Sitting in his office looking out the window at the city below, the black man who was Division Head contemplated his affair with the beautiful white wife of one of his white employees, Robert Smith.
He looked at his watch. In another hour he’d be in a hotel room with Mrs. Smith for a day of sucking and fucking while her white husband toiled away at some utterly pointless task with no importance whatsoever...other than keeping Mr. Smith occupied while Mrs. Smith was in bed with his black boss.
Sitting alone in his office for most of the morning before leaving to meet with Mrs. Smith, he’d contemplated the idea of it while waiting to meet her. The idea of it was daring enough. More than that, it was mind blowing. It was the idea of having Mrs. Smith, a white woman married to one of his employees, suck his cock in his office behind closed doors during business hours, while everyone was there.
He knew lots of big shots had gotten head in their offices, but only after hours. He’d never heard of anyone with the balls to do it during the work day....with a full staff there. Add to that, getting sucked off by a woman who was the wife of one of his employees. With an employee’s wife? While the employee was working there in another part of the floor? It was a first. It would be a first. A first for any man, but most especially for a black man.
It was thrilling in its boldness. Getting her in and out without being seen. Keeping people out of his office while she was going down on him. Beyond that. How about calling her husband on the company internal line while the husband’s wife was sucking his cock? How about calling the husband and chewing the guy’s ass while the guy’s wife was sucking him off? How about that? How about her calling her husband on her cell phone while she was in the boss’s office? What about receiving a call from him, from her husband during the day like that?
The possibilities excited him.
Was it possible? Could he get away with it?
“Get away with it.”
Shit. He bristled. He hated that. He hated the idea that he had to “get away” with anything. He was the boss, wasn’t he? Didn’t this guy’s wife want to be with him? To go down on him? Why shouldn’t he just bring her in to the office openly and have her suck him off without any pretense of hiding her presence there?
Of course they’d close the door. That was just good manners. Everyone would know what they were doing in his office. No need to be crude about it. Everyone would know she was sucking him off. No need to give them a show. Let them squirm and gossip and talk about it. That was enough for them.
Of course her husband would hear about it. He’d hear that she was in his boss’s office, behind closed doors. Everyone would know. Everyone would look at him. Everyone would feel sorry for him. What could he do? She was free to do what she wanted.
He was the boss, the division head. He was secure. His power was absolute, at least as far as anything was absolute in life. If he brought the beautiful white wife of some lowly white ass hole who worked there into his office for her to suck his cock, what were the rest of them going to do about it? They’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The thought of it excited him too, perhaps even more than it excited her. Would it excite her?
After he described it to her a few hours later that day, her eyes brightened and she laughed.
“Of course I like the idea, darling. Of course.” Then as an after thought she added, cautiously, “We need to think it through though.”
“What’s to think through? Why don’t we just do it?”
“I like your spirit. I agree with you that you’re the boss and if I suck your cock behind closed doors, what business is it of theirs? I get that.”
“But?”
“But. We need to think it through.”
“Think what through?”
“I’m still married to him. It could cause problems for me. Obviously he’ll know. Everyone will know. Are you willing to support me if he files for divorce?”
“He won’t file for divorce.”
“You know this how?”
“I just know it. He won’t want to lose you.”
“He’s already lost me. If I show up at your office behind closed doors, he’ll know for sure. Everyone else will know too and maybe he feels the need to save face and file for divorce.”
“And. Is that so bad?”
“We’ve agreed that this isn’t the right time. ”
He was silent.
“Another thing,” she continued. “I know you think you’re invulnerable here as the boss. I think your title is division head? Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m the division head. I can’t believe your husband hasn’t made that clear.”
“Of course he has. I’m just making a point.”
“What point?”
“No one is invulnerable. No one is irreplaceable. Are you sure the people you answer to will react favorably about you having sex in the office? I mean, openly in the office? Is that really what they’re paying you for?”
“They’re paying me for whatever I decide to do.”
“I don’t think so. If you want us to be together you have to be a little more cautious about your job.”
“My job is secure.”
“It may not be if you behave impetuously.”
“Meaning?”
“I like the idea of sneaking in or even just openly walking in to your office, closing the door and going down on you and fuck them all. But it’s not your company. You need to think this through. We have a good relationship now. You have lots of discretion as district head. You can always get time off for us to be together. No need to rock the boat.”
