Springtime. The weather was just oh-so fine. Warm enough when the sun was out for a wifebeater and a pair of long-ass shorts. Yet, the late evening still delivered that cold winter snap that made sure that your man here wasn't out there roaming through the night air sweaty and sticky, and running to find a nice hot shower to wash away the stench of my last booty call.
I was in this exact position not too long ago at three o'clock in the morning. I was making way back home from my girl's house when I came across this inflated basketball at the entrance of the local park. And down the hill from where I was standing was this newly-laid blacktop just glistening under the flood lamps. Even though my sore and tired body told me to take my ass home, I couldn't resist going down there to take a couple of shots. I knew I was good because it was too damn late (or early depending on how you looked at it) to walk in on any drug scene or gang activity that time of night, seeing that I had nothing to fear. Plus, I had the extra comfort of knowing that it was too early for a routine police sweep of a closed park, so I pretty much knew I had the court to myself.
I took the ball to the hole. Shooting it from straight net to all brick, and getting in some dunking in between, which wasn't so much of a stretch for your man here, standing six one and one-ninety with the ability to grace to walk on air.
By the time I looked over at my watch, a full hour had passed feeling the presence of every great NBA player pass through me as I stole their signature moves and made them my own. I was just about to call it quits for the night when I saw the headlights of a custom-painted Chevrolet Avalanche zoom down the street. At first, I passed the vehicle off as being some random driver riding dirty, looking for his next hustle, possibly his next score. But when I saw the blue-flamed lights at the base of the floating foot panel pass by for a second time and pulled into the park, I knew without a doubt who was behind the wheel.
"Now, if it ain't my long time road dawg, J-Bo," a gravely thug voice bellowed from beyond the dark, against the sound of the heavy door closing.
"Wassup, Dro?" I mouthed, dribbling the basketball with one hand and throwing up the other, open palm, showing him that I didn't have anything in it.
As Dro brought his huge six-foot-five frame into the light showing off his low wavy cut and a three-carat diamond stud hanging out of his left ear, I was secretly praying that he wasn't there to start nothing considering the last time I was left alone with that big-ass motherfucker, he tried to help himself to my ass a few years back, back when the rec center was still up and running.
"It's been a minute, playboy. Where the fuck have you been hiding?" Dro growled.
"Work, school...the usual, you know how it goes."
"Trying to get up and mo-bile...I can't hate that for a nigga. I can't hate that at all." Dro smirked, showing off hints of his mouthful of his white gold grill. "But what the fuck are you doing out here at this time of the morning?"
"Couldn't sleep," I lied.
"Still. This ain't no place to be out here by your lonesome, man. Things can pop off. Folks think you're sound asleep and you're right in the middle of the jump off."
"I'm straight." I said forwardly, feeling brave enough to take a shot and chase after the elusive ball. "I could say the same thing about you."
"I ain't out here by my lonesome. I'm wit' you, folk." Dro said so sexily that he almost—and I mean almost—made me regret not giving him some.
He was laying it on thick; I remembered thinking with all things twitching below the belt. Rather than enterain his freaky-ass, I bounced the ball to him. He took it, dribbled it a couple of times, and shot, only for the ball to bounce off of the rim and bounce back to him.
"Down for a game?" Dro asked, tossing the ball back to me.
"Twenty-one," I said, dribbling the ball.
"Yeah," his smirk brightened, getting in defense mode as I went behind the half court line and checked the ball out to him.
He tossed it back, and I took the basketball to the hole about four good times bringing my score up to eight.
"If I sink this three-pointer, then it looks like you will be skunked."
"Skunk is thirteen, folk. And I don't think I have anything to worry about." He said, later packing my last attempt of taking the ball to the hole, running after it and grabbing it. Taking another shot that he missed terribly, going out of bounds.
"Whatever, man." I said, chasing after the ball.
"Tell you what," Dro exhaled, his fist pressed into his sides. "Let's bet on it. Let's say you skunk me right here and right now, I'll drop a C-Note on your ass. If you just win though, I'll give you half and take your happy-ass home."
Standing behind the white line with the ball under my arm, I told Dro that "I'm down with the first part of the deal. No deal to the second part!"
"'cause I don't know if you're talking about taking me back to my house or yours?" I said, tossing him the ball.
