Luck Changer
by Betty Petterson
(GC-409)


What am I doing in this man's bed? It's the first time I've ever let a white 
man pick me up. Well, it's because it's nice here ... because by letting him 
pick me up I could escape from that run-down tenement! And all I've got to 
do is give him what he wants! He's got an image of what I'm like in bed. And 
all I got to do is make it happen for him! He thinks I'm wild ... untamed 
... well, I'll show him how wild and untamed I can be! 


INTRODUCTION by Seymour de Huhn, Ph. D. 

A prostitute is one who submits him-or herself to unworthy purposes for pay. 
Prostitution takes many forms. But the goal of every prostitute is the money 
his or her indecency can bring. The money, plain and simple? No, never money 
alone; rather the security that money buys. The instinct for comfort, basic 
to most men and women, is the end toward which one directs one's efforts. 

We all submit our talents to those who will pay for them. For money, an 
artist of much promise will design advertisements for The New Yorker. We all 
know this man: a talented student at one of the best art schools. Wins 
second prize, out of five hundred entries, in the spring competition prior 
to his graduation. Gets honorable mention for the scholarship he applies 
for. Decides to go to Europe anyway, be a bohemian, sketch and paint. See 
the world, gain experience, live free for a while. It's a good beginning. So 
he does, and enjoys life, and one day decides that if he's going to be an 
artist after all, he's got to get back and go to work. He finds a garret in 
the East Village and starves and is eaten by bugs more than he ever was in 
Greece, and one day a friend offers him a chance to make a little cash 
designing a spread for an ad in Popular Photography. He needs the money; it 
won't take much time, so he concurs. They like what he does, and before the 
year's up he has moved out of the East Village over to the respectable part 
around Washington Square because he likes the downtown area. He doesn't want 
to move out. Then he meets a girl (who is different from the others), lives 
with her for a while, and buys an MG. 

They decide to get married. Why not? All this time, he's doing designs, 
becoming better known in advertising, is taken into the company as a junior 
vice president, has become respectable. He meets a friend from the old days. 
They talk. The artist describes his new life: the wife is pregnant, they 
have a very good doctor; her health is important after all. The friend from 
the old days says very little, and later they have a few beers and the old 
friend calls the artist a prostitute. The artist doesn't say anything. It is 
too late to explain how little time there is now to paint, and maybe it 
isn't important to paint pictures nowadays anyway, he says, half out loud. 

There are more obvious cases. On an average clean, neat suburban street, an 
attractive young woman of possibly twenty-three loads her two children, 
Kathy and Nick, aged eighteen months and almost three, into her station 
wagon. They drive to the supermarket a mile away. The young woman-call her 
Mary-buys vegetables and cans of soup and detergents and beer, a couple of 
roasts and six steaks and some hamburger for the kids, and three women's 
magazines for when the kids are asleep. She waves to friends, smiles at the 
check-out clerk, cashes a check for the bill plus a few dollars to have on 
hand-naturally, they trust her at the market. The boy loads her groceries 
into the back of the wagon and she drives home to her three-bedroom house 
with the large tree-covered back yard, where the kids can play and she 
doesn't have to worry about them. Her husband comes home, mixes a couple of 
martinis for each of them. They relax and feed the kids and themselves and 
he sits down and reads the paper. She reads her magazines. He takes a 
shower. She slips out of her clothes and looks at herself naked in the 
mirror, and admits to herself she is still very attractive. She slips into a 
sheer, lace-trimmed negligee and lies down. He comes out of the shower, 
already in his pajamas, and lies down and kisses her on her cheek and turns 
around and in five seconds he is asleep. He works very hard, she thinks, as 
she looks at the back of his head which is beginning to bald: only 
naturally, since she is twelve years younger than her husband. They've been 
married four years. They met when she was in her second year of college. She 
didn't much like college, so when he asked her to marry him, she agreed. He 
was already well established in the law firm, and last year they had made 
him a junior partner. Well and good. She read her magazines. In one there 
was an article about prostitution. It defined a prostitute as one who gives 
up one's human desires to the first person who comes along, who could pay 
the price-the first customer. She thinks to herself: My God! 

We know Mary. She lives next door. Possibly we know Naomi, too. Naomi lives 
in Betty Petterson's novel, Luck Changer. Naomi is closer to what we mean 
when we say prostitute in its daily context. Naomi is a whore. She hangs 
around bars, sometimes. She lets herself get picked up, sometimes. Men take 
her home and they pay her, usually. Naomi is a prostitute. But does she have 
the talent of an artist? Is she demeaning that talent? Not in the earlier 
sense, no. Naomi has no talents, except her ability to make love-or rather, 
her ability to render men sensually ecstatic. And this ability is for sale. 
It has nothing to do with love. Her body is her talent. She has a commodity 
for sale: sensuality. The commodity can be packaged and labeled and 
advertised and tried and tried again, as long as there is money to pay for 
it-and as long as there are customers. 

So Naomi sells what she's got. Yet what does she sell it for? Does she, like 
Mary, sell herself for a life of absolute security, of freedom from care, of 
isolation from danger-a life with nothing to worry about except cancer? No, 
this kind of life is unavailable to her. Naomi can never have security from 
the daily ravages of man, or of woman, because Naomi is black, and blacks 
can never be secure in a white man's world. Naomi tries, God knows. She 
first appears in the novel in the apartment of a white man, Randy. Randy had 
picked her up at a bar. It's unusual for Naomi to let herself be taken 
around by a white man, but for some reason this evening was different. One 
senses that Naomi is trying to break out of her earlier life-the twin 
ghettoes of her house and her mind. So she accepts this offer from the 
pale-pink white man and she behaves for him according to her talents. 
Beforehand, she is prepared to hate him for his inadequacies, his white 
man's weaknesses. He already despises her for being black, for being for 
hire; he is a little afraid of her, too, since he has read about the fabled 
Negro sexual prowess. In the passion of their love, however, each discovers 
in the other, for a moment, the instrument of absolute sensuality, each 
mistakes it for love, and they decide to live together-she is Randy's 
official mistress. 

Environment and biology collude to destroy any attempt at happiness for 
Randy and Naomi, however. Naomi has become a prostitute-for reasons far more 
complex than a wish to enjoy the money which the fruits of her body could 
garner. Naomi also wants to give love. Her problem, however, is her 
inability to distinguish between her desire to give love, and the idiom she 
confuses for love, her sex-machine body. When she fornicates it is in the 
belief that she is giving love. Her confusion, which becomes an integral 
segment of her post-coital exhaustion, usually comes to the surface as 
anger, or, when she controls it, irritation. It is difficult for her to 
analyze, out of the confused mass of her experience, the cause for this lack 
of complete satisfaction. She senses she is a lost woman, but never does she 
begin to consider the nature of her lostness. At best, she blames the color 
of her skin the sorrows to which her sex, rather than her race, is heir. 

But she has tried life, and sex with black men, too. Prior to Randy it was 
her world. There had been Line, jet-black and proud of his heritage, a Black 
Muslim, to whom she had been engaged. They were to have been married, until 
she met Randy. At one point, she blames her many sorrows on having run away 
from her race, from the man who loved her. But in actuality there would have 
been little difference between a marriage of Line and Naomi, and the one of 
Mary, described earlier: in both, the women would be received like chattel. 
For Line, Naomi is all sex, all excitement, all beauty. Their relationship, 
the several times we see it either in the progress of the novel or in 
Naomi's memory, is physical, never more or less. In much the same way, our 
hypothetical but all-too-real Mary was property to her husband-a thing 
rather than a human being. She was for him a breeder, a mother to his 
children, a shopper for his food, a washer of his clothes, a chauffeur of 
his automobiles, a wife who functioned best as an income-tax deduction. 
Neither Naomi nor Mary are women who know love; both are mere objects for 
their husbands. For if love is to be a real thing, a man and a woman must 
function together as two subjects. When their relation is that of a person 
and a thing, as a subject and an object, then there can be little hope for 
love. And the object of a man's lust, the bit of property on which he exerts 
his sexual urges, is a prostitute. 

Now there are, as we have already noted, several kinds of prostitutes. Some 
kinds society despises, some kinds it condones, and some kinds it 
encourages. Naomi's ill luck was to be in the first category. Randy's 
society, his friends and acquaintances, his entire world, despised Naomi. 
Curiously, it is also Naomi's brand of prostitution which they most 
completely enjoy. But enjoyment of this sort may never take place in public. 
Naomi is to be despised by them for two basic reasons: she is a common 
whore; but more important, she is a black whore. Yet, black lust is 
precisely the kind of activity which these white respectable folk are most 
capable of perverting. In a scene which paints the depravity not of the 
prostitute, so-called, but of the blue-bloods and Brahmins who bring about 
the prostitute's fall, the inverted principle of honorable prostitution is 
portrayed at its starkest. For Naomi is certainly not the kind-hearted 
prostitute out of a Damon Runyon story; yet in comparison to the men whose 
moral deterioration knows few limits she is saintly and pure. 

Respectable prostitutes, a breed of women more despicable and deadening than 
a half-dozen Nao-mis, are everywhere in this country. They have sold a 
birthright into which they had not yet grown at the time of the sale-their 
imagination, their potential as human beings. (It becomes necessary to add 
here: not only women are guilty of this form of prostitution. But I am 
stressing women here because Luck Changer is a novel about a woman, by a 
woman. Men no less than women sell out at a time of life when they still 
could revolutionize the tiny bits of world they live in. But, in the manner 
of 

Betty Petterson, it is necessary to fight one battle at a time. And Naomi's 
battle is a difficult one.) But society itself has little desire to fight 
respectable prostitution-respectable prostitution has so long been 
encouraged by western society that it has become an integral part of the 
world which produced it. Only when prostitution, which is branded as a "bad 
thing," comes into the open in the person of a woman who openly sells her 
body, does society react. And in its reaction, it shows its own perversity. 

It is important to note here that western Christian society is one of the 
very few which have in fact labeled prostitution this "bad thing." Many 
Oriental and African societies have recognized certain physical drives in 
humans to be potentially separate from love, marriage and procreation. In 
these societies, prostitution is elevated from the gutter to professional 
status. Women who are members of the profession are respected, and, 
according to their talents, honored. In these cases there is nothing 
despicable about open prostitution. However, when a society recognizes 
sexual drives as important and creates institutions to cope with these 
drives, institutions which are respectable, then the practitioners within 
the institutions themselves become decent members of society, alongside, let 
us say, dancers who also use their bodies to important, and creates 
institutions to cope with pleasure. The important measure is to avoid making 
the talents of the individual in question objects to be used and then 
discarded. When a woman is a thing, she is a prostitute. When an artist 
begins to sell his abilities to powers which destroy the principles he once 
stood for, he is a prostitute. When Naomi looks for a better life with Randy 
and sells herself to his whims and desires, even if she enjoys her work, she 
is a prostitute. When she attempts to return to Line because she senses a 
need to accept the fashionable ideas of black power and strength, she is 
again prostituting her need and desire for love to the momentary sexual act. 
Only when she meets her toad prince, does she ... But this is giving away 
the novel, taking away the reader's enjoyment in discovery. 

This, then, is the story of a girl's search for love, without the 
realization of what she is searching for to act as her guide. She looks for 
love in sex, and is disappointed; although she finds her momentary 
pleasures, the goal of love is not reached. Men treat her, not as herself, 
Naomi, in search of love, but as a thing to be used. She becomes a 
prostitute without believing herself to be any such type; she grows to 
conscious awareness of herself as a prostitute only when she stops sleeping 
with black men-with those who enjoy her and what she enjoys. Her 
object-nature stands in relief only when she becomes the whore of a white 
man-she becomes conspicuous as one of those whom society despises because it 
has created her, a sensual voluptuous thing. Naomi's search begins in 
ignorance, passes through a state of discovery, and she becomes dissatisfied 
with herself-with what she has become. But as the search continues, and she 
attempts to return to the world she had known, she realizes it no longer 
exists, because she is different. She has lived through experiences which 
have made her conscious of the prostituted nature of her previous existence 
in the ghetto. Since she cannot move backward, she must go on; and the 
process of moving forward brings the novel to its conclusion. 

More than the story of a prostitute who learns to see the nature of love, 
Luck Changer delineates the perversions of a society which could not live 
without its Naomis. But when it has them, after it has finished using them, 
it must destroy them in order to try to cleanse itself of the dirt and the 
disgrace its Naomis have uncovered. 

-Seymour de Hukn, Ph.D. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

He leaned against the door and watched Naomi as she moved about his 
apartment, familiarizing herself with the surroundings. Her bronzed skin 
contrasted with the decor. And then he laughed as she playfully plumped 
herself down into the deep, over-sized chair. She was still feeling the 
effects of a little too much alcohol, and the slur in her voice showed it. 

"Nice place you got here. Must cost a lot of bread," she said, and her dark 
eyes twinkled mischievously. He answered with a shrug, unable to take his 
eyes off the tan show of her thighs that peeked from under the hiked-up 
skirt. 

"Bread ... you know ... money ... dough! Guess you're not as hep as I 
thought you were," Naomi giggled again. Then she swung her legs up over the 
chair, and he averted his eyes at the sight of more tawny flesh. 

"Oh yeah," he finally answered, "Money ... I guess it is a little expensive 
... but I learned a long time ago that you pay for what you get...." 

Naomi closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair. "Pay for 
what you get? You're right, Mister, so right! But that's why you brought me 
here, wasn't it? To get what you paid for! And that's why I let you pick me 
up! Bet it was the first time you were ever in a place on the South Side! 
Bet you were just slumming! Thought you'd change your luck!" 

Head still tilted back, she opened her eyes slightly and studied him through 
the tiny slits. Sure, I know what you're thinking. Girls like me are 
different from white girls! Especially in bed! Bet you think that's all we 
do ... that's all we talk about ... making love! We all got a reputation as 
hot-pants broads ... like we can't live without it. Like we invented it! And 
that's why you came down to my side of the town ... to see if it's really 
true! Probably got yourself some nice frigid white girl who thinks she's 
doing you a favor every time she spreads her legs! Well, Mister, you're in 
for quite a surprise! A girl's a girl, no matter what her color. But I'm 
gonna give it to you like you never had it before! That's what you want and 
that's what you're gonna get! I'm going to show you what a woman's for! 

Naomi opened her eyes all the way and smiled at him. A secret smile. "Where 
is it, Mister?" she asked brazenly. 

"Where's what? And why don't you call me Randy? Make it a little more 
informal." 

She nodded in agreement ... "that would be nice ... a little more informal 
... Randy." 

She said his name as if she were tasting it. And then she smiled, for it 
tasted good. Had a nice ring to it. A nice feel to it. 

"Now tell me again, where is what?" he asked as he came away from the door 
and stood in the center of the room with his arms folded across his chest. 

"The bedroom!" 

Naomi said the words with her eyes locked hard on his face. And her lips 
curled in a tiny grin when she saw the muscles quiver in his cheek. 

What's the matter, white boy ... am I too fast for you? Too quick? Isn't 
that what you expected from a girl like me! 

Nervously, he pointed down a hall off the left side of the living room. 
"It's in there. But ... but...." 

Naomi stood up, straightening her skirt down over her long tapering legs. 
Then she looked at him. "No buts, Randy, isn't that why you brought me here? 
It better be, because that's why I came here! To use your bedroom!" She felt 
warm inside as nervous embarrassment flickered across his face, and then as 
his eyes were unable to meet hers, she wanted to laugh. 

You men! All the same ... lots of big talk until the chips are on the table! 
Or the chippies are on the sheets! Just like little boys! Well, little boy, 
you'd better grow up fast ... cause you're gonna get your first lesson! 

Weaving slightly because of the liquor, Naomi followed his directions and 
moved down the hall toward the bedroom. She was aware that he hadn't 
followed her, but she no longer cared. She pushed her way through the door, 
and her eyes opened wide at the sight of the over-sized bed. 

"Whee!" she laughed happily. "What a playground!" 

She undressed quickly, peeling off her blouse over her long tawny arms, and 
then stepped out of her skirt. Still standing by the door, she reached 
behind her back and unhooked her brassiere, letting her full breasts fall 
free. Then, hooking her thumbs into the elastic band of her garter belt 
and-panties, she worked them down over her thighs and legs. Naked now, she 
turned on the soft light above the night stand before getting into the bed. 
Its illumination seemed to change the light brown of her flesh into streaks 
of gold. Then she pulled down the covers and oozed herself onto the white 
sheets. Stretched out full length and with her hands behind her head, she 
stared at the ceiling. 

Why am I doing this? What am I doing in this man's bed? It's the first time 
I ever let a white man pick me up like this! I know he don't know that, but 
it's true! But why? She sat up and hugged her breasts with her long arms and 
looked around the room. The luxurious surroundings of the deep carpeting and 
the expensive furniture made her clutch herself tighter in delight. 

This is why. Because it's nice here. And clean. Makes a person feel like a 
human being. Because I'm tired of looking at crummy furniture and dirty 
walls! Because by letting him pick me up I could escape from that run-down 
tenement! He doesn't know anything about things like that ... people like 
him never do ... not that it's his fault, but he can give me what I want! 
And all I've got to do is give him me what I want! And all he wants is me! 
He's got an image of what I'm like in bed. And all I got to do is make it 
happen for him! He thinks I'm wild ... untamed ... well, I'll show him how 
wild and untamed I can be! 

Naomi stretched out on the bed as she heard Randy coming into the room. She 
closed her eyes, but she heard his breath escaping in soft rasps as he stood 
beside her staring down at her lush, tan body. Anticipating the hungry look 
on his face, Naomi moved her body seductively. She wanted him to want her. 
To be mad for her. To devour her with his eyes. 

A mixture of emotions flooded Randy's mind as he gazed down at the gorgeous 
girl against the white sheets. Black women had always possessed a certain 
animal quality for Randy, and Naomi was no exception. Her slightly flared 
nostrils made Randy think of a tigress waiting for him, a hungry tigress 
ready to devour him. How many times had he looked at pretty black girls and 
felt an itch in his crotch-a longing to fuck? Now this beautiful bronze 
creature was all his! 

His eyes roamed over her body,-taking in her heavy, pointed breasts capped 
with pinkish-brown nipples. He let his eyes move down to the tan of her 
crotch and he stared hard at the curly black hair that crested the thin, 
pink lips of her cunt. Randy's breath caught in his throat as he saw her 
spread her thighs slightly and arch her body so that the pink inner-flesh of 
her vagina was thrust at his eager eyes. My God, he thought, she wants it as 
badly as I do! 

He'd never seen a girl like Naomi before. Her tawny skin seemed to ripple 
with a vibrant being he'd only dreamed of in a girl. The whites of her 
lovely eyes, sparkling ivory teeth, pink, darting tongue-all contrasted with 
her tan skin to emphasize her beauty. He could feel his cock straining 
against his shorts, pleading to be free to ravage the brown body before him. 
So black men are supposed to be real studs, Randy thought! Well, he'd give 
her something to compare them with, by god! He quickly pulled off his 
clothes and stood over her nude body. 

Naomi watched him undress, his pink skin both fascinating and repelling her. 
His odor, like wash soap, permeated her nostrils and Naomi wondered what it 
would be like having a white man make love to her. She looked up at his 
white, pinkish cock with its bulbous red tip and almost had to suppress a 
giggle. It was the same shape as the Negro cock, but it looked so funny-so 
tender and delicate. The blue veins were emphasized along the shaft, and 
they throbbed as Naomi watched, but she couldn't believe that this pink 
stick could give her any pleasure. Somewhere along the line some black woman 
in her family had taken on a pink prick like this. That's why I'm the color 
I am today, Naomi said to herself. I wonder how she felt when she saw that 
pink cock? Did she love the man? Or did she just want to be fucked? Naomi 
watched Randy's hands move towards her body. 

His tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips as he ran his hands 
over her tan tits, his fingers kneading the large nipples until they popped 
up taut and erect. The texture of her skin fascinated him, thrilled his 
fingers to the touch. It seemed like every pore was open, yet the texture 
was fine and smooth, like an expensive velvet. He saw a light brown arm dart 
out to his groin and then looked down to see her bronze fingers wrapped 
around his surging cock. She pulled the foreskin back and then popped it 
over the head with a thrilling movement of her swift, educated fingers. 

Randy thought he would explode! It seemed that everything he had heard about 
Negro girls was true! Her hot hand felt like an electric machine milking his 
cock as he stood there above her playing with her hard nipples. His balls 
were throbbing and Randy vowed she would not find him wanting! 

Naomi had to hold back a smile and a giggle. Whitey was ready. Was he ever 
ready! He believed the myth about Negro sexual prowess, and Naomi was going 
to leave him a living witness to just how great a colored girl could be. 
Lubricating fluids were oozing from his hard cock and Naomi felt her hand 
become wet and sticky. She could smell sex, that basic, musty odor that made 
human beings become animals for a brief span. It excited her, and Naomi 
marveled at that. Until that moment everything had been mechanical to her. 
She was here to fuck this white man silly, but suddenly she felt desire 
boiling in her own loins. 

Randy pulled his hands from her heaving breasts and lowered them to her 
crotch. Firmly, he spread her legs apart so that her whole cunt spun its web 
before his hungry eyes. He let his finger slide down between the wet lips of 
her pussy and the touch of that warm inner flesh sent a shudder racing 
through him. He pulled his finger up and down the slit, teasing the already 
erect bud of her clitoris each time he passed. Then he savagely sunk his 
middle finger deep inside her cunt. 

"Aauugghh!" she moaned as it worked into her innermost depths. She squeezed 
his cock in return, and she raised her body and leaned out so that her lips 
touched the head of his cock. Her tongue lashed out and swiped across the 
bright-pink meat of his prick. Her other hand snaked up between his legs and 
grasped his balls to work them as she licked and teased the length of his 
shaft with her demanding tongue and hungry lips. Naomi pursed her mouth into 
an O and slowly pulled his hard cock inside to cover it with the wet warmth 
of her cheeks. 

"Oooohhh!" Randy gasped. She's sucking my cock! Good God! No girl's ever 
done that to me before. He stood there, his cock sunk deep in her throat, 
and watched her lips nibble at the heavy pubic hair at the base as she tried 
to completely devour him. Her soft, black hair cascaded down her face and 
flew freely in the air as she bobbed in and out to eat his prick with her 
hungry mouth. Randy finger-fucked her and rubbed her clitoris with his 
thumb, but he felt his body weakening and knew that he would soon be beyond 
the point of no return in her mouth. Then she'd have a trophy to tell people 
about-a white man who'd shot his load when she first started kissing it. No! 
By God, she was going to be fucked! 

He pulled away from her, his cock coming out of her sucking mouth with a 
loud plopping sound as he broke the suction. She tried to follow him, but 
Randy held her to the bed and climbed between her legs. The sight of her 
dark skin against his white excited him and drove him to jam his prick deep 
up in her belly, but Randy held back. This girl would have a story to tell, 
all right, but it would be about a white man who fucked her until she 
couldn't stand it any more. He spread the lips of her cunt with his fingers 
and began fondling her clitoris between the thumb and forefinger of one hand 
while he finger-fucked her hard with his middle digit of the other hand. 

"Oooh! Man, you're driving me crazy! Fuck me! Fuck me!" she moaned. Get that 
little pink cock up inside me before I go out of my mind, she said to 
herself! Come on, Whitey, fuck this colored girl. That's what you brought me 
here for-now give it to me! Those fingers are driving me crazy!" 

Randy watched her moan and groan as he played with her, her breasts heaving 
up from her chest and perspiration breaking out to glisten on her bronze 
brow. He was working her cunt with everything he had, and he knew he had her 
where he wanted her. 

She was a hot bitch, and she'd break long before he did! 

Suddenly their eyes met and a realization broke in their minds. Naomi saw 
the difference in their color melt before her eyes. Randy wasn't Whitey any 
longer. He was a man-and she was a woman! Randy knew it as if he had been 
struck by a sharp knife cutting through his conscience. This was more than a 
Negress, more than a girl to be fucked. This was something special, 
something that had never happened before in his life. 

Naomi's hands shot up and grabbed his cock and pulled him to her. 

"Fuck me, Randy. I mean really fuck me!" 

Her legs opened wider and her knees flew up in the air so that they came 
down against her chest. She arched her body so that her cunt gaped at him, 
and then she pulled his cock down so that the tip rested inside the hot lips 
of her brown slit. Randy braced his knees on the bed and fell against her, 
ramming his cock its full length up inside her belly. He felt his heavy, 
throbbing balls bounce against her firm ass as he began pumping his cock to 
her like a hard piston. The warm, moist flesh of her vagina wrapped around 
his cock and held it firmly as it slid in and out. 

"Aahh!" she groaned through clenched teeth as she felt him race through her 
cuntal passage and the head of his cock lodge itself against her uterus. It 
had never been like this before, and Naomi was frightened. What they were 
doing transcended sex, went beyond anything she had ever experienced before. 
She couldn't understand it. The whole thing was beyond her power to reason. 
But Naomi's mind knew one thing: she wouldn't let him go. She flexed her 
cunt muscles and gripped his cock with all of her force. Then she pulled her 
head up between her widespread legs and reached up with her hands to grab 
his hair and pull his mouth down against hers. Their tongues met in fire and 
passion, and their lips and teeth ground together. 

An almost mystic quality gripped them both. They let themselves go like they 
never had before. Randy's body beat against her open crotch, their pubic 
mounds grinding together and matted hair tangled in knots, and Naomi thrust 
up to meet his hard lunge. 

What's happening to me, Naomi cried inside? It's always been so mechanical 
and now I'm lost-gone-on the wildest trip any girl ever took! She became an 
animal, dug her nails into his back with one hand and reached around her ass 
with her other to grab his flailing balls and grip them tight. 

Randy had been holding on by a fine line, and when he felt her hand grab his 
balls he lost all control. He felt the head of his cock swell up, and then 
begin to shoot hot spurts of come deep inside her. Naomi's hand milked his 
balls, pumping every last drop far up her vagina as she began to enter the 
spasms of her own orgasm. Her ankles wrapped around Randy's neck and gripped 
his mouth against hers. Naomi's body became a quivering mass beneath him. 

"Aaaiiieee!" she screamed as her climax gripped her and threw her body into 
small convulsions. 

Their muscles strained as their bodies locked in a final earth-shaking 
embrace, and then they both turned to molten liquid. Naomi felt her 
consciousness slip away from her slowly. Never before had there been one 
like this. Never before had she so completely given herself to anyone! She 
felt her body melt back into the mattress, every muscle gone, every ounce 
drained from her. That sweet, pink cock filling her cunt. The warm juice 
running down her leg. Those heavy balls resting on her ass. This was all 
Naomi could sense, and she fell down into a deep, peaceful slumber, a smile 
of completion-surrender-making her face radiantly beautiful. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Leaning on his elbow, Randy looked down at the sleeping Naomi. There was a 
serene smile on her face and her breathing was soft and shallow. His eyes 
roamed over her spent body and once again he felt the flicker of desire 
licking at his being. Gently he reached for her and gently he stroked her 
breasts; she moaned quietly in her sleep. Then his fingers patted softly at 
her hair and she purred genuine contentment. 

