The Casanova: He had a perfectly flat belly with a beefy chest, all of it covered in fine black hairs. He was young, just barely eighteen, so his skin was smooth and the chest hair wasn’t quite a dense tangle of coarse fur yet; it was still silken and it ended at his shoulders. His dick was slightly visible through the gaps between his fingers, which made Emanuele’s mouth drool. Giuseppe had a square jaw with a few day’s grizzle on it, and a broad nose, with deep dimples that were apparent now, while he winced in pain while the old woman pulled on his hair.
Avery sat in his car, waiting for his stupid brother-in-law to send him a stupid text message. His sister had asked him to help out with something: giving her no-good husband a ride to his boss’ house to beg for his job back. Avery didn’t like his brother-in-law, but he did love his sister. So he agreed, and now he had to sit out here in his car and wait to get the all-clear to leave. He was about to drive off regardless. If his stupid brother-in-law wanted to get picked up again, he could damn well call and ask for another favor. Finally a text message appeared on his phone: nvrmind, thx Avary, all good. That meant Avery’s brother-in-law presumably had his job back again. Avery was glad for him, even if he did strongly dislike the man. He didn’t get why anyone would give him a second chance. He was especially annoyed that, after four years in the family, his brother-in-law still didn’t know how to spell Avery’s name. That was when Avery saw what appeared to be a naked man, climbing out of the top floor of a three-story building. The man was tall and muscular, tattooed, dark-skinned, with short hair and a handsome face. “You fuckin’ piece of shit! I’ll kill you!” A lanky middle-aged white man stuck his head out the window and screamed. Then he ran out, following close behind the black man.
The black man was Tyrell, and he had one hand over his flopping cock as he climbed down the fire escape. He assumed that would be enough to get away from the white man — husband to Tyrell’s latest conquest, whose name was Karen or Carol or something like that.
Tyrell only then saw that this husband was more limber than he seemed. He had long legs and he wasn’t fat like most of the husbands whose wives Tyrell stole. He was rapidly catching up when Tyrell dropped into the alley and ran for the street. He wished he had managed to at least grab his shoes. The pavement here was covered in sharp stones and bits of garbage, and the fire escape rattled above his head where the white man darted down after him. Reaching the street, Tyrell looked left and right, not sure where to go. A police vehicle drove past, but luckily the cop behind the wheel didn’t notice Tyrell standing there naked. Tyrell frowned. He didn’t have a cell phone or any cash on him. He had no car. He had nowhere to go. “Hey, man, need a ride?” Avery’s voice called out from his car. He waved to get Tyrell’s attention. “Hey, man, need a ride?” “Ah, shit, thanks,” Tyrell said. He darted in just as the husband came out of the alley. Avery peeled away in a hurry, and Tyrell breathed a sigh of relief. That sense of relief didn’t last long, however, before Tyrell realized he had gotten into a complete stranger’s car. He was naked, so Tyrell knew he wouldn’t be robbed — he had nothing to steal. But that hardly made this safe. He had been so worried about getting away from that husband that he hadn’t really made sure his sudden escape route was safe. He looked out the car window in time to see the husband shake his fist at the car driving away. Tyrell smirked. He glanced over at the slim black man behind the wheel. “My name is Avery,” the driver said, with a feminine lilt. “I’m Tyrell.” Tyrell sighed and rolled his eyes. “Well, Tyrell, what would you think about… playing around a bit?” Avery’s hand clasped Tyrell’s thigh. Tyrell rolled his eyes and grunted his yes. He sighed more dramatically this time. He acquiesced as Avery’s hand roamed up his well-muscled thigh. But he said, “Nah, man…” “Hmm-hmm.” Avery groped Tyrell’s thigh. “Where do you want to go?” “Ummm… there’s this place out in Crandwell,” Tyrell said. It was the only place he could think of to go. His muscles flexed wherever Avery touched him. He cleared his throat. “I’m technically between places right now. I ain’t homeless or nothin’. There’s this chick out in Crandwell who lets me keep some shit there. I got clothes I can wear — get ya hand off my dick, man.” Avery frowned. Tyrell’s cock was moist and thick, sticking to his leg. Avery had just barely brushed one hand over it to gauge Tyrell’s reaction. “Sorry. I ain’t say you could touch my dick-“ “Can you flex a bicep? You have great arms.” “No.” Avery giggled and stroked Tyrell’s bicep, which was firm even though he didn’t flex it. Avery’s hand moved lower and tweaked Tyrell’s nipple. Touching his nipple made Tyrell’s dick twitch. Tyrell assumed that Avery saw it, though Avery was actually watching the road because he got on the highway. Tyrell sighed. “Don’t read nothin’ into that, my dick ain’t gettin’ hard. I just like it when girls touch my nipples, y’know.” He chuckled throatily. “Hmm-hmm. You’re really handsome.” Avery was a little annoyed that he didn’t get to grope Tyrell’s dick. He had a nice body though, and that felt great beneath Avery’s hand — even that was disappointing because Avery had to watch the road and couldn’t really see Tyrell’s frame or his flexing muscles. “Yeah, whatevuh, man.” Tyrell looked out the window, ignoring Avery’s hand over his chest. “Can I use ya phone? Shit, nah… I don’t know nobody’s numbers.” “How