Roommates and Collected Stories

By Charles Harvey and AC Adams

Life is no fun without spice and humor and a little bit of naughtiness. And if your roommate makes you wear a pig’s mask while having sex in front of thousands on a gay video chat line, so what? Maybe. This book of stories takes you on a ride—from the college dorm to the streets of New Orleans. Who says guys can’t get it on at the Doctor’s office or even a hospital morgue?

Dive in and meet “sweet boy” Omar and his stripper roommate Rock “Ten” or “nine and a half,” as Omar likes to remind him. They have a nosy neighbor who keeps her ear to the wall eavesdropping on all of their raunchy escapades. And they do a lot of adventures in and out of their apartment. Imagine having sex in a church or traveling to New Orleans to throw your Gramps ashes into the Mississippi and running into a serial killer into mummification? These young men live a life in the lewd. Innocent Omar is far from being led astray. He knows what he's getting into every time he prances around Rock in the tiniest pair of bikini briefs. Sis. Clarabell Hocklight will have you in stitches as she talks about her young neighbors.

College would be very hot if all of them had a Dean of Discipline like Den Porter. He sets “Eckie” on the right path during a very sensual spanking session in his office, done in the name of fatherly concern.

A doo-rag wearing crab and a pig should know better than to go knocking at stranger’s door. One winds up in the gumbo, and the other makes a nice side of bacon in these two satirical stories.

Some of these stories have appeared as stand-alone shorts, but it’s nice to have them all in one volume on your eReader. Ladies who like male on male stories will love these characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wes Writers & Publishers
• Release date: Jun 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311289377

Charles Harvey

Charles W. Harvey is a native Houstonian and a graduate of the University of Houston. At UofH he studied fiction under the guidance of Rosellen Brown and Chitra Divakaruni. In 1987, Charles was a 1st place prize recipient of PEN/Discovery for his short story Cheeseburger, which went on to be published in the Ontario Review. In 1989 Charles Harvey was awarded the Cultural Arts Council of Houston Grant for Writers and Artists. Also in 1989 he was a finalist in the MacDonald's Literary Achievement Awards. Charles has been published in Soulfires, Story Magazine SHADE, High Infidelity, The James White Review, and others. He is the author of the novels The Butterfly Killer, The Road to Astroworld, and Antoine's Double Trouble. He is also the author of several story and poetry collections. He also writes for the stage and screen.

Book preview

Roommates

and

Collected Stories

by

Charles Harvey

AC Adams

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Wes Writers and Publishers on Smashwords

Roommates

Collected Stories

Copyright © 2014 by Charles Harvey

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Table of Contents

The Dean’s List

Roommates and Sister Clarabell

The Milkman

The Pig

The Boat

I Did the DooRag

The 520i

The Smoke Detector

Black Queen

Coming Home Tomorrow

My Manhood is Very Important to Me

Dorm Daddy at the Doctor’s Office

About the Authors

Excerpt from Boy 4 Higher And Dorm Daddy

****

The Dean’s List

It’s like this with a boy in College, sometimes you doin’ everything but hittin’ the books. You be all up in your boy’s room, smoking, hangin’ out at the gym, hangin’ on the yard, or up in some shorty’s panties. So your grades be doing that freefall all the way down to that zero level. I found myself in a bad situation. My Moms was comin’ down to visit at the same time my grades was to be posted. I did not want her to see them flags wavin’ next to my name. I wanted my Moms to be proud of me. She struggled and worked two jobs to send my ass to school. She’s one of them serious Nigerian women that don’t play. I didn’t know what to do. All my boys started tellin’ me that I needed to go see the Dean.

He’ll fix you up, Eckie. Every time they say that they bust out laughin’. I’d say, "You niggas fuckin’ wit a nigga. Don’t be tellin’ a dog no bogus ass shit.

Nah, man, we on the up and up. You go see Dean Porter. He’ll hook you up right.

What he gonna do man? Why y’all playin’ with a nigga’s head?

Nah for real, man, go see Dean Porter. They bust out laughin’ again and be blushin’ at the same time.

I let it ride for a few days. But it kept getting closer to when my Moms was comin’ down. And then she had to write the letter. In the letter, she wrote how proud she was of me and how she knew her hard work wasn’t goin’ to be in vain, and she couldn’t wait to see how well I was doing.

Man, that shit tore me up. Man, I was so worried, I couldn’t even jack off. Nine and a half inches of meat just layin there. Nigga couldn’t give himself no pleasure. And I wasn’t about to go to no shorty and have it get out all over the yard, that the kid couldn’t get it up. The next morning I walked to the Administration Building. I was ushered into the Dean’s office. His old Secretary sat typing a letter on a big black typewriter. I said to myself that old blind Sister probably can’t even spell computer. She was half blind and her nose almost touched the paper. She asked me my name and picked up the phone. She actually had to dial the thing. She spoke my name into the big black mouthpiece. She put down the receiver and told me to go right in.