"Beautiful! Never saw a body like hers! And a face to go with it. And she 
gave it all to me ... with no holding back! That's never happened to me 
before. Never!" 

Randy continued to study her, and as he did, his mind recreated his 
relations with other women. Cold women. Demanding women. Selfish women. For 
the first time, he had tasted the fruits of complete sharing, and it had 
left him amazed and enthralled. And captivated. 

Never had a woman like her before! And she did it because she wanted to. I 
don't promise her a thing ... she was the way she was because of her own 
desires! And maybe because of me! But I don't care why she did it! All I 
know is that she was wonderful! 

Quietly, so as not to disturb Naomi, he eased himself out of the bed. In the 
bathroom, he showered quickly, and then dressed. And all the while, his 
thoughts were of the sleeping girl in his bed. 

"Maybe all colored girls are like her ... I don't know ... I only know what 
she was like! And that I need a woman like her ... I need Naomi! 

Surprised because of the confession, he studied his reflection in the 
mirror, whispering "I want her ... not just for one night ... but for more 
than that! I need her!" 

And he did need her. For Randy Harcourt had never had a good relationship 
with a woman. There were times when he thought he did, only to discover 
later that he was being used or that his attraction was because of his 
wealth. But no girl had ever desired him because of himself. And he hungered 
for it. That was the reason that he had gone to the south side bar that 
night. Loneliness, coupled with disappointment because of a broken romance, 
had made him seek the company of strangers to help him forget. Naomi had 
seen the empty expression of his face as he sat at the bar. And partly out 
of compassion and partly out of her own loneliness, she had joined him. 
Obviously enjoying each other's company, they had ignored the belligerent 
stares of the other customers of seeing the white man and the black girl 
together. And while they had talked and laughed, Randy had become more and 
more aware of her beauty. And of her sensu-ousness, of the aroma of sex 
which seemed to exude from her body. And as the hours passed, the tongue of 
desire had licked at him and he became conscious of his yearning for her. 
Courage, brought on by alcohol, had enabled him to make the invitation. 

"How about going to my apartment?" he had said with false bravado. Naomi had 
looked at him before answering, cocking her head to one side as if studying 
him. And she had seen a lonely man. A nice man. A man completely different 
from any she had ever known. Obviously well-off. Well-mannered, considerate 
and gracious of her. She too, had felt the physical attraction. And though 
she felt that he had wanted her because of his belief of the sexual prowess 
of colored girls, she didn't care. She was as tired of her life as Randy was 
of his. Of the drabness and the sameness and the hopelessness. And so she 
had agreed to his proposition. 

"Okay," she had answered. "I'll go with you to your apartment ... and you 
won't be disappointed!" 

And he wasn't.... 

As he stood there combing his hair and looking into the mirror, he no longer 
wanted a one-night stand with Naomi. He no longer looked on her as a fast 
roll in the hay. He now looked on her as a girl who was appealing and 
attractive. A girl whose sexual appetite matched his. A girl that he could 
... that he could ... but he couldn't bring himself to say the word love.... 

But I want her, he told himself. I want her here! 

With me! Not just for one night ... but for more than that! I want to spoil 
her and make her laugh and do all the other things that men do for women! 

But he knew it wasn't that simple. He realized the difference between them 
and the obstacles that it created. And so his mind searched for a solution. 
An answer. And finally he found one. 

He went back into the bedroom and sat down in a chair opposite her. While 
she continued to sleep he studied her. And the more he watched, the more 
convinced he was of the solution. 

"If she'll only say yes," he whispered to himself. "I've got to make her say 
yes!" 

And it was then that Naomi woke up. Her dark eyes fluttered open and she 
smiled a lazy smile at the sight of Randy in the chair opposite her. Then 
she sat up and stretched her arms over her head and the movement accentuated 
the lift of her breasts and the sensuousness of her body. And Randy licked 
his lips in nervous anticipation. 

"Naomi," he began nervously, "there's something-something I want to ask 
you." 

She didn't know why, but she was afraid of what he was going to ask. Afraid 
that he wanted her to go. Afraid that he had realized that he made a social 
mistake. And so her body tensed and she shivered in anticipation of his 
words. 

"What is it ... Randy?" she asked huskily. "What do you want to ask me?" 

He got out of the chair and came over to the bed. Nervously, he took her 
hand in his and began to stroke it gently. It was then that Naomi realized 
she was naked, and something made her pull the sheet up over her body. 
Somehow it didn't seem right that she should flaunt herself at him any 
longer. 

"Go ahead," she urged. "Say it ... tell me whatever you want to tell me." 

"Naomi...." he began nervously ... "I want you to ... to ... stay here!" 

The meaning of his words pricked into her consciousness and she licked her 
lips. "You mean ... you mean ... live here? Live with you?" 

His answer was a quick, nervous nod of his head. 

And then the meaning became clear to her. "You mean be your ... your 
mistress ... don't you?" she said in a loud voice. 

The word sounded dirty, the way she used it, and he quickly shook his head. 
"Don't say it like that!" he ordered. "It's not like that at all!" 

"How is it then?" she laughed. "How is it?" 

His lips clenched in a tight line before he answered. "I need you, Naomi!" 
he said hurriedly. "You're so ... you're so ... warm. I never had a woman 
like you before!" 

I'll bet you haven't, mister! Because I never gave myself to a man like that 
before! And I never felt that way before. I don't know what it is you've 
got, but I always knew with the right man I could really let myself go! So 
maybe you are the right man! 

She looked around the room again. At the lux-uriousness of it. At the warmth 
and comfort. And then she remembered the shabbiness of her own home and she 
shuddered. She had always dreamed of living like this. Secure. Comfortable. 
But it had always been just a dream. She had given up the idea that it would 
ever happen years ago. But it was happening! He was offering it to her! All 
of this ... the security ... the comfortableness ... clothes ... everything 
... it could all be hers for just one thing. Her body. 

And what was so bad about that? He had thrilled her as no man had ever 
thrilled her before. Had awakened her flesh with delights that she had only 
sensed, but had never known. So why not? Anyway she looked at it, it was a 
good bargain! A good deal! 

"All right," she said in a low voice. "I'll live here with you! I'll be your 
... your mistress! And just to show you that it isn't all one-sided, I'll 
live up to my part of the bargain right now...!" 

Then slowly she edged the sheet down and offered her body to him. 

Hungrily, his eyes ate her flesh. Then, with a soft cry, he reached for her. 
His hands felt good upon her breasts, his fingers squeezing her hardening 
nipples until her face winced with pleasure and a moan escaped her lips. 

The musky odor of his after-shave lotion filled her nostrils, stimulating 
her more. It had a rich, suggestive odor that caused her to snuggle closer 
as the excitement of forbidden naughtiness rippled through her. 

Writhing beneath him, her body out of control, her fingers ran over the body 
of her lover as she pressed herself to him. She could hear his breathing 
becoming heavier in her ear as his hands came between them to clasp and 
massage her breasts while reaching down with his right hand to the mound of 
her dampening pubic hair at her crotch. Her legs spread willingly and 
shivered as his gentle fingers worked themselves inside the pink edges of 
her swelling cunt lips. She murmured incoherently as his fingers slipped in 
and out of the lubricated labia. 

Her legs jack-knifed around the invading hand spurring the sweating body 
atop her to pursue his task more feverishly. Three fingers were pushing into 
the hungry, pink folds with a soft, sucking noise and a soft moan of 
pleasure purred from Naomi's lips. 

In another moment of feverish struggle, he was stripped naked and his bare, 
moist flesh pressed into hers. She was glad and pulled him tightly between 
her open thighs, her knees drawing to the deep cushions of her breasts. 

Eyes and teeth clenched as she writhed beneath his fingers, driven by 
uncontrollable passion, she whispered fiercely, "Give it to me, man! 
Now-now!" 

Randy was kneading her breasts more vigorously, the swollen tits throbbing 
with his caresses. She snuggled beneath, grinding her pelvis into his hard, 
expanding cock. His fingers rotated over the mounds of her vagina, creeping 
back to its entrance. 

Excitement left her cunt, and the crevice of her buttocks was soaked. 
Closing her thighs about the probing hand she resigned herself to the 
rolling sensations of pleasure coursing through her body. His fingers 
rotated within the wet valley of her pussy until she thought she would go 
out of her mind. 

The odor of their combined sexes and the spilling juices of her hot pussy 
left Randy crazed. In the shadowy room with only the sound of their heavy 
panting and his groans intermittent with her soft mewlings he found himself 
fervently applying all his masculinity to the task of making love to this 
golden goddess beneath him. 

Whimpering with her own razor-sharp need, she made her hungry cunt suck at 
his flesh, her legs quivering against the pulsating swells of her breasts. 

In answer, his hot, stiff prick lunged into the greedy cunt, pushing deep 
and hard through the tender folds of flesh. 

"Eeeuuunnnhhh!" she cried with the impalement, her long, slender fingers 
clawing at his back. 

The sudden entry of his hard male flesh slithering deep up inside her caused 
her to cringe. Then she was with him again, her throbbing pussy meeting his 
every twist and thrust. 

He penetrated her so deeply on the first thrust their short pubic hair 
twisted and tangled together as he ground his pelvis tightly down into her 
loins. The soft skin of his testicles brushed teasingly against the now 
widely exposed lips of her soft sensitive anus nestled just below their wet 
coupling. Without waiting he began sliding in and out of her with long 
desperate thrusts. She arched her back, unable to hold herself back. Her 
blood pounded through her veins like hot, molten lead, and she could feel 
every tiny ripple of skin around his warm, lunging penis as it raced madly 
in and out between her spread thighs. She jerked her legs from her tits and 
wrapped them around his waist, her heels beating on the hollowing cheeks of 
his buttocks like a drum. And then, almost as suddenly as it began, she 
began a roller coaster ride of orgasms, one right after another until she 
felt his cock begin jerking deep down inside her womb and the warm hot 
spurts of his sperm flooded inside her with the hard-driving force of his 
spending passion. 

"God, Naomi, that was beautiful," he gasped into her ear, his body still 
quivering on top of her. Then he was still. 

She vaguely remembered her own soft cry of ecstasy at the summit of their 
union, the force of his driving cock barreling into her narrow channel 
gushing its burning load of come into her belly. Her body still held him 
clenched to her cunt as if to milk the already deflated prick and shrunken 
balls that swung free against her rounded buttocks. 

With the sound of rubbery, wet suction, he pulled his spent cock from her 
still-clinging cunt. He fell wearily upon her gasping, moaning body, content 
with the soft caress of firm breasts and wet pubic mound digging into his 
hot flesh. 

The odor of their sexual sweat and male, female scents mingled with the 
fragrance of his expensive cologne and her cheap department store perfume. 
It was the last thing Naomi noticed as she went into a blissful slumber with 
him. Somehow it was comforting. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"You mean you're going to move in with that ... that ... white man!" 

"That's right, Ma!" Naomi said over her shoulder as she reached into the 
closet and pulled the dresses off their hangers. Then she hurriedly packed 
them into the suitcase on the small bed. 

"But why! Why?" her mother insisted from the door. 

"Why! To get away from this! That's why!" Now seated on the bed, Naomi cried 
out the words, looking contemptuously around the small room. Her mother's 
eyes followed hers, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the dingy-scarred 
furniture, and the cardboard that was used to cover up the broken window 
panes. 

"I want to live nice for a change! Have nice things. Feel warm and clean ... 
and ... and ... wanted!" 

"That's not why he's doing it and you know it, Naomi!" her mother said with 
a sad shake of her head. "It's just that you're a ... a ... mulatto ... and 
you know what white men think of mulatto girls! Do you think he'd have made 
the offer if you were darker? You know he wouldn't!" 

"I don't care! I don't care why he's doing it!" Naomi shouted. "I only know 
he's doing it ... and that's all that matters to me!" 

Her mother came over to the bed and forced Naomi to look into her face. She 
tried to look away, but the strong hand under her chin prevented it-the skin 
rough with the labor of years of scrubbing floors to feed them scratched 
Naomi's face poignantly. 

"You're no better than a whore ... a prostitute, if you go through with 
this, Naomi! You're selling your body for some nice clothes and a decent 
place to live!" 

"I don't care! I don't care!" Naomi screamed. "It's the only chance I'll 
ever have to get out of this! To live a better life! And I'm going to take 
it!" 

Her mother's hand snaked out and slapped against the naked cheek, leaving 
the stain of her finger marks against Naomi's flesh. Naomi clutched at the 
hurt and began to cry hysterically. 

"But I didn't raise you to be a whore!" the older woman said in a loud 
voice. "You're a good girl! And now yOu're going to ruin your life.... 

"I gave you religion. Worked hard every day of my life to feed and clothe 
you after your Daddy died. Tried to show you how to get satisfaction out of 
your life between God and hard work. 

"Naomi, there ain't no more out there for a Negro girl, no matter how 
light-skinned she is. No matter how pretty she is! Don't you know by now 
that there's no place out their for a black woman beyond hate, abuse, hard 
work, and being used for the white man's own ends. No one outside the 
boundaries of the black people give a damn about you, Naomi! Even with a few 
drops of white man's blood and light skin, you've got none of the rights or 
future that your white cousins do. You're a nigger to them. A nigger! And 
you always will be. Ain't no one going to make you white or privileged not 
ever, so long as there's one ounce of black man's blood in you!" 

Naomi threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. "I 
don't care what you say!" she sobbed. "I'm going to do it no matter what! I 
want to do it. I have to do it! Can't you understand, I have to do it?" 

"Have to do what?" the deep voice queried from the door. 

Her mother turned to look at the intruder. 

But Naomi didn't have to look. She knew from the sound of the voice who it 
was. It was Lincoln Potter, the man she had planned to marry. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

"What did you call her a whore for?" he asked her mother as he stood in the 
doorway, dark and glowering. "Nobody can speak that way about the girl I'm 
going to marry!" 

The small, round woman looked at her daughter and then at the man in the 
doorway. Looking back at Naomi, her face darkened with anger and she pushed 
past him and left the room. 

"Ask her why I called her a whore!" she snapped at him over her shoulder. 
"Ask her!" 

Lincoln waited until the heavy sound of her mother's footsteps had faded 
down the hall before he spoke. Then he said the words in a low deadly tone. 

"You haven't taken any money from a man for ... for anything, have you?" 

Naomi knuckled the tears out of her eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed. 
"No, Line, I haven't taken any money from any man," she told him wearily. 

"Then what's this all about?" he demanded. 

Naomi looked at him and then shook her head in slow resignation. How do I 
tell him the truth without hurting him! Line's a good man ... but it just 
isn't enough. Not anymore! But how do I make him understand that it's not 
his fault?" That it's not anyone's fault. How do I make him know that? 

It was then that he became aware of the suitcases on her bed, and his 
reaction was quick and painful. "You going away?" he asked with a hurt 
expression. 

"Yes, I'm going away," Naomi answered in a tired voice. 

"Where? Where you going?" he demanded. 

"Just away, Line. Just away." She couldn't say more than that, and she hoped 
he would accept the limited explanation. But he didn't. 

"Where you going? I want to know where you're going? We're supposed to be 
getting married in three months, and I've got a right to know where you're 
going!" 

Naomi got up from the bed and went over to the dressing table and began to 
put on her lipstick. 

Angrily he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. "Never mind that now! 
he snarled at her. "You're gonna be my wife, and I want to know what you're 
up to!" 

Somehow the touch of his huge hand on her shoulder made her shudder. Somehow 
it repulsed her. And when she blurted out the words-it was because she 
wanted to hurt him. 

"I'm not going to be your wife! Not in three months ... not ever!" 

The shock of her words pinched his face into lines of agony and his hand 
dropped limply to his side. 

"What do you mean you're not going to marry me? What's wrong, Naomi? Tell me 
what's wrong!" 

The image of Randy Harcourt shattered into her consciousness. And of his 
offer. The clothes. The apartment. Everything. And when she responded, it 
was a wry smile. 

"Nothing's wrong, Line. For the first time in my life, everything's right!" 

He shook his head in confusion. 

"What do you mean by that?" he said in a shaky tone. "Tell me what you mean 
by that?" 

Neither of them had heard the return of her mother and they greeted the 
words from the door with shocked expressions. 

"She means she's gonna live with a white man! That's what she means! She's 
just sold herself to him!" 

Line paled at the words and quickly turned to Naomi for verification. 

"Is that right, Naomi? You're gonna live with a white man?" 

Naomi bowed her head and nodded. 

Why does it sound so rotten when they say it like that? So dirty! It's not 
like that at all! I haven't changed ... I'm still a good girl. Can't they 
see that? 

In his anger, Line grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her. "Why are 
you doing it? Why are you doing it? I love you! I want to marry you! What's 
he offering you besides shame and hate from whites and blacks alike?" 

Once again she flinched under his touch and then she shook free from his 
grasp. Once again she wanted to hurt him. 

"He's offering everything, everything you can't!" she cried. "I don't want 
to live like this anymore! I want nice things ... good things! And you can't 
give them to me! You'll never be able to give them to me!" 

From the look on his face, she knew that she had hurt him. And now she 
wished that she could take back the words. But it was too late. And when he 
finally spoke, it was as if he were trying to get even with her. 

"And that's why you're selling yourself to some white man?" 

"Don't say that!" she screamed at him. "Don't say that I'm selling myself. 
I'm not! I'm not!" 

"You are! Your mother's right. You're no better than a whore! You're worse 
than a whore! Because at least a whore is honest about what she's doing!" 

His rage and his hurt suddenly erupted into blind fury and he slapped her 
hard on her face. There was a stunned silence because of what he had done, 
and then, with a cry, Naomi's mother ran from the room. Line stood facing 
Naomi, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

He was a tall, muscular man, a hard worker who could bring himself no higher 
than the other Negro boys he graduated from high school with, even in a 
northern, supposedly liberal, state like Massachusetts. There were just some 
things that a black boy couldn't change, some levels he couldn't hope to 
attain, not because he wasn't capable of doing better or the white man loved 
him less. It just wasn't expected of him to do better, and anyone who broke 
that mold could well plan on being a "bad Negro," a trouble-maker. 

Line knew where he stood. He'd always known. With athletic prowess he'd be 
cheered on and petted even by the whites, but he couldn't sit with them at 
the victory dinners held in Boston's better night clubs. When an injury had 
come to his knee, ending his hopes of becoming a part of the Celtic team, 
he'd had to retire alone to the silent streets and lonely, rushing crowds to 
find a job that "suited his talents." Menial labor with no hope of promotion 
or improvement in any way-that was his lot in life. 

The only thing that had ever offered him hope was something that frightened 
Naomi. She'd have no part of it. God had done nothing to make her mother's 
life any easier. Why should the religion of Allah do any more for Line? He'd 
been with the Muslims for three years now. He wasn't an unknown in the 
group, and had a part in the building movement that was catching up the 
black countryside. A part of the more active members like Harlem's notorious 
Mau Maus, his life was occupied with the status of the Negro, not with 
keeping in one piece and spoiling a wife. The fears, bloodshed, and police 
battles that went with his life, no matter how non-violent the Muslims were 
supposed to be-the whites wouldn't stand by for any of their efforts, 
peaceable or otherwise, on behalf of a minority group-were not a life that 
Naomi wanted to face. She would flee first to a less hostile world to try to 
find the gifts she wanted of life. To have them bloodstained and soaked in 
tears were not worth having at all. 

Indignant and hurt at being struck by him, she no longer cared about his 
feelings. She only knew that she wanted to lash back at him. To hurt him as 
he had hurt her. To get even. 

Deliberately and provocatively, she undressed in front of him. Her hard eyes 
never left his face as she removed her clothing. And she smiled with 
satisfaction as she saw the flicker of desire build within him. 

Now completely nude, she plunged the knife of vengeance in and twisted it. 

Flaunting her body at him with an upward thrust of her breasts and a 
gyration of her pelvis, she said, "Maybe I'm a whore, and maybe I'm not, but 
you'll never find out again! Take a good look at me, Line..a good look ... 
cause it's the last look you're ever gonna get! Wanna feel! Wanna touch? Go 
ahead, because it's the last time you're going to do it! Unless you got the 
price!" 

Her laugh was bitter as she watched him quiver with anger. 

"Even a Muslim will never get the price," she taunted him. "I'm going over 
to where the money is. Why waste your blood and sweat on something that'll 
never come to a nigger boy!" 

His open-handed blow across her face sent her head-long across the bed. Then 
with a sigh of regret his hand dropped limply to his side. 

Without saying a word, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room. 
The hysterical laughter followed him down the dark, crowding hall and out 
the front door. 

Still laughing, Naomi looked at the watch on the dresser. 

"An hour before I meet Randy. Just thirty more minutes, and then I'll be out 
of this forever!" 

She was still laughing as she began to dress. It wasn't until after she'd 
finished and had lifted her suitcases from the bed that she stopped. 

Then she looked around the room for one last time, and the laughter turned 
to tears. She ran down the dank, narrow hall and out of the house. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"Should I put on my bra, or shouldn't I?" Naomi mused as she examined 
herself in the mirror in the dressing room. "Really don't need it with this 
dress, but that salesgirl would flip if I came out without it!" She laughed. 

And then with a shrug, she bent over and scooped her breasts into the lace 
brassiere before hooking it behind her back. Now clad in bra and half-slip, 
she struggled into the expensive dress and tugged the zipper up its full 
length. 

Padding the wrinkles over her thighs and legs, she straightened the garment 
before walking into the showroom. Randy, seated in a chair, was talking to 
the salesgirl who hovered nervously over him while they waited for her to 
return. 

Naomi minced her way toward him and then pirouetted seductively. 

"Do you like it, Randy?" she asked. "How do I look?" 

His eyes feasted over her body and he laughed happily. 

"Great! Like a million dollars! But do you like it?" 

Do I like it! What kind of a question is that to ask? I never had a dress 
like this before in my life! Not one that fits this way, nor one that costs 
so much! And to him it's like a game ... clothing me ... dressing me. I love 
it! Oh, how I love it! 

"I like it, Randy," she said in a low voice, trying not to show her 
eagerness. "I like it very much!" 

"And how about those others?" he asked, pointing to the rack wherjj the 
salesgirl had hung the dresses she had tried on previously. "Do you like 
them, too?" 

Turning to the salesgirl, Randy clapped his hands excitedly and said, "Then 
we'll take them all. Just wrap them up and we'll take them with us. Everyone 
of them!" 

The salesgirl smiled a pasted-on smile and removed the dresses from the 
rack. Then she turned to Naomi and said, "If you take that one off, I'll 
have it wrapped, too." 

"No!" Randy interrupted, "I want her to wear that one ... she looks great in 
it!" 

The salesgirl looked at him with obvious disdain. 

"But she hasn't got the accessories to go with it. You know ... shoes, 
gloves, handbag, ... A woman's only partially dressed if she doesn't have 
the accessories." 

"Then get them for her!" he ordered. "If that's what she needs, get them!" 

Naomi saw the quivering of the muscles in the salesgirl's cheek and she 
realized that the girl was about to say something. From the look on her face 
it was something unpleasant. But then she obviously thought better of it 
and, turning sharply on her heel, she strode briskly away from them and went 
toward the shoe department. Naomi saw her whisper something to the clerk on 
duty, and then the two of them glanced back into the dress department with 
contemptuous looks. 

She doesn't like me. I know she doesn't. It's not that she doesn't like me, 
it's that she doesn't like me here with Randy! I could tell it from the way 
she's treated me ... like I don't belong here. And I know the only reason 
she waited on me was because of Randy. 

The hurt welled up into her throat and Naomi fought to keep the tears from 
appearing in her eyes. Her back stiffened with pride as Randy looked at her 
and then she turned away from him, pretending to busy herself by examining 
some other dresses. 

"What's the matter, Naomi?" he asked in a low voice. "What's wrong?" 

"N ... nothing!" Nothing's wrong, Randy." 

"You can't kid me, Naomi ... I know when something's bothering you. Now tell 
me what it is!" 

She shook her head with pretended emphasis. 

"Really, there's nothing wrong! Guess I'm just tired. That's all. Tired. 
Let's not wait for the other things. Let's go home right now!" 

He studied her with a tilt to his head and agreed to her request when he saw 
the look in her face. 

"All right, Naomi, we'll go home now," he said in a soft voice. 

And then, after giving instructions to the salesgirl as to where to send the 
clothes, he took her by the elbow and they walked out of the store. It 
seemed to Naomi as if he were deliberately holding her close. Deliberately 
flaunting her to the customers and the sales personnel of the exclusive 
dress shop. 

"Are you sure you want to go right home?" he asked as he held the door open 
for her. 

"Yes. That's where I want to go. To the apartment!" 

Then, head held high, she walked out into the street. 

Of course, that's where I want to go. That's the only place in the world I'm 
safe. Even though it was sweet of him to take me shopping, he doesn't know 
what everybody's thinking when they see me with him. But I know! They can't 
hide their looks from me! That's why I want to go back to the apartment ... 
that's where I'm safe from them! There, he can hold me and make me feel 
wanted and nobody can say a word! Nobody can give me those dirty looks! 
That's where he can take away all the hurt! Oh, hurry, Randy. Let's hurry! 

As she sat stiffly at his side in the taxi, her hand clenched tightly about 
his, she knew there was only one way to wash away that hurt. That was to 
make love. For then she would feel wanted again. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, she threw herself into Randy's arms. 
Her mouth hungrily sought his and her lips bruised him with desperation. 

"Take me! Take me!" she pleaded with him, her face now buried in his chest. 

Eagerly he pulled her into his arms, his hands went over her body, nursing 
her yearning and need into desire. She tensed at the touch of his hands on 
her breasts and his fingers on her nipples. And then as he caressed her, she 
began to undress in clumsy impatience. 

With her eyes closed tightly, her trembling fingers fumbled with her zippers 
and buttons, and, still hugging him close, she awkwardly worked her way out 
of her clothes. 

Standing in her bra and half-slip, she clutched him to her. Her body rubbed 
his and she thrilled to the sensations that began to awaken. 

Her eyes were closed and she felt him pull her down to the deep carpeting. 
Then she reached for him, and she thrilled to the feel and touch of his 
body. Her fingers were all thumbs as she sought to undress him, and she 
heard him laugh as he helped her. 

"Hurry! Please hurry. I need you ... I need you now!" Naomi pleaded. 

And then she felt him crouching over her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders 
and she pulled him closer. Somehow he worked her under-garments free of her 
waist and hips and she tugged it off her thighs with long thrusts of her 
legs and feet. Her breasts were free as he plucked the brassiere from her 
body. She squirmed and writhed under him at the feel of his mouth on her 
breasts and her nipples quickly erected into small mountains. 

