Whiteboi goes to Harlem Pt. 10

Despite the alcohol he'd consumed, he felt wired, unable to sit still, but not sure what to do or where to go. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. His brow was furrowed.

Jada saw the quiet explosion from behind the bar. She approached Mitch, offering him a cool glass of water. She collected the bills that had accumulated on the table and stuffed them down her cleavage. "On the house," she said, gently placing the chilly H2O in front of Mitch's nose.

He thanked her, drank it down quickly, then excused himself for a moment. He desperately needed to take a piss.

He stared at the bathroom wall as his stream slowly began, reading the explicit graffiti scrawled on the painted bricks. He finished what he needed to do and shook the stray droplets away from his dicklet. His intention was to collect his backpack and leave the bar as quickly and as quietly as possible, possibly never to return. There was no point spending any more time in Harlem tonight.

He didn't count on seeing Jada sitting at his booth, waiting for him to return. "Hey, whiteboi, sit down wit' me," she said. Mitch felt uncertain, but fuck it, what else was he gonna do?

For now, Mitch remained standing. "Why?"

"Becuz I needs talk wit' you."

Slowly and uncertainly, Mitch took a seat opposite the waitress. He remembered Tyrone's commentary on the tightness of Jada's ass, but as Mitch sat across from her in the booth, he couldn't help noticing how full and plump her lips were. Despite the alcohol he'd consumed, his cock moved as he imagined his dick in her wet, juicy mouth, and her dark, intense eyes looking up at him as his tiny white dicklet exploded onto her tongue.

He knew that would never, ever happen in real life.

"Firs' all, I think I know you," Jada began. "You' ever eaten at a southern-fried diner on West 126th street?"

"Uhh..." began Mitch.

"Yeah, I fuckin' know you. You was the dude who tried to eat half a fuckin' bird a few months ago and then threw up in our bat'room."

Mitch had tried to erase that humiliating memory from his mind, but it all came flooding back. He hung his head in shame. "Yeah, that was me. And I remember you, too. I remember you waited our table. My wife and I had never eaten in Harlem before, and it was my idea. I remember you were sweet as candy to my wife, but you gave me sass all night. And I remember I left a tip that was twice as big as the meal."

Jada laughed. "Yeah, dude, yo' tip covered rent for a whole week. And if I was sweet to yo' wife, it's prolly 'cause she got some fat ass fuckin' titties. I think I 'member her. How the fuck a boy like you land a fine bitch like that?"

Mitch didn't answer the waitress's question. He guessed Jada didn't look closely enough that night to realise Trina's tits are fake. Did that matter? He shrugged. He was still fixated on watching Jada's mouth and tongue move as she spoke. It was the only thing keeping his brain from imploding under the weight of what had just transpired.

"I saw what happened befo'," Jada disclosed. "I mean, tonight, with you, Leroy and Tyrone, that is. And now that I recall, they was both at the diner on 126th that night when it seemed you couldn't pay, and they took you out back to settle yo' account. Is that right?"

Mitch nodded, recalling the events that changed the path of his life. Their intimidation was the reason he left Jada such a big tip. That, plus the outline of their massive BBCs hidden inside their pants.

Jada took a deep breath. "OK, dude, so here's what you gots to know 'bout 'em both." She waved a hand in the air, and magically, half a minute later, two beers arrived. "I'm off the clock," she explained. "OK, whiteboi, I need to fuckin' set you straight. Drink up. We gon' talk, you an' me."

Mitch's head was spinning. All that Icelandic vodka. "I'm hungry," he said.

"Wan' me get you a southern-fried bird from 126th?" taunted Jada. "Full, thick and juicy, just how I remember you like it."

Mitch grabbed his stomach. "Uhh... some fries?"

"Comin' right up," said Jada. Ten minutes later, a large serve of fries landed on the table, complete with the full range of condiments. "On the house. Just don' puke it up."

Mitch's hungry eyes widened as he dunked a thick slice of potato into a deep pool of ketchup. After half a dozen round trips, he was ready to listen.

"Now you best listen to me good, whiteboi," Jada began, "and stop watching my fuckin' mouth while I talk. I'm onto you, and I know what you is thinkin'. Yeah, whiteboi, I gi' the best fuckin' head in the entire fuckin' borough o' Manhattan, but you ain't gettin' none, so jus' you sit still an' listen to the shit I gots tell you."

Mitch wondered how she could possibly have known what he was thinking. She was right, she'd seen right through him. He was watching her mouth again.

"You still ain' listenin', is you?"

