Direct Dic

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This story is a work of fiction. None of the characters or events herein is based on real people, either living or dead. It was produced for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upsets you, do not read any further. By reading further you certify that you have accessed/requested access to this material willfully, and that you are an adult 21 years of age or older. You also certify that you are NOT a city, county, state, or federal law enforcement officer, official of the United States Postal Service, acting in the capacity of a representative of a telecommunications firm, and that this material does not offend the standards in your area, nor is it in violation of any of local, state, or federal law.

Chap. 1 (Intro-Jamil)

"Hey, is this thing on?"

"Yes,"

"Okay, can I just start talking?"

"Yes,"

"Hello, my name is Jamil Stanford. I'm 30 years of age. I'm Black...uh...or should I be PO-litically correct and say African-American?"

"I could give TWO shits less, boy," said the man as he held up two fingers, which parted slightly.

"Well, I know damn well when a tired, out of shape, pack a day smoking officer of the law is running down a back alley chasing a brotha, he ain't thinking 'I got to get this AFRICAN-AMERICAN'! His ass is thinking I'm going to catch this BLACK son of a ...,"

"Alright-alright, we get the picture," said the man, dismissively.

"Sorry, I tend to go there. Anyways, I'm 5'7", 185lbs. Yeah, I'm short. But I ain't short AND skinny! Yeah, as you can imagine, I've heard just about every imaginable put-down concerning my height so let's get that out of the way. I'm originally from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. But, I moved south after getting out of the Army and I now live in Macon, GA. I don't have any children (honest!) I completed three years of college before getting kicked out for selling weed. My major was psychology. I do have plans to return, but right now I'm satisfied with just working".

"Son, what does that have to do with why your ass is sitting here?!" said the man.

"Okay...calm your damn nerves! I'm getting there. Since I'M the one being recorded. I want all of the facts as I know them to be true and elements involved to be presented and explained. Now, as I was about to say... Right now, I'm sitting in the Macon, GA police department interrogation room. Across from me is the honorable sheriff, Buford Slupski. I'm being questioned about several alleged allegations of blackmail and robbery. On WHITE WOMEN and their homes, no less! My lawyer, Antonio Gigliotti is also present,"

"Before I start with what truly happened, let me preface by saying this. The fact that I'm even here is BULLSHIT!" I've never been with a white woman before I came down south just over four years ago. I traveled overseas while in the military and YES, I bedded quite a few European women, but I don't count them as white. WHY, YOU ASK?! Because European women, for the most part, have a different view of Black men and people, for the most part. While I was over doing my tour of duty, I never sensed that they turned their noses up at the sight of Black men. They didn't present that 'southern belle' bullshit when they were in proximity of Black men. American white women pull that shit ALL THE TIME! Acting like there is a good chance a brotha won't be able to control his lust or something. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! One thing is certain, the myth of 'chaste sacred white womanhood was not created by the southern white woman, the Black woman, or the Black man. It seems to me that it was invented by the southern white man to salve his own guilt," said Jamil.

"Guilt?! What guilt?" asked the sheriff, incredulously.

"Guilt that seems to stem primarily from the white man's persistent, clandestine activities with BLACK women. I think out of this guilt grew fear-if white slaveowners found it difficult to stay away from the 'animal' attraction of Black women, would it not be possible that his own wife could feel that same attraction toward Black men? The second source of guilt I see is the sense of immorality about a society founded and maintained on the principles of human slavery. The southern way of life had to be justified somehow. A symbol had to be created, an idea of grace and purity that would go to war with a civilization shot through with shame, bigotry, and the INHUMAN treatment of nearly six million Black people,"

"I believe 'sacred white womanhood' emerged in the south as an immaculate mythology to glorify an otherwise indecent society. Then those ignorant motherfuckers come up with what I like to call the 'rape complex'...as if Black men had access to defenseless, clueless southern white women on the regular! PUL-LEASE! Listen, sheriff, the hypocrisy and sexual immorality of the south SEEMS to escape the mental abilities of the southern white woman. Why? I don't know. But, perhaps, it is her very knowledge of these things that has driven her out of a sense of guilt through COMPLICITY, to pretend that they did not exist, to shut her eyes and succumb to a mode of living and thinking that all but has dehumanized her. Made her a shell of herself. Over time, the southern white woman has accepted the sterile role her husband insisted she play. She became doll, an ornament, like a beautiful painting on a wall that is admired and given lip service by everyone but which is actually loved by no one. American white women, from my experiences, have allowed themselves to be DELUDED with the idea that ALL Black men want them in a sexual way. That same 'thinking' has resulted in numerous lynchings and vicious beatdowns (authors note: click on Emmitt Till).

