"Black women," I had replied. Jake and I had been drinking for several hours and the conversation centered on our preferences in women. "A black woman on a hotel bed with starched white sheets for hours." I slammed the last half a glass of whiskey down my throat. "Without legs."
We had known each other for almost a year, just good drinking buddies. The part about legless women was a secret that I'd never shared with anyone, but I was drunk and it slipped out before I knew it. I could tell by the look on his face that he was surprised, but not shocked.
"No legs ... completely without legs?" he asked.
"Uh-huh."
"For me, I like them flat chested. Once I dated a woman missing one breast, the other was a grand B-cup. That was hot."
The bartender pushed two fresh drinks in front of us and took the empties. He looked at us as though we were getting too loud with our strange conversation then walked away without actually saying anything.
-
Jake was rich and well connected. He seemed to have anything he wanted, so it was no surprise when he called last night and said my birthday present would be in room 1108 at the Royal Palms at noon today. The conversation from a month ago had vanished along with the brain cells from too much drink that night.
The cardkey for the lock made the wonderful clunk that only hotel door locks seem to make then the door closes slowly behind me.
"You must be Mark, I'm Darla."
She swivels the glossy jet-black sports wheelchair until she faces me. Early thirties I guess, probably twenty years younger than I am. I don't mind. I take in the way her tan dress plunges to her navel and her pleasant breasts fold over her chest leaving soft rounded crevasses under them near the center of her chest. The face is to die for, her lips thin and well defined and kissable, her eyes brown and inviting, her black hair hangs stylishly just below her strong chin line. The hem of the dress ends inches in front of her and shows no signs of any thigh.
"Join me," she coos.
I watch as the dress dangles for a brief moment when she swings her hips from the wheelchair to the cushion of the couch in the large suite. Her skin is like a Hershey's bar of dark chocolate and I want a taste. The texture is smooth and even without a blemish. It is obvious there is no bra and I wonder if she wears any panties. I think it would be a shame to hide a pussy that just had to be as lovely as she was.
"I see you approve," she teases as her hand lightly grazes the front of my khaki trousers.
There are three cushions on the couch and I consider which of the remaining two to sit on. I choose the middle one and sit turned enough to have a good view. The slit in the dress lies loosely over her chest and I watch the breasts move with each breath. I struggle to control my impulse to move too quickly.
"I'm enchanted," I whisper, unable to collect my words into a meaningful conversation.
Darla giggles softly and smiles. "Will I be your first?" Her hand rubs along where her thighs should have protruded from her body. The smile continues, only more inviting. "Without legs, that is."
"Yes." I say, but fall silent as I watch her hand resting against the front of her pelvis. Finally, I say, "Has it been very long?"
"Maybe six months, going on seven."
"I love the way you look, not just that you have no legs. Your skin is a perfect color ... like dark chocolate." I grin as I take her hand in mine and kiss it.
She leans closer. "I'd rather my lips be kissed than my hand. Other parts too."
Without a response, her lips touch mine and I feel the tip of her tongue stroke them. The pressure increases and I let it slip between them. Her left hand holds my cheek and moves my head as she continues to explore my mouth. We trade tongues a few times and I can hear her soft moans.
I drag a fingertip along the bare strip of her chest and let it slip under the fold of breast. She watches with interest.
"There're not perky like some white girls," she whispers.
