Flirting with the Bnwo

SERENA STEELE MONROE

An Ollie and Linda Tale

FLIRTING with the BNWO

© Copyright 2025 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft

NOTE:

This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic, sexual nature. This tale is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously--any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Flirting with the BNWO

Present Day

My name is Oliver, but most people call me Ollie. I've been married to Linda for almost five years. She's 26 and I'm 28. My parents, and Linda's parents, are wealthy--

filthy rich

, Linda would say, when she didn't care that I could hear. But what she should've said was they were filthy from getting rich. All white wealth is nasty and was obtained by terrible means.

We come from the kind of family that people speculated about. The average person read about us in the news and the late-night shows as overpaid comedians made jokes about how undeserved our riches were. And the minorities believe people like us got rich by trampling on their rights. And yes, they are right.

I wanted to tell everyone I agreed with them, but it would never matter. I hadn't the courage to say it loud enough. Even if I did, they'd never hear. When you live at the top, your voice can't reach the bottom, not even when you're shouting. Unless you're their conquered, and you said in a flash of lightning with all the accompanying thunder to shatter their souls. That wasn't me. The way the masters talked to their slaves.

Besides, I'd never yelled at anyone but sometimes myself. Sometimes, I begged Linda to understand.

Ours was the kind of wealth that even other rich people envied. The kind that builds and devours itself and multiplies again and again. I was embarrassed, constantly embarrassed. I was humiliated, always feeling like I needed to apologize for our easy lives. To atone for the fact that our house was the size of a hotel, that we profited from others' sufferings, and that we descended from slave-owner whites of yesteryear. I was humbled by the fact that if she wanted, Linda could buy a whole row of designer stores instead of just one outfit from each.

We are blessed or cursed with the wealth that insulates us from the necessity to understand we're not that special. Where we're not burdened with the guilt that should accompany how the money was earned. Only I was, am, and always will be guilty and feel it in the pit of my darkened soul. The darkness inside whites is so much darker than the beautiful ebony flesh of the majestic black people of the world.

These little troublesome things didn't bother Linda as much as they did me. I've lived with it in a different way than her. My parents are actual racists. While her's were only passively racist and had no guilt for their good fortune.

Their bigotry changed me. So, it wasn't Linda's fault she couldn't see evil in the white race.

She was who she was--raised with the expectation of affluence and power and knowing no other way to be. Sometimes, I wished I could feel the same. But that is the definition of entitled. Being so wealthy, the suffering of others doesn't affect you. Maybe I was, once, the same as her. And perhaps that's why the guilt swelled inside me until it was as big as the houses we called our homes.

I gave to causes. Causes were all I had to offer. Causes like Black Lives Matter, the NAACP, the BYP, and half a dozen other organizations working to help people who would never be, could never be, people my parents would admire. Even though they were superior in every way to my mom, dad, in-laws, Linda, and me.

This was my world from the time I realized why our wealth was wrong. I wanted to give more. But there were limits, and I could see them all. A world of limits stretched ahead of me with nowhere to run but into another family vacation or a protest, I had no right to join.

When Linda and I married, it was merging two business empires. Ungodly wealth heaped up and pushed down on the two of us like a sin of covetousness multiplied and squared.

Everyone said I was so lucky to have landed someone as gorgeous and generous as her. She's the one who did all the work, they said. Linda was the one who gave me something special to come home to, and it was true. It was always true, and I'd always known it. From the beginning, I wanted to make her happy in the same way, to offer something different.

Therefore, from the beginning, I insisted we try and pay back those who'd been wronged by the white race. Believing one way, which would thrill me, was to see her with another man from another race. Especially a well-endowed black man.

One night in bed, I came clean with Linda.

"I'd love to watch you in bed with someone besides me. To be honest, I'd like it to be a black man. Why? Because I've always respected the Black race for how they've endured. For everything they've gone through. I confess to you I've always known I'm inferior to them. We whites are all inferior to them." I said. "Can't you and I pay them for the sins of our race just a little."

