The Black Dick

My name is Mike. I am black. I am a private detective. Ergo, I am a black dick!

In case you don’t know, big money in the black community is in the mortuary business. My family had one of the most prominent funeral homes in New Jersey, the Hamer Funeral Home. I spent two years in Mortuary School before I realized draining blood, injecting formaldehyde, and sewing up dead bodies wasn’t for me. Not to mention propping up dead lady’s tits, so they looked sexy in the coffin. My cuz Albert was real good at that chore, but sometimes he messed with them bodies a bit too much, especially the good lookers. Often we had to wash them babes down after Albert was finished, but he was real good at doing their hair.

I decided to switch to jurisprudence, thinking I’d become a lawyer or a cop, but the road to a law degree was too long for me. Most of the ambulance chasers and shamuses I’d run into, not figuratively, were crooks. And them Judges and politicians who were corrupt slim balls. Do you think these sons of bitches would give Blackmen a fair chance in court, even if they were unaware we were fucking their daughters?

My Uncle Mo Foster was a retired cop, from out of Trenton, New Jersey. After he retired from the force, having made Detective, he opened a detective agency in Newark, New Jersey. I spent three years working for him and getting a P.I. carry license.

Unk Mo was a fucking genius who taught me all I know about being a private dick. Mo understood the behavior and foibles of the human-animal. When Uncle Mo decided to move to Atlanta to open a Strip Club with his younger brother, he offered me a piece of the action. I had a feeling that the strip club life was not for me. I knew I’d end up in some fucking trouble. I also preferred to stay up north. Before Uncle Mo relocated, he signed the detective agency over to me.

When my cuz, Strawberry Jerry, opened a bail bond office in Newark, he offered to put me on a retainer. I figured with Strawberry’s backing, it was time to open with a new riff.

Newark had become over 50% black. For all intents and purposes, we were running the town a hundred and twenty-five years after Mr. Lincoln had freed us. I had some new ideas that I wanted to pursue. I wrangled a detective agency license in the name ‘Mike Hamer Detective Agency’ down at City Hall.

This idea was a blatant attempt to benefit from the fame of the fictional Mike Hammer stories. Uncle Mo had a bookshelf full of those pocket-sized novels. I figured that most people couldn’t spell or were too stupid to know that Hammer had two ‘m’s. In retrospect, perhaps I was wrong in underestimating the average intelligence of my potential clients. I sat in my small storefront office of 450 square feet, waiting for a call for a dark Dick. None ever came.

I even hired one of those kids with a fake surfboard to write ‘Mike Hamer Detective Agency’ and stand in front of my storefront spinning the sign like a top. When no one entered the threshold, I was seriously considering going back to preserving corpses. No business was arriving. Then, after three weeks of sitting there dealing with the humidity and an itchy crotch, at last, an old wrinkled Persian walked in and asked,

“Da bafroom, quick, I gotta pee.”

“What the hell. Sure, take a leak,” I offered.

The old guy with his prune face disappeared into the John. I began to think maybe part of my problem attracting clients was the picture I use to advertise. It was a cartoon of me, big, black, and muscled, swinging a big carnival hammer to crush a circle labeled ‘problem,’ the problem looked like a round piece of dog shit, and the sign maker had colored it brown.

Maybe it was the cartoon or the fact that I am a blackman. I mean, would you hire a black detective if your wife was screwing around, or if you need the goods on someone harassing your family? I don’t think the public has even thought of a black detective since those black exploitation films of the 80s. But then again, I grew up in Newark, now the capital of ‘blackdom,’ and maybe ‘the times they were a-changing,’ as that Jew-boy Zimmerman was singing years back, I wasn’t quite sure if Bobby Dylan had it right after all.

Meanwhile, Ahab is still in the w.c. The old guy must have prostate trouble. He took 15 minutes to empty his bladder. Finally, he comes out of the bathroom, looks at me,

“Vat you doing her? Vasting time? You not busy?”

“Yeah, Pops, summertime is slow in my racket. Can I do you for anything, Man?

“How’d you like go to Persia?”

“What the fuck are you say’n, man? And ain’t it called Iran.”

“Yes, vee know vats it’s culled.”

“Ok, Pops, you took your piss. Now get on your camel and keep going.”

“Vait minute Buster. Maybe I got job for you.”

“Yeah, shoot Pops, and it better be good. There is more happening here than you could cover with a rug.”

“Ok, I left Iran as you cull it, in 1995 lung time go. I have a workshop for gold jewelry. I leave the cunt-try in hurray, only clothes on my beck, but I not forget double lock the office. Over there, if door locked no buddy bother it.”

“So, Pops, what is it that you do be wanting?”

“I leave in safe ten kilos of pure gold from Swiss benk.”

“Sound like the story is gettin better.”

“In those days gold was $384 an oz, each bar den wert $12,000, today it go up, one bar wert maybe $55,000. More or less depends on the day. It go up and down. I got ten bars in safe der, wert maybe $550,000.”

“You good at numbers, huh. Now you have gotten my interest.”

“You go over der wit yo hammer and bring beck my gold.”

“You want me to get it for you?”

“Ya, I give you keys, combination to safe-ty and you go, get gold and bring it back. We split it, hef for you, hef for me.”

“Smuggling gold out ain’t easy. You want the gold or the money?”

“Same-ting.”

“If’ing you are you on the level, why don’t you go get it yo self?”

“I was jeweler to da Shia, my name on the deth list. If I go, they greb me at airpot. They send me to fire squat. You go, Mr. Hummer, node-body know you, you say dat you going for vacation and den come beck, we split.”

“You got a relative who can verify this hodgepodge of a story, Grandpa?”

The sucker pulls out an I-phone 13. He dials a number and jabbers a bit. I see it’s the newest I-phone, the expensive model.

I say, “What the hell you is shout-en in Arab.” and then he hands me the phone.

“This my younger brother Ahmed, a rug Deller ask him if true.”

I spent a while talking to this Ahmed, who sounds like a Philadelphia lawyer. First thing he tells me is,

“Persian ain’t Arabic.”

Then this Ahmet goes on to confirms the old guy’s story.

“We are Muslims, honest people, you get the gold we give you half, no bull shit. We even advance you $5000 for your airplane ticket and expenses.”

“Yeah, man, get the advancement dough over here, and I’m on my fucken way- Sholem Aleichem brother.”

A few days pass. I’m boning up on this Iran thing. Back in my office, I call up my cousin Calhoun who works in the U.S. passport office. He gets me a fast pass passport and a contact at the Iranian consultant whose sister Krishna wants to get married. It turns out the bitch runs a halal kabob place three streets away from my office in downtown Newark.

Calhoun suggests I get to know her. Krishna needs a green card. A half-hour after I hang up the phone, a dwarf comes in the door. He’s smoking a cigar wearing a brown homburg and carrying a long black umbrella.

I say to the little guy, “Dude, you from Fantasy Island?”

“No, that guy shot himself.”

“So they say.”

“You fuck up Uncle Farzad, and I’ll bet you shoot yourself too.”

“You tell’en me, that you killed the midget?”

“You figure it out. See this.” The dwarf pulls a paper out of his inside pocket.

“This is a season’s pass to a booth at the Laker’s games. I got ringside seats. You pull this off this deal, and I’ll take you whenever you like. All the fucken popcorn and beer you want.”

“Hey man, I’d be liken that.”

With that, the dwarf hands me five biggies in packs of hundreds. The bills are paper-clipped together,

“You don’t have to count it- it’s five G’s.” He turns around and is gone.

A few minutes later, he is knocking on the glass of my storefront.

“What da fuck, you back again?”

It’s that same fucken Mini-me.

He leans forward and cocks his head like a Dalmatian listening for a fire engine siren,

“Mikey, if you fly to Iran, you have to go by Dubai. Just a tip. The best pussy in the world is in Dubai. Expensive but worth it. Oh and Hammer has two ‘M’s.'”

I ignore the spelling lesson and say, “I don’t pay for sex.”

“Make an exception. They got girls there with asses bigger than the Kardashian sisters and every color under the sun.”

“Thanks for the tip, little man. Maybe I’ll make an exception. They sell beer there?”

“There ain’t no beer Dufus, but great pussy, or if you prefer anal and deep throat blow jobs.”

“How’s that being it’s a Muslim country?”

“We don’t call it a country. We call it a ‘cunt-tree.'”

And with those words of wisdom, the little guy blows a deep breath of Havana cigar smoke in my face, which ain’t bad at all, and steps outside. It must be beginning to rain, cause he opens his umbrella and is gone. It was like the wind carried him away.

In the next three weeks, I get a visa. I had to eat in the consulate guy’s sister’s, Krishna’s, restaurant almost every day, and by now, I hate them kabobs. The bitch’s saving grace is she plays fiddle beautifully and has a nice big ass. Her brother tells me,

“Why don’t you marry her? Krishna’s a 30-year-old virgin. Her maidenhead is so thick you’ll need a can opener to get inside. If you don’t like her, you can move to Iran and always get another wife.”

