Visible Lives

by Stanley Bennett Clay

  “See, you ain’t right. Got me all hot and horned up and—”

  Mitchell plunged right on in.

  “Ooof!” Raheim eeked. Mitchell’s bum-rushing his way in was a surprise—but a welcome one. He missed that dick. The way Mitchell fit—it was like he’d never left.

  And Raheim was lovin’ it. “Yeah, Little Bit, go on ’n’ claim dat azz.”

  Mitchell was lovin’ it, too. And he was claimin’ it. He was on a mission; every stroke…no, slam, was delivered with precision and purpose. Raheim had a pretty jood idea what each hit meant….

  “This is for forging a check on my account…”

  “…and this is for lying about it.”

  “This is for stealing Destiny’s piggy bank…”

  “…and this is for accusing Errol of taking it.”

  “This is for making me feel this was my fault…”

  “…and this is for not helping me see that it wasn’t.”

  “This is for fucking up…”

  “…and this is for taking so long to get your fucking act together.”

  …and he was lovin’ every slam. “Damn, that dick is sick. Get it, Little Bit.”

  He didn’t have to tell Mitchell twice.

  Mitchell wanted to get it all—so he grabbed Raheim’s ankles and flipped all 220 pounds of him on his back, threw those thick legs back, and plowed back in.

  “Mph, go on ’n’ get gangsta wit’ it, Little Bit, yeah.”

  Mitchell did. He dove down quicker and drove in harder. As he knocked, the bed rocked.

  “Oh oh oh oh,” Raheim wept.

  Mitchell was committing assault and battery on that azz, but there’s no way Raheim would report it to the police and file a report.

  Mitchell could tell he was hitting that spot: Raheim’s eyes rolled back, his calves tightened around Mitchell’s neck, and he began speaking in un-Holy tongues.

  And as Mitchell whipped his dick out, all he could muster was an “Oh, shit!” as his gusher blew.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Raheim whimpered between short breaths. He was now sitting up. They both watched in amazement as Raheim’s dick did its own thing: Without Raheim’s hand yankin’ or Mitchell lips puckin’, the juice just oozed out, all over the shaft, for a full two minutes.

  After they caught a few breaths, Mitchell reached for the towels they dropped on the carpet. He wiped himself, then Raheim.

  Raheim quivered at just the touch. “Ah.” He was still experiencing aftershocks from his eruption.

  “Was that your first time?” Mitchell queried.

  “Yeah.”

  “Guess your dick has a mind of its own.”

  They laughed.

  “Woo. Thanks, Baby. That was better than jood.”

  “That was better than jood, times two. I should be thanking you.”

  “You will be. Turnabutt is fair play.”

  And it proved to be just that, twenty minutes later.

  1:05 P.M.

  Mitchell also assumed the position, but faced the foot of the bed. This is because Raheim wished to lean back against the headboard and take all that azz in. Because he’s small and slender in stature, you can’t help but notice how huge Mitchell’s azz is—bumped up, bumped out, and ready to be bumped. Whoever came up with “junk in the trunk” must’ve had his backside in mind. Raheim thought he’d never see it again, in all its glory, like this. So he needed just a few minutes to silently say…Thank You to whoever or whatever made Mitchell and this moment possible.

  But after those few minutes were up, he pounced: grabbing it with both hands, spreading those mounds, and chowing down.

  “Oh, Pooquie,” Mitchell cried out. “Eat that azz.”

  Raheim fulfilled his command. He savored Mitchell’s flavor: caramel cream, with a dash of almond. Raheim was immediately reminded of just how potent it was: It sent a shock through his system. “Day-um. You givin’ me a sugar rush, Little Bit.”

  Mitchell also put a rush on him: throwing that azz back full force, smothering him. Raheim didn’t care: If he was gonna die, at least it would happen doing one of his favorite things.