"Yours, of course," he said, throwing the ball back to me. "Though, I expect for your grateful ass to invite a brotha up for a drink and thank a nigga properly."
I wasn't even studying him or his devilish grin.
"Make the latter a full C-Note, too," I said dribbling the ball.
"Cool," he agreed, knocking the ball out of my hand as I went for a lay-up. I was too clumsy to let it go out of bounds, giving him the ball to take out.
Dro ran after the ball, peeling off his shirt and tossing it in the direction of his truck.
Every bit two hundred and fifty pounds, Dro was most likely built for a fantasy football league with his heavy chest, meaty arms, and wide flat stomach just adding to his solidly thick frame.
"Cool," I said, trying not to notice him in his glory. "Deal."
"Check," Dro said, bouncing me the ball.
"Check," I said, sailing it back.
Dro took one step across the line and shot a jumper.
"By the way, folk," Dro said as the ball sailed passed the rim and through the net, "if I take this shit, I'm running up in that sweet candied ass. Oh! I guess skunk is taken off the table, huh?"
"You heard me, folk. Check." Dro said, tossing me the ball. "I said I'm moving on up in that ass like George Jefferson, knocking the bottom out of that boi-pussy if I take the crown."
"No deal, partna," I said with the ball tucked under my arm.
"What you mean 'no deal'?"
"No deal." I bounced the ball back to him, and added, "I'm out dawg."
"What you mean you're out?!"
"Exactly what I said, man," I said. "I'm a man. I'm not about to give you some ass like some ho."
"That ain't what Monkeybread said," Dro laughed.
Sometimes, I thought walking off into the dark. Some dumb motherfuckers can't keep their fucking mouths shut about anything that involves a highly concentrated amount of liquor.
"Take on emore steep off of this court, J-Bo, and you forfeit this game. That means I win by de-fault. And I promise your sweet pink hole that I will get all up in that ass. Even if that means I have to tenderize it by tackling it to the ground."
I turned back around and just looked at him.
It probably should've dawned on me that if that thing at the rec center was anything less than memorable for me, it probably was on the mind of my aggressor considering he was better on my ass.
"At least if you play you can at least try to save your ass from the big bad dick." He grinned, at the three-point line while the ball hung in the air and eventually bounced into the hoop. "Oh! Maybe not!"
"What part of 'I don't get down like that don't you get'?"
"The part that says I got six to your eight," Dro barked, and then made a left-handed hook shot. "Eight to eight. Tie. So there's a fifty-fifty shot to save your ass from this big black dick."
By the time I came to the brilliant conclusion that I really had no other choice but to play his game, Dro was covered with sweat and was ahead by six extra points. Though I knew I was already screwed when I got back on the court, I made up my mind that if he wanted to get to twenty-one he would have to work for it, which mostly meant me fouling the shit out of his big ass, everything from tripping him up to elbowing him in his side. Surprisingly, Dro took it all in stride, even flashing a mischievous smile when he sailed across the court head first. Not only was I able to slow down his scoring, but I was able to score myself, putting me in the lead, twenty to sixteen.
"Go ahead and give me that C-Note, partna!" I screamed as the game shot sailed through the air and swished through the basket. "Give me my fucking C-Note, motherfucker!"
"Here, damn, bitch," Dro frowned, slapping the crisp hundred dollar bill in my hand. And before I knew it he pulled me into the subtle aroma of his mild-flavored cigarillo rolling off of his sweat glistening body. "You lucky I don't take a plug of your ass right here."
I wanted to get mad, but I couldn't. I was kind of wondering why he hadn't done it before.
"What?" I asked with him looking at me dead in my eyes.
"Nothing," he simpered, trying to play this thing between us off. "I was hoping to play another game, double or nothing."
"I'm just playing, J-Bo. I was just playing." He assured me with the slight hope for an off-chance possibility. "I could give you a lift home, and come back out here and work on my game. It's one thing to lose some ass. It's a whole 'nother season to lose a C-Note."
I thought about going home with him, but I chose to start up another game with him—minus the betting.
