ҳ̸Ҳ̸ҳ ƒUX ÇLUB ҳ̸Ҳ̸ҳ™ Classic's Closet

Did I bring back memories? You want to learn or see more? Just email me at xbproductionsxb@aol.com -Its nothinʼ personal… just REVENGE-Afro Samurai -NEVER DO BUSINESS WITH PEOPLE WHO WONT DO BUSINESS WITH YOU–☯™ ✞웃RIP✞ Ⓘm am a ♂ CONCEPT to become an ♔ IDEAL and end up a LEGEND ☠ ✞ 웃RIP✞ ™ Not a pick up line or proposition… just anotha RPʼer whoʼs into the “disturbin”… im workin on a project and it focuses on a UNIVERSE unlike anythin' anyones ever seen… RED or BLUE pill…

ҳҲ ̸ ̸ҳTHESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ҳ

ҳҲ ̸ ̸ҳTHESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ҳ https://t.co/WFdqtYG7pr https://instagram.com/fuxclub/ http://www.mixcloud.com/jamreloaded/ http://jamreloaded.tumblr.com http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamdik/ http://facebook.com/jamreloaded https://www.youtube.com/jamreloaded Application: http://www.iamdesign2k.com/#!application/czfu Inside your INBOX is a little Ⓐdult Ⓔntertainment about 乃lack ♏ en, with 乃lack ♏ en, by 乃lack ♏ en, ➍ 乃lack ♏ en™ from the #22nd century.

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Dear Diary‌

The alarm clock blaring its 5e30 a.m. wake-up call rips me out of my sleep. In a hurry I rummage through the night stand for the pen and pad I keep nearby along with the usual condoms, lube, and sexual aids. The room is still dark since the blinds and heavy curtain made certain that any late night partying wouldnĘźt be interrupted by the rising sun.

Finally I fingered the items I was searching for—a pen, and college ruled notepad with the words “Dream Journal” on the front cover. My eyes still barely open I begin to thumb quickly through to the last entry. Judging from the date itʼs been quite some time since I last wrote in its pages. What started out as an 8th grade exercise had evolved into my own personal “red shoe diaries”.

Finally reaching the last entry and first blank page I began to scribble down what I could remember about one of the most vivid wet dreams Iʼve had since 8th grade.

I could feel my hands becoming sweaty as I tried to remember every detail of the

dream. With each formation of the letters they connected to form words and then sentences. I could feel my erection pulse between my legs.

The words began to mount forming paragraphs that had my hands so sweaty that the pages began to get soaked. I dared not stop writing because with each passing moment the dream itself began to fade from memory. I wrote and wrote and wrote for what seemed to be six pages of run on sentences. It wasnĘźt till I glanced over at the alarm clock that I noticed I spent more than 50 minutes writing.

“SHIT, IM GONNA BE LATE”!

I couldnʼt believe how much time I lost writing. Frantic, I jumped up to run to the bath room to shower for work. As I made my way to the bath room I passed the bedroom mirror and witnessed my raging erection keepingg beat with my heart.

Normally such a sight wouldnʼt have caused a second look. This dream however— the one I had been abruptly torn from—wasnʼt one of my usual dreams. I found myself mesmerized by my dancing member. The sweat beads that covered my

hands now spread like hives to my forehead and chest.

“DAMN…” I sighed.

I sat back down on the edge of my bed overcome with the sight in the mirror. My hand automatically reached out for my pulsating dick. The sweat became lube as I reached for my journal. I began to read aloud and like a movie, the dream replayed in my mind.

“DAMN, IM GONNA BE LATE”! ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

JAM's Classics: Introduction

It is summer 1976, and tonight is my first night out alone in the big city.

Coming from a small town in a small state in a small part of the country, I'd heard

the stories. Big tall tales about the forwardness of the men in the gym. The same game I coincidentally purchased a membership for—ok, maybe coincidence is too strong a word!

I strolled in about two a.m. and before i touched a single dumbbell i had in my head a full body work out plan for the next two hours. My attention drifts over to the men's locker room, in particular the showers that seem to have a steady flow of the most chocolate brothers I have ever seen gathered in one place unchaperoned by the threat of police and riot gear.

"I am in heaven" I think to myself as I continue to eye the entry to the locker room.

Fear and the weights IĘźd been holding as a prop to my hand seems to have welded my feet firmly to my position. Suddenly, there is a voice over the P.A. system. "attention members, the gym will be closing in one hour for clean up and maintenance. We ask that all members use this remaining time to finish all activities". "how long have I been standing here"? I look down at my watch in shock.

The entrance to the locker room area suddenly bursts with activity. I look for an opening in the stream of brothers heading towards the entrance and casually slipped in line behind this perfectly sculpted black back. The beads of sweat were clearly visible evidence of his time spent here at the gym and of all the guys in line for the shower; HE was the one I wanted.

It is summer 1976, and I am a hunter!

ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

POSTCARDS FROM A DIGITAL GIGOLO: Code Name-*Voiceturbator

Answering an ad in the classified section of the Village Voice I thought “Finally, a chance to show my skills”…

Where Iʼm from, youʼre either slinging crack or youʼre slinging dick. In some circles, you did both. I had moved to the big city to become a Professional Porn Star. Itʼs all I ever dreamed of becoming from the first time I ever busted a nut.

I remember my first crush on this boy in kindergarten. He liked to play with his dick under the desk and I liked to watch. I knew I was hooked. I quickly became familiar

with my own anatomy and that of the neighbor who happened to live on the second floor of our three family home. He was an older man who came from the “yard” as my mother would sneer.

I donʼt know, I never did mind his hands on my body.

He would sometimes leave his backdoor open and I would sneak down early mornings after his wife had left for work. He would be lying in the bed pretending to still be sleep, naked with his dick always at attention. It wasnʼt til he had

rendered his ritual “hand job” that he would rouse from his dependable and perfectly wet dream.

During my high school years I fine-tuned my craft. I got my first copy of “The New Joys of Gay Sex” and was ready to put my skills to work. The weekdays were spent hustling up cash wherever and however I could. I would prostitute my intellect as the resident geek and as the go to person for black market items not typically found on school property. The loose schedule lent perfect cover for my even darker weekend activities. No one would ever suspect I was also a booty bandit secretly stalking the New York City streets.

The ad read: Wanted. “BLACK MALES/COUPLES Exhibitionists to perform on cue for voyeuristic fetish”.

Voiceturbator A person who is turned on by the sound of their own voice and is able to satisfy themselves sexually just by hearing themselves talk.

I cocked my head as I held the paper in one hand while performing my morning stretches and balancing my cup of libations in the other. The ad did read for couples and I was still high school loner with no real connections to anyone or anything. It took only two minutes of pensive thought for the idea to spring. I could just recruit a stand-in partner for the time and cut him in on the take.

I looked at the wall clock. It was still early and the weekend club let out is still roaming Christopher St. Shit, showered, and shaved I was out the door and used

my usual 45 minute stroll to the train station as time to strategize on how I was going to manifest this plan. I mean, this is what I trained for. “Piece of cake� I told myself.

The train ride to Harlem added time to my strategy clock. From Mt. Morris Park to Central Park, as I made my way down to the pier, I kept my eyes peeled and saw a few brothers that would be perfect for the role. IĘźd made this trip many times before, however on this particular trip, I was no longer just the watcher.

I switched my role to exhibitionist in order to signal my intentions to the few black men whom I noticed congregated in specific locations.

The Fulton Street train stop yielded exactly what I was looking for. I stepped off the last train car and once the boarding crowd cleared I found myself standing alone at the end of the platform. ThatĘźs when I noticed a figure just out of eye view by the staircase.

I pretended not to notice and leaned into position against one of the station support beams. I motioned to the figure to come over as I took out a small baggie of pre-rolled joints. I could sense his hesitation as he now seemed to slink further into the shadows because he was noticed. It took just a few puffs of smoke before the shadowy figure emerged into the light. “jackpot”!

He stood illuminated by the flickering overhead station lights. He joined me in what was left of the joint I had lit. The spliff ease his suspicions I might be a police officer. He confided that he was a “hustler” and how itʼs been a “slow” weekend for him. I almost choked on my pull with amusement. I passed him the joint and reached in my front pocket to retrieve the ad.

