Then one evening, after we had dinner at a little Italian place in the Old Port, Darnel told me he was finally ready. My cock grew hard there and then. I kissed him deep and hard on the street, not caring what the people around us thought. I could barely wait until we got back to his place. He lived in a hotel right in the center of the city. Like many university students, he had an arrangement to board there during term time. The room was always kept immaculately clean with nothing but a few photographs of lilies on the walls. He put on some Prince, and we quickly fell on the sofa, grappling and kissing each other hungrily. Our tongues slid against each other while we fumbled to get each other’s clothes off. I could feel the strong monster in his pants pushing against my leg. We stripped each other down until we were fully naked and sliding against each other like excited eels. When his large cock sprang into view I could feel my asshole twitch expectantly. I fell forward wanting to lick his body from top to bottom, inhaling his manly natural scent mixed with CK cologne. He laughed at how hungry and eager I was.
Okay, confession time. One of my deepest desires is to rim a guy. It’s something I developed an urge for after looking at a number of porn websites on my ancient computer with its maddeningly slow dial-up connection. I want to get my tongue right in there while he stands authoritatively above me. But I’ve never been brave enough to do it because it feels like a step too far and afterward I’d be one of those dirty gay guys my mother fears. That’s why, more than anything, I wanted someone to push my face in his ass and make me eat his hole out. As my face slid over Darnel’s body, licking down the trail of hair around his navel to the hefty hard cock with a neatly trimmed circle of pubes, I wondered if I’d dare to go that bit further and stick my tongue up his ass. I spent some time licking up and down the length of his shaft and filling my mouth with his dark, tight nut sac. He leaned back on the sofa and moaned softly, stroking my closely cropped hair.
I imagined him pushing me down to nose into that dark musky area between his legs and rout out his hole with the persistent flickering of my tongue. But suddenly, he wrenched my head up and cautioned me, “Whoa boy.” I sat back against the sofa, disappointed but eager to feel his mouth close itself over my cock in return for my sucking him. He stroked his cock while staring me up and down. “Man, you’re so beautiful,” he said over and over. I waited for him to go down on me, but he made no move. I tried to grapple with him again, but all he wanted was to continue with mutual strokes. Within a couple of minutes we’d both cum onto our stomachs, to the sound of “Diamonds and Pearls” in the background. I wanted to hug him, to press my body against his, trapping the mess between us, sticking his naked body to mine with the glue of our sex. But he immediately got up and pulled out several tissues to wipe us with, then kissed me and said he was going to take a shower.
I quickly learned that Darnel was only into the most vanilla kind of sex. He liked mutual masturbation, loved getting a blow job, but was grossed out by the idea of giving one himself. It turned him off if we got too sweaty. He’d need to stop and take a shower by himself in the middle of having sex if that happened. He refused to fuck me, as anything to do with asses was out of bounds. So eating his hole definitely wasn’t on the menu. Sometimes when I went down on him I’d slide my hand up to feel the soft, smooth curve of his rump and inch my way to that sacred spot between his cheeks. He’d push my hand away and thrust his dick farther into the back of my throat before pulling out and jerking himself off.
Despite our lackluster sex life, Darnel charmed me totally. I spent most of my time at his place watching movies or going out to eat. He was cultured and vibrant, excitedly talking about the latest Woody Allen film or some politician’s memoir. More importantly, he had a life plan and this stability was attractive, given that I had purposely made my own future so precarious and uncertain. A part of me was panicking and looking for someone who knew the world and could help me navigate it. Darnel had traveled widely and wanted to take me with him on his future journeys. It felt like wherever we went, he’d know what to do. As he was growing up, his family had taken him on trips all over the world. He knew the best places to eat in Los Angeles and how to barter for a cheaper gondola ride in Venice.
He planned a trip for us to Bryce Canyon once his semester ended. He said the rock formations there were a wonder to behold, far more impressive than the sprawling unfathomable cavity of the Grand Canyon. Pictures of the place showed a golden and red-lit, moon-like surface, enormous craggy mountainsides with trails threaded throughout. He hugged me close in bed and said he wanted to take me there. I pressed myself against his solid body and stared at the dark nubs of his nipples, suddenly wanting to lick and suck them. But he held me back. My prick was rising, but Darnel said he had to get to sleep so he could get up for work early.
