I Wanted a White Woman and got ASSAULTED by the Police

Malik was undeterred by his failure at the book club and plotted again to track her, this time without Ingrid cockblocking him. The plan was simple: Cambridge and the Business District are separated by the Charles River. If he could catch Clara in Cambridge between 9 - 5 on a Weekday, he would probably find her alone. Sweetgreens and Yoga Studios. He correctly assumed she was too conscious of her weight for Chipotle or Cava. Starbucks then came into his head, and oh, how he loved the idea of catching her in one.

He had a spare music pod from his dropshipping days, and since he couldn’t afford a new music player, he kept it. Those were the days back in 2022. Drop shipping was really taking all the YNs out of the hood. Malik made a cool 80 Grand from it and rented an apartment in North End. His stupid ass also dropped out of college. “It’s a scam,” he said, parroting Andrew Tate and Fresh and Fit. When it all collapsed, he didn’t grow up and go back to school. Instead, as many cult followers do after being confronted with the failure of their leaders' prophecies, he doubled down. He combined Black Masculinity with MAGA politics. Not knowing or not caring that the end of Affirmative Action ruined his chances of getting back into a good school.

To unwind after a hard day's work of harassing a white woman, he put on The Smiths and lay in bed.

“And if a double-decker bus -”

“BOY, I KNOW YOU AIN 'T GOT A WHITE HOE YOU PLAYIN THAT MUSIC TO.” His mother, Lashonda, moved in with him from Chicago after his Drop Shipping era after she “You ain’t gon leave yo moms in the hood”ed her way into his life. She ain’t ever care about him being the first in the family to go to college, or learn how to read at a 5th grade level tho. When the dropship gravytrain dried, she was too broke and too lazy to leave Boston, and so had perched up in Section 8. Malik tried to keep the wheels churning on his “business,” but he had to surrender as well and lived in Section 8 with his mom. However, he virulently denied it when called out after he had been dumb enough to leave a roach in the frame of his “Bible and Gun” under his X @magaplantruster1848 (His ass ain’t know shit so he thinks 1848 is of Global importance because of the Mexican-American War).

He turned up his music after her outburst

“To die by your side is such a heavenly way to di-” She came through his door like a lightning bolt, slipper in hand, and launched it like an rocket, PLOP. It lodged straight in his mouth. From the pain, he instinctively closed his mouth around it. His taste buds were acquainted with the pus, toenail clippings, and cheese of his mother’s unwashed feet. Then came the taste of her ashy ass skin particles, curdled up like the dead roaches which she still hadn’t bothered to clean. He would’ve gagged, but he was too used to the ambiance of 6-month-old dishes and the ever-present slime that covered their laminate floor, ever since the days as a boy in Englewood. His stomach held, even under this deluge.

He had grown up with 2 older brothers, Terrence and Lequan, whom his mother always favored. “Why ain’t chu fly like them?” she would ask Malik, as he would watch Naruto and play with Bakugans while they were out there bringing mad hoes and mad stacks to the place. Both Laquan and Terrence were wilin YNs just like their fathers, and Malik and Leshonda knew that they’d end up just like them, dead or in jail. Not that Lashonda ever ventured to think that it was a bad thing to die over “which nigga more real”. Terrence was shot dead in a feud near the O, an auspicious place. Lashonda spread the rumor that it was Von, because she’s a dumb ghetto rat who thought that would make Terrence more “gangsta”. Laquan was pulled over for being black, and started talking about sumn “you don’t know the niggas I run with”. He was charged with conspiracy and sentenced to 15 years in Cook County jail. She keep telling Malik bout “niggas got airs now.” because he never cared to see him, but both their broke asses weren’t gonna buy tickets to Chicago.

It was to everyone’s surprise, most especially Lashonda's, that Malik grew from a little anime Blerd to a tall, good-looking kid. But this just made Lashonda hate him more. At 15, he asked his mom for a copy of “Grand Budapest Hotel” because he’d seen that little brown boy kissing that little white girl. Like all blerds, he sought salvation from his broke, ghetto, roach-infested life through white people, particularly through love with a white woman. His mom smacked him, “You ain’t watching none of that looking like a street nigga, go out with your brothers”, but he finally found it in himself to smack her back. The first and last time in her life that she was proud of him.

