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“So, are you interested, Mark?”
It was a question that didn’t require any exploration on Lachon’s part. He was asking me if I’d like to go on a double date with him with two semipro basketball players who were moving to Dayton as their American Basketball Association team, the Ohio Kings, was relocating here from Cleveland and they wanted to check out the social scene in Dayton. Lachon Bradshaw, a star forward with the University of Dayton Flyers NCAA Division 1 basketball team, knew I was gay and would date a gay guy because I’d gone out with–and gone down on–Lachon. He was gay too. Obviously, he was telling me these semipro basketball players were gay and would expect sex on a date. He came right out and said it.
“Sex wouldn’t be a problem, would it?” he’d asked me.
“If that’s what you wanted.”
“No, then, not if I could get it up with the guy.”
“Not a problem with these two guys,” Lachon said.
Lachon was a senior at the University of Dayton. I was a sophomore, studying business administration and hoping to go into sports management. I wasn’t a basketball player–most of them towered over my five-foot-nine, 170-pound frame, and out-bulked me, although I worked out and there wasn’t anything not to be proud of muscle wise at my height and weight class. Lachon towered over me too at six-six and some 220 pounds. As well as the basketball team, Lachon and I shared a couple of classes. We also both were actively gay and that had brought us together.
Unfortunately, as far as mating up, we both were submissives. We’d discovered this on our first and only date that included sex, although not as totally sexual as we had anticipated. We tried but our satisfaction didn’t get past the mutual hand-jacking stage. Still, that was pleasant enough.
We palled around a lot still, but we didn’t try to include sex anymore. Our one and only had been after a big game victory, when I invited Lachon back to my small attic apartment in an old Victorian house among those on Irving Avenue the university had bought for student housing in the South Student Housing area more commonly called “The Ghetto.” I had a studio apartment, essentially one large room under sloping ceilings with a kitchen wall and a bath that I didn’t have to share because my family could afford it.
We’d gone to my place fully expecting to have all-out anal sex. We hadn’t checked each other out first, though. Although I could get him up and releasing with my mouth and he could do the same for me with his hand, neither of us could put in the lust needed to keep it hard to put in the other’s ass. After showing our frustration, we saw the humor in that, and although we continued running together, we hunted separately. That is, we hunted separately until now, when Lachon was asking me if I wanted to do a double date with him.
“They’re both hunks,” he said. “Mohammed Upshaw, a guard, is my date. He’s bringing a friend and teammate, Jalen Fell, also a guard. They’re coming down from Cleveland for the weekend to check Dayton out. They’re both power tops. I made sure to check that out, although this doesn’t have to include sex if you’re not interested in that.” He’d said this in circling the issue until later when he directly asked if I’d lay down for a guy on the first date–specifically for the guy he was trying to set this double date up with.
“I might be interested,” I had answered. What I wondered was what my date would think if I tried to tell him I didn’t want it to include sex.
“They’re both black,” he then said, almost apprehensively. But he was black too and that hadn’t stopped me from giving him blow and hand jobs. But he had been my first black–and my last, for that matter. I was of Hanoverian stock–meaning of the German variety that had provided a ruling family house for England. All white. But there had been plenty of blacks around me since I’d come to the University of Dayton–mostly big jocks–and, because I spent a lot of time in locker rooms and checked out such things, I’d found that blacks, overall, were a lot better endowed than whites. And, what can I say? Yes, I had a size fetish. I was slim hipped and had a fantasy of a big cock managing to center in on that. A good part of my thrill was in the size I was able to sheath.
“That’s fine. It’s good,” I answered. “And I can’t see trying to tell him ‘no sex’ if he’d come on the date expecting it. I’d manage.”
“It’s the black scene here they’ll want to focus on.”
“Fine. Maybe then they’ll not want to date a little white boy, like me.”
“Oh, no. Jalen’s salivating to date you.”
“Salivating? How do you know that?”
“I sent him your photo.”
“My photo? Me naked?”
“Of course naked.”
“So, what you’re saying is that Jalen already knows he wants to fuck me on this blind date.”
“I don’t think it can be called a blind date if he’s seen a naked photo of you already, But, yes,” Lachon answered, “I sent him one of the ones you sent me when you were trying to make görükle escort bayan me.”
