They fucked that night. Tracey paid no mind to the pro athlete being married. She enjoyed it. So did he. Les worked that light-skinned vixen with green eyes all night long.
“Oh fuck me,”yelled the publicly reserved pageant queen.
“Yeah, baby,” he growled. “Take this big dick!”
“Oh, Daddy! Fuck me!”
“Yeah, girl! Take this big Black dick,” bellowed the baritone man.
It didn’t take long until he was banging the future 2nd runner-up to Miss Arkansas, and highest placing Black woman in the pageant’s history to that point, on a regular basis.
It went on until the player’s wife figure out the nonsense. She was having none of it. She shut that shit down hard. “Everythang you owe me, I’ma get it first,” she told him.
That hung over Les’ head.
But, he still fucked the shit out of Tracey on the regular.
They banged like crazy.
In motel rooms. Behind dumpsters.
Tracey turned out to be a pampered princess down for it all.
Les was big brute.
Les navigated the first divorce as best he could. It was really no match if you met the other attorney.
He played six seasons. Two with the Houston Oilers. One with the New York Giants. The final three from the Falcons.
His ex-wife had cleaned him out and even negotiated for a third of his NFL pension when he began receiving payouts.
Les moved back to Mississippi – not far from his hometown. He was a god. He started a used car dealership and opened a sports bar. He was a volunteer coach for the local high school football team. He remained in contact with the sandy-brown haired Tracey after she graduated from UAPB and all through law school in Fayetteville.
When Tracey finished her law degree, Les gave her a late model Cutlass Supreme coupe and proposed with a 1.5-carat diamond cluster ring on a 24-carat yellow gold band. She said yes.
The daughter of a physics professor & a home economics teacher married the son of a maid & unknown paternal parentage.
Unbeknownst to Tracey, the man she walking down the aisle towards had just fucked her cousin last night. In fact, Les had been fucking the sexy 20 year-old girlish acting Ritchie for about 5 years now. They didn’t see each other often but when they did, it was on and popping.
The medium brown Ritchie was riding Les’ 9½-inch dick and screaming, “Oh, baby!”
“Yeah, faggit! Jump of this big dick!”
“I love fuckin’ yo’ faggit ass,” the former offensive lineman slapped the slender sissy’s bubble butt.
“Oh do you, Daddy?”
“Hell yeah, baby,” Les sweated profusely. “Look at that hard pussy stick you got! You like it too!”
“I love it, Daddy,” wailed Ritchie as his 7-inch woody slapped against his Daddy’s big stomach.
“Bounce on that dick, baby! Give it to me.”
“Yes, sir! You gonna stop fucking me when you marry my cousin?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want you to stop. Ever.” confessed the slutty punk.
“Then I won’t,” promised Les. “Oh this pussy is good!”
“Yeah, Daddy! Take that boipussy.”
Les had foregone a huge bachelor party this time around. He’d done it the first time – white strippers with big fake boobs, champagne, black dicks on blonde pussies, & all that jazz. This time around it was very simple. A nice dinner with the groomsmen then back to his hotel room. Now, Ritchie’s tight boipussy wrapped around his big Mississipi dick.
“Fuck, faggit! You gon’ make a nigga nut!”
“Cum for me, Daddy! Cum, nigga,” cried the sassy cock lover.
Les busted a resounding load into Ritchie’s tender rectum.
“Oh my god,” giggled Ritchie.
“What,” checked Les.
“You silly,” chuckled Les.
Tracey took her vows. The wedding was a lovely ceremony.
The extravagantly robed minister announced, “I present to you Mr. & Mrs. Lester Phillips.” The crowd cheered.
Tracey moved to town where Les lived and set up her solo law practice. Together, they had one daughter, Amber.
Occasionally, RItchie would call the private line in Les’ office at the dealership.
“Hello,” the brutish man said.
“Hey, Daddy,” lisped the supple Ritchie.
