Tag Archives: urban fiction

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?”

“Uh-“

“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.

“Yo.”

“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 T-Girl in the Alley

Here’s the beginning of The T-Girl in the Alley, a new story of urban transgender erotica!

 

Tina very rarely slept with anyone, so when she awoke feeling the warmth that emanated from Hardneck’s body, she was momentarily surprised. She had plenty of sex, of course, she just very rarely allowed any men to actually sleep with her.

Hardneck was a special case — he was so sexy it hurt to look at him. He was a scruffy thickbody, with light skin that Tina’s grandmother would have called high yellow. Tina was pretty light-skinned too, but not pale enough to qualify as high yellow. Hardneck would have looked white if it weren’t for his tightly kinked black hair, squat nose and thick, full lips. His massive chest rose and fell as he breathed.

The sun was coming up. Tina knew Hardneck would want to get up soon, so she decided to wake him up in her own special way. She slowly moved her head under the covers, where the smell of his unwashed body filled the air.

She moaned and let her delicate fingers roam over his body. He didn’t react, still sound asleep. She made sure to angle her body so her own penis was nowhere’s near Hardneck — he was fine with sleeping with a transgender woman as long as he didn’t see or feel her penis.

His cock had flopped out the fly of his boxers, which made Tina giggle; it looked like a large snake trying to escape from his crotch. She licked his dick from tip to root. That at last made Hardneck shift and twitch, but he still didn’t wake up. Tina licked as gently and quietly as she could, hoping to get him hard and on the verge of orgasm before he awoke.

Hardneck’s harsh features were soft because he was asleep. He had looked cruel and vituperative when Tina first met him — that was his default look, always scowling, perpetually scolding when he spoke. Yo, bitch, hurry up, I’s tryin’-a sleep! That was what he had first said to her, one night when Tina drunkenly fumbled with her keys coming back home through the alley.

He lived in that alley at the time. He was homeless, or as he put it, between females right now. He said he’d get some beautiful white girl to hook up with him and then live with her for awhile. That was his plan, but it didn’t seem to be working.

Instead, he was living with Tina, who was not white and though she was a girl in her own way, Hardneck didn’t see her as a true girl. That hadn’t stopped him from treating her like one so long as he didn’t see her penis.

Yo, baby, you look good enough to eat. If you had a pussy, I would lick it clean, I’d be like a kitten with catnip, I be all over you, baby. I make you feel so good you melt in a little puddle of pussyjuice. You like dick, huh? I bet you do.

He had flopped his massive tan cock out right there in the alley, not even bothering to move behind the dumpster so he couldn’t be seen from the street. He waggled his dick back and forth and let Tina stroke it.

She hadn’t intended to give him a handjob there in the alley. She thought it was just harmless flirting. But he had moaned passionately, as though he had never felt anything as good as her hand on his dick.

Girl, move ya hand a bit, just a bit, okay? Move it up and down… I want you so bad, I need you…

He whispered in her ear, and Tina was seduced. She stroked him to full completion right there, and he shot his load in two minutes — Tina was very good at handjobs when she wanted to be.

Now, in bed, she didn’t want to be too good at handjobs. She stroked his dick gently, licking the tip with her tongue, until he was fully hard.

At last he gasped and murmured, “damn, girl, you gettin’ a headstart.”

It sounded like he meant to say something else too, but he bucked and a spasm of pleasure ran through him. His spine twisted, as though he had been on the verge of orgasm when he was asleep, and his mind caught up all at once now that he was awake.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Tina said from under the covers. She giggled as Hardneck’s whole body shook, and the salty taste of precum exploded in her mouth.

“Aaaaaaaah… Girl… Girl, you know how to treat a nigga right… Yeah, suck it deep, girl, make a mess.”

She obliged, choking up as much spit as she could, until it coated his spasming dickshaft and soaked into his pubic hair. A lot of saliva spilled down onto the bed too. She didn’t mind, she would wash her sheets today so her man would have a clean place to come home to.

“Alright, baby, you so special, you amazin’, girl, you treat me so right,” he said softly, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m-a treat you rough now. Don’t mean I love you any less.”

His firm hand wrapped around the back of her head, while the other grabbed her chin. He pistoned his dick all the way down her throat. It was a facefucking, but not in a violent or aggressive way. He made sweet love to her face, clucking his tongue when she gagged but inexorably forcing his dick all the way into her throat.

The T-Girl in the ‘Hood

Here’s the beginning of The T-Girl in the ‘Hood, a new story by Calvin Freeman about a transgender woman living in the hood, getting propositioned by all the sexiest straight bucks the ghetto can provide!

 

Tina looked out her window. Her apartment was freshly cleaned, so she felt good — she loved a clean apartment. From her vantage point, she could see the park next-door. It wasn’t a nice park; Tina lived in the ghetto; it did have one redeeming factor though.

The shirtless men who played basketball every day. Tina watched them bump sweaty chests and clasp each other on the well-muscled back, stroking her cock until she shot all over her floor. Tina did the same thing nearly every day.

Today, however, she was distracted almost as soon as she wrapped one hand around her cock. Walter was back. She shivered with delight and anticipation.

Walter was her neighbor, or to be more precise, he was her neighbor’s husband. He was a middle-aged black man; there was no objective reason he should be so hot, Tina thought — he didn’t have a perfect body like some of those basketballers; he had a nice face but he was hardly some Hollywood heartthrob in that department; he was scruffy, ever-dirty because he was semi-homeless with a serious gambling problem and semi-serious drug problem (according to Tina’s neighbor, whom she didn’t entirely trust). He was ungodly sexy though, with swagger dripping off him and a hefty frame that made Tina drool every time she saw him.

“I said I’d do it, baby, damn!” Walter’s raspy deep voice rang out. He was one of those people who didn’t really have a quiet voice, so Tina could always hear when he was back in his wife’s life. “Don’t start this shit again!”

One of the sexiest things about him was that he had checked out Tina’s ass, and then when his wife told him Tina was transgender, his eyes opened wide as though he thought that made her hotter. Tina didn’t often see that look on men’s faces. But he had gone then, after an argument, before spending a few months in prison on an ancient child support beef, then living on some “white lady’s couch”. He had come back one other occasion, but only for a few days before he got kicked out again. Tina hadn’t had any opportunity to be alone with him.

Until now.

She hurried into the back alley when she saw him grumbling as he left the building. Tina’s apartment was right there adjoining the alley, so she was the only person that had her own side-entrance and -exit. That was the door she used now.

“Hey, Walter,” she said. He had a bag of trash in his hand. It was heavy enough that it made his biceps flex holding onto it. He wore only a wifebeater and a pair of shorts. He tossed the bag into the dumpster.

“Hey,” he said with a casual nod. He grabbed his cock through his shorts and smiled at her. “What’s ya’ deal?”

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?”

“Yeah-“

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

“Yeah-“

“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?”

“Yeah-“

“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.”

“Okay.”

“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.”

“Cool…”

“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.”

The Homo Thug

Here’s the first chapter from The Homo Thug, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

 

Jason poured drinks for the Nine Tats, but he tried not to listen to what they had to say. He pretended to be like a robot, barely able to understand words spoken directly at it. He always pretended to have trouble hearing the men when they asked for another drink or some food, that way they wouldn’t ever worry that he had overheard anything he wasn’t supposed to hear.

On the night he met Ratty, however, Jason had trouble looking away because Ratty was so sexy. Ratty was a rather short man, old for a thug — nearly forty, his cornrows streaked with gray, scruffy beard covering his chin and neck — with a deep, gravelly voice. He had been in prison since he was sixteen and had just been released a few weeks ago.

“Yo, sweetheart, I say gimme some chips,” Ratty said emphatically, like he had said it before.

Jason had truly not noticed. For once he didn’t have to pretend that he didn’t hear. Ratty scoffed like Jason should have heard, and Jason nodded. He flashed a limp wrist and a lilting grin in Ratty’s direction. “Sure thing, sugar, I’ve got tortilla chips and-“

“I ain’t Mexican, sweetheart, get me potato chips. Damn…” Ratty scoffed.

The others snickered at him. Jason hurried back to the bar, where there was luckily a bag of potato chips. Last time he was here, he had clipped the bag shut, but that was a week ago and he wasn’t sure if the chips were stale or not. He poured some out into a bowl and brought a bottle of beer for Malik, who was pounding them back tonight. Ratty wasn’t drinking because he was on parole, and his ankle monitor would go off if he had any alcohol.

Everyone laughed at Ratty. He smiled at Jason when he took the bowl of potato chips. He licked his lips, and Jason blushed, scurrying away. Ratty cackled and stuffed potato chips into his mouth.

He had just been released from prison earlier today, so he was hungry and craved snack-food like chips. If they were stale, he didn’t seem to notice. He and the other Nine Tats discussed their plans — Jason refused to listen to what the plan was, but he had gathered it involved taking on the Graybloods of 99th Street. He hoped he didn’t hear any more details beyond that.

“My lips is gettin’ dry, sweetheart,” Ratty said pointedly, pulling Jason out of his reverie. Jason must have again not heard him several times — it was genuinely hard to hear Ratty, who spoke with a low prison growl.

Jason hurried to him with a glass of apple juice. That’s what Ratty was drinking instead of alcohol. Ratty looked at him like he wanted to fuck Jason, but Jason dismissed that as his imagination.

Surely, Ratty wasn’t about to fuck him? He was straight, wasn’t he? He certainly acted just as straight as any other Nine Tat. Jason knew that a lot of straight men changed their ways behind bars, but Ratty was out now, and he was part of a gang that had hundreds of prostitutes working all over the city — Ratty could get women any time he wanted. And he probably wouldn’t even need whores because he was, despite being a bit dirty and scary, very sexy.

So why was everyone looking at Jason as though there something he didn’t know?

“Shake yo’ ass a little as you walk away from me, boy,” Ratty said when Jason left the table.

Jason blushed and grinned. He shook his ass, and the men burst into laughter. Ratty was the only one who remained quiet.

Did he know that Jason was gay? Maybe not, maybe that was why he acted like this, Jason thought, maybe Ratty assumed he was teasing and scaring Jason because he assumed Jason was straight while the others thought it was funny because they knew Jason was gay. Was it possible Ratty didn’t realize Jason was gay? That seemed unlikely. Ratty had to have figured it out — Jason was slim, flamboyant, delicate. No one had ever thought he was straight before. Besides that, it was traditional for the Nine Tats to have a gay man serve drinks when they got together to plan schemes, count money or weigh drugs. Women were distracting, and straight men were a likely threat, so they always hired some local gay man like Jason. And they sometimes fucked him on the downlow before the night was through, which was why Jason agreed to do it. So Ratty should have guessed Jason was gay even before he met him.

