger fucking the boy.

"I know what all you young hard-headed niggers need! You all need an
attitude adjustment." The white man continued to fondle the boy's
black hole.  "You need a white cock inside that black ass to teach
you some humility!"

The manager slowly unzipped his pants and pulled out a thick white
cock. He slapped his flabby cock on the boy's smooth ass cheeks a few
times. Then he aimed his hardened prick and pushed himself inside of
the young boy's hole. The boy wailed.

The manager's back was facing me as he mounted the helpless black
teenager. His hairy white ass pumped in and out, picking up speed.  The
teenaged boy's legs jerked up and down with each thrust of the
man's hard cock.

The manager grunted, "Take...that...white...cock."

The boy let out a high-pitched moan, but take that white cock he did.
The manager didn't let up.
"I'll...fuck...your...black...ass...good. Teach...you...
good...work...habits." The boy's legs shook with every powerful
thrust of that white cock in his tight young black ass. The boy grunted
as the superior man took full advantage of him.

I heard the steady slap of flesh against flesh as the manager raped
that teenager's ass. The boy let out muffled cries, "Oh shit. Oh
muthafuck. Oh shit." The man replied, "Take that white cock,
nigger. Take that white cock in your black ass."

Suddenly the man let out a loud gasp. He dumped his hot white load deep
inside that wayward youth's ass - teaching that boy the
fundamentals of manhood. The boy sniffled, but took that white cock
like a man. He was learning.

The manager let his cock drain in the kid's ass for awhile. He slowly
pulled out and the boy's ass was leaking man cum. "That's what
you niggers need - a good attitude adjustment. You need a white
man's cum inside your black asses to civilize you."

Streams of cum flowed down the boy's slender brown legs. Maybe the
manager was onto something. It was hard for me to imagine that that boy
would ever want to be a gang-banger again. He slowly pulled up his
boxer shorts, but they were quickly stained with the white man's cum.

I closed the vent and sat back down on the toilet. I was disgusted by
the scene. For some reason, however, my dick was stiff as a rock. I
slowly stroked my cock. As I stroked myself, faster and faster, I vowed
to get out of this madhouse as soon as I could and never to come back
again. I knew I didn't want any parts of this nasty scene!

I finished jerking off and shot a thick load all over my thighs, more
than I ever recall shooting before. I tore off some toilet tissues to
try the clean the sticky goo off. I eased my way out of the men's
room and moved quickly down the corridor - looking for an exit.
Unfortunately, I stumbled past another open video booth.

*****************************************

Standing up on the seat of the booth was a completely naked young black
man, he must have been in his late teens or early 20s. His head was
cramped against the ceiling. An older white man fondled his balls as if
he were inspecting a slave to be a stud on his plantation. He bounced
the black man's large hanging testicles in his hand.

Then he had the young man turn around and bend over, pressing against
the back wall. The black "captive's" ass jutted out, and the
white man ran his hand up and down his ass crack, just like the manager
had done with the boy in the back room. He parted the young man's ass
cheeks. The white man looked like a cop, checking young black boys for
drugs in the projects. You never know where a boy will hide those drugs
when he sees the heat rolling around. You have to check everything.

The man ran his hands up and down the black youth's muscular dark
legs and between his thighs. He turned the young man around and stroked
the boy's long black cock like it was this white man's possession.
It looked directly into the black boy's eyes while he played with his
thick ghetto cock. The boy just stood there like a naked basketball
player allowing his coach to fondle him.

The white man pressed up against him and spoke barely above a whisper,
breathing heavily in the black boy's face.

"You like to screw lots of black bitches with this, huh nigga?"

The black boy swallowed hard and nodded his head. His dick was rock
solid by now.

"You also like to screw that black whore of a mama who raised you,
huh nigga?"

The black boy fought down an expression of rage and simply nodded
"yes" once again.

"You're a horny jungle monkey, huh?"

Once again the boy nodded "yes" and looked away - trying to avoid
eye contact with his tormentor.

"Shoot that nigger cum all over your master's arm. Come on boy. I
want to see that nigger cum fire from that hot black cock of yours."

The boy kept swallowing hard in apparent humiliation, but also sexual
frustration, as his dick jutted straight up in the tight grip of the
white man's hand.

With his free hand the white man rubbed the boy's nappy pubic hair
and his muscled abs. Then he ran his hand over the boy's belly
button.

He abruptly stopped stroking and feeling the boy, "Get down on your
knees!"

The young black man sank to his knees in awkward embarrassment in front
of the white man. The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of
freshly minted bills. The black youth's eyes brightened. He reached
for the bills, but the man drew his hand back. "Not so fast. Not so
fast. Open your mouth."

The black youth opened his mouth. The man stuffed it with the fist full
of greenbacks. "Now keep them there while I fuck your nigger ass."
The boy dutifully bent over, mouthful of fresh bills, and jutted his
bubble butt out for the white man to fuck as long and hard as he
desired. The man rubbed his hard white cock up and down the boy's
tender ass, then violently thrust his way inside the boy.

"Take that cock, nigger."

The black youth winced, clutching the bills with his teeth.

The man pushed deep between the boy's thick dark buns. He grabbed the
boy by his shoulders and pushed further inside of the boy's chocolate
channel. The man humped wildly. The black youth's body swayed under
the force of the white man's thrusts. The man had full control over
the boy's body. That naked black stud belonged to him.

"Oh yeah. I love fucking that firm black ass."

He picked up speed and grabbed the boy by his nappy head, yanking it
back while the boy take the man's hard white cock.

"Yeah, Give me that nigger pussy. Give it to me."

The man's thighs slapped against the boy's firm black ass cheeks.
The black boy grunted in pain, but didn't protest. He kept the white
man's dollars clutched firmly between his teeth. He took that man's
cock like a good boy. The man grunted as he fucked his young black
slave. Sweat dripped from the man's forehead. The boy grunted as his
body was ravaged.

 "Yeah, nigger. .take it! Take it!"

The man exploded in ecstasy into the boy's black ass.  He fired deep
inside of the boy, making the youth's eyes grow wide. Still, he kept
the dollars clutched between his teeth.

The man collapsed in exhaustion on the black youth's slick sweat
covered back. The rest of the man's cum trickle inside of the dark
boy's body. The boy just lay there - bent over - until he was
sure the man was done with him.

************************************

Eventually I made it outside. The air on the street seemed fresh and
moist after the rain. The night sky was beginning to give way to the
first signs of sunlight. The sidewalk was still damp.

I noticed a black boy standing on the street corner, absent mindedly
clutching his crotch - and listening to a beat on his Ipod. A bus
pulled up across the street. The boy froze and suddenly bolted toward
it. As he scampered toward the departing bus he had to grab his pants
at the waist to keep them from falling off of his ass.

I had had my fill the city. It was a little more than I had bargained
for. I wandered aimlessly between the tall dark buildings in the early
morning light. The passions of the night throbbed in my memory.

Part Two: A Black Boy in the Movie Booth

Sam stood in a dimly lit corner of the porn movie house. He held two
wrinkled notes in his trembling fingers; one from his landlord telling
him he wouldn't have a job in two weeks because his work was being
"outsourced" to India and Eastern Europe. The other note was from
his wife of 14 years telling him that she had had enough - he spent
entirely too much time at the office and felt like she was married to a
ghost. She planned to take the kids and move to Texas, where she
thought she had better prospects to find a job and raise the kids.

Sam ran his hand over the uneven skin of his aging face. He saw his
reflection in the clear plastic that covered the display case for the
videos that were playing in the booths. In the dim light the lines on
his face and thinning of his salt-and-pepper hair were more visible
than usual. The light and shadow of the movie house seemed to accent
his age. He rubbed the unshaved peppery stubble on his chin.

He thought that maybe if he had a stiff drink he could forget all about
his problems for awhile. The automatic air freshener of the movie house
hissed its sweet spray on Sam's head making him grimace. He stuffed
the letters back in his pocket and headed toward the exit.

Just then a young African American male, who looked around 16 years
old, entered the movie house. He strutted down the dark isles with
confidence, bopping his head to the music on his I-pod. The volume was
turned up so loud Sam could make out the dim tune as it blasted into
the miniature speakers in the boy's ears.

Sam and the young black male briefly exchanged glances. The boy's
eyes were hazel and set against the glow of his golden brown face. A
knowing smirk crossed the teenager's face, then he averted his gaze
under the cover his long thick eyelashes. His rose colored lips
continued to sync the rap lyrics of the music that was pumping into his
ears. A slight hit of peach fuzz, trying to become a mustache, cast a
faint soft shadow above the boy's upper lip.

Sam watched the boy as he turned down one of the dark corridors in the
maze of the movie house. The kid was wearing a white "wife beater"
undershirt. His lean muscular arms seemed to glow as he pressed the
plugs deeper into his ears, making the music louder. His white baseball
cap, turned sideways, swayed to the rhythm as it rested on top of a
white bandana. The small ends of light brown braids peeked out from
underneath the bandana.

Without giving Sam a second glance the boy disappeared inside of an
empty video booth. Sam heard a stream of quarters dropping into coin
box and a glow from the video screen reflected off of the shiny wooden
walls at the entrance to the booth. By state law none of the video
booths were allowed to have doors. The politicians had convinced
themselves, or at least the voters, that this would prevent the movie
houses from becoming sites for casual sex. The effect, of course, was
the reverse.

Sam could no longer see the boy from where he was standing. He did not
want to creep up on the boy for fear he would be shooed away. Instead,
Sam contented himself with watching the reflection from the video
screen on doorway. Then he noticed something, it seemed like the shadow
of the boy suggested some kind of motion going on inside the booth.

Sam moved closer to the doorway and saw the steady rhythmic motion of
the boy's shadow as the boy stood in front of the video screen. The
motions were those of a steady beat - a stroking motion. Sam listened
heard the sound of skin being vigorously stroked and the rustling of
clothing. He could no longer contain his curiosity. He peeked around
the corner and saw the youth stroking his hard brown skinned cock while
watching the screen and bopping his head to the music.

Sam felt his own dick grow hard inside his pants as he watched the
youth stroking himself, apparently oblivious to his surroundings.
Suddenly the boy turned his head and his gaze met Sam's. Sam gulped
as the boy's hazel colored eyes pierced his soul. Sam stepped back,
giving the boy space - fearful that the boy would be angry and try to
punch him out or quickly zip himself up and leave.

But the boy just stood there, stroking more slowly now, but eyes firmly
fixed on Sam's gaze. There almost seemed to be an implicit challenge
in the boy's eyes as he continued to sync the words to the hip hop
tune on his I-pod. Sam felt awkward, embarrassed, intimated - he
struggled with himself not to turn away. The boy smirked. He didn't
seem angry; he seemed in control. Sam started feeling emboldened and
eased his way into the booth beside the teenager.

The musky smell of the teenager's youthful strength and sexual
vitality filled the booth. Before Sam could say anything the boy undid
his pants further, exposing a thick black bush of youthful pubic hair
underneath his boxer shorts, "Let's see wha' you can do wit'
dis," the boy whispered in voice that had the rhythmic beat of a jazz
drum. He revealed the full length of his teenage cock and large
low-hanging testicles swinging between his legs.

The forty-eight year old man sunk to his knees in front of the young
black teenager and surrendered himself to the boy's masculine
vitality. Sam admitted to himself that his own world was crumbling
around his ears, but the youth standing in front of him seemed
confident and unafraid of anything.

Sam licked the boy's hairy black balls in admiration. The boy held
his sac up and Sam licked underneath the boy's testicles. Before he
knew it, he had a mouth full of the youth's testicular hair and warm
soft sacs filling his mouth. He sucked on the boy's nuts, making the
teen moan.

The boy sank down onto the padded bench in the booth and Sam crawled
between the youth's legs. He rested his hands on the boy's golden
brown thighs and felt soft whiffs of teenage hair hinting at emerging
manhood. Sam buried his head between the boy's brown thighs and
sucked on his throbbing penis.

The boy's dick was harder than Sam ever remembered his own dick being
when he was the boy's age. It filled Sam's mouth with hot tender
flesh, but remained a firm youthful pillar of power thrusting down his
throat. Sam tasted the boy's precum leaking on his tongue.

In the daytime, a man like Sam - who used to have a good-paying job
- could convince himself that he was a power in the city while people
like this boy did menial labor. He could convince himself that money
was power. But now he was faced with the reality that everything he had
built his life around could vanish over night, and that boys like the
one in front of him had the power of unshakable self-confidence,
vitality, and life.

The boy grabbed Sam by the back of his head and thrust his hips in his
mouth almost making him gag. Sam eagerly tried to swallow the length of
the boy's cock and allowed the youth to use his mouth like a wet
pussy, ready to absorb all of a young man's cum juices. Sam resolved
to be a willing instrument for release of the teenager's sexual
tensions. He would allow the boy to release himself in his mouth,
because that was all Sam was good for.

Every day he had seen groups of boys like this one riding up and down
the wide city streets on skateboards. They played dare and chicken with
onrushing traffic. Now Sam was down on his knees servicing one of these
boys; acknowledging the youth's absolute power over him. He admired
the boy for his urban toughness and gave him respect by sucking the
boy's cock. His mouth became a willing outlet for the boy's
teenaged lust.

The boy eagerly gyrated his hips against Sam's face. Sam felt the
boy's full hairy sacs rub against his lower lip. The boy's thick
cock started twitching in his mouth - Sam knew the youth was about to
release his cum. He knew the youth would shoot his juices and maybe
this would give him the strength and self-confidence he needed to get
through another day. Maybe this cocky black youth, full of urban
vitality, would become a part of Sam by pumping him full of youthful
testosterone.

The boy took quick breaths and let out a series of deep short grunts
and moans in spite of himself. The boy lost control and slipped into
orgasm. He fired thick hot loads of fresh teenage cum into Sam's
mouth. Sam swallowed it down. The boy shot even more loads. Sam's
mouth was full of the smell and taste of young hot urban manhood.

Finally, the boy's body went limp. The sweat from the boy's shapely
abs dripped onto Sam's face. Sam licked the teenager's cock clean,
not wanting his session with the boy to end. He breathed deeply and
savored the smell of the boy's pubic hair. When the boy came to his
senses he tapped Sam on the head and extracted his dick from the
desperate man's mouth.

