Image from Black snake Moan


I stopped at a red light. Watching surrounding life continue; my thoughts ran wild, moved by old memories of youth, thinking of cars I wished to grow up and drive. Imagining a perfect future, my fastest transportation. I was above riding on dirty, dirt colored buses; filled with the idle, disease minded and virus-ed individuals. A familiarity I intended to become un- familiar with.Waiting for life, watching it pass by- sunshine, trees, children playing, women in sun dresses. Even simple happiness, free smiles, gone-unseen behind miseries eyes.

I Played “that’s my car”, visioning the sexy woman it would drive me towards, and towards me. Do all boys grow into sexist men? Or, do I blame the role model of blacks; pimps, hustlers, baller’s- loving, needing, but struggling with the world wanted and envied, ebony ways, going with ivory because of pay, fooled by transparency, unable to see the pain. Do women prefer them? They do like bad boys, and everything boys do, is to impress women. Even though, mostly not the ones they are with.

Do women do that too? The simplest truth is always ignored. Women have always run, and continue to run the… “Wait a minute, I can’t admit that.” What kind of man would I be? What kind of man would that make me? I would lose everything. My father, my friends would think I was…

Green light now; I’m moving on. I see a handsome man walking. I glance in my rear view, checking my confidence as he walks away. He has the look I want, have always wanted. Solid, rough, slick, and sharp. Can be held, but has to be let go. Freedom is necessary, a walk you wait for. Scary handsome, a regret you want. “If I were a woman”…

Yellow light now; a car glides into my peripheral. I glance at the couple in the back seat. He’s the looker in the relationship- “Probably cheats”, men like him have to - to stay fulfilled. They see me look. I nod- not a “hello”, just an acknowledgement. Avoiding some awkwardness, makes more awkwardness.

The couple in the front are alphas by look, but runts of love. Their affection seems forced, too loving to be, or stay married, a cautionary, witching word, meaning “good enough to want to repeatedly fuck.” She’s prettier than him, plump, pretty, pink lips. His car is modern, but old. He will have to work hard. She needs to be rev’s up, but he doesn’t have what it takes. I glance and nod, making eye contact; seconds seem like minutes of undressing. I grip my steering wheel, grab, and shift my dick. “I wonder if all of her lips have that look; Kissable, lick-able, dick-able.”

Red light now; I clench my jaw, flexing, muscles she can see. She adjusts her hair- more than a fix, a caress, at-least that’s how I see it. I imagine the road to head. I stick my hand out the window, flashing my watch, and my big hands-hoping she knows what that means. She looks and I signal my phone number with the same hand.

Green light now; Deep eye contact before I pull off first. I don’t chase women, won’t stick around for their problems either. Real men; know when to hold, when to let go, keep what they want, give what they need.

Home now; I rush to my bathroom. Stripping, to release the days emotions into the porcelain condom. Excitement, oozing slowly. I sit, the cold toilet nearly changes my mind. Hanging flaccid, I think “pretty, pink, plump, kissable, dick-able.” Typing, blondes who like bbc, into my phone, with my right hand, freeing my left for when I get lucky. My search results are plentiful. I am prepared to show one, maybe a few, I am the man.

My phone rings. I don’t recognize the number. I hear my conscience-“It might be her.” My penis rose and fell, hitting my throne. Thudding a slow, offbeat drum. “Hello” I say, in a semi deep voice, used for convenient truths, not mistaken for lies, but I hear silence… “Hello?”

“Hello”, she repeats. Her voice, real, and sensual, a moan, giving this dog a bone. “I” a slight stutter, “I, I”, she sighs, steadying herself.

I almost choke on my stifled laugh. Deep, slow breaths repress my cough.

“I’m the girl from the stop light. Do you remember me?”

I wait a few seconds before answering, just in case she has more rambling, but mainly because I don’t want to cough. She might think I am sick.

“Hello! Oh, god, this is embarrassing, you don’t…”

I interrupt. “Of course I remember. I’m glad you called.”

She giggled. I hear a muffled whisper-she covered the phone too late. Is she calling to tease me? I see red, become still, but I don’t want to stop. I feel an embarrassing rejection. One of silence, possible boredom, or a whisper of “deeper” during mid stroke.

“You sound entertained.” Time to show her I measure up. “But, the real entertainment is over here.” I say in my calmest, smoothest voice. Biting my hand afterwards, to absorb the shock of my bravery, hoping I did not sound arrogantly stupid, and not allowing a repeat.

“Is that so?” She asks, demanding I prove it. She giggled again.

