Light and Dark

One of the many benefits of heading up a company that creates erotica is that I can turn any and every business trip into a pleasure trip with a little bit of creative license.  If I’m scouting locations to shoot new videos, I absolutely must stay in the best hotels with a spa because I might be able to use it as the site of my next couple’s retreat.  If I’m doing a model search for new models, for fresh faces, what better place to do that than some sleepy little resort town in The Seychelles with pristine beaches, seafood that will make you question what the hell you’ve been eating your entire life, and gorgeous, toned Black bodies that have never even seen the inside of a gym or a mall.  And if Snarky Puppy is playing at the Jazz Festival in Amsterdam, well, it was just a coincidence that I had a book signing scheduled there that same weekend.  Talk about lucky! 

Snarky Puppy was playing at the jazz festival and my agent was able to make arrangements for me to have a book signing there but it lasted a whole of two hours.  The additional six days and twenty-two hours that my photographer and I stayed there were purely to sample the many delights that The Netherlands’ fair city had to offer.   If Uncle Sam asks, I was there looking for venues for the European leg of my live sex show.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 

Have you ever met a brotha who is fine but doesn’t know it?  No, you probably haven’t.   They are an entity so rare they are listed on the extinction list of mammals.  Most brothas, no matter how trifuliing they are, no matter how pathetic, think they are God’s gift.  Jason, my closest friend and photographer, was one of those rare, beautiful creatures found in nature who was part geek, part intellectual, part artist and he didn’t fit in with typical brothas so he just carved out a niche where he ended up a loner.  Look up fashion sense in the dictionary and there is a 3-D pop-up of him with a midi audio file that plays “I’m Too Sexy.”    With a smile that lights up any room, he was 6’3” of unadulterated café-au-lait-colored beauty. 

We were usually joined at the hip on my “business trips” (wink wink).  I’m exponentially more extroverted than he is but we fit together like hand-in-glove.  He’s the driving force behind the images for In Loving Color, we created the empire together from a dream and pure determination, so nine times out of ten, where I go, he goes.  This trip was no different.  We listened to amazing live music, ate great food from morning till night, and we smoked weed that had us glued to the sofa, practically comatose and simultaneously giggling, for six hours straight.  We met the locals, made friends, we traveled the countryside, him taking breathtaking images and me getting inspiration for my some future project.  I wasn’t sure what that inspiration was or what project that would be at the time but any time I have the opportunity to bask in such beauty and diversity, I take that sensation and store it away in my memory banks to use when I’m writing. 

Amsterdam’s Japanese population is relatively small but they get a fuck-ton of tourists from Japan there so they have some pretty exceptional Japanese restaurants.  One of my parlor tricks when we go out to have sushi is to let Jason order for us.  He lived in Japan for a number of years and picked up the language extraordinarily well.  I consider him fluent, he considers himself conversationally adequate.  When Japanese people hear him, their jaws drop and they stare in disbelief.   It never fails that people sitting near us start whispering to themselves, and within minutes, heads start popping out from the kitchen to see the Black guy who can speak Japanese.  Our restaurant of choice for the evening was Yamazoto and I have to give it five stars.  The food was amazing, the staff was super friendly, and the ambiance was perfection.  And the eye candy . . . it turned out to be the best in town. 

Midway through our meal, an actual God from Black Africa walked through the doors.  He was about 6’3” and blacker than blue black.  He had a bit of gray in his hair which made him look like he could have easily been Idris Elba’s blacker, more beautiful, big brother.  Swag?  He not only invented the word, he copyrighted and trademarked that shit.  He was wearing an ensemble by MaXhosa and he looked like he just stepped off the runway from Paris Fashion Week.  Every eye in the place turned and watched him as he made his way through the restaurant to sit with his dinner companion, a caramel-skinned brotha who was beautiful in his own right but over-shadowed by the glow of melanin, charm, charisma, and pure magnetism that emanated from his cohort of deep, dark, chocolate heaven. 

As luck would have it, the pair sat at the table next to us, I was facing the other brotha and Jason was sitting opposite Shaka Zulu.   That was all I could think to call him at the time because words failed me in the presence of his stature and beauty.   With the wait staff paying extra attention to both our tables, Jason and his Japanese and brotha man being damn near a rock star, my sake cup was practically overflowing every time I took more than two sips.  I was getting tipsy and emboldened so I started striking up a conversation with the masculine perfection to my left.  I couldn’t tell exactly what sort of relationship he had with his dinner companion; I couldn’t tell if they were lovers or friends or business acquaintances or what.  What I could tell, unquestionably, was that big sexy had eyes for Jason.  He was smiling and flirting and giving Jason the I’m-going-to-stare-you-down-until-you-look-in-my-direction-and-then-I’m-going-to-let-you-know-with-my-eyes-that-I-want-to-devour-you-whole-until-you-are-intimidated-and-you-look-away look.  What?  That’s a thing, isn’t it? 

