Tag Archives: gay urban

The Honky in the City Barbershop

Here’s the latest urban MM fiction from Calvin Freeman! It’s called The Honky in the City Barbershop and it completes the all-interracial urban hot trilogy The City Barbershop of Providence, Rhode Island!


Ryan knew working at a City Barbershop would be difficult. He didn’t fit in here. The City Barbershop was for black men to get their hair cut. It was an unspoken rule as rigid as any law. There was a different barbershop right down the street, a well-lit place where the barbers were Italian. That was where white people went.

But they weren’t hiring, and Ryan needed a job now. He had applied thinking it wouldn’t go anywhere, but now here he was, starting his first day at a City Barbershop.

He thought this particular location would be a pretty good one for a white guy to work at. That’s because there were, until recently, two non-white barbers here — one of them was Asian, the other Native American. They were both gone now.

So Ryan was the only non-black person there. He was also the only gay man in the barbershop. That wasn’t normal either. City Barbershops had a reputation as a place where black men could go to swing downlow. Whatever happened here, stayed here. Ryan found that part of his new job pretty exciting.

But not a single person wanted a blowjob on his first day. He was almost totally ignored, except for the suspicious glances. He only cut two people’s hair that first day. He barely made a dime in tips.

It wasn’t until his second day, near the end of the day, before he had a real conversation with anyone there. Ryan sat in his chair playing on his cell phone. He had resigned himself to not getting any more clients today, since it was only a few minutes before closing time. He had deliberately made his workstation messy because he thought it would be embarrassing if he was ready to go literally the moment the clock ticked over.

Four minutes before close, a thug named Deon sauntered in. He was a grizzled, deep-dimpled drug dealer who came in with a dour expression on his face. Ryan stood up and smiled at him.

“Hello, I can take you in my chair if you-?”

Deon scoffed. “What?”


“You a barber here?”

Ryan nodded.

Deon scoffed again. “What? They hire white guys now?” He laughed a little to himself. “Nah, whiteman. I do not want a haircut. I don’t let white folk touch my hair. I ain’t here for a haircut anyway.” He made eye contact with one of the other barbers, Wilson, who nodded at him. They went into the backroom,

At first Ryan wondered if he was being upstaged — were they having sex? It was normal for gay men to take straight clients like Deon into the back to suck them off. But Wilson wasn’t gay, was he? He certainly hadn’t come across as gay.

They came back upfront after only two minutes, which was quicker than Ryan thought plausible. It was only when Wilson walked past Ryan’s chair and he got a fruity whiff of marijuana that Ryan realized what this was — it wasn’t sex, it was a drug deal.

“Thanks, nigga,” Wilson said.

Deon snorted. “I-“ He stopped because the front door opened and the owner, Mr. Wiltshire, strode in. Deon stopped short. Mr. Wiltshire glared at him.

“Deon.” Mr. Wiltshire grunted. He was stern, strict, no-nonsense. It was clear he disliked Deon and seemed to be aware of why he had come here. Deon had cornrows, so he couldn’t pretend he had come in for a haircut. Mr. Wiltshire stared him down. “I know you didn’t come in here to sling drugs, Deon.”

“No, I ain’t.”

Mr. Wiltshire looked from barber to barber. They all avoided eye contact with him. Wilson cleaned up his station, looking away from Mr. Wiltshire.

“So why did you come in here?”

Deon smiled and touched his hair on his scalp. “Oh, you know…” He sniffled. “I was just…”

“He wanted to try out the new boy’s mouth,” Wilson said with a mischievous grin, aimed at Deon. Deon shot him an annoyed look.

“Oh? Is that true, Deon?”

Deon nodded. “Yep. I just…” He rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to say anything else, but then he added, “y’know… I like fuckin’, y’know… I like gettin’ head from gays.”

Mr. Wiltshire looked dubious. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well…?”

“Fine.” Deon snarled. He grabbed Ryan by the wrist and virtually dragged him into the backroom. Ryan stumbled after him. This had all happened so fast, and Ryan didn’t know the people very well, that he only realized what was going on when he got to the back room. Once the door slammed shut behind him, Deon feinted as though he was going to knock the door down and attack Mr. Wiltshire on the other side. “He’s such a cock, man. You wanna suck my dick for real?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ryan said. He was confused, but he couldn’t lie about his desire to give him a blowjob — Deon was plenty sexy and dripping with swagger. Ryan wanted him very badly. He sunk to his knees.

The T-Girl in the Housing Projects

Here’s a sample from the beginning of The T-Girl in the Housing Projects, a new story by Calvin Freeman!

When Jimmy Red moved out, Tina suspected the boys would become more reckless. She was totally correct. Jimmy Red had two sons who had been out of school for years; all three of them sold various drugs, from weed to steroids and crack. They were among the least pleasant of the inhabitants of the Child Creek Housing Projects.

“Yo, bitch, don’t you even think ‘bout that!”

“Fuck this!”

Every few hours, Tina heard them shouting through the walls. Their father had been a calm and even-keeled kind of man, even if he was just as much of a thug and pimp as his sons. He often made his boys be quiet, even punching them or tying them up when necessary.

She didn’t want to get involved because they were mean and violent and possibly homophobic. Tina wasn’t gay as far as she was concerned — she was transgender, and she was a biological male, so Jimmy Red and his sons always treated her like a gay man. They had few redeeming features in Tina’s eyes: not only were they sexist and homophobic, they were racist (especially against Chinese food deliverypeople), they were fat and smelly, and they gangbanged the skankiest, nastiest girls Tina had ever seen.

She very strongly disliked them. When a letter showed up — an actual letter, in an envelope — with Jimmy Red’s name in the return address, she hoped it would be a notice that his sons were leaving. Jimmy Red had gone to take care of his father, who was ailing. The envelope was addressed to her but her last name was not given (Jimmy Red had never asked what it was).

I understand my boys aint been gud naybors. I done tolds them to quite down and not git in trubble. If they r bad call me 3405558992, dont call police.

Tina thought that was sweet. Jimmy Red was still a crack dealer and abusive pimp, plus seemingly almost illiterate, but he was nicer than his sons. They were actually quiet for a day or two. Jimmy Red must have told them on the phone to keep it down.

