The Small, Black Death

Because I hadn't been able to sleep, I'd jumped out of my hotel bed and left for the airport at least an hour early, afraid I'd miss the plane. I talked to the cabdriver for thirty minutes straight. I couldn't stop myself from rambling. I looked everywhere and commented on everything: the color of a passing car, a pedestrian's skirt, the sign in front of a bar... My inhibitions were low. I was a sports car on nitrous, just before I'd either empty my tank or blow a gasket.

I arrived at the airport way too early. My sunglasses couldn't prevent the sunlight from hurting my eyes when I stepped out of the cab. I was worn out after six consecutive fourteen-hour days in the studio and hardly two hours sleep a night. My body and mind however were still stuck in overdrive. Too much adrenaline coursing around my system. And a bit of amphetamine.

As I trudged into the main entrance, I took off my sunglasses. All I wanted was to go home, plunge into my own bed and sleep, no: die for at least a week. I'd experienced this numerous times before after a tough job. By the time planes and taxicabs would deliver me to my front door, the adrenaline would have run out and I'd pass out in bed for at least twenty hours. After that, I'd be my normal self again.

I knew that around the corner at the end of the hallway I'd come into the large hall with the check-in counters and a sea of benches with waiting travelers. I'd pick a bench and wait there until check-in on my flight would start. Right on the corner however, I saw a little stand where a blonde was trying to sell something. It looked very much like an improvised lemonade stand. But the sign gave it away: the blonde was trying to hock memberships of one of the major credit cards. She wore a tight, blue business uniform. She had a nice, round ass bulging the back of her way too long skirt. It looked like a peach wrapped in blue paper. She was maybe just a little bit too big for my taste but she was by no means fat. Just nicely full figured. I could feel my morning wood returning. I didn't even mind that the color of those honey blonde curls that reached down to her lower back had so obviously come out of a bottle. She had 'Goldy Locks' quality. And together with that nice, round ass the package looked terribly inviting.

Facing the stand was a bench with just one guy in a business suit, reading a book. Yep, that was the plan: I would rest my weary bones there. In the meantime I could enjoy checking out the blonde with the inviting ass.

As I walked past the stand, the blonde glanced my way. Her dark chocolate colored skin took me completely by surprise. Damn, that girl was black!

I've never liked black girls. Somehow their features always seem far too crude for my taste. Broad noses, big lips and a skin color that seems like it's been painted on with a spray gun just don't do it for me. I've very rarely seen a black girl that I considered beautiful. I've never fantasized about fucking a black girl. Maybe that makes me a racist. I don't know. It's just a question of taste, I guess. You can keep your Beyoncés and Tyras. I might consider Lil' Kim. But she's the absolute exception to the rule. I'll take a nice Nordic girl any day of the week: blue eyes, blonde hair, a really light complexion and a Viking heart. Swedish Snow queens, if you like. Those are my absolute favorites.

Unfortunately, because of my job I usually wind up working with black girls. This whole week I'd worked with five very irritating specimens: a black girl group that was going to bring sixties soul music back. At least that was the brilliant concept the record company had come up with. Unfortunately those five black bitches had about as much talent between them as my next-door neighbor's Doberman. I'd had it with black girls this week. So I quickly looked the other way when I saw this blonde black girl smiling at me.

I was even a little pissed off. That blonde hair and round ass had looked so promising. There should be a law against black chicks dyeing their hair. It's not fair to mislead guys like that. I felt how heavy my eyelids were. So I still walked over to the bench and plunged down onto it. The guy in the business suit was reading some self-help crap entitled 'Fifty strategies to finding a new You'. I didn't know 'You' were lost, I thought to myself while I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

***

I'm not sure how long I'd been sitting there, listening to people walking by and speakers announcing delayed flights. Suddenly, through all the noises and echoes of the airport crowds I distinctly heard stiletto footsteps clippety-clopping closer. I opened my eyes and saw the girl from the stand wiggling her hips toward me. I started to feel my morning wood again. From the front that ass looked just as appetizing as from behind. What a shame the girl was black.

She sat down between the guy in the business suit and me. I looked at her face as she opened a lunchbox and got out a cheese sandwich. She glanced at me and smiled. That's when it hit me. Her eyes were blue: the deepest indigo I'd ever seen in my life. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't help staring. Her eyes looked like ocean waves on a summer's day framed by a chocolate sky.

