tagInterracial LoveThe Ballad of Trey London

The Ballad of Trey London

bynerd4music©

The air sizzled with anticipation. The smell of cigarette smoke and freshly brewed beer permeated the tiny space. Bodies lingered haphazardly around the semi-cramped bar.

It was a decent-sized establishment, located in the heart of the heavily-populated college town. The place was usually packed during the school months, and tonight was no exception.

I sat at a high table near the front of the stage. The waitress, a tired-looking woman with a youthful face ambled up to my bar stool and asked me what it would be.

Ordering my drink, a club soda with a splash of lime, I returned my gaze back to the others around me.

This wasn't my scene.

I noticed that there were throngs of girls.

Well, not throngs. But they were grouped in a fashion that made it seem as if they were twenty of them instead of eight. I watched them, their hair flipping every so often over their shoulders, catching the dim interior lights of the club. They were all clad in their skimpiest: all halters and low jeans, the tiny strings from tiny underwear peeking out ever so seductively.

I looked down at my outfit: scuffed black Converses, the jeans I wore yesterday, plain black t-shirt, and my ever-present black leather motorcycle jacket. At least I remembered to comb my hair, which now sat neatly around my shoulders.

I was clearly underdressed.

The waitress returned, setting down a small white napkin and placing my drink on top. She smiled tiredly at me. I made a mental note to leave her a good tip.

Shrugging off my jacket, I took a sip of my drink. I set it down easily, careful not to disturb the bandage that was covering my wrist.

Why am I here, I thought.

Simple. I needed a break from studying. The flyer looked pretty cool.

Tonight, the Wreck Room advertised someone named Trey London. I wanted to just write it off as another Chris Carraba wannabe: a "tortured" emo kid using mommy and daddy's money to tour shitty bars and sing about girls who broke his heart.

I figured I could have used fodder for my next scathing blog.

A group of females pushed past me, anxious to get to the stage.

"Whoa there skanks, I'm sure he's got enough dicks in his entourage you can suck. No need to bum rush."

I was in a great mood tonight.

One of the girls shot me a mean look. I tipped my drink in her direction. She was blond, although her birth certificate probably said otherwise. I suppose she was pretty, if one considers walking STDs attractive.

She eyed me, with my not-sexy-whatsoever outfit and my black hair that hung down past my shoulders, parted at the side with a sweeping section over one eye.

I guess she wanted to say something, but wisely kept shut. Turning back to her friends, I heard her mutter "dumb black bitch" before walking off.

No, not the time for that tonight, although part of me was wishing to find her in a dark alley later on.

The house lights flickered, and I followed everyone else's lead and turned towards the small stage. It was really more like an elevated platform. It was wide, and close enough to me that I could almost reach out and touch whoever walked on.

Someone finally came onstage. He was tallish, about 6'2. His dark hair was close-cropped and somewhat shiny, like he used amazing conditioner.

His clothes were nothing too fancy, just a pair of jeans and a dark blue fitted Henley. I noticed his body wasn't the typical musician's build of skin and scrawny muscles. He was fit, but not overly so.

This boy ate a sandwich well.

Sitting down on the lone stool onstage, he opened the black guitar case he carried with him. Pulling out a slightly scuffed black guitar, he began to tune it, trying to get everything right.

It was then I noticed that he hadn't spoken to the crowd once. The females in the room were definitely paying attention to him now. And I have to admit he was attractive.

But he was a musician: self-absorbed, slightly pompous. They were pretentious fools moonlighting as soulful artisans, the experts of their craft.

Whatever.

I sighed, preparing myself for just another guy with a guitar.

He coughed as he lowered the microphone. Strumming a few notes, he opened with a song right away. No standard cheesy greeting to the crowd, nothing.

Just music.

He played the intro for a good two minutes, a jangling tune ranging from jarringly loud to barely a whisper.

When he finally opened his mouth, it was as if heaven itself opened its gates and a bright shining angel appeared to me.

No joke.

I don't really remember much of the song. There were metaphors about roads and lonesome trains and churches at the end of tracks.

But his voice. Man, it was like a locomotive barreling down a train track. It was sharp as a razor.

It crackled like lightening, yet was deep as a rumbling southern rainstorm.

I have never experienced anything like that before.

