Sunday, March 19, 2017

Matt's Black and White Ball

Upstate, April 2009

The invitation came in an email:"You and a guest are invited to Matt's Black and White Balls, Memorial Day Weekend 2009. Lodging provided.  Please RSVP."

Plus a MP4 of "Everything's Up To Date in Kansas City" from Oklahoma.

"Balls must be a mistake," I told my boyfriend Chad.  "He must be doing an homage to the famous Black and White Ball that Truman Capote held for New York glitterati in 1966."

"Gay glitterati, all dressed in black and white!" Chad exclaimed.  "Sounds festive.  But who's Matt?"

"My ex-boyfriend Fred's ex-boyfriend from California. You'd like him."

When I met Matt in 1988, he was a 22-year old Cute Young Thing, a Harvard elitist, abrasive and condescending in spite of his fabulous butt and extra-large beneath-the-belt gifts.  But as I got to know him better, he turned out to be secretly kind, generous, and only marginally insane.

In the bedroom, while you were going down on him, he kept up a nonstop monologue of his progress, first in English, then in French.  He usually finished in German.

I'm getting there...un peu plus, mon vais arriver...bien, bien...ich komme!

"Fred and Matt were together for about ten years.  When they broke up, he moved to San Francisco, and then to Boston.  I haven't seen him in five or six years."

"Well, you must have made a good impression on him.  But why is he hosting his Black and White Ball in Kansas City, not Boston?"

When I asked, Matt responded only "That would be telling.  But don't worry, it won't be just KC barbecue-and-tractor-pull fans.  There will be a lot of guys from San Francisco: David, Corbin, Seth.  I even invited Kevin the Vampire."

Kansas City, May 23rd, 2009

I arrived in Kansas City at 2:00 pm.  Instead of Matt, I was met by a guy holding a sign: an African-American Cute Young Thing, short, very dark, buffed, wearing a formal white shirt and black pants.  He introduced himself as Malcolm.

I thought he was a professional driver, but he led me to an old, beat-up car with a back seat cluttered with clothes and fast-food wrappers.  Not really professional -- must be one of Matt's friends.

"How long have you and Matt known each other?"

"He just hired me for the weekend.  But I'm available all day and all night.  Just give me a call, and I'll be there."  He grinned and grabbed my knee.

Hired for what?

"Would you like a short tour of the City before we head over to Matt's house?"

He drove me past the Crown Center, the Liberty Memorial, and Swope Park, where we kissed and fondled at a fountain overlooking the valley.  Then we drove to a huge brick house on the north side of town, parked, and went inside without knocking.

Past a foyer into an enormous living room.  A cute older guy, mid-40s, African-American, was standing on a ladder, putting up a poster of a naked man.

"This is Boomer," Malcolm announced, putting his arm around my waist.  And leaving it there.

He smiled and held down his hand.  "I'm Dallas, and no, I'm not from Texas."

Then Matt came in, naked, dripping wet.  He was now 44 years old, balding, a little pudgy, but he still had a fabulous butt.

"Boomer, welcome!  Sorry I can't hug -- we've been in the pool.  Why don't you go up to your room, change, and join us?  Malcolm will show you where it is."

Malcolm grinned.  "Sure, I'll be glad to."

"Take your time -- there's no hurry.  Or if you'd rather take a nap or...something, dinner will be served at 6:00."

Malcolm led me to a very bright, airy bedroom on the second floor, dropped my bag, and pushed me down onto the bed.  We tore our clothes off and got into the 69 position, but I kept choking on his thick, uncut Kielbasa.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Dallas came in.  "You boys mind if I get in on this action?"

Malcolm raised his head.  "I thought you were with Glenn before."

"Hey, I can do it twice in a day.  When I was younger, sometimes I did it six times, if I could find enough cute white boys."  He squeezed onto the bed next to us, and pulled his pants down.  His Mortadella+ sprang to life.

I dutifully went down on him while Malcolm was going down on me.

Malcolm and Dallas both left before dinner, leaving me, Matt, Corbin, Seth, and three guys I didn't know.  It was soup, sandwiches, and fruit salad.

"Don't worry.  If you get peckish, there will be lots to eat at the Black and White Balls later."

He definitely said Balls, not Ball.

Afterwards it was like a West Hollywood party.  We hung out in the family room, swapping stories about enormous penises and celebrity dates, watching Tales of the City, cruising, while the caterers worked in the rest of the house.  At 8:00 we went up to our rooms and changed clothes, and came downstairs to a wonderland of beefcake posters, statues of Greek gods, and phallic art.  The other guests started to arrive, the ones who lived in town or were staying in a hotel (chauffeured by Malcolm or Dallas).

I reunited with David from San Francisco, but  Kevin the Vampire wasn't there.  Neither was Matt's ex, Fred.

We chatted, ate little quiches and shrimps, and drank soda or sparkling cider (Matt didn't drink).  Suddenly the caterers were all naked except for black jockstraps.  So were Malcolm and Dallas.

Malcolm approached and put his arm around me.  "Did you miss me, babe?"

"Why didn't you stay for dinner?" I asked.

"Too many guys to pick up.  But don't worry, we can have dinner tomorrow night, just me and you."

Matt rang to get our attention.  "Welcome, old and new friends, to my Black and White Balls.  As you may know, six months ago, my dear Papa died, leaving me this house, which I hardly need.  It's going on the market."

He glanced around the room.  I followed his gaze, and noticed that there were way more caterers than you needed, almost one for every party guest.  And something else.

Every party guest was white or Asian, and every caterer was black!  WTF?

"You may not know, however, that dear Papa, for all his wheeling and dealing in India, was a sheet-wearing, Confederate Flag-carrying, cross-burning racist.  Sadly, I grew up with a considerable strain of racism of my own, which took me years to overcome. So today, we are going to exorcise this house of all its racial inequality with the Black and White Balls.  Feel free to mingle, grope, suck, fuck.  I want to see black and white men together in every room in this house, especially in dear Papa's study, which no black man has ever entered before."

One of the party guests was going down on a caterer.

"Wait -- are you guys hustlers?"

"Oh, no."  Malcolm moved his hand down to my butt.  "Matt was very careful to specify that we're getting paid to cater and chauffeur.  We don't have to do anything with a guest...if we don't want to."  He moved my hand down to his crotch, where he was already aroused.  "Can you guess if I want to?"

Another caterer approached, a tall, muscular guy in his 30s with washboard abs and a gold ring through a nipple.  "Can I get you anything, sir? penis?"

I didn't understand the logic: how do you fight racism by rigidly dividing the group by race?  Wouldn't it make more sense to have both black and white men as party guests?

And why go through time and expense of inviting guys from all over the country, paying for their lodging, and catering a glamorous "Black and White Ball" that turned out to be just a sex party?

But as I dropped to my knees to go down on a Kielbasa and a Mortadella at the same time, I became less interested in logic.

By the way: five guys that night, dinner with Malcolm the next day, and sharing with Matt and his boyfriend, who happened to be Dallas!

See also:  Matt's First Night with Fred and His Brother

1 comment:

  1. Matt's mother had already died a few years before.



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