Honey - Chapter One free porn video

Honey - Chapter One By Katharine Sexkitten "Bullshit!" Linda looked at Sandy, who just shrugged her shoulders. "He says he isn't," she replied. They both looked at me. Linda smiled. She was one of those people who, when they smile, it's like their lips disappear and all you can see is glaring whiteness. She looked like she had about a hundred teeth in her mouth. "Oh, puh-leeze," she snorted. I looked at Sandy for support, but she shook her head a little, like she didn't believe me either. I turned back to Linda. "I'm not." Linda's smile faded. Then she got that loving maternal look that women can get, and tilted her head to one side. "Oh, Honey," she said, softly, in her 'I-hate-to-be-the-one-to-tell- you-but-somebody-has-to-and-it's-coming-from-a-place-of-love' voice, "you're as gay as they come. You're a total bottom!" She let that sink in for a few seconds. "You just don't know it yet." So began my relationship with Linda and Sandy. I met both of them after I applied for the job. I was twenty-seven. I'd moved to the big city three months ago, to pursue my fledgling musical career, and my dwindling savings meant I needed a day gig. Playing at 'open mic' nights, as I was, just to get people to hear my songs, was scary and exciting and nerve-wracking all rolled into one, but it didn't make me any money. The Discount Shoe Factory in the SouthGate Mall needed a sales clerk. There was already two women sales clerks, Linda and Sandy, and the owner needed a male. The pay was barely above minimum wage. I took the job. He eyeballed me a bit, in my ironed shirt and tie and pants, my hair neat and combed, the long parts in the back in a ponytail, and he coldly welcomed me to the company. On my first day, when I walked into the store, Linda looked at me and called me 'Honey', and smiled that mega-tooth smile. She and Sandy showed me around, showed me how to ring in sales, showed me how to replenish stock, and showed me how to be aware of shoplifters. From the get-go, they both talked to me like we'd known each other for years. Linda was a tiny ball of frenetic energy. She always seemed like she'd just had eighteen cups of coffee. She talked and moved at paces far faster than most everybody else. Me included. She was about thirty or so, and Caucasian. Five-six, maybe, and thin, with a dark head of hair, cut stylishly short, and fiery dark eyes, deeply-tanned skin, small-breasted, and had more or less zero curve to her ass. Flat as a board. She always wore dark pants, or skirts, and white blouses. And heels. Nothing too extravagant, but always heels. She also, I was to learn, swore more than any woman I'd ever known. Not around customers, or Jack, the owner, but when things were quiet, or she was her normal self, just talking to me like I was one of the gang. She could put most sailors to shame. Sandy was taller, and fuller. Some guys might even say fat, but I disagree. Plump, sure, but not fat. And like some bigger women, she carried it all very well. She had a luxurious mane of chestnut-brown hair, that fell over one side of her face and that she was constantly softly brushing out of her eye, and wore a variety of silk blouses, differing colors every day, always buttoned up all the way, including the sleeves, that barely seemed to contain her massive chest, which strained out in all directions. She had a lot of junk in the trunk, too, especially for a white woman. Every day she wore a skirt, always from waist to mid-calf, always clingy and stretchy and molded to her voluminous backside and larger-than-normal legs. Underneath her skirt, she always wore leggings. They were probably not wool, but they looked that way. And flat shoes, like ballerina slippers. They'd known each other since high school. They knew each other's families, and had the same circle of friends. Both were single, I found out, meaning not married, but both of them smiled and said they were socially active. I'd only been there for an hour or so, and it was slow in the store, and during a get-to-know-each-other kind of conversation, I asked about boyfriends, and Linda shushed me away with a wave of her hands. So I tried to add some levity and joked about maybe asking them out on a date. Not together, of course. Linda laughed, and Sandy snorted. I guess I assumed a slightly-offended look, perhaps shock at their response, when Linda smiled that lip-less grin of hers and said, in a teaching tone, "Oh, Honey, I only date black guys." ?Sandy nodded her head. "Me too," she said. A few hours later, and the three of us seemed to be getting along pretty good, and it was dead in the store and we were chatting again and I don't remember specifically what we were talking about but the subject of dating came up again, and Linda reiterated that I had zero chance, because, again, "we only date black guys." Then she paused. "We told you that, before." I said, "yeah, sure, I get it." And I did. I had no problems with it. I'd been brought up to believe that people were equal, and not to judge. Lots of people dated lots of other people who weren't in the same ethnic group, or color, or religion. Some people dated people of the same gender. It stunned me that anybody might have a problem with any of that, and always had. "But," I said, hypothesizing, "what if Brad Pitt walked in here, and said that it was a one-time offer, sex right now or forget it. You'd do a white guy in that case, wouldn't you?" Sandy shook her head. Linda snorted her laugh. "Oh, Honey," she cooed, "unless you've had a black man do you, you just can't understand." She started to turn away, and then she stopped, and looked back at me. And smiled her toothy grin. "You should try it. You will one day, I'm sure. You know you want to." The first week went by in a flash. They were fun work-mates, and amongst other things seemed to be totally up on the gossip. There were twenty or so stores in the mall, and they seemed to know everything about everyone. It turns out the manager of the sporting goods franchise was bopping several of his employees, both male and female, in the changing rooms, on slow nights. The travel agent receptionist, a paunchy middle-aged woman who always had too much makeup on, was a big fan of having it off with one of the security guards, according to Linda and Sandy. One day, a few weeks in, the three of us were chatting, and the whole 'black guys only' thing came up again, and I had to ask. "You've never dated a white guy?" Sandy said no. Never. Her very first boyfriend, she explained, when she was fifteen, was the black star of her school basketball team. She said her Dad just about had a stroke when she brought the guy home, and declared her everlasting love in front of her family. Then she laughed, a roar of delight. "I let him take my cherry the night I turned sixteen," she boasted, and sighed, "and it's been black guys ever since." Linda, on the other hand, had dated white guys. A few. She tried them out. They were, in her opinion, nice enough, but generally 'duds'. So I asked what that meant, and they both smiled like the spider that had a big juicy fly in the web. "Black guys are better," Linda smiled, "at everything." "Everything? Like, what? How do you mean?" She looked at Sandy, and they shared a moment. "Black guys are more romantic, more loving. They get that sex and love are two different things, and they don't hide that they want both, all the time. They're more masculine," she said, her voice a little more serious. "Don't get me wrong, there's lots of masculine white guys too, I suppose, but black guys got it going on in a totally different way. It's like," she paused, searching for her words, "they'll make you feel like the center of the universe, you know?" I didn't. But I nodded anyway. "Okay," I interjected, "but there's got to be, well, hell, there are, white guys who are romantic and attentive and masculine. I mean, I like to think I'm all of those things." They both laughed out loud. Sandy immediately took one look at the reaction on my face, and gazed straight at me. "We're not putting you down," she whispered. "You are those things, for sure. In your way. What Linda's trying to say, though, is that, well, black guys are just playing in a different league than you. That's all." I looked at Linda, and she nodded her head, agreeing with Sandy. "Plus," she smiled, "black guys are hung like horses and they can fuck for HOURS!" Linda asked me if I still thought I was straight. I shook my head at her silliness. "Well, duh," I replied, "because I am." She laughed, so I did too. Sandy came over and stood right in front of me. "So, you want to get laid, straight boy?" I smiled from ear to ear and gave her the same answer. "Well, duh! Always!" She grinned, and brushed her hair off one eye. "Ursula, over in the Hallmark store, she didn't believe me when I told her you claimed to be straight, but she does think you're kinda cute." I took a second and searched my brain. Ursula. Ursula. Hallmark. Then I remembered. A late thirties, maybe early forties woman, with an unruly mop of curly frizzy ginger hair, and what can only be described as a 'plain' face. Her most striking feature was that both of her eyes didn't always point in the exact same direction. It was odd, at times, in the few conversations we'd had, knowing which eye to look at. I always ended up staring right between her eyes, at the top of her nose. On the plus side, she always seemed friendly, and smiled and laughed, and more days than not didn't wear a bra. They sagged somewhat, and her nipples had a little more downward angle than I would have liked, but it had been a long time since I'd had sex, and, like I said, she liked to laugh. On my break, I ventured down the huge hallway and asked her if she'd like to go see a movie with me. When I got back to the store, Sandy and Linda were with customers, but both of them made a quick look at me and put their 'what happened?' look on. I gave them a 'thumbs up', and both of them grinned like they'd won the lottery. I don't recall the movie. We sat next to each other, and in-between paying for our tickets and finding our seats she'd somehow managed to undo two of her blouse buttons, joining the two that had been undone already. As the lights went down, I looked to my left, and the way she was sitting put just the right amount of pressure and sway in the fabric of her blouse, and it was furled open, and I could see most of her left breast. The curve of it, and then the exquisite line up the chest. And while I couldn't see her nipple proper, I could see most of the areola. It was a deep deep red, and bumpy. At one point, the leading man and the leading lady end up in a scene where they have impromptu sex, up against a wall. It's supposed to show their impetuous passion, despite the fact that they hate each other. They filmed it so you couldn't actually see anything. She had a long skirt on, he hiked it up, she made the motions of pulling panties off, he made the motions of unzipping and pulling out his cock, he lurched forward, she moaned and oohed and wrapped her legs around him and her arms around him and they bumped up against the wall and made lots of grunting noises and a minute or so later he gave her three gigantic pushes and then stopped, and she