about… if you let me jack you off right now, I’ll let you use my phone, you can message your friends if you want, and I’ll even buy you a new phone if you can’t get your old one back,” Avery said. “What, no shit?” Tyrell scoffed and nodded. “Hell yeah, man!” It was only a handjob, after all, Tyrell thought. He pretended it was fine. It was, really, fine, he assured himself over and over, it wasn’t even his first time with a man. There was a dude in the neighborhood he grew up in who used to jerk off virtually any eighteen-year-old who wanted a blowjob. He had been legendary, and he had throated Tyrell so good Tyrell thought he had broken his cock. But Tyrell had been incredibly horny then, plus drunk. He’d only ever been with two women at that point. He had been desperately horny, and all his friends did it too. They lined up outside the man’s door one night, coming in one by one until the neighbors complained. It would have been weird to not do it at the time. He was drunk enough that it barely mattered, he didn’t even think about it at that moment, and it had only taken about two minutes (he was young, dumb and full of cum). But he had plenty of sex these days. He don’t need none that DL shit. But Tyrell did need a phone and he ain’t want Avery to kick him outta the car, so he just closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His dick was soft and spongy because he had fucked that woman a couple times last night, and his manhood was still recovering. He grinned at the thought of that tight middle-aged pussy. He loved plowing into a pussy some other man thought was his. “You fuck with a lot of married women?” Avery asked. Tyrell scoffed. “Yeah. Guys don’t even know, you don’t own a pussy, y’know, ya gotta earn it, you gotta keep earnin’ it e’ry day. Man, white men gotta have money, ya know, but they don’t realize they females is still out fuckin’ wit’ nigga dick, ya feel me?” “Hmm-hmm…” Avery murmured. Tyrell’s dick was slow to firm up in his hand, especially since Avery was kind of awkward jacking him off in a moving car while he had to also focus on driving. He put it on cruise-control though, now that they were on the highway. “You ever let a guy on you before?” Tyrell nodded. “Once. I was younger then, don’t even try nothin’ now,” he said. “I don’t like messin’ with white dudes. That other nigga got me off real good. But there was this white dude who used to look at me all the time, man. He be hangin’ out in the shower and shit, rubbin’ my back. I know he wanted my dick. I don’t wanna let some white man have that over me, y’know, runnin’ around tell all his little white buddies ’bout the time he got some nigga-dick in his mouth. Nah. No way, nigga, that ain’t how I play.” “It sounds like you have a problem with white men,” Avery said. Tyrell’s dick was rock-hard now, veinily throbbing in Avery’s hand. A few drops of precum slipped out, lubricating him, and Tyrell sighed. Avery giggled. “I ain’t lettin’ you jerk me off neither,” Tyrell said because he could see Avery’s eyes intently staring at his dick — he knew Avery was going to try to throat it sooner or later. “Nah, I ain’t into that. Nothin’ personal, no offense.” “No offense taken.” Tyrell grabbed Avery’s hand as it stroked his dick, and he guided it up and down more quickly. “Like that, good, like that, nigga.” He sighed. Tyrell’s hips pumped, so he humped Avery’s hand just as much as Avery’s hand stroked him. He was surprised at how good the handjob really was. He’d never really enjoyed a handjob like this. He grunted and bit his lip. His breathing sped up as he tried to hump Avery’s hand harder, lifting his hips off the seat. “Damn, nigga-” He choked off his own words as pre-orgasmic pleasure surged through him. He gasped. Avery teased him by stopping, squeezing his dick but not moving his hand again — Tyrell was on the edge of his orgasm, so that made him writhe in frustration and use both of his hands to again force Avery’s hand to move once more. Avery smiled and did so, as Tyrell’s dick erupted in a torrent of cum. “Oh fuck-!” It sprayed all over his bare chest, coating his smooth brown skin in creamy goodness. Avery giggled because it just kept on coming, even though he’d fucked last night, he just had big dangling balls that were chock-full of creamy cum. His wad clung to his muscles and dripped from his pecs. “Ah, shit!” Tyrell said through gritted teeth. A few beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He couldn’t believe a simple handjob felt this good, and he hoped Avery didn’t get the wrong idea about him because of it. “Ah, nice, nigga, keep strokin’… Hmmm…” He licked his lips. “Don’t let go-” He grunted. “Stroke it real slow now, real slow…” Tyrell’s whole body undulated and he moaned, jetting out a long flow of jizz. Avery’s hand got coated in cum, and Tyrell’s dick soon was soft again, exquisitely sensitive. Tyrell’s whole body trembled as Avery kept on stroking until Tyrell couldn’t take it any more and pushed his hand away. “Good timing,” Avery said. He sucked the cum off his finger, the sound of which made Tyrell gag — girls were never that enthusiastic about cum. Avery grinned as he sucked every drop of salty, cum-drenched man-chest. He pulled off the highway into Crandwell. “We’re almost there.” “Yeah, cool,” Tyrell said. He chuckled, trying to recover his breath without looking impressed. It was just a handjob, a mandingo-nigga like himself couldn’t get excited over a handjob without blowing his rep. He heaved for air as casually as he could manage. “Cool. You better buy me that phone.”
“I will. Where’s this house you can get clothes at?”
