Pride And Prejudice free porn video

Pride and Prejudice By Cassandra Morgan The lanky man in the tweed coat moved in front of the classroom with a purpose. He had a stick of chalk in his right hand, but he wasn't writing anything. Instead, he was using it as a pointer to emphasize his speech. He moved quickly from one side of the room to the other, his voice rising and falling, his hands gesturing widely. He was part preacher, part poet as he worked the room, his eyes locking on this student and that one in front of the large classroom. "I am white," he said, locking eyes with a small black girl in the first row of the stadium styled classroom. "Do you hate me for that?" He moved on, locking eyes with an effeminate looking man in the center of the room. "I am straight," he said. "Does that make you want to hurt me?" All eyes were locked on the man as he moved. In this room, he was the professor, the man in charge of the lesson. He stopped and held out his arms. "I am an American," he said. "Do you want to fly a plane into my buildings?" He shook his head, then moved to the blackboard. Once there wrote a single word. "Bigotry," it read. "I do not have to tell you, but there are people -- well-meaning people, people who are. your friends and neighbors, who would hate me for every label that applies. I am a Christian. I am Democrat, and some would hate that. I am a Northerner, and some would hate that.. I pull for Ohio State on the football field. I eat meat. I wear leather. I like the flag. I oppose the death penalty. I believe in abortion. I am a human checklist, a composite of things that other humans find detestable. And there are people who will hate me for all of it. "People, we live in a lopsided world. There are white people who hate black people and black people who hate Hispanics and Hispanics who hate Asians. There are Christians who hate Muslims who hate Jews who hate Arabs. There are gays who hate straights who hate transgenders who hate Republicans who hate Democrats who hate free-thinkers. Some women hate men, and some men hate them back. There are people with English accents who hate the French who hate the Germans who hate the Nigerians.There are Nazis who hate Catholics who hate Protestants who hate shiites who hate Croatians. In every corner of the world, there is a man looking down on his fellow man. And it's stupid." He sighed. He put his hands on his hips. "You guys want to hear a quotation? "What a sad era we live in when it is easy to smash an atom than a prejudice. Albert Einstein said that. He was smarter than I am. But not by much." Professor Henry Chambers stood in the front of his Sociology class, going over his favorite subject. The oppression of man for whatever reason -- his religion, his skin color, his accent, his beliefs, his size -- fascinated Dr. Chambers. He had spent most of his lifetime talking about it, about the way one group would lump another into a bin and label it "hatred" was infuriating. "Professor? Is it bigotry to think my boyfriend is an idiot?" The classroom tittered. "No," he said. "I've met your boyfriend. I think you're just being accurate." More laughter. "Seriously, we do not identify bigotry as the hatred of an individual unless it is based upon something he shares with others. If you think your boyfriend is an idiot because he's black, or because he's Iranian, or because he owns rifles, then that's a bigotry. But just hating him because he pulls for Michigan, well, that's just common sense." "People hate each other because they're different colors," a male student said. "Well, it's more complicated than that," Dr. Chambers said. "People may hate each other because of a plot of land. They made hate each other because their fathers hated each other -- the old Hatfields and McCoys, for instance. When my father was young, the girls all swooned over a Latin accent. They were considered to be mysterious lovers. Now, after the freedom flotillas from Cuba in the 60s, people seem to mistrusted a Spanish accent." "But there are differences," a man said. "Of course there are. But differences are to be celebrated. It's okay to like cats as long as you don't hate dogs. It's okay to prefer chocolate without insulting those who like vanilla. It's okay to have a Black Miss America pageant if you don't say white girls are ugly." "Speaking of beauty pageants, s President Trump a racist?" another girl asked. "I don't know what's in his heart," Dr. Chambers said. "But there is a lot of evidence against him. He called Mexicans rapists, didn't he. He suggested that American-born women 'go back to where they come from.' The whole birther thing was something to think about." "I don't have any problems with anyone," a male student said. "No. So what if I take Todd here, and I kiss him on the mouth? Would you object to that?" "Well, sure. That's queer." "And that's bigotry. Hating someone because they're different." "But you're both white." "Don't confuse racism and bigotry," Dr. Chambers said. "There is a lot of hatred between people of the same hue. Before World War II, the Japanese took a lot of Koreans as