Blame It On The Sun (Closed for Apollo Wilde and Se7en_)

[Apollo Wilde]

June, 1975

The summer was shaping out to be a scorcher. Kids played in the rainbow arcs of burst fire hydrants, screaming and laughing as they jumped back and forth. Mothers watched from the safety of the apartment windows, shouting at one another in conversation. The black asphalt smelled faintly of tar and chemicals, a testament to how hot the day was.

The war was over, and the country was struggling to repair the torn fabric of society. In just a few short years, the older generation saw their world turned upside down. Coloreds no longer sat at the back of the bus, women could join the workforce, and men were growing their hair long and making peace signs. Everything was gone, leaving a smoldering ruin behind. At least, that’s how the old timers thought. The youth, as with every generation, looked to the future with a sense of jaded optimism. Yes, the world had changed, but at what cost? They couldn’t trust the government – and now there was a huge rift between the youth as well. There were soldiers and non-soldiers, black and white, male and female. But somehow, the sun still rose and people still went about their business as if nothing had essentially changed.

Babies were born, old people died – the poor grew poorer and the rich grew richer.

The series of brownstone apartments on this street had seen it all – race riots, marriages, graduations, deaths. But yet they remained an odd sort of testament to the endurance of the human spirit. These apartments had suffered the birth pangs of a new society with an odd ease. The old generation simply faded away within the walls or moved out of the picture, and the new generation continually breathed fresh air into the world.

Watching the kids playing in the street, a young black woman smoked, the twangy sounds of Stevie Wonder’s “Talking Book” echoing behind her, playing its clavinet heavy rhythms down to the street. The gray smoke curled into the air, giving her the air of a slumbering dragon. Her brown eyes were hooded over, as if awakening from sleep, and her plush lips curved up into a slight smile. Ten years ago, she never would have seen kids of all colors playing under the rush of water like that. Not that long ago, she had been one of those kids herself, wondering why her skin color made her less than human, or the fact that she had a vagina meant that she was only meant to stay at home and have babies. And now here she was, in her own place, with her own job, watching the world that she had helped build. She had been there at protests, she had been clubbed with a policeman’s stick, she had been called “whore,” “nigger bitch”, and “Commie slut” and none of it had sunk in. And god, look at what her sacrifices had made! This world where kids could play and not see anything but who they were.

“Hey, number one soul sista! What you know good?” The voice came from an adjacent window.

Leaning out further, the black woman waved at her neighbor.

“Girl, ain’t nothin’, what you know good, Shelia?” she said, stubbing out the cigarette. She needed to stop smoking anyway.

Shelia was a remnant of the love-ins from the 1960s. She was nearing her late 30s now, and her straight brown hair hung in long waves on either side of her freckled face. A daisy was tucked behind her right ear. She stuck out of her window, leaning on her balcony. She wore a flower-print dress that flowed freely about her shoulders, and heavy strands of large beads caught the sunlight, sending it scattering in all directions.

“About the same, ‘Tricia, about the same. You know that vet kicked up a storm and a half last night. I could hear him breaking bottles half the god-forsaken night.”

“Whatttt?” and Patricia (known as “ ‘Tricia” to her friends)’s voice carried her disbelief across the windows. Between the two neighbors was the Beast in Apartment 201A. God knows where he was now, but he had quickly become the topic of conversation between the two women. Since Patricia didn’t live directly next door to him, she was spared the worst of his noise. That didn’t mean their mutual existence was a quiet one. They had gotten into a few screaming matches out on the stairs when he’d had a few too many (which seemed to be whenever she caught him staggering home), which, on one notable occasion, had gotten the cops called out. Since then, Patricia made it a habit to try and avoid him. Stupid fool was going to drink himself into an early grave anyway. Shame that he would, considering that he’d come back from Vietnam whole in body, which was much more than so many other young men could say.

“Girl, you know it. Heard him cussin’ up a storm, too,” sighed Shelia. What Shelia didn’t want to shout to Patricia was that she’d also heard him crying, too. The poor guy – he couldn’t have been past his early 30s, maybe even his late 20s. “ ‘Tricia, I’m worried about him.”

“He’ll be fine,” scoffed Patricia, the halo of her afro blocking the sunlight as she leaned further out of the window. “If Charlie couldn’t get him in ‘Nam, Jack Daniel’s ain’t gonna get him here.”

Laughing, Shelia shook her head, her brown hair shining in the light. “Girl, you are too much.” And then, she stopped mid-laugh, as if she heard something.

Patricia leaned forward a little more, trying in vain to see further.

“Oh Lord,” rasped Shelia, “I think the Beast is up.”

“Maybe he heard us,” snorted Patricia.

“I’m going to go in, see if I can talk some sense into him,” and with that, Shelia vanished back into her apartment.

Patricia sighed, slipping back into her apartment as well. Stevie Wonder sang two more songs, and then she could hear the raised voices over the music. Taking a deep breath, she waited through half of “Superstition” and jogged through her apartment, pressing her ear to the front door. She could hear them clearly now – he was obviously drunk, and Shelia was pleading with him in her maternal way to calm down. When Patricia heard him call her friend a “Goddamn stupid nigger loving bitch,” enough was enough.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, but I know DAMN well it ain’t my friend Shelia,” she boomed as she stepped out of her apartment.

Patricia wasn’t a particular tall woman, but the near foot of hair from the top of her head gave the impression that she was at least 6 feet tall. She was wearing bell bottomed jeans, her feet bare. Her well-defined stomach was bare as well, tantalizingly smooth brown skin exposed, only a jagged scar across her right side marring her flesh. Completing the look was a rust-colored halter top that exposed a fair amount of her breasts. Patricia was often described as a “stone cold fox”, and there was no exaggeration there. Even the rage that was on her face didn’t detract from her beauty.

 

[Se7en_]

"What is the world coming to?" Jake grumbled as his feet struggled to carry him up the stairs. "Black... black kids are playing with white kids down there, and most my neighbors are fucking niggers or hippies. Why the fuck didn't I die a hero in 'nam? Why did I have to return to this shit hole?"

Jake continued to grumble as he was about to reach the door to his small flat. A feminine figure appeared in front of him and he recognized it as the nosy, but nice lady living next door. She's been bothering him since he moved in a couple weeks earlier. Trying to talk him out of drinking and to find some work for him. He found her to be a nice person, but too nosy for her own good. Her smile almost always colored her lips and he liked that, she was nice to him despite him being nasty to her and the other neighbors all the time. Only thing is she liked black people and that meant he could never get along well with her.

Her soft feminine voice trailed into his ears trying to wrestle into his mind past the ounces of cheap alcohol that clouded his vision, hearing and judgement. He was very drunk, and if possible, probably even more drunk than usual. He had been drinking ever since he came back from Vietnam, his tail between his legs after being one of the soldiers in this humiliating war. After his father, hero of World War II, he would be forever tarnished by the shame of running from those swamps. At least he made it out in one piece and can now drown the memories away with cheap bear. A warm woman body with him in bed would surely help as well, but what woman would look at him, especially now as women were fighting for equal rights and all that shit, and funnily enough, they were getting there. They were being employed now, which was one reason he couldn't get a job yet.

Shelia was talking, but he couldn't really catch most of what she said as he was dazed and his head found it hard to stay in place. Or was that the room that continued to go round and round around him. The woman standing in front of him was no less active as she moved up and down and round and round "Oh for fuck's sake woman, will you stop moving around and talk clearly?"

He then waved his hand at her shunning her "Why do I care about the lies you're gonna spout, you're just a woman, and not just that you're a goddamn stupid nigger loving bitch!!!"

Jake was pointing his finger threateningly at Shelia as he yelled at her while she backed off slightly in face of his sudden outrage, but before he carried on with his drunken grumbling, a door flew open and a particularly lovely girl came through. He recognized her to be Patricia or Tricia as he heard Sheila and some other friends refer to her. He was about to throw some insults at her when she exploded in his face “I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, but I know DAMN well it ain’t my friend Shelia.”

Clearly, the veteran soldier was taken aback by her sudden outburst and he backed off a little till his back hit the wall behind him and he hiccuped, he was clearly and deeply drunk.

