I was watching a repeat episode of E.R. when the phone rang.

“Shane, telephone!” Ma yelled.

I sat my dinner of soggy cornflakes and bananas next to the TV remote on the bedside table and answered it.

“I got it, hang it up!” I hollered.

“Hello?”  

“Was’up?” said the soft, but brazen voice on the other end. It was Chris.

“Hey, whatchoo doin’?”

“I have two hours until Ciara comes back if you want to come over.” His words made my gut tickle with excitement.

 “Mkay, U’m leavin’ now,” I said.

“How long will it take you to get here?”

“Gimme ‘bout fifteen minutes.”

“Just hurry up,” said Chris.

I fixed up my clothes and slipped on my shoes. I took the bowl of breakfast food and poured it into the toilet. I grabbed my keys and told Ma that it was someone from the library calling to tell me that I left my wallet.

“Dey closed,” she said.

“Not th’ campus library. Dey open ‘til two,” I told her. I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

Shit, this is it, I thought. I hauled ass out of the driveway knowing I was minutes away from having Chris’ dick in my mouth, inhaling his musky, pubic scent on the tips of my fingers again. It had been months since we last messed around. Chris said we had to take shit easy after we came so close to getting caught by Ciara. I haven’t made things easy by blowing up his cell every two minutes, and bombarding him with endless text messages. Even though things are complicated with him and Ciara, he keeps me around for the occasional fuck and suck session.

 I drove as fast as Ma’s Taurus would take me. My dick stretched and hardened in my jeans as the fantasy of rimming his ass danced in my head. I got that sick feeling I often get right before I’m about to fuck. I rubbed my belly and the feeling soon subsided.

I was three stop lights away from having my face fucked. I couldn’t believe that Ciara was out with the way she’s always under Chris-----More than ever now that he’s moved out of his crib on Chapel Drive.

She and Chris are living out of some roach-infested dive until he can get up enough money for a down payment on a new crib. When I recommended that he get the money from his folks, he looked like he wanted to stab me in the heart with a rusty shrimp fork. I don’t see why not. They’re loaded living way out there in Ox Bottom Manor. A few hundred bucks to them is bubblegum change. But I get that Chris wants to do shit on his own. He’s not one of these spoiled fucks who expects Daddy to bail him out of scrapes and jams.

I pulled into the lot directly in front of the motel. I knocked on the door, but he didn’t answer at first. I peered through the verticals that hung over the window. The table and twin beds were strewn with blue Wal-Mart bags and a mixture of Southpole T-shirts and bras. The TV was on along with a light in the bathroom. I knocked again, harder and louder this time around to see if he was on his way to answering the door. He walked out shirtless, with a towel wrapped around his 30-32 inch waist. Water trickled down his torso. Chris looked out to find me standing outside waiting to be let in.

“Wa’sup?” he said.

“Hey, what wajhoo doin’?” I asked.

“I was in th’ shower.”

The motel smelled like toe-jam and pork dumplings. Everything he decided not to put in storage, he had sitting in the floor, on the beds, leaned up in corners of the motel room.

“So wherejoo say Ciara at?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“At th’ movies,” said Chris. “Her an’ ‘er sister goin’ out to eat afterwards.”

The last time Chris and I were like this, it was at his place. If it wasn’t for the sliding glass door in his bedroom leading out to the back of the complex, Ciara would have caught our asses for sure. My ass was stuffed with his butter-slathered dick when Ciara came knocking. Ain’t no telling what she would have done had she caught us. Chris don’t know how crazy black women get over their men.         

Up until now, it’s been hard just to get Chris to even go out with me for ice cream without his ass worrying about getting caught by Ciara who, in my opinion, ain’t worth the drama. I figured she wasn’t giving up no pussy if he was calling me, ‘cause he never calls me for shit unless he needs money or some. But I don’t really have a problem with it. Boys’ got his needs, you know?

I noticed four six packs of Heineken and two bottles of Royal Crown on the dresser. If there was one thing his ass wasn’t going to put in storage, it was his booze.

“Hey, can I have a beer?”  I asked.

Chris didn’t answer. He couldn’t hear me due to the sizzle of the shower water, so I helped myself to a beer anyway. I grimaced to the luke-warmness when it flooded my mouth, yet it was what I needed to sooth my nervous belly. I wondered if he brought some weed. I walked to the bathroom and stood in the doorway. His stark-nakedness was barely visible behind the glazed shower curtain. I thought of how funny it would be to re-enact that infamous shower scene from Psycho, so I took the tube of Aqua-Fresh and crept up slowly toward Chris. The tile floor was slippery with moisture. I swiftly brushed back the curtain and came down upon Chris with stabbing motion, screaming as I committed my demented joke. Chris yelled in terror attempting to grab the tube of toothpaste from me.

