Too Close for Comfort
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:14 pm
Last Updated:Nov 15, 2013 4:10 am
11058 Views
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Fear, confusion, panic . . . all those emotions and more overcame Jacinda Montenegro in a horrifying instant. She was frozen to the spot where she sat; she couldn’t move. She felt paralyzed, unable to budge, incapable of moving a muscle. Her eyes searched the room looking for something that might help her get out of her predicament, something that could rescue her from her dilemma. Finally, with little other option, she cried out, “HELLLPPPPP! Help me! HELP!”
Khari Brevins, her boyfriend of two months, heard Jacinda’s cries from his comfortable position on the sofa in his basement, two floors away. He had been chilling in his man cave all by his lonesome; watching some college ball and eating a bacon cheeseburger fresh off the grill, some store bought potato salad he had doctored up to give it some taste, and drinking a few bottles of imported ale to quench his testosterone-driven thirst. He jumped up and bound up the stairs two and three at a time. Breathless, he reached the top of the staircase on the second floor of his house and made his way cautiously to the master bedroom. The slight sound of his bare feet on the hardwood floors in the hallway seemed to echo throughout the house as he crept along. Not wanting to make too much noise; he approached the bedroom with caution.
“HONEY! Help,” Jacinda cried out again, at the top of her lungs.
Entering the bedroom, Khari was expecting to see a blood bath of dismembered body pieces. Seeing nothing, he made his way further into the room. The bathroom door was ajar. He scanned the room quickly, looking for something that he might use as a makeshift weapon to defend himself but couldn’t find anything other than a pair of Jordans he had kicked off in the heat of passion the previous night and they wouldn’t work against a crazed serial killer, not even in a pinch. Disoriented momentarily, adrenaline taking over, Khari made his way across the room. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Summoning up all his courage, his fist clenched tightly, he stepped into the doorway to discover what sort of gruesome crime scene would lie before him.
“Oh, you’re here. Good,” Jacinda sighed. “You’re out of toilet paper. Can you get me some? I was getting ready to use your shower curtain to wipe my behind.” Seeing the humor in the situation, she burst out laughing. Based upon Jacinda’s wide-eyed, innocent, and dazzling smile, it was clearly evident that she had no clue that her screams for help might have been even a tiny bit on the melodramatic side. Backing out of the room and breathing a sigh of relief, Khari went to the linen closet in the hallway and grabbed three rolls of two-ply cushiony, quilted softness and returned to the scene of the crime so to speak.
“Here,” he said, standing in the door frame with his back towards Jacinda, trying to hand her the rolls of TP with his hand stretched precariously behind him.
“Uhmmm, I can’t reach, silly. I didn’t poop, ya know. It was only pee. You can come in. Would you just hand it to me, please?”
“Jeez, Jay, do you always have to be so graphic?” Exasperated, Khari closed his eyes and tip-toed into the bathroom like he was a little boy trying to pretend he was invisible, put the rolls of toilet paper down on the counter, and made a quick exit back to his basketball, burger, and brew.
Jacinda joined him about a half hour later, smelling like she had bathed and lotioned herself with every tropical fruit known to man, carrying a plate with a hoagie the size of the state of Connecticut in one hand and an orange-cream soda in the other. She had spent the morning in bed sleeping and relaxing while Khari was up and about doing his Saturday morning chores. This was their first real time together since they had woken up. “What’s the score?” Jacinda inquired.
Khari glanced over and all she was wearing was a pair of black bikini panties, not a stitch of other clothing. He practically spit his Samuel Smith Organic Lager across the room. “Uhhhmm, don’t you want to put some clothes on? I mean, it’s 2 in the afternoon.” Because they hadn’t been dating very long, this was the first time they had a date that didn’t end with one of them getting up and getting dressed in the middle of the night to go home. This was their very first intentional sleepover, complete with a packed bag and everything. It was clear that Jacinda was comfortable in her own skin, much more so than Khari could ever hope to be. For a brief moment, Jacinda felt embarrassed. In her own home, she’d walked around buck naked in front of Khari but, again, they had only been having sex for a couple of weeks so they hadn’t quite worked out all the logistics of coupledom just yet.
Jacinda felt ashamed; tears welled in her eyes. This was the first time in the 8 weeks that they had been dating that Khari wasn’t totally attentive and sweet. She thought her lack of clothing indicated that she was comfortable in his home but it was clear he didn’t want her to feel that relaxed. She jumped up, ran upstairs to get dressed, and returned a few minutes later wearing black leggings and a hot pink t-shirt. She even put on socks and shoes just to be on the safe side. She made her way back to the sofa and sat in silence as she ate her sub and watched the game. Khari sat in silence and watched the game, not even bothering to make small talk or look in her direction. He could tell that she was upset but he just didn’t care. When Jacinda said she was going to leave to go home, he made no efforts to ask her why or even ask her to stay. He cleared the dirty dishes and asked her if she needed help taking her bag to the car like she was an unwelcomed house guest who had stayed too long.
Khari, at 37 years of age, worked as an installer for a cable company. If anyone were to ask him to describe himself, he would emphatically say that he was a good guy with his own house, his own car, no criminal record, and no . He made a fairly decent salary but if it wasn’t for the fact that Khari had gotten into a car accident and received a settlement of $60,000 he wouldn’t have been able to put a down payment on a house and buy his truck. In fact, if he hadn’t gotten that lump sum, he more than likely would have been living with his mother in her basement. He liked to live for the moment and saving and budgeting had never been skills he had mastered so he blew the rest of the money on partying and ladies.
As for the ladies, Khari was a liar and a cheater extraordinaire who treated women like objects. He had never, not once in his life, had a girlfriend he hadn’t cheated on. He didn’t even think that was a problem or an issue, it never even crossed his mind that anything was wrong with that fact. The only person he thought of in relationships was himself, women were a nuisance because he really only wanted sex and he resented having to pretend to care about someone else and their feelings, but that’s what he did, pretend. He was great at pretending when he wanted to; his acting skills could have won him an Academy award. Khari had the ability to convince women that he was attentive, loving, committed, faithful, and oh so in love, right up until the minute he decided he was bored of pretending then he would move on, no explanation, no looking back. When he was in a relationship and his self-centered urges hit, he would do something, anything to fuck up the relationship and he would gravitate back to the collection of mentally-unstable women he kept on retainer who he had romanced in the past and who found his particular brand of emotional immaturity sexy and who didn’t ask too many questions to ascertain his level of fidelity. Or at least they believed his lies enough to be swept up in the romance of it all.
Standing at 5’9”, 180 lbs, naturally fit, built like a Pit-bull, with flawless caramel-colored brown skin and a smile that could light up any room, Khari was neither ugly nor overly attractive. His most “attractive” feature was that he knew how to pour on the charm to get women to fall in love with him. The romantic emails, the late night phone calls, the dinners and the endless lies were his weapons of choice. It was especially the phone calls in the beginning of the relationship that lasted hours and hours where he would tell the women how amazing, wonderful, and intense the connection he felt to them and that would usually be enough to seal the deal and make them fall in love. After they fell head over heels, the phone calls would last 20 minutes and he always had something more important to do than talk on the phone. You see, Khari was addicted to the chase. When he caught his prey, he would find someone else to romance. When the women whose hearts he had destroyed would confront him, angry and hurt, he would ignore them like they didn’t even exist, blame them for some made up excuse, and he would take no responsibility whatsoever for his actions without a thought or care in the world. Khari was totally oblivious of how heinous it was to make a woman fall in love with him and then just snatch it away.
Jacinda, on the other hand, was a case-study in growth, evolution, and transformation. She had gone through her 20s depending on her looks. It’s what Black women who are attractive do. You use your looks, your big butt, and, if you’re “lucky,” your light skin to get men to do everything for you without you needing to have a thought or a care in the world about being self-sufficient or independent. She dressed well, was relatively smart, and standing at 5’5” tall, 160 pounds, possessing more than her fair share of tits and ass, there was no shortage of men vying for her attention and willing to buy her things to impress her. That meant men fell all over her just for the chance to have her on their arm when they were out and about town but ultimately, their only true goal was to get her into bed. She wasn’t a real person to most of them, just a sexual conquest. She was more like an erotic game piece to be collected by men in some twisted competition to see who could screw the most attractive women.
Jacinda had gone through her 30s dependent on books, immersing herself in self-help books, workshops, seminars, and retreats in an effort to unpack a little bit of the baggage so many Black women carry around with them that had been keeping her from knowing real joy. She was way past the “buy me” stage and wanted men to value her for more than her looks, but for her substance. She didn’t want to hold onto past pain to the point where she exploded in violent anger at the tiniest provocation. She didn’t want to feel like she was constantly walking around with a cloud of insecurity and self-doubt hovering over her. Her 30s was her time of reinvention and renewal.
In her 40s, Jacinda was the top in her field of cooks. She’d quit her job as a bank manager and she’d gone to culinary school and gotten a job as a food stylist on a TV network. It was great because she could express her creativity with what she loved doing the most and she didn’t have the dreadful schedule of a restaurant chef. She finally had gotten comfortable in her own skin. Everything wasn’t all peaches and cream, however, because it seemed that she was so anxious to love and be loved, not to grow old alone, she would jumped into relationships where the warning signs were there and she found herself overlooking some major character flaws in men and giving too much weight to chemistry and not enough weight to character. She didn’t date thugs, she dated emotionally immature men. It wasn’t a preference it was just a reality that Black men hardly ever did any work on themselves and they had been raised in a society that told them that their manhood was to be measured in inches and machismo.
She figured that if she could just find a good enough man who was committed to her, she could help shape him into a great man with love and guidance. It didn’t seem all that unreasonable to her. No relationship is perfect; Prince Charming only exists in fairy tales. She was doing what she thought was her only choice, to accept what her mother, sisters, grandmother, aunts, and a whole host of elder Black women had been telling her since she was a . Men, they said, were never going to be sensitive, nurturing, or understanding so if she didn’t want to spend her life alone, she needed to just suck it up and deal with it. It was that advice that landed her in a string of dead-end relationships.
After their little incident, Jacinda let a few days go by, hoping Khari would call her and apologize for the incident, or at least acknowledge that he should have been a bit less rude and a bit more sensitive. That call never came. Her mind raced, her thoughts would spin out of control. She couldn’t figure out what happened to the man who had come to fix her cable and blown her away with his sensitivity and attentiveness. She saw his postings on Facebook; simultaneously she planned and plotted on what and when to post on her Facebook page so that he would see them and he could be reminded of her presence. Finally, tired of the childish games, she picked up the phone and called him. He was emotionally distant. She addressed the issue head on, he told her that she was over-reacting and that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Khari never apologized. He just glossed over that part as if he didn’t owe her anything and he acted as if he did nothing wrong. Much to Jacinda’s credit, it was her efforts at communicating her feelings without projecting shame that turned the tide in the conversation and before long; things were back on a good footing.
The weeks turned to months and they were getting along better all the time. The relationship had a few problems, nothing to break up over, and for the most part they were going extremely well. Khari’s brothers had been teasing him about settling down and finding someone rather than just the endless string of women that only lasted two or three months so Khari decided that Jacinda was nice enough that he would try to make it work with her. The relationship really started to blossom when he made that choice. There was very little fighting, they got along well, they enjoyed the same forms of entertainment and social activities and the sex was . . . very, very good.
The sex between them wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination; Khari made sure Jacinda came every time. Jacinda just like felt the sex was monotonous, lacked any sort of creativity. A typical evening would be spent having dinner, watching TV, and when Khari decided that he was tired enough to go to bed and not too tired for sex, they would shut everything down and head to the bedroom. Khari always wore a t-shirt and boxers to bed and the lights out always had to be out. Their routine was entirely predictable. Jacinda would get in bed, usually naked or wearing something semi-sexy, and Khari would follow soon thereafter. He would start rubbing his dick on her ass and playing with her breasts and talking dirty. That would go on for about 15 minutes until he thought she was sufficiently aroused and then would slide his boxers off and climb on top of her under the covers and “do his business” as Miss Celie would say.
Technically, Khari was masterful at throwing the dick. His dick got super-hard, he lasted long, he had a phenomenal down stroke, and he knew how to seal the deal. The only thing missing for Jacinda was diversity. He never once sucked a toe, he never gave her a massage, they barely even kissed. Every once in a while they would augment their evening with a little oral sex but Khari wanted to use sex more as an aide to get to sleep rather than an actual intimate connection with the woman with whom he shared his life. Jacinda wanted more sensuality, more passion, more variety but Khari always had an excuse for why it had to be pretty much the same way all the time. He was tired, he had to get up early, he had other things on his mind, everything was an excuse for him not to do anything other than exactly what he wanted to do. Eventually, Khari got to the point where he could silence Jacinda’s complaints about sex by saying, “Babe, I’m so in love with you, I need you. Sex with you is amazing. You are all the woman I need.”
And those were all the words she needed to hear. The sex wasn’t bad so Jacinda thought it was her responsibility to be a little more accepting of what was good about the sex and conversely try to gently suggest other things they could do together. Most other women would have been satisfied with a good, hard fuck but Jacinda wanted to incorporate toys, she wanted to try different scenarios and techniques, she wanted to have spontaneous sex at 4 in the afternoon in the shower or the kitchen or the park. She would have settled for him just being more tactile in bed. Anything would have been an improvement but she weighed the pros and cons of their relationship and decided it wasn’t a deal breaker. Lying, cheating, doing something intentionally hurtful, those were deal breakers and she was assured Khari loved her and that was worth more to her than playing some silly erotic board game, a hot stone massage, or using chocolate body paints.
On the night of their one-year anniversary, Khari took Jacinda to their favorite restaurant. They sat across the table from one another and gazed into each other’s eyes, they flirted and talked and fed each other. Love was in the air. Khari realized that this was the longest, healthiest relationship he’d ever been in. He was caught up in it, thinking that he had really changed, that he was no longer a player but he was really, truly a good guy. He was starting to believe his own lies. He started to pour on the charm. “Over this last year, Jay, I’ve grown so much. You’ve helped me to be a better human being, and dare I say it, a better man. I am so comfortable with you. I can easily see myself spending the rest of my life with you.”
When he heard the words come out of his mouth, something instantly changed within him. Never stuttering for a second, while he was still professing his undying love, his mind was racing with thoughts that he wanted to end the relationship and end it immediately. He knew he had gone too far. Khari didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with anyone. What he wanted was to fuck as many random women as he could, no strings attached, and never have to pretend to care about another woman for as long as he lived. Fuck what his family had been saying. He had gotten so masterful at lying, at pretending to be the sweet, sensitive boyfriend that he almost started to believe his own hype. The minute he heard himself say that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jacinda, it was like being struck by lightning. He knew that he HAD to get out of the relationship and fast. He knew that he couldn’t keep pretending to love her. He wanted to be as self-centered and narcissistic as he could be. He didn’t mind pretending to be into women if they were just fuck buddies and booty calls and married women who had husbands to go home to but telling a woman that he wanted to spend his life with her, he had gone too far and the game had to stop.
Even as he was sitting there, even as he heard his professions of love in his little prepared speech leave his lips, he was planning his exit. He was holding her hand, softly touching her cheek, and telling her things that every woman would want to hear and he was lying the entire time. He knew in that very moment that the next time that she brought up an issue about their relationship, he would blow it out of proportion and give her no choice but to break up. He thought about cheating on her and letting her find out but that was Plan B. Technically, he had cheated on her before but it but he justified in his mind that it didn’t really count because it was only oral from some chick at his job he didn’t give a fuck about anyway. He knew Jacinda; he knew that it wouldn’t be long before she wanted to talk about “the truth” or feelings or how to make their relationship better, or something about relationship stuff. It was just a matter of time.
That time came before he knew it. When they got back to her apartment, they settled down to watch TV as usual. Jacinda had been overwhelmed by his professions of love. She knew they had been getting closer, that the relationship was getting stronger and stronger with each passing day, week, and month, but she hadn’t expected him to start talking about a future together. He had always been so adamant about not wanting anything long-term. She was happy, for the first time in her life, she felt like, “This is it, this is my happily ever after.” The relationship wasn’t perfect, the disparity in emotional maturity was offset by the ease, fluidity, and comfort they shared in so many other aspects of their partnership, but it was, or so she thought, healthy and happy and stable and just perfect for her. She figured it was the ideal night to talk about the lack of seduction and variety in their sex lives again. In her mind, he had taken a huge step towards her and it was really a game changer in their relationship. She chose her words carefully. Tentatively, she said, “Khari, I need to ask you a question.”