performed a fairly average fake orgasm scene. Then they separated. And stared at each other, as they both readjusted their clothes to look normal. There was just breathing noises. No music at all. The whole cinema was quiet as a mouse. Ursula leaned over to me and in a raspy loud whisper said, "she'd be dripping!" The house wasn't full, but there were a few people scattered around us, and most of them laughed. At least one woman gasped. After the movie, I invited her back to my apartment. She had a car, and I didn't, so she had offered to drive me home. I thought I'd try to be a gentleman, and offered her a coffee or a nightcap. She looked at me, with her blouse open almost as much as earlier, showing me a great deal of both breasts now, put the car in park and shut it off. "How about we just have sex?" she smiled. There was no debate from my side of the car. Turns out, Ursula loves to kiss and make out. Turns out, for me, that's a big ditto. We rolled around on my sofa for about an hour, just kissing and touching. She led it. By far the most aggressive woman I'd ever made out with, her tongue was in my mouth a lot more than mine was in hers. And I was cool with that, at first. But after a few minutes, I thought maybe I should lead, for a bit. You know, the ebb and flow of things. Ursula was having none of that. The first attempt I made at taking control of the kiss, she half-moaned and half-growled into my mouth. "Uh-uh!" I got the message. Turns out, I kinda liked not having to be the one in charge. It was relaxing, in a way, to just sit back and enjoy the ride. Her hands found every part of my body, and she seemed to have a sixth sense of when her rubbing and caressing and grabbing and squeezing was about to send me over the top, and she would clamp down on me, through my pants, and whisper into my mouth, "not yet". Eventually we disrobed. She broke the kiss and pulled my shirt off me, snapping at least one button I saw spiraling off onto the carpet. Her long fingernails ran up my chest, and she pinched both of my nipples at the exact same time, and I gasped in a lungful of air and my body tried to jump away, but couldn't, because she was laying on me. Then she sat up and stared at me while she unbuttoned the few buttons still left done up and threw her blouse off, arching her back and forcing her chest out, baring her saggy tits to me. I started to bring my arms up, to touch them, when she used her left hand and cupped her left breast and brought it up and towards me, and with her right hand she ran her fingers through the hair at the back of my head and then pulled my head towards her, and grinned an awkward grin and said, "make Momma feel good, Honey." The thought that she called me the same thing Linda calls me lasted about a second and a half, and then my lips closed around her distended nipple and I sucked it into my mouth, and I forgot about everything else. A strangled moan came out of that woman that made me shake. I nursed from both of her breasts for a while. They were big and spongy and the harder I sucked the more she made noises. Eventually, she pulled me off of her bosom and slid down to her knees, on the carpet, and her hands went to work getting my belt off, and my pants opened, and unzipped, and then pulled roughly down my legs with my underwear in three giant tugs. She took a few moments to just look up and down my body. At times like these, I've always wished I was more muscular. Beefier, even. But I'm not. I'm pretty thin, and unremarkable. I don't have any hair on my chest or back or arms, and only a little bit on my legs. Plus my little patch, above my groin. Which was very much alive. She ran a hand up my leg, diving to the inside of my thigh, which prodded me to open, and then she glided her fingers straight to my balls, which she squeezed gently, and began rolling in her hand. Staring at my erection for only a second or two more, she leaned forward, and just before her lips touched me, she looked up into my eyes. "You be sure to tell me if you're gonna cum, right?" I nodded. "I won't cum in your mouth." "I didn't say that," she admonished. Then she smiled, and flicked her thin eyebrows up and down. "A woman just likes to know ahead of time." Then she swallowed my entire hard-on in one go. To the base, her lips sealed like the tightest O-ring, nestled up against my hair. As the vacuum came on, her tongue started wriggling and slithering on the underside of me, and I felt a million jolts of kerpow go through me, and the signs of imminent explosion went from not there to totally there in the first ten seconds. "Ursula!" I cried out. Her eyes came up at she looked at me, like, 'ALREADY???' My head fell back and my eyes rolled up and I lost control. I could hear her swallowing noises, again and again. And again. Finally, she pulled off me, and took a gigantic breath in, and then out again, and swallowed again, and then her tongue ran out and all over her lips, and then back in again, followed by another swallow. "Wow!" she gasped, "you cum in gallons!" I wasn't coherent enough to offer a reply. She slithered up my body, and her tits felt amazing touching the skin on my chest, and then her mouth clamped down on mine again, and her tongue pushed its way past my lips, and the distinct tastes of saliva and my own ejaculate filled my palette. Man, could that woman kiss! While she led me again in making out, my right hand found the area between her legs, and I began gently massaging it. Her hand came down to join me shortly after, and pushed on me, demonstrating that she wanted me to do it with more force. So I did. Her breathing into my mouth increased rapidly at that. Then her hand undid her jeans, and she grabbed my hand and slid it under the top of her panties. Where I discovered a primeval forest. I have never before, and never since, felt as much pubic hair as I did in her panties. It was soft and lush and thick and full, almost like on her head. A couple of seconds later, she pushed down on my arm, and I moved on, to her slit, which was open and wet. I slid a finger into her. Or, more appropriately, I began to slide a finger into her, and she sucked me in. It made an audible wet sound. My thumb moved and I gently began touching her clit area. She started humping my hand, so I knew I was doing good. I fingered her while her mouth devoured mine for a good ten minutes or so. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure she had a couple of decent little cums. It felt like it to me. Finally she broke our kiss and took my head in her hands and looked me in the eyes and said, "eat my pussy now, Honey." Then I was the one on my knees on the carpet, with my head in between a pair of legs. On my way in, I noticed she had a birth mark, on the inside of her right thigh, close to her groin. It was darker than her skin tone by a lot. It kind of looked like a triangle, with the thin part pointed at her vagina. Now, I've always enjoyed performing orally on the other women I've been to bed with, and to be honest I've always believed I was pretty good at it too, judging by the reactions I've had. I love it, I love doing it, and I think that in itself is half the battle. Ursula just wriggled and moaned and thrashed for twenty minutes while I loved her with my lips and tongue and nose. Yes, I said nose. One of my favorite moves is to have my tongue turned as sideways as I can and I stick it in her pussy as far as I can and then I use my nose as a battering ram against her clit and I rock my head in and out. She gets penetration and clitoral stimulation at the same time. I got a mouthful of her cum. Three times. Ursula tasted like how the finest wine should taste. Earthy. Tangy. Hints of a variety of things. Fruity, woody, provocative. She'd actually pushed me away after the second gusher. I'd begun crawling up her body, aiming to nurse some more on her thimble-sized nipples, when she looked down between us and saw that I was still flaccid. "You'd better eat me some more, honey." Third times the charm, though, because afterwards, I was hard. So this time, I slid up her body, and slid into her pussy. Now, the thing is, I've never been one of those guys that can last for hours while having sex. I've never actually believed it's real, or, if it is, all that common. I mean, I don't want to just categorically say there aren't guys like that, but really, don't most of us last about the same amount of time? I'd read somewhere the average sex act lasts about five minutes, or less, and I have always been able to at least go close to that long, or longer than that sometimes, with every women I've ever slept with. Not much longer than that, mind you. Anyway, I gave it my best try, and she flexed herself and pushed back at me every time I thrust into her, doubling the effect, and I got to the point where I couldn't keep delaying the inevitable and I had just barely enough time to moan out, "Oh sweet Jesus," and then I came. Afterwards, we cuddled a little bit. She was kind, and told me that she'd had a good time, but I got the sense that I might have let her down a little. She nicely thanked me for the offer to stay the night, but said she had to get home and feed her cat. The next day, I walked into work with a spring in my step. Sandy was behind the counter, and she looked up and smiled her normal smile, and then said, "Morning, Gallons!" I took one more step and then shock stopped me. What did she say? "Huh?" "You heard me," she grinned, and went back to going through paperwork. I just stood there. I couldn't understand. She let me stew for a few seconds, and then she looked up at me. "Girls talk." Then I realized. The light bulb went on, over my head. The two of them were on top of all the gossip, because probably lots of other people were too. Like Ursula. SHIT! "But," I stammered, "how..." Sandy scrunched up her face a little, as in disbelief. "There's these new-fangled things called cell phones," she said, and shook her head at me. I took a couple of seconds to think about that. "Do you mean...?" "Yuppers!" she gloated. "Heard all about it." I felt a shiver go up my back. "What did you hear, exactly?" I asked, nervously. Sandy came out from behind the counter, and walked right up in front of me, close. "Relax," she said, softly, "you got a pretty good report card." I felt a little better. "I did?" I asked, curiously. "Pretty good?" Sandy looked at me and I saw some tenderness there. "She said you eat pussy like a champion, and you kiss like a girl." Shock prevented me from being able to think of a single thing to say. "Those were the A's." Then she paused. "You got a C-minus in another class." I realized instantly, of course, that she was referring to the actual intercourse. My face flushed with red. Just then, Linda came in, moving even faster than her usual self. "Sorry I'm late. Did you guys know they're closing Franklin Street for the next six months?" Sandy and I both nodded. "Jesus Fuck, it's going to add another ten minutes on my commute." There didn't seem to be anything to say about that. "Oh," she continued, "and guess what else I heard this morning?" I felt the redness flush back into my face, sure she was going to talk about me. "You know that guy with the big thick glasses, in the UPS Store? What's his