Blac Daddy at the Y Catches a Spy

Shit, what a week, Sam thought as he lay down on the chaise lounge on his deck. He sipped his beer and closed his eyes.

Budget week was always hell on Capitol Hill. First, it was closer to two weeks, and it meant 16-hour days, nights on the office couch, triple checking thousand line- item drafts coming out of the Appropriations Committee, updating the boss and his boss, overseeing your own staff, fighting with the Republicans on the other side, making sure all the paperwork was done, ad infinitum.

Sam worked for the Democratic side of a U.S. House Committee. Most of the time his job consisted of research, some writing, and making sure the members, i.e., Congress-people, were happy. Then, there was budget week.

It was the late 1970s and Sam was enjoying a relaxing beverage as he sat on the balcony of his DuPont Circle apartment in Washington D.C. The sun was down and street noise rising as folks rushed to Friday night activities.

'I am going to hang here, sleep late, and enjoy a do-nothing weekend,' he thought from his second-floor deck. There was a noise from the balcony directly above, the top floor. A chair moved; two guys were talking. Wait ... what did that guy say?

Sam's view of the balcony above was blocked by an outdoor carpet the tenant had laid across his deck. The conversation, however, stirred Sam's imagination.

"He is very good looking, but he seemed down to Earth," said a voice that sounded like a young white guy. "He was flirting with me, but I was working, and the owner was there so I had to pretend I wasn't interested."

There was a second voice. "I saw him, well, think it was him, in a loop at a dirty bookstore. He was pretty hot," said the second man. It sounded like a black guy a few years older than the white kid. "I lost my concentration when a guy whispered to me from a glory hole."

Sam met the tenant above when the man moved in and since then Sam had made a point of saying hello while getting mail and passing on the stairs. He was a sexy black guy, well-built, friendly smile but aloof. He seemed very straight, sometimes he wore a military uniform, recalled Sam. So ... he was gay? And who was the white guy?

"What did you do?" asked the young voice. "If I saw you in a dirty bookstore I'd fight to get in your booth. I'd blow you while you watched a fuck movie."

"That's not going to happen," the older man said. "I was on leave somewhere out West. I am not going with you to any X-rated store."

"I can dream can't I," said the white guy. "Do you want another beer? I'm going to look at the steaks."

Feet hit the deck above and someone went into the apartment. 'The white guy is checking on dinner and the two of them are ... lovers?' thought Sam. 'Why else would two men who lived near DuPont Circle, gay center of DC, be talking about glory holes?'

Sam learned later he was overhearing Jamie and Robert, a white youth and black man who had found each other at the 7th Street YMCA in 1978 as the gay movement grew. For a brief moment the two men saw their fantasies fulfilled. Jamie was an eager youth seeking a demanding daddy; Robert wanted a submissive lad eager to follow orders.

The young guy called out 'dinner's ready' and feet walked on the deck above. Sam sipped his drink and filed the information away. He closed his eyes, relaxing in the Spring warmth. He slept.

Sam woke. It was dark. He was groggy. Streetlight filtered through the trees created shadows filled with silence. There was a rustling sound from the deck above. There was a moan.

Sam stopped breathing. There was a familiar sound. It was wet, liquid moving on something. There was another moan. Wait a second. That's ... that's ... it's a blow job, Sam realized. The sound was that slurpy wet noise of a mouth moving up and down on an erect cock, the saliva and precum flowing as the sucker's hand jacks the stiff shaft. Sam had heard plenty of blowjobs. He had given some and he had gotten a few.

"Fuck, boy ... damn ... suck it," said the deep, sexy voice that Sam figured was the older black guy. 'Hell, the guy's probably my age,' thought 31-year-old Sam.

Someone in the street below yelled and people laughed. Must be 2 a.m., bars are closing, thought Sam. There was a lull on the deck above. Then the black man spoke in a husky, half-moan, "Shit yea ... lick those balls."

Someone moved off the patio couch above, a man stood up.

"Stay right there boy ... stay right there ... I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth ..." the man commanded. "Here you go, take it boy ... Hmmm, hmmm ... take that black cock."

A deep moan, wasn't the top guy doing the talking, thought Sam, must be the young white guy. Rustling, moving. The slurping stopped and someone inhaled.

"Need to catch my breath," said the youth. The slurping started again, stopped.

"Put some lube in my butt daddy," whispered the voice. "I want to suck you while you finger my ass. ... ohh shit." A pause and the blow job started again.

