The Cum Catcher

"The thing you don't understand is that black people respect success. Maybe, you are a drug dealer. Maybe, you are a record producer. Whatever reason you have to drive this car makes you powerful. People don't mess with that," explained Sean.

While I was busy making sure that every door was locked in the Maserati, Sean was playing with the radio and turned it up all the way to some intensely booming hip hop music. My first horror was that he overpowered the levels. I could hear the spikes in the music being cut off. I could hear the rattle in the speakers. It was a horrible travesty to do that to a sound system. And then of course, I was mortified at the attention. I quickly reached for the volume knob. He had already anticipated my move. We jousted our hands for control of the volume. For some bizarre reason, we negotiated a compromise. Classical music would blast. Rolling down the windows wasn't part of the deal, but Sean rolled down all windows anyway.

So, we got to a stop at a red light with no traffic at all and Wagner blasting out of the open windows. Five thug like guys were on one street corner. I think one of them had a gun sticking in his waistband. They gave us the stinky eye. A group of three girls on the other street corner was pointing at us and talking in a very inspired way. Their clothing was loud, very loud. The short one with the big ass had no qualms about wearing daisy dukes that showed the entire side of her ass. Hot pink was a valued property. I was melting into the leather seat knowing that I was at the center of attention of both of these population plus probably more people inside of buildings whose windows were vibrating from the Wagner drums simulating the march of an army. Sean was sitting ultra-cool and with a big smile on his face. He gave the women the middle finger with a gusto that was taboo in my family growing up. Too much joy draws attention.

Sean directed me to pull into an alley and park on an abandoned parking lot. The lines for the spaces had faded. I felt uncomfortable about parking my car incorrectly. The most stunning and bizarre detail that stuck in my head was a sunflower that had cracked through the pavement and risen to a height of five feet. How had such a plant managed to live for so long on a parking lot? How could such beauty survive in the ghetto for so long without being crushed? It had the faint feeling of an omen. The sunflower absorbed my focus and quieted me. The graffiti on the walls, ugly hand writing, threatened to kill anyone. That would have worried me, had I not been in a daze of surreal experience of the world around me.

"Shouldn't we have brought a security guard if we park the car here?" I asked Sean worried and locked the Maserati.

"Nah, ain't nobody messing with a rich man here. What's that? Give me those keys!" Sean took the keys out of my hand. He pressed the unlock button. The beep echoed against the alley walls to tell everyone that the car was unlocked. I had been so carefully to avoid sound by locking it manually. Sean turned around and unlocked the glove compartment.

"Are you insane?" I yelled at him in panic! Only realizing a second later that my loud voice might have drawn attention that I was avoiding at all cost.

"The girls have in the hood have taken notice of you. They'll leave you notes with their phone numbers to call. I told you with black women, you can put out who you are. You don't have to play that fake coy shit. I'm a top ass lawyer but I can't tell you because that would be bragging," Sean threw the car keys through the open window onto the driver's seat.

"Mh mh mh," was all that came out of my mouth. My mind had melted at this unbelievable behavior. Sean dragged me by my arm into a banged up door with bullet holes and a fallen off lock that had a metal wire threaded through it.

Despite the emptiness on the street, Mac Daddy's Chili was packed. Big buddies were pushing against each other's side. Three women who were wearing a lot of gold and miniskirts instantly got up and told us to take their seat. "They were done anyway," they said. Yet, I saw them throwing away a third of a piece of bread and quite a bit good chili left at the bottom of bowl. Sean took the seat like a king. I sat down with him. The foreign experience of being so far away from my culture made me very cautious. I just wanted to blend in badly.

I carefully looked around and tried to make sense of how people dressed here. I tried to come to terms with being the only white guy in this room. My eager eyes quickly noticed the big black guy with faded tattoos covering both his arms walking up to our table. He had fatty fingers. He was huffing a bit. Despite the scariness of his physique, his facial expression was almost boy like, which confused me a bit. He reached into his back and pulled out a silver revolver. My breath stopped. He placed the gun on the table next to Sean.

"I saw you weren't strapped. You can borrow mine. Just leave it with daddy when you go," as simple as that the man turned around and walked away. I had never realized how power and being rich felt like.