This was happening more and more often recently.
As we lay together in the darkness with my hard cock tenting the thick blankets that covered us, I thought about the future. Sure, Darnel could take care of me and guide me. But what about that edge to life that I craved? I didn’t want calm, routine sex interspersed with dinner parties and trips to the opera. Darnel had already arranged an interview for me for a paralegal job at a lawyer friend’s firm. I imagined my future with him as an endless stream of cocktail parties filled with guys in stiff suits making banal conversation. My mind was buzzing with erotic fantasies as I nursed my hard dick, while he lay asleep beside me. My ass was aching to be filled. I fell asleep feeling hot and extremely horny.
I can never remember my dreams, but I awoke early the next morning with sensations of furtive, sweaty, ecstatic pleasure resonating through my body. Whatever fantasies I unwillingly submitted to in my nocturnal journeys had resulted in a sticky patch at the front of my boxers and the sheet around my crotch. The sun had only recently risen outside Darnel’s half-shuttered window. There was still a half hour before his alarm was due to go off and he slept in a heavy lump beside me. I knew he’d be disgusted by the mess. Instead of facing him, I carefully dressed and left quietly so he wouldn’t wake up.
Back at my apartment, I still fully intended to meet up with him that evening to discuss our uneven relationship. But later, when he called me to arrange getting together I didn’t answer the phone or return his call. I didn’t speak to him the next day, either. Or the next. I felt the pernicious urge that had nipped at me so relentlessly when I started college in Boston. Rationally, I knew I should settle down with Darnel, go to that job interview and think about the future. But my body wanted rough contact and a man who found the filthy pleasures sweated out in a raunchy sex session arousing. My instincts told me to escape.
I didn’t make it to the interview for the paralegal position. I didn’t even return to my job as a personal assistant. Instead, I hunkered down in my bedroom, shutting the door tight against my moody roommates, and searched online for free dirty videos to jerk off to. I got off to everything from pervy older doctors examining college jocks to raunchy backroom S/M sex. The only trouble was that it was difficult to find much porn of sexy black guys screwing around with each other. Most gay porn was filled with white guys. Only occasionally was a black dude thrown into the mix for exotic flavoring. The few porn videos that did feature a sexy all-black cast inevitably drew on the most obvious stereotypes: ghetto boys, badass criminals and basketball players. I realized after days of studious jerking off that what I really wanted was a black man who wasn’t some stereotype, but was a real man. But not a man like Darnel, either, who seemed destined to become a mainstream stereotype himself. It didn’t escape my attention how ridiculous it was hoping to find a sexy black man to fuck while living in white-ass backwoods Maine.
My bank account was quickly draining away to nothing. I wanted to move out west, maybe Los Angeles. But first I needed to save up enough to get started out there. I scanned the papers for a job that paid well, but required few qualifications. A warehouse in the industrial area of the city was hiring night-shift workers to shelve goods and
transfer them into trucks ready for pickup. I was hired immediately. Somehow I had the strange notion that I could spend all day searching out music on the Internet and jerking off to porn while earning money at night. Sleep seemed insignificant. So when I arrived for work I was drowsy after only an hour of heavy lifting.
That first night was close to torture. I didn’t work out except for occasional push-up sessions in the morning. The crates and containers I was required to shift around in that cavernous, dark warehouse were easy to lift at first. But somewhere between the first hour and the second, the muscles in my arms started to burn and the back of my throat was constricted with dust. I was sweating, grew dizzy and nearly passed out. It took a few weeks for my both my biceps and my sleep patterns to adjust to my new nocturnal existence.
The guys I worked with were gruff, hard-bodied and transient. No one except me worked there longer than a month. The warehouse was always short staffed, so we workers were spurred on to perform more—but this only increased the turnover rate. This was to my advantage, as I was often paid double time for working overtime. We smoked wordlessly in a group during our breaks and drank a few beers before heading home at six in the morning. I was often horny, tackling the repetitive, labor-intensive tasks in a daze while filthy fantasies drifted through my mind; sometimes I jerked off behind huge crates filled with imported goods. Two months went by and I was near-crazed for sex. I had dialed Darnel’s number a dozen times, but always hung up before it rang. I knew that was a dead end.