That didn’t last long though. On Friday, Tina came home to see a disgustingly fat woman scurrying into the building, makeup slathered on with a garden trowel; it was obvious she wasn’t wearing panties, and she didn’t even wear heels. Some people, Tina thought, didn’t deserve to be women.

She soon figured out who the ugly woman was here to see. She was followed by more, including some kind of cute girls, plus a bevy of guys, all presumably here for the rapidly growing party in Jimmy Red’s apartment. Tina loved hot straight men, especially thugs and machos — but somehow it seemed that Jimmy Red and his boys only knew fat nasty thugs: There was not a single sexy one who came in near enough to Tina’s window to see it. There weren’t even any kind of cute guys. The best she could say was that some weren’t that fat. These were not the good kind of drug dealer.

Tina had to think about when she would call Jimmy Red. It was pretty obvious they were setting up for a party next door. The music began, but it wasn’t really that loud yet, and it was still early. She’d come across like a total bitch if she complained right now. But there seemed to be little point in waiting, since it was obvious where this evening was heading.

“Where’s the bitches at?!”

“Watch me drink this!”

The sounds of the party filled the air, easily audible through the thin walls of the housing projects. As the evening drew to a close and night arose, Tina sighed. The party was just getting louder and louder. Finally it was ten o’clock, which seemed like the earliest she could reasonably tell them to quiet down.

Should she just complain to them? Should she call Jimmy Red first? Should she try to get Miss Green in Apartment 19 to call? Miss Green had gotten the same letter from Jimmy Red; she was an elderly woman who lived alone, so she was more sympathetic than Tina.

“Fuck you, faggot!”

The sound of glass breaking tinkled through the air. There was a series of grunts and a dull thud as something heavy landed on the floor. Then people laughed, and someone banged on the wall.

It was a fight. And somebody had shouted the word faggot. Tina thought that was sufficient excuse to get involved.

So she went over there and knocked on the door. She didn’t expect that talking to them would do much, but if she called Jimmy Red to explain that they were rude to her in person, he’d be angrier than if she simply warned him they were being loud. It took awhile for anyone to hear her knocking.

Then finally the youngest son, nineteen year old Raekwan, opened the door. He was already drunk, clouds of cognac vapor emanating from his mouth. He burped as he saw Tina.


“Hi, Raekwan, I was wondering if you boys could keep it down,” Tina said. “Especially the faggot stuff, I don’t need to hear that-“

“Then quit bein’ a faggot. Bitch.” He slammed the door shut.

Tina was angry enough that her first instinct was to simply call the police right now. She was sure they had drugs and probably guns in there. But she didn’t want to get a reputation as a snitch. She considered going to Miss Green and getting her to call the police, but she didn’t want to get a nice old lady involved with a bunch of steroid dealers and fat meth-whores.

Instead she called Jimmy Red. He answered on the third ring. She could hear a TV blaring in the background.

“Hi, Jimmy Red, so nice to hear from you. This is Tina, remember? Your neighbor-“

“What’re my boys doing?”

She explained. She said that Miss Green was scared and that Tina was trying to mollify her — that wasn’t entirely untrue, since Tina had heard Miss Green near her door, listening, no doubt frightened, and Tina did want to mollify her. She stated that his boys were yelling about faggots and making folks uncomfortable. She said the police weren’t called as far as she knew, but it was only a matter of time before Miss Green or someone else called the cops.

That was enough, and it was accurate (or at least, not technically a lie in any way). Jimmy Red gruffly hung up the phone. Tina went back to her apartment. After about four minutes, the music cut off. There was frantic hushed whispering audible through the walls, but they weren’t shouting to be heard over the music anymore, so Tina got nothing but a few scattered words. She heard people drunkenly stumble down the hall and outside.

Finally, there was a knock on her door. Tina didn’t intend to answer it, but it wasn’t Raekwan or any of the other sons. Through the peephole, Tina was shocked to see a muscular young black buck with a square jaw and a strong face. He was sexy. He was not one of Jimmy Red’s boys.

“Hey, um… Ma’am…” He smiled nervously. He sounded like he wasn’t sure if ma’am was appropriate. He shifted his weight between his feet. “Uh, so… Hi…”

“Hi.” He was cute enough that Tina had an instinctual desire to flirt with him, even if she was in a bad mood still.

His eyes opened wide. He hadn’t thought Tina was going to say hi. He bit his lip. “Uh… Hi.”

“Hi.” Tina giggled.

“I’m… uh… Marshall.”

“Hi Marshall, I’m Tina.”

He took a deep breath. “Uh… Look… So, you know… Raekwan said, like… I, uh-“

Someone hissed and whispered something. Tina hadn’t realized anyone else was out there. She opened the door the rest of the way, revealing Raekwan there just out of sight.

“Get out of here, Raekwan!” Tina said. She shoved him away from the door. He was too fat to really push, but he got the hint. She was annoyed seeing him next to Marshall because he somehow made Marshall less hot, like a sexiness vampire.

“He’s yo’ boytoy, Miss Tina. Don’t call my dad again,” Raekwan said. He no doubt intended to sound tough, but he just sounded insolent and spoiled. He snarled. “You can do whatever you want to him.”

Marshall’s eyes bugged out once again as he blurted out, “No!” He paused and straightened his shirt. “Not whatever, nigga. Nope. I said I got-“

“You said you like freaky-deakies-“

“I ain’t say that!” Marshall roared. “I don’t gotta do it! I don’t gotta!”

“Then fuck off, Marshall!”

“Hey!” Tina clapped her hands. “I asked you boys to be quiet, so you may not come to my doorstep shouting. Nosir.”

They both quieted down. Marshall looked scared, avoiding eye contact, while Raekwan glared at her.

Tina cleared her throat. “So what is this?” She pointed to Marshall. “You, Marshall, tell me what’s going on.”

He looked at his feet. His big muscular body all flexed at once, making Tina’s dick perk up beneath her skirt. Marshall sniffled. “Uh… So… If you… I ain’t, like… gay or nothin’.”

