Sweet Black Cock

Author's Note: The real action begins with Chapter 2. However, to get the groundwork and the motivation of the protagonist, Chapter 1 lays the groundwork. Thank you for your patience. 

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Teddy told me to meet him at the train station an hour before midnight and not a second later or else he’d leave my sweet candied ass right where he found me salivating on my knees. He said pleading for it wouldn’t do any good. No exceptions, he mean-mugged me over FaceTime. He made it clear that if he didn’t find me with my black baseball cap on in the kneeled position once he reached the top of the dingy staircase, he was going to stuff his big black cock back into his fly, turn on the heels of his big worker boots, and skedaddle his beefy black ass back into oblivion in search of a real cocksucker worthy of his time. He said it had to be this way because the transit police started slacking off around this time and hardly a soul would be up on the platform except for his hardened woody and thirsty sap sucker doing their thing. As he put it, for our first-time hookup, he was already at the risk of listening to his baby’s mama flapping her gums for strolling in the door so late. At least, if he got home by twelve or so, his big beefy balls would be thoroughly drained when she was ready to throw her usual round of bullshit at him.

“Word to the wise, mofo,” Teddy forewarned in his unsympathetic tone the night before over the phone. “I shut shit down! If I was you, I’d haul my ass over to Home Depot first thing at cock’s crow and be ready to cough up some duckets for a decent pair of kneepads. You might find ‘em a wise investment if your ass is serious about fucking with this pipe for a while!”

My hungry pie hole drooled at the prospect. My cock twitched in utter delight at the promise I’d be sucking him off longer than the standard ten minutes I was accustomed to.

“What? You said you wanted a mouthful, mofo. Imma give your corny ass just what the doctor ordered! We’re going to see if your mic check is as tight as you say. But let me let you in on a little somethin’ something about this Big Sexy Teddy Bear just in case you’re unsure you really want to fuck with the steel: The bird I got don’t come quick for pussy nor punk. I’m just being straight up with your bitch ass! And once we get down to business, my ears ain’t in the fucking business of listening to some whining lame-ass bullshit about your knees killing you five minutes into the knob slob. When I say I don’t give a shit, I’m telling you I don’t give a shit! I’ll straight rape the back of your raggedy-ass throat while your knees gush red if it comes between me unloading this magnum into that sweet pussy boy mouth of yours. Call the police, your mama, your dead racist’s great great great great granddaddy, and The Man Upstairs. I don’t give one single fuck. You can think I’m bullshitting if you want. When we get started, I’m definitely going to finish with most of it down the gullet or over your face! You got it, mofo? Then we’re fucking good.”

I beat off three times in less than an hour after those words ravished my soul. The next morning, I was down at the local hardware store swiping my credit card for the most comfortable pair of high-end, professional-grade kneepads I could find.

But when I got back home to try them on under a pair of jeans like he asked, they wouldn’t work. They were too bulky.

 

I guess I’ll have to risk looking ridiculous wearing a pair of new kneepads over a pair of old jeans, I resolved feebly after I got home, swallowing my lump of phlegm, fearing that when we met up at the train station later everybody might know what I was there for. That sweet black cock was worth it, though!

Teddy cackled at my conundrum later into the afternoon, after I hit him up again to finalize our plans. He got on me about wearing those “tight ball-busters” jeans most white boys he knew like to wear. A takeaway of his that just because I was a proud cocksucker it also equated to me being the proud owner of a pair of skinny jeans.

