"Wait!"
Holding his head out the window Jamel made the motion at a pair of passing teens.
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As we pulled up to yet another car, it suddenly dawned on me that my neighborhood might not be quite what I’d thought it to be. Jamel made a motion with his fingers, moving them to his soft lips as if he was smoking a joint and the boys in the car shook their heads no.
What am I doing? I thought, driving on. I’m an intelligent man whose old enough to know, why am I driving around my neighborhood with this kid, on the prowl?
"Wait!"
Holding his head out the window Jamel made the motion at a pair of passing teens.
"Y’all know where I can get some trees?" He asked. The boys hunched their shoulders, one of them venturing closer to the car.
"Ol’ boy over on 75th be havin’ some," He reported, peering inside.
Jamel looked at me and I gave him a ‘might as well’ look. He thanked them and we drove off. Slouching in the seat his knee bounced, an agitated look on his face. I’d never seen him like this.
At the old house he jumped from the car, jaunting across the sorry excuse for a yard, up the stairs to the front door, knocking softly. It opened and a wiry young man with braids exited, closing the door behind him. Jamel talked with him then the man ducked back inside.
Were it anyone else? I wondered. Even contemplated the powerful hold he had on me but couldn’t think straight because I was noticing the top of his ass, peeking from above his sagging jeans. His Calvin’s forming perfectly about his pert, round ass, there was just the hint of a crack before it ducked below his Sean Jean’s.
I wasn’t ready to think about it yet, despite my friend’s admonitions. Couldn’t think about it, blinded by my insatiable lust. He returned, a look of satisfaction on his smooth face as he slumped in his seat. Intrigued, I had to ask.
"What did you say?"
"I asked him if he wanted to suck my dick." He smirked at me, gnawing on one of his fingernails.
"No really, you mean to tell me you can just walk up to a stranger’s house and get a bag of weed?"
"I just asked him if he had some trees," He stated, still gnawing on his fingernail. Sitting forward, he turned the radio up, Avant blasting "Read your mind".
I glanced at him, his silky smooth face sending thrills up my spine. His afro a bit unkempt, it looked more like a box than a semi-circle. Those steely eyes glancing over, he caught me gazing, his subtle smile melting me on the spot.
At my apartment he immediately fired up the sound system, filling my small space with the melodic sounds of Usher. Kneeling in front of my coffee table he spilled the contents of his newly purchased bag onto the surface, jaunting to the kitchen to get the ass tray from atop my fridge.
I was emptying the contents of my pockets on the dresser when the man upstairs started stomping on the ceiling. I returned to the living room and we both looked up at the angry thuds. Jamel chuckled, shaking his head as he prepared his blunt.
Reclining on the couch I watched as he licked the edges of the cigar paper, then lit up. Inhaling deeply, he squinted at me through the smoke, then smiled again as he exhaled. It was our routine, one that’d barged its way into my humdrum life and turned it upside down. Until Jamel I was a novel reading, TV watching, hermit, venturing out only when I needed something. My routine so mundane you could’ve set your watch to it, I sometimes marvel at how it’s changed.
"How is it?"
"What you think?" He said, the lump in his jeans flexing. Flushed, I stared at that lump. He flexed it again, this time the bulge unmistakable and I sat forward.
I slid off the couch, straddling him as he sucked at the last of his blunt. He gazed at me, his pupils dilated, his eyelids heavy, exhaling a trail of gray smoke. I sensed his lithe frame beneath me and suddenly, the world made sense. All was right with me and time suddenly stopped as I moved to kiss him.
He dropped the roach in the ash tray, his dick thudding against my leg as I pecked him on the lips. Holding me with that hard gaze, he gently kissed back with every peck, then willingly parted his lips when I swept my tongue inside his mouth.
His dick was doing flip-flops in his pants now as he lay back, allowing me to taste him, ravish him. Usher’s "Caught Up" screaming from the speakers, the floor vibrated as we entwined, our tongues dancing between our mouths like love struck ballerinas.
Succumbing, he closed his eyes, sucking at my tongue, his mouth gaped open. I am torn, enraptured in his embrace yet troubled he’s come to mean so much to me, so soon.
Don’t leave. Don’t take this away. Be here, like this… always.
Tenuous… fragile.
Enfolding his slight figure in my broad arms, I worked my tongue further down his throat, eliciting a small whimper.
We were at the swap meet, that big one up on Slauson, when I first got a glimpse of him…his world. We’d walked the entire complex, my tired feet complaining as we boarded yet another escalator, in search of those pair of Sean Jeans he loves so much.
