Herbie's Part II by GAYWAYNE

Gaywayne's Alaskan Adventure Continued....

Waiting for party night at Herbie's was excruciating. I was too nervous to eat the day of the party. I kept saying why oh why am I doing this? This is not normal. But the other side of me said I had to do it. I was born to be a sissy servant for the black man and his white girlfriend. The frenchmaid costume was very expensive in Alaska. I couldn't find any kinky shops. Did they even exist in Alaska? I actually had to go to a uniform shop where they sold waitress and nurse uniforms and asked if they had a frenchmaid's uniform. "We got maid uniforms", the native woman advised me. "You gettin' a maid?" I was a little thrown by the question. But "yes" was the obvious, easy answer. "She's from Montreal." I said, "And she said she would prefer a frenchmaid's uniform." "Oh she's a Frenchie," the girl commented. "Well here are the maid uniforms. Put that Frenchie to work." I couldn't believe I found a frenchmaid's uniform, a real one, for real frenchmaids! It was tres, tres expensive, but I thought it would be worth it.

So I brought my frenchmaid uniform with me in a bag, tres, tres gay. A big scary black man opened the door of Herbie's when I arrived there close to midnight. After I handed him the $25, he looked in my bag and then laughed when he saw my costume and said. "Go right ahead in little white brother," which somehow made me feel better. There was lovely Jilleen who gave me the finger motion to come over to the door to a back room and gave me instructions of what I should do next. Which is something I will never forget.

I had to take a shower in a line with 8 other white men, butt naked. This shower was hooked up from an overhead sprinkler 'in case of fire' and the water was cold and shrunk our whitemen peens even more.

Jilleen informed us we were in her prison and laughed. Then she said we had to completely shave the hair off our pussies. Big deal you might say? It is when you all have to share the same razor from the $1.75 cent store. Yeah, there is no such thing as a dollar store in Alaska. You can't buy anything for a dollar in Alaska. So this razor was very dull by the time it was passed to me, the last in line.

Then Jilleen gave us all tiny pairs of panties that said Obama on the behind (Sort of like the pic Sara posted on her blog of a cute whitegirl wearing hers.) When we were told to put on our sissy outfits, some were so short the Obama was peeking out underneath.

The Snort Room

Then Jilleen led us to the back snort room. I thought: "Oh god. I'm not a junkie. And I don't want to get hooked on crack cocaine." But it was not drugs. It was the blackman's cum in trojan bags that the whitegirls brought in. They got it fresh from their black lovers. We were told to sit down behind this long table and were each given a bag and told to pour all the contents on a saucer. We were given straws and told to hold one nostril while sniffing with the other.

When the blackman's cum went to the back of our nose we were told to hold it there and slowly let it drip down our throats to fully experience tasting the blackman's white gold to get us hooked and make a lasting impression on us. Some gagged but finished snorting the cum while Jilleen took pictures, proof that we all were truly white fags if we weren't before.

One white sissy told us about how he used to wait out in the parking lot and beg and even pay the blackman for his cum bag to drink after he got done fucking a pretty white girl in the back seat of her car. The sissy said felt so ashamed when this one girl laughed her ass off when he paid and received the used rubber and the girl blurted, "Have a good time with it faggot!" She could not get over how dumb and weak whiteboys really are.

The Party Room

There is nothing so demeaning and embarrassing as being called out from the kitchen to bring out trays of food in a tiny frenchmaid outfit wearing lots of lipstick to witness the look on smiling pretty faces of the most beautiful girls in town. Everytime I would offer them food, the girls would say something humiliating like: "Thanks fag" or "That's a cute gay ass you have" or "I bet you must really enjoy taking up the ass alot. Do you prefer the large ones?" I blushed and this girl laughed and said, "Now I'm convinced you do."

One brotha shouted, "Hey Frenchie bitch maid. My crib needs to be cleaned." His girl loved that one. Actually, I think most of the sissies loved being teased. I guess it's hard to be a real sissy in Alaska, so you get sissified wherever and whenever you can.