He looked down at the ground and then forced his eyes to move forward to where she was standing. Her cute little toes were poking from under her bell-bottomed jeans. She was barefoot, he always liked that, every female should be barefoot all the time to know her place and because it made them look more beautiful, more natural. That's what he thought as his eyes traced up her jean-covered legs. To his dismay, the jeans weren't tight and thus didn't show her lower legs as well as he would have hoped, but at least the material tightened past her knees showing the tantalizing curves of her thighs and then the flare of her hips. He licked his lips at the promise of the delicious chocolate flesh hidden behind the cursed jeans.

His eyes continued their climb up to her bare belly, her cute belly button stared back at him as his eyes trailed up to her chest, barely covered by the halter top. His eyes did linger there a bit entranced by the tantalizing flesh. She was beautiful, more like gorgeous, but she was a nigger, and so she was out of his league and not fit for a white man like he was, and a veteran soldier of all people. She was too lowly to grace his bed, despite being very pretty. He didn't approve of her Afro either, being more fond of straight or slightly curly hair cascading over a woman's bare back, not standing over her head like she had just got a particularly hard electric shock.

After tearing his eyes from her chest, he looked right into her deep pools, anger seeping from them. That was the final straw and his passive reaction so far turned aggressive as he walked towards her, anger pouring from his expression "Stupid nigger bitch, you are something to come talk to me like that." He staggered and slammed his hand on the wall beside her framing her small body "Why you even wear clothes? Your kind is only good as slaves, for fucking....... and working for us white men!!!"

He spouted his hateful words at her before he started coughing madly, staggered and almost fell over her before he managed to take a few steps back and fall down, his back hitting the wall behind him in a loud thud as he sat down near his door. He looked between the two females and shook his head "What is the world coming to, now I have women trying to lecture and correct me, and a black woman of all people dares raise her voice against me?" He spat as he looked around panting, his lips moving without a sound "Just leave me the fuck alone women." He barely managed to stand up, awkwardly opening his door and then going in to slump on the couch, without even closing the door behind him, he was too drunk to notice, but at the same time, he had no valuables inside to protect from marauders.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“I’m a whole lot of things, you stupid ass white boy,” snarled Patricia. The comments he made about how she was dressed, well, she would just let those go. She had heard it before, and she had gotten to the point where it didn’t bother her. Men were stupid anyway – they never knew what they wanted. If she covered up what she had, she was a prude, if she enjoyed it and wanted to flaunt it, then she was a slut. There was, unfortunately, really no in-between, and Patricia was proud of her body, flaws and all. She knew of many of a woman who would hide their bodies if they had a nasty scar like she did. And besides, she was at her home on her day off. She could dress any way she damn well pleased.

For a moment, just a moment, when he had her pinned against the wall, she felt a tremble through her body. But it wasn’t fear. No, she had been in far worse positions. It was something, all right.

Watching him stagger back into his room, she launched herself from the wall, only to be barred by Shelia.

“Girl, don’t do it!” said the freckled woman, placing her hands on Patricia’s shoulders. “He’s as drunk as a skunk and I would have to kill him if he laid a hand on you. And you know how I feel about that,” and her green eyes were empathetic. Shelia had seen a great many things in her day – lived through a few of them as well. She had seen junkies, wife beaters, racists, all that was ugly in the world. And it still did nothing to change her view of people.

Patricia shook under Shelia’s hands. She was angry, full on through. She expected this sort of thing from him (hence the nickname), but knowing it didn’t make it any easier. She thought she had left those days behind her. To have to deal with it within her own home was something different. “Shelia, I swear to God, one day I am going to kill him. You mark my words.”

“ ‘Tricia, the last thing we need are the cops showing up. They were easy on you the last time. I don’t think they will be again.” Shelia let go of Patricia, and stood beside her, her eyes going to the half-opened door. “The boy is hurting. You can’t drink like that without something being broken in you.” Twirling strands of her hair between her long fingers, Shelia sighed. “We have no idea what he’s seen. Don’t you remember standing against that? Why hold it against him? He doesn’t know any better.”

Patricia took a deep breath, let it out, and looked at the ceiling. God, a joint would be good right now. And Shelia….Shelia was right. Patricia HAD been there on those picket lines, had been there for the sit ins, had the hoses turned against her and been beaten nearly an inch within her life to protest the war. The vets didn’t know any better. They went under the banner of America’s greatness, and came back broken brutal men. Though she had not really spent a lot of time around the vets, she knew Shelia had down at the rehab center. Shelia seemed to spend every waking hour there, talking to these boys, trying to get them to start mending their broken lives.

“Shelia, God knows you’re right, but it damn sure doesn’t get any better listening to that shit. I just want….OOOO!” she growled, her fingers tightening in a strangling motion.

Shelia smiled, the expression making her eyes twinkle. “I know. I’ve been there too. Look, I’ll go talk to him.” Patricia backed up, her eyebrow raised. She made her way back to her apartment door, turning to stand in the doorway and face Shelia. “If you think you can get anything through that concrete head of his, you go right on ahead. I swear, you got a bit of Jesus in you to do the things you do.” Shaking her head, she closed the door behind her.

The look in Shelia’s eyes bordered on mysterious. “Oh, hun, we all do. We just don’t all listen to him.”

In her apartment, Patricia paced. She wouldn’t be leaving the living room, just in case things got crazy again. With a heavy sigh, she flopped down in the wicker chair next to the door, digging her toes through the dark orange shag carpet. Her dark eyes traveled over the magazine titles she had on the small table, and she closed them, taking another deep breath. Stevie Wonder continued to sing, unperturbed by the hatred that had just occurred in the hall.

Still in the hall, Shelia knocked on Jake’s door. “Jake, it’s Shelia….I’m coming in, okay?” It was really a courtesy more than a need that she knocked on the door. She wasn’t scared of Jake by any means. If anything, she was used to his angry bluster and his need to lash out. There was more bothering him than what lay on the surface, but Patricia and herself made easier targets, what, with them both being women and then Patricia being black on top of it. With a slight smirk, she bit back a snide comment. She saw the way that he had looked at Patricia before, a combination of lust, need, desire, and shame. He usually pissed Patricia off too bad for her to notice it.

It was probably a good thing. Shelia wasn’t sure how well that Patricia would take to someone who went out of his way to call her a “nigger” or a “coon” confessed to wanting to fuck her brains out.

Or, it just could have been the alcohol speaking for him. One more thing for him to be confused about.

“Now, I know you’re upset, but Patricia was just coming to my defense. She’s my friend. Friends do that. But that doesn’t give you the right to call her or me such ugly words. Honey, all I’ve tried to do since I met you was try to help.”

Shelia’s slight figure was lost under the billowing flower print dress she had on. Unlike Patricia, she wore plain sandals, with multiple beaded bracelets on each arm. When she moved, her brown hair trailed behind her, carrying the scent of patchouli. “You’re not going to find the answer to what bothers you in that,” and she waved a hand to the row of empty bottles lying across the floor. “And in case you didn’t know, we’re all the same when the lights are off,” and her eyebrows were raised in good humor. She hadn’t missed the sexual implication in what she had told him – if anything, she hoped that it might get him to laugh. "You have to talk to someone, honey, or this is going to eat you up."

 

[Se7en_]

Jake stumbled to the only couch in his rather small and empty apartment. Almost like a ghost house with no color, very little furniture, and a bad smell assaulting the senses of whoever walked in. A combination of alcohol and little ventilation. It wasn't a place for a human to live in, but Jake couldn't care less.

He was poor, broken. The money he had saved up while fighting the good fight in Vietnam was quickly being depleted. His ridiculous drinking habits were eating into his limited financial reserves faster than a fire eats through forests. That reminded him of scorched earth. They should have scorched that country with all it had. Actually, they did, but still they lost. Whether he liked it or not, he had respect for the Vietnamese people, they fought hard and long and in the end won.

As he threw himself down on the couch, he could feel soft feminine voices creeping into his ear wrestling sleep out of his eyes and he grumbled "Fuckin' bitches just won't shut up."

