Becky Goes Black

“Nice ass, Becky!” Marcus yelled from the top of his lungs from the other side of the school’s hallway, directing his crass comment at me.

Fucking prick. I hated Marcus. I dealt with him enough throughout high school. It was senior year, and I was still dealing with him! He was one pompous asshole. Black and lean with vascular muscles and muscular thighs, Marcus was a multisport all-state athlete, played defensive back in football, and he was lauded for it. He liked to call himself ‘Primetime’ after some old football player by the name of Deion Sanders or somebody.

Pardon my French, but it was always so fucking annoying to walk around the school, hearing everybody calling Marcus “Priiiiimetime”, exaggerating and emphasizing the word all the time. It was just my luck that I had multiple classes with him every year, and senior year was brutal. In class, he would prattle on about his conquests and brag about his ability to pull just about any girl.

Marcus often liked picking on me the most, because unlike other girls, I wasn’t a promiscuous whore, or I figured I wasn’t. He told me I shouldn’t play so hard to get, but I would just roll my eyes at him. I’m a short, overly tanned Hispanic girl with a way too big butt that causes me to jump up and down every morning when attempting to put jeans on. Marcus liked to call me out on my ass, oftentimes pinching it, slapping it, grabbing it and telling me that I should ‘let him get a crack it’.

I consistently had verbal artillery for Marcus, too. He learned the hard way that if he was going to pinch my ass, he was going to receive a slap from a demonic bitch. He liked to say my slaps didn’t hurt, or that he liked the pain, but I found it satisfying to watch his face turn red after giving him a taste of my palm. He had a distinct scar on his forehead, too, allegedly from some kind of farcical backyard boxing with his dumbshit friends. I liked to crack jokes to him that he only got that scar from fucking his boyfriend too hard and hitting the bedpost. He would always turn around and say that he and I could give him more scars if I wanted, always with a wink on his face. Fucking pervert.

It was a Friday night during football season, and being a cheerleader, I was tired by the game’s end. However, I was horny as hell; I just wanted to go to my boyfriend Jared’s house to fuck. That wasn’t an option, unfortunately. He was home, allegedly sick, and he didn’t want any visitors. He was usually a sweet boyfriend, but he acted like a menstruating bitch when he asked him if he wanted me to bring him any soup. He had this amazing girlfriend, and he didn’t want to see me? Maybe I was putting myself on a pedestal. Fuck if I know. I just didn’t care about bringing myself to an orgasm alone. Nothing beats being bent over and fucked. I loved being felt up, feeling my ass cheeks bounce off a pair of thighs. ‘Well, I guess it isn’t happening tonight!’ I said to myself.

I stood in the parking lot outside the stadium waiting for my best friend Chelsea to pick me up. It only figured that she was in the backseat of her boyfriend Matt’s car sucking his dick and what have you. Fucking cunt. After sweating profusely during the game, soiling my red velvet panties, I was feeling a bit chilly and just wanted to go home. It wasn’t a good night up to that point.

As I pulled out my phone to text Chelsea, a white car pulled up beside of me and I heard the windows roll down. What the fuck is this, I thought, almost intimidated because it was dark and it’s a bad omen to be a girl standing out in a parking lot at night wearing a cheerleading uniform.

“Becky!”. . . I looked over, and for fuck’s sake, it was Marcus. “Oh, God, what do you want?” I asked annoyed, rolling my eyes. “’Oh, God’? I know I’m God!” he bombastically stated with his usual grin, flashing his ‘Priiiimetime’ smile (what a fucking joke!). “Listen, I’m going to give you a ride home, because I feel bad as hell for leaving you out here standing around lookin’ like a fool. Who’s supposed to pick you up, anyway?”

“Chelsea’s giving me a ride,” I said. “She’s going to be here in a minute, so you can just go on.”

Marcus shook his head. “Yeah, any minute being more like an hour. Just text her and tell her I’m giving you a ride home. Besides, where the fuck is your boyfriend?” he inquired.

“He’s home. Sick!” I said.

“Yeah, sick of yo ass,” he shot back. “He’s probably at a house party with two babes, one bent over and the other rimming him silly!” he joked, again flashing his smile.

“Fuck you!