I hated to shatter his delusion about a dark-eyed skinny white boy ready to swallow his cock. I couldn’t wear a pair of skinny jeans even if I tried. The douche that designed that constrictive shit didn’t have husky guys like me in mind. Not that I was fat or anything. I had a little extra meat on my bones, sure. What real, grown red-blooded American man didn’t, huh? It wasn’t my style to suffocate the old pistachio nuts or to accentuate my already big round onion even more than I had to. My sweet candied ass, as Teddy liked to put it, did a brilliant job of that on its own. And I refused to have a death by denim or be castrated in the name of fashion. I needed a little breathing room with my stride, freedom to cut loose my farts without worrying about them being trapped down a pant leg somewhere or something. I took the redundant route of reminding Teddy through FaceTime that I was a corn-fed boy from Northwest Iowa, so other than regular- or relaxed-fitted jeans what other kind of blue jeans were there for a husky brown-headed guy like me to wear? No offense. At my age, I would look terribly stupid wearing a pair of baggy jeans showing my butt-huggers like the young punks out on the street. Teddy laughed in agreement explaining there was a happy medium. He suggested I check out this place he knew on the funky side of town where I could score a pair of jeans that wouldn’t sag off my keister but would also fit incredibly well over the kneepads without any detection. Do better than getting a loose or relaxed leg jean at Target or something, he argued. I obliged. Though, I didn’t get the excessive wide leg like he advocated. Still, it was a perfect fit, a pair of jeans that didn’t make me look suspicious, like I was trying to conceal a pair of kneepads underneath.

I arrived at the train station a half-hour before our scheduled meet up time. I had this incessant need to scope out the spot before we got started. To make sure I was actually comfortable with this and that I would be safe. Though, really, I couldn’t stand sitting at home another minute taking remedial cock sucking lessons from a size queen’s blog I frequently visited.

Being early wasn’t a big deal for me. I lived right down the street from the train station. I rode it everyday heading into town either to the gym where I worked wiping down equipment and rounding up some light paperwork for my owner-operator uncle or to run errands or hangout with friends at a local dive. My small part in using less gas, saving our planet and all that good stuff, as well as to overcompensate for my part in the deforestation of wadding up acres and acres of toilet tissue with my seamless dregs of unsown seed over the years.

I flicked my wrist. Twenty minutes to countdown.

I tapped my foot in nervous angst pretending to wait for the train while clandestinely eyeing this small group of tourists huddled about, acting as if they wanted no part of this neighborhood this time of night.

 

Get the fuck out of here then, you fucking cowards! That old reputation the area once had long since been abolished more than twelve or thirteen years ago, when there was no trendy new dining restaurants to take in or some fancy dinner party to be had at the newly converted storehouse lofts. 

I wasn’t against those bastards skedaddling on anyway. My man Teddy was on his way.

And I was so horned up thinking about that sweet black cock of his I probably could’ve sucked him dry with an audience watching. Teddy seemed like the type to want to do some wild freaky shit like that. At that late of hour, I could hear him in my head, who’s going to rat us out? If they did, who was going to do anything about it? Transit police? Fuck transit police! They weren’t going to spend the last few minutes of their shift extending it to two consenting adults engaging in some necessary knob slob. Fuck, the transit police might be cheering us on. G’wone and suck that black dick, white boy!

I passed the time studying where all the cameras were in the station. With these great pair eyes of mine, it was easy to spot where each of them pointed behind the small, tinted bubble that hung out of reach. To the untrained eye, it gave the false impression that the monitors behind them were able to see everything within sight. But they didn’t. It was almost appallingly easy to make out the blackout spots in the station. Of course, they weren’t vastly great with the cameras facing the platform where the majority of the crowds were sure to stand during busier hours and a few towards the restricted areas at the end of each platform to secure the further delusion that Big Brother was everywhere. It was perhaps the best least-expensive deterrent back in the day where the neighborhood was crime-ridden and gang-infested like when I moved into it fifteen years ago, my motive for ever jumping head first into this felonious cesspool.

Not that I was all that keyed up about high crime and gang activity as I was more enthralled by the stiff ruthless cocks behind the gorgeous black men that generated the madness. At the time, I thought if I lived where the really rough black men resided that I automatically got an all-access pass to the rough sex my then-naïve body craved.

Some nights I was in so much heat that I thought it was a grand idea to sauntered down those long gloomy streets of my then-new neighborhood with a smear of lube over my tight asshole so that if I got snatched up by one or half a dozen gang bangers I would have some relative ease in taking all their big cocks.

A few browbeaters scoped me out, hollering that for a lone white boy I was in a terrible neighborhood. Never any takers, though. Never any takers. I took that to mean that there was no fun in raping the willing. That was just as well. I never once been a part of a gangbang much less the star bottom of one or even engaged in a genuine threesome other than to compete with another cocksucker in sucking off this hairy dad some years back. That didn’t really count. Dad blew his wad five seconds into our session with a duo of lips massaging his plump rod.

