Smokescreen

Note: This story is unusually short because it was written to an exercise with a limited maximum word requirement.

“Whooie, see the jugs on that one? 36D tits. Would surely like to get my hands on them tits.”

“42J easy, Lamont,” Phil, in the middle, responded to the big black bruiser to his right.

“You guys have no idea what them measurements mean,” retorted small guy Barry, sitting to Phil’s left on the concrete wall. They were all dressed in dusty jeans and open chambray shirts over athletic T-shirts. They all were drumming the heels of clodhopper boots off the wall they were sitting on while they ate, chatted, whistled, and ogled the women passing by. They were good-looking, workman-fit, basic stud, men, and there were some women making more than one pass beside them in going from here to there at noontime. The building they were constructing was behind them. They were on their lunch break, sitting on the wall, ogling women passing by on the sidewalk, and eating lunch out of McDonald’s sacks.

“Both sizes mean big bazooms,” Lamont responded. “Not that you would have any interest in that, Barry baby.”

“Hey, go easy on him,” Phil, foreman of the crew both Lamont and Barry were on, admonished him. “Barry’s OK. He don’t make no advances on anyone and he does his job as well as any regular guy does. What about that babe there, the 42J who just passed by? This is her third trip by. She looks you over good, Lamont, on each pass. You gonna chase her or not? You’re always talkin’ about what you can do in twenty minutes, and we got that much lunchtime left. She’s got the hots for you. So, what yer gonna—?”

“Seems it’s Barry she’s eyeing more than me. Fat chance there. I’d do her, though. And what do I got for her? I got nine inches for her,” Lamont said, uncurling his six-foot-two, 215 pounds of ebony muscle off the wall, stretching, and turning in the direction the big-titted black girl had walked in. “Bet she’s dying for black bull cock.”

Barry gave Lamont a long work. It maybe wasn’t just the top-heavy girl who was dying for some fun with black bull cock.

“You got the keys to the Maxwell building still?” Phil asked. “It’s down that way, not much further than you can catch up to her.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the keys.” He stood, turned in the direction the woman had been strutting off after slowing down when she passed them the third time and gave the big black stud the eye.

“So, you really gonna do this and give us all the juicy details while we work this afternoon?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, I’m gonna do this,” Lamont said, taking a step in the commitment direction. “You wanna come along and hold her down and take some notes on what a real man does, Barry?”

Barry didn’t respond. Phil did, though. “I said to leave him alone, Lamont. He pulls his weight here and don’t hit on anybody.”

Lamont snorted and strode off in the direction the top-heavy black honey had gone. She was about to the next corner already, wiggling her butt, and looking back in the direction of the three on the wall. She did, though, turn her head and look back. And when she saw Lamont was on the move off the wall, she slowed her walk down.

* * * *

“You’re moving in at the end of the week. You think the guys won’t notice that? When do you plan to come out to them?”

Lamont didn’t respond. He was lying under Barry, on his belly, stretched out, hands gripping the brass rail of the headboard overhead. He was panting too hard still to answer, Barry stretched out on top of him, still inside him, both men focused on the sensation of small, slender Barry going flaccid inside the big black guy’s passage. Barry had been able to reach deep up inside to the black bull’s core again and the two had worked hard, as one, one well-lubricated fucking machine, Barry riding Lamont’s tail like a bull rider for a good twenty minutes, while snaking an arm around the black’s belly, fisting the black, not-all-that-bull cock, and stroking Lamont off. Barry could have snorted back when they were sitting on the wall and Lamont referenced a nine-inch hard. It was Barry who could answer to that, not Lamont.

“How far did you track that black girl?” Barry asked as they were cooling down. “That was quite a story you told the guys this afternoon about catching up to her and what all she did for you in the Maxwell building. You had them all hard.”

“But me talking about spiking a woman with big tits didn’t have you hard, did it, Barry?” Lamont responded, speaking for the first time since he’d sucked Barry big and Barry had mounted and fucked him on his bed.

“You have me hard no matter what, Lamont. You know that. What did you really do with that girl?”

“I peeled off as soon as I turned the corner. There’s a Starbucks right across the street from the Maxwell building. I had me an iced expresso vanilla latte. You know what I like.”

“Yes, I know what you like,” Barry said. “And, so, the rest of the afternoon?”

“There’s a hung Mexican named José managing that Starbucks. He can take off for as long as he wants, to do whatever he wants.”

“So, a jolly afternoon,” Barry said, reaching under the big black’s belly and grasping his cock. Lamont moaned his appreciation. “What would you have done if the girl made another pass at the wall and you weren’t there?”

“I don’t know. But she didn’t.”

“You can only keep up this smokescreen for so long, Lamont.”

“Would telling all make you stop sniffing around, Barry.”

“No, it most certainly would not. Smokescreen all you like as far as I’m concerned. Just keep lifting your tail to me.”