Now with his Temu earbuds, which left a silver paste in his ears and were already crickling in the right, he turned the Smiths back on, but Lashonda wouldn’t let him have peace. Not even finding the dignity to come up with a lie, she shouted through the door, “I have a nigga coming over tomorrow, make yourself scarce.” He planned a bong session with a scoping out of the white girl spots of Cambridge on Google Maps for Clara the next day, but he wasn’t going to get between Lashonda and dick, so he decided to go blind into Cambridge the next day and test his luck.

***

It was 3 PM. Malik had been out of luck so far. He had even ventured to the Harvard Campus, even though the extended quad didn’t give a very good chance for cornering and confrontation, and that Clara, ever vigilant, would see him before he saw her. Thinking of the Pumpkin Spice debacle, he thought “if only” while looking at a Starbucks. He didn’t even need to walk in. He saw Clara through the window, she frustratedly put her palm to her forehead, and he walked in.

Malik, smug as can be, said, “What happened to the genocide?”

Clara sighed, “This gimmick again? Haven’t you bothered me enough? I won’t sleep with you, if that’s the impression you have..”

Malik doubled down, “Little Miss Revolutionary supporting genocide.”

Clara didn’t respond.

Malik attempted to sit next to her, but Clara bluntly said, still looking down at her papers, “One more step and I'll shout rape.”

Malik, thinking he was calling her bluff, took one more step.

Clara shouted, “THIS MAN IS STALKING ME, HE TRIED TO RAPE ME BEFORE AND HE’S GOING TO DO IT AGAIN, HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME”, her voice becoming more guttural and strained throughout her outburst.

Clara smirked. The entire store, men and all, merely looked at them. The silence hung over the store for a mere 30 seconds. As if they had a 6th sense for miscegenation, two Cops rushed into the Cafe. One square faced, broad shoulders with a massive chest, and the buzzcut with a little bit grown on top, “The nigger destroyer 5000”. The other was a black cop, which wasn’t much better. Clara gulped, and Malik closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Seeing a black man leaning over a white woman, they didn’t ask any questions. They took out their Batons and started beating the everliving shit out of Malik. Clara shouted, “STOP! HE DIDN’T HURT ME!” to no avail. As they kept going downtown on Malik’s ass, the groans, cracks, and occasional flatulence becoming too much to bear for Clara, she sat at her table and simply started weeping. After they decided they had enough negro pain and suffering to feed on, they dragged his limping body to the car; his bloodied right eye, his left eye being swollen shut, was just open enough to give her a glance of resentment, contempt, but just a little bit of triumph. If she hadn’t seen that little triumph, she may have fought with the police right then and there. Lying about having recorded the whole thing with her iPhone, but that was just enough for her to keep her guilt inside.

***

“You said he was going to rape you?” Ingrid asked, genuinely puzzled

“I thought that would scare him off? You know. Even if the cops came, I thought I could explain to them”

“Clara, what made you think the cops would see anything but red after seeing a distressed white woman next to a black man?”

Clara flushed, knowing she was exposed, “He’s a malicious asshole, but no one should suffer that.”

Ingrid inquired, “Did you talk to the police?”

Clara proudly said, “No, I didn’t.”

“Clara, they’re going to spin up some story that you were too frightened after Malik’s rape attempt to speak.” Genuinely frustrated, “Is it always about pride with you? You said you’d explain, but why didn’t you explain then? He’d probably be out by now.”

Clara defensively said, “I saw a man nearly get beaten to death in front of me.” Ingrid scoffed, “Because of you.” Clara ignored her, “How could you expect me to think straight?”