It wasn’t totally my fault, it was explained to me later. Not my swift tryst with the older dad, but not snagging some sagging takers, some gang bangers, some thieves, some intimidators, or even some rotten imitators out to prove a point to society. I just wasn’t taught how to go about it. I thought having a loveable boyish face, a big round onion, and a century’s worth of racial aggression in this county, that I should’ve been the perfect candidate to be accosted by at least one black man in my neighborhood. My flaw, it appeared, that even with my cute face and plowable booty that I didn’t look like the typical pliable white boy, the typical faggot, the twink and sorts, and once I became a fixture on my street, in my neighborhood, I was quickly dismissed by several possible interested parties. Archie, my dude! Even a couple of the street wanders knew me by name. It didn’t help either that, by then, I’d been around to distinguish faces and crews, making it easy for me to identify my possible assailants, if I’d ever lucked up on one. I was in the fold, the know. Last, but certainly not least, it didn’t help that I beat out gentrification of the neighborhood by a couple of years, there with the welcoming committee rolling out the red carpet for the goddamn yuppies.

 

Most folks aren’t that freaking stupid, my anonymous confidante counseled me on my dilemma in a chat room one time, making me regret I wasn’t more of a walking billboard for the black cock I craved. My online mentor in the chat room gave me some really great pointers in overcoming my dilemma. The more his plan made a great deal of sense in getting me laid the way I craved the more I feared executing his plan. I wasn’t really ready to turn the ultimate fantasy bouncing in my head into something tangible. It was a jack off fantasy. Something I thought about late at night laying in bed with my legs propped open like a two-dollar whore or watched with porn pretending to be that poor whining little white man-cunt writhing and convulsing in bliss against the sea of ebony yardsticks having their way with me.

I looked down at the time again. Even in my thought of it, him, Teddy, barely a couple of minutes had passed since the last time I checked my watch. The butterflies were crazy compounding in my stomach. Guzzling hot jizz by the gallon will douse them handsomely, I twisted warmly. Hot jizz. Warm cream. Cum. Spooge.

Teddy didn’t say where he was planning to dump his load, in my face or on top of it. Just in case I shaved it clean before I left the house. No moustache. No scruff beard. No goatee. The only thing the razor blade left behind was a wide patch of brownish-red muttonchops, forcing me to look like a fucking redneck time surely forgot.

I got bored rather quickly. I started doing jumping jacks and pushups to move the seconds along even faster. I even tested the durability of the awfully thick pads several times over again under the guise of tying up my rundown sneakers. They felt wonderful, worked like a charm like they did the first time I took them out of the package at the store, feeling as if my kneecaps were coming down on silicone pillowcases every time the bend of my pants made contact with the cobbled ground.

I got caught bouncing on my knees a couple of times doing this. First by a woman that glared at me like I was crazy and then by this big sexy bear that groped his bulge and drove his tongue deep into his fat cheek. Not tonight, bub. Any other night, the black-bearded bastard would’ve had me, but after fighting so many years to get to this moment, this night, I wasn’t going to sour my taste buds on pure white cock before I tasted the savory nectar of his fleshly black meat for the first time in my life.

 

Several more minutes, I moved my feet to the invented tempo in my head as I watched the train screech out of the station without me.

“Countdown to Teddy begins,” I muttered aloud to the empty platform, swinging my arms back and forth to relieve the nervous tension.

Teddy was the black guy I had the pleasure of corresponding with over the internet and over the phone for the past few weeks. Of course, we tried to make something happen many times before that night, but life always threw wrenches in our plans. Teddy couldn’t have me come over to his place because of his baby’s mama in that he did not want to disrespect the home they stayed in like that by inviting a total stranger over. And although I worked extremely hard to get him to come over to my place, with plenty of room for him to stretch out and relax, he never would accept the standing invitation. “It sounds alright, but I’ve seen it morph into some lovey-dovey shit real fast because it’s at an intimate place like home and I ain’t having that!” When it came to him fooling around he was a true exhibitionist, he bragged. So when he refused to come on over, I was both heavily disappointed and extremely relieved. Disappointed obviously that I couldn’t get my hands on his cock any sooner than this and somewhat relieved that I greatly feared lucking up on the one lunatic that could rob me blind.

