The party was very informal, low music, lots of food and wine. People were just kind of talking and enjoying the moment.
“Hey.” It was a black man’s voice, low and husky and confident. Very confident. He said “Hey” as though he’d really said something. Like he knew that was all because everything else either didn’t need to be said or would be said in its own good time.
She turned.
It was Andre. He was an older guy in the class, having served a hitch in the military and seen combat overseas. Andre was understated, intelligent, articulate and very discerning. He didn’t run off at the mouth the way so many others did and seemed to have little use for slogans and platitudes that made up so much of the Black Studies Class. A few times she caught him shaking his head or rolling his eyes. He didn’t seem to think much of Professor Brown.
Tall. clean shaven. He had handsome symetrical features. Perfect teeth and piercing dark eyes gave him a predator’s look but tempered with softness, gentleness. He had great shoulders and was very lean and seemingly muscular.
“Hey,” she responded with a smile. It was an authentic smile, a genuine smile reflecting her genuine pleasure at finally speaking to him. He always seemed to be watching but never really said much excep when he had something important or insightful to say. He spoke to actually say something rather than just to hear the sound of his own voice, the way so many of the young ones did. He was at least in his mid twenties. At least he looked that way to her. There was a quality of strength about him. Not black coolness which some guys put on like a suit of clothes, but his authentic personality. Whatever he needed to prove he’d proven somewhere else under very desperate circumstances. It was just the way he looked, the way he walked, the easy relaxed way he word his clothes. There was a quality of deadliness about him. Deadliness. It frightened her and at the same time, it excited the Hell out of her. Not someone who had to prove himself with stupid come ons and approaches.
“We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Andre.” He smiled and extended his hand.
“Yeah. Andre,” she shook his hand which was surprisingly gentle. A relief to meet a guy who wasn’t trying to score points with a strong handshake.
“So how are you enjoying Black Studies?” He seemed relaxed but also serious.
She shrugged, clearly not knowing what to say. Did she suck up by saying it was wonderful or just telling the truth that it was mostly bull shit. Or perhaps should she take the middle ground and say something complimentary, generically complimentary, but totally non-committal.
“Enjoy? Not that much. Some of the people in the class are more interesting than the class. May I speak frankly?”
“I can handle frankly.”
“Lots of platitudes and slogans. Frankly. Like I say, it’s the people in the class that most interest me. I mean some of the people.”
He smiled, as if understanding her phoney bullshit answer, designed to say substantially nothing and to offend no one. A perfect response, actually.
“Yeah. I think so too,” he agreed. “ It’s often the people one meets rather than the class subject matter. Otherwise, it doesn’t go much beyond the blurb in the class catalog.”
“Is that how you found this class, in the class catalog?”
“Nah. The counselor recommended it. I just looked at the blurb. Of course I knew exactly what it would be regardless of the blurb.”
“Exactly? Really? And what exactly is that?”
“A professor who’s mostly in love with the sound of his own voice and kids getting credit for telling him how wonderful he is.”
“That’s pretty cynical.”
“Do you disagree?”
“You don’t think he’s wonderful?”
“Do I sound like I do?”
“No. You don’t.”
Each took a sip of their wine and he took the lead.
“So how’s it working out between you and Bob?”
“What?” She choked on her drink. “What do you mean by that?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
He licked his lips.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. Everyone knows it. Brown set him up with you because Bob told him he wants to fuck you. Bob’s been giving you the eye for a long time. Everyone knows it. Brown picked up on it too.”
Suddenly he’d gone from being cynical to being honest, brutally honest.
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me anything. Everybody knows it. Not because they were told but because that’s the way it is. All this group assignment stuff is bullshit. Everybody knows that too. Well everybody with any brains.”
“You mean... all of them? The whole class?”
“I don’t know about the whole class, but enough of them. The real assignment is not that bogus crap you got from Brown.”
It was her turn to swallow and his turn to take a sip.
She wanted to speak to him, to follow up, but she was afraid. She took a look furtively around to see if anyone was watching them together. A few people were. A few people were watching her and Andre out of the corner of their eyes, obviously trying to see but with out because caught watching. Like a guy caught scoping out a girl’s cleavage or legs who tries to pretend he wasn’t caught. They tried to pretend she didn’t catch them talking to Andre, or was it Andre talking to her?
Startled by Andre’s brutal candor and the way people were watching them, she regained her composure and turned back to Andre.
“So what is the real assignment then? What is the real assignment if not the social dynamics of interracial relations?”
“I think you know.”