A look of longing washed over Sam's face as the youth's cock
disappeared inside of his boxer shorts and he zipped himself up. The
boy looked down at Sam. His eyes were now tender and sympathetic rather
than manipulative and challenging. "Thanks man," he said in a
half-whisper. The teenager stood up and slipped into the darkness
outside of the booth.

Sam watched the boy's back fade into the shadows. For a moment, at
least, he and the boy had shared the bonding of brotherhood. For a
moment, each knew what the other needed - and gave it to him. For a
moment, Sam could believe that - just like the boy - all of his
problems would somehow vanish into the night.

Part Three: A Black Teenager's Job Application

Like many teenage black boys, Troy had spent too many hours on city
basketball courts and not enough time in school studying. Although he
grew strong and healthy he couldn't get a job until he learned how to
give his future employer just what the man wanted.

Troy spent months going from one personnel office to the next, filling
out applications and being interviewed, but he never heard from these
employers again. One afternoon he asked the manager of a large
supermarket where he should go to fill out an application.

"You have to go to the building in back of the store - that's
where they screen applicants."

Troy walked around the store and found an old two-story building with
paint chipping off of its door. He had to buzz the intercom to be let
in. After he opened the door he found himself climbing a steep set of
creaking stairs. He grabbed the handrail for support, but it was wobbly
and parts of the rail were detached from the wall.

When he reached the dingy landing at the top of the stairs he heard a
voice beckoning him forward. He followed the voice down a hallway until
he reached a modestly furnished office. A middle aged white man was
sitting at his desk with his glasses on the top of his head. He
squinted as he read memos he was holding over his desk.

He didn't bother to look up at the boy, "What do you want?"

Troy swallowed and cleared his throat, "I - I came here to apply
for a job."

The man looked up from his memo. He eyed the black teenager from head
to toe. He rubbed the five o'clock shadow on his chin. A subtle smile
spread across his face.

"Hmmm. So you want a job, eh? How old are you?"

"I'm seventeen. I'ma be eighteen in a few months..."

"Is that so?"

The man leaned back his chair.

"Well I could use some help in the stock room. You ever been a stock
boy?"

Troy looked down at his boots and shook his head "no."

"Well, you can learn. So long as you have the right attitude -
respect authority and know how to take orders from you boss - then
you can be taught everything you need to know."

Troy swallowed again and nodded his head indicating "yes."

"Good, good." The man took a deep breath. His grey eyes slightly
widened. "Now the first thing I gotta make sure of is that you're
young and healthy enough to be a stock boy in this store." The man
stood up and walked behind Troy to shut the door of his office. Then he
turned the lock. Troy looked at the man puzzled.

"Now, the first thing I want you to do is take off your shirt."

Troy's eyes grew wide, "You mean here?"

"Yes, here. Here. Where else would I want you to do it? You boys
these days, especially you colored boys, are always wearing these baggy
clothes so it's hard for anyone to see what you look like underneath
them. I have to know whether you're skinny or overweight - I want
to make sure you're healthy enough to lift boxes."

Troy slowly nodded and lifted his shirt. He revealed his smooth brown
chocolate chest and his firm lean arms. He had always been proud of his
body tone as a result of hours on the basketball court.

The man walked around the boy in a circle, rubbing his chin with one
hand, "ummm, yeah. Nice, nice."

Troy shifted uneasily on his feet.

"Now, take off your pants."

Troy gulped and his eyes bugged out of his head, " 'scuse me?"

"You heard me boy, I said take off your pants. If you have a problem
with that you can just turn around and walk right out of this door and
stop wasting my time. I've got job applications to process."

Troy took a deep breath and shook his head as if to clear it. He
thought this must be the way things are done when you're trying to
get a job as a stock boy. He unbuckled his belt and let his baggy pants
fall to the floor. He stood awkwardly in front of the man, wearing only
his boxer shorts. The men let out a short chuckle. "Yes, nice.
Nice."

The man examined Troy's firm brown thighs and the bulging package
under the boy's shorts. He eyed the boy's full ass and could barely
conceal a smile. Troy wondered if the man liked what he saw or was
merely amused by it.

After what Troy felt was an awkward silence the man said, "Alright.
Most black boys who come in here don't have good work habits. They
have a cocky attitude and they think the whole world owes them a favor.
When I hire a teenager I want to know that he knows how to take
orders."

Troy nodded as if he understood what the man was saying.

The man continued, "Yes, I need a boy who can drop to his knees on a
moment's notice and suck his boss's cock if he has to."

Something about the way the man said that made Troy laugh. For a moment
he felt as though he were back on the basketball court with his
buddies, talking trash. Taunts of "Suck my dick muthafucka. Kiss my
black azz nigga," ran through his head.

Troy thought to himself, "Damn, this dude is really hard core. He
gonna tell me to suck his white cock n' shit." For some reason,
whenever a dude was bold and assertive like that, Troy involuntarily
felt his dick get hard. This time was no different. He knew the man
only meant this figuratively, but there was something about the law of
the ghetto - dominate or be dominated; respect superior power and
manhood got him and other black boys his age, unexpectedly aroused.

Troy felt blood rushing to his face as his dick rose in his boxer
shorts and pushed its way through the piss slit. He grabbed the big
black bobbing snake and quickly stuffed it back in his shorts, upright,
so that it rested - stiff and hard - pointing toward his belly.

The man did not miss any of this. His grey eyes widened, like a wolf
catching the scent of his prey.  He leaned closer toward the boy,
smelling his musty body - sensing the warmth of Troy's brown flesh.
The man breathed heavily.

"I see you like the idea." The man was leaning close to Troy and
hissing in his ear, planting thoughts in his head. "You need a man to
tower over you. You need an adult male figure in your life, just like
every other black boy I've ever met."

Troy felt his heart racing. Nobody had ever talked to him this way
before, especially a white man. He didn't know how to take all of
this. He felt his fists clinch, but he didn't know what to do with
them.

"You need a strong white man to tell you what to do, don't you boy?
That's why you young niggers always get into trouble, because
there's no man in your life."

Troy's heart skipped a beat. He gasped and thought, "Oh no he
didn't! I just know I didn't hear that man call me a
'nigger'." But the man didn't let up, he kept pressing in -
whispering in the boy's ear.

"You need a white man to manage you - just like a basketball coach
does. You need white man to tell you what to do and keep you in line,
like a police officer. No need to feel ashamed, it's just the law of
the jungle. You need to give it up to the man whose got the power."

Everything that Troy had been taught in his 17 years told him that he
should be mad as hell and should haul off and knock this white
son-of-bitch out; but something was happening inside of him. Troy's
knees grew wobbly. He felt like falling on the floor and groveling at
this man's feet. Deep down inside he felt that everything this man
was saying was true, and up to now - unspoken.

"Get down on your knees black boy, and give some recognition to a man
whose got some power."

Troy tried to sort out the confusing feelings that were wrestling
inside of him. He bit his lower lip in anger, and grabbed his throbbing
cock that had never felt more aroused. He drew a deep breath, preparing
to tell this arrogant white man off - but found himself sinking to
his knees, his face pressed against the white man's trousers.

The man placed his hand on the boy's nappy head and unzipped his fly.

The man's hard, reddened cock jumped out - staring Troy in the
face. The man guided his stiff cock to Troy's puffy brown lips,
"Suck on that white dick, nigger."

Troy found himself acting on raw instinct. He wrapped his thick lips
around the man's throbbing white cock and slowly massaged it up and
down the shaft. The man grabbed the boy by the back of his head and
pushed his cock deeper down the boy's throat.

"Oh yeah, suck on that cock, boy. Work those thick black lips on this
man's hard dick."

Troy breathed in the musty scent of the man's pubic hair. The older
man's hanging white balls slapped against the black boy's chin. He
felt the man using his mouth like a black pussy, pushing his head and
humping on him hard. Troy's moist hot lips slobbered all over the
white man's throbbing member.

"Take it deep. Choke on it, nigger. Take that white cock deep in your
mouth."

Troy felt tears of arousal and anger stream down his cheeks as he
sucked on the white man's cock. His head was a bundle of confusion
- he didn't know whether to laugh at his humiliation or cry. He
found himself stroking his own cock the harder this man thrust in his
mouth and talked nasty to him.

"Yeah, take that cock. I love to feel those nigger lips on my hard
white dick. Suck it deep, man. Polish my dick."

Troy's face registered offense and annoyance, yet he trembled inside
with excitement as he followed the white man's orders. The man looked
down at Troy and snarled, watching the black boy on his knees,
dutifully serving him. He held the teenager's head tightly between
his hands, pulled out his cock and dropped his hairy testicles onto the
boy's tongue.

"Lick those balls, nigger."

Troy tasted the salty flavor of the man's testicular sweat. He
allowed the white man's nuts to roll around in his mouth, and licked
the underside of his sac with his thick young tongue. Troy's thick,
juicy black lips pressed against the base of the man's dick.

The man looked down at Troy, "Yeah, that's it boy. Kiss my cock.
Kiss my cock with those thick black lips."

Troy whimpered in confusion and found himself kissing the white man's
testicles and his cock. He slowly ran his tongue up between the man's
sagging nutt sacs. With eyes half-closed and his body trembling he held
onto the white man's thighs slurped all over his wet male organs.

For some unknown reason a memory from Troy's childhood rushed back to
him. As the white man's cock probed deeply inside of the boy's
mouth Troy thought about the time when he was about ten years old and
overheard his mother anxiously trying to negotiate with the landlord
about the rent that she owned. They were several months behind in their
rent. Troy recalled how the man kept calmly repeating, "We can work
something out. We can work something out."

The next morning, Troy woke up early and had to pee. As he stumbled
past his mother's bedroom and heard a strange commotion. He cracked
her bedroom door and saw a naked white man in her bed, humping
furiously between her brown thighs. "Yeah, gimme that nigger pussy,
Sally. Spread those nigger thighs for the man of this building."

His mother just moaned as the white man pounded her flesh. Her mattress
springs were squeaking and the headboard banged against the wall. The
landlord humped furiously, "Yeah, just like the old days. Just like
back on the plantation." Troy heard his mother gasp and moan while
the white man used her pussy.

The ten year old gently shut his mother's bedroom door and raced
toward the bathroom. His little brown penis was aflame. He stroked and
stroked his stiff brown cock for nearly a half hour, pausing again and
again after each dry orgasm. Sounds and images of the white landlord
fucking his mama filled his little nappy head.

 From that time on his mother never seemed to have worry about having
enough money to pay the rent. The boy frequently spied on his mother
and the landlord as the man ravaged her firm brown body.

When the landlord saw Troy in the lobby, later in the day, he would pat
the boy on his head and offer him a lollipop. As Troy sucked on the
man's lollipop he couldn't help but to be reminded of the images of
his mama as she sucked the white man's cock. It made his
pre-adolescent dick get hard every time.

Sometimes he would hear sighing and moaning coming from his mother's
bedroom and would find the landlord's teenaged son in the bed instead
of the landlord. The boy always seemed awkward an a little too
energetic. He humped the black woman wildly, "Oh yeah, Sally -
you've got the best nigger pussy in the entire world. Gosh, this is
much better than beating off all alone."

Troy watched the white boy shoot his load inside his mother, only to
recover and start all over again. For awhile it seemed that they boy
would come over every afternoon, when school let out, and work through
his teenage sexual frustrations in Troy's mother's black pussy.

"Oh yeah, Sally. I love your nigger pussy meat. Give it to me Sally.
Give me your hot black pussy."

These memories filled Troy's head while the white man's hard white
cock plowed down his throat. Troy slobbered on the man's low hairy
balls, admiring the man's pubes that filled his vision. He felt a
wave of awe as the sight and smell of hairy white genitalia filled his
face. For moments at a time he stopped resisting and yielded to the
white man's power, only to catch himself and put up a front of being
indignant and ashamed.

Troy felt the white man's cock tremble in his mouth. The thick white
penis pumped rapidly and involuntarily. Waves of thick, cream cum
flooded down the boy's throat. Troy didn't know what to do at
first, so he gulped down the man's hot cum. The white man grabbed the
boy by his head and kept cumming. Troy lapped it up, afraid to offend
his future employer by spitting out his cum, and aroused by the thought
of having a white man cum down his throat.

The gasped as he spent himself. "Oh yeah, suck down that cum black
boy. Suck the cum out of my cock."

When the white man released his grip Troy fell backward, long strands
of cum dripping from his thick black lips. The boy breathed heavily.
The white man caught his breath, "Damn, you black boys really know
what to do with them lips."

The man slumped down on the top of his desk for a few moments, still
breathing heavily. Then he motioned to the boy, "Okay, turn around
and drop your shorts."

Troy looked at the man with alarm - his eyes the size of pancakes.
The man was gaining his breath, "I said turn around and drop your
shorts - don't make me repeat myself. It's not a good sign in a
future employee."

Troy looked uncertain.

The white man pressed him, "You want to be able to listen to the
latest hard core rap tunes? You want a new pair of Timberland boots?
You want sneakers that will match whatever shirt you happen to be
wearing? You want the new Playstation?"

Troy meekly nodded "yes."

"Then do what I tell you, my man. Turn around and drop your mother
fucking shorts. What? Do I have to say it in Swahili for you?"

Troy crawled back onto his knees and did as the man ordered. He dropped
his boxer shorts, revealing his smooth, globular brown ass. The man let
out a quick gasp and covered his mouth. He crept toward the boy, as if
in a trance, and gently grabbed each of the boy's round buns in his
hands.

"Oh. They're so soft - and firm - and full."

Troy winced at the man's touch and focused on the floor after the
man's comments.

"I bet this ass has never been fucked before." The man snapped out
of his trance and straightened his back, "I'm going fuck the shit
out of this black ass. You better believe it. Damn, nigger - your ass
is mine."

The man grabbed Troy's boxer shorts, which were bunched around his
thighs, and ripped them right off of the black boy's body.

"Gimme that black ass, nigger."

The white man scooped Troy into his hairy arms and grabbed the boy's
ass cheeks - spreading them. He rammed his dick inside the boy's
hole. He pushed hard against the boy's resistance.

Troy felt the white man's hard throbbing fuck meat inside of him. The
man's cock pushed deeper and deeper in the black boy's ass, using
it. Troy knew he was at the white man's mercy. With the power of his
cock the man dug and probed inside the boy's colon while Troy, on his
knees, raised his ass to take it.