One night a new guy started. This was no big event in itself. The manager asked me to show him the ropes. I left the manager’s office to find the new guy standing by one of the cargo entrances. He was a tall, muscular black guy wearing dark jeans and a white singlet. His stance had the effortless masculinity of a cowboy in a cigarette advertisement. He was, in fact, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a truck staring into nothing. I approached him and introduced myself. He barely looked at me as he shook my hand with a firm grip and dropped his cigarette butt to the ground while mumbling, “I’m Bryce.”
Taking him around the warehouse, I explained how certain orders needed to be moved from storage units to the loading bay, that sometimes the forklift was necessary and at other times it was easier to carry the items individually. There was a minimum amount of work to be performed, but equally if a warehouse worker did too much, the boss would expect more. It was a fine balance. I gave details about the amount of inventory we stocked and how certain orders were given priority over others.
“Man, don’t lecture me so much. I’ve done this thing before. Just point me out where to get started.”
I was silent as we got down to work. We tackled a new shipment together, stacking large boxes on shelves that stretched the length of the warehouse and up several levels. Bryce twisted his face in concentration as he labored. I found it difficult not to steal glances constantly, but was careful not to let him catch me looking. Now and then thick drops of sweat dripped from his neck and shoulders, like, I imagined, sweet-tasting sap. A diamond-shaped wet patch blossomed on his lower back right above his large meaty ass. We were on a poorly lit level at the back of the warehouse, but I noticed how it swayed from side to side as he clambered up and down a ladder, moving large sheets of Styrofoam up to a high shelf. The fantastic heft of his rear wedged into his tight-fitting jeans was something I could happily bury my face in.
“You keep lookin at my ass, bro. What’s up?”
His words thundered down and his mouth was twisted in an angry-looking sneer. I had forgotten myself for a moment, letting my stare linger too obviously.
“Nothing,” I said trying to shy away.
“Don’t lie. I see you.”
I bowed my head, overcome with shame—and fear. Bryce climbed down the ladder and got in my face. His broad nostrils flared and his deep, dark eyes searched my face menacingly.
“You want it. Don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. He knew exactly what was going through my head. From this proximity I could see sweat steadily dripping down his face and from the pits of his muscular arms. There was a hard glint in his eyes. His aroma was strong and manly. It was all the more powerful because of the heat emanating off him after all our exertion. I was certain that he was going to beat the shit out of me, but as his stare became more intent I realized he wanted something else. He wasn’t some straight hard-ass. He was just another black dude looking to make his way in the world on his own terms, wanting to satiate his sexual needs where and when he pleased—just like me. The warehouse was steeped in silence. It must have been three in the morning. Two other guys were working through this evening, but I was certain they were lounging near the entrance drinking beer and smoking, goofing off.
Bryce pushed me forward so I was flat against the shelf stacked high with boxes we’d shifted together. He pinned my arms and kissed me hard and deep. The dark stubble on our chins rubbed together as our tongues viciously fought each other. He pressed his face so hard against mine I thought my nose would snap. His body rubbed against me and I was blissfully flattened by his warm sweaty bulk. My breathing quickened as I responded, pushing against him, feeling the bulges in our jeans pressing together. I reached around to grab a big handful of his ass. He pushed me down onto my knees and ground my face into his crotch. I tasted the fabric of his dirty jeans as I tried to open my mouth over the huge hard on contained inside.
He split open his button-fly with one swift motion and his enormous cock emerged along with the powerful aroma of his dark sweaty balls. I wrapped my lips around the bulbous copper-colored end of his cock, sliding my tongue over the pinched skin on the underside of it. He grabbed my head and fucked my face with great force. Eagerly I stroked my dick while sucking him. Just as I felt his dick pulsing in my mouth as he was nearing orgasm, he pulled out and pushed me back. I stared up at this towering strong brother with his ferocious erection hovering over my face.
