Alyssa

I never knew I was racist until I dated a stripper. I had harbored racist thoughts for years, and technically Alyssa wasn’t the first stripper I’d dated, but Kim didn’t start stripping until after we broke up, and before Alyssa I had felt guilty about my racist thoughts. Most importantly, that's all they were: thoughts. Alyssa made me realize I was truly racist.

She was white, but I’m not sure strippers can ply their trade without being around black people, which means if you’re dating one, even if it’s only for three weeks, you have to be around them too. 

I had initially been interested in Alyssa’s sister Megan. I didn’t even know who Alyssa was at the time. We worked together in an insurance office in one of those Interzone-like complexes in a wooded cul-de sac amidst northeastern suburban sprawl. She was very tall - she was my height, but if a woman isn’t 2 inches shorter than me I consider her “very tall”- with a radiant smile, sparkling blue eyes, and bouncing blonde curls. She also had a flat stomach and huge, firm tits. I went crazy for her as soon as I saw her, as I’m sure all men do. I started talking and flirting with her immediately and she ate it up, always maintaining eye contact, laughing at my jokes, and going out of her way to find me for the day to ask how I was. 

Somehow, on top of being gorgeous and outgoing, she was straightforward and mature. Looks and even personality in a woman are easy to find, but maturity and directness are effectively non-existent. 

“Listen Anthony, I know you like me.”

“I do.”

“I like you too, I could see myself dating you. But I have a boyfriend.” This threw me off for a second, but before I could even experience a maelstrom of thoughts about the situation, she followed it up with “but I have a little sister I think you might like.”

That was already very promising. She was only 29 and I was 34, so a little sister would be in her 20’s, and anyone related to Megan had to be hot.

“Oh yeah? How old is she?”

“28, and she works here.”

“Is she as pretty as you?”

“Prettier”

“I don’t think that's possible.”

“No, she is. And I think she would like you.”

“All right, where does she work?”

“The fifth floor.” So it was only one floor down. I had hardly been there but I’d seen a few hot girls. She must be one of them. 

“Does she know who I am?”

“I haven’t told her about you.”  I thought for a minute.

“Why don’t you tell me who she is and I'll introduce myself.”

“You want me to?”

“No, I don’t like setups or blind dates, it has to be natural. I can just go talk to her.”

“She’s in with the finance people, past marketing.”

“Oh yeah all the way in the back. Spencer works there. She’s in finance?”

“No, she’s Spencer's secretary.”

“That’s your sister?” She was hot. Maybe the hottest girl in the building. Megan smiled.

“Yeah.”

“She looks like you actually, I see it now. She’s not with Spencer?”

“No, they never had a thing and he’s married. She thinks he’s hot though.”

“Everyone does.” I worked out with Spencer every day in the company gym, and all the girls were crazy about him. 

Within 24 hours I went to talk to her. When I approached her desk, she had on a blue button up collar shirt with a few buttons undone and a gold chain. There was no cleavage showing, but the fact that I knew it was just below the uppermost button made me go cold inside. Her tits were even bigger than Megan’s, though she was shorter and had straight hair. A bit more of a baby-face. Her skin was tan and it looked natural, which I liked, and she had turquoise eyeshadow on. A little gaudy, but she was so hot there was little she couldn’t pull off, and the gold chain on her partially bare upper chest made me have to get control over my breathing before I opened my mouth.

“Hello” I said, smiling, and waited for a response. She looked at me and smiled.

“Hello. Looking for Spencer?”

“No, I’m looking for you.”

“Oh?”

“My name’s Anthony”

“I’m Alyssa.”

“I know. I know your sister.”

“Yeah? You work with her?”

“I do. And I work out with Spencer in the gym.”

“I know.”

“I was telling Megan I really liked his assistant and wanted to ask her out, and she told me you were sisters.”  She smiled and looked down a little, breaking eye contact.

“Yeah. We are.”

“What I told her was that the prettiest girl in the building was the assistant to the best looking guy, and that they must be dating. But she said you weren’t.” At this point she was somewhere between visible elation, with a beaming smile, and self-conscious embarrassment, with crimson creeping up from her neck to her cheeks.

“We’re not.” She hadn’t reestablished eye contact yet. I took my phone out, pulled up my contacts, and stuck it out to her. She looked at me then and took the phone.

