Wilson sounded like a decent guy. I had just arrived in Tortola in the British Virgin Islands and was eager to get some man action. Did I say eager? I mean desperate. You know some days you just have to get laid; it was one of those days. In fact it was one of those weeks. I had registered in BVI on the gay dating site I always used and which had served me well in the past.
And there was Wilson. No photo, and in his profile he said he had no intention of letting anyone see a photo. But I liked what he said about himself and the sort of relationship he wanted. He was a non-nonsense type, but not rude or overbearing. He just sounded like the kind of guy who would take someone like me in hand, so to speak.
I'm mid-60s, white and bisexual. I like men about my age, a bit fat, and if they're black, that's a plus. I'm not interested in being anybody's "bitch". I don't want aggression in the bedroom. But I do like to be dominated, so a strict-sounding guy like Wilson might be just right.
The way he had phrased his profile made it sound as if he was only interested in other black men - he talked about "brothers". But he also talked about how after meeting him you would feel "not just fucked but loved". That was what turned me on.
He didn't rush to reply to my message, and when he did it was only to tell me his name and ask mine. Because he sounded so schoolmastererish, intolerant and impatient, I also got the impression he wouldn't want too much messaging and he certainly wouldn't want to answer many questions.
I had put just one naked pic on my profile, plus a private face pic. On his there was nothing, but he said he was black and overweight. Why was he so reluctant to show himself? Because he was ugly? I didn't really care. It's personality and sexual suitability that matter, and if I was going to have sex with a man with a weird face, that wasn't important.
Anyway, we did do a bit of back-and-forth as he apparently checked me out in my capacity as white man in a black man's world. People are often suspicious of me in the Caribbean. I'm a middle-aged white man, and that's not good in their book. I must be arrogant. I must also be rich. And I am to be treated with contempt and ripped off at every opportunity. To counter this I was exceptionally polite with Wilson and I thought it had the desired effect, because he eventually stopped testing me and we arranged to meet at a bar in the east end, where we both lived. It was a touristy place, but Wilson was worldly enough to deal with that. He was a middle-manager for the government and had traveled a bit, mainly to the US.
We had discussed sexual preferences a little and I was satisfied that he was the kind of top I liked, naturally wanting to take charge and keen to give anal. I was so desperate to get behind closed doors with him that I sent him links to videos of white CDs getting fucked by black men. I really wanted to wear a dress and stockings for him, which I don't often do, but only because guys don't ask for it.
So we meet at this bar and it's quiz night, and we get roped into a team, which means we have to explain our relationship (I'm a business contact and Wilson is helping me settle in -- that's our story).The rest of our team is a family from Canada, who are perfectly nice but the whole thing is an unwanted distraction, because I really want to get out of there and back to Wilson's place or mine, so I can suck his cock. He is not ugly at all. He's a perfectly nice-looking middle-aged man with a bit of a beergut and a shaven head. He is wearing thin khaki shorts and a camouflage t-shirt. The bulges in his shorts suggest a substantial cock and balls, and I have to consciously avoid looking at them. I like his big stomach and I want to suck his nipples. And I want him to suck mine, to prepare us both for penetration time.
I find myself not listening to the quiz questions because I'm fantasising about Wilson, so I pull myself together and try to be interested in the proceedings. He is quiet and polite and he gets as many answers right as I do.
Eventually, mercifully, the quiz ends and the family drifts away.
"Your place?" Wilson says, and we drive there without further ado. My rented apartment is nothing fancy but okay, comfortable enough, with air-conditioning in the bedroom which I think - and certainly hope -- we'll be needing later.
Wilson leans back on the sofa while I get some wine, and he slides the coffee table along so there is room in front of him, to stretch his legs, or maybe it's where he wants me to be stationed. This analysis turns out to be correct, because after I sit next to him and he has put his arm around me and pulled my face to his and we have kissed hungrily, with him having placed my hand on his bulge, he quickly gets to the point.
