Escapism

When Boredom Creeps In

Rita lifted her exhausted, aching eyes from her copy of History of Western Philosophy, feeling as if a raging fire was ravaging her mind; she leaned back on the leather office chair, stretched, and several cracks echoed in her silent small apartment illuminated only by the lamp attached to the desk, its bright white light falling directly onto the pages.

She lit a cigarette and inhaled deep, with a sigh letting the blue cloud of smoke out of her mouth; she couldn't even tell how long it'd been since she last had gone out to town. For the past few weeks, her only outings were the visits to the supermarket, for provisions.

The master's thesis was looming over her head like a black cloud ready to implode in the most violent storm, the deadline approaching fast like a runaway train gliding through the tracks with no consideration for innocent passersby and she could do nothing to stall it.

Was there, though, meaning to keep pushing herself, reading all the passages and the books, writing dozens of outlines (which they all, indiscriminately, ended up in the trash bin next to her desk), trying to view the selected subject from all points and angles?

As she dragged from her cigarette, she dreadfully realized that "no, there's no damn point"; every angle she could think of, every main subject and analysis she suddenly thought of as "that's it!", someone'd already written about it, and others had commented, corrected, and argued about it.

Howsoever she looked at it, there was nothing new left to be said; the dreadful realization quickly dawned upon her, though, that it wasn't the fault of those, who had written papers, dissertations, and books on the subject, but her own. She simply wasn't cut out for a life in academia, she did not possess the mental prowess and innovation to make it into this highly competitive field. Even if she had lived before Kant was born, she would not have been able to write, or even come up with something vaguely resembling, Critique of Pure Reason. The ideas would have been just as alien to her as the new, still unwritten, ideas of some brilliant genius working somewhere in a basement are.

Hence, and despite the late hour, she got dressed; a short, tight-fitting, red strapless dress and black heels, she checked herself on the mirror after she finished fixing her hair and applying her makeup and smiled contentedly. At the very least, she tried to console herself, I still look good even after so many weeks locked inside, even if I'll never write a philosophical treaty that'll change the world.

Little did it do to comfort her struggling mind, as she was haunted by thoughts about the uncertain future lying ahead, but, her reflection on the mirror was enough to give her a good boost of confidence. She walked out of the apartment building and into the main street of the little town in which she resided.

Even though it was a little past midnight, people were still out in abundance, some staggering back home after more tequila shots than they could handle, while others were taking their parties to the bars and nightclubs that stayed open until the first hours of daylight; it was toward the latter she was heading, too, knowing there'd be a large crowd (it was, after all, Saturday night), which she hoped would aid her to forget, even for a night, the daunting thoughts tormenting her mind.

She pushed her way through the already raucous crowd—plenty of the patrons were already semi-drunk, talking loudly and staggering about—and entered the smoking lounge; it was one of the few bars in town having a respectable place for smokers to sit and enjoy their drinks, without having either to go out in the rain to have a cigarette, or get packed like sardines in a can inside some glass-container.

Rita took a seat at the bar, on the only empty stool, and ordered a gin and tonic; it arrived quickly and the first sip was indeed rejuvenating, as it flowed through her blood system and soothed her mind—perhaps it was simply her own imagination, but, nonetheless, she did feel better.

More relaxed and with a faint smile curling her bright red lips, she turned on the stool, scanning the room; everywhere there were happy people talking over the blasting rock music, sipping from large glasses of beer, dancing, flirting, kissing.

At first, her attention was drawn to a lone man sitting at the edge of the counter, all alone and the sole solemn-looking person in the room, brooding over a nearly-empty glass of what appeared to be whiskey.

Rita smiled at him, when he raised his glance and their eyes momentarily met; he offered her a half-smile, a sullen, tired curl of the lips, then turned to the bartender and pointed at his glass. Soon, Rita gave up on him, as he was evidently more interested in the whiskey he was draining than in her; and yet, something about the long-haired, bearded man in the torn leather jacket and stained black shirt fascinated her.

