Pop Singer: A Dark BWAM / AMBW Romance

by Asia Olanna

  When I had been with Jong-soo first, I remember feeling scared, and unsure of myself.

  Now, I was enraptured by him, totally enamored with his flesh, wanting my body against him. I wanted him to suck me off, but I also wanted to worship him.

  “Let me go down on you,” he said, wrapping his legs around the back of mine, and flipping me over. I screamed for a moment, giggling, pushing my hands against his chest. I felt for his nipples again, how tight they were, right there on his broad chest. I rolled my palms around the center, feeling his skin. He bent down lower and lower, and then I placed my hands around his neck, guiding him to my clit, my pussy.

  He ripped off my panties, pressing his lips against my hood.

  Kissing me, he fluttered his tongue, rubbing back and forth with his fingers my clit and then my hood, the entirety of my pussy.

  He sucked, tasting my juices, lapping them up as if I had produced water or fine nectar, and I was practically, the way I squirted, the way I constantly squirted my juices into his face.

  I squirted again, and he simply drank it all up, swallowed everything, not at all feeling ashamed of my body.

  Some men…

  They hated women because they were not the right shape.

  Too curvy, voluptuous.

  Not the right hair texture for their taste.

  But with Jong-soo, he loved my curves, the kinks and coils and curls, the way it was nonstandard, not at all what you would see in the magazines or on television.

  My dark skin, he was not afraid of it.

  My body, not one bit.

  Every single inch of me, he loved to take in with his eyes, his fingertips, guiding underneath my breasts, salivating at the thought of grabbing them.

  I offered them to him, and he sucked on my pussy as he helped himself.

  I opened my legs wider and wider, squirting more juices into his face.

  Jong-soo simply ate me out, nonchalantly, pressing his fingers against my nipples, rolling them down along my breasts, along my waist, feeling my curves and my voluptuous frame.

  The way I bulged out here and there—without any shame at all, he loved me for who I was.

  And this was probably another reason why I had stayed with him for so long. Why I had not left him.

  He treated me better than any man I knew. Was better than any lover I had in my life!

  Sure, I couldn’t get away naturally, but at least I had something with Jong-soo. It might have been unusual, but so was our relationship.

  I could only imagine what people thought about a black woman being with an Asian man. Imagine us walking down the streets of New York, or anywhere for that matter, even in Africa— we would be an anomaly, a “strange” pairing.

  But in the bedroom together, we were perfect, and I could tell by our body language that we would last throughout the years.

  Sexual compatibility, personality, we had it all together.

  Attraction and fairness.

  Treating each other right, as partners should.

  “God,” Jong-soo said, mumbling on my pussy lips. He sucked harder and harder, climax right underneath my skin, orgasm bursting wildly at the center of my mind.

  “Just do it already,” I said.

  Jong-soo nodded, twirling his fingers onto my clit, squeezing out the rest of my juices, massaging his palm into my skin.

  I kicked my legs outwards, and I groaned, moaned, and grunted. I squirted so much, an orgasm, and for a moment, I blacked out.

  Jong-soo gasped, his lips pressing into my vagina, his tongue hanging around the entrance and then deeper.

  Then he came, doubling back over, grappling his cock, and squirting all over me. My legs were drenched in white, white hot sperm. I closed my eyes, and settled into the euphoric sensation washing over my body. He squirted again and again, blasting me all over with his heat.

  We gasped, and throbbed there, sitting next to each other, laying together. Jong-soo raised his finger up my bellybutton, and then over my right breast. He said, “I think we should all go to America when this is all over. I can imagine starting a career there, chasing my dream. I could be an actual music star, but without the baggage that I’ve had to carry for so long.”

  “You can indeed,” I said. “America is the land of dreamers. It’s a place where people can follow whatever they want.”

  Strangely enough, I was beginning to miss my boring suburbia. I was beginning to miss the way things were.

  “I wouldn’t mind going back for a while,” I said. “I’m not sure if I would want to live there for the rest of my life, retiring and all that. America can still be a strange place sometimes—it’s not utopia by any stretch of the word—but living there again, well, there are lots of things going on. I’m not sure anymore in the long term if that’s where I want to be.”

  Jong-soo hugged me, and he draped his lips down the length of my back. I turned over in bed, pulling the sheets up around our bodies.

  Would Bit-na be okay? “I worry about her,” I said. “It’s strange, because if she was anybody back home in the United States, I would have cut her off so quick and gotten her help and then left it to the professionals. But with her, I only feel worse and worse. She’s clearly a damaged person. Not that I want to make her out like she’s a product or an object. But still, she’s the person who’s gone through a lot. And I’m not sure if she can make it through.”

