Kimberly Smith moved with her husband Albert to the town of Polar Grove, Florida when her husband finally retired at the age of 70. Kimberly, who was only 39, was happy to move into their palatial new house just 10 miles from downtown Miami, knowing the night life that awaited her there, but those first few months were nonetheless both boring and lonely for her. While her husband spent most of his day at the club and golf course with his other elderly friends, Kimberly sat alone in the livingroom of their 15 room house, with little to do besides look out the windows.
It was while looking out the window that she noticed something both strange and familiar. Each afternoon at about 2pm, a very hopped-up Pontiac Cutlass, with spinning silver rims and smoked windshield glass would pull up to her neighbor’s house. Anywhere from two to five young black man would get out and stand around the car for a moment before walking up to the front door. They were dressed like ghetto thugs, with low-riding shorts and wifebeaters, with lots of bling, gold teeth, heavy jewelry, and expensive brand name basketball sneakers. All of them were very muscular and wore sunglasses. They often emerged from their ride smoking a blunt or tipping back a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor.
They would knock on the front door, laughing and slapping hands, and would disappear into the house for a few hours, then re-appear and get back into the car and drive away.
Kimberly Smith was pretty sure she knew what was going on, but after watching this routine for a couple of weeks, decided to investigate.
One day at 12 noon – about two hours when she knew the car with its black passengers would arrive – she walked out of her house and across the street, up to her neighbor’s front door and knocked. The door was opened immediately.
Kimberly Smith’s neighbor was a woman in her early sixties. She had hair colored blonde, and was a little shorter than Kimberly – about 5’3. She was dressed in very high heels, in a short skirt, with a very tight tank top with a plunging neckline. She had a very slender waist, but a very large bottom and very large breasts. Her nipples stood out noticeably through the thin, tight material of the tank top, even though she appeared to be wearing a bra that made her breasts stand out prominently. She was very pretty despite her age, but she didn’t look very happy when she opened the door.
“Hi,” Kimberly said, putting out her hand. “I’m your new neighbor, Kimberly. My husband and I moved here from Las Vegas a few months ago, and I thought I’d come by to introduce myself.”
The woman smiled warily and shook Kimberly’s hand. “I’m Bernice Mustaffa,” she older woman said. “My husband and I noticed you moving in. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’ve been quite … busy,” she said.
“That’s no trouble at all. I’m sure you have been very busy. I’m glad to meet you,” Kimberly said. Then, still holding Bernice Mustaffa’s hand, she turned her own hand over so that her wrist was pointed. ‘I wonder if you’re familiar with the symbol I have tattooed on my wrist,” she said.
Bernice Mustaffa looked down at Kimberly’s wrist and saw the letters “BO” tattooed in gothic letters there. Her face went pale. “Please come in,” she said.
Kimberly Smith walked into the other woman’s foyer and closed the door behind her. Without saying another word, Bernice slipped her fingers inside the waist band of her short skirt and pulled it down, revealing a thong. Then she did the same with her thong. There, tattooed on her lower belly, in a spot that would have been concealed by her pubic hair if she’d had any, were the words “Black Owned” with an arrow that pointed directly at her hairless pussy. Bernice turned around so that her very large and shapely ass was facing Kimberly, and Kimberly saw the same words – “Black Owned” – tattooed on her lower back, with an arrow pointing toward her asshole.
It was as Kimberly had suspected.
It was while looking out the window that she noticed something both strange and familiar. Each afternoon at about 2pm, a very hopped-up Pontiac Cutlass, with spinning silver rims and smoked windshield glass would pull up to her neighbor’s house. Anywhere from two to five young black man would get out and stand around the car for a moment before walking up to the front door. They were dressed like ghetto thugs, with low-riding shorts and wifebeaters, with lots of bling, gold teeth, heavy jewelry, and expensive brand name basketball sneakers. All of them were very muscular and wore sunglasses. They often emerged from their ride smoking a blunt or tipping back a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor.
They would knock on the front door, laughing and slapping hands, and would disappear into the house for a few hours, then re-appear and get back into the car and drive away.
Kimberly Smith was pretty sure she knew what was going on, but after watching this routine for a couple of weeks, decided to investigate.
One day at 12 noon – about two hours when she knew the car with its black passengers would arrive – she walked out of her house and across the street, up to her neighbor’s front door and knocked. The door was opened immediately.
Kimberly Smith’s neighbor was a woman in her early sixties. She had hair colored blonde, and was a little shorter than Kimberly – about 5’3. She was dressed in very high heels, in a short skirt, with a very tight tank top with a plunging neckline. She had a very slender waist, but a very large bottom and very large breasts. Her nipples stood out noticeably through the thin, tight material of the tank top, even though she appeared to be wearing a bra that made her breasts stand out prominently. She was very pretty despite her age, but she didn’t look very happy when she opened the door.
“Hi,” Kimberly said, putting out her hand. “I’m your new neighbor, Kimberly. My husband and I moved here from Las Vegas a few months ago, and I thought I’d come by to introduce myself.”
The woman smiled warily and shook Kimberly’s hand. “I’m Bernice Mustaffa,” she older woman said. “My husband and I noticed you moving in. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’ve been quite … busy,” she said.
“That’s no trouble at all. I’m sure you have been very busy. I’m glad to meet you,” Kimberly said. Then, still holding Bernice Mustaffa’s hand, she turned her own hand over so that her wrist was pointed. ‘I wonder if you’re familiar with the symbol I have tattooed on my wrist,” she said.
Bernice Mustaffa looked down at Kimberly’s wrist and saw the letters “BO” tattooed in gothic letters there. Her face went pale. “Please come in,” she said.
Kimberly Smith walked into the other woman’s foyer and closed the door behind her. Without saying another word, Bernice slipped her fingers inside the waist band of her short skirt and pulled it down, revealing a thong. Then she did the same with her thong. There, tattooed on her lower belly, in a spot that would have been concealed by her pubic hair if she’d had any, were the words “Black Owned” with an arrow that pointed directly at her hairless pussy. Bernice turned around so that her very large and shapely ass was facing Kimberly, and Kimberly saw the same words – “Black Owned” – tattooed on her lower back, with an arrow pointing toward her asshole.
It was as Kimberly had suspected.
