The Champion of Diversity

When Avery has to go in for a diversity class, he didn’t think he’d be sharing it with an alpha male soccer jock. But Pierce Rippence doesn’t understand the difference between a Christmas party and a holiday party, meaning he’s in the same diversity class as Avery, leading to a hardcore conclusion bursting with man-on-man diversity-respecting action!

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Avery couldn’t decide if it was good or bad that he was the only person in the classroom. He had assumed there would be others. That was rather implied by the word “class”, after all. Otherwise, wasn’t it technically a “session”? That’s what he would have called it.
Regardless, Avery had to spend his whole Saturday learning about diversity in order to return to campus after Christmas break (or rather, “Winter Break”, as the school sternly insisted it was called). All this started because of a dumb joke he made about Puerto Rican men being argumentative.
At Goldendale Hills University, making a joke was a serious offense. Avery was hauled before a tribunal that cast judgement on him with all the fury of an angry cat lady, and he was sentenced to an entire Saturday of diversity training. An argumentative Puerto Rican might have felt stigmatized, the Vice-Dean of Student Inclusion and Indigenous Ways of Knowing had said, speaking so seriously that Avery had to hold back a laugh. Even now he giggled thinking about it.
In the classroom was just Avery and the instructor, a perky young chowder-white woman with a big smile and empty eyes. She kept staring at Avery as though he was a flower of infinite beauty unfolding with the wisdom of the ancients. Avery pretended not to notice. He wasn’t sure what facial expression he was supposed to use: chagrined, annoyed, bored, racist, ashamed, unrepentant? Nothing seemed quite right.
Finally she cleared her throat. “Okay, well, I guess you’re the only one this week. Welcome to Diversity Awareness, Acknowledgement of Harms in as to and regarding Inclusion, Surveying Inappopriate Attitudes and Combatting Social Ills, -Phobias and Intersectional Bigotries. Hot dog, that’s a mouthful!” she said that with the cadence of a joke and waited for laughter, seemingly unaware that her audience was only one or that that wasn’t a joke. Or was it? Then she laughed out loud, very loud, like she was competing with other laughers and needed to win. Avery looked around the classroom. No one was here. Had she made a joke? “My name is Margaret Sole, and today we’re going to explore what it means to be aware, diverse and inclusive. Just the two of us. That’s wonderful. That’ll really give us a chance to get into the nitty-gritty of it all.”
Avery nodded. Margaret looked at him like she was expecting a response, so he supported his head in his hands and said, “Hmm…”
“That’s right, thanks so much for that,” Margaret said. Again, her plastic cheer came across like it was aimed at some invisible supporter in the room. Avery looked around to see who she could be responding to. She didn’t have an earpiece in, and there was nobody Zooming in on a laptop or anything like that.
She cocked her head to the side. “And what’s your name?”
“Avery Flowers.”
“Avery, that’s fantastic, really it is, I love that name,” she said. She ticked a box on her clipboard with a flourish, like she really wanted someone to be impressed with the skill she used to tick off Avery’s attendance. “I love names, I really do.”
Who loves names?! Avery tried not to look disgusted at that. What does it even mean to love names?! How boring does someone have to be before that seems like a viable way to seem more interesting?
The door opened, and a frat boy walked in. He was short and athletic, and with a high-energy sort of machismo like he was making up for being short, and he must play some kind of running-based sport — maybe track and field — because his legs were like the legs of a racehorse stallion ten times his size, he could support a barge on those things. Despite that, he had the casual vibe of a hackeysack-enthused stoner, along with deep dimples and a smarmy grin. Avery instantly thought he was handsome, but he could tell that Margaret was turned off — he had that trying-too-hard charm that came from having always been the most popular, outgoing guy around. Avery wanted to taste his dick right away, while Margaret, he assumed, wanted to nothing more than to avoid getting hit on.
He was on the GHU soccer team, as it turned out. Avery didn’t follow soccer or he would have recognized him. He was well-known on campus and even off it.
That explained the calves too. The young man had legs like cannons.
“Yo, hey, ma’am, how you doin’?” He smacked his lips as though he might hit on Margaret. “I’m Pierce Rippence.” He flashed her a dimpled grin. “Hmmm… You’re a good teacher, miss, I can already tell.” He nodded hello at Avery and sat right next to him. He sat perfectly still, miming as an ‘attentive student’ for her benefit. He looked up at her with the rapturous eyes of a toddler watching his favorite teacher.
“Okay, well, thank you, Pierce,” the teacher said. “You missed my beginning spiel, it’s so important, so I’m going to go over it again.”
Avery didn’t understand that, because she hadn’t yet said any spiel or anything really. All she’d said was the name of the course and that she likes names.
But he didn’t want to say anything that might result in this class being any longer than it was, so he let Margaret repeat her “spiel”, which turned out to be the name of the class. She again said, “Hot dog, that’s a mouthful!” afterwards and again seemed to think that was a joke. She again waited for someone to respond as though it was a joke, then laughed like someone had done so. This time, Pierce looked around the room in search of someone who could explain what was amusing about all of this.
At least she didn’t re-explain that she liked names. Pierce remained forever ignorant of that fact about Margaret Sole.
Her “spiel” thankfully complete, Margaret began a whole new spiel. “Today we’re going to really come to understand what diversity and tolerance are. First off, can we talk a bit about what brought you both here to us today?”
Avery kind of zoned out then. He listened to Pierce’s explain his faux pas that led to this punishment — he had disobeyed the student government by promoting a campus party as a “Christmas party” instead of a “Winter Party”. Avery explained his dumb Puerto Rican joke, which didn’t even make sense out of context. Pierce didn’t respond, but about two minutes later he busted out laughing, turned around and said, “hey, I just got that, bro. Hilarious shit!”
The teacher frowned, her first unenthusiastic expression. “No, no, no, that was not ‘hilarious shit’. It was highly offensive to Puerto Ricans, especially those who are not argumentative. Personality traits are a highly racialized issue-“
“Uh, Miss? The Vice-Dean said it was offensive to argumentative Puerto Ricans. You say it’s offensive to non-argumentative Puerto Ricans,” Avery said.
“Yes, well…! Twice as bad then,” Margaret said.
