Just a Few Seconds

February 2010

"Justin tells me you'll take cock for fifty dollars."

The massively muscular dark chocolate Tulane all-American fullback, dressed only in athletic shorts, showing off the physique of a god, completely filled the doorway of the small basement bedroom in the Alpha Tau fraternity house. He was leaning against one side of the door frame, his muscular torso arched to the side, and he had his thumbs and index fingers latched onto his nipples and was rolling them. His eyes were slitted and his shorts were tented, promising an enormous erection. He was overripe for play.

The house's eighteen-year-old milk-chocolate houseboy, Kirk Shields, put aside the gay male skin magazine he'd been reading; stretched out on his single bed in just his briefs and a T-shirt, a hand down the front panel of those; and sat up on the side of his bed. He gave the black bull standing in his doorway, a campus god because of his football prowess and commanding presence, a long, cool, appreciative look, and pulled his T-shirt over his head. With this movement, the deal was struck.

Kirk was no slouch in the muscular development arena himself, but no one at the university could hold a candle to Trevor Jackson in that area. Against Jackson's six-foot-five tower of bulging muscle, Kirk's five-nine, lean, slender build was dwarfed. Still, it was good enough to show off to a guy who'd just asked if he took cock and it was as good a way as any to close the deal.

"Yes, I will," he said. He wondered if Trevor realized he'd gone right past "yes I do" to declaring that he would, indeed, take cock from the footballer. He'd love to be balled by the footballer.

Kirk also needed the money. It was so hard keeping it together. Tulane was for rich kids, like Trevor and the white guy, Justin, the fraternity president, the self-important, sarcastic rich kid who had found Kirk would lay down and open his legs for money in a couple of sweaty nighttime wrestling matches down here in the bowels of the fraternity house and who had passed that information on.

Mostly Kirk said he would, though, because he had worshipped Trevor Jackson—and his cock—for several months and had fanaticized about opening his legs for the football player.

Trevor had come downstairs in anger and the urge to beat and pillage someone, having just come from the house's second floor, where, in the fraternity's best bedroom, he'd seen Justin Wingfield fucking Trevor's apparent boyfriend, the Tulane freshman, Cameron Dixon, or, rather, Cameron fucking himself on Justin's cock. Justin was just lying there on his back, arms bent and hands folded behind his head, looking up at the ceiling with a self-satisfied look on his face, while, facing away from him, his hands clutching Justin's knees, Cameron straddled Justin's hips and rode the college senior's cock in a cowboy. When Cameron cried out, "Shit, yes, baby. You're the best!" Trevor pulled away from the crack in the door. Justin had taunted Trevor that he could have Cameron anytime he wanted, and this proved that he was right.

"Bitchy Justin Wingfield the best at fucking?" Trevor mumbled to himself as he stomped down the stairs to the fraternity house basement. "Maybe the best at spreading his influence and money around, but at cocking? Give me a break."

The Tulane fullback had come downstairs to break something—someone—in frustration and anger. Standing at the houseboy's basement bedroom door now and taking a look at the half-breed, his father white and his mother black, his father long gone and his mother struggling with a house cleaning business in Atlanta to help Kirk get a college education, all it took was a few seconds for the anger to drain out of him. In just a second the mood of anger was replaced with lust—and something else, wanting more than just that. Kirk hadn't noticed Trevor standing in the door, however, and the football hero had more than a few seconds to get in the mood. Watching the body of the honey on the bed, stretched out, pouring over his skin magazine, and stroking himself off inside his shorts really heated Trevor up. He was good to go before he spoke.

Trevor had seen the handsome, small, milk chocolate houseboy before, but he hadn't looked closely at him until now, right this minute. Trevor hadn't come down to the basement with specific thoughts of spiking Kirk Shields. But he hadn't seen Kirk before in nothing but briefs and a T, an obvious hard on inside those. And stroking himself off. He was a real honey.

After a short pause of looking each other over, Trevor entered the room and shut and locked the door behind him. He strode forward to the bed, standing between Kirk's spread thighs, as the houseboy pulled the big man's shorts down and off his crotch. Kirk knew what to do—what was expected of him.

"Holy shit you're huge," he murmured, with a gasp, as he two-handed a gigantic, jet-black erection, closed his lips over the bulbous purple mushroom cap, and began to tease it with his tongue and teeth and to suck it.

"Yes, yes, I am," Trevor answered, placing his hands on the buzz-cut skull of the smaller guy, slowly shaking his head from side to side, and producing a tinkly sound from the motion against each other of the metal beads on the tips of his long dreadlock strands. He began to pant and groan, the anger draining out of him. "Fuck, bro, you give good head."

