Born in the lap of the Gods, this heavenly harlot CLAPS both cherubic cheeks mere inches from the seated and stubborn trick adorned in a cheapskate this-is-his-namesake suit.
Shades and all, yet the lighting’s dimmer than a cloudless dusk in the dead of some fetishized Winter.
Sensual side sways (it’s never her way) parting both heeled legs as she drops her head and sneaks a servile, sacrosanct peek at he who pays, he who stays, in this cubed room for two.
“No turnin’ around, bitch. Keep dancing or no more stacks.”
This inky leather one-piece is three sizes too small. Those anti-anxiety pills she’s routinely fed with a prayerless cause? Not tonight, none left for the working girls at this Vicksburg hellhole.
Cold, clammy, calamitous hands grip her hips as she stares at the mirrored ceiling and exhales. She looks so small in the reflection, so why does he look so vertiginous?
Her heart starts to RACE.
“Look don’t touch,” she whispers. His hands tighten their grip on her fashioned, flexed hip flexors, and begins maneuvering a pair of prized buttocks to his crotch.
Look don’t touch. Look, don’t touch. LOOK. Don’t touch. LOOK DON’T TOUCH. LOOK DON’T TOUCH. LOOK DON’T TOUCH.
In the peripheral foreground of her mind, she can hear his “keep your voice down, bitch!” voice trailing off into white noise.
This quickening, this whiplash, this whirring of her buxom body to face a handsy motherfuckin’ heathen happens at hyper speed.
She warns them only once.
He never sees the seven-inch army knife FLIP betwixt her scarred fingers, he only feels the right-to-left sensation of bacchanalian, blood-stricken, breathlessness.
| Dark Chocolat | “Dark Chocolat” | DaRk ChOcOlAt | DARK CHOCOLAT
© Edward Swafford 2025
Thank you for reading and/or listening! This piece is a sequel to Dark Chocolat (featured in The Blank Page collection), and a creative display of social commentary on US race relations.
Now I greedily want Part 3. This was everything, my mind has been reset.
This is THE shit. A quick whip-crack to the mind with your unmatched poetic prowess.
Bravo, Ser. 👏