What Fags Are For

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What Fags Are For is a series of short narratives by men of color concerning their experiences with white homosexuals. This final story tells of a young brother who finds his best friend has been harboring a secret which will forever change the nature of their friendship.

What Fags Are For, by Skorpio

Part Four - My Best Friend the Fag: the Story of Dion Miller

When my father told me the truth about "Uncle Bob" the day after I graduated from high school, it was not that much of a shock. I figured out on my own that funny old whiteguy was a fag, the fact he never married, the way he minced his words, the obvious high esteem he held for Dad when he showed up at our door with an envelope but was rarely invited inside. You'd have to be a moron not to see it.

What surprised me was finding out both my father and older brother Deshawn sometimes used Uncle Bob for blowjobs, not to mention they got paid for letting him go down on them. See, I had figured out on my own long before then that there is nothing inherently wrong with letting a homo service your dick. When I was fourteen, me and Randy Sessions, a white kid my age who lived across the street, both got blowjobs from one of our classmates. Let me tell you how that event went down.

First of all, Randy and I had already jerked off together a few times, side by side in sleeping bags while camping out. Randy managed to smuggle some Playboy magazines from his cousin's stash that got us horned up. We could not get enough of those airbrushed centerfolds of gorgeous naked babes. Needless to say, this was a time of youthful innocence, a phase that a lot of guys pass through. In a way, it seemed to make me and Randy even closer as friends.

One day we stopped over at Larry Vanderkamp's house, at his invitation, to check out his burgeoning comic book collection. Larry the Fairy, he was called, because he did not play sports, in fact could not play sports because of allergies and an utter lack of physical coordination. Larry ran like a girl, threw like a girl. In short, it was embarrassing even being associated with him, but his huge allowance went to buying Marvel comics which we were crazy about, so we threw our reputations to the wind. Not that I really gave a fuck what other kids thought of me. I have always been my own man.

That particular afternoon Larry taught us what a fairy really is. It was one of those sweltering summer days, and we had just got done playing basketball at the park. Larry insisted we take off our sweaty shirts and wash our hands before we were allowed to handle his precious magazines. It was a source of amusement to us that Larry's mom made him scrub his hands every time he passed the bathroom..

Larry preserved his comic books in Mylar bags backed with acid-free cardboard, organized by title and date with the fussy meticulousness of a librarian. He had acquired numerous back issues at considerable expense. Neither Randy nor I got an allowance, so we were not a little jealous. What money I earned mowing lawns or shoveling snow went towards athletic gear and taking girls to the movies. Comic books were a luxury I could not afford. I'm not sure who started it, Randy, I guess, but the three of us got into an argument over whether or not the superhero known as Colossus was a fag.

"He's the only gay in the Ultimate Marvel Universe," Randy explained, being an expert on all things X-men.

"I feel sorry for Kitty Pryde," I said. "Her name means pussy, and his name is Peter. Pussy and Peter, that's pretty much the perfect combination."

"Peter Rasputin has a thing for Wolverine and the Angel," contributed Larry with unexpected authority. "Northstar, too. But he's not friends with Nightcrawler anymore."

"Wait, is Nightcrawler gay?" I exclaimed. "Damn, I thought he was cool."

"Kurt Wagner's straight," Larry averred. "But he might have had something going on with Colossus."

"I don't get it. If Nightcrawler's straight, what could he have going on with... oh, shit... I get it... You think he lets Colossus suck his dick?"

"It's a theory," said Larry.

"You're saying Nightcrawler lets his teammate suck his blue-black, teleporting, mutant dick?"

"Indigo," Randy interjected, a little put out by my disregard for geeky precision.

"...his indigo dick," I snickered. "Is that actually in the books? Colossus sucking Nightcrawler's dick. Where does it say that?"

"It's not canon," sniffed Larry. "The Comic's Code doesn't allow that sort of thing. But it makes sense if you think about it. I mean, Colossus and Nightcrawler are best friends, you know? It's like my mom always says, one hand washes the other."

I let that remark about hand-washing slide because now my head was intrigued by a mental image of the Russian farmboy of steel going down on his Bavarian, swashbuckling buddy.

"That's awfully sweet of Nightcrawler," I suggested. "Aiiight, so I can see him letting Colossus blow him, but how are they still friends? I mean, that kind of changes everything, you know?"

"I guess," said the Fairy.

"Well," I decided, "I would let Colossus blow me too, but we wouldn't be friends after that.

"Uh, guys, can we change the subject?" said Randy, sporting an obvious stiffy in his knee-length basketball shorts. Not that I wanted to see that shit, but it was kind of hard to miss. I think Randy like going commando, whereas I was always self-conscious about my chunk showing print.

