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[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]Some of us, however, knew of a way to not only escape the heat but to engage in our favorite pastime: Head to the creek. A lot of other people would have the same idea, of course, but us kids had an advantage of having explored the creek along its length (and as far as we dared to) in great detail, revealing many isolated places where we could skinny dip and have sex.

Sometimes, we'd go in a group but there were many of those scalding hot days where you'd roam the neighborhood looking for someone to make the trip to the creek with you, not necessarily for sex but you just kinda didn't want to go there by yourself and even that could be a problem since summertime was also that time of the year where some of us would get in trouble and either get grounded or confined to the block we lived on.

But if you could find someone - or a bunch of us could make the trip - the cold waters of the creek would cool us down... so we could get heated up so the sperm could start flowing and almost like the waters of the creek did. For a lot of us, there was nothing better than spending some time in the water until we got all chilled and wrinkled, then to climb out, find a somewhat cooler spot to air dry in... and turn our attention to giving the dick - or dicks - in attendance some attention and, often, with breaks to jump into the water not only recharge our empty balls but to sluice away any sweat that covered us in the process of emptying each other's balls... and to wash away any... evidence that might be oozing out of our butts.

Many areas were perfect for this. Surrounded by trees and bushes so thick that you could walk right past someone and not know that they were there and even if you heard something, good luck trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. And while most people who wander down to the creek stuck to the more popular spots to swim or fish, the area was too big to be crowded, leaving many places empty of people and giving us the privacy we needed to do what had to be done... and despite the stifling heat of the day.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]Getting out of school for the summer had to be what it felt like to get out of jail - well, except for those unfortunate kids who had to spend their summer vacation going to summer school, that is. It was a time for ripping and running... and greater opportunities for us guys to get naked and have sex with each other and in any form we could get away with. While the cock sucking and ass fucking pretty much went unabated with us during the school year and in a limited way over the winter months, summer was that time for us to make up for that lost time, trying to pack it in (and literally) as much as we could because we all knew that the start of the new school year would be upon us before we knew it.

On the hottest days, man... try cooling off. Only the "wealthiest" of families had air conditioning and box fans stuck in windows only served to move the hot air around more than it made things cooler inside... which made a lot of us very happy to get kicked outside even though, on some days, the air was so hot and still that not even standing in the shade of a tree made much of a difference.

The city's pools - all five of them - would be overloaded with people and scrounging up ten cents to pay to get in (twenty-five cents on the weekend) was pretty hard to do and some days, it would just be too damned hot to roam the neighborhood looking for bottles to return for their deposit. We were learning that being free from the tedium of school lost it's shine in the face of those hot, steamy summer days when there were few things moving outside.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]It taught me not to have preferences and to look at other guys for who they were as a person, to pay attention to what desires they had in this and, as a part of understanding my own bisexuality better, why they were like me. And, I think, the biggest and most important thing all those white guys I'd had sex with growing up taught me was that it's really just sex and wanting to do it was the only thing that really mattered.

I'd tell my friends that if we thought we were some horny motherfuckers, they really did need to meet some white guys. The funny thing is there was a white guy in our "gang" but not only did we not pay attention to the fact that he was white, we didn't really pay that much attention to how much eager he was to do it and, yeah, I even kicked my own ass because I hadn't noticed it either but I figured out that because he was one of the gang, that little difference just got overlooked. There was never a time that he didn't want to do it; he didn't care if all we did was blow each other or fucked each other - all he cared about was being able to do it and with any of us that wanted to.

I even talked to him about what I had discovered, hoping he might be able to shed some light on this... and he just kinda shrugged and said that he had no idea why I was seeing this but, yeah, he loved doing it with other boys because it was a chance to have sex - and who didn't like having sex? If nothing else, talking to him showed me that he knew a lot more about sex than I did - not so much how to do it but what sex meant - and that made me take a very serious look at sex itself rather than what was being done.

And those lessons learned so many decades ago have stayed with me. Some guys are very... uptight about this and some guys just aren't; race, again, doesn't play into either of these things because at the end of the day, it's all about what you know about sex and understanding that the only real limits are the ones we put in the way of being able to suck and fuck each other, make each other cum, and make each other feel good.

And then do it again.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]All of this taught me some very important shit, like, race didn't matter when it came to guys doing it to other guys. While white guys were... curious about cock size, eh, it didn't matter to them, not like it was beginning to with other guys. Sure... some guys thought that doing it with a Black guy would be different but would quickly realize and understand that it really wasn't all that different since, duh, aren't we both boys?

