A SEXCERPT FROM HAIR CLUB BURNING

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FROM HAIR CLUB BURNING

Ahead of her was an average-issue apartment building door, dividing two astonishing sights. To the left was a plate glass window with a brightly lit living room spread open to the night. On the right was a brightly lit bedroom spread open to the night. In each room, a man, a man who was black, a man who was black and young, a man who was black and young and very muscular, was in some stage of undress.

Her jaw went slack. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, looked down, then turned back to the house.

She was in the dark and far enough away from the front door for either man to see her. Dashaun was in the living room to the left, bent over and hopping around on one leg while trying to get the other into his clean pants. His dick seemed to brush the floor with each jump. She gasped. It seemed so long and she saw pink at the tip. Fairly bright pink too. It hung from a finely de- fined line of muscle that ran hip to hip, almost like a Greek statue. Jair’s pubic area flashed in her mind like PTSD, a white looking pouch stretched downward by unaroused, nubby dick: It was more inverted, jiggly mound than anything.

Once Dashaun’s pants were on, he turned his back to the window and began to pull the t- shirt over his head. His traps and delts stretched out and every tiny muscle on his back popped and moved. The white of the t-shirt on his latte-colored, heavily roped arms made her—and any other woman who ever saw them—long to be rocked to sleep after a good hard fucking.

 

He put on the red shirt and flipped his long dreads back and arranged them into a thick ponytail. A clean- er pair of red Chuck Taylor high tops finished the look: He was ready for The Banker and moved out of the room.

In the other window to the right of the door, a second personal porno was streaming for Mary Ann. It was Jay, completely naked, and combing his hair back into the low ponytail he favored. She could see his hands working and the flash of his diamond rings. His back arched into a high ass, almost like an adolescent.

 

His skin was deep black, his scars shining like strips of moonlight across his skin.His torso came down to the V she had buried her nose in at Starbucks, but now she could see every articulated muscle. He turned and bent and everything was working in his back; there was simply no fat to cover it. He came upright and turned and then she saw it.

Jay’s cock was not only long, it was fat, like those pepper grinders they always point at you in restaurants. It moved in the opposite direction he moved, suggesting he was moving fast or it was too heavy to make the turn with him. He bent forward to put his leg in his pants and it too almost brushed the floor. His perfect round high ass was up in the air and she felt a kind of “whoosh” pass through her entire being.

Mary Ann had no words for what she was seeing, feeling. It was if she had to describe the blue of an iceberg, a huge cat contracting in long yellow grass, gold shining up through mud, birth. These male images were hitting her so deep in her gut she had no words. She felt the giant red monkey butt swell and envelope her. She knew she was going down.

Men could look like this? Men weren’t nubby and pink? She was shocked, felt strange and somehow humbled. After all, she’d been fighting to save a marriage to old pink tits and look at the riches laid before her. She wasn’t sure Jay’s penis would fit but she figured if a kid had come out, they should give it a whirl. She could do this and it would change her. Forever.

 

****

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/beth wareham

 

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