I Want Her To Know What Love Is

This is the beginning a new series in the Romance category, because I'm nearly done with My Husband Fucked Me Over. My next chapter of that tale should arrive a week after this one does. This is more of an introductory chapter, so not much in the way of sex happens. There is some masturbation, a massage with a happy ending, and a hand job. My thanks to JohnnyGalt for his editorial assistance. My works are copyrighted and not to be duplicated, edited, published or posted anywhere without the authors express permission. ©

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Copyright, 2024.

I Want Her to Know What Love Is - Ch 1

I Meet an Old Acquaintance

I was headed home, tooling down West Lake Street in Minneapolis after a day of golf and business deals at the Town and Country Club Golf Course in Saint Paul. I had just signed a multi million dollar contract that was going to make me a hell of a lot richer than I already was, and that was pretty wealthy. In fact, I was driving a Lucid Air Sapphire I'd paid a quarter million dollars for. I'd bought it in anticipation of the deal. It was a lot to spend for a car, but this baby could go from 0-60 in less than two seconds, and a quarter mile in under nine. It had three electric motors cranking out over 1200 horsepower, and still got 427 miles between recharges.

I was selling technology no one else had, so it was a question of who wanted it more. Turns out, they all wanted it, but the high bidder got a five year exclusive deal on it, before anyone else got it.

Now for those of you who don't know the Minneapolis area, Lake Street is known as a place to find a hooker if you wanted sex on the fly. Every election year, the politicians pushed it off Lake Street a few blocks, but as soon as the elections were over, they were back on Lake Street plying their trade.

I didn't pay for sex. I did all right on my own, and you'd always need to worry about what you were getting with a pro. But I did see one lady who I thought I recognized, and I had to do another spin around the block to check it out. I pulled up next to this gorgeous black woman, with a four inch afro. Damn, could it really be her?

Now by her, I'm referring to the lust of my life, even though she didn't know I existed. Her name was Sonia Anderson. I grew up in Waverly, Minnesota, a small, primarily rural community west of Minneapolis. Waverly's main claim to fame was it was the former home of former vice-president, Hubert Humphrey. He had a home on Waverly Lake where he died after many years of service in government. At the time I went to high school, there were two black people in the town, Sonia, and her adoptive half white brother, Jared. They were both adopted by a white couple, who also adopted a handicapped white child. As far as I could tell, they were the most loving people in Minnesota, adopting three hard to adopt children.

Now two black kids growing up in white bread rural Minnesota, you might think they'd suffer the slings and arrows of racial bias. You would be wrong. They were two of the most popular kids in school. I don't know why, they didn't seem any more or less better than anyone else. Jared was the homecoming king his senior year, also my senior year. His sister, Sonia, a junior was head cheerleader. Maybe it was the novelty of it, two black kids in a field of white.

Let me describe Sonia a little. She was 5-8, an amazing oval face with a smile that could kill, spreading from side to side of her amazing face. That smile was a religious experience. Her color was an astonishing light milk chocolate caramel color that reminded me of a café au lait. She had a taut, trim waist, and narrow hips, and the world's most perfect ass. Since I'd never seen her naked, you might wonder why I considered her ass perfect. Ah, those tight little knickers that cheerleaders wear under those ridiculously short skirts. That is the ass I'm referring to. And her breasts. If her ass wasn't perfect, her breasts would have been my favorite feature. Now, perhaps you are having difficulty imagining what Sonia looked like.

Google Nereyda Bird, and look at her pictures. Some will be nude. Sonia was like Nereyda or Ned, as she goes by sometimes, with just a little smaller boobs, perhaps a C instead of a D cup. Beautiful, simply beautiful. I was entranced the moment I saw her in my junior year, when she moved up from the junior high to the high school. It was culture shock for me. I never saw black people except on TV, and they weren't always portrayed in the best light, but I was gobsmacked. There was no other word for it. She was a dark angel and I was the court fool.

She was the reason I'm an ass man. Unfortunately, Sonia never knew I existed. I was a nerd. I hated being a nerd. I liked being smart, but I hated being lumped in with all the other misfits. It wasn't just that I was a nerd, but I was clumsy, and inept at sports. Part of it is that I grew over a foot in my last two years of high school. My legs never knew which way they were going. I tripped over everything. I was 5-4 at the end of my sophomore year and 135 pounds. By the end of my senior year, I was 6-4 and 170 pounds. I looked like a scarecrow. I hated it. I started working out in my junior year, hoping to add meat to my bones. Unfortunately, my bones were using up all the food and work I was trying to do. I remained skinny and ungainly and clumsy.

