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The Dressing Room
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I was late getting to work today. I knew I shouldn't have gone out to the Club last night. I was 36 years old, and tried to cling to my youth like leeches to skin trying to get some blood. My better self told me, NAH DUDE GO TO BED! YOU HAD TO GET UP AT 7 a.m. AND MAKE SURE THE 401 (K) KEPT TICKING 'CAUSE AIN'T SHIT FREE IN AMERIKKKA FOR A BLACK MAN!
But my Horny Self said, FUCK IT. NIGGAH DO YOU. AS A MATTER OF FACT BUY SOME LIQUOR, SOME BUD, and Hump all night after the ailments take you to the Moon.
But before I talk about work, if I did talk about work, I always changed my mind, I had thoughts of this morning. I looked at the niggah right now. Naked. Uncensored. Exposed. In my bed. He is the first dude I ever brought home. Usually Hoes (females) made my home a Hotel/Motel Holiday Inn giving them whatever they wanted 'cause I had it. The sun shined through the lacey curtains. The shapes all over his chest and the right side of his face. So angelic.
Around, what, 3, 4 a.m. I was tossing and turning with someone. I felt his heat. His aura. His lust. Were vapors. Against my skin. I needed him. Wanted him. Longed for his trust. His passion. His seeds flowering my garden.
Shaking thinking about it, I remembered yesterday, I went to T.J. Max, 'cause a brothah's Platinum Card was nearly maxed out, and I bought a very cool-looking cream-colored cashmere sweater, since it was a little chilly right now in Miami. I had a closet filled with attire. You know a brothah could never have too much money, cash, liquor, bud or ass. I was dressed in some jeans that fit snuggly, not too tight, just enough the show the shape of the Booty and the Dick. My slides showed off pedicure toes. My white T shirt I could have done without and the robe I had on, which was eight sizes too small, looked more like a robe/coat.
I remember a few months ago I saw a dude staring at me when I was driving. I had tried to say to him, to see if I knew him, but traffic was a bitch and I kept maneuvering around Cubans who couldn't drive to save Fidel Castro's life. It was a very muggy, humid day, I had fallen out with my boss over a meeting I had forgotten to schedule and I was set to send a manuscript off to publishers hoping I could get some sort of recognition but to no avail.
I never caught up with ole boy but the thought has eaten at me for some time. Why was the dude staring at me? Did he like me or what? Because I didn't do the fag shit.
As a matter of fact thinking about my Robe/Coat I was looking over the sweater by the entrance of the pulsating-with-life store when a fine brothah came over to me with another fine brothah and said, "Damn that coat is the business."
He was 6 feet 1, masculine as he wanted to be. Nothing about him spelled G-A-Y. He had on a Tampa Bay jersey and his slacks hung low. Clean cut and smelled good.
His friend, who reminded me of someone, but I couldn't put my finger on it, extended his hand. "I'm Lloyd. I like that coat. Where did you buy it? They make robe/coats now?"
Shaking his hand firmly, I looked at him with a smile. I hated to smile but the niggah looked good. Damn. What was I saying? Why was I looking at ole boy like that? Was I going crazy or what? Brothah had it going on. He had some white in his blood because his hair was bushy yet thin and the freckles on his handsome face brought out his almond brown eyes.
"I'm James. Nice to meet you." I shook the other brothah's hand. "And you are?"
"Francis Miller."
I was scooping this niggah. "Nice name."
We stared at each other for a brief moment, Barry White singing over the store speakers. My darling I. Can't get enough. Of your Love. Baby. Aw, Naw, Baby. Now I heard about the DL lifestyle. I wasn't gay, I have never been raped or anything. I didn't believe you were born with it, maybe it's Maybelline, who knew. I never bashed people for what they did and how they did it. I never felt uncomfortable when homosexuals came around me. In fact, I found it questionable when grown men who professed to being men started bashing gays or always brought something remotely gay up in conversation like hearing what others had to say validated his existence. Like my Pops taught me, "Son when a grown man ask are you gay, inquires about it from your friends or always wants to know what another man is doing with his dick then, Son, he is questioning it for a reason. Because he's a) gay himself and trying to keep the spotlight off the theatre production that goes on behind closed doors and in private inside his room and b) he is interested in you and wants to know the T, gays call it, before he approaches you."
