Date: Fri, 10 Jul 2015 12:34:26 -0700
From: J H <gymguy8@gmail.com>
Subject: Selling a Cellphone

1.

I looked at my watch once more. It read 5:50PM; only ten more minutes
of agony. There hadn't been a customer since 3:00PM; my manager had
left at 4:30, and I prayed that one would not appear at the last
minute. Thirty minutes earlier, I had tempted the customer fates by
taking break in the back room; if one would come, it would have been
when I had my pants down and my dick hanging out. Luckily, no one had
come. I had changed into a jock strap and now the bright red waist
band just barely peeked out from above my khakis.

Outside, there was a slow drizzle still coming down. I didn't mind. It
would make a last minute customer even less likely now, and the bath
house would be even more crowded this evening.

I looked in my backpack. The two booty bumps I had prepared before
work were still there. All I had to do now was draw up some water and
let it dissolve, and I'd be flying twenty minutes later. I did the
math once more. Five minutes to close up. Five minutes to walk to the
bath house. Five minutes to get settled in my room. And then five
minutes to find a top to pound my hole. It meant could do the bump
right before I locked the front door. Which, in turn, meant it was
now finally time to fill it up and let it start dissolving.

It only took a second at the stockroom sink to fill the booty syringe;
I left it there for the small crystals to dissolve in the water. Back
out in the sales room, it felt like an hour passed before 5:58
arrived. However, slowly, endlessly, it did. I sneaked into the back,
dropped my khakis to my knees, and slid the thin tube deep in my
hole. There was just enough lube left in my hole from cleaning out
earlier that it went in easily.

I pressed down the plunger and the cold liquid burned for a moment
before it settled into a dull ache. It would be a few minutes before the
tina soaked in and I savored the anticipation. I put the used booty
bump in my bag, next to the one I was saving for midnight. There was
also the pipe and torch, but those would be for later. I pulled up my
pants back up and returned to the show room.

The clock now read six o'clock. I was done and was completely free for
the next four days. But my fates had other ideas. Right as I started
towards the door, a man appeared from around the corner, and pushed
his way into the shop. "Fuckin' A!," he exclaimed. "You're still
open. Been a fucking bitch of an afternoon, running from store to
store. You still got the new iPhones in stock?"

"Yeah," I said. I shifted my weight, feeling those tiny few cc's of
liquid shift in my hole. I had only a precious few minutes before it
would hit. When it did, I wanted to be at the bathhouse, getting ready
for a fat white shaft to slide into my hole. "Well, we were just about
to close." The customer was a black man wearing a windbreaker and
baggy sweats. I had gotten a lot better over the past few years, but I
still hated dealing with them. It was always one problem after
another: lost ID; wanting some blinged out phone; failing the credit
check; after an hour of dithering, picking the cheapest one. I had
never had a good experience with a black man.

"But you have them?" I nodded, before I even realized what I was
doing. "Good, he said, pulled down the hood from his ratty
windbreaker. "Now, don't be a fucking cocksucker, and sell me a
phone." I looked him over. He was tallish, maybe 6'1", with a definite
muscle build. His head was clean-shaven, a smooth expanse of
chocolate-brown skin. As I looked over his fine black body, I
remembered my past. Of course, there was still the tattoo, but today,
there was also the jockstrap. I had bought it at a leather store in
Atlanta and the strap was decorated with Confederate flags.

The tina was starting to work its depraved magic, and I found myself
wondering how it would look; his fat black cock sliding into my white
hole against the background of the racist symbol. It was always the
first sign of the crystal kicking in; my imagination got more vivid,
more extreme, searching out the taboo and dirty, the profane and
depraved. I had never been fucked by a black man before. What I had
been taught as a child was hard to overcome, but the tina was changing
my outlook. At least I remembered the first rule of customer
service. "I'm Mark," I finally said.

