Miscegenist Sabishii
Read Miscegenist Sabishii Online
Authors: Pepper Pace
MISCEGENIST
SABISHII
A NOVELLA
PEPPER PACE
Copyright © 2012 by Pepper Pace. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any reference to music is in no way an attempt to claim ownership. All rights belong to the musical artists. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Pepper Pace. For information regarding permission contact;
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1480205239
ISBN-10: 1480205230
SABISHII
(Japanese): Lonely; lonesome; desolate; solitary
MISCEGENATION
: The mixing or blending of race in marriage or breeding, interracial marriage. The analysis of emotions, reactions, and anxieties held by people about interracial couplings
FOREWARD
This story originally appeared on Literotica.com as three short stories which showed the evolution of this couple. Due to the many comments and requests the story was extended after book 1.
Three books later the entire trilogy has been transformed into one novel length story, however, outside of editing corrections it doesn’t deviate from the version that appeared in Literotica. I would like to thank all of my fans and followers for their many comments and feedback.
What we think we become.
-Buddha
TONY
I guess you could say my mom is prejudiced, although she just sees it as
preserving her culture. But I’m Japanese American. That is both Japanese and American.
Bringing home non-Asian friends would cause her to refer to them as Big-American-Oxen. So during High School I didn’t even think about having a girlfriend. The reason is like that song says; “I like big butts and I cannot lie.” Translation; I like black females. But me bringing home a black girlfriend was just never going to happen.
I grew up in a predominately black neighborhood and went to an all black school and as a result I was attracted to the girls that I saw everyday; black girls. My preference was dark skinned, big bootie girls, the more bodacious the better. Does that sound prejudiced? As if it is a fetish? It just means that you don’t yet understand that just because I am Asian on the outside doesn’t mean that culturally I am not every bit African American.
Oh, and by the way, if we are speaking of stereotypes let me clarify; I am Japanese not Korean. Not all Asians that live or work in all black neighborhoods are Korean. And NO, my parents do not own a hair care store or run a Chinese restaurant! When I speak about my own miscegenistic desires it is not in an attempt to be racist. I like dark skin. I like big butts. Unfortunately, growing up in an urban black neighborhood and going to an all back school meant people saw me as the stereotypical Asian with an identity crisis. But, what do you do, when you feel black and look Asian?
Growing up I talked like my friends, listened to hip hop and rap, and liked the same sistas that my boys in high school did. But I never got any play. The sistas were not trying to bring a little Asian boy home to meet moms and pops. Even when I wrestled and bulked up, the girls would give me the up and down, but every time I’d try to rap to them it would always end up the same way; I’d hit a brick wall and fall flat on my face. And for the record, you have no concept of being dissed until you are dissed by a sixteen year old black girl!
I did date some in High School. I dated this little blonde white girl for a while, but she dumped me for a black kid that still sucked his thumb in the 10th grade.
In college I finally got mine. Jackie Chan and Jet Li movies were real popular and so was I. I made up for lost time in college, but two years later...guess what? It got old for me. Yes, sex with random beautiful girls gets old when you want it to go somewhere but you discover that they don’t. I am now the fetish and the experiment and the secret.
I discovered that I desired romance much more then sex with big bootie black girls. So while I was hoping for a long term relationship, my girlfriends were still not trying to take a rap music-listening-to Asian home to meet the parents. For them it was just the curiosity of sleeping with someone outside of their race. I did not see black women as being outside of my race. In my mind I’m every bit as black as my friends.
Now I’m a thirty-three year old mortgage broker that lives alone-- except for my dog, Wu-Tang.
I work in a semi-conservative office, so when SHE walked in through the door she had every bit of my attention. Unfortunately trying to step to her wouldn’t be easy. But on the plus side none of the other males that work with me would be stepping to her, either.
The obstacle for me being that she would be working under me. But for them; well, they are all blue-eyed, Armani suit wearing types and she walked in looking like Queen Latifah.
