Two-Baller Double Date

“So, are you interested, Mark?”

It was a question that didn’t require any exploration on Lachon’s part. He was asking me if I’d like to go on a double date with him with two semipro basketball players who were moving to Dayton as their American Basketball Association team, the Ohio Kings, was relocating here from Cleveland and they wanted to check out the social scene in Dayton. Lachon Bradshaw, a star forward with the University of Dayton Flyers NCAA Division 1 basketball team, knew I was gay and would date a gay guy because I’d gone out with—and gone down on—Lachon. He was gay too. Obviously, he was telling me these semipro basketball players were gay and would expect sex on a date. He came right out and said it.

“Sex wouldn’t be a problem, would it?” he’d asked me.

“Safe sex?”

“If that’s what you wanted.”

“No, then, not if I could get it up with the guy.”

“Not a problem with these two guys,” Lachon said.

Lachon was a senior at the University of Dayton. I was a sophomore, studying business administration and hoping to go into sports management. I wasn’t a basketball player—most of them towered over my five-foot-nine, 170-pound frame, and out-bulked me, although I worked out and there wasn’t anything not to be proud of muscle wise at my height and weight class. Lachon towered over me too at six-six and some 220 pounds. As well as the basketball team, Lachon and I shared a couple of classes. We also both were actively gay and that had brought us together.

Unfortunately, as far as mating up, we both were submissives. We’d discovered this on our first and only date that included sex, although not as totally sexual as we had anticipated. We tried but our satisfaction didn’t get past the mutual hand-jacking stage. Still, that was pleasant enough.

We palled around a lot still, but we didn’t try to include sex anymore. Our one and only had been after a big game victory, when I invited Lachon back to my small attic apartment in an old Victorian house among those on Irving Avenue the university had bought for student housing in the South Student Housing area more commonly called “The Ghetto.” I had a studio apartment, essentially one large room under sloping ceilings with a kitchen wall and a bath that I didn’t have to share because my family could afford it.

We’d gone to my place fully expecting to have all-out anal sex. We hadn’t checked each other out first, though. Although I could get him up and releasing with my mouth and he could do the same for me with his hand, neither of us could put in the lust needed to keep it hard to put in the other’s ass. After showing our frustration, we saw the humor in that, and although we continued running together, we hunted separately. That is, we hunted separately until now, when Lachon was asking me if I wanted to do a double date with him.

“They’re both hunks,” he said. “Mohammed Upshaw, a guard, is my date. He’s bringing a friend and teammate, Jalen Fell, also a guard. They’re coming down from Cleveland for the weekend to check Dayton out. They’re both power tops. I made sure to check that out, although this doesn’t have to include sex if you’re not interested in that.” He’d said this in circling the issue until later when he directly asked if I’d lay down for a guy on the first date—specifically for the guy he was trying to set this double date up with.

“I might be interested,” I had answered. What I wondered was what my date would think if I tried to tell him I didn’t want it to include sex.

“They’re both black,” he then said, almost apprehensively. But he was black too and that hadn’t stopped me from giving him blow and hand jobs. But he had been my first black—and my last, for that matter. I was of Hanoverian stock—meaning of the German variety that had provided a ruling family house for England. All white. But there had been plenty of blacks around me since I’d come to the University of Dayton—mostly big jocks—and, because I spent a lot of time in locker rooms and checked out such things, I’d found that blacks, overall, were a lot better endowed than whites. And, what can I say? Yes, I had a size fetish. I was slim hipped and had a fantasy of a big cock managing to center in on that. A good part of my thrill was in the size I was able to sheath.

“That’s fine. It’s good,” I answered. “And I can’t see trying to tell him ‘no sex’ if he’d come on the date expecting it. I’d manage.”

“It’s the black scene here they’ll want to focus on.”

“Fine. Maybe then they’ll not want to date a little white boy, like me.”

“Oh, no. Jalen’s salivating to date you.”

“Salivating? How do you know that?”

“I sent him your photo.”

