Afrianer Milf for Zulu Man

I spent my whole life being afraid of Black men, and I am proud to say that I'm not afraid anymore. I have one in my life, and we absolutely love each other. As an Afrikaner woman born and raised in the region of Gauteng, Republic of South Africa, knee-jerk fear of Black males is what was expected of me. At least that's how things were in the old days.

My name is Darlene Van Friesen, and I am a woman with a story to tell. The tale of how I found love, in the last place I thought to look for it. Under the most unusual of circumstances. Please come on this journey with me, dear reader. It's definitely one for the ages. I first saw the light of day on November 9, 1965. I was born in the City of Johannesburg, and lived there with my family.

In the summer of 1984, I moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, and studied civil engineering at Carleton University as part of an exchange program. The Confederation of Canada has always fascinated me and I was thrilled at the opportunity to visit it. It's an experience that changed my life. I think Canada is one of the most beautiful places in the world. I'll always treasure my time there.

At Carleton University I met a tall, handsome young Black man named Joseph Kingston. He was born and raised in the City of Ottawa, but his family emigrated to Ontario from the island of Jamaica in the late 1960s. Joseph played football for the school, and had loads upon loads of girls after him but I'm the one he wanted. I had never met anyone like Joseph. He was fearless, so unlike the Black men I saw in the Republic of South Africa, who were conditioned to fear us White women, for White males in South Africa punished them for even looking at us.

Joseph Kingston pursued me, and even though I was initially reluctant, I eventually gave in to this tall, handsome Black male student. He was handsome and brilliant, and our whirlwind romance changed my life. I'm a six-foot-tall, plain-faced and rather chubby woman with mousy brown hair and pale blue eyes. I am far from the ideal of beauty. Yet Joseph found me beautiful and treated me like a queen. Joseph is the first man I ever had sex with. I was raised in the Dutch Reformed of Johannesburg, and believed in saving myself for marriage like a good Christian lass. Yet I couldn't resist Joseph Kingston, the gorgeous Jamaican man who stole my heart.

Our relationship got serious, and after six months together, Joseph asked me to stay with him in Ottawa. I wanted to, more than anything, but as an exchange student I had to return to South Africa at the end of the year. I tried to make Joseph understand that my family, like true Afrikaners, simply wouldn't accept us. Joseph called me a coward and broke up with me. For weeks I wept over the demise of our relationship. Eventually, I moved on. I returned to Johannesburg the following year, putting my memories of Ottawa behind me.

In 1987, I met a young man named Clyde Russell, who moved to Johannesburg, Gauteng, from his hometown of Berkshire, England. We got married, and in 1989, we had a daughter, Wilma. I settled into the life of a proper wife and mother, and my husband and our daughter were my entire world. In 1993, my world ended. Tensions between the Black African population and the White settlers was growing in the Republic of South Africa, and many of us Afrikaners feared an all-out uprising by the Black majority.

This was a doomsday scenario for us Afrikaners, and we knew it. The world demanded that legendary activist and freedom fighter Nelson Mandela be freed and that Black majority rule be established in the country. The White minority population was deathly afraid of that. Many of us began leaving the country during that time. My husband Clyde was a staunch supporter of the Apartheid regime, and considered the Blacks to be utter savages. He wasn't one to mince words or play the diplomat, my poor Clyde.

One day, Clyde got into a fight with a burly young Zulu man named Aaron Jabulani, and during that scuffle, Clyde suffered a fatal blow to the temple and got killed instantly. Aaron Jabulani was relentlessly pursued by the Johannesburg Metropolitan Police but somehow, he escaped. The authorities say he had help. The Blacks always protect their own, and as a Black man daring enough to kill a racist White man, Aaron would be considered a hero by many while others would view him as a pariah.

Aaron Jabulani killed my husband, but I didn't know how to feel about him. On one hand I wept for my husband, but on the other hand, I knew how much of a brute he could be. He beat our Black servants, and sometimes, when he got angry or drunk, Clyde used to beat me as well. I endured years of abuse at the hands of Clyde because I was raised to believe that a true Christian woman submits to her husband and that it's what the Almighty intended. I didn't know about feminism and campaigns against domestic violence or things of that nature. Remember, this was South Africa, not North America or Europe.