slaves. As recently as 2003, Africans used to hunt pygmies because they thought they had magical powers. Catholics and protestants have been bombing each other for. years in Northern Ireland. We've made a big deal about skin color around the world, but it isn't the only reason for hatred. Even now, there is slavery across the world. Little white boys like you fetch a nice price, you know? "Think, people. Around you there is the Klan. There is the American Nazi party.There is the White Aryan Resistance. As long ago as 2011, there were 1,018 different hate groups listed by the Southern Poverty Law Center. There are twice that many now. That's a lot of anger, a lot of hate." A young woman talked about how hard it is to be female in a male- dominated world. A black man talked about how whites were the devil. The conversation got loud, and testy, the way Dr. Chambers liked it. It meant his students were thinking. The bell rang. "One thing," Dr. Chambers said. "Go Buckeyes!" * * Henry Chambers grabbed his textbooks and took the elevator to his office on the sixth floor. He was tenured, so he had his own room. There were diplomas on the wall. There was a photo of him with Barrack Obama, a quick grip-and-grin while Obama was on the campaign trail. There was a single award for speaking at the Kiwanis Club. Dr. Chambers entered his office. He looked at Maggie, a secretary he shared with Thomas Bailey, an English Lit professor. "Your 2 o'clock is here," she said. "Already? He couldn't wait for me to get coffee?" "Evidently not. That's how charming you are. The students can't stay away." He smiled, and he moved to his desk. A slight young man, with blond hair, sat and waited for him. "Good day," he said. "I'm Henry Chambers." "Oh, hello, Dr. Chambers," the student said. "I'm Kurt Jonson. I'm in your 10 o'clock Sociology class." "Yes, Kurt. If this is about your grade, well, I'm afraid..." "It isn't, sir. You advertised for an intern..." "Ah, yes. That," Dr. Chambers said. "I had almost forgotten..." "I'll work, Dr. Chambers. I'll do whatever you want." Dr. Chambers smiled. "Don't you want to know anything about it. I could ask you to mow my yard with a pair of scissors." Kurt grinned. "Sir, I think you have a great mind. I'm sure whatever you ask me to do will make sense." The eyes of Dr. Chambers narrowed. "Some would think I'm a fool for even asking someone to do what I have in mind," he said. "Sir...you're not a fool. You're as smart as anyone I've met." Dr. Chambers smiled. "You haven't met enough people." "Perhaps not," Kurt said. "But that's okay. Do you need help with research? With grading papers? With filing?" Dr. Chambers fidgeted with a pen on his desk. "Kurt, do you have an open mind?" "I'd like to think so, sir." Dr. Chambers smiled again. "Tell me. Are you close with your parents?" "Um...they died. When I was in middle school." Dr. Chambers nodded. "Girlfriend?" "No sir." "Boyfriend?" "No sir. Not anymore." "So if you vanished ... " "No one would miss me, sir. I mean...well, not really." "It's okay, Kurt. What do you think? I'm going to kidnap you? This isn't the movies. I'm just trying to test to see your attachments." "I don't have any, sir. I'd be the perfect CIA candidate." Dr. Chambers chuckled. "Kurt, what is my reputation on campus." "Well, everyone likes you, sir," Kurt said. "They think you're passionate about bigotry and racism.. But you're fair and you're smart." Dr. Chambers exhaled. "Kurt...have you ever thought about being a woman?" * * * Eventually, Kurt lifted his jaw off of the floor as Dr. Chambers explained his pet project. His plan was that Kurt would live as a woman for the next year. And possibly in the year after. And the year after that. In that year, Kurt would expose himself to a lo of racism. The two would gather notes, and they would publish a book at the end of the experimenr. In the meant time, Kurt would be: -- Female. No, he wouldn't have vaginal surgery. But he'd present as a woman, and his breasts would be enlarged. That way, he would encounter sexism. -- Black. In particular, he would be Nigerian. He'd receive melanin shots. He'd work as a maid for Dr. Chambers, and he'd take classes in the afternoon. That way, he would encounter racism. -- A domestic. There is nothing like the uniform of the common laborer to invite disdain. The socially inept, the down-on-their-luck laborers, were especially hostile toward commoners. That would invite social bigotry. -- Heavy. Look, every transgender woman wants to be a beauty queen. The honest fact is that not all of them are. Kurt would have to put on some pounds. Coupled with his job, he would encounter elitism. -- Nigerian. You cannot be the object of scorn in America unless you are black. Being a black Muslim would be worst of all. Kurt would be known as Kalishia, a transfer student. That way, she could encounter racism. -- Muslim. Was there any religion on the planet that American men mistrusted so much? It was the perfect disguise if one wanted to encounter religious persecution. -- Transexual, Not only would Kalishia be cross-gendered, she would be vocal about