Taking it to the Hole - Sex Stories

Taking it to the Hole

“Let’s head over to West 4th for a pickup game, whadda ya say?” It was a hot summer New York night, the kind where it doesn’t dip below 80 degrees and anyone and everyone is out and about, looking for something to do. The idea sounded like a great one to Ernesto; his friends, however, weren’t as enthusiastic.

“Whadda ya fucking crazy? It’s fucking hot as fuck. What the fuck do I want to fucking go all the way to fucking Manhattan for a fucking game of fucking basketball to further sweat my big, hairy fucking balls off at 10 o’clock at fucking night? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ernesto’s cousin Vinny had the vocabulary of a Soprano and the basketball skills of a third grade girl so there was no way in hell he was gonna go anywhere to play basketball at any time. He needed to play it off so he went on and on about how hot it was and about how it was too far to travel. The rest of the gang; Tony A., Tony M., and Joey, weren’t the worst basketball players in the world but they certainly knew enough to know that if they were going to go to W.4th Street for a pickup game, they would get spanked. They all moaned about how hot it was and dismissed the idea.

Ernesto couldn’t be dissuaded so easily. It was a hot Saturday night and he knew the courts would be packed. He needed to go. He just couldn’t see himself hanging out in the neighborhood, drinking 40s out of a brown paper bag, talking about bangin’ girls, listening to Tupac, and bitching about over how hard it is to be a white man in today’s society. Ernesto was different. Born in Tuscany, he’d moved to Brooklyn when he was 11 to live with his aunt and uncle when his parents died in a car crash. Twenty years later, he had lost his foreign accent but never quite acquired a New York one either. He stood out like a sore thumb in so many ways. He was the most worldly of the group always looking to experience new adventures, he’d even gone to out of state for college. Most of the guys around the way had never gotten past high school, let alone moved out of state. Truth be told, a few had never even been to the Bronx. He had a great job in Manhattan as a massage therapist; his friends thought that was some fairy shit. It was okay when his clients were hot chicks but they were disgusted by the idea of him rubbing on some sweaty dude. Ernesto even looked different. His complexion was naturally darker, his jet black hair just touched his shoulders, steel gray eyes, and a 6’2” body he worked on religiously all worked together to make him look like a Calvin Klein model. Most of his buddies stood about 5’10” with short hair and were getting beer bellies in their 30s.

For all of their differences, Ernesto was accepted and loved in the community like he was no different at all. And he loved his family and his friends. They had taken care of him when he was at his lowest, most lonely point. While most people anticipated he would have gotten an apartment in Manhattan, Ernesto stayed in the neighborhood to ...