Whiteboi goes to Harlem Pt. 06

Mitch's bladder woke him up from a deep sleep around 5am. He looked up at the dark ceiling and as consciousness slowly arrived, he quickly realised he wasn't in his own apartment. He felt warm bodies either side of him and realised neither of them were his wife. For a split second, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, he thought he'd woken up into another life. His stomach sank as he realised he hadn't.

He desperately needed to take a piss. Despite his best intentions, he woke his Harlem bedmates up. It's not easy when you're the one sleeping in the middle. You eventually need to climb over someone, don't you.

He emptied his bladder, flushed, and circled back to Tyrone's mattress. The room was no longer completely dark; a thin, narrow light from the emerging sunrise had begun to spread through the room, slowly illuminating it.

"How you feelin'?" Leroy asked, yawning, blinking his eyes open.

"Well," Mitch replied, "my ass feels like a warehouse, but other than that, I'm good."

"Good to know," said Tyrone, who'd also been woken up by Mitch's bathroom excursion. "But you know what we' really be askin' 'bout, don't you? Like, how *you* feelin' 'bout yo'self? Like, 'bout errythin' in yo' life?"

Mitch stared upwards as tomorrow's light began to appear. He took a very deep breath, not sure why his bedmates were asking such deep questions about his life before the sun came up. "Fuck, I really don't know how I feel. I'm not in my own apartment right now, so I'm not in my regular world. My toothbrush isn't here, and neither are my clothes. I've got no idea where my wife is or who she's with. She could be back home right now, wondering where I am, or she could be asleep in some dude's bed. I've got no idea what she got up to last night, and I've got no idea whether she and I are still together. She lost her shit at me yesterday when she discovered my dildo, which to me is a very strange hill to die on, but she's been upset at me for a while now. Maybe the dildo was the last straw. Sure, I'd never told her I played with my ass before, but she'd never asked me before either. I was surprised at how furious she was when she found it. I still am." He took a breath, composing his thoughts. "I guess the bottom line is I don't even know if I still want to be with her anymore, or if she still wants to be with me. But what am I gonna do if we separate? Like, who am I as a person if I'm on my own?" His pupils dilated through the darkness as he glanced at Leroy. "Maybe you're right. Marriage is for weak men with small dicks. It hurt like fuck when you first said it, but maybe it's true."

Tyrone had drifted back to a shallow sleep halfway through Mitch's monologue, but Leroy was still awake. He laid his hand on Mitch's crotch. "Like I said, you got a small dick, and I can't help you with that. But you ain't weak. You' jus' goin' through some shit right now."

Mitch groaned. Leroy's hand felt so fucking good. His cock quickly grew. Leroy jerked him off with a finger and his thumb.

"You gon' nut for me, ain't you, whiteboi? You gon' shoot yo' shit all over my hand, ain't you?"

Leroy's thick fingers were too much to bear. Mitch gasped and moaned like a girl. His back arched as he dribbled his watery liquid all over Leroy's hand. Again, Leroy fed it to him.

"You taste good?"

Mitch eagerly licked his load off Leroy's fingers. "My cum doesn't really taste like anything. But you and Tyrone taste amazing." He stared at the ceiling again before asking the question that had been bouncing around inside his head for a week. "Hey, are you two ... together?"

Tyrone woke up again and propped himself up on one elbow. "Me and Leroy? Fuck yeah, we' together. We' brothers. We' been together since elementary school."

"Huh?" said Mitch.

"Yeah, we' known each other since we were at school," Leroy replied. "We' been tight as fuck ever since then."

"Truth," said Tyrone. A pair of fists bumped in the airspace above Mitch's frame. This wasn't the exact concept he was driving at, but he let it go.

They fell back to sleep as the morning sun began to arc across the sky. Leroy draped a heavy arm across Mitch's chest.

*

On Sunday mornings, Harlem came alive at 8am as the faithful prepared for church. Mitch heard the bells and woke up again. Light streamed through the window.

Tyrone snored on one side of him, and Leroy slept deeply on the other. Mitch shook Tyrone's broad, masculine shoulder. "Hey," he said, "I'm really sorry, but it's Sunday morning; do you need to go to church?"

Tyrone's eyes opened. He hated being woken so early, but Mitch's innocent suggestion was too funny. He nudged Leroy. "Hey, dude, you hear this? Fuckin' whiteboi' tellin' us we need to get to church to repent for some bullshit we did."

Leroy rolled over. "Tell whiteboi to go back to sleep."

Mitch drowned in deep, blissful slumber. He couldn't remember the last time he slept so peacefully.