Tyrell gave him directions to a tony neighborhood a ways off the highway. There he pulled up to a house with a pool out back. “Don’t worry, I fuck wit’ this divorced lady, she don’t need to hide nothin’.” He got out, wrapping a jacket around his waist so he could walk to the front door without flashing the neighborhood. He had no sooner stepped out, however, when a slightly haggard woman came out of the front door. “No way, Tyrell! Get outta here! My husband’s back!” “What?” “My husband’s back! You gotta go-“ A burly middle-aged white man came out from behind the house. He saw Tyrell’s mostly naked body. “What the fuck’s going on? Who are you?” Tyrell was crestfallen for a couple reasons. Most importantly, he was shocked that she had chosen her husband over him. She’d been bad-mouthing her husband for more than a year. She said over and over that Tyrell was younger, sexier, bigger-cocked, better-in-bed and just plain more charming. He was better in every way than her ex-husband. So what, Tyrell thought, was wrong with him? Why had she chosen the husband over him? Not that long ago, he could say “all I care about is smashing sum pussy” and that was true; now, Tyrell wasn’t so sure. “Huh? Whatchoo doin’, man? You best get outta here!” The man’s face turned ruddy, and he came closer. “You tryin’-a mess wit’ my wife?” Tyrell was used to messing around with nerdy white guys’ wives, not big men like him. He didn’t like retreating but he had few options. He took a step back then darted back into Avery’s car. “Drive.” “What’s happening?” Avery was confused, scared of the large white man approaching his car. “What the fuck is going on?” said the white man. “You coming at my wife, boy?” “Just drive!” Avery ripped the car into reverse and floored it out of the driveway. Luckily no one was coming on the street or Avery might have backed right into them. He peeled away towards the highway. “Shit,” Tyrell said. He sighed. “Well, fuck.” “You wanna go get that phone now then?” “Yeah, I guess so,” Tyrell said. Now he really didn’t know what to do. Now, he thought, he was technically homeless. But he didn’t say that just yet. “Do you… want to stay with me?” Avery asked. He got the feeling from Tyrell’s silence that he now needed a place to stay. Tyrell shrugged. “Do, I, uh… gotta… pay rent?” “Sort of,” Avery said with a giggle. “I only have one bed.” There was a long awkward silence in the car. Tyrell wrinkled his nose. “Fine. But you gotta buy me stuff. Not just the phone. Like I need some clothes and shit, and, uh… a toothbrush.” “Sure.” “And…” There was so much going on that Tyrell struggled to think of something nice he could demand. “Uh… nice clothes. Like real nice clothes.” “Yeah, cool.” Avery drove to the All-Mart. Since Tyrell couldn’t go in without any clothes, he stayed out in the car, while Avery went in to buy a cheap smartphone, some clothes, shoes and a few odds and ends. He was relieved to come out and find Tyrell hadn’t hotwired his car. “These clothes’ll have to do for now,” Avery said. “I’ll buy you some nicer stuff online, okay?” “Fine.” Tyrell felt better when he had some clothes on, and he quickly got to work on his phone. Once he got logged into Facebook, he could send his friends his new number. So he was involved in that and didn’t talk much, or even pay any attention to Avery’s groping of his biceps and limp cock, until they pulled into Avery’s driveway. Avery led him inside. In the house, Avery was disappointed to see Tyrell in clothes. They both kept to themselves for a little while. Tyrell needed to get his life back in order — canceling his old phone, sending desperate messages to that married woman (until she blocked him), bragging to his niggas about the white chick he had boned (which made him feel better). Avery made spaghetti — he had plenty of pasta and jarred sauce, and he figured Tyrell would like to have a big meal that was not quite home-cooked, but still plenty damn good. It was the good kind of jarred sauce anyway. “So do I gotta… you know, perform for my dinner?” Tyrell asked. Avery clucked his tongue. “No. I’m not gonna starve you, Tyrell. You can ram me later tonight, once you’ve eaten.” Tyrell was relieved. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the food. He slurped down spaghetti, noodles and the leftover Italian sausage Avery had added. Tyrell felt much better once he had eaten. He went in and took a long hot shower, which felt good too. Then he came out before bed, in time to see Avery putting on a silky bathrobe. Tyrell followed him into his bedroom, his heart pounding. He’d never plowed a man in the ass before. Tyrell fucked mainly with middle-aged white women, and while he liked to brag that he got them to give up the booty, that wasn’t really true. He’d only ever had anal sex with four women, and three of them made him quit before he even got his whole dick in there. Tyrell closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He could do this. It would be easier, he thought, if he just pretended he was with a woman. He leaned in slowly, like women liked, and wrapped his muscles around Avery. He wrinkled his nose when Avery planted his lips on Tyrell’s, but Tyrell submitted as Avery’s tongue invaded his mouth. Avery erupted in moans, stroking Tyrell’s powerful chest, which was moist with shower water. Avery figured Tyrell would feel most comfortable if Avery acted like a woman in love with him, being seduced. Avery giggled girlishly as Tyrell kissed him on the lips and the neck, then Avery slowly lowered himself to his knees. “Alright, then, man, go ahead and jerk me off,” Tyrell said with a grunt. Avery pulled off Tyrell’s towel, revealing that big floppy cock. Tyrell took a deep breath, and his cock popped into Avery’s mouth. Avery smiled around it — it was clean and meaty and he could tell it was well-used too, like a muscle exhausted after a long day of work. Tyrell fucked so many women that he got hard quickly even though he’d cum a couple times today already. It had been hours, after all, which was plenty of time for him. He put his hands on his hips, watching his dick slide down Avery’s throat. “Yeah, swallow it, boi, swallow it deep…” It was rock-hard and throbbing soon enough, and the salty taste of precum hit Avery’s lips. Avery smiled up at him, his hands roaming over Tyrell’s muscular chest. When he was ready, Avery turned around, leaned over the bed and jutted his ass up. Tyrell tried to cover up his lack of confidence, but Avery could tell how nervous he was. Tyrell wondered how much like a woman’s ass this would feel. It’s good to do this once, Tyrell tried to tell himself. Lotta niggas ram once or twice. Avery gritted his teeth as a jolt of pain hit him. Tyrell had a big dick, so even with lube, there was a little agony as that first inch or two of cockmeat pushed into him. Avery struggled, and Tyrell grunted. “Damn, boy,” Tyrell said. He’d never really worked through this kind of anal resistance. He was ginger, reluctant at first. He’d only fucked four girls in the ass and three of them gave up as soon as he hit resistance. The fourth was a major slut who took it in the ass all the time, so there had been no resistance. Tyrell slowly worked his cock in, centimeter by centimeter. His hands instinctively touched Avery’s ass, then he pulled away because he didn’t want to touch a man. Then a surge of pleasure hit him, and Tyrell moaned despite his anxiety. He found his fingers on Avery’s pert ass — which, he thought, looked and felt very much like a girl’s — spreading the cheeks. “Damn, man…” Tyrell grunted. His cock slid the rest of the way in, and they both moaned together. “Oh god… Damn, nigga!” Tyrell didn’t know anal could be like this. Avery was tight and strong and experienced, and he could take every inch of dickmeat like few women could. He wasn’t loose either; he didn’t feel like a slut. He felt amazing, and Tyrell couldn’t believe it. This, he thought, was better than any of the female asses he’d ever been in, not that Tyrell was going to admit that. He pounded away, soon losing all of his inhibitions. He didn’t even mind his chest touching Avery’s back as he rammed his dick in harder and harder. Soon he had Avery pinned on the bed, squirming beneath Tyrell’s massive body. Tyrell slammed his dick in and out, having lost his gingerness as he now realized Avery could take any amount of ramming. “Shit yeah!” Tyrell gripped his cheeks and moaned out his orgasm, surprised to see that Avery shot his own load at the same time. The smell of cum filled the air, and Tyrell sprayed his giant wad within Avery’s ass. It just kept on flowing, overflowing, dripping down and coating Avery’s thighs in creamy goodness. He had a big dick too, which Avery loved, and that meant Avery could feel its protruding veins throbbing inside him. At last, it was over, and Tyrell pulled out. He grinned, wiping sweat off his chest. “Damn, boy… Hmm, you got ass fo’ real…” “Hmmm…” Avery wanted to say something flirtatious, but he was too overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm he’d felt in a long time. He curled up on the bed and motioned for Tyrell to lay next to him. Tyrell did so. He was tired now, having barely slept the night before. He didn’t even mind letting Avery paw all over him as they settled into bed together. When I tell people about this — if I ever do — I’ll definitely tell them I made Avery sleep on the couch. The last thing Tyrell did before falling asleep was tap Avery on the shoulder. Tyrell grinned. “Hey, you wanna mess around tomorrow?” Avery nodded, bleary-eyed. “Then get ready to buy me a car.”
