An Artist from the Past - Sex Stories

An Artist from the Past

... us at our desks). Then, there was a line-up of Town Cars outside the high rise office doors every night. We checked out with the duty security officer, picked up a chit and headed for a car.

Many of us had been liberals in college and felt a little guilty about the life we were leading and the results that we were achieving (the sale of America's industrial base and the loss of American jobs). But, we swallowed our consciences or locked them securely in the attic and counted the money. One of the very small ways we assuaged our consciences was to ride in the front seat with the driver, rather than limo-like in the back. It was a small way of demonstrating "solidarity" with the people. I typically did this unless I left after midnight and wanted the extra hour of sleep in the back seat.

Thus I often struck up conversations with the drivers, particularly if they spoke English and seemed amenable to a conversation. Some of course had music plugged into their ears. When I spotted one of them, I entered the car through the back door and was soon snoring.

One of those nights resulted in one of my first extra-marital sexual encounters, and my first homosexual activity since college. The driver was a young black, well-dressed and well-spoken, probably Jamaican from the accent. He spoke with a deep mellifluous accent that we used to call a bedroom voice—like Harry Belafonte. I learned later that his father was a regular but had the flu. He was subbing to hold his Dad's place ...

... in the valuable limo line. In the late dark of the Manhattan night, he looked like a handsome young buck. He had blindingly white teeth, a close shaved head and pecs that seemed to burst his uniform shirt. His black jacket was probably in the trunk. His hands on the wheel were enormous—and you know what they say about guys with big hands and feet. As was typical, the conversation between two young guys turned to football, then sex—specifically whether and with whom we were getting any and how we enjoyed it in bed. It was clear from the comments that he was a frequent flyer, maybe bi—or at least that he fucked men from time to time.

Not to belabor the point, I was horny and almost immediately threw a boner which was pretty obvious in my tight suit pants. I didn't even bother to try to conceal it. He reached over, tapped my thigh, and when I didn't protest, he grabbed it. I nearly creamed right then and there. I, in turn, responded by placing my hand on his thigh which inched toward his equally hard member. Fortunately, we weren't far from my apartment by then. He was soon to become my first black cock—and my first man since college.

Marie was on a business trip, and the building was dark when we arrived in the Jersey suburb. (No kids yet.) I invited him in for a drink—and we both knew what that meant. He accepted readily, informing me that I was his last ride for the night, and that he intended to take the car home after his last ride. There wasn't much doubt about the ...