Tailback Preacher

by Habu

7 Oct 2019 5535 readers Score 9.3 (101 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


I stood there next to the baggage carousel, waiting for Lincoln Douglas’s flight from New York. I was nervous and wondering why I’d said I would meet him and put him up for three nights. He was some high muckety-muck preacher with a big church in Harlem, who was down here in the research triangle of North Carolina to watch his grandson play in the Duke-Georgia Tech football game. His grandson, who is black, had married the white granddaughter of a professor at UNC-Chapel Hill, and everyone in the church the professor’s family and I went to were all over themselves to make the union welcome. Everyone was falling over him and herself to show they had more progressive attitudes than anyone else.

Preacher Douglas was known nationally not just because he had a big church in Harlem but also because he’d been an NFL football player and had come out gay. We were a pretty liberal Methodist church and wanted to show off how supportive we were of all of that. What most in the church honed in on, though, was that he’d been a professional football player.

The Reverend Douglas had been asked to preach at our church anytime it was convenient for him, and he’d said this Sunday was convenient for him on very short notice. His newlywed grandson and wife had no room to house the Harlem preacher, so Reverend Steve had put out a call for hosting—or, rather, he’d just called me.

“Is it because I’m gay too, Steve?” I asked when he called. “It isn’t because I’m black or play football, I don’t think.”

“It’s because you have room for him, Trip,” he’d answered and then, after a pause, “and I guess, yes, because you’d be more comfortable hosting a gay man on short notice.”

More comfortable than whom, I wondered. Steve had plenty of room at the church manse to put the man up.

I was gay, yes, and I had lost my partner four months earlier, and Steve had made me a “case” because I’d withdrawn from most of the world after Evan had unexpectedly died. We’d both taught at Chapel Hill and had a nice two-bedroom wooden cottage on a cul-de-sac of similar houses on small lots backing up to a small lake in the Carrboro area of the research triangle. I couldn’t say I didn’t have room for a guest or competing activities. I had, indeed, pretty much withdrawn from the world when Evan had had a heart attack and died quickly. He’d been twenty years older than I was but was only in his late forties. We both were runners and competitive swimmers, so it was a real shock when he’d died.

“Most in the church don’t know that Preacher Douglas is a homosexual,” Reverend Steve said. “They just know he was a pro football player on the Atlanta Falcons and became a big-time preacher in New York and the CEO of a major relief nonprofit. It’s known in New York, of course, but most in this church hadn’t heard of him at all before last week. There’s no reason they need to know more, and, if they do, I’m sure they will still be welcoming. But, still, it will be good for him to stay with someone who will be comfortable with him. He’s black too.”

Evan had been black, so Reverend Steve assumed I would be comfortable hosting a black man. And, of course, I was. It was just that I was comfortable in my grief and aloneness too. But Steve had told me, in less bald terms, that I’d become too comfortable with that—that I was milking the grief ride and it was about time I stopped doing that. So, I could see that asking me to host this black preacher was intentional—that Steve was doing his good works, in his mind, with me as well as the black preacher. With that in mind I could see why Steve asked me to house the preacher rather than Steve doing it.

I did know Lincoln Douglas was gay. It had been a big deal in the gay community when he’d declared as such nearly twenty years earlier, when he was with the Atlanta Falcons. He had been a tailback on the offense on his university team but then he had grown taller and heavier and, when he turned pro, was moved to a strong safety position on the defensive team. His wife had died a few years before that, and Douglas had turned to someone else—a male set designer in New York—for solace. He and that man had been very publicly together and out for a good fifteen years before the set designer had died earlier this year, about the same time Evan had. And all that time Douglas was reinventing himself—leaving the Falcons, under duress, being picked up by the New York Jets but not lasting long there either, becoming a minister preaching acceptance and then a more famous preacher and, finally, adding heading up a major disaster relief nonprofit organization to his other jobs.

