The Frenchman: His First American

"Now, you sure you'll be at the airport when I get there," I asked Kwame.

"Mark, relax. You have my word that I'll be waiting for you once you land on deck. I wouldn't dare do that to you," he told me over the phone.

I was finally meeting this chocolate iron man.

I was four hours removed from taking off from Charles de Gaulle, as I caught a ride to the airport through my friend Gabriel, a friend that lived in Paris and just so happened to be in my town that was a three hour drive from the airport.

"You're flying all the way to the states for some forsaken cock? Are you serious? You're gonna meet this guy, an American, and he might have rabies or some shit," he said to me.

I laughed as he drove.

"I'm serious, Mark. This guy could be just a flash in the pan," he added.

"I am, but Kwame is more than just a cock, shitface. We've been talking for months, and now we meet finally. Not every American has rabies, as you may see it," I told him.

Gabriel, a native Frenchman with a serious disdain for Americans, was the first to befriend, and court me when I moved to France (I'm an Englishman, originally from Portsmouth, England). He was one who still had the hots for me for a good while, and after months of us talking when I first arrived, I almost gave in to the "blessed" top until one night he and I attended a party together, he was drinking a bit much to my liking, showing his true colors and turning me off completely with his antics. He'd later apologize, but the damage was done, especially since I had numerous guys willing to fill my hole at the time.

"So you'll never let me pilfer you, will you," he asked.

He understood that we could never be intimate, and so he'd become a true friend, one that protested me seeing "a rabid American."

"Who knows? I could marry Kwame, and we live happily, ever after. In fact, Kwame might have a friend you could bend over and marry, too," I said, as we made it to the airport.

"Fuck you," Gabriel said, as we reached over the console to kiss on the lips, then I'd depart his car to enter through the terminal to check in. "I love you, Mark. Please, please, please, be careful, man."

A couple hours later I grabbed a bite to eat then made it to my gate as I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I sat patiently waiting to board, and when the time came, surprisingly I was boarding a half full flight. We'd take off on time, and it was a very smooth flight with a smooth landing seven hours later at JFK in New York. I turned on my phone, and the clock automatically rolled back six hours, and I got a message from Kwame, via the app we use to communicate.

"Your plane just landed," said a message from Kwame via the app we used.

"It really did. Where are you, LOL," I messaged back.

I just wanted to run to this man and hop on that big, black dick of his, but of course, I had to get off the plane and go through the international motions first. We parked, and it would be an easy deplaning, then following signs to go through passport control, dealing with ass hole sentries. It would be expeditious in giving and receiving my passport, as I would follow signs to baggage claim, walking a few more steps to find my Adonis standing in front of the conveyor with his ear to the phone. He saw me, smiled, and I added a brisk pace to my walk to hug this tall, fine, black, "drink of water" in a dapper, dark blue suit and brown wing tips. We both were smiling from ear to ear as my heart melted and ass twitched, ready to do whatever he wanted me to do. I gave my hand to him for shaking, then he pulled me into him as we boldly kissed, with our lips as a gateway and our tongues madly engaged in front of others while his beard tickled my chin. This six foot five frame of a man dwarfed all of my five foot eleven shell, and I couldn't stop "creaming" inside.

"Welcome to America," he said, as I got a whiff of his cologne.

"Halfeti," I asked.

"You know your fragrances," he said to me as he looked down into my eyes, still holding me close.

"I wonder how you smell naked," I asked.

He laughed and told me we'd confirm, before grabbing my bag and us heading out of the terminal.

I knew that fragrance from unfortunate circumstances as my ex, an angry French politician, would wear it whenever we went on outings. For a moment I was triggered, but then he reached down to kiss me on the lips again as we walked, and the electricity he provided would fry any negative thoughts as we were heading out.

We made our way to this "Air Train," then transferred to the subway as this was the first time I ever caught American public transportation.

"This is fun," I told him as I was giddy amongst a heavy group of folks in a crowded car that probably wanted nothing more than to get to their destinations.

Once we made it to the final station, we took an elevator from the underground to make it to the surface where we were met by a furious, sudden rain.

"Shit, didn't see this coming," he said, as we still needed to walk a block to the hotel.

We were getting drenched but I didn't care as I was in awe of everything I was seeing from the tall buildings of Manhattan, to all the people that were rudely zipping past us.

"Give me your hand," he said, grabbing me to guide me through the fray.

He managed to snag a taxi for a short ride to the Four Seasons, a beast of a lodge at first sight, then Kwame tossed a few bills at the driver, then we hopped out as the driver opened the trunk and Kwame grabbed my luggage, then my hand as he was the perfect gentleman. We rushed inside, with me wondering if we needed to check in, and him assuring me that wasn't necessary as he already occupied the room. He led me to an elevator car that was open and ready. He keyed the slot for the door to close, then tapped the 11th floor, before the car rose slowly, and Kwame turned to pin me to the wall, and started kissing my neck.

"Oh baby, right here, and right now, eh," I asked as I raised my legs to wrap around his slender, waist.