"Hey, Mark! If you wanna take care of me, sell me the damn phone." I
was quickly wrenched back to reality. He had caught me checking him
out and I knew it would be the first of many betrayals the booty bump
would commit against me. I looked back up at his eyes; they were
neither friendly nor angry. They were just resigned. "Yo, Mark, it's
cool. A good cocksucker can do things to my tool no girl would ever
dream of doing. But first, I gotta get a new phone. Black. 32."

"Gotta get it out of the back," I said, trying to focus on his face. I
resisted the urge to look down. He was wearing baggy sweats and I knew
if I looked down, I'd see the outline of his cock. In my mind, he had
a long, fat black shaft. Mine, by comparison, would be nothing more
than a tiny white one.

"Sure man. You do what you gotta do," he said. "You mind if I smoke a
quick one?"

I was conflicted. I didn't really want him smoking any more than I
wanted him in the shop. But if I made him go outside, it would take
another five minutes, and that would be five less minutes getting
plowed by an anonymous stranger at the bath house. "I guess," I said
as I grabbed the keys. "Sure." In the storage room, I eyed my bag. A
freshly loaded pipe was in there, not to mention the other booty
bump. A quick hit seemed like just what I needed.

I pulled the pipe out, staring at the pool of melted crystal at the
bottom. It called to me, but I forced myself to put the pipe back in
the case. The last thing I need was to get even higher. I had to
remember that the booty bump had barely hit me. I had dosed myself
with nearly a quarter and the weekend was only just beginning. I
grabbed the box from the shelf, and went back into the show room.

Even though I hadn't hit the pipe, I couldn't say the same for my
customer. He had a long glass pipe hanging from his lips, and was
carefully heating it up with a torch. From the slight haze in the air,
it was clearly not his first hit. He looked up at me, and pulled the
pipe out of this mouth. He just smiled, then exhaled a thick white
cloud. I wondered if he knew it was getting recorded. If he did, he
didn't seem to care. "You cool with this?" he asked, his tone letting
me he didn't care if I was cool or not. "Needed to blow some clouds."

"Sure," I said, putting the box on the counter. He was staring at me,
and I was momentarily transfixed, like a deer caught in headlights. I
licked my lips, first once, then twice, and a third time.

He laughed. "Damn man. Your eyes are wide. Your head already up in
these clouds?"

"Yeah," I said. I was no longer stunned into silence, and was able to
speak again. "Booty bump."

"Well, damn man, I gotta catch up. But first, you gotta get that phone
up and running man."

"Yeah," I said. "Name? And your number?"

"TJ. TJ Wiliams," he said. "585-555-4898" I quickly typed them in, as
he savored another long slow drag off the pipe. I scanned in the
phone, and waited for the activation sequence to finish. TJ did
another two hits before offering me the pipe. "I know you're already
tweaked," he said. "But a little more never hurt no one."

I took the pipe. It was still warm and smoking and I inhaled
deeply. The thick clouds filled my lungs, lifting me up and away from
my mundane concerns. TJ was hardly a delay; he might even be the main
event for the night. Unfortunately, right as I was exhaling, an error
message came up on the screen. It was one I was far too familiar with;
I was going to have to call the tech support line and get some stupid
block cleared from his account.

I had the number burned into muscle memory; it wasn't long before I
had someone on the line. I tried to explain the situation, watching
out of the corner of my eye as TJ hit the pipe a few more times. His
hand had dropped to his crotch, and through the thin fabric, he was
playing with his cock. Finally, the representative said he needed to
talk with TJ. "He needs to talk to you," I said, handing him the
phone. I tried to keep my eyes on his face, but a motion pulled my
gaze down. The outline of his cock was clearly visible. It was a
massive, thick rod already straining against the fabric of his sweats.

"Yeah?" TJ said. He put the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he asked.  "Hello?"
He frowned. "Fuck that shit," he said, the anger palpable. "If they are
going to put me on fucking hold, you're going to keep me happy." He pushed
down his sweats, letting his cock spring free. "Suck my dick, faggot," he
said. I hesitated, suddenly aware of the large glass windows facing the
street. "Oh come on. I've seen how you've been drooling over it. You know
you want it." With his free hand, he pushed me down to my knees, my face
exactly level with his dick.