“What?” he responded, his voice dripping with defensiveness, preparing himself for the showdown.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about us, well, about you know, about our sex. I was just wondering if . . .” She hesitated. She wanted to be as gentle as possible. There was never going to be an easy time to bring up the topic but she took a deep breath and decided that if they really were going to spend the rest of their lives together that they had to have this discussion. “It seems like you have never feel comfortable being naked around me unless we are having sex. You aren’t even comfortable with me being naked unless we are having sex. I was wondering if . . .”
“Just say it,” he said, pretending to be growing frustrated and annoyed with her stalling but really not caring one way or the other what she was about to say. Whatever she said, he was going to turn it into a reason to break up.
Jacinda summoned up the courage to ask the necessary questions. “Well, I was wondering,” she said in her sweetest voice possible, “I have been thinking about all the women in your past. And I’ve tried to make sense of the patterns in your life. Do you think the reason why you are so uncomfortable with being naked around me, and the reason why you seem to enjoy more of a wham, bam thank you ma’am is, I was thinking maybe the reason you aren’t so comfortable with exploring our sexuality more is . . . maybe because you . . . you know . . . aren’t . . . well, truly comfortable with your . . .” She took a deep breath. “Black men are perceived to be well-endowed and I was wondering if you might feel a bit uncomfortable because . . .”
Before she could even finish her thoughts, Khari yelled, “DA FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!?!?” He jumped up and stormed across the room, staring out the window into the dark urban street 14 floors below. “You trying to say my dick ain’t big enough for you? Trust me, I have never had anyone complain. I got plenty of women who want to get down with me. Way hotter women than you, in fact.” Jacinda’s word cut him like a knife. He was hurt, truly hurt, and he was trying to hurt her back. This wasn’t part of his master plan, this was the real deal. “So what, I don’t have a foot of dick between my legs. I still blow your back out,” he added.
Jacinda ran to his side, tried to reassure him that she wasn’t complaining, that she wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings, she just wanted to be open and honest and discuss what might be behind the reason he was so unwilling to explore their sexuality more.
The truth was Khari had been ashamed of the size of his dick since his earliest memories of knowing what sex was. He was on a little league team when he was 11 and he was the only Black boy on the team. In the showers after a game one day, one of the boys started making fun of him, pointing at his penis and saying how it wasn’t big like Black guys were supposed to have, telling him he wasn’t really Black. His dick wasn’t smaller than any of the other boys on the team, it just wasn’t hanging to his knees either and they made sure to remind him of it every chance they got. They told him that he would never get a white girl with his little dick; they said that he must have slave master blood in him because he didn’t have a big, black cock like the other brothers in the hood. It didn’t really matter that none of them had even been to the hood or seen another Black penis in real life. They were basing their comments on the interracial porn stashed in their father’s porn collections. Khari never told anyone. He never told his parents, he never told the coach, he never told his friends or a girlfriend. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words that they were making fun of him because his dick was average. In his mind, they were saying, your dick is too small and he carried that pain with him deeply.
As Khari got older to the age when everyone was experimenting with sex, he was afraid to approach girls. Senior prom, he got up the nerve and asked a young lady to the prom. After the prom, they got a hotel room with a bunch of other , some alcohol, and they were off to make memories. Immediately upon completion, his heart racing and his mind full of doubts and insecurities, he asked her how it was for her. Her response was to be etched in his subconscious forever. “Well, I thought it was going to be different. You know, all my friends said it would hurt but it didn’t. I thought it was going to be . . . better.”
With those words, she sealed Khari’s fate. From that moment on, he decided that if any girl showed an interest in him, he would pretend to be in love with her so that if and when it got to the point of having sex, she wouldn’t complain that he wasn’t some super-hung Mandingo. It was his insurance policy. He didn’t care who showed him attention, fat, ugly, younger, older, married, dating, nothing in common, he didn’t care if she had slept with every man in a 50 mile radius, as long as she showed an interest in him, he would say whatever he had to say in order to get them to be infatuated with him so he could fuck her. He didn’t realize that he all of the pretending that he was in love was unnecessary, that most of the girls would have slept with him regardless. He never realized that his dick wasn’t too small at all, it was average. But having an average-sized dick for Black men is often times a source of shame.
When he got to college, he made sure to never shower or undress in front of anyone, not roommates, not girlfriends, especially not anyone on the baseball team. At the first opportunity, he got an apartment by himself off campus. The only time he got naked in life was to shower and to have sex. He never even looked at himself naked in the mirror. Did he equate any of that with his insecurity about his dick size? Not once. Never having made any conscious connection between what happened to him when he was on the little league team and his behaviors with women for the last 25 years, the only thing Khari knew in that moment was that he was angry with Jacinda and he didn’t need an excuse to end the relationship, she had nailed the coffin shut herself.
Khari calmly denied her accusations and stood there, stoic and outraged, in silence, ignoring Jacinda like she didn’t even exist. Jacinda was crying hysterically, trying to calm Khari down, reason with him. She was falling all over herself, apologizing. It hadn’t come out at all like she had wanted. She wanted to reassure him that he was more than big enough for her, that she was satisfied with the relationship and the sex; she had made a stupid attempt at bringing up a subject that most Black men are terrified to talk about. Kicking herself, Jacinda knew she had made a huge mistake. She knew Khari wasn’t the sort of man who would ask himself the hard questions. She knew that whenever it came to bringing up any issue where he would have to reveal something about himself that was ugly or painful, that he would react negatively and deny, deny, deny.
“I’m out. I’m not going to do this anymore.” With that, Khari grabbed his jacket and walked past Jacinda like she wasn’t even there.
“Wait, where are you going?” Sobbing uncontrollably, Jacinda pleaded. “Stay, we can talk about this. I’m sorry. Babe, we had a wonderful evening. We love each other. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. We can work through this. I will admit I wasn’t as sensitive about the issue as I should have been. Let’s talk, this is a misunderstanding, let’s not ruin the evening. Sweetie, I am so very sorry. Please don’t go!”
Khari made sure to shut down any hopes of working things out as he put his hand on the front door. Without even looking back, he mumbled, “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you. I didn’t really love you. It was all a lie,” as he shut the door behind him to the unhinged and irrational screams of Jacinda behind him.
Jacinda cried for weeks. She sent texts, emails, cards, she made phone call after phone call, all of which were ignored. She sent links to articles about penis size and a woman’s pleasure, explaining in detail that bigger does not mean better. She sent diagrams showing that a woman’s g-spot is located about 2 inches inside a woman’s vagina and that even an average sized dick is more than sufficient to give a woman a vaginal orgasm. She could have sent Dr. Oz himself to say that Khari’s dick was more than big enough and he wouldn’t have cared one iota. Khari was too emotionally immature to email or call Jacinda back so he just let her keep emailing and texting him until she eventually got the message. He had erased her out of his life like she didn’t exist. In his world, anyone who made him face his insecurities was dead to him. Unable to wrap her head around the fact that she was in what she thought was the happiest relationship of her life one minute, and literally, an hour later, it was gone, Jacinda struggled with depression, anger, confusion, loneliness, and a sense of betrayal for months.
Over on the other side of town, Khari struggled with no such conflict. They broke up on a Wednesday, he was fucking another woman by Saturday, and it would have been Friday but he had plans with his co-workers after work that night. Within weeks, he had a different woman for every night of the week to play with and manipulate. Most were women from his past he could call up and manipulate easily, newer women required more time and finesse to seduce but he was up for the challenge. He was single and had not ties to anyone. He would have tried to romance the homeless girl who sat on the bus stop all day if he thought she would give him some. Before work, during work, after work, all night long, he was trying to romance someone to get them in bed. He felt no compunction using them, degrading them, taking out his anger and frustration on them sexually.
Truthfully, it wasn’t anger and frustration Khari felt, it was insecurity and fear. He heard Jacinda’s words over and over again in his head every time it came time for “that moment” when he had to undress in front of a woman. He hated her for making him feel like that little boy being shamed in the locker room, like the young man on prom night all over again; memories he had intentionally shut out. If there was one thing in life that Khari had prided himself on was making women infatuated with him to stroke his ego. He became so terrified someone was going to tell him that his dick was little that he began to overcompensate by doing his level best to hit it, stab it, kill it, to brutally and savagely fuck every woman he could. And the women ate it up. They showed up in the middle of the night or 5 AM in the morning, they were at his beck and call whenever he needed to silence the voices in his head. He loved the dysfunction and the drama. He loved lying to women, convincing them that they were the only one when they were one of so many, he couldn’t keep track of them all. They didn’t seem to want to know or care about other women in his life, they just seemed grateful for the emails, phone calls, dinners, concerts, and the good dick.
For the better part of a year, Khari was on a sexual rampage; a slave to his dick. He was sticking it in anything and everything without a care for disease, pregnancy, common sense, or standards. Sex was his drug of choice and he was self-medicating and numbing his feelings of insecurity in all aspects of his life, demons he had never faced, with women he manipulated into bed. He wanted and needed to sexually dominate them, to slap, choke, degrade, and humiliate them in order to feel good about himself. And because they loved it, each and every one of them ate it up in fact, and came back for more whenever he told them, he felt high off the adrenaline.
Everything came crashing to a halt one day when, before work, he was overwhelmed with emails from all the women in his current rotation of fuck buddies that he composed an erotic story and sent it to all of them, which wasn’t unusual or uncommon. This particular morning however, in a rush, he accidentally didn’t BCC them and by noon, his phone was blowing up with calls and texts from a half a dozen women all wanting answers. They started emailing each other, confirming times, dates, and commonalities in seduction. They all started to piece together that the restaurant that was “their special restaurant” wasn’t so special and that he took all of them there. They started to figure out that in far too many instances, when one woman left in the morning, there was something else there that same night. And they all figured out that there hadn’t been a condom used between all of them.
Two of the women had a modicum of self-esteem, cursed him out, and walked away. Three of the women believed him when he said that it was all a contrived plot by a nameless ex-girlfriend who had hacked his e-mail and made up the other email addresses to cause drama. They “sort of” questioned his sincerity but they were just as addicted to his level of dysfunction, lying, and hot sex as he was to the adrenaline rush of manipulating them into being infatuated with him so they simply chose to ignore the obvious truth and keep on with the way things were. One of the women however was never really mentally-stable in the first place, and while she was sweet and oh so pleasant as long as she was in the dark, she became a psychotic lunatic intent on exacting painful revenge after finding out the truth. She stalked him, she called him night and day, she showed up at his job unexpectedly; she was intent on making him pay and pay dearly.
One would think that at damn near 40, Khari would have learned that pretending someone doesn’t exist, ignoring them like the emotional pain he had caused them meant nothing, is really only appropriate if you are 7 years old and you are ignoring your imaginary friend. But ignore he did and he paid the price for it. Had he simply faced his victim with a bit of humility and remorse, if he hadn’t acted like she meant nothing to him and that her pain was insignificant to him, he could have saved himself a world of trouble. But Khari was arrogant and stupid. For every email that she sent him that went unanswered, for every text he deleted, for every phone call from her he rejected, he sent her into a fuming rage, infuriated that her voice wasn’t being heard, her pain wasn’t worth addressing.
Treating women like disposable game pieces and ignoring the pain he caused them was a lesson he would learn with near fatal consequences. As he pulled into his garage one night, lowered the door, and grabbed his bags of groceries, the sensation hit him quickly. At first, it was warm, then, almost instantly, it became a burning sensation. He couldn’t breathe. It was surreal. He reached around to his side and felt the warmth. He held his hand up and could see the blood, but it was almost like it wasn’t his own. Crumpled to the floor, he managed to call 911 just before he passed out.
Had she stabbed him an inch to the left, she would have punctured a lung and Khari would have died instantly. Talk about a close call. As he recuperated in the hospital, Khari thought it was almost comical. “I damn near lost my life over some pussy.” But it wasn’t pussy that almost got him killed; it was the heart of the woman who was attached to that pussy that he should have never fucked with. Even after a woman had played sushi chef with his insides, he still wasn’t willing to acknowledge that he had done anything wrong. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it had even happened to him. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to him. For all of his lies and manipulations, he was so great at lying, he’d avoided any drama like this up until this point. He was the guy that women loved, not hated. The physician at the hospital, hearing bits and pieces of the story and able to figure out pretty much the rest of it, recommended therapy for Khari and he vehemently refused. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with him and he certainly didn’t want to change. He liked being “free and independent” as he called it, meaning, egotistical and self-absorbed.
In the months following the stabbing, there was a trial. The young lady was convicted but she brought out the infamous email and all the women were called to the stand to testify. Khari’s family, hell, everyone in the city learned all about the type of man Khari really was because it was the opening story on the local news for weeks. He distanced himself from his loved ones and friends even though they still supported him but he was ashamed of his actions and just wanted to hide out in his basement and sit in front of the TV.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch as they say, in the weeks following the trial, Khari found that his libido had started coming back and his need for sex was returning. Only problem was, he was afraid to initiate sex with anyone. Khari was sure that every woman in the world knew of his womanizing ways and that the next time one of them got close to him they were going to try to cut off his dick rather than stab him in the back. He would never admit it to anyone but he was even more afraid after the stabbing that women were going to ridicule him for having a little dick if he didn’t lie to them and convince them that he was in love with them. Therein was the root of his conundrum. He was terrified of lying to women to get sex but he felt like he had to lie to get sex. He had a six inch scar to remind him of what lying had gotten him in life.
Isolated from friends and family, with no one to talk to, and most importantly, feeling like he had no opportunities for sex unless he moved to east Mozambique, he pulled out the card for the therapist he had been given and made an appointment. It was the last thing he wanted to do and he didn’t even think it would help. The only thing that made him keep the appointment was the vague memory of Jacinda and how she had said that maybe, just maybe, that his need to use women was tied to his concept of manhood. Something about that had resonated with him. He’d gone to counseling before and it didn’t work because he, obviously, lied the entire time. He planned on lying this time as well. He just wanted a quick fix, some magic pill that would allow him to get back to fucking women again.
For the first three months, Khari lied so much that he couldn’t keep track of the lies. His therapist was a man and not distracted by or attracted to him so he would call out the lies and they would have to start over from scratch. Finally, lonely, isolated, scared, horny, and hating himself, Khari started to tell the truth. It started spilling out. He talked about the boys on the baseball team and how he pretended to his buddies that he had a big dick in order to feel validated. He spoke of the women in his life he had hurt, his compulsion to use women, what makes him feel good about slapping women and degrading them during sex. He opened Pandora’s Box and he started telling the truth like his life depended on it.
For the first time in his life he realized how deep the rabbit hole went. All the lying we did to women wasn’t compartmentalized to just them. He became aware for the first time in his life that his Casanova ways meant that he was lying to everyone in his life. He had to lie to his parents, his brothers, his friends, his co-workers, more importantly to himself to cover up his addiction to sex and women. For the very first time in his life, Khari realized how there was no place in his life where the lies didn’t consume him.
For months, he did nothing but talk, the doctor barely asked questions, barely offered advice. Finally, Khari literally got to the end. He had purged himself of all of his guilt and lies, and confessions and revelations. Everything was out in the open. He was waiting to be fixed. That was the point of therapy and he was waiting for the doc to tell him to read a book and take a pill and he could go back to the way he was without the fear. He was growing anxious. He hadn’t had sex in a months and he felt like he was going to die. Feeling anxious, he pushed the therapist to make a diagnosis and write a prescription for his anxiety.
The doctor casually said, “Khari, there really isn’t much I’m going to be able to tell you that will convince you not to lie. You’ve built your life on falsehoods, deceptions, manipulations, and lies and you aren’t going to change. I’ve never encountered a more pathological liar than you in all my years of practice. The only thing that can really help you now is if you stop lying to yourself and I can’t imagine that happening because you are still not taking responsibility for yourself and the impact your lies have on other people.”
Khari was more than slightly irritated. “What the hell? You mean to tell me I’ve wasted 5 months of my life coming here every week spilling my guts and you are sitting here telling me that I can’t be fixed? That I’m a pathological liar? Man, talk about a racket. That is a nice gig if you can get it, man. All I wanted was to be able to get back to normal. Glad my insurance covered this. Thanks for nothing, man.”
As he was headed for the door, the doctor asked one last question. “Khari? The lying. Other than a lot of sex, what has it gotten you?”
