"You down for some Mr. Shrimp," I asked Brian.
"You down for getting your cock sucked later," he asked in return.
Brian and I, after years of talking via social media, and of course the naughty sites, finally were linking up to do "adult things," as I was transferred to Earle, New Jersey after six years in Norfolk. Two months after checking in, I bought a home not too far from the base, and not too far from him in his place in Belmar.
"You been avoiding me forever, but the power of the pole is too hard to overcome," he mentioned the night I offered to take him to dinner.
He knew my dick got hard each time we spoke on the phone, or via email, or even WhatsApp as the attraction between us was super strong.
"You're here now, and It's inevitable I will become your bitch," he told me.
He wouldn't be my bitch as much as he was "for the streets," but I'd discussed with him prior on being my regular, for I didn't desire to drive to Philadelphia or New York for a piece of ass when the potential cocksucker lived within 30 minutes from me. We bonded well, but the tricky part of us meeting for so long was our locations, for we were once five hours apart with me living in Norfolk, and he being on the shore. I still recalled the first time we spoke online, as I was supposed to attend fleet week in New York and I was trying to see what trouble I could get into, and his profile happened to be the first to pop up on my phone screen.
"Your luck would be better if you were in my bed," he said that afternoon the ship moored in New York, as he followed that message with photos of him being bent over, taking cock in his mouth, and of course kissing a blurred out face.
I got a hotel that night and we Skyped, as he was fully clothed telling me how he'd use his tongue to ravage my ass, making me shoot a straight line of cum across the floor in the room.
"That's a fucking disgrace you had to waste all that good man syrup, and in your dress whites nonetheless? Damn kid," he said in his New Jersey accent.
I think I was more intrigued by this handsome, well-to-do white bear having an interest in me, but then he'd tell me later on that a lot of his high roller friends, stretched across the country, had a thing for black dick. He discussed times he hosted parties in Los Angeles with bankers, lawyers, judges and other corporate friends, and how they were married to stuffy women that didn't put out, and so their sexual desires trickled over into sucking, and receiving black cock.
"Half of my buddies that claim to be straight, they, like me, got their first taste of cock in a threesome or some sort of event with their wives, and became addicted, especially when seeing the bitches squirt or howl like wounded dogs," he said to me.
I got turned on in knowing so, for I had my fair share of big butt white guys, but never gave that a second thought to why we as black men were popular amongst the bottoms.
"A black dick is the same as a white dick, or an Asian dick, or Latino dick, but one thing about the black dick, you guys have a certain rhythm, a certain flavor, and anytime a black guy fucked me, my ass was grateful afterwards, so you'll always be high on my chart. Cock with color is incredible," he added in another conversation.
This night when we were to meet, all his thesis and thoughts were being put to the test as we could finally meet, as on this day he mentioned he hadn't been fucked in three years.
"I'll tell you this, then I need to go get cleaned up. Three years to do the day, was the last time since I was last fucked," he said to me. "I broke up with my long time lover, Jermaine, a garbage collector for the county, and we broke off our little chain of encounters as his wife found out, and took a job in Florida so they could move. She wanted to 'save' him."
That made me laugh as I was talking to him while driving in my truck, heading to his place to pick him up.
"So for that, you're the unlucky guy for me to unleash on," he said.
"Unlucky, eh," I asked.
"That's what I said, because you're spending the night at my place since I'm alone, and well, I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep my hands, or mouth, off of you," he stated.
An hour later, after dealing with traffic and a little construction in his area, I was pulling in front of his home as he had a nice, waterfront-like property. He opened the door of the home and I noticed something different with him immediately.
"You have hair," I asked once he sat down in the passenger seat of the truck.
"Hi, nice to finally see you, too," he said right as he reached over to me and we kissed. "And just so you know, just because I'm 69 doesn't mean I don't have hair. Shit, I have more than you at 40."
We took a moment to really connect as Brian showed he had an active, fat tongue, using it appropriately while groping me and setting the mood.
"Nice to confirm that hot mouth. Daddy is pleased," he said to me as he made me feel giddy.
"Well, I hope so. I ain't deal with all this damned traffic for nothing," I said to him.
"And daddy ain't wait all these years to let you down, either. So your black ass needs to drive, because I'm hungry, and of course, horny," he said, and we both laughed before pulling off. "I hope you ain't offended by this white man saying that to you, by the way."
I wasn't, for I knew Brian wasn't the kind of guy to be racist, just one who'd been around different types of people.
Brian lived in Belmar, a borough on the Jersey shore that was 62 miles southeast of New York City. We held hands while I drove, just trying to adjust to each other as I took him to Mr. Shrimp, a modest seafood parlor located not too far from where he lived. We parked, I cut the engine then looked his way when he grabbed my face and slipped his tongue into my mouth for a few seconds before we had a nasty smooch, with him smiling as he pulled away from me.
"We're finally doing this," he said to me as we stepped out of the truck and to the front entrance of the establishment.
"You know two kids were looking right," I told him, and that made him jump, and I laughed as I was pulling his chain before he started cursing me out like the classic Italian.
We went inside and were seated immediately, as the waitress, a big bodied, Caucasian with spiky and piercings throughout her face, took our drink orders.
"I'll have a limoncello," Brian said.
"Rum and coke," I told her, and she'd return with our drinks barely five minutes later, then explaining the specials.
