Pimped to the Sailor Boys

“Stand over here by this park bench. I have to go across Brinser Avenue onto the dock and meet him. It will be rough, if he’s at all like his e-mails and if he’s used his own photos in exchanges. If so, he’s one big muvva. He was quite crude and demanding in our e-mail exchanges. He’s been at sea for months. But it’s a lot of money—for both of us. And good experience for you when we do this again. It’s OK with you, isn’t it, Tyler?”

I looked up into Arnold’s face. “Yes, it’s OK,” I said. And it was OK. I’d give Arnold anything he wanted as long as he liked me and was good to me. I hadn’t had an older man in my life ever before him and guys my age didn’t do anything for me. Arnold had awakened me to possibilities and choices I had only dreamed of. He was a hunk and he was good to me. It was good he gave me money for it, but I’d do whatever he wanted as long as he kept doing me. I knew he wouldn’t put me into real danger—or thought I knew that.

“It was OK Saturday with that sailor from the naval base bowling alley, wasn’t it?” Arnold was a civilian working at the naval station, so he could get in to the docks. The ID he’d given me said I was his son.

“Sure, it was fine,” I answered. Not as fine as it was with Arnold, but then afterward Arnold was good to me. That sailor smelled of smoke and beer, but he didn’t take long and he wasn’t as big as Arnold was. I just went on my knees at the end of the bed, he saddled up behind me, with one hand palming my belly and the other on my throat, pulling my head back into his chest, and he did me in a doggy. I had to stretch to take him, but he didn’t seem all that big. Not as big as Arnold. And he didn’t take more than a dozen strokes and he was jerking and “Oh, shitting,” and spent. The hardest part was turning, taking him in my mouth, and cleaning him off.

Afterward, with Arnold, now that was the best. I’d do this for what Arnold gave me. I’d do anything he wanted. Arnold took his time with me, stretching out beside me or on top of me, putting it in deep, edging me until I begged for release, and then both of us shooting off a big load.

“You’ll have to show him the ID I got for you. He wants you only to be eighteen.”

“I am only eighteen,” I said.

“Yes, and that’s what he’s paying top dollar for.”

“Sure, fine,” I said. There wasn’t much question I was eighteen. I was short for even eighteen—and skinny—but I was starting to fill out in my chest and biceps. I worked out. I wanted people to stop saying I was almost too pretty to be a boy. My aunt who I lived with in San Diego had sprung for a gym membership, trying to give me what I kept bugging her about on building myself up. Other than that, she pretty much left me alone. She didn’t know anything about raising kids. She just couldn’t let me go to a foster home when my parents were sent up for drug dealing.

The gym was where I’d met Arnold. That’s when life had begun for me—in the sauna of the gym with Arnold feeling me up and then afterward, in his car, me giving him a blow job and then he sticking it in me, doing his pushups on top of me, feeling me up and kissing me afterward, still inside me, and then doing me again. That’s when I’d come alive and . . .

Arnold was over there, on the dock, talking to a humongous black man. Was that him? Was that who Arnold had been exchanging e-mails with? Was it going to be a black man? Arnold hadn’t shown me the photos. Maybe he thought they would scare me—and maybe they did. I’d never before even talked with a black guy in any terms of feeling each other out on hooking up. . . let alone been fucked by one. I’d only been fucked by a couple of other guys, guys Arnold wanted me to let do me—and that just in the last couple of weeks. Arnold had been the first one I’d let stick his dick in me. One was Mexican, I think. But not a black guy. The guy Arnold was talking to was tall—a couple of heads taller than I am—and all bulky muscle. I don’t think he was fat—just . . . big. Really, really big. Scary looking. I’m just as glad Arnold didn’t show me his photos.

Arnold was gesturing to me and the black dude was looking at me hard. His hand went to his crotch. Yeah, I guess the was the guy Arnold had been e-mailing about a hookup.

They were walking my way and Arnold was motioning me over to his car. I don’t think he wanted to be out here any longer than necessary—the three of us together here on the San Diego Naval Station docks.

Arnold sat in front, driving, and the big black guy was in back with me. He took up nearly the whole backseat all by himself. His hands were big—and black—and he was feeling me all over with them.

“You good with this? You seem a little skittish.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” He was going to fuck me. Feeling me up was nothing. I tried to settle down.

I can’t say he wasn’t turning me on. I was panting and getting hard. It wasn’t far to the motel, but I noticed that Arnold was taking the long way to it. He wanted the dude hot and bothered and determined to pay the price to get it now.

