Thugz N Kisses by Donald Ammer

He was thin, dark, and mean-looking … his bottom row of teeth covered in gold, the top row a shiny white. Maybe 20, he could pass for 17 – just a kid really, only about 5’7” and barely legal-looking, the angry intensity in his stare that of a man twice his age. An angry man twice his age. A thin black moustache snaked lovingly across his full upper lip like a tired caterpillar, his eyes black as the heart he tried to show the world he had. With the face of an angel and the demeanor of Satan himself, he strutted his fine black ass down Fondren Road ahead of me wearing a white mesh tank top that hugged his thin, toned torso – and the atypical banjee-boy jeans that were three sizes too big and hanging off his ass like they were trying to sneak away without anyone noticing. The skinny black leather belt barely keeping them up also helped to cinch in the light gray boxers he wore underneath, which (thanks to the belt) visibly hugged his little round, firm ass like a lover’s embrace. You could see half his ass, the jeans were riding so low – and that’s where my eyes stared, riveted, as I followed him down the street not ten feet behind under the intense summer sun.

He was, indeed, making a hot day hotter. Only June, the Houston summer had kicked in like it was late August. A fat sun blistered everything in white steamy light, the humidity at 95% just before one in the afternoon. I had been at the library in Sharpstown, a neighborhood on Houston’s southwest side (where I lived), picking up the new Dean Koontz I had on reverse there when I’d spotted the young, thuggish black kid on one of the free-internet computers the library provided. The gold bottom teeth were a turn-off at first, but that baby face – and that aura of young-kid-trying-hard-to-act-tough danger that came off him in waves – was a turn-on I couldn’t ignore.

I’d stayed at the library for over a half-hour, pretending to read at a nearby table as I ogled him from the corner of my eye the whole time. Just before leaving, something he read on his computer screen (which I couldn’t see from my angle) really pissed him off; he even printed up a page, studied it back at his chair for a moment, then typed something and clicked the mouse in disgust. He scrunched up the printout, throwing it away, and left the library in a major hurry, shaking his head even as he fitted his black Fubu baseball cap back onto it – backwards. I followed, after a brief stop at the garbage can to retrieve the crumpled ball of paper he’d thrown away.

Now, following this little thug-stud under the blazing Texas summer sun only minutes later, I shifted Dean Koontz under my arm and uncrumpled the printout, to maybe see what had made him so angry – as I still kept one eye on that hit, tight little bubble-booty bobbing before me.

It was a print-screen from his Blackplanet account. He’d left his Notes open, and on the screen was a note left over from someone calling themselves “hooverlicious”:

Good head is good head, dude – no matter who’s giving it. Let me come over and show you another guy can suck your dick like no female could. No question, nothing asked in return. Let me drain your balls dry, and give you the orgasm of your life.

I gulped, mouth going dry. Above this blatant come on. The baby ruffneck has started typing a reply:

Bitch, I tole you, if I was gone try dis wit a dude, it had ta happen at YO place. Ya dont wanna send me yo digits o address, dont fuckin write me no more! I aint got time fo no bull –

That was it; whatever else he’d typed in before sending the note, I had no idea. Didn’t care, either – I’d read enough.

This short, sexy, dangerous-looking baby thug was open to the idea of another guy sucking his dick.

And man, fuck “hooverlicious” …

I wanted to be first.


I followed him under the glaring sunshine down the long block to Bellaire, where he crossed the street, then again over Fondren – before finally sitting down at the shelter stop for the #163 bus heading toward Airport Road.

My knees suddenly felt wobbly. We were maybe a five-minute walk from my apartment; if he was looking for a place to test-drive a man’s mouth, this was my chance. All I had to do was get him over to my place, find a way to make him drop his drawers, and convince him to let a 25-year-old redhead with freckles – who spent his entire high school years nicknamed “Opie” – suck his all-too-heterosexual cock ….

All without getting myself killed.

His computer printout safely folded and tucked away into the back pocket of my jeans, I walked past him to sit down on the other end of the bus stop bench. He glanced in my direction.

“Hey,” I said, not smiling, trying to look as “street” as a skinny white video store clerk could.