name? Bill, or Phil?" Sandy nodded. "Phil." "Right," Linda agreed, "well, turns out Phil's wife kicked him out of the house yesterday." I was starting to get into the mall gossip. "How come?" I asked. Linda looked at me. "She came home early and found Phil in bed. With his lover!" She pronounced it like two words. LOVE and ER. I was titillated, of course. Who doesn't like a good bit of dirt? Then she broke out into her lip-less grin. All teeth. "His male love-er." She let that sink in for both of us. "Really?" Sandy asked. Linda was in her element. She was bouncing up and down on her toes and grinning from ear to ear. "Turns out our Phil likes to wear his wife's lingerie while getting corn-holed by the neighbor." I burst out laughing. "And Phil's wife doesn't appreciate that?" I asked, sarcastically. She shook her head. "Apparently not." The three of us smirked and smiled. "OH!" Linda said, out of the blue, "I heard another thing." Sandy spoke before I could. "What's that?" Linda looked at her. "Turns out that Honey here," and she pointed at me, "is a world-class pussy-eater!" All the red came slamming back onto my face. Sandy grinned. "I heard." They both looked at me, and I could see concern come over their faces. I must have sparked something in them. "Aw, Honey", Linda cooed, "don't be mad. That's not a criticism. That's a compliment!" I looked at her. "Oh yeah?" My embarrassment was obvious. She nodded. "Do you have any idea how few guys know how to eat pussy well? Girls, on the other hand, we're the best pussy eaters there is. But guys," she shook her head slightly, "most guys don't have a clue. Even some of the brothas. You, Honey, are a rare find indeed!" Sandy cut in. "Linda's right. Girls are the best pussy-eaters." I looked at her, surprised. She feigned shock. "What? You think you're the one here who likes to sneeze in the lettuce?" Then she smiled, a proud, boasting smile. I looked at her, with the question in my eyes. "Damn right," she answered. "And by the way, coming from Ursula, that's high praise. She's a tough judge of that sort of thing. And I ought to know, because I've been there, done that, and got the t- shirt." Her smile got bigger. "You've been there?" I asked, incredulously, after the image of Sandy between Ursula's legs came rushing into my head. Sandy nodded, and flashed her eyes at me. My shock must have triggered something in her, some need to offer proof. "She's got more hair on her than ten other people, and there's a huge purple arrow pointing straight at her twat." I went through a whole body shiver at that. Sandy just kept smiling. Linda spoke up. "Never had the pleasure, myself. But yeah, I've heard she has a giant muff." A customer walked in, ending our conversation. Two days later, it was slow in the store, and as usual the subject of discussions was mostly about sex. From out of left field, Linda just flat-out asked me. "If you're so good with your mouth, how come you've never sucked a cock?" Flabbergasted doesn't even come close to how I felt. Surprised, I wasn't, based upon knowing her now. "Gee, I don't know," I said, sarcastically. "Maybe, because I have a cock," I answered, pointing at my own basket. Linda smiled, and picked up her smartphone. "Aw, Honey," she said, using her thumb to touch things and scroll through things, "you have a penis." She said it like two words. PEE and NIS. Then she turned her phone towards me, to show me the screen. "Now this," she said, triumphantly, "is a cock!" It was a picture of a black man. A naked black man. The shot was from the chin down, so I couldn't tell you who it was, but his upper body was like a sculpture. He was built, and solid, and muscled, and toned, and he had a tattoo of a giant eagle on his chest, the black ink barely discernible on his dark skin. He also had what first struck me as a third leg. Then, my eyes became as wide as dinner plates and the top of my head shirked back in shock, and I looked closer and realized the limb in the middle wasn't a leg. It was a cock. Thick as my wrist, by the looks of it, or thicker, and almost down to his lower-thigh. It was gigantic! For some reason, god knows why, I felt myself stiffen in my pants. Instantly. Like, faster than I could remember. Faster than with Ursula. Linda's smile was enormous. "You get one of these things pushing inside you, you are one lucky girl!" I nodded. "I'll have to take your word for it." She raised her eyebrows at me. "It could be arranged, you know. Some of the brothas enjoy themselves some white boy pussy, from time to time." I shook her off, and looked for some support from Sandy. "She's right," she said, brushing her hair out of her eye, "something that big, it will fuck you up, in all the right ways." I put my hands up in defense. "I'm not arguing that point," I said. Sandy giggled. "And she's right that some of the brothas swing that way." Then her gaze got very intense on me. "You know," she almost-whispered, "with the right clothes, you would be VERY popular." "Popular?" I asked. "Uh-huh," she replied, and I looked at Linda and she was nodding her head. The toothy grin came out again. "You'd get tons of dates. Lotsa guys would be waiting in line for the chance to tap that ass." I couldn't respond, since Mrs. Lopez walked in. She was a repeat customer. She was a frequent customer. She seemed to be at the mall almost every day, and always shopped for shoes. She was also the tallest woman I'd ever seen. She was at least six feet, maybe more, and big across the shoulders, and had a wild head of uncontrolled hair, and big cherry-red lips, and boobs bigger than Sandy's, and she must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. She always wore revealing clothes, which on a runway model or a Hollywood actress would have looked hot and trendy, but on an Amazon of a woman just looked pathetic and slutty. But, who knows, maybe that's the look she was going for. Sandy and Linda went to work helping the woman out, and I went back to stocking the men's shoes shelves. Turns out, Mrs. Lopez was returning a pair of pumps she'd bought previously. They had a couple of nicks and scratches in the heels, and, according to what I overheard, they just weren't tall enough, because Mrs. Lopez never wore anything under four inches. The ladies all giggled and nodded knowingly when she mentioned that "men like a woman in high heels, am I right?" After she'd bought some new ones, Linda went to fill out the return slip information. Then she and Sandy talked about just sending them back to the manufacturer, because of the marks. And then Linda got a wicked smile on her face, and turned to look at me. "You know," she said, in her put-on sweet voice, "Mrs. Lopez is a big woman, and she has big feet, and I would bet money that these shoes would fit you." I shook my head at her. "I'll pass, thank you." She grinned at me, conspiratorially. "I'll just tell Jack they were damaged, and we threw them out. He won't care." I agreed with her, that the owner wouldn't care. "And Honey," she added, her voice dripping with innuendo, "as sexy and curved as your little white ass is? It would look a thousand times sexier if you were wearing CFM's." My eyebrows shot up, indicating that I didn't know what that particular acronym stood for. "And what does that mean? CFM?" Linda smiled her naughty smile. "Come Fuck Me. These are Come Fuck Me heels." I should have known better, but once again, I looked to Sandy for some support. She wasn't offering any. "Not only that," Sandy boasted, "but the heels make your ass rounder AND they make you stick your tits out more. It's like an automatic twofer." "Right," I said, "except for the fact that I don't have tits." Linda jumped in on that. "They don't cost that much, nowadays. You could have a really nice set for a few grand." My look of disbelief was enough to end that particular conversation. Linda promised me she'd keep the shoes, hidden, in the back, so Jack wouldn't find them. For when I changed my mind about wearing them. A week or so later, I was in the store, standing behind one end of the long counter, working on paperwork. Sandy was dealing with a couple of teenage girls who kept saying they wanted to buy something but weren't biting on anything. Linda was at the other end of the counter, by the cash register, doing paperwork of her own. I looked up, to watch a tall, very well-dressed black man stride into the store, with purpose. His suit looked expensive, his eyeglasses equally so. His shoes had a shine on them that might blind small animals. He had a gold chain on each wrist, as well as a very snazzy- looking expensive wristwatch. He had the air of success about him. He looked confident, and strong, and walked like he owned the joint. He casually nodded at me as he walked up to the cash register. It took about a second for Linda to realize someone was standing there, and when she looked up, her face broke into the biggest grin I'd ever seen. "DARIEN!" she shouted out. "How's my baby girl?" he asked. I watched her nipples get instantly hard, through her white blouse. She put her hands up on the counter, and stood up on her tippy-toes, and did her utmost to get close to him, and he was tall enough that he simply bent forward a little bit, and they kissed. It was the most striking thing I'd ever seen. Not the color difference, no. Not at all. I've seen plenty of that before. No, it was the realness of it, the emotion of it. It was a kiss that resonated, certainly for them, but for anybody watching. Sandy looked briefly, and smiled to herself, and went back to watching the teenage girls. They were all gazing intently at the kiss. I was too. His lips were so much bigger than hers, and yet their kiss seemed to mesh well. Both of them had their eyes closed, and both of them looked like they were in heaven, down here on earth, in a shoe store. I watched his lips, which seemed to have muscles in them, because they were moving and yet not moving at the same time. It was obvious to me that he was leading the kiss, and she was gladly following. Her eyes were shut, but there was a glow about her face that stunned me. She was so blaringly obviously into that kiss. He must be a good kisser. The kiss went on and on, and I couldn't not watch. It was the best kiss I'd ever seen. Then I heard a throat-clearing voice beside me. I looked over suddenly at an equally-tall well-dressed balding black man, who was standing right next to me. I'd not heard him enter the store, or even get close to where I was. He smiled at me, the kind of smile that says 'hello' but also says 'yes, I caught you obsessing about two people being intimate'. "Never seen a black man kiss a white woman before?" he asked, the slightest hint of tension in his voice, mixed with a kind of jollity. I looked at him, and shook my head. "It's not that," I stammered, "no, I've seen that lots of times." "Uh huh," he said, the grin still on his face. "It's just..." and then I paused, searching for the words to describe how I felt. "It's just what?" he asked. I gazed back at them, still locked in their kiss, lost to the cares of the world, totally engrossed in each other and how they were making it known to the entire world. I stood in awe of it. With the counter in-between them, they couldn't touch at all, except for