I have some nice shit. IKEA and Pier 1 Imports have delivered some really nice shit to my place over the years.

It had nothing to do with Teddy being black. He could’ve been of any race or color and I’d still had the same concern. Okay, maybe it had a teensy-weensy little bit to do with him being black. It isn’t my fault, really. I can’t blame it so much on my folks because race was never really an issue that came up in my household. Also consider though there weren’t any black folks where I grew up and if I saw one outside of television it was far and few between, as it wasn’t greatly uncommon for a number of years to pass by before this phenomenon happened again. Yes, I’ve overcome most of my ignorance and prejudices mentally but not entirely in practicality. Not yet all the way—I’m still a steady work in progress. Like my cousin who didn’t mind his children having black friends. “We’re all beautifully human,” he prided in his hippie spirit. His lackadaisical love fest started to fall apart when his darling little girl made head cheerleader at her local high school and landed the captain of the football team, a tall strapping black teen that look as if he could make his girlfriend’s father his bitch. My cousin, of course, wasn’t going to be entirely happy with whomever his daughter got with, but I’m quite sure he was more in tuned to that reality when he thought of the contrasts of their skin coming in contact. For a long time, I wasn’t any better. Though, now, I’d like to think I’d grown exponentially since the day I chose to move into a bad neighborhood because that was where I thought my fantasy man resided. Back then, I’d been predisposed by “The Man” to think that way, part of his master plan to scare this white boy from wrapping my hands around a thick black cock. That my passion was so raw for this cock that I was willing to throw myself into the fire to get my hands on it; that I was so blatantly ignorant to black guys and black culture that I willfully limited my scope to a few mug shots they flashed across the screen of the local news or jacking off to porn staring a bunch of virile men bunch punching a squealing white boy.

I worked with a few black men in the past and neither played into the typecast I set out in my mind. One guy served as my supervisor; the other two guys were coworkers back when I was doing warehouse work in Sioux Falls. Even there these guys were suspended in a world that wasn’t mine, giving me a brief tour as their token white boy visitor. Abe, the slender dark-skinned supervisor thought he was above everybody, in intellect and class, and he most likely hailed from some prestigious university out of Chicago. If Abe disliked me for being a dumb cracker from Iowa, he desperately despised the two burly black guys grumbling that they were always out to undermine his “great” authority out on the floor. Abe kept on telling the two big guys he was sick of their bullshit and he wasn’t familiar with “CP time” whenever they strolled through the door twenty minutes after their shift officially began. Some days their dialogue got so heated I climbed the ladder and crawled into a space on the shelves just to make sure that the dopey white guy was out of dodge. A couple of times, I nearly came in my boxer shorts over the abrasive tones they used against each other, the way their deep raw masculine strife made just about anything and everything that came out of their mouth sound sexy as fuck. Yes, Daddy, you can come get it! You already got this sweet white boy nice and wet! Two burly guys usually won out over the supervisor. Abe had to concede that though they were always late the duo were the best workers he had. Dre and Orenthal always left me in awe sweating through their cheap thin shirts when push came to shove to meet certain warehouse deadlines.

Because I knew those guys, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought inviting them over and suggest they make themselves at home—especially if it meant for them to peel off their clothes to get comfortable there.

My stance with Teddy might’ve been a tad bit different if the two of us linked up through traditional means, like on one of those urgent hookup sites or on the chat line, like in one of those now or never situations. Instead, we found each other one night conversing on the message board of one of those Black Masters/white sub websites. Even though my life’s work has been to be dominated by a big black cock after I watched my first flick starring Bobby Blake, this group wasn’t my intended mark. To allow myself to be dominated is one thing, to be ruled is another with an unnerving fear that my unyielding lust for a domineering black man might be my ultimate undoing as I feared the goal of these men on this website was to emasculate and sissify me. I’d accidentally stumbled onto the site through other sites featuring hung black men before I landed on the profile page of a man, two hours later, with two big rough hands cradling an unusually fat dark liver brown dick with a cosmic-sized helmet head drooling out of a pearl of precum.

