Cocy White Boy

Cocky White Boy

Literary Fiction

With a hefty dose of erotica thrown in!

His middle finger was so deep in my pussy I was coming unglued. Legs spread wide, propped up on my elbows, looking down past my tits I watched him work his finger inside my pussy. My eyes wide, I sucked all the air out of the room. Oxygen deprived, the candles flickered, went out. I screamed. He just looked at me, grinned, didn't blink or look away. He just moved his long white finger deep inside my black pussy.

Actually, the pussy was pink; it was me was 'black'.

~~*~~

I had told him earlier: "I watched you fuck that girl, that little black girl."

He stared into my eyes, didn't blink or look away.

"We could do it again," he said. "She don't mind. If you wanted to watch us do it again, That is.... you could even watch close up and personal if you wanted to."

"No," I told him. "... watching ain't really my thing."

"What's your thing?" he asked. "... doin' it? That your thing?"

"Could be," I said. I just looked at him.

"Little black girls your thing?" I asked him. "You like black pussy?"

I didn't blink or look away.

"I just like pussy," he said.

~~*~~

I had seen him in the neighborhood from time to time. Just since the start of summer, since school was out. He came and worked on the house across the back alley, the house facing the street behind me. He didn't seem to be part of the regular crew, didn't seem to have regular hours. Like he didn't have to answer anybody else's bell, just his own.

The girl came at the end of the day, on a Thursday, I think. Brought a six-pack of pale ale in a cooler, iced down. The regular crew seemed to know they weren't part of the plan, needed to call it a day, head out so to speak.

The girl was dark chocolate brown, had a sharp, chiseled Jamaican face and features. She sat up on the hood of the pick-up, it pulled around behind the house, almost in the alley. She handed him a beer, cold and in a bottle. He opened it, took a long swallow and pushed the bottle between her legs, snug up again her pussy, her white shorts barely long enough to cover the round barrel of the bottle. Her eyes went wide and she closed her legs tight against his hand and the coldness of the bottle.

I watched, but couldn't hear across the distance, him laugh. He ran the other hand, the one not holding the bottle, under her tee-shirt, up her rib cage, cupped, I knew, a boob with the palm of his hand. The girl thrust her upper body forward, moved her tongue across her upper lip.

Then she pushed him away; said something, and slid down off the hood of the truck. He moved ahead of her, opened the passenger side door. He dropped into the seat, pushed it back as far as it would go, hit the recline lever. She had those white shorts she had been wearing off before she even climbed into the cab. I don't think she had on any panties. If she did, I couldn't see them.

Cocky White Boy, I was starting already to call him, pulled the girl in close; her legs spread, straddling him. She eased herself down onto him, reaching down with one hand to open herself up.

I pushed the window up. For the first time, I heard them. First just the moans. Then, "fuck me!... oh fuck me. don't stop," the girl said. "Oh-god-don't-stop!" she said it quick, all the words running together.

I watched them, transfixed: taken by surprise. I hadn't expected to see such an exposition outside my window, on a quiet neighborhood street. I watched the girl work herself up and down on cocky white boy's dick, watched her tits bounce underneath her tee shirt. It was a quickie, so quick I didn't have a chance to take care of my own needs, my own increasingly wet pussy.

~~*~~

Two days later: I was unloading two cases of wine.

Cocky White Boy suddenly appeared at my elbow. "You need some help with those, ma'am?" he asked.

"Well... " I said.

He had already picked up one case. "Just stack the other on top of this one," he said.

I did. I don't usually accept 'authority'. It just isn't my style.

He was already up the steps, standing in the doorway. I opened the door.

"Kitchen's off to the left," I told him.

My pulse rate was up. 'Get a'hold of yourself,' I told myself.

Cocky White Boy put the two cases on the island counter, moved the top one off the other.

"A white and a red," he said. Then: "you havin' a party?"

"Just stocking up," I told him.

"Well... enjoy."

And just that quickly he was gone. I didn't know whether to be pissed, or what. I did know I was 'something'. I licked my lips, took a deep breath. Ignored the warm itch in my snatch, my hot-box.

For two days I checked the street, looked out the window. Would suddenly find myself standing there looking down at the street. No shinny silver and black pick-up, no cocky white boy. no Jamaican girl bring cold beer.

'Alright,' I told myself, '... enough of this shit.... Don't do this!' I turned away from the window, went back to my computer. 'How the hell am I suppose to write... lookin' out the window all the time.... at an empty street.'

I sat down at my desk, dared my protagonist to try making a hard left turn when I fully intended her to head to the nearest bar, get a chilled glass of white wine.... Maybe pick up the next hot guy who came through the door.