their lips. It was the best looking kiss I'd ever seen. It made me realize that all the kisses I'd ever had, and all the kisses I'd ever seen, were almost nothing, compared to them. I said the only thing that entered my mind at that point. "It's just that I wish somebody would kiss me like that too." The black man in front of me grinned now, and nodded. "That's my brother, Darien," he said, and stuck out his hand, "I'm Vernon." I shook his hand. Well, realistically, he did all the shaking. His hand enveloped mine, and was so warm that I felt it spreading out over my whole body. I looked at him more closely. He was about as tall as his brother, but slightly thicker. He was older. He looked like an athlete or someone who kept in great shape. He had big dark eyes and short buzz-cut hair, losing most of his hairline on the top of his head. He had a closely-trimmed hint of a beard, which had a few silver hairs mixed in with the dark ones. His smile was from ear-to- ear, and he was missing a tooth on his top left side. One on his lower right side was solid gold. He was dressed in a similar style to Darien. Suit and jacket and tie and shoes. Standard business attire. "Hi Vernon," I said, a little lost for words, "I'm..." A different voice interrupted me. "I thought you said the new GIRL was working out good?" I turned to see Darien looking at me, but holding hands across the counter with Linda. "Don't exactly look like no girl to me," he continued, no small amount of humor in his voice, "although, with the long hair..." Vernon still held my hand in his. Linda laughed out loud. "She will be, one day," she boasted, "just give her time." Darien nodded slowly, like he wasn't sure he believed her or not. "You the musician?" he asked. I nodded. Vernon tugged ever so slightly on my hand, bringing my attention back to him. "Really? You're a musician? What do you play?" he asked. His interest seemed genuine, and friendly. "I write songs and play the guitar and sing." Vernon's eyebrows shot up a bit. "That so?" I nodded. "What kind of music do you write?" Darien asked. I turned to look at him. He didn't intimidate me with his size, but it did impress me. He was solidly-built and much bigger than me, in all respects. "I guess," I said, "you could call it folk-rock, or country-rock." He nodded, and Vernon spoke. "You write your own songs?" I looked at him, still holding my hand, and nodded. "Kinda like James Taylor, I guess. Although I have a little more rock in me than he does." Vernon's smile went bigger. "Ah man, I love Sweet Baby James!" Darien agreed. "Me too. When's your next gig? Me and Vernon and some of the boys would love to come down and watch you play." Vernon nodded his agreement. "Sure would." I felt a warmth rising up in me, being the center of their attention. They both seemed sincere, and friendly, and they were filling me with something unexpected. I felt joyful. "I don't have any gigs lined up right now, but..." Vernon interrupted. "You let us know when you do, alright? Any friend of Linda's is a friend of ours." He squeezed my hand even more, and then let it go. "Brah," he said, looking at Darien, "we gotta be on our way." Darien nodded his agreement. "Just came in to kiss my girl," he boasted proudly, and turned to Linda, who stood up on her tippy-toes again and they resumed the wonderful kiss from before. I looked again in awe, and then looked away, to Vernon, who just smiled at me. "One day," he whispered, "you may just get your wish." They politely said goodbye to Sandy and me, and were on their way. Visual images of that kiss kept circulating in my brain the entire rest of the day. I'm certain there was the normal clever sexual banter from the two ladies, but I don't remember any of it. All I could see, in my mind's eye, was Darien kissing Linda, and her kissing him back. Kissing the way it should be done. With love, and adoration, and reverence, and respect, and desire. To the exclusion of everything and everyone around them. One hundred percent concentration. Funnily enough, as I was leaving the mall that day at the end of my shift, I ran into Ursula, who asked me if I felt like hanging out that evening. I politely said no. I was obsessing. She was a great kisser, no question. And I loved being with her. But I couldn't not obsess about what I'd seen. A week later, I managed to get a gig. A showcase event, for up-and- coming singer/songwriters, at a well-known respectable nightclub. It was said that industry people often hung out there, so getting a slot on the stage was a bit of a coup for me. They gave me a hundred printed out tickets as well, the deal being that I could give them out for free, and anyone using them would only have to pay half the cover charge to get in, and I would get a dollar for every ticket redeemed. Obviously, I told the ladies about it, and they took almost all my free tickets, promising me that there would be a full house that night. Sandy said I should wear something fancy and 'out there', instead of my usual drab boring clothes, to distinguish myself from the other performers. I truly had never followed fashion at all, and was proceeding on the philosophy that it was all about my music, but she insisted that I had to make some sort of statement with how I dressed. Linda nodded and smiled her lip-less grin and said I should wear a sexy dress, or a mini skirt and top, and some fishnet hose, along with the shoes Mrs. Lopez had returned, all to show off my legs and my great ass and my femininity. I just shook my head at her. The gig worked out good. As promised, Darien and Vernon and a whole bunch of their friends showed up, and when the MC introduced me there was a considerable roar of applause. I was three songs into the set when a modestly-pretty woman got up from a nearby table and walked right up to the stage, demanding my attention. I leaned forward, away from the mic, and said hello. She smiled and said she loved my songs, and that after I was done, she wanted to, and I quote, "wax your pony tail". I had no idea what that was, but I smiled and thanked her anyway. A few more songs into my set, I played what I considered my best song, about a childhood friend of mine who passed away suddenly, and how I missed him. It was meant to be a bit of a tear-jerker, and I looked out into the crowd and saw that it was indeed having that effect on some people. When I finished it, she got up from the guy she was sitting with, who didn't look happy, and approached me again, reiterating that she liked my music, and that she was now adamant that she was going to "wax my pony tail". I was curious. I had no clue what she was talking about. So I asked. "I'm sorry if I sound stupid," I said, "but, what does that mean, wax my pony tail?" She smiled, lewdly, leaning in to get her head close to mine so she could whisper. "It means I want to run your pony tail up and down and back and forth through my pussy lips, and wax it!" She had a gleeful look on her face, and her eyes shone with wicked delight. It was good thing I was holding a guitar, otherwise everyone in the audience would have seen me getting erect in my tight jeans. Well, maybe not everybody. Just the front few tables. I didn't have a lot in that department, so probably the people in the back of the club wouldn't notice. I had ignored Linda's sartorial advice, as well as Sandy's too, and dressed as casually as I could. Jeans and a t-shirt. After my set, I heard a lot of nice things from people about my songs. Most of them were friends of Linda and Sandy, as far as I could tell, but a couple of them may have been industry people. One guy gave me his card, and asked me to call, and said he might be able to sell some of my songs to established acts. I hadn't really considered a publishing deal before, but this guy said it was the way for me to go, in his opinion. He didn't think much of me as a performer, but he thought I wrote interesting songs. Songs, he added, that would be better sung by women. It was something to think about. I schmoozed a bunch, and accepted a few drinks from people, and started to get a little buzzed, and at one point needed a bathroom break. After peeing, I was washing my hands, when I turned to the sound of the boyfriend of my pony tail fan shutting the door, looking like he was very unhappy with me. "You musicians are all the same," he said, his voice mean and threatening, "you think you can get laid by any one you want, don't ya?" I shook my head. "No." He got closer to me. He was taller and wider than me, and I could see he was flexing muscles and making little movements that seemed to suggest he was getting ready to do something very physical. "You think you can just take my girlfriend away?" I shook my head. "You think you can just walk her out of here, and end up in bed with her? With MY GIRLFRIEND?!?" I shook my head again, vigorously. "No," I stammered, "I wasn't thinking that at all." "You're full of shit!" he said, his voice louder, "and I'm going to enjoy kicking your little ass!" He took a step towards me, and I backed up, against the sink, and realized I had nowhere else to go. That fight-or-flight feeling rose up in me, but I knew that fighting was not an option, so in the space of a second or two I was searching for ideas on how to get around him and out of the room. He took another step towards me, and then the door opened, and Vernon walked in. The guy turned and looked and spat out, "get the fuck out of here, asshole." Vernon smiled, although it seemed to me to be a smile mostly for show, and not quite genuine. "Don't think so, Brah," he said, putting his drink down on one of the counters. "Come in here to check up on my friend," he pointed at me. The guy looked at Vernon and then at me. "What are you two, fags?" he hissed out. Vernon shook his head. "Don't matter none what we are, Brah. What matters is, you take one step towards my friend and I put you in the hospital, plain as that." The guy laughed. "What makes you think you can put me in the hospital?" Vernon stepped closer to him, and lowered his voice. "Twelve years as a Marine makes me think that. Twelve years of learnin how to kill people a whole lot tougher than you makes me think that." The guy backed off a tad. Vernon walked by him, and threw his arm around my shoulder, and I slipped my arm around his body, holding him close, grateful for his help and his touch, and he led us out of the bathroom. "Thank you." It felt like such an insignificant thing to say, considering how he'd just saved my bacon, but it was what I felt. He shrugged it off. "Thank Linda," he said. "She thought you was in here a little long, and she made some wisecrack about you being in the wrong room to begin with." His rolling laughter was deep and full of mirth. I stopped, and turned to look at him. In the dark club, the whites of his eyes were like snow. "No," I said, seriously, "thank you. You didn't have to do what Linda said, but you did, and if you hadn't shown up, he'd have..." "Kicked your pretty little white ass?" Vernon asked, his smile almost smug. Inwardly I cringed a little, at him calling my ass 'pretty', but outside I nodded. "Probably." Vernon nodded. "Can't have that." I just stared into his eyes. "Thank you. I mean it." He looked down at me and nodded once. As if that