“Division head.”
“Yes. Division Head. Of course. You can take off in the middle of the day and meet me and the risk is minimal. It’s minimal for both of us.”
She leaned over and kissed him. It was a long, deep kiss. It was a strategically timed kiss, timed to calm him down. She’d learned what worked between them. She’d learned his moods, his ups, his downs and how to calm him and persuade him to be more reasonable.
They lay together silently, enjoying the moment. He broke the silence.
“Maybe you’re right baby,” he said calmly, contentedly. “Just one more reason I need you in my life. You see the human dimension that I sometimes overlook. You see how people have to be ...”
“To be what?”
“To be manipulated. You show me how to get what I want without ruffling feathers. I like that. You’re good for me that way.”
She smiled. How different to be with a man who had real power. How different to be with a man who had real authority and was challenged by how to use it rather than a man like her pathetic husband who was always complaining about how he’d been screwed and how unfairly life had treated him. She’d tried to counsel her husband, tried to advise him on dealing with people but he always brushed her off as though she were a child.
Now she was lying in bed with a man who appreciated her for more than her oral and sexual skills. Her black lover could probably be just as impetuous as any man, but he listened to her. He respected her. No other man in her life ever had. Her father always riding her, always complaining about how shallow and superficial she was. He probably meant well but he smothered her with his domination over her.
Her husband was no better. Truth be told, she’d married him to escape her father’s discipline. It worked. She did escape her father, but now she was trapped in a different kind of hell. Her husband was smart enough and affectionate, but he wasn’t a real man. Not like his boss. He couldn’t satisfy her. As a lover, as a husband, he was nothing. She felt guilty that she didn’t feel guilty for cheating on him, but she didn’t. It wasn’t her fault he was a loser. It wasn’t her fault she was trapped into marrying him. It wasn’t her fault her own father was an asshole and she had to marry to get away from him.
All her life she’d only known white men. What if she’d met someone like this black man in high school? At church? Anywhere for God’s sake. What if she’d discovered the power and majesty of black men and black dicks, and black sperm when she was young enough to have avoided the mistake of marrying a useless white man?
The price of racial segregation. The price of all white neighborhoods, of all white schools she’d attended. The price of white only dating.
No black boys, no black spirit, no black life force...and no black dicks. Oh God! If only she’d discovered black boys and black dicks high school. Black boys who were strong and confident and black dicks that were big and powerful.
Now, history was repeating itself. The white men in her life, whether her father, her husband or the dithering idiots she’d known in high school, all fell far short of her needs. She went from one empty, meaningless relationship to another. She went from one, whimpy, emasculated white boy to another and finally ended up marrying one of them, her husband.
Now, five years into her dying marriage, she met this black man. A real man. A black man. A black man who exuded masculinity, exuded power, exuded passion and gave her physical satisfaction she’d only dreamed of, but never thought possible. She knew, she knew through all those boring, suffocating relationships that something was missing. She longed for it. She longed to be satisfied. She longed for a man whose power and manliness could satisfy her as a woman. Now she found one.
Her black lover was the first real man she’d ever known. Even he, however, had his weak spots. One was delusions of grandeur. Delusions that he couldn’t be fired. Couldn’t be touched at his job. That was why he needed a woman who would look out for him and reign in some of his more irresponsible impulses. A baby would reign him in. A baby.
She wanted his baby. She wanted him to make her pregnant. She wanted his life giving sperm to produce a wonderful baby inside of her for her to present to him when it was born. His baby.
She took a breath and contemplated those words.
“His baby.”
His baby would be strong. His baby would be passionate. His baby would be a real man, a real black man with a capacity for life. However often she’d discussed children with her husband, the idea of it always haunted her. She dreaded the idea of getting pregnant by her husband. She dreaded the idea of getting pregnant by any white man. Her baby would just grow up to be like its white father, its white grandfather. It would grow up to be tired, dysfunctional and weak, just like its father and her father. The thought of giving birth to a baby that took after either her husband or her father horrified her.
She’d never told her husband, but she’d resolved to abort any child conceived with him. She’d rather kill it than see it grow up like him or her father...or any other white man she’d ever known.
