Vaseline by Jess Sudhir youth, interracial, athletics, authoritarian
It happened like this. I was at a sports camp. I had gone the year before and liked it, but this year was destined to be an entirely new experience.
There were kids there from all over the state, and my roommate was a black kid from Springfield. He was only about a year older than me, but taller, huskier and more developed. I was a bit of a late starter myself and just barely out of puberty, to be honest.
That first night as we got ready for bed after a hard day's workout, he stared at me the whole time I was changing into my pyjamas. I gave him the "What?" look, but he didn't stop staring. I couldn't help notice he had one hand on his crotch and was massaging it slowly.
"I never slept with a white boy before," he said. "You're kind of pretty, like a girl."
I really didn't know what to say to that. It was true my hair was a little long but that was the style for boys at my school that year. I must have blushed because he said:
"Oh, your face just turned red! How'd you make it do that?"
To cover up my growing embarassment I hotly replied "Aren't you going to go to bed?"
"Yeah," he drawled, and jerked off his pants and shirt, revealing a broad expanse of chocolate skin. The only thing he had left on was a slightly stained and ragged pair of briefs that barely managed to hold back his endowment. To my inexperienced eyes it seemed huge. I didn't know whether he was hard or soft, but either way, nature had been kind, if not extravagent. I may have gasped.
"Like what you see?" he said, as he grabbed himself with a big black hand.
"Good night!" I said hurriedly, and turned my face towards the wall. My voice probably cracked as I said it, but I kept my eyes tightly closed until I heard the click that told me the lights had been turned off.
That night my dreams were strange and murky, but I soon forgot the events of the previous evening through the exertions and efforts of the next day's workout. As before, we trained from dusk to dawn, and I was ready to collapse by the time i got back to the room.
Not so my roommate, apparently. This time he waited until the lights were out, and then began to talk to me in the dark.
"I sure am horny," he said. I said nothing.
"Are you horny?" he asked. Again, I elected to not reply."
"Do you know what horny is?" he said. Clearly, he wasn't going to give up easily.
"No," I lied firmly.
"Horny is when your dick gets hard and you want to fuck," he said. "Do you ever feel like that?"
I had had a fairly sheltered existence and only had the vaguest notion what "fuck" actually meant, but my dick was hard at that very moment. It was poking out of the fly of my pyjamas and rubbing against the coarseness of the cheap sheets. I wasn't even sure why. Confused, I retreated back into silence. A moment later I began to hear noises from the other side of the room --heavy breathing and a rhythmic slapping sound. Unbidden, my own hand worked its way down towards my now throbbing boyhood, an urge which I fought (as usual) by rolling over onto my stomach and imprisoning my hands under my pillow.
The next day, my mind wasn't really on the sports drills, and I suppose it showed. At any rate the coach yelled at me quite a bit. All I could think about was the forthcoming evening. I was looking forward to it with an unfamiliar mixture of trepidation and excitement.
This time it was back to the lights on. I refused to change with him staring at me, so there we both were, a white boy and a black boy, sitting on our beds in our dirty sweaty t-shirts and gym pants.
As usual, he was one step ahead of me. "Hey!" he said. "Do you know what this is?"
Rummaging in his bag he pulled out a battered little container that I recognized from the medicine cabinet at home.
"Yeah," I scoffed. "Vaseline."
"You know what it's used for?" he said.
Silence from me. I actually had no idea what people actually used Vaseline for.
"You put it on your dick before you fuck someone," he said. "It makes your dick slide in easier."
"That's a lie!" I burst out. "That's not what it's for."
He smirked. "I'll show you," he said.
Pulling down his pants he let his monster spring free and I saw it in all its majesty for the first time --a black rod of impressive length and girth. Reaching a hand into the Vaseline, he pulled out a glob and rubbed it all over his thing, turning the dark skin shiny and glisteney.
"Do you know what I'm doing?" he taunted.
"No!" I said, lying again. Even I knew it was called "jerking off."
"I'm pretending I'm fucking you," he said. The rawness of it shook me to my stomach, and I could only watch wide-eyed as his hand moved faster and faster until with a grunt, he let loose with a thick jet of white spunk that made it as far as the very edge of my bed.
"Yeah, take it white boy!" he shouted as he sprayed the room. Shivering, I hid myself fully clothed under the covers, where I was unable to stop my impudent hand from staining my pants with my own noiseless climax.
Of course I should have woken someone up and demanded another roommate at that very moment, if not sooner, but somehow the thought never occurred to me. Was it the embarassment at the thought of explaining my reasons, or the fact I felt somehow complicit? Or did I have another agenda, hidden even to myself.
The next day my roommate was constantly on my mind. We were in different sections so I didn't seem him much during the day, but the few times we passed each other, my eyes were glued to him --whereas he seemed completely oblivious of me. As he talked and laughed with friends, he seemed completely and utterly normal, and I had somehow been transformed into the one with the obsession.
That night was the last of the program, and he was waiting for me in the room when I got there. The moment the door swung shut he pulled me roughly into his arms, where I could feel his weapon poking against my belly. I struggled weakly, but some part of me had already expected this.
"You're so pretty, white boy," he said. "I've wanted to fuck you all week. You've wanted it too, haven't you."
"No," I said. In the next moment, I felt rough hands going down my pants, and pulling my thing free.
"You're hard," he said accusingly. "Your dick is hard. You want me to fuck you."
His hands tickled me and I began to laugh. For some reason everything suddenly seemed hysterically funny, and I continued to laugh as he pushed me onto my bed and continued the task of stripping me. Not that he cared, he seemed like someone possessed, as he reached for the Vaseline. Even then I kept laughing, as I felt the greased up tip of his prong bumping roughly at the entrance to my nether regions. Then, as I was in the midst of one last fit of laughter, he was able to push it all in. I felt his blackness filling me up in a way I was unable to describe. Somehow, though, perhaps because of the liberal amounts of Vaseline, it wasn't painful. As he reached with one rough black hand for my hard and quivering boyhood, I felt a spasm across my whole body, and I shot a load right into my own face.
Meanwhile, the black boy lying on top of me was begininng to pick up speed, and I felt his massiveness alternately filling me and pulling out of me. He was grunting with each stroke, and the unfamiliar other voice I heard gasping in pleasure was myself as he slammed into me ever harder and faster. It felt like nothing I had ever even imagined and his hand was able to milk me of no less than three increasingly waterly loads before I saw his face contort and he shot deep into my gut what felt like a river of burning hot cum.
All in all, he fucked me three more times that night, and I think by the end he was as spent as I was. We parted the next morning without saying goodbyes, and it wasn't until I was unpacking my bag at home that I found he had snuck into it one last present... the bottle of Vaseline.
--------------------- jesssudhir@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/irotica
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