"What about you, Jenna, what's your idea of the perfect man?"
I strained my ear to listen.
"Someone tall, well built, around thirty, and yeah, I'd like to do a black man, too," she said with a sexy laugh.
Apparently, she wasn't very choosy either. Again, except for the age and skin color, even I could fill that bill. It's typical how younger women want older men.
"You two may fall in love with the same guy," said my Mom with a big laugh.
Pick me. I wanted to interrupt their conversation. Pick me.
That's when it hit me. That's what I'll be for Halloween. I'll have Dave make me up as the perfect man for my cousin, a black man. Just as I'm sure he'll love the challenge, I'm sure that he can do it. I'll have him make me appear older, around thirty.
Suddenly, thoughts of having hot sex with my hot cousin consumed me. Only, how would I pull that off? I'd have to separate them and get her alone. Yet, they are never one without the other. They are always together. How the Hell am I going to get her alone? I need a plan, but what? I racked my brain trying to think of different scenarios and excuses on how to separate her from the others.
After I told Dave that I wanted him to transform me from a white man to a black man, the day of the dance, he told me to get to his house early. He told me that it would take several hours for him to do the makeup and the transformation. Only, I didn't know that I'd have to get naked in front of Dave.
"Ewww! Gross!"
What was I thinking? Duh, of course I'd have to get naked for him to spray paint me. We're friends, best friends, but Dave is gay and I'm not. I hated when he uttered the words.
"Take off all your clothes and stand up here."
Dave has always had a crush on me. I was more than uncomfortable standing on a pedestal while he spray painted the color on my naked body. Now, I had an idea of how a woman felt like to be so ogled.
I could tell by his sudden enthusiasm that he enjoyed seeing me naked, no doubt, just as he enjoyed holding my cock in his hand while he spray painted my balls a nice rich chocolate brown.
"Ewww! Gross!"
He inserted this gummy molded piece in my mouth that made my lips protrude a bit more and made my mouth wider. He gave me snow white caps for my teeth that made me wish my teeth were as white and made me realize how yellow my teeth are from drinking black coffee, no doubt. He made me a new nose that was a bit wider with larger nostrils. Lastly, he affixed a black curly wig to my head.
Suddenly, it all came together. Suddenly, I didn't feel like myself anymore. I felt like someone else. I felt like a black man.
When I looked in the mirror, I couldn't help but think of that book that I read in school, Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin, about a white man who dressed up like a black man to experience racism first hand in the south. Yet, I made a beautiful black man. I was such a nice color brown. I was freaking handsome. I looked better as a black man as I did a white man. Seeing myself like this made me wish I could dress up like a black man every day. Suddenly, I felt like attending the Obama rally that they were having downtown today, just to see if anyone would notice that I was a dorky white guy disguised as a proud black man.
He made me look like a cross between Muhammad Ali in his younger days when he was Cassius Clay, Arthur Ashe, the great tennis player who died of AIDS, and Tiger Woods. The brown spray paint, even my cock appeared bigger. So that's their secret. I looked good, real good. Strutting my stuff, I started walking back and forth in front of the mirror getting my cool walk down and talking some jive.
Since I have the body and the height of a boxer, I decided to play the role all the way and to go to the party dressed as a boxer. My choice of costume showed my beautiful black body. My costume consisted of a boxing robe, boxing trunks, boxing boots, and boxing gloves. I looked like a winner.
I scouted the room for my Witches of Eastwick, but there was no sign of them. Eager to arrive, I was early. I was nervous. I felt so exposed. I felt that someone was going to walk up to me and know that I wasn't black and take offense and call me a racist. Yet, no one did. Matter of fact, I received lots of looks from the ladies, black and white. I got there at 8pm and most of the party goers didn't start pouring in until after 9pm. Just as I was getting overly anxious wondering if they were going to show up, I saw them at the door paying to get in the dance.
Oh, my God. There they are and they are all dressed the same. They all wore the same black witches costume with the same big, black witches' hat with hoods dangling in the back. They looked like a cult. Definitely, they looked like a coven. The black costumes contrasted with their long, straight blonde hair, porcelain skin, and ruby lips. They looked good, real good. They reminded me of the women from the Robert Palmer's video, Addicted To Love, where all the women are dressed alike, have their hair and makeup the same, and look almost exactly alike. From the distance that I was away from them, they all looked the same. Just as I was about to walk closer, a tall, black Nubian princess asked me to dance.
She was hot. She was so freakin pretty. With her big tits spilling out over her top and her big, round ass protruding from the rear, she almost made me forget about my cousin, especially when we started dancing close, real close.
"For a black man, honey, you sure do have two left feet," she said laughing. "You dance like a white man."
"Sorry, I said. I don't dance."