Though quite odd and fascinating, it was no doubt in my mind that the picture was real. It had a graining look with the background righteously flawed to have ever been doctored up. The questioned that remained, was it really him? I quickly discovered I really didn’t care when I stripped down to my skivvies and started riding him with my Aron Ridge dildo planted up my corn hole. I took a few pointers from the message board using some of the stuff the other white boys had written. I couldn’t go in just being myself. I had to go in with a bowed head: submissive, subordinate, knowing my place on the food chain in the context of this blunt-ass motherfucker as well as steering clear of wanting my undying thirst quenched of black cock for the very first time.

It took him a couple of days to respond. Teddy said he like what I said; loved that we lived less than a couple of miles from each other (which mean neither one of us had to go all the way across town to hook up). To my relief, he confessed he wasn’t greatly entrenched in the Master/slave lifestyle either. Like me, he was titillated by the idea, finding his way onto the site, of just wanting a hungry depository for his huge cock.

I thought I scared him a little by telling him I was totally cool with that. The fact that his parents didn’t see the need to mess with nature when it came to his big fat cock was enough to get me to be anything he needed for me to be. Do whatever he wanted me to do. This was going to be a one time thing, right? At the very least, an experience to jack off to on some lone lonely night sometime in the future. Because of this, I felt quite comfortable telling him I probably wouldn’t make much of a white slave bitch anyhow. That I was only titillated by the taboo of being with a strong black man but not the rigor of being bound and gagged and put through the paces to follow through with it.

“I wouldn’t have to do that to you,” Teddy typed back several days into our exchange. “The way I’m packing in the meat district I’ll have a bigger problem keeping you off this dick just like I have to do those other size queens downtown.”

I wanted to type back that I was in no way a size queen or queenie for that matter. Rather, I replied. “If you got it going on like that, why are you on here? There aren’t a ton of size queens that I know would let go of something like that!”

“Variety. Spice of life.”

“From girls?” I thought to ask after he mentioned a baby mama in his life.

“What can I say? Boy butt can’t get knocked up.” He sent a winking emoji with its tongue jutted out.

“True.” I replied.

“White boys are the biggest sluts for BBCs. More than regular white bitches. I hadn’t met a single one yet to say no to the pipe after they’ve seen it.”

“So you’re saying I’m a shoo-in for the club?”

“Good as got a Lifetime Membership on this thing!” Teddy sent a winked-smiled his emoji.

Although I blasted him with several pictures of myself from my face down to the underside of my lightly hairy behind, I tried to explain to Teddy I was far from being a boy. Even my slightly receding hairline at the front corners of the top of my head, my look still screamed mid-twenties, be it an eager scruffy beard or subdue clean-shaven face, when my birth certificate clearly stated I was much older than that at thirty-nine. If Teddy was okay with it, so was I, seeing that he was eight years my junior.

He was. He was cool with it. He added he got off on fucking throat and munching on some clean plump ass if the time availed itself. Viewing my pictures and given my years and experience messing with guys, he said I sounded perfect to him. “I’d been on the block” long enough to know how to deep throat a big dick and know how to clean my hole out properly for a guy willing to “bless” me with such a favor. “I’ll spread those hairy cheeks and tongue that boy cunt so good that your next three pieces of dick will thank me for getting it so open.” Though the thought of his wet tongue going up inside me made me blurt out that I got off on watching big black guys fuck slutty white girls. Rico Strong. Mr. Marcus. Flash Brown. Rob Piper. Teddy teased me even further about having a dumb blonde side piece that got off on being watched, and that maybe we should make a thing out of it some time.

My cock strained against my jeans with that image floating about in my head: his seismic uncut black cock plunging deep into some bimbo’s tight white trim, my tight white tear.

“Oh shit!” I yelped from the brief thump of pain surging an inch or two deep in my rectum. The emotional remnants of the many big cocks that’d claimed my butthole since my earliest fuck, looking back on it perhaps a fussy foreshadowing of the night to come.

I looked down at my watch again: a couple of minutes before the hour, before eleven, and I moved to my feet near the stairwell awaiting his arrival. I turned the black baseball cap around, flipping it backwards, so that when I dropped to my knees and he popped up there was nothing standing in my way of getting to that sweet black cock of his.