[Note that this GM novel is completed and will post in twelve chapters by the middle of February 2016.]
Matt Henderson stopped on the border between what was now his property and that of Dashad Wilson. It had been Matt’s back acre they’d plowed and sowed to lettuce and spinach today, Matt’s now because of the auto accident that had taken his parents late in the spring, just as he was finishing exams.
Dashad had gone ahead to his barn in the old tractor that only he could keep going. Matt could see the big black man walking out of his tumbled-down barn--more a shed than a barn--and stripping off his dirt-caked clothes as he approached his outdoor shower. That’s the only thing Matt’s parent’s weather-beaten bungalow had over Dashad’s place. It had running water inside. But it also had a hole up through the rafters in the bathroom from the same hurricane that had swept his parents’ car off into a swollen creek, and the place was unsafe as it was. If Matt was going to go back to living there, he’d have some improvements to do. Dashad had told him he’d help--and the black giant had already helped in so many ways--but it seemed he was dragging his feet on this one project. Matt suspected it was because Dashad liked the arrangement of Matt staying with him.
Matt, exhausted from his first-year university exams and in shock over the sudden deaths of his parents, had willingly agreed to move over to Dashad’s house during the funeral and visiting period. Dashad lived on the neighboring farmlet at the foot of Mount Rogers north of Whitetop in southwest Virginia on the border with North Carolina. Two months later he was still shacking up at Dashad’s.
Dashad had really been good about it--better than Matt had deserved. Matt’s father had been pretty open about what he thought of a black man taking over the neighboring acres when the Chalmers left and went into a home together. Matt’s father had coveted that land for himself, although they’d never had the money to buy it--especially when Matt started at the University of Virginia up in Charlottesville. But beyond that, Matt’s father had said that he couldn’t help it, but that a black man owning as many acres as he did and right next door somehow diminished him and the rest of the family. For Matt’s mother’s part, she was just reserved about the man next door--intimidated by his size and blackness and what she’d been raised to think about black men.
Matt wondered what his parents would have thought about Dashad fucking him even before they had died. He’d been doing it since late in the previous summer. Not being able to keep away from him anymore Matt had walked into Dashad’s barn one afternoon, sunk in front of his magnificent, sweaty body to release and suck his jaw-dislocating cock, and then been laid on his back on the hood of an old Ford pickup with his ankles on Dashad’s shoulders, and fucked to heaven, Matt panting and writhing at the thickness and hammering vigor of the massive black man. No proposition had been given or received. They coupled by silent, mutual consent. During the first months of Dashad’s tenancy next door, Matt had watched Dashad take young men from town and the surrounding farms into his bungalow and fuck their lights out until he could take it no more. He then had made sure he was working shirtless close to Dashad’s property until he knew that Dashad had taken notice--and shown interest.
Thinking about what his mother had conveyed in her fear of black men, what they had and were anxious to do with it, without really saying it, as Matt watched the naked black man move under the pipe in his outdoor shower stall and pull on the string opening a stream of water on his body, Matt half smiled and murmured, “And it’s all true, Mom.”
Matt turned his head and looked at his family home. He spent a few minutes assessing just what needed to be done, in what order. He tried not to consider whether the work would be worthwhile or whether he’d want to live in it after it had been reconditioned. He knew he wouldn’t want to live in it, but he couldn’t see how he was going to avoid it. He hadn’t realized how run-down it was before he went off to the university. It was all he’d known before that--other than what he’d seen in those architectural magazines he collected. But they showed residences and skyscrapers that were far beyond the reach of his rural Virginia environment. He had seen two separate worlds then, with no thought to jumping from one to the other. But the world of the architectural magazines had impressed him so much that that was what he was studying at the university--or had been studying up to this summer.
After a year at the university, working with the world of designing and building magnificent buildings--and living on the beautiful, manicured grounds of UVa--coming back home was suddenly a shock that transcended his parents’ death and the closing of the door on his continued studies.
At least his year in the other world had given him the ability of knowing what had to be done to make his house habitable after the hurricane that had gone through--and an idea of what the cost would be, even though he had no idea how soon he’d be able to get that done. At least he’d have Dashad to help him, even though there had been no reason to believe that the black man would do that for neighbors who had not been neighborly themselves when they’d had the chance. Well, Matt had been more than neighborly to Dashad now.
The thought of what he and Dashad had done with each other caused Matt to look over at Dashad’s place. It was smaller than his own, but it was being kept up. It was certainly in better shape now than when the Chalmers had lived there. It was a pity it didn’t have indoor plumbing yet.
His eyes went to Dashad, soaping up his powerful, muscular body under the stream of water flowing down on him from the pipe. He was built solid. He must be at least 240 pounds, Matt thought. But all muscle. An honest, hard worker. And clean. That had been a surprise for Matt. The man was clean and tidy, always showering well when he’d come from the field, clean smelling, with a hint of musk, when he lay with Matt. And his house was spotless--better ordered than Matt had remembered his mother being able to do.
Thinking of his mother again--and of the fears she hinted at and, in her embarrassment, couldn’t put words to--Matt let his gaze descend the line of the chocolate-brown man’s torso to what was hanging between his legs. Yes, Mother, Matt thought, if you were afraid of the size of “all black men,” this black man would terrify you. And he wondered how she would react if she knew he’d given himself to Dashad not in spite of him being a big black man but precisely because he was.
