Whiteboi goes to Harlem Pt. 06
Mitch’s bladder woke him up from a deep sleep around 5am. He looked up at the dark ceiling and as consciousness slowly arrived, he quickly realised he wasn’t in his own apartment. He felt warm bodies either side of him and realised neither of them were his wife. For a split second, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, he thought he’d woken up into another life. His stomach sank as he realised he hadn’t.
He desperately needed to take a piss. Despite his best intentions, he woke his Harlem bedmates up. It’s not easy when you’re the one sleeping in the middle. You eventually need to climb over someone, don’t you.
He emptied his bladder, flushed, and circled back to Tyrone’s mattress. The room was no longer completely dark; a thin, narrow light from the emerging sunrise had begun to spread through the room, slowly illuminating it.
“How you feelin’?” Leroy asked, yawning, blinking his eyes open.
“Well,” Mitch replied, “my ass feels like a warehouse, but other than that, I’m good.”
“Good to know,” said Tyrone, who’d also been woken up by Mitch’s bathroom excursion. “But you know what we’ really be askin’ ’bout, don’t you? Like, how *you* feelin’ ’bout yo’self? Like, ’bout errythin’ in yo’ life?”
Mitch stared upwards as tomorrow’s light began to appear. He took a very deep breath, not sure why his bedmates were asking such deep questions about his life before the sun came up. “Fuck, I really don’t know how I feel. I’m not in my own apartment right now, so I’m not in my regular world. My toothbrush isn’t here, and neither are my clothes. I’ve got no idea where my wife is or who she’s with. She could be back home right now, wondering where I am, or she could be asleep in some dude’s bed. I’ve got no idea what she got up to last night, and I’ve got no idea whether she and I are still together. She lost her shit at me yesterday when she discovered my dildo, which to me is a very strange hill to die on, but she’s been upset at me for a while now. Maybe the dildo was the last straw. Sure, I’d never told her I played with my ass before, but she’d never asked me before either. I was surprised at how furious she was when she found it. I still am.” He took a breath, composing his thoughts. “I guess the bottom line is I don’t even know if I still want to be with her anymore, or if she still wants to be with me. But what am I gonna do if we separate? Like, who am I as a person if I’m on my own?” His pupils dilated through the darkness as he glanced at Leroy. “Maybe you’re right. Marriage is for weak men with small dicks. It hurt like fuck when you first said it, but maybe it’s true.”
Tyrone had drifted back to a shallow sleep halfway through Mitch’s monologue, but Leroy was still awake. He laid his hand on Mitch’s crotch. “Like I said, you got a small dick, and I can’t help you with that. But you ain’t weak. You’ jus’ goin’ through some shit right now.”
Mitch groaned. Leroy’s hand felt so fucking good. His cock quickly grew. Leroy jerked him off with a finger and his thumb.
“You gon’ nut for me, ain’t you, whiteboi? You gon’ shoot yo’ shit all over my hand, ain’t you?”
Leroy’s thick fingers were too much to bear. Mitch gasped and moaned like a girl. His back arched as he dribbled his watery liquid all over Leroy’s hand. Again, Leroy fed it to him.
“You taste good?”
Mitch eagerly licked his load off Leroy’s fingers. “My cum doesn’t really taste like anything. But you and Tyrone taste amazing.” He stared at the ceiling again before asking the question that had been bouncing around inside his head for a week. “Hey, are you two … together?”
Tyrone woke up again and propped himself up on one elbow. “Me and Leroy? Fuck yeah, we’ together. We’ brothers. We’ been together since elementary school.”
“Huh?” said Mitch.
“Yeah, we’ known each other since we were at school,” Leroy replied. “We’ been tight as fuck ever since then.”
“Truth,” said Tyrone. A pair of fists bumped in the airspace above Mitch’s frame. This wasn’t the exact concept he was driving at, but he let it go.
They fell back to sleep as the morning sun began to arc across the sky. Leroy draped a heavy arm across Mitch’s chest.
*
On Sunday mornings, Harlem came alive at 8am as the faithful prepared for church. Mitch heard the bells and woke up again. Light streamed through the window.
Tyrone snored on one side of him, and Leroy slept deeply on the other. Mitch shook Tyrone’s broad, masculine shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “I’m really sorry, but it’s Sunday morning; do you need to go to church?”
Tyrone’s eyes opened. He hated being woken so early, but Mitch’s innocent suggestion was too funny. He nudged Leroy. “Hey, dude, you hear this? Fuckin’ whiteboi’ tellin’ us we need to get to church to repent for some bullshit we did.”
Leroy rolled over. “Tell whiteboi to go back to sleep.”
Mitch drowned in deep, blissful slumber. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so peacefully.
*
Around 10.30am, Leroy got up to take a piss. The sound of his urine thundering into the toilet bowl was loud enough to wake Mitch up. He stared at the ceiling, stretched and yawned. He had the mattress to himself; Tyrone had already risen without him noticing.
Mitch wasn’t sure what to do. His pre-dawn words hinted at a deeper conversation to come, but he still felt worried about Trina. He checked his phone. No messages. Two possibilities opened up: she was still angry at him and couldn’t be bothered telling him where she was or who she was with, or her phone had run out of charge.
But there were other possibilities he didn’t want to think about. Maybe something bad had happened. Maybe she was in the hospital. Or maybe she was dead.
He sent her a text message. He waited a few moments, but there was no response.
A shiver travelled up his spine.
Tyrone knocked on his own bedroom door. “Hey, sleepyhead, you gon’ get up some time befo’ the middle of next week? Ain’t you got some fuckin’ mail to sort tomorrow?”
Mitch stretched again and stood up. He dressed himself in last night’s clothes, including his wife’s panties. His cum had dried overnight, but he hadn’t brought a change of clothes because he didn’t expect to spend the evening in Harlem. His tummy rumbled; he was hungry. He followed the smell of coffee which led him to Tyrone’s kitchen, a room he’d never visited before.
Leroy poured him a strong cup. “You want something to eat?”
“Yeah,” Mitch replied. “Thanks for the brew.” He took a deep chug of caffeine, but he had no idea what was on the breakfast menu.
“Take a seat,” offered Tyrone. Mitch parked his ass on a stool at the kitchen counter.
A few seconds later, Tyrone dropped a warm, fresh croissant under Mitch’s nose. “Breakfast is served. Fresh from the coffee shop downstairs. It was the last one.”