Sonia was attracted to the athletic types. She was a cheerleader and she liked basketball players, and football players and wrestlers. She wasn't particularly attracted to the drama students, the math club or chess club students, the National Honor Society students; the nerds in other words. So I worshipped her from afar; far afar. I couldn't even swear she knew my name.

So why am I telling you about my helpless infatuation for Sonia Anderson now. Because I swear I saw her hawking her wares on Lake Street, and even if it wasn't Sonia standing out there, I had to know who she was.

Now, I graduated from high school ten years ago. After graduating, I went into the Army, and once I quit growing up, I finally started filling out. I did add one more inch after I graduated, so I currently stood 6-5 and was built like a pro athlete. I lost the clumsiness and the sports ineptitude once my body quit changing on a daily basis. I was a five handicap in golf, a fairly decent basketball player, a terror on the volleyball court, and not bad at a half dozen other things. My own mother didn't recognize me when I mustered out of Delta Force.

I'd taken on-line college classes in the Army, getting two years of credits while serving, and finished up my last two years, getting an engineering degree at MIT. I'd started my own company in Minnesota about two years ago, and had already patented and sold a half dozen new tech gizmos that made me wealthy, like half a billion dollars wealthy, and today, I was going to engage the services of a hooker.

"Hey, stranger. Want to party?" She asked when I stopped beside her, rolling down my window.

"What's it cost to party?" I asked.

She stuck her head in my open window and looked me over. "I don't know. Are you a cop?"

It might be Sonia. It was close, but the last ten years might not have been as kind to her as they were to me. The smile looked a little more plastic, and not the infectious grin that drove me apeshit in my dreams.

"Do I look like a cop? Do cops drive cars like this?"

"If they confiscate a drug dealer's car, they can."

"No, I'm not a cop."

"You kind of look like a cop."

"Must be my military background. Are we going to deal?"

"A hundred for a BJ, two hundred for regular, and you use a condom."

"Are those the going rates?"

She laughed. "They are for a guy who drives a car like this. I don't even know what this is."

That was a little more like the smile I remembered.

"How much for the night?"

"A thousand, but I'm discounting the price because you look clean and smell good."

"So, it would normally be more if I was fat and had bad breath?"

"Probably twice as much if you were driving this. Maybe still a thousand if you were driving a five year old Honda Civic."

"How about $40,000 for a month?"

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you shitting me?"

"No. I don't have $40,000 on me at the moment, but I can give you a thousand now and give you the rest tomorrow morning after the banks open."

"Let's see the cash."

I pulled out a fat wallet and passed her 10 hundreds. "Get in," I said, unlocking the door.

"Where are we going?"

"Out to eat, for starters."

"Are you a serial killer?"

"The President of Honeywell doesn't think so. He just paid me a hundred million for a gadget I just invented. But really, make up your mind. I can't be both a cop and a serial killer."

"Untrue. You could be. You'd just have to clever about it. Isn't the TV show Dexter about a cop that's a serial killer?"

"That's a TV show. Not sure that applies to real life situations. If you're worried about it, take a photo of my license plate and send it to someone you trust. If they don't hear back from you tomorrow, sic the cops on me."

"Good idea."

She took a photo of my license plate, then sent it off, before she climbed into the car.

"Look, I don't know if I can spend a month with you. What would we be doing?"

"I don't know. Pretty much whatever I want, wouldn't you think?"

"I could give you maybe a week?"

"Why not a month?"

"I've got a kid. I don't think I should leave him with my mother for a month."

"How old?"

"Seven."

"Boy or girl?"

"Why the third degree?"

"I want to know who I'm spending time with. What's your name?"

"Star."

"Bullshit. If you're a Star, I'll give you another thousand, but you have to show me your driver's license."

"Fine, Hannah."

I glanced at her. "Nope, not a Hannah either. I'm thinking something else, like maybe a Sharon or Sonia."

She glanced sharply at me when I said Sonia.

"Do I know you?"

"I don't know, do you?"

She stared at me a long time. "I don't think so. I think I'd remember you."

