"I'm in bed with Forest Whitaker!"
Darryl's startled exclamation must have been louder than he thought. The stranger in bed beside him opened her eyes and gaped. "Da fuck?!" Before he could respond, the African-American woman gave Darryl a shove in the chest that sent him tumbling ass-up onto the carpeted floor. "Oh, hell naw," Darryl heard her exclaim.
All his nausea and queasiness flew in light of his current situation. "Who are you?" he asked. "What are we doing in this room? In bed together?"
"I was gonna ask you the same question!"
Darryl shook his head to clear his thoughts. What he had originally mistaken for Forest Whitaker in a wig was in fact a plus-sized woman with what could only charitably be called a handsome face. Whatever attractiveness her features might have possessed were marred by the scowl that left her brow deeply furrowed. Darryl carefully stood up, hands covering his genitals. "Did we-" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Did you and I sleep together?"
The irritated woman threw back the sheet. Darryl tore his gaze away from her heavy breasts long enough to look where she pointed. "Based on all this dried cum on my thighs, I'm gonna guess so." Her voice was low and raspy. She examined Darryl from top to toe, and judging by the derisive twist of her lips, he knew he'd been found wanting. "On second thought," she said, "based on all the dried cum on my thighs, you probably couldn't deliver."
It was Darryl's turn to gape. In college his success with the ladies was almost legendary. Darryl had grown up with two sisters. From them he had learned when to just listen and when to take action. He was, rightfully, a confident guy. But he had never felt so dismissed by anyone, much less a female. And though he felt light-headed with relief that he'd seen for himself that she was female, it pissed Darryl off that this stranger would question his very manhood. "Do you insult all your customers? Or is it just me?"
"Oh, no he didn't!" Darryl looked around the room when his unknown bedmate turned her head to one side and began a conversation with...herself. "This skinny ass white boy did not look down his nose and call me a ho. Like he would be some kinda town hero for paying for pussy."
"Listen, Miss..." Darryl realized that in the confusion of waking up beside a stranger, they had not exchanged names. "My name is Darryl Pine and-"
"I am going to go take a shower." The abrupt declaration interrupted what Darryl was about to say. "I need to go wash all this sticky white boy off me."
Despite his irritation at being dismissed, Darryl watched transfixed as the stranger moved confident and naked toward the bathroom. She had an ass you could rest a trayof drinks upon; her lush curves and thick thighs were foreign to him. His tastes tended to run toward petite girls. He had never dated a woman larger than a size 6 and always assumed he would be repulsed by anything larger.
Obviously not.
Darryl was startled to realize that his penis had begun to sit up and take notice. "Oh, hell no," he quietly mocked his surprise bedmate's earlier exclamation. "You have got to be kidding me." He winced as he flicked the engorged head in an attempt to rid himself of the erection. "You're the only possible reason why I'm in this mess in the first place."
While he waited for his erection to subside, Darryl took the opportunity to better explore his surroundings. It was difficult to see about the room. All the lamps wore red shades. All the light bulbs in the fixtures were red as well. Darryl had no trouble making out the heart-shaped bed in which he'd just awoken, though. Heavily padded and dressed with red satin linen, it was the epitome of every sleazy, cliched Hollywood whorehouse.
Was that where he was? Darryl threw open the heavy velvet shades, allowing almost harsh sunlight to come flooding in. For just a moment he had to turn away. The sunlight seemed to penetrate all the way to the back of his eyes. Darryl blinked several times, sorry when his vision cleared. The only vistas available through the room's window were a gray concrete wall with a crude depiction of the Vegas Strip spray-painted on the side and the pale, naked backside of a suited man thrusting frantically into someone pressed face first against that wall.
A flash of deja vu hit Darryl like a hammer. Just on the edge of his periphery he thought he recalled frantically thrusting from behind into his unidentified bedmate as she spurred him on with moans, grunts and breathy sighs. Her heavy breasts filled his hands to overflowing and at the time he wanted nothing more than to bury himself fully within her.
"You just nasty, ain't you?"
Darryl spun around. His unnamed bedmate stood just outside the bathroom door, wrapped in an oversized towel that didn't cover much flesh. He followed her gaze, surprised to see his fist wrapped around his renewed erection, absently stroking. Darryl released it as though it had suddenly burned him. "This isn't...I wasn't..."
She waved off his explanations. "The shower is free. And there's plenty of cold water waiting for you. Make sure you use it." Pause. "Pervert."
"Look here." Darryl reached his limit with her snarky comments and snide remarks. He stalked toward her until he was close enough to feel the brush of her cotton towel against his jutting erection. "I've had enough of you making me the bad guy in whatever this is. Now, I apologize for my unintentional insult earlier." He referred to his assumption that she must have been some kind of prostitute. "But you might want to remember something. However you and I got here, it was your ...pussy... I was apparently balls deep in. I've never had to take it from a woman before and I'm pretty sure I didn't have to this time."
"Now," he calmly said through gritted teeth, "I am going to take my turn in the shower. Hopefully one of us will have some idea of how we ended up here together. And once we do, we can go our separate ways and never have anything to do with one another ever again."
End Notes:
Iris Gifford -
