naked black girls

by Ray G.

  naked black girls

  © 2013 Wayward Gnomes Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the publisher.

  trickyrelativity.wordpress.com

  IT’S TIME.

  Can’t do the same thing anymore. Clandestine side-eye glances—no longer enough. Watching them walk away, eyes locked on rhythmically switching glutes—no longer enough. I want to feel the heat coming off of a woman’s skin. Bury my face in her gloriously coiled hair. No more internet searches for naked black girls. I need the Real Her. I need her right here, right now. Straddling me. Full lips sucking on my neck. Broad backside spilling over my lap. I want her. I want her so bad. I’m about to go crazy.

  About to?

  Why am I lying to myself? I am going crazy.

  My loins are on fire.

  Laptop is calling me. Already fully booted. A few tabs open...email, Facebook. It’s right in the center of the bed. Perfect location. Just gotta input those three words. Actually, just the first letter, Google will do the rest.

  No. Not anymore. Gotta grow a pair. Go get her. The Real Her. Come on Eve. Just play a little MK2 to take the edge off. Jade’s waiting.

  But the laptop is ready. I should just masturbate. Eliminate this angst. At least temporarily. Get it over with. Live to lust another day.

  No. No more of that. Time for the real thing. Gotta have the real thing.

  No willpower.

  You’re such a coward Eve.

  Yes. Yes I am.

  naked black girls it is.

  Within seconds hundreds of thumbnail pics of brown-skinned beauties decorate my screen. Who’s gonna be the lucky girl tonight?

  Scroll down.

  Scroll down.

  Wow.

  There she is.

  Double-click…

  She’s bent over, looking back at the camera. Ample everything. A well-manicured hand grips her left butt cheek. Damn. Juicy. Like she’s about to drip. Another woman’s head is in the right-hand corner, tongue sticking out, inches away from the promised land.

  I’m wet. Ridiculously. I love these women. I absolutely adore these women. Index and middle begin doing their job. I move the laptop to my chest. God I want to press my face in her pussy. I bet it tastes like sweet potatoes.

  Baked ones. Warm.

  Soft.

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Damn.

  Wonder if she likes pasty white girls. Probably not. Probably doesn’t like girls at all. Tired of these gay-for-pay bitches. They do the trick though. Boy, do they do the damn trick.

  Just look at her. Almond eyes. Skin like Swiss chocolate. The good shit. The stuff you gotta break a five to buy. I want her. I want all of them. Damn, why is she so wet? Wonder if it’s real wetness. Could be Vaseline. It looks real. Wonder what turned her on. Hope it’s not some guy. I’m going to pretend it’s a pasty white girl. A little geeky. Okay, a lot geeky. One who wears glasses. With big milky tits. I love my big milky tits. Thanks mom. Yeah. That’s what I’m gonna imagine. She wants my big milky tits. Yeah, she wants them. She’s gotta have them. That’s why her pussy’s so soppy.

  “I got what you want, huh? You like alla this, don’t you?”

  I imagine her confirming. She’s got a subtle New York accent. A Bronx one to be exact. Kind of high-pitched. Nasally. She wants me, but I play coy…

  “Beg for it mama. Beg me for these big milky tits.”

  This is fucking ridiculous.

  Stop it. Don’t get in the way of this. Don’t get all cerebral. Bust your nut bitch. The madness continues…

  “Oh, you wanna lick my pussy? You wanna lick this delicious pink pussy, don’t you? Open that ass for me some more baby. Open it all the way up.”

  I wait. Gotta make it realistic. She’s got quite a bit of ass. Gonna take some time.

  “There we go. That’s what I wanna see. Damn, you have a beautiful ass. I wanna destroy it.”

  Destroy? Isn’t that a little much Eve?

  No. Stop interrupting me.

  “I wanna rip that ass apart. Slobber all over it. Open it wider for me baby. Use both hands.”

  I close my eyes. Her nails are digging into her cheeks. Ass wide open now. Her asshole is throbbing, pussy dripping. Gleaming. Oh my God! I can’t take it. Fingers twirlin’ like a muthafucka now.

  Oh shit.