Mitch didn't know how to respond. If Jada was chewing gum right now, he would've had to run to the bathroom to jack off.

"I ain't got yo' 'ttention ri' now, do I?"

Mitch was fixated on Jada's lips and tongue. He couldn't help it. His small white penis had only ever been in one person's mouth before in his life: his wife's.

"Is yo' dick twitchin' right now, whiteboi?"

Shamefully, Mitch nodded.

Jada sighed. She stood up before addressing her co-workers. "Yo, bitches," she hollered, "keep this mo'fuckin' booth free. I'm gon' need it 'gain. I'll be back in two minutes." She looked Mitch up and down. "Maybe one and a half."

She grabbed Mitch's hand and dragged him to the storeroom. She pushed him up against a wall, kneeled, unzipped his pants, and extracted his erect dick. She raised a disappointed eyebrow. Jada had sucked smaller dicks than Mitch's before, but not very many, and this wasn't gonna be a challenge for her. She placed Mitch's dicklet inside her mouth, stroked it up and down a couple of times, and as he felt her tongue tickling the underside of his small shaft, his balls twitched. She didn't even need to suck.

Mitch's breath became shallow, and he groaned as he unloaded his tiny stream of whiteboi goo into Jada's mouth. This had been one of the strangest days of Mitch's life, like, ever.

Jada knew she'd brought Mitch to orgasm, though she was surprised at how little time it took. She felt liquid on her tongue, but the quantity was small, and it didn't really taste like anything.

She stood up again. "We good now, whiteboi? You' gon' listen to me?"

Mitch was still trying to stop his trembling knees from giving way. He nodded. Right now, he wasn't sure if he was capable of speech.

"OK, so follow me back to the bar. And now you' bes' listen to me now instead of watchin' my mouf move, 'cuz I gots a fuckin' story for you. Hopefully that blowjob took yo' mind off yo' shit, because you need to fuckin' listen to me. You hear me, whiteboi?"

"Yeah." Mitch nodded and followed her. Two minutes later, they were re-seated, facing each other. Their beers were still on the table, and still icy cool. They hadn't been gone long.

Jada lifted her glass. Under normal post-blowjob circumstances, she'd be aiming to rinse the last stray remnants of sticky nut out of her mouth, but this time, there wasn't anything of substance to wash away. "Hey," she commenced, "so I jus' have to tell you this firs' up. And I don' really know how to say it." She took a short breath. "So, jus' to establish context, I' sucked a lot of dick in my time. Big ones, small ones, fat ones, skinny ones, black ones, white ones; you name it, I' sucked it."

'Here comes the report card,' Mitch thought. He was hoping for a D-minus at best.

"I sucked a lot o' dick, which means I' eaten a lot o' cum. And yours was the first load I' ever swallowed that... well, I' jus' gon' come out an' say it... well... I could tell I made you nut, but yo' load didn't taste like nothing."

"You definitely made me cum," Mitch replied, but the revelation that his load was tasteless wasn't exactly news to him.

"I ain't no medical professional," Jada said, "but you might need to see a doctor. I ain't sure if you' shootin' any babies."

Right now, fertility was the least of Mitch's worries. The hum of the bar continued to play in Mitch's ears.

"Class is in session, whiteboi." Mitch wished Jada was her teacher. His mission every morning would to be the naughtiest boy in class, just to find out what punishment he'd receive. His eyes were fixated on her mouth again. He couldn't help it. He stared at the fat tongue he'd just dropped his weak, tasteless load onto.

Jada tried hard to push through Mitch's inferior whiteboi angst, and Mitch tried hard to concentrate on what Jada had to say.

"Tell me 'bout yo' longest friendship." The bar moved around them.

Mitch threw his mind back. "Well, I've worked in the same office for a few years with the same people..."

Jada cut him off. "No, dude, that's not what I meant. You sit at a desk across from some other corporate dude you might grab a coffee with? No." She rubbed her temples. "Forget work. Like, you ever had a friendship that's lasted for, like, let's say, ten years?"

All of Mitch's high school friends left his orbit long ago, and he could barely recall any of his Harvard colleagues. He couldn't answer Jada's question definitively, but he did his best. "Probably not. But what do you mean by friendship?"

Jada couldn't believe he asked that question. "The actual fuck, whiteboi? You bein' serious wit' me right now?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, friendship can mean many different things, I guess."