His name was Giuseppe. He leaned against his Vespa, his shaggy black hair, slicked back but still a tangled mess, running almost to his shoulder. He sipped from an espresso, then tossed it into a nearby trash can. Rob watched from across the street, waiting for the perfect opportunity. But it was obvious now that Giuseppe waited for someone. Rob knew he’d say no if he asked now, especially since that someone was almost certainly a female. So he watched. Sure enough, she showed up moments later. She was stunningly gorgeous, dark-skinned, dark-haired, tough-eyed and thick-lipped. She came striding down the street in heels and a slinky dress that was entirely too fancy for an ordinary day out. She looked like a mafioso’s wife, Rob thought, and she attracted the eye of the other men on the street. It looked like some would have hooted at her if not for Giuseppe, whose come-hither eyes simmered darkly Giuseppe nodded and puffed on a cigarette. The woman straightened her back as though to dare onlookers to catcall at her. But Giuseppe just nodded at her, and he glowered. The silenzio between them was gravida and crescente. Then she kissed him, and he swooned, bending her over in his arms. She clutched at his powerful shoulders and pulled on his shirt, revealing some of his coarse black chest hair. Giuseppe showed her something in the satchel he had slung around his scooter — Rob saw a bottle of wine and a block of cheese: makings of a picnic. They spoke then, passionately, words of love or ire or both, Rob suspected, words dripping with intensity — arguing their love or loving their discord, he could not tell. He did not hear their parola, however, because of the Italian folk band coming down the avenue. They were lean men in white shirts with the sleeves rolled up and navy blue trousers, dancing in sync to an upbeat tarantella they played on tambourines. Three older men, more distinguished, with flecks of gray in their dense heads of hair, accompanied them on mandolin, guitar and accordion. The music was loud, and, to Rob, pleasing. He was distracted by Giuseppe and his woman, however, who scowled at first as they were interrupted by the musicians. Then Giuseppe took her hand in his. He placed his things on the back of the motorcycle, and she coquettishly took his hand. Her shyness vanished as soon as the dance began. It was rhythmic and fluid and more than a bit sexy — Rob had eyes only for Giuseppe, but the girl attracted a crowd of her own. They kissed and stroked, reaching between each other’s legs, clutching each other’s asses and even, Rob was fairly certain, some light fingering when Giuseppe slipped a hand underneath her dress and she audibly moaned.
A couple of the buttons of Giuseppe’s shirt ripped off too, and that fur-dappled caramel chest made Rob moan along with Giuseppe’s girlfriend. Giuseppe sang then, in florid Italian, his booming voice echoing among the ancient, crumbling plaster of the Roman cityscape.
All of the cittadini who watched burst into laughter, clapping along with the band. They danced too, in singles and pairs, even trios. Men danced with women; women danced with women; men danced with men. Rob blushed when he realized he stood out, the only one in the square not dancing. The only words of Giuseppe’s song that Rob was able to discern was the repeated line: la ragazza con gli occhi come l’alba. He didn’t know what it meant (ragazza was girl, he knew that much), but he suspected it was a popular song, or adapted from it — the others sang along. Then a man offered his hand to Rob, blushing, as some other men laughed and cheered him on. The man said, “Vuoi ballare con me, mio caro ragazzo?” It was apparent his friends had got him to ask Rob to dance as a dare or a bet. But Rob batted his eyes and nodded as girlishly as he could. He loved making arousing men. This particular one wasn’t that sexy — he wasn’t ugly, he was a chef, with bits of uncooked pasta stuck in his beard hairs, in a sleeveless apron with a sleeveless shirt underneath, his big meaty arms tufted in fur. He twirled Rob, swooned him in his arms and then even kissed him on the lips as the other dancers stopped to watch. When he was done, both the pasta chef and Rob blushed as red as a pomodoro imbarazzato. Rob hugged his thick, firm back as the music died down. The tarantella band continued on. Rob was still excited. He had thought this was going to continue. He hoped to dance with Giuseppe and run his fingers through his hair. But no, it was finito, and Giuseppe had his girl over his Vespa, locking lips, like they wanted to drive away but couldn’t stop kissing. Finally he pulled off her lips. They looked into her eyes, and he spoke, his smooth voice like cigar smoke. Rob was close enough to hear now. He said, “Ho bisogno di te” and her whole back undulated as though she was about to orgasm right there on the sidewalk. She hopped onto the scooter behind him, holding onto his denim jacket. Rob didn’t think they made denim jackets like that anymore. It made him giggle. The shirt he wore underneath it was incongruously fashionable, he thought, and looked expensive — made out of silk, it was a rich violet that seeped into the dark blue of his jacket. A gold chain glimmered around his neck, the crucifix on his chest ensconced in the kinky black hairs that escaped from under the shirt. But he sighed too. He was here to jack off Giuseppe — Rob was prepared to pay for a taste of his dick. He might even get it up the backside, he thought, he was pretty sure Italians were usually okay with that. He was positive, however, that he wouldn’t get Giuseppe as long as a female was on the scene. Rob had been watching because Giuseppe seemed to be sleeping around with multiple women, many of them married — including, Rob was fairly certain, this one — so he figured sooner or later, Giuseppe would get dumped by all of them when his lies caught up to him. The scooter had barely moved an inch when it stopped short. A different, older Italian man stood in front of it. “Sei con mia moglie, stronzo!” All of a sudden, bedlam erupted. Rob eventually deduced that that second man — who was kind of a warm daddy-type, with a mustache and a bit of a belly — was the woman’s husband. Giuseppe and the woman argued with each other as well as the man, and Rob wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the woman had said she had separated from the man, so Giuseppe felt this was not his fault? Rob spoke a little Italian, but they