“My photo? Me naked?”

“Of course naked.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Jalen already knows he wants to fuck me on this blind date.”

“I don’t think it can be called a blind date if he’s seen a naked photo of you already, But, yes,” Lachon answered, “I sent him one of the ones you sent me when you were trying to make me.”

“I sent those when I thought you and I might get it on, Lachon. I didn’t send them for you to share with the world.”

“I didn’t share them with the world, Mark. This is today’s dating. Guys want to see what other guys have got.”

“So, how do you know they are hung? I suppose they sent you their naked photos too.”

“Sure. Of course they did. Here, look. This here’s my date, Mohammed Upshaw. And the date you could have, Jalen Fell.”

I nearly dropped my teeth. They were prime basketballers—tall and rangy, but with the musculature of gods. And they were monster hung. Mohammed, Lachon’s designated date, was masturbating his in his photos. He was bald, but the more handsome, taller, and more muscled of the two. The amused and coy expression he had on his face as he looked into the camera indicated he’d be a fun date. He was the milk chocolate one of the two and arrested my attention more than the other guy, Jalen Fell, did, although there wasn’t anything to complain about in the hunk department with Fell either. He was a more dusky black than Upshaw was. In both men, the cock and balls were a darker black than their bodies were, justifying the focus of attention from a viewer there.

“Both gold-foil Trojan Magnum level,” Lachon said. I couldn’t disagree with that. I couldn’t help going hard and wanting to hum at seeing the photos of the two of them.

“So, you want to go on a two-baller double date with these guys and me?” Lachon asked.

“Yes.” All sense of “you don’t have to give him sex if you don’t want to” had flown out the window. That was fine with me.

“You’re good with sex being assumed.”

“Yes”—with both of them, I was thinking, but I didn’t say it.

* * * *

Jalen Fell was the driver, traveling down to Dayton from Cleveland in a honking black, slicked-up 2006 Lincoln Navigator monster SUV with smoked windows. It was a “looks like new” classic ride. They picked us up outside the UD Arena on a Friday night after Lachon and I had cleaned up after basketball practice. They had been given tickets to watch the practice and I spent a good part of my time carrying water and bandages for the team trying to pick them out in the stands. When I did, I almost hyperventilated, seeing nothing that belied the photos they’d sent. They each were a mountain of sculpted black muscle.

One set of us seemed to have guessed wrong on the dress for the date. Lachon and I showed up in jeans, sneakers, and dressy polo shirts. The Ohio Kings guys showed up in baggy silky athletic shorts drooping to the knees, athletic Ts that dipped at the sides to show bulging muscles and hairy pits, and unlaced combat boots. They didn’t look like guys going clubbing in Dayton, but they arrested attention wherever they clubbed with us in Dayton, so I guess they won the battle of the dress code. They both looked like mean muvas and were sexy as hell. There was no question that they would take control.

Since Jalen was driving, I sat in front with him and gave directions, while Lachon and Mohammed wrestled and made out in the shadows of the rear seat while we moved from venue to venue. From the sounds I heard, Mohammed scored before our first stop.

This basically was Lachon and Mohammed’s date, as they had hooked up in Cleveland when Lachon went up there to try out for the Kings. They were miles ahead in the date of Fell and me, who had barely met and hadn’t fucked already—and maybe wouldn’t ever fuck—if I didn’t turn Fell on. We were well beyond the question of whether Fell turned me on, though. He reached over to touch or squeeze my knee occasionally as we drove.

“You know what’s goin’ on back there, don’t you?” he asked, giving me a grin.

“It would be hard not to know,” I answered.

That was the extent of that for a while—while steam and sucky noises were coming up from the rear seat—but the vibes were there of “let’s get it on.” It didn’t take much for me to get that vibe with a big black, athletic bull—certainly not from either of the black studs in the front and back of this Navigator.

One of the key things I later remember about the date—beyond the sex—was that, from start to finish, I don’t remember seeing anyone who wasn’t black. I’d had no idea there was a black community this large in the city or that it essentially had its own flourishing social center.