The Pimp

Here’s the beginning of The Pimp, a new yaoi MM novelette by Lee Lane Lamplight!


Carl was glad to be single again, but he was beginning to regret his living arrangement. After divorcing his husband, Carl had moved into an apartment in Bloomington, Illinois. He couldn’t afford a really nice place, but he didn’t want to live in the ghetto. He found an apartment in a safe-looking building; it wasn’t exactly in a nice neighborhood, but the building was fine and the front door was locked all the time. Carl thought he’d simply stay in most nights, avoid the streets when it was dark out and keep his head down. He didn’t intend to live here long-term anyway, it was just a short-term way to get through this stressful period in his life.

He didn’t have much stuff. It was all Brandon’s. Carl felt both like he had discarded a useless appendage but still kind of missed it and like he was a useless appendage that had been discarded but, he hoped, was still kind of missed. Carl was glad to be rid of Brandon regardless. Brandon had become toxic, a destructive part of Carl’s life. Brandon wasn’t even into gay guys, not really — Brandon only liked sex if it was rough trade. He sucked off straight guys, the rougher and dirtier the better. Carl wasn’t into that.

There was a knock on his door. Carl peered through the peephole, where he saw a tall black man with broad shoulders and a big nasty scar on his neck. He wore a vibrantly colored purple suit with a matching hat and a brilliant yellow tie.

“Uh, hello?” Carl hesitantly opened the door. He kept it on the chain, but as he did so, the chain pulled right off — it wasn’t attached to the door. The door swung wide open.

“Howdy, suh, it’s right nice to meet’cha, yessuh,” said the black man with a charming smile. “My name is Lance, I live right down the hall from ya. I just wanted to say how-do-yo-do and make sure you settlin’ in alright.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah. Cool. It’s cool. I’’m, uh… cool. You’re… cool. It’s okay. Thanks. Thank you,” Carl said. Then he added, “I’m Carl.”

“Well alright, Carl. If you need anythin’, suh, you come see me, reckon? I run this buildin’ more than Mr. Sazo. I got you covered,” he said. “Ya feel me?”


“Also, I think it’s important to keep the lines of communication flowin’ between neighbors. Don’t you?”


“Good, good, I think open and honest communication is what matters. That’s what makes this buildin’ a community,” he said.

“Sure, sure-“

“So I promise — I swear to God, on my Mama’s grave, on the American flag I hold so dear-“ He took the purple hat off his head. “-I swear, if I got some kinda problem wit’ you, suh, I will come right to you. I will have the respec’ to come to you like a man. Ya feel me?”


“And we can talk about it then. We can work together to find a solution,” Lance said. He paused for a long time. He peered directly into Carl’s eyes. He stank of cologne, and his strapping muscles rippled beneath that purple suit, making Carl’s dick stiffen in his pants. Lance snorted. “You feel the same way?”

“Uh… yeah-“

“Good. So if you start dislikin’ the way I act, or if you see somethin’ that makes you uncomfortable, you come right to me. Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars, don’t call the cops, don’t sit at home and stew like a passive-aggressive loser, don’t call the cops, and most importantly-“ He touched Carl’s lips with one callused finger. “Don’t nevuh call the cops.”


“Good. I’m glad we on the same page, Carl. Lemme give you a welcome present,” Lance said. “What kinda girls you like? I don’t allow my girls to come in this buildin’ — that’s just a rule I got, no exceptions — so you gonna have to take her to a motel. I pay for it. This is my gift to you, Carl.”

“Oh. So you’re…?”

“A pussy-rancher, yeah,” he said. He chuckled dryly and grabbed his cock through his violet slacks. “A girl-farmer. If you evuh need to find me out on the street, I’m Mr. Fantastic.”


“Yeah. It is cool, man,” he said. He smiled, showing off huge dimples. “You alright, whiteman. Most people who move in here get all scared of me, actin’ like I’s some kinda nigga who gonna steal they car, but I ain’t down with that. I don’t allow crime, nosuh, when you live in my building, you be safe, you be protected, you get all of ya needs fulfilled, boy, for real. Come on, what kinda girls you like? You want a fat Asian girl to lick your butthole? I got two Chinese, but one of ‘em is Malaysian, you know what Malaysian is? Malaysians is exotic, whiteman.”

“No. No, thanks, no fat, uh, Asian rimjobs,” Carl said. He blushed, heart thumping and sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m, uh, not really into girls.”

Lance scoffed and leaned back. He furrowed his brow, sizing Carl up. He lowered his head and inhaled Carl’s face. He nodded.

“Yeah. I see that,” he said. “Alright, yeah. I believe ya.” He pushed past Carl into his apartment. “Where’s ya stuff? This place is empty.”

“I don’t really have a lot of stuff. I need to buy some furniture,” Carl said. He wanted to tell Lance to leave, but he didn’t want to start off his relationship with his neighbor on poor footing. Besides that, Lance’s muscle-bound body was so sexy Carl couldn’t help but daydream about him even through that purple suit.

Is this a home invasion? It feels polite, but I didn’t invite him in.

“Mr. Fantastic got ya covered, boy, swear to God.” He snapped his fingers in front of Carl’s face. “Lookit me, sweetheart.” When Carl’s eyes were trained on his, Lance unzipped his slacks and pulled out a massive, veiny black shaft. “There ya go. Give it a suck.”

Thug Hazing at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Thug Hazing at the City Barbershop, a new story from the City Barbershop! It’s full of hardcore gay action on the downlow, str8 trade and alpha worship!

When the Indianapolis PD released its new policy on undercover officers, Chris didn’t think much of it. He thought it sounded silly — lying to women to get them in the sack wasn’t illegal, even if it was immoral.

But it turned out that there was an upside for Chris. The police department had been sued because an officer was undercover and impregnated a woman who thought she was dating a gangbanger. The city was on the hook for damages, and the police union even got the city to agree to pay for child support for the remainder of the child’s life.

So the police were no longer allowed to have sex when they were undercover. That meant that having sex was soon a part of initiation into every street gang in Indianapolis — since that was the only thing a cop couldn’t do, it was the only thing a thug could do to prove he wasn’t a cop.