I stared at the black snake for a moment, not quite believing where I
had ended up. He wanted me to suck on it, to debase myself at the
altar of his black cock. Involuntarily, I wondered what my father
would say if he were still alive. It would have been bad enough that I
was gay. It would be unforgivable that I was kneeling down in front
of a black man and even contemplating sucking on his massive
tool. "Come on cocksucker. You know you want it," he said, before
pulling me forward onto his cock.

By animal reflex, I opened my mouth, letting the black cockhead slide
into me. So many years of my life had been spent teaching me how
everything I was doing was wrong. Between the twin sins of sucking
dick and hanging out with a black guy, it was hard to tell which was
worse. But the combination of letting his warm cockhead slide into my
mouth was a sin my father would have never been able to forgive me
for. Nevertheless, I let it happen. This evening, it seemed like the
right thing to do. It seemed like the absolute least thing I could do
to improve this man's experience.

As I nursed on his dickhead, I heard snippets of conversation. "Yeah,"
he said. "715 Oak St. Unit 5," followed shortly after by "5102." He
listened a while longer, then finally said, "Thanks, yeah." and put
the phone down on the counter. "Fuckholes," he said. "But it should be
ok now." I looked up at him, his dick still nestled in my mouth. "One
good thing, had you kept that up, I might have shot right down your
throat." He picked up his new phone from the counter. "But now I can
use your throat properly while we wait for my phone to sync."

I nodded dumbly. I was still kneeling before this black thug, hungry
for cock. "Take off your shirt, faggot." I didn't want to take it off,
not for him. I had no idea how he was going to react; the tattoo was
far worse than the jock strap. I was saving up, slowly, to get it
removed, but for now, it was the reminder every morning and every
evening of my youth, and the stupid choices we all make. It was
simple, but powerful. A black eagle, holding a red Nazi swastika on my
left pectoral. It had the unfortunate characteristic that the more I
worked out, the more obvious it was. "Go on, cocksucker, take it
off. Don't get all shy with me; you've had my cock in your mouth."

I slowly pull it off, hunching over slightly, hoping against hope he
doesn't notice it. But it was to no avail. "What's that faggot?" he
asked as he pushed me back. "Fucking skinhead asshole, huh?" he
laughed. "But yet, you gobbled down my big black cock, didn't you?" I
nodded dumbly, trying to keep my balance as I leaned back, trying to
stay out of range of his fist. He looked me over, and then started to
laugh even harder. I dared to look down, and I saw the waist band of
my jock strap clearly visible, the red flags almost glowing against my
tan skin.

"Fuck cocksucker. Just one racist asshole symbol after another, huh?"
I try to protest but he slaps me. "Don't matter. I'll just take out a
bit of insurance." He took the phone and swiped a few times. "Let's
just get a few pictures of that sweet white mouth choking on my nigga
dick." He smiled, as he spoke. "Just something to share with your
manager. Maybe your white power facebook buddies as well."

He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down on his cock, forcing
it into my throat. Before I can react, he got a picture of my mouth
wide open, his cock sliding in. Then he took another, one of me
staring at him. Then a third, this one of me gagging as the head of
his cock hit the back of my mouth. Finally, a fourth one, drool
dripping out around my mouth and my lips tight on the anonymous and
massive black cock. By the time I had recovered from my gagging and
coughing, I knew it was too late. The pictures had been synced to the
cloud, and no matter what I could do, he'd always have access to
them. "A better attitude on your part and these pictures will be our
little secret. Any bit of racist white shit, and it's gonna be all
over the internet. You got that white boy?"

I nodded, acutely aware I had no option but to comply, however hard it
was going to be for me. I took another look at him, taking time to see
him anew: his massive chest, taut abs, and then his thick cock. It may
have been the tina finally hitting me, but I realized it was the most
beautiful, most perfect cock I had ever seen. It was thick, almost too
thick to wrap my hand around. It was long, like a foot-long ruler
hanging out from his groin. It was hard, hanging down under the
influence of gravity. It was the porn-star epitome of cock, requiring
my obedience of its every desire, and my worship of every inch of it.