We drove west, across the Great Miami River, into a section of the city I’d never been in before. I’d seen my last white man for the evening. They fed us dinner at a Waffle House on 5th Street, one that was busy and that, surprising, served lots of good food without breaking the bank, and, again, where all of the workers and patrons were black. I became a center of attention, but it didn’t seem to be one of animosity. There was no question that I was under control and wouldn’t be a threat to anyone.

No one would have tried anything anyway, I didn’t think, considering the bulk of our dates. And they were, after all, in the nearly total majority. Some looks made me a little nervous, though. Some looks were resentful but some looks were lustful. I never was more aware that I was one fine-looking dude myself—or that I was white and small enough to essentially be defenseless in this venue. And, for my part, I was sizing up every black man I saw as a potential sex partner, wondering if they were as hung as the photos of Mohammed and Jalen had shown they were.

The question of “were all black men hung like horses” came popping up again, and then I thought I need only wonder about the two men Lachon and I were with.

Did I really want to sheath a monster, jet-black cock? Increasingly, I was finding that the answer to that was yes—if I could stretch enough to take it. How big could I take it? How did it feel to be totally stuffed? I sure wanted to try. I was entertaining fantasies of a jet-black cock inside me, probing and expanding, stretching and opening me, as I touched the biceps of a muscular black stud, moaned my surrender, and writhed on the monster pole. Yes, Lachon and I had gone to a drugstore before the date and bought a box of twelve Trojan Magnum XLs.

The problem on this evening was that the image I was most readily bringing up was Mohammed, Lachon’s date, not—as much hunk as he was—my date, Jalen. Being self-conscious about this, I turned in the booth seating we were in and touched Jalen’s bulging bicep. He turned his face to mine and smiled. We kissed.

It would be just fine with Jalen.

Mohammed paid the bills all night, although I heard him make arrangements with Fell to split the charge. They wanted to make it quite evident that they were paying for the date.

“Buying your tails,” I’d heard Mohammed say to Lachon the first time he took the check. Lachon laughed, signaling that was understood and accepted.

They made it quite evident in the way they treated Lachon and me, what they said, how they courted us, and how they touched us, that we were going to pay for the date in other ways than just showing them around the town. By the time we got around to sex, I was shimmering and coming close to hyperventilating.

After we ate, we crossed back, east, across the river, and then drove north into the center of the city and almost to the riverbank again as its course turned back east. Once again I was surprised to find that the black population of Dayton had its own entertainment center here too.

We started off on Water Street, right next to the river, where, at a place with no sign identifying what it was, but with a battle of the bands—black bands—going on inside and everyone—all black—packed onto the dance floor and swaying to the music, everyone danced with, touched, fondled, and hugged each other. It didn’t matter here that I was white as long as I was here with blacks—I received more than my share of looks, smiles, and touches on the dance floor. As long as I was with three hunky black dudes, I was fine. It was like everyone there knew I would take commands and cock from blacks.

It was a mixed crowd—men and women there. Not so at the next stop, a few blocks away, on the main entertainment strip of North Patterson Street, we went into a place called Leroy’s, which was right next door to a trendy bar and dance place called Club Evolution, which I had been to. When I’d gone to Club Evolution, I’d had no idea that there was a black gay club next door.

In Leroy’s, it was all men—all black men. They welcomed the hunky Ohio Kings basketballers with open arms—and me, the only white guy in the place, with hugs and kisses and fondling and groping—all on the dancefloor with blaring music going or in the banquettes set against the wall, where the liquor was flowing and something other than tobacco was being smoked. Here it seemed, at least at first, that I would receive as much attention and touching as the patrons though my date would permit.

Our evening didn’t end here until after some big, black bruiser who had joined our table was pushing me under the table, with his fly open and his erection out for me to service, and Mohammed, laughing but making his point with the ominous comment that “the only cocks this white muvva is smoking are mine and Jalen’s,” was pulling me to safety and deciding that it was time for us to leave.