All my feverish fantasies collapsed under the weight of this mind-shattering chance encounter. There was a perfect understanding in this sordid union at the back of the warehouse that I’d never had with Darnel. My mouth was watering for more and, as if Bryce intuitively understood what I desired, he turned around and raised one leg up on the ladder.
“Lick it, fucker” he ordered.
I stared up at the expanse of his magnificent brown ass. There was a faint line of short, curly dark hair down the crack. I half rose and came toward it tentatively, my heart pounding with fear about finally fulfilling this fantasy of mine. My nostrils filled with the heady hot scent of his ass. A sheen of sweat coated my forehead and I was consumed with an adrenaline rush greater than any I’d felt before. He reached back and grabbed my head, driving it between his cheeks, rubbing my nose and lips along the parting curves of his rump. There was the tender, tight, dark hole puckering before my face. I loved the feeling of his hand on the back of my head urging me forward and his gravely voice over me ordering, “Go on. Lick my hole.”
I grabbed his asscheeks, pulling them farther apart, my lighter brown hands splayed over the darker skin of his ass. Then I forced my tongue out to lap that hot, tight spot between his cheeks. It felt like I would suffocate between those magnificent, muscular asscheeks. He jammed my face in forcing me to pleasure his anus. My tongue wedged itself into his hole flickering manically as he rhythmically pushed my face into his ass. I sank into that moist, hidden area that had always felt forbidden to me. I knew he was beating himself off with his other hand because I could feel his body juddering in pleasure while I rimmed him. He emitted a deep groan above me that spurred me on to work faster and faster penetrating his anus with my tongue. My entire body burned in a feverish desire to pleasure him.
Bryce moaned loudly. It must have echoed throughout the cavernous warehouse, but I was too engrossed in the heat of his ass to care. Finally he released my head and I fell back on my aching legs. Dizzily, I stared up at the powerful asscheeks I’d just buried my face in. He turne
d halfway round to stare down at me, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. The long, dark length of his cock bobbed up and down with a pearly white drop of cum hanging from the end. I saw the sticky white juice dripping down the rungs of the ladder.
He breathed out heavily and muttered, “Thanks, man.”
Bryce silently buttoned up and we walked out to the loading bay. My legs were unsteady after the prolonged period crouched on the floor beneath him. We found the other guys there, as I expected, chatting, drinking and having a smoke. I watched closely to see if they had any inkling of our mind-blowing experience out back, but they seemed totally oblivious. It seemed like what I had just done must be written across my face, but they read nothing in the beads of sweat that hung on my forehead. Bryce lit up a cigarette and chatted with them easily. I sat off to the side breathing in the cold early morning air and watching the amber-yellow glow that was breaking through on the horizon. Quietly content and filled with the warm stewing fire that fills your chest after the best sort of fucking, I enjoyed my smoke with no promises or demands on my future.
FOREIGNERS IN SITGES
Shaun Levin
Mauro works in the breakfast room at the hotel I’m staying at for the week. He’s an Argentinean guy with dreadlocks and a bright yellow headscarf. He’s into grunge, so I get extra points for being South African—apparently there’s some famous grunge band from Durban. (What’s grunge? But I don’t ask.) I’m here in Sitges researching a book about a Jewish painter called Mark Gertler. The hotel is on the seafront; you can hear the waves from the balcony.
“Foreigners in Sitges,” Mauro tells me in the evening at the hotel bar. “We stick together. Catalans don’t like us.”
He tells me the bohemian community in Sitges is mainly South American artists and musicians. And, he tells me—Nah! Really?—that this is the gay capital of Spain. I listen to all this because he is beautiful. I am the kind of person who can endure a lot for the sake of beauty: boredom, repetition, torture, you name it. I’ll devise endless questions to demonstrate my fascination, all just to be close to men like Mauro. I’m so caught up in his beauty I can’t tell whether he’s trying to pick me up or just working for his tip. For the next three days, Mauro is on breakfast duty: he is the first man I will see every morning; my first words of the day will be to him.
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