  “I worry about her all the same,” Jong-soo said. “She’s the type of girl who likes to put up a front. She likes to appear to people as a strong person. But I know that she has her own struggles—it’s clear that she’s displayed them out before us. Her insecurities. Her past.”

  “If I lived the life she did, I’m not sure if I would have made it out of my hometown.”

  For the rest of the night, Jong-soo held me close to him, as he did many other nights, but sometimes, I felt him probing me with his cock.

  And my pussy lips got warm and hot.

  I smiled as I enjoyed the sensation throughout the starlit evening.

  Thinking about him…

  Compared to all of the other duds I had dated before, he was one hell of a man.

  And my dad said Asians were all racist!

  JONG-SOO

  When we woke up the next morning, I pushed up Henrietta against me, pulling her in against my body. She was like a warm feeling, an emotion, living before me.

  Happiness incarnate.

  Joy right in my hands.

  I touched her nipples, gently stroking the outer edges. She flinched and giggled.

  I liked how she responded to me, my every touch on her skin, my sensation and hers combining together like waves.

  “Did you enjoy me last night?” I said.

  “You’re very naughty,” Henrietta said, still giggling. “We need to go check up on Bit-na, don’t we?”

  We went into the washroom, cleansing ourselves and brushing our teeth. Then we stepped on upwards into the main deck, slowly finding our Bit-na sleeping at one of the dining tables.

  She woke up when we got to her, bright light in her eyes. Her sharp chin seemingly like a katana. Dangerous, ready to strike someone. She had a vendetta. Reasons for living and for killing.

  “How are both of you?” Bit-na said, her voice dark and heavy. She sounded tired, ready to throw herself into a fire pit. I wanted to help her somehow, but how could I reach out to her when she did not even have anything but a fixated point in her mind: taking down Oh-seong.

  It was too difficult, trying to corral her spirit.

  “I’m sorry if I acted strange last night,” Bit-na said, standing up. We all walked over to the outer decks, watching the waters splash against the side of the ship. Fishermen were all around, casting lines into the sea, maneuvering a large metal crane overhead, doing something with shrimp and nets, bringing on what seemed to be like tens of thousands of little guys to be harvested for their meat. “I’ve definitely not been myself lately,” she said. “It’s something that I strug
gle with these days, after having been abused and in the Twin Swords. It’s something that’s difficult to reconcile—my past and the present now. And I will admit, that I…”

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  Bit-na would not tell us any further. She waved her hand and simply walked away. “I’ve told you a lot already. To tell you more would be to tell you all of my insecurities. And I’m not ready to disclose all of those just yet. But I want you to know—I’m recuperating slowly. Even after the death of Hae-il.”

  By now, I had gotten used to the idea of seeing death all around me. So it was no surprise: I could move about and go about my day like normal.

  “You’re adapting extremely well,” I whispered to Henrietta, as Bit-na left us. “I thought you would not be able to perform last night because of what you’ve seen. You’ve seen this kind of rough behavior before.”

  “Yeah,” Henrietta said. “Sometimes in Lincoln, back where I come from in Nebraska, when I would be around with my best friend, Latasha—I’ve never told you about her—but she comes from one of the poorer neighborhoods. And I would hang around with some of her friends. They would never be a good influence. When we got to college, our lives changed for the better, because both of us were able to influence one another. We built a community for black people—I guess, that’s something that’s difficult to understand from your perspective. Over here, in Korea, people idolize everything American. But when you see what it’s actually like to live over there—things can be very different.”

  HENRIETTA

  So I told Jong-soo one of my old stories. Something to pass the time with as we traveled to Fukuoka, the island in sight.

  Before I had started the black people club at my college, I had noticed that she was always hanging around really rough people. She had grown up in the projects, and her family oftentimes operated businesses that were borderline illegal.

  In some cases, they were blatantly illegal.

  Prostitution, drug slinging? Definitely so.

  And being that we were in frequent contact, both of us had exposure to that kind of lifestyle.

  It annoyed me—some of the other kids at school would frequently think that I was not black because I didn’t know that kind of life. I did know it, I just didn’t want to know it.

  One day, when we were walking back home from class, a guy Latasha knew approached us. He was tall, light-skinned, and had blue eyes, tufts of golden hair. Very attractive. But he was one of those people who thought his skin color made him.

  Sometimes he could be hotep.

  Ugh!

  “And how are y’all Nubian queens?” he said to us, rolling down his car window. We were walking a street corner, trying to get off-campus to our cars. Because neither of us could afford to pay for parking, we had to use the local Walmart, and then cross the street, and then walk and walk and walk. This, unfortunately, exposed us to random dudes who liked to hit on women trying to go about their day.