And now he was coming here, to Raleigh-Durham, to go to a football game I was being invited to go to too, to preach in my church, and to sleep in my guest bed. I worked over in my mind how old he must be and came up with sixty. He was a grandfather of a college student. But now that I thought about it, I remember reading in his Wiki file that he was something like fifty-seven or fifty-eight. In any case, he’d be an old codger. Older than Evan, who was in great shape and very arousing still when he died. So, no problem there. I did have a “thing” for black men, and there had been black men in my life before Evan.

And then I turned and saw him approaching with the arrivals from his flight. And I immediately went hard. He was unmistakable in the approaching group of people, given that I knew he had been a professional football player. He was well over six feet tall and large bodied—not fat. Powerfully built. Imposing. Commanding. His face was square-jawed and handsome and his hair was cropped so close that, if there was gray in it, it wasn’t particularly evident. And he was looking at me, smiling, picking me out in those standing at the baggage carousel as the man who was there to let him sleep in my guest bed.

When he spoke, it was with a rich, cultured deep baritone. And of course he did; he was a renowned preacher. His white-toothed smile was dazzling. “You must be Trip Sinclair,” he said. “Brian has told me good things about you. A UNC English professor and soccer team coach?”

Brian was his grandson who played for the Duke football team and who looked very much like a younger Lincoln Douglas. I had given the grandson a couple of lustful looks, I had to admit. “Only an assistant professor and an assistant coach,” I answered.

“Give it time, son, and you’ll get there if you want to,” the preacher said. He probably was going to be a “we can do this” optimist the whole time he was here. I wasn’t sure what I thought about that. Four months after losing Evan I was still feeling sorry for myself. I wasn’t ready to give that up. This hunk made me feel better already, which wasn’t exactly in my program plan. I was still very much in the “feeling sorry for myself” phase.

On the way back to my house on the small lake in Carrboro, we spoke of how he’d come to be invited here. He’d been here to help officiate in his grandson’s wedding. I’d been out of town for that. And Reverend Steve, who had helped to officiate the wedding, had invited him to preach in the church the next time he came back. The next time was the Duke-Georgia Tech football game, which was tomorrow. He’d played for Georgia Tech before going pro. His grandson, who wanted to go pro too, played for Duke.

“So, you and your grandson will be exchanging friendly jabs all weekend about your football teams.”

“I’ve had my college football shot,” Linc said. “I’ll do nothing but promote Duke—and that’s the side we’ll be sitting on—I have a ticket for you too if you can come to the game—and whatever I’m thinking in my mind, I’ll be cheering on my grandson and his team on the field.”

“I guess if you’re going to be that noble, I’ll cheer for Duke too. Even though the university I work for, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, is located right next door to Duke, and we are rivals in everything, I’ll take your lead and cheer for Duke tomorrow too.”

We both laughed. And with that I’d agreed to go to the football game with him. I hadn’t really intended to when I only knew Lincoln Douglas in the abstract. But now that I’d met him in the flesh, I was being mesmerized by him. I now wanted to be with him the whole time he was in town.

He went on talking while we drove, telling me about his coming out while he was with the Falcons but remaining with his wife who already was sinking into dementia at that time, and how he didn’t become actively gay until after she’d died. That he’d met Sean, the set designer, while he was breaking up with the Falcons and had gone with him more permanently after he’d gone to the Jets. He was very open about his struggles in only slowly and grudgingly having become accepted and only then when he’d gone through seminary, started working with gays in New York, and built that whole ministry in a church that was fully inclusive, very popular in Harlem, and no longer completely gay even.

“I’m sorry if talking so openly about my background embarrasses you, but Steven did say that you were—”

“Gay,” I said. “Not as famously open as you are about it, though,” I added.

“Yes, I’m afraid it has become central to who I am and the message I try to bring to the people,” he said. “But what I’ve been told about you. I understand you lost your partner a short while ago.”

“Yes,” I said. “Evan died four months ago. We worked on the same faculty at UNC. He was the scientific one, though. He taught physics. But here we are at our house. I’m sorry. It was actually Evan’s house. I haven’t been able to stop referring to it as our house.”

“Yes, it takes a while. It’s been about the same time since I lost Sean.”

