Ebony Cutie Wearing a Red Bra

I always saw her with another young lady. Yet, out of the two, I always preferred photographing this cutie.Wearing a Red Bra at Orlando

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Viewing the I-4 Eyesore from a Florida Hospital

Back in 2017, I spent a week in the Altamonte Springs Florida Hospital.  My coughing all day landed me there.

During my stay,  from my window, I could see the legendary I-4 Eyesore.

Florida Hospital Altamonte 2 - A Window View of the 1-4 Eyesore -16 Years passed and the building still isn't finished

Actually, it’s called the Majesty Building.  Overlooking Interstate 4, seventeen years have passed, and construction on the building still isn’t finished.  Thus, the name I-4 Eyesore.

 

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Closing Time Booty Pose

The nightclub had already closed. Security was rushing people out of the place. Yet, I took pics of this young lady and her friends anyway.

This pose was the last pic I took for the evening.

Closing Time Booty Pose at Orlando's The Beacham

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Hurricane Aftermath-Pic of Fallen Tree Blocking Road

In 2017, Hurricane Irma visited my Orlando neighborhood,

Afterwards, I took several pics and posted them on a previous blog. Yet, out of all the pics, this  pic of a fallen tree blocking the road is what viewers clicked on the most.Hurricane Irma Aftertmath-Fallen Tree Blocking Road 2

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Ebony Booty Pose

I used to see these two all the time.

Booty Shot at Orlando's The Beacham

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The Serial Booty Squeezer (a short story)

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A summer Friday night. A Downtown Orlando bar. Won’t say the name of place because I might incriminate myself.

In the front right corner of the bar, a DJ plays a mixture of 80s and 90s music. Some songs are remixed. Most of the music is hip hop.

The place is packed. All of the bar stools at the counter have been taken. All of the bar tables are occupied. Because of that, I am standing and watching the crowd.

Among the mostly white crowd, I am one of few African-Americans present. A few Hispanics and Asians are present too. So, are a few other ethnic groups I fail to identify. Yet, the crowd is definitely predominately white.

I see her standing at the bar counter. She’s a brunette wearing a blue t-shirt and white shorts. Her back is facing me. I can’t stop looking at her booty, a round and big posterior suggesting an African might be in her family tree.

She’s talking with a friend, a blonde.

As I continue staring at the brunette’s booty, the sickness overcomes me. I attempt fighting it. I even clench my fists hoping the sickness remains inside.

Yet, the sickness wins.

I slowly walk behind the brunette. Suddenly, her blonde friend sees me approaching, looks me in the eyes.

My right hand reaches out and squeezes a handful of the brunette’s booty. The soft behind places me in Booty Heaven.

“Hey!” the brunette yelled.

I start running.

“That guy groped me.”

I continue running.

“That black guy! He groped me!”

Before I am caught, I am already out of the door.

 

Saturday night. This time a Downtown Orlando nightclub. As usual, I won’t name the place because I might incriminate myself.

Hip hop music plays among the predominately African-American crowd.

Because of the hip hop crowd, I am expecting to get my ass kicked tonight. This adds more thrill, squeezing the booty of a dude’s woman. Then, expecting dude wanting to kick my ass.

Soon, I spot the perfect couple standing by the dance floor. The chocolate beauty wears a tight red dress. Long straight hair touches her shoulders. Dude wears a black short-sleeved shirt and black slacks. A gold necklace circles around his neck.

Slowly, I walk behind the girlfriend. I look at her booty. It is big and round just like I guessed. Actually, her posterior pleases the eye more than the brunette’s from last night.

Adrenaline energizes me. My heart pumps faster and faster.

I walk towards the girlfriend and squeeze. Again, a soft posterior lands me in Booty Heaven.

“What in the world?” the girlfriend says.

The boyfriend looks at me.

I take off.

I hear the girlfriend saying, “That nigga squeezed my booty!”

Then, I hear the boyfriend say, “Say what?! I’m gone kick that muthafucka’s ass!”

Yet, he never catches me. I make my escape through the exit.