I stepped into the Dean’s digs. Judging by his secretary, I expected to find this ol Bozo lookin’ nigga in suspenders catchin’ Z's at his desk. But he was cool. Young for a Dean; about mid-thirties. He stood up to give me some skin. I judged him to be about six feet, one eighty. He had a small fro and really nice teeth. He wore a white shirt, red bow tie, and dark trousers. He looked like one of them young Muslims you see on the street corner selling papers. A picture in a large gold frame--him and a little boy--sat on the edge of his desk. Didn’t see no shorty in the pic. He had all of these fraternity paddles hangin’ on the walls, and this whip in a frame with a picture of a Plantation in the background. Another photo showed a nigga buck naked, getting his ass whipped by a white man. I thought some of that shit was weird. But then I remembered he taught a four hundred level African-American Studies class.

He sat down and propped his black boots up on his desk. I put my Timberlands up. He didn’t say shit, so I thought damn he’s cool people. We shot the breeze man to man. He asked me how was I enjoyin’ State University. I said it was aight, but these profs were kicking my ass with their grades. He looked at me for a long time and smiled. I don’t know, something about his eyes kind of caught me for a minute. I started to feel warm inside. My hand went to my head and I scratched. That warm thing stayed in my chest for a lil bit and went down to my belly. It hit my dick and made it get kind of thick. I asked myself, what the fuck was goin on with me? He picked up a file from his desk and starts readin’. Ekundayo, he says quietly. It’s got my name on it and it’s got all the classes I take, how many times I went, and how many times I skipped. The Dean shows me a note from the Campus Police about me staggerin’ across campus late one night. He even shows me a note about how long I stay in bed. I figure somebody been spyin’ on my ass. When me and my boys find out who it is, we gonna wreck a nigga’s head.

My sorrow has turned to joy. Dean Porter sighed as he recited the meaning of my name. I was impressed that he knew what my name meant. He then sat upright and looked right into my eyes. This time, his sexy gray eyes had my dick on rock hard. I looked out the window to try and focus on something else. Some of my boys passed by bouncing a basketball as they headed to the gym--shorts sagging off their asses. I wished I was with them.

So, Dog, how you going to be successful? Three F’s on your record and you’re out of here, dog. Your scholarship we gave you gone. Dean Porter said.

I couldn’t do nothin’ but hang my head. My Moms words from her letter played over and over in my head. I told him how sorry I was that I had fucked up and asked him if he could do anything to fix it. My poor Moms worked so hard…

He looked at me a long time. Dog I can fix grades. That’s easy. All I have to do is make a phone call to the Computer Center. But the problem that needs to be corrected is you. His eyes penetrated mine. I begin to squirm in my chair. Dean Porter’s voice was deep and soft at the same time. His large gray eyes locked on mine. My own eyes danced around the room for a moment. They then landed on his desk, on that pic of him holding his little boy on his lap, with his arms around him. Dean Porter asked me something about my own Daddy. I told him he died when I was three. I don’t know if he died or not. I just know he vanished like a ghost. My Moms called him The Ghost.

You need discipline from a man. You’ve never had that, have you, Mister Ekundayo?

Naw I guess not.

Look how you just answered me, Dawg. What kind of answer is that?

No, Sir, I said quietly. Maybe Dean Porter was right. I never had no man in my life to correct my ways. My Moms did the best she could with timeouts and sometimes screamin’ at me. It was luck that I was just naturally a good kid who didn’t get into too much stuff until I got here to college. The only thing my pops did for me was give me a cool last name, my tall black frame, and his nine and a half inch African dick. I looked at that picture on Dean Porter’s desk and felt like I was crying on the inside.

"Well, Mister Ekundayo, I’m going to fix those grades for you. But I’m also going to fix you. You are your own worse enemy. I see it every day on this campus. Boys come from homes where they haven’t been spanked and disciplined. They wind up in college and fall right on their ass, flunk out, and disappoint their Moms and Pops.

His words were beginning to make me feel like shit. I hung my head. Dean Porter got up and lit a big incense candle. He dimmed the lights in his office. He walked over and put his hand on my shoulder.

I hate to do this to you as much as you hate to receive it, but do you understand how bad and unruly you are, son?

Tears streamed down my face. I had never had a man talk like this to me. My whole body felt weak. I wanted to lay my head on Dean Porter’s broad chest. I was dizzy and the room grew dimmer. All I could hear was the soft murmur of Dean Porter’s voice as he had me remove my clothes one piece at a time. He made me stop at my tapered boxers.

I’m a man, I whispered weakly.

You’re not a man until you’ve cried. Dean Porter walked behind me. He felt my firm round ass. I got the kind of perched booty that girls and even some dudes check out.

Nice ass, he said. "All of that time in the gym has paid off, young star.

