Blac Security Loves a White Boy

"Get off me you black faggot!" came the scream from the backroom.

That woke up everyone in the theatre. The crowd in the dark had been half awake, observing the on-screen action, looking for prospects, taking a break from cruising, catching a snooze, fondling their neighbor's crotch.

The yell ended and the scratchy movie went on, imitation disco music playing as two pretty shirtless boys inched closer to each other.

There was the noise of a struggle through the curtains next to the half-size screen. A few shadows rose in the theatre, one or two went towards the sound. I got up and walked down the aisle.

"Sir, it's time for you to leave," said a deep voice. Sounded like a black guy, I couldn't be sure. He was taking control. Calming someone, being the adult in the room.

"Stay away," the screamer said. He was angry. But the yelling had stopped.

Several of us went through the curtain at the same time.

We saw a large black man, I recognized him as Charles, the theatre security guard. His muscular body was tensed, arms outflung. A trickle of blood ran down his face and dripped on his company Polo promoting the 'David Theatre -- Midwest's Premier Gay Movie Palace.' He was facing off against a white man in jeans and button-down shirt holding a knife.

"Sir. No one's going to hurt you. But you've got to go now," the guard said firmly. "We can't have this here."

"Can't have what? No cock sucking? You already got plenty of that here," said the white man, face red, saliva spitting, as he swung the knife, left, right.

"Come on broth-ther," he said sarcastically, eyes jumping from the guard to the gathering group. "You and your fag friends, broth-ther, going to throw me out?"

I glanced at the crowd. Most of us usually hid in the darkness of the theatre, now we blinked, adjusting to the milky light of the backroom, surprised to see faces attached to bodies. It was all men, most of them white, 30s, casually dressed, thin and fat, tall and short.

"Stop the ugly language and take yourself out of here. You don't belong here," said the guard. Blood kept running down his cheek. He was focused on the angry man, staring at his eyes, looking for an opening.

The white guy's eyes flitted around the room, desperate for a way out. He saw a fire exit, started to back toward it while keeping the knife extended at the guard and the crowd.

"That's right sir. Go out that door. No one will bother you," said the guard, in an even tone.

"Don't none of you faggots come after me," said the man. He bumped his butt against the door's push bar. Nothing happened. "Fucking door won't open. What is this shit?"

"You've got to press the emergency exit flag. It will open," said the guard.

The man turned, saw the flag, pushed it and a screeching loud fire alarm went off. He threw his body at the door, and it opened, letting in bright sunlight, and the man stumbled.

"Fuck you faggots, die of AIDS!" he screamed as he gained his footing and escaped down the alley.

The guard took a deep breath and his body relaxed. He strode to the fire door, pulled it shut and repositioned the emergency latch. The siren stopped.

A middle-aged woman burst through the curtained entrance behind me. "Charles! What the hell is going on? My God, you're bleeding!"

The guard gave her a beleaguered look. "Just another confused gay man. I'm calling the cops," he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I know, I know, we don't want cops. But that guy is dangerous."

The two of them walked back to the ticket-taking area. The dozen of us in the crowd were embarrassed, confused. Guys started to leave. I could hear theatre seats creak as the movie fans rose and got out before the police showed up.

In a moment an announcement from on high blared through the building. It was the woman. "Folks, there is no cause for alarm. There is no fire. The problem has been taken care of. Go back to what you were doing. It's all alright."

I walked to the ticket booth. The woman was frantic. Customers were leaving; the boss would be pissed about the cops; neighbors would complain. And Charles had blood dripping down his chin.

The guard hung up the phone. "They're sending a car. I gave them a description of the guy."

"Charles, maybe you should go to the hospital," she whined.

I interrupted. "Do you have an emergency kit? I've done some EMT work, let me look at that cut."

Charles and the woman stared at me. In a split second she woke from her daze and found the kit. "Go to the breakroom. I don't want you bleeding out here. It's OK, I'll get you when the cops show up. If they show up."

Charles beckoned me towards a door off the lobby. We entered a small dingy room with half a dozen lockers, a bench, and a sink. Light came through a rectangular, head-high opaque window crisscrossed with security wire. He handed me the kit and we sat down next to each other on the bench.

I looked at the cut above his left eye. A half inch the other way and he might have lost it. Fortunately, it wasn't deep. Charles swallowed three aspirin with water as I put peroxide on some cotton balls.

