“What? Studying on a beautiful Sunday morning?”
Caught by surprise, Matt slipped the letter into the center drawer of his dorm desk and looked up at the door to see that his sometimes roommate, Perry Fitzhugh, was standing in the open doorway, dressed to the nines in his polo outfit. Matt hadn’t even known what a polo outfit was—high leather boots rising to something similar to what he’d read were jodhpurs, a tight cotton T-shirt, and a little rounded helmet—until two weeks previously. Fitzhugh was “mad” for the sport, apparently.
“Just getting ready to go out,” Matt mumbled. He felt embarrassed that his first instinct was to hide the letter from Dashad from his well-heeled roommate. It was almost like he was ashamed of knowing anyone black from a rural scrape-by small farm. But he knew he shouldn’t have any shame. It was only by the grace of Dashad that Matt had been able to return to the University of Virginia for his second year. God knows where Dashad had gotten the money for that—he had refused to tell Matt where it had come from.
“I would hope that you’d put something on before you did,” Perry responded airily. “But maybe not; you look divine as you are.”
Matt was just in briefs, having only come in from the shower room of Fitzhugh, their first-year student dorm in the Alderman Road complex next to the huge football stadium. The whole area, right into the dorm suite’s communal living room, was strewn with debris from the university’s unexpected football game win over Georgia Tech the previous afternoon.
Matt’s roommate was so rarely in residence in their room that Matt only remembered his last name because it was the same as that of the dorm—Fitzhugh. And that hadn’t been a coincidence. Matt’s first inkling of Perry Fitzhugh’s family position and historic ties to the University was when the suite counselor pointed out to Matt, as if Matt should genuflect or something, that Perry was from “that” family. His kind were still known as FFV in the state—First Families of Virginia. The ancestor the dorm was named after was William Henry Fitzhugh, an original signer of the Virginia constitution in the late eighteenth century. The family had been—and still was—from northern Virginia. Their plantation had once been a large portion of Fairfax County, one of the mega-wealthy suburban bedroom counties of Washington, D.C., the nation’s capital. Their current estate was in the equally rich Loudon hunt country county to the west of the capital.
It was a first-year dorm, which Matt, now in his second year at the architectural school, had been assigned to as a financial hardship case. Perry had been nominally assigned to the room because all first-year students were required to live in a dorm on the University grounds. That didn’t prevent Perry from also—and mostly—living in a duplex apartment on Lewis Mountain Road, just a few blocks off the grounds. First-year students also weren’t permitted to have cars, but that didn’t stop Perry from having a Mustang convertible in the driveway of his duplex. Nominally, he’d gotten a waiver because he was on the polo team, the training facility and grounds for which were five miles to the southeast of the University and didn’t have regular University bus service. But he was only being given the waiver to drive the car on that route only. Of course it was a rule that he ignored.
Perry was giving the nearly naked Matt an apprising look, as if it was the first time he’d really noticed him and was impressed by what he saw. Matt couldn’t help but note the look. He already knew of Perry’s interest in men because he had almost walked in on Perry fucking one of their suite mates, a fairly undersized, soft, but cute type named Sean Campbell, who was a theater student, on Perry’s “only occasionally” dorm bed. Sean had been on his belly, stretched out on the bed, and Perry had been covering him from above and embracing the smaller man closely, with only his hips moving in a steady, rhythmic rise and fall.
Matt didn’t think they’d heard him open the door to the room, and, seeing them, he’d turned and left the dorm and gone back to Alderman Library to study. This wasn’t something Matt wanted to get into at the University. That was a part of his life on the farm that he appreciated and felt he needed, but Dashad was more than enough for him. He needed to apply his undivided attention on his studies.
And it wasn’t because Perry wasn’t good looking. Perry was extremely good looking in a dark, sultry way. He was tall and strongly built, while being muscular in the chest, arms, and thighs and trim at the waist. His hair was curly and covered his chest and down his sternum to his pubes on a deeply tanned body—tanned everywhere but the triangle of Speedo-shaped hips, buttocks, and groin area, the tan elsewhere serving to focus attention to his well-endowed equipment. Ever since Matt had seen Perry naked in the shower room, he hadn’t been able to see him fully dressed without the image of Perry in the altogether floating before his eyes.
As nice as kaçak iddaa Perry looked, though, he didn’t hold a candle to the creamy chocolate and oversized musculature and equipment of Dashad. He wasn’t monster muscled and black.
