Blonde hair, blue eyes, hidden swastika tattoo, Daddy issues, neo-Nazi, blow-job: why not go out on a second date?
Well, I picked her up at her place, and got to meet her downstairs roommate. His name was Freddy, but he informed me that this meant "F-Ready', as in: when the racial wars come he'll be Fuckin' Ready. So you know: small talk.
We left to go to Denny's again -- besides most cultural cuisine, she also thought The International House of Pancakes was too ethnically diverse -- and so she had pancakes again.
It was a strange sensation as we sat there: I knew she was nuts, and that she had a swastika tattoo hidden below her low-rise jeans, yet it somehow felt dangerous. Plus she had slipped off her Doc Martens and was adroitly massaging my balls with her feet under the table.
"So," I said, trying to make any kind of conversation, "Freddy certainly seems to think bad things are coming to this country, racially."
"That's 'F-Ready,' she corrected me, then said "Of course the blacks are going to try to fuck things up and then want the white man's shit, silly: it's all they can do."
"You can't seriously mean that," I said, knowing that she very much indeed meant that seriously: when we lie to ourselves to have sex we try to insert a weak token of resistance.
"Oh, silly," she said, shaking her head sweetly. "We don't have anything more against a black man than we do against a well-meaning white retard, except for the color of his skin."
"Isn't that a little harsh?" I asked.
"To white retards or black people?" she answered. She got me there, so I stirred my coffee. noticing it was black-with-copious-milk; she drank sweet iced tea.
"I have to know: you don't call black people the 'N'-word, do you? Because that is kind of a red line for me, usually." There: a firm stance on the side of righteousness. I felt better already.
"Oh, silly," she said, sipping her sweet tea: "We don't ever call black people niggers anymore. That just isn't done nowadays, in public."
"That's good, I guess..."
"Now if they get uppity we might call them a coon, but that is perfectly respectable, being that the raccoon is one of God's creatures. Like the monkey and the gorilla."
So after dinner we had anal sex. Somehow, the tattoo on the small of her back that read "Heil Hilter" made it seem okay, that it didn't say "Hitler," after all: maybe this was all just a quirky game, I thought, as she then made me ejaculate on her face.
"You shoot your load like a REAL American," she said, wiping her chin.
"Have you ever seen an 'unreal' American shoot his load?" I asked.
"They got videos of that on the internet, silly," she said, lighting a cigarette. "Them coons have some big dicks, though, I can tell you that..."
I am Laslo.
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