"No, dear," Linda said, laughing and rolling away from me. "You have such silly notions."

I persisted, night after night. But no matter how much I pushed it or how many angles I came from, Linda always said no.

"No, and no, and no, and why would you want that, Ollie, and what would it change," she asked. She wasn't afraid to be honest with me, never had been, so she'd said, "I don't see the point. I'm not looking to sleep with anyone else. You're more than enough in bed. You're plenty. You're what I want."

And I believed her. Because she never gave me any reason not to. I told myself it was okay, that she didn't have to. But still, I would bring it up, and still, she would say no.

Maybe, I thought, I wasn't clear enough. I'd come at it from another direction. "Listen," I said and proceeded with a new mansplaining. "I know what I want, what would make me happiest. That's for you to be happy, to be with someone like I could never be. Someone more of a man than me."

She'd laugh, and the answer stayed the same.

I can be very stubborn when I want to be. So I kept bringing it up, at first all the time and then less. When it was clear she wouldn't budge, the subject was discussed less and less.

When I brought it after months of nothing, she didn't get mad. Linda never gets angry. I guess that's one of the things I love about her. It's hard to say. I have my faults, and sometimes, the rest of the world seems very distant. Maybe I'm misinterpreting.

But when she gave me the same answer over and over, when time passed, and it became a familiar and quiet little joke between us, I couldn't help myself. I tried other angles, told myself, with the right mix of logic and love and timing, I could convince her.

That was me, a shy coward, convinced that everyone else knew what they were doing. That's why, when Linda and I took a trip to Jamaica, I didn't expect much of anything. We needed time alone as a couple. Without family around or projects, I pretended to care about our money and position. Linda didn't seem worried I'd have any strange ideas about who we'd meet.

The truth is, I almost didn't. I'd mostly stopped thinking about it by the time we packed our bags and left. But once we were there, once I was on a new, foreign, and vibrant piece of land, it came back. Small, quiet, in my head, whispering possibilities into the little place where I'd let myself believe things would change.

I didn't say anything to Linda at first, didn't want her to suspect. Then again, what if she did? Maybe if she knew, she'd surprise me, I thought or hoped. She was full of surprises, and I had a few surprises myself.

Though most of them she knew already.

That's why it was a surprise. A genuine surprise when a Jamaican man joined us at the private hotel beach. From the corner of my eye, I saw him looking. Staring at her a lot. And not just at her in general, but at her body, from the tips of her bare toes to the top of her blonde head. Even more shocking, Linda watched him, too. Pretending she wasn't, but I could tell.

I always knew when Linda appreciated men looking at her. But this time, it was more than evident when the crotch of her bikini showed a wetness.

This man was tall and well-built and dark and handsome. He was Black, interested, and something in me that I'd almost forgotten leaped back to life. Not only did it turn me on, but immediately, I hoped we could give him a special gift. That first day, watching him glancing at her faith took wings.

It's always the first time that counts. I almost forgot where I was for a minute. Almost let my guard down, but not enough. I had another idea.

What the hell

, I thought.

If I let it happen naturally, what's the worst thing

?

I did what I never thought I'd do. I walked over and offered this dark stranger a beer.

"My name is Badrick," he said. Then Badrick explained he was staying at the hotel because he didn't want to leave Jamaica for his vacation.

His reasoning made Linda laugh. Which is how I knew she was warming to him. I know her well, after all. I've been married to her for five years. She sat up in her beach chair and asked me to adjust it. I did. She leaned toward him, eyes dilated and returned to normal. She rested her chin on her hand, with her elbow on the chair's arm, and just gazed into his eyes while he talked.

I know when she's flirting, even a little. He was flirting with her, too, and we talked for about an hour before he left us, and we went our own way. I had to know if it was real, had to ask. Over lunch, I started the conversation with a casual tone because I can do casual when I'm trying very hard.

"Hey, did you like that guy?"

"No," she said. "Not at all. Badrick was a nice guy, but nothing else."