The boy's moist tight ass gripped the hard white cock that was
invading it. Troy felt that he was being conquered. The man's thrusts
grew hard as he pushed deeper inside of the boy's black body. The
thought of forcing the boy into submission only seemed to intensify the
man's thrusts.

"Yeah, take that white cock in your ass, nigger." Troy just grunted
in reply to the man's thrusts. Troy was surprised to see that his own
dick was hard as the white man raped him.

"Take that cock, homeboy. You like that white cock in your ghetto
ass?"

Troy hypnotically nodded "yes," and said, "uh-huh."

When he realized what he had done his face blanched in shame. He
dropped his head while the man grabbed his shoulders and pounded him
from behind.

"Oh yeah. I like a nigger who knows what he's good for. I like a
nigger who knows how to be used."

Troy's body rocked under the pounding invasion of the white cock. His
head jerked back and forth with every thrust. The man drooled on the
back of Troy's head and picked up speed as he fucked the boy's ass
without mercy.

Troy remained on his knees and let the man use him. The boy's thick,
cum-coated lips hung open as he gasped under the anal assault. For some
reason that he couldn't understand, Troy started to day-dream about
hot buttered corn bread, candid yams, fried chicken, and collard
greens. He didn't know why these thoughts came to his mind, but they
made him feel safe and secure.

The man reached around and stroked Troy's thick black cock. The
boy's cock felt like a furnace and throbbed in the white man's
hand. The man tightened his grip and stroked the boy in rhythm with the
butt fucking he was giving the boy's black ass. Troy felt a surge of
pleasure rush through his body as he had never felt before. He
surrendered himself completely to the man. Involuntarily he found his
quivering voice gasping, "Massah?"

The white man let out a startled laugh. He wrapped his arms around the
boy's torso and tightened his grip. He stroked Troy's cock and
pounded his ass with abandon. The man's thrusts grew harder and
harder as Troy slobbered on himself and cried for mercy. The boy's
body started shaking. He fired spurts of thick cum that splashed on the
floor like torpedoes at sea. Troy heard himself moan, as if from a
disembodied voice, "Oh, yessum, yessum." At that moment he felt
utter loyalty to the man who had made him cum.

The man nodded in acceptance of the boy's submission. His body
convulsed.  He let out a loud groan of his own. Troy felt wave after
wave of thick, hot cum explode the inside his bowels. The man deposited
his seed deep inside the boy. Troy took the white man's cum in his
ass like a slave being raped in the privacy of his master's chambers.

The man's hairy chest collapsed on the boy's smooth brown back. The
man breathed heavily in the boy's ear. He licked the side of Troy's
smooth brown face and stuck his tongue in the boy's ear. Troy made a
face, but let the white man do it. He knew that he was thoroughly
owned.

***********************************

The next day, Troy pulled on his baggy pants and headed for work. He
finally had a job as the head stock boy. On payday he repeatedly pulled
out a wad of bills and counted his cash in front of scheming black
girls and envious homies.

He made frequent visits to the personnel director's office in the old
building behind the store. Whenever there was an opportunity for
advancement Troy always seemed to be the one who landed the job. The
other managers said that it must be because Troy is one young black
employee with a good solid work ethic. The personnel officer saw to it
that Troy maintained that ethic through weekly sessions of what he
called "attitude adjustment."

Law of the jungle; dominate or be dominated. Troy learned his part
well. He no longer drifted aimlessly on the streets without masculine
direction. Under his sometimes loud, flashy and tough exterior Troy's
thoughts frequently flash back to all of the time he spends down on his
knees, learning how to take orders and to surrender.

Part Four: The Encounter in the Elevator

I have often watched the fascination of white girls for strong young
African American males. On my commute home from a tedious work day I
see teenaged high school students crowding the subways and busstops.
Beautiful blond haired white girls climb all over their young Nigger
bucks while the boys don't seem to know what to do with themselves,
so pleased, as they are, to have the attention of delicate white
womanhood. The girls' rolled their eyes up in their heads as they
feel the young man's arms and chest, and as they press their tender
young bodies up against the black stud's raging hard cock.

The black boys dance their rhythmic dance as they grind their loins up
against the flower of young white womanhood. The white girls swoon in
ecstasy as they enjoy the movements of well-endowed youthful black
manhood. The girls seem giddy with excitement to be wrapped in the arms
of these brown and black-skinned urban warriors. When they are not
gyrating their hips into loins of these excitable white young women,
young black males stand erect as noble dark soldierly profiles against
the early evening sky of the city.

I have tried to escape from such images. I have my work to do; the
world of these erotic teenagers and my own world are too far apart for
me to understand their reality. I try to quietly go about my business,
pitching sales and making calls - tallying up ledgers and trying to
make ends meet. I cannot allow myself to be distracted by the black and
white passions playing out on the streets.

In my insular world everything stays the same. I like it that way -
there is safety and security in routine. When I get off of the subway I
walk the two or three blocks to may apartment building, push the
elevator button, and am transported to the comfort of my own space with
a widescreen TV and a complete collection Ikea furniture.

Every day is the same; the routine never varies - at least not until
the other day. I got into the elevator, same as always. I pressed the
button for the 13th floor, same as I always do - but just as the
elevator doors began to shut a black teenager, probably about 17 or 18,
slipped inside. His large bushy hair was uncombed and he wore a grey
sweatshirt and a brown leather jacket.

I eyed his tall and husky brown frame. He towered over me - looked
like he might have been around 6'3. He pushed the button for his
floor stood nonchalantly with his hands thrust in his cargo pants. By
the looks of the young man I figured he must be on a sports team -
maybe basketball or track.

As the elevator rattled and climbed the floors of the building I
pictured what he would look like with his pants below his knees and his
young black ass thrust up in the air while the couch plowed his Nigger
field with his hard white cock.

The boy seemed subdued - not too friendly. He seemed like your
typical teenager with a suspicious and defensive attitude against the
world. But without warning he reached over and flicked the emergency
switch. The elevator jerked to a stop, making me lose my balance. I was
thrown against the wall. I looked at the boy, "What was the
emergency?"

His face was expressionless as he moved in on me. His large husky frame
pushed me against the wall. I was buried in the mass of his chest and
shoulders. I knew the kid, being black and all, wanted to rob me. I
fumbled with my wallet and it fell on the floor - "T-take whatever
you want. Just don't hurt me."

The kid looked at the wallet and then back at me with contempt. "I
don't want none of your shit." I swallowed hard. I couldn't
figure out what he was after. I hoped he wasn't into to attacking
strangers just for the hell of it. I had read about how black teenage
boys are prone to commit random acts of violence - the thought filled
my mind that I was about to become a statistic.

The boy's stocky young body pressed up against me. Even though he was
wearing several layers of clothing I could feel his body heat. I
smelled the warmth and mustiness of his youthful Nigger strength and
energy. I could see by the soft facial hair under his chin and the
sides of his cheeks that his body was bursting with testosterone.

I felt the thick hard mass swelling in his pants as he pressed up
against me. He put his arms on either side of me, resting his hands
against the wall. He thrust his bulging crotch into my midsection and
said, "I don't like faggots."

I didn't know what to say but lamely managed to whine, "N-neither
do I."

He started grinding his thick teenaged cock up against my body. My face
was buried in his massive chest. The smell of his tough boyish
masculinity engulfed me. I felt his hands pushing me down to my knees
so that my face was in his crotch. The hard bulge in his pants rubbed
against my mouth and nose.

The boy's heavy hand pulled down his zipper and a large Negro penis
pushed its way through the opening of his boxer shorts. That thick hard
Negroid meat slapped against my face. "Kiss dat dick if ya know
what's good fo ya."

I didn't know what to do - I didn't want him to hurt me. I
pressed my lips on his big black teenaged cock and started kissing it.
The smell of his Negro pubes filled my nostrils. He rubbed that hard
cock against my face and pushed my head down so that I could lick his
nasty Nigger balls. The smell of them was strangely arousing.

He grabbed the back of my head and ground his jungle dick and balls in
my face. He made me lick between his smooth brown thighs and kiss his
hairy ghetto nutt sacs. My mouth was overwhelmed by his young masculine
boyish Nigger taste. My nose was overwhelmed by the smell of his sexual
potency.

I heard that black boy moan, "suck on my dick you faggot punk."

I wanted to protest. He pulled my head back and stuffed my mouth with
his massive black sausage. I had a mouthful of thick Nigger manhood and
I could hardly breathe. He pumped his fuck meat in my mouth - slowly
at first, but then he picked up speed.

His thick testicles slapped my chin while he chocked me with his ebony
cock. I felt a strange intimacy with his Negro sex organs. I felt like
I was becoming part of his world of sexual potency. I felt strangely
like a tiger while I was sucking down his thick African fuck meat -
like it was somehow giving me energy and strength.

His hard black dick plowed the back of my throat while he used my mouth
for a portable pussy to masturbate his ghetto dick with. I felt like I
was being used to relieve his pent up teenage jungle passions.

My face pressed against his smooth strong brown thighs. I heard my
tormentor grunt as he fucked my mouth; his rhythm picked up and he used
my throat harder and harder - this horny Negro breeder pumped his
thick sex tool in my mouth. I felt like a cheap ho from the streets
servicing her customer.

I was overwhelmed by his lusty basketball playing smell and his locker
room taste. I thought about how he must plow that thick jungle meat in
white girls pussies all the time and make them scream with passion,
waking all the neighbors. No wonder girls get so aroused by these boys.
I also wondered how many of his own black ghetto bitches he impregnated
with that potent Nigger organ.

I grabbed his thighs while he worked his dick in my mouth. I could feel
the young muscles of his legs tense. He pumped my mouth with rhythmical
smoothness and musical improvisation. He smelled of the masculine
potency of exotic earthiness, lush and fertile like an African jungle.

Suddenly a strange and unfamiliar feeling came over me. I had the
feeling that I was safe from the predatory world of back-stabbing and
chaos so long as his strong Negro cock was thrusting in my mouth. I was
protected by the thrusts of his pelvis against my face. I was comforted
by the smell of his thick African pubes. I was secure so long as this
young brown-skinned boy was using me to relieve his sexual tensions. I
was being saved from a vicious world by this handsome young Negro
god-like figure.

Just then he let out a loud moan and his body erupted into an orgasmic
spasm. Thick loads of hot Nigger jism rose up his shaft and exploded
down my throat. His body convulsed. More thick hot loads of tasty
nigger lava from that stiff black volcano rushed over my tongue,
covering it with a creamy coat. I wanted to give myself to that black
boy entirely.

He fired more loads of cum onto my tongue like a cannon shooting heavy
artillery. The taste of his nutt filled me with energy. I don't know
what came over me. I wanted his Nigger cum inside of me and gulped down
as much of it as I could.

His liquid African manhood filled me with passion. I sucked on his
thick jungle cock to take his vitality and his life essence inside of
me. I savored the sound of his deep manly groans and the smell of his
healthy fertile black body. I lapped up the seed of his black manhood.

He pumped the last of his jism down my throat. I was a willing
receptacle.

My eyes followed his dick as he slowly withdrew the invading brown
instrument of flesh from my mouth. I held his thighs tight and kissed
the base of his thick shaft and his balls. Tears of passion ran down my
cheeks.

He looked down at me and smirked with contempt as he unceremoniously
zipped himself up. My dick was still throbbing hard in my pants. I
remained on my knees, wanting to masturbate in front of him to pay
homage to his manhood.

He flicked the emergency switch and the elevator resumed its upward
motion. I got on my feet, searching for something to say - wanting to
reach out. I wanted to explain my behavior or ask him when we could do
this again, but my mind was jumbled and the words wouldn't come.

The elevator stopped on his floor and he eased his way through the door
without pausing to look back. The doors shut behind him and the
elevator continued on its way. I savored the lingering taste of his
young mysterious sexual potency and lowered my face into my hands and
wept with frustrated passion, hoping I would see him sometime again.

Part Five: Black Boyz Earning Extra Cash

Jerome and Tyrell were bagging groceries and Food Market, a major
supermarket. Tyrell thought Jerome handled the groceries and bags
rougher than unusual. He ruined several of the bags as he tore them out
of their box to be used. He slammed groceries into the bags that he
hadn't damaged with such force Tyrell was sure he would break some of
the bottles or smash the produce.

"Hey, take it easy there, Jerome - you aint in no fight with them
groceries. They aint got no grudge against you."

Tyrell give Jerome a friendly shove on the shoulder, but Jerome just
shot him a glance that silently told him to fuck off.

After about a half hour of Jerome's aggressive bagging, which even
made the cashier stop smacking her chewing gum long enough to give the
boy a quick once-over, Tyrell sidled up to Jerome.

"Hey, 'Rome, man - what's up? Why you actin' so rough?"

Jerome grunted and finished stuffing the bag, "Man, hard as I'm
working here they don't never pay a nigga enough to buy what we
need."

The boy ripped another empty bag out of the box and began stuffing it
with groceries. "I aint never gonna have enough money left over to
buy that new Playstation, or even some 'bling-bling' to attract the
ladies, know what I'm sayin'?"

Tyrell shook his head, "yeah, I know what you sayin, but you aint
never gonna get mo' money by slammin' them groceries around.
Let's go outside so you can chill for awhile."

Jerome nodded with gratitude at the prospect of having a sympathetic
ear to bend. "Yo - Latisha, me and Ty's out for a minute. Find
someone to cover for us, aiiight?"

The cashier rolled her eyes and loudly popped her chewing gum in reply.

Jerome and Tyrell sat on the curb at the far edge of the parking lot,
lighting up their cigarettes - hoping the manager wouldn't see
them. They knew that he thought they were too young to smoke. The boys
felt that at age 16 they had already seen as much as life has to teach
anyone, and that two more years of spinning on this earth wouldn't
make much of a difference. Besides, a few of the boys' friends were
already dead.

There were pretty good odds that they too might be dead in the next two
years - caught in random gunfire between rival gangs, or shot full of
bullets by over-zealous police officers on a minor traffic violation.
Why wait for years that might not ever come? Why not live today?

 Ty took a deep drag of his cigarette, "So that new Playstation got
you all stressed out, man? Sounds like you gonna need some extra
income."

Jerome toyed with a soda bottle cap on the ground, under the sole of
his sneaker.

"Hex yeah, I needs some extra income, but how am I gonna get it? I
aint gonna sling no weed and find my ass locked up in the juvie. What I
gonna do?"

