Goth Girl

Ramona Winters was 5'10, tall for a girl, with black hair. She had black toenail polish and fingernail polish on. She had a pierced clit, navel, tits, tongue, and multiple piercings in each ear. She had stark white skin, huge EE cup breasts, and a thick rump.

She'd never fit in in high school with the 'in' crowd, as much as she'd desperately wanted to. So she went in the other direction, fitting in with the weirdos and the geeks and the freaks. And this brought her happiness, for a time. But then she'd got into college, and the 'normies' were everywhere, and the old desires to fit in caught anew.

And then she'd run across her at a table innocuously titled Beta Beta Chi. Her name was Julia, and she had a life that Ramona had once yearned to. A willowy blonde living in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car and no worries. And then she met her husband, a tall, brutish man named Hakeem. And the tapestry began to unravel, a tale of both fitting in and not. Having the wealth and toys one would expect of an upper class white family, but with the overlay of an African husband with a huge cock, and a Muslim household.

It was inherently contradictory, and that was what appealed to Ramona. She'd get the gloss she'd always yearned for -- fitting in with women that were the homecoming queens and cheerleaders in the recent past -- while also still squarely _not _fitting in -- being with a man that no one would approve of outside her circle, being part of a faith that many reviled, and pissing off her dad to no end. It was, in other words, perfect.

She finished off the biryani that Julia had made. Hakeem looked over at their guest, smiling darkly.

"You might like my nephew, Rasheed," he said. "I brought him with me to America to work at our station."

"Sure," Ramona said, her eyes glazing over.