Power to the... Pussy?

She had been working for the Deveraux family for more than a year now. She wasn’t enthusiastic about her position as their part-time nanny, but it was her way through college and she refused to be a stripper like some of the other girls in her classes, she couldn’t dance one bit; so she did a great job, not because she wanted to, but because she had to.

The two children, the twins, Brandi and Brandon weren’t exactly bad children, they were just misinformed. Somewhere along the line someone must have told them that she actually cared about their tantrums and spoiled antics. At some point in their lives they had learned that black people were different from white people, so they always had questions that she was supposed to answer and speak for her whole race when she answered them.

“So, Leigh, do black people eat anything other than fried chicken and watermelon?”
“Do all blacks do drugs? Somke pot?”
“Why does your hair look like that?”
“Dreadlocks? That’s weird!”

Everyday she had to be prepared to be her own little black history course. She didn’t mind, it was just that she knew for a fact that they had been conditioned to think the opposite of anything she told them and as their help, whatever she told them went in one ear and right out of the other. To them she was just their Toy, just like in that Richard Prior movie she used to watch when she was younger; they knew she wasn’t there to educate them. She was just there keep them out of Mother and Father’s hair while they lived it up.

The holidays were coming up and Leigh had just completed her last final of the semester. School was out, however that meant more hours at work, because the Deveraux’s would be shopping and attending function after function. They told her that the holidays were the best time to network, but judging by the way the staggered in more than tipsy every night, they were just partying like she thought they were. With them networking that meant that Leigh had the option to have off and have someone stand in for her, or to live with them until the New Year for triple the generous amount she usually made. Needless to say she was staying.


“Fuck it!” she thought, turning on her Soulful Christmas cd on the Bose system that went throughout the house. Since the twins wanted to know so much about her people she figured she would show them how they got down in the ghetto on Christmas and James Brown, The Jackson Five and Donny Hathaway were just the ones to show them.

She was going to make this a Christmas that the Deveraux’s would never forget.

The pair came into the family room tiptoeing, looking almost frightened.

“Leigh what’s that playing on the radio?” they said. Leigh half expected them to run.

“That’s the godfather of soul!” she said sliding across the floor like her daddy used to do to the song. They looked at each other mouth wide open. She grabbed their hands and soon they were dancing too…Well not really dancing, but doing what she and white folks and other people who can’t find the beat do to music.

Later, they trimmed the tree. She showed them how to make garland out of popcorn and cranberries and instead of the Faberge ornaments that usually adorned their tree they made their own. They loved it! The whole time they kept saying “Gosh, blacks are cool!”

It wasn’t until they were fast asleep waiting for Santa that Leigh considered what their parents, her bosses were going to say about the tree. She even contemplated taking them down and putting up their usual delicate, expensive, impersonal ornaments, but what the hell she thought.

Leigh was fast asleep in the all purple guest room (her least favorite of colors), when she heard a knock at the door.


“Yes.” Leigh said.
“May we have a word with you? In the kitchen? Now?”

So, she’d been fired before. No biggie. She put on her robe and walked down the backstairs that led straight to the kitchen.

“I see that you have taken it upon yourself to decorate the Christmas tree.” The Mrs. said.

“Well, actually---“

“I don’t know how you people do things, but when we have a tradition, we keep that tradition.” Mr. Deveraux said.

You people? Leigh said in her head, looking down at the CD that they had taken out of the CD player and placed on the counter.

“I mean I don’t mean anything by what I’m saying, but I can understand why you might want to make your own ornaments, but we can afford our own” said Mrs. Deveraux’s.

I mean, what is this tag team bash a broke black bitch night? Leigh thought. She wished they would just get it over with and fire her instead of feeding her with their narrow minded bullshit.

“I just never understood you people.” Mr. Deveraux said, words slurring from the alcohol that she was sure that he consumed earlier, and getting up from the table, walking over to Leigh, moving in closer to her face. She thought she would vomit from the smell of Hennessey on his breath. Their faces were almost touching. “Everything just seems different about you all. They way you walk. Talk. Your hair.”

“I just have one question Leigh?”

“Yes, Mr. Deveraux’s?”

“Is the pussy the same?” He said with a sly grin on his face. Part of her wanted to spit in his eye, but the other half of her knew the truth and wanted to show him and his wife just how good her people are.

Leigh stood up, grabbing him by his tie and shoved him down in the chair that she was previously sitting in, then turning to his wife she said “You! Sit down!”, pointing to the chair across from them.

Leigh noticed that Mrs. Deveraux had already removed her black cocktail dress exposing her hard pink nipples and her perky just-enough- to- fit- in your-mouth sized breasts..

Leigh straddled her boss and undid his tie and shirt roughly. All those nights with his personal trainer had paid off. He was sporting perfect pectorals and astounding abs. She wasn’t sure whether he was naturally like that, or whether he waxed his chest, but his tanned skin (which she guessed was still dark from his recent trip to Hawaii) was smooth and hairless except for a line of straight blond hair that ran from his navel and led her to where she was about to go.

He wanted to know about black pussy and she wanted to know about white dick. Was the myth true? Was he packing a minuscule penis?

“You prick! Do you have any idea how your bigotry has made me feel while working here?” Leigh said, now unzipping his pants, exposing his black Hugo Boss boxer briefs. “You made me feel small. Now, it’s my turn to look at something as small.” She said pulling his underwear down like when a magician when he pulls a rabbit out of his hat, almost saying “Tadaa!” expecting to see in centimeter peter…
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