“I sent those when I thought you and I might get it on, Lachon. I didn’t send them for you to share with the world.”
“I didn’t share them with the world, Mark. This is today’s dating. Guys want to see what other guys have got.”
“So, how do you know they are hung? I suppose they sent you their naked photos too.”
“Sure. Of course they did. Here, look. This here’s my date, Mohammed Upshaw. And the date you could have, Jalen Fell.”
I nearly dropped my teeth. They were prime basketballers–tall and rangy, but with the musculature of gods. And they were monster hung. Mohammed, Lachon’s designated date, was masturbating his in his photos. He was bald, but the more handsome, taller, and more muscled of the two. The amused and coy expression he had on his face as he looked into the camera indicated he’d be a fun date. He was the milk chocolate one of the two and arrested my attention more than the other guy, Jalen Fell, did, although there wasn’t anything to complain about in the hunk department with Fell either. He was a more dusky black than Upshaw was. In both men, the cock and balls were a darker black than their bodies were, justifying the focus of attention from a viewer there.
“Both gold-foil Trojan Magnum level,” Lachon said. I couldn’t disagree with that. I couldn’t help going hard and wanting to hum at seeing the photos of the two of them.
“So, you want to go on a two-baller double date with these guys and me?” Lachon asked.
“Yes.” All sense of “you don’t have to give him sex if you don’t want to” had flown out the window. That was fine with me.
“You’re good with sex being assumed.”
“Yes”–with both of them, I was thinking, but I didn’t say it.
* * * *
Jalen Fell was the driver, traveling down to Dayton from Cleveland in a honking black, slicked-up 2006 Lincoln Navigator monster SUV with smoked windows. It was a “looks like new” classic ride. They picked us up outside the UD Arena on a Friday night after Lachon and I had cleaned up after basketball practice. They had been given tickets to watch the practice and I spent a good part of my time carrying water and bandages for the team trying to pick them out in the stands. When I did, I almost hyperventilated, seeing nothing that belied the photos they’d sent. They each were a mountain of sculpted black muscle.
One set of us seemed to have guessed wrong on the dress for the date. Lachon and I showed up in jeans, sneakers, and dressy polo shirts. The Ohio Kings guys showed up in baggy silky athletic shorts drooping to the knees, athletic Ts that dipped at the sides to show bulging muscles and hairy pits, and unlaced combat boots. They didn’t look like guys going clubbing in Dayton, but they arrested attention wherever they clubbed with us in Dayton, so I guess they won the battle of the dress code. They both looked like mean muvas and were sexy as hell. There was no question that they would take control.
Since Jalen was driving, I sat in front with him and gave directions, while Lachon and Mohammed wrestled and made out in the shadows of the rear seat while we moved from venue to venue. From the sounds I heard, Mohammed scored before our first stop.
This basically was Lachon and Mohammed’s date, as they had hooked up in Cleveland when Lachon went up there to try out for the Kings. They were miles ahead in the date of Fell and me, who had barely met and hadn’t fucked already–and maybe wouldn’t ever fuck–if I didn’t turn Fell on. We were well beyond the question of whether Fell turned me on, though. He reached over to touch or squeeze my knee occasionally as we drove.
“You know what’s goin’ on back there, don’t you?” he asked, giving me a grin.
“It would be hard not to know,” I answered.
That was the extent of that for a while–while steam and sucky noises were coming up from the rear seat–but the vibes were there of “let’s get it on.” It didn’t take much for me to get that vibe with a big black, athletic bull–certainly not from either of the black studs in the front and back of this Navigator.
One of the key things I later remember about the date–beyond the sex–was that, from start to finish, I don’t remember seeing anyone who wasn’t black. I’d had no idea there was a black community this large in the city or that it essentially had its own flourishing social center.
We drove west, across the Great Miami River, into a section of the city I’d never been in before. I’d seen my last white man for the evening. They fed us dinner at a Waffle House on 5th Street, one that was busy and that, surprising, served lots of good food without breaking the bank, and, again, where all of the workers and patrons were black. I became a center of attention, but it didn’t seem to be one of animosity. There was no question that I was under control and wouldn’t be a threat to anyone.