“Let’s go inside and get your suitcase in the guest room. You can change and freshen up, if you like. I’ll meet you on the screened porch at the back of the house. Wine, beer, or soda?”

“Beer would be great,” he answered. “What a lovely house it is.”

“Just a small cottage, but it suited us, the neighbors are friendly and supportive, and we loved sitting out on the screened porch and watching the life in the marshes around the lake. But there I go referring to ‘we’ again.”

When he came out onto the porch, he’d changed into shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals, without socks. This revealed his body to be even harder and more muscular than the suit he’d flown in did. He was holding a photograph of Evan and me. So, he now knew Evan had been black. I hadn’t mentioned that. And Evan had been completely different from what this commanding former pro football player was. Evan hadn’t been any taller than my five-foot-nine, which had to be six inches shorter than Linc was. And Evan had been slim and sinewy, almost gaunt at the end, a runner and cyclist like I was. Linc was at least 240 pounds of muscle. He had both Evan and me by seventy or eighty pounds each. Evan was lighter skinned than Linc’s ebony too. And Evan had died in his late forties. Linc was in his late fifties.

“This must be your partner,” he said, showing me the photo he’d taken from the fireplace mantel in the living room. There were photos of us all over the cottage, so the relationship would have been hard to hide.

“Yes,” I said as we settled beside each other on a long rattan sofa with deep cushions on the porch, facing the lake.

He didn’t note that Evan had been black. He went right for the wound.

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes, I miss him very much,” I answered.

“No, that’s not what I’m asked,” Linc said. “Do you miss it—the relationship in bed. The two of you look very happy—and very committed to and contented with each other—in the photos you have around. I have worked with a lot of gay people. It’s clear you were happy with each other in bed.”

“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “I miss it very much.”

“Was he the dominant and you the submissive?” Linc asked. He certainly didn’t have to tell me what position he’d take in partnered sex.

“Yes,” I said. “But I guess all of that is in the past. I haven’t been with anyone since Evan died.”

“That’s too bad,” the preacher said.

Somehow that touched a sore point and I pushed back. “It’s been four months for you too. Do you miss sex much?” I was a little “aren’t we getting too personal” in the tone of my response.

He neither took umbrage at my question or tone nor backed away from the question. “No, I don’t miss it—the sex. I miss having sex with Sean, of course. We were very compatible. But I don’t miss sex because I didn’t stop having sex. I never sleep alone if I can help it.”

I was shocked. “You don’t think that’s being disloyal to your departed partner?”

“No, not at all. It’s a biological and emotional need. I’m a highly sexed man. Sean knew that, because we frequently had sex—very enthusiastic sex. Just because I have sex with other men now that he’s gone isn’t something that I see as disloyal. It’s an affirmation of what a good thing we had together when we were together. We aren’t apart because the sex wasn’t good. It’s because he died. It’s the same way with you, isn’t it? If you stop having enjoyable sex now that you can’t have it with your Evan, isn’t it rather a denial of the pleasure of sex you had with Evan? Was your Evan someone who would want you to just dry up and whither after he was gone?”

“I don’t know. We never discussed it. We didn’t contemplate that one of us could die as soon as he did,” I said. And, indeed, I didn’t know how Evan would think about me having sex again now. Linc sounded so reasonable and sensible, and he had a soothing voice and a commanding presence that could seduce the fuzz off a peach. I certainly hadn’t been a happy man in the four months Evan had been gone. And a lot of that was the tension of not having sex after Evan and I had led such an active and satisfying sex life.

Could it be that it wouldn’t be a sign of disloyalty to Evan to have sex with other men—even to have another committed sexual relationship with a man? Linc seemed to be saying that to do so would confirm rather than deny the goodness, the rightness, of the relationship Evan and I had had. I could see how this preacher had become so persuasive in his message of tolerance and acceptance of one’s natural nature in his church work.

And “this man” was sitting close to me on the rattan sofa and had an arm around me. He cupped my chin in his other hand and looked intensely into my eyes with his commanding ones. I knew he was going to kiss me. I knew I was going to let him.

