Previously on THE DIARY OF A NIGERIAN FUCKBOY

*

Tijel asked me if I wanted anything to drink and I requested water. He poured me a cold glass and sat across the room, just staring. We sat like that for a while, me drinking water and looking at the TV screen and seeing him stare at me from the corners of my eyes. I finally turned to look back at him and he smiled and said “What?” in that African-American way. I said “Nothing”, and he arched his brow in that “Oookkkaaayyy” way.

I imagined him being the vain, fashion-crazy and pop-culture kind of guy, judging from the magazines arranged about the house, the pictures on his wall and Jhene Aiko music playing in the background from his stereo.

“You look nervous,” he said.

“I am not,” I replied. Truth is, I was trying to understand his personality; he seemed rude but I didn’t want to be hasty in my assessment of him.

While I was still in my train of thought, he said, “If you are not feeling up to it, we could meet another time.”

What! I didn’t just drive toward the outskirts of the city to come see you and get nothing out of it! I thought.

Aloud, I said, “You look like you are about heading out, so I’m not sure.” As I spoke, I got up and moved across the room to where he was sitting.

I got to him and he reached for my belt and pants, pulling down and gaining access to my dick.

I was not hard.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I was screaming in my head. This was about to get awkward.

He looked up at me and said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I didn’t reply. I just pulled him up, turned him over and got a view of what I saw when I arrived. He had a phat ass with thick thighs – two of my favourite things on a man. Upon seeing them, it didn’t take too long. I started feeling happy down there. I pulled down his shorts to reveal a dark-blue pair of sport tights. The view was massive, two pillows kind of thing. I took a deep breath and dug my face in with the tights still on, burying deep into the elastic fabric and getting a whiff of cologne and body wash.

He is a clean guy, I thought as I finally pulled down the undergarment to reveal the thickest cakes ever.

I lay face up on the couch and he knew what to do. He stood over me and put that beautiful pair on my face. My tongue found access to his hole and dug in, making him release a loud moan and begging me to go deeper. He rode my face, taking control of the air and making me take quick moments to inhale before crushing my face yet again with his ass. I imagined someone looking from across the room and seeing that my face is no longer in sight because his massive ass had taken all of it. He kept rocking my face while he jerked off and jerked me off too.

This action moved to the floor, dining table, doorways and against the walls. His moans and cries of pleasure resonated as I ate him out. With each oral action, his back arched deeper, his hole got wetter and opened for more.

“Just eat me, daddy!”

“Fuck papi!”

He gasped and cried endlessly as I ate him out and he jerked off.

Then the moment of climax came. I could feel his hole throb around my tongue, becoming tight, with his cheeks clenching about my face like a vice. He was about to cum and his soft moan turned to a loud, room-scattering groan.

“FUCK!” he screamed as I felt hot liquid spread across my chest and belly.

I felt him shuddering and grabbing my thighs for balance. He continued to sit on my face, catching his breath while I jerked off till climax. He stood up, breathing heavily, looked at me from over his shoulders and said, “That was fucking amazing.”

He stepped into the bathroom, showered and gave me a clean towel as he pointed me towards the bathroom. After I had a quick shower, I came out to see him arranging the sitting room and spraying disinfectant from an aerosol can across the room. He really was a neat freak. He went to the bathroom and mopped it clean. I was quite impressed with his level of neatness and gave him a compliment. He replied “Thank you” and asked where I came from originally.

“I am African,” I replied. I hated saying my actual nationality.

He inquired more and I said, “West Africa.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer and said he liked my accent. I was quite grateful he didn’t have the usual response many Americans have by saying how they have some African friend or neighbour or colleague, some ignorantly asking if I know the person or speak the same language as the said person, forgetting that Africa is a fucking big continent and we don’t all know each other and speak the same language.

He made a joke, asking if all African guys were like me. I laughed as he led me to the door. We both stepped outside and he said, “Thanks for coming. I am heading to the gym now. Let’s meet sometime soon.”

We said our goodbyes and moved in opposite directions. I turned around quickly to catch a quick glimpse of that ass.

“That is a fucking big ass,” I said to myself, fighting another boner.

Body count: 3 or 2-and-a-half (if you don’t consider oral sex as actual sex).

Written by Duke

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