“Wassup.” He stared at me a second, leaning forward with his elbows on the knees of his baggy-ass jeans, then went back to staring at the traffic whizzing by like the Indy 500 on Fondren. We were the only people at the bus stop; as it was early on a Saturday afternoon, that probably meant we’d just missed a bus – and knowing the 163, it would be awhile for the next one.

He took off his red Fubu cap suddenly, swiping an arm over his sweaty forehead. Putting the cap back on cockeyed, he turned to look at me again. God, his eyelashes were so black, curly and long – his face beautiful. He sort of resembled Usher, but with a much rougher edge; the gold lower bridge of teeth – and an even more gold, three-inches-long dollar sign hanging from a gold chain around his dark neck – only adding to that image.

“You know what time da bus come, man?” he asked.

I shrugged, finding my tongue to talk. “It’ll probably be awhile. I think we mighta just missed one, ‘cause usually this stop is more crowded.” He nodded, looking away, short legs spread wide as he remained hunched over on the bench, wringing his hands together. His fingers were long, brown, and very clean; he might have been a thug, but he was also (thankfully) a thug who bathed. A diamond and gold signet ring in the shape of the letter “T” adorned his left pinkie.

I glanced downward, unable to take my eyes away from this fine as hell homie, and that was when I noticed two rock-hard little nipples poking through the white cotton mesh of his tank.

My cock jolted in my jeans, waking up like Rip Van Winkle from a 20-year slumber.

“My name’s Adam,” I said, almost without realizing it. I held my hand out, the epitome of dork, to shake.

His cold, shark-like stare swiveled slowly in my direction again. “Tre,” he said, then stared at my outstretched fingers. After a moment, he gave me a half-hearted white-boy handshake, our fingers barely touching.

It was enough. His hands were cool and dry and smooth … in contrast to my cock, which was now hot and wet and hard as a Republican’s skull.

“So, whatcha want, Adam?” Tre asked, still studying me. His eyes never left mine.

“I don’t … I mean … huh?” I asked, stammering, my own green eyes unable to continue staring at his perfect, coffee-colored ones.

The left side of his mouth curled up in a smirk – I guess it was hit idea of a smile. “Listen, muthafucker,” he hissed, leaning close, his voice smooth and deadly as a cobra, “You stared my ass down fo’ thirty minutes in the muthafuckin’ liberry, and you busted yo’ nuts ta follow me when I left. Whatcha want, bitch?” He slid over on the bench in one swift movement, suddenly pressed against me in the corner of the shelter – so close I could smell the Axe body spray on him.

“Ya want ta suck my dick, bitch?” he growled softly, one slim hand grabbing at the front of his baggy jeans. “Ya want dis big black dick down yo fuckin’ throat? Ya wanna choke on it … bitch?”

I must have temporarily lost sanity at this point; body trembling in fear, I actually nodded. Yes.

His breath smelled of Big Red gum and cigarettes; somehow, a sexy combination on him, even though I don’t smoke myself and can’t normally stand the smell. His bottom row of gold teeth glinted in the dull sunlight seeping through the bus shelters grimy plexiglass walls; the top ones were white as snow. I wanted to lick them.

“Where you stay, Adam?” Tre hissed, voice full of gravel. His eyes had narrowed to slits.

I pointed, hand shaking, out the shelter to my right. “Ab – about a block that way, th – then two blocks down.”

Those full, kissable lips of his curled back further in a mean smile. “So, you ain’t waitin’ fo no bus, muthafucka,” he said, still massaging his crotch. “What you waitin’ fo is some dick.”

All I could do was stare. Finally, somehow, I nodded again.

He smacked my arm, hard. The shorty had some real strength. “Well, den – lead the way, white boy.” Tre stood, quickly, pulling his low-riding jeans back up a bit over that perfect little ass. “An’ you better suck dick like a five-hundred-dolla ho, or you in some deep shit, fo’ sho’.”

I rose, on shaky legs, and began the walk toward my street, sweating like crazy though it wasn’t from the heat.

This little baby thug was smaller than me, shorter than me, even younger than me. And yet he scared the snot out of me. So why was my cock rock-hard, and oozing pre-cum, the entire way home?


“Cool crib,” he said as we entered my apartment. He looked around, peeking into both the living room to his right and the kitchen to the left, off the entry. “How much you pay?”

I told him. He let out a long whistle.

