In Honor of MLK Part 3

My darling readers, I apologize for keeping you in suspense. It's been a busy week and well-I have been rather hesitant to write this because I am loathe to admit failure, but unfortunately, that is what happened.

Lawrence Kutner who was played by Kal Penn (some of you might remember him best as Kumar in the Harold and Kumar series of movies) had committed suicide soon after Obama had taken office so that his actor could go and and work in the Obama administration. In what capacity it was, I have forgotten, but given the way Obama has lain down and allowed himself to be gang raped repeatedly by Tea Partiers and their ilk, it is no wonder that ol' Kal went back to making movies.

In order to get to Dr. Kutner, Cap and I had to travel back in time to find him.

And there he was: geekily outfitted in sneakers and a lab coat, his dark skin a temptation that beckoned to me; I approached.

He didn't say a word as I passed.

Was Lawrence Kutner afraid of women?

I turned and watched his white coated figure exit the hospital.

Determinedly, I turned around and caught up to him.

I touched his sleeve.

He turned and stopped walking, his eyes wide with surprise. "Can I help you? Are you the family?"

"The family?"

"Of the patient."

"What? Oh. Right. No. No. I'm," I dropped my eyes, "I'm Hilda."

"Hi Hilda, what can I do for you?" He failed to see my desire.

"Dr. Kutner," I began. Who knew that he had so little experience with women?

"Yes?"

"You work with Dr. House. I've long been an admirer."

"Oh. House's fan club. Did he cure you of something?"

"Uh, no." Dammit! This was not going well. So I went with this: "Would you like to have coffee with me? I find you absolutely charming."

His eyes widened with surprise-and then, pleasure. "Sure!" Then he frowned. "How do you know I'm charming?"

"I've seen you on tv," I wanted to say, but this would not register with him, as his reality was not mine, so I said, "I saw you out with House-and, I, I followed you and found out who you were."

"How do you know House?"

Dammit! "Um, well, you know, he's famous. He cured my cousin." Jesus! "I just happened to be out one day and saw him with you, " I dropped my eyes, "and uh, I thought you were cute."

"Really? Me?" He looked jazzed. "Wow. Okay, yeah, let's go have coffee," he seemed completely unfazed that I basically had just told him I was stalking him. "You are gorgeous!" He exclaimed.

"Thank you," I said.

We went to Starbucks(TM) and ordered coffee. Well, okay, I had green tea. It was lousy.

"So, do you live around here?"

"Yeah, my apartment is right around here."

"Could we go there?"

He was stunned. "Yeah!"

We took his car and drove to his place. He had a cornucopia of toys, most of them of the sci-fi persuasion and his bed was unmade.

"Nice place," I said. "A bit messy. Perhaps I could fix you up with Consuelo. She does a mean clean."

"What do you mean, messy?" His eyes narrowed.

"It's just, you know, I bit cluttered."

"Cluttered?!"

"Yeah."

At this point, he got rather pissy. And it became readily apparent that there was reason Lawrence Kutner was finding it rather difficult to get laid.

I was not going to put up with his attitude.

"Okay, well, I have to go," I said.

I left, radioed the Captain and he picked me up.

"How was it?" he said eagerly.

"It wasn't," I said. "There's a reason why Lawrence Kutner is single."

I remain,

Hilda Stinson

In Honor of MLK Part 2

The next part of the plan was to jet over to see Tom and Agnes.

They met us at the door.

"Happy, MLK!" Tom ejaculated.

"Happy MLK," we chorused back.

"Now you take good care of my Hilda," Mal said to Tom.

"And you of my Agnes!"

Tom wore a golf shirt and matching shorts. He lead me into the guest bedroom and lay me down upon the bed.

"I've been waiting for this all year!" He exclaimed as he ripped off his clothes, revealing an erection that one would, if one could, write home about.

"Very nice," I said, fondling his cock. I could barely get my hand around it, and as I drew my hand back the foreskin peeled back beautifully. This, I would have to suck.

And so I did.

"Hilda, oh Hilda!" He moaned.

"You're not going to come or anything, are you?"

"I'm close."

I stopped.

"Why did you stop?"

"Because we have to fuck."

"Right. Okay. Give me a minute." He appeared to be thinking very hard about dead puppies.

"Better?"

"Yes."

He tore off my clothes, opened my legs and began to lick my little blonde vaggie. "This is delicious," he said.

"Mmm. Feels very nice," I said. "You may fuck me now."

He disengaged his mouth and took his cock in hand, "You sure you're ready?"

"Mhumm," I murmured.

He pressed the tip to my opening and pushed.

And then again.

Finally it went in.

And we were fucking.

It was glorious.

Stay tuned for part three.

I remain,

Hilda Stinson

In Honor of MLK Part 1

What most people don't know about MLK is that he was an inveterate horn dog. Yes. It's true. On the day he died he slept with three women. Except, really, people, let's divest ourselves of THAT euphemism: he fucked. How's that? Better? I thought so.

The brother was ahead of his time in so many ways. It is almost as if he had come from a distant future to save us all from our sins. He had a dream: that we would all live in peace and harmony. And that black men could fuck white women with impunity. I do believe we have mission accomplished on that score, after all, haven't we all seen the Kim K. vid of her sucking the dick of a fine black brutha? (And to be fair, he DID go down on her, but not for nearly long enough, let us be open about THAT too.)

The Plan:

In the spirit of MLK, I, Hilda Stinson-Reynolds will do the impossible: I shall fuck three men in one day. How d'ya like that, Mista' King?

I shall begin with, of course, the most obvious, my darling space pirating husband, Captain Malcolm Reynolds! Holla!

And then, I shall with the permission of my besty, take hubby down to the mat, so to speak. (And she of course, will get to have MY darling Mal! Fair is fair!)

And last? That dishy Indian diagnostician. True, he's a little taller than the average Injun, but he's geeky enough. I could-and I will tackle HIM. And he'll like it. Dammit. (How do I know HIM? Oh. Darlin', that Kal Penn gets AROUND, lemme tell you!)

The Execution:

"Mal," I rolled over into his hard hard body and ran my hand to its hardest soft spot.

"Hilda," he groaned as I lowered my mouth onto his member.

Up down up down up. My hand moving in unison with my mouth, my tongue reaching and flicking his frenulum and the way I would peel back his foreskin with my mouth. The Captain became harder and harder.

"Oh, oh, I'm gon' come, oh. OH." He pulled away from me and kissed me firmly. "I know what you need." He traced the line of my nipples and began to lick at them. Long luxuriant licks, around and around, until I could no longer bear it and he began to work his way down my stomach until finally, he tongue was at my pudenda and then, my clit. He briefly stopped to suck upon my labia majora, which was freshly hairless thanks to the European Wax Center (TM) and then, back to my clit which he licked back and forth, over and over until I came.

That finished, brought himself over me and inserted his member SSSSLOOOWLY into me as he kissed me, tongue in my mouth. And then, he began to fuck in earnest. Harder and harder, he took my my wrists and held them down above my head with one hand, with the other, he rubbed his thumb over my clit as he fucked me until, finally, both of us came, together.

He made pancakes out of nut flour (I am off carbs), we ate, and then, blissfully, we went back to sleep.

As for the rest of my MLK day tale: stay tuned sports fans.

I remain,

Hilda Stinson