"Want me! Oh, please want me!" she said desperately into his throat. 

And his answer was to stroke and play and toy with her body. 

She quivered and moaned with each touch and she clung to him as if afraid of 
separation. 

Deeper and deeper her desire mounted. Higher and higher, her sensations 
climbed. And now there was no stopping. Her tawny flesh shivered with each 
touch ... with each stroke ... and she gasped in delight at the pleasure. 

She had never wanted him so much as she did at this moment. Every movement 
showed it. Every response made him aware of it. And he reacted quick- 

She could feel the reaction between her fingers. Feel the pulsing and the 
throbbing. And with the velvet touch in her hand, she lost all control. 

"Now! Don't wait. Do it now!" 

He took her into his arms as his loins rammed into her cunt. 

She felt as if a hot poker was ripping her apart and the shock of it tore a 
gasp from her throat. Quivering and shaking with frenzied delight, she 
lunged forward as if to suck him into her being. Her hips and buttocks 
gyrated in slow undulations under him and with her hands on him, she forced 
his movements to match hers. 

And then the passion swept over and freed her. 

She lost all control and her body became a wild thing. Lunging and pressing 
and tearing and smothering him. Her breathing became quick and heavy and her 
fingers racked long, red trails down his back. Her white teeth clawed at his 
shoulder with each shudder of pain and delight. And then there were no 
limits to the twisting and writhing and pumping of her body.... 

And then in one awful moment of heat and pain and agony, the sun exploded 
deep within her being! 

"Yes! Yes! Yes! YES!" She screamed into his throat. "Make me know it! OH, 
MAKE ME KNOW IT!" 

He increased the cadence and the ferociousness of his movements and each 
twinge brought the after-shock of delight. His driving prick cut into her 
sensitive flesh, bringing pain and bliss that drove her frantic. 

Her demanding cunt gnawed at him until the last drop of come exploded its 
molten sperm within her belly. Panting, she sucked dry his rigid cock and 
left his balls deflated, clamoring their lost fertility dance against her 
up-turned buttocks. 

Their mixed love juices flowed with sticky warm wetness around his shrunken 
cock, down the crevice of her buttocks and over his testicles as they rubbed 
rhythmically against her tightly puckered anus. 

When he finally withdrew himself noisily from her satiated pussy, she 
demanded, "It was good, wasn't it?" 

Her eyes probed for his in the darkness. 

"Say it was good!" she gasped. "Tell me it was good!" 

He's got to tell me it was. He's got to! It's the only way I have of knowing 
that everything is all right. That I belong here! What else have I got that 
he wants ... nothing! This is the only thing I can offer him ... my body ... 
myself!-That's why he's got to tell me it was good! That's why he's got to 
say it was all right! 

"It was good, Naomi. It was better than good!" he whispered huskily with his 
head cushioned on her breasts. "It was wonderful!" 

Her eyes closed in satisfaction and relief. And at that moment the hurt 
vanished. For at that moment she knew complete acceptance. 

He lifted his face from her breasts and smiled weakly at her. 

"You're amazing!" he said in a limp voice. "You're wild! You're the wildest 
woman I've ever known! Don't ever ... ever take it away from me!" 

"I won't," she answered. "I won't!" 

Then she cradled his head back on her breasts and there was a smile of 
satisfaction on her face. She held him that way, her hands gently stroking 
and soothing him. And then, when she became aware of the beginnings of his 
response, her hands reached for his again. He moaned as se touched him and 
she could feel his body quiver with the delight. 

"I'll never take it away from you, Randy," she said as his mouth sought 
hers. "Never! Never!" 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"What's keeping that damn waiter!" Randy said, exasperated, looking around 
the half-empty restaurant. "If we don't get served soon, we're going to be 
late for that party!" 

Nervously, Naomi tapped a cigarette on her fingernail and then followed his 
glance around the room. She had always wanted to dine in the famous evening 
spot and when Randy had asked her where she would like to eat that evening, 
she had quickly named the big Boston restaurant. But now she regretted it. 

She had regretted it the moment they had walked in and the maitre d' had 
come over to them. She could tell from the way he looked at her that she 
didn't belong. In his disdain and his almost insulting manner, it was 
apparent. And the only reason he had seated them was because of Randy. Randy 
with his big, fat checkbook and his influential name. Poor, innocent Randy. 
He hadn't noticed anything wrong. But Naomi had noticed. 

She had noticed the isolated table the maitre d' had given them. Had noticed 
the stony, insulting glances of the other diners. Had noticed the almost 
insolent manner of the waiters who served them. And had noticed how other 
diners were being seated away from their area. 

It was as if they were surrounded by a fence of leprosy. 

Randy nervously played with a pack of matches and made small talk. 
Occasionally, he would glance at his wrist watch and then off in the 
direction of the kitchen. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer and began 
to get up from the table. 

"I'm going to find out what's keeping that waiter. We've been here for 
almost an hour now and he still hasn't brought the rest of our dinner. 
Something's wrong and I'm going to find out what it is!" 

Naomi put her hand on his wrist and stopped him. 

"Don't you know what's wrong, Randy?" she asked in a low voice. He shook his 
head. 

"No. All I know is we're going to be late for that party unless I find out 
what's wrong!" 

Naomi took a deep breath and gave him the answer. 

"I'm what's wrong, Randy! Me!" 

"You! What do you mean ... you?" 

A wave of her hand took in the entire room. 

"They don't want me here. The only reason they let us in is because of you. 
Can't you see what they're thinking from the looks on their faces! I'm not 
good enough for them!" 

Then her voice dropped to a low whisper. 

"They only think I'm good for one thing ... and you know what that is. 
That's the only reason I'm with you as far as they're concerned!" 

There was sadness in her face as she looked up at him. 

Anger squeezed his lips into a thin hard line. 

"Well. I'm not going to let them get away with that. If I have to, I'll 
force you down their throats!" he breathed vehemently. 

Naomi's eyes squeezed closed in despair. She said the words to the white 
tablecloth in front of her. 

"But I don't want to be forced down anyone's throat, Randy. I just want to 
be treated like any one else ... like a human being!" 

But he wouldn't listen, and shaking her hand from his wrist, he rose to his 
feet and belligerently strode over to the maitre d'. From the angry 
expression on his face, Naomi could tell what he was saying. There was no 
argument from the man ... he merely shrugged insolently and nodded. Then he 
walked toward the kitchen as Randy returned to the table. 

Don't make it happen that way, Randy. Please don't make it happen that way! 
You can't change them-nothing can change them. To people like that, I'm a 
whore! If not a whore, then a mistress. They think that the only reason 
you're with me is because I'm beautiful, and good in bed. Can't you see 
that, Randy! So don't look at them. Don't react to them! Make believe they 
don't even exist. Make believe we're all alone in this restaurant! Make 
believe there's just you and me! 

But Randy couldn't do it. He settled back into the chair, surrounding 
himself in a cloud of anger. He was stiff with silence, rarely speaking to 
her as the rest of their dinner was served to them. They ate hurriedly, not 
even tasting the food. They had one motive ... to finish and to leave. And 
finally their dinner was done. 

"Come on, Naomi, let's go," Randy said rising and pulling her chair back 
slowly. "We're going to be late for that party, so let's get out of here." 

Naomi preceded him to the door with downcast eyes. It was as if she couldn't 
look at a single person in the face. For to do so would have caused her to 
crumble into a thousand pieces. 

And so her rule became silence. The wall of self-preservation went up and as 
they drove uptown toward the exclusive penthouse area, she retreated further 
and further into her own thoughts. 

Maybe this is wrong. I can't fight back. I don't want to fight back! I just 
want what he has to offer! But I didn't know what I'd have to accept to get 
it. I didn't know about being snubbed. Being looked down upon and condemned! 
And I don't know how much longer I can take it! 

"We're here!" Randy said as he pulled the convertible sharply to the curb in 
front of the exclusive apartment house. A smiling doorman came over to the 
car and opened the door on Naomi's side. She saw the smile disappear when he 
looked at her and she could feel him stiffen as he helped her out of the 
car. He was about to say something, but Randy's presence at her side 
silenced him. 

Naomi bit down on her lip to hold back the anger and then, head held high, 
she walked defiantly into the lobby of the apartment house. Randy took her 
arm and guided her to the bank of elevators at the other end. She could feel 
the looks of the loungers in the lobby as the two of them walked through. 
And her head went a little higher and the look of defiance on her face 
turned to a look of anger. Then they were in the elevator and zooming up 
toward the penthouse party. 

The door to the penthouse was opened wide and they walked in. Standing on a 
small landing, they looked down into the lavish living room at the milling 
throng of well-groomed guests. 

The purpose of the affair was charity. Objects of art, paintings, statues, 
drawings, prints, and the proceeds were to be used to erect a new wing for a 
children's hospital. And so, the invited guests had been chosen with great 
care-by the size of their bank accounts. As a result, the men and women were 
well-groomed and well-heeled. Naomi, in a white gown which contrasted with 
the golden hue of her flesh, was the equal of any woman in the room as far 
as clothes and looks, and Randy's income matched that of any of the men. 

Arm in arm, they walked down the staircase and into the milling throng of 
people. Though they had been unnoticed on the landing, their appearance now 
stirred the throng into a buzz of excitement. Naomi sensed it as Randy 
steered her into the bar at the far end of the room. She could see it in the 
looks on their faces as they walked past. Hear it in the hand-covered 
whispers that accompanied them as they walked. And so she looked straight 
ahead. Her face was expressionless as they finally seated themselves on the 
bar stools. But even there she was aware of what was happening. The 
reactions were like darts sticking into her back. And at each sound, each 
look, she tensed and flinched and tightened. 

"Make it two straight Scotches," Randy said to the bartender, indicating 
Naomi and himself. He nodded and quickly placed the glasses in front of 
them. Naomi reached out with both hands and clutched the liquor to her 
breasts. Then, closing her eyes, she drank deeply. 

Maybe if I drink enough, I won't see what's happening ... won't feel what's 
happening! Sure, that's the answer! Drown it all in alcohol, and maybe it 
will go away! And then, even if it doesn't, who cares? 

And so she finished the drink in two deep swallows and then pushed the empty 
glass toward the bartender. He looked at her and shrugged. Then, once again 
he poured her drink. 

"Better leave that bottle, Mister," Naomi ordered. "Looks like I'm going to 
be in for a long night!" 

The bartender shrugged and with slow deliberation placed the bottle down in 
front of her. She drank quickly from the glass and then filled it again. On 
the stool next to her, Randy watched her nervously. He put his hand over the 
bottle when she poured her fourth drink. 

"Don't you think you'd better slow down, Naomi?" he whispered in a low 
voice. "I'd hate to have to carry you out of here!" 

Slowly she turned her head and stared at him with her deep dark eyes. 

"If you're so worried about me," she responded, "then you'd better talk to 
your friends! I don't think you scored any points by bringing me here!" 

Randy looked at her as if she had slapped his face. 

"It's not my fault, Naomi ... It's not my fault! You wanted to see how the 
other half lives. You wanted to come here, not me! So don't take it out on 
me!" 

Naomi downed another drink before answering. Suddenly she wanted to be 
alone. By herself. The only company she wanted was the bottle of Scotch. 

"Look," she said, "why don't you just let me sit here at the bar? You go 
talk to your friends. It'll be better that way. At least we won't be able to 
fight. I don't want to fight with you, Randy!" 

He looked at her to see if she meant what she had said, and then, getting up 
from the stool, patted her on the arm and left. Naomi didn't even watch him 
go. Suddenly she had lost all interest in him. Now she had but one concern. 
To consume as much Scotch as she could in a short period of time. 

Behind her, the auction began. She could hear the sounds of bidding and then 
the accompanying applause as item after item was sold under the auctioneer's 
gavel. But she had no interest in the proceedings. Her sole interest was the 
lowering level of Scotch in the bottle on the bar in front of her.... 

So that was where life began and ended, possessions and prestige for the 
white man, Naomi thought. Everything that a check book or credit card could 
buy and pride and honor in the elite Society. 

Ofay bastards! I'm part of life too! A black woman is still a human being, 
with the same needs and desires as you! 

Her glassy eyes hot with the anger of unshed tears, she scanned the 
waxy-faced men and women, Boston's "upper crust," members of the old "400." 
Their painted-on and molded smiles, stiff mannerisms, and the hollow 
laughter. 

Here to do your duty. Give to the poor, the under-priveleged. Have a drink 
while you're at it. "Hobnob" with the other "old families" and write off the 
rest of your poor countrymen with a check book stub-tax deductible! We're 
tax deductible! How about that, Naomi silently asked the assembled crowd. 

The poor niggers you can't soil yourself with the sight of-down in the 
filthy slum alleys of Roxbury and Dorchester. Down in "old Southie" where 
you're all afraid to go because of "those people"-God know you try to help 
them financially, but know them? ... associate with them? ... "My deah, it 
just isn't done! It's not proper!" 

The gavel resounded upon the podium. And two white women, their hair in blue 
waves styled by a famous Boston beautician, jewels flashing at their ears, 
throats, and fingers, pudgy from self-indulgence, delicately clasped 
long-stemmed crystal with pink ladies. Their steel-grey eyes averted hers as 
they moved their glasses to shield rapidly moving lips lest Naomi guess what 
they were saying. Another woman moved toward them and they vaguely motioned 
toward Naomi with their prim heads and flourished pink ladies. The woman's 
opaque black eyes flashed at her briefly and turned with a slow sneering 
grin emerging on her thin lips as she clucked with her friends. 

Naomi returned to the bottle-the only thing in the room that didn't stare 
back with a haughty sniff and hissing criticism. 

A hundred years ago they would have had her on the auction stand, admiring 
her contours and strength, wondering what type of work they could give her 
to keep the master of the house from using her in bed. Frigid white bitches! 

Her thoughts turned to Line and his Muslim friends. Things weren't much 
better in the white man's world today. People like Martin Luther King and 
her mother made her sick! Peaceful marches for civil rights. Damn it! After 
one hundred years of supremacy and holding down the peaceful, striving 
nigger-Hell! The whites didn't give one shit for the "Uncle Tom" efforts of 
that fool black preacher. 

Maybe Line and his friends were right. Marches like the one in Selma told 
the whites the black man was aware of his flagrant neglect of duties a 
century yet unfufilled. Could she have joined their efforts? Hell! It wasn't 
worth her sweat and tears. Naomi knew those ofays wouldn't change any! 

Line and his friends knew too. That's why the Mau Maus, the Panthers, and 
other strictly black separatist, "hate the white" movements were springing 
up across the country. 

What could they do though? In ten, twenty, fifty years? Naomi would be a 
broken old woman by then, with sandpaper hands and hard leathery knees from 
scrubbing floors like her mother before her. Her flesh would sag, too worn 
and tired to enjoy the things she wanted, the luxuries of life that those 
creamy-skinned bitches had at the flutter of a blue eye, the toss of a 
blonde curl, the show of a white thigh. 

Fuck them all! I hate them! Naomi cried out silently to that empty bottle, 
the last drops in her glass. Not a goddamned one of them cares! Where's 
Randy? Where are my friends? 

Naomi saw her eyes reflected in the amber glass of the bottle and knew she 
was-as she had always been-alone. 

She looked from the bottle to the empty glass in her trembling fingers. Her 
eyes slowly climbed upward, looking across the bar pleadingly at the 
bartender. 

He shook his head as he removed the empty bottle from the bar. 

"I think you've had enough, Miss," he said. "I'm cutting you off." 

Bleary-eyed, she looked at him again. Then she shrugged indifferently. It 
didn't really matter. Nothing mattered anymore. 

"Should I find the young man who was with you?" the bartender asked with 
concern. 

Naomi thought about it. Should he get Randy? 

No! Randy won't do me any good now ... not the way I feel. Woozy. Awful 
woozy. 

So she shook her head in answer. 

"No," she sighed. "Just tell me where I can lie down for a while. If I can 
get some rest, I'll be all right." 

"Just go down there, Miss," he advised. "The first door on the left. When I 
see the man you came in with, I'll tell him where you are." 

Naomi nodded her thanks at him and then eased her way off the bar stool. 
Following his directions, she pushed her way through the corridor. Though 
she could hear the murmur of voices in her wake, she was now impervious to 
anything that was said. Weaving slightly, she walked to the door that the 
bartender had indicated and went into the room. She closed the door behind 
her and leaned against it to get her bearings. She was in a library and she 
shook her head in disgust. 

"Don't wanna read ... wanna sleep!" 

But it was too late for her to find another room. The heavy whirling nausea 
effect of the alcohol spun through her head and she hurriedly wobbled to a 
chair in front of the large picture window that looked out over the city. 
With a sigh of deep relief, she plumped herself down into the deep 
leather-bound cushions. Leaning her head back and groaning with discomfort, 
she closed her eyes. 

Somehow her feet found the hassock and she straightened out her lithe, limp 
torso. Trying to make herself comfortable between hassock and chair, her 
back to the rest of the room, Naomi squirmed until the over-sized cushions 
embraced her and became a haven. Soon the quiet sound of her shallow 
breathing filled the room.... 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The voices behind her jolted Naomi out of her slumber. Some men had come 
into the library to get away from the activity of the auction. They stood 
behind Naomi's chair, oblivious to her presence, and nursed their drinks 
that they had brought with them. 

"Quite an affair!" came a thin nasal voice. "Looks like they're going to 
make enough to get that hospital wing built." 

"Yeah," a deep, husky voice joined in, "One thing about this crowd, they 
sure know how to spend money." 

"You can say that again!" someone slurred, clinking the ice in his glass. "S 
... sometimes I think it's the only thing we know how to do!" 

He was laughing at his own inability to sputter out his 'words'. 

But Naomi could hear his long-drawn draught from the glass pressed to his 
lips, punctuated by the loud swallow and choke as he found strength to 
continue the conversation. 

"When you come right down to it," intoned the nasal voice with authority, "I 
guess we're pretty boring people. We never did do anything very exciting 
except make and spend money." 

Naomi was partially awake now, and with half an ear she listened to the 
conversation. For a moment she half-considered making her presence known. 
And then because of her semi-drunken condition, decided against it, trying 
to relax deeper into the oblivion of the cushions. 

The words that followed jolted her out of her relaxed and contented stupor. 
And she turned her dark head to better catch the context of their talk. 

"Except for that Randy Harcourt." The deep intonations and dropping of the 
r's from his words told Naomi the second man was speaking. "He sure knows 
how to do more than make and spend money." 

Naomi could hear his words grow louder as he approached and leaned against 
the back of her chair. 

"Howwah 'bout that!" exclaimed the third men, slurping at his ice for the 
last drops of liquor. "W-wonder where he dug that broad up!" 

He was laughing hilariously at his own words for some reason Naomi couldn't 
fathom through her own melting euphoria. 

"He's sure got a lot of nerve bringing her here though," the authoritative 
nasal twang injected, ignoring his companion's laughter. 

His feet stomped across the thickly carpeted floor, coming to Naomi in muted 
drum beats as they paced impatiently across the length of the room. 

She shrunk deeper into her haven. 

"I thought my wife would flip!" he continued. 

"Mine, too!" chorused the New England accent, eager to be a part of every 
word. 

"Looks to me like every woman in the room hated her guts...." the first man 
informed them, slightly breathless with his pacing...."and every man would 
be glad to change places with Randy!" intoned the happy third voice. 

Naomi's fingers tensed in her palms, leaving small white streaks. 

"Well, you know what they say about girls like her ... and I'm not denying 
that I'd like to find out if it's true or not!" twanged the 
authoritative-speaker. 

"Me, too!" agreed the anxious Yankee above Naomi, his hands wringing his 
bourbon glass precariously on the chair's back over her wary eyes. "If she's 
anything like she looks, they'd have to carry me out of he-ah!" 

"Guesh we'll never find out," responded the mellowing drunk. "Someday we'll 
have to ash Randy how it really ish!" 

"Oh, just like any other black whore!" the authority sang out in an 
imitation of Randy's response while the others cat-called. 

This was the moment when Naomi made her presence known. She struggled out of 
the deep chair, then came around the other side, leaning on the back of the 
chair provocatively when the little man fled his post. 

She watched him, somewhat amused, the little man with the deep Bostonian 
drawl. Why she was doing this, she didn't know. But she was going to show 
these ofay bastards her worth in one way or another. Alcohol ... anger ... 
just not caring anymore? Whatever was spurring her on, she just had to show 
them in one way or another. 

Thrusting her hips forward, she asked the surprised men, "Why go to Randy to 
find out? Why not find out for yourselves?" 

The three men looked at each other then at Naomi. 

Her mouth turned to a sarcastic grin as she watched them lick their lips 
nervously. 

"What's the matter, boys, afraid to find out? Afraid it won't be true? Or 
are you afraid you aren't men enough!" she shouted. 

Their faces paled and their eyes nervously scanning her and her immediate 
surroundings, Naomi could read the greed and lust in their looks and it 
delighted her. 

Ofay bastards! Nothing but animals when the doors were closed to Society's 
leers. Animals! Interested in their own guts and loins. They didn't give a 
damn what that charity auction was all about outside those doors. 

"Wanna try?" she dared them. 

Their silence was their answer. And then the tall man went over to the door 
and locked it. He turned to the other two men and the three of them grouped 
themselves around Naomi in a small semicircle, waiting expectantly for her 
next move. 

She held up her hands trafhc-cop-like to ward them off, and then laughed a 
dirty laugh. 

"Whoa, fellows," she said, stepping back cautiously to grip her haven-chair, 
"There's one problem. I've got a boy friend up here and I don't think he'd 
like sharing me!" 

The short blonde man answered hurriedly. As if in an effort to shake away 
her fears, he half-smiled, his eyes surveying her length. 

"You don't have to worry about Randy," he said quickly. "He left about a 
half hour ago!" 

"Left?" she queried, her voice betraying her doubt. 

"Yeah," twanged the tall man. "When he couldn't find you, he left. Guess he 
went to look for you." 

Somehow Randy's apparent abandoning her caused a quiver of anger to shake 
through Naomi. 

The nerve of him! Leaving me like this! He's got his nerve, she thought 
angrily. Well, I'll show him ... if that's the way he wants to play the 
game, two can play at it! 

Then she turned and looked at the three men who still waited expectantly. 
Their faces were hungry, lips parted as if breathing in anticipation before 
the lunge upon their prey, beads of sweat lined their foreheads. 

"Well, fellows, willing to try me?" 

The three glanced at each other once more, nod-make the first move. ding 
their heads and anxious to see who would make the first move. "Who's first?" 
she cried. 

Again they looked at her, then to their hesitant feet, shrugging with 
embarrassment. Naomi sensed their discomfort and took command. 

"Tell you how we're going to do it, fellows. Since this is an auction for 
charity, we're going to raise some money. I'm up for sale. First crack goes 
to the highest bidder!" 

They looked at her in disbelief. But none of them made a move, the 
incongruity of her statement shocked them into immobility. 

Damned ofays! If you can't steal it, rape it, or take it by force-then you 
don't want it. Won't even buy the joys of the flesh honestly, make fair 
sport of it. It was fun when you thought you'd take it by the use of your 
strength over mine. Steal it, plunder, assault, violate, kill,-But don't use 
fair means of getting your prey or dealing with it! Those are your 
standards, eh, ofays? 

"What's the matter, fellas?" she asked gaily, "Don't you believe in 
charity?" 

She looked into the face of each one, shaking her head in apparent 
disappointment at their silence. Then she snapped her fingers when a 
solution suddenly came to her. 

"I've got it," she laughed. "You boys just want to see the merchandise 
before you start bidding. Can't blame you for that!" 

At first they didn't understand what she meant. But comprehension came when 
the white gown suddenly tumbled from her body and she stood in front of them 
clad in nothing but a half-bra and garter belt. 

Quickly they looked at her in wide-eyed amaze-merit as she unhooked her 
brassiere and then thumbed her panties past her hips and down her legs. Now 
nude, she stood in the middle of the semicircle and pirouetted slowly. 

"Like it, fellas?" she taunted. "How do you like the merchandise? Now, 
who'll start the bidding? First sample goes to the highest bidder!" 

She stopped turning and thrust her pelvis and her breasts out at them 
invitingly. 

The men licked their lips and were unable to take their gluttonous eyes from 
the golden flesh of her body. 

"I'll go a thousand!" the drunken man stuttered, trying to suck strength 
from his melting ice cubes in the glass that trembled in his hand. 

Naomi grinned, her eyes mere slits, as she watched them call out their bids. 
The tall man lost the authority in his voice, and had to wrench the tightly 
knotted tie at his throat to let his thin, quavering tones escape. And the 
little man with the Yankee habit of dropping his r's and adding them where 
the 'y' didn't belong, was vibrating with excitement as he clamored his bids 
and clapped with nervous eagerness, obviously sure that this was some 
magnificent alcoholic euphoria from which he'd awaken too soon. The older 
man, eyes glazed with inebriation and self-induced limbo, watched with half 
distrust, wary that she would retreat or disappear before he could spit out 
his bid. 

Around and around flowed their voices, muddled by intoxication and the 
craving of lust. Naomi, concentrating on the scene before her, intent to 
prove to these whites and her own Randy who had deserted her in her moment 
of need, was caught up in the whirl of furor of their competition for her. 

"Two thousand!" cried the tall man in a nervous voice. 

But it was the short blonde man whose bid was the highest. 

Naomi looked at him, a gay laugh in her eyes, and then took him by the hand. 
Raising high over his head in a victory salute, she smiled. 

"The winner!" she called excitedly. "And a man after my own heart. Any man 
who'll spend money like you do, I like! And I'm going to prove it to you!" 

The implication was obvious and he grinned weakly at her. 

Still holding his hand, Naomi turned to the other two men. 

"You want to watch?" It's okay with me! But if you've got weak hearts, maybe 
you'd better read some of those books for a while!" 

She indicated the library shelves with a toss of her head, and, then 
ignoring them, she led their friend over to the large sofa. 

He followed her meekly. 

"Got any preference?" she queried coyly. 

The man swallowed and shook his head. 

"I don't think I know what you mean," he whispered. 

Naomi threw back her head and laughed deep in her throat. 

"Oh, you do have a lot to learn, don't you! And I'm just the girl to teach 
you!" 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"Time for your first lesson, mister! Now you're going to find out what it's 
like. If it's true what they say about girls like me!" 

Naomi drew the man to her and her mouth worked against his, plying at his 
lips with the arrow of her tongue. She could feel him shudder as her tongue 
made its way into his mouth and worked about his warm, wet cavity. 

"Like that?" she snarled, drawing her head away. "Why that's only a small 
taste of what you can have!" 