Jerome popped a cinnamon breath mint in his mouth. He liked to keep his
mouth fresh and wanted to get rid of the stale taste of tobacco. Tyrell
seemed to have lost interest in the conversation for a moment. He
slowly scanned the parking lot full of customers loading up their cars
or pushing empty shopping carts toward the store. His eyes suddenly
brightened.

"See that dude over there with that cart fulla stuff?"

A white middle-aged man pushed a wobbly car full of groceries. He was
heading in the boy's direction. Jerome just nodded his
acknowledgment.

Tyrell continued, "He stays in a townhouse by hisself near here and
he can't carry all them groceries there alone. He always gotta pay
some nigga to carry his groceries for him - but them boys be fightin
each other to carry his bags. They say he tips real good, yo."

Jerome just smirked and gave a dismissive short laugh, "Yeah, them
young boys think they gots lots of money even when you give 'em a
Lincoln. Me? I'm lookin' for wads n' wads of Jacksons before
I'll be satisfied."

Tyrell give his buddy a pointed stare to show he was serious. "He
payin' in wads of Jacksons. Fact I hear he payin' more than that.
And them kids that be chasin after him? They aint so young, yo. They
our age; even older. But you gotta do more than carry the man's bags
- you gotta know how to make the man happy."

Jerome narrowed his eyes and focused on his target. "That so?"

The man was nearing the edge of the parking lot and began looking
around for someone to help him unload his shopping cart. A small group
of teenage black boys began to flock in the man's direction like
birds in migration.

Jerome got to his feet, he had the advantage, having already positioned
himself at the parking lot's edge. "Well if he payin' more than
wads of Jacksons I'll find out how to make the man happy..."

Tyrell tried to interrupt but Jerome was already making quick strides
toward his mark, rubbing his hands in anticipation of separating the
man from his money. Jerome shot Tyrell a quick glance over his
shoulder, "Punch out my time card, man. Tell 'em I had to take an
early lunch break."

Tyrell grinned and stifled a mischievous laugh. "Aiiight, playa.
Whatever you say."

Jerome was the first of the group of black boys to reach the man and he
shooed the rest of the boys away, "I got this."

The white man looked at the boy who was slightly shorter than he was.
The man's fleshy face quivered like a bowel of jelly, and he adjusted
his eye glasses that looked like the bottom of Pepsi bottles resting on
his face. Jerome thought the man looked nervous, but he began to unload
the man's bags from his cart without waiting to be asked.

The man gave the boy an astonished smile, "Why - thank you young
man. It's so good of you to help."

Jerome didn't bother to look the man in the eyes, he just focused on
some distant point straight ahead at the end of the street, "Yeah,
well I hear you pay good cash if a nigga know how to make you happy so
I'm always down for a few extra bucks."

The man gave the boy a tight self-satisfied smile, "My, the word does
get around doesn't it. You look like the kind of lad who could keep a
man like me satisfied, no doubt about it."

Jerome had no idea what the man was talking about but if it would lead
to extra cash he knew he better agree with the man and find out the
details later, "Yeah, fo schizzle."

They reached the man's townhouse and climbed up a short flight of
cement steps. The man nervously jiggled his keys in the lock and
allowed the door to slowly swing open. Jerome stepped inside to the
musty smell of home where clothes had probably been laying around for
awhile. He looked around and saw bed sheets carelessly tossed on the
man's living room couch. Jerome imagined from the sight and smell of
everything that the man probably slept in the living room and never
bothered to wash the bed sheets or refresh the furniture.

"Just bring the bags back here," the man said, leading the way to
his kitchen.

Jerome brought the groceries into the kitchen and laid them down on the
linoleum table top. He looked around at the tiles that were coming
loose from the kitchen walls. An old clock with a yellowing face kept
track of the time. The black hands on the clock moved in jerking motion
as if they couldn't decide between moving forward and staying where
they already were.

When Jerome finally let go of the bag he realized the man was staring
at him. He seemed to be in some sort of a trance. His eyes were lost in
pop bottle lens of his glasses. Jerome felt a chill move down his
spine.

"Okay, so there's yo bags man. Now, I gotta go - so if we can
just get to the pay...."

The man seemed to come out of his trance, "Oh yes. Yes indeed." He
fumbled with his wallet and pulled out a couple of dollar bills.
"Thank you so much for your efforts." He moved toward the kitchen
door as if to show the boy out.

Jerome just stared at the bills in his hands like they were dead fish.

The man's face seemed to register genuine concern for the boy, "Is
something wrong? Don't you feel well?"

Jerome eyed the man with disappointment. He spoke haltingly, as if he
didn't want to push things, but did not also want let things stand as
they were.

"I thought you paid niggas crazy cash to carry your bags for
you..."

The man seemed amused. I returned to the kitchen where Jerome was still
standing, holding the dollar bills in his outstretched hand. The man
pulled a glass out of the cupboard and brought out an uncorked bottle
of chilled white wine from the refrigerator. He filled the glass up
with the wine and began to sip it playful as he eyed the dissatisfied
boy.

"Oh, so would you like more money than that?"

Jerome shifted uneasily, "Yeah, I was kinda hoping...you know..."

The man continued to sip his wine. "But more money means extra
service, you know that, right?"

Jerome felt himself losing his patient business-like fa�ade. "What
kinda extra service? I done brought yo groceries in for you. I done
laid them on the counter. You want me to unpack them? I'll do that
too. I'll do whatever you want in this here muthafucka in order to
get paid."

The man sipped his white wine, staring at the boy over the top of the
rim of his thick glasses. He had an amused expression on his face.

"You're new. You aren't one of usual boys."

Jerome had already begun unpacking the man's groceries, "What that
supposed to mean?"

"Well, my usual black boys know how to make daddy happy."

Jerome froze in his tracks, torn between being offended and being
puzzled by what more the man wanted from him. "Oh, I aint got no
daddy. I aint never seen him - I sho as fuck wouldn't know what it
take to make him happy."

The white man smiled in amusement at the earnest black boy who had
almost finished unpacking the second bag of groceries. He carefully set
his half-emptied glass of wine down on kitchen counter and closed in on
the boy. Jerome stepped back, thinking that maybe the man was trying to
reach one of his cupboards and didn't know how to ask the boy to move
out of his way. But the man pressed forward, pushing Jerome's body
against the wall.

The man reached out with a fleshy hand and gently brushed it along the
boy's smooth brown face. "Such a beautiful black boy..."

Jerome frowned. He attempted to make his youthful face appear
street-hardened.

The white man looked down and noticed Jerome was wearing a thin gold
necklace with some kind of gang-like pendant at the end of it. He
gently brushed his hand along the boy's soft brown neck and slid it
under the gold chain. He held the chain delicately between two fingers
and examined the pendant. Jerome breathed hard. His chest rose and fell
as the white man pressed up against him, examining his jewelry.

"You must be some kind of young thug boy, right?"

Jerome didn't know how to answer the man, but he didn't want to
blow his chances to make some money so he bit his lip and examined the
peeling tiles on the kitchen floor.

The man rubbed his fingers along the partial length of the chain and
brushed the soft skin of the boy's neck and upper chest. "I love
young black thug boys - so soft and tender, and yet so strong. You
just want to be a man, don't you? And yet you're still a boy..."

Jerome's breathing got heavy and his heart pounded with anxiety. What
was this dude's game? Jerome wondered if he was going to wind up in
the man's ice box divided into severed limbs, like Jeffery Dahmer's
victims.

The man noticed Jerome's determination not to make eye contact.
"Don't be afraid of me. I've had lots of hot young black boys
before. I've had them in all shades and flavors. I've had reddish
cinnamon, copper brown, dark chocolate, fresh iced tea, cappuccino,
sweet brown sugar, dark molasses, roasted peanut butter brown, toasted
golden brown..."

Jerome tried frantically not to know where this was going. He tried to
deny the situation he was in. He looked over the man's shoulder, as
if the man wasn't even there. Then he looked down at the floor, then
back over the man's shoulder, then at a distant wall.

But the man continued to press in on the boy and whispered in his ear
as he held Jerome by the waist, "But you're closer to my favorite
- a nice delicious hunk of dark caramel brown, budding unwillingly
into manhood - attempting to grow a mustache on your luscious thick
upper lip...So full of Negro sexual potency."

Jerome took a deep breath and shifted under the man's weight,
attempting to work his way out of the trap of being caught between the
man's body and the kitchen wall. "Yo man, I aint into this. I aint
feelin' that faggot shit, know what I'm sayin. You just gonna have
to keep yo money cause I gotta jet."

Jerome was surprised when the man firmly grabbed both of his arms and
pinned them to his side. The man leaned in on Jerome and rubbed his
lips gently along the curve of the boy's neck, as if to softly kiss
it. But his whisper was firm and instant. "I could pay good money to
have a black boy like you for the night. I'm talking hundreds of
dollars - but that's only if you know how to make me happy. It's
only if you do what you are told to do without asking questions -
don't break the spell for me, okay, boy?"

Jerome swallowed hard. He thought about the Playstation he wanted and
watched it fly away on wings in his mind's eye. He thought about the
diamond earring he wanted to buy, and the designer cap and sneakers. He
thought about the street fashion sweats he wanted to wear. Then he
looked at the sweaty-faced fleshy white man breathing heavily down his
neck, almost slobbering on him.

He nodded his head, giving the man his assent.

The man's eyes lit up. He embraced the boy with his big heavy arms
and sighed, "Such a sweet, tender sensitive and understanding
boy...."

Jerome just dropped his head and mumbled to himself, "All I'm
tryin' to do is get paid."

The man pushed himself up against the teenager's body and ran his
hands up and down the boy's sides.

"You know, now that we understand each other, I always wondered why
you black boys wear your pants so loose that they sag below your
ass."

Jerome tried to squirm away, but the man kept him pinned against the
wall. The man reached inside the boy's pants and felt his smooth,
firm ass. Jerome felt the man's cock twitch to life beneath his pants
as the man continued to press against him. "Mmmmmm, nice tender,
plump young black ass..."

Jerome remained silent and looked at the floor.

"I'll bet you really know how to use that ass, huh? You've got
those jungle rhythms in your blood, don't you?"

The boy shot him an angered look, but when he realized the man caught
his glare he quickly looked away.

"What's the matter baby? I know how much you boys like sex where
you're from. You have it on the stairwells and in the allies, in the
hallways - wherever you can get it, right?"

Jerome found himself nodding in agreement. He had to admit the man was
right; still he didn't like the assumptions the man was making. If
the man realized he was offending the boy he didn't show it.
"You're not my first tough young nigger. I know how good you boys
are at sex too - even when you don't want to be because you're
afraid of losing your 'manhood'. Don't you want to share your
black jungle rhythms on my nice white cock? You move so well...."

It was all Jerome could do to keep from lashing out. This man was not
only taking liberties with his body, but insulting him to boot. But
Jerome knew that if he wanted his Playstation and other things he'd
better go along with the program. He breathed heavily as the white man
held him close.

The man was still groping inside of the boy's pants. He shoved his
hand up the pant leg of the boy's boxer shorts. He rubbed his finger
between the boy's moist ass cheeks. Then he pressed his finger inside
the boy's hole and felt around inside of the boy.

"Yeah, before the night's over that young nigger ass is going to be
mine - you know that, don't you?"

Jerome bit his lip and looked down at the floor in shame as the man
began to grind his hardening cock against the boy's belly while he
poked his fingers in and out of the boy's tight ass.

The man grabbed the boy by his t-shirt and sweat shirt and lifted them
both, forcing Jerome to raise his arms, as he stripped his clothes off
of the boy's body. The man gasped at the boy's beauty. Jerome's
skin was smooth and a rich, dark caramel color. His arms were firm with
leanly toned muscles. His nipples were a slightly darker shade of
brown.

The man leaned in close and breathed on the boy's neck and shoulder,
taking in the healthy smells of this hard-working adolescent grocery
bagger. The man savored the delicate smell of teenage sweat and the
clean smell of the young man's hair - no doubt shampooed that
morning. The man groaned and wrapped his arms around the boy. He gently
kissed the boy's budding Adam's apple and shoulder blades. The boy
tried to look away and pretend he was somewhere else.

The man eased both hands back inside the boy's loose-fitting jeans
and slipped his thumbs on either of the youth's waistband. He peeled
Jerome's boxer shorts below his ass, and firmly grabbed each ass
cheek with his hands. The boy looked at the floor and rolled his eyes.
The man massaged his smooth ass - moaning deeply.

Jerome felt the white man groping his penis and his testicles. As
uncomfortable as the notion of a man feeling his private parts made
Jerome feel he couldn't stop himself from getting an erection and
enjoying the sensations he was having. His penis became hard and
throbbed beyond his control. He leaked precum on the white man's
hairy arms as he continued to agitate the boy by fondling his nuts and
his ass crack.

Jerome bit his lip and tried to think of all the hot white girls he
wanted to fuck in order to justify his sexual arousal. Still, there was
no getting around the overbearing presence of this hairy white man
having his way with the boy. He felt the white man press his mouth
against Jerome's thick lips. The boy tried to turn away, but all the
man needed to do was gasp, "make me happy," and Jerome was reminded
of his sole purpose for being in the man's home in the first place.
He allowed the man's thick probing tongue to enter his moist tender
mouth. The man explored the faint sweet taste of cinnamon from the
breath mint the boy had been sucking on earlier. The man thought that
perhaps this was the natural taste of black boy who seemed so
tropically exotic.

Jerome felt the white man pushing down on his shoulders. He resisted
for a moment, not sure of what the man wanted him to do. Then the
man's pressure on his shoulders became more forceful. He clearly
wanted the boy to drop to his knees. Jerome sank to the floor thinking
that maybe he was better off when all the man wanted to do was play
with his ass under his pants.

As Jerome knelt in front of his white patron, the man undid his pants
and let them drop to the floor. Jerome found himself facing the man's
pungent jockey shorts, with his hard member making a pup tent inside of
them. The man rubbed his cock, covered with cotton briefs, over the
black boy's face. The boy hoped this would be enough to satisfy his
tormentor, but those hopes were quickly dashed.

The man stood over him leering. "You ever lick on a white man's ass
before?"

Jerome figured the man knew the answer to this question, but somehow
enjoyed watching the boy's anxiety. Jerome sullenly shook his head
"no."

The white man's face broke into a fleshy smile, "Wanna try it? How
about you be a good little black boy and give it a try?"