Once the class got underway, Avery sat as quietly as possible, and he answered every question he could with whatever Margaret was looking for. While it was obvious Avery wasn’t taking this seriously, Pierce was luckily even more silly, so Avery seemed less problematic by comparison. He even filled out the “test” at the end with all of the blatantly correct answers. Pierce made a game of getting several wrong and making her explain obvious answers, like he insisted that Sri Lanka was a fictional place, like Xanadu or El Dorado, until she got out a map and showed him.
“It doesn’t sound like a real country,” Pierce said. “It sounds ridiculous. Sri Lanka.”
Avery tried very hard not to laugh. “I think I heard that too, Margaret. Like people used to think it was real-“
“It’s definitely real. It’s on the map.”
“I saw a map of Middle-Earth. Is that real?” Avery asked.
“Yep!” Pierce said. “Middle Earth is the equator. The equator is in the middle of Earth.”
“No. No, that’s made up, that’s-“
“The middle of Earth is a core of molten hot magma,” Avery said.
“Sri Lanka is definitely real,” she said. “So many people with racialized identities struggle with the validity of their homelands. It’s so important to treat these issues with respect-“
“That’s why I support the Republican Party,” Avery said. “Only the Republicans promise to fight against validity.”
“No, validity is a good thing — that’s — that’s not how-“
“My mom had validity once,” Pierce said. A smile flickered over his face. “It got real bad.”
Avery reached over to Pierce’s desk and gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”
“I think you two are being silly now,” Margaret said. “There are students in this very school from Sri Lanka.”
“Name three.”
She paused and cocked her head to the side. Then she said, “No, that’s, that’s… that’s tokenism.” She shook her head, making her blue-dyed asymmetrical haircut tremble. “And that’s bad.” She sighed deeply, then took some forms off the stack of papers attached to her clipboard. “Since you both completed the course, I’m going to give you a certificate declaring you a Champion of Diversity-“
“Yes! A certificate?!” Pierce pounded on his desk with a big grin on his face. “My niggas are gonna be so jealous-“
“No, Pierce-!”
Avery laughed harder than he had ever laughed at anything. It was a double-edged sword, because when Avery and Pierce had stopped laughing at Margaret’s relentless sputtering, they then had to sit through a supplemental course in “n-word” use. Avery very nearly refused. He’d completed the course he’d been ordered to, but he figured she would just take away his next Saturday if he raised a fuss over it. Pierce seemed to reach a similar conclusion, and he too sat through it.
This time, neither of them made jokes. Pierce must have regretted prolonging this. Still, that laugh was worth it. Avery had to hold back snickers when he thought about it.
Finally, at the end of the afternoon, after six and a half hours of training, Margaret signed both Champion of Diversity certificates and told Pierce and Avery they needed to turn it into the Student Life Center in order to lift their suspensions. Avery wanted to point out that he wasn’t allowed in the Student Life Center while suspended, meaning he couldn’t turn in the certificate without violating his suspension.
But pointing that out would only drag this out even longer, so Avery kept his objections quiet.
At last it was all over, and Avery walked out of there with his certificate of completion. Pierce did too, though Avery could tell that more jokes thrummed beneath the surface. If he didn’t have a frat party to get to tonight, he would have continued teasing Margaret.
“Hey, can I show you something?” Avery asked when they left the classroom. Margaret stayed in there as though she had clean-up to do, though nothing had happened that would require a clean-up. Avery and Pierce headed towards the front of the building. “Come on, you’ll like it.”
Pierce shrugged. He followed Avery down the stairs and into the building’s basement, where Avery knew very well there was a storage area that the janitors rarely visited. This building was entirely unused on weekends (aside from the diversity classes, apparently), so the basement was a dingy empty maze of corridors beset by the constant hum of a weary old air conditioner.
“Man, that lady was crazy, bro. Did you hear her talking about Abijorins? What the fuck was that?”
“Yeah, she was reading a thing about Australian Aborigines I think, they’re real people,” Avery said.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of Aborigines! There’s no such thing as Abijorins?”
“I don’t think so,” Avery said. “I don’t think she was very smart.”
“Of course not, bro. If she was smart, she’d have a better job,” Pierce said.
“I’m pretty sure she’s a diversity volunteer.”
Pierce stopped short. He screwed up his eyebrows. “Damn, bro. A volunteer?!”
“I know, shit’s fucked up,” Avery said. He opened the door to a supply closet. It was big and mostly empty — the only thing stored here was folding chairs, hundreds of them in long rows. Pierce looked around as though he might see something exciting, and he frowned.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
“I wanted to see if you were horny,” Avery said. He sunk to his knees. “Because you should know I can jerk you off better than any female. You looked horny in there.”
Pierce chuckled and turned bright red. “Better than a girl? Yeah, right, man.”
“Let me prove it,” Avery said. “I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“Like a date? No way,” Pierce said.
“I’ll give you cash, I just want to-“
Pierce blurted out, “Will you pay for the keg rental this weekend for my frat?”
“A keg? That’s a lot more expensive than one dinner,” Avery said. He pretended to think hard for a long time as he slowly undid Pierce’s belt and lowered his pants. “Fine,” he said. “One keg this weekend. Not Miller Lite though, because I’m coming to the party and I hate Miller Lite.”
“We don’t drink that shit,” Pierce said. “Make it Natty Bo.”
“Seriously? That’s what you drink?” Avery chuckled.
“It’s a Maryland tradition, man!”
“So’s catching crabs from a plus-size stripper. But fine, whatever, Natty Boh it is,” Avery said. He unzipped the fly of Pierce’s pants and reached in to get his dick. It was hot and moist with sweat, and Pierce sucked in his breath like he thought Avery would say no. Avery very nearly did. But he wasn’t gonna let this Saturday be that dull.
Pierce’s cock popped out the fly of his sagging pants, and Avery kissed it on the tip. Pierce closed his eyes and turned his baseball cap around backwards. He wrinkled his nose and spread his legs like he was preparing for a fight. He grumbled to himself as the flavor of his musty cock assaulted Avery’s senses, and Avery ran his tongue up and down the shaft.
“Hmmm… That does feel pretty good, bro,” he said. “But girls are still better-“
“I’m just gettin’ started. You gotta gimme a chance to show you what I can do,” Avery said.
Pierce shrugged and nodded, and he shifted his weight between his feet. As Avery deep-throated the shaft, Pierce let out a nervous little shimmy, and his dick twitched in Avery’s maw. Pierce said, “Hey, do you think that teacher would fuck me?”