The door slammed behind him but it was the words that rang loudest in his ears. In the stillness of his truck, Khari sat surrounded by the ghosts of his dysfunction for the very first time in his life. He sat in his vehicle and for the first time since childhood, he cried. He cried out the tears and the pain of a little boy humiliated by racism until he couldn’t cry any more. He let the movie of his life play in his head. The doctor wasn’t really asking him about the women he lied to, he was asking him if he had convinced himself with his lies that he was as gorgeous, talented, capable, desirable, and as perfect as he wanted to feel inside, as he wanted the world to see him. That’s what every lie was about. He wasn’t lying to convince women that he was all those things; he was lying so that he could try to convince himself. On the inside, Khari felt ugly, talentless, and undesirable and nothing he could tell himself or any other woman would change that. In that moment, Khari started doing the hard work of real therapy and the next week with the doctor was actually like his first. He started peeling off the layers of why he felt so unworthy and unlovable.
Over the next year, Khari spent more time on that couch than he could count. Sometimes, he had two appointments a week. Everything was on an accelerated pace. It was like a 12 step recovery for him only his addiction was not booze or drugs or even sex, it was lying. The first thing he knew he had to do was get tested for STDs. The fear of having HIV was always in the back of his mind when he had unprotected sex but now he realized his low self-esteem was what was making him take such unnecessary and unhealthy choices. He started contacting women from his past, of his own volition and without prompting, and apologizing for the way he had treated them. Even women who had no clue he had lied to, women who would had fucked him without too much effort and a few strategic lies, he would confess his sins and extend his sincere apologies, something he had NEVER done before in his life. That’s how he knew he was really changing.
Eventually, Khari started dating again. This time, rather than pretending to be a nice guy, pretending to listen, he really was. He would have real conversations with women about real topics, real feelings, real emotions and he would share his opinions and offer insights based on his own revelations. For the first time in his life he started to be discriminating. He didn’t just go to bed with any woman that showed an interest in him, he wanted women that could help him be a better man. He stopped romancing women for sport and he even got his heart broken a few times by women who wanted no parts of him because of his notorious past. Khari was becoming emotionally mature, something that had been a foreign concept to him up until that point. Who says you can’t teach an old new tricks?
There’s always that little fly in the machine to muck things up though. For all of his making amends, the one person he hadn’t contacted to confess and apologize to was Jacinda. He told his therapist it was because he just wasn’t ready but then took a deep breath and confessed it was because he had loved her the most and that he had hurt her the most. He knew that what he was calling love before wasn’t real because it was based on emotional deception but the happiest he had ever been in his life was with her. He knew now that what she was suggesting, the reason why he didn’t want to be naked in front of her, the reason he wanted sex to be short, sweet, and to the point is because he didn’t know how to be truly intimate, all he knew how to do was pretend.
Fate has a way of fucking with you when you are putting off the inevitable. After the stabbing, Khari had been transferred to business accounts on his job and he got a work order to upgrade all the routers for the very TV station that Jacinda worked for. He couldn’t sleep the night before. He got up at the crack of dawn and watched mindless TV not so patiently until it was time to shower and go to work. He pulled into the garage with a ton of apprehension. He didn’t even know what floor she worked on, if she still worked there, or if he would come anywhere near her over the course of the next few days. Part of him was terrified that she would stab him if she saw him but another part of him wanted to just apologize and explain. If he was being honest with himself, a part of him wanted another chance with her but he realized through therapy that he had burned that bridge and that the most he should hope for was asking for her forgiveness even if she decided not to accept it. Well, that and he was saying a silent prayer as well that she didn’t try to slit his throat.
It’s a good thing Khari kept an extra uniform shirt and some deodorant in his truck because he was sweating so profusely the first few hours there that he had sweated the underarms of his shirt clean through. It had been over two years since he had talked to Jacinda and he was remiss that he hadn’t actually paid attention to her when she was talking so he didn’t remember what show she worked on. Casually, as to not draw too much attention to himself, he asked a few people if they knew who she was. They all did but they said she worked on several shows and could be anywhere. One young lady said if she saw Jacinda, she would tell him that he was looking for her. He tried to play it off and tell her that wasn’t necessary but he was anxious to see her. He could barely concentrate on doing his job he was so busy looking around to see if he could see her. He hadn’t figured out a plan, he didn’t know what he was going to say if he ran into her, all he knew was he wanted to see her and apologize. Anything beyond that, he wasn’t emotionally mature enough to grasp just yet.
“Khari, is that you?” The familiar voice called out to him while he was on a ladder in the lunch room, his head completely obscured from view by the ceiling tiles. His heart skipped a beat and he almost fell off the ladder. He climbed down slowly and saw her for the first time in years. She looked even more beautiful than she had before.
“Hey, uhmmmm, hi. How are you?” He smiled nervously.
Jacinda didn’t respond, she turned and walked away, visibly shaken and upset. The old Khari would have let her go and not had another fleeting thought about her. The new and slightly improved Khari took a chance he had never taken before, he went after her. “Hey, wait up a minute. There’s something I want to say, no need to say.”
Frozen in her tracks, Jacinda was overcome with emotion. She’d spent the better part of a year trying to heal from the hurt of their breakup. And just when she thought she had gotten to a place where she was okay with moving on, she had to be painfully reminded of his trial and the lies, and the women, and the hurt all over again every day for weeks. Everyone at her job knew she had dated him, everyone whispered behind her back about how he must have cheated on her. She fought back the tears as she stood there, looking at him, hurt and confused like the night he walked out of her apartment and didn’t look back.
Khari started apologizing, quietly, as to not draw too much attention while they were both working, but while the words were coming out of his mouth, he was thinking about the afternoon in his basement when she had come downstairs in nothing but panties, looking sexy and innocent with nothing but the most sincere motives, and he had treated her like she was some sort of criminal. Jacinda heard the words coming out of his mouth and they vaguely sounded like an apology but she was hearing that final speech about how he had never loved her and it had all been a lie. She didn’t hear anything he said. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out how to make him feel like an idiot. He certainly didn’t need any help in that department. He felt ashamed. And that was a good thing. It meant he was finally feeling remorse for the first time in his life. Not pretending to feel remorse, but actually processing his real feelings.
Khari did everything in his power to make the job last longer than it had to. What could have taken a week or so, ended up taking the better part of a month. Every day, he would go out of his way to find Jacinda and say hello, offer to take her to lunch, apologize again, whatever he could do to just be in her presence.
One of the things that being self-aware does to you is teaches you to forgive the people who have hurt you because you realize that they were doing the best they could at the time with the broken tools they had. In the years since they had broken up, Jacinda had done a lot of work on herself and she had it in her heart to forgive but beyond that, she didn’t want to forget. The words, “I didn’t really love you. It was all a lie,” kept ringing over and over in her head. There was no greater betrayal.
Emotionally, Jacinda was in the same place again. She could see that Khari was making an effort to really make amends. She could sense what she thought was his sincerity but she just couldn’t be sure. She felt herself remembering the good times of the year they had together and not the bad times. If they had broken up because they had been fighting, if the relationship had been stagnant, she would be able to walk away and not look back. They had broken up when the relationship was at its best so she was flooded with emotions that she didn’t understand. The man who was before her every day was not the same man who had lied to her about loving her. Or maybe he was and this was all a lie, all pretend, all meant to manipulate her. Every woman has to ask herself-- where is the line between being a doormat and truly forgiving someone? Oh, if life only came with an instruction manual.
The very last thing Khari wanted to do was lie to anyone, let alone Jacinda. He knew he couldn’t keep stalling on the job any longer so he made his move. “Hey, Jay, today is my last day here. I was wondering if I could call you some time and we could maybe hang out, go to a dinner, maybe catch a concert . . . Khari stopped. He realized that he sounded like the Khari of old. “OK, check it. I would just love to hang out with you. You can decide what you want to do. I will be happy just spending time with you.
“I’m having a few friends over on Saturday. You’re welcome to come over if you want.” The words left her mouth before she realized what she had said. Her brother was going to be there. The same brother who swore he would kill Khari if he ever ran across him again. Her girlfriends were going to be there. The same girlfriends who had been there for her when she couldn’t eat, couldn't sleep, and who had counseled her to just let him go. She wanted to rescind the offer the second she made it. The look of pure bliss on Khari’s face made her weak.
“Cool. What time? What do you need me to bring? Do you live in the same place? I remember how to get there.” To say Khari was elated was an understatement. In the time since the stabbing, he hadn’t been this excited about anything, about any woman. He was physically aroused and it had nothing to do with wanting to have sex. He just wanted to be in her presence, to soak up her energy. He wanted to show her that he was the better man that he had pretended to be with her those many years ago.
Jacinda had prepared everyone that Khari was coming and EVERYONE voiced their concerns, shock, and utter disbelief that she would invite him. Her brother and father and several male friends huddled in the corner and planned on when and how to beat his ass. He had caused Jacinda to cry more tears than anyone should have to shed over one person. The female contingent of the party, the very same women who told her over and over again that she needed to ignore his emotional immaturity and hold on to him because no man was ever going to be sensitive and the best she could hope for was someone to pay the bills and not bring drama home were the women telling her NOW how she could do so much better. It was extremely humiliating for Jacinda to have to explain to people why should would even give him the time of day, let alone invite him over. She wasn’t even sure she knew why herself. She wasn’t thinking about tomorrow, she wasn’t thinking about next week. All she was thinking about was the moment and something in her spirit told her that forgiving him meant accepting his offer of an olive branch. What was to happen after that, she decided just to let spirit guide her.
Jacinda had reserved the courtyard in her apartment complex for the day. There were card tables, a volleyball net, a pool, and there was FOOD everywhere. Jacinda had recruited every food stylist, every reality show chef champion, executive chef, and every restaurant owner she knew to contribute food for the day. She had personally been cooking for months, freezing things and storing them at work. By the time Khari had actually gotten up the nerve to show up, the party was in full swing. He bought two cases of his favorite beer and made a beeline for her brother. They had met before when he and Jacinda were dating and he had liked him. Khari knew he had to fight that fire first. If someone had done to his sister what he had done to Jacinda, he would have shot him in the back without blinking an eye. This time, he came prepared with a speech and he pulled JJ to the side. No one could tell what was being said but all eyes were on them. Finally, Khari extended his hand to JJ, and JJ leaned in close, whispered something, and walked away, leaving him hanging. JJ and his crew huddled. They kept their eyes on him all day but they didn’t cause any trouble.
The party was great. Jacinda was her usual, vivacious, bubbly, charming self. There was a DJ and the music kept everyone festive. The food couldn’t have been better, the alcohol kept everyone in a light mood without getting out of control. As the hour grew late, everyone started leaving. There was so much food to put away and Khari offered to stay and help clean up. Jacinda’s apartment fridge was regular sized so she had gotten the permission to use the walk-in at the 24 hour grocery store next door to her apartment building. She was going to donate the leftover food to a shelter but they didn’t start taking donations until 11 AM so she was going to do it in the morning. It was almost 2 in the morning before everything had been cleaned up. Everyone else had long since gone home but Khari was there, not complaining a bit, working like a Hebrew slave.
“Jay, that was an outstanding party. Thank you for inviting me. I had a really nice time. It means a lot to me.” He reached out and gave Jacinda a hug. Their bodies touched for the first time since the fateful night of their one year anniversary. It was an innocent hug. Khari pulled her body close and put his hands on her back where he was sure it couldn’t be interpreted as inappropriate or sexual in any way. Her curves felt exquisite and her familiar scent reminded him of days gone by. He closed his eyes and he was in awe of the softness and warmth of her body. Jacinda relaxed into his arms like she had always belonged there. Electricity and sparks and chemistry were flying every damn where. They could have put on a fireworks show for the 4th of July all by themselves. This wasn’t just lust; this was something bigger.
Khari backed away as he felt his body react to the proximity and softness of Jacinda’s. She was not at all oblivious to the intense physical chemistry that was happening. She took a minute to collect her thoughts. “Hey, it’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired. If you want, you can sleep on the sofa until the morning.”
An invitation like that would have been like taking candy from a baby for the old Khari. But he really was a different guy; he really was trying to do the right thing for once in his life. He declined the offer and went home alone. The old Khari would have had someone on standby to talk to on the phone to stroke his ego while stroked his member by the time he got home. The new Khari went home and held his pillow tight and remembered the sensation of that hug. He reminisced about the sounds Jacinda made when she was turned on and the way her body reacted when she was in the throes of an intense orgasm. He closed his eyes and he could see the ugly faces she made when she was getting fucked and how much it had turned him on. Mostly, he thought about how she had tried so very hard to make him open up and be honest and more comfortable in his own skin and how he had resisted her attempts. He had a momentary feeling of shame but he stopped, reflected on how far he had come on his journey towards healing and he drifted off to a sweet slumber with the word Jacinda on his lips.
It was barely 8 AM when the doorbell rang and Jacinda shuffled to the door wearing her fuzzy slippers and her ratty bathrobe and a look on her face that clearly communicated, “Seriously? Seriously? I’m so sleepy I can’t even form words. If I could form words, I would be cursing you out for knocking on my door at quarter to God forbid in the morning.”
“Gooooood morning, sunshine.” Khari had coffee, juice, muffins, a dozen eggs, maple bacon, lox, bagels, cream cheese, fresh fruit, pastry and more in hand. He had enough food to feed an army.
Words that sounded similar to, “What are you doing here at this hour?” came out of Jacinda’s mouth.
“Water your dues in years, Eisenhower? Alrighty then, I see you are still not a morning person, Jay. That’s OK, you go get a shower. I’ll start breakfast.”
The smell of cinnamon rolls baking when she got out of the shower brought Jacinda back to life. She made her way back to the kitchen. Khari looked comfortable there. “Good morning,” she said, a bit more intelligible this time.
He handed her a cup of coffee. “I couldn’t remember if you liked Hazelnut or Amaretto creamer so I took a chance and went with Amaretto. How’d I do?”
She took a sip. Her taste buds came alive and she felt the warmth of the fluid travel down to her stomach. The jolt from the caffeine would come a bit later but the smell and the taste were like heaven to her. “What are you doing here?” she asked again, this time coherent and clear.
“Well, I figured you have a ton of food to take to the homeless shelter this morning and what would take you 5 or 6 trips in your girly little hybrid scooter would take us 1 trip in my manly-man monster truck. So, here I am. Oh shit, you’re going to make me burn the bacon. Do you have cheese for the eggs? Never mind, I’ll find it myself. Go, go, go. Set the table and leave me be while I finish.”
Breakfast was a feast made for a queen. They sat and ate heartily, like they hadn’t eaten in weeks rather than the few hours it had been since the party. As the blood started pumping and the caffeine kicked in, Jacinda blurted out, “Hey, what did you say to my brother yesterday?”
Khari froze for a moment and then looked Jacinda in the eye. “I told him that I loved you and that I was going to do whatever it took to get you back.” Khari was telling the truth in more ways than one. He was confessing his truths and revealing himself in a way that made him vulnerable and afraid. That was a greater truth than he had ever known.
Jacinda’s eyes searched the room, looking for something to focus on to keep her from crying. She remembered the hurt and she wanted to lash out, to hit him, but she sat frozen for a few minutes. Khari let her process. “What did he say to you?”
“He told me that if I hurt you again that he would kill me.”
Jacinda gave a nervous chuckle and went back to eating. After a few minutes of awkward silence she spoke up. “You know, I don’t want you back. You lied to me about loving me and I can never trust you again. I
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Neighborly Hospitality
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:13 pm
Last Updated:Apr 18, 2024 12:46 am
9369 Views
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Unannounced visitors were not very common, especially in the middle of the day, so when the knock came at the door for Lisa Ingles, she was caught a little off guard. Little did she know that she was about to be introduced to a world of experiences that would shift her reality and alter her life completely. Little did she know that she was about to become an entirely new woman.
She opened the door to find herself staring, face to face, with a beautiful black woman who looked more like she belonged on a runway in Paris or New York as opposed to a quiet, unassuming street in Alpharetta. Her face was made up in a way that was flawless, highlighting her chocolate brown complexion that looked as smooth as silk and her hypnotic eyes and full sensual lips. She was wearing a tight black leather vest that pushed her breasts up and put them on display like a set of pillowy mounds of soft flesh. Her expensive designer jeans hugged every curve and you can rest assured that she had curves. She was wearing rather expensive shoes as well; not that there was much of them, it was a pair of dangerously high heels made up of just a few strips of black leather that crossed her toes and wrapped around her ankles and formed a perfect canvas for her coral colored toenails that complimented her beautiful brown skin. Lisa, forgetting all her manners, simply stood and stared. Waiting patiently for the usual initial shock to wear off and extending her hand, she said, "Hi neighbor, my name is Syreeta and I'm going to be moving in next door and I wanted to stop by and introduce myself."
Regaining her composure, Lisa shook of look her initial surprise and invited her guest in. She felt rather underdressed in her workout clothes and she tried to hide her insecurity by being gracious. "Steven did mention that he might be moving but I really don't have that much interaction with him; I wasn't even aware that he'd moved. Welcome to the neighborhood, I'm Lisa. My husband Brad is at work now but it's very nice to meet you. Please do sit down. Would you like some coffee?"
