Bears, page 5
Not that it was a bad thing, but at thirty-two years old, Emile was getting an itch to settle down and celebrate such occasions with that special someone. He was tired of the dating scene. More often than not, it only offered him the opportunity for a one-night stand with a younger guy, either black or white, who was really just hoping to bottom for a man who looked like the love child of Rent cast members Taye Diggs and Jesse L. Martin.
Emile wasn’t picky about race, but the few relationships he’d been in had been marred by limitations—in the sense that he always played the butch, black, and beautiful role to a softer man who wanted to be dominated. And, despite an upbringing that strictly reinforced dominant male roles, Emile wanted to step out of that box of black masculinity and experience life as a well-rounded gay man.
The only person he could talk to about these feelings was Morgan, a friend for years who totally embraced his own passive tendencies—and who had initially opened lines of communication with Emile because of his natural instinct to play the role Emile was tired of satiating. So their relationship had gone straight into the friendship realm. Emile had been able to tell Morgan his deepest, darkest desire. Well, actually, quite the opposite of a dark desire.
Emile’s fantasy was to bottom for a white man.
But none of that was going to get to him tonight. Dressed in a sweater and slacks that perfectly hugged his muscular physique without looking painfully tight, he knocked on Morgan’s apartment door, holding the cheesecake he’d picked up at their favorite bakery.
As the doorknob turned, Emile’s penetrating black eyes sparkled with warmth, and his bright white teeth shined, but his smile completely faltered as the door opened, and he quickly turned back to check the apartment number on the door across the hall.
“Hey, you must be Emile,” a burly white man with short brown hair and a beard said as he reached out his large hand.
Emile gripped it, taking in the man’s sports team sweatshirt, faded jeans, and worn sneakers.
“I’m Jake. I work at the office with Morgan,” the man explained in his rich and husky voice as he ushered Emile in.
“Oh, right. He talks about you all the time,” Emile said. “He wasn’t kidding. You are a big, scary looking white guy.”
Jake laughed as they walked through the small entrance hall. “That’s me. And he describes you as the best-looking brother he knows besides that guy from Anacondas.”
“Morris Chestnut,” Emile’s face turned a hint darker. He was well aware of the comparison, but didn’t realize Morgan shared it with strangers.
“Yeah. That’s him,” Jake said. “Morgan wasn’t wrong.” Emile got a nagging itch in the pit of his stomach looking at the man’s warm smile.
“This is my partner, Phil,” Jake said as they entered the dining area of Morgan’s beautifully decorated apartment—his pride and joy.
The man who rose from the table was shorter than Jake, but just as rugged. A thin layer of scruff ran around his almost bald head and over his strong jawline. His compact build was beefy, stretching against the material of his button-down shirt. He wore baggy cargo pants and brown boots.
“Happy birthday.” Phil shook Emile’s hand firmly, and pulled him in for a quick hug and pat on the back.
Emile’s legs felt weak. His mouth was drying out, so he ran his bright pink tongue over his lips. “Thanks. Uh…where’s Morgan?”
“Here. Let me take that.” Jake reached for the cheesecake in Emile’s hands and took it over to the refrigerator.
“He had to go back to the office. Big account,” Jake said as he came back into the room. “That’s why I’m glad I work the computer help desk and not in marketing.”
“Big account? That means he could be out all night. He doesn’t get home until like two in the morning sometimes,” Emile said as he went to the fridge for a bottle of water.
“Yeah. He asked us to hang around and wait for you to get here because it’s your birthday and all. He said we can still all have dinner if we want,” Phil explained as he sat at the table sipping a Diet Sprite. “You want me to fix you a drink?”
“I feel bad.” Emile returned to the dining table and sat down with the two men as he wet his whistle with the water. “I don’t want you to have to babysit someone you don’t even know.”
“I feel like I know you already,” Jake said. “Morgan talks you to death. He constantly tells me we need to meet, that we’d get along together so well because we both love horror movies, and that you’d love Phil too because you’re both into all that dance music stuff.”
“Yeah…” was all Emile could think to say. “Um, maybe I’ll have one of those drinks now. Maybe a White Russian?”