Avery rolled his eyes. “No, Pierce. That’s very unlikely,” he said. He began slurping on the shaft, and Pierce gasped. Avery slathered spit up and down Pierce’s cock, his hand gently but firmly squeezing the root. It was long and thick, meaty even before it firmed up, which it did slowly.
“Oh. Shit… I, uh… Oh!” Pierce was about to say something else, but he sucked in his breath and held back a nervous laugh. “Oh, I, uh… You’re like… really… into that…” His dick twitched in Avery’s mouth. “Damn, man… I swear though, that Margaret chick was totally into me. She was groovin’ on me. Did you see how she touched my shoulder when we was doing that role-play, bro?”
Avery took the dick out of his throat long enough to make eye contact with him. “She was roleplaying a gropey boss. She was not into you.” He thwacked Pierce’s cock all over his face.
“Yeah, but like, she was really groping. She was all up on my shoulder,” he said. He pointed ot the part of his shoulder she touched. “I think I should ask her out. Maybe she likes to suck dick, you don’t know. She said sexual expression was one of the whatevers.”
“She also thinks Australia is full of Abijorins, Pierce. If she knew literally anything, she’d have a better way to occupy her time, and if you ask her to suck your dick, you are going to be taking diversity classes until the end of the time,” Avery said. He kept chasing Pierce’s dick with his tongue. “Do not do that.”
“Can I invite her to the party? There’s nothing wrong with going to a party.”
“But she’ll see something offensive at the party, Pierce!”
“Like what?”
“Like any of an infinite number of things! Drunk people kissing. Non-organic food. Ethnic decor. Disrespectful treatment of kitchen magnets. I’m guessing a dog that gets shotguns of kind bud. And what are the chances someone in your frat will call someone else a retard?”
He sighed and nodded reluctantly.
“So don’t do it,” Avery said. He had both hands on Pierce’s fully erect cock now, and it pulsated in his grip. “If you want to get your nut off, call me. But I only pay the first time, so don’t try to make more money off me.”
“Ah, man… I really wanted her to suck my dick,” Pierce said. He let out a long chest-rattling sigh.
“Well I’d feel bad if you end up having to learn about diversity again, Pierce, so I have to advise you against that,,” Avery said. He thwacked Pierce’s erection over his face. It was veiny and firm but not yet precummy. “If you’re done talking, can I get back to your dick?”
“Yeah…” He paused. “Can you get some girl drinks too? Like Smirnoff Ice?”
Avery didn’t answer, he just resumed licked Pierce’s shaft from root to tip. He had a feeling that the more he let Pierce talk, the more Pierce would ask for. Pierce’s dick was hard and throbbing, and once Avery got back to tasting it, salty precum began leaking out. Avery loved playing with that, smearing it over his own face as well as Pierce’s cockshaft. Every time he thwacked Pierce’s dick against his face, Pierce’s whole body jerked like he hadn’t expected it.
Deep-throating it to the root, Avery nuzzled his nose in Pierce’s pubic bush. That made Pierce stand on his toes as his knees weakened, and he sucked in his breath. “Daaamn, man!” he chuckled. “You should give lessons.”
Avery giggled around the cock in his throat, but he didn’t stop. He choked up mouthfuls of spit that ran down Pierce’s shaft and soaked his crotch and his long-hanging balls.
“Man… There’s a Jew in my frat who celebrates Christmas,” Pierce blurted out like he was tattling on a wrongdoer. He looked away, biting his lip.
Avery looked up at him without stopping swallowing Pierce’s dick to the root. He rolled his eyes. Pierce didn’t even look at him. He grabbed Avery’s ears and held on as he drilled his cock in deeper. He seemed to be talking on autopilot now, like he either didn’t notice he was talking or didn’t notice he was sort of fucking Avery’s throat like it was a diversity counselor’s pussy.
“I think he does. I mean he doesn’t complain when we put up a Christmas tree and shit,” Pierce said. His dick pulsated in Avery’s throat. “You know, there’s nothing literally Christian about a Christmas tree, it’s not a Jesus tree. They should make a Hannukah tree. That would solve everything! Why don’t the Jews do that?”
Avery tried to shake his head without stopping, but he didn’t think Pierce realized Avery was saying no. Pierce was totally ignoring Avery now — talking to him, but paying no attention as Avery gulped down his cock by the throatful.
With a gurgling murmur of desire, Pierce’s eyes bugged out as he lightbulbed up an idea, still seemingly unaware of his cock in Avery’s throat or the intense pleasure coursing through his body as a result. “I should do that. I could sell Hannukah trees, man, I’ll make millions. Jews aren’t anti-tree, are they? Are trees kosher?” Pierce said. “And what’s that black people thing? Kwanzaa? Do they have trees? They should have trees too, bro. I’ll tell Margaret that.” He paused. “Hey, wait, bro, I’m gonna nut, you wanna swallow it?”
Avery nodded, a few tears beading up at the corner of his eyes as he struggled to deep-throat him without choking too hard. His hands roamed up and down Pierce’s soccer-toned frame.
“Sweet, cool, brah, girls never wanna swallow,” Pierce said. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the storage area, holding on tightly to Avery’s head. He drilled his dick in and out and finally seemed fully engrossed, not thinking of ways to hit on the diversity woman. He almost looked surprised at his own orgasm, like he had forgotten it was a man and not Margaret on his dick.
Avery’s hands reached up to Pierce’s chest as he came, and Avery could feel his orgasm in the roiling tension in his muscles. Pierce wasn’t bulky, but he was athletic, and his ropy muscles all flexed at once beneath his shirt as his balls crawled up in his sac.
“Damn, brah…”
Pierce threw his head back and moaned. Creamy hot cum shot out and hit the back of Avery’s mouth. It seeped down his gullet and into his belly, and Avery guzzled down every drop. He didn’t want to spill any. Young men always had such a bright and sunshiney flavor to their cum. He swallowed every bit he could, only a few drops spilling out and trickling down to his chin.
A loud throaty moan escaped from Pierce’s throat. His cheeks turned red, and he held onto Avery’s head until his dick was fully limp. Then at last he let go, and his cock popped out. Avery chased it with his tongue as he gasped, because whenever he touched it, Pierce’s whole body shook and he let out another moan.