Syreeta's demeanor was graceful and friendly. She politely declined the offer for coffee and asked for some bottled water instead. "Actually, Steven is just renting the place to us for a couple of months. My boyfriend got a job here with CNN and I told him that I'd give him a few months to see if I could adapt to life in the burbs. I'm hoping it's remotely reminiscent of Wisteria Lane because I'd hate to think the most excitement that there is to be found out here is a concert at Chastain."
Lisa laughed along with her, rather nervously, knowing that there was little excitement north of the perimeter compared to the Desperate Housewives melodrama. Syreeta was delightful, engaging in fact, and wove enticing tales of being a model in New York and how she and her boyfriend, Dixon, had met when he was Director of Marketing at the Lincoln Center. As if on cue, there was another knock at the door and it was Dixon, coming to inquire about the whereabouts of his other half.
"I'm sorry, but I really need to steal Syreeta back to help me finish painting." Lisa stared again. Dixon was 6 feet tall and had the same cocoa brown complexion of his lover. His body showed evidence of many workouts and his t-shirt and sweat pants indicated that he had been working up a sweat getting things ready in the new house.
Syreeta rolled her eyes and apologized about taking up too much time; looking like she was looking for any excuse to get out of doing work. "Hey, want to come over for dinner on Saturday? Bring the hubby and let's make it a foursome, okay?" With that, she leaned over and kissed Lisa on the cheek like they were long lost friends. It was a little more intimate than Lisa was expecting and it gave her a thrill somehow, not really sure why but aware that there was some sort of unspoken exchange of electricity in the room.
Lisa shut the door and was alive with sensation but she didn't quite know why or what to do about it. Her pussy was tingling and her clit was throbbing. She hadn't masturbated in years. In fact, she couldn't really remember the last time she'd been really horny. On the rare occasion she felt like she wanted some sexual release she would get in bed with her husband and say, "Honey . . . " and that was indication that he should get under the covers and go to work. He'd lift up her conservative cotton nightgown and lick her to orgasm and the entire ordeal would be over without much else being said. Lisa couldn't wait for Brad to get home. Every step she took she was reminded of her swollen pussy lips and the moisture that soaked her panties. Had it been merely Syreeta's presence that had aroused such fever? She thought perhaps that the reason she was so horny must have been Dixon, with his muscular body flexing beneath his t-shirt and invoking fantasies of the forbidden. Unable to concentrate, Lisa took a shower, aimed the showerhead directly on her clit, and fingered herself to a mind-blowing orgasm in the afternoon.
All week long, Lisa was filled with new erotic sensations. She started dressing up a little more during the day, wearing more makeup and more revealing clothing, and she would demand that Brad lick her to orgasm at night. Closing her eyes, she would get lost in vague fantasies, fantasies of brown skin and heated passion and shadowy images of intense fervor that her body longed to feel. Brad noticed the change in her conduct and loved every second of it. Her libido was reawakened and she was more commanding in the bedroom. Her orgasms seemed more intense; she seemed more determined to use his mouth for her pleasure.
Brad appreciated the renewed sexual activity. He would slide out of bed after having finished servicing his wife and sit in front of his computer screen. His cock wouldn't stay hard for sex but it sure as hell felt good when he pulled on it and looked at porn. Mostly, he looked at images of white women being savagely fucked by gangs of black men. He dreamt of Lisa being used and fucked by thick, long black cocks, his heart would flutter with jealousy, and his cock would drip with arousal. He would stroke and dream of seeing her well-used cunt, dripping with cum and his mouth would water, fantasizing about the opportunity to tasty the sweet evidence of her infidelity. He'd never dare mention any of his thoughts to his wife; she would never understand his deep desire to see her being fucked by a black man. It just wasn't something southern white women would even contemplate and it wasn't something white men were supposed to jerk off to so he was content to live in secrecy and denial.
Lisa and Syreeta were spending more time together as the days passed. By Friday night, by the time Brad came home, Syreeta and Lisa were giggling and whispering like teenagers and Dixon had to come retrieve his girlfriend, yet again, because they were going to be late for a very important dinner reception. Syreeta winked at Lisa and said, "So we are soooo excited to see you tomorrow night for dinner. Can't wait in fact." She kissed Lisa goodbye, this time fully on the mouth, and it seemed to linger a little longer than one would expect and Brad felt a pang of jealousy that gave him a raging hardon. Dixon just rolled his eyes, gave Brad a knowing wink, and ushered his lovely companion off for the evening. They were barely out the door before Lisa had Brad on his knees licking her to orgasm in the kitchen while the played totally unaware in the back yard.
Saturday was the day of reckoning. The had been packed up for sleepover dates with their friends and Lisa was in rare form. All day long, It seemed like she couldn't get enough oral sex and she was even getting more verbal than usual, more dominate in her commands. "Get on your knees and eat my pussy. Yeah, suck it. I bet Dixon doesn't have a worthless cock. I bet he can get it up to fuck Syreeta and he doesn't have to eat her out all the time. I bet she gets that big hard black cock rammed in her pussy all the time. I bet he has a gigantic cock" Her dialogue seemed to drive them both over the edge and they were soon both cumming like crazy; Brad wanking away while he drove his tongue deeply inside his lovely wife and Lisa practically suffocation her hubby by riding his face.
Neither of them had the nerve to discuss the dynamic that was evolving between them. They seemed to exist very happily with their unspoken new raison d'etre. As Lisa prepared for their dinner date Brad could barely contain himself. She put on a brand new outfit, one that she and Syreeta had picked out at the Northlake Mall. The skirt was dangerously short and showed off her well toned legs. The top was low cut as well and displayed her tits in a way that most mothers of 2 couldn't do at 37 years old. She put on a thong and, at the last minute, bent over in front of Brad and slid it off. He practically shot a load in his pants then and there. He couldn't get over the transformation of his wife and how she'd become so sexual in such a short period of time.
They knocked on the door at exactly 8 PM and Syreeta greeted them and invited them in. They had decorated they house such that it didn't even look like it belonged on such a quiet little enclave, it looked like something out of an interior design magazine. Brad was expecting something more outlandish, like on MTV Cribs because that's all he'd ever really known of Black wealth. He had to check his own biases at the door because Dixon and Syreeta were far from stereotypical, they were two intelligent, articulate, extremely sophisticated people, and they seemed to be wildly in love with one another.
Brad handed Dixon a bottle of wine and they went off to the dining room to enjoy a sumptuous meal of French onion soup, curry roasted duck, roasted asparagus with garlic, and focaccia bread while listening to some rarely heard tracks from John Coltrane. The evening was flowing seamlessly and everyone but Brad seemed to have this secret that they were keeping. The more wine that flowed, the more the unspoken glances were exchanged, and private jokes passed. Brad laughed nervously as they seemed to be laughing at his expense.
After dinner, they foursome retired to the living room and shared some cognac. The alcohol had loosened Lisa's inhibitions and she sat next to Dixon, ignoring Brad completely, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation about jazz when it was more than obvious she was simply using that as a pretense to press her body next to his. Syreeta seemed to be running interference for her new friend, trying to distract Brad with conversation about Real Estate and things that would keep his focus off their respective partners. Syreeta pulled Brad to the backyard with the pretense of looking at property lines and when they returned to the living room, Dixon and Lisa were nowhere to be found. When Brad inquired where they went, Syreeta implied that it was nothing he should be worried about, that they were probably just getting better acquainted.
Better acquainted was an understatement. While Brad and Syreeta were in the living room making casual conversation about fixed mortgages, Lisa was in the bedroom, on her knees, with both hands wrapped around Dixon's cock, stroking it and coaxing out precum to lick off. That had been the plan for the better part of the week; Lisa was going to get fucked like she needed it and Dixon was going to serve up the dick like only he knew how. She and Syreeta planned and plotted over coffee how she was going to become an insatiable slut right under Brad's nose. This was Lisa's moment of reckoning. Dixon pulled her tits out of her top and squeezed her nipples hard. Lisa moaned and begged for him to do it harder, shocked at her own desires. She wrapped her lips around his cock and started sucking it like a wanton . Dixon grabbed her brown hair, pulled it like he was pulling reigns on a philly, and started fucking her mouth hard. She was choking on that cock but she refused to stop sucking. She was trying to get him to cum in her mouth. She'd never let Brad cum in her mouth in their 12 years of marriage but she wanted to take Dixon's load more than anything. The harder he fucked her mouth, the more she licked and sucked and swallowed every black inch. Lisa was up for the challenge and taking it all.
Her pussy was throbbing and dripping and she was ready for the main course without much foreplay but Dixon had other plans. He tossed her on the bed and pushed her tits together. Her tits were a present from her husband for her 35 birthday and he grabbed them and squeezed them, he even slapped them at Lisa's request. She was craving rough treatment and she couldn't get enough. She was mesmerized his brown skin in contrast to her pale flesh. Dixon alternated between fucking her tits and fucking her mouth and he was making sure that Lisa was aware of her place as his plaything with his words. "Look at you, you nasty cunt, sucking my big black cock. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll never be satisfied with your husband's little prick again. You'll be begging me to bend you over and ram this big dick in you. You love this, don't you? You know I'm about to fuck you senseless, don't you?"
Meanwhile, back in the living room, Brad was getting more and more uncomfortable as time passed. He kept looking towards the master bedroom, wondering if he could hear signs of sex or if it was just his imagination. His cock was rock hard at the thought of his wife, merely feet away, getting filled with the cock of her black lover. He couldn't hide his arousal and he was trying to discretely rub himself. Syreeta could sense his distraction and she toyed with him, whispering in his ear as she taunted him. "He's fucking her right now, you know that, don't you?" He's got her bent over and he's ramming his huge dick in her from behind, stretching her and filling her like you never could.
Brad couldn't swallow. His eyes were glued in the direction of the bedroom and he was in a trance. He'd never been more turned on in his entire life.
"Oh god, it hurts. Please, don't stop." Brad choked for air as he could clearly hear the sounds of his wife's cries coming from the bedroom. His wife was engaged in some serious fucking and he didn't know what to do. Syreeta toyed with him as he strained to hear more. He was sure he could hear the sounds of the headboard hitting the wall and Dixon groaning and telling his wife how good her tight white pussy was. He was correct. Lisa was on her hands and knees, getting banged hard, her tits flapping as a hard black cock hit her in places that hadn't been touched in years. Dixon had his thumb in her ass and he was threatening to fuck her there. Lisa was begging for it loud enough for Brad to hear. "Oh yes, fuck me hard, use my white pussy, fuck me good and hard. Make me your white slut, I love your big hard cock. Use my holes for your pleasure. I want to feel your cum dripping from my pussy and my asshole. I want your jism in my belly. Oh yesss, I want to eat Syreeta's sweet black pussy while you bang me hard from behind. I'm a nasty, filthy, dirty slut for your cock. Oh, shit. I'm going to cum. Please, leave your load in me. Please give me your cum. I'm cumming, I'm cumming. Oh fuck I'm cumming. She was cumming harder than she'd cum in years. "Yes, Dixon, cum inside meeeeeee. Please."
In the living room, Brad was practically crying. It was his dream come true, his fantasy made reality but he wasn't there to witness it. He wanted to ask Syreeta if he could lick her pussy but he wasn't sure of the proper protocol. He wanted to take his cock out and jerk it off with his ear pressed to the bedroom door. He looked a Syreeta and she seemed calm, cool, and collected, like she and Dixon has done this plenty of times before. He wondered briefly how they could have such an open relationship, one based on such freedom and communication.
Lisa emerged from the bedroom, dressed, but disheveled. She looked drained but glowing. Her footsteps were shaky and she walked to Brad and kissed him squarely on the mouth. He could taste the evidence of a sex on her lips. Exhausted, she whispered, "Let's go home. Dixon and I made a special dessert just for you." Brad thanked Syreeta for the lovely meal and they hurried off next door, to enjoy the fruits of their experience and reap the creamy rewards.
Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK
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Long Distance Love
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:11 pm
Last Updated:Apr 18, 2024 12:46 am
8777 Views
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You have to work really hard to maintain the delicate equilibrium of a long distance relationship in order to make it work. The time apart, the distance, the lack of stability can wear on anyone's nerves. Even under the best of conditions, fragile long distance relationships can disintegrate, even if both parties want it to work. Add to the mix the pressures of an interracial relationship and it would seem virtually impossible for a couple to make it under those circumstances. Chris Henderson and Michelle Givens seemed to be the exception to the rule.
They met quite by happenstance. Chris was in Atlanta on a business trip. While he was checking into the Hyatt, minding his own business, he noticed a woman carrying a rather large painting, trying to navigate the heavy glass revolving door of the lobby with a large canvas. He ran to her assistance, holding the side handicap door for her like a gentleman would do, his midwestern manners integrating well into his temporary southern residence.
As she passed, sparks of electricity singed his very soul, igniting a chemical reaction that could have caused an explosion. She maneuvered her heavenly body through the door, positioning the painting as a barrier between them. For a brief moment, they both froze, maintaining intense eye contact. Chris took in every detail. Her butterscotch colored skin was flawless and her naturally curly hair was pulled tightly on top of her head and exploded in a poof of curly q's. Her full, sensual lips looked so inviting, her smoky eyes were captivating, and her fragrance smelled like a delicious blend of fruit and flowers. They stood eye to eye, taking in details of one another, held captive by an immovable force of attraction. As she eased her way past Chris, she whispered the words, "Thank you," softly. Chris watched her lips part and he was captivated by the way her pink tongue seemed to sensually caress her ruby colored lips and sort of make love to her words.
"Whoooo was that? Do you know who that woman is? She's breathtaking," Chris asked the desk manager, staring back at the doors, watching the captivating woman delicately arranging paintings in the back of a plain white van.
"Oh, that's Michelle Givens. She's the director of the Apex Museum here in Atlanta. They lend us paintings for the lobby every February for Black History Month. I have her business card and a brochure here if you want to check it out." Chris fingered the card, distracted as he watched her drive off. The manager added, "Yeah, she is pretty hot," as the two men shared a moment of appreciation for her beauty.
Barely able to concentrate, Chris couldn't wait to pay a visit to the Apex later that afternoon. He was trying not to look conspicuous as he browsed around, trying to run into her again.
"Did you see something you were interested in today," Michelle queried as she approached him?
Chris turned to face her and was again overwhelmed with her professionalism, sophistication, and sheer beauty. He took the flirtation ball and ran with it. "Very much so. In fact, I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of what I saw today, I had to make it my business to come and let you know personally." He reached for her hand, held it to his lips, and kissed it softly. Michelle was overwhelmed by his charm in that moment and the rest, as they say, is history.
The two became rather inseparable from that moment on, at least every time Chris was in town for business. They would dine together, go hiking on the weekends; Chris would even attend all the events Michelle coordinated for the Apex. He was extremely proud of her and it became increasingly more difficult to return to Fargo after they would spend time together. North Dakota became bland in comparison his time in Georgia and was losing its appeal the more Chris realized that Michelle was his soul mate.
It was their perfect, symbiotic relationship the fueled them. Neither of them had to compromise themselves or their identities to be with the other. Chris loved that Michelle was so unconditionally supportive of him and his endeavors. He felt like he could accomplish anything with Michelle by his side. She loved that she could be unapologetic in her blackness and not have to conform to an identity outside of her comfort zone. They just fit well together.
It was sexually, however, where their compatibility went off the charts. Never before in his life had Chris met a woman who understood his desires and matched them so perfectly. Every fantasy, every fetish, every kink, Michelle mirrored in delicious desire. It was as if they were created from the same erotic mold.
The time spent apart was becoming more unbearable. After nine months of long distance love and what was sure to be a tumor forming from endless hours of talking on the cell phone every night, Chris was contemplating ways in which he could make the relationship more permanent. He fingered the ring box in his pocket nervously as he deboarded the plane. Michelle was there to meet him, looking as stunning as ever, and her eyes lit up when she saw her man struggling with his two carryon bags. He took her in his arms and held her close. It never failed that every time he saw her, he felt the same jolt of electricity in his body as the first time he laid eyes on her. She kissed him rather sensually and every man in business class that was behind him felt a stab of lustful envy.
Michelle seemed to be particularly excited to see Chris and she was anxious to get home. She let him take the wheel and she sat in the passenger seat and wasted no time lowering her mouth to Chris' lap and removing his hard cock from his pants, sucking him while he was doing 70 miles per hour on I-75. He was trying to concentrate on driving safely but it was damn hard to do that with his incredibly sexy girlfriend giving him the best head of his life.
