“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” Mitch retorted. “Check the time. It isn’t slut o’clock yet.”
They glared at each other.
“OK, Mitch, I’ll ask you one more time. It’s a very simple question. What. The. Fuck. Is. This.” She waved the black plastic cock in front of Mitch’s face.
Mitch smiled. He found himself enjoying the confrontation. “I believe it’s known as a dildo. A dildo is an object designed for sexual penetration of the mouth, vagina or anus, and is usually solid and phallic in shape…”
Trina stepped forward to cut him off. She waved Mitch’s dildo in front of his face. “Shut the fuck up. I know it’s a dildo, and I know what it’s used for.”
Mitch felt loose. “Hey babe, I was just answering your question. You asked me what it was. If you already know what it is, why did you ask me three fucking times?”
Trina was infuriated. She concentrated hard, forming the words for the question that was burning a hole in her soul. “Why does my husband have a dildo hidden in his sock drawer?”
Mitch was blatantly toying with her now. “Well it’s not in my sock drawer right now, and it wasn’t hidden very well if you found it …”
She screamed and hurled the dildo at him out of sheer frustration. Her face was a contorted mess. She frantically grabbed her purse and keys, and threw the door closed behind her.
Mitch couldn’t ever remember seeing his wife so angry. He didn’t expect her to come back home tonight. And for the moment, he was just glad she was out of his face. He collected his dildo and returned it to his sock drawer before returning to the couch. He turned the TV on and watched the last quarter of the Bulls v Celtics game before heading into the street in search of food. He downed a bowl of salmon ramen and a cool Sapporo beer before returning to his apartment. Despite what just happened, he felt surprisingly calm.
He fired up his laptop, retrieved his dildo, and turned off the lights.
It was time for some hot whiteboi sex.
He went straight to the dogfart website. He had a membership. He scrolled to find the clip he wanted.
A blonde bimbo walked innocently into a sex shop. She looked a little coy, but she knew what she was looking for. She was ushered to a room in back. The room was brightly lit, perhaps too brightly lit. The walls were plastered with explicit messages written with a sharpie. Mitch imagined the room had been well-used, and that the girl could probably see tell-tale marks and stains on the floor and walls. He assumed the cleaners were kept busy.
The bimbo sat on a chair and watched some interracial porn on a TV screen. She spread her legs and touched herself, until a big black dick poked through a hole in the wall.
She feigned surprise. Mitch watched her mouth open in amazement. He watched her sink to her knees as she tasted it. He watched her lick the tip before sucking on the head. He watched it grow in her mouth and under her touch.
He wished that dick was in his own mouth. He wished he was her. He sucked on his dildo, pushing it as deep in his throat as he could. It felt good, but not as good as a real cock.
The porn bimbo wanted to feel that BBC inside her, but she didn’t want her husband to know. He heard her speak. ‘It isn’t cheating if it’s anal,’ she said, and Mitch nearly climaxed on the spot.
He lubed himself up. He knew what was about to happen.
He watched as she took off her heels and impaled her tight anus on the huge black shaft poking through the wall. He took the dildo out of his mouth and began fucking himself with it.
She didn’t want him to cum in her ass, she wanted to taste him. She kneeled in front of the fat black viper, stroking it, wanting the sexy dude on the other side of the gyprock to unload into her mouth.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
“So am I,” echoed Mitch. “Cum on her face.” He fucked himself hard, feeling his pussy stretch.
The BBC complied, oozing thick nut into her mouth. Mitch noticed she gagged a little. Rookie mistake — black cum is a gift to be savoured.
And as he imagined he was her, with a fat black dick flooding his mouth with thick sperm, he came.
He scooped up his nut and ate it, imagining it was Leroy’s.
Almost immediately, his phone pinged with a message from Tyrone.
“Hey whiteboi. Get ur ass back up here. We want some more of ur tight pussy.”
“Sure. Same bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me an hour.” Mitch logged off and got ready to leave. But before he left, he looked through his wife’s drawer. Fuck, if she was gonna raid his own private shit, why couldn’t he do the same?
He pulled on a pair of lacy pink panties before catching the green line northward.
*
Mitch arrived at the bar. This time, he didn’t feel the need to race; he took his own sweet time getting there. And unlike last time, he didn’t feel the need to wait until he was called over to the booth. He sat down next to Tyrone. “You hollered?”
“Yo, wassup, whiteboi?” Tyrone greeted. He extended one of his massive hands to shake Mitch’s. He was wearing dark sunglasses.
“Hey,” said Mitch.
“Welcome back to the ‘hood,” joined Leroy.
“You dudes always sit in this same booth?”
“Yeah. We comfortable here,” Tyrone replied.
“What’s Harlem life like today?” Mitch asked.
Tyrone sighed. He took his shades off and placed his sexy hands on the table. “Same ol’ same ol’, I guess. How’s things wit’ you?”
Mitch couldn’t tell whether Tyrone was having a genuinely dull day, or whether he was reluctant to move beyond small talk. He couldn’t imagine these thugs lived boring lives, and he’d love to find out what shit they got up to. Maybe some other day. He sighed, thinking about his own eventful day so far. After what happened just a few hours ago, maybe his marriage was now officially dead. If by chance it was still alive, it was probably on life support. “My day’s been … unusual.”
“What’s happenin’ in the Upper East Side soap opera?” Tyrone quizzed. “How’re all them Rockerfellers trackin’?”
“I had a shower when I got home last night,” Mitch began, “and when the water ran over my ass cheeks, it stung like an absolute motherfucker. You really laid into me, you know that?”
Leroy and Tyrone exchanged knowing grins. “Yeah,” said Leroy. “We know.”
“I haven’t been spanked like that since I was at school. Fuck, it hurt so bad, but at the same time … it felt good.”
Tyrone’s mouth spread into a wide, toothy grin. “No doubt, whiteboi.” While the urban gangsters were instantly curious about why Mitch got spanked at school — he seemed like such a fine, upstanding, law-abiding citizen who grew up on the right side of the tracks — it was probably gonna be a subject for another day.
“My wife was asleep when I got home last night, but this morning, she asked why I came home so late. I guess it looked weird because it was a Friday night. I spun her some bullshit story about having to stay late for an international business meeting. I’ve bent the truth a little on a few things lately with her, but let’s just say I think she bought it.”
Leroy stroked his chin. “An international business meeting? At the fuckin’ postal service?”
Mitch nearly got caught out. “Uhh … yeah … it happens all the time. Gotta make sure postal officers in different countries are talking to each other. You’d be surprised at what goes on behind the scenes when it comes to international mail.”