Her hands were at the buttons of his shirt and pulling loose his tie. She 
was angry. Filled with contempt and loathing for not only these three white 
animals, but for herself. She had to show them. Had to get even. When she 
got through with them, they'd know she existed, and what her worth was! 
They'd know what they bid for. With her it would be unlike anything they'd 
ever known be-fore. She'd make them know it! She'd wring them out and hang 
them out to dry! 

In a few moments the small blonde man was naked. Pink and quaking before 
her, he was pudgy with what seemed to Naomi was baby fat. Despite his 
thirty-odd years, his body glowed and took on the form of an over-grown 
toddler. His excitement and shining blue eyes didn't help his image, and 
Naomi found amusement bubbling within her. 

Ignoring his protests, she had managed to get him to stark nudity. Now her 
patient, enforced smile faded. He just stood there grinning shyly at her, 
waiting to see what would happen. 

Stupid ofay! You're so sure of what you want until it's there on a silver 
platter, served to you with all the trimmings. Then you don't know what to 
do with it! Look at it, eat it, or play with it. Do I have to show you? 

She reached for him, drawing his head to hers and pressing her open mouth to 
his while she crushed her breasts and pelvis against his bare flesh, 
gyrating her hips and shoulders so that he could feel her voluptuous 
contours. Her tongue explored the depths of his mouth and her thighs splayed 
against one of his legs so that he could feel the soft muff of pubic hair 
and the moistening lips of her cunt. 

His eyes clenched shut and a shiver ran across his back at the velvet-like 
touch of her groin, the silken softness of her full breasts and rigid 
nipples. 

Naomi played with him. Toyed with him. And the feeling of satisfaction grew 
within her. Not because of his quick reactions, but because of the con-trol 
she knew she held over him. The domination. And she wanted to control and 
dominate these men. Master them! 

His hands slid between them to crush her breasts, mold them in his fingers 
and squeeze her nipples to erectness. His breathing was deep and rapid as 
his mouth attacked hers and devoured her flesh. One hand strayed down to her 
groin to probe between the hot labia of her now sucking pussy. 

Her own fingers kneaded the quaking flesh of his prick into the thick, 
frantically pulsating entity she desired at her abdomen. Her slender fingers 
plied the loose foreskin along the stubby shaft while the blue vein which 
coursed its side grew and darkened until it was a heavy pulsing vessel 
cresting the fiery head of his pale, sensitive cock. 

Then they reached down into the hollow beneath his splayed ass cheeks to cup 
the deflated, limp sacs of purplish flesh sparsely covered with pubic hair. 
Between thumb and forefinger she squeezed and prodded the twin balls, 
inciting them to fill with the thick, sticky essence of life. 

Amid the coarse, scratching, black, pubic hair she drew the testicles to 
turgid fullness, tracing the burgeoning vein that ran from his dampening 
crevice over the flaccid mounds of his balls. 

He was almost ready! 

Her lips despised the blood-tinted, waxy skin of the white man. The odor of 
cigar smoke lingered in his clothes and had transferred in a stale cloud 
about the bareness of his flesh. Even his expensive masculine colognes 
didn't cover the fetid odor of strong tobaccos. His skin, pudgy-soft like a 
child's, knew nothing of the sweat of real labor, and she doubted, from the 
slowly emitting masculine odor of sex, that he had known much of the feats 
of that labor to any admirable degree. 

She sucked his tongue into her hot mouth and ground her wet, boiling labia 
onto his screwing fingers. Tightly, she thrust her body into his, all the 
while massaging that ruby, shielded head into blind fury and its balls into 
fervid life. 

His fingers scratched within her in his nervous excitement and her cunt 
burned with the hot itch of desire. Why the hell didn't he do something! 
Damn it, man! Use your prick, will you! 

His lips had found her throbbing breasts and were nibbling at her hard 
knobbed nipples, making them raw with his grating teeth and her own seething 
desire. 

She cruelly twisted his balls and cock with a pressure designed to bring him 
to the urgency of his quest. His stiff cock was on fire in her taunting 
clutch, and her sucking pussy dripped on his furtive fingers, inciting them 
to riot in her gyrating loins. 

The little man moaned, his breath hot on her tits. 

Naomi took the sound as a signal to her, and abruptly pulled away. 

Without looking at him, she sank to the sofa. Stretching out seductively 
upon the length of the cushions, she snarled at him. 

"Okay, high bidder, you paid for it ... take it!" 

With a savage cry, he fell across her body. His hands and fingers pushed and 
bruised her bronze flesh, molding and shaping her breasts and nipples. 

The pain clawed into her throat and she winced and then her breathing came 
heavier as he continued to work the expanse of her torso, his palms 
electrified at the touch of her abdomen, cunt and thighs. 

There was no delight ... no passion. There was only lust in this male animal 
atop her, eyes glazed with gluttony as he devoured her body with his hands, 
mouth, and total being. She gave herself to the greed and was caught up with 
the gnawing need of lust masticating her own loins, drooling at her cunt. 

"Come on, high bidder!" she screamed. "Fuck me! Nowl" 

Although his penis was hard, and throbbed in readiness, he had continued to 
explore her body, ever different in the changing light of the shadowy 
library as two dim forms crossed and recrossed in the path of the light 
beyond, impatient with their own needs. 

It was as if he had not one passionate female under his hands and lips but 
five, each a tantalizingly different color. 

Now her full, firm breasts rose up in the crisscross of soft shadows like 
dark, sullen hills, their nipples black like tiny cinders, hard and 
resilient as rubber. Her black, soft-clefted mound of pubic hair was wet 
with the sweat and desire of her loins. The thin, moist trench of her vagina 
welcomed his prying nose as he sniffed at the sweet scent of her sex, the 
sweat of her female parts, and the love juices that welled from her cunt. 
Her soft, expensive perfumes were lost in the hypnotic, powerful odor of 
their combined sexes furtively striving in coition. 

"Now!" she demanded, her thighs spread wide beneath him. 

He rammed his torrid, heavy cock into her. Like a flaming sword, it split 
the length of her uterus with its force and fury. 

"Aaaggghhh!" her breath pierced the stagnant air with its cry. 

Like piston gone mad, it plummeted her womb. 

And she strove with it to keep the hard ridges of its barreling length 
within her. 

He twisted and pounded above her, forcing his prick to ravage the depths of 
her cunt, deep into her belly. Again and again, he drove into her, his blue 
eyes unseeing, only her image like an imprint on his madness remained. His 
fingers were yet electrified at the plundering, manipulating ravishing of 
her breasts and nipples. 

Naomi's legs locked around his heaving bulk, whipping her heels at his back, 
her nails clawing his flesh as she sought to pull him into her. The ramrod 
of his prick was caught in the tense muscles of her channel, sucking it 
deeper as her hips and thighs writhed and contorted beneath his thrusts. 

His pungent odors were suffociating her, and his soft fat kept slipping at 
her grasp. Her mouth ajar with panting moans and mewlings, she could taste 
his salty sweat and spit as he thrashed his head above her savagely-beaten 
tits and sputtered his mad gutteral curses at the pain and blissful torture 
of the strangled prick in her belly. 

Suddenly it began fitful spastic jerkings and she knew the time had come. 
She was exploding in her own womb, gushing forth the come of her own climax. 

In long, hard drives he pounded into her. 

"I'm come-coining!" he rasped. 

And with a careening, searing lunge he speared her womb, his cock gushing 
forth in long, torrid spumes of sperm. Erupting with fury and passion, the 
jet-like streams of white, sticky come cascaded into her womb, flooding her 
belly and channel, drowning his jerking cock. 

Her buttocks were wet with the hot, spilling fluid. Their short pubic hair 
was matted with liquid as their groins merged and ground together once more. 
His balls, wet and shrinking, slapped against the upturned cheeks of her ass 
with the rhythm of their final climax and orgasm. 

When he was milked dry, his balls hanging limply in his groin, she 
surrendered his equally depleted and flaccid prick. It withdrew wetly, 
almost bubbling with the memory of its spent enthusiasm. 

The man rolled backward, exhausted. Crawling from her sweat-beaded body, he 
tumbled over on the floor to lie in a weary heap of sweaty, lust-satiated 
languor. 

Naomi didn't watch to see if he would fall asleep from the exertion of his 
sexual endeavors. She heaved a sigh and stretched her aching limbs, 
mustering the energy to accept the next man. 

He had already stripped down to his well-muscled frame. She smiled wanly. 
Maybe this was one ofay she wouldn't have to prime and nurture into 
readiness for the act of intercourse. 

Maybe. He swayed hesitantly as he approached her outstretched, proffered 
form. It was that drunk! So he was the one who had second try. Come on, 
whitey! Steady boy! 

He nearly tumbled onto her as he drooped above drinking in the voluptuous 
womanly curves and hollows of her flesh. His eyes were staring as if in 
hypnotic trance and a lop-sided grin displayed his full set of teeth 
interspersed with a couple of shining gold crowns. 

"Well, man?" she whispered as she offered her arms to embrace him to her 
rapidly pulsating breasts, still feeling the effects of her last adventure. 

His head came down to hers to taste her lips, her mouth, her nose, her eyes. 

The stench of liquor filled her nostrils and throat with nausea. She could 
taste the strong flavor of whiskey on his lips. She wanted to vomit! 

His lips at first were tender, his hands gentle on her face and head as he 
moved his large frame awkwardly onto the couch, to kneel over her. He seemed 
to be searching. Searching for what? The frigid, white pussy he had married? 

This man had determination and purpose in his striving at her nipples, his 
mouth bruising hers as his whiskey-soaked tongue choked her throat. No 
follower like that last one. But goddamn! Does he have to be so-! 

Suddenly his fists were pelting her cherry-tipped breasts with clawing 
blows. His mouth was eating at hers, his teeth chewing her lips. 

Naomi writhed beneath him, trying to find a way to counter his ferocity. Her 
hands pushed his shoulders up, away from her body and she looked at him 
sternly and squarely for a long moment until his panting body stilled, and 
his gaze met hers. 

His eyes gave recognition. I'm different, Naomi breathed silently. Whoever 
she is, I'm not her. I'm just a black whore to use and discard like those 
jellied rubber diaphragms you used in college. Worth no more, worth no less. 
That's me! Naomi Douglas, nigger girl. One black pussy like any other. Meant 
to be screwed, fondled, plundered, ... Fucked and forgotten, that's the 
keyword with a nigger cunt. Fuck her and forget her. She's just one step 
above an artificial job, a dildo. Damn it! Do it and get it over with, you 
bastard! 

"Always wanted to try a black one," he breathed the words in her face. 
"Never thought I'd get myself a combination white/black though. How 'bout 
that. You honey-skinned bitch. You're mulatto, aren't you?" 

"You paid for a screw-job, mister, not conversation!" 

Naomi was furious. She wished it was all over and she were back at the 
apartment safe in Randy's loving arms. Bastard! He went off and left me too! 
The tears bit into her eyes as she thought about it. Damned whites! Don't 
give a shit about anyone but themselves! 

"Well, baby," the man said, his leathery, tanned face mature and weathered 
with years of athletic outdoor activity, leaned towards her, "Show me!" 

She surveyed his well-muscled and sunburned body. The muscles were tensed 
for action. Drunk or not, he could handle anything she gave him. She was 
sure of that. And the look in his eyes, the crouch of his body told her he 
was no novice. 

"Come on, female," his thick tongue taunted her. "Show me that a black 
pussy's any better than a white one. Show me there's more difference than 
amber curls and pink labia to your red ones and black pubic hair. Is that 
all? Or were you niggers made for loving?" 

Hot with fury she scrambled beneath him and snatched at his cock. Her nimble 
fingers gave the loose foreskin more than the usual prodding and she worked 
the half-taut organ until it was hot, the tiny hole at its emblazoned crest 
frothy with come. 

She didn't wait for his smile of half-approving satisfaction. Diving into 
his limp balls, she fingered and nudged them to ripe, succulent plums, 
turgid with the sweet juices of life-giving sperm. Pummeling them with the 
pent-up fury of her hatred, she caused their purple flesh to turn hot and 
red with soreness. She wanted him to itch, burn, sweat unmercifully. 

Her teeth gnawed at his male nipples through the mesh of grey-red fur on his 
chest. Softly grating, titillating them until they were red, swollen thumbs, 
raw with desire and itching passion. 

His heart was pounding loudly and she could feel the rush of his pulse at 
his groin as his male organs picked up the tempo of savage lust. With a cry 
of hunger, the man reached for her. 

Dodging his grasp, she looked up at him with severity. 

"Thought you wanted me to show you!" she rebuked him, her sensitive 
fingertips still busy at their tasks, inciting the nerves of his flesh to a 
riot of tingling, charging friction that made his internal organs surge with 
feverish desire. 

"Baby, you have shown me! Now I want what I paid for. I want to screw you. 
You got me hot and I need a female cunt," he told her, panting. "You've got 
talent, woman. But now I'm itching to get into you! It's been too long. And 
I aim to get what I pay for!" 

He didn't waste any more breath on words, but reached for her. 

Naomi was dragged over into position by his hot, anxious arms. Like a 
pointer dog at a showing with its master, she was nudged, poked, and blocked 
into a kneeling position. 

Damn it! An animal! I can get into position without that kind of treatment! 
She yelled silently at him, flinching as he stroked her smooth hips and 
patted her breasts like she was a pet dog or cat. 

"This is the way I like it," he breathed behind her. 

She could smell the heavy odor of his whiskey breath, mixed with the smell 
of his freely-flowing sweat. His overpowering masculine odor and the stench 
of liquor left her weak, her head throbbing with crushing fumes. 

His strong hands caressed her silken curves and finally clutched at her tits 
as if they were about to milk the teats of cow. She'd never been so heated 
with fury. So insulted at the touch of a male. He was trying to humiliate 
her, punish her for what his white bitch did to him. Pussy-whipped coward! 
Train her-not mel I know what I'm made for. I know how to make a man happy! 
Haven't I shown you? 

"Gonna taste a nigger cunt!" came his exalted cry. 

His ringers teased her breasts, frolicked with them, and molded them until 
they were bruised and bleeding. And his turgid prick probed blindly at the 
crevice of her wet ass. 

Then he was spreading her legs apart until she nearly fell over the side of 
the sofa. He let her slide into a crouch on the thick carpet and poised 
himself behind her. 

She could feel his fingers slipping between her labia. For half an instant 
there was a cold breeze on the hot, wet insides of her cunt as the labia 
slid around the fingers, closing off the air of the room. 

Three blunt fingers swirled in the rosy warm flesh of her pussy, plucking 
the delicate, tensed thread of her clitoris. They crushed it with their 
toying, pushing onward down the passageway as far as they could to the 
opening of her womb. 

Deep and hard they screwed into her. Punishing her with his fucking fingers, 
his thrusts made her body jar and sway with their action. 

"Nnnaaannnggghhh!" Naomi protested. 

He panted with a mocking grin above her. A nigger cunt. It pleased him. 

"Thought you liked Negroes!" whined a voice, on the floor close by. 

"Shut up!" hissed a voice. "He does ... in their place!" 

"Ohhh," the first voice seemed satisfied and mumbled off into sleep. 

Vaguely in her tormented rocking position, Naomi could make out the tall man 
massaging his swollen cock through the open fly front of his trousers. 

Then her eyes jammed shut and pain cut through her body as the fingers were 
replaced by one of the biggest cocks her vagina had ever taken on. It must 
be massive, was the thought that seared her brain as her mouth contorted 
with an emerging cry. 

"Yyyeeeiii!" 

The man groaned and bellowed with his own pain and exertion. 

"Hhhaaannnuuunnnggghhh!" 

The huge, hard-ridged prick was fully into her. She could feel every crease 
and swell in its volume and length, so tightly was it jammed into her. 

He began the long thrusts into her, pulling long and hard, ramming sharply 
and profoundly till she thought her uterus would burst with its massiveness. 
Its hardness ground within her, leaving raw the sensitive flesh it had 
fathomed. 

Gripping her ripe, hanging breasts and pinching her nipples, he tugged and 
manipulated them as he rode her buttocks with the frenzy of a bronco gone 
mad. 

The passion of her own body and furor of her hate and anger spurred her to 
keep up with him, even to surpass him. She would show him yet who was 
master! 

Together they rode the pulsating, savage rhythm of their lust-borne orgasm. 
Gyrating, writhing, pounding against each other with the arcs and dives of 
their fertility rite, they went with the violence of the storm that wracked 
their loins. Their groins locked tight in the masticating joining of their 
organs, chewing, sucking, and pulverizing into the tender flesh of the 
other. 

As suddenly as his needs took hold of him, came the explosion of his coming. 
Meeting hers with the impact of a bursting dam, his fluids rushed forth to 
flood and drown all in their path. 

Again and again the dam broke within her, the force of its flow breaking her 
frozen arch of orgasm with its explosive thrust. The white, hot come filled 
her to over-flowing, dripping down the groins of both of them. The sticky 
sperm oozed slowly down her crotch and was like glue on her thighs. 

His heavy balls slapped against her buttocks in the savage tempo of his 
orgasm. And finally exhausted of ammunition, his prick shrunken and limp in 
her pussy, they withdrew. With a loud pop, he pulled out his cock, and it 
hung deflated and wet in his groin. 

Naomi heard him stumble off to collapse in a nearby chair. She waited to be 
sure he was gone before allowing herself to slump to the floor. She wouldn't 
show how tired she was. She would make them know she was better than them 
any day! There wasn't a white cock that could knock her out! Her body could 
take them all on and still come out on top while she left them writhing and 
tormented with exhaustion and satiation. Yes! Naomi Douglas, nigger or not, 
mulatto and just all-female, knew how to give it to a man and make him know 
it! 

The third man was standing over her, furtively working the protruding flesh 
of his groin. 

"Give it here, mister," she told him. "I'll fix it for you." 

He hesitated, looking at her with a scathing eye. 

Here was a man who hated black people. Really hated them! She knew that 
look. More than one white man had it. No wonder he was low bidder. He wanted 
a female cunt, but he hated to stoop to a black one. 

The others were bad, Naomi thought, looking over her shoulder at the 
prostrate little blond on the floor and across to the sprawling drunk on the 
chair. Each had his own hang-up about Negroes. 

The little one didn't particularly notice, except that he was a follower. If 
the others didn't like niggers, he wasn't about to jeopardize himself. And 
if everyone was out to have a good time, why he'd be the first to plunge in. 
He didn't want to look scared or green. To buy a female pussy for a screw 
was the game. To him he couldn't give a damn what color it was unless 
someone else complained first. 

The world was filled with followers. That was why just a few nigger-haters 
could control an apathetic mass who couldn't give a damn about anything but 
their own position in society. Sometimes she wondered who was worse, the 
nigger-hater or the man who didn't care so long as his opinion or actions 
didn't scorch his butt. 

The second man knew exactly what he wanted. No follower, he. And be the cunt 
white or black, all he wanted was for it to do the art it was created to 
perform-and to do it well. 

The words of the third man remained with her. "In their place." Sure he 
liked Negroes so long as they remembered who was boss and didn't get in his 
way. A cunt was a cunt, be it white or black, so long as it did its duty. 
And God help the scapegoats of society if this man was rubbed wrong and he 
felt the need to lay punishment where he wouldn't be criticized for it. 

Yeah, she thought. I'm a good nigger ... in my place! 

But this one. She looked up at the face filled with loathing as if she were 
a deformed freak, a carrier of a dread disease. All because of the dark 
pigmentation in her skin. This was the man to fear. 

Here was a leader of riots. A Ku Klux Klan inciter of hatred, violence, 
murder or bloodshed. Here was the type of man that prolonged the suppression 
of the black man, the Indian, and other minority-groups. Here was a man who 
brought destruction, fear, hate, and death to men, women, and children of 
all races because of his prejudices. Yes, brought anguish even to his own 
people mentally through guilt and empathetic suffering for the supressed and 
hurt, and, physically as well when the hurt, sufficiently stirred, retaliate 
and sometimes inflict punishment on other innocents rather than the real 
transgressors. 

The cause of hate and sorrow. That's you, mister, Naomi said silently 
looking up into those cold eyes. I've seen you so many times in stores, on 
the streets, in private citizen "do-gooder" groups that burn homes on the 
fringes of white neighborhoods, assault women and children, lest they think 
they can live in a comfortable neighborhood, a decent home like their white 
counterparts. Yes, I know you. You not only inhabit the South, but you're in 
the west, mid-west, and even the "liberal," 

"unprejudiced" northeastern states. 

Right here in New England-Boston. A place where freedom was born for a new 
world and slaves were smuggled to freedom in Canada. Hi, Mister 
nigger-hater. So you've bought my dark little pussy. Let me show you what 
it's like. 

"No!" he warned her off abruptly as she came towards him. 

Naomi looked at him questioningly. 

He eyed her nervously, still clutching his aching cock. 

"You're paying for action, aren't you?" she asked. 

"My own kind, not yours," he muttered. "I'm paying, and I'll tell you what 
to do and how to do it." 

The girl shrugged. 

He regarded her a long moment, indecisive as to what to do with her, not 
wishing to lose face, but not wanting to contaminate himself either. 

Naomi knew! From childhood he'd probably been taught like so many others not 
to use the same drinking fountain or toilet as a Negro. He still wasn't sure 
why, nor had his predecessors been sure why. Just in case, that's all. You 
never can tell what kind of disease they might carry. Dirty people, you 
know. Terribly unclean. And promiscuous! Why they probably had just every 
social disease known to man! She could hear the nasal lilt of one of 
society's grande dames explaining the problem as it had most likely been 
presented to this man. 

Well? She waited expectantly as he debated how to take her on. 

She sat before him, her golden torso posed in a delicate silhouette of 
feminine curves. Her eyes could see the frantically massaging fingers and 
the furtive action beneath his pant front. 

Then he decided. 

"On your knees," he directed, motioning with his free hand. 

What's the matter, mister? Afraid of me? You're not touching the 
merchandise. It's bought and paid for, isn't it? She taunted him silently, 
her eyes intent on his. 

"Shouldn't you take off your things?" she asked. 

"Shut up!" he ordered. "I'll do the talking, I'm paying. You're just ... 
just ... it won't be necessary," he finished nervously. 

Somehow he couldn't tell this female, no matter how black she was, what her 
station in life was. Somehow as she sat there, her lush swells and contours 
so honey-gold, the words wouldn't come. And yet he couldn't touch her. On 
general principle, it wasn't possible. After all, any white who'd mate with 
a black to produce mulatto off-spring like her ...! 

Then, suddenly, he reached down and, tangling his hand in her long, dark 
hair, he jerked her head towards his groin. At the same time she could feel 
him shuffling forward slightly on her torso until the thin, fleshless bones 
of his thighs cut through the thin material of his trousers excruciatingly 
in the firm, fullness of her breasts. She groaned in pain as they were 
smashed cruelly into her chest from his weight and found her eyes looking 
straight up into his monstrous, exposed penis. Huge and white, it reared out 
over her breasts toward her face with the naked blue veins criss-crossing 
obscenely underneath it. 

"Like it, nigger?" he rasped at her. "Like that! It's beautiful, isn't it. 
Isn't it?" 

He rammed it into her face, cupped in his long bony hand. 

Naomi swung her head backwards to avoid his onslaught, a feeling of horror 
and nausea overwhelming her. 

She could smell him so strongly now. All her senses reeled, but seemed 
sharply, bitingly aware of his presence in sight, sound, and smell. He was 
all cock, huge and hairy, sickeningly white and horribly etched with those 
blue-tinged veins that showed so grossly under transparent, colorless skin. 
His balls were purple, dripping twins of wrinkled and seemingly lifeless 
sacks. His whole groin was a mass of coarse, grey pubic hair covering milky, 
sharply-defined contours of flesh stretched like dried leather across a 
framework of knobby, gnarled twigs. 

He hadn't washed recently. That was all she could think of. She could smell 
the intense, lingering odor of dried sweat and come about his loins and 
emanating from his armpits. It was musty and choking, a twisting, strangling 
fume that gnawed at her intestines as it filtered through her pinched and 
paling nostrils. There was even the dank, wretched odor of a recent and 
prolonged attack of diarrhea. 

The fetid stench filled her lungs and throat with dry, bitter loathing. God! 
She would vomit! 

His breathing was loud and filled with intermittent snorts as if he were 
having trouble catching his breath after a long run. And she could hear the 
rumbling of gas in his belly. 

Take back your money! She wanted to scream. Take back your money! 

His claw-like grasp gripped the thick tresses of her head and swung her face 
upward to look into the cold eyes of hate. 

"You like it! Don't you?" he yelled at her. "Isn't a black bastard in the 
world who has a better prick than that! Just feel it. Nice, huh? No black 
leather. That's real white flesh, bitch." 

He rubbed the length of his long stinking cock against her cheek, across her 
lips, and under her eyes and nose. 

"Kiss it, black whore!" he bellowed. "You'll never get a better opportunity 
at a prick as nice as this. Kiss til" 

With trembling lips she let it touch her. Repulsed and horrified, she 
allowed her lips to graze its surface. 

"Yeah, one of the best," he said lovingly as he stroked it with his long 
fingers. "Knows how to treat a lady. A lady. But you aren't a lady, are you? 
Just a common nigger whore. Easily bought. Easily sold. Just live for a 
fuck, don't you? Especially from a white cock. 

"Everyone knows that. You niggers can't find what you need from your own 
men. Have to come to the white man for real loving, for a good screw. Isn't 
that so? Isn't that so?" 

Oh, God! What did he want? What did he want? Naomi closed her eyes, and in 
the darkness she piteously sought comfort and understanding. Why can't he 
take what the others wanted, and go? 

"But I can't do that," he was telling her. "You nigger bitches! All you want 
out of life is a white prick. Well, maybe the others will chance it, but not 
me. With the filth and scum of the back alleys and your grubby living, your 
whoring, and men chasing. God only knows what diseases you carry!" 

Disease? I'm clean, she hollered back at him with her eyes. I bathe every 
day. I have a regular physical check-up. And I'm no common street pick-up. 
You'll find no social diseases with me! 

"But seeing as you want my lovely body, my handsome cock," he smiled cruelly 
as he rasped the words at her, "I tell you what I'm going to do...." 

"Don't bother!" Naomi told him drawing back. "Take your money and go. I 
don't need it, or want it. And I don't want your cock." 

He looked at her stunned for a moment. Then he chuckled deep in his throat. 

"Not want my cock-that's a laugh!" 

"There's a hundred bigger and better," she hissed at him. "And there's real 
men behind them, not over-grown, sniveling pussies like you that need money 
and a whore's cunt to make him feel big!" 

His eyes were wide with fire. 

"Goddamned fucking bitch!" he yelled, and struck a blow across her face with 
a resounding crack. "I'll teach you your place! You're nothing but a black 
whore, and don't you forget it!" 

Naomi looked at him through narrow slits. She hated him. Hated everything he 
stood for. But her heart wasn't with it. It was clamoring to escape the 
prison of her breast. Clamoring to be free. To run from this room and all 
the fear and anger, the deep-seeded hatred that permeated and filled the 
shadowed, shrinking chamber. 

