Razzing You

THE FOLLOWING STORY IS AN ASSUMED WORK OF FICTION

This may belong in the file marked ‘unbelievable’. I doubt it myself, thinking it was all a dream, but I’ve have a pair Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs that say different.

It was one of those boring Tuesday nights with absolutely nothing on TV, a bunch of lonely, desperate old men on A4A and too damn hot to go ‘looking’ for someone to spend the night with. It had been close to a year since the break-up and, admittedly, I still missed my ex. We had been in an on-again, off-again relationship for fourteen years and, just when I thought we were, finally, getting good and serious about living together, he decided that he wanted to live in Atlanta. I had decided to use up some of my vacation time to do some work on the condo (been thinking about retiling the bathroom for a minute!) but, so far, all I’ve been able to do is lay around, feeling sorry for myself and thinking of ‘him’. Yeah, this is my life - forty years old, heartbroken and horny.

Giving my half-hard dick one last squeeze, I logged off the computer, got up and made my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. My best friend, a raging sex-fiend who thinks the answer to every problem is a good fuck, told me about a porno movie release party at a place off Wilshire, on South Carondelet Street. He said it was in a place called Sloan Mansion, and promised to have the hosts put my name on the list ‘just in case’ I decided to show up (it pays to have friends in low places). In the bathroom, I popped in a CD and proceeded to examine my face in the mirror. Not a bad face, I thought for the millionth time and grabbed my razor and the shaving cream. ‘Nahhh’, I decided out loud, putting the shaving stuff back in the cabinet, ‘not tonight’. If I was going out, it wouldn’t be about trying to impress anyone. I stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water full-blast. It was stinging the shit out of my skin but I took it like a man, soaped up, rinsed off and jumped out. After toweling off, my skin still smarting, feeling clean and human again, I hopped into a pair of drawers, some sweat pants and a polo over a white T-shirt. I pulled on a pair of socks, tied on my Nikes, picked out a cap (go Yankees!), grabbed my keys and wallet and…wait - deodorant! With a couple swipes of good old Sure…and a little dab of oil (Fahrenheit that I got off a street vendor - I like it better than cologne) and a deep breath, I was out the door.

Once I got there, and threw back a couple of shooters…and a Heineken (Just can’t seem to find Rolling Rock out here in LA!), I was feeling pretty mellow. I was checking out the crowd - all young, slim guys and muscular thirty-or-forty-somethings and, not seeing anyone special, I walked into the next room to check out the porno models. ‘It figures’, I thought - more slim ‘club-kids’ and muscle boys. I decided to look for my buddy, Kenny and, after searching the rest of the club, felt pretty certain that he’d already been there, picked up one of the slim-bodies and left (that’s Kenny for you - he doesn’t waste any time!)

I danced for a while, by myself, and later on, with a really cute muscle-head (who I would have done in heartbeat - but he kept trying to grab my ass so…fuck that!). I pretty much stuck to the bar, for the rest of the night, making small talk with guys who kept asking me about New York (I’d lived here since 1990, but I guess I can’t shake the Big Apple style).

Driving home, mostly sober, I noticed I only had a quarter of a tank of gas. ‘What the hell’, I thought, ‘might as well fill it up’, and pulled into the upcoming station. A few minutes later (thank you Pay-Pass!), and forty-five dollars poorer (damn!), I was back on the road. I had just turned right, onto S. Alameda, when I noticed this young guy trying to flag me down. I slowed and let him walk the rest of the distance to me, giving me a chance to check him out. He looked harmless enough, but I could tell he’d been out there a while - a mix of desperation and annoyance showed in his walk. He wasn’t a tall guy, shorter than me, a blazer over a dark T-shirt, low riding jeans and a pair of white sneakers…‘street-trendy’, I thought. I lowered the passenger window a little, turned the volume on the CD player down and, when I looked up, saw the most fantastic smile. “Man, thanks for stopping. I got jacked and I’m stuck out here. Can I get a ride? Anywhere you can take me is cool - I just gotta get somewhere I can use a phone”. “Damn - you okay?” I asked as I opened the armrest compartment to get my cell phone…which I left at home (shit!). “Yeah, I’m alright. I just gotta get to a phone so I can call my boy to come and get me”, he answered. “Look…okay, get in”, I said, popping the lock so he could open the door. He slid into the seat with a grunt…and a hiss of pain. “You okay”, I repeated. “Yeah - I’ll be alright once I get home. You got a mirror?” he asked. “Yeah”, I said, reaching over and flipping down the visor, “push that button for the light”. I couldn’t help noticing how defensive he was but, considering what he’d been through, I could understand it. I also couldn’t help noticing, when he leaned into the mirror to check out a scratch on his cheek, that he looked a lot like my ex. His features weren’t as sharp as Will’s, and his lips were a lot fuller, but the similarity was amazing. He caught me staring and asked, “What’s up”. “You just look like somebody I know. Put your seatbelt on” I told him. “Oh, yeah. Alright” he said, reaching for it with another grunt. I was still a little guarded, but I reasoned that if he did anything stupid, I could handle him.