“No. I don’t.” She bit her lower lip. “ It’s like everyone in this class knows something I don’t.”
“How long’s it felt that way?”
“Since the first day.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“It’s frightening, to be perfectly honest.”
“Are you being perfectly honest?”
He was different from any other guy she’d met, either black or white. He was serious. Deadly serious. Not some happy go lucky asshole relying on a phoney pick up line he practiced in front of a mirror or another “cool” black guy relying on the mystique of the big black dick while hitting up a white bimbo. He was beyond that. At one level it excited her. At another, it frightened her.
“I wish you’d be honest with me. I...I don’t know what I know any more. I thought I was getting a handle on this class. I don’t understand you. I think you’re being more honest with me than anyone else. Maybe that’s why I don’t read you. I’m so used to being bull shitted that I’m not able to read someone who’s really being straight.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I wish...I wish you would tell me what is the real assignment in that class.”
“Not what, but who.”
“Who?”
He laughed.
“You. You’re the real assignment. Everybody knows it. Everybody...except you.”
She shook her head as she realized he was right. He was right and now it seemed so obvious. How had she been so easily fooled? She thought...she thought she’d been so clever in twirling Bob around her little finger, eating out of her hand, so to speak. He wanted white pussy more than she wanted black dick and that gave her an edge. Not much of one, but an edge nonetheless.
Now, this. Now Andre. Strong, silent, understated Andre coming out of the blue and telling her what a fool she’d been. Telling her how blind she’d been. Not in those words of course. Not exactly in those words, but he was plain enough, honest enough that his meaning was clear.
She was the assignment. She and her relationship with Bob. That was the experiment. All along she’d considered Bob a cool black guy without much experience and Professor Brown an absent minded professor. Now she realized she was the one who was being played. She was the one being steered into bringing home to her ******, Bob, the cool black guy with the big dick and lots of black “cool.” Just a few minutes with Andre, not even alone with Andre, but standing next to him in a crowded room...here was a man. Here was a really cool black man. Not cool because he said he was cool, but because he really was cool. He’d been tested on the battlefields of the middle east or in some other God forsaken place.
Suddenly she wondered...what would it be like to take Andre home to her ****** for Christmas. Of course they’d be shocked and mortified by the whole black man issue, but this black man was intelligent and ....she struggled for the right word. Quiet. Calm. Strong. More than just intelligent, intelligent in the scoring high on the IQ test kind of intelligent. Insightful. He knew things about people. Beyond that, he knew things about white women.
She was excited and frightened at the same time. She wondered. Were excitement and fear forms of the same emotion that she was feeling now. Suddenly Bob seemed like a trivial annoyance. Like a small yappy dog snapping at her ankles or, worse than that, a chattering, fawning white boy hanging all over her. What ever it was about Andre, he had the ability to relegate Bob in her eyes to the same level as a lowly white eunuch.
Meeting Bob and spending time together was for her like crossing some invisible line over into a new world. Now...this. Now Andre. If she crossed over the new world would she ever be able to come back to the old one? Would she even want to? Was it even worth it to take either of them home to her white ******? Why not just spend the time together in their own reality and own world without going back to hers at all?
She spoke softly. “You make me feel like a laughing stock. Like a joke.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Then why did you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Now who’s bull shitting. I think you do know. I think you hurt me because you don’t much like Brown or Bob.”
“Maybe I though you had the right to know the truth.”
“Oh really? The truth? Like I couldn’t figure out on my own that
every black guy in the class wants to fuck me?”
“That’s not the issue.”
“Not the issue. What’s the issue then? What’s the fucking issue then?”
Her voice was rising and people were staring.
He paused and took a sip of wine.
“Well the issue, or the ‘fucking issue’ as you put it is not that every black boy wants to fuck you. The issue is do you want to fuck them? Or rather, will you fuck them? And if so, how many?”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Probably. But that’s the question on everybody’s mind. Once Bob’s gotten you, how many others will share his good fortune? Professor Brown would certainly like to.”
“And you know this how?”
“I didn’t need to be told. I just watch and listen and observe. You learn a lot that way...when you’re not in love with the sound of your own voice that the rest of the fools in this class.”
“That’s pretty cynical. A black guy who doesn’t like black studies? What does that make you?”
“It makes me a black man who’s not a fool.”
“Like some others you could name?
“Some others? You mean a whole room full of them. Just look around you.”
He took another sip of his wine and took a deep breath. Even as she felt her heart pounding and her temperature rising, she could tell he was totally calm, totally composed. He was older than the others. He’d been in the army, tempered by war. God, he’d probably killed people. Killed people. Although subtle and understated, he was obviously a power ful man. Physically powerful.