I’m sitting there in her small empty restaurant, having just finished eating, and she’s fiddling with her violin. Krishna stops playing and moves so close to me her hip is rubbing my cock and says,

“This is a Persian saying, but for you, I translate. ‘The man’s penis is the bow. The vagina is his instrument. Together they make beautiful music.”

I’m not used to hearing a gal spout that kind of stuff, so I instantly pop a hard-on.

“I get your drift honey, I’m leaving for the mother cunt-tree, and when I get back, we gonna do a concert together. We might even go get you that green card you be wantin.”

She’s put her fiddle down and reaches out. She’s holding on to my cock, so tight I’m afraid her long nails are going to pierce it. I push her hand away to get myself free, squeeze her left tit, pat her big ass and say in my best ‘Arnold voice,’

“I’ll be bock.” Arnold ain’t black, but he be a cool cat.

I’m at the JFK Airport getting on an Alitalia plane flying to Malpensa, Milan, the recommended first step to get to Teheran. From Milan, I gotta transfer to Rome, and then to Dubai, and if the plane doesn’t fall outa the sky, the next stop is Teheran. The flight to Milan takes about eight hours. I wait a few hours for the connection, and I’m off to Rome. That’s some crazy airport.

Finally, I’m sittin on Arab Emirate Air, aka Dubai Air heading to Dubai. I’m so jet-lagged and horny I’m thinking of rubbing one out in the men’s room, but I think that may be a capital offense, so I calm down.

The guy sitting next to me is upset that they no longer allow smoking on the plane,

“When you could light up, you couldn’t see three rows in front of you.”

“Sounds great. Yeah, life is really going to hell.”

After we are in the air for about twenty minutes, I notice one of the airline stews starts giving me the eye. I think she is eye-ing my swollen pecker, which is getting into harness a cause of her outfit. She is wearing a long silk transparent veil. I can see she is pretty naked underneath.

After pouring champagne in my glass three times and asking me if I’m married four times, she takes me by the hand and ushers me into the narrow unisex bathroom. The next thing I know, she is auditioning for bride of the week. Since she is devout, condoms are not permitted.

“I’m saving my vagigi for my husband,” she says, “but feel comfy to stick your big banana in my butt.”

“Sure, honey, that sounds fine.”

After a ten-minute break, I leave a load in her ass crack as big as a bag of popcorn. She’s happy, and I’m red-faced. I try to hide my swollen pecker under my hand as I go back to my seat.

The guy across the aisle spots big dick and the wet spot on my trousers and says in a whisper,

“In Iran is the punishment for cock sucking another man is death, but here on the plane, nobody gives a shit. Can I offer you some pleasure?

“Thanks, friend. I’ll let you know before we land if I can pull off a doubleheader.”

I am totally refreshed from the stand-up fucking. If that gal is representative of Dubai Air, it sure offers some excellent service. Thank God I was born in Harlem, where every black gets circumcised by a Hebrew doctor at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. When the fly-gal saw my circumcised dick, she figured I was Muslim, and that was the ticket to fly.

When I’m disembarking, I notice the stews are wearing a different outfit than my Stewie. I figure that is de rigor.

“How was your flight,” says the dark-skinned stew as we are getting ready to exit the plane.

“I must say the service was excellent–more than I had hoped.” But I don’t see her gal who served me champagne.

As we are going down the gang-plank, I spot her. She is, with three other women walking behind an older man.

I ask the guy who wanted to blow me, who’s is now standing beside me, if he knows who they are.

“Oh, that the Sheik of Isfahan and his four wives.”

“Oh, Jesu,” I think to myself, “I was fucking one of the Sheik’s wives.”

I’m supposed to board another plane from Dubai and head for Teheran, but the flight is canceled for some mechanical reason. The airline puts me up at a fancy hotel in Dubai, the Espinas International Hotel.

I check-in at the hotel. For some reason, the desk clerk guy thinks I’m Luther Vandross headed to a songfest in Saudi Arabia. All goes well.

The clerk winks at me and asks if I’d like a massage girl sent up. Sound’s good, I respond.

I’m pooped and fall asleep on the bed, but I am woken up by a haram girl undressing me.

“Massage girl, me, Ragma,” she says.

I let her disrobe me. She says, “roll over,” and I get face down. She gets into a massage session that even Gay Waldo, our wrestling massage guy back in the gym, could not compete with. After an hour of deep tissue massage, she tells me, “Rollover,” and she puts a pillow behind my head.

I rollover. I’m embarrassed. My dick has come awake and looks like a cop’s nightstick. My erection doesn’t put her off. She starts massaging my balls,

“Very big,” she says.

I just lay back and close my eyes as she starts mouthing my cock and squeezing my balls. For a second, I think it’s the guy from the plane, and I snap my eyes open, but no, it’s Ragma or whatever the fuck her name is, trying her best to get my whole dick in her throat.

“It’s ok, Honey, don’t hurt yourself.” But she keeps at it, and little by little, all ten inches of my knob are inside her. Ragma is tickling my balls with one hand and working a finger on the other hand into my ass.

“I can’t take it,” I shout. “Oh, you bitch, Mother fucker” and my dick lets go with a half-pint of antifreeze right down her gullet.

Ragma scarfs it and slowly lets the old black snake slide out of her mouth. My cock is looking more red as it passes her swollen lips. I notice that the snake has begun to soften. Ragma leans over and kisses the penis head. I reach for my wallet and hand her a crisp $100 tip. She smiles and closes the door behind her, and I’m off to dreamland, well relieved.

In the morning, the phone rings. It’s the check-in desk telling me my flight is now rescheduled and the plane will take off in three hours.

I taxi out to the airport. A uniformed guy goes over my passport, then nods approval. I board the Qatar airline plane headed for the capital of Iran, the City of Teheran.

The flight is without incident, and the passengers are quiet. The women are covered from head to tail like fine bottles of wine.

We land in Teheran with a rocky jolt, the runway seems short and looks old, there is an abandoned aircraft in a corner. It looks like pieces of that plane have been scavenged.

Everyone, except the women, is wearing a beard. To me, it looks like a Z.Z. Top convention. And they are all scratching furiously. It must be fleas. I figure I’ll wear the three-day growth and never shave again till I get back home. I reach down to adjust my dick. When I pull out my hand, it smells really nice. It must be the camel oil lube the massage girl squirted on me (later, I find out it is oil mixed with camel piss). I’m learning a lot, and I’m just beginning this jaunt. At least the sex life is good here in the Muslim world!

After deplaning, there are two lines, one for those passengers with visas and one where the traveler can get a quick short-term visa. I get through the visa line, and I’m one of the first into the taxi stand with my roller suitcase.

Not a woman in sight, all the bureaucrats are male, although one looked gay to me, but what do I know? He had dark curly hair, a pimple spot on his cheek like Robert De Niro. He just kept smiling and opening his big eyes and asking how and where I’d be staying, as if he was planning on coming to visit me on a dick-sucking mission.

I get a cab, the driver’s name is Ruffi, a wise guy Armenian who speaks good English. I give him an index card with the address I want.

“You a basketball player?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, “Got team?”

“Could you give my son some lessons while you are here?”

“How old and how tall is the teenager?”

“5’3″, and 15 years old.”

“Get him some hormone growth shots or tell him to take up chess. He’s not going to make pro unless he’s at least 5’10” and preferably way over six feet.”

The cabby looks disappointed when he learns I don’t have time to be coaching his son today, but I tell him, “I’d try to fit it into the trip.”

Ruffe tells me that he lives six months in Iran and six months in Glendale, California. Naturally, he has a wife and kids in each home.

“We can have as many as four wives here,” he says,

“But one wife is more than enough.”

I slip him the address written on an index card and ask Ruffe if he knows where it is.

“Sure, old downtown street, no problem.”

He drives me into the downtown area and pulls into a side street.

“This is the place,” Ruffe says.

“It looks abandoned.”

“Yeah, not too much business here since the revolution.”

“Wait for me,” I say, “And keep the fucken meter running. I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cut the sir-crap. I haven’t be knighted.”

When he smiles, I see a long scar on the side of his head.”

He realizes I notice, and he says,

“A revolutionary guard insulted me because I have US citizenship and hit me with his carbine.”

“I shake my head from side to side, showing I understand and commiserate.”

Ruffe points to a large blackened door, “That’s the place.”

I get out of the Toyota cab. My legs are stiff from all the traveling, and I make my way through the ancient stone archway limping. The doorway is dark. I hear rats squeaking. Spider webs have filled the place where the key slot is. I try to use the phone to light up the keyhole. Stupidly, I drop the keys. I have trouble finding them. They somehow ended up behind me. Suddenly the crickets have hushed.

