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 Black Boys
   This is a work of erotic fiction.  It is not to be read by minors.  It
may include sexual acts between teenagers and adults and it may have some
offensive language.  If this type of erotic fiction disturbs you, or if you
find that you may be unduly influenced by it, please search for something
else to read for your personal erotic fictional entertainment.  All
publishing and reproduction rights are reserved by the author of this
story.
   *****************
   When I was in high school I lived in a working class neighborhood with a
lot of black and Hispanic boys.  During gym class I snuck peeks at the boys
as they did their sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups.  Those bulbous black and
brown asses under their tight gym trunks tightened and flexed with each
push-up.  I tried not to imagine what it would be like to watch those boys
pumping their seed between their girlfriends' thighs on a steamy Saturday
night.
   Sex was never far from my mind as the boy next to me, wearing a cut-off
t-shirt, grunted under the strain of his push-ups.  His funky underarms
whiffed my way, filling my nostrils with boyish masculine dark skinned
teenage sex smells.  I was surrounded with inner-city teen boy arm pits; it
was all I could do to repress the impulse to stick out my tongue lick one
of them - tasting the fragrant hair of ghetto puberty in my mouth.
   After gym class we were all herded onto the locker room.  The walls
echoed with boisterous laughter, shouts, joking, running, screaming and wet
towels snapping against nude skin.  These black and brown skinned boys
tugged at their t-shirts to pull them off of their sweaty bodies.  Boys
lifted their arms to remove their shirts.  The sweet smell of their
deodorant mingled with the funky manly smell of their sweat.  All I could
see was a sea of smooth dark bodies of all shades; everywhere I turned
there were cinnamon brown boyish biceps and dark chocolate forearms,
muscular caramel thighs and calves, and ashy coal black knees.
   Boys pulled down their boxer shorts exposing rich plumes of dark pubic
hair against dark skinned masculine boyish bodies.  All of them seemed to
have thick long cocks dangling between their legs; jungle meat to
impregnate their girl friends.
   I tried to turn away to avoid getting a hard-on; afraid that if any of
these black or Hispanic boys noticed I was aroused I would be the subject
of ridicule and physical abuse.
   I desperately tried to cover myself up with my towel, to conceal my
raging erection.  It was too late.  One of the boys noticed me.  A boy
named Tavis, the color of dark gold, beamed devilishly at me but didn't say
a word.  How long could I trust him to keep my secret and spare me from
abuse?  What would he want from me in return for his silence?
   He tilted his head and motioned me to fallow him into the next aisle of
lockers.  Clutching my rumpled up towel to my crotch I followed the boy. 
When we were just out of ear shot of the other boys, who were noisily
arguing over who was the baddest, Spider man or The Hulk; Tupoc or Biggie;
Freddie Kruger or Jason - Tavis leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I see
yur fuckin' soldier down dere standin' at attention, ya damn queer.  I want
you to suck my cock n' I'll keep quiet."
   I blushed and swallowed hard, trying to look away.  His brown chest and
shoulders pressed up against my body, emitting a teenage manly smell that
made my cock throb even harder underneath the towel that was bunched up in
my hands.
   "If you don't want me to tell nobody you best follow me into da
janitor's room," he tilted his head toward a small door I hadn't noticed
before.
   It turned out that the "janitor's room" was a small space with mops, a
sink and hose in it - and shelves were cluttered with cleaning agents.  The
door was unlocked, but could be locked from the inside.
   Once we were inside Tavis locked the door and grinned devilishly at me
again.
   He slid his boxers down below his knees and sat on the edge of the sink.
"Get down dere and gimme some head you faggot - an you better do a good
job, too.  I ain't playin'."
   I slid down to my knees and stuck my face between the boy's smooth brown
thighs.  I was almost overcome by the pungent smell of his pubic hair that
enveloped my face.  His manly teenage sex smell gave me goose bumps as I
lifted this thick brown cock and held in just inches from my lips.
   "First suck on my balls."
   The boy lifted his nutt sack and let his pendulous testicles fall over
my face.  I licked under his nuts and licked up and down the boy's ass
crack, tasting the hairs in his ass.  I felt his hands press on the back of
my head, gently guiding it toward his cock shaft.  I slurped up and down
that thick piece of nigger meat.  I filled my mouth with it.  His cock
throbbed and jerked under the gentle massage from my tongue.
   I licked his balls and his cock, tasting the warmth of his manhood and
sexual potency.  Tavis grabbed the base of his cock and stuffed his dick
into my mouth.  He pushed his thickening rod to the back of my throat,
cutting off my air and making me gag.  I sucked on his warm, throbbing
member.  He grabbed my head and forced it up and down his thick shaft.
   "Yeah, suck dat dick, bytch."
   The taste of Tavis' brown sweaty cock filled my mouth as if he allowed
the potency of his man-smell to accumulate by not washing his crotch for
several days.
   He worked his cock in and out of my mouth without mercy, as if giving me
a good pummeling in a school yard fight.
   "Fuck my face," I managed to gasp between thrusts of his cock.  My pleas
for more abuse seemed to make his thrusts even more aggressive.
   He looked down at me and sneered, "Yeah - youse a nasty bytch, aint ya?"
   I found myself mindlessly nodding in agreement.  The more contempt he
had for me the more I was aroused by his manly power.
   He sneered again and spat in my face as his frenzied face-fucking became
more and more intense.
   He violently fucked my face.  I couldn't help but think that I was
receiving the abuse of initiation in the strange and secret rites of
passage into ghetto manhood.  Maybe this was what these black and brown
boys did to each other before they could become one another's "niggas."
   In the locker room how badly they needed to burn off energy.  They
needed something to relieve the pressure of all of that teenage
testosterone and those thick, long dark cocks dangling between their legs.
   Suddenly I sensed that Tavis' body was stiffening.  He dug his fingers
into my skull and mumbled one word: "Swallow."
   His cock twitched in my mouth.  Wave upon wave of thick, hot cum landed
on my tongue and slid down my throat.  I savored the taste of his
man-juices in my mouth and swallowed all of it.
   He stood up and looked down at me, sneering once again.  "Youse a nasty
bytch."
   He tucked his cock back in his boxer shorts and walked away.
   From that day on I looked forward to gym class.  Hard dark bodies
slammed against each other during a spirited game of hoops.  Sweaty, funky
ghetto smells fill the air, gave me an irrepressible hard-on.
   Every once in awhile a particularly horny dark-skinned boy cornered me
in the locker room or the john - pulled me off to the side, and made me get
down on my knees to give him head.  After they were finished with their
business they acted as though they didn't even know me - until the next
time.
   **********************************
   Suddenly you can be overwhelmed by a crowd of young hip hoppers:
   It was a humid summer day.  I was riding through the city on the rapid
transit system.  I was finding it hard to keep from nodding off.  Every
once in a while I looked up, with half-closed eyes, to see people lost in
their own world, text messaging on their cell phones, reading the newspaper
... there was even a pregnant woman who was knitting booties for her
expected child.
   My chin bounced against my chest.  I jolted myself awake, only to drift
off to sleep again and again. 
   Suddenly there was a noise, like the rush of a stampede coming my way. I
sluggishly opened my eyes just in time to find myself surrounded by a hoard
of black and Mexican teenage boys; they must have been getting off from
school.  There were so many of them that they packed the aisle, making it
difficult to move or breathe.
   The musty smell of their clothing pressed in on me.  Young, warm black
and brown male bodies surrounded me on all sides - strong, muscular, and
lean - smooth dark skin brushing up against my face.  Young, slender
teenage arms made firm by getting a workout when they masturbate every
morning.
   I had difficulty breathing.  The air was hot, the air conditioner wasn't
working.  I was almost overwhelmed by the body funk of their teenage
bodies. Most of them must not have showered after gym class.  Maybe they
hadn't bathed at all this morning.  They smelled likes they had just hopped
right out of bed and onto the bus, maybe after fucking their girlfriends
while their mom was in the other room - they didn't bother to take a bath,
they just hopped on the bus.  Even though it was afternoon, their morning
sex smell still lingered.  The smell of their unmade bed, no doubt with
sheets stained with the crust of their morning orgasmic pleasures - if not
with their girlfriend, then arrived at manually and alone.  A teenage boy
has to pleasure himself any way that he can - as often as he can.