Out in the Navigator, as we pushed off for the other side of the river, Jalen quietly said, “You know that dude back there, the one wanting a blow job?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You know he wasn’t the only one in there who wanted to get his dick in you. They all did.” I didn’t say anything, so he continued. “How do you feel about that? Taking black cock from a guy you just met.”

“Not a problem,” I answered.

“Does it scare you that every dude in that bar wanted to top you?”

“A little, yes,” I said.

“Good,” he answered, letting it lie there.

On our way back south toward the university area, Mohammed fucked Lachon in the backseat of the Lincoln Navigator, and Jalen drove the long way around and through the university to give them time to finish their business. The first I knew this was going to happen was having Lachon’s jeans and briefs shoved into my lap between the front seat split. After that, a gold-foil packet got flipped into my lap. I picked it up and looked at it. A Trojan Magnum XL condom. It wasn’t from the box Lachon and I had bought. I had that box up front in my coat pocket. The black boys had come with their own supply. Lachon was in for a ride, I could tell.

For that matter, so was I. Jalen had made that clear if it hadn’t been clear already.

I turned and looked in time to see that Mohammed’s silky shorts and jock strap were off too, that Lachon as on his back along the backseat, his legs bent and spread, and Mohammed was on top of him, kneeling between Lachon’s thighs, and just beginning to penetrate my friend’s ass with that godawful thick, long Trojan Magnum-sheathed shaft of his. The root of the black bull’s tool getting half buried in Lachon’s ass was as big as my wrist. Lachon’s hole was wide open—more than I think I ever could manage—but still he was crying out in pain-passion. He was taking it, though. When Mohammed bottomed in him, they set up a vigorous, athletic, bouncing of the fuck that had them rolling around the confines of the backseat like they were in some sort of death struggle. Mohammed’s mammoth cock kept coming out almost all the way before slamming how again and making Lachon cry out in pain-passion.

Still, Lachon whole was gaping compared to what I though I could manage.

And then it was showtime for me too.

I watched through the split in the front seat, working my own cock through the material of my jeans until I realized that the Navigator had stopped and Jalen was reaching over from the driver’s seat, unzipping me, freeing my cock, and stroking it.

“Get out of that harness,” he said. “Give it to me.”

Unbuckling my seat belt to allow me to move, I turned my head toward his, to have his lips meet mine, and, when we came out of the kiss, he guided my face down into his lap, where he had pushed his shorts and jock down to his knees, and had his jet-black monster cock ready to be sucked. Floating into my mind was Mohammed’s “the only cock this white muvva is smoking is mine and Jalen’s” statement in the nightclub.

Showtime on that.

I opened my mouth over Jalen’s shaft, unhinged my jaw to take it, and gave him head while he stroked my cock and Mohammed fucked Lachon in the backseat.

Jalen had driven the Navigator into the large Old River Park, near the university and deserted at this time of the early morning, and had pulled into one of the trailheads, just beyond sight from a park parking lot.

As I was bent over his lap, giving Jalen head, he took his hand off my cock long enough to tug my jeans and briefs down and off my legs. Then, pushing my mouth off his shaft, he moved across the console separating our seats and was on top of me. Reaching down between my seat and the door, he found the lever that reclined my seat. My lips were captured by his. His hands went to my inner thighs, coaxing them open. He was heavy on top of me. I wasn’t going anywhere until he let me. I raised my legs, pressing my right foot into the top edge of the passenger door window and lodging my left one under the rearview mirror.

“Jalen,” I said, my voice full of question, not that I knew of a question to ask.

“Give me you hole,” he muttered. “Take it, bitch.”

This was it, then.

My eyes caught the glimpse of a condom packet on its way to the floor. Gold. Oh, shit, we were right. Jalen needed a Trojan Magnum too.

Jalen was crouched between my thighs. He reached down with a hand to put the bulb of his jet-black cock into position, and I jerked, gasped, and cried out in surprise-pain-passion, as he penetrated.