*

Around 10.30am, Leroy got up to take a piss. The sound of his urine thundering into the toilet bowl was loud enough to wake Mitch up. He stared at the ceiling, stretched and yawned. He had the mattress to himself; Tyrone had already risen without him noticing.

Mitch wasn't sure what to do. His pre-dawn words hinted at a deeper conversation to come, but he still felt worried about Trina. He checked his phone. No messages. Two possibilities opened up: she was still angry at him and couldn't be bothered telling him where she was or who she was with, or her phone had run out of charge.

But there were other possibilities he didn't want to think about. Maybe something bad had happened. Maybe she was in the hospital. Or maybe she was dead.

He sent her a text message. He waited a few moments, but there was no response.

A shiver travelled up his spine.

Tyrone knocked on his own bedroom door. "Hey, sleepyhead, you gon' get up some time befo' the middle of next week? Ain't you got some fuckin' mail to sort tomorrow?"

Mitch stretched again and stood up. He dressed himself in last night's clothes, including his wife's panties. His cum had dried overnight, but he hadn't brought a change of clothes because he didn't expect to spend the evening in Harlem. His tummy rumbled; he was hungry. He followed the smell of coffee which led him to Tyrone's kitchen, a room he'd never visited before.

Leroy poured him a strong cup. "You want something to eat?"

"Yeah," Mitch replied. "Thanks for the brew." He took a deep chug of caffeine, but he had no idea what was on the breakfast menu.

"Take a seat," offered Tyrone. Mitch parked his ass on a stool at the kitchen counter.

A few seconds later, Tyrone dropped a warm, fresh croissant under Mitch's nose. "Breakfast is served. Fresh from the coffee shop downstairs. It was the last one."

Mitch looked at Tyrone with gratitude. "Thanks," he said, biting hard. Fragments of flaky pastry fell like snow across the kitchen counter.

"How's yo' bitch?" Leroy asked.

Mitch sighed. "I texted her phone a few minutes ago, but she hasn't replied. So I don't know." He took another bite of his breakfast croissant and another sip of his coffee.

"You think she's OK?" questioned Tyrone.

Mitch replied after a lengthy pause. "I really don't know."

Tyrone stroked his chin. "Whatchu gon' do?"

"After this coffee, I think I'd best head back to my apartment. She might be there. Maybe she's OK, but maybe her phone died."

"Fo' sure."

Mitch finished his coffee and headed towards the subway. The morning was unusually chilly for this time of year.

He stepped out of the subway at 77th street and walked to his building. His mind was spinning. The last 24 hours had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and he expected a few more twists and turns before the sun set.

He opened the door and was greeted by complete silence. The apartment was exactly as he left it. "Trina?" he asked. He walked into the bedroom. "Katrina, are you here?" He checked the spare room. She wasn't there. The bathroom door was open, and she wasn't in there either. There were no signs of her having returned briefly before leaving again.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't sure whether to wait here or not. He messaged Tyrone.

Mitch: she isnt here

Tyrone: fuck

Mitch: not sure what to do

Tyrone: you can always hang with us

Mitch: ok

He wasn't sure what else to do. He took a shower, changed clothes, and headed back north. There was nothing more to be done in his privileged neighbourhood.

*

Mitch walked back to the subway and travelled back to the 125th street station. Although he wasn't very hungry, he bought some lunch from a street vendor and ate it slowly as he walked west. He knew the way to Tyrone's apartment by now. He arrived, buzzed the intercom, and the exterior door opened to let him in. He rode up to the 16th floor. Leroy greeted him with a hug. "Yo, wassup."

Mitch tried to smile, and Leroy tried his best to reassure him. "She' gon' be OK, whiteboi. I can feel it in my bones."

"I hope you're right," Mitch replied. Irrespective of what might happen with his marriage, he was still worried about her wellbeing.

Tyrone appeared. "Come in." He handed Mitch a cool glass of water, fresh from the refrigerator.

Mitch accepted the glass with both hands and drained it immediately. He gave the emply vessel back to Tyrone and they sat on the couch.

"So you' heard nothin' 'bout your bitch?" Tyrone asked. "No news?"

"No, nothing. The last time I saw her was when she stormed out of our apartment yesterday afternoon. It was obvious to me she was gonna get drunk and chase dick. Usually when she goes out for a few drinks, she tells me who she's with and where she's going. She doesn't have to tell me anything, of course, because until recently, we've trusted each other. Usually I know she's with friends from her office."