Unlike most other men, he had no need to proclaim or advertise his power, his strength. His calm. His coolness. God, he was the embodiment of cool. He just was and he did it without trying. It was effortless.
She tried to visualize him in the army, in combat in the Middle East. Had he shot people? Bayoneted them? Had he killed people close up, like with a knife or with his bare hands?
She noticed a scar on the left side of his neck, under his ear. He’d seen some action, that much was clear.
Suddenly she had the urge to see him nude. Totally nude. Was he muscular? Was he strong? Did he have a big dick?
That’s what she really wanted to know. How big was his dick?
Was he circumcised? How would it feel in her mouth? How much of his shaft could she get into her mouth?
Oh God! She felt dizzy.
What if he came in her mouth? What would it feel like? What would it feel like to have his sperm gush into her mouth?
How about in her pussy? How far into her would he go? If he was bare, without a condom, could she feel his sperm flow into her? Could she feel it? Would it be warm? How much would it be?
Did he have big balls? Big heavy balls that hung and swung? The kind of balls that made a smacking sound when they smacked into her when the full length of his dick was all the way inside her?
She wanted him as far in her as he could go and she wanted him to come inside her and she wanted to feel it.
“You OK?” his voice broke the silence.
“What?”
“You OK?”
She swallowed and took a deep breath.
“What do you mean,” she stammered. “Why wouldn’t I be ok?”
Of course it was a bullshit question. She knew very well why he asked her. She’d almost been in a trance and he knew it. He saw her drifting away into her imagination about him fucking her. He knew. He knew she’d drifted away. What else did he know? Did he know she’d fantasized about sucking his cock? About him coming inside her? About his big balls smacking into her?
God he probably knew it all. All of it.
“You just looked like you were a little out of it. Maybe you’ve had too much wine or something.”
She took another deep breath. Of course she hadn’t had too much wine. They both knew that. Just like they both knew he’d seen right through her.
Just standing there in front of him, him so cool and composed....just standing there made her tremble and he’d probably read her mind.
What now? What to say now? Of course he knew. Of course. Now he’d be so sure of himself. So confident. So utterly and incorrigibly confident. But even so, he was playing it cool. Very cool. Not giving anything away. No widened, bulged eyes. No licking his lips. No obvious sign that he owned her if her wanted her and they both knew it.
His penis? His penis? Was it erect? Was it erect right now? She was aching to know, but she didn’t have the nerve to just look down at his crotch and certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask him. God she couldn’t do that. That of all things. She had to save something. She had to save some dignity. He’d already guessed she wanted him and was aching for him. She had to save some dignity. She didn’t know why, but she just knew that was what she was supposed to do.
She looked nervously at her watch.
“Oh. Look at what time it is,” she faltered. It was a pathetic attempt at conversation, at saving face. He saw right through it.
“What time is it?” he said, tactfully, as if he really cared, as if what time it was had any relevance to anything between them.
“Well it’s time for me to go. I’ve got to pack and get things ready.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to be late. I’m sure your white ****** is anxious to meet Bob. I’m sure your anxious to introduce him to them all. I’m sure he’ll love Christmas with your ******.”
“Yes I think so too. Well it’s been wonderful talking to you. Maybe we can talk again?”
“If you want to.”
“Want to what?”
He smiled.
“Talk. Want to talk. I’m sure you’ll have lots to say after spending Christmas with your new black boyfriend and your white ******.”
“Yes,” she smiled, annoyed that he was rubbing it in, but pleased that he wanted to talk to her again. “I’m sure I’ll have lots to tell.”
He turned and left the party, leaving her there while everyone was staring, wondering what had passed between her and Andre. Of course he hadn’t fucked her, not out in front of everyone like that. But somehow it seemed as though he had.
Everyone in that room, well almost everyone in that room who saw them, knew instantly, instantly and instinctively, that she was in love with Andre and that Bob was going to be tossed ignominiously aside once he’d served his purpose of showing up at Christmas and pissing off her white ******.
People exchanged knowing glances and resumed their conversations, knowing that in so far as her and Andre were concerned, the best was yet to come. Everyone knew about the white girl who’d sucked the cock of the black basket ball player out on the lawn, right out in plane sight of everyone. Everyone had seen at least one of the many cell phone videos taken that day and later posted on line. No one said it out loud, but lots of thing were wondering if she’d be the next white girl to suck a powerful black cock right out in the open, in public, in front of everyone.
