The Great White Spermed Whale

It stung that Melody had called him a "size queen."

First of all, he wasn't no "size queen" in any possible way. "Size queen" was the kind of terminology homos tossed around.

Demarcus wasn't no "queen" regardless. Even if she intended to say "size king," which maybe she meant (although he had never heard anyone say it that way), it was a preposterous accusation. Second, if anyone was a "size queen" it was Melody herself. Or even more, her roommate Kayla.

It all had to do with a lingering gaze Demarcus had allowed himself at this random girl at the Saturday street fair in Ann Arbor. Late spring day, leaves on the trees grown suddenly green on the side of the closed-off, now pedestrian-only street, the white tents and awnings of the vendors set up with tables of fruits and vegetables, wares, knick-nacks of every description. Lots of local townsfolk were mixed in with the hordes of other University of Michigan students out to enjoy the welcome, warm spring air and take in the scene.

What was he supposed to do? Avert his eyes? Pretend he hadn't seen what was right in front him? Looking don't mean nothing, but he well understood that touching did. "Look, don't touch" - nothing wrong with that motto.

The blonde little hottie had luscious melons, no question, and the pair were hanging - falling out - of her white halter top. And those booty cheeks insinuating themselves past the confines of her frayed, cut-off jeans, the fat overhang of those dimpled cheeks out for anyone - anyone - to see? He was supposed to act like he was a eunuch?

Of course both her sets of attributes were bigger than usual, and everyone, you didn't need to be no "queen" or nothing, noticed things that were larger or otherwise more remarkable, that was just plain human nature.

Those cheeks though.

They rippled something nice as he turned his head to get a little longer view as he and Melody headed for the area with the food booths. The sharpness of Melody's elbow in his ribs caused a sudden intake of breath and brought him up short, and started the whole useless, unnecessary, fucking argument.

"Hey, just looking, that's all babe."

Melody's eyes flashed.

"Maybe you can be a little less obvious about it?" she snapped. "Maybe leave the drool inside your mouth?"

"Big set of tits and you lose your mind," she snorted. "Forget who you're walking with."

They went back and forth for several minutes, loud enough for folks to notice.

Melody was small herself, a good head shorter than Demarcus, with that tight waist, and those little squish-able, pointed boobs which reminded Demarcus of the little mini-footballs he and his brother used to toss around in the street before their hands were big enough to handle the regular article. He noted how the little beauties were nestled braless in her own low-cut blouse, not exactly invisible to anyone who wanted a look. He was about to point out this fact but decided against it.

He kept his voice lower than hers, but a couple people turned their heads to check out the argument. That's when the "size queen" accusation got hurled at him. Tall black dude and a tiny, blonde schoolgirl type with a normally sweet face when she wasn't all worked up - as a couple they got plenty of attention anyway, whether they wanted it or not.

He let the argument simmer a bit, offered enough defense to stand his ground, but even after her last rant subsided, he knew she was still annoyed.

They got some kebabs and sat down to eat on a side-walk curb. Things eased a little, and Demarcus considered it a lucky omen when Rachel and Roger, two university friends, joined them and diverted conversation a bit.

Nonetheless, after lunch he was happy to part from Melody on an errand, heading to the Apple store to return a defective smart-keyboard for his iPad. The walk might clear his head a bit, and separation, he hoped, might quiet matters between them, and maybe by the time he joined up back with her at her place for dinner, the rest of the weekend would go a little smoother.

But walking down South Main to the Briarwood Mall didn't do much calming. Instead his thoughts ran all over the place: why the damn university bookstore didn't carry the keyboard he wanted and he had had to order it from Apple, why the fucking thing didn't work right in the first place and he had to return it, his upcoming exam in Macroeconomics, the toughest course in his Finance major so far. He still found it difficult to let go of the argument completely.

Melody was a sweetheart, he knew it. She was usually kind and thoughtful and attentive, and Demarcus knew he didn't always treat her as well as he might. Some of it couldn't be helped, as a sophomore he had to bust to keep his GPA in territory that would lead to a good internship next summer or a job further down the road.