  Here we go. This one’s gonna feel—

  “Oh shit. Oh shit. Damn. Damn. Oh shit. I wanna eat that pussy! I wanna suck on those titties. I want you. So bad. Look at that pussy!!! Oh my God!!! Oh my God!!!”

  This feels awesome! This feels so fucking awesome! There go my knees. I’m shaking.

  Here comes the wave.

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  Deep exhale.

  And then…

  It’s over. Just like that.

  Here comes the sadness.

  Reality.

  Now it’s just me and her ass. Her beautiful ass of which I have no use for now. Maybe in a half-hour. I close the lid on my laptop. We’ll talk later.

  Cold water runs over my fingers. Need to get the super in here to fix this. Tired of waiting a whole two minutes for hot water. I catch my reflection. Fortunately I’ve removed my glasses. My visage is a blur now. Fortunately? Fuck that. I’m hot. I’m gorgeous.

  I put on my glasses.

  Look at those beautiful green eyes. And that thick healthy mane of wavy red hair. I’m sexy. People say I look like a young Tori Amos.

  I turn around. Place my ass on the lip of the sink. Give it a smack. It’s nice. Round. I got some shit on me. Some good shit. And I’m not pasty. Sellin’ yourself short Eve. I’m creamy. I’m a creamy, curvy, sexy bitch.

  Why are you doing this to yourself Eve?

  Nobody wants you.

  Come on self-esteem. Not now. Was just in the middle of being almost-confident. Don’t ruin this for me. Too late. Here comes the self-pity…

  Maybe I can just buy a sex doll.

  One named Shanika.

  Oh yes. Shanika. Dark as midnight. All hips, tits and lips.

  Hoop earrings. A big bushy fro that I will keep moist with copious amounts of sweet-smelling hair grease.

  Oh. And of course cocoa butter lotion. How could I forget that? All over.

  I’ll slather red lipstick on her. The brightest red I can find. We’ll have raucous love-making sessions after which my body will be covered in the stuff. I can see it now…

  “Yes Shanika. Yes Shanika. Right there. Right there. Don’t stop. DON’T STOP!!!”

  I wonder how much those things cost. Probably a few thousand dollars and I’m certain Shanika will be a custom job so throw another thousand on top of that.

  Flip the lid on the laptop. There she is again. Ms. Beautiful Ass. The two fingers begin their familiar twirl.

  Sigh.

  Same shit. Everyday.

  TEN MINUTES late for work. At least it’s not my usual twenty. Wyatt turns away from the gay-ass RPG he is playing. Dumb look on his face. He’s gonna say something and it’s going to be annoying.

  “Look who decided to show up almost on time.”

  Why? Why do you say anything to me Wyatt? I know we’re the only two employees in this shop, but still. Do I give off the vibe that I want to talk to you? I fucking hate you.

  I say nothing in response. Just make my way to the back where I place my turkey potpie in the baby fridge. He goes back to playing his gay-ass game. Always playing RPGs. And he’s always telling me about them. Always long-winded. I don’t give a fuck Wyatt. I hate you!

  “I’m almost done with this one. Started it a few days ago.”r />
  He’s so inappropriately arrogant. Shut up Wyatt. Where are the trade-ins? I need a mindless task to work on. Where are the damn trade-ins?! I don’t want to have to ask him. They’re supposed to be right here. In this box. Fuck it…

  “Wyatt, where are the trade-ins?”

  “We didn’t get any.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, nothin’ last night. Business has been slow. Jack said he’s gonna probably have to cut our hours.”

  Shit. The proverbial hour-cutting threat. I’m so over getting emotionally involved every time I hear that bullshit. If I say anything in reference to it Wyatt’s going to launch into a whiny tirade about how this place sucks and how he’s been looking for a new job. A better one. At another game shop. On the ‘better’ side of town. I already have the information I need. Don’t need to talk to him for the rest of my shift. Time to find something to fixate on for the next four hours. The cardboard cutout for Mech Menace 3000 will do. The one every other damn customer asks about. It’s already spoken for you idiots. It’s mine. It’s going in my window.

  About twenty seconds pass and…

  I’m gone.

