Bewildering White Girls (Part II) –Barton Pham

“Lincoln, this is really exciting,” said Della.

“Which part?” I asked.

Was it that we both relaxed for long enough to be seen by each other? Was it that I just promised to lick her pussy – somewhat spontaneously? Maybe it was our subtle beginnings of confessing our racially explicit fantasies. My slight admission to Della was more information than I had given to most women about it. I was encouraged by her hesitant verbal steps in that same direction.

“Lincoln…” she said, drawing out my name,”…you know.”

I did know. It stuck out for each of us, awkward signposts of unfulfilled sexual desires. It’s like my grandpa explained whenever I balked at how he untangled my many scams and schemes. “Fox knows fox.”

Whenever I find myself in a position where social grace isn’t well defined, I tend to be direct – then I gauge a reaction. I looked toward Della who was watching the pavement.

“Because you have a thing for wanting to have a sexual experience with an Asian-American guy,” I said. She smiled and suppressed a laugh by tightening her lips. She wouldn’t look up.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I ask pressing on. “What else do you like?”

She can feel my eyes and gives me a smile to let me know she does like the attention but has become shy again. I slow our pace and then I stand in front of her and hold both her hands in mine. Her hands are cold but still soft – always soft.

“Two and a half weeks,” I say, “that’s the time we have left before we both have to go.”

Della looks up at me, as she stands a half foot shorter than me, and says nothing for five seconds

“Lincoln… I feel embarrassed now. I don’t like this,” she said. Her brow was furrowed.

“I asked you straight up because I figure if we have chemistry, then we should take advantage of the time we have. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” I said.

“I feel like you think I’m racist,” she said plainly.

“No… I… I was drawing it out because it turns me on too… in that same way,” I said.

“Like you love white pussy?” Della asked. It was her turn to be direct.

“Yes, I said,” turning bright red, “I do love white pussy.”

“Why would you be emb…”

“It’s complicated,” I interject. “It might be better if we talk about it another time.”

“Oh okay, right” said Della.

So there we were, both of our social racial faux pas hanging out. We had begun walking in silence and neared my apartment. I broke the ice again,

“Look Della, we’re into each other, we both have this… compatibility, let’s play this thing honest and see where it goes. What do you think? I mean, we can ask each other for anything – no judgment – whatever turns us on for two and a half weeks. We can look into deep racist meanings later because I don’t think that drives either of us.”

“I like that,” she said, looking into my eyes now. We were standing on the small concrete patio outside the front door. “Anything?” she repeated, her glance moving upward in thought.

“Yeah, I think so.”

I fumbled for my keys a moment, unlocked the door and gestured inward.

“Anything?” she repeated, walking ahead of me down to the foyer.

“Of course, anything. I’m going to be narrating the pounding of your tight little white pussy hole,”

“Fine,” Della said, with a smile creeping onto her face. “if you’re going to be like that… go ahead and give Benny a call because this tight little white pussy has always wanted two Asian men at once.”

She was using half joking tones, but the truth was there for anyone who wanted to hear it. I picked up my mobile phone and started unlocking it.

“What are you doing Lincoln?” she asked, half knowing the answer.

I teased her a little, “I’m calling Benny to see if he’ll come here and help me fuck this apparently insatiable slut.”

“Jesus, Lincoln, you make me wet… but I don’t know if I really could,” she said.

I set the phone down, sat next to her and held her hands. They were cold again. I leaned in, gave her a very soft kiss and said,

“Two and a half weeks… but we do this all the way or not at all. Now, tell me the truth. Do you want two Asian men to fuck?”

She was nodding, smiling, her mind already somewhere else. She became present again, and said. “Yes. I do want that. Call Benny.”

—Continues to Part III

8 thoughts on “Bewildering White Girls (Part II) –Barton Pham

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