I pick up the keys and struggle to get them in the keyhole. With effort, I’m able to open the door. If the old key weren’t so large, it probably would have broken. Of course, there is no working electricity anymore, if there ever was. I pull a dusty cloth covering a small barred window and trip over some shit on the floor.

Finally, my eyes begin to adjust. I pull out my Bic lighter and find a candle to light. The old safe, about four feet high, is under a few stinky rugs. I pull them down. The dust rises and makes me cough. I think to myself that a white guy is better fitted for this mission. Asthma is a typical Black affliction. I wonder how the hell ‘ass-ma’ is spelled, but I figure I better get this job done whether I’m coughing or not. Naturally, I didn’t bring my inhaler with me to this tea party.

Finally, I get the directions to open the safe spread out on a work table and start to turn the safe dial, but my list of directions consists of numbers and turns. They don’t tell me whether to start the spin left or right.

I keep trying the numbers from both directions. Finally, I hear a click, and the dial stops turning. I twist it back a quarter turn, the dial blocks. With effort, I twist the handle to the left. Who knows how rusty it is inside after all these years of disuse?

“Oh good,” the door opens. I push the lit candle into the dark void. There is nothing in there, but two Havana cigar boxes at the bottom and a yellowed nude picture of Mamie Van Doren tapped to the inside of the safe door. The image is soiled with what looks like someone was beating off while ogling Van Doren’s tits.

I bend over to grab one of the cigar boxes. The box is heavy as hell, but I lift it from the bottom and open it. There are five gold bars in one box. I grab the other cigar box. Inside are six ingots. One of the ingots is suspiciously light. I don’t give a fuck, I came for ten, and I’ll leave with eleven. I slip the gold kilo ingots inside my multi-pocketed travel vest.

The old man wasn’t lying! I put the empty boxes back in the safe and push the heavy door closed. Although most of the paint on the safe is crackled off, I can see the safe is one of those old-fashioned black and gilt safes. Mo had a safe like that in his garage. He’d explained that these safes were designed so a safe robber could not pour nitro glycerine into the door grooves.

I gently close the old safe door twisting the handle to lock the safe. I spin the dial that squeaks as it stops, walk back to the entrance door, and open it. Outdoors the sun is breaking through the clouds. Closing and locking the heavy door, I run back to the taxi. Thanks to Allah, the cabbie is still waiting there, listening to rock and roll on his car’s tape player.

“I can’t get enough of this Little Richard guy,” he says. “You get a year in prison if you get caught with this stuff.”

“Yeah, Little Richard was the Bossman back in the day. Ok, Ruffe, for our next stop…”

I tell the cabbie to take me to the Republic Swiss Bank. He knows where it is, not far from the center of the city. It takes about ten minutes. The weather is dry and warm.

Ruffe parks near the cab in some shade near the corner and points the way to the bank. It’s a modern building. I walk into the glass entry hall. A woman whose face and body are covered with white silk robes takes my name and taps her i-phone to announce my presence. She speaks English with a Swiss accent and calls for a manager.

A slender wisp of a man with a thin mustache, wearing a white linen robe with blue piping, comes out. He asks what I want. I hand him a card with my account number, he nods, hands it back, and tells me to follow him.

He stops across the room, where he types a passcode into a wall computer pad, and a door slides open. We enter into a small private elevator that zips us up three floors. The door opens into an office.

“Have a seat Mr. Hamer.” We sit down. What do you require?

I tell him,

“I want to deposit ten kilos of gold ingots and transfer the credit to my account in Como, Italy, near the Italian border.”

(Dear Reader, you must be wondering what I did with the eleventh ingot, I’ll get to that later on.)

Uncle Mo was the one who said,

“Although there are Federal rules against them, you need a Swiss Bank Account as much as you need a rubber in a whore house.”

I take the ten bars out of my vest and place them on the table.

Mr. Kesar, the bank officer, carefully notes the serial numbers on the bars, hands me a transfer receipt, and asks,

“Is there anything else I anything can help you with?”

I say, “No, but thank you very much.”

All goes nicely–“Thank you. for a visit,” he says. I pocket the receipt and have a duplicate emailed to my address on the dark web.

He accompanies me down to the lobby. I feel light-footed with the heavy gold bars out of my vest pockets.

“Mission accomplished,” I murmur, as Georgie Bushie once said, but I’m hoping it’s for real.

I walk out of the lobby into the searing sun, putting my hand to my forehead to shield my eyes. The welcomed sight of Ruffe and his cab put a smile on my face. He’s moved the taxi to the other side of the street to keep in the shade.

He waves at me. I run up, swing the door open, and jump in.

“All done, My Man, take me to the Espena hotel.” I hand Ruffe a card with the address, ‘Behroud Sq, Saadat abad Tehran 14557 Iran.’

“I know where that is,” Ruffe says, “no problem.”

It takes about fifteen minutes. Ruffe is happy when I pay him double what he asks. He wants me to come home with him for a good Persian Dinner.

“Maybe next time, I’m exhausted. Give me your cell number so I can call you again.”

“No problem,” says Ruffe, handing me a smartly engraved business card.

“Nice card.”

“Yeah, my cousin is an excellent printer. He’s settled here for the last fifteen years. He was arrested for counterfeit printing of Euro bills in Europe. When he got out on bail, he fled the country.”

“Must be very talented, but probably not a good idea to exchange money for him.”

Ruffe laughs.

The hotel Espena is a five star, is one of the finest in Teheran. It has a busy restaurant and a snack and candy bar. I buy some dates stuffed with almonds swimming in honey and eat a few for instant energy. I’m tired from the trip and lay down on the bed, figuring I’ll be up and ready in an hour, but I sleep on long past the dinner hour. When I wake up, I eat a collection of chips and peanuts I collected on the airplane.

I fall back asleep, and when I wake again, I can’t believe it is early morning. It’s 6:30 am Teheran time. I plan to visit the dining room for my first meal in the city. I have a light breakfast. An omelet, toast, marmalade. No fucken bacon insight. The waiter brings me an excellent smooth espresso coffee with natural cream on the side, smooth as a white girl’s tit. I order another coffe and savor its rich flavor. I sign the bill, take the chocolate candy on the tray, pop it into my mouth, and instantly the candy covers the coffee taste.

A newscaster is busy talking on the television in the restaurant. I don’t understand what she is saying, but something about her face reminds me of Daisy Butler, the vice principal’s daughter, the first white girl who opened up her pussy to me. I linger in dreamland as my mind drifts off for a few moments, thinking of how we used to fuck under the bleachers behind the school. My dick starts to swell. I wait till it deflates before getting up.

I go back to my room and rest up. The TV is playing marshal music and gibberish, but what the fuck? Despite two coffees, I fall asleep somewhere in the middle of a Taliban execution scene. When I wake up, it’s mid-afternoon. I take a hot shower and shampoo. I picked up a few bug bites that I ascribe to airport fleas or spiders in Uncle Farzad’s workroom. I’m beginning to feel hungry. I’ve set my heart on the buffet spread I saw pictures of on the internet, so I head downstairs.

The restaurant is busy, and I have to wait a while. When they let me in, they hand me a large plate and point at the buffet.

Typical Iranian main dishes seem to be a mixture of rice with meat, veggies, and nuts. Herbs are mixed with fruits. I enjoyed the apricots and raisins. The rice is flavored with saffron, lime, cinnamon, with green parsley.

I’m going back for seconds of the barbecued lamb, and there is some dude behind me who starts a conversation thinking I’m a Saudi. He is of medium height, has a short brown beard that grows from ear to ear. His teeth are a little crooked but very white. When I explain I’m American, he introduces himself as Faud and says in a clipped English accent,

“Lots of Saudis are dark. The men usually have at least one African wife, among the four they possess,” he says, “the blacker the berry, the better the pussy,” he says.

I agree. Most black women have a much stronger sex drive than white women, especially those over thirty. It’s not unusual to be fucking a twenty-five-year-old daughter and find her mom climbing into the other side of the bed for her share of dick.

Faud tells me he is a Persian Armenian selling Chinese directional navigation electronics to the Iranian military.

“Sound like fun.”

“It’s no fun, but I make a few million on every trip. If you have any relatives in the military, I can use various components. But let’s not spoil our dinner with talk of business. Let me ask you,” Faud says with a wink and a grin as he twists his beard,

“Have you gotten laid in Teheran?”

“I don’t think they allow stuff like that?”

“My dear man, are you fucking crazy? There are at last count over ten thousand female sex workers in the city. There are more whores than you can throw a rubber dick at, and if you did, they’d all come a-running.”

“Who and where are they?”

“Many are clerks and married women and single students or young widows. The average cost to have sex with them is less than $15, and if you want an encounter with a truly exceptional specimen, it could cost as much as $150. At the bottom of the scum dump, you can get fucked for only one dollar.