As soon as we made the landing, he was affronted by a group of the hardest looking niggas I’d ever seen. They faced off for a second, my heart pounding in my throat as I waited for it to jump off, then he grabbed one of the boy’s hands and pulled him to him in a brotha to brotha embrace.
"’Sup my nigga," Jamel snapped, throwing the youth some dap.
"Ain’t nothin’, ‘bout to bounce," The hardest looking boy returned.
For a second they regarded me, the one obvious, out-of-place nigga, then the hard faced boy bobbed his head at Jamel as if to say, ‘who the fuck is that?’ Jamel glanced over his shoulder at me and, for an instant, I thought he was going to play me but he smirked and spouted,
"Yo’ this my uncle Arnett."
The
lead boy bobbed his head at me and I played it cool, returning his bob instead
of awkward handshake. "So what you up to?" Jamel glanced at me then
answered,
"Ma uncle gettin’ me somma them Sean Jeans." My ‘cred’ suddenly escalating, the boys regarded me warily, hard face bobbing his head up at me.
"A’ight," He said, "Gon’ handle yo’s then." And we were alone, just me and Jamel once more, my heart still racing.
Once, I tried holding his hand, in the car, and he had a conniption, warning me we were too close to his ‘peeps’ for that shit. "Yo, squash that, man," He spouted, pulling his hand away. I pulled into his apartment complex, a bit wounded by his rejection but immediately understood his apprehension when I saw all the roughnecks, milling about the building.
We were like opposite ends of the spectrum, he from one of the roughest part of the ghetto while I stayed in a middle class section of town. He wore his pants around his slender hips while I wore khakis from The Gap.
But we had our music. From day one he fell in love with my Kenwood stereo, cranking the volume ridiculously high, driving the high end speakers until the man upstairs stomped on the floor.
I loved his selections, surprised not by his choice of Hip-Hop and Rap but by his love of ol’ school like Otis Redding and The Whispers. "Man, Scotty be throwing down," He enthused, replaying 'Keep On Loving Me', once more.
Within the confines of my quaint apartment, he was a soul set free, releasing that side of him that, no doubt, would’ve shocked his friends at the swap meet. Spinning his favorites, he let me in on his idol, Janet Jackson. To watch him cavort and gyrate to Janet’s songs, mimicking her moves to near perfection, was a near confusion of representations.
Here was Jamel, this street hard youth, pivoting and gliding like a ballerina to the beats, his entire body an instrument of rhythm. It was then the real boy came forth, free to express itself, uninhibited.
Watching him summoned so many feelings, it took everything in me to not pull him to me and devour him, right on the spot. He grinned at me, pleased he had an adoring audience, stopping periodically to light up again until he mellowed, slumping on the couch.
Like that first time, I kissed him passionately, our tongues entwining until finally I was satiated, pulling away to look into those querying, brown eyes. He always looks away, nervously regarding a distant spot on the wall or some other inanimate object until I peck him on the lips once more.
I was actually hesitant to kiss him at first but he made no resistance when I ventured, melting beneath me like a virgin on prom night. Now it’s a mainstay of our lovemaking, stoking the fires until I can’t take anymore and have to rip his clothes off.
"What you doin’?" That’s the way it always starts, the timbre of his voice belying his tender years. My pulse always quickens, thrilled at the familiar sound. I’d got a call like that today, just before noon.
"Nothing," I always say and then he asks me to come pick him up.
When I picked him up today, he’d immediately asked if we could stop by his "spot". I understood that to mean his "weed spot" and followed his directions to a rundown house, near his apartment.
He jaunted up to the door, knocked, waited. Ten minutes later, he was still waiting until, finally, he gave up, returning to the car a bit perturbed. From day one he’d brought his ‘smokes’ with him, expertly rolling a joint on my coffee table, my stereo blasting in the background.
"Shit makes me horny" he’d informed, flexing that bulge as he sucked on the substance. It made him uninhibited, amorous. Made him do things he normally wouldn’t do. Turned him into a freak. My freak. Without it, I wondered what he’d do but he was determined, scouring my neighborhood until he’d scored.
"How old were you, your first time?" He flipped a few pages in an Ebony magazine, searching diligently for pictures of his idol, Janet. I waited until finally I realized he was so absorbed, he hadn’t even heard me.
"Twelve," He replied, after I’d asked him again. His eyes never left the magazine. "My cousin used smoke it and she gave me some," He said, flipping another page.