was all that needed to be said. We just looked at each other for a few seconds, but they weren't awkward. There seemed to be some genuine camaraderie between us. Finally, I spoke. I was curious. "You really think I have a pretty ass?" Vernon roared with laughter. A few people in close proximity looked over and saw the tall black man and me with our arms around each other, our gazes fixed. I noticed them, in my peripheral vision . If Vernon saw them, he made no indication. "With your long hair and those tight jeans, that pretty little white ass of yours could get you into all sorts of trouble." Then he paused. "Or fun, dependin' on how you look at things." I nodded my understanding. "Was that guy trying to hit you up?" he asked. "Is that what that was all about?" "No," I shook my head, "he was pissed that his girlfriend was talking to me during my set. He thinks I'm going to take her home and have sex with her." His eyebrows shot up. "And are you?" "She said she wanted to wax my pony tail." His look told me he didn't get it either, so I explained it to him. He roared with laughter again. "Aint heard that one before." I nodded. "Me neither." We just kept holding each other. His arms around my back, mine around his. He was warm, and smelled very attractive, with a musk I couldn't quite place. I noticed his lips. They were much bigger than mine, in the same way his brothers lips were much bigger than Linda's, when they kissed. For a fleeting second, I wondered what it would be like to be kissed by lips that size. For an even longer second, I thought maybe he was thinking about the same thing. Finally, he let me out of his grip, and we walked back to the big table he and Darien and some others were seated at. Linda and Sandy were both dressed to the nines. Linda was in a tight tank top, with no bra, and a short dark metallic mini-skirt, her long tanned legs looking shiny, like she'd oiled them. And heels of course. Sandy was in a long slinky skin-tight stretchy skirt, and a tight satiny sleeveless blouse, her massive chest stretching the material, and for the first time ever I saw heels on her feet. Darien and Vernon introduced a couple of their friends, like Marcos, who was black, and massively tall and had a thick goatee and had eyes like two piss holes in the snow, and reeked of marijuana, and Billy, who told me to call him Dawg, who was the smallest of the bunch and still loomed over me, and who had some serious scars on his face. I didn't ask how he got them. They were all very supportive of me, and said lots of nice things. Once in a while, I would look over at Vernon, and he was always looking at me, a proud smile on his face, which would always make me smile, remembering his kindness, and each of us secretly sharing his words about my ass. I could sense it in him, see it in his expression. He genuinely thought I had a pretty ass. I thought about his lips a few times too. A couple of weeks later, at the store, Linda was going on again about how I was gay and didn't know it, and how I'd look gorgeous with those shoes from Mrs. Lopez on and some sexy underwear, my long hair let loose and styled, and how black guys were just so much better in bed, and how I should find out for myself. I must have thrown her a look like I didn't believe her, because she grabbed her phone, and told me to watch something, once she found it. She touched the screen a few times and I watched her eyes light up, and then she turned the smartphone towards me. "You being a musician means you've done lots of drugs, right?" she asked. I nodded a little. "Some." "What drug do you think I'm on in this video?" I bent closer, and saw the image of her face. The picture was dark in general, but I could see her, with her eyes glassy and faraway, like little slits, and her mouth wide open, her tongue kind of hanging out of her mouth, darting back and forth and to and fro aimlessly with her movements. Her skin was flush, much more than her normal tan, and she was making the weirdest, almost strangled moaning noises. They were deep and throaty and complete gibberish. My first thought was she was tripping on heroin, or something like it, almost to the point of being catatonic. At one point, she slowly turned her face dead-on to the camera and tried to smile, but it came out as weak, like she was too zonked to go any further. "Were you snorting coke, or something?" I asked. She shook her head. "I wasn't on any drug. I was overdosing on cock!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "Black cock." I was about to say, "WHAT?!?!", when the camera started moving, down her bare torso with her little breasts and pointy nipples, all the way to her crotch, which had a landing strip of dark hair, and her spread legs, and the darkest black cock sliding in and out of her. It was as thick as my wrist, and wet, and I couldn't tell you how long it was because I couldn't see the end of it. But based upon most of his pull-outs, whoever it was, and I had to assume it was Darien, had to be ten or more inches long. My mouth was open in awe. "Have you ever had an orgasm last for over an hour?" she asked me, gloatingly. "Have you ever gotten so high from being fucked that you lost all control of everything, like the best drug trip in the history of the world?" I just shook my head. "I have. Sandy has. You could too, you know?" I looked at her eyes. She was quite possibly the craziest person I'd ever met, and yet I saw some real friendship there. I got the strong impression that she was really trying to help me see something, for my own benefit. I thought about Vernon's lips again, at that moment. Ursula asked me out a few days later. We went to a pub and had some dinner, and after I asked her if she wanted to come back to my place again. She said yes. Then she told me that she had no interest in penetrative sex with me. It didn't do anything for her. But she'd be glad to have me eat her pussy again, because, as she put it, "you've got a million dollar tongue, Honey!" And, she added, she was probably overdue for a gallon or so of cum again, which told me that I was going to have a good time again. We made each other cum, orally. After a long session of making out, which she led, and which we both seemed to really enjoy, I ate her to a couple of gushing orgasms, and then she blew me quickly, this time with warning from me, moving up to swamp my mouth with my own cum in a wham-bam-thank you ma'am way, and then after a short rest while my taste buds went crazy from the salty tang of my cum, I ate her some more. The next morning Sandy didn't even look up when she said, "And how is Gallons today?" I had to giggle. Girls really do talk. Linda breezed in later and told me I was invited to Darien's place on Sunday, to watch the football game. I vaguely followed sports, so I knew it was playoff season. I asked what I should bring, thinking it was the decent thing to do. She just laughed and said, "Darien always gets a huge spread of food delivered, so all you have to bring is your sexy pretty ass!" I wore jeans and a t-shirt. When I got there, a little late, the game was already underway. Marcos was there, as was Dawg, who had a lovely young Mexican woman named Rosie clinging to him. She wore the tiniest of tube tops and a pair of tight jean shorts, and based on the look in her eyes I suspected she was high as a kite on something. Linda was wearing a short skirt and top, with no bra. Sandy was the biggest surprise, sartorially. Instead of her usual get-up, she was crammed into an extremely tight white Led Zeppelin t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, her massive breasts that seemed like they started straight from her collar bones crammed braless into the garment, her nipples obvious to even the blindest of men, her areolas huge and round and a much darker color than her skin, and a pair of painted-on spandex shorts, showing off the skin of her legs, which I'd only ever seen in leggings. Her upper thighs were huge, as I suspected, but again, like a lot of plus-sized women, she carried it all very well and with her cascading thick mane of hair she fairly exuded sexiness. When she walked by me at one point, I looked up from my seat on the couch and her crotch was at eye-level with me and I knew instantly that she wasn't wearing any panties, since I could see every nuance and fold of her vulva. She was spending the game sitting with Marcos, who towered over her, and it was blaringly obvious she had a major thing for him going. Linda sat with Darien, of course. That left me the odd man out, so I sat next to Vernon. The food was plentiful, as was the weed and alcohol, although I'm not much of a drinker and I barely sipped at my beer. But I did partake of the joints, every time one was passed by my face. In between plays, there was lots of conversation. I learned that Vernon's time in the Marines had been spent mostly on air-craft carriers, where the Marines served as security, which I found odd. "You think the Navy is stupid enough to police its own people?" he asked. I didn't answer, because he did. "There's over two thousand sailors on a carrier, did you know that?" I didn't. "So, guess how many Marines keep the peace?" I took a stab and said "a hundred?" Vernon laughed, his loud rolling chuckle filling the room. "Six." I was stunned. Really? Only six? He nodded, proudly. "Marines are tough. You don't get in unless you're tough. And then they teach you how to be tougher. We don't take shit from nobody. They taught me skills you can't imagine." So I asked him, "what is the biggest skill that they taught you?" He laughed again, that infectious deep rumble. "How to give you a new butthole at five hundred yards." Everybody laughed at that. Then Linda piped up. Snuggled into Darien's body, her hand on his large thigh, she smiled that lip-less grin of hers. "He hasn't even used the old one yet!" The men all snorted. Sandy smiled, as did Linda. Rosie was too busy being high to do much of anything except cling to Dawg. Vernon smiled. "That right?" I looked at him, and his eyes darted to my backside. What he'd called my 'pretty little white ass', and then back up to my eyes, where his smile turned into the hugest of grins. For some reason, it was at that moment that I got the distinct impression that Vernon might be more than just a nice guy and friendly to me because I worked with his brothers' girlfriend. The thought buzzed through my consciousness that he looked at me differently than the others. I'd never dealt with it before, but the idea that a man was interested in me struck me, and at once scared me and titillated me and shocked me and surprised me, and knocked me for a bit of a loop. Luckily, the game had some big plays and the conversations went back to that. At half-time, Linda and Sandy got up to clean up some of the dishes and replenish them, for the second half. They both insisted that I help them, or as Linda put it, "you're almost a girl, with that long hair and that tight little ass, so you should help out with the girl chores." I shook my head, and rolled my eyes, and looked to Vernon for some support. His smile was gleaming, and his eyes sparkled at me. I got up and helped the girls. Close to the end of the third quarter, and everybody was feeling no pain. I know I