Gay Interracial - Sex Stories

Gay Interracial

... watching Sean Michaels giving it to some faceless girl, and Lori said: "You know . . . I wouldn't mind some of that." I tried to be cool, I tried to act amused. Unaffected. I didn't want her to know how thrilling the idea was - she might wonder at my eagerness, she might even wonder what I did those nights I told her I was "working late" - in the bathrooms of City College. So I didn't say anything at first, but I . . . well adjusted. Soon every single tape I brought home was interracial, we'd spend all night Friday watching white lips stretched by the biggest, longest black cocks the industry could find. We both started doing ourselves right there while the tape was on. We used to watch, and then turn the set off and go into the bedroom. Not any more. Now I would finger her while she watched Sean, or Jack Napier. Sometimes she'd grab the remote, and replay a facial cum shot from one of these monsters in slow motion. Finally, I couldn't wait. "Lori . . . you know, there are couples. . . " She looked at me with those dark Sicilian eyes. " . . . where they have black guys come in. And the husband just . . . watches." She didn't even try to act disinterested. Once I said that any lingering reserve was gone, and all I heard for the next few weeks was: "Did you get any answers yet?". That was before the internet, back in the days when Screw magazine personals were the only way to meet, well, unusual needs. It took almost two months before we were sitting in the Rio Diner in New ...

... Jersey, having lunch with Henry, a young black man in his early twenties who'd driven up from Philadelphia. He was perfect - about 6'4" with wide shoulders, clothes that hung loose around his thin waist, and a shaved head. Just perfect, and I had a practiced eye indeed. Perfect because he had something more than just a physical presence - he had that look, that attitude. Yes, he knew just how to treat me - with cool, dismissive contempt. But what I thought didn't matter -- once he stepped into the diner Lori completely ignored me. She looked up at him like he was a Sun God. After a few minutes of small talk she got up from my side of the booth and slid over to his side, and they started making out. God, that was hot! I was sitting there, stirring my coffee, watching him work on her, working that Italian romanticism of hers. He nuzzled her ears, and whispered dirty things to her. Her face was turned towards me - she was looking blankly over the top of my head because she was listening attentively to everything he said. She liked it -- she was beaming. Lori and I had game-planned this, of course. On the way to the diner we told each other that this was just a lunch, and that afterwards we would talk it over, and decide together if he was the right man. Some of this was her fear. Some of it was my fear, and the rest of it was my conviction that I could tell what a black man had just by looking at him -- and I wanted someone really good for this first time. But once Henry started in ...