it. That would allow him to experience homophobia. Seven points of hatred. Kalishia was designed to be the perfect target for hatred. People would hate her for gender, or her skin color, or her religion. They would hate her for being foreign, or transgender. Kurt was overwhelmed. He wondered if he was strong enough to attract hatred from all directions. They might find him dead in the street, stoned by the general population. Still, his college fees would be waived. He would live in a backroom at Dr. Chalmers. He decided he could do this. Hell, he should do this. Such a book would be amazing. He looked at Dr. Chambers. "Where do I sign?" * * The transition itself was painful. Kurt was in the hospital for two weeks as they reshaped him. There was a reverse liposuction, where fat cells were put into Kalishia. There were injections of collagen, estrogen and melanin. There was the tattooing of makeup. There were her (large) breast implants. There were oversized hoop earrings. And then Kalishia was staring at herself. A heavy, black woman with dreadlocks. Large breasts. Defined lips. Dark skin. Oh, my God. It was such a shock to the system. As a man, Kurt had never been heavy. But now she was, with a thick middle and large ass, with ponderous boobs and dark skin. Her lips were thicker, and her tight rows fell down over her face. She was wearing a bright, multicolored dashiki. "Don't try to talk," Dr. Chambers said. "We don't want you saying much. You're African, remember?" Kalishia nodded. She thought that maybe there was a pretty girl inside of her, if she could shed, oh, 40 pounds or so. But that was the design. Dr. Chambers didn't want Halle Berry. He wanted a shape that the haters could hate. "You look perfect," Dr. Chambers said. "I look like Oprah after a doughnut binge," Kalishia whispered. "The white boys will love you," Dr. Chambers said. "Or they'll hate you." Kalishia stood and moved across the room. Her size took some getting used to. She kept bumping things. She touched her makeup with her fingertips. They were painted in a deep maroon color. She felt her breasts. "Is the Hindenburg missing?" she whispered. Dr. Chambers chuckled. "They're very nice on you, Kalishia. Just the kind a maid would have." "When do I get my mop?" "Not til Monday," Dr. Chambers said. "I figured it's going to take you a couple of days to get used to your new body. Maybe we could go out to dinner tonight. Maybe to a trans bar. What do you think?" "You ready to trot me out, doctor?" she said. "See if the boys dig my fat ass?" "Hey, we could have made you smaller," he said. "I thought we agreed this was better." Kalishia nodded. "I understand," she said, and this time, she intentionally added a clipped African dialect. "Perfect," Dr. Chambers said, clapping. "Let's go dancing!" "You know us black girls have rhythm, right?" Kalishia said. They ate at a cheap steakhouse. The eyes of the patrons followed them, as if they wondered what a nice white man was doing eating with a large black woman. Kalishia tried to keep her eyes lowered, as if surrendering her social status. "You're doing fine," Dr. Chambers said as they ate. "I know my place," Kalishia said. "Don't be like that." "Let me ask you something, doctor. What do you think people would say if I leaned over and kissed you smack-dab on the mouth? Think that would get some conversations started?" He grinned. "I think we have to maintain our poise and let people react," he said. "No fair with artificial stimuli.: Kalishia nodded. "I was just joking, doc," he said. "But I never realized how people look at a black woman." "Or an interracial couple," he said. Later, at a bar called Diversions, Dr. Chambers sat on the other side of the room to observe. Kalishia plopped onto a bar stood and ordered a run-and-coke. The bartender had been chattering away with a young woman before it was her turn, but he fell silent when he got Kalishia's drink for her. She sat there, listening to a rap song on the jukebox. "You like Kanye?" A white man asked her. He had dirty teeth. He was smoking. "Not really," Kalishia said. "I thought all of you like Kanye," he said. "Not all of us." "I haven't seen you in here before," he said. "I'm Mikey." "I'm Kalishia. I just got into the country," Kalishia said. "From Nigeria." "Oh. Is that near Venezuela? I know a guy who went to Venezuela," he said. "That's our neighbor," Kalishia said. "You have the Congo, and you have Peru, and you have Cambodia. Pakistan is across the river." "Cool," he said. "I like to travel." One of Mikie's friends approached them. "Hi, Jason," Mikey said. "I was just talking to Mammy here. She's just into this country from Nairobi. She's come to steal out jobs." "Oh. I thought it was Aunt Jemima and you were getting syrup for your pancakes." Both of them laughed. They were very amusing to each other, Kalishia thought. Morons often are. "I tell you, Mammy," Mikey said. "You got a fine ass. Big tittles. It's a shame you're colored." "Aren't we all one color or another?" I said in my African accent. "Hey, you want to slip out to the car," Jason said. "You could blow us