For the next few years he knew what the drill would be: interviews and cross-examinations with wealthy white entrepreneurs, corporate types, and money-makers, while being an African-American from the inner city was a huge barrier unless he found a way to turn it to his advantage. This meant a lot of his attention had to go - couldn't avoid going - somewhere besides Melody, and his girlfriend thus would be a temporary casualty. But there was no way he was going to do anything but move ahead.

Yes, Melody was a white girl from the suburbs, Bloomfield Hills no less, and had no real clue of what his home place, the Dexter Linwood area of Detroit, was like, and how hard he had had to work for what was easy and expected for dominant, entitled folks. But Demarcus had noted, even by his first year at university, that the "black brothers" had appeal to at least some subset of female students, and Melody was not the first white girl who had made her interests known, come onto him, made hitching up easy.

So he had been happy to be her "score" and had no complaints when he had the opportunity to watch her tiny little mouth with those skinny lips go to work on his tool, her blonde pony-tail bobbing while she held his balls in one hand, worshiped his cock with her slithering wet tongue, and made him cum. And she could do this more than once a night, one way or another, and there was nothing wrong with that.

Yet, still there was this residual size thing. It was crazy that she was calling him on "size." He remembered early on, not the first time they fucked, but soon after, when she confided that she had hoped he was "bigger."

"I thought when I landed a nice six-foot brother with a tight-end's body I'd get a big dick to match." Melody hadn't said this in a complaining tone, more as an observation, but her words had annoyed him and continued to echo around in his head. What sort of nonsense was this? Every black guy was supposed to have a monster python of a penis?

From that time on he made sure she never was disappointed. Fucked her hard even when she didn't want it that way, but there were no complaints.

All these thoughts crowded in on his head while walking to the store. He hoped he could clear his mind by the time he got back to Melody's place. Hoped she had calmed down too, these sorts of disagreements tended to interfere with the main business of the weekend, which was discharging as much sperm as possible into her, onto her, or around her one way or another.

But Melody had gone and made that accusation, and here he was, hours later, still stewing about that comment.

Demarcus Williams was no "size queen."

At the Apple store, outlining his keyboard return issue, he recognized the deliberate once-over well enough that the young, white salesguy in his polo shirt and crisp khakis gave him, taking his measure, trying to figure out what the young ghetto buck was doing owning expensive computer hardware, looking for a scam. It was the same facial expression he had gotten from his stats professor, back in his first year, when he had asked a question about the puzzling "regression to the mean" thing during office hours.

At first the prof, the usual old white guy who had been lecturing for ten years past a suitable shelf life, took in the skin color, the Detroit Tiger's baseball hat and slouchy pants, and automatically deducted twenty-five points from Demarcus' IQ, reducing him to sub-human status. Then the relief when the question was carefully, intelligently, posed, and the prof decided he wasn't dealing with another one of those troublesome, undesirable minority students.

But finally at the Apple store, after some carefully phrased explaining, exaggerated earnestness, and showing of receipts, he got a replacement keyboard, happy enough to have completed that transaction.

****

Demarcus hadn't been expecting to see Kayla back at Melody's place. He had ascended the stairs to the second floor apartment and let himself in, the kitchen right in the front of the flat.

It was a one-bedroom place, with a balcony that overlooked the street and the park beyond, a balcony where in good weather everyone congregated for dinner or drinks, far and away the place's finest feature. Kayla's name was on the lease, which explained part of the drama and unequal treatment that Melody experienced as a second-tier tenant.

Kayla was putting a bowl of something on the table, her short skirt lifting up as she bent over. Demarcus wished he wasn't the sort of guy who couldn't avoid looking up her dress. Plain panties? Thong? Nothing maybe? He couldn't see well enough to tell, just a good long look at the backsides of those soft, fleshy legs.

She was taller than Melody, with long limbs, and biracial, although she could pass for white by her skin color and long nose, and the way she did her hair. Tight, light blue top to go with her skirt. Demarcus thought he remembered Melody saying something about a Jewish father and a black mother, but he may have gotten it backward.

She was from upstate, Saginaw. Her ass wasn't that big, broad rather than full, and actually fairly flat, but her chest was large for the rest of her body, a fact she was well pleased with.

She turned to face him, a smile half-way there, cleavage devastating as usual, several buttons undone, that enticing, velvety valley right there in view.