   I felt closed in by the stuffy air.  All those young, male black and
brown bodies tossed to and fro by the motion of the bus - bumping into each
other and bumping into me.  Some of that sweaty Black, Mexican and Puerto
Rican sex smell was rubbing up against me - rubbing off on my face and
clothing.  I was sharing the smell of their beds, sharing the smell of
their morning masturbation; the smell of their bed sheets was becoming a
part of me.  They filled my nostrils with it.  The smell clung to my
clothes.
   Their blue jeaned crotches were right in front of my face.  You could
see that these dark skinned young men had big dicks - it was obvious, how
could you miss it?  Those big lumps in their jeans pushed right up against
my face as their lean muscular bodies swayed to the motion of the bus.  It
was impossible not to notice what they were packing.  It was more than I
needed to know - more than I wanted to know.  I tried to look away, but
everywhere I turned another boy's bulging crotch was staring me in my face.
   I wonder where these boys go to school.  I wonder how they work out
during gym class.  I can just imagine their lean dark bodies stripped down
to take a shower.  You can see by their firm, shapely, hairless arms -
glistening with sweat - you can imagine what they look like in the shower.
   I tried to close my eyes so I wouldn't have to think about it.
   My cock was throbbing in my pants and this, after all, was public
transportation.  What could I do with the uncomfortable boner I felt
growing in my pants?  A boner induced by black and brown boys standing over
me, holding on to the passenger straps, thrusting their bulging teenage
crotches in my face; bulging pants that were obviously stuffed with thick
cock meat and tight bulbous buttocks.
   I tried to take my mind off of it.  I looked out of the window.
   Gosh, I wonder what these boys look like when they're fucking their
girlfriends.  When I turned my head away from the window a Hispanic boy had
is crotch just inches from my mouth.  I look up and he is laughing and
joking with his buddies.  He has no idea what is going on below his waist.
The boys and laughing and cracking nasty jokes about sex, with the brown
teenager is thrusting his crotch just inches from my face.
   I turn away, only to come face-to-crotch with a black boy's fuck meat
poorly concealed by his warm-up pants.  He's not wearing anything under his
sweatpants.  The outline of his thick nigger cock is plainly on display. 
He's got a big one.  The boy is clearly packing at least nine inches soft.
It's nine inches long, and it's thick too.  You can see it all - outlined
underneath his sweat pants.  You can smell it.  You can smell the nigger's
jock meat just beneath his sweats; nearly brushing against my face.
   The smell of the boy's pubes, nearly covering my face, is intoxicating.
It is driving me overboard with desire.  I can feel my cock straining in my
pants, wanting to bust free.  I struggle with my hands, trying not to
stroke myself.
   And then the black boy does the most outrageous thing.  He reaches down
and grabs his cock meat through his pants.  He grabs it several times.  I
look up and he's laughing and talking with his buddies, not even conscious
of what he's doing with his hands.  Not even noticing me.  He tugs on his
nigger cock meat while he's telling his friends a bunch of sexy jokes and
stories.  I see his cock getting bigger and bigger in his sweat pants as he
tugs on it while telling his outrageous stories.  The boys are all crowded
in around my face.  There is row after row of boys behind them, pressing in
on them; not giving anyone room to move.  We're all jammed together and
these teenage boys have their crotches in my face.
   I look up at the black boy who is laughing.  I look up at him with
pleading eyes, silently begging him to notice me.  I am silently pleading
for him to let me take care of that uncomfortable bulge he's got there in
his pants.  Just one lick.  Nobody will be the wiser.  Nobody will see it.
Just one lick so I can relieve the frustration that is building up inside
of me.
   Suddenly he catches my eyes.  He looks surprised at first, wondering
what I am staring at.  Then he seems to catch on.  He grabs a fistful of
his crotch and looks down at me.  He sneers, almost daring me, egging me
on.
   I look away.  I look out of the window.  Outside the window of the bus a
black teen in a wife beater, his cinnamon brown skin glistening in the sun,
is pressing his body against his girlfriend, gently humping her on the hood
of his car.  He is leaning over her while she bends over backward across
the hood.  Both of them are fully clothed but it almost looks like the boy
is trying to fuck the girl right there on the street.  A small crowd of
their teenage buddies, both male and female, cat whistle and egg the couple
on.  The crowd of teens on the sidewalk roars with laughter.  The sun beats
down on the two dark bodies now sprawled across the hood, making slow,
rhythmic, grinding motions.
   Suddenly, turning my attention back on board the bus, somebody must be
trying to get down the aisle because now both the black and the Hispanic
boy are leaning in - their crotches rub against both sides of my face.  I
feel their thick cocks through the fabric of their pants.  Both boys feel
like they're packing meaty sausages down there - thick, meaty teenage
sausages that I'm sure they give a workout every night - how could they
avoid it?
   They rub their crotches against my face, against my nose and my mouth.
They don't seem to mind.  They just want to lean in and give room for the
man who is trying to make his way down the aisle.  They don't care if their
thick teenage cocks rub up against another passenger's mouth, enveloping
his face with the smell of their sweaty pubes and crotches.  They don't
care if I can smell the dried cum on their cock meat - that I can tell
they've been masturbating this morning.
   They probably have naughty magazines still tucked underneath their beds.
The pages are glued together with their morning cum juices.  They don't
care that I know this.  They have no shame.  They push their crotches in my
face as if they expect me to suck them off right there in public.
   They tease each other about being "faggots", while taking advantage of
the crowded bus to nearly force me to lick their cocks through their pants.
They rub their black and brown crotches up and down against my lips while
joking with each other about "fags" and girls, and how they can always get
as much pussy as they want - any time they want it.
   They rib each other about how well hung they are, and all the while I
know they aren't bluffing - I know they aren't faking it because these boys
have furtively stuffed their ghetto cocks into my mouth through their
trousers.  I hear their deep voices and the sound of their laughter
overhead.  I feel their bodies shaking with laughter at the teenage humor
they swap with each other.  I smell the funk from their underarms, the
potent smells of unwashed boyish manhood.
   The bus is too crowded for anyone to see all of what is going on.  I
lick the crotches of their pants and they seem to feel it.  They giggle and
press in harder.  The smell is overpowering.  Thick, dense jungle sexual
smell emanating from their cocks, their balls, their pubic hair, their
sweaty navels - all pressed against my face.
   Their buddies laugh at these boys' lusty jokes about "fucking" girls. 
Their buddies don't seem to have a clue about what's going on just below
their waists.  The crowd of black and brown bodies is too densely bunched
together, the fortification of overstuffed book bags too closely packed,
for anyone to see anything below the waistline - except for the black and
Hispanic boy who glance down occasionally with mischievous grins on their
faces.
   Their fertile, dark heterosexual bodies press hard against my face.  The
black boy suddenly reaches down and grabs the waistband of his sweat
shorts. He pulls the waistband down and confirms what I knew all along, he
wasn't wearing anything underneath.  The boy allows his sweaty teenaged
cock to press against my lips.  I open my mouth and for the briefest of
moments he slips it inside.  For just the slightest of moments I suck on it
- just for less than a second - before he yanks it from my mouth and stuffs
it back inside his sweat pants.  He and the Hispanic boy laugh nastily.
   Sure enough, the black boy's cock tasted of boyish funk; it was musty
and warm in my mouth.  His cock was comforting, kinda nasty, kinda
unwashed, kinda potent, kinda manly, very sensual, very thick, very warm -
and comforting.  There is no other way to describe what it felt like
sucking on that boy's dick.
   Suddenly they all pull back.  The crowd brakes.  The boys clear out
rapidly down the aisle.  This must be their stop.  They all troop out like
a swarm of bees, just like when they came in.
   Fresh air.  I can see the other passengers once again.  A white haired
lady sits across the aisle with a grandmotherly smile on her face.  A
middle aged man reads his newspaper.  A young man-on-the- make is
feverishly text-messaging someone; maybe his boss, maybe a co-worker, maybe
his girlfriend.
   The aisle is clear now.  Everything returns to normal.  I can breathe
again.  I can breathe.
   **********************************
   The weather was over 100 degrees - and humid.  In this college section
of the city many students lived in top floor apartments without air
conditioning.  The sweltering heat drove them out of their apartments to
sleep on park benches at night, by a large fountain and wading pool.
   But now it was the middle of the day.  An old white man sat in the shade
of the park on the campus to get away from the heat.  After an hour's
diversion of reading he hobbled across grass.
   The old man crossed the green lawn of the campus and saw what looked
like a lean, young brown-skinned African warrior.  The boy was a college
student who was so overcome by the heat that he had his t-shirt pulled up,
over his head and behind his neck, exposing his firm, well-defined
copper-colored upper body.