“You should come find out- spelling “cum”-in my head, laughing a silent, wheezing laugh. I can’t wait to show her my dick game ain’t a joke, make her cry tears of joy from my jackhammer stroke.

“Do you wanna meet tonight?” She asked.

“I think we would have a good time, if we did.”I needed her to feel classy, as if she was making the choice. I could not show how desperate I was.

“Ok, what’s your address?” I tell her. Then, her tone changes to one of concern and seriousness. I imagine her having flashes of horror stories about stalkers, or a boyfriend, she catches masturbating. Releasing anger and jealousy, because she Interrupted his release. Both embarrassed, she and her feelings back up, and now, he’s backed up. “My friend, the one who was with us, in the back of the car- she’s going to bring me. I hope that’s alright. I just don’t normally hook up with random, strange… Not saying your strange… I just, don’t normally, Do this! You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“Wait! what do you mean?”

There is panic in her voice now; the kind expressed when a guy confesses after sex, he is married. Or, when he admits contracting a curable s-t-d in his youth, and has never had a condom break until now, during their amazing, life changing sex.

“I do, know what you mean, that’s what I mean. I completely understand. You bringing your bodyguard”

She laughed. Awkwardness converted, crisis averted. “How about one hour?”

I agree. We hang up. My confidence high, because she wants me now, sooner than I imagined. I rush back to my throne. I need to masturbate, but decide to wait until fifteen minutes out. “I need to make sure I last, when I’m tapping that ass.” I wonder if she likes anal. I feel a looming happiness- a dream I will swim in, wetting something other than myself and my sheets. I prance around my house, planning, playing out our scene; lick her, tickle her-I rub my long beard- then dick her, choke her-gently to test her freak- smack her ass, pull her hair. I check my condom count, three boxes. I think about her friend. More excitement now; she was “ok pretty” -the right light on a perfect night, would make her fuck-able for life.

Fifteen minutes out; I masturbate, shit, and shower. The doorbell rings. I look through my security camera. I walk out to meet them, needing to see my prey. I’m from where “wolves come in many shapes.” She appeared ready to keep me full, meaty in all the places I like. I was poking through, sharp as a knife, ready to cut. I stood guarding it, dulling the sharpness of my premature, natural, but too soon, perverted site.

They walk towards me. Light smiles, heavy eye contact, relax our nerves. I wrap my hand around her waist. “You smell nice”

A hair flip, allows a stronger whiff. “Thank you”

Now, for her friend, the gate keeper. I joked of her doubling as witness and accomplice. At that moment, I was a comedian, drowning in dark, serious looks. We arrived at my bright, spacious loft, lightning the mood.

“Nice place,” she: I hadn’t gotten her name- the one who, hopefully, would soon be moaning mine. She blurted,“I forgot my purse.”

Was this the signal of abandon? The bathroom break to secure the nights chastity. “Oh.” Was all I could think to say. Her friend volunteered to get it.

“The bodyguard trusts me”, I thought. They exchanged smiles and she left. I watched her exit, re-appear, and buzzed her back inside. The party started, rather smoothly after that. I asked if they drank, played bartender for the group, wondering when three would become two, knowing in these moments, “cock blockers of the v.i.p., never knew when to leave.”

Finally, they made the last round of drinks. I escorted the bodyguard to the bathroom, then, she left. A weight was lifted, lust floated, popped like the fizzing bubbles from our drinks. Winks, smiles, kisses, deep inhales, rubs, even a dick tug, filled our dance-grind, leading to my bedroom. She was soft. I gripped hard, holding and leaving prints, creating memories any way I could. Making sure this was a night to remember.

“Close your eyes” she hissed, gliding her long, sun kissed fingers down, circling my tip. She licked her fingers, kissed them, then grabbed control. A sneaky smile formed. Her eyes matched, glowing readiness. “Go ahead, close’em.”

I obeyed. Warmness, wetness, swirling, slurping, sucking, I felt the world shake. I opened my eyes, met her emerald cat like slants and was hypnotized- a modern day medusa. I was a statue of seduction, frozen from enjoyment, falling, unable to hold. When she stopped, I nearly crumbled. She handed me my drink, gulped hers, and slid away her lingerie.

I kissed, caressed, sucked, licked, before diving. I was deep, and a good swimmer, but I came up feeling drunk.

I woke up in the hospital, with four bullets shoved up my rectum and my pee hole stitched closed, swelled like a balloon, from hot sauce in my urethra. The security camera from my building showed two masked men running in as the bodyguard exited. The woman I was with, was last seen with my wife.

I write to breath. I write to give. I write for happiness.

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