Her solitude did not last long; suddenly, a young black man dressed in saggy jeans and a tight-fitting purple shirt giving away his muscled torso approached her with a wide smile exposing his bright white teeth; she flinched, when he put his hand, quite tenderly, on her knee, but, decided to play along—after all, she did come to the bar to flirt the night away, to kill some time with the hope of relaxing her mind enough so as to work on her thesis with more bravado come morning.

"Hi there, baby," the young man said, still sporting his wide, warm smile, "whatcha doing all alone?"

"Nothing," she shrugged and tried to smile. "Just...trying to have some fun."

"Where are your friends, baby?" The man insisted, squeezing Rita's knee playfully.

"I'm looking for new ones," she gave him a meaningful wink, then fixed the upper part of her dress.

"Oh, is that so?" His eyes suddenly glinted. "I guess, you've heard what they say, right? Once you go black..." His smile widened even further.

"Right," she giggled, then nipped on her drink. "I didn't know that pertained friendship too."

"Oh, but it does, baby," he chuckled and moved closer to her, pressing his crotch against her leg, leaning forth to gaze straight into her eyes.

"My," a loud snorting chuckle escaped her mouth, and her face instantly turned crimson; she felt his hardness and size on her thigh, as he pressed closer against her. "Someone's really happy to see me, huh?"

"Can you blame me, baby? Sitting here, looking hotter than hell," he whispered in her ear, running his hand higher up her thigh.

Rita giggled once more, this time even more girlishly; despite of the ridiculousness of the whole situation and of how the man had approached her (and was flirting with her), she deep down enjoyed it. It was the sort of good, mindless fun she was aching for, something so childish and cliché that was enough to eradicate, even for just one night, all her plaguing thoughts.

Perhaps, her initial attraction to the longhaired heavy drinker at the corner—who was still draining whiskey and remained the soberest (and most somber) person in the room—was that she had inwardly believed he'd provide her with the kind of thought-provoking and arguing-raising conversation she usually sought.

"I'm Tyrese, by the way," the man said directly in her ear, his soft whisper causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

"Rita," she introduced herself, tilting her head sideways; their lips a mere inch separated and their gazes met for a prolonged time.

Despite his outward behavior and demeanor, Rita noticed something in the man's eyes; something she could not explain, nor understand, and yet...it allured her deeply, mostly because she believed (or wanted to believe) there was something hiding underneath the 'dumb stud' gimmick.

"So, Rita," Tyrese's hand slipped under her dress, tenderly caressing her inner thigh—and thusly causing shivers to traverse her spine—"are you one of the countless women dreaming of a big black cock, but, are too prude, or prejudiced, actually to try it?"

"I don't think that..." (there are that many women fantasizing about black cocks in the way porn presents it, was what she stopped herself from uttering, deciding at the last moment to forget it all and just play along—a nice little scenario where they're both in some cheap production interracial porn. Why the fuck not, she said to herself, Saturday nights are all about mindless fun.) "Yes," she quickly changed her tone and voice, turning it a pitch higher, and crossed her legs, effectively trapping his soft hand between her thighs.

"Good," Tyrese nodded approvingly, giving her inner thigh a quick, hard squeeze. "And, trust me," he continued in the same stereotypical way, "not only are you going to love it, you'll never want to go back to what you've had before."

"Don't you think you're creating some great expectations?" She playfully asked him, flipping her long, brown hair.

"Trust me," he said in a deeper voice, "I never disappoint."

"We'll see about that," she said, then drank her gin and tonic.

"How about a second round, baby?" He asked; before she could even reply, he had motioned the bartender over and ordered a gin and tonic and a rum-cola.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Tyrese?"

"No, no reason for that," he lifted his shoulders, with an innocent smile. "I just thought you're still too tense, Rita baby," his smile widened, "and a second round might loosen you up just right, so you can enjoy the rest of the night."

"Uh-huh," her lips curled into a half-smile, but, she welcomed the second gin and tonic; it was refreshing, rejuvenating, and, indeed, it helped her relax even more, finding herself forgetting about the unwritten thesis, about the ideas that had already been developed by others and in far superior ways than she could ever dream of accomplishing.

She glanced back at Tyrese, who nipped on his drink and had just lit a cigarette, and a wide smile illumined her face—for one night, she could be one of those girls who seemingly have nothing but fun.