Moments later, he heard Sheila's soft voice as she knocked on the door “Jake, it’s Shelia….I’m coming in, okay?”

Jake was amazed, she was so gentle, so kind. Almost like an angel. He craned his neck and looked over his shoulder to her petite frame standing in the doorway. She really looked like an angel. What's with the constant smile, the creamy skin, the lively eyes and the gentle tone of her voice. He struggled to look at her and fought to prevent himself from smiling back at her for all she's done to him.

"Can't a man have some peace? What the fuck do you want?" He yelled at her, but his voice came weak and low, he had no more strength left to talk or argue, and she just wouldn't leave him alone. On one hand, he wanted her out, and on the other, he wanted her to stay, she never did anything bad for him, but always tried to help.

"I should probably leave this fuckin' neighborhood and go back to 'Nam. At least there you know you can shoot whatever moves and doesn't know the secret codes." He grumbled in his drunken state.

“Now, I know you’re upset, but Patricia was just coming to my defense. She’s my friend. Friends do that. But that doesn’t give you the right to call her or me such ugly words. Honey, all I’ve tried to do since I met you was try to help.” Jake listened to her talk, not really following what she was saying fully. The alcohol preventing his senses and brain from performing to their best.

He almost snickered as she called him 'honey', he had no clue how she did this, how she was this good. He thought her kind was as extinct as dinosaurs, there was no room for kindness in this crazy world. Only the strong lived. You take what you wanted from those who weren't strong, fast or smart enough to keep it from you, and you could even do that in broad daylight. That was how low the world had stooped, and yet here she was. A young beautiful woman talking about helping a stranger who had been nothing but a headache and a problem to her and all the residents in that apartment building.

Realizing she won't go away on her own, Jake sat up on the couch preparing to get up and throw her out. He looked at her gorgeous body, from head to toe. She looked beautiful in that flowery dress and sandals, and despite being white as well, he still somehow preferred the naughty, playful look of Patricia, the nigger. He had no idea why his thoughts were centered around that chocolate beauty, but they didn't linger long as the gentle feminine voice of the delicate maiden Sheila reached him again.

“You’re not going to find the answer to what bothers you in that,” He looked at the rows of alcohol bottles on the ground, most empty, and thrown randomly on the ground, some even broken. “And in case you didn’t know, we’re all the same when the lights are off. You have to talk to someone, honey, or this is going to eat you up."

"Alright, enough is enough woman!!!" He forced himself to stand, his head spinning and making the entire endeavor much harder than it should, but he somehow managed to take the few steps needed to reach her with his long strides. He stood over her, his large frame towering over her slight figure. He was at least a foot taller than her. Easily being over six feet tall and over two hundred pounds. He was a big guy, but even with that size, it was clear, it was a muscular body, broad shoulders, strong chest and toned abs. He was a soldier and he had kept his body in check, which was one of the reasons he made it out alive. However, it was clear to him and to anyone else, that his current life habits won't allow his body to stay in such a desired shape for long. The excessive amounts of alcohol he drank were eating into his body and mind.

Jake also happened to be a very handsome young man, in his late twenties, he had the gruff features of a badboy which made women weak in the knees. He had the size, eyes and attitude to match. If it weren't for his constant drunken state and bad demeanor, he would have been a great catch.

He looked down at the petite lady and his hand moved to wrap around her neck. She swallowed and looked at him. She knew deep inside he wouldn't hurt her. Even if his features and body language said otherwise, his eyes didn't have evil in them, and she couldn't see herself hurt in those eyes. He pushed her back slowly till her back hit the wall. He was standing in front of her preventing her from moving.

Jake tightened his grip around her neck cutting her air supply for a moment, pulling her up to stand on the tips of her toes, before releasing the grip while still holding her up "Listen to me woman, or should I say bitch? What I do is none of your business, so leave me the fuck alone, or I swear I WILL hurt you next time."

He looked her dead in the eye and tightened his grip on her slender column again to let his words sink in. He then released her throat and then stroked it gently, his eyes tracing around her neck looking for any bruises and hoping there were none. He spun on his heels quickly when he saw there were no bruises and was definitely glad his grip wasn't that tight. He turned his back to her quickly to hide his hurt expression. He was never an evil man, he would never have tried to hurt a delicate creature like Sheila, but he almost did. He was glad his brain managed to intervene and stop the alcoholic inside from hurting the angel in his house.

Quickly, Jake went back to his couch and slumped, silently hoping that she would forgive him and stay there to rub his back and talk him to sleep. He knew it wasn't going to happen after what he just did, but worst case scenario would be that they leave him in peace and he can drink himself to death in a week or so.

He was sorely missing the warmth of a woman's touch, to feel her small body crushed against his, to feel himself inside the warm canal of a loving woman and to devour her delicious lips. Those were all feelings he didn't have for years, and it took an immense amount of control not to rape Sheila or Patricia every time they tried to interfere with him. He needed a woman, that would probably be his ticket out of this misery.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The angry bluster she could deal with. Although Jake attempted to raise his voice at her, she didn’t flinch or recoil. Instead, she crossed her arms, waiting for his anger to spend itself. Whenever he passed out, she would take the time to clean whatever she could of the apartment. It was because of her that Jake usually had something to eat or some sort of medication to help him with the inevitable hang over. She never left him money – he’d just spend it on a bottle of Wild Turkey or Jack.

The one thing she wasn’t prepared for was his hand around her throat. Pinned against the wall, Shelia looked up at the ceiling. God, if you see fit to take me now, know that all I tried to do on this earth was good, she said in a quick, silent prayer. Deep down, she wanted to feel that Jake wouldn’t hurt her. But he was very, very drunk – probably the drunkest that she had seen him. Bringing her eyes back down to him, she locked her green eyes with his blue. She had read somewhere that if you ever locked eyes with a lion, you weren’t supposed to look away. And right now, she had a beast at her throat. She couldn’t look away. Staring intently into his drink-addled eyes, her body stiffened, daring him to do his worse.

She was rewarded when his hands slipped from her throat. Fighting the urge to just lay on the floor shaking and in tears, she just rubbed at her throat. The various beads from her necklace had dug into her flesh, and would undoubtedly leave a few marks. If she arranged her hair to cover it, she should be okay later that day. Murmuring a soft prayer of thanks, she followed Jake back to his couch, moving silently behind him.

“Come on, now….” Putting her hand on his back, she gently helped him up. Even though he dwarfed her by a good foot and a half (Shelia wasn’t a tall woman either), she seemed to possess some inhuman strength in supporting his bulk. He was a big man, that was true – but to her, he was a child trapped in a man’s body. His body, though muscular, had dissolved from being a hulking mass to a lean frame. Still fit, she could tell that much. If anything, she thought with a small grin, the drinking had helped him. When he first moved in, he looked like the Incredible Hulk. If he still looked like that, Shelia doubted that she would have survived this past encounter, no matter how much he was hurting deep down inside.

“God, Jake, you are a big one,” she grunted as she dragged/supported him into his bedroom. Letting him flop down on the bed, she panted, straightening up to rub her shoulders. Sitting down at the foot of the bed, she unlaced his boots, tugging them off. She was methodical in her approach to undressing him. As the mother of 5 kids (all boys as well – it was a surprise she didn’t have a head of gray hair), she was no stranger to the technique of getting them dressed and undressed, sleep or awake, happy or angry. Tossing the boots down to the floor with a thud, she sang softly to herself, to ease her task and to help him sleep.

“Oh Lord, wontcha buy me a Mercedes Benz,” she grunted as she tugged off his socks as well. At least he still kept good care of his feet. She’d seen a few cases of trench foot that had turned her stomach. “My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends,” and she braced herself for her next task. Moving up the bed to sit next to him, she planted her feet firmly on the ground and pushed against him, turning him over to his back. There was a chance that he could die if she left him on his stomach –he was THAT drunk-, and she need to get his pants off.

