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From: "classic rider" <classicrider14@excite.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Urban Jungle Passion
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Date: Fri, 29 Dec 2006 06:10:02 -0500
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This is a work of fiction. It is not to intended to be read by minors.
It includes acts of homosexuality and dialogue with racial slurs. If
you are offended by this kind of fantasy, please search for something
else to read.

******

Cleaver was sitting on a bench at the bus stop when his cell phone
started ringing. As one of a handful of white boys still living in the
black section of town, he was pretty popular with the ladies, but he
always had to mind his Ps and Qs. He stood out like a polar bear in
Jamaica. For the most part he remained close to a small circle of other
white boys who lived in the neighborhood, but many of the black males
were cool with him also - especially his best friend, Tyrone.

Cleaver and his white buddies always referred to the black community as
the "urban jungle." When they saw individual young black males,
with their shirts off and their sweat-slicked shiny dark skin in the
summer time, they jokingly referred to these black Adonises among
themselves as "jungle bunnies." They could just imagine these
sinewy specimens of African sexual manhood whipping out their long
black cocks at night and filling nigger pussy with the kinds of
rhythmic motions that would make those black bitches moan with
uncontrolled passion. No wonder those teenage girls were always
pregnant.

Cleaver and his buddies were disgusted with the thought of such untamed
sexual activity in the black community. Their disgust turned to anger
when they thought about the inability of their over-sexed black
neighbors to control their libidinal appetites. Cleaver, like the rest
of his white buddies, spent many a lonely night lying awake in bed,
stroking their cocks and shooting puddles of cum all over their bed
sheets - unable to get the image of unconstrained naked black bodies
out of their minds. It was digusting. The problem seemed simple and
straight forward enough, "Why couldn't these black people learn to
control themselves the way white folks do?"

Of course, not all white folks control their sexual appetites, as
Cleaver's buddies were quick to point out to him when they wanted to
get him angry. When his buddies began a sentence with, "You know,
some white chicks are real freaks too - just as bad as them
Niggers...." Cleaver knew where they were going with it. His face
would turn bright red, "Don't talk about my sister that way..."
The boys would roll over laughing - Cleaver didn't think it was so
funny, but the boys enjoyed needling his sore spot.

Cleaver didn't see or hear from his sister very often, but he did see
and hear from his black neighbors. Night after night Cleaver heard his
neighbors on the other side of the thin walls of his mother's
apartment. He heard the men grunting, and the bed springs squeaking. He
heard the women sighing and moaning loudly, "Oh give it to me, baby
- give it to me." The man would respond, "Take it, bitch - take
my dick."

With surprising frequency Cleaver would also hear two black males on
the other side of the wall, "Oh yeah, nigga - fuck me. Fuck my
ass." Cleaver was surprised because he didn't think black people
could be gay - and of, course, the guys were not really gay, they
were just having male-to-male sex on the down-low.

It was like the black dudes he accidentally walked in on one afternoon
in the high school locker room, after basketball practice. They thought
they were alone. After spending all day in classes next to each other,
and working out in the gym, their sweaty muscular young black bodies
and erotic sex smells got the better of them. They would have fucked a
horse if it were in the room - since there were no bitches around and
these horny niggas needed some quick relief they exploded in a frenzy
of fucking one another.

Hot black bodies piled on top of each other, falling off of the benches
onto the floor. Negroes humped Negroes - led by their elongated stiff
black cocks that seemed to have minds of their own and forced the boys
to throw all caution, judgment, sexual identity and inhibition into the
wind. Their big unruly teenaged black cocks needed attention NOW! The
boys had no patience to sort out complicated questions about sexual
orientation and what was or wasn't "proper." They had to respond
to the demands of their jungle dicks. They quickly became a pile of hot
brown and black-skinned horny Negroes - humping, grunting and
groaning as if they were a single muscular and rhythmic organism. The
denials, excuses and explanations could be worked out later. Right now
these black boys had to take care of their cocks.

Cleaver was hoping the phone call would be about a job opening at a
nearby Radio Shack electronic store. When he answered his phone, the
voice of the polite, young black salesman he had talked with earlier
was on the line. "Helllloooo Cleaver - Heyyyy, this is Randy. I'm
calling on behalf of the manager down here at Radio Shack."