Another round of drinks later, Tyrese took her by the hand and led her out of the bar; before she left, she stole a final glimpse of the longhaired drinker in the corner, who looked even more solemn and sullen than before, despite the seemingly lethal amount of alcohol he had consumed, and wondered how her night would have turned out, had Tyrese not approached her and she had, as she had thought of, gone over and talked to that man.

They walked down the streets, Tyrese walking sturdily with his back straight, proudly, and she had her hands around his huge, muscled arm, resting her head on his shoulder. The night was sweet and cool; just the perfect night for a long walk, she thought, but, after just a few minutes Tyrese produced his keys out of his pocket and let her in the building.

Her initial reaction to his apartment was sheer shock; the walls were hidden behind tall, thick bookcases and she allowed her gaze briefly to scan the titles. Mainly classic literature, as well as philosophy books: Foucault's three-volume The History of Sexuality was one of the first she noticed.

"I'd never expect..." she said, when he grabbed her from behind, his hands on her flat stomach, and pressed his lips on hers, effectively stopping her mid-sentence.

She turned around to face him and thrust her tongue in his mouth, her hands on the back of his head, pressing her fingertips on the back of his neck. His hands moved south, firmly gripping her ass, pulling her closer in.

She bit his lower lip and pulled slightly back, staring into his eyes with a smiling gaze.

He went back to kissing her hard, sucking on her tongue passionately, and rather noisily; he lifted her dress, his smooth hands touched her naked bottom. She squirmed, smiling while they kissed.

Abruptly, he pushed her away, sporting a huge grin; Rita was momentarily stunned, simply staring back at him, unaware of what had just transpired. Then, she understood.

Still smirking, he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans...she remained still, petrified, suddenly gripped by the realization of what was to transpire; certainly not what she had planned for the night and yet, her heart raced in excitement and agony, having felt Tyrese's length but now eager to discover whether what she had felt had not merely been a mirage, or fantasy.

And it wasn't; he dropped his pants and underneath his boxers she discerned the diagram of his tool.

"Come on, baby," he pulled her close by the arm, "whip it out yourself; savor the moment, huh?"

Rita knelt down; it had been quite a long while since she last had had sex and she definitely never had experienced a dick as big as this appeared to be...she lowered his boxers, causing the massive tool to jump out and slap her once across the face.

She giggled, involuntarily, as she stared at the long, thick, pulsating member right in front of her face; her jaw had dropped and her gaze was mesmerized, unable, and unwilling, to glance away.

"See, baby?" Tyrese chuckled. "It's true what they say; it's damn true."

"Definitely," she gasped, as she touched him gently, wondering (in both anticipation and fear) if it could actually fit.

"Don't worry, baby," he said, as if reading her thoughts, "I'll make it fit; I always do."

Rita stuck her tongue hesitantly out and lightly touched the dark-purple, mushroom-esque tip; she tasted a faint essence of salt and sweat and yet, it was enough to lower her inhibitions. Moreover, her own excitement had risen exponentially and therefore she found herself rather eager to take the next step.

She opened her mouth wide open, welcoming the thick tip in her mouth, as she swirled her wet, warm tongue around it, thoroughly enjoying the faint squirming of Tyrese's body, the way his penis throbbed when she wrapped her soft, full lips around the shaft and tried to take more of his inches in her mouth.

"Ah, shit," Tyrese moaned deeply, "that's it, baby. Keep sucking that big black cock...fuck, you're good, baby!"

Rita's gaze was fixed on his eyes, as she bobbed her head, slowly, but steadily, swallowing more of him down, his girth expanding her throat. She had both hands wrapped around the shaft, stroking hard and spreading her own saliva to the entire rod, making it thus more slippery and consequently easier to swallow.

Tyrese grabbed her hair and pulled, suddenly beginning to sway his hips back and forth, driving his tool down her throat with more intensity and vivacity, his moans growing louder.

Rita gagged and tears welled down her eyes, while still staring straight into his; he continued thrusting his penis down her throat for a little while longer, holding Rita's head firmly around his shaft, often forcing her to keep his cock down her throat until she began desperately slapping him on the thigh.

