Back when I could count on one hand the number of men I’d had sex with, I found myself in the middle of a conversation negotiating a threesome. I’m not sure how it happened, I was too busy being glad it did. I felt both excited and intimidated, but primarily, well, civilized.
C was a gorgeous drag queen I met at a cheesy sports bar that had performers few of the regulars watched. She was a hammy, glittering talent. As a boy, though, I found his brows too thin, his complexion uneven and pasty, and his real hair as wispy as dried cornhusks. The glamour didn’t translate well under regular lights.
Still, he was sweet, I liked hanging out with him, and he and I were both into D. D was big, boyish and black. He talked a lot about his parent’s money, his private flights to foreign cities, his penthouse we couldn’t go to and the fancy car he had in the shop. Was he a millionaire? Maybe, but a compulsive liar for sure. Both C and I wanted him. We wanted him bad enough that we were willing to share, and said so. Minutes later, the three of us were in my bedroom. (My roommates at the time often called me a prude, so I was disappointed, swaggering into my apartment, to find them asleep.)
C had a gorgeous smooth mammoth dick that I just couldn’t get into. I’m such a face-man. And D’s dong was diminutive-more a ding than a dong-but I wanted it. I gave D a thorough tongue-bath and C a weak, distracted hand-job. After the first 10 minutes, C carefully excused himself for home, feigning fatigue. D and I twiddled our thumbs while he dressed, unsure how to convince him we were still nice guys who liked him.
Alone, D disproved a second stereotype. Not only was he a black man with a dick disproportionate to his size, although he had nearly a 100 pounds on me, he wanted to be the bottom.
Suddenly a more gracious host, I acquiesced, and fucked him. “Harder,” he requested. So I did, turning up the heat, plowing against his meaty butt. And then he requested even harder, and harder again, until, exasperated, my hips beginning to bruise, I said, “I can’t fuck you any harder unless I put a load of bricks on my back.”
The sex fizzled.
A few days later, I ran into C on the street. He was shy. To make him feel better, I told him how rotten the sex was with D because I just couldn’t give him what he wanted. When I told him the bricks joke, we both laughed, but he stopped first, and smiled, awkwardly, to silently say I hadn’t given him enough either.
* Miss Cookie hopes you get everything you deserve, and more, in the new year.
Why you can trust Xtra