Ratty lookin’ at Pinkbutt ovuh there like he a starvin’ man lookin’ at a buffet. You gonna eat his butt wit’ a spoon, Ratty?

Man, make Ratty quit it wit’ that homo thug shit. Fuckin’ nasty.

Jason’s curiosity was piqued. A homo thug, dear reader, is a black thug who was can hold his own in a gang like the Nine Tats even though he openly has sex with men — homo thugs almost never identify as gay; it is, instead, it’s own orientation. But they do openly engage in sex with men, usually exclusively.

Was Ratty a real homo thug? Jason had no idea. He wasn’t even certain it was a real phenomenon. It would certainly explain why Ratty looked at him like he wanted to fuck. Actually, Jason thought, Ratty looked at him like he wanted to wait until the lights went out and then fuck him silly.

He was watching Jason clean up the bar. He licked his lips and let out a low rumbling growl. The others rolled their eyes when they noticed, but they didn’t say anything. Ratty was perceived as old and out-of-touch, but he had been loyal to the gang in his decades on the inside; he had given up his adulthood for the Nine Tats. No one made fun of him for it; they just ignored him and made plans around his undressing of Jason with his eyes.

Soon it was clear that the planning stage was done. They still spoke about their plans, but about half of them were very drunk or stoned. Ratty was the only sober thug there. Jason was sober too, he never drank while serving drinks to the Nine Tats because he didn’t trust himself to behave and avoid getting himself in trouble.

Yo, Ratty, nigga, if you wanna fuck the prettyboy, just go fuck him, man. Quit lookin’ at him like you gonna bake him in a pie and eat ‘im up. It’s distractin’.

“Shut up, nigga.” Ratty said softly. The others snickered at him. Jason listened but kept his eyes averted. He kept wiping down the counter as though it wasn’t already clean.

When Jason couldn’t resist the urge any longer, he glanced up. He made eye contact with Ratty’s dark eyes, and a shiver of both fear and desire ran up Jason’s spine. Ratty must have made some kind of sound because everyone laughed — Jason didn’t hear it, whatever it was — and looked at Jason with a mixture of disgust and pity.

“Yo, sweetheart,” Ratty said as he stood. He had a blatant erection in his low-slung pants, which looked like they were about to fall down. The other thugs burst into hysterical laughter; about half of them looked like they genuinely thought it was funny, the other half were horrified but covering it up with nervous laughter.

Get that hard-on away from my face, nigga.

Old nigga got hisself a date! Gonna fall in love, yessir!

Yo, Jason, bend over, grab yo’ ankles and make a sound like a fat whiteboy cryin’. That’s what ol’ nigga likes!

Jason was so shocked he couldn’t move even if he had wanted to. He had that bar-rag in his hand, bent over the counter, as Ratty came behind the bar to meet him. He walked quietly but quickly, like he wanted to sneak up on Jason and trap him behind the bar.

He leaned in real close, breath condensing on Jason’s cheek. “Yo, sweetheart, I am gonna fuck. I wanna fuck you. If you still standin’ here in a few seconds, I am gonna start. If you don’t want me to fuck you, you best run outta here right now. I won’t stop you. Maybe I might pick one of them comedian niggas over there to replace ya.”

They all stopped laughing when they heard that — Ratty said it loud enough they could hear. They exchanged nervous glances. The basement was deathly silent.

“You still here, sweetheart. That cuz you scared or cuz-?”

“No. I wanna fuck,” Jason said softly and breathlessly.

“Good. You like it hard, right?”

“Yes-“

“Dirty?”

“Yes-“

“You gonna take it real nasty, right?”

“Yes, papi,” Jason said with a giggle. He touched Ratty’s chest, prompting Ratty to growl seductively and wrinkle his nose.

“Oh, boy, you tryin’-a make me lose control, ain’t ya? Shake that ass again.”

Yo, where you two gonna take this little show?

Jason looked up at the other thugs as though surprised they were still there. He lifted his ass and shook it in front of Ratty, backing himself up until his asscheeks hit Ratty’s crotch. He could feel that massive erection, and Jason rubbed his ass against it. He moaned and giggled again.

“Ain’t no show, nigga, ‘nless you stay and watch it.”

I’m out.

Later, niggas. I can’t watch this.

Yeah, I need a note from my mama to see this, and she ain’t gonna approve.

They all laughed and stood. No one wanted to seem so squeamish that they had to run out of there, so none of them hurried. But it was obvious they were in a rush to leave.

This is my basement. I should make them leave.

Go ahead and try, nigga. Gonna have to get a hose, I ‘xpect.

Shit, a hose? A hose just gonna give ‘em ideas.

That made them laugh again as they filtered out, leaving half-drunk beers and even cell phones sitting there on the table. Jason leaned over the counter, with Ratty behind him, very close, his body heat palpable. He took a deep breath and exhaled right on Jason’s cheek.

“We alone now, sweetheart. We can do amazin’ things alone,” Ratty said softly. One of his hands wrapped over Jason’s neck — not squeezing, just holding on tightly — and his other bent Jason over the counter. “You is one pretty boy, I swear. When I saw yo’ ass bouncin’ and jumpin’ up and down, I just ‘bout lost control, sweetheart. I bet you get big niggas runnin’ up to you on the street to bend you over and fuck ya. I bet no one can resist yo’ ass, boy.”

“Well…” Jason giggled. “It’s not as common as you might think.”

“You gonna cry when I fuck you?”

“No…”

“Good,” Ratty said. “You wanna suck my dick now?”

“Yeah…” Jason’s voice was weak and strained.

“Do it then, nigga. Ain’t no time like the present,” he said. He was leaning forward, virtually on top of Jason. So when Jason tried to sink to his knees, he had to rub himself against the entire front of Ratty’s body. He dropped to his knees, crammed into the tiny space between Ratty and the counter behind the bar.

Ratty smelled a little funky. It was, Jason assumed, the smell of prison — though he knew Ratty had showered, he had told the others how much he enjoyed his first shower as a free man — clinging to his skin. He undid the fly of Ratty’s jeans and his giant veiny cock popped out.

Jason intended to tease him a little bit. He stuck his tongue out and got a few tastes of its salty savoriness, but he didn’t actually lick it yet. He thwacked it over his face and giggled at Ratty letting out a moan.

But Ratty didn’t let Jason delay it for long. He leaned against the bar-counter and jammed his cocktip right into Jason’s mouth. He grunted and took off his shirt.

“Yeah, boy, suck it deep, you got such pretty lips… Lemme see them lips.” He pulled his dick out and smiled down at Jason as he smacked his lips. He rubbed his dick over Jason’s lips. Then he fed his dick back down Jason’s throat, slowly but firmly. “Look me in the eye when you suck my dick, boy.”

His cock twitched, making Jason sputter, but Ratty cooed and patted his cheek. He squeezed Jason’s face just a bit, enough to get Jason’s attention. He repeated his command to look him in the eye.

Jason managed to make eye contact with intense focus. He couldn’t breathe, and the flavor of Ratty’s cock assaulted his senses, but Jason loved forcing himself to look up while Ratty slowly drilled his dick in deeper. Ratty had deep, dark eyes. Though the rest of his face was stony and menacing, Jason could sense a deep caring kindness in his eyes.

“Open that throat up, sweetheart,” he said. “When I pull my dick out to give you a breath in a minute-“ He spoke softly and evenly without breaking the rhythm of his penetration. “-I’ll give you five seconds. That alright? You want more time?”

Jason just nodded. He didn’t entirely understand what Ratty was asking because he was too focused on sucking cock, but he trusted Ratty to make the decision. Ratty nodded back at him.

He pulled his dick out, and held Jason’s head firmly in place with Ratty’s cock right in front of the mouth. Jason gasped hoarsely for air. Ratty silently counted using his fingers. He held up all five fingers on his left hand right in front of Jason’s face, then counted down until all his fingers were down and there was just a fist hovering in front of Jason’s face.

Then he rammed his dick right back in. Jason moaned as the flavor of Ratty’s unwashed musk hit him all over again. This time, his dick was slick with precum, its salty taste coating Jason’s tongue and making him gurgle for more.

“Good boy, good boy…” Ratty leaned his head back, both of his hands on Jason’s scalp to keep him in place. “There you go, you got my balls on yo’ chin. Ain’t a proper blowjob if you don’t got balls on yo’ chin.” He lifted himself up and down with his ankles, rubbing his balls against Jason’s chin.

Ratty repeated that cycle a few times. He told Jason what to do every step of the way. He pointed to specific spots on his cockshaft he wanted Jason to lick — he especially liked it when Jason’s tongue traced the outline of the veins that ran up and down his dick. When he fucked Jason’s throat for a minute or so, he gave him five seconds to breathe, counting down with his fingers; he didn’t do that in a harsh or threatening way, more like he was very concerned with efficiency and didn’t want to waste any time on breathing that wasn’t necessary.

Eventually, however, he switched to rubbing his entire crotch over Jason’s face — Jason just kept his mouth open and his tongue out, and Ratty made sure he licked every part of his cock and balls.

“You ready for me to destroy that hole, sweetheart?” Ratty said with a low rumbling growl.

“Yes, papi, please-“

“Oh shit, sweetheart, don’t call me papi in that girl-voice, it makes me so hot I can’t stop myself. You might never walk straight again if I keep hearin’ that,” Ratty said. He bristled, shifting his weight back and forth as Jason very slowly stood. Jason licked a trail up Ratty’s bare chest muscles. Then he dramatically hesitated as he undid his belt. Ratty licked his lips and flared his nostrils, watching like it was the climax of a movie he had been waiting years to see.

When Jason’s ass was finally bare, Ratty gripped both cheeks with callused fingers. Jason twitched and moaned as soon as Ratty’s dick touched his asshole. Jason had a tube of lube behind the bar, which he gave to Ratty — Ratty seemed to be intending on using nothing but his own spit as lubricant, which Jason assumed was normal in prison but wasn’t going to fly here. Ratty had a huge horse-cock that Jason wasn’t about to take without lube.