She actually had nightmares about being pregnant with her husband’s baby and giving birth. Giving birth. She dreamed of being pregnant. Being pregnant meant being sick all the time, being fat and ugly, and finally giving birth. “Giving birth.” That was what they called it. Carrying a monster insider her for nine months and then discharging it from her body. It would require years and years of care, of discipline of pampering, of nurturing. That was what they called it. “Nurturing.”
You nurtured it for 18 or twenty years and then what? Then what? It grew up to be an insecure dysfunctional whining white man trying to survive in a world that had moved on.
In one of her nightmares her baby was born without a face or without sex organs. The front of it’s head was smooth, just like the back of it. It was smooth and kind of squishy. No eyes, nose, mouth. No facial features. And no sex organs. None. What sex was it? How could you give birth to something like that? How could you identify its gender on a birth certificate? How could you identify the gender of some freak that didn’t even have sex organs?
How could you give it a name? A name?
How could you feed it if it didn’t have a mouth? How could you do anything with it? How could it live? How could it grow up?
In her dream...her nightmare...it did grow up. One day it was almost six feet tall. It would sit at the table when dinner was served. She never remembered how it ate, or even if it ate at all. It was just there. It was just there, sitting, nodding. Somehow it was breathing too. How did it breath without a mouth? Without nostrils?
They dressed it like a boy. It didn’t have sex organs but it seemed simpler to dress it in boys’ clothes. After a while it learned to dress itself. How weird was that?
She remembered dreaming about this white freak, her offspring, sitting there at the table, walking around the house, going off to school. Going to school? How was that possible? It couldn’t see without eyes. It couldn’t hear without ears. It couldn’t speak without vocal cords or a mouth. How was any of that possible?
That’s the thing about dreams. Dreams are not real life. They’re....they’re dreams. She remembered in her dreams, she remembered watching that thing sit at the dinner table and go off to school in the morning and come home from school in the afternoon...and she planned to kill it. She planned to fucking kill it.
“Why?” she’d wondered in her dream. “Why! Why! Why! Hadn’t she just aborted it? An abortion would have solved all the problems. An abortion would have eliminated this freak from her life and would have eliminated all the weird questions about how it breathed and ate and saw and went to school and everything else. Killing that monster would have solved everything, but she’d decided to keep it because her husband wanted a child and because life was sacred and because it was one of the “unborn”.
So in her dream she was plotting to kill it. That was the dream, the nightmare, from which she awakened screaming at the top of her lungs.
She’d hit it in the head with a baseball bat and the impact just made a sickening, wet sound, with no effect on it. It just stood there. No sound. No crying. No whimpering. Just stood there. No look on its face. IT DIDN’T HAVE A FACE FOR GOD’S SAKE.
She hit it again and again. Same response. If you could call it a response. Same sickening sound when she hit it.
Then she ran out to the car to get away and it followed her. Like a zombie or something. It just followed her out of the house into the drive way where the car was parked.
IT WAS CARRYING THE BASEBALL BAT. Oh my God!
She backed the car out of the drive way and when it followed after her she shifted gears back into drive. She hit the gas and ran over it with the car. She felt the tires go over it like a speed bump. Shifting into reverse, she backed up over it. She backed all the way out in the street and watched it lying there in the drive way, watching it with a certain satisfaction. It was finally dead.
Then, to her horror, it got up. It got up. It got up, picked up the baseball bat it had dropped when the car hit it and started walking toward her again. Like the “undead” in a horror movie or something. Only this wasn’t a movie. It was worse. It was a dream. Her dream. Her nightmare. At least she didn’t have to buy a ticket to see it. At least her nightmare was free.
In a frenzy, she ran over it again. Once more she heard and felt the “thump” of wheels running over a body. She backed over it again. Once more the “thump” of wheels as she backed over it.
Once more, to her horror, the thing got back up, grabbed the baseball bat and started walking toward her as she faced it behind the wheel of her car.
As it lumbered toward her, the car engine died. It died. She was just sitting there. She tried to start the engine but it just turned over and made that helpless sound. It wouldn’t start.
The thing to which she’d given birth was at the car door. In a panic she locked the doors. Only the car door window was between her and this faceless, dickless, lumbering monster that was now armed with a baseball bat.
