The Black Man

I met Kelvin at Union Station in Washington, D.C., a busy hub where the Metro subway system intersects the Amtrak train lines that serve the Northeast Corridor. He was a muscular black man with dark chocolate skin, a bald head, and thick legs that filled his jeans. He had a powerful upper body that impressed even under his loose fitting t-shirt.

Kelvin invited me back to his place, which was a short distance from the station on East Capitol Street. He lived with his cousin, a construction worker who was out for the afternoon.

Kelvin sat on the couch and it didn't take long before I had him undressed. I had never been with a black man before and was eager to see if there was any truth to the stereotype about the size of black cock. But even before I had his pants unzipped I could see that I was not going to be disappointed. Kelvin had a huge bulge.

I opened his fly and pulled out the long, fat cock from his boxers. The shaft was a deep ebony color but the head was slightly lighter, almost pink. His musk was deep and intoxicating. I sucked that cock like I had never sucked cock before.

Kelvin and I saw each other off and on for the next few years, always meeting at Union Station on days his cousin was away. When I first met him, I was 22 years old and practically a virgin. Kelvin changed all that. Over time, I opened up to him, and he was able to glide his fat black cock into my pink hole with ease.

Those were heady days. Over the years I have developed a passion for black men, but it all began with Kelvin on East Capitol Street.