Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction 1

Fate is a fickle mistress and she certainly played a hand in the impromptu road trip that led Lee Bevins to his destiny. If he hadn't happened to glance at the happenings section of the Sunday paper announcing the event, he might have missed it altogether. There was a lot of time to reflect about his fantasies on the hour-long drive to Philadelphia and a lot of time to chicken out. Having arrived early, he settled into his seat and nervously fidgeted around. An expert at telling lies, he calculated how he was going to tell anyone that questioned him about his presence there that he was really just there to get a copy of the book signed for a friend who couldn't make it that evening. He was overly paranoid that someone was going to recognize him but he didn't have to worry one little bit because no one was paying attention to him at all. He was insignificant in the proceedings and he seemed to fade into the setting like so much mediocre fodder in a pack of hungry alpha wolves. In that moment, he knew what Ralph Ellison must have felt when he penned his seminal work, The Invisible Man.

It was standing room only at the Borders bookstore as Scottie Lowe prepared to read from her recently published book, In Loving Color, which was to be followed by a brief question and answer period and signing copies of her very controversial collection of erotic stories. The place was packed and everyone was abuzz, copies in hand, anxious to speak with the writer and have her sign something of meaning to them in their books. Black women were in the house without a doubt, with their seemingly impeccablely matched outfits, perfect hair and makeup, and expensive designer stilettos that made even the shortest of them appear to monstrously tower over the diminutive Lee. They were huddled together with the pages turned to their favorite stories, discussing the characters like they were real people with real dramas and relating to them in ways that seemed transcendent. There were Black men in the place for sure and Lee found it odd that they all seemed to be so articulate and politically outspoken. He'd never really been around Black men that were scholars, and certainly not so many at one time, but they seemed to be staging some serious dialogue about the social commentaries in the book and trying to holla at the fine ladies as well. Lee made note that the white men in the place all had the same look of fear on their faces as he had, petrified someone was going to call them out for their secrets that Scottie had so expertly illustrated in black and white. He had found a seat next to the only white woman in the place and tried to make polite conversation without eliciting too many questions. She was cute, not gorgeous but cute. He dared not ask her too many questions about why she was there because he didn't want her to ask him in return.

Lee clutched his copy of the book to his lap as she took her seat at the front of the room. He could see the long line of Scottie's muscular legs under the table and her smooth chocolate skin. Her ultra low haircut made her appearance striking and alluring, and dare it be said, exotic. Her sleepy, seductive eyes had an hypnotic effect, enticing and drawing people into her lair of alliteration and metaphor and controlling their will with a glance. Her voice was melodious and intoxicating and the entire package was almost a bit too overwhelming for mere mortals to gaze upon, or at least that was the sensation that Lee was overwhelmed with. She was a Black goddess, emanating power, authority, and divine strength that held the entire room captive and it served to take his breath away with her natural power.

Before she began reading, she looked out into the crowd and seemed to make direct eye contact with Lee. She stared at him as if she was looking right through him and he felt a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow. She made a few comments, opened the copy of her book, and declared that she was going to be reading from one of, if not the most controversial story in the book, True Power and Control. Lee froze. It was "the" story, his story. He heart began pounding in his chest and he wanted to run for the door but he was paralyzed with fear and arousal. His tiny little cock surged with blood and became instantly hard. He'd read the story time and time again, exploding with orgasm each time as the words seemed to come off the page and describe his perfect fantasy. He was terrified to look around because he was sure that people would see him for what he really was and he couldn't take the intense feelings of shame. A surge of arrogance coursed through his body, it was nature's way of protecting his false beliefs and illusions of superiority but he didn't have control, there was nothing he could do so he sat quietly, waiting for the reading to begin.

She spoke softly. Not so softly that it was hard to hear but the kind of soft that made one feel reassured and calm. Her trick was that while her voice was soothing, the words she spoke shredded the very fabric of reality for the white submissive men in the room. Scottie was unapologetic in her delivery. She told the tale expertly of a privileged white guy who was the embodiment of obnoxious arrogance who had no choice but to succumb to the powers of a truly superior dominant Black woman. Lee's ears were ringing and he felt pain in his body but he couldn't determine its exact origins. As Scottie read about asserting sheer physical force on the pale body of the character, of marking his white flesh with welts and bruises, Lee felt the stings and the pain as his own. His breathing became labored and he struggled to sit still in his seat. She continued, describing the torment of the character in the book, ridiculing him for his worthless pink cock, degrading him for not being a real man, causing him to cry like a bitch in shame. Flush with arousal, he glanced around and saw the white woman sitting next to him was captivated and breathing hard. She made little effort to hide her excitement and he even thought that she might be discretely rubbing her pussy under her jacket. That added an extra element of arousal, one that he wasn't expecting and one that made him want to rub his little prick that much more.

Scottie continued. She seemed to be describing his plight expertly, taking him through the mental paces of both psychological domination and physical control with just her words. She told a tale of a white man fighting his true nature of inferiority, of him relinquishing his social perception of power to a Nubian Goddess who needed no proclamations or amendments to assert her superiority; it was deeply encoded in her DNA. Scottie looked up momentarily from her reading and looked directly at Lee. He could hear the woman next to him gasp for air and his heart skipped a beat. He could feel the heat from her leg as it pressed against his. In that brief fraction of a second, Lee knew a sort of domination he hadn't even known existed before. Scottie knew him; she could read him like a proverbial book and he had a humility and awe for what he knew to be a shift in consciousness.

Lee was lost in fantasy, there, amidst the crowd. He could feel her hands gripping his throat, squeezing with casual indifference as he squirmed about gasping for air. He could feel her cool spit hanging precariously from his cheek as she made him beg and plead to taste her waste, to feel the kiss of her whip. His cock was throbbing, hurting. Lee was lost in sensations and imagining being degraded and humiliated for Scottie's perverse pleasure. His life was nothing, or rather, he wanted his life to be nothing, to be reduced to a whimpering, cowering, worthless little dicked asswipe like he felt himself to be. He wanted her to black-mail him and threaten his reality so he could feel alive, on edge. He could hear her cruel laughter as she forced a huge black dildo in his ass, ripping him, destroying his masculinity. He could feel his flesh ripping as her whip slashed his pale, pasty skin. She was dominating him expertly, for all the world to see and she was doing it well. He was stroking his cock, trying to do it discretely yet almost proud of his public depravity. He could hear Scottie saying, "You stupid, worthless white fuck, I own you. I own your very being. I'll crush your spirit like I crush your pathetic balls with my heel and leave you crying and begging for more. Bow, you pathetic worm, bow to my superior Black being and acknowledge that I am your queen." How did she know? How could she read his mind? Fantasy and reality were becoming blurred. He rubbed his cock, it leaked and dripped. He exploded.

Lee drove home, his book unsigned. He felt violated but supremely at peace at the same time. His boundaries had been pushed and prodded with literary skill and he was drained for the sensual experience.