Mitch looked at Tyrone with gratitude. “Thanks,” he said, biting hard. Fragments of flaky pastry fell like snow across the kitchen counter.
“How’s yo’ bitch?” Leroy asked.
Mitch sighed. “I texted her phone a few minutes ago, but she hasn’t replied. So I don’t know.” He took another bite of his breakfast croissant and another sip of his coffee.
“You think she’s OK?” questioned Tyrone.
Mitch replied after a lengthy pause. “I really don’t know.”
Tyrone stroked his chin. “Whatchu gon’ do?”
“After this coffee, I think I’d best head back to my apartment. She might be there. Maybe she’s OK, but maybe her phone died.”
“Fo’ sure.”
Mitch finished his coffee and headed towards the subway. The morning was unusually chilly for this time of year.
He stepped out of the subway at 77th street and walked to his building. His mind was spinning. The last 24 hours had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and he expected a few more twists and turns before the sun set.
He opened the door and was greeted by complete silence. The apartment was exactly as he left it. “Trina?” he asked. He walked into the bedroom. “Katrina, are you here?” He checked the spare room. She wasn’t there. The bathroom door was open, and she wasn’t in there either. There were no signs of her having returned briefly before leaving again.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure whether to wait here or not. He messaged Tyrone.
Mitch: she isnt here
Tyrone: fuck
Mitch: not sure what to do
Tyrone: you can always hang with us
Mitch: ok
He wasn’t sure what else to do. He took a shower, changed clothes, and headed back north. There was nothing more to be done in his privileged neighbourhood.
*
Mitch walked back to the subway and travelled back to the 125th street station. Although he wasn’t very hungry, he bought some lunch from a street vendor and ate it slowly as he walked west. He knew the way to Tyrone’s apartment by now. He arrived, buzzed the intercom, and the exterior door opened to let him in. He rode up to the 16th floor. Leroy greeted him with a hug. “Yo, wassup.”
Mitch tried to smile, and Leroy tried his best to reassure him. “She’ gon’ be OK, whiteboi. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I hope you’re right,” Mitch replied. Irrespective of what might happen with his marriage, he was still worried about her wellbeing.
Tyrone appeared. “Come in.” He handed Mitch a cool glass of water, fresh from the refrigerator.
Mitch accepted the glass with both hands and drained it immediately. He gave the emply vessel back to Tyrone and they sat on the couch.
“So you’ heard nothin’ ’bout your bitch?” Tyrone asked. “No news?”
“No, nothing. The last time I saw her was when she stormed out of our apartment yesterday afternoon. It was obvious to me she was gonna get drunk and chase dick. Usually when she goes out for a few drinks, she tells me who she’s with and where she’s going. She doesn’t have to tell me anything, of course, because until recently, we’ve trusted each other. Usually I know she’s with friends from her office.”
“So have you messaged any of yo’ bitch’s work bitches?” Leroy asked.
Mitch shrugged. “I don’t have any of their numbers.”
“Wooo,” sighed Tyrone. He wondered to himself why he felt so invested in the safety of someone he’d never met.
Mitch felt his phone buzz in his pocket. “Fuck. Wait. Got a message. Could be her.” He fished his phone out and typed in the passcode that all three people in the room knew. He scrolled eagerly. “Fuck. Some bullshit message from my phone company.”
“Shit,” Leroy sympathised.
A silence fell. They could hear the distant rumble of the street.
“How’d you and yo’ bitch meet up?” asked Tyrone.
Mitch began to answer the question, but as he took a deep breath to begin, the possibility that something bad could’ve happened to her flitted across his mind again. He still didn’t know how he felt about anything. He cast his mind back. “I think we met when I was at college.”
“Wait, so you’ tellin’ us you went to college,” probed Tyrone, “and you work for the fuckin’ postal service? Come on, whiteboi, we know you’ lyin’ to us. You’ like a fuckin’ trader or some shit, ain’t you? You work on Wall Street, don’t you, whiteboi? We’ seen the bills you carry in yo’ wallet. You’ a rich motherfucker, ain’t you?”
Mitch brushed Tyrone’s accusations aside for now. “I think we were introduced by someone in my class. I wish I could remember. We might’ve been at a bar. You’d think you’d remember the moment when you first met your partner, right? But I can’t, and I don’t know why. I vaguely remember making a few comments at the bar that made her laugh, but that’s about it.” He paused for a moment. “But I’ll never forget what happened later that night. She took me back to her hotel room and I lost my virginity to her.”
“You lost your virginity when you was at college?” asked Leroy. “Goddamn, son, how old were you?”
Mitch counted back the years. “I would’ve been 22. Or maybe even 23.”
“No fuckin’ way.” Tyrone was stunned. “Tell us ’bout it?”
“About the sex? There isn’t much to say. It was vanilla in every sense of the word. She was a little more experienced than me, but probably not by much. She led me to the hotel bed, we undressed each other, she rolled a condom onto me, and I lasted maybe six or seven strokes.” He paused, deep in recollection. “And then I think we fell asleep. I don’t think she came. My first time felt good for me, but for her, I guess I was a total disappointment.”
Leroy’s fat BBC had ploughed at least two hundred pussies by the time he was in his early 20s. “Why’d you wait so long to get yo’self some pussy, monkboi? You religious or some shit? You woke us up this mornin’ when the church bells rang, so I’m just checkin’ to see if you’ a disciple.”
Mitch shook his head. “Fuck, no, I’m not religious. I guess … I just wasn’t … fuck, I don’t fucking know how to explain it. Let’s just say I never had any confidence in high school. I had no swagger, I had no attitude, and I didn’t have the pickup lines, so I never had the opportunity. I was interested in girls, but they weren’t interested in me. It isn’t easy to get laid when you know you’re ordinary and your penis is small. So I poured my energy into study. I got good grades, but I was constantly horny. I jacked off all the fucking time wondering what it’d be like to eventually have sex one day. You wouldn’t believe the amount of cash I saved up to go see hookers, but I never had the nerve to ever go through with it.” He paused, taking a deep breath to settle himself. “And so when someone took me to bed and let me have sex with her, I guess I fell for her. Fuck, for all I know, she might’ve been drunk that night, and maybe she would’ve fucked any other guy in the bar that night; but my life changed in that moment because she chose me.”
“You get the feeling you’ explainin’ this badly?” Tyrone sympathised. He couldn’t believe someone in this day and age could lose their virginity in their twenties, but then again, he lost his own early. Once word of the size of his BBC got around high school, he had no shortage of mouths, pussies or assholes to choose from. And not just from the chicks in his class, either — he fucked a number of his teachers on the downlow.
