Canoe Trip Confession, by Skorpio
Josh Danvers and Darryl Jackson relaxed in lawn chairs on the flagstone patio behind Josh's house in suburban New Jersey, sipping St. Pauli Girls.
From time to time, Josh's wife, a perky blonde with a peaches and cream complexion, came through the sliding glass doors to bring them fresh drinks and snacks.
"You got Melanie trained real good," Darryl remarked.
He was a good-looking brother in his late twenties with brown-gold skin and a ball fade cut so close it looked more a dark shadow capping his perfectly shaped skull than a hairstyle. His onyx eyes seemed impossibly large.
"More like the other way around," Josh sighed. "I can't do anything without her permission."
Josh had an interesting face. Not handsome like Darryl, but not unpleasant to look at. Reddish locks worn preppy style, short on the sides, bangs over the forehead. Jug-handle ears, big blue eyes, pug nose, freckles, and a lop-sided grin.
"That's why I never got hitched" said Darryl. "I need my freedom. Ain't no bitch – `scuse my language – gonna tell me what to do."
"You'll settle down someday."
"Maybe. But, dude, I'm not gonna be pussy-whipped like you. In my house the man rules the roost, know what I'm saying?"
"Good luck with that," chuckled Josh.
"I'm serious," Darryl persisted. "You gotta let a bitch know who's the boss."
"I suppose..."
"You've changed, haven't you. Whatever happened to the guy I roomed with back in college?"
"He got married."
"I was there."
"My best man."
"And don't you forget it! Man, we shared some wild times, didn't we? Remember that cheerleader we got drunk and brought back to the room? What was her name?"
"Debbie."
"Yeah, that's right. Debbie! We tag teamed her something fierce, didn't we! Could that bitch suck a dick or what? And if I remember correctly, you fucked her in the ass! I didn't know you whiteboys rolled like that!"
"Shhh," Josh hushed. "I don't want Melanie to hear us."
"Those were the days," Darryl lowered his voice again. "We used to do a lot of crazy shit. We should do somethin' like that again."
"Are you crazy?"
"I mean it. For old time's sake."
"Melanie would kill me."
"Not if she was in on it."
"Don't even go there."
"You ever think about sharing?"
"You ARE crazy. Let's change the subject."
"What's the matter? Scurred wifey might go black and not come back?"
"Fuck you!"
"No, fuck you!"
Both men roared with laughter.
"I've got another idea," said Darryl.
"What's that?"
"We should go canoeing."
"Canoeing?"
"Just you and me. Back to nature and all that."
"That would be fun," Josh conceded. "When do you want to do this?"
"How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? I don't know. I told Melanie I would take her into the city tomorrow to do some shopping."
"Just ask her. What are you, a man or a mouse?"
When Melanie returned with another round, looking more than a little provocative in her short skirt and low-cut blouse, Darryl said to her:
"Honey, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," she replied, meeting his gaze with a coy glance that bordered on flirtatious.
"Me and Josh wanna go canoeing tomorrow. Is that okay with you?"
"Of course!" said Melanie, with a wink. "Don't be silly. You boys have fun!"
"Aiiight, it's settled!"
"I guess so," said Josh, somewhat surprised.
Early the next morning Darryl picked up Josh in his black Dodge Challenger, and they were on their way. It took three hours to reach a rustic village near the old Delaware canal in upper Buck's County, Pennsylvania.
There, they rented a fifteen foot, aluminum craft, and purchased beer and sandwiches. It was nearly noon by the time they set out on the lazy waterway.
The canal was fifty miles long, winding through bucolic landscapes. The warm summer air was sweetened by lush foliage baking in the hot sun. Insects buzzed in the trees.
Darryl took the bow. The stronger of the two, he provided most of the propulsion, using slow, masterful strokes. Josh sat up front, using his paddle to navigate. After awhile, both men peeled off their shirts.
Darryl's smooth, mahogany chest smoldered in the fierce sunlight. He was in perfect shape with well-developed shoulders, bulging biceps, and a defined six pack. Josh was pale and flabby by comparison, a far cry from the athlete he once was.
"Let's pull over here," suggested Darryl, pointing to a spot along the bank. "I could use a break. How about you?"
"I could have used a break an hour ago," groaned Josh, stretching his limbs. "I'm gonna be really sore tomorrow!"
