"Now, you sure you'll be at the airport when I get there," I asked Kwame.
"Mark, relax. You have my word that I'll be waiting for you once you land on deck. I wouldn't dare do that to you," he told me over the phone.
I was finally meeting this chocolate iron man.
I was four hours removed from taking off from Charles de Gaulle, as I caught a ride to the airport through my friend Gabriel, a friend that lived in Paris and just so happened to be in my town that was a three hour drive from the airport.
"You're flying all the way to the states for some forsaken cock? Are you serious? You're gonna meet this guy, an American, and he might have rabies or some shit," he said to me.
I laughed as he drove.
"I'm serious, Mark. This guy could be just a flash in the pan," he added.
"I am, but Kwame is more than just a cock, shitface. We've been talking for months, and now we meet finally. Not every American has rabies, as you may see it," I told him.
Gabriel, a native Frenchman with a serious disdain for Americans, was the first to befriend, and court me when I moved to France (I'm an Englishman, originally from Portsmouth, England). He was one who still had the hots for me for a good while, and after months of us talking when I first arrived, I almost gave in to the "blessed" top until one night he and I attended a party together, he was drinking a bit much to my liking, showing his true colors and turning me off completely with his antics. He'd later apologize, but the damage was done, especially since I had numerous guys willing to fill my hole at the time.
"So you'll never let me pilfer you, will you," he asked.
He understood that we could never be intimate, and so he'd become a true friend, one that protested me seeing "a rabid American."
"Who knows? I could marry Kwame, and we live happily, ever after. In fact, Kwame might have a friend you could bend over and marry, too," I said, as we made it to the airport.
"Fuck you," Gabriel said, as we reached over the console to kiss on the lips, then I'd depart his car to enter through the terminal to check in. "I love you, Mark. Please, please, please, be careful, man."
A couple hours later I grabbed a bite to eat then made it to my gate as I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I sat patiently waiting to board, and when the time came, surprisingly I was boarding a half full flight. We'd take off on time, and it was a very smooth flight with a smooth landing seven hours later at JFK in New York. I turned on my phone, and the clock automatically rolled back six hours, and I got a message from Kwame, via the app we use to communicate.
"Your plane just landed," said a message from Kwame via the app we used.
"It really did. Where are you, LOL," I messaged back.
I just wanted to run to this man and hop on that big, black dick of his, but of course, I had to get off the plane and go through the international motions first. We parked, and it would be an easy deplaning, then following signs to go through passport control, dealing with ass hole sentries. It would be expeditious in giving and receiving my passport, as I would follow signs to baggage claim, walking a few more steps to find my Adonis standing in front of the conveyor with his ear to the phone. He saw me, smiled, and I added a brisk pace to my walk to hug this tall, fine, black, "drink of water" in a dapper, dark blue suit and brown wing tips. We both were smiling from ear to ear as my heart melted and ass twitched, ready to do whatever he wanted me to do. I gave my hand to him for shaking, then he pulled me into him as we boldly kissed, with our lips as a gateway and our tongues madly engaged in front of others while his beard tickled my chin. This six foot five frame of a man dwarfed all of my five foot eleven shell, and I couldn't stop "creaming" inside.
"Welcome to America," he said, as I got a whiff of his cologne.
"Halfeti," I asked.
"You know your fragrances," he said to me as he looked down into my eyes, still holding me close.
"I wonder how you smell naked," I asked.
He laughed and told me we'd confirm, before grabbing my bag and us heading out of the terminal.
I knew that fragrance from unfortunate circumstances as my ex, an angry French politician, would wear it whenever we went on outings. For a moment I was triggered, but then he reached down to kiss me on the lips again as we walked, and the electricity he provided would fry any negative thoughts as we were heading out.
We made our way to this "Air Train," then transferred to the subway as this was the first time I ever caught American public transportation.
"This is fun," I told him as I was giddy amongst a heavy group of folks in a crowded car that probably wanted nothing more than to get to their destinations.
Once we made it to the final station, we took an elevator from the underground to make it to the surface where we were met by a furious, sudden rain.
"Shit, didn't see this coming," he said, as we still needed to walk a block to the hotel.
We were getting drenched but I didn't care as I was in awe of everything I was seeing from the tall buildings of Manhattan, to all the people that were rudely zipping past us.
"Give me your hand," he said, grabbing me to guide me through the fray.
He managed to snag a taxi for a short ride to the Four Seasons, a beast of a lodge at first sight, then Kwame tossed a few bills at the driver, then we hopped out as the driver opened the trunk and Kwame grabbed my luggage, then my hand as he was the perfect gentleman. We rushed inside, with me wondering if we needed to check in, and him assuring me that wasn't necessary as he already occupied the room. He led me to an elevator car that was open and ready. He keyed the slot for the door to close, then tapped the 11th floor, before the car rose slowly, and Kwame turned to pin me to the wall, and started kissing my neck.
"Oh baby, right here, and right now, eh," I asked as I raised my legs to wrap around his slender, waist.
I'd feel that cock bulging through his pants while his hands were all over me, then we kissed on the lips as he'd slide his active tongue inside my mouth. I for sure knew my first time in America would be a memorable one, as never before had I felt the sexual intensity like Kwame's, as he was truly in to me. We smooched and I let him feel me up until the elevator stopped, with us retreating to opposite sides of the car as if we didn't know each other. The door opened and we'd quietly step off, with me following him to the room just a few steps away. He opened the door to a suite that contained a view of Central Park as the background from a large window, accompanied by a large hot tub nearby, a huge, king sized bed opposite a large desk that was set up for someone needing an office setting, with a huge television overlooking it all.
"This is gorgeous," I said to him as I was in awe of the overall picture.
"You definitely are," he said, as he snatched my bag out of my hand, then turned me around to him to lay his big, strong hands on my face before darting his tongue inside my mouth once more.
"I'm gonna ruin that suit," I said, pulling my face from his to warn him.
He'd smile, then take his jacket off as I took off my coat, both of us undressing in front of the window and becoming naked within three minutes. I felt his frozen hands on my bottom, as he caressed and stroked the cheeks while our mouths were occupied. He picked me up, a feat in itself since I weighed 113 kilograms, and I wrapped my legs around his back before he walked over to the bed and laid me gently in the middle.
"Watch this," he said, as he bent low to the floor, making me put my legs in the air as he would take his bearded face to my anus.
It been six months since someone played down there, and the last guy, the ex, wasn't good at eating hole. Whatever thought I had of anyone else being down there faded when Kwame started brushing that tongue against my outer hole, then darting in, giving brush strokes to my walls and making me shiver.