"Maybe we should," I laughed, slapping high fives with Randy. In fact, my meat was getting twitchy too. Last thing I wanted was an erection. "Too bad we don't have Colossus here. He would come in handy right about now."

"Do you mean that?" asked Larry. His blue eyes shone with a strange gleam of excitement. "You would let a guy blow you?"

"Hey, it's just a blowjob," I shrugged. "Wouldn't make me gay."

"I think I might be," ventured Larry.

It was so silent in Larry's bedroom you could have heard a pin drop. Randy and I looked at one another. The conversation resumed.

"Huh?" said Randy.

"I might be gay," Larry repeated.

"And what? You wanna suck our dicks?" I asked. Now my shit was really starting to swell up. Damn.

"I could do that," he mumbled. "If you don't tell anyone."

"Who would we tell?" blurted Randy. "I would love a blowjob right about now. Dion, you with me? No one's gonna know."

Neither of us wanted to go first, so we played paper-rock-scissors. Randy won, so I sat outside in the hallway on the steps for fifteen minutes, listening for sounds of activity. I couldn't believe this was really going down. Then, the door creaked opened, and Randy emerged with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Your turn, dude," he said, slapping me on the shoulder.

Closing the door behind me, I found Larry crouched on his knees.

"So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Take out your cock."

"Why don't you take it out for me?"

"Okay."

I stood while Larry the Fairy unzipped my pants, and pulled them down around my ankles, leaving me in my drawers. He leaned back as if to admire the bulge of my sausage. Then, using both hands, he took out my plump, nut-brown dick and placed his thin-lipped mouth on it.

Within seconds I sprang to full strength, rock hard, thick and long like a pipe. Larry's mouth was warm and wet as it engulfed the sturdy shaft, going down little by little until his eyes bulged, and his throat made a funny gurgling sound.

"What's the matter? Too much?" I sniggered, letting him catch his breath.

"You're way bigger than Randy!" he gasped. "You're like twice -"

"Whoa, dude! Too much information! Are you gonna blow me or make excuses?"

Larry went back to work, slurping up and down. The sight of my stiff dick disappearing between his lips made my shit even harder, if that was possible. My first blowjob ever. Not gonna lie, and it felt really good, but I had a feeling Larry could do more better with a little practice.

Closing my eyes, I fantasized about Sally York's big tits. She sat next to me in study hall, a foxy redhead, one of the first girls in our class to wear a bra. Naturally, I wished my first time was with a chick, but Larry the Fairy was an adequate substitute.

Like I said, it was just a blowjob. Not like I was actually having sex with a guy. Not too different from giving myself a handjob, or stroking under a sleeping bag next to Randy, neither of which qualified as sex. That's something you have with girls, I told myself. This was just getting off.

After a few minutes, I skeeted in Larry's mouth. Felt like fourth of July fireworks going off inside me. My heart pounded like it was gonna burst, followed by a sensation of inner calm as the image of Sally York's tits faded from my mind.

When I opened my eyes, gooey semen was dripping from his lips. "You gonna spit that out?" Larry licked his lips and swallowed. "Nah, I guess not." Man, that was sick.

Me and Randy didn't feel much like reading comic books after getting our dicks sucked, let alone hanging out with Larry the cocksucking Fairy, so we headed back out to the park to shoot some hoops. We did not talk about what went down. What was there to say?

I hooked up with the Fairy for blowjobs a few more times that unforgettable summer. More than likely Randy did likewise, but we never went together, and never discussed it. As for our promise not to tell anyone? Well, I might have casually mentioned to some of the guys in the locker room that I heard Larry the Fairy sucked dick. And someone scrawled in big letters with a sharpie over one of the urinals: Larry is a stone cocksucker!

Anyway, that's what happened, how I got my start using fags long before my father told me the truth about Uncle Bob. As for that rite of passage after graduation, it went down pretty much the way it did for Deshawn. Dad took me over to Uncle Bob's house, where I got my dick sucked while Dad waited for me in the car. The old cocksucker thanked me, and presented me with a hundred dollars in twenties. I didn't expect to get paid, but Dad told me, "Black dick ain't free, and it ain't cheap, neither," pretty much as he told Deshawn.

Dad had something else to say as well. "Are you and Randy still friends?" he asked. Of course we were. ""I know he's been your best friend for years, son, but don't forget he's white. There's a good chance he's a fag."

"Randy isn't queer," I protested, sticking up for my boy. I wasn't going to tell him what we did with Larry the Fairy back in the day.