   The youth crossed the older man's path and the white haired man took
advantage of the opportunity to eye the black student who was glistening
with sweat.  He eyed the boy's rippling abs and his well-defined biceps and
forearms - and his dark quarter-sized nipples.  The older man felt that the
younger man exuded sensuality.
   He looked at the young man's face; his skin was smooth, outlined with
soft dark baby hair.  The neat rows of braids across the young man's head,
with curly upward ends behind his neck made the young man look like a
bronze athlete from ancient Greece.
   Finally the older man made eye contact with the boy.  Slightly
embarrassed, he realized that the younger man was watching the older man
watching him.  The young man looked slightly defensive and annoyed - as if
he thought the older white man was judging him in some way, and finding him
unworthy; as if he thought the older man was thinking that the way he was
dressed, on this hot summer day, was not appropriate for a public place.
   He was accustomed to being observed and judged "indecent" for wearing
his pants falling off of the back of his ass.
   But all of this was far from what was on the older man's mind.  When the
older man looked at the black man's bare chest and abs all he could think
about was how the young man was a prime specimen of male sexuality.  All he
could think about was how the young man must have spent the previous night,
in the sweltering heat of his apartment, jacking off as young men tend to
do.
   The old man's eyes followed the young man and he watched him head toward
the large fountain and pool of water in the center of the park.  There were
several scantily clad young white college girls lounging around the
fountain.  They had their feet in the cool water as they read their
textbooks and wrote in journals.
   The young man stripped off his shirt and rolled his pants legs up to his
knees.  He waded into the water and showered himself under the cool flow of
water from the fountain.
   This drew the older man closer.  Following the example of the young man
and the girls, he took of his shoes and rolled up his pants.  He allowed
his feet to dangle in the pool of water, just like the young women around
him.
   He watched the young black boy bathe himself in the water.
   It was just like something out of an African adventure movie.  It was
like watching a brown warrior emerge from under a waterfall in the middle
of a rain forest.  The young man looked like an African prince, with his
braided hair and glistening muscles of his lean body.
   The water streamed down the young man's back, his arms and his legs.
   His pants were thoroughly soaked, exposing the outline of the young
man's thick jungle cock.
   The older man watched as the cool water sparkled, captured by the gentle
hair on the young man's legs and just below his navel, leading,
suggestively, down into his trousers.
   Yes, this young black male was pure sexuality and the older white man
never doubted for a moment that he was entitled to experience the
closeness, warmth, smell and sexuality of the young man's body.  He was
entitled to it, whether the young man realized this or not.
   The previous night, older man thought, the boy must have been awake in
his humid apartment - like many of the other college students who paid high
rent to cheap landlords when they chose to live off-campus - the boy was no
doubt trying to sleep, but to no avail.
   He must have tossed and turned in the sweat-soaked sheets of his bed,
with his raging black hard-on.
   The young man probably found his body aroused - beyond anything he could
understand or control; his thick black cock pulsating in the heat, yet with
nothing the young man could do to relieve the tension.
   In the maddening summer heat, and all the tensions building up in his
young dark body, the man had to express his sexuality some way - he had to
expose his brown-skinned nakedness, even to total strangers on the street,
if necessary; he had to respond to his need to relieve the relentless
sexual tension that was driving the young man crazy.
   He probably gripped his throbbing cock, which would not let him sleep,
and stroked it until his writhing dark body, covered in sweat, exploded
into orgasm.  Hopefully he would be exhausted enough to snatch a few hours
of sleep before dawn.
   But this probably only made him hornier and so that he had to stroke it
off all over again, and again in a vicious cycle youthful masculine
hornieness, like a dark-skinned perpetual cum-pumping machine.
   He probably stroked his uncomfortably stiff cock, which still remained
hard - throbbing - desperately in need of attention in the heat of the
summer night.  He probably stroked himself to orgasm so often that night
that his bed sheets were soaked with sweat and cum.
   Still, he couldn't fall asleep.
   So the young man, smelling of sweat, cum and dirty linen wandered into
the summer night for a stroll.  He probably reached the gushing water
fountain at night, where other students were already gathered, softly
talking, playing guitars and sleeping on blankets on the lawn or on the
benches as lecherous homeless men lustily eyed the young female students'
scantily-clad bodies and old gay strangers quietly cruised straight
sexually-frustrated young college boys, convincing the boys to let them
give the boys blow jobs until they would cum in their old `faggot' mouths
in the dark where nobody would ever know it.
   The young black man, that night, probably bathed himself in the cool
water, just as he was now doing at mid-day.  At night the young man
probably aroused anyone nearby who was close enough to smell the sweat and
sex on his dark muscular body.  They might find it arousing to share in his
horny, unwashed sensuality.
   Now, bathing again under the fountain at mid-day, the young man became
aware that the older man was staring at him and this irritated the young
man.  He didn't mind if the white girls around the fountain stared at him,
that was the attention that he wanted, but he didn't like the "vibe" he was
getting from the older white man.
   Once again he felt that the man was judging him, and this heightened his
sense of insecurity about his legitimacy as a student - even as a human
being.  Either the older man thought he didn't belong there and that his
behavior was disgusting in public, or the old man was some kind of
"faggot". Either way, the young man didn't want to have anything to do with
him.
   But enveloped as the young man was in the humid air of the summer
afternoon, and with his body soaked in the cool water from the fountain, he
couldn't suppress the return of his raging hard-on which kept driving him
to distraction - demanding his attention.  Even worse, his soaked under
trousers were making it impossible for him to hide his uncomfortable
condition.
   Now, even in his own eyes, he was nothing more than a young, horny,
dark-skinned cum-pumping machine.
   The older man watched as the young black man, increasingly
uncomfortable, rinsed off his muscles in the clear flowing water.
   The older man wanted to run his hands all over the young man's body.  He
wanted to buy the young man's body and take full possession of it.  If the
young man's girlfriend came up he would tell her that she had to back off -
she no longer owned the young dark-skinned man in all of his nakedness. 
Now he, a middle-aged white man, had ownership of the young man's body and
there was nothing she could do about it.  He would grab the young man's
cock and testicles in front of her, to show how helpless the young man was,
just to emphasize the point.  He would play with the young man's cock and
get it hard, against the boy's will, while the boy's girlfriend watched,
just to show that he owned the boy and to show how easily a young man's
body can be bought if the young man is ambitious and desperate enough to do
whatever it takes to get ahead.
   He would tell her that if ever she wanted to feel the young man's cock
inside of her again it would only been when he could watch their two dark
bodies fucking; it would only be for the older man's entertainment.
   He would enjoy the sight of the sweaty muscular young black man humping
between the thighs of his horny young "baby's mama".  He would enjoy
watching the young man's firm black ass cheeks as they flexed and relaxed
while he pumped his seed inside the girl's horny ghetto pussy.
   All the time that the young man was fucking the girl, the older man
would rub his hands over the young man's back and ass; he'd shove his hand
inside the young man's ass crack, giving it a feel and probing its depths.
   The older man knew that young men have needs and it is the summer heat
that brings these needs out in them.  It's the heat that makes them take
off their clothes and expose their bodies as raw displays of pent-up
sensuality.
   In the humidity of long summer days and enchanted summer nights young
men strip off their clothing, wanting to expose themselves; wanting other
people to share their sensual smell and taste the pungent saltiness of
their skin.
   They go off into nearby bushes and pull down their trousers to pee, but
they linger after they are done - enjoying the gentle breeze on their
smooth passionate bodies.
   As he stared at the black boy in the gushing fountain the older man
wondered whether or not the young man had ever allowed himself to admit
that he too could enjoy another young man's sensuality.
   Had the young man ever acknowledged accidently bumping into another
firm-bodied youth, finding himself aroused during their brief, accidental
frontal embrace?
   Had he allowed himself to acknowledge that the frontal embrace of a
lean, muscular young male, like himself, is as sensual as a frontal embrace
from a firm, soft female - they may be different types of sensuality, but
both are sensual nonetheless, each in their own way.
   Any straight boy, if he is really honest with himself, would admit this,
the older man thought.
   Many a young man found that it was worth it to be known as a "klutz" so
that they could experience many such "accidental" embraces - over and over
again.  It was especially worthwhile when, as often happens, the embrace
was instinctively, unintentionally reciprocated by the other young man.
   The young black man became too uncomfortable under the older man's gaze.