"SO, as you can see, I've never had a true love or attraction towards white women, sheriff," said Jamil.

"But, son, SOMEHOW, your ass is sitting in county lockup! Go figure!" said the smirking sheriff, as he realized that he had never met a spearchucker who spoke so eloquently. Not that he knew what the word meant.

"Well, if you've been near a television set in the last year, you've seen the company I work for, Direct TV, and our commercials. Digital cable. 130 channels. Our commercials are wild as hell! I'm sure you've seen the one where in the beginning of the commercial, there is a room of Direct TV employees in this room working on CPR dummies. Then the next frame, as a Direct TV representative is explaining the available digital cable packages, he falls out, and the guy jumps down and begins CPR," said Jamil.

"Or the one where the woman is hugging the Direct TV guy for a really long time and the husband is just standing there looking embarrassed. Then when she finally lets him go, the husband grabs him for a hug. You can't believe how that commercial has affected our relations with customers!"

"Ah, yeah, but boy this ain't telling me a dollop of shit about what we supposed to be talking about...get to the gatt-damned story, ALREADY!" said Buford rather testily.

"Okay, shit! Calm your nerves! Where would you like to start?" asked Jamil.

"Rachel Stanwick from the old money Stanwicks," said the sheriff.

"Rachel. Built like a brick shithouse. Redhead. Big titties, full lips, ass and hips sorta like a sista," said a smiling Jamil.

[cough...cough...cough]

"Yeah...that'd be the one, son," said the sheriff, finally. His face was red. Jamil knew that the sheriff thought that he was supposed to be scared because he was sitting in a police station. But he wasn't. FUCK HIM! He knew he had not done any of the shit they were trying to charge him with.

"Well, if I'm going to tell that story, I'm going to tell it my way,"

"Whatever way you want to tell it, just tell the damned thing already!" said Buford.

In his mind this Black buck was already guilty. "There's no way in sam hell, a woman as fine and upstanding as Rachel Stanwick let this mongrel between her thighs, willingly. No fucking way!" he said to himself. He had always wanted to fuck a blue-blooded woman of wealth but his portly Michelin Man build was seen as a turn-off to most women with a beating heart. His fucked up crew cut didn't help either.

Chap. 2 (Jamil)

"On February 15th, 2002, I arrived at work at 8am. On the work orders for that day, I had a Phillip Stanwick scheduled for a 11am install job. I called the residence at 9:30am and spoke with Mrs. Stanwick. I informed her about the scheduled in-home service. She told me that her husband had left out of town the previous night on business. I asked her if she wanted to cancel the install. She told me no because her husband was really looking forward to the sports package he had called to order. So, I told her I would see her at 11am,"

"After hanging up with her, I went to dispatch to get directions to the house. I saw that it was in an upscale region of the city. I left early because sometimes I do get lost. But I arrived early at the residence. It was a split-level mini-mansion in a gated community of equally nice homes. Very nice. Very expensive. At 11am, I rang the chime on the door. No answer. I rang it again. Still, no answer. I walked towards the rear of the residence and I noticed a very large in ground pool surrounded by a four-foot fence. I walked over to the fence and saw Mrs. Stanwick reclining on a chair sipping a drink. She was FINE as hell! She had on an emerald green colored two-piece that seemed to barely contain her voluptuous body. I called out to her and she looked my way. She had a look of alarm on her face at first. I then called out to her that I was with Direct TV. She called out that she would me at the front door,"

"I went back to the front door and waited for her to let me in. She opened the door a short time later. She had put a sheer wrap around her waist. She had not bothered to conceal her bikini-clad hard-nippled breasts. She was approximately 5'9", 135-140lbs. Strawberry-blonde colored hair. Her breasts had to be C's or even D's, probably a 36 or 38 in measurement. And man did she have hips! Like a motherfucking roller coaster!" Jamil exclaimed to the sheriff's chagrin.