He was almost on top of me by the time we got there. His face was buried in my throat and his hand was between my thighs. He’d unzipped me, opened my belt, and flared my shorts. His hand moved inside, gripping me. He’d unzipped himself too and his cock was poking out, monstrously hard. He put a finger in my hole, and I opened my legs for him. I wasn’t going to try to fight him.

“Touch it,” he demanded. I touched it. “No, feel it up good. Feel the power of it.” I wrapped a hand around it and slow stroked it.

I might be scared but my body was telling me it was interested. If Arnold had circled around the block one more time, I would have been fucked right there in the backseat of his car. But Arnold had his timing down. He drove up to the motel room he’d already gotten the key for before driving to the docks.

“Four months at sea without it,” the black sailor had muttered as he’d been preparing to put it in me right there in the car. “Other guys but not what I liked best. You’re such a sweet piece. Shit, it’s been too long. Shit, that feels good.” I was still stroking him.

He made clear that he liked eighteen-year-old pretty boys best. I did have to show him the ID Arnold had gotten for me. It was important to him that I was eighteen.

“Just legal enough,” he’d said. He said he liked my long, blond hair, undoing the band and letting it fall to my shoulders, and my blue eyes. As soon as we’d gotten into the back of the car, he taken my hand and put it on his crotch. Shit he was big—and hard already. He was bigger than Arnold was.

I was a little scared, feeling overwhelmed. I kept looking at Arnold as we stood by the motel room door and he was opening it. Arnold just looked at me and smiled and nodded his head, giving me that “you’ll be fine” look, just like he’d done with the sailor from the base bowling alley on Saturday night. And it had been fine that night. That guy had hardly gotten it in me before he’d come and it was all over. He’d left fast, not asking for more, clearly embarrassed he hadn’t performed better.

I didn’t think this black dude would be fast—or want it only once.

“Two hours,” Arnold said, handing the black sailor the key to the room. “I’ll be around. Maybe across the street there in that Starbucks. He’s just a kid. Don’t ruin him. But first things.”

Arnold put out his hand and the black sailor put a wad of bills in it. Arnold turned and walked away. The sailor palmed my butt with a big, beefy hand, and pushed me into the darkened room.

* * * *

He’d already exhausted me, but he wanted to make his point—that he owned me for two hours, that he’d gone months without it, and he was going to get his money’s worth. He stopped pumping, held, jerked, came inside the condom deep inside me, and rolled off me, detaching himself from the fingernails I’d dug into his shoulder blades as he was doing me. He rolled the condom off, expertly sling it into a wastebasket next to the nightstand, slit open another condom packet, and crowned himself again. There was no question that he was going to fuck me again when he could get it up once more.

“You’re doin’ great, kid,” he muttered. “Hang in there. There’s more—lots more.”

He ran his hand into my long, blond hair—he obviously liked the hair; he paid a lot of attention to it—pulled my face to his, and gave me a sloppy kiss. I was too exhausted from him being so big and inside me that I just lay there, panting and whimpering, and let him take what he wanted. This is more than Arnold led me to believe this would be like—much more. I can’t say it didn’t turn me on and have me dancing on the clouds, though.

He adjusted the bolster under the small of my back that had my pelvis raised and rolled up, in position for a straight shot. My hole was dilated, yawning, pulsing, already reamed to his need. Who knew the channel could stretch this open? Would it ever close again? I had never had sex like this before. Would I ever feel a smaller man than this one inside me again? I was new to this; what did I know?

Rough hands glided down my inner thighs.

“Let me see that hole,” he muttered.

I spread my thighs for him and raised my pelvis. Might as well. He was going to take what he wanted. He spread my legs, bent them, and placed my feet flat on the mattress, ready for the next assault.

“I do good work,” he said, clearly pleased with seeing how dilated I was. He inserted three fingers in my hole and laughed.

“Assault” is the right word for it. He took me directly to the bed when we entered the motel room. Didn’t even turn on the lights—just the ceiling fan over the bed. Enough light filtered in from the partially open window blinds to see everything that was happening. It was a crummy room, the mattress sagged, and the headboard of the bed grated against the wall in the rhythm of his thrusts. But that gave me something to focus on rather than how big and black he was and how big, stretching, consuming he was inside me.

He had us stripped in no time. He only paused long enough to pull a condom in place. Then he overpowered and ravished me. He was more than ready; one more drive around the block and he’d have had me in the backset of Arnold’s car. He was twice my size. He didn’t ask me if I wanted it. He knew I’d let him have what he wanted. He’d paid for it. I don’t know what Arnold told him about how experienced and seasoned I was—or whether the big, black dude cared at all what I thought or could take.

