There was six people that had to be 30 and older, maybe two in their 40s. They looked clean cut, well put together, as if they would be in pinstripes, polka dot red and white bow ties, suspenders and slacks if this this were 9 a.m. instead of 9 p.m. Instead I was greeting men at least 15 years my senior, all brown to dark skin, fit: ranging from bulging muscles to cut physiques, the least amazing of the bunch still had bodies that were tapered with definition in their “Wifey, I’m going to play spades with the boys” sweat pants, slides, t-shirts, and kicks. They all hovered around the height 5’10’’-6’1’’. The most distinctive feature about these men were their hair styles — no two had the same. There were ceasars, bald fades, twist, salt and pepper, receding, and dreads.
I met the host a youth pastor, at a place of worship. Before this foray into group sex, my first might I add, we had sex twice. He stayed in these nice apartments by Stonecrest Mall in the suburban Atlanta area. I don’t remember the sex, but I remember him. Comparing him to the gentleman in the group session, I remember he was the thickest, but he still had a nice body, a tattoo on his upper right arm — some tribal band, a beard, and he had a peculiar smell. It wasn’t a bad scent, just one I could never put my nose on and I haven’t smelled it since.
His invitation to the group session wasn’t smooth– he wanted to feel me out. He asked a 101 questions about what I would and wouldn’t be willing to do. Watching him flap his gums was like watching Tom trying to catch Jerry — strategic, but a mess and like a Tom and Jerry cartoon I couldn’t hear him say a word, not really, not until he mentioned “sex party”.
I wasn’t the first to enter the stylish apartment. Little did I know it was the standard Atlanta gay decor: a Marilyn Monroe portrait, brown and orange color scheme, and too many living room accessories — jars of marbles, vases with sticks, and more throw pillows than my four aunts have. On the couch was the man with dreads, a toilet flushed and one with salt and pepper walked out of the guest bathroom, and two more guys were sitting on the bed fully clothed. The host made me some vodka concoction. I felt awkward, but horny as hell. I had to think of graveyards in order to keep my dick from getting stiff. I didn’t want them to know I was some young punk overly excited and precumming on my black boxer briefs. As I sat on the couch, the man with the dreads was the first to speak to me and the first to touch my body. I went from thinking of graveyards to thinking of dead bodies, then the dead bodies turned into zombies, then the zombies had nice bodies and then one zombie with a banging body only half decayed started kissing on another zombie with a fat ass; one digitally penetrated the other and his ring finger broke off in his ass. Zombies — go figure. There was no way, I couldn’t stay soft to save my life; so, I scouted off the couch trying to hid my erections. I quickly walked into the bathroom to pee and adjust myself.
After two more drinks, everyone crowded into the guest bedroom. There were candles lit, two pillows, and less than 200 thread count bed sheet. We stripped off our clothes. Brothers were kissing, slurping, sucking, tonguing holes. One guy with a frat tattoo on his arm began trying to find my sphincter with his tongue. With his tongue in my ass, he pushed my hips towards the bed and with the pressure of one hand on my back he used his strong bicep to force me down in doggy style as he continued to eat me. While it felt good, I was also preoccupied with the thoughts of what everyone else was doing. He couldn’t have got me into a position where I could be ate and have full view of the room? As I got up, fully intending to sit on his face so I could see everyone, he moved on to the brother with dreads. He dropped to his knees and used the tip of his tongue to flick his balls sack like he was flicking the light switch off and on. Mr. Salt and Pepper was already getting the business end of the only guy who looked like he was barely in his 30s. He was grinding and creating a circle with his hips as he penetrated the younger guy with black du-rag and hazel eyes. It seemed for a minute everyone was watching them, even the ones sucking dick had their eyes on them with a dick in their mouth.
Fifteen minutes later, I had only involved myself in oral sex with the taste of pre-cum on my lips to prove it. The two guys that were in the bedroom earlier, when I just entered the apartment, were on the floor. The yellow bone with slightly reddish brown hair was pounding away at his dark skin counterpart. Later I learned they were a couple. The dark skin one on the bottom, had to have the best body there, but he moaned like a female with his legs wrapped around the back of his lover. He squirmed and bucked so much I swear he got a carpet burn.
And in an instant, there was me: face pressed against the luke warm off-white wall. The youth pastor holding me against it with his right forearm as he took his left hand around my body to play with my nipples. The guy with dreads lubed my ass and put a condom on the youth pastor. He fucked me against the wall with his stout dick as I practiced lamaze breathing techniques. He got off of me after a while. Then I felt these things on my shoulder, they tickled and smelled of mango. The handsome brother: brown skin, pink lips, piercing half crescent eyes, slipped himself inside of me as if it were his turn to try a pair of new jeans on in the fitting room of H&M. After making me feel like a real bitch against that wall entering and exiting my body with his warm lips kissing my neck he pulled out and I just had to see his face. I turned around to see his strong cheekbones and his raw dick glistening with my juices and lube on it.
A week after Tin Lizzies on a cool night, where you can’t see the stars because the Atlanta skyline is so bright, I carefully stopped bouncing on my toes, stopping myself from riding Hank’s dick. I could feel his cum seeping out of me and his dick glistened like the dred head from 9 years ago.
That night, as I got hope I looked at my phone. There was a text message from Hank.
Hank: Are you negative?
Hank: Good. I am too.
That night I went to bed a lair.