Unzipping his jeans, she braced herself again and started the tug-o-war to get them off of his body. True, he had lost a lot of mass, but his jeans still fit him tight in the thighs. Working the clothing down his legs, she pulled them from his ankles and tossed them to the floor with his socks. She was going to take all of this and wash it. She usually did, anyway. And when he was passed out, it was the only way she could get anything done around his place.

Her song stopped for a moment as she let out a low whistle. He was a good looking kid, there was no doubting that. Now in just shirt and skivvies, Shelia just took him in, admiring the tight and efficient muscle packed beneath his smooth skin. She didn’t cover him with the thin sheets; it was too hot for that kind of thing. Reaching over, she kissed his forehead, and pushed his dark brown hair from his eyes. “Hang in there, kiddo,” she said softly. One day he’d have to come around. He couldn’t keep running from the demons in the night. And the day that he decided that he wanted to come around, well, she just wanted him to know that people were there to help him, there to listen to him. She wasn’t going anywhere.

With his clothes in her hand, she tip-toed out of his bedroom to let him sleep it off. First thing was first – she was going to clean his apartment. He’d be out for hours. Creeping out of his apartment to hers, she came back with a broom, trash bags, and a mop. How she managed to carry all of that stuff was a trade secret.
Still singing softly, she started with the bottles.

___________

The place wasn’t spotless, but now it looked like someone actually lived there. She had cracked a window to let the air from the street filter in, and it carried the smell of the Pine-Sol that she used on the floor throughout the small apartment. Granted, it wasn’t the incense that she or Patricia burned, but it was a marked improvement. As much as he complained about the incense, there were times that she’d caught him standing in the hallway, eyes closed, just taking in the smell and the world around him. It was the times that she saw him like that, the lost child, that kept her coming back like this. On the battered table he had in the living room, she had set down a plate of home-cooked food with a small flower with a note. It was short and sweet -

"Hi there, kiddo," it started in Shelia's sweeping cursive, "This will keep until you wake up. Bring the dishes back when you're done. I'm here for you, if you'd let me in. With love, Shelia."

Now, after returning her cleaning supplies to her apartment, she was bringing his clothes back as well. Folding them neatly, she put them on the couch, and with her job done, closed the door to his apartment behind her. Shaking her head, she knocked on Patricia’s door.

Patricia opened it. The smell of her incense curled out into the hallway, the rich warm light of her lamps illuminating the darkened hallway. Stevie Wonder had given up the stage to Earth, Wind, and Fire now.

“It got quiet – if I had heard a thud, I was going to come after you,” said Patricia with a small grin. Shelia never ceased to amaze her. For being such a small woman, she was capable of such amazing miracles.

“I think you would have had a hard time moving his body – he’s as big as a house!” said Shelia, fishing in her pockets. “Can you do me a solid?”

“Anything for you, Shelia.”

“I want you to follow him. Make sure he gets home tonight all right when he goes out. I’m worried about him.”

Patricia groaned, and tilted her head back in disgust. That’s just what she needed – to skulk behind drunk Captain America half the damn night. She wanted to tell Shelia no, that she was crazy, but…Shelia had done too much for her, was too kind for her to even humor refusing the woman.

“When you ask for a solid, you don’t pull any punches,” and Patricia leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Just make sure he gets home okay. I’ve never seen him this drunk, girl. I think something’s about to break. I just…” and Shelia trailed off, tears starting to gather in the corners of her green eyes. Patricia reached over to wrap Shelia in her arms.

Shelia had lost her oldest in Vietnam. Patricia was there the day she got the letter, and had taken care of the woman. Shelia had been so stricken with grief that for months she had shut down, staring into space, not eating, barely sleeping, not living. Just being. When Jake moved in, Patricia knew that Shelia would make it her personal mission to save the man, no matter what.

“If I had just said something to Robert,” Shelia had sobbed , “He never would have went! I would still have my baby, right here, with me….”

Returning the hug after a long while, Shelia let go of Patricia. “You know what I mean,” she said with a small smile. “I just want to make sure that he’s okay.”

“I know, Mama Hen. I know.” And Patricia grinned. “What shit hole do you want me to go to?”

“Funny you should mention that, I found this,” and Shelia handed her the match book that she had taken from Jake’s jeans. “I think he goes to this place a lot. Just be careful. I’m pretty sure it’s a red-neck bar. Try to just catch him when he’s leaving.”

And that was how Patricia found herself standing outside of Catbird’s Bar at 2 in the morning. She was in an orange mini-skirt now and a loose flowing cream colored top. Normally, she would wear platforms, but considering that she had no idea what the evening would hold, she’d played it safe with flat sandals. She may have to run. Or fight. Or both. Shifting her purse across her shoulder, she made a mental check of it’s contents. She carried a small knife, mace, mints, a book…all sorts of odds and ends.

She was glad that the night was warm – it made waiting for him a lot easier.

 

[Se7en_]

“Come on, now….” Jake looked behind him in disbelief, Sheila was still there. After he almost strangled her, she stayed to help. He couldn't believe what was happening thinking there was still good in the world after all.

“God, Jake, you are a big one,” Jake struggled to walk with the small woman, doing his best to help her support his weight, and she was doing a great job at it considering her size. He never thought someone this small would be able to give him a shoulder and help him walk to bed, but it was happening right before his eyes. The woman was full of pleasant surprises.

Jake dropped to the bed, headfirst. At that point in time, he was barely awake, but he wrestled sleep and drunkenness out to follow what Sheila was planning. He felt his boots leave his body, followed by his socks and then finally his pants. During that, he could hear her soft voice whispering a song he couldn't recognize, but regardless, it was a soothing song and helped ease him into deep slumber. He felt her small hands pushing into his back to turn him over. His brain didn't register why she was doing that, his eyelids just refused to stay up any longer and he succumbed to sleep, planning to figure out what she was doing when he manages to wake up.

~~ 0 ~~​

"Oh FUCK!!!" Jake woke up, panting. He had just strangled poor Sheila to death. He sat up in his bed. Cold sweat covering his forehead and sliding down his face. His breath quickened and his heart thundered ominously in his ears. "My God, what have I done? I killed the poor woman!!!"

Jake almost jumped from bed to verify as to whether he had committed that horrible crime or not, and then it hit him, he wasn't wearing boots, socks or pants. He couldn't remember taking them off or walking to his bed, he couldn't remember anything, so anything was possible.

Terrified, Jake rushed out of his bedroom and was shocked at the sight, instead of a dead woman in a gloomy apartment, he saw a relatively clean place, lively with light and sweet scents. Food was neatly arranged on the table next to a piece of paper, and clothes were folded neatly on the couch. There was no sign of the empty alcohol bottles either.

Not believing himself, Jake rushed to read the note, the food and the clothes can wait. He needed to know what was going on. He knew she wasn't dead, but he had to read the note. He almost jumped on the chair and his eyes searched the note, skimming through it. Not understanding anything the first time, a combination of the hangover he was suffering from, the ridiculous adrenaline level in his blood at that moment and his still-sleepy eyes.

Shaking his head and blinking a few times, Jake went back into the note again, reading slowly this time, he could almost hear Sheila's voice reading the note for him "Hi there, kiddo, This will keep until you wake up. Bring the dishes back when you're done. I'm here for you, if you'd let me in. With love, Shelia."

Jake smiled wide as he read it and then read it again and again before laughing loud. He then shook his head "My God, what have I become? I can't believe I almost hurt her in my drunken state. I should work on that." He shook his head again and started devouring the food, it was delicious. He could feel it was prepared with love. Sheila's love for life.

He rested back in his chair and ran his palm through his hair thinking about what to do next. He certainly owed the woman an apology, multiple apologies in fact, and that was what he was going to do.

Forgetting that it was almost midnight, Jake got dressed quickly, gathered the plates, and rushed to Sheila's door. He knocked a few times and readied a smile. As much as he hated to admit it, he was wrong in how he dealt with this nice lady. She treated him like a son, and he was going to honor that and treat her well, despite being a woman.