Cleaver took a deep breath. He was low on cash and needed a job real
bad. The salesman continued in with his affected cheerfulness,
"Heyyyy buddy, we looked at your resume and we think we might be able
to use some extra help around here; just one problem, we gotta see what
your people skills are like - you're going to be working with
customers all day, after all."

Cleaver straightened his back, "I got good people skills - people
tell me I'm a people kinda person."

The voice on the other end of the phone said, "Welllll, I'm sure
they're right. You'll probably make a great team player. You just
have to come down here at 10 o'clock tonight, which will be a hour
after we close, so you can take our unofficial people person test -
okay, buddy?"

Cleaver was eager to do anything to get the job. "Sure, okay -
I'll be there."

"Gooood. We'll see you then."



So Cleaver had his first promising lead for a job. Being one of few
whites in a black neighborhood Cleaver was finding it hard to land
employment. His manner of speaking and his address made employers he
spoke to over the phone think he was black, so they rarely called him
back. The small rinky-dink black-owned and operated stores in his
neighborhood would gladly hire him in a heartbeat - black teenaged
girls loved to chase after the young wigger, and this could be great
for business - but the cash flow in these small stores was too
unpredictable and Cleaver did not want to wind up in a situation where
he would put in a month's worth of work and end up not being paid, as
often happened to other boys he knew.

Cleaver had a lot of time to kill before his "people person test,"
whatever that meant, later that night, so he returned to his foggy
thoughts about all of the sexual impropriety that surrounded him. His
memory shifted to an evening, about a year ago, in the high school band
room. He had been working as a technician in a small booth off to the
side of the main practice area. Two boys, a clarinetist and a drummer,
thought they were alone. The drummer looked over at the boy on the
clarinet, "Dayum nicca - I sure love the way you press them puffy
lips up against that stiff black stick. I bet you can give a bigger and
thicker black stick a good blow job."

The Clarinetist frowned at the boy, "You is one ignorant
gay-soundin' muthafucka." The boys traded light-hearted insults
back and forth for a few minuets, but the next thing Cleaver knew the
clarinetist was on his knees, with the drummer boy holding his head
between his hands, keeping time by slapping his stiff black cock down
the boy's throat. "Suck that dick, nicca." The Clarinetist
grabbed his own cock through his trousers and started playing with it.

The drummer looked down at the boy with his stiff black drumstick down
his throat, "Youse one good little clarinet-playin cocksucker, you
know dat?"

The clarinet player just slurped on the boy's dick and moaned.

Cleaver was confused and annoyed by all of this. He remembered that he
once asked his black buddy, Tyrone, about what all of this meant. "
'Ty, man; how come so many black dudes, who say they hate fags, fuck
each other for hours on the down-low when they think nobody is around
to hear or see them?"

Tyrone scrunched up his face, trying to put extremely vague thoughts
into words, "Well, it's like this - a faggot is a dude who wants
to be a woman when he gets fucked in the ass; but if a dude lets
another dude fuck him in the ass because that other dude can shoot
hoops and dominate a basketball court - then that aint really bein'
a punk; that's somethin' else. That's givin props to the other
nigga's manhood, which as cool and a manly thing to do. You just
can't let nobody know about it."

Cleaver nodded his head slowly, "Oh, I see..."

"Yeah," Tyrone continued, "Its like - if a dude is real
attractive to the ladies, or got sports skills, or somethin' -
maybe is a good singer or DJ - and he nutts in your ass or down your
throat, then that makes you think maybe he's now a part of you and
maybe you can be more like that too."

Cleaver listened carefully to his friend, rubbing his chin in
fascination. "But what about the dude who's lettin' you suck his
dick? What does he get out of it? Won't he be afraid that other
people might think he's a punk for enjoyin' it?"

Tyrone laughed, "Naw man, that aint how it works. First of all,
nobody else gonna know because neither of them two niggas gonna tell
nobody about it. Second, between the two of them, it's just one nigga
givin' another nigga his props. The dude who's getting' his dick
sucked should be flattered. His homey be sayin, without so many words,
'You the shit, man - I just gotta give it up to you.' See? Both
niggas be gettin' somethin' out of it."

Cleaver's voice trailed off, "I see..." Suddenly a thought
crossed Cleaver's mind. His eyes lit up, "So Ty, have you
ever..."

Ty cut him off, "Naw, man. I aint never done that - I aint never
gived and I aint never received; at least not from no dude. That
ain't my kinda action. Don't even think about that shyt, man."

