Coming Soon: Sex, Checks, and Videotape: Volume 1!!!!!(Excerpt)

There Kevin stood, sex feet two inches tall, light caramel complexion, goatee, looking like Montell Jordan with a bald head. Lord have mercy this muthafucka is fine!  I couldn’t stop staring at him. He winked at me, and I almost shit in my pants. He is feeling me? Oh my God!  I thought to myself. He was dancing with this sexy, dark brown skinned shorter guy named Trey, so I figured he was just flirting with me because he saw how nervous( and stalkerish in my staring at him) I was.

 I walked away, put some cold water on my face, and wiped off to cool myself down.  Then a voice from behind me shook me to my core.

“You didn’t have to run off like that. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to dance with me”, a baritone voice whispered in my ear. It was Kevin.  Staring directly in my eyes, he looked through me like a freshly cleaned glass. His eyes were warm and friendly, and he smelled even better.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to wipe my face. I was sweating a lot”, I said nervously,lying.

“Your face looks fine to me. My name is Kevin, and you are?” he replied.

Perfect. This gorgeous man pursuing me, wasting no time, assertive but not too aggressive, suave, and yet gentlemanly. I had been getting a few, “ What’s up. Do you wanna fuck?”’s already, and I wasn’t about to tolerate another one, even if he was  phyner than  a bottle of 1956 Don Perignon.

“Hassan here, nice to meet you Kevin”, I said, this time letting my hands out of my pockets to shake his. He had a firm grip, but surprisingly small hands. Small hands, equals small dick, I thought to myself. He made me even love pronouncing my own name to him. I had legally changed my name from Jason as a teenager, due to my Muslim conversion.

“So, you never answered my question?” Kevin said, with a raised eyebrow and a smile.

For a second, I got lost in his smile. Wow, this guy takes amazing care of his teeth. Peering up at him from my momentary dental daze, I came back to reality.

“What question is that, Kevin?” I replied coyly.

We were now two men standing in the bathroom of a club, making eyes at each other, holding conversation, while guys walked in and out of the stalls
.

“ Will you dance with me, Hassan?” he repeated with a more forceful, yet playful tone.

Despite having two left feet, I agreed. We danced for hours to songs such as “Everybody Wants to Be Somebody” and “Keep Pushing on”, club classics. We danced to house remixes of some of my favorite songs, Michael Jackson’s “Scream”, Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy”, and many, many more. My friends were stunned to see me having so much fun with anyone. They were calling me “Two Hand Hassan”, a glaring reference to my having both of my hands stuffed into my pockets in a nervous tizzy.

Kevin and I exchanged pager numbers,( I was still living at home with Mom for the summer, while on summer break), and agreed to chat the following day. Is he The One? I asked myself. The following day, I looked in my pockets . I had accumulated six numbers the night before, and wanted to weigh my dating options immediately. Kevin was obviously at the top of the list, but nothing was ever certain. As I unfolded the slips of paper and napkins that contained the numbers of Reggie, Chris, Kevonte, Darnell, Lamar, and Kevin, I counted only five numbers.

Reggie? Check. Chocolate sexy cutie.

Lamar? Check. Brown skinned, slim, but gave me “thug” vibes. Check.

Kevonte? Young dude like me, but sexy as hell. Check.

Chris? 40 year old muscle dude that put my hand on his dick? Check.

Darnell? Brown skinned, average looking but sweet. Check.

Wait…

Oh NO!

Oh…My…God….

I lost Kevin’s number!!!!!!!!!!

I sat on the bed, despondent, pissed at myself for losing the number of the one guy in the club I wanted to talk to the most. How could I allow this to happen? How irresponsible was that? What would happen if I see him again and he asks me why I didn’t call him? Was this an ominous sign from God that I should stay away from him? I racked my brain for 30 minutes, scouring through the lint in my pants pockets to see if I merely misplaced the number in one of the many pockets of my pants.

Nope.  Nothing.

I laid on my bed, saddened, wishing that I had been more prudent in my care of this caramel cutie’s number. As I got up to fix lunch, my pager went off. I was in such a foul mood, I was not up for catty conversations from any of my friends about my first night at the club. My maiden voyage had been an unqualified success.  None of that mattered to me, however, as my top priority was dashed, presumably laying on the ground outside the club. I fixed the turkey and cheese sandwich with Miracle Whip and sauntered back into my room, ready to eat my sorrows away. My pager kept buzzing, as I had not even bother to look at it.  Finally I grabbed it as the vibrating sensation began to annoy me. It was Daryl, one of my friends that took me out. Get this over with, I thought. I picked up the phone and called him.

“Hey girl!” he shouted, in his usually loud, shrill voice.

“Hey Daryl” I replied, munching on my sandwich, waiting for him to recap the evenings events in as flamboyantly, and stereotypically, as gay a manner as possible.

“Girl, you debuted at the top of the charts bitch!” he shouted.

 I couldn’t help but laugh at his quick witted retorts. His gift of gab was legendary throughout Chicago, and he took me under his wing right away, after we met off of a local partyline. We met, decided we would be friends( he was not cute at all to me, but I loved his spirit). He was also king of gossip, so I wanted to run the names of all the guys I met from the night before through his “dick database”, his internal storehouse of gossip, scandal and dirt he had on most of gay Chicago. He was almost always right if the dirt was bad. I proceeded to put my sandwich down, and get to the nitty gritty.

