((see my profile for a disclaimer to the views of the characters))
I suppose really I should start with my name, though you of all people should know it; my name is Liam Foxx and I’m a male model, who happens to be worth over $20,000,000 might I just add. I’m 6’2” and weigh about 48 kilos, I’m lightly muscled and my skin is a light tan colour; I’m constantly described as beautiful by those around me, all of them complimenting on my stunningly straight, yet feathered, brown hair. I suppose I love being beautiful, it has its perks, though there are things that have begun to bug me... Like Darren Gregory...
Who is Darren Gregory? Hell if I know... he’s some stuck up, typical looking athlete who keeps stealing my spotlight... And he’s black... I’ll make it clear to you now that, yes, I am a racist. People seem to think it’s because of my father and what he told me, but I threw that thought out of the window, as if I’d have listened to anything my father had said, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I would be a fat builder with 8 million kids or something, instead of a sexy, single, homosexual model who is worth his weight in gold multiple times over.
So yeah, that isn’t the reason, obviously, I suppose my reasoning is when I was younger, in high school to be precise, I was bullied for looking slightly effeminate; the worst it got was when a group of, coincidentally, black males, decided it would be good to kick seven shades of shit out of me at least. I suppose that is when I became a racist, because people expected me to be one, so being the loving little boy I was, I gave them what they wanted, I became a cruel prick who declared that nobody would ever love a wog, cruel I know... but I was scared...
So back to Darren, I’ve known him for a long time, though I say that, I’ve never really spoken to him until recently, when he became one of the world’s greatest athletes and started showing up on the covers of my magazines. I’ve known of him since high school because he was in my year, and I used to sit outside and watch people do track, occasionally sketching them, though I never sketched him, because I was playing racist back then, though it eventually sunk into my psyche.
So I watched him, I watched him sprinting around the track and glared whenever I caught his eye or whenever someone looked at me, I liked watching people run. I’ve practically always been racist, and I thought I always would be, until I realised how gorgeous he was at that party, dressed in that fitted 2-button chocolate brown lounge suit. I thought to myself “damn, he’s fine,” though the factor of his skin colour sunk in and made me feel disgusted, but he was so... handsome...
His eyes were dark and mysterious, his face chiselled and masculine, that gorgeous black hair brought back into a neat ponytail, I wanted to know what it would feel like on my skin, well to be precise, I wanted to know what it would feel like tickling my shoulders when it was loose as my body rocked back and forth beneath his. So shoot me, I was thinking about sex, but seriously! It was a party after all, can’t not have sex at a party, or after a party if you’re patient or ugly, but I’m neither so I’d be taking who I want to the nearest bout of privacy whenever the hell I want!
Though... it wasn’t like that... not that night... I wanted him... I was repulsed by him... I was aroused by him... and I was scared of him... so I left, that image burned into my mind for when I got home so I could have a long, slow wank in the tub when I was good and ready.
Sad to say... I never got that far... a dark skinned hand clamping onto my shoulder prevented it; I had a bitter insult poised on my tongue as I shirked his hand off and turned to glare at the offending guy.
I never said a word, too shocked by who had followed me out of the club, it was him... Darren... time had never gone so slow for me, staring in utter horror into those deep, soulful eyes. ‘Hey, Liam isn’t it?’ he asked, his voice was velvety and deep, absolute turn on, all I could do was squeak a little and nod before he continued, ‘I remember you... from high school, Darren Gregory, if you didn’t know,’ he’d said, introducing himself calmly as he stood in front of me, seemingly ignorant of the way I shifted awkwardly.
‘we went to high school together?’ I asked, bullshitting my way into a conversation, he seemed to buy my faux confusion, maybe I should have been an actor;
‘yeah, I remember you winning an award for a painting of some runners,’ Darren smiled, I couldn’t help but smile back, staring at those full lips that generally came with being part of that race, wondering what they’d have felt like pressed against my skin... anywhere... It baffled me how erotic my thoughts were, the small voice in the back of my mind screaming out that he’s black and that it’s wrong.
I shut out the voice and we moved towards a small bench on the large outdoor section of the lot, sitting down near each other; we both sat facing inwards, so we could talk face to face. ‘Oh? I think I remember that...’ I said quietly, knowing I had the exact same painting above my fireplace, even if it was over ten years old.
‘Yeah, it was a gorgeous painting... do you still paint?’ he asked, I knew I looked thoughtful, generally because I was thinking... but you know... I nodded feebly and smiled a little, still feeling slightly uncomfortable.
‘Well it’s nice to see you again uh... Darren was it?’ I said watching him nod,
‘you too,’ I couldn’t get over that voice, I just wanted him to purr my name again, and as though some sort of god was listening... he did... ‘Liam...’ I just about died... well my dick did... though I have a lot of self control, so keeping it down, I managed to last most of the night, me and him talking like old friends. I thought I could suppress my racism, who would it hurt? He didn’t need to know that I spent half of my time insulting those of a different race to me.
