Thirty-nine...39...thirty-fucking nine. Standing before the mirror in my bathroom I did a complete inspection; looking for new defects. Two hours each evening running on the beach or working-out at the gym seemed to have kept my 38-26-36 figure in decent enough shape. Of course, having never had children helped more than a bit. I suppose that I could be thankful for that one benefit of the infertility, which had eventually ended my fifteen year marriage. My face though gave absolutely no hint as to the ever present passing of time that heralded such a monumental occasion as my thirty-ninth birthday. But examining myself closer in the mirror, I discovered more than a couple of grey hairs hidden among the blond.
Looking out the bathroom window to the sunny Southern California beach even in late November, I brought my coffee cup to my lips and took another sip of the refreshing hot liquid. Closing my eyes to savour the flavour of the rich, black sweetness, I swallowed. I inhaled deeply reminding myself that it was just another day; that there were nine-hundred-eighty-two young lives and minds counting on me.
After the bitter divorce, I was determined to break out of the rut, which had become my life. Almost on a dare, I had accepted the invitation of an old college friend to stay with her for a while in Long Beach. Within a month, I had been offered the job of principal at San Jose de Tomas Elementary. It was an older edifice in a run-down and sometimes volatile mixed racial area of town. About twenty-five percent of students qualified as ESL (English as Second Language) and a full 93% were free lunch.
My friend, Bev, had thought I was crazy for accepting the offer. She felt if I waited I could find something else in a white middle-class area; something safer. But how could I explain that every child I kept in school or gave a degree of hope was my penitence for the ones I would never bring into the world or suckle at my breast. So I took the job, found a two-bedroom apartment on the edge of the neighbourhood, which would offer me relative safety and this breath-taking view of the Pacific Ocean.
I reached for my cell as it rang. Well think of the Devil: Bev. "Yes, Beverly..."
"I hope you don't have any plans for tonight. It's your birthday, girl. And I have it all covered...BIG plans," her south Texas twang rang in my ears.
Bev and I had been friends since the first day of college at our mid-sized Baptist university. We had both been education majors and shared at least one class each semester for the next four years. It was a case of opposites attracting. I was blond, girl next-door and conservative. Bev was tall, stylish and as wild as a buck as the saying goes.
"I'm not sure I am ready for anything that you call BIG."
"Well somebody has to think of your virtue...Not," she chuckled.
"I have a couple of teacher's conferences after school today. When did you want to meet?" I knew better than to prolong the argument when I needed to finish getting ready for work; besides I knew Bev would win in the end anyway.
"Good girl. I knew you would see it my way. I'll pick you up at nine."
And like that she rang off; leaving me to wonder just what I had gotten myself into.
I was still wondering as we drove fast up the 10 Freeway; out of Los Angeles and towards the Valley. "Tell me again where we are going, Bev," I plead.
"Just a party with some friends of mine. My special birthday present to you...that you will never forget," she proclaimed as we took an off-ramp to a rather new and nice development.
I let it drop then as the radio blasted out old 80's tunes as we took turn after turn that took us deeper into the middle-class enclave. She finally brought her BMW to a stop in front of the rather impressive looking two-story stucco home. After checking her immaculate make-up in the mirror over her visor, she turned to me. Grabbing the edges of my black cocktail dress, she tugged until even more of my 38d's were revealed. "That's better," she pronounced practically dragging me up the side-walk to the door and ringing the bell.
The door opened to a rather striking Marilyn Monroe look-alike. She reached out and hugged Bev as if they were the closest of friends, before turning her smile on me. "And this must be the birthday girl. I'm Shelley. Welcome to my home." She purred as she stepped back and ushered me into a well decorated and immaculate reception area. "Can I get you ladies something to drink?" she inquired as she led us down a hall into a huge kitchen and family area.
The rooms were filled with about a dozen handsome black men. Various ages. Various sizes. Various shades of brown. And various degrees of dress...and undress. At least two wore nothing other than their tight boxer briefs and one older black man was comfortably lounging completely naked on the couch.
Following my shocked expression, my hostess walked...sashayed was more like it...across the room to curl herself against the naked man. "Rachel, this is my husband, Ray."