“Man, you gots it made.” He sauntered into the living room like he owned it, flopping down on my ratty beige couch, which had been a gift from my mother and – style-wise – looked more like a gift from my grandmother. The whole room was furnished in Early American Garage Sale, but I had my big-screen TV with Tivo and digital cable, a Pioneer surround-sound stereo system, and huge bay windows along one wall that let in tons of sunshine, so I was happy here. It was the most comfortable room in the apartment.

Tre looked up at me, a streak of sun slanting over his dark legs from the windows as he eyes me from head to toe. “You got anything to drink?”

“How about an iced tea?” I asked. “Or Coke?”

“I was thinkin’ mo’ like a beer.” He kicked off his white Air Jordans, at least a 12 in size.

Now, where did a little guy like this get off having feet that big?

“How old are you, Tre?” I asked.

“Twenny,” he said defiantly, jaw stuck out.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Eighteen. Wha’ the fuck’s tha diff?” He shrugged, then casually removed his white tank top. I’d expected him to be built like a dark Popsicle stick, but the truth was the little hottie had some nice definition to his slim torso. A decent-sized six-pack was working on making its presence known on his abs, and his tight pecs stood out with just enough definition to make them sexy. As I’d noticed through the shirt, his nipples were tiny and hard; little black raisins juicy enough to nibble on for hours. And lying in the middle of all this chocolicious beauty? That big-ass gold dollar sign on its chain, lying on a chest totally devoid of hair, defining his bling-bling lifestyle.

Momentarily distracted, I finally managed to mumble, “Uhh … I don’t have any liquor in the house. Soda okay?”

“Whateva, man. I don’t need da booze to get my rocks off.” Tre leaned back on the couch, tossing his Fubu hat on the coffee table, now wearing only jeans and his boxers and a pair of snow-white athletic socks over those sexy big feet, which were crossed at the ankles on the rug.. I have a foot fetish, bad, and just those toes alone were making me horny as hell. A fine sheen of sweat made his brown body glisten, and suddenly I did need something cold to drink.

I headed for the kitchen as Tre reached for the remote control. The TV came to life as I was getting a drink, and by the time I re-entered the living room, BET was on and the video for Usher’s “Yeah” blared throughout my living room.

How appropriate, I was thinking upon entering, but then froze as I turned to Tre. Wearing only his loose-fitting gray boxers now, the young gang-banger had one leg stretched out on my couch – his other foot on the floor. His legs were dark, trim, well-muscled at the calves and thighs … and spread wide. And sticking out of the hole in the front of his boxers like an oversized billy club, Tre was stroking the most enormous cock I had ever seen in my life. Already over nine inches in length, at least (and it wasn’t even fully hard yet!), that fat slab of black beef flopped around in Tre’s right hand as he pumped it slowly – lovingly – from the base of its shaft on up. His two small, very round balls, nestled in their low-hanging, loose sac and lightly sprinkled with a smattering of coarse, black pubic hair, also hung outside his boxers like black mini-tennis balls ready for a match.

] “You want some a dis, o what, white boy?” Tre asked, stroking that humongous dick.

Damn – I had seen cathedrals with organs not as big as his! But as he kicked his discarded jeans out of the way, from where they lay on the floor in front of my couch, instead of kneeling before him I sat instead on the opposite end of the sofa. Slowly, licking my lips, I raised his outstretched left foot a bit off the cushion, removing the snow-white sock snuggled tightly around it. His foot was beautiful, smooth and young and dark, with a light-brown sole, clean and with well-clopped nails.

Tre was watching me intently, still stroking his massive cock (which was getting more massive by the second), a gleam of sex in his eye. Wiping a bit of excess white sock fuzz off his young toes, I kept my eyes locked on his as he watched me take the entire top of his big foot into my mouth, my tongue slurping hungrily between his toes.

He gasped, sucking air in through his teeth (even the gold ones), head falling back onto the sofa, and a thin trail of crystal-clear pre-cum oozed like lava from the fat doorknob head of his enormous cock, sliming all the way down its thick, vein-covered shaft.