Discreetly I checked her out despite the fact that she was twice my size. But from that weaved pony tail that sat at the top of her head to the silver painted nail polish that her open-toed shoes revealed I was hooked.
Julia from personnel introduced us. “Toi,” don’t laugh, that is my name, “I want to introduce you to the new assistant broker. Toi Yakamoto, this is Nikita Mason.”
I shook her hand. Her nails were manicured and the same shade of silver as her toes. She was wearing a grey skirt that hugged her fuller figure cut right above the knee, a pearl pink blouse that accentuated her ample cleavage, and a grey matching suit jacket. I appraised everything from corporate sexy clothing to the silver polish that spoke of a need to be daring. Also, her make-up was flawless. Yes, I appreciate a woman that pampers herself and I could tell that Miss Mason did. And not just because she had shown up on her first day at the office looking on point.
“Miss Mason.” I asked innocently. “Is it Miss?”
“Yes. Nikki is fine.”
I cut my eyes at Julia before returning my attention to Nikki. “Not many people call me Toi or Mr. Yakamoto. Just call me Tony.”
Back in my younger days everyone called me T-Baby. Back then everybody had a nickname. Julian was Jay-Dog. Dean was Big Daddy-D. There was Budda, and well...we were young. People at my office wouldn’t know anything about having a nickname like T-Baby, but Nikki might.
Julia left me in charge of showing Nikki the ropes since I would be her team leader. We don’t like using the word ‘supervisor’ here. We are all a team, haha. Anyways, there was pretty much a lull in the day so I decided to drag it out. First stop, the canteen.
“So this is where we keep the vending machines, refrigerator and microwave if you like to bring your lunch. But there are plenty of fast food restaurants in the general vicinity.” I led her out of the small room. “Have you done this type of work before?”
“A little” she said in a naturally husky voice, “I’ve been a real estate agent for 3 years.”
“A real estate license will take you far in this business.” I lead her to an empty office. “I guess this is where you’ll be hanging your shingle.” Nikki’s mouth opened in surprise.
“I get my own office?”
“It looks more professional to the clients than sending them to a cubicle.”
“Wow,” she said, looking around. Since she was in a good mood I decided to make my move.
“Lunch is in about 10 minutes. If you’d like to join me over a burger, I’ll fill you in on the ropes.” Her eyes met mine and I gave her an innocent smile.
“Thanks. That would be great. I’ve been filling out paperwork all morning and haven’t had time for even a cup of coffee.”
I took Nikki to a popular cafe within walking distance of the office. She was wearing heels, but knew how to work them. During the walk I told her about the company, hoping that we could focus on more personal conversation during the meal. Unfortunately she enthusiastically asked question after question about her new position which kept everything professional.
“…but you know those companies that hold the closing fees are skyrocketing. How do you guys feel about completely absorbing those fees, even from the back end?”
I raised my brow. “It would cut out some commission but it could make us more competitive.”
Nikki dabbed her lips with her napkin. “People are savvier, Tony. They know about all the tricks we use to inflate the fees.” I liked the way she said my name so easily. I even liked the point she was making. But the executive board wasn’t going to be that forward thinking. The Board was creative in finding more ways to hide fees—not trying to be up front about them.
“Nikki, this company has found a comfy little niche with customers well off enough to disregard our extra fees but not so rich as to hire a slew of tax attorneys to loophole their way through them.” Nikki smiled at me like there were a million things she wanted to throw at me, but professional courtesy stopped her from it.
“We’re bottom feeders, okay?” I’m not sure why I admitted that to her. “But I don’t have to look into the eyes of some poor old lady dipping into here widow’s pension. Our customers are the Baby Mama’s of some professional ball player or the bank president’s ex-wife.”
“Not the bank president or the pro ball player?” She interjected.