“Megan said she thought you’d like me.”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“Not yet.”

That Friday night we went out to dinner and I made her laugh. Perhaps the shy girl thing was an act, I had already assumed it was with the eyeshadow, but some girls are like this. Though they get hit on constantly and know how to play it, they genuinely become a shy little doe every time a guy she likes does it, no matter how confident they truly are. While my conversation with Megan had already assured me I’d be able to sleep with this girl, by the time she ordered a filet and a second cocktail, I knew for sure where the night was going. No woman orders a steak, and actually eats it, on a first date, unless she’s either a fat pig, or been put completely at ease. Which means she’s basically just relaxing until you make your move.

This is not something you want with a woman you’re considering dating, it means she’s a whore, and worse, comfortable with it. Some whores hate themselves for being whores, and their entire personality is basically the shy girl act to fool themselves into believing they’re not really whores, but a real whore will move with the ease of a trained mare through an obstacle course. You want her nervous, on edge, reserved, not eating, and to demur when you try to make an advance on the first date. If she fucks you before the third date, do not try to make this woman your girlfriend. If she’s just chilling, confident you’ll be taking your cock out - not expectantly excited, mind you, but rather casually assured - on the first date, be ready for trouble not long down the road. 

We drove separately, and at the end of dinner, neither of us were drunk.

“Would you like me to drive you home?” I asked as I stood to help her pull her chair out and take her arm. Our faces came close, she smiled, and I felt the heat off her body and her breath momentarily on my cheek. Beneath her surprisingly inoffensive perfume I could get a hint of her smell, that glowing freshly washed skin smell that evokes softness. The ease with which she accepted my gentlemanly gesture was nice. I could’ve put my arm around her.

“No I need my car. Just meet me at my house.” We got outside and I looked at her. Before I could say something charming or work out the details she said “We need beer and cigarettes.”

“Ok, give me your address and I'll buy them.” I was hoping that moment would’ve led to a kiss but instead I took my phone out and entered her address into the gps. On the way I stopped at a gas station and bought a 12 pack of Coors Light cans and Camel lights. I didn’t smoke, nor did I drink this shit beer, but the store didn’t have much, and I figured if we were gonna get drunk and fuck, and she was smoking, what the hell. I might as well join her.

Her apartment was very nice. There was a sliding door to a porch off to one side with two huge windows in front, a big glass coffee table with a wrap-around couch that took up half the room. Once inside she started chain-smoking, drinking beers, and yapping incessantly. I couldn’t believe she lit up in the apartment. I didn’t think people did that anymore, but I followed suit and began drinking. She wouldn’t shut the fuck up, she was talking about nothing so I tuned her out. I kept waiting for an opening or a way to steer the conversation to something sexual, but she just kept blabbing, complaining about co-workers I’d never met, telling me about the Sopranos, showing me idiotic memes on her phone, telling me about the relationship drama her friends were getting into. She ended up barely sipping her beer,, which was good, it meant she’d be sober for the sex, but she went on and on so long that when I had to piss, I realized I’d had three and needed to stop. She was too hot for me to be drunk our first time, and fortunately I wasn’t there yet.

I pissed with the door open and she kept talking from the other room. For a moment I’d forgotten how hot she was and asked myself how the fuck I’d gotten into this situation. It was now 1:30 in the morning.

But when I walked back into the living room, she stopped talking and I was struck by how hot she was. I just went at her and started kissing her, laying her back on the couch, and we made out gently for a while. She smelled so good. Her real smell I mean, her skin, her breath, her hair. The kissing was surprisingly sweet so I did all the little tender things you do when it’s passionate; touch her neck gently, hold her face, wrap an arm around her. I cradled her with one arm, pinned her to me and hefted her body effortlessly. She began to moan.

I started taking her clothes off and soon enough she was lying on the couch in her thong with those big tits out, and I feasted upon her. I knelt on the ground, took both her ankles in one hand, held her legs up in the air, pulled her thong half way down her thighs, and ate her pussy for a little while. I stood, still holding her legs up by the ankles, undid my pants, and fucked her with one foot on the ground and the other knee up on the back of the couch. Looking down at her, I could see the gold chain was still on, which was so hot I went harder. She told me not to come in her so I pulled out and she jerked me off and I shot all the way up to her face. I collapsed on the couch, thinking that was some of the hottest sex of my life, but she began hysterically laughing.