After the election of President Nelson Mandela and the official end of Apartheid, the Truth and Reconciliation hearings began and Blacks and Whites came to listen to them en masse. I was shocked to meet Aaron Jabulani there. He'd been living in the nearby Republic of Zimbabwe ever since he murdered Clyde and came back to South Africa seeking forgiveness, claiming that he hadn't meant to kill my erstwhile husband. I am sorry it was an accident, Aaron said, before a crowd of Blacks and Whites inside a courtroom in downtown Johannesburg.

I looked into the tall, burly Black man's eyes, and even though I was angry at Aaron for murdering Clyde, I didn't see evil in his eyes. I forgive you, I told him, then I shed a single tear. It was definitely a moment that many who witnessed it would never forget. The wife of a murdered White male South African forgave the Black man who killed him during a fistfight. It's the Christian thing to do, I told a pretty red-haired White female reporter from CNN when queried on the subject. Then I went home.

In 2004, my daughter Wilma died in a car crash while visiting some school friends in the City of Durban. The day my daughter died, my heart turned to stone. For a long time I prayed for death, for I had nothing to live for. In the span of a few years I lost first my husband Clyde then our only daughter Wilma. Why does tragedy continue to strike me? I became a recluse, staying at home and reading, constantly cleaning and rearranging Clyde's old study and Wilma's old bedroom, staring longingly into their old pictures. Ten long years went by in this manner...

One day, at the start of the summer of 2014, a man came to my door. A tall, burly Black man in a dark business suit and tie. His beard had some gray in it but I recognized him instantly. Aaron Jabulani, I said, and he nodded gently. Aaron asked me if he could come in and after a brief hesitation, I nodded. We sat in the living room and Aaron told me why he came. Since I last saw him, Aaron had been living in the United States, where he moved to for school. He proudly showed me both his MBA from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and his New England real estate licence. Congratulations, I told him.

Aaron smiled, then showed me a picture of him standing next to a tall, blonde-haired White woman and two mixed young women. My former wife Samantha O'Connell and our daughters Jillian and Whitney, he said, in a voice filled with pride. I looked the pictures over for a long time. Lovely family, I said, and handed them back to him. Samantha died of cancer last year, Aaron said, and his eyes went moist. I am so sorry, I said, gently touching his arm.

Aaron sniffed, and told me about his wife Samantha's long battle with breast cancer, and how her death mortified him. Their grown daughters were studying at Harvard University, and Aaron felt lonely in their old home in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. I had to come back to South Africa, he said, and I nodded understandingly. Welcome home, I said, and gave him a simple hug.

I looked into Aaron's eyes, and he looked into mine. Without a word being spoken we kissed. I am sorry, Aaron said, an apologetic look on his face when we came up for air. I am not sorry, I said, looking him up and down. Make love to me, I said, and Aaron nodded. Taking him by the hand, I led Aaron Jabulani to the bedroom I once shared with my deceased husband Clyde, the man he murdered.

I sat Aaron on the bed, and slowly I began undressing. I hadn't made love to a man in who knows how long, and even though I'm no longer a young woman, some things you just never forget how to do. You're beautiful, Aaron said, looking at me and smiling. I grinned coyly. Thank you kindly, I said, and off came my summer dress, followed by my bra and panties. Come to me gorgeous, Aaron said, gesturing with his hand.

Nodding, I went to him, and kissed Aaron Jabulani full and deep. The handsome Zulu man drew me to the bed, and began making sweet love to me. He kissed my lips, my breasts and my belly. Finally, he licked a path from my round belly to my pelvic area. Open up for me sweetie, Aaron said, and I complied. I spread my thick legs wide open, and shuddered as I felt Aaron's tongue worming its way into my cunt. I hadn't experienced a man's touch in almost two decades. Oh my, I squealed, and urged Aaron to continue.

Aaron fingered my pussy and licked me, causing me to moan in delight. Keep going, I begged, loving the feel of his tongue teasing my clit while his fingers explored my womanhood. Yes ma'am, Aaron said, and continued his sweet torture until I cried out, trashing about wildly and squirming as I experienced an orgasm for the first time in ages. That was amazing, I told Aaron, breathlessly. Grinning, the gorgeous Zulu man pulled me into his arms and kissed me. You haven't seen anything yet, Aaron whispered into my ear.

