My mother always told me to be sure I wanted what I wished for, because sometimes dreams have a strange way of coming true. She was right. One of mine certainly did. And in the weirdest way. Soon after I left university, I worked as a supply teacher. That's what we call it in England, anyway. It was a bit like being a stand-by airline pilot as you were always standing by waiting to be sent to some school or other to replace some teacher who was sick. Anyway I was the substitute "pilot" and my dream was to navigate Lorenzo's magnificent jumbo jet of a black dick.

I'd seen it under the shower one day after football practice, and the dye was cast, so to speak. He didn't really shine in academic subjects but his athlete's body sure made up for that. Trouble was, he was just sixteen. I was only eight years older, but that didn't change the fact that technically he was still only sixteen, and for six months, at least, I was his teacher. I say technically because he had the body of a thoroughbred racehorse. One look at those flaring black nostrils and his boulder like butt as he ran round the football field was enough to increase my dick to two or three times its already very acceptable size. At least that's how it felt.

After seeing his great "credentials," I offered to give him extra tutoring to improve his grades, so he came to me twice a week. One of the main problems was that his father was originally from Somalia and with his mother being from Naples, they spoke Italian at home. So he had difficulty reading and writing, especially writing, and that's what counted in a school examination. He was very keen and we did an hour or two after class or as soon as he'd finished his training. We both looked forward to our sessions very much. I know he did because he'd often arrive hot and sweaty without stopping to take a shower. This didn't bother me at all. Quite the contrary. It gave me a chance to savour his musky masculinity and he had plenty of that.

Once they asked me to referee a school football match, and I stopped by the changing rooms to congratulate him. I didn't stay long. I arrived just as he was taking off his shirt. He was a culinary delight. I could have made a delicious three course meal out of him then and there. The sight of his solid chocolate cake chest glazed with sweat instead of icing, but equally edible I'm sure, had my pulse racing and my dick pulsing. Before I could gulp that one down and visually digest it, he'd slipped out of his jock strap and released his jumbo jizz stick. I got an appetizing glimpse of his Brazil nuts and the mouth-watering profiterole mounds of his butt. I was out of there fast before I covered him in cream or before my eyes, knees and dick could give me away. Such is love. Or lust.

I knew he had similar feelings towards me too as he used to sit very close to me as we studied and sometimes our thighs collided under the table. It didn't escape my notice that he never moved away. I didn't either. Of course, looking back I'm rather ashamed of myself for having such an immature fixation on a boy of sixteen but tell that to my dick. It rose like the sun at the sight of him and sank just as fast when he left.

Even now, after more than five years, my nights are still full of him and I wake up breathless with my nose buried deep in his butt instead of the pillow. Or I discover that my shorts are jizz stained after a wet dream of licking his chocolate drop nipples or using his dick as a cream filler. But the strongest sensation of all is the sweet, sweaty smell that invades my nostrils when I feel his hot, hunky thigh pressed against mine. I realize, with a stab of guilt, that very often we were just a pubic hair away from touching each other's dicks. In fact the regular teacher came back in the nick of time. But not before I'd pushed him through the exam. He came bounding into the classroom to thank me when he heard the results and jumped up and down like an ecstatic puppy. Given the size of him that was some entrance, I can tell you. Still we both knew he didn't deserve to pass, and that it was only an act of charity on my part. However, without that exam he wouldn't have been able to make a career as an athlete. I laughed it off and said he owed me one.

I still don't understand what made me say that or why I'm telling you all this. You could probably care less. Perhaps it's because today's his twenty-first birthday. He's come of age. Or maybe that's when you're eighteen nowadays. I don't remember. But for some strange reason, I do remember his birthday. I've got it bad, and that ain't good. Of course the reason for all this nauseating nostalgia is that I've just seen him win a race on TV. So all those old memories came flooding back to haunt me. You see, I've never been able to settle down with anyone. I still use his jizz stick as a yardstick. To me he's still the best. I wish I hadn't let him slip through my fingers. I should call this account "Diary of a Dickhead." In fact if they asked me, I could write a book. That reminds me, I have to go open up the bookshop, so I'll catch up with you later.

This is later. You're not going to believe this. I certainly didn't. Talk of the devil, they say. Well we were and he did. Appear, I mean. I was in my bookshop, "The Minstrel's Gallery." I called it that because of the narrow landing at the top of the shop which was part of a building that had once belonged to a member of the nobility. It must have been the music room or something, and there was a kind of spiral staircase leading up to this glorified ledge where the musicians probably sat. I'd lined it with shelves and filled them with collectors' items or rare second hand books. It was musty and dusty, but lent extra charm to the bookshop which was well frequented by university students and serious buyers. Fortunately for me, not everything can be found on the net. Not yet, anyway. Of course I had a computer and a coffee corner and sold videos and magazines as well. I also had my own website and was building up quite a reputation as "the shop where you find the unfindable."

And wouldn't you know he found me. And how. It was nearly closing time, and there were no customers so I went up to the minstrel's gallery to look for a book somebody had asked for. I heard the doorbell ring so I shouted down, " Sorry, we're closed." I heard the bell ring again, so I supposed whoever it was had left. I was absorbed in my search and therefore not very alert. It was pretty dark up there too, and I should have brought a torch. He must have slipped up behind me at the speed of light, because suddenly I was aware of a dark shape. I cursed myself for not having locked up first and prepared myself for a mugging. I stood stock still, trying to think of a way out of my self-induced predicament. To my surprise I felt hot groin against my butt. I was expecting a mugging, not a buggering. Also a hard metal instrument such as a gun or knife, not a hard warm, presumably pleasurable, instrument like this was. My would be assailant rubbed himself against me, and I nervously thought of saying something really dumb such as, " Happy to make your acquaintance."

