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My black friend tricks me into massaging him Neighbors have their first bi experience

My neighbor Mike is a good friend of mine. We often hang out, play basketball and watch football on Sundays. I am married and my wife likes Mike so we all get along fine, but Mike and I are closer friends. Mike is 34 years old and is a big guy. He is about 6 foot 3 and weighs about 225 pounds and very Black. He used to play football in college and is still in great shape.

I am athletic but not as athletic as Mike. I am white, 40 years old, 5 foot 11 and weigh 185 pounds. I guess back from his college days Mike has gotten use to having a masseuse come over to his house once a week and rubbing him down. Usually we time it just right after we play basketball, the masseuse arrives and I leave so Mike can relax and get his massage.

One particular day, just as we finished playing basketball Mike gets a call.

"Damn, man the girl can't make it tonight."

"Sorry dude."

"Shit Dave I've been looking forward to it all day."

"Oh well, I guess you will have to wait until next week."

"Man that is way too long. Hey what about you. Michelle says you give her wicked massages."

"No way man. I only do my wife."

"Come on what's the big deal. A muscle is a muscle and I will pay you what I pay my masseuse."

"How much?"

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I've been trying to lose weight for as long as I can remember.I'm spending my junior year of college in Spain, and I even joined the gym here--during my supposed time away from responsibility--to try to reach my goal.There's nothing I hate more--well, besides Nazis and fish gills--than exercise.But losing weight is important to me, so I joined the biggest gym in my Spanish town.

Little did I know when joining that my gym held the local reputation for having the most fitness-crazed exercise maniacs of the 200,000-person town. Right before I paid the first month's membership, I asked to take a tour of the facility.The secretary told me to wait a moment and Jorge, the manager, would show me around.So I stand around for a few minutes watching a few girls come out of the weight room, and finally a brown-haired guy comes up and shakes my hand."I'm Jorge," he says, in fast-paced Spanish, "nice to meet you.Come.I'll show you around."

"Gracias," I say, following him down the hallway.He showed me the upstairs empty rooms where the pilates and abdominal and cycling classes are, then he showed me the weight room and the attached aerobic center.He told me he'd show me where the locker room was next.So I followed him into paradise.

Unlike the other gyms I toured before that day, this one had a full locker room, with benches, lockers, toilets and urinals, showers, and even three saunas.But the facilities weren't what made it paradise.The exercisers were.I'm not going to lie and say that there were a ton of hot, naked twenty to thirty-five-year-olds walking around erect, casting one another knowing glances.I'll stick to the truth: there were a ton of hot, naked twenty to thirty-five-year-olds, plus just a few of the obligatory hairy old men, walking around, soft Spanish penises swinging between their legs.

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Like, it's easier not taking the prisoners. All those places where you know, we use the radio. All you do is lie there, peering ahead... "Uh, about two hundred yards ahead of me, seems to be a building, two hundred yard, maybe sixty yards to the right." And then you just keep your head down while they shit on the place until finally you poke your head up again, yup, doesn't seem to be any building there anymore, just a lotta smoke, and you can go see. But you wait anyway and you send some more shit in and then you do go see, and whaddya see? Aw fuck, it's burned pork again. I think there's a guy in there, front seat of that car, maybe that's a guy, hope it wasn't some civilian girl or nothing. That's like the right way to do it. You don't take any caps in your own ass, not if you do it that way properly.

So, I mean, I'm not stupid. I don't want to go in there. What am I, the Terminator? I'm not so fucking stupid. Think I'm gonna go in there yelling, "All you Ragheads hit the dirt!"? It's better to let somebody else waste `em. But at the same time you know, burned pork, you can get kind of fed up with coming in and thinking, hey did these guys even know we were coming? Like, if you find `em all piled up behind, you can tell soon as the shooting started they started to run like hell. And you don't know if you got them all, but let me tell you, no fucking way you go around counting, try and see how many asses you nailed because, you know, there was one outfit that got a wedding party. Do you really want to start counting and then maybe you'll see, he-llo, hey this Iraqi soldier must have been all of three feet tall, and this one two and a half feet tall...Lookee, it's a bunch of grammammas and kids.

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My wife had taken the kids to visit her parents in Florida.Gone for the week, it left me free to catch up on a lot of the maintenance we had talked about for some time now.Most of it was simple projects that I could do after work and on the weekends, stuff that was otherwise made difficult by the typical schedules and traffic of everyone being home.I didn't mind the work, enjoyed it actually.Well, I didn't exactly enjoy the WORK, but I did like having the house to myself.I ate what and when I wanted, took breaks to watch movies (porn, mostly!), and enjoyed the freedoms of bachelorhood all over again.Except sex.That was one thing I had plenty of in the bachelor days, but not now.And boy, did I miss it!My wife was pretty, with big tits and a great pussy.But that wasn't the problem.The problem was that he was not interested in sex much at all.For the first several years of my marriage to her, I basically went without.We had sex about once a month, sometimes once every two months.I got less than 5 blowjobs a year, on the average, and I was just not happy sexually.