"You'll do as I tell you and learn your place!" he was fuming at her. 

Naomi still leaned away from him, ready to spring to her feet and run. Fear 
and hate fought together within her and made her heart pound louder and 
faster in her breast. 

Without warning, his belt slid from his trouser waist and he held it, 
buckle-end hanging from his hand, ready to snap out at her. The silver 
caught a gleam of light and magnified itself to her eyes. She could hear his 
laughter as he slowly swung it back and forth and she could feel the bite of 
its knife-like metal in her skin before it came. 

As she crouched there, her feet flat beneath her buttocks, her palms to the 
floor in readiness she saw the flick of his wrist. The belt sang through the 
air. 

She leaped back. 

He gave a half laugh, half disappointed groan. And the belt split the air 
again with its arc. She was close to a wall. Too close! 

"Aaannnhhh!" she screamed, as she thumped against the wall and the whip met 
its mark. 

A red welt formed across her breasts, and she saw blood ooze from the 
broken, jagged wound where the buckle had cut its mark. 

The other two men were on their feet. Before they could say anything, the 
tall man waved them out. With a hasty scrawl of their pens in leather-bound 
check books Naomi saw two white check forms flutter her way. And they were 
going through the door. 

The second man hesitated in the doorway for a moment, looking back at Naomi 
with regret. 

"It's none of your damned business," the last man told him. "You've had 
yours. She's only getting what she asked for. Besides, she's just a black 
whore." 

"None of my business," the man's voice almost whispered. 

Then he shrugged and turned. 

"See you at the bar," he called over his shoulder and shut the door. 

"Want more?" the man asked, turning to Naomi. 

Her shoulders hunched protectively around her breasts, her hands gently 
holding the ravaged nipples protectively, she shook her head. 

"N ... no," she whispered.--He pointed to the floor at his feet. 

Naomi looked at it, then at the belt. 

He raised the weapon once more. 

Slowly she arose. Aching in every limb, the burning rip in her sensitive 
flesh at her tits, all rebelled with her pounding heart. But she made her 
way across the room to stand before him. 

He pointed at the floor once more. 

She knew her place, and got to her knees. 

Then he was presenting his swollen, massive member again. 

"Suck it, bitch!" he snarled down at her, a vicious gleam of hate in his 
eyes. 

Her head was forced up harder and she almost became sick as he pressed his 
cock hard against her tightly clenched lips. She could feel the warm, sticky 
fluid that had seeped from the tip of his excitement. It was covering her 
lips and she smelled the hot, pungent odor of it. His other hand dropped and 
reached down under his buttocks and his fingernails dug harshly into her 
left breast. 

Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to cry out, to let out the hurt verbally 
and with weeping. But she couldn't. She had to remain firm as possible. He 
couldn't make her crumble! She had to be strong! 

"Open your mouth, and wide," he grinned evilly as he spat the words down at 
her. 

His nails dug hard into her breast and her mouth gaped open at the pain. He 
jerked her head forward again until it felt as though he was ripping the 
hair from her head by the roots. And then ... the monstrous cock filled her 
mouth, almost choking her as it pressed against her soft palate and gorged 
all the way back to her tonsils. She gagged, and her stomach heaved; she 
groaned, her eyes closed, with the horrible thing throbbing urgently in her 
mouth. 

"Suck! Lick!" he grunted, twinging his finger more cruelly into her hair and 
jerking her head u and down. 

Helplessly, her mouth moved up and down on the great prick. 

... Oh God, the thoughts ran through her torture mind, perhaps if I make him 
have an orgasm, he'll leave it at that and let me go. 

Suck ... suck ... lick ... lick! Harder! Please come! Please come ... and 
let me go. The words raced like wildfire through her pained and humiliated 
thoughts as she sucked like a hungry child feeding at its mother's breast to 
end her misery. 

As she sucked, the huge cock pulsed in the soft wetness of her slaving 
mouth. There was a stale, musty taste on her tongue and the back of her 
throat. 

Oh how long? How much longer? Her mind chanted over and over again, her head 
hurting with the constant pull on her hair as he pumped it up and down. She 
wanted with all her soul for it to end, and yet she didn't. The horrible, 
obscene thought of his lewd sperm cascading down her throat and into her 
stomach sickened her and she vowed she would jerk her mouth away at the last 
minute to avoid this ultimate humiliation. She just couldn't let him have 
the satisfaction of looking down on her helpless face while he throbbed his 
viscous, wet sperm down into her mouth ... she just couldn't bear it to give 
this dirty, lecherous man that final stroke of pleasure. 

But the passion-crazed man was not to be denied, and he fucked in and out of 
her mouth like an avenging angel of doom, spitting obscenities down at the 
top of her bobbing head as though she were a slave. 

"Suck, suck it, bitch! Use your tongue-swirl it around! There-like that! 
That's it. Lick harder. I'll teach you yet, you black whore!" 

Furiously, harder and harder, she worked at her task. Her tongue aching, 
wanting to fall out as if the threads that held it in place were torn and 
broken. Her jaw was splitting at the massiveness of his ugly prick. God! 
Make it end! Make him come before I collapse and die of pain and hurt of 
humiliation and exhaustion. God! Make it end! 

"I'm-I'm commming, I'm commming!" he called; it seemed like centuries before 
the cry came. 

Before Naomi could jerk her head away she felt the huge pulsating cock 
fucking into her mouth, expanding like a giant balloon and his steel-like 
hands clamping vice-like on either side of her head, freezing her in that 
position. And then it exploded, the hot, sticky sperm filling her mouth in 
great powerful spurts that bloated her cheeks out wide as though her mouth 
were filled with air. She had to swallow to keep from choking as more and 
more of the lewd orgasm of the groaning man above her cascaded hotly into 
her mouth. Her Adam's apple raced crazily up and down her tender throat in a 
crazy rhythm of desperate gasping sounds that thundered wetly through the 
room as though nothing else in the world existed. 

And for Naomi, it didn't. She slumped limply beneath him, barely able to 
hold her sitting position when it was all over, feeling his long, thin penis 
deflating slowly in her mouth. She swallowed once more in order to breathe, 
and then felt his body lifting from her tortured chest. The prick slipped 
wetly from her lips, leaving a thin trail of sticky sperm following it 
across the fullness of her naked, bruised and bleeding breasts. 

She heard him chuckle once and then collapse to the floor close to her, his 
breath coming in short gasps. 

Her head hanging on her breasts, her quaking arms and palms on the floor to 
support her trembling body as it slumped nearly to a prostrate position, she 
watched the man steadily. Her breasts heaved from her exertion. Her body was 
wracked with pain. But she would not let him see it. 

She would watch him, prostrated from her efforts. He would leave before she 
could collapse. I'll not let him see me defeated, she told herself, her 
slender fingers straining at the carpet for support. 

He didn't get up for what seemed a very long time. 

Finally she dragged herself to her feet and moved to the chair to collect 
her clothes. 

She looked back with loathing at the moaning, limp figure on the floor. And 
then she looked at the white gown Randy had bought for her, and clutched it 
tightly in her hands. That beautiful white gown! She drew it to her sore and 
puffed lips. 

The man behind her was struggling to his feet. He tripped once, sliding 
across his belt, but ignored it and went out, slamming the door behind him. 

Naomi looked at the floor where he had lain. 

There lay a white slip of paper. Another check. And not more than three feet 
from it that silver buckled belt. 

It had tripped him, Naomi mused with a vague smile. His whip had tripped 
him! 

She felt the smooth satin of her gown in her fingers and at her cheeks: like 
the satin edge of her crib blanket as a child. But that was torn and ragged 
with age and use. 

Holding out the gown, she took a good look at it. Everything she'd ever 
wanted! All the good things of life that a white man's money can buy and no 
black person can come close to without pain and misery. 

The light struck the silver buckle again. 

Hate and fear. That's what came with wanting what others had without trying. 
She slaved for it, and what did it get her? Nigger bitch! Whore! Black 
pussy! 

The gown slid from her grasp to the floor and she kicked it away vehemently. 

The tears came, the cry of hurt and suffering. She fell back into the haven 
of the deep-cushioned chair, her vision blurred, and wept. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Wearily she took out the key to the apartment and gently opened the door. 
Then she stepped inside and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Her 
sore and aching body twinged with each step and with each movement. The ache 
and throb between her thighs and at her breasts was a constant reminder of 
what had happened. With a sigh of despair, she pushed away from the wall and 
made her way into the darkened living room. 

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she became aware of the silhouetted 
figure sitting mutely in the chair watching her. 

"Randy?" she called softly. 

His answer was to reach up and turn on the lamp at the side of his chair. 
The look in his face told her of his disgust and shame. 

"I just got a call, Naomi," he told her in a low threatening voice. "A call 
from three men ... They told me what happened in the library!" 

She covered her face with her hands as if to hide from him. But his words 
tore away the protection. 

"Why did you do it? What made you do it, Naomi?" he snapped at her. 

She stood there mutely in front of him, unable to answer. Unable to say the 
words that would make sense to him. 

How do I tell him the truth? How do I tell him so that he will understand 
why I did it? How do I make him believe me! 

Randy lashed out at her with angry words when she didn't answer. Words that 
were designed to hurt and to rip and tear. 

"It's true!" he growled. "It's true! You are nothing but a ... a whore! 
That's the only thing you're good for!" 

"No! No!" she sobbed hysterically, throwing herself on her knees at his 
feet. "Don't say that! Don't say that! Don't say that!" 

He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, but something stopped him. 
Perhaps it was his pride. He leaned back into the chair and lashed her again 
with his words. 

"Then why did you do it! What were you trying to prove? Don't you get enough 
from me? Don't I satisfy you?" 

Naomi lifted her tear-stained face and shouted the words back at him. 

"Yes, oh yes! But that's the only way I know. The only way I can ... get 
acceptance. With my body! At least they want me in bed! At least you want me 
in bed! Don't you see that? Can't you understand that?" 

He looked down at her and studied the acid lines of agony that were etched 
into the bronzed face, and then he slowly nodded with understanding. 

"Don't you see?" she begged with poignant tear-filled eyes. "No one wants 
me! You can give me money, a beautiful place to live in, lovely clothes and 
fine jewelry. But that won't get anyone to love me or care about me!" 

"Yes, Naomi. I understand. And I care very much about you," he said in low, 
muted tones. 

"No one wants me!" she cried. "All they want is my body. And to have them 
accept me even on those terms...." 

"Naomi," Randy whispered gently. "I understand your feeling, though I know 
it will never happen that way! You'll never buy acceptance with your body! 
They will take what you give, then leave you. Those men don't give a damn 
about you now that they've had their fun!" 

The sorrowful expression in her eyes made him agonize for her and he had to 
force himself to continue to look into her face. 

"Why did you leave me there alone?" her voice choked on sobs that would not 
be stilled. "I was all alone when they came in, when they...." 

Randy nodded at her pathetic expression. How could he console her? 

"No one loves or wants a black girl," she breathed, looking at the floor. 
"Naomi," his voice caressed her. 

She whirled her face upward to look at him squarely. 

"Then what am I going to do!" she demanded, sobbing. "Help me! Please help 
me!" 

But he had no way of helping her, and he knew it. Nothing but time would 
change people's feelings and their beliefs and attitudes. 

His heart went out to the beautiful, golden-skinned girl kneeling helplessly 
at his feet but there was nothing he could do for her. 

What she wanted was normal. What she wanted was right. But he knew he was as 
helpless to achieve it as she was. And so he ached for her. 

Tenderly, he pulled Naomi onto his lap and tried to stroke away the pain 
with the gentleness and softness of his touch. She buried her face into his 
shoulder and allowed him to soothe away the ache. They sat there in the 
darkness and let the warmth of their feelings for each other wrap and 
protect them in the cotton batting of togetherness. And it wasn't until the 
first fingers of dawn poked into the room that Naomi stirred. 

Lifting her face from his shoulder, she pleaded desperately, "Love me, 
Randy. Please love me!" 

There was a hungry longing in her tone, and he knew that she was achingly 
lonely, searching for that oasis of being wanted. 

With a soft cry, his mouth pressed gently against hers and their lips rocked 
in a tender kiss. Moments passed and the moisture of their tongues began to 
wash sensation into their feelings. 

She pressed her body to his, and his hands clasped the warm softness of her 
breasts. The moment of hurt passed when the demanding need within her made 
her crush deeper into his hands-deeper into the soothing, gentle tenderness 
of his love. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Naomi saw the familiar car sitting by the curb, but because of her 
apprehension at what she was about to do, she passed it off as 
inconsequential. 

"Sure looks like Line's car," she murmured to herself as she walked up to 
the path that led to the porch of the rundown tenement. "Wonder what he's 
doing here? Oh, well, probably just stopped in to see how Ma is. Same as I'm 
doing. Nothing to be concerned about." 

But deep down inside, she knew she was lying to herself. She was 
apprehensive of seeing her mother again. For she recalled what had happened 
the day she had left. The angry tirade, the accusations, and name-calling. 
And though, in a sense, she could understand her mother's anger at what she 
had done, she couldn't understand why the older woman wouldn't see her point 
of view. After all, there was so little for her here. 

Now, several months later, this was the first time she had made any effort 
to contact her mother. She didn't know what she was going to say or do, but 
because of her loneliness and desperation over what was happening, she had 
to turn to the only person she felt she could turn to, her mother. 

And in a sense, she was also going to try to soothe her own conscience. 

"Hi! Anybody home?" Naomi called through the open front door. 

And though nobody answered, she could hear the sounds of movements in the 
parlor. So she called again. 

"Anybody home?" 

She stepped around the broken toys and rubbish in the hallway to cross into 
her mother's apartment. The sound of neighbor children yelling and the 
familiar smell of frying grits and pork reminded her of childhood's daily 
meals. She hadn't had such fare since she'd moved across town to Randy's. 
Maybe it was something she wanted to get away from, though her mouth 
momentarily watered at the pungent sweet scent so close she could almost see 
the big black frying pan filled with what Line affectionately called "soul 
food." 

She shrugged off the thought and pushed into the apartment, though there had 
been no answer. The familiar ugliness of the surroundings made her cringe. 
The greasy smell of the kitchen penetrated the walls and permeated the 
rooms, together with the stench of fly-ridden, forgotten garbage left in the 
alleys outside the open windows. The plaster was chipped and the boards 
behind peeped through here and there. There was still not enough money for 
the necessary paint job to hide the scars of age, use, and the abuse of many 
people's children. 

Comparing it to Randy's beautiful and luxurious apartment uptown only made 
it seem worse than it really was, and she walked as if afraid some of the 
dirt and grime would rub off on the new white cotton suit that she had just 
purchased. She moved cautiously down the hall, her nose wrinkled in 
displeasure at the stale aroma of too many people living too many years too 
close together. The tenement had been old when they moved into it as a 
little girl. 

There had always been talk of how they would move into a nicer neighborhood, 
and yet, it had never happened. Then, when her father had died, even the 
talk had stopped. It was then that she knew that the only way she could ever 
get out of the environment was by her own efforts. 

Which was exactly what she had done. 

And now, as she stood in front of the closed French doors to the parlor, she 
wondered why her mother couldn't understand that. 

Slowly she raised her hand to knock, all thoughts erased as the fear of 
facing her mother again took hold of her. 

"Mom?" she called in a soft whisper. "You in there?" 

This time there was a response. 

Cold. Lifeless. In a low tone. But Naomi shook it off and pretended it was 
something else. Something warm and pleasant. 

"Yes, I'm in here, Naomi. Come in." 

Wondering why her mother hadn't answered her knock at the front door, but 
happy that at least she had recognized her voice, Naomi walked into the 
living room. 

Line Potter was there, his face eager and expectant at the sight of her. He 
hurried forward from the sofa to greet her. 

"Naomi!" he exclaimed excitedly. "It's so good to see you again! I've been 
so worried about you. Where you been? What you been doing?" 

"Yes, Naomi," she heard the voice from the rocking chair by the window call. 
"Where have you been and what you been doing?" 

Naomi looked over Line's shoulder into her mother's set and stern face. With 
a cry, she ran to her and bent to kiss the old woman. 

And her mother turned her cheek. 

Panic welled up within Naomi at the rebuff. 

"Aren't you glad to ... to see me, Ma?" she stammered. 

The woman shrugged with obvious indifference. "That all depends." 

"I'm glad to see you, Naomi," she heard Line say and, in an effort to escape 
the penetrating gaze of her mother, she turned to look at him. 

"I've been awfully worried about you." 

"That's why he's here," her mother interrupted. "He thought maybe I could 
help him find you, convince you to go back to him." 

Naomi looked from one to the other, wanting to fling herself at either of 
them because of her loneliness and her need. And yet, because of some 
unknown presence in the air, she was unable to. 

"What do you want from me, Line?" she finally asked in a low and careful 
tone. 

"I want you to come back to me," he whispered, and she could sense that he 
hoped the sound of his words hadn't carried to her mother. 

"Why? Is it because you love me or ... or is it just because you want me?" 

The question was designed to embarrass him, for Line's desire was written 
all over his face. 

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "And I want to marry you." 

Naomi closed her eyes. She hadn't wanted him to say that, and yet she knew 
it was the truth. Unfortunately, she also knew that she was going to have to 
hurt him, and she didn't want to do that. 

"I ... I can't marry you, Line." 

"Why not?" he demanded. 

"Because of what it would be like. I can't live like this anymore." 

With a wave of her hand, she indicated the cheapness and dirtiness of the 
apartment. 

"And that's what it would be like married to you. This is how we'd live." 

"No," he protested. "It won't be like this. I'll make it different." 

She went on, knowing that each word, each sound was causing him to suffer. 

"How will you change it, Line? On what? On what you make? You know you 
can't." 

Her hands ran down the clean, well-designed skirt of her dress and she 
turned to face him. 

"Can you afford to buy me clothes like this? Pay my bills? Give me the 
things I want?" 

"But I love you," he said hopelessly, as if that would answer everything, 
solve all their problems. "That isn't enough, Line." 

From the pained expression on his face, she knew that she had hurt him 
deeply. And though she didn't want to, Naomi felt she had no choice. And in 
an effort to put an end to it once and for all, she continued on. Her words 
were like continuous spear-thrusts into his already suffering carcass. 

"No, Line, your loving me isn't enough. A lot of men love me, or can love 
me. And they can afford to love me. You can't. That's unfortunate, but 
true." 

He stood silent now, unable to respond and unable to hide his feelings. And 
though she wanted to do something. Say something. To balm the hurt and pain 
from him, Naomi forced herself to stand stiff and straight in front of him. 
Apparently unmoved and untouched. 

"I think you'd better go now, Line," her mother quietly interrupted. "Can't 
you see that you're not going to change her mind? Can't you see that she 
doesn't want you any more?" 

Though the words sounded harsh and cruel, Naomi realized that the only 
reason the older woman was saying them was to save him from more hurt. And 
even though Line walked from the room with slow and defeated footsteps, she 
could sense the mood of disapproval in the person who sat stiff and still in 
the chair behind her. 

It wasn't until she heard the quiet closing of the front door that Naomi 
finally turned to face her mother. 

"Well, Ma, how've you been?" 

"Hhhmmmppphhh!" was the disinterested reply. "You didn't come here to ask me 
about my health, Naomi. So now tell me why you did come here." 

Naomi looked at the older woman and, with a smile, she shook her head. 

"Can't fool you, can I, Ma?" 

"You never could before, so I don't think you can now." 

Then as Naomi tried to gather her courage to say the words, a heavy silence 
spread between the mother and daughter. A silence that was finally broken by 
the impatient tongue of the older woman. 

"Out with it, Naomi. Tell me the truth." 

She told her mother. At least she told a part of it. 

"I came to give you some money, Ma. Figured things might not be going too 
well for you now that I wasn't home to help out, so I want to make things a 
little easier." 

Her mother watched her open the purse and take out a wallet. She showed no 
surprise at the amount of money in the billfold and there was absolutely no 
response when Naomi handed her the two one-hundred-dollar bills. Holding 
them limply in her fingers, she studied her daughter without even looking at 
the money. 

Naomi felt as if she were being undressed by the way her mother's eyes were 
examining the expensive clothes, the fashionable hair-do, the costly 
accessories. And when she finally spoke, it was in a low, soft tone. 

"Where did you get this money, Naomi?" she asked quietly, holding up the two 
bills. 

"Working, Ma. I got them working for them," Naomi answered quickly. 

"What kind of work?" her mother insisted. 

"What difference does it make, Ma?" 

The first pangs of panic welled up in her, showed in her cry. 

"What difference does it make?" she repeated. "I got it by working for it. 
That's where I got it! And you need the money, so what difference can it 
make?" 

"Don't lie to me, Naomi." 

"I'm not lying." 

"Then tell me what your work is," the tone was deadly. 

It was important that she accept the money. Why did Naomi have to plead with 
her? "What kind of work?" 

"C ... can't tell you," the girl whispered, sagging with defeat. 

The woman was almost triumphant. She let the money flutter to the floor 
while they both watched. Like dried leaves, the hundred-dollar bills floated 
to the carpet. When the woman looked up, there was a contemptuous sneer on 
her face. 

"If you won't tell me what kind of work you're doing, then I'll tell you. 
I'll tell you how you got this money!" 

"No, Ma! No!" 

She was screaming and her hands clenched over her ears to shut out the 
sound. Her mother ignored her. 

"You got it from that white man you're living with. That man who's paying 
you for your body. Naomi, you're nothing but a prostitute. A whore!" 

"Oh, Ma, Ma! Don't say that! Don't call me that!" 

"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?" 

Naomi began to sob. Deep, soul-wracking sobs that shook her body with their 
intensity. She fell hysterically to her knees and buried her face in her 
mother's lap, her arms clutching around the other's legs. Then she felt the 
body stiffen under her touch and with tears streaming down her brown cheeks 
she faced the angry tenseness of her mother's eyes. 

"That's the truth, isn't it? You're nothing but a whore!" 

Why couldn't she understand? Naomi wouldn't have come back if it hadn't been 
for the charity affair. Even Randy hadn't been able to erase and balm the 
hurt and scars of what those three men had done to her. Naomi needed her 
mother, the comfort and security of her understanding and love. Her 
loneliness and fright had brought her back to the world she detested. And it 
was only on return there that she realized she could never leave Randy's 
world. Never again could she find shreds of hope and life that had secured 
her through childhood. Even here there was no real acceptance, but it was 
the one part of life she needed most. 

She had sought it in her mother. And now there was an empty void where love 
had been. 

"Whore!" 

"Ma. Please let me come home. Just for a few days." 

"No! Not until you change. Change the way you're living!" 

"I ... I can't." 

"Why not?" 

Didn't she see? Didn't she know the difference? What was there here for 
Naomi after living with Randy? 

"Then get out! Take your dirty money and get out!" 

She didn't understand. For some reason she couldn't. So Naomi pulled herself 
to her feet and with her eyes on her feet made the slow, trance-like walk 
out of the room, down the hall and out the door. 

To need her mother so badly. To be spurned and sent away without love or 
sympathy. Without acceptance even as a daughter, the flesh and blood, the 
love-fruit of her own womb. 

God! She felt so alone! 

Outside, in the glaring sunlight, she felt the ache and loneliness like a 
pounding wave upon her skull, pushing her down. The sun hurt her eyes and 
she tried to avert her eyes from it. 

"Naomi! Naomi!" 

She turned, knowing the deep voice was Line's. 

"Can I drive you somewhere?" he asked, his tones trying to conceal the 
almost pleading nature of his question. 

Her fingers carefully checked her eyelids lest the welling tears were 
flowing unfelt. Somehow at this moment she didn't want to be alone. 

"Okay, Line," she sighed, "Just to the nearest bus stop would be fine." 

He opened the door for her and she slid into his car. 

They rode through the streets of gray, battered buildings with their broken 
windows, worn paint, spilling rubbish, and missing steps. Children played in 
the streets, grubby, soiled with worn Salvation Army clothes and shoes from 
a church box of used clothing given by white folks who never saw the 
recipients. Never knew how their odds and ends fit the dark-skinned child of 
the slums, skinny and lost, fighting every moment of his life for some hope 
of a better life. 

A group of teen-age boys, not more than fourteen or fifteen years old, stood 
on the street corner. Beyond the leather jackets, tight jeans, and flashing 
switch blades Naomi could see the hungry look in their faces. The faces 
feared by those outside their world, beyond their own turf. In their dark 
eyes was loneliness, suspicion, fear, all that a black child of the ghettoes 
was reared on because the gates to his prison were sealed by invisible hands 
of prejudice and hate. 

Two young girls walked by to the obscene whistles and cat-calls of the boys. 
They hesitated. 

Naomi's fists clenched as she looked back over her shoulder to see what they 
would do. What she had done at their age. 

Fear in their eyes and loneliness that etched its scars in their faces and 
actions, the girls stood warily as the boys surrounded them. And Naomi saw a 
black hand go out to stroke one rounded buttock. Another to clasp a 
trembling breast. 

Line turned a corner and she turned away, the scene still with her. Knowing 
all that preceded, all that would follow. Unless ... unless what, Naomi? 
Unless the white man changes and these kids have hope of something better? 
Don't kid yourself! 

They approached the bus stop. And Line slowed the car. 

"Please, Naomi," he whispered, his facial muscles tight with hurt and 
longing. "Don't leave me. Not just yet." 

Naomi heaved a sigh. She ached with the scars of all that forbade her 
happiness and security. 

"All right, Line," she returned, her vocal cords strained and taut. 

His foot pressed the gas peddle and the car shot off down the road to the 
open highway racing towards the one place that had brought them solitude and 
comfort when they were going together. 

The Blue Hills were lovely. Soft, gentle slopes shaded with pine and spruce. 
The pungent fragrance of evergreen and a soft breeze to carry them to a 
fantasy world of nature where no man could touch them with prejudice, hate, 
or fear. 

They left the car in roadside parking area with picnic tables close by and 
walked through the woods, drinking in the fresh clean air and the scent of 
balsam. Pine needles crackled under their feet and pine cones danced off 
their shuffling toes. 

Finally they found a quiet spot with a bed of moss to sink down onto, soft 
and resilient to the touch. 

"Naomi," Line began. 

Don't spoil it! her eyes cried out to him. Don't talk. It's pleasant here. 
Don't bring in life, people, dreams. Let's be quiet and let nature take hold 
of us with her tranquillity and lack of pretense. I don't want to know I'm 
alive. I only want to know the woods, the birds, the chipmunks, and breezes 
exist-not us. Here there's happiness and hope. With us, there's nothing! 

"I love you," he whispered. "Won't you give me another chance?" 

"It's too late, Line. Please forget." 

"Forget? Forget that I love you? That you promised to marry me?" 

"It's over. It's been over for a long time!" 

"I want you, Naomi. I need you!" 

