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New material January 5, 2012
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HANDYMAN SCORES AGAIN
Who’d have thought he’d have a day like this one had
turned out to be? Jerome Jones, Jay J
for short, a middle aged African American businessman was standing at the door
of one of those fancy places just off
Ten years it’d taken for Mr. Jones to build his appliance repair business into a family supporting business. At first his client base was mostly coloreds. But, as he built an honest reputation, the rich folk on the other side of town were beginning to seek him out. White women! Sure, he’d seen some he lusted for, but he was a busy man, didn’t have time for tomfoolery. That was, of course, before the little blonde with the big bazooms.
This call was remarkably similar, same upscale neighborhood, the washer not working. This one, like the other, wouldn’t let the wife schedule the service call—had to talk to the serviceman directly. She didn’t want her husband to get in the way while ‘they’ were busy with ‘their’ work. Of course when she was doing the scheduling she hadn’t told him the real reason she didn’t want her husband around.
It couldn’t be--such a twist of fate was simply too good to be true. Yet it had to be, didn’t it? This lady had been referred by that blonde bombshell, Valerie something or another, the one who recognized what it was like to be fucked by a ‘real man’. God, that first one had been hot. Light as a feather, the little number wasn’t that much bigger than his sister’s teenaged daughters.
***
The earlier one, Val, had followed him down to the basement and showed him the machine. Was she really so simple she wouldn’t have checked the connection before she called the serviceman. That was a question he asked himself before she started with her woeful tale of a husband that ignored her for months.
Of course she
didn’t come right out and define what she meant by ‘ignored’. But any man would
know a horny woman if she was scantly dressed, leaning over him braless with a man’s
white shirt mostly open at the front barely hiding her magnum breasts. And, nipples
peeking through plus shorts so short they barely covered ‘
A few minutes of her flirty faddle and he’d decided to find out if what if what he was dreaming could be turned into reality. Her eyes watched his dark hands as they, with their own mind, slid up under that shirt she was wearing, cupping her bare breasts underneath.
His lady was ready all right, both of her hands covering his, holding his appreciating fingers in place. Her moan could be nothing but unequivocal acceptance for the liberties he was taking. (Gasp) And about to take!
What more encouragement did a man need than what this “prime white’ had already given? Grasping her on both sides of her trim waist, he’d picked her up and sat her sweet ass down on that spinning washer. Light as a feather, she’d stopped that silly giggling when he pulled her forward.
It was going to be a ‘first’ for each of them. He was as anxious to try white as she was to find out if all those things she’d heard about black men were true. Still, a cute little blonde like her letting a black man claim the prize just seemed like an impossible dream. But, this one, unlike that prissy cheerleader back in his high school days, didn’t get ‘cold feet’ when she’d looked down and seen what her man had totally exposed for the first time.
“Ah, just see how much you want me,” she’d purred, her blue eyes shining with excitement as she stared down at his ‘big black’.
That little blonde must have been ‘all pussy’. He hadn’t even bothered to take those shorts of hers off. He’d guided, his erection pushing cloth barriers out of the way while that incredible, squishy heat of hers closed around him. She’d wiggled and adjusted and, when he’d looked down to where they were joined on that enameled appliance, he could see his darkness was half way buried and steadily going deeper.
Got him in trouble with the ‘old lady’ too; a notable risk, but one worth taking. It was hard explaining to his ‘partner’ why that particular visit hadn’t even warranted any kind of billing for ‘services rendered’.
“I was only there for a little bit. That crazy broad just didn’t have that washing machine of hers plugged in. Maybe the cat unplugged it. Anyway, maybe that’s why the next couple of calls said I didn’t show. I must have gotten there before they expected me, running early like I was.
Of course his old lady didn’t buy that flimsy excuse but she’d quit prying when he’d gotten angry about all those questions.
***
The next few times weren’t so risky. His blonde and he worked out a prearranged signal; indicating she’d be alone that afternoon and wanted him to come over. He’d been avoiding her lately, though. How does a man justify all those ‘repeat’ sins each week after making his solemn pledge to his Maker each Sunday in Church? But, with a newly awakened lust for white ones, he spent his wakening hours reliving what he’d already had and his sleeping ones dreaming about ones he thought maybe he could.
So, when a brand new opportunity presented itself with a woman even younger and prettier than the first, Jerome was more than ready. This one was beautiful too, a classy white one not all that unlike the first. Sondra, like the blonde, had an axe to grind with her husband and her way to get even just happened to include the Afro American entrepreneur.
Jerome hadn’t figured out just how, back then, but seemed that somehow his connection with the first helped bring about his success with the second. What took place in that basement was seemingly becoming a lusty repeat of what took place with the little blonde, the first white woman he’d ever shoved his hot, black meat way up into.
This one was a pretty redhead. Well, amber red, anyways. She was maybe seven or eight years younger and a half foot taller than Val, a gorgeous girl with a sexual appetite that more than made up for her relative inexperience.