“Awright, brah, you’re done, okay?” Pierce said. He took a deep breath and put his dick back. “Hey, let’s go reserve that keg now, brah, okay?” He paused. “If my frat brothers ask, will you tell them I did some work for you? Like I cleaned your house or something? Not that, something cool. Like I beat up a dude for you, like some dude tried to rob you and I beat him up.”
“Yeah, fine,” Avery said. “But you gotta let me frot with you. I gotta bust my nut too.”
“Frot?”
“You never heard of that?” Avery blushed and laughed. He pulled down his pants and took his dick out, then he thwacked his hardon against Pierce’s soft, spongy cock. Pierce jumped when he did, like Avery’s cock hurt, which given how firm it was and how sensitive Pierce’s was, it might well have done.
But Avery always enjoyed a good frotting, and Pierce’s blushing anxiety made it even more arousing for him. Pierce kept shifting his weight between his feet, as Avery stroked both cocks together. Pierce’s was so sensitive that it throbbed and his knees kept going weak when Avery touched the tip.
“Oh god, man, shit, shit, you really are into that, bro, huh?” Pierce looked down at his dick like it was betraying him, and he grabbed a row of paper towls he found on a shelf in the supply closet, but he couldn’t clean himself off yet because Avery was spewing precum into his crotch.
His cock pulsating in his grasp, Avery stroked both dicks in both of his hands, then let go with his right hand so he could go back to groping every inch of Pierce’s lithe soccer-toned chest. His torso was much less muscular than his magnificent legs, but Avery still liked the way his pecs rippled when Avery touched them.
Pierce was so embarrassed he looked like he might explode as Avery finally reached his own orgasm, and pleasure exploded up and down Avery’s taut little both. Avery shot his wad into Pierce’s pubes, a vast flow of it that soaked his entire crotch in cream.
Pierce chuckled and laughed, as he raced to dot the jizz up with a wadded up bit of paper towel.
“You should let me swing on your dick again at the party.”
“Man, there’ll be girls there… Maybe that Margaret-“
“No! Do not invite her, Pierce! You will be back in that diversity class next weekend, and I am not gonna jack you off afterwards again,” Avery said. They both headed for the door.
“Fine… I won’t invite her to the stupid Christmas party,” he said.
“Pierce… You have to call it a Winter Party,” Avery said. “We just spent hours learning that.” He patted Pierce on the ass. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome, sweetie, because you are dumb.”
“That’s what my mom says…”
Avery laughed as they walked out of the building. He had a car and enough money he could put a deposit down on a keg without checking an ATM first, which, as far as Pierce was concerned, made Avery wealthy. He was impressed. Avery didn’t disabuse him of that notion, he just headed home to get ready to go to this frat party.

The Basketball Coach: Chapter 2

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(back to Chapter One)

CHAPTER TWO
Reginald

Avery had been messing with Professor Thickman for a few weeks, while campus quieted down for finals and in anticipation of winter break. He usually met him back at the industrial arts building again, but he also went to Thickman’s apartment a couple times. He had agreed not to mess with Rayshawn again, but it didn’t come up for awhile because Rayshawn had several girlfriends during that time.
When Rayshawn finally called him next, looking to blow a load one rainy Saturday morning, he groaned and complained of a hangover. “I don’t wanna see none of my bitches right now, I can’t handle that,” he said, his voice gurgly and rancid; you could tell his breath smelled awful even through the phone. “Come over. I need to get my nut off, and I don’t need no bitches prattlin’ on ’bout some stupid shit.”
Avery said, “Oooh, sorry, baby, your basketball coach asked me to stop seeing you, and I agreed-“
“What? Thickman? Is that what he was talkin’ about? That nosy asshole. He oughta mind his own goddamn business-“
“Hmmm, maybe, but… I agreed to do it.” Avery paused. It wasn’t clear it had sunk in to Rayshawn that Avery was saying no. People didn’t often tell Rayshawn no. Avery cleared his throat and repeated himself, “So I have to say no. I’m not going to come jack you off. You can jack yourself off.”
Rayshawn paused and grunted, his voice now awkward and creaky. He wasn’t used to having to beg for it. “Uh… c’mon, man… I won’t tell Thickman. I won’t. I promise, he don’t gotta know, I don’t tell that nigga nothin’. I’ll tell him you said no-“
“Sorry, Rayshawn,” Avery said. “He told me anytime I want a nut, I can go jack him off instead-“
Rayshawn scoffed. “That old nigga? Don’t he taste like mothballs?”
“He tastes marvelous,” Avery said. “Plus he does me in the butt. He doesn’t say it’s too gross. And he doesn’t text his girlfriends when I give him dome.”
Rayshawn seethed audibly through the phone. He didn’t have enough experience being nice to convince anyone of anything. His nostrils flared. “Man… Will you at least write that poem? You gotta do that. You already said you would.”
Avery sighed. “Oh my god, Rayshawn, it’s a twelve-line poem! Just let yourself feel something, and write some words about it. The only rule is you can’t do grammar and punctuation right. You can’t fail at writing a poem. If it takes you over thirty seconds, you’re doing it wrong.”
“I can!” he shouted into the phone, losing his temper and following that up with a barrage of insults and cursing. “You fuckin’ asshole! I can’t — I can’t — I have practice, man! I gotta lift weights and shit!”
“You’re hungover! You don’t have shit to do, you have a hangover-“
“Yeah! A hangover! I can’t write a poem with a hangover!”
“Most good poets are always hungover! It’s twelve lines, Rayshawn! You could have written three in the time it took you to whine to me about it! Just write about racism. If it’s about racism, she’ll always give you an A. That’s what I do,” Avery said.
“I don’t know nothin’ about racism… maaaaan,” Rayshawn said.
Avery paused. “Oh holy shit, you forgot my name, didn’t you?”
“Uh, no, it’s, uh… Jerry?”
“Jerry! JERRY?! You think I’m the kind of slack-jawed fuckwit who would be named Jerry?!” Avery hung up, but he kept muttering on autopilot as though Rayshawn could still hear him. “You’re such a useless shit, Jesus Christ, Rayshawn, get ahold of yourself. Too much pussy makes men dumb.”
But already he was kind of regretting hanging up the phone; Rayshawn might have been a self-absorbed moron, but he did have a tasty dick that got hard so very easily. Once his blood had stopped boiling, and he stopped smirking over Rayshawn’s insistence he couldn’t write a twelve-line poem, Avery really wanted to swing on his dick.
