black women who love nazis
It was a few years ago at 4AM, and I'd recently arrived back to my tiny apartment from a marathon magazine deadline session. Exhausted, I'd taken my shoes off and was wandering around clad in my windbreaker, white socks, and a white mustache from a late-night vanilla protein shake—in short, I was looking SEXY.
A knock came on the door. It was a black stripper who lived in my building and looked remarkably like the girl to the right. She was obviously smashed. "Can I come in?" she slurred.
Um, sure.
"So," she said happily, tearing off her clothes to reveal a pair of mammoth coconuts, "I hear you're a Nazi."
No, well, that's not true.
It didn't matter if it was or wasn't. She was already naked and in my bed. Things transpired that evening, my friends, which would permanently disqualify me from membership in several top-flight white-supremacist organizations.
But I was always amused at the idea of a black girl who wanted to fuck me because she heard I was a Nazi.
In the morning, she smelled like garbage. I don't mean she merely smelled foul—she smelled precisely like a sodden brown bag filled with orange peels and coffee grounds that had been left out too long in the sun.
I'm not implying it had anything to do with her blackness, only that she smelled like garbage in the morning.