For a moment it just stood there, facing her. Was it looking at her? Could it see her? Could something without eyes really see? Somehow it knew where she was. Somehow it knew she was in the driver’s seat of the car that just ran over it.
It started struggling with the door, apparently trying to open it.
“Oh God!” The sound of her scream was amplified inside the small confines of the car. It was deafening. Oh God! She screamed. Was it possible to go deaf from the sound of her own screams?
Then, to her horror, it held the bat like a baseball player facing a pitcher and swung it at the window. It came as if in slow motion and its impact caused the glass to shatter. Pieces of shattered glass were all over her. In terror she screamed...and screamed... and screamed...
And her husband woke her up.
“What’s wrong?” Terrified for her, he was so kind. So gentle. He couldn’t make love to her, he couldn’t fuck her in any way worth mentioning, but he could comfort her after a nightmare. As she lay there panting and regaining her composure, she remembered thinking, “At least he’s good for something.”
She never told him about the night mare, about the freak she’d birthed or any other details. She just lied and said it was a bad dream. How could she tell him the truth? Even she wasn’t that cruel. She could kill a monster and she could cheat on her pathetic husband with his black boss, but even she didn’t want to torture him, either physically or emotionally by telling him what she really thought of him.
Her lover’s voice jolted her back to realty.
“You Ok baby?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “Why?”
“You just seemed kind of out of it there for a while.”
Should she tell him? Should she tell her black lover about the white monster to which she’d given birth in a nightmare? No, she decided. No need.
“No darling I’m fine. Just lost in thought. Just ....just more happy than I’ve ever been.”
“Really? No shit?”
She laughed. “No shit. You make me happier than I’ve ever been.”
She looked at the clock on the bedside table. In another hour or so she’d have to get dressed and say good bye to the only man she’d ever known and go back to her husband. She’d awakened from one nightmare only to have to live in a new one, this time fully awake.
One thing comforted her. She knew a baby with this black man would be a real baby, a real human and not a pale, colorless, sexless, dickless freak. It was that knowledge that gave her hope and the endurance to tolerate her white husband. Their marriage couldn’t go on much longer, but her love for this new man in her life, a powerful passionate black man, certainly would.
He looked at his watch. In another hour he’d be in a hotel room with Mrs. Smith for a day of sucking and fucking while her white husband toiled away at some utterly pointless task with no importance whatsoever...other than keeping Mr. Smith occupied while Mrs. Smith was in bed with his black boss.
Sitting alone in his office for most of the morning before leaving to meet with Mrs. Smith, he’d contemplated the idea of it while waiting to meet her. The idea of it was daring enough. More than that, it was mind blowing. It was the idea of having Mrs. Smith, a white woman married to one of his employees, suck his cock in his office behind closed doors during business hours, while everyone was there.
He knew lots of big shots had gotten head in their offices, but only after hours. He’d never heard of anyone with the balls to do it during the work day....with a full staff there. Add to that, getting sucked off by a woman who was the wife of one of his employees. With an employee’s wife? While the employee was working there in another part of the floor? It was a first. It would be a first. A first for any man, but most especially for a black man.
It was thrilling in its boldness. Getting her in and out without being seen. Keeping people out of his office while she was going down on him. Beyond that. How about calling her husband on the company internal line while the husband’s wife was sucking his cock? How about calling the husband and chewing the guy’s ass while the guy’s wife was sucking him off? How about that? How about her calling her husband on her cell phone while she was in the boss’s office? What about receiving a call from him, from her husband during the day like that?
The possibilities excited him.
Was it possible? Could he get away with it?
“Get away with it.”
Shit. He bristled. He hated that. He hated the idea that he had to “get away” with anything. He was the boss, wasn’t he? Didn’t this guy’s wife want to be with him? To go down on him? Why shouldn’t he just bring her in to the office openly and have her suck him off without any pretense of hiding her presence there?
Of course they’d close the door. That was just good manners. Everyone would know what they were doing in his office. No need to be crude about it. Everyone would know she was sucking him off. No need to give them a show. Let them squirm and gossip and talk about it. That was enough for them.
Of course her husband would hear about it. He’d hear that she was in his boss’s office, behind closed doors. Everyone would know. Everyone would look at him. Everyone would feel sorry for him. What could he do? She was free to do what she wanted.
