As Different As Black And White

Chapter One: Really?

"Really? I mean yes! Sure. Either Friday or Saturday would be great."

That was Diane's answer in the parking lot of Applebee's, as we stood by her car while a gentle mist began to fall.

"Friday then?" I asked, and when she nodded, I stood there awkwardly for a second before extending my hand.

Diane's hand came up to meet mine - tiny white fingers that looked even smaller as they disappeared into my enormous black hand. Her hand was moist, but mine was too, and after a brief handclasp, on impulse I lifted her hand and bent down and kissed the back of it.

"Thank you," Diane said softly, and while I had bent over, took the opportunity to bounce up on her toes and give me a peck on the cheek.

She got into her car and we waved to each other before she turned the ignition and drove away. I jogged over to my car, which was located at the other end of the lot, as the mist became a sprinkle. I hardly felt it, because I was floating on air. All because of a peck on the cheek from a woman I had only met a few hours ago.

*

Chapter Two: Proof.

"This happens all the time," Diane had said earlier in the evening as she took her license out of her wallet and gave it to the server, who had requested proof of age after Diane had ordered a glass of wine.

That didn't surprise me all that much, since the woman sitting across the booth from me was very young looking, and they do have to be careful about who they serve alcohol too, but what I didn't expect was the reaction of the waiter after he looked at it.

"Oh gee, I'm sorry," he stammered after glancing at it and hurriedly handing it back before running off to get our drinks.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"I guess he doesn't like to proof women old enough to be his mother," Diane answered.

"Huh?" I said, confused.

"See?" Diane said, holding up the license for me to look at.

"Wow!" I said, momentarily stunned. "I would never have guessed."

"What, you mean about the height?" Diane quipped. "Well, I lied about that. I'm really 4'11", but that sounds way worse than 5 foot, so I fibbed a bit."

"You know what I mean," I said, still shaking my head at seeing the birth-date. "You don't look anywhere near 44. No wonder he proofed you!"

"I guess I should be happy about it."

"I don't know how you'll take this, but you're older than I am," I informed Diane. "I was born in December too, but 20 days later."

"Uh-oh," Diane said. "How do you feel about older women?"

"So far, so good," I opined. "I guess by your reaction to seeing me that you weren't given a complete description."

I gathered that from her initial reaction as she walked into Applebee's. I had recognized her right away; a petite woman with short blond hair and hazel eyes who was craning her neck around, trying not to look like she was looking for someone.

When I had waved tentatively and caught her eye, I saw a look of shock on her face as I rose up to greet her. She recovered quickly, but it was something I noticed and wanted to mention.

"Well, I was told you were about my age and you were tall, dark and handsome."

"I guess you weren't told exactly how dark," I suggested.

"No, not exactly," Diane said.

"If that's a problem for you, I understand."

"No, it's not a problem for me," Diane replied.

"Out of curiosity, would you have come here if you knew I was black?"

"I think I would have, but to be honest, I don't know for sure," Diane said, and I appreciated the frank response.

"I assume you've never dated anybody other than your own race."

"Uh - I've never dated anybody - period," Diane admitted. "I married my high school sweetheart, and we were married for twenty years until he divorced me 18 months ago. Since then I've been pouting and moping."

"I know the feeling," I said, having lived a similar life until being cheated on for the last time on Christmas Eve past.

"Actually, I did go on a date last month," Diane confessed. "I got set up on a similar date by somebody else at work, only the guy never showed up. Probably took a look and didn't like what he saw."

"His loss," I replied.

"Well, at least you were here," Diane concluded. "And you were just as advertised. Tall, dark and handsome. The fact that our matchmaker didn't tell me how dark, or how tall, doesn't really matter now."

*

Chapter Three: Not my type.

I have to admit that Diane was really not my type of woman, at least from a physical standpoint. My wife had been a full figured woman, and before we married - and that seems like forever ago - I was usually attracted to women that had a greater physical presence.

When you're a man of my stature, the thought of being with a woman Diane's size never crosses your mind. When she had approached the table I was sitting at, we were at eye-level with each other. Then I stood up. So that was likely part of the reasoning behind Diane's reaction to me. She hadn't expected her tall and dark blind date to be a 6'7" 265 pound black guy. Fair enough.

As for myself, when I first saw Diane, my initial reaction was that I was having a joke played on me. Everything about our being together was comical, and the pairing of a very big and very black man and the very petite and very white woman was as classic study in contrasts as you could find.

After a half hour, I was changing my mind about the woman sitting across from me. She was very shy, but as the nervousness faded, she became more outgoing. She had the most infectious laugh, and she became even cuter when she did, because of the tiny dimples that formed. I spent the majority of the evening trying to think of who she reminded me of, until it finally hit me during dessert.

*

Chapter Four: Peter Pan.

Pater Pan. This perky and impish girl reminded me a great deal of the movie character of the same name. Diane was 4'11", and couldn't weigh 100 pounds soaking wet. She wasn't so much skinny as she was tiny. A cute little figure on her, to be sure, but I was having trouble picturing us together in an intimate way, although that didn't keep me from trying.

We exchanged marriage war stories for a while, and it appeared that we had similar spouses. Mine always wanted me to be someone else. I didn't want to be out clubbing and bar-hopping, listening to rap music with a bunch of stoned idiots and thugs. My idea of a good time was a jazz concert or a night watching a movie in front of the fire.

"That sounds nice," Diane said after listening to my idea of a good time and finding another common ground. "I don't like to go out like I did when I was younger either. My ex never got out of that mindset. Plus, all he ever wanted to do was have sex."

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked.

"It is when he wants to have it with anybody but you," she said with sadness.

"Been there - endured that," I said, echoing that emotion.

They practically had to throw us out of the restaurant, and I couldn't believe how the time had flown. When I finally asked her if she wanted to go out again, she sounded delighted that I wanted to see her again.

As for me, I couldn't wait.

*

Chapter Five: All that jazz.

We went to a movie that Friday, and while the movie wasn't much, Diane's company was excellent. She must have enjoyed being with me too, because when I asked her if she wanted to go out the following Friday, she seemed very happy to accept the invitation.

Diane called me up one night during the week as well, and when I first heard her voice, I assumed that she was calling to break our date, but as it turned out she said she was thinking about me and just wanted to talk. Talk we did, for almost two hours.

We had a delightful dinner on Friday night, and afterward I took her to this little jazz club. We sat at these little tables with candles, and sipped martinis while we listened to a trio play.

Diane looked beautiful, and I continued to look at her in a different way. She was wearing a nice blue outfit with a skirt that showed off her legs, which were shapely and as petite as the rest of her. Inside the jazz club, where it was a little warm, she took off her blazer.

She was wearing a white sleeveless blouse, and I was quite taken