He saw the potential in my offer and asked the appropriate questions. He wanted to know right off the top what his take was. To ensure success I showed him the price the ad was offering and told him it would be a fifty/fifty split. I lit a second joint as our official gentlemenʼs agreement and we caught the next train coming into the station.

We traveled for the next hour getting our routine straight. After all, the ad did specify “couples” and if we are to sell this fiction we needed to at least agree on a

few details. Like actors in a “B” movie we laughed as we came up with the most absurd stories we could think of as to our meeting, our holdings and social standings. We both settled on being fitness trainers who met five years ago during a conference in Jersey. We have a “flat” in Harlem selling the fiction of being foreigners on vacation.

Two stops from our destination we finalize the cover story. I am not sure if it was the weedʼs effect or the ambition of our story but with each glance he began to glow with a determination that Iʼve only just noticed.

“Showtime” I motioned as the train pulled into our station stop.

I found the nearest payphone and dialed the number on the ad. I was prepared to give my credentials when a smokey voice spoke up.

“black”?

I could hear a drag being taken from a cigarette and without thinking I replied with the same tone as the question. “yes”. “two”?

“yes”.

The voice exhaled, paused. I heard rummaging in the background.

Another deep drag.

I didnʼt hear the exhale as he recited off the address. I motioned to my partner to come closer and listen to the rest of the conversation as I repeated the address.

With our heads pressed against the receiver we both heard other voices in the background and what sounded like machinery. The voice repeated the address adding “twenty minutes” before abruptly disconnecting the call.

Looking into the eyes of my collaborator I flat out asked.

“You still want to go through with this”?

I tried to convince myself that the question was purely for his benefit. The truth of the matter, I was scared shitless! For all my bravado, my self-proclaimed Don Juan-ism, I was for the first time out of my element. I was used to setting the stage, calling the shots and making the plays. Now Iʼm being herded by a voice whose only qualifiers were “black and two”.

I must have been wearing my emotions on my face again when he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“Hey, we got twenty minutes”! my partner reminded.

With the confidence of two long time spades partners we walked the four blocks to the address given by the smokey voice on the pay phone outside the station.

The block was a dead end with tracks forming the barrier. We counted the numbers out loud and once the house was located I looked at my watch. We made it to the location with ten minutes to spare.

It was now my partner who had a worried look on his face. I found myself putting my hands on his shoulders.

“Piece of cake” I chuckled. “We've got this”.

Deep breaths as we took the steps down to the door labeled “service entrance”. It seemed to be the only door not barred by rod iron gates. I pushed the intercom button. Pushed it again. I waited. We waited. My partnerʼs impatience must have gotten the attention of the figure in the window and as the curtains ruffled we could hear footsteps stumble to open the door.

A pale man in his late fifties opened the door wearing an open bath robe. We all stood in the doorway for what seemed to be one of the most uncomfortable moments of what would be a very long career. I could see from the door way other men all in an opaque range of pale.

“Weʼre here about the ad” I spoke up.

“Delicious” exclaimed the open-robed greeter.

He stepped aside and pointed to a door marked “Live”. There were several rooms towards the back but the doors were closed and the markings were like none I'd ever seen.

I heard the door we came through slam shut. Three bolts were latched. I dared not turn around lest I signal how utterly uneasy the situation had become. Cigarette smoke emanated from all corners of the room. I turned the knob to the door marked “live” and entered with my partner following so closely behind me I could feel his breath on my neck.

The room was sparse with white walls and what looked like a gym mat on the floor.

A camera and tri-pod were set up in a corner and two of the room walls were completely mirrored.

“Hello” a voice came over the intercom.

My partner and I both looked at the intercom.

“We like to watch” the voice continued.

“Whereʼs our money” I snapped back!

A click came from the other side of the room. My partner and I both looked at each other and then towards the sound. A compartment had been opened and out fell a white envelope stuffed with one hundred dollar bills could. My partner gave me a healthy push since neither of us had made a move for the envelope. “We like to watch� the voice said again, almost impatiently.

I picked up the envelope, thumbed through its contents and then nodded to my

partner. We're up. Like we rehearsed, we began to undress each other like old pals. This was the first time I had ever seen his body and what a body it was.

Smooth, dark, reflective. With each of his touches I felt electrified. Sparks of untenable energy seemed to charge between us the closer and closer our bodies got.

Could it be that we bought our own cover story?

I could hear the same machine sounds that I had heard in the background on the payphone. I remembered too how impatient the voice on the intercom sounded.

The money I stuffed into my pockets, made a mental note and focused hard on the task at hand.

We stripped naked, the heat in the room noticed. Sweat rose up to our brows and I could feel the soles of my feet begin to loose traction.

My partner and me we embraced exactly as we had planned and so began “Act One” of our story.

The voice on the intercom began to stammer with delight. I kissed my partner, the voice trembled. I knew we had a captive audience. The less we said, the more voices we could over hear on the intercom. It didnʼt take long for both of us to realize what was going on. My partner looked me in the face. We stood chest to chest. I could feel his beating heart reflex off my own—our hearts synced.

“Fifty/fifty right”? He questioned.

Pressing my lips to his, I whispered.

“They like to watch”…

Urban Dictionary *Voiceturbator A person who is turned on by the sound of their own voice and is able satisfy themselves sexually just by hearing themselves talk.

Word Origin: Likely Northern U.K. What's up with that Voiceturbator in yesterday's meeting? I'm pretty sure he's faking that accent. ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

BLACK FORCE

Heat waves distort the vision across the barren landscape. Amidst the brittle sand and occasional rattle snake tracks a hexagon of barb-wired chain linked fences create a three miles wide perimeter. The sky is without clouds and birds. although the wingspans of vultures do cast long dry shadows, those omnivores never

counted as birds to me.

“This heat is unbearable” … I muttered.

The phone on my desk rang. I barely took my gaze from the window before a voice came over the intercom built into the arm rest of my chair.

“Warden, theyʼre here to see you now” the voice barely came through.

The static only furthered my annoyance and made the rest of the announcement inaudible. Two giant steps put me squarely over the intercom.

“There better be an electrician out there as well”! I snapped. “yes warden”… a voice yelled from the receptionist area.

The pocket square my daughter made me in arts and crafts became a sponge for the excess sweat on my forehead. The knock knock on the solid steal door startled me caused more perspiration to form under my arm pits.

“Come in come in”!

Discontent flooded my face as two prisoners and two prison guards filed into my office.

“Not these two again, fucking perfect.”

The guards shackled the prisoners to the chairs that were bolted to the floor in front of my desk. I sat down and swiveled around to face the window while i gave the prisoners the back of my tall leather chair. Once the sounds of chains and keys stopped jangling I waited till the footsteps of the guards left the room.

The steel door slammed and created a vacuum that made all the air in the room feel still. I could hear the prisoners breathing. They sat silent. I could hear the whistles and dogs in the courtyard barking just below my office window. With my back still to the prisoners, I walked over to the window.

“Do you know why you boys are here”?

The prisoners sat silent. The sounds of chains rubbing indicated that the question was received. I asked again.

“Do you boys know why you are here?!… Our fair state has deemed you two boys to be menaces to society. I have been trapped here in this hell whole with you animals for far too long to be dealing with this bullshit so early in the morning”. My frustration was self-evident in my voice.

I stared down into the yard. The heat transformed the dusty plain into a sea of undulating black bodies. Shirtless, ragged prison attire, sweat, and dirt covered bodies of what seemed to be my lifeʼs new landscape since I was “promoted” warden of this hell hole.

One of the prisoners coughed. I turned. My distain was on open display, as evidenced by the unease that flooded the prisonerĘźs eyes. I turned back to the window, and flopped back into my chair.

I swiveled to face them, scraping the chair across the floor till my legs tucked under the desk. I sighed as the prisoners remained silent. I pulled out solid framed spectacles from my shirt pocket and looked around my desk for the prisonerĘźs files. By accident my sleeve knocks the tallest stack of folders onto the floor in front of my desk.

“DAMN IT”… I gasp!

Almost instinctively, the prisoner closest to the front of my desk lunges to try to catch the stack of falling papers but was wretched back when the very short chain. The guards like to limit prisoners movements as part of their rehabilitation and then double that when they bring prisoners into my office.

“Still getting used to your chains” I shot.

