Gay Interracial - Sex Stories

Gay Interracial

... started in again. "I'll tell you Bill, Kyle here, he gets pussy like you wouldn't believe. Girls over here all the time. Some of them real sweet young things - look to be nice and tight." "Shit yeah!" Kyle tipped his beer can up in acknowledgement. Lots of kids my age bragged, but it was easy to see they were making stuff up; like me they had never done anything with a girl. I knew it was different with Kyle though. I knew the type of boys that girls liked, the type they'd open their legs for: boys like Kyle, boys who were cocky, and who looked like they could handle themselves. I remembered him from our ballgame, the way he looked out on the mound. Even laying back in his rocker, he looked strong and agile; his young black body was hard with tight muscles. He had deep set black eyes beneath long, sweeping eyebrows, eyes that were wide apart, and bright with animal attention. Yes, he looked like he had everything that girls looked for. He looked like he had balls. "Gets it from me. See that rug there?" Ken pointed over to the white bearskin rug. "At least a couple of times a week I get me a new piece of tail down on that rug. Can't wait for my first score in my new place." He must have noticed my father's discomfort. Dad was sitting there, just staring off into space. Ken leaned back and stretched his long arms. "Damn, can't go more than a day or two without getting my dick wet." "I think we're gonna get going," Dad said, sitting forward in the couch. I was surprised, I ...

... thought he was just going to sit there and listen silently all night. "You wanna go?" Ken sat up too, and his expression changed in an instant. He drew his head back, as if recoiling from some insult. "What's the matter, you don't like it here?" Ken's eyes were like hot coals, and his body that was relaxed and fluid just a moment ago was now tense, ready for something, something that scared me. "No . . ," my father looked up at him. "I-I-I umm . . ," he was looking for a way out. "I-I-I mean I just w-w-want to w- w-watch the fight." Then he settled back. "OK, then," Ken said, and resumed his lazy recline on the sofa. He stretched his arms again, and placed one arm up on the shoulder of the couch, his big hand almost touching my father's neck. "Ok, then, Mr. Bill. We'll w-w-watch the fight." He grinned like a kid at Kyle as he mocked Dad's stutter. We sat in silence, and watched the fight. Wepner was standing in the center of the ring, turning like a pinwheel as Ali circled around him. Every five seconds or so, Ali would fling a jab that shot from his body like the bite of a cobra. Wepner was holding his hands just a few inches below his face, but Ali's jab was so quick that he could fling a punch the few feet that separated them and land it squarely before Wepner could raise his hand to block it. Every time. The silence remained for a round or two. I had to pee, badly, all the beer I had drunk was stretching my bladder painfully. But we just sat and watched, while Ali continued ...