Nothing else, she was fucking flirty. Linda's apparent disinterest stung more than I thought it would. More than I expected it to after I'd given up after I'd let it go. But I was determined. I didn't want to give her a chance to tell me no again without hearing me out.

"I've told you this before, but hear me out," I said. "You know, Black people have been really mistreated for centuries."

"What's that got to do with anything?" she asked.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard it, but it was the first time I'd ever given her an answer.

"I believe we, as whites, owe them, don't you?"

Her eyes grew wide, wide and lovely, and exasperated.

I couldn't stop myself. I was so close, closer than I'd been in years. I pressed my luck.

"I was thinking, as a way of reparation for my and your families having owned slaves, you might make love to him."

And she laughed. She laughed louder than I'd ever heard from her and then stopped.

"Oh, really," she said. "Is that why you've been pushing to cuckold you with a Black guy?"

"Yes," I said. It was a little above a whisper, and then I said it again so she'd be sure. So she'd know I meant it. "Yes."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Hell, yes."

"How is it my fault?" she asked.

"You're white, you're

filthy rich

, to use you're term. You come from generations of wealth, and your family, like mine, owned slaves. Whites have always had it better than any of the colored people of the world. They, our forebearers, held them down. We owe the blacks of the world."

"Hum," she said. I was sure she'd say no, give me the same answer, and tell me again how lucky I was. And maybe I was. But she didn't say no, she didn't say anything, she ate her salad.

But I dropped it anyway. Because I wasn't as brave as I needed to be. Not fucking yet. Like a hot potato, I dropped it. I observed her as carefully as I knew how to be, and I could see the wheels turning in her head, thinking about what I'd said.

A few days later, Linda and I went out for drinks at a nightclub in the city. After spending some time there, we ran into Badrick again. We had been on vacation for four days, and she hadn't mentioned what I said about reparations. I noticed it, the lack of mentioning my idea or dismissing it. Oddly, it gave me a kind of hope. Something I'd buried a long time ago. But in four days, I had fleeting moments of expectancy.

Despite that, I worried that if I brought it up again, she'd say no. So I didn't. That was a strategy, not a coward's way out.

My not mentioning worked. I was sure of it.

By the time we met Badrick that night, by the time he waved us over from across the bar, and Linda didn't look at me to see if she should wave back. I was more than sure she would.

Linda saw him first, not just because I'm bad at noticing things. I think she knew I wanted her to. I believe it was all part of the plan, my plan. Or her plan. I longed for it to be her plan. It was loud inside the club. Linda hates it when things are noisy.

She didn't care about the local flavor when the local flavor meant Linda must shout to be heard, but she stayed. She stayed because of him. Because she knew the trip was important to me. To us, and because I was sure my plan was working.

Badrick had claimed a table near the back. Linda headed there as soon as he signaled. While I took my time. I had to know. I had to see. The closer I got, the more I saw that things had changed in a day, night, and a few hours' worth of silent consideration.

The way she smiled. The way her hair framed her neck in a picture-perfect moment that didn't care I was looking. He poured her a drink and handed it over without asking. As if Badrick knew she would want it, she took it without thinking or hesitation.

They laughed.

Like they were a couple, the two of them leaned across the table and laughed. When she saw me approach, I caught a glimpse of that same smile Linda wore all afternoon. This time, I was sure of something else. She meant it, and it wasn't just for me.

Linda was never one to flaunt. Well, not when she didn't think it was safe. And when she thought it was safe, when she felt secure and bold, it was another reason for me to love her.

Badrick did all the right things. Said all the right things. So, by the time I settled next to her and asked if he minded, Badrick, I mean, she'd taken two gulps of the drink. She looked at me like it was her turn to be surprised. She hadn't expected me to ask to sit with my wife.

He didn't mind.

An answer was so obvious I didn't need to hear it. Hell, I didn't need to ask. But I had to, just to be sure I wasn't missing something. Just to be certain, I'd read it right. We were in a corner between the hall on the left, leading to the bathrooms and storage, and a wall to the right. The only table in that part of the club and just off the dance floor.