"Must not know me then. So, Sharon?"

"Have it your way. Call me Sharon."

"You still haven't told me your kid's name."

"Not going to. It's none of your business."

"Fair enough, but I was thinking, if I give you a week, and we like each other, maybe your kid could join us for the rest of the month. I'd have to know his name then."

"If we're still together in a week, I'll tell you his name, but I won't fuck in front of him."

"Do you think I'm a barbarian? Of course not. A boy then. Nice to know. If I have to buy him a gift, I'll get him a baseball glove instead of a doll."

She smiled again. God that smile. That was almost Sonia's smile, the way I remembered it.

"Where were you going to eat?"

"I like Manny's Steakhouse. Do you like steak?"

"I love steak, but I'm not dressed for Manny's."

"Let's stop at Nordstrom's or Macy's and get you something you can wear to Manny's"

"I can't afford to buy nice clothes at either of those places."

"You're not paying, I am."

"This isn't coming off my fee?"

"Of course not. Completely separate. You get $10,000 for the week, no matter what we do."

"What exactly are you hoping for during this week?"

"Well, I can't say exactly. I guess it depends on you."

"What depends on me?"

"I'd like to fuck you bareback."

"No way, Jose."

"Here's the offer. We both go to the doctor's tomorrow, my treat. Have a physical, get medical documentation. No fucking until we get the results. When we get it, we fuck bareback. You are on birth control, right?"

"Sure, but why?"

"Because it feels better than wearing a condom. I like the mix of body fluids. I like to feel my cock slide through wet pussy. I want to lick your pussy."

"You want to lick whore pussy?"

"I want to lick yours. When I lick it, I'll know you're clean."

"And we won't have sex until we get the results?"

"That's the deal."

"You're paying an awful lot of money for no sex."

"It's my money to spend, and I can afford it."

"What do we do then, while we're waiting."

"Whatever we want. Go out to eat, go to a movie, go to a play, or an art gallery or a museum, play parcheesi, or cribbage, or watch Netflix. Go on a picnic, get to know one another."

"Is it some kind of girlfriend experience you're looking for? You never fucked a black girl before? If you're looking for a girlfriend, you can find one cheaper than I am."

"I've had sex with a couple black women before you. I wasn't looking for a girlfriend, but I'll take it under advisement."

"Since we're sharing, what's your name?" Oh, oh. I didn't think she ever knew my name, but maybe she did.

"My army buddies call me 'Rooster'," I said. "You can call me Rooster."

"Rooster?"

"Kind of a call sign, like Maverick in 'Top Gun'. Don't even know why they started calling me that. I'll tell you my real name when you tell me yours, Sharon."

She looked at me again. "Because you were fucking all the chickens in the yard?"

I laughed. "Maybe. I was rather indiscriminate at one time. Girls never paid attention to me when I was younger, so I got a little carried away when they started. Or maybe they thought I looked like a young John Wayne, you know, Rooster Cogburn."

She looked at me again. "I can't believe no one paid attention to you. No, it's the first one."

I laughed. "Never thought of that. You don't have any drugs on you, do you?"

"A little weed."

"I can live with a little weed. Nothing that would get you arrested, right? I need to keep a security clearance."

"No."

I pulled into Nordstrom's. "Why don't you pick out five outfits, a couple for the evening, some daytime, any lingerie you might need for the next week, some sleeping clothes, whatever you think you might need, including toiletries."

"Are you going to help pick my clothes out?"

"Do you have good taste?"

"I like to think so."

"Then it sounds like you won't need my help. Pick out what you want."

I followed her into the ladies attire section, and let her pick up some items. She picked up an LBD, plus something in purple that looked slinky, a sundress, shorts, jeans, a couple of tees, some lingerie, including a couple of bras, a package of dainty panties, a sleep shirt, some black heels and tan sandals.

"I've got a pool, get yourself a swimsuit, too," I said.

She went looking for a suit, and came back with a small bikini I'd give my left pinky to see her in. Total cost, around $1500. She could have spent more, but she watched the prices, taking the least expensive of her two possible choices most of the time. The only thing she splurged on appeared to be the lingerie. She left the store wearing the little black dress and FMPs, I wasn't sure about the lingerie. She could still be wearing what she had on before. We put her purchases in the trunk and went to a drug store and she got whatever else she thought she'd need for a week, including tampons.