I lay there immobilized while she went and cleaned off, laughing and making fun of the come on her face. When she reentered the room, fully nude, I got to see her in all her glory. Her body was amazing. There was a big mirror beyond the couch and before she laid down with me she turned a bit and looked at herself, as if she’d forgotten I was there, looking at her ass, holding her tits up, letting them bounce a little. She looked at me and smiled and came and lied down. 

I’d had a lot of sex by that point in my life, with some very hot women, but this one was something different. Her body was like a white Salma Hayek in her prime, though she was a bit taller and blonde, and she had a bigger nose, which I liked.

“The way you left my thong around my thighs like that was so hot, I almost came right away. No one’s ever done that before,” and “I can’t believe you came on my face I never let anyone do that,” and “I came so many times.” 

This all sounded like bullshit to me, and probably was. Usually this sort of thing annoyed me, but I came so hard I didn’t mind. I even allowed myself to believe it about the thong, I only did it because I was in a rush to get at her. Either way, I appreciated the gesture. I prefer when a woman tells me lies she thinks I want to hear, rather than saying nothing or giving no feedback, especially after I’ve made such a big effort fucking them.

We spent the rest of the weekend fucking and it was all very violent. I choked her and she choked me back, which no woman had ever done to me before, we reduced her bed frame to splinters, and I spanked her so hard she got legitimately angry and stopped fucking me to yell at me and slap me. And the whole time she insisted she’d never done any of these things, even sucking my dick she claimed was new for her. Again, while these things normally annoy me so much I'll stop talking to a woman for it, the sex was so good she could've said anything. Besides, she was so hot she didn’t have to say any of this to keep me, so I took it as a compliment. 

Turns out, this is just how trained whores speak. There’s a lot of them out there who do this, I came to find years later as the next generation came of age. I assume it’s a result of internet porn and dating apps, they’re just repeating the things they learned there and think men want to hear, because it was always the younger ones who were full of shit. They’re all full of shit, but I mean full of shit in this specific way. At least strippers are paid for this sort of thing. The others just do it because that’s who they are, as people. 

I have no idea how a society is supposed to function when you put women in positions of economic and political power while simultaneously training them to be barking seals for cock, but at least there’s lots of free pussy around. Either way, it was some of the best sex of my life, and at that point I still didn’t know she was a stripper, or anything else about her. 

That changed during the week. I was satiated by the sex but wasn’t smitten with her, so I wasn’t going to text or visit her until probably Wednesday, but I saw Megan and she brought her up.

“How’d it go with Alyssa?”

“Great! We spent the whole weekend together. She’s really cool.”

“Yeah, I told you she’d like you.”

“You were right.”

“Did she tell you what she does for a living?”

“Yeah, she works here.”

“She didn’t tell you? She must really like you.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. Megan gave me a look.

“She told me she took the weekend off to spend with you.”

“Weekend off from what?”

“You can’t tell her I told you. She must really want you to like her.”

“Jesus what does she do on the weekends?” Megan didn’t answer for a while.

“Strips.”

“She’s a stripper?” It made so much sense. Not just because of her body, but because of her apartment. In her bedroom she had a massive jewelry case, an entire dresser, and it was open all weekend. There were diamonds and gold and silver heaped on it and hanging inside. They must’ve all been real. The bed we destroyed was huge with an ornate frame, it and the sofa alone must’ve been thousands of dollars, and she drove a brand new Jeep. Not too fancy, but none of this made sense on a secretary's salary. 

Not only that but she looked in the mirror all the time. I figured she was admiring herself, but now that I thought of it she had been doing all these little moves, like probably her stripper routine. She even stood over me once and did a little thing with her pussy.

“Awesome,” I said.

“She wants to settle down and find a husband, so she must not want you to know. I introduced you because you seem like husband material.” Women always tell me that. I’m not sure why, but it seemed to be the thing that kept getting me laid.

Megan made me promise I wouldn’t tell Alyssa, and she also assured me Alyssa would tell me herself soon enough, so I went and chatted with her later that afternoon instead of waiting  several days. And she did tell me later that night, in a very shy and hesitant way, and I acted very nurturing about it, non-judgemental. I probably came across like some male feminist empath, but really I just didn’t want to show her how excited I was about it.