both in the truck. I'd like to play with them titties. Nothing much wrong with spades." "As tempting a that is, I think I will pass," Kalishia said. "But I think Mikey is getting off on your ass. He told me." "He what?" "He thinks you have a nice "bubble butt," I think he called it. We don't use that term in Africa." "Jesus, Mikey. You want to suck my cock again?" "Huh?" "Well, fine. One more time. But I'm not doing you this time. Okay?" "What?" Kalisha left, chuckling as she waddled. * * * On Monday morning, it was time to up the beautiful clothing away. Kalishia was dressing as a maid, after all, and she had a plain gray uniform to wear. No, it wasn't a sex outfit like they sell in the party stores. It was functional and plain. First though, she had to get ready. She shaved her legs, although all African women did not. She held up her panties -- my god, you could make a parachute from those bloomers, she thought. She giggled. Really, they weren't that big. Not for a circus tent anyway. She lifted her heavy breasts and let them fall.They were brown, and the nipples were darker. She turned to the side to see them in profile. Not bad. She wondered how strippers made them spin. She donned a simple white bra. The label said it was a size "DD." Weren't those supposed to be sexy? Maybe if she didn't have those folds on her belly. She stepped into uniform. She twisted and reached around to pull up the zipper. Just like that, she was a domestic. A cleaner. Just another minority cleaning up after the white man. She posed in front of the mirror. She felt a little silly but a little sexy. Her skirt tickled her legs. Her hair fell across her face. She spun. She felt deliciously girly. Was it supposed to feel like this? Was he such a sissy he was ready to embrace the lift already? Well, evidently. Maybe he was a sissy all along. Who knew? She ambled to the kitchen, and she put the coffee on. She got the eggs out of the refrigerator ad froze. How did Dr. Chambers like his eggs? There were a thousand languages on the planet, and in every one of them, there was a different order for eggs. She decides sunny-side up was the safest. She put toast into the toaster. "Aha," Kalishia heard Dr. Chambers' voice approaching "Good morning, Kalishia. Could you get my newspaper from the front door? I'll pour a cup of the coffee." She fetched his morning Enquirer, and glanced and saw a light-skinned woman from next door doing the same. Another maid. The two nodded at each other, then returned to their homes. "So how are you adjusting, Kalishia?" Dr. Chambers asked. "Is everything okay?" She smiled. "It takes some getting used to," she said. "I haven't been the mosque, so that part is easy. But being black, being large, is new to me. I have to keep reminding myself to talk with an accent. Fortunately, there aren't that many Americans who would recognize a Nigerian dialect if bit them. I haven't really tried out the transgender thing yet." Dr. Chambers was listening intently. To him, this was working fine. Kalishia hadn't complained yet. "Doctor," she said. "Yes, Karissa?" "Who is the black woman next door?" "Oh, that's Annie. She's the Taylors' maid. A sweet girl. You'll like her." "It would be good to have ... another one like me," Kalishia said. "Well, invite her to coffee. It's okay." Later that morning, after washing the dishes and doing the laundry, Kalissa walked next door. She knocked on the door. Eventually, Annie answered. "Girl, you crazy. Us folks knock at the back door, not the front." Kalilssia stammered an apology. It had never occurred to her to go the servant's entrance. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought you might like some coffee." "That would be nice," Annie said. So they trudged back to the Chambers' residence, and Kalishia got out the cups. "What kind of name is Kalishia?" Annie asked. "It's Nigerian. It means 'Beautiful Queen." Annie grinned. "My name is Annie. It means "when she swallows a dick, she don't let go." Kalishia let go of a burst of laughter. She shoved a plate of cookies toward Annie. "I like the doctor," Annie said. "You fucking him?" "God, no. Are you fucking Mr. Taylor?" "Sometimes," she said. "Part of my duties. He thinks he's Thomas Jefferson. He likes dark meat." "That's awful," Kalishia said. "It ain't so bad. Mrs. Taylor knows." "Really? What does she say." "Nothing. If she don't have to do it, it's fine with her." She sipped her coffee. I looked at her. "Mr. Taylor got a little dick," she said. She giggled. She held her thumb and forefinger a couple of inches part. "Really?" "He likes it when I tell him he doesn't. That he's huge. That he's a monster. Buy he couldn't satisfy a mouse." Kalishia laughed. "How big is the doctor?" she asked. "I wouldn't know." "Liar." ""Im serious. I don't know," Kalishia said. But for a moment, she wondered. ? * * Alone in her room, Kalishia slowly removed her dress. She stripped off her underwear. Once again, she examined her body. It was large, and it was black, deep black. She hefted her breasts and felt the electricity surge through the nipples. She squeezed them, and