Taking his mouth off the cock only briefly, Kirk said, "Yes, I do. Don't think I can get all of his meat down my throat, but I'll try."

Trevor laughed. "I know what I can get it all down. I can't wait. Lay down in that bed there, on your back, and prepare to take ten inches."

"Just a minute, then, we'll need these." Kirk pulled open the drawer to his nightstand and rummage around. "You'll need this size," he said, pulling out a foil-wrapped Trojan Magnum, and we'll need plenty of this, pulling out a bottle of lube. "I might even need this," he said, retrieving a bottle of poppers.

"Shit, this is the place to come, isn't it?" Trevor said, punctuating that with a laugh. "And this might be a good idea," he added, pulling out the ball gag he saw in the drawer. "We don't want to bring the house down over our heads with the screaming you might be doing."

"Fifty dollars? Just fifty dollars when I'll need a gag?"

"It's what I brought. You want to do this or not?"

He said it like he knew Kirk would have taken the cock for free—like maybe he'd even pay to get it. But then Trevor was idolized on campus enough to reasonably expect that was so.

"OK, then," Kirk answered. "You've got such a special one. I'd like some more sucking time on the cock, though." Kirk two-handed the shaft again, pulling the foreskin back off the base of the glans and moving his tongue to the crease around the head where it met the shaft, flicking his tongue there.

Gasping, Trevor said, "Knock yourself out." He grasped the close-cropped skull, the metal tips of his dreadlocks began to make their music from his swaying head again, and he moaned. "Yes, baby. Just like that. Shit, you give good head."

"Shit, you have a monster shaft," Kirk answered, coming up for air. "I can't wait either." He turned to the side, pulling his legs up on the bed, and slipping his briefs off. "Fuck me, stud. Fuck me good."

Trevor came around to the foot of the bed, grasped Kirk's ankles, and dragged his butt down to the bottom edge. Folding Kirk's milk-chocolate legs up into his chest, Trevor went down on his knees on the floor and went right for the smaller guy's hole with his tongue.

"Shit. Fuck. Oh, FUCK!" Kirk cried out as he writhed and Trevor continued eating him out.

And then Trevor was pushing Kirk back up on the bed enough that Trevor could get on it with his knees between the little guy's spread thighs.

Kirk bit hard down into the rubber ball of the ball gag and silently screamed into it as, having lodged the purple bulb and a couple of inches of shaft inside him, which had been a chore, Trevor grasped the younger guy's ankles, raising and spreading his legs, and, after rubbing the underside of the shaft up and down over the blossoming hole and Kirk begging for it, he lodged the bulb just inside the entrance. He waited for the opening to dilate for the bulb, which it did, and as Kirk sucked in air and moaned, Trevor slowly gave him four inches, pausing there to rock back and forth on the small guy's trembling body, giving him time to adjust to the thickness of the cock, coaxing the passage to stretch with gentle, slow in-and-out rubbing, as Kirk's passage walls shimmered over the thick shaft, rippling and gripping at it.

This wasn't going to be a "sprint" fuck. This was going to be a marathon.

Trevor raised Kirk's ankles to his shoulders and straightened up on his knees, bringing Kirk's buttocks off the bed and rolling his weight onto his shoulder blades. Kirk shuddered and writhed, reaching out to the side edges of the bed to grasp the edges and hold himself steady as the big black bull fed him the last couple of inches and started a long-sliding, slow pump. In deep, as Kirk's body shuddered, nearly all the way out, and then the long slide back in. Shudder. Slide, bottom, shudder.

The younger guy's channel walls stretched and shimmered, adjusting to the fuck. His hips began to move, his pelvis rowed into the rhythm of the fuck. Kirk's trembling hands reached up to Trevor's chest. He stroked the big guy's dark chocolate bulging pecs and nipples with the tips his fingers, arching his back and moaning deeply. Picking up speed in the thrusts, Trevor let Kirk's legs down and came down on the smaller guy's heaving chest with his own, much more muscular one. He freed Kirk of the gag ball, Kirk gasping. Kirk arched his back. He reached down to find there still were a couple of inches of root not inside him.

"Oh, fuck, you're big. Huge. I can't take it."

Trevor thrust hard, burying himself to the hilt, mingling his short hairs with Kirk's. The houseboy arched his back, cried out, and then moaned as the black bull pumped him hard and deep, to the short hairs.

