My husband and I live in Atlanta Georgia, just one of the thousands of young black professional couples who’ve migrated to 'Hotlanta' in recent years. I’m program director for a local talk radio station. My husband, Tyrell, is an accountant. We own a beautiful three bedroom colonial style home, just outside of Atlanta, where we live with our two children Carl and Camille.
I’m a gorgeous woman and I know it. My face or more specifically my luscious full pouty lips paid my way through college. I was a lip model for a cosmetics company until I graduated. At 34 years old, I still think that I’ve got it. I’m 5’ 9½' tall. I’m very leggy and I weigh a voluptuous 150lb. I have the classic black woman’s body, 38DDD- 24- 40. My husband still drools over my tiny waist and my big round ass. I have the kind of ass that young Black men call a ba-dunka-dunk. In other words, this thick sista puts J-Lo to shame. I get my fair share of attention from men. In fact, I get much more than my fair share. That’s what got me into this situation.
It was about 7: 30 PM and I was working late as usual. The rest of the staff had long since departed. The only people left in the office were Jim Berman and me. Jim is what’s loosely called on air talent. Jim hosts a rather vulgar sports talk in show. Personally, I’d just as soon fire him on principle, but he’s very popular within the White male 18-34 demographic. The man is a crude boorish sexist clod. He’s everything that I wouldn’t want in a man. Thank God that my loving husband, Tyrell, is the polar opposite of that jerk.
I could hear the show over the P.A. Jim was being his obnoxious self as usual, but something wasn’t right. None of the current advertisers’ spots were running. In fact there hadn’t been a commercial break in about 20 minutes. What’s going on in the both, I thought.
I ran down the stairs, as fast as the 3 inch heals of my Chloë gold and burgundy pumps would allow. Trying to run in heels made my fat brown bubble butt wiggle like Jell-O under the clingy silk-wool blend of my form-fitting Narciso Rodriguez skirt. I jogged down the long corridor to the broadcast both. The On Air light was flashing red, but looking through the window, it was clear that Jim wasn’t in the booth. He had put in a tape of an old show and left in the middle both in the middle of his shift. 'Where is that jerk' I whispered to myself. 'This is the last straw. This time he’s out of here!'.
I searched up and down the halls for about 5 minutes, before I heard some noise coming from The Station Manager’s office. I tried the door and it opened without resistance revealing Mr. Williams’ well appointed office suite. 'Now that’s odd', I thought. I was sure that Mr. Williams wasn’t in his office at that time of night.
The outer office was empty, and apparently hadn’t been disturbed. There was a steady whooshing sound coming from the private bath room in the back of the office. Suddenly it stopped with a squeak of faucets being turned. Then I new that bastard Jim was trespassing in Mr. Williams’ office. Certainly he hadn’t come all the way down here just to use the boss's’ toilet. I crept surreptitiously over to the door and pulled it, it too offered no resistance. The bathroom was full of steam, which made it difficult to see exactly what or who was in there. As it cleared I saw Jim standing there in front of Mr. Williams’ vanity with an idiotic shocked look on his face. He had just gotten out of the shower, and was soaking wet. He was wearing a small white towel around his waist and nothing else.
'Do you know that a commercial spot hasn’t run almost an hour?' I snapped at Jim. He just looked me right in the eyes and dead panned 'don’t take that tone with me bitch.' 'Did you just call me a bitch?' I shouted incredulously, taking a step toward him and having every intention of slapping the taste out of his foul mouth. 'Did I st-st-st-st-stutter, Mrs. Auden?' said the obnoxious prick. 'Now why don’t you clear out of here, and go back to what your pencil pushing … that is unless you want to help me dry off'. I couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to challenge my managerial authority like that. I was so mad that I was shaking. I hissed through clenched teeth,' I don’t care how good your ratings have been, you bastard! I’m going to have your job for this,' I shouted on the verge of incoherent rage. 'Insubordination and leaving the broadcast both, while you are supposed to be doing a live show, are reason enough to justify your termination!'
Totally ignoring me, Jim turned and picked up a small toiletry bag. 'If you have a problem with me, take it up with Bob Williams. He’s the one who hired me', he said as he turned and walked over toward the sink. 'And as long as I’m bringing in the A-List sponsors that line his pockets, you aren’t firing anyone. Geez, you token Blacks get a title and you think you own the place.' He then took a can of shaving cream out of his bag and nonchalantly began to apply the foamy lather to his face. I didn’t know what to say. I’d never been spoken to in this manner. I was an executive, and he was merely a late night DJ. He turned from his shaving to ask me, 'Is there something else that you want?' As if on queue, his towel slipped from around his waist and fell in a heap at his feet.
There I was a professional black woman with an MBA, a faithful wife and mother, standing in a bathroom, with my mouth wide open in shock, staring at a naked white man. My breathing came quick as I took in the sight before me. I’d never noticed how much of a man Jim was. His body was taught and muscular. His chest and cut up wash board stomach were covered with a carpet of furry golden blond hair. But, what took my breath away was his cock.
Jim’s glistening, white, cock hung heavily between his legs. I’d never seen a man with such enormous endowment. It was much longer limp than my husband’s 7½' dick was when fully erect. The massive thickly veined shaft was nearly as wide as the can of shaving cream in his hand. Capping Jim’s huge white donkey dick was an obscenely bloated purple mushroom, the size of a toddler’s fist. I was hypnotized by pendulous swinging of his long fat hose. Jim’s voice startled me back to reality.
'Oh, so you like the works, huh? Why don’t you touch it baby? It won’t hurt you.' I felt threatened and confused. This man was my subordinate. He was showing a total lack of respect for me and my position, but my pussy was suddenly tingling and moist. I didn’t even reply to Jim’s lewd comment. I just turned and ran out of the bathroom. I didn’t stop running until I was back in my office. I sat at my desk trembling. My panties were soaked and an unexplainable sexual fear was spreading through me. I felt like a deer being stalked by wolf. 'Please don’t let him come up here', I whispered to myself.