The door opened a minute later, and Sheila's petite frame appeared at the door, she was no longer in her dress and sandals, but rather in a long white sleeping gown and she was barefoot. She looked at him with sleepy eyes wondering what he wanted in that late hour. Jake looked at her with an open mouth and then sneaked a peek at his wrist watch noticing it was almost midnight. He cursed under his breath "Oh shit!!! Very smart Jake"

He regained his composure quickly as there was no turning back now. He reached forward, his large hands clamped around Sheila's slender waist and he pulled her out and into his chest for a tight embrace. He hugged her tight and long. His strong arms wrapping around her body in a loving embrace. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Thank you so much, and sorry for being such a jerk." He tightened his hold around her body, it was tight but not painful or uncomfortable, and moments later, Sheila's bare feet left the ground as Jake's arms pulled her up and then spun her around in the doorway.

At that moment, he remembered that he had strangled her, and had no clue whether it was a nightmare or a reality. He put her down gently and then put his hand again on her neck. Only this time, he barely touched her and he leaned down to look closely at her neck as his fingertips traced around her slender column. "Oh God!!!" He exclaimed as he saw the marks left by the necklace. His arms moved quickly, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other went under her knees and he scooped her tiny body up in his arms and carried her back to his place. He laid her down on the couch and rushed back to her apartment "Wait here!!!"

He went into her apartment, and sneaked into her bathroom grabbing some healing cream and he went back to her and knelt by her side. One hand went to rest on her bare foot and he rubbed it gently with his large hand. He wanted to kiss her foot to tell her how sorry he was for hurting her, but he decided against it. Instead, he started applying the cream gently to her neck. "No objections, I caused this problem and I am solving it. I am deeply sorry I hurt you, and I swear to never do it again. If anyone ever tries to hurt you, I will hunt them down and kill them!!!"

Jake worked slowly, making sure to do a good job for the first time since he came back from the war. As he was finished applying the cream, he took Sheila's soft hand and planted a kiss on her slender fingers before picking her up again and taking her back to her apartment. He put her back down on her feet and went downstairs to drink the events of the day away. He shut his ears to whatever she would have said after he let go of her. At that moment, he decided to stop drinking, but it wasn't that simple, he was addicted. He needed help. He would try telling her that in the morning. Hopefully, he wouldn't be so drunk so as to start another fight with her.

A couple hours later, Jake had drank a fair bit of beer, and was getting slightly drunk. The image of his two female neighbors never leaving his mind. The motherly Sheila and how she took care of him, and the beautiful Patricia he so wanted to bed. It seemed his relationship with Sheila was going to turn up well, mostly because of how good she was to him, but he didn't see how he could tolerate that nigger. Regardless of how pretty she was, she was still a black woman, and she didn't seem as tolerant of him as Sheila was.

Finishing his drink, Jake walked out of the bar, he wasn't nearly as drunk as the previous night, but still he had more than enough to be considered drunk. Walking in the direction of his house, he saw a feminine figure in the way. Getting closer to harass her, he noticed it was Patricia. Instead of the jeans, she had an orange mini skirt showing plenty of delicious leg. The loose cream-colored top was nice too, giving a nice contrast to her dark skin. The final details were sandals adorning her delicate feet and a small purse, with mace definitely inside it. No sane woman would go out that late at night without mace at the ready in her purse, and he had no intention to be maced.

He stopped in front of her and grinned as he eyed her. "Well hello there pretty little nigger, looking very sexy in there. You waiting for someone perhaps?" He stood in front of her putting his hands on the wall on either side of her, framing her and pushing her body into the wall with his broad chest. He was careful not to touch her yet. He was drunk, but still maintained a higher level of control than usual.

However, his control didn't last long, and one hand dropped from the wall to land onto her shoulder, lingering there for a moment to gently squeeze her flesh before brushing against her neck. Hunger and lust were clear in his eyes, and not ones of a rapist. He somehow deeply cared for the woman despite barely knowing her, and his hand brushing across her neck was more gentle than forceful, but he knew she wouldn't just strip for him and let him do what he wanted with her. He knew she wasn't particularly fond of him, how could she with such a treatment and continuous name calling. Patience had its limits, and with alcohol high in the blood, he knew that patience won't last long.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

In the midst of a deep sleep, the insistent thudding at her door awoke Shelia with a shock. Though the apartment that they all occupied was considered one of the safer ones, Shelia had seen too much to be entirely relaxed. Her husband, however, could sleep through an atomic bomb, and she untangled herself from his grasp to go to the door.

Her husband, though rarely seen, did indeed live with Shelia in the apartment. He worked in one of the factories, and kept odd hours. He too, was a youth from the 1960s, and ascribed to Shelia’s good deeds. He had long since cut his long hair and melted into the businessmen of the world, but at home, he was someone completely different. He knew how Shelia felt about Jake, and outside of voicing his concern that she might be hurt, had done nothing else but help her. Lucky for Shelia, he was not at home when she ended her first encounter with Jake, and thankfully, the marks from her necklace quickly faded. He had held her by the throat, true, but it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

“Jake, honey, it’s midnight,” she said sleepily as she opened the door. Who else could it have been, really, banging at her door like that? He’d done it a few times before, when he was drunk beyond belief and thought that her apartment was his

Before she really had time to register what was happening, he had picked her up and swung her around, and all she could do was hold onto his shoulders for dear life. With a soft laugh, she patted the broad expanse of his back. “It’s okay, kiddo.” Swept away in his arms, she blew stray hair out of her face. At this point, she really had no say in what was happening. He was determined to make up for something, and didn’t give her the chance to speak or react otherwise. When he set her on the couch in his apartment, she watched him make a mad dash back to her apartment.

“Well, it’s a good thing Philip is a heavy sleeper,” she said with a sigh. When Jake came back and began to rub at her throat, she took his hands and gently pushed them down. “I’m fine, Jake,” and her eyes caught his and held them. “Really. You don’t need to do all of this.” But her voice fell on deaf ears as he took her hand and gave it a kiss. Then she was picked up and whisked away again back to her apartment.

“Jake, you’re the only one in this apartment complex that tries to hurt anyone,” she said softly, more to herself than to him. She knew he was going to the bar, a bar, any bar, to drink away his troubles. Closing the door behind her, she picked up the phone and made a call.
_______________

Patricia rolled her eyes as Jake staggered over to her.

"You, unfortunately." Her dark eyes bored into his, not giving an inch. She had learned a long time ago not to be scared of bigots. That's how they won. The smell of beer coming from him was overpowering, and she fought the urge to hold her breath. His hands trailing over her flesh, she tensed up, caught between fight or flight.

Jake was a big man - she would have problems trying to take him down without seriously hurting him. Not that she was above stabbing him if it came down to her safety or his, but that was insanity. A black woman, an activist on top of that, stabbing a white Vietnam vet? They'd put her UNDER the jail. His chest pressed lightly against hers, and she tried to press herself further against the wall behind her. She wasn't in a good spot, she knew that much. Things got marginally better when his hand dropped from her side to her shoulder - but as his fingers slipped across the smooth skin of her neck, she felt something in her shake - and it wasn't just fear. Patricia still had eyes - she knew a handsome man when she saw one. The problem with this particular one was the bile that spewed from his mouth every time he bothered opening it. Turning through her memory, she couldn't think of a single time that she had seen him sober. Not once.

But his touch did something to her. Something she wasn't a hundred percent sure of what it was. It wasn't like she had never been touched by men before - let alone a white man. Her last lover was white - a hippie that had gone up to Canada before the draft got too hot for him. He had been a good man, but there was something about him that didn't seem that it was entirely sincere. Probably had something to do with the knowledge that if things got bad, he could leave. Which, of course, that was what he did. Men like Jake, though, well, they were different. They stayed. But as Jake proved from the onset, it could have been that he was too dumb about what was going on to know that he should have left. There was no telling. And she simply didn't know enough about him. Not like he'd ever given anyone the chance. He roamed through the halls like a drunken ghost; anyone who tried to help him was usually cursed out or threatened. Only Shelia hadn't given up on him. She wondered if he knew how thankful he should be to that woman.