“Where were you going when you went out?” Perry asked, still leaning up against the door, not either coming in or going out.
“Uhh. Just to the Corner for a few things and then maybe to Alderman.”
“Studying on a Sunday?—the day after we triumphed over Georgia Tech? That won’t do. That won’t do at all, my man. There’s a polo game on out at the Queen Mountain winery. I’ll bet you’ve never been there. I just came here because I think I left my riding crop here. I’ll ferret that out and then we’re going back to my place to pick up the Mustang and you’re coming out to see the polo match. I’ve told you you’re going to learn to ride while we’re roomies. Today you can see what a man can do on a polo pony.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command. That was another area where Matt felt far more comfortable with his rural black farmer—even though he half realized that he’d hidden the letter so that Perry couldn’t see the atrocious spelling and handwriting of someone corresponding with Matt—than he did with this arrogant FFV.
Perry was rummaging around in their closet when Matt heard another voice at the door. “I’m ready, Perry. You in here?” Matt turned and saw that Sean Campbell was standing in the door opening out to the suite living room. When Sean saw Matt he shrank back a bit.
“Aha. Here it is,” a muffled voice tossed out from the inside of the closet. Then Matt flinched when he felt a pair of jeans and a T-shirt land on his shoulder. They were his.
“Shrug those on, Delicious,” Perry said as he emerged from the closet, “and let’s hit the road. No need to bring money. I’ll take care of you.”
There was a small entourage of Perry’s friends and hangers on sitting on blankets at the edge of the polo field at the winery in the shadow of the Blue Ridge mountains twenty miles to the west of the University grounds. Sean was there, of course, but so were a couple of other spoiled, rich types of first-year students, both male and female. There also was a smattering of older male students. All were brothers in the fraternity that the Fitzhughs who went to the University always were members of. All of those previous family members had been male, the University having gone coed only in Perry’s grandfather’s time there. Perry couldn’t pledge this early in his first year, but there was no question that he was going to be a Delta Upsilon—and the brothers of the fraternity were keeping close tabs on him to ensure that he and his family money were theirs.
There were several of the older fraternity members there. DU was a jock fraternity, so there were a couple of supersized, broad-shouldered white football players, who Matt had first seen sharing Sean together in possessive herding and who Matt thought had turned Sean over to Perry sometime in the previous week. They seemed to be on the make now and were nosing around Matt before the polo match started. Matt’s attention, however, was focused on two other football players, LeRoy and Jocko, both black, both massive and muscular, and both a bit beaten up from the previous day’s football game. Other than the rich-kid hangers on, there just was one tall, skinny white guy, Craig, who was on the basketball team.
Even though they were at a winery, most of them were drinking beer. They still had to buy it from the winery, though, because outside alcohol wasn’t permitted. LeRoy and Jocko were hitting the bourbon that they had sneaked in, though. People here deferred to them so much that they probably hadn’t had to sneak it in—they made little effort to hide it. There just was no one who was going to question them having it. As they all settled on the blankets in anticipation of the start of the polo match, Matt gravitated toward the side where the two black football players were sprawled out. Sean also had been pulled in that direction by one of them.
Craig and a couple of the rich-kid types were flirting with the few young women in the group during the polo match, but LeRoy was pawing Sean Campbell, and Jocko was exclusively nursing the bourbon bottle.
Matt had both given and received looks of interest with the two black football players when he settled by them, but he was fascinated with the match, and, after it started, couldn’t take his eyes off the sleek horses and the masterly way they were being ridden in what was an intrateam match of the University polo club. Perry was particularly comfortable in the saddle.
Matt’s thoughts went back to the day he’d almost walked into Perry fucking Sean, and he had to admit that Perry looked particularly comfortable in the saddle then too.
So engrossed was Matt in the game that he hardly noticed what any of the onlookers were up to until he felt Jocko covering three sides of him. They were both sitting on the ground, Matt in a Lotus position and Jocko sitting kaçak bahis to one side, but largely behind, him with one leg stretched out to one side of Matt and the other bent at Matt’s hip on the other side. Jocko still had the bourbon bottle in one hand, but his other hand was on Matt’s waist, inside his T-shirt. When he realized that Jocko was moving in on him, Matt mused on whether there was something about the way he reacted to big black men that told them that he could be had. Dashad certainly hadn’t had any trouble understanding what was on Matt’s mind when they first coupled. He wasn’t completely aware that it was he who had gravitated toward LeRoy and Jocko here.