We drove for about ten minutes, me asking questions, him answering. He said friends called him Dee, he was into music and was driving home from a meeting at his church. He was a fundraiser for a group that created arts programs for kids in some of the underserved public schools (this young kid?). He was heading for home and stopped for a guy on the side of the road, who was signaling for help (he looked at me with a sheepish grin, acknowledging the irony). When he let the guy get in his car, the guy hit him and grabbed his keys out of the ignition. The guy then went around to the driver’s side and yanked the door open. He tried to kick the guy, while calling the police on his celly, but he dropped the phone when the guy grabbed his feet and dragged him out of the car. The guy kicked him a few times, got in the car and drove off. He’d been walking for almost half an hour trying to get someone to stop (gotta love LA).

We found a pay-phone on the side of a convenience store and I gave Dee some change. From my car, I watched him making three calls, not getting any answer and seeming more frustrated each time he dialed a number. Looking rather broken and lost, he returned to the car, climbed in and collapsed into the seat. “What’s up?” I asked him. “All I can get is the answering service”, he said. After a pause, I said “look…I’ll take you home…where do you live?” “Nah, man. I’ll be alright. I’ll just…” he answered, looking around, “I’ll be alright”. Damn, this kid looked so much like my ex that I couldn’t help staring. Catching my stare, he turned and asked “what’s wrong?” Snapping out of it, I said “nothing. You just look so much like a friend of mine - it’s got me trippin’”. “Yeah? Who?” Dee asked. I fumbled for a second and, throwing caution to the wind said, “my ex”. “You gay”, Dee asked. “Yeah”, I replied, “so?” “It’s okay, man. I got some gay friends - I ain’t got a problem with it”, he responded, easily. I sat there for a minute and, having come to a decision, told him “Man, I can’t leave you out here like that. I’m gonna take you home”. He started to shake his head and I stopped him, saying “my house”. He looked out the passenger window and sighed “alright”. As we drove, we talked some more…he talked some more. He seemed really passionate about the foundation he was working with bragged a little about the big names ha had convinced to contribute time and money. He was impressing the hell out of me.

We turned onto East Lincoln, into the parking lot behind my building and stopped. “C’mon”, I said, “you can call the police and report your car stolen”. “I’m coming”, he answered. Once upstairs, I led him to the kitchen and handed him the phone and left him alone to handle his business. When he was finished, he came into the living room, removed his jacket and sat down and proceeded to take off his shoes. In the light, I got a good look at him - he was gorgeous! He was nicely built (solid), light skinned with dark brown eyes and a close fade. He caught me staring again and smiled. I asked him if he was hungry and he said he’d had eaten at the church - but he was thirsty. Offered juice, milk or water, he opted for water. I hadn’t noticed, until then, how dirty his pants were or, for that matter, the dirt and blood on him. I went into the hall linen closet, pulled out a towel and washcloth, handed them to him, pointed toward the bathroom and said “go”. It didn’t take much urging, and soon he was, happily, singing and steaming up the bathroom. At one point the hollered out, “hey, man - I don’t even know your name”. “It’s Scott”, I hollered back, realizing that I had never told him in all this time. “Hey, Scott, thanks for this, man. Most dudes wouldn’t try to help nobody out, you know?” he paused, then, “Hey, man. You got any shampoo?” Did I? Trying to remember, since I keep my ahead bald, if I had an old bottle left. “No, man - sorry. I don’t need it”, I told him, regretfully. “It’s alright…” he said (shit - I was ready to run across town to get some for him).