The prisoner cut his eyes at me signaling his defeated attempt. He almost looked like he regretted his own reflex to be free. Then the reality of the situation set in. I still had to pick up all those wayward files now scattered all over the office. The feckless ceiling fan conspired with the loose pages to create a tarp of parole pages and rap sheets all over the floor.

Frustrated, I scooted back from the desk. Standing up gave me the perspective I needed to see how the bulk of the files had fallen directly in front of my desk.

Turning off the ceiling fan meant that it may not turn back on. Another thing the electrician needed to address. I tried to cover my disgust for this fetid situation and moved to the front of my desk.

I bent down to pick up the folders closest to me first. As I sorted through the sheets of loose leaf I couldnĘźt help but realize I was at crotch level to the chained inmates. Their prison attire was soaked with sweat and clung to their bodies like plastic shrink wrap.

My mouth hung open as I fixated on their gaped open legs. My hands slid across the floor blindly grabbing at any and all pages that my fingertips touched. My gaze turned into a leer. Leer turned to lust as I felt the blood rushing to my head both on my shoulders and below my belt. I stopped looking at their crotches long enough to notice loose sheets under my desk.

I turned from their crotches and reached for the pages. I strained my hands under the desk for the last sheets that were just out of reach. As I stretched and strained

for the pages I didnʼt realize my backside was now in the prisonerʼs plain view.

I strained and strained with a determined hard grunt that would have convinced anyone in earshot that the pages too were prisoners of the state. On exhale I felt a foot carefully caress the crack of my ass. The foot was strong and deliberately focused. I could feel my hole clench. The images of their crotches substituted the feel of the foot and suddenly without warning I began to press back.

My head banged on the overhang of the desk when I felt the toes pressing against my sphincter. I heard the prisoners chuckle as I scrambled to gain the last of the loose sheets and stand up. I shot up too quick and waves of disorientation crashed over me. I could feel myself toppling over and for support I grabbed onto the nearest thing. The prisoner winced with pain and then delight as I gripped his shoulder to keep my balance.

Regaining my composure I stood straight up, and my crotch was now on level with that prisonerʼs eye. Almost instinctively, the prisoner pushed his face into my crotch and took a very deep inhale. I could feel the air pulled through my zipper to create a backdraft and a sigh of relief. My entire body welcomed the cool air passing between my asshole and testicles.

The prisoner rolled his head back and took in another deep breath. A near euphoria flushed his face. I glanced down at his swelling and throbbing crotch. His chest began to heave in and out with air.

The prisoner who had till now sat motionless and quiet was now beginning to

twitch his legs and lick his lips.

The heat in the room by now was almost too much to bear. I loosened my tie. The motion reveled the sweat stains in my pits and the once quiet prisoner offered a pant.

Their bodies began to perspire so much that puddles of sweat began to collect right at the areas where their bodies and shackles combined.

I would have felt remorse for them in any other situation‌ but this wasnʟt any other situation.

I took one last glance down in the lap of the prisoner who was still laid back from the snoot full of my crotch only to be obstructed by my own erection now pressed against the inside of my slacks. Pre-cum stained my pant front and before I could cover it with the files in my hand the prisoners face was right back in my crotch.

I stood motionless as I could feel his teeth grip the zipper of the front of my pants.

With an effortless motion the zipper was down and I could feel a hot saliva

covered tongue rooting around inside my trousers. I had dressed prepared for the summer heat and so behind my zipper was nothing but flesh.

Flesh that was now covered in spit, heat and a tingle. I could feel the pre-cum begin to ooze up from my balls and down my shaft.

I took a step back and the prisoners head leaped forward with an increasing suction signaling how much this prisoner didnĘźt want me to withdraw.

Truth be told, I didnĘźt want to withdraw either as I took my free hand and forced the back of the prisoners head down to my balls.

The second prisoner squirmed in his chair. He was within reach and as the first prisoner continued applying more suction I placed the pile of folders on my desk and reached into the second prisoners pants. He was rock hard and soaking wet drenched in a combination of sweat and pre-cum.

His pulsating dick filled my entire hand leaving at least three inches of head and shaft spilling over. The foreskin loosened to reveal a pink head and spurting precum.

His pulsating dick filled my entire hand leaving at least three inches of head and shaft spilling over. The foreskin loosened to reveal his pink head spurting pre-cum.

The combination of hand and crotch sent my mind back to the scene in the courtyard. All those sweating black bodies in the heat, and the two black bodies in my office have combined to complete the sensation.

Before I knew it I heard gagging and spitting coming from my loins. The suction

had been successful. The evidence dribbled from the corners of the prisonerĘźs mouth. With each pulse from my balls, I could feel his throat contract and wince.

I gripped the other prisonerĘźs dick so hard the pink head blushed a bright red. The pre-cum began to foam as I vigorously began to beat his meat into an eruption that caused his body to jerk in his shackles.

For a brief moment, I wanted to unshackle the two of them. It seemed almost unfair for them to remain immobilized.

I wiped my hand on the prisoner's shirt and withdrew from the mouth of the other.

I adjusted shirt, tie and pants to their original condition and noticed the wet spot from the pre-cum had not yet dried.

I didnʼt make much of it figuring the heat will dry it long before anyone would notice. I turned to look at my desk to find the prisonerʼs files. Everything had gotten so mixed up that I couldnʼt make heads or tails of the cases. This was going to take me all day to sort out.

An authoritative knock on the steel door cleared my concern for the files and planted it directly on the sweat drenched men chained to chairs in my office. The knock got louder and I knew a third knock would result in armed guards breaking down the door.

I put on my sports jacket which provided perfect cover for the wet spot on my crotch and walked over to the door. I slide open the eye level slot and stared at a badge.

I couldnʼt make out exactly which department they were from, forcing me to open the door for a closer inspection. The door swung open and the hot stale sexcharged air flooded out into the reception area. The receptionist gasped and reached for a make shift fan constructed out of box covers.

“Oh warden, these gentlemen here came for those two prisoners”. She motioned to the doorway of my office.

I looked over to the receptionist puzzled. scheduled for today”.

“I wasnʼt told about any transfers

“The call came straight from the Governorʼs office, then these gentlemen showed up”.

She continued to fan sounding exhausted.

The men took a step towards the doorway and one of them peered into the room. I inspected the paperwork and picked up the phone to verify the orders that I was reading.

“Are you serious”?! I couldnʼt believe what I heard on the other end.

I stood puzzled as I listened and compared what I am being ordered to do and the paperwork. The conversation ended with; “Yesʼsir. Right away sir”.

Hanging up the receiver I planted both hands on the receptionist's desk.

“Is there a problem"? One of the men asked.

I could feel my blood begin to boil. I had no idea who these men were, but I know what I read and what I have been told to do.

Teeth clenched. "no" I exhaled.

I walked past the gentlemen standing in the doorway and over to my desk. I pulled open the middle drawer, to retrieve a mass of keys suspended on a steel ring.

I stood there looking at the men in the room. It was clear from the looks on their faces that I would find myself in a position no warden ever wanted to find themselves.

Flipping through six keys before finding the master key, I kneeled down in front of the first prisoner. I avoided eye contact due to the guilt welling up in my chest.

Unlocking the arms was effortless, but it was the shackles on the feet that had me lingering just a little too long.

After the second prisoner was freed from his constraints everyone in the room was standing at eye level.

“Thank you for your cooperation warden” said one of the men as the prisoners were ushered out of my office.

Almost out the door the prisoner who had previously had a mouth full of me turned and spit a huge wad of a globby mixture into his hand. “thanks warden” he grinned.

I looked at the prisoners hand as its contents oozed through his fingers and dripped onto the floor. The footsteps out of my office were enough to cover my; “What have I done”?!

“Whatʼs that warden”? fanned the receptionist.

“The electrician is here”.

ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

The Help

Summer was winding down and my internship with my uncleĘźs tax firm was nearing its end. My Uncle and father started the firm when they were young representing migrant and indentured workers for the state.

“Only two things are certain in this country” I would often hear him tell his clients.

“Death and taxes”…

He always had a steeled look in his eyes whenever he would repeat it. Itʼs almost like he rehearsed the look in the mirror when heʼs not repeating it to anyone else.

I would usually sit at my desk filing away the previous yearʼs tax files and running errands for my uncle. I would watch all kinds of migrant workers come into his office. During the hottest points of the month is when I would notice the hues of the clients become darker and darker.

