IF IT WASN'T for the eviction notice taped to his door, he would've never took him up on his offer. He was desperate. None of his other plans were falling through. Either call that director back or be homeless. Finding the crumbled business card in his baggy jeans, his eyes has trouble focusing on the phone number because his hand wouldn't stop shaking. Coolly, his Brooklyn accent smothered all traces of fear, "Yo, let me talk to Enrique...You still need a bottom?"
It's been awhile, but a man gotta do what a man gotta do.
As a teenager, I remember getting my hands on an early volume of Doin' Da Butt from Enrique Cruz. I don't remember the performers' names, but I do remember the low-quality film, the motel room and the little portable DVD player for the tops to watch straight porn. I've seen amateur porn before, but this struck me as "real".
The scene opened with a little, cocky, chocolate bastard posing; I was initially annoyed. He had the nerve to wear white Air Force Ones to bed. Apparently, his over-sized platinum chain and fitted baseball cap was surgically attached to his body. He managed to keep it on, in spite of what happened to him next.
Enrique Cruz was always the enigmatic, camera man behind the scene. You could hear his voice as he snaps several pictures of the guy flexing his erection and spreading his perfectly round ass-cheeks. He was definitely handsome. He was nicely muscular with random ink scribbled across his flesh.
Then He walked in.
I remember feeling a little scared as the black behemoth entered into the room. He was extremely tall, muscle bound and dangerously hung. I estimate that he was of East Indian descent, mainly due to his dreadlocks and near black skin. I was hypnotized by the way his dick dangled slightly above his knees. He gave a devious, gap-toothed smile to the camera before getting to work.
Waiting on all fours, the bottom adjusted his cap. As Goliath put on a condom and applied lubrication, his dick was getting stiffer by the minute. The initial penetration was painfully slow; he kept cringing and bracing himself. Every inch entering into him made him yelp and mumble. Grunting and backing off, it was clear he was having a hard time. With one hand he was stroking his flaccid cock and the other hand firmly planted on Goliath's thigh. I guess, he wanted to control the amount of dick he was cramming in.
After a rough edit, the giant began to fuck him without mercy. Grappling him by the hips, he was slamming into to him at an alarming speed! The erection in my hand started to soften as my porn turned into a horror flick. I signed up for hot, black men going at it... this was sheer brutality. Banging in and out of him relentlessly, the bottom even tried to get away at some point. Then it happened.
His moans got higher and higher in pitch. His face tightened. He stopped masturbating and grabbed the edge of the mattress. His groaning turned in to sobs. Bawling, he screamed, "Oh God!" I was amazed to see him having a breakdown! I wasn't sure if it was from the pain or if he was having some kind of emotional release, but I've never seen this before in my life. Burying his face into the mattress, even his cries didn't slow the top's speed.
Watching this grown man cry stimulated me in an unexpected way.
I've been to funerals where thugs' eyes stayed dry. I've attended neighborhood murder scenes where thugs remained unaffected; laughed even. The only expression of sadness was a drink offering of malt liquor sent to the pavement. I remember thinking: We do feel.
African-American men have perfected the cavalier art of emotional sterility. Nonchalant. Unmoved. Untouchable. Watching that video forever changed my view of black men. Witnessing his pain and pleasure intertwine, I couldn't help but wonder if that was all he was crying about. Did he take that as an opportunity to mourn? An opportunity to release? Was he expressing the totality of his frustration in that moment? That as "real" as porn gets.
Forbidden Light wrote exclusively for ka-os|theory.
Pervert. Heretic. Avant-Gardian. New blogger, Forbidden Light, makes it his mission to mix all things with sex and fetish. With the belief that "sex is a microcosm of the universe"; he tests his theories by making strange sexual juxtapositions. In his blog, Journals of an Intelsexual, he severely over-analyzes the basic and attempts to summarize the grandiose. Kink. Spirit. Headaches. Is there any more to life?
Visit Forbidden Light at Journals of an Intelsexual
by KAOS on January 09, 2010