"Demarcus! How's it hanging, black bro'?" she went, the usual bantering greeting.

"The usual, Kayla. Big balls full of sperm for my girl tonight. Puissant, as I always say."

Kayla gave him an exasperated look. "Puissant? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Demarcus loved this word, nobody outside of some obscure English lit major would know it. He couldn't remember where he had first heard it, but its charm had stayed with him.

"Potent. Possessed of or wielding power. What could I possibly be talking about?" he asked, wagging his pelvis.

"You could look it up in the OOH - EE - DEE," he continued, exaggerating the letters, pretty sure Kayla didn't even know what the Oxford English Dictionary was.

Kayla made a face. "Alright big stud. But my own boyfriend will not just see your hand but raise you one."

"But what you doing here?" Demarcus asked, trying not to sound annoyed. "Thought you were supposed to be at Charles' place tonight?" Since the beginning of their affair, Kayla had always stayed at Charles' apartment on the weekends, which Demarcus assumed was both larger and more upscale.

Out of the corner of his eye, Demarcus saw Melody emerge from the bedroom and shoot him an irritated look.

"Plans changed. Charles' apartment had some fix-it emergency, and the workers are repairing the roof or something, so he can't go back til Monday. You're stuck with us here. Charles'll be dragging his big dick over here any time now. You up for some barbecue? Me and Melody have already ordered out. Everson's the best."

"Nothing wrong with that." Demarcus paused and looked around the apartment. "You guys gonna take the couch? Melody and I had a nice night planned in there." His thumb went in the direction of the bedroom that Melody and Kayla shared. "Don't want to disappoint..."

"Your groupie?" Kayla's eyes twinkled. "Haven't figured out the logistics yet, big stud. We'll work something out."

Demarcus made eye-contact with Melody, whose expression had not improved. She furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. Clearly an unanticipated change. These two had a complicated relationship that Demarcus had not even begun to fathom.

It was originally Kayla's apartment, and a nice one to boot. Big living-room with the balcony, decent kitchen, most of all affordable to a student budget, but only that one bedroom, which unfortunately got shared.

But Melody was "second" in the apartment hierarchy, and Demarcus knew that she had chafed under various Kayla edicts, habits, and entitlements. If it had been him and Melody who had "changed plans" and landed back at the homestead when they said they'd be away, Kayla would have thrown a fit or worse. There would be no question who would be on the couch.

But at the moment, Kayla looked fine and happy, and Demarcus knew he and Melody would just have to roll with the punches.

But of course Kayla had also said something about Charles' "big dick" too. They hadn't been an item much more than a month, Demarcus hadn't even met him yet, but felt like he knew all about him from Kayla's ravings, flashing pics on her phone of the big white stud. Melody was already sick of the big penis bragging and the "dynamite" sex Kayla had announced they were having.

Last week Demarcus had even seen Charles at the campus gym, recognizing his face from a Kayla photo. Charles wouldn't know him from anyone else in the gym, so it was a one-way introduction.

Charles had been soaping up in the shower after a workout. He had the build of someone who had once been a swimmer, long wide shoulders, smooth undefined muscles, although he was already showing the beginnings of a gut. The senior slack-off, Demarcus figured. The hose between his legs did indeed look to be over-sized, however.

Demarcus had to remind himself about how cocks presented themselves. Some guys were just always longer, even flaccid, they didn't shrink up as much when not erect. It only meant their erections were less dramatic, like going from 80% in length to 100%, instead of 20% to full. He was quite aware of his own hanging, naked dick, maybe just three inches long, about half its full size.

But the circumcised head on Charles' half-erect dick was big and heavy, it waved around like the end of a dumbbell while Charles lathered himself up. It was impossible to see it without visualizing Charles reaming out Kayla's cunt with the brute, or imagine her tongue and mouth going to work on it while the big lug grunted and humped his sperm into her face. Demarcus shook his head and looked away.

Regardless, the evening was going to be nice at the apartment, windows open, the air still warm. Melody and Kayla set up the first part of the spread out on the balcony, Demarcus contributing as best he could, moving chairs and tables, before the food arrived.

Charles barged in just before the food was delivered, and Demarcus shook the big paw of the guy for the first time.

"Charles Wainwright," he said, squeezing Demarcus' hand hard, like it was a test of strength.