Mitch’s emotions were still all over the place, which was why he struggled to find the right words. “Yeah, I probably am. I’ll try to summarise. Trina was the first and only woman I’ve had sex with, and there’s baggage that comes with that. I added more weight to the baggage by proposing to her, moving in with her and then asking her to marry me. Maybe things would’ve been better if I didn’t propose, but I can’t take it back now.”
Tyrone’s mind nearly exploded. Not only did Mitch lose his virginity when he was twenty-two, but he’d only ever fucked one bitch in his entire life.
“Tell us what yo’ crib looks like?” Leroy inquired, trying to change the subject.
“We live in a building on east 80th street. We’re on the 8th floor, facing west toward the park. It’s a modern apartment in a modern building. We pay rent. It’s far too expensive to buy an apartment on my modest postal service salary. We have two bedrooms and a bathroom. It’s expensive, but small. There isn’t much privacy, except for the spare bedroom which is for guests.”
“What’s yo’ life like?” asked Tyrone. “Tell us ’bout a typical day.”
Mitch breathed out. “I wake up around 8am, maybe a little earlier. I brush my teeth and get dressed for work as quickly as I can, and then I’m one of the millions of daily subway sardines. My office is near Madison Square Garden, and it doesn’t take me too long to get there, maybe 45 minutes. I get off at 33rd street station and walk west. On cold days, I feel like I’m frostbitten by the time I arrive, and on hot days, I’m sweaty under the pits, but in spring and fall, it’s an enjoyable walk. The streets are frenetic and there’s energy all around. I buy a coffee and a bagel and I’m started by 9am. I stop for a bite to eat around 1pm, but most days I take a short lunch break so I can leave earlier. Most days I’m back on the subway around 5 o’clock and I’m sitting on the couch ready to catch the evening news by 6. Trina gets home around then. We eat dinner, we watch TV, and we go to bed.”
“What do you do in bed?” Leroy asked.
“We don’t fuck, if that’s what you’re asking. Most nights, we do our own separate thing. Like, I’m watching TV on my laptop, and she’s sitting up in bed flicking through a magazine or reading a book. We lie next to each other, but sometimes our lives run in parallel, never touching.”
“Fuck, dude,” said Tyrone. “It ain’t for me to judge, but that sounds a little sad.”
“Yeah, sometimes,” sniffled Mitch. “I mean, it’s really complicated. I just don’t want to fuck her anymore. She came home drunk a few nights ago and she jumped on top of me. I knew she just wanted to have sex, and any penis would get the job done. I went through the motions, but my mind was somewhere else. But at the same time, I can’t deny that I care about her. I can’t explain it.”
“But do you have anything in common with her?” Tyrone probed. “Like, I don’t know, do you follow the same sports teams or like the same TV shows? Or are you two together just because you met one night when she was horny and you let her pop yo’ cherry, and you felt guilty after?”
Mitch nodded. The word ‘guilty’ landed hard. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“If you don’t want to fuck her no more, why you still sharin’ a bed with the bitch?”
Mitch stared blankly. “Again, I don’t know.”
Leroy stood up. “This shit is deep. If this conversation gets any more serious, Imma need a drink. Grab yo’ shit, let’s head to the bar.”
Their regular booth was empty, and they sidled in. Mitch sat next to Leroy. A waitress came across to take their drink order. “Three beers and three vodka shots,” Tyrone ordered.
Their beverages arrived just as the masked gunman entered the premises. Screams pierced the air as a single shot rang out, obliterating a ceiling light.
The room fell silent as the light fitting crashed to the floor, glass scattering. Everyone in the bar ducked for cover, except for one person.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” asked Mitch. He stood up and left the booth, moving slowly yet boldly into the quiet centre of the bar. His life as he knew it was probably over, so it wasn’t too hard for him to take a lone stand against an armed asshole. “You’re interrupting our quiet afternoon.”
The gunman pointed his weapon directly at Mitch’s chest, walking slowly towards him. “I would strongly advise you to sit down,” said the gunman.
Mitch stood his ground. “And I would strongly advise you to get fucked.”
“Sit your ass back down,” demanded the gunman.
Mitch suppressed a laugh. “No.”
“I’m in control of this situation,” said the gunman.
“No,” said Mitch. “You’re not.”
“Do you see what I’m holding here?” said the gunman, pointing towards his raised firearm.
“Yeah,” said Mitch. “Looks like a big gun. Doing the math, I guess that means you’ve got a small cock.”
The gunman didn’t expect this kind of blowback. He hadn’t factored this kind of reaction into his calculations. “Are you ready to die today?” he asked.
Mitch shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I am.” He took one firm, determined, unarmed step forward. “I’ve never been dead before. What’s it like?”
The masked gunman shook his head slightly at Mitch’s unanswerable question. He returned to his mission. “I’m gonna clean this establishment out,” said the gunman, “and I’m gonna pop anyone who gets in my way.”
“No you ain’t.” Mitch took another step forward. “You’re full of shit. You ain’t got the balls.”
The masked gunman’s hand began to tremble with fear.
“Come on, mystery man,” Mitch laughed, taunting him. “I ain’t scared of you, tough guy. Show me what you’ got.”
The gunman lost his nerve and fled, dropping his weapon as he left.
Casually, Mitch sauntered back down at the booth, sat down, and drained his shot glass. Slowly, Leroy and Tyrone re-emerged from under the table. Sheepishly, they drank their own shots as they celebrated the thrill of still being alive. Tyrone’s cap had fallen off his head. He put it back in place, threading his dreadlocks through the gap in the back.
Tyrone gazed at Mitch. “Seriously, dude. What kind of jedi mind trick we jus’ witness, Skywalker? Are you plugged into the Matrix?”
Mitch didn’t feel happy or proud, but he also couldn’t believe what he’d just done. It felt like, just for a few seconds, he was a completely different person. If anything, he felt numb. He looked across at Tyrone, sitting on the other side of the booth. “I got no idea what my life is gonna be from now on. I guess a man with nothing left to lose doesn’t care what he risks.”
“Yeah, but that asshole could’ve shot yo’ ass,” Leroy whispered.
Mitch shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t really care right now.”
The room slowly recovered from silence.
“Not gon’ lie, whiteboi, that was some crazy-ass bullshit,” declared Tyrone. He shook his sexy dreads behind him.
“Sho’ was,” Leroy added. “Imma be honest wit’ you, whiteboi, I never expected you’ be that brave.”