"Probably so," Darryl chuckled softly, finding something humorous. "Bring the beer."
"Why do I have to bring the beer?"
"Think of it as the white man's burden."
"Yeah, right."
"Never mind, weakling! I'll carry the beer."
After mooring the canoe, they followed a trail to a small clearing with an old picnic table and the scattered remains of an old campfire.
"This looks good," decided Darryl, setting down the cooler and taking out two Coors tallboys.
"I suppose," Josh shrugged.
"Stay clear of those bushes. Might be poison ivy."
"Where?"
"Over there, by that big rock."
"That's not poison ivy," said Josh confidently. "It has four leaves. Don't you know the old saying? Leaflets three, let it be?"
"I never heard that."
While Josh's back was turned, Darryl drew a small vial from his pocket and sprinkled its powder into Josh's beer.
They sat on the table, side by side, bare shoulders almost touching, sipping beer, not saying much.
"It's so peaceful here," said Josh.
"I know, right?" Darryl agreed.
Josh was wishing this moment would never end when he suddenly felt light-headed. He tried to stand but his knees buckled.
"I f-feel s-so strange," he stammered. "Dizzy... everything spinning..."
Darryl caught Josh in his arms.
The last thing Josh heard before passing out was Darryl, saying: "Sorry, old pal. It's only temporary. I just gave you enough to do what I have to do."
Then, oblivion.
Water splashed in his face woke Josh up, startling him back to consciousness, but it took a minute or two before he returned to his senses.
By slow degrees Josh became aware of his predicament.
He was on his knees with his back against a tree, wrists behind the trunk, bound together by a rag, probably his own tee-shirt, feeling rough bark against his skin.
His belt was wrapped around his throat and the tree like that scene from Deliverance with Jon Voight. But the tall figure looming over him was no crazed, inbred hillbilly.
"What's going on?" Josh sputtered.
"We need to have a talk," said Darryl, calmly, like the lull before a storm.
Something cold and implacable about his onyx eyes and deep voice sent a chill down Josh's spine.
"Okay, this isn't funny," said Josh, nervously. "You can untie me now."
"Not yet," said Darryl. "Sorry it had to come to this, but I want some answers, and I think this is the only way I'm going to get them."
"Answers? C'mon, dude. A joke is a joke. Untie me."
"I will - after you tell me what I want to know."
"What do you want to know?"
"Are you a faggot?"
"Am I a what? Jesus fucking Christ! I'm married for crying out loud! Untie me, dude!"
"I'm asking up front, man to man. I never kept no secrets from you. I want the truth. Are you a fag?"
"You know I'm not!" protested Josh.
"I wish you could trust me."
"I do trust you! YOU need to trust ME!"
"See, that's the problem," Darryl went on. "I don't think I can. Let me tell you a story. I was hooking up with a chick at the Ramada Inn last week when I saw you in the lounge, drinking with some young thug. And I asked myself, why would my buddy Josh be hanging out with someone like that? That got me curious, so I followed you. Y'all went to a room and stayed there for a couple hours. Wanna tell me what was going on?"
"He was just a friend," said Josh.
"Yahhh, right!" Darryl scoffed.
"I swear, I was just meeting a friend."
"A friend."
Darryl squatted down in order to unfasten his captive's khaki shorts.
"What are you doing?" Josh wriggled against his bonds.
"Pipe down! I'm gonna prove you're a faggot."
"You're the one acting like a faggot!"
"We'll see," said Darryl, tugging Josh's shorts and white briefs down to his knees.
"Darryl, this is going way too far."
"Dayumm!" Darryl exclaimed, stepping back. "Ain't that a fucking shame!"
Josh struggled. He wanted to cover his scrawny toadstool of a cock and nuts the size of acorns, but he was helpless.
"Darryl, this is crazy!"
"I never noticed when we were roomies, but, man, you are seriously lacking in the meat department. That is one little pecker! Must be why y'all call yourselves white BOYS!"
"Okay, you've had your fun. Untie me!"
"We're not done yet," said Darryl. "I want to test a theory."
"A theory?"
"I'm gonna remind you what a real man looks like. If I'm right, if you are a faggot, it ought to get a rise out of you."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then I'll set you free, and we'll forget this ever happened."