“Man, what th’ hell are you doing?”  

“I wanted t’ know if yo ass brought th’ weed,” I laughed

“Yeah, I put it in a cookie canister. Check under the bed over by the window,” he said.

I took a peek at his wet, hung dick. “Lookin’ good,” I told him.

I stepped over garbage bags of his goods and looked beneath the bed. I pulled out the canister that used to hold sugar and butter cookies. Chris had several dubbies already rolled. I took a lighter that was sitting next to an ashtray of cigarette butts and lit the blunt. After about three or so drags, I felt a buzz coming on. The TV was showing some old episode of A Different World. Chris was always into cheesy sit-coms like that. I stumbled back towards the bathroom where I stood studying Chris’ burnish shape through the curtain.

He treated me like I was just one of the guy’s in a locker room, or a lover he had been with for many years. 

“Can I join you?” I hollered.

“What?” He asked, pulling at the shower curtain.

“Can I step in there wit’choo?”

“Come on,” said Chris.

Normally, he would have said no, chopping down any attempts I made to get in his pants. I sat on the toilet to untie my boots. I kicked them off and forked off my socks next. I pulled off my shirt and dropped it to the bathroom floor. I stepped out of my jeans and kicked them off into a corner. I slid back the curtain, exposing Chris’ nude, wet brawn. He was washing under his pits. Thick, white lather trundled off every beautiful Catholic part. The best scene was the bubbly liquid rolling between the ditch of his ass. I climbed in and joined him under the steaming hot water. I wrapped my arms around him like a lover. I played with his nipples. I moved my fingers inside his palm, taking the bar of soap. I started with his back grown with waves of black back hair. I traced along his spine with the soap along the crack of his butt. I washed his chest and stomach. I adored how the lather shampooed his root beer-colored pubes. It didn’t take long for him to get hard. When soft, Chris was already hung like a fucking donkey, but when he was erect, his dick defied gravity. Pearls of water dripped from his pink dick head. I got down on bended knee like I  was about to propose, and took his dick into my mouth. My lips slid slippery down his stuff as the water thrashed against my face.

I squeezed his balls affectionately that hung low and big, with love and affection as I blew him. I sucked Chris’ nuts too. A mouthful of tender scrotal skin.

The warm water was gradually turning cold.

“Le’s get out. My hands are starting to prune,” said Chris. I didn’t want to stop. I could have held his dick in my mouth all night. He turned off the shower and we stepped out. I took the oversize beach towel that Chris had wrapped around him, and toweled us dry. Afterwards, we moved our actions to the room, to his bed that was unmade with its tussled, ugly, green orchid-printed sheets. Chris sat down with his hefty dick hanging off the bed’s edge.

“Slide back a li’l bit,” I told him. I positioned myself between his thighs and took up where I left off in the shower. He tasted clean of deodorant soap. I looked up into his piercing hazels as I sucked him. I took my blow job work sensuously, careful not to tire out. I switched from his dick to his balls, and back to his cock again until he said, “I wanna fuck you.” Even though I counted myself more of a top, I was but a nelly bottom in Chris’ eyes. His dick was thick and lengthy. First time he used my butt, it was hella painful. But with the help of sex store lube, he got his dick in.

“Where ya keep th’ lotion at?” I asked.

“There should be some in the bathroom.”
        
“Here go some,” I said. I squeezed some on my fingers, reached between my ass-cheeks and slathered the cream up inside me. Chris toyed with his dick as he watched me work the lotion in. When I felt I had applied enough, I handed the bottle to Chris where he pressed some onto his dick and rubbed it in. I then assumed Chris’ preferred position: on my back. He likes to look into my eyes while he’s fucking me. I pulled back my legs as he stretched my insides for his dick to fit. He was so gentle.    

We didn’t bother with rubbers. Chris always pulled out before the money shot. I always used a condom with the Republican husbands, the fiancés and kinky granddaddies. I braced the flower-printed bedspread through the discomfort. He pushed inch after inch of himself inside me. Chris took hold of my ankles and held my feet to the wall behind us. My limbs ached for it, but it was worth it. I could see him thrusting inside me as I watched in the dresser mirror behind him.