I would sometimes ask my uncle about the things I noticed about the clients he would service. We would sit for hours pouring over financial records and in between his mutterings over irrelevant and or redundant tax codes he would look over at me and tell me to be grateful Iʼm light skinned.

When I would ask why, he would lean back and laugh at my naiveté then begin to berate my choice in attending an Historically Black College. He wondered why go into debt for an education if I wasnʼt going to learn anything pertaining to my own blackness.

Uncle always came off as a hard ass but this particular day our banter was overheard by one of the migrant workers.

“In the north, they donʼt care how high you get… as long as you donʼt get too close. In the south, they donʼt care how close you get… as long as you donʼt get to high” a voice came across the room with a thick southern drawl.

I had never heard such a dialect coming from someone who wasnʼt a southern

plantation owner or an actor in one of these 70Ęźs black-spoliation films I grew up on. He was tall, slender and dark skinned. The room fell silent.

Thirty three minutes of complete silence passed between all three of us in the room. My heart raced as I played back this manĘźs voice in my head. I couldnĘźt separate his words from the sound and the more and more I wanted to hear the sound, the deeper and deeper the words began to carve themselves into my soul.

The man stood up as the phone in the office rang. My uncle looked up from his papers and reached for the receiver. I could see his eyes darting back and forth as he wrote short hand notes and gave one word answers to the caller on the phone.

My uncle motioned to the now standing man to come over to his desk. I couldnʼt take my eyes off him as he strode across the room. He had very long legs and although he was a slender man, his body rippled; I figured maybe he was a field hand of some sort. Thatʼs typically the types of clients my uncle would get so Iʼm sure I wouldnʼt have been too far off if I wasnʼt too chicken shit to have asked. I watched in silence as my uncle showed the man what he was writing on his pad.

My uncle continued on the phone as the Nubian spire began to come directly in my line of sight.

His clothes were tattered and worn. They clung to him like they were one size too small. His pants legs stopped just above his ankles and his shoes were covered in dirt. His button down shirt was opened with suspenders covering his nipples as he walked.

I noticed he didnʼt have a belt on and instantly understood the suspenders. All he needed was a straw of wheat in his mouth and he would be the picture of Tom Sawyerʼs ferry man down the river.

The bulge in his pants was the last thing I had noticed. By this time he was in my face and I tried to look busy daring not to look up into his eyes. “cʼmon yella bone” he said.

There goes that drawl again… “yessir”… I spoke as I floated out of my chair, almost euphoric from the sound of his voice.

He led me out of the office and down the hall to one of the storage rooms. I never actually had any need to come to this part of the building since I worked directly for my uncle. The room was dark and the air was stale. I could see the silhouette of the manʼs figure moving about in the room. He kicked over a bucket and a swirl of expletives sprung out of his mouth.

I stood there totally in a trance by what I had heard. It was almost like a whole other language that I was somehow familiar with yet did not know. The flickering

and buzzing of the overhead lights took the once dark space and revealed it to be one of the storage rooms for the tax files. “you werenʼt scared of the dark were you yella bone”?

I stood in utter silence. I had no idea what I was to say. He stared at me waiting for my answer and I was frozen by his gaze.

Moment or Millennia, take your pick. They seemed to happen simultaneously. He broke his stare and I could feel him moving in the room although I didnʼt see him moving towards me. I stood in the middle of the room watching him move boxes from one side of the room to another. The more boxes he moved the more I could see a small cot in the corner. It was hearing my uncleʼs voice in the door way that snapped me from my dimensional drift. Startled I turned around with a fright. “boy, what you scared of, you jumping around like a rabbit”. My uncle quipped.

I stammered for an answer when I noticed his gaze lower.

“Ah, I see” he said with almost a delight in his voice.

“Everythingʼs ok boss” the hypnotic voice stated with an authority that spun me around to face him.

I could feel the heat of my heels from the force of the turns. I stayed silent as my uncle explained that the call was from the county court and he needed to bring files down for a prosecuting case.

“Found it”! The worker waved a packet with a triumph and ran it over to the door.

My uncle carefully opened the packet. He withdrew four sheets and examined them carefully. When he was satisfied he promptly put the pages back. “ok, I need to get these downtown, it should take me a couple of hours”.

He smirked at me and asked “youʼll be ok till I get back”?

Already feeling so self-conscious my answer sounded like a whimper as I uttered “sure, Iʼll be fine”.

With that my uncle vanished from the doorway. I could hear the front door of the office close.

Slumping down on the bed, the worker fell back in exhaustion. I watched his chest swell up and down. The bulge in his pants was much more pronounced and my eyes were glued. He cocked his head up to see me staring. He smiled and waved me over. I immediately moved over and sat right next to him.

“It must have been an important file”. I said staring down at my hands. “itʼs my forty acres and a mule” he sighed.

I looked over at him lying across the bed. He had this look of contentment on his face that made me smile. I guess my smile invited his advances because I felt the strength of his hands on my thigh. My once tight body seemed to automatically relax with his touch. He took full advantage of me. He manhandled me like a baker handling dough. I found my body obeying all of his commands.

My clothing seemed to melt away as we wrestled on the cot. I was like the horse shoe to his anvil and with the precision of a seasoned blacksmith he began to pound.

I closed my eyes as his pelvis made contact. The force of his balls slapping my ass rang like church bells with each contact. It felt like a fire alarm going off in my ass.

The heat was almost unbearable. The forge was now raging hot and sparks of ember flew with each slam of his hammer. The pounding became relentless. I could feel the heat from his intensity consume my breath.

Even when the blacksmith paused to admire the tempering of his work he could not extinguish the blaze now traveling up the center of my stomach. I almost passed out from the intensity. “what was that” I shuttered?

I'd never felt such a sensation before… and I liked it!

I looked at my anal liberator and smiled.

“Still ‘fraid of the dark” he said with a satisfied look.

“No sir” I commanded.

Understanding now and forever that once you go BLACK…

ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

Glory Hole

In a little bar at the end of the strip all the b-boys go to play. Jam packed with people listening to pre-recorded mixes and pool sticks waving about trying to line up the shot. This was my kind of place. Play your cards right and even the most unluckiest in love can find some temporary relief on the weekends in a little bar at the end of the strip.

Written about in stories of love and loss, it served as a frontier from Jersey.

Out the front door youʼre on the west side. On the inner side of the door you were through to the black side. Brothers from all walks of life all vie for the attention of the hot go-go boy, that with the correct amount off incentives could be seduced of his perch just long enough for a 3 minute splash off in the bathroom stall.

The bartender is the latest Nubian face from my favorite porn rag. Yes, thatʼs him.

Mr. Black Inches 1994. Heʼs standing there taking orders. I ask for the hardest stiffest drink he could make. Oh, and from the bottom shelf so I can watch you bend over. I want to see if youʼre live or Memorex. Full page spread and a Black Russian to boot.

Tip for the eye fuck allows for both of us to maintain our dignity as the opening cadence to Mary J. Bligeʼs Real Love comes through all of the speakers.

One go-go boy, is now two.

Itʼs like the rain-washed earth waking up all of the creatures. They writhe and groove, if nothing more than to show and prove. On each down beat comes the collective roar of the choir as if to inspire the ancestors to terry in this “Upper Room”.

Sweat drips into my glass as I take sips. The silhouettes of gyrating figures can be seen in the strobe light, hands, bare chests moving in a stop motion orgy as hit after hit causes the floors to pre-cum. Lost tribes exchange in the ritual of

pheromone and song and move through the room as the voice overlays Frankie Knuckles classic house hits.

Hands on my hips my hands on my drink. I coyly prop up the wall. I feel him staring, get a good look. I turn, I stretch, I bend. It was the pea-cocking of procreation that comes up from the primal soul. Half the speed of time I see him through the crowd. Black Russian brings me my truth as I watch the sweat continue to drip into my glass. A little of that ole black magic grandfather taught.

Lips to straw, is this what he tastes like? Glass to grip, firm and fragile is the vale that separates us. The curtain closes as libations flee the ice causing the noticeable slurp. Thatʼs your cue as my glass is raised to eat the ice. Room is thick and brick with slabs of man. Shirtless bodies provide the lube needed to squeeze to the front of the line. Page 6 of Black Inches, Iʼd like another.

