Black Man One Ch. 24

For the next two hours, I prepared a small chicken roast with mashed sweet potatos, peppers and asparagus. I made a raspberry mousse dessert and prepared a robust salad. I worked hard to prepare a great dinner for my wife in the hopes we would be able to sit and "talk" and share a meal together for the first time in so long. My warped and dillusional mind still felt some small measure hope. I could not imagine why, but I waas going through "all the motions" for whatever reason. I simply could not explain why?

Ad everything was prepared and the chicken roast was nearing completion, I decided to take a quick shower and change clothes. It was 10 minutes past six when I walked into the bathroom to start getting ready. Humiliatingly, I was greeted by the site of 25 pairs of the black stud's bikini underwear hanging and drying on hangers on the rod of the shower curtain. My shoulders slumped with this "slap in the face" of reality when I was reminded that hours earlier I had been handwashing them at his command.

Disgraced, I just felt them to see if they were dry yet. They still were not. I placed them off to the side on the extra towel rack and quickly went about washing up.

"Geezuz. What am I doing?" I asked myself, my feeling of defeat resurfacing.

"Why would Julie agree to dinner after all this?" I pondered.

"Why is she out with him running errands for over 9 hours when she said she was moving back in with me?" I asked myself.

Confused, I continued "going through the motions" as I tried deperately to hang onto any shred of hope for us there still might be. I was getting changed into something nicer now. Yet, the thoughts of her being pregnant with this young black man's baby and living with me made no sense to me at the time.

"What was the meaning of all this?" I continued questioning myself.

It was past six-thirty when I returned to the kitchen dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt. I checked on the chicken roast and dinner, and kept the oven low to keep it warm. I even lit 3 candles and closed the curtains to keep the late afternoon Arizona sun from peeking in, a feeble attempt to create an even more relaxing mood.

"Afterall, Julie did say that she was just running some errands with him. Right?" I reasoned, trying desperately to convince myself.

Even more pathetically, I went to the bathroom cabinet and took one of my viagra pills "just in case." I wanted to feel "something" I suppose. This young black thug of a man had demeaned and disgraced me so much that I hadn't had an erection in so long. It was as if his demoralization of me shriveled up my puny, insignificant so-called manhood for so long.

In the bathroom, I looked at my defeated and desperate image in the mirror. Then, I looked over to the small pile of Tra'mon's handwashed bikinis on the towel rack, which were still on hangers. I figured it would be best to hang them back up onto the shower rod, and did so. I covered them with the shower curtain so Julie would not see them if she had to use the toilet.

Finally, I returned to the candle lit livingroom and sat down and waited. I looked at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was 6:40 p.m. now. She was about 25 minutes later than she had indicated in her texts.

"I guess she will be home any minute now." I tried reasoning.

Like a fool, I just sat there and waited. I checked on the meal a few times and hoped for a text message or call from Julie telling me of a time when she would finally be home.

At 7:10 p.m., that text message finally came.

"I'll be a little late." it read, simply.

I froze when I read that message. It felt insulting that she had texted me she was going to be "a little late" when she had already been almost an hour late. It felt demeaning that she had already been gone for close to 10 hours "running errands" with the aggressive and mean black stud. I couldn't even return her text. I simply waited.

At 8 o'clock, Julie texted me again.

"We'll be on our way back soon." it read.

Once again, I had no strength to text her back. I tried not to think the worst and 30 minutes later I was placing the cooked roast under the silver cover and tray set. I placed the salads out and covered them with a glass dome. I poured two glasses of expensive red wine and simply sat back and waited, downing one full glass myself to calm my nerves. I decided to sit at the table and just wait, in humiliation and hoping my blonde wife would be stepping through the door at any moment.

Unconsciously, I dozed off with my head in the crook of my arms on the dining room table. I had no idea how long I had waited up to that point. None whatsoever. I had passed out cold.

When I finally awakened, I was startled. It was a bad dream that I couldn't remember that woke me so suddenly. My face was sweating and my thinning hair was beading with a heavier perspiration. My sleepy and blurred vision looked straight out towards the burning candles. They were more than halfways burned down by now and I glanced at the clock on the wall through the darkness of our condo.

It was 10:45 p.m.

I pulled my head up slowly and glanced around. It was then that I heard the faint, but obvious sounds of grunting and moaning. I looked towards the sound and realized that it was coming from the bedroom. The door was closed shut.

"Oh, no? Oh, Gawd?! N-No, please?" I moaned in disgrace.

Yes, I knew what was happening. It had to be. Those sounds couldn't have been anything else, yet I found myself slowly walking towards the bedroom door in utter disgrace. The pain in the pit of my stomach tightened as I began to smell the obvious scent of a marijuana cigarette.

The moans and grunts were coming from my beautiful, blonde wife as the young black stud was fucking her. Her sounds were not loud but constant and there were no words spoken by either Julie or Tra'mon. There were only steady fucking sounds coming from my bedroom. My face blushed another shade of red in the dimly lit condo as I hung my head in defeat. I listened for only a few moments before I turned and walked away in shame. I suppose a real man would have "bolted" through the doors and stopped another man from fucking his own wife, and in his own bed. Yet, my growing fear of the younger black prevented this.