My lips and tongue slurped his big man’s foot from top to bottom, side to side, toe to heel, bathing it in my spit as he moaned and shifted on the couch, working that monster dick. Finally, moving from the arch of his smooth, tasty foot up, my tongue then trailed a loving caress along the inside of that toned, athletic leg … heading with determination toward the dark sac of fat, low-hanging balls that lay just outside those baggy gray boxers. On the way I stopped, intermittently, to suck with my lips - little kisses on the sweet chocolate skin – Tre’s left hand landing on my mass of unruly red hair, rubbing my head as if for luck as my hungry lips, teeth, and tongue probed aside the bottom edge of his boxers to nibble on one thick, juicy, exposed slab of thigh. “Oh, ffffuuuuuccccccckkkk …” Tre whispered, still massaging his torpedo of a cock – then he bucked, hard as my lips sucked on first one of his oversized balls … then the other … pulling on them softly with my lips as my throat increased its suction.

I felt the hard slap, then, of his brick-hard cock on my cheek. Tre smashed it against my face one more time, the his fist tightened in my hair and he pulled me from his nut, forcing his hard ebony rod into my mouth instead. I swallowed about half of it while he watched, his eyes wild with lust and tongues slurping on his own thick lips as he sucked them in and out with his gasps.

“Suck it,” he whispered, “ohh, fuck yeah, suck my black dick, bitch.” Even though I’d gotten past that impossible doorknob of a head, the width alone of Tre’s cock was nearly choking me; Tre’ monster-meat was nearly twelve inches in length, as long as one of his big feet, curving downward because it had no choice – it was too goddam thick and heavy. I slid to my knees before him, in front of my sofa, smelling the manly muskiness rising from his boxers as I attempted to swallow all of that freakish prick down my unwilling throat. It was a trick worthy of Houdini, but somehow I managed it, until his wiry pubes barely brushed my nose. Tre seemed as surprised as I was.

“Oooh, fuck yeah!” he hissed. With long fingers he reached down, ripping his boxers wide open at the front, the seams popping in protest. Using both hands, he latched onto the back of my head and rammed his hips hard … his hard cock doubled the width of my throat in one swift instant, forcing it open beyond capacity as my nose found itself suddenly buried in the wiry coarseness of Tre’s pubic hair, inhaling the sweaty dark skin at his crotch. I gagged, forcing myself to remain calm even as bile was rising deep within my throat. I made my throat muscles relax, by sheer will alone, my mouth jammed shut with Tre’s horsedick …

Then he thrust again, and began fucking my face with that big black meat, his young energy working up in speed until he was bashing his crotch into my ace. My vision blurred, little bubbles of light going off like flashbulbs in my eyes, and for a second I was sure I would pass out, the violation to my throat so harsh. Tre’s hands were over my ears, clamped to my head like a vice as he relentlessly just kept on tearing the hell out of my mouth and throat, fucking my face hard as little whooshes of air sucked in and out from between he teeth, faster and faster, as he approached orgasm … those cobra eyes, narrowed to slits, glued on me the entire time as he enjoyed the pain he was causing.

A few seconds more of this intense fucking on my mouth, and I had to wrench my head free; it was either that, or choke to death. Tre’s dick popped out of my mouth to slap flat up against his belly, rigid as the billy club I’d thought it to be earlier. It oozed pre-cum from its fat black mushroom of a head, still shiny blue-back wet from my spit. Lying there like some monster from a Sci-Fi Channel movie, it seemed to have a life of its own apart from the man it was attached to.

My mouth felt stretched to three times its normal size; I feared looking in the mirror, was sure I would resemble Jack Nicholson’s version of The Joker, only with bright red hair.

Then Tre, breathless and gasping and lying spread out on my couch like a swastika, caught his breath long enough to utter maybe the four most horrifying words he could have possibly said at that moment:

“Ya got any condoms?”

What little color I had in my face drained away, leaving my freckles high and dry. I literally felt my face flush, my mouth turning to cotton. I was a gay man; of course I had condoms. But condoms meant fucking. And if I let Tre fuck me with that monster, which snaked from between his slender thighs like some post-nuclear anaconda, I was gonna end up with the Grand Canyon between my buttcheeks. At least.

So then why was my cock hard as a rock, screaming against my white Calvin Klein briefs inside my jeans? Crazier still, what the hell made me get off my knees, rush to the drawer of my scratched little end table in the corner, saying “Hold up, hold up,” as I whipped the table drawer open … only to see nothing but my bottle of Wet inside?

