Joanna Norton stared at the scrap of paper sticking out from between her fingers After a long moment of contemplation she picked up the receiver to her phone and with a shaky hand dialed 1-800-BLK-COCK. “I must be out of my mind!” she muttered to herself while she nervously tapped her foot on the carpeted floor. After ten rings she was just about to hang up when all at once a lugubrious voice on the other end of the line said smoothly, “This is Walker Post, how may I help you?” Momentarily frozen with fear Joanna stood there mutely while wondering if she should just hang up and forget the whole thing. She had just made up her mind to forget about it when the voice suddenly uttered forcefully, “I can hear you breathing, now answer me!” Taken aback by this turn of events Joanne took a deep breath and stammered, “A-are you the man with the ad in the paper?” “And which ad would that be?” the deep resonate voice replied softly. “You know,” Joanne said, “the one in the Underground.” “There must be a thousand ads in the Underground,” he answered gently, “you’ll have to be more specific.” She was growing increasingly uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was headed, but instead of hanging up she mumbled, “I-it’s the one about the black man.” “What about a black man?” he asked. “I’m so embarrassed,” Joanne replied softly, “maybe I should just forget about it and hang up.” Hmmmmm,” he hummed, “maybe you should.” “But then you wouldn’t get to fuck my ten inches of black meat would you?!?”
(…)
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