OK, Jada thought, at least Mitch is just trying to focus. He looked genuinely thoughtful, and she tried to reframe the conversation around how Tyrone and Leroy felt about each other. "You ever had a buddy you felt comfortable with, but also deeply connected to? Like, someone you'd go to a bar with to kick back an' watch sports with an' you'd both feel completely relaxed as you watched the game and shit-talked each other, but also someone you'd tell your deepest fears, insecurities and secrets, knowing anything you said was safe? Someone you'd drop errythin' fo' if he ever needed yo' help, and you'd hope and expect he'd do the same fo' you?"

Mitch thought hard. "I don't really think so. I guess I've always been a loner. In trying times, I guess I look after myself."

Jada filed that admission away. "OK, so now you fuckin' listen to me closely, whiteboi. These two bulls you' messin' wit' known each other most of their entire fuckin' lives..."

"Since elementary school," Mitch interrupted.

Jada's eyes went wide. "How' you know that shit?"

Mitch sipped his beer. "Because they told me."

Jada waited for a moment. "You still know anyone from yo' own elementary class, whiteboi?"

"No, ma'am. I don't believe so."

Jada sighed. "So, lemme ask you this. When you go watch sports on the weekend, who you go with?"

"I've never really been a sports guy," Mitch replied, "other than basketball. My wife isn't into it, so I watch on my own. I've watched some hoops on TV with Tyrone, though. That was cool." He didn't tell her what happened after the game ended.

Mitch was a tough psychological nut for Jada to crack, yet he was trying to be as open as possible. "OK, so... fuck... forget sports. Who' you chill wit'? What do you upper eas' si' types get down wit'? Art, I assume. You' all highbrow types. Who do you go to gallery openings an' yo' fuckin' poetry readings with?"

Mitch wasn't really big on art. "Trina, I guess."

"Yo' big-titted wife?"

"Yeah." Mitch couldn't help noticing how fixated Jada was on his wife's fake rack.

"OK. Forget sports, forget art. You ever go to the fuckin' movies or to watch a goddamn show?"

"Yeah," said Mitch, "sometimes, but not often. Again, most of the time I go with Trina. I like rap, but when I go to shows, I go on my own. Trina isn't into rap or hip-hop."

It surprised Jada to learn that Mitch was into rap, but she stayed on mission. "Imma cut to the chase, whiteboi, 'cuz I needs to get back to work. You got any friends at all?"

For the first time this entire conversation, Mitch met her gaze. He looked her straight in the face, this time concentrating on her eyes, and not her mouth. "You're making me sound like I'm an anti-social hermit. I think I have a different concept of friendship to what you're describing. I have many acquaintances, but for me, 'friend' is a very high standard. I prefer to be alone or with just a few others than in a huge crowd of people, but that doesn't mean I'm bereft of social skills. I can sit by myself in a sports bar watching a game of hoops and talk to the guy sitting next to me, or not -- it really doesn't matter all that much to me. I'm happy either way. I can strike up interesting conversations at dinner parties and engage in sparkling repartee, but I'd just as soon not go in the first place. In general, I like to read, I like to think, and I guess that makes me an introvert. On balance, I prefer to live my life inside my own head."

"So you don' know what it's like to have a friendship like Tyrone and Leroy have?"

Mitch shook his head. "Ontology is a slippery concept."

Jada blinked. "I don' know what the fuck you said just now, brainiac whiteboi."

"What I mean is, I don't know what it feels like to be inside Tyrone's head, or Leroy's either, so I can't describe in my own words what their mutual friendship means to each other. And neither can you," Mitch challenged, "nor anyone else. But on the basis of what you're describing, my answer is probably no. I've never had a friendship like theirs. Not even close."

"So it sounds like you already know how important their relationship is to each other."

"No!" Mitch exploded. "How the fuck could I answer 'yes' to that question given what I just said? I can't transplant my brain into either of their skulls, and I've had nothing in my own life to compare to what you're describing. Sure, I get that their relationship is important to each of them, but that doesn't mean I know how either of them *feel*. Like, are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Jada sat quietly for a while as she tried to take Mitch's reply on board.

Mitch wasn't sure where Jada was going. He wondered if Jada was trying to warn him that Leroy and Tyrone were, in some unexplainable way, co-dependent. "Are you saying... umm... are you trying to tell me I'm interfering in something I shouldn't be involved with?"

Jada said nothing.

"Are you saying I should leave them both alone?"

Again, Jada said nothing.

"What do you think I should do?"

Silence.

Mitch felt a sudden urge to leave. He needed to be somewhere else right now -- anywhere else but here. He began to stand up, collecting his backpack.

"Sit yo' fat mo'fuckin' whiteboi ass down," commanded Jada. "I ain't done wit' you."

Mitch resumed his seat. He sat quiet and still, like a good boy in a classroom. He sipped his beer.