  “Get out,” Latasha said, annoyed. She clearly knew the man.

  “No,” the man said, “why don’t you get out of here with that kind of talk.”

  I glanced at Latasha. She held my hand, and the man said, “You guys lesbian or something?”

  I shook my head. Now he was beginning to annoy me.

  “Why don’t you get out of here,” I said. “Latasha clearly doesn’t want to talk to your ass.”

  “Oh,” the man said. “So we have some sassy lady over here. I get you.”

  I rolled my eyes. Some of the local drug dealers could be so ridiculous. And I could smell it off him—the scent of bad weed misting up the air.

  I had no problem with what people did in private. If they wanted to use drugs, whatever. But this man was not leaving us alone, and we had not even asked for drugs.

  Until Latasha said, “I don’t want your crack anymore.”

  Those were some dark days. I never spoke of them again, and Latasha never talked about them. Her crack slinging, snorting days.

  “If you don’t get out of here,” Latasha said, “then I’m going to call the police.”

  The man scrambled off. Although I was happy with the results, I was not happy about learning what Latasha had gotten herself into.

  “He’s just some guy I used to see,” she said. “It’s whatever though. He’s not important.”

  As I told this story to Jong-soo, his eyes widened, and he frowned.

  JONG-SOO

  “I never expected that kind of stuff to go on,” he said. “I’m pretty ignorant of the United States. I’ve never been there. I’ve only been around Asia. So, thinking about what happens in the poor neighborhoods—that’s something I’ve never encountered before, obviously.”

  “Life is difficult for a lot of different kinds of people. The media likes to make everyone seem successful and wealthy. But it’s definitely not all like that. If we were all wealthy, then we would all be CEOs or something. It’s really no different than here. You know, I thought Korea was all pop music and fun. That was my ignorance.”

  “The more you know,” I said, laughing. Henrietta laughed with me.

  We walked around the perimeter of the boat, finding ourselves a seat next to some of the fishermen who were throwing their hooks off the edge.

  One of them asked us if we had ever been fishing before, and I said no. Henrietta as well.

  He showed us how to hook some bait to the end, and then how to reel and throw a line into the ocean.

  I stood behind Henrietta as she hooked up a small fry, and then cast her line all the way down.

  “Very good,” the man said. He clapped for her.

  “Not bad for an American girl,” I said, smirking. I took the fishing rod from her, and then set up a small bait for myself. With a heave of my back, I cranked my arms, and then—

  The fishing rod escaped from my hands, diving into the water.

  I turned around, and although the man looked appalled, Henrietta was laughing her head off.

  “Not bad for Korean boy,” she said, clapping.

  I apologized to the fishermen, who said it was okay, that it was an old practice rod anyway. He was about to get rid of it. Lucky me.

  “How much longer do you think until we reach Fukuoka?”

  The fisherman lifted a hat from his head, scanning the horizon. “I think maybe about an hour or so more. Why don’t you go wait inside where it’s cooler?”

  Me and Henrietta went back to our bedroom, after having looked for Bit-na. She was nowhere else on the ship.

  Clearly, she wanted to be away, wanted privacy for herself. Which was fine, because both of us wanted to have spare time to ourselves.

  HENRIETTA

  Jong-soo placed me on the bed, his hands on my shoulders.

  I giggled, lifting my legs up.

  “You thought that I was a soft girl,” I said. So many people did, even when I was going to college.

  I could remember when people said things like, “You don’t sound like a black woman. Why do you talk so white?”

  Oh!

  If only I could slap all of those people who thought like that.

  I had a hardness in me, a sense of the streets.

  I wasn’t stupid.

  Just because I came from the suburbs didn’t mean that I didn’t know shit. What went on behind closed doors.

  “I wasn’t expecting it,” Jong-soo said. “You have to forgive me,” he said, placing his nose against mine, kissing me along my cheeks. He brushed his fingers underneath my chin, and I gasped. Then he whispered in my ear. “You have to really forgive me. We all have our assumptions about other people. Before you knew me, I was nobody besides a popstar. A singer? That’s it.”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  Jong-soo brushed his hand now down to my breasts, massaging underneath my bra. He felt underneath my clothes, slowly taking off my shirt, and then my pants. I slinked my curvy thighs and calves out of my pants, and then wiggled before Jong-soo my bosom, my body that need
ed to be serviced once more.

  Some women might have called me out back then for being a “slut,” but I didn’t care.

  Jong-soo and I had a connection.

  And, girl, when you’re kind of in love, you’ll do crazy things.

  And, I did say that I wanted to come to Korea for an adventure.