Then he spoke in a deep, rich black voice. "I've come to give you what I owe you," he said, and with that he put his hands inside my half open shirt and started to pet my pecs. My body shuddered with relief and pleasure, and my butt shook hands with his dick.

I sighed incredulously and said, " Lorenzo?"

He moved his hand down the front of me to return the greeting and said, " You expecting someone else?" Now as I told you before, I'd been having so many erotic fantasies about him that I almost convinced myself I was in the middle of another one. Almost. Then he began to cradle my balls and tighten his grip on my dick, and I knew I wasn't dreaming. I decided to live the moment and ask questions later. I felt his fingers feel their way inside my fly, and then into my shorts until his hand was hugging my throbbing dick. By now, I wanted to hug some dick myself, and reached out behind me to pull down the pants of his tracksuit. Soon his hot fleshy jizzbo sizzled against my butt.

"Nice little place you've got here," he said. I presumed he was talking about the shop and not my butt.

"How did you find me?" I asked as he lubed up his fingers with spit and began to insert them.

"Instinct," he said laughing. "I found you on the web. Took me five years but I'm finally home."

And with that I opened my hallowed halls and invited him in. "Welcome," I said in an ecstatic chorus from my butt as his juicy jumbo jet entered my hot hangar. Suddenly I felt a searing sheet of fire shoot through me that roared up the shaft of my dick and seemed to solder my butt to his balls. I couldn't believe what was finally happening to me. He was making me feel so good I wanted to crawl inside his skin and wrap him round me. I wanted to drain every last drop out of his divine dick. In fact I sucked at it with my ass as if to assuage an insatiable thirst. He had me on the verge of utter erotic insanity. Then we were ready for landing, and he shuddered like an aircraft going through turbulence. Hot air seemed to whiz past my ears as he climaxed and grabbed hold of those blessed bookshelves and I came all over "Of Human Bondage."

There was silence for more than a minute as we got ourselves together. He wiped my dick tenderly with a Kleenex tissue like he was the teacher and I was the student. It seemed so natural too. Then he smiled and said "That was great, prof. Seems we got ourselves through another exam."

I gazed up at him, climbing north from his dick to his eyes. "I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

"I was telling you all the time," he said, "and you never listened." My dick had grown hard again. So had his. " We should get cleaned up," he said.

"Yes," I said, not moving. Our tongues and dicks interlocked, and there seemed to be no way to separate them. We kissed good and long as if we wanted to draw the breath out of each other's lungs. It was so great to see him at last, and to know we were meant to be. He hadn't been able to get me out of his mind any more than I had him. I explored his body with my hands, sucked his chocolate drop nipples and generally made a meal out of him as I had wanted to all those years ago. Now that he was here in front of me, five years felt like five minutes. After all, time has no place in eternity.

Later, as we were making love again in my office and I was once again worshiping his body and the beauty of him, he confessed to me that he'd missed me like hell. He told me about the two or three affairs he'd had. Two with white women. One with another black guy. None of them had lasted because he was looking for me in all of them.

I'd had similar problems with men. Nobody measured up to him. Literally. I took him to a great restaurant to celebrate his birthday, and he couldn't believe I remembered the date. He took it as a token of my love for him. It was. On the way home he thanked me for dinner, and said, "I owe you one."

Once again he paid his debt to me, and once again it was weird and wonderful. I had this great musical tape of Broadway shows called "Hey, Mr. Producer." I didn't think it was his kind of music, but it was already in my stereo, so we listened to it as we grabbed and grappled with each other, too busy to choose something else. He loved the overture to Carousel, so I told him about the show and let him see the first ten minutes of the movie on video. He thanked me and told me it was time for him to "settle his bill" and repay me for my kindness. Also he wanted to unwrap his beautiful birthday present.

"What birthday present?" I asked innocently. He didn't answer. He just began to undress me as if he was stripping the petals from a blushing rose. I stood butt naked before him. He undressed, too, and kissed me. Just as I was getting seriously aroused, he broke away and sat down on the swivel chair at my work desk. The chair was deep tan and made of leather. He was dark brown and made of chocolate. The sight of the two of them together made my mouth water again. It was time to devour the birthday cake and the inflamed candle sticking up in the middle of it.

"Put the music back on, and come over here and sit down," he said.

I obeyed, although I didn't see how I was going to manage it unless I blew out his candle. I also put the lights down low and the Carousel overture up high. I let him work his dick into my butt, and eased my way gently down onto him until eventually I was actually sitting on his lap or lap dancing. It amounted to the same thing. He moved his dick around inside me until I was fainting with pleasure. Then when I thought I'd just about reached heaven, he put his arms round my waist and lifted me up and down on his dick in time to the music, all the time swivelling the chair around. Up and down, round and round, faster and faster like a horny carousel horse. He had my senses and everything else reeling. His dick hit my love button over and over again until I was foaming at the mouth in sexual delirium. By some magic he managed to time everything with the music, so we came in a mutual crescendo. I fell to the floor and he fell with me, still inside me. The music had stopped but I hadn't. I was still jerking cum over my best rug. He bit into my back to help me on my way, and I collapsed against him like a deflated balloon. Which I was. I had been fucked often but I'd never been fucked that good.

Next day I gave him his own personal copy of the Carousel waltz, and a little note: "Happy 21st. You made all my fondest dreams come true. Love, Callan." Mother was right. Thanks, Mom.