"But I thought you just said..."

"Yeah, but I was just sayin' - yeah, it's cool for them that do
it; and it aint what other people think it is - it aint 'gay' or
nuttin' like that - but I aint down with it myself. End of
subject."

The two boys sat in silence, Cleaver watching Ty out of the corner of
his eyes.

******

Cleaver started to daydream about the previous night, when he had to
lie in bed once more, listening to a couple of black dudes next door
expressing their manhood by rubbing their thick dicks inside each
other's asses and filling one another up with ghetto jizz. Then,
later that night they went back to their women and knocked the bitches
up, probably making them pregnant.

Cleaver often overheard the man-on-woman action too. When the ghetto
boys' homies weren't available for blow jobs or ass fucking Cleaver
would hear his horny neighbor conquering some sloppy black pussy and
making the bitch call him "daddy." Sometimes the action sounded
romantic, but often it was hard core. "Take it bitch - take it."

The woman replied, "Oh baby, why you bein' so mean to me?"

"Cause you cooked that corn bread and them ribs tonight and they was
slammin.  Now I'm gonna make some Bar-B-Q my ownself."

Cleaver appreciated Tyrone's friendship, but there were certainly
times when things did not always go so well between the two boys. As it
turned out, today would be one of those days. From their previous
animated conversation Tyrone drifted into a militant mood. The two boys
went to McDonald's and Tyrone sat across from Cleaver in a booth,
staring at the white boy as if he wanted to kill him.

"W-what's wrong, 'bro?"

Tyrone just sneered, "Don't call me 'bro' no more. You gotta
call me 'cus' - you can be my cousin from now on, but you aint
one of my 'bros.'"

Cleaver studied the black boy who, up until now had been his best
buddy. "What did I do, bro - I mean, 'cus' all the sudden?"

"Cause I just remembered, you da white man. You done sold all of us
niggas into slavery. We been studyin' about it this past week in
history class."

Cleaver shifted uneasily in his seat, "Oh, but 'Ty, man that was a
long time ago. I wasn't even born then. I wasn't a part of
that..."

Tyrone shot the boy a piercing glare, "Your ancestors was a part of
it, and that's close enough."

Tyrone reached into his knapsack and produced a thick American history
textbook.

The boy thumbed through the pages until he found the section on the
American slave trade, "Look how y'all muthafuckas treated black
folk."

Tyrone pointed to a picture of blacks bunched together in the hull of a
slave ship, being transported from Africa to America. The men were
shackled together and some where piled on top of the others, their
naked black and brown bodies serving alternatively as mattresses and
blankets.

Tyrone continued with his accusations, "Y'all had us all bunched
together like sardines in a can. Look at them niggas - all naked and
piled up on each other." Cleaver examined the pictures; it was a
shameful sight, there was no denying it. The illustration depicted a
ship full of fresh naked young African Negro men laying on top of each
other, breathing in each other's muscular sweaty arm pits. Their
thick African cocks rubbed up against each other's thighs and between
their legs.

It was shameful to see those naked black boys and men with their big
potent cocks resting between each other's smooth brown thighs. Their
firm African bodies were pressed together without any room to spare.
Some of the men in the picture had other black boys and men piled on
top of them so that they could feel thick African cocks nestled up
between their firm bulbous ass cracks.

Big bubble butt Negro asses endured another man's massive black cock
as it pushed its way inside his nasty, sweaty butt hole. To think of
how they traveled all the way across the Atlantic, piles of hot, horny
Negro bodies bumping and grinding on each other. The sadistic white
slave traders took enjoyment in humiliating the young men, forcing them
to perform all kinds of unnatural sex acts on one another for their
entertainment.

Hot, horny muscular, smelly Negroes piled on top of one another -
grinding their thick African cocks together on their way to America.

Cleaver shook his head in pity and shame. He swallowed hard, "Gee,
Ty, what can I say? I-I'm sorry, man."

Tyrone snapped the book shut, "Yeah, muthafucka; damn straight you
should be sorry. Y'all owes us big time. Treating people like that
just aint right."

Both boys tried to adjust the growing bulges in their pants without the
other one noticing.

Tyrone shot Cleaver a glance, "Just don't let dat slavery shit ever
happen again muthafucka..."

Cleaver swallowed hard again, "I-I'm sorry man. It won't happen
again. I promise." Even as he said these words he wasn't sure how
he was supposed to keep the promise, or even if it was reasonable to
expect that he would have to, but if it gave Ty the reassurance he
needed then the promise served its purpose.