Being this close I took a look at the man. His dark arms and shoulders strained the Polo and his teeth shone white through large lips as he spoke, wound up from the fight. "This never happens here ... Asshole took a swing at a guy in the sling room.... queen started screeching ... I get there and the knife came out of nowhere."

I dabbed at the wound. Charles flinched. I braced myself by holding on to his forearm and dabbed some more. Our legs were side by side, touching as I positioned myself to get at the wound. Charles didn't seem to notice we were so close.

I should be honest. I had seen Charles a month before. I was in a straight bookstore across the street from the David Theatre. He jumped out of a cab, gym bag in hand, and ran in.

He was rock-solid, about 30, clear ebony skin, a little over 6-foot, bubble butt in tight jeans and a white T that barely covered his biceps and taut stomach. His powerful legs flexed as he bounced up the steps and grabbed the door. He wore his hair in a short, modified Afro. There was bulge in his drawers.

I got turned on and entered the David. I had visited before with mixed results. But if it attracted studs like that, I figured it was worth the price of a ticket.

Imagine my disappointment when I found this gorgeous black man was an all-business security guard who didn't appear the slightest bit gay, at least not the stereotypical fem gay. Several guys gave him a cruise and he was non-responsive.

I stood near his post, pretending to look at the coming attractions posters. I often catch guys' attention. I was 22, a little under six feet, a slim and smooth hairless bod with strong legs and round butt from swimming, brownish-blonde feathered hair that hung over my hazel-green eyes. Do I need to tell you I'm a white guy?

It didn't make any difference. I might as well have been invisible to Charles.

Flash forward a month and I'm Florence Nightingale. The bleeding stopped and I put a butterfly bandage on the cut. Two cops showed up. Charles told them what happened and gave a description of the knife man. I confirmed Charles' story.

One of the cops called it in to his precinct. They couldn't promise they'd find him. They said something similar had happened a week before in a nearby adult bookstore. The cops wandered around the theatre's back rooms, half curious, half disgusted. They left.

Charles' shift was over, and I followed him as he went back to the break room to change. He was still jabbering so I pretended to listen as he took off the bloody shirt and reached for a clean one. It was a pleasure to watch his chest and arms flex and move while he pulled it on.

I asked if he felt OK and told him I had to get going.

"No, wait. Look, I want to thank you," Charles said. "Could you do something for me? I need someone to talk to, I can't just go home like this. I feel like my brain is going a mile a minute."

I liked Charles for the way he handled the psycho, but I didn't feel like hanging with a straight dude while he relaxed. But he kept asking and it turned out he didn't live too far from my place near Boy's Town. A free ride wouldn't hurt.

We grabbed a cab and got to his place in less than 15 minutes. It was a comfortable and clean two bedroom. He used one as an office and for his weights. He handed me a Heineken, put on some Grover Washington and we sat down.

"Thanks for fixing my cut. I'm lucky I didn't lose my eye," he said. "The knife came out of nowhere, I went into auto-mode, you know, just trying to keep him from going after anyone else, get him out of there."

I listened politely and nodded, unsure where this was going. I looked around the room. Looked like a straight guy's place. Then I noticed a framed 8X12 photo on the wall. It was Charles standing next to a popular gay porn star, arms around each other's waist. It had a scrawl on it, presumably signed by the star.

Maybe there's something else going on here.

"Hey, you want another beer?" he asked. I mumbled 'sure' and followed him into the kitchen.

The fluorescent light was bright, and I bumped into Charles as he abruptly stopped and opened the fridge. My face was against his back and beefy arm. I smelled his sweat and cologne. He turned and handed me the beer. As I opened it, I noticed an article from the local gay paper stuck on the fridge with the headline "Black White Alliance Names New Pres." There was a picture of a smiling Charles.

"What's this?" I asked. "I've heard of this group. Are you a member?" This was getting more interesting.

"Oh yea. We've been together for four, five years now," he said. "I'm the new boss. It was my turn, we change the president every year, give everyone a shot."

He explained the group was formed to help black and white men get together/get laid, and to discuss issues of race in the gay community.

I knew there was lot of disdain among gay whites for the group. The city was Democrat-led but conservative in many ways. Most blacks and whites lived in separate neighborhoods. Gay black men were shut out from popular bars, asked for three IDs, that kind of thing. Gays could be as racist as straights.

