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Things get complicated when families implode, but Amelia has always known she can count on Coach Tayvon, her father's best friend. Now, with his marriage kaput, Tayvon finds that he is relying on the girl he'd always called his 'porcelain-skinned niece' to be a rock for him as well.
In this story you can expect MF, MFF, oral, age gap, black male + white female. All characters in sexual encounters are 18+.
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I frowned as I headed towards the front door and the insistent knocking. It was almost nine at night and the middle of fucking winter; who the hell was coming around my place with a mild snowstorm coming in?
If I'd still been living off of downtown I would have been extra suspicious - I hadn't grown up in the worst parts of the city, but a knock this late without anyone calling ahead would have been some sort of trouble nonetheless. As soon as Janey and I had gotten married, I'd moved us out into the suburbs - I'd had the cash to move before that, but at the time I didn't have a reason to leave my old neighbourhood. With a wife to protect, I got out as fast as I could and settled into life surrounded by fresh-cut grass, school buses and middle-aged white men buying classic muscle cars or motorcycles to feed their mid-life crisis.
I thumbed the doorbell cam screen on the inside of the door and saw a slim figure standing there in a coat, two small white hands clenching and unclenching in the cold before the woman raised her hand to knock again. Even without seeing her face, I still recognized her coat. I immediately unlocked the door.
"Hey, Porcelain," I started as I opened it. "This is a nice sur-"
I was cut off by Amelia barreling through the door and wrapping her arms around me, heaving a sob as she hugged me as hard as she could.
"Whoa, whoa!" I said, wrapping one arm around her and squeezing her protectively as I looked out the door to see if someone was following her or something. Her little beater of a Volkswagen Beetle was in the driveway, and the streetlights were on with a cold wind whipping down the suburb street. At the moment it was just stirring up the snow that covered everything, but we were supposed to get dumped on later in the night. No signs of anything wrong other than the weather.
I shut the door and locked it one-handed, then wrapped my other arm around the cold twenty-year-old who was sobbing into my chest. "Amelia, honey," I said, holding her tight. "What's wrong?"
"I'm so sorry, Uncle Tayvon," she cried, clinging to my shirt. The girl was going to stretch it out doing that, though I wouldn't have cared even if it wasn't just one of my old Tees I wore around the house. Amelia wasn't actually my niece, but I'd been best friends with her father Todd since our first year of college - we'd played hockey together, and been roommates all four years. He tried to make it pro and ended up on a feeder team, I'd let go of hockey and gone to business school. When I finished my second degree and Todd hadn't made it into the Pros, he dropped out and used some connections through his family to get a decent job. I'd married Janey first, and he'd gotten married to his wife Emma less than a year later; we'd been each other's Best Man. Janey couldn't have kids, so I'd poured my fatherly urges into being the best uncle I could for Amelia once she was born.
"What happened, Porcelain?" I asked her, trying to soothe her. I'd started calling her that when she must have been two years old, already a little spitfire but dainty and pale as a porcelain doll.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed again.
"Come on, honey," I said, kneeling down and pulling off her boots from her feet. She just kept crying, hunched over a little and bracing herself on my shoulder. Once her boots were off I stood and scooped her up in my arms - she was five foot nothing and would be lucky to break a hundred pounds, and I might have just hit forty-four but I was still big, black and a lifelong athlete with the build to show for it. Carrying her through the house, even with her bulky coat, was a breeze as I walked us into the living room and sat down with her in my lap.
It had been a while since the last time I'd held her crying like this - she'd been sixteen and her first real boyfriend had dumped her. I'd honestly been a little flattered that she'd come to me to cry and talk it out instead of Emma or Todd. I held Amelia for a while as she just cried, all the possible reasons why she was here running through my head. The apologies were my only clue really, and I narrowed it down to Amelia either having failed out of college or that she'd gotten knocked up.
"Porcelain," I murmured once she'd settled a bit, sitting across my lap with her head buried in the corner of my neck so I could only really see her light blonde hair. The tears had stopped, though she still sniffed occasionally. She hadn't even gotten her coat off yet, though I'd threaded my arms inside it so I could hold her comfortably. "What's wrong, honey? Are you pregnant?"
"What?!" she said, sitting up and looking at me. Her pretty, delicate features were a little puffy from her crying, but she looked at me confused. "No, Uncle Tay. God, I haven't been with- No."
"Then you're freaking me out a little here, kiddo," I said. "What's wrong? What are you apologizing for?"
Her lip quivered, and I knew she was trying her best not to burst into tears again as she looked at me with those cool, grey eyes of hers - though they were currently pink and a little bloodshot from her crying. She swallowed hard, her frown not dissipating. "Where's Jane supposed to be right now?" she asked me.
That one sentence sent three strong red flags up for me. First, she didn't use 'Aunt' or 'Auntie' in front of my wife's name. I don't think I'd ever heard her do that before. Then she used 'Jane' when everyone called my wife Janey. But the biggest one of them all, which might have been the most innocuous, was the use of the word
'supposed.'
"She left for a conference earlier today," I said. My wife was a Nurse Practitioner and damn proud of her job. With no kids of our own in our future, she'd been happy to work hard to help contribute to our life even though I was making enough that she didn't need to. It had led to us being able to travel more, afford the inground pool in the backyard, and even chip in on Amelia's college fund though the girl didn't know it.
Amelia shook her head and a little sob leaked out from her lips again.
"Where's my wife, Amelia?" I asked her, feeling my heart clenching and my tongue drying out.
"I was coming home for the weekend," Amelia whispered. "I didn't tell my parents, I wanted to surprise them. I was just going to work on a paper all weekend anyways, so it didn't matter if they had plans. When I went inside I heard them laughing upstairs, so I snuck up to try and scare them, but I heard more voices and they were in the bedroom, and the door was open and from- from down the hall I saw-" She gulped again, her eyes brimming with tears, and she gagged at what she was picturing. "My Dad and another man were having sex with Jane," she whispered. "And my Mom was there too, wearing a strapon and fucking the other guy in the ass."
Part of me wanted to tell her what she saw couldn't be real. Wanted to tell her that her parents might have been doing that stuff, but not my wife. She could have seen another black woman in their weird swinger orgy or something.
The problem was, Janey had some pretty distinctive tattoos. She had a sleeve on both her arms and another big one on her hip. If Amelia said she saw her, I believed it.
"I'm so sorry, Uncle Tay," she whispered.
"One second," I said, sliding her off of me. I stood and went into the kitchen and threw up in the sink. I felt cold as I spit out the taste of bile and rinsed it down the drain. My whole body felt cold. I grabbed a glass from the counter, filled it with water and rinsed out my mouth. Then I realized that it was the glass my wife used with her breakfast before she left for her 'conference.'
I threw it across the kitchen and it smashed against the tiled wall. I'd spent an entire weekend retiling that fucking wall because she'd asked me to. The glass shattered and scattered.
I went back into the living room and sat heavily on the couch.
Amelia was looking at me, silent tears spilling down her cheeks, and she shuffled over and hugged me.
I broke. The little white girl broke me, and held me as I cried in front of someone for the first time since I must have been fourteen years old.
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