Meekly, I stepped back into the livingroom and sat down. I looked over to the still burning candles for a few moments as the steady and soft fucking sounds intensified, becoming only slightly louder. With that, I decided to get up and clear the table. It was apparent that the dinner I had prepared for Julie would not be shared. I stood up and turned on the small above the oven night light as I removed the fine china plates from the table. But, that is when the fucking noises suddenly stopped.

With the forks and knives in my trembling hands, I merely stood there as looked into the direction of the bedroom. There was a pause, and then the sound of the bedroom door opening, which caused me to freeze in a panic.

The condo apartment was still dimly lit. The little kitchenette light had only made the small area a shade or two brighter. But, that is when I noticed him! In the dim shadows, it was Tra'mon slowly and methodically strolling right towards me. My frozen panic suddenly turned to fear as I stood there grasping the silverware from our failed dinner.

The young black stud was shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of his usual flimsy nylon-lycra and spandex blend of material bikinis. These were of a noticeable animal, giraffe-print design as watched him approach with such cockiness. I swallowed loudly when he got to within a few feet of me.

The black stud did not stop. He merely sneered as he approached and my eyes immediately fell to the floor to avoid his dominant and "cocky" stare. Tra'mon siimply "tapped" the side of my face three times, yet quickly as he passed by. The arrogance he exhibited was insulting, almost as if he was laughing inside as he "tapped" my right cheek to say "good boy" as he passed. He seemed almost amused by my presence standing there like a big wimp in the dimly lit kitchen after he had just fucked my wife.

I turned ever so slightly towards him as I heard Tra'mon opening up the refrigerator door. The sound of things being moved around inside of the frige made me turn a shade more. The shadowed side view of his silhouette in the light of the opened frige was devastating. His already massive bulge in those obnoxiously flimsy bikini underwear hung low and outward, almost as if his now "spent" large cock was still swollen and searching on it's own for a more comfortable position. He was leaning down and looking around inside the refrigerator as he cockily scratched and shifted his ominous ball sack and cock inside of those flimsy bikini things.

I grew more tense as I watched him grab the bottle of orange juice and stand straight up.

Rudely, he opened the bottle of expensive orange juice and began to drink from it. I watched in awe as he gulped down nearly half of that bottle and placed it back into the frige, letting out a loud "after drink" sound of relief. He did not even close the frige door as he wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand. Casually, he glanced back towards me. My eyes fell to the floor, once again, avoiding his eyes. I could hear him catching his breath as he "belched" loudly and obnoxiously. The loud sound caused my eyes to move upward towards him. His bare, muscular and chiseled dark chest was covered in sweat as he began looking at the table where I had prepared dinner.

Cockily, he took a step in that direction as I stood there, timidly, and on edge with every move he was making.

With the light from the open refrigerator door beaming out, he noticed the table settings I had already started to clear. He removed the cover from the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes and rudely put his three fingers into it, scooping it up and putting it to his mouth. He smacked his fingers and repeated the callous action.

Tra'mon then continued to look around the barely lit table. He was on the side Julie would have been sitting, and I wasn't sure that he knew this. But, the young black stud arrogantly grabbed the glass of red wine that I had poured for Julie. He swallowed it down with one large gulp and placed the glass back down onto the table. His eyes moved to my direction, and once again, my eyes fell to the floor.

I felt Tra'mon approaching and my eyes began to tear. Inside, I was trembling just like a big sissy hoping and praying that he would not slap me. It almost felt as if he was amused by my lack of words and my inability to look him in the eyes. My eyes remained downward, in defeat. A bead of sweat began to form on my forehead. That is when I heard the "ping" sound of a crystal glass. The sound made my eyes move up from the floor and to the table where my half empty glass of red wine sat.

I just looked at the glass of wine and saw Tra'mon "pinging" the glass with the finger nail of his index finger, once again. His strong fingers basically "toying" with the half filled glass I had been drinking from earlier that night. He seemed amused by making the sound as he "pinged" it a third time, and then a fourth time. His arrogance was ungodly. Nervously, I remained standing there in the darkness near the kitchen feeling terrified to look anywhere else but at that glass. I was frozen with the fear of the unexpected.

With total and complete disdain, the black stud gently picked up my glass of red wine and "spat" inside of it. My eyes widened in disbelief as he gently set it back down onto the table and began turning his strong torso back towards me. My eyes fell back to the floor in a blink of the eye. I simply could not believe this act of total arrogance and disrespect. Yet, I was more afraid of what was still to come.

No words had been spoken by him. He was doing this in total silence. But, just when I began to brace myself for yet another confrontation, the intimidating black stud approached me and rudely wiped his fingers off onto my nice white dress shirt before strolling right past me.