“Have you not thought of letting another man into your life as you let your Evan in?” he asked. “Steven rather thought that someone named De’Andre from the church was compatible with you—that you liked each other.”

Yes, I had fantasized about De’Andre Wills. He was a young black man who was going to the church—maybe three years younger than I was. He was a hunk and a half, but he was a construction worker. We were from two different social worlds. But was I just being a snob there? Did sexual compatibility have much to do with social equality?

“Yes, there’s De’Andre,” I said. “He’s quite attractive. But he seems so serious and I don’t think we have much in common. He’s a construction worker and I teach English in college.”

“Does he arouse you sexually? Does he have a cock? Can he hold an erection? Steven tells me he’s a gay top who won’t even look at anyone but you and is sexually frustrated that you aren’t looking back at him.”

“Are you always this blunt about putting people together?” I asked.

“Yes. Life is too short not to live in the present. Don’t be trapped by the past and don’t worry too much about the future. My question is, are you still sexually attracted to other men? Are you sexually attracted to me?”

“Yes.” What could I say? He was running his hands on my body. He knew I was hard. He knew it was for him.

“Yes, both to other men and to me?”

“Yes.” He damn well knew that.

“I am just checking to make sure,” he said, with a chuckle, as if he had read my thoughts. “Are you sexually attractive to this construction worker Steven tells me about?”

“Yes, but—”

“You know what I think, Trip?” he murmured. “I think Steve knew what he was doing—what both of us, you and I, needed—when he put us together. Please don’t say no to me.”

While he was kissing me on the lips; the cheeks; my throat; my nipples, as he unbuttoned and spread my shirt open; and then on my belly, as he slipped my trousers off, I never once tried to say no. He gently repositioned me on my back on the sofa cushions, and I spread my legs so that he could lay between them. He supported his weight on his knees and elbows, or he would have crushed me. The size and weight of him held me psychologically captive under him on the sofa. If he hadn’t let me push him away or roll out from under him, I would not have had the physical strength to do so. He was so charismatic and overwhelming that I didn’t try.

As he sucked my cock and rolled my balls with his fingers, all I could do was continually, whimper “yes, yes, yes.” I came in this throat quickly. The tension had been building up in me so long that I came in a flood of release.

He raised up on his knees between my legs, and I took in my breath at the magnificent ebony musculature of his torso as he pulled his T-shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor. I heard the zipper of his shorts being pulled down, and he stood up from the sofa briefly to pull his shorts and briefs off and to roll a condom on his erection. I sucked in my breath again and began to pant.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” I murmured, leaving no question that I would accept him.

With all of the dissimilarities between Evan and Linc, there was one thing in which they were the same—they both were as hung as bulls. Where Evan had been cut and the skin of his cock was the same milk-chocolate shade of his skin, Linc was uncut and, though his skin was an ebony color, his cock was even darker, jet black.

I didn’t have long to observe it, though, as he was descending on his knees between my spread thighs again, was grasping and spreading and lifting my butt cheeks to his crotch, and was rimming my entrance with his sheathed cock bulb. I arched my back, reached over my head and gripped the curled rattan arm of the sofa to hold myself steady, and cried out in both pain and ecstasy as he forced himself inside me, and then deeper and deeper yet, spreading my channel as it had never been spread before, even by Evan. As he began to move inside me, in and out and in and out, in deeper and then deeper yet, I felt my walls roll open for him and my passage muscles begin to ripple over his steel-hard, ever-probing cock. We set up a mutual rhythm of the fuck, both of us panting and moaning and working to meld with each other with the pleasure and primeval beat of the fuck. Both of us had done this frequently before; but I, at least, hadn’t done it for several months.

When he’d finished me, me ejaculating up his flat, hard belly again, and him jerking and gushing into the bulb of his condom three times, we lay there, panting, him holding me in a close embrace. Only then did I realize that he was smothering me with his extra seventy pounds of muscle.

“You’re crushing me,” I murmured.

“Sorry. So sorry,” he answered. He moved most of his weight to his knees and elbows. “Sorry,” he said again.

