There was nothing gay going down in my life my whole first year of college, no matter what people say. I got plenty of pussy, mo-fo, best believe that. Now it's true that I did join a fraternity and there was some "special" hazing, and some different kind of rituals, but first of all, I can't talk about that, (`cause it's secret) and second that wasn't gay stuff it was just male bonding. When guys are real tight like in a frat you share stuff in a special way. A lot of people just don't understand.
And it's true that I was on the team and a lot of ill shit went down in the locker room. But I never started any of that and if I went along with any of it, I was just going along to get along. I ain't gay and I still ain't gay and nothing that ever went down between me and any other man changes that fact.
Anyway, what with going to college and a lot of other stuff I can't get into, I didn't see Dylan again until over a year later. I was taking a semester off to save up money because I lost my athletic scholarship after that incident with that transfer student. I'm sorry, but if you look like a girl and you want to be on a sports team, you just got to expect to get punked in the locker room. Enough about that.
I was staying at my cousin's house, but he was out of town for the week. And I decided to drop by the old H.S. just to see what was going on. But I had already made my mind up I wasn't going to try to see Dylan at all. I mean that last time between us was still burning in my memory and I really didn't know how I felt about all that. But I couldn't help asking about him.
"Your little white boy?" said Tylawna. "He's hot shit these days. He's on all the teams. Got a couple girlfriends. Calls himself a rapper. MC Real Dyl. Hey, there he go now!"
I quickly hid as best I could behind my friends, and caught a peek of Dylan going by. The scared timid little boy I remembered was gone. This fucker was a cocky son of a bitch dressed up in ghetto fashion, and I had to admit he looked fine, with his pants sagging, and a shirt that showed off his tatted-up muscles. He had a crowd around him. He was rolling like I used to roll.
Tylawna looked back at me and gave her braids an insolent swing.
"But you know he played you, don't you? He told people you was really a faggot in disguise. Said you always wanted to be touching him all the time."^G^G"What?" I said. "What the hell? Did people believe that shit?"
Tylawna smacked her lips. "Some did," she said. "Some didn't." "Son of a bitch," I said. "Well you put the word out. First of all, I ain't no faggot. And second, he better not see me on the street, or his ass is going to be spread all over Chester Avenue."
As I said the words I could see it, me giving Dylan a vicious beatdown on the street, my first slamming into his flesh, him crying out in pain, me ripping his expensive clothes off, making him suck me, deep throat me, swallow my cum.
I shook my head to clear it. Tylawna shrugged.
"I tell him if I talk to him," she said.
It was all I could think about for the rest of the day. How many people had believed those lies. Did they really think I was a faggot, some pussy who got off by think about grinding my body up against other men? How could Dylan say that about me when we had been like brothers, closer than brothers. When my dick had been up inside that bitch's mouth how was he gonna tell lies about me call me not a man.
I was still thinking about it at midnight when I heard a pounding on my door.
"Go the fuck away," I shouted. "Clevis ain't home!"
"Fuck Clevis!" came the voice back. "And open the fucking door."
I opened it. It was Dylan. He had a glazed look in his eyes like he had started drinking hours ago. His blond hair was rumpled, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his smooth chest was wet with sweat.
"Came to the fucking school and didn't say a word to me," he said. "Not a fucking word."
I spat right on his chest. I didn't mean too but it just came out.
"You and I ain't friends," I said. "Not after what I hear you said about me. Call me a fucking faggot."
Dylan stumbled forward and grabbed on to my arm. His breath was hot and stank of beer.
"Yo man, yo you know I ain't mean it," he said. "I had to say it man. You were like everything to me. All I ever wanted was to be like you man. When I met you man, you were so cool. You were cooler than anyone I ever met in my fucking life. Your skin was so black. Your muscles were so hard and your gear was so tight man. You had all the fly bitches. You played all the right sports." ^G"Get the fuck off me," I said. I pushed him away, but he just hung on tighter.
"Man, after you left I talked so much about you that people thought it was funny man. They started saying I was in love with you. Man I couldn't let people talk about me like that. You taught me that. I just said the first thing I could think of -- that it was you, not me. That's all"
I couldn't help it. I bitch-slapped him across the face like the Godfather slapped Johnny Fontaine. As I did it, I could feel my dick hard in my pants. But it wasn't a gay thing. It was the feeling of power.
"So you sold my ass down the river to make yourself look good," I said. "You white mofos are all the same. Kiss ass and stab you in the back. Get the fuck out of my house you lying son of a bitch!"
Dylan let go of my arm and stumbled backwards. He looked down for a moment, and when he looked up he seemed a lot more sober.
"But it wasn't really a lie, was it?" he said. "You do like boys, don't you? Especially little white boys."
"Shut the fuck up," I said. "Cause if I hit you again, you ain't getting up."
"You used to always make excuses to touch me," he said. "And your dick was always hard when you were around me. In fact, I bet you got a hard on right now."
"What the hell are you talking about," I said. I took a step backwards.
"But you know what?" said Dylan. "I never really minded it. In fact, I liked it."
He stepped into the house and slammed the door behind him.
"Look," he said. "My dick is hard right now too."
Involuntarily I looked down at his sagging pants and saw a hard rod making a tent out of his silk boxers.
"No man!" I said. "I ain't no fag and you ain't one neither."
"I don't care what I am and I don't care what you are," he said. "All I want is what's right here."
He reached out his hand and grabbed my crotch. It was like an electric shock and my dick twitched like a snake in my pants.
"You... you turned punk on me," I said.
He looked at me, but he didn't stop playing with my crotch. There was a hungry look in his eyes.
"Maybe I did," he said.
"Ain't no difference between a punk and a bitch," I said.
Inside I made a decision.
"So get down on your knees, bitch."
Dylan ran his hand through his hair backwards, and then dragged it down his chest to his own dick, letting it spring free of his boxers. In an instant he was on his knees in front of me, waiting eagerly as I freed the monster from its prison.
"I've waited so long to do this again," he said, grabbing my dick in his hands. "It's so... so beautiful."
The feeling as he took it in was like taking ecstasy. I grabbed his head in my hands and was suddenly was washed in wave after wave of repressed fantasies. How many times had I daydreamed, fantasized about doing this very act with this very boy, filling his throat with my rod and fucking his mouth.
Dylan, meanwhile, was deep throating me like a pro, sucking me deeper and deeper seemingly beyond all logic and possibility.
Suddenly I pushed him away, and he came loose with a soft sucking sound, tumbling backwards with a look on his face that was half fear, half joy.
"That's wet enough," I said. "Over on your hands and knees."
Dylan nodded vigorously, and wordlessly assumed the position. His tight white butt poked up in the air, his asshole twitching and spasming.
As rough as I had been before, I wanted to be gentle now, as I guided my wet dick to the waiting hole. I pushed, and there was resistance, but I was as hard as a rock, and he soon yielded. A gasp, a sigh, and I was in, inside of him, inside my friend, inside Dylan.
"Fuck me" he said. "Fuck me."
And so I did it. I fucked his white ass with my black dick and I shot my seed far up in him, and my hand closed around his dick and he sprayed his seed all over my hand.
And that's the true story of how it happened. And you see now, I ain't gay. Because any guy with a dick would have done the same thing if he had been there and seen how fucking beautiful Dylan was, naked and helpless on my floor.
And that's my story so don't ask me to tell you no more.
This is part 2 of a story called "I ain't gay". For more of my work please check the frequent author page, or come to my personal archive at
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