Bribing A Cop! - Lady Devreux - ebook
Opis

Jasmine doesn't like White people. When her husband left her for a White woman, it wrecked her life- she was forced to move back to Valdosta to try and keep her son out of trouble. This time, though, money isn't going to make his bond- how far will this Black mom go to save her son from the clutches of a racist Georgia cop? Excerpt “You want to fuck my daughter, Tyrone,” McCoy said, turning to face my son again, “Well, how bout I fuck your momma, boy? How you like that?” I looked at my son- he seemed as shocked as I was. This hillbilly was going to fuck me! I had never been with a White man, and I still didn’t want to get any vanilla dipped into my chocolate pussy- but what choice did I have? McCoy turned to face me, and smiling, he didn’t say anything else- those broad hands of his, which had been used probably to crack many skulls in his time as a “public servant”, unbuckled his belt. I watched as he undid his belt, his pants suddenly sliding down from his waist. Underneath he wore boxer shorts, white shorts with hearts on them like some cartoon character, and it would have almost been comical except for the very fucked up nature of what was going down in this room right now! This cracker mother fucker wants to fuck me, and he wants to do it in front of my son! “McCoy, please, if you feel you really need to fuck me,” I said, “Then can we do it somewhere else?” “No,” McCoy said, “It ain’t that I want to fuck you- you disgust me- it’s that you people need to learn your place.” “You think all of you have such big cocks,” McCoy said to Tyrone, “Yep, big Black cocks, right? Well, boy, look at this fucking dick!” McCoy’s hands pulled down his boxers, and I saw a White dick for the first time in my life. I had never seen a White man naked before, not even on screen- except maybe for a shot of flabby pale ass in a regular movie- let alone a White cock. I was expecting him to be small, to be hung like a midget, some sickly pinkish imitation of what a man’s cock should look like. After all, I know how big Black cocks are- and so do White bitches, that’s why so many of them are always trying to steal our men! Instead, this dick that pointed at me like a beacon, was far from small. It was pale, untouched by the sun unlike the rest of his flesh, white as sugar seemingly, with a large, bulbous reddish-pink head. However, as he held it against his large palm, small was not a word I could use to describe it- he had to be at least eight inches long, thick like a large summer sausage, so thick that he almost seemed round in his shape. His cock had to be bigger than what I remembered from my husband, and he was definitely larger than the last man I had slept with. I was looking at the dick of the enemy- the cock of this monster that wanted me to fuck him, right in front of my son and his daughter! “McCoy,” I said, “You really want to do this- in front of your own daughter?” Maybe he didn’t give a damn about Black people- maybe he hated us, and even wore a White robe when he wasn’t on duty- but he had to still want to spare his daughter from seeing this. “In front of that dirty harlot?” McCoy laughed, “So what if she sees her daddy’s dick- she has already become a coal burner, so I don’t care!” That is a very nice cock. The owner might be worthless, but if that dick was Black- and we were alone- I would have already been on top of it. I couldn’t help but stare at it. What will that feel like, going into my pussy? “Come over here,” McCoy ordered me, “Come over here, and suck this White dick!”

Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:

Androidzie
iOS
czytnikach certyfikowanych
przez Legimi
Windows
10
Windows
Phone

Liczba stron: 88

Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostepny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacjach Legimi na:

Androidzie
iOS

Contents

CHAPTER ONE Bitter Coffee

CHAPTER TWO Black Stubborness

CHAPTER THREE Country Cops

CHAPTER FOUR Dealing With Whitey

CHAPTER FIVE Dirty Cracker Daddy

CHAPTER SIX Done By The Cracker

CHAPTER SEVEN Enter Tyrone

CHAPTER EIGHT Real McCoys

CHAPTER NINE Other Books

CHAPTER ONE

Bitter Coffee

Chapter One: Bitter Coffee

I don’t like White people.

There, I said it- but it is the way I have felt for a long time.

I have lived in Georgia my whole life- a few years in Atlanta, and the rest in the southwest part of the state where I am from- and you might think the reason I don’t like people is because of racism.

True, outwardly racist White people are assholes- they go out of their way to express their opinions about Black people, and that is bad. When I was born, in the mid seventies, the state was still on it’s way out of segregation, and even when I graduated high school in ‘93, there were still plenty of White folks that would openly call a Black person all kinds of names.

As bad as those people are, they are really not the worst- a quarter of a century has passed, and though time changes slower in the South, even here a White person who doesn’t hide their hate is not accepted (even by most other White people). Of course, there are still some- and no, you can’t tell who is by a flag on their truck or by how they talk- but they are becoming few and far between.

Maybe it is wrong to generalize people, but as a Black woman, I see White people in four basic kinds.

You have the open racists- then for every one of them, you have more that are the closet racists. Now, it impossible to tell how many White people still hate Blacks and others, when they keep their mouth shut publicly about it, but it does exist. Changes in laws don’t change peoples opinions- a person chooses that for themselves, no matter what color they are. These people won’t call you a word to your face, and many won’t even use those words at all, unless they are around their family or friends. Or they are in a place where they feel comfortable, such as a political rally.

The next group of White people are those who simply don’t care.

I don’t blame this group of White people for not caring about our problems. I would be a hypocrite if I did- I care about the problem of Mormon housewives using prescription drugs, as much as they care about unarmed Black men getting shot by the cops. Most White people fall into this group. They will not mistreat someone who is Black, well, at least not anymore than they will screw over another White person.