“Hey.” It was a black man’s voice, low and husky and confident. Very confident. He said “Hey” as though he’d really said something. Like he knew that was all because everything else either didn’t need to be said or would be said in its own good time.
She turned.
It was Andre. He was an older guy in the class, having served a hitch in the military and seen combat overseas. Andre was understated, intelligent, articulate and very discerning. He didn’t run off at the mouth the way so many others did and seemed to have little use for slogans and platitudes that made up so much of the Black Studies Class. A few times she caught him shaking his head or rolling his eyes. He didn’t seem to think much of Professor Brown.
Tall. clean shaven. He had handsome symetrical features. Perfect teeth and piercing dark eyes gave him a predator’s look but tempered with softness, gentleness. He had great shoulders and was very lean and seemingly muscular.
“Hey,” she responded with a smile. It was an authentic smile, a genuine smile reflecting her genuine pleasure at finally speaking to him. He always seemed to be watching but never really said much excep when he had something important or insightful to say. He spoke to actually say something rather than just to hear the sound of his own voice, the way so many of the young ones did. He was at least in his mid twenties. At least he looked that way to her. There was a quality of strength about him. Not black coolness which some guys put on like a suit of clothes, but his authentic personality. Whatever he needed to prove he’d proven somewhere else under very desperate circumstances. It was just the way he looked, the way he walked, the easy relaxed way he word his clothes. There was a quality of deadliness about him. Deadliness. It frightened her and at the same time, it excited the Hell out of her. Not someone who had to prove himself with stupid come ons and approaches.
“We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Andre.” He smiled and extended his hand.
“Yeah. Andre,” she shook his hand which was surprisingly gentle. A relief to meet a guy who wasn’t trying to score points with a strong handshake.
“So how are you enjoying Black Studies?” He seemed relaxed but also serious.
She shrugged, clearly not knowing what to say. Did she suck up by saying it was wonderful or just telling the truth that it was mostly bull shit. Or perhaps should she take the middle ground and say something complimentary, generically complimentary, but totally non-committal.
“Enjoy? Not that much. Some of the people in the class are more interesting than the class. May I speak frankly?”
“I can handle frankly.”
“Lots of platitudes and slogans. Frankly. Like I say, it’s the people in the class that most interest me. I mean some of the people.”
He smiled, as if understanding her phoney bullshit answer, designed to say substantially nothing and to offend no one. A perfect response, actually.
“Yeah. I think so too,” he agreed. “ It’s often the people one meets rather than the class subject matter. Otherwise, it doesn’t go much beyond the blurb in the class catalog.”
“Is that how you found this class, in the class catalog?”
“Nah. The counselor recommended it. I just looked at the blurb. Of course I knew exactly what it would be regardless of the blurb.”
“Exactly? Really? And what exactly is that?”
“A professor who’s mostly in love with the sound of his own voice and kids getting credit for telling him how wonderful he is.”
“That’s pretty cynical.”
“Do you disagree?”
“You don’t think he’s wonderful?”
“Do I sound like I do?”
“No. You don’t.”
Each took a sip of their wine and he took the lead.
“So how’s it working out between you and Bob?”
“What?” She choked on her drink. “What do you mean by that?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
He licked his lips.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. Everyone knows it. Brown set him up with you because Bob told him he wants to fuck you. Bob’s been giving you the eye for a long time. Everyone knows it. Brown picked up on it too.”
Suddenly he’d gone from being cynical to being honest, brutally honest.
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me anything. Everybody knows it. Not because they were told but because that’s the way it is. All this group assignment stuff is bullshit. Everybody knows that too. Well everybody with any brains.”
“You mean... all of them? The whole class?”
“I don’t know about the whole class, but enough of them. The real assignment is not that bogus crap you got from Brown.”
It was her turn to swallow and his turn to take a sip.
She wanted to speak to him, to follow up, but she was afraid. She took a look furtively around to see if anyone was watching them together. A few people were. A few people were watching her and Andre out of the corner of their eyes, obviously trying to see but with out because caught watching. Like a guy caught scoping out a girl’s cleavage or legs who tries to pretend he wasn’t caught. They tried to pretend she didn’t catch them talking to Andre, or was it Andre talking to her?
Startled by Andre’s brutal candor and the way people were watching them, she regained her composure and turned back to Andre.
“So what is the real assignment then? What is the real assignment if not the social dynamics of interracial relations?”
“I think you know.”
“No. I don’t.” She bit her lower lip. “ It’s like everyone in this class knows something I don’t.”
