Christopher Dillon looked toward the right, where all of the activity was in the homeless shelter being conducted in the half-basement of Cleveland's Payne Avenue Episcopalian church on Christmas Eve. He was well away from where dinner was being served, the TV room was being provided, and, later, the fellowship hall would be cleared for cots to be put out for the sixty homeless men being sheltered there the week between Christmas and New Year's Day. He, at thirty-two, a member of the church and lead in hosting the homeless in this shelter, was a handsome young and prosperous-looking man, as indeed, as owner of three jewelry stores in downtown Cleveland and the suburbs, he should be.
He'd had a rough year in his personal life and was graying at the temples, but on him that looked good. The grief and worry had, if anything, enhanced his look and aspect. He'd trimmed down to having a hard body, and life had mellowed the edges of the attitudes he showed. He was less judgmental and showed more interest in and concern for others. The other members of the church working with the hosting of the homeless, all of whom thought the world of Christopher and were protective of him on this night of all nights, had urged him not to be there on this night, knowing how Christmas Eve would affect him. But Christopher told them he had needed to be here. He had a need that required him to be here that was somewhat different from they, with universal sighing, thought. They thought he was dedicated to this responsibility and was a saint of putting others first.
Christopher wasn't here this night exactly to put others first. He had a burning personal need.
The door to the bathroom remotely located in the church basement that had been renovated with a shower to accommodate the church's homeless shelter program—each of several churches in this Cleveland State University section of the city taking a week each winter season to shelter the homeless—opened and Jamal, one of the homeless guy regulars, filled the doorway. He had showered but he hadn't dressed other than his socks and heavy boots. The clean clothes he brought to put on after his shower were folded and under his arm. His free hand clutched at the bath towel around his waist. Jamal was black, big, and muscular. From his high school days he'd put all of his eggs into the basket of becoming a pro team football tackle. That dream had ended early in college when he couldn't keep up academically and wasn't deemed quite good enough at the sport for the college's football program to prop him up. The subsequent crash had carried the now twenty-two-year-old to the streets.
Jamal was in the know of what was up this evening. He'd seen no reason to get fully dressed after his shower.
Seeing that no one was looking from off to the right, toward the homeless shelter activity, Christopher took Jamal's elbow and guided him off toward the right, deeper into the church's basement complex, into the area of the preschool rooms, declared off limits to the shelter activities and marked just beyond the shower room door with a screen across the hallway with an "Off Limits" sign on it. Night lights were attached to sockets along the corridor to provide just enough light so that someone wouldn't trip over anything. Christopher guided Jamal around the screen, down a dark hall, and into a room lit only by the moonlight reflecting off several inches of snow in the church parking lot beyond two large windows.
They didn't need to speak about where they were going and what they intended to do. This wasn't the first rodeo for either one of them. The deal had been set earlier in the evening, when Christopher had seen Jamal's name on the intake list at the reception desk and had eyeballed him. There was an undercurrent in Christopher's social world of who would do what for how much, and Christopher had been looking ahead for some time for Jamal's name to appear on the church's homeless shelter list. It was unfortunate that it was Christmas Eve, but, even there, perhaps, Christopher thought, it would be a good distraction for him from the grief of this anniversary. He certainly was in heat for such a distraction.
Without saying anything, Christopher backed the hefty and hunky black Jamal against a low counter running under the windows and went down on his knees, pulling the towel off the black stud's waist in the process, leaving the muscular, chocolate-brown body bare except for the socks and the boots. Having been in anticipation of this and finding Christopher arousing, Jamal was in magnificent erection. He had given the shelter guy relief like this before. The man had a real honey of a body, he paid well, and Jamal had his own needs for regular release. Christopher immediately went to servicing the young black's cock with his mouth.
While he gave Jamal head, Christopher used his hands to strip himself—to unbutton his Brooks Brother pristine white shirt and drop it to the side and to unbuckle and unzip his Levi jeans and push them and his Calvin Klein briefs down to his knees. His hands then went to gliding over the bulges of the black stud's body and to lacing fingers through Jamal's meaty balls and rolling and distending them. He groped for his own erection with the other hand and stroked himself.
The black bull groaned for Christopher and leaned over him, running big beefy hands down the willowy back of the well-toned thirty-two-year-old, the fingers of one hand running into Christopher's butt crack and finding and penetrating the man's hole, pressing in—and out and in—opening and stretching the hole. Christopher moaned for him and took his mouth off the cock long enough to murmur, "Yes, yes. Fuck me. Now."
"Sure, you're paying for it," Jamal said, as he pushed Christopher off his shaft and back on his haunches. "Right here, now?" he asked.
"Yes. Here. Hurry." What Christopher needed on Christmas Eve was to forget that it was Christmas Eve—to erase other Christmas Eves from his mind.
"You're probably not open enough," Jamal muttered, as he pulled Christopher up as if he was light as a feather and turned him, butt perched on the low counter between to the two windows overlooking the snow-covered parking lot. As he settled Christopher on the edge of the counter, he reached down and stripped the man's jeans and briefs off his legs. Now all that either man was wearing were Jamal's socks and heavy boots, and Christopher's silky socks and Gucci loafers.
"Just do it. Hurry," Christopher begged in a breathy voice. "I don't care. I want to suffer."
Jamal did it, and from the sounds of Christopher's panting and groans, he suffered from taking the thick shaft without greater preparation. But take it, he did. Jamal pressed Christopher's back against the wall between the two windows and grasped the trim-bodied man's ankles and hooked them on his beefy shoulders. Christopher had handed him the golden condom packet and lay there under the hunk as Jamal extracted the disk and rolled it on his cock. Christopher pressed his hands to the black man's bulging and swirly tattooed pecs and panted and groaned and grunted as Jamal worked hard to penetrate and stretch him and to be fully saddled with his thick, long, jet-black shaft.
When he was in and leaning in toward Christopher's chest, his eyes latched onto the jeweler's eyes to capture the effect of being inside the man, deep and throbbing, He grasped the older man's ankles and raised and spread his legs wide to give him maximum openness and access. Christopher, in good shape, managed the wide stretch and rolled his pelvis up to accord access of the thick shaft, huffing and puffing both his need and the taxing of the extra-large man. He knew Jamal was hung. Knowing that had been part of his obsession of having him and to experience him at the next opportunity, here at the church, on Christmas Eve, when there was risk, Christopher having responsibilities to the shelter program.
Christopher moved his hands to the black stud's bulging biceps, and dug in. His eyes rolled back in his head and he emitted little yipping sounds from his slack mouth, as Jamal started thrusting hard, fast, and deep, causing Christopher's body to jerk and his back to rub up and down on the wall between the windows.
"Please," Christopher begged as Jamal pumped him.
"Please, what?" Jamal growled.
"Please, not so hard, not so deep," Christopher moaned, less insistent now that they had actually gotten to it. "Give me time to adjust."
Jamal laughed. "I know what you want." A beefy black arm snaked under the other man's waist and pulled him in close, in a tight, controlling embrace. Jamal thrust hard and deep. Again and again. Christopher writhed under him, murmuring, "Oh shit. Oh fuck." Jamal was in full control, pistoning his shaft, drilling the older man cruelly. Christopher collapsed in his arms, whimpering the totally mastery of the big, black bull.