The more we played ball, the sexier he became. The sexier he became to me, the sweatier he got, too, in keeping the spirit of competition, trying to get his game groove back. It was one thing to stop myself from starring, but I was drooling all over this gorgeous hunk of meat that I was playing against. I was in another atmosphere when I started pressing up on him just to touch his sweaty flesh. Then, without thinking, as Dro drove up the line and went fin for the dunk, my hand slipped against his slick skin sliding down his blunt bell all the way down to his floppy flesh that seemed to plop through his dark blue sweatpants.
After I "accidentally" touched it the first time, I tried to find more ways to "accidentally" touch it again. The best I could do was to take off my wifebeater and bump skin every time he tried to come up the line for his shot. Before long, it was getting ridiculous the way we were covered in the other's sweat.
"Shit," Dro grinned, dribbling the ball back and forth between his legs behind the three-point line. "I should've betted on this game."
"Why?" I asked making sure I kept unmovable eye contact.
"You don't already know?"
"This next point is game."
He went left. I blocked him. He went right. I blocked him again. He found the hole and went in for a slam dunk.
"Game!" Dro shouted, jumping up and down the court like a mad man hooting and hollering.
"Calm down, Dro," I said calmly while laughing at his while melodramatic antics. "It's only a gam, with a ball going through a hoop."
Dro hadn't heard a word I said. He was in my face screaming victory.
"Naw, folk," Dro screamed. "If I had brought this game the first time around I would've had your ass riding shotgun in my whip right now on our way to the crib right now."
"Yo, Dro," I grinned, getting caught up in his enthusiasm, as he belted more screams of excitement. "Listen. Listen. Taking something that you won ain't nearly as good as getting it served to you."
"Huh?" Dro paused.
After shushing Drop up a couple of times, I brought out the daredevil in me and began caressing his lead pipe on the outside of his sweatpants. It was long, fat, and slightly limp in my hand. As much as I loved his voice, I had to tell him again not to ruin the moment words. Minus the heavy breathing, he stood there quietly as I slid my hands into his sweats until I felt his dick pulse with pure adrenalin. And, as he pulled his sweats and underwear down below his swinging balls, I got down on my knees and started tasting him. He tasted good like some exotic chocolate soap mixed in with salty-sweet sweat. I really started to get the best of him by licking those big balls and the crease of his thick thighs before going to down on the sensitive underside of his mushroom-shaped head.
"Aw, shit, J-Bo," he said anchored above me, twitching.
I was in a groove with my lips working overtime on his dick when I thought I heard somebody come down to the basketball court. I tried to back off of him, and tried and confirm my fears. But, by this time, Dro had his hand hooked to the back of my head, forcing me steady as he pumped his big black dick in and out of my mouth.
My worst nightmares were confirmed when the sound of voices flooded my ear from the far distance followed by some heavy feet running onto the court and the bouncing of the basketball and a dunk that rattled the rim.
"Seems like you got the spotlight, man?" A man said from somewhere in the lightening dark.
It was still an hour or so away from sunrise yet black night was opening up to dull blue gray black.
"Yeah," a voice I recognized to be Monkeybread said, "Get up in that bitch, partna!"
It was about then, under the bright light that I decided to pull up off of Dro. Though, about a second later, it hit me that it was probably harder for any of the new guys to make out who I was, and I might've just blown my alleged cover.
"And, he lets go of that big-ass dick with a pop!" Monkeybread said like he was an announcer at a ball game.
"Shut the fuck up!" I snapped, and surprised everyone by putting his dick back into my mouth, but quickly regretting not looking over at the other guy on the court.
"And the cocksuckers speaks," Monkeybread spoke.
As I was later clowned for doing, I kept on sucking that dick like it was old-fashioned bubble gum that still had flavor. And with that meaty dick dripping thick and heavy with my coating spit, who could disagree?
Monkeybread came in closer, and started to pull his skinny dick out of his pants and started stroking it in my face with his boy doing the same thing.
Monkeybread was a slim, goofy-looking dark-skinned man with a nicely groomed moustache and a goatee whereas his light-skinned friend was strikingly attractive and looked vaguely familiar. He was slim, too, but handsomely toned with a clean shaven head and face, somehow putting me in the mindset of some deflated muscle head cartoon. Because I was on my knees looking straight up his nose with his wanger hanging out, I figured now was not the best time to take a quick stroll down memory land to remember who he was.
Aside from all of that, though, I had to get my bearings together on everything that was going on. How in the hell did a game of early morning one-on-one turn into an all-out orgy in the middle of the basketball court?
