In Search of Pretty Young Black Men by Stanley Bennett Clay

Author:Stanley Bennett Clay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2005-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Just take the goddamn gun, Maggie.”

“I don’t want the gun, Lamont.”

“Look, with all the shit going on out there you better go on and take the goddamn gun, Maggie Arial.”

She hemmed and hawed a beat longer, then finally threw her head back with a tad of disdain and tisked…and, of course, she took it. After all, in spite of everything, Lamont was right—with all the shit going on out there, “you better go on and take the goddamn gun, Maggie Arial.” Gang-bangers cruising Crenshaw Boulevard, drug dealers at fruit stands on Pico and Union, and bad-driver uninsured immigrants everywhere—this little two-shot pistol could come in handy someday. And it did.

But why think about that? Why? Why not think only about how good it was when she was high off Thai stick, liquor, and Luther, and his kisses were warm and familiar—comfortable kisses—sweet, caring kisses; when his touch was gentle and curious, a probing as innocent as a babe and with a knowingness as ancient as forever; when a pastel sun just beyond the terrace was setting, settling in for a good jazz nocturne.

She savored the smell of him and allowed it—the smell of his youth—to dizzy her and weaken her and reduce her to a youthfulness of her own and a foolishness well deserved.

And then she thought about when it got good and nasty. She thought about when gently she ran her fingers through the thick soft naps between his legs and his pretty black dick smiled at her with a swell. Hypnotized by it, mesmerized by it, she found the condom that lay just beneath his propped-up thigh. Without blinking or looking away from the thrill ride, she grabbed it and bit at the edge of its packet, spit out the corner she’d torn with her teeth. Then she struggled to open it; fumbled with it the way she’d fumbled with the joint.

Sparing her dignity, he took it out of her hands.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“I know,” she barely answered. “I didn’t think I could again.”

She watched hungrily as his throbbing snake stood at full mast while he expertly, artfully, removed the moist shield from the foil. While she bore witness with a shortness of breath she was hard-pressed to survive, he then rolled the vibra-ribbed latex over the thick head of his dick, past the circumcision line, and down the thick veiny shaft with a slow, showy deliberateness. All she could think was that she was the glove, naturally moist, being filled by the boy with the dick of a man.

When finally he entered her, her eyes crossed, her jaw dropped, and her breathing stopped. All of her senses gave holy obeisance to the immeasurable pleasure and damage taking place between her thighs; damage, yes, for after him, she knew, she would never be any good for anyone else.

And so while he fucked her, fucked her good and long, fucked her up and down, softly and roughly, till her head banged against the backboard of his bed and

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