talked all together and way too fast for Rob to understand very much of it. It was booming and loud, hands flying to make florid gestures. It didn’t seem they could possibly be understanding each other because they spoke over each other, bellowing, and even the woman’s voice somehow outshone the mens’. The men started shoving each other. The woman slapped her husband, then Giuseppe. The husband seemed about to smack her back, but Giuseppe stopped him. The men came to blows. They nearly knocked over an espresso machine attached to a nearby street vendor’s cart, but the vendor pulled his cart away at the last moment. And then, somehow, it was all over. Giuseppe’s jacket was in the street, his hair a mess, a trickle of blood down his chin, a tear in his silk shirt revealing a toned, hairy chest. Giuseppe shouted something in Italian as the man left, screaming his own list of obscenities that Rob couldn’t hope to follow. The woman was in tow. She and Giuseppe exchanged florid words, which Rob gathered were just a string of insults on either end. Giuseppe was left alone, his jacket in ruins and his shirt not much better. He scowled and took it off. His bronzed body made Rob’s dick stir. It had all taken only a few moments, and the folks who had just minutes ago spontaneously danced the tarantella together now all ignored the exchange, as though non era successo niente. Rob was the only one who seemed shocked. This, he thought, was the perfect opportunity. He walked right up to Giuseppe and spoke in English. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Rob.” Giuseppe nodded and furrowed his brow. “What do you-uh want-uh?” His hands gestured in the direction he was about to go in. His English was not very good, but it was better than Rob’s rudimentary Italian. “I wanted to offer you money. I’m sorry your woman left you-“ “It is, uh, none-uh of your business-uh,” he said. “She is a… A… how do you say?… Hor-ay? La prostituta?” “Whore.” “Whore-uh, si. She is a whore-uh.” Giuseppe spat on the ground and motioned away from himself. “It is good-uh to be away with her, yes? For her is now-uh gone?” “Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” Rob said. Giuseppe grabbed his dick through his jeans, which Rob guessed was — like the now-ruined shirt — worth a lot of money. A few beads of sweat shimmered on Giuseppe’s chest. “You-uh will offer-uh money-uh?” Rob blushed. He had forgotten to actually ask because he was imagining the taste of Giuseppe’s chest hair. “Do you want to cornhole me? I’ll give you five hundred euros and all you have to do is lie there, I’ll do-“ “You will have me-uh become-uh a prostituta like her? A whore-uh? I will not do this for any five-uh hundred-uh of euros, I want not your filthy whore-uh money-uh!” He shouted and waved his hands about above Rob’s head. Since he was shirtless, Rob was too entranced by his broad chest and thick black hair to be scared he would be violent. He licked his lips. He knew Giuseppe would do this for the right price, it was just a matter of finding it. Rob giggled. “A thousand euros.” Giuseppe was silent for a moment. “Si.” His anger was gone. He clasped Rob on the shoulder, then let go when he realized Rob was aroused, then put his arm back more gingerly. Rob smiled and kissed his bare shoulder. Giuseppe blushed. “Come on then-uh. I know a place, it is good for the making-uh of love, yes-uh. We can do also the dick-uh, si.” Rob got on the back of his scooter, smiling because he got to ride up behind Giuseppe, gripping his chest and belly and even laying his face against the sweat-dappled muscle of his bare shoulder blades. Giuseppe drove off, weaving in and out of traffic as he headed out of Rome. At first Rob was so engrossed in the firm meat of Giuseppe’s back and the hair on his chest where Rob’s hands snaked around that he didn’t notice how Giuseppe careened blindly through the streets of Rome. He went through parking lots and on sidewalks, weaving across lanes and even ignored a uniformed police officer who attempted to wave him down. Relief flooded Rob when they finally left Rome, and the urban streets gave way to suburbs and then dense wooded glens and ponds among the septet of rolling hills around the city. He slowed down a little finally then, even though the roads were empty and he could have sped up. When Rob pulled his face away from Giuseppe’s back, there was a layer of his sweat there, and it tasted bitterly of olive oil. He ran his fingers through Giuseppe’s hair too, until Giuseppe swatted his hand away. The place he went was a vineyard a few miles outside of the city. He drove his scooter to a dirt road and down to an abandoned wooden shack. There was a big vat in it and a sour smell that was not exactly pleasant, but somehow smelled good to Rob. “It is… how do you say… Aceto… it is wine, but it has spoiled?” Giuseppe said when he got off the Vespa. “Vinegar?” “Si, si, vinegar-uh, yes,” Giuseppe said. Rob had to smile — he would have never guessed what Giuseppe meant if he had said vinegar as he pronounced it: vweeneggerruh. Rob placed the smell now. It was the scent of fine vinegar, wafting from that vat. The aroma was rich and heady, filling his nostrils with warmth. Through the slats in the side of the building, Rob could see rows upon rows of grape vines that stretched off over the sunny hills surrounding this barn. The scent disappeared suddenly, replaced by acrid cigarette smoke. Giuseppe took a deep drag. He offered one to Rob, who declined at first, then thought when in Rome… and took it. He smoked for years but had quit eleven years ago. So when he lit it, he coughed a few times, earning a harsh scornful stare from Giuseppe, and then was momentarily struck dizzy by the rush of nicotine. Ah, he loved smoking. Il fumo di sigaretta è il più alto risultato di aria! For a moment, Rob basked in the warmth of the cigarette smoke. Giuseppe uncorked the wine he had brought for the picnic. He took a long drink from it and passed it wordlessly to Rob, who drank as well. It was fine wine, thick and unctuous on his tongue. It was red, very dark, mysterious and full-bodied, possessing il sapore di mille fasci di oscurità. “Come-uh here,” Giuseppe said. His voice firm but kind. He led Rob to a grassy spot, where they sat together. The smell of grape-blossoms filled the air, mixing with the heady profumo del vino. Giuseppe smiled a little nervously. “Do you think I am handsome-uh?” His voice was smooth like a buttery pasta