"Looks like you got a headhunter there," the third man said.
"No doubt, cuz," Dro and his voice grinned proudly. "He's a good headhunter. Eh, show my man Mike-Mike what a good headhunter you are, J-Bo."
I honestly didn't know what that really meant. I just took it to mean to give Mike-Mike the same thing I was giving him. So I did—very slowly, to see if Dro was going to have any objections to it. He didn't. So I kept my lips busy on the dense shaft. Dro was bigger than Mike-Mike and Monkeybread with this big fluffy sponge-filled cylinder of a dick. Mike-Mike had a tight, stiff dick—long and hard—much like a thick broom handle.
Mike-Mike, I thought, trying to conjure up some past memory that included him or his name because I knew I knew him from somewhere.
Mike-Mike wasn't nearly as aggressive as Drop had become as all Mike-Mike wanted to do was enjoy the ride, enjoy the pleasure I was giving him. So I let him.
I was so caught up in my own thing that I didn't see or feel Monkeybread hit the ground next to me, as I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was on his knees sucking Dro's dick, going at it like he was on some well-paid secret mission.
"Damn," Monkeybread, you give up some of that fire head, too," Dro droned against the wet-throat sound that his cocksucker was giving off.
"Damn, folk," Mike-Mike offered casually, as I pulled off and watched Monkeybread and Dro when I noticed that Monkeybread wasn't coming up for any air.
It was so intense that to what Moneybread was doing dick slurping or slobbing would have been an insult to the art. And, to say he had sucked dick before would have surely been an understatement, holding his breath so long that it would've made seasoned porn stars and bathroom stalls sissies jealous.
"I can't take this shit no more," Dro said, breaking hard, grabbing the back of Monkeybread's head fucking his face. "I'm about to let this nutt loose in your mouth. Hold still!"
Without protest, Monkeybreakd held stead aginst the wild bucking that Dro was doing, practically gagging the boy, or at least introducing the world to what it sounded like for a huge dick to tickle the bottom of an esophoagus.
His wild bucking seemed to cease after a long drawn out groan followed by the violent-lace threat Dro unleased on Monkeybread that he "best not spill a single one of his babies." And remarkably, the bastard didn't, swallowing every drop faithfully as Dro pulled a fucking sword out of his mouth, leaving me awestruck that I had that thing in my mouth. Monkey bread pulled off of Dro, gasping for more air to swallow some more cum.
When Monkeybread came up for some air the second time, he went right to cleaning Dro's dick off with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.
"Damn, folk, that was smokin'!" Mike-Mike grinned at Dro.
"What the fuck you looking at, J-Bo? Take care of my man there," Dro barked.
I put Mike-Mike back in my mouth, hoping that the excitement of what happened between Dro and Monkeybread would get the best of Mike-Mike so that he wouldn't get any ideas.
I mean, I've drowned a couple of dicks in my day but nothing close to what I had just witnessed.
Monkeybread had cleaned every inch of Dro's dick and balls before I head Dro tell Monkeybread that he needed to get that ass read. I assumed naturally that Dro was talking to Monkeybread to get his ass prepared for another around of dick. But when I felt Monkeybread come behind me, taking off my shorts and rubbed his hands over my ass, spreading it open, a chill went down my spine. I thought he was motherfucking crazy! Then I heard the Avalanche crank up, so nothing was making any sense as I worked Mike-Mike over with a warm wet tongue working up my bootyhole.
I hated it, but loved that that shit felt lovely at the same time.
The more Monkeybread tossed my salad the better the head I was giving Mike-Mike, and he wasn't bashful in groaning out what a wonderful job I was doing. Everything was cool until Monkeybread started running up my ass with his bony-ass fingers along with his fat tongue deep inside of my silky chute. That however wasn't what made me jump, as it was the Avalanache backing up on the court that did.
The next thing I knew, I heard the door slam shut. And, in the mist of the thick of things, I was being tossed like a ragdoll in the back of the cargo of the Avalanche with a soft pallet of blankets to cushion the blow. What the fuck? When I happened to look up from being on my back, Dro was on top of me naked and hard with my legs spread open with one propped up against the edge of the truck.