She opened those pouty lips of hers and said, "Sorry about that. I was just getting some sun. I'm going to have to ask you to wait a little while longer. I have to call my husband to see if it's okay to let a bla-, er...uh, I mean to let a man in the house while he's not here," she had said.

"I knew she was hesitating because I was Black. But hey, it's her house. She could do anything she wanted to. So, I waited outside,"

"A short time later, she came back and opened the door for me. She seemed to be upset or something. I could also smell alcohol on her breath. She led the way into the massive two-story living room. I let her know that the order was for the living room, the den, and the master bedroom,"

"She commented on my height and then asked me did I know that I resembled Gary Coleman, the pint-sized child actor. I think she was trying to put me down a little, but I just shrugged it off and went about the business of installing and wiring. I get ribbed a lot for my height, so it didn't really bother me, but why had she decided to pick on me? I didn't even know the bitch"

"The whole time I was doing the install, Mrs. Stanwick kept walking back and forth in whatever room I happened to be in. All the time, she continued to crack 'short' jokes and they were starting to get on my last nerves! She then asked me what my first name was. I told her. She began laughing, reminding me of the girls I went to high school with. I asked her how her Valentines had went. She immediately turned red-faced and told me it was none of my 'black-business', and then she stormed out of the room! I was sorry for what I had said to her so I focused on doing a good job on the installation and getting my ass out of there,"

"The final room I had to hook up was the master bedroom. Before I went up to install it, I looked out the living room window at Mrs. Stanwick, who appeared to be sleeping by the pool. I think she had had maybe a little too much to drink that early on in the morning,"

"I went upstairs and began working. The master bedroom had a very tall and wide entertainment center. The television sat high and in the center. Due to my size, I always remembered to bring a stepladder in the trucks I was assigned to drive for the day. I exited the master bedroom and went downstairs and out to my truck to retrieve the ladder. When I came back in the house and went back upstairs to the master bedroom, I heard the shower running. I began to wonder if Mrs. Stanwick had forgotten I was in the home. I began working very quickly,"

"Mrs. Stanwick came out of the master bathroom wearing only a towel. She did not seem fazed by the fact that I was in the bedroom so I continued working. Mrs. Stanwick went back into the bathroom for a while. When she came back out, she was wearing a three-quarters terrycloth robe that came just above her knee. She informed me that she had fallen asleep outside and had been burned by the sun. She told me that she was looking for a bottle of aloe vera to rub on her skin. I asked her if she wanted me to leave out of the bedroom so that she could continue her search. She said no. She joked that I was too short to be a threat,"

"Anyways, I finished connecting up the television in the master bedroom. I called out for Mrs. Stanwick so that I could explain the system setup and have her sign my work order to verify that the work was done. I walked out of the bedroom and ran into Mrs. Stanwick. She was holding a bottle of aloe vera. She held the bottle out to me and asked if I minded putting some on her back. Her robe had parted slightly, and I had a good view of the crevice between her large breasts. I told her that I didn't think it was a good idea if I were to put lotion on her back. She asked why. I told her that it would look pretty weird for a BLACK MAN in the South to be putting lotion on a half-naked WHITE WOMAN. Mrs. Stanwick laughed long and loud. She said that no one was in the house to us, so what was the big deal. Plus, she had said, with a name like Jamil added with my height caused her to feel absolutely no threat from me. She said that she felt comfortable with my presence in her home. I asked her what her husband would say,"

"She sucked her teeth and proceeded to tell me how her husband's busy schedule kept her home alone for weeks. She told me that their Valentines celebration had been ruined. She had planned a romantic evening with him but he had been called away at the last minute for urgent business. She talked about how her husband's business always seemed to come before her and their marriage. She stated that she was tired of pretending happiness when she was not. I said nothing. She began to cry softly. I told her that I would put the aloe vera on her back. Mrs. Stanwick walked into the bedroom. She motioned that I should follow her in. I followed,"

