Caribbean Cocktail

Late into the summer evening the steel bands were still in full song. You could hear them even above the hubble-bubble of Frank's patrons. Anyway, the doors and windows were open. It was steaming, man.

Our eyes met across the tables. Guys came to Frank's Bar to find other guys and hopefully get laid. He was a lager drinker, a good sign. I was on iced cider, the latest craze. He was coloured, probably Caribbean. This part of London had its share, especially on carnival day.

When he went to get a refill at the bar, I went too. I'd timed it that way, pacing my drink with his. I stood next to him waiting my turn, listening to the rich inflection in his voice when he spoke to the barmaid, the only female in the joint, apart from Frank's missus.

We didn't speak, but eyed each other's reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He had on a white shirt with the cuffs turned back. His blue-black wrists were covered in fine hair. There was a little flurry in my guts, like a butterfly settling on a flower the first day of spring.

I caught his eye in the mirror. His mouth curved into a smile before he looked away. I could smell the heat coming off him, almost taste it. In the mirror I could see the little beads of perspiration forming above his upper lip. It got me hard.

He reminded me of an athlete - one of those guys who could run the 100 metres in less time it takes you to sneeze. We sat back down with our refills, stealing glances at each other between sips. I noticed he was keeping one eye on the men's room. A guy came out and at that point we both knew the 'gents' would be unoccupied.

When he got up to take a leak I followed. We were alone in there. I stood right next to him - real close. I felt lucky.

We got our cocks out and started pissing. I had the urge to exhibit myself indecently. Mine was already boned and pointing to the ceiling where the spiders spun gossamer webs in draughty corners. My flow was restricted by the erection. I looked down at his magnificent specimen - prime black dick. My knees started melting. Even in this state I couldn't rival his cock in repose.

I reached across and touched it, waiting for his reaction. In those next few seconds I might've become pulp, but like I said, I felt lucky. He didn't flinch. I curled my fingers around his girth and felt the weight of it -- just perfect.

I put my hand in front of his cock and let him soak me, and then I brought it up to my mouth and tasted. Nice and salty. My cock bobbed and strained painfully at the leash, my stream, now hardly a stream at all, coming out in a dribbling loop.

I grasped him properly, guiding the warm lemon-coloured liquid into the trough. He was still pissing like a horse by the time I'd finished. I squeezed his cock tight to stop his flow for a moment and got down on my knees and turned him towards me. I slipped it into my mouth and allowed him to start again. I drank from him, coughing and spluttering when it once went down the wrong way. I sucked him dry and then started blowing him for real.

I felt his cock firm up in my mouth, its length growing and advancing down my throat. I felt his large hands tousle my hair and pinch my earlobes. I unbuttoned him fully and scooped my hand inside his underpants. His testicles were like golf balls in my palm and I rolled them gently while I sucked. He began moving with me, pelvis easing into a steady thrusting movement.

The guy's cock was so big I kept gagging and having to throttle back. His foreskin had a lovely, soft texture and I ran my tongue around the rim of his knob before penetrating his uterus with the tip of it. I could tell he loved it. Man, I had that black guy sailing, believe me.

We hardly blinked or broke rhythm as the door to the Gents opened and a couple more guys came in. We continued our performance unabated while they watched. It was all the more exciting when they stood, one either side, and began wanking over us.

I could feel the guy's crisis fast approaching and I made quite a show for the voyeurs, rolling my eyes at them and allowing my cheeks to bulge and be stretched by the enormous cock. They were going at it furiously, trying to race me to the finish line.

Then the guy's knees kind of flexed and I felt the familiar pulsing in his shaft.

The door squeaked open again. More people came in. The place was getting pretty crowded. There would soon be more of us out here than in the bar . And then the big fella came, a hot, powerful orgasm that bubbled in my mouth like soap suds, followed by a slight burn in the throat as his cum slipped down my gullet.

Then I was aware of something else. A strange sensation like a warm wetness spraying over my head, first from one side, and then the other, thick pulsing jets from the two white boys who covered my hair and face with their lovely hot sperm. The air was filled with the combined ammonic stench of piss and cum. There was much clapping and cheers from the onlookers.

Frank's Bar has more satisfied customers than anywhere else in town. So pay it a visit, yeah? Maybe we can meet up or something?.

Lager drinkers are best. I always look out for them. The taste is exquisite.