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A relaxing afternoon alone takes a different turn.

"HOLY FUCKIN' SHIT," Terri shouted as she grabbed for the phone.

Timmy saw Shannen's pale face turn instantly red. He felt the urge to slap Terri for her inappropriate loud voice. He also wanted to slap Shannen for her bugged eyes that never left the photo, and he really wanted to beat the shit out of Cyn for the shame he felt, which he mistook for rightful indignation.

"Now THAT'S the real FUCKIN' Jamaica right there," Cyn proclaimed. "Now THAT'S a real man! That RASTA MUTHA FUCKA would tear your little pussy up for real, Shan! All FUCKIN' night and all FUCKIN' day, bitch! You really want to feel THAT? Don't lie now you little cunt.

"The saying isn't, 'Once you go BLACK, you never go back.' It's, 'Once you go BLACK, you CAN'T go back!' It's like, 'Get that little shit outta here, dude. Gimme some of that REAL BLACK DICK!' Forever and ever, bitch! Word the fuck up!"

She stared at Timmy with a FUCK YOU look as she said it. His shame erupted.

"If one of those mandingo fuckin' niggers touch you, I'll come down there and fuck him up," he said too loud.

Others at the bar turned his way. Cyn and Terri cackled. Shannen looked down in embarrassment and at the unspoken truth Cyn let fly.

Cyn sprinkled salt on the back of her hand. Licked it off like it was the enormous head of that Black man's enormous cock. She downed a double shot of Patron. Sucked on a lemon wedge. Put her arm around Shannen. Pulled her friend tight. Their tits mashed. She put a Newport between her small, thin lips. Didn't light it. Just let it hang.

"Your skinny white ass ain't gonna fuck nobody up, bitch," she said to Timmy.

Cyn was as white as the rest of them, with sun spots dotting her cleavage. She liked to brag she had fucked Black men, many times. Felt this gave her some sort of street cred. It reflected awkwardly in her speech patterns, especially when drinking, like a white politician lecturing a black crowd about matters of race to show he was down in hopes of garnering their votes.

"You're like, what, a buck-thirty," Cyn said. "You couldn't fight your way outta a paper bag. The bruthas would fuck YOU up, bitch! If you were in prison, they'd make you their sissy white faggot."

A Black couple sitting across the bar became irritated at the conversation they helplessly overheard. The woman, tall and with a regal close-cropped afro, took note how the white bitch had automatically associated Black men with prison ... and rape. Her full mouth twisted into a snarl.

Timmy noticed the man, his white linen shirt contrasting against his dark skin, mean-eyeing him, probably - definitely - for his use of the word "nigger." Timmy got SCARED. He wanted to spew all his hatred at Cyn for eviscerating him, wanted to plead to the Black man how he wasn't really racist. Instead, Timmy climbed down off his barstool and headed to the bathroom to flee the Black man's glare.

When he got up, Timmy realized he was rock hard and, needlessly, tried to hide it. After all, it's not like anyone would have noticed. Cyn's phone lay on the bar. The big Black dick was all in his face. The Black man across the bar was still glaring at him. Timmy noticed the man's feet rested comfortably on the floor, though the stool he sat atop was very high. Timmy got REALLY SCARED. The girls sensed his fear. Cyn giggled. Emasculated to the max. Timmy's dick got harder. Not that anyone would have noticed.

In the bathroom, Timmy sidled up to the urinal. Pulled his dick out. Rock hard. Three inches. Maybe four? Totally insignificant. Nothing at all like that fuckin' Jamaican man's huge fuckin' Black fuckin' cock. His was pink, like a dog's weewee. Cum dripped from its head. Pathetic, he thought, I ain't shit.

Uncontrollably, moving images of the Black man in the pic fucking Cyn HARD from behind flashed through Timmy's mind. Her freckled tits flying around in all sorts of directions.

He saw Shannen's bug-eyed look, which wasn't really bugged, but wide with fascination

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