“Fuck me slow,” I said. I liked it when he took his time with me. I jacked off as he worked my butt. Chris would stop, pull out, and apply more lotion if he felt himself drying up, but would be right back inside me within minutes. I would lie there and wonder, is this how you fuck Ciara? Do you fuck her better than you fuck me? Is the bitch even into anal? Chris took my butt on a mission. Fucked me like a porn star on cook rock.         

His dick up my butt felt like a rocket. A day don’t go by that I wish he would dump Ciara for me, but whatchoo go’n do with a guy that loves cunt more than cock? I’ll never be nothing more than a booty call for him to fuck in seedy motels when Ciara’s out of town or away at the movies. Thing is, I’ve fallen in love with his ass. And don’t think I haven’t told him how I’ve felt. He just shrugs it off like he don’t know what to say. I’ve said it again and again in letters and funny greeting cards, but he just smiles sweetly to my confessions. Guess that’s what I get for liking a guy I met in a dirty arcade of a super center adult sex store.

Chris was really going at me until we heard an angry knock at the door. He frantically pulled out of me without warning, and jumped out of bed. My ass was throbbing with pain from his abrupt exit. He swiped a pair of boxers that were draped over the back of a chair and made himself descent.

“Open th’ fuckin’ door, Chris! I can see ya’ll asses through th’ blinds, so ya might as well open th’ mothafuckin’ door.” It was Ciara.

 “I thoughtchoo said she wuz go’n be gone fuh two hours?” I said.

She kept banging, each knock just as loud as the one before it. I took a towel and wrapped it around me, and hid in the bathroom. There was no back sliding glass door to sneak out of.

“I see yo ass!” She yelled.

Chris had no choice but to let her in. I heard from behind the locked door, her cursing and swearing like Richard Pryor.

“I knew it would only be a matta o’ time befo’ I caughtchoo ass,” she went on.

“We weren’t doin’ nothin’,” Chris said.

“How you go’n say you wutton doin’ nothin’ when U’m watchin’ you fuck him?”

 “Why you hidin’ huh?” She asked as she banged on the bathroom door. “Yo’ faggot ass!”     

Don’t touch me. You fuckin’ nasty.”

“Hol’ up,” he said.

“Fuck you, Chris.”

I heard the door slam. I crept out sweating. Chris started to get dressed, pulling on jeans and shirt, tying his Air Jordan’s.

“You all right?” I asked.

“U’m gonna go after her.”

“An’ say what, an’ do what, man? She mad an’ ain’t no tellin’ what she might do. Won’tchoo jus’ call ‘er in th’ mornin’?”

“You should take off. I’ll call you tomorrow,” said Chris.

“C’mon, man.”

“Just close th’ door when you leave.”

The headlights of his PT Cruiser burned my eyes as he backed out of the lot. Chris never did call that next day. I kept phoning him, but his cell kept going to voice-mail. I checked by the motel, but there was no sign of him. I went to Seminole Bowl, and sure enough, there he was. I was hesitant to walk in, thinking he would blame me for what happened, but I had to know if he had talked to her. It wasn’t all that busy. Chris didn’t look too happy to see my ass.

“Hey, what happened? Didjoo talk t’ ‘er?”

“I went to ‘er cousin’s house. She said Ciara wasn’t home. I been callin’ ‘er cell all day, but she won’t pick up.”

“Man, U’m sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t really. This the kinda shit that happens when you on the D.L. I thought now with her out the picture, there was a chance for me.

“We just need to take it easy for a while until I can get ‘er calmed down,” he said.

I told Chris that I would give him as much time as he needed.

“Well, let me go. I gotta do inventory,” said Chris.

“Gimme a call. Lemme know how things work out, an’ if ya need anything, ya know what t’ do.”

I drove home realizing that things were just as shitty for me ‘cause who knows how long it would be before we could get together again? It would be more weeks and months of my ass waiting in the wings no doubt.

 

© 2009 Shane Allison

Shane Allison has had stories published in Best Black Gay Erotica, Best Gay Love Stories, Ultimate Gay Erotica and Best Gay Erotica. He has edited two anthologies. Hot Cops and Backdraft. His seventh book of poems, I Want to Eat Chinese Food Off Your Ass is forthcoming from Propaganda Press. He has work forthcoming in Men and Surfer Boys. He will be taking a filmmaking workshop in the fall at the New York Film Academy. Shane can be reached at starsissy42@hotmail.com