My First Black Experiencebymstrhole©
He was gay and I was newly reborn as a bi-sexual man. He was black and I am white – very white – although I do tan fairly well when I get a chance to expose my flesh to the sun. I was in my forties when I met him. We connected on line in a forum that no longer exists. I think it was called "Pink Pages" or something like that. It was a regional hook-up website in the early days of such things.
I had, as I said, just re-discovered my interest in sex with men. I'd had several experiences as a teenager, but after I went to college, got lucky with a number of women, and eventually got married I dismissed those high school episodes as an excess of hormones. Then, in my forties, I began to think differently. Thanks to the internet I had access to discussions and stories that rekindled my interest in both homoerotica and sex with other men.
My wife, of course, was and remains blissfully ignorant to this day that her husband of nearly four decades is bisexual. She would (and I know this will sound trite) never understand. It would hurt her deeply if she knew. Don't for one moment believe that I haven't had more than a few guilty feelings about this. We'll leave that discussion for another blog entry, shall we?
So, I was perusing and fantasizing about the listings on line and while I was doing so, my own listing was likewise being perused, and presumably fantasized about. I had hooked up, very carefully, with a couple of other men in similar circumstances, and had found the experiences (mostly) enjoyable; enough so that I continued my pursuit of sexual satisfaction with other men. I had discovered a taste for semen and a predilection for being penetrated, anally. I preferred being with men who liked to "make out" and who appreciated the value of foreplay. I had a few negative experiences, but, again, those are, perhaps, stories for another blog entry. I also had a "gum job" and men, let me tell you, if you ever get a chance to get your cock sucked by someone who has a full set of upper and lower dentures, by all means do it. It's unbelievable.
I'll call him Phil, short for Philippe. Phil was from a city about 300 miles away from where I live, but it was a city to which I traveled on business fairly frequently. He responded to my internet listing with an e-mail suggesting we should get to know each other better. I agreed. No pictures had been exchanged at this point. I am not a "size queen" that is to say I do not choose my partners by measuring their endowment, and I hope my partners feel the same. I'm more interested in the mind because it is a much better barometer of the quality of the sex than mere physical attributes.
We exchanged a number of e-mails over the next few days and, as it happened, I was about to spend a week in the city where Phil lived. We agreed that we should meet to see if we wanted to take things further. I was excited at the prospect of a new lover and by the fact that I would, possibly, get some "action" on this trip.
We had agreed to meet on a certain street corner near a certain large Midwestern university at a certain time. I told him what I would be wearing and gave him a general physical description. I did not ask for one in return. A little mystery is good for any romance.
"Jim?" The voice was rich and flavored with spice. I turned and saw a well built man of medium height and about my age, or so it seemed, broad in the shoulders, and solid throughout. And black.
"Phil?" I don't care who you are, if you are meeting someone for the first time and suddenly discover that they are of a different race, you WILL react. He must have seen something in my face, though I tried hard to keep my expression as neutral as possible. He smiled.
"Yes, a little," I responded honestly.
"Good, you didn't lie."
We both laughed and shook hands.
"Let's go for a walk," Phil said.
I don't know what I had been expecting, but this was not it. He gently took my arm and steered me in the direction of a walking path along a lake that bordered the University. I should mention that this meeting took place at night. We walked in the darkness quite a ways. We came to a secluded area and sat down. I thought he might make a move. I was certainly tempted to. I was horny as hell and would have liked at least a kiss. But, no, it was conversation.
"How do you feel right now, Jim?"
"How do I feel about what?"
"How do you feel about sitting here in a secluded place with a black man you only just met an hour ago?"
"Are you asking me if I feel threatened or unsafe?"
"No." I didn't amplify the answer. Anything more than my simple statement would have seemed a lie, and my "no" was an honest response. In that 60 minute conversation (had it been that long?) we had gotten to know each other a little and I was completely comfortable in his presence. I should say that my dealings with other races had, to this point, consisted almost exclusively to a few friendships with Native Americans growing up near a reservation, and some acquaintances in college from the "Black Student Union."
"Just no. Not every white man automatically stereotypes every black man as a thug or a criminal."