Big daddy was a big guy in a wife beater shirt. He was stirring a giant pot. He loved banging on the counter with his fist to infuse the joint with energy. He could holler so loud that the guy right next to the front door would perk up when he was talked to. "Yo, you want some extra bread? You've got a lot of stew left in your bowl."

A skinny young black girl, probably his daughter, was running around with fresh meals and dirty dishes. Her hair was pressed flat around her head with a lot of gel. She had a big golden ornament with her name stuck into her head: "Melissa." The bra strap clearly showed up in the outline of her clothing. As soon as she saw us, she aborted her velocity of running with a pair of bowls to customers. She swerved to come our direction and place two bowls down. Apparently, she had prioritized us over the customers she was heading to. "On the house," she told Sean with a smile. I felt like a wife must feel in a regressive country like India. Everyone addressed Sean and avoided addressing me directly. "Why don't you ever call me, Sean?" asked Melissa with a seriously upset face.

"I will," said Sean with a suave smile that left completely in question if he'd ever call her.

Nobody bothered us. I mean what was I expecting? The experience was surreal and scary for me. However, just like any mealtime, people were more interested in their own meals and friends. I got to observe the room. Most of the people were simply poor. They neighborhood seemed to have a loud culture, yet not explosive emotions. There was a loudness to the clothing. While I could assert my style through details in the clothing that costs hundreds of dollars to manufacture, they could only afford five dollars or so. So, to draw attention, they had to choose loud things, like revealing clothing, bright colors, or just over-the-top items like walking in high heels, mini-skirt, and a pair of worn boxing gloves hanging around the neck.

The chili was decent. The cook did have talent. Yet, a big part of the flavor signature was also heaps and heaps of sugar.

Before we left, Melissa came by our table to grab our dirty dishes and whisper Sean in the ear. At first, I didn't want to ask Sean to not appear to be overly eager. But as we walked out, I had to ask him anyway. "Melissa said that all the gifts in the car are for you, big player," said Sean with a twinkle in his eyes.

He took a strong stride towards the driver side door to hint at me to take the passenger door. "You'll want to explore your bounty on your way back," he said while wiggling his body excitedly and a feverish gaze jumping to his eyes.

There were finger prints all around the door handle on the passenger side door. When I sat down, the seat felt strangely warm, a cozy human temperature kind of warm. There was a little tack of green fabric hanging out of the closet glove compartment. What the heck! I opened the glove compartment. It looked like a grab box of lingerie. I pulled little pieces of fabric onto my lap. There was a bright green underwire bra. There was a silky red thong. There was black panty with a boy short cut and a big wet spot in the center, kind of gooey white excretion. All of them had phone numbers written on them with little "XOXO" signatures.

Sean peered into my lap while driving us back to the freeway. "You should smell them," he encouraged me.

They smelled rancid from the summer heat sweat and savory from the female excretion. They were definitely worn. I sniffed and admired a second round through all of them. I had the lingerie straightened out on my lap and organized by bras and different panty types. Some of the panties were stretched and eerily large. Sean got big eyes when I held them. He smirked something about black bootie being the best.

"Sean, I have a boner," I figured to dissipate the awkwardness by talking about it and moving on.

"That means you aren't gay," said Sean.

"Doh, neither are you. You don't need a boner for that," I shot right back.

"C'mon, are you that blind? Why do you think I show up at your office every day? Why do you think the admins don't mind me talking sexual and dirty? Why do you think I grabbed your ass this morning? You have a sweat ass! Did anyone ever tell you that?" whined Sean.

That set certain things in perspective. I have general lack of experience with flirtatious endeavors.

Sean was nursing himself to get over the disappointment of how I had reacted, "Why don't you call her right now. You have the Maserati until tomorrow morning. Go pick her up and make her day. Whomever you choose, she probably has never been picked up in a Maserati."

I settled on a pink G-string which was made almost entirely from lace. The size was pretty petite. The heart on the signature had an extra feminine flourish. The scent on the crotch had a hint of peaches and vanilla. I loved that. It's the strangest way of picking a girl. Yet, I dialed her number. A very feminine voice picked up. She was definitely very hot.

"Yeah, I'm free tonight."

"Are you really going to pick me up? You aren't just playing with me?"