He was the boss, the division head. He was secure. His power was absolute, at least as far as anything was absolute in life. If he brought the beautiful white wife of some lowly white ass hole who worked there into his office for her to suck his cock, what were the rest of them going to do about it? They’ll do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The thought of it excited him too, perhaps even more than it excited her. Would it excite her?
After he described it to her a few hours later that day, her eyes brightened and she laughed.
“Of course I like the idea, darling. Of course.” Then as an after thought she added, cautiously, “We need to think it through though.”
“What’s to think through? Why don’t we just do it?”
“I like your spirit. I agree with you that you’re the boss and if I suck your cock behind closed doors, what business is it of theirs? I get that.”
“But?”
“But. We need to think it through.”
“Think what through?”
“I’m still married to him. It could cause problems for me. Obviously he’ll know. Everyone will know. Are you willing to support me if he files for divorce?”
“He won’t file for divorce.”
“You know this how?”
“I just know it. He won’t want to lose you.”
“He’s already lost me. If I show up at your office behind closed doors, he’ll know for sure. Everyone else will know too and maybe he feels the need to save face and file for divorce.”
“And. Is that so bad?”
“We’ve agreed that this isn’t the right time. ”
He was silent.
“Another thing,” she continued. “I know you think you’re invulnerable here as the boss. I think your title is division head? Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m the division head. I can’t believe your husband hasn’t made that clear.”
“Of course he has. I’m just making a point.”
“What point?”
“No one is invulnerable. No one is irreplaceable. Are you sure the people you answer to will react favorably about you having sex in the office? I mean, openly in the office? Is that really what they’re paying you for?”
“They’re paying me for whatever I decide to do.”
“I don’t think so. If you want us to be together you have to be a little more cautious about your job.”
“My job is secure.”
“It may not be if you behave impetuously.”
“Meaning?”
“I like the idea of sneaking in or even just openly walking in to your office, closing the door and going down on you and fuck them all. But it’s not your company. You need to think this through. We have a good relationship now. You have lots of discretion as district head. You can always get time off for us to be together. No need to rock the boat.”
“Division head.”
“Yes. Division Head. Of course. You can take off in the middle of the day and meet me and the risk is minimal. It’s minimal for both of us.”
She leaned over and kissed him. It was a long, deep kiss. It was a strategically timed kiss, timed to calm him down. She’d learned what worked between them. She’d learned his moods, his ups, his downs and how to calm him and persuade him to be more reasonable.
They lay together silently, enjoying the moment. He broke the silence.
“Maybe you’re right baby,” he said calmly, contentedly. “Just one more reason I need you in my life. You see the human dimension that I sometimes overlook. You see how people have to be ...”
“To be what?”
“To be manipulated. You show me how to get what I want without ruffling feathers. I like that. You’re good for me that way.”
She smiled. How different to be with a man who had real power. How different to be with a man who had real authority and was challenged by how to use it rather than a man like her pathetic husband who was always complaining about how he’d been screwed and how unfairly life had treated him. She’d tried to counsel her husband, tried to advise him on dealing with people but he always brushed her off as though she were a child.
Now she was lying in bed with a man who appreciated her for more than her oral and sexual skills. Her black lover could probably be just as impetuous as any man, but he listened to her. He respected her. No other man in her life ever had. Her father always riding her, always complaining about how shallow and superficial she was. He probably meant well but he smothered her with his domination over her.
Her husband was no better. Truth be told, she’d married him to escape her father’s discipline. It worked. She did escape her father, but now she was trapped in a different kind of hell. Her husband was smart enough and affectionate, but he wasn’t a real man. Not like his boss. He couldn’t satisfy her. As a lover, as a husband, he was nothing. She felt guilty that she didn’t feel guilty for cheating on him, but she didn’t. It wasn’t her fault he was a loser. It wasn’t her fault she was trapped into marrying him. It wasn’t her fault her own father was an asshole and she had to marry to get away from him.
All her life she’d only known white men. What if she’d met someone like this black man in high school? At church? Anywhere for God’s sake. What if she’d discovered the power and majesty of black men and black dicks, and black sperm when she was young enough to have avoided the mistake of marrying a useless white man?