It just didn't seem real at all. No man should sound that sexy. No man could be that sexy.

And yet Trey London and his smooth vocal styling were stirring things inside of me that I thought were dormant.

He didn't stop. He kept playing, segueing into one song after another. I was spellbound, I was hooked.

I wondered at this man, whose energy seemed indefatigable. He played with such fervor and passion.

I imagined that the grace he played with, he also reserved for his lovemaking. I felt my cheeks flush as I watched his hands move along the strings of the guitar, gently plucking and stroking them.

For the briefest of moments, I was his guitar, my body was his instrument and his skillful hands moved along it like they were made for each other.

Mesmerized, I felt my body heat up as I watched his facial expressions. His eyes, a deep hazel, remained closed throughout his performance. His mouth a delicate bow, the fullness of his lips almost too feminine for another man, but on him was perfection.


His eyebrows crinkled, when he hit a meaningful note, and oh his notes! So beautiful and poignant and so completely divine. I felt as if he were a Greek god, and I his wanton servant. I wanted to please this man, this Trey London.

The last song he played, I recognized as one of my favorites. It was Aqualung's "Strange and Beautiful". The song, usually arresting on its own, was absolute perfection in his expert hands.

My eyes were everywhere on him, his hands, his face, his body. I wanted to replace them with my hands, explore this man and discover the source of his mysteriousness.

He finally opened his eyes and I heard my breath catch in my throat. He was looking straight at me.

There was no one else in the room but us. I felt naked under his gaze as he continued to play and sing. It was all for me.

When the song was over, the audience sprang to life. There was thunderous applause and calls for an encore. Trey smiled, and my heart leapt. Damn, he was so fine. His grin was slow and steady, and adorably lopsided. No wonder those girls were fawning over him.

I thought he'd exit the bar after he finished, leaving us bedazzled in a cloud of wonderment. To my surprise, he stepped offstage and walked through the crowd, greeting people and patiently standing while giggling co-eds snapped pictures with their cell phones.

My throat began to seize up as I saw him heading my way. Pretending to busy myself, I flipped out my cell phone to feign disinterest. I was thrilled and a little disappointed when he passed by and headed to the bar.

Get it together, I thought. You're almost as bad as those other girls. I downed the rest of my soda and grabbed my jacket from the adjacent stool. Throwing a fiver on the table, I sighed heavily. I needed to leave, get some air, clear my head, and not think about the vocal styling of one Trey London.

Getting up, I slung my jacket over my shoulder and headed for the exit. The night air caressed my bare brown skin, making me shiver slightly. It was unusually pleasant for January, the temperature a balmy 63. I breathed a sigh of relief as my back rested against the cool brick of the bar front.

Closing my eyes, I allowed the buzzing still coming from inside to soothe my body. I couldn't understand why Trey London was affecting me so. He was just a musician, I kept telling myself. But somewhere in the back of my brain I knew it was something more to that.

"Leaving so soon?" a deep voice rumbled. My eyes flew open to reveal Trey London standing before me. I had guessed correctly; he was much taller than my 5'7 frame. His hazel eyes, those beautiful orbs seemed to glow in the shallow moonlight.

"Just getting some air," I replied, silently cursing the unnecessary tremor that echoed in my voice.

"Mind if I join you?" he leaned on the wall so close to me I could smell his cologne. Lacoste. Little pricey, but definitely worth it.

"Free country." I let out a long slow breath.

Trey shoved his hands into the pocket of his dark denim jeans and let out a low whistle. "Enjoy the set?"

My mind whizzed, searching to find the answer that didn't make me sound like a desperate groupie. "It was okay," I said, shrugging my shoulders and hoping like hell my answer sounded nonchalant.

I couldn't help but glance over at him, and was rewarded with another one of his lopsided smiles. "Just okay?" he asked. He turned his body so that he was facing me.

"Mm, yeah pretty much."

He nodded. "Cool. I can deal with that." He went back to leaning against the brick wall.

Silence reigned as we both wandered in our own worlds. We watched as people milled about. It was Friday night in a college town, but the streets were surprisingly not as crowded as I anticipated. Few groups walked up and down, searching for the spot with the best drink specials to increase their chances of momentary passion.

"Why aren't you in there with your groupies?" My question cut through the silence like a knife, and instantly I regretted the thinly veiled layer of condescension hidden behind it.

