By
Terryln (2003) edited by SlickPsych (2012)
Miss
O'Shea was startled to hear a tumultuous commotion towards the front of the
library. She put a pile of books down and walked swiftly to the front desk,
where a new student to University was throwing books over the counter at her
young female assistant. His language horrified her, and the vulgarity sent
chills up her back. But as the authority of the library she was immediately
obligated to intervene; she was nervous walking up to him.
“Now
young man, I wont have that language used in here... can you please eloquently
express your qualms?'”
He
turned to look at her with a glint of disdain in his luring dark brown eyes.
She could tell he was a rouge bull type tethered with a thin chain. The way he
used his size to intimidate others showed not only immaturity, but a lack of
empathy. He curtly replied, in a tone of diffidence: 'Why don't you fuck off old
lady! I ain't payin’ no fuckin book fines you hear!?”
“Young sir, your language is disrespectful.” Miss O’Shea walked over to the
ingénue manning the front desk, and the beautiful young lady got out of the
chair and allowed Miss O’Shea to sit and access the computer. “Now, Mr…” Miss
O’Shea looked at the computer to find his name… “Mr. Brown, your fine is only
$20 dollars.”
“Fuck
lady where I come from spending $20 on a book is ridiculous… neva mind if it
ain’t one you don’t even own.”
“Understandable,
Mr. Brown, but you’ve had the book on loan for 5 weeks. That’s only about seven
cents a day after the due date.”
“Listen lady, I’m here to help this pathetic basketball team. That’s it. I
gotta go to class at this here fucked up racist university ta keep up a show.
So, here’s ya damn book.”
He threw the book defiantly at the assistant, Patricia. He even had the
temerity to wink at her as he did it. He then reached into his pocket, on his
sagging camouflage pant, his arm muscles contracting as he did. His white wife
beater was obviously a way for him to show off his great arms and accent his
skin tone: it was a beautiful shade of brown. His redoubtable size only added
to the hyper masculine appearance which he used so unashamedly to assert his
dominance. And his 6’2” figure only gave his ego more room to be too big for
any space in which he existed.
As
disgusted as Catherine O’Shea was with him, she nonchalantly looked over at the
handsome man. Not too many black students matriculate to this school. It has a
reputation for being a breeding ground for the typical elitist crowds who come
from old money. For political reasons, the school had to diversify. And being
the backwards social environment that it was, they of course chose to bring the
worst of stereotypical racial projections. A black youth with a penchant
towards being self-righteous who was also an athlete from the ghetto was a
great way to sharpen the schools double edged-sword: to get a regional
championship before he was put on probation and/or kicked off the school/team.
More conniving: to say, on paper, that they had given every opportunity to him,
but he didn’t take them.
His
heavy argot and commanding voice broke Miss O’Shea out of her perspicacious
analysis:
“And ta
show yous all that I’m a good sport, here be $5.00 for ya trouble.” He threw
the five dollar bill on the floor. “But yous all can pick it up.”
He
turned on his heels and walked out, leaving poor Patricia sobbing.
“Well,
I never!” Catherine O'Shea was almost fifty-five, but often seemed older with
her fastidious ways and her old-fashioned clothes and her greying hair dyed in
a blonde bun. Her spectacles always gleamed with an air of quiet efficiency.
She turned to face Patricia, and invited her in for a hug.
“There, there child,” she coddled the young adult as if she were a mother… She
had been the chief librarian at the school for almost twenty years. A competent
language expert and librarian - a real quiet type.
“Miss
O’Shea, why do they let those black kids act like that?”
“I
don’t know, dear,” was all Miss O’Shea could say. In the back of her mind, she
thought it such a shame for any human to be so malignant. She also thought back
to her college days, and the youthful excitement and hope they had for
integration. Decades later, and it seems like one generation is askew from that
hope. She thought about how horrible it was that jealously, greed, and
competition had replaced an ethos of cooperation, comrade, and mutual respect.
As she
was holding Patricia, Miss O’Shea thought more intensely for a moment, and
realized that she need not put on flowery rose glasses. As a closeted lesbian,
even to this day to an extent, she had never been the mold for the values of
the school for which she worked… nor was she ever really much of a leader. So
introverted, so repressed, and deep down so bitter… she was no better than Mr.