"My God, your eyes are beautiful." The words came out before I realized I'd opened my mouth.

She smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you very much," she said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare... it's just..." That's when I remembered Lil' Kim wearing blue contacts. This chick was obviously wearing blue contacts as well. I looked into her eyes very deeply, trying to spot the plastic edge of the contacts. But I couldn't see any edges or plastic. Her irises were pale white on the inner ring with white rays radiating outward in a sea of blue that got darker and darker until it hit that deep indigo on the outer ring. They looked like two precious aquamarine jewels. Surely that vibrant indigo couldn't be artificial?

"Are you wearing contacts?" That was the adrenaline talking. Normally I'd never be so forward.

"No," she said and burst out laughing. "Everything about me is real. Except for my hair color that is. I like blonde hair. I think it matches my eyes. I sometimes wish I had been born a blonde."

"Me too..." I could have kicked myself for blurting that out. I just couldn't stop myself saying anything that popped into my head. "Um, I mean... I didn't know it was possible for a black girl to have blue eyes."

"I've been told it's a mutation that happens only once in a hundred thousand. It's a family trait. My mother had it. And my grandfather as well."

"And they were white?"

"No. As far as I know I'm from an all black lineage. Look how dark my skin is."

She held out her hand. Her skin was the color of century old oak. Her pointy fingernails were long and had shiny pink nail polish that matched the color of her lips.

"There's no vanilla in me at all. They've traced my family tree back to Kenya. The blue eyes are just a rare mutation that sometimes happens."

"Right. Kenya..." I said. "Would you have liked to have been born with lighter skin?"

"Of course not, silly!" she answered with a surprised smile. "I'm black and I'm proud of it."

I was puzzled. "But you said you would have liked to have been born a blonde?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "But I wouldn't have wanted to have been born white. Not that there's anything wrong with your skin color. You're a very handsome man." She touched my shoulder with her hand. "It's just... well, I just love the way the blonde hair and blue eyes go with my dark skin. Don't you think that combination looks beautiful?"

"Fishing for compliments are you?" I asked. "I think you look absolutely stunning. And coming from me, that is saying something."

She smiled from ear to ear again.

"Listen, I'm sorry for being so nosy," I said. "I didn't mean to start interrogating you like this. It's just that I was, well... those blue eyes and that dark skin... that's an amazing contrast... yes, it's an incredibly beautiful combination. I was blown over. I wasn't prepared for meeting such a unique beauty like you this morning." The moment I'd blurted it all out I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. It all sounded like a bunch of warmed up, phony pickup lines. Still it was word for word what I was thinking there and then. I just couldn't stop myself from rambling on and on.

"That's okay," she said and smiled. I was surprised that in spite of those way too big lips, she had a really beautiful smile. Maybe it was how her lips seemed like pink candy amidst all the chocolate. Maybe it was just the way the blue lights of her eyes shone amidst all that dark brown skin. Maybe it was her blonde hair hovering around her face like an angelic halo. "It's one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever paid me. And it means that now I get to take revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yep. Now I get to ask you twenty questions."

I laughed. "Sure. That's only fair. Give it your best shot, blue eyes. Do your worst."

"Let's see. Somehow you don't strike me as a guy on holiday."

"Really?" I said. "How could you tell?"

"The black, silk shirt in stead of a loud 'Fuck me, I'm a virgin' T-shirt is a dead giveaway."

I laughed. "Maybe the 'Fuck me, I'm a virgin' T-shirt is already packed in my suitcase because I threw up all over it last night."

"Maybe," she said. "But I don't think so. Business trip?"

"How could it be? I'm not wearing a business suit."

"That's because you're traveling incognito," she said with an earnest face.

"You caught me," I answered with an equally earnest face.

"I thought so." She moved in closer and peered into my eyes like she was a botanist studying a new species of butterflies. She came in so close our noses almost bumped together. All of a sudden it was like the hustle and bustle of the airport disappeared. All I could see were those blue eyes. All I could hear was her voice. To my surprise she said: "I can see that you're in the entertainment business."