“Take it, bitch,” he repeated.

He started the thick, relentless, Trojan-thick stretching journey up into my channel. We held, me panting hard, as I opened enough for him to pump me. Then, plastered to my seat in the confines of the SUV cockpit, I writhed and rocked and rode the big black’s cock as he athletically tore what he wanted out of me.

Lachon was being even more vocal from the backseat than I was. But then I thought he was probably taking an even bigger cock and more roughly than I was. It hurt, but not as badly as I thought it would. I opened to him better than I anticipated. My body wanted him. The passage stretched to his need and, once he was fully saddled, I went with him, rocking against him, lost in the slide and filling of him. Fully in position, he thrust hard and deep, again and again, as I shimmered and groaned and took him. I reached around and clutched his butt cheeks, holding him close against me, me involuntarily murmuring, “Yes, yes. Fuck, yes,” as he dominated me.

I was embarrassed and Jalen was doing a good job of it, but all of the time we were fucking my mind was on what Lachon was getting in the backseat and I was wishing it was me with Mohammed.

That cock might kill me, but, shit, I wanted to give it a try.

Jalen came quickly, before they were done in the backseat. He didn’t say anything. He just lay on top of me, going flaccid inside me, as we listened to the others finishing up in the backseat. He owned me now. We both knew it. The date had gone the anticipated distance. He rolled the Trojan off his cock and laid it, the bulb filled out, on the dashboard. We both looked at it while they were finishing up in the back. I reached over and handed and played with Jalen’s cock, letting him know he was the master, I the slave. We both knew where he had placed me by calling me his bitch, but I just let that pass. I was willing to be his white boy bitch.

* * * *

Jalen dropped Lachon and Mohammed off in front of the senior student’s house on Brown Street where Lachon lived and drove the five blocks to the house where I had an apartment. He parked just down the street from my apartment and we sat there, in the vehicle, both of us waiting for something to happen or to be said before I got out of the Navigator. The guy had just fucked me in the Navigator. What should I be doing here? Should I be waiting for him to thank me for the date or the sex or for me to tell him what a stud he was? Was he waiting for me to invite him upstairs? Obviously Mohammed was going up to Lachon’s room and was going to fuck him again. Did Jalen expect to get more too? Did he even want more? He hadn’t said anything really about what he’d already gotten. Did his little white bitch do OK?

Eventually, I ventured, “I hope I didn’t disappoint. I hope you liked what you saw of Dayton.” I was aware that this was a “Can we live here?” visit by the two semipro basketballers from Cleveland. I didn’t intentionally put the personal element of that first, but it just came out that way.

“Dayton’s OK. I don’t have much of a choice anyway if the team’s moving here. And I liked having you as a date,” he added, “although I’m aware that you had eyes for Mohammed all night.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Was it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“You’re fine. It’s just that . . .”

“Just that he’s a black stud bull,” Jalen said. “Don’t think I don’t know that. I’ve always got him around for me to be compared with.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry for spoiling your evening in that way.” What else could I say. I was a little ticked, actually. No matter what Jalen had thought I wanted, that didn’t stop him from taking what he wanted.

I couldn’t deny that my eyes had been for Mohammed—that perfectly cut body of his . . . that monster cock. Not that Jalen wasn’t hung like a bull too. He certainly was better built than I was used to. Of course, so far I’d found that to be true of all black men. It had been an all-black evening, and every guy I’d been able to check out in any way seemed to be supersized.

There was something else I could say, and I did. Jalen deserved to hear it. “You’re a stud in your own right,” I said. “You’re the biggest I’ve ever taken. I loved it.” I reached over and rubbed his cock through the material of his silk shorts. He was hard. “You’ve got yourself a big boy.”

“Hmmm, that’s nice,” he murmured. “You were a highlight of the evening. That’s not what I was missing.”

“What were you missing? You should have said . . . if there was something I could have done for you that I didn’t do—”

“I would have liked to do it somewhere other than the front seat of the Navigator. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get it all in.”