"So have you messaged any of yo' bitch's work bitches?" Leroy asked.

Mitch shrugged. "I don't have any of their numbers."

"Wooo," sighed Tyrone. He wondered to himself why he felt so invested in the safety of someone he'd never met.

Mitch felt his phone buzz in his pocket. "Fuck. Wait. Got a message. Could be her." He fished his phone out and typed in the passcode that all three people in the room knew. He scrolled eagerly. "Fuck. Some bullshit message from my phone company."

"Shit," Leroy sympathised.

A silence fell. They could hear the distant rumble of the street.

"How'd you and yo' bitch meet up?" asked Tyrone.

Mitch began to answer the question, but as he took a deep breath to begin, the possibility that something bad could've happened to her flitted across his mind again. He still didn't know how he felt about anything. He cast his mind back. "I think we met when I was at college."

"Wait, so you' tellin' us you went to college," probed Tyrone, "and you work for the fuckin' postal service? Come on, whiteboi, we know you' lyin' to us. You' like a fuckin' trader or some shit, ain't you? You work on Wall Street, don't you, whiteboi? We' seen the bills you carry in yo' wallet. You' a rich motherfucker, ain't you?"

Mitch brushed Tyrone's accusations aside for now. "I think we were introduced by someone in my class. I wish I could remember. We might've been at a bar. You'd think you'd remember the moment when you first met your partner, right? But I can't, and I don't know why. I vaguely remember making a few comments at the bar that made her laugh, but that's about it." He paused for a moment. "But I'll never forget what happened later that night. She took me back to her hotel room and I lost my virginity to her."

"You lost your virginity when you was at college?" asked Leroy. "Goddamn, son, how old were you?"

Mitch counted back the years. "I would've been 22. Or maybe even 23."

"No fuckin' way." Tyrone was stunned. "Tell us 'bout it?"

"About the sex? There isn't much to say. It was vanilla in every sense of the word. She was a little more experienced than me, but probably not by much. She led me to the hotel bed, we undressed each other, she rolled a condom onto me, and I lasted maybe six or seven strokes." He paused, deep in recollection. "And then I think we fell asleep. I don't think she came. My first time felt good for me, but for her, I guess I was a total disappointment."

Leroy's fat BBC had ploughed at least two hundred pussies by the time he was in his early 20s. "Why'd you wait so long to get yo'self some pussy, monkboi? You religious or some shit? You woke us up this mornin' when the church bells rang, so I'm just checkin' to see if you' a disciple."

Mitch shook his head. "Fuck, no, I'm not religious. I guess ... I just wasn't ... fuck, I don't fucking know how to explain it. Let's just say I never had any confidence in high school. I had no swagger, I had no attitude, and I didn't have the pickup lines, so I never had the opportunity. I was interested in girls, but they weren't interested in me. It isn't easy to get laid when you know you're ordinary and your penis is small. So I poured my energy into study. I got good grades, but I was constantly horny. I jacked off all the fucking time wondering what it'd be like to eventually have sex one day. You wouldn't believe the amount of cash I saved up to go see hookers, but I never had the nerve to ever go through with it." He paused, taking a deep breath to settle himself. "And so when someone took me to bed and let me have sex with her, I guess I fell for her. Fuck, for all I know, she might've been drunk that night, and maybe she would've fucked any other guy in the bar that night; but my life changed in that moment because she chose me."

"You get the feeling you' explainin' this badly?" Tyrone sympathised. He couldn't believe someone in this day and age could lose their virginity in their twenties, but then again, he lost his own early. Once word of the size of his BBC got around high school, he had no shortage of mouths, pussies or assholes to choose from. And not just from the chicks in his class, either -- he fucked a number of his teachers on the downlow.

Mitch's emotions were still all over the place, which was why he struggled to find the right words. "Yeah, I probably am. I'll try to summarise. Trina was the first and only woman I've had sex with, and there's baggage that comes with that. I added more weight to the baggage by proposing to her, moving in with her and then asking her to marry me. Maybe things would've been better if I didn't propose, but I can't take it back now."

Tyrone's mind nearly exploded. Not only did Mitch lose his virginity when he was twenty-two, but he'd only ever fucked one bitch in his entire life.

"Tell us what yo' crib looks like?" Leroy inquired, trying to change the subject.

"We live in a building on east 80th street. We're on the 8th floor, facing west toward the park. It's a modern apartment in a modern building. We pay rent. It's far too expensive to buy an apartment on my modest postal service salary. We have two bedrooms and a bathroom. It's expensive, but small. There isn't much privacy, except for the spare bedroom which is for guests."

