Passport Bro Jamal

By Ashley Bradley

Jamal is unceremoniously dumped by his girlfriend weeks after she begins seeing a psychiatrist who puts her on a mood stabilizer as treatment for severe mental instability. Seeing the world through less-deranged eyes, Jamal's girlfriend gets rid of the deadweight in her life, leaving an irate Jamal stranded and abandoned. He decides he is done with American women after listening to a ManSpreader podcast promoting the idea of American men seeking docile, obedient, friendly and attractive wives out of country. The ManSpreader podcast hosts insist non-American women are where it's at. And most of them can't afford to be treated for their mental health. The more third world, the more desperate they are, lessening the chances that they will attempt to escape. Jamal is naturally won over by the idea and convinced he will finally find his soulmate, housemate, live-in hump slave and maid the first chance he gets out of the United States. It's either that, or become erotic companion to his cousin and his hard shaft stuffed with maggots, and...that situation just simply is not the most ideal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Bradley
• Release date: Oct 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223753414

Book preview

He sat and drank his milk.

Huddled in the corner of his room on his bunk bed (bottom bunk), Jamal watched an erotic video on his school-issued Chromebook laptop. They gave them out for free at his online university. He was studying to be a dandruff specialist, all online. He’d only just begun his program, though he’d signed up to the school ages ago, when he was twenty-three and had just gotten kicked out of the military for crying too much. Before the military, he was attending a real college, studying to be a phlebotomist, but he’d had a breakdown because his dorm mate was white and he was too afraid to go to sleep in the presence of someone sincerely named Tyler. He’d never slept with his back turned to a white man before and the idea of it sent a cold shock to his core. He couldn’t sleep and went mad. Tyler seemed nice enough during awake hours, but Jamal didn’t know what happened to these people at night: if they turned into werewolves, or rummaged through your things like racoons when the lights were out - he’d never been told. They could be capable of anything!

So he’d entered his breakdown years. He was sent home from school, didn’t really remember that era much - it was blacked out mostly. His memories popped back up right around the time his father was ushering him off to the military. His dad was a military man himself, decorated; had a good government job; respected position. He hadn’t initially pushed Jamal into joining up with his old stomping grounds - he rarely talked to Jamal, found his son strange and off-putting. Secretly, Reginald had it of the mind that Jamal would be raped pretty much immediately his first day of joining up, so never suggested the idea. College was better. Jamal’s chances of being raped were slim to none there: more options, less restriction. Reginald thought his son would disappear amongst the crowd at school, which he felt was a good thing, though it turned out not to be, because there was no one there who felt any responsibility to keep an eye on Jamal, make sure he was still tethered to the world - Reginald hadn’t planned for that.

After years of Jamal rotting away at the house, Reginald told the boy it was either join the military, or go back to school. Reginald’s wife, Debra, did not agree with Reginald’s decision to issue an ultimatum to their only child. Debra coddled the boy - she was most comfortable with him close, up under her bosom. But Reginald viewed Jamal differently: he was a grown man with dick and balls, and he needed to get out into the world and do something. Make a life for himself!

Reginald wasn’t surprised, though, when Jamal was dishonorably discharged from the service. It was a shot in the dark, really. Debra didn’t mind, was relieved to have her son home, but Reginald was disgusted and annoyed he couldn’t get rid of the boy. He knew then: he never would. All he could do was sigh and tell Jamal that if he was going to be living up under his roof, he was going to have to have some sort of job. Reginald said this to Jamal, but didn’t think his son was capable of securing employment - who would hire him? But he had to say it. He had to play his part.

After five years, unsurprisingly, of nothing, Jamal just rotting away in his childhood bedroom writing Neopets erotic fanfiction by longhand under his sheets with a flashlight, he finally obtained a cart attendant position down at the local Kmart.

Reginald had no idea what that even was. What in tarnation is a cart attendant? Debra explained it was the man who handled the carts, you know, the ones you push around in the store. Jesus Christ, Reginald said out loud, and Debra shushed him because Jamal was sitting right there at the dinner table, silently crying over his cold, congealed plate of cheesy taters, which he had initially been so happy to receive after throwing a tantrum about not wanting the roast beef his mother had cooked, but now it tasted like nothing, like mush.