"Dee Williams," Demarcus returned, squeezing back. Kayla cocked an eyebrow. This was the first time she had heard himself identify as "Dee." Demarcus had been trying this out in selective situations, hoping in the future that it sounded less "ethnic" than Demarcus, perhaps an advantage when written "D. Williams" on resumes and job applications.

Privilege oozed out of Charles. Well-cut light colored hair, crisp clothes, Rolex, understated wealth, a confidence that was condescending and sure. Demarcus knew he barely registered on the guy's radar, he was just a momentary blip, Kayla's roommate's temporary love-interest.

Even worse, it emerged that Charles' father was the head of a prominent Detroit hedge fund outfit, Wainwright and Hutchins, likely a place Demarcus might have to visit at some point down the line.

They all sat happily outside with their plates and drinks, watching the evening deepen. The girls were hitting the vodka mixes with fair abandon. Demarcus was pleased that the Johnny Walker he had brought appealed to Charles, maybe gaining him a point or two on the estimation scale.

Demarcus himself went light on the alcohol, contenting himself to a single tumbler of the scotch, intending it to last the evening. Experience had taught him that if sex was in the offing, it was better to be relatively clear-headed for maximum enjoyment. It seemed to matter less for the females he knew, who got wilder and more exciting the more they drank, up to a point. At any rate, the booze flowed freely for everyone else, conversation getting louder and more animated as the night wore on.

They still hadn't addressed sleeping arrangements by the time everything got put away.

"So how's this going to work?" Demarcus asked. "Melody and I were planning..."

Kayla didn't let him finish and insisted on her right as lease-signer that she and Charles have the bedroom, that she hadn't asked for it in over a month (true) and that she rarely did at other times (false), and the extenuating circumstances at Charles' place shouldn't mean they would be forced to "camp out" on the couch. Demarcus had had a feeling that this was going to be her position all along, and they started in on what would become a fairly heated exchange.

After the initial foray, Demarcus hung back, knowing from previous experience it was best not to get in the middle of a Melody and Kayla argument if he could help it.

But Melody was both becoming riled up as well as getting the short end of the stick. Demarcus didn't like the way she was getting treated. He knew he was going to have to step in, he wasn't going to see her get pushed around.

"Now see here Kayla," he began, raising his voice. "Melody and I ..."

Kayla's eyes flashed and she interrupted. It was almost as if she had been extending the argument until Demarcus intervened.

"All right, here's what we do. Not perfect, but a compromise. We'll all be in the bedroom."

The room was silent. Demarcus looked at Melody, whose frown wasn't as great as he feared. The gears were turning for everyone.

Charles, surprisingly, broke the ice. He raised his whiskey glass, with maybe one swallow left in it, and said, "All for one, one for all." Everyone cracked up.

Okay, it would be bizarre, but far better than being outflanked and exiled to the couch.

They all trooped in to the bedroom, the two pairs together. The room itself was not large, and the girls had placed their beds as far apart as possible, with maybe a dozen feet separating them, on opposite sides of the room.

The decoration accents were entirely secondary effects to Demarcus. About the only thing he had noticed on first visit was an oversized-poster of some dark-haired guy wielding a tennis racket on the wall next to Kayla's bed. He'd had to ask Melody who the guy was, and she was astonished Demarcus didn't know the name "Roger Federer." Maybe Kayla was a tennis fan or just liked the guy's looks.

The move to the bedroom and subsequent disrobing was about as odd a scene that Demarcus had ever been a part of. Everyone was checking each other out, as pieces of clothing got removed. Demarcus mostly kept his eye on Melody, mindful of his perceived transgressions earlier in the day, and observed the others only out of the corner of his eye.

Charles, as he had seen at the gym, had a long, broad upper body and legs shorter than were strictly proportional. His tool was impressive however, as it slipped out of his boxers. It hung long and potent, balls dangling in the background.

Demarcus did note that Melody herself did get a good, long look at Charles' dick. To Demarcus' disgust, Charles acknowledged Melody's stare with a self-satisfied smile. Melody glanced quickly at Demarcus to see if her gaze had been noticed, which of course it had. She gave up a sheepish look, which was worth something, at least. That fucker, thought Demarcus.