I have to admit I was somewhat racially naive when I first moved to Canada. I had grown up in Australia in the 1960s when the so-called White Australia Policy was still in force. It severely limited the number of non-white immigrants to Australia, so to that time I had come in contact with very few Asians, East Indians, or Negroes.

So when my cousin Bert, with whose family I had just started living in a small town in British Columbia, invited me to come swimming with him and his two best friends at an isolated lake, I was rather stunned to find one of those two best friends was a black man.

I'm not sure what I expected of him, but it certainly wasn't what I found in Paul Dupois. Maybe I expected a thick southern drawl, like the negroes in many American movies. He certainly didn't have that. He spoke fluent Canadian, and didn't sound any different from my cousin Bert and his other friend James. He also spoke fluent French because Paul's father was a white man from Quebec, while his mother was a black woman from Jamaica. With his mixed ancestry, Paul was actually more milk chocolate than black, but to me he was still black.

We drove into the remote lake in my cousin's pickup, all crowded into the front seat. Today that would be highly illegal but back in 1977, there were no seat belt laws yet. Bert drove, of course, and James got to sit in the middle, his legs straddling the stick shift, and Paul got the outside passenger position. I was about to ride in the box of the pickup, but Paul insisted I ride on his lap. I have to confess that I was a little uncomfortable being this close to a black man for the first time.

It was a long, bumpy ride into the lake, over corrugated logging roads through thickly wooded areas. In Oz, we used to call these washboard roads. They shake the teeth out of you. The vibrations can also give you a woody — and that's just what they did for Paul - at least, he blamed it on the vibrations!

It was quite a few miles into the woods when I first became aware of something hard pressing against my butt - and it wasn't Paul's knee. It was his cock! I shifted slightly to make sure. Yes, it was his dick, alright.

"Sorry about that, man!" Paul grinned. "All this bumping is giving me a hard-on. Can't help it."

It was not the first cock I had ever had pressed against my butt, but I wasn't about to confess that right now!

However, it was the first black man's cock I had ever had pressed against me, and the thought gave me somewhat of a thrill. I, too, got a woody, but I didn't say anything about it.

It was about a 40 minute drive into the lake the guys had chosen. There was a small clearing between the road and the lake, and this was where we parked. It was late spring, and the day had warmed up nicely. In fact, we were all rather hot, having been cooped up in the cab of the pick-up for so long, mostly with the widows rolled up to avoid eating the road dust of the occasional car we passed. By the time we clambered out, we were all ready for a swim.

I guess I was the only one who had brought swimming trunks, and I started to undress and pull them on, but Bert, already wading into the water stark naked scoffed at me.

"Don't be a pussy. There's no-one for miles. You don't need shorts!"

By the time I decided to dispense with the swimming trunks, the other three were already in the water, and I, a little self-conscious about the remains of the woody I was wearing, ran in after them.

We gambolled in the shallows for a while, until we noticed, just round a small headland in a little bay, a floating dock. It had probably been built by some avid fishermen. Apparently this lake was well-stocked with rainbow trout and Kokanee - land-locked salmon. The dock would be perfect for fishing from, or for tying up small boats.

All four of us waded out a bit deeper, then swam around to the raft. Although I considered myself a good swimmer, the other three were even better than me, and all outpaced me in the dash to the floating dock. They had all clambered up onto it by the time I arrived. Even when I did arrive, I was hesitant about climbing out of the water. I still had a semi-hard, and it wasn't helped by the sight of my cousin's large cock, which I was seeing for the first time. Even more interesting was Paul's uncut black cock. I had never seen a black cock before!

My friends heckled me to come on up out of the water, and when I did, trying clumsily to hide my stiffy by crouching over it, they laughed uproariously.

"Don't worry," Bert told me, "We've all seen cocks before, and we've all had woodies ourselves!"

So I thought, "To hell with it!" and stood erect (in both senses) and proudly displayed my hard cock. The stiffness caused my foreskin to retract automatically and the bright pink strawberry of my cock-head showed forth. I noticed that although none of the other three were actually stiff, they all showed signs of tumescence, more than you would expect after the rather cool water of the lake - and particularly Paul, who looked rather lingeringly at my meat…

I felt a little embarrassed at first, but their interest in my swollen cock soon passed. More games for boys followed, in particular showing off who could make the most interesting dive off the low dock. Cannonballs and other splats were the big thing, followed by shallow dives.

I watched Paul make a really nice dive off the dock. It consisted of a running leap high into the air, then arching down to cut into the water neatly. I commented on it to the other two.

"He really has great style," I said.

"Yes, he does," agreed James.

"He's on the local swim team," added Bert. "He's quite gay, you know."

"Yes," I agreed. "He does seem like a happy guy." The use of 'gay' to denote 'homosexual' was just coming into common use in North America. I'd never heard it used that way before, and didn't recognize it now. Bert explained:

"I mean he's gay. You know, homosexual. He likes boys."

"Oh," I said weakly, knowing that I too was 'gay.' "Does that bother you?" I asked.

"Not a bit," replied Bert. "He is my friend, after all." I was rather hoping that Bert would say "Because I'm gay too," but that never happened. On the other hard, I noticed that James, who was listening to what was said, had a rather amused little smile on his face.

When Paul climbed back onto the raft-dock after his dive, I looked at him with different eyes, and remembered how his eyes had lingered on my cock.

The diving games went on for some time, until we took time out to wolf down some ham and cheese subs my aunt, Bert's mother, had packed for us. We washed them down with a bottle of beer each, but they were rather sudsy from all the bouncing round on the logging road.