I'd feel that cock bulging through his pants while his hands were all over me, then we kissed on the lips as he'd slide his active tongue inside my mouth. I for sure knew my first time in America would be a memorable one, as never before had I felt the sexual intensity like Kwame's, as he was truly in to me. We smooched and I let him feel me up until the elevator stopped, with us retreating to opposite sides of the car as if we didn't know each other. The door opened and we'd quietly step off, with me following him to the room just a few steps away. He opened the door to a suite that contained a view of Central Park as the background from a large window, accompanied by a large hot tub nearby, a huge, king sized bed opposite a large desk that was set up for someone needing an office setting, with a huge television overlooking it all.

"This is gorgeous," I said to him as I was in awe of the overall picture.

"You definitely are," he said, as he snatched my bag out of my hand, then turned me around to him to lay his big, strong hands on my face before darting his tongue inside my mouth once more.

"I'm gonna ruin that suit," I said, pulling my face from his to warn him.

He'd smile, then take his jacket off as I took off my coat, both of us undressing in front of the window and becoming naked within three minutes. I felt his frozen hands on my bottom, as he caressed and stroked the cheeks while our mouths were occupied. He picked me up, a feat in itself since I weighed 113 kilograms, and I wrapped my legs around his back before he walked over to the bed and laid me gently in the middle.

"Watch this," he said, as he bent low to the floor, making me put my legs in the air as he would take his bearded face to my anus.

It been six months since someone played down there, and the last guy, the ex, wasn't good at eating hole. Whatever thought I had of anyone else being down there faded when Kwame started brushing that tongue against my outer hole, then darting in, giving brush strokes to my walls and making me shiver.

"You seem to know what you're doing," I whimpered.

"I'd think so. Hell, you're already wet," he told me.

That usually happened when someone would properly touch my prostate gland, and Kwame, well, I'll say he exceeded "expert" status. I felt my hole pucker each time he let that tongue slither, as it felt like he'd run it in a clockwise motion before trying to go deep. I was a bit embarrassed from all the sounds I was making, but couldn't help it: he kept the orgasms flowing.

"You gotta fuck me," I told him.

"You might be too tight, baby," he said to me.

"No, I need it Kwame, you bastard, you've got me so damned wet!"

I wanted Kwame inside me after only three minutes. He saw otherwise as he enjoyed teasing me, tongue drilling me crazy as I became "slippery" with the orgasms constant.

"Can't remember the last time I got someone so moist," he said as he finger popped me.

I was no longer "tight," as we would say, but rather soggy and sensitive as even his fingers inside me made me lose my breath.

"Damn, if I'm making you do that, then how are you gonna act when I put this pole inside you," he asked, as he kept rubbing my inner cunt.

I begged to suck his cock to "thank him," and he ignored me, instead making me cringe and grab the back of his head furiously as the tantric flowed through me.

"Kwame, pleeeeeeeeease," I begged.

"Alright, alright, let's get you fucked. That hole of yours just tastes so damned sweet," he said, as he'd get up after 30 minutes or so. "Now don't move. Keep them legs up.".

Most people who visited New York I assumed played tourist, while me, I just wanted some premium cock. Kwame spit on my hole, then I'd see him stroking that big banger right before he plunged in slowly.

"Oooooof," I winced.

His girth made my ass feel as if it was singed in the beginning.

"Right there," he asked, looking down at me while biting his bottom lip.

"Oooooof, easy, take it easy," I said to him as he turned out to be a little more than what I bargained for.

He grinned as he kept pushing in, and I wouldn't push away as I still loved the feeling of giving myself to someone, and that someone taking advantage of what's given. Kwame's nine or ten inch, cone-like cock, with its thick, purple head, as the top of the shaft was thin, stretched me proper as my ass adjusted accordingly. I felt the warmth from it, too, and after five hard pokes, my ass finally opened to him as he grooved his hips in and out of me to naturally make my man cunt cream.

"Got me a French slut," he said to me, and I begged him not to stop as he hit the g-spot right away, that cock head tapping and causing me to squirm as my legs were over his shoulders.

"American dick good to ya," he asked.

"Yesssss," I wailed, as he dug in deep.

"Good," he said, as hee sped up the pace and punched in deeper, with my ass quivering as the orgasms intensified.

I'd been talking to Kwame for a few short months prior to this, thinking in the beginning our connection would be strong. This encounter of our bodies cemented that, as he'd reach down to kiss me while pounding me like an oil derrick.

"Might have to take some trips to Paris to drop this dick off," he said to me.

"Yes baby, yes," I concurred loudly.

"Tu veux que je te baise a Paris," he asked, suggesting he come with me to France to fuck me.

I couldn't respond, moving my head to the side as him trying to speak French and fuck me furiously had me ready to cum. He'd pound harder, and dig in further as I cried sounds of delight, even feeling my own cock start driveling as I was getting close.

"You gon' cum with me," he asked while diving in and out of my guts.

"Oui monsieur," I told him.

He jiggled, drilled some more, started groaning as he slowed down, then yelled as I'd feel his hot liquid shooting inside me. He'd stop pumping while his milk infiltrated my tunnel, and I started stroking my cock to shoot my own load up my chest, and around my neck.

"Well damn," he laughed. "Not sure if I ever saw that before."

"Well, you hit the spot, baby. I didn't know I needed to cum," I said to him.

No one ever made me cum like that. I was for sure hooked to this beautiful man now since he touched me in ways no one else ever did.

He giggled.

"Well, am I the first black dick you've had," he asked.

He for sure was, as that was the explanation for such a hot time.

To be continued...