So Avery decided that today was a Professor Thickman day.
He had had about enough of Rayshawn anyway — he was expensive to see (Avery had kind of lied when he said he only ever gave Rayshawn twenty dollars — that was the only cash Avery had ever given him, but he often bought him a hamburger, or a shirt, or a gold chain, or sneakers, or a present to give his girlfriend of the moment, and that stuff added up). And Rayshawn was always a jerk. He farted on Avery’s bed once. He saw a picture of Avery’s mom and said “Who’s that fat old bitch?” He laughed at a blind man eating soup. He didn’t tip well, even with Avery’s money.
But that dick was so fucking craveable… It was all Avery could think about it until he got to Thickman’s neighborhood and had verified he was home.
“Rayshawn called you? That horny bastard,” Thickman said when he opened the door.
“I refused to write him a poem. He was furious. He had like two months to do it, and he doesn’t think he can,” Avery said as he came in. The apartment smelled like a bachelor — specifically, it smelled like a black bachelor, which Avery found alluring. There were scents of coconut butter and sweat and medicinal lotion and sweat-soaked underwear and takeout steak-and-cheese subs without the bun and farty drawers and wrinkled clothes that lived in a hamper and Febreze and unwashed bedsheets that stank of armpits. It was an alluring smell, even if it also made Avery wrinkle his nose.
Thickman did indeed live in a sad little apartment with a living room dominated by a bench press. The first time Avery had come over, Thickman had covered the weights up with a sheet because Avery had called him out on it when they first met, but he had stopped doing so eventually. The bench press was even a little moist today, like Thickman had been using it recently and his backsweat still clung to it. Thickman was shirtless when he opened the door. Avery tweaked his nipple as he walked in, and Thickman ignored it though it made his pecs twitch.
As usual, Avery first cleaned up Thickman’s apartment a little. Avery liked cleaning up after his men; there was something seductive about it. He wiped down the kitchen counter while Thickman looked at him, frustrated, wanting to get right to taking his dick out but not saying so because it would be rude. His broad chest gleamed with the remains of his post-workout shower.
A scowl overtook the wry smile on Thickman’s square jaw. He licked his teeth. “Rayshawn’s a fucking moron. You know he failed the fucking diversity thing?”
“What? He’s black, how can he fail at diversity?”
“Not that, it was a written test. Multiple-fucking-choice. It’s just a bunch of stupid-ass questions, like ‘are transgender people a part of the modern working environment?’ and shit like that, and he ain’t even pay no attention, just colored in the little bubbles like it don’t matter. He said he was gonna make you do it later-“
“Oh my god, that lazy fuck-“
“But I ain’t allowed to do that. It’s set by court order for athletes, on ‘ccount of that tennis team that looked at a waitress a buncha times. I gotta score it right away,” Thickman said. “So he failed. He failed this fucking idiot-class for idiot-athletes. All he had to do was, y’know, promise not do no holocausts, and he wanted to make you do it.”
“He couldn’t pay me enough to do a diversity test. His dick’s not that good,” Avery said with a snort. He finished clearing off the counter. “You’ve got clean dishes in the cabinet! You’re not eating out of the dishwasher? What progress! Hey, is that Chinese place downstairs any good? We should celebrate by eating-“
“Nah, it sucks. And we gotta hurry,” Thickman said. He looked down at his feet sheepishly. “I mean, I’ll cornhole you and shit, y’know, whatever. But I gotta run. It’s almost Christmas.” He shrugged.
“Oh yeah, cool. December’s really going quick this year. You got Christmas shopping to do?”
“Uh… Yeah. Sorta.” Thickman sounded like he was lying. He sighed dramatically. Avery realized something was wrong, but Thickman had said he was in a hurry, so Avery dropped to his knees right there in the kitchen. He stroked Thickman’s cock through his jeans. Thickman wrinkled his nose. “My girl dumped me.”
“Alice? I thought she already did-“
“Nah, for real this time. She dumped me hard,” Thickman said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as his cock flopped out through the fly of his heavy-denim jeans. “She ain’t even gonna let me lick her pussy no more.” His dick was hefty and soft, jelly-like. Avery let it rub on his face and his nose, and then he flopped it over his lips, while Professor Thickman kept talking. “She been gettin’ mad salty on account of me not like… She don’t like me drinkin’ none, or goin’ to the gentleman’s club. I told her it ain’t no thing, it ain’t — there’s no hos there, it’s classy. It’s real classy. They don’t even show they snatch. Just tits.” He paused and looked down as though he had only now noticed his dick was out and Avery was flopping it over his face. Thickman frowned. “Why you always playin’ wit’ it?”
“Fine, fine, you are in a hurry, huh?” Avery said. Thickman usually enjoyed letting Avery play with his limp dick before and/or after he blew his wad. He had never said that, but he didn’t complain, and Avery had gotten the impression he liked it.
His cock finally disappeared into Avery’s mouth, and the moment it hit his tongue, Avery felt a powerful twitch as it perked up. Thickman threw his head back. His hands fluttered awkwardly at first, as they always did — women complained about his callused hands, so it always took until his dick was fully hard before Thickman could get back in the habit of really gripping onto Avery’s head and going to town on his throat.
Finally it was rock-hard. Avery rammed his own head down as deep as he could go, until his throat closed and a little gag escaped from his chest. Thickman let out a throaty cluck and began rolling his hips, gyrating slowly, humping the back of Avery’s mouth.
His heavy jeans were still on, cock and balls protruding from the fly. They were his workpants, brown spots from wood-stain, pale spots from bleach and an area over the left calf where the fabric was oddly smooth and stiff, due to a spill of some kind of industrial solvent last year.
Precum’s salty taste flooded Avery’s senses as he slurped on Thickman’s cocktip. Thickman let out a little groan that made Avery giggle — it sounded a lot like Rayshawn groaning; Thickman could almost be his uncle. Avery’s hands roamed up to Thickman’s chest, kneading his firm flesh and making his pecs flex again and again.

Then Thickman received a text message. His phone beeped, and he growled with hostility. He grabbed the phone from the counter and looked at it, then he groaned in annoyance this time. He was again ignoring his dick in Avery’s mouth.


