LGBT Stories

“What about that one?”

“Too young. We need someone with a little more experience.”

“Um, okay. How about that one?”

“In the red shirt?”

“No, not him. Too confident. The guy next to him.”

“In the striped shirt?”

“Yeah.”

Darius nodded. “Let’s see if we get any interest from him. I’ll go straight across, then you loop around past the pool tables and see what you get. Wait until I signal you, though.”

“Okay.”

Darius set down his empty glass and made his way across the room. He stopped at the bar about four seats from the guy in the striped shirt to order a drink.

It was a crowded bar, but the bartender came to him immediately. Most bartenders did for Darius.

He ordered a juice. The bartender gave him his drink and told him it was on the house.

While this was happening, Darius watched the guy in the striped shirt out of the corner of his eye.

(more…)

I once met someone named Katrina
I never met anyone meaner
She came into town
Blew all my shit down
And left me fucking with FEMA

~~~

Roll tape. Aerial footage of storm damage. Veronica voice over:

“As federal and state officials begin the long process of assessing the damage and putting the pieces together in New Orleans, many residents now wonder where their lives will lead.”

Floating body footage.

“With the death toll still uncertain and families still separated, some residents already speak of returning to the city they grew up in. But others aren’t so certain.”

Cutaway to Javon. Veronica voice over:

“One family torn from their homes in the wake of Katrina’s devastation is struggling with that very question. For Javon Collins, the answer is far from clear.”

Javon’s voice:

“I dunno. It’s my home, but it ain’t gonna be the same no more.”

Herbert, the obnoxious board operator universally hated by everyone at the television station, snorted at his controls. “‘I dunno?’ That’s the best we could come up with? ‘It ain’t gonna be the same no more’?” he snickered.

(more…)

“So,” he said, slowly stirring his mocha latte, “Tell me about yourself.”

I was taken aback. This was not at all what I had had in mind. I looked around the coffee shop, trying to think of what I should say. The place seemed suddenly very small to me.

But there he sat, quietly stirring his coffee drink with an enigmatic smile on his face. Just calmly waiting for my reply.

I decided to punt. “Well, uh. what do you want to know? I’m 40 years old…a lawyer…previously divorced with no kids.”

He waved his hand casually as if to brush my words aside. “No, you know that’s not what I mean,” he said, still smiling and stirring his coffee. “Let’s talk about the Black thing.”

The Black thing. This guy wasn’t going to make it easy for me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

The smile disappeared, and a look of mild impatience crossed his face.

“Why do you like Black guys?”

(more…)

The young man sitting at the bar was the very picture of dejection. I have never seen someone so down in the mouth, so morose, so depressed looking.

And I could not at first glance guess why. He was a very nice looking young man. Early twenties. African American guy with pretty eyes, a smart tight haircut, graceful features, slim build, smooth pretty skin.

But, oh, he looked seriously unhappy there, sitting at that bar. One palm on his forehead, elbow on the bar. Just looking like his best friend or favorite pet had died.

Now, I’m a friendly guy by nature. I like to flirt. I like to play. I like to tease. But I’m also a compassionate guy by nature, and when I see someone in such a state as he appeared to be, my human curiosity takes over, as well as my desire to make things better if I can. I’m a people person.

“Smile,” I said to him. “Surely it’s not that bad.”

He sighed heavily and looked down at the bar. “Yes,” he said. “It is that bad. I can’t smile.”

“Oh, surely you can give me a little smile,” I said. “I bet you have a great smile.”

“It’s not so great,” he said. “And I can’t. I’ve got a problem.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, leaning forward. (And I was concerned by this point.) “What’s your problem?”

He sighed again. “I can’t get sexually satisfied.”

This surprised me. He was, as I said, a very nice looking young man.

(more…)

Hamzah drives his fat cock in deep, burying himself up to his balls in the tight ass pushing back against him. He moans as the hot walls of the stretched lovehole massage his aching fuckstick. Beneath him, lying on his back, Danny gasps, feeling the huge black meat impale him. Hamzah bucks his hips in a lazy rhythm, savouring the sensation of working this hot white ass. Danny’s legs tighten around Hamzah’s waist, urging him to fuck faster, but Hamzah is in charge here. He’s waited a long time to be inside this 19-year-old slut, and he is going to screw this fuckchute as long as he can.

Since Hamzah emigrated from Nigeria, he had been disappointed by his inability to find a decent job. Trained as a computer systems engineer, he’d had the misfortune to arrive just as the high tech bubble imploded. After months of working nights as a cleaner, he had been happy to take a second part time job as a math tutor to Danny.