She also told me she had a 2 year old son who was with his dad all weekend. I said I wanted to meet him, though I truly didn't care. Her pussy was still fantastic.

I was so excited, in fact, I called my friend Scott and told him I wanted to have drinks, I had some news.

“Dude. Get out. Now. Never call her again” he said that night, over beers and dinner.

“What?! Dude she’s like the hottest girl of my life.”

“I don’t care,” he spat. “Get out now.”

“Why?!”

“It’s gonna cause you problems.”

“Like what? What can happen? I feel like I’ve won at life! You have to see this girl.”

“You haven’t won. And I don’t want to see her.”

“What will happen?”

“I don’t know. Something bad. I’m around these women all the time, I fucked a couple of them in the beginning but I refuse to now. They’re all fucked up.” He was telling the truth too, he was a bartender and the strippers would all come for drinks after hours when the bar was closed and they let night shift workers in, nurses and cops and strippers.

He’d told me some wild stories, fucking strippers in broad daylight in the parking lot at like 9 am, coked out orgies, S&M stuff. I knew he hadn’t gotten laid in a while but I assumed he was in a rut, now he was telling me it was on purpose.

“Well why.”

“They’re nothing but trouble.” He never elaborated. It occurred to me that I had fucked her without a condom all weekend, and while I didnt come in her she could still get pregnant. I didn’t think I wanted to father a child with an active stripper. The next time I saw her I asked her why she wasn’t on the pill or didn’t have an IUD, and she said it was because she wanted more kids. She also said she makes all other guys fuck her with a condom on, which I assumed was another lie. Her pussy looked and tasted amazing but I had never fucked a girl with a disease so technically I wouldn’tt know what to look for. I assumed lesions or pus or something. I spent days wondering if I had both gotten a stripper pregnant and gotten a disease from her. But I saw her again and instantly forgot it all.

I stayed there for three days again and between sex and take out food - all of which I bought - she kept talking. She had taken another weekend off to be with me and as she rambled on I started to grow concerned. Was she in the beginning stages of walking away from the job because she was thinking we’d be getting married? Was I her ticket out of stripping? She made more money than I did, most likely, between the two jobs, but I was certain she never met a good stable guy anywhere. She must have spent all her time at the office around Spencer, who wouldn’t fuck her, with her son in the evening, and all weekend around the scumbags and whores at the strip club.

“Aren’t you supposed to have your son this weekend?” I asked at some point.

“Yeah” she said, taking a drag of her cigarette. “He’s with my parents.”

The next day we were sitting on her porch at 7 am as the sun came up after a night of fucking. She was on top for most of the night and despite the fact that she was not nurturing in any way, during sex she would take her tit in her hand and feed it to me like a mother nursing a little baby. In these moments, of which there were many throughout the night, I thought, “well, maybe it would be best if she quit stripping and married me.” But I was disabused of that notion soon enough. 

She continued her incessant talking, I don’t know where she got the energy, but now she started complaining about her baby's father. She met him at the club, and he was one of the only guys with a good head on his shoulders, and a good job. He owned a very successful landscaping business, she said, and came in every Friday night with a few of his employees and they’d stay all night. They were supposed to get married.

But he started cheating on her. While she suspected it, the woman eventually came to her and told her, told her she was also pregnant, and that she was going to leave him, and that Alyssa should too. She didn’t for a while, but there was a day she somehow found out he had fucked the other woman in the morning and came home and fucked her that night, and that was the last straw and she kicked him out.

I didn’t like hearing this. This was high drama, and this guy was gonna be in her life forever. What’s worse, she said he’d been trying to get back with her lately, would bring her flowers and stay and talk for a while when dropping off their son. So I thought to myself if this guy had a problem with a dude being in his ex's house, there may be a confrontation. But at the time, having been nursed all night by the best tits I’d seen in my life, I told myself I could handle it. 

But later that morning, her parents dropped her son off — and he was black.