"Yes, you can. You have." Trevor covered Kirk's mouth with his and went into a deep kiss. Kirk hooked his knees on Trevor's hips, grasped the big black's shoulder blades, and dug in with his fingers. Trevor rocked the little guy's body in close-hold and long, deep, rhythmic thrusts, as Kirk relaxed and surrendered to him, going with, rocking with, the fuck. He turned his head to the side, his head tented in the strands of Trevor's dreadlocks cascading and shimmering around his head, metal beads brushing his cheeks, his mouth yawning open in a silent scream, his eyes flashing his pain-pleasure, as Trevor fucked him, thick, throbbing, powerful, punishing, in his soft, spongy inner core. Kirk melted, receding into his inner self, pulling Trevor in with him, the two of them one, merging into one unit, Trevor's bulb kissing Kirk deep inside, Kirk's passage muscles undulating, shimmering, caressing the taut skin over the thick, moving, gliding, thrusting, possessing, plundering shaft.

This wasn't just taking cock; this was being royally fucked.

Burying his face into the hollow of the football player's shoulder, Kirk clutched at the taut, bulging. straining muscles of the powerful man covering him. Kirk held the god close, trying to melt into him, rowing his pelvis and hips with the fuck, murmuring, "Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, yes. Take it; take it all. Fuckin' blast me with your cum!"

Trevor suddenly reared up, going on his knees, pressing down on Kirk's pecs with the palms of his hands, groaning and thrusting hard and deep. "I'm gonna come. I'm gonna shoot," he called and then then he did, thrusting and spurting, thrusting and spurting as Kirk held tightly onto the football player's waist, murmuring, "Yes, baby, baby, yes, yes. Do it, stud. Shoot that load."

Kirk had a small bathroom off his bedroom and Trevor bounded off the bed and, two steps later, was in there. En route, he ripped the spent condom off his cock and tossed it toward a wastebasket. It hit the rim but fell back on the floor. He didn't close the door to the john and Kirk turned onto his side and watched the muscular black footballer piss into the toilet.

"I loved that," Kirk murmured. "I think I love you. I've watched you and followed you all year. Never missed a game. Went to your practices when I could. You're a fuckin' god. You haven't noticed me, I'm sure, but I've watched you and worshipped you. I love that you've come for me. I love what you've done with me. I have watched you fuck Cameron, who doesn't deserve you, and I have wanted you to fuck me like that. Now you have, and it was all I could have wished for. I wish . . . well, I wish." He did say it, but perhaps not loud enough for Trevor to hear it above the sound of his piss hitting the water in the toilet bowl. There certainly was no response from the football player, if he'd heard. If he'd heard it, he obviously didn't give a shit that Kirk was pouring out his soul to him.

Ashamed at how much he was surrendering, Kirk hoped that Trevor hadn't heard it.

Trevor strutted out of the bathroom. "Again," he said. "On your belly." With a groan and an electric charge of anticipation, Kirk turned over onto his belly on the bed while Trevor pulled another Trojan Magnum packet out of the nightstand drawer, split the packet open, tossed the foil toward the wastebasket, and rolled the rubber onto his shaft.

"You want this?" he asked Kirk, holding up the bottle of poppers.

"Guess I'd better," Kirk said, taking a hit from the bottle and handing it back to Trevor. The football player had proved to be even bigger and more vigorous than Kirk had imagined he'd be.

Trevor was up on the bed and running a muscular arm under Kirk's belly, lifting the young man up onto his knees, Kirk's chest still flat against the bed. Trevor swung his left leg over Kirk's hips, put himself into position, crouched over Kirk's pelvis in the same stance he would receive a ball from the center on a football team, put his bulb in place at the entrance of the hole he'd already opened to his size needs, and grasped Kirk's hips in his hands. They were a team; they were going to fire off a touchdown play.

Mounted on Kirk's ass, Trevor thrust inside the smaller man again, eliciting a cry of pain-passion, and resumed fucking him. Writhing under him, Kirk reached for the bottle of poppers on the top of the nightstand, took another hit, and then raised his hands up and grasped the brass rungs of the bed's headboard to hold himself steady as Trevor immediately went deep and took him in long slides.

Flesh on flesh, dark chocolate on milk chocolate, gliding, clutching, merging, rocking, undulating, dark chocolate in milk chocolate, thrusting, receiving, giving and taking, taking and giving. The two moved as one, swaying with each other, grunting, groaning, moaning. Kirk, hand under his belly, stroking himself off, tensed, jerked, and, with a little cry, shot his load. He clutched the rungs of the headboard again after having released his wad a second time for the afternoon. He arched his back, panting hard, "Yes, yes, YES! Give it to me!" he cried out, as the big black bull tensed, jerked, released, tensed, jerked, released, tensed, jerked . . .