Danny was the younger son of a sportswear manufacturer. He was bright, but undisciplined, and it seemed unlikely that he would gain admission to a prestigious university, as his older brother Alex had. His parents decided tutoring was necessary. Hamzah was working as a cleaner in the father’s factory, which is how he got the job as one of the tutors.

(more…)

Reg looked at the open file in front of him: chronic tardiness, poor attitude towards customers, improper dress. Reprimand after reprimand. This guy just did not get it. And now this latest complaint brought forward by his supervisor. Reg shook his head. He could fire him, or demote him. A good manager always tried to find the best skills and assets an employee had and use them to the best advantage of the organization. But this guy didn’t seem to have any useful skills. He’d wait to see what sort of attitude he’d show, and then decide what he’d do. This was the part of his job he hated - getting tough with people. But he could perform the part well when he had to. A 6′1″ muscular African-American, Reg had an intimidating presence. At 35, he also had a 15 year advantage in age over his college student employees.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened. “Tyler, come on in,” Reg waved at the blond guy standing in the door. He was wearing the orange prison-yard jumpsuit that was the corporate uniform at Bad Boys’ Burgers. Tyler shuffled over, and sat down. “I understand you and Jeff had a disagreement over fries.”

Tyler looked down at his feet. “The fries are cooked here way too long. People want soft oily fries, not crispy fries. So I reset the clocks on the fryers. You know, so the buzzer to remove the fries goes off earlier. But Jeff, he doesn’t understand.”

(more…)

Jemarcus hung up the phone. He turned to his black Cuban teammate Juan. “You’re gonna love this, amigo. These guys treat me right. They know I get off on taking some boy’s ass, with a bit of theater. I got a pizza boy once, an electrician, and - oh, yeah - a lost Japanese exchange student”. He rubbed his swelling cock through his sweatpants, remembering hammering that sweet tight Asian mancunt with his fat black manpole. “Fuck, yeah, you never know what they’re gonna send”.

Juan gave his stiffening cock a squeeze through his sweats. He’d been traded a year before, but it had only been a month since he and Jemarcus had found common ground. There’d been a road game, and then back in Jemarcus’ hotel room, after a few too many shots of Jim Beam, Juan had found himself on his back on Jemarcus’ bed, with the powerful black outfielder buried in his ass, breeding him with his manseed. He remembered at the time thinking it was funny: just like Castro fulminated in his five hour speeches, here he was being fucked over by capitalist America. It wasn’t so bad though - he loved Jemarcus’ African-American bone massaging his love hole. And the very next day, Jemarcus offered him his beautiful black ass, and Juan experienced his hottest orgasm ever spilling his seed in that African fuckhole.

So he was intrigued by Jemarcus’ suggestion that they hire a guy from an agency. There was something unsavory about procuring a - well, to be frank - prostitute. On the other hand, they were both millionaires, and what value was money if it couldn’t buy pleasure?

(more…)

David: 16, 5ft 8ins, 9st 4lbs, swimmers build, brown hair and eyes, hairy
legs and pubes, navel trail, 6inch uncut cock, tanned.
Xavier & Paolo: 15 and 3/4s, Portuguese/Angolan twins, 5ft 9ins, 9st, thin
with tight muscles, round little bellies, 51/2 inch uncut cocks, thicker than
David’s. Dark skinned smooth, short curly black hair and pubes.
Scott: David’s Cousin, just 16, 5ft 4ins, 8st 2lbs, thin, no muscles,
straight long blonde hair, blue eyes, very pale skin, bubble butt, 5in cut
cock, thinner than David’s.
(more…)

I’d just broken up with my boyfriend of three years; I needed a break, so I got a late booking holiday off the net. It was one week all-inclusive in Benidorm at a hotel I’d stayed at before. Because it was mid September I knew it would still be warm at night, so I only packed baggy lightweight shorts and T-shirts, flip-flops, and swimwear. I arrived at the hotel around nine-thirty at night. My room, number 103, was on the first floor, last but one. I noticed there was an adjoining door to the next room, number 101. As was usual there was a bolt on my side, so I presumed there’d be one on the other side. Being nosey I lifted the keyhole cover and looked through, no luck; the cover was down on the other side. I unpacked and went and had the buffet dinner the hotel provided for late arrivals. I had a quick shower, put on a pair of baggy shorts and a T-shirt, slipped on my flip-flops, and made my way to the bar, getting there around quarter to eleven.
(more…)

The heat was at the edge of being intolerable. The South Morrocan desert was making itself known as I had never known it to before. I was afraid to look at my themometer for fear of having a suggested heat stroke. It had to be 120 degrees fharenheit, and not a stich of shade to be had. I removed my thick felt hat and wiped my sweaty brow with my already drenched shirtsleeve. I decided to head back to camp for some food, and a drink however warm the liquid might be.
(more…)