Debbie and Me

Walking in the basement door after work, I heard a repetitive banging noise upstairs, directly under my bedroom. It sounded like the headboard hitting the wall, and as I listened closer, I heard the squeal of mattress coils. Damn!

Not a good sign for someone who had only been married four days...

-------------------

Standing at the altar in St. John's Episcopal Church, Phil Houston, my best man and friend since the third grade, adjusted his bowtie and whispered in my ear, "I give her two..."

I glanced over at him. "Years?" I asked.

He just stared at me.

"Months?"

"Weeks," he laughed. "You know, your ushers have a pool going, just in case you want any action. The over / under is twenty days."

"Some friend you are..."

"Bro... I luv ya man, but you have lost your fucking mind."

All my friends were predicting the worst because I was about to become betrothed to Debra Anne Walinski. Debbie was, by almost anybody's definition, the most sexual woman I had ever met. She was a damn firecracker in bed, "sexual nitroglycerin" I called her, and easily the best piece of ass I had ever had. She would suck and fuck for hours on end and never quit, and to someone who rarely dated through high school and college, Debbie was a sexual epiphany.

There was one caveat, however, in that Debbie was also quite sexually experienced. OK, that might be a slight understatement. In truth, she had fucked every male I knew dozens of times, but hey, it was a small town. We had fallen in love, and she swore to me that she would become a changed woman. I believe that true love changes people, and there was no doubt in my mind that we would live happily ever after.

The wedding was great; however it was the first one I had ever attended where everyone laughed as the bride walked down the aisle.

"What's so damn funny?" I asked Phil.

"She's wearing white," he grinned.

---------------

Because money was tight, we stayed local and had our honeymoon at the Inn of the Dove. In-room heart-shaped Jacuzzi and a round bed that rotated. It was a little cheesy, kind of reminded me of a seventies porn set, however, I was so busy getting my ashes repeatedly hauled, that I barely noticed anything but the stars of orgasm for two whole days.

Debbie's mouth was like some type of futuristic Hoover Vacuum cleaner that George Jetson might use. She could suck the cum out of your balls with such force, I worried about bruising the back of her mouth. And her pussy? It was like having your dick massaged with a crushed velvet glove. We made sweet soft love, we fucked with rage, and the first forty eight hours of wedded bliss passed in the blink of an eye.

On the drive home, I was slightly relieved that our honeymoon was over. I had cum so many times that my whole groin was completely numb, as my new bride kept pushing for "just one more time." After we got home, I finally felt a slight sensation in my left nut, and made the mistake of telling Debbie. Four minutes later she drained me again.

I got back to work on Monday morning, and all the guys came by and congratulated me and wished me good luck. My life was finally set. A decent job that paid the bills and a wife to love and cherish until my last breath.

--------------

I grabbed the Glock out of my desk drawer and raced up the stairs. Who the fuck would dare rape my new bride?

Standing at the bedroom doorframe with the handgun pointed and the safety off, I saw this giant dark blob smothering my beautiful wife on our California king. I was about ready to pop his sorry ass when I heard Debbie scream out from underneath him, "Fuck me harder! Is that all you got?"

"Sonofabitch!' I swore to myself.

I pressed the safety back on and walked into the kitchen to grab a chair. I heard the twang of metal as the giant dark blob started pumping harder and it pissed me off that I was going to have to buy another mattress. Those kind of unforeseen household expenses cut into my beer and poker money. Fuck!

I placed the chair by the side of the bed and sat down; trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on. By carefully listening and observing, perhaps I could figure out what my marital future with Debbie held.

Instead, the giant dark blob looked over and smirked. What an asshole! Dude is banging my wife; you'd think the least he could do is have a smile on his face and a positive attitude.

"Look at that, slut! Your fuckin' white wimpy tiny-dicked cuckold is watchin' the show."