"Come on, Soldier boy," she said, pushing herself from the wall and against him. He had given her so little room in which to move that she had no choice but to press her body against his to get off the wall. She kept her face turned away from his, more to avoid his breath than his eyes. He reeked. His chest was broad and warm against hers - she didn't have to use her hands to tell that he was muscular under his clothing. Her thighs pressed against his, her hips against his...it was...strangely arousing. That was the LAST thing she needed - getting turned on by someone who thought she was less than human because she was black and a woman.

He stood nearly a foot taller than her - she was glad that her hair gave her about the same height. Squirming in his grasp, she lifted her head to look into his eyes again. They were a strange blue green, contrasting starkly with his dark brown hair and lightly tanned skin. Gently pushing herself against him, she succeeded in getting him to move a few steps back from her.

Staggering on his feet, he looked at her with a mix of desire, anger, and....something that she couldn't put her finger on. But anger, oh, that she knew. And knew all too well. Her hand went to her purse, her eyes taking in her surroundings with a practiced swiftness. If they fought, he had the advantage in more way than one. If they made noise, she ran the risk of calling down the wrath of all of those in the bar, and that would not have possibly have ended well for her. "Hey, calm down, solider boy," and the nickname didn't have a mocking air to it. Nearly everyone that Patricia knew had been touched or changed by the war, herself included. While she may not have cared for him and his continual racial slurs, she could somewhat empathize with his being a solider.

 

[Se7en_]

"Hey, calm down, solider boy," Jake listened to her and looked into her eyes wondering why she was so interested in him calming down. That never seemed to be an interest of hers, she usually came at him swinging and yelling after one of his multiple nasty comments, but this time she was telling him to calm down for some reason. What changed? He wondered to himself as he looked down at her.

Jake was probably a useless drunk, but luckily he wasn't stupid. He managed to figure out the secret for her rather calm reaction. She was at a severe disadvantage, usually she would be at home, most of the time Sheila would be around as well. The fact that she was standing in the street just outside of a bar removed the calming presence that usually manages to stifle any arguments with her kind nature. However, here she was vulnerable, not only because of the difference in size and strength, which never seemed to deter her from defending herself, but from the situation. They were standing near a bar filled with white men so if she screams, they probably won't come to help her, or might even come help rape her. If she picks up that mace or knife, she won't get to use either and if she did, the results would be disastrous on her. A female nigger activist assaulting a white male war veteran would ensure she spends the rest of her life in jail being raped daily or worse.

She had managed to push him off her a bit, she was clearly a strong woman despite her small size. Jake looked her dead in the eyes and then moved back to pull her body into the wall. He could have told her that she better let him rape her in peace as struggling won't get her good results, but he didn't want a quick fuck, he wanted her to be his. He wanted her in his bed every night, in his house every day. He wanted her to be his woman, and trying to rape her won't help him achieve that goal, but her eyes did speak to him. He could almost see it her eyes, she wanted it!

Pushing his luck, he pushed her small body hard onto the wall, his knees entered between hers and tried to push her legs apart as his hands clamped on her waist to hold her in place and then he pulled her up a little, forcing her to stand on her toes.

He maintained solid, unwavering eye contact as he held her body tight into the wall leaving her no room for movement. he reached down and grabbed her hands, slowly lifting them over her head. She was strong, but still much weaker than him. Her hands were eventually lifted high over her head, stretching her body, and her small wrists were encircled in his large hand, trapped until he decides otherwise. His other hand went under her chin, fingers reaching to wrap around her jaw tilting her head up so she looks into his eyes. Eyes that demanded focus and attention; deep pools of emotions she couldn't read just yet.

He continued looking into her pretty eyes with a bit of intensity, his tongue went out to wet his suddenly dry lips. Jake leaned down resting his chin on her shoulder drinking in the sweet scent of her body. His lips found her earlobe as his hand released her chin and grabbed her right breast, kneading it almost gently through the silky top. He almost shuddered from the feeling of her tender flesh under his strong digits. He squeezed her luscious mound and groped and fondled her thinking he could do that all night, but he knew that wasn't possible unless she was willing.

His other hand kept holding her wrists in a vice-like grip, pulling her up to teeter on tip toes with his legs between hers to prevent her from shooting her knee up to his crotch and end his hold on her. He had no intention to let her go anytime soon though.

"I want you woman." His voice came out hoarse and deep seeping into her ears, and could have been pretty seductive if it wasn't for his drunken state. "I will take you right here and right now you pretty little nigger." He continued, his drunken breath washing over her neck and ear as he continued his firm hold on her small body, keeping her held helplessly between two walls; the brick wall behind her, and the wall of muscle that was his chest.

Without waiting for her reply, whether positive or negative, he turned her around roughly by the hold on her wrists and thrust her against the wall, breasts crushed against the rough wall. That same hand suddenly released her wrists and grabbed her neck, fingers gripping her throat tightly but not painfully. He only wanted to keep her under control not choke her. His other hand slid between her thighs forcing her legs open. His fingers found her panties and quickly grabbed at the silky material, forcefully pulling it down, almost tearing it in the process.

His lips returned to her earlobe, again breathing down her neck and speaking right into her ear in his strong masculine voice "It's my turn to tell you to calm down and relax woman. I will ravish that sexy body of yours right here and right now.I will take my pleasure from you, and I will make sure you enjoy every moment of it. I can't believe I am saying this now, but even though you are a nasty little nigger, you are sexy, you are beautiful and I want you to be mine."

It was years since he last held his last lover. That little girl liked it rough and from behind, taken roughly with a hand around her throat. He was hoping Patricia would be the same type, enjoying rough sex. To try and ease her into the mood, his fingers found her sex, his palm cupped her nether lips gentle. A feat hard to imagine giving his state and the size of his hand, not to mention the tight grip of his other hand on her neck. His palm slid up and down her slit, coaxing her, trying to arouse her to get her wet to accommodate him later.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Shit.

That was the only thought in Patricia’s mind as Jake pushed his bulk against her again, effectively pinning her to the wall. He had pushed her back hard enough to let her know he wasn’t kidding. It wasn’t a suggestion he was giving her – it was a command. She couldn’t yell, she couldn’t scream, and nothing that her mind ticker-taped through resulted in a clean getaway for her. For once in her life, Patricia was something close to scared. Sure, there had been the violent protests – but if she was hurt, or even killed, it would be for a cause. Her death would make her a martyr, and make the cause stronger.

But now, she was pinned against a dirty wall in a dirty alley by a drunk man that nearly towered over her.

Tears burned the corner of her eyes as she looked directly into his. Caught in this moment, she had no bravado to hide behind. It took longer than she wanted to admit for her to wrangle her thoughts together, to force bravery back into her eyes. She had to trust in Shelia’s judgment, no matter how flawed she thought it was. Shelia hadn’t been wrong once, and she wanted to believe her now. No, now she HAD to believe in Shelia’s goodness. His leg forced between hers, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against the silky crotch of her panties, pushing the fabric between and against her labia roughly. Before she could even form a complaint in her head, she parted her legs, almost on instinct. She had to look away from him to stop herself from moaning. Already, she could feel the crotch of her panties growing damp.

Am I losing my mind?

He felt good. He triggered something in her, something so deep down that she couldn’t really think it through. He caused her body to react, and she wanted more of the sweet drug that he seemed to be offering her. Her mouth suddenly dry, s he tilted her head up and away from him. The night sky above her was clear – well, as clear as it could be in the city. The light pollution from the dozing metropolis overshadowed the slight light from the stars. The moon was a bright full white circle, peeking at the two of them between the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. The sky showed as a narrow rectangular block between the bar and the surrounding businesses. The alley smelled of old beer and urine. And yet, the smell of the sweat and desire between the two of them dulled her senses to anything else. Even under the heavy stench of beer on his breath, there was something animal about him, something so….male that it made her head swim.

His hands encircled her wrists and pulling her up against his body – before she could stop herself, she let out a long moan. Horrified, she closed her eyes, just wanting to make sense of what was going on. She couldn’t still be high – and she hadn’t had anything to drink. His fingers curling about her chin, forcing her to look at him….her dark brown eyes looked into his, water still gathering at the corners. She was caught between tears and raw desire, and it was tearing her up inside.