I breathed a temporary sigh of relief as I turned my head to see him literally "strutting" away and towards the bathroom. He was walking in an obvious and riduclous slow motion walk. His flimsy, giraffe-printed bikini asscheeks blatantly and powerfully strode away from me with such arrogance. Still, I was standing there in my silent fear as I heard the young black man begin to urinate in the bathroom. He left the door halfways opened and was now pissing. The sounds of his long stream hitting the inside of the toilet bowl suddenly broken into smaller, jetting and pulsating-like streams.

I tensed up even more as I heard a long, deafening pause. I had expected to hear the sound of a flushing toilet, but that never came. It seemed to be taking him a few minutes longer before I heard the soft creaking sound of the bathroom door opening up more. In awe, I watched Tra'mon in the dim shadows of our condo apartment stroll boldly back into my bedroom and casually shut the door.

Part of me was relieved that he didn't feel like confronting me that night. Another part of me was humiliated beyond anything because he had gone back inside the bedroom to be with Julie. I was mortified to think that he was making it seem like he would be spending the rest of the night here? He had made that so clear.

Within seconds, the sound of the black man fucking my blonde wife started again. It was a faint, but very abrupt and noticeable sound.

"Oh, gawd!" I gasped.

I was demoralized by how quickly he had began fucking her again. His breif and sudden presence to "take a break" was defeating. I was shocked and scared that he was even here in the first place. None of this was making much sense to me at the time. I only knew that my mere shred of hope to be with Julie again was diminishing even more. Further defeated, I just turned and continued cleaning up in the kitchen and clearing the unused dinner table. I closed the refrigerator door he had left open on purpose. I was appalled by his rude actions, and in total disgust I threw away the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes he had stuck his fingers in. I also tossed the glass of red wine he had spit in down the the drain of the kitchen sink.

Within a few minutes, the fucking noises stopped. The soft, subtle moans and grunts from Julie had ceased. It was so sudden, and it made me feel as if he had been fucking her while she was passed out, or sleeping? I couldn't imagine any other reason why her sounds were so faint, quiet and mellow before stopping so quickly. They weren't the sounds of her reaching an orgasm. They were more like sounds of the black stud simply using her for his own purpose.

The thought was terribly revolting to me.

I knew that I would be sleeping on the couch again while Tra'mon was in my bedroom with my wife. In utter shame, I minced my way to the bathroom to turn off the light he had left on.

The sight of what I was now looking at nearly made my heart stop!

With utmost arrogance, Tra'mon had "purposely" and "deliberently" left a mess. A small mess, but an obvious and disgusting mess.

On the bathroom mirror were the words "CLEAN THIS SHIT UP, PUSSY!" written in Julie's lipstick. I looked down to the floor to see that Tra'mon had left two large droplets of his piss on the rim of the toilet, and he had spit onto the floor. His thick, arrogant "glob" of saliva was a red pinkish hue from the wine he swallowed minutes before. Yes, it was that obvious. There was also a balled up and used tissue sitting on the floor before the toilet bowl. It was the tissue he used to wipe his cock after he had urinated.

"Oh my gawd!?!! What the ...?" I screamed inside.

The sight of this was uncanny. It was truly the most rude act I had ever witnessed. I couldn't conceive the gall he had. This younger black man had such gall by doing this. I realized that he was not only making another "statement" of his black authority, but he was making a complete "mockery" of the entire situation now, and I had no idea what to do next.

Like a tremendous "pussy," I reasoned that I had no choice but to clean up. I simply could not just leave the bathroom looking like this. The tought of leaving it alone had crossed my mind, yet other thoughts of getting slapped around came to my affected mind again. Part of me wanted to leave it alone so that Julie could see just how mean her black stud was being to me, and how "crass" he was acting. But, then I wasn't sure how she might react.

With the feeling of complete and total defeat and humiliation running through my entire body, I bent down and cleaned up. I never felt so demoralized as I wiped the intentionally left piss stains from the toilet rim. I winced in degradation as I wiped the black man's spit from the tiled floor of the bathroom. Cleaning up after him was even more defeating than having my timid face stuffed into the center of his nylon-spandex covered ass cheeks. Humiliatingly, I finally managed to clean the lipstick printed words from the mirror. It took nearly 15 minutes to do that, alone.

Totally embarrassed, I walked back to the sofa in shame and set my head down upon the pillow. I just wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to forget about this night in the worst way. It was past 11:30 that night when I finally was able to fall asleep in shame, once again.

I was briefly awakened just past 3 o'clock that morning by the sounds of Tra'mon fucking Julie again. Once again, the sounds were subtle and soft yet detectable. They lasted only 10 minutes as I layed there cowering on the sofa. I layed there, curled up in a near fetal position listening to the young black stud pounding away at my wife's pussy in the middle of the night.

The tears in my eyes blurred my vision as I stayed still, curled up on the couch like a frightened and timid little rabbit. I was relieved when the noise finally stopped and I was able to close my eyes again.

I fell back asleep, in utter shame.