He pulled the car into her garage and he was practically undressing before the ignition was off. Michelle had other plans and left Chris in the carport to get his belongings as she rushed inside with a mischievous smile on her face. Chris unloaded his bags, brought them inside, hung up his coat, and made his way to the kitchen, being led by the aromas of a fabulous seafood meal that was simmering on the stove. He was opening pots and inhaling delectable smells when Michelle approached him from behind. "Welcome home," she said. Chris felt so at home, so at peace, he was reminded of the important question he wanted to ask Michelle.
He turned around and was caught off guard as he took in the full image of his ladylove. She was wearing black latex thigh-high boots and a matching latex bra. Completing her outfit was a black strapon dildo sticking out from her body. He felt a lump in his throat and instinctively dropped to his knees. He wrapped his lips around the hard black cock and looked up at his lover. She placed her hands on the back of his head and guided him to suck it. Turned on, she started pumping her full hips, fucking his mouth as Chris struggled to free his raging hard cock from his pants, stroking it in time to the pumping his mouth was getting.
They were both too turned on to make it to the bedroom so Michelle pulled his hair gently, signaling for Chris to stand up. She bent him over the kitchen counter and reached for a bottle of olive oil to pour on her strapon. There was something primal about fucking in the kitchen, with his pants around his ankles and his face pressed against the cold granite. Chris looked back at Michelle, pulled his asscheeks apart with both hands, and said, "What are you waiting for, girl, FUCK ME!"
Never one to disappoint, Michelle lined up the head of the Ebony strapon with his pink hole and pushed forward. She was slow but she was relentless, not stopping until every inch was buried deeply in Chris' ass. He started grinding, squirming, and begging her to fuck him harder, deeper. They were grunting, groaning, moaning and fucking like animals. "Yeah, you like this hard cock in your slutty hole, don't you baby? You love me fucking you like you're my little bitch. Or would your prefer a real dick? Is that what you want? You want to get fucked by a real thick, stiff, hard dick? You want hot cum shooting deep in your asspussy?" Michelle clearly knew all the right buttons to push for her man to turn him on.
"Fuck me harder!"
"Take it deeper!"
"Fuck!"
"Shit!"
There was no stopping the endless string of profanity and the intense heat that the sexy black and white pair was giving off. Michelle was like a machine, pounding him with a steady rhythm, using his asshole for her pleasure. Chris was about to explode, in love with the sexy woman with whom he was so connected, literally and figuratively. He could smell her pussy, wet with excitement. He could feel her black hard cock deep inside him. They were both rushing to orgasm. Michelle was like a woman possessed and Chris was a like a crazed slut. He was fucking her back and begging her like a desperate slut for her to give it to him deeper. He stroked his cock; it was aching it was so hard. He shut his eyes tightly and reveled in the pleasure he was experiencing in every pore of his body as he felt the sensations overtake him.
Michelle kissed him softly and pulled him towards the bedroom for rounds two and three. They were sure to enjoy all sorts of sexy and loving encounters in the upcoming week. He scrambled to pull up his pants and check for the ring he would present to her later that evening, assured that he had found his perfect match and the end to his long distance love.
Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK
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In the Heat of the Night
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:08 pm
Last Updated:Apr 18, 2024 12:46 am
9113 Views
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It was a steamy night in the ATL and there was a power outage. No light, no AC, all the entire city could do was sit and sweat and sit and sweat some more. Luckily, I live on the top floor of my condo so I could go outside naked as the day I was born and enjoy a little breeze without the fear of anyone peeking at me. My balcony looks out over the parking lot of a major home furnishing store, you know, the one from Sweden, Switzerland, wherever the hell it's from so there isn't a building around that could spy on me. I made a pitcher of Sangria before my ice cubes turned to water and I was just chilling outside, in quiet reflection.
There's something about it being Africa-hot at nighttime that really gets to me. It's one thing for it to be stifling hot at 12 noon, but when the heat is oppressive and it's 12 midnight, that's a whole nutha thing all together. I was feeling a buzz from my Sangria when the phone rang. "Who the hell could this be, calling at quarter after "booty call o'clock" at night?" I glanced at the caller ID on my cell phone and it was my friend Nina who lived downstairs.
I was glad to have conversation because it was a little boring with no music or TV but I was also enjoying my naked solitude. Nina was a white girl who started out as just someone I would see in the gym working out occasionally. She and I were always deeply engrossed in some book and I would ask her what she was reading, she would ask me what I was reading. One thing led to another and eventually, we started a book club for the building. It's only about five of us: two white women, two black women, including me, and a gay Spanish cat. Once a month, someone hosts the group at their crib and we all bring a covered dish and dish about the book. Everyone brings their own flavor to the group, literally and figuratively. Luis has hipped us to all sorts of Latino fiction and Nina had a love of erotica that went far beyond the trash that's in Borders. She loves storytelling and she often times reads selections that would get us all hot and bothered. I even noticed Luis squirming in his seat a couple of times. "Hey sweetness, what's up," I asked?
"Ebony, I'm sweating like a pig down here. There's no breeze and I feel like I'm going to suffocate. Do you think I could come up to your place and crash on your couch?" Her unit was on the courtyard side and she was a couple of floors down. I can only imagine it must have been like an oven in her condo.
"Sure, come on up, not a problem." That's what I said, what I meant was, "Damn, I'm not really in the mood for company. I've got a buzz going and I'm enjoying my freedom." Nina was really good people and I couldn't leave her hanging in her hour of need so I opened my door with all the graciousness I could muster.
I grabbed a robe and tied it around my body. It wasn't much, just a little short silk thingie I had gotten as a present from an ex-boyfriend. I weighed the options of whether I should put on panties but my Sangria got the best of me. "Fuck it, this is my house, if she sees my pussy, then so be it. It's too hot to be wearing panties anyway."
I opened the door and Nina was there, sheet in hand, and looking like she was dehydrated. "Girl, come on in, you look like who struck John and ran." She knew me well enough to just look at me and not say anything. It was one of the famous euphemisms my grandmother used to say that have become part of my daily lexicon. Nina walked past me like she was in a daze and headed straight for the balcony. Now Nina is a beautiful woman, there's no question about it. Her long brown hair fell just past her shoulders, but she was skinny, I'm mean slender, whatever white girls call themselves when they are a size 3. I'm slender, but I have a lot more meat on my bones. I have bigger titties, bigger thighs, bigger hips, and a whole helluva lot more azz. I wear my hair in locs and had them pulled back in a ponytail. To look at us, you wouldn't even think we ran in the same circles but we were most certainly friends. It was hard to find intellectual equals of any race and Nina was cerebral and logical with the best of them.
Plopped down in a chair, she had her eyes closed and she was lying back like had just finished running a marathon. Sweat was visible on her white wife beater tank top that clung to her small breasts and her tiny shorts had to be damp because they were so tight I could practically see the outline of her pussy lips. I thought it was odd that she was wearing high heels but there wasn't much to them. She looked like she could have just gotten off the pole at the Cheetah Club
"You look like you could use some water, can I get you some?"
"No thanks," she said, "this will be fine, as she reached for the pitcher of Sangria and poured a big glass and downed it in one gulp.
"Hey, careful there sweetie," I said, "you are going to wake up with a terrible hangover if you don't use moderation." She gave me another look like, "Do you have any idea how fucking hot I am? Don't test me." Word weren't necessary. I stood there looking at her, trying to cool off. It was surreal. There were no lights to be seen anywhere in the distance, illuminating the Atlanta skyline. There was a silence like I've never known before. It was like a moment frozen in time. "Here, I'm going to make us another pitcher before the last of the ice melts. I'll be right back."
It was difficult moving around in the dark, trying to cut up fruit and not slice any fingers off in the process. I was having difficulty maneuvering around in complete darkness when I heard Nina say, "Do you need any help?" I could barely make out her form as I accepted her offer but there wasn't much she could do, not knowing my kitchen as well as I did. It became just a joke as we would bump into each other trying to get sugar and wine and everything cut up in that pitcher without it tumbling to the floor. Wouldn't that be a bitch?
Nina was touchy feely. Every time we would bump into each other, her hands would linger on my body. At first, it was just my shoulder, and then it was my waist. Then she pressed her body against mine and I almost swore I could feel her grinding on my ass. I knew the sangria was making me feel a little loose and I certainly didn't mind and I figured the Sangria had gone to her head rather quickly and it was making her a little amorous as well.
I decided two could play at that game and I decided that I was going to give her something to think about. I pretended to drop the dishtowel and I bent over, and I made sure to rub my ass all over her. I got really bold and decided to step things up a notch. "Here, let me see if I can cool you off a little bit." I took one of the last pieces of ice and I started rubbing it all over her chest. Nina, as if in a trance, pulled her tank top down, exposing her tits, and I rubbed it all over her nipples. She was chanting, "Oh shit, that feels so good, please don't stop." Melted ice was running down her body and I wasn't sure if it was cooling her off or making her hotter.
It was sort of weird. We both knew at that point that something was intense was happening but neither one of us said anything. I was giddy, my pulse was racing. There, in the darkness, I put my hand between her legs and felt her pussy. I could hear her soft moans but it was hard to make out the expression on her face. She was humping her mound against my hand and I could feel the heat emanating from her core. I wanted to ask what was going on but I didn't want to spoil the mood. I wanted whatever was going to happen to happen.
"I think the Sangria is done, let's go back outside and try to catch a breeze." I grabbed the pitcher and tried to maneuver my way back to the balcony without breaking my leg on a piece of furniture. I sat on the chaise lounge and loosened up my robe so my breasts would be exposed if I moved just a little. Without much effort at all, Nina could see my pussy if she wanted to, it would be right there, all I had to do was spread my long brown legs. Nina joined me outside a few seconds after I got settled. She looked like she was more uncomfortable than when she first walked through the door. There was a nice breeze blowing and I was sure our little experiment with the ice had cooled her off quite a bit but I knew she was just as hot as I was after our little groping session in the kitchen.
I was so horny and turned on that I couldn't think straight. I didn't want to have casual conversation but I didn't want to ruin the thing that was happening between us. For a long while, we sat in silence, just sipping our wine and staring out into the distance. I closed my eyes and felt the heat in my body. It wasn't heat from the temperature, it wasn't heat from the drink, and it was a heat from lust. I was fantasizing about Nina and I in the throws of passion. She stood up and started speaking in almost hushed, melodic tones. She was weaving a tale of erotic delight; she was hypnotizing me with her words.
"The beauty," she said, "of Sapphic delights is in the slow build, the smoldering fire that ignites the flames of passion. The beauty of interracial pleasures is in the contrast. Your body is a black canvas upon which pleasure should be painted." She paced back and forth, her heels clicking on the tile, punctuating her speech. "I wish to serve you, you delicious Nubian queen, I wish to submit myself to you, a muse of your whims, so that you may reach ecstasy. Let me drink from your Ebony source, let me lie next to you, our bodies intertwined, our limbs a tangle of contrasted skin tones."
I had never in my entire life had anything like this happen to me. I couldn't even explain it. She was seducing me with prose and I was aching with desire and all I could do was listen, words were caught in my through. How was I to respond? I could have lit all of Atlanta proper with the electricity that was flowing through my body.
Nina sat at the end of the chaise lounge. I spread my legs and she moved closer. Gently, she reached for the tie on my robe and undid it. She pushed the material to the side and exposed my body to her view. She took in every inch of my brown frame and licked her lips like she was starving. She leaned forward and she touched her lips to mine. I reveled in the softness of her kiss, her tongue, and I pulled her body to mine.
"Let me make love to you," she whispered, as if she was asking my permission. I simply nodded my consent and she proceeded to give me pleasure in ways that only another woman can give. She stood briefly, undressing in front of me. She pulled off her tank top and tossed it casually to the ground, revealing her perfectly formed breasts to my vision. Her nipples were pink and puffy and certainly a contrast to my dark, pebble-like nipples that were aching to be sucked. Turning around, she put her thumbs in the waist of her shorts and bent over. Methodically she pulled them down, exposing her pussy from behind and her ass, of which she seemed to be especially proud. She ran her hands all over it, spreading her cheeks and showing off her asshole. My heart skipped a little beat and my clit seemed to come alive. I was enjoying the show, such a contrast to any of the other women I had been with. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkened night and her tan lines were visible, just barely. It was apparent that she was trying to get brown all over. She left her heels on. I had always thought that was something that only porn stars did but in that moment, she looked amazing. I wouldn't have wanted her to change a thing.
Being so open in our lovemaking aroused me. We were outside. It wasn't as if we were in the Serengeti, we were in midtown ATL on 17th street, and it all seemed so decadent. I think she was equally in awe of my skin tone as I was of hers. She took her hands and massaged my legs, spread them wider, rubbing ever so close to my pussy but not touching me there. My body was reacting to her touch.
Our eyes had become adjusted to the darkness and she knelt before me as she lowered the back of the chaise lounge to almost reclining. Even though the temperature was hot, she was trembling and shaking like she was freezing cold. She crawled over my body like a panther surveying its prey. My arms were stretched out above my head, gripping the railing for dear life.
We kissed again, this time I was able to return the kiss even more passionately. She began her descent down my body with her mouth, bathing me with sensual kisses. She covered my neck and throat with corporeal kisses and I moaned in appreciation. She took an incredibly long time kissing and licking her way down my arms and sucking each and every one of my fingers. My nipples were hard and aroused like two tiny pebbles waiting for her mouth to lick and suck them. My body was becoming more and more comfortable, more and more aroused, and I was responding to each touch with more enthusiasm. She brought her tongue to my left nipple and gently licked it and I let out a hiss . . . She licked the right one and I groaned. In fact, she spent the better part of a half hour licking, sucking, and kissing on my nipples.
I kept saying, "Oh God, that feels so good, don't stop." I grabbed her hair and held her mouth to my tits, made her suck them like a baby. Every sensation was like a jolt of pleasure in my clit. The more aroused I got, the more I needed to give into the pleasure and the passion of this lesbian lust. It was more than apparent that I was enjoying myself as she licked and kissed her way down my stomach to my goody trail of soft fine hair that led to my sensual treasure. She let her mouth wander down to my legs and I spread my thighs enough for her to lick and kiss me there. I could smell my scent that betrayed my arousal. I turned my over on my stomach and she began lavishing my back with kisses. She grabbed my ponytail and pulled it as she whispered in my ear that she was going to make me cum so many times I would pass out. I responded by grinding my ass on her and saying, "Fuck you." She loved my fight and arrogance; it turned her on that much more. She slid her hand between my legs to gently rub my mound. She playfully spanked me, not too hard; gently, erotically. I was thrusting my ass up at her and telling her to eat my pussy, my hot, wet, pussy.
We were both out of control with lust. All of my inhibitions had long since disappeared and she was insatiable. She wanted to experience every sensation she could. I turned over on my back again. Now it was her turn to be overcome with lust. My pussy was so fucking wet it dripped with desire. I spread my legs and she stared at the center of my being in complete awe. My lips were parted and swollen with arousal. My clit was already peeking from its hood. I was so wet she could see my juices glistening even in the darkened night. My smell was intoxicating. She inhaled my aroma over and over again, wanting to breathe it into her very essence. I held onto the last little bit of control I had left. "Nina, tell me you want this, tell me that you need to make love to make, to make me cum. I need to hear you say it."
"Mmmmmm, you know damn well that I want you to eat and lick and suck your wet cunt. I want to make you cum with my mouth. That's what you need. I want to stick my tongue deep inside you, suck your clit, EAT YOUR PUSSY. I want to rub my pussy against yours. I want to see the contrast. I am desperate to lick you and eat your pussy and I want you to use my mouth to cum. I want you to shoot your pussy cream in my mouth. Mmmmm. Oh fuck, I want you to strapon on a big fat cock and pound my pussy and asshole. I want this. I need this. I'm intoxicated by your beauty and I want to share with you every pleasure imaginable."
Her sexy talk pushed me over the edge. In fact, I almost came from hearing her being so open, so vocal about her desires. As much as I wanted her to dive in and devour my pussy, I wanted to make it an experience that she would never forget. I took my fingers and gently spread my lips and started to gently rub on my exposed, fat clit. She responded by grinding her wet pussy on my leg. She pulled my hand away and replaced it with her own. She put her fingers at the entrance to my hole and she started working them inside me, trying to get me to cum. I had made a transformation then and there. I was no longer the calm, reserved woman who wouldn't verbalize her desires lest the spell be broken, I was hot and crazed and I wanted more.
