It was open mic night at the quaint cafe. The place was teeming with Black patrons. The mix of African-Americans represented the variety of the microcosm. The folks worked in education, maintenance, healthcare, personal services, transportation, and business. There were people of virtually every shade and skin tone. Hairstyles ranged from wavy low top fades to freeform dreadlocks to Afros. There were individuals who practiced capoeira, the Afro-Brazilian martial art. Others were into politics or fashion or church. Many loved meat and potatoes; some didn’t eat red meat; some were vegetarians; some were total vegans. The common thread between all of them was their love of expression.
LeMaun Hassell, a probation officer, had ventured out this evening with two other students in his part-time master of social work cohort. He was not planning to get up and share anything, but Kendrich and Alisa had their slam books ready to drop some spoken word. An almond-eyed beauty with kinky reddish-brown twists, brought their drinks to their table. All three of them low-key ogled the vixen.
“I bet I could pull her first,” laughed the female of the group.
“Probably,” LeMaun agreed.
“Not before me,” protested Kendrich.
“You’re a simple motherfucker,” chuckled the criminal justice worker.
“Whatever,” the soon-to-be married dark-skinned man brushed off the comment.
LeMaun took a sip of his Irish coffee and looked towards the stage. A runty, alluring, sepia-toned guy with medium-length twists walked to the microphone. His fleshy body pranced with confidence and girlish tenacity. LeMaun sat up. In a melodious, wistful voice, the speaker launched into an emotional poem detailing the highs and lows of forbidden love. He completed his oration and the crowd burst out with applause.
LeMaun excused himself to go to the restroom. As he shook off the excess into the urinal, the door swung open. It was the short dude that had just been on stage. LeMaun flushed and then washed his hands. He took a little longer than usual. When they guy came to the sinks, he said, “Enjoyed your performance!”
“Thank you! I’m glad you liked it.”
“Yeah! That shit was deep.”
LeMaun held the door open.
“Thanks, man,” the poet said walking by him.
“Are you going back up?”
“Nah, that’s my only slot for tonight.”
“I was hoping to hear more.”
“Maybe next week.”
“Maybe I could get a personal reading?”
“Oh really,” his eyes widened.
“Yeah! Really! I’m LeMaun. Can I get your number?”
“Totally! I’m Rontay, by the way”
LeMaun rejoined his associates. He began messaging with Rontay. He learned that the extrovert was a couple years younger than him and had a degree in hospitality management. He discovered their shared affinity for home roasting coffee beans. LeMaun could not deny his attraction to the obviously kind and submissive Rontay. He decided to make a play asking if they could hang out tonight.
Rontay replied that he was sorry he could not. He had to work in the morning at the hotel. But, he asked if the tomorrow night or sometime Sunday would be good. LeMaun had plans to camp Saturday with his older brother and nephew. He let Rontay know that the could connect Sunday afternoon.
After, Alisa and Kendrich delivered their pieces, LeMaun headed home.
The next day, he tossed his backpack into the front passenger seat of his silver 2014 Dodge Charger and drove to his brother’s house.
The three guys went to a state park. There, they hiked a small way and set up a tent. They built a fire and roasted hot dogs. Young Ali was thrilled when his Uncle Maun made smores. As the night wore on, Ali’s dad put him into his sleeping bag.
The two brothers cracked open a beer. Their conversation darted between the NBA playoffs, prospective investment ideas, politics, and their mom’s mental health. Eventually, they climbed into the four-person portable shelter and went to sleep.
When they woke up, they wrapped pop-open can cinnamon rolls in tin foil and put them over some hot coals. After eating, the doused the fire and cleaned up the camp.
LeMaun made it back to his apartment just before 1:00 p.m. He sent a text to Rontay to see what was going on.
The sweet, cute dude replied quickly saying he was ready to come over.
LeMaun gave the address and then got in the shower. When Rontay arrived, he was dressed in a dark green V-neck T-shirt and gray joggers.
“Hey! Have a seat,” LeMaun gestured toward the couch.
“Thanks! How was camping?”
“It was cool. Glad to see you.”
“Why is that?”
“Cause you’re soft and dainty. Just like I like ‘em,” grinned the host with a tinge of magenta to his tawny complexion.
“Thanks,” blushed Rontay.
“I been thinking about getting in those cheeks since I saw you the other night,” admitted LeMaun.
“I was thinking about you too,” the guest confessed.
“I like your intelligence and swagger.”
“Is that so,” LeMaun checked as he leaned back with his hands behind his head and propped his bare feet on the coffee table.
“Did you wanna try some coffee first?”