  After some more jood eatin’ in Little Bit’s hood, Raheim felt that vibration on his fingertips, the signal that Mitchell was achin’ to be taken: the azz started buzzin’, calling his name. Plus, Mitchell let his hair down; yeah, he wanted to let it all hang out. He didn’t have to, but Raheim decided to make sure he was reading Mitchell right.

  “You want me to tag that azz?” he whispered in Mitchell’s right ear.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What cha say?”

  “Yes, Pooquie, tag that azz.”

  Glad. Ly.

  Raheim was already covered, the dick set to go. But he didn’t intend on just running up in and running through it, like Mitchell had; he wanted to take it slo mo. He’d been dreaming of getting back here for so long and planned on enjoying every second.

  So he popped his head in—and popped it out, just to make sure he had Mitchell’s undivided attention.

  He did.

  “Mph,” Mitchell moaned.

  He popped back in—and popped back out.

  “Mph,” Mitchell moaned again, louder.

  He popped back in—Mitchell inhaled, bracing for yet another withdrawal—but Raheim stayed. He then employed the two strokes forward, one stroke back method.

  Uh-uh. Uh.

  Uh-uh. Uh.

  Uh-uh. Uh.

  Mitchell got the message: Every time Raheim pulled back, he pushed back. Mitchell’s call of “Oh” on the downstroke and Raheim’s response of “Yeah” on the upstroke blended as their pace gradually picked up.

  “Come on, now, give it to me, baby,” Raheim almost harmonized like Rick James, his tongue darting in and out of Mitchell’s ear.

  Mitchell honored his request and began bouncing back on the dick, his tresses bobbing. Raheim bopped forward, accenting each thrust with a swat on Mitchell’s azz.

  “Oh yeah, Pooquie, slap it and tap it.”

  Glad. Ly.

  Raheim couldn’t play it cool anymore: He latched on to Mitchell’s waist and began punching the dick up in him. The harder and faster he pumped, the higher and lighter Mitchell’s whistle-like groan became. Mitchell continued to gyrate and grind, arching back to kiss him.

  Then Raheim hit Mitchell’s spot, a spot no other man has ever found. This caused Mitchell to hit an octave that made Raheim’s ears pop, pushing them closer to poppin’.

  “Ah, Baby, I’m cumin’, I’m cumin’, I’m cumin’,” Raheim shouted, slipping out of Mitchell.

  Mitchell turned to face him. “Mph, me too. Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh.”

  With both hands milking his dick, Raheim blew his top all over his left thigh. As he held on to Raheim’s shoulders, Mitchell released onto Raheim’s right thigh.

  Was it jood sex? No. Was it better than jood sex? No. They had just made some better than jood love. The tears in their eyes were the proof.

  2:15 P.M.

  Spent and sent, they settled into a spoon, Raheim bear-hugging Mitchell from behind. They enjoyed more of the quiet. Once again, Raheim interrupted it….

  “This is better than goin’ to Disney World.”

  Mitchell peered over his right shoulder. “Have you ever been?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know it’s better?”

  “’Cause. I do.”

  Silence.

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out if it really is better than goin’ to Disney World.” Raheim grinned. “Let’s go.”

  “To Disney World?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  Mitchell turned completely around. “Now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We can’t just go to Disney World.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…it’s not something you do on the spur of the moment.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing,
it’s something that you plan.”

  “We plannin’ it right now.”

  “Second, it’s the dead of summer. I’m sure the crowds are crazy.”

  “Ain’t no place on earth has crowds as crazy as New York during rush hour.”

  “Third, airfare would be ridiculously high.”

  “We can probably find one of those last-minute specials online.”

  “Fourth, we wouldn’t be able to find a vacant hotel room in the entire state of Florida.”

  “There’s got to be somethin’ available.”

  “And, fifth, do you know how much that will cost?”

  “I got a little mad money.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  There he goes again, being the practical one. Raheim missed that voice of reason. “I want to do it.”

  “I know you want to, but…there are more important things you can do with it.”

