Down Low Secrets: A Story About Black Men Who Have Sex with Other Men

CHAPTER 1

Trent Matthews was in the pitch-blackness, in his king-size bed. Lying next to him sleeping soundly was Lisa, his fiancée. It was a Friday night and she would be staying until Sunday afternoon. They were engaged and they spent every weekend together, either at her place or his.

Earlier that evening, they had made love and Trent had ejaculated, but he lay awake in the dark, still feeling amorous.

He knew he could nudge Lisa awake and whisper sweet things in her ear about how much she turned him on and how he could use a little more loving. And more than likely, she’d giggle and accommodate him. But he had no desire for Lisa.

She could not give him what he wanted. She lacked the right equipment. Right now, Trent could use a dick to suck or to take up the ass.

Trent was a bottom. Bottom meant he enjoyed being penetrated.

Quietly and naked, he crept out of bed and went to his computer, logged on and visited a site that featured naked black men.

The guys were in their twenties (like Trent) muscular, with huge dicks. Trent found his favorite site. And looking at some of the erotic pictures, he thought, Man, I wish I were with one of you right now. Why couldn’t one of them be in his bed instead of Lisa?

Lisa.

The girl was pretty, with flesh the color of a Milky Way candy bar. She had a small nose and mouth and hair that was an abundant mane of thick shoulder-length curls. She often wore it straight because she hated the curls.

Girlfriend was intelligent, which reflected in her speech pattern, word choices and eyes.

She was a paralegal and at a night, she studied pre law at William and Mary.

Lisa was a good woman, a catch. Man you’re lucky to have her, a number of his friends had said. She’s brainy, pretty. She got any sisters?

Yeah, Lisa was a good woman, Trent thought. But sexually, she did nothing for him. She just didn’t turn Trent on.

Trent Matthews was on the down low. To the world, he appeared to be a straight black man, a branch manager of a bank, who went to church and was engaged to marry a beautiful woman.

No one knew of his true desires. It was his secret. For years, he had been sneaking around having sex with men.

He enjoyed a man’s muscles.. .a man’s hard body. With a man, sex came without bullshit, no dating, no flowers, no spending quality time together.

It was all about getting the nut, gratification, tappin’ that ass. Or in Trent’s case, getting his ass tapped.

Right now, he could use a hook up.

Still sitting in front of his computer, he went to a Yahoo group for bisexual black men on the down low. He was a member of several such groups, with names like Black Bottoms, Black Men loving Black men, Man on Man Sex. And the members generally didn’t have much to say about themselves. Understandably so, after all, they had wives and girlfriends and they enjoyed discreet sexual encounters with men, and all they were out for was sex, so why would they discuss themselves? People didn’t come to the site to discuss football games or swap recipes.

Members sent out email messages telling other members where they could locate pictures of hot looking naked black men or where they could find gay sex videos.

But most of the correspondences were from people wanting to hook up for sex.

Trent opened one message—What’s up? I’m a 6’4 brotha, weighing 225 pounds, on the DL, and looking for someone for some fun, discreet sex. I’m bottom/versatile. That meant he got penetrated and was willing to be entered anally. Will be in the Bay Area in two weeks. Can provide a picture and lodging. Race unimportant.

Forget it. Trent was no where near the bay area. He was on the East coast, in Virginia. But some DL guys were willing to travel to another state to have sexual rendezvous with men whose appearance they liked.

Also, some men were very protective of their secret and they only had man on man trysts in other states.

To Trent that sounded super paranoid.

He opened another message, from someone named Cameron 1390, which was more than likely, a nickname. But cameron said he was in the market for some hot sex. Take a peek at what I have to offer, he had written. I’ve enclosed a picture. Trent opened the attachment.

Wow, he thought, eyeballing the photo. Homeboy was fine, Playgirl centerfold material.

Trent could easily see him on a Man for All Seasons calendar. Cameron’s glistening flesh was the color of milk chocolate.

He had washboard abs, and in the photo, he was sprawled in a chair, with his muscular legs spread wide. One was thrown across the arm of the chair.

ooh, he looked tasty, with his good-size piece that appeared to be partially erect.

Good size piece was an understatement. Homeboy was hung and thick.

Trent could feel his manhood climbing. He could feel himself getting stimulated, excited. Aroused. With his mouth watering, he stared hungrily at the picture. He opened his mouth and moved his head in the direction of the computer screen, going towards Cameron’s crotch. He indulged in the fantasy of performing fellatio on Cameron. Trent knew sucking that dick would be a terrific experience. Trent was so turned on, he could almost smell Cameron’s manly aroma.

He wondered about Cameron’s face. The picture was shot in such a way that his face was obscured. But his body was perfect.

Trent left his computer and going down the hall to the bathroom, he caught sight of Lisa, still slumbering peacefully. In the bathroom, he unfurled some tissue from the roll, wadded it and returned to the computer, where Cameron was waiting for him, with his legs spread so wide that he must have cracked a bone when he took that picture. Staring at the photo, Trent played with his piece, moving it up and down, thinking about what he and Cameron could do together and the pleasure it would provide. Finally, he exploded, splashing semen onto his flat stomach.

He wiped up the mess, took the tissue to the commode and flushed it.

