Someone to Love

"Ach, mein Got, Ach mein Got—oh my god." Friedrich cried out in his glorious anguish. The monster black cock was killing him. He was panting hard, unable to breath, every sensation in his body tuned to that thick pole moving ever deeper inside him. He struggled to move away, to find some sense of relief, if only temporarily, if only to try to better accommodate the sinking pillar that was splitting him asunder. But strong, chocolate-brown, ropy-muscled arms were pulling him even closer into a firm, bulging chest—and turning him onto his belly. Big, calloused hands were grabbing at his thighs, pulling his legs up behind him and around the slim hips of his oppressor. Pulling his butt cheeks in closer to the groin of his assaulter. Sinking that massive black cock deeper and deeper into his channel.

"Ach, mein Got. Du bist . . . killing me!" The huge pillar inside him started to slide in and out, balls slapping against his butt cheeks. "Acchhhh!"

* * * *

"No, Mon, you need to have a full frontal photo like I have, see? The German men, they lika' the huge black cocks. And yours is even bigger than mine. We Ghanaian swing like elephants, Mon, and all the Europeans pant for our cocks. It's what gets us out of Ghana, Mon. And you have to brag on toppin' all day, Mon. It's what will get you a ticket outta here."

It was four months earlier than our opening scene, and the proud-talking Felix was showing the much shyer Tomas how to set his profile up on a European male dating Web site. They were using the computer in the company farm office during the noon hour, when all of the supervisors had taken off for their two-hour lunch and, for those who were lucky, their hour-long afternoon fuck before returning to their work at a cooler hour of the day.

Tomas was trying to take in what Felix had to offer him from much greater experience, but he just couldn't be that open on the Internet. He had provided a very nice photograph of himself on that boat cruise out into the ocean, standing by the railing in his Sunday-best sport shirt and khaki trousers, smiling shyly into the camera. Felix had said he looked too vulnerable in the photograph—that he needed to show his heavy-swinging cock to get attention. But Tomas liked that photograph; he thought it honestly showed what he had to offer—honesty and steadfastness. And he was looking for more than a good fuck. For a good fuck he could just stay here in Accra. Many—both men and women—had already felt his cock inside them, and they had all come back sniffing for more.

What Tomas wanted was to get out of Ghana permanently. He had scrimped and saved for this trip to Germany, and this Web site that his friend, Felix, liked so much was seen by Tomas not so much as an arousing entertainment of word fucking with other men as a chance to meet someone to love, someone to take care of him, someone to take him away from Africa forever.

Felix moaned, "No, Mon, you can't say that," as he watched Tomas type just those sentiments into his "looking for," section on the Web site. But Tomas was standing steady. He knew what he was looking for. He was looking to get out of Ghana for good—and for some one who would love and take care of him.

Right before Tomas clicked on the submit button, though, Felix leaned across him and made just a few adjustments. He put "50-60" and "1-on-1" in the "seeking" field and dropped down and marked XL and XT, extra-long and extra-thick, respectively, on the personal statistics listing. It was only honest, Felix thought, to justify his action—and it was what those older European men were looking for—those men with enough experience and money who would be willing to hire a driver or a houseboy, for instance, from Ghana to work as a domestic during the day and as fuck dominator at night. Because that, essentially, was what his friend, Tomas, was looking to be whether or not he realized or would accept it.

Three weeks later, not long before Tomas was to leave on his two-week trip to Germany, he had received three serious contacts through the Web site—serious enough to have arranged meetings with him in Frankfurt, where his plane would touch down.

Felix, on the other hand, still had only received word fuck propositions—men who were willing to talk big in cyber space but who went silent if and when Felix started suggesting that they could actually meet.

Felix was a little pissed that Tomas's profile had done so much better than his in providing even the slightest possibility of either of them getting out of Ghana for good.

The first man Tomas had arranged to see in Frankfurt met him at the airport. He was a construction worker from Wiesbaden and was in his mid forties. A bit on the pudgy side, but with thick-muscled arms the size of tree trunks and with the strength of a water buffalo. As strong as Tomas himself was, he proved no match for this straightforward, go-directly-for-what-he-wanted German—especially when surprise was on Klaus's side. Tomas was taken directly by motorcycle to a nearby convenience hotel, where Klaus had told him he had set up a room where Tomas could stay while Klaus, as promised, showed him around Frankfurt for two days of "get acquainted" activities. Once inside the nearly threadbare hotel room, though, Klaus had clopped Tomas on the chin. When he came to, Tomas was naked and trussed up, on his belly with his arms bound behind his back and a leather belt circling his neck and bound to the slats of the headboard of the bed. Klaus was straddling his hips and huffing and puffing as he fucked Tomas hard.

Tomas had never been fucked before. And he almost choked himself in trying not to be fucked this time—although it was already a little late for that gesture when he slipped back into consciousness.

After taking him hard and without a word beyond the usual dirty language of enjoying getting his rocks off—all of which was just beyond the pale of Tomas's comprehension anyway even though he had taken a crash course in basic German before leaving Ghana on this hopeful vacation—Klaus took a break. He fell into a chair by the bed and tossed off a beer as his eyes examined, with appreciation, the magnificent black prize that had fallen into his net. Then, after belching, and rolling on a fresh condom, he fucked Tomas again. In just the same manner—not showing a bit of creativity.