“How long’s it felt that way?”
“Since the first day.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“It’s frightening, to be perfectly honest.”
“Are you being perfectly honest?”
He was different from any other guy she’d met, either black or white. He was serious. Deadly serious. Not some happy go lucky asshole relying on a phoney pick up line he practiced in front of a mirror or another “cool” black guy relying on the mystique of the big black dick while hitting up a white bimbo. He was beyond that. At one level it excited her. At another, it frightened her.
“I wish you’d be honest with me. I...I don’t know what I know any more. I thought I was getting a handle on this class. I don’t understand you. I think you’re being more honest with me than anyone else. Maybe that’s why I don’t read you. I’m so used to being bull shitted that I’m not able to read someone who’s really being straight.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I wish...I wish you would tell me what is the real assignment in that class.”
“Not what, but who.”
“Who?”
He laughed.
“You. You’re the real assignment. Everybody knows it. Everybody...except you.”
She shook her head as she realized he was right. He was right and now it seemed so obvious. How had she been so easily fooled? She thought...she thought she’d been so clever in twirling Bob around her little finger, eating out of her hand, so to speak. He wanted white pussy more than she wanted black dick and that gave her an edge. Not much of one, but an edge nonetheless.
Now, this. Now Andre. Strong, silent, understated Andre coming out of the blue and telling her what a fool she’d been. Telling her how blind she’d been. Not in those words of course. Not exactly in those words, but he was plain enough, honest enough that his meaning was clear.
She was the assignment. She and her relationship with Bob. That was the experiment. All along she’d considered Bob a cool black guy without much experience and Professor Brown an absent minded professor. Now she realized she was the one who was being played. She was the one being steered into bringing home to her ******, Bob, the cool black guy with the big dick and lots of black “cool.” Just a few minutes with Andre, not even alone with Andre, but standing next to him in a crowded room...here was a man. Here was a really cool black man. Not cool because he said he was cool, but because he really was cool. He’d been tested on the battlefields of the middle east or in some other God forsaken place.
Suddenly she wondered...what would it be like to take Andre home to her ****** for Christmas. Of course they’d be shocked and mortified by the whole black man issue, but this black man was intelligent and ....she struggled for the right word. Quiet. Calm. Strong. More than just intelligent, intelligent in the scoring high on the IQ test kind of intelligent. Insightful. He knew things about people. Beyond that, he knew things about white women.
She was excited and frightened at the same time. She wondered. Were excitement and fear forms of the same emotion that she was feeling now. Suddenly Bob seemed like a trivial annoyance. Like a small yappy dog snapping at her ankles or, worse than that, a chattering, fawning white boy hanging all over her. What ever it was about Andre, he had the ability to relegate Bob in her eyes to the same level as a lowly white eunuch.
Meeting Bob and spending time together was for her like crossing some invisible line over into a new world. Now...this. Now Andre. If she crossed over the new world would she ever be able to come back to the old one? Would she even want to? Was it even worth it to take either of them home to her white ******? Why not just spend the time together in their own reality and own world without going back to hers at all?
She spoke softly. “You make me feel like a laughing stock. Like a joke.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Then why did you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Now who’s bull shitting. I think you do know. I think you hurt me because you don’t much like Brown or Bob.”
“Maybe I though you had the right to know the truth.”
“Oh really? The truth? Like I couldn’t figure out on my own that
every black guy in the class wants to fuck me?”
“That’s not the issue.”
“Not the issue. What’s the issue then? What’s the fucking issue then?”
Her voice was rising and people were staring.
He paused and took a sip of wine.
“Well the issue, or the ‘fucking issue’ as you put it is not that every black boy wants to fuck you. The issue is do you want to fuck them? Or rather, will you fuck them? And if so, how many?”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Probably. But that’s the question on everybody’s mind. Once Bob’s gotten you, how many others will share his good fortune? Professor Brown would certainly like to.”
“And you know this how?”
“I didn’t need to be told. I just watch and listen and observe. You learn a lot that way...when you’re not in love with the sound of your own voice that the rest of the fools in this class.”
“That’s pretty cynical. A black guy who doesn’t like black studies? What does that make you?”
“It makes me a black man who’s not a fool.”
“Like some others you could name?
“Some others? You mean a whole room full of them. Just look around you.”
He took another sip of his wine and took a deep breath. Even as she felt her heart pounding and her temperature rising, she could tell he was totally calm, totally composed. He was older than the others. He’d been in the army, tempered by war. God, he’d probably killed people. Killed people. Although subtle and understated, he was obviously a power ful man. Physically powerful.