The Real Men (Black of course)

We sissy fairy whiteboys nearly fainted when some of the brothas stripped down down to their g-strings or went totally commando (naked). Sara, they had bodies that belong in AFROBONES, most of them from working on the Alaska pipeline. Their huge magnificent shaped cocks made us tiny cracker boys tremble and even cry. How embarrassing it felt when some of us silly fags were put over the blackmen's laps (with our panties pulled down) and spanked (like the scared little girlie sissies we were.) The white girls rooted their blacklovers on. "Spank their white asses!"

Our Big Tip for the Night's Work

Every whiteboy who worked at the party got to suck a large fat cock belonging to a brotha before going home. Just to give us all something to remember for a long time to cum. The only thing I did not like is that I had to share mine with Mousey, the pinball player fagboy, and watch his snake-like mouth wrap around it and then we were ordered to share cum with a fag kiss. The good side was I got a beating from Trey's horsecock while his girlfriend held it and beat us with it calling us stupid white queers and more. Before I left I asked where was the owner of the place (Herbie). Herbie apparently had made his money when he sold the place and skidaddled back to the lower 48 (as everyone calls it in Alaska) to open a strip club in Nevada.

Going Home

Two days later, I caught a cab to take me to Anchorage International Airport to go back home to New York. So much for my possible permanent move to Alaska. Before we got on Airport Road, we hit a red light on my final cold, Monday morning in arctic hell. I didn't even recognize it was Herbie's intersection, I wasn't used to seeing it by daylight. It was now a construction site closed off and ready to be destroyed by a demolition team for a new strip mall with a sign announcing the names of the new restaurant and stores that would be 'Coming Soon'. I noticed there was graffiti spray painted on Herbie's, things like: "WHITEFAGS HANG OUT HERE" or "BLACKCOCK RULES" and "SISSIES SUCK! DARK MEAT!".

The black cabbie in the Mets baseball cap explained, I'm from New York too, Queens, I used to drive in Manhattan, before all the Paki's took over the cabbie jobs. Just like Giuliani done in New York, Times Square and everywhere, Sarah Palin wants to knock down all the whorehouses and strip clubs and gay bars in the big cities of Alaska and get rid of the sin, sex and fags. Like it don't exist. (Well she got rid of me. I thought.) I work up here, not all year round, I take the rough part of the winters off and hang out in Hawaii and drive tourists around in mini-buses. But the pay is good here and you don't get robbed, or yelled at when you get a dent in your cab, it happens to everyone, the roads and drivers are sh*t."

Then I just happened to look at the cabbie photo on the dashboard and I thought I would sh*t in my pants. It was one of the black studs at the party named Jacko. Trey's friend who made a whiteboy kiss his ass to make the girls laugh. He did not recognize me without my frenchmaid uniform on and I didn't recognize him in his baseball cap and parka. Boy. Everyone seems to live a double life like I do. The light turned green and I left what seemed to be now a far distant dream of the past as I looked forward to taking the plane back over the blue skies of New York. The dream of the future would be to be free to live the way I want and not have to worry about the government telling me what I can and can't do. I prayed: God please keep Sarah Palin in Alaska and don't let her get her crazy claws into any other government seat, most of all keep her out of the White House.

I didn't reveal to Jacko that I had been at the party, I guess I must pass as a man when in manly attire. "Well say hello to New York City for me!" Jacko said as he unloaded my bags from the trunk of the taxi and handed them to me. "Hey you look a little familiar, do I know you from somewhere?" "No," I lied, "I've been working up in Dead Horse, oil company project." "Sh*t, Dead Horse, that's about as bad ass cold as you can get. New York will feel like summertime if it's 32 degrees there." I carried my luggage into the airport. My frenchmaid uniform was packed away and I was hoping that the Herbie's farewell party wouldn't be the last time I would get to wear it!