“Or that crazy,” Tyrone interjected.
Leroy continued. “We owe you one.”
For the first time in a long time, Mitch smiled. “No sweat.”
They drank in silence for a few seconds. Cops arrived to ask questions. Nobody could describe the features of the gunman because he was wearing a mask. Another case with no leads. They thanked Mitch for his bravery, and took the firearm away with them.
A waitress came over with three fresh beers. “To say thank you,” she explained, smiling at Mitch. “On the house.”
“Thanks,” said Mitch. He turned back to his companions, taking a deep chug of his cool liquid amber. “You got a gun?” he asked.
Leroy and Tyrone glanced at each other. “Who you’ askin’?” said Leroy.
“Either of you.”
“Yeah, we’ both got guns,” said Tyrone. “Speaking personally, I don’t carry mine often. I leave mine in a safe place in my crib. But in our line of work, sometimes a gun can be useful.”
“You ever used it?” asked Mitch.
“No,” Tyrone replied. “Not on the streets. At least, not yet.”
“So what is your actual line of work? You already know what I do, so tell me what you do?”
Leroy laughed. “You ain’t workin’ at the fuckin’ postal service, whiteboi. We know you’ ain’t tellin’ us what you really do. Besides, we tol’ you already what we do. We’ independent businessmen.” He placed his masculine, tattooed hands on the table, as if to show he had nothing to hide.
Mitch probed further, gazing at Leroy’s beautiful nose piercing and his juicy, fat lips. “I remember you telling me that before, but what does it really mean? Like, do you have your own company?”
“Nah. We work for ourselves,” Tyrone responded. “We’ proudly unincorporated.”
“But what exactly do you do?” Mitch was very curious.
“I guess you could say we’ debt collectors,” smiled Leroy. “An’ you’ already seen us in action.”
“Huh? Are you talking about that night I took my wife to a diner not far from here, and you shook me down?” asked Mitch.
Leroy stroked his chin. “That’s one example, but it’s an unusual one. We knew you could pay, because we found yo’ wallet, but debt collection takes many forms,” he explained cryptically. “You remember the tip you left that night?”
Mitch shook his head. He really couldn’t remember how much he tipped. Most of the evening was a blur. All he could remember clearly was seeing the outlines of Leroy’s and Tyrone’s BBCs through their pants, and his head reeling with uncontrollable cocklust.
“Yo’ tip was twice the price of the meal,” informed Tyrone.
“You totally cleaned me out that night,” Mitch protested. “There was about $150 in bills in my wallet that night, but they were missing when you gave my wallet back to me.”
Tyrone leaned across the booth. “I don’t know anything about the missing bills; yo’ wallet was already empty when we found it. But I’m curious why you gave such a generous tip. You a philanthropist, whiteboi?”
Mitch knew the answer — he wasn’t thinking straight that night. These thugs had intimidated the fuck out of him, and he loved how it felt.
Leroy explained further. “Harlem’s street economy runs on credit, and people are only as good as their word. Our regular line of work is collecting debts from people who borrow too much and then find they can’t pay their debts, and they try to worm out of it. At this point, the angry creditor purchases our services, and we ensure the debt is repaid on terms conducive to both parties.”
“We’ financial intermediaries,” Tyrone proudly stated. “We make sure the wheels of the Harlem economy keep turnin’. The Fed should be thankin’ us.”
Mitch suspected this was only the tip of the iceberg. He paused to take stock of recent events, because right now, he really wasn’t sure why he was here. These thugs had stolen his wallet, ripped the cash from it, and then stood over him, intimidating him to the point where he left a tip of astronomical proportions. And on another occasion, they invited him up to Tyrone’s apartment where they handcuffed him, chained him to a pole, cleaned his wallet out again, looked through the photos on his phone, and then smacked his ass so hard it left visible handmarks. Meanwhile, his marriage was falling apart, and now, just moments ago, he nearly got himself killed.
Why the hell was he spending time in this dangerous part of town with these dangerous people? What the fuck was wrong with him?
He’d tried hard to forget that night at the diner, but memories came flooding back now. He remembered how badly he stank and how humiliated he felt after puking his meal up all over himself in the bathroom. He remembered the hot streak of fear he felt when he realised his wallet was missing. He remembered the feeling of intimidation as these two thugs shook him down out back. But most of all, he remembered how badly he wanted to suck their cocks, and how desperate he was to jack off once he got home, had showered his stink off, and his wife was asleep.
He was completely addicted to BBC now, and he knew the craving would never go away.
He checked his phone — still no contact from Trina. But he suddenly remembered that he’d left the office early on Friday, and his boss was expecting him to have his last unfinished task of the day done by Monday morning. And it was Sunday afternoon.
“Fuck, I have to go,” said Mitch. “I just remembered I need to do something for work before tomorrow.”
“On a Sunday afternoon?” asked Tyrone. “The mail can’t wait until morning, huh? We was jus’ ’bout to tell you how we go ’bout our daily business. We thought you was interested in what we do.”
“I am, I really am, but … it’s gonna have to wait,” Mitch deflected. “I was meant to finish something at work on Friday afternoon, but I left early because I came up to Harlem to meet y’all.” He pointed to Tyrone. “You remember you texted me? So I need to get it done before tomorrow morning. And besides, I should probably check to see if Trina is home.”
“Yeah, word. Any messages on yo’ phone from yo’ bitch?” Leroy inquired.
Mitch checked again and shook his head. “No, but I should go anyway. Thanks for the beers, the conversation, and the support.”
Tyrone chuckled. “We got yo’ back. Like we said, we owe you one. Thanks for saving us from getting killed, Obi-wan.”
Mitch stood to leave, and he received a pair of heavy hugs before departing. “Later,” said Leroy.
He raced to the station and caught the subway home. Turning his key in the door, he noticed the apartment was still empty. He tried calling Trina’s phone again, but there was still no response.
He fretted about his wife, but he also knew he had to finish last week’s work before tomorrow morning. He logged onto his work computer and remembered where he was up to. An hour and a half later, he was finished.
Just as he logged off and shut down, the apartment door opened. “Trina?”
“Yeah.” He heard the door close behind her, and then the sound of her shoes hitting the floor. She went to the bathroom and locked the door.
He sat on the couch and waited long moments for her to reappear. He had no idea what she might say or do, or how he might feel. Maybe there’d be no conversation at all — maybe she’d just come back for a quick change of clothes before heading back out again.