moaned in response. She turned, and she saw her ass. Her considerable ass. Her back looked strong, dark and muscular. Her skin tone was fine, she thought. She didn't like the way some others looked at her, but she thought the black skin was gorgeous. She pursed her lips. There was nothing wrong with being a big, black, beautiful woman, was there? Even if she was just a maid. She twirled and watched her dark legs. She smiled. Yes, she was heavy. But there was a prettiness there. She liked being feminine. She was good at it. She danced a couple of quick steps, and she watched her breasts bounce. Fascinating things, breasts, especially for someone who never had them. There was life in a woman's breasts. Kalishia wondered if she could nurse a baby. Were the drugs that would help her develop milk? Dr. Chambers had left her a few toys, all in a line. There was a dildo, and a battery-operated vibrator. There were two butt plugs. There was a chastity cage. One by one, she picked up her new electronics. Did that go inside of her rectum? Did that go over her penis? Would it feel nice? She traced her ass with the dildo. It looked far too menacing for her. What had the doctor been thinking when he purchased these? That she would fire up the porn and sit on the dildo? That she would ram a butt- plug inside of her? She wondered. Did Doctor Chambers have a partner he used similar toys on? Did he suck a fake cock as well? He said he was straight, but was he? She toyed with her dreadlocks. Maybe she should let her hair flow free. Maybe she should dye in blonde? She always liked black women with blonde hair. She decided that would look cute. I wonder what they would say back home in Lagos? She giggled. It struck her that this was all staring to feel normal. Hell, she was black. She couldn't remember being white. She was trans. She was Nigerian. She was a maid. She was Muslim. She was African. She thought about Benji, her old boyfriend, really, her only boyfriend. She thought about them fumbling with each other in his room, or in Benji's car. She was just a gay boy in those days; nothing much to hate. Now, she was inviting scorn. Was she nuts? * * * Saturday night, and the crowd at Diversions was huge. Men. Women. Male trans. Women trans. Sissies. Mistresses. Everyone. Kalishia sat at table in the corner. Every now and then, someone would approach as if they were going to ask to sit down but no one ever did. Other tables eventually nicked her extra chairs for their own parties, but no one asked the heavy black woman to join them. Kalissa nursed her wine, and she watched the couples dance. It was good to be off of her feet. Finally, a woman with short blond hair and a muscle t-shirt asked if she could sit. Kalissa nodded, and the woman took back one of her chairs. No one said anything. "How are you? I'm Traci," the woman said. "Hi Traci. I'm Kalishia." "Cool accent. You're not from Kentucky, are you?" Kalishia laughed. "I'm from Nigeria," she said. "Ever been there?" Traci shook her head. "Is that near the stadium?" Kalishia grinned. "It's between Chad and Benin. On the Gulf of Guinea. I'm from Lagos. Tarzan has his winter home there. He lives with the Black Panther. They're lovers." Traci giggled. "You alone?" "I'm with all of my dear friends," Kalishia said. "And you?" "Are you trans? Lots of trans girls in here." "I'm Daisy Duck. I'm a duck with a pecker." "Funny. I'm a woman who likes guys who dress. Is that okay?" I nodded. "How about fat, black guys who dress as women?" "Them too," she said. She put her right hand over Kalishia's. "Oooh," Kalishia said. "That feels nice." "Ever been with a white girl?" Traci asked. "Never. Ever had a black woman sit on your face and crush your skull?" Kalishia asked. "Stop it. You aren't that heavy. And your eyes are beautiful." "I have two of them," Kalishia said. "Yes, you do. They aren't even crossed." "If you begged, you could get me to dance with you." Traci smiled. "I'm a Mistress. We don't beg." "A Mistress? I've never met one of you. Do you beat your girlfriends?" "No, but you could clean my house." "Nope. I already do that for a living." "Wow. That's hot," Traci said. "Maybe I will beg you to dance." "I'll probably say okay." "Wait. There is something on your face." "Really," Kalishia said, wiping it. "Yeah. In about three hours, it's going to be me." * * * Kalishia loved the way Traci's lips felt against hers. She loved looking down and seeing the contrasts of their skin as they lay intertwined in Traci's bed. Traci's hands seemed small, but they fit her breast just fine. The truth of it is that Kalishia didn't have any experience at all with women. But the dampness of a woman's vagina was inviting. It was moist, and it was sweet, and when Kalishia licked it, it caused the most wonderful gyrations. Kalishia licked like a laborer intent on getting a job done, from thigh to navel, from hip to hip. Traci was a swamp, wet and wild, raw and erotic. Kalishia decided that on top of everything else, she was bisexual. She quivered when she came. Seriously. She just shook, as if there was an earthquake in her pussy. She