Sonia noticed me looking at the box. "It's probably ten days off, but better safe than sorry. Are you sure you don't want a box of condoms?"

"I've got some at home if I get desperate."

"Suit yourself."

We went to Manny's and I helped her out of the car. The shopping had delayed our dinner, but it was after eight on a week night, so even though I didn't have a reservation, we got seated right away. I also held her chair for her, which she seemed to appreciate.

"Drinks?" The waiter asked.

"Order whatever you like," I said. "Would you like champagne, or something to go with steaks."

"Champagne would be nice. I'll have water with the steaks."

"The Louis Roederer Cristal, please," I told our waiter, "and a Doc Swinson's 21 bourbon for me with the steak."

"Yes, sir. A great choice. I'll have the champagne here shortly." He left.

"So, tell me a little about yourself, Sharon."

"What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell me. Were you born in Minnesota? Are you parents still alive?"

"I was born in Minnesota, and I was adopted when I was around one. My parents adopted two other children. I was raised west of the Twin Cities. My Mom is still alive, My father died six years ago, heart attack."

"Were you married or was your son an accident?"

"I was married."

"But not now?"

"No."

"Divorced?"

"Deceased, acute alcohol poisoning. He turned into a drunk."

"He wasn't when you got married?"

"I didn't know he was. He tended to party after football games, mostly beer, so I only saw him drinking once a week."

"Watching or playing?"

"Playing. High school quarterback." The jock, not the nerd.

"Any college?"

"A year."

"I could keep asking you questions for the next week, or you could just volunteer some information."

She smiled again. It was getting there.

"I was a cheerleader, dated the quarterback. He thought he was hot stuff. I thought he was hot stuff. He got a scholarship to play at the U of M. We got married right after high school, and I started classes there too. He never got off the bench, started drinking a lot, lost his scholarship. I got pregnant and quit school. He sank into a drunken stupor. A couple of his drinking buddies raped me. I left him, came back after Tommy was born because he promised to change, left him again when he didn't, and he died, drinking himself to death."

"So your son's name is Tommy?"

"Tricked me, you bastard," although she smiled when she said it.

"How did you end up in your chosen profession?"

"Raising a son by myself, very little in marketable skills. Turns out there aren't that many cheerleading jobs. The economy sucked."

"Whooda thunk it."

She smiled again. God, I could feel myself falling in love all over again, every time she smiled.

"Didn't you have family to help out?"

"They helped for a little bit, until my Dad died. His death didn't leave Mom well off. I couldn't leech off her. She can help with babysitting, but not much else. I'm half supporting her too."

"What about the other two your parents adopted?"

"One was disabled. The other one got killed by a police officer."

"He was a criminal?"

"Not really. He did hang with the wrong crowd after he graduated. Not gangs or criminals, but druggies, and he was probably a stoner himself. I never asked, but I recognized the symptoms, but his biggest problem was he had a smart mouth. After my dad died, I think the drugs got worse, and it's like he didn't give a shit anymore. He was close to my dad and it hit him hard. The cops were breaking up a bunch of his friends that were hanging around some business where they liked to hang, and he mouthed off to the wrong guy, and the cop didn't like it."

"Anything happen to the cop."

"He got charged with negligent homicide, using excessive force during an arrest. He got four years in prison, but he's out already."

"I'm sorry. Sounds like a rough life."

"It could have been better. I thought I had the world by the tail when I graduated high school. Turns out, I had it by the cock and it's been fucking me ever since."

A trace of bitterness, and not at all unexpected. We got our bottle of champagne and we each took a glass. Sonia sipped hers.

"God, this is great stuff. I've never had champagne this good." She took another sip and purred.

We gave our orders. We both skipped appetizers because it was so late. Sonia got the mixed green salad with a filet mignon, medium. I got the tomato and onion salad and bone-in ribeye, also medium.

After the waiter left again, she asked, "What about you, Rooster? What's your life story?"

"Well, like you, I was raised west of the Cities, small town. I was a nerd, gangly and skinny, which is why I didn't attract attention in high school. I grew like a weed my last two years of school, and it took a while afterward for my body to fill out. Because I was growing so fast, my body never really got coordinated. I was tripping and stumbling all over the place, which usually meant the other kids laughed.