Matt also gave a little thought to whether he himself thought that he could be had by Jocko. It was a bit of surprise to realize that Jocko could probably have him if Jocko wanted him.
LeRoy was sitting beside them, and Sean was in his lap, looking dreamy eyed. LeRoy’s hands both were on Sean’s torso under his T-shirt.
“That could be us,” Jocko whispered in Matt’s ear.
“That’s Sean, not me,” Matt murmured. “He’d go with anybody and everybody.”
“No use teasing with me,” Jocko muttered. “There ain’t no difference between you and Sean. You’re both sexy little things who want a lot of dick. I can tell what you like. I saw Mike and Tim giving you the white-guy eye over there, and yet you came over here to sit. And you haven’t pulled away from me when I moved in on you.”
“I didn’t notice that,” Matt said defensively. “I was absorbed in the polo match.”
“Don’t go shittin’ me. You like black men. And you take black dick. Given the choice of white dick and black dick, you want a brother. And, lucky you, I like cute little white ass.”
Matt didn’t answer, but he started to move away from Jocko. His thought was that if Jocko hadn’t been so matter-of-fact about what he could have if he wanted it, Matt had been prepared to hook up with him.
Jocko just laughed, though, and pulled him in a tighter embrace. Matt didn’t pull away from Jocko—and he wondered again how Jocko could so easily tell what Matt couldn’t deny.
Matt had had four beers and Jocko smelled of a mixture of soap, musk, and all man. As the match played on, Matt forgot himself entirely, largely imagined he was home with Dashad, and let his shoulders lean back into Jocko’s hard chest as Jocko moved his hand from Matt’s waist down to cupping his package.
“Nice. You and me are gonna have good times.”
Matt didn’t answer. He just sighed and leaned further into Jocko. The fact that he didn’t do anything about that hand on his package, however, went beyond sexual bantering and told Jocko all he needed to know.
It didn’t go any further than this—at least at this point—as the polo match was winding down and Perry was riding his horse over toward his group of admirers. Matt bounded up to take the bridle of the horse as Perry dismounted.
“So, do you want to learn to ride Lucky Seven here?” Perry asked him.
“Yes, please,” Matt answered.
“And is that all you want to ride?” he asked in a lower voice. And then when Matt couldn’t look him in the eye, he continued, “I saw Jocko putting the moves on you and you not objecting.”
How could Matt tell him? It was the beer and the fresh air and him not focusing on anything but the match for a while. And it was Jocko being black and muscular—and smelling both clean and manly. It was Dashad in his mind, who he hadn’t been with for a month now.
“We’re regathering at my place,” Perry said. “To watch the Redskins play the Ravens on TV. You’ll come back with us.” Again, it wasn’t a question; it was family privilege speaking.
Not everyone in the entourage came back to the duplex. Craig and one of the young women split off and so did a couple of the rich-guy friends of Perry’s. LeRoy was on team probation and shouldn’t have come out at all—and one of the assistant coaches showed up on the other side of the polo field at the end of the match. So LeRoy ducked out altogether with a “Later, dudes,” tossed over his shoulder.
By half time of the pro football game on TV in Perry’s duplex, it was just Perry, Sean, Jocko, Matt, and a Japanese guy whose name Matt couldn’t remember. Matt went to the refrigerator in the kitchen to get another six pack of beer and when he came back, Perry and Sean were gone, and the Japanese guy was kneeling between Jocko’s thighs and sucking his plump cock. Perry turned around and went out the kitchen door onto the back patio and sat down in a patio chair and nursed the six pack.
Twenty minutes later, having finished just one of the beers and feeling the buzz because it wasn’t the first one he’d had since they’d gotten back to the duplex—and most certainly not the first one since they’d arrived at the polo match—Matt decided the rest of the beers were going back in the refrigerator and that he’d walk on back to the dorm. It was late afternoon, and he figured that the five-block walk would be good for him.
No one was in the illegal bahis living room, but the door to the hall bath was shut, so that’s where he thought Jocko—and maybe the Japanese guy too—were. He couldn’t resist checking the bedrooms—there were two of them—before leaving, though.