ground her pelvis into Kalishia's willing face. "Damn," she said. "Black girls can really lick pussy." "Thank you," Kalishia said. "No, thank you. Now roll over. I want to peg you." "With that?" "Ha. It isn't as big as it looks. Just relax and let mama do her business." "Mama wants to make my ass sore." "Well, there's that." Kalishia rolled over, and Traci rubbed her shoulders. "You are so beautiful," she said. "I'm a cow." "No. No, you aren't." "You always like black girls?" Traci nodding. "High school basketball. We all drove to the hole. Her name was Amber. She was sweet." Kalissa grinned. "Will you rub me?" Traci reached down and kissed her butt cheeks. She ran her finger through the crack. "I'll rub you. I'll kiss you. I'll spank you." "I'm not a bad girl. I'm a good girl." Traci laughed. "Think of it as your birthday, baby. How old are you? 32? 33?" "Don't forget the one to grow on." * * Three days later, it was Friday. Kalishia left the mosque and walked across the street to a deli. She asked for a grilled sandwich and sat eating it by herself. A tall black man sat next to her. "I'm Jamal," he said. "I saw you at prayer." She nodded. "Hello, Jamal." "Where are you from?" "Nigeria. You." "The same. I'm from Ibadan." "Lagos." "You're a long way from home." "I am." "I miss it," he said. "I miss the animals. They aren't as plentiful as they used to be, but you can still find elephants, lions, giraffes, monkeysand crocodiles. " "Can you eat those? Do they come with fries? He smiled. "Black women are the blackest pearls in the ocean," he said. "They are wonderful. You should go back to the homeland. Have you heard of the back to Africa movement?" "No. Why?" "We are all going home. President Nana Akufo-Addo of Ghana is behind it. You should meet a man. Serve him. Have his children." "I'm not very good at that, Jamal," she said. "You would make a nice addition to a rich man's harem," he said. "You could be in charge of my goats. You are a strong woman. Good teeth." "I'm going to decline, Jamal. I'm not a good addition to a harem." "You would be a fine slave," he said. "Jamal...I have a cock." "A ... what?" "A dingle. A thingie. A unit. It isn't very big, but it's lively." "You are in blasphemy," he said. "You are an infidel. Homosexuality is an affront to Allah." "Yeah, I get that a lot." "You will burn in the hellfire." "Maybe. But I bet it won't be as hot as Africa." * * After Jamal left, Kalishia went back to her sandwich. She was trying to eat less. Down the counter from her, a man with greasy hair looked at her. He moved farther down the bar. "A man can't even eat in peace," he muttered. Kalishia started to say something. She didn't. Daily indignities, the phrase was. "Hey, Queen Latifah," the man said. "Could you go somewhere else? I hate seeing fat people eat." "I hate seeing stupid people think," Kalishia said quietly. "What did you say to me, Sambo?" the man sneered. "Sambo was a boy," Kalishia said. "Look it up." "Damn. I hate uppity wenches. Just because she looks like that lady in the Weather Girls, she's all. uppity." "Sir, I'm just trying to eat in a public place. If I offend you so much, why engage me in conversation?" "Fuck. I didn't even know this place took food stamps." "That'll be enough," A tall black man from behind the counter said. "Can I refill your coffee, sir?" "Damn mouthy bitch." "Sir. This is your last warning Be nice, or I won't be." The man with greasy hair looked at the black man. He thought better of it. The man slammed a $10 bill on the counter and started to walk off. "Sir...your bill is $16.70." The man opened his mouth, then closed it. He slammed another $10 down and left, shaking his head. "Good riddance," the black man said. He grinned. Kalishia nodded her thanks. The sandwich was actually pretty good. * * Kalishia walked back to Dr. Chambers' house. Her feet hurt. As she passed the Taylors, Annie came out. She invited her to sit for a moment. Kalishia did. It felt good to sit. "You off today?" Annie said. "Every Friday," Kalishia said. "It's a religions thing." "Oh, I'm a member of the First Baptist Church," Annie said. "You should come. We have some nice men." Kalishia smiled. "I don't think I would belong." "Oh, sure you would. It's a friendly place." "Annie...I"m Muslim." "You are? Are you a terrorist? Do you blow things up?" Kalishia giggled. "No. Of course not. I'm a maid. When did you ever read about maid's blowing things up?" "Well, it's a good disguise. No one suspects the maid." "I suppose not. Can you rig a bomb with Lysol and an old vacuum cleaner." "McGiver could. He can make a car out of gem clip." I laughed. "I wish he could make a clean toilet out of a messy one." Annie thought for a minute. "What's it like? Being Muslim?" "It's fine, Annie," I said. "You wear a veil in prayer. The men hold all the power. But it's sweet, and it's serene. Maybe you should come with me one day." "What are the men like?" "Good men. Strong men. Decisive men. They, um, don't want me, though." "No?" "Annie, I'm transgender." "No shit? You're a muslim and a fag?" "Fag is a bad word, Annie." "If that doesn't beat