The Journey Home

8 min read

photo: MetArt

Heavy drops of rain began to slam against the grey sidewalk, splashing up stale, muddy water on to Monica’s ankles and calves. Her already tight black skirt seemed to suffocate her wide hips as they shrunk from the damp of the ongoing storm.

Monica had given up on trying to protect her black hair from the damage of the rainfall. She had accepted the lopsided wet chia pet her natural hair had decided to form without the proper leave-in conditioner and oils.

Besides, she had more to worry about. She had to use all her concentration so as not to slip in her black rhinestone high heels — a task that made her walk through campus slower. Her t-shirt changed in style. The once light pink cotton material would turn hot pink and be soaked by the time she made it to shelter.

A flutter of umbrellas opening in front and behind Monica gave the extra neener-neener she needed. My morning is getting better and better, she thought miserably.

An umbrella would have made the walk of shame a bit more convenient if I had checked the morning forecast the night before last night’s party, she thought. Note to self: Being slutty does not mean you have to be irresponsible.

It hadn’t helped that the party had been in the middle of the week. If it had been on a weekend night, the campus would have been nearly empty. She would be shifting knowing grins to the other few girls who were in her same predicament. Her confident strides striking out her Black Girl Magic.

However, Thursday morning was not the case. Students and faculty rushed by her to get out of the rain as they went from building to building. Sly looks full of disappointment flashed on Professors’ grim expressions. Young men in sweatshirts and pants took second glances while they smirked at her tight ass and wondered if she deep throated. Young ladies looked past her for the insignificant slut she was. Another human tissue some frat boy used to wipe up his thick seed of debauchery and social privilege.

Right when she could feel her eye make-up running down her flat nose and round cheeks, Monica found a haven under the crowded bus stop hanger. Her already damp body squeezed into the last remaining dry spot. Drips from the hanger’s edge landed on her legs and feet. Sleek raincoats pleated her face and hair with friendly fire while she tried to stay covered.

She hoped she didn’t reek of sweat and a stranger’s cum. But her desire to stay somewhat dry outweighed her subconscious fear of having the scent of a busy prostitute.

Pushing back the raunchy feel of excess cream she felt suddenly drop in her damp panties, her eyes caught the attention of a hottie with a cute butt in tight jeans and a button up long sleeved shirt. Monica felt a kinship to another stranger who had not had the foresight to carry an umbrella, or even to dress appropriately for the morning rainfall.

Maybe he was on his own walk of shame, she thought hopefully. She felt braver having someone else in the same boat of silent shunning.

Monica took a sneaky glance at his hair which was a bit ruffled but added character to his closely shaven beard. Hello.

After a few shy smiles and penetrating eye contact, he shuffled over. He stood in front of her as the next bus was about to approach. Dribbles of water fell down on him without fading his cool, sexy demeanor. Rapid flutters ran through Monica’s heart as she thought: Fine Bad-ass.

The sexy stranger leaned in to whisper to Monica. Maybe he would ask her name and phone number, or offer her a naughty detour to his place before she arrived home. Monica wasn’t sure. But she knew the answer would be yes to both.

Suddenly, she became very aware of her personal smell again. She prayed the early morning stench of that frat boy’s cum on her lower stomach wasn’t lingering in her own unbathed essence. An image of the guy’s white chubby fingers choked around the root of his cock flashed in her memory. He’d hovered over her as his strained, gruff grasps echoed in her eardrums. Long sprays of thick whiteness spat out of his cock and landed on her before he slid to the side of the bed and fell asleep.

Shaking off the disappointment of late last night’s unachieved orgasm, she eyed the stranger at the bus stop. This one’s cute. Monica started imagining how his hands would feel on her round ass as she hoped he had a good sized cock.

Her heightened body heat started to dry her damp clothes. Right when she was throwing him the “fuck me” eyes and licking her lips suggestively, hot guy yanked her purse from her shoulder and darted off into traffic.

Stunned, it took Monica a minute to register what had just happened. She glanced around and found herself alone. People had rushed onto the bus, escaping the rain. There wasn’t anyone who had seen, or cared, what had happened. There would be no one to rush to her aid. She was on her own.

Irritation mixed with having a shitty morning boiled her blood. Immediately, Monica kicked off her heels and ran after her hot mugger. When she neared a corner, a wave of murky puddle water hydroplaned from a car as it tried to skid away from hitting the naughty, hot guy, who was crossing the road. Icy cold street water slapped over her hair and face, dripping down her body.

Monica stopped there, festering in her added humiliation. Penniless, phoneless, and not a dry spot on her, Monica began walking the rest of her mile-long walk home. Horns and cat calls echoed in her wake. She brewed in her misery.

After some time, Monica heard a long horn blast. Without turning around or stopping, she flicked off the driver. Soon she heard a car engine turn off, then a door opened and shut.

Oh, come on! she thought. Leave me alone, asshole!

Hurried, splashed footsteps closed in on her. Monica turned to deck the driver when she was greeted by a familiar face. Jared, the dirty blond from her Italian class, stood in front of her with a yellow umbrella held high in his hands.

