DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of adult fictional entertainment dealing with same-gender relationships. If you are of legal age and are not offended by said subject matter, read on. The author maintains copyright of this material. The material cannot be posted or distributed without the author's permission.

Although anything can happen in the land of fiction, in the real world be good to yourself and others and practice safer sex.


© 2001 by W. Foster

After a week of travel, we're feeling the effects of fatigue, too many motels and occasional nights spent under the stars. Whoever said the life of a secret agent (or should I say courier) was glamorous must have been living in a fool's paradise. Sure, the chief picked us because we were new and unknown in the network. Just a simple little delivery of microfilm to Lagos, Nigeria, she said; I'd carry one half and Alan the other. So why have we been running just two steps ahead of trouble since this whole thing started? She could have picked two other Black couriers. Why us? I was happy back there in Oakland, doing my eight-to-five job and singing in the church choir. What did I do to deserve this? And why with, of all people, Alan?

As the late afternoon sun shines into our latest motel room, I try to adjust to a bed that's almost too short for my 6'4" frame. Where are we? Alabama? Georgia? Mississippi?

Now I remember---it's August, and we're somewhere in the middle of Georgia. All we have to do now is get to Miami and catch that ship; once we do that we're home free. I look over at the other bed where my partner in this assignment, Alan Oliver, is dozing. Silently I appraise him. Has it really been eleven years? I answer my own question as I study his honey-colored face--the dark, close-cropped hair and full beard now flecked with hints of gray, the eyes that are showing traces of dark circles from insufficient sleep, the mouth which can break into a smile at a moment's notice. He's wearing an old sweatshirt and a pair of gym shorts, and I can see where some poundage has gathered on his compact body. His sunglasses are still on his head--I guess he didn't have the energy to put them on the night stand. Yes, he's nearly forty now, definitely not a kid anymore---neither of us are, given that I'm thirty-five---yet he still possesses those intriguing, magnetic qualities I remember from so long ago.

It's ironic that Alan and I are partners on this mission, given the fact that we have never quite been friends. It was an unexpected surprise to run into him in Oakland and more so to learn that we'd be singing together in the same church choir, but things between us always remained on the polite and casual side--he went his way, I went mine. Mentally I chalked it up to basic differences in our personalities. Although on one hand I'm quiet, reserved and studious I'm also more offbeat, clownish and more of a kid at heart than Alan is, and these traits seemed to come out at the wrong times, which didn't leave much room for common ground in the past. Now we're thrown together on this assignment, for better or worse.

I get up and get the last piece of pizza from the box lying on the dresser. Halfway through it I stop eating and lay down on the bed. I rub my shoulder, feeling a tinge of discomfort where the microfilm was placed under my skin. Modern technology; what'll they think of next? I keep asking about what the chief said--"just a simple delivery." She didn't say anything about whether we'd come out of this alive. I shudder when I think of that car lying in flames at the bottom of a ravine back in California, a car that could have had us in it had not Alan detected the bomb in time. Then there were the tails, especially the one by that limo. It kept following us from a distance as we drove across the desert and through Texas. I remember when we stopped in Beaumont, Texas, and Alan created a diversion long enough for me to get to the limo. He looked so funny, dressed like the last wino trying to get money or a drink out of them. Those dudes may have been laughing at Alan then, but I know they weren't doing so when they discovered I'd relieved them of their hardware and put a healthy dose of sugar in their engine. Occasional bullets in our direction did nothing for my piece of mind, either. We may have been unknown when we started out, but someone knows about us now. The question is, how much do they know?

I'm awakened by Alan's shaking me. Night has fallen, and it's time to move on. Sleepily I look into his eyes. Normally sparkling and intense, they're now merely weary, as mine are. Yet there's something else there--what? This is a man I've faced danger with, fought with, planned and schemed with, even laughed with from time to time. Between us we've shared more about ourselves in the past week than we ever have before, something that never would have occurred under ordinary circumstances. My muddled mind fails to grasp what's in his eyes as I shake out my curly locks and force my wiry body off the bed, doing what I can to mentally prepare for the journey ahead. Pausing for a couple of minutes of prayer, we pay the motel bill and head for the car.

Though the interstate highway is a more direct route into Florida, we stick to the back roads for the time being. We had no idea that Georgia's terrain was so hilly, especially along the county roads and trunk highways. A brief phone call to one of the private lines at the agency confirms our suspicions---an internal security leak was found, the culprit captured and grilled. The tails, the bombing, everything came out in the story. The only chance we have right now, according to the chief, is that our exact destination in Florida is still known only to us and her. "Once you cross over into Florida," said the chief, "be prepared. Anything could happen."

The full moon is steadily rising as we drive through the Georgia countryside. By midnight it's high in the sky, illuminating things almost as brightly as day. To our chagrin we hear a pop and a hiss of air leaving a punctured tire. Damn these new cars, I mutter as I look at the spare tire. You don't even get a real tire anymore, just this space-saver mess. While Alan jacks up the car I take the opportunity to look around. In the moonlight I can see woods and fields from the top of the hill, even a creek, but no sign of people, not even a dwelling. According to the last signpost the nearest town is thirty miles away, which means the tire can't be fixed until morning.

After the spare is in place we walk over to the grassy side of the slope to cool out for a while. I try for some levity in the situation by telling some off-the-wall jokes, which get a few laughs from Alan. Following this comes silence as we gaze upon the sky, each lost in our own thoughts.

