In the back seats of the movie theater, the white man’s jaws worked furiously, his too-big cowboy hat sticking out above the rows of alternately shadowed and illuminated faces. Across the darkness, Dr. Martin Luther King watched and whispered to himself, ‘Jesus fucking Christ… Lyndon Johnson.’ A world-class turd if ever he had met one. Johnson always was a noisy fucker, and this was no exception. He opened his giant maw, pushing in wads of popcorn and chewing vulgarly, with his glassy eyes pasted to the screen as DeCaprio and Winslet pawed each other aboard the doomed Titanic.

King spotted the movements: a head of raven-black hair bobbed carefully in Johnson’s lap. The arched shape of cocksucker’s shoulders and round ass just barely discernable from where he watched. Beneath Johnson’s crunching and snorts, a soft vacuum of a mouth smacked audibly on his pecker.

Clearly annoyed, the viewers around him craned their necks and grumbled to one another. Johnson did not seem to notice, or perhaps he noticed and just did not care. He was probably drunk. No one dared interrupt the movie to quiet him, because they feared and avoided confrontations of any sort. But that was why they were in Heaven: for being patient and kind and accommodating all their lives. They had suffered the selfishness of assholes like this man, day after day. Who would have ever imagined that the Afterlife would offer no end to their aggravation? Ever tolerant, it opened its gates to every clods – the ignorant, unmannered creeps and bums of the world.

King’s smiled. When he walked the Earth, he would have preached that we extend charity toward a louse like that. ‘Judge not lest ye be judged’ and so on. But now, liberated from his colossal burdens, King was simply, darkly satisfied that the hypocrisies of the human world continued into the next one. And was it really so surprising? People weigh their own goodness against those they can safely look down upon. All people are small and petty in the end – and even beyond the end. King laughed to himself and swallowed the last drops of soda from a long-necked, glass bottle.

Besides, King hadn’t come here to watch a movie. He had come to fuck some hot snatch.

He was repulsed by the sight and sounds of Lyndon Johnson being fellated, but tingles ran involuntarily through his crotch. It was so public, and so very cheap. King’s cock straightened down his thigh. His boxers tightened. He shifted in his seat for the best view, running a finger along the length of the snake that was uncoiling within his pant leg. The dark shape worked at the former president’s dick, clumsily shifting between slow sucking and rapid head bobbing. An amateur, King thought. A newbie. He heard her breath coming more frantically between motions – gasps of ‘huhh, huhh, huhh’ like a person drowning. King smirked. He knew that she wanted it to be over.

Johnson continued to chow on popcorn, spilling kernels down his front and doubtlessly into the poor creature’s hair. But now his eyes were closed and his ridiculous 10-gallon hat rocked back and forth, backlit by the faint light from the theater lobby. ‘Yes… oh yes…’ it nodded. King cringed and sneered at this scene, but his fly was already open and he dug into his trousers for his thickened meat. It came out hot into his hand.

Seconds later, Johnson’s palm came down hard on the girl’s head, seeming to impale her upon him. His hat went fully back and King saw his oval mouth saying ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ as he lifted himself and fucked her face. The girl’s hands scratched at the seats, trying to pull herself away, gagging and sputtering on this big monster as it bullied its way down her throat. ‘Gul-ummmmphh!!’ she cried into Johnson’s nut sack. He pushed her down and held her for what must have felt like an eternity. Then came the inevitable, liquid sounds of an unwanted mouth load – drinking from a garden hose that comes on too fast, busting you in your kisser.

King was shaking, sweat pooling around his collar.

The girl broke free. She drew in whistling gasps of air and fell back into her seat hard, pathetically scrubbing her face with the backs of her wrists. King glimpsed her cheekbones and long neck. The swale of her dark hair curling into an elegant – if disheveled – swoop at each shoulder. Without a second thought, he lurched up, bounding silently up the aisle and out the exit, clutching tight his erection like a fleeing assassin. He slammed through the women’s restroom door and threw himself into the stall. Seated on the toilet, his teeth clenched and his long prick sticking into his belly, he held his breath and waited.