"Maybe not," shrugged my father. "I'm not saying all white guys are fags. It's just... well, crackers are funny... Let me tell you a story... I used to work with a whiteguy... Sydney was straight, I guess... at any rate, he was married and had a passel of young'uns... but one time at the company picnic Sydney had a few too many, and asked me to fuck his horny wife sometime while he watched..."

"What did you say? Did you- ?" I was horrified and disgusted at the same time.

"I told him `Hell, no!' and to go fuck himself. I would never cheat on your mother."

"But what about Uncle Bob? You let him blow you. Isn't that the same thing?" Normally, I would never challenge my father like that, but I needed to know.

"Letting a fag suck your dick... Hell, even screwing a fag in the ass... that isn't the same thing at all as cheating on a female. That's what fags are for. It's all part of God's plan. A strong Black Man has needs he can't expect a decent woman to manage... you might feel like getting rough sometime... or a little kinky.... or you might want to talk some shit... but no good woman is gonna put up with that crap. She shouldn't have to. Your woman might be on the rag... or just not in the mood... There are lots of reasons where fags come in handy."

"I never thought about it like that."

"As for Sydney," my father went on. "A lot of caucasians fantasize about niggas fucking. They got a fetish for Black Dick is what I'm saying. But you can imagine a nigga fantasizing about a white cat doing his woman? Never gonna happen. Like I said, crackers are funny."

"Now that you mention it -- " I started to say. I had seen my share of interracial porn, and a lot of it revolved around exactly what he was saying. White cuckolds were pretty much a standard, but I never saw anything like the reverse.

"I've seen how Randy looks at you when you're not looking," my old man went on. "There might be more going on, that's all I'm saying."

I started thinking about my experiences with Randy over the years from a fresh perspective. I remembered the times we went skinny dipping at Morris Lake. Always Randy's idea. All the times we used to joke around while bare-assed in the locker room, showering together, using the steam room. That was normal guy stuff, right?

When I was the first guy to sprout pubic hair, Randy couldn't stop talking about it. What was that about? At the time I thought he was just jealous, ya know? Then, there were the times he used to call me on the phone to tell me he just got finished jerking off. I just figured that was Randy being, well, randy.

We were still tight, shooting hoops, running the streets, but we hung out in different circles. By senior year most of my other buddies were black and spanish guys. Randy's crowd was decidedly caucasian. I just couldn't see Randy as a fag. Maybe he didn't date much, but he didn't act like a fag, didn't talk like one.

On the other hand, my dad knew a lot more about life than I did, and he was rarely wrong once he spoke his mind. This was troubling. I wanted to give Randy the benefit of the doubt, but the only way to dispel my concerns was by asking him straight out. That's exactly what I did.

We were chilling, listening to music and getting stoned in Randy's bedroom a few weeks that summer after graduation, while his folks were away for the weekend, when I put it to him.

"I got to ask you something, and I don't want you getting mad at me or nothin."

"Hey, you can ask me anything."

"I dunno," I hesitated. "If I'm out of line, I don't want you to be offended."

If my father was right, what then? That would change everything. Not only going forward, it would change everything I thought I knew about Randy, anything we ever did together. I was old enough to realize a good friend you can trust and confide in, someone who has your back, a bud you can count on not to blow up your spot, was rare indeed. I didn't want to lose that. But I had to be sure.

"Are you a fag?" I asked point blank.

"Why would you ask me that?" he said, looking at me strangely. "You're my best friend."

"You didn't answer my question. I just want to know the truth. Are you a fag?"

"I'm not a fag," he maintained.

There was something in Randy's facial expression, the sound of his voice, that was not right. Call it a gut feeling.

"Let me put it another way," I said. "If I told you right now that you could suck my dick, what would you say? Think about it. What if you had the opportunity right this minute to suck my dick, a one-time offer, never to be repeated, not ever, and no one would find out, would you wanna do that?"

"You mean like how we never told anyone about Larry the Fairy?"

What kind of evasive answer was that? Now I knew that I was onto something.

"Then, you ARE a fag."

"I told you, Dion. I'm not a fag."

"But you would suck my dick?"

He hung his head in abject silence that spoke volumes.

"Pops was right," I confirmed.

"What does this have to do with your dad?"

"He said you might be a cocksucker, but I didn't want to believe him."

"Your old man said that?"

"The question stands. Do you want to suck my dick?"

"Maybe," he admitted, after a long silence.

"Randy, you've been my best friend for like forever. You should have been honest with me from jump. You could have been sucking my dick years ago."

"I was afraid," he stammered. "I didn't want to lose you as a friend."