Fifteen minutes after they made their introductions she had them both mostly undressed and was hurrying her exciting black man past the furnace area towards what she excitedly described as, “the guest bedroom”. And what a ‘hostess’ this young one with the long amber curls turned out to be.
God, he didn’t mean to be such a pushover, but women of his own race seemed to take their black men for granted. What black male with anything but ice water in his veins could resist a pretty white girl all eager and ready for what an overactive imagination had conjured up about men of color?
That basement hideaway of reds and blacks, his new woman paused long enough at the door to switch on soft background lighting and music, appropriately something Nat King Cole and that daughter of his. Mirrors were on the ceiling and other strategic places. No doubt about what this room had been designed for. His woman, Sondra something or another, smiled apologetically as she dead bolted the door behind them.
“This is so my big black man can’t get away,” she’d purred sensuously.
Then she’d gotten a little more serious.
“No, it’s so that we can get to know each other a lot better without having a chance of being interrupted.” He thought that was a very good idea.
***
She hadn’t bothered to pull that dark red satin bedspread back. He wasted no time at all getting his jockeys off.
Her ‘handyman’ was obviously ready too, his manhood swollen and distended with desire, a mammoth fantasy beyond a woman’s wildest carnal dreams. Of course she’d know what he’d be like, her friend’s description plus the bulge in his shorts when she’d gotten him that undressed had given her plenty of pre indication what would follow.
Watching her reaction to his ‘unveiling’ those smoldering eyes and their fixation on his lower body, Jerome was reassured this lady was showing an entirely different emotion than regret or fear. Like the blonde, his first successful sexual experience of an interracial kind, he knew this one wouldn’t recant at the last possible moment. Unlike that cheerleader back in high school, these adult white females were anxious for a black man’s obvious differences.
Racial innuendoes made men of color different, white women had known that knee weakening secret since slavery days. What more perfect way of getting even with a straying husband than bedding with some superman with a huge black cock?
“Guess who’s been sleeping in my bed?”
Of course she wouldn’t let her husband know who she’d let into what previously had been set aside for his own exclusive use. How she’d love to tell him she’d given another one privy to places in her body her own man couldn’t even reach.
“Another man has been there, darling. I let him have me because of the terrible ways you hurt me. You had your other woman, now I’ve had my different man.”
The Getting Even woman would have loved to confess, but most were too wise for that. What white man could accept the fact a black man had nestled between the lily white thighs of his little woman, stretching her pubes grotesquely—desensitizing her for any but the most endowed of men?
***
This one, Sondra, would keep secret this unique form of revenge just as her friend, Val had done. She’d take what she wanted from her black slave. When they were done, they’d languish, still attached sexually by parts that had bought them so much pleasure minutes before. His partially erect penis would bask in her heat, soaking in their juices while her pussy clamped and released repeatedly in satiated appreciation of such an unnatural coupling.
The blonde had been like that, and Jerome was hopeful this one would too. In a way this was payback for who thought they were too good for a ‘negro’ years ago when he attended that mostly white school. Back then, he’d even believed it himself.
The outcome of that seamy evening summer night all those years ago would have turned out different if he hadn’t given up so easy. He just hadn’t taken into account a girl’s hesitation when she’d gotten a glimpse of one so much bigger than those of her own race. He’d regretted his gallantry ever since, it even influencing his attitude towards white girls for years afterwards.
They tell a man, “no”. But deep in her heart she’s really asking to be coaxed. Half the battle is over once your hand slips down under the elastic of her panties and a finger, then two are tucked inside. If she’s warm and moist down there, victory is almost certainly yours.
Getting everything exposed is the next step, slipping that little piece of silky fabric over her hips, down her lily white legs, over her dainty feet; everything is coming along fine, son, just fine.
But, young man, if yours is bigger and blacker than most, don’t let one of them prissy assed white girls, especially the really young ones, see your meat till after you’ve got it in and showed her ‘first hand’ how good ‘big’ really is. Jerome had learned that the hard way.
Once her panties are down around one ankle and your black meat is started in, maybe she’ll struggle a bit, realizing now, for the first time, a difference she’s heard about but didn’t comprehend. But a wise man would just keep his pecker right where it is, part in, mostly out, till adjustments are made and hurting starts becoming bittersweet pleasure.
Go slow, boy. Don’t push things faster and harder than nature ever intended. Those white ones are built smaller down there than ones of your own race.
Pretty soon, her body involuntarily will start to relax and you’ll be claiming territory this white pussy doesn’t even realize she’s given up. When it dawns on her what’s happened, a man is now in virgin territory, deeper than any have ever been before him, she’ll never feel the same about black again.
“She’s yours now, buddy. Have at her to your hearts content. You’ve got yourself some of that white pussy.”
God, if he’d only been aware of those secrets of life back when he was younger. All that prime pussy, them cheerleaders with their long lean legs and short little skirts—he could have had a dozen if he hadn’t been so damned shy. Well, he was sure making up for lost time now.
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