It was Saturday night, and the usual was happening. Martin was fucking his wife.
Shereen was in her usual position, her legs propped up with the pillows. Martin thrust and pounded on top of her, trying to force himself up on his elbows. Martin was staring down into the mattress as he let his ass ride the wave. He loved his wife, and he loved fucking her. He just wanted to do something other than fucking her on Saturday night just because it was convenient to their schedules.
Shereen kissed him on the ear and began rubbing his back. She was enjoying the sex. She loved that her husband still stayed so thin, even though she was painfully aware that she was getting heavier as time went on. Her tits were getting bigger as well, but they were starting to sag and show some whitish cracks along the sides.
Martin got up on his hands and lifted up so that he could look down on his wife. He continued fucking her hard while keeping eye contact. Shereen looked up at him, then started to smile. He leaned in to get a kiss, but Shereen flinched and pulled back. Martin lifted up his head, looking confused. He decided to step up the pace, trying to get finished. He looked at his wife's tits, hoping he could get his dick harder. It was not working. His mind went back to that white UPS driver who stopped in the office all the time. She had a fine ass on her. That image might do.
Martin reached down and felt his wife's ass while he was pumping inside of her. She was getting softer as the years went on. They had been married for ten years. It was tough watching such a sweet ass suddenly start to give out on you. Fucking her was at least getting her some exercise.
"Mommy!" yelled a tiny voice from the other room. "I had a nightmare!"
Shereen put her hands on her husband's chest. "Baby, settle down!" Martin reluctantly pulled out of his wife, his dick wet with love juice. Shereen jumped up and threw on her frayed housecoat. "Just finish yourself off, honey," she said as she left the bedroom. "You can watch some porn."
Martin rolled onto his back, then looked at his dick. It was already starting to fall over from exhaustion, or much more likely out of sheer boredom. He gave his black dick a gentle slap. "Wake up, man," he whispered. He reached over for his iPad. "Let's see...set to incognito..." He gave a wary eye to the bedroom door, which was only slightly ajar. When he was satisfied no one would enter, he began to type: "White girl fucked by BBC."
He watched as the whitest white blonde in existence was being railed by a cock so big that it made Martin upset. "Why couldn't that stereotype have worked out for me?" he wondered. The girl on the screen looked as if she was getting fucked so hard that it was terrifying her. He probably missed that look on a girl's face more than anything. There was no danger or surprise when you were fucking your wife in your nice suburban home. You could not fuck her hard enough or you would wake up your daughter. She did not want you cumming on her face because it might get on her hair and mess up her weave, and basically sucking your dick was out of the question.
He rubbed and tugged at his dark meat, but it was no use. The giant perky tits on the white girl would not make his erection budge. He turned it off and tried roll over and go to sleep.
Shereen came back in and took off her housecoat. "Sorry, honey," she said as she pulled out a pair of pyjamas from her dresser. She put on her pyjama bottoms, causing her breasts to jiggle as she bounced into her pants. Martin did not even turn around to enjoy the spectacle.
"No, baby," he said into his pillow. "It's okay. I'll do it later."
She put on her top and climbed under the covers. She looked at the back of her husband's head. "Zariah was just a little lonely," Shereen said.
Martin yawned. "That's nice. Good night, hon."
Shereen kissed her fingertips and put her fingers on the top of her husband's head. She turned her back to him and went to sleep.
The next morning, Shereen was digging around in the storage space in the basement. Martin wandered down after having too much peace and quiet.
Shereen was pulling boxes out from the closet under the stairs. The basement was actually finished a few years ago, which was to serve as Martin's den but ended up at Zariah's playroom. She moved a few of the boxes to the side while not minding Martin being there.
Eventually Shereen squealed with victory. She hauled out the cardboard box and tried to pry it open.
"What is that?" asked Martin.
Shereen looked up. "My comic books!"
Martin widened his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "I somehow managed to find the one black woman who can't sing or dance, and collected comic books. You're like some kind of black unicorn."
Shereen scowled at her husband. "So what? I liked to watch the super heroes, even if there weren't a lot of black faces. Oooh, look!" She pushed a few of the comics aside and pulled one out. She gazed at the cover with a look of love.
"Why did you pull out all this junk, anyway?" asked Martin.
"Zariah is having a rummage sale at her school. They want to raise money for a school in Malawi." She held up the comic to her husband. "Check it out!"