No one would have tried anything bursa otele gelen escort anyway, I didn’t think, considering the bulk of our dates. And they were, after all, in the nearly total majority. Some looks made me a little nervous, though. Some looks were resentful but some looks were lustful. I never was more aware that I was one fine-looking dude myself–or that I was white and small enough to essentially be defenseless in this venue. And, for my part, I was sizing up every black man I saw as a potential sex partner, wondering if they were as hung as the photos of Mohammed and Jalen had shown they were.
The question of “were all black men hung like horses” came popping up again, and then I thought I need only wonder about the two men Lachon and I were with.
Did I really want to sheath a monster, jet-black cock? Increasingly, I was finding that the answer to that was yes–if I could stretch enough to take it. How big could I take it? How did it feel to be totally stuffed? I sure wanted to try. I was entertaining fantasies of a jet-black cock inside me, probing and expanding, stretching and opening me, as I touched the biceps of a muscular black stud, moaned my surrender, and writhed on the monster pole. Yes, Lachon and I had gone to a drugstore before the date and bought a box of twelve Trojan Magnum XLs.
The problem on this evening was that the image I was most readily bringing up was Mohammed, Lachon’s date, not–as much hunk as he was–my date, Jalen. Being self-conscious about this, I turned in the booth seating we were in and touched Jalen’s bulging bicep. He turned his face to mine and smiled. We kissed.
It would be just fine with Jalen.
Mohammed paid the bills all night, although I heard him make arrangements with Fell to split the charge. They wanted to make it quite evident that they were paying for the date.
“Buying your tails,” I’d heard Mohammed say to Lachon the first time he took the check. Lachon laughed, signaling that was understood and accepted.
They made it quite evident in the way they treated Lachon and me, what they said, how they courted us, and how they touched us, that we were going to pay for the date in other ways than just showing them around the town. By the time we got around to sex, I was shimmering and coming close to hyperventilating.
After we ate, we crossed back, east, across the river, and then drove north into the center of the city and almost to the riverbank again as its course turned back east. Once again I was surprised to find that the black population of Dayton had its own entertainment center here too.
We started off on Water Street, right next to the river, where, at a place with no sign identifying what it was, but with a battle of the bands–black bands–going on inside and everyone–all black–packed onto the dance floor and swaying to the music, everyone danced with, touched, fondled, and hugged each other. It didn’t matter here that I was white as long as I was here with blacks–I received more than my share of looks, smiles, and touches on the dance floor. As long as I was with three hunky black dudes, I was fine. It was like everyone there knew I would take commands and cock from blacks.
It was a mixed crowd–men and women there. Not so at the next stop, a few blocks away, on the main entertainment strip of North Patterson Street, we went into a place called Leroy’s, which was right next door to a trendy bar and dance place called Club Evolution, which I had been to. When I’d gone to Club Evolution, I’d had no idea that there was a black gay club next door.
In Leroy’s, it was all men–all black men. They welcomed the hunky Ohio Kings basketballers with open arms–and me, the only white guy in the place, with hugs and kisses and fondling and groping–all on the dancefloor with blaring music going or in the banquettes set against the wall, where the liquor was flowing and something other than tobacco was being smoked. Here it seemed, at least at first, that I would receive as much attention and touching as the patrons though my date would permit.
Our evening didn’t end here until after some big, black bruiser who had joined our table was pushing me under the table, with his fly open and his erection out for me to service, and Mohammed, laughing but making his point with the ominous comment that “the only cocks this white muvva is smoking are mine and Jalen’s,” was pulling me to safety and deciding that it was time for us to leave.
Out in the Navigator, as we pushed off for the other side of the river, Jalen quietly said, “You know that dude back there, the one wanting a blow job?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know he wasn’t the only one in there who wanted to get his dick in you. They all did.” I didn’t say anything, so he continued. “How do you feel about that? Taking black cock from a guy you just met.”
“Not a problem,” I answered.
“Does it scare you that every dude in that bar wanted to top bursa escort bayan you?”
“A little, yes,” I said.
“Good,” he answered, letting it lie there.
On our way back south toward the university area, Mohammed fucked Lachon in the backseat of the Lincoln Navigator, and Jalen drove the long way around and through the university to give them time to finish their business. The first I knew this was going to happen was having Lachon’s jeans and briefs shoved into my lap between the front seat split. After that, a gold-foil packet got flipped into my lap. I picked it up and looked at it. A Trojan Magnum XL condom. It wasn’t from the box Lachon and I had bought. I had that box up front in my coat pocket. The black boys had come with their own supply. Lachon was in for a ride, I could tell.