Unlike most other men, he had no need to proclaim or advertise his power, his strength. His calm. His coolness. God, he was the embodiment of cool. He just was and he did it without trying. It was effortless.
She tried to visualize him in the army, in combat in the Middle East. Had he shot people? Bayoneted them? Had he killed people close up, like with a knife or with his bare hands?
She noticed a scar on the left side of his neck, under his ear. He’d seen some action, that much was clear.
Suddenly she had the urge to see him nude. Totally nude. Was he muscular? Was he strong? Did he have a big dick?
That’s what she really wanted to know. How big was his dick?
Was he circumcised? How would it feel in her mouth? How much of his shaft could she get into her mouth?
Oh God! She felt dizzy.
What if he came in her mouth? What would it feel like? What would it feel like to have his sperm gush into her mouth?
How about in her pussy? How far into her would he go? If he was bare, without a condom, could she feel his sperm flow into her? Could she feel it? Would it be warm? How much would it be?
Did he have big balls? Big heavy balls that hung and swung? The kind of balls that made a smacking sound when they smacked into her when the full length of his dick was all the way inside her?
She wanted him as far in her as he could go and she wanted him to come inside her and she wanted to feel it.
“You OK?” his voice broke the silence.
“What?”
“You OK?”
She swallowed and took a deep breath.
“What do you mean,” she stammered. “Why wouldn’t I be ok?”
Of course it was a bullshit question. She knew very well why he asked her. She’d almost been in a trance and he knew it. He saw her drifting away into her imagination about him fucking her. He knew. He knew she’d drifted away. What else did he know? Did he know she’d fantasized about sucking his cock? About him coming inside her? About his big balls smacking into her?
God he probably knew it all. All of it.
“You just looked like you were a little out of it. Maybe you’ve had too much wine or something.”
She took another deep breath. Of course she hadn’t had too much wine. They both knew that. Just like they both knew he’d seen right through her.
Just standing there in front of him, him so cool and composed....just standing there made her tremble and he’d probably read her mind.
What now? What to say now? Of course he knew. Of course. Now he’d be so sure of himself. So confident. So utterly and incorrigibly confident. But even so, he was playing it cool. Very cool. Not giving anything away. No widened, bulged eyes. No licking his lips. No obvious sign that he owned her if her wanted her and they both knew it.
His penis? His penis? Was it erect? Was it erect right now? She was aching to know, but she didn’t have the nerve to just look down at his crotch and certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask him. God she couldn’t do that. That of all things. She had to save something. She had to save some dignity. He’d already guessed she wanted him and was aching for him. She had to save some dignity. She didn’t know why, but she just knew that was what she was supposed to do.
She looked nervously at her watch.
“Oh. Look at what time it is,” she faltered. It was a pathetic attempt at conversation, at saving face. He saw right through it.
“What time is it?” he said, tactfully, as if he really cared, as if what time it was had any relevance to anything between them.
“Well it’s time for me to go. I’ve got to pack and get things ready.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to be late. I’m sure your white ****** is anxious to meet Bob. I’m sure your anxious to introduce him to them all. I’m sure he’ll love Christmas with your ******.”
“Yes I think so too. Well it’s been wonderful talking to you. Maybe we can talk again?”
“If you want to.”
“Want to what?”
He smiled.
“Talk. Want to talk. I’m sure you’ll have lots to say after spending Christmas with your new black boyfriend and your white ******.”
“Yes,” she smiled, annoyed that he was rubbing it in, but pleased that he wanted to talk to her again. “I’m sure I’ll have lots to tell.”
He turned and left the party, leaving her there while everyone was staring, wondering what had passed between her and Andre. Of course he hadn’t fucked her, not out in front of everyone like that. But somehow it seemed as though he had.
Everyone in that room, well almost everyone in that room who saw them, knew instantly, instantly and instinctively, that she was in love with Andre and that Bob was going to be tossed ignominiously aside once he’d served his purpose of showing up at Christmas and pissing off her white ******.
People exchanged knowing glances and resumed their conversations, knowing that in so far as her and Andre were concerned, the best was yet to come. Everyone knew about the white girl who’d sucked the cock of the black basket ball player out on the lawn, right out in plane sight of everyone. Everyone had seen at least one of the many cell phone videos taken that day and later posted on line. No one said it out loud, but lots of thing were wondering if she’d be the next white girl to suck a powerful black cock right out in the open, in public, in front of everyone.