Shit, I’m only eighteen. How much could I possibly know? But what I did know—what Arnold kept telling me—was that some dudes wanted them young, small, and inexperienced.

Ten minutes—fifteen at tops—and I was fucked. The first position was a doggy and all the time he was on top of me, inside me, pumping me, I was staring down at the floor at the split condom packet, which said so much about what was happening—how casual and raw it was to give in to a guy. So, this is being fucked with a rubber, kept going over and over in my mind.

The first time in this crummy room, on this sagging mattress, under this revolving fan and the headboard that rhythmically hit the wall with the black bull’s thrusts was the most difficult, painful taking, but by no means the only one. He got his money’s worth in two hours. Before he was done, the floor next to the bed was littered with split condom packets. It had taken most of the fifteen minutes for him to open me up to his gigantic erection. He’d been anxious and had come as soon as he’d gotten it buried—just as fast as the guy from the bowling alley had come. But with that guy, it was one and done. It most certainly wasn’t that with this black dude.

It was just the first time. I would lose count of how many times he’d fuck me in those two hours. If I’d had a chance I could have counted the split condom packets on the floor next to the bed. The dude was a virile stud. Were all blacks this full of cum?

Arnold had told him in the car on the way to motel from the naval station docks that I was randy for black cock. I heard him say it and I didn’t deny it, so the black guy had every reason to think I wanted it—again and again. He gave it to me again and again.

He just slammed the door behind us, pulled me over to the bed, stripped me, and laid me. Fifteen minutes tops and the first fuck was over and I was opened up to his monster cock. It was an assault. I should have been scared and shattered, I’m sure, but he did me better than Arnold did. I discovered that I melted to an assault by a big, black bull.

So, this is how sailors want to make up for being at sea for months.

The hurried first time over and then the second time with me on my back and him between my thighs, now he wanted to take his time. Moaning softly and murmuring, “No, please, not again so quickly,” which only seemed to egg him on, I left my legs there, as he had placed them, exposing my nakedness, my yawning hole, to him. He rearranged my arms, stretched out in a surrendered, sacrificial, fully spread open and vulnerable pose. Panting, and looking at him in resignation and awe, I left them there. I was fully open to his need, his desires—his lust. I understood that he wanted to know that I’d been conquered—that I was fully open and vulnerable to him—that he owned me.

“Yeah, good. Leave them there as I place them. Be fully open to me. The next time is gonna be so good. You are so sexy, so cooperative. It’s what I like about you young pieces. You’re gonna be so fucked.”

I’d already been “so fucked.” I whimpered for him. I was too exhausted, too cowed, too “his,” to move from whatever position he put me in.

He kissed and licked me all over my body, like I was candy he couldn’t get enough of. He was humming and murmuring how sweet and beautiful I was. I’d never been worshipped like this before—not even by Arnold.

I’d never been fucked like this before—not even by Arnold.

I knew he was going to fuck me—assault me—again—and again after that. If he wanted to—if he . . . no, we . . . had time for it. I was in anguish, wanting him to want to, wanting him to take it all from me.

He stood below me, at the foot of the bed, looking down at me, smiling, surveying the mastering he’s already done, the assertion of his command and victory over me. “Let’s see it again,” he said, and, with a sigh, I raised my hips again, my thighs spread. His hand went to my now-gaping entrance, the heel of the hand pressed into my perineum, a finger penetrating me—moving, slowly, in and out, in and out. I moaned my surrender.

“Nice,” he says. “Pretty boy. You want it again,” he said.

“Yes,” I answered, not pretending that I didn’t.

“Be good to me, daddy,” I murmured. He laughed. I rocked on the finger, lowering my hand to his—not to try to brush him away but to keep the hand in place—acknowledging his newly established rights. Until now I wondered how long it would go on, when it would stop. Now I didn’t want it to stop.

Do it. Do your worst. Claim your territory and master me again. I had no idea it could be this intense—this complete.

He climbed back onto the bed, on top of me—a mass of bulging dark-chocolate muscle, magnificent cock fully erect again, gigantic, throbbing. Shit, the man could recover quickly.

Heart racing, moaning, shimmering with anticipation, as dark chocolate, beefy-fingered hands glided over resilient, young flesh. Trembling as they searched for and explored curves and crevices, pausing at heaving pecs en route to the root of me.

