The world is green, the world is blue and I just want to live it. The trees break out in verdant hue, the sky’s azure, the lake’s in view, and people dancing all around, the breeze; the sound; the shaking ground. The winter now is over and we all can play once more. Boys and girls, and boys and boys, amongst the trees, display spring’s urgent fervour. Discrete from view as if they know their parents wouldn’t like it, they do not stop, the die is cast, the score is all but writ.
Then on the ridge a face appears, a face of different hue. A silence falls, all action stops, the crowd is quite confused but, who is this man with darker skin, what does he want, does he want in?
He stops and stares. Who is this crowd? This crowd of nymphs and satyrs.
They call “come down”, he isn’t sure, he isn’t one of them, but they’re a crowd of happy guys who want him to be part of the party of the early spring that sun and trees whose leaves of green have driven them to mate anew. They want him to get started, but they are nude and he is clothed, the view just don’t seem right. Their bodies’ skin, their backs, their legs, they glint in morning light. His dark brown shirt, his deep blue jeans, his heavy leather boots, they cannot stand; they must come off; they all must be removed.
So now he stands amongst them all his glowing skin is showing. He wants to join their sexy games but cannot find the way in. They look, they smile, it makes them hot but not one guy will touch him.
Too big it seems for anyone, they fear the unaccustomed.
His brown eyes plead, his cock stands tall, He just needs some attention, but when one comes to touch his skin, he backs away too worried by what the man will do to this black man in foreign land.
The guy just smiles, a welcome smile. He wants to be connected. He says some words but they are strange, he tries more hard to listen, and then it dawns, they’re speaking French, but this is Indonesia. His French is not so very good, but he gives it a try. The guy looks back, is quite amazed and beckons to get closer. He turns around, presents his ass. His ass looks most inviting. ‘I should not do’, the black man thinks, ‘I really should not do’, but cock wins out. It always does. He finally approaches.
A hand comes out to hold his cock. It feels so warm and tender. The French man guides it to his ass, the message can’t be clearer. He wants that cock inside himself, inside and pumping deeply and then comes rain, but they don’t stop. They carry on regardless.
They’re soon alone. The others gone, to find themselves some shelter. They get it on. They’re fucking hard and then a whoosh, It’s over.