“…..What are you doing….” She managed to gasp out, forcing herself to keep her eyes on him. She couldn’t read him, she didn’t know what he wanted from her. Could it really be something as simple as a fuck in the middle of nowhere? Would that be something that she could do?

Well, why did she even bother asking? His hand was heavy on her breast, his fingers digging into the firm flesh. It wasn’t hard enough to be painful, but it wasn’t soft enough to be gentle, either. Under his rough palm, her nipple firmed, rubbing against the thin fabric of her bra and her top.

Oh, he was drunk.

And probably wouldn’t remember this. Or what he was saying. And she hadn’t gotten any in a while. His being this close to her and how her body was responding was enough for her to move forward with…well…whatever. Times were changing – and the irony of the situation was that if he was sober enough the next day to remember what happened, maybe he’d hate himself. After all, even of the midst of his passion (or whatever it was), he still called her a “nigger.” Imagine, him trying to be romantic, trying to tell her how he felt. She would have almost been something close to touched if he hadn’t spun her around, her face to the wall now. His hand on the back of her neck, she stiffened. God. She wondered if he could see how wet she was right now.

How he felt indeed.

She just learned his name about a week ago, and that had been through Shelia. Patricia didn’t know how she felt about the man in front of her. She had marched to bring him and his fellow soldiers home, she had shouted slogans at the gates of the White House on his behalf, and part of her hated him for being so ungrateful to her because she happened to be black and female. She watched him with Shelia as he staggered up and down the hallways, a drunken ghost, and she was willing to fight him if he had threatened her within the apartment.

But now?

Color didn’t matter. His words were just noise against her ear, nearly drowned out by the rapid thud of her heartbeat. What it boiled down to now was that he was a man, she was a woman, and he expressed a primal need for her. It didn’t even matter if it wasn’t her that he wanted.

“Big words,” she managed out, a little of that bravado back. The feeling of his fingers against her thighs made her shiver in pleasure. It’d been too long since she had a good fuck. Maybe something like this would be just what she needed. His hands found her panties, and she had to smile a little to herself. They must be drenched by now. What fun things would he call her now, with her dripping panties in his hands and sliding slowly down her thighs? All he would have to do was lift the sinfully short hem of that orange skirt to reveal her dark sex to him. Even under the fading light of the bar, her dark curls glistened with her arousal.
His fingers cupping her slit, she moaned again, not bothering to hide it now.

“Show me what you got, soldier boy. You got your nigger against the wall, now what?” Her voice was teasing, challenging now. If they were going to go there, they were going to go there. “How many times have you thought about doing this, huh? How long has this,” and she ground her slit into his fingers, “kept you up at night?”

 

[Se7en_]

“Big words,” Jake listened to her as she seemed to be regaining her confidence and composure which didn't make sense to him considering he still had her pinned against the wall. His muscular chest pushing hers against the wall, trapping her. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her throat ready to cut her air supply at any moment.

“Show me what you got, soldier boy. You got your nigger against the wall, now what? How many times have you thought about doing this, huh? How long has this kept you up at night?” He was amazed to hear those words from her. Her tone wasn't the normal angry one she used during the multiple times in which she snapped at him after insulting her or Sheila. This time her tone was low and seductive, teasing even. She even refereed to herself as 'his nigger'.

It was hard to believe this was happening, his hand that forced her panties down her gorgeous chocolate legs sent a rather peculiar sensation to his brain. The silky garment was soaking wet. 'Was she aroused? This aroused?' He asked himself as his fingers continued to dance across her nether lips, wet and ready to receive his hungry erection, but first he had to answer her question before answering her challenge.

"How long you say? Ever since I first saw you, I wanted you. I don't know why. I despise your kind, but you're something else, you are gorgeous and I want you, I need you to be mine." His lips locked around her neck, teeth digging into the tender flesh, leaving his mark on her young body. His fingers tightened around her throat, painfully cutting air supply to her lungs as his index finger thrust into her without warning and began twitching inside her velvet folds coaxing her to get more and more wet and be ready to accommodate him. He wanted her first experience with him to be a pleasurable one, but a painful one as well. He will give her intermingling sensations of pain and pleasure till she submits to him. He had decided to start gentle with her and thus needed her very wet before he enters her.

His thick digits continued to tease her sex, index finger pushing deep inside her scratching her inner lips while his other fingers continued to gallop around her outer lips. Thumb found her clit springing it to attention and giving it plenty of that. Lips returned to her neck licking and nibbling on the slender column before allowing her to breathe once again.

Jake allowed her limited breathing time before tightening his grip around her throat again. His fingers continued to randomly move from penetrating her, to teasing across her slit to playing with the over-sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. He was feeding her desire and building his own.

His own arousal was building quickly as well, straining against his jeans asking for freedom, asking to enter the beauty trapped in front of him.

It was happening, he was about to fuck the delicious Patricia, and she didn't seem to mind either. His drunken state was thankfully not as bad as it was every other night allowing him to retain some much-needed control. His chin rested on her shoulder as he drank her sweet scent in the close proximity. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating feeding his own arousal, still struggling to get free, and it would be denied no more.

Losing all resistance, Jake's hand reluctantly left the black lady's soaking pussy and quickly worked on his jeans, freeing his member. The hard steel shaft poking from the front of his pants threateningly with its thickness and pulsing vein. ready to pounce the hungry pussy mere inches in front of it.

Unable to wait any longer, his hand grabbed the hem of her short skirt and threw it up to her hip. The same hand quickly slid down her bare thigh to hook under her knee and lift her leg up and to the side opening her up for him. He lined up his throbbing member against her entrance and clamped down on her throat. His hungry member was poised at the entrance to her treasure hole, standing at the ready near the opening, touching her lightly but not pushing in, not yet at least. He then leaned in to whisper in her ear "Time to feel prime white cock tearing your hungry wet cunt apart you nasty little nigger or maybe I should call you a slut? You were so wet even before I took your panties off. You're enjoying this and you like it rough don't you nigger?"

His voice was hoarse and cruel, at the same time being seductive and almost loving. It was an odd mixture, and he had a hard time believing that was his voice. His choice of words sounded just like him, but his tone felt like it belonged to a different person that died a long time with his last girlfriend.

Shaking his head, Jake decided to forget the past, easing on her neck for a few moments to allow her to draw some much-needed air, before locking his strong fingers around her throat again in time for his raging cock to spear through her entrance.

He shuddered at the feeling of her tight love hole engulfing his erection. It was electrifying causing all thoughts about being gentle disappear into thin air, much like his twitching shaft disappeared into her satin sheathe.

Pressing his body into her more, the combination of his hand under her knee and the one clamping tight around her throat lifted her up to stand on tip toes as his throbbing manhood slid easily in and out of her wet folds. Honey from her slit coated him and dripped down her thighs announcing her readiness and arousal.

Feeling his arousal building quickly, Jake quickened his pace, picking up speed. His strong hips pumping into her waiting and hungry love hole like there was no tomorrow. His thighs slapped into hers with every strong long thrust of his hips. He wanted, really really wanted, to prolong this experience, to take his time fucking the gorgeous woman, to savor every single moment. This could very well be his last chance to take her, but alas, the orgasm building deep in his groins might not give him that luxury.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The thing about men, no matter what color they were, is that they’re predictable.

In a handful of moments, her fear had turned to arousal, and Jake had played into it. He could barely string a sentence together – he was babbling something about whatever desire he thought he felt-, and it was clear that the head below his waist was doing all of the thinking. His teeth closing in on her neck, she gasped, turning her head up to allow him better access. Her body was ready to go – it wouldn’t take too much longer for her brain to be into it as well. She just needed to understand that this was going to be a brief, rushed affair, and the best that she could hope for out of it was some severe self-loathing from him after he realized that he’d fucked a coon.