Daddy was right. I loved and respected all people. That's the way I was raised. But what baffled me was the fact that all sorts of electricity shot through me with the force of a Tech 9 while I stood in this crowded, too noisy store looking at Lloyd.
He was secretly studying me, in his eyes was an untold story I couldn't pen because I didn't know his life or where he came from. Damn, where did I know him from?
I had to close my eyes and suppress it. I was attracted to ole boy with the freckles and I had visions of eating him out the way I did the ladies, since I was an Oral Man with Tongue Lashing Skills.
Lloyd was licking his lips, holding a shirt up to his fabulous chest and he spewed, "Does this look good on me, dawg?" I loved the way he rocked those Timberland boots. Laced, thank God. If I saw another pair of unlaced boots I was going to scream. His watch glittered. Had to have cost out the ass.
"Yea," I said. "It looks nice on you. You should try those light blue and red jeans over there on the fifth rack from the front. That would look hot. Bitches would be crawling all over you."
Francis smiled, rubbing his chin. He looked like a young Al Pachino if he was black. Scarface posture, gestures and attitude. I loved it. A little thug niggah. I hated using the "Niggah" word but let's be real, I sometimes used it absent-mindedly.
"And when can I crawl all over you?" he asked, rubbing the fabric of my robe/coat. "Damn the texture of this get-up is hot, dawg." He looked past me and said, "Let's be real. You're fine, boy. I'm Vers, what are you?"
"You're what?" I asked, confused. "Vers, what the fuck..."
"Versatile."
I was still lost. "OK, with the tunnel vision conversation. I have never fucked around so what does that mean?" I was so uncomfortable right now I wanted to croak.
"OK, Top means you do the fucking, Pimp. Bottom means you're the bitch. Vers or Versatile means you take dick and give dick. A Fem you just flamed broiled like burgers and a drag queen you know the drill. So I'm Vers."
"I'm James. I don't know about all this shit." I was getting angry. "I'm not with the program, dawg. You're trying me."
"Naw, dawg. What you're getting mad about? Because I turn you on?"
"You a cocky bitch."
"I know. I want you."
"I don't want you."
"Yes you do." He looked in my eyes and I damn near crawled through his because I was on fire, my dick was hot and my ass was an inferno.
"No. I. Don't."
He touched my dick and I melted. "Like I said, yes you do. Gimme that pussy, dawg. Let me be the first to pop that shit, mah niggah and stop frontin'."
Lloyd walked past me to get the jeans and he paused behind me, letting his huge dick rest on my ass for about three seconds. "Sorry," he said, apologizing. "Damn, Mama will be mad you don't buy Daddy that sweater," he said, blowing smoke up everyone's asses, making them think we were blood. It worked. He then leaned up to my ear and said, "Can I taste that dick. Come on, dawg. I want them nuts dribbling on my chin so I can blow my whistle and all a technical foul."
I saw myself sticking Grade A dick all in his ass while pulling his hair, making the ass jiggle on the pole. He looked in my eyes and I looked into his. I was nailed to the floor. Neither one of us said anything. I wanted to run and die. Why did God pick this particular moment in my life to make my body wanna be curious about the bisexual scene?
Why was I feeling this way? My dick was getting hard and I had to take a pair of pants from the rack and model them in front of me so they didn't notice.
Evading his lewd comments I said, "I made the robe/coat," I lied.
"You did?" asked Francis in shock. "Shit, make me one." He was beaming. "Damn that's hot, Son."
Lloyd said, "I'm 'bout to try these pants on. In the back. Dressing Room 3. Be there."
I looked at him and said, "Naw I'm cool, but go try on the pants and let me see how you work that shit, dawg."