“Can you imagine,” said Faud, “Here in one of the capitals of the Muslim Holy World, you can fuck a beautiful young woman for peanuts.”

The next thing I know, we have finished eating, and Faud has his arm around me.

“First, we go up to my hotel room, and I’ll give you a robe; otherwise, the whores will know immediately that you are a foreigner. Then I will take you on an erotic tour of old Persia.”

We make a quick detour to his room, and he dresses me in a long white robe. We go back to the lobby. Faud calls for a car and tells the driver our destination. The driver nods knowingly and drives us about ten minutes away.

“We have arrived. Come, we get out here. This place is like a little hotel brothel, but you may find some good-looking whores hanging out here.”

And Faud adds to my education,

“I should mention this. There is an odd requirement under Muslim law here in Iran. Two adults who want to fuck must be married. The Iranian way around this impasse is known as the practice of ‘sigheh.'”

Sigheh allows a man to marry a woman for a pre-determined period, an hour or a day, or whatever is agreed. During this time, they may have intimate relations. When they finish, they separate without any consequences. While sigheh is justified in religious, moral terms, the reality is, sigheh is a legal loophole to permit prostitution.”

“I’m amazed.”

Faud continues, “religious scholars defend the practice saying that it keeps sexual relations within the sacred bonds of marriage, albeit a time frame as short as a quickie. It permits married men to have sex with other women. It enables single traveling men and those whose wives have long-term illnesses to partake legally in sexual dalliances with an assortment of other women. In short, if you want to get fucked in Iran, you are best to practice sigheh.”

“And what do the girls say to their families?”

“Virgin girls must obtain permission from their father to marry permanently or temporarily, but according to the Civil Code, any nonvirgin female can obtain permission to become a sigheh wife, even with a foreigner. All they must do is identify their husband-to-be by name on a signed document and offer relationship details.”

‘So it looks like I’m going to get married, albeit for a very short time. How does that work.?”

Faud looks around and says, “I think I know the best place for us.” We end up in some bordello named Za Za’s Place. He knocks and shouts something in Farsi. They know Faud and open the thick wooden door. In we go in. An older woman offers us tea while Faud disappears behind a curtained entrance to find two girls for us. He tells me when he returns that I should pick the one I like.

He comes back holding the hand of a mature woman who says she is only twenty years old. Faud tells her to disrobe. She drops her robe to reveal she has enormous breasts and a medium-sized ass. Her pubic hair makes her look more like a bear than a human.

When I look down and unwittingly make a face, she says in broken English,

“Wat you tink, you fagot who don’t lick hairy pussy? Let me see your dickey bird, you black Taliban.”

“I’m not a Taliban, and I think your pubic hair is very nice. It is so long you might consider weaving it into braids.” I smile at her.

She reaches out and grabs my package.

“Cum on, big boy–Fucky me. I likey a big dickey bird. I give you my ass tuck for same price. Very clean ass tuck.”

I turn to Faud, ” What else they got here?”

The big gal frowns and starts to cry and tear up. The hairy woman must be desperate to put a meal on the table.

“I cut my price. I need food for my child. Please fuck me, Mister Black Prince!”

This sudden wailing broke my heart.

“Ok, Faud, I’ll fuck her. Tell her it’s ok.”

She seems to catch my drift, and suddenly, she is smiling and wiggling around.

“I suck your gourd good.” She says. “My name Emma.” She takes my hand, leading me to a small room curtained off and strips naked. Her tits are enormous and hang down like two milk sacks.

I hear Faud talking in Farsi. I imagine he has picked a girl for himself.

Emma starts undressing me. She helps me off with my robe and jockstrap and kneels in front of me. I’m thinking I’d prefer her mouth to her hairy pussy. God, only know what is living in that nest?

She spits on her hand and starts jerking me off. Not the most hygienic maneuver. Non the less my cock swells up as she passes it into her hot mouth. I can see she is missing a few teeth with her mouth wide open, so I close my eyes. I’m wondering if I’d be better off butt fucking her when Faud parts the curtain.

“Hey Mike, if you prefer this girl, take a look. If you do, I’ll fuck Emma.” He’s standing there with a pretty good-looking gal. Definitely not a road hog.

“What goes, man?” The pretty girl is smiling at me as if she knows me.

“Her name is Sara. I have an idea she is more your type.”

Then Faud leans in close to me, “I prefer hairy ugly girls. They remind me of my mother.”

“Ok, Bro, go for Mom.

I’m standing there with my cock in Emma’s mouth, but no one seems to mind. Faud says something to Emma, and she stops sucking and steps back. Faud reaches out for her. She smiles and says, “Goodbye,” as they both leave the room hand in hand.

I’m left with Sara, she is stunning, she’s younger, and she speaks English.

“How old are you?”

Sara takes out a California license with her picture and says she was born on June 3, 2003, so she is over 18.

“I asked your friend to bring me to you. I used to live in Glendale, California. I had a big black boyfriend back home, but my Dad wanted me to have a proper Muslim upbringing and marry an Iranian. But the guy he had in mind took me to a doctor. When the doc said I wasn’t a virgin, all bets were off. So here I am, getting married every night and playing the whore.”

“Not a good result.”

She hands me a clipboard and tells me to sign so we can be man and wife for this one night. I don’t argue. I mark the document. Since I don’t read Farsi, I have no idea what I am signing, but Sara is quite attractive, fully shaved, has no missing teeth, and likes big black cock. I’m a little embarrassed and apologize that she saw me with my dick in Emma’s mouth, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“That’s what we are doing here. Sucking cock and getting fucked, no biggie.”

She disappears for a minute and comes back in with a warm bath towel,

“Lie on the pile of rugs,” she puts a pillow behind my head and sets to work washing Emma’s saliva off my dick, which has begun to soften and is less impressive. She can tell from my expression that I am troubled by my lost erection.

“I’ll get you hard again,” she says confidently. And she does. Just looking at her, the old pecker jumps up and is ready for fun. She positions herself on all fours, saying, “It’s easier to get your big prick inside me like this.”

“Do I need a condom?”

“No need, I’m clean, and we are all on the pill.”

She rubs some lube on my penis to facilitate entry.

I kneel and put my arms around her waist. She was right–no hymen insight. We go at it like two chimpanzees. I prolong the act until she is gasping for air and making strange animal noises. The moment has arrived. I pull her tight to me, stuffing my dick as deep as it will go– and blow my wad.

Our coming together resulted in an awesome fuck. How nice of Faud to switch girls. Sara has a tight vag and nice titties and is good-looking. When I pull my dick out, she is on me in a flash, sucking off any sperm still on my dick. This ain’t no paid whore sex. Sara is like a lady in love.

“I made believe you were the black boyfriend I had back in America. I hope you didn’t mind.”

“No, sweet cakes, it was beautiful.”

We wash up in the small bathroom. Sara insists on washing my cock for me.

“I got to take a piss.”

“Come.”

She turns me in the direction of the toilet and says,

“I hold your cock for you.”

She seems to enjoy having my dick in her hand as I piss for a long time. The toilet water is filled with spermy suds. When my last spurt arrives, she says,

“That was fun, wiping me off with a damp towel.

We make small talk until Faud come back in and says,

“say Goodbye. We are getting out of here.”

I kiss Sara on the cheek, and we leave.

I palm Sara a hundred American even though Faud has paid for everything.

“I want to take you to another place; we are not done yet,”

says Faud.

“Brother, I’m in good shape.”

“No, we got one more stop,” he insists.

Faud whispers, “Let’s get a recharge drink, and in an hour, we can do it all over again.”

“You thinking Viagra?”

“No, we have some special pick-me-up unknown in the west. Faud has the owner mixes a double coffee with a few aromatic liquors in a small coffee bar for each of us. It’s not half bad.

“Ok, Mikey, you know the first fuck of the day is never the best?”

“Is it? I don’t know. That Sara was very hot. How was yours?”

“Emma was so hot from sucking your dick she came three times before I filled up her hairy pussy.”

Faud continues, “I think some of her pubes are still stuck to me, but it was a real Iranian fuck fest. I’ll be back for her. I like a hairy pussy. It’s old-style but very clingy, if you know what I mean.”

“Sara was cool, nice modern girl, shaved bush.”

“Yes, next time, I’ll go back and try Sara as well, but I want to take you tonight to an old-fashioned bordello where they parade the girls for you, and you get to pick your favorite.”

I don’t know what was in that elixir, but I’m imagining my dick is starting to growl. “Maybe you are right. I’m beginning to feel very horny again, my friend.”

“See, I told you. Now we go to a secret high-class bordello.”