Martin stepped forward and leaned in. On the cover was a dark-skinned woman in an outdated costume, looking more like a disco jumper. Her cleavage ran all the way to her belly button. The woman had regular-sized breasts and toned arms, holding one fist up as if punching the sky and yelling. There were Nazi stormtroopers with machine guns appearing to dance behind her.
Martin read the title. "Afro-Mighty," he read. "Ugh. Sounds like some Manhattan Jewish writer trying to make a relatable character."
Shereen pulled back the comic and looked at it again. "Well, I thought she was the bomb when I was growing up. I admired everything about her."
Martin smiled. "You going to let some of the neighbours buy these comics?"
Shereen panicked and hugged the comic close to her chest. "Oh, not Afro-Mighty! But I had a few others that might get a few dollars." She flipped through more of the comics in the box. "Yeah, I can probably spare a few of these. Spider-Man was kind of cute for a white boy. Ooh!" She held up a copy of the X-Men with Storm on the cover, completely bald. She kissed the cover. "She has that beautiful African warrior look here."
Martin merely chuckled. Shereen gave him the look again. "Take out the garbage," she ordered.
Martin trudged up the stairs and made way to the kitchen. He wondered if he could find a woman like Storm if he could talk his wife into some kinky shit.
After getting the trash bag, he walked it over to the trash bin. His neighbour, Travis, was washing off his RV in his driveway. Travis whipped around and waved to Martin, then dashed over.
Travis was a man-boy, nearly forty years old. He had ridiculous frosted tips, earrings, and a barbed wire tattoo around both biceps. Travis appeared to work out, perhaps to excess. He walked over to Martin with his arms raised out as if to hug him.
"Yo, my bro," he said. He grabbed Martin's hands and shook heartily. Travis was wearing a sleeveless waffle shirt and cargo shorts. Martin thought it was the perfect white trash uniform.
Martin cocked his head and gave a half-hearted smile. "RV's looking nice. You ever going to take it somewhere?"
"Fuckin' A, bro," said Travis. "Me, wife, kids. Boom! Going to the cabin next weekend." Travis looked back at the RV just to admire it again. He turned back to Martin. "Hey, when are you going to work with me at the dealership? We could be killing it there, man!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Martin, hesitant. "Things are going well at the water treatment plant. I might make senior engineer soon."
"Dude, fuck that plant!" Travis said, probably at a volume that bordered on inappropriate. "I make mad money at the dealership. That over there?" he said, pointing to the RV. "Paid for. I'm getting' mad cabbage, bro. I'm telling you, get on board. I know I could make you a sales machine. Then you get to be a
pussy
machine, ya know?" He laughed hysterically. Martin laughed more out of sympathy.
"Yeah, uh, let me get back to you to it, man." He gave Travis a black man's shake just to mess with him. "You stay cool, man."
Martin went back into the house. Shereen was in the kitchen eating a slice of melon and looking at another of her comics.
"Whoa, don't drip juice on it, babe," Martin cautioned. "You'll get the pages stuck together."
Shereen did not look up from her comic book. "I have an idea."
Martin paused and waited. "Okay."
She looked up from her comic. "I want to wear a costume." She held up the comic with her non-melon hand. "Something like this."
Martin shrugged. "Ooookay. Go to the costume store."
Shereen rested her chin on her palm, propped up on the kitchen island. "No, baby.
We're
going to wear them. I want you to figure out what superhero you are."
Martin sputtered. "I never paid any attention to that. I know Spider-Man and Superman and that's it."
The light bulb seemed to go off for Shereen. "We'll make our own! You make up a superhero. His powers, his persona. We'll be..." She got comically flamboyant. "...a team-up!"
Martin squinted. "So just go buy some costume, or make one?"
Shereen strutted over and grabbed her husband by the shoulders. "I don't care how. Just get one and bring it home for Friday. I'll send Zariah off to her auntie's." She smooched him on the lips, then walked out of the kicthen.
Martin watched after her, then raised his arms in disbelief.
After work on Tuesday, Martin bucked up his courage and went to a party store. He and Shereen did not discuss her little fantasy idea after she had suggested it. He was poking around in the costumes when a sales helper approached him. Martin typically wore a shirt and tie to work, so he probably looked far more approachable than your typical black man.
The sales helper was a rather pudgy woman with a lip ring, maybe in her mid-twenties. She had the typical ill-fitting store shirt and baggy pants. "Can I help you?" she asked, almost sounding afraid he might say yes.