I thought the second “sorry” was for more than his crushing weight. “You needn’t be sorry,” I whispered. “You are right. I needed that. I was just fooling myself and feeling sorry for myself for too long.”

“I wasn’t saying I was sorry for fucking you. I’m going to do it again when we’ve recovered. I’m going to take you upstairs and bed you.”

“Yes,” I said. “But not my bed. Not that . . . yet.”

“I understand.” And, strangely enough, I accepted that he did understand that I wasn’t ready yet to bring anyone into the bed that had been Evan’s and mine. I felt this charismatic preacher man understood it all. And I trusted him to make it all right.

He carried me upstairs like a groom taking his bride to their wedding bed. Instead of lowering me to the guest bed on my back, though, he bent me over the side of the bed. I felt him changing the condom to a fresh one and then he was crouched over me, his large body fully encompassing my smaller one, embracing me from behind and above with one arm around my belly and the hand of the other arm, cupping my chin, while he kissed my throat and between my shoulder blades and positioned the bulb of his gigantic rehardened cock at my anal entrance.

I panted hard and moaned and writhed a bit in his captive embrace as he penetrated me again and started a new journey up inside me. He was fully saddled when he stood upright, taking me up with him, draped in front of him, and lifting my feet off the floor.

“Surrender fully to me,” he said in a rumbling low voice. “I’m going to release your chin and I want you to just let loose, bend over at the waist, arms and legs dangling. I will fully support you. I want you to trust me and fully surrender all to me. Let me do it all. Don’t fight the release.”

I was dangling in front of him, one of his arms encircling my waist, the hand of the other one on the back of my neck, pushing my head down to the floor, my face between my knees. His cock was deep up in my channel. He walked around the room in a crouch, bouncing me up and down on his buried cock, urging me to release all of my tension and to give myself entirely to him. When I was just a loose rag doll, he stood in place and lifted and lowered me on his cock. I came, for a third time, and he came as well. But he just stood there, whispering that I was to stay with him, completely under his control, until he hardened again and fucked me again in the same position.

Then and only then did he lower me onto the bed.

“There,” he whispered. “You have done it; you have done it twice—given yourself to a man completely. That’s what you must do now to regain your life. You must be able and prepared to give yourself to another man—another man after your Evan—totally, as you have done for me. Such a man will come along. And, if that doesn’t work out, there will be another man after that. But grasp the God-given pleasures of life. Give yourself completely to that man. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so,” I said. I didn’t completely understand, though. At that moment I thought he was saying he was that other man. And I was prepared to give myself completely to him. I already had. But that’s not quite what he was telling me.

We dozed. I woke to him between my thighs, his knees pushed under my buttocks, my thighs rising high onto his, and his hands gripping my hips and pulling me on and off his sheathed cock again to a mutual ejaculation.

“Let’s try to come together this time,” he suggested. And we almost did.

It was dark outside when he finished me that time. “I’ll fix dinner after we shower,” I said as I rolled off the bed and indulged in another lingering look at his magnificent body. I said no more than that, and Linc didn’t seem to expect me to say any more. Within less than half an hour of being inside my house, he’d been inside me—again and again. It had all happened so naturally and smoothly that there didn’t seem to be anything that needed to be said. There certainly was no guilt in either of our minds—if he harbored any he certainly hid it well. The preacher had been a smooth-tongued persuader. And he’d hardened quickly for me each time, so he didn’t seem to be disappointed.

Amazingly enough, if I was disappointed by anything that had happened, it was that he’d used condoms. Evan and I hadn’t. I know he was being sensitive and now I was fully prepared to believe that he rarely slept alone, but I trusted him so implicitly that, if he entered me unsheathed now, I would gladly accept him.

We went to the showers. Each of the bedrooms had its own en suite bathroom. When he came downstairs, in just his briefs, I had dinner laid out on the dining room table, the room lit with candles. I had been all over the downstairs and turned over all of the photos of Evan and me. Linc didn’t mention that.

