I Am Not Urban

And proud of it. Perversely proud of it, in fact. I fucking hate getting shoved into somebody else’s box, neatly labeled, then stuck on a shelf. The company can make me their token black executive as long as the check clears, but I fucking wish they’d stop trying to slap my hand and establish emotional closeness by mentioning rap artists. I fucking hate rap. The color of my skin doesn’t make me like fucking rap.

What it does make me is harder to get along with than your average hostile individual. I’ll admit, I don’t like people. Black people, white people, pick a color of people. What I like is nature. The good old, uncorrupted, doesn’t-give-a-fuck-what-your-skin-color-is nature. I love to hike; I love to camp; and I love to hunt - with a camera. I will admit that I also love to fish, but that’s not murder, that’s manslaughter, and I can live with it.

I do the Appalachian trail, but confess that being in “Billy Bob” country gives me an unpleasant tingle down my spine. I much prefer areas where I’m unlikely to bump into anyone, much less the cast of “Deliverance.”

I spent my last vacation in the Rocky Mountains, breathing the sharp, crisp Colorado air and wiping my mind clean of everything. I hiked along, attempting to get as high and as far away as I could before I made camp.

I don’t know how long it took before my mind registered the sound I was hearing. It was a sobbing. The sobbing of a helpless woman. I called out to her and asked her to talk or something so that I could find her. All she could come up with apparently was “help” in a small voice, but it was enough.

I stood at the top of a small gorge, leaned against a tree and looked down at her. She was small, blonde, white-faced from fear and pain, and had one leg stuck under something. Her heavy backpack had turtled her. She moved her arms and her other leg, and I released a breath. She wasn’t broken in half.

“I fell,” she said, shame in her eyes.

I smiled at her reassuringly.

“And her I was thinking you’d jumped down there just to meet people.”

She let go of a genuine laugh, from deep inside her, that shook her impressive chest.

I felt a tingle. I absolutely love people who can laugh under shitty circumstances, especially women who can do that. It’s a rare and treasured quality.

I figure it only took me about ten minutes to drop my backpack, get out a rope, tie it off, then work my way down to her. I had to use the hunting knife that lived in my boot to cut her right ankle free. I gentle cupped her calf and looked at her ankle. The calf was so white against my black hand. The ankle was three shades of purple and twice the size of the other.

“Can you move it?” I asked.

She gently revolved the ankle, then arched her foot.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s not happy,” she said.

She hadn’t even blinked at the site of my very large black hand on her leg. I’ve known white women that would have rather died of exposure than risk being alone in the woods with a black man. I felt more tingles.

I worked her out of her backpack, which involved some involuntary brushing of my fingers against soft parts, but that was indeed involuntary and she took it as so. I got her on her one good foot, then helped her up out of the gorge, sat her down, and went back for her backpack.

I got her settled on a convenient boulder, gave her some asprin and some water, then set myself to making camp. The sun was plunging beneath the horizon, which at that altitude meant not only darkness was coming, but cold was coming too. Quickly.

I found my silver flask and offered it to her. A good shot of brandy burned through her and did her a world of good. She’d elevated the leg, and looked quite fetching with her leg up, her blonde curls shaken down, and a smile on her face.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” she said.

Want to bet, I thought as I staked my tent.

Her name was Jane. I told her my name was Wallace, never “Wally,” thank you very much. She grinned at me. She didn’t think too much of her name, either. She’d been called “plain Jane” all through school. I wondered what kind of assholes she’d gone to school with. She was anything but plain. She had big blue eyes that twinkled with intelligence, a little nose, a full mouth, and a very nice full breasted body that showed that she wasn’t afraid to eat a sandwich, and also worked out.

She was bright and funny, and once another slug of brandy hit, flirtatious. Nicely flirtatious. I liked it. She turned me on, knew it, and liked it. I, in turn, loved making camp for us. There’s something delightfully primitive about making camp in the middle of nowhere for a woman.

I cooked a nice freeze-dried dinner for us around the campfire. We both got into my tent almost automatically, spreading our sleeping bags in the light from my battery operated lantern.

She lay there looking at me with a gentle smile on her face.

“I wonder why they’re always called ‘White’ Knights?” she murmured.

I laughed and kissed her. Her mouth opened for my tongue and she wiggled closer to me. I ran my hands down her back, gripped her firm ass and pulled her to me. She had a great ass, full and round and firm. Very responsive. A lot of heat emanated from between her legs.

I took off both of our clothes slowly, admiring her body and letting her get used to mine. From the expressions flowing across her face when she looked at me I was the first black man she’d ever seen naked. She appeared to like what she saw.

She reached down and grasped my hard cock.

“Apparently, it’s true what they say,” she mumured.

The first few witty things I thought in response fell out of my brain before I could get my throat cleared. “Uh,” was what I managed to say. Now, between you and me, the things not all that damned big. I mean, it’s not “scary, split a woman in half” big. But if you happen to be a short white woman seeing your first ebony hardon, it’s probably a sight. Especially since I’d been on a dry spell and my swollen cockhead was turning purple, with white drops of precum oozing out.

She seemed to be disappearing on me, until my slow brain realized she was sliding down her sleeping bag to get her mouth even with my cock. She looked at it brightly, took a few experimental laps at it with her tongue, then attempted to work the head into her mouth. Her eyes got a little big, but she got it in, both hands stroking, her rosy lips sucking like crazy.

I put my hands behind my head and just watched her. Her hands slid up and down my shaft as her mouth worked my cockhead, then she slid her lips and tongue down one side and up the other. She licked and nibbled at my balls, her hungry mouth eventually returning to take my cock as deep as she could. Her eyes enlarged with mild shock at her own daring as I felt my cockhead slip over her tongue.

“Uh,” I said, “honey…” She withdrew my cock and nodded. She reached for the brandy flask, sat up, took a good gulp, recapped it, toosed it aside and smiled at me while the brandy lit her up. She started in on my cock again, her mouth warm and still greedy. She was determined she was going to take as much of my cock into her mouth as she could.

I was hoping I wouldn’t cum in her mouth when she wasn’t ready. It wasn’t just the working of her mouth and hands that were driving me toward the edge, it was the look of utter determination on her face. She got up on her fists and one good knee and got a better angle on it. Her mouth lowered…and my thick black shaft began to disappear inside her pretty pinkly flushed face.

I drove my nails into my palms, did the multiplication tables, anything to prevent drowning the woman. I reached to grab her hair and she shook me off. She growled at me, the sound vibrating down into my full and aching balls.

I felt my cockhead clip into the top of her throat. She got her mouth of just in time, her hands pumping furiously as she grinned at me. My cum arced into the air and splashed all over her face. She lapped at it greedily.

She lay back with a satisfied and triumphant smile on her cum soaked face while I recovered. Eventually, I showed her my oral skills, as well as showing her what it felt like to have that black cock she liked so much in her tight pussy.

Luckily, we both were happy with our campsite. We stayed there for days.