“Pretty boy. So smooth. Such narrow hips. So yielding.”

Fuck me. Fuck me now. “Now, now. Put it in now!”

Groaning as rough-padded fingers rubbed, and twitched, and pinched tender nipples. Arching my chest up from bed before the hovering milk chocolate monolith, rising to the inevitable. He was going to fully explore my body this time.

Fuck me. Fuck me now. “Put it in!” I exclaimed.

Crying out as full lips found nipples and mouth opened around aureoles, closed tight, and gave suck. Melting at teeth sliding across engorged nipples. Opening mouth to gasp at the hint of a bite on a nipple, only to have heavy lips crush mine and thick tongue push in. Opening eyes to his, very close now, filled with desire, determination, insistence. His hand gliding lower, moving toward the goal.

The man isn’t just a fucker; he’s a lover.

“Pretty boy. Gonna fuck you good.”

“Do it!”

The man isn’t just a big cock. He’s a tower of passion—of love. Yes. Fuck me. Fuck me now.

I eased back on the bed, willing the tension to flow out of me, to relax my passage to be able to take him in one long, possessing slide, as he rose up below me. Breathless as I watched giant hands gliding across my body, slowly working their way to my center. Dark chocolate hands on soft, creamy belly and thighs, nudging. Mesmerized, I open my legs wider to him, raising them, pushing my pelvis up to him. Purring as hands glided around silky inner thighs.

Come into me. Fuck me again now.

The hulking sailor sank between opened, welcoming legs, grinning face dipping out of sight. Arching my back and gasping again, as thick tongue rimmed, flicked in, and then invaded. I gasped and moaned. A black bull will eat me out? I thought a black stud would be all cock in hole. Oh, shit. Oh, FUCK!

Grasping close-cropped kinky black hair, my immediate impulse was to push away. This was quickly replaced with desire to hold his mouth in closer. Twitching to the dancing of the tongue. Big, thick finger snaked in, thicker than some men’s cocks, exploring, searching. Agony in the brief seconds found to center. Writhing as it found the spot, tweaked, rubbed, and quickened the flow. Panting, moaning. Can’t . . . get . . . breath. Electricity, sparks, release and flow. Low, hoarse laughter from between trembling legs.

He grabbed my wrists and held my arms away as he buried his tongue inside me, drew back to nibble at my rim, nipped at the tender surfaces of my spread thighs, and then dove in with his tongue again, lapping at me as I writhed under him.

Mooaaan.

I turned my face to look down the length of my naked torso. The muscle-bound dark chocolate sailor, with his jet-black monster cock and plump balls, stood between spread legs, his massive chest and arm muscles bulging and undulating, glistening in the strobing of filtered light through the languidly moving blades of the overhead fan. A big grin on his square-cut face, capturing and placing my hands so I felt the awesome length and thickness—and the bulbous, purple-black cap and popped-out blue-on-black veins—of his hardened cock. Ten inches long hard, two inches thick. Hard as a rock. I’ve never had it this big before him. Not even Arnold can . . . Oh, shit!

Fearful fingers getting the measure of the beast, all the more imposing in its blackness against his otherwise dark chocolate flesh, while he tells me quite clearly and graphically—and breathtakingly—what he is going to do with all that manhood and how much pleasure he is going to get out of me and expects me to get out of his cock—to the point of making me tremble in anticipation and having the added pleasure that, out of all those he could pick to fuck this day, he is here with me.

He takes his erection in his hands and makes the purple mushroom cap of it rub across my belly and upper thighs and between my legs, making me tremble and my sphincter muscle clutch. In me. Stick it in me!

“You. You sheath it this time,” he muttered, splitting yet another condom packet and handing me the rubber. I crowned him and smoothed the thin film over the throbbing walls of the cock.

This time he took his time putting it in—in deep.

“You put it in this time,” he commanded, demonstrating that I was totally his slave. I did so, lodging the purple cap just inside my entrance.

I raised up on my elbows, looking down the length of my naked body, my legs splayed up and out, my ankles held in his big hands, and watched him first rotate that purple-black cap around and just inside the rim, entirely with the control he had over his hips and his hardened cock—no help with his hands.

“Take it in yourself,” he commanded.