sauce, and it hung low in the air, resonating in Rob’s ear. Rob blushed. He took a deep drag from the cigarette. He nodded. “You’re real handsome.” Giuseppe leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Then in one smooth motion, he wrapped Rob up in one arm and laid him on the ground. The wooden floor of the barn scratched at his back. Rob wasn’t used to being seduced like this. It happened so fast there was a certain instinctual need to protect himself, and he squealed, clutching at Giuseppe’s powerful arms. Once he was on the ground and didn’t feel like he was falling anymore, Rob kissed Giuseppe on the lips. Giuseppe was slightly hesitant. Rob only really got cornholed by alpha males, who did not normally kiss him, certainly not as part of a passionate make-out session. But Giuseppe had never been with a woman he didn’t “seduce”. Even when it was obvious early on that she was going to let him have sex with her, Giuseppe always went through the motions of rubbing her shoulders or feet or taking her out on a picnic or doing whatever it took to seduce her. It just felt right to him. Making love to a woman he barely knew, or making love to a woman he did know but doing it in a quick and dirty way just made Giuseppe feel like a filthy manwhore. He didn’t want to feel like that, and he didn’t want his women to feel like that either. Giuseppe had no experience making love in any other way. So he let Rob kiss him on the lips. Then he let Rob kiss a trail down his chest. That was weird for Giuseppe — he usually took the lead with his women, and he was the one who showered the other with kisses. It was strange and even a bit ticklish, he thought, to let a man do it. But soon Giuseppe was laying on the ground, feeling the barn floor beneath his back, as Rob took his handsome uncut cock out and put the tip in his mouth. He looked up at Giuseppe, who made eye contact with him and moaned. Rob cooed in desire at those deep, dark soulful eyes il colore dell’ombra del carbone. “Succhi il cazzo, per favore, ho bisogno della tua bocca su di me!” Giuseppe let out a moan. Rob couldn’t decide if Giuseppe was still being seductive or not. He had a feeling Giuseppe told girls he loved them all the time when he seduced them, and he was fighting back the urge to say that now out of pure habit. And he popped the rest of his dick into his mouth, deep-throating him the best he could. Giuseppe was uncut, which Rob thought was hot. He rammed his head all the way down, ingoiare ogni parte della sua virilità virile, figuring that Giuseppe had never been deep-throated like that. That was true, Giuseppe spent most of his love-making sessions licking his partners’ womanhoods — assaporando il sapore della femminilità and using his tongue to bring them the beatitudine assoluta. That was how a woman could be truly seduced, not just physically, but emotionally e spiritualmente too. He could make her his if he sucked on her pussy in just the right way. Giuseppe found himself experiencing an orgasm more intense than he thought possible. Without even realizing he was doing it, he had grabbed Rob’s head and held on. He slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth, all the way in, deep into his spasming throat. “Si, you are-uh… You have-uh…” Giuseppe rolled his eyes as a spasm of pleasure ran up his spine. “You have a mouth-uh, it is made of silk-uh, yes, si? I am, uh, how do you say… in love with your mouth.” He smiled down at Rob and wiped away the moisture that ran down Rob’s cheeks. jacking him off got Rob as hard as a conchiglia too. Giuseppe’s cock tasted, like his sweat, of olive oil and sunlight. It was the tastiest cock Rob had ever jacked. He relaxed his throat and trusted Giuseppe to make sweet love to his throat until that hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin. Eventually even Rob needed to take a break, and he pulled away from Giuseppe’s cock. It twitched and leaked precum down the shaft, while Giuseppe’s hairy chest muscles all flexed at once. “Baciami. Voglio assaporare il mio amore sulle tue labbra,” Giuseppe said. He gently but firmly grabbed Rob and brought his face up to meet Giuseppe’s. Again, Rob never thought Giuseppe would kiss him so much, but he didn’t even seem to mind sucking his own precum off Rob’s face. He planted his lips right on Rob’s, and Rob swooned. “Will you plow me now? Please? I need your cock!” Rob yelled out, begging as he bent over on all fours. Giuseppe’s dick throbbed above his face, while Rob still hoarsely tried to recover his breath. He kissed every inch of Giuseppe’s thighs and sucked on his body hair, and even his balls while Giuseppe recovered from his orgasm, ignoring his question. “Yes, I am ready now,” Giuseppe said, when he had regained his composure. Those deep brown eyes were so big Rob lost himself in them, wordlessly craving another kiss, which Giuseppe provided. “I will make-uh sweet and sugared-uh love upon you, my darling-uh.” Giuseppe enjoyed the lovestruck look on Rob’s face — it felt just as victorious and triumphant as when he made a woman look like that. He had conquered Rob just as he had conquered so many females e li sedusse completamente. Giuseppe stared at his own spit-dripping cock, waiting for himself to calm down enough that he could stick it in without blowing his load right away. He gave it one stroke with his own hand and groaned. He had never felt so horny. He just wanted to get his cock back in a tight, moist hole, and he didn’t care whose. “I will make-uh you feel like-uh… how do you say?… A hundred-uh dollars-uh!” Giuseppe tried to say that with a cowboy accent, like John Wayne, but it wasn’t very good and Rob didn’t even notice that he was affecting an accent. Giuseppe decided he was ready as Rob displayed his bare ass and spread his cheeks — which Giuseppe assumed Rob did only because he was so turned on by Giuseppe’s John Wayne impression. Keeping a firm, flat smile on his face, Giuseppe gulped but pretended not to be nervous. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t pervy if he was on top — if Giuseppe weren’t so successful with married women, he’d have probably done this multiple times by now, so really, he thought, his lack of practice signified that he was more manly than those mafioso and thugs who did it on a regular basis. Giuseppe tried to convince himself of that, unsuccessfully, as he blushed and awkwardly wedged his cock between Rob’s cheeks. He took a deep breath. Before he could start plowing, Rob turned his head and kissed Giuseppe on the lips once more. “Stick it in me!” Rob said, desperate for it to begin. “I will-uh enter-uh you now. You will feel-uh much of the pleasure-uh…” By now, Giuseppe was so aroused to begin with that he kissed back without a second thought — on the mouth this time, with tongue, and with his hands caressing Rob’s body where his tits would be if he had any. He plunged his tongue between Rob’s lips. His arms caressed Rob’s body and spread his asscheeks. A jolt of pain shot up Rob’s spine, but it lasted only a moment, just long enough to bring the pleasure it came with to the forefront of Rob’s spine. It had been a long time since any man made him feel like this. He wanted to both cry and beg for more allo stesso tempo. He clutched Giuseppe’s well-muscled forearm for support. Rob quivered just like a girl did when she wanted to get fucked so bad she could taste it. Giuseppe grinned. He loved bringing girls to this state, and, it seemed, he was so sexy he could do it to a man too. Giuseppe thought he should be famous on account of being so prestante. “Vedi, io sono l’ultimo amante del mondo.” He slid his dick in. When Rob let out a long, loud moan, Giuseppe again assumed his dick was exceptional and that that was why it felt so good to Rob. He smiled with pride as Rob’s whole body writhed beneath him, and Giuseppe could see the pressure and agony turn to bliss as his dick teased Rob’s prostate. “Ah, si… Open your bottom-uh…” Giuseppe crooned into Rob’s ear, making Rob cringe and moan. “I will fill you up with love-uh…” Rob was on all fours, so he couldn’t jack himself off because he used both hands for support. But he could lift his head and lean back, so he could kiss Giuseppe as he got rear-ended. Giuseppe supported his chest with one arm, giving Giuseppe perfect access while making Rob unable to do more than writhe in sync with his penetration. Actually there was one other thing Rob could do, as his desire to cum built up to explosive levels: He grabbed Giuseppe’s hand and brought it to his cock. Giuseppe didn’t hesitate. He didn’t know if a reacharound was a normal macho thing to do or not. Probably not, he thought as his hands wrapped around Rob’s shaft. Almost certainly not. But in the heat of the moment, it seemed decente. Giuseppe was bragging to himself about how much pleasure he was bringing Rob, so it made sense. He had heard men in prison talk of pleasing their “prison wives” with a reacharound, and in the Italian military, officers were allowed to cornhole recruits so long as they gave a reacharound (or so the rumors suggested). Giuseppe thought it might be normal in America too. It might even, he decided, be something John Wayne would do. So he did it. He gripped Rob’s cockshaft and stroked it, somewhat awkwardly because he had never done that, never even touched a limp dick besides his own, much less a stranger’s. He might have lost his nerve to keep stroking if they hadn’t reached a climax moments later. As soon as he touched Rob’s dick, Rob’s prostate exploded within him, sending pangs of pleasure up Rob’s spine. Rob cried out and went back to all fours, but this time Giuseppe went with him, pounding away and stroking him off. Rob shot his wad into the dirt, ending up on his side as Giuseppe plowed in with all his potenza. “Oh god!” Rob cried out. He dug his fingers into the soil, bringing up clods of dirt as the most intense orgasm of his life wracked his body. Cum flowed within Rob, who sighed. He loved that feeling, a man’s heavy balls filling him up, the sensation of creamy cum seeping into his flesh. He became Giuseppe in that moment, as he felt his dick turn all moist and cummy, still rock-hard where it throbbed within Rob. And then it was all over. Rob gasped for air. His own dick was done, and he felt his climax draining away. Giuseppe’s dick still shot the last few drops of cum before it too limpened inside him. Giuseppe didn’t pull out until then. “Damn…” Rob said. He leaned back, spread-eagled, on the dirt. Giuseppe kissed him on the lips once more, then stood. “That was good-uh, si? You will pay?” Rob nodded. “Yeah. Hand me my pants.” Giuseppe did so, and Rob counted out the money: un migliaio di euro. Giuseppe took the cash. “You are… You will be in Rome-uh for some time-uh?” “No,” Rob said. He yawned and stood, stretching his legs before putting his clothes back on. “I’m leaving soon. I’m going back home, to America” He ignored Giuseppe’s annoyed expression — Giuseppe was not used to people breaking up with him. Giuseppe might lose interest, or a husband might come into the picture, or a woman might be forbidden by her father to see him, but Giuseppe was not dumped. That had literally never happened, and Giuseppe’s mind raced to comprehend it. But Rob was ready to move on. He’d had his fill of Italy, and he was ready to return home.
Tyrell Brickley is an ex-con and a die-hard Blood.
Description
He got bigger in prison. He ain’t even really mean to, but there ain’t jack-shit to do there but lift weights and wag about ladies, so now Tyrell’s thickbody felt like a ugly shell surrounding the handsome young man who got arrested years ago… He been heavyset — he was a champion football player before his arrest — but in prison he got stacked like a iron rack, and he moved like his heft ain’t all fit on him, like his skeleton struggled to keep up with his muscles. His wide, powerful ass was wedged into the tight boxers he brought out from prison with him.
Tyrell was a popular local football star before his arrest, so the chicks kept coming. He could at least get a handjob, often a blowjob, in the visitation room, as long as he kept it low-key. But after about six months, the visitations decreased, and Tyrell discovered it was impossible to remain a popular local football star if you was neither local nor a football player no more. His girlfriends eventually stopped coming to see him entirely, and soon enough, they even stopped taking his (very expensive) phone calls. Tyrell was popular when he got to prison, with girls begging for a chance to see him, a lawyer promising fruitful appeals and a gang (the Bloods) welcoming him with open arms. But now that lawyer be saying only that the appeal ain’t fruitful and sent him a bill. The gang steady gave him tasks that was difficult, dangerous and not at all fun. And the girls stopped coming by entirely. So Tyrell was alone, surrounded by his Blood comrades yet lonesome like a lost sheep.