She flushed the toilet and headed to the living room. She flopped down into a chair, looking vacant and drained. She acknowledged Mitch’s presence with a grunt.
“Welcome back, babe,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess.” Trina moved to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
“How was your night?”
Trina came back to the living room with her glass. She placed it on a nearby table before flopping back down again. “It was good, I think. I can’t remember all of it.”
Mitch leaned forward. “Where did you go?”
Trina sighed. “To a bar.”
Mitch got the impression that Trina wasn’t in an expansive mood. “Which one?”
She rubbed her eyes. “Uhh … I met up with Sophie from work at a place in Times Square. We got … drunk.”
“I think I can tell,” said Mitch. She was wearing her hangover like an overcoat. “Want me to get you something for your headache?”
Trina waved him away. “No,” she whispered.
“Some water?” asked Mitch.
“No, I’m good.” She pointed to the glass on the table. “I’ve got some.”
There was a pause. Mitch had no idea where this conversation was heading.
“Then Amanda joined us, and we went to a club. We danced, and some cute guy hit on Sophie. She’s such a fucking slut. She disappeared for a few minutes, and neither me or Amanda knew where she was. When she came back her breath smelled like cum. She kissed me on the dancefloor and told us she blew him in the bathroom. I kissed her and I could taste it in her mouth. I remembered how much I love the taste of cum, but it’s been so long since I’ve had any.” Trina paused, glancing nervously at her husband.
“I don’t remember how I got there, but I remember being on my knees in the men’s bathroom. I guess I must’ve swallowed seven or eight loads before I went back out to the bar. I told Sophie what I’d done and she was so excited. We had a few more drinks before we went to another club, and I did the same thing again. I was knocking back a mixture of wine, hard liquor and cum for hours. Next thing I remember I was on a gurney in the emergency room. They told me they pumped my stomach. I don’t really remember how I got to the hospital, but when I woke up, I was on my own. I think Sophie and Amanda might’ve dropped me there and left me.” She raised a weak smile and tried to laugh. “Imagine draining those ingredients out of someone’s stomach.”
Mitch tried to be supportive. “The medics are probably used to it. Pumping cocktails of alcohol and semen out of stomachs is probably a regular Saturday night thing.”
“So that’s what I did last night,” Trina concluded. “And I lost my phone.”
Mitch now knew why he hadn’t received any messages from her.
Trina’s face turned into a vicious scowl. She lifted her head and looked Mitch dead in the eye. “So what did my faggot husband get up to last night?” she spat.
Mitch almost couldn’t believe his ears. He *hated* that word. “Umm … excuse me … but what the fuck did you just call me?”
Trina looked defiant. “You heard me. Did you play with your dildo last night, you little femboy? Or did you dress up and walk the streets until you found yourself a real man? I told Amanda and Sophie all about what I found in your drawer yesterday afternoon. I don’t remember everything about last night, but for the rest of my life, I’ll never forget the moment when I found a giant plastic fucking penis hidden under my husband’s socks. We had a good laugh about you last night. Amanda said she always thought you were a sissy.”
Mitch stood up and walked over to his wife. He picked her up and carted her to the bedroom. She struggled, but she was too weak to fight. Mitch threw her on the bed, face down. He tore her panties off with one hand while pinning her body to the mattress with the other. His cock was as hard as steel. He spat on it before spitting on his wife’s asshole.
He went in raw, and she screamed.
“Mitch! Fuck! What are you doing? Get off me, I don’t do anal!”
“You do now, you fuckin’ skanky bitch,” Mitch seethed. “You’re gonna suck a thousand anonymous dicks in a single night, but you won’t let your own husband fuck your ass? Shut the fuck up.” He gritted his teeth and fucked her like he hated her. “Call me a fuckin’ faggot, will you? Call me a sissy? Tell me how many loads they pumped out of your slutty guts last night, you fuckin’ cum dumpster?”
For the first time in her life, Trina gave in to the mixture of pleasure and pain of anal sex. These sensations were all brand new to her. She’d never played with her asshole in her life, not once; not even a curious fingernail in a moment of drunken inhibition.
“How’d you like my faggot dick in your ass, you dirty fuckin’ slut?”
She moaned, but the sound she made was unintelligible.
“What did you say, bitch? How does it feel having your anal cherry taken by your faggot sissy husband?”
Mitch had never fucked any hole harder in his life than right now. His four and a half inches felt like four and a half yards as he pistoned in and out of his wife’s virgin anus.
“You love it in the ass, don’t you?”
Trina’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as she squirted uncontrollably all over the mattress. A warm, wet patch spread underneath her stomach.
Mitch felt his orgasm approaching. “You want some cum, bitch?”
Trina screamed. Some words came out, but Mitch couldn’t understand what she said.
“You said you had your stomach pumped last night, you fuckin’ slutty whore? I think they missed a load,” Mitch announced, as he came deep into his wife’s ass. “Take that shit, you fuckin’ bitch.”
He felt her asshole twitch around his shaft as she climaxed a second time, flooding the bed.
Trina had never seen this side of Mitch. She couldn’t remember the last time her husband made her cum so hard, if ever.
Mitch pulled out. “So your slutty friends think you can do better than a sissy femboy like me? Fine. If that’s what you think of me, Katrina, I’m done with you. I want a separation.” He dressed and packed an overnight bag before returning to the bedroom. Trina was still face down on the mattress, having barely moved. Her asshole felt raw and inflamed. “Tell your friends you lost your anal virginity to your faggot streetwalker husband, and tell them how hard I made you cum. I’m gonna stay at a hotel tonight. Don’t wait up.”
He heard Trina’s weak, distant voice: “wait, no, Mitch … I’m so sorry …”
He slammed the door behind him on the way out.
*
He had two things he needed to do. First, he rang his supervisor to explain that he’d completed Friday’s workload and that it was ready for him to review first thing tomorrow morning, but that a family emergency had come up and he wouldn’t be able to come into the office tomorrow. His supervisor asked a few sharp, probing questions, and Mitch gave defensive, guarded replies that hinted at marriage strife.
The second thing was much more important. His palms were sweaty and his hands were dry as he called Tyrone. The line rang and Tyrone accepted the call.
“Yo, whiteboi, wassup?” Tyrone greeted.
“Hey,” said Mitch nervously. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“Nah, dude, I’m just kickin’ back watching some hoops on TV. You OK?”
“Not really. Trina came home while I was finishing up some work stuff. She had her stomach pumped in the emergency room last night. She got way drunk, and from what she said, she sucked more dick last night than Madonna in the 1980s.”