"Charles, that's great. Congratulations," I said. "Are you planning anything special?"

He chuckled. "Well, it's a struggle. Most guys join because they have a fantasy about the 'other'," he said, making quote marks with his fingers. "Two guys get together and find it's a relationship like any other, with the added problem of racist friends."

That answered my question of his sexuality.

It was time to get more aggressive. I reached out and gripped his forearm, my white hand against his ebony skin. "The good thing is, we keep trying," I said as I looked up into his eyes. "Don't you think so?"

He stopped for a beat, held my gaze, and his palm went to my pale cheek. He leaned down and we touched lips, puckered and touched again, then our mouths opened, and we licked tongues. I tasted his beer and gripped his bicep. It was satin on steel.

He moved both hands down to my waist and pulled me close. Our crotches were forced together. We continued our tongue duel as I held both his arms, caressing them softly, feeling their strength.

We broke the kiss, and he shifted his head to my neck, kissing it, rubbing his dark face against my peach-strawberry skin. It sent chills up my spine and I pulled him closer. Our arms were moving all over each other, feeling, squeezing and our crotches remained tight. We pulled back a bit then returned to pressing lips together.

"Take off your shirt stud," I whispered and helped him lift it over his head. I went to his chest, licking and sucking at his nipples. He liked that, sighed, held my head firmly in place as I worked his pecs. I liked seeing my pale skin against his ebony torso. I moved my mouth to his underarm, shoved my nose against it, licked his pit.

He raised his arm and moaned, "Do it baby, fuck that's good."

I pulled back and we looked at each other. We kissed tenderly, my face upturned, he leaning down. It felt good to have his powerful black arms around me, our bodies close from thigh to pecs.

"Let's go to bed," he said. I pulled off my shirt as I followed him to his bedroom. It was standard -- queen size bed, a couple bureaus, rug on a hardwood floor. He had made the bed before leaving for work, what a good boy.

My hand felt his back as I stepped around him and sat on the bed. I looked up at him and took off my shoes. He started to unbuckle his belt.

"Let me do that," I said softly, gazing into his dark liquid eyes. I put both hands on his cock in his pants and squeezed. It was semihard. I took hold of his belt, undid the buckle, then unsnapped the jeans. I slowly pulled down the zipper. I held his pants at the waistline with both hands and pulled them down about a foot.

I took in his white undies against his dark skin. I'd been with only a few black guys but knew I loved seeing their dark erections straining to be loosened from their underwear. I liked teasing my lovers with the reveal.

I glanced up and Charles was looking down at me expectantly. I smiled and squeezed his cock again, then gradually pulled down his undies. His beautiful half hard dick sprang out and the sight and smell of cock caused my mouth to water. I licked my lips and stared.

His cut cock was thick with a vein traveling up one side and a full pouch of nuts. The ebony shaft was topped by a heavy plum-colored head, a nice round one to stretch my lips and fill my mouth.

I kissed it gently with no hands, then stopped for a second to brush off the undie lint. I loved to touch it and play with it as I gave it a dusting. I cupped his balls with my left hand. Charles sighed.

I couldn't control myself anymore, his cock was too gorgeous. I leaned forward and kissed it from top to bottom, my white face against his ebony shaft. I noticed a drop of precum and licked it. I swallowed the cock head. It tasted salty, and I worked my mouth left and right to get the entire head in. Then I sucked gently, softly, feeling it expand, hearing my lover sigh. I luxuriated in the wonderful thick cock in my face, in my mouth, still growing, leaking precum.

I swallowed more of the shaft. I looked up at Charles and saw his beefy chest, strong arms, and smiling face. I heard myself moan through his meat and my eyes closed in bliss. I put one hand against his firm stomach as I buried my cheeks in his thick hairless thighs and took in more cock. It was tickling my throat.

"That's good boy," Charles mumbled. "Damn that's hot." His eyes were closed, and head thrown back as he reveled in the sensation of a hot white boy's wet mouth on his engorged black dick. I began a jacking stroke, sliding my saliva down the shaft to make it slippery, and fondling his cum-filled balls with my other hand.

Guys can't resist two hands and a wet mouth on their dicks. Charles was loving it.