Perry and Sean were in the master bedroom. Sean was leaning over the bed, belly to the bedspread and Perry was riding his hips, his thighs bent back onto his calves one either side of Sean’s hips. He was riding Sean like he rode his horse and was flicking Sean’s buttocks and thighs with the riding crop he’d come back to the dorm room for. Matt could have sworn that Sean was whinnying quietly like a horse.
Matt turned and walked toward the front door. But the door to the hall bath opened then and Jocko appeared.
“I found a stash of rubbers,” he said. He was naked, and his body was that of a younger Dashad. Honest-labor muscular, with dangling balls the size of ping-pong balls and a monster cock, in erection.
Matt looked beyond him and then turned to look into the living room. There was no sign of the Japanese guy, though.
“The Jappo worked me up good,” Jocko said. “Gotta fuck somethin’ now.” He came up behind Matt, wrapped an arm around his waist, lifting his feet off the floor, and carried him at his side, bent over at the waist, back to the living room couch.
“Jocko . . .”
“You want my dick. You ride big black dick.” That wasn’t a question either. Jocko was invoking a privilege entirely different from family privilege. “Lose the jeans if you want fucked,” he growled.
Matt reached down and unbuckled his belt.
They fucked through the second half of the game, and Matt could not have told you who won it. Initially he was pinned on the small of his back along the seat of the sofa, with his shoulder blades on an arm, one leg dangling over the front of the sofa and the other one raised up the back and pinned there by Jocko’s body, as Jocko leaned toward him with both knees on the seat of the sofa and pumped Matt’s channel slow and easy until Matt had opened completely to his thick cock. Their foreheads were plastered together; their eyes locked in a gaze, anxious to watch the effect of the fucking on each other; and Matt’s hands gliding over the muscles of Jocko’s shoulder blades and chest and thumbing the big black man’s nipples.
“I knew you wanted it. You prefer the black cock; I can tell,” Jocko muttered as he thrust and thrust and thrust, ever deeper. “Lot of brothers on the football team who gonna want some of this.”
Matt met each thrust with a jerk, a shudder, and a little gasp. Jocko’s eyes were big and brown—just like Dashad’s. And Matt’s mind went to Dashad. It was Dashad fucking him. He missed Dashad so much.
Sometime before Jocko changed the position, moving Matt to stand beside the sofa arm and bend over it, while Jocko fucked him more rapidly than before from behind, Perry came out of the bedroom and sat, naked, in an arm chair and watched Jocko fucking Matt. There was a dark-brown blur at the door, and Matt recognized LeRoy as he entered and was directed with a movement of Perry’s arm toward the back bedroom.
It wasn’t long before they heard Sean’s muffled cries from the bedroom. He undoubtedly was being taken more roughly by LeRoy than he had been by Perry. Perry dragged himself out of his chair and went back to the bedroom, and Sean’s cries subsided.
After Jocko pulled out, ripped off the condom, and deposited his cum on the small of Matt’s back—which was several minutes after Matt had come on the side of the sofa arm—Jocko stood and said in a low voice. “You’re a good lay. I don’t carry rubbers, though. You want to use them, you have to bring them next time.”
Next time? Matt wondered as he groaned his exhaustion. Jocko wasn’t any bigger down there than Dashad was, but he was younger and more vigorous.
“Be back and ready again in a couple of minutes,” Jocko said, as he headed for the kitchen.
Matt blindly felt around for his jeans and T-shit, poured himself into them as fast as his trembling legs and arms would permit, and walked out the front door.
Late that night, as he was sleeping in his dorm bed, having taken a couple of pain killers to dull the pain of his well-used muscles, he didn’t hear the dorm room door open, or know that anyone else was there until he felt a weight on his back.
“Up on your knees,” a low, hoarse voice whispered in his ear.
Perry. There was no question that it was Perry.
Perry rode Matt’s hips, plowing him with a hard, curved-up cock that wasn’t as thick as Jocko’s and Dashad’s but was a good bit longer. While Perry rode him, he covered Matt’s back closely with his chest, chewed lightly on Matt’s earlobe, and flicked Matt’s rump and thighs with the riding crop.
“Wanted a piece of you before Jocko got you again,” Perry said when he was done. “LeRoy wasn’t happy you were gone when he was finished with Sean. He wants to ride you too. Jocko gave you a triple A rating; says you’re just the ticket for the football team. Something tells me you’re going to wind up in DU too as a house punch, but I figure I need to get my slice of you before those black bruisers use you up.”