And then slowly, almost magically, me gasping, I leveraged the heels of my feet on the edge of the foot of the bed and slowly, relentlessly made the pillar of power and strengthen follow its bulbous head and disappear inside me, me arching my back, trying to stretch to accommodate him and involuntarily giving him deep moans and groans of being stuffed. Stretching. Stretcccchiing. He stopped me half in, listening to me panting and moaning and giving me time to stretch, and then, with a grin and a “Here it comes,” he buried the shaft several more inches, deeper than he went the first time—much deeper—and I jerked and gasped and involuntarily screamed. My eyes bugged out, my mouth went slack, open in surrender, voicing my plaintive, “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.”

He pulled it back and then thrust it, hard and deep, again—and then again. The headboard of the bed rapped against the wall. Again . . . and again. I yelped. And then again . . . deeper . . . and again, deeper yet. The rhythm of the headboard grating against the wall started anew and picked up cadence. I reached around him, grasped his plump buttocks, and moved with him in the fuck.

No, no; yes, yes, y-e-s. It’s too big; it’s the size I’ve always dreamed of. It’s splitting me; it’s stretching and filling me to perfection. I can’t take this; I can’t get enough of this.

“Yesssssss! Do it. Sink to the root. Fuck me!” I cried out.

He sank to the root and started to vigorously piston in and out, in and out. Bump, bump, bump, bumpbumpbumpBUMP!

Huffing and gasping, I put my hips into motion, going with him. We’re FUCKING! We were fucking AGAIN! He wanted me again. I am his and he is mine. His big hands grasped and spread my butt cheeks, holding me to him, opening me to the deepest penetration, as I groaned and moaned, panted and took all of him. BUMPBUMPBUMP!

He brought his mouth down to my nipples as he plowed me, sucking and biting me there. I imagined I could feel the veins sliding against my passage walls as the cock journeyed in to the quick of me. No man had been there before, not this deep, not in my spongy core. The cadence was changing, slowing down, moving toward ejaculation. He was standing up from me and repeatedly pulling his glistening jet-black cock out slowly to where I could again see the rim of the purple-black cap, and glided it back in to the root until he lost control and started pumping me wildly.

“Gonna come,” he croaked in a tortured voice. I didn’t need to be told that.

The headboard thumped hard against the wall. Bed springs squealing. Showing that he was panting for me—at the height of his passion, dipping his mouth to mine and brutalizing my lips with his. His hands grabbing my hips, moving my pelvis with his thrusts. He cried out.

Then the ultimate sexual connection. He pulled out of me, ripped the condom off, and thrust inside me again, raw and unprotected—total risk and commitment to the fuck.

“Hot damn, here it comes!”

I jerked and cried out at the creaming. He was breeding me. I gasped and jerked and received his seed, taking a flood of cum inside me, his jizm oozing out of me, bathing those black balls.

Thrusting in yet again. Bump. Bump. Bump. Another ejaculation inside me. Breeding me again.

All of that throbbing inside me, hard for me, wanting to be inside me, and filling me repeatedly—followed by my insides being creamed yet again with his cum and him holding for a few minutes, young, virile, powerful, quick loading.

I lay there after he’d withdrawn and risen from the bed. I Watched him go into the bathroom, pissing in the toilet with the door open, his eyes on me lying there, stretched out on the bed, arm dangling off the side, a position of total surrender, totally used. Watching him, and purring. Touching myself. Sliding my finger through the cum he had left there.

He was still erect. Incredibly virile. My dark chocolate black bull with the jet-black monster cock.

“I couldn’t help it,” he called out from the bathroom. “Just got carried away.”

“Yes,” I said. He took that as it being OK with me. I didn’t disabuse him of that. I didn’t know how I felt about that. I just knew that being breeded by the big black bull was heaven.

“When we do it again, we won’t need—” he said.

“No, we won’t,” I agreed.

He was going to do it again.

He strutted out of the bathroom, mounted the bed, grasped and positioned me, on my knees, under him. He mounted me again, holding his cock in position, the unsheathed mushroom cap at the entrance. He looked down into my eyes, showing a saucy smile, and then he thrust hard and I gasped and jerked and clutched his buttocks cheeks. He did it all again, fucking me—raw—like a dog in heat.

And I was able to take it, each time more slippery than the last because of the accumulation and mingling of juices. He was close in behind and on top of me, covering my back, capable of going even deeper inside me, and then fucked me again, holding my wrists with his hands, dominating me, killing me, another glorious death.

Four months of cum being called forth and expended. Breeding, breeding, breeding.

Shit, the man could fuck forever. Is this what all black bulls can do? Mooaaan.

He shot off every fifteen minutes or so for what seems like forever—I climaxed repeatedly as well, encasing that jet-black hunk of power and being encased by that dark chocolate rippling network of perfect muscle. Taking it raw—full commitment.