His arms went out to embrace her. And she looked up at him, his strong, 
muscular, mahogany handsomeness. But there was nothing. No emotion. No 
longing. No desire to have him. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. 

Line's mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. Trying to drain her strength. 
Trying to draw out the woman he'd lost. 

His tongue scoured her mouth with longing. And his hands worked feverishly 
at her breasts. He wanted her. Wanted her badly. It was in his fingertips 
and his lips as he sucked her into him. Crushed her to him. 

One more time, she thought. Just one more time. And she let him work at the 
buttons of her dress, peeling it from her tawny shoulders. Let him undo the 
clasps of her brassiere and felt her abundant full breasts fall free. 

He gnawed at her strawberry tipped mounds of flesh, kneaded their softness 
and smelled their sweet perfumes. 

She stretched out beneath him as he pulled her panties from the 
honey-skinned curves of her hips and thighs. And she winced when his fingers 
probed at the soft warmth of her pubic mound, his head still nestled in her 
breasts. 

His hands coursed her body charged with the heat of desire, the electricity 
of lust. With that black, coarsely curled head of hair digging into her 
tits, his big hands leathery with the hard labor of menial tasks masticating 
her pussy, she wanted to scream. To beat wildly upon his big, muscled 
shoulders and force him away. Away! 

This big, black brute of her own people. What had he to give her! Rough 
hands and dirty poverty. Love in a squeaking bed in a grease permeated room. 
The sound of many other old brass beds squealing and banging through the 
thin walls of a shabby tenement. Sirens blaring in the night and nigger 
children! Black babies to grow up scared and hurt, calloused with the toil 
of menial labor and the insults and abuse of haughty colorless bastards who 
stood guard between these innocent children and the good things of life, the 
hope and the promise of security, comfort, and happiness. 

No! No! I don't want that! Naomi's heart cried out. No more rubbish-filled 
slums. No lying awake nights to hear others make love in a battered old bed 
or let them hear me. No more sorrow and abuse. No more black babies to grow 
into delinquents and prostitutes filled with fear and hate. To grow into men 
and women like her parents, thanking a heartless God for the gifts of filth, 
hate, poverty, and slum living. For the callouses and scars of menial labor 
and the hope of nothing better, no comforts, no security. To grow into men 
like Line who think they can whip a world into recognizing the worth of a 
down-trodden, despised people. 

I don't want babies to grow up in a world of hate! I don't want to bring 
life into this vacuum! This world of no hope, no love, no comfort, no peace, 
no joy, no meaning, no acceptance-! 

"No! No!" she cried pushing Line from her body. "No! No!" 

Naomi scrambled to her feet, pulling on her panties and bra, oblivious to 
the stunned and shaken man at her feet. 

I feel nothing for you. Nothing! She wanted to cry out to him. There's only 
hopelessness, resignation, in your arms. No love. No desire. For you can 
give me nothing but more of what I've escaped from. More pain, needing, and 
loneliness. 

She had her dress on and was turning away, running to the car. 

"Please. Please, take me to a bus stop! Please!" she cried over her 
shoulder. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

"And the stories I've heard about her! If only half of them are true, she's 
got a reputation that belongs in Confidential!" 

"I heard what happened at the charity auction. Imagine selling your body 
like that! And there were three men involved. Nobody knows who they were. 
But they weren't to blame. How could a man resist a woman who offers herself 
like that!" 

"Yes, I don't see how Randy stands it! Besides, what is he doing living with 
a ... with a whore! Doesn't he know what she's doing to his reputation!" 

Naomi, holding two liquor glasses in her hands, leaned against the wall for 
support as the voices of the women from the dressing room tore at her 
in-sides. On her way to the kitchen with the glasses to wash she had heard 
the chatter of the women issuing through the partly opened door. The 
realization that she was the subject of their discussion had caused her to 
linger within range of their words. 

Now she wished she hadn't. She wished she'd kept right on going. It was 
easier to suspect what was being said about oneself than to know for a fact 
the hate and ill feelings expressed behind one's back. 

She had begged Randy not to have this party. Knowing what would happen, 
trying to explain to him, didn't persuade him. He was so sure his friends 
would accept her. Poor Randy didn't realize that they'd only accepted the 
invitation to come and look, come and stare at the mulatto body that had 
blinded him to reason and sanity. And he wouldn't believe how many have gone 
in to look at our bed. To see where the action takes place. See where I earn 
my keep! When will he learn he can't force me down their throats? In their 
filthy minds I come from a world apart and can be nothing but scum, dirt off 
the streets. 

The three girls emerged from the dressing room to stare with surprise at 
Naomi. They managed weak smiles before turning and moving off to the living 
room. Their whispers drifted back to her. 

"Suppose she heard?" 

"So what? She's probably used to hearing things like that. Probably hears 
worse!" 

"Of course, especially when they're true!" 

Blindly, Naomi sought the faraway sanction of the kitchen. She was rinsing 
the glasses when Randy found her. 

"Hey! How long does it take to rinse a couple of glasses?" 

His hands snaked about her waist and came up to cup her rich, high breasts, 
pulling her back against him. She quivered at his touch, her nipples quickly 
hardening to his gently squeezing fingers. 

"Like that, don't you?" he whispered sucking at her ear. 

She gyrated her buttocks into his groin in answer. 

"Hey! You know what that does to me!" he warned. 

"And that's exactly why I did it" she said, vnpA ing the remnants of her 
tears away. "I want you. Now!" 

"But our guests!" 

Naomi whirled into his arms, crushing her body to his. "Send them home!" 

"They'll be insulted. It's early yet. We can't shoo our friends off just 
like that." 

"Your friends, Randy. They don't like or want me. And they never will." 

"Stop that!" he admonished her. "Come on! The party's just getting started." 

He broke away from her and held out his hand. She took it and went back with 
him. 

They watched the guests frolicking until someone put on some sensual 
pseudo-African, savage rite music. The stereo blared out with the exotic 
rhythm with the heart-vibrating tempo of drums gyrating beneath the strains. 

"Hey," someone shouted. "What kind of music is that ... Nobody can dance to 
that!" 

"I can," interrupted a tall man with a reddish crew-cut, leaping to the 
center of the room. "All I need is a partner. Who's game?" 

The girls looked laughingly from one to the other. 

"Not me. Can't dance to that." 

"Me either. Not my beat!" 

"Nor mine. That's ... that's for savages. Primitives to dance to." 

"Yeah. Like in Africa!" 

The room exploded into silence and every face turned to look at Naomi's 
reaction. The heat of anger and embarrassment rose in her throat. 

"Forget it, Honey," Randy whispered. "She didn't mean it!" 

Angrily she shrugged him off. Didn't mean it! You may be blind, Randy, but 
it isn't my body that blinds you. She fumed within. 

She stalked over the sprawled legs upon the floor and reached the man who 
waited expectantly, smiling. 

"I'll dance with you," she said huskily. "That's my kind of music!" 

From the look on his face, Naomi knew that the record choice had been 
intentional. He had deliberately provoked the incident. Wanted it to happen! 

So you want to see a savage! Want to see how she dances, eh? 

Naomi kicked off her shoes and slinked close to him, slowly, sensually. Her 
hips rotated provocatively and her whole body took up the rhythm, her full 
breasts swaying and rippling with the motion. 

He followed her every move as she kept the tempo of the drums, the sway of 
the lust-inspiring strains. Her hands went to his hips and he clasped hers. 
She came closer, edging up to him, her voluptuous curves gyrating and 
writhing in his clutch. 

Provocatively, she grazed his body with her hard-tipped breasts, ground her 
pelvis up to his. Thrusting out her breasts until the nipples strained their 
indentations in the material of her dress. The suggestive twisting and 
contorting made her seem naked. Seductively the motions seemed to strip her 
naked before their eyes and it seemed as if she was starkly, lewdly bare, 
nude to their view as she performed a savage fertility rite with the 
panting, sweating man before her. 

Someone screamed as she tugged the zipper at the top of her dress revealing 
the over-flowing golden skin of her breasts in the half-bra she was wearing. 

Then suddenly the music ended. 

In the silence, Naomi seemed to awaken from her trance-like state as she 
looked in horror at the open bosom of her dress. Then she looked up at the 
smiling face of the red-haired man. Deliberately, she pulled her dress down 
all the way so that the top hung over her waist like an apron. 

"This what you wanted to see!" she screamed. "Are they like you imagined? 
Did you expect them to be bigger than this? Smaller? Do they satisfy you?" 

She ripped the brassiere from her succulent breasts, letting them hang free. 
Then she turned, blinded with tears, and fled the room. 

Behind the slammed bedroom door, in the haven of their big double bed, she 
tried to turn off the hate and anger. Tried to hide from the shame and 
horror that was too close. 

Randy came to gently stroke her shoulder, to comfort her. 

"Send them away," she begged. "Love me. Help me!" 

"I can't, Naomi," he tried to make her understand. "They didn't mean to hurt 
you. You know you didn't have to retaliate like that." 

Silence. 

"You'll feel better in a little while," he said, patting her. "It won't be 
long, and the party will be over." 

Oh, Randy! She wanted to shout at the closing door. Don't you see? But you 
can't turn away your friends. I'm not worth insulting your friends no matter 
how much they hurt and humiliate me! 

She threw herself into the cold, yielding softness of the pillow and sobbed 
out her heart. 

How long had she lain there like that before she realized that warm hands 
were caressing her back. Randy? Have you come back? 

"Randy?" 

The hands were gentle and loving, knowing every sensitive hollow and swell 
of her womanhood. They felt comforting. 

Slowly, carefully, they stripped her dress off. Edging it carefully over her 
hips and thighs. 

"Randy?" she whispered, lifting her thighs to aid him. 

The flimsy nylon wisp of her panties melted over her buttocks and slipped 
easily off her slim ankles. And the sensitive fingers were reaching between 
her relaxed and open thighs, probing for the moist, hot lips of her pussy. 

Naomi rolled onto her back to embrace him and pull him to her. Opening her 
eyes in the shadowy gloom of the night light, she recognized the smiling 
face and reddish hair. 

"You!" she cried sitting bolt upright. 

"Who'd you want?" he chuckled, proud of himself. "One white cock's as good 
as another so long as you get it, isn't it? You were responding." 

"Get out!" she yelled. 

"But we were just getting started," he pouted. "Always wanted to see how you 
girls reacted. Heard you were regular nymphomaniacs. Now I know!" 

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she bellowed. 

"Now, baby," he smiled indifferently. "You like my lily white body and you 
know it. You want my prick in you. Admit it!" 

He was so confident. So goddamned sure she was mad about white skin! So 
fucking positive she lived for a white cock to fill her. That was all she 
wanted or needed. Ofay bastard! 

"You get your goddamned butt out of here, or so help me-!" she breathed 
hotly at him. 

He shook his head as if the words weren't registering. As if she didn't know 
what she was saying. 

"GET OUT OF HERE, BEFORE I KILL YOU!" 

She threw a heavy ash tray from the bed stand to punctuate her order. He 
dodged. And it crashed to the floor. 

"GET OUT!" she shrieked, leaping from the bed and grabbing another weapon. 

He was at the door, unlocking it and racing out, as Naomi, unmindful of her 
nakedness, stormed after him, brandishing her weapon. She heaved it after 
him, tears of rage pouring down her cheeks. 

"Naomi!" Randy cried, racing to her and attempting to wrap her in his 
jacket. "What's gotten into you?" 

"Me? Never mind what's gotten into me!" she shouted, pointing at the staring 
faces. "Ask them! What's the matter with them and that ... bastard that just 
tried to make love to me!" 

"Make love...." Randy asked increduously. "And you let him?" 

"Don't be ridiculous!" she told him stomping a bare foot. "It was dark and I 
was crying into the pillow. I thought it was you until-!" 

It was all too impossible. He would never believe it. And those ofay faces, 
everyone of them, was intent on her explanation, ready to snicker and guffaw 
at her un-likely side of the story. 

In a blind fury of tears she ran back into the bedroom, Randy's jacket 
flying from her shoulders, no longer caring about her nakedness. She had 
done all they expected of her. Fallen neatly into their set traps. She'd 
proven all they'd wanted her to. Just a black whore. That was all she was! 

She was gathering her clothes when Randy came in. 

"I sent them all home," he told her lamely. She didn't answer. 

"And I socked that fellow, the one ... ," he stut-tered watching her as she 
sobbed quietly. "I hit him when he said that was all one could expect from a 
girl like you." 

"It doesn't matter what they think," she said horsely. "What matters is if 
you believe me." 

"I ... I believe you, Naomi," he told her after an agonizing silence in 
which she saw his face tighten with the nervous twitch of muscles that 
accompanied his strained moments of indecision. 

"I think I'd better go now," Naomi told him returning to her packing. 

"Go? Where? Why?" 

"It isn't working out, Randy," she sighed. "We have nothing but trouble when 
it comes to the two of us outside this apartment with other people. You 
can't have me and your friends too. They won't have it, and I can't change 
the color of my skin to help you. It's better that I leave you in peace with 
your friends." 

"But I want you," he protested. "It doesn't matter what they think." 

"Are you sure, Randy? Are you sure what they think doesn't matter?" 

"Yes," he whispered. 

"Then prove it. Prove to me that you want me! You always seem to take your 
friends' side in situations like the one tonight. If you really care, if you 
really want me, prove it!" 

There was only one way he knew. Only one way to show he cared. 

He took her into the protection of his embrace and pressed his hungry mouth 
to hers, drew her body into his. 

Maybe this is all we have. All we'll ever have, Naomi thought as she 
surrendered to his love. Mom is right. I'm using my body. Selling it for 
what I can gain. For the one thing I want and need so much. Acceptance. But 
if this is the only way he'll have me ... If this is the way he wants me.... 

God! I want to be loved. To be needed. Somehow. In some way. To be accepted. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

The rain outside the window beat down like a funeral dirge, the lights of 
the city blurred in the heavy sheets that poured against the window panes. 

In the soft light of the living room, Naomi stared with unseeing eyes at the 
same page she'd been holding the book open to for an hour. Even the popular 
tunes of the FM station on the stereo weren't piercing her vacuum of 
loneliness. 

For two weeks now, Randy had left her alone at the apartment when social and 
business duties called him elsewhere. For her own protection he had left her 
in the solitude of his rooms so that she wouldn't have to endure the glares 
and whispers of Boston society. 

It had only served to magnify her emptiness and desolation. 

On nights like this when Randy was called away to business meetings, her 
aloneness became more acute. Left for hours with only a mechanical voice 
from the radio or stereo to talk to her. Or only a book to hold in her 
hands. The fact that she was alone and friendless until Randy returned to 
take her in his arms and love her into the oblivion of slumber became 
sharper in her senses. 

"Two hours," she whispered to herself. "Two hours till he comes. He said it 
would be midnight when he got back. That's so far off." 

Even the weather seemed to be against her. So damp and dreary. 

"Rain makes me so cold and lonely," she breathed, shivering and curling 
tighter upon the couch. 

The phone jingled beneath the lamp beside her. 

Randy! She thought excitedly. I'll bet it's Randy calling to say he'll be 
home early. He's coming home early to me! 

She lifted the receiver to her ear. 

But it wasn't Randy's voice that greeted her. It was a woman's. 

"Hello," the voice said sweetly. "I'd like to speak to Randy Harcourt, 
please." 

"He's not here," Naomi told her. "He's gone out." 

"Gone out? Where?" the woman sounded surprised. 

"To a business meeting," Naomi answered. 

"That's strange. He was supposed to come to my party tonight," the woman 
continued. 

She obviously thought she was talking to Randy's maid. 

"Would you please give him a message when he comes in?" 

Anger burned in Naomi's throat. Randy had lied to her. There was no business 
meeting. And he'd said nothing about this party. 

"No. I'm not going to deliver any damned messages!" she cried slamming the 
receiver back into its cradle. 

"I'm no maid! That isn't my job!" 

So Randy was too ashamed of me to let people know I'm still here, she 
thought angrily. They think I'm a maid! And he has to lie now about parties 
and social engagements. 

Angrily she whipped herself into the bedroom to get her raincoat. 

If he can go out and have a good time, then so can I. I'll just go visit 
some of my friends! 

The thought of Line and her old friends down at Roxie's bar came to her. 
Yes, she had some friends who weren't ashamed of her. She'd go see them and 
have a really good time. 

Slamming the aprtment door behind her, she didn't feel so bad any more. She 
rode the elevator down to the first floor and crossed the lobby, ignoring 
the looks of other residents and their callers. 

As she stepped out into the rain things didn't seem so bad. She had a place 
to go. People to see. Somehow she wasn't so lonely and despondent anymore. 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

Naomi floated into Roxie's Bar as if washed off the street by the wind and 
rain. Her presence seemed to punctuate the pleasant rumble of conversation 
within a period. Bartender and customers alike turned to look her over as 
she stood near the door. Then with shrugs of contempt, they turned and 
ignored her. Their snubs were too obvious to be snubs. They were more like 
insults. 

Standing there, Naomi's eyes darted off the hunched backs of the customers 
slouched over the bar stools. She knew most of them, because this used to be 
one of her favorite hangouts. 

Nervously, she weighed her choice, stay or go. Memory of the telephone call 
and of the empty apartment tilted the scales in favor of staying. 

Jutting her chin out defiantly, she walked toward the empty seat at the end 
of the bar. 

"How's it going, Mac?" she asked of the bartender when he finally came over 
to her. "Long time no see." 

He shrugged indifferently, his hands on his side of the bar as he waited for 
her to order. The look on his brown face was nondescript. Emotionless. Like 
she was a stranger instead of a customer for the past five years. 

"I'll have the usual, Mac," Naomi finally said. 

"What's that?" he asked. 

"You ought to know! I've been ordering it long enough." 

He shook his head. 

"Customers come and go. Some you remember, and some you don't. Especially 
those who think they're too good for old friends!" 

It was an inference and she knew there was nothing she could do about it 
except to either ignore it or go to another bar. She chose to ignore it. 

"Scotch and water," she said in a low tone. 

She watched him walk to the end of the bar and prepare the drink. Someone 
leaned across to him and said something that caused him to laugh. They both 
looked down at her. And she knew what they were talking about. 

They don't want me here. I'm not one of them anymore. It hurts their pride 
to think I'm shacking up with a white man. So they're going to give me the 
treatment. As if I'd broken some major code or something! Well, they won't 
break me. I know what I am. They can think what they want. 

The bartender brought back her drink and slopped it carelessly on the bar 
before her. 

"That'll be seventy-five cents!" he said looking her in the face. Naomi 
looked at him in surprise. 

"What's the matter. Can't I run a tab here like I always do?" 

He shook his head. 

"That's only for regular customers and people I trust. If you don't like our 
rules, why don't you go someplace else!" 

Naomi's pride kept her glued to the seat. Slowly and deliberately she found 
a dollar bill in her handbag, then slapped it on the bar in front of him. 

"Keep the change," she said sarcastically. 

He rang the amount on the cash register and brought back the silver quarter 
and plunked it down in front of her. 

"I don't want money like that," his words came slowly. "It smells bad." 

He turned his back on her and walked away. 

Naomi clutched her raincoat tightly about her, shivering with anger and 
walked out. 

Turning blindly down the street she nearly collided with Line. 

"Hello, Naomi." 

"Why, Hi, Line. How are you. It's been a long time." 

He ignored her words. 

"What are you doing down here with us poor folk? Slumming?" 

"Why shouldn't I come down and visit?" she said gaily, ignoring the insult. 
"My friends live here." 

"Friends? You ain't got any friends." he snarled with an abrupt laugh. "The 
only friend you got must've deserted you or you wouldn't be here. What'sa 
matter. Not treatin' you good no more?" 

She flicked open her raincoat under the flashing neon sign. 

"What does it look like?" 

She displayed her new red outfit of expensive shantung. 

"And I've got a whole closet full of clothes like this, Line. This happens 
to be the cheapest of them. Wore it special to come down here in." 

The muscles of his cheeks quivered. And she felt a smile of satisfaction 
spreading on her own lips. 

"What did you come down here for, Naomi? Not to see old friends. You ain't 
got any here now." 

She looked up at him, her chin thrust forward. 

"Either your ofay isn't treatin' you right, or you've come looking for a 
man. Isn't what you thought he'd be? Come back for some real loving like you 
used to get from me?" he sneered. 

"You wouldn't begin to know what real loving is, Line," she seethed. "I 
never got a taste of it until I found Randy. You're still in nursery school 
compared to his techniques. You couldn't begin to catch up!" 

"No?" he breathed regarding her slyly in the cold liquid blue of the 
flashing sign. 

Naomi returned his look firmly and smiled. 

"No. Now I've got to run along before he misses me. Be seeing you ... 
maybe." 

And she turned on her heel and clacked off into the darkness of the 
rain-soaked night. A feeling of satisfaction went with her. Guess I've shown 
him, she thought to herself. Maybe I'll see him again? Ha! I should give a 
damn. 

There were rapid heavy footsteps behind her. 

Why did her heart skip a beat? There was nothing to fear. She'd shown that 
over-sized nigger baby she didn't need him. All she wanted was Randy. Love 
and Randy. But he wasn't home. He was at a party or somewhere. Somewhere she 
couldn't go. 

The footsteps approached quickly, steadily. Clap. Clap. Slap into a puddle. 
They kept coming. Intent and purposeful. 

In the steady drizzle the street lights blurred. An early drunk staggered 
against a telephone pole and some ragged old man pawed in a garbage pail for 
scraps outside a bar and grill. Distantly she heard the sound of laughter. 
Somewhere something funny was being said. People were amused. But they were 
too far away to hear her. Too far away to know her need. And they wouldn't 
help or understand her if she could find them in one of those dimly 
lit-blue-fumed rooms with cigarettes burning over half-empty bottles of gin 
and whisky. 

The footsteps stamped abreast of her and she could hear the heavy breathing 
of an angered man. 

She looked up and saw Line regarding her hotly from the corner of his eye. 
One strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her along with him down the 
street and into an alley way. 

"Wh ... what, Line!" she cried, pulling back. "Stop! Let go!" 

But her protests and resistance went unheeded. 

"Line! Let me go. I'll scream!" 

"Scream, baby," he hissed. "Who's gonna help? Who's gonna give a damn?" 

"HELP!" she cried. "Someone, HELP!" 

There were only the drunk and garbage scrounger to hear. The first was 
oblivious to his surroundings and the old man looked up vaguely from his ash 
can. Naomi waved to him and cried once more and he just waved back. 

Line laughed, "Your friend really cared." 

"Line, be reasonable!" she hollered beating his chest and arms with her 
fists as her feet dragged the ground. 

He picked her up bodily, turning off into the narrow alley while she 
screamed. 

One or two people appeared at the door of an old cellar apartment behind a 
rubbish heap, but withdrew in spite of Naomi's pleas. They knew better than 
to get mixed up in someone else's trouble. It meant police, newspaper 
reporters, inquisitive "do-gooders" and other trouble makers. 

When Line finally put her down, Naomi found herself in a dirty store room 
with one naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. She could hear the 
clatter of falling pins and rumbling bowling balls on the other side of one 
thin wall. On the other side of the room she could hear laughter, chatter, 
and calling voices above the thunder of a juke box and the wail of mumbled 
words from a popular protest singer. 

She carefully surveyed the crowded room of boxes, mice, and filth. There 
were only two doors of escape and Line was carefully testing the locks, 
depositing their keys in his hip pocket. 

"So you think I'm just kid stuff, huh?" he queried, turning to her. 

Naomi didn't answer. She just watched him as he slowly came towards her, 
almost dragging his feet as he caught her eyes' fall to them. A grin etched 
his dark face as he saw her squirm against a tall pile of boxes watching the 
steady approach of his huge, motorcycle-booted feet. 

"Think I don't know how to make love!" his voice echoed deeply through the 
passage of boxes he passed. 

Naomi inched her way backward through the wooden cases, tripping among the 
small broken cardboard containers strewn under her feet. 

"Ha! Ha!" he laughed boisterously at her. 

"Line!" she screamed stopping to stare at him. "Goddamn it! What do you 
want?" 

"Me?" he asked increduously, pausing only a moment. "Since when did you give 
a shit about what I want? What your mother wants? What your friends want?" 

"I'm talking about here and now, Line!" she shouted. "Not what you think 
about the past." 

"Think? Know!" he shouted. "You haven't given a damn about anyone but Naomi 
Douglas since you found you could get a few goodies by screwing with an 
ofay. Isn't that so? Since you've been fucking with that white bastard and 
getting fancy clothes and jewelry, you've forgotten who raised and fed you, 
slaved to give you whatever was available for a nigger kid! You've ignored 
and denied your old friends because they weren't good enough for you. 
Couldn't give you what your ofay cock's wallet could, huh?" 

"No, Line. No!" 

"Yes! Naomi, you haven't given a shit for anyone except those who could give 
you the white man's luxuries for the use of your little mulatto pussy!" 

"Line, please!" she begged as he came full upon her. 

"Slut, Whore!" he shouted at her, his heavy, massive brown hand swung down 
and cracked against her jaw, snapping her head to one side. 

"Bitch! Fucking black bitch!" he rasped, watching her clasp the throbbing 
jaw. "When I get through with you, you'll know who can screw." 

Naomi stared at him defiantly, her shoulders squared, and let her hand drop 
from the pulsating fire of her jaw. She only hoped he could not hear the 
pounding fear of her heart. 

He viewed her coolly. His eyes were burning coals, spitting out all the 
unspoken words that said he despised everything she stood for. 

"Well, whore?" he demanded. "Don't you know how to undress? You like to make 
love so much! Get that hungry little cunt of yours filled with a prick. Then 
strip, nigger baby. STRIP!" 

"No, Line!" she whispered hoarsely. "You got it all wrong!" 

"Me? Unh-unnh, baby. You that's got it wrong," his words seared her. "We 
tried to treat you like a lady, but you didn't want it. Wanted to be a 
whore. So's now we gonna treat you like one. Got the picture? You think 
you're a lady from the upper crust of Boston Society now and was nothing but 
a nigger girl before? I got news for you, doll. You was never nothin' but a 
black pussy to be fucked and handled. 'N yawh worse now, bitch. 'Cause now 
you can be bought and sold like a two-cent lollipop to be sucked, eaten, and 
forgotten. Like that, huh?" 

"Line," her voice trembled. 

"No, Naomi. You can't talk to me anymore. Can't twist me around your li'l 
fingah! Now I'm takin' what's rightfully mine. Takin' what was promised and 
then snatched back." 

"Please," Naomi pleaded. "Line, PLEASE!" 

"Oh, ho, looka the Boston bitch o' Society shake and grovel! She's askeered. 
O what, babe? You seen a prick befo'. You had one fill your hot little cunt. 
You ain't no virgin. Why you was took early. Seen them pluck your cherry 
myself and tasted it not long after. "Membeh, huh?" 