"You expect me to forget? Just like that?"
"No," Darryl smirked. "I expect you to get hard."
With that, he shucked off his cargo shorts and plaid boxers, kicked off his sandals, and stood naked in the clearing. Arms akimbo, he could easily have been Shaka Zulu, proud, strong, at home in the jungle.
Darryl's cock was the color of molasses. Flaccid, it was nearly as thick as it was long, springing from a nest of tight, black curls. Heavy testicles dangled low in their velvet sack like ripe, purple plums.
"Take a good look! Is this what turns you on?"
Josh tried to look away, but his eyes kept darting back to the formidable meat between Darryl's muscular thighs.
"Don't be shy."
"Why are you doing this?"
"That should be obvious," said Darryl, holding his cock in his palm. "I know how I get when I see a nekkid woman. I'm betting this will have the same effect on you."
Josh's prick began to stir. Squeezing shut his eyes, he tried to prevent it from happening, tried to think of something else, anything else.
Seconds later, Josh's cock doubled in length until it was maybe six inches hard, sticking straight up like a soldier saluting an officer.
"What I thought," Darryl snickered. "You ARE a fag."
Tears welled up in Josh's big, blue eyes.
"Now, are you gonna tell me about that nigga I saw you with at the Ramada? Or am I gonna have to beat it out of you? Don't think I won't."
Darryl slapped Josh lightly across the face.
"No, no, I'll tell you," Josh caved. "I hooked up with him, alright? It was just a onetime thing."
"What did y'all do?"
"I gave him a blowjob. That was it. I was curious, that's all. It was a mistake. I want to forget about it."
"He looked like a hustler. How much did you pay him?"
"It wasn't like that," said Josh.
"Oh, really? I'm betting I can find his number on your cell phone. Maybe I should just call him."
"No. Please. Don't do that! Why do you care? It's none of your business, anyway!"
"I'm making it my business," said Darryl. "How much did you pay to suck his dick?"
"Five hundred."
"Are you shittin' me? You paid a nigga five hundred bucks to suck his dick? I can get a whore off the street to blow me for twenty. There's something you're not telling me."
"Please, don't you know enough?"
"Sorry, cuz. We been friends for years, but it's like I'm just now getting to know you for the first time. What else did you get for all that money?"
"I'll tell you. I will. Just don't hate me, okay? I paid him to talk to me a certain way."
"What you mean?"
"For verbal abuse!" Josh spilled. "I paid him to talk nasty to me. Alright? Are you satisfied?"
"Not yet. This is just getting interesting. After all these years, I'm finally getting to know the real Josh! So, what did this roughneck say to you?
"Does it matter," groaned Josh, regretting his outburst.
"I think you're forgetting who you're talking to," Darryl growled, putting bass into his voice. "Now, what did that nigga say?"
"He called me names..."
"Such as?"
"Faggot, cocksucker... batty boy..."
"Batty boy?" Darryl laughed. "What was he, Jamaican?"
"I don't know... he had an accent.
"What else did he call you?"
"Peckerwood... cracker... whitey... that sort of thing."
"Go on."
Darryl was beginning to get the picture, but he wanted to hear it all. Every detail of Josh's sexual fetish.
"He said I disgust him because I'm white. He told me hates white men. Said the day is coming when all whites will be beaten down, raped, branded, and sold as slaves. It's what we have coming."
"Do you think that's true?"
There was a moment of tense silence as Josh hesitated. But only a moment. There was not much point in holding back now. Not that he could refuse to answer even if he tried. He was exposed, literally and figuratively.
"I guess," Josh relented.
"You guess!" Darryl snorted with derision. "Know what I think? I think you just get off being humiliated and used. You don't give a fuck about the Black Man. We're simply props in your sick little fantasy! And while he was calling you every name in the book, what were you doing?"
"Sucking his cock."
"You paid him $500 for that?"
"It was supposed to be $100," said Josh. "He robbed me. Took all the cash I had."
Darryl paced, mulling this revelation. His best friend had a fetish for black domination. Would wonders never cease!
"You took a big chance," said Darryl, softening his tone, sounding almost concerned. "That roughneck could have fucked you up. Or worse."
"I know. I was stupid."