Brown.
Miss
O’Shea broke her hug with Patricia, who seemed a little disappointed. The two
had worked together since Patricia was a freshmen at the school. Now in her
senior year, and having built a solid rapport based on watching a youth grow
into a young woman, it was an unspoken attraction that both had for the other.
But because of “their ways….” Neither would let anything happen. This rapport seemed
destined to go the way of lustful wishing and private masturbation.
Miss
O’Shea sighed and then stooped wearily to pick the tattered texts up from the floor.
She looked lovingly at Patricia and suggested that she go ahead and leave for
the day. Miss O’Shea looked back at the computerized index system…. the young boy’s face came leering cockily
from the screen - a handsome black youth
nonetheless, she thought. LeRoy Brown. 25. Basketball scholarship. Champion
track and field.
She
continued to read and confirmed her assumptions. He was a real jock. She
mumbled under her breath as she read his record: “No wonder he’s so old and
still in college, he’s been in and out of prison for misdemeanors. Wonder how
many cocks were sucked to get him a spot here… even if only for semester or
two.” She hated being so cynical, but she knew, as the young folk say, “what
time it is.”
She
came back to Earth and sighed. A hot temper of a delinquent all right. As she
read on, she looked over to the wall adjacent to her. It was five o’clock on a
Friday afternoon. Under the clock was a picture of her. She despised that
picture - and her fake dyed hair.
“Oh
well, I suppose I will have to report him to the committee on Monday,” she
mumbled and sighed as she put one elbow on the desk. She looked again at his
picture. “You don’t know how good you really do have it, kid. All you’d have to
do is be better.”
She
closed up the library and walked past the newly built athletes dormitory for
students who came from out of town. She could hear some of the boys' vulgar
hip-hop and rap songs. No one was around, so she started humming the beats as
she walked briskly. For a woman her age and of her rank and status, she
peculiarly knew a lot about trending music. The school was in high spirits
because the season's big basketball opener was to take place tomorrow night. It
was a cold winter’s night in January. Her bones were tired.
Miss
O'Shea did have one secret. She was an avid basketball fan. She had bunches of basketball
magazines around the house, pictures of basketball jocks, fantasy team lists, seasons
statistics - everything.
She
wasn't sure what part of the game most attracted her. Had she been honest with
herself, it would be been the culture. Basketball had spawn with it a legacy of
athletically attractive black men who came from nothing to get something. She
had been born with a type of silver spoon. Though she had to work all her life,
it was more because she wanted to be independent. She believed deeply in a work
ethic, and was able to burry her life in scholarly literary and language
pursuits – to the detriment of her own identity and sexual desires,
unfortunately. There was something about the uninhibited nature of male players
in the NBA that she found erotic.
A
spinster - and a virgin - this was her only real pastime, although she did go
to all the home games played by the school and cheered them on, and lusted
after those young studs. Lusted to be like them, which given her age, position,
and birth… could never happen. So, she lusted to be them.
The
next week came, the team won thanks to LeRoy. Against Miss O’Shea’s
professional judgment, she never reported him. She picked up enough small talk
from the girl students in the library as to what the boys did off the court.
She had heard LeRoy's name several times.
'….Such
a stud….' said one giggling blond.’
'…They
say it's nine inches long…’, whispered among another group of girls.
It was
closing time again. She took her usual route & walked past the basketball
team’s dorm. Feeling uncharacteristically voyeuristic, she snuck to the back of
the building to peek into the basement through the garden window… in the back
of her mind something told her to do this… as if she were being beckoned. When
she got there, she saw LeRoy shirtless down in the basement tunnels standing
near some of the electric controls. He was sweating, like he had been working
on something… devious…
“What
an odd thing for us to be in such peculiar places,” Miss O’Shea mumbled under
her breath. LeRoy happened to look up, and his eyes caught a shadowy figure
looking at him from the basement window outside. Miss O’Shea blushed in
embarrassment, and suddenly the lights went black throughout the house.