His breath on my neck, “its on me” wasnʼt his most impressive move. It was the heat from his loins that have been pressed against me long enough for me to know his heart rate. The mirror provided the perfect vantage to keep my attention on page 6 and my black Russian inspired fantasy. Pressing harder, an arm reaches past, a $10 is placed on the bar followed by a repeat of “itʼs on me”.

To be a groupie in control of oneʼs own facility allows for both internal and external emotions to run concurrently. Page 6 comes for his gratuity as both black Russians begin to work a spell. Eyes in the mirror, eyes forward my drink sits in front of me, tonightʼs entertainment behind me and a little side dish in front of me; what ever will I do?

The mood is right, grips gotten tight. Its going to be one hella-vah night!

"Gene LaMar for Pres" ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

Freedom Train

He promised to take me with him‌ I sat in the corner of my cell flicking through scraps of newspaper clippings

featuring a prisoner escape. The details all varied, however the suspect was very clear to me. I sat back, looked up at the paint chipped ceiling and began to count. I used the counting to slow and regulate my breathing. It was a trick my mother taught me when I was a boy. Whenever the world seemed too big and overwhelming, she would take my hand and squeeze. As she counted her grip would loosen and as she got to the final number, her clenched hand had evolved into a hug.

To a child, mother is the world…

As a grown man, mother couldnʼt help me now. I thud my head against the wall I was propped up against.

“He promised” I sighed.

With the exhale, my head planted itself on my knees and I withdrew into the fetal position. The goal was to make myself smaller and smaller, as if the child in me was trying to convince me that I would somehow shrink to fit through the cell bars.

“Thatʼs just being silly”… I whispered to myself.

As I sat in the fetal position the sounds of other prisoners yelling and moaning created a dread that I had never felt before. To be summarily grabbed off the streets was always an integral part of the black experience in america. As a former teacher of a private boyʼs institution I would lecture my students on the art of blending in and vanishing within the populous.

“Lots of good that was, look at me now”… I chuckled.

Year after year, students would pour into my history class. I would see all the brown and Black faces eager to be the best of the best. I took great pride in my classes compared to the other teachers. Not only was I their first tenured teacher in 20 years, I was also the only black man to hold such a position. I thought that meant something.

Clearly I was wrong. Once the allegations of misconduct started to stir, I knew it was only a matter of time before they gathered enough “evidence” to revoke everything I worked to achieve. It wasnʼt fair, it wasnʼt right.

As I sank further and further into despair I didnʼt hear the commotion happening just outside my cell.

BOOM! The ringing in my ear, the debris, the smoke…

I couldnʼt see anything more than three feet in front of me. Through the smoke and confusion a strong black hand reached in and grabbed my arm. “cʼmon”, the voice through the smoke beckoned. “we donʼt have much time”.

Instinctively I sprang to my feet. The thought of sitting in my cell indefinitely was less appealing then trying to make my way through chaos. Once outside my cell I could hear fire alarms blaring and see a sea of angry white officers on the other side of the bars of the detention area. “not that way, this way…” the voice called.

I took one last look at the officers and with defiance in my eyes I did as instructed.

I didnʼt hesitate any further. I was now determined to be free of my rod iron cage. I coughed as the flames of a small fire began to creep up the wall. It was only a matter of time before the whole building would be engulfed.

“this way … theyʼre coming for you, we must hurry”!

Panic shot hot through me as the gravity of the situation set in and flames flared to singe the hairs on my arm. “yup, time to go” I quipped and moved backwards before turning around and running to the end of the hall. I could see a peculiar light, almost like daylight peering through the smoke. Thereʼs my way out I thought and used the light to guide me to freedom.

The light grew bright until I stood in front of a gaping 7 feet by 5 feet hole in the wall as big as an archway. I stood there realizing once through, there was no going back. Back to what? My life, my comfy job?

“Fuck it”.

I took a deep breath and passed through. On the other side I could feel the sun on my skin. It felt like lightning surging within me. It was almost as if I'd not felt the sun for decades. How long was I in there to feel such a rush?

A car, parked just out of my peripheral view, honked twice. I turned to run in the direction of the horn. When I got to the passenger side the door swung open. I jumped in without even looking at the driver.

“Go”! I screamed to the driver almost sounding like a madman as the acceleration slammed me into the headrest.

I could hear E.M.S. sirens and what sounded like a fleet of fire trucks. The car shot out into the intersection like something out of a 60ʼs movie complete with tires

screeching, pedestrians scrambling for cover and a rapidly beating heart.

Two blocks away from where we started I began to relax my body enough to look over at the driver. Turning into an upcoming fast food restaurant parking lot, the driver reached into the backseat and pulled forward a duffle bag.

“here, put these on” the driver said with a smile.

Tears in my eyes, I didnʼt respond. I was trembling. I didnʼt know what to do, what to say, what to think, what to feel. “hey, its gonna be alright. I'm here now”…

With that I began to ball uncontrollably. Everything that Iʼd been feeling since my incarceration came gushing to the surface. I couldnʼt even help it. My shoulder felt a warm hand. No words were exchanged. The sounds of emergency vehicles began to outcried my sobbing. I wiped my face with my ash covered sleeve leaving a streak of dirt and tears across my face.

I could hear a chuckle come from next to me. I looked over and it wasnʼt til I caught my reflection in the window that I got the joke. I chuckled too. “feel better”? My knight asked.

My eyes said what my mouth couldnʼt. I rummaged in the duffle bag and found denim jeans a t-shirt and hat inside the bag.

“Weʼll need to go the rest of the way on foot. We only have an hour so youʼd better hurry and change”.

How could he be so calm I asked myself as I began to tear off my previous prison attire. My driver watched me as I undressed. He didnʼt make any overt gestures but I could feel his lust growing. I was completely naked in the passenger seat of a getaway car in the middle of a fast food parking lot. The thought of food gave me

away as the orgy of noises came from my stomach.

Embarrassed, I didnʼt even look up. “hungry huh”? with a concerned voice. “finish getting dressed, Iʼll be right back”.

The driverʼs side door opened and for the first time I got a good look at my deliverer. His form seemed to cast a curious shadow. I wasnʼt sure if my eyes were still fuzzy from the smoke, ash and tears. He must have felt me staring because as he got to the door of the restaurant he looked back and smiled.

My stomach was now turning tricks as if I'd not eaten in days. As I continued to reassemble myself I replayed the previous events. What does this all mean? Things have spun so far out of control that I could not believe this was actually my life.

I was lost in thought when the driverʼs side door opened and the weight of the entering body shook the car as he sat in the seat. “eat up”! he said with a smile, “youʼll need your strength for the journey”.

“Where are we going” I muffled with a mouth full of food. “to freedom” he replied.

I liked the sound of that! Iʼd never been to jail before let alone arrested. I continued to shovel the food in my mouth.

“we have a train to catch” he said as he crumbled up his finished burger rapper and tossed it on the floor of the car. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I leaned down to tie my laces in case we needed to make a foot run. “ready” I said with renewed energy.

Calmly exiting the vehicle I put on my cap and followed behind my driver as he led me down a back alley. “the train yard is not too far” he said looking back and extending his hand. I looked at his hand and saw a familiar grip. It was the same grip from my cell. I took his hand and together we began to run. We stayed off the main streets as more and more police sirens could be heard.

Panting and sweating I pushed to keep up. I could barely catch my breath when we abruptly stopped at the end of the third alley. I stood behind him as he peeked around the corner. A train whistle could be heard just 2 blocks away.

“Shit”! he exclaimed”, "there isnʼt much time”…

He knelt down on one knee and said “climb on”.

I was puzzled as to what he meant. “climb on”?!

Another train whistle blew causing him to yank my arm. In almost a sweeping

motion I was hoisted on his back as he stood up. How could he be so strong?! I felt almost like I was the shirt on his back. The speed and ease to which he traveled was beyond amazing. He sprinted for 2 blocks, past store front windows and parked cars.

I caught our reflection in one of the passing storefront windows and almost gasped. He was amazing! I could feel the muscles in his back tense and pulse with each stride. I laid my head on his back as he carried me to a life of freedom.

Rounding the corner I could see the train yard. Another whistle could be heard and I could see a few trains moving in various directions. My chariot unleashed an inhuman burst of speed. Leaping over one of the parked cars he made a mad dash through the yard.

It felt like we were one unit and his desire became mine. Like a jockey on a thoroughbred I bucked. He snorted as if he understood the metaphor and off we went. He carried me with such ease, it was almost fun. My heart began to sing with thoughts of freedom.