For that matter, so was I. Jalen had made that clear if it hadn’t been clear already.
I turned and looked in time to see that Mohammed’s silky shorts and jock strap were off too, that Lachon as on his back along the backseat, his legs bent and spread, and Mohammed was on top of him, kneeling between Lachon’s thighs, and just beginning to penetrate my friend’s ass with that godawful thick, long Trojan Magnum-sheathed shaft of his. The root of the black bull’s tool getting half buried in Lachon’s ass was as big as my wrist. Lachon’s hole was wide open–more than I think I ever could manage–but still he was crying out in pain-passion. He was taking it, though. When Mohammed bottomed in him, they set up a vigorous, athletic, bouncing of the fuck that had them rolling around the confines of the backseat like they were in some sort of death struggle. Mohammed’s mammoth cock kept coming out almost all the way before slamming how again and making Lachon cry out in pain-passion.
Still, Lachon whole was gaping compared to what I though I could manage.
And then it was showtime for me too.
I watched through the split in the front seat, working my own cock through the material of my jeans until I realized that the Navigator had stopped and Jalen was reaching over from the driver’s seat, unzipping me, freeing my cock, and stroking it.
“Get out of that harness,” he said. “Give it to me.”
Unbuckling my seat belt to allow me to move, I turned my head toward his, to have his lips meet mine, and, when we came out of the kiss, he guided my face down into his lap, where he had pushed his shorts and jock down to his knees, and had his jet-black monster cock ready to be sucked. Floating into my mind was Mohammed’s “the only cock this white muvva is smoking is mine and Jalen’s” statement in the nightclub.
Showtime on that.
I opened my mouth over Jalen’s shaft, unhinged my jaw to take it, and gave him head while he stroked my cock and Mohammed fucked Lachon in the backseat.
Jalen had driven the Navigator into the large Old River Park, near the university and deserted at this time of the early morning, and had pulled into one of the trailheads, just beyond sight from a park parking lot.
As I was bent over his lap, giving Jalen head, he took his hand off my cock long enough to tug my jeans and briefs down and off my legs. Then, pushing my mouth off his shaft, he moved across the console separating our seats and was on top of me. Reaching down between my seat and the door, he found the lever that reclined my seat. My lips were captured by his. His hands went to my inner thighs, coaxing them open. He was heavy on top of me. I wasn’t going anywhere until he let me. I raised my legs, pressing my right foot into the top edge of the passenger door window and lodging my left one under the rearview mirror.
“Jalen,” I said, my voice full of question, not that I knew of a question to ask.
“Give me you hole,” he muttered. “Take it, bitch.”
This was it, then.
My eyes caught the glimpse of a condom packet on its way to the floor. Gold. Oh, shit, we were right. Jalen needed a Trojan Magnum too.
Jalen was crouched between my thighs. He reached down with a hand to put the bulb of his jet-black cock into position, and I jerked, gasped, and cried out in surprise-pain-passion, as he penetrated.
“Take it, bitch,” he repeated.
He started the thick, relentless, Trojan-thick stretching journey up into my channel. We held, me panting hard, as I opened enough for him to pump me. Then, plastered to my seat in the confines of the SUV cockpit, I writhed and rocked and rode the big black’s cock as he athletically tore what he wanted out of me.
Lachon was being even more vocal from the backseat than I was. But then I thought he was probably taking an even bigger cock and more roughly than I was. It hurt, but not as badly as I thought it would. I opened to him better than I anticipated. My body wanted him. The passage stretched to his need and, once he was fully saddled, I went with him, rocking against him, lost in the slide and filling of him. Fully in position, he thrust hard and deep, again and again, as I shimmered and groaned and took him. I reached around and clutched his butt cheeks, holding him close against me, me involuntarily murmuring, “Yes, yes. Fuck, yes,” as he dominated me.
I was embarrassed and Jalen was doing a good job of it, but all of the time we were fucking my mind was on what Lachon was getting in the backseat and I was wishing it was me with Mohammed.
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