The following is a true story:
My name is Jess Sudhir, and I'm half-black and half-Arabic. I had been straight but curious all through college, but, aside from a j/o experience with a friend, I had never been with a guy. But this was my wild year, living on my own in the Big City, and I was determined to make the best of it.
I had been to a couple of gay clubs before. I liked going there: The throbbing music, the lean bodies, and most of all, the way everyone's eyes lingered on me as I sauntered around the room. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I felt a thrill just from being a straight man in a gay world, an arrogant assurance that my pussy-dipped dick and low hanging balls made me more of a man than all the boys who stared so hungrily as I passed.
Nothing I had experienced before, however, prepared me for Champs. It was a dingy hole in the wall, sleazy outside and in, with musclebound men stenciled on the window. Inside a cramped black room held a few bored dance couples: both gay and lesbian. I would have written the entire place off as a loss, if it hadn't been for the curtain. Even the loud dance music couldn't entirely drown out the noises coming from that black expanse of cloth.
I was simultaneously drawn to the sinister veil, and repulsed. Something told me that I would find something on the other side that I was unprepared for. But wasn't that what I was there for? I plunged through.
It was a scene right out of my fantasies. The crowd amassed on the inside of the tent far outnumbered those in the larger room outside. And this group was having far more fun. All around me, hard dicks were jutting out of men's flies, while a small knot of lesbians fingered each other just to my right.
Across, on the other side, I saw three beautiful young men standing dick-to-dick-to-dick, hands on each other's dicks, as the eager crowd pressed in on all sides. Inside my own pants, my own dick bruised its sensitive head against the hard fabric of my jeans.
And there, across the room, someone was trying to catch my attention. A young white guy, hardly out of his teens, with black hair falling down over his forehead, and a dazed, hungry look in his wide eyes.
He must have see some answering lust in my gaze, because he made his way across the room, until we were standing so close I could feel his hot breath panting against my face. I was afraid he was going to kiss me, but he just reached a searching hand down to my crotch, where my hard rod tried to leap into his eager gasp, right through my jeans. With practiced haste, he fumbled my jeans open, and my dick sprang free, into the cool firmness of his hands.
He was wearing drawstring sweats, and it was the work of an instant for me to hold him in my hands as well, a little white worm that struggled and twisted in my grip. But after a quick moment he pushed my hands back, and going to his knees, he had me down his throat before I knew what was going on.
I had a moment of panic, and then the sensation hit me. It was incredible. It's true what they say, that a man knows better how to give a blow job than a woman, and this kid didn't miss a trick, nearly managing the incredible feat of nearly my considerable length.
There was something even better than the sensation, however, and that was the feel of power. Here was this white boy, like every cocky arrogant son-of-a-bitch I had ever hated in high school, humiliated, demasculinized, down on his knees in front of me, taking my black dick down his throat, and loving it.
And I loved it too, fucking his throat, harder and harder, and loving the little gasping sounds he made, and fucking his throat faster and faster, until suddenly he drew back, aware I was going to cum, and I grabbed him by the sides of his head, and thrust myself down his throat and shot a load like a bullet straight to the bottom of his stomach.
When I pulled out, he spat out what he could, and looked up at me, with that dazed look in his eyes, and my cum dripping down his cheek, and some part of me just wanted to hold him in my arms, and keep him close.
And some other part of me wanted to flee as quickly as possible.
And that second part won, and I left the club in a rush. But even though I never saw him again, I have never forgotten the look in his eyes, as my seed burned its way down his throat... and as he turned to look for the next man to fill his need.