Tyrone settled back in his booth, "Aiiight." He grabbed his crotch
through his pants and slowly rubbed it.

In a calmer tone he continued to give Cleaver a history lesson to make
sure the boy felt sufficient remorse for the role that white people
played in the slave trade. "Yeah, them slave masters was evil
muthafuckas. They be rapin' them slave womens and shyt. They be
makin' them spread they legs and take they white cocks in their black
pussies."

Cleaver was horrified by what he was hearing. He began rubbing his
crotch under the table while he listened to Tyrone's tales of woe.

Tyrone continued, casually rubbing his own crotch, "they be
shootin' nutt in them black women's pussies n' shyt. They be
makin' them have light-skinneded babies. They made them slaves do
whatever they wanted, tyin' naked women and boys to bed posts and
havin' their way with them n' shyt..." The boy's voice trailed
off.

Now both boys were rubbing their crotches under the table in silence.
Occasionally one or the other boy would let out an involuntary sigh,
gasp, or grunt. The boys were no doubt overwhelmed by the injustice of
it all.

After awhile Ty broke the silence. "So, ah - how's your sister,
man?" Cleaver shot the boy a red-faced scowl. Ty quickly threw his
hands up in the air, "Hey, hey - just askin,' just askin.' I
wasn't implyin' nuttin.'"

******

When Cleaver left McDonalds he was disturbed by how much the pictures
in the textbook and Tyrone's stories of injustice had affected him.
His cock felt like a throbbing hot iron in his pants and it wouldn't
go down. He knew it was wrong to feel this way, and sought out an older
black man for advice. He found himself wandering aimlessly down the
streets of his "hood" until he reached "Too Sweets" candy shop,
which was owned by a very heavily proportioned man known in the
neighborhood simply as "Fats."

Fats was the local dispenser of ghetto wisdom and the primary employer
- apart from the drug trade - of young boys aged 12 to 15. He had
them running all over the store, unpacking boxes of candy, stocking
display cases, sweeping the floor and going on errands.

Lately Fats had been troubled by the fact that a group of young gay
black men had decided to turn his front stoop into a cruising area.
Fats was concerned that his business would become associated with these
young drama queens, and most of his customers would begin to keep their
distance to avoid guilt by association.

By the time Cleaver arrived at the store, Fats was lowering himself in
a chair behind the counter, wiping his sweaty face with a handkerchief
after having spent the better part of the day shooing the gay boys away
from his store. Even as Cleaver stepped in the door he heard a black
faggot on the sidewalk flirtatiously intoning, "Mmmmm, there go that
white boy - I sure would like to suck his cock. I bet it tastes like
vanilla."

Cleaver noticed that the store was empty except for the young boys
waiting to serve Fats hand-and-foot. "Yo Fats - where is
everyone?"

Fats loosened his pants to give his stomach breathing room. He let them
drop to the floor. "Aint been nobody here since them faggots took
over the front of my store." He wiped his face with the kerchief
until it was soaked with sweat, and tossed it in a corner. Then he
pulled out another one.

Cleaver watched the gay men outside the store making cat calls at cute
young hood rats passing by on the other side of the street. The
embarrassed young straight boys gave their tormentors the finger,
eliciting heavy laughter, "Oh yeah, cutie - you can fuck me anytime
you want with that young thug dick of yours. Why waste it on them
bitches?" The embarrassed young thugs pulled their hoods over their
heads to conceal their faces. They rushed off, tugging at their
crotches.

Fats looked exhausted. "Them faggots gonna be the death of me." He
pulled off his boxer shorts and motioned for one of the younger boys to
give him some assistance. Cleaver's eyes widenened, "Y-yo man, what
you doin'? You can't get buck nekked here in your store, man."

Fats barely acknowledged the white boy, "Yes I can - it's my
store aint it? It aint like nobody's comin' around anyways. You
sure as fuck aint buyin' nothin'."

"But what you doin' man? Why you sittin behind the counter with
your pants off and your dick hangin' out?"

"Because I'm an old man and I'm tired. You won't know how it
feels till you're an old man and you get tired. I need this here ass
massage to get me through the day."

