Read Online Any Way the Wind Blows by E. Lynn Harris - Free Book Online

surrendering himself as I unloosened his tie. I slowly began to undress him, like he was a long-lost lover. I undid his belt buckle and then allowed his suit pants to drop to his ankles. I slowly unbuttoned each button on his shirt like they were precious diamonds. I removed the shirt from his broad shoulders, then moved to my knees as Islowly pulled down his body-hugging gray-and-black boxer briefs. His dick was swinging like a saloon door, and my manhood was hanging stiff and long. Basil’s body was amazing, every muscle, so perfectly proportioned. I was about to climb on top of him like he was a ladder, when he finally spoke again.
    “Do you have protection?”
    “No, but I’m clean. I get a checkup every six months.”
    “Sorry, dude, but as much as I want to, I can’t swing without a coat.”
    “Can I just taste it?” I pleaded like I was a little kid wanting to lick the icing from the cake bowl.
    “How bad do you want it?” Basil asked.
    “Bad … real bad,” I said.
    Basil bent over and pulled up his underwear and pants, then reached for his shirt.
    “I think you should put your clothes on. I mean, if you want it …
real … real
bad,” Basil said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “If you can get your clothes on as quick as you took them off, then maybe, just maybe you might get to taste something real good.”
    I almost tripped over my own boots as I raced for my clothes while shouting, “You ain’t got to tell me but once.”

Stop in the Name of Lust
    I imagine it was probably a woman who said men in unexpected situations think with their third dangling leg. And as much as I hate to admit it, she was probably right. I mean, how else could I explain the man, with a banging body, now in my bathroom using one of my spare toothbrushes, pink no less, that I reserve for my female first-timers? Explain to me how I came closer than a condom on my jimmie to smashing this dude in my office without even thinking about how it would look if one of my partners or assistants or the cleaning crew came in unexpected. To make it even worse, I’m pretty sure this Bart is at the very least a white liar, since he told me he had played college football but later he didn’t know the difference between the wishbone and the option formation. I mean, you learn that shit as a kid in Pop Warner football.
    I was in my kitchen sipping some coffee when Bart walked in with just his jeans on. I looked down, not wanting to look at his face or that fabulous fat ass of his. I had broken not only one of my mofo’s rules to live by, but a secondone when I allowed him to spend the night. Yeah, he was sexy as fuck (as dudes go) and knew how to please, but after I had gotten off twice, I was ready to say, “Would you like a glass of water before you leave?” When I looked out the window and saw a fast driving snow, I guess I felt sorry for old dude, knowing it would be days before a black man got a taxi on a night like that. But I can’t figure out what made me begin a conversation that make it sound like I was concerned about his life. I even quit doing that shit with females a long time ago. What got into me? I can’t drink anymore on work nights. I’m gonna have to leave those concoctions of cognac and Alizé called Thug Passions alone.
    “So did I get the job?” Bart asked as he walked over toward my kitchen counter.
    “Yeah, you got the job,” I responded, even though I didn’t know what he was talking about. I supposed he meant head jimmie sucker for the next three months or so.
    “I enjoyed talking with you last night. I mean, great-looking and smart, too. I hit the jackpot,” Bart said.
    “You think so?” I mumbled under my breath.
    “When I woke up this morning and I was looking at you, I thought for a moment I knew you from somewhere,” Bart said.
    “I used to do television. Maybe you saw me there.”
    “Maybe. Besides, it’s not a good memory, so I’m glad it wasn’t you.”
    “If I was a bad memory, you would