I'm laughing so hard, I can barely breathe. My friend continues his belligerent rant, scaring the good people at Taco Bell, "So I told that motherfucker, you're gonna have to call the police or give me my fucking refund! Thirty days, my ass!" I was with him when he caused the scene at Wal-mart and I dreaded the day he'll tell this story. The re-cap is always more embarrassing than being ushered out by the security.
It's funny how three black men can be louder than everyone else in the entire restaurant. It's even funnier seeing everyone shaking their heads in disapproval of our inappropriate humor. I chime, "When are you gonna get to the part when you stopped all that yelling once the security got there? You got real proper then, punk ass!"
"Whatever, man, they better be glad I couldn't afford bail or I would've," a melodic ring comes from my pocket.
Taunting him while checking my text, "You would've: what?" Reading the colon next the right parentheses made my dick jump in my pants. A smiley face from his phone number always manages to takes me from flaccid to super-stiff. Finishing him off, "Speaking of bullshit, I gotta drop some off." I try to slide from the booth's seat without anyone notice the large bump in my jeans. It had to look strange turning the corner so sharply.
Reaching the restroom, I get my phone ready; he doesn't like to wait. Fumbling to turn the camera on, I lock the door behind me. Thank God he rang while I was at a Taco Bell, they have a private bathroom. Unbuckling my belt, I pull my shirt up and clinch it between my chest and chin. I could feel the chemistry coursing through my body as my dick starts to throb in the open. I don't know why, but I can't catch my breath.
Aiming the camera phone downward, I make sure I get a good shot. Close enough so he see the veins. Far enough so none of the inches are lost. He hates it when the picture cuts out the base; he has a thing for pubes. I also make sure the lighting was right, I swear, these camera aren't made to capture big, black dicks. I get nervous as my phone makes that loud, phony camera sound; I forgot to set it on silence.
Since I had it out, I went ahead a took a piss. After washing my hands, I returned to my friends eating they're burritos. Creating an alibi, "Those fucking Baja Blast's make me go, like, every ten minutes."
My quieter friend, slurps on his Mountain Dew in between bites, "Tell me about it."
The loud one jumps up, "It's because it's crack soda! Bean Burrito plus Baja Blast equals don't step foot in the bathroom after I'm done unless you gotta a death wish!" As he hurries off to the bathroom, my phone rings and vibrates on the table. I damn near choke on my taco as I see another colon/ right parentheses...shit!
Breaking me out of my daze, he asks concerned, "Everything alright, who's texting you?"
"Ah," I had to clear my throat, "No one, this damn phone bill's due tomorrow. Feel's like I just paid that bitch yesterday."
"I know what you saying, one bill after another," my mind is racing, trying to figure out where to do this. Even if I wait until my homeboy's finished with the bathroom, it'll be hard to stay hard in that kind of funk.
"Yo, man; I think I left something in your car. Can get your keys?"
In between bites, he pulls out his keys and drops them on the table, "Thanks, man." Rushing out, I keep a hand in my front pocket to mask my excitement. Pretending I'm checking my phone, I set up the camera as I swing the door open. I hope he didn't notice how much force I used.
Sliding into my friend's backseat, I quickly undo my pants again. Using my finger, I press my dick toward my thighs and snap a a couple of pictures. I get even harder as I realize I'm in a car with no tinting on the windows in broad daylight. Pulling my pants back up, my stomach turns from blue balls. I can't wait to get home to let the load out.
Walking back indoors, I sneak in a few squeezes from my front pocket. This dude has me twisted, I didn't notice my friends standing right in front of me, "I need my keys, homie." I know I have to look weird. I can't even look them in the eye. I'm holding an erection in one hand and I'm juggling my cell phone and his car keys in the other. After tossing his keys to him, I slowly but quickly turn around and head for his car.
Sitting the backseat, my phone goes off again, my friend shouts, "Dude, your phone is going off every fucking three minutes! What's up?"
Trying to keep it cool, "Man, none of your business. Your Mom's Metro got turned back on and we got some catching up to do."
Sarcastically, he laughs, "Ha ha ha; my Mom weighs about three hundred pounds; unless you're a chubby chaser, I doubt she's the one giving you that woody." The car explodes with laughter; I'm glad black men can't blush. Looking down at the phone, I'm relieved to see a picture of his hand wearing a pearl bracelet next to a softening white cock. It would've been hard to take another picture.