Faud calls a limo, and minutes later, we are rushing across town. The traffic is light, and a full moon lights the way. We arrive at a reasonably large mansion. A security guard at the barred entrance is toting a submachine gun. Faud talks to him and passes him a handful of paper money. The guard talks in a walky-talky device and gets approval. He opens the heavy door, and we are greeted by a smartly dressed middle-aged woman who ushers us into a reception area.

She introduces herself as Miss Elsie and welcomes us. It is evident she knows my friend Faud. Then she claps her hands, and a door at the other end of the room opens. There is Arab music playing as six scantly clad young women parade out and form a circle around us.

“Pick the one you like,” says Faud.

Each girl is eyeing us most suggestively. There is a short Iranian girl with small breasts and a casco hairdo, a dark-skinned Arab girl with curly black hair with a red rose stuck in there, an Indian girl with full erect breasts and wide hips, and a tall girl who looks like she is from Thailand with a slender, graceful body but her perfect breasts look enhanced. The last girl in the circle is European. The hostess says the blond is from Amsterdam. Greta is sucking on her second finger and pulls it out of her mouth with a pop that startles, and she laughs.

The girl I find most attractive has very white skin keeps pursing her lips as our eyes meet. She has very erect breasts with large nipples and long blond hair that falls like a waterfall over her shoulders. As she steps closer, her transparent gown parts, and I can see her vagina is hairless with a slightly swollen mons venus. Her legs are long, tapered, and her muscles well developed. When she slowly spins around, her shapely ass is arousing. I point at her.

“That one Faud, I like her.”

“Wise selection, my man, I would have picked her myself.”

Faud makes some hand signal to the Madam, and the blond takes my hand and walks me up a winding staircase that ends at the door with a small window that is barred. She pushes the heavy door, and I lend a hand. Once inside there is a bed, a bath and a table with sweets.

“Do you speak English?” I ask.

“Yes, also French and German besides Farsi and several regional dialects.”

“Very impressive.

She calls herself Giselle and says her mom is from Denmark. I assume her father was Persian.

I know I shouldn’t, but I ask, “You look like a motion picture star. How did you end up here, in a brothel?”

My father was a linguist who encouraged me to study to be a translator, but when I saw there were so many looking for jobs. I decided to complete a course as a medical technician. But I soon learned after Dad died that what the hospitals pay for brains is very little. The brothel pay for pussy is so much higher. Getting married daily is far more lucrative in this country than working in a clinic. I make more in one night hosting a cock inside me than a month doing brain scans or EKGs. Yes, I tried out for a few movies, but the long beards black-listed me on moral grounds when they learned I had worked here. ”

Once she has cleaned me up, she sits on my chest. She is slender with a curvy ass facing me. I reach around and grope her perky C-sized tits.

Giselle starts to play with my cock and balls like it is the most exciting thing in the world and says,

“If I’m with a foreigner, I usually like to play with their foreskin, but you are fully cut, like a Muslim.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I can’t see what she is doing, but it feels like she has oiled up my dick. Giselle’s jerked me into full size. She lifts herself up and tucks my dick inside her tight cunt. When she realizes how big it is, she puts some lube on it.

“Don’t worry, sir, I’ll get all your big cock inside. Just give me a few minutes.”

She twists and turns and corkscrews my ten incher all the way inside her tight vagina. I can see by her pained expression that she is suffering.

“It’s ok if you want to stop.”

“Oh no, pay no attention to my facial expression. I like a big cock inside me.” We slow down, and little by little, Gissele’s cunt opens up like a midnight flower.

“You are not too big, she swivels, and I can feel my dick head slide in, but it’s up against her back uterus wall. My dick is longer than her vaginal canal. I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t get off easily if my dick is hitting her back wall.

She rises up again and seems, like a pro, to understand and slips my swollen dick into her ass crack. I slide in like an eel into a hole in a rock. It is tight, but she is able to get my entire prick inside her, little by little.

Is this good for you?” she says and grunts, “it is for me.”

“Yeah, that feels really nice.”

“You about ready to cum?”

“Yeah, I’m almost there. Please don’t stop. Gisselle has been jiggling up and down while squeezing my nuts.”

She slows down, riding my pole, “Rest a minute so we can prolong the fuck.”

“Ok, why not?”

I reach around to grab her tits, and her large nips slip between my fingers. I play with them as if they are dials on the radio.

She starts to moan, and once more, she’s riding up and down. She reaches and pulls her ass cheeks wide apart, and now I’m balls deep.

Another twenty humps, and she starts to sing. As she gets hotter, she sings louder. I can’t control myself. My cock has a mind of its own.

‘Oh, Oh, Oh yes! Yes, Oh! I shout as my cock explodes, and she lets out a rapid tonguing noise I haven’t heard since I saw ‘Lawrence of Arabia.’

I can’t believe after the first girl, I had any cum left in me. Giselle keeps working, making that tonguing noise until my dick softens.

I mumble, “I is done, Honey, that was one super good fuck.”

I lay there like a dead man. She raises her hips over me. A gurgle of sperm drips out of her ass and onto my pubes.

“Oh, I’m dripping,” she says, and before she can get up, another torrent of my hot gizz spill out.

“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

I lay there with all this hot cum pooled on my stomach and pubes. There’s even some jizz on my thighs.

Gisselle came back in with a bucket of warm water and a soap bar and washed me thoroughly. Once I’m clean, she anoints me with sweet-smelling almond oil.

Faud comes in the door and breaks the trance I’m in.

“Good fucking brother? I hear you fizzed all over the place.”

“How do you know?”

“Each room has a hidden camera. From the lounge, you can see all the fucking or whatever else is going on.”

“Now you tell me I’m a porno guy.”

“They photo for the girl’s safety, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I can ask them for a copy of the tape if you like?”

“Faud, usually I am on top, so the gizz stays down, but Giselle was on top. When she lifted off, my dick was like a cork in her sweet lady ass, and a torrent of gizz spilled out.”

“That’s good,” says Faud. “It means you came good.”

And what about you?”

“I took the Chines girl. She was like a contortionist. Somehow I think she was licking my balls as I was fucking her. Then she laid down with her head between my legs and licked my ass as I finished fucking her.”

“Wow, she should be in a circus.”

“Yeah, a naked sex circus. So you had fun?”

“Oh yes, an unforgettable night,” I assured him.

“That good. I was told to show you the best of times.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he was saying but,

“I want to tip my girl, my wife, for a night.”

No need, I paid them double what they asked, everyone is happy, and there will be a good dinner tonight for their families. “When are you leaving?”

“I’m supposed to fly to Dubai tomorrow.”

“So am I,” says Faud. I’ll meet you at the airport, and I’ll show you around Dubai.”

“I’m sure that means the pussys in Dubai.”

“You got that right, Micky, be ready for some fun.”

I get dressed, and we make our way back to the hotel.

When I get back to my room, I am totally fucked out from the two girls Faud hired for me. I call Ruffe and tell him to pick me up in the morning. I take a quick shower and lay back on the bed, falling asleep in minutes. It’s so easy to sleep after you get your rocks off.

The cabbie, Ruffe, arrives more or less on time and knocks on the hotel door. I’m naked in the bed, but we are both men, so I get up and. I let him in.

The cabbie has a good sense of humor,

“I can see you been fucking your wife last night. Now you gotta get dressed.”

I throw on my outfit, Ruffe grabs my roll-on, and we arrive at the airport around 8:25am. I get a coffee and a brioche and run to board the plane with a copy of the New York Times, which surprised me. I didn’t expect to find the NY Times here in Teheran.

Faud is at the gate waiting for me. The flight back to Dubai is to leave at 9:30 am. But it is about 15 minutes late in the take-off but makes up for it and arrives pretty much on time. The Dubai airport is well organized, deplaning is easy.

I would have stayed at the famous monolith, The Burj Al Arab, famous for its striking sail design, but $13,000 for their least expensive room was out of my reach. Some of their lavish rooms are $24,000 a night. Instead, Faud suggests we stay at the airport hotel for a reasonable $70 smackers a night.

Faud has business to attend to, so I check in. I’m hungry and go to the food shop next to the lobby and pick up some snacks. Then up to my room. Everything here is first-class or more. I figure I better rest up. I get undressed, play with my cock for a few minutes and take a nap.

I’m supposed to meet Faud to go to the Cyclone Club, which has been renamed. He raves this giant nightclub that doubles as a brothel. He says I won’t believe how fantastic it is. He calls me and invites me for a late dinner.

While we are eating our Kabobs, he tells me this story. It’s supposed to be funny, although I didn’t laugh. It is about a Pakistani reveler at the brothel dance hall attracted to a masked dancer. He asks her to dance, in order to proposition her. They make arrangements to have sex, and he takes her back to his hotel room.

When she takes off her mask and stands naked before him, the man realizes it is his youngest sister, who he has not seen in years. He is too embarrassed to say anything and acts like he doesn’t recognize her. He ends up bedding her without telling her that he is her long-lost brother.”