~~*~~

Writing was going well. My 'protagonist' was just setting down, in a chicken-wire juke joint, with the detective who might help her find the villain. I was on a roll. Almost a thousand words today.

The knock came unexpectedly. 'Shit', I said; went to the door.

And there stood Cocky White Boy. A thick blue binder and a bottle of Spanish red in hand. He just stood there for a minute.

Then: "Girl told me you write books," he said.

I do write books. Historical novels, in a way; if one considered the years from 1925 up to the beginning of WWII 'historical' -- with crime and a sexy love story thrown in. Moderately successful; enough so as to keep me supplied with wine and ten days at the beach every year, in the off season.

And, from time to time, I write erotica.

He just walked right in, Cocky White Boy did; slipped between me and the partially open door.

"What girl?" I asked. Not the 'coolest' thing I ever said.

"That girl brings us beer sometimes... You know," he said, "you look a lot like that girl; the one I was 'getting it on' with that day."

"I know," I told him. "She's my niece. Actually she looks a lot like me."

"Your niece! No shit!... She never told me."

Then: "She said you might take a look at some stuff I wrote.... Tell me if it's any good; what to do next."

Being caught on my back-foot, it took me a minute to get a handle on what it was he was expecting from me.

"See if your writing is any good?" I asked.

"You would know," he said, asked, "wouldn't you? You bein' a writer and all."

Cocky White Boy walked into the kitchen; didn't even ask if that was okay. Came back with two glasses of the Spanish red.

"It's a damned fine story," he said. He handed me the folder. "... need somebody to help me get it published."

I laughed. "You a deer hunter?" I asked.

Got a blank stare from him in return.

"Shooting 'em is just part of the process. -- Then you got to skin 'em, dress 'em, tote a hundred pound of raw deer meat out of the woods.

"You saying writing it is the easy part?... Took me most of a four months to write this."

I laughed at him again. "You don't know from shit about writing, do you boy?... First you got to have an agent. -- Now that's the hard part; finding somebody who'll 'take you on."

Then I told him about editors, and publishers; all that crap.... He did ask intelligent questions, I'll give him that much. Then I asked, "... you got a beta reader?"

He gave me a blank look.

"Nobody's read it yet?" I asked.

"Just me," he said

"You really don't know from shit about writing.... I'll take a look. Give me a couple of days."

At the door we stopped, me holding it open. He gave me a look; ran his eyes up and down. 'Moi' standing there wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt; nipples pushing against the soft cotton fabric.

I watched him walk down the side-walk; get into his truck, drive away. I took a deep swallow from my glass. The Spanish red was good; I checked the label: a Vinos de Pago. I would need the whole bottle before the day was over.

Trouble was, it wouldn't relieve the hunger between my legs. 'Get a grip, woman,' I told myself. 'He's just a uppity white boy.'

But, he was good looking. Not a young Paul Newman -- Sweet Bird of Youth; he was more of a less swarthy Idris Elba. But, lord, he got my motor running!

~~*~~

He had, I could see, a handful of the little black girl's hair in one hand, the other pinching her left nipple. Hard white cock in her mouth. Her working on it with vigor, enthusiasm; her eyes watching him.

I knew it was a dream.

Suddenly he was between my legs. Without warning he was eating me, licking my cunt; my legs up around his neck, ankles digging into his shoulders. My hands on his ears, pulling him tighter into my core.

I didn't want to wake up. Wanted to feel him, his mouth on me. I knew my hand, my fingers, was between my naked thighs; rolling frantically on the swollen and wet clit.

Cocky White Boy was laughing at me (laughing with me?). In my state of sexual bliss I didn't study on how he could be eating me and laughing at the same time. I didn't care.

'Don't stop!' I screamed at him. '... Oh, sweet baby Jesus, don't stop!'

The relief, the climax, the orgasm erupted. Cum ran down the crease of my ass; down onto the sheets.... For the third time this week they would have to be washed!

Still not fully awake, my fingers found their way to my mouth. My tongue licked them clean.

~~*~~

The writing wasn't half bad. The story, Cocky White Boy's story, was good; a cut above. Now, the writing of it could use some help.

'Come see me,' I messaged him. He had left me a phone number. 'Read it to yourself -- out loud -- before you come.'

The return text read: 6:30?

'Bring red wine', I sent back to him.

He brought two bottles.

"It's pretty good... right?" he said, asked, before he was totally through the door.

"Well, it's a fine story," I told him. "And -- you don't know from shit about writing."