After dinner, he took my hand and led me upstairs to the guest room. He put me on all fours on the bed and mounted, penetrated, and rode my ass in a deep doggie fuck. We slept there, me curled up inside his embrace.

It was a night when Linc wasn’t sleeping by himself. But it also was the first night since Evan had died that I hadn’t slept by myself. And Linc was so smooth that I felt no remorse whatsoever.

I felt silly in the morning after we’d awakened and I’d pushed Linc onto his back, saddled myself on him, and rode his cock to yet another shared ejaculation. Who was I fooling? I wasn’t over Evan, but I was over grieving for the sex Evan and I couldn’t have anymore. When Linc came down for breakfast, all of the photos of Evan and me were standing back up. He didn’t say anything about this either.

* * * *

I saw him as we came down the ramp to our seats at the Duke-Georgia Tech game. The construction worker from church, De’Andre Mills, was sitting in a seat next to two unoccupied seats that I was sure were Linc’s and mine. I paused and turned to Linc, giving him a quizzical look.

“Go with it, Trip,” Linc said. “You’d be surprised what could be lurking right under your nose.”

He was right, of course, and it, of course, was no accident that De’Andre had a ticket to sit right next to us. We did watch and comment on the play, which Duke won, although Georgia Tech put up a good defense, so Linc left happy, but De’Andre and I chatted away on other topics too. And, as Linc hinted, I found that being “just” a construction worker had been too dismissive on my part—not that it mattered in the least in the end. In the end, De’Andre could have been an apprentice in driving nails in house frames and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“I’m really a cabinetmaker,” he said at one point. “I put in walls of shelving and cabinets in the living and family rooms of houses being constructed. Sometimes I make matching furniture too.”

At another point, he revealed that he was rooting for Duke because he had gone there—in English. He revealed he published poetry in regional anthologies. And, no, he hadn’t been on the Duke football team, although he’d played tailback in high school and he and Linc talked about that across me for a while during half time. He’d been on the track and swimming teams at Duke.

“You’re a runner?” I asked.

“Yes. Steve told me you were a runner too.”

“Yes, but I haven’t had anyone to run with . . . for several months.”

“Since your Evan died?” he asked, turning his big brown eyes to me and turning on a sympathetic charm.

“Yes, since Evan died. But how did you—?”

“Reverend Steve told me you were having a rough time. You know you don’t have to run alone, if you don’t want to.” He put his hand on my knee. I left it there.

I looked at him, giving him a good look now, looking beyond my “just a construction worker” prejudice. He was a handsome young man. I’d only gone with older men, but I was getting on to being an older man myself now. Maybe it was time to switch. I did a double-take. It had been some time since I’d thought in terms of doing it at all, let alone the age of a potential partner. De’Andre was tall—not as tall as Linc, but a good four inches taller than I was—and taller than Evan had been. He was slim like Evan had been, though, although muscular too. He was the milk-chocolate color of Evan rather than the dark chocolate of Linc. He looked strong. His hands looked very strong, in keeping with his carpentry profession.

And he had his hand on my knee. And I left it there.

When he went off in search of a restroom, I apologized to Linc, sitting on the other side of me from De’Andre. “Sorry. It seems like I’ve been ignoring you. But I’m finding De’Andre fascinating.”

“Good. That’s how it should be. He’s gone to take a leak. Aren’t you at all curious?”

I frowned, not understanding him. But then I did and laughed. And I realized I was curious. I followed De’Andre up the ramp and when he went into the men’s room and up to a urinal, I took the position beside him and looked down. He was hung. I wondered if all black men were hung, and I decided that at least all I’d been aroused by had been. His cock also was jet black, like Linc’s. I gave a little gasp, De’Andre smiled at me, looked at what I had hanging out, and smiled again. He gave his cock a few strokes when he’d finished urinating and I saw it visibly getting even longer. When we returned to our seats, he put his hand even higher on my thigh and I left it there.

He was going to fuck me. I knew that. He seemed to know that, as well. He didn’t ask me if he could. He just assumed that we now had an understanding. And he was right.