  “Like, leave it in the bank?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, what could be more important than treatin’ my family to a vacation?” He hugged him tighter. “If anybody needs it the most, deserves it the most, it’s you. And the kids will love it.”

  A smile slowly formed across Mitchell’s face. “They’re not the only ones.”

  The house phone rang. Mitchell reached for the receiver with his left hand. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Daddy!”

  “Hey, Sugar Plum. How are you today?”

  “I’m jood. How you?”

  “I’m…” Mitchell tried to prevent Raheim from snacking on his neck. “…better than jood.”

  “Oh, joody!”

  “Are the lights back on?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you camp outside last night?”

  “Uh-huh. I counted the stars, Daddy.”

  “Really? How many did you count?”

  “Twenty-six!”

  “Now, that’s a lot of stars.”

  “Is Uncle Raheim still there?”

  “He is.”

  “Ooh. May I speak to him?”

  “Of course.”

  Raheim took the receiver. “Hay, Baby Doll.”

  “Hi, Uncle Raheim!”

  “How you be?”

  “I be jood. How you be?”

  He grinned at her father. “I be better than jood, too.”

  “Joody. Did you and Daddy have a jood time?”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  “Is Daddy still taking his trip?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I don’t want him to go.”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because, I want us to take a trip together.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to ask Daddy about that.”

  “I’m askin’ you.”

  Raheim was blindsided by Baby Doll. “Uh. Well…” Raheim nudged Mitchell. “I’d love to take a trip with you and Daddy.”

  “And don’t forget Errol.”

  “Of course. Errol, too.”

  “If Daddy doesn’t go to Georgia, we all can be together this weekend.”

  “Well…I’ll try to talk Daddy into it, okay?”

  “Joody!”

  “Where’s Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “They on the porch, with Auntie Ruth.”

  “Well, you tell them all I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  “And give your grandma and auntie Ruth a kiss from me.”

  “I will. Uncle Raheim, tell Daddy I’ll talk to him later. And that I love him.”

  “Okay. I will. I love you, Baby Doll.”

  “And I love you, too, times two!”

  “Jood-bye.”

  “Jood-bye.”

  Mitchell hung up the receiver. “I swear, she can hear the word ‘Disney World’ being said miles away.”

  The phone rang again.

  Raheim pointed to it. “And so can my son.”

  “No, this cannot be…” Mitchell answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Uncle Mitch.”

  Mitchell was flabbergasted. He nodded yes at Raheim. “Hey there, Mista. How are you today?”

  “I’m jood. How are you?”

  “I’m doing jood.”

  “I bet,” Errol snickered under his breath.

  But it was loud enough for Mitchell to hear. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh.” Errol knew that sumthin’ sumthin’ went down over the past twenty-four hours. “How are you?”

  “I’m jood. I tried reaching you and Dad on your cells.”

  “They’re charging. How was your night?”

  “It was cool. We played Scrabble and watched Harry Potter.”

  “Did you win?”

  “But of course.”

  “I beat your father in Scrabble last night, too.”

  “Ha, of course you did.”

  “Your son is ragging on your Scrabble skills,” Mitchell informed Raheim.

  Raheim spoke into the phone. “He’ll be beggin’ for mercy when we play again.”

  Errol laughed. “Is he still picking me up today?”

  “He wants to know if you’re still coming to get him….”

  Raheim nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call when I’m on my way.”

  “He’ll let you know when he’s on the road.”

  “Cool beans. Are you coming with him?”

  Now Mitchell got blindsided. “Uh, I…I don’t know.”

  “You’re still going to Atlanta?”

  “I…I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Oh.” Errol wasn’t hiding his disappointment.

  “I’ll make a decision soon. I will let you know.”

  “Okay. Talk to you later. Love you both.”

  “We love you, too. Bye.”

  Mitchell returned to his spot on Raheim’s chest.

  “Well…,” Mitchell breathed.

  “Well…,” Raheim repeated.

  Silence.

  “There’s probably a T-shirt and shorts you can wear. In that middle drawer. On the right.”