“Coming up,” Phil smiled, rising.
Jake stood, too. “Morgan put out appetizers in the living room. He said we could pop in a movie, that you’d know where they all are.”
“Oh. Yeah. Let’s see what he has.” Emile moved to a tall cabinet with double doors that stood beside the entertainment unit in the living area.
Just as Emile was swinging the two doors open, Phil stepped into the room with the White Russian.
A DVD case flew out of the cabinet and landed faceup in the middle of the room. All three men’s eyes were drawn to the cover image, depicting a black man bent over with a white man behind him and a white man in front of him—and a white prick stuffed in each end.
Cream in Your Coffee. The title on the case screamed out in big letters, with a slightly smaller tagline that read, Sometimes light just tastes right.
“Whoa!” Phil exclaimed automatically at the vision. He bent to pick up the getaway DVD as his blue eyes lit up. Unexpectedly, Emile snatched the case from him instead of the drink.
“Sorry about that,” Emile said, stuffing the DVD blindly into perfect rows that lined the shelves of the cabinet.
“Morgan keeps his porns stashed in there?” Jake asked, rising from the sofa.
“No. He doesn’t,” Emile grumbled, sounding angry about something. He scavenged for a movie to draw attention away from the situation.
Jake had moved over to his side, and glanced through the spines of all the DVD cases, taking in the names of numerous commercial films, from black and gay favorites to musicals and some horrors he had in his own collection. There wasn’t a single other adult film in the bunch, but Cream in Your Coffee stood out like a sore…
“That bitch set this up….” Jake mumbled, more to himself than to Emile.
The two were so close Emile had to lean back to look in Jake’s eyes. “He did—”
Phil was trying to glance over their shoulders since he was the shortest. Jake had reached his hand into the cabinet and pulled Cream in Your Coffee back out, and was now staring at the box. The silence was seductive.
“What’s the deal?” Phil asked, trying to slip between them.
“Um…” was all Jake could manage.
“I’m sorry about this.” Emile nervously licked his lips.
“What’s going on?” Phil insisted.
“Um…you know…our fantasy?” Jake asked. Phil nodded, and it seemed to dawn on him. “Looks like Morgan set us up. I’ve talked to him about it.”
“Your fantasy?” Emile cut in. “What do you mean?”
Phil started to giggle. “Oh man. You gotta love Morgan.”
“This is weird. I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to embarrass you,” Jake admitted.
“I can’t really get much more embarrassed than this,” Emile said, burdened by the closeness of the two burly men.
“Man, we’ve been a couple forever,” Phil was grinning. “Totally monogamous. And we always imagine what it would be like—’
“Philly, don’t…” Jake attempted to stop him by placing a hand over his mouth, knowing his devilish lover wouldn’t be deterred.
And he wasn’t. Phil playfully pushed Jake’s hand away. “We’ve always wanted to do a threesome with a hot black guy.”
Emile’s chiseled jaw dropped. “I…wouldn’t—”
Phil, still holding Emile’s drink, took a sip of it, his penetrating blue eyes looking over the rim at the two men. “Here. Have some White Russian.”
He lifted the glass to Emile’s lips. Emile reached both hands up to grasp it, and his dark hands landed on Phil’s smaller, white hand as it tilted the liquid back into Emile’s mouth.
Emile accepted the offering. When Phil brought the glass back down, pearly liquid sparkled on Emile’s upper lip. Phil grabbed the back of Emile’s head, feeling the very different texture of his tight wisps of hair, and pulled him closer. Then the tip of Phil’s tongue was tracing the line of white on Emile’s lip, washing it away.
“Oh my god,” Emile sighed, his strong features faltering.
“Philly—” Jake began, but then Phil was bringing the White Russian up to his lips to shush him. Jake drank without further word. Phil pushed Emile’s head toward his lover’s face, granting him permission to remove the drink remnants from the beard whiskers above Jake’s pink upper lip.
Phil had already regained control of the drink, and the heat of the liquid was now slipping down his throat a second time. The three men, standing in a circle, began passing the drink around, then daisy-chaining their kisses as they sucked the sweetness from each other. The scents were scintillating. The intermingling of soaps, deodorants, aftershaves, Kahlua, black and white musks.