FUCK ME HARD!! FUCK ME DEEP!! FUCK ME FOREVER!!

Roll me over . . . in the clover. Roll me over and fuck me again.

I was his for wherever, whenever, with whomever he wanted.

There was a knock on the door and then again, harder, more insistent. Time was up. I didn’t think two hours had ever gone by so fast.

He rolled off the bed—Leo—that was his name. At last he told me, doing so to let me know this had been special for him, he said—not just for me—and he started picking his clothes off the floor.

“Nice lay, kid,” he said. “Money well spent. God, I hope you’re clean. It was worth the risk, though. Such a honey.”

My world had been moved. I’d let him fuck me raw. But all he’d had was a good lay at a good price. Arnold was right when he told me the johns would tell me anything to get their dicks in me and would go cold when they’d gotten off—that all johns were liars in the heat of the fuck.

All I could do was lie there, on my back, legs open, hole gaping open, one arm dangling off the side of the bed, the other flung across my face . . . and moan.

I couldn’t claim that this wasn’t special for me. He was my first hung black bull, and I’d let him breed me.

* * * *

Filled, stretched, worked, panting, and moaning. Possessed by the cock moving inside me. Faster, deeper, straining to take it, the muscles of my passage walls alive, undulating over the thick, hard shaft. Shimmering over it, clutching and releasing it, caressing it, as holding me tight in a missionary position embrace, he moved deeper in my soft, spongy core. Possessing me, conquering me, slaying me. I surrendered, with a long sigh, relaxing, letting him in fully, becoming one with him as he thrust, thrust, thrust. The headboard bouncing off the wall again—but not as vigorously as it had with Leo. Still, it was good.

Arnold, my lover, my master, my pimp. Yes, I was a little slut for it.

It was good with Arnold after the sailor had left, Arnold directed me to clean the black sailor’s scent off me, and, when I’d showered, dried off, and returned to the bed, he came up on the bed, stripping himself as he moved on top of me. My tenor and his baritone in harmony of grunts and groans as he slapped my legs open, declared, “Shit he opened you up,” and fucked me to the accompaniment of the bouncing of the headboard against the wall and squealing of the rusty springs.

I lay there on my back, legs bent and splayed, pelvis jutted up, open to his penetration just as I had been to the black bull’s—just as I would be to any man Arnold gave me to for money.

“Did you manage OK, Tyler?” he asked as he sat against the headboard beside me afterward, smoking his usual post-fuck cigarette.

“Yes, I managed, Arnold.”

He stared down at the scattered split condom packets on the floor beside the bed. “You didn’t let him bareback you, did you?”

“No, of course not,” I lied. I had no idea what to do because he had. I’d just try to forget it away.

The cigarette finished, he snuffed the butt out on top of the nightstand where so many cigarettes had died before this one and had left their burn mark. Then he turned back to me, checking me over with his hands. Or at least I fancied he was checking me over to see if I was OK. I knew, though, that he was feeling me up, preparing me for him to have his second go at me, working me to work himself up. He was like that after the sailor from the bowling alley, pimping me but wanting to own me again afterward.

“Fuck, he reamed you open. I could drive a truck up there.” He bunched up his fist and penetrated me to the knuckles. I tensed up and he told me to relax, but when I couldn’t, he pulled his fist back. “Someday. Was he good?”

“Yes, he was good.” More than good. He was magnificent. I had had no idea. I was done. I was fucked. I should have paid him he was so good to me.

“Was he better than me?”

“No one’s better than you, Arnold.” I’d have to learn to let the lie slide off my tongue like honey. Arnold was good, but he was no black bull Leo. That ship had sailed now. It would never be the same again. I’d be done at the docks all by myself now, looking for black bulls—looking for Leo again.

I raised and spread my legs as Arnold moved between my thighs and put himself in position. I clutched his buttocks, arched my back, and cried out “Oh, shit, Arnold!” as he thrust inside me again. Bump, bump, bump went the headboard on the motel room wall.

“I got another answer to the hookup Web site ad,” he said, reclining afterward against the headboard, smoking another cigarette. “Tomorrow. Another sailor. A submariner. Off the USS Annapolis. Just arrived at Point Loma after six months at sea.”

“OK.”

“He’ll be randy as hell. I can keep this room another day.”

“Anything you want, Arnold.” Fuck, I hoped he was another black bull.

“Up on your knees, sport. Time to take it like a dog.”

“Anything you want, Arnold.”