Like That

I first saw him in the pit, the odd centerpiece of my new local mall, a deep, steep arrangement of carpeted risers around which three stories of stores and a bank of elevators loom. He was sprawled out on one of the ledges there, young and lean, no more than nineteen or twenty, his knees pointed in impossible opposite angles. One of them, bony and hairy, protruded through the ripped denim of his jeans. His hair was thick and dark, and so glossy that the mall's soft lighting left a blue sheen on its black surface. His eyebrows were broad and arresting, as if a pair of large and confident thumbs had smudged quantities of charcoal in twin lines across his brow. He smiled like a sphinx that knew something the rest of didn't. At nothing in particular he stared. He seemed cocky, and together, and yet slightly vulnerable, in the way that young men sometimes do.

I had my notebook computer under my arm and was on my way to the Apple Store for a little checkup. Even on my best day I find the new mall confusing, with its seven levels and its bewildering, wrap-around parking deck; I've managed to figure out exactly one way to park and enter the place through its very lowest level, and I've stuck to it ever since. As I took the first of several escalators to the floor I needed, I couldn't help but keep my eye on the Latin kid lounging in the mall's center.

When I was leaving, a trio of black nannies in charge of blond toddlers had taken up residence on the ledge. Strollers and diaper bags had taken his place. I supposed it was unreasonable to hope to see him again; I'd been in the store for nearly an hour. I took my escalators back down to the lowest level of the pit, and turned in the direction of the cavernous entrance to the parking deck.

But then there he was again, outside the men's room. He sat on vinyl-padded sofa immediately opposite, his legs spread wide, his arms crossed over his clean, white-and-blue basketball sleeveless basketball shirt. The muscles of his arms were light, but firm.

I diverted from my path. He looked up at me with surprise when I walked past in the direction of the men's room door. He looked me up and down, in my camo shorts and my skimpy blue T-shirt. Our eyes met; his bored into mine.

I was already three-quarters hard when I reached the urinal inside. That hadn't been a casual exchange of glances between two strangers. It had been a look of intent. I wasn't at all surprised when the door opened less than thirty seconds later. I turned my head to see him sauntering in, one slender hand already stuffed down the front of his jeans. He stepped up next to me at the urinal, unbuttoned, and unzipped. Then he stood there, hand still rubbing the dark skin of his flat belly, as the two of us stared at each other.

I stepped back and showed him my hard-on. He turned to display his. When it came to size, I was the winner by a long shot; his cock had skin so dark it was almost black, and a hooded head that was already sticky with pre-cum, but it couldn't have been more than five inches. "Damn, pa," he whispered as he stared at mine. His fingers danced over the length of his own meat. "You got a big white dick."

All I did was nod. He took it as the instruction I intended. His eyes stayed upon mine as he lowered himself to his knees. With a worshipful expression that made me melt, he opened his beautiful lips and wrapped them around my shaft. Only when the head of my dick hit the back of his throat did he close his lids and give in to the pleasure of sucking.

I didn't know for how long he could've been active, or who'd taught him, but the kid sucked dick like he'd been doing it for years. He opened wide and took the entire thing into his mouth and throat, opening his gullet to accept me with absolutely no gag reflex.

We were in what had to be the quietest part of the mall, but I was still very aware that at any moment the door could open and someone would find us like this. "Come on," I told him, motioning in the direction of the toilet stalls. I held open the door to the largest, and the furthest away from the door.

He followed without question. "I need that big dick, pa," he whispered to me. Up close, I could detect a faint trace of mustache on his upper lip.

I closed the stall door behind us. There was enough room for one of us to maneuver our feet out of sight, should someone come in. I'd expected him to sit on the toilet and resume sucking, but instead he had loosened his jeans so that his ass hung out over the dropped waist. It was smooth, and creamy, and fucking beautiful. A faint line of dark hair fringed the crack. "Where do you need it?" I asked him. My hand reached out to stroke his butt.

He gasped, and closed his eyes, then sighed. He didn't have to answer the question. Suddenly it had become rhetorical.

I wasn't planning to linger in that men's room for long. I spat on my hand and rubbed what was there into the warmest part of his butt, already slightly moist from his natural sweat. His head dropped and hung low. I pulled down his jeans and let them drop to his ankle, then spat again to slick up my shaft.

He almost cried out when I entered him. His head jerked up and back and his eyes closed in pain. He bit down on his lower lip and huffed out air through the corners of his mouth. Then he opened his eyes and looked back over his shoulder as if he hated me. When I got all the way in, he let out a groan. "You so big you hurt, pa!" he growled, clawing onto the handicapped rail for support.

I held myself at my deepest point for a moment for him to grow accustomed to the size. He hadn't been fucked much, I could tell. He was too tight. He didn't push me away, though. Nor did he try to wrestle himself off my dick. He bent over and grit his teeth and encouraged me to get on with it.

It was as necessary for him as it was for me.

When I started thrusting, he loosened up. I could tell by the way his body relaxed from hard right angles into soft curves that he was beginning to enjoy it. When he looked back over his shoulder a second time, it wasn't with hate in his eyes, but love. "Yeah," he whispered, his eyes droopy and half-closed with adoration. "Like that. Just like that."

His hairless balls swung low as I plunged in and out of his hole. He straightened his back to pull his face to mine. His pillowy lips met mine in a light kiss; his tongue darted out to taste the inside of my mouth.

"Like that," he breathed again, over and over. "Like that, yeah. Like that." He bit his lower lip, enjoying it now.

I held his slim hips in my hands and pounded. Outside the men's room I could hear voices and footsteps, but no one violated our privacy in the way I was violating his hole.

I came swiftly and smoothly, announcing its arrival with a quickening of breath and a heightening of my thrusts. When I was close, he started jacking furiously at his dick. We shot at the same time, me deep inside his hole, him all over the toilet seat. For one short moment afterward, we both paused as the blood left our dicks and returned to our brains. Then he pulled himself off me, yanked up his jeans in a swift movement, and exited the stall without a look back at me.

I was cleaning up the cum he'd left splattered on the seat with wadded-up toilet paper when I heard him laugh aloud. "Damn," he said, as he yanked open the men's room door to exit. "Now that's the way it's supposed to be laid down!"

It was a last parting gift between two men whose paths crossed at the mall.