Thats when I discovered the internet.I quickly discovered that whatever you could want was available on the world wide web!I had a really tough time finding women for no strings sex, but I did find that there were an awful lot of men willing to substitute!My first few experiences taught me that a man can easily replace a woman, and often out perform her!Soon after this great discovery, my wife and I had been discussing her return to work and having the house cared for.Being back in the workforce, he could no longer keep up with daily chores like laundry and cooking.It only made sense to hire someone.

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HIS TO LEND BY:MOORE

Chapter One

Mark Simon has it all and can do it all.Good looks, brains, confidence, a great athlete, lots of money in his pocket and a platinum credit card to buy anything he wants that he doesn't already have. Our small room is crammed with stuff that any 15 year old boy, including me, would die for. It would be easy to be jealous of Mark, even hate him because he is so, so perfect.Nobody at school feels that way though, everybody likes him a lot because he's so generous with his time and his possessions.

Mark's never too busy to help a younger classmate with his homework or help him get better at whatever sport we're playing. Mark'll lend you money; pay me back whenever, he says like you're doing him the favor. He'll lend you his laptop, his ipod, his cellphone...his clothes when we have a mixer with the girl's boarding school down the road and you need something nice to wear. Ask and Mark will lend you anything he owns, including me, Steven Rubin, his freshman roommate and personal cocksucker.

Yeah, I'm a fag, a submissive boy who was, figuratively speaking, born with a cock in my mouth and a mission to fulfill. I'm not swishy or obviously queer, I play sports and don't hate girls. I just have this driving, uncontrollable need to serve the members of my own gender. The way to a man's heart is through his cock and fortunately I love to suck.

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I looked at the eyes staring right back at me. It was all devoid of happiness and full of weary. Even with a plastered smile you can see the haunting of his soul, how troubled it is. When did it happen i wonder. I turned the cold metal handle of the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. I can't see any more sparkle left in my eyes and i feel so tired with my life.

I left my apartment and drove to school. I wasn't able to fix myself a bowl of cereal because i was running late. Dang! First day of classes and i'm late. What a good impression i'll give my instructor and students.

Summer of this year i received a call from my professor inviting me to be a part time instructor for food management. I was hessitant for quite sometime because the last thing i wanna do was teach. But since i wasn't employed at the moment and just helping out with the family business i returned the call after a week to give my acceptance.

I rushed to our building nearly slipping on the tiled floor. I went running and inside the room. I didn't have to to catch my breath so i was panting like a maniac when i went inside. All the heads in the room turned to face me. I just smiled my humiliation.

"Oh uh good morning. I'm sorry i was late uhm Professor..." Shit i forgot the head instructors name.

"Its Frank Santos. And yes you must be Teigh Fuentebella. Everyone this is Mr. Fuentebella and he'll be assisting me in this class," he said.

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A black boy enters the shower in the bathroom of his home.It is the main place he can be assured of privacy from his parents and siblings.He is fifteen.

The glass stall fills with steam and clouds over as he stands under the warm spray.If he tilts his head forward the water lands on the short skullcap of tight, wiry hair, crisp as Velcro, a gentle sweet sandpaper of jet black, sharply trimmed to a distinct line from his neck to his forehead.He tilts his head back and the water sprays his face: the thick smudges of black eyebrow, the long, curling eyelashes over the almond eyelids, now closed and covering the hazel eyes beneath.His nose is broad but not flared, rounded around the nostrils.From just below the nose the flesh of his mouth pushes out at an angle to end in a wide top lip that flares like two flags, like the wings of an angel, purple or maroon mixed with brown.His lower lip is a full plum roll of similar color.The lips part for a moment, revealing a flash of perfect white teeth behind.

The water runs over a round chin and strong jaw, then down the strong, long column of his neck.Underneath his firm, round chin are a few whispy black hairs that he is too proud to shave.The boy's skin is a tobacco brown, deep and rich, a brown your eyes can get lost in.The water spreads out onto strong shoulders, prominent collarbones beneath triangles of muscle that run up to his neck.Over the end of each shoulder a wave of muscle rolls at the top of each arm, then narrows, then swells again in muscles above and below, more waves that rise and fall down the length of his arm. There are gentle valleys beneath the muscles on top and on the bottom of each arm, valleys where the beat of the boy's heart can be found in deep arteries.His lower arms are thin but corded hard with muscles, small branches of oak.The boy lifts first one arm and then another, rubbing soap into the short thatch of dense, black hair in each armpit, the white froth of the soap nestling into the thick texture of the hair.When he puts each arm down, you can still glimpse small tufts of hair sticking out.

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