He stepped out of the fountain and dried off his body in the sun.  It
didn't take long to dry.  He slipped his t-shirt and his sneakers on and he
no longer looked like an exotic young warrior or prince under a waterfall
in the midst of the African jungle.
   The older man watched as the young man disappeared across the expansive
lawn of the campus.  Still, there were more sweltering days and nights
ahead, and cheap landlords renting off-campus housing to college students
weren't about to shell out extra money to pay for air conditioning.
   The handsome brown-skinned warrior would be back.  And the older man
would, no doubt, be waiting.....
   **********************************************************
   The black lawn boy struggled to make his way through the overgrown
blades of grass.  His brown skin glistened with sweat under the July sun.
His trousers nearly fell off of his ass, revealing the outlines of his butt
under his boxer shorts, making my dick hard.  His shiny arms and legs
flexed.  Dark skin makes good manual labor -- and also for sex.  He was
getting a real workout; clearing the lawn and working off his black
youthful energy.
   When it was time for him to break I watched him from my porch.  The boy
sat on the ground under a tree.  His short trousers inched up his sweaty
brown legs, revealing well developed calves, lightly dusted with kinky dark
hair.  He used his over-sized t-shirt to wipe sweat from his shiny teenaged
face.  He peeled a banana and held it up to his mouth.  My cock got hard
again from watching the thick white fruit of the banana push its way
between his fleshy lips, like he was giving it a blow job.
   He gulped down a pint of fruit juice and was soon back at work, pulling
weeds that had taken over a part of my garden.
   Later that afternoon he cut my hedges.  The owner of the landscaping
company sat in his truck, filling out paperwork.  Occasionally he looked
up, under the brim of the straw plantation-style hat he was wearing.  His
eyes were hidden behind sunshades as he turned his head in the lawn boy's
direction.
   The lawn boy powered up the hedge cutter and reached the top of a bush
in my yard.  I had allowed the bush to grow too high.  The boy had to
stretch to reach the top of it.  As his strong sweaty ebony arms reached
toward the sun he exposed a small dark patch of nappy hair under each arm
pit.  His white teeth clamped down on his thick lower lip as he strained to
cut the bush down to size and smooth out its top.
   ******************************************************
   Sam stood in a dimly lit corner of the porn movie house.  He held two
wrinkled notes in his trembling fingers; one from his supervisor at work,
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.
   Sam felt an impulse to leave the movie house.  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 sickly 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 aisles 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 hip
hop 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
movie house.  The kid was wearing a white "wife beater".  His lean muscular
arms seemed to glow from the reflected light outside the movie booths 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 porn movie houses for the
public were not 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 musty 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 brown thighs
and felt soft whiffs of teenage hair hinting at emerging manhood.  Sam
buried his face between the boy's warm thighs and sucked on the boy's
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 aggressions.  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 burst into an 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 caught his breath and 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 a secret of masculine bonding.  Each knew
what the other needed - one needed someone to submit to him and the other,
someone to submit to.  Sam and the boy gave each other what they needed.
   It was a moment; only a moment.  And in the moment, as the boy exploded
with semen in the older man's mouth, Sam believed in himself and in the
world again.  But after the moment passed, the boy vanished into the night.
   ******************************************************
   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 black 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 his white coach plowed into the
boy's ass his hard white cock, teaching the boy humility and discipline.
   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 attacking white 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.
   ************************************
   Tyreese whipped down the street, shirtless, on his bike.  His lean,
muscular brown body glistened with sweat under in the mid-summer sun, his
shoulder-length dreadlocks tossed wildly behind him by the breeze.  "Damn,
I knew I shouldn't have stayed in the bed for that extra 15 minutes to jack
off," the sixteen year old youth thought as he swerved into the parking lot
of the Addison Recreation Center on Hamilton Street.
   "First fuckin' day of community service and Imma be late already."
   The boy hopped off his bike and secured it to a pole outside of the rec
center.  He made long, quick strides toward the door, his white t-shirt
still stuffed in his back pocket, waved behind him like flag.
   He rushed through the door and slammed squarely into a man wearing a
white shirt and tie.  It was Mr.  Haskell, the administrator of the center
whom he had just met the other day.  Tyreese nearly knocking the tall,
skinny man down.  Tyreese's eyes grew wide when he realized who the man was
and what he had just done.  He shuttered at the sight of the dark stain on
the man's white shirt - an imprint left by the sweat from the teenage boy's
body.
   Tyreese's hands involuntarily covered his mouth in a moment's shock,
followed by a rush of words, "Oh I'm sorry Mr.  Haskell.  I didn't mean to
run into you like dat.  I wasn't lookin' where I was goin.'"
   The skinny white man seemed disoriented to Tyreese.  He adjusted his
glasses.  "I-it's okay," he stammered.  "You just kinda took me by surprise
there." The man made a short chuckle that sounded more nervous than
genuine. "It's Tyreese, isn't it?"
   Haskell extended his hand to the black youth.  Tyreese grabbed the man's
hand and shook it.
   "Yeah, Tyreese Johnson.  I'm here to do my three weeks of community
service."
   Once Haskell adjusted his glasses and tie he eyed the youth who was
standing, breathless, in front of him.  "The boy's got a nice, solid
build," he thought, "and he's lean, probably agile - despite this little
mishap.  Seems bright too - articulate and polite - I bet I can get some
good work out of him while he's here." Haskell thought that Tyreese seemed
much better mannered than most of the boys who were sent to the rec center
from juvenile court to do community service as an alternative to house
arrest or spending time in a detention center.
   Tyreese fumbled with a wad of crumpled sheets of papers that were
stuffed in his jeans.  He smoothed them out on the counter.  "Mr.  Haskell,
could you do me a favor and initial my papers to prove that I showed up
today?"
   Haskell pulled out a pen but hesitated.  His eyes drifted to where the
boy's jeans ended, just below the knees.  His eyes fixated for a moment on
the teenager's hairy brown calves.  "Nice strong legs," the white man
thought, "He's fully into puberty - I bet he's got a lot of testosterone
pumping through his body, keeping his hands busy at night."
   Haskell quickly shook his head to clear it of these unprofessional
thoughts.  His face flushed red as he fixed his gaze on the boy's smooth
brown shirtless chest.
   "Ah, Tyreese.  You know, even though this is a rec center and you are
here to do community service, as if you were staff.  You should wear a
shirt any time you are in the building unless you are actually in the gym
playing sports."
   "Oh, my bad," Tyreese quickly apologized.  "I meant to put my shirt on,
but I was in such a rush to get in here and I forgot."
   Mr.  Haskell couldn't take his eyes off of the boy's soft brown face. 
The boy's lips seemed lush and rosy; making the older man wish he could
taste them.  Haskell found himself wanting to lean down and put his face
near the boy's nose and mouth so that he could smell the breath from the
boy's body.
   Tyreese slipped the extra-large t-shirt over his sturdy frame.  He
adjusted the shirt at the shoulders, as it seemed to stick to the sweat of
his body.  The bottom of the shirt hung well below the boy's groin, resting
mid-way down his thighs, like a short dress.
   Haskell instantly regretted asking the boy to cover himself.  The fresh
smell of the laundered t-shirt covered the boy's natural earthy smell while
cutting off Haskell's view of the boy's half-naked body.
   Again, the white man silently chastised himself, "I mustn't think this
way.  It could lead to trouble.  This boy is a troubled black youth who is
in desperate need of my professional help."
   Haskell's stream of thought was interrupted when he heard the boy
softly, but deliberately, clear his throat.
   Haskell's eyes met the lad's eyes and he realized how much his mind had
wandered.  He felt a surge of anxiety.  Had Tyreese picked up on what he
was thinking?  Could the lad see through his professional façade?
   Haskell thought that they youth's brown eyes were warm and attractive.
Tyreese shifted his gaze from the white man's eyes to the crumpled paper
that was spread out on the counter, waiting for the older man's signature.
   Haskell gave the youth a firm but disciplined stare as if seeking to
re-establish their respective roles.  "I'm sorry Tyreese," he said, trying
to sound both friendly and official, "I can't sign your papers until the
end of the day - after you've put in a full day's work."
   "That's okay Mr.  Haskell," the black youth said, carefully re-folding
the crumpled documents and shoving them back in his pocket, "I didn't know
the rules.  I don't want you to do nuthin that will get you in trouble."
   Haskell felt his heart pounding.  The boy sounded confident and mature.
Even the soft dark shadow of barely blossoming facial hair over the boy's
upper lip seemed to lend Tyreese an air of streetwise sophistication. 