He got up and we began to walk back to where we had started. He had been pointing out various places along the trail that he identified as cruising spots. I was new enough to the game at that point not to completely understand what he meant. I did later, however, and it eventually proved fatal to our friendship. I do not cruise and I do not, knowingly, have sex with people who do. But I digress...
I had hoped that we would end the evening horizontal and superimposed. Phil had other plans. He asked me if I would like to go with him to a nature preserve the next day, a Saturday, and I said I would. He said he would pick me up at my hotel at one o'clock. We shook hands again and parted company. It was the strangest first date I have ever had.
The next day came and I made my preparations carefully. I wanted to be ready for anything. I was as clean as I could be, inside and out, freshly shaved, and smelling like (I hoped) someone who was expecting to get laid. I was dressed casually for the outdoors and carried a jacket against the vagaries of weather in this part of the country.
As it happened, it was one of those "Indian Summer" days we get in the northern latitudes – a day of temperatures in the 70's after the first hard frost of October. Phil's van pulled into the portico of the hotel, I got in, and we were off. To say that there were butterflies in my stomach would be an understatement.
We drove out into the country and parked in the lot of a local nature preserve. Phil led me to another trail and we walked. Perhaps he thought I needed the exercise – I wasn't in the best of shape, but I hadn't planned on entering any triathlons either. I was enjoying myself, however, as the conversation was excellent, the day was beautiful, and there was the prospect of sex at the end of it.
He asked me if I'd like to come over to his place for some iced tea or something, and I must have sounded pretty eager, because he laughed at me. We got into the van again and continued talking all the way to his modest house in a modest neighborhood. And then, he did a strange thing.
"Would you mind ducking down when we get close to my driveway? I'd rather not have anyone see me bringing a man into the house."
I thought this a rather odd request, but I, hoping to get laid, was in full compliance mode, and as we turned into his street, I hid myself until the garage door closed behind us. Once inside his home, we sat for a while in the sun dappled shade of his screened in back porch sipping iced tea. And, finally, the conversation came around to sex.
"How did you discover you liked men?" he asked.
That got the ball rolling. I told him about my high school experiences and the long interlude during which I hadn't thought about men at all.
"The bottom line for me is that I like sex, and I'm more interested in what's between my partner's ears than what's between my partner's legs," I said.
Phil smiled. He told me his own story. He'd been married – his wife had died of cancer a few years earlier – but had always known he was more into men than women.
"What do you like to do?" he asked.
"I like to kiss."
"So do I."
We stood up, by now having moved into his living room, and we embraced, our lips meeting for the first time. My cock was rock hard, as it had been for most of the day. Our bodies pressed against each other as we explored one another's mouths. I could feel a bulge in his jeans and it was substantial. I hoped he wouldn't laugh at mine, which was considerably smaller.
I have rather large lips – a number of women have commented on how kissable they look – and so did Phil. We enjoyed our kiss. We both tasted of tea and lemon. I was breathing his scent and it was a heady aroma of cotton that's been in the fresh air, the clean sweat of honest exertion, and subtle cologne. I was becoming intoxicated as the kiss went on. His hands found my ass and squeezed. I moaned into his mouth. I could feel him smiling against my lips. I thought I might spontaneously ejaculate. I wanted to be naked with this man, and I wanted it to be soon.
Phil maneuvered me, never breaking the kiss, down a short hallway to his bedroom, before pressing me on my back against the chenille spread of his double bed. He got a leg between mine and we began to grind against each other as our passion grew. My hands were moving up and down Phil's back, cupping his muscular ass cheeks, pulling him more tightly to me.
I should say, at this point, that I hadn't had a cock in my ass for more than 20 years. But I had never wanted anything more in my life to that point than Phil's cock in my ass, and I was not planning on leaving this little bungalow until I'd had it.
Frankly, I don't think Phil was planning on letting me leave until he'd ploughed my furrow either, so we were of one accord on that issue without it ever being raised.
The dry humping was becoming borderline uncomfortable and I longed to feel his skin against my own. I broke the kiss, which seemed to have gone on for hours but had only been minutes, and whispered "let's get naked." He looked down at me and smiled.