“Open that ass, sweetheart, lemme in.” Ratty growled again.

Even with lube, there was a twinge of pain when Jason first accepted it. Though Ratty carried himself like he was going to ram it in as agonizingly as possible, he was actually very gentle. The first inch or so of his cock slid in and Jason twitched. He grunted and Ratty stopped moving.

“You tell me when you ready, sweetheart. I just stand here waitin’,” he said. He stood with his legs a little bit apart, arms at his sides like a soldier at attention. His cocktip throbbed in Jason’s ass.

Soon, Jason felt himself relaxing, and he slid himself back farther. Ratty kept his arms at his side as long as he could, then when he moaned and shuddered with pleasure, Ratty’s hands flailed above Jason’s back. Finally Ratty crossed his arms over his chest.

“Back up on it, sweetheart, back up on it,” Ratty said with a snort. He watched Jason back all the way up on his massive dick, moaning and groaning with every inch slipping into his tight hole.

Finally Jason felt Ratty’s pubic hair rub against his ass. Jason moaned, scarcely able to believe that he had taken an entire foot of cock in his ass without much pain. The pressure was intense, but it was all pleasure, throbbing, tingling deep within him.

“Alright, boy, now you gonna get fucked,” Ratty said. He kissed Jason on the cheek. “Yo’ whole body gonna-“

If there’s a mess, Malik, use yo’ tongue to clean it up!

What’s it smell like?

An outpouring of laughter filled the air. Jason had trouble paying attention, but he saw Malik sneaking into the basement from the side door — the other thugs had collected near the door and catcalled at him; it looked like Malik had intended to sneak in and get his cell phone off the table without seeing or being seen by Jason and Ratty. But his friends now yelled and thought it was hilarious when Ratty roared at them.

“Yo, nigga, come here and lick this boy’s ass off my dick! Huh? Where you goin’?! I got goopy boy-butt all over my dick, Malik, I need you to clean it off!” Ratty yelled. He made a fist and flexed his biceps in Malik’s direction.

But Malik just grabbed all the cell phones that had been left on the table and ran out the door. His friends tried to push him back in, and there was an explosion of shouting. Eventually Malik made it back out, however, and the door slammed shut.

“Sorry ‘bout the interruption, boy,” Ratty said. “They don’t know nothin’ ‘bout romance. They’s a bunch of young pups. You want me to beat ‘em up?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Jason said, his voice softly feminine because the surprise of the encounter with Malik had caused a surge in his hormones. His heart skipped a beat, and Jason was on the verge of orgasm.

“You gonna blow yo’ nut?”

“Yes, papi…”

“Good… Cum in yo’ hand, okay?” He spoke directly, growlingly, into Jason’s ear. That was enough to send Jason over the edge as Ratty’s cock slammed into his prostate one more time.

Jason bucked and grunted, all of his ladylike grace vanishing as an orgasm ripped through him. Ratty groaned too and shot his load at the same time. He filled Jason’s ass with his creamy seed, his powerful muscles flexing above Jason’s back. He held Jason’s head and back tightly to keep him in position.

The most potent orgasm of Jason’s life wracked his mind and his body. Jason’s muscles twisted and flexed beneath Ratty’s pounding, and he writhed passionately as he clutched at Ratty’s muscles.

It took all of his mid-orgasm concentration, but Jason managed to shoot his wad into his cupped palm. He trembled and spilled some, however, as he accepted Ratty’s massive load deep in his ass.

“Good boy, sweetheart, you know how to do it right…” Ratty moaned softly, his breath condensing on Jason’s neck.

He was limp and spent, exhausted, using all of his strength to keep his hand full of cum elevated so he didn’t spill. Ratty spewed an incredible stream, endless like he had built it up over his years in lockup, the heat and creamy texture seeping into Jason’s body and warming up his flesh.

“Open up, lemme watch you swallow that nut, sweetheart…” Ratty said as the last few drops of cum spilled into Jason’s ass. He guided Jason’s hand to his mouth, and he watched Jason open up. Ratty tilted Jason’s palm so his entire gob of cum landed in Jason’s mouth.

Then Ratty forced Jason’s mouth shut. He watched closely, dick twitching and falling limp. Then he kissed Jason on the lips. His tongue plunged into Jason’s mouth.

That kiss lasted forever. Jason fell limp, but he was kept aloft by Ratty’s powerful arms. They both ended up on the floor there. Ratty didn’t pull out for what seemed like a long time — though Jason had no sense of time anymore, so he wasn’t sure how long it had actually been — he just laid there on the floor with Jason in a bear hug, his dick gradually limpening inside Jason’s ass.

Then he finally pulled out. By then, Jason was mostly asleep. Ratty kissed him on the back of the neck. “I won’t be here when you wake up, boy,” he said softly, “but I’ll stay here till then so you can sleep in my arms.”

Bulging Biceps at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the first chapter of Bulging Biceps at the City Barbershop, a hot tale of black male thug M/M action on the downlow, and part of the City Barbershop of Indianapolis series!

Chris Harwood finished cutting an old man’s hair. There was a customer waiting for him next, so Chris hurried. He wanted to finish quickly enough that he would have the next empty chair, that way he’d get that customer instead of one of the other barbers.

But he failed. The old man was slow, and when Chris got out the mirror to show him the back of his head, he had to put on his glasses and peer carefully into the mirror. By then, one of the other barbers had finished, and was ready for the next customer. He motioned for the waiting man to sit down.

“Nah…”

The guy waiting refused a haircut. Chris caught his eye and knew what this was after all — the waiting man was here for a blowjob, not a haircut, that’s why he had declined the other barber.

That’s because Chris was the only gay barber at the City Barbershop of Indianapolis. The City Barbershop was a nationwide chain with a well-known reputation as a place where black men could go to get away from the world… and get a blowjob on the downlow. What happened here stayed here, so gay men like Chris could get their fill of rough trade meat.

The guy waiting for Chris was Darren. He was a tall, ropy-muscled black man with very dark skin. He glowered a little. He looked nervous and maybe a bit bitter about being here.

Chris suspected he knew why. The local gang — the Nine Tats, who controlled most of the illegal activity in Indianapolis — made a lot of their new recruits have sex with a man because undercover cops weren’t allowed to do it. Besides that, there was a certain macho element to it — a real gangbanger, Chris had been told on many occasions, should have a massive cock and know how to use it.

Darren sucked on his teeth. When it was his turn to get a haircut, he made eye contact with Chris and motioned towards the door to the backroom.

As always, Chris teased him. For most of the straight thugs who came to see him, being told to do it and deciding to do it were stressful and difficult; they didn’t think beyond that. Nobody ever told them that Chris might refuse. In this case, he was definitely not going to refuse — Darren was hot — but he fully intended to make Darren work for it.

“You gotta sit down, nigga,” Chris said, “or I can’t cut your hair.”

Darren scowled. A few of the other barbers chuckled dryly. They knew perfectly well that Chris liked to tease straight men, especially someone like Darren who came across as arrogant and mean even though he hadn’t spoken yet.

“I, ain’t… I ain’t here for a haircut.”

“Oh. Are you here to apply for a job?”

“Nah, nigga,” he said with a scoff like that was a ridiculous idea. “I got… I got somethin’ to, you know… talk to you about. I came here… to talk… for the purpose of… talkin’… to you.”

“And here we are talking! What a grand success your mission has been!” Chris threw his hands in the air. Everyone except Darren laughed. Chris playfully squeezed Darren’s biceps, which were thick and throbbing. Chris giggled. “Ooh, you’re strong.”

“Yeah.” He bit his lip. “Uh… So, uh… Yo, nigga… Can I…? I mean…” He blushed and sputtered. Everyone laughed at him. He scowled at the other barbers. His hands formed fists. He looked like he had been a thug long enough no one ever really teased him, so he was uncomfortable with this situation. But in the City Barbershop, Chris had all the power. Darren licked his lips. “Quit laughin’. Yo, quit laughin’! Quit playin’, niggas! Come on…”

Chris didn’t stop caressing Darren’s biceps. They were stiff because Darren was tense, so it was like massaging a warm slab of rock. Darren wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t make Chris stop.

“Can I see your biceps?” Chris asked.

“Man!” He shouted like that was beyond the pale. “Go in the back, nigga!”

“It’s just biceps,” Chris said with a giggle. He made his own biceps. He was a delicate-bodied twink, so his arms were not impressive. They were maybe one tenth the size of Darren’s upper arms. “Are you scared my arms will be bigger than yours?” The rest of the barbers laughed so hard they stopped cutting hair. The other customers laughed too, and Darren scowled, shouting for silence.

“Man! All y’all shut up!” Darren let out an angry roar. “Fine! Fuck you!” He pumped both biceps, which were indeed huge and bulging. Chris loved men with very well-defined biceps, with a large hump like a cartoon character.

Chris tried to grab ahold of his right arm to kiss it, but Darren was too tall — and he held his arms high enough that Chris couldn’t easily reach it. Darren said something that was lost in the din of the hooting and laughter from everyone else in the shop.

So Chris jumped. He was more than a foot shorter than Darren. He leapt and grabbed ahold of his right bicep, held on and tried to do a pull-up to kiss and lick the muscle.

Darren dropped him. “Come on! You know what I want!”

“I do. I know what you want,” Chris said. He put his hands on his hips. “I’m not required to give it to you. You have to convince me you deserve it. I don’t just suck off everyone I meet.”

Darren flared his nostrils. “Please?! Just… I said please, nigga?”

Chris thought for a long time. Darren really did have excellent bulging biceps. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll suck you off right now, but do you know any other gay men?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sorta. My baby mama’s brother. He’s… gay.” It sounded like Darren didn’t often use the word gay to describe gay men; he was being polite for Chris’ benefit. “He’s like thirty. He don’t live around here, and I doubt he’d suck me off. He hates me.”

“Okay, but you gotta let him kiss your biceps anytime he wants.”

“What?”

“That’s my condition. From now on, whenever you see him at family gatherings, you have to tell him that he can feel up your muscles, or at least your biceps,” Chris said.

He bristled and shifted his weight on his feet. “Nigga… I can’t do that. He don’t like me. He, you know… I got a rep to protect.”

“Oh, well, you better get outta here and go protect it then. This is a dangerous city,” Chris said. He leaned in to whisper dramatically. “There’s gangbangers here.”

