Chapter 2

"My name," replied the large black man in reply to Roland's polite inquiry, "is Theodore Abraham Ulysses Tomkins... but you can call me Theo."

They paused to shake hands close to the spot where Roland had crossed the street a little over an hour before entering the club where he'd met the giant Negro. A fine drizzle made his skin look like oiled teak and Roland couldn't help but glance at the bulge in the black man's worsted trousers, feeling his mouth water at the memory (and, indeed, the prospect) of tasting such succulent flesh.

"That's quite a mouthfull." Roland smiled, aware of the double entendre. "May I call you Theo?"

"Of course," his new friend replied. "After what you just did you can call me what you wish."

A slightly awkward silence fell between them, uncomfortable with being reminded of how they just met Roland flushed unseen in the night lit dimly by gaslight along the deserted street, and Theo coughed discreetly, aware of the faux pas and thinking quickly, said: "Would you rather take a Hansom to the Chinaman's House? It looks like the rain will worsen and it's quite a distance to Chinatown."

Roland nodded, relieved to be in the shadows where no passer-by could spy the two men walking side-by-side down the cobbles, leather shoes gleaming in unison, 'sounding like a military two-step' he thought. The notion brought a wry smile to his face and Theo caught the expression and mistook it for anticipation of what was to come. He still didn't regret the impulse which had sent him scurrying after the mysterious Negro, catching him up in the doorway, breathlessly explaining how it had been he who had so recently serviced his big black member so intimately and could they perhaps go for a drink and...

The negro's eyes had narrowed suspiciously at the sudden intrusion but mellowed as they watched the whitey babble faster than a swollen river in the rainy season, his gleaming white even teeth, shining like a row of tombstones in the night, flashed in a sudden smile and Roland became hypnotised by the solitary gold cap in the middle of the upper set, wondering how it would feel on his lips, his tongue his -

"Is there something else I can help you with?"

The deep dusky voice startled Roland's runaway train of thought, derailing it in a crashing series of syllables which brought him back to earth and stemming the torrent of words before he said something he'd... regret? Well, he'd already passed the point of no return and glanced away shyly; convinced he'd made an appalling ass of himself.

"No, I'm terribly sorry to disturb you," he mumbled. "Good Night, to you, sir."

A large black hand pressed against Roland's chest, effectively barring his escape and compelling the middle-aged white man to meet his nemesis in the eye, seeing the fire within flare momentarily and kindling a resurgent response deep inside his own loins.

"Wait," the mellow tone compelled Roland more than the pressure of the hand and his heart beat a little faster at the aroma of chicory on the negro's breath, wondering how it would taste on his lips, his tongue... "perhaps a drink would be nice," the voice poured honeyed oil over his thoughts, and reminded him of the man's salty flavour in the back of his throat. It would be a shame to wipe out the delicious memory so soon with alcohol but the nut-brown eyes held hints of deeper delights to come if only he'd...

"Yes," he smiled nervously and felt a surge of relief wash away his nerves like the pouring rain would do as soon as they stepped from the relative safety of the alcoved doorway, "a drink would be very nice."

A gentle touch on Roland's arm was all that was necessary to set an irrevocable series of events into motion for once the street had been crossed there was no going back. They both knew this and accepted the risk as much as welcomed the chance to get to know each other more intimately than either had intended when the evening began with much promise - a promise which now became a certainty as Roland stepped into the Hansom cab with relief to be out of the rain which began to pour harder when the cab pulled away, explicit instructions for their destination guiding the driver through the pitch-black night. Brief flashes of illumination from the gas-light along the street lit up his companions features but both were only too happy to enjoy the intimate privacy of the gloomy interior where their hands sought, and found, each other's warmth. Neither cared for awkward conversation and a whispered word or two was all they needed to communicate their mutual heat.

"Yes-"

"Oh, yes-"

"-There, just there-"

"-Squeeze it-"

"That's right-"

"-harder, harder!"

"-kiss me!"