Her soft fingers reached places that my own couldn't. This wasn't the gentle lovemaking of romantic fantasies, she was fucking me. Before no time at all, she was finger fucking me with three fingers, ramming them hard and I was meeting every thrust. She lowered her mouth to my clit and started sucking it, licking it, working her fingers in deeper, hitting my spot. She grabbed my thighs, pushed them up, and drove her tongue deep in my hot asshole. She was tongue fucking my backdoor and I was going out of my mind.
"Come on, eat me. MMMM. Oh yeah, you love eating my pussy and sucking my ass. Does that taste good? Yeah?" I reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her up. I positioned her in a 69 and we went to town on my balcony. I was driving my tongue in her twat, tasting her sweet juices; she was gripping my thighs and licking my clit like nobody's business. It was loud, passionate, raunchy sex in the heat of the night. I felt my body tense, I felt her pussy gush. We were both fingering each other and fucking and licking and sucking like we were possessed. Oh Nina, oh Nina, yes baby, yes, oh fuck, oh shit, fuck, damn, I'm going to cum.
We stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed on top of the comforter. The breeze and the cross ventilation cooled us from our physical heat but the heat of passion was still sweltering. Before the night was over, we fucked in every way conceivable. At some point in the mid morning, we were awakened by the sound of the TV. The electricity was restored and the light of day greeted us. We planned on taking advantage of the air conditioning and our newfound aspect to your sensuality all afternoon long.
Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK
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Friends and Lovers
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:07 pm
Last Updated:Apr 18, 2024 12:46 am
9301 Views
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Tracy Robinson had a hard and fast rule: Do NOT, under any circumstances, never, ever, ever fool around with a married man. She’d been married and cheated on and she remembered all too well the pain it caused her. In her mind there was no valid, justifiable reason to date someone who she knew was going to be a liar from the very beginning; she had enough respect for herself to not date someone else’s man. Because she was bisexual, the same theory applied to women as well. Women were slightly different in that she rarely, if ever, had a married woman trying to seduce her. Most women weren’t after illicit sex and extramarital liaisons with random other women so while Tracy felt morally righteous and superior for saying on principle that she never messed around with a married woman, the instances of her being tempted by a married woman were almost non-existent.
Tracy was the kind of woman who felt comfortable adhering to rules. She’d served in the military for 20 years and was now enjoying her life pursuing her dreams of becoming an artist. In many ways, it was the exact opposite of the strict, rigid life she’d had in The Army. She could stand in front of a canvas for hours, sometimes forgetting to eat, on only two or three hours of sleep a night, and paint to her heart’s content. Several local galleries were showing her work and while the sales were few and far between, they were enough to keep her motivated to continue her passion. Her military pension paid the bills so she was comfortable and happy. Single life wasn’t necessarily to her liking but she wasn’t so desperate to be in relationship that she would jump at the first man who showed her attention either. Her 40th birthday was coming up, she was relatively content in life, and didn’t really have a care in the world.
When they say that life has a way of knocking you off your feet, sometimes that can be literal. In her garden pulling weeds one day, Tracy made a wrong move and ended up face up in amongst her gardenias unable to move. If it hadn’t been for her trusty letter carrier happening along, she might have been there for hours. After a very brief stint in the local hospital, she ended up in the VA for rehabilitation and physical therapy. She’d injured her back in the military years before and it had a habit of acting up every once in a while, but after a few days rest, it might literally be years before another flare up. If her blood sugar hadn’t been so out of control, she would have been released with the usual, “Take care, don’t over-exert yourself, take two pain killers and call me in the morning,” shtick. The combination of the medicine and the fact that she hadn’t been eating well were causing her glucose levels to go up and down like a yo-yo, sometimes spiking to dangerous levels. They released her but with orders for a nurse to come visit her home for follow up visits and make sure she was getting insulin when and if she needed it and monitor her progress. Say what you want about the military, and disregarding the times when they occasionally drop the ball, their care for their own is beyond compare.
Itching to get back to her canvases and ready to assume more responsibility for her health, Tracy started eating well and doing all the exercises they suggested she do for slowly strengthening her back muscles the minute she got home. If there was a regimen to be performed, Tracy could do it. She didn’t want or need a nurse coming to check on her; she wanted to paint. Twice a week, whether she wanted it or not, a nurse was to come to check on her until the doctor released her. The first day Karen showed up, Tracy tried her best to be polite but it was more than apparent that she was frustrated and anxious about someone taking care of her. Karen was respectful of the retired Major, even calling her Ma’am. She was warm, gracious, and a highly competent nurse as well. Tracy insisted, “Do not call me Ma’am. I’m not in the military anymore.” The two ladies had a rapport immediately. While she could have been in and out in twenty minutes, Karen stayed for almost an hour, getting to know her new patient and asking all sorts of questions to ensure that she was getting the best care possible and that her recovery was imminent. Karen was very personable, meaning she liked getting to know her patients in order to provide them with the absolute best care. She felt like it was her responsibility to extend herself to her patients, to be a friend to them.
Karen was, for all intents and purposes . . . well . . . not exactly the complete physical opposite of Tracy, but there were some significant differences. Other than the obvious difference in race, Tracy being Black and Karen being white; Tracy was taller than average, Karen was of average height. They both had similar builds but Karen had recently given birth and was nursing and the owner of very large, very sensitive breasts. They were both very attractive women who didn’t feel a need to flaunt it and downplayed their attractiveness out of sensibility and practicality. The two women hit it off immediately and seemed to become friends from essentially day one. There was that connection, that intangible bond you get sometimes when you meet someone and you feel as if you’ve known them forever. Or, at the very least, that you can open up to them in ways you can’t with others. Karen hadn’t even been coming two full weeks when Tracy started looking forward to her visits. They would break up the monotony of her day, provide her company, and she enjoyed sharing her artwork with Karen.
One day, Karen stopped by on a day she wasn’t scheduled to visit. She said she just wanted to check up on Tracy. The visit lasted almost two hours and the women talked about life, love, and everything else under the sun. It was that day that Tracy realized that the chemistry she shared with Karen was more than platonic. It was that night that Tracy allowed herself to have her very first fantasy about Karen. She lay in bed, tossing and turning, fantasizing about her new friend. Her hormones raged and her body ached to explore a more physical, sensual connection with the woman who had mandatory access to her home two times a week. Because she had been compelled to keep her sexuality secret and hidden in the military, Tracy had been accustomed to not opening up to anyone but potential lovers about her preferences. The newly emerging artist in Tracy was different. It was almost as if the minute she picked up a paint brush, she became committed to telling the truth, with her art and with her heart.
“Hey friend, come on in,” Tracy said as she opened the door widely to greet Karen on her next scheduled visit. This time, rather than her hands and clothes being covered in paint, she was wearing a teal colored blouse and jeans that would be what she’d wear on a casual date with a man. She watched for Karen’s reaction carefully as she undid the buttons on her shirt to reveal a black lace push up bra as she listened to her heart. Tracy rested her right hand on Karen’s thigh as she pricked the finger on her left hand to test her blood sugar. Still no response. Karen seemed to be oblivious to any sexual tension and went about her business professionally and reported that she would in fact be telling the doctor that Tracy was cleared for release.
Visibly saddened, Tracy sighed and said, “I’m going to miss you, friend. It’s been great getting to know you over this short period of time.”
“Oh, I can still stop by and see you,” Karen responded. “I have other patients in the area and I would be more than happy to stop by and check on you every once in a while.” She added, “You know, my life is so routine, so predictable. I’ve been married to the same man for fifteen years, we’ve been in a relationship since high school; I’ve been in the military for more than a decade. I’m a mom and a wife and a nurse. You’re an artist. I admire what you’re doing. It’s so, you know, different. I think what you’re doing is fascinating and I love your work and I just think you’re a really interesting, really nice person.” It wasn’t exactly what Tracy wanted to hear but it felt nice regardless and she knew Karen was being sincere. The last things she wanted to do was alienate her new friend so they hugged goodbye with promises of seeing one another again.
Before the week was out, Karen called and asked if it was okay if she stopped by. Tracy was elated. She grabbed a bottle of wine, some cheese and crackers and set out a little tray. “I finished with all my patients early today and I just didn’t feel like going home yet,” Karen blurted out the second she walked in. “My sister-in-law is watching the baby and my older two have practice after school. I just needed a little adult time, I hope you don’t mind.”
Mind? Was she crazy? Tracy was elated. Karen graciously accepted the offer of the chilled Pinot Grigio at 3:00 in the afternoon and nibbled on the smoked gouda and crackers. Nestled comfortably on her sofa, the two women continued to open up to one another in ways that far exceeded most burgeoning friendships. They were both revealing personal information about each other, about their sex lives, love lives, fears, dreams, frustrations, things that usually come after knowing someone a long time. As the proverbial clock struck 5, Karen had to leave and her car was barely out the driveway before Tracy had her vibrator out and was frantically stimulating her already aroused pussy.
In the following weeks, the unscripted visits became more frequent, with Karen sometimes stopping by on her lunch breaks, after seeing all her patients, and even on her days off. The beauty of their conversations was that they were deep, raw, and honest, not at all superficial. Tracy didn’t want to seem obvious, so some days she would offer herbal tea or juice, others nothing at all, and occasionally, when she thought she might get Karen to loosen up a bit more, she offered some form of alcohol, you know, all under the guise of being a gracious hostess. Her nights were tortured and sweaty, fantasizing about making love to her new friend, terrified she might lose her if she revealed her lust but aroused beyond belief by the connection.
Eventually, Tracy knew it was time to reveal her true feelings. She decided she would do it with a painting. Inspired, the piece came to life and she invited her friend to her studio to reveal it. “It’s not finished,” she mumbled, terrified about being rejected as an artist and a friend. As Karen stared at the canvas, she could clearly make out two women who could not be confused for anyone other than herself and Tracy in a very intimate, semi-nude embrace.
“Oh my! Is that who I think it is?” Tracy nodded, too scared to say anything at that moment. “I’m flattered,” Karen said, trying to be careful not to hurt her friend’s feelings. “You know . . . I’m not attracted to you like that, right? I just want to be friends.”
Tracy felt a sense of relief almost. It wasn’t as if she wanted Karen to rip her clothes off and for them to fuck in the middle of the floor, it was more like she just needed her friend to see all of her, to know her truth, to not hide any parts of herself anymore. She felt free. She mumbled something about the chemistry and the connection they shared and apologized in ten different ways for making Karen uncomfortable and asked if they could just remain friends. For all of her infatuation, Tracy knew that Karen was married and she wasn’t about to break that rule, even if the attraction was mutual.
The dynamics of the relationship did change after that. Karen was more hesitant to come by, not because she didn’t like Tracy any more but because she felt awkward. Tracy was gracious but offered no alcohol on their brief visits. Their conversations were more tentative and reserved for a few weeks. Before long, water found its own level and everything was back to being comfortable, with the small exception of the fact that they two didn’t mention the sexual attraction thing. It didn’t need to be mentioned. There was a growing sexual tension between the two women. They would sit closer together on the sofa, touch more. A bright lamp in the corner of the room would eventually become replaced by the soft glow of candlelight. Their hugs goodbye lasted longer and it was more than evident that Karen was beginning to trust Tracy in ways she never thought possible.
“What’s it like,” Karen asked one day as she stared at her cup of tea, assuming Tracy would know immediately what she was talking about.
Tracy did understand. The rapport they had built together was based on a certain level of non-verbal communication. “You mean being with another woman?” Karen nodded. “Well, it can be the most tender, gentle, sensual experience you’ve ever had, in a way that no man could ever touch you, kiss you or satisfy you. It can be just as intense and frenzied as fucking a man. Mostly, for me, the difference is there is no end objective. You know when you’re with a man that everything he does is with one goal in mind, to get to the fucking. With a woman, there is no such agenda; it’s all about the journey, not the destination. I’ve made love to a woman for eight hours once and my only goal was to get her to the very edge of orgasm and then stop over and over and over again. At the end of six hours, she was screaming for me to . . . ” Tracy stopped in mid sentence. Karen was breathing heavy, visibly aroused, and her shirt showed signs of her breasts leaking. She leaned in close and tilted Karen’s face towards hers, their lips virtually close enough for a kiss, making intense eye contact. “Are you okay?”
“You know, I told John about . . . you know . . . about . . . well, I told him about the painting and everything. We aren’t prudes by any means, we experiment like any other couple, watch porn, whatever we can to keep our sex life from being boring. It’s just that you do get in a rut after you’ve been married a while, the same thing no matter how hard you try. He got really turned on when I told him. In fact, our sex life has been really great ever since I shared with him about . . . it, I mean us, I mean . . . you know what I mean. It’s just that, I keep wondering what it would be like to . . . you know . . . well, I’m sure you know. The last thing I want to do is lead you on and I don’t want to lose our friendship but I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’ve been thinking about what it would be like.” Karen was blushing and embarrassed but intimate enough with her friend to open up honestly.
Tracy reached out and held her friend’s hand. “I’ll answer any questions you have and I won’t stop being your friend. I won’t do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable. I promise. I have a policy; I don’t fool around with anyone who is married so we are pretty safe to talk about anything. It will go no further than that. If you want to talk about sex with me and go home and fuck your husband like crazy, that is just fine with me.”
They both laughed and hugged but the sexual tension was so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife. Karen gathered her things and bolted out there like lightning. Over the next few months, their relationship took on a new dynamic. Karen flirted, tempted, and teased and Tracy was holding fast to her rule about not fooling around with a married woman. Karen started forsaking her other friends, friends she’s known since high school, to come spend time Tracy. She loved the feeling of freedom she got the very minute she walked through the door, the ability to tell the truth that she didn’t have with her other friends. She loved the sexual tension and she had begun being more discriminate about the things she shared with her husband, not wanting him to know exactly how turned on she was getting sharing time with another woman. Karen knew that for all Tracy’s integrity, she would never cross the line, so she felt nothing about teasing her friend, making not so subtle suggestions and then running out the door to the safety of her husband and married life.
One night, a little after one in the morning, Karen, audibly upset, called Tracy and said, “Sorry to wake you, but John and I had a really bad fight, do you mind if I crash at your place? I just can’t stand the thought of sleeping next to him right now. I need to get out of the house and I . . . well, I just want to come there to be honest.” Tracy extended an offer for her friend to stay with her and said she would leave a key under the mat and the guest room ready for her whenever she got there. Karen was already on her way.
Within a half hour, she was in Tracy’s driveway and the key was under the mat as promised. She quietly let herself in and peeked in the guest room with towels on the end of the bed and a cute little gift basket of toiletries on the dresser. Tentatively, she walked past the guest room to Tracy’s master bedroom. Curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had to find out what it was like in real life. She was desperate to know what it was like to make love to another woman. She tiptoed in and folded her clothes in a neat pile as she undressed completely. Tracy lay sleeping quietly. She pulled back the covers and crawled in bed, snuggling her body against the warmth of her friend’s brown body.
Tracy awoke immediately, still groggy but very sure that there was a naked body next to hers. “Karen, what are you doing? Don’t do this. Please.”
Tracy’s words were silenced with a kiss. Karen placed her lips against Tracy’s and they shared an intimate, tender kiss, like only two women can share. Again, Tracy protested. “Karen, I’m not strong enough to withstand this kind of pressure. What about John?”
“I need this. I want this! You want it too. Please, don’t make me go. Make love to me. Fuck me. Do whatever you want to me but don’t make me go.” The words choked up in her throat as the tears came. She couldn’t leave, she wouldn’t leave. This wasn’t just about some random fuck with a stranger to get off. This wasn’t a cheap thrill. This was a woman she loved as a friend, cared about, shared with, and to whom she was strangely attracted. She wanted to experience the thing that she had tried to deny for months. There was no denying that her clit would throb and her pussy would get moist when she was with Tracy, when they were sitting back talking, at times not even about sex. There was no denying that when she was having sex with her husband, she was thinking about what it would feel like to have a woman’s mouth on her, licking her, tasting her, eating her, about how different it would feel.
She didn’t have time to think too much about the ramifications of her actions. Tracy rolled over and positioned herself over Karen. Their legs intertwined. Karen reached up and pulled the t-shirt from Tracy’s sleepy frame and tossed it to the floor. She felt sexy and wanted in the moment.
“Are you sure you want this, want me?”