Cleaver just scratched his head wondering what the man was talking
about when he said "ass massage." Then he noticed that one of the
boys Fats had called over was now crawling on his knees in front of the
man and sticking his face in between the fat man's legs. Fats lifted
himself slightly off the chair, and the boy started licking the older
man's ass crack.

Cleaver turned away is digust, "Ewwww. Oh god! That's so nasty.
Man, you should be ashamed of yourself making those young boys do that
- and doing it in public."

Fats continued to act as though he barely noticed the white boy, "It
ain't public because aint nobody in here; and these boys is well paid
to do what I tell 'em to do. Besides, sometimes a man feels like
havin' a hot tongue up his ass. I'd rather have young girls do it,
but women these days are spoiled, they won't lick a man's
shit-smellin' ass like they used to. With boys it's another story
- if you pay 'em enough they'll even eat the shit while it's
still up in your ass."

Cleaver thought there was something very disgusting, yet arousing about
all this. He turned away to give Fats and the boy some privacy.

"Well I've got a job interview tonight, so maybe in the future I
might be a customer again."

Fats grunted, enjoying the boy's tongue in his ass. "I hope you get
that job. I can't remember the last time you paid for somethin' in
this store."

The young boy continued to slurp away in the fat man's ass. Fats
lifted his legs onto the counter so the boy's tongue could probe his
anus more easily. Just outside the window Cleaver heard the queers
shout at a boy who was dribbling a basketball, "Honey, you need to
put that toy away and come over here and let us show you how good it
feels to have a man's tongue dribble your balls."

Cleaver glanced out of the window just in time to see the boy scoop his
basketball into his arms and rush away in humiliation, with a wave of
laughter at his back.

******

Cleaver left Fats' store. The small gathering of gay men on the
sidewalk moaned in approval of the attractive white boy. Cleaver
didn't want to be caught up in the spectacle for fear that someone
might think he enjoyed it and was encouraging it. He tried to rush away
but as he passed a greasy spoon on the corner of the street he was
frozen in his tracks. There, inside the diner, was his sister Charlene,
propped up against the wall in a booth, smoking a cigarette. She was
alone for a change.

Cleaver had always admired his older sister but never really had the
chance to spend much time with her. He was curious about her lifestyle,
since she moved out of the house. Could she really have changed that
much? Could all the rumors about her be true?

When Cleaver approached the booth, Charlene greeted him with an arched
eyebrow and stiffened her back. She smelled of whiskey and her eyes
were bloodshot. Cleaver took her behavior as a sign that she did not
know what to expect from the boy. He wanted to reassure her that he was
on her side.

"Char - I really miss you. You doin' okay?"

"Yeah, Cleave. I'm okay." His sister's breath was heavy with
whiskey.

There was an awkward silence. Cleaver fumbled with his fingers. He
always imagined that if he got a chance to talk with his big sister
alone there would be plenty to talk about and nobody would be able to
shut the two of them up. But now they were face-to-face and all the boy
could do was play with his fingers and stare at the table.

This time it was Charlene who tried to offer reassurances to ease the
tension, "So, I'm still part of the family?"

Cleaver swallowed hard, "Yeah - you're still part. M-mom and dad,
they don't really hold nothin' against you. They just wish you
would - you know - kinda calm down..."

Charlene let out a derisive laugh. "Calm down?" She rolled her eyes
and took a drag off of her cigarette. She turned her head away from the
boy and blew a stream of smoke into the air.

Cleaver struggled with what to say next. He leaned forward, close to
his sister as though he didn't want anyone else to hear.
"Ch-char...W-why do you do it?"

Charlene's eyes grew wide and a faint smile crossed her face. She
affected an exaggerated air of confusion, "Do what?"

Cleaver sighed with frustration, "You know - Why do you do it?"

Charlene leveled her gaze at him and lowered her voice in a
conspiratorial tone, "You mean, 'Why do I tell mom and dad to take
a hike when they try to tell me who my friends are and how to live my
life?'"

"N-no. why do you - you know - embarrass the family?"

Charlene let out a loud hoot that caught the attention of the other
customers. "Oh, 'Why do I fuck Niggers?' Isn't that what
you're asking?"

Cleaver looked around in embarrassment. "No, I don't mean...."

Charlene continued her broadcast to the diner; "Why do I spread my
legs for those big black dicks? Why do I crave Nigger cock? Why do I
let Niggers shoot their cum inside me? Is that what you mean?"