When the other three stretched out on the float to soak up a few rays, I decided to explore a little. The British Columbia back country was still a novelty to me.

This little lake was at the base of a string of steep hills, behind which were the Coast Mountains. On the other side of the lake from us, the country was flatter, sloping off down to the sea some miles to the west. Here, we were right close to the base of cliffs formed by the steep hills and the lake.

I discovered we were actually on a little spit of land pressing out from the cliffs. A small arm of the lake ran in behind us. I was standing on a bluff of land overhanging this arm of water, when I heard some falling stones and rocks from below me.

My first thought was "a bear" as I was still new to the Canadian woods, and feared man-eating beasts lurked behind every bush. But that fear was allayed when a voice from below called, "Hey, there. Give me a hand up will you?"

I peered over the edge of the bluff to see Paul clambering naked up the rock face. I bent and reached a hand down to him. He took my hand and I drew him up. A little winded from his climb, he squatted on the rocks at the edge of the bluff while he recovered his breath. I was surprised to see that he had a raging hard! I nodded toward it.

"Been thinking abut me, I see!" I joked.

But Paul was not joking when he replied, simply, "Yes!"

My eyes were drawn to his hard, black cock. Like mine earlier, his foreskin was retracted, totally displaying his knob. Unlike my light strawberry knob, his was darker red, almost purple, like a rich, ripe grape. I wanted to suck the juice from it. My own cock was responding to those thoughts and soon was as hard as Paul's.

Knowing he was gay like me, I didn't waste any time beating around the bush. "Want a blow-job?" I asked.

Paul stood and thrust his pelvis forward. His dark cock with its purplish head called out to me, and I kneeled and grasped it, opened my mouth and took the knob into it. I expected somehow that black cock would taste different, but it didn't. It was just like the cocks of other boys I had sucked back in Australia.

I mouthed and gobbled at his dick, slurping and slobbering like a kid with an ice-dream cone or a peppermint stick. I enjoyed forcing it down my throat as far as I could get it without choking.

"That's great," murmured Paul at my ministrations, "but what I really want is to fuck you."

"OK," I agreed, "but what about the others?" I didn't really want my cousin to know I was a homo.

"I'm sure they wont be bothering us," Paul assured me. I took his word for it, and we looked around for a spot that would be a little more comfortable than those bare rocks. Paul found a clump of dried leaves and grasses, almost like hay, under a stunted pine tree. "This do?" he asked.

I nodded and knelt on hands and knees on the patch of vegetable matting expecting him to do me doggy-style. But Paul said, "No. On your back. I want to fuck you face to face." I rolled over onto my back.

"Will that work?" I asked.

"Yes," he informed me. "My dick's long enough, and I'm pretty supple. If your back's flexible too, we'll do just great." He lifted my legs in the air, spread them, and forced them back towards my shoulders. My back bent to accommodate the stress, and my butt lifted off the ground, raising my asshole up to give access to his black dick.

His face was above me, looking down on mine. He w raised one hand to his mouth and deposited a big glob of spit. I felt him fumbling with his dick, and his fingers probing my hole. Then he placed his fat, purple grape of a cock head against my manhole. He pushed and I pushed back. I relaxed my butt muscles, and I felt them opening to accept the visitor. There was a little pain, then a lot, then a rush as he forced his way into me, then it was beyond pain and only pleasure as his rod slipped slowly deeper and deeper into me.

"Oh, boy! That feels so good! It's been ages since I was fucked."

"We'll make up for it now," he told me, and began the rhythmic dance of in and out, push and pull, shove and withdraw, man pumping man.

His face was right above mine, grinning down at me.

"This position might be a bit awkward," Paul puffed, "but the best part of it is this!" and he bent his head further and opened his mouth and kissed me passionately. I opened my own to receive him. Colour didn't matter in the least; only sex and passion mattered.

I don't know how long Paul fucked me for. I only remember it was quite a long time before he began to spasm and spurt his juices into me. I welcomed them with all my being.

When he was spent and withdrew, I still needed to cum. I lay where I was on my back and began to beat my meat rapidly. In seconds I was feeling the flow, and my body began to quiver. Paul, beside me, was not about to let it go to waste. He bent his face to my cock and took my dick head into his mouth just as I began to squirt. Spasm after spasm forced my cum into his mouth, and finally he sucked out the last dregs and swallowed it all.

We stood and headed back toward the floating dock.

When we stepped out of the bush trail onto a small patch of grasses at the edge of the lake, we almost stepped on Bert and James. They were busy doing just what Paul and I had just done. My gay cousin Bert was busy fucking James's gay ass in much the same position that Paul and I had been minutes before.

Paul smiled at their contortions. "I taught them that," he announced proudly. "Don't let us interrupt you, boys," he told them.

"We won't!" my gay Cousin Bert assured him.

When they finally finished, it was just about time for the long drive back to town, with me again seated on Paul's knee. This time when he got a hard on, I reached under myself and kneaded it for him.

I had sex with Paul a couple more times after that. I had sex with my gay cousin Bert and his gay boyfriend James many times after that. Paul left town, and we lost track of him. Bert and James moved in together, and I moved in with them for a while. After a few years, both "came out" to their parents, and after nearly 40 years as a couple, they got married in 2004, soon after it became legal in British Columbia. I was best man for both!

Me? I'm still looking for "Mr. Right", black, brown, yellow, or white; but I'll never forget Paul, my first black fuck.

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