Feeling more confident than she’d felt in a very long time, she reached up and placed her mouth on Tracy’s. Their lips gently parted and their tongues found each other’s. Electricity shot through Karen’s body. Almost immediately, her pussy began to throb and pulse, getting wetter than she’d remembered in a very long time. A sound escaped her lips, one of pleasure and arousal. Tracy kissed her back and their kiss because more passionate but still very, extraordinarily sensual. Tracy kissed her way down Karen’s neck, tasting her skin, pressing her lips to the erotic hot spots Karen had almost forgotten she had. Her body responded. She was writhing, twisting, panting and incredibly turned on. She’d imagined what it would be like to be with a woman but in her wildest imagination she had never thought that it would feel so excruciatingly erotic. By the time Tracy’s lips got to her collar bone, sounds were escaping her lips that sounded strange to her own ears.
In the darkness of her bedroom, in the middle of the night, Tracy put aside all her misgivings about engaging in an affair with a married person and gave in to her desires. Before her was a sensual woman, a needy woman who deserved to be made love to and pleasured like she’d never experienced previously. The woman beneath her was a friend, a person she knew inside and out, a woman she had craved sexually for months. She took her time and prepared to pleasure and seduce Karen until she begged her to stop.
If she had been given the opportunity to prepare, she would have had various toys and things like honey, ice cubes, satin sheets, a blindfold, and maybe even a hot all-girl movie ready. With nothing but her hands and mouth, she set to work. Unsure of how to handle the lactation thing, she decided to proceed slowly and let Karen decide how and where she should go. With that decision, she decided to lick everywhere but her nipples. Methodically, she kissed, licked, and erotically nibbled her way from Karen’s collarbone to her belly button and back again, not missing a spot in between.
Every nerve ending in Karen’s body felt alive with excitement. She was tense and aroused and nervous all at the same time. She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she gripped the sheets tightly and held on for dear life. Tracy took Karen’s hands and placed them on her hips. Even in the darkness of night, she could see the contrast in skin tone, feel the softness of a woman’s flesh. Her hands began to roam, gently caressing Tracy’s curves. Tracy responded, “Mmmmm, that feels so nice. Don’t stop. Oh, yeah, feel my tits.” Karen froze momentarily and then took a deep breath and did just that. The weight, the fullness, the feeling of those hard, dark nipples in her hands was sensory overload. Something deep inside her, something instinctual made her want those nipples in her mouth. Without saying a word, Tracy knew and lowered her tits to her waiting mouth.
Karen took to making love to a woman like a duck takes to water. She licked and kissed and softly sucked like she wanted to be sucked. She did it the way she knew deep in her gut would feel pleasurable. In that moment she understood what people meant when they said that only another woman knows how to pleasure a woman. Tracy was moaning, rubbing her pussy against Karen’s thigh. It was slippery and hot and distracting. “Oh, Tracy, this is driving me crazy. Fuck me.”
Tracy responded with a smile. She turned Karen over and proceeded to kiss her way down her back, her thighs, all over her ass, her tongue leaving a wet trail down her spine. Karen had had enough of the tease and wanted more. Tracy grabbed her hips and pulled her to her knees, causing Karen to gasp for air. She gently parted the soft, pink folds of flesh that enveloped all that made Karen a woman and stared. Almost imperceptibly, she took her finger and gently caressed Karen’s clit. In that moment Karen was 100% sure John had never touched her so softly, never found her spot so intentionally. She arched her back and let out a hiss. Her breathing was short, raspy. The sensation didn’t last long as Tracy’s fingertips explored further, softly touching and caressing her soaking wet pussy. The next sensation she felt was that of hot breath on her inner thighs, her ass, her pussy. It was as if Tracy was making love to her pussy with her eyes, not even touching it, just looking at it, examining it in a way no one had ever done before. Karen was chanting, “Eat me . . . lick me . . . fuck me . . . FUCK ME . . .”
Reaching between her legs, Karen started to rub her own pussy but Tracy moved her hand away. She replaced her fingertip with her tongue and began to lick softly. Karen’s words now were incoherent, she was speaking the language of supreme ecstasy. From her clit to her asshole and back again, Tracy tasted every inch of Karen’s wet slit. She sucked where she was supposed to, licked in just the right spots. And just when Karen didn’t think she could take any more teasing, Tracy took her fingers and pushed them inside Karen’s dripping wet pussy. They probed and pushed all the right spots. That was enough to send her over the edge but Tracy had other plans. Flipping her over, holding her legs back, Tracy started licking her again. This time her focus was solely on her clit, she was going to bring her to orgasm with the flicking motion of her tongue. Karen grabbed Tracy’s head and held it close as she sputtered profanities and practically screamed how good it felt.
Just as Karen was about to reach her special moment, Tracy stopped. She climbed up Karen’s body and kissed her again, letting her taste her own juices. Karen sucked her tongue feverishly. She felt out of control. She was caressing Tracy’s body now, begging for release. She felt uninhibited, unrestrained by the fears and apprehensions she previously possessed. Then, there, it was about feeling good, nothing more, nothing less. She held up her tits to her friend. “Here, suck them.” It was a symbolic gesture, symbolizing a closeness and a bond that the two friends shared. It was representative of giving her sexuality to a woman in a way that most would never share.
Tracy needed no further encouragement and lowered her mouth to the hardened nipples. Softly, she sucked. It wasn’t about her pleasure, it was about the intimacy, connection, and passion between the two friends. As her mouth filled with the sweet, warm liquid, she heard Karen’s gentle moans. Her own pussy was flowing freely now as her friend humped her thigh against her mound. She slid her fingers inside Karen again, this time, intending to give her an earth-shattering orgasm. At this point, Karen was so wet, the entire room was filled with the sounds of her being finger fucked.
Both women were moaning, groaning, chanting, cursing. At the last minute, Tracy slid her body around and placed her pussy against Karen’s. It was soft and wet and unlike anything Karen had ever felt before. They fucked each other. They rubbed their clits against one another, pink against pink, holding on to each other for dear life until they both felt the waves of impending pleasure overtake them.
Karen slid out of bed in the early morning hours. She needed to get home to the before they started moving around. She softly kissed Tracy goodbye and whispered that she would call her later that afternoon. Tracy’s heart dropped. She felt terrible about breaking her own rule. Karen comforted her as best she could under the circumstances, assured her that their friendship was important and she was unwilling to let it go. Tracy wasn’t sure exactly what the future held for their friendship but she willing to face the consequences, come what may.
Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
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Filling the Void
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:06 pm
Last Updated:Apr 18, 2024 12:46 am
8910 Views
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Who would have thought that after a year of sitting at home alone, I would be on a date? Not only a date, but a date with a great guy. I'd been standing in the grocery store, minding my business, when the gentleman in front of me turned around and said, "Can you watch my for two seconds, I just need to run and get some Pampers, right there." He pointed to the aisle directly behind us and then his . She was wearing the cutest little t-shirt with Kente embroidery on it and the brightest smile you'd ever want to see.
"Sure, go ahead." No sooner than her father walked away, the little girl stood up in the cart and made a lunge for the candy, trying to leap like she was the star acrobat in the UniverSoul Circus. I grabbed her just in time before she took a big spill on the floor. "Slow down there little lady." Rather than her being scared by a stranger, she fit in my arms perfectly and started playing with my earrings and talking to me quite fluently in little girl baby talk.
By the time her father came back, he was apologizing. "I'm so sorry. Let me guess, she made a dive for the candy. I don't let her have sugar and her mother does so we go through a period of withdrawal every time it's my time for custody." She was smiling at me with this little innocent, angelic, brown face and all I could do was come to her defense.
"Nooooo, she . . . it wasn't like that. She was just , , , " I wasn't very good at lying and I just stopped in mid sentence. "What's your name, Princess?"
She told me her name quite promptly. I didn't understand what the heck she said but at that point, she was focused on my necklace and jabbering away about something I'm sure only another two year old or a parent could understand. "Her name is Shakhari, and she is indeed my little princess. I'll take her back now, thanks." Shakhari was having none of that and she grabbed my neck and laid her sweet little head on my shoulder. "I share joint custody with her mother and when she lives with me, my brother, and his two sons; she's the only woman in the house. She has a need for female bonding that defies logical thinking. That estrogen is some powerful stuff, right?"
"It's okay, I'll hold her, go ahead, it looks like you could use an extra hand." While Daddy was unpacking the cart, getting his super savings card swiped, and paying, I was checking him out; he was actually very cute. He had a full beard and a delicious looking chocolate complexion and a shopping cart full of health food. I whispered in Shakhari's ear, "You know, your Daddy is pretty handsome."
That must have been the magic phrase because almost immediately Shakhari wanted to go back to Daddy and she reached out to him. He scooped her up and kept loading his cart with the bags like he was the featured juggler with UniverSoul. Right before they were ready to leave, he said, "Say goodbye to the pretty lady, Shakhari." She blew me a big kiss and I could hear her saying bye-bye over and over until they were well beyond the automatic doors.
I paid for my groceries and made my way to the parking lot. I was putting my groceries in the back seat and still thinking about Dad and that sexy smile when I heard someone say, "Excuse me." I looked up and it was him. "I didn't get your name. I'm Vernon; I wanted to thank you for taking care of my little lady. I was wondering if . . . Do you think it would be okay if I gave you my number and you could give me a call . . . that is if you aren't married or seeing someone or anything. Sorry, I'm not very good at this. I haven't dated in a long while so I'm a little out of practice. I'm sorry."
I extended my hand, "I'm Deborah, nice to meet you. There's no need to apologize." He handed me his business card with his home and cell written on the back. A week later I was on a date with him, sitting at a table staring into the dreamiest eyes possible and pinching myself that he was so amazing.
The chemistry was just there, it wasn't forced or anything, we just seemed to connect. He told me that he'd moved to the area two years ago, a little before Shakhari was born, and his pregnant girlfriend at the time had no intention of moving away from her family, and they had no plans to get married. "I got a chance to really make a difference," he explained, "so when my brother told me they were opening an Office of Minority Affairs in the county, and were looking for someone to head it up, and he could get me an interview, I jumped at the chance. Janet is a massage therapist on a cruise ship for 3 or 4 months at a time so it works our perfectly that I can take Shakhari, my brother and his two teenage sons are the perfect babysitters whenever I need them. When she is with her Mom, I feel like my entire life is on hold." He explained to me that he'd largely gotten caught up in his ex's looks and while he could have made better choices in a partner, and used a lot more precaution, i.e. protection, he was making the best of the situation and being the best father he knew how to be.
The more we talked, the more attracted I was. Sure, we'd talked on the phone, gotten to know each other a little bit before the date, but there was something about being in his presence, smelling his cologne, seeing those shoulders, just being in the company of a man that was intoxicating. I told him my sad story, of how I'd let myself love a man who didn't love me and how it had fucked with my self esteem so I'd been alone for a while, just trying to work on myself. Isolated was a better term for it. I'd sort of shut myself off from the rest of the world to figure things out and make sense of it all. Usually, when you admit flaws to a man, they run 100 yards in the opposite direction but Vernon was hanging right in there with me, it didn't seem to disturb him in the least. I could tell from his actions and his words that he was really interested in finding a woman of substance, which is rare. Most men are looking for a woman of beauty, who won't question them or demand anything of them. He explained that after Shakhari was born, he was intent on finding a great role model for his and a great partner with whom he could build a life together. Boy was I glad the recipe I was using called for shallots that night and I had to run to the store.
After dinner, we walked hand in hand by the bay, looking out over the water and up at the stars. We sat on a bench for a while and watched the other couples walk by, kissing and hugging, feeling each other up as if no one could see what they were doing. I got a little chilly and he gave me his jacket and put his arms around my shoulders. It was getting late but I was in no rush to end the date so I asked him if he wanted to come back to my place for a drink.
I had no plans on having sex with him; I just wanted to appreciate his company a little more. Vernon was picking out music in the living room while I was in the kitchen getting out the glasses and opening the wine. All of a sudden it hit me that I had made a huge mistake. Wine, music, alone in my apartment. Duh, that meant SEX! Hot, buck naked, sweaty sex. My hands started shaking and I couldn't even hold the bottle opener steady. I was trying to figure out a way to put a stop to the whole thing, call it off, ask him to leave, when Vernon came in the kitchen and said, "Deborah, is everything alright? Here, let me help you with that."
He intentionally stood behind me, pressing his body against mine, and wrapped his arms around me, placing his hands on top of mine, and opened the bottle. My heart was racing out of my chest. I could feel the fullness of my ass against him, his chest against my back, his arms were strong but his hands were gentle. I closed my eyes and laid my head back against his chest for a moment and just stood there. He started massaging my shoulders, and he said, "This is nice, thank you for inviting me over." I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear and in that moment, I felt like a woman. I am a woman of course, but when you spend so much time alone you don't get a chance to FEEL like a woman. I leaned back into him fully, subconsciously rubbing my ass on him, and I could detect the slightest movement in his pants.
That's when panic hit me. What the hell was I doing? I wiggled out from between the counter and his body and decided that I was going to gain full control of the situation. I was going to fake a headache and call it a night but Vernon beat me to it. "Whoa, look at the time," he said! "My nephew has rugby playoffs tomorrow and I have to get home to uhmmm . . . take care of things, to get ready. I mean I need to get up early to get the ready and . . . well, I better get going." He was trying to discretely reposition hi erection and scramble for his jacket to put in front of him.
I walked him to the door and we said our goodbyes. I guess neither one of us knew what was the appropriate thing to do. The date was awesome, there was chemistry out of this world, but we were both out of practice in the romance department. We stood at my doorway and saying what a great time we both had and how we should do it again soon. I knew good and damn well that I wanted a kiss. I could tell he wanted a kiss too. He stood there stalling for another minute until finally I just put my arms around his neck, leaned in close and closed my eyes.
The next thing I felt were his lips pressed softly against mine, his tongue softly exploring my mouth. He pulled my body tightly to his and I cupped his face in my hands. His hands explored my back and the further down they went, the more I moaned into his mouth. We went from 0 to 60 in five seconds flat. One kiss turned into deep soul kissing and there was no turning back. He sucked my tongue gently in his mouth and I got dizzy. His mouth tasted slightly sweet, like he'd eaten a mint in anticipation of kissing me while I wasn't looking. Our lips parted and he started kissing my neck. His technique was out of this world, gently sucking my hot spot and nibbling on my flesh while his hands were pulling me closer, rubbing me all over. There was no way I was going to let him leave so I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the living room. We both fell on the sofa and started making out like two teenagers in high school.
There is something transcendent about being in the arms of a Black man. Anyone who has ever had the pleasure can testify to that. Being in the arms of a beautiful Black man, after months of being alone, is like finding an oasis in the desert after crawling on the hot sands. When I'm in that moment, feeling his muscles, the power of his grasp, if feels like it's the reason I was created, it's like climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro and reaching the Apex. Pressing his full body weight into mine, he took my breath away. I tried to pull him closer, to become one with him, to somehow feel his breath inside of me. He put his leg between mine and I started humping on him. My skirt was sliding up and I kept trying to subconsciously pull it back down. My mind was so used to putting me off when they made advances; it was hard to turn off that record that allowed me to be fully sensual and expressive with a man.
Truth is, I was scared. I was scared of letting down my guard. I was unsure of how to be sexual with a man anymore. I wasn't sure what healthy boundaries were. I was playing all sorts of old tapes in my head about being a slut for sleeping with a man on the first date. I'm 30 years old and I was feeling like a on the couch with my mom upstairs, ready to scold me for being fast.
Vernon must have been having the same apprehensions, well, at least comparable ones. He sat up and moved to the far end of the sofa. I was still lying there, with my legs spread, breathing heavy, and a look of tortured lust on my face. I could clearly see the outline of his dick tenting his pants and he made no efforts to hide it.
"Is everything okay," I asked, sitting up and trying to gain some composure.
"Sure, I'm cool. It's just that I'm not really sure that we should be doing this. I can't lie; I want to be with you. You CAN'T imagine how much I want to be with you right now. It's just that I don't want my judgment clouded because it's been so long since I . . . you know. I'm into you for a lot of reasons but I don't want to just get caught up in the moment because I'm trying to fill the void, feel me? I'm not sure if I'm thinking with the right head."
I think we both needed that minute to catch our breath and regroup. To be honest, the fact that he wanted to slow things down made me want him that much more. Not completely because you always want what you think you can't have, but I'm sure that had a little to do with it, but mostly because he was actually thinking about the consequences of us getting too carried away. That was a first. Every other man I'd been with, once we'd gotten to the dry humping, spit swapping, simulating sex stage, there was nothing short of a natural disaster that could get them to think about anything other than fucking.
He pulled my skirt hem down to my knees, rather reluctantly I could tell, and then he pulled me onto his lap. We talked for a few minutes but neither of us made a move to end the evening. I tried to move to sit next to him, expressing that I was fearful that I was hurting him, and he sucked his teeth and gave me a look like, "Gurl, pleeease, don't even think that you could hurt me." I TOTALLY felt like a woman in the moment.