"Well, that's true," I acknowledged, as I peeled off my shirt. "We can't exactly go on being buddies like before. But that doesn't mean you can't suck my dick. You wanna do this, or not? It's now or never."

"I'll do it," he acceded.

"Know what? I've changed my mind. I don't want you to suck my dick, after all."

"I said that I would do it."

"Yeah, I heard that. I also heard you've been lying to me for years."

"I'm sorry," he blurted.

"You're not sorry," I said, coldly. "But you're gonna be."

"What do you mean?"

Balling up my fist, I slugged Randy in the solar plexus. He doubled over with a gasp, falling to his knees.

"I'll ask the questions if you don't mind," I shot back, spitting "Fag!" for good measure.

"I'm not a fag," he whimpered. "I'm bi."

"Have you sucked dick before?"

"Well, yeah, but -"

"Fag."

Randy attempted to stand, but I pushed him down. He looked up at me strangely, tears welling in his eyes, as if he did not recognize me. Maybe he didn't. I had my thug face on, a side of me that Randy had never seen before. Cold determination in my eyes, otherwise not a hint of emotion, not a clue as to what I was thinking or feeling.

"So, how many dicks have you sucked?"

"I don't know... some..."

"Guys I know? What are their names?"

"Dion, I can't tell you that - "

I bitch-slapped his face with my open palm, leaving a red mark.

"I'm sick of your lies! When I ask a question, I expect an honest answer! Whose dicks have you been sucking!"

My former best friend rattled off a list of names, all black dudes we went to school with: "Lester, Antonio, James... Darrin... Phil, Bradley, Channing, the Johnson twins...."

"That's enough. I get the picture. You've given head to half the niggas in high school, haven't you. You've been a busy little cocksucker. Wait! What about Larry the Fairy? I suppose you sucked his dick too?"

Randy bit his lip, and nodded.

"Did you suck Larry's dick?"

Again, Randy nodded, cheeks turning scarlet.

"Dayumm," I cussed. "One fag blowing another! What, did you sixty-nine each other? Is that what you did?"

"Something like that," he mumbled.

"Did he fuck you, too? I bet he fucked you."

"He didn't fuck me," Randy contended. "I don't get fucked. I told you, I'm not a fag. I'm bi. Okay, so I've sucked some cock. I was curious, that's all. But I don't get fucked. I'm still a man."

Defiance sputtered in his eyes. Like a weak flame struggling to burn. But it was just a dying ember. Like the embers of our friendship turning into ashes.

"You were so curious you blew how many guys?"

"Just them."

"You're getting fucked," I stated flatly.

"Dion, come on, please... no.... I don't..."

"You're getting fucked," I repeated, shoving him face down to the carpet. I have always been stronger than Randy. "Why would I want a blowjob from a whore who has blown every guy in town when I can be the first to tap her pussy?"

"C'mon, Dion, let me up. I'll suck your dick, okay?"

"Get your pants off!" I hollered. "Do it now! Show me that faggot ass, bitch!"

Once Randy was naked from the waist down, I made him get on his hands and knees like a dog. I slapped his ivory-white jelly booty, making it jiggle. Damn. I had always wanted to corn-hole a chick, but never got the chance. This was gonna be sweet.

"Ohhhhh," he moaned.

"You like that?" I spanked Randy's cheeks again, harder than before. He moaned even louder this time. "Oh, yahhh," I snickered. "You like gettin punished, don't you! You're a real nasty slut, ain't ya!"

With no time to waste, I got all the way naked, used a gob of hair grease for lube, and rogered my battering ram between his plump, marshmallow cheeks. My bare shirt pressed against his shirted back. One arm crooked his neck in a choke hold.

All it took was one sudden, swift thrust of my hips, and I was deep inside. Randy yelped like a bitch, but there was no one around to hear. Although his anguish was music to my ears, I told him to shut the hell up! "I don't wanna hear that shit!"

"It hurts," he whined. "It's too big!"

"You can take it!" I jeered.

"Then, go slow, go real slow," he gasped, breathing hard.

"I wanna hear you say it! Admit you're a fag and I'll go easy."

"Alright!" he surrendered, through jagged breaths. "I'm a fag! Are you satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot," I said, feeling the need to humiliate him to the max, to crush his spirit completely. "Are you a nasty, little fag?"

"I'm a nasty, little fag," he groaned.

"Then, take my dick like the nasty little fag you are!"

Instead of going easy, I picked up speed, drilling harder and faster. I pounded his ass with all the force I could bring. His spine arched as he lifted his buttocks to meet each thrust, moving his hips in perfect rhythm with my own. Like he was experiencing an orgasm, like an alley cat in heat, Randy commenced to wail.