"Line, it's not right. Not this way. Please-!" 

"Not this way?" he belched furiously. "Then how? Offered you marriage. Legal 
and propah! Security, a home-me to watch over you. And you chose to sell 
your pussy to an ofay with some dough and a title in uptown social circles. 
If I can't have you legal and nice, and I can't buy you like the cheap 
prostitute that you are, how should I take you?" 

Naomi swallowed loudly. How in hell did she ever get into this mess, she 
wondered? What did I do? First Randy deserts me in the library. Then he goes 
off to have a good time and leaves me home miserable and alone. Now Line. 
Only Line is going to hurt me, himself, if he can. He's going to hurt me bad 
because he's loved me and I couldn't love him back. Why didn't he 
understand? Why the hell couldn't anyone understand! 

"Start stripping or I'll do it myself!" he ordered. 

"Line, don't you love me anymore? Don't you care?" 

"You should talk of love and caring! You who's nothin' but a prostitute, a 
cunt to be picked up off the streets and-!" 

"Line! Stop! Stop! I can't stand your accusations!" 

"There's more than accusations, baby," he snorted and waited no longer. 

His huge hands began to tear at her. Ripping the expensive cloth from her 
bosom, down over her hips. Mad with fury, his strength was multiplied. 

Naomi struggled against his force, but that great dark paw slashed at her 
face again and left it raw and bleeding. His claws raked at her slip and 
brassiere, wrenching them from her rich, lustrous breasts. And Naomi found 
herself collapsing weakly from fear and exhaustion under his brute force as 
he shredded the thin wisp of nylon bikini panties from her hips. 

She lay there naked in the bright puddle of her clothes, blood drying at her 
lower lip and down her chin. Her honey-gold flesh rippled with chill shivers 
from her nudeness and the fear that sounded frantically in her breast. 

Lust drooling from his mouth, and loathing and hatred in his black orbs, he 
came down atop her. His black muscled bulk like a monstrous shadow engulfing 
her. 

"Aaannnggghhh!" Naomi shrieked. 

But his mouth came down over hers, muting and choking her so that her cry 
was lost in the prison of his arms and flesh. 

His mouth levered open her lips, their teeth gnashing with the fury of their 
struggle. And the warm wet invasion of his tongue bathed her mouth and 
pressed at her tonsils. 

Her jaws ached with his bruising hold and in answer to her efforts to clamp 
her teeth upon his tender organ his teeth cut into the fragile skin of her 
lips. 

"Mmmpppfff! Mmmpppfff!" she mumbled against him, pushing at his vast 
shoulders with all her might. 

He was pleased with her struggle. Glad at her pain. He was going to make her 
know all the pain and humiliation she'd caused him. She would suffer for 
abandoning of her mother, her friends, the man she was to have married. In 
the manner in which she had denied herself, chosen to forsake her friends, 
he would make her pay a small token for lack of love, lack of humanity, her 
own egoism and self-preservation at the cost of loved ones. 

Naomi Douglas was about to learn what it meant to be a lost and fallen 
woman. About to know what became of a woman who sacrificed friends and 
loyalty for her own enrichment. She would know the cost of selling her 
Negro-nurtured body to a white man for less than a black soul's worth. 

Animal-like claws ravaged the rich swells of her soft, tawny breasts. They 
pawed and raked at her soft, silken flesh, leaving it with the dark prints 
of blood vessels crushed and broken under the pressure of merciless fingers. 

Naomi panted with pain and exhaustion under the onslaught. Her breasts 
heaved in the vise-like grip of his fists and her lungs fought for oxygen in 
the suffocating mastication of his mouth, her throat giving sharp, rasping 
rattles as she strained for fresh air. 

Her fists and legs flailed vainly, pinned beneath Line's heavy weight. And 
her mind began to reel, her senses intermittently sharp with pain and numb 
with gray oblivion. 

Line finally released her mouth and she gasped, coughing and sputtering for 
the oxygen that would restore her fading senses. But he didn't wait for her 
to regain her powers of defense. Satisfaction at her state of fragility 
drove him on, and he fell to her breasts once more, his hands manipulating 
and crushing the sensitive flesh into golden marble streaked with black and 
blue swirls of merging bruises. His teeth chewed upon her swollen nipples, 
leaving them torn and masticated, a bleeding pulp of brown-crested thumbs. 

All the while, his knees were gnawing at her groin, the force of his weight 
pushing his worn chino knees between the spreading thighs. He could feel the 
burning labia through the thin pant material as it oozed its hot fluids to 
soak his knees. 

Naomi labored in the musty air, her mouth wide open and noisily rasping. She 
became aware of the excruiciating torture of her breasts and nipples. And 
she could see his coarsely-curled head pounding at them with the maniacal 
energy. 

She tried to move and realized that her almost numb crotch was being crushed 
by his legs. Oh God! She wanted to scream. Would anyone hear above the 
rumbling thunder and crashes of the bowling alley? The strains of Line's 
favorite "soul music" drifted through the other wall. It was his world now. 
Not hers. He held rule and she was helpless to his will. 

He lifted his head to look at her and she dreaded the sight of madness in 
his face. He wrenched at the throbbing mounds of flesh in his fists and 
seemed to enjoy her contorted face of torment. 

"So I can't screw, eh?" he breathed hoarsely. "I'll show you!" 

Naomi felt her body tossed over onto her stomach as though she were a rag 
doll, not the flesh and blood entity of a human being. 

God! Rape. He's going to rape me! Her mind wailed in the darkening fog of 
her senses. Rape me! 

"Always wanted to fuck you in the ass. Now I'm going to do it." 

"Line," she implored him. "Please, no. It'll hurt. Hurt bad!" 

His laugh of pleasure at her torment washed her with a wave of helplessness. 
Suddenly her entire body, every muscle and ligament, melted to liquid and 
she nearly disintegrated into prostration upon the floor. 

The wet veil of tears blurred her vision and she resigned herself to his 
will. His thighs moved forward slightly and she felt the huge, pulsating 
head of his cock pressed tightly between the cheeks of her ass. She 
automatically tightened her buttocks in a hopeless attempt to keep him from 
entering her there, but his thumbs on either side of her anus pressed 
harshly outward and opened the whole of her back passage to the mercy of his 
unnatural de-sires. He pressed the slippery, lubricated head of his cock 
tightly against the tiny, puckered entrance and pressed forward, gently at 
first. 

He'd waited too long, he mused, thinking of the soiled wet splotch on his 
fly front as he'd unzip-pered his trousers and pulled out the pulsing, 
ballooning flesh of his prick. 

Nudging it tenderly between his fingers to ease the ache of waiting and 
watch it grow for a moment, he remembered the times when he could take her 
willingly, when she'd come, wanting him. But that was over now. Finished! 

He thrust sharply into the tiny opening of her anus, unmercifully, careless 
of the tiny fragileness of the passage. 

"Aaaggghhh!" she screamed as she suddenly felt the tight, unyielding muscles 
of her anus being forced slowly outward from the force of his relentless 
pressure. Her face twisted tightly in pain and she groaned like a wounded 
banshee down into the frothy ring of her expensive clothing. She clenched 
the pool of shantung to her face, muffling the desperate cry of impalement 
on the end of a giant spear shaft. 

The scent of her Chanel flooded her nostrils from the swath of red at her 
face, and she realized for the first time, that she had blocked out the 
pungent animal odor of his male sweat and desire. Nausea welled in the pit 
of her stomach from the mixed fragrances of male and female bodies locked in 
sexual exertion and the artificial veil of her feminine perfumes. 

Her body pitched forward with the lunging drive of the male at her buttocks. 
There was a slight pop as the tight outer ring of her anus suddenly gave way 
and the head of his throbbing member slipped inside. She groaned again and 
then the momentary pain of his initial entry passed and her rectum relaxed 
and opened to receive him. 

He grunted behind her as the tight un-used flesh clamped around his cock 
like a vice, but did not ease off on the pressure he was exerting against 
her. He jerked forward with short, hard strokes, digging deeper and deeper 
into her belly until Naomi's whole behind felt stretched and distended 
beyond all hope of ever recovering. She felt as though her whole insides 
were being pushed up hard into her throat. There seemed no way in the world 
she could escape the cruel and relentless instrument skewering its way deep 
into her bowels. 

His hands curved around her trembling belly and she could feel his fingers 
pulling the hot, wet lips of her cunt open beneath her. He thrust forward 
with his fingers, sinking three of them deep inside her. She moaned again, 
her loins feeling completely filled with the hard, thick cock tunneling into 
her rectum from behind and his probing fingers sunk deep in her vagina. 

There was a sudden gasp from his lips and she felt his pelvis smack hard 
into the flaccid cheeks of her buttocks, pushing them up and out. She 
whimpered and felt her entire body jerk and writhe for a moment in protest 
and then relax in helpless acceptance as the whole of his pulsating prick 
lay buried deep in the confines of her widely stretched rectum. He stood 
still for a moment to give her time to ad-just to the unnatural invasion of 
her back passage, and then began a series of slow, short strokes in and out 
of her, his fingers probing deep in her cunt, keeping time to his cock 
gliding smoothly in and out of her rectum. 

And then to her surprise, the driving rod and the searching caress of his 
fingers probing into her vagina soon aroused her in a strange masochistic 
way, and she began eagerly rocking her hips in the air behind her, propelled 
by the suddenly mounting urgency of her own passage. 

No! She fought the swelling fire that caught at her loins. Mustn't. Can't. 
Please! 

But it was there. She could feel the old familiar fire building again deep 
inside her belly and she rocked and rotated wildly below him. The round 
magnificence of her buttocks hollowing and clenching around the hardness of 
his cock with each hard, brutal stroke he rammed into her kindled the flames 
still higher. 

She could hear him clucking behind her in lewd delight as he watched his 
thick rod of flesh disappearing deep down inside the smooth hairless mouth 
of her rectum, and then gasping crazily to himself as he jerked out again. 
The tight, pink flesh flowed with it with a wet sucking noise, clasping to 
it as though it didn't want to let go. 

His naked lust incited her more, and she began to move in earnest now, the 
licking flames of her own desire almost ready to erupt. She could feel he 
was close to coming. 

He was growing inside her, stretching the already taut walls of her rectum 
wider and wider until they became a boiling, liquid mass of flesh. God, she 
would explode. She couldn't stand it much longer. 

Her eyes were dilated and bulged wide as she humped under him. The tightness 
of her asshole clasping and unclasping around him like a sucking fish as he 
fucked into her now with all his lustful might. 

Then he came! 

Just as the rising tide of her own passion spilled out deep inside her, she 
could feel the hot spurts of his sperm emptying deep inside her rectum until 
it felt as though he were filling her whole body with the hot, sticky fluid. 
Her full, rounded breasts danced between her shoulders, hardening as her 
kneeling form felt him break through her belly and he jumped his come into 
them. 

She could taste it on the end of her tongue, and swirled her taste buds 
lasciviously around inside her mouth, savoring with delight the delicious 
and pungent tang. 

Behind her Line cried out, his thick pulsating member spurting one last 
thick jet of his sperm deep into her channel, flooding her ass. With a wild 
cry, her whole body contracted in the final burst of her own orgasm. 

Her eyes closed, and she collapsed amid her soft garments and the strewn 
cardboard as he withdrew with a wet sucking sound, as though he were pulling 
a body from quicksand. A thin string of sperm followed the tip of his cock, 
still connecting it to the stretched hole of her anus, an obscene reminder 
of the savagely crude coupling they had just gone through. 

Naomi lay in a limp heap on the floor, unable to move, weary and hating 
herself for being caught up in the vulgar lust of his rape. Why, oh, why had 
... Randy! God! Forgive me. Hate me! 

Line's big body slumped beside her, one big hand on her bare and quivering 
shoulder. 

"I'm sorry. Allah! I'm sorry, Naomi," he whispered, his breath hot on her 
tear-stained cheeks. 

Her eyes burned and her nostrils flared at the smell of his sweat-stinking 
body. She looked at him briefly, her pupils hot daggers as they peered into 
his beaded face. His brow was furrowed with sadness and regret and the lines 
etched at the downward droop of his mouth were mere tracings of the gullies 
of unhappiness that would be ploughed there by the trials of life. 

His sight repulsed her. 

"Don't touch me," she spat. "Don't you ever dare touch me again!" 

"Naomi, I love you," he beseeched her. "I wanted you so bad!" 

"Animal. You're nothing but an animal!" 

"I want to marry you, Naomi. Take care of you!" 

She dragged herself to her feet. Her whole body torn with the pain of his 
viscious rape. Slowly, trembling with hate and shame at the wanton torment 
of her flesh, she dressed, pulling on the torn remnants of her attire. 

He watched her, his throat constricted with guilt and remorse. Then he rose, 
slipping his wet and deflated prick into his pants and zippering them closed 
with an ominous metallic clicking. 

She paused briefly at the sound and then finished her dressing, pulling her 
coat tightly about her. She shivered, even in the warmth of the close 
quarters, with the thoughts of what had just happened, what lay back at the 
apartment, and the unknown of what lay ahead. 

"Just let me take you somewhere, at least," Line said gently, trying to make 
things right. 

She thought of the apartment. It was a haven when Randy was there to shield 
her in his arms and love her. She nodded and let him lead her out the door 
back into the grimy wetness of the black stench-filled alley. 

It was still raining. The lights shone dimly and reflected in the slick mud 
puddles of the street. Walking along in the darkness behind Line, Naomi 
still felt a sense of hopelessness. 

In the front seat of his car she watched the tumble-down slums rising like 
ghostly silhouettes careen past her vision as Line raced like a madman 
through the streets, guilt tearing at his gut. 

She wished he'd crash. Suddenly she wished that they'd smash somewhere, 
somehow. It was all so futile. 

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

Quietly Naomi let herself into the apartment, wincing in pain as she pulled 
her aching body through the door. It was dark, and she stumbled as she 
reached for the light switch on the wall. The voice from the living room 
stopped her before she could turn on the switch. 

"Is that you, Naomi?" Randy called and she heard him get up from the chair 
by the window. 

"Yes," she answered in a weak tremor. "It's me." 

"Come in here. The living room. There's something I want to tell you." 

Naomi wondered what he wanted to talk about as she moved slowly toward the 
other room. She blinked in surprise at the bright light that bathed her in 
its illumination and though she tried to avert her face, she wasn't quick 
enough. 

"I want to tell you about tonight. Where I was," he said as he came toward 
her. 

An arm's length away from her, he stopped. 

"Your face! What's happened to your face!" 

Gingerly she felt the bruise that puffed out her chin. Her crusted, swollen 
lips were stiff. Dropping her hand to her side, she straightened up as she 
looked at him. His obvious concern sent a warmth through her. 

"What happened to you? Who did that?" 

Her answer was a slow shake of her head. 

"I can't tell you that, Randy," she whispered. 

"Why not?" he demanded. "Why can't you tell me? Why won't you tell me?" 

Then she shuddered as she saw his eyes drop from her face to her open rain 
coat. To the red dress. 

Quickly he came over to her and spread the rain coat apart so that he could 
examine her. With embarrassment she tried to clutch the torn material about 
her. But she was aware of the impossibility of concealing herself 
completely. Aware that the rents and tears in the cloth permitted her 
bronzed flesh to show through. 

"You've ... you've been with a man, haven't you?" 

She answered automatically, "Yes." 

"Someone you knew!" 

It was an accusation, not a question. 

Naomi agreed with a slow nod of her head. She was too tired to talk. 

"It was that-that Line, wasn't it? Not a stranger! Not someone new! But your 
old boy friend!" 

This time Naomi didn't even nod. She merely stood limply in front of him. 

Quickly he pulled the rain coat from her and forced her hands away from the 
ragged dress. The fact that she was no longer wearing a brassiere, the 
ravages of passion on her body, everything-pointed to an uncontrollable 
liaison. The evidence was there. Now all that remained was the verdict. It 
came quickly. 

"You gave yourself to him!" his loud voice was a condemnation instead of an 
accusation. "After all I've done for you. All I've given you. You went back. 
Back to him!" 

She wanted to deny it. She wanted to shout and to plead her innocence, but 
she realized that a denial was unacceptable. 

"It's true. It's true! You're nothing but a tramp! A slut! Available to 
anyone who wants you! You're nothing but a cheap, common whore!" 

His face was distorted with anger and her eyes closed with the ferocity of 
his attack. 

The verdict was there. 

"Get out! Get out! I've paid for your services. Now get out!" 

Naomi opened her eyes and looked at him. He was still an arm's length away 
and he was pointing a finger first at her and then at the door. 
Instinctively she knew there would be no changing his feelings. His mind was 
made up. 

He thinks I don't know what he's doing. What he's saying. It's the only way 
he has to get rid of me. And that's what he wants to do. Get rid of me! I'm 
too much trouble. I've caused too many problems, so he has to get rid of me! 
Then he can still hold his head high. Make it look like it was my fault that 
it's all over. And then some day in some locker room, he'll be able to boast 
about the hot-pants colored broad he shacked up with. But he's worse than 
me. He was all right when he got what he wanted. Now that the price is too 
high to pay, he doesn't want it any more! So he's making it look like it's 
my fault! 

Suddenly her body stiffened and was rigid. She looked at him defiantly. 

"I'll go, Randy," she said quietly. "I'll go as soon as I change my 
clothes." 

"No! No!" he yelled. "Those aren't your clothes! I paid for them. They 
belong to me! You get out of here, just the way you came in-with nothingl" 

Naomi looked at him contemptuously and then silently turned and walked out 
the door. 

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

The wind and rain swirled Naomi's opened raincoat about her like bat wings 
as she walked head down through the darkened Back Bay streets. The rain 
splashed against her flesh through the tears in her dress, but she walked 
unmindful of the discomfort. Her face was pinched and drawn, oblivious to 
the small puddles she splashed through, so intent was she on her thoughts. 

Now what? Go home? To what? With my mother hating me as a prostitute! I'd 
only bring her shame and misery. Back to Line? After what he did to me. 
After what he thinks! No! Randy? He might change his mind in a couple of 
days. But it would always be there. The fear. Knowing he'd throw me out when 
things got too tough. That he didn't really care. So then, there's nothing. 
Absolutely nothing! 

The rain beat down harder and she seemed to be walking aimlessly. With no 
direction. No purpose. She was going. Just going. Any place. No place. 

Maybe they're right. Maybe I really am ... a prostitute! Ready to sell 
myself, she pondered. I don't feel anything when they use me, take me. I 
just wanted to be loved and wanted, if only for those moments. Those short 
moments of love in a man's arms. Loved for myself. Is it wrong to want nice 
things? To, most of all, want to be cared about, needed, and wanted? And 
this is the only way they'll have me. With my body. 

Ohhh! she groaned inwardly. So lost. So alone! 

Her eyes penetrated the darkness around her, relieved only vaguely with rain 
blurred street lights. She heard a sound behind her, the low hum of a car 
motor, and she turned to see a dark silhouette inching along the curb, 
following her. 

It had, apparently, been following her for quite some time. Ignoring it and 
hurrying along in the night turning corners sharply didn't shake it. So she 
stopped. 

The car pulled to a stop at her side. The mist-covered window rolled down 
and a man stuck his head out to call. 

"Pretty wet out there, Miss." 

Naomi ignored him, aware of the intent behind the remark. 

"Going any place in particular? Want a lift?" he shouted. 

She was about to turn away. Where to? 

With a sway of her hips she walked over to the car and put her hand on the 
door, looking at the man. He was an old man, fat and disgusting. 

"What do you want, man?" 

As if she didn't know! 

"Hi," he greeted her nervously. 

Then his eyes opened wide as he saw the torn dress and her bare honey flesh 
gleaming through. 

"Looks like you had some trouble!" 

"Might say that, mister. Might," her words trailed off. 

"Looks like you could use some help," he said suggestively. 

"What have you got in mind?" 

He licked his lips with anticipation. 

"Well," he drawled boldly. "First thing would be to get you out of the 
rain." 

Silence. 

"Then you could dry off until the rain stopped. After that, I could take you 
home," he told her hopefully. 

"Haven't got a home!" she responded. 

There was a gleam in his eyes when he finally answered, "Then you could stay 
with me for a while?" 

Naomi straightened up and looked the car over. Big. Expensive. A man of 
means. Just how much? 

"Can you afford me, Mister?" 

His eyes roamed her body, her breasts and thighs. 

"I don't come cheap!" 

"If the merchandise is worth it, I'm willing to pay the price." 

Deliberately, she pulled open her dress to bare her whole body to him. Her 
luscious gold skin glistened where the rain struck it. And she could hear 
him suck in his breath at the sight. 

"Worth it?" she snarled. "Feel! See for sure." 

His fingers gingerly reached through the window and trembled at her smooth 
softness. "How high?" 

"My own apartment, clothes, money ... the works!" 

"Okay," he told her. "Get in. I'll take you to my place for tonight. It's 
too late to do anything else anyway. Besides, I want to-to test the 
merchandise before I pay for it!" 

Naomi gathered her raincoat and dress around her and moved to the other side 
of the car. There was a pretended eagerness as she slid onto the seat next 
to him. Quickly, he pulled away from the curb and headed down the rain-swept 
street. 

In the darkness of the car he couldn't see her face, couldn't see the 
flooding tears that sheened her face. 

After a little while he stopped, drawing into a vacant parking lot. 

"Come on, Baby," he said hoarsely. "Let's have a sample right away. Let's 
see if it's really true what they say about girls like you!" 

She'd sold herself, and now she was the itchy pants nigger slut again in the 
arms of a white man. She hated him. Hated herself. 

At first she wanted to resist. To fight him off. Just to show him she was no 
different from a white woman. But then desolation and need wrung her barren, 
dry of all hope, all reason. And her legs spread willingly. 

His mouth and hands were hot on her, crushing her body into his. Her body 
quivered with his gentle touch. And amid the strangling waves of re-morse, 
guilt, hate, and loneliness, rose the hunger and need that found its mate 
only in her loins, at the mercy of a male. 

"More. More!" she beseeched him, tugging at his clothes. 

"You're good. So good!" his words were lost in his maddening crush to her 
mouth. "God, so good." 

His moans were echoing in her throat. 

You're damned right I'm good, ofay! Her anger cried out in the echoing 
silence of her mind. I'd better be good! I've got to be good! 

That's all I've got left now ... All! 

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

It sure wasn't like Randy's apartment. This man might have money, but he had 
no taste in style nor was there evidence that he aided the maid in trying to 
keep the place presentable. He hurried about cleaning ashtrays and picking 
up clothes while she watched. 

"You don't intend to keep me in a place like this, do you?" she demanded. 

"Well, no," he stammered. "If I like what you can do, you can have what you 
want. But there's nothing I can do about it tonight." 

"I'm game," she told him standing near the bed, her coat and dress hanging 
loosely about her bruised and voluptuous flesh. 

He took so long. He just stood there! Looking at her through the tatters of 
her clothes. 

"Okay," she spit the word. "Haven't you ever paid fifty bucks for a lay 
before?" 

"Sure. Sure!" 

He came to her slowly, relishing the sight of her. 

His eyes tenderly caressed her rich breasts and rounded hips, the flat 
abdomen and dark muff of pubic hair at her crotch. "You're beautiful," he 
said. 

"That's my name," Naomi threw at him. "Naomi. Ma said that was why they 
picked it. Means ... I'm not making conversation for dough. You want action 
or talk at fifty a night?" 

"Fits you," he told her. "Naomi's a lovely name. You're lovely. But wasn't 
Naomi a wanderer, a-." 

"Don't pay much attention to the Bible anymore, mister. Now make up your 
mind. The body, or chatter." 

She ripped the remnants of her garments from her body and stood there 
waiting. The inane drone of his voice was driving her crazy. She hoped he'd 
get down to the basics of her cunt soon, because she just couldn't stand to 
talk anymore. Nothing to discuss. Nothing made sense. Only the joining of 
two bodies searching for love and union apart from a savage world. 

That was her only hope now. So long as she could find shelter in the arms of 
a man. Oblivion in the coupling of their bodies rocked by the sweet lullaby 
of momentary love and need. 

She stepped towards him, her heart imploring, please-please take me. Drive 
out the desolation and longing for even a little while. Fill me with the 
object of your loving. Make me know nothing else but the sweet bliss of 
union in your arms. 

"God, I want you!" he breathed taking her to him. 

Then take me. Damn it! Take me! She leaned into him with her pleading, 
thumping heart calling out to him. 

Like a blind man reading braille, he reached up and touched her, his fingers 
running like gentle spiders over her body, as though he had to find and know 
every hair, every pore, savor every curve and hollow, every drop of 
perspiration, memorize her body, so he could store it in the shrine of his 
mind. So light were his fingers she could scarcely feel them, like cobwebs 
blown across her skin, but at the same time they were warm, their touch like 
a shock of electricity which coursed through her limbs and made her feel 
almost alive. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, trembling 
uncontrollably. She heard the muted sound of pattering rain in the streets 
outside. 

Then just as she thought she could no longer stand his teasing fingers, she 
felt his warm lips on her stomach and then lower down at the juncture of her 
thighs. She put her hands on the back of his head and pressed it against 
her, murmuring: "Yes, yes. Oh, yes. Kiss me there." 

His lips found the ridges of pink flesh embedded in the encircling hedge of 
silky, black curls and his tongue the soft cleft between, which he licked 
and sucked deeply, tasting the salty-sweet liquor of her loins like a leech. 
Her head fell forward, her raven tresses-curtaining her quivering breasts 
and, moaning softly, she rocked and swayed as the agony of pleasure burned 
brighter within her until the final ecstasy made her whole body leap and 
shiver in a paroxysm of bliss, and she doubled over and fell on top of him, 
her still contracting pelvis rolling on his shoulder. 

He put his arms around her buttocks and lifted her gently to the bed. Her 
long, ebony tresses spread on the stark white of the pillow and the stark 
sheets embraced her golden contours like a soft jeweler's velvet cushion for 
a rare and precious diamond. 

He lay down beside her whispering, "Naomi, Naomi. You're so beautiful," and 
he put his mouth on hers, pulling her into him. 

She let her body respond, though every impulse told her she couldn't stand 
him. This was her last chance. So lost that in desperation she had to take 
the only love, the only abandonment that came her way. Her body was eager 
and searching as her lips and tongue tried to soothe the hurt within. 

His chest pressed against her tender breasts, his hands cradling her head, 
she moved her body, so that their bellies and thighs rubbed against each 
other. When she felt his hand searching her flesh, the sweet longing of lust 
began to kindle at her loins. 

He gently kneaded the pliant mounds of her tits and stirred their nipples to 
hard rubbery crests. His lips browsed in the damp female hollows of her 
neck, armpits, down to the valley between her breasts. The salty moisture 
was good and he licked it slowly, savoring each drop. Tantalizingly he 
sucked the tangy, soft breast while she strained against him. 

