The room was darkened so I didn’t see him at first. But I heard his voice when he called over to me.
“All these niggas in here are scared of you but I’m not,” he said.
Then he came across the room and pushed me back on the bed, pinning me down. He spread my legs like he was trying to fuck me. I’m a tall brother and work out to keep my body tight but he was stronger. I couldn’t push him off me. I tried to roll him off but that didn’t work either.
Finally, he eased up and got up off the bed, which was filled with at least two other couples in various stages of sex. I got up and pushed him up against the wall. I couldn’t let this dude come in the party and punk out the top with the biggest dick.
“Look dude, I don’t get fucked so don’t push up on me like that. Maybe I should fuck you.”
“You only get to fuck me if I fuck you,” he answered.
Something about his aggression and swagger attracted me. He was drunk and high too. His eyes looked sleepy, buzzed. We played with others as the night wore on but kept coming back to each other or “joning” on each other.
“Evan” told me he was from St. Louis so when he licked my nipples and kept biting them I said, “Shit, is that how you St. Louis niggers give foreplay? Get the fuck off me.”
Several guys at the party overheard me and laughed.
“Look, I’m hungry and live just 10 minutes away. Come home with me.”
I ain’t going to lie. The brother was handsome. Skin like a Hershey’s chocolate bar. White teeth. And large eyes. So I said sure, let’s roll.
We got some food at McDonalds and went to his crib. I sat at his dining room table and ate while he ran upstairs. I heard all this bumping, like something falling and went upstairs.
“Are you alright.”
“Oh, just trying to straighten up quick because I didn’t know I was going to bring someone home.”
He grinned at me when he said it. His smile was so dazzling, like a playful kid. But from then on things got weirder and weirder.
He rolled a blunt and lit it and we traded taking hits. “Don’t waste that shit, inhale nigga,” he said.
Then walked over and straddled my lap. He took the lit blunt and brought the glowing end toward my chest like he was going to burn me. “Don’t play like that,” I said, smacking his hand back. The ashes from the blunt drifted over my sweater. I brushed them off.
His mood changed. The aggression left and he really seemed sorry.
So we went upstairs and started to play. I’m no bottom but I agreed to try for him. But he couldn’t get his big dick hard for long. And I remembered at the party he had a hard time maintaining an erection. It was all good. I had banged two dudes at the party anyway. We body played, jacked off and busted a nutt and went to bed.
When the sun rose I was ready to shower and head home to a room I rent. But he asked me out to breakfast so we went to a diner and ate bacon and eggs, homefries, grits, waffles and french toast.
But then criticisms started. My voice was too loud. I talked too much. I asked too many questions about his life. I was out of line for asking him to contribute to the tip although I picked up the breakfast tab. I had disrespected his house because I went into the refrigerator to get ketchup without asking him.
He criticized two guys at the sex party who he said had talked to his ex-lover about him behind his back. It must of bothered him because he kept bringing it up.
And every half hour he would say, “I throw niggers out when they talk to much.”
“Muthafucka, fuck you,” I answered. “You’re the one who asked me home and then wanted me to go out to breakfast.”
When I said that Evan’s mood changed and the aggression abated. He got nice again and acted like he wanted me to stick around.
He took me along with him to run more errands. We went to Walmart and checked out the after-Black Friday sales. Then we went back home and I helped him set up a new bed.
But I said something else that made him mad and he said for the umpteenth time I could just leave. So I went downstairs and put on my shoes and leather jacket.
“Hey man, I had a wonderful day.” And I meant that. This was one of the few times I just hung around with another gay guy doing normal stuff.
“See ya,” he said. Later I sent him a text saying we could be friends if he ever wanted to hang out. And I called later to check on him because although he tried to project an image that he was all together he was fraying a little around the edges.
He didn’t pick up the phone or text back so I chalked the whole thing up to an educational experience. I learned that although I’m a friendly guy that doesn’t mean I can be friends with everybody.
Evan also told me not to blog about him because he didn’t want people in his shit. But do I care? Evan can’t barely keep his emotions under control, let alone control my blog.
photo by Taevon Palmer