He walked to the back, passing by a few females, stopping to throw some game. They smiled when he spoke, a few of them gently touched his arm. He was a rose growing with the daisies. Very smooth. Like how he gave everyone direct eye contact when he spoke to them. He had a big ass. My God. Ass, ass, ASS!
I looked at Francis and said, "I'll be right back."
He grabbed my dick at an angle no one saw but us two and said, "Knock the dust off that ass, he hasn't had any dick in about eight months."
"Why not?"
And he told me why.
Lloyd was in the dressing room, looking himself over in the ceiling to floor mirror. Ole boy, James, was right. The jeans were hot with the shirt. He lift the bottom of the shirt exposing his killer abs. Gave a faint smile, The Rock eyebrow raise. Turned to the side. The Side Profile was hot.
He wondered why Francis didn't come back there with him. Francis was his first cousin, a man he had always looked up to. He couldn't lie, when he was younger he found his cousin attractive but knowing it was wrong he never put his thoughts to action.
He used to shower with Francis when they were eleven years old. They played optimist football together and even then he found that his eyes were little roguish thieves, stealing glances of his magnificent body.
As adults, they hung out together, did everything together from fuck bitches to drinking and partying. They were more like best friends. Francis has been there for him on a number of occasions.
Especially when.
The Car. Screeching. The brakes failed. The boom. The tree. The shattered glass. The explosion. The police. The screams. The...
The door opened and James stared Lloyd deeply in the eyes. Walking inside he closed it, and locked the door.
"I want you to be my first."
Lloyd turned to face him and said, "Damn, niggah I knew you'd come."
"Make me come and shut the fuck up, niggah."
"Damn, aggressive."
"Very aggressive." James had never felt the urge to pull down another man's pants and fuck the dog shit out of him. Yet he was having these thoughts. What would his father think? His dad had been dead for thirteen years. "Can I see that ass."
"Hell yea." Lloyd turned around, facing the mirror. A rush of lust nearly making him blind, he slowly pulled down his jeans. He wasn't wearing any underwear. James' dick was a brick. Rubbing it, James was licking his lips. Lloyd's ass jiggled. Wow, niggah. Goddamn.
He walked up behind him. Started rubbing the hole. It was tight and warm. Lloyd was cooing like a thug niggah and not like a bitch. Definite plus. As a kid James had an infatuation with gangster movies and as a man he had 'em all, from Scarface (his favorite) to all the Godfather Movies. He nearly came on himself when he saw American Gangster last night at the Southland Mall Regal Movie Theatre.
Lloyd turned and gave him some tongue. Looking deep into each other's eyes. James loved to kiss with his eyes open. To see how the other party liked the way his tongue moved. His dick could move better.
Bitches gave him the nickname the Penetrator because the instant he slid it in he made many women come instantly. It was eleven inches in diameter, three and a half inches thick. Made Castro from the gay movies look like a mere mess.
Lloyd sank to his knees and pulled the Anaconda out.
"Goddamn! That's all you?"
"Hell yea. No dick pumps. All me. My Daddy was 14 inches."
"Fuck, yo!" Lloyd salivated at the mouth and his tonsils were like "Hell, yea! Do the damn thang!"
He took it into his mouth, slowly sucking on the mushroom head then taking it to the tonsils like a pro. Ole boy swallowed the entire dick whole, making James' eyes bulge out of his head.
"Jesus! Is that all in your throat?"
Lloyd looked up at him, enjoying being throat fucked. James gripped the bushy hair and was banging his hot mouth, the little anal retentive motherfucker.
James had never felt this pleasure from a man, and it was deeper, better and badder. He had stronger jaws, more suction and more passion. The heat made his legs shake. The warmth made him quiver. Lloyd was rubbing his ass.
Pulling the dick out of his mouth he turned James around, spread his ass and began tonguing him slowly, spitting on it, spreading t further, putting in the tips of his index fingers to give it more depth and he tongue fucked him. James, holding on the wall, was stroking his dick, making it harder.