 

Sunday night. Another Downtown Orlando nightclub. Latin night. Again, I won’t the name the place.

I don’t know much Spanish. I failed that class in high school.

My mind drifts back to my younger years. Alone in my bedroom watching HBO. Anaconda starring Jennifer Lopez and Ice Cube was playing. Fell in love with the beautiful Jennifer Lopez ever since.

Collected every magazine with Jennifer Lopez on the cover. Saw every movie starring her, even the ones that sucked. Even bought her albums.

Yet, I never could never stop thinking about that juicy Latina booty. Became obsessed with it. Kept thinking impure thoughts. Wouldn’t have mind being her next husband. After seeing her succession of husbands, I didn’t mind being husband number six.

I spot my target conversing with other Latinas. They’re standing at the edge of the dance floor.

My target owns brown hair and a big ass. She doesn’t necessarily look like Jennifer Lopez. Yet, she’ll do.

Then, I see a big guy walking up to her, a dude wearing braids. They start holding hands.

Still, I walk over to the woman.

Dude sees me approaching and smiles.

“What’s up, bro?” he says.

I reach out and squeeze my target’s booty. Again, the softness places me back into Booty Heaven.

My target yells something in Spanish.

Wearing shocked faces, all of her girlfriends are staying at me.

Then, the boyfriend yells, “I’m gonna kick your ass, nigga.”

I run.

Yet, the boyfriend catches me. He places me in a choke-hold and begins pounding me in the face.

Now, a crowd is watching.

Security rushes over and break us up.

Blood drips from noise.

“That nigga grabbed my girl’s ass,” the boyfriend says.

I never liked Hispanics saying the n-word. Didn’t like it when Jennifer Lopez said it in a song. I’m only comfortable with African-Americans saying the n-word to each other.

“He grabbed my girl’s ass. I’m gone kill you, nigga!”

Security holds the boyfriend back.

Both of us are kicked out of the club.

Yet, before the boyfriend catches me again, I run off.

 

I failed to mention I am unemployed.

I am now sitting alone in an office awaiting a job interview.

A Latin woman wearing glasses enter.

She looks at me. Her face scowls into anger.

“I know you,” she says. “You’re the guy who squeezed my butt.”

Oh shit, because she’s wearing glasses, I didn’t recognize “Jennifer Lopez” from the nightclub.

I guess I’m not getting hired.

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The School Lunch Money Robbery (a short story)

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One morning on a sidewalk, three brown-skinned girls walked to Edmund Middle School. All three were in 6th grade. Julia wore her hair in a ponytail. During the third grade, she was held back. Annette wore braids. Cassandra wore two afro puffs. Her skin was a shade lighter than the other two girls.

“There she go,” Annette said.

She was pointing across the street at Tara Davis, who was walking alone. On Tara’s back was a pink backpack.

Being biracial, Tara was lighter than all three girls. Two long and thick braids reached her past her shoulders.

The three girls crossed the street and walked over to her.

“Hey, half-white bitch,” Julia said.

Tara stared at her.

Then, Julia said, “You think you better than us because you got good hair, don’t you?”

“No,” Tara said.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I do not.”

“Gimme your lunch money, bitch.”

Tara took off her backpack. She reached inside and pulled out her money. Then, she gave it to Julia.

Julia snatched the money.

Tears rolled down Tara’s face.

“Aw.” Julia started. “The little half-white bitch is crying. Crying like a little baby.”

The other two girls started laughing.

Next, Julia turned and started walking away. The other girls followed her.

Later that day, Julia was sitting in Mr. Oliver’s office.

Mr. Oliver sat behind his desk.

A white man in his early forties, Mr. Oliver wore short dark hair. Also, he wore a white short-sleeved shirt.

“Julia,” he started. “What’s this I hear about you taking money from Tara Davis?”

Fury rose inside Julia. That little half-white bitch snitched on her.

“I didn’t take it,” Julia said.

“That’s not true,” Mr. Oliver said.

“It is true, Mr. Oliver.”

Then, Mr. Oliver yelled, “No, it isn’t!”

“She gave it to me, Mr. Oliver.”