“Generally, no.” Good god, I was hoping that she was not the Baby’s Mama to some ball player. And why in the hell had I admitted all of that to her? Maybe because once upon a time I had been something other than that evil corporate figure head that the rest of the world warns against.
On the short walk back to the office, I was finally able to get my wish and find out some personal info about her. “Is Cincinnati your home town?” I asked.
“Born and raised. I grew up in Lincoln Heights, graduated from Walnut Hills.”
“Me; Bond Hill, I graduated from the School of Creative and Performing Arts-”
“Bond Hill?!” She asked, head swiveling, unable to hide her shock. Bond Hill is considered a “nice hood”, nice houses, tree-lined streets--but still the hood; and virtually all black.
“You don’t know Julian Beatty, do you?”
“Jay-Dog? Yeah we used to get-” I almost said high. “…into a lot of mischief Friday nights.” Julian was one of my very best friends but we’d lost touch after I went off to college.
“That’s my cousin!” She yelled happily and a few passer-bys turned to look at her curiously, but she didn’t even notice.
“No!” I laughed. “What’s my boy been up to?” I started sliding easily into familiar vernacular.
“Married, two kids and still D.J.’ing on the weekends.”
“God, are you serious?”
“He’s still the best D.J. in the city...well in my humble opinion. You know he has a regular gig playing clubs.”
“No, I didn’t know that. Where is he playing?”
“Club Ritz on Old School Sundays.”
I laughed in genuine pleasure. “I gotta check him out.” Club Ritz used to be my spot!
Nikki gave me a long look. “I can’t believe you grew up in Bond Hill.” She seemed to see me for the first time. “What was it like growing up in the hood with a name like Toi?”
I smirked. “I wouldn’t know. No one knows that’s my real name.” I remembered agonizing at the beginning of each year when the teacher called out roll, hoping that the forged note I sent to school would take care of making sure my name was listed as Tony. “Honestly, when I did take my friends home they thought my mom was calling me Tony--you know, with the accent and all.”
Nikki burst out laughing and we walked into the building having to stifle the sound. “I like you Tony.” She said while going into her office.
I straightened my tie. Half way there.
Nikki
I’ve made one friend at work; Tony Yakamoto. Other than that, the people are the same cold, corporate types that worked at the real estate agency I quit. I made good money there but I needed more. More job fulfillment I guess, I don’t know. But I started looking for something different and the salary was right. So here I am.
Although I’ve never done refinancing, this work is familiar. Anybody can do it--but it takes a person with a real estate license to legally sign or quote numbers. Tony has made the training very easy but this place is a world away from my prior job downtown in the city. Then, my customers were mostly black, as were my co-workers.
The ladies I now work with invite me to eat lunch with them but I would much rather NOT. It’s not that I don’t like them, but all they talk about is shit I’m not even trying to be interested in; like sorority sisters, forty dollar t-shirts at the GAP, vacations in the mountains and boyfriends named Todd and Beau. Hell, I’m not struggling financially, but there is no way that I would shell out forty dollars for a t-shirt! You see in my circle you are bragging about how much cute shit you can get for a hundred bucks.
And the last vacation I took was a shopping spree at the outlet shops in Tennessee--and believe me, we didn’t stay in a chalet, but a seventy dollar a night motel off the strip where my friends and me pushed the beds together and slept in a pile. As for Todd and Beau…let’s just say that all men seem to be thinking about these days is hittin’ it and quittin’ it.
Most times I end up having lunch with Tony. At first I thought it might come off as peculiar to others but no. Tony is just that down to earth that he is easy to hang out with. He’s a young Asian dude who I at first thought was trying to act too familiar with my race. You know how people do (white people)? They think they are
showing how comfortable they are with your culture by testing out their slang-knowledge. But it just comes off making them look stupid and leaving you feeling awkward. ‘Hey, I told him. I’m just not down with that…’ ‘Oh my god I saw this purse that was so phat! It was sick!’ Please white people…don’t do that.