Ingrid looked into Clara’s silver eyes, knowing whatever genuine guilt was within her was superseded by self-pity, and forgot all of the beauty she had cherished in her. All of the sentimentality, all of the fragility. All that she thought was hers to love. Was it all just a self-serving ploy? All those times Ingrid had loaned her bed to her, Clara hadn’t asked Ingrid if she wanted her own bed. Of course, Ingrid was happy to leer over her angelic body, but a good person would’ve asked to use someone else's bed once.

Ingrid broke out of thought, “We’re going to fix this, and I’m coming with you. I know you don’t have any money to bail him out.” Clara didn’t get a chance to respond, as Ingrid grabbed her wrist, and Clara was too startled, and too ashamed of what she gathered of Ingrid’s expression to resist.

It was surprisingly easy to get Malik out of the Prestinct. Clara had given an interview, and the body cam footage was too much of a liability to try the case. “Nigger Destroyer 5000” tried to file charges anyway, but was rebuked.

“We are going to sue your ass,” Clara said defiantly, while walking out of the station, more for Ingrid than for Malik.

Ingrid, unamused, said, “What money are you gonna sue them with, Clara?”. Clara shrank in embarrassment.

They walked around town for a bit, Clara sulking, Malik oblivious, and Ingrid still angry. They walked past a 7-11 and Ingrid handed Clara $20 and asked, “Can you get us some cigarettes?” Clara never smoked, but eager to get in Ingrid’s good graces again, she obliged. Ingrid knew that it would take at least 3 minutes for Clara to wring an answer for “which cigarettes are the best” from Mr. Gupta, so this was Ingrid’s chance.

“Let’s go,” Ingrid said.

“Nasty bitch, I’m the one who got my ass whupped,” Malik replied

Nonetheless, he obliged; he figured Ingrid might give his bruised body enough pity to smash

They got to Ingrid’s bougie Back Bay apartment.

“What if she comes crying at your door?” asked Malik

“Whatever, I’m not letting her in. And besides, even if I did call the police, they wouldn’t brutalize her like they did you.”

“So you just think I’m a victim?

“Malik, you are a victim. And anyway, I know your dumb ass came here for one thing, so shut the fuck up and let me do my work.”

“She unzipped his pants and revealed his erect dick, surprisingly of average size. She had never been with a black man before (not really out of any discrimination, just because she hadn’t had the opportunity), and she was mildly disappointed. She started sucking. A tremendous machine she was, her right hand rotating on the base and her left hand nuzzling his balls, still bruised, but the pleasure at that point far exceeded any pain. She almost didn’t need her A-grade guzzling for the massive cumshot that was about to happen. Malik made pained and subtly hilarious sounds as he approached climax “geuh”, “mmhhhh”, “auuuggh”, and so on.. Ingrid almost accidentally bit his meat in laughter a few times. She wouldn’t let him him cum in her mouth, so she dragged him dick first to her bedroom. She got behind him and took the reach-around handjob into overdrive, directing his nut toward the bed, the one Clara had slept in all those times. His grizzly nut, contaminated by the particles of THC and McChickens in his system, spouted like a broken pipe and then slowly drizzled onto the blanket, with its size almost certainly seeping to the satin white sheet.

Now that Ingrid had that over with, she laid on her back, nut and all. She definitely wasn’t going to let him eat her out; she would never give a moron like him the pleasure of seeing her in an orgasmic state.

Ingrid got bored quickly. As Malik’s bruised body struggled for a second nut, she thought again of Clara. She was probably still outside of that 7-11, tragically telling passers by, “I’m waiting for someone”, hoping someone would see the tragedy of her waiting for someone who had obviously abandoned her. You dumb bitch it’s a 7-11. She hoped Mr. Gupta would enjoy the view; she knew she did for a time. Malik made some goofy ass face as he nutted, again, as if he was Druski doing a skit or, and then nutted, to Ingrid’s relief. She’d been so bored that she forgot to tell him not to nut in her, but didn’t really mind because she still had an IUD.