If I wasn’t the reigning Queen of monogamy, very happily in love with the man of my dreams who was working on a project in Canada and unable to join us, I would have felt like the fat, ugly, wing-woman because brotha man didn’t even look in my direction.  To his great credit, the brotha sitting next to Jason didn’t seem to be intimidated or jealous at all.  He seemed to know that he had to pause his conversation when his friend was distracted and making goo-goo eyes at Jason and he waited for a break in the flirting to make his important points. 

Totally tipsy and typically outgoing, I struck up a conversation with the pair.  The Jews say that the name of God cannot be pronounced or spoken.  Dey was wrong, dey was dead ass wrong.  He introduced himself as Adeshola Adetola and in that moment, a chorus of little brown cherubs descended from heaven and started playing the pan-flute, a few trumpets, and I’m pretty sure there was a harpsicord in the mix as well.   With his lilting French/West African accent, I was convinced that no sweeter sounding name had ever crossed anyone’s lips in the history of mankind.  His friend, Samuel Owatulu, and he were friends from childhood in Cote D'Ivoire and they had formed a tech business together and had moved to Amsterdam to further their education and take it to the next level.   Within minutes our tables were pushed together and I was eating off their plates like we were good friends.  Did I mention the food was out of this world? 

I couldn’t even get our names off my lips before Adeshola erupted with glee.  He knew of In Loving Color, our book, and he started gushing like a school boy.  In all honesty, finding anyone who hadn’t heard of our book would have been difficult to do.  It would be like trying to find someone who hadn’t heard of Harry Potter or 50 Shades of Grey.  We’d sold over 20 million copies worldwide and that was only for the hardcover coffee table book of stories and images.  The pillow-book, the supplemental books of all photography, the videos, the entire AfroerotiK brand was in every corner of the world.  I’m sure there were a few people on the planet who had never heard of it but they were blind, deaf, paralyzed and lived in a cave in Uzbekistan.  For all our success, Jason and I were conspicuously low-key and could come and go without much fan-fare.  We enjoyed the success without the fame and celebrity. 

Both Adeshola and Sam started singing our praises, Sam making sure to let us know that he was in a stable, heterosexual relationship and how our book had done wonders for his relationship with their sex life and their communication.  I think he was quick to share that information so that he could make sure that “everyone” knew that he and his friend weren’t lovers.  And when I say everyone, I really mean Jason.  Adeshola didn’t even attempt to hide his sexual preference and he went on and on about how he loved that the book gave men like him, who felt free to love men and women equally, a voice that had been silenced before.  They were both going on and on about which stories were their favorites, about which pictures and characters turned them on the most.  They were true fanboys. 

Jason loosened up and started to be more engaged with our dinner companions, flirting back a little bit.  Jason was also a man who felt free to love both men and women equally and the process of shooting for the book, its subsequent phenomenal success, and our resulting financial windfall, he’d sort of had to learn to be very comfortable in his own skin and his sexual preferences, or lack thereof.  He didn’t feel the need to wear a t-shirt that said, “I Like Dick,” but he also was very comfortable letting it be known in appropriate settings that he had no reason to hide his real identity.  That was the reason I wrote the book in the first place, to give people of African descent a real model of emotional maturity, intimacy, communication, and mind-blowing sex to arouse them.  Every shape, every shade, size and sexual preference was shown in a healthy, erotic light.  You can’t be closeted or uncomfortable with your own sexuality when you are two-handedly . . . double-handedly responsible for moving millions of people from freaks, of both the puritanical and ghetto varieties, to expressive, empowered, sensual, sentient, passionate, erotic, Black beings.  I wrote the stories, Jason took the images.  It wouldn’t have been such a phenomenal success without both of those elements together so whatever you want to call it, it wasn’t single-handedly, it was a true partnership. 

Samuel and Adeshola insisted on paying for our meal, saying that it was only fair because we had given them so much pleasure with our book.  They invited us for drinks and weed at a café on the other side of town and we quickly accepted.  The town was replete with jazz artists playing in small little venues and the idea of listening to Gregory Porter in a club as big as my living room and enjoying the effects of some of the world’s best goddamn Kush ever was an invitation that was impossible to pass up.  We piled into a cab and Jason and Adeshola were VERY close.  They were so stunning together they could have been models for an AfroerotiK photoshoot.  They were a study in chiaroscuro, light and dark all within the spectrum of pure BLACK. The chemistry and sexual attraction between the two of them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

We all tumbled onto the sofa in the club virtually on top of one another and looked over the cannabis menu.  I usually prefer to use oil but I opted to vaporize the AK-47 so I could get more immediate results.  Having learned my lesson from previous days, three hits and I was sufficiently fucked up to enjoy the music and the company and not be a drooling idiot.  Before I knew anything, J & A were shot-gunning and making out in the dimly-lit speak-easy, exchanging tongues more than smoke.  I couldn’t take my eyes off them.  They were sexy.  The contrast in skin tones, the ease and comfort level they had with themselves, I’m not going to lie; it was sexy as two fucks. 