Roland hesitated briefly and felt his startled cry smothered beneath the warmest pair of lips he'd had the pleasure of tasting. He had never kissed a man before but the sensation was not unpleasant, nor unlike the texture of his wife's - save for the surging strength beneath the moist flesh and the prickly insistence of his top lip, shaved recently but long enough for tiny pinpricks of hair to spike Roland's lip with exquisite heat. He moaned and opened his mouth wider to inhale the full flavour of the Negro's hot chicory-breath and take a length of hot, wet dripping tongue in lieu of something even hotter, and thicker which throbbed with vibrant anticipation in his hand.

The white man's dick was as good as it was going to get and Theo wasn't disappointed: he actually preferred them on the small side for the purposes he had in mind and this one would fit to perfection. He reached lower and squeezed the firm, hairy sacs with further approval - it didn't feel like he'd spent his entire wad in the club and would have enough to fulfill Theo's own needs, too.

This would be his first time crossing the racial Rubicon and he wanted it to be perfect. Theo sense his new partner was exclusively oral and would need a little persuasion to go all the way. He grinned around Roland's gasping mouth, knowing the cab drew them closer to the very thing required to help each other through this fresh experience, nipped the older man's bottom lip with a gentle touch and encouraged his tongue into the welcoming warmth of his own mouth, sucking the wet flesh like a cock.

An exhilarating rush of blood surged through Roland's veins and he felt himself stiffen from tip to toe as the thick black lips pushed harder onto him, crushing them together in ardent desire, thrusting his tongue deep into Theo's mouth, wanting - needing - him to feed on the hot spike of steel-hard flesh jutting proudly in the man's firm hand, pushing his head down and twisting his fingers in the fine, dark curly hair, lifting up his hips and feeling the hot breath on his fiery flesh, breathing hard upon him in anticipation of...

"Damn!" Roland exclaimed as the cab came to a stop as he realised their destination had come at an inopportune moment - but Theo's smile suggested this was only an aperitif before the main course to come.

"Don't worry," Theo said, making himself respectable again; "we have all night - don't we?"

Roland looked at him and hesitated for a heart beat then nodded: he'd come too far to turn back now and his wife would simply have to accept another of his increasingly implausible excuses. He followed the taller man from the cab, bending low to avoid hitting his head and, without glancing up at the driver for fear his eyes would give him away, stepped nimbly into the revolving door while Theo paid their fare. A short, narrow hallway, its walls stained with damp and crude graffiti led to a weathered oaken door, and Roland waited a moment or two for Theo to catch up and allow him to announce their arrival with three sharp raps, a long pause, then two more.

"I hope he comes soon," Roland complained after two or three minutes; "my ass is getting a chill out here."

"Allow me." Theo said and kept his new suck-buddy amused by pressing his semi-erection into Roland's pliant buttocks, keeping it pressed hard into the soft crease even as a screen opened in the door, level with Roland's head, and a wizened face of unmistakably Asiatic origin peered suspiciously out at them.

"Meesta Theo!" The Chinaman's weathered features cracked under a wide, beamish smile and his deep-set green eyes twinkled in recognition of a most welcome guest. "Come! Come in," he added, sliding a heavy bolt back and jangling a key in the lock to admit them into a dimly lit atrium, home to a well groomed Siamese cat which regaled them with mild disdain and twitched the tip of its tail but didn't move from its perch above an Aspidistra which appeared to be in the midst of a determined takeover bid for the entire floor space of the box-like room. The faded wallpaper spoke of long neglect but was of good quality which suggested to Roland that whatever money went into this place it wasn't wasted on renovation. He took a brief look around and saw the Chinaman regarding him with a keen gaze. "Who this?"

"This is my good friend, Roland. Roland, I'd like you to meet Mister Han. He has the best opium den in the city and can be trusted implicitly." Theo said.

Roland held out his hand and felt more than a little foolish when the Asian ignored it and bowed instead: "Pleased to meet you," he said tamely and let his hand fall back by his side unshaken."

"If Meesta Theo say you good guy, you good guy - come! Follow!" The Chinaman turned on his heel and scurried through a curtain of seashells that rattled in his wake like dozens of tiny, chattering teeth, and the two men followed him into a larger room that was divided into discreet alcoves where customers could relax upon a wooden pallet. Tendrils of smoke drifted up to the cracked ceiling and dispersed slowly in gathering clouds of exotic torpor, lending an ethereal atmosphere to the softly lit room where candles flickered shapeless fantasies upon the damp riddled wall.

