Author's Notes: This story is fictional erotica designed to be experienced
strictly
by adults over the age of eighteen. I disclaim all responsibility for the actions of anyone not lawfully allowed to read this material, as well as anyone that may be disturbed by this material.
"No, I'm not an 'Ay-rab', you dolt. I'm Iranian—Balochi."
"Balochi... so where you from, bro?"
"I just told—forget it. See you next class..."
It's difficult to conceive that even after only a few years in the United States, it seems that only about half the population understands English better than I do—forgive me; this is a gross exaggeration. Perhaps a quarter of the population understands English better than I do.
But perhaps I should rewind, a little, and explain things to you.
I'm John. John Baloch.
Well, not exactly—my real name's Shajahan Baloch, but I adopted John as an alternative to a given name far, far more likely to be butchered by English "speakers". I'm here to study, and I'm in my second year at a tech school. In another two years, I'll have a degree in chemical engineering under my belt—I'm not sure if I want to head back to Iran, or stay here.
It's not an easy decision, see. Granted, Americans suck at communicating in their own language—well, mostly—but, God
damn
are American chicks hot.
At home, I've seen women flogged for going around without a head covering on. Here, I can get all the eye candy I want—my school's on the Floridian coast, see, so it's more common than not to see girls heading to the beach, after class, wearing "clothes" that would get them shot anywhere in the Middle East.
There are other benefits to living in America, as well. Civil rights, variety in food, less pollution, a shot at a better life, and a generally better standard of living—but I'm a horny young guy. I don't think about much
besides
girls.
Maybe that's what's keeping me from getting laid, because—not to be immodest—but I'm a decent looking dude, at least. I'm six-four, and 200 lbs—I guess I could stand to gain a few pounds, but I
like
my build. I'm pretty fit; I run and do pushups every day, so what body mass I do have is predominantly muscle.
My skin's usually about the shade of white oak wood—just between nicely tanned, and fair—but after living in Florida for two years, I'm a little darker than that. My eyes are kind of weird—they sometimes look greenish, but mostly, they're sort of blue-grey. It's tough to describe.
My hair's black, and I keep it short. Right now, it's maybe an inch long and spiked in the front. As far as how I dress... it's not too involved. Denim or cargo shorts, and graphic tees.
It's been a tough day, so I'm looking forward to a nap before dinner as I head back to my dorm. My roomate's got class for like two more hours—maybe I'll rub one out; I got nothing better to do.
After getting into my room, the first thing I do is take my shirt off—damn AC's broken again. As I do so, I can't help but look at myself in a nearby mirror, flexing my biceps. I smirk.
"I look good..."
"Oh, yes Hell you do..."
What the fu—I'm supposed to be alone! I turn, on a dime, after jumping maybe ten feet into the air, then freeze.
"Oh... Christ, Julia, you almost gave me a heart attack..."
Julia's my roommate's girlfriend. I have a class or two with her—she's a pretty decent chick, actually. Not too dumb, and probably the single hottest girl I regularly see, and, in coastal Florida, that's saying something. Lemme describe her—she's five-seven, with a nice hourglass frame—but it's hard to guess her weight. See, she's got massive—and I mean massive—knockers. If I had to guess, I'd say double or even triple Ds—yeah. That big.
Her ass is nice and thick, too. She's on the volleyball team, too, so it's nice and tight, too—what I'd give to take that thing for a ride...
Her skin's about the shade of mine, and she's got green eyes—unlike mine, hers don't change color. Her hair is a really nice light brown, and about mid-back length—it's wavy, too; I guess she takes a lot of care of it.
I don't realize that I've been staring at her for maybe two minutes—she damn sure does, though, because her eyes are locked on my crotch area, and the visible bulge beneath my pants. Embarassed, I sort of fidget, and try to hide it behind my desk—fuck, I'm too tall, it's not really working...
"Is that a gun in your pocket, or—heheheh... did I really do that to you just like that? Or are you
that
desperate and horny, John?"
"Of course you did it to me," I say, shortly. "I mean, look at how you're dressed," I add, accusingly, pointing at her clothing—or lack thereof—with a finger.
She's not wearing too much—a pair of short shorts that are oh so tight—they're stretched to the limit, showing off the shapeliness of her legs. Her shirt's been cut, just below the breasts, so that her nice, flat midriff is showing... fucking Zach, this is his fault. He probably read the day wrong or something, and told her that they could get it on now, while I'm at class. Now I'm stuck looking like a jackass in front of a girl it takes conscious effort to not pin down and rape.
"Oh, these old things? Yeah, I was gonna put on a little show for Zach, but it looks like he's not here... oh well. You'll have to do instead."
"Huh?"
She must have pressed a button or something, 'cause just then, music came on. Jazz or R&B or something—the blinds shut, as well, so the room was pretty dark, but I can still see every single one of her giant curves no problem.
Her hands grabbed the fringes of her too-short shirt, and, in a series of lascivious motions, swaying her hips, started to pull it up—but she was just a tease. Just before I could really see those massive tits, she dropped her shirt back down, and turned around.
I've watched a few MTV videos and stuff—I've seen ghetto girls do things with ass that I didn't know were possible. Seeing Julia replicate the gyrations of a hiphop dancer, though, was something really, really special. Her shorts are ridding up into her butt crack, purposefully, so as she shook that amazing ass in front of me, there was nothing that I didn't see.
Needless to say, I'm surprised. Happy, and excited—but surprised. I clear my throat, a little, and laugh, nervously.
"Julia, what is this? Zach's your boyfriend, not me—"
"Who cares?" she said, giving her hair a toss so that she can look over a shoulder at me, as she reaches down to give that big butt a smack. "I love cock, it doesn't matter whose it is."
That seems legit to me. Or maybe hormones are just overcoming my ability to think straight, but I don't care. This is hot.
She hops onto the bed, and finally starts to take off her clothes. A minute later, she's wearing only an
incredibly
skimpy pair of white lace lingerie—a thong, a bra that looks like it might snap off at any time. The enormous curves of her chest command my attention, as I take a step forward—the way that smooth, fair skin contrasts with her undergarment, which, in turn, bares the unmistakable pinkness of her nipples—it's amazing. It really is.
Julia's such a tease—she lays down on her belly, still looking back at me, and sticks that thick ass up into the air. Shaking the entire time, she reaches back, and pulls her panties down,
just
a little—then, she pulls then outwards and releases them, so that a red band of irritated skin lays directly across that huge ass.
"You're a slut," I say out loud—shit, that was an accident. I hold my ground, though, and look at her unapologetically—and, to my surprise, she just giggles, and nods.
"Yeah, you got it, big boy... mmm..."
During that brief exchange, she managed to pull her bra off. Now, she's kneading her breast in her left hand, while the first two fingers of her right hand massage at her obviously damp pussy. Her eyes are shut, and she moans—to my surprise, my name, my real name—she even says it right!
She gives me an utterly desperate, begging expression—I know what she wants, and I know that it's my decision how—and if—to give it to her. Julia's on her back, as she plays with herself, as I make my decision.
I pass the distance between myself and her in three large steps, and stand there, for a minute, towering over her. By now, my cock's hard enough to practically tear a hole in my shorts—when she sees how big it is, she can't do anything but stop and stare for a minute.
"Ho... ly... shit..."
I smirk. She reaches forward, and starts to rub my cock through my clothes—I like this, of course, and reach down. With a single, deft motion, my belt's gone, and, so, I don't really have any reason to not do exactly as I want.