And that’s where it became important to Chris. He was a barber at the City Barbershop, a chain of establishments where black men could go for haircuts, brotherhood and — when Chris was feeling up-to-it, which was almost always — a blowjob on the downlow. What happened there, stayed there, so everyone felt comfortable getting their needs serviced by sexy little twinks like Chris.

He was working there when the local Nine Tats brought in their newest initiate — Tummer. Tummer was a tall, broad-shouldered thug with cornrows and a handsome face. He was mixed-race, half-black and half-Puerto Rican.

Tummer was visibly nervous, but the other thugs who escorted him there were jibbering excitedly, each of them talking so fast over each other that Chris had no idea what was going on.

“Yo, we brought this nigga-“

“Here it is-“

-Can’t be a cop, they ain’t allowed-“

“Suck him off-“

Chris held up one hand for silence, and they all fell quiet. He enjoyed the power he had here in the City Barbershop. Out there, in the ghettos and streets of Indianapolis, he was just a shy, weak little black queer. In here, he was king. He was the best barber, the one the high-class dealers and pimps went to. He brought in the most foot traffic and he was the unofficial mascot for the shop, so when he held up his hand for silence, the other barbers shushed everyone who didn’t quiet down right away.

“Okay, you can’t all talk at once,” Chris said. He pointed to Tummer. “You tell me. What is this?”

Tummer cleared his throat and sighed. “Aw, man, do I gotta say it? Okay, well, uh… these niggas is, uh… they tellin’ me I gotta do this. I gots females, just so you know. I got these three girls I fuck wit’ right now, and one of ‘em is-“

“Hey, do I look like I wanna hear about girls?” Chris said. “Get to the part that concerns me.”

“I’m, uh… Well, I can’t say ‘bout the main part. But you know how them po-po ain’t allowed to, y’know, fuck when they undercover no more. On account of that one cop made that girl pregnant?”


“Well… So, I wanna join, or, uh… I gotta prove to these niggas I ain’t a cop,” Tummer said.

“Isn’t it obvious? They don’t let retards become cops,” Chris said with a laugh. The other thugs laughed along with him, and Tummer frowned.

“Uh.. So… I want a blowjob,” Tummer said. “I mean… I don’t really want one, but… y’know.”

Chris made an overly exaggerated thoughtful face, as though there was a real chance he would say no — Tummer was ungodly sexy, so Chris was already picturing his cock in his throat. “Lemme see your chest.”

Tummer exchanged nervous glances with the other thugs, then took off his shirt. He had a powerful, light brown chest with a flat belly, a few tattoos covering his arm and his ribcage on the left side. He sneered at Chris as though he didn’t like having a gay man check him out.


Tummer sighed and pumped his biceps. Chris kissed each one, and the other thugs oohed and aahed as though Tummer should be embarrassed by that. He makin’ out wit’ yo’ arm now, Tummer! Chris’ tongue traced the bulge of his upper arm. It tasted salty and clean and it made Chris’ dick get hard in his pants.

“Pull your cock out. Is it big?”

Tummer forced on a cocky grin, but Chris could see that he was horrified at the thought of pulling his meat out in front of all his niggas. Tummer stuck his hand in his pants first, to give himself a stroke, no doubt making sure his manhood wasn’t in a shrunken mood — it was rather cold in the barbershop right now, after all.

Then he pulled it out. It was plenty big, thick and juicy. Chris’ mouth watered at the sight, but he played it off like it was merely satisfactory. He hefted it in one hand as though he needed to examine its dimensions.

He nodded. “That’s acceptable. Go into the backroom. Keep your shirt off,” Chris said as Tummer started to put it back on. He scowled but did as he was told. Once the door to the backroom shut, Chris smiled at the other thugs. “I just wanna make him wait a couple minutes.”

They laughed, and Chris waited there by his barber’s chair for a full five minutes. He could tell that Tummer was annoyed and impatient in the back when Chris opened the door and strode back there.

He was nonchalantly standing next to some shelves, his chest still bare and his fat, limp cock dangling between his legs. He scowled at Chris.

“Do you swallow?”

Chris nodded. “I insist on it,” he said as he dropped to his knees.

Chris had always liked rough trade, so he attacked Tummer’s cock with abandon. He licked the shaft from tip to root, and smiled as Tummer grunted like he was surprised at how easy this was to endure, as though he thought it was going to hurt.

His dick remained limp at first, and Chris wondered if he would be unable to get hard. Chris had never before met a straight man who didn’t get hard when his cock was in Chris’ mouth, but there was always a first time for everything.

After a minute or two of sucking on that limp shaft, it finally perked up. Chris suckled moistly on the tip, letting his saliva coat the entire cock, and it grew harder and harder.

Soon Chris was using both hands to stroke that massive cock. He was glad he had done this — Tummer’s dick had seemed fine when it was limp, and he was nervous out in the front room, but now he had shown what a huge cock he really had. It was thick and veiny it tasted so sweet Chris slathered spit all over it. He sucked on it like a lollipop, and grinned at Tummer’s shocked reaction.

“Damn, nigga, you suck good,” Tummer said with a chuckle. “I’m-a cum now.”

He grabbed Chris by the ears and held on tight. He started to grind his hips against Chris’ face, shoving his dick down deep as it throbbed and pulsated in Chris’ throat.

He groaned and grunted, and spewed cum right in Chris’ mouth and on his tongue. It was a thick, dense load, creamy and milky. It tasted as sweet as his cock did, and Chris greedily guzzled it all down.

He smacked his lips and showed off his empty mouth. Tummer was shocked, like he hadn’t expected that to actually feel good. He leaned against the shelves behind himself.

Chris giggled at the look on Tummer’s face, and he withdrew a wetnap. He wiped his face off, then Tummer’s cock. The cold of the wetnap snapped Tummer out of his daze.

He frowned at Chris. “That was fine,” he said. “Good. Okay.”

“You can admit you enjoyed it.”

“I like females, gayboy,” he said. He paused as he tucked his dick away. “But yeah. Sorry. I did like that, uh… you suck dick good.” He sauntered towards the door, awkwardly ignoring Chris.