"What's yo' life like?" asked Tyrone. "Tell us 'bout a typical day."

Mitch breathed out. "I wake up around 8am, maybe a little earlier. I brush my teeth and get dressed for work as quickly as I can, and then I'm one of the millions of daily subway sardines. My office is near Madison Square Garden, and it doesn't take me too long to get there, maybe 45 minutes. I get off at 33rd street station and walk west. On cold days, I feel like I'm frostbitten by the time I arrive, and on hot days, I'm sweaty under the pits, but in spring and fall, it's an enjoyable walk. The streets are frenetic and there's energy all around. I buy a coffee and a bagel and I'm started by 9am. I stop for a bite to eat around 1pm, but most days I take a short lunch break so I can leave earlier. Most days I'm back on the subway around 5 o'clock and I'm sitting on the couch ready to catch the evening news by 6. Trina gets home around then. We eat dinner, we watch TV, and we go to bed."

"What do you do in bed?" Leroy asked.

"We don't fuck, if that's what you're asking. Most nights, we do our own separate thing. Like, I'm watching TV on my laptop, and she's sitting up in bed flicking through a magazine or reading a book. We lie next to each other, but sometimes our lives run in parallel, never touching."

"Fuck, dude," said Tyrone. "It ain't for me to judge, but that sounds a little sad."

"Yeah, sometimes," sniffled Mitch. "I mean, it's really complicated. I just don't want to fuck her anymore. She came home drunk a few nights ago and she jumped on top of me. I knew she just wanted to have sex, and any penis would get the job done. I went through the motions, but my mind was somewhere else. But at the same time, I can't deny that I care about her. I can't explain it."

"But do you have anything in common with her?" Tyrone probed. "Like, I don't know, do you follow the same sports teams or like the same TV shows? Or are you two together just because you met one night when she was horny and you let her pop yo' cherry, and you felt guilty after?"

Mitch nodded. The word 'guilty' landed hard. "Maybe. I don't know."

"If you don't want to fuck her no more, why you still sharin' a bed with the bitch?"

Mitch stared blankly. "Again, I don't know."

Leroy stood up. "This shit is deep. If this conversation gets any more serious, Imma need a drink. Grab yo' shit, let's head to the bar."

Their regular booth was empty, and they sidled in. Mitch sat next to Leroy. A waitress came across to take their drink order. "Three beers and three vodka shots," Tyrone ordered.

Their beverages arrived just as the masked gunman entered the premises. Screams pierced the air as a single shot rang out, obliterating a ceiling light.

The room fell silent as the light fitting crashed to the floor, glass scattering. Everyone in the bar ducked for cover, except for one person.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" asked Mitch. He stood up and left the booth, moving slowly yet boldly into the quiet centre of the bar. His life as he knew it was probably over, so it wasn't too hard for him to take a lone stand against an armed asshole. "You're interrupting our quiet afternoon."

The gunman pointed his weapon directly at Mitch's chest, walking slowly towards him. "I would strongly advise you to sit down," said the gunman.

Mitch stood his ground. "And I would strongly advise you to get fucked."

"Sit your ass back down," demanded the gunman.

Mitch suppressed a laugh. "No."

"I'm in control of this situation," said the gunman.

"No," said Mitch. "You're not."

"Do you see what I'm holding here?" said the gunman, pointing towards his raised firearm.

"Yeah," said Mitch. "Looks like a big gun. Doing the math, I guess that means you've got a small cock."

The gunman didn't expect this kind of blowback. He hadn't factored this kind of reaction into his calculations. "Are you ready to die today?" he asked.

Mitch shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I am." He took one firm, determined, unarmed step forward. "I've never been dead before. What's it like?"

The masked gunman shook his head slightly at Mitch's unanswerable question. He returned to his mission. "I'm gonna clean this establishment out," said the gunman, "and I'm gonna pop anyone who gets in my way."

"No you ain't." Mitch took another step forward. "You're full of shit. You ain't got the balls."

The masked gunman's hand began to tremble with fear.

"Come on, mystery man," Mitch laughed, taunting him. "I ain't scared of you, tough guy. Show me what you' got."

The gunman lost his nerve and fled, dropping his weapon as he left.

Casually, Mitch sauntered back down at the booth, sat down, and drained his shot glass. Slowly, Leroy and Tyrone re-emerged from under the table. Sheepishly, they drank their own shots as they celebrated the thrill of still being alive. Tyrone's cap had fallen off his head. He put it back in place, threading his dreadlocks through the gap in the back.