“What’s up, baby?”
“Just can’t stop thinking about you?”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah! Are y’all coming to the family reunion?”
“You know we are!”
“I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Same here! How’s school?”
“It’s fine. Boring. But I’ll be done soon,” rejoiced the caller.
“You gonna be my head nurse,” joked Les.
“You know it, Daddy! I’ll wear a sexy white uniform and everything.”
“I’m gonna tell Tracey we should come to your graduation.”
“That’d be great!”
“I still think about the first time I fucked you,” Les shared.
“Me too, Daddy,” Ritchie concurred. “Tracey brought you to that cookout. Everyone was swooning over you. You had that bad ass gold ‘79 Trans Am.”
“Yeah! Loved that car!”
“I loved it too. I wanted to ride it. Hell, everybody did,” added Ritchie. “You took lots of folks out in it. When it was my turn, I was shocked you let me drive. I loved being next to you.”
“I could tell you were nervous,” Les remembered.
“I was only nervous cause you turned me on.”
“I thought so. I told you I didn’t care what anybody said about your feminine tendencies.”
“I know. It made me melt. You had me pull over. I sucked your dick and you fucked me over the hood.”
“That was some good ass.”
“Even though I was 15.”
“I hate to admit it, but yeah!”
“I enjoyed it.”
“I gotta go. Folks are waiting in line for the phone.”
Les and Ritchie generally only got to meet up at family gatherings. They always found an opportunity or two to be alone and get it in.
Over time, Ritchie & Les grew apart. There was no bad blood. The younger guy was coming into his own and living a full life that didn’t include being a side bitch alone.
Twice, Les fucked another pussyboy. Once, at a casino in Pearl River – a tawdry chocolate femboi with a big silicone pumped ass. The other, in ATL with a passionate, prim, & proper Morehouse gurl. Both bitches had given his big dick pleasure, but no one matched the gloriousness of Ritchie.
It wasn’t as if Ritchie was his first sissy pussy. Les had messed around one night drunken night during college with a fruitcake. He avoided the dude on campus from that point. While playing for the Giants, he had a Dominican cocksucker. And during his time in Atlanta, he screwed a classy tranny on occasion. Les was just drawn to Ritchie. Perhaps it was the youth. Maybe it was love. But it was what it was.
Les kept a low profile at home. Eventually, he ran for sheriff and was elected. He could not risk a scandal.
Les saw Ritchie for the first time at a family reunion in Little Rock a few years later. They figured out a way to get by themselves.
“Yeah, baby,” groaned Les. “Suck this dick! Oh shit! It feels good.”
Neither of them heard the rustling in the background.
“Ah shit,” yelled one of the younger White cousins. “He suckin’ that nigga’s dick!”
Another whooped, “Gay ass muthafuckas.”
The teens rushed back towards the crowd and announced what they’d seen. People were furious.
Tracey demanded a divorce. She promised not to tell anyone about her husband. She closed her successful practice and moved to Nashville where she joined a prestigious litigation firm. She took Amber with her.
Ritchie was basically excommunicated from the White clan.
The two lost touch.
Ten years ago, Les reached out to Ritchie. They laughed and talked as usual.
Les had changed a bit. He sounded more depressed about life in general.
Ritchie had always wondered about the decision Les made to fool around at the park that day. It was a risk he’d never known the man to take in the past. The registered nurse who was now part of the leadership team at an assisted living facility pieced together that Les might be suffering from Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy also known as CTE. There were other signs too. Erratic aggression. Inability to pay attention. Memory challenges. And since Les had gotten multiple concussions during his playing days, it wasn’t a hard leap to make.
Tracey was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The sheriff resigned from office and moved her back to his home. He cared for her. She passed away after a long fought battle. They were friends again when she died.
Ritchie came to the funeral. That was seven years ago. He could tell Les needed help. They began talking more frequently.
One day, Les called Ritchie. “Hey, I was thinking.”