After the show and out in the beautiful night air, Adeshola invited all of us back to his flat to listen to some more music and to smoke a little bit more.  Jason and I did a quick huddle.  I told him that I didn’t want to cramp his style and I would take a cab back to the hotel and see him whenever he got back.  Adeshola and Sam did a quick huddle of their own and before I could even begin to guess what they were discussing, Adeshola was saying goodbye to Samuel and telling me that I was going with Jason and he back to his place, no questions asked.   Samuel and I hugged goodbye and I hoped we would see each other again. 

I don’t even remember how we got from the club to Adeshola’s apartment I was that buzzed.  His flat looked like he did, fit for a rock star.  It was industrial and sleek and masculine and modern with crazy sex-appeal.  Every furnishing, every piece of art was a show-stopper.  With the push of a few buttons, the lights were dimmed, music played softly, and a fire glowed in the fireplace to take the slight chill out of the air.  Adeshola excused himself to his bedroom and returned wearing a pair of white linen drawstring pants and not another stitch of clothing.  I had to laugh as Jason’s eyes almost popped out of his head and I heard him say, “Oh, fuck,” which I’m pretty sure was meant to be internal dialogue. 

Ade made his way to the kitchen and was calling out to us for our drink orders.  I didn’t need another drink, I didn’t need another anything I was flying so high so I stayed glued to the sofa and was hearing notes in songs that I was absolutely sure no one else had ever heard before.  Jason asked for a Rum Runner and then nonchalantly made his way to the kitchen to help make it.  I was pretty sure he didn’t want a Rum Runner, a Rum Jogger, or a Rum Speed-Walker, he just wanted to be close to Adeshola. 

I’ll be honest, I have no idea how much time had passed but eventually, I realized that I had been sitting there alone for a very long time.  I got up and made my way to the kitchen.  “Hey, what are you guys . . .”  I stopped mid-sentence. 

There, in the middle of the small kitchen, was Jason, on his knees giving an incredibly slow, sensual, deep blow-job.  Adeshola looked up at me and let me know it was some of the best head he’d ever had in his life, biting his lower lip and his eyes rolling back slightly in his head.  He caressed Jason’s head and fucked his mouth gently. My boy was going all in.  He was licking and fingering balls, he was stroking and sucking and I could hear Adeshola’s soft moans getting louder and louder. 

He grabbed his dick and pulled it away.  In his sexy West African accent he said, “Jason here tells me you like to watch.  I understand you don’t want to play, that’s off limits.  But, if you are interested, would you care to join us in the bedroom while we get more comfortable? I’m going to fuck your friend all night long.”  Jason moaned. 

Uhmmm, did I want to watch?  I would have donated a kidney in that moment to be able to watch these two.  I would have done the operation myself with no anesthesia to be able to watch.  Adeshola held out his hand and Jason steadied himself to stand up.  Having discarded his linen pants and fully naked, his dick was thick and long and shiny with spit and stood proudly against his abs.  He turned to walk to the bedroom and his ass was a sculptor’s dream in Ebony.  I had the good sense to find my phone to call my boo and tell him very quickly what was about to go down.  We had complete trust in one another and he had no reason to be afraid I was going to do anything to jeopardize our relationship.  He knew that I was comfortable enough with my sexuality that I am a confirmed voyeur; I’m aroused by seeing people be uninhibited and intimate. 

I slid my panties off and put them in my purse and made my way to where the action was.  In the bedroom there was a chair that was perfect for me to observe the goings on.  Things were already heating up.  I positioned myself comfortably; hopefully my dress would provide enough protection so I wouldn’t make a mess in the seat.  Ade and Jason were kissing.  It had to be one of the most sensual, erotic kisses I’d ever witnessed, and again, I’m in the business of creating erotica so try to grasp the full impact of what I’m saying.  They were making love with their mouths.  Adeshola held Jasons face gently in his hands and their tongues were communicating their desire for each other.  I was pretty convinced, although I couldn’t be sure, that this was going to be way more than a one night stand.   Jason and I had known each other almost 20 years.  We’d shared lots of intimate and sexual voyeuristic opportunities with one another.  Never before had I felt this electric current before that seemed to fill the room. 