The price of racial segregation. The price of all white neighborhoods, of all white schools she’d attended. The price of white only dating.
No black boys, no black spirit, no black life force...and no black dicks. Oh God! If only she’d discovered black boys and black dicks high school. Black boys who were strong and confident and black dicks that were big and powerful.
Now, history was repeating itself. The white men in her life, whether her father, her husband or the dithering idiots she’d known in high school, all fell far short of her needs. She went from one empty, meaningless relationship to another. She went from one, whimpy, emasculated white boy to another and finally ended up marrying one of them, her husband.
Now, five years into her dying marriage, she met this black man. A real man. A black man. A black man who exuded masculinity, exuded power, exuded passion and gave her physical satisfaction she’d only dreamed of, but never thought possible. She knew, she knew through all those boring, suffocating relationships that something was missing. She longed for it. She longed to be satisfied. She longed for a man whose power and manliness could satisfy her as a woman. Now she found one.
Her black lover was the first real man she’d ever known. Even he, however, had his weak spots. One was delusions of grandeur. Delusions that he couldn’t be fired. Couldn’t be touched at his job. That was why he needed a woman who would look out for him and reign in some of his more irresponsible impulses. A baby would reign him in. A baby.
She wanted his baby. She wanted him to make her pregnant. She wanted his life giving sperm to produce a wonderful baby inside of her for her to present to him when it was born. His baby.
She took a breath and contemplated those words.
“His baby.”
His baby would be strong. His baby would be passionate. His baby would be a real man, a real black man with a capacity for life. However often she’d discussed children with her husband, the idea of it always haunted her. She dreaded the idea of getting pregnant by her husband. She dreaded the idea of getting pregnant by any white man. Her baby would just grow up to be like its white father, its white grandfather. It would grow up to be tired, dysfunctional and weak, just like its father and her father. The thought of giving birth to a baby that took after either her husband or her father horrified her.
She’d never told her husband, but she’d resolved to abort any child conceived with him. She’d rather kill it than see it grow up like him or her father...or any other white man she’d ever known.
She actually had nightmares about being pregnant with her husband’s baby and giving birth. Giving birth. She dreamed of being pregnant. Being pregnant meant being sick all the time, being fat and ugly, and finally giving birth. “Giving birth.” That was what they called it. Carrying a monster insider her for nine months and then discharging it from her body. It would require years and years of care, of discipline of pampering, of nurturing. That was what they called it. “Nurturing.”
You nurtured it for 18 or twenty years and then what? Then what? It grew up to be an insecure dysfunctional whining white man trying to survive in a world that had moved on.
In one of her nightmares her baby was born without a face or without sex organs. The front of it’s head was smooth, just like the back of it. It was smooth and kind of squishy. No eyes, nose, mouth. No facial features. And no sex organs. None. What sex was it? How could you give birth to something like that? How could you identify its gender on a birth certificate? How could you identify the gender of some freak that didn’t even have sex organs?
How could you give it a name? A name?
How could you feed it if it didn’t have a mouth? How could you do anything with it? How could it live? How could it grow up?
In her dream...her nightmare...it did grow up. One day it was almost six feet tall. It would sit at the table when dinner was served. She never remembered how it ate, or even if it ate at all. It was just there. It was just there, sitting, nodding. Somehow it was breathing too. How did it breath without a mouth? Without nostrils?
They dressed it like a boy. It didn’t have sex organs but it seemed simpler to dress it in boys’ clothes. After a while it learned to dress itself. How weird was that?
She remembered dreaming about this white freak, her offspring, sitting there at the table, walking around the house, going off to school. Going to school? How was that possible? It couldn’t see without eyes. It couldn’t hear without ears. It couldn’t speak without vocal cords or a mouth. How was any of that possible?
That’s the thing about dreams. Dreams are not real life. They’re....they’re dreams. She remembered in her dreams, she remembered watching that thing sit at the dinner table and go off to school in the morning and come home from school in the afternoon...and she planned to kill it. She planned to fucking kill it.
“Why?” she’d wondered in her dream. “Why! Why! Why! Hadn’t she just aborted it? An abortion would have solved all the problems. An abortion would have eliminated this freak from her life and would have eliminated all the weird questions about how it breathed and ate and saw and went to school and everything else. Killing that monster would have solved everything, but she’d decided to keep it because her husband wanted a child and because life was sacred and because it was one of the “unborn”.