Suddenly, he pulled out and picked her back up on her feet; he kissed her intensely, driving his tongue down her throat, and his fingers explored her wet pussy, rubbing and softly spreading the labia.

"You're already wet, baby," he said with a smile; Rita simply nodded, flushed. "Good," he added and pushed her on her back on the couch.

Rita instinctively spread her legs, leaning back on her elbows, and she looked on as he got down on his knees, his wet, hot lips planting long kisses on her inner thighs, while his fingers ran along her soft, tender skin of her lower stomach, staying mere inches away from her clit and shaved pussy.

His kisses moved upward, and he reached her pelvic region; she squirmed, when his tongue first came in contact with her clit.

He began licking, swirling his tongue around her aroused clit, using his fingers to rub her, as he gently pushed one finger in, slowly breaking down the initial resistance of her tight cunt.

"Fuck," she moaned heavily, taken aback by her own vulgar reaction.

Rita spread her legs wider and tilted her head backwards, to face the ceiling, as two fingers had found their way inside her, gently moving in and out, stretching her vagina and making her body faintly tremble.

Tyrese continued with the licking of her clit, intensifying the pace; then, he pulled his fingers out and let his tongue enter her pussy, while he continued to stimulate the clit with his wet fingers, rubbing it fast and hard, while flapping his tongue inside of her.

"Jesus, don't stop," she pleaded, in between biting her lips down hard.

Her head was resting on the couch and she had cupped her breasts, squeezing and twisting, while her moans grew louder, unable any longer to control herself. She writhed and squirmed, while Tyrese's tongue flapped even faster inside her, his fingers rubbing her clit.

"You taste so fucking sweet, baby," he said with a wide, bright smile; then, he planted kisses on her stomach, as he slowly slithered up toward her face, kissing her body along.

He paused on her breasts to lick, suck, and bite them and to play with her erect nipples, every little twist causing her body to shake; she put both hands on the back of his head, quite demandingly pulling him up, suddenly finding herself overly eager for the kiss.

And he complied, eventually; he kissed her deeply, lying atop of her, his steel-hard throbbing member rubbing against her hot, excited cunt. She lowered one hand and grabbed him firmly, giving him a few good, long strokes.

Then, she guided him to her pussy; he grabbed her leg and brought it up to her head, pinning it down with his shoulder. Rita felt widely stretched and thus, when he first penetrated her, she squirmed in intense pleasure, feeling the girth expanding her inner walls, but, there was no pain, as she had initially feared.

At first, he was gentle; every thrust meant to drive him deeper in, gradually stretching her out just enough so she could accommodate him perfectly. More than once he had to pause, so as to avoid getting too overwhelmed by her tightness and warmth and finish the job before it even started.

Rita softly dug her nails in his shoulder blades, kissing his neck fierily, as he pushed one last time and drove it all in; her body jerked, when his shaft stuffed her good, reaching in deeper than anyone before—including the three toys she had bought online during different drunk, lonely nights.

And then his thrusts slowly grew in power and speed; he brought her other leg up to her head—her head now caught between her knees—and pinned her arms down on the couch.

Rita felt completely vulnerable and at his mercy; trapped under his weight, and all she could do was cry out in sheer enthrallment as he plowed her hard, driving his cock deep in her.

"See what you've been missing all this time, baby?" Tyrese asked.

"Yes, yes," she moaned out loudly. "Harder, Tyrese, please..."

"Say it, baby, don't be afraid. Say it," he encouraged her amid his heavy panting and hard drilling.

"I love your black cock, Tyrese," she said, completely letting go of inhibitions and rationality, "I want it in me, and I want it rough."

"Good girl," Tyrese smirked and abruptly stopped.

Rita did arch her eyebrow in confusion, but, she got the reply to the question she didn't have time to pose, when Tyrese lifted his body, then grabbed her by the waist and spun her around on her stomach.

"Properly, baby," he slapped her her firm, round ass once, "get on all fours like a real bitch in heat; show me just how badly you want this bad boy," he slapped his cock on her ass.

Rita, enraptured, stood on all fours, arching her lower back high, presenting her ass to Tyrese. She turned her head to look at him and saw him nodding in approval, while he scratched his chin and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm.