Michael trembled imperceptibly as he wheeled his Ford Explorer into the narrow parking space in front of Suite 208, snapped off the radio and killed the engine. This is it, he thought. Both hands gripped the wheel as he sorted through complex emotions. No fighting it any longer. He had come to take charge of his life, and for once, finally after his 42 years, he was intent on fulfilling his desires in the only way he knew possible. No more lies, no more facades. This had to be done.
He yanked the keys from the ignition, popped the door open, and soon he was striding up the short hill to the entrance: glass door of a small building in a nondescript industrial park, in an iffy part of town. His was the only car in the parking lot, and there wasn't much traffic on the street. Goddamn economy, Michael thought. He rapped three times on the door, the sound echoing in the parking lot around him.
A short wait. Michael saw movement in the back of the dark office, and then from the shadows emerged Jeff. Just like his pics, Michael thought. Jeff was 6'2", very short beard, broad beefy shoulders, narrow hips, and medium complexion African American. He was wearing chinos, no shoes or socks, baggy grey sweatshirt with ARMY in big letters across the front. He unlatched door.
"Come in," he grunted. "We're alone."
'Hi," was all Michael could muster.
"What's up?" Jeff had already turned, and was walking back into the back shadows of the office. Michael followed.
They arrived in what was presumably Jeff's office. Small sofa, desk and chair, computer, TV with Sportscenter blaring, trash can. Blinds drawn to a close, medium light. It smelled like new carpet and cleaning fluids.
"Have a seat," Jeff motioned toward the couch. He leaned one hip on his desk, with one foot on the floor, facing Michael and looking down at him where he sat on the sofa.
"So do I look like my pics?" Jeff asked. Michael nodded. "Maybe a little taller than I thought," he replied. Jeff nodded and grinned. He reached down and pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head, revealing his muscular shoulders and pecs, which were half concealed by a tiny white "wife beater" shirt, which clung to Jeff's abs like a second skin. Michael felt his heart quicken. "Do I look like my pics?" Michael asked.
"Yep. I like a big man, soft in all the right places, with a phat ass," Jeff responded, staring directly at Michael's firm but ample body. Michael was a big guy, 6 feet tall and with a plump middle. But as a former college wrestler, he was muscular and thick, strong and in shape. No skinny minny for sure, but certainly not a blob.
"Cool," was all Michael could say. He was so nervous. He could feel his heart in his throat. He was dying to see Jeff's cock, but worried at the same time. He had never had anal sex before, and that is what the craigslist ad had said: "Need White Ass for Big Black Cock."
The attached pictures in the ad were of a muscular black man's chest and shoulders, a medium distance shot of the man standing next to a bench in a park, and a third, of a beautiful black cock that was semi-erect. Michael had stared at the pics for a long time before responding to the ad. He had even masturbated once, fantasizing about the large, strangely light-colored head of that penis entering his rectum and bringing him such relief. But Michael was unsure; he had never had a cock in his ass. He only knew he wanted it, but he didn't know if he could take it.
True, he had a couple of experiences with guys that he could draw from to alleviate his anxiety. Once in college he was drunk and watching porn with a roommate's buddy who was hanging out at the rent house, and one thing had let to another and they had ended up doing some drunk sucking with no completion. But hell, lots of guys were experimenting back then, and the alcohol had a lot to do with what happened.
More recently, he had found himself in a dark adult bookstore movie booth a couple of years back, jacking off to porn when a small cock had slid through the glory hole next to him. He had briefly sucked that one and jacked it off. That event had caused some hard thinking to occur subsequently about just what he wanted and who he was.
For some reason, Michael had a desire for cock that he just couldn't shake. It seemed to come on in his late thirties. One afternoon, engaged in watching straight porn and enjoying a really hot BJ scene (wife was out shopping), he was reminiscing that through all his years of watching porn of all types, he had really loved blowjob and come swallowing scenes. He had loved watching the women with their red, full lips take cock after cock in their throats, jacking it with their small hands and manicured nails, and drinking semen by the quart. But that day, for some reason, it dawned on him that all this time, it wasn't the girls he was focusing on, it was the cocks. Those rock-hard phalluses geysering their loads everywhere, attached to studs who seemed to never run dry. It rocked his whole existence when he figured it out finally. He realized it when he shot his wad during the usual masturbation session, but it was to the image of a man stroking his meat when there wasn't a girl anywhere in the scene yet.
He even discussed it with his wife, who raised an eyebrow but never said much about it. Oh he was a little vague about his newly identified cock attraction, but surely she got the gist. She knew about his little porno addiction and seemed to chalk it up to an active imagination. He was still able to perform for her, but his main fantasy remained to get plowed by a large cock from someone who knew how to use it, and to suck and suck and suck a cock. And suck some more.
Sure, Michael's wife had fingered his ass a couple of times during blowjobs back when they were first married, but that was a long time ago and besides, her little finger didn't amount to much excitement. He thought he could take more. But back to the matter at hand.
"Ok then. So hey, I am on the DL, got to keep this quiet if you know what I mean." Jeff was speaking music to Michael's ears. "Of course, same for me man, I need to keep this just between us," Michael replied.
"Cool." Jeff stood up from the desk. He unbuttoned his chinos, and let them fall to the floor, revealing blue and white horizontally striped boxer briefs, with a noticeable bulge forming on one side. Jeff "dressed left".
Jeff now stood at Michael's feet, just an arm's length from his face. He reached down and slowly peeled the boxer briefs off. As he stood up, his cock popped up and into Michael's view for the first time.
Michael felt a stirring in his cock. Jeff's beautiful black dick was pulsing with every heartbeat, filling with blood and becoming harder, levitating at every throb. Soon it was sticking straight out at Michael, its head reflecting dim light and its darker shaft below ridged and anchored by veins and taut skin.