I went into the bedroom to get him a t-shirt and boxers to wear and Dee entered, wearing my bathrobe and carrying a towel. “You got anything I can put on”, he asked? “Cool”, he said when I handed him the shirt and shorts. He turned away from me, slipped off the bathrobe and grabbed my bottle of lotion off the nightstand. “You mind…” he asked me over his shoulder. “Nah, help yourself”, I told him. He worked the lotion over his, surprisingly muscular, arms and legs, giving me a great view of his perfect golden ass. I was getting extremely hot, and pretty horny, at the sight of this straight boy-man, naked in my bedroom…and I was trying very hard not to let it show. While he pulled on the shorts I caught a flash of his dick, perky, cute and cut, nested in a short bush of black, curly hair. He caught me looking and flashed a smile at me. “You figured it out, huh?” he asked. I stood there, confused, trying to figure out what he was hinting at when he left the room, returning a second later with my baseball cap. Pulling on the t-shirt, over that beautiful chest, and placing the cap on his head - brim to the side, he struck a pose…and it hit me: Raz B is standing in my bedroom!

I can handle myself pretty well in most situations. When most people are losing their minds over a celebrity, I can, usually, bite back the excitement and conduct myself with some dignity…and sanity. Looking at this golden-boy, a Hip-Hop God to most teenage girls…in my house…wearing my underwear! - I was stunned. Trying to snap me out of it, he said “C’mon, dude - don’t be like that”. Stuttering, I said “Oh, shit. You’re Raz B!”. “Yeah”, he said, “but that’s just my image. My real friends call me Dee…for DeMario. You alright?”. I told him I was (no I wasn’t) and forced myself to move. I went into the bathroom, closed the door, took a piss and sat down on the side of the tub in a daze. Spotting his jeans on the floor, I picked them up, pulled out his wallet and flipped through…a credit card, photos (smiling people… a dog), receipts…no cash…and his driver’s license…DeMario Thornton…age 22 (thank God for that). Replacing it in his pocket, I took the pants and shirt and socks into the living room, placed them on a chair and sat on the sofa to think. This guy (in my bed, by now), this celebrity…this boy-man…

