Famous Person: B. Hills Breakfast

May 30th, 1989, I was 21 years old, woke up a college graduate, and in the Beverly Hills Hotel.

"Our present to you, for what you've done the previous 20 years," to quote my mother when she called me.

I did all I was supposed to do as the youngest of five: be the good kid, get good grades, and move out of the house to earn a college degree. My parents rewarded me for all that was mentioned, but I did it emphatically, finishing at VSU Summa Cum Laude in Accounting. The trip to Los Angeles was my first in an airplane, and coming to the west coast since I hadn't been any further than Chicago. 48 hours after walking the stage, I was on a two week vacation, with rental car and hotel room awaiting when I arrived at the airport.

"Keep working hard son," my dad told me over the phone. "The rewards will be abundant to reflect the work you put in."

I told them both thank you, that I loved them, then got out of bed to head down to the Polo Lounge for a continental breakfast.

"Welcome, Mr. Parker. We're enchanted by your visit," said the waiter when he took my order.

Everything I was experiencing from the moment I set foot in the hotel was nothing of my imagination. The smell of the place. The aura. The food. It was all bountiful, and not one smidge of attitude, or even a raised voice. Nothing seemed impromptu except the customer service, of which whatever I wanted, seemed of pertinence to the staff.

"I can guarantee you, Richard, your breakfast will contain the lightest of fresh baked pastries, and the freshest juice or tea you can imagine," said Gary, the waiter.

After the meal I thanked the waiter kindly for his efforts, and didn't sway at the bill since my dad handed me a wad of cash that could've paid a small mortgage back then. I was truly starting off adulthood on the right foot, just enjoying the moment set for me from my hard work over the years. Gary came around minutes after the meal to ask if I wanted anything else.

"A mimosa," I told him, as I wanted to try the drink I never had.

Now throughout college, I had my fill of beer, and cheap liquor., but when I always wanted to try a mimosa.

"Would you like that with dry, and do you prefer any special orange juice," he asked.

I looked at Gary thinking some champagne, and Five Alive would good, but then I left it up to him, only for him to have a large smile across his face.

"I'll make sure the bartender makes my favorite," he said before walking off.

He made good on his promise of the breakfast, so I figured my first mimosa would be just as good. I looked around to see a handful of folks who looked like money; men with suits, and women in expensive garments rocking different fragrances. Not one had a care in the world as they mingled or laughed with each other, discussing whatever was happening in their lives to make them react how they did. Gary came back with two full glasses, then winked as he walked off, and told me one of the rounds was on him.

"Welcome to L. A., kid," he said before serving another table, and I would take a sip of one glass, then look across the room to see a gentleman looking back at me.

I glanced his way and smiled, then he raised his glass and did the same before he took a sip. I kept my eyes on him as I returned the gesture, then looked in another direction. I smelled a perfume that diverted my attention briefly, only for me to look the way of the older, white guy again, and see him still smiling. At this point I became nervous, wondering who the hell this man was, and why he seemed so fixated on me. I kept it cool and took a bigger gulp, and within a minute he was blocking my view as he stood in front of me.

"Can I help you," I asked.

"Can I sit down," he asked before I pointed to the chair across from me.

"You're here all alone? You auditioning?"

"For," I asked.

He had a hearty chuckle as he learned I was just a regular passing through.

"Just thought you were another young, talented actor up for a role," he said. "My mistake. I'm MB."

"MB, what kind of name is that," I asked.

"The kind that I use when meeting complete strangers," he said. "Now what's yours, handsome?"

"I go by Ricky," I replied, and we shook hands.

"I like Ricky. You don't sound as if you're from around here. You have an accent," he said.

We started talking, and I let my guard down as his deep, sensuous voice unraveled. "MB" was articulate, a smooth talker if you will as he explained he just came into town after directing a film.

"Now I'm back in my hole," he said.

"Los Angeles is far from a hole," I told him as he made me giggle.

"Cute laugh you have there," he said. "Tell me, where are you from, son?"

"Virginia?"

"What part," he asked.

"Little town east of Richmond," I replied.

"Williamsburg isn't a little town," he said as I became impressed.

I lived in New Kent County which bordered Williamsburg, and I corrected him before this led into a hearty conversation about places he's visited.

"I love Virginia. Very scenic, beautiful, and many ways similar to California being a coastal state," he said.

He credited himself in knowing I had an accent, albeit a sexy one, as this was the gateway of him coming on to me.

"So what's your business here," he asked.

As I started to answer the question, he grabbed one of my glasses, and took a sip.

"Some good brut there," he said.

I was shocked this random man put his lips to my drink, and even more astonished when he did it a second time.

"I can't help it, I wanted a taste," he told me.

"So you drink after random strangers," I asked.

"Maybe. Or I like to taste them the same," he joked as he chuckled.

His boldness turned me on, and I was tickled as this man seemed to have a "gaydar."

"You're so damned sexy," he whispered.

"I'm taken," I said.

"No you're not," he said as his foot brushed against mine.

This hefty, gray slick, gray haired man had a "gaydar," one that made him make his play to come over and eventually taste my drink.

"Finish your drink," he said.