At least the boy is out of the house, Reginald thought, and he looked down the table in disgust, wishing he’d gotten that vasectomy sooner. He’d never wanted children. Debra never talked about it. It just kind of happened - youthful carelessness, really. But trust, the minute that boy was birthed, Reginald was down to the vasectomist’s office getting cauterized. He wouldn’t chance a second major mistake.

More recently, Jamal had been talking about going back to school. Reginald thought the boy was bold-faced lying. He was near-forty and still wrangling carts. He’d been promoted to Cart Manager, after all this time. Boy still outside playing around with carts. It made no difference to Reginald. Now he was telling his poor mother he was back to school, getting his Dandruff License. The boy was retarded, Reginald thought. He didn’t say a word because how would it look? All these years, the boy’s mentally challenged and probably clinically insane and neither he nor Debra had done a thing about it. That’s child neglect, clear as day. Maybe back in the old rocks and sticks days it’d be fine, but now you could get canceled by long-lost relatives on The Facebook. Reginald wasn’t having that - spent his whole life building an impeccable reputation for himself. It was already bad enough he and the wife couldn’t brag on the boy to relatives they despised. Debra couldn’t even post a photo of the boy on his birthday because he looked so strange and dusty and his hairline, if you could call it that, had no point or purpose, so she could only do one of those picture-free posts or sometimes she’d post one of those moving pictures of cats with like a little glitter heart next to it with Happy Birthday going across and the caption’d say Happy Birthday to My Special Boy! and all the comments would be asking about Jamal, asking if he was dead and Debra could only respond with smiley or sad faces, depending on the questions - it was humiliating! Imagine how much worse it’d be if it came out the boy was slow and they’d done nothing in all this time - hid his condition! Even his disgusting cigarettes-and-beer hundred-year-old Grandma Eunice was an Autism Advocate on The Facebook. And she grew up during a time when they’d just throw them types into the madhouse and call it a day! He’d never live it down. So when the boy started up about going to Dandruff School, and his mother got all excited, Reginald played along. Sure, son, tell me if you need any money for Dandruff Books, just let me know.

––––––––

Jamal stared with a dullness into his laptop. He was feeling vaguely turned-on, watching the sexual scene play out before him, but more than anything, he was irritated. There were two naked boobies women in the bed. The setting was a motel room but you could tell it was on a soundstage. It was really bright in the room and you could understand, without it being made explicit, that just slightly out of frame where the bathroom should be was just a bunch of men standing around in flannels and khakis holding cameras and lights and boom mics and looking upon the scene with much the same levels of boredom and low interest that Jamal looked at home, only probably slightly less erect.

The two booby women were going at it, but the chemistry wasn’t really there. The moans were loud and forced. The one on top was barely touching the one on the bottom but the one on the bottom was hollering like she was being exorcised. The one on top was kind of fanning her french tips over the enlarged clitoris of the one on the bottom. Jamal didn’t have a vagina, despite those claims from bullies at online school, so he didn’t know, but it kind of didn’t look like something that would feel nice if you had one. It looked like maybe it’d hurt, or, if it didn’t hurt, that it’d just feel uncomfortable. Maybe the one on the bottom wasn’t writhing and screaming from pleasure but from agony. Thinking this, Jamal became a little more erect.

But quickly, the stirring erection was dampened by an intruder on the scene. A man burst into the room, carrying a pizza box suspiciously low to his waist.

Jamal was annoyed: the pizza man didn’t even knock. You don’t just burst in. And then when he did, the ladies barely acknowledged him, so absorbed they were in their little lesbian flick fest. Jamal found it all to be so false. Jamal was confident if he was laid up in a motel room, getting his clit flicked, and some random man just bursted in, that he would immediately turn to the intruder and be like Um, hello, what the fuck? - and that’s at minimum. He put himself, too, in the position of the one on top - the dom. The dom, in real life, would launch up from the bed and start doing karate kicks or something if some random guy just busted in while they were doing sexy times to their girlfriend. The lack of realism took Jamal totally out of the scene. He sat there on his bunk bed, despondent, his thin dick limp in his dry palm. He started to fall asleep, but was shortly awakened by an intruder of his own.

You was in the bathroom earlier, Jamal heard in his sleep, and in his dream it was God standing there looking upon him unfavorably as he squatted pooping outside by a tree.

Jamal woke up in shock, scared he’d shit the bed again, and was immediately relieved to realize he hadn’t, he was safe - this time.

But then he saw the horrible hag hovering above him, and it was worse than his dream in every conceivable way: a living nightmare.