"That's right," I whispered. I cleared my throat. "How could you..."

"Yeah, you're really famous."

"Not quite," I said, laughing.

"You're a famous producer," she said and squinted. "A record producer... freelance."

I was flabbergasted. "How do you know all that?"

"Voodoo," she said with an earnest face. "I've already put my spell on you. Can't you feel it? You're my love slave from now until eternity."

I felt a wave of fear running through me. I was actually starting to believe her.

"You're kidding, right?" I hesitantly asked.

"Who knows?" she said. Then she burst out laughing. "Or maybe I just read about you in 'Artist's Choice' Magazine last month."

"What?" I laughed. "Why you sneaky, little... You really had me going there for a minute."

"One thing I've never understood," she asked with a smile. "What is it exactly that a record producer does?"

"That's something nobody understands, least of all the record producer himself."

"Come on!" she said. "I seem to remember reading something about you having an instinct for hit records, a magical rhythm wand that you only have to wave..."

"Reporters," I said. "They make up all that over the top garbage."

"So it's not true? You don't have a magical rhythm wand?"

"Well, I do have an instinct for what makes a hit record. That's my job: to turn shit into a hit. There's a lot of work for people like me these days, with all these concept bands being formed by marketing suits with tin ears."

"So how do you do it?"

"I listen, comment on what's missing and try to fix it."

"So you make the arrangements?"

"Sometimes. But usually I get a good arranger in to do it. That's probably fifty percent of my job: choosing the right people to work with the musicians to fix the problems. And the other fifty percent is in squeezing the best out of them."

"Like a coach?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"And that's when you swing your magical rhythm wand?"

I laughed. "So how come you read that crap about me in Artist's Choice?"

"I'm a singer."

That's when I got that terrible sinking feeling. You won't believe how many people I meet who call themselves musicians or singers. And they all want to give me their demo.

"Could you do me a favor?" she asked.

I sighed and looked away. I saw the empty credit card stand she'd abandoned. "Let me play psychic now," I said. "You would like me to listen to your demo, wouldn't you?"

"Wow," she said. "You've got a real talent. I've got some of my recordings here on my I-pod. Would you like to listen in?"

"Look," I said. "I don't want to hurt your feelings but I'm really tired. My ears are tired. I've worked on a tough job all week and the last thing I want to do now is to listen to new talent. It wouldn't do you any good to let me listen to you anyway. You need to give your demo to a few A&R guys. They're the ones who get new artists signed. I'm called in at a much later stage, when the artists have already been signed. That's when the record companies listen to my advice on how to get the best sound out of them. They don't listen to my advice on new talent that hasn't been signed yet."

"Maybe I'd just like some of your advice. A taste of your magical rhythm wand. I don't think I've ever tasted one before." Suddenly I felt her hand on my dick, which was still halfcocked. "See, it's already waving at me."

I looked into her eyes again. She had that look. I saw her tongue coming out, slowly wetting her pink lips. I felt the palm of her hand through my jeans. It was stroking my dick while her fingers were rubbing my balls. My dick was swelling fast. She opened her lips a little. She moved in closer. She tilted her head. I looked into those incredibly blue eyes and I was lost. I felt my tongue going in as I eagerly pressed my lips onto hers, like a man dying of thirst in the desert sucks the juice out of a coconut he's just found.

***

"Are you sure nobody is going to come in here?" I panted as she closed the door behind us.

"Hundred percent," she said and turned toward me. She pushed me further into the little room. Her blue eyes looked wild. She was strong for a girl. I stumbled over a broom, right into a floor-polishing machine. The light from the naked light bulb made her honey blonde curls glow like the manes of a lion that was about to jump his prey. "The cleaning crew doesn't start at this end until eleven."

She put her I-pod onto the toilet-cleaning cart to my right. She looked into my eyes as she put the earphones into my ears. I kissed her, put my arms around her and pulled her body against mine. I felt her tits pressing against my chest. My dick was starting to dry hump her crotch. My tongue was moving in deeper, sliding over her tongue in circles. Suddenly she broke the kiss. She slipped down out of my arms and stepped back. With a grin on her face she held up the index finger of her right hand while she pressed a few buttons on the I-pod.