"Thank you." Roland said out of habit when the old man indicated their booth.

His wrinkled face split into a toothless grin and a knowing chuckle bubbled from his lips, salacious and full of Confucian acceptance towards a world which held few surprises for him. "This, first time?" His laughter rose towards the curling smoke and danced a fandango amidst the exotic plumes, merry and guileless in the face of Roland's obvious unease in so strange surroundings as these. Roland smiled bashfully and nodded, realising the futility of pretending otherwise, and sat upon the wooden pallet, his hands splayed behind him on the roughly woven blanket.

"Everybody begins their journey to paradise from somewhere," Theo said and sat across from Roland on a small three-legged stool, such as would be used for milking, and patted the white man's chubby thigh reassuringly.

The Chinaman's eyes gleamed, gnomic with hard-won wisdom, and he nodded, his laughter fading behind the smile which seemed frozen upon his pale lips. "And sometimes a man can get lost on the way," he said in Mandarin, "and find himself in hell!"

Theo shrugged and winked confidentially at Roland who had no idea what the old man said. It mattered not if he did for Roland had set his will on experiencing the delicious taste of such taboo: Opium! A whispered secret from outside his everyday coterie where such things excited dark hints beyond normal social conduct; lewd couplings, forbidden luxury and a hint of exotic gnosis deep within the subconscious which none could foresee yet all who are human possess.

Lotus Eaters: That was another name he'd heard and had never understood its true meaning - was it an allusion to consumption of an exotic bloom? Or a more salacious 'flower': a sweet essence, aromatic and pungent of exotic spice and many things nice to eat. He would soon find out. A slender boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen, brought candles and a long clay pipe, the bowl fashioned into the head of a snarling dragon ready to breathe a potent fire the moment it was lit.

The boy gave the odd couple a small smile and bowed, his smile becoming wider at the sight of Theo's throbbing tool. His preference was for older men, usually, but he could make an exception for the length of hot black meat between the nigger's thick ebony thighs and felt himself throb in turn, aroused by the obvious heat. He loved to take a man with his mouth, opening him self as much as possible to swallow all they could give. A Shanghai transvestite had taught him the elemental way to fully excite and satiate a man; a long and satisfying apprenticeship around the docks before hitching a ride (and paying in kind for his passage) to San Francisco where he worked the wharves to earn enough money to travel a wide and wildly diverse (sometimes perverse) road until he reached New York City in 1876, finding work here in this opium den (of inquity). His stiletto eyes pierced the Stygian gloom and his nimble fingers, with a practiced series of gestures, filled the delicate bowl expertly, first offering it to the white man, a city man if the Boy was any judge. That was fine. The Boy liked hairy men.

"No, allow me." Theo gently intercepted the pipe before Roland could accept it from the boy's steady hand and held it up to his own lips, moist with anticipation. He held a taper in the flickering orange flame of a candle and spoke softly over his shoulder to Roland who watched in silence, as a pupil would observe the master craftsman before the lesson began.

"Watch," Theo went on, a bright gleam flared in his eye where the taper's light reflected, reminding Roland of an exotic djinn. "And learn," Theo added in-between toking a long, slow draw from the glowing bowl.

The opiate gleamed inside the ivory bowl and sent a pungent aroma writhing between the two men with a wraith-like, sinuous quality, that Roland found almost erotic in the sensual sway of the potent drug. His eyes followed the curve of every twist of each cloud spreading along the ceiling, merging amidst other multi-hued vapours where they danced a merry path into infinity beyond the meagre confines of the rough house. Theo's gorgeous phallus stretched before him, the head becoming thicker, swelling into a bulbous, one-eyed monster, a super-serpent with one eye winking rapidly at Roland who pumped the fat shaft in his slick fist, sensing rather than seeing the teenager stroke his impressive erection at this lewd display of male libido. He followed Theo's lead and inhaled deeply - coughing violently the first time but gradually toking more and more of the potent drug into his lungs where it spun a web of wonder within his limbic system, and spread tendrils of warmth and joy throughout each and every nerve, seeping into his blood, and deep in very marrow of his bones.