I got it into my head to ask the white guys I was having sex with why they were so... eager to do it but that got me pretty much nowhere because they'd all pretty much say that they were curious, had always wanted to try it and the expected thing that they'd done it before and just liked doing it. I had wondered if personality had anything to do with this but even that was inconclusive because guys who were bold and brash didn't seem to be all that different from the ones who were quiet and reserved.

All I knew was white guys loved to do it with other guys... well, most of the time but it was clear to me that the ones who didn't had the same fears and even prejudices seen in other guys - you know, all that biblical stuff and being a queer faggot and other shit like that.

Eventually, I just stopped trying to figure it out and just went with the flow of things. I'd learned that race and other shit, if it did anything else, kept me from having sex with other guys (and even girls) and that the only thing that really mattered - and should matter - was the desire to do it. Period. Skin color didn't matter. Didn't matter whether you were rich or poor; the size of your dick didn't mean anything. Having the desire and even need to do it like this - and then being unafraid to - meant everything and, well, hmm, white guys, to me, had a lot of desire and little to no fear whatsoever. But so did a lot of other guys and that made trying to nail this down even harder to do and the reason why I eventually gave up trying to figure it out.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]They'd want to play "Show Me Yours;" they'd want to touch my dick (and ask if I wanted to touch theirs); sometimes we'd forego the... preliminaries and go right to, "Can I suck it?" and with quite a few, eh, just sucking was only the beginning and the warm up to fucking each other. At this point, I could get into all that stuff about the guys who didn't want to fuck and just wanted to be fucked or the guys who wanted to fuck but didn't want to be fucked - that was just personal preference stuff but regardless of those things, yeah - white guys, it seemed, liked doing it with boys and they didn't care what color the guy was, either.

Like I said, I heard, "Do you wanna do it?" from more white guys than any other. Sometimes - and being paranoid - I'd ask if they were afraid that we'd get caught... and sometimes they said no and sometimes they'd say they weren't worried about it... but let's hurry up and do it just in case. If they weren't into fucking, holy crap - they were fierce cock suckers! Nine times out of ten, they swallowed (not that it was a requirement then or now) and the one guy who wouldn't would apologize profusely for not being used to the taste... then go right back to sucking my dick.

Fucking? Rarely any complaints about "it hurts" or "take it out" and when they fucked me, it wasn't like they were doing it like they were trying to prove something. And even if some of them mentioned that it hurt, they didn't want to stop. Along the way, I'd hear my peers complaining about white guys like they were the worst humans ever and how they were getting tired of white guys bugging them to have sex... and many of them saying that if the guy wasn't white, he'd do it to him.

Just a very sad state of affairs and sign of the times. One of my peers somehow found out about me doing it to a white guy and gave me some grief about it and asked me why we were sucking each other off - and that's when I came up with my private joke of, "They taste really good!" The guy was pissed about both things and wanted to fight... and got his ass kicked for his troubles; why you'd want to start a fight with someone who knew both judo and karate was beyond me - but I kinda digress.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]Was it a coincidence that I had a lot of white friends? No, not really because, again, my parents drove into my head to not judge anyone by the color of their skin that and I was starting to see that Black kids were being more... standoffish than white kids and, I think, because of the times that continued to insist that white people couldn't be trusted and all that garbage and that distrust extended to pretty much everyone with a lot of my friends and those who would become ex-friends.

Again, it wasn't that my peers didn't want to do it because they did but as we grew up more, they were starting to move away from the sex we could have... but not the white kids; to me, for every Black friend I had that gave it up, two white kids were right there to take their place. At this point, I'd have to say that not all of my white friends were eager to explore... but, yeah, a lot of them were more than eager. Some cultural differences... or just my kind of luck?

I still don't really know the answer to this but given what I was experiencing, I could pretty much count on a lot of white guys who'd want to do it and if they didn't, they weren't afraid to talk about it.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]My parents raised me to see people for who they are and not by the color of their skin and then to understand that what one person might do to piss you off does not - and cannot - condemn similar people on a wholesale kind of basis.

As I walked the bisexual path, one thing became very apparent to me: There were more white guys than any other who were very interested in having sex with other boys and, back then, I couldn't figure out why this was but would go on to learn that cultural differences - as well as how parents raise their children - can play into such things... but until I came to understand these things, it was almost a sure bet that if I knew a white guy, he'd be interested in having sex of some kind.

People have asked me why I "prefer" white guys (and I really don't have any such preferences) and my answer, in the form of a private joke of my own is, "They taste better!" but the real answer is that I found that white guys were more... open-minded about it? Eager? Maybe didn't get beat over the head with all the bullshit it seemed like everyone else did about how evil it was and going to hell if you did it?