Cleaver leaned back in the booth, and pushed against the table, to try
to create distance between himself and his sister.

He deliberately lowered his voice, hoping his sister would follow his
lead. "Why do you embarrass the family? People think you're like a
street whore - like some kind of slut. It really hurts mom and dad
the way people talk about you - the way those black dudes you sleep
around with talk about you too.... Even my homies keep sayin', 'Yo
- that sister of yours, she's a real freak. She got some fine white
pussy.'"

Charlene laughed loudly. "So, people think I'm a slut? Is it
because I'm a 'slut' for Nigger cock? Would they talk about me
that way if I was just humpin' nice little white boys?"

Cleaver wanted to respond to her accusation, but all he could do was
silently allow his lips to quiver in horror. He hunched down in his
seat as if he were physically trying to shrink.

Charlene, in contrast, sat straight up; her cigarette sharply jabbed
the air as if to emphasize her points, "Let's be honest lil' bro
- the only reason mom and dad, or anyone else, is embarrassed about
me is because the guys I 'sleep around with' are big black bucks
and they can't picture their sweet little girl getting her pure white
pussy filled up with all of that Nigger cock."

Cleaver sheepishly looked around the diner out of the corner of his
eyes.  He heard chuckles and saw grins as the customers listened in on
the two white siblings having their argument. He sank further under the
table.

Charlene seemed unfazed by being a spectacle. Perhaps she was used to
it. "The only reason they're upset is because they can't imagine
how it feels to have a big hard Nigger cock pushing up inside of them.
Well, I can't get enough of it."

Cleaver's face turned red. He heard muffled laughter from the other
customers. He closed his eyes, trying to make the whole scene go away.

Finally, Charlene leaned back in her booth and seemed to relax. Cleaver
hoped that maybe she had gotten everything out of her system and that
they could now have a normal conversation. She took a deep drag off of
her cigarette and lowered her voice. "So, how 'bout you?"

"H-how bout me what?"

"How about you? Can you imagine how it feels to have a big hard
Nigger cock pushing up inside of you?"

Cleaver shook his head profusely, "Oh, oh hell naw..."

Charlene laughed, "I bet you think about it sometimes, though -
don't you?"

"Oh hell no."

"Oh yeah, you do."

"Dayum, Charlene. You're disgusting. It's almost like I don't
even know you anymore."

"I bet you lie in bed at night and think about what it would be like
to have one of those big, handsome buck Niggers you hang out with all
the time grab you from behind and impale your skinny white ass with his
big black jungle cock, don't you?"

"Hell no. Dayum, I feel like I can't even have a serious
conversation with you anymore."

"You want it, don't you? I bet you daydream about one of your
sex-hungry 'home boys,' fresh out of the penitentiary, taking your
ghetto-wannabe white ass and raping it right there on the street."

Cleaver bolted to his feet; his body trembling with raw anger. "Damn,
Char - get away from me. You're disgusting."

Charlene kept her eyes locked on her baby brother. "I can almost hear
you scream while one of your young hoodie buddies shoots his thick
Nigger spunk into your bowels so that your shit is lubricated for weeks
when it slides out of your ass."

Cleaver stumbled quickly toward the door as if he were drunk or
disoriented. He noticed the older silver-toothed black men sitting at
the lunch counter, hunched over coffee, pretending not to look at him
but chuckling with amusement.

Charlene laughed derisively as he walked away. "You should try it
sometime. Tell one of your 'home boys' to give you some of that
Nigger cock. You'll never know what it feels like until you do."

Cleaver rushed out of the diner, but not fast enough to avoid
Charlene's final parting shot, "Those black jungle boys have got
rhythm. They bring it with them into the bed. Once they get into your
pants mom and dad will have two children they can disown."

Cleaver shook his head violently as if he were trying to clear it. He
walked down the sidewalk only to hear the gay black men start on him
again; "Hey, look - that cute white boy is back. Hi cutie. You
wanna bring that big white cock over here so you can rape this nigga
faggot? I want you to beat me up and call me names. I wanna have your
light-skinned babies."

******

Finally, it was 10 O'clock at night. Cleaver knocked on the door of
Radio Shack, but the place looked empty. Maybe the employee who called
him was playing a prank, or maybe the manager just plum forget. Cleaver
was about to leave when the side door of the shop opened and a young
African American man stuck his head out.

"Heeeey dude, come back here."