We sprinted up and down the train yard til almost all the trains were gone. It was the last train pulling out of the station that caught my steedsʼ eye. Almost like a greyhound round the track he took off. I almost lost my grip from the burst of speed. The train pulling out of the station began to pick up speed, so did he. I could see various train cars and it was the last box car that didnʼt seem to fit the rest of the trainʼs profile.

The wooden doors of the train car were slotted and a small opening could be seen.

As the train moved out of the station we were beginning to trail.

“JUMP”…

The command was almost like an ejection lever because as soon as I heard it, I could feel myself being flung through the small gap. I landed with a mighty thud in the car. All the dirt and debris created a cloud of dust. I couldnʼt see my liberator and I crawled towards the opening. I peeked through and could see the exhaustion growing in my saviorʼs eyes.

He looked at me as the distance between us began to become noticeable. He stumbled almost losing his balance, scampering to keep pace. He held out his hand to try to grab hold of the train but his grip slipped. Without thinking, I reached my arm out to grab his. I urged him, pleaded with him, cried for him.

I could not let him go, not like this, not after coming so far. I shimmied through the opening and scaled the outside of the train car. The wind whipping past made any sound I made blow back into my mouth. I scrambled to the back of the car where he was barely able to keep pace. I stooped down below the guardrail and stretched as far as I could. “grab my hand”! I screamed!

He stumbled, the dirt from the moving train began to flare up and I lost sight of him. I had almost given in to the despair that was following me since the explosion back at my cell when I felt fingertips gripping my arm. “hold on”… I gasped as I pried his hand, then arm forward. Bracing my foot against the railing, I heaved. Now more of him became visible through the dirt cloud. I

hoisted him over the railing as we both tumbled backwards.

I couldnʼt believe it. It was him, he made it! The joy in my eyes gushed as I embraced him as I would a love back from the dead. He looked at me, eyes wide.

“Thank you” he sighed as he laid back against the car. The train was now moving at top speed. The air felt warm as the cityʼs skyline faded into the background. “cʼmon” I told him, “we better get inside”… we have quite a ways to go till we get to FREEDOM.

ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

Behind the Wall Case File: Ⓖeneral ✪ ⒼreyBeard™

"Lil Kardashian" I have always had a secret propensity for guys for as long as I can remember. It's not that I'm gay or something it's just that I was always around guys so I never really got to "experience" females.

It didn't help that me and my moms looked alike. People would always say "Boy you look just like your mother" and "damn, Joy made you by herself." I never really

saw it; to me I didn't have any feminine features. Yes I do have an unusually high butt that I can "roll" and very full lips but I was still masculine to my heart and lived my life like that. This is probably what led me to events that would change my life.

Damn I'm giving you my life story and never introduced myself. My name is Kourtney Brown (it's a family name‌don't judge me). I stand approximately 5'2 and weigh around 130 lb. My nickname growing up was Young Choc on account of my deep but smooth and even complexion.

My dick is about 5 inches soft and 7 1/2 hard and I'm uncut (heard girls like that).

I'm 23 and people still think I'm 15 as I've never really grown any facial hair and am shorter than my other siblings.

I never got into the baggy pants craze though I will sag occasionally, people on the block like to joke I got more ass than Kim, and I must be the other Kardashian.

Bullshit really but I'm cute and I know it. Anyway, like I was saying I'm a masculine guy. I've had a few girlfriends but never got past 1st base.

All my friends either got kids or always talking about fucking this and that and I can't catch nothing to FUCK. Even though I had "feelings" for guys I've never acted on them. I just accepted that I could appreciate how a guy was dressed that day or how he had his hair cut. For instance my brother and his friend T`wan would let me help them while they were working out.

My job was to make sure the towels were ready as they would get really sweaty after lifting the weights. A few times T`wan was lifting so much he was too sore to wipe himself dry so I helped him. Now T`wan stood over 6 feet tall so helping him dry off was a chore for me, I didn't really mind though it gave me something to do.

This one time I had him lean up against the bench while I started from his calves up toward his thighs.

His legs were very muscular and hard, each muscle more defined than the last. As I did each leg up to the mid thigh I looked up and noticed I could see all the way up his shorts. Oh shit this nigga working out and don't have on any under wear lol.

What I saw was crazy, his dick wasn't really that much bigger than mine but his balls hung very low and seemed really heavy.

I swear they must have been the size of 2 big eggs. From this angle I couldn't tell if he was cut or not and really I didn't wanna get caught looking up this dude shorts so I just told him he was done and thought that would be it. He said his back was still wet and removed his shirt. DAMN I thought his legs was muscular, this dude had an 8 pack on his stomach and these big wide chest muscles. I see why girls like him, I need to get big like that. Anyway he laid down on the bench facing down so I could dry off his back.

As I started I began to feel an all too familiar tingling in my shorts. Shit didn't need this right now as I was only wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Fuck it he not looking my direction anyway he can't see me. So I continued wiping his muscular back making sure I got each crevice and In-between the muscles. His ass looked like it was going to explode through his gym shorts it was so round and tight.

TO BE CONTINUED ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

Behind the Wall Pt 2 Case File: Ⓖeneral ✪ ⒼreyBeard™

As I kept wiping his back lower and lower I noticed the waistband of his shorts was really loose and was soaked with sweat. I said something like Man U need to change your shorts it look like you just jumped in a pool. He turned to me and smiled saying "yea we was pushing hard today, maxing out".

As he said this he rolled onto his back now noticeably stiffer but not fully erect. He lay there smiling at me and just as he began to slide his hands under his waistband my brother came back out the door and told me my cousin was on the phone for

me. He walked over to T`wan and began play fighting with him, both of them wearing thin basketball shorts no shirts and getting sweaty all over again. T`wan kept trying to pin my brother and even though he was bigger T`wan kept ending up on top.

The Call

So I go to the phone expecting it to be some bullshit. my brother has a tendency to play around, but it was my home boy Meech asking me to come chill with him asap. Apparently he had just got a "package" and needed a second man to help him move some stuff from one place to the next place. At first I was apprehensive; some guys i knew had just got popped for trafficking up interstate 95 to Delaware two weeks ago, so I wasn't trying to risk my freedom for nothing.

"Man I don't know, that shit sound suspect" I said looking at my brother and T`wan wrestling in what seemed to be slow motion.

My brother had managed to pin down T`wan by sitting on top of him. He was sitting on his waist leaning forward with T`wan's arms held down. From my angle T`wan wasn't exactly trying to get free.

"Man you hear what I'm telling you?" barked Meech, apparently I had zoned out watching my brother and T`wan wrestling or whatever they were doing.

"Yea man I'm listening, how much u trying to break me off with?" No way i was doing this job just on GP, from what i heard you do a job with Meech and you was getting paid.

"Man I got you, you know your father and I go way back. I'm gonna take care of you real well. You know your my lil Kardashian."

Now I was starting to get pissed; this dude calling me "Lil Kardashian" like I'm some punk or something, but fuck it he was paying good money to just basically carry a bag from one house to another too easy so I was like "yea man I will meet you at your house."

I haven't seen Meech in a long time. We weren't exactly friends; he's much older than me. My brother did some work for him and got paid nice. My pops never really had a bad word about him, so it's whatever.

I went to the back door to tell my brother where I was going and he and T`wan was still wrestling. I noticed T`wan had my brother in a hold from behind and his dick was flopping about in his shorts. At that moment I was conflicted internally because a part of me wanted to reach out and touch it but I knew better. honestly it looked like my brother was touching it all over trying to get out of that hold.

"Yo Sincere, I'm going out for a min I will be back later."

"Aight man, lemme know what he getting into when you get there." he replied. little did I know that the next time I would see my brother would be in court months later.

The Package

It was at least 2 pm before I got to his house. That train ride was hell. I knew I shouldn't have worn them damn shorts on the train, my dick was still hard as hell from earlier and every time the head rubbed against the material it made it get thick all over again. I was so horny, I kept thinking about T`wan tight ass in those shorts and him and my brother wrestling.

If i could have I would have busted a nut right then and there but something tells me on a crowded train someone would have had a problem with that. So I was like Fuck it I'm about to get this money and go shopping; shit gonna be mad easy I did what every guy does to hide when they are hard; pull my dick up to my stomach and under my waist band so it's not sticking straight out.