Adeshola took charge and I knew my boy loved it.  He undressed Jason slowly, seducing him, teasing him.  Every button on his shirt seemed to take FORRRRever to unbutton.  Once Jason’s shirt was gone, Adeshola teased and twisted Jason’s nipples, not brutally, but definitely enough to get a response.  Jason’s response was to grab for that black fuckstick and try to suck it again, he wanted things to progress faster.  He hated the tease and he simultaneously loved the tease.  He loved being seduced.   I think Adeshola was a little shocked when he unzipped Jason’s pants and pulled out a huge hunk of meat.  It certainly rivaled his own in length and girth and it was standing at full attention.  It was Adeshola’s turn to display his oral skills and he pushed Jason down on the edge of the bed and got between his legs on his knees and started sucking him off like a champ.  It was clear that the roles of top and bottom were antiquated to Adeshola as he was about pleasure, both giving and receiving it.   And Jason was receiving it in spades.  Ade licked his way down his chest, teased his nipples, his tongue circled the head and licked the precum that was freely flowing.  A master at deep-throating, he showed off his skills. 

By this time, I could see that Jason was about to explode and he had to put a stop to the oral action.   “Come on, Daddy, give me some of that big dick,” he said and he laid back on the bed and held his legs up, inviting Adeshola to plow him deep and hard.  Not one to be rushed, Adeshola wanted to enjoy all the sensations his new lover had to offer.  He grabbed Jason’s thighs and pushed them further back, touching his chest, and made a dive to eat some hot ass.  Jason groaned like a wounded animal.  His head thrashed about on the pillow, back and forth.  I was beside myself with arousal and I slid my finger between my pussy lips gently, afraid I was going to cum too quickly. 

Jason started speaking in Japanese, Adeshola in French.  I couldn’t understand what the hell either of the two of them were saying but I didn’t need a translator.  I could tell from the look on Jason’s face that he was in the throes of intense pleasure.  The tongue fucking he was getting was superb.  I wanted him to look at me.  I wanted to make eye contact with me to show me that he was loving every second of this.  He shut his eyes tightly and thrust his ass to make that tongue go deeper.  He stroked his big dick and started saying, “Fuck me, ram that big black dick in my pussy, Daddy.  Make me your nasty little bitch, Daddy.  Hard, long, deep, dick my wet pussy.” 

They kissed again, sharing in the intimate taste of ass.  Adeshola flipped Jason over and positioned him on his knees with his head on the pillows.  His hole was wet and loose and winked at him to invade it deeply.  Adeshola grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand and poured it liberally on his big, dark meat.  Jason turned his head and he made eye contact with me.  I was rubbing my pussy and moaning, ready to shoot my cum across the room.  It signified, for me, a level of trust he had with me that said that he would do things in front of me that he wouldn’t do in front of anyone else in the world. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” was all he said.  It was understood by all what he needed.  Feeling that throbbing, enormous, super-black, dick pumping him, filling him, was what he craved.  He wanted the connection of having his lover inside him.  He wanted sex the way it was supposed to be. 

Adeshola didn’t hesitate.  He lined up the head of his dick with Jason’s hole and pushed it in.  They both moaned.  “Tell me you love this dick, say you love it.” 

Jason complied almost before the request could be completed.  “I love that fucking dick.  Harder!  Deeper!  Fuck my pussy.  FUCK it!  I need it so bad.”  The room filled with the scents of real men fucking: sweat, pheromones, and ass.  I came.  I tried to hold back but I couldn’t help it.  It didn’t stop me one bit.  I was still wet and aroused and masturbating and wanting more.  They gave me more.  They changed positions and Jason rode Ade, bouncing up and down trying to get every millimeter of that gorgeous penis inside him. 

They switched positions again and this time they were face to face.  They started kissing again as Adeshola aimed his powerful dick at its intended target and drove it home.  Jason wrapped his legs around him and tried to pull him in deeper.  The moaning from all three of us was at a fevered pitch.  Jason grabbed his dick and started stroking it and begging for Adeshola to deposit his cum as deeply as he could.  Jason came first.  His cum shot all the way up to his face, landing on his mouth.  He licked his lips as Ade kissed him again and started pounding his raw, well-fucked hole.  He was a man on a mission.  I couldn’t believe he had lasted this long.  He grabbed Jason’s legs and pushed them back and started ramming his dick harder than I would have thought possible.  “Mon dieu!  Fuuuuck!” 

He collapsed. 

Within a minute, the two of them were a mass of flesh, light and dark, intimately intertwined, snuggling and falling fast asleep.  I collected myself and covered them with the sheet.  I freshened up in the powder room and left them there to rest, rejuvenate, communicate, and fuck some more. 

Copyright 2015 AfroerotiK