Tag Archives: urban sex

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.

Downlow Thugs on City Streets

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Downlow Thugs on City Streets, a new story by Calvin Freeman, about the sexy man-on-man shenanigans that go on in urban Baltimore!


Chad didn’t try to act tough, and he made it very clear he was gay. He had been living in rough urban ghettos for most of his life, so he knew that was the best way to go — if he tried to be tough, people would challenge him. If he acted like a sexy flamboyant gay man, the thugs, addicts and drug dealers who lived around here would treat him more or less like a woman they weren’t attracted to: they’d ignore him.

That was what Chad wanted. So he didn’t worry about the eyes following him whenever he came into the courtyard of the Baltimore housing projects he lived in. He knew he looked good — slim, pale skin, blond hair, lithe and leanly muscled body visible beneath the bare midriff t-shirt and short shorts he wore. He heard snickering from the black men and women who filled the courtyard, but Chad didn’t care.

“Crack! Crack!”

“Want some rock, Pinkberry?”

There were two young black men sitting on a couch in the middle of the courtyard. They were there all the time. They offered Chad crack every time he walked past. It seemed they didn’t know of any other reason a gay white man might be here in the projects. They had to have figured out that Chad lived here by now, he thought, but they still acted like he was just hanging around looking for drugs.

“I can sell you whatchoo want, boy,” said the younger one, Brodie.

“You want tina? I can get you tina too,” said the older one, Marcus.

That impressed Chad enough to make him giggle as he passed them by. “Tina? Somebody’s been doing research.”

“You smoke meth?”

“No,” Chad said. “But I appreciate you looking up gay lingo online.”

“We aim to please, whiteboy.” Brodie said. He was younger, with a harsh, arrogant face — he looked like he was supposed to be a jock and bully, but had gotten sucked into a life of crime instead, so his jutting face was lined with premature wrinkles even though he wasn’t even old enough to drink. He had deep dimples and dark, flashing eyes. Chad had thought he was sexy since the moment he first saw him (Marcus was sort of hot too, in his way, but he was portly and scruffy; Brodie could have been a model, Chad thought). Brodie tried his best at a charming smile. “Cuz you look like you need a pipe in ya mouth, boy. Yo’ mouth is needin’ something to fill it, that’s for sure.”

They both guffawed and slapped hands with each other. Chad stood there and smiled, jutting his ass out so they could see how plump and round it was. They both glanced at it, then fell quiet and avoided looking at each other.

Finally Brodie added, “So wuzzup, you want that rock or not? Or meth?”

“I said no.”

“You ain’t actually say no about crack. You said no about meth.”

Chad made a big dramatic show of pondering the issue. He tapped on his forehead with one finger. “Well, Brodie, I’ll give you a simple yes or no answer, if you pull your cock out and let me take a look.”

Brodie sniffled and his eyes bugged out, but he affected a look of a nigga who ain’t care. He shrugged, flashing an annoyed look at Marcus — who seemed to think that was hilarious. Marcus screamed laughter, clapped his hands and ran in a little circle around the couch they were both sitting on.

“So…” Brodie winced and looked at Marcus. Brodie rolled his eyes. “Uh…” It was hard to say anything over the sound of Marcus screaming peals of laughter.

“Do it, nigga, c’mon. Don’t Stringer say do what you gotta do to make the sale?”

“He ain’t say he gonna buy somethin’, he just gonna tell me whether he into it,” Brodie said. “And we already know he ain’t cuz we asked him before.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Chad smiled and crossed his arms over his much more delicate chest. His skin rippled, visible because of that bare midriff his t-shirt exposed. “So you asked me before and you remember my answer? You already know whether or not I smoke crack?”

Brodie nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I know you don’t.”

“So why did you ask me again?”

“Cuz you might’ve started, man!” Brodie threw his hands in the air. “I don’t gotta do it.” He looked at Marcus, who was quieting down. “I ain’t gonna do it, nigga. It ain’t about a sale. He just wanna look at my dick.”

Chad nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. It’s kind of chilly today anyway, your dick is probably small right now. Don’t embarrass yourself.”


“I’m sure no one will ever find out I was considering buying some crack and only didn’t cuz you were too scared to show my your dick.”

“You ain’t considerin’!”

“You don’t know that. Every crackhead has a first time, Brodie,” Chad said.

“I ain’t scared. My dick ain’t small,” Brodie said.

“Well, then, ugly or whatever, I don’t know. Obviously there’s a reason you don’t feel safe whipping it out. That’s understandable. Gay men are catty bitches. If your dick doesn’t pass muster, I will critique it thoroughly,” Chad said, making Marcus erupt in laughter again.

“Man, fuck you, whiteboy,” Brodie said. He sucked on his teeth and glared at Marcus. He did that several times, like he kept deciding to do it, then changing his mind before talking himself into it again. “Man! Fine! Whatever, nigga! Marcus, shut ya face! Man, Marcus! Marcus!” He shook his head because Marcus ignored him. “Marcus, don’t act like a fuckin’ fool! Hey!”

“I’m waiting,” Chad said with an exaggerated yawn.

Brodie snarled. He unzipped his fly and reached in. He let a suitably massive cock flop out, making Chad blush a little and gasp. Brodie looked around, but no one was looking in his direction — Marcus danced around the courtyard laughing and attracting attention — so he swung his hips, making his cock bounce around.

Chad reached for it, wrapped one hand around it and squeezed. Brodie gasped. For just a moment, it felt like Brodie was going to allow this, and Chad would be able to give him a handjob. But then Brodie tucked his dick away and pushed Chad.

“Alright, you got ya peek, whiteboy,” Brodie said. “So go ahead and say yes or no.”

“He did it! He did it!” Marcus screamed, his face exuberant as though he had been waiting for this. “He whipped it out, nigga!”

“Marcus, shut up!”

Chad smiled. “Are you the kind of dealer who makes his customers suck him off sometimes?”

“No. I got females, nigga. Can’t use a crackhead’s blowjob to buy food for my mama, can I?”

Marcus scoffed. “You don’t buy food for ya mama-“

“It’s just an example, Marcus.”

Chad shrugged. “A pity. Well, my answer, Brodie, is no. I do not want to buy crack, but thanks for giving me a peek at your cock. It’s very nice. A little smooth for my taste, but I bet it gets veinier when it’s hard.”


Chad turned around. “I’m not going to give you permission to watch me walk away.” He shook his ass. “But I know you will.”

Thug Hazing at the City Barbershop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yo, we brought this nigga-“

“Here it is-“

-Can’t be a cop, they ain’t allowed-“

“Suck him off-“

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

“Pull your cock out. Is it big?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you swallow?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can admit you enjoyed it.”

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

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

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