Stop to take an aged condom out of the broken machine.

If you're going to do anything stupid, you're going to mitigate the risk as much as possible.

After all the thought of leaving this dirty booth with nothing to your name, and a fake name at that, with $20 and a belly full of anonymous seed from a black guy is fucking horrifying. You've got a life to live, and single motherhood as a mudshark in the ghetto doesn't suit you.

You've seen enough wobbling-bootied tattoo covered white women with 6 kids in tow and their fat tits and ghetto booty spilling out of too-tight clothes to know that life "on the other side" is not for you.

You pull a condom from the broken machine, and hear a hum of appreciation from the man on the other side of the wall followed by a thickly ghetto accented "You gonna ride me, white girl?". His question moistens your already slick pussy, but it makes you a little mad. You're in charge of this situation, not him. You're a pretty girl condescending to fuck him on a whim for your pleasure, not some whore being dominated. Your mind on the frustration you feel building, both sexually and emotionally, you don't even stop to inspect the condom while you tear it out of the wrapper and get down on your knees to roll it onto his cock.