My ass quivered and my asshole puckered. I was nervous and farted softly. Dean Porter slapped my ass hard for being naughty. Everything was so hazy. I felt like I had been smoking some greens. My dick pushed against my drawers like a tent. He told me some shit about Africa and how young men didn’t become men until they had experienced the pain of manhood rituals. He grabbed my dick through my drawers and gently stroked it. My dick broke through the top of my drawers. Dean Porter made me pull them down to my knees. He went to his desk drawer and got two wooden clothespins. I had seen these at my grandma’s house when I was a little kid. One had almost snapped my finger off then. Dean Porter took yellow Shea butter and rubbed it across my chest and nipples. My nipples ached and tingled. My long black dick pulsed up and down like a baton. Something else happened in my head. I could see all my boys that I played ball with in the showers. I don’t know why the showers popped in my head like that. I could even smell ‘em—a combination of ass and body wash. T-Ball’s big dick swung back and forth all soapy… Li’l Ron’s brown ass quivered as we boys snapped him with towels for missing that shot that would have won us the game. We always showed off our dicks and bragged on how far we could push them up some girl’s pussy. It was just us dudes playin’ around. I never paid much attention to no dude’s dick or ass, but now all that shit rolled across my head like a dream. With Dean Porter playing with my dick and my nipples, I thought come was going to explode through my balls.

Dean Porter saw I was about to bust some blood vessels. He sat on the edge of his desk and read some more stuff from my file. …Ran through Town Square buck naked at two am…threw rocks at Big Boys the local gay club…stole panties from the girl’s dorm… What is your problem, James Ekundayo?

What could I say? That stuff was just us boys daring each other and bettin’ each other money. The Dean looked down at me. I felt like a bad little puppy. I looked down at my softened dick that twitched every now and then.

Now that you’ve had some rest we can continue. He told me to raise my hands. He placed clothespins on each of my nipples. I arched my back in pain. My dick rose up and touched my stomach. I stood there like that until the pain eased. He picked up his phone and asked his secretary to step into the room. I panicked. Why was he asking that ol lady to come in? I tried to pull my drawers up. Dean Porter wouldn’t let me. He told me If I didn’t keep my hands up, he would put clothes pins on my balls. There I was standing butt naked as his old secretary entered the room. She carried a tablet and pencil. I was glad at least my dick got soft enough so it wasn’t sticking up towards my stomach. She hobbled her ass over close to me. I could barely make out her eyes through her big thick foggy glasses. She grabbed my dick with her fingers, looked at it for a moment, then let it drop. She wrote something in her tablet.

That’s a healthy boy there, Doc Porter. Real healthy.

That’s enough Miss Clark. He’s here for discipline, not to be admired for his attributes. Note any marks and blemishes on his ass so I can continue. Old Miss Clark ran her fingers over my ass. It felt like a tarantula was crawling over my ass.

Just a little black mole on the left cheek, that’s all Doc Porter.

Thank you, Miss Clark. That will be all for now.

Lord Jesus! That’s a healthy boy, she mumbled as she shut the door behind her. Dean Porter leaned me forward and placed both of my hands on his desk. He pulled his tie and shirt off. His white wife beater framed the most muscular dark shoulders I had ever seen He had me to stand on my tiptoes. The head of my dick brushed across the cool glass top on his desk. He spread my legs wide. He palmed my ass cheeks with his rough, calloused hands. In the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his hand. I winced as his large hand smacked my ass. He let it rest for a moment. His middle finger played around my asshole. My dick rose to attention again and trembled. The pain from the clothespins made me arch my back. My ass stuck out and made an easy target for Dean Porter’s large manly calloused hands.

After ten smacks tears of pain and ecstasy ran down my face. I didn’t want to cry. At twenty, six-feet-two-inches and one seventy pounds of prime muscle, I thought I was a man too. But here was a real man giving me what I should have had when I was a little boy. His big hands stung my ass, but his fingers gently playing around my asshole took the pain away. My dick pulsed and ached. Clear liquid pearls bubbled out of the tip ran down the side of my shaft. Dean Porter took the clothes pins off my nipples. He massaged them with more Shea butter. They stayed hard and stiff. My back relaxed and I thought it was over. I reached down to pull up my drawers. Dean Porter took his foot and pushed my drawers down to my ankles.

Not so fast, young buck. As he held my drawers to the floor, I stepped out of them. He swung me around so that I leaned back on the desk. Dean Porter lifted my legs up. To keep my balance, I was forced to grab my knees and hold my legs apart. Shame along with desire washed over me. My long young man’s legs were bent back and my asshole puckered as if it was winking at the lights in the ceiling. Dean Porter got down on his knees. He held my thighs in his big arms. His thick, soft lips tugged, kissed and gently bit the inside of my thighs. I felt electricity in my toes, man. It felt good. He pulled my legs farther apart. I felt him nibbling and biting closer to my asshole. Then I felt his tongue probing around my ass, licking the hairs. Suddenly it went in. I arched my back and moaned as the rough tongue

Reviews for Roommates and Collected Stories

[Maria Colonia · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Wouldn't recommend. I found it far fetched and didn't like it at all.