Finally I get to the stop and make my way to the door and Meech comes over the intercom booming "who is it?".

So I replied "man it's me Choc lemme in". "Choc? What Choc? I don't know anybody named Choc."

See now this dude playing fucking games; everybody wanna be a damn comedian.

So I said

"man look either open the damn door or I'm leaving" "I didn't come here to play games wassup?"

Finally the door buzzed and I made my way down the long stair case to his apartment door. I hated walking down that staircase as it is always musky and dank.

The lights never working, always a baby crying and the faintest smell of shit in the air. Anyway I didn't come here to complement the decorator, I came to do this drop and make this money. I reached the door and knocked.

"Who is it?"

This dude must be the fucking king of paranoia.

"Who the fuck you think it is?" I yelled, annoyed that he keep putting me through these damn check points.

"Aight man damn calm down, shit cool" he said as he removed the chain off the door and began to unlock the numerous bolts.

"Damn K, you ain't even trying to grow?" He said while hurrying me into the apartment as if there was someone watching me from behind.

"Man how you talking, not like you much taller than me".

I can't believe this dude gonna come for me with the short jokes like he 6'5. Meech stood about 2 inches taller than me and had a slender athletic body for an older guy. I figure he was about 35-40. He was lighter than me; butter pecan complexion if you let him tell it.

His mustache was always trimmed to just this little patch under the bridge of his nose. It always reminded me of Hitler when I saw it, though when I told him that he gave me a full lesson on where that came from (something to do with African slaves or some shit).

I never really looked at him in any kind of sexual way, but I did notice him often having longing glances and lingering embraces towards me. He was known in the street as an OG, moving weight for years up the east coast on the Greyhound, but I heard "stories" about him.

Once he said my pants was sagging to low and attempted to pull them up for me.

Before I could do anything he was behind me, one hand on my back, the other attempting to grab my belt and lift up. I lost my footing and found my face pinned up against the wall.

"Fuck" I thought, this old geezer trying to jack me in broad day light. Things took a different turn when I felt his hand brush up against my ass; which at first I really didn't mind but when he started to cup my cheeks I pushed him off me.

"Bet that'll teach you to walk around here with your ass out." He said smiling at me; "try that shit again and I will punish your old ass!" I told him, readjusting my pants and meeting that bullshit ass smile with a look that meant what I said.

TO BE CONTINUED ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

Behind the Wall: FINALLY Case File: Ⓖeneral ✪ ⒼreyBeard™

As I stood in the foyer area I began to look around. I had been in this apartment many times before but it's been awhile and i never really took the time to see how he was living. Immediately off the foyer was the living room which was large enough for a queen size bed, as it looked like someone had turned it into a bedroom. Who ever was staying there must have had a thing for ceramic frogs.

Countless amphibians lined the makeshift shelves, standing like little green and white blobs.

Because it was so dark I couldn't really make out what was on the dresser but I could see that it was big, and bulky "probably a TV or something he stole. Right next to the living room was the bedroom where Meech had scampered into after securing the door again.

"What the hell he need all them damn locks for anyway?" I thought, oh well Jay-Z said "Can't be too safe cause niggas is two face…".i noticed his room had one wall totally lined in mirrors.

On the table next to the door were a few magazines and calendars; one of which caught my eye due to the colorful art work and hieroglyphics "ҳ Ҳ ̸ ƒUX ÇLUB ̸ ҳ ҳҲ ̸ ™ Presents: Men of Mars 2013-2014" ̸ ҳ

Guess the dude be getting into some freak shit with him and his old lady. But that's none of my business. I found a corner to relax in till this dude Meech got his shit together. I can't stand dudes who move slow; he called me over here like he had the bag waiting.

"Damn Meech can you move any slower?" I said feeling impatient.

"Man hold the fuck up, don't fucking rush me like you running shit around here.

Remember who the fuck you talking to" he said while standing in the closet rambling about.

Truthfully that gangsta talk didn't phase me much. See I grew up in a numbers/ whore house. Yea you old heads know what I'm talking about; women, drugs,

guns, money, gangsters coming and going at all hours. My father was a real street hustler known in the city as JB. He was an impressive sight standing 6'7 350 lbs black as night. For as long as I've been alive he's been bald and mean tempered with anyone that attempted to disrupt his "business".

When we was kids he would use me and my brother as weights taking turns using us as curling irons. I've personally seen him hit a guy so hard it permanently dislocated his jaw. They guys face was forever lopsided. My dad wasn't one for "sugar coated" speech as he called it. He was straight forward, said what he meant and meant what he said. So Meech could miss me with that big-boy talk; don't let my baby face fool you; I'm about mines 100%.

"Whateva man hurry up, you called me over here like you had that ready" I said standing to my feet, chest out deep voice on full bast. I made my way towards the kitchen area and sat down. Lord knows how long this was gonna take, but I was determined to make this work. This guy was known to make deals where everybody got paid and it was finally my turn.

"Aight man here you go; don't fuck this up I'm counting on you" Meech said as he handed me 2 small backpacks.

I didn't need to know what was in them just that this was game time. I just wanted to get this over with already. By the time I made my way out the apartment it was already about 9e25pm.

"Good, at least the trains will be running express" I thought as I boarded the A

headed uptown. So far so good, I got to the platform and sat down without incident. The station was unusually empty tonight; usually it's bustling by this time on a weekend night. To my left was this really tall, thick guy that I swear looked like Micheal Sam. He must have been having an awful rough day because he seemed disheveled and out of it. "Hey man you aight?" I asked. I was trying to spark up some conversation —might help calm my nerves.

"Yea man I'm cool, just going through some shit" "man I feel that. I'm lil Choc" I said extending my hand.

"Tru, I'm Sincere" he said connecting to my hand with a monstrously powerful grip.

Damn this dude arm was the size of my head; I would not wanna piss him off. He was dressed as though he had left in a hurry. He had on black pajama pants and sky blue Nike sandals. His shirt seemed about 2 sizes too small; I think that was the point though as it made his massive chest muscles pop out every time he moved. He had a bald head which I thought was cool as it reminded me of my dad.

His voice boomed but wasn't threatening.

"So where you off to this late?" He said looking at me as though he was looking through me.

"Oh man I'm going uptown to meet up with my friends"

"oh word, you stay in the bx?"

"Na man Brooklyn born and bred" "tru, I know a couple heads from the study around Marcy and the Pink houses."

"How old are you? You look kind of young to be out so late." Here we go with this shit again.

"Man I get that all the time. I look younger than what I am. It doesn't help any that I'm shorter than most guys my age; I'm 23" " bullshit, man I would have thought you was at least 16-17" "yea I know I got that Babyface" I said flashing an innocent smile.

"Yea Babyface for real. Do you workout?"

"I do a lilĘź something every now and again when I can but I don't really mad out like my brother does"

"man you should push it harder. You have a body physique that will respond well to some hard PT" "word man you know about that stuff?" I said.

"Yea, I used to have this personal trainer that gave me a lot of tips for proper dieting and workout routines."

"That's wassup. So what would I need to do to get big like you?" I said motioning to the size of his biceps.

"Lots of hard work and dedication" he said while tightening the muscle to the point veins were popping out.

"Damn man that's huge you must be crazy strong" I said while instantly getting an image of Popeye in my head.

Before he got a chance to respond we saw the train was coming. I grabbed my bags and went to stand up; adjusting the straps so as not to let the bag slouch too far back.

The train was ridiculously crowded; people were standing packed like sardines filling damn near every available space. I held the door open as Sincere squeezed into the train with his luggage. When the doors closed I found myself standing facing toward the door with Sincere standing somewhere behind me.

When we got to the next stop more passengers boarded the car forcing Sincere to move in closer behind me.

"Sorry man looks like it's gonna be a tight ride" he said into my ear as he stood so close to me I could feel his stomach muscles on my back. As the train groaned alive and rocked violently side to side I felt something move against my ass.

At first I thought it was his arm or thigh being pushed against me as the train was

throwing everyone about then I realized it seemed to center right on the crack of my ass. Due to the fact I was pressed against the door and there wasn't any space for me to move I was effectively cornered. "What the hell is that pushing me?" I thought wondering if somehow he had turned sideways and his arm was up against my ass. A quick head turn confirmed that he was standing at attention directly behind me, facing me; my head barely met the center of his chest.