Miss
O’Shea caught herself, stood up quickly… too quickly for her body, and scurried
swiftly away.
Back at
her house, She went to the bathroom and cleaned her teeth before placing them
in a glass. Then she read quietly for a while, but her mind was preoccupied by
her chance encounter with LeRoy. More than that, she was disturbed that she was
so turned on by the sight of his intimidating figure being barely lit in a
shadowy place. He looked so rough… so beautiful. She wanted him. She wanted to
be him. She touched herself to a climax before nodding off to a troubled sleep
in a dark winter's night.
***
Meanwhile
LeRoy, after several beers, decided to hit his bunk, wearing only his boxers. Certainly
he was envied by his fellow students. At
twenty-five he had the body of a god. Smooth ebony skin over a superbly
muscled body, a handsome face, stylish hair cut, magnificent powerful legs, but
above all he was hung. A pendulous ten-inch penis lay over his thigh, and small
black curls could not hide his golf ball size testicles. Many a girl had melted
at the sight of that equipment.
Unfortunately not all of his many conquests had
voluntarily been taken with his huge member. For LeRoy had the makings of a petty criminal and was used
to getting his own way. That’s why he
was going to cut off all the electricity in the dorm, so he could slyly steal
in the dark from some of his more naive housemates. But, that shadowy figure
peering into the basement had startled him. Could the cops be shadowing him, to
keep an eye on him? That’s all to possible, so he restored the system to
normal. He too lay in a deep, troubled sleep.
***
Miss
O'Shea woke early as she did every day, to take her walk. She believed in keeping
trim. She went to reach for her spectacles but found that she could see clearly
without them – even to the other side of her room! She also literally bounced
out of bed. She felt light headed. Even in the early morning light her skin
seemed darker.
“My God,”
she thought, “I am almost black!” Instinctively, she ran her hands through her
thick grey hair. But instead her fingers felt a different texture, her hair did
not feel like this. In a panic she rushed to her full sized mirror.
There before
her, in his manly jock pride stood LeRoy Brown. All six feet and 195 lb of him!
In her nightie! Her panties were tight and this body didn’t look right in this
gown, so he literally tore them off. But what stunned her most as her eyes
moved from her handsome face, to the sculpted chest, was the impossibly large
organ between her legs. Her hands moved towards it and picked it up. It was so
heavy but deliciously warm. She could
even feel a pulse through its veiny
tumescence. It hardened as she realized what had occurred. She didn't know how or why, but it
had happened. “This is a pleasant surprise…” She said in her male baritone. “Or
perhaps a more appropriate articulation of my surprise would be: “Damn, yo!”
She
started to stroke her large ebony cock. She felt a sense of ownership and
entitlement unlike any other. She saw it’s precum and she tasted it with LeRoy’s
fingers. She watched herself in the mirror, admiring the physical differences
between what she had known as a white woman and what she was about to become
intimately familiar with as a black male youth. A smile slid across her rugged
new face. She felt her goatee and stubble. She knew exactly how to take
advantage of this biological shift…
***
At school
in the boys’ athletic dorm, LeRoy awoke but found he could not see properly. He
rubbed his eyes, but still could not focus on the girls playing volleyball on
the TV. He felt tired to and moved slowly. He hadn't drunk that much after all.
Wispy strands of hair fell across his face.
“What
the fuck?” he asked himself as he brushed the hair away from what should have
been a low cropped hair-cut. But there was so much of it and it was grey! He
went to bite his fist but felt only soft gums on his hand.
“Oh no?
What has happened to my teeth?” His boxers felt tight around his hips but
curiously loose in the front. His hands shot to his groin.
“No, no!!!!!” he almost screamed, as his
fingers made their way into slender slit of flesh. As he went to raise his body
his chest felt heavy as the two ample breasts fell into place on his stomach.
His once perfectly defined thighs were
larger and fleshy. He slowly lifted himself up off his bed, feeling achy and a
little mad at how much energy he was using. He slowly walked over to the
dresser where his mirror was. He could barely see his new dull blue eyes as
they widened in abject horror realizing that he was now an old white lady.