He was cute and kooky like Ryan Reynolds during his career on “Two Guys and a Girl and a Pizza Place.” Monica remembered that they had been on a few dates and she had enjoyed one steamy night with him. After a few missed calls and weak attempts to reschedule further dates, their romance had fizzled and been forgotten.

“Need a ride?” he asked with a boyish smile. His brown eyes were sweet and lacked sleazy judgement. He was simply a gentleman helping out a friend, regardless of why she was out looking like a low class, corner store ho.

When they arrived at her empty apartment, the grey clouds of the passing storm dimly lit her bedroom.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked politely as she used a towel to dry her natural black hair.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes first,” he said softly. His hands went to take off her black jacket.

“That’s a good idea,” she shyly laughed as he helped her take it off. “I can do the rest, thanks,” she added when he went to the lower hem of her pink shirt, her hands stopping him from lifting it up.

Before she could slip out of his reach, he said, “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you.”

The deep sincerity and familiarity in his voice lullabied her into submission. Plus, she’d had a rough morning. To be pampered and taken care of felt like a great idea.

He peeled off her pink shirt. Then, he reached for the towel that lay over her shoulders, and gently patted her face. He slowly worked his way over her chest. His firm hands expertly slid the cotton cloth over the arches of her large breasts before dipping between them. Monica considered his help harmless until Jared’s long index finger lightly brushed the soft flesh over the rim of her bra.

She wondered if that had been an accident or an offer. Either way, Monica’s nipples grew hard from the sensual contact.

Jared got on his knees and pressed the towel down her flat stomach. Then his long fingers wrapped around her wide hips and forced her to turn her back to him.

He worked the towel up her back. As he stood up again, Monica felt a flick from behind her bra. Soon, the support from her breasts was released. She let out a surprised breath. Her hands moved to cover herself when Jared yanked her bra to the floor and quickly replaced the wet material with his large warm hands.

The purred moan from her throat and the burning dagger of desire which had blazed from her vagina to her core made her stand still. She wanted more but was hesitant to verbally ask for it. She decided to allow her body to do the talking.

His touch was as confident and nice as it was familiar. Memories of how he had turned her out in bed caused her ass to immediately arch towards his close crotch. As he massaged her dark nipples, his tongue ran down the back of her neck and over her shoulder blades.

Jared continued to move his hips into her from behind. Through her soaked black skirt, she felt a strong wide tube pressing between her ass cheeks. The lower part of her belly began to churn with desire.

At the same time, Jared’s fair skinned hands moved away from her large brown breasts. They made their way over her arms and down to her hands where he gripped them tightly before forcing them flat against a nearby wall. Next, he grabbed her hips and pulled her backwards so her face leaned on the wall.

Back on his knees, he slid his hands under her wet skirt. Monica shifted her stuck-out ass while he slowly pulled down her lacy white thong. The short skirt was the last to go. Once freed from them, Jared placed a bit of the towel between her legs. He slowly worked over her clit, down to her vagina and up her ass crack. A finger dipped in and out of holes as he worked her dry.

His fingers were long and thick. Monica moved her hips with his stroking, silently begging he’d replace those fingers with his much thicker dick.

Diligent to his task, he moved the towel down each of her legs. Monica’s hips squirmed from the anticipation. A desire burned between her legs. A hot need to be filled and satisfied.

Remaining on his knees like a devoted servant, Jared turned her back around before he lifted up her right foot and wrapped it around the towel to dry it properly. Then he did the same to the left foot. Once done, he gripped the back of her left thigh and placed it on his shoulder.

Through her thigh, she could feel the turns of his round shoulder blade muscles as his thin rosy lips kissed and licked her inner thigh. His mouth worked its way between her legs. His hands gripped her tight plump ass and held her in place as his tongue licked up her vagina crack to her clit. Then, Monica let out a soft moan when his tongue began to wiggle around her bean.

Two fingers from his hand had found their way into her wet pussy. They plunged in and out while they rubbed the top spot on her vagina walls.

Monica’s legs went wobbly with pleasure. She leaned into the wall behind her for extra support. Jared’s fingers and tongue became more persistent in their movements and pressure, making Monica involuntarily roll her hips into his face.

She vibrated in ecstasy, heightening her pleasure by occasionally squeezing her breasts. A sharp stab from him hitting another right spot caused Monica to tighten her calf which had been dangling behind his back. She used her upper position to force his head closer to her pussy.

Monica’s voice rasped out long moans as if she was wanting to ask a question but kept forgetting the right words. She was close. Her fingers ran through his dark blond hair. A ball of desire was growing inside her pelvis. It spun faster and faster, the more he moved his tongue on top of her clit.

Right when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, his pleasing tongue swooped down and entered her vagina. She rode on that tiny, red, wiggling appendage while howling out her fireball explosion. Shock waves of pleasure released through her body.

She ground into his mouth as she threw her head back chanting, “Ohhhhhhh! Awwwwww! Yesssssssssss! Shit yes!”

Monica was slumped on to the bedroom wall when Jared gently placed her leg back down. He quietly stood up and wiped his mouth.

In her daze, she looked up at a glint in his brown eyes. He gave a quick nod before he asked, “Feel better?”

Leave a Reply