"Groovy," he said, laughing.
He got up off the bed and began stripping. I did the same. I'd like to say that we undressed each other and kissed each area of exposed flesh as it came into view, but that would be more literary embroidery than I'm comfortable with so I'll stick with what actually happened. Phil was not "cut" in the sense that he didn't have six pack abs, "guns" or a lot of exposed muscular ridges. But, he was in reasonable shape for a middle aged man, whereas I was not, by any stretch of the imagination, in shape. Phil didn't care. I was relieved.
"You're in better shape than your description made it seem," he said, taking me back into his arms and claiming my mouth once more. He was clearly the top in this scenario and I was content to bottom for him as long as I got some quality time with his cock, preferably inside me.
We were on the bed again, this time on our sides facing each other and trying to work out the geometry of arms and legs as we attempted to re-engage. Now, I could feel his cock against me. It was hot. The tip was wet with precum. And it was large. Not monster-sized. Phil wasn't a freak of nature by any means. But he had to be at least 8 inches and thick.
I got a hand between our bodies and worked it down Phil's belly until I could get a grip on the prize I sought. Oh my...it was lovely. Warm and hard and thick; it throbbed in my hands as I gently caressed it. Phil hissed his pleasure into my ear as he licked the lobe, causing me to tremble with pleasure. I love having my ears kissed and licked (I share that info in case any of you ever has occasion to need to know this).
"Phil," I breathed, "I want this (indicating his dick with a gentle squeeze) in my ass."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. But you'll need to take it slow. No one's been there since I was 17, and this (again squeezing his endowment gently) is bigger than anything I've ever had back there."
He looked into my eyes and then he kissed me again. "I'll be gentle, my little white virgin," he whispered, smiling.
I kissed my way down his chest, spending some quality time with his nipples, which he enjoyed, and eventually found myself faced with my very first (and as it turned out, only) black cock. It looked enormous. I had seen a lot of porn and all the men are hung, but when it's right there in front of you, 7 or 8 inches looks like a tree trunk.
And then there was the scent. Each of us has a unique scent, but there are racial differences as well. It must be something genetic. I'm not going to speculate. I was inhaling his musk and it was a heady mix of sweat and pheromones. My cock was throbbing and drooling. I was responding to Phil like I hadn't responded to another human being in quite some time.
A drop of clear liquid appeared at the end of Phil's cock and I stuck out my tongue and licked it. It was salty and slippery and tasted good. I wanted more. I inhaled the head of Phil's cock and as much of the shaft as I could manage licking and sucking it for all I was worth. I was not the most experienced cock sucker, but I made up for it with enthusiasm and the ability to keep my teeth from brushing the sensitive skin of my partner's equipment. And, having a set of full lips was an advantage.
Phil groaned as I began seriously fellating him, coordinating my mouth movements with hand strokes. I was kneeling next to him entirely focused on his cock and his pleasure. I jerked in surprise and missed a stroke as I felt his hand caressing my ass. I regained my composure quickly and only moaned around his thick slab of black man meat when I felt him begin to gently stroke my balls, weighing them in his hand and gently manipulating them with his fingers. Soon he was stroking me gently as I continued to suck him.
I felt him pulling at my hips, maneuvering me into the classic soixante-neuf position, and then his warm mouth captured my hard, dripping, cock to the root. I nearly came on the spot, which, of course, would have ruined everything.
I attacked his cock with renewed vigor, pausing occasionally to lick and suck his balls, which seemed to please him based on his responses. I took as much of his meat missile into my face as I could on each stroke, but owing to a rather trigger happy gag reflex on my part it wasn't as much as I would have liked. I wanted to swallow that black fleshy spear. I wanted to look down and see his balls at the edge of my lips. But my hand did for an extra bit of depth and was soon sliding up and down on a copious bed of my saliva in concert with my lips and tongue.
My nostrils were full of the smell of Phil's crotch, just as I knew his were full of mine. We were both bent on enjoyment, neither of us, as far as I knew, thinking about the fact that he was black and I was white. We were two men in the throes of passion enjoying each other's physicality. Period. Later, I would think about other aspects of this encounter – was my enjoyment heightened by the racial aspect? – but now, what I cared about was that I had a cock in my mouth and my cock was similarly engaged at the other side of the bed.
