Dope Darius And The Senna

We turned on the porno with all intentions to fuck to it. I had picked it out that morning at a small video store down the block on my way home from the grocery store. The title on the cover read "HOT RANDOM FUCKING". Needless to say, the title alone had made me pick it up. I planned to take a picture of it and send it to Jay, with the message: 'most unimaginative title'. He would have gotten a kick out of it. Yet as I positioned the box to shoot a picture of it with my cell phone, I took a closer look at the couple having their censored tryst on the front. The man was breathtaking, the cover being a close up of his face and chest as he rammed into a faceless white woman. Well, maybe breathtaking wasn't the word for him. He was my type, which was all it took to make me take the DVD to the teller. I had an incurable fetish for thugged out white boys, and this white guy appeared to be just that.

I had attended school in one of the worst ghettos of a medium sized town in Ohio. Only about four white kids went there, three of them boys. The boys would always catch my attention. Black culture had bled into them like a plague of some sort. They wore their hair shaved close with designs. Gold chains hung about their necks, they wore their jeans hanging off their asses, revealing subtly decorated boxers. They talked with confidence and with a genuine ghetto dialect. I had always crushed on them, but for fear of the teasing I would undoubtedly endure for dating one of them, I had ignored my feelings. Don't get me wrong, though. I had always no less than despised the fakers, the white boys from the richest part of town who wore their pants sagging to their thighs and called each other brotha, when they had let alone ever met a black person much less had a friend who was one.

I had not told Jay of my fixation with the white man on the cover. We ate dinner, cleaned up the kitchen, and stripped naked, took our places on futon that sat in the living room in front of the television in our small high rise apartment. As was often the routine when we watched porn, we flipped though the scenes in the movie until we found one that we both liked...meaning we both found the couple attractive, and they were fucking in a manner that we could appreciate. I have a preference for watching men fuck women missionary. I like the close up of the dick entering and leaving the pussy, if I find the pussy to be pleasing to the eye. The dick can't look too bad either or it's a no go for me. I'm picky, what can I say?

Anyway, since I was in control of the remote on that occasion, I flipped through the differing scenes and couples quickly, searching for the man. Almost to the end, with Jay getting restless, I felt disappointment creeping over me as I surmised that the cover of the DVD not only boasted a horrendous title, but a couple that wasn't even in the fucking video. I let the DVD play on a couple that I felt I could stomach after discovering that the man was indeed, not in the movie.

"This the one?" Jay asked, stoking his hard, purplish dick obscenely. The skin on his dick was much darker than the rest of him. He had smooth, unblemished milk chocolate colored skin, which complemented the ripples of his washboard abs, and the sinewy muscles in his legs. He was looking good and inviting tonight, as always. He placed his dark hand on my thigh, which was only a hair lighter than he was. I laid back, trying to stave off the disappointment at not finding my man in the movie. As Jay climbed on top of me, I contemplated the reasons for our mutual love of porn. I suspected that Jay liked porn because it got me wet, so he didn't have to do it, since foreplay was not his thing. He hated to eat me out, and I could barely get him to accidentally brush his knuckle against my clit let alone get him to show it the attention it needed and deserved.

I sighed as I watched the white couple fuck on the screen, she was bent over the back of a black leather couch, her blond hair whipping about as she squirmed in ecstasy. The man behind her was unremarkable, with washed out blonde hair and an old face, like usual. I prepared for Jay's entrance, because I knew it was coming, though I can't say I was particularly ready for it, since my disappointment at not seeing the man from the cover had all but halted my sex drive.

I kissed Jay softly, spread my legs wider, tried to imagine the man from the cover, hovering over me like Jay was now. I tried to imagine what he would do, how his lips would feel on my clit, the rough strength of his tongue at it entered me again and again. It started to work, I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter, and then the moaning from the video was interrupted by another male voice. "What the fuck are you doing with my wife!" My eyes shot open and raced to the screen, where the man from the cover stood, watching the old faced blonde man and the blonde as they sprang apart, clearly caught.

'Terry! I thought you were in Seattle on business!' Shrieked the blonde, covering herself with one of the couch cushions, a useless act in my opinion, since both men had fucked her before apparently. "Wait!" I said to Jay, pushing him off of me and sitting up, staring at the screen. "It's him, Terry!" I pointed at the screen.

"Give me a fucking break Senna, get back here so we can fuck, forget that shit, it started a job I'm ready to finish." I rolled my eyes at Jay's statement, then I gave my undivided attention to Terry, the man of my dreams. He was buff, a fact I hadn't discerned earlier form the low quality of the DVD cover. His arms were like pistons, his chest promised to be just as beautiful beneath his navy blue tank top. He wore a pair of jeans that fit snugly at his waist, they were not that baggy, damn. In the video, he didn't in fact give off the vibe I had assumed. He was not really the urban white boy I was in to, but he was handsome all the same. I was a sucker for tats as well, and his left arm was covered with colorful ink from shoulder to wrist.