"You like how I fuck? Huh? You like that?"

"Ohhh, unhhh, unhhh, oh yeah... fuck me!" he panted heavily.

"Say FUCK ME SIR!" I demanded.

"Fuck me sir!!!"

"Say it again! Like you mean it!"

"FUCK ME SIR!!!"

"Who's your MASTER?"

"YOU ARE, YOU'RE THE MASTER!" he cried out, catching on.

That's when I ejaculated. Way sooner than I wanted, but I could not hold back. Like shooting a gun into his guts, blast after blast. Bullets of cum. Boo-yahhhh!

Randy collapsed on the floor. His asshole was stretched wide open beyond belief. My softening dick was coated with sticky santorum.

"Get up, faggot," I ordered, sternly. "You're not done yet. Get on your knees and lick my tool nice and clean. Look at me while you do it."

Without hesitation, Randy performed as he was told, like a robot under my control, totally submissive to my will, and I could feel my power over him.

This next part is hard to explain. In some amazing way, it was like we shared a psychic link. I could actually see myself through his eyes, a tall, dark, naked Nubian warrior ... hung like a bull, looming over him... If that was what Randy saw when he looked up at me, did he know what I saw when I looked down at him? A pathetic, pale-skinned freak of nature groveling at my feet, driven by envy and lust to bask in the warm glow of my presence, so eager to please me, so submissive.

As his lips and tongue slurped away, my member began to twitch and grow. I've always had what's called a short refractory period, meaning I don't stay soft for long. Moments later, I was once again stiff like a motherfucker.

Randy pressed his little nostrils into my pubic curls, smelling my sweaty, funky crotch, inhaling, his pointy chin against my balls. None of the chicks I had been with ever deep throated me like that, not without choking and gagging. Not even Larry the Fairy had taken me all the way.

Uncle Bob had given me an okay blowjob, but Randy was clearly the number one champion cocksucker of all time. Definitely a point in his favor. I knew that I could get used to blowjobs like this on a regular basis.

This was what you call total head or tickling the tonsils! It's the best kind of blowjob you can get. Most chicks, but not all, I have to say, have a definite gag reflex. They can only take so much, and you don't expect them to. But fags were born to suck dick. That's their God-given talent, that's what fags are for. Some folks say it's a choice, but why would any man choose to suck dick? That makes no sense. They have to be born this way. It's a gift. Or maybe it's a curse. I wasn't sure, and it really did not matter.

The incredible skill with which Randy serviced every inch of my tool from the crown to the root, gripping it with his lips like a vise, cheeks concave with astonishing suction, got my big nuts boiling. Sucking without pause, using his mouth and throat like a pussy, loving his Master's sweet chocolate bar.

At last, when I could not hold out one second longer, my testicles exploded for a second time, shooting white-hot cum up through the shaft, and into his hungry gullet.

"Dayummm, bitch!"

Getting dressed, I ordered Randy to stay just as he was, naked from the waist down. Tears streamed, tears of joy, I reckoned.

"We're not quite done," I said.

His white needle dick stood erect, quivering, reminding me of what Larry the Fairy said about my dick being twice the size. No wonder whiteboys call them pricks.

"This is how it's gonna be," I announced. "You're a fag, Randy. It's what you are. You were born a fag. That's why we can't be friends, but it's all good. Out of respect for what he had in the past, I'm gonna give you a choice. You can be my little slut sex-slave from here on out. If that's what you want. I'm leaving it up to you. Tell me you don't want to be my slave, and I'll walk out of your sad, pathetic life and never deal with you again. It will be like we never knew one another. We'll be strangers. But, if anybody asks why you and me ain't friends no more, I'm gonna tell them the truth, that you turned out to be a lying, devious pervert...

"Or you can call me Master. That means total, unconditional, and absolute obedience. You'll be sucking my dick a lot, and taking it up the ass, that's a given, but it's more than that. For the rest of your life, or until you prove useless to me, whichever comes first, you will worship me like a god and do whatever you are told. Without question. If you ever disobey me, you will be punished. Severely! I will make it my life's goal to see you pay. The choice is yours. I'll give you a minute to decide."

It took less than a minute for Randy to utter, "I want to be your slave, Master."

"I knew that's what you'd say."

And that's how I came to own my first faggot, the whiteboy who used to be my best friend.

THE END

This concludes for now the series What Fags Are For. Coming soon, more erotic tales of Black Domination. Because all these stories are provided free of charge, both Nifty and its Authors deserve your generous support. If at all possible, stop playing with your own dicks for a moment, and make yourselves useful by any means necessary. Because that's what fags are for.