Big Boobs on a Black Babe

Author - Handymanblues
Big Boobs On A Black Babe

Surely you didn’t think I’d be looking at your eyes on our date?
Hell no, not with all that cleavage and that push up bra hoisting it up like some steel door dam.
I love you girl, you know that, only not today.
Today is hump day, so let me play,
Without tying me up with them strings or that leaky condom, so I’ll buy you things.
You thought I’d stick around, but there ain’t no ring, or altar fling.
Then five months later, I say “how’d you find me girl?
“Step back you pregnant ho,” like Dracula at the sight of my warning cross fist.
“Or I’ll beat you down. So help me I will…right next to them sista’s of yours, equally fine hos one and all.”
But hark, what is that I hear? The sound of your college scholarship disappearing to the biggest belly of all time,
As your daddy breaks down my door, determined to find,
My big old bald black headed dumb-dumb skull, whose mighty fine cobra did treat you to some baby making wine.
And hark again, only this time not all at once, as my bedroom window opens and out I climb.
But your daddy is mad, and mad daddy is fast capturing my fleeing black ass at last.
No shotgun needed here, just a solid beating from your daddy, and a tongue lashing to this laddie.
And so I promise to all that I’ll say “I do,” only wouldn’t you know it…I don’t show up, cause my black ass is on a plane.
Leaving you and your white dress, dying of shame.
Your daddy will never find me.
And the plane soon lands, and a new set of bitches, only these ones white. One prettier than the next.
All alone with yours truly, a Negro God without a white toothpick, nothing but black cobra stretching for miles.
“Might as well you bend over where you is, my fine white lady. I can reach you from here.”
But she teases me and won’t please me. Imagine my surprise. “No ring, no fling,” she says.
“Fuck you,” I reply, but my heart is in a knot, and I hang from her love.
“What ever happened to the black bimbo with the big boobs and the mad daddy,” I ask myself.
Tick tock, tick tock, no matter how much time passes, you won’t lower your frock.
So you make me hard and your fat white girlfriends sing, “hump us if you won’t marry her.” But I don’t do lard.
And so, I give you that ring, and I let the preacher ramble on. Hell, I even compliment your momma on how mighty fine the both of you turned out.
So the ring is on your finger.
We both are in the hotel, doing the honeymoon shit, at last. At long fucking last. Time to see your boobies.
So you take out the tissue, and you take out that fake bra, and lo and behold, tiny knee knockers.
Then you take off that girdle, and you can breathe again. Only now you go from slim to way over the brim.
And that mighty fine ass of yours, no longer contained in your rigid drawers, it flops over your hips, like a man overboard.
And you take out your fake nails, and set them one side. Then you put your fake lashes in a jar to abide.
And you wipe off your makeup, showing acne for the first time, like the potholes in Jamaican roads.
And your false teeth are next, plopping into a stinky jar. And I cringe…and I cringe…
Then you yank off your long silky smooth strawberry blond hair, and show me wiry stubble like the tumbleweed of dried up Kansas. But there ain’t no wizard of Oz to tell me it’s all a dream.
Or to tell me the grass on the other side is much more green. So I flee that scene. And go back from whence I came.
Back to the mad daddy and the large belly of his daughter which by now is taut with sheen.
To the delicious milk of her giant saggy breasts, so fine, they’re divine.
Back where I belong, to the black bimbo with the big boobs.
And I ask myself, “why did I leave her in the first place?”