was as stoned as I've probably ever been. Darien had promised to set me up with his dealer, if I wanted, when I complimented him on the quality of his weed. It was as good or better than any wheelchair weed I'd ever had. There had been a few minutes of lull in the conversations, when in the quiet, out of the blue, Linda suddenly shouted out, "OH YEAH!" and jumped up off Darien's lap. Then she looked at me. "Honey, I brought you a present," she grinned, her eyes sparkling mischieviously. Uh-oh, I thought. This could be trouble. She came back from the front hall with a bag, and handed it to me. "What's this?" I asked. Linda sat back down in Darien's lap. "Your shoes," she said, all those teeth shining at me. Peeking in, I saw what she meant. She'd brought the pair of CFM's that Mrs. Lopez had returned. I looked at her with a mixture of real and mock disdain. "Ha ha," I retorted. Sandy, who was not quite snuggling with, but was very close to Marcos, piped up. "Put them on," she goaded me. Darien asked what they were talking about, and after he and the other guys heard the story of Mrs. Lopez, he looked at me seriously, as if he was appraising me somehow. Then he asked me what size show I wore. "Depends on the brand," I said, defensively. "Either an eight or an eight-and-a-half." Linda pulled them out of the bag. "And Mrs. Lopez has huge feet, these are a woman's size eleven, so they'll probably fit you perfect!" I turned again to Vernon for support, and just looked at a huge smile. He seemed to be enjoying this, but I wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to see me in heels, or because he enjoyed seeing me squirm, being the center of this unwanted kind of attention. The latter, if true, seemed a little mean, or cruel. The former, I decided, was preferable. And the warmth of his stare made me instantly feel like he truly did want it. I flashed back to Sandy talking about how tall heels make you stick your ass out and at the same time make you stick your tits out. A twofer, she called it. I sat, a little shocked, that this man, this tough guy former Marine, was interested in seeing me, another man, wearing sexy heels. In my tight jeans. The same man who'd rescued me in the nightclub, earning my genuine gratitude. The same man who had held me, while I held him, for those few moments outside the bathroom. The same man who'd told me I had a 'pretty little white ass'. I flashed back on Linda saying that some of the 'brothas' liked some 'white boy pussy'. The whole room starting egging me on, daring me. Peer pressure at its finest. The football game itself had become more or less a defensive battle, and in some ways kinda boring. And everyone in the room was stoned to some level, so I knew that inhibitions were lowered. Mine too. It was a mix of two feelings that made me say okay. The first was the genuine wish to just shut them up, and do it, quickly, and let them have their laughs, and then pretend to not have been embarrassed by it afterwards. Maybe it was like an initiation into their social circle. The second feeling was that my suspicion, that Vernon wanted to see me in heels, was sending little bursts of nervous excitement through me, more so by the minute. I started getting goosebumps, from the rush I was beginning to feel. And the fact that I was going through these rushes, that I was affected at all by his attention, the attention of another man, all that was propelling all my rushes further. Finally, I unlaced my sneakers and pulled them off, followed by my white socks. I grabbed the shoes, and took a moment to actually examine them. They were black, and as polished and shiny as sunlight reflecting off of snow. There was a toe cap, which narrowed to almost nothing across the length of the foot, flaring out into a tall curved vertical back, with a shiny leather strap to go around the leg, just above the ankles. The toes were sinfully pointed, the sharpest of needles at the end, and I imagined what my toes would feel like crammed into such a small amount of space. The heel itself was tapered, from top to bottom, and ended up as the tiniest little square, where it hits the floor. My brain had to admit it. They were sexy shoes. I heard Linda half-whisper to me. "C'mon Honey," she cooed, "you know you want to." Taking a deep breath, for some reason, as if I was about to do something dangerous, like jump out of an airplane or rob a bank, I slid the right shoe on, part of me hoping against hope that it wouldn't fit at all. It fit me to a tee. I had to roll up the hems at the bottom of my jeans to tie the strap up, which again fit perfectly. I noticed the room was silent, other than the drone of the announcers, as I swapped legs and slid the other one on. It did up perfectly as well. Then I turned my feet in place, pointed to the right, then pointed to the left, then straight ahead, and just watched my feet. It all seemed so incongruous, women's shoes on my male feet. But man, did it also look sexy. And naughty. And thrilling, too, I realized. Thrilling like no other kind of thrill I'd ever had. I head Sandy say, "stand up and walk around in them," and before I knew it I was standing up. As all my weight and balance came over my feet, I felt my ankles shuddering, unused to this entire arrangement, and my lower legs wobbled a little, and I started fighting to regain control, but a few seconds later my left ankle started to collapse a little, and I began to teeter, and I knew I was going to fall, and I reached back to try to put my hand on the arm of the sofa to stop myself, but I missed it, and I prepared for actually hitting the floor in a heap, when a huge hand landed on my left buttock, gripping me firmly, and pulling me horizontally to the right, allowing me a couple of seconds to restore my balance and stand perched atop the shoes. The hand kept its grip on my ass cheek, the big thumb wedged into my crack as far as it could get with my jeans in the way, the fingers spread across my skin, the pinkie strongly squeezing from the outside. Whoever it was had my whole left ass cheek in his hand, with strength, as if he owned it. I turned and looked over my right shoulder and down at Vernon, still seated, a drink in his right hand, and his left arm extended out behind me. His huge grin was even bigger, his infectious chuckle low and loud, and his eyes seemed alive with energy. All of it, I somehow believed, aimed at me. I mouthed a silent 'thank you' at him. His eyelids flickered at me, as a 'you're welcome'. Then I took a tentative step to the left, around the edge of the coffee table. It was faltering, but I managed to stay upright. Sadly, it meant Vernon had to let go of my ass, which I instantly thought unfortunate. Everyone other than Vernon was laughing and hooting and hollering and I could hear "you go, girl," and "stick your ass out more", and then Linda's voice telling me to "move your hips when you walk, shake that money-maker!" Then I heard Dawg's voice say that I had a "finer ass than both my ex- wives!" My plan was to walk a few feet, and then call it quits. A joke was a joke, and a laugh was a laugh, and that's all the situation required of me. But Sandy was right, and it did make me stick my ass out, and my tits out, and I effortlessly changed my body shape slightly and modified my gait slightly and within seconds I was strutting around the condominium like a supermodel on the catwalk. The cheers I heard were loud, and raucous. I heard one of the men say I looked "sexy as hell". It might have been Marcos. I felt sexy as hell. I passed a hanging mirror near the front door, and looked at myself. From the front, and then from the profile, and then turning with my back to the mirror and straining my neck to check me out. I have a GREAT ass! After a few more laps of the condo, I strutted back to the sofa and plopped myself down, landing with a bounce and a thud, right next to Vernon. In a flash he whipped his arm up and out, and put it around my shoulder, pulling me slightly towards him. I gratefully accepted a new fresh joint from Darien and took a major hit. I was exhilarated! I'd never felt such glee, even at my best performance ever singing in front of a crowd, which is pretty damned amazing by itself. But this, this was a whole new animal. We all watched the last of the second half, and continued on with the social event like nothing had happened. Except that I was wearing sexy black three-inch Come Fuck Me heels on my bare feet, and I was in the snuggle of a wonderful man, who exuded heat and a lust for life that I was only now figuring out. The fact that he was a black man, that our races were different, meant nothing to me at all, and yet I knew that on some levels it was a 'thing'. He was tall, and broad, and charming, and funny, and attractive, I rationalized, and he seemed to like me, and was supportive and flirty and had a great laugh to boot. Then Linda's voice flashed in my head again, like a sonic boom. "Black guys are hung like horses and they can fuck for HOURS!" Twenty-seven years of life experience, and I'd never thought I'd be hearing those words and having at least some part of me want to find out if they were true. The game was eventually over, and that's when Darien announced that it was 'hot tub time'. I'm sure I had a look of shock on my face. Darien looked straight at me. "Let me guess," he said, smiling, "Linda didn't tell you I have a hot tub?" I shook my head. "I didn't bring anything to wear." "So?" he asked. I stammered to find an answer. "It's all good, Honey," he said, grinning at the use of Linda's nickname for me, "if you want to get in naked, that's fine by us." I looked around to a lot of nods. I looked back at Darien. "Are any of you going to be, uh, you know, naked?" I asked. They all shook their heads, except Rosie. I looked back at him, and he knew my answer. His smile turned rueful. "Well," he said, "next time you can remember to bring something to wear." Elated doesn't even describe how I felt to know that there would be a next time, that I was invited back for more. I was as happy as happy could be. "Besides," I looked at my watch, "I should probably get going pretty soon." He nodded his head. "If you want," he said, standing, "but you're welcome to stay and hang out inside if you want to." I thanked him. Vernon's arm, still around my shoulders, pulled at me slightly. "I'll stay and be good company," he said, his deep voice rich in my ear. Darien smiled, and nodded at me. "There you go." Linda and Sandy both looked at me like they were my proud parents, seeing me graduate cum laude or winning the Nobel Peace Prize, or some other amazing rare experience. Even Rosie smiled at me, while she stood, wavering a little, and then reached down and pulled off her top, baring her breasts to everyone. Then she zig-zagged out the patio door and plopped herself into the tub, making a big splash. The others all rose and headed to various bedrooms, to change clothes, while Vernon and I sat together, his arm around me, and he lit up another joint and we shared it while people filed past us, in swim trunks and bikinis. Sandy was crammed into the tightest one-piece I had ever seen, once again showing me just how big and around her massive breasts were. Marcos was covered in tattoos, with