A little thing, like a poor racist whiteboy gagging was a thing of
utter inconsequential pointlessness compared to the pleasure his ebony
shaft demanded. I opened up my mouth, and swallowed it again. Once
more, I started to gag again when it hit the back of my throat. It was
no easier physically. If anything, his cock was thicker and harder,
making it more difficult to take into my mouth. But mentally and
emotionally, it was an entirely different world. I was no longer
choking down on a black thugs cock, a man beneath me in every way. I
was now worshipping the most perfect dick in the world and giving my
ebony God pleasure.

With his guttural moans of pleasure, forceful thrusts of his hips and
the salutary effects of the tina, I powered through the urge to gag
and let his steel shaft enter my throat and dominate my
experience. "That's it cocksucker. Gobble it up." Another spasm of
gagging racked my body but I forced myself to stay on TJ's cock. "Come
on, Mark," he continued, resting his hand on the back of my
head. There was only the slightest bit of force from him, but it was
enough to let me know I had to stay on my knees and take his cock.

As the spasm slowly subsided, I got more comfortable with his cock
sliding in and out of my throat. "Damn," he said. "I guess anyone on
the street can see us, huh?" I nodded as best I could while impaled on
his black shaft. "Probably should be doing this somewhere a little
more, private, maybe?" he asked. "I mean, you do work here." I nodded
again, my mouth and throat still filled with his cock. "You have
anywhere more private?"

Once more, I nodded. This time, at least, he pulled out enough for me
to say something. "Stock room," I said as best I could.

"Sounds good," he said. He slowly pulled his cock out of my mouth, the
fat head now glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. It took me
a second to recognize that it was my spit shiny on the black shaft,
and that the majority of his pre-cum had dripped down my throat and
into my stomach. I was already contaminated with the black man's
pre-cum and it would only be a short while before he added his sperm
to my body. "You go ahead and close up shop. I'll be back in the
stockroom, waiting. Then we can finish this, um, transaction."

Still on my knees but made brave by the crystal now coursing through
my blood and invading my brain, I decided to make a different
suggestion. "Well, I was going to go to the bath house after this. Do
you want to come with me?"

He smiled for a moment, torturing me with the silence. "Maybe," he
said.

I had barely processed his statement before the tina made another
statement. However, it needed to use my mouth, my body to make
it. "I'll pay for your entrance," I said.

"Bath house," he said. "You mean, like a sex club?"

"Yeah," I said. "Exactly." I was still on my knees, still right on
level with his thick, hard cock. It was gently bobbing in time with
each breath he took, and I thought I could see it throb with his every
heart beat. I was fascinated by his black manhood. I had seen pictures
online, but never seen a black cock so up close and personal. It was
scary, almost evil, but at the same time, I was fascinated. As hard as
it was to reconcile with my past, I was in awe of it. I needed to
understand it, and the only way I knew how involved a night at the
bath house.

"Damn. So you're gonna get fucked there? Suck off random guys?

"Yeah," I said, terrified, but knowing that it was the truth. And it
was a truth I would have to confront at some point, no matter how hard
I tried to repress it.

"Fuck, faggot. Gonna get all loaded up, huh?" I nodded, not really
wanting to acknowledge what he said out loud. But it was true. My plan
had always been to get tweaked, head to the bath house, and see how
many loads I could collect over the next twelve hours. Only now, at
least one of those loads would come from a black man. I was
momentarily repulsed at the thought, something so patently inferior
and bad entering my body.

But then I looked up and saw TJ looking down at me, a slight grin
playing across his face. I would do anything to make him happy, no
matter how debased it might be. "That I can get into," he said. "You
lead the way." He pulled up his sweats, pushing his cock into them. It
was still straining against the fabric and still plainly visible.

I went into the back room, grabbed my bag, the empty booty bump
syringe, and my jacket, turning out the lights and arming the alarm as
I came back out. TJ was playing with his new phone, and looked up at
me. "And don't worry. I've more than enough of this to keep us going
all night," he said, shaking a fat bag of white crystals. I didn't
tell him I had just as much in my bag.