He was crestfallen. The deflation in his demeanor was palpable; the air all out of his balloon: a 'not-so-cocky-white-boy'.

"Trash it?" he asked.

"No. Work on it.... I'm gonna give you some 'homework'." Handed him a note card: Elmore Leonard's Ten Rules For Writing written on the card.

CWB looked at the note, looked up at me; back down at what I had written, handed to him.

"He's that guy wrote Justified, all those crime movies?" he asked.

"The same," I said.

He walked to the window, looked out. "What's the most important rule?"

"The last one; number 10... Leave out the part that readers tend to skip.... The parts that people don't read.

"Look 'im up, study 'em. Work on the dialogue. People don't talk in paragraphs; they talk in sentence fragments." I pointed my finger toward him. "Rewrite a chapter; bring it back when you're finished."

We drank a bottle of the Spanish red. Discussed things other than writing; other than getting it on with little black girls.

We talked of many things:

Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax

Of cabbages -- and kings

And why the sea is boiling hot

And whether pigs had wings.

An hour later he stood, headed toward the kitchen. "There's another bottle," he said. "I brought two."

"Save it for next time," I said. "You've got work to do."

I moved to the window, stood between CWB and door; the sunlight behind me. A trick a friend taught me a couple of decades ago: legs a little bit apart, let the light coming through, give that boy some idea what you got! Silhouette of a pair of really fine legs; a cunt, the flat space on either side out to the joining of those really fine legs.

Me wearing a taupe-colored button-up linen dress enhanced the effect.

He hesitated, stood in the open door.

"Go," I said.

~~*~~

Two days later, a distraction outside my window; quitting time, work day over.

Me looking down from the second floor vantage point, there was that shiny silver and black GMC Sierra.

The little black girl, my niece, riding Cocky White Boy's prick like a cowgirl at a rodeo. Her eyes closed, head thrown back; she made big-girl noises. Letting the whole street know she was 'being had'; getting fucked. (Actually, she was the 'fucker', CWB was the one getting fucked!)

CWB looked up, saw me; grinned, gave me a thumb's up. He reached back, got a hand-full of an almond colored tit, rolled the nipple between thumb and finger.

'Son-of-a-bitch is showing off,' I said to myself. 'Parked there just so I would see 'em; watch 'em.'

Still, that damned itch, that hunger, came; settled in between my legs -- in my cunt.

'Fuck,' I silently said; pushed the gym shorts down off my hips. Puddled 'em on the floor around my feet. 'Hector, you got to do your thing,' me reaching for the trusty stainless steel dildo; laid him long ways along my already damp pussy lips, rolled the metal hardness over my clit.

Little Black Girl was cumming, I could tell, could see her screams of ecstasy; could barely hear them. She pushed herself forward: her boobs, nipples, against his chest. Her arms tight around his head. He had hands full of her hair; sank his teeth into the nap of her neck.

'Hector'{my favorite cut glass dildo) went deep into my dripping honey-pot; two fingers worked frantically, pleasuring myself. Cum running down the inside of my legs!

'Next time I'm gonna have your cocky ass,' I said out loud.

Almost as if he had heard me that boy looked up at me, grinned. Gave me a thumbs up.

'Gonna tell that girl's mama she's fuckin' a white boy,' I thought. Then: '... hell; she already knows. That girl goes home, give her mama a blow-by-blow.... Sister-woman wishing it was her ridin' that rock hard cock!'

~~*~~

Most of a week, no new adventures outside my window; in the alley out-back.

Then -- the text came: Two chapters done. I can bring them over?

I took a deep breath; texted him back. 6:30 -- Park in the back.

I had, during the week, turned my closet inside out; what to wear?

Shorts and a mid-riff tee shirt?

I had always, and still am, blessed with the flattest belly in captivity.

Button-up shirt and panties?... A belt -- nothing else; just a belt?!

I settled on a long, loose dress. No panties, no bra. Just a long loose dress. And barefoot.

The crunch of tires on gravel. I watched. He swung a long left leg out of the opening door, stepped out. Reached down with his right hand, shook what was -- I knew -- a semi-hard dick; it having been trapped between his body and the fabric of his jeans.

'Commando,' I though. '... boy ain't wearing no boxers.'

Cocky White Boy moved across the compact back yard; up the three steps to the four-by-five foot deck, the kitchen door. He stood there; blue binders in one hand, Spanish red in the other. Looked at me; didn't say shit.

"Put that stuff down," I said, slipping into a down-home, cotton-field-picking dialect. "You gon' need them hands free and empty."