Sam figured the daddy was getting his fingers in the kid's ass, stretching him out, getting him ready, while the young guy went back to worshipping cock. These guys are hot, thought Sam as he rubbed his dick through his pants. He realized he had been so worn out he had fallen asleep in his office clothes.

"Come here boy. Sit on my cock," breathed the top. Someone stood up, feet shuffled, and one foot came down hard. The kid was straddling the couch, positioning his hole to take some dick, thought Sam.

"You be quiet boy. Can't have none of your screeching," whispered the man. "You need to yell, you bite daddy's shoulder. You got that boy?"

"Go slow daddy, go slow ... Oh fuuuuck ... go slow ... Ungghhh," the young guy grunted.

Sam knew fat daddy dick had just gotten lodged in the lad's tight butt. He remembered he had seen a white youth dressed in short cut-off jeans going up the stairs. They had exchanged looks but the kid kept walking.

'Damn, you lucky dog,' thought Sam of the older man. 'Don't blame you, that is one cute ass.'

Sam heard the couch creak, straining to hold the lovers as they tried to move quietly. There was the familiar fuck sound of skin slapping against skin, as the kid moved his butt up and down and the black guy groaned. Both were breathing heavy, then the kid let out a little high-pitched cry, 'Unnghh.'

"Shhhh boy, shhhh," said the top. The humping stopped. "Take it easy kid, let it happen." Movement began again.

"Go slow daddy ... Hunnh," the kid said, voice hushed, the fat black cock in his ass sending him to heaven.

"That's it boy, that's it ... give it to daddy, give it to daddy," the black man whispered in time with his thrusts. The boy's muffled grunts rose in intensity, the tempo of the slapping grew faster and the breathing louder. They were close.

The couch squeaked and its legs rocked as the two voices combined, "Oh yea ... Hunnh hunnh hunhh," neither able to control their noise and spasming bodies, the big man letting out an extended groan as he pumped his load, and the boy released a muted sigh as he felt daddy's sperm coat his anus.

The two caught their breath, then silence. City sounds covered up the sounds of the lovers. A bus coughed and changed gears, then Sam heard kissing and the couch creak as the lovers got comfortable.

"That was good kid," said the black man as the smooching continued. The youth responded, "Thank you daddy." Both of them groaned simultaneously and said 'Shiit.' Sam assumed the stud's cock had gone limp and fallen out of the bottom's butt. Someone stepped away from the couch, then returned.

"That was hot," said the youth. More kissing.

The lovers gathered their clothes and went into the apartment. A light went out.

'Wow. That was ... Wow,' thought Sam. 'Those two sounded hot as hell. Two horny studs right above me.'

He mulled it over. 'I'd go to bed with either of them or both of them at once,' he grinned. 'I'll have to bump into the black guy, accidently on purpose. See where it goes.'

He rose silently, went into his apartment, and quietly closed his balcony door.

**********

Sam got up late. It was Saturday. He had cancelled plans because he knew that the budget week process would be all-consuming. Now it was done, and he wanted to enjoy a lazy day.

Sam was gay. A recent romance had gone sour, and he was free man again. Not like he and his lover had been exclusive to each other but Sam had enjoyed being close to one guy. Oh well.

He skipped his usual Saturday run, took a shower and hit the streets, checking out the boys in their skimpy summer shorts and tight T-shirts that showed off muscles built in gyms over the winter. I love spring, Sam laughed.

Sam was an attractive guy with a promising career. He was thirty-one and had risen to a position of influence on Capitol Hill. His job demanded he act straight and look straight -- short hair, Brooks Brothers suit, no clone mustache.

He fit in with the gay scene of the late 1970s, keeping in shape with Nautilus workouts, bicycling, and dancing at the clubs. He stayed limber with yoga, and every day he defined his arms and tightened his stomach with the three ups -- sit ups, push-ups and chin ups.

Sam fit a gay fantasy of the day. Six-foot tall, trim, sharp features, built torso and round butt. He wasn't effeminate. "Straight acting and appearing" was the phrase.

He wandered into a popular bookstore and got bored with all the young women in the place. Gays helped to revitalize this neighborhood, Sam thought, now the ladies have decided it's hip to be here. Oh well.

He walked around the corner to Surging Rainbow, the gay bookstore. Nothing on the 'new in-stock' table grabbed him, a disappointment as he had hoped to pick up a history of gay New York that had gotten good reviews. He couldn't find it and approached the check-out desk.