It was only then that all the work I'd done on myself, redefining and healing, kicked in. I was a vibrant, vital, woman with a lot to offer and sexual needs, the need for human contact. I was deserving of pleasure and sensual release. Yes, I wanted a relationship but more than that I wanted a man to appreciate me for more than being just a piece of ass. I was reasonably confident that Vernon didn't just want a one night stand. But the real kicker was in coming to terms with the fact that, even if he did, even if having a sex on the first date wasn't what I'd been conditioned to think a virtuous woman did, I was empowered and responsible for my happiness. I could choose to see the situation as one of opportunity and take ownership of my emotions afterwards, whatever the outcome.
I straddled Vernon's lap and faced him. I undid the buttons on my blouse, verrrry slowly. He didn't say a word; he just sat there and watched me. I pulled my blouse off and dropped it to the floor. I took his hands and placed them on my breasts and he started massaging them. I undid the snaps of my bra and let if find a home on the floor on top of my shirt. Instinctively, his mouth found my nipples and started sucking them. I held them up for him, feeding him, throwing my head back and enjoying the sensation of his tongue, moving from one titty to the other, licking my hardened nipples, sucking them, biting them gently, driving me absolutely fucking crazy.
I started grinding on him, undoing the buttons on his shirt. He said, "Wait, shouldn't we . . ." I didn't let him finish his sentence. I kissed him again, this time even more passionately than before, if that was at all possible, and silenced him.
"Vernon, do you want to . . ." I didn't know what words to use, have sex, make love, so I just said what I was really feeling in that moment. "Vernon, do you want to fuck me?"
Without missing a beat, he said, "Deborah, I want to fuck you so bad I can't see straight." He buried his face between the soft flesh of my breasts and pushed both nipples together and sucked them at the same time.
I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward my bedroom so we could stretch out and be more comfortable. He kept asking me if I was sure about this. I turned on my mackadocious music, the music I played when I wanted to get in the mood to fuck myself, and I started dancing for him, taking off the rest of my clothes. I slid out of my skirt and he just sat on the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable. Leaving my red lace panties on, I knelt between his legs and undid his belt buckle. He was looking down at me like he was having an out of body experience. I undid the button and lowered the zipper on his pants. I reached in his boxers and felt the heat of his dick. I pulled it from the opening and looked up at him, licked my lips, and licked the head. I saw his eyes roll back in his head and I knew that was my go ahead. I swirled my tongue around the head and started licking his shaft. I slipped my lips sensually up and down the length and took his entire dick in my mouth deeply. He was bucking his hips and I was matching his thrusts. He grabbed my by my shoulders and pushed me away. "Stop," he said breathing heavily, "I need you to slow down."
I stood up and turned around. I slid my panties down over my full hips and stepped out of them. By the time I had turned back around, Vernon was naked and laying on the bed looking like a chocolate vision of beauty. "My turn," he said, "and he stuck out his tongue. "I want to taste you." I climbed on the bed and tried to lie next to him. He wasn't having that and he told me that he wanted me to ride his face. For a woman who was out of practice at having sex, I wasn't sure I was comfortable being that assertive. I stopped myself before I got too caught up in old tapes in my head and accepted his invitation.
I grabbed the headboard and threw my leg across his shoulder. He stuck his tongue out and said, "Come on, baby, let me lick that sweet pussy." I lowered myself slowly, letting the lips of my pussy gently caress his lips. He started kissing my pussy, frenching them like he'd done to me earlier. I was biting my lip, trying to stifle my moans of appreciation but there was no use. I felt fucking fantastic. I started rubbing my pussy on his soft lips, sliding back and forth, feeling his tongue in my hole and his lips sucking at my clit. The sensations were out of the world. Before long, I was bouncing a little harder on his mouth, riding his tongue. Grabbing my ass, he pulled me forward and started licking me from my clit to my asshole. I'll be a black of a bitch if I could hold back my sounds of appreciation at that point. I was moaning and talking dirty, telling him how much I loved it.
"Ohhhh, yessss, sexy mother fucker. Let me ride that tongue, shove it in me. Oh shit, that feels so good." He grabbed thighs and pulled me tighter. Poor little thing, I could have suffocated him I was bouncing up and down on his face so hard. I could feel the tremors, they were building and there was no turning back.
I rolled over on the bed, exhausted, but energized at the same time. Vernon rolled over on me and kissed me and I could taste my juices on his tongue. "Do you need some time to recuperate," he whispered?
I reached between his legs and felt for his dick and rubbed it on the slit of my pussy. "Fuck me, NOW," was all I needed to say.
"Oh shit," he said, "Hold on there sweetness." He reached for his pants on the side of the bed and pulled out some condoms, opened the package with his teeth, and slid it on his dick. I was so happy he'd taken the initiative to be responsible because I would have kicked myself a thousand times in the morning for not insisting that we use protection.
Locked and fully loaded, he placed my legs on his shoulders. He looked down at me and rubbed the head of his dick on my slit. I was sweating, trying to get him to penetrate me. I was still soaking wet from cumming before but I hadn't felt a real dick in my in so long, I couldn't wait any longer. Vernon made me wait. He teased me, excruciatingly painful teasing. He pushed the head in and I gripped the sheets. I was tighter than usual I guess, from not having sex in so long, so he had to work hard to get it all in. We were both sweating and grunting and he was going deeper and deeper. Finally, I could feel his balls on my ass and the head of his dick was deep inside me.
Gripping my thighs, he started fucking me. When I say he was fucking me, he would withdraw all the way to the head and then push every millimeter inside me, rhythmically, methodically, sensually. I was twisting and turning, playing with his nipples, playing with my own, rubbing my clit, just adding to the sensations. I grabbed his ass and started trying to get him to fuck me harder. We were grunting and groaning, he was fucking me senseless. He let my legs go and I wrapped them around his back. He fell on top of me and we began kissing passionately. Our sweaty bodies were slipping and sliding together.
"Oh shit, I'm going to cum."
He fell on the bed, staring at the ceiling, not saying a word. I pulled the covers over us and drifted off to sleep snuggled up next to him. I awoke to the sounds of him getting dressed, glanced at the clock, and it said 5:30.
"Listen, Shakhari has never woken up with me not there so I need to run," he whispered. "I left the address of where my nephew is going to be playing. Meet us there when you get a chance. I can't wait to see you later." He kissed my forehead. "Go back to sleep and get some rest and we can pick up where we left off tonight."
I was relieved. While I was prepared for the big blow off, I was pleased that it looked like things were going to move ahead. Where things were going to go was entirely up to us but I was pretty assured that he hadn't just taken advantage of me and I was confident that I had truly made the empowered choice that signaled a sensual rite of passage for me as a woman.
(And just so you know, he nephew's team won the regional title.)
Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK
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Ebony Latino Love
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:05 pm
Last Updated:Nov 15, 2013 4:11 am
8670 Views
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She held her breath as she waited amongst the masses in the terminal at Hartsfield Airport. After more than two years of loving and fighting and loving again, they were finally going to meet. Theirs was an Internet/interracial love that had gone through more stages of development than an unborn . Metaphorically, if things went well, Chantal and Juan were about to give birth to a love that defied definition.
He ascended the escalator and a lump formed in his throat. All of his dreams were wrapped tightly in this encounter. Finally, he was to know deep within his heart if the love he had felt for her the minute they virtually met so long ago was real. I was her openness for learning Latino culture and his adoration of the strength and resilience of Black women that kept them together. It was their stubbornness that kept them apart.
Their eyes connected instantly, as if they were drawn together like two inseparable parts of a whole. He dropped his bag at her feet and took his Ebony beauty into his arms. She fit perfectly in his arms as she stood on tiptoe to find her spot in his arms. He became erect immediately, not because of lust but because he knew immediately that he belonged to her. He had found his spiritual home within her soul and he knew his search had ended. Her tears flowed steadily and he comforted her with his soothing, gentle voice and whispered his professions of love to her. The crowd around them disappeared as they melted into each other's arms.
The ride to her home was made in silence. Juan had to adjust himself at times to accommodate the raging erection that he couldn't control. Chantal was afraid to speak because she thought the magical spell would break. Juan was too busy staring at his wife to make idle conversation. Not his future wife, but his wife in the most spiritual sense. No license or ceremony in the world could validate the love that emanated from his very being for her at that moment. Nothing could keep them apart from this point on. He couldn't help but stare at her beauty and poise and enchanting curves.
Chantal fumbled with the key to her apartment for a few seconds; afraid to open the threshold to what could possibly be her wildest dreams becoming a reality. Juan knew he was home the second he stepped in the door. He would have to call his job and take a leave of absence while he looked for a job in Atlanta because he knew there was no way in hell he was going back to Cali without her. The door was barely closed when he pulled her to him and showered her neck with kisses. She responded more passionately this time, uninhibited by the presence of weary travelers and Homeland Security personnel. Her nipples were hard and the moistness between her legs was only a tiny signal of the passion that was about to transpire.
They kissed and it cemented in both their minds that there was no turning back. Chantal pulled Juan to the floor on top of her as their lust consumed them. She was grabbing for his dick and he was ripping the blouse from her body as buttons flew everywhere. They were two passionate, lust-filled animals in heat writhing on the floor as they surrendered to the years of intellectual and emotional foreplay they had shared.
Their kisses fed their hunger for one another. They feasted on each other, drank of each other's essence. Chantal spread her legs and awaited her moment of reckoning. He lowered his mouth to her sweet center. Her slippery and sweet juices were flowing freely. Her lips were parted slightly, exposing her silken and pink center. His tongue softly flicked at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Chantal's body jerked and shook every time his lips sucked her sensitive button. The more he licked the wetter she became. Her moans and utterances of profane and graphic directions were music to his ears. "Baby, I love the way you lick my pussy . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . yesssss. . . finger me. Oh Papi, it feels so good. Ay Dios mio. Mas duro, por favorrrrr. Ahora." Juan cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her pussy to his mouth and drove his tongue deep inside her. I need you inside me now. NOW," she screamed. Chantal was lost in so much pleasure her tears began to flow as freely as the cum that now coated Juan' face.
Juan held back the tears in his own eyes as he prepared to take his final journey home. They moaned out in ecstasy as he penetrated her very soul. Juan was content that he had found his reason for living. Every trial, every pain and hurt that he had ever suffered, was washed away by the sweet juices that coated his raging hardon. He was so deep inside her, so completely enveloped in the core of her being, he got lost in her identity and they became one.
His orgasm hit him hard. More than just the physical sensation of pleasure overtook him; it was the realization that they could not be separated ever again. He had left his mark inside her; his seed would surely grow. He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him and comforted him in her sweet and loving embrace.
"Te quiero mucho," she whispered, as they drifted off into a peaceful slumber-forever to be man and wife.
(c) AfroerotiK
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A Major Milestone
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Posted:Aug 23, 2013 12:02 pm
Last Updated:Apr 18, 2024 12:46 am
8721 Views
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Every relationship undergoes key pivotal points in its evolution. Casual dating transitions to an exclusive arrangement. Exclusivity begets genuine feelings of love. Love ushers in cohabitation: a combining of lifestyles and possessions, a bold declaration that the pairing has a sense of permanence, and a testing ground for matrimony. Of course, there are sexual acts as well that serve as major milestones in a relationship. The exploration of fantasy and sharing a "first" builds trust and intimacy and signals a stronger, more tangible bond.
For Tammy and Robert, their three-year relationship was about to turn the corner into un-chartered territory. The plans were made, the date was set, the cable had been cut off . . . all the details were in place for Robert to make the move from Georgia to Florida to create a new home for himself under the same roof as his beautiful queen and soulmate. He was nervous about what the big change might bring but completely confident in his decision. In anticipation of the big move and as a special gift to Tammy, he planned a surprise get-away, week-long vacation to Exuma, Bahamas Grand Isle Villas. It was a luxury resort that had every amenity one could ever want or hope for: a free form pool with a swim-up bar, a private chef for in-villa dining and most importantly, a crescent-shaped white sand beach that was created by God for the sole purpose of rest and relaxation and soaking up the sun. It was his way of saying, "Tammy . . . I'm so in love with you. Thank you for completing me," and to set a peaceful, relaxing stage before movers, boxes, and disorganization reigned supreme. They had seven whole days with none of the pressures and stresses of fixed interests rates or balloon payments or doctors and insurance companies making demands that were fiscally impossible. In their Caribbean hide-a-way, they could even be free of those pesky nuisances of being in an interracial relationship that were subtle but taxing irritants.
From the moment their plane landed, they soaked up every decadent and hedonistic experience they could. There wasn't a massage, spa treatment, or beverage they didn't sample. Robert worked on his all-over tan, opting to do a little bit of nude sunbathing. Tammy was more than happy to assist in applying suntan oil, which ended up serving as lubricant for a heated round of anal sex one afternoon, in full view of passengers on a sailboat that was anchored slightly off-shore. There was no shame or embarrassment to be felt, they were a couple taking advantage of paradise and living with no regrets.
By day four, Tammy was ready to venture out to do some shopping. They combed the tiny streets of Exuma, in search of the perfect gifts to take home to friends and family. The Peace and Plenty Gift Shop had such an inviting name, it was virtually impossible not to go in.
"Welcome to Peace and Plenty, is there something in particular that you are looking for today?" The voice came from the shop owner as she came out from behind the counter to greet the pair face to face. She was breathtaking-and quite willing to share lots of intimate details about her life in a very short period of time. Raised in Brazil, her name was Kia and it seems her mother was half French and Spanish and her father was half Kenyan and Indian. She ended up on the island after having gone on vacation with an ex-boyfriend and falling in love with the place and making the decision never to leave. She purchased the shop for a steal after Hurricane Andrew and never looked back.
Tammy began moving around the shop in complete ease and comfort. Robert was content to just watch the two chat and browse. It was more than apparent that the ladies were getting along like long lost friends who'd been reunited. Kia proclaimed, "Here, you absolutely must try on this bikini, it will look fabulous on you." She pulled Tammy behind a small partition that was cordoned off to create a make shift fitting room. They seemed to be in there for an inordinately long period of time and Robert wondered what could be happening. As the curtain was pulled back and Tammy emerged, he saw the signs of her arousal. Her nipples were hardened and poking out from the thin material, her breathing was shallow, and her eyes were glazed over with a look of pure lust. Robert could feel his cock stiffen with unspoken excitement. Kia emerged, equally as radiant and supercharged with sexuality. All Robert could do was say, "WOW, you look fantastic. We'll take it."
Back at the villa, Robert was anxious for details of what had happened in the fitting room but he knew Tammy well enough to be patient and that she would share at the perfect time. He didn't have to wait long because shortly after they'd unpacked and repacked all their souvenirs, there was a knock at the door. "In your haste, you forgot your old clothes. Lucky for me, you mentioned where you were staying so I could return it to you."
"Oh, thank you so much, do come in," Tammy said as she closed the door. Did it really matter that the premise of returning the clothes was a thinly-veiled rouse coordinated by Tammy? As soon as she was safely inside, Kia turned and the ladies began kissing, making out really, while Robert stood staring in disbelief. Tammy broke the kiss long enough to come over to him and whisper in his ear, "This is my way of saying, 'Thank you for completing me, sit back, relax, and enjoy. I love you.'"
Robert almost couldn't believe his eyes. It was like a dream. The incredibly sexy woman he loved more than anyone or anything was about to make love to another incredibly sexy woman for his enjoyment. He sat back in a comfortable chair, pulled out his cock, and watched the seduction begin. Tammy was amazing, expressive, uninhibited in her actions. Her movements were fluid as she gave into passion like she'd never known before. Not once did she hesitate or have second thoughts as she devoured every inch of Kia's body with her mouth. Kia, no stranger to being with another woman, was equally as talented and brought Tammy to several orgasms with her mouth and fingers. She took special pleasure in sucking on Tammy's gorgeous breasts. Intertwining their legs, they rubbed their clits against one another, mixing their juices and aromas like a special blend of perfume.
Robert was stroking himself, crazy with lust. Just when he thought things couldn't get any better, couldn't get any hotter, he felt the tender caress of soft lips against his own. Almost at the same time, a set of lips began sucking his erection. Tammy was sharing her man out of love, out of connection and there was no jealousy or competition to be found between the three of them.
The remainder of the three days were spent making, erotic, exotic love; Robert, Tammy and Kia. It was a stepping stone for the couple, a portal through which they traveled in order to become closer. There were no regrets to be had. Back in the States, they would consummate their combined lives with renewed vigor and the knowledge that they could look forward to the next major milestone in their relationship with eager anticipation.
Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK
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