Back in front of the computer screen, eyeing the picture, Trent thought, Damn, you look good. He had a desire for an interlude with this chocolate stud.

So, he decided to drop Cameron a line: Saw your picture. Man, u got it going on, he wrote. I jerked off looking at your photo. I’d be interested in hooking up with you. Later, Love that Stuff. Love That Stuff was Trent’s email name.

Still craving some man on man contact, Trent returned to the bedroom and silently put on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt with Malcolm X’s image emblazoned on it. Making certain not to disturb the still sleeping Lisa, he practically tiptoed out of the apartment, and went out into the warm May night. He climbed into his Ford Taurus, the car he used for cruising.

He normally drove a Volvo that was less than a year old. But when he was out on the streets to pick up guys, he used the Taurus. It was less conspicuous.

He drove to an area of town where all kinds of prostitutes congregated. And surprisingly, it wasn’t a seedy area of the city. There was a modern supermarket that was open till one in the morning. Across the street was a nightclub and adjacent to it a hotel where some of the whores took their tricks.

Behind the supermarket was a subdivision of houses inhabited by middle-class families. During a police crackdown, neighbors had complained of going out to dispose of their garbage and seeing whores servicing their tricks behind the grocery store. They groaned about the loud music pouring from the nightclub.

Trent surveyed the whores strolling down the boulevard. He saw a young black chick wearing a long blond wig, and a tight leather skirt pushing her wares.

He rolled his eyes. Not interested. He had no interest in pussy. He had that at home.

Next, he saw a she-male, with tits bouncing up and down like crazy, but it was obvious from the face that that person was a he-she. Hey, honey, the he-she caroled, waving. And her deep voice provided further proof that she was male.

Driving off, Trent pretended as if he didn’t see the freak of nature. He drove a little further, came across a male hustler. He pulled up close to the guy.

He was young, black, tall and muscular. Hey, man, Trent called to the dude, who wore tight jeans and an equally tight tee shirt.

Hey yourself, said the sex seller, coming up to Trent.

Not a bad looking guy, Trent thought. Um, what cha into? Trent questioned. What you like?

I’m bottom, totally. Trent loved getting screwed in the ass. He derived no pleasure in fucking Lisa or any woman. How he managed to even stay erect during the act was a mystery to him.

I can give you what you want, said the hooker. Twenty bucks. Deal.

The hooker turned his head in the direction of the hotel. I’m in room 114. I’ll meet you in front of the door.

Trent pulled into a parking space facing the room. He exited his vehicle and making sure that he wasn’t being observed, he nervously looked around while the hooker inserted the key in the door and pushed it open. They entered the room. Regarding Trent, using a kidding tone, the guy said, Why don’t you get rid of those pants?

Trent removed his pants and shirt.

Nice body, the guy said, appraising Trent’s physique.

The male whore got naked. And Trent didn’t say so, but he liked what he saw. Trent climbed on the bed and got on his knees. He watched the hooker get a tube of K-Y and a condom off the nightstand.

Forget the condom, Trent said. I want it bareback.

The sex seller shrugged. You’re the customer. Pull your ass apart.

Trent parted his butt cheeks. The guy squeezed some K-Y on his fingers and rubbed it on Trent’s ass. The guy slathered some grease on his dick and slowly entered Trent.

Oh, yeah, Trent moaned.

Lisa was in bed. She stirred. Through hazy eyes, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was 1:17 in the morning. For a few seconds, she was disoriented. Inwardly, she questioned her location. But it quickly hit her that she was in Trent’s apartment, in his bed, under a blanket.

Tonight, they had gone to dinner and returned to his apartment, watched a DVD and afterwards, listened to music. She turned to his side of the bed. And frowned. Where’s Trent?

Maybe he was in the bathroom, peeing or in the kitchen quenching his thirst. For a minute, she lay still, thinking she’d hear him. But she heard nothing.

She got out of bed, nude and put on a floor-length silk robe she had gotten off the bedpost and went in search of her fiancé. He wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen. While there, she decided to get a drink of water.

Sipping the fluid, she considered that Trent was in the room where he kept his computer, so after finishing her beverage, she went there and ascertained that he wasn’t there either. Oh, God. Her thoughts drifted to a suspicious area.

Had Trent gone off to have sex with some tramp? The very thought just about robbed her of her breath. She didn’t know what to think. She made a face. No, no. Trent wouldn’t do me like that.

Come on, girl. Stop being naïve, said her inner voice. In the past, men have burned you. You know what they’re capable of. She went to the kitchen phone and dialed Sabrina’s number. Sabrina was her best friend.

The phone rang three times. Hello, Sabrina said, sounding alert, but alarmed. Sabrina was a night owl, so Lisa knew she’d be up. But still, a late night phone call made folks uneasy.

Hey Sabrina, Lisa said, barely audible.

Um Lisa, what’s going on? Sabrina said, sounding concerned.

I know it’s late, Lisa said.

Is this an emergency?

She pictured Sabrina frowning, pushing her glasses up her nose. I don’t know. I’m just upset, Lisa said. I’m sorry for calling you at this hour, but I need somebody to talk to.

Don’t sweat it. You know, I’m a night owl. I usually work on my novel at night.