FROM THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HORATIO BLACKMON
Amelia and Abigail Knudsen were surprised--no, shocked--when they opened the door to their childhood home to see their mother's bleach-white thighs resting on the brawny walnut-brown shoulders of a naked Black man whose face was buried in the fading redness of her cunt. At first they thought their mother was being attacked, the way her still shapely calves were being rubbed against the man's back, the firm grip Alice's hands had on his head, her ragged breathing, and the her cries of "eat me nigger" and "lick my white cunt" and "Make me your Viking bitch" quickly belied the thought.
Although neither daughter said anything, the opening of the door, the change in air pressure, that sixth sense a homeowner or a mother has--something alerted Alice. She turned her head toward the front door, recognizing her daughters just as Race began to rasp his tongue back and forth against her clit. All the restraint of her Lake Woebegone upbringing disappeared as she squeezed Race's head, locked her ankles across his spine, lifted her ass off the couch and loosed a scream her daughters had never heard, and Race had heard several dozen times. Race stood, the motion breaking her grip on his head and his body. For a brief moment all three women stared at Race's cock, all knowing what was about to happen. Alice thought that she should stop him, but was immobilized by the anticipation of his cock penetrating her. Her daughters just stood there. While neither one was a virgin-in fact far from it-they had seldom watched anyone else have sex--especially not their mother!
Race was unaware of his audience. In the three months since he and Alice became lovers their lovemaking had settled into its routine. She would suck him until he was close to cumming, then he would eat her to her first orgasm. While she was in the throes of ecstasy he would plunge into her, letting her contractions milk his cock. He braced himself against the back of the couch and rammed himself home. As his balls kissed her ass, Alice reflexively began squeezing his cock. It was only when he looked at Alice's face did he realize that something was different. Instead of the unbridled lust he normally saw there, this time that look of lust was veiled by apprehension and anxiety. She indicated the doorway with her head and eyes, her cunt continuing to milk him. Race looked over his shoulder, startled to see two younger versions of the woman he was fucking. He had often imagined what Alice looked like when she was younger. Only he hadn't imagined her as twins or wearing flight attendant's uniforms. The twins looked like a set of salt-and-pepper shakers, Abigail's uniform being blue and Amelia's being red, each with white piping. Subconsciously a new fantasy was born in Race's mind.
The twins had watched this from the doorway, their luggage carriers in hand. Although they had watched a porno or two with other flight attendants, pilots and the occasional lucky passenger, voyeurism was neither of their tastes. But the sight of their mother, laying back against the couch, her legs wrapped around a Black man a good deal younger than her, held them mesmerized. And they were quite impressed when he rose and speared their mother. Given time, they probably would have backed out of the door, closed it, waited a suitable amount of time, then knocked loudly. But with their mother having looked their way, followed by Race's glance over his shoulder, they realized that the situation couldn't get more awkward and just stood there.
Race had been here before. Women with children always end up getting caught fucking, especially if they fuck in the living room like Alice and Race were doing. He knew the best thing to do was to let Alice define the situation and their responses. After all, he was inside her up to his balls, and she was continuing to milk his cock. He moved his hips slightly, pulling back about an inch before plunging in again. Alice closed her eyes and sighed, then opened them again. As much as she wanted their fucking to continue, her face said she was uncomfortable with the situation. Race leaned forward and kissed her as he pulled out, each noting the taste of each other. Standing up, Race turned toward the twins and nodded a greeting, then strode purposely up the stairs.
Alice stood, looked at her daughters. "We'll talk in the morning." She then turned and followed Race. The twins looked at each other then at the backside of their departing mother, then at each other again. Silently they closed the door and went to their childhood rooms. Neither spoke as they undressed and prepared for bed, but looked at each other several times in shock as their mother's screams rent the house.
The next morning the twins arose early, or rather they got up since they had not been able to sleep. Amy prepared the coffee and the two of them sat down with their cups, silently sipping the hospitality brew. They stole furtive glances at each other, embarrassed at what they had seen and heard, wanting to talk about it, yet not knowing what to say. Amelia nearly dropped the carafe of coffee she was holding when she heard her mother scream. She quickly looked at her twin sister Abigail, sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee cup poised in midair. Abigail returned her apprehensive look, instantly changed by the knowing smirks the two exchanged.
Another blood-curdling scream shook the two-story house, making the sisters wonder what the neighbors were thinking. Amelia had filled her cup by now and sat down as a series of "Eat me, nigger! I'm your white bitch! Fuck my white pussy!" filtered down from their mother's bedroom. Ten minutes later they heard her shower running. Amelia began fixing breakfast, joined silently by her sister. Hash browns, eggs, sausage and ham, biscuits, ore coffee, fruit salad. Standard Sunday fare.
They were on their second cup each when Alice and Race came into the kitchen, both wearing white terrycloth robes the twins had never seen before. The twins wanted to look away, yet they also wanted to take a good look at Race. What they saw was a reasonably nice looking Black man about halfway in age between them and their mother, slightly taller than her, and with a good body, slightly muscular for his age.
But it was their mother's appearance which shocked them! They had always remembered their mother as being well-groomed. Never a hair out of place, never in public without at least lipstick. What they saw was someone who had been ridden hard and put up wet. The two daughters looked at each other in dismay. Their mother's naturally red hair was hanging in wet strands down the side and back of her head to her shoulders. Her face had a puffiness now that the flush of her orgasm was gone. Only the trace of coloring was on her lips. Still tall at 56, the fullness of her breasts and her hips were barely covered by the robe she wore. When made-up and decked out, Alice was the image of the matron they hoped to be when they were her age. She slumped into a chair rather than sitting in the ladylike manner she had taught them to use. Race took the seat beside her.
