Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

Part Three

We met in The Hole the next night at 10. We did not pretend our meeting was for any purpose other than the obvious one. We started stripping as soon as we locked the door behind us. We kissed briefly before he bent me over and took me from behind again.

When he was finished, he told me to fuck him against the door, then turned his back to me. I rolled on a condom, grabbed his hips, and pressed into him. I kissed the soft skin in the middle of his back. He smelled different than any man I had ever smelled.

I ran my hands over his lats and his shoulders as I slowly moved in and out of him. I reached around him, he took my hands in his, and he held them to his chest as he moved against me. By the time I came, he was flat against the door, which was banging rhythmically against the jam with us. Thump, thump, thump.

When I was finished, we settled into the bean bags, he lit a joint and we, for the first time ever, talked. "I thought you were a pussy hound," I offered.

"I thought you had a girlfriend."

"I do have a girlfriend."

"And I am a pussy hound."

"Then what is this?"

"What can I say? I like both sides of the teeter totter."

"I am not sure that I do," I answered, less convincingly than I had hoped.

"You seem to, especially when you're buried inside of me. Or, when I'm buried inside of you and you're begging me for more than I've got to give."

I blushed bright red. I had hoped he had not heard me whisper "deeper" as he fucked me.

Lute reached over and took my hand in his. "I'm just busting you," he said, raising my hand to his mouth and licking the back of it.

He offered me some of his joint. I declined. "Pot makes me horny."

"Then have some."

"I do not need it," I answered, more honest than I had intended to be.

"Show me."

I moved between his legs and started running my hands over his hard, muscled chest and stomach. His skin was softer than any skin I had ever touched.

He grew as I moved my hands to his thighs. I tongued his balls and where his legs met his crotch. I did not like the bristly hair against my face. But, I liked his penis, a lot. It was smooth, not veiny, and thick with a dark, almost purple, head.

I took him in my mouth and started to stroke him. I felt him climb to his feet as I did. He grabbed the hair on the top of my head and started sliding himself in and out of my mouth. "Take that dick," I heard him say. "Suck my big black dick."

I was surprised that his manner and his words turned me on. But, they did. I liked that he was in charge and demanding. I liked being forced.

I had him in an oral vice. I squeezed his balls as he continued throttling my face. I felt his orgasm start in my hand and move past my lips and into my throat, hot and thick. "Fuck" was all I heard as he buckled, his dick popping out of my mouth. I swallowed and sat back on my haunches, sweaty and tired. I laughed quietly to myself.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, ending his question with a preposition.

"I thought your cum might taste different."

"Different how?"

"I do not know. Chocolatey, maybe."

"You're a damn fool, John. Does a white boy's cum taste like vanilla?"

"No. And I know better. I just thought maybe. Actually, I hoped maybe. I am not a fan of that taste."

"Become one. You have to swallow mine every time. It's rude not to. If I'm going to let you suck my dick, you have to do it right."

"You're letting me?"

"You bet your white ass I am," he said. "And, now, I'm going to let you fuck me."

He pushed me backward into a bean bag and started to lower himself onto me.

"Hold on," I said. "I am not wearing a condom."

"I don't care," he said. "I need this . . . right now," he said, as he filled his hand with spit with which he then coated me.

His chest was in my face as he rode me. Every so often, he would stand, pulling off of me and putting his dick in my mouth. As I got him close with my mouth, he would pull out, and lower himself back onto me. We went back and forth like that until I could not last any longer and I came. I bit his chest. He pulled my head into his chest as hard as he could. I kept biting as he did. He came shortly after I did, right into the middle of my chest.

We went on like that the rest of the semester. During the day, Vi and I strolled hand in hand through Cross Campus and Old Campus, Yale's "Dynamic Duo," the picture of perfection. Vi was a beautiful, smart woman, independent and strong. I was a handsome, smart man, privileged and headed toward more privilege.

During the night, I stole away to meet Lute whenever I could. Some nights, I went from Vi's bed to The Hole, hoping to find Lute waiting for me. Other nights, Lute and I plotted to meet at 2 a.m., when the campus was asleep.