I half-turned back to Tre, my mind screaming Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh, my God … “I … uh … I’m out of condoms,” I stammered.

The corners of Tre’s lips turned up in that evil little smirk I would have sweat-soaked dreams about for the next week. “I wanna fuck, man. Ima gonna fuck. Too bad for you, if you ain’t got protection.”

God, lust make us humans do the craziest things. I’d already gotten lucky enough, hitting on a thug for sex – a guy who looked like Usher if her were one of the Cash Money Millionaires – and not gotten the shit beat out of me in the process. Let alone getting to actually give head to this incredibly hot ruffneck. All that alone was a minor miracle.

But now I was about to get my ass pulverized by the biggest, blackest cock I had ever seen. Ever – and that included magazines and porn. And it looked like it was going to happen; whether voluntary or through rape, I had started something I was going to have to see through.

And my erection, which had bumped up a notch at the thought of getting fucked without a condom by this sexy little baby-thug, pointed the way. By the time I made it back over to the couch, Tre had tossed aside his ripped boxers, and was even removing his flashy, gold dollar-sign neckchain, dropping it onto the carpeted floor with a heavy thud. Completely nude now, he hesitated a second, staring at me, then said in his raspy little thug voice: “Strip, bitch.”

Now, anyone else calling me that word would have exited through my front door within thirty seconds of uttering it. I hate it when gay men refer to each other with feminine names.

With Tre, it was one of the most sexually arousing commands I’d ever received. He stared at me hard as I undressed, the impassive, predatorial gaze of his black eyes running up and down my body like a pair of searchlights. My briefs were the last thing to go, and when Tre saw my own seven-inch pecker fly straight up and out into mid-air, rock-hard with lust, he averted his gaze, telling me to lie on the couch as he shifted to the end of my tattered sofa himself.

I did so, lying on my back as I handed him the lube I brought over from the end table. Tre set it aside and force my legs up by grabbing my pale feet and pushing, until my knees were pressed against my chest. He opened the Wet, (I hoped like hell there was enough in the bottle – it was only half-full!), that enormous black barber pole of a cock bouncing and nodding “Yes!” between his legs as he squeezed a generous glob of lube onto the first three fingers of his left hand … before inserting them, without warning, into my ass. “Shit!” I scream, bolting up, head cracking against the stiff arm at the end of my couch, teeth grinding together as my tongue wagged helplessly behind them. Tre pushed his fingers in further, to the second knuckle, and my breathing stopped for a second before I exhaled through my mouth in a long hiss.

“Man, you are tight,” my baby-thug whispered in awe.

“You got no fucking idea,” I managed to reply, trying to remember how long it had been since this top had gotten bottomed. Two years? Three? His fingers pushed, pulled, pushed in again, further … fucking me. I winced, but it felt soooooo good. I heard the top pop on the Wet again, and cracked open my eyes (which I hadn’t even realized were closed), in time to see Tre generously lubing his freakishly-large black pole. I grabbed under my knees, holding my legs as high and wide as I could – as Tre’s fingers slid from my ass and he crawled on top of me. My eyes squeezed shut again.

“Watch me, bitch,” he whispered, lightly slapping me on the cheek. My eyes flew open, and Tre’s masculine/baby face was right above mine. He grunted, flashing a hint of those gold bottom teeth, and I felt his slicked cockhead pressing up against my oh-so-tiny asshole.

I did as I was told, staring into those black, emotionless devil’s eyes without blinking.

Thick lower lip curled up and into his mouth in concentration, exposing that gold bridgework again, Tre pressed gently forward with his hops, forcing that phat/fat wide bulb-head of that fat, twelve-inch tower of power up and into my tiny, puckering butthole.

The pain was excruciating. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out, and humped on the bed, pushing frantically at Tre, slapping his chest even as he held his ground with incredible strength, a bit more of his humongous prick prying its way further inside my butt, violating me like I’d never been violated before. Still trying to push him off me, my eyes squeezed shut in pain, but a sharp slap on the cheek from Tre brought them flying open again. My stare gazed into his, eyes watering and flashing hatred.