"Tell me what you know 'bout these bulls yo' messin' wit'," Jada boomed.

"I think I told you everything I know."

"Tell me again."

"They've known each other since they were at school," repeated Mitch, "they've both got beautiful bodies, their big black dicks are enormous, they're both into basketball, and they're straight."

"Tell me that las' bit 'gain," Jada said.

Mitch cleared his throat. "They're straight."

"That's right, whiteboi. They' fuckin' straight."

"Well, that's what they told me, at least," Mitch clarified.

Jada continued. "I seen 'em both many years ploughin' their fields, sowin' their oats. Fuck, boi, it's a goddamn mo'fuckin' miracle neither o' them is a daddy yet, when I think about how many seeds they sowed. These boys both all 'bout the pussy, and let me tell you, whiteboi, I'll let Tyrone plough my asshole whenever he wants to, but he ain't never gettin' in my puss. I ain't never lettin' him knock me up, my life is already fucked. I mean, I love my boy, but I sure 'nuff ain't lookin' for another hungry mouf to feed right now."

Mitch wasn't sure what to say.

"So, you see what I'm sayin' here?"

"No," replied Mitch. "I don't."

"These brothers been brothers since forever. They ain't into dudes, and they ain't ever been befo', not leas' since I noticed. They got all the fuckin' mouths, pussies and assholes they could ever want. But they' both hung up right now."

Mitch was waiting at the far end of the runway, waiting for Jada's crypticism to land.

"They' both hung up on *you*, whiteboi."

Mitch felt stunned. He had no idea how to respond to what Jada had just said. He coughed, clearing his throat. "I don't understand."

"Lemme try to explain another way," ventured Jada. "They' both straight. You said so yo'self. But they emotionally invested in each other like you wouldn't fuckin' believe. It's like they' in a committed relationship with each other in every possible way apart from sex, but they don't ever get their fucc on with' each other, because, like I said befo', they' straight. And that's where you come in, whiteboi. When they' both havin' sex wit' you, it's like they' fuckin' each other, *through* you."

Mitch's jaw dropped.

"Does that make sense, whiteboi?"

"No, not really." If Mitch was honest with himself, this was one of the most batshit crazy theories he'd ever heard in his life.

"I need to get back to work soon, whiteboi. I ain't no psychologist, but I think what I'm sayin' is true 'nuff." Jada tapped her index finger against the side of her skull. "Think 'bout it."

Mitch paused for a second, thinking very deeply. He looked up at Jada, meeting her eyes. "I know you only saw what happened tonight from afar," he said, "but do you want to know the details?"

Jada looked across the room. The bar was filling up. "Gimme the short version," she said, impatiently.

"OK, here's the TL;DR version of events. I had a fat black dildo hidden in my sock drawer at home. I used to fuck myself with it. My wife found out where I kept it, and even though we're separated and she's living somewhere else, she came back to the apartment one day while I was out so she could collect some of her stuff. But while she was there, she 'borrowed' my dildo, leaving a note for me on the kitchen counter. So the next day I went to a store in Midtown to buy a new one, but while I was there, an opportunity came up to suck some gloryhole dick. I'd never been in a gloryhole before, on either side, but I was stunned when Leroy poked his fat cock through the wall. It was definitely him; don't ask me why, I just knew it was. I sucked a load out of him. Last night, Tyrone threw me a bootycall, and as if I was gonna say no. I hoped the three of us would fuck all night tonight, but I asked Tyrone to meet me half an hour earlier so I could tell him I'd sucked Leroy's cock at a Chelsea bookstore. I thought he would've found it amusing, but he got shitty, and the whole thing was surprising and scary."

Jada listened intently before responding. "Imma say two things to you, whiteboi. Firs' of all, these boys ain't got no secrets from each other, and it sounds to me like you just tol' Tyrone something about his bruh he didn't already know. I wouldn't be surprised if that's the first time ever in Tyrone's goddamn life that that's ever happened, and I can see why it'd cut him up. Second, you an' Leroy had a sexual experience together, even though you were the only one who was wise to it, an' here you are gloatin' about it to Tyrone. Now don' get me wrong, I know you didn't mean any harm, but maybe Tyrone's worried he gon' lose you to his best friend."

"Fuck, that's a lot to take in." Mitch remembered that he and Leroy had had sex one other time, in Leroy's apartment, that Tyrone didn't know about. Another secret. "I knew they were close, but... why would they be hung up on *me*? I mean, I find that so hard to believe. They're kings of the streets and gods in the sack, and I'm nothing and nobody."