“You got enough of it in to stretch me all out of shape,” I said. “I can’t complain about this, although I’ll be feeling stretched for days.”

“This” was his erection, which I’d pulled out from the waistband of his shorts and was stroking. I lowered my head to his lap and, as he reclined his seat and gave a sigh, I gave him another blow job. There was nothing to complain about concerning the size of his jaw-dislocating hard, jet-black cock.

“I sure as hell don’t have anything to complain about in that department from this evening,” he said after he’d come in my throat. “No, the only thing I regret about tonight was that the Cleveland Cavaliers were playing the Philadelphia 76ers and I was missing that game.”

Now that I’d done him, he was showing me attention again. He’d reached over, unzipped me, pulled me out, and was stroking me. I didn’t know if he’d just stroke me off like he’d done before or if I was going to get some sucking action. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, but it was after 1:00 in the morning and the neighborhood seemed to be quiet. There were lights on and music to be heard. This was a college student area, after all. But, other than a guy walking his dog two blocks down toward Brown Street, I didn’t see anything going on outside.

But was cock play all I wanted? The more I thought about it, even though I ached for Mohammed, I couldn’t complain about what Jalen was packing. I’d much prefer having him inside me again that just getting a hand or blow job here in his car again.

I was already stretched to his specifications tonight. Another fuck wouldn’t damage anything.

“I recorded tonight’s game,” I said. “I was planning to watch it tomorrow, but if you’re not too tired and are in the mood, you could come up to my place to watch it now. I live alone.”

“Watch it tonight? At your place?” he asked. There was no hesitation in his answer. “That would be great.”

“And I don’t know what you and Mohammed were planning for tonight, but, if you want, you could stay the night.” What had they been planning for tonight? I wondered for the first time. They’d said they’d be here for the weekend, but they hadn’t said anything about accommodations.

“Even better,” he murmured.

But first, he made clear what he was going to do for me in the way of cock play. His mouth came down and slid down the sides of my shaft, swallowing me to the root. Moaning, I reached for the lever that reclined my seat as he began sucking me off. I found that Jalen gave great head. He slid my jeans and brief off my legs, and I raised my right leg, pressing the ball of my foot into the top, forward edge of the window edge. I moved my left leg over his right shoulder, making me completely open and vulnerable to him. I was totally under his control—just as I liked it. As he sucked my cock and balls, he snaked his finger down my perineum and entered me, finger fucking me with big, jet-black fingers as he sucked and I panted, moaned, and rocked on his fingers.

I saw him slide the gold-foil packet of a Trojan Magnum XL out of his pocket and I knew he was going to fuck me again there in the car.

Shit, these basketball players had great stamina.

I gave a little cry as he rolled over on top of me, took a moment to roll the Trojan on, and stuck it in again.

Up, down; in, out; up, down. He was full on top of me again and I’d spread ’em wide and rolled my pelvis up more than I’d done before. I was still open from the first time and he stretched me even more than he’d done before. We were more in synch now. I was sure he was getting more in than he did before. I clutched his buns and held him to me. He didn’t call me his bitch this time. He just fucked me good.

* * * *

Although essentially one long room, my attic studio apartment was commodious enough for me—and someone else I brought home, as I did this night. I was neat enough, so nothing had to be moved or hidden. Jalen went straight to the sofa and large ottoman facing a big-screen TV, which was located between two dormer windows immediately to the right when we entered the apartment. The kitchen area was to the left, with an island separating it from the living area. Further along in the room was a dining area, with a table I used more for fanning out my school papers and holding my computer than for eating. I usually just stood at the kitchen island, watching TV from across the room while I ate. The bathroom and a closet jutted into the space on the left. And beyond that, the queen-sized bed in an alcove created by the inset of the bathroom was on the left and my study desk on the right. A large window was set in the outer wall at the other end of the room.