I nodded politely as if I was accustomed to greeting new people naked every day. I then grabbed Bev's hand and pulled her back towards the hall, which we had come through earlier. "What the fuck?" I exclaimed; getting my point across by using language I would normally never choose. And she knew it.
Laughing softly, "You haven't gotten laid since the divorce; almost a year now. And from what I hear; it wasn't that good then. So you need to get some cock before you forget you are a woman." I was not stupid enough to argue that point with her. "But not this...ORGY," I spat accusingly.
"Yes and it is not an orgy. Those are only the second Fridays of the month," she explained as if that made perfect sense. "Shelly and I personally picked every last one of those guys for you; and yes I mean personally. And don't get all puritanical on me. You may live like a nun, but this girl gots needs. And I take care of them regularly." Looking at me over the edge of her cocktail, "And you should too. Everyone here is clean, safe and professional. Hell, you might see teachers you know at some of the parties. Doctors, lawyers, actors, ball players, all walks of life. And every last one is a gentleman through and through. So make you a deal. I am going to get laid. You can watch TV in the den if you want, but I am not driving home until the itch between my legs gets scratched...GOOD." Handing me her empty glass then, "I suggest you find something you like and do the same." Then she grabbed my hand and drug me back to the kitchen.
I found a corner of the serving island in the kitchen. I toyed at putting a selection of the food laid out there on to my plate. I mixed myself a drink, a stiff one. Pardon the pun. I hugged that plate of ready made snacks as if it were a security blanket from childhood. But I also watched as Bev found two rather young and studly specimens dragging them over to the entertainment center and flipping switches until the same smooth 80's music we had listened to for the hour drive up here was filling the room. Taking each of their hands, she began to dance, undulate, between them. One was kissing her neck and cupping her breasts from behind. The other had one of his hands working up the inside of her bare thighs as his lips melded with hers.
Our hostess too was engaged in lustful play. Not only was her white hand wrapped about her husband's impressive black cock, but two tall black men knelt on either side; their hands and mouths assaulting what looked to be very nicely done large boobs.
"They're nice, but I bet yours are real," a smooth low voice said behind me. I turned slowly to stare up into the most compelling hazel eyes I had ever seen; somehow familiar. He was tall; at least six foot four. His light brown hair hung in dread locks to his shoulders. His smile was wide and welcoming.
I blushed at the intimacy of the compliment. I was uncertain exactly how to respond to such a thing, but finally decided upon the simple truth. 'Yes, they are,' I replied a tad more huskily than I had intended.
His smile broadened as he extended a large light brown hand towards me. 'I'm Marcus,' he said by way of introduction.
I looked back to the make-shift dance floor where Bev and her entourage of young men had now been joined by our host and hostess, who were dancing so closely that he was now sporting a completely erect cock. How did one respond in such a situation I wondered?
As if reading my mind, the young man replied, 'We only bite when asked.'
I laughed at the attempt at a joke. 'I have never done anything...like this,' I stammered.
My companion chuckled as he replied, 'Most people haven't. But we really are pretty normal; other than this that is. Take our hosts over there. He is one of the country's top civil rights attorneys and his bombshell wife is, I lie not, president of their kids' PTA.'
I burst out laughing at his comment as I wondered about the president of the PTA at my school. How would the rather rotund Latino mother react in such a situation? My new friend chuckled along with me without knowing the direction my thoughts had taken.
Suddenly I felt more than a bit awkward. My companion was wearing nothing more than his tight boxer briefs that clung to muscular thighs; a high, tight ass; and what appeared to be a rather impressive cock. I, on the other hand, had reminded fully clothed in my typical little black dress that I used for everything from the occasional dinner date to formal school functions to the rare girl's night clubbing with Bev.
My mind debated Bev's words. I could ask for directions to quiet corner while Bev 'scratched her itch.' I had the feeling that my companion would oblige my request. Or I could do as my friend suggested and enjoy a casual encounter with this stunning young man, who I could tell would be equally obliging of that request as well.
I was thirty-nine and had not enjoyed a cock in more than a year; and never one as impressive as the one hinted at by those tight black boxers. What the hell, I thought. 'So how does this work?' I inquired.
