Fucking Indian Woman In Doggie's Style

I had spritzed what I thought was a little bit of ChanelGabrielle in the car before I walked into work just as a little reminderof Kimberly during the full work day. I went to hand her a flash drivewhen she made the comment. I might have gone flush in the faceafterward. I quickly told her it was a new cologne I had just boughtbut she insisted it was a "ladies scent." It's totally something I would use," she insisted. "It's nice."I thanked her for the compliment. She didn't know how happy it made mehearing that. Don't ask me why but I get such a thrill from themgetting close to revealing my secret. Or maybe they already know?Flash forward a couple of weeks and all the girls were chatting abouttheir Halloween costumes and what they were thinking of wearing for thebig Halloween party we hold during the work day every year. The girlslove to go all out too. They love getting all dressed up and ditch thebusiness clothes. There's also a little contest that we all vote on whohas. “You dat guy, the Freeway Angel that everyone looking for.”I shrugged. What was I going to say?He looked down at himself, his brow knit together, and I could see him remembering. His eyes went wide and he flinched, wincing in memory of the blows, then he looked at me. “Leave him alone. That was you, wasn’t it?”I nodded and he seemed to shrink a bit. “You should let them niggas kill me. I ain’t got no money, ain’t gon’ deal no drugs and I ain’t gon’ be no bitch ass nigga for faggoty white folks what come down here for cheap thrills.”The pain and anger in his voice were almost palpable. He was like I was last night, at the end of his rope.“Where is your family?” I asked neutrally. He didn’t want pity from me.“My sister was a crack whore, got knifed a couple of years ago. Don’t remember her much. My brother running with the Crips, got shot in a drive by. Momma got the breast cancer and I ain’t never knew who my father was. Just me now.”“What’s your name?” I asked. I had an idea. I wasn’t.
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