But the man was gentle and kind in a way that Matt regretted his mother had never been able to see. Never seeing beyond the gossip of what a black man was built like and would want from a white woman. This black man hadn’t just laid Matt and strutted off. He had taken Matt in and been good to him, and he had brought him back from hysteria and the inability to even think straight, to an ordered world, even if it was an order that Matt had never imagined would satisfy and appeal to him.
No, Matt wouldn’t work on his house first. The first thing he would do is get plumbing in Dashad’s house. That was the least he could do to pay the man back--although Dashad repeatedly said that he didn’t want paid back, that what Matt was giving him already was more than enough recompense.
Dashad had rinsed himself off and was reaching for one of the towels hanging over the high, corrugated tin-metal wall on two sides of the concrete shower pad. As he toweled off, he walked with majestic gait, his plump buttocks undulating, toward the porch on the back of his house.
Matt resumed walking himself then, beginning to strip off his clothing, as he headed for the shower. It was his turn under the trickling pipe.
And it was his turn to be observed by Dashad, who had reached the porch and sat down in an old cane-seated love seat while still dabbing at his muscular body with his towel. Dashad watched every move of Matt’s classic blond body as he soaped up his own body with the sponge and rinsed off. When he was done, Matt took the other towel hanging on the shower wall and dried off as he walked to the porch and climbed the stairs. He walked to Dashad, positioned his legs on either side of Dashad’s thighs and leaned into the wall behind Dashad, with the heels of his hands planted on the wall on either side of Dashad’s head.
Dashad palmed the small of Matt’s back with one beefy hand, dipped his head and took Matt’s cock in his mouth, and moved his other hand, slick with lubricant, under Matt’s balls, placing the heel of the hand at the base of Matt’s balls and lifting them and making them sway gently, as his finger moved through to Matt’s rim and beyond.
When Matt started begging for the cock and Dashad grunted his readiness, Matt reached over to the table beside the chair, retrieved a condom packet, split it open, and, moving his hands behind him, deftly rolled the condom down on Dashad’s massive jet-black shaft in a well-practiced movement.
Dashad then lifted Matt with hands on his waist and settled his entrance on the cock head. As always, Matt gasped and groaned as he was slowly lowered on a cock of such thickness that he always despaired of being able to take it all in--although he always managed to do so, and always went to glory when he did.
When Dashad had bottomed, Matt arched back, his knees straddling Dashad’s hips, and grabbed for his ankles. Once he was in the familiar position both men enjoyed, Dashad pulled Matt’s channel up and down on the throbbing cock until both had ejaculated.
Afterward they showered again, together, under the sputtering pipe as Dashad fucked a standing Matt from behind against the shimmering corrugated tin side wall.
Sometime while Matt was fixing their dinner that evening, having learned more about cooking for himself in the year he’d been at the university than Dashad had ever managed, Dashad had gone quiet. Matt hadn’t noticed that while they were eating dinner, because Dashad rarely talked then. He concentrated hard on the eating process. Dashad wasn’t a multitasker; he concentrated hard on the job at hand. Consequently, he did that one job very well, which Matt could attest to in the fucking department. But he spent little or no energy on side issues.
After dinner, though, Matt hadn’t been able to get more than a grunt or two out of him by way of discussion, and then, after Dashad put what he often called a “mood” video on, neither one of them talked much. Not long after the movie started, Dashad pulled Matt over against him on the sofa and ran his hand under the waistband of the younger man’s sweat pants, mimicking what they were watching in the movie. They both were shirtless and Dashad was in athletic shorts. After pulling Matt’s cock out and working that up along with his own, with a hand pushed under his own waistband, Dashad leaned over and took Matt’s balls in his mouth and played with those until Matt moaned his want.
Three quarters of the way through the video, Dashad was on his back on the braided rug between the sofa and the TV set and Matt was straddling his hips, facing his feet, and riding his sheathed staff.
Later, the movie over, Matt’s shoulder blades pulled back to Dashad’s massive chest while his cock maintained its purchase inside Matt’s channel, and the two contemplating the repeat trip they’d have to take outside to the shower and the outhouse before they bedded down, Matt could take the silent treatment no longer.
“Are you angry about something, Dashad? You haven’t spoken all evening.”
“We just fucked. Not too angry to do that.”
“But there’s something?”
“Yeah, there’s something. A letter you were throwing away didn’t make the basket. I couldn’t help see what it was before I could throw it away.”
“Why are you throwing away your questionnaire for a room assignment at school in the fall? It had been crumpled. I don’t think you were going to fill it out and send it back.”
“We’ve discussed this, Dashad. I can’t go back this year. There’s no money. Everything my parents left went to burying them.”
“You must go back. You need a degree. You want to build buildings.”
“There’s nothing to--”
“You will fill out the questionnaire. We’ll find the money somewhere.”
Matt didn’t argue with him. There was no need to. He knew that it just couldn’t happen--not now. Not until he made his parents’ farm profitable again. Dashad was doing enough to help him get that done.
“You don’t want me to be here . . . with you?” Matt asked.
“There’s no question of that. But you need to learn to build buildings. You need to do better in life than this.”
“I don’t believe anyone could do me as well as you do,” Matt answered.
“Life is bigger than fucking,” Dashad answered. Although for the next thirty minutes that was all of life that either one of them was interested in.