“Oh my, he fucked his sister rather than let her know he knew she was a whore–real brotherly love! Down in the dark south, we don’t think sister fucking is abnormal. One of the best fucks I ever had was with my older sister. Her tits were…”

Fraud stopped me, “Best we don’t talk about incest, here it is a crime, although many of us practice it as well.”

After dinner, we go to the sector called ‘Modern Dubai, one of the leading centers of prostitution. We enter into a huge dance hall. Almost immediately a small, slender Chinese girl approaches me as Faud, and I are talking.

“Hello,” she says, “Are you looking for a girl?”

She was beautiful and said she had only been here a few months.

“You rich man, yes?” She says.

“Oh, he very rich,” says Faud.

“How much would it cost to sample your charms?” I asked her, coming right to the point.

“What do you like to do?”

“Everything.”

“Does that include anal?”

“Of course.”

“How big is your penis?”

“Ten inches.”

“Ok, I don’t know if I can do that. You too big. But for everything else I ask five hundred dirhams for a good hour, not rushing, but maybe you too big for tush, but I lick your ass hole real good.”

I’m considering that, but Faud gives me a look as if to say there are plenty of better fish in the barrel.

I say, “I need a few minutes to unwind and have a drink with my buddy.”

Seeing no negotiation was being entered into, she gave me a business card and suggested I call her cell phone when I was ready.

While Fraud and I were drinking some unique concoction of an exotic liquor. Later, Faud told me it was fermented camel piss and vodka.

Faud explains to me that Modern Dubai is one of the leading centers of prostitution in the UAE. Prostitutes frequent bars and nightclubs and come from all over the world. The Cyclone was closed down after a western new article exposed it, but the operation quickly moved to this location.

This local is known by visitors, Faud tells me, as the “United Nations of prostitution” because of the varieties of prostitutes from Asia, China, Azerbaijan, Russia, Ukraine, Bulgaria and Taiwan, and even Europe and the USA. There are as many as 500 prostitutes to pick from on the dance floor on an average night.

A spectacular large black woman entered the room. All eyes fell upon her. She wasn’t the only dark-skinned woman in the club, but she was easily the most beautiful with skin that had a golden glow. She stood at least six feet and had large breasts, a slender waist, and booty to die. There was no question in bed her ass would be a legitimate target.

I say to Faud, “This is my dream girl. I’m going to make a play for her. If I can get her back to the hotel, I probably won’t see you again. I want to thank you for all your help and for being the fantastic guide you have been.”

“That’s ok. Say hello to Hatu and Uncle Farzad when you get back home. Hatu wanted you to get a good taste of pussy. I did my best.”

“So this was all a set-up, Faud?”

“We had a good time together, didn’t we? You are ok for me. Take care.’

Faud turned and was gone.

I had questions and doubts, but that big black girl was all I could think of. I can’t resist. I walk right up,

“Do you speak English, my dear?”

“Does the Mississippi River have curves?”

“You’re a southern girl?”

“Born and raised and deprived of my cherry at an early age by my father who said he claimed what he made.”

“How’d that happen?”

“There I was doing the dishes, wearing shorts and a long wig. Daddy comes up behind me, pulls down my shorts, and WAMP! He stuffs his Louisville Slugger right inside me. Said he didn’t know it was me. But that didn’t stop him from many repeats performances. I couldn’t tell Mama. It would have killed her, so I just gave it up whenever he was drunk and wanted it.”

“I guess the cherry hurdle is one thing we won’t have to overcome.”

“Why, what were you thinking.”

“I’m a thinking I’d like to try and locate if there is any piece of cherry left.”

“Oh, you might find a tiny piece if your dick is larger than Daddy’s.”

“Do blacks have big dicks?”

“They supposed to, but I have been disappointed on occasion, big guys with dicks like the water facet in yo bathroom.”

“I don’t think that will be my case, my homie.”

“What makes you think you is getten near my puss. We hasn’t discussed my fee?”

“Is there a need to talk about money when the bloom of love is in the air between us?”

“Oh, you are a smooth talker Mr.?”

“Mike, Mike Hamer with one m.”

“Like the private dick?”

“I do like to keep my black dick private.”

“And your name, Missy?”

“Shawnee, like the river. Now I’m asking, how long do you require my services.”

“Probably for a lifetime, but let’s start with tonight.”

“For the whole night?”

“Of course.”

“That will cost you $3000.”

“Sold, you should have asked for $5000. $3000 is what this nigga calls a bargain.”

Shawnee and I left the club and returned to my hotel. Every eye in the lobby was on us. I felt like the King of the ancient Kingdom of Kush (1070 BCE), having Shawnee on my arm.

When we got up to my room, I said, “Is this place ok?”

“For a country girl, any place without straw on the floor will do–but it ain’t no Burj Al Arab.”

“Yeah, you got that right, but I’m here on business and figured I didn’t’ have time to take advantage of a first-class place, seven stars, I think?”

“There ain’t no such thing as a seven-star hotel. That’s just PR.”

“Look at you, throwing out them fancy words.”

“My major at MSU was communication, now I’ve expanded that to specialize in cum.”

I laughed at that. “Have you been to the Burj?”

“Yeah, two Saudi Princess took me there for a few nights, pretty regal place.”

“And what went on?”

“You want the details for your little dickey investigation?”

“Sure, your sex life sure didn’t stop with Daddy?”

“Daddy was into ass, mine, deeply into it. The Princes were into bookending me.”

“What is that?”

“You really want the details?

“Sure do.”

“It works like this. The two guys would fuck me at the same time. One Prince had his weenie in my pussy, and the other Prince was fucking my ass. The next time they’d switch places. I didn’t mind that, but they wanted me to blow their chauffeur when it was all over.

Get this, I’m sitting on this Japanese toilet that washes yo ass and cunt with warm water, just taking in the pleasant experience, and the Princes send in ‘Jockamae,’ the French chauffeur for a blow job while I’m sitting on the John. Course he had the green in his hand, so I open my mouth wide, and he shovels his seven incher in. It was an easy suck-off; the Frenchy came faster than a speeding bullet. That cost them an extra $1000.

Three days later, I gets a message from a girlfriend tellen me the link to open a porno site. There’s me with my mouth open, naked tits and all, ass spread on the toilet with French’s big cock in my mouth on the fucking internet.”

“Sure, they set you up.”

“Well, they paid for it, and now I internationally famous as the toilet-cock-sucker girl, it’s had five million hits on porno web site that those fuckin Princes controlled. You can’t do shit about it when they is Saudis. Just grin and ‘bare’ it. Thanks to Jesus that I had a big blond Afro on, so I doubt if anyone would know it was me, but so be it if-fen they do.”

“Well, that’s what you have done. Wow, you are a full-service gal.”

“You do whatcha gotta do. I took in $11,000 for three days of slurpin cum and Arab dick party.”

That story heated me up. My cock was at half-mast when I said, “Would you like some Crystal? I have a cold bottle in the fridge.”

“Like in the Strip Clubs back home? Well, that sounds good.”

I took out the Champagne bottle and poured us two glasses. Of course, through the thin robe, Shawnee noticed my erection.

“You gonna fuck me or club me to death with that trudgen under yo robe, daddy?”

“Daddy wants to take it slow and get to know you. I’ve already transferred your fee to your account.”

“You should have met me in Alabama when my fee was quite modest.”

“I’m sure your expenses in traveling and setting up here are high.”

“Yes, and the escort agency takes 20-25% when I’m booked through them.”

“So, Sweet Sister, at least I saved you the commission fee.”

We talked small talk. Shawnee told me she’d attended college. After she finished, she realized her student loans seemed impossible to meet on a teacher’s salary, plus the high school students were a lot to handle.

“Most female teachers I’ve heard about are too busy fucking their students to teach them much else.”

“That’s true; the teach in the homeroom next to me would have the older, bigger guys line up after the school’s out bell rang. She’d lift her skirt and lie back on her desk. They’d fuck her stand-in up, one after the other till the late bell rang.”

“You talk-in bout yo self Sugar?”

“No, I didn’t go in for that shit, like the young fool I was giving it away for free to Principal Falwell down on his office couch. But I’ve learned my lesson. If you’s want pussy, from this here gurl, you gotta pay Shawnee the big bucks before you gonna get a finger into her peachy pie.”

“So you decided to use your body instead of your mind?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Seduction is a fine art, and without an erotic approach, you would be havin sex like barn animals humping each other.”

“I guess you are right. As a college athlete, I felt used and abused. The college made a fortune on us out on the field, and most of us took away injuries that last a lifetime. If I was in your situation, I’d do the same thing.”

“You might still consider it. Black gay escorts do quite well, provided you have the necessary cock and ass to play the game, which varies with every client. In most cases, it’s the client who set the scene.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m ready for that, but I’ll keep it in the back of my mind just incase things go haywire. Right now, I just completed a deal that will net me enough to pay for this trip, your fee, and still a few dollars to carry home.”