The shop erupted in laughter again. Darren stamped his foot on the ground. His hands were stuck in fists, and he shadowboxed the air a few times. His tattooed biceps gleamed with nervous sweat.

“Fuck you!” He stormed out of the shop. The door tinkled as it slammed shut. Outside he took a deep breath, then turned around and came back in. “Fine! Yes! Yes! Okay? Fine! I’ll let Robert make love to my fucking biceps!” He sneered Robert’s name like he really hated him a lot.

“Awesome,” Chris said, though no one could hear it over the roaring laughter of everyone else in the shop. He didn’t wait for anyone to quiet down. He hopped into Darren’s arms. Darren sighed and rolled his eyes, his face stony and placid as he refused to showcase his embarrassment. The others all clapped and hollered like they were the receiving line at a wedding. Darren carried Chris through the threshold into the backroom of the barbershop, while Chris kissed and sucked on the veiny muscles of his arm. He made it nice and sloppy, so his saliva dripped down Darren’s side.

As soon as they were in the back, Darren deposited Chris on the floor. In the quiet of the backroom, Darren’s hostility was a lot more uncomfortable. He glared at Chris as though Chris had had a responsibility to suck him off without preconditions. His biceps gleamed now with sweat and spit. He sneered as he pulled his cock out of the fly of his sagging jeans.

Chris had planned on teasing Darren some more, but he hadn’t come up with anything fun to do. Once he saw Darren’s cock, he didn’t think about anything else — it was so big and meaty and delicious-looking that he couldn’t resist. He licked his lips and opened up.

“You play too much, nigga. You act a fool,” Darren said. He sniffled and looked away from Chris like he was offended.

Chris slapped his face with Darren’s cock, which quickly stiffened. He slathered spit up and down the shaft, making Darren shake and moan.

“You’re serious too much,” Chris said. He giggled. “You know if a guy who looks like you just comes in says can I have a blowjob please? I’d just say yes. It happens all the time.”

“Shut up and suck it.”

“When you come in here and act like an entitled prick who will get a blowjob on ‘ccount of bein’ super-fly and sellin’ lots of rock, it makes me not wanna do it. Makes me wanna get somethin’ else out of it-“

“Whatever, man…” Darren said. He looked chagrined despite his lack of a reaction. “I ain’t gonna do this again, so don’t bother givin’ me tips. I’m just doin’ it to get my spot in the Nine Tats.”

Chris dropped his cock and backed away “Oh, well, I don’t wanna push you into nothin’ you don’t wanna do. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Man, I’s gangsta as shit, boy, shut yo’ mouth. I ain’t say I don’t wanna do it,” he said. He sniffled. “I just… I got females who’ll do it, y’know.” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m sorry. Please suck my dick, nigga. I… I want you to do it.”

“So I’m doing you a favor, right? You’re not doing me a favor?”

“Right.”

“Good. Act like it,” Chris said. He resumed sucking. He pulled Darren’s pants and shorts down — Darren clearly felt it was more gangsta to get a blowjob through the fly of his boxers, but he didn’t argue about it. He just closed his eyes, leaned against the wall and moaned as Chris sucked him down.

It was obvious he felt intense pleasure. Chris could see it rippling through the muscles of his chest, which Chris felt up as he sucked. But Darren subdued his reaction, biting his lip and writhing when he lost control. His cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Chris’ throat.

“Yeah, bitch…” Darren muttered. “Suck it, man. Suck it. Oh god yes, you suck better than any female…”

When Chris deep-throated and gagged, he tasted a burst of precum. That triggered Darren to get really into this, and he grabbed Chris’ head. He held on tight and rammed his dick down Chris’ throat.

The salty flavor of precum exploded in Chris’ consciousness. He moaned around the cock throbbing in his mouth and throat, and he guzzled down every drop of manjuice he could get.

“Damn, boy, you suck pretty good. I can forgive you fo’ actin’ like a bitch,” Darren said. He scoffed. He leaned his head back and grunted as he slammed his cock all the way in and held on.

Chris gagged and his throat instinctually resisted, but Darren was powerful and refused to let go. Chris clasped Darren’s plump asscheeks and held on to signal that Darren should keep facefucking — Chris loved a violent oral copulation. His dick filled up Chris’ gullet, spraying wad after wad of creamy hot cum right into Chris’ throat.

The salty-sweet taste of cum was strong and it brought tears to Chris’ eyes. Darren kept his dick deep in Chris’ throat until he was done spraying his wad, then he sighed and pulled out.

“Damn, that was not bad at all,” he said with a frown. He wiped his limp dick over Chris, who heaved and gasped for air. “I ain’t upset about that at all. That was worth lettin’ you lick all ovuh my bicep.”

“You have great biceps. Very sexy.”

“Shut up.”

The Prison Wife

Here’s the first chapter of The Prison Wife, a new story by Lee Lane Lamplight!

Hawk stumbled as he entered the cell block. He heard hooting and clapping. Luckily some of the other prisoners were worse off than Hawk — there was a fat man who started sobbing even before they came onto the cell block. He attracted most of the attention from the other inmates.

Tubby crybaby wants his mommy!

But Hawk knew plenty of them were looking at him too. He could feel their eyes staring at him. Hawk took a deep breath to calm himself.

He had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a plan he would enjoy. There was no reason not to enjoy it. While Hawk didn’t want to be in prison, he had a good plan — Hawk was gay. He loved sucking cock and getting fucked, and he especially loved being fucked by huge alpha male thugs.

So spending time in prison gave him plenty of opportunities to do what he wanted to do anyway. He wished he could come and go as he pleased, getting fucked whenever he wanted and then going home to sleep in his own bed. But of course, that was not an option.

This place would be his home for the next two to five years.

Hawk tried to look tough. He was not in bad shape. He had been playing soccer and baseball for years, but he was short and he was wiry, not muscular. He had long straight black hair and dusky brown skin.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!”

An explosion of laughter and some angry shouts erupted. Hawk’s heart skipped a beat — was this a prison riot? Had he walked in on a prison riot?

“Yo, yo, yo!” There was a man coming towards the new inmates.

“Get back- Oh…” The guard escorting the new inmates chuckled dryly at the sight of the man coming towards Hawk and the others. The guard didn’t seem to care what he did. Hawk didn’t know if that meant he should be scared of this inmate — was the guard scared to stop him? — or if he should be calm — was the guard aware that this inmate was a paper tiger?

But Hawk thought the inmates would test one of the fat blubbering idiots first. So he just furrowed his brow. He made as tough a face as he could manage.

But then the inmate came to him. He was Thumper White, a middle-aged black man with cornrows tinged with gray. He was an ex-boxer and he still had the body of a fighter half his age. He moved like his muscles and his heft were in the way — he was much faster than a burly, barrel-chested man like him should be.

“Uh…” Hawk didn’t know if he should throw a punch or not. The entire cell block stared at him.

Thumper pushed inmates — new and old, weak and tough alike — out of the way as he barreled to Hawk. Then he stopped in front of him and smiled like a schoolboy.

“Yo, hey, what’s yo’ name?” Thumper asked. His grizzled, gray-tinged scruff shifted as he licked his lips. It sounded like he was trying to be casual, even though he had knocked several people over as he came here, and the entire cell block had fallen silent to watch him.

“Uh… Hawk.”

“Hawk? What kinda name is that?”

“It’s Indian. I’m an Indian. Native American Indian.”

Thumper’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, shit, nice. That’s why you got pretty long hair?”

“Well… I have pretty long hair because, uh… I like it.” Hawk’s mind raced too fast for him to speak coherently.

“You some kinda gay or bisexual?” Thumper asked.

“Um, yeah… I’m gay.”

Thumper let out a growl. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Boy, you serious?”

“Yeah.” Hawk squeaked like a mouse. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that, he thought, since it looked like Thumper became hostile when he said it.

“I think I love you, boy,” Thumper said. He took Hawk’s wrist and kissed the back of his hand. That finally broke the silence of the other inmates. They howled peals of laughter. Someone clasped Hawk on the back, making Hawk stumble and cry out in surprise. Thumper kissed his hand copiously, and even sucked on his middle finger.

“Oh-“

Thumper stood up. He made a stern, angry face and addressed the crowd of jeering inmates. They all cheered as though they were glad for Thumper, though it was obvious from their tone and body language — and the harsh laughter filling the air — that they were teasing Thumper for forming a relationship with a man.

You in love, homo thug?!

You gonna suck that Indian boy’s dick, Thump?

Thumper held one hand up, palm out. The inmates all got quiet — the black ones first, since they were in Thumper’s gang — Thumper was in charge of the Nine Tats here at Brutewood; Hawk didn’t know that yet, but he would soon figure it out. The Nine Tats then forcibly hushed up the other gangs.

“All y’all shut yo’ mouths,” Thumper said. “This boy here is Hawk. He too pretty to be any kinda bitch, so don’t none of you try nothin’.” There was some scattered groans. Someone threw a chess piece that bounced off Thumper’s chest. Thumper bellowed, “Hey! Nah! Shut yo’ bitch-ass mouths!” Then he waited for silence again. “Ain’t none of y’all’s business, nosirree. Prison love is private, even if you can see it, niggas.”

Then Thumper turned around. He ignored a few whooping catcalls from the other inmates. He dropped to his knees in front of Hawk and grabbed his hand once again. He sucked on that middle finger just like before. Then he pulled it out and smiled up at Hawk.

“Boy, will you do me the honor of bein’ my prison wife? I will treat you so good, boy…” He let out a long, low growl. His kisses traveled up Hawk’s hand to his arm, then his neck.

Hawk shivered. He wanted to say yes, of course. Thumper was pretty much Hawk’s ideal man — right down to the flecks of gray in his chest hair and cornrows. Hawk loved men with a bit of maturity in their bones.

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk finally managed to croak out a response.

The cell block erupted in both cheers and jeers. Someone threw more chess pieces — aiming at Thumper, it seemed, but many of them hit Hawk instead. Thumper planted his lips right on Hawk’s, and his massive tongue pushed into Hawk’s mouth.

That was such a shock that Hawk resisted at first, purely out of instinct and surprise. He pushed on Thumper’s shoulders, but Thumper didn’t even seem to notice. He just barreled through ramming his tongue down Hawk’s throat as though invading his gullet, like his goal was to get as deep as possible.