“Thanks, love you too!” Chris called out while the door to the frontroom was open. Tummer’s niggas all laughed and Tummer sighed, trying to explain that he hadn’t told Chris he loved him. Chris just stayed in the back and savored the flavor of semen until all those thugs went away.

Then he returned to his barber’s chair and resumed his day. If the Nine Tats continue to send him new thugs, he thought, he was going to enjoy this new police policy very much indeed.

Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym

Here’s the first chapter of Downlow Thugs at the Irontop Gym, a fantastic new tale about muscular black alphas and the lusty twink who services them!

Kyle loved his job at the Irontop Gym of Compton. He had initially thought he would feel out-of-place — he was a flamboyant twink, and the regulars here were burly macho thugs. The Irontop Gym appealed mainly to men, and in Compton, it was strictly Nine Tats gang territory. That was where all the top gangbangers in the city worked out. But it also had a reputation that helped make it an ideal workplace for Kyle.

That’s because everyone knew the Irontop Gym was a place straight men could swing downlow… very low on the downlow. He loved the muscular sweaty bodies all around, demanding service and release. What happened here, stayed here, so a lot of men got their nut off and then went home to their wives, bitches or hos, pretending nothing had happened. And the pay wasn’t bad either — Kyle was a licensed physical trainer, so he did alright.

Most of his clients were not very sexy though. The handsome studs and thugs who filled the gym, and who occasionally asked for a blowjob, were mostly too poor to pay for a trainer. Even if they did want to hire one, they’d feel self-conscious hiring a slim gay man. That wasn’t very gangsta.

But Kyle did okay on an hourly wage and the extra money he got from the older gentlemen who actually needed a physical trainer — he got paid from their insurance companies (or Medicaid, though Medicaid paid so little that Kyle barely even thought of it as a portion of his income). Whenever he didn’t have a client, he kept his eyes open for someone who might give him a taste of their cock.

When he saw Samson, Kyle knew he’d be tasting that meat sooner or later — he just moved like a straight nigga who let gay men suck him off. He had that horse-cocked swagger that made Kyle’s knees weak. Samson was middle-aged, at forty-one years old, though you’d never know it from looking at him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dense mustache and a square jaw. He wore low-hanging gray shorts and a white wifebeater that revealed the layer of salt-and-pepper hair covering his broad chest.

“Yo, you my trainer?” he asked. He had a deep, gravelly voice that made Kyle’s knees weak.

Kyle nodded. He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. For a moment he thought he wouldn’t be able to do this, that he’d react like a lovestruck teenager and there was nothing he could do about it.

But at last his professionalism took over. “Yes, sir. My name is Kyle,” he said. “Let’s talk about your goals. I got the medical sheet from your insurance company, but what are your personal goals? What do you hope to gain from our meetings?”

Kyle took a deep breath. Samson had taken a bullet to the thigh a few months ago. He lifted up his shorts to show Kyle the scar. Kyle touched his trunk-like thighs, and his hands shook he was so aroused. He caught a peek of the dingy white pouch of Samson’s jockstrap peeking out from the leg of his gray shorts.

The din of the gym filled Kyle’s ears, drowning out Samson’s voice. All Kyle could think about was that delicious-looking bulge in Samson’s shorts. He inhaled deeply of the musty scent that wafted off Samson, who had a permanent scowl on his face.

“Yo… Kyle,” Samson said. It took him a moment to remember Kyle’s name. He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. Was he angry? He came across as angry, Kyle thought, his heart pounding, but Kyle felt sure he always looked like that. Samson was an intimidating man. His pause hung in the air like a stormcloud waiting to burst. He glared at Kyle. “You gay, right?”

“Uh… yeah,” Kyle said.

“You distracted cuz you wanna suck my dick?”


“I ain’t mad atcha,” he said. “You got somewhere quiet? You can suck me, Kyle. Then we do our work togethuh. Got it?”

“Well, uh, I…-“

“Shut up. Say yes or no.”

“Uh, yes.”

“Good,” Samson said. He stood up and turned around, so that his big plump asscheeks were right in front of Kyle’s face. Kyle drooled. He had to force himself to stand. He gestured towards the back of the gym.

“Uh, there’s a storage closet back there.”

“Let’s go, nigga,” he said. “I’m glad you ain’t white. I don’t like letting white queers suck my dick. Feels like a surrender.”

“Uh-huh,” Kyle murmured. He was too distracted by his own erection and the rippling of Samson’s muscles beneath his shorts and his wifebeater.

The closet was mostly empty, just a few exercise machines that weren’t in use. There was a bench press in the center of the closet, and it was there that Samson sat. He continued scowling in Kyle’s direction.

“Don’t mess around, nigga,” Samson said. “I ain’t come here for a blowjob, I still got shit to do. We ain’t makin’ love or whatevuh. Be quick. Just drain my nut so we can move on. Got it?”

Kyle nodded and sunk to his knees.

“Nah,” Samson said. He caught Kyle’s chest and lifted him back up to his feet. “Use yo’ words, nigga. Tell me you understand me.”

Kyle blushed. “Uh… I’ll be quick. I’ll suck you off as quick as I can. I won’t mess around.”


Samson spread his legs so the edge of the bench was beneath his crotch. That gave Kyle perfect access to his dick. Kyle stroked it through his gray shorts, but then Samson snorted liked he thought Kyle was being slow. Kyle blushed and pulled those shorts down.

He had a massive cock, which made Kyle grin. He had rarely seen anything so huge. It was long and thick and dense and fleshy, and Kyle could feel it throbbing even though it was still limp. He flopped it against his face. He kissed the tip and let his tongue tickle the piss-slit. Normally Kyle liked to tease straight men like that, but it seemed Samson didn’t want to take the time. So Kyle put the entire tip in his mouth and started sucking.

“Yeah, good boy, keep suckin’ just like that,” Samson said. He groaned as his dick stiffened up, and all that flesh turned from soft and clammy to hard and moist, throbbing in Kyle’s throat.

Fuck you, nigga! Come here and say that to my face! There was an argument out in the main gym. It sounded like a crowd formed and cheered the combatants on. All Kyle could hear was cheering and hollering.