“To Mrs. Mikey?”

“There ain’t no Mrs. Mikey. At least there wasn’t the thought of such stuff until you walked into my life.”

“Cut the bull shite, Mikey. You knows you is talken to a homegirl.”

“I knows, but that might be a good consideration, especially since you got tired of being the toilet girl and maybe wanna to be Mrs. Hammer?”

“Well, Mr. Mike, I think it’s time we got the show on the road.”

“Yep, in my world, you sample the goods before you propose.”

And with that, she started to dance around the room, unwinding the long multi-colored sari, until she was nearly naked when she fell backward onto the bed, slipping the last piece of red silk fabric from her body.

When she raised her arms, I quickly made myself nude and fell into her arms, my erection between her thighs.

I wanted to give back as much as I intended to take, so I moved down until her knees were against my chest and her perfect vagina two inches from my lips. I honed in on my target and licked gently, moistening her vulva, inserting my tongue, and probing for her clitoris.

I know there is a myth that we niggas don’t eat pussy, but I consider myself a champion at eaten poontang. Her puss was remarkable, and in some way, unique. It was distinctly female, tasted great, and although it took her a bit longer to climax than most pussies I’ve mentored, she did reach a full climax and was a mini squirter–wow!

I lay there feeling her ripe voluminous breasts pressed against my chest, he firm thighs pressed against mine, my cock in the safe harbor between them. Her body was shaved so closely that I could feel nothing of the pubic hair that usually would have chaffed my cock’s stalk.

“Your skin is so soft. I can’t even feel your pubes. How do you do that?”

“Depilatory, my dear, all of us who pass through those stages are devoid of any body hair.”

“What do you mean by ‘stages.’

“The passing from being born a male and bending one’s gender to become a full-fledged female.”

“You mean you are a…”

“Sex change, a transgender person, a gay boy who had his big penis looped off, grew these big tits and was refitted in Thailand with a pussy large enough to accommodate an endowed black man like yourself. Did your ten-inch swollen snake have any complaints?”

“None, just surprise?”

I was surprised, shocked, this most beautiful black woman in my arms was a ma…?”

Well, that makes no sense. Before I could say another word, Shawnee grabbed my penis, squeezed it in, and her mouth was on it. As she sucked it her long tongue snuck out of the side of her mouth and licked my balls. That was a first-time happening for me.

I swear I was close to coming, but she clamped her two long fingers around my dick and tucked it into her glory hole. I was unsure of what to do, but Mr. One eye swelled up beyond his full potential and then some, and I was fucking her/him/it like today was the end of the world as I knew it, and this was the best piece of pussy on the planet. The skin inside her vagina seemed to be magnetized and pulled and tugged at my dick like it was the North Star.

I wanted to continue fucking her. Yes, for me, it was a ‘her’ for the rest of our time, but Dickey Boy said it was time to cum. If there was a fire in her cunt, by God, I was ready to put it out. My balls let go with a torrent of cum juice, squirting out my cock’s head, and by God, I put that fire out. That was when I realized my face was all wet. I’d been sucking on her big titty while I’d fucked her. I wiped off my cheek with my palm.

Shawnee said, “So is this here woman’s pussy is up to snuff.”

“Your pussy is proof that God exists, this puss, I grabbed it like Trump taught us, is God’s art on earth. The best puss I ever slipped my dick into, babe.”

[A mini note on gender realignment surgery:

Reassignment surgery for trans women provides several ways to create a clitoris from existing tissue. The most common practice is to separate the penile glans from the paired erectile tissues and reduce in size to simulate a clitoris.

Most trans women’s bodies accept the relocation of glans penile tissue in the area of a woman’s clitoris. A modified technique that preserves some erectile tissue to simulate clitoral engorgement and a small amount of foreskin to act as a clitoral hood.]

“Wait a sec, honey, it was me who slipped your dick into my nest when you were having doubts about continuing.”

“I won’t argue that. Instead, I will thank you. Now, my darling Shawnee, there is another thing I wanted to mention. I have just come into a large cash infusion in my Detective agency. I wonder if you might come out to Newark and be my Velda, that was the name of Mike Hammer’s seductive secretary. I’d pay your travel expenses plus $1000 a week for ten weeks. Then if you were willing, we would be married, at which point I would share with you everything I own.

“Are you going to pay me extra when you are fucking me?”

” Of course not. You will be my fiancee,”

“I’ll think about it, Mike. I have been pondering whether to stay here or return home to the USA. If it’s a go, I’ll meet you in Newark in ten days.”

“Here’s my business card. All the pertinent info is there except the three-carat engagement ring that will be waiting for you should you make me the lucky one.”

And so that’s how we left it, although we had a bit more sex in the late night and again in the morning before she left.

I get to the airport just in time and rest through most of the flight. The plane landed in Rome, an airport where chaos reigns. After passing through an assortment of caged officials, I just make it to the Alitalia flight to JFK as the gate was closing. As exhausted as I am, I drink two whisky sours and fall asleep for most of the flight.

An Uber from JFK gets me back to Newark, where the Dwarf is waiting at the door. They must have a spy at the airport and know the time of my arrival.

“Where’s the gold,” says the Dwarf.”

“You think I stupid enough to smuggle Iranian gold into the USA.”

“Wasn’t that the deal? You were to carry the gold bars back.”

“I did it my way because, El Dumbo, there is no chance you can carry bars of gold out of Iran. Likewise, if converted to US dollars, they have a magnetic strip that tells the government and the border patrol you have a significant amount of cash. The Swiss francs do not have the electric strip, so easy to smuggle but a simple transfer from one Swiss Bank to another is the easiest method.

He looks unhappy.

“I had it sent to Zurich, where it was converted into Swiss francs. Your half is available on a letter of credit I will give you. You have only to identify yourself by the code number I will give you, and then the money is yours, in whatever currency you request from the bank. Long story short, no pun on your height, Rumpelstiltskin.”

My share remains deposited in my Swiss Account. One bar was worth $56,250, and ten bars were worth $562,500. From the total, my share was $281,250 minus the ‘fucking’ expenses. But I hope I will be returning to Dubai for a honeymoon. There in the chapel, of the fanciest hotel in the world, I hope to wed the finest piece of pussy and ass in the world has ever seen.”

“If by ‘fucking expenses,’ you’re talking about Shawnee, that six-foot volcanic mountain of flesh, I will agree ‘hole heartedly,’ and I do not misspell the world whole. I was the one who told you to take some time off to treat yourself and arranged that Faud, my cousin, be your wingman. I am pleased you are a man who can take some short advice, no pun intended, Sambo. As I told you, there is some exquisite pussy in Dubai.”

“Like you said, little man–exquisite. I will invite you to the wedding. It will be no small affair, no pun intended.”

“My stature may be small, but my cock is 11 inches long,” said the midget, “as your fiancee can tell you, she will verify the length orally if not vaginally. Is your face turning white, Sambo?”

“I don’t care which part of her you and yours have spurted your sour milk over her. Once she is my wife, you will have to lie back in your beds and dream your dreams while your jerk your gherkins–all of you.”

I continued, “Now, this is what you are going to do.

You’ve got to bring the old man here. My agreement is with Uncle Farzad. Bring him here tomorrow morning. I’ll be cleaning my Thompson submachine gun just in case you start any funny business.”

I pointed to my office window where one of my bloods had an M1 semi-auto carbine with scope pointed at Hatu’s giant dick or whatever the fuck the Dwarfs name is.

As you might imagine, the old guy Farzad, his brother Ahmed, and the Dwarf burst into the office the following day.

Just like I’d promised, I’m sitting there oiling my Thompson submachine gun.

I call the old man over. I show him the bank receipt for the ten ingots of gold, worth approximately $562,500. Explain the transaction.

I put my arm around him and say,

“There’s one thing that’s bothered me. There were eleven ingots in the safe, but the seventh was much lighter than the others.

Ya. That vas der chocolate one

Yeah, I figured that out. I ate it.

And so ended Mike Hamer Detective Agency’s first great caper, with enough profits to pay the rent on the tiny storefront for a long time into the future. He’s hoping his new receptionist, Shawnee, will be his Velda and, if all works out, the next Mrs. Hamer.”

“There I was doing the dishes, wearing shorts and a long wig. Daddy comes up behind me, pulls down my shorts, and WAMP! He stuffs his Louisville Slugger right inside me. Said he didn’t know it was me. But that didn’t stop him from many repeats performances. I couldn’t tell Mama. It would have killed her, so I just gave it up whenever he was drunk and wanted it.”

“I guess the cherry hurdle is one thing we won’t have to overcome.”

“Why, what were you thinking.”

“I’m a thinking I’d like to try and locate if there is any piece of cherry left.”