Hawk was so surprised by everything that had happened that he barely even noticed when Thumper scooped him up in his arms. Hawk was dizzy and confused. Thumper carried him like a bride through the crowd of cheering black men — his own gangmates formed a line on either side, leading back to Thumper’s cell.

It was obvious to Hawk that these thugs clapped and cheered both because it was expected of them and because they teased Thumper. He was their boss, but he was much more comfortable with man-on-man sex than the rest of them — he was from an earlier generation. They thought proposing to a prison wife publicly was hilarious and shameful (for Thumper). They called him a groom and encouraged Hawk to throw a (nonexistent) bouquet of flowers to tease Thumper.

If Thumper realized that they were laughing at him, however, he gave no indication. He had a big smile on his face like a groom carrying his bride to their shared bedroom. His big muscles carried Hawk easily through the cell block.

The tiny cell was barely big enough for one person, and there was already a young man there. He was clearly gay and effeminate. He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow when he saw Thumper carrying Hawk into the cell.

“What’s up, Thumper? That a bitch or wha-?” His voice trailed off when he saw the men crowding the cell outside to watch as though they were witnessing history. Thumper’s current cellmate crossed his arms over his chest.

“Brian.” Thumper sounded like he had forgotten he had a cellmate. “Get yo’ shit and get out.”

“What?”

“You don’t live here no more. Go tell Armstrong you need a new cell assignment,” Thumper said. He looked at Hawk and kissed him.

“Oh. You’re dumping me?”

“I am in love, nigga. You know what love is? It’s the most powerful force in the universe. I ain’t nevuh loved you. You just a slut,” Thumper said without taking his eyes away from Hawk. “Go’n, get out.”

The man sniffled. “Fine. Later.” He gathered up his clothes and other belongings, most of which were already in a cardboard box.

“Hurry up, nigga. We got some connubial bliss to construct,” Thumper said. He snarled at the man, who darted out of the cell. He had to squeeze past the other inmates to get out.

Yo, Thumper, you gonna lick his butthole?! Huh? You want some syrup?!

“Ignore them niggas,” Thumper said with a growl. Once his former cellmate was out, he slapped their hands when they tried to reach in past the cell bars. “Get outta here, niggas! Get out! This ain’t none of yo’ business. This ain’t gang business. This ain’t no concern of yours. This is just love, that’s all. You don’t know jack-shit about love.” He reached his arms between the cell bars and grabbed one young man by the neck — it was a young black man, skinny, definitely not old enough to be anyone important, Hawk assumed — and whispered something Hawk couldn’t hear. The young man’s eyes opened wide, and he hushedly got the other inmates to be quiet and walk away. It took awhile though, so there were still hands reaching into the cell, sarcastic laughter and whooping filling the air.

Does his dick taste like curry?! Huh? Thumper, huh? You like curry?!

“That’s the wrong kinda Indian, nigga!” Thumper yelled out of the cell. It wasn’t clear that anyone could hear him because they hollered in his direction. Thumper smiled at Hawk was though he expected to be congratulated for knowing the different kinds of Indians.

“Oh, uh… So this is my cell, right? I, like… I’m not gonna get in trouble being here, right?”

Thumper smiled. “You got a pretty voice, boy. I like hearin’ you say words,” he said. He got up real close to Hawk like he was going to kiss him, but then he didn’t. “Yeah. This is yo’ cell. Officer Armstrong runs this place, Hawk, and I run Officer Armstrong.” He paused. “Hawk. That is the sexiest name for a gayboy I ever heard. Hawk. I just wanna keep sayin’ yo’ name over and over. Hawk. Hawk. Hawk.”

“Oh…”

“We are gonna make such sweet love in here, boy,” Thumper said. He leaned in again like he was going to kiss Hawk. But he just put his lips next to Hawk’s ear and whispered, “We are gonna brew a big pot of love in here. You like gettin’ fucked in the ass?”

“Yeah.”

“You need a pet name for me, boy,” he said. “Like daddy or papi or somethin’ like that.” His eyes lit up. “Or somethin’ Indian. What do pretty Indian girls call they man?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don’t speak Indian?”

“Uh… No.” Hawk wanted to explain that there were lots of American Indian languages, each, presumably, with their own pet names a girl might call her boyfriend. Hawk didn’t speak any of them though. But Hawk was too scared to think of any words to explain all that, and the end result would just be “no” anyway, so he simply said no. “Most Indians just speak English.” He croaked.

Thumper nodded. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You scared, huh? You scared of me?”

“Uh… yeah.” Hawk had never felt smaller.

“Don’t be scared, boy. I wouldn’t nevuh hurt you. You much too pretty for that. You ain’t gonna be my bitch. Or no one’s bitch. You mine. You my boy from now on. You my lover,” he said. Then, like he had only just noticed the men still laughing at him — the one thug he had whispered to had gotten many of them to leave, but there were still more. Hawk noticed that they were all black men. He didn’t know the gang politics of this prison yet, but in fact, they were all Thumper’s own gang — they could, more or less, get away with teasing Thumper while members of other gangs might have gotten stabbed even coming near Thumper’s cell.

You goin’ on a honeymoon, Thump?

C’mon, Thumper, I wanna watch you lick that boy’s asshole.

Snorting like an angry horse, Thumper stood up and went to the corner of the cell. Only two walls were bars through which people could see, and Thumper put up a sheet as a curtain. There were tacks already in the wall to make it easy, he just put the curtain back up where, it seemed, he put it every night.

“There, now we got some privacy. I wanna make you comfortable, boy,” Thumper said.

“Okay.”

Now that they couldn’t see, the gangbangers lost interest in teasing Thumper. They turned around and walked away, and at last, there was silence. Hawk hadn’t even realized how loud the men were being until they were gone.

Thumper faced him. Hawk’s heart raced. Thumper smiled. “Boy, you still scared.”

“Well… It’s scary.”

“Am I scary?”

“Yeah…” Hawk had to hold back his tears. He thought he would do alright on his first day, and really, today’s result hadn’t been bad. He’d wanted to get some sexy thug to promise to protect him, and that was exactly what he’d gotten. It was just so stressful — and Thumper’s stare and body and presence were so intimidating — that Hawk felt like sobbing.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Thumper said with a throaty growl. He wrapped one muscular arm around Hawk’s thin shoulder. He brought Hawk down to the lower bunk on the cell — that would be Hawk’s bunk now. “Relax, boy. Lemme make you a promise.” He took off his shirt and his pecs bounced, making a shiver of desire run through Hawk’s body. Thumper was really very sexy; he was just so scary that Hawk couldn’t think about anything besides his own fear. Thumper kissed Hawk on the lips again. “I won’t initiate nothin’ ‘bout sex. Okay? You decide when you ready to suck my dick or take it in the ass. Okay? That’s up to you.” He paused.

Thumper undid his shoes and pulled his orange prison pants off without getting out of the bunk. In no time he was naked. He had a huge brown cock, which was soft but looked to have just a touch of an erection.

He was so sexy it hurt. Hawk wanted more than anything to caress Thumper’s muscles. He knew Thumper wanted it too, but this situation was too tough for Hawk to respond at all. He just sat there on his bunk, fully clothed, sneaking glances at Thumper’s body every few seconds.

“You like my body?” Thumper asked.

Hawk nodded.

“I like yo’ body too. I ain’t nevuh seen it yet. But I like it already,” he said. “You know if anyone hurts you or even looks at you funny in this place, you tell me ‘bout it. I’ll kill ‘em. No questions asked.”

“Oh. Okay… That seems… harsh.”

“I’m a harsh nigga. None of those men was makin’ fun of you. They know better. They can call me a faggot cuz they know I ain’t one,” he said. He licked his lips. “They gonna treat you like a queen. I’m serious, nigga. If you want somethin’, you tell the nearest Nine Tat. If he don’t drop e’rything to give it to you, I’ll punish him, and if he got any brothers in this place, I punish them too. I do that. Brothers is responsible for each other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can’t fuck ‘em though. If you wanna fuck some nigga, you gotta ask me. I’ll decide if he gets fucked. You can ask ‘em for anything else, like food, or beatin’ up some other nigga.”

“Oh. Alright. I probably won’t, uh… want anything like that,” Hawk said. The idea of ordering some strange black thugs to do stuff seemed strange and off-putting. He was certain he wouldn’t do that.

“Okay. Whatchoo in for?”

Hawk cleared his throat. “Uh… Selling weed. I was caught with a lot of weed in my trunk.”

“You a pothead?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Cool. Me too,” Thumper said. “I got weed. We can’t smoke it today — it’s Monday, that means Warden Mitchell might be by later. He freak out if he smell weed. We save that for weekends.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. Then he grabbed Thumper’s pulsating pectoral muscles. He stroked his nipple and giggled, the anxiety of the situation finally giving way and turning to excitement. He was still scared and intimidated, but the easiest way to move forward, he thought, the path of least resistance, was to just do what both he and Thumper wanted him to do.

But Hawk wanted to know how truthful Thumper was being when he said that Hawk could decide when and how they fucked. So Hawk massaged Thumper’s muscles and then reached down to his dick, but he didn’t start sucking.

“I don’t wanna do anything else today,” Hawk said. “Let’s just start with a handjob, okay? I’ll get you off all day and all night, but just with my hand. We’ll build up to actual sex, alright?”

“Hell yeah, boy, I do that.” He beamed and licked his lips. “We got all the time in the world in this place. Let’s go slow.” His dick twitched as soon as Hawk touched it. It looked like Thumper wanted to kiss, but Hawk kissed him on the neck instead. Thumper growled, and Hawk could feel the rumbling in his throat.

His enormous cock was nearly a foot long once it firmed up in Hawk’s hand. Hawk stroked it and giggled again. Thumper had such a serious look on his face, like this handjob was a matter of life and death, that Hawk couldn’t help but laugh.

It was clear Thumper wanted to touch Hawk. He kept lifting his hands, then stopping himself because he had promised Hawk was in charge. Hawk smiled.

“Okay, Thumper, you can touch me,” he said.

Thumper jumped into action. He literally ripped Hawk’s prison uniform off his body. He let out a seductive growl and planted his lips on Hawk’s cheek. He pressed his weight onto Hawk’s body, pinning him on the grimy mattress.

“Stop!” Hawk screamed. His heart raced. Was Thumper about to tear him limb from limb? It rather felt like it.

Thumper pulled off him and frowned. “Sorry, boy. I came on strong, ain’t I?”