Lute and I were not lovers. We were not even friends. We barely talked. We closed the door behind us, locked it, and go to work. We were just fulfilling a need. Lute happily did things to my body that I needed and wanted that Vi would not. Some of them – a hand on my chest or side, a tongue on my nipple – were simple. Others – swallowing my penis and my cum, licking my anus, sucking my toes – were not.

I did the same for him, sating needs and wants he had that his women would not even attempt to satisfy. He loved having his balls licked and sucked. He liked ass play, including a buried finger when he was about to come in my mouth. He liked having his armpits licked.

Like me, Lute insisted what we were doing had no transcendent meaning. We were just two boys, getting off.

"Look, Jo, I've been with a few guys. But, I've been with way more girls. I like girls and will absolutely will wind up with a girl. I'm just playing with guys. And, playing with a guy doesn't mean you're gay or you won't end up with a girl."

His conviction and his words resonated with me. For me, there was a chasm between what I was doing with him and who I was. Vi – or someone like Vi – was my future. Lute was an exciting interlude, but I was convinced he was nothing more than that.

*****

Basketball made my last semester more challenging. Lute was gone a lot. I fretted about what and who he was doing when he was gone.

I was schocked when Lute told me he wanted to watch me fuck Vi. We had just fucked, meeting late in The Hole after the team's bus returned from Ithaca.

"Why?"

"I'm a voyeur. I like porn, especially real life porn."

I do not know why, but I agreed to set it up. Lute was in my closet, and I was cognizant of his requests: go down on her, make her come, fuck her missionary style, no covers, pull out, straddle her, come on her tits.

It was easier to pull off than I expected. And, knowing Lute was in my closet watching turned me completely on. To date, it was the best sex Vi and I had ever had. Once I made her come with my mouth, she gave completely in. She did not even act offended when I unloaded all over her tits.

"That was hot," Lute told me later, in The Hole. "But, white folks and black folks don't fuck alike at all."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, you fucked her like you didn't want nobody to know you were fucking. When I fuck a girl, I fuck her like I want everyone to know she's getting fucked, and like I want her to remember what it was like to get fucked by me."

He offered to show me, and I took him up on a it. A few nights later, I was in his closet while he fucked a white girl into oblivion. He dominated her, pinning her down, and pushing her around. By the time he entered her, she was begging him for it.

"Beg me to fuck you," he demanded.

"Please fuck me, I'm begging you," she answered.

As he fucked her, the bed rocked. Lute was verbal, demanding that she tell him how much she loved it, how big he was, and how much pleasure his big black cock was bringing her. It was thrilling, but also troubling. It bordered on misogyny, but she did not seem to notice. She had her legs as wide as she could get them and was breathless when Lute announced he was going to come, pulled out, and unloaded all over her face.

"Tell me you love my cum," he demanded.

"I love your cum," she admitted, compliantly.

"Wipe it off your face and eat it."

She did. She winced with the first swallow, but he insisted she "eat it all."

Later in The Hole, I confessed to Lute that I had been both thrilled and troubled by what I had seen. "Look," he said. "I'm a black man. White folks have been pushing me around and telling me what to do my whole life. Even on the basketball court. I have never been coached by a black man. In the bedroom, I get to push white folks around and tell them what to do. I'm in charge. I make the rules. It's a tsicar act for me."

"Tsicar?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's 'racist' backward. It's reverse racist. It's the revenge of the black man. That's why I only fuck white girls and white boys. Like you."

I did not know whether to admire or despise him. I chose neither. I just kept fucking him.

*****

The night before graduation, Lute and I stayed in The Hole. Long after we should have been spent, we kept bouncing back for "one more time." We knew we were sharing our last time together. I was leaving New Haven the next day for Chicago with Vi. Lute was staying behind to keep playing basketball, to keep debating, and to keep studying. Our run had been erotic and great and lustful, but it was ephemeral. It could not and would not last. It was a vapor.

The morning of graduation, Lute kneeled before me and gave me my graduation gift. When he was finished, I returned the favor with my good-bye gift.

As I dressed for the ceremony, I did not recognized myself. There was a chasm between the person I thought I was and the person I actually was. I could not see what Vi saw or what my parents saw. I could barely stand what I saw.

After the ceremony was over, I headed to Chicago with Vi. I vowed to leave Lute and Cole and all that nonsense in my rearview mirror, the interlude over, my curiousity quelled. I vowed that I had fucked and sucked my last guy.