At the end of the game, Linc offered De’Andre a ride. I thought nothing of that even though I was the one with a car and the one doing the driving. We drove directly to my cottage in Carrboro and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

I started to turn into the guest room. We were all working on shedding our clothes. We all knew this was going to be a threesome.

“No,” Linc said, turning me to the master bedroom. “Your bed. We must keep our memories, yes, but they should become fond memories, not controlling ghosts. We’re going to fuck you in your bed.” And they did.

Linc put me down at the foot of the bed, with my buttocks on the edge. My knees were hooked on his hips and he was grasping and squeezing and separating my buttocks, as he opened me up with his shaft. De’Andre, his naked body lithe but well muscled, his cock long, long, long and stiff in erection, climbed up on the bed at my head, raised my shoulders with his hand so that my head arched back, and slid his cock into my mouth as Linc was fucking me in long slides.

At Linc’s direction, Linc withdrew and came around and sat with my head in his lap while De’Andre stood below me, condom packet in hand, looking quizzical.

“Your choice, Trip,” Linc murmured. “Steve went with De’Andre to a clinic where he was certified clean. I knew Evan barebacked you as a signal of his commitment. De’Andre is prepared to do the same—to being only for you as long as you want. So, what’s your choice? Sheathed or raw?”

“Raw,” I whispered. The packet was dropped to the floor. De’Andre was between my legs, grasping my ankles and wishboning my legs, raising, and spreading me wide. Then he was entering, entering, entering me, and I was gasping and panting and arching my back and crying out my need, my want, my satisfaction of being worked deep by a long, long jet-black cock. He pumped me and pumped me as Linc reached a hand over me and stroked me to an ejaculation. De’Andre stroked on inside me to shooting his own load, blasting me deep with his prodigious cum.

We held there, all panting, all humming our satisfaction, until I felt De’Andre going hard again inside me.

“Surrender time,” Linc said in a low voice. “Pick him up De’Andre, as I told you to do. Fully master him. Fully surrender to him, Trip.”

De’Andre pulled me up from the bed, turned me on his cock, so that I was facing away from him. I went limp for him, bent double at the waist, my legs and arms and head dangling toward the floor, totally relaxed and limp as he crouched a bit, and walked around the floor pulling me on and off his cock until he gave me another ejaculative bathing.

I slept that night, in my own king-sized bed, that Evan and I had shared for years and that I now shared with Linc and De’Andre. At intervals through the night, one of them rolled over on top of me and fucked me. I lost count of how many times.

In church the next morning, I sat in the choir behind the pulpit, where Linc gave a powerful, well-received sermon on acceptance and leading a full life, and where I reminisced about his powerful body being on top of me, fucking me. My gaze went beyond him to De’Andre, sitting in the second row, and my thoughts were the same. My thoughts also went to Evan and it seemed like the words of Linc’s sermon were directly challenging my thoughts of my former partner, telling me to remember but not to be consumed by my memories—to get on with life.

It took the congregation a long time to say good-bye to Preacher Lincoln Douglas, who had come to the church with his suitcase. He was going to spend the rest of Sunday with his grandson and bride and they were going to take him to the airport.

He had a twinkle in his eye when he shook my hand and said good-bye in the church’s back parking lot where only two cars now were parked—Linc’s grandson’s and mine. De’Andre stood by mine as Linc and I said our good-byes and I thanked him for bringing me back into life. I knew that this had been just a temporary intervention by him, Linc doing what he was trained to do—and equally knowing that he hadn’t left me in the lurch. He’d provided De’Andre for me.

When there was only my car in the lot, De’Andre pulled me to him in an embrace and we kissed.

“You’ll drop me off at my house?” he asked.

“I think not,” I answered. “I have a need. Could hardly sit still through the church service. I want to take you back to my house. I want you to take me upstairs and bareback the stuffing out of me.”

“Can do,” he replied, with a big smile.

And afterward, I’ll write a thank-you note to Reverend Steven, I thought. I knew who had engineered this successful intervention.

by Habu

Email: [email protected]

Copyright 2024