“For real? Shit, whiteboi, yo’ wife’s a skanky whore.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I don’t care about that right now. She can fuck whoever she wants.” Mitch took a deep breath. “I told you about how she found my dildo. She called me a faggot, and I got angry.”
“Fo’ sure,” said Tyrone. “That word is brutal. The f-word is up there with the n-word. People should know better.”
“I was so angry I fucked her in the ass. I’d never done that before, and she squealed like I was her first. I nutted in her, told her I wanted a separation, packed a bag and said I was going to a hotel for the night.”
Mitch could hear Tyrone breathing on the other end of the line.
“I’m gonna book a hotel now, but I don’t really want to,” said Mitch, “not unless I have to. I don’t want to be with her, but I also don’t want to be alone.” He paused. “So I was wondering … can I stay at your place tonight?”
“Well, I’d love to help a brother out in his time of desperate need, but I got my slutty Filipino maid comin’ in tomorrow morning, you understand; she wears one of those skimpy French outfits an’ every time she bends over to dust somethin’, her tight brown asshole winks at me, an’ the place is a mess right now, so she’ got a lot of work to get through tomorrow before she gets her payment … but on the other hand, yo’ crazy-ass shit might’ve saved me from an untimely death today, so…”
On the other end of the line, Mitch laughed. “Thank you,” he said.
“Come on up whenever,” Tyrone concluded. “Later.” He ended the call.
Mitch slung his bag over his shoulder and headed north to the 125th street elevated station. He wondered if there was a frequent flyer program on the green line. He sat back in his seat, relaxing. The train jerked and shuddered before screeching to a halt on the southern side of the river.
Mitch walked the few short blocks to Tyrone’s building. Weeks ago, Harlem was like another world to him, but tonight, he swaggered through the streets, feeling almost untouchable. He arrived at Tyrone’s building and was buzzed in. He rode up to the 16th floor to find Tyrone’s apartment door was already unlocked for him. He walked inside, closing the door behind him.
Tyrone was doing exactly what he’d said he was doing. Mitch found him with his feet up, slouched on the couch, watching a basketball game. Tyrone grabbed the remote and hit the pause button. “Hey, whiteboi.”
“Hey.” Mitch dropped his overnight bag near the door.
Tyrone stood and headed to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door. “Have you eaten?”
“Nah … but I’m not hungry.”
“You want something to drink?”
“Yeah. Thanks. A beer would be good.”
Tyrone flipped the tops off a couple of bottles and brought them back into the living area. The image on the TV screen was frozen.
“What are you watching?” Mitch tentatively asked. “I’m really sorry … I feel like I’m interrupting.”
“You ain’t interruptin’ shit, whiteboi,” Tyrone replied. “Sit yo’ ass down, make yo’self at home.”
Mitch sat on the couch, but at an appreciable distance from Tyrone. “Where’s Leroy?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” answered Tyrone. “I assume he’ at home.”
Mitch was confused. “He doesn’t live here with you?”
“Shit no, whiteboi. He’ got his own crib. We’ in the same building, but he’ down on the 10th floor, so his views of the inevitable death of America ain’t quite so elevated as mine.”
Mitch shook his head in confusion. “I thought you two were together?”
“Yeah, we are. But I thought we had this conversation already? We’ been together since elementary school …”
Mitch felt bold enough to ask. “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he interrupted. “I thought you were … together … like … in a relationship.”
Tyrone laughed so hard beer shot out of his nose. “Me? And Leroy?” He waved his arms.
“Nah, nah, nah man, you got the wrong idea. We’ ain’t like that.”
“Like what?” probed Mitch.
“We ain’t gay.”
Mitch understood. He nodded, turning back towards the frozen image on the TV screen, worried he’d pushed too far. “I ain’t gay either,” he whispered to himself.
“What’ you say, whiteboi?” hollered Tyrone.
Mitch gathered his voice. “I ain’t gay either.”
“Yeah, I know you ain’t,” Tyrone replied. “You tol’ me you just fucked the shit outta yo’ wife’ tight asshole.”
Mitch sat in silence for a few moments, deep in thought. He hoped he wasn’t keeping Tyrone from the basketball game, but Tyrone appeared in no hurry to grab the remote. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
“Sure you can,” answered Tyrone.
Mitch gazed at the sexy dude sitting at the other end of the couch. He glanced at the ever-present baseball cap on his head and wondered if Tyrone slept with it on. He looked at the tight singlet that hid his torso, and his sculpted, muscly biceps. He fixated on the beautiful dreads that cascaded down his back.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Mitch whispered under his breath.
“What’ you say jus’ now?” Tyrone boomed. He heard exactly what Mitch had said, but pretended he didn’t.
Mitch snapped out of his trance. “What? Uhh … nothing.”
“You was gon’ ask me a question,” Tyrone reminded. “I’ll take ‘Confused Whiteboi Has Shit On His Mind’ for $200.”
Mitch smiled. “So … I guess I was gonna ask … if you and Leroy ain’t together …”
“No, we’ together,” Tyrone interrupted.
Mitch forged ahead. “yeah … but … then how would you describe your relationship?”
No sooner had the words left Mitch’s mouth that he knew he’d overstepped a line. He’d intruded. This was none of his business. He half-expected Tyrone to advise him that now might be a good time to check online hotel vacancies.
To Mitch’s surprise, Tyrone took a deep breath. “It’s hard to explain, so I try not to think about it too much. I hate this phrase, because I hear it all the time, but it’s true — ‘it is what it is’. We hang together, we work together, we live in the same building, we get drunk together, we fuck the same bitches together … in some ways, we’ inseparable. If Leroy was ever caught up in shit, I’d be there in a heartbeat. And if he was sick, or if he fuckin’ died …”
Mitch felt tension rising. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I won’t ask anymore. It ain’t my business.” Again, he felt like he’d glimpsed the tip of the iceberg, and that so much of Leroy’s and Tyrone’s co-existence lay hidden, deep under the surface of the icy water. “Anyway, I’m so grateful for you letting me sleep here tonight. Watch your basketball game. I’m sorry that I interrupted.”
Tyrone reached for the remote and the frozen image jumped to life. “It’s cool, whiteboi. Yeah, let’s watch some game together.”
Mitch felt relieved. He sipped his beer as he watched the game. Tyrone sat at the other end of the couch.
“Why you so distant?” asked Tyrone. “You can scoot a lil’ closer if you want.”