He did.... Two steps later he was snug up against me. Lifted the hem of that dress plum up above my tits. He didn't grab my ass cheeks; just bunched that dress up high under my armpits and stuck his tongue in my mouth. Grabbed a handful of my hair.

'Moi' standing there, naked from the tits all the way down; sucking on his demanding tongue.

The boy -- hell, man, hombre, dude, il maschio -- picked me up, swung me around and deposited my ass on the granite island top. He spread my legs, stepped in between them.

"Wrap them legs around me," he said, demanded.

Still holding the dress up high, il maschio reached down with the other hand, covered my already open and wet cunt; rolled a finger around on my ass hole, pushed it part way in.

"Gonna fuck you," he said. "... knew that first day we was gonna fuck."

"You have to do things to me first," I told him. "I ain't no 'wham-bam' mama. I be free, but I ain't easy.... What you gon' do to me?"

Dude just grinned. Then told me, "... put two fingers inside that thing; git 'em good and wet, juicy."

I did.

"Now I'm gon' suck 'em, lick 'em clean."

Cocky White Boy took my slick, wet fingers -- one at a time -- licked up each one, back down. Sucked them into his mouth; drew them out between his almost closed lips.

Stuck his tongue back into my mouth. The kiss tasted like, he tasted like, sex -- tasted like pussy.

Breaking the kiss, I asked him -- still rolling my tits against him -- "You ever had a full grown woman?... I a bad ass woman, a bitch maybe; full grown. What you gon' do with me?"

He didn't answer; just pulled up a stool. Sat down, lifted my legs up over his shoulders. Man's mouth, his lips, his tongue did the talking. Me holding on, fingers enmeshed in his hair, he bit the inside of one leg -- just below where it joined my body -- then the other. Left teeth marks.

"Lick me!... You are a heartless bastard!... A real son-of-a-bitch!" I pulled hair; grasped ears -- pulled his face tighter into my hungry and gapping hole. "... Lick me!"

"Lick you? Lick your snatch?"

And then he did. Tongue running up one lip, down the other. Teeth nibbling, ever so gently, on my clit; ran the flat of his tongue across it. Licking me like a ten-year-old working on an ice cream cone. Cocky White Man had done this before, I could tell. Knew how to do things to a woman!

"Yes, god dammit! Lick me!"

Dude thrust his tongue deep into the folds. Grown woman cum, pussy cum, was gonna be, I could tell, all over his mouth, his chin; hell, his whole face. His hands were pulling the globes of my derriere' apart, finger tips teasing my rose bud.

Ecstasy, orgasm, came almost without warning. Me sprawled across a slab of Brazilian granite, dress pushed up above my tits, almond colored legs splayed and encircling a white dude's neck, heels digging into his shoulders -- screaming curse words. Cum ran down the crack of my ass, down onto the smooth stone alter on which I lay.

"I need to see that thing," I said; having caught my breath. "Lose them jeans. Let me what you got. What you got have that little girl screaming out in the alley."

He un-snapped, un-zipped. Together we got them jeans down. I grabbed, wrapped my hand around either the whitest hard cock, or the hardest white cock that ever came my way!

'Cocky White Boy' for a name wasn't gonna work; that much was for sure! A 'rod' like that, he was the MAN! Hombre, l'uomo, dude: Cocky White Dude! I thought.

"That's a bodacious piece 'a meat you got there, boy," I said; wrapping my hand, trying to wrap my hand around it! "You do know bodacious?"

Dude laughed. "I scored fourteen-twenty on the verbal," he said.

"You being a smart ass," I said. We both laughed.

I lifted the crumpled dress up and over my head. Naked woman I was; leaned over touched the end of that bodacious tool with the tip of my tongue. Cupped his balls in my hand. Sucked the head of that thing into my mouth.

'Never get 'im down my throat,' I thought, realized. 'I had longer; but this one BURLY cock!... What I'm gon' do with it?!'

I licked it from the juncture of his sack all the way up to tip; rolled my mouth 'round the head. Made an 'O' with my lips; sucked on 'im.

"How many times can you cum?" I asked, slurring the words -- what with my mouth at the same time working on Cocky White Dude's instrument.

"Three, maybe four times." He pulled my face, my mouth down tighter.

"Good," I tried to say. "Make you cum first.... Then you last longer, once I git you in my snatch."

I worked on him like the Madwoman of Chaillot. Stroked him, rolled his jewels in my hand, licked him, sucked him. Swallowed the eruption of cum when it came; wiped, with my fingers, the overflow that trickled down my chin. Licked my fingers clean.