So in her dream she was plotting to kill it. That was the dream, the nightmare, from which she awakened screaming at the top of her lungs.
She’d hit it in the head with a baseball bat and the impact just made a sickening, wet sound, with no effect on it. It just stood there. No sound. No crying. No whimpering. Just stood there. No look on its face. IT DIDN’T HAVE A FACE FOR GOD’S SAKE.
She hit it again and again. Same response. If you could call it a response. Same sickening sound when she hit it.
Then she ran out to the car to get away and it followed her. Like a zombie or something. It just followed her out of the house into the drive way where the car was parked.
IT WAS CARRYING THE BASEBALL BAT. Oh my God!
She backed the car out of the drive way and when it followed after her she shifted gears back into drive. She hit the gas and ran over it with the car. She felt the tires go over it like a speed bump. Shifting into reverse, she backed up over it. She backed all the way out in the street and watched it lying there in the drive way, watching it with a certain satisfaction. It was finally dead.
Then, to her horror, it got up. It got up. It got up, picked up the baseball bat it had dropped when the car hit it and started walking toward her again. Like the “undead” in a horror movie or something. Only this wasn’t a movie. It was worse. It was a dream. Her dream. Her nightmare. At least she didn’t have to buy a ticket to see it. At least her nightmare was free.
In a frenzy, she ran over it again. Once more she heard and felt the “thump” of wheels running over a body. She backed over it again. Once more the “thump” of wheels as she backed over it.
Once more, to her horror, the thing got back up, grabbed the baseball bat and started walking toward her as she faced it behind the wheel of her car.
As it lumbered toward her, the car engine died. It died. She was just sitting there. She tried to start the engine but it just turned over and made that helpless sound. It wouldn’t start.
The thing to which she’d given birth was at the car door. In a panic she locked the doors. Only the car door window was between her and this faceless, dickless, lumbering monster that was now armed with a baseball bat.
For a moment it just stood there, facing her. Was it looking at her? Could it see her? Could something without eyes really see? Somehow it knew where she was. Somehow it knew she was in the driver’s seat of the car that just ran over it.
It started struggling with the door, apparently trying to open it.
“Oh God!” The sound of her scream was amplified inside the small confines of the car. It was deafening. Oh God! She screamed. Was it possible to go deaf from the sound of her own screams?
Then, to her horror, it held the bat like a baseball player facing a pitcher and swung it at the window. It came as if in slow motion and its impact caused the glass to shatter. Pieces of shattered glass were all over her. In terror she screamed...and screamed... and screamed...
And her husband woke her up.
“What’s wrong?” Terrified for her, he was so kind. So gentle. He couldn’t make love to her, he couldn’t fuck her in any way worth mentioning, but he could comfort her after a nightmare. As she lay there panting and regaining her composure, she remembered thinking, “At least he’s good for something.”
She never told him about the night mare, about the freak she’d birthed or any other details. She just lied and said it was a bad dream. How could she tell him the truth? Even she wasn’t that cruel. She could kill a monster and she could cheat on her pathetic husband with his black boss, but even she didn’t want to torture him, either physically or emotionally by telling him what she really thought of him.
Her lover’s voice jolted her back to realty.
“You Ok baby?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “Why?”
“You just seemed kind of out of it there for a while.”
Should she tell him? Should she tell her black lover about the white monster to which she’d given birth in a nightmare? No, she decided. No need.
“No darling I’m fine. Just lost in thought. Just ....just more happy than I’ve ever been.”
“Really? No shit?”
She laughed. “No shit. You make me happier than I’ve ever been.”
She looked at the clock on the bedside table. In another hour or so she’d have to get dressed and say good bye to the only man she’d ever known and go back to her husband. She’d awakened from one nightmare only to have to live in a new one, this time fully awake.
One thing comforted her. She knew a baby with this black man would be a real baby, a real human and not a pale, colorless, sexless, dickless freak. It was that knowledge that gave her hope and the endurance to tolerate her white husband. Their marriage couldn’t go on much longer, but her love for this new man in her life, a powerful passionate black man, certainly would.