“Aw, shit, my sister is bringin’ her husband. Can’t stand that uppity asshole,” he said. He sounded depressive about that. He bit his lip and let out an overly dramatic sigh. “My brother-in-law on my sister’s side are gonna be so fucking bitchy. Every time I’m single, she and him are a bunch of assholes about it, like givin’ me pamphlets on suicide and sayin’ crap, like if I ain’t talk so much shit about Asian people maybe I’d have a girlfriend-“
“You got beef with Asian people?” Avery asked, thwapping his face with Thickman’s shaft.
“Nothin’! I just told ’em ain’t nevuh been one on my basketball team,” Thickman said. “They said that was racist. I was like, if you want Asian dudes to play basketball, you go teach ’em. But they ain’t wanna do that, they too busy calling stuff racist on Facebook.”
Avery rolled his eyes. “They sound like jackasses.”
“Yeah. I hate them. When my mom dies, I’ll prolly never talk to my sister again,” he said. He grumbled and closed his eyes. “Now quit makin’ me think about my family, or I ain’t nevuh gonna nut.” He grabbed Avery’s head and plowed in, his cock sliding down Avery’s throat until Avery’s nose nuzzled his pubic hair.
The taste of his cock — much cleaner this time, with a faint cocoa-scented soap scent — flooded Avery’s senses. He gurgled on it loudly, deeply, sucking up his own spit when it dripped in clumps out of his mouth. Professor Thickman threw his head back and grunted. His orgasm was so loud and animated it looked almost painful.
Cum sprayed over Avery’s tongue, great creamy gobs of it that coated his throat. He suckled on it loudly, ignoring his own lungs crying out for oxygen. It ran down Avery’s chin and Thickman’s shaft, the pale white color contrasting with the deep loamy brown of his skin.
His cheeks turning red, Avery slurped on the intensely flavored jism, making Thickman’s whole body shake with pleasure. His cock was still going, still leaking long jets of cum into Avery’s mouth, which couldn’t contain it all. Big clots of it spilled out and onto the floor of Thickman’s kitchen.
If I don’t clean that, it’ll still be here congealing next time I come… Avery thought with an internal laugh. He kept going, even as Thickman twitched and twisted with every brust of over-sensitive pleasure emanating from his cocktip.
“Aw, shit…” Thickman at last pulled out, his dick flopping over Avery’s face. He chuckled. “Aw… You oughta come wit’ me today, man. You could swallow my dick whenever I get annoyed with ’em. You could get all bitchy wit’ my sister, you’re good at bitchin’.” He chuckled at his joke.
“Okay.” Avery said. Then he looked up at Thickman to see if he was kidding or not.
He was.
Thickman chuckled. “Shit… You could really do your bitchy thing to my in-laws and my sister-“
“Oh my god, yes! That’s such a good idea!” Avery clapped his hands. He already had a paper towel in hand and was cleaning up the cum that had dripped onto Thickman’s kitchen floor. “I’ll come to your Christmas thing. How bitchy do you want me to be? Scale of one to ten.”
“Uh… Like a six. Thanks, man.”
“You never need to thank me for acting bitchy. It’s in my blood,” Avery said. “Am I dressed okay?”
“You’re fine for my mom’s place,” Thickman said. He grabbed a button-down shirt and put it on. It was plain and cheap, and it made him look like he was on his way to a court date, but Avery didn’t say that. He was excited about meeting Thickman’s family — he never got to be a real part of the lives of the men he messed around with.
“How far away is your mom’s house?”
“Just the other side of town.” Thickman cleared his throat. “There is one other thing.”
“Oh?”
“It ain’t Christmas. It’s Kwanzaa. Technically Kwanzaa don’t start for a couple days, but my fucking idiot bitch sister is taking her idiot bitch husband to Ghana for Kwanzaa — after borrowing money from me this summer for rent, she can suddenly afford to go to Ghana. So we doin’ it early this year.”
“You celebrate Kwanzaa?”
“My mom does,” he said. He snorted and looked away. “And my sister. And yeah, me too.”
“I didn’t know anyone actually did that. I thought Kwanzaa was a joke.”
“My mom loves explaining Kwanzaa to white people. Just be interested in it,” he said. He put his shoes on.
“Okay. What is Kwanzaa?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“No, I was asking you — I just didn’t want to look ignorant-“
“Yeah, say shit like that to my mom. She eats that up,” Thickman said. He put his keys in his pocket and headed for the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Avery had to hurry after him; he was still cleaning up the cum on the floor and on his chin, when he hurried out of the apartment. Thickman was often like that, rushing, ignoring that Avery wasn’t keeping up with him. Avery rushed out the door.
Thickman kept on muttering to himself as he led Avery out of the building. “Kwanzaa is so fuckin’ stupid….”
“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Professor Thickman’s family Kwanzaa celebration was at his mother’s ramshackle old house on the outskirts of town. Given its location, it was probably worth a lot of money — the property alone was valuable. But the house was rundown and in dire need of repairs.
But it was a nice, homey kind of home. Avery squealed with delight at the decorations; he had always been good at getting on parents’ good sides. Everything was red, black and green, and candles filled the home with light — and heat. “Oh my god, your home is so beautiful!” he said. He smiled. “I’ve heard Kwanzaa lasts eight days like Hannukah, isn’t that right, ma’am?”
“Oh call me Vera, sweetie,” Vera Thickman said. She was nearly seventy, her hair frazzled and white, her face saggy but sweet. She smiled at Avery. “No, dear, Kwanzaa only lasts seven days. But every day has a different theme. Today is the first day of Kwanzaa, so the theme is unity. Or rather, it’s not the first day of Kwanzaa, but we’re pretending it is,” she said.
Before Avery could say anything else, the rest of the family showed up. Thickman’s sister Marybeth, her husband Jake and their three kids. Avery smiled and greeted them as Marybeth looked at him like he had done something wrong, She looked just as bitchy as her brother had described her — you could just imagine her wrinkling her nose at every little thing, demanding her spineless husband scold waiters, no doubt complaining when the kids touched anything that hadn’t been disinfected.
They made small talk, and Thickman was glad that Avery was outgoing and friendly and dominated the conversation. Thickman never really felt that comfortable around his family, especially his sister. She had always been a striving bitch.