Mr. Oliver’s face turned angry red.

Then, he said, “Now, why would she give you her lunch money?”

Julia paused.

Then, she said, “I don’t know. She just did it.”

Mr. Oliver stared at Julia. Next, he shook his head.

Then, he said, “I’ll be back.”

Mr. Oliver got up and left.

Soon, he entered with Miss Braxton, a young black teacher. Because Miss Braxton was black, Julia thought things might swing in her favor. Of course, another black person would believe another black person.

“Miss Braxton, this is Julia Ashley,” Mr. Oliver said. “This morning, she took money from another student.”

“No, I didn’t,” Julia said. “That girl lying, Mr. Oliver.”

Mr. Oliver went behind his desk and pulled out a paddle.

“Stand up, Julia,” Mr. Oliver said.

Julia started crying.

“She lying, Mr. Oliver!”

Then, Mr. Oliver yelled, “I said stand up!”

Then, Miss Braxton said, “Stand up, honey.”

Julia couldn’t believe this black teacher sided with the white man. What kind of black woman was this?

Julia stood up.

“Put your hands on the desk and bend over,” Mr. Oliver said.

Julia did as told.

“Do you have any bruises?” Mr. Oliver asked.

“No,” Julia answered.

Whack! Julia felt the sting on her rump. Whack! Another sting. Whack! Another. Whack! Another.

“Now, go to your class,” Mr. Oliver said. “You bully Tara again and you’ll receive more lickings.”

“She snitched on you?” Annette asked.

The three girls were walking home.

“Yea,” Julia said. “The little heifer got me in trouble,”

Then, they saw Tara.

Just like in Mr. Oliver’s office, fury rose in Julia again. Next, she ran towards Tara.

The other girls followed her.

Then, Julia said, “You got me in trouble.”

Tara remained silent.

Julia pushed her.

“You got me in trouble,” Julia said. “And I got a paddlin’ because of you.”

Julia saw a smirk form on Tara’s face.

Then, Cassandra said, “She laughing at you, Julia.”

“She sho’nuff is,” Annette said.

Julia swung a fist across the left-side of Tara’s face.

Tara swung back and hit the left side of Julia’s face. Julia felt shocked. She couldn’t believe this little half-white bitch had the nerve to swing black.

With more raging fury, Julia began pounding and pounding on Tara. Every ounce of anger poured into her fists.

Yet, Tara held her ground and kept swinging back.

Other kids circled around the fight and cheered them one.

Julia gained the upper hand. Soon, Tara was on the ground as Julia kept pounding away.

Shonda, an eighth grader, grabbed Julia.

“That’s enough, Julia,” she said.

“Let me go,” Julia said.

“Uh-uh, you won. Let it go.”

Julia struggled.

“Turn me loose,” she said.

Then, Shonda said, “No, you won, Julia.”

Then, to Tara, Shonda said, “Go on home, Tara.”

The next morning on the way to school, Julia met up with her friends.

“Did you hear what happened this morning?” Annette said.

“No,” Julia said.

“Tara’s mama got arrested.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows. Police was everywhere.”

Then, Cassandra said, “My mama said Tara’s mama and her boyfriend sell dope.”

“Aw,” Annette started. “Yo’ mama always running her mouth about other people’s business. That’s why everybody call her Channel 9. Like the news, she know everything.”

Then, Cassandra said, “Aw, at least, my mama don’t wear blonde weave.”

Then, Julia asked, “What happened to Tara?”

Then, Annette said, “Some white lady took her away in a car.”

Then, Julia said, “You know what? That’s too bad.”

“Why is that?” Annette said.

“This morning, I was going to ask Tara something.”

“Ask her what, Julia?” Cassandra said.

Julia remained silent.

Then, she said, “I was going to ask her…did she want to walk with us to school today.”

“What?!” Cassandra said.

“Yep,” Julia said.

“It’s too late now, Julia,” Annette said.

“Yep,” Julia said. “Sho’nuff is.”

With that, the three girls continued walking to school.

Photo by US Department of Agriculture.

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