Jamal was headed to basketball practice. Even though it was just a short walk, it gave his mind time to wander. The past couple of weeks had been crazy! What was with all these white girls? He gave his big nuts a scratch. He was getting more pussy than he'd ever had! All married, white, crazy sluts. These bitches just love dark meat.
First, the head nurse, who he was sure was going to call him into her office during practice again for a quick blowjob. Then was Arlene, the cock hungry wife who needed help with her box. Even his French teacher had got in on the action! He was still daydreaming about it all when Orla came barrelling down the hall.
Orla was many things. Smart, beautiful, confident. She was not, however, a runner. With her arms flailing around, and all the grace of a baby giraffe, she narrowly avoided the wall as she came around the bend into sight. Her feet slapped on the tiles, and her tits threatened to burst out of her blouse. She was determined, though. And she was close. She had no idea how long it would take her to stop.
It was pretty obvious to Jamal. There was no way she was stopping before she ran into him. He thought about catching her for a moment, but he wasn't sure if it'd hurt her. She was coming in fast, and it looked like she would take both of them out!
Just before she crashed, full force, into him, he took a quick side step. He didn't avoid her completely, though. Her arm jutted out, and she grabbed him, letting her momentum carry her around, and she ended up hugging him from behind. When she stood like this, the height difference really stood out. Big tall Jamal's ass was just a little above her navel. Her face nestled in between his shoulder blades. Tired out, she slumped, clasping her hands together in perfect place to feel the weight of his cock against them.
"Oh, ah, Good," she panted, "I, ah, found, ah, you."
"You sure did," he laughed, "You all right?"
"Oh, yeah," she replied, still breathless, but recovering. "Maybe, ah, yeah, I, oh," she took a deep breath. "Maybe I could be a little fitter. Phew!"
"Hmm," Jamal pondered, non-committally, "I can think of a few exercises we could do together."
"Oh, can you, now?" she asked, sliding her hand into his pants. "I wonder if they involve balls." She ran a finger down the side of his sack, feeling it twitch.
Two of Jamal's teammates ran past. Her hands were back in the open before they could look back.
"Hurry up, Snake," one shouted. "Coach is giving the last one there a bunch of laps!"
"Shit," he said under his breath. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow!" He started running down the hall.
"Do you want to meet me in town tomorrow?"
"Sure," he shouted back "10am at the fountain?"
"Sure!" she shouted in reply as he disappeared around the corner.
No car, no money, but Jamal had a promise to keep. It was about a five mile jog to the fountain, but the weather was fine, and he was fit enough to manage.
His clothes would suffer, though. By the time he got there, just about anything would be messed up. He decided to go dressed for running, not impressing. Not that he had much to impress with, and his mom would kick his ass if he wore his best to town, anyway.
He pulled on a t-shirt. It was plain, not very interesting, but in one whole piece. Not a hole to be seen. Which was more than could be said for his shorts. There were some fairly big holes in them, and if someone looked closely enough, they'd be able to see his dick hanging under them. Other than his team colours, he didn't have any better. Team colours weren't an option. Not in town. Not worth it.
He set off, keeping an even pace. No real rush, he figured, it'll take less than an hour. For the first mile, the only people he saw were the kids playing basketball, who called out to him to join in. Then there were the gang members, openly carrying their knives and brazenly trading in drugs. He avoided both. He only had one meeting in mind.
After about the second mile, the storefronts started to appear. Even this far from town, the streets were beginning to fill up. The weather brought out all kinds of people. They dressed for it, too. Honeys in tube tops and even bikini tops. Beautiful legs underneath torn off denim shorts or those skirts that looked like the sleeves of something George Washington would wear. He jogged on past babes with towels heading for the beach. Roller chicks skated past him, with guys drooling and whispering as they passed.
Jamal was a big, tall, black man, He had a striking appearance, despite his shabby clothes. Wherever he went, people paid attention to him. Some gave him scornful looks, holding their noses. Others looked on, appreciatively, at his tall, muscled form. But they all looked. He would have made an awful criminal.
With about a mile to go, the streets were really crowded. It was difficult to keep up the pace. He was constantly weaving through the throngs of people, ignoring the shouts of "slow down," and "Look where you're going!", as well as the occasional "Don't just run past, honey. Come show me how big you are!".
There were a few really close calls, too. Some girl stepped out of a store, carrying bags and chatting to her friends. Distracted as she was, she never expected a big black freight train to run down the sidewalk. Her friend looked up, but her reaction was to protect herself. She turned around and curled up, protecting her head like someone was throwing things at her. Both girls let out a yelp as Jamal snaked through their group. Basketball was a great sport, he thought.
Then he saw her, the sweetest rose in the garden. Perched on the side of the fountain like a beautiful bird of prey, ready to strike. She was wearing a brightly coloured dress, with a matching wide brimmed sun hat. The colors complimented her dark brown skin. The outfit showed off her curves, drawing attention to all the right places. Jamal started to feel awkward about his clothes.
"You made it!" Orla cried out, shoving through the crowd to reach him. She hugged him tightly. His clothes didn't even cross her mind.
"You look great! I wish I'd have known, I'd have worn my best clothes!" He complimented, not wanting to admit that he didn't have any better clothes. She looked him up and down, smiling.
"I don't mind," she winked, putting her finger through a hole in his shorts and tickling his cock. "I like what I see!"
When he leaned over and kissed her on the lips, they were in their own private paradise. But it couldn't last. The crowds jostled them, and the moment passed. Orla reluctantly leaned back. Jamal's kiss lingered on her lips.
"Get a cotton field," spat someone walking by, raising a laugh from some others around them. Jamal did his best to ignore it. Orla wasn't so good at that. She looked around for the culprit, fists clenching, shaking with rage. She couldn't see who had said it, however. Her shoulders bunched up, then sagged.
"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "I need to do something to calm down."
Orla took them to a little café, a couple of streets off the main strip. "Tease and Crumpet," it was called. A little brass bell rang above the door as they walked in.
There was a girl behind the counter, leaning lightly against the wall, reading a novel. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and she had more teeth than her mouth could contain. Her striped apron was tied tightly around her tits and waist, and from here, Jamal almost believed that she was naked under it. There wasn't a trace of cloth anywhere else.
"Good afternoon, Orla," she said in an unmistakable English accent. "It's simply splendid to see you!"
"Tara, Please tell me you have camomile." Orla sighed
"Certainly, sweetheart." The English girl smiled. She locked her fingers before folding the corner of her page. She placed her book beside the till and clapped her hands together, eagerly. "Right. What about Big Ben, here?" she asked.
"Uh, I don't know." Jamal answered, feeling a bit stupid. "W-water?"
"Water, darling?" she asked, "No problem. What kind of teabag would you like in it? Wait, let me see."