all. So you wear these robes, and you've got a dick? You are full of surprises." "I guess." "Do the guys know?" "No. You don't advertise that sort of thing." "So do you suck dick?" Kalishia smiled. "Sometimes," she said. Annie grinned. She held her hand up for a high five. "I like dicks," she said. * * On Saturday night, Dr. Chambers had a dinner party. Several of the college professors were there, but no one gave Kalishia a second look. She was just the maid, and an overweight one at that. No one was going to mistake Kalishia for Beyonce. Kalishia scrambled for the entire night. The problem with serving at a party is that a maid needs to be three places at once. She needs to be preparing the food, and handing it out, and re-filling drinks. She scanned the crowd. There was a handsome black man, a Japanese woman, a Hispanic man. True to his nature, Dr. Chambers had invited a cross- section of society. There were even two men who seemed to be into each other standing in the corner Kalishia was serving shrimp and cheese-on-crackers. The wine was flowing. People were dancing. Kalishia wore a black uniform to do her chores. She poured, and she fetched, and she collected. Late in the evening, and Dr. Chambers approached her. "How are you doing, Kalishia?" he asked. "Are you holding up?" "Yes sir," she said "Although I see I need to refill Mrs Weston's wine glass." "She can get her own, Kalishia. I want you to meet Matthew," he said, pulling the tall black man over to me. "Hi Kalishia," he said. "Are you okay?" Kalishia looked at him. He had nice teeth and dancing eyes. "I'm good, Mr. Matthew," Kalishia said. "It's nice to make your acquaintance." He smiled. "I'm Mr. Kelly," he said. "But you can call me Matthew." Dr. Chambers faded into the crowd, leaving the two of us alone. "Mr... Matthew," Kalishia said. "Is your wife here?" "No. She's in Las Vegas. A convention. She's probably stuffing my money in a stripper's jock strap." "Oh," Kalishia said. "So tell me about you." "I...I can't, Mr. Kelly." Kalishia said. "I have to work. Perhaps we can talk later." "Perhaps," he said. "I won't keep you." The party went on until past midnight. Finally, the crowd started to thin. It was just Matthew, Dr. Chambers and I. Dt. Chambers stretched and said he needed to sleep. Before Kalishia could say anything, he was gone, and Matthew was inching closer on the couch. "You're very pretty for a big girl," Matthew said. "I"m pretty big for a big girl," Kalishia said. "I like some meat on the bones, Kali," he said. "Sir...you're married." "But I'm not crazy about it," he said. "Sir...I need to clean up." "Forget cleaning up. The mess will be there tomorrow. How about you show me your room." "Sir, that wouldn't be proper." "Fuck proper," he said. "I'm offering. you $100 bucks for a blow job. How long do you have to work for $100." Kalishia looked at the floor. "A day...and a couple of hours." "You've tasted dick before. So you just spend five minutes sliding your lips over Hercules, and you've got $100. Maybe I'll pay you anther 50 to get a shot at that big ass of yours. I like big butts, I cannot lie." What was going on here?, Kalishia wondered. Why had Dr. Chambers worked hard to set this up?Was he interested in this form of prejudices, the way a man looks at a working girl? Was this destine to happen. "It's $125," Kalishia said. "That goes to 200 if you butt fuck me." He nodded. "Take me to heaven," he said. And Kalishia did. The thing is, a black dick tastes pretty much the same as a white one. It responds the same, and it likes being suckled as much. It penetrates your ass just as deeply, maybe more so. Prostitute or no, Kalishia liked sucking Matthew Kelly. She liked the way his cock felt between her lips. She liked the taste of his sperm, and the sensation of when it erupted out of his dick. Hell, she liked sex. She was common now. She was a whore and a maid. She was fat and trans. She was foreign and black. Yeah, everyone would hate her. Hell, she hated herself. * * A week later, and Kalissa stood in front of the mirror in her underwear. She must be a woman, she thought. Why was it so hard to find something to wear? Every week, Dr. Chambers and Kalishia went to lunch, and they'd talk about the hatred that had incurred over a week's time. She had escaped anti-semitism. She had escaped agism. But she touched a lot of them. There were rednecks everywhere, and she could not help but notice the rebel flags in their trucks. She stood there in her line line bra, the one with the corset affixed. It helped control her weight. No one would think she was starving, but her shape was kind of nice in a Jennifer Hudson sort of way. She had on blue panties. She slid a yellow sundress over her head. She smiled. The clothes suited her, even with her body shape. Fashion has come a long way in plus sizes. She wasn't going to wear a maid's uniform. Not for her weekly lunch. She wasn't going to wear a dashiki. But she had a dress in the colors of her native African garb. She thought she would wear that. It would show off her legs. It would enhance her cleavage. She smiled. She