You was in the bathroom earlier, she repeated, an accusation.

It was Jamal’s roommate Reba. Three years prior, on Jamal’s thirty-fifth birthday, he’d been presented with a gift from his parents: an apartment of his very own. Really, it was a room above the garage. Previously, it’d just been used as a storage space: where his dad kept all his old workout equipment he never used and where his mom kept all the junk she got from QVC and the Nordstrom sales. Reginald had put his foot down: no more QVC and Nordstrom sales - he took the charge cards from Debra. In response, she banned him from buying any more treadmills or rowing machines. They were fighting one minute, and laughing the next. They decided these were great ideas. Jamal had watched the argument with disgust. He always hoped for it to be the Final One, and they’d get divorced and then he could have two Christmases instead of just the one, but it never came. He didn’t know at the time that they would transform the storage space into a small apartment for him. When they presented it to him on his birthday he was kind of annoyed - it made it official there’d be no divorce, they’d worked out their argument and it manifested into something productive. There was no separation to speak of on the horizon and he could kiss his two Christmases goodbye, probably forever. So that made him unhappy, then he started worrying about the responsibility of this apartment, and lo and behold, Reginald was pulling Jamal aside and telling him the rent would be five hundred a month. So that would mean he’d be paying fifty percent of his paycheck every month towards rent. Jamal pointed this out to his dad, who responded that Jamal could go out into the real world and find a better deal if he liked, and if he did, he could bring it back to his father and his dad would match it.

A complete prick. Reginald knew Jamal wasn’t doing that shit. And Jamal knew probably he could get away with not paying the rent, as he’d never paid it before. His dad would try to play strong man, but his mother would pull him back and tell him to let Jamal alone, like she always did. Jamal suspected his mom didn’t even know of this little scheme. But he decided to play along and immediately came up with a scheme of his own: he’d get a roommate and make them pay the rent. And he dared his old dad to say something about it, which he wouldn’t, Jamal knew.

Finding a roommate would be difficult, but not impossible. Jamal’s room above the garage was just that: a room. There was a small kitchenette his dad had installed, as well as a small bathroom, no shower (Jamal showered at the main house). There was no space for an additional tenant, but that never stopped a landlord before.

Jamal put up a sheet, halving the already small room, and on the other side set a cot, then he advertised on Craigslist, listing the rent as five hundred dollars a month - a steal, kinda sorta. He knew there were plenty of desperate people out there who’d jump at this chance, the risk was that most of them would be perverts and serial killers and he’d have to guesstimate over email which was which and decide who was the least likely to kill and eat him.

And that’s how he came upon Reba, the only woman who’d answered his ad.

Reba was an old, dark gypsy of indiscriminate age and race. Jamal would guesstimate she was between 50 to 100 years old. Her race was anyone’s guess. He couldn’t place her accent. It sounded country but also Old World. He didn’t even know what old world meant, but he knew intrinsically that’s what it sounded like. She had the coloring of someone who’d been charred by a fire. Not all the way burned, but like she’d escaped right at the last second from a wildly burning building, right before its collapse. Jamal always wanted to take a white dishcloth and swipe across her skin to see what’d come loose, but he wouldn’t dare touch her. She gave the impression of someone who’d once become intimate with a leper colony - the sort of thing that seems like it no longer exists, but then you meet someone like Reba and you know instantly that it does exist and she was once from there.

Jamal stared into Reba’s sick, yellow eyes as she repeated herself, her voice low and her breath emitting the stench of sulfur and boogers.

You was in the bathroom earlier, was you not?

Jamal lurched backward, gasping. He clonked his head on the wall behind his bed and cringed from the impact, wishing it had instantly killed him.

Reba had made Jamal take down the sheet and get bunk beds the first week she had moved in. She also made him plead with his parents to allow her access to the main house so she could properly shower. She screamed like a banshee whenever Jamal demurred or hesitated and so he gave in quickly to her demands. His parents were not pleased and Debra, the nice one, had told Jamal straight up he was not allowed to house vagrants in his apartment. So Jamal spilled the tea that he needed a roommate to help pay rent, and when Debra turned to Reginald in shock, and Reginald sheepishly avoided her gaze, Jamal knew he had won. Though, ultimately not really. He wished his mother had said right then and there that Jamal was not to pay rent, that Reginald, in fact, was to pay Jamal