“Oh, you might find a tiny piece if your dick is larger than Daddy’s.”

“Do blacks have big dicks?”

“They supposed to, but I have been disappointed on occasion, big glutes with dicks like the water facet in yo bathroom.”

“I don’t think that will be my case, my homie.”

“What makes you think you is getten near my puss. We hasn’t discussed my fee?”

“Is there a need to talk about money when the bloom of love is in the air between us?”

“Oh, you are a smooth talker Mr.?”

“Mike, Mike Hamer with one m.”

“Like the private dick?”

“I do like to keep my black dick private.”

“And your name Missy?”

“Shawnee, like the river. Now I’m asking, how long do you require my services.”

“Probably for a lifetime, but let’s start with tonight.”

“For the whole night?”

“Of course.”

“That will cost you $3000.”

“Sold, you should have asked for $5000. $3000 is what this nigga calls a bargain.”

Shawnee and I left the club and returned to my hotel. Every eye in the lobby was on us. I felt like the King of the ancient Kingdom of Kush (1070 BCE–350 CE), having Shawnee on my arm.

When we got up to my room, I said, “Is this place ok?”

“For a country girl, any place without straw on the floor will do–but it ain’t no Burj Al Arab.”

“Yeah, you got that right, but I’m here on business and figured I didn’t’ have time to take advantage of a first-class place, seven stars, I think?”

“There ain’t no such thing as a seven-star hotel. That’s just PR.”

“Look at you, throwing out them fancy words.”

“My major at MSU was communication, now I’ve expanded that to specialize in cum.”

I laughed at that. “Have you been to the Burj?”

“Yeah, two Saudi Princess took me there for a few nights, pretty regal place.”

“And what went on?”

“You want the details for your little dickey investigation?”

“Sure, your sex life sure didn’t stop with Daddy?”

“Daddy was into ass, mine, deeply into it. The Princes were into bookending me.”

“What is that?”

“You really want the details?

“Sure do.”

“It works like this. The two guys would fuck me at the same time. One Prince had his weenie in my pussy, and the other Prince was fucking my ass. The next time they’d switch places. I didn’t mind that, but they wanted me to blow their chauffeur when it was all over.

Get this, I’m sitting on this Japanese toilet that washes yo ass and cunt with warm water, just taking in the pleasant experience, and the Princes send in ‘Jockamae,’ the French chauffeur for a blow job while I’m sitting on the John. Course he had the green in his hand, so I open my mouth wide, and he shovels his seven incher in. It was an easy suck-off; the Frenchy came faster than a speeding bullet. That cost them an extra $1000.

Three days later, I gets a message from a girlfriend tellen me the link to open a porno site. There’s me with my mouth open, naked tits and all, ass spread on the toilet with French’s big cock in my mouth on the fucking internet.”

“Sure, they set you up.”

“Well, they paid for it, and now I internationally famous as the toilet cock sucker girl, it’s had five million hits on porno web site that those fuckin Princes controlled. You can’t do shit about it when they is Saudis. Just grin and ‘bare’ it. I had a big blond Afro on, so I doubt if anyone would know it was me, but so be it if-fen they do.”

“Well, that’s what you have done. Wow, you are a full-service gal.”

“You do whatcha gotta do. I took in $11,000 for three days of slurpin cum and Arab dick party.”

That story heated me up. My cock was at half-mast when I said, “Would you like some Crystal? I have a cold bottle in the fridge.”

“Like in the Strip clubs back home? Well, that sounds good.”

I took out the Champagne bottle and poured us two glasses. Of course, through the thin robe, Shawnee noticed my erection.

“You gonna fuck me or club me to death with that trudgen under yo robe, daddy?”

“Daddy wants to take it slow and get to know you. I’ve already transferred your fee to your account.”

“You should have met me in Alabama; my fee was quite modest.”

“I’m sure your expenses in traveling and setting up here are high.”

“Yes, and the escort agency takes 20-25% when I’m booked through them.”

“So, Sweet Sister, at least I saved you the commission fee.”

We talked small talk. Shawnee told me she’d attended college. After she finished, she realized her student loans seemed impossible to meet on a teacher’s salary, plus the high school students were a lot to handle.

“Most female teachers I’ve heard about are too busy fucking their students to teach them much else.”

“That’s true; the teach in the homeroom next to me would have the older, bigger guys line up after the school’s out bell rang. She’d lift her skirt and lie back on her desk, and they’d fuck her stand-in up, one after the other till the late bell rang.”

“You talk-in bout yo self Sugar?”

“No, I didn’t go in for that shit, like the young fool I was giving it away for free to Principal Falwell down on his office couch. But I’ve learned my lesson. If you’s want pussy, from this here gurl, you gotta pay Shawnee the big bucks before you gonna get a finger into her peachy pie.”

“So you decided to use your body instead of your mind?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Seduction is a fine art, and without an erotic approach, you would be havin sex like barn animals humping each other.”

“I guess you are right. As a college athlete, I felt used and abused. The college made a fortune on us out on the field, and most of us took away injuries that last a lifetime. If I was in your situation, I’d do the same thing.”

“You might still consider it. Black gay escorts do quite well, provided you have the necessary cock and ass to play the game, which varies with every client. In most cases, it’s the client who set the scene.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m ready for that, but I’ll keep it in the back of my mind. Right now, I just completed a deal that will net me enough to pay for this trip, your fee, and still a few dollars to carry home.”

“To Mrs. Mikey?”

“There ain’t no Mrs. in my life. At least there wasn’t the thought of such stuff until you walked into my life.”

“Cut the bull shite, Mikey. You knows you is talken to a homegirl.”

“I knows, but that might be a good consideration, especially you got tired of being the toilet girl and wanted to be Mrs. Hammer?”

“Well, Mr. Mike, I think it’s time we got the show on the road.”

“Yep, in my world, you sample the goods before you propose.”

And with that, she started to dance around the room, unwinding the long multi-colored sari, until she was nearly naked when she fell backward onto the bed, slipping the last piece of red silk fabric from her body.

When she raised her arms, I quickly made myself nude and fell into her arms, my erection between her thighs.

I wanted to give back as much as I intended to take, so I moved over, her knees against my chest and her perfect vagina two inches from my lips. I moved in on my target and licked gently, moistening her vulva, inserting my tongue, and probing for her clitoris.

I know there is a myth that we niggas don’t eat pussy, but I consider myself a champion at eaten poontang. Her puss was remarkable, and in some way, unique. It was distinctly female, tasted great, and although it took her a bit longer to climax than most pussies I’ve mentored, she did reach a full climax and was a mini squirter–wow.

I lay there feeling her ripe voluminous breasts pressed against my chest, he firm thighs pressed against mine, my cock in the safe harbor between them. Her body was shaved so closely that I could feel nothing of the pubic hair that usually would have chaffed my cock’s stalk.

“Your skin is so soft. I can’t even feel your pubes. How do you do that?”

“Depilatory, my dear, all of us who pass through those stages are devoid of any body hair.”

“What do you mean by ‘stages.’

“The passing from being born a male and bending one’s gender to become a full-fledged female.”

“You mean you are a…”

“Sex change, a transgender person, a gay boy who had his big penis looped off, grew these big tits and was refitted in Thailand with a pussy large enough to accommodate an endowed black man like yourself. Did your ten-inch swollen snake have any complaints?”

“None, just surprise?”

I was surprised, shocked, this most beautiful black woman in my arms was a ma…?”

Well, that makes no sense. Before I could say another word, Shawnee grabbed my penis, squeezed it in, and her mouth was on it. As she sucked it her long tongue snuck out of the side of her mouth and licked my balls. That was a first-time happening for me.

I swear I was close to coming, but she clamped her two long fingers around my dick and tucked it into her glory hole. I was unsure of what to do, but Mr. One eye swelled up beyond his full potential and then some, and I was fucking her/him/it like today was the end of the world as I knew it, and this was the best piece of pussy on the planet. The skin inside her vagina seemed to be magnetized and pulled and tugged at my dick like it was the North Star.

I wanted to continue fucking her. Yes, for me, it was a ‘her’ for the rest of our time, but Dickey Boy said it was time to cum. If there was a fire in her cunt, by God, I was ready to put it out. My balls let go with a torrent of cum juice, squirting out my cock’s head, and by God, I put that fire out. That was when I realized my face was all wet. I’d been sucking on her big titty while I’d fucked her. I wiped off my cheek with my palm.

Shawnee said, “So is this here woman’s pussy is up to snuff.”

“Your pussy is proof that God exists, this puss, I grabbed it like Trump taught us, is God’s art on earth. The best puss I ever slipped my dick into, babe.”

[A mini note on gender realignment surgery:

Reassignment surgery for trans women provides several ways to create a clitoris from existing tissue. The most common practice is to separate the penile glans from the paired erectile tissues and reduce in size to simulate a clitoris.