It was the same phony salesman-type of voice Cleaver heard over the
phone. He followed the young man into the store. The place was quiet
- it seemed as though only the two of them were there.

Cleaver shifted uneasily on his feet. He buried his chin in his chest,
"Well, I got your phone call and I'm here to take the personality
test...." His voice trailed off.

"Yeeees, Yes, I bet you are. Gee, fella - how bout making yourself
comfortable first? Would you like a beer from the cooler?"

Cleaver looked up and seemed to come alive, "Yeah - well, ah -
sure."

The salesman rubbed his hands together, "Okaaay. One beer comin'
right at cha'."

Cleaver didn't know how much longer he could take this sales guy's
way of talking, but he started to think about all of his expenses and
decided he'd better play the company game.

The salesman came back with two cans of ice cold Coors. "My name's
Pete, by the way."

Cleaver started losing his personality again and spoke mostly into the
beer can, "Yeah - my name's Cleaver - but I guess you already
know that - you can call me 'Cleave'..."

Peter showed Cleaver to the employee's lounge and they sat on a
couch. "Well look Cleave, not to waste any time - we're looking
for an employee who has personality, who's outgoing, who has a kind
of charisma. When I saw you turn in your application the other day I
just knew I'd have to give you a call on my next night shift and
bring you in for a private screening."

Cleaver took a sip from beer, not wanting to drink too quickly - this
may all be part of the test, to see if he's an alcoholic or
something. "S-so you're in charge of hiring people, huh?"

Peter gave Cleaver an uneasy grin, "Oh, no. Not really. But I can
make a recommendation - you know, based on my own observations about
whether or not a guy is our kind of team player. The store manager
makes the final call."

"I see."

Peter leaned in on him, "Yeah, I can make a recommendation based on
my sense of a fellow - whether I think he's likeable or not;
whether or not he'll cooperate - know what I'm saying?"

Cleaver looked absent-mindedly around the room, "Y-yeah, I think
so."

Peter reached out and adjusted the collar around Cleaver's sweat
shirt, "And make no mistake about it - I like what I see."

Cleaver instinctively backed away, but thought the better of it and
moved in closer in order to make a good impression.

Peter rattled on, "Yeah, I like that hip-hop style you got going
there. We've got to bring in the young people. I like the way you
have that thug boy wigger-type of image."

Cleaver was thrown a little off guard by this, "Th-thanks...?"

Peter ran his fingers inside the boy's shirt, "Yeah, you got that
nice firm chest; nice and smooth for a white boy."

Cleaver stiffened and did a double-take. Maybe this was part of the
testing, to see if he'd lose his cool. He didn't want to blow it,
so just nodded his approval and cracked a half-smile.

Peter continued, "Yeah, a cute white boy like you makes a nigga wanna
get down on his knees..."

To Cleaver's astonishment Peter slid off of the couch and onto his
knees so that he was eye-level with the white boy's crotch. He
started to unfasten the buttons on Cleaver's fly.

"...makes a nigga want to wrap his thick warm lips around that nice
throbbing, hard, white cock."

Cleaver jumped in alarm, "H-h-hey man. What're you doin?"

Peter looked up at Cleaver with an expression that was at once pleading
and demanding. "Are you a team player or should we look for someone
else?"

Cleaver swallowed hard, "Y-yeah I'm a team player but...."

"Well that's good because part of being a team player is to do
what's best for the team and not just what you want to do all the
time. Right now the team needs for you to let this nigga suck on that
big, hard, throbbing white cock."

Peter pulled out Cleaver's flaccid cock and started stroking it. The
dick started to get hard in the black man's hand, so he slid the
whole thing between his lips. Cleaver was unprepared for the sensation
of having a black man suck his dick. The warmth of the nigger's wet
mouth and puffy lips made his dick quickly come to life. Peter felt his
mouth filling up with Cleaver's hard cock and sucked even harder. The
white boy wrapped his hands around the back of Peter's head and began
thrusting - almost involuntarily.

He looked down at his interviewer and hissed, "Oh yeah, nigga. Suck
it, boi."

Peter slurped on the white boy's dick, occasionally taking it out of
his mouth to address his interviewee, "Yeah, dude - I love sucking
that big, thick piece of white manhood."

Cleaver was surprised by such a bold statement, coming from a black
man, but the feeling of the man's lips on his cock was too good for
him to question; instead he lost himself in his passion and pushed the
man's face back on his cock, "Oh yeah, suck on that dick nigga."