Aaron lay on the bed, his gorgeous, muscular and dark-skinned body glistening against the White bed sheets. You are beautiful, I said, and reached for him with both hands. I kissed Aaron full and deep, and ran my hands all over his strong, hairy chest. I kissed him all over, loving the smell and taste of him. I licked a path from his chest to his groin, and came face to face with his erect penis. I inhaled his manly musk, then took Aaron's penis in both hands. Let me taste you, I said, and took the handsome Zulu's member into my mouth.

How to describe the taste and feel of Aaron's magnificent, long and thick Black member in my mouth? I licked it and sucked on it as if it were a lollipop. Slow down Darlene, Aaron said, and I nodded. Slowing my pace, I flicked my tongue over Aaron's dick head and caressed his big, dark and hairy balls. I resumed sucking his member, and a moment later, Aaron started moaning like there was no tomorrow. Oh shit, he cried out, and his knees buckled and he sighed profoundly.

I hadn't had sex in ages and I'm a little rusty but every woman knows when a man is about to blow. Moments later, Aaron Jabulani did just that. The handsome Zulu came, and I happily swallowed every last drop of his masculine essence. Tasty, I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Aaron grinned, and pulled me up. I sat on his lap, and stroked his softening dick. I want you inside of me, I said, and Aaron nodded. That can be arranged, he said, grinning naughtily.

A little while later, Aaron and I were at it again. Straddling him, I lowered myself onto him until I impaled my hairy, neglected pussy on his eager dick. At last, I said, closing my eyes as I felt Aaron's manhood throbbing inside of me. Grinning, Aaron smacked my ample derriere and my eyes snapped open. Ride me, he commanded, and thrust into me. I licked my lips, loving the deliciously hot pain I felt building inside as I began to ride Aaron. My sexy lover buried himself deep inside of me, slamming his hard vigorously into my cunt.

Give it to me hard, I squealed, and Aaron did just that, gripping my hips tightly as he rammed his dick inside of me. My body shook with the force of his thrusts and I screamed like a madwoman, loving the mixture of pleasure and pain, and craving more. I hadn't had sex in ages, and I definitely wanted to make up for lost time. Fortunately, Aaron was right there to help me out.

Round two, the sexy Zulu said as he put me on all fours. Let's do this, I grinned, shaking my big butt at him as Aaron got behind me and entered me from behind. I grinned, and pushed back against him, grinding my butt against Aaron's groin and driving him deeper inside of me. Aaron firmly planted his big strong hands on my wide hips and thrust deep into me. Just like that, I moaned, sticking my butt into the air and burying my face amid the pillows as Aaron took me on the best ride I'd had in a long time.

Just like that, I squealed as Aaron hammered his dick into me, pulling my long, unkempt hair as he fucked me. Love that ass of yours, Aaron laughed, smacking my bum as he fucked me good, sliding his dick deep into my cunt. I howled as previously untouched and long-neglected parts of me were prodded, penetrated and oh so wonderfully filled. Fuck, Aaron groaned, and I felt his body tremble as he pressed against me. Inside my cunt, his dick shuddered, and unleashed its load. Moments later I screamed like a woman possessed, as I felt Aaron's hot seed flood me deep inside like liquid fire.

Aaron and I lay side by side on the bed, beyond spent, our bodies covered in sweat as well as our own juices. That was fantastic, I said, grinning at Aaron. The handsome Zulu smiled at me, and gently stroked my face. You're the first woman I've been with in ages, he said, a faraway look on his dark, handsome face. It was a look I understood all too well. One I often saw in the mirror, whenever I thought of my late husband Clyde or my deceased daughter Wilma.

We both lost people dear to us but we all need solace, I said, taking Aaron's face in my eyes. For a moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Nodding, Aaron smiled at me. Then he kissed me and it was the deepest, most passionate kiss I've ever experienced. When we came up for air, Aaron and I smiled at each other like a couple of goofy school chums. Taking my hand in his, Aaron nodded, and said nothing. That's when I knew, that I was no longer alone. Finally, someone had come along who understood.