The clerk had ducked down behind the counter to get something but rose as Sam got there.

"Excuse me, have you got ... " Sam said, his question trailing off as he recognized the clerk. It was the youth that Sam had seen in his stairwell, the guy who looked so cute in cut offs going to the apartment of the stud that lived above. This was the bottom that had fucked up a storm on the deck the night before.

"Yes, what is it?" the lad asked. He was impatient, busy. It was Jamie, who had been working at the store for about a year.

Sam couldn't help being taken off guard. Jamie was a total babe. About twenty-one, slim, smooth skin, Ramones t-shirt sprayed on a well-toned torso, and thick brown-blonde hair hanging over greenish hazel eyes. My, my, my, thought Sam, guys must come for miles just to look.

Sam recovered. "I was looking for that New York history, I couldn't find ..."

"The one by Gottlieb, the N.Y.U. professor, yea that's popular," Jamie asked, words going a mile a minute. "Did you look in the non-fiction section?"

"I did, didn't see it," Sam mumbled.

"I'll look," said the kid and he was gone, hustling over to the various book sections, the new books table. Apparently not there, Sam thought as he marveled at the kid's energy.

The boy called out, "Hang on, I know we've got it" and walked into a storage closet. He returned in 20 seconds, holding a book above his head, and stepped behind the counter.

"I knew we had it. Like I said, that's been popular," he said in a rush.

"Thank you for your trouble. I want that but want to look a little longer," said Sam.

The clerk nodded, put the book aside, and turned to the next customer.

Sam went to the magazine section and thought about approaching the clerk. Damn, I have GOT to talk to him, should I mention last night? No, that would be weird ... what should I say?

Sam looked over the magazines and picked up a Blueboy with its fresh young guys and a second monthly with a black model on the cover. That should send the clerk a message, thought Sam. He decided to get Roll Call, a weekly read by Capitol Hill powerbrokers and wannabes.

He waited for the rush at the counter to slow and walked over.

"Thanks again for getting that book, you guys seem to have everything," Sam said as he looked Jamie in the eyes. He put the two magazines face up on the counter and said, "These too."

"That book is popular, and non-fiction doesn't always do so well," the boy said smiling as he looked at the magazines. "On the other hand, these both sell well."

"I'm not surprised. They usually have a beauty or two," Sam winked. They were alone at the counter and the store had gone quiet. "This one, Blueboy, you could be in that."

"Yea, right. Although, a friend told me there's a model this month that looks like me," Jamie said as he flipped pages. "Let's see, here he is, does that look like me?"

Sam liked where this was going. He looked at the photo and pretended to think it over. "Umm, let's see ... You know what? You're cuter than this guy. He has kind of the same hair and bone structure, but you are definitely hotter."

Jamie blushed. "That's very nice but I don't think so. I'll probably still be here in 10 years selling gay books."

"Naahh. The way you work you'll own this place. And a dozen like it," said Sam.

"I do enjoy this place," Jamie smiled. "Not many bookstores can say their customers buy gay skin mags and Roll Call."

As Jamie rang up the items Sam tried an opening. "You know what, you look familiar. Do you know the brown stone on 19th Street with the red door? It's a three-story apartment building."

Jamie looked wary. "I have some friends on 19th, not sure about a red door. Why do you ask?"

Sam realized he had moved too fast. "I'm not trying to get personal. I live there and I thought I'd seen you. I'm on the second floor."

Jamie shut down. "I don't know, can't remember if I've been there."

Sam gracefully exited. "Anyway, thanks again for your hard work," he said as he gathered his bag and left.

Well ... shit, thought Sam. Now the guy thinks I'm an oddball who will follow him home. Still, at least he knows I'm alive and that I'm gay.

Jamie went back to helping customers. Saturday was always busy.

During a lull, the boy thought about the customer who knew that he visited the townhouse that neighbors called 'the place with the red door.' That was his lover Robert's building. And if daddy -- Robert -- found out someone had connected his apartment to Jamie, he'd order the beautiful book clerk to stay away for a while. Robert was a 10-year Navy man who was careful he never be touched with even a hint of homosexuality because it would end his career.

Jamie couldn't recall ever seeing the customer. He visited Robert two, three times a month so it was possible he'd never bumped into the guy. If the man did live in Robert's building, thought Jamie, then I'll have to find a way to avoid being seen there. He knew he couldn't stop visiting his daddy.