Jerome made a disgusted face and took a deep breath. He grabbed his own
crotch through his pants for courage. The white man turned around and
lowered his jockey shorts so that his hairy white ass was waving in the
black teenager's face.

"Come on boy, bend over here and lick this nice white ass."

The man's ass was sweaty and smelled as though it hadn't been
washed very thoroughly. Jerome leaned forward and tentatively licked
the man's ass cheeks.

"Inside the crack. Lick inside the ass crack. I want to feel your
tongue wiping my shit hole clean."

Jerome stuck his tongue out and licked between the man's hairy white
ass crack, tasting the man's shit.

"Oh yeah, that's it. That feels so good. Lick that white ass
clean."

Jerome slurped and licked on the man's shit-stained whole. He felt
the man grabbing the back of his head, forcing his face between the
man's pale sweaty buns. Jerome tried to think of being somewhere
else. He tried to think of how he was going to spend the money he would
get from this degradation. Meanwhile, his benefactor rubbed his ass all
over the black boy's face.

It reached a point where Jerome could no longer taste or smell the
man's shit - at least not as badly as when he first started licking
the man's white ass. Instead, he began to smell his own salvia, which
had been used to clean the man's asshole. Just when the boy was
getting used to having his face buried in a white man's ass, the man
pulled his face out and turned around. The man's dick had become
soft. He lifted up his hairy white testicles and held them over the
black boy's mouth.

"Lick."

Jerome found himself involuntarily licking under the man's balls,
washing them with his tongue. The man's testicles tasted of sweat and
crud. Jerome licked the man, hoping this would satisfy him and that he
would soon be free to collect his pay. The white man moaned with
pleasure from feeling the boy's hot wet tongue wash underneath his
balls.

After a few moments of this, he lowered his flaccid cock to the boy's
thick lips.

"Suck."

Jerome paused. He wasn't sure he could continue going through with
this. The man rubbed his cock across the boy's closed thick lips.

"Come on, boy. Open those lips for daddy. I know how well you boys
can suck. I know how good you boys can be once you get those lips
going."

Jerome took in a deep breath. He had gone this far; what could he gain
by walking out on the man and risking losing his pay? Anyway, nobody
had to know about all of this - at least they would never know the
details about how he had been forced to get down on his knees and
French kiss the white man's ass, and now this - to suck on the
man's uncircumcised white cock.

Jerome opened his mouth. The man slid his cock between the boy's
tender black lips. Jerome began to suck on the man's dick. The man
looked down at the boy with bliss in his eyes. He gently cradled the
boy's head in his hands as his cock grew harder and harder inside the
boy's mouth.

"Yeah, that's it  black boy. Take care of my cock."

Jerome slurped all over the man's throbbing member. A strand of drool
trickled out of the boy's mouth and remained suspended between the
man's cock and the floor. Jerome bobbed his head on the man's now
fully hardened cock. The man pumped his pelvis in the black boy's
face, his sweaty white balls bounced gently against the boy's chin.

"Oh yeah, I knew you'd be a good cocksucker. It's natural for
you."

It seemed as though the man really intended for the comment to be
complement. Somehow it was difficult for Jerome to take it in that way.
The man continued to grunt and grind his hard white cock in the boy's
mouth. Jerome gagged as he swallowed precum mixed with saliva, but the
man would not let go of the boy's head - nor would he stop
pleasuring himself with the boy's mouth. The man's voice grew
filled with obsessive sexual aggression.

"Yeah, Nigger. Suck that cock. Suck it good."

His thrusts in the boy's mouth were now frantic. He no longer took
his time with smooth easy strokes - now he was a frenzy of humping
and grinding in the black teenager's mouth. Jerome swallowed his own
saliva to keep his air passage clear. The man cock twitched
spasmodically. He released a thick flow of gushing fluid down the
boy's throat. Jerome's eyes grew wide as he stared into the sweaty
pubes of the man who was fucking his face with reckless abandon.

As much as he was disgusted by the whole incident, he felt a subtle
peace and resignation in being used in this manner. It was almost as
though his place in the natural order of things was being established.
Here he was, down on his knees, sucking the white man's cock - a
man who clearly had power over him; a man who could reward or punish
him, depending on how good he had been. As much as Jerome could never
before imagine himself in this position, the thought crossed his mind
that he was sucking the cock of real power. If there was one thing that
Jerome had always learned to respect it was power - and nothing got
him more sexually aroused than the thought of giving power its
"props" in the rawest form.

He watched the man's hairy thighs pumping along the side of his face.
He smelled the rich, pungent smell of the man's pubic hair as it
filled his nostrils. He saw that thrust of the man's pale hardened
pole as it plowed the black earth of the boy's lips. It all seemed so
right. He let himself submit to the white man's power. And when the
man shot his seed down the boy's throat, that seemed right too. This
was power. This was humiliation. This was an acknowledgment of the
relationship between the two.

The man pumped his load into the black boy's mouth until all Jerome
could taste and smell was the man's thick cum. It tasted so
masculine; so masterful. Jerome's mind flashed back to how, when he
was three years younger, we often fantasized about sucking his white
pre-adolescent school chums' cocks. He wanted to get closer to their
beauty and the purity of their white skin. He admired the deep wells of
their blue eyes, and the attractive way that they would blush or their
cheeks turned rosy after a vigorous workout or on cold day.

Sucking their cocks would be the only way he knew of to get closer to
them. With their smooth muscular white bodies and long flowing hair -
colorful as it appeared blond on some, brunette on others, and reddish
on still other white boys - they seemed like young gods to him. They
were youthful heroic warriors, like teenaged Thor or David. He had
never acted on the urge to service their youthful white masculinity -
as much as he felt he owed it to them to acknowledge their beauty and
budding manhood.

They would have been shocked if they ever knew that he and other black
boys had such desires. The white boys admired him for his athletic
prowess, after all - that, and his long, thick black cock, which was
clearly evident whenever they showered together after gym class. They
saw him, and all the other black boys, as the epitome of coolness,
charm, and masculinity. They never would have guessed that, as much as
they admired his wit and physical and sexual endowments, he and the
other black boys admired the beauty and purity of their transparent
skin and whiteness. Deep in the recesses of their minds the black boys
all wanted to kneel down to these beautiful young white gods and
satisfy them.

He often fantasized, but would never admit it, that one day slavery
would be re-instated, and he would be hauled off to be the personal
slave of one of his white buddies. He would wait on the boy all day -
washing his clothes, bringing him meals, and cleaning his room. Then,
at night, as the white boy's personal slave he would get down on his
knees and suck the boy's cock, because all teenaged boys are horny
and need a good cock sucking every now and then. What better use for a
young nigger slave boy than to provide these services for his sexually
frustrated horny young white master?

This older white man's aggressive sexual assault on the black boy's
mouth reminded him of these long-repressed fantasies; fantasies he
could never breathe a word of to anybody. Of course, this older man
didn't have the same physical attraction for him that young,
smooth-skinned white boys did - but in a sense what he was now
experiencing had its own erotic appeal. This was power, and he was
submitting to this superior white man's power over him. He was
acknowledging his position in life.

When the man was finished using the black boy's mouth he let go of
the boy's head. Jerome's mind was reeling. He was completely
disoriented. Everything seemed to have been turned upside down. He felt
a warm, sticky wetness in his crotch. He reached inside his pants and
realized this moisture was from thick loads of his own cum. His cock
was still rock hard and twitching involuntarily, pumping out the
remainder of his unexpected orgasm. The flood of repressed memories and
current submission had clearly affected him. He was uncomfortable with
the sticky wetness inside of his pants, yet he was too embarrassed to
try to excuse himself to wash it off.

The spell was broken when he heard the white man's voice, "Well,
don't stay down there on your knees forever. You've still got more
work to do before you earn your bonus. I'm sure your manager at the
grocery store doesn't allow you to crawl at his feet while shopping
carts are cluttering the parking lot and customers are waiting for
their bags to be packaged."

Once again Jerome was reminded that maybe he didn't like this guy
after all; but what more could the man possibly want from him?

The man wasn't one to keep his intentions hidden for long. "Get
your black ass up here. I told you I intended to conquer that ass like
an explorer penetrating the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa. Now
bring your ass over here; I want to dip my cock into some rhythm and
blues. I'm going to hear soulful moaning from your tight young black
ass before the afternoon is over."

Jerome obeyed the man and got to his feet. The man led him into the
living room where there was a small wooden bench without a back or arm
rests off to the side of the man's unkempt couch.

"Lay across that bench there, ass up."

Jerome quickly ran through the options in his mind and figured there
wasn't much left humiliation that he would have to go through after
this. He was just a half hour, at the most, from having substantially
more cash to purchase the new Playstation and to deck himself out with
expensive "ice." He sagged his head and walked toward the rather
modest bench. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Time
magazine on the floor. The cover story was about the danger of a
collapsing dollar. He quickly averted his eyes - he didn't want to
show too much interest in the magazine because among he and his buddies
this would be "acting white."

Jerome bent over on the bench and pulled down his trousers, exposing
his bare ass to his white patron. The man examined the boy's smooth
caramel colored ass and his cock became instantly hard once again. He
stroked his hard cock while he ran his fingers over the boy's ass.
The man noticed the sticky mess of teenage jizz between Jerome's
legs. The white man chuckled to himself, "Don't you know these boys
really love it no matter what they try to tell themselves?"

The man spread the teenaged boy's ass cheeks and licked inside his
sweaty and sweetly bitter ass crack. The boy tasted of young, hot,
Negro masculine sexual potency. The man ran his tongue up and down the
boy's crack, making it good and moist and warm. Jerome moaned with
pleasure at the sensation of the man's hot wet tongue in his ass. He
felt his penis once again involuntarily spring to life, making him
uncomfortable as his belly was pressed down on the bench.

The white man began to finger rape the boy, poking and probing inside
his hole and playing with his fine brown ass cheeks. The white man
spread the boy's ass cheeks wide and slid his hard pale cock into the
opening. Jerome felt his hole filling up with the white man's cock.
He tried to calm his mind to simply accept and take it. The man plowed
into Jerome's black ass, picking up momentum - fucking the boy
harder and harder.

As the man's hard white manhood filled Jerome's hole, the boy
thought about all the times he had caught street-hardened "home
boys" acting out masculine aggression "on the down-low." He
remembered the time he caught Skeeter inducting a new member to his
posse. He had the young boy bent over on all fours while Skeeter and
the rest of his boys took turns shooting the lad full of their hot
ghetto man juices. The boy moaned and cried out with pain, but those
cries seemed strangely mixed with passion and ecstasy.

On another occasion, Jerome caught his cousin Michael in the bed,
grinding his thick cock between the legs of a younger playmate. The
older teenager worked himself into frenzy using the younger boy's
smooth copper brown legs to relieve his sexual tensions, eventually
shooting his jizz all over the younger boy's thighs and balls.

Early in life Jerome had picked up on the signals that black men send
to one another when they grab their cocks through their sweat pants in
public, showing one another the length and thickness they are packing.
At the right time, in a more discrete place, the curious young
"straight" man would get down on his knees to service his buddy's
cock. Nobody would ever talk about this directly but everyone knew that
it happened all the time. It was impossible for the horny, sweaty young
black men with big throbbing cocks to be around one another in close
quarters so often without getting aroused to experience each other's
black masculinity. They just needed an excuse to do it, and something
to call the experience - because they all knew that they were not
gay.

As this white man rammed his cock deep inside the boy's ass Jerome
thought about how he had heard in high school that the white slave
owners used to have their way with black slave women. When the teacher
talked about these things in class the black boys always got angry,
declaring they would get their revenge on those "evil white
muthafuckas." Then, during the break, they would just as passionately
rush to the boy's room to get into a private toilet stall so that
they could beat off. Their nappy headed minds were filled with images
of white slave owners pumping their ancestors full of European seed;
the white conqueror totally dominating the black conquered slaves,
using them like sexual objects. There were centuries of white European
seed being pumped into black African bodies, producing the mixed breed
of  "African Americans" that Jerome and his buddies represent
today. The boys lustily masturbated to such images with their tongues
hanging out of the side of their mouths, eventually shooting their
loads over the already cum-stained walls in the boy's rooms.

 While the white man plowed Jerome's ass it occurred to the boy that
the slave owners probably had their way with slave boys too; why not?
What better way to quell the insolence of resentful male slaves and
prevent a rebellion? What better way to enjoy the thick luscious lips
and sooth brown bubble butts of a conquered race, while establishing
and confirming the social order?

The white man's thrusts into Jerome's ass became harder and more
intense, making the wooden bench beneath them squeak loudly. Jerome
felt the man's hard white cock plowing into him with force. The man
grabbed the back of the boy's nappy head and grunted between his
violent thrusts, "Yeah. Take that white cock in your ass, Nigger.
Take it." This was too much for Jerome. He suddenly felt the
involuntary twitching of his teenaged cock. It spewed out a fresh load
of teen boy cum, this time all over the man's wooden bench. Jerome
tried to flash the white man a look of thug boy resentment but all he
could do was sigh as he found himself caught in a wave of sexual
release.

The man looked in the boy's impassioned eyes and could not restrain
himself any longer. He let out a loud sigh and emptied his loins deep
inside the black boy, giving the boy his essence. Jerome felt the flood
of thick, hot, white liquid fill his bowels. He felt the white man
melting inside of him, injecting his seed in him. It was not surprising
to Jerome, although it was certainly out of character, when he
passively welcomed the man's tender kisses on his cheeks and his lips
following the full power of the orgasm the man was having inside of the
boy's body. Jerome parted his lips and allowed the man to stick his
tongue inside of his mouth, emphasizing the man's invasion and utter
control over the black boy's body. The man held the bare-skinned
black boy tightly against his body and slobbered all over the boy's
face.

The next day at Food Market Tyrell eyed Jerome with curiosity and
suspicion. Jerome was bagging groceries like someone who was eager to
take orders but not particularly inclined to think. He still avoided
news magazines and newspapers, but started to hang out with the white
guys and talk with them about sports and the lottery. Even the manager
noticed the change and commented on how Jerome seemed to have caught
the spirit of "corporate America."

During a smoke break Tyrell confronted the boy, "What's gotten into
you? How much did that white man pay yo' sorry black ass? What else
did he make you do when you got to his place?" Jerome just smirked,
"Hey, you know - every man's got his price. He gotta give
somethin' up if he expect somethin' in return."

Tyrell got a mischievous grin, "Yeah, how much ass did you have to
give up?"

Jerome shot his buddy an irritated look. "Man, I don't know what
the fuck you talkin' about." He waved Tyrell off dismissively.

Tyrell looked at Jerome's feet, "I see you got new sneakers though.
I know they cost you at least $100."

Jerome just looked away as if he were disinterested, "Man...." He
sucked his teeth.

Tyrell pressed him, "Oh, and I see you wearin' new ice - dayum,
you musta been suckin that dick real good." He let out a sharp laugh.

Jerome bent over to dust some dirt off of his new sneakers, "Man, you
ignorant. You know I aint into that shit."

Just then the fleshy faced white man emerged from the store with a cart
full of paper and cleaning products. Jerome's eyes got big and before
he could stop himself he blurted out, "I sure as fuck hope this means
he gonna wash the fuckin' couch so's we can use it next time."

Tyrell's eyes got wide. Jerome quickly corrected himself, "He let
me watch television but I had to sit on his hard-assed wooden chairs
because his couch was so damn nasty."

Tyrell tossed his head playfully and nodded with a knowing grin, "Fo
schizzle. I knew that's what you meant."

Jerome didn't have time to argue with the boy. He sprang to his feet
to help the man with his packages. A cloud of other young black boys
raced toward the man but Jerome was determined to protect his meal
ticket. The white man also seemed pleased to see Jerome.

Jerome called over his shoulder to Tyrell, "Punch me out, man; I'm
on my lunch break."

Tyrell gave the boy a shit-eating grin, "Okay playa. Whatever you
say."

Whether working for the company or providing domestic service, Jerome
had become, indeed, a model employee.

Part Six: The Passions of the Urban Jungle

Cleaver was sitting on a bench at the bus stop when his cell phone
started ringing. As one of a handful of white boys still living in the
black section of town, he was pretty popular with the ladies, but he
always had to mind his Ps and Qs. He stood out like a polar bear in
Jamaica. For the most part he remained close to a small circle of other
white boys who lived in the neighborhood, but many of the black males
were cool with him also - especially his best friend, Tyrone.

Cleaver and his white buddies always referred to the black community as
the "urban jungle." When they saw individual young black males,
with their shirts off and their sweat-slicked shiny dark skin in the
summer time, they jokingly referred to these black Adonises among
themselves as "jungle bunnies." They could just imagine these
sinewy specimens of African sexual manhood whipping out their long
black cocks at night and filling nigger pussy with the kinds of
rhythmic motions that would make those black bitches moan with
uncontrolled passion. No wonder those teenage girls were always
pregnant.

Cleaver and his buddies were disgusted with the thought of such untamed
sexual activity in the black community. Their disgust was intensified
when they thought about the inability of their over-sexed black
neighbors to control their libidinal appetites at night. Cleaver, like
the rest of his white buddies, spent many a lonely night lying awake in
bed, stroking their cocks and shooting puddles of cum all over
themselves and on their bed sheets - unable to get the image of
unconstrained naked black bodies out of their minds. It was disgusting.
The problem seemed simple and straight forward enough, "Why
couldn't these black people learn to control themselves the way white
folks do?"

Of course, not all white folks control their sexual appetites, as
Cleaver's buddies were quick to point out to him when they wanted to
get him angry. When his buddies began a sentence with, "You know,
some white chicks are real freaks too - just as bad as them
Niggers...." Cleaver knew where they were going with it. His face
would turn bright red, "Don't talk about my sister that way..."
The boys would roll over laughing - Cleaver didn't think it was so
funny, but the boys enjoyed needling his sore spot.

Cleaver didn't see or hear from his sister very often, but he did see
and hear from his black neighbors. Night after night Cleaver heard his
neighbors on the other side of the thin walls of his mother's
apartment. He heard the men grunting, and the bed springs squeaking. He
heard the women sighing and moaning loudly, "Oh give it to me, baby
- give it to me." The man would respond, "Take it, bitch - take
my dick."

With surprising frequency Cleaver would also hear two black males on
the other side of the wall, "Oh yeah, nigga - fuck me. Fuck my
ass." Cleaver was surprised because he didn't think black people
could be gay - and of, course, the guys were not really gay, they
were just having male-to-male sex on the down-low.

It was like the black dudes he accidentally walked in on one afternoon
in the high school locker room, after basketball practice. They thought
they were alone. After spending all day in classes next to each other,
and working out in the gym, their sweaty muscular young black bodies
and erotic sex smells got the better of them. They would have fucked a
horse if it were in the room - since there were no bitches around and
these horny niggas needed some quick relief they exploded in a frenzy
of fucking one another.

Hot black bodies piled on top of each other, falling off of the benches
onto the floor. Negroes humped Negroes - led by their elongated stiff
black cocks that seemed to have minds of their own and forced the boys
to throw all caution, judgment, sexual identity and inhibition into the
wind. Their big unruly teenaged black cocks needed attention NOW! The
boys had no patience to sort out complicated questions about sexual
orientation and what was or wasn't "proper." They had to respond
to the demands of their jungle dicks. They quickly became a pile of hot
brown and black-skinned horny Negroes - humping, grunting and
groaning as if they were a single muscular and rhythmic organism. The
denials, excuses and explanations could be worked out later. Right now
these black boys had to take care of their cocks.

Cleaver was hoping the phone call would be about a job opening at a
nearby Radio Shack electronic store. When he answered his phone, the
voice of the polite, young black salesman he had talked with earlier
was on the line. "Helllloooo Cleaver - Heyyyy, this is Randy. I'm
calling on behalf of the manager down here at Radio Shack."

Cleaver took a deep breath. He was low on cash and needed a job real
bad. The salesman continued in with his affected cheerfulness,
"Heyyyy buddy, we looked at your resume and we think we might be able
to use some extra help around here; just one problem, we gotta see what
your people skills are like - you're going to be working with
customers all day, after all."

Cleaver straightened his back, "I got good people skills - people
tell me I'm a people kinda person."

The voice on the other end of the phone said, "Welllll, I'm sure
they're right. You'll probably make a great team player. You just
have to come down here at 10 o'clock tonight, which will be a hour
after we close, so you can take our unofficial people person test -
okay, buddy?"

Cleaver was eager to do anything to get the job. "Sure, okay -
I'll be there."

"Gooood. We'll see you then."

*****************

So Cleaver had his first promising lead for a job. Being one of few
whites in a black neighborhood Cleaver was finding it hard to land
employment. His manner of speaking and his address made employers he
spoke to over the phone think he was black, so they rarely called him
back. The small rinky-dink black-owned and operated stores in his
neighborhood would gladly hire him in a heartbeat - black teenaged
girls loved to chase after the young wigger, and this could be great
for business - but the cash flow in these small stores was too
unpredictable and Cleaver did not want to wind up in a situation where
he would put in a month's worth of work and end up not being paid, as
often happened to other boys he knew.

Cleaver had a lot of time to kill before his "people person test,"
whatever that meant, later that night, so he returned to his foggy
thoughts about all of the sexual impropriety that surrounded him. His
memory shifted to an evening, about a year ago, in the high school band
room. He had been working as a technician in a small booth off to the
side of the main practice area. Two boys, a clarinetist and a drummer,
thought they were alone. The drummer looked over at the boy on the
clarinet, "Dayum nicca - I sure love the way you press them puffy
lips up against that stiff black stick. I bet you can give a bigger and
thicker black stick a good blow job."

The Clarinetist frowned at the boy, "You is one ignorant
gay-soundin' muthafucka." The boys traded light-hearted insults
back and forth for a few minuets, but the next thing Cleaver knew the
clarinetist was on his knees, with the drummer boy holding his head
between his hands, keeping time by slapping his stiff black cock down
the boy's throat. "Suck that dick, nicca." The Clarinetist
grabbed his own cock through his trousers and started playing with it.

The drummer looked down at the boy with his stiff black drumstick down
his throat, "Youse one good little clarinet-playin cocksucker, you
know dat?"

The clarinet player just slurped on the boy's dick and moaned.

Cleaver was confused and annoyed by all of this. He remembered that he
once asked his black buddy, Tyrone, about what all of this meant. "
'Ty, man; how come so many black dudes, who say they hate fags, fuck
each other for hours on the down-low when they think nobody is around
to hear or see them?"

Tyrone scrunched up his face, trying to put extremely vague thoughts
into words, "Well, it's like this - a faggot is a dude who wants
to be a woman when he gets fucked in the ass; but if a dude lets
another dude fuck him in the ass because that other dude can shoot
hoops and dominate a basketball court - then that aint really bein'
a faggot; that's somethin' else. That's givin props to the other
nigga's manhood, which as cool and a manly thing to do. You just
can't let nobody know about it."

Cleaver nodded his head slowly, "Oh, I see..."

"Yeah," Tyrone continued, "Its like - if a dude is really hype
because of sports, or his music, or his money, and you can make him
nutt in your in your mouth, then that kinda makes you special. For one
thing, it kinda makes you close to him, like you two are blood brothers
or somethin.' But the main thing is, if a dude is larger than life,
and you be suckin on his dick and make him nutt in your mouth, then you
done took control over him, at least while he was nuttin'. You done
made that nigga lose control and nutt."

Cleaver listened carefully to his friend, rubbing his own crotch in
fascination. "But what about the dude who's lettin' you suck his
dick? What does he get out of it? Won't he be afraid that other
people might think he's a sissy for enjoyin' it?"

Tyrone laughed, "Naw man, that aint how it works. It aint the dude
getting' the blow job that's the faggot - it's the dude
that's givin' him head. And it aint the butt fucker that's the
homo - it's the butt fuckee."

Tyrone paused to eyeball a pair of attractive girls as they walked by
before he continued, "Anywayz, nobody else gonna know you made him
nutt 'cause neither of them two niggas gonna tell nobody about it.
And second, between the two of them, it's just one nigga givin'
another nigga his props. What's wrong with getting' honors? The
dude who's getting' his dick sucked should be flattered. His homey
be sayin, without so many words, 'You the shit, man - I just gotta
give it up to you.'"

Tyrone could see that Cleaver was impressed with his worldly knowledge
so he decided to dispense more street corner wisdom.

"Lots of niggas think the most manly thing they can do is fuck some
pussy or get their girl friends to give them head - but that aint
necessarily so. It's easy to conquer a woman. It's easy to get a
bitch to spread her legs for you or to suck on your manhood - but a
real nigga makes another nigga get down on his knees and do a bitch's
work for him. You know you the man when even other dudes gotta bend
over for you or suck on your dick - that shows you got juice. It
shows you got real power."

Cleaver was deep in thought, "I see..." Suddenly Cleaver's eyes
brightened, "So Ty, have you ever..."

Ty cut him off, "Naw, man. I aint never done that - I aint never
gived and I aint never received; at least not from no dude. That
ain't my kinda action. Don't even think about that shyt, man.
Don't talk about it."

"But I thought you just said..."

"Yeah, but I was just sayin' - yeah, it's cool for them that do
it; and it aint what other people think it is - it aint 'gay' or
nuttin' like that - but I aint down with it myself. End of story,
okay?"

The two boys sat in silence.

******

Cleaver started to daydream about the previous night, when he had to
lie in bed once more, listening to a couple of black dudes next door
expressing their manhood by rubbing their thick dicks inside each
other's asses and filling one another up with ghetto jizz. Then,
later that night they went back to their women and banged them good,
probably making them pregnant.

Cleaver often overheard the man-on-woman action too. When the ghetto
boys' homies weren't available for blow jobs or ass fucking Cleaver
would hear his horny neighbor conquering some sloppy black pussy and
making the bitch call him "daddy." Sometimes the action sounded
romantic, but often it was hard core. "Take it bitch - take it."

The woman replied, "Oh baby, why you bein' so mean to me?"

"Cause you cooked that corn bread and them ribs tonight and they was
slammin.  Now I'm gonna make some Bar-B-Q my ownself."

Cleaver appreciated Tyrone's friendship, but there were certainly
times when things did not always go so well between the two boys. As it
turned out, today would be one of those days. From their previous
animated conversation Tyrone drifted into a militant mood. The two boys
went to McDonald's and Tyrone sat across from Cleaver in a booth,
staring at the white boy as if he wanted to kill him.

"W-what's wrong, 'bro?"

Tyrone just sneered, "Don't call me 'bro' no more. You gotta
call me 'cus' - you can be my cousin from now on, but you aint
one of my 'bros.'"

Cleaver studied the black boy who, up until now had been his best
buddy. "What did I do, bro - I mean, 'cus' all the sudden?"

"Cause I just remembered, you da white man. You done sold all of us
niggas into slavery. We been studyin' about it this past week in
history class."

Cleaver shifted uneasily in his seat, "Oh, but 'Ty, man that was a
long time ago. I wasn't even born then. I wasn't a part of
that..."

Tyrone shot the boy a piercing glare, "Your ancestors was a part of
it, and that's close enough."

Tyrone reached into his knapsack and produced a thick American history
textbook.

The boy thumbed through the pages until he found the section on the
American slave trade, "Look how y'all muthafuckas treated black
folk."

Tyrone pointed to a picture of blacks bunched together in the hull of a
slave ship, being transported from Africa to America. The men were
shackled together and some where piled on top of the others, their
naked black and brown bodies serving alternatively as mattresses and
blankets.

Tyrone continued with his accusations, "Y'all had us all bunched
together like sardines in a can. Look at them niggas - all naked and
piled up on each other." Cleaver examined the pictures; it was a
shameful sight, there was no denying it. The illustration depicted a
ship full of fresh naked young African Negro men laying on top of each
other, breathing in each other's muscular sweaty arm pits. Their
thick African cocks rubbed up against each other's thighs and between
their legs.

It was shameful to see those naked black boys and men with their big
potent cocks resting between each other's smooth brown thighs. Their
firm African bodies were pressed together without any room to spare.
Some of the men in the picture had other black boys and men piled on
top of them so that they could feel thick African cocks nestled up
between their firm bulbous ass cracks.

Big bubble butt Negro asses endured another man's massive black cock
as it pushed its way inside his nasty, sweaty butt hole. To think of
how they traveled all the way across the Atlantic, piles of hot, horny
Negro bodies bumping and grinding on each other. The sadistic white
slave traders took enjoyment in humiliating the young men, forcing them
to perform all kinds of unnatural sex acts on one another for their
entertainment.