And then he was gone—never to be seen again. Tomas, sore and a little chagrined, tried to make the best of the situation. He had never been fucked before—every partner he'd ever coupled with wanted to try the challenge of having his cock inside them. So, at least he had added a new sexual experience—and, although it wasn't that bad, Klaus's cock being nothing to be too proud of—the man had worn condoms and it confirmed for Tomas that he liked topping best. Beyond that, he had a hotel room and didn't have to find one on his own now—and there were two more men on his list to meet.

He did think long and hard over his simple meal in the hotel restaurant, though, whether he really wanted to contact the other men now. Was this just all a trap; was it not really possible to find someone to love and take care of him in exchange for incredible cocking on these male dating sites?

One thing was for sure. Neither of these other men was going to be given the chance to take him by surprise as that first one did.

The next man sounded shy and hesitant—almost like he would back out of the contact—when Tomas called him on the telephone.

They met in a little café near the old opera house square in the city. The man appeared to be in his mid fifties, and Tomas saw, with relief, that there was little chance of this man taking him by surprise and manhandling him like the first one did.

He was nice looking. Not too fat, not too thin; gray hair and eyes; a once-handsome face given to deep experience lines. A slight hobble as he came to the table. A natural shyness and a touch of something else—a sense of grieving and reticence.

In their conversation, it was revealed that the slight lameness was the last vestige of an automobile accident that had taken the life of the man this one had been living with for the past thirty years.

The man had had trouble—or so he claimed; Tomas had quickly learned to be wary about everything anyone told him—adjusting to being alone, which had sent him to the German dating Web site, where he had found and responded to Tomas's profile.

For the next two days, the man escorted Tomas around Frankfurt and to surrounding towns. He spoke little and, when doing so, his eyes were downcast as if he could not completely take Tomas in.

Tomas became a little edgy and frustrated. Was the man disappointed in him and just being polite, wanting to be rid of him but not quite knowing how to do it.

One day, in a park near Oberusale, where they sat on a blanket under the shade of a tree and just out of sight of the walking path, Tomas reached over and touched the man's hand. They had been drinking wine and eating cheese and peasant bread, and the man had been more open than in the two days prior to that. He was speaking of his lost lover with affection, and Tomas felt the loss of the departed lover like a knife in his own belly. Thus, it was almost blind instinct that led Tomas to reach over and touch the man's hand in sympathy.

But the man snatched his hand away as if he had been touched with a lit match. And, stricken, Tomas lowered his face and apologized profusely. This Web site idea had been a complete failure, he told himself in the silence that followed. Nothing had gone right. This wasn't the way to find what he wanted.

Hearing the sob, however, he looked up. The man was looking intently at Tomas. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Once again, Tomas tried to apologize, but the man reached over and placed a finger on Tomas's lips.

"Please, no, Tomas. You have done nothing wrong," the man whispered. "It's just that you are so, so much like my Peter. Not in looks, of course, but inside—in your heart and in your kindness. You are so kind to be spending time with a tired old man like me. So kind. So much . . . like . . . Peter."

Tomas wanted to take the man in his arms right there, but the man insisted that they go back to his flat, which turned out to be quite large and well furnished. He obviously was a man of substance.

The man trembled and shuddered when he saw the size of Tomas's cock and had repeatedly run his hands over the fine, well-muscled gleaming-black body of this open and honest black stranger from the south for nearly a half hour before Tomas had suggested they needed to move on in their lovemaking.

He had fondled and caressed and licked and tried to swallow Tomas's cock until Tomas could take no more and took the man, lightly muscled and almost delicate in his nakedness, into his lap and slowly, ever so slowly entered and filled him to overstretching and listened to the man cry out his "Ach mein Got" exclamations of glorious anguish at the deepest and fullest taking he had ever experienced. But when Tomas had finally brought both himself and the man to ejaculation, the man demanded another fucking, saying he never wanted to release that glorious black pole filling the void of his channel.

* * * *

Having experienced the exultation of ravishment on the pole of his magnificent African lover yet again, Friedrich moved out of the sleeping embrace of Tomas and sat at the side of the bed, looking down at the treasure that he never would have imagined could come to him by way of the Web site he had put his profile on as a last-ditch effort to find some second chance at joy in life. All of his friends had told him he was a fool. He could never find an honest and steadfast lover on such a Web site, they said.

Well, it had been three months already and they had put Tomas's papers in for permanent residency, and Tomas had shown nothing but appreciation and love toward him. He would have loved the Tomas that he had come to know in those first two days of rediscovering Frankfurt with each other no matter what. The gigantic black cock that did such wonders in his channel was merely a bonus.

The previous day, in turning the pockets of a pair of Tomas's pants inside out before putting them in the washer, a slip of paper had fallen out. It had three contact numbers on it—the first marked out in heavy ink. The second was his. But there was a third one. When he had asked Tomas about that number, Tomas had said that, after meeting him, there had been no need for that third number.

For some reason, Friedrich felt sublimely contented when he heard that. He leaned over and started to massage the ropy muscles on Tomas's neck and shoulders, and the beautiful African opened his eyes and reached for Friedrich again. And soon Friedrich was panting and throwing his legs as wide as possible to accommodate the invading cock of the amazing African—and loving each inch as it sank into him.

No one could tell either Tomas or Friedrich that love could not be found on the Internet.