BBC at the Disco
By D.O.
celliophonic@yahoo.com
Yahoo! Groups
February 15, 2010
My eyes met his from across the sweaty, crowded dance floor. The ebony stud had caught my attention almost immediately, and apparently I had caught his as well. His bald, black dome was shining under the rotating disco ball. He was clearly a top and a daddy. So big and burly and masculine, his muscles straining to escape the confines of the skin-tight royal blue Hilfiger T-shirt. He looked to be at least twenty years my senior but he was in fantastic shape. He stood about six foot three or four and looked to be around two hundred thirty five pounds of rock solid physique. He looked like he just stepped out of an interracial porn video. Kinda mean looking and decidedly dominant. I gulped as his eyes captured mine with a smoldering gaze, melded with predatory aggression. His smile came across as both warm and inviting and as an arrogant sneer. A man who knew who he was and what he wanted……and perhaps more importantly, how to get it.
I shouldn’t have even been in the place. What the hell was I doing in a gay dance club anyway? I was 28, straight and just coming off a broken engagement a few months previous. Somewhere along the way during my avid porn-surfing online, I must have come across some interracial porn and really enjoyed seeing those white girls getting it long and hard from the hung black dudes. Then I accidentally (I keep telling myself) stumbled upon interracial gay porn and I was hooked. It was then that I realized that when I had been jerking it to the straight black-on-white shit I had been watching, I was really imagining myself as the female, taking everything those brothas could dish out and then some. From then on I couldn’t get enough of fantasizing about Mandingo dick. The length, the girth, the wicked curve, the hot and sticky cumshots. God I was addicted to the thought of being a black man’s plaything! But surely I could never, would never actually go through with such an idea. I was fucking straight, after all. I fucked girls, loved pussy and tits.
Yet here I was, inside Club Desire, the swankiest gay hangout in town, nursing a gin and tonic. I was wearing a black handkerchief with a white stripe on it just peeking out from the right pocket of my tight fitting blue jeans. It was meant to signify that I was into black tops, I guess. At least that’s what I had read somewhere. I was scared shitless that someone would see it and approach me, even though, deep down it’s what I wanted more than anything in the world. The music was thumping mercilessly, the volume certainly too loud. I was getting a headache. I looked back up at the black guy across the room, a good thirty yards away. Except, he wasn’t thirty yards away anymore. He was almost upon me, not more than fifteen feet. Seconds later I gasped as he swooped in beside me, settling himself at my table without asking permission, as if he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. It was then that I noticed a white lace kerchief tied around his huge left bicep. I searched my mind, struggling to recall all of the gay hanky codes. My eyes widened as I remembered it was to indicate that the wearer was into white bottom-boys. Shit! Now what the hell was I going to do? I had just been getting ready to leave, recognizing a bad plan when I saw one. But then he spoke.
“Can I buy you another drink, sweetie?” His voice was deep, thick like I imagined chocolate marmalade would sound if chocolate marmalade had sound and he annunciated his words slowly and with an authority that suggested he was in total control of the situation. I was suddenly very uncomfortable and I moved to excuse myself. I responded back to his question. “Uhh, I’m really sorry…sir. I think I made a big mistake coming…in here……tonight. I’m actually…not…really…I’m not really……gay. Actually.” I was stuttering my words, sounding like an idiot. I could feel my face turning red with embarrassment and I was quietly thankful for the dim lighting in the place. Suddenly, I felt his brawny paw covering my hand that was still resting on the tabletop. The strength and power in just that single hand had me practically swooning and I felt my knees and stomach both turn to jelly. “But I just got here, sweetheart. I’d like to talk a while… How’d that be?” He just about purred the words and I found myself slightly annoyed at his calling me ‘sweetie’ and ‘sweetheart’ but my heart was hammering in my chest so hard, I could scarcely even focus on my irritation and I let it slide without protest.