his shirt and pants off, and built like he'd spent his whole life in a gym. So was Dawg, who had fewer tats than Marcos, but a few more scars on his torso and his thick thighs. Darien looked more or less the same as his buddies, almost chiseled, and for a few seconds I looked at his torso and flashed back to the video Linda had played, remembering the size of his erect cock, and how it was thick and shiny with her vaginal juices and glistening in the light. I had my legs crossed, the top one tight over the other knee, my foot dangling in the air, the shoe making me look feminine. Someone had put some music on the sound system, and some slow-tempo R&B came wafting through the room. Vernon and I watched the three couples settle into the water, and we could faintly hear the sounds of their conversations and laughter, the sounds of people enjoying themselves. The killer weed was running through me, and I was as baked as baked could be. I sat there, pulsing with adrenaline, from the naughtiness of wearing the shoes, and filled to the brim with a kind of joy I'd never gone through before. Is this what really letting loose is like? For several minutes, Vernon and I just sat together, saying nothing, enjoying the buzz of all the weed and the smoothness of the soft music. At one point, I naturally shifted position a little bit, and ended up snuggling up into the crook of his arm, with my head on his upper chest/shoulder area, and we both just watched the people outside. They were chatting, and sipping drinks, and a joint was being passed round, and I could see the occasional rush of wind through peoples' hair. Mellow was the mood. The conversations outside settled down to occasional comments, as they soaked up the heat. Then Linda and Darien started softly kissing. In the tub, sitting next to each other. That same sort of kissing that I'd seen in the store. Soon enough, Rosie and Dawg were smooching it up, and not too long after that Sandy was laying her head back on his arm and Marcos was leaning down and they began making out. The sight was hypnotic to me. The kissing was mesmerizing. It was as if each couple existed solely unto themselves. There were no other people around, or even a world full of people. The kisses were light, and soft, and even from thirty feet away I could tell they were full of emotion, and passion, and care. The exact kinds of kisses I wanted to try for myself. Bigger, softer lips, meeting smaller ones. And again, Darien's lips seemed to have muscles of their own, once more looking like they were moving over Linda's without actually moving. I know I let out a huge sigh, my head up against Vernon's chest, his arm around my shoulders, my feet looking sexy as hell in the heels. He had to have heard it, and felt it, and I felt him pull at me just a teeny bit more, as if he was aware of my desires, and encouraging me. For several moments I was almost afraid to turn my head towards his. Afraid of what might happen. Afraid of what might not happen. I still didn't know for sure, about anything. Much less if this ex-Marine tough guy actually wanted to kiss me. And then, like POW!, the whole idea of it hit me like a ton of bricks and I went red-faced. IMAGINE! Being so stoned, or silly, or both, to believe that Vernon would even contemplate kissing another man! Even a man who had a "pretty little white ass", to use his words. Embarrassment and shame washed over me, and through me, at my presumptive and bizarre same-sex thoughts, which I'd truly never had before, in my whole life, which was soon strangely followed by an intense intellectual burning in me, to actually confess my weird thoughts to him, to actually tell him I was thinking about him kissing me, and trying to laugh it all off. I turned my head to my right, and looked up at his face, ready to confess my bizarre brain waves, in as much of a self-deprecating manner as possible. He was looking straight down at me, fire in his eyes, and that ever- present smile on his face. "You want your wish now?" he asked, quietly. My wish. I instantly remembered what he was talking about. To be kissed like that. I'd mentioned it to him in the store, that day I first met him and Darien, and watched a black man kiss a white woman up close. My wish. I flashed back to saying it. "It's just that I wish somebody would kiss me like that too." I stared into his eyes. I felt so vulnerable, wrapped in his arm, snuggled up against his chest, wearing feminine shoes and loving them. I felt a flow of feelings wash over me, ones I'd never had before, never thought about before, never contemplated before. My answer was as honest as the day is long. It was as if some inner part of me was taking over, taking over my thoughts and my actions. I nodded. YES. Vernon smiled even wider, and brighter. He flashed his eyes at me, as if to give me one more chance to say no. I flashed my eyes at him. Maybe, I rationalized, it's just the weed talking. Then that thought went out the window, and I told myself a truth. I didn't want to say no. No amount of drugs or inebriation was going to take credit for this, I knew. This was something I had to find out. I had to know. Were Sandy and Linda right? Are black men in a league of their own, when it came to romance? I had to know. Then I waited for an excruciating long time, which was realistically only seconds, for him to move. And it was all like the slowest slo-mo any sports channel had ever used, and parts of me inside were almost writhing in agony, as his head slowly closed the distance with mine, his lips slowly getting closer and closer to mine, until I could feel his breath on the skin of my face, and a voice inside my soul kept silently screaming, "DO IT!!!! DO IT!!!!" At the very last second, when I could feel the heat of his skin near mine, when his lips were barely micro-inches away from mine, I automatically closed my eyes, yearning in anticipation. Yearning for the truth. Yearning to be kissed, like Darien had kissed Linda. Like he was again kissing her, right now, outside in the hot tub. Like Marcos and Sandy were kissing. And Dawg and Rosie. A billion thoughts can race through your head, even in the span of only a second or two. All of my thoughts were about being kissed. All of them. Or not being kissed. For one or two outrageous moments, I worried that he wasn't going to kiss me, that I was reading everything wrongly, that I was a complete idiot, that I was demonstrating in front of all these nice people how much of a depraved sicko I'd suddenly become, all from wearing a pair of women's size eleven heels. I was just about to open my eyes again, to face the inevitable bursting of my bubble, to take his scorn and his anger, which I should rightfully accept, when my negative thoughts met their demise. Vernon touched his lips to mine, and kissed me. A MAN WAS KISSING ME. Fireworks went off in my soul. Explosions went off in my soul. Nuclear annihilation went off in my soul. Every single fibre of my body was pulsing, alive, and filled with levels of energy I'd never knew I possessed! My heart started trying to escape out of my rib cage, it was beating so hard and so fast. My lungs couldn't find enough oxygen to process, and began wildly spasming, searching for more. I heard myself moan, the softest mewl known to mankind, followed almost a second later by the same sort of sound coming out of Vernon, except his was deeper in tone, which ran through my body and shot all my previous expectations of what kissing should be like right out the window. I WAS KISSING A MAN! I WAS TRULY KISSING A MAN! I WAS ACTUALLY PARTICIPATING IN MY FIRST REAL KISS! I WAS FINDING OUT THAT ALL OF MY PREVIOUS KISSES, ALL WITH WOMEN, WERE LIKE MELTING SNOW, GONE IN A MOMENT OR TWO, RENDERED INSIGNIFICANT, AND THEN THROWN ONTO THE DUST PILE OF HISTORY. His lips on mine were hot, and full, and moving in tiny little tremors, shooting thrills through me I'd never experienced before, filling me up with more passion and fervor than I knew was possible. I had enough presence of mind to worry for a micro-second or two that my entire nervous system was on overload and I could quite possible suffer a life-ending coronary right there and then, but I gave up on those kinds of thoughts and allowed him to take me where he could. It was, in some ways, similar to kissing with Ursula, in that he was leading the kiss, determining the flow of events, taking his time, dictating the softness or ferocity of each second, allowing me to just sit back, snuggled in his arm, and enjoy what transpired. It was life-altering. I felt like a kid at Christmas, having opened up a present thinking it was something boring like socks or underwear, only to discover the absolute best toy ever created. It rendered all the other kisses of my life as tepid, barely even registering on the kiss-o-meter. THIS! This was passion, and romance, and sensuality, all in blazing technicolor. I was like someone who had read a book about kissing and thought, yeah, that sounds fun, and then finally got to do it, and realized that just reading about it couldn't possibly even come close to how it feels to actually do it. I was distinctly touched by a thought running through my brain, which was, WHY? Why was kissing another man so amazing? Why hadn't anybody in my life actually told me, while I was growing up, how good this could be? Why didn't they teach this kind of thing in school, or on t.v.? WHY? When the tip of his tongue touched my bottom lip, playfully, I couldn't open my mouth up fast enough. I wanted to capture him inside me, and worship him. I wanted to make love to his mouth and lips and tongue, with mine. I wanted to show him how cataclysmically he was changing me, with his kiss. I wanted him to understand that while I'd never done anything like this before, now that I knew what it was like, I never wanted him to stop. My body and his both turned slightly, and we ended up closer together, our snuggle now a full-fledged hug. My left hand landed on his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat pounding away, which only increased mine. I was floating, emotionally. I was adrift on a sea of feelings that were like a tidal wave, larger than ten Empire State buildings, about to crash down on me and swamp me and drown me. I wanted to be drowned by him. My blood felt like it was boiling inside of me. Every nerve ending in my guts was pounding away, building in intensity, working themselves into a lather, setting me up for something I'd often wondered about but had never experienced. A complete full-body orgasm. One I immediately knew would make all the other orgasms I'd gone through in my life look like small-time hiccups. All the other orgasms, combined. His kiss deepened, and sent me soaring even faster and higher. I was hyper-ventilating, gasping for air in my lungs, snorting up what I could through my nostrils, desperate to keep it going, despite the increasing pressure inside of my impending explosion. Part of something in my brain yelled at me to stop, to end it, to gain back control of my bodily functions. Other parts of me won the battle, and completely doused all that out. Our lips were almost stuck to each other, his much bigger than mine, covering mine, enveloping mine, taking ownership of mine. I gave him the