Fingers shoved into her pussy, and she yelped. She should have figured this was going to be a part of it as well. He was too drunk to know what he was doing, and probably didn’t know the first thing about really touching a woman. She’d heard that solider types tended to be rough, brutish, and quick – only concerned with how they felt. A far cry from the hippie lover she had in the past. Her yelp was cut off, though, by the hand tightening around her throat. Panic leapt to the forefront of her brain, and everything went red. Other than Shelia’s words and what he was rasping to her, she had nothing solid to believe that he would not kill or severely hurt her. With his fingers eagerly probing her internally, she found it hard to be aroused by his actions. Her body responded in turn, and the fluids that had flowed freely began to slow. Squirming, she tried to free herself from his tight grip, but found it an exercise in futility. Reaching up, she clawed at his fingers around her throat. He may have had her so she could not use her legs, but thankfully her hands were still free.

Perhaps in response to her clawing, or because he was used to treating women this way, his grip around her throat eased, and she took in a long gasp of air, her lungs burning with the effort. Before she could catch her breath entirely, his fingers tightened again, shutting off the flow. His fingers worked diligently against her clitoris, struggling to coax a reaction out of her. Though it may have worked in other circumstances, now, with her flow of air continually restricted, it would not have the same effect.

His hands left her channel, and even through the haze and panic of not being able to breath, something in her brain echoed a sigh of relief. That would mean that he was almost over – at least, with his hands. Inevitably, he’d worked himself up into a drunken frenzy, and would be using his cock in her in short order. He mumbled more about his desire, a few more slurs, but Patricia didn’t care. She’d long lost interest in what he had to say or what he felt that he needed to profess. Drinking was the home of the coward. However he felt was instantly rendered moot by the beer on his breath.

Fingers around her neck loosened, ever so slightly, and despite the burning urge she felt to spit in his face or say something snide, she used the opportunity to catch her breath. She had to treat this like swimming, really – something she was good at. Think of this as another long dive, Patricia, her mind calmly told her. You can’t panic before the dive. Taking a deep breath this time, she was prepared for when his hand tightened again.

She was not prepared for his shaft to suddenly spear into her, jolting half of that breath from her. The sound that escaped from her lips was something like a strangled gasp, her air forced from her and her ability to replace it limited.
There was enough lubrication from her earlier arousal to keep it from being an entirely rough ride, but it would be a cold day in hell before she would admit to feeling any pleasure. He was thick and long, and he definitely filled her body, but there was no pleasure in the action. Just the feeling of pressure inside of her and against her neck. The good thing about this, her inner voice soothed her, is that he’s not going to last long. You’ve been through worse, Patricia. Take this, and make him pay for it when he sobers up.

Sometimes, a little bit of pure resolve, a desire to do some lasting harm, leave a lasting impression, is enough to get people through the worst times. Truthfully, Patricia had been through much worse, and eventually, when this was over, she’d find something to laugh about it in. She didn’t blame Shelia – Shelia was a good woman who thought every monster had a soul. She couldn’t say that she was angry at Jake either – he was being what he was – a silly coward. The way her body originally acted, though…that was what confused her. That’s what would keep her awake for the next couple of nights.

Strange.

 

[Se7en_]

Jake was caught in the heat of the moment, unable to think straight. His twitching member caught in the embrace of Patricia's tight pleasure valley, his lips and teeth roamed around her sensitive neck and his hand was controlling her breath in a rather cruel way. Being drunk, he had no clue he was being that cruel, he actually had no clue what he was doing. A fact he would surely come to regret the next day when he sees the bruises he had caused on Patricia's tender flesh.

That was for later though, right now all he had on mind was to release inside the delicious body trapped between him and the wall. His hips acted with a mind of their own pumping into her moist canal in a frenzied pace. His hips were pushing hard and fast, as if his life depended on it, pushing his steel rod deep inside Patricia's body.

Soon, Jake was feeling the freight train that was his orgasm coming and there will be no stopping it. His fingers released Patricia's throat to allow her to get some air while his other hand tightened on her knee, holding her leg higher and spreading her even more as his hips continued their hurried pace.

Moments later he felt the inevitable, his cock twitched and he knew it was time to let go and succumb to the pleasures of her body. His hand tightened around her throat, even tighter than anytime before it as he exploded inside her. Shots of the creamy liquid fired deep inside her, marking her womb for the first time, and what he was hoping wouldn't be the last. Moaning and groaning in pleasure, he locked his mouth around her neck again, biting. His hips continued their mad pumping as he emptied his double barrel into her unwilling love hole.

He felt her walls milking him for all his worth, whether she was enjoying it or not, the body was an infamous betrayer and her pussy had a mind of it's own gripping him tight and squeezing him as he unloaded his jism deep inside her, hot thick streams of the white fluid raced from his body to hers announcing his pleasure.

Jake almost slumped to the ground, this was his first fuck in over three years. He had almost forgotten what it feels to be inside a woman. Having to satisfy himself day after day with his current girlfriend; his right hand. There was no comparison, being inside the warm walls of a woman far eclipsed stroking himself to orgasm.

Jake rested his chin on her shoulder, his hand had eased on her throat on it's own as the orgasm tore through his body. He could tell she didn't share his ecstasy. Now that he had cum and was again thinking more clearly, no longer clouded by lust anymore. He saw where he went wrong, he remembered she was aroused at the beginning and then seemed to no longer enjoy it at all. He had no explanation to it. 'Was I being too rough with her? Does she hate me that much? How couldn't she you idiot? You only call her bad names and now you just raped her while choking her almost to death? How could she have possibly enjoyed this?'

He thought to himself as his hand started to gently stroke her neck while his other hand kept holding her knee up with his now-limp member still buried inside her.

'I have to carry her home,' He thought as he released her suddenly and then turned her around. He didn't allow himself to look into her eyes. Instead, he grabbed her waist and pulled her close, "You are here to take me home. I assume Sheila sent you. I can go home alone, but I won't let you walk home now, I am carrying you home whether you like it or not, so don't make it hard for both of us."

Without waiting for her reply, his hands clamped harder on her waist and he pulled her small body up and threw her over his shoulder. His hands quickly moved to secure her and make sure she doesn't struggle too much or fall; one hand wrapped around her waist and the other around the back of her thighs. His hand fell right on the soft sensitive skin on the back of her legs and he almost shuddered at the feeling and began a gentle caress to her thigh, enjoying the smoothness of the dark skin. He almost didn't believe his hand could move so gently after all that time. He remembered how his last girlfriend liked to be carried like this and how he made it even more fun for her with the massage he applied to the back of her thighs. He was hoping Patricia would appreciate it as well, but something told him she won't.

Without really listening to whatever she had to say and easily holding her body, he walked home with her draped over his broad shoulder. She was like a feather, her small body and weight being barely felt on his strong athletic frame.

Minutes later, they were on her doorstep, so he lowered he to her feet carefully. Before she could protest or say anything, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight embrace and his lips found her ears, "I am sorry if I hurt you. Actually, no, I am sorry that I hurt you Patricia."

That was the first time he used her name, not some random racial insult, or any other form of insults mainly directed at her color and gender.

He let go of her and left without uttering another word, not wanting to embarrass himself anymore. Jake entered his apartment and slumped on the couch. He was still feeling the aftereffects of the powerful orgasm and was reliving the bout of rough sex he just had with the lovely Patricia. 'Damn I am such a fool, she would never agree to do that again. Actually, I am lucky if she talks to me again after tonight. I really have to quit drinking.' He nodded to himself as he made his decision. 'Will talk to Sheila tomorrow as well and see if she can fix the situation. I know Patricia loves her and wouldn't refuse anything she would ask.'

Nodding again, Jake thought he had found a solution, but he knew he would still have a hard time looking Patricia in the eye after the unfortunate events of the night. 'Would she ever forgive me? I wonder,' He thought to himself as his eyes refused to stay open and he drifted into sleep.

As soon as he woke up in the morning, he washed up and ran to Sheila's door knocking on it. As soon as she appeared at the door, he took her hand and guided her to his apartment. He sat on the couch with her and told her the entire story of what happened last night.

After he was done, he looked into her eyes "Can you help me? I want to be with her!" His tone was genuinely caring and honest. He even jumped from his chair and went to the bottle of drink on the table. "And I will quit drinking!" He took the bottle to the kitchen and emptied it in the sink looking into Sheila's eyes all throughout.