Fat, Black, Sex Tourist.

By Ashley Bradley

Krystal’s co-worker Donna was telling her about how she had met some bedbuck in Jamaica named Trevor who shattered her pelvis completely with his “big black cock” and now she was in a wheelchair and married to him, despite having what doctors call “Chronic Turtleback”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Bradley
• Release date: Sep 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386124825

Book preview

Fat, Black, Sex Tourist.

Ashley Bradley

Krystal’s co-worker Donna was telling her about how she had met some bedbuck in Jamaica named Trevor who shattered her pelvis completely with his big black cock and now she was in a wheelchair and married to him, despite having what doctors call Chronic Turtleback.

Krystal turned up her face with disgust, Trevor?

Krystal had recently started working at the post office, after she was recruited at the mall by some post office worker recruiter dude who said Krystal had the exact look and disposition they were seeking to represent their brand.

And what would that be? Krystal asked, playing dumb, knowing damn well he was talking about her being fat and black and looking like she could make Garfield shit in his lasagna and then force him to eat it while she watched, masturbating.

"You just have a certain glow about you," he smiled with zero teeth.

Krystal nodded. He meant the chicken grease she accidentally rubbed all over her face after she fell asleep on the toilet at The Chicken Coon and woke up startled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Donna smiled (she had more teeth than that recruiter dude, but all of them were Chernobyl-colored), and nodded at Krystal expressing disgust at her bae’s name, We do well there, Krystal - you should give it a try.

We? Krystal queried, as the next-up customer on a seemingly never-ending line raised their hand, attempting to get either Krystal or Donna’s attention, both of whom were on their four hour lunch break.

Donna nodded, Fatties.

Krystal was aghast. She had lost two pounds in non-water weight last month! How was she in the same category as Donna, who was already in that wheelchair before she got her pelvis smashed?!

Excuse me, ma’am! the dude next-up was yelling from behind that line he wasn’t allowed to cross. Krystal and Donna did not acknowledge him for even a second of an iota, preferring instead to carry on with their horrifying conversation.

I’ll have you know, Krystal trilled to her bag of mayonnaise shaped co-worker, that you are white, and I, thankfully, am naught.

Donna was offended, That is extremely racist, Krystal. If we didn’t work at the post office where racial attacks against co-workers are not only acceptable, but encouraged, I would report you to the highest authority: the sentient vending machine in the break room that selects your items for you, and always, always gives me those hard, disgusting chocolate chip cookies when I’ve only ever been an oatmeal cream pie kind of bitch.

It’s taunting you, Krystal decided, as Donna started sobbing.

I tried to fuck it! she blurted.

Krystal nodded, We all have, sis. And I’m sorry about doing racism, it’s just I wanted to point out a fat white bitch in Jamaica is different from a fat black bitch. If I get a Trevor he’s gonna ask me to cash a bunch of cashier checks or something.

Suddenly, Donna was cheery, Oh, my Trevor asks me to do stuff like that all the time!

..um… 

They love all fatties down there, Krys, I promise.

Don’t call me that.

You should go - it’s your only shot at husbandhood.

You mean wifehood?

Donna smiled, Sure.

Neither of those are words! yelled that dude who was acting as