As I turned to face toward the door again the train shook frantically causing me to almost lose my footing. Immediately I felt a rather large hand on my waist holding me up.

"Woah that was crazy" he said; still holding onto me with that deep grip.

As the rocking subsided I again felt something large move across my butt and fall right along the crack of my ass. This time though it was stiff and unmistakable.

My heart jumped when through my thin basketball shorts I could feel what I assumed to be his hard dick pressing against my ass. My dick instantly came to life as the rhythm of the train caused our bodies to move independently of each other; bumping and sliding about wildly. I reached up with one hand, grabbing the rail to steady myself when he whispered into my ear "hold on".

The train shook forcefully once more causing him to grab my waist with his left hand as he held a rail with his right. This time however he held me tighter and firmly planted his dick on my ass.

"Damn I've never had someone male or other wise hold me like this. Let alone I just met this guy" I thought as I felt his left hand seem to move lower toward my waist band. I breathed a sigh of relief when his hand stopped just above my waist and landed on my stomach.

"just wanna make sure you don't fall" he said as again I felt his dick on my ass.

This time as the train lurched about, he used his left hand that was pressed against my stomach to push me backward toward him as he pushed forward with his waist. I could swear he was grinding on me; using the rhythm of the train to keep pace.

"Damn why is this turning me on?" I thought as my dick kept rubbing against the door and the mesh material of my shorts.

"Shit his hand is moving again" I thought to myself as his left hand moved into my shorts and toward my dick, grasping it in his hand. "What you doing man?" I said, barely able to breathe as his dick kept slamming into my ass as the train growled and shuddered down the tracks.

"Shit man this train got us so close; seems like we got something in common." He whispered in my ear.

"Man I never did this before, I really don't even know you like that."

I said still nervous that someone would catch me standing here with this big muscle dude hand in my shorts. By this time the train was still packed with people coming and going. With every turn and screech of the train car Sincere found a new spot between my ass and my dick to tease. He had managed to build up a steady rhythm again as we passed Jay St.

"Man I'm gonna bust you keep doing that"

I breathed toward his direction behind me. I felt an all too familiar tingle and knew it wouldn't be long before I reached the point of no return. "oh word" he whispered, increasing his speed and grip on my dick. With my free hand I braced against the door as wave after ave of ecstasy filled me all over.

I've never had someone jerk me off before but this was amazing. His hand wasn't just jerking; it was massaging my dick. Each finger seemed to move independently of the other; I've been masturbating for years and it's never felt this good.

"Damn baby you leaking" he said just as the train grumbled out of yet another station and and began shaking violently.

I managed to mouth the words "I'm gonna cum" and turned towards the corner just as he ever so subtlety exposed the head of my dick; allowing my cum to blast out into the corner instead of my shorts. I griped the banister trying to steady myself while attempting to maintain my facial composure but it was too much. I let out a faint moan that I'm sure was audible to anyone standing near me. As he shook out the last drops of nut from my dick he cautiously placed my dick back into my shorts and fixed my shirt.

"This guy must be a pro at this". I thought still feeling his rather large dick pressed up against my ass.

"Oh shit man that was hot." He whispered in my ear, " man I never did no shit like that before, how did you know I would be down for some shit like that" I said not wanting to insult him but trying to figure what did I do that said "hey I like guys jerking me off on the train".

"I don't know, I guess your butt being pressed against my dick just turned me on."

"You like rubbing your dick against my ass?" I said shocked as even though people have been making jokes about my ass for years I never thought someone would actually think about fucking me.

"Shit you can't tell; what stop you getting off at? We need to meet up again sometime."

"I'm going up to Columbus Circle; got something I need to take care of." I said, gripping my bags as a reminder.

ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

Sleeping With The Enemy Pt 1

“Yoʼ what are you doing? How long are you gonna be tangling with that white boy”?

The dirtiest of looks shot over the table as the two brothers sat across from the mixing station. The studio was dimly lit and filled with smoke from the burning blunts for the effect that most clients come to expect from inner city music producers.

“Why you always gotta be talking about my man for”? asked my brother.

I looked him in the face, “You really wanna know”?

My brother cut his eyes. This isnʼt the first time we have had heated debates over his white “lover”. Not all of the debates were focused on or started out about the bed fellow he chose. The quarrels did however get particularly nasty whenever our clients would begin to point how our Pro-Black Music motto seemed at odds with one of our lead performers is —as one blogger wrote for a small up and coming hip hop magazine called it— “sleeping with the enemy”.

These articles never really bothered me, it goes with the territory. Hell, we would tell our interns that all press is “good” press. I have been eating those words ever since my brother decided he was going to hook up with some white groupie during one of our performances out West.

At first, I figured my brother was just getting his jollies. He always joked about going to get him a white man but I never took him seriously. I mean, we both grew up immersed in our cultural legacy and how we must never forget the struggles of our ancestors.

We began our musical journey together after a chance meeting through a mutual friend. I was just starting out as a new music producer; he was trying to reboot his career. We would spend hours talking about the importance of being pro-black in the face of opposition from all sides. I went out of my way to make sure my brother didnʼt feel as though I would treat him less for his choices and would often remind him that what he eats doesnʼt make me shit.

This particular night, something was different. We had been trying to lay down some new tracks and my brother and his lover are having their usual back and forth on the phone. I hated those conversations because it always sounded like my brother had to keep explaining his time in the studio. It pissed me off having to overhear “why canʼt he make “other types of music” and “when is he bringing his black ass home so he can fuck it.

That last part usually sent my blood to a boil. I couldnʼt hide the rage; it was visible on my face. My brother would see it and struggle to get off the phone or risk spending the rest of the night defending the undefendable. “whats with your man, ever since that guy came into your life youʼve kinda been phoning in your performances” “What do you mean” my brother asked.

“What happened to the BLACK POWER that drove the beats?” I snapped.

I tried my hardest to not explode since I knew this was always a touchy subject for my brother. He truly believed that if he was to be successful as an artist he would have to tone down the black power and appeal to a much wider (whiter) audience. “ooh here you go again with the white man did this, the white man did that shit again. Does it ever get old”? He muttered not looking up from his phone.

“We have music to make and youʼve spent more time with this dude up ya butt than here in the studio. Whatʼs with you?” I quipped.

I already knew the answer. It had been glaring at me the more I would see his consort all up in the mix. My brotherʼs white boy was granted access to parts of our operation most of our black interns had never seen. When his white lover began to sit in on production meetings we had a problem!

Our first major fall out came right after the first two weeks of his “relationship”. We were all talking about signing a pan-African hip hop artist. He was a former child soldier escaped a run on his outpost and a rival warlord managed to kill all but three other children. He was talking about his music and the impact he felt it could have on the larger pan-African movement.

“I donʼt get it…” a voice came from a chair seated next to my brother.

“I mean, whats the big deal. It happened so long ago why canʼt we all just get along” the voice continued.

A hush fell over the room.

“Ayo, who da fuq invited the white boy to the Black power meeting!” ripped the artist.

I quickly stood to try and quell the uprising I knew was pending.

“I donʼt need and invitation” the chair replied.

My brother was embarrassed. I watched him astonished as his face flushed. My brother struggled to find the words.

The artist looked at me with such rage in his eyes.

“Yʼall buncha homos letting this white boy up in here… fuck yʼall fake ass black uncle Timʼs” the artist said as he reached for his demos and packed up to leave.

“Its Toms, Uncle Toms” the voice chuckled.

My brother shot up and grabbed the groupie by the arm as he resisted being removed. The whole conference room could hear his protest outside in the hallway with many of the other artists and staff listening and looking on in a shocked disbelief.

TO BE CONTINUED…

ҳҲ ̸ THESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ ҳ ̸ ҳ

ҳҲ ̸ ̸ҳ ƒUX ÇLUB ҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ҳ™ -Its nothinʼ personal… just REVENGE-Afro Samurai -NEVER DO BUSINESS WITH PEOPLE WHO WONT DO BUSINESS WITH YOU–☯™ ✞웃RIP✞ Ⓘm am a ♂ CONCEPT to become an ♔ IDEAL and end up a LEGEND ☠ ✞ 웃RIP✞ ™ ҳҲ ̸ ̸ҳTHESE ARE OUR STORIESҳ Ҳ ̸ ̸ҳ

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