  Thinking about the new li’l mama I saw on the bus this morning. She had a weave though. Not my thing, I like ‘em natural. But my God she was a sight. Tight jeans and a form-fitting white tee. A big red smooch silk-screened on the front. Heavy, yet perky C-cups. She looked young. Maybe twenty-four or five. Milk chocolate. Pretty. Very pretty. Wide hips. Booty so round and tight I wanted to cry. I think I did. Just one tear though. Wanted to bite it as she walked off the bus. Love sitting at the back of the bus. The very last row. Right in the middle. Get to see ‘em walk in and walk out.

  Damn.

  Squirmed in my chair watching her.

  I would eat her pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I should have said something to her. At least a simple ‘hello’ or perhaps something about her shirt. Could’ve asked where she got it. Probably would have told me to shut up...

  “Stop talkin’ to me white girl. I don’t know you.”

  Why do I think they all want to beat me up? Maybe because I want them to.

  Oh my word.

  To have some six-foot tall ebony living statue pummel my white ass would just be pure bliss. All worked up. Full of rage and I’m the reason for it…

  “You wanna know where I got this shirt from bitch? I got it from yo’ ass!”

  WHAP! KA-BAM!

  And I’m down for the count. Begging for more.

  You’re sick Eve.

  No. Just desperate. Really desperate. So desperate an ass-kicking equates to intimacy.

  “Hey Eve.”

  Damn it Wyatt.

  “Eve.”

  Please. Not now Wyatt. I don’t like this part of my day being interrupted.

  Where was I? Oh yes. Back of the bus.

  Two stops away from my final destination one of my regulars got on. I call her Slim Jenny. Long legs, dark, divinely smooth, shiny skin. She was wearing khaki shorts today. Lovely little bump in the back. Perfectly modest chest endowments. Caught a little nip action today. First time for that. No bra under her salmon-colored tank. Hair in baby twists again. She’s been rocking those for the last week. She’s always changing her look. Hope she keeps the twists. I like ‘em.

  “Eve, you gotta see this.”

  No Wyatt. You should’ve seen her. She had on the cutest little flat-bottomed sandals. Oh how I love her long slender feet. I could just suck on her toes for the rest of my life and be truly happy. Not an exaggeration.

  “Eve. Seriously. You gotta check this out.”

  Damn I wanna stab this dude.

  Brilliant white sheets. Satin. She’s naked. Splayed out. Long dark chocolate limbs everywhere.

  “Can I get you something baby?” I ask.

  “Just more of you. A lot more of you.”

  With that my head instantly falls between her long legs. The heels of her beautifully slender feet rest on my back. I get to work. They dig into my flesh. Heaven.

  “Eve!”

  Right in the throat Wyatt. Right in the damn throat. Zero hesitation. Leave me alone!

  She’s got a fistful of my hair. Pulling it hard. It hurts, but it’s okay. She’s unaware. It’s involuntary. I actually want her to pull harder. I adjust my technique. There we go. She flattens her feet on my back. Her soles are warm…and soft. So very soft. She starts to whisper my name. Two beats in-between each repetition. Her right foot eases down the small of my back and over the curve of my left buttock. She pinches it with her toes. She’s freaking out. Back arched now. She’s force-feeding me. She tastes so good. My mouth is overflowing with her juices. I remark about how sloppy wet she is. She giggles. It’s the sexiest sound ever.

  “That’s all you baby,” she says.

  Her left foot makes its way down, countering the right one. She is now massaging my plump ass with her perfect toes. I jab my tongue in deeper. At that moment she spreads my ass open with her feet. The cool air feels awesome on my pussy. I’m sloppy wet too. I feel her big toe begin to circle my outer lips. Feels good. Very good. I lift my ass higher to accommodate. She begins tapping her toe against my clit.

  This is getting ridiculous.

  I wonder what Slim Jenny would think if she knew I fantasize about her fucking my face…every damn day. She would probably hate me. Think I was weird. Disgusting. Both of these things are true. But I would never want Slim Jenny to think that about me. She would probably try to get me arrested. She’s probably super conservative. Has a boyfriend. Loves him dearly. A white guy no doubt.

  “Eve!!!”