was getting used to it all now. She could barely remember being white, or male. She had never been straight. She wasn't very good at church; of course, she wasn't a very good Muslim, either. She fixed her makeup. She added jewelry. She was ready. She stepped into her heels, and she was off. Dr. Chambers was waiting for her in the den. He looked like he had taken, oh, 40 seconds to decide on his outfit. A blue shirt and khakis. A brush through his hair and he was ready. Kalishia looked at him and grinned. There was a boyish look to him. He had a small scar on his chin. She loved that scar. She loved his ees. She liked his humor. Oh, my God. She had a thing for Dr. Chambers. They drove to Black Angus steakhouse. Dr. Chambers had a steak sandwich and a beer. Kalishia ordered a Cobb salad and unsweetened iced tea. She needed a salad. Her black anus was too big for the Black Angus. "So, girlfriend," he finally said. "What have you learned this week?" "I learned your boss can be your pimp," she said. "Pimp?" "You knew that Matthew was going to pay me for sex." "I never. I mean, I thought you two would hook up. But I didn't know anything about payment." "Yeah, well, he gave me money. It was enough to make me think of an alternate career." He sighed. "I was trying to do the right thing. No sense in both of us being alone." Kalishia looked at him. "You have 4,000 women who would die to be your partner." "And you?" She smiled. "Make that 4,000 1/2." He looked at her. He cleared his throat. "So let's talk about the week." "Well, I think the transgender part of me is taking hold. I love the clothes, especially in the American style. They make me feel pretty. Given my size, that isn't easy." "You're lovely." "I'm Orca." "Anything with being Muslim?" "I'm not very good at it. Too much sex. Muslim women don't sleep around." "And yet, there are so many Muslim babies." "White and black is still a big deal in this country. A lot of our racism centers around skin color. It goes both ways. Distrust is pretty easy to find." "And the weight?" "My God, it's always there. Someone can't say something to me without mentioning my size. 'You dance pretty well ... for a big girl.' Or 'you're pretty smart .... for a big girl." "Does it hurt that you're a maid?" "It actually helps. I turn invisible. I'm beneath consideration for a lot of people. I just run around screaming that I don't know anything about birthing no babies." "Gone with the Wind?" "Butterfly McQueen." He nodded. "How about sex?" "Well, lately I've been with a couple of guys and a girl. But most people can't tell what you like that unless you're in a gay bar. I think we're getting more tolerant." "I don't know. Hate runs pretty deep when a guy has his cock in your mouth." "And you know this?" He laughed. "I suspect it." "How about the Africa prejudice?" "It's there. Even some black Americans don't like foreigners. We're hear to steal all the great jobs, like being a maid and mopping the kitchen." "Ah, the models don't know what they're missing." "This all ... overwhelms me, Doc," Kalishia said. "I grew up gay. You knew that. And I was used to people not liking me for that one reason. But for all these reasons? Am I the most hatable girl in the world." "Maybe in North America," he said, grinning. "So why don't you hate me? Are you so evolved?" "I'm human, like everyone else. I've tried to work on my own hatred." "Tell me three things you hate." "Boiled okra. Liver. Michigan fans." Kalishia giggled. "How about fat, black, transexual Muslims with huge lips and a big ass." "Oh, I love those." Kalishia smiled at him. "Well, I adore dweeby college professors who are too scared to kiss their maids." "I'm not scared. I was trying to keep a professional distance. I actually like you more than I should." "Can't you like me from your side of the bed?" He looked at her. He leaned across the table. He kissed her as softly as a newborn. He kissed for a long time. "Damn, Doc," Kalishia finally said. "Damn, maid," he said. Later, when they were naked, when his face was in the middle of her breasts, they struck several blows against intolerance. They were a two- person Rainbow Coalition. They were the United Nations. "I love your breasts," Dr. Chambers said. "They're too big." "No such thing," he said. "They're magnificent. I could smother myself in them." "I love your cock, even if it is white," Kalishia grinned. "Is it racist to say that white men have needledicks?" "Funny. But I love your ass." "Say 'my black ass.'" "That, too. I love your lips." "Doc?" Kalishia asked. "Yes, baby." "I'm going to stay this way. I mean, I want lose some weight, but I'm happy being black and trans. Is that okay?" "Shut up and eat some chocolate. I like your weight." "Would you like it on your face?" "Of course I would. It's your place." They made love again, and it was passionate and sweet, and yes, a little sweaty. Dr. Chambers came, and he announced it would be 15 minutes before he was ready again. Kalishia picked up his limp member. It dropped back to his lap. "Now, that's what I hate," Kalishia said. Copyright (c) Cassandra Morgan 2019