Then she burst into the restroom, weeping, hurling herself toward the sink to spit up long skeins of white goo. Her fingers twisted on the porcelain. King watched her from the stall – her fair skin and trim figure, perfectly contained in the pink skirt and stylish top. Lifting her face to the mirror, she smoothed her clothes and sobbed. Her mascara ran in two, thick clownish trails down her cheeks, jaw, and neck. Her thin lips opened into a loud, humiliated wail. Her flawless teeth gnashed into a grin of sheer pain.

Finally, she sniffed and stood up straight, wiping her eyes and running her trembling fingers through her hair. Composure. Poise.

A moment later, she lifted it to the top of her head…

The pink, pillbox hat… her crown.

Jackie O.

King emerged behind her, and her tear-stained eyes turned to see his dark figure in the mirror. A warm silence passed between them, when she took in a deep, meaningful breath as her lovely breasts rose up inside her blouse. ‘My God…’, she shook like a lonely animal cub. ‘My God… I’ve missed you! I’ve missed you so much!’

Stepping forward, King wrapped his strong arms around her from behind, burying her face into her thick hair and opening his wet mouth onto her neck. His dick bent into the small of her back. Jackie lifted her chin and held his arms, moving his hands to her breasts, which he first squeezed and then pushed together. She bent forward on the sink and began to pull up the rear of her skirt. She stood on the tips of her toes to move the head of his cock down the soft fabric that sank into her butt crack.

‘I want you to fuck my little asshole,’ she demanded. Her hands reached back to his prick. ‘I want you to take this hog and bust me right open.’

She nearly jumped as King darted to her panties, tearing them open right down the middle to expose her round ass. He gripped her calves and hefted her forward, repositioning her on the porcelain. The side of her face touched the mirror. She felt her ass held open, his tongue on her anus, first pressing into the tiny winkles of the brown eye, then probing into her sphincter, licking growing circles into her dumper. His mouth covered Jackie’s asshole, and he bit into the woman’s backdoor until she sucked air through her teeth.

King licked his palms and soaked his erection in spit. He mounted her, moving into position and squeezed his hard meat into that pretty hole. Jackie pushed back into him, pulling his arms around her as her widening rectum sucked at his cock. He thrust one hand down to her pussy, finding it nearly steaming. With the other, he held her throat and pressed his lips to her ear. She looked like a madwoman, reflected in the mirror – makeup and tears in zigzags like some kind of primitive.

They were heaving. Rutting.

‘Give it too me deep,’ Jackie spat on the glass, one eye open. ‘Corn hole me. I want you to feed your cock to my asshole!’

Stars and lightning flashed across King’s vision. Electric pulses blinded him and then showed him new colors that he had never seen before. Figures swam into sight and blasts rang through his brain as he reamed this woman. History appeared in a whirlpool jumble: John Hinkley. James Earl Ray. A Dallas motorcade. A motel balcony in Memphis. A bullet split open her husbands skull, then it struck King in the face, puncturing his jugular and breaking his neck.

The friends and families and security guards had piled upon the two massacred men, but they were too late. They were always too late. The failing breaths of dying bodies struggled forth to ask their urgent question:

‘I’m gonna cum inside you, girl… Do you want that juice?’

She was screaming now, raving lunatic words that bounced echoes off the bathroom walls: ‘Yesssss! Give me that load! I want you to give me a baby in my ass!’

Jackie spread her knees wide and King pushed farther than he thought possible, into the furnace of her guts. His cock erupted in her colon. She shuttered from the explosion, but he held her tight. He heard her farting out wet jizz around his shaft. She clung to him like a life preserver as they rode out the waves of orgasm, expelling out burning air from every pore into one another’s bodies.

Then everything was quiet. King pulled out and heard thick liquid drizzle onto his shoes from Jackie’s uncorked hole. She lifted herself from the countertop, grooming and straightening her skirt over her devastated ass and torn panties. A small, black pocketbook appeared that he had not noticed before, and she brought tissues to her face, wiping and dabbing at her eyes and cheeks. King packaged his cock – stinging and raw – into his pants. Jackie produced a compact and carefully began to reapply lipstick and eyes shadow.

Just then, King grasped her by the back of her neck and sucked on her pretty mouth. ‘You’re a filthy whore. You know that don’t you?’

‘Yes. I know.’ She said, plainly.

‘Good’ he returned. ‘Hurry up.’

The two left the restroom together and snuck into another movie, Stand By Me, just as it began. They fell asleep holding one another in their seats and woke up during the final credits.

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