“Fuck
no” His voice as a soft whisper. He could barely see this face, but he was certain
that he had seen it somewhere before… as he was reeling from shock his mobile
phone rang. He picked up and answered it almost meekly. “Hello?,” he squeaked.
The
other voice on the end was undeniably familiar. “Can I speak with Miss O'Shea?”
It asked.
'You got the wrong number man', he replied
almost sobbing.
“I
don't think so,' the voice said, 'have you had a good look at your self yet fucker?'”
“Who is
this?” The man once known as LeRoy Brown asked. The voice sounded terribly
familiar but somehow distant.
“This
is LeRoy Brown bitch! Now listen up. You be here at YOUR house in ten minutes
or you ain't never gonna be the same
again! Hear?'”
“But, wh...”
“Shut the fuck up, you fuckin old pice o
shit!” the voice shouted, “and get your ass
over here now! “
Shaking,
LeRoy put her mobile down and fumbled into some sweats and sneakers, which felt
a little large for her. It took her a little longer than normal to get ready.
In a daze, LeRoy left his old room and went to his new house. He found it odd
that he was starting to remember a life that wasn’t his
***
As
LeRoy arrived at a house that seemed familiar, he was startled when the door
opened and an intimidating young muscled black man pulled him in. He went to
strike him, but the larger man held him down easily with one hand.
“Aight
bitch Imma make our switch as painless as possible.” With that the young man
pulled LeRoy into the living room and starting pulling off his size 12.5 black
Air Force Ones with the red trimmings, his Higo Boss boxers, then each of his
long black tube socks, then the matching Addidas sweat top and bottom.
“Oh
Miss O'Shea what a deviant you are! Wearing boys clothes! Tsk Tsk' The stripped woman who was once LeRoy just
stared at his old body. They were both naked now. The person occupying the
black man’s body started to dress in what the LeRoy had worn over to his – her
– house.
“Now babe, after you get dressed we gonna walk
to the school and I’m going to help you open the library. Then, you're going to
hand me the key to my room and we’ll both move on.”
“But
why?? What the fuck you doing all this for?” asked the naked white woman,
transfixed at the commanding black youth presence which she was fighting to not
let her melt her core. Deep down, she was loosing and all she wanted to do was
help this man and make sure that he was satisfied.
“Well a star jock can't go around dressed in
woman's clothes, can he?” He said as he flexed his new chocolate body and did a
smug smile white he traced his abs. “I have to live in my dormitory and be near
my wardrobe and other shit. By the way my dressing room is though there.” He
pointed to her new bedroom and LeRoy went in.
He
stood behind the door to see what he would do. “Hurry up bitch!” He yelled.
“You’re lucky I’m being a damn good sport about this all!” He snickered in satisfied recompense.
LeRoy
opened a door and took out a brown knitted twin suit. Opening a drawer he found
her underwear but he could not believe it. Some of it was stuff he had never
seen before: girdles, panty girdles, corsets smelling of a mixture of lavender
and mothballs.
Miss
O'Shea had dressed in his sweats by now and came into the room. “Poor baby you don't know how to
wear this, do you?” Well I'll help you if you help me by giving me your key,
‘aight?'” He said condescendingly, successfully putting the new Miss O’Shea in
her new role and accepting his. It was great. Now they could think of
themselves by the names associated with their respected bodies.
Miss
O’Shea nodded her face, now red for the first time in her life. LeRoy smiled,
perhaps somewhat sincerely.
“Now
this is a bra for those plump boobies.” LeRoy helped Miss O’Shea slip it on. “Silk
panties next dear. Good. Now a panty girdle, I think.” He gave it to her as she
slid it up her fleshy thighs. It was not unlike the girdle pads she once wore when
she played football, but these were tighter and they had straps hanging down. Seeing
her furrowed brow LeRoy said, “Oh they're for your stockings, dear! Sit down.”
LeRoy
rummaged through another drawer and pulled out a pair of thick brown cotton
hose. 'Put these on, lady.”
Miss O’Shea hesitated: “I ain't gonna wear no
woman's stockings. You crazy?”