I guess I fell asleep at some point because, I awakened to someone shaking my arm. The lights were still on, I was still wearing my sweats…and Dee (Raz) was standing over me. “Hey, man. You coming to bed?”, he asked. After a few seconds, and no response from me, he grabbed my hand, pulled me up and led me to the bedroom. He got into the bed, while I stripped down to my t-shirt and shorts, and I slid in beside him. My heart was beating so fast and, as I was trying to calm down, he inched closer to me. Terrified, I turned away so he couldn’t feel my hard-on. Breaking the silence, he asked “You wanna do me?”. He rolled over to facing me, asking “what’s up?”. I rose up on one elbow and asked “I thought you were straight?”. “Raz is straight”, he answered, “I can do what I want”. I looked into his baby-eyes and leaned into him. He reached up and pulled me the rest of the way into his pillow-soft lips. We pressed and tongued and tasted for what felt like days. Little by little, he wrapped his arms and legs around me and held on with such urgency that it seemed he was holding on for his life - I had never felt such need from another man, before. I slid my arms around him and returned the embrace - he felt solid, silky smooth and hot like fire. Breaking the kiss he said “make love to me”. I kissed him again and worked my way to his neck. “Don’t mark me”, he warned, and I stopped sucking his neck so hard. I pulled off his shirt and tasted his shoulders, pecs, underarms and zeroed in on his firm nipples. I sucked, nibbled, tongued those nips, left then right, then back again, as he hissed, and moaned. He seemed to be sensitive everywhere I touched and it was turning me the fuck on. I worked my way down to his navel and traced circles around it with my tongue. A couple of times I ground my razor-stubbly head into his belly, earning a delight-filled laugh from him. He grabbed my head and pressed it into his crotch, giving me a fantastic whiff of his musk, grinding his hard dick into my face. “Not yet”, I said, pulling up and returning to those heavenly lips. He pulled off my shirt and started work on my body. He kissed my neck, chest, the length of my arms and moved on to my belly. “You’re hairy as shit”, he said, pausing and, continuing his work, said “that’s turning me on”. He tugged on the waist band of my shorts, and I grabbed him told him to wait a minute. He resisted, saying “lemme me be” - and he actually wrestled me - for my dick! I surrendered and he took my dick in his mouth, sliding it in and out, happily, like a kid with a popsicle. His mouth was hot and wet and felt like velvet and I was loving every minute of it. He popped it out of his mouth, slid the foreskin back, saying “you’re uncut - that turns me on”, and teased his tongue around the head for a while before going down on it, again. He sucked and slurped my dick like the tastiest rib bone and I lay there, shivering in ecstasy. He released me and, wiping his mouth, lay on top of me to whisper in my ear “make love to me”. I kissed him again, pulling his tongue into my mouth and pulled his body tight against mine. I massaged his neck, shoulders and back, working my way down to the crack of his ass. “Squeeze my ass”, he begged, and I did. “Harder” he said, and I did, squeezing those cheeks as he grunted and oohed. Suddenly I stopped, “What’s wrong”, he asked and I told him that I was worried about his injuries. “I’ll let you know if it hurts”, he said, giving me permission to come on full-strength. I flipped him on his back, pulled his shorts off and rubbed my face into his pubic hair, inhaling the manly scent of him. I rubbed my face on his dick and, teasing him with my tongue, swallowed it down to the root. I deep throated him for a while which made him moan and curse even louder. “Play with my balls”, he groaned, and I tongue-juggled them for a while. I sucked one into my mouth, then the other and, eventually, both, savoring them like gourmet delicacies. Going after another tasty treat, I mouthed my way down to his asshole, causing him to jerk as if shot. I worked my way back to his dick and then, grabbing both legs, pushed his knees towards his ears and stuck my tongue directly into his ass. His response was hesitant but, the more I worked on him, the more he seemed to like it. He pushed me off, after a while, and over onto my back so he could suck on my dick some more. Never taking his mouth off my dick, I coaxed his body over so we could six-nine. I worked on his jewels some more and went back to my favorite target: his asshole. As I licked his cheeks, tongued his hole and massaged his dick, he arched backward, supporting himself with his hands on my knees. It looked awkward as hell, but it made it easier to work on that hole. I was afraid of making him come too soon, so I slid out from under him and, kneeling behind, pulled his body up and against me so I could play with his nipples from behind. Kissing me over his shoulder, he breathed “I don’t usually like anybody playing with my ass, but the way you do it…” I took my queue and pressed him back down, with his ass in the air, and continued tongue-fucking his ass. I sucked and slurped and probed and, when he told me that I could spank him, slapped his butt like he stole something. I ground my face and goatee and the top of my stubbly head into that ass, earning more grunts of pleasure, then went around so he could work on my dick some more. I loved the way his mouth glided over the ridges of my veiny dick and was lost in the moment, when he pulled it out of his mouth and said “I wouldn’t mind having this in me”. I almost came at that moment. I felt like I had just received an early birthday gift, as I returned to sucking his dick, balls and ass. With the help of some Astro-glide, from my bedside drawer, I worked my finger into that tight hole. Little-by-little he took it and, soon, I was able to get two fingers inside. “Make love to me”, he insisted, again (so that’s what he meant!). I rolled on a condom and pushed his legs up and apart, and pressed the head of my dick against his pucker. Gradually I eased it into Dee’s ass while moaned “slowly”, a few times; I really did not want to hurt him (Raz B…I’m fucking Raz B!). Eventually I got it all in and, carefully, worked it in and out. He oohed, aw-shitted and moaned, making me even hotter. I pulled out, flipped him onto his stomach and, after a couple of good smacks and squeezes, slid it in again. At this point, I’d gotten a good, steady rhythm going and reached over to turn the radio on (Sade/Sweetest Taboo - man, this is my night!) and he Ummmed, with his face in the pillow. I pulled him up, onto all fours, and, holding onto his shoulders, doggy fucked him for a while. Backing him up to the edge of the bed, first I, then he, stood up - and, without pulling out, I fucked him upright, his dick bobbing the air. I reached around to grab it but he told me stop. “I don’t want to come yet”, he said and, sliding off my dick, he lay back on the bed, pulling his legs into the air. I stuck my dick back in and beat his ass up some more. Cautiously, I pulled him into a semi-sitting position and, with some effort, lifted him up so he could ride, his legs in the crook of my arms, his arms wrapped around my neck. I kissed and fucked him like this for a while and, weakening, rocked him back onto the bed. We scooted back up to the pillow and he wrapped his arms and legs around me, pulling me into him. I knew the moment was getting close, so I slammed into him harder and faster, earning a series of “Yeah-boy’s” and “Oh-shit’s”. He came, beginning with a number of tremors and, tensed up tight, squirting his hot wetness between our bellies - shuddering, told me not to stop. Keeping my dick planted in his ass, I unwrapped his arms and legs and continued fucking him with a longer, smoother stroke. I smeared his cum all over his stomach and pinched his nipples, making him hiss and moan some more. “C’mon baby. I‘m almost there…!” he groaned and I sped up. I was getting close to climax, but I wanted to make him cum again, so I grabbed his dick and worked it while I fucked him. “I love the way you hold my dick”, he panted and rocked his hips to meet mine. It wasn’t long before he was crying out “Oh-shit”, again and with a series of hard slams into his rectum, he shot across his chest, almost hitting his face. Pumping a few more times, I pulled out and started to jack my dick. “I want to see you up close”, he said, pulling me up onto his chest. While I worked my dick, he leaned up and teased the head with his tongue. He could tell I was getting close and helped by going down on the head while he pumped my shaft. I tried to pull out, just before I bust off, but he wouldn’t let go - which just excited me even more. I hadn’t cum like that in years and he swallowed all of it, continuing to suck me off as I slid off to lie on my back. It felt great, but I was worn out and had to stop him. After a short rest, holding each other and listening to our heartbeats, the two of us stumbled to the bathroom for a shower.