She remembered why she had sworn off men. She saw Malik’s comical face, poop encrusted butt cheeks, which we could smell, and worst of all, the feet, ashy ass… She thought negro, but obviously wouldn’t admit to herself that she did. Ingrid had delighted when Clara’s smooth, soft feet, as beautiful as the rest of her, had stuck out when she slept. It was easier to get a sniff of her feet than her hair without waking her up.

She got out of bed, took a shower, and made sure to put on a new pair of clothes. She would make no signal that she wanted a round 2. Malik's just stayed there, in his own filth. Crusty ass nigga. Ingrid was self-aware enough not to go into the “Why are you nasty” line of questioning. She knew it would lead to, “Why aren’t you blonde?”, “Why aren’t you white?”, “Why aren’t you female?”, “Why, even when I despise you, can’t I stop thinking about you?”. Ingrid, disgusted with Malik and herself, asked him, standing over his still naked body on the bed.

“Why do you think that Trump cares at all about black people? He doesn’t even care about white people.”

“Trump Cares about making America fre-”

She cut him off; she didn’t care for the rest of the response. “I remember, I was in middle school when Obama got elected. It was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“Obama doesn’t care about black people.”

“You don’t think I know that? I only realized years later. After I realized his whole game, I realized what a joke he was. I would’ve known at the time if I were sentient when he condemned Jeremiah Wright for damning America for murder. White people found it ‘disrespectful’ and ‘unpatriotic’, and to double down, he put all white people in the background. Coon. That’s why you’re such an idiot, Malik. If you want white people to like you, just be respectable. Which means liberal, the Trumpies aren’t going to like you anyway.”

“Girl, it’s racist as fuck that you think I support Trump because I’m a coon. And don’t think you’re slick, I heard you call Obama one too.”

“You’re still playing this game? Yeah, I called him what he was, and what you are. At this point, I don’t even know why I saved you. It seems you wanted it, since you’re still caping for Trump after his “law and order” came for you.

“It’s the price that must be paid for safe streets,” Malik explained.

Ingrid burst into laughter, “I really shoulda have just left you there. You were probably apologizing to that cop with the buzzcut who probably has three black bodies on his record.” Then, somberly, she said, “I think Clara is probably more affected by us.” Malik interjected, “You.” Ingrid continued, “abandoning her than you were by this beating.”

“There it is, with all of you white liberals, it comes out. White feelings come over black lives.”

Ingrid palm to forehead said, “Malik, please.” She knew he was right, but it was really only this particular woman’s white feelings over his black life. “You’ll be fine; they didn’t kill or seriously injure you. You’ll probably be healed in a month. Right now, I’m only thinking about how lonely she feels out there. She needs me, you know. She’ll collapse without my care.”

“For a smart woman, you really are a dumbass.”

“Excuse Me”

Malik smacked his lips, the ebonics starting to come out, “What makes you think a hot Harvard bitch is dependent on a Jewish dyke. Shit, once she gets tired of you eating her pussy she’s gonna get with some Doctor or Lawyer or some shit and have a ‘beautiful family’ with him.”

Ingrid replied, “We don’t have sex, you perv”

“OH NO NO NO. You tellin’ me you out here dreaming about her” he clasped his hands together like an altar boy “tourmented soul”. He started laughing uncontrollably. “And you ain’t even able to munch some box out of it,” Malik, the dumb ass nigga still naked, convulsed on the bed. Unaware of anything going on in the Room. Ingrid, still furious, saw his balls become exposed as he flipped to his back and flicked them. Still bruised from the beating and still tender from the head, Malik grabbed his nether regions and yelled.

“SWEET JESUS BITCH, OHHH LAWDY IT IF YOU WASN’T WHITE”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.” Ingrid commanded, throwing his clothes at him, “And wash your ass, you disgusting pig.”

Malik obliged; he had decided one “proximity to white woman” beating was enough for the day,

As he opened the door to leave, he said, “Sheeit, I might check on Clara myself. All lonely and vulnerable, like you say. She probably sucking dick in the parking lot just to get over you.”

Ingrid didn’t indulge, calmly saying, “Kill yourself before I kill you”. Pushing him out the door and locking it. Hoping never to see his crusty ass again.