His warm fingers were scratching at her thighs and she splayed them 
willingly to his frantic plying. 

His tubby hands worked feverishly at the soft, velvety pussy. Under his 
prodding the gully of her slit moistened and became slick, lubricating with 
the oily nectars of love. Rough fingernails taunted and agravated the 
sensitive clitoris of her flooding pussy into a taut pink string that 
vibrated the gnawing vibrations of love through her groin. 

Then his head dropped and the sudden wetness of his slavering lips locking 
onto her throbbing and exposed clitoris froze her body as it was. 

A sharp new sensation rippled through her, and she felt all the tingling 
carnal passions that she had built up over all the years before suddenly and 
without warning, rushing up from her legs and belly and gurgling from her 
mouth in an uncontrollable torrent of pleading cries. 

"Oooh, God! Oooh, God!" she groaned over and over without ceasing as the 
tiny bud of her clitoris sprang into life that she never knew it possessed. 
He nibbled and sucked at it mercilessly in the sudden crazed passion that 
had overcome him. 

Her head rolled from side to side on the soft pillow, tangling the shining 
tresses of her hair. Her fingers clawed and tantalized his flesh, knowing 
every delicious weakness of the male body, until the stirring at her cunt 
became almost intolerable with its bliss. Nothing mattered now but the 
delicious rape of the mouth that was making wet sucking sounds down between 
her open and defenseless legs. All the sorrow and hurt, the shame and 
repulsion that had brought her here were as evasive as fleecy summer clouds 
caught on a sea breeze as the passion of their desires grew and took hold of 
them like wildfire. There was nothing she could do but buck and churn 
beneath that probing tongue that was burning fire into her young and 
starving pussy. 

And then, when she thought it would never end, he twisted around again, 
dropping heavily between her legs. He grasped her behind the knees and 
lifted her thighs high on either side of him. 

She heard the harsh metallic urgency of his zipper as he squirmed on the bed 
below her. Her delicate, anxious hands aided him swiftly, the pressing fire 
of her pussy making their haste imperative. Then he was naked. 

Naomi was beside herself. She had never felt so open and ready in her life. 
Perhaps her need had not yet ever been so great as at this moment when 
desperation had driven her to sell herself to a most un-likely and 
undesirable prospect. 

Her pelvis rotated in small hungry circles as he knelt between her open 
thighs, holding her legs in the air. He smiled down at her. 

"You're hot, baby. I'm gonna like this." 

"Hurry, mister," she implored, her pelvis making larger circles now. "Fuck 
me! Fuck me or I'll die!" 

Without hesitation he pulled her under him, the roughness of his movements 
lost to her urgent need. His hand directed his huge throbbing cock to the 
wet, quivering lips of her cunt, pausing for the slightest of movements to 
part the thin, raven pubic hair, and then plunging forward to rip without 
stopping through the thin, tight channel of her uterus. 

"Aaaggghhh!" she screamed, as the hot, blinding pain seared deep into her 
belly. 

Her arms jerked up involuntarily and she clung to him with all her strength 
as though she meant to hold him forever. Her contorted face and clenched 
eyes eased with the relaxing of her tight uterine muscles and acceptance of 
his swollen cock into the fiery confines of her womb. 

"Love me! Love me!" she cried. "Make it hurt! Make me feel it, man!" she 
cried out. 

As he began the sliding of his prick deep into her belly and slowly 
withdrawing it again, she joined his efforts, the sensations of her body 
merging into one great mass of indescribable joy. 

"Ooohhh, yesss," she hissed as they rotated together and he ground his long, 
hard pole into her in mighty thrusts. 

He groaned as he felt the muscles deep inside her belly answering the 
pulsating throbs of his steel-hardened cock. The tight, wet walls of her 
cunt contracted around his turgid staff as though frightened of losing it. 
He could hold himself back no longer and began the slow teasing grinding in 
and out between her thighs in earnest. 

The tightness of her clasping around him like soft warm butter, the walls of 
her cunt held to him in an animalistic desperation as he withdrew slowly and 
then thrust forward again to sink his massive cock deep down inside her. 

Her pelvis began a faster rotation now, her buttocks gyrating and writhing 
down into the soft mattress with a sudden abandon that took him by surprise. 
Mewling sounds of passion and lust rolled from her lips in waves of sound 
that he could not understand but that his body reacted to in the age-old 
rhythm of intercourse that was as old as man himself. He levered up on his 
toes and dropped his hands down under them to cup the quivering mounds of 
her buttocks so that he could fuck deeper down into her. 

"Aaahhh! Ooohhh!" Naomi groaned and twisted her body like a tortured snake 
beneath him. 

Thrusting her loins up at him as he pounded down into her to take the whole 
of his expanding cock far down inside the warm hot sheath of her pussy. 

Naomi rocked in a dream world of obscene and uncontrolled lust under his 
driving body. She could feel the soft slap of his balls against the tightly 
clenched cheeks of her buttocks and the strength of his hands as they 
kneaded and tore at her tender flesh like the talons of a giant striking 
bird. She struggled like a demon to open her thighs wider, to take him 
further into her belly, but she couldn't. He was sunk as far into her as he 
could go, but she wanted more. 

"Fuck harder. Fuck harder!" she begged as she felt him thrust his massive 
hardness into her with longer and longer strokes. 

A strange, dancing delight of fire was building far down in her quivering 
belly that drove her churning torso on and on in its wild quest for the 
luscious sensation building and building in every pore of her sweating body. 

Her muscles contracted tightly around his plunging cock and she cried out 
wildly as her dam broke from the depths of her womb, spilling forth the 
nectars of her love. Soon his strong rhythmic dives set off another 
explosion of delight. Her buttocks rotated against the yielding mattress 
like a helpless ship caught in the vicious waves of a driving storm. She 
arched her back like a bow, her breasts pointing upward, trembling and 
swirling in the jerking circles of her quickened movements to meet the 
mounting urgency she could feel pulsating through the head of his pulsing 
rod sunk so deep inside her hungry cunt. 

The giant explosion ripped her belly apart. Hot, white jets of his sperm 
erupted and flooded into her, filling her womb with a warmth and sensation 
of comfort and satiation. She could feel it racing around in the fathomed 
flood-gates of love's dam. She jerked her legs uncontrollably out in the air 
on either side of his spasmodically, grinding hips and a great flash of 
erotic fire leaped up inside her and exploded in a volcanic eruption of her 
own orgasm. 

Aaaah! Aaaah!" she moaned whipping at his shoulders and bent torso pumping 
wildly into her loins. The muscles of her hips and belly contracted in 
rolling waves of spasm, the pulsating walls of her hot, sperm filled pussy 
sucking the last drops from his still spurting cock, until finally, weak and 
exhausted, they stopped and fell limply into the soft embrace of the 
mattress. 

They lay for some time, panting and gasping, the smell of their wet orgasm 
and the odor of perspiration overpowering the closed atmosphere of the musty 
room. 

His heavy frame was warm upon her naked flesh and the memory of sweet 
oblivion in their coition helped to lull the growing awareness within her. 

The sound of the rain beating on the window and the tempo of his heart beat 
on the soft swell of her breast gave dull continuing relief after their 
union. 

Naomi let herself drift off to sleep, feeling the relief of momentary need 
and friendship. 

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

"You lied to me, Naomi," the man said looking down at her in the bed. 

She looked up at the fat old man as he paced the room. What was he talking 
about, she tensed in wonder, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she lifted 
herself to look at him in the half-light of the room. The rain had stopped 
and the gray light of morning was starting to fill the room. 

"You're no prostitute, and you charged me fifty bucks. You cheated me!" 

"Cheated you? How?" she finally asked. "And what makes you say I'm not a 
hooker?" 

"Because you didn't give a damn whether you satisfied me or not. Your only 
concern was with yourself. With your enjoyment. And there isn't a whore in 
the world that operates that way. I oughta know, I've been to bed with most 
of them!" 

Naomi lay stiff and silent as before. Not because she was afraid of him, but 
because she knew it was true. She hadn't thought of him at all during the 
act, she had been completely absorbed with her own completion and 
satisfaction. 

More, she would find it difficult to become a lay for money without the 
attitude of the man being satisfied rather than being concerned first with 
herself. She knew the only reason she was here was because of her anger and 
frustration with Randy. And it would take more than that to create the right 
attitude for living as a whore. 

She knew then that she could never really sell her body. Share it with 
someone, yes. But she couldn't let him buy it. 

In a tired voice she told him, "You're right. And you can have your fifty 
back if you want. Maybe I did cheat you." 

He sat down beside her, surveying her torso tentatively. His stubby fingers 
traced the bronze contours of her full breasts and the dark ruby nipples. 
She shivered at the tingling sensation he caused. 

"You've got a body that was made for loving, Naomi. Do you know that?" 

She shrugged indifferently, aware of the chills that his touch were bringing 
back to life. 

"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Lead me on like you did. Do what you did to 
me in the car?" 

He watched a blush tinge her face in the dim light and finally asked, "You 
were getting even with someone, weren't you?" 

She looked at him in surprise, "How did you know that?" 

He shrugged as if it were unimportant. 

"Should have figured it out when I saw your ripped dress. And then when you 
came into the apartment. Prostitutes don't act like you do. You were getting 
even with someone, weren't you? What's the matter, did you have a light with 
your boy friend?" 

Suddenly he wasn't a round, fat, ugly old man anymore. She was still having 
trouble answering, but she felt his interest in her somehow not just as a 
body, but as a person. 

"How come you know so much about prostitutes, man?" 

He laughed, "Holden, Honey. Holden Sherwin, not man or mister. How come I 
know about hookers? Look at me. Do you think I could get a woman unless I 
didn't pay for it? I'm old and fat and ugly. No young beautiful thing is 
gonna go for someone like me. Especially ... especially someone who looks 
like you." 

A sudden wave of compassion for him drowned Naomi. For she understood the 
agony that he lived with. In a sense she could relate it to her own. At that 
moment she ceased to think of him as anything but a man, a good man, and a 
friend. One who hadn't really used her but who had no other recourse to the 
satisfying of his needs. 

"Don't you have anyone?" she whispered sympathetically. 

"Like my wife?" was the hurt answer as he reached into the drawer of the 
bedside stand to pull out the portrait of a young and beautiful woman in, 
perhaps, her late thirties. 

Though there was a hardness about her mouth and eyes, there was also an 
undeniable sensuality in her face. 

"With a wife like that, why do you need someone like me ... or a ... 
hooker?" 

He turned to stare at the photograph, and she could see the hurt and 
loathing in his eyes. 

"Verna's only interested in one thing from me. My money. She tricked me into 
marrying her, even though I can't prove it. And as soon as she had that ring 
on her, that was it. We live in the same house, and yet we don't. If you 
know what I mean. The only time I ever see her is when she needs some more 
money. But she won't divorce me. She's told me that. 

"Won't even settle for money. Says why should she settle for a piece of the 
estate when she can get the whole thing when I pop off. So I pay for some 
woman to pretend that for one night she loves me. Because everybody needs to 
be loved, even if you have to pretend. That's why I keep this crummy 
apartment to get away from Verna and not be reminded of my money. Can you 
understand, Naomi?" he concluded desperately, as if it were very important 
she did. 

She nodded slowly, "I think so, Holden. That's why you wanted me to become 
your mistress, wasn't it? So you could have me all the time and not have to 
pretend. I'd be with you all the time so it wouldn't be like I was 
prostitute, like you were really paying for my love. That's it, isn't it?" 

He nodded imperceptibly and then rose, his face white with anger. Turning so 
she couldn't see, his fists clenching and unclenching furiously, suddenly he 
smashed the picture of his wife against the side of the dresser. 

"I--I'm sorry, Naomi," he mumbled incoherently. "I shouldn't have lost my 
temper. It was silly of me." 

She studied him, noting how much older and more tired he seemed. Here was 
someone alone like herself. 

"No, it wasn't silly, Holden," she comforted him, patting the mattress at 
her side. "Now why don't you come back here. Where ... where you belong." 

"Where I belong?" he asked regarding her suspiciously, as if he didn't 
believe what he heard. 

Naomi nodded, "Where you belong. Like you said, I lied to you. Cheated you. 
I was only thinking of myself. Now-now I want to make it up to you!" 

Gratitude filled his face and she greeted him warmly with a tight embrace of 
her arms when he returned to her on the bed. 

"Besides," she continued, holding him tight to her naked breasts, "if I'm 
going to be-your mistress, I've got to find out what you like ... and how 
you like it!" 

In answer, he cupped her head in his hands and crushed her mouth to his. For 
a long time they ravaged the succulent love juices of the other's mouth, 
sucking and draining the goodness of their sharing in need. 

His breath came heavy and labored and he moved to her breasts to manipulate 
and caress their softness into hard fullness, nibbling the thick crests into 
maroon spikes of rubbery substance. 

Naomi let him course the reaches of her torso, sucking her salty crevices 
and swells. Enjoying and fondling all her female treasures as he made his 
way into the boiling wet trench of her cunt. She grew hot and passionate in 
the knowing tracery of his sensitive fingertips. The molten, bubbling ardor 
in the pit of her womb began its strange provocative beat, swelling and 
magnifying until her whole being was writhing and gyrating in his arms, 
charged with the magnetic omnipotence of ancient, primitive lust. 

"No. No," she swallowed hard trembling and contorting below the devouring, 
love-starved adoration of her lover. "Please. Let me make you happy this 
time. Let me try, learn. Please! I want to give this time, not share!" 

His hungry lips continued on at her nipples, slathering them with the 
nectars of his worship. And his fingers were still plying at her pussy. 

"Let me! Please, I'll show you I can make a man happy!" she gasped into the 
wispy gray-white hair. "I want to love you!" 

Their eyes met with wonder and then her thundering heart seemed to quell as 
she stroked the sad, lined cheeks, kissing the furrows of age and suffering. 

At her gentle nudging he lay upon the mattress while she crawled over him. 
Quietly and pliantly, he lay there submitting to her tender ministrations 
while she eagerly perused his face watching for signs that she was 
accomplishing her purpose. 

For the first time in her life she wanted to give. Wanted to make someone 
happy, not for what they could give her, but for what joy they would 
recieve. His happiness would be hers this time. Though he didn't know it, or 
yet trust her caring, for she was paid loving. She was going to try to prove 
to him and to herself that she could give as well as take loving. That she, 
too, could bring the happiness and security of caring to another as lonely 
as she. 

Soft, tender lips of amber she placed on his and let him feel her luscious, 
taut breasts and pointed nipples on his chest, as she explored his mouth 
with the warmth of her giving. Her tongue was hot and filling in the empty 
void of his aching throat. 

Her body pressed his with intent and soothing female silkiness. 

Holden moaned softly at the sight and touch of her pliant tits and soft, 
warm pussy. His fingers searched her longingly, but that haunted look that 
only loneliness and lack of love can know was still there. 

Naomi's gestures became more furtive, more insistent. Her tapered fingers 
rubbed through the silver hair of his chest and pinched his male nipples 
with a tenderness she didn't know she possessed. Gentle kisses made them 
taut and burgeoning thumbs of walnut against the shining fur and snowy skin. 

She could feel his legs jerking spastically at her moistening cunt. He was 
hot, and she realized it was time to fulfill her intent or lose her willing 
subject to complete his own needs. 

I just have to prove to him-to myself-I can do it, she brooded desperately. 
Got to show it's in me to give. Started out wanting love and acceptance and 
here I am gaining acceptance by making love to someone else rather than the 
reverse. How ironic. 

How strange! A nigger girl bringing love and happiness to a rejected ofay! 
Just doesn't make sense! 

The odor of their sweat and the scent of passion rose again in the closed, 
musty room. It was suffocating, but Naomi was too anxious about her efforts 
to care. 

She held the milky-white cock in her grasp like a pagan priestess with her 
cobra, wriggling and flaring its ruby head with pride and disdain commanding 
her homage and obedience. Milk-white etched with the royal blue of veins 
lacing the transparent thinness of his skin, it rose cloaked in a heavy 
ridged and wrinkled mantle that fell to a sable cushioned groin. 

With delicate striving, she smoothed the wrinkled mantle of the rising 
prick, up and down the shaft of its being. Slowly, enticingly, she drew the 
loose foreskin of his flesh back and forth along the ballooning entity of 
his cock, watching the long blue vein that traversed its being swell, and 
pulsate as it coursed up to the flaming crown. 

"Ooohhh!" Holden trembled ecstatically. 

There was the half gleam of pleasure in her eyes at his reaction. But his 
pale face, dove-gray with a thick stubble of unchecked beard, registered no 
fulfillment of his real need. So she summoned all the prowess her years had 
garnered in the search for her forbidden fruit. 

Tucked in her coppery palm were his balls. She had slid them carefully from 
the nest of their coarse textured pubic hair in his groin. Her 
carefully-manicured nails grazed the surface of the flaccid, parchment-aged 
sacs of indigo. Titillating them with cunning and skill, Naomi mused at how 
different were these dark balls from those massive testicles of leather at 
Line's crotch and how more mottled a purple were the younger, sweeter sacs 
of Randy ... But, she looked up into Holden's mature, disconsolate visage 
and knew that was where the greater difference lay. All these, balls and 
prick, objects of love, were a means to the end every man and woman needed. 
They were secondary and yet the manner by which, through all eternity, two 
individuals could be joined together as one in the fulfillment of the more 
poignant emotional and spiritual desires. 

So she cradled the blue testicles in her palm, massaging and drawing them to 
fullness, turgid twin pouches in which the substance of life sprung from a 
fathomless well and inched its way up into the great flesh of its companion 
prick. 

Naomi stroked them into fullness and when the first drop of froth oozed 
forth upon the crest of his prick, she tasted it thoughtfully as a 
connoisseur savoring the nectars of the gods. 

Her mouth fitted over the vastly expanded prick and she felt it pulsate in 
her sensitive cavity with the tense excitement of its burgeoning magnitude 
and power. 

In the hollow of her tongue she rolled the rubbery cock, its wrinkles taut 
with the swelling of its volume. The heat of her own mouth combined with his 
torrid, sweating prick's own emanating waves to make her sensitive internal 
flesh a boiling mass of molten living matter. 

Voraciously, her taste buds swirled about the quaking prick, her teeth 
daintily nibbling at the ever-increasing mass of raw, frothing flesh. It 
filled her small mouth ludicrously, her eyes bulging with fantastic delight 
and abandon at the bobbing human sausage within her. 

"Aaauuunnnggghhh!" moaned the man on the pillow, his white face contorted 
with the delirium of his ravishing. 

Naomi sucked harder and faster, her teeth taunting the bursting seams of his 
prick. One fist still clenched and unclenched around his raging balls as it 
titillated them to produce their sperm at a faster rate. 

"Ooohhh, God! God! Naomi! Naomi!" Holden wailed. "Can't stand it. Can't., 
.come ... comm-minng!" 

His cock drove in and out of her mouth ferociously, in long steady drives. 
In and out. In and out. His hands clawed at her head, guiding her action as 
his prick fucked her orally, frantically and continuously. Her head followed 
his lead for what seemed an eon while the raw, throbbing prick raped her 
with such a force that her jaw seemed to break and her tongue was nearly 
wrenched from her throat. 

With a sudden shattering quake that ripped at their two enmeshed torsos, he 
exploded. The rich, abundant cream of love and being choked and filled her 
as she fought frantically to consume every precious drop. Nearly strangling 
on the pumping throttle of his prick, Naomi gluttonously devoured the 
fountain cascading its nectars into her throat and belly. 

Even when his deflated cock finally sputtered to a halt and lay tranquil in 
the confines of her wet, gasping oral cunt, Naomi was milking his shrinking 
balls for the last dribble of come. And when she had partaken, only then did 
she release the hot, wet prick. 

Gently she laid the spent and flaccid member to its hollow in the wet, rough 
nest of its groin. She patted it gently, fondly, and then looked up to see 
the panting man on the pillow. 

He had given a mighty cry when he finally had come, and now the lines of his 
face were relaxed and smooth. Under the gray fuzz of his beard, she saw a 
pink flush spreading. And when he looked into her eyes she caught the 
radiance of mutual trust. 

"You were good, Naomi," he breathed softly. "Damned good!" 

And she believed him. Coming down into the circle of his trusting arms, she 
believed him. His happiness, his satiation and content, was hers. 

"So this is where I belong," he mused thoughtfully. "For the first time in 
my life, I believe that. And I like it." 

She regarded him solemnly, her glance probing long and hard for the answer, 
for the truth of his contentment, and hers. And she found it with a cry of 
gladness. 

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

"Naomi, have you decided?" Holden asked as the warm sunlight began to fill 
their room. "Decided?" 

"Will you stay with me?" 

"If you still want me," she assured him. "So long as I satisfy you, I shall 
be glad to be ... be your mistress." 

"Naomi," intoned the happy voice. "Satisfied? I've never had anybody take 
care of me like you just did." 

Her smile flooded her face, a feeling of contentment and a sense of 
accomplishment that she had never known before burned with pride inside. 

"Then, I meant what I said. I'm yours." 

"Oh, Naomi," he cried with sudden emotion and happiness, crushing her to 
him. 

After a moment he drew her away to question seriously "Are you really sure, 
honey. You're young and beautiful. I can't kid myself with my ugliness and 
fat. Besides I'm old enough to be your father." 

How could she tell him? He had been like a haven in her storm. He was an 
anchor of security when all else had failed and abandoned her. Both knew the 
agony of desolation, and it bound them together. 

She wanted him not for what he could give her materially, but for the 
spiritual and emotional gifts and solace that their kindred souls had so 
long quested and found in each other. Looking deep into his eyes she tried 
to muster the verbal meaning that she felt, to tell him. But he knew 
already. Perhaps that was it. He knew. She didn't have to struggle with 
words. 

Her arms embraced him and her lips and body tried to express herself in the 
only way she knew how. He was warm and yielding and they melted together in 
the sympathy and understanding of giving. 

Suddenly she was aware of an abrupt stiffness in his body. A stiffness born 
of fear and surprise. She followed his eyes, and saw that he was staring 
toward the door. Naomi turned her head to see what he was looking at. 

And looked into the cruel angry face of Verna! 

Naomi smothered a cry of fright and quickly buried her face into Holden's 
chest. His arms went about her protectively. 

"How sweet," the hard voice from the door hissed. "How sweet and touching!" 

Naomi forced herself to look back at the other woman. And it was then she 
saw the gun gripped tightly in her fist. 

"What are you doing here, Verna?" Holden asked carefully. 

It was obvious he didn't want to provoke or upset the angry woman any 
further. 

"What do you think I'm doing here! Protecting my interests, that's what ... 
I'm doing...!" 

Naomi started to get out of the bed but a wave of the gun kept her pinned to 
the mattress. 

"Don't move, bitch," Verna ordered. "I wanna be sure and get a good picture 
of my husband in bed with his whore-lover!" 

"Picture?" Naomi heard him question. "Do you mean a photograph? Something 
you can use as evidence in a court? Are you going to divorce me? You don't 
need the picture. I'll give you whatever you want-as much as you want!" 

"Not that kind of picture, stupid," the woman snarled. "I meant an image in 
my brain. Of course I'm not going to divorce you. Why should I, when I can 
wait and get everything? No, I just want a picture of the two of you so I 
can always remember how you looked when I kill her!" 

"Kill her!" 

Naomi waited breathlessly, afraid to move. 

"Yes, kill her! And there isn't a court in the land that'll convict me. I 
was protecting my home and my marriage. That's what I'll tell them. And you 
think they won't believe me. Especially when they find out what she is-a 
damn whore!" 

"Don't do it, Verna," he pleaded. 

But the savage laughter from the figure by the door told her the answer. 

"Why not? The whole thing is perfect. Too per-feet. It took me months to 
find this little love nest of yours. Private detectives cost me plenty. And 
if you think I'm gonna throw this opportunity away, you're even more stupid 
than I think you are!" 

Then with slow deliberateness, she raised the pistol and pointed it at 
Naomi. 

"Don't do it!" Holden shouted and then he lunged forward just as she pulled 
the trigger. 

His hands were thrust forward in front of him as if he were trying to ward 
off the bullets and Naomi saw the rigid sudden recoil of his body as the 
slugs tore into him. He had deliberately moved in front of her to protect 
her from Verna, and in so doing had moved into the path of fire. 

"Ohhh, God!" Naomi shrieked at the realization. 

Suddenly she found herself scrambling on her hands and knees toward his 
slumping body. And she cradled him in her arms, oblivious to the bright 
crimson bath of his blood against her honey-colored skin. 

He stiffened for one final moment and fell limp in her arms. Though she knew 
he was dead, she continued to rock him back and forth in the cradle of her 
embrace. And while she did, her tears flooded down onto his upturned silent 
face. 

"That's right, bitch," she was aware of Verna cursing at her. "Cry. Why 
shouldn't you, you've just lost your meal ticket. I heard what he offered 
you. Apartment. Clothes. Everything. No wonder you're crying. So would I, if 
I was going to lose something like that!" 

But Naomi wasn't crying because of the loss of her material luxuries. Not 
even for herself, at all. 

For the first time she was weeping for someone else. 

For the still, silent form in her arms. For he was the only man who had been 
good to her. The only man who had really wanted to give to her. The only one 
who hadn't used her. 

Someone who had cared. Someone good had wanted her. Wanted her for herself. 

And now he was gone. 

He'd never know what she had to offer him. Never know the joys and pleasures 
that she'd wanted to give to him. He'd freed her and now she couldn't repay 
him-in the only way she knew how. 

With her love! 

Filled for just a few moments. Their aching voids had been filled such a 
short time! 

Slowly she lifted her tear-sheened face and looked at Verna. 

"Shoot me," she said in a hard voice. "You'd better kill me while you still 
have a chance. Because if you don't I'm going to kill you!" 

She started to get up and the force of the bullets drove her back to a 
sitting position on the bed. There was a soft happy smile on her face as her 
body began to fold and crumple. Then she fell across him and in a last 
feeble effort embraced him. 

"Stupid fools," Verna cursed down at them contemptuously. "What did she 
think I was going to do, let her walk out of here and tell the police that I 
shot him down in cold blood? This way, they'll believe my story about being 
the wronged woman-with a good lawyer, I'll have no trouble getting away with 
it!" 

She chuckled for a moment, thinking of her plan, imagining her tearful, 
choking story in court and the sympathetic jurors wringing their hands over 
her plight. They would think of that mulatto whore and senile old man the 
young wife had devoted herself to. 

And she began to laugh hysterically. How wonderful! How stupidly moronic and 
sniveling of those people! But that's how they'd be especially with a 
filthy, money-hungry black bitch in the picture. How nicely it all worked 
out. How nicely! 

The contempt was still in her face as she continued to stare down at them 
and then, because of the expression on Naomi's face, Verna had to turn away. 

A woman always knows when she's looking at another woman who has loved and 
who has been loved ... in return. 


THE END