The cock in his mouth was so thick he could barely fit in at all, but the more he sucked, the more he could swallow. It tasted like pure, unadulterated manhood, and the flavor reminded Kyle of all the imagined sex he had here — whenever he was bored at work, all he had to do was glance around to see overstuffed basketball shorts, pubic hair peeking out above the waistband, gruff voices echoing and cocky swagger everywhere he looked. Normally when he finally found a nigga willing to get his nut off in Kyle’s mouth, Kyle ended up disappointed — the reality didn’t live up to his imagination. But Samson was exactly what he had hoped, and it reminded Kyle of all those other men whose cocks he had only sucked in his dreams.

Come at me then! That fight sounded like it was getting more serious.

He considered going up there to stop it, but he knew that was silly, not just because he didn’t want to stop sucking Samson’s cock. Kyle was a weak gay twink — he was in good shape, but he was skinny and small. There was no way he could break up a fight, and anyway the bodybuilder Alain worked today as well. He would be able to stop the fight. Before Kyle even thought of that, he thought he could hear Alain’s Senegalese accent resonating in from the hallway.

“Ignore them niggas,” Samson said, flaring his nostrils. “You wanna suck my dick, you focus on my dick. I ain’t lettin’ you suck it on a fuckin’ lark or whatevuh, nigga. We ain’t stoppin just cuz some niggas is throwin’ punches up front.”

Kyle nodded to show his understanding. He certainly didn’t want to stop, and it did sound like Alain had broken up the fight before it got too serious. Wanting to be sure Samson appreciated the blowjob, Kyle looked up at him — straight thugs loved it when cocksuckers made eye contact — and grabbed his big meaty hands. He guided them to the back of Kyle’s head.

“Oh? You want me to facefuck ya, huh?”

Kyle nodded.

“You into that nasty shit, nigga?” Samson said. He started grinding his hips, shoving his dick in as Kyle struggled to open his throat. Samson muttered to himself. “Get that shit in there, nigga. You wantin’ this, don’t try and fight back now.”

Kyle wasn’t trying to fight back, but Samson’s dick was simply too big to deep-throat. It was all he could do to get half of it in his mouth, which felt like it was going to make his neck explode. He enjoyed the sight of Samson’s massive body swaying, rubbing, humping his face. Samson periodically glared into Kyle’s eyes, his harsh thuggish glare sending a wave of submission, fear and arousal through Kyle’s body.

“Keep on lookin’ me in the eye. When you suck a superior nigga, you look ‘im in the eye. That shows respect,” Samson said. Whenever Kyle accidentally closed his eyes, Samson gently pried them open again. He sneered at Kyle as he spat in his hand and lubed up his cock with it. His arrogant look made Kyle shiver with terror.

But Kyle loved every moment of it. He always enjoyed massive dicks sticking in his throat, leaking precum into his belly, and the swinging of heavy balls against his chin. His favorite activity was submitting to big thugs like Samson, allowing them to use his throat to satisfy their own carnal desires.

A brief spurt of pain erupted in Kyle’s nose — Samson had found a clothespin, which he used to shut Kyle’s nostrils. That forced Kyle’s throat to open even wider a few seconds later, and the last of Samson’s cock squeezed down his throat.

“Yeah, bitch, you a fuckin’ legend, nigga, hell yeah…” Samson said. He sounded surprised that he was enjoying this at all. His gravelly voice resonated in the tiny closet. He lightly tapped Kyle on the back of the head whenever he tried to pull away to take a breath, and he used both hands to hold Kyle in place. “Don’t quit now, nigga. You got me started, and I ain’t gonna stop ‘less you force me to.”

Kyle had no idea how long that lasted. He was dizzy from lack of oxygen, and all he could think about was his strained throat sputtering and choking. His face was a deep burgundy shade as his lungs cried out for air.

“Yo nigga, you ready fo’ nut? Huh? You better be, cuz it’s comin’.”

At last it was over. Samson stopped moving with his dick all the way down Kyle’s gullet, so Kyle could feel his balls crawl up in his sac where it rested against Kyle’s chin. Kyle’s hands gripped Samson’s plump brown asscheeks the best he could with Samson sitting down on the bench — he was leaned forward enough that Kyle could stroke the sweaty crack with both hands.

Samson grunted and groaned, lips moving like he was talking though no words came out. He closed his eyes as the first drops of cum spilled down Kyle’s throat. Kyle felt it pouring down his throat like he was chugging sour beer, and he loved the feel of Samson’s balls draining down his throat while they throbbed against his chin.

“Fuck yeah, nigga, swallow that shit… don’t spill none…”

Since Samson’s dick was so deep inside Kyle, his cum sprayed right into his gullet. Kyle didn’t taste it at first, he just felt the creamy heat seeping into his stomach and spreading to every corner of his body.

But when Samson finally pulled out, his dickshaft brought so much cum up with it that it coated Kyle’s tongue. He sighed as the flavor of semen finally overwhelmed his senses.

“Damn, nigga…” Samson chuckled. “You sure you wanna be a trainer? If you was my ho, I’d treat you right. Just consider it, nigga. You sign up wit’ me, and I’ll make sure you get fucked silly e’ry day.”

A blossom of desire exploded within Kyle, and if he weren’t out of breath, Kyle would have screamed “yes!” without a second thought. But by the time he recovered, it was clear that Samson was kidding, and even if he weren’t, Kyle didn’t want to be a ho. He was sure Samson’s idea of treating a ho “right” was not going to be as much fun as Kyle wanted.

Samson tucked his dick back in his jockstrap. He frowned at Kyle. “You feel better now, nigga? Can you concentrate on my leg instead of my cock?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle said. He blushed, but Samson was entirely right to do this — now that he had tasted Samson’s cock, Kyle could focus. “Let’s get your leg stretched out. Stretching is very important to the healing process, that’s actually more important than the exercise.”

Straight Trade at the City Barbershop

Here’s the first chapter of Straight Trade at the City Barbershop, a hot new story by Calvin Freeman! It’s the sequel to City Barbershop Downlow, but it’s a standalone story, no need to have read that one. It’s about the City Barbershop, a company with a special tradition — what happens between men there stays between men there!