It was Trey's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "It's a nice night. Figured I'd enjoy it with someone."

"So you chose me?" My body silently cheered at that thought.

"Didn't know you were out here." He turned to face me again. "But I was kind of hoping you were."

My stomach fluttered at his words. "Oh. Why is that?"

I looked into his eyes, their hazels pools boring into my brown ones. "I saw the way you looked at me while I was playing." He reached out to stroke my cheek and my knees dipped slightly.

"Really? And how did I look at you?" My spine tingled as his eyes darkened. My body turned towards his instinctively as his head dipped lower. I closed my eyes, the anticipation of his lips on mine driving me crazy. My senses heightened as I felt his warm breath near my ear.

"Like that," he whispered, the timbre of his voice making my body pulse. He kissed my jawline, light kisses that left a fire in their wake. My whole body was alive now, the gears turning, every part of me begging him to do more.

"Come home with me," he said, planting a feather soft kiss on my lips that had me moaning for more. He obliged, kissing me harder, coaxing my mouth open with his tongue. One hand stroked my cheek as the other snaked itself around my waist, pulling me deeper into his kiss.

"Come home with me," he repeated, his hand sliding down to cup my ass. I grinned, liking the way he was so forceful in his words but gentle with his touch.

His eyes gazed into mine. There was the tiniest part of me that wanted to turn tail and run and chalk this up to one weird night. But clearly that was the part about to lose.

Without thinking, my hand snaked down between us, stroking his increasing length and making him gasp softly.

"Okay."

********************

The walk to his apartment was short. He lived a block away from the bar. We were silent, the air heavy with our unspoken need. When we arrived at his door, he grasped my hand and led me up the stairs to his apartment door.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. I'm usually not the type of girl that takes a guy home (or in this case, go home with a guy) without knowing him.

Trey flipped the switch next to the front door, illuminating the room. It definitely looked like a guy lived there, but a really cool guy. There were several shelves with plenty of records stacked up and a vintage turntable. A small entertainment stand in the corner housed a nice-sized television and nearly every gaming system known to man. There was a rocker gamer chair placed strategically on the floor in front of it all. A comfy looking blue couch on the opposite end of the room. Of course, there were music posters and paintings everywhere.

I was so busy surveying the room, I didn't notice Trey slip his arms around my waist from behind. My heart jumped when I felt his hardness press into my ass.

"I'm so glad you came with me," he whispered. He moved my hair to the side. I felt my knees give a little when he planted slow and torturous kisses on the back of my neck. I whimpered. He was hitting the most sensitive spot on my body and it was turning me on in the worst way.

"You like that," he cooed, continuing to drive me crazy. I was definitely digging the way he said it, more like a statement than a question; as if he had no doubt in his mind just how good he really was. Cocky sonofabitch. "Such pretty brown skin," Trey said, stroking the sides of my breasts, cupping them slightly. "Baby I'd love to see you out of these clothes."

My head was spinning and my body was on fire. I needed to take control of the situation, make him crazy with lust. Turning around to face him, I grabbed his head and brought our lips together in a kiss that nearly seared the skin off them. My hands were all over his body, reaching under his Henley to feel the solidness of his skin and muscles. I pinched his nipples and smiled inwardly when he groaned and grounded his bulge into me.

Pushing him against the nearest wall, I made quick work of his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Pushing his jeans down, I slid to my knees and looked up at him. Trey's eyes had become stormy with lust, his animalistic need nearly overcoming his desire to remain a gentleman. Well, I was definitely not going to act like a lady now.

I looked at his boxer briefs, the proof of his arousal now nearly poking me in the face. Reaching through the leg hole, the tips of my finger brushed past his erection to pull down his underwear.

Licking my lips, I grinned at what Trey was working with. It was absolutely perfect. Pale and smooth, with the hint of bluish veins. He wasn't ridiculously large, but big enough to make my womanhood pulse achingly, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of me. What impressed me most was his thickness. I smiled when I noticed he trimmed his hair to just a little patch above his cock. Trey London was a manscaper.

"You want him," he rumbled, his voice tight with need. "Go 'head and take him sweetheart. He's yours."

My tongue reached out to lick the dark pink tip, swirling my tongue around. "That's it," he moaned, stroking my cheek.