“Yeah…” Hawk said softly. Again he wanted to cry. “You, uh… You’re a big man. I’m little. You can’t just lay on top of me like that.”

“You turn me on, boy. You make me so horny,” he said. He kept his eyes downcast. His cock was still rock-hard. Hawk gently grabbed it once again and resumed stroking it. Thumper moaned and licked his lips. “Boy, you make me so fucking horny. I need you. I need you right now. Stroke that shit, damn…”

“Okay, Thumper, you can kiss me on the lips and-“

Thumper rammed into him. They kissed and once again Hawk was pinned against the wall. Thumper’s tongue invaded his mouth. Hawk pushed Thumper away once more — Thumper was much stronger than Hawk, of course, so Hawk only pushed him away because Thumper allowed it.

“Sorry, boy.”

“Thumper… Can you kiss me… normally? Like… not like a prison rapist? Just kiss me. How about… don’t move me? Like, when you kiss me and I’m sitting right here, you’re not allowed to kiss me so hard I have to change positions. You can kiss me while I’m sitting here,” Hawk said. “So you have to be gentle.”

“Okay, boy.” He moved his head in slowly, and kissed Hawk on the lips. This was almost too gentle, like kissing air. Despite his huge hulking size, Thumper could be very soft when he wanted to be, and when he could avoid his instincts.

Hawk was fine with it. It was a little like kissing an unconscious man, Hawk thought, since Thumper didn’t really move once he started, but Hawk wasn’t about to tell him to be more forceful. This would have to do for now.

His cock throbbed in Hawk’s hand. It felt like he was near orgasm for the first time, like he had been so horny all it took was a few kisses and strokes to get him off. For the first time, Hawk wondered if Thumper would reciprocate. Presumably not, he thought, so Hawk used his other hand to jack himself off.

“Yo, boy, you know I’m straight, I like girls. I like pussy. I like eatin’ pussy-“ He pantomimed sucking on an invisible pussy. “I like fuckin’ females in the ass. I like tits.”

“Okay.”

“I love you cuz I’m in this place, and I ain’t nevuh gonna fall in love wit’ no girl again. Only love I got is boylove,” he said. “Gayboys, I mean, not kiddies.” Precum flowed from his cock. It felt creamy and warm, and Hawk had to fight against his urge to start sucking.

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t nevuh wanna touch no boy’s meat.”

“Sure. I didn’t think you would.”

“On ‘ccount of my love for you, I’d demonstrate it, if you asked me to,” he said. “I’d show you my love by jackin’ yo’ dick. But you gotta tell me you want it.”

“Oh. I want it. Thumper, will you jack me off?”

“Call me a pet name.”

“What?”

“Call me somethin’. You know, like daddy or papi or whatevuh. Call me somethin’ special, somethin’ you ain’t nevuh call none of yo’ boyfriends,” he said. “Somethin’ just for me. That’ll demonstrate yo’ love for me.”

“Uh… how about papi? I like that. I’ve never called anyone that since I’m not Spanish, but I always thought it was hot,” Hawk said. “So, papi, will you please jack me off? You’re so sexy and so perfect… I need you, Thumper.” His words felt hollow and forced, even though he loved the idea of getting a handjob from Thumper.

Thumper bucked like he was near his own orgasm as he grabbed Hawk’s cock. He immediately stroked it, in sync with Hawk’s handjob — it was clear Thumper had done this before.

“Can we… touch dicks?” Hawk asked. He felt an overwhelming urge to joust with Thumper. He had never done it before, but he wanted to ask for something that Thumper hadn’t told him he could ask for, and he figured Thumper couldn’t say not to this if he was willing to use his hand.

“‘Course, boy. If’n it makes you happy, we can touch dicks e’ry day,” he said. He scooted forward and spread his legs. Hawk did the same until their crotches touched, cocks mingling. Thumper’s dick was much bigger than Hawk’s, though Hawk had a larger than average dick too — Hawk’s dick actually looked more impressive because Hawk’s body was so much smaller; Thumper’s dick looked appropriate for his body size, while Hawk looked like he had stolen the cock off someone bigger than himself.

But in the shadowy bunkspace, none of that mattered. It wasn’t even easy to see which dick was bigger (though it was obvious when Hawk stroked them both off at once). Even outside of the bunk, the cell was dark because of the curtain, beyond which shouting and laughter could be heard — everyone had moved on, it seemed, and they ignored Thumper’s cell. People walked by the cell close enough that Hawk could hear them breathe, but they didn’t know what was going on in here (or rather, it seemed they mostly had some idea, but they didn’t know exactly what was going on in here).

“Thumper… you can softly kiss me,” Hawk said.

Thumper opened his mouth and croaked like he was going to say something but was interrupted by a spasm of pleasure shooting up from his cock. He planted his lips on Hawk’s.

The kiss was a little forceful, but Hawk didn’t mind. They were both overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm in the same moment as Thumper’s tongue explored Hawk’s mouth. Hawk spasmed from head to toe.

Cum flew out of both dicks. It was impossible to tell how much came from which person because the flow combined. It jetted over Hawk’s hand and onto Hawk’s flat belly.

It kept flowing too. The smell of cottony cum filled the air, and Hawk imagined he could taste it even though none of it got into his mouth. Tendrils of potent pleasure exploded deep within Hawk’s body. He writhed with exquisite bliss wracking his muscles.

His orgasm seemed to last forever. Hawk knew it didn’t, only because it was almost time for dinner and he hadn’t heard the whistle yet. But time stopped as intense feelings assaulted Hawk’s senses, and Hawk contorted in Thumper’s muscles.

“Ah, god, boy, you got such a nice hand… You make me feel so good…”

Finally they were both done. Somehow they were lying down — Hawk hadn’t remembered doing that, but Thumper wouldn’t have done it since he had promised not to move Hawk when kissing him, so Hawk must have done it — and Thumper sucked on Hawk’s delicate neck.

“I love you, boy,” Thumper said with a growl. “You ain’t gotta say that back to me. I’d appreciate it mightily. I wouldn’t expect you to mean it neither. It won’t be like it is on the outside. I don’t expect no marriage or nothin’. All it means if you say it is that you got love in yo’ heart for me right now, in this moment. Ain’t no kinda commitment. Okay? So when I say I love you, you can decide whether you wanna make me the happiest nigga on Earth by sayin’ it back to me.” He paused and kissed Hawk on the lips. “I love you, boy.”

“I love you too, papi.”

Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop, a brand-new story of hot gay ebony urban fiction! It’s also part of the Gridiron Yards series of hardcore gay erotica about football jocks!

Willie could tell that the beefy young man waiting for a haircut wanted something more than a haircut. He had a feeling he knew what it was. But there was something alluring about a straight guy who was nervous about sex, so Willie didn’t hurry.

When another one of the barbers — Jameson — finished and offered his chair to the beefy young man, he shook his head and pointed to Willie as though it was a secret that he was waiting for him. Willie stuck his ass in the air and waved it around as he finished with the hair of the elderly man in his chair now.

The beefy young man tapped his feet. He was trying to look nonchalant, bobbing his head to the beat of the song on the radio. He pretended to be participating in the conversation Jameson was having with the third barber, Hardy.

But it was obvious he was bursting at the seams with anticipation. When Willie finally finished taking the money from the old man, the young buck leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat in a way that he surely hoped was not attention-grabbing but ended up making everyone else in the room look at him.

“Hey, uh… hi.”

“Hi! What’ll it be?” Willie smiled and giggled. He was the only gay man in the barbershop, so he was used to being the center of attention — he was the feminine element. This young beefy guy was clearly here hoping to get Willie to suck him off. That was not rare. But Willie liked to make his straight bait work for it.

“Uh… A special. A special haircut.” He spoke softly, which again drew much more attention than he had intended.

“Yo, Willie, just do it, man, quit torturin’ him,” Jameson said with a snicker.

“Do what, Jameson?” Willie asked with mock insouciance. He paused to take a long sip from the bottle of water on his counter.

Jameson rolled his eyes. He turned to the young man. “What’s yo’ name, nigga?”

“Lake.”

“Okay, Lake, this is Willie. Willie, this is Lake. Willie, it is obvious to everyone that Lake wants you to suck his dick but is too shy to ask. Lake, it is obvious to everyone but you that Willie wants to suck your dick and likes to tease you-“

“Shut up, Jameson, come on, I don’t go out to the nightclubs and tell fat chicks you don’t eat pussy worth a damn,” Willie said. He pushed Jameson away. Everyone else in the barbershop erupted in howls of laughter. Jameson just rolled his eyes, while the beefy college-age kid, Lake, looked so nervous he was going to faint.

“I never had no complaints!” Jameson said as he walked away. He continued to discuss eating pussy loudly with the other straight men, all of whom boasted so loud that Willie and Lake had to raise their voices to be heard.

“So… Lake… that’s a cute name,” Willie said.

“Oh. Thanks. My mom came up with it.”

“Were you conceived at a lake?”

Lake’s eyes opened wide. “I-I-I don’t… I don’t know.”

Willie giggled. “Haven’t you ever asked why she named you that?”

He shook his head. “I think she just likes it.”

“So do you really want a blowjob?”

“Uh…” He had a very serious look on his face. He raised his voice to be heard but tried to whisper at the same time. “I don’t know if that’s… I was told I should ‘fuck you’.” He made little scare quotes. “But uh… Khalad ain’t elaborate, that’s all he said. I dunno if a blowjob is all that, y’know… They need.”

“Who? What?”

“Uh…” He sighed and glanced over at Jameson and them, who were laughing uproariously.

“Let’s go in the back,” Willie said. He took hold of Lake’s belt and held onto that. Lake leaned back as he walked, like he didn’t want to get any closer to Willie than he had to. Willie guided him by the belt to the backroom.

The others started making rude porno noises. Someone moaned oh, give it to me, Willie, stick it in me! Thanks for making me bottom! Lake bristled a bit as though he wanted to assert his dominance, but he was too nervous in this situation.

Once they were safely in the backroom, Lake breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know how to do this. I know how to hit on girls, you know, not-”

“You can treat me like that.”

He stepped forward and for a moment it looked like he was going to sweep Willie into his arms and kiss him. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that. Man… What if I can’t?”

“What is going on?”

“I’m on the football team at GHU, and the seniors said everyone on the team has to fuck a gay guy. It proves your masculinity or something. You were on the list.”