“Alright bitch, what’s the tea on Chris, the older guy I met? You know, Mr. Muscles?” I quizzed.

“Chile, that old queen  stays cruising for young boys.  His last lover was 23, and he bought the boy a car, only to find out the boy was getting fucked by his best friend!”

He remarked with a confidence that assured me that this “tea” was probably accurate.  

“ How old did he tell you he was???” Daryl asked.

“he said 40”, I replied.

“GIRRRRRL  please! She is close to 50! She got coins and dick though, from what I heard”,  Daryl said, with almost a touch of reflectiveness in his voice.

“Ok, so he is almost 50 but looks much younger than his age, he is sexy, and he has a body to die for, and prefers young men like me. These are bad things? Shit, sign me up! I’ll be a kept boy toy.. especially if the dick is big like you say it is!”, I replied, laughing. We both fell out giggling like two school kids after a practical joke.

“OK so what about-“ I began to speak, before he interrupted me.

“Who was that dude you was dancing with all night? Baby he was gorgeous!” Daryl exclaimed.

“ Oh that was Kevin. Yea he is great looking, right???” I replied.

“You better get up on that, bitch. If he is single, he won’t be for long”. Said Daryl, emphatically.

I decided to cut the conversation off at this point, having been reminded of my folly in not keeping up with Kevin’s number. Just as I was struggling to get Daryl off the phone, my pager went off again. Strange number, I thought. Must be one of the five dates I met.

“Gotta take this call”, I said to Daryl, and rushed him off the phone. For all of Daryl’s conversational ability, he did not know when to shut that trap of his. “Goodbye” meant  “we will talk ten more minutes” in his motor mouth world of shade, tea, gossip and reading. Finally, after getting his talkative self off of the phone, I dialed the number that had just paged me.

“Hello, did someone just page Hassan from this number? I quizzed.

“Yes, how is my dancing partner doing today?” the voice replied.

It was Kevin.

I tried as hard as I could to contain my excitement. I talked to Kevin while silently doing the Cabbage  Patch dance in nothing more than a pair of basketball shorts. Kevin and I talked for over an hour, moving from politics, to sports, to music, to clubbing. We clicked. The connection was immediate. We made arrangements for me to come by his North Side apartment later that evening. He wanted to cook for me, and we would watch the videotape of Philadelphia, the Tom Hanks/Denzel Washington movie about a man fired from his job for having AIDS. 

We can discuss HIV/AIDS and I can get in his head about where he was on that, I surmised. I was also no dummy. I had the hots for this guy, and the possibility of hot, nasty, raunchy sex was real and palpable. I decided to shower both right then on the spot, and then shortly before I leave later to assure that everything was squeaky clean.

That night was electric. Although neither of us fit the other’s age requirement(he was 28, while I, only 21, and we both liked men over 30), our connection was amazing.  We watched the movie, chatted, kissed, laughed, and then finally we went to his bedroom. What then ensued was more than three hours of kissing, licking, sucking, munching, slapping, and foreplay unlike any I had ever had. I sucked his dick with such intensity that I ejaculated while doing it, a first for me. We stood in the window overlooking the city, butt naked, kissing, groping, touching like Michael Douglas and Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. 

I felt utterly submissive to him, and I loved feeling that way. He didn’t just fuck me. He made love to me. My worries about him having a small dick were quickly dashed when he pulled his boxer briefs off to reveal a long, perfectly sized caramel dick that matched his skin tone perfectly. I was ambiguous about what my sexual position would ultimately be for over a year, and wasn’t big on intercourse at all. On this night, every fiber of my being wanted to please his mind, body, soul and dick in whatever way he commanded. He asked me if it was OK that he was a top, and I said, emphatically, “Hell yes. Baby just wants to please Daddy”.

 He was turned on by that, and we would fuck  for hours with him being  captivated about how, with such little experience(my hole was tight as hell), I could be so sexually unrestrained and eager to please him.

I would ride his dick, lean back(I am super flexible), and suck his pretty toes while bouncing up and down on his dick. This drove him crazy with pleasure. He then flipped me over on my back, where once again, I showed my faux-gymnast chops by sucking my own toes while he pounded me mercilessly.

  “Where did you learn how to do that??” he whispered.

“Just felt the moment and knew I could do it, Daddy. You want me to stop Daddy?” I asked softly, sensually, while gripping his dick with my hole in such a way that almost brought him to his knees.

He looked at me with such lust in his eyes, and whispered, “Hell naw. Daddy likes making Baby feel good”,and then began sucking my toes as well.  For some reason, I felt more comfortable trying these things with him than anyone before that point. The lust in me made me creative, almost athletic. Even as a bottom, I knew how to take control, and make my entire body let him know that I want that dick.

I craved it.

For the rest of that summer, I never missed an opportunity to take the hour and 15 minute trip from the South Side, to the North Side to please “Daddy".....

“Daddy” never turned it down, either.

I grew sadder and sadder as the summer ended, due to my having to go back to school that fall. I was “big cheese” on campus, and strode around with confidence and control, being one of the most popular students there. With Kevin, however, I felt weak and helpless. I was falling in love with this man, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.