Slowly, I began to take the rest of him into my mouth, my cheeks hollowing out tighter to grip his length. When I cupped his balls he moaned loudly. I have to admit, giving a guy a blowjob has always turned me on, but the next sight nearly made me explode right there. Trey removed his shirt as my mouth continued to emit gasping sounds from his. I looked up and saw that his chest and both his arms were covered in tattoos. Right above his heart was a Celtic knot. On one arm was the most gorgeous black 40s style pin up in a kittenish pose. The other arm had a series of small designs that when put together looked like one giant tattoo. He was covered, shoulder to wrist in ink. Damn, I am a sucker for hot guys and hot tattoos.

Planting a wet kiss on his cock, I ambled to my feet. "Undress me," I said, gently but firm enough to let him know I meant business. Trey stepped out from his pants and lifted my shirt above my head. His eyes widened as he saw my breasts straining to break free from my simple black bra.

He reached behind me to unhook my bra. I laughed at the confusion in his eyes when all he found was the smooth back. "The clasp is in the front," I said, kissing his neck. He grinned madly at me, sliding his hands to the front and unclasping the hook deftly, giving my stiff brown nipples a tweak that made me gasp aloud.

Trey's expert fingers removed my jeans as I stepped out of my sneakers. He kneeled in front of my and chuckled when he saw my panties. They were black underoos with electric blue piping, a large jolly roger on the crotch. "Cute," he remarked, grinning up and me.

Standing up, he ran a finger slowly up my slit before diving his hand into my panties. "God, you're so wet for me." He stroked me softly, the sensations making my skin burn with desire. He watched my face go through the motions. When I bit my lip, he groaned. "You're so hot babe," he whispered. I nearly cried when his hand left me. He brought his fingers up to his lips, his eyes studying mine intently as he sucked his fingers, my sweet essence invading his mouth, and emitting a moan of pleasure from mine as I watched this man enjoy my taste.

My lips crushed against his, and I was still able to taste the remnants of me on him. He pulled me closer to him, pressing himself into me so hard it felt like I was going to snap in half. But I couldn't care less. I was living in the moment and definitely intended to enjoy this man.

He bent to reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a tiny foil package. Ripping it open, he sheathed himself. Trey pushed me against the wall, lifting me clean off the floor. He was surprisingly strong, because I am definitely not an anorexic. I was nervous, trying to brace myself for what was coming, but it didn't help. He thrust strongly into me, no warning at all. I felt my whole body ignite and it made me moan loudly.

I grabbed the back of his head and pointed my toes downward, arching my back and my ass to him. He groaned. "You're so tight," he said, kissing my neck. Bracing my hands against the wall, I continued to meet his thrusts. He was amazing, my pussy was squeezing his cock tightly as he moved like a piston.

Trey lowered his head to capture one of my nipples in his mouth. I moaned loudly, and he grinned. "You like that," he said in his normal way of stating-not-asking. "Uh-huh," I replied, breathless with pleasure. "Deeper."

He complied, gathering me into his arms and half-walking, half-frog marching over to the couch. I would have found it hysterical if I wasn't so immensely turned on. With each step he took he bounced me on his cock and the motions were sending me over the edge.

Sliding out of my warmth, he commanded me to turn around. I kneeled on the couch, placing my hands on the back. He plunged into my wet folds, making both of us cry out. He was hitting my spots in all the right places and I swear I was seeing stars.

Trey wrapped my hair around his hands like boxing tape, pulling me close to him. "Are you going to cum for me, baby?" He rammed himself hard into me, making me moan loudly.

"Yes," I gasped out. "Oh god, yes!" My whole body tensed, then shook violently. I gave a small scream and almost smacked my head on the back of the couch before his strong arms caught me.

He placed me gingerly on the couch before slipping back inside me. He was tender this time, stroking my post-orgasmic pussy with gentle care. Looking into his eyes, I could see the concern.

I pulled him close to me, kissing his neck and whispering for him to come, that I wanted to feel him shudder, that I needed him to.

I was slowly working up to my second orgasm, when I squeezed his ass and thrust him deep inside me. Growling, he came loudly, muttering incoherently. My second orgasm wasn't as powerful as the first one. I still felt dizzy afterward, but in that deliciously wicked way.

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