Haskell thought that the boy's voice sounded as though he was offering
reassurance, giving the man permission to pull rank when he should have
been intimidated.
   Now it was Haskell's turn to clear his voice, if for no more reason than
to jolt himself from the hypnotic grip of the boy's youthfully masculine
face.  "Ah, perhaps you should wait in the storage room at the end of the
hall," Mr.  Haskell said, pointing the way, "I'll be along shortly to show
you what to do."
   Once again Mr.  Haskell stuck out his hand, this time even more
awkwardly and artificially official than the first time, "Welcome aboard
young man."
   Tyreese gave the man a short accommodating shrug as if to say he was
willing to play along with whatever official behavior the professional
environment required.  He shook the white man's hand a second time.
   Haskell turned, with all of the professional coolness he could muster,
and opened the door to the air-conditioned administrators' office.  Tyreese
rhythmically strutted down the hallway to the storage room, the humidity of
the building already forming another sheen of moisture over his skin.
   ************************************
   About 20 minutes later Mr.  Haskell entered the storage room.  Tyreese
was sitting on top of a small stack of boxes.  He was shirtless again, his
smooth brown body glistening with sweat from the humidity.  His dreadlocks
were now tied in a pony tail behind his neck.  The boy's legs dangled over
the side of the box he was sitting on; his firm hairy brown calves brushed
gently against the brown cardboard.
   Haskell gave the boy a glance and quickly looked away.  He felt a lump
in his throat, and another in his pants.  He wanted to tell the boy to put
his shirt back on, but his throat felt so constricted that he was afraid
the only thing that would come out of his mouth would be a raspy squeal,
like a thirteen year old going through a voice change.
   When Mr.  Haskell found his voice again he motioned to Tyreese, "Come
over here - I have some gloves in the drawer.  You'll need them if you're
going to move these boxes."
   The black teenager casually slid off the top box while Mr.  Haskell bent
over a metal cabinet, fishing through the drawers for a pair of work
gloves.
   For Tyreese it was one of those moments when one acts without thinking -
seeing the white man's ass jutting out, instinct rushed ahead of reason. 
Whenever his teenage buddies made the mistake of bending over they would
get smacked hard in the ass.  Seeing his target, and forgetting about where
he was and whose ass was about to be smacked, Tyreese hauled back as far as
he could and swatted the white man's ass with his open palm.
   Mr.  Haskell lurched forward into the metal cabinet, and bolted upright
in alarm.  Tyreese, realizing what he had done, covered his mouth once
again in shock.  "I-I'm sorry Mr.  Haskell, sir...I, I didn't mean...I
didn't mean..."
   But the next thing the white man did took the teenager completely by
surprise.  The man giggled like a nervous teenager.  He seemed more
embarrassed than Tyreese was.  Mr.  Haskell reached out to touch the boy on
his shoulder and reassured him that he wasn't in any trouble.  "That's
alright.  I know boys will be boys...heh, heh..."
   Tyreese was too embarrassed to look the man in the eyes.  He let his
eyes drop to the floor, thinking that if he didn't look directly at Mr. 
Haskell, maybe what he had just done would go away.
   But as he lowered his eyes he noticed something strange, something
unexpected.  The white man was sporting a lump in the front of his chinos.
Tyreese wasn't sure he was seeing it right, so he did a double-take.  Sure
as fuck this white man was sporting a hard-on.  He was turned on by this
shit.  This official-assed white dude was a fuckin freak - and a faggot
freak at that.
   Haskell's eyes followed the boy's gaze and realized that his secret was
out.  The man laughed nervously, swinging his arms back and forth and
finally folding them in front of him to cover his crotch.  He tried to
sound relaxed and causal - hoping to convey confidence and break the
tension so that he could resume control of the situation.
   "Well, now...let's get to work."
   Tyreese wasn't having it.
   The boy moved right up to Mr.  Haskell.  His naked brown chest almost
touching the white man's body.  Mr.  Haskell could feel the body heat
coming off of the boy.  His head was filled with the boy's healthy young
smell, along with the smell of the mustiness of the boy's hair.
   Haskell was nearly overpowered by the odor of the boy's youthful
masculinity.  He felt as though he had taken a deep whiff of a nasally
administered aphrodisiac and was overwhelmed by its potency.  He felt as
though the boy's sexual energy was now entering inside of his body.
   The white man's knees became unsteady and he lowered himself so that he
could rest on top of the metal cabinet.  His head was swimming.  He was
dazzled by the smooth glistening skin of the boy's brown body.  He felt the
urge to suck on the boy's dark nipples and lick the hair under the his arm
pits.
   Now, Mr.  Haskell's face was level with the boy's crotch.  He could see
and smell the top of the boy's boxer shorts as they were exposed by the way
his pants sagged low on his hips.  He looked up at the boy who towered over
him like a lean teenage god.
   Haskell watched the movement of the lean muscles of the boy's forearms
that glistened with sweat in the storage room.  Haskell slowly realized why
the boy's forearms were moving.  Tyreese was undoing his belt and allowing
his trousers to drop to the floor.  The smell of the boy's pubic hair,
still covered by his boxers, made the older man wilt like a rootless plant
on the pavement of a sidewalk.
   Tyreese was clearly a well-endowed young man.  The size of the tent in
the boy's briefs was enough to let Haskell know that the boy was packing a
well developed sample of healthy young manhood, which seemed more than the
white man would expect from a 16 year old.
   Tyreese's movement seemed hypnotically slow.  He seductively unveiled
his stiff dark member and allowed it to bounce up and down once it was
freed from the boy's cotton boxers.  Tyreese's throbbing black cock jutted
in Mr.  Haskell's face.  The man took a deep whiff of the lad's musky dark
balls which were dangling just beneath the man's chin.
   Mr.  Haskell kept telling himself over and over again, "I can't do this.
I can't do this.  I could get fired.  I could go to court.  I could wind up
in jail.  I could lose everything I've worked on.  Goodness man, get a grip
on yourself.  This is a black teenager.  You're the authority in the room.
Stand up and tell the boy to put his clothes back on.  Restore order.  Get
control."
   But Mr.  Haskell's desperate efforts to gain control were lost when he
heard the teenager's deep, soft demanding voice saying, "Suck it."
   Mr.  Haskell trembled at the sound of the boy's voice.  He felt as
though he was being enveloped by the musky warmth of the boy's body.
   "C'mon.  Suck it," the teenager chided, "I need a horny freak like you
to get me off."
   Mr.  Haskell felt the boy's hands wrap behind the back of his head,
gently guiding him toward his warm, throbbing black cock.
   Haskell felt defeated.  "This is destiny," the white man thought.  "I
need this black teenager's cum inside of me.  I need the taste of this
boy's manhood in my mouth.  I need this boy."
   Haskell's lips trembled.  He opened his mouth and allowed the black boy
to push his hard throbbing cock between his lips.
   "Yeah, atta girl.  Suck on this nigga's cock.  Make me nutt."
   Haskell tasted the boy's lightly sweet pre-cum.  The teenager's cock
slid up and down the man's moist tongue.  The boy's penis felt thick and
warm in the man's mouth.  It tasted of masculine sweat and teenaged
sexuality.  Haskell thought he detected the faint flavor of adolescent jism
from when the boy jacked off earlier that morning.
   Tyreese held the man's head tightly and pumped his thighs against the
white man's face in his urgent teenage need for sexual relief.  The boy's
smooth, brown thighs caressed the sides of the white man's face with boyish
masculine warmth.
   "Yeah, suck that dick, bytch.  Suck it."
   Haskell hated the insulting names the boy was calling him, but he
enjoyed obeying the boy's commands too much to raise any objections.
   He knew that he enjoyed the sensation of being used by the boy.
   "I got needs," the teenager moaned, "Make me nutt inside yo mouf you
nasty freak."
   Haskell caressed the boy's hard throbbing penis with his tongue.  He
licked the unbending shaft of the boy's cock, making Tyreese gasp
involuntarily - surprised at the white man's cock sucking abilities.
   Haskell licked the slit of the boy's cock head, tasting more of his
teenage pre-cum.  He ran his tongue around the edges of the teenager's
throbbing cock head.  Now the boy was gasping desperately.
   Haskell sensed a subtle and strange role reversal.  He felt that he now
had this horny teenage boy where he wanted him.  Tyreese's body shuttered
and he let out a loud sigh; he no longer controlled his body or his
reactions.  He dropped his façade of streetwise coolness and indifference
and yielded to the pleasure of the white man's hot tongue.