“I’m flattered,” Willie said. He made it seem like he didn’t know about the list, but in fact, he had asked to be on it.

“But all Khalad said was ‘fuck a gay guy’, or something, I don’t know, they ain’t say if it’s gotta be anal or not-“

“Relax, Lake, it’s okay, quit whining. You know you don’t have to do it, right?”

“They said the freshmen have to do it, no matter what.”

“How are they going to check? I’m not going to give them a list of the guys I sucked off, Lake. I promise I’ll tell them you did it, okay?” Willie paused. “But yeah, if it said you have to fuck, that implies anal.”

“Man…”

“Do you want to do it?”

“Kinda…” He bit his lip and looked down. “I’m not into guys.”

“You’re just horny?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s harder to get laid at college than I thought.”

He leaned back in Pete’s office chair. Pete would have hated that, which made Willie giggle — the owner, Pete, hated it when people sat in his chair. Willie got on his knees and fished Lake’s cock out of his pants.

Lake stiffened up and grunted. He closed his eyes when Willie’s tongue hit his cocktip, which stiffened up in Willie’s mouth. Lake was a healthy young athlete so his cock perked right up into a full erection almost right away. Willie liked that — sometimes the straight guys he serviced treated his blowjobs like a chore they had to struggle to complete, even when they initiated it.

Willie let his fingers roam up Lake’s body. Lake hadn’t taken off his jersey, so Willie had to sneak underneath it to touch his muscles, which were firm and stiff. Lake was tense. Willie could feel his anxiety roiling beneath his flesh, his worry that he was going to become gay or look gay or be perceived as gay or even just feel gay later. It made Willie giggle again.

“Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?” Willie asked as he thwacked Lake’s cock all over his face.

“I’m not a virgin,” Lake said. “But no, I never got a girl to give up the booty — man, don’t tell no one. If they ask you about it, tell them I was an expert, that I fucked a lot of girls in the ass, okay? I don’t know how to do it.” He sniffled a little. Was he about to cry from tension? It almost looked like it.

“Lake, Lake, relax, nigga, chill out. I don’t like to tell people about everything I do, okay? I’m not gonna spread stuff about you. I promise they’re not even gonna ask, okay? They don’t care. They’re just teasing you.”

“What?”

“They always tell freshmen weird shit like that because they wanna see what you’ll do,” Willie said. He turned and backed his ass up towards Lake’s cock. Lake kept his eyes closed, even as he listened attentively to Willie’s words. “Last year the seniors told the basketball freshmen they all had to cum on my face at the same time or they’d never make a three-pointer all season. That wasn’t a real superstition, they just wanted to make them do it and make fun of them for it when they finally did it after a bunch of tries-“

“You let them do it?”

“Is that a joke? Of course I let the basketball team bukkake me. I made it as tough as possible so they’d have to keep trying to cum simultaneously, over and over again” Willie said. He grimaced as he backed his ass onto Lake’s cock. There was a twinge of pain, but Willie was well-lubed and ready to go. He held his breath as that massive cock slid into his ass.

“I can guess why you never talked a girl into givin’ up the ass. You got some hefty meat, nigga,” Willie said with a laugh. The laughter made his back shake, which in turn caused a bolt of pain.

“Oh, sorry, does that hurt?”

“Yes, and don’t apologize,” Willie said. He leaned back and stroked Lake’s muscles beneath his football jersey. Struggling with the intense feelings in his ass, Willie lifted the football jersey off Lake’s body. That gave him easy access to nuzzle Lake’s barrel chest.

“Is that… I mean… do straight guys normally let you suck their chest? That’s weird,” Lake said.

“You can tell me to stop,” Willie said softly. “But most guys don’t mind. You have a great chest. Girls must love you.”

He shrugged. “I got a girl,” he said. He groaned and exhaled sharply. His cock twitched in Willie’s ass.

“You have a girl?”

He nodded. He opened his mouth to say something — probably her name — but then he just moaned and grunted. Willie kissed him on the neck, stretching to reach it because Willie was so much shorter than Lake.

“She doesn’t do anal?”

Lake chuckled. “Nah. She say she don’t do that. She say only sluts do that.”

“You poor baby… Does she suck your dick at least?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I know what that means,” Willie said. “Well anytime she leaves you hanging, you can come see me, big guy. I’ll take care of you.” Willie bit his lip. “Are you going to tell her about this?”

“Hell no,” he said. It sounded like he was having trouble talking now, unable to concentrate as he approached his orgasm. He even very briefly kissed Willie’s earlobe before shuddered at the realization was sort-of making out with a gay man. A tortured cry escaped from his throat.

And then cum flew into Willie’s ass, coating his prostate in creamy warmth. Willie moaned as well, and the pressure inside his ass was enough to send him over the edge too. He shot a big wad that sprayed over his chest and belly, filling the air in Pete’s office with the cottony scent of cum.

“Ah, damn…” Lake said. He shuddered. When Willie started to pull off his dick, Lake grunted and spasmed, his whole body shaking.

Then his dick at last plopped out. Lake looked down at it, his muscles utterly relaxed — he had gone from tense and firm as a statue to a limp pile of brown muscles in just a few minutes. Willie licked some of the sweat off Lake’s chest and biceps.

“What the fuck?! Willie! Willie, you piece of shit!” Pete’s voice rang out. He barged into his own office. “You! Whoever you are, nigga, get your bare ass outta my chair! I oughtta kick your ass!”

Lake was scared of getting in trouble, even though Pete had no authority over him. All Pete could do was kick Lake out of the barbershop. He could, in theory, have fired Willie.

But Willie knew that wouldn’t happen. Every City Barbershop had a gay guy; it was virtually in the corporate handbook. Willie’s blowjobs kept the sexy straight studs coming in, and they made the place popular enough and hip enough to bring in everyone else. Pete wouldn’t fire Willie to replace him with a different gay guy (who would almost certainly continue sucking guys off in Pete’s chair anyway).

So Willie teased him, rubbing and caressing Lake’s muscles as Lake hurried to put his clothes back on and Pete screamed at him to hurry up. Willie dove his face between Lake’s big quarterback asscheeks while Lake tried to pull his pants up. Willie giggled as Pete roared in frustration and dragged Lake out the best he could — it was tough because Lake’s pants were around his ankles and because Lake was a huge athlete twice Pete’s middle-aged size.

Eventually, however, that left Willie there alone to giggle and wait for Pete to return to his office.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, nigga.”

“You don’t gotta talk,” Willie said. “You want a blowjob?”

“Just go cut someone’s hair!”

Betsy Bright, Her Minotaur Man and His Labyrinthine Love

Here’s the first chapter of Betsy Bright, Her Minotaur Man and His Labyrinthine Love, a hot erom tale of romance, passion, lust and one incredible maze!

The only part of her job that didn’t bore Betsy Bright was looking at Mr. Tauren. He was a nearly seven foot tall stud who filled out his tailored Italian suits perfectly. He owned a mining services company, and he was one of those rare CEOs who had really worked his way up the ranks. He had begun slinging coal when he was just out of high school, and received an executive position in his early thirties.

He was impressive, not just because he was a self-made man, but also because he was black. There were very few black people anywhere in this part of Tennessee, and virtually none of them were in the coal industry. Betsy respected the hell out of Mr. Tauren.

And she lusted for him like a schoolgirl. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with a gruff, no-nonsense manner of speaking. When he got angry with someone, like he was today, he bristled in his suit, muscles remaining tense all day as though they might jump right off his body. He was also scrupulously nice to Betsy whenever he was mad at someone else, seemingly because he worried he would be accidentally mean to her and went out of his way to be nice to avoid that.

“Betsy, I wanted to thank you for your work these days,” Mr. Tauren said. “I know I am not always an easy man to deal with.” His voice was clipped and angry.

“Oh, Mr. Tauren you’re no bully! You’re so nice! You’re easy to deal with,” Betsy said. Then she blushed, not sure if she was obvious in her crush on him.

He smiled. “Well, thank you for all your attentiveness. You can send Walter in,” he said. He was interrupted by more sirens — they had been active for the last hour or so — blaring past outside. “I wonder what’s going on…”

He went into his office then, and Betsy gave him a minute or two to settle in at his desk before nodding for Walter to enter. Walter was a mid-level manager who fidgeted in his ill-fitting suit as he sat there in the waiting room. He took a deep breath and went into the office.

Betsy smiled at him as he went by. She knew he was in trouble. That must be why Mr. Tauren was in an angry mood. Walter was about to get yelled at.

But Mr. Tauren didn’t “yell” exactly, not when he was angry. His deep rumbling voice was loud enough to be audible to Betsy, but she couldn’t make out the words. All she heard was a stentorian mumble of syllables, and Walter’s occasional pleas.

Was Walter fired? It sure sounded like he was begging for his job.

Betsy was distracted by yet more sirens. She went to the window. The cop cars were on their way to South Memphis. That much wasn’t so surprising, since South Memphis was the ghetto. But that had to be just about every cop car in the county heading there all at once. What was going on?

There was nothing on the local newspaper’s website. She was intensely curious, but before she could investigate further, Walter came out of the office. He kept his head held high, but his eyes were reddish and his face was tense — he had definitely been fired.

When Betsy saw him out, he nodded politely and left. He didn’t say anything else. It was tense and nerve-wracking for Betsy, but she felt safe since Mr. Tauren was nearby. He was very protective of her — when Betsy had said she got catcalled by a miner on the way into the office once, Mr. Tauren had left and come back an hour later dragging a miner by the ear to apologize to her.

Mr. Tauren was in his office, working out. He did that when he was bothered by something. It was always obvious what he was doing because he took off his suit — he wore workout clothes underneath — and hung the jacket up outside his office. He believed that it would pick up his sweaty scent from the air if he kept it in there with him he exercised.

Betsy was aroused by the thought of him in that t-shirt-and-track-pants look, which she had only actually seen twice. But both times, it had left her panties tingling.

She idly refreshed the browser on her computer, and shock flooded her at the sight of the updated homepage — Riots in Memphis! She gasped and clicked, her lust for Mr. Tauren forgotten.

There wasn’t much in the way of details at the moment, but over the next few hours, the story became apparent. A black man named Albert White had been shot by police this afternoon, apparently because he was mistaken for a different black man. The most alarming part of the story, for Betsy anyway, was that the riot was not really in South Memphis — it was right here. It was around the corner, or it had started there.