"Oh my god, I'm so lucky!"

"I'll treat you really well!"

I had never received such a gracious response to my advances. Sean told me how black women don't have hang ups and are direct.

That's how I met Sophia.

The next day, we took Aika to the shopping mall. Aika and Sophia were sitting in the backseat. They were talking together. Sophia worked her way into becoming Aika's confidant.

"So, you want to get a husband. Have you ever thought of an American husband? They are a lot more caring and better in bed," said Sophia.

"I don't know. Would American man like Japanese girl like me?" ask Aika.

"You may come off as a little boring. But you could change that," suggested Sophia.

Aika took a silent glance at the feed of Sophia. Shiny red platform high heels with a sharp spike as the heel adorned her manicured feet with lacquered toe nails. A delicate gold band with a Playboy bunny hung around her ankle. Sophia's legs were toned from cardio classes. The muscle definition was extremely delicate. The skin hat a matte shine from the skin lotion. The mini skirt was a tiny square around her hips.

"You look pretty but intimidating," said Aika with an honesty from the depth of her soul.

"You know what gives me power," asked Sophia.

"No. What?" Aika followed the lead.

"Knowing that I own a white, big delicious dick," said Sophia with pride.

Aika burst out laughing in a contained way. She seemed to try to press her lips together. Yet, the laughter burst through anyway. From the rearview mirror, I could tell that she was having a good time. They were like two teenagers telling each other riveting secrets.

Sophia leaned into Aika's ear to whisper to create the illusion of privacy yet make sure that I could hear her if I perked up my ears. I had to really perk up my ears and take the focus away from the street. Sophia knew exactly how to touch the right volume.

"I might let you watch his dick when we are home."

"Really?" Aika padded her hands on her lap in excitement. "You American are so open! Does he have skin?"

"Do you mean if he's circumcised? He's fully intact," whispered Sophia back.

"Whoa! I've never seen that! You are so generous to share your boyfriend!" Sophia smiled at the connotation of sharing the boyfriend, which Aika with her simple English probably didn't intend.

By the time we were strolling through the indoor shopping mall, the girls had a jovial communication. We went to Forever 21 to pick through some dresses. Sophia picked flirty, soft, light dresses for Aika. The fabric was flowing so gently that the standard issue bra stood out. Sophia casually reached under Aika's dress to undo the clasp. With a little shoulder shrug from Aika, the bra appeared visibly in the door. Aika was a little stunned and instinctively wanted to hide the bra behind her back.

"Give it to him," she told Aika.

"No, he's a guy!" exclaimed Aika in worry, desperate to hide her embarrassment. Her eyes looked to the ground. And the top of her cheeks got a rosy color. Her ears turned into a burning dark red. The biggest indication of her embarrassment was subtle. Her posture collapsed into itself like her whole world was bending and distorting.

"Oh, don't worry. That's what American boyfriends are there for. Just walk to him," said Sophia. I was amused by all the wrong ideas about America that Sophia planted in Aika's head.

Aika lowered her head and walked over to me. While avoiding eye contact, she said, "Can you hold me bra for me? Don't smell it!" She added the last part with hurry. Apparently, Japanese culture had taught her about perverts. Though, now that she had put the thought into my head, I kept thinking about smelling her tender Japanese body odor that had rubbed off. I tried to be patient for the time when that would be given to me. I knew a bit of self-discipline.

Sophia had an eye for slutty outfits. Sophia whispered into Aika's ears that every guy would go crazy after her. Sophia told Aika to watch the crotch of mine to see what turned me on the most. That were how American husbands were caught. Sophia simply picked a large sized sweater and made Aika wear that like a dress with only her underwear on. Sophia would pick a large scarf with wide fabric and use that instead of a top. The loosely placed scarf left Aika's body appearing rather naked with a hasty, random, and loose covering. The sweaters were a size too small, and Sophia would pinch Aika's nipples to make them stand up more.