"Trevor. Trevor, baby. You in there, Trevor, honey? Come upstairs. Don't be mad. It just happened. It meant nothing. It's just you, baby. It's always just you."

"Shit," Trevor exclaimed, rolling off Kirk and onto the floor, already reaching down for his athletic shorts. "It's Cameron. He can't see me like this."

"I'll be upstairs," Cameron called out. "Come up to me, baby. Don't be mad. I'll show you a good time."

Kirk collapsed on the bed, turned onto his side, facing Trevor's "pull on my shorts and get out of here" dance. He lay there on the bed, legs still open, vulnerable. He was propped up on his elbows, watching the big man moving nervously around in the room that suddenly was too small for him, trying to get his legs into the holes in his athletic shorts. Kirk's head was spinning a bit from the abruptness of the change—first being under Trevor, shooting his own load and then knowing Trevor was releasing his, and now watching the football player hopping around, trying to get his legs in his shorts. Trevor went into the pocket of the shorts and came up with a wad of cash. He flipped it onto the top of the nightstand. "Fifty it was, wasn't it? There. I gotta go."

"I don't want your money," Kirk said, his voice showing the hurt. "It meant more to me than the money. I just want your cock. I want you the way Cameron has you. It cheapens it if . . . didn't it mean anything to you?" In just the few seconds their eyes had first met contact when Trevor was standing in the doorway, Kirk had gotten the feeling that there was more between them than just a fifty-dollar fuck. It had only taken Kirk a couple of seconds when Trevor was standing in the doorway to know it would be more than just a casual fuck for him—and he'd been right.

But the question just hung there in the room, now empty other than Kirk stretched out on the bed, legs open, hole now reamed to Trevor's specifications, wanting more, the door to the corridor still swaying on its hinges. Kirk had said it, but there was no indication that Trevor had heard anything he'd confessed to—anything he said he dreamed of.

He leaned over the side of the bed and looked toward the wastebasket where Trevor had tossed the second spent Trojan Magnum, the bulb filled with the football player's prodigious wad of cum. Trevor had missed with the second spent rubber and the foil package as well in his hurry to get out of here and to his boyfriend, Cameron, upstairs.

His boyfriend, Cameron.

Kirk didn't think that would last long. Cameron was flighty, and any guy in the fraternity who wanted to lay him could. Nobody had the balls to tell Trevor that, though. Something glittery caught Kirk's eye. A few of the gold beads that tipped Trevor's dreadlocks had come off too and were on the floor between the bed and the spent condoms. Trevor wasn't completely gone from the room yet. It would be quite some time before he and his magnificent body and cock would float out of Kirk's brain.

He reached down and touched his hole, dilated still to Trevor's need and then lay back on the bed, handed his cock as it filled out into an erection, and replayed every thrust of Trevor's shaft inside him that he could remember as he masturbated himself to an exhausted sleep.

When he woke, the first thing he did was to go into the bathroom and search around for that little plastic bag he'd gotten five antibiotic pills in months ago. There two in there still. He rolled them out onto the side of the sink and padded back in the bedroom with the empty bag. He got on his hands and knees, searching for gold beads that had spun off of Trevor's dreadlocks during their vigorous coupling. Find seven, he scooped them into the plastic bag and put the bag on top of his dresser. From now on, when he dressed, that bag would be his pocket.

Kirk didn't have an opportunity to go another round with Trevor. The week after this first one, he received urgent news that his mother, in Atlanta, had fallen gravely ill, and Kirk was picking up stakes and headed back to Atlanta for the time being.

* * * *

February 2020

"Ted, do you know who that is over by the bar, talking with the football coach?" Trevor Jackson was at an awards ceremony for the university's football program in the trophy hall of the Glazer Family Club at Tulane's Yulman Stadium. He'd been invited to it to be honored as a Tulane football all-American from a decade before and to mark his retirement this season from the New Orleans Saints.

"You don't recognize him? That's Sanford Shields."

"Sanford Shields? I don't know him, no." But Trevor felt like he should know the handsome, trim, if a bit short black man. He looked familiar and Trevor felt a strong attraction to him. In just a few seconds when their eyes had met and both had looked away, he felt a strong attraction—an arousal even. Trevor was a bit of a bad boy. He played with other men and he had no trouble in finding men who were happy to be manhandled by a black, muscular professional football player.