They were flirty and touchy-feely with each other again. More so this time. A lot more so. Badrick wasn't rude toward me, but he didn't care that I understood he wanted to fuck my wife. He might even realize I wanted him to fuck Linda.

Badrick called me man, and when he said it, I almost believed it was true. Linda was relaxed, maybe because she'd finally got me to relax. I don't know. It's hard to tell sometimes.

We were there for almost an hour, and they kept touching, fondling one another with little cuddles. Touching each other's hands, which, at first, they pretended was accidental. Linda pretended it annoyed her. Until she relaxed enough to pretend nothing at all. Bold enough to hug him and give him love pecks on his lips.

When the conversation stopped making sense. When they whispered, so soft and low, I couldn't understand. Maybe because the music, the smoke, or whatever else filled the bar too much, or my hearing wasn't good enough. I looked around and saw something even better than when I'd offered him a beer on the beach. Everyone stared, and everyone knew exactly what was happening. This was deliciously humiliating, stimulating, and degrading in equal amounts.

It was the first time I felt I'd given back something to a black man.

Linda also understood what was going on. She knew, and she wanted it. By the end of the hour, we were down on the dance floor. The three of us, and then the two of them and I returned to the table. Faking, I was finishing the drinks but actually just finishing a moment and savoring my disgrace.

It felt like I should. It seemed to me that I had to, so I did. And as they danced, they stayed near the edge of the floor, where everyone could see. Even though the crowd pressed in, there wasn't much space for anyone, and they managed to keep people from closing them off. It was the opposite. Everyone kept their distance, watching as Linda and Badrick went through the motions.

The two of them put on a show. At first, they were doing it to be seen. That was how Linda was. That was how I imagined Badrick was, too. Badrick told everyone he was taking this white man's wife, and there wasn't a single thing I could do about it. Linda enjoyed his attention, and I believed she loved it, which pleased me.

We left the club when the music grew faster and hotter. When the pitcher was done, and I thought they might be too ready to wait longer.

"It's time," I said. It was the first thing I said in almost twenty minutes. But they heard it. I wanted to give them space to see what would happen. I so wanted to see if Linda had really been thinking about my offer.

"Okay," she said, running her hands over him.

I wasn't sure if she meant the word for me or him. I didn't fucking care.

"We'll share an Uber," she said. It was the first time in our marriage Linda ever suggested sharing anything with a stranger. "I'd hate for you to walk when we can ride together, Badrick." Standing on her tippy-toes, she kissed him on his lips and slipped her tongue into his mouth. They stood there, making out like teenagers, while I texted for the service.

The Uber was small. Smaller than she expected. Much smaller than she would have liked if the trip were just the two of us.

"Baby, why don't you sit in front," she said. Nudging me like she didn't know I would love it. Just a normal trip back from the club to the hotel. From wherever else she thought it might be to wherever else she wanted to be.

"This way," she said, "I can talk with him. I have so much I want to share and learn."

It was so obvious what she meant. So extremely obvious and delicious. She smiled when she said it. Linda always has a smile when she wants to surprise me. She knew exactly what she was doing.

The backseat of the Uber was not big. Badrick was big, though. He was so big that Linda had to sit closer than she'd ever sat with anyone but me. She had to hug his side like there was nowhere else she could fit, leaving a foot and a half between her and the door. This time, she didn't mind at all that this was my fantasy. And I was confident it had become hers as well.

I watched through the rearview mirror, the drivers, and then one on my visor. When the headlights flashed across his face and onto hers, I saw what she had never let me see before. What I wanted to see from the start. The thing was, she wouldn't give in if she thought I'd drop it. She gave me more than I hoped for when she realized I never would.

I saw the lust in her eyes for someone other than me.

They murmured, just to each other. Softly, to be sure, I'd strain to hear them. Clear enough to be sure, I couldn't help but hear the flirting. At one point, when we hit a patch of open road between the city and the hotel, Linda let her hand fall on his lap, right on his package. It was the most natural thing in the world.