"I really don't think that is a completely accurate characterization," I responded. "It's true, I am Caucasian, however, I don't believe anyone has ever considered me wimpy, or at least ever said it to my face. As for being a cuckold, until about ten minutes ago, I never knew that I was one..."

"You don't know shit!"

"And that tiny-dick comment is completely inaccurate. According to Masters and Johnson's published sexual anatomical research, I am in the sixtieth percentile in both length and girth."

"Fuck Master Johnson and fuck you too, cracker!"

Dude was pissing me off! I pulled out the Glock from my waist band and the pointed it at the giant dark blob. "What name do you want on your tombstone?" I asked in an irritated voice.

"Woooooo... slow down. It's cool man. Bigger than a Vienna sausage, got it."

"What's your name?"

"Jamal."

"Just keep plowing away, Jamal. I got a couple of questions."

My wife suddenly decided to join the conversation, "Honey, you're distracting him." I ignored her.

"So how did you two love birds meet? At the library? An art gallery? At a MENSA meeting?"

"The bitch picked me up at the bar. Said she was lookin' for a little chocolate."

"What? Did Wal-Mart suddenly lock its doors? I heard the Ebola scare might cause the production of cacao beans in the Ivory Coast to go down. The Sunday Patriot didn't mention anything about the Hershey plant closing down..." I thought out loud.

"Bitch wanted some BBC."

"I find that hard to believe, Jamal. My wife has a hard time understanding English accents. Plus, she usually listens to CNN if there is a natural disaster or some major news event like one of the Kardashians deciding to sleep with a white guy."

"Big black cock, you asshole."

"Careful Jamal... just keep dropping the hammer on her."

"Fuck yeah, this bitch is tight!"

"How big is your dick, Jamal?"

"A foot long and thick as a Coke can."

"Wow. I've never heard those dimensions before. Couldn't you say about thirty centimeters and a circumference of nine?"

"Sir Cum, what? Damn straight I'm gonna bust a nut in this bitch!"

"You're not wearing a condom?" The giant dark blob was really starting to piss me off.

"Fuck no! All these lily white bitches want black babies. I'm gonna knock this one up."

"Is that true, Debbie?"

"Honey, his cock is so big I can't even think straight right now."

"Well, you know, the chances of your offspring actually being black are infinitesimally small. Chances are ninety six percent that it would be a brownish to caramel color," I remembered.

"Damn. I got it all up in this bitch," Jamal moaned.

"Come on... Rip it up! Make me your hoe!" my wife urged him on, while actually winking at me! What a bitch!

And with that encouragement, the giant dark blob rumbled like a freight train in the night. Collapsing his full weight on top, he emptied himself into her and together they quivered and moaned for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably about forty five seconds.

Much to my amazement, Jamal had the good sense to quickly gather up his clothes and lumber out of the bedroom, only stopping to look me in the eyes and say, "That's good pussy, man."

I stared down at my wife of four days and shook my head.

Debbie giggled, looking up at me innocently and said in her most sincere voice, "I'm really sorry, Honey. I know that I promised to be faithful, but I think we both know that probably wasn't realistic..."

"Yeah, I know..." I said dejectedly.

"If it means anything to you right now, I want you to know that I really do love you."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Will you forgive me?"

"I don't think I can, Debbie."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm divorcing you."

"Divorce? For one little indiscretion?"

"I'm not divorcing you because you cheated, Deb. No... I'm divorcing you because you fucked a cliché."

"Huh?"

"You could've screwed a Peruvian pole vaulter, a Latvian lumberjack, a Bulgarian bodybuilder, a Scottish sheep herder, a Siberian steeplechaser, a Finnish fisherman, a Barcelonian bullfighter or a Japanese sushi chef."

"You could have screwed any of those guys and I might have been able to get past it, because that really would have been unique and different for you. In some strange way I might have understood you being curious about something you've never tried, however, you showed absolutely zero imagination by screwing a black guy with a big dick, and I simply won't remain married to a woman who has such little creativity in bed."

"Now get the fuck out!"