While Jalen settled on the sofa and worked the remote to pull up the Cavaliers-Flyers basketball game, I went to the kitchen and retrieved four beers from the refrigerator. I figured that would hold us for the first half of the game. It did, but probably only because, sitting beside each other on the sofa, we spent a large part of the first half, feeling each other up and making out. There was more room to maneuver on the sofa than there had been in the front seat of the Navigator, and we fooled around more here.

When he remarked that, “Yes, this is better. I can get it all in here,” I knew that sex was still on the menu.

At halftime, I was stretched along the sofa on my back and Jalen was on top of me. My legs were spread, my knees hooked on his hips. Our clothes were comingling on the floor in front of the sofa. Yet another split-open Trojan Magnum XL packet lay on top of my briefs there on the floor. We were working on the box Lachon and I had bought now. He was fucking me in a missionary. He was in to the root. I was yodeling at the stretch and reach of his big, jet-black cock. His fucking hadn’t gotten boring yet; he was a stud each time. Again, it was better here than in the Navigator.

As Jalen got into the rhythm of the fuck, so did I, clutching his shoulder blades and moving my hips with his rhythm, taking him deep, stretching for him, setting my channel muscles to undulating over his pumping cock. We got enough into it that he was more interested in the fuck than the basketball game. The Cavaliers were letting the Flyers dribble away with it anyway, so he put the game on pause and concentrated on making us one fantastic coordinated fucking machine. I had my hips in motion, fucking him as much as he was fucking me.

A loud knock at my door ground what was becoming something beautiful to a halt. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong. The game wasn’t too loud—it wasn’t on at all at the moment. I hadn’t been too vocal in being taken—not any more than I got sometimes with other guys I brought up here. Surely none of the neighbors around me had any reason to kick.

I rolled out from underneath Jalen, as the knock came again, pulled on and zipped and buttoned my jeans, and went to the door.

Looking through the peephole revealed that Mohammed Upshaw was standing out in the hall and about to pound on the door again. He looked like he knew where he was and wanted to be inside. I didn’t think it was just the apartment he wanted to be inside, and I felt the thrill of maybe him having liked the looks of a much as I had of him.

I let him in, and, entering and shoving the door closed with his foot behind him, he embraced me, both of us standing, just inside the door. He captured my mouth with his and freed one hand to unbutton and unzip my jeans again and pushed them down to the floor. I no sooner had stepped out of them then he was coaxing my legs up. I climbed his legs; hooked my knees on his hips; and, it being a very, very good thing that Jalen had just been stretching me out with his cock; put me immediately on his shaft and started pumping me hard and deep. He had arrived a determined man in need, not even asking me if I wanted to ride him. That I was moving my pelvis as vigorously as he was thrusting told him all he needed to know in that department.

My prayers had been answered of getting it on with the superstud Mohammed.

“You gonna come over and help me with this bitch?” Mohammed sounded out toward the sofa, and I found out what double penetration by two big, jet-black cocks was all about.

Jalen approached me from the rear, grabbed my hips and rolled them up, penetrated me above where Mohammed’s cock was inside me, and began to pump again.

Not long afterward, Jalen wanted to check on the Cavaliers-Flyers game, and he pulled out of me and went back to the sofa and took the game off pause. The Cavaliers had clawed their way back into contention. Jalen concentrated on the TV, while, right beside him, Mohammed put me on the ottoman, belly-down and legs, arms, and head dangling off the sides; mounted me on top like he was a jockey and I was his race horse; stuffed me with his thick shaft; and finished his fuck.

The next morning, I woke, on my bed, snuggled between Mohammed, on my right, and Jalen, on my left. I hadn’t gotten solid sleep, having ridden the two black boy’s cocks in various positions periodically through the night.

My question of where they were going to spend the night during their visit to Dayton from Cleveland had been answered—here with me. I didn’t know how Mohammed knew where to find me—where my apartment was—unless Lachon Bradshaw had told him and perhaps the plan all along had been for the black bulls to bed down here. There wouldn’t have been room for them at Lachon’s place. I’d have to remember to either ream him out or thank him for whatever his part had been in putting these two superhung black boys in my bed.