almost okay

10:12 a.m.

“Did you see Rihanna on '106 And Park' yesterday?” asked the girl DJ on 'JLB. It was shift change, time for patter with the guy doing afternoon drive. “See that skull cap she wore?”

“Yeah,” said the afternoon DJ, “she needed somethin' to cover that big haid of hers.”

“She do have a big haid, don't she?” said the girl. “She ugly!”

“You think she's ugly?” asked the guy with a touch of incredulity, a touch of lust. “Rihanna? She ain't ugly.”

“With that big haid? She ugly in my book,” said the girl DJ as though she were the authority on the ideal feminine beauty. “Ha ha ha...”


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I woke up late on Friday, slept in. I had a job scheduled for Saturday, so I decided to take it easy, also being hungover and tired from a long workday in the ninety-degree heat the day before. There was nothing pressing on the agenda for the day so I lay on the futon where I'd spent the night in the cool basement and fired up the television. It was almost eight-thirty. When I flipped through all eight broadcast channels I caught commercials on five of them, 'The Today Show' going to local news and Matt Lauer telling us that there will be a live performance by Rihanna in the upcoming half hour. “Stay tuned...”

I did. I languished on the futon, dropped my morning load - a double flusher, then lay back down in front of the TV. I decided against coffee so that I could continue to doze if I felt like it. Besides, I didn't really feel like sitting upright yet. I flipped through the channels for another twenty minutes. Fanchon Stinger was doing exercises on the local Fox News morning broadcast. She was wearing a pink blouse and black sweat pants, reclining atop an exercise ball and 'working her abs' while a muscular male trainer spotted her and pointed to the part of her body she was working at any given time. “I can really feel that,” said Fanchon. I became mildly aroused.

Finally it was time for Rihanna to take center stage in Rockefeller Center. Matt and fill-in co-host Ann Curry were outside in the street, the stage at their backs. “Isn't she an amazing girl?” said Ann. “So beautiful and talented.” Matt agreed. The crowd roared when they saw Rihanna, then raised their hands in the air when Matt said that she would be performing her new hit song that was number one on three separate charts, “'Umbrella'...Here she is...Rihanna!”

She looked incredible. Tall, with gorgeous long legs, a slender neck and luscious throat; her eyes a light gray and her lips deliciously full. She wore a puffy black dress that displayed her legs and plump cleavage nicely, sexy black stilettos with pointed toes and a series of straps and buckles up the front. Black nail polish and jet black hair with generous bangs completed the look. I wondered idly if her toenails were also painted black. Her forehead did seem a little on the large side. Probably the reason her hairdresser decided on the bangs. The camera panned across the predominantly feminine crowd and by the time she got to the chorus of the song, everybody was singing along, from little girls sitting on their mom's shoulders to the moms themselves...

“Now that it's raining more than ever... Know that we'll still have each other...You can stand under my umbrella... You can stand under my umbrella... (Ella ella eh eh eh)... Under my umbrella... (Ella ella eh eh eh)...Under my umbrella... (Ella ella eh eh eh)... Under my umbrella...(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)...”

After the song was over, Matt practically crapped himself while talking to her, gushed over her talent and beauty at such a young age, only nineteen. Sweet. I was more than mildly aroused by then, my hand dropping to my lap. I got harder listening to her answer Matt's questions in her sexy Bahamian accent. “The new album, 'Good Girl Gone Bad', is that what this new look is all about?” he asked.

“Well, it's just the way Ah'm feelin' now, you know,” said Rihanna. “Ah'm very comfortable with myself right now.”

I found myself massaging with a regular rhythm. When they went to commercial I killed the sound, closed my eyes and lay back. I imagined Rihanna outside, on a private beach, reclining on a towel, sunning herself topless, face down, white sand everywhere and a cool ocean breeze. Maybe she was even napping. I approach her in my fantasy, begin to softly rub her shoulders and she doesn't pull away, just hums a low moan to let me know that it feels good. “Mmm, dat's nice,” she whispers. I continue to massage her, a deep tissue massage from her back down to her rump, then over her thighs and calves, maintaining continuous contact with her warm, soft flesh as I relax her fully. Even her slender arms get my attention as I rub out all the kinks.

After the massage, I lean over her and drop a gentle kiss on her shoulder, drag my lips from there to the nape of her neck, then down her spine. My tongue slips out and I tease her with it, move up, alternately kissing and licking until I've covered nearly every square inch of her back, made a mental map of her moles. She gives out tiny shivers at times, moans softly as I continue to work. I massage her rump while continuing to press my lips on her body, move my mouth over her glorious ass cheeks, drag my nose down the center of it, take in her scent, which is beginning to grow with her excitement. She rolls over in my fantasy, looks at me with sleepy eyes and I move my mouth to hers, kiss her deeply, our tongues intertwined. Then I kiss her cheeks, her overly-large forehead, nibble her ears before moving down and devouring her throat, feasting on her young breasts, which heave beneath me as her indrawn breath begins to deepen. I lick around her torso, kiss and tongue her navel. Rihanna moans and leans back, arches her ass off the ground so that I can gently remove her bikini bottom.

She's perfectly coiffed down below, a thin landing strip of soft hair. I dive in and drive her to orgasm within minutes, then again and again, as she moans and pants. “Ooooh, yesss! Right dere, mohn,” she says. “Dat's right, mmmm...”

I'm playing with myself in the fantasy, too, and along about that time reality catches up and I pop for real. When I come to, I open my eyes and see that 'The Today Show' is in the final hour. Rihanna is gone and Al Roker is apologizing for some dumb thing he said in the previous segment. His mouth is moving in a very surrealistic way, his dimpled, flabby cheeks jumping as his teeth flash and his pink tongue dances, always smiling that same stupid smile. Just then I remember that the ugly bastard's married to that luscious bit of dark chocolate, Deborah Roberts. 'Hmm, I wonder what she sees in him?' I thought to myself. Whatever it is, maybe Rihanna could see the same thing in me...or...

I close my eyes again and get ready for round two...fantasy penetration...mmm... Deborah Roberts is on her knees in front of me, slowly unbuckling my belt as she licks her lips and looks me right in the eye.

“What about Al?” I ask her.

“What that pig doesn't know won't hurt him,” she says to me as she unzips my fly...