Lastly, you have the wiggers- White people that try and act like they are Black.

The whole idea that there is a single Black way to act is stupid- this is an idea that has been created by the media, and worse, has been reinforced by Black people. When an otherwise educated Black person feels that they have to go into the ghetto and try and be “down with their race”, or that they have to wear clothes that are too big and act like they are carrying a gun, they are perpetuating this stereotype. There are Black professionals, who are called oreos, because they refuse to act like a buffoon simply because of the color of their skin.

This whole wigger idea started when I was in high school- maybe not as much in my corner in Georgia, but the first breaths of this movement of White people perpetrating themselves as the worst type of Black people was already heard nationally. Now, whether you are in Atlanta or Valdosta, you see plenty of White people who wear the same clothes and listen to the same terrible music as the lowest type of Black people.

The White men who do this think they look like gangsters, and the White women who do this, do it because they want to fuck Black men.

Either way, it is stupid- and the worst thing about it, is these White people are mimicking us, and yet they think they are showing the world how diverse and accepting they are.

Now you even see a new breed of wigger- educated White people who don’t try and sag their pants, or use the N-word, but nonetheless go out of their way to be involved in demonstrations against the system. You see them in the BLM rallies, and in every place where some Black or non-White person is demanding something (justified or otherwise)- yes, these White people are in the background, raising their fists like they are the 1968 Olympic team.

It is still them trying to be us, and them trying to dictate to us how we feel- at least the racist is smart enough to know that we are different cultures, and we will always have some different needs and wants as a result of that.

I am not going to say I hate White people- all people have a right to be themselves- but I don’t like them.

It isn’t a result of mistreatment growing up- yes, some White girls were mean, but in Valdosta, our high school cliques were still divided by race- or a result of some sort of institutional racism. Do I think that racism is dead- no, of course not!

But the idea that all of our problems as Black people is caused by racism, is as stupid as saying that Black people need White people to figure things out for them.

My grandmother cleaned houses her whole life- but she managed.

My parents worked, too- my mom as a schoolteacher, my dad was a mechanic- and they managed.

Racism is thinking that different races of people should be treated differently- whether you want to make all people of another race live in another part of town, or you think that because someone is Black that they should be given leeway to get away with whatever they want. Either way, it is still treating people differently based on their ethnicity, and that isn’t right. At least the racists will tell you that they think less of you to your face- the upper-end wiggers will say that “we need to give Black people more opportunities.”

No, Black people need to take care of Black people, and stop demanding for White people to do it.

I am not some Clarence Thomas, or one of those rare Black Republicans that get trotted out every four years- I am a politically active Democrat, a businesswoman who owns her own beauty parlor and owns a silent interest in a barbershop, but I am not a fool. Maybe I get some extra slack because I am a Black woman at times, but it equals out with the fact that some people still see me as not being able to handle my own business because I am a Black woman.

The other reason I don’t like White people, and this goes more for the wiggers, is because I see things as they are.

So many Black men who are decent, now that they can marry a White woman, do so- yes, maybe this is personal preference, but there are a lot more White people than Black people in this country (even if most of Valdosta is Black). Sometimes it is because the devil you don’t know is better than the one you do know- that is, they think that a White woman isn’t going to get on their ass like a sista will, even though White women have their own ways about them that are just as manipulative and conniving.

Either way, this is a large reason why there are so many Black women like me- women who have their shit together, who have their own life going right, that are never going to find a good strong Black man to marry.

The same Black men who will marry a White woman in my position, are the same ones who won’t be interested in me- because I am Black, even if I am on the lighter side. They say things like Black women are always in a bad mood, or Black women are never happy- I’m sorry, but just go to a Starbucks, and you will see plenty of snow bunnies who put a sista to shame when someone fucks their fancy coffee up!

This is racism, too- when someone thinks less of their own race, they are just as racist. Except that they are even stupider, because they are spitting on their own people, and this goes for both Black men who talk about how great White women are (and White men who talk about how great Asian women are.)

No, it’s not White peoples fault anymore for this- maybe Black people hating their own skin came from hundreds of years of oppression, but White people don’t control society anymore like they used to. A Black woman who straightened her hair in 1930 did it to please her White boss- a Black woman who dyes her hair blonde does it in 2018 because she knows that Black men seem to be obsessed with blonde hair, not because her boss requires it.

I was married to a Black man, for twenty years, but when I turned forty, I found out that he had been fucking a married White woman who lived three doors down from us. I was as mad as her redheaded husband- but anger can’t change the facts. Maybe if we were ten years younger, than I would have never been married to him at all, but plenty of men like Conrad seem to be discovering White women now (men that are in their late forties or early fifties). Now that it isn’t forbidden fruit, and it isn’t hard to get away with, they go for it when it is offered to them.

Yes, I could do the reverse- I could marry a White man, or a Hispanic if I wanted- but I don’t want to be with anyone who isn’t Black.

It isn’t just about a skin color- Black people can be as light as White people, or as dark as midnight- it is about all the culture that comes from being both American and Black. We are Americans, yes, but we are our own kind of Americans- just as White southerners are. Even marrying an African would not be the same thing, even though they are Black, too. They don’t know anything about our foods, our music, or even what it means to always be the minority in a country (though you have been here just as long as White people).