“About what,” giggled the effeminate man.
“About you, crazy! Let’s get married.”
“I mean gay married. We can go somewhere. Vermont. Florida. Wherever and do it. I can’t be out here, but you can live with me and we can roommates in public, but husband & sissy in private.”
“Les. I don’t know…”
“C’mon. You love me. I love you!”
RItchie agreed. They went to Key West and had a simple ceremony on the beach. They had key lime pie instead of a wedding cake. Both wore linen walking suits – Les’ was khaki; Ritchie’s lavender with rhinestone buttons.
That night, Les ravaged Ritchie.
“You’re my sissy wife,” the large brute declared.
“Yes I am! Fuck me,” wailed Ritchie.
Les had taken a Viagra and wore out the sissy’s booty hole.
Ritchie sold his interest in the elder care home. He relocated to the Mississippi town.
Now, they’d been legally married for five years.
Les woke up in the middle of the night. The 6’7”; 330-pound man ambled to the bathroom. He pissed. It took a while these days. He made it back to the bed and pulled Ritchie close.
The next morning, Ritchie woke up and fixed breakfast. He updated the dry erase board with notes for his husband. This allowed Les to keep track of what was on schedule. It also contained emergency numbers and served as a reminder that they were programmed in the smartphone attached to a lanyard he wore around his neck.
“I’ll be back in three hours,” Ritchie said.
“We fuckin’ when you get back?”
“Yes, sir,” the 54 year-old smiled.
“Promise,” pouted the man.
“Yes, Les! I promise.”
“Don’t be giving away that sissy ass.”
“I’m not. I’ve gotta run by the office for a bit.”
“At the nursing home. We own it,” he referred to the 16-bed facility
“Good! I like to own things.”
“No one is coming by today. If anyone shows up, call me before you let them in,” Ritchie stressed.
The last time Les opened the door to a stranger, it resulted in the disappearance of their 65-inch HDTV and his wallet.
Ritchie learned a valuable lesson at that point. Now, he had all the televisions and Les’ all-in-one desktop computer bolted down. He left no cash in the house except for a couple thousand in the guest bedroom closet safe. He called Les every 45 minutes if possible when he was away.
During the final check-in, Ritchie inquired, “What do you want for dinner?”
“Food,” chuckled the formidably sized b**st.
“I know that, Negro,” giggled the sissy wife. “What kind of food, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me no Negro. I’m a proud Black man,” Les was incredulous. “Who the fuck are you to call me that?”
Ritchie took a deep breath. He recalled his training in nursing. “I’m sorry, Les. You are a proud Black man. I love you. Would you like steak for dinner?”
Ritchie picked up some T-bones from the grocery store. He threw them on the grill after marinating them in an A1 Chicago-style mixture.
They had bagged salad and baked potatoes for the sides.
They showered together. Washing each other’s backs. Embracing tenderly.
“Goddamn, I’m finna fuck that sweet ass,” the 65 year-old announced.
“Yes, Daddy,” cooed Ritchie.
They toweled off and went to the bed.
Ritchie sucked Les’ donkey dick to attention.
Les ate out the booty.
Ritchie tooted it up.
Les pushed inside.
“Yes, Daddy,” cried the feminine being.
“Oh, baby,” howled Les.
The bed rocked. Les delivered forceful strokes. His behemoth body still loomed large over the smaller, waifish Ritchie.
“I’m yo’ muthafuckin’ Daddy, bitch,” Les barked as he slapped Ritchies jiggly ass.
“Oh my god!”
“Shut up, faggit! I own you!”
“You better not tell nobody I’m fuckin’ yo’ sissy ass neither. I’ll kill you if you do!”
“Oh, baby! I won’t tell.”
The fucking went on and on. The enhancement d**g gave Les great stamina.
Eventually, Les nutted and fell asleep.
Ritchie cleaned the kitchen and joined his betrothed in bed.