   The boy started moaning like a bitch getting her clit licked.  Haskell
imagined that the boy had completely surrendered himself to the middle-aged
man's desperate mouth.  He sucked and slurped on the boy's insatiable penis
until he was drooling shamelessly.  The boy moaned as if he were back in
the privacy of his own bedroom fucking the wet sloppy pussy he had always
dreamt about every time he beat off.
   Tyreese let out a high-pitched cry, "Oh yeah, suck that cock - suck it."
   The cry seemed more plaintive than demanding.
   Haskell obeyed the boy's cry, not wanting to break the spell or lose
control.  He tightened his grip on the boy's cock with his mouth and his
tongue.
   "Suck me.  Suck me," the teenager pleaded.
   Haskell sucked him harder and harder as if he might swallow the boy's
stiff young manhood and become a teenager again himself.
   Tyreese tussled the older man's hair and pumped mercilessly in the white
man's mouth.
   "Oh yeah.  Oh yeah.  Oh Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."
   Tyreese unleashed a flood of thick teenage jism in the white man's
mouth. To Haskell, the boy's cum felt like a hot extra-thick milkshake
sliding down his throat, and it tasted like a plate of fresh oysters. 
Tyreese wouldn't stop - he grabbed the man's hair and shot wave after wave
of his cum juices into Mr.  Haskell's mouth.  Haskell dutifully swallowed -
submitting to the teenager's needs, even as the teenager surrendered his
body to the white man's hot mouth.
   The boy continued to pump his body fluids inside the older man's mouth
until he was completely drained.
   The boy sighed and nearly collapsed, his body limp.  His sweaty pubes
and "happy trail," his sweat covered belly button and abs rested on the
white man's face.  The black lad continued to breathe heavily, holding Mr.
Haskell's face in place, underneath his sweat soaked loins.
   As the two males came to their senses they shook their heads, each
wondering what had come over him.  They couldn't look at each other and
dared not breathe a word about what had transpired.
   ************************************
   The next day, the shirtless Tyreese was riding in the summer breeze,
dreadlocks flying, weaving in and out of traffic on is bike.  The teenager
kept repeating to himself, "Shit - I knew I should'a got to bed earlier. 
Now I'ma be late again."
   Angry drivers honked their horns as they swerved to avoid hitting the
agile black teenager.  Tyreese shot into the parking lot of the rec center,
glancing at the clock.  "hooo shit, hooo shit," the boy moaned as he
secured his bike to the pole, "fifteen minutes late again."
   The boy burst into the rec center.  Mr.  Haskell was reading official
papers in a manila folder.  He looked up and saw the nervous teenager
anxiously making his way through the door.  Tyreese's eyes met Mr. 
Haskell's - Haskell's met Tyreese's.
   Mr.  Haskell clucked his tongue and shook his head, "Late again I see,
Mr.  Johnson?"
   Tyreese opened his mouth to explain, but Haskell cut him off, "Put your
shirt on Mr.  Johnson.  Staff must always wear their clothes when they are
inside the building."
   Tyreese yanked his t-shirt from his back pocket and fumbled with it as
it stuck to his lean, muscular sweaty body while he was putting it on.
   "My bad.  I'm sorry Mr.  Haskell," the boy said sheepishly.
   "That's quite alright," Haskell answered in an overly tolerant
bureaucratic sing-song, "We all forget ourselves sometimes.  You can get
more comfortable once you get to the storage room..."
   Haskell disappeared behind the glass door of the administrators' office.
   Tyreese watched the man and smirked, "Yeah, I'll get comfortable
aiight," the boy mumbled confidently under his breath.  "An' you gonna
wanna get `comfortable' too when you come in to `check up' on me."
   Tyreese strutted rhythmically down the hall toward the storage room,
grabbing his crotch as he turned to look back at the door of the
administrators' office, knowing it was just a matter of time before Haskell
would once again give into his passions.
   *************************************
   It was not an unpleasant problem to have, but it was a problem
nonetheless.  Bob found that spending an hour or two in the late afternoon,
unwinding at a table outside of a neighborhood coffee shop, never gave him
the uninterrupted quiet time he needed to work on his accounting ledgers
before wrapping up the day and going home.  There were too many
distractions - too many teenage boys getting off from school, strutting
around with their shirts off in the late summer heat at the end of August,
unintentionally parading their smooth, lean youthful bodies in front of all
casual observers.
   Some of them zipped by on skateboards.  Some whipped down the streets on
bicycles.  Others fitfully roughhoused, inadvertently tugging at each
other's shirts and trousers - exposing hairless abs and a generous portion
of smooth young buttocks, much to the enjoyment of aroused teenage girls
who were always standing nearby.
   But the girls were not the only ones who appreciated masculine beauty at
its teen stage of development; Bob found himself aroused, sporting a
throbbing woody that was visible beneath his khaki trousers, as boys from
high school partially disrobed one another in front of him on the sidewalk.
Young and energetic, they liked it rough.  Tenderness was for sissies and
babies.
   Bob always suspected that had it not been for the fact that the boys
were obsessed with their heterosexual identity they would have raped each
other right there on the spot.
   One of Bob's favorites was a black boy who rode by after school on his
bicycle.  The boy, usually alone, secured his bike to the pole of a parking
meter before going into the coffee shop to order a strawberry smoothie. 
Bob watched as the boy's luscious red lips were slowly coated with the
strawberry cream as he slurped the smoothie down.
   When he was finally ready to leave, the boy rolled his right pant leg up
above the calf so that his denim trousers wouldn't get caught in the chain
rings of his bike.  Bob was aroused by the hair on the boy's calves.  It
seemed to hint at the thick bush of pubic hair the boy must be sporting in
his trousers, under his boxer shorts.
   Surely the boy must have a fairly developed sexual drive, judging from
all of the testosterone pumping through his body.  It was obvious from the
defined muscle tone in the lad's arms when he grabbed the handlebars.  The
kid was all-male and Bob figured that his raging hormones must be driving
the boy crazy at night.
   The contrast between the boy's smooth brown face, chest, arms and torso,
and the hairiness of his calves fascinated Bob.  The kid was no doubt man
enough to have a big black cock, yet too boyish to be subtle about it.
   The kid acted innocently enough.  He acted as though his mind was filled
with pure and wholesome of thoughts, but as far as Bob was concerned the
kid wasn't fooling anyone.  He was a typical horny teenager, with a horny
teenager's thoughts and needs.
   Bob could see it.  It was obvious.
   It showed in the frequent, spontaneous bulges the kid would get in his
pants - sometimes triggered by a passing girl, sometimes for no apparent
reason.  Judging by the size of his bulge, the boy had nothing to be
ashamed of when he showered with the other teenagers in the locker room at
school.  When the kid's spontaneous erections occurred, which was quite
frequent, Bob just shook his head, "You can't stop a boy from being a boy."
   He could well imagine that when the kid was alone in bed at night he
wanted to fuck everything in sight.  He probably got plenty of practice
fucking his mattress and his pillow.  There were no doubt yellow cum stains
all over the boy's bed sheets.  His mother was probably frustrated always
having to bleach his linens to try to keep them white.  She was fighting a
losing battle.  She would never be able to keep up with a horny teenager's
sexual drives.
   Bob thought about what an uncontrollable humping fuck beast the boy must
be, especially after a long workout on the basketball court, which got the
boy's blood and testosterone really stirred up.  Bob could only imagine the
sexual frustration that the boy must constantly be subjected to as a result
of the demands of his thick black cock.  He allowed his imagination to take
over as he fantasized about getting inside of the teenager's pants.
   Imagination turned to strategy when he saw the boy sneak off one day
with a group of other boys to a back alley that was known to be a hangout
for kids who smoked pot.  Pot costs money, Bob reasoned, and teenagers are
always short of cash.  Maybe he could find a way so that he and the kid
could help each other.
   The kid came back from the alley red-eyed, with a goofy grin on his
face. He sat down at the table next to Bob, spreading his legs and playing
with the yellow band on his wrist.  Bob looked over at the boy, "So, you
like smoking trees?"
   The boy shot the older man an alarmed and defensive glance.
   "No need to be alarmed," the man reassured him, "I did the same thing
when I was your age."
   The boy turned his head dismissively, "Man, I can't believe you were
EVER my age."
   "Well, I was once," the man said, pretending not to take offense at the
insult, "and I know a lot more about you than you might think.  In fact, I
probably know a lot more about you than you know about yourself."