"Mrs. Stanwick approached the bed and crawled up onto it with her hands and knees. Her ass swayed seductively. I also could have sworn that the woman did not have any underwear on! I approached the bed and watched as she shrugged off the top of her robe and lay down on her stomach. She handed me the lotion and laid her face upon the bed. I saw where her skin was red. I poured the liquid into my hands and rubbed them together. Mrs. Stanwick moaned at the first contact of my hands upon her pale, sunburned skin. I worked the gel onto her upper back using a circular motion. Mrs. Stanwick turned her face towards me and told me that my hands were very large and strong for a man my size and height. I told her not to let my size fool her. She asked me what she could be fooled about? I said nothing. I concentrated on rubbing her soft skin and hearing her moan, occasionally"

"Mrs. Stanwick turned her face away from me and I thought I heard her sobbing, lightly. I asked her if she was okay. She said she was. Said something was in her eyes. I resumed putting lotion on her back. Mrs. Stanwick then requested that I move her robe off of her arms and off the top of her back. She left the robe lying just above her asscrack. I could see the sides of her milky white breasts. It seemed as if she was lying on large balloons. Her back was smooth and freckled...without any marks. I squirted lotion onto her lower back. She moaned and writhed her hips, slightly. I took my time rubbing the lotion onto her back. I was thinking that this would be it. She would thank me and ask me to lock the door on my way out. Man, was I surprised!"

"That feels sooo good, Jamil" Mrs. Stanwick breathed out as she spread her arms out on either side of her. She looked so submissive and willing at that moment. Her next request floored me..."

Chap. 3 (Rachel)

In an adjacent room, Mrs. Rachel Stanwick was also being interrogated. The deputy who was interviewing her was none other than, Norma Slupski, Buford's wife. She was a BIG woman who suffered from obesity for the majority of her life. Her hair was hidden under a cap because she had burned most of it off, permanently, trying to fix herself up with a homemade perm kit. She believed like her husband that white womanhood was sacred and not to be offered in any way to the uncivilized animal known as the Black man. But the story she was hearing in no way offered evidence that this white woman had been forced to anything with the short, muscular Black guy that worked for Direct TV.

Mrs. Stanwick continued with her mesmerizing story as Norma pulled out a Snickers candy bar and began smacking away.

"I asked him if he could move my robe a little lower and do the back of my thighs and calves. I won't lie. His hands were so strong and they manipulated my tense back muscles into putty. I thought that it was weird that his hands were so large for a man his height. I mean the guy could not have been over 5'7"! But nonetheless, his hands were doing a number on my body," explained Rachel.

"I asked him what he had done for Valentine's Day. He said nothing but that if had a girlfriend he would have planned something very special for the day and evening. I thought to myself, here I was with a husband who did not appreciate me, even on Valentine's Day. And here was a man without a girlfriend who would have done anything for his woman...that is, if he had one. He told me a woman as beautiful as I was should never have to worry about a man not doing the special things for her. I needed to hear that," said Rachel as she gathered resolve to finish telling her story.

"He worked my robe down to just above my asscheeks and pulled the remaining material up to just about the underside of my asscheeks and proceeded to massage the back of my thighs, my calves and then my feet. He talked softly to me the whole time, putting me at ease. He then worked his way back up to my calves and to my thighs, once again. To be truthful, I believe I may have had a slight orgasm as he rubbed my thighs. His hands were magical!"

"As he rubbed near the top of my thighs, I had an epiphany. I could seduce this Black man and NO ONE would ever know! This was going to be my one chance in life to seduce a Black man...even if he was a little on the short side. I decided that I wanted to feel his hands on my ass! My ass needed to be rubbed! I don't remember the last time my husband did that to me even though he knows that turns me on to no end,"

"I married him when I was 23. Since that time, our marriage has turned into dinner parties and business dinners. We've been married six years. He does not spend much time with me. I partly understand because he wants to make partner before he reaches 35. But to be truthful, none of that was on my mind when I asked Jamil to slide my towel to the side and continue his massage," continued Rachel.