The chaos was all over the city. Betsy wasn’t sure it would be safe to walk back to her car. And when she went to the window, she gasped again — the riot was right there.

Two black men in masks streamed past the window, carrying something burning and possibly a gun, she couldn’t quite see. Betsy squealed at the sight of an overturned car not that much farther away.

“Walter? Get outta here! I-“ Mr. Tauren poked his head out of the office, apparently assuming that it was Walter who had caused Betsy a fright. Mr. Tauren saw Betsy look anxiously out the window and he joined her. He saw the overturned car. “What’s that? A car accident?”

“No… Well, yes,” Betsy said. “But there’s a riot.”

“What?”

“A riot started a few hours ago. It’s something to do with a police shooting,” Betsy said.

“Those fuckin’ idiots… Pardon my French, ma’am.”

Betsy giggled. “I’ve got news for you, Mr. Tauren. That’s not technically French.”

He smiled. “Oh. Well, le riot est stupide. Is that better?”

“Sounds right.”

He sighed. “Well, you can’t leave.”

“What?”

“That’s where your car is parked, right? You can’t get to your car, and it wouldn’t be safe for you to drive anywhere anyway. Don’t you live on Martindale? That’s not a nice neighborhood.”

“Oh, I’ll be okay.”

“I insist. I don’t want you to be afraid,” he said. “You can stay here as late as you need to tonight. Don’t clock out, I’ll pay you until it’s safe for you to go home.” He paused. “Or until tomorrow morning. Sorry, I can’t pay you forever. You know how the Board of Directors has been riding-“

“I know, Mr. Tauren, that’s fine. I can’t imagine that the riot will still be going on in the morning,” she said. “But you can’t leave either, can you?”

He took a deep breath. “I guess that’s not really safe either.” He bit his lip. “You might think I’d be safe cuz I’m a big black guy.” He waited, but Betsy wasn’t sure she could say anything that wouldn’t sound racist. “But, uh… It ain’t like that.”

“Mr. Tauren, I never thought that.”

“I look like a cop, okay?”

“What?”

“They’ll say I look like a cop. I can’t take on every black guy in Memphis,” he said.

“I don’t-“

“It ain’t fair, but that’s how it is. I get accused of being a cop every time I go to South Memphis. They’ll see me and they’ll assume I’m a cop because I don’t sag my pants and I don’t have any neck tattoos, and I’m not a fat nerd or a hipster, so what else could I be but a cop?”

“A lot of things…”

“So I guess I’ll stay here too,” he said. “Just a couple hours.” He paused. “Let’s see what we have in the fridge. I’m getting hungry.”

Betsy wasn’t hungry yet. It wasn’t even technically quitting time — it was four-thirty, so it was awfully close. Betsy didn’t want to eat in front of Mr. Tauren because it would make her feel self-conscious. She wasn’t fat, but she was bigger than she wanted to be.

She had been so distracted by the riot that she barely noticed Mr. Tauren come out of his office wearing that sleeveless t-shirt. His bare arms were the size of her head. He was so tall she had to crane her neck to see his face. His body heat was palpable. He didn’t smell like sweat at all, though she did catch a whiff of his deodorant like it was working overtime.

She tried not to stare at his ass in that sheer track pants fabric as he put together some sandwiches from the small office refrigerator. Luckily Mr. Tauren was a big man who was very active, so he ate frequently and kept food there in the fridge. He had plenty of deli meat and condiments. There was no bread at all — Mr. Tauren didn’t eat carbs — but Betsy didn’t mind that so much. She ate a sandwich minus the bread, while Mr. Tauren finished his work in his office.

When five o’clock came, the riot had only gotten worse. It was starting to get national attention. There was a fire not that far away. Betsy didn’t even feel safe standing near the door anymore.

“I think these people are overreacting,” Betsy blurted out. “This isn’t going to solve police violence.” She blushed, thinking she had offended him. She looked away from him.

“I’m not offended. You’re right. It won’t solve anything in itself,” he said. “But doing nothing won’t solve anything either. The police won’t negotiate policy changes without a gun to their head. If you do put a gun to their head, they won’t negotiate with you, but they will negotiate with those more reasonable protesters they’d been ignoring until then.”

“You’re so smart, Mr. Tauren.”

“You should call me Paul.”

“Okay, Paul,” she said. She blushed. She had never called him his first name before. She shuddered as a bolt of desire ran through her.

“It looks like we’re going to have to sleep here,” Paul said. “Do you want the couch in the waiting room? That’s probably the most comfortable.”

She nodded. “Sure, that’s fine.”

He took a deep breath. “Betsy… I need to tell you something. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Of course. I signed the non-disclosure agreement to work here.”

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s not work-related,” he said. “I… I’m not actually human. Or rather, I am human, but I’m not a normal human. I’m a special kind of human.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re cursed. That’s what separates us from normal humans.”

“Mr. Tauren… Paul… what are you talking about?”

“I’m a minotaur.”

“A what?”

“A minotaur.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“What? No, it’s not a metaphor,” he said. “It’s a literal description of what I am. My natural shape is a half-man, half-bull creature. I can look human, like you see me now, but only with effort. When I sleep, I will turn back to minotaur shape.”

“Mr. Tauren…”

“I will show you,” he said. “I am sorry, I will be naked.” He transformed then into a minotaur, brown muscles sprouting fur as he shot up to maybe twelve feet tall. Horns sprouted from his forehead, and his nostrils flared.

It all happened so quick that Betsy couldn’t process what was happening. She watched him change, still thinking about what he might mean — maybe the Minotaurs was the name of his favorite football team? Was it short for something? Some sort of hip hop crew? Was it a black thing?

But no, she realized, it was real. He was being literal.

A twelve foot tall minotaur stood before her. His dense fur was very real. His horns gleamed. He was naked, a massive bull-like cock dangling right in front of her — that sure looked real too. He let out a baritone roar that sent a shudder through Betsy’s body.

She wanted to go home, but she couldn’t. There was a riot out there, and she wouldn’t be able to find her way anyway. The rioters had probably changed the streets, turning them into an impassable maze. She didn’t live far away, but she could get lost, and that would be dangerous in a riot. She had to stay here with this monster.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was she really going to be here all night? Why not? Nothing had changed, had it? Of course, something had changed. But he was still Mr. Tauren. He was still the same overprotective, strong man he had always been. He was just… a minotaur.

“Here,” Paul said. He handed over a ball of string. “I want to give this to you. It will always find me. No matter where I am, the string will lead you to me.”

“Why give it to me?”

“Because if I go missing, you will likely be the first to know it,” he said. “I have no family. I have no friends.”

“Oh, Paul, that’s terrible…”

“I travel too much. This is why I travel,” he said, gesturing to his minotaur body. “Any place I stay in for too long will turn into a labyrinth.”

“What?”

“It is the burden of the minotaur. The first minotaur was cursed so that no one would ever be able to find him. The curse embodied itself in a force called labyrinthium, which minotaurs exude all the time. It causes geography, and reality itself, to alter. It turns any location into a maze. If I stayed here in Memphis long enough, the entire city would become a long, winding labyrinth, and the people here would be my guardians. That would take many years. It is a slow process. But it begins very quickly.”

“That’s terrible… You poor man…” She clutched his arm, shivering at the feel of his coarse bull fur.

They were both silent then for a moment as gunshots rang out somewhere. There were young black men running past the building, carrying what appeared to be one of their friends. A trio of police officers chased after them, guns drawn. A line of blood marked the trail they had followed.

“I am glad to be stuck here with a beautiful woman,” Paul said. His minotaur voice was even deeper than his normal voice. It boomed and resonated in the office. “I can think of no one I would rather spend the night here with.”

His words hung there for a brief second. Then Betsy giggled and blushed. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that, especially in his giant minotaur form. It felt strange

He transformed back to his human shape, and she was annoyed to see that his clothes shapechanged with him, so he wasn’t naked. She blushed even more intensely.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so forward. In minotaur form, I find it difficult to censor myself. Minotaurs are brutish by nature, after all.”

“So that’s how you really feel about me?”

He paused for a long time. “Yes. You are stunningly beautiful. If you weren’t my employee, I would have asked you out a long time ago.”

“Well, tonight we can’t go out, on account of the riot,” she said. “We have to stay in.” She made a kissy face, and he smiled at her. At first he didn’t kiss her, making Betsy wonder if she had done something to offend him.

But then he planted his lips on hers, and she kissed him back. She threw her hands around his broad, strapping shoulders. His muscles writhed beneath his suit.

Somehow they ended up naked. Betsy didn’t remember taking her clothes off, but it happened. All she noticed was Paul’s body above her own, his bull-like snorts and roars, his heavy breathing, his tender lips kissing every inch of her delicate frame.

When he entered her, Betsy was shocked at her own willingness to go all the way with him — she was not the kind of person to be sexually active with someone she didn’t really know well, especially not a coworker and, in this case, a boss. That was unthinkable to her, utterly unacceptable according to the rules she had set out for her own life.

But those rules were gone now. All she cared about was running her nails into the smooth skin of his back. She scratched at him as he sped up his motions, his manhood drilling deep into her with each thrust of his hips.

She rode him just as hard as he rode her. She wrapped her legs around his body and gripped his shoulders with his arms, until soon she was not even on the floor. She literally rode him as he stood up, supporting her in his powerful arms.

Betsy had never done anything like that. She had never had sex in an exotic position, but now she was on his body, humping with all her might as he passionately fucked. He easily supported her, while she continued to claw at his torso, feeling like she might fall no matter how tight a hold he kept on her.

At last her orgasm approached. Betsy could feel it gathering deep within her, reaching its crescendo bit by bit with each thrust of Paul inside her. She moaned. He grunted. His hands tightened around her, and she squealed like a calf in his arms.

Finally it was all over. Betsy let out a long, low sigh. She couldn’t believe this had happened. The sex was shocking enough, she thought, but this was with a minotaur. She didn’t know how to take that.

“Thank you, Betsy,” he said as he gently let her down to the ground.

She sighed and pulled away from him. She was dizzy at first, her knees weak. He steadied her, and they both collapsed onto the couch together.

“Oh, Paul…”

“I’m glad I told you what I am,” he said. “I… I need to have someone I can talk to about this.”

“You can talk to me about anything,” she said with a giggle. “After all, I’m your personal assistant. Let me assist you, personally.”