He took my head in both hands and started to carefully push his meat deeper into my throat. He pulled back an inch, the pushed in again as he held my head firmly in place. I like it when a guy takes charge like that, using my drooling mouth for his pleasure. I feel like I'm alive only for his stiff cock, for giving the big stud joy, to be the man's fuck toy.

I moaned and felt my cock and balls fill with blood and cum.

Charles pulled back and his cock left my mouth with a sloppy pop sound.

"Whoa. Let's slow down," he said, his voice thick with saliva and lust. "Damn man, you are something else. Come here."

With that he put his hands in my pits and pulled me up. He stopped for second to look in my eyes, then kissed me on the lips, his dark hands roving over my creamy smooth skin.

"Look baby. Let's set some ground rules. I want you but let's hold off from any fucking," he said. "I like to get to know my lover before we fuck. For today, let's just do some blowjobs. OK?"

That made sense. This memory I'm telling occurred a short time after the plague years. Many of us were reticent about fucking, even with a rubber. The agony of the 80s was still raw.

I told Charles it was fine with me. I liked him even more for what he said, for discussing our sex plans. I gripped the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss.

"Now it's your turn," he said and sat on the bed. He opened my belt and lowered my pants and undies in one swift move. He put his face next to my heavy, cut cock, licked it, then burrowed into my balls and took one in his mouth. He sucked on it and smelled my cock.

I pulled his big head onto my package. He mouthed my cock and balls, went to kissing and sucking. He took about half my six -inch wang in his mouth and moved his head left and right, moaning in pleasure, wallowing in sucking a dick as it hardened. It was my turn to grab his head and fuck his mouth. I watched as my pink balls bounced against the horny black stud's chin. It was so hot I got a little weak at the knees.

We took a break to get rid of the clothes we still had on and jumped into bed. We lay entwined and felt each other, fondling muscles, squeezing butt cheeks, humping cocks together. He rolled on top of me, and I put both arms around his back. One of my favorite things is a muscular hunk on top of me, our dripping erections slipping and sliding, as we thrash against each other.

After a few minutes of necking Charles moved up my body. He spread his legs on either side of my torso and placed his butt atop my chest. His balls were laying softly on my neck and his pulsing cock was hanging in my face, the veins throbbing. It was gorgeous, a fantasy come true.

I used both hands to grip the hunk's butt and pulled him closer. His plum-colored cockhead brushed my lips, and I stuck out my tongue and licked its sensitive underside. Charles and I moaned together, joined in bliss, one man pleasuring, one reveling in the adoration of his cock.

I suckled the head, and it filled my mouth. I worked some more in, rolled my tongue around the phallus. Charles abruptly turned his torso and grabbed a pillow. He took his penis out of my mouth and put the pillow under my head. He moved his cock back to my wet mouth.

This was a better position for cock worshipping. I continued the no hands blowjob for a few minutes, sucking on the head and shaft, letting it flop out so I could lick the veins, then moving down to work each ball. My nose was filled with the smell of his crotch -- sweat, precum, engorged dick, piss and soap. My heart was racing, and blood rushed to my head.

Looking down Charles must have seen a pretty white boy with a red face working his thick dark cock, moving it in and out of his mouth, savoring the plump head, tonguing his sack.

Charles began a gentle in-out fucking motion again, pressing his cock in, withdrawing, then pushing back in. My mouth was sloppy with saliva, wet as any juicy puss. My drool covered his cock and dripped over my chin.

I scooched up a bit and raised my hand to grip his stiff meat. I began to jack it, spit lubricating my hand, and I kept sucking the plum head and dark shaft. The precum started to flow more freely, I knew he was getting there.

Charles was breathing ragged, and his pumping got rougher, insistent. He opened his eyes and looked down at me for a second and I could tell he was overwhelmed with lust and sex joy seeing his stiff black cock against my shiny peach-colored face, his balls bouncing and rubbing on my neck.

It happened. Charles growled and grunted. His body went rigid, and his cock grew bigger and harder in my mouth. I kept working, wanting his sperm, jacking, sucking.

He shouted "Aarrgghh!" and shoved his rod in deeper and a hot liquid spurt hit my throat. I swallowed as his powerful body jerked and trembled, and he shot another load of cream. I kept my mouth wide open, a hole for his throbbing meat as he tensed his thighs and butt. Then I couldn't swallow anymore and his jizz streamed out and down my cheeks and chin.