I didn’t have a reference for such behavior, just wondered what it would’ve been like, had I started smoking weed at twelve? He’d started cigarettes when he was 10, had his first fuck when he was 11. I try imagining an 11 year old Jamel, wedged between some prepubescent girls legs, his burgeoning sausage planted deep inside her but it’s just one more thing I have no reference for.
Running my hand down his slender frame, I tweak his nipples through his blindingly white t-shirt. He’s on fire, that lump in his pants bobbing up and down.
When he first came over with my "play" son, Kendrick, he literally took my breath away. Kendrick prattling on like always, Jamel was but a small punctuation to his effusive animation.
Quietly observing him, I felt the burn, the flames of desire licking at my flushed face. At some point I got a word in edgewise, turning the focus temporarily on Jamel who demurred, uneasy with the sudden attention.
Awkwardly searching for some connection I talked a few minutes about my film collection, my computer, which I’d noticed him eyeing a couple of times, then my music. Slowly he came out of his shell, Kendrick leaving us to check his email.
One mention of Janet Jackson and I’d found the connection. I put one of her CD’s on and suddenly, the boy who’d slouched in indifferent defiance transformed, singing along and gyrating to the beat.
"’Choo doin’?" First time he’d called, my heart thudded so loud, I thought it’d jump out my mouth. He’d apparently got my number from Kendrick, taken the time to call me. He gave me a location to pick him up and we met, shit jumping off like gangbusters that first time.
Jamel squirms, licking his lips as I raise his shirt, my hand traveling up his torso. His skin silky soft, I find his nipples, thrumming my fingertips about them. Softly exhaling, he closes his eyes, as I raise his shirt higher.
Quivering, he opens his eyes as I encircle his pint-sized nipple. Gazing at me, he exhales an excited gasp as I flick my tongue across the sensitive bud. My hand traveling over his taut tummy, I slip it inside his baggy jeans, over his boxer-clad wonder. It jumps in my caress, writhing about like an unruly serpent. Seizing it, I slip it from his boxers, skinning back his thick foreskin.
Passive, he offers no help when I struggle with his belt. Quietly he lays, quivering or writhing slightly when the shit feels good. His frayed belt finally surrenders, falling either side his slim hips as I open his pants.
Craning my eyes downward, I behold that uncharacteristically large monster of his, still amazed at how someone so slight could grow something so huge. Standing wickedly hard from his groin, it almost seems out of proportion to his small frame.
Clear drops ooze from the narrow head, wetting my hand as I stroke it. With each pass of my hand around the sensitive head, his leviathan flexes, writhing erotically in my fist. Moving toward it, I stop at his concaved belly button, flicking my tongue about it. His dick jumps again, then I raise up, slipping my mouth down his girth.
His eyes closed again, he thrust his hips upward, forcing more of his club eagerly inside my mouth. Peeling his foreskin back, I swirl my tongue around the head, loving the way his dick throbs in my mouth. Piquant drops of his essence leaking onto my tongue, a whimper leaps into my throat, echoing softly.
Moving between his legs, I pull his pants and boxers off. He groans when I pull his socks off, expressing his distaste for my naughty fetish once more. I’ve tried licking his tough, yellow-brown soles but he always jerks his feet away.
Crawling
between his legs again, I pause to look at his smooth, hairless form. He once
told me he was trying to grow a beard but all he had to show was a little fuzz
about his cheeks and a silky covering of hair about his delicate chin. "How
long you been growing it?" I asked, stroking the soft hair. "Two
years," He said, hopeful. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he probably
wasn’t going to get more.
I slip my mouth around his huge growth, trying my best to deep throat it but only get just over half down. He’s pushing his hips up again, trying to wedge more of his girth inside but I pull back, swirling my tongue around the wet head again.
Sucking him madly, I play with his drooping balls, my fingers softly kneading them. He spreads his legs wider, anticipating… no, encouraging my next move and I comply, licking down and over his full balls.
Relishing the slight musk, I paint his pregnant balls, pulling them into my mouth, sucking the day’s odor away. I’m afire, the heat from between his legs scorching my face as I move lower, lapping at the sensitive skin beneath his tightening balls.
His dick bobbles widely, bouncing wickedly skyward, every time I drag my tongue upwards. A small pinprick of juice oozes from his bobbling head, gathering until it drops, a thin trail of clearness dangling over his quivering stomach.