This story is now available for a great low price as part of the bundle Gay Ebony Erotica, Vol. 1, which has three novelettes, three shorts and bonus content


Quincy had worked for the City Barbershop of Brooklyn for more than five years, so it wasn’t easy to leave. On the other hand, he had been considering moving on for some time. It was a comfortable position. Quincy was a good barber. The perks were exciting.

But it had become boring to Quincy regardless. So when his brother was arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, Quincy decided to move to Baltimore to be near him. He had enough saved to rent an apartment, which he could even share with his brother, who was out on bail in the run-up to the trial.

Even more importantly, he got a job before he arrived in Baltimore. He was hired by the local City Barbershop franchise, which gladly accepted his transfer from the establishment in Brooklyn. Quincy was happy to be in a new city while having the security of the same job he had had back in Brooklyn.

The aspect of this job that he liked best — aside from the flexible schedule so he could support his brother — was the sex. The City Barbershop was a notorious chain of black-owned barbershops with a peculiar reputation as a place for sex on the downlow. Black men who needed a little action on the side went there, and barbers like Quincy serviced them. Quincy loved swinging on straight black meat, so it was an ideal situation for him.

When he showed up on his first morning, he met Reggie, the man who had hired him over the phone. He owned the City Barbershop of Baltimore. He was a tall, lean-muscled man in his early forties, with a square jaw and old-fashioned jheri-curl hair.

“Sup, smoothness,” Reggie said with a low roar, bopping on his feet as he danced to unheard music in the empty barbershop. No one else was here yet. He wore a fine purple suit, like a pimp, and when he shook Quincy’s hand, he used both of his hands, then leaned in and hugged him expansively. “You must be Quincy, yeah? Paul told me all about ya.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you,” Quincy said. He upped his flamboyance as far as it would go, both to be sure Reggie realized it and because he thought Reggie was sexy. He was a throwback to the 1980s, but he was a sexy throwback.

Reggie ran his fingers through his hair. He smiled and dipped and dapped as he showed Quincy to the chair he’d be using. Quincy had a bag with some of his own equipment, which he set up while Reggie told him about the store’s policies. This place operated much the same as Quincy’s old one, so he felt sure he’d be comfortable here.

“Now… I need to be headin’ upstairs in a few minutes,” Reggie said. “I gots a staff meeting coming up real soon. I gotta be ready for that.”

“Oh? A staff meeting? I’ll meet-”

“Nah, not a barbershop staff meeting,” Reggie said. His voice lost its ebullience, and he lowered his eyes. “I got other business interests.” From his knowing tone, Quincy gathered that his other business was illegal, presumably some sort of drug dealing. That was another aspect of most City Barbershops, one that Quincy would have gladly done without.

“Oh,” Quincy said. “Okay. I guess I’ll wait down here. It’s almost nine o’clock anyway.”

Reggie paused. He bit his lip and smiled awkwardly. He resumed shifting his feet in tune to a beat only he heard. Quincy could tell what he was going to say before he opened his mouth, but he let him continue. Quincy liked watching nervous straight men proposition him. Reggie’s jheri-curl shook as he stumbled over his words.

“I was, uh… Paul told me that you was… uh… y’know, a real good nigga, a model employee,” he said. “He… said you provide a high level of service.”

“That’s right,” Quincy said. He smiled bashfully. “I always treat customers with the utmost respect.” He made sure to end with a kissy face, which appeared to make Reggie horny. He swayed his hips too, shaking his ass for Reggie’s benefit.

Reggie clutched at his crotch through his black slacks. His thick dick was momentarily outlined. Quincy licked his lips but didn’t do anything explicit — he wanted to make Reggie work for it.

“So, uh… you… wanna come in the backroom wit’ me?”

“What’s back there?” Quincy asked. He put one hand on his hips and jutted out his ass.

Reggie murmured through gritted teeth. “Something you gonna enjoy, boy. You gonna enjoy it real nice.” Then he moved closer, so close he almost kissed Quincy. “I’m-a fuck you Quincy. I’m-a fuck you in any way you want it.”

“Any way I want it?”

“Any way, nigga. You got a ass I need, and you got nice dick-suckin’ lips. I fuck you in whichever hole you want. You want me in both? I’ll grow a second dick for ya, boy, right here and now.”

Quincy blushed. “Well, I’d like to see that. But why don’t we start with just one hole at a time?” he said. He held out his hand, which Reggie took gallantly. He kissed the back of Quincy’s hand like he was seducing him, then led him into the backroom.

The backroom was a lot like the one in Brooklyn, Quincy thought. He giggled at the sight of a stack of porn mags in one corner of the closet. Reggie sneered and pushed them away.

“Some of dem niggas can’t do it wit’out some trim to look at,” Reggie thought. He unzipped his fly and pulled out a massive cock and low-handing pair of balls. “Back in my day, that weren’t the way it was. A nigga wasn’t never ashamed of getting hard. Now they gotta pretend they don’t really like getting head from a nigga.” He leaned in and kissed Quincy on the lips. It was a quick, chaste kiss, but it sent a thrill of desire up Quincy’s spine.

Then Quincy sunk to his knees. “No one can pretend they don’t like my head,” Quincy said. That made Reggie chuckle, until his voice broke and he gasped as his dick disappeared down Quincy’s throat.

Since he wanted to make a good first impression, Quincy moved slow and deep. He produced copious spit and let it drip all over Reggie’s pants. He lovingly traced the veins that lined Reggie’s dick.