Mitch felt his dicklet twitch. He moved a little closer to Tyrone but made sure not to get too close.
The basketball game rolled on for a few more minutes.
“Who you’ think gon’ win?” asked Tyrone.
Mitch noticed the teams that were playing — Lakers and Kings. Lakers were up by 6 points at the start of the third quarter. “Kings gonna win.”
Tyrone shook his head in pity. “No way. Whiteboi don’t know his B-ball. Gon’ have to teach you a few things ’bout the intricacies of the game.”
Mitch smiled, and they watched in silence for a few minutes.
“You wanna get a little closer to me?” invited Tyrone. Mitch could see the bulge in his pants. He moved across to sit directly next to Tyrone, hip to hip. “See, that’s better, ain’t it?”
Mitch felt Tyrone drape a heavy, tattooed arm around his shoulder.
He felt Tyrone’s hand tweak and tease his nipple through the fabric of his shirt.
He felt Tyrone’s sweet breath on his neck.
He felt Tyrone’s wet tongue exploring his ear.
He gingerly placed a hand on Tyrone’s giant flaccid BBC and began touching it through his pants. “I want you so fucking bad,” he pleaded.
Tyrone grabbed Mitch’s chin and violently tilted it towards his own face. He’d never kissed a man in his life before. He pressed his lips to Mitch’s, and he felt Mitch submit, his mouth opening to let Tyrone’s tongue inside.
Tyrone broke the kiss, but only to turn the television off. The basketball game could wait. “Come to bed with me, whiteboi.”
They stood in the darkness beside Tyrone’s bed. Mitch felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close. He looked up submissively, his hands stroking Tyrone’s beautiful dreadlocks as they ran like sexy rivulets down his spine.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mitch whispered.
“So don’t say nothin’.” Tyrone gently pushed Mitch down onto his mattress. “You want my big black cock in yo’ pussy tonight?”
Mitch’s sphincter twitched. “Yes,” he whispered. “More than anything.”
Tyrone lay next to Mitch, wrapping his heavy, masculine arms around his waist again. “Forget yo’ bitch. Imma fucc you now, whiteboi.” His hands latched onto Mitch’s jaw as he kissed him forcefully. “I need to tell you I ain’t never sucked face with another dude until tonight.” He forced his hungry tongue back inside Mitch’s mouth.
They kissed for minutes, but to Mitch, it felt like hours. Mitch touched the head of his dicklet and felt how badly he was leaking. He really wanted to taste his precum, but he wasn’t sure whether Tyrone would still want to kiss him afterwards if he did. He knew some guys were weird about cum, and from his own limited experiences, the more dominant the man was, the less willing they were to taste it. “My tiny clitty is so fucking hard for you right now,” Mitch moaned.
“Roll over, whiteboi,” Tyrone instructed, breaking the kiss. Mitch lay on his side, facing away from Tyrone. He felt a thick, fat bulge pressing into the small of his back as Tyrone’s mouth clamped down on his neck, kissing, licking and sucking hard. Mitch couldn’t help himself. He reached down and, with his thumb and forefinger, he stroked himself to climax, wetting the sheets. Tyrone heard the moans escaping from Mitch’s mouth and knew exactly what had happened. “You’ be sleepin’ in the wet spot tonight,” he joked.
Mitch didn’t care. He desperately wanted to continue kissing the thug lying behind him, but he thought it best to seek permission. “Can I roll back over to face you?”
“Sure you can,” said Tyrone. Mitch rolled over to face Tyrone and immediately buried his face between his sculpted pecs. He sucked on Tyrone’s pierced nipples, bringing them firmly to attention. Tyrone gasped; his nipples were hyper-sensitive, and it didn’t take much effort from Mitch to coax his BBC to full mast. “Fuck, whiteboi, that feels good.”
“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” Mitch admitted. “Whenever I watch BBC porn, I love looking at those huge dark cocks and those beautiful eyes and smiles, but a well-built chest gets me every single time.” He looked up at Tyrone through the darkness. “Can I keep sucking your nipples?”
Tyrone laughed. “Do you remember me asking you to stop?”
Mitch laughed. “Hey, can you bounce them for me?” he asked, and Tyrone complied. “Fuck, man, that’s so hot.”
Mitch went back to work, his tongue lapping each nipple and his teeth gently tugging on each piercing. He reached down to feel Tyrone’s hard cock; it was so fat he could barely wrap his hand around the shaft. He touched the head and felt the thick wetness at the tip. He ran his fingers across the sensitive head of Tyrone’s dick, then brought his fingers up to his mouth to lick the liquid off them. “Have you ever tasted your own cum?” he asked.
“No … not really.”
Mitch pawed at Tyrone’s sexy chest. “Your precum is really sweet, you know that?” He reached down to Tyrone’s groin again, cupping his balls.
Tyrone smiled. “Thanks. Yeah, I’ve been told that before.” The tip of his cock was still wet. He sighed as he felt Mitch’s fingers drawing light circles around the head of his massive penis. “Fuck, that feels good, whiteboi.”
“You know what’ll feel even better?” replied Mitch, giving one of Tyrone’s nipples a last pinch before heading south. Tyrone rolled onto his back and spread his legs wide, giving Mitch the perfect view of his massive, black penis and his heavy balls. Mitch gently stroked Tyrone’s inner thighs before teasing his swollen testicles with his fingertips. He lightly touched the underside of Tyrone’s shaft and felt him shudder. He began to stroke it, very gently, with just one hand, using his fingers to heighten Tyrone’s senses. Another dribble of precum appeared at the tip, which Mitch lapped up with his eager tongue.
Mitch teased the head of Tyrone’s fat BBC with his tongue until Tyrone couldn’t take it anymore. “Suck it, whiteboi,” he seethed.
Mitch responded by taking as much of the girthy black shaft into his mouth as he could, bobbing his face up and down, letting his spit dribble down onto Tyrone’s nutsack. He reached up to run his hands across Tyrone’s muscular abdomen and again up to his beautiful chest, teasing his nipples. He felt Tyrone’s breathing begin to quicken as he began to fuck Mitch’s face. “Fuck, whiteboi, you gon’ make me fuckin’ buss in yo’ mouf …”
“Not yet,” said Mitch, taking Tyrone’s thick cock out of his mouth, squeezing the spasming shaft.
“Fuck,” Tyrone moaned. “I was so close, whiteboi.”
Mitch sat on Tyrone’s face. “Not yet. First, get me wet.”