Sam was thinking things over too. After leaving Surging Rainbow he picked up groceries, made dinner, stripped down to his jockeys and relaxed with his new purchases. He couldn't focus on the history book, so he picked up Blueboy.

'I was right,' Sam thought, 'that kid is cuter than the centerfold. The question is, does he live here or was he a one-night stand?'

Sam reached into his underwear and fondled his dick as he pored over the model's humpy butt and hairless torso. The cock shots were less than impressive because gay magazines were wary of showing hard-ons. Bored, Sam flipped pages until a story illustration caught his attention. It showed a white man and a black man bumping large erections, but the writing was the usual '12-inch throbbing cock' stuff and Sam put it down.

He picked up the magazine with the hunky black guy on the cover. The shirtless model showed off a well-built chest and his tight jeans displayed a promising bulge. Sam found the layout featuring the black man with a cute white guy, both getting undressed.

The second photo was a stunner. The black man stood over the kneeling white guy, his semi-erection hanging near the boy's mouth. 'Damn, that is hot,' thought Sam. He was not a much of a porn fan, but he was attracted to black men. The photo sent a jolt to Sam's balls.

He put the magazine down, went to his bathroom, got some lube and returned to the sofa. He looked again at the interracial lovers and put some grease on his palm. He started jacking.

Gays in the 70s were free to be loud and proud in Dupont Circle and a select few 'Boy's Town' neighborhoods nationwide. The rest of the country, forget it. Gays wore a mask to satisfy straights even though other gays saw through the disguise. They recognized each other with a look. As long as they kept their mouths shut, no one was the wiser.

Sam wasn't thinking about that as he jacked off to the magazine lovers. He thought about adoring the black man's cock, kissing the pretty boy, and being part of a three-man orgy. He closed his eyes, and the dream took over. He stroked harder and fondled his nuts. He got some lube on a finger, placed it on his hole and tickled. He put it in to the knuckle.

He was getting close. Images crossed his mind. A guy from college he secretly watched jacking off in the shower; a favorite porn star stroking his veiny cock; the way the dick moved in the sweatpants of a guy in his softball league. In his vision he saw a naked peach-colored Jamie straddling Robert, riding him like a cowboy, the man's ebony phallus pumping hard into the boy as he rose and fell on the thick meat. Robert's eyes were closed tight as he thrust into whooping Jamie, and Sam lost control, his rock-hard dick exploding cum three feet in the air. Sam caught his breath and let go of his softening penis and settled back on the couch. "Woah,' he said as he felt the afterglow.

**********

Robert gazed at the shorts on the waiters at a hip gay bar he snuck into during a business trip to Manhattan. All the boys were young, attractive and white with feathered hair like Farrah Fawcett. They wore wifebeaters and shiny, silk running shorts that clung and swished on their bottoms and thighs. The reddish-pink shorts glowed in the nightclub's lights, sending eyes to the waiters' crotches.

Robert felt a fool but couldn't help buying two pairs of shorts. He returned to his hotel, took a shower, lay down naked on the bed and rubbed the smooth silk over his body, massaging his torso and testicles, and using it to jack his stiff cock. The fabric was soft. His grip was tight.

He closed his eyes and fantasized about one of the waiters, a blue-eyed boy who stood close and stared longingly at Robert. The prick tease actually batted his lashes, Robert grinned. But fuck, he was damn near irresistible. He conjured an image of doing the youth doggy style, pumping his muscled black thighs against white boy's butt while the kid looked over his shoulder and batted his lashes.

The fantasy sent Robert close to the edge. He stopped himself and put the shorts in his suitcase. He didn't want to get any sperm on the silk. He'd save that for a session with Jamie. Still, he had to get off. He got some hand lotion, stood in front of the full-length mirror and jacked himself until he sent ropes of cum streaming down the glass. He wiped it off, didn't want the maid to see it.

**********

A few weeks later Sam didn't get home until 10. His committee had held hearings on skyrocketing gas prices and half the committee members shamelessly showboated for the cameras in hopes of making the nightly news.

He changed from his suit to a pair of shorts, a Polo shirt and socks. He muted the lights, put on DC's jazz station, opened a beer, and stepped onto his balcony.

He ate and listened to a melodic standard from the Great American Songbook. Written by white men, interpreted by black men. A hushed voice from the balcony above carried through the quiet night.

"Thank you, Robert, those are nice," said the voice that Sam recognized as the book clerk. The kid was calm, quite unlike his hurried behavior in the store. "I saw pictures of those waiters. They must get the best-looking boys to work there."