Since Avery was the one who talked about the holiday, the weather, the decor, the dog, the kitchen, etc, Thickman stopped paying attention entirely. That meant his mind wandered, and there was one place his mind always wandered when he let it out: women.
Specifically, one woman he had met last night. He got her number at the bar, but he hadn’t called her yet. She had seemed hot to trot, and she wasn’t the most beautiful woman, but she was available and she was confident he was going to get in her pussy sooner or later.
Not tonight though. He had to sit here with his hardon imprisoned by his jeans — the nicest pair he owned, though now he wished he had bought some new pants — not jeans, slacks — so he would be dressed as well as his brother-in-law, Jake. Or at least almost as well.
But Jake wore a pink tie and skinny slacks like a hipster. They almost looked like a woman’s pantsuit, Thickman thought. He strongly disliked his brother-in-law.
“How’s your team’s record this year, Reginald?” Jake asked.
Thickman — he hated being called Reginald, except by his mother — glowered and said, “Fine. We goin’ to the playoffs, sure as shit-“
“Language!”
“Sorry mama,” Thickman said. He just wanted to get Avery away from his family to get his nut off again. That would make this family get-together a lot more tolerable.
He realized with a start that that wasn’t entirely true — it was true, sort of, but the part of this that he was really enjoying was Avery’s company. Avery’s mouth would be a little bonus.
It had been a long time since Reginald Thickman had enjoyed someone’s company. His girlfriends had long annoyed him. His players were a bunch of mouthy punks. He didn’t trust any of his coworkers. His students were morons. His family spent most of their time borrowing money from him and bitching about his lack of enthusiasm for Afrocentric scrapbooking.
Avery didn’t really want anything from him, except sex, which he was glad to give. He had genuinely enjoyed Avery’s company. Avery didn’t even ask for anything in exchange for coming here today — Thickman’s last girlfriend wouldn’t even do that. She wouldn’t do anything he wanted without making a big ordeal out of it. She treated visiting his mom as just as much a favor as sucking his dick on his birthday.
When they managed to get away for a few minutes later on — while attention was focused on the kids and some ceremony involving corn and candles — Thickman pulled his pants down and let Avery go to town on him. He was in his old bedroom. It felt like old times; he’d been sucked off here by his girlfriends some thirty years ago.
I wonder why girls don’t suck as much dick as they used. Cuz I’m older? Do girls not suck dick anymore? When they had argued when they first met, Avery had said that, when Thickman reached middle-age, girls started seeing his muscles as less sexy and more gross, creepy not handsome, dirty and callused and stinky, not alluring or arousing. Thickman had never realized that.
But it was true. The same muscles that got him laid when he was Avery’s age now made him seem like some undateable man-boy. So he flexed his biceps, standing there with a dour look on his face as though he was annoyed by Avery hanging off his muscles and licking the sweat off his rock-hard biceps.
“Hmmm, your muscles taste so good…” Avery murmured, his mouth moving down to Thickman’s armpit. His bare chest muscles rippled. Thickman’s teenage-bedroom still smelled like a young man, Avery thought, like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. There were boxes of stuff he had deposited here over the years and never got back — old paperwork, a box of tee shirts, a couple weightlifting trophies, a scrapbook of high-school basketball team — his mom made scrapbooks, and Thickman tried very hard to look interested; he didn’t have the gene that made it possible to have any interest in a scrapbook. He was simply incapable of it. So he kept the scrapbooks she made for him here; that way she knew and appreciated that he hadn’t thrown them away, but they didn’t take up space in his apartment.
Thickman sighed. He wanted to thank Avery for helping him out with this, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t often talk about his feelings. He wanted to say that this was his way of saying thanks, but Avery, he thought, would just get snippy about it again like he had before. Thickman did want it as much as Avery wanted to give it, so he couldn’t really call it a gift by any means.
But he was pretty sure Avery got the appreciation he felt but couldn’t say. Avery smiled as Thickman’s cock again popped out of his fly and disappeared thickly down his throat. Avery gurgled on the warm, sunny taste as it thickened up. His smiled turned to a smirk when Thickman shushed him. His family was far from the bathroom, and the children were being loud, so it wasn’t necessary to be all that quiet. Avery made a loud smacking noise with his lips until Thickman scowled at him.
“Shush, man, my sister is nosy as hell. She love eavesdroppin’, gettin’ the shit on people,” Thickman said softly. He threw his head back and suppressed a moan. His cock was rapidly hardening now. The fact that he couldn’t make any noise somehow made the sensations even more intense. He wanted to tell Avery a story — his sister had once gotten her boss fired simply by listening at his office door every day until she found some dirt on him — but the feelings were too intense.
All he could think about was the pangs of pleasure exploding in his dick, which oozed gooey precum into Avery’s mouth. Avery let out an uncontrollable moan of desire.
“Hmmmm… You taste even better in this room,” Avery said. He blushed and giggled quietly, as Thickman shot him another harsh be-quiet look. He resumed deep-throating, his nose burying itself in Thickman’s crotch. A shiver of bliss shot up Thickman’s spine, and his chest muscles rippled. He grunted and groaned.
He was about to say something when he orgasmed. A grunt escaped from his mouth as the first few drops of cum flew into Avery’s mouth. The sour, salty and sweet taste of semen flooded Avery’s senses.
Then came more, and Thickman grimaced as though it hurt to not make any noise. Great big wads coated Avery’s mouth, more quickly than he could swallow, so a lot of it slipped out past his lips and plopped onto the carpet of Thickman’s old bedroom.
Still more came out, as Thickman leaned back to grab his shirt — he was already getting ready to go back out there, even as his cock kept cumming and his orgasm kept flowing through his veins. His whole body twitched with his shirt in hand.
“Shuuuuussssssh…” he said, though Avery hadn’t made any noise.
Then Thickman shot the last of his load down Avery’s throat and let out a long, chest-rattling sigh. That had been louder than any part of the blowjob, Avery thought but didn’t say. He stroked Thickman’s heavy balls as he drained every last drop of cum out of his shaft.
“Thanks a lot, man.”
“Aw, shucks,” Avery said, wiping lips off. “Thanks for inviting me. And Merry Kwanzaa.”
“You supposed to say ‘Joyous Kwanzaa’,” Thickman said as he tucked his dick away into his workpants. He definitely resolved to buy new pants before he saw his brother-in-law the next time though. Next time would be his sister’s birthday; it would be next month, at her house, and she was definitely going to ask him to wear “a nice pair of paints” as though he was an idiot for not doing that every day. He should have done it a few days ago so he could wear the new pants today and not have to endure her bitching about it later.