Peter bodded his head, obediently sucking the white boy's penis. He
looked up from where he was kneeling, "Your big white cock is just
what I need to put me in my place. It feels so natural to be suckin'
this white dick."

Cleaver grabbed the back of the man's head and pushed his mouth back
down his cock, "Yeah? Well it sure feels natural havin' you
suckin' it too. I never knew a nigga's lips could feel so good on a
muthafucka's dick."

Peter pulled the shiny white penis out of his mouth. It was slick his
saliva. He licked up and down the shaft of the white boy's hard cock.

"Oh yeah. It feels so good to serve you. I finally feel like I'm
free - down here on my knees with a big white cock in my mouth."

Cleaver was impatient to get those nigger lips back on his dick. He
grabbed the black man by his head and put him back to work.

"Yeah, nigga. Suck that dick, boi."

After slurping and licking Cleaver's cock for several minutes Peter
came up for air, "You ever feel a nigga's lips on your dick before
this?"

Cleaver trembled with excitement as the black man licked his balls,
"Naw, man. I can't say that I ever had."

Peter seemed to savor the boy's whiteness and sexual potency. He
licked the shaft of the cock and played with the throbbing dick head
with his tongue.

"I bet you've got a whole ghetto just full of niggas who secretly
want to suck that white cock, huh?"

Cleaver looked surprised, "If they do, they aint never told me. I
always got the impression they wanted me to be suckin on their cocks,
to be truthful."

Peter laughed at the boy's simple modesty. It only made him want to
lick this white boy's balls and stick his tongue in the boy's ass
crack all the more fervently. "No, a black man needs a white cock in
his mouth to free him from his past."

Cleaver absently glanced at the kneeling black man, who was now
fondling his balls with his tongue. "Really?"

"Yeah. He needs to own up to his own humiliation and degradation in
the past and in the present, and he'll probably even have to do it in
the future."

Cleaver scratched his head and scrunched up his face, one hand still
holding onto the back of Peter's head. "I'm not sure I know what
all of that means, homes..."

Peter kissed the boy's dick, "Neither do I. I just read it
somewhere..."

Once again Cleaver grabbed the back of the black man's head with both
hands and firmly forced his mouth to swallow the entire length of his
throbbing white cock "Well, if that means that you'll keep suckin
on that dick then we cool - bro."

Peter gagged a bit, but adjusted his mouth so that he could take all of
the white boy's cock. Cleaver began to thrust out of control. When he
realized he was reaching the point of orgasm he rapidly tapped the
black man on his head so he wouldn't get an unexpected mouthful of
cum.

Peter didn't stop sucking.

Cleaver unleashed a load of hot cum down the determined black man's
throat. Peter gulped all of the white boy's cum down, only allowing
small amounts to trickle out of the corners of his mouth.

Cleaver had never felt anything like that before. When Peter finally
let Cleaver slide his dick out of his mouth the white boy gave a sigh
of relief. He looked down at the black man, his lips shining with the
boy's cum. "Thanks man. That was da bomb."

Peter just nodded. "Yeah, I think you've got loads of people
skills. I'll be glad to put in a strong recommendation to the manager
for you tomorrow morning."

******

That night Cleaver returned to his parents' apartment. As usual, the
next door neighbors were fucking up a storm. Cleaver realized that the
only way he was going to get some sleep was to stroke himself into the
dream land.

It wasn't difficult; he just thought about the day's events; about
Tyrone and his pictures of slaves and stories about how the masters
used to breed their black women; he thought about the band members and
the black athletes he had caught at different times in the high school
band and locker rooms - acting out their jungle passions on the
down-low; above all, he thought about his new co-worker at Radio Shack,
who introduced him to the otherworldly pleasures of a nigger's hot
lips and tongue.

Cleaver shot several wads of thick teenaged cum from his cock. To his
surprise the wads arched high in the air and splattered on his wall. He
didn't realize he had that much force in his dick. Then he pulled his
sheets over his body and snuggled up to his pillow to go to sleep. Just
before he finally drifted off he could hear his sister's voice once
again, echoing in his head, "Tell one of your 'home boys' to give
you some of that Nigger cock. You'll never know what it feels like
until you do."

Cleaver violently shook his head and said "No, no..." but he could
feel his dick getting hard just the same. Then he slowly drifted off to
sleep.

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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