"Now, you sure you'll be at the airport when I get there," I asked Kwame.
"Mark, relax. You have my word that I'll be waiting for you once you land on deck. I wouldn't dare do that to you," he told me over the phone.
I was finally meeting this chocolate iron man.
I was four hours removed from taking off from Charles de Gaulle, as I caught a ride to the airport through my friend Gabriel, a friend that lived in Paris and just so happened to be in my town that was a three hour drive from the airport.
"You're flying all the way to the states for some forsaken cock? Are you serious? You're gonna meet this guy, an American, and he might have rabies or some shit," he said to me.
I laughed as he drove.
"I'm serious, Mark. This guy could be just a flash in the pan," he added.
"I am, but Kwame is more than just a cock, shitface. We've been talking for months, and now we meet finally. Not every American has rabies, as you may see it," I told him.
Gabriel, a native Frenchman with a serious disdain for Americans, was the first to befriend, and court me when I moved to France (I'm an Englishman, originally from Portsmouth, England). He was one who still had the hots for me for a good while, and after months of us talking when I first arrived, I almost gave in to the "blessed" top until one night he and I attended a party together, he was drinking a bit much to my liking, showing his true colors and turning me off completely with his antics. He'd later apologize, but the damage was done, especially since I had numerous guys willing to fill my hole at the time.
"So you'll never let me pilfer you, will you," he asked.
He understood that we could never be intimate, and so he'd become a true friend, one that protested me seeing "a rabid American."
"Who knows? I could marry Kwame, and we live happily, ever after. In fact, Kwame might have a friend you could bend over and marry, too," I said, as we made it to the airport.
"Fuck you," Gabriel said, as we reached over the console to kiss on the lips, then I'd depart his car to enter through the terminal to check in. "I love you, Mark. Please, please, please, be careful, man."
A couple hours later I grabbed a bite to eat then made it to my gate as I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I sat patiently waiting to board, and when the time came, surprisingly I was boarding a half full flight. We'd take off on time, and it was a very smooth flight with a smooth landing seven hours later at JFK in New York. I turned on my phone, and the clock automatically rolled back six hours, and I got a message from Kwame, via the app we use to communicate.
"Your plane just landed," said a message from Kwame via the app we used.
"It really did. Where are you, LOL," I messaged back.
I just wanted to run to this man and hop on that big, black dick of his, but of course, I had to get off the plane and go through the international motions first. We parked, and it would be an easy deplaning, then following signs to go through passport control, dealing with ass hole sentries. It would be expeditious in giving and receiving my passport, as I would follow signs to baggage claim, walking a few more steps to find my Adonis standing in front of the conveyor with his ear to the phone. He saw me, smiled, and I added a brisk pace to my walk to hug this tall, fine, black, "drink of water" in a dapper, dark blue suit and brown wing tips. We both were smiling from ear to ear as my heart melted and ass twitched, ready to do whatever he wanted me to do. I gave my hand to him for shaking, then he pulled me into him as we boldly kissed, with our lips as a gateway and our tongues madly engaged in front of others while his beard tickled my chin. This six foot five frame of a man dwarfed all of my five foot eleven shell, and I couldn't stop "creaming" inside.
"Welcome to America," he said, as I got a whiff of his cologne.
"Halfeti," I asked.
"You know your fragrances," he said to me as he looked down into my eyes, still holding me close.
"I wonder how you smell naked," I asked.
He laughed and told me we'd confirm, before grabbing my bag and us heading out of the terminal.
I knew that fragrance from unfortunate circumstances as my ex, an angry French politician, would wear it whenever we went on outings. For a moment I was triggered, but then he reached down to kiss me on the lips again as we walked, and the electricity he provided would fry any negative thoughts as we were heading out.
We made our way to this "Air Train," then transferred to the subway as this was the first time I ever caught American public transportation.
"This is fun," I told him as I was giddy amongst a heavy group of folks in a crowded car that probably wanted nothing more than to get to their destinations.