"Oh, yea baby," James said. "Oh yea. Damn. Eat that shit, dawg. Mmm. Shit. Hot. Damn, yo."
His hips were twitching, his ass twirling on Lloyd's tongue. Lloyd's knees were hurting but he didn't care. He ran his tongue all over the hole, savoring the smell. Hints of Gucci cologne filled his nose. James always properly showered, ate a lot of fiber and salads and took care of his body. James had one of the cleanest dicks and asses in the country. He could wear white underwear and it never told his business because he didn’t' have any to tell.
James spun on his heel, took Lloyd by the hair and yanked him to his feet, pushing him back against the wall. "Gimme that booty, niggah. Now."
"Damn, dawg..." Lloyd was about to break. He hadn't been touched in a long time.
James gave him some tongue, said, "Take the Magnum from my pocket and put it on me. I want to watch the Ho in you take care of my dirty work," and James smiled when Lloyd got right to it, not wasting any time.
Once it was on, James bent Lloyd down to touch his toes, and he slowly put his dick deep inside Lloyd. The pleasure and the pain made me moan. "Damn, boy. You got a big ass dick."
"take that shit thug boy and shut the fuck up."
James tapped the ass from the back, making those cheeks jiggle. Lloyd started to cry, the dick was too much, too pleasurable, too goddamn good.
James was tagging it, long stroking it, leaning back and watching the tight hole slide up and down on his pole. He nearly came instantly.
Lloyd stood up, reaching back and holding James' head, throwing the ass back against the pelvis. "Give it all to me."
James was grinning, looking in the mirror.
Lloyd closed his eyes.
BOOM.
The car crash. The tree. His four year old son flying into the windshield. No seat belt. Lloyd jumped out of the car bleeding to death. His son was twitching on the glass. Lloyd was speeding. try'na look at a niggah driving a Cadillac Escalade. Got distracted. Didn't see the 18 wheeler. He tried beating his son out of the glass. Near by residents pulled Lloyd kicking and screaming from the car. Before the paramedics could save his son, when they were running up on the car, the car did the unthinkable:
EXPLODED.
The blast shook the earth and knocked everyone to the ground. Glass sheering into his neck and left arm, as well as injuring near-by witnesses, Lloyd fought everyone. Fists into different faces. His world was over, he wanted to die! Devastated, he could barely see the images before him. Vision failed him miserably. Savagely, he ran at the car and tried to throw himself into the flames. MY SON MY SON OH MY GOD MY SON HELP ME GOD GODDDD ELLLP ME GODDAMN YOU WHY YOU TOOK MY...
Lloyd pushed off James him and started punching at him, the beast exploding. He hurt for his son. He felt he failed his own child. The thoughts of looking his son’s mother in the face and lying, “The truck was speeding and it killed my son.” The lie he had to live with. Day and night. Night and Day. James, already made aware of the situation by Francis, took him and held him tightly. He didn’t know why but he gave Lloyd his heart at that moment. Sometime s a complete stranger was all one needed. Someone unattached emotionally and physically from your life to give you insight and perspective.
Snot ran from his nose, Lloyd couldn’t breathe. "God took my son. He took my boy.” His pleading eyes bared into James. James saw his soul reaching out for him. “I was looking at some niggah driving, I was turned on by him, I wanted him and I wasn't watching the road. Catching up to ole boy was more important, at the time, then my son and the fact that his seat belt wasn’t on. And out of nowhere, after I made a wrong turn, an 18 wheeler slammed into my car, sending it careening towards a tree and my son was twitching on the glass and the car exploded before...oh God!"
James held Lloyd tightly, kissing his face. Lloyd hadn't touched another man in months, because this ate him alive. He forced himself to hate men and hate himself. He blamed others for months for his bad decision that cost his son’s life, but after therapy he realized he could blame no one but himself. The constant police interrogation. Dealing with family. The lies he told. He vowed to one day find the man that took his attention from the wheel.
"Who was the man you were staring at on that day, Lloyd? Who was he?"
Lloyd looked deep into his eyes, sadly. "The man was you."
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