It was later that night when I (finally) realised something, the way he was leaning close to me, buying me drinks and complimenting me on my achievements as we spoke... that son of a bitch was hitting on me! Flirting like Casanova! And dear lord I flirted right back, the occasional moments we brushed against each other were no accident, though I apologised each time anyway. The flirting ensued and we got a little tipsy, stumbling further outside happily his arm around my waist as he pulled me towards a taxi.
I was still graceful, sliding into the car as though leaving something amazing whilst completely sober, cameras snapping shots of us, though I felt oblivious; it didn’t take him long to slur out his home address, sitting back and fastening his seatbelt before slinging his arm around me and muttering happily into my ear. I didn’t take a damned word of it in mind you... I was too busy trying not to make my hard on noticeable... sure I looked in control, but like most men, my dick had a mind of its own, choosing to cause me embarrassment.
He purred something into my ear... I remember blushing at that point, had he noticed? Probably, because he started groping me after that, randy git... I couldn’t say much, my hand was in a far worse situation, slipped past the waistband of those sexy, expensive trousers and within a pair of rough cotton boxers tuggin’ at ‘im like I’d die if I stopped. I felt that in this instance, the rumours were true... he was huge and my hand was the perfect size, talk about a match made in heaven... but something was bugging me, even now... he was black...
That’s the last thing I remember about that night... though the next morning my ass felt like I’d been impaling myself on a banister and I woke up in a foreign bed... a bed that reeked of sex... and not the fresh kind... the three day old smell of sex... the smell that lingers when you don’t wash the sheets after doing it and just leave it so you can wallow in your own fluids... I realised at that point that this guy was a player, no shit Sherlock... he’d fucked me... and more than likely forced me to writhe in his past whore’s filth.
I felt horrible... every inch of my skin felt dirty as I sat up and looked around, horrified by the very presence of the man who lay snoring in that vile, grotesque bedspread, I rubbed my eyes and stood up, looking around curiously, unable to find my clothes; I padded from the room and saw them strewn about the lounge, picking them up and pulling them on slowly. I felt vile, I’d decided to change when I got home... I left... without a single word, just fucked off home and showered, trying to rid myself of his presence.
I came close to scrubbing my skin raw I felt so dirty, and a little heartbroken, I’d yet to find out why though; showering had taken a while and I found myself in a clean outfit, a pair of loose fitting leather trousers and a white silk shirt. I had no shame, padding about my penthouse suite in my bear paw slippers, falling onto the couch and groaning loudly, ashamed to even exist anymore, ‘I fucked a black guy...’ I remember muttering to myself, sheer hatred in my voice as I said it.
I felt I had a valid reason for racism now... that bastard used me... I didn’t know why I cared, must make me a hypocrite, because I’ll shag anyone and leave them hanging, though not in the aforementioned way, I leave them sated, I don’t fuck off and leave them dirty... I must have been near having a heart attack when my phone rang though... scared the life out of me, even as I shakily reached out to it, as though uncertain I could form words, I picked the slender object up and held it to my ear, ‘hello?’ I greeted, not knowing the number.
‘Liam? Hey it’s Darren,’ I almost died, what the hell did he want? ‘is everything okay? You just upped an left without a word,’ the man said, I couldn’t stop the scowl that crossed my features,
‘I... had work I needed to finish...’ I muttered, blatantly lying.
‘Oh yeah, art, modelling and music... I suppose that stuff must be a bit time consuming,’ Darren sighed, I glared at the far wall, nothing was as time consuming as that bastard, expecting me to stay, the filthy fucker. He expects me to stay in that hell hole, it didn’t even look nice!
‘yeah... sorry about that,’ I muttered, messing with my hair, god knows why... don’t girls do that when they’re talking to their boyfriend? Obviously having realised this... I stopped...
‘It’s alright... I was really calling to see if you’d like to come to dinner with me tonight,’ he purred, causing me to roll my eyes and bite my tongue so as not to blurt out “as if you fucking Coon!” as I realised that was a little too cruel.
‘Sorry, I can’t make tonight...’ I said with a smirk, checking my watch idly,
‘damn that’s a shame... I’d really like to see more of you...’ he sighed, I couldn’t stop myself.
‘Haven’t you seen enough already?!’ I snapped, slapping a hand over my mouth in sheer mortification,
‘huh? Well there’s no need to be like that,’ he replied, sounding a little shocked,
‘fuck off,’ I remember muttering before putting the phone down angrily. What the hell was that?! I remember thinking, feeling like a complete moron, don’t know why, he had it coming... damn, stupid Casanova wannabe, making me feel like this over nothing, not to mention a simple factor of both our races, that was still bugging me...