They went back out then to wash up for dinner. Thickman was glad to be here for the first time in a long time. He wasn’t just eager to finish eating and leave. Since the focus was on Avery, he could just eat and enjoy his mother’s cooking like he hadn’t really had a chance to do for a long time.
“So, Reginald, how’s that women’s studies program?”
“Huh?” Thickman grunted, a few bits of chicken falling from his mouth.
“Your college? They have that new women’s studies professor?” Marybeth sighed overly dramatically. “It was on Facebook. You know, I really think you could show a little more interest in women’s issues.”
Avery broke in with a polite smile. “Oh, Reginald is very interested — we don’t like to ghettoize women and force them into women’s studies departments. All subjects are women’s studies in a way, don’t you think?” Avery smiled. “So Reginald prefers not to otherize women in that way. He would rather integrate women into regular educations. Plus I think there’s some transgender issues around having ‘women’s issues’. I mean, what are women’s issues, really?
Vera nodded her wizened old head. “So true, so true…” She did look confused though — she didn’t know what transgender meant, but she responded to the seemingly feminist bent to Avery’s words.
Marybeth looked like her head might explode. Nobody had ever challenged her in terms of political correctness at a family event. She glanced at her pasty-white husband as though he might support her, but he was focused on the green beans he had described as fabulous.
Avery smiled sweetly. “So me and Reginald have insisted on the college ensuring that women have equal access to his industrial development courses, and we personally designed all-new letterheads that refer to the Foreperson Training course, not Foreman,” Avery said. “We were going to launch a recruitment program this summer, but then Mr. Moneybags over here had to help a friend with some sort of trip to Ghana. I just hope they’re paying their carbon offsets for that little trip!”
“Hmmmm… Hmm-hm.” Marybeth gritted her teeth and looked down at her food, which she had only barely touched. When she thought Avery wasn’t looking at her anymore, she looked right at him with hate in her eyes.
Vera cleared her throat and looked at her son, who barely concealed his grin as he shoveled food in his face. “How is your art going, Reginald?”
“Aw, mama…” Reginald bit his lip.
“Like he knows anything about art,” Marybeth said with a snort.
“He’s made this amazing sculpture,” Avery said. “It’s black, and it’s got a wonderful shape to it. Thick, solid, very nice.” He looked at Thickman who snorted back laughter. “It makes me think about industry, you know, it makes me feel productivity — isn’t that weird? It’s like economics taken form, but it’s black too, it’s a symbol for our racial coding of work. It’s quite complex, Marybeth, but you sound like an expert on that sort of thing. Are you an artist?”
“I’ve self-published several books of poetry,” she said. “They’re about the patriarchy.” She hesitated like she couldn’t think of any details to add. “And, uh… the, uh… way we respond to… it.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I think it’s great to have projects to work on without regard for accolades,” Avery said. “Reginald is going to submit his sculpture to the Modern Art Expo this spring. But there’s something really fulfilling about doing art that’s just for you, you know?”
“My poems are about the patriarchy,” she said. She gritted her teeth, still flustered. “Uh… taking it down.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose that doesn’t apply to those kind of poems. There’s no point in writing about taking down the patriarchy if no one ever sees it, since you can’t take it down alone,” Avery said. “I’m sorry, that was dismissive of your work! I apologize so much! I’m sure your poems have an audience, of course! They’re probably an inspiration for plenty of young girls, huh? I bet you get tons of teenage girls reading it. They love self-published poetry.”
“Yes… Of course.” She glowered and frowned at him. She’d barely eaten a thing, she just spent the entire meal staring daggers at Avery.
“I read somewhere that most self-published books of poetry sell a couple thousand copies, you can actually make good money off it. Has that been your experience, Marybeth?” he asked. He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows.
Her teeth were gritted shut. She managed to murmur a yes and nod her head. Avery smirked at her as her brother got up to clear the table.
Avery pointedly ignored her staring daggers while they all finished clearing the table. He stood next to Thickman when they lit some candles and reminisced about old times after dinner. Vera explained the more Kwanzaa traditions, and Avery followed along in rapt attention.
“Thank you so much for exposing me to your diversity,” Avery said when the evening was finally over. “It was a lovely ceremony and a delicious meal!”
He stood there talking about it with Vera for what felt — to Thickman — like an hour. He didn’t know how people could do that. Polite people took like an hour to say goodbye, he thought, while he just stood there like a big dumb idiot, an overgrown teenage boy who still couldn’t have adult small-talk. Thickman glowered even as he hugged and kissed his mom goodbye. He told her he loved her.
Then at last, he and Avery left. Avery had a little plastic container of leftovers, which he clutched like a magical talisman as he got into Thickman’s truck.
“Your mom’s a real good cook,” Avery said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna eat the hell outta that macaroni and cheese when I get drunk later,” Avery said. Thickman backed out of the driveway, and a smile appeared on his face. Avery smiled back at him. “How was I? Just bitchy enough?
“That was awesome, man. She must be be so pissed. I bet she asks me for money for them carbon offsets,” Thickman said. “I ain’t payin’ either. I paid for that goddamn trip to Ghana, they can pay for the carbon offsets.”
“Why do you give her money anyway? She’s such a bitch.”
Thickman shrugged. “My mama would be pissed if I didn’t,” he said. “She thinks family gotta stick together.”
“She should tell your sister that.”
“Yeah.” Thickman cleared his throat. “Thanks for all that. Thanks for being nice to me.”
“Aw, shucks… You’re welcome. Can I play with your dick on the way home?”
“Yeah.” He grunted. “I’m serious though. Thanks for bein’ nice. Not a lotta people are really nice to me. Not like… nice. You know, they want me to do shit for ’em, like my sister got a protest every weekend she want me at, and my momma always want me over fixin’ shit or movin’ furniture, and my players always want me to let ’em outta practice and find ’em easier classes to take, and… You ain’t ask nothin’ from me.”
“Uh, that’s not true. I demand yards of cock! Yards! On demand!”
He chuckled. “Uh, so, like… You make me feel good. Not just my dick. But like… me.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “So thanks, Avery. Thanks a lot for bein’ nice.”

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