Tyrone grabbed Mitch’s ass and pulled him down, eating his hole like it was the last food left on earth.
Mitch sighed in bliss. He would’ve been content to feel Tyrone’s tongue lapping at his pussy forever, but he wanted something else. “That’s enough,” he declared. He kissed Tyrone, desperate to taste his own ass in his mouth.
They were both rock fucking hard by now.
Mitch squatted down on Tyrone’s cock, cowgirl style, moaning as it entered his wet pussy. It stung a little, and he had to work hard to get it in. Despite his BBC homework, it still hurt to take something as demanding as Tyrone’s fat ten inches of meat. His thighs trembled as he looked down at Tyrone as he crunched up and down on the huge cock beneath him. “Fuck, you’re big,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I can’t fit all of you in.”
“I know. Nobody can. It’s OK.”
“I wish I could, though. I want to feel all of you inside me.” There was a moment of silence as Mitch’s thighs began to quake. He knew he needed to spend some more time doing lunges and squats at the gym. “I love feeling you in this position, but fuck, my legs aren’t strong enough.”
Tyrone threw Mitch onto his back and ploughed him missionary style. “Is this better?” he asked.
Mitch’s thighs and calves relaxed immediately. He threw his head back in delight as his pussy dilated. “Fuck, I love feeling you inside me. I’m so fucking addicted to your big black cock.”
Tyrone picked up the pace, but Mitch was tight. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow. “You’ gon’ make me fuckin’ nut, whiteboi,” he said.
Mitch’s hand reached up to touch Tyrone’s sweaty, sexy abs. “Please … don’t nut in me … I wanna taste you.”
Tyrone knew his orgasm was coming. He pulled out and jerked himself off over Mitch’s face. Mitch opened his mouth and flopped out his tongue. “Give me your fucking cum,” he pleaded. His eyes were fixated on the head of Tyrone’s massive, beautiful BBC. He couldn’t wait for a thick, delicious load of hot black cum to land on his face.
“Imma nut in yo’ fuckin’ mouth, whiteboi.”
“Give it to me. I want it so bad.”
Mitch sucked Tyrone’s thick meat into his mouth and awaited his gift. Tyrone continued stroking himself as he felt Mitch’s tongue lashing across the head of his cock. He couldn’t hold back any longer. “Here it comes, whiteboi,” he declared as his balls exploded onto Mitch’s tongue. Tyrone’s fat black weapon flexed, and Mitch moaned as he swallowed hard. It tasted so fucking good.
The room fell silent — the only noises were Tyrone trying not to moan as his nut pounded against Mitch’s tonsils, and the sound of Mitch eagerly swallowing his prize.
Tyrone wiped his brow. “Was that good, whiteboi?”
Mitch caught a breath. Again, silence descended. He toyed with Tyrone’s nutsack. “Fuck yes. Thank you.”
Mitch scooted north. He wanted to kiss Tyrone, but was worried that he might not want to taste himself. Instead, he kissed his sweet neck while his fingers teased his nipples.
“You ain’t nutted yet, whiteboi.”
Mitch shook his head. “I came earlier … while you were kissing my neck … you said I have to sleep in my wetspot … but yeah … you got my clitty so fucking hard right now …”
“So roll over,” Tyrone interrupted. “Imma make you nut again.” Mitch followed orders, and felt Tyrone’s heavy arm envelop his frame, holding him close. Once again, he felt Tyrone’s mouth sucking hard on his neck, and his dicklet swelled. Gently, delicately, Mitch guided Tyrone’s sexy, heavy hand down to his crotch. And as he felt Tyrone’s finger and thumb grip onto his clitty, he moaned like a girl, dribbling his second watery load of the night all over the back of Tyrone’s hand.
“Was that good?”
Mitch’s response was to roll back over to face Tyrone, silently burying his face in his masculine chest. Tyrone let Mitch lick his load from his thick fingers.
He felt Tyrone slowly drift off to sleep as he felt his own chest rise and fall, more and more slowly.
He felt Tyrone’s heavy, protective arms wrap around him. The last thought that went through his mind as sleep arrived was how hot it’d be to watch Tyrone work out at the gym.
He couldn’t believe this was his life right now.
Just before slumber took him away for the night, he wondered what Leroy was doing.
*
They woke on Monday morning, but late. Neither Mitch nor Tyrone had set an alarm. Neither needed to — Mitch had the day off work. They were each sleeping on their sides, facing away from each other, but as the sun eventually intruded the room, Mitch stretched and yawned. He rolled over and found himself staring at Tyrone’s dark back. He draped an arm around his frame, his hand landing on his tight abs.
He couldn’t quite believe he’d woken up in Harlem on a Monday morning, spooning a thug with a ten-inch BBC. He ran his fingers across Tyrone’s sixpack, knowing the huge piece of meat he’d encounter if his hand went further south.
Eventually, Tyrone woke up and stretched. He rolled over to discover Mitch sharing his mattress. “Hey, whiteboi.” He yawned. “I guess I should get up and make you a cup of coffee.”
“That’d be nice.”
Tyrone rolled over and pulled some clothes on. He went to the bathroom and took his regular morning piss. Mitch lay on the mattress, hearing the warm liquid thundering out of Tyrone’s bladder, wishing he could watch. Mitch heard Tyrone’s feet move further away, and a switch turned on, which he assumed was for the coffee machine. Minutes later, Mitch’s nose latched onto the warm scent of caffeine. He got up, got dressed, and padded towards Tyrone’s kitchen.
The machine binged as Mitch arrived. “Perfect timing, whiteboi,” boomed Tyrone. He poured his guest a cup which was accepted with gratitude.
Mitch took a deep slurp. “Thanks.”
They sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee, but conversation was a little awkward. Mitch’s mind had gravitated back to his wife, while also being concerned about his job. He knew he’d been granted a day of family leave, but a part of him felt guilty knowing that he’d spent the night in Harlem getting ploughed by a massive black dick. He resolved to work harder to dissolve the guilt.
Mitch stood up. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Fo’ sure,” Tyrone replied.
“I should go now.”
“Yeah.”
Mitch leaned in for a goodbye hug, which Tyrone returned. “See yo’ ass again soon,” his host said as the door closed.
Mitch caught the elevator to ground floor, preparing to catch the subway back home.
Just as the elevator doors opened, he saw Leroy in the lobby with a cup of takeout coffee in his hand.
Leroy was surprised to see Mitch in his building. He noticed a bright purply-red mark on Mitch’s neck.