The first few bars of 'I will always love you' rolled into my ears. Why do all those amateurs always sing the same worn-out old tunes on their demos? Sure enough, her voice sounded like a Doberman on crack, howling at the night. Except a Doberman would sing more in tune. I felt my erection starting to retreat.

But then I felt her hand on my crotch again. She reached down between my legs. I could feel her middle finger pushing my boxer's right up into my asshole. She slowly moved her hand to the front, pushing hard against my balls. She looked me in the eye as she started to undo my trouser button with her other hand. She kissed me as her hand slid past my cock. I stuck out my tongue. But she retreated again. She looked down and grabbed my zipper with her hands. She gave me a small peck on my upper lip as she opened the zipper. She looked into my eyes again. 'I would only be in your way,' I heard her voice through the earphones. That's when suddenly I saw her going down on her knees. She pulled my trousers down. Then my boxers.

'And Aaaahaaaaieaaai will always...' I heard her whining through the earphones as I felt her wet lips closing around my cock. She wasn't messing about. She firmly held onto my upper legs with her hands as she slid up and down the shaft. She started out slow. But she quickly picked up the pace, moving her head back and forth. I could feel her tongue sliding along the bottom of my penis. A drop of saliva mixed with pre-cum ran down my balls. I looked down and saw the honey blonde manes moving back and forth.

'... love youuuuhuuuuhuuu...' God, why did she have to finish that song on a high note? She stopped sliding her lips up and down my cock the moment the song finished. My dick felt like it was about to burst. I wanted to thrust my cock into her mouth. But she opened her lips. I felt her tongue moving over the tip of my cock. I could feel it tingling right down into my asshole. She flicked the tip. She circled it. Then she moved her mouth down again, way down. And at the first notes of 'I'm every woman' I felt her lips closing around my balls. To my amazement it all fitted perfectly inside her big mouth: my dick, my balls, my entire package was inside her. She sucked on my balls like they were a strawberry milkshake. I felt the skin of my scrotum stretch. The tip of my penis bumped into her throat. My balls felt like they were about to explode. My heart was pounding against my ribs as if it was trying to jump out of my chest in order to fuck the black bitch into her big ass. She pulled back her head, firmly keeping my balls in her mouth. The skin of my scrotum stretched till it hurt. My balls pressed hard against the inside of her lips. She suddenly released my balls. They popped back. I felt a heat wave running from my balls right up to my skull. She moved her lips up my penis. She went down and grabbed my balls into her mouth once more. Her tongue started flicking them. I could hear my heart beat louder than the Doberman was howling 'I do it naturally'. I actually started to enjoy her singing. A good blowjob is like smoking grade A weed: even a howling, chronically off key Doberman will start to sound 'groovy' if that Doberman has her pink lips wrapped around your balls.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I grabbed the sides of her head. She let my balls pop out of her mouth again.

"Look at me," I said to her.

She looked up at me with those magical blue eyes. I started pushing her head away from me as I pulled my dick back. Her lips slid up the shaft of my cock. I pulled her back toward me as I pushed my dick in. I moved her head faster. To and fro. She looked up at me like an innocent little girl. I moved her chocolate head up and down my penis. I moved my penis in and out of her mouth. I didn't know if I was fucking her mouth, if I was masturbating with her head or if she was sucking me off. All I knew was that wet chocolate hole with the hot, blue eyes was sending heat waves through my entire body. Again and again and again. The pressure in my dick started to get painful. The pressure in my chest started to get painful. I knew I was going to burst. In and out of those pink lips, her eyes still looking up at me. My innocent, little chocolate colored toy with blue eyes and blonde hair. I felt a stabbing pain in my cock, a stabbing pain in my chest. Suddenly the pressure valve popped. It felt like every fiber in my body was vibrating when my dick started pumping out the cream. I felt bursts of hot cum shooting right into her throat. Again and again. She didn't gag or anything. Obviously she'd been here before.

I saw a drop of cum running out of the corner of her mouth when the ejaculation bursts started to slow down. My knees had gone week. I had trouble keeping my balance. And heat waves were running up and down my body.

"Swallow it," I whispered. "Swallow it all."

She sucked the droplet back in. Her tongue licked the base of my penis. It all made my penis pump its hot cum harder again.