“I guess……it’s OK…for a couple minutes. But I’m not really…into guys. I thought for…a second…that I might be……” He smiled again, a slightly evil grin and I didn’t quite know how to read it… or him. He signaled the scantily-clad boy server for another of what I was having and continued on with the conversation, never missing a beat. “Relax, baby. I know you’re not into…guys… Just black men.” He emphasized the word ‘men’. “I’ve known plenty of boys like you. I can always tell when a white boy is looking for a big, black daddy…” His eyes flashed with a sultry and welcoming danger. I could not look away from his gaze, no matter how I tried. “What’s your name, boy?” I could tell he expected an immediate answer and for some reason felt oddly compelled to please him. “Uhh…um…it’s Shawn, sir. Shawn Helmho…” I stopped myself before I revealed my last name. “Just Shawn.” That arrogant smirk fell across his features again as he repeated my name back to me. “Shawn, huh? Well Shawn, I’m Malik. My name comes from Arab royalty and several of my ancestors were conquering war leaders. I guess you might consider me……a conqueror of sorts…” His eyes still held mine in an unwavering gaze, hard and filled with power… and something else. I kept telling myself I didn’t know the look, but in truth I knew all too well. I had given it to many women I had dated through the years. It was lust, craving…desire. And it scared the shit out of me. I had never had a man look at me like that. Now here was this man, this black man, old enough to be my father, staring at me with an animalistic hunger in his eyes. I felt my breath coming in short gasps. What the fuck was I doing? I couldn’t go through with this. Jesus! I was straight! Straight! I was screaming at myself in my mind. But all I could do was stare into this man’s eyes, allowing him to bore into my soul. His hand was stroking mine on the table, just a light feathery touch that belied the utter control in his contact. “When did you break up with your wife…? Girlfriend?” He asked the question so smoothly; I didn’t even realize I was answering back. “Fiancé…actually. Almost got married… She broke things off a few months ago.” Malik smiled a little and chuckled as he lifted his drink to his lips. It smelled like bourbon. I hadn’t even realized the waiter had brought us drinks. “Now wouldn’t that have been a damn shame. Wasting a fine ass like yours on a woman…” I felt myself go red with shame again and I realized he could tell. “You blush real pretty, baby boy. You want to maybe get out of here, go somewhere a little more……private…?” He left the question hanging in the air, all the while holding my gaze in his, undeterred by my shyness.
By D.O.
celliophonic@yahoo.com
Yahoo! Groups
February 15, 2010
My eyes met his from across the sweaty, crowded dance floor. The ebony stud had caught my attention almost immediately, and apparently I had caught his as well. His bald, black dome was shining under the rotating disco ball. He was clearly a top and a daddy. So big and burly and masculine, his muscles straining to escape the confines of the skin-tight royal blue Hilfiger T-shirt. He looked to be at least twenty years my senior but he was in fantastic shape. He stood about six foot three or four and looked to be around two hundred thirty five pounds of rock solid physique. He looked like he just stepped out of an interracial porn video. Kinda mean looking and decidedly dominant. I gulped as his eyes captured mine with a smoldering gaze, melded with predatory aggression. His smile came across as both warm and inviting and as an arrogant sneer. A man who knew who he was and what he wanted……and perhaps more importantly, how to get it.
I shouldn’t have even been in the place. What the hell was I doing in a gay dance club anyway? I was 28, straight and just coming off a broken engagement a few months previous. Somewhere along the way during my avid porn-surfing online, I must have come across some interracial porn and really enjoyed seeing those white girls getting it long and hard from the hung black dudes. Then I accidentally (I keep telling myself) stumbled upon interracial gay porn and I was hooked. It was then that I realized that when I had been jerking it to the straight black-on-white shit I had been watching, I was really imagining myself as the female, taking everything those brothas could dish out and then some. From then on I couldn’t get enough of fantasizing about Mandingo dick. The length, the girth, the wicked curve, the hot and sticky cumshots. God I was addicted to the thought of being a black man’s plaything! But surely I could never, would never actually go through with such an idea. I was fucking straight, after all. I fucked girls, loved pussy and tits.