Tyrell Brickley was lifting weights at work. Lipsweet maintained a gym, locker room and shower for the bouncers to use. Mr. Gregarian wanted his bouncers to keep fit and strong, and he knew that, if the club had a reputation for bouncers hanging out there all the time, troublemakers would be more apt to stay away. That was important because Mr. Gregarian sometimes stored large amounts of drugs, guns, pornography, illegal immigrants, etc., there. The well-known presence of bouncers lifting weights in their off time hopefully kept away holdup boys, even during the days and mornings when the club was closed. The gym was small and cramped, but Tyrell preferred working out there to a real gym. There were women at a commercial gym, which meant he couldn’t workout shirtless, or even in shorts and a sleeveless shirt at some gyms, because it would scare off the nice women. They didn’t let you hit on women at normal gyms.
He didn’t mind Tyrell’s rock-hard biceps though. He was so firm he was like a sculpture, a warm, meaty sculpture that smelled of coconut lotion and shea butter, strongly enough to overwhelm the yeasty toilet-hooch scent that filled the backa the narrow cell… Tyrell was easily the biggest swinging dick in the cell. And he had the biggest swinging dick in the cell, probably the whole prison. It was like a cricket bat between his legs, and it was fat and juicy. Desmond used to sit and play with it for hours while Tyrell dozed or lifted weights or sold toilet hooch.
One of the ex-cons came outta the bathroom then, wearing just a towel — Tyrell, a big-ass Blood with a hard face, taciturn eyes and a thousand tales in the tats across his muscles
Tyrell bin getting bigger cuz he spent lotta time in that steel cage lifting pillowcases filled with canned peaches, and he done growed from a big-ass nigga to a pecan powerhouse of steel. He was well past six and a half feet tall and built like a steamship, with a big bulging chest as hard as iron and smokestack arms… Tyrell got a six-pack and everything — he struggled to get enough food in prison, since he ate so much. He spent a lot of his money on food in the last two weeks — he bin saving it so he wouldn’t run out, and when his release date came closer, he splurged. So he done gained fifteen pounds in those two weeks, and he could feel it straining his skin. He worked out every day during his incarceration and ain’t had enough protein to grow to his max capacity, until he bought all them canned sardines and his triceps, shoulders and thighs expanded.
Tyrell bin getting bigger cuz he spent lotta time in that steel cage lifting pillowcases filled with canned peaches, and he done growed from a big-ass nigga to a pecan powerhouse of steel. He was well past six and a half feet tall and built like a steamship, with a big bulging chest as hard as iron and smokestack arms.
Tyrell was muscular as anyone Desmond had ever seen in person. He had a perfect body, and he didn’t mind Desmond touching him — the others did too, niggas were all over Tyrell most days. Tyrell was handsome like a rapper… He was so firm he was like a sculpture, a warm, meaty sculpture that smelled of coconut lotion and shea butter.
He was a younger man then though, and he ain’t look as tough as he did now. Back then he got a smooth face and a voice like molten butter, and he was big enough that the girlies got they booties bothered but not so big that he made them scurry away like snitty cockroaches. Now he was too big. Now, he did make them scurry away. Being poor and low on the dole was exhilarating and hot for a young buck. But Tyrell ain’t a young buck no more. He could still smile like a fool, but he was too old, too big and too rough to chat up nice girls on the street. His face got harder — he was still round-faced and decked in dimples, but he got this hard-edged piggish look now. His muscles was perky and smooth and young before, heavy but grippable. Now he was rigid and harsh like a stack of lead weights that don’t fit in they rack. He told himself that wasn’t permanent. It was only cuz he just got released yesterday. He still had a prison-starved aura, he thought. Nice girl-folk could sense that. He still smiled up nice. He still had all the qualities that ladies liked before. He just needed to blow a nut in a female, he decided. Once he was relaxed, he’d be able to toss game just like high school.
The most important thing was to find a female, to know that prison ain’t ruint him like a old head with institution on the brain, always on the lookout for someone to give him permission to piss. He wasn’t like that, like Thumper, this old nigga he met in prison, he was a prison-thickened nigga, and Tyrell been telling hisself since he met him that he would never be like Thumper.
The man was tall and muscular, tattooed, dark-skinned, with short hair and a handsome face… Tyrell was younger, sexier, bigger-cocked, better-in-bed and just plain more charming. He was better in every way than her ex-husband.
Tyrell was not cute like a teenager like Davon was. Tyrell looked a little meaner, a lot tougher, a bit older. But he was nice like Buck, maybe even nicer — he wasn’t friendly like Davon, but Tyrell was nice enough to talk to. And he had giant arms like Buck, and creamy brown skin with a bunch of faded prison tats. So Simon waited until Tyrell had a spare moment, after two o’clock in the morning on a busy Friday night. Tyrell was by the door, checking IDs, broad chest filling out his shirt. He had big fleshy arms, the biceps stretching the fabric of his button-down shirt. He grunted at each patron, not talking to them like Davon did.
The black one was Tyrell, and he was cute, like he should be an older brother in a Disney movie. He’d seem tough but he’d bust out homespun big-bro wisdom.
The cuckolding mandingo was tall, dark-skinned and heavily tattooed. He had a scruffy chin, and he wore a Baltimore Ravens baseball hat cocked sideways on his head. His loose jeans were around his ankles. His heavy body jiggled in rolling, undulating waves as he fucked Deborah, each muscle moving in sync with the others as though it took every muscle in his body to plow her.
Tyrell the Mandingo: Tyrell is outta prison again, and he’s back to Baltimore. He hopes to nab some women, but he just might end up getting down and dirty with men instead. He’s desperate to ensure nobody sees him as a booty bandit, even if that’s exactly what prison life turned him into, so he’ll get his rocks off one way or another! Can he keep his booty-bandit secret and still get his jollies off?!
Tyrell the Ex-Con: Tyrell is outta prison again, and he’s gonna do what it takes to survive these mean streets… even if that means giving a pounding! He’s been locked up a long time, so he’s learned a thing or two that just might shock any fool who’s never been inside. But can he make the transition to free life?
