Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a cop. I know it may sound strange, but it’s true. And, it’s not cause my dad was a cop and my granddad was a cop or any shit like that. I was just always drawn to it. Occasionally, friends and family would discourage me from becoming “the man” or give me strange looks, but I persisted. The one person that never tried to change my mind was my mom.
I did alright in school. Grade point average was a B-minus. I played some ball and ran track. I wasn’t some super stand out athlete or nothing, but I held my own. I parlayed all of that into a free ride at a community college and then transferred to a small H.B.C.U. Got a degree in criminal justice with a minor in forensic science. I wasn’t the first person in my family to graduate college, but that doesn’t lessen my achievement. You feel me?
At any rate, I digress. I’m Bo Mitchell. Twenty-eight years old as of today and I’m a beat cop in a mid size city. I’m a good catch. At least that’s what my cousins and my momma tell me. Don’t laugh muthafucka. He-he. I’m average height with a ripped, slim build. And I got dark brown skin, hazel eyes, and a hella curly low-top fade. I ain’t no ugly nigga.
The problem is the economics of dating. It’s like all the females I might be interested in only want a doctor or lawyer or engineer. That’s not me. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve gone out on dates, but I think many of them consider my line of work too blue collar if they work in marketing or healthcare or whatever.
I was really feeling this chick, Krystina. Real smart lady. Doing a post-doc fellowship in food science. Pretty too. Chocolate skin. Big ass eyes. Slim waist. Phat ass. She was all that. We had fun together. Good conversations. I just don’t think she her peoples to know she was with some quote unquote dumb cop. It’s all good. I enjoyed my time with her.
And then, this fucking pandemic set in. Hard to take anybody out in these circumstances. Add to it the protests over police violence. I’m not high on anybody’s eligible bachelor list at the moment. Even though I don’t mistreat alleged criminals. I’m not complaining. Just keeping it one hundred. Ya feel me?
At any rate, I’ve become pretty good friends with a guy named Paris. He’s a good bit geekier than me, but we’re both into comic books, sci-fi, gaming, and shit like that. It’s all good though. He’s a digital forensic examiner. So, he be going through computers and cell phones and stuff to figure out criminal activity. It’s mad cool if you ask me. He’s Black too and a couple of weekends ago I put together a spades game for some of us from the department. I figured I’d ask him. The other two were patrol officers like me.
We had a good time overall and of course we drank, talked trash, and discussed ladies. Only one of us was married. The other three had much the same story going on at the moment. But, it wasn’t like any other us could not just get some pussy. I did get the feeling Paris wasn’t as much into vage part of the conversation. But, we all agreed that women make life way too complicated.
We broke up the game just before eleven. The married guy hopped on his chopper and rode off. The other beat cop called a rideshare, Paris had driven himself and said he’d drink some water for a minute before heading out. He fixed a tall glass and sat on the far end of the couch opposite from me. I was still sipping on my brown liquor.
I said to him, “You know you could just crash on the couch if you wanna drink a li’l more, mane.”
“I don’t wanna impose,” he told me.
“Nigga…I wouldn’t have offered if it escort bayan was a problem. Like we was talking about. Ain’t no bitch on her way over here right now.”
Paris laughed and said, “Why not?!?”
I smiled and slid the bottle across the coffee table. We continued drinking and that’s when Paris started.
“You know, Bo. Have you ever considered the odds and economics of getting pussy,” he started.
“Huh,” I asked.
“Like how many chicks you have to ask out to get a yes. How many dates you have to go on in order to get said pussy.”
“I-I guess.”
“Seriously. Think about it,” he challenged me.
“I know how the math works out, mane. We gotta cast a wide net,” I redeemed myself as I belched.
“Exactly,” my medium brownish-orange complected friend sat up.
“So…”
“So…There’s a low return on investment. Have you ever thought of how you can improve that ratio.”
“All the time, my nigga. You got some secret I don’t know about,” I joked.
“Maybe,” he twisted his lips at me.
“Come up off it then, muthafucka. Why you holding back on a nigga?”
“It’s a tad more nuanced, Bo,” he held up his hand.
“There you go being all sciency and shit,” I gave him the side eye.
“Forget it,” he said, taking another drink.
“Come on, Pee. Don’t do me like that. I’m listening.”
“Earlier we were all saying how ladies make things complicated, right?”
“Yeah…And?”