In the water, and under the full light of the bathroom, I could see the bruises and scratches from this evening’s altercation, as well as the smoothness of his golden skin. I kissed the bruises, his full nose, swollen lips (it was amazing how red they were after making out) and his nipples (also red now). He nibbled on my chin, nuzzled my chest and dropped to his knees to suck me off again. After a couple of minutes, even though I was getting excited, I knew I was too tired to cum again so, regretfully, I stopped him. We held each other and kissed until the water started going cold, then went back to bed and slept until noon. I woke up with him going down on my dick again and, noticing that I was awake, told me that he wanted me to make love to him again. Hell, yeah!

I fixed us some breakfast, and we ate, watched TV (…it watched us!) and did some more fondling until about three o’clock. I gave him some clothes that I’d outgrown (the pants were too long, so rolled he legs up), and drove him to the police station where I left him to fill out an incident report. He had called a friend, earlier, who would meet him and drive him home. When I returned to my place, and cleaned up from our ‘activities, I noticed Dee’s white Fruit of the Loom boxer-briefs on the bathroom floor.

He came to see me a couple of times, after that night, and we ‘made love’ again - on the sofa…on the dining room table (once, I ate ice cream and cake out of his ass crack - it really was my birthday, that time!). I haven’t heard from him in a while but have heard about him. Raz did the Noah’s Ark bit, finished his album (not released yet - it’s terrible, I gotta be honest), and really is doing work with a group of artists to bring the arts to inner-city kids. I think he’s also doing another movie - he’s doing okay for himself. That’s Raz, though. Dee is the one I’ll always remember: the golden-boy in the boxer briefs.