I washed it down in front of him, closing my eyes the moment the liquid hit my lips, and opening them to see his eyes squinting at me.

"Come upstairs with me," he said.

"And do what? Play board games," I told the older, chunky gentleman.

"We can play games," he replied with a sly smirk. "Come upstairs with me?"

As a bottom, his aggressiveness was burning through me, and he seemed to pique my interest as I always fantasized about older men. His foot continued to rub against mine as he was trying harder to convince me to visit his room.

"I can make you feel good," he said as he leaned over to whisper in my ear.

I'd never been with a white man, but again, curiosity had me ready to accept the invite.

"When's the last time you been fucked," he asked.

"MB," I said.

"Come with me," he said. "I want you, I wanna show you a good time."

I realized when he sat back in his seat who he really was, and instantly became even more turned on.

"I wanna take off your underwear, to see if you taste as good as that drink," he told me.

He paid for my entire tab before we rushed back to the elevator. We were on our best behavior leading up to the top level where he led me into his room, but then he took my clothes off.

"I have a weakness for chocolate," he said as I laid across the large bed, and spread my legs.

MB placed his tongue in my ass without taking off an article of clothing, and let it screw me, as he turned his head in different directions. My previous guys faintly rimmed me, but MB was an experienced lover as he guided that tongue to slap at my walls, and ruffle near my prostate.

"Hold still," he said as he made me squirm, and eventually land on my stomach for he was tonguing me well.

I found myself whimpering with my head buried in the sheets, and his mouth all over my middle section as that tongue landed on my taint, then my balls, and eventually around my cock. I never had my cock sucked backwards, to best explain it, but MB knew his way between a man's legs to give such pleasure. I arched my lower back as not to bent my stiff dick, and he rewarded me with his lips, using his saliva to glide back and forth from my super sensitive tip, back to my base.

"Taste better than the mimosa," he said whenever he slurped precum off my tip.

He commenced fingering me, sticking me deeper as he tapped my prostate, and my walls, while nursing on my cock.

"MBeeeeeeeeeeeeee," I wailed as he made my body tingle.

He'd let go, and got up to come out of his clothes to show off his own thick, raging pecker, one that was drooling precum.

"Suck it," he demanded, and I sat up at the foot's edge of the bed to do what he required.

He fucked my face as I got a whiff of a musky midsection, one that seemed to carry a bit of scent from a woman. He placed his hand at the back of my head to force it towards his waist, while he fed me that thick sausage. Over and over, I felt his mushroom head protruding my lips and landing at the back of my tongue, while his salty precum was left on my tongue. He pumped those thick, daddy hips hard, then stopped, and directed me to "turn my ass around for some cock."

"Bend it over good," he said, as he walked a few steps to the dresser.

I assumed he was getting lubricant to slide inside of me, and I was right, as I felt two fingers greasing my inner hole. He mushed on my prostate, causing me to scream, then he pulled out the fingers, and replaced it with his cock as it split my hole.

"There's that good pussy," he said as he pushed it all in.

MB wasn't as long as he was thick, and weaved his hips side to side as he made his cock press against my g-spot. He smacked my ass a few times, and I'd feel his belly resting on the lower portion of my back as his cock seemed to trample my walls. MB started "banging" me, as in going back and forth entering me, and causing my hole to squelch. I couldn't stop gasping from the constant orgasms as he nailed me perfect, tapping my prostate, and my walls to cause me to grip the bed.

"I saw you needed daddy to fuck you," he said. "You like daddy fucking you?"

"I do, I do," I cried to the actor/director as he pummeled my hole.

Most guys I been with prior had me thinking size was the essence, but this famous gentleman showed it was more about the stroke. I felt his balls slapping my ass as he drove in and out of my tunnel. I felt myself all juicy and moist, the result of him constantly hitting the right spot. I couldn't count on two hands how many times he made me "cum," and didn't want him to stop doing me, for he was a wonderful lover.

"Got damn boy, you got daddy on the ropes," he said of being close. "You want my cum?"

"I want your cum," I told him before he whimpered and grunted.

He pressed that hard cock in me to release his sultry semen, and I felt it splatter throughout my hole. He pulled out, cursed, then slapped my ass before I felt that spunk roll out of me, onto my balls, and the bed.

"You were a good fuck," I said as I laid flat.

"Oh really? Just a good fuck," he said while laying beside me. "I tend to feel, I'm an even better friend."

"A friend? You'll never see me another day in your busy life," I told him.

He corrected me, by saying he wouldn't spare an expense to see me again at anytime.

"I fly to you, or you fly to me," he said to me. "But I would like to see you again."

Hours later I sat in the room, still naked, wondering how one of Hollywood's leading men came across my scrawny, black ass. I realized years later he was married to women, and with a bunch of kids, which explained how good he was in bed. He even called me that evening, wondering how long I'd be in Los Angeles.

"Return the favor, and feed me some of your cock," he suggested.

But I declined, for I enjoyed being the bottom, and felt him seeing me was too risky, for the both of us. Me and MB remained tied in spirit, and years later he would move on, with a part of me wondering "what if we met again."

Surely one of the most important figures in Hollywood, but one of the best fucks I ever experienced.