“What if it wasn’t women you were trying to bang,” he asked.
“The fuck,” I shot back.
“Hear me out,” he begged.
“I ain’t gay, Pee.”
“I didn’t say you were, Bo. I’m just theorizing here.”
“I dunno, mane!”
“Think about it. If you want your dick sucked and a hole to fuck, you’d probably find a guy just as horny and willing as you to let you do it way quicker than you would a female,” Paris reasoned.
“Still feels gay. I’m not,” I explained.
“No one thinks you’re gay, dude. Chill out.”
“Are you gay,” I asked.
“I’m fluid,” he confessed.
“Fluid?”
“I’ve slept with men and women.”
“For real? I thought you was just nerdy, not soft,” I said too fast.
“Well damn…”
“My bad. I ain’t mean no offense. I was just saying I thought you were shy when it came to the ladies.”
“I’m a bit of an introvert for sure. But I like sex as much as the next guy.”
“You like it with chicks or dudes better,” I needed to know.
“Let me say it this way. It’s been like seventy-five, twenty-five. Guys to girls.”
“Damn! So you is basically gay.”
“I don’t really worry about labels. I just like to be happy.”
“I’m not judging. You gotta do you.”
“Thanks!”
“So when you get horny, you just look for a guy cause you know you can fuck him,” I pressed.
“Well, I like the receiving end of things when I’m with men,” he grinned.
“So you the homie in the streets and the bitch in the sheets,” I buckled over laughing at myself.
Paris sat there stone faced. “I like what I like. I was only saying it’s a lot cheaper to ask a dude that fits your type to come over and hang out. Maybe split a pizza and some beer. Stream a movie or play some video games. And be ensured a good fuck. Or just get straight to the fucking without any nonsense. Think about how much you’d save in time, effort, and money.”
I thought long and hard. Paris had a decent point. The time wasted would be lower. He read my expression.
“No cost to valet park or use a secure lot. No dinner and drink that’d run between twenty-five to fifty bucks escort ankara a person. No tipping the server. No gas or taxi. One hundred percent chance of getting balls deep in something,” he explained.
“Yeah,” I grunted, thinking.
“That’s all I’m saying.”
“You make a convincing argument, but I’m not into hard bodies like mine,” I protest.
“Not every dude has a hard body, plenty are soft. I’m not cut up or anything. Am I, Bo?”
“Naw, you kinda frail.”
“I’m not frail,” he huffed. “I’m just not muscly. I’m like one fifty-five and taller than you I might add.”
“Hey now,” I bowed up at him, playfully. “I’d still be the man if we hooked up.”
Oh shit. I spoke again before thinking.
“I already know,” he mouthed softly.
“Huh,” my eyes bugged.
“As you said, I’m the bitch in the sheets.”
“Quit playing, Pee!”
“I’m not playing, Bo. I’m dead serious. I’d put on some panties and heels and put this pussy in the air for you.”
“You just saying that,” I said, pouring more liquor into my red plastic cup.
“You doubt me,” he asked.
“Yep!”
“Be right back.”
Paris shot up off the couch and went out the front door. He came back a minute later carrying a backpack. He picked up his drink and went into the bathroom. Before shutting the door, he called out, “Give me seven minutes, cool?”
I told him it was fine.
I’m not sure how long actually passed because I dozed off. I snapped back to consciousness when I heard Paris saying, “Bo…Bo…Bo!”
“Uh…uh…Yeah. I ain’t sleep.”
“Good.”
Paris was standing with his back to me looking over his shoulder. I looked from his head to his feet and back up again. This muthafucka had on some black suede high heels, black lace bra and thong set, and some red thigh high fishnet stockings. His ass was tooted up and looking right, “Got dayum,” was all I could say.
Apparently he’d covered his lips with some pink lip gloss. I only noticed it when he asked, “You approve?”
“Uhhhhhh,” I froze.
“I’ll go change,” he said and began to walk away.
“W-Wait. Let’s talk a minute.”
“Okay,” he said, taking his seat at the far end of the couch again.
“I’m not trying to yell, Pee. Scoot closer.”
He inched over to the middle cushion. There was still space between us. I had so many questions. So I just launched into them.
“Did you plan to do this to me tonight,” I pressed.
“No.”
“Then why did you just happen to have that in your car?”
“I always keep a ready bag in my trunk.”
“What’s a ‘ready bag’?”
