Kirk's First Interracial Sex

My name is Kirk. For the past few years I've been a sex addict. Black cock was my drug of choice. I couldn't get enough. Night and day found me on my knees in some alley, park, or men's room giving head to any Black man who came along. Usually I had to pay and more than once got the crap beat out of me. Last week, after getting jumped by four thugs at 3:30 in the morning, I sought professional help, but my shrink wants me to write about my addiction before we begin our sessions together. I suppose it's best to start at the beginning.

The first time I had sex with a black guy I was eighteen and working for minimum wage in a hospital kitchen. The breakfast and lunch crew consisted mostly of older Black women, but two guys were always scheduled for the heavy work such as lugging food carts to each wing, scrubbing pots, emptying the trash, mopping the floor.

It was back-breaking, menial work of the lowest rung but I was glad to have a job after being kicked out of the house by my father. He found the porn magazines which I thought were hidden in my closet: Black Inches, Ghetto Boyz, Ebony Masters. Their titles say it all. I don't know which my father hated more: that his only son was a homo or that he was a Negro-lover. I can't bring myself to repeat his actual words.

At the hospital kitchen, I was usually assigned to work with a tall, slim Black dude named Rayshawn who rarely spoke to me. Whenever he did speak it was usually in short, spare commands, like telling me to empty the garbage for him because he was cutting out early. I was intimidated and turned on by his presence at the same time. We were the same age, but Rayshawn looked younger and carried himself like a full-grown man. Another incentive for coming to work each day, besides a paycheck, was getting a glimpse of Rayshawn in the locker room when we changed into our work clothes or when his thin white work pants got soaked from the dishwasher and I could see distinctly the long outline of his cock through the cloth.

I didn't figure Rayshawn or anyone else knew I was gay. I'm a decent looking guy with an average physique and no gay mannerisms. I played softball in high school and even slept with two different girls so I had my heterosexual credentials, or so I thought. One day, after working at the kitchen for about a month, I walked into the locker room and discovered new graffiti written with a black Magic Marker on the wall above the only urinal: "The whiteboy is a stone fag."

I was stunned. This not only meant that one of the guys I worked with knew the truth about me, but now any man who recently took a piss would know. Was it Rayshawn, I wondered. He might have caught me staring at his sexy body any number of times. I didn't want to believe it was him, but in my gut maybe I hoped it was. I scratched out the graffiti with a pocket-knife until it was completely effaced, then returned to work. Day after day, I tortured myself worrying about who was responsible.

A month went by. Rayshawn didn't treat me any differently, neither did anyone else. Eventually, I stopped thinking about it. When fall came I enrolled in community college and switched from full-time days at the hospital to the dinner shift. My first night with the part-timers, I was assigned to work with Jamal, a tall, muscular, basketball player type, dark like a Hershey bar, with thick lips and an eye for Barbara Jean, the young, big-breasted blonde who prepped salads.

While we were emptying the trash and hosing down the food carts outside, Jamal rambled on about sexy Barbara-Jean. "Especially her lips," he said. "Dayumm, I'm wanna git me a bee-jay from BJ."

I had never heard a blowjob called a BJ before, that's how innocent and unworldly I was at eighteen.

"What's a BJ?"

"Dumbfuck, you never heard of a blow job? That's funny as shit! Ain't you never had yo dick sucked, boy? Don't you know spit don't make babies?"

"Yeah, I've had my cock sucked," I lied.

"Well, that's what I'm talkin' about! I want BJ's pretty lips on my johnson so fuckin' bad I can feel it!" He tugged at his crotch. "Yo, you think she'll suck my dick, man?"

"I don't know. She might."

I didn't know how to talk to Jamal. I grew up in a lily white suburb and attended a lily-white school. Other than Rayshawn, who rarely spoke to me, I had never been around black guys before.

"Yo, I'm gonna git that bee-jay," Jamal boasted. "You don't think I'm gonna git it, but I'm gonna!"

After hosing down the food carts, Jamal and I scrubbed pots an pans for an hour. Between sweat and steam we were soaked. Jamal worked in his sleeveless undershirt. His bulging arms, shoulders, and chest were so much bigger and more defined than mine. I don't think there was an ounce of fat on Jamal's entire body. Veins stood out on his arms.

By the time we swept and mopped, the cooks and the rest of the staff had punched out. Jamal asked me if I'd seen Barbara Jean.

"Yeah, she just left."

"Dag, I wanted to talk to that bitch. She must've seen how I was checkin' her out and got scared and shit."