Without provocation he spreads his legs yet wider, planting his feet to either side the bed. I can’t help it, I’m lost between his smooth thighs, licking at that patch of hairless skin beneath his balls then up one thigh to return once more, on my way to the other thigh. Unrestricted, I sample my fill, licking and lapping until he’s primed. Raising his legs, I go for the target, dabbling further until I sniff his slight odor.
One lap across his tight portal and his dick nearly stands perpendicular. Holding his legs high, I feast at his tasty hole, sucking, lapping and licking his slot until it’s dripping with my saliva.
Jamel’s respirations shallow, he quivers as I eat him, licking and dabbling at his outlet.
A secret I’d stumbled upon not long after our first time, I find it extremely stimulating a boy like him gets off on having his ass ate. He says nothing, laying passively quiet, his eyes closed as I work but his dick betrays him, standing painfully erect.
I’ve tried worming a finger or two inside his warm slot but he always pulls my hand away. So I make myself content with a healthy tasting, his throbbing dick telling me all I need to know.
Mewling softly, I jab my tongue at his hole, forcing the tip within, wiggling it as it probes him. His toes wiggle, curling then standing erect as I push. My dick throbs against the mattress, yearning to enter him but I must wait.
Dropping his legs I travel up his rigid column again, capping it with my mouth. It writhes in my orifice, threatening to explode but I’m not ready yet. I want more of his tasty cupcakes.
Flipping him over I dive between his twin globes, sluicing my tongue across his wet pinhole. I reach beneath him, encircling his pulsing girth. His dick does flip-flops in my grip, writhing and convulsing.
He buries his head in the pillow, subtly raising his hips. A dick in my hand and a warm slot on my tongue, I’m in heaven. Over and over I sample his wares, pushing my tongue as far as I can.
Such perfect mounds, not quite as sumptuous as some of the boys I’ve had but just round enough to part like a warm bun. Smooth, caramel loaves with a tempting opening, begging for something to fill it, though he doesn’t know it yet.
Jamel’s swiveling his hips, thrusting them towards my worming tongue. His legs parted, he’s still buried in that pillow but his ass is literally raising up to meet my sluicing tongue. Slurping loudly, I shove my face between his buns, thrusting my tongue yet further up his tight opening.
He raises his ass higher, my tongue searching his nether regions. Pushing even harder, he’s trying to get more of my tongue inside of him. My entire jaw aches, I’m pushing so hard, our simulated fucking at its zenith now.
I feel his dick pulse in my hand and part of me wants to flip him over and suck him off but tongue-fucking him is so exciting, I can’t stop. Raising his ass yet higher, he shudders, a small whimper escaping him. My tongue wiggles inside his hole and he bucks his ass as his dick explodes beneath him.
I hear him panting into the pillow, shrieks and grunts escaping him, his hips rising and falling, raking his asshole across my tongue. His dick swells in my hand and I feel it spurt, powerful contractions traversing it as round after round fires.
Grunting loudly into the pillow, his dick pops heavy squirts of hot juice onto the bed. His asshole relaxes, allowing my tongue passage within. He moans, wiggling his ass, relishing the sensation of partial penetration. His dick blasts more spurts, forcing more squeals and grunts from him. Thrusting his hips into the air, he literally fucks the mattress, squeezing those last few drops out, panting and whooping with each thrust. Then, finally, he slows, his hips still rising and falling, his dick scraping the mattress, my hand squeezing it with each cycle, until, at last, he collapses on the bed.
Gasping for air, he reaches back to hold my face to his asshole. I oblige, munching greedily at his hole until he’s satisfied. He releases me, turning onto his side to observe the mess.
A huge stain lays beneath him, the head of his dick glistening with his issue. There have been occasions his dick’s stayed so hard, we end up going for another round. Though he’s stimulated, it isn’t so today and I wonder if it’s because he couldn’t get his weed from his own spot.
Hoping that isn’t the case, I squeeze his dripping man-stick, extracting another heavy drop from the head. Jamel lets out a sigh, his dick jumping in my hand then I kiss him tenderly, praying this will never end.
"Damnnnn," He effuses, noticing the huge stain beneath me. We smile, both of us satiated for the moment, and I kiss him again.
Alright you horny devils, believe it or not, this story is actually based on events happening right now. Of course I’ve changed the names to protect the innocent but the situations are based on real events and Jamel is someone I’m actually seeing right now.
Like more? Hit me up with your comments/questions and I’ll add another chapter. I mean, I’m practically writing it as it’s happening so let me know what you think.
Holla,
Chris Carr