“Oh god!” Emile gasped, pushing away with a hand on each man’s big pecs. “Are we sure we want to do this?”
The white men felt the wet hotness of his breath puffing into their faces as he spoke. Theirs was a resounding “Yes!”
Then, the unexpected happened for Emile. He was being lifted by both men and carried over to Morgan’s sofa, where he was placed on his butt on the soft cushion. Hands grappled with his sweater, pulling it upward, raising his arms to slip the warm knit off his smooth dark chocolate skin. The ridges in his stomach stood out as he shivered. As the sweater rolled off his head, cool air tickled his areolas. His black nipples shrunk and expanded all at once.
And then they were being consumed.
“Oooooooohhhhhhh!” Emile groaned as whiskers speared at each of his tender knobs at the same time. His back instinctively arched off the cushion, pushing his defined chest upward, and his nipples farther into the two mouths that were clamped onto them.
The noticeable difference in the couple’s attacks was amazing. On his right, Jake’s lips engulfed his nipple gently and his tongue flicked over the hard nub. On the left, Phil sucked the entire nipple forcefully and his teeth chomped almost painfully.
Emile began to squirm from the stimulation. The two lovers had each of his arms pinned to the sofa. He could see Phil’s baldness gleaming, could see perspiration matting the short strands of Jake’s hair. And the smell was so new. It just was. The white men he’d been with had always been lean and virtually hairless, giving off little scent. These two men—their aromas were as heavy and powerful as they were. Being mauled like this—it bordered on frightening, a cross between his wildest fantasy and his worst nightmare. He didn’t know these two white men, knew nothing of their feelings about other races. Was this a power trip for them? Were they turned on by the thought of humiliating him?
“He’s so fucking beautiful,” Jake said to Phil once he’d released his oral grasp on Emile.
Phil looked up. “Tell him.”
“Sorry,” Jake looked at Emile, his face flushed. “You are. You’re beautiful. This is just…overwhelming.”
“Beyond anything we could have hoped for,” Phil admitted. “You’re incredible.”
The situation suddenly felt so human to Emile. “Can I see your bodies?”
Now it was the two white men who seemed embarrassed. Jake said, “We don’t exactly look like you—”
“I think you’re both so sexy,” Emile insisted, reaching his muscular arms up and rubbing their two bulging but hard bellies.
Jake reached across and unbuttoned Phil’s shirt. He pulled it apart, revealing a perfect physique, just the right build, not overworked. Tight curls of black hair formed a thick strip right down the center of his chest and tummy.
Emile reached behind Phil, who was kneeling beside him on the sofa, and pulled the shirt off completely. He placed a hand on Phil’s compact butt, and watched as Phil picked Jake’s sweatshirt up and over his head.
Hypermasculine was the word that popped into Emile’s mind. Jake was truly a wide, towering figure, looking like some sort of quarterback. It appeared he had spent his life working his muscles to extremes in an attempt to get cuts that genetically weren’t going to happen. So instead, he was just one solitary swell of solid meat. His torso, arms, and what Emile could see of his back were covered in a thick layer of brown hair.
Jake’s tender green eyes grew shy as Emile gazed up from his crotch to his bearded face.
“You’re amazing,” Emile smiled. Jake’s expression melted.
“He is,” Phil agreed.
Hands groped at the crotch of Emile’s pants. His thickness throbbed underneath.
Jake and Phil looked at each other, leaned in over Emile’s body and kissed, their gruff facial hair scratching together. It was such a new vision for Emile, who was used to the smoother, silkier texture of two black men smooching, or a black man and a youthful white male. He quickly undid the button and zipper on his pants, pulled down his hokey striped bikini briefs (Morgan had given them to him as a gag gift and dared him to wear them regularly), and released his exceptionally long but thin cock, topped by a monstrously disproportionate mushroom head.
“Look at it,” Phil muttered into Jake’s mouth, eyeing the giant black head that peered straight up at them.
