A for-sale sign stands in the melting snow of the rock garden, and a lock box hangs akilter on the door handle. Even so, I check the address on my phone for the eighth time before I ring the doorbell. I take a deep breath and he answers.

Something about the realtor is cute. Maybe it’s his cherubic cheeks, or the way he flashes his perfect white teeth when he smiles. He must sell a lot of houses just because he is beautiful.

“Hi,” I say, walking in, “I’m glad to finally meet you. I’m here for the tour, I guess.”

Black dick is so rare here, the owner of one can afford to be choosy. It was eight months ago that I first offered to suck him off. His reply was, “Are you any good at it?” I tried to persuade him over the coming weeks, until he finally showed me a pic of his member. It shocked me. I feared and desired it. this thick, dark shaft, hard, yet still sheathed in its folds of fleshy skin. The image haunted my dreams. I could not die until I had tasted it. It was my Moby Dick, but I knew I was not yet worthy of it. I told him I would practice for him until I was ready. Possibly starting with a trip to the supermarket.

For months, I kept at him, asking every few weeks so I wouldn’t be annoying.

One day, a message flashed on my phone. “You know, you’re actually starting to convince me.”

“‘Always Be Closing’ is my motto,” I typed back, heart racing.

“A good one!”

At last, the time has come to take on this great challenge. He made it clear, however. Nothing is guaranteed today. I might be here for only a tour. It depends.

“You have some interesting stories lately,” he tells me as I take off my muddy shoes and position them on the mat, so as to not dirty the floor.

“Oh, thanks,” I tell him, and smile. Don’t screw this up.

He starts the tour as we go through the living room. “Hard to believe, but this was a crack house before it was renovated.” He leads me through the dark hardwood floors, proudly pointing out the many improvements. “I’ve done a lot of work in the kitchen.” There, shiny white tile covers everything, including the spacious island in the middle. A bowl of perfect red apples sits on it on it, looking delicious. 

I pIck one up and feel it’s made of styrofoam.

“Oh, this is your house?” I exclaim.

“Yeah, I’m flipping it.”

“It’s really nice,” I tell him. “And you did all this work yourself?”

His eyes narrow as he looks at me, then he throws his head back and laughs. “No. I prefer to pay people to do that for me.”

Shit! I’m a fucking racist. At least I know it.

“It is a great looking kitchen,” I tell him, as I try to balance the apple back on the pile. I take a deep breath. Did I pass his test yet? It’s time to move things forward, before I make any more mistakes. “But I’d really like to see the bedroom.”

He smiles wide, showing his perfect teeth, and motions toward the staircase. I feel lightheaded with anticipation. We go up and the stairs. Though resplendent in oak, they betray their crack-house heritage with each creaking step.

The bedroom is awash the glow from the blue curtains, pillows are delicately deployed on the queen size bed. My host walks around the room, closing each drape until we are hidden inside a world of our own.

I don’t dare make a crease on the bed. I stand beside it. He comes back around, and unzips his pants.  

And there it is, still soft yet even thicker than I remembered it. He pulls at it casually. “You’ve been waiting a long time,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, staring down at it. Fuck, how am I going to do this?

“My boyfriend was going to blow me last night but I figured I’d wait and see if you’re as good as they say.”

In a trance, I drop to my knees in front of him. I lean forward and mouth his ball (I can only fit one). I want to suffocate in the scent of his body. I feel a caress on my cheek, as his penis extends its gratitude.

I open my mouth wide. My jaw complains at me but I push on, managing somehow to get it inside without tooth contact. He rests his hands on his hips and juts forward. I wriggle my tongue inside his foreskin. It is thick like a flap of meat that I push aside as I drill in, and tickle his hole.

He is waiting for me to do more. I desperately want to prove myself to him. I go closer, pushing in more until my jaw hurts. I feel my throat being pried open as I struggle to get it down. I can’t breath except through my nose. I close my eyes and suck in a musky breath, filtered through his curly black pubes. I am in heaven. I could just kneel here forever in front of him. with his penis filling my throat.

Instead I pull off again. My mouth has stretched now to take him, and at last I’m able go through the motions, if only on the tip, of what I’m here for. I reach around and run my hands up under his shirt, caressing his back, as I slurp.

“Oh yeah,” he says. He takes over now, puts one large hand on the back of my head, and starts to shove into me. There physically isn’t any room to move my tongue, as it steamrolls in. Flattened, I just try to lick the bottom with each thrust. After a while it seems to be working as his body heats up.

“You want to take my cum,” he tells me.

“Mmmm hmmm,” I moan, in case it was a question.

He puts both hands on my head now, thrusts harder, faster, the thick fleshy covering scrapes against my tongue now as he rams it against my palette. 

Before a man cums, there is always a few seconds when I can taste it, before he even realizes it himself. I take a long breath through my nose, just appreciating the moment, trying to fully experience it, willing it to last forever. I feel the new slickness of his meat.  I feel sweat in the small of his back. I smell his scent of sex. I hear his breathing stop. For a moment, like the top of a roller coaster ride, time stops.

“Oh yeah. Shit,” he says, head arched to the ceiling as his body shakes with an uncontrollable orgasm, his hands still locked onto my head. His cock erupts, but with my mouth completely full of flesh, it has nowhere to go. Some goes down and some goes up, and I’m almost choking. I’m being force-fed and I feel like my whole head, my nose, and my brains are being filled with his thick salty cum.

He suddenly lets go and pulls out while it is still draining, and I’m sadly empty again. I nip at it, to get the last bit as it seeps out of his shrinking hose.

But he’s already pulling up his pants. “Shit man, thanks,” he says.

“My pleasure.” I stand up, snort sharply to clear my nose, and taste thick cum again in the back of my mouth.

He tucks his shirt back into his pants. “The upstairs bathroom’s over here. It was just remodelled last month,” he says, continuing the tour.

I've been polishing my stories for you and posting them here on GayDemon. Read the rest of my real-life encounters at http://grindrfantasies.tumblr.com/archive


Pete Gentle

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