“Take it,” Tre ordered, breath coming in short gasps. “Suck that big black dick you wanted so bad all the way up yo tight little white ass, boy.”

“It … hurts …” I moaned, bracing my hands on his shoulders and still trying to push him away. My pale legs, wrapped up and over his dark brown shoulders, were cramping as Tre’s little asscheeks pushed in again, stuffing another centimeter of black boner up my already tortured ass.

“Fuck ME, yo ass is tight!” he yelled, pressing his crotch closer into my butt. I grunted, unable to relax, Tre’s small body pressed so close on top of mine I could feel his sweat squish between our bellies, could feel …

Oh my God, could feel his tongue slide deep into my mouth, and then we were kissing, oh my GOD, I was making out with this sexy little ruffneck, who was kissing me so passionately you would have thought he’d forgotten I was a guy. He kisses drove me insane with lust, those big lips sucking on mine, our tongues dancing first in my mouth and then in his, dark lips sucking on pale pink ones as I didn’t even feel the rest of his cock slide all the way inside me, Tre’s fat balls grazing the fuzz-cheeks of my overloaded ass as we just … kept … kissing.

His lips were dynamite, full and so thick I sucked on them like sweet cuts of melon, tasting their juices. Tre’s tongue lapped greedily on my mouth in return, his teeth mashing into mine with building passion – and, as if in another world, somewhere in the distance I could hear the slap-slap of his crotch ramming home into me … feel the warmth of maple syrup flow through my veins as that black monster-cock took me, pounded me, divided my ass in two as my arms wrapped around Tre and my eyes shut tight and in between kisses I moaned, “Fuck me … fuck me!” until I thought my voice would go. He was relentless on my ass, ramming over and over deep inside me, pivoting his hips in a circular motion from time to time as if drilling for oil, so that my hole was spared none of his entire twelve inches. My mind let go and went somewhere else instead, feeling that foot-long of cock stuffed up deliciously as I kept sucking on his full, scorching mouth, so turned on I expected to come just from kissing him.

Truth be known, with his flat belly rubbing up against mine (with my own erection grinding in-between them), it was only a matter of minutes before I came, anyway. But then, suddenly, Tre rammed inside me with enough force to split me in half, one last time so hard he toppled us both off the couch, and with a large whoosh! Of air he broke our frantic kissing. His cock swelled to capacity in my sore, ravaged ass, and then I could feel it pumping blowing his massive load of 18-year-old boy’s cream up my hole as he filled me. Tre gasped, teeth grinding together almost as if he were in pain. His entire body convulsed, shuddered, as if he were being electrocuted.

“FUCK!” he screamed, and with one last jolt of a thrust his entire body went limp, eyes rolling back into his head as he fell on top of me, knocking the air from my body.

“Oh my God …” I whispered softly, into the sweet darkness of his ear, before my tongue slid in after it.

“Fuck me, dat was hot,” he whispered back, face buried in my chest. It sounded like it was all he could say.

I winced when he raised his hops, pulling that still hard super-cock from my trashed booty-hole. My legs slid down and around his dark ass, holding him to me. I didn’t want this moment to end, just holding onto him like this. Tre shifted his head. “You come a lot?” he asked in my ear.

“I didn’t come at all yet,” I told him honestly. Truth was, it was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment; I felt that content just from his fucking me.

“Uh-uh; you gots ta come, playa.” Tre raised his head, studying me a moment as if contemplating something. Then, as if the events of the afternoon hadn’t already been enough to give me good, wet dreams for a week, Tre seemed to decide something in his hard gaze … then scrambled partway down my body and, before he could stop himself, swallowed my still rigid-as-stone seven inch pole down his own throat, sucking my cock into his mouth until his lips touched my balls.

I gasped, starting to sit up, then fell back again as Tre’s tongue slid up and down the length of my cockshaft, his full lips sucking severely on my pink mushroom of a head. Though obviously new to giving a blowjob (if he’d ever even given one before), the thuggish young banjee boy slurped hungrily on my cock like he was sucking a Popsicle; just the though of this studly, straight street kid giving me head was enough to send me over the edge … “I’m coming! Fuck!” I yelled suddenly, and Tre pulled off me but his slim, long fingers took over, pumping me until my cock blew, cum spraying over both our bodies and all up into Tre’s boyish face, as Tre pulled and pulled the very life-seed from my balls, streams of steamy white jizz flying everywhere like fireworks.