Sometime later Alan gets up to walk around a bit. Out of the corner of my eye I see him slowly descending the hill. Suddenly he disappears. In a flash I'm on my feet, running to the spot where I last saw him. I stop and scan the area, narrowly missing the short but steep drop-off, until I locate him about three-quarters of the way down near a tree. Carefully I make my way down the hill to where Alan is. He doesn't seem to be hurt as I help him up--just a few bruises and a scratch or two from the fall at the drop-off.

I stand there for a moment and look at him. I can just make out his eyes in the moonlight, but that look is there again--the same previously unknown quality in them when he woke me up in the motel earlier this evening. However, I'm awake now. Even though my mind says it couldn't possibly be, there's no mistaking the desire, the passion in his eyes as he looks back at me. I'm speechless; as I continue to look, my eyes switch to that "bedroom look" that other brothas like about me, and I see his lips form a slight smile. My hands, which haven't left his shoulders, draw him closer to me.

We kiss tentatively at first, our lips touching, tongues exploring and retreating. As we wrap our arms around each other, our kissing becomes more heated and passionate. I can feel the warmth of his strong body matching my own, the hardness of our rods pressing together through the brief confines of our shorts. Briefly I wonder if I've been sent on a trip to Fantasy Island, but the thought passes as we continue kissing. Finally we come up for air, breathing hard, our dicks throbbing with arousal, giving each other impish looks as we walk back up the hill.

With a blanket and a few supplies from the car, we locate a level spot off the road and resume our lovemaking. Our hands and tongues explore each other's bodies, leisurely lighting fires within, periodically returning to dynamite kissing sessions, fueling the desire for more. I feel the wetness of his mouth around my hardon and nearly go into orbit. What is he doing to me? This night can go on indefinitely as far as I'm concerned. Moans and urgings come from my mouth as Alan sucks me. I find myself thrashing around on the blanket, not wanting this to end but finally having to force his head away to keep from cumming. Eagerly I return the treatment, teasingly licking the head of his penis, then deep-throating him while I squeeze his nipples, causing him to writhe in pure pleasure.

We've paused briefly to resume a semblance of normal breathing. I'm playing with his buns, every so often running my fingers over his pucker. He closes his eyes and moans.

Intrigued and encouraged, I slip a finger inside, slowly massaging him from within as he continues to moan and groan, his dick hard and pulsing again, leaking pre-cum. After a few minutes of this I hear the words "Fuck me" echo slowly from his mouth. Could this be the same Alan? The Alan I knew---or thought I knew---was a top man, and the chances of someone plowing him were slim to none. Also, given my endowment---which some have told me perpetuates the myth about Black men---I figured he'd balk at the idea. As if he's read my thoughts, Alan reaches over, wraps his hand around my caramel-colored dick and massages it. There's almost a pleading look in his eyes as he again says, "Fuck me." As he lies back, I grab a tube of lubricant and liberally coat my penis with it, then apply a generous portion to his eager hole. Raising his legs, I slowly insert the head. There is a minute or so of resistance, then success as the head clears his portal. Gradually I work myself in, and soon I can feel my balls resting against him.

Slowly I begin fucking him, short strokes at first, strokes that progressively get longer. It's like being inside of a velvet volcano. My senses are going into overtime--nothing has prepared me for this. I look down at him. His expression is one of sheer ecstasy, urging me on verbally and bodily. His dick, nearly rivaling mine, jumps with the explorations of his internal territory, and more so when my pole touches his G-spot. I have absolutely no intention of pulling out of him, and he's more than determined to keep me buried inside of him.

I draw on all my experience to prolong the sublime passion of this night. I fuck him on his stomach, his knees, standing up, straddling me, even picking him up and screwing him in mid-air. Still he wants more, and the drastic energy change I always experience during a full moon holds me in good stead. We're covered in sweat now. I brush locks of long, wet, curly hair out of my eyes as I go into overdrive, and he's taking it as powerfully as I can give it. It seems as though we've fucked for eternity, but no one cares; all that matters now is that age-old dance. Alan is on his shoulders, bent almost double as I drill him, trying to get as far inside as I can go. We squeeze each other tightly as we kiss again, and soon I feel the rumblings of orgasm pushing me over the edge. I pull my head away and let out a strangulated yell as I shoot my load deep inside his ass. Seconds later I feel his anal muscles clamping me viciously, and Alan is matching my screams with his own, his sex cream firing in white streams on his stomach, his chest, the blanket, even one on his chin.

I have no idea how long we've been lying here locked together like this. It's like we were shot off to another side of the galaxy, somewhere where space and time didn't seem to exist. The only thing that tells us anything about the time is the change in the moon's position--still bright, but slightly lower in the sky. I feel the warmth of Alan's back against my chest like smoldering embers of a fire, his greedy hole still heated and wet around my love muscle. He looks at me with those sparkling eyes of his and we share a gentle kiss. For now, we have a few moments of immortality; who knows what will happen when we reach Florida? I ease myself out of him, and we help each other to our feet, heading for the creek to clean up. As we wash off the sweat and cum from our recent sexual voyage, the satisfying arousal, boiling chemistry and surging passion begin to reassert themselves as we gaze deeply into one another's eyes, for the night is not over yet.....

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Have a good one!