He wasn’t this little mulatto cherub either. Sometimes mulatto’s could actually be very attractive, some mixed race people ended up with the best attributes of the two races to synthesize a creature better looking than one purely of either. But that was not this child. He was like fully black, a nappy headed little snot nosed brawler with bow legs and already, at 2 years old, thick arm muscles and a barrel chest.

While I recoiled internally in disgust, Alyssa became elated and squealed with glee as he ran to her and they embraced. Not only that, her flannel wearing father, with a beaten up trucker hat, and her wrinkly mother who smelled like cigarettes, doted over this thing like he was an angel. It made me work extra hard to conceal my horror.

The funny thing is, as I’d disliked black people for a long time, it was always because of the way they acted. I’d never paid much mind to the way they looked. Many of them were in great shape, and I’d even felt a mild attraction for a few black women here and there. This was the first time I’d had a gut reaction to the sight of one. I think it was due, in part, to how closely it was related to a personal experience and to a person close to me. I didn’t want that thing anywhere near me in any intimate or familial way.

Still, I had to admit it was a bit endearing the way they all loved it. It had become clear at this point Alyssa had some problems and felt very alone in the world, so I was happy to see her and her family rejoicing over this. That, combined with how hot she was and how good she was in bed, and how much she seemed to love fucking me, I made my peace with it in the moment

So over the next two weeks we continued to hang out, and I only had to be around the little linebacker a couple times, and it wasn’t even that bad. Still, I didn’t want it anywhere near me and made her pay all the attention to him. But there was one night I offered to take them out to ice cream and we ran into some people she knew from the club.

It was her best friend, a white girl who Alyssa said was married to a white firefighter, and this giant six foot six black guy with dark shades. They all acted very happy to see each other and chatted it up wildly, like they’d not seen each other in a long time. I again recoiled in horror in the presence of this black person.

His height was off putting, unnatural seeming. His voice was booming, his fingers were too long, like those of a mutant troll or sea creature, and he smelled like something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Just like, a black person. Their hair and sweat and skin. It was too much. And to see this hot white girl with him, to know she was married to a white guy, made me very angry.

I’d never thought about things like this, never considered a situation like this, but now that I was faced with it, I was sickened by it. He turned out to be the DJ at the club, and when I asked Alyssa if she’d slept with him she laughed and said no. I wasn't sure to believe her. She’d already fucked a black guy, why not this one too? Either way, it made it more real to me that I was putting my dick inside a pussy that a black man had come in. It started to dawn on me how not OK with that I was. My dick started to feel physically unclean in that moment, and the feeling lingered for days, for the rest of the time I stayed with her, which was only about another week.

The final straw came a few days later, when I met the ex. Sort of. I really only just saw him, but that was enough. We woke up at about 8, had quick morning sex, and she showered and made me scrambled eggs naked. This was the final time I felt happy to have met her, I wasn’t on cloud 9 anymore but to watch a hot woman, freshly showered, cook you breakfast naked after you’ve made her orgasm is one of the best feelings in life. As I stood in the bedroom doorway in my boxers watching her, the whole scene was tainted by the fact that this woman was the living embodiment of why I apparently hated niggers. 

I started to feel sad and unclean, and a pall fell over the whole scene. I felt disappointed that here was a woman I would’ve loved to parade around my friends and the general public, declaring “I’m fucking this and she loves it,” but the whole thing was corrupted by the fact that she had a black kid. I ate my eggs, which were pretty bland, in silence, while she got ready for the day. Her ex showed up a little after 9 while I was still in the kitchen. I didn’t have a view of the door, but she remained there as they spoke in hushed tones and the little cretin ran to the table and started messing with some coloring Alyssa had put out while snacking on some eggs and juice. I felt so bad, like I should entertain him or help him with his food, but I didn’t want to go near him, especially with the ex there.  They talked for a while and his tone sounded light, like he was trying to sweet talk her or something. Finally she shut the door.

She walked over to her son and let out an exasperated sigh, looking over to me.

“He wanted to come in?” I asked.

“Yes. He always does.” I got up and walked to the front window. I tried to make it seem casual, like I didn’t care that much, but I had to suppress the urge to run over to catch a glimpse before he drove off.