Done for the night, I went to the men's locker room to change. I was so exhausted that I sat down on a bench against the wall to rest with my eyes closed for a moment. I figured Jamal had gone straight home without changing, but I was wrong. The door swung open.

"What you doin', dumbfuck?" he asked. "You sleepin'? They worked you that hard?"

"I'm tired as hell," I said, not even opening my eyes. I had my hands behind my head. I was just wanted to rest quietly for a moment.

"Yeah, me too," said Jamal. "I thought this was gonna be a git-over job but they work the shit outta you in this place!"

Jamal opened his locker and stripped down to his gray boxer briefs. Hearing him undress, I had to open my eyes, although I pretended not to look in his direction. He looked so hot in his underwear. His magnificent abs looked like they were chiseled out of obsidian and the snug boxer briefs revealed the outline of his cock. I closed my eyes again and hoped Jamal wouldn't waste any time getting out of there. I was afraid of what I might do if he lingered. ,

"You better not fall asleep wit' yo mouth open," said Jamal.

"What do you mean?" I asked naively.

"Cause if you fall asleep wit yo mouth open," he taunted, "I might just put my dick in it!"

"But, but, I don't - "

"Look, dumbfuck, I'm gonna let you be the one to give me that bee-jay, aiight?"

I wanted to drop to my knees at once, but what if he was just joking, what if he wanted to beat me up? Out of cowardice, I kept silent, but the lust in my eyes gave me away.

"C'mon, man, you know this shit is callin' you," he went on. "Check it out, ain't this what you want?"

Jamal pulled down his boxer briefs and stood before me naked except for his white socks. His uncircumcised cock was flaccid but impressive.

I joked, "It's not even hard. Very funny."

"You're gonna make it grow in yo mouth."

As Jamal began stroking his cock, I realized he meant it. He was seriously looking for a bee-jay and didn't care where or how he got it.

I got down on my knees and took his soft juicy cock in my mouth. It got hard fast. I mean, fast! One second it was a plump five inch sausage. A second later it was like a nine inch pipe of wrought iron forcing its way down my throat.

Jamal grabbed my head with both hands and pushed me down on his growing black shaft. I choked and gagged as he jammed it into my throat.

"Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about," he growled. "Yeah, suck that dick. Suck it good like that. I told you I was gonna git me a bee-jay today."

He fucked my face brutally. I guess his cock was maybe nine or ten inches long. His balls were on the small side, dangling low in the sack as they slapped my chin. There was something in the musky scent of his crotch as it hit my nostrils that excited me beyond belief.

"Awww, shit, you like dat? Suck my dick, suck it bitch! Dayummm," he said. "Swallow it, swallow it!!! Make me bust this nut! That`s right, you got it! Show me how bad you want this dick, whiteboy! Yah, suck that Black dick, cracker! Suck me like you know you should!"

A few minutes later, Jamal got his wish and I got mine. A gusher of hot salty sperm foamed in my mouth, drooling from my lips. Jamal pushed me away and snatched up his boxers. It seemed like his long Black cock had been in my mouth for an eternity and now that it was taken away from me, I felt lost and deprived. I wanted more. I needed more.

"That was nice, whiteboy," he chuckled in a sinister way. "Rayshawn was right, you is a stone fag."

So, Rayshawn was responsible for the graffiti. Not only that, but he told Jamal. I wondered if all the black guys who worked there knew about me.

A week later I found myself alone in the men's locker room with Rayshawn. He said to me, "I heard about you and Jamal! You gonna do me like you did him?"

"If that's what you want," I said, meekly.

"You know what I want, whiteboy," he said.

Not another word was spoken between us as I got down on my knees before Rayshawn and worshipped at his beautiful Black cock for the next hour. It wasn't as long as Jamal's, but was thicker. Again, the heady smell of a Black Man's crotch worked on me like an aphrodisiac. I couldn't help myself. The musky scent drove me crazy.

For the next few months I went down regularly on both Jamal and Rayshawn, knowing that every day I reported to work, one of them would be waiting for me in the locker room! One night they took turns banging my face. It was like a game to see who could last the longest before cumming.

Sometimes Jamal would see me in the hallway and whisper, "Yo, bitch, meet me in the room. I need one of them super jobs." Rayshawn often asked me to give him a few dollars (nothing less than $30), but Jamal was content to have me suck the sperm out of his dick whenever he was horny.

This was how I got started but it was only the beginning. I had no idea how many Black Men, straight or gay, were ready to take advantage of a white slut like me. My addiction to Black Dick was only getting started.

Become a Patreon to support Taletopia!

written by jeromeskorpio