"Please, Phil," I gasped as I pulled my face off of his penis, "I need to feel you in my ass."
He stopped sucking my cock, releasing it from his mouth.
"Mmmm...I like that idea."
I rolled away from him and just lay there, looking at his body as he rolled the other way and reached into his night stand for a tube of KY jelly (which shows you how long ago this was).
My cock was pumping out a steady stream of precum. I was, as one of my friends would put it, terminally excited. My whole body felt like a cock in terms of how I was absorbing the pleasure of being naked with another man – another human being.
"Roll over on your belly," Phil ordered. Well, "ordered" would be a strong word. He just told me what to do and it made sense, so I did it.
I rolled over and humped up my ass by way of further invitation.
"Spread your cheeks for me, Jim. Show me that ass."
I moaned a little as I reached back, my face now buried in the chenille, and spread my ass wide with both hands. I was now completely exposed to Phil, my most intimate parts on display. I was glad I'd spent some time on personal grooming...
The next sensation I felt was cold. Phil hadn't warmed up the KY and when he dropped a glob of it on my anus I gasped. It was like having an ice cube touch me there. His finger began warming and spreading the lubricant. The second dose found me ready for the sensation and I moaned as he worked first one and then two fingers very carefully and slowly past the portals of my nether opening. He was not miserly with the KY either. Again and again he put more of the slippery stuff on and in me.
"Oh, god, Phil, I think I'm ready," I finally moaned in semi-frustration at his finger teasing. He chuckled.
"OK, you lube me up and get me ready. I want you to see what's going in there."
He moved around on the bed until he had his cock pointed right at my face again. I scrambled to my knees and took the tube of KY from his hands. I squeezed out a big glob into my left hand and then put my right hand over it, warming the lube a little before I gripped his cock in both hands and began to stroke it, covering his big black dick with KY in the process. I added some KY again and made sure every inch of Phil's cock was covered. It was shiny and throbbing, gently bobbing up and down in front of me. It was time.
"I think that should do it, don't you?" I asked.
Phil kissed me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth as if in mockery or imitation of what his cock was about to do to my asshole. I almost came, spontaneously and without being touched, before that kiss ended. Phil handed me some tissues and I wiped the excess KY from my hands and just looked at him, waiting for whatever was going to happen next to happen.
"Turn around white boy," Phil said with good humor, "and get your ass spread wide for some black cock. You ever had a black cock in your white ass?"
"No. Yours will be the first," I managed to gasp out as I battled to keep from exploding all over the bed spread. His words enflamed me. I wanted him to talk more like that but wasn't sure how to ask. He had broached the racial subject and I suddenly found that it turned me on like crazy.
I got into position and spread my ass cheeks wide open – as wide as I could get them. He put one last dollop of KY on the opening and then I felt him moving into position behind me.
"C'mon, Phil, fuck my white ass with that big black cock. Make me your little white bitch," I moaned, egging him on.
"Whoooo-eeee," he laughed. "What we have here is a case of buck fever, for sure. Well, get ready, 'cause here comes your black daddy."
I felt the blunt end of his dick touch my asshole and I gasped with pleasure. Then came the steady, relentless, pressure as he pushed against me. He was gentle yet implacable as he worked the big mushroom shaped head of his cock past my anal sphincter. I knew enough to bear down as if I was having a difficult bowel movement and all of a sudden, with a burst of pain, I felt the head of his cock breach my defenses and his thick shaft was soon sliding inside.
He took his time. It took me a moment to get my breathing back under control. I won't kid you – when he pushed that thing into my ass, even with all the lube, and all the finger prep, it hurt like a sonuvabitch. He was 8 inches long and thick. The flare on his cock head was big, making it the widest part of his equipment, and when he managed to pop the head through my anal ring I felt every millimeter of its width and thickness stretching me in ways I'd never been stretched before. Now, of course, I have toys even bigger than Phil's cock, but at the time it was like I was a virgin and he'd just popped my cherry.