He was huge, like fully Mike Tyson-sized, probably at least 250 lbs of mostly muscle. He had long dreadlocks, huge shoulders and arms, and a big belly, the kind heavy weightlifters or former football players get. I got to the window in time to see him walk around his truck and get in, so I saw a 360 degree view of him. The truck was a piece of shit, no labels or advertising on it, old tires, and the bed was overflowing with haphazardly thrown law equipment. He had at least 100 pounds on me and probably 4-5 inches. If it ever came to a fight I was sure I couldn't handle him. I've had to fight before over women, I’ve even had to fight blacks and guys who were bigger than me, and I always made out ok, but with this guy I felt certain I couldn’t take him. Looking at him I figured he had a history of violence, he didn’t look the type to back down once he saw I was ready for a real fight, which is always how it had gone in the past. I made up my mind I never wanted him to lay his eyes on me. 

We spent a few hours milling about in the hazy Saturday morning sunlight while Alyssa tended to her son and I sort of gazed off considering my position. My head was mostly empty and I distractedly participated in whatever it is we did. Played with toys and had pointless conversations.

By early afternoon the little heavyweight was watching cartoons on the ipad and Alyssa and I got chatting. She started out complaining about the ex and how he always wanted to come in. I interrupted her with a few observations.

“His truck is a piece of crap. He doesn’t look like he owns a big landscaping company.”

“He does, but that’s not his real business.” There was a pause here, while she hoped, I guess, not to have to elaborate.

“So what is his real business?” I asked, already jumping to some conclusions.

“Selling drugs.” We sat with silence between us, though little Holyfields cartoons played from the other room.

“So he probably has guns.”

“Yeah, he keeps a shotgun in the truck.”  

I sat without speaking.  After a while the silence was too much for her and she went into her usual yammering and as I let her talk, she gave me the whole story. He was a big time drug dealer, ex felon, and all of his money was in her name in her bank account. This was part of why breaking up was so difficult, he still needed her to get at his money. The little kid was less important. To him at least. Still, I thought, he takes him every-other weekend. This little guy was well loved. She insisted the ex was proud of him, and was already teaching him to box because he himself was a boxer. Of course. 

We went out for the afternoon and let the kid run around on some trail and she played hide and seek and tag with him. It was too bad. This should’ve been a cute little scene and she was such a good mom and so hot. But my racism was blossoming, it was at this point in full bloom, and looking at her made me sick. Still, later that night, after a dinner I bought of chicken nuggets and fries and soda, we fucked each others brains out for the last time. She was so amazing naked. Never could I have imagined such a sight being ruined like this, I didn’t think it was possible. What a world we live in, where a religious icon like her is put on display for cheap cash and subjected to the lowest elements of society. She should’ve been kept away in a religious temple and offered for breeding to the most decorated war veteran on the year of her flowering. Instead she was raising a drug dealer's kid. The whole affair made me nauseous. Women made me nauseous. I still came all over her stomach.

Even though we had the kid and were supposed to spend the next day with him, we fucked until the sun came up, and ended up smoking on the porch again. She began rambling about something and I interrupted her.

“When’s the last time you fucked him?” She flicked her cigarette and paused.

“My ex?” 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know about 9 months ago? It was the day he slept with his other baby's mamma in the morning.” She thought for a minute. “I think that was November.”

It was August now, so yeah just over 9 months.

“How do you know she doesn't have any diseases?” 

“She doesn’t,” she laughed.

“How do you know you don’t have any diseases?”

“What the fuck kinda question is that?”

“Have you been tested for AIDS?” It took her quite a long time to respond.

“Are you asking me this because my son is black?”

“Yes.” 

We sat in silence a while, so I took one of her cigarettes and lit up. I hated them, and I was so tired it made my throat raw, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Despite not being ok with the situation for over a week, I still felt a little surprised to find us breaking up. It was clear that’s what was happening, and I definitely wanted it, but I had told myself it was worth stringing along for the sex. I was wrong.

“I knew having a black son I’d spend my life defending him and protecting him from racists. I want to shield him from all the negativity in this society so he grows up never knowing racism exists. I can’t be with a man who is racist.”

“Well you told me all of that about your ex and his other woman. Is she black?”

“Yes.”

“God knows how many other women he was fucking. And I’m sure you didn’t make him wear a condom.” She had nothing to say to this for while but eventually, very quietly, she said:

“Well if you can’t be with a woman with a black son, I guess you should leave.”

So I did.