I was in a state of total shock, trying to wrap my mind on how all of that was going to fit in my almost virgin bootyhole and me trying to bring my other leg in, so I didn't look too much like an open invitation.
"Dro, man," I mouthed, looking at the lube and condom in front of the wheel cap.
He wasn't even studying me as he turned back to Monkeybread and Mike-Mike, and laughed, unrolled the magnum on his dick along with a generous glob of lube, "Don't want to get this bitch pregnant."
I was still trying to get past the idea of him fucking me when he pulled me to his groin and tried to work his hefty dick up my butt.
"Shit, stop!" I cried. "That shit hurts like a mother!"
Surprisingly, Dro understood and backed off. So I'm thinking nice try, I might as well take my happy-ass home.
"Eh, Monkeybread," Dro barked. "Show me how you opened up this ass?"
As Dro climbed out of the truck, Monkeybread took his place using his long skinny fingers to work my hole. After a couple of minutes of fucking my ass with his fingers I found myself throwing it back like was some turned-out ho. Monkeybread took that as his cue and slowly worked his covered dick inside of my hole. Though he was the smallest of the three well-endowed men, he had a nice steady rhythm that made me forget that I was getting fucked in front of two other dudes on the neighborhood blacktop.
"Ah, yeah, Monkeybread, get your nutt!" I yammered, feeling his dick pulse with the need to cum inside of me.
"Yeah," he cried, filling up the condom moments later.
As soon as Monkeybread pulled out, Dro climbed back in the back of the truck and started to rub the tip of his fat dick against my opening. I was so sprung by then that my hole just reached out and grabbed his soldier like it was nothing, a far cry from a few minutes earlier.
"Damn, fuck you, folk!" I cried, feeling like I was being split in two with each inch crammed into me. He held me down. Pushing into me with this painful intensity that made my head feel like it was swimming to the point that I had no choice but to fall in love with the euphoria. It felt like he was crashing into me, sweat pouring over me.
"Oh, shit, J-Bo," he groaned.
After a few thrusts, Dro flipped me over, putting me on my knees, followed by a few playful swats on the ass before he started pushing his powerful crotch into my crack.
He felt nice, going slow again and steadily letting me get use to the feeling him inside of me. But, I changed the tempo, throwing my ass against him, squeezing my hole tightly against his portly dick. He returned the favor by grabbing my waist, pulling almost all the way out and knocking the bottom out of my sore butt with every go around.
He was feeling so good it was ridiculous. He felt so good that I felt like dancing on his dick and my own dick felt heavy as if it was about to blast like a freaking fire hydrant at full pressure, all the while he plunged his dick in my ass at full speed.
"Damn, Dro, damn!" I moaned, pulling on my dick, mildly clueless of how in the hell I ended up back on my back again.
A few minutes later, I shot a jet of spunk that originally started off landing just under my pecs before a following jet made it up to my lips.
"That's sick," Dro grunted jokingly, looking at me licking my lips of my cream.
"And you love it, motherfucker."
"Ah, damn," Dro grimaced.
"There you go you big fucker!" I said, feeling Dro bucking harder against me as he pumped his way to sheer pleasure. Dro shuddered, and in a nanosecond jerked his dick out of my battered hole, snatched off his condom, and released a warm thick jet of his load all along my torso before wiping the head of his dick clean in my musty pubic hair.
My joy and my rest were short-lived as Mike-Mike moved Dro out of the way, claiming that it was his turn. Unlike Dro and Monkeybread and a major contradiction to his attitude thus far, Mike-Mike went straight to it forcing his way into my narrow passage, thrusting harder and faster with every bit of urgency he had in him.
"Ain't nothing like some good ass!" Mike-Mike growled.
And with the familiar bulge of his dick inside of me quickly pulsated limp as he slowly eased out, heaving, "Oh, by the way, call us even for fuck my girling, man."
I let out a laugh, up at the coming sunrise, finally placing where I knew Mike-Mike from. He was my girl's main man.
As the sun made its debut in the soft billowy sky, I pulled up my shorts back over my throbbing hole.
Dro took the liberty of dropping everybody off, saving my stop for last. Of course, with his crew run a train on me, I knew that even under the best of circumstances in the hood, Dro and I could never be together-together like that. But I do love it when he stops by and kicks it with me sometimes.