There wasn't anything that I could point to and say, "Yeah... that's why!" because, again, I hadn't learned some stuff. All I knew and what was evident to me that, again, if I met a white guy, at some point he was going to ask whether or not I'd ever done it with a boy... and then ask if I wanted to do it with him. I grew up around a lot of Black kids and it wasn't like none of them would ever ask The Question - it seemed the curiosity for this affected "everyone." But while a lot of Black guys would be interested, they'd also be very afraid to do anything and one couldn't blame them since the punishments, back in those days, could be quite brutal.

You don't know what pain is until you get your ass whipped with an extension cord and there are deliberately exposed wires. You probably don't know what it's like to have one parent whip your ass... then the other one beats your ass, too. So my friends and I were taking a lot of risks to do the things we were doing but it seemed to me that white kids - in particular - either didn't have these risks... or they really just didn't give a fuck about them.[/SIZE][/FONT]

Work had me staying over in the city for a conference, so I browsed the forums and message boards, not really expecting anything. Couple bad timings, requests for photos, messages that get ghosted after some time. One message thread had that laid back no rush vibe, really good conversation, decent photos, said he would check-in in the morning. I went to bed with some curious dreams.

The next morning I checked my emails nothing, I was a little let down, a little relieved, a sigh and I jumped in the shower. My phone dinged new mail, he was on the subway and in the neighborhood, I checked the clock fretted about time, and shot him a reply 10min.

I got out of the shower, dried off, wrapped a towel around my waist and put some down on the bed, and waited. My heart rate quickened, I kept checking the peephole, calm down I told myself. There was a knock, I opened the door and let him in. He looked like his photos. He stepped in, said "lets get to it and get you on your way". He started stripping, I took off my towel and climbed on the bed.

My heart was still racing, and I knew I don't respond well to that. I laid back and took deep breaths, he leaned over the bed and took me in his mouth. He was skilled, and it felt good but my nerves got the better of me and I couldn't get hard. I wanted to get hard so bad, and cum. After about ten minutes of trying he called it, I apologized and he says it happens, no biggie. "Here" he says "I want to show you a hard one" He stood up and removed his shorts. Sucking me had made him hard, his dick stood out and curved upwards.

I asked if I could give sucking a try, he said sure, and climbed onto the bed. I tried to move over and roll, but I fell off the bed, I laughed and said I had never done this before. I remounted the bed and climbed between his legs, he relaxed and closed his eyes. I reached out with my right hand and grasped it, felt its warmth, and stroked it up and down a couple of pumps. It was soft, flexible skin over a hard core, it felt like mine but was also different from it. This was it, no chickening out now, I thought of all the stereotypical ways to start sucking a dick, images of porn popped in to my head. I stuck my tongue out about mid way along the shaft and ran it up to the head, along the hole, and then placed my lips around the head. Remember don't use the teeth. I moved it back and forth and slid my tongue around the inside, I tried seeing how far back I could get it, I jerked the shaft at points, I tried everything I could think of at least once. I wondered how much time had passed, I tried to eye the clock, I realized it was a patient waiting game I just had to keep doing this while his pleasure built. I hope it is pleasurable, he has been quite silent, I don't see what the big deal women make of this besides the repetition, I can see if there was music or TV on.

I had been trying to put myself on autopilot, a zen like state where the time can pass and I can just bob up and down, and lick and suck find a rhythm. A couple of times I wondered what it would feel like to take this cock up my ass, and cursed that he wasn't available at night where I would have all the time to ask, and try. He made a noise, I must be getting better at it or its having a cumulative effect. What did I do? I should do it again, or more often if it elicited that kind of response from him. But I didn't need to his grunt was his sign that he was cumming, his dick pulsed in my mouth and his cum streamed out into my mouth. I thought to my self, keep your mouth on it, otherwise it will go all over the place, don't spill a drop. I worried that there would be too much, but he finished, and I squeezed and jerked upwards to get the last bits out and slid my lips up and sucked any leftovers out. I pantomimed that I was going to the bathroom, slid off the bed and jogged to the sink where I spit, and washed my mouth out. I was somewhat sad at that, I wish I had some close to, that I could feel comfortable swallowing.

I got out and he was already dressing up we said goodbye and I let him out. I showered again, got dressed and went to work. All day my lips tingled and I kept thinking to my self, I sucked my first cock, I don't see what all the fuss is about and wouldn't mind doing it again. We chatted a couple times after, and did the doctor visit and got cleared. So now every now and then I day dream about that day in October.