best kiss I had in me, because it was the only thing I wanted to do. Ever. Our hug became a clench, and my hand, which had been on his chest, moved down, across his taut belly, and landed on his belt buckle. In between reveling in the joy that was radiating through me, I had the image play in my head, of my hand slowly dipping a little further down, onto his groin, onto his crotch, the absolute naughtiness of the brain video inspiring me. My hand slid off his belt buckle, and ever so slowly began to creep south. Vernon kissed me harder, like flicking a switch and going from normal to overdrive. Was it connected to my movement? I had to find out. I slipped my hand a little further south. His kiss ratcheted up again. Now, I was being overwhelmed, overloaded on the sensory level. I was swimming, flailing , in the feelings of joy and pleasure that were resonating through every cell in me. Completely unbidden, tears filled my closed eyelids, and escaped at the corners, my cheeks becoming wet in a short second. My nostrils were making those sucking noises as my body struggled to get the oxygen it needed not to pass out, and my tongue and mouth watered and began sucking on his tongue and lips even harder. It was the most erotic moment of my life. I was consumed with him, with his kiss, with his heat, with his obvious passion for me. It covered me, like no make-out session with any other person had ever done. It inspired me, it freed me to follow a path I didn't even know existed. All my insides started to roil. I realized all the trigger signs were blaring out loud now, all those little physical signposts that told me an explosion was coming, that a monumental disturbance was coming. That I was coming. And then it just exploded through me. One second the hints were there, and the next second a force of nature took over, and I began convulsing from the inside out, starting in my guts and groin, indiscriminate pulses and tics and throbs, amplified in ways that had never happened, as if all my other sexual experiences were just dress rehearsals, and this was opening night on Broadway. My hand, with a mind of its own, moved the final distance over the top of his pants, and all the jumble of emotions and feelings I was going through took a brief let-up, while a whole lot of new, mind-altering data was recognized and compiled and took center stage. HE'S SO BIG! OH MY GOD!!!! I AM PALMING ANOTHER MAN'S COCK! AND IT'S SOOOOOOOO FUCKING BIG!!! HOW DOES A PERSON GET THAT SIZE ANYWAY? That question was swept away by the cascade of my release. The build- up that normally happened for me with women was completely overtaken by this build-up, on a level I didn't even know was possible, and then explosions started happening inside me, and then any semblance of control I thought I might have got vaporized in the flames of passion this man was giving me. I went over the top, and with tears running down my face, my eyes scrunched closed, his arm around me, holding me, pulling me to him, and his tongue deep inside my mouth, I lost it. I began shooting off inside my jeans. Gigantic physical pulses took over me, my body wracking and shuddering uncontrollably, and I could feel the sticky wetness of semen spreading everywhere, in my clothes. I moaned, into his mouth, the loudest most obscenely-plaintive moan I'd ever heard, or ever uttered, which made him make a noise that was halfway between a moan and a proud chuckle. That's when I lost consciousness, or at least, most of it. The next few moments are completely blank in my memory. I don't know how long I went through the ministrations of my orgasm, or how much strength he had to use to keep me from sliding out of his grip, like the pool of protoplasm I'd become might naturally do. All I know is, it took a long time for the haze of the event to dissipate, and clear, enough time for me to come back to reality and realize what had happened, and what was continuing to happen. I'd come, that much was for sure. Vernon was still kissing me, his lips and tongue making me melt inside. My pants felt wet, and sticky. The lump in his pants, which I still had my hand over, was almost burning hot to me, and growing even more. GROWING EVEN MORE!!!!! I savored being in his arms, and being kissed by him. Then, the shame of it all kicked in. I didn't stop for even a second to intellectually think about it, to rationalize it, to consider the pros and cons of it with logic or clarity. It never occurred to me that I'd enjoyed it, and there was nothing to be disquieted about. The monster of embarrassment and shame suddenly just took over everything in my world. I was instantaneously bombarded with the presumed sounds and images that society would give me, that 'normal' people would accuse me of, that my parents and friends would judge me by. I'd just done something so out-of-character, so against the grain of what 'proper behavior' was, as it had been drummed into me by the 'decent' and 'moral' world I lived in, and all the good passionate feelings I'd been drowning in were replaced with all the presumptive bad mojo, and I panicked. I panicked. Somehow I found the strength to break the kiss, and rip myself from his arm, and I fumbled and lurched and grabbed my shoes and one sock and somehow managed to get the CFM heels off of me, and while Vernon was talking to me the whole time, begging me to slow down, or calm down, urging me to relax, telling me how it was "all good", I stumbled to the front door of the condo, grabbed my coat, and without looking back at him I spoke, my voice cracking and weak. "I gotta go." I managed to get my shoes done up in the elevator, and I wiped up the tears on my cheeks with my coat, although they continued to fill my eyes and fall, and as the doors opened in the lobby of the building I had to use my coat to cover myself, cover my groin, which was sticky and wet and cooling, and which was staining my jeans to the point where it was obvious I'd either peed myself or cum on myself, or somebody had spilled something on me. Two bus rides later, after enduring the shame of a couple of different people close by looking at me and scrunching their faces, realizing that they could smell me, smell the earthiness of my ejaculate, I made it home. I couldn't remember crying that much, in my entire life. Even when my best buddy died, which I'd written the song about, and I was devastated by his loss, I still didn't cry as much as now. Sleep eluded me. It's hard to find peace and rest when you're bawling your eyes out. The whole bus ride to work, the next morning, I trembled with fear, about how Linda and Sandy would react. What they'd say. What Vernon might or might not have told them happened. And then I got sadder than before, realizing that I'd treated this man horribly, that I'd behaved so childishly, that he was obviously a kind, caring person, and that I probably owed him an apology, presuming he'd ever speak to me again. He must hate me, I reasoned. Which was too bad, because he seemed really really nice, and like everybody else in the world, I could always use more friends. And man, I thought, like a jolt out of the blue, MAN!, could he kiss! The ladies said good morning to me, just like normal. I braced for more, for the taunting, or teasing, or whatever might come, but none of it did. The whole day, life was back to normal. There was the usual gossip talk about people in the mall, and there was the usual sexual innuendoes about life in general, each comment making me tremble in fear about where the conversation was going, but nothing came of any of it. The next day, the same thing. Wednesday morning, I came into the store a little late, thinking that I'd managed to somehow escape any negative aspects of the party. I actually had a little bit of a spring in my step. Human nature, right? Something inside of me was optimistically believing that I'd gotten away with it all, the wearing of the shoes, and the kissing of another man, and the cumming in his arm, while touching his sex. There weren't any customers. Ursula was visiting, she and Sandy gabbing about something near the long counter, and Linda was on the phone with someone arguing about a proof of delivery check. I grabbed some stock and began straightening out the shelves of men's shoes I was responsible for. Most days, that only took a few minutes, and we wouldn't see any traffic until the mall had been open for at least an hour or so. My brief tasks done, I ended up close enough to the ladies to hear their conversation, which was gossip of some sort about somebody and their children. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, because it wasn't about me. Linda slammed the phone down and looked at all of us with her 'Jesus, these people piss me off' look, and disappeared into the back with a pile of papers. Sandy and Ursula and I watched her walk off. Then Sandy grabbed her phone, and told Ursula she should see something. Her fingers and thumbs pushed and swiped, and then she turned it to Ursula, who bent closer and seriously gazed at the image. "Oooh," she half-whispered, "she's sexy!" Sandy nodded. Ursula looked up at her. "What a great ass!" she said, "is this a new pussy you're playing with?" Sandy shook her head, and pointed at me. "It's Gallons," she boasted, and turned the screen so I could see it. There I was. Or, at least, the bottom two-thirds of me. She'd somehow managed to take a pic of me while I was strutting around Darien's condo, from the mid-section down, wearing my tight jeans and those CFM heels. And it hit me like a chainsaw buzzing through wood. I did have a great ass. Ursula almost choked on her own breath. "WHAT?!?!" Sandy flipped to a different shot, this one a little wider in scope, showing my face in partial profile, making it obvious that it was indeed me. I felt like I'd been punched in the face, betrayed by my friend, exposed as the perverted weirdo I must surely be. Ursula stared at the phone, and then looked at me slowly, appraising me, and then back at the phone again. "HOLY SHIT!" she said, and watched while Sandy flipped through a few more pics. I wanted to run. I wanted to melt down into a puddle of flesh and slip down the drain. I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob. I just stood there, frozen in place. "Great ass, huh?" Sandy asked. Ursula nodded her head vigorously. "Fucking AMAZING ass," she agreed, adding, "Jesus, if I saw that ass in the mall I'd want that woman's head between my legs, like, yesterday!" They laughed, sharing the moment. Then they looked at me, and all I could do was stand there. Sandy had a proud smile on her face. Ursula was looking at me almost like a predator would look at her prey. "Oh yeah," Sandy said, and scrolled the phone a couple more times, finding what she wanted and turning it to her friend. "And here's Gallons making out with her new beau!" I leaned in, probably from fear, and saw that she'd taken a pic from the hot tub, and through the window, with the image zoomed out by her fingers, and you could see my back, because I was turned to Vernon, and some of his head, turned to me, and my hand, resting on his groin, and from the positioning of both of us there was only one possible explanation for what I was doing. I was kissing Vernon. End of Chapter One.