“Hey, I gotta make a phone call,” Reggie said with a grin that vanished as he dialed. He had an old-fashioned fliphone. His smile was replaced by an angry scowl. “Yo, nigga. Is you suckin’ my dick right now? Huh? I say, is you suckin’ my dick right now? Oh? Cuz I know I tol’ you to come in here at eight forty-five from now on, and the only person here besides me is that new nigga. He got a pretty face and he suckin’ my dick right now. Is that you? No? That’s funny, Opie. I could’ve sworn I nearly fired you and you promised you’d never be late again. You swore you’d be here early from now on. Did that happen? It did, huh? I dunno, Opie. Maybe. I have to think about it. If you don’t get here by nine, I am gonna make you suck my dick and I will fire you. I ain’t even gonna want a blowjob cuz I’m getting an expert one now, but I will shove my limp dick down your throat, boy.” Then there was a long pause. Reggie sighed into the phone, and Opie laughed loudly on the other end. “Yeah, he queer. You think I’m just rapin’ the new guy or some shit? I’m saving my rape for you, nigga. I’m savin’ up a big nice barrel full of rape for yo’ late ass. Yeah, I better see you then.” He hung up and shook his head. “I oughta prison-rape the joy outta that nigga’s life.”

There was some movement out in the main barbershop now. It sounded like a few people had arrived and were getting ready. Presumably Opie was not among them. Conversation murmured though Quincy didn’t hear any of the words.

He focused instead on the silken texture and sweet flavor of Reggie’s massive meat. He smiled as he deep-throated it, and Reggie crooned. This was nice, Quincy had to admit, Reggie was right that a lot of niggas at the City Barbershop had to prove how straight they were by being mean when Quincy serviced them. Quincy did enjoy that — he had always had a wild hair for humiliation and throatfucking. But it was nice to be treated like a joyous present once in a while as well.

Then conversation out in the barbershop died suddenly. Something had happened, Quincy thought, something that sent a chill in the air.

The door to the backroom opened, and someone walked in. From his vantage point inside the back closet, Quincy couldn’t see who it was.

The newcomer hesitated. Reggie let out a low moan, which made the person in the backroom chuckle nervously.

“Whatchoo doin’ back there, Reggie? You fuckin’ another fat bitch?” The door swung open, and that deep, gruff, young man’s voice burst into nervous laughter. “Oh, damn, nigga. You doin’ that, huh?”

“Yeah… Lil Blue, this is Quincy. Quincy, this is Lil Blue. He works for me. He ain’t a barber. He got… other duties. He here for that staff meeting I was tellin’ you about.”

Quincy turned around to say hi, but he hesitated when he saw how ungodly handsome Lil Blue was. He must have gotten the name from his sapphire-colored eyes, which contrasted with his high-yellow skin. He had a nervous, deep-dimpled grin as he watched Reggie luxuriously hump Quincy’s mouth. “Nice to meetcha, Lil Blue.”

Lil Blue just nodded gruffly. He didn’t seem to much like gay people.

“Nah,” Reggie said. “You say hello like a nice nigga, Lil Blue.”

Lil Blue sighed as though he had argued about this with Reggie before. He rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet you too, Quincy. I don’t fuck around on the downlow, just so you know. I got bitches. Females. Female bitches.”

The door opened then, just as Quincy returned to Reggie’s dick. Two more young black men came in, talking about some argument that had occurred recently. They were Terrence and Pumper, and they laughed like Lil Blue had when they saw what as going on. “Damn, Reggie, that shit’s nasty. Can’t you be ashamed of it like a normal nigga?”

“Yeah, hide that shit… Ain’t supposed to let no one know you fuck around in the City Barbershop. That’s a rule and shit. You gotta at least shut the door.”

“Shut the the fuck up,” Reggie said absent-mindedly. He focused on grinding his moist dick deep down Quincy’s throat.

Lil Blue, Terrence and Pumper moved to go upstairs, but Reggie stopped them. “All three of you niggas is too squeamish,” he said. “You wait right here and watch.”

“Man, nigga-“

“Fuck that!”

“No way!”

But despite their words, none of them moved to disobey Reggie. They averted their eyes and shifted their weight on their feet as Quincy sucked. Reggie moaned and grunted. He was putting on a show, Quincy thought, making the others as uncomfortable as possible.

His dick pulsated against Quincy’s tongue, and just like Reggie made this as exaggerated and extreme as he could manage, so did Quincy guzzle and sputter like a champion. Spit dribbled past his lips and down Reggie’s shaft, while the younger straight bucks watching tittered nervously.

“Ugh, I can smell yo’ old nigga-nut, Reggie,” Pumper said with a frown. The others laughed along with him.

Reggie mumbled something that was maybe an insult or maybe a threat, or maybe a little of both. He didn’t really articulate any words though, just a general sound that communicated his disdain for Pumper. Quincy didn’t listen anyway; he focused on slathering spit moistly all along Reggie’s dick, and sucking up every drop of precum that hit his lips.

Since Reggie was such an animated fucker, it was apparent that his orgasm was imminent for a minute or two before it arrived. He tweaked his own nipples and grunted, his old-fashioned jive disappearing momentarily as he was overcome by pleasure. His knees buckled and he bit his lip.

Cum flowed down Quincy’s throat. That familiar sour-sweet flavor overwhelmed his senses, and Quincy grunted as he swallowed it all. It tasted of masculine musk and sweat, which made Quincy so aroused he would have kept sucking forever, but Reggie removed his dick. He wiped the spit off on Quincy’s face.

“Damn, nigga, that was a hell of a blowjob… You is gonna be a valuable part of this organization,” Reggie said so forcefully it made his audience laugh. He tucked his dick away in his pants.

When Reggie was done, Quincy turned around and blushed — someone knew had entered. Another older man, around Reggie’s age, but without the 1980s-look. This was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shit and tie, a bristly mustache and a serious, no-nonsense look on his face. He looked like a businessman, but Quincy got the feeling he was a gangsta just like Lil Blue and the rest — he was simply the respectable face of the business.

“Quincy, that there is Winslow,” Reggie said. “He’s my business partner.”

Winslow nodded at Quincy, who wiped the cum off his lips. He blushed; Winslow was very hot, and he checked out Quincy’s ass, so Quincy knew he was achievable. Reggie wiped his dick off and stuffed it back in his pants. He sighed, rubbing Quincy’s cheek, then looked to Winslow and the others.

“You ready fo’ this meeting?” Winslow asked like he was annoyed he had to wait. Reggie nodded, and they all went up the stairs that connected to the corner of the backroom. Quincy wiped his face off, pounded himself off real quick, and then headed back to the front to meet his new coworkers. He was already greatly enjoying his new job.