  That was always Raheim’s side of the bureau. He didn’t take my clothes out?

  “While you search the Web for a family package…I’ll make that phone call.”

  Raheim wanted to leap out of bed and do a happy dance, but controlled himself.

  Mitchell peered up at him. “So…let’s go get our kids.”

  “Yeah. Let’s.”

  Smack.

  November 18, 2009, 8:00 P.M.

  DJ: Yo, welcome to Da Spot! This is DJ Korrupt—and I am hyped! I’ve been trying to get tonight’s guests on this show forever. The problem was getting them in the same room. No doubt they are buzy men—buzy representin’ us. They are the Black gay community’s power couple. So, for this special ninety-minute segment, I want to welcome Oscar nominee Raheim Rivers and his hubby, New York Times best-selling author Mitchell Crawford. Evening, gents, and thanks for agreeing to appear on the show….

  Mitchell: Thanks for the invite, DJ. Glad we could finally connect.

  Raheim: Yeah, now you can stop harassing us.

  [Laughter]

  DJ: Ya know, I had to stay on it. I was beginning to think y’all didn’t want to do this small-time webcast blog, bein’ in the big leagues.

  Raheim: We’re in the big leagues?

  DJ: Come on, y’all don’t have to be modest. Just the other night, you two were on Entertainment Tonight.

  Mitchell: Raheim was on ET, they just included some video footage of the family as an afterthought.

  DJ: Right. it was just some video footage—at the White House with the First Family! Not many of us will have that experience. Now, I didn’t plan to get to this topic until later on but since we’re there, what do you each think of President Obama’s claim that he is a “fierce advocate” for the gay community? It’s been a year since the election—is he living up to the title?

  Ra
heim: Ha, you are just jumping right into the pot!

  Mitchell: Before I answer, first let me tell you that you are the big leagues. Your forum means so much to Black SGL people across the globe.

  DJ: Thanks, Mitch. I appreciate that.

  Mitchell: And we appreciate you and all you do. So thanks to you, for also representin’. I also want to address this notion that there is such a thing as “the gay community.” When people say that, what they usually mean is the white gay community, since the faces projected to represent gay and lesbian in this society are white ones. But there are many gay and lesbian commmunities—geographic, political, cultural, social, ethnic, religious, even sexual.

  DJ: A’ight, Professor Crawford!

  Mitchell: Same goes for “the black community.” That is, the Black presumably heterosexual community. But where is it? Where are its headquarters? Who is the President, the Executive Director, the CEO? What is its agenda? And how come I didn’t get a membership application?

  [Laughter]

  Mitchell: Saying that there is a singular community of people who all share melanin or sexual orientation allows others to treat that particular group as a monolith. It also erases those people who are both Black and gay. For, if these two distinct communities do exist, can we be a part of both or do we have to choose?

  DJ: I get what you’re saying.

  Mitchell: But back to President Obama. The short answer is no, he is not living up to that self-proclaimed title. The long answer: How could he? It was a campaign slogan. So I didn’t and don’t expect him to wave a magic wand and change things overnight—but that’s what some Same Gender Loving people, particularly those of the Caucasian persuasion, expect.

  DJ: No you did not just say Caucasian persuasion!

  [Laughter]

  Mitchell: I find all the righteous indignation and hand-wringing from white gays and lesbians to be so fake. You expect him to undo DOMA and DADT, and push ENDA through just like that? And, he’s responsible for our marriage rights being voted away in Maine? Now, he isn’t doing what he could do: for one, ordering that DADT dismissals be stopped. Those witchhunts are a waste of taxpayer dollars and are destroying lives. Avowed white supremacists can serve openly but not gays and lesbians? But saying that “Hillary would’ve done X, Y, and Z by now”—as if she’s done anything except walk in a pride parade or two—or, “I’ll be voting Republican in 2012”—and you know many of them did in 2008 anyway—tells me you are naïve, delusional, and/or not savvy when it comes to politics.