I don't know why guys hate going shopping with women. I loved it! The most priceless Aika's response to all the dressing up and down like a doll. At times, she would get flustered and look at the floor stammering "no, no, no." At other times, she'd get this excited boyish snorting laughter like she was doing the most daring and made the best deal of her life. The moments of embarrassment were mixed with gushing daring moments of flashing the whole store with her boobs. At times, she looked like a rural girl out of place and someone had forced fashion on her. At other times, she got excited about strutting and making arm movements that she believed big models made. Aika's laughter even got to Sophia who had been focused like on a mission, yet had to slow down to enjoy the moment. Despite Sophia's racial prejudice about Asians, Sophia did start to enjoy Aika's reactions and enjoyed finding pieces that would get Sophia's face to glow.

By the time the girls were done, we had five shopping bags that the concierge labeled for shipping to our home. The next stop was Frederick's of Hollywood. Sophia did have an iron plan for the whole afternoon, no matter how fun it seemed. Sophia had told me the night before about it. We were walking downstairs. Next to the big water fountain was the store, all dressed in pink with lights shining everywhere and super styled, slender sales women walking, no gaiting, around.

Sophia dropped Aika's white old-style bra into the trashcan near the store. "You won't need that stuff in America. Fuck that!"

Aika doubled over forward, "That was my bra! It was a good bra." Aika paused and looked at Sophia giving her a cocked head look. "Fuck that!" added Aika. The two had formed a bond like me and Sean. Sophia was the cool kid and Aika tried to fit in. Aika wanted to score points with Sophia. I looked at the bra in the trash demure. I would have liked to smell it.

Sophia let our troupe straight to the ultra-sexy section. Those are the crotchless panties, body suites that are entirely made of strings, bras that simply hold up but not cover the nipples at all. It's the stuff that strippers wear with garters, slutty decorations, and always very revealing. Sophia quickly grabbed a few and a pair of flesh colored disposable thongs to wear underneath the lingerie for trying on. Aika was so overwhelmed that she watched the store with an open mouth, not a wide open mouth like in a cartoon, but a softly opened gap in her mouth like she completely forgot about her mouth. Sophia pulled Aika into the dressing room.

After 30 seconds had passed, Sophia burst out loudly, so that I could hear. Sophia knew how to keep a good show going. "Oh my god, you are a bush everywhere! Have you ever cut that down? Girl, that needs a machete. You aren't hiding a dick under all of that, are you?"

Aika burst out laughing at the idea that she had a dick and replied in her simple English. "See here: no dick just pussy!"

Of course, imagining what was going on in the changing room turned me on. The two woman had developed such a casual rapport about their body.

"Ah good, you had me worried for a moment," said Sophia.

"I had you worried, didn't I," snorted Aika back with her baritone laughter.

"Honey, can you make an appointment for two waxing sessions at the esthetician?" called Sophia out to me. I had already known the schedule for the day.

I played along, "Sure, sweeties!" I walked out of the store. I missed the two already. The appointment had already been scheduled in the morning.

This was the part that I couldn't follow into. I knew that Sophia's plan was to give Aika a total waxing. When Aika would whine from the first wax strip, Sophia would get Aika's little pocket rocket out and stuff it into Aika's pussy. "This helps with the pain," she would say. The esthetician had been handsomely tipped to not raise an eyebrow. Sophia would tell Aika that this were normal American behavior. I would have loved watching or at least overhearing the sounds coming from there.

When Sophia called me on the cell to come by the store, Aika was completely gooey from the orgasms and painful sensation. I had to carry her back to the car piggy back style. She was so physically tired that she nestled into my back with complete trust. Her chin was resting on my shoulder and her head leaned against mine. With every step, I could feel her completely surrendered to me. I tugged her into the back of the car. Aika moved her head onto Sophia's lap like a dog or cat bonds with its owner. Sophia had this look on her face that said: "I was going to hate you and use you. But I can't help but loving you." Aika's innocence and surrender warmed the heart even of someone who can be as cold as Sophia.

The next morning, Aika came down the wooden stairs lined with photos of Sophia and me. Aika was wearing shorts that let her ass hang out revealing a green thong and plenty of her crotch left and right of the thong. The skin was still red and irritated from the waxing. For the top, she wore a blue see-through blouse that gave me a good look at her perfectly round breasts and nipples. Sophia had prepared me by dressing me in a white linen pant that had very loose fabric with no underwear. My penis was poking out like the central sake of a giant sized Octoberfest beer tent. Aika looked proudly at her handy work and greeted us with, "I'm the best wife material!"