Hot, horny muscular, smelly Negroes piled on top of one another -
grinding their thick African cocks together on their way to America.

Cleaver shook his head in pity and shame. He swallowed hard, "Gee,
Ty, what can I say? I-I'm sorry, man."

Tyrone snapped the book shut, "Yeah, muthafucka; damn straight you
should be sorry. Y'all owes us big time. Treating people like that
just aint right."

Both boys tried to adjust the growing bulges in their pants without the
other one noticing.

Tyrone shot Cleaver a glance, "Just don't let dat slavery shit ever
happen again muthafucka..."

Cleaver swallowed hard again, "I-I'm sorry man. It won't happen
again. I promise." Even as he said these words he wasn't sure how
he was supposed to keep the promise, or even if it was reasonable to
expect that he would have to, but if it gave Ty the reassurance he
needed then the promise served its purpose.

Tyrone settled back in his booth, "Aiiight." He grabbed his crotch
through his pants and slowly rubbed it.

In a calmer tone he continued to give Cleaver a history lesson to make
sure the boy felt sufficient remorse for the role that white people
played in the slave trade. "Yeah, them slave masters was evil
muthafuckas. They be rapin' them slave womens and shyt. They be
makin' them spread they legs and take they white cocks in their black
pussies."

Cleaver was horrified by what he was hearing. He began rubbing his
crotch under the table while he listened to Tyrone's tales of woe.

Tyrone continued, casually rubbing his own crotch, "they be
shootin' nutt in them black women's pussies n' shyt. They be
makin' them have light-skinneded babies. They made them slaves do
whatever they wanted, tyin' naked women and boys to bed posts and
havin' their way with them n' shyt..." The boy's voice trailed
off.

Now both boys were rubbing their crotches under the table in silence.
Occasionally one or the other boy would let out an involuntary sigh,
gasp, or grunt. The boys were no doubt overwhelmed by the injustice of
it all.

After awhile Ty broke the silence. "So, ah - how's your sister,
man?" Cleaver shot the boy a red-faced scowl. Ty quickly threw his
hands up in the air, "Hey, hey - just askin,' just askin.' I
wasn't implyin' nuttin.'"

******

When Cleaver left McDonalds he was disturbed by how much the pictures
in the textbook and Tyrone's stories of injustice had affected him.
His cock felt like a throbbing hot iron in his pants and it wouldn't
go down. He knew it was wrong to feel this way, and sought out an older
black man for advice. He found himself wandering aimlessly down the
streets of his "hood" until he reached "Too Sweets" candy shop,
which was owned by a very heavily proportioned man known in the
neighborhood simply as "Fats."

Fats was the local dispenser of ghetto wisdom and the primary employer
- apart from the drug trade - of young boys aged 12 to 15. He had
them running all over the store, unpacking boxes of candy, stocking
display cases, sweeping the floor and going on errands.

Lately Fats had been troubled by the fact that a group of young gay
black men had decided to turn his front stoop into a cruising area.
Fats was concerned that his business would become associated with these
young drama queens, and most of his customers would begin to keep their
distance to avoid guilt by association.

By the time Cleaver arrived at the store, Fats was lowering himself in
a chair behind the counter, wiping his sweaty face with a handkerchief
after having spent the better part of the day shooing the gay boys away
from his store. Even as Cleaver stepped in the door he heard a black
faggot on the sidewalk flirtatiously intoning, "Mmmmm, there go that
white boy - I sure would like to suck his cock. I bet it tastes like
vanilla."

Cleaver noticed that the store was empty except for the young boys
waiting to serve Fats hand-and-foot. "Yo Fats - where is
everyone?"

Fats loosened his pants to give his stomach breathing room. He let them
drop to the floor. "Aint been nobody here since them faggots took
over the front of my store." He wiped his face with the kerchief
until it was soaked with sweat, and tossed it in a corner. Then he
pulled out another one.

Cleaver watched the gay men outside the store making cat calls at cute
young hood rats passing by on the other side of the street. The
embarrassed young straight boys gave their tormentors the finger,
eliciting heavy laughter, "Oh yeah, cutie - you can fuck me anytime
you want with that young thug dick of yours. Why waste it on them
bitches?" The embarrassed young thugs pulled their hoods over their
heads to conceal their faces. They rushed off, tugging at their
crotches.

Fats looked exhausted. "Them faggots gonna be the death of me." He
pulled off his boxer shorts and motioned for one of the younger boys to
give him some assistance. Cleaver's eyes widenened, "Y-yo man, what
you doin'? You can't get buck nekked here in your store, man."

Fats barely acknowledged the white boy, "Yes I can - it's my
store aint it? It aint like nobody's comin' around anyways. You
sure as fuck aint buyin' nothin'."

"But what you doin' man? Why you sittin behind the counter with
your pants off and your dick hangin' out?"

"Because I'm an old man and I'm tired. You won't know how it
feels till you're an old man and you get tired. I need this here ass
massage to get me through the day."

Cleaver just scratched his head wondering what the man was talking
about when he said "ass massage." Then he noticed that one of the
boys Fats had called over was now crawling on his knees in front of the
man and sticking his face in between the fat man's legs. Fats lifted
himself slightly off the chair, and the boy started licking the older
man's ass crack.

Cleaver turned away is digust, "Ewwww. Oh god! That's so nasty.
Man, you should be ashamed of yourself making those young boys do that
- and doing it in public."

Fats continued to act as though he barely noticed the white boy, "It
ain't public because aint nobody in here; and these boys is well paid
to do what I tell 'em to do. Besides, sometimes a man feels like
havin' a hot tongue up his ass. I'd rather have young girls do it,
but women these days are spoiled, they won't lick a man's
shit-smellin' ass like they used to. With boys it's another story
- if you pay 'em enough they'll even eat the shit while it's
still up in your ass."

Cleaver thought there was something very disgusting, yet arousing about
all this. He turned away to give Fats and the boy some privacy.

"Well I've got a job interview tonight, so maybe in the future I
might be a customer again."

Fats grunted, enjoying the boy's tongue in his ass. "I hope you get
that job. I can't remember the last time you paid for somethin' in
this store."

The young boy continued to slurp away in the fat man's ass. Fats
lifted his legs onto the counter so the boy's tongue could probe his
anus more easily. Just outside the window Cleaver heard the queers
shout at a boy who was dribbling a basketball, "Honey, you need to
put that toy away and come over here and let us show you how good it
feels to have a man's tongue dribble your balls."

Cleaver glanced out of the window just in time to see the boy scoop his
basketball into his arms and rush away in humiliation, with a wave of
laughter at his back.

******

Cleaver left Fats' store. The small gathering of gay men on the
sidewalk moaned in approval of the attractive white boy. Cleaver
didn't want to be caught up in the spectacle for fear that someone
might think he enjoyed it and was encouraging it. He tried to rush away
but as he passed a greasy spoon on the corner of the street he was
frozen in his tracks. There, inside the diner, was his sister Charlene,
propped up against the wall in a booth, smoking a cigarette. She was
alone for a change.

Cleaver had always admired his older sister but never really had the
chance to spend much time with her. He was curious about her lifestyle,
since she moved out of the house. Could she really have changed that
much? Could all the rumors about her be true?

When Cleaver approached the booth, Charlene greeted him with an arched
eyebrow and stiffened her back. She smelled of whiskey and her eyes
were bloodshot. Cleaver took her behavior as a sign that she did not
know what to expect from the boy. He wanted to reassure her that he was
on her side.

"Char - I really miss you. You doin' okay?"

"Yeah, Cleave. I'm okay." His sister's breath was heavy with
whiskey.

There was an awkward silence. Cleaver fumbled with his fingers. He
always imagined that if he got a chance to talk with his big sister
alone there would be plenty to talk about and nobody would be able to
shut the two of them up. But now they were face-to-face and all the boy
could do was play with his fingers and stare at the table.

This time it was Charlene who tried to offer reassurances to ease the
tension, "So, I'm still part of the family?"

Cleaver swallowed hard, "Yeah - you're still part. M-mom and dad,
they don't really hold nothin' against you. They just wish you
would - you know - kinda calm down..."

Charlene let out a derisive laugh. "Calm down?" She rolled her eyes
and took a drag off of her cigarette. She turned her head away from the
boy and blew a stream of smoke into the air.

Cleaver struggled with what to say next. He leaned forward, close to
his sister as though he didn't want anyone else to hear.
"Ch-char...W-why do you do it?"

Charlene's eyes grew wide and a faint smile crossed her face. She
affected an exaggerated air of confusion, "Do what?"

Cleaver sighed with frustration, "You know - Why do you do it?"

Charlene leveled her gaze at him and lowered her voice in a
conspiratorial tone, "You mean, 'Why do I tell mom and dad to take
a hike when they try to tell me who my friends are and how to live my
life?'"

"N-no. why do you - you know - embarrass the family?"

Charlene let out a loud hoot that caught the attention of the other
customers. "Oh, 'Why do I fuck Niggers?' Isn't that what
you're asking?"

Cleaver looked around in embarrassment. "No, I don't mean...."

Charlene continued her broadcast to the diner; "Why do I spread my
legs for those big black dicks? Why do I crave Nigger cock? Why do I
let Niggers shoot their cum inside me? Is that what you mean?"

Cleaver leaned back in the booth, and pushed against the table, to try
to create distance between himself and his sister.

He deliberately lowered his voice, hoping his sister would follow his
lead. "Why do you embarrass the family? People think you're like a
street whore - like some kind of slut. It really hurts mom and dad
the way people talk about you - the way those black dudes you sleep
around with talk about you too.... Even my homies keep sayin', 'Yo
- that sister of yours, she's a real freak. She got some fine white
pussy.'"

Charlene laughed loudly. "I control Niggers with my pussy. I turn
them into my slaves and make them do anything I want. My white pussy is
power over Niggers - they can't even think when they're around
it. I can make them give up anything for it; I can make them shoot each
other and forsake their own mamas."

Charlene took another long drag on her cigarette, "So, people think
I'm a slut? Is it because I'm a 'slut' for Nigger cock? Would
they talk about me that way if I was just humpin' nice little white
boys?"

Cleaver wanted to respond to her accusation, but all he could do was
silently allow his lips to quiver in horror at her unrepentant
boldness. He hunched down in his seat as if he were physically trying
to shrink.

Charlene, in contrast, sat straight up; her cigarette sharply jabbed
the air as if to emphasize her points, "Let's be honest lil' bro
- the only reason mom and dad, or anyone else, is embarrassed about
me is because the guys I 'sleep around with' are big black bucks
and they can't picture their sweet little girl getting her pure white
pussy filled up with all of that Nigger cock."

Cleaver sheepishly looked around the diner out of the corner of his
eyes.  He heard chuckles and saw grins as the customers listened in on
the two white siblings having their argument. He sank further under the
table.

Charlene seemed unfazed by being a spectacle. Perhaps she was used to
it. Maybe she enjoyed it. "The only reason they're upset is because
they can't imagine how it feels to have a big hard Nigger cock
pushing up inside of them. What do you think? You think their problem
is they've never felt a big Nigger cock inside of them?"

She blew out another stream of smoke, "Well, I'll tell you what; I
just can't get enough of it."

Cleaver's face turned red. He heard muffled laughter from the other
customers. He closed his eyes, trying to make the whole scene go away.

Finally, Charlene leaned back in the booth and seemed to relax. Cleaver
hoped that maybe she had gotten everything out of her system and that
they could now have a normal conversation. She took a deep drag off of
her cigarette and lowered her voice. "So, how 'bout you?"

"H-how bout me what?"

"How about you? Can you imagine how it feels to have a big hard
Nigger cock pushing up inside of you?"

Cleaver shook his head profusely, "Oh, oh hell naw..."

Charlene laughed, "I bet you think about it sometimes, though -
don't you?"

"Oh hell no."

"Oh yeah, you do."

"Dayum, Charlene. You're disgusting. It's almost like I don't
even know you anymore."

"I bet you lie in bed at night and think about what it would be like
to have one of those big, handsome buck Niggers you hang out with all
the time grab you from behind and impale your skinny white ass with his
big black jungle cock, don't you?"

"Hell no. Dayum, I feel like I can't even have a serious
conversation with you anymore."

"You want it, don't you? I bet you daydream about one of your
sex-hungry 'home boys,' fresh out of the penitentiary, taking your
ghetto-wannabe white ass and raping it right there on the street."

Cleaver jumped to his feet; his body trembling with raw anger. "Damn,
Char - get away from me. Y-You're disgusting."

Charlene kept her eyes locked on her baby brother. "I can almost hear
you scream while one of your young hoodie buddies shoots his thick
Nigger spunk into your bowels so that your shit is lubricated for weeks
when it slides out of your ass."

Cleaver stumbled quickly toward the door as if he were drunk or
disoriented. He noticed the older black men at the lunch counter,
hunched over their coffee with gold and silver toothed grins,
pretending not to look at him but chuckling with amusement. He could
vaguely hear laughter coming from the kitchen, "Haw - haw, I bet
that boy really do want that dick."

Charlene laughed derisively as her brother walked away. "You should
try it sometime. Tell one of your 'home boys' to give you some of
that Nigger cock. You'll never know what it feels like until you
do."

Cleaver rushed out of the diner, but not fast enough to avoid
Charlene's final parting shot, "The black boys I've fucked sure
have a lot of rhythm. You should see them in bed. Once they get into
your pants maybe mom and dad will have to disown you too."

Cleaver shook his head violently as if he were trying to clear it. He
walked down the sidewalk only to hear the gay black men start on him
again; "Hey, look - that cute white boy is back. Hi cutie. You
wanna bring that big white cock over here so you can rape this faggot
nigga? I want you to beat me up and call me names. I wanna have your
light-skinned babies."

******

Finally, it was 10 O'clock at night. Cleaver knocked on the door of
Radio Shack, but the place looked empty. Maybe the employee who called
him was playing a prank, or maybe the manager just plum forget. Cleaver
was about to leave when the side door of the shop opened and a young
African American man stuck his head out.

"Heeeey dude, come back here."

It was the same phony salesman-type of voice Cleaver heard over the
phone. He followed the young man into the store. The place was quiet
- it seemed as though only the two of them were there.

Cleaver shifted uneasily on his feet. He buried his chin in his chest,
"Well, I got your phone call and I'm here to take the personality
test...." His voice trailed off.