“A bag that has some essentials in case I meet a man I’m going to hook up with.”
“What essentials?”
“Lingerie, condoms, lube, washcloth, wet wipes, make-up, soap, body spray, et cetera,” he confessed.
“So, you just randomly hook up all the time?”
“No. I’m not a hoe.”
“No disrespect. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”
“It’s like spades, boo. Study long, study wrong!”
“You would say that,” I chuckled as I fumbled with the dwindling bottle to refill my cup.
“And this be working on straight niggas,” I asked.
“Yes. It’s all about the law of average and return on investment,” he remarked.
I told him, “You’re too smart for me.”
Then he said, “You’re way smarter than you give yourself credit for, Bo.”
From there, he mentioned a case I helped solve a couple weeks before. No one was listening to my theory at first and then after exhausting a shit ton of leads, they tried out my idea. Turns ankara escort bayan out it was correct. Paris was stroking a niggas ego. Then, he said there was no way I could handle it.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t handle,” I scowled at him. “You couldn’t handle me.”
He rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever. Your dick is probably as short as you are.”
“Mane, fuck you,” I yelled, standing.
I pulled out my shit. It was already on brick. Eight and a quarter long. Five and a half around. Yeah I’ve measured my junk. His mouth dropped open. “Now, you ain’t got shit to say,” I laughed.
“So I made you hard,” he started speaking softer.
“Huh?”
“Your dick is rock hard, Bo!”
Fuck. It was. Paris had my blood pressure through the roof. I’d come this far. “Well,” I looked at him and then at my dick. He got on the floor and crawled to me. He kissed the tip of my uncut cock and then licked it all along the shaft. I groaned as Paris opened wide and began taking my dick down his throat. I had to admit it felt great. I grabbed his head with it’s close cut, wavy all over hair and guided him.
“Fuck,” I barked. “I’m finna nut.”
“Mmhmm,” he moaned.
I released, gripped his head tight. He swallowed every drop and never stopped sucking.
“My shit still hard,” I announced.
“Mmm!”
“Suck that shit, bitch!”
“Mmhmm!”
I’d nutted so damn fast. Now, I knew it was gonna take me a minute to get the next one. Paris wrapped a hand around my meat and began stroking as he sucked. He pulled it out of his mouth and looked up at me seductively. He asked, “You wanna fuck my pussy?”
“Uh huh,” I grunted and nodded.
I led his tall ass to my bedroom. I spanked his soft bubble booty the whole way. He hopped on the bed on all fours. Face down. Ass up. He pulled the thong to the side and I saw his clenched brown pussy hole. He was pleading with me.
“Fuck this pussy, Bo! Fuck me, daddy! I need that big Black dick,” he purred.
I was mesmerized by this shit. I couldn’t help myself. I spat on his hole and began to smack it with my dick. He wiggled his body slowly. I pressed myself against him until it popped in.
“Oh shit, baby,” I howled.
“Fuck me,” he begged. “Fuck my pussy.”
I added all my weight until I was fully inside of him. Balls deep. Ya know? Then, I started stroking. Gentle at first, but picked up the pace. He was flailing and screaming. That shit was such a turn on.
“Fuck me, daddy,” he whined. “Fuck me harder! Fuck me like a girl!”
“Yeah! You’re a girl! You’re my girl,” I said.
“I love the way you fuck me! I’m such a bitch for your big Black dick!”
“Yeah, girl! Take it!”
I climbed onto the bed and pushed him flat on his stomach. I pounded harder. I slaughtered his pussy ass. We ended up in missionary before I knew it. I was still smashing. We went back to doggy.
At some point we were standing. I was banging him from behind with him up against the wall. He was so verbal.
“Give it to me, Bo! Fuck my pussy like I’m a real girl,” he cooed.
“You are a real girl, bitch,” I told him.
“Yes, sir!”
I tossed him back on the bed and went at it doggy for a while until I wanted him to ride me.
“You like how I bounce on that big dick, nigga,” he asked me.
“Hell yeah, bitch! Ride it!”
He jumped up and down like he was on a trampoline. He milked every bit of cum out my balls too.
We passed out after that. When we woke back up, we started drinking again and fucked even more. He didn’t end up leaving until early that next evening.
Ever since then I’ve been sold on the economics of gay sex. It’s been three weeks now and I’ve fucked him on more than ten occasions.
Judge or don’t judge. I could give a fuck. My balls are no longer blue.