  Okay Wyatt. I concede. Feeling pathetic now anyway. Happens every time I go down this road. Overwhelming titillation gives way to existential dread. The diversion is welcome.

  “You gotta see this Eve.”

  He points at his laptop screen. A video is playing. Progress bar at the halfway point. He fills me in on the stuff I missed while I was away saturating my drawers…

  “It’s this new game. It’s called Can You? It’s just these faces. Full screen faces. It’s in 3D. And they plead for their lives. You gotta decide whether or not to—just watch.”

  On screen the game’s designer talks while holding a light-gun peripheral, “It has a pulse sensor on the handle. It measures your heart rate which affects the demeanor of the onscreen character. The game also takes advantage of video peripherals to gauge the player’s expression and body language.”

  “That’s so fucking awesome! I need this—oh wait, he’s about to demo it!”

  Calm down Wyatt. It’s going to be okay. It’s not that serious dude.

  The designer points the gun at a massive screen, easily seventy-two inches. A fuchsia face, impeccably detailed, sits smack-dab in its center. Why fuchsia? She begins pleading…

  “Please! Please! Please don’t! Please don’t! I have a family. Two kids. A husband. Please!”

  Dude’s not dropping the gun.

  “Please!!! Please!!! Don’t kill me!!! Please don’t kil—”

  She starts crying. This is crazy.

  “I beg you! I beg you! Please! I have a family! I have a family!”

  Dude, put the gun down! Do you not have a heart? Did you hear her? She said she has a family?!

  Wyatt is grinning, ear to ear, “This is so sick!”

  She is sobbing uncontrollably now. The pain on her face looks unnervingly real. Suddenly, she goes quiet. Her eyes widen. Stoic. Has she accepted her fate? Reconciled with her impending death? Dude slowly lowers the gun. She lets out a deep sigh. The beginnings of a relieved smile. “Thank you,” she says breathlessly. “Thank you for spar—”

  BANG!

  Damn.

  Just like that, Lady Fuchsia is dead.

  Dude Quick Draw McGrawed her.

  Wow.

  “I need this fucking game!” Wyatt screams.

  I’m simultaneously bothered and intrigued. I’ve been playing videogames since I was fo
ur-years-old. Twenty-six year vet. Never had any moral issues with them. Gimme all the blood, guts and sex you got. I love it. But this. This has got me thinking. Don’t know if I really like it. The digital face, save for the Technicolor skin tone, was eerily realistic. Can only imagine what it’s like in 3D. Scary. Why not use this technology for good? Perhaps a game where the player uses a Power Glove-like contraption to squeeze, caress and pinch three-dimensional digital lovely bits. I would dig that. Would prefer that over shooting pleading mothers in their faces. Maybe I’m getting old.

  “Are all the victims innocent people?” asks the interviewer.

  “Who’s to say she was innocent? There’s no mention of any of the characters’ innocence or guilt.” Designer dude seems real proud of that response. Like he just said the most profound thing ever. He continues, “Look, you don’t have to shoot anyone. You don’t even have to raise the gun to the screen.”

  “What happens then?”

  “You gotta get the game to find out.”

  “And when can we expect it?”

  “Sooner than later.”

  Wyatt goes mad, “Ain’t this the coolest fucking thing ever?!”

  “For misanthropes,” I shoot back.

  “But don’t you hate everybody?”

  Wyatt, you do not know me. Stop.

  “I mean you’re always talkin’ shit about the customers.”

  Wyatt, come on. It’s simple psychology. I hate myself, not them. My shit-talking is a manifestation of my self-loathing.

  “Well, I’m gettin’ this,” he says defiantly, “and I’m killin’ everybody.”

  I couldn’t care less Wyatt. Diversion over. Back to the cutout. Back to—

  I can’t.

  I can’t do it.

  What’s happening to me?

  You know damn well what’s happening Eve. This shit isn’t enough…anymore.

  Damn.

  But it has to be.

  There’s no way I can go out there and meet real people. I’m only comfortable within the realm of fantasy. I know the lay of the land there. Very well. And now I’m being kicked out?! No way. This cannot be. Maybe I need to switch it up. New search: naked black girls in space…or some shit like that.

  Damn it.

  I knew this day would come.