It was the light that woke me up. The crack of light as the door opened. I had just dozed off in Mr Bradley's spare room, spending the night because it was late and I had drunk too much to drive home. After all, what harm could it do? He was a man and i was a 20-year-old student. Also a man. Can't two men spend a night together under the same roof without causing some sort of scandal?
What I hadn't bargained for was becoming attracted to Berry, as he liked to be called. He had invited me to do some preparatory work on a book I was studying in his English class, and I wanted to do well in the exams, so I accepted all the help I could get.
And we really had worked, reading, and discussing and learning, he in an armchair and I on the settee. He was black and overweight: a big pile of dark mystery to my younger, smaller and, I hadn't realised until that night, less masculine self. I had stolen glances at his package while he was looking things up, and yes, I had been a bit turned on, but I was straight, and it was just curiosity. When he invited me to stay over, there was no undercurrent of sexual intent in his eyes or voice.
But now, as he entered the room, it was clear that my moment had arrived: I was about to have a sexual episode with this man, and every shred of masculinity floated out of me. I lay there like a submissive woman, waiting for him to do something.
He was not naked, but wearing pyjamas, like the respectable, bookish educator he was. But beneath that thin layer of cotton was a body full of sexual mischief and I was going to submit to it.
Berry sat on the bed, on the far side, where I had left room, as if for a partner. Suddenly I didn't want to call him Berry. It would be more exciting being seduced by someone called Mr Bradley. It sounded more inappropriate, more wrong, and that was what I wanted. He took off his pyjama top and slid under the duvet, on his back with his arms spread. I turned over as if just changing positions in my sleep and lay with my head on his chest. He put a hand on my head and stroked my cheek.
"Hello young man," he said quietly.
"Hello Mr Bradley," I replied, and kissed his chest. There was a ittle clump of hair in the middle and i found myself compelled to rest my face in it, enjoying this manifestation of his masculinity.
Suddenly he pushed me onto my back and lay on top of me, kissing me eagerly. I kissed him back and was surprised to find I liked it, having his big, strong tongue in my mouth, roaming and finding places that he could tell excited me. Without realising I was doing it, I slid my hand down his chest and into his pyjamas. There I found my first erect penis, and it was his: big, black Mr Bradley's big, black cock. It was unspeakably exciting and i held it with wonder.
"Suck me," he whispered, and I physically shivered with the thrill of touching him and of being commanded to commit this incredible breach of what I had thought of up to that point as my sexual nature.
"Suck me," indeed. Who did he think I was? Just because he was big, black Mr Bradley, a 40-something man-next-door, he expected me to give him a blowjob?
I unbuttoned his pyjama bottoms and slipped them down and off, my cheek brushing against his tightly curled pubic hair and his hairy thighs as I did it.
In a nanosecond I was back up there, straining in the dark to see his solid, dark, wicked member. I could smell his skin, the savoury aroma of his crotch. I took his knob in my mouth and he put a hand on my head. Then these words slipped out of my mouth: "I want to lick your arse."
I couldn't believe I had said this. It's the most abject surrender a man can make, the ultimate declaration that another man can do and demand absolutely anything.
Even as I was thinking this, my ego fighting my lust, he turned onto his knees, muttering, "No one's ever asked to do that before."
"Tell me what you want me to do," I said, almost trembling.