The couple took in Emile’s sex, which he was stroking with both hands, then scooted back on the cushions of the roomy sofa until they were positioned on their knees and elbows on either side of Emile’s lap.
His hands were pushed away, and then a wet warm mouth was sinking down on him, attempting to engulf him fully. Jake’s eagerness forced his throat closed, and he gagged. He lifted his mouth off, tears in his eyes, and used the saliva he’d left behind to stroke the shaft. He then pointed the cock in Phil’s direction.
Phil accepted it like an ice cream cone, licking around the swollen black head. Emile groaned. Then his stomach tightened with shock. Phil was rubbing the end of his chin over and around the head, and his whiskers were like sandpaper. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was a severe stimulation that Emile wouldn’t have been able to stand in large doses.
Phil was aware of the intensity. After a quick once around, his mouth embraced the head gently and caressed it with moisture. But it was just the beginning of the hard/soft stimulation. As Phil went for a second go-around with his chin, Jake wrapped his lips around the side of Emile’s shaft. He gummed it wetly, up and down, while Phil played the head games.
Emile’s whole body tingled as a result. He instinctively wanted to close his eyes and enjoy it, but half the thrill was in witnessing the white worship of his cock. Two mouths engulfed him, working together to cover as much ground as possible. The highlight was when the two men finally met for a French kiss—around the head of his cock. Tongues probed hungrily around his mushroom within a moist cavern created by their locked lips.
“Wait!” Emile cried, placing a hand on the back of each of their heads.
They froze in place, moving only their eyes to him.
“I’m about to…”
The mouths backed away slowly. There was way too much fun to be had to risk an early detonation.
“I wanna taste your ass,” Phil growled, a master at not allowing the momentum to slow. He wrapped an arm under Emile’s thighs and proceeded to swivel him around on his back, coaxing a break-dance move out of him.
The back of Emile’s head came to rest on Jake’s thick thighs, and he was able to look all the way up the man’s hairy, bulging torso. His pants and bikini briefs were whisked off, and now he was completely naked, between two white men who were still wearing their pants. It was exhilarating. He felt so wanted, yet so vulnerable.
Phil grabbed Emile behind the knees and bent him in half. His defined leg muscles flexed, and his buttocks parted. An enticing breeze of air entered his crevice.
“Wow,” Phil stammered. “You’re so dark in there.”
Emile blushed, losing confidence. Was Phil turned off? Grossed out?
Then he pulsed from the touch of a warm, reassuring breath as Phil leaned in and blew gently on his asshole.
“That’s nice,” he whispered shyly, and looked right into Phil’s penetrating blue eyes. Eyes that were saying, I’m gonna make a meal out of you.
The tongue that had been on his cock minutes before now ran up his seam.
“Oh!” he cried at the teasing swipe. Phil smiled devilishly, and Emile giggled awkwardly.
“Delicious,” Phil stated flatly. “Like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.”
“Can I try?” Jake asked Phil tentatively from above Emile.
Emile looked straight up—and right at a ridiculously hairy set of low-hanging purplish balls. And poking out from a mass of dark pubic bush was a plump, short purplish cock, which Jake was tugging on with two fingers and his thumb.
Phil beckoned his lover with one finger. Jake looked down at Emile.
“Let me suck you,” Emile offered, and Jake’s bearded face raised in a smile.
Quickly kicking off his sneakers, Jake slipped out of his pants, then leaned over and steered his plump beef into Emile’s open mouth.
Emile was smothered by their sixty-nine. Jake’s large torso pressed completely down on his own lean, muscled physique. His mouth was filled by a cock that made up for its minimal length with a hell of a lot of diameter. A rubbery scrotum dropped across his eyes and nose. Two thick thighs hugged his ears. And there was hair everywhere. He detected some on the lower part of the shaft in his mouth, and his face was lost in a tangle of soft pubes that tickled like crazy. He fought the urge to brush them away. But he was suffocating. He shifted his head between Jake’s legs until his nostrils were able to break free from the bush. He breathed through his nose. Was it all the hair making this smell so unique? It was so much more pungent and spicy a scent than he’d ever experienced from a man.