I turned out the lights, and locked the door behind us. The night was
cool, the light rain still continuing. "Where we going?" he asked. "I
took a bus, so hope it's close."

"Yeah," I said. "Just down the street, actually."

"Sweet," he said. We walked in silence. I wasn't sure what to say. All
I could think about was how his cock had felt in my throat, and how
badly I wanted his black meat in my hole. But that barely seemed
appropriate out on the public street, even if it was relatively quiet
and growing dark. Luckily, TJ rescued me. "You go here often?"

I had been there every weekend for the past few months. I had long ago
lost track of how many men I had let inside me or how many loads I had
taken. But I wasn't ready to tell TJ about this side of me; he already
knew more than I wanted. "Yeah," I said. "It comes and it goes."

"And there's just sex going on? Anywhere?"

"Well, there are private rooms. But sometimes in the halls or the dark
corners."

"Damn. Full-on sex?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Fuck man. And I've been jerking off all this time?" He laughed, right
about the time we get to the door. It's a nondescript industrial
building. The entrance is the only thing well-lit, a plain door that
only reads "Private Club." I opened the door, and TJ walked in.

I followed him and went up to the desk. I recognize the guy behind it;
it's Dennis. More than once he has ended up in my room on his break,
hitting the pipe, then hitting my ass hard. For a skinny guy, he has
got a big cock, and he knows how use it. He smiled when he saw
me. "Mark," he said. "Good to see you." He looked behind the desk and
checked what rooms were free. Before I could say anything, he put a
key on the counter. "Looks like we have an upgrade for you tonight,"
he said. "He with you?" Dennis continued, indicating TJ behind me.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll get his locker." I pull out my membership and
put it on the counter.

"ID?" Dennis asked TJ. He pulled a wallet out of his jacket, and put
his license down on the counter. "First time here?" Dennis asked TJ.

"Yeah," TJ said.

"I know you'll have fun," Dennis said and rang us up. I pulled out my
wallet and opened it up to get some cash. TJ was standing behind me
and was tall enough to see over my shoulder. As I counted out three
twenties, TJ let out a low whistle of appreciation. I had gotten enough cash
to cover the bath house as well as several rounds of re-stocking on
favors. It made for a thick wallet.

"All done," Dennis said, and buzzed the two of us in. He met us
inside, holding a few towels and the keys to the room. "Gotta check
your bags," he said.

"What?" I asked. Reluctantly, I put my bag on the counter. If I had
known, I would have taken precautions to hide the favors.

"Yeah," Dennis said. "Boss wants me to make sure we keep our
reputation." I repressed the urge to laugh. Of the several sex clubs
in town, this one had the reputation for being the sleaziest. It was
why I went. Dennis opened my bag, and started to look through it. At
least I had already done one booty bump. It wouldn't be enough, but it
would be better than nothing.

"Hmmm," he said, digging through the bag. "I think you should know
better." From the bottom, he pulled out two forgotten condoms, no
doubt the relic of some ancient, mis-guided attempt at safer sex
outreach. He tossed them into the garbage, before zipping my bag back
up.

"Yours?" he said, turning to TJ.

"I'm not sure about this," TJ says. He's holding his bag a bit
protectively.

"Don't stress," I said. "It's just a formality."

"I guess," he said, and put the backpack on the counter. Dennis
unzipped it, barely looked in it, and zipped it back up.

Dennis reached under the counter and pulled out a plain white
envelope. He handed it to TJ with his bag. "First time. Welcome. I
doubt you'll need it, but here's something to make it extra
memorable." He winked at me before handing me the towels and
keys. "342," he said. "I'll find you on my break?"

"Sounds good."

TJ and I started up the stairs. It was a Friday evening, so it was
already fairly busy. TJ was staring in open wonder at the range of men
walking around with nothing more than a towel. I was staring as well,
looking forward to the rest of the evening.