The Night Watchman Pt. 02

ENTERED INTO THE 750 Word Project 2023

A Three-act story.

3 differing categories.

750 words.

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LaTech was thumping undefeated State 27-6. It took six years, plus the addition of Rocket Smith, but we were finally about to beat our in-state rivals.

Manning my security position behind the team's bench, I scanned the crowd waiting for the students to inevitably storm the field when I hear someone loudly shouting our quarterback's name even above the roar of the already raucous stands.

"Go, Rocket, go!"

I peeled my eyes looking for the enthusiastic student, but instead, decked in school colors and waving pom-poms, I see the spinsterly looking head librarian cheering.

Ms. Weathersby turns and looks directly at me and smiles. I feel the hairs on my neck stand up and I quickly look back towards the game just as Rocket hurls a win sealing touchdown pass.

______________

Padlocking the gate of the now empty stadium, I turned smacking my face directly into Rocket Smith's muscled chest.

"Whoa! You kinda startled me."

"Dunn, is it?" he says reading off my security badge, "We need to talk!"

We sit inside my 2002 Camry and he stays silent for 5 long minutes as I nervously ready my clenched fist.

"I love her," he cried, voice trembling.

"Um, okaaaaaay."

"Despite our age and difference in race, she's the only person who cares for me. It's important that you understand!"

Great! Exactly what I needed - to be a therapeutic sounding board to some lovelorn jock.

I wanted out this conversation and him gone from my car. That's when divine ingenuity hit. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I calmly said, "Talk to me, son."

"My tutor didn't show to meet me and Ms. Weathersby saw. She offered to help. Where I grew up there weren't many white folks - even less being of the helpful kind."

"Yet, you found one here that's helpfully fucking you," I thought to myself.

"Bending over my shoulder, I could smell her perfume and see her white boobies down her blouse. Guys wanting to take my head off on the field don't scare me, but I got nervous with her next to me. Her tits rubbed against me and our hands accidentally touched and she asked if I'd feel more comfortable studying at her home. We went, but didn't study. I'd never been with a white woman before. You can't imagine how great the sex felt!"

"I was married," I bristled, "I was given the opportunity to have sex once or twice."

"So you know the feeling of a woman slowly undressing you and leading you gently by the shaft of your dick down the hallway to her bedroom and then getting down on her knees and looking up straight into your eyes while applying fresh lipstick to her lips just before she starts deepthroating your dick while your black nuts hang off her pale chin like a shiny jeweled accessory to an evening dress?"

I stayed quiet. The night's work had me tired. Though the sex talk managed arousing my dick, he was terrible at descriptive storytelling and I started dozing.

"It's more than the sex. Didyaknow, she's the only one here to ever ask for my real name? It's Bar..."

My eyes closed, drifting into dreaming about the first time Elaine, my ex, sucked my dick...

"Mmmmmmm, Chris, I would've wanted to do this from the moment we met had I known. Why have you been holding this from me? It's... It's so huge and perfect!"

"That's right, baby, it is!"

"I just love a white guy who has between his legs a big black cock!"

"Wait! Elaine? My dick? It's black now?!"

"...the dicks, both black and white, who only see our differences and don't try seeing our true love," Rocket continued, "That's what's preventing us from going public and showing..."

What the hell! He's still talking? Longwinded bastard! Goddamn him! My life has been in shambles since Elaine left and his talking now ruined that one good memory! Enough! My patience was fuckin spent!

"...and that's why I'd appreciate this favor of you," he enthusiastically grinned.

"But of course, Rocket, you can count on me," I said patting his back, shaking my head yes to I dunno whatever hell I'd just unknowingly agreed to.

"Thanks, Mr. Dunn," he said reaching for my door, "I knew if I explained that you'd understand."

"To the left, to the left."

"Beyoncé?"

"No, the door handle sometimes jams."

And I sat smiling as my new bestest friend, and golden ticket outta Brokedickpoormanistan, exited my car.