'You bitch, Samantha. How dare you cheat on me. With this? You've got to be kidding,' Terry said, in his forced amateurish dialogue. It was a porno, so I couldn't be too judgmental about the cast's acting talent. Samantha looked from man to man, her expression confused. I'm not sure if that was the look she was going for, but she wore the expression well.

'Terry, I love. Sam. Please don't hurt him!'

"You love Sam huh? You cheat on me, your husband, for Sam. He's our plumber for goodness sakes!" Terry, in his distress, ripped his shirt off and grabbed Samantha. "So I guess he won't mind watching me fuck you, since you're my wife." With no interlude, Terry slid off his jeans and his large dick sprang free.

"Damn, that white boy is packing!" Jay yelled, having forgotten his sexual frustration for the moment. He was indeed, packing. His dick was so large that it barely lifted with its arousal. Terry held it in his hand, like it was a separate being from himself. My attraction, having lessened after discovering that he wasn't the ghetto boy I had hoped for, returned with a vengeance as my eyes drank in the unbelievable length and girth of his member.

"He's puttin' you to shame, baby," I said to Jay, my mind mere mush. Terry bent Samantha roughly over the couch--I love rough, by the way-- and proceeded to slide his humongous dick into her. I watched the actress's face as he did so, it was a mask of concentration as he eased in and out, her body quivering with the impact of every thrust. Sam watched, with a dumb, blank look on his face. Terry looked at the ceiling as he fucked Samantha, who after about the fifth thrust had lost all composure. She shrieked and clawed at the couch cushions, her breath coming in short, excited gasps. Terry grabbed her hair, tugged on it roughly, eliciting more screams from Samantha. Sam looked startled at the scene, he put himself a safe distance away from them and continued to look on blankly. Terry smacked Samantha's ass, leaving a red hand print on her pale skin.

"Senna, come on!"

"Finish the job yourself...Jay, I'm watching this," I said distractedly. I wanted Jay to leave the room. As I watched Terry fuck Samantha, I could feel my wetness intensify with a vengeance, so much that I knew I would leave a wet spot on the couch when I got up. I leaned back, let my hand fall to my clit.

"Oh no you don't!" Jay yelled, lunging at me. "I want to fuck." I pushed Jay away.

"I'm serious Jay, leave me alone!"

"This is bullshit, fuck this, I'm going to Reynaldo's. Call me when you want to be fucked by a real man!" With that Jay pulled his clothes on and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him for good measure. With him gone, I could concentrate. Terry was masculine, took control of the session, at one point he picked Samantha up, and fucked her with her legs wrapped around his waist. He made no sound, his gaze never left the ceiling. She came. I could feel her come, maybe that was because I came myself, my fingers going to town on my clit, bringing home an orgasm Jay would have never been able to provide. It was so realistic, though. She didn't look like she was acting when her climax shook her body. She went weak, unable to stand on her own two feet as Terry held her up.

Sam made as if to clap, but then he remembered where he was. "You bastard. I loved her, and now you've ruined it. I can't fuck her after watching another man ravage her beautiful body." With that, Sam left, half dressed, prompting me to think of my initial reaction to the DVD, how I though it was a joke, and it was. The acting and dialogue were horrendous, the actors stiff and unenthusiastic, but that was the nature of the beast. It had served my purpose, it had showed me the man of my dreams in all his glory, even if he weren't entirely what I had expected.

'Honey, I'm sorry I ever betrayed you. Will you forgive me?'

'No, I served my purpose. I've got a date, and you can't come. Stay here and wait for Sam. Maybe he'll erase the image sometime.' Terry picked up his shirt and left Samantha, too. The camera zoomed in on her forlorn slash confused face, then that scene faded to black. Then another clip began. Quickly I grabbed the remote and fast forwarded to the end credits. His name scrolled up the screen. "Terry played by Dope Darius," I read to myself. I looked at the clock. It was nearly eleven p.m., and I figured Jay would at least be out for an hour before he got over his attitude.

I went into our small office and fired up the computer, then typed Dope Darius' name into my search engine. His movie catalogue plastered my screen, and I clicked on the link to his website probably ushering virus after virus onto my hard drive, but I couldn't help myself. His magnificent body comprised his home page, but unfortunately, his head was cut off. I clicked on the photos link, and was rewarded with a close up of his handsome face. His eyes were a shocking chartreuse, which complemented his tanned complexion, his strong jaw line was lined with a thin well sculpted beard. His lips were thick, a diamond gleamed from the area just below his thick pink bottom lip. I hadn't noticed the piecing in the video, but he could have simply not been wearing it, or not even had it yet, either way, it was increasing my attraction to him. Another picture merely displayed his well oiled colorfully tattooed arm. I stared at that one for a moment before I backed up to the home page and clicked on the bio link.