LeRoy
smiled. “Put them on, dear, or I'll use this on you!” He eased the sweat pants
down to show Miss O’Shea the bulging pair of boxers.
“You
wouldn't?!” Miss O’Shea gasped.
LeRoy got close to her. Standing next to her
looking down into her pale blue eyes. He whispered: “Try me.”
Miss
O’Shea loved smelling this black man. She wanted him to move down and kiss her.
He could feel his hot breath on her nose and felt as his nostrils ticked her
forehead. She was in lust. She did not want to be.
He
gently caressed her forearm. He whispered: “Now do it, bitch!”
Watching
the former stud pull on her own stockings excited LeRoy so much that his new
organ began to swell. He stood back and watched.
Miss
O’Shea had an instinctual urge to perform for him while she dressed. She didn’t
want to, but she did.
LeRoy
smiled smugly: “Pull them up. bitch! “
Miss
O’Shea found herself saying: “Oh yeah you like that honey?' Miss O’Shea had to admit that she was looking
at the sexiest man she had ever seen: sweats bulging with young manhood.
Tight muscular legs encased in those
sweats.
LeRoy
came over to her, and lightly smacked her cheek. “You bitch, he mumbled. I want
you to act like you owe me some. You got dat?”
Miss
O’Shea nodded. LeRoy smiled cheekily like he normally does and went to the
nightstand to retrieve Miss O’Shea’s important personal care things.
He
whispered to his mistress: “Here you slut, you'll want these.” He handed her
the glasses. Before Miss O’Shea could take her teeth, he said: “But…of course
you won't need your teeth when you are giving me head, isn't that what you boys
call it, hon?”
Miss
O’Shea nodded, slowly put herself on her knees in front of LeRoy, and smelled
his cock through the sweat pants. LeRoy patted her head, pulled down his
sweats, and Miss O’Shea extended a bony hand up to cup LeRoy’s glorious manhood
through his Hugo Boss boxers. She licked it and played with it though the
boxers, until LeRoy finally pulled them down, grabbed the back of her head, and
in a confident tone, as if he had been doing this for years, said:
“Imma
make yo white throat hungry for dis shit. Now suck yo big dick bottle bitch.”
***
One game
to go before the team found out if they’d make it to regionals. It was to be a
light one, LeRoy could handle that. From what his years of sports analysis had
shown, this team had fundamental weaknesses that he could easily manipulate. He
could manage that. He could do anything.
His
phone rang. It was his girl Patricia. He was wonderin when she would finally
call.
“Whud
up babi gurl” He asked.
“Oh
nothing. I’m just calling to let you know that I can’t wait for tonite. Last
night was so magical.”
“Yea
babe, yous really helpin me transform mahself.” He chuckled: “I think Is even
passed dat essay you helped me do. Dat all night study patry was poppin!”
She
giggled. “You know, when I first met you, you were a real ass. What changed
you.”
“Ayy
baby, neava underestimate da human’s capability to adapt!”
“You’re
so prophetic at times.”
“Ay, I
don’t kno what all these big words you be usin mean quite yet but Imma learn
‘em and Imma be as smart as chu one o des days, hear?” He knew that would make
the bitch smile.
“So my
place after practice? We’ll go over some basic Latin and hit the calculus?”
“How u
say “aight” in Latin?”
“Come
over and I’ll teach you.”
“Chyaya I see how it is babi gurl. Maybe Imma teach you a few thangs in time
too ya dig?”
“Hahaha, Bye LeRoy.”
“Later
Lady.”
LeRoy
finally convinced her to give him a chance. After all, she had blamed him
partially when Miss O’Shea was committed to a home for the elderly insane. But
he won her over by visiting her weekly, and changing her wet panties and bring
her gifts. Perhaps he would visit tonite and take a pair of his tube basketball
socks to keep her feet warm in bed. She would love that: wearing his sweaty
socks. He felt his crotch swell slightly in his basketball shorts at the
thought!
Just
then another black athlete bounded up to LeRoy: “Hey brutha wassup?'
Confidently,
LeRoy greeted him with a cheeky smile and a soul dap. “Oh nuttin bro jus
chillin!”