Yet here I was, inside Club Desire, the swankiest gay hangout in town, nursing a gin and tonic. I was wearing a black handkerchief with a white stripe on it just peeking out from the right pocket of my tight fitting blue jeans. It was meant to signify that I was into black tops, I guess. At least that’s what I had read somewhere. I was scared shitless that someone would see it and approach me, even though, deep down it’s what I wanted more than anything in the world. The music was thumping mercilessly, the volume certainly too loud. I was getting a headache. I looked back up at the black guy across the room, a good thirty yards away. Except, he wasn’t thirty yards away anymore. He was almost upon me, not more than fifteen feet. Seconds later I gasped as he swooped in beside me, settling himself at my table without asking permission, as if he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. It was then that I noticed a white lace kerchief tied around his huge left bicep. I searched my mind, struggling to recall all of the gay hanky codes. My eyes widened as I remembered it was to indicate that the wearer was into white bottom-boys. Shit! Now what the hell was I going to do? I had just been getting ready to leave, recognizing a bad plan when I saw one. But then he spoke.
“Can I buy you another drink, sweetie?” His voice was deep, thick like I imagined chocolate marmalade would sound if chocolate marmalade had sound and he annunciated his words slowly and with an authority that suggested he was in total control of the situation. I was suddenly very uncomfortable and I moved to excuse myself. I responded back to his question. “Uhh, I’m really sorry…sir. I think I made a big mistake coming…in here……tonight. I’m actually…not…really…I’m not really……gay. Actually.” I was stuttering my words, sounding like an idiot. I could feel my face turning red with embarrassment and I was quietly thankful for the dim lighting in the place. Suddenly, I felt his brawny paw covering my hand that was still resting on the tabletop. The strength and power in just that single hand had me practically swooning and I felt my knees and stomach both turn to jelly. “But I just got here, sweetheart. I’d like to talk a while… How’d that be?” He just about purred the words and I found myself slightly annoyed at his calling me ‘sweetie’ and ‘sweetheart’ but my heart was hammering in my chest so hard, I could scarcely even focus on my irritation and I let it slide without protest.
“I guess……it’s OK…for a couple minutes. But I’m not really…into guys. I thought for…a second…that I might be……” He smiled again, a slightly evil grin and I didn’t quite know how to read it… or him. He signaled the scantily-clad boy server for another of what I was having and continued on with the conversation, never missing a beat. “Relax, baby. I know you’re not into…guys… Just black men.” He emphasized the word ‘men’. “I’ve known plenty of boys like you. I can always tell when a white boy is looking for a big, black daddy…” His eyes flashed with a sultry and welcoming danger. I could not look away from his gaze, no matter how I tried. “What’s your name, boy?” I could tell he expected an immediate answer and for some reason felt oddly compelled to please him. “Uhh…um…it’s Shawn, sir. Shawn Helmho…” I stopped myself before I revealed my last name. “Just Shawn.” That arrogant smirk fell across his features again as he repeated my name back to me. “Shawn, huh? Well Shawn, I’m Malik. My name comes from Arab royalty and several of my ancestors were conquering war leaders. I guess you might consider me……a conqueror of sorts…” His eyes still held mine in an unwavering gaze, hard and filled with power… and something else. I kept telling myself I didn’t know the look, but in truth I knew all too well. I had given it to many women I had dated through the years. It was lust, craving…desire. And it scared the shit out of me. I had never had a man look at me like that. Now here was this man, this black man, old enough to be my father, staring at me with an animalistic hunger in his eyes. I felt my breath coming in short gasps. What the fuck was I doing? I couldn’t go through with this. Jesus! I was straight! Straight! I was screaming at myself in my mind. But all I could do was stare into this man’s eyes, allowing him to bore into my soul. His hand was stroking mine on the table, just a light feathery touch that belied the utter control in his contact. “When did you break up with your wife…? Girlfriend?” He asked the question so smoothly; I didn’t even realize I was answering back. “Fiancé…actually. Almost got married… She broke things off a few months ago.” Malik smiled a little and chuckled as he lifted his drink to his lips. It smelled like bourbon. I hadn’t even realized the waiter had brought us drinks. “Now wouldn’t that have been a damn shame. Wasting a fine ass like yours on a woman…” I felt myself go red with shame again and I realized he could tell. “You blush real pretty, baby boy. You want to maybe get out of here, go somewhere a little more……private…?” He left the question hanging in the air, all the while holding my gaze in his, undeterred by my shyness.