"Amelia, Abigail," Alice began, "this is Mr. Horatio Blackman." The twins nodded acknowledgment with weak smiles. "Race, these are my daughters Amelia," Alice gestured toward the older twin. Race nodded in her direction. "Abigail," Alice said, gesturing toward the one born six minutes later. Race nodded again. He couldn't tell the difference, but at that time it didn't matter. He was just part of the scenery in this play between mother and daughters. Alice continued. "Race-he prefers that-and I have a relationship, as you saw last night. He's here every weekend, and a night or two during the week. While this is your home, and you're always welcome home--I think we're going to have to establish some ground rules. First, I think the two of you should call before you come over, just to let me know. The rest we can work out as things come up."
There was an awkward silence in the kitchen which Alice and Race thought caused by the revelations Alice had just made. Amy looked at Abby and Abby at Amy. Amy spoke for the two of them. "Mom, this isn't just a visit between flights." Alice looked inquiringly at her daughter. "We're moving back in," Amy continued. The surprise registered on Alice's face. And it wasn't joy. "Unless ..." Abby chimed in, "you would prefer your ... privacy."
Alice indeed preferred her privacy, but these were her daughters, her flesh and blood, the only close relatives she had. "Don't be silly," she said automatically. "This is your home as well as mine. It's a large house. You girls have your own rooms. We'll just have to make ... adjustments." The twins looked uneasily at each other. They recognized the lack of enthusiasm in their mother's voice the prospect of their living at home. They looked at Race, but could not read his face. Race did not help, but just sat there looking at the three red heads. Alice looked at him and saw a glint in his eyes that was not there before. She was not pleased. For the first time in her life she was jealous of her daughters. For the first time in her relationship with Race she felt threatened. Standing, she gave him The Look, then turned and left the kitchen.
Race stood and nodded in a very gentlemanly way to the twins. "Amelia, Abigail," then followed their mother out of the kitchen. As the twins fixed and ate breakfast, and cleaned the kitchen, they were constantly startled by the cries of their mother. Especially disturbing were the racial terms she used. "I'm your white bitch!" "Fuck me, nigger!" "I'm your white whore!" "I love your black dick!" Intrigued, each debated within herself whether she should leave the house for the morning, yet could not bring herself to do so.
***
The adjustment Alice had mentioned was not easy. Race and Alice had been lovers for about three months before her daughters found out about them. Both being flight attendants, their schedules and their social lives did not allow them to visit the family home often. And visiting suburban Hennipin County, Minnesota-the Twin Cities-was at the bottom of their social agenda. Too cold in the winter, too hot in the summer, and too dull all the time. Their mother had been a widow for twenty-two years, twenty-two years in which she seldom had male companionship. They had often wondered why their mother never remarried--indeed seldom dated. As they grew to womanhood, they were the most popular, i.e., prettiest, girls in their high school. And they realized that they were the spitting image of their mother when she was their age. Since they never lacked for male attention, they figured she shouldn't either. All three were 5'9", all with C-cups, all redheads with green eyes, all fine specimens of Scandinavian-American pulchritude. And Alice was no prude. She had spent a night or two away from home once the twins were in their mid-teens. But she never allowed men to stay over.
All through college and their early years as flight attendants, they knew that the house they grew up in would always be home. Their rooms were always ready, and they always had a key. When the slump in airline travel following September 11, 2001, reduced both their traveling and their income, returning to live at home on the eve of their thirtieth birthdays was an option. The twins flew about ten days each month, leaving them at home for about twenty days. Gone were perks such as free flights to exotic locations or the coast cities of Boston, New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Since they seldom worked the same flight, at least one of them was usually home. They both got their first assignments after moving back home the same week-to Savannah, Georgia, for Amy and Phoenix, Arizona, for Abby. Neither city had the social milieu either woman appreciated, and they found themselves back at the airport in Minneapolis together two days later. Amy dutifully called their mother, then the two decided to wait an additional hour before going home. They found themselves alone in the flight attendant's lounge, when Abby asked what they were both thinking.
"Sis," she began tentatively, "I need to talk to you about ... Mom." Amelia turned and looked at her sister expectantly. She had been wanting this conversation for the last two weeks. "I don't feel right about what's happened to her." Amelia nodded in agreement. "I mean ... I'm glad she's found someone. And I don't have anything against Race. But ..."
"I know," Amy added. "I was just as surprised as you that she would have a relationship with a Black man." Amy immediately looked at her sister, afraid that what she said sounded different than what she intended. "Not that there's anything wrong with that! It's just that it seems so out of character for her. And let's face it, he is much younger than her."
Abby nodded in agreement. "They don't seem to have anything in common except sex!"
They looked knowingly at each other again. Both then felt the need to assure each other that they were not racist. Amy spoke first. "Not that there's anything wrong with Race, mind you. He's always the perfect gentleman whenever I'm around. In fact, if he wasn't involved with Mom, I might be interested in him."
"Yeah, he's not bad looking." Abby agreed. "But," she continued, "what I meant when I said I don't feel right about Mom is not Race, but her language!" Amy nodded in agreement. "When did she began thinking and talking like that! And why does Race take it? I'm sure having sex with a 56-year old white woman can't be that great to him." Amy could only shake her head in agreement.