   The boy looked impatient and resumed playing with his yellow wrist band,
"Is that right?"
   Bob sat back in his chair and reeled off the obvious, "Your parents are
a pain in the ass and they don't understand you; the ones who really know
how you feel are your friends, and even with them you sometimes feel like
an outsider; when you get high - back there in the ally - you feel like you
can understand the whole crazy, mixed-up and confused world ...."
   Bob paused for effect.  The kid waited; his mouth hanging slightly open
in amazement at the perceptiveness of this "old guy."
   The older man continued, "And sometimes your dick gets so hard, and you
get so horny, that you think it will kill you."
   The boy seemed to be blushing.  He quickly turned away in embarrassment.
   He grabbed his crotch and pumped his legs back and forth.  "Well, you
almost right," he said defensively, "`cept I don't have to get horny `cause
I got bitches to take care of my dick when I need to."
   "No you don't," Bob shot back, not taking any bullshit bravado from the
kid, "You spend most nights stroking that monster cock of yours alone in
bed - and what you don't take care of at night, you finish off in the
toilet stalls of public restrooms, when nobody else is around, and the urge
is so powerful that you can't wait to get home to take care of it."
   It was a good guess.
   An expression of guilt flashed across the boy's face, quickly followed
by angry defensiveness,
   "What, is you some kinda faggot pervert?  You stalkin' me?  You all into
my business..."
   Then, as if the kid realized what he was admitting, he quickly added,
"Man, I don't do none of that shit.  I aint no fuckin' pervert freak like
you."
   Bob didn't let up, he laid it on thick, "Sure you do.  The walls of the
stalls of men's rooms all over this neighborhood are probably splattered
with stains that are souvenirs of your horny teenage jack-off sessions."
   The black teen was now tightly clutching his crotch, absent mindedly,
while pumping his legs rapidly, giving the white man an angry face.
   "Get the fuck away from me you fuckin' faggot pervert; just stay the
fuck away from me," yet the boy made no effort to get away from the man
himself, and he continued to pump his legs like a Texas oil drill.
   "No need to get angry," Bob reassured the boy, "I think we can help each
other."
   The boy gave the older man a sour look but before he could say anything
Bob pressed ahead with his proposition, "I can pay you the money you need
so you can go on smoking trees ..."
   The boy froze.  He stared at the older man, his mouth hanging open.  Bob
knew he had the lad's attention.
   "...and in exchange," Bob continued, "you will allow me to taste that
black teenage cock of yours."
   Bob sat back and picked up a newspaper, allowing his proposition to sink
in.
   The boy held onto his crotch and pumped his legs again while his mind
seemed to drift off to some distant place.
   Bob studied the lad from the corner of his eyes, trying to read what the
boy was thinking.
   When the boy seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to respond the
older man laid down his newspaper.  He turned to face the boy directly,
thinking that he better spell out the terms for him, "Look, you're a horny
teenage bastard and, to you, I may seem like a dirty old man.  I have
money; you don't.  For $50 I can discreetly take care of your, uh,
condition and you can earn extra cash to go on burning weeds ... do we have
a deal?"
   The boy seemed to mull over Bob's offer.
   Bob added, as a teaser, "I can make that black cock of yours feel good.
None of your inexperienced little girl school chums can do what I can do
for you.
   "Ever imagine what it would be like to have a pair of warm, moist lips
sucking on your big black cock?  Most boys your age say it feels better
than fucking pussy.
   "And if you close your eyes it won't matter to you whether it's done by
a boy or a girl ... or even a dirty old man.  All you'll feel is the
sucking, you'll feel my lips and tongue moving up and down the length of
the stiff, hard black shaft between your legs ... and nobody has to know
anything about it, it will just be between you and me - and you'll get paid
for letting me do it...."
   The man sat back again and picked up his newspaper, as if he rested his
case and was waiting for a verdict from the jury.  Once again he studied
the boy out of the corner of his eyes.
   The boy's hand was no longer simply clutching his crotch, it was subtly
rubbing and grabbing what was obviously a thickening tube of flesh between
his wobbling knees.
   Bob suspected that the feeling was a familiar one for the boy, the
torment of all teenage males.  The boy's cock no doubt got hard in public
at the most inconvenient times and he'd have to find a way to hide his
state of arousal until he could go somewhere to take care of it.
   Bob watched the boy's growing discomfort with amused satisfaction.
   He watched the black lad wiggle in his chair, surreptitiously stroking
his cock through his pants.  He watched the boy's futile efforts to conceal
his aroused condition from the man, using his hand to shield the tent in
his pants which slowly grew too large for cover.
   The boy tried to maintain his composure, but the fact that he was biting
his lip in frustration gave him away.
   Now the older man openly mocked him, "Come on you horny little bastard,
you nasty teenage slut, you want to make some money and get that cock of
yours taken care of at the same time?"
   Bob stood up and walked toward the door of the coffee shop, "I'll be in
the middle restroom with the door locked.
   Knock three times and I'll let you in.  Otherwise you can go find
someplace to jerk off alone, as you usually do, and live with the fact that
you're fifty dollars poorer than you would have been if you had had some
smarts."
   Bob opened the door of the coffee shop with a flourish and dramatically
left the boy outside, wobbling his knees, holding his crotch, biting on his
lip and trying to figure out what he should do next.
   Bob went into the middle restroom, locked the door and waited.
   It suddenly occurred to him, what if the black boy decided not to take
him up on his generous offer?  What if the kid got on his bike and rode
home or went off with some buddies?  How long should Bob wait in the
restroom before he could assume that the boy just wasn't coming?
   Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long to resolve these questions.  He
heard a timid knock on the door, followed by another and then another.  He
opened the door and the black teenager was standing there, head lowered,
and eyes cast down at the floor.
   As an impish impulse Bob was tempted to slam the door in the boy's face
and say, "Sorry, sir.  You can't come in here.  This restroom is occupied."
He resisted this temptation because he could see that the boy was nervous
and probably wouldn't realize it was just a joke.
   "C-can I come in?" the youth asked softly.
   Bob moved away from the entrance and gestured for the boy to come in,
"Be my guest.  Come right in."
   The boy darted into the room as if he were afraid of being seen by other
people in the coffee shop.
   Bob locked the door as the lad looked around the room.  Bob moved in on
him, almost pressing his body up against the boy.  He caressed the boy's
shoulders and gently rubbed his back.  The boy felt firm and muscular
underneath Bob's hands.
   Bob held his face close to the boy, who instinctively jerked his face
away, but must have realized that there weren't too many places to escape
to in this small room, and besides, this was probably part of what the man
was paying for.
   The kid cooperated as Bob brought his face closer a second time and
brushed his nose against the boy's smooth brown cheek.  Bob breathed in the
boy's scent, which seemed to have an earthy sweetness to it.  The
earthiness was certainly the smell of the boy's body, but the sweetness...?
Was it body lotion, or deodorant...?  Bob couldn't be sure, but it seemed
light, pleasant and natural, not artificial and overwhelming.
   Bob savored the smell of the boy.
   Once again he caressed the boy's firm body.  There was no doubt that the
lad was healthy and fit.  Bob ran his hands up and down the boy's torso and
reached under the lad's shirt to feel his warm, smooth, silky brown skin.
   The boy quivered.
   Bob unfastened the boy's low-sagging trousers and let them bunch around
his knees.
   The boy was sporting a hard-on that made an embarrassingly noticeable
tent in his powder blue boxer shorts.
   Bob tugged at the boy's boxers, fully exposing the lad's thick, ashy,
brown cock.  It sprung up and down like a mahogany diving board.
   Bob looked at the boy's face and could tell that, despite his dark skin
tone, the boy was blushing.
   Bob sank to one knee so that his face was level with the boy's big
throbbing cock.  A wet pearl of precum graced the youth's cockhead.  The
musty unwashed smell of the lad's pubes wafted into the man's face,
arousing him further.
   Bob unzipped himself and stroked his cock as he breathed in the manly
scent of the horny black teenager.
   The boy's cock head seemed to float in air, provocatively, almost
angrily, in front of Bob - threatening to impale him - daring him to try to
dodge its menacing thrust.
   Bob took a swipe at the bobbing black cock head with his tongue, tasting
the light, gentle sweetness of the boy's precum.
   The throbbing cock bobbed up and down.
   Bob took another swipe at the enticing brown object.  Again he tasted
earthy sweetness as the throbbing brown object bobbed.