"He lives in Lincoln!" I shrieked in disbelief, staring at the screen. I couldn't fathom the idea that he and I lived in the same city. We had probably gone to some of the same places, maybe even seen each other before. I read more, my eyes drinking up every detail. It said that he enjoyed basketball, football, and his favorite type of music was rap. I considered this, then decided that this fact meant next to nothing. Just because he liked rap didn't mean he was the hardcore thug I had hoped him to be, my fucking publisher listened to rap, she was the whitest thing since Wonder began baking bread. After reading my fill and feeding my crush, I turned the computer off, took a hot shower and jumped into bed, hoping to be knocked out by the time Jay came stumbling back in from his brother's house.

~~

I was up early the next morning, my mind refreshed and ready to take on a day of relaxation, the first I'd taken in a while. I extracted myself from Jay's sleepy embrace, and pulled on stylish pink sweats and flip flops. I pinned up my shoulder length hair and went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. My dark skin glowed this morning, though I wasn't sure why. It wasn't like I had gotten any I hadn't given myself last night.

I packed my oversized black leather purse with all the essentials, including my lap top, and bounded out to the elevator. I rode down alone, thinking only once of the previous night, and Darius Doom, or whatever his name had been. I don't know what had come over me last night, yet in the light of day I was feeling more rational. I headed to a new book store that had opened on twelfth street to see how my newest book was being displayed. I pushed into the bright airy space, already populated with intellectuals and college students pouring over assorted readings at the café and in the comfortable chairs strewn about the store, despite the early hour. I headed straight to the Art & Literature section, hoping my book would be there and not thrown in the with stereotypical tripe that usually comprised the Ethnic Literature section. I was against categorizing literature by race. To me, books were books, and shouldn't be separated by race and cater to any particular crowd but that which appreciates good literature, of any color. I was prepared to repeat that rant to the store manager when I came upon my book, propped up prominently in the D's of the alphabetized Art and Literature section. I watched from afar as a man, dressed in baggy dark jeans, and oversized gray T-shirt and a black flat billed hat perused the books immediately adjacent to my book, which I had reluctantly titled AMBER'S MURDER. I often spent whole days doing this, watching to see the variances of interests my books attracted. I was always surprised when older white women picked up and leafed through my book, even if they failed to purchase it.

My phone rang suddenly, and I answered, watching the man the whole time, wondering if he would even take a second look at my book. He was looking at a title directly next to mine, written by Laura Darkling, who was always next to me of course, my last name being Darkley. "Hello?" I said after a short delay.

"Senna, where are you? I woke up and you weren't here." Jay whined.

"Honey, I'm at that new book store, watching my book."

"You are so weird Senna."

"No I'm not, plenty of authors do this. Anyway, what do you want?" I watched as the man passed my book by, and instead picked up a book written by Allen Dasery, an author I had met once or twice. Discouraged, I turned away to an unoccupied aisle.

"Can you bring me some breakfast home? I don't feel good."

"Yes Jay, I'll see you in about an hour." I snapped my cell shut and dropped it in my purse. I walked back out to continue watching my book, only to see that the man had my book in his hand, was reading the back cover. Stifling my glee, I sidled up beside him, slyly picked up Dasery's convoluted period piece. He was reading intently, his back still to me for the most part. I watched as he seemed to be looking at my picture, a glamour shot looking photo I had taken years ago situated in the lower left corner of my book's back cover.

"She's hot as fuck." he said to himself. I had never fathomed that reaction to any of my books before, thinking people probably paid minimal attention to the cheesy author photographs some publishers stuck on the back of their books. Feeling exposed, I made to put Dasery's book back and scurry away before he realized I was the woman pictured on the back of the book, but then his gaze pinned me to my spot.

"You ever read Senna Darkley?" he asked. I almost shit myself, first, because he was the hottest white man I had ever seen. I don't know how I had missed his style of dress, the way he carried himself. Second, he was him. I mean, this was him! My eyes were glued to the diamond below his lip. I couldn't see his eyes as well as I would have liked since his hat shadowed them even though I was looking up at them, he was a good foot taller than my five foot four stance.

"Uhh..." I stammered, feeling light headed. 'I've seen your dick!' I thought to myself. "She's a good writer I hear." I turned away, trying to hold off the inevitable.

"Shit!" he exclaimed. My stomach dropped. "This is you, you're, I'm a fucking idiot, man, you this girl, you Senna Darkley!" he laughed, stomped his foot.

"That's me!" I replied weakly, facing him head on. I stared at his chest, since my eyes were level with it and all. I could remember the way it and his abdomen had looked in the movie. I could hardly believe I had just run into Darius, Dope Darius!