“Nah! I’m okay. I wanna taste you!”
“Get to it then,” the probation officer remarked while maintaining steady eye contact and pulling out his dick.
Rontay grabbed the well-endowed prick and stroked it gingerly. He wrapped his supple lips around it and bobbed his head. Slobber cascaded down the shaft.
“Let’s fuck,” LeMaun ordered after a few minutes.
They went into the bedroom.
LeMaun fondled the broad, tubby buttocks. He placed a hand on each cheek and jiggled them. He spat in the crack and massaged it into the clenched brown hole. He licked and munched for a bit.
Then, LeMaun stood up and walked away. He retrieved a ping-pong paddle from the nightstand. He swatted the globular derriere.
Rontay’s gelatinous ass throbbed and wriggled. “Owwwwww,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He felt a few more stings from the object. He yelled everytime.
LeMaun tossed the racket aside and angled his thick 8¾-inch dick at the sub’s pussy hole. He began to push in.
Rontay hollered, “Stop!”
“Fuck that,” LeMaun boomed.
In the next door apartment, Roslyn Pegram was making macaroni and cheese in her multi purpose cooking pot. The 76 year-old widow heard some commotion coming from her neighbor’s place. She didn’t really know the young man all that well, but he usually seemed nice. However, she was worried about the woman in there with him. She picked up her cordless phone from the counter and dialed 9-1-1.
LeMaun was doing his best to ravage Rontay’s tight rectum. “Stopping running, bitch,” he barked. He grabbed a fistful of the sissy’s hair and pressed his head into the mattress. “You better take this dick!”
Rontay whined as he submitted to the savage thundering.
They heard loud, repetitive banging at the front door. A deep voice yelled, “Police! Open up!”
“Fuck,” groaned LeMaun. He pulled on his joggers and went to the door shirtless. He opened it and stood in front of the cop. “Hey, officer. What’s up?”
“We got a report of a possible domestic v******e issue. Everything okay,” checked the brown-skinned guy.
“Yeah. Everything is good,” LeMaun stated.
“Who else is in there with you.”
“Just a friend.”
“What are y’all doing?”
“Well,” the dominant top contorted his face. “We were boning!”
“Got kinda loud, huh?”
“I guess so. Seems I may be too big.”
“Hmmmmm,” the man raised his eyebrows. “Mind if I take a look around and see that your friend is okay.”
“Sure! I’m a parole officer and have a sidearm in here.”
“Can I see some I.D.?”
“Yeah! Come in. My wallet is in the bedroom. Follow me.”
“I’m Officer Griffin,” the uniformed man said to Rontay.
“Hi, officer,” the bare-chested paramour stammered.
“It’s right in this drawer, officer,” LeMaun informed.
LeMaun produced his driver license and badge.
“Very good, Mr. Hassell! Can I see your I.D.,” he looked at the guy with small, tubular man boobs.
“It’s in my jeans over there,” he pointed.
“I’ll grab ‘em,” LeMaun offered.
LeMaun pitched them to Rontay who handed his identification to the policeman.
The cop inspected it and asked, “What are y’all doing, Mr. Dent.”
“It’s okay. Mr. Hassell here says you two were having some size related complications during intercourse. Is that true?”
“Alright then. I’ll get out of y’all’s hair now. Try to keep the noise level down though.”
“Thanks, officer,” LeMaun said leading the way out of the bedroom.
Before exiting, Officer Griffin proffered, “You might wanna try a butt plug to make receiving less difficult.”
Rontay was stunned, “Okay.”
LeMaun let the Griffin out.
The cop turned around and said, “Y’all have fun. I know I would with that.”
LeMaun grinned. “Yeah!” He locked the door and returned.
“That was crazy,” giggled Rontay.
“Yeah! It was,” the host agreed rummaging through a drawer.
LeMaun went back to the bed. He demanded, “Open your mouth!” He stuffed a sock in it when Rontay complied. He flipped the well-proportioned portly bottom onto his stomach and climbed on top,
LeMaun pounded ferociously. “See, now I gotta gag your little punk ass! You so loud you got my neighbor calling the cops. You fixing to take this dick now!”
The aggressor could hear faint whimpers coming from the receptive partner. There were also sniffles and even a couple of tears running down the femboi’s face.
“Oh, yeah! Gimme this faggit pussy! This shit feels so good!”
LeMaun shot a massive load deep inside of Rontay after several minutes of callous butt-fucking. He pulled out and studied the gaping anus. He smacked the cheeks. “Hell yeah, bitch! The bathroom is down the. Go get cleaned up!”