   He repeated the action again and again, playfully licking the underside
of the cockhead - taking long, wet swipes at the boy's throbbing shaft -
licking the piss slit and cleaning it of its light lubricating precum, yet
never quite enveloping the whole dark organ in his mouth.
   Bob had no idea what effect he was having on the kid - he was completely
oblivious.  The only thing that mattered for him at that moment was the
dancing cockhead that bobbed tantalizingly in front of him like a piece of
chocolate candy on a string at a Halloween party.
   Bob was completely lost in his playful game of taking swipes at the
bobbing cockhead, without actually sucking on the boy's cock.
   But the kid was not oblivious.  He looked increasingly frustrated and
impatient.
   The boy bit his lower lip and glared aggressively at the man who was
down on his knees unwittingly tormenting him.  The kid moved his arms and
hands in a jerky, halting motion, as if he wanted to grab the man's head,
but was afraid of what might happen if he dared do it.
   He seemed torn between forcing Bob to suck his cock, which would show
that he was enjoying what was happening to him, and pretending to be
indifferent and aloof so that he could preserve his heterosexual pride and
self-image.
   The boy gritted his teeth and gave into the more powerful of these two
urges.
   He jerked his hands forward and clutched both sides of the man's head
and shoved his cock down the startled man's throat.
   He humped violently in the man's mouth.
   Bob was unprepared for this response from the shy black teenager.  He
gagged as the boy's cockhead hit the back of his throat repeatedly in a
violent but rhythmic motion.  It wasn't until Bob realized what was
happening that he was able to relax enough to stop choking.  Still, Bob
found himself gasping desperately for breath as the throbbing black organ
completely covered his tongue.
   A thought flashed across his mind, what would his colleagues would think
of him if they could see him now, a respectable middle class professional,
a white man, down on his knees with a teenager's thick, black cock stuffed
inside his mouth, making him gasp for air?
   The boy pressed on Bob's head.  Bob's face was pushed against the boy's
peppercorn-like pubic hair.  He didn't resist, he just breathed in the
musty teenage jock smell, which aroused him like an aromatic aphrodisiac.
   Bob was startled by the fleshy taste of the boy's cock.  He thought it
had the flavor of boyish ruggedness, an outdoorsy taste.  It did not taste
of gentle, scented, pampering.
   This was a raw, unadorned fuck tool.  The boy tasted wholesome, organic,
and natural.  There was a sexual urgency to his flavor, as if the boy had
no time to waste coating his cock with lotion.  The boy was too much in a
rush for that, eager to impale something with this throbbing member that
demanded immediate attention.
   And so the boy's cock impaled Bob, thrusting and pumping furiously in
the man's mouth to relieve the lad's impulsive sexual need.
   Precum from the boy's cock now flowed more freely.  Its pungent slightly
salty protein flavor mixed with Bob's salvia and coated the man's mouth.
   The boy's grip on Bob's head was tight and his cock thrusts in the man's
mouth were unrelenting.
   Bob almost felt that he could imagine what it would be like to be a
teenage girl on a date with this boy, and envisioned that his mouth was the
girl's pussy.  Bob almost felt sorry for this imaginary girl, as the boy
thoughtlessly, mercilessly ravaged her virgin body with the thrusts of his
big, hard fuck tool - completely absorbed in his own pleasure, giving no
thought for the pleasure of the girl, like most male teenagers.
   At this moment, in the boy's mind, the whole world swirled around him -
there was no one else in the room as far as he was concerned - the only
thing that mattered was the tension and the intense pleasure of his cock,
and his need to relieve this tension by dumping his cum down the older
man's throat - a man who, as far as the teen was concerned - didn't really
matter and wasn't even there, save for being the warm, wet, fleshy oral
receptacle he was using to get off.
   The kid's hands clamped Bob's head, not allowing him to move or pull
away.  Bob felt as though he was being raped.  Indeed, the boy, who was now
completely under the spell of his animal passions, was raping the older
man's mouth for his self-absorbed teenage pleasure.  If the older man could
see beyond the hairs on the boy's abdomen, forming a "happy trail," he
would see that the youth's eyes had rolled up in his head as he lost
himself in erotic frenzy.
   Bob had no doubt that if he wanted the boy to stop, his pleas would go
unheard.  And if, by chance, the boy managed to hear the man's pleas they
would go unheeded.  For the moment the boy was transformed.  He was no
longer Bob's teenage trick for the afternoon, getting paid so that he could
buy some dope, he was a boy in bodily need - and he was not going to let
Bob get away until those needs had been fulfilled.
   Bob resigned himself to his fate and slurped on the boy's masculine
member.  He tried to relax enough to enjoy being raped.  Isn't this what he
had been dreaming about, after all?  Wasn't this the experience he had been
longing for?  There was edginess and excitement to this impassioned
experience that had spun out of the man's control.
   The teenage boy wailed in the older man's mouth while Bob savored the
sensation of frenzied teenage cock thrusts down his throat and his own
powerlessness to stop the boy's thrusts.
   How much closer, how much more intimate can you get with a boy than
this? What could be more intimate than sharing a boy's private sexual
frustrations, feeling the boy build toward a climax in your mouth - and
feeling the boy erupt in an orgasm when he finally releases his cum down
your throat?
   If Bob had been longing to get close and intimate with this teenager,
well, it just couldn't get any closer or more intimate.
   So, Bob went with the flow.  He allowed himself to be used as if he were
of no more regard than a plastic fuck doll for the boy to work out his teen
passions.  He resigned himself to the fact that he was simply there to be
used.  If the boy got off in his mouth he will have served his purpose. 
Bob saw himself as being reduced to living for the sole purpose of serving
this black kid's sexual needs and frustrations.
   The teenager stood on the balls of his feet, hunched over and arching
his back like a dog in heat while he grabbed the older man by the ears and
fucked his mouth.
   Had a woman been there to observe the scene she could not possibly have
appreciated the type of male bonding that took place at that moment.  This
was raw masculine interaction.  It was the reverse of what was usually
expected, as older men in ancient Greece would bugger younger boys in order
to usher them into manhood.  This time it was a younger male, full of
sexual potency and raw energy, who was about to dump his seed in an older
man's mouth, giving the older man his youthful power, allowing the man to
drink from the fountain of youth.
   The black boy whispered nastily, "Suck that dick, bytch," something he
must have learned by watching porno flicks or listening to hip hop.  Bob
didn't like being called a bitch, but he couldn't help feeling aroused by
the teenager's order.  His mouth tightened around the boy's cock, driving
the kid into orgasmic spasms.
   The teen's cock throbbed in Bob's mouth; his body jerked as he pumped
thick, warm loads of cum down the older man's throat.  Waves of heavy boy
juice flowed like gushing oil from the teenager's cock head.  Pungent ropes
warm, white gravy flooded the older man's mouth, choking him as he
struggled to swallow it all at once.  Bob was surprised; he never realized
how much semen a teenage boy's body was capable of producing.  Now this
semen was a part of him.
   When both Bob and the boy paused, and were finally able to catch their
breath, Bob's mouth was coated with cum.  The white syrupy liquid trickled
out of the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin.  It was fresh
boy cum, and Bob savored it.  It had a smell and taste that hinted of raw
oysters or bleach.
   The boy came out of his trance and avoided eye contact with Bob.  He
looked embarrassed and ashamed as he quickly re-did his trousers and turned
to leave.
   "You don't want your $50?" Bob asked, holding two twenties and two fives
in his hand.
   The boy looked startled.  Apparently he had forgotten that this was all
for pay.  He turned and snatched the bills from the older man's hand and
mumbled "Thanks."
   Bob tried to repress a smile, "Anytime."
   The boy turned to leave.  When he was half way out of the door he turned
around one final time to face the man, "You think we can do this again? 
I'm only askin' cause I'm kinda low on cash..."
   Bob give the boy a knowing grin, "Right, because you're low on cash. 
Don't worry about it.  I'm always glad to help a cash-strapped boy,
especially when his horny teenage cock won't give him any rest."
   The teenager left; clearly embarrassed that he hadn't convinced the man
and had comprised his straight identity.
   Bob lingered in the rest room, enjoying the taste of the teen that was
still in his mouth.  "These straight boys don't know what they want while
they are still young and cute," he said to himself, "and by the time they
figure out that it doesn't matter whether they're fucking a faggot's mouth
or a woman's pussy they are older, and are as ugly as sin."
   He thought about this awhile, still savoring the flavor of the boy, and
then he washed up so that he would look presentable to the public.
   ***************
   
  
All Black Boys