"Yeeees, Yes, I bet you are. Gee, fella - how bout making yourself
comfortable first? Would you like a beer from the cooler?"

Cleaver looked up and seemed to come alive, "Yeah - well, ah -
sure."

The salesman rubbed his hands together, "Okaaay. One beer comin'
right at cha'."

Cleaver didn't know how much longer he could take this sales guy's
way of talking, but he started to think about all of his expenses and
decided he'd better play the company game.

The salesman came back with two cans of ice cold Coors. "My name's
Pete, by the way."

Cleaver started losing his personality again and spoke mostly into the
beer can, "Yeah - my name's Cleaver - but I guess you already
know that - you can call me 'Cleave'..."

Peter showed Cleaver to the employee's lounge and they sat on a
couch. "Well look Cleave, not to waste any time - we're looking
for an employee who has personality, who's outgoing, who has a kind
of charisma. When I saw you turn in your application the other day I
just knew I'd have to give you a call on my next night shift and
bring you in for a private screening."

Cleaver took a sip from beer, not wanting to drink too quickly - this
may all be part of the test, to see if he's an alcoholic or
something. "S-so you're in charge of hiring people, huh?"

Peter gave Cleaver an uneasy grin, "Oh, no. Not really. But I can
make a recommendation - you know, based on my own observations about
whether or not a guy is our kind of team player. The store manager
makes the final call."

"I see."

Peter leaned in on him, "Yeah, I can make a recommendation based on
my sense of a fellow - whether I think he's likeable or not;
whether or not he'll cooperate - know what I'm saying?"

Cleaver looked absent-mindedly around the room, "Y-yeah, I think
so."

Peter reached out and adjusted the collar around Cleaver's sweat
shirt, "And make no mistake about it - I like what I see."

Cleaver instinctively backed away, but thought the better of it and
moved in closer in order to make a good impression.

Peter rattled on, "Yeah, I like that hip-hop style you got going
there. We've got to bring in the young people. I like the way you
have that thug boy wigger-type of image."

Cleaver was thrown a little off guard by this, "Th-thanks...?"

Peter ran his fingers inside the boy's shirt, "Yeah, you got that
nice firm chest; nice and smooth for a white boy."

Cleaver stiffened and did a double-take. Maybe this was part of the
testing, to see if he'd lose his cool. He didn't want to blow it,
so just nodded his approval and cracked a half-smile.

Peter continued, "Yeah, a cute white boy like you makes a nigga wanna
get down on his knees..."

To Cleaver's astonishment Peter slid off of the couch and onto his
knees so that he was eye-level with the white boy's crotch. He
started to unfasten the buttons on Cleaver's fly.

"...makes a nigga want to wrap his thick warm lips around that nice
throbbing, hard, white cock."

Cleaver jumped in alarm, "H-h-hey man. What're you doin?"

Peter looked up at Cleaver with an expression that was at once pleading
and demanding. "Are you a team player or should we look for someone
else?"

Cleaver swallowed hard, "Y-yeah I'm a team player but...."

"Well that's good because part of being a team player is to do
what's best for the team and not just what you want to do all the
time. Right now the team needs for you to let this nigga suck on that
big, hard, throbbing white cock."

Peter pulled out Cleaver's flaccid cock and started stroking it. The
dick started to get hard in the black man's hand, so he slid the
whole thing between his lips. Cleaver was unprepared for the sensation
of having a black man suck his dick. The warmth of the nigger's wet
mouth and puffy lips made his dick quickly come to life. Peter felt his
mouth filling up with Cleaver's hard cock and sucked even harder. The
white boy wrapped his hands around the back of Peter's head and began
thrusting - almost involuntarily.

He looked down at his interviewer and hissed, "Oh yeah, nigga. Suck
it, boi."

Peter slurped on the white boy's dick, occasionally taking it out of
his mouth to address his interviewee, "Yeah, dude - I love sucking
that big, thick piece of white manhood."

Cleaver was surprised by such a bold statement, coming from a black
man, but the feeling of the man's lips on his cock was too good for
him to question; instead he lost himself in his passion and pushed the
man's face back on his cock, "Oh yeah, suck on that dick nigga."

Peter bodded his head, obediently sucking the white boy's penis. He
looked up from where he was kneeling, "Your big white cock is just
what I need to put me in my place. It feels so natural to be suckin'
this white dick."

Cleaver grabbed the back of the man's head and pushed his mouth back
down his cock, "Yeah? Well it sure feels natural havin' you
suckin' it too. I never knew a nigga's lips could feel so good on a
muthafucka's dick."

Peter pulled the shiny white penis out of his mouth. It was slick his
saliva. He licked up and down the shaft of the white boy's hard cock.

"Oh yeah. It feels so good to serve you. I finally feel like I'm
free - down here on my knees with a big white cock in my mouth."

Cleaver was impatient to get those nigger lips back on his dick. He
grabbed the black man by his head and put him back to work.

"Yeah, nigga. Suck that dick, boi."

After slurping and licking Cleaver's cock for several minutes Peter
came up for air, "You ever feel a nigga's lips on your dick before
this?"

Cleaver trembled with excitement as the black man licked his balls,
"Naw, man. I can't say that I ever had."

Peter seemed to savor the boy's whiteness and sexual potency. He
licked the shaft of the cock and played with the throbbing dick head
with his tongue.

"I bet you've got a whole ghetto just full of niggas who secretly
want to suck that white cock, huh?"

Cleaver looked surprised, "If they do, they aint never told me. I
always got the impression they wanted me to be suckin on their cocks,
to be truthful."

Peter laughed at the boy's simple modesty. It only made him want to
lick this white boy's balls and stick his tongue in the boy's ass
crack all the more fervently. "No, a black man needs a white cock in
his mouth to free him from his past."

Cleaver absently glanced at the kneeling black man, who was now
fondling his balls with his tongue. "Really?"

"Yeah. He needs to own up to his own humiliation and degradation in
the past and in the present, and he'll probably even have to do it in
the future."

Cleaver scratched his head and scrunched up his face, one hand still
holding onto the back of Peter's head. "I'm not sure I know what
all of that means, homes..."

Peter kissed the boy's dick, "Neither do I. I just read it
somewhere..."

Once again Cleaver grabbed the back of the black man's head with both
hands and firmly forced his mouth to swallow the entire length of his
throbbing white cock "Well, if that means that you'll keep suckin
on that dick then we cool - bro."

Peter gagged a bit, but adjusted his mouth so that he could take all of
the white boy's cock. Cleaver began to thrust out of control. When he
realized he was reaching the point of orgasm he rapidly tapped the
black man on his head so he wouldn't get an unexpected mouthful of
cum.

Peter didn't stop sucking.

Cleaver unleashed a load of hot cum down the determined black man's
throat. Peter gulped all of the white boy's cum down, only allowing
small amounts to trickle out of the corners of his mouth.

Cleaver had never felt anything like that before. When Peter finally
let Cleaver slide his dick out of his mouth the white boy gave a sigh
of relief. He looked down at the black man, his lips shining with the
boy's cum. "Thanks man. That was da bomb."

Peter just nodded. "Yeah, I think you've got loads of people
skills. I'll be glad to put in a strong recommendation to the manager
for you tomorrow morning."

******

That night Cleaver returned to his parents' apartment. As usual, the
next door neighbors were fucking up a storm. Cleaver realized that the
only way he was going to get some sleep was to stroke himself into the
dream land.

It wasn't difficult; he just thought about the day's events; about
Tyrone and his pictures of slaves and stories about how the masters
used to breed their black women; he thought about the band members and
the black athletes he had caught at different times in the high school
band and locker rooms - acting out their jungle passions on the
down-low; above all, he thought about his new co-worker at Radio Shack,
who introduced him to the otherworldly pleasures of a nigger's hot
lips and tongue.

Cleaver shot several wads of thick teenaged cum from his cock. To his
surprise the wads arched high in the air and splattered on his wall. He
didn't realize he had that much force in his dick. Then he pulled his
sheets over his body and snuggled up to his pillow to go to sleep. Just
before he finally drifted off he could hear his sister's voice once
again, echoing in his head, "Tell one of your 'home boys' to give
you some of that Nigger cock. You'll never know what it feels like
until you do."

Cleaver violently shook his head and said "No, no..." but he could
feel his dick getting hard just the same. Then he slowly drifted off to
sleep.

Part Seven: Confessions of a White Dorm Master

For the past few years I have been working as a dorm master at an
African American boarding school. The school attracts African American
males aged 12 to 18. About 20% of the youths come from middle-and
upper-middle class backgrounds; the remaining 80% are mostly working
class and go to the school on scholarship. The boys come in all shades,
from the darkest coca brown to the lightest shades of cappuccino.

The school is an all-male school in order to keep the boys' minds off
of sex so that they can concentrate on their studies, but like all boys
everywhere they are healthy and horny - they have a lot of energy to
release in the gym, on the basketball court and in their dorm rooms at
all hours of the day and night.

Have you ever been intimate with a teenaged black boy? The black boys I
have come across have a slightly sweet and aromatic smell when they
sweat - they don't just sweat and stink, in the way that most of us
do, rather they sweat and give off a faintly sweet aroma that is hard
to describe unless you experience it directly.

Often, when I found cooperative boys who wanted cash to buy new
clothing and knew how to keep a secret, I would ask these brown-skinned
boys, who were about the color of baked brown sugar, to lay on top of
me so that their sweetly masculine smell would cover my body and stay
with me long after the boy had left the room. Few people have
experienced the intensity of having a naked black teenage boy lying on
top of them while his thick cock hardens between your thighs. The
thrill of the experience is not just in the earthy color of his skin,
which hints at fertility and potency; the greatest thrill comes from
his rhythmic movements.

I am convinced that, at least between the ages of 14 and 18, black boys
naturally possess the rhythms of the universe in their bodies - the
rhythms of human sexuality at its finest. They are uniquely constituted
as the embodiment of the pleasures of sexual reproduction, with their
smooth firm bodies, their lush full lips, their nappy braided hair in
corn rows, and their smooth shapely asses. Added to this is their
uncanny lack of self-consciousness and lack of sexual inhibitions in
the bed.

Their rhythmic sexual movements are as natural to them as is dancing.
Dance informs all of their motions; from walking down the street to
ravishing their sexual partners in the bedroom - everything they do
is a form of dance, and this adds to the erotic tension that they
create around them.

Their bright and colorful clothing is part of their costume for erotic
display. They call attention to themselves with the colorful contrasts
between their tropical garments - worn loose and flowing, capturing
the wind - and their lean muscular bodies, which are various shades
of brown.

Being naked is their most natural state. On the coldest days of winter
our boys are most uncomfortable because they have to wear layer upon
layer of clothing. Black boys have a natural desire to take their
clothing off, or at least, to have it fit loosely as if it isn't
there at all. In the summer, when we hire some of the boys to mow the
lawn and pick up the trash around the campus, many of us feel pangs of
guilt from the pleasure we derive from watching those shirtless boys
work in their low-rider raggedy cut-off jeans under the hot summer sun.
The image of watching those half-naked black boys working in the yard
conjures up reminders of the 18th and 19th century plantations. It is
highly erotic. Their rich brown skin glistens with sweat as they go
about their yard work in full view of our lusty eyes.

Since I am responsible for laundry detail I often gather up bundles of
their clothing that has been carelessly discarded on the floor of their
dorm room, and - before washing them - I take them to a private
place where I could smother my face in the funky masculine smell of
these sexy teenaged boys. I cover my face with their dirty underwear,
boxer shorts, jock straps, and T-shirts. I breathe in their sweetly
masculine nigger smells and masturbate until my balls are sore from
cumming so much.

In order to encourage the boys to shoot their jizz for me to enjoy, I
carelessly leave X-rated videos and DVDs lying around in the game room.
I discreetly watch who enters the room, and the facial expressions and
bodily mannerisms of the boys as they leave, to ascertain who might
have picked up the videos and DVDs. From there I wait until the boy has
finished enjoying the video and has gone to lunch or dinner. I open his
door with the master key and extract the wads of fresh wet nigger cum
on the tissues he has discarded in his trash can.

In those cases where he has not discarded such tissues, I examine his
dirty laundry for cum-stained boxer shorts and other clothing. Once I
have gathered my cum-soaked souvenirs I return to my office, lock the
door and suck on the boy's cum-soaked clothing and tissues.  I cover
my nose and face with it, while I beat off - sharing in the boy's
sexual ecstasy.

It is no small pleasure on my part to shoot my cum into a tissue that
is already soaked with a teenager's cum, so that our jizz mingles;
his masculine juices become mixed with mine. We share sexual intimacy,
even though he never suspects a thing.

Occasionally I sneak into the shower room while a boy is taking a late
evening shower and nobody else seems to be around. The shower room was
divided into individual showers, each with its own flimsy shower
curtain. The boys are fond of showering with the shower curtain open if
they think nobody else was around. Invariably, as is true for African
American teenaged boys aged 13-18, the boys I spy on have teenaged
pricks are almost constantly involuntarily hard. The boy is always
desperate to do something about it. I take advantage of the
opportunity, if he is willing, to enclose his throbbing hard cock in my
mouth.

While it is true that these black teenaged boys have
larger-than-average cock sizes, I must admit that I am even more
impressed by the very hardness of their cocks, when they are erect -
which is, as I said, virtually always. I can't believe the absolute
throbbing stiffness of those Negro cocks as I go down on them in the
shower. This hardness is equally matched by the force of the thrusts
from the boy's loins as he shot his cum in my mouth.

Before working as a dorm master I never knew how much cum a teenaged
black boy could produce. The boy easily fills my mouth with his fluid
and continues to pump out his juices faster than I am able to swallow.

The boys need this supportive all-male environment in order to mature
and blossom into responsible and virtuous manhood. Our job, here at the
school, is to help them along the way. We keep them from the corrupting
influence of women and the distracting enticements of the big city.

The boys repay us by their soulful passion, their rhythmic bodily
movements and their uninhibited expression of sexuality. As a result we
have created an island of refuge against the bigotry of low
expectations, the mind-numbing effects of hip-hop, the wastefulness of
conspicuous consumption, and the life-threatening danger of random or
targeted acts of violence.

We promote, instead, an oasis of manly and brotherly love.

The End

Please Send All Comments and Feedback to classicrider14@excite.com

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