I gasped, thrashing on the couch, cum still draining from my nuts as the last blobs flew up into the air to land on my sweat-soaked belly. When I could breathe again, head sore, I opened my eyes to see my own jizz coating Tre’s cheek and chin … lying in his short black, faded hair like globs of Christmas snow.

I sat up and grabbed his face, kissing him as my own cum smeared on my fingers. He pushed me away, sitting up on the couch as he grabbed up his ripped boxers to wipe my cum from his face and his own jizz from his softening erection, before throwing them as far across the room as he could.. “Can’t believe I did dat shit,” he mumbled, scrambling for his clothes. “Fuck!” He tossed aside my jeans and socks, finding the rest of his clothing underneath. A folded-up piece of paper lay on the floor nearby, and Tre snatched it up, unfolding it as if he thought it might have fallen out of his pocket. By the time I realized what that paper was, Tre was already reading it. He looked up from the computer printout at me after about a minute, his stare glacial. “Wat you doin’ wit dis shit?” he asked menacingly.

My throat closed up. I tried, desperately, to speak. “You … I … you knew I was eyeing you in the library – ”

“Man, dis was MY fuckin’ bizness!” he yelled, jumping to his feet in only his white socks. “You got NO bizness takin’ dis out da garbage, bitch!” He sat down again, grabbing his oversized jeans. “Man, let me da fuck outta here, fo’ I kill yo ass.”

He dressed hurriedly, slipping on his gold bling-bling neckchain last as he snatched up his Fubu cap. The anger was coming off him in waves. “All dis cuz y’all wanted some dick,” Tre grumbled, bolting for the door. “No,’ I corrected him, still nude and sitting on the couch (I was too terrified to move). “I didn’t want dick … I wanted you.”

He stopped at my words, halfway out the door, and turned to look back at me a moment. “Bullshit,” he spat, then was gone, slamming the front door behind him.


Seventeen Saturdays later, I still hadn’t seen Tre. It was early November by then, just a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, and the weather was just beginning to turn cold in Houston. Another paycheck, and I’d finally have the money together to get my own computer; no more need to check emails and such at the library. And if Tre hadn’t shown in the last seventeen Saturdays, there was no point in coming back again, anyway.

I zipped my windbreaker up before leaving the library. The high today was supposed to be only 60, with lots of sunshine; a far cry from that balmy Saturday back in June, that I still thought about, every day, to this day. I exited the building from the front entrance, turning left to head toward Fondren – and stopped dead in my tracks.

About twenty feet away, leaning against one of the concrete pillars supporting the library, with his arms folded – looking cockier than shit in his best Death Row Records pose – stood Tre. Wearing some baggy-ass black jeans, a baby-blue Platinum Fubu jacket with Fat Albert stitched on the front, and a black do-rag on his head, he eyed me with disgust and contempt.

God, he was so hot.

I walked up to him, face trying not to show the joy my heart felt. “Hey,” I said.

“Wassup?” A toothpick, stuck between his white top teeth and gold bottom teeth, bobbed up and down as he spoke.

“Not much. You?”

He shrugged one skinny shoulder. “Chillin’. Where you goin’?

“Home.” I wanted to ask him to come with me, but didn’t dare. It was enough, just to see him.

“Oh, aiight.” He readjusted his ruffneck stance, digging further into the cement post behind him. It was so posed, I realized then that he’d been waiting for me all along. He must have seen me in the library, and decided to wait outside, to make sure I knew just how little he cared.

“Well … later,” I told him, walking away down Fondren toward my street. I got about a half a block before I turned, looking back at Tre. He was staring right at me, chin tilted up in the best thug pose he could muster. I kept staring, unmoving except for a small smile on my face. It took a few seconds, but finally the blackness of his feral eyes softened to melting chocolate, and he smiled back, pale fall sunlight glinting off his gold row of teeth and that damned bling-bling necklace still draped heavily around his neck.

I nudged my head – come on – and he got his little ass off the pillar, walking toward me. When he’d caught up I started moving again, and we headed together down Fondren, toward my apartment … my heart singing like summer was once again in bloom.

the end


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