"You know what bugs me the most?" said Darryl, shaking his head with dismay. "You should've come to me. I would have helped you out. Hell, I would've done it for free. That's what friends are for."
"I didn't want anyone to know."
"You really are a silly faggot, aren't you. You've got a hot wife, but you go looking for some nigga to treat you like shit. That's fucking pathetic! You know that, right?"
"I know," Josh agreed, his stiff prick quivering as Darryl's words washed over him.
"For Christ's sake! We shared a room in college. We even banged that chick together. All that time you must have been perving on me!"
"I'm sorry."
"You should be! Look at you, your little prick all hard and shit. I bet you would love to suck my dick, wouldn't you! Is that what you want? You wanna suck my dick?"
"Yes... yes, yes!" Josh blurted, unable to contain himself.
"I bet you do," said Darryl, smugly. "But why would I let a faggot suck my dick? I got plenty bitches to do that."
"Make... me... your... bitch..." said Josh, weakly.
"Speak up! I can't hear you!"
"Make me your bitch!"
"Why should I? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just leave you here."
"Please, I'll do anything you want."
"Anything?"
"Yes, yes... anything at all," Josh pleaded.
"You make me sick. Not `cause you're a fag. I might be able to overlook that if you were up front about it. But sucking dick ain't enough for you, is it? You want to be used by a nigga."
There was nothing more that Josh could say. They say that confession is good for the soul. Now that the truth was out, it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his narrow shoulders.
"I'm gonna be real with you!" said Darryl. "I get that you feel inferior. You should! It's a fact of life! There ain't a nigga alive who doesn't know we're better than you sorry-ass crackers!
"How do you think we feel, having to live alongside y'all, knowing what your kind did to mine? And all the shit you white motherfuckers still be doing! Most of us are willing to look over that, just so we can all get along.
"But that ain't enough for you, is it? You still don't see us as men. We're nothing but objects to you. Objects in your sick sex fantasies."
Darryl squatted, looking Josh dead in the eye. Sunlight filtered through the foliage. Somewhere a songbird trilled, seeking a mate.
"I'm gonna teach you what it means to be a black man's bitch," said Darryl.
There was a fierce, mineral glitter in his large eyes, a look of pure contempt, as he untied the rag binding Josh's wrists.
"I'm gonna stand here while you play with your li'l white dick! Do it! Get your freak on, bitch!"
Josh began to stroke.
"Open yo' mouth," Darryl ordered. "Open wide and keep it open in case I decide to stick my dick in it!"
Darryl's cock expanded to its full size: ten inches of ebony wood, throbbing with power. A real man's cock. A black king's scepter. The only true symbol of virility.
It was not long before Jock's entire body shuddered as hot spunk spilled over his hand like foam.
"Now, lick your fingers clean," said Darryl. "Lick it up!"
Snatching Josh's wallet, Darryl emptied it of cash, a few dollars short of three hundred.
"Collecting what you owe me," he explained. "I'll get the rest later! From now on, I'm gonna stop by once or twice a week to get my money. Five hundred bucks, what you paid that hustler at the motel. Don't make ask for it. Every time you see me, EVERY FUCKING TIME I SHOW UP, you're gonna pay me the same amount. Do you understand me, bitch?"
"Yes, Sir," said Josh.
"Sir? I like that. Yeah, you can call me that from now on. Call me SIR, or MR. JACKSON," the black man gloated. "Only my friends call me Darryl. And you ain't no friend of mine, not no more. You're my little bitch! Me and Melanie, we gonna have a long talk when we get back. She's gonna need a real man! I can't wait to get that sweet pussy you've been neglecting."
EPILOGUE
In the weeks that followed, Darryl Jackson made good his terms. He got paid in cash every time he stopped by Josh's home without having to say a word. Cracker Tax, he called it: what the white man owes!
Before the year was out, Darryl quit his job and moved in, taking over the entire household. For the first time in her life, Melanie got fucked the way a woman needs to be fucked, at least twice a day, frequently while Josh looked on, forbidden to masturbate without permission.
Josh spent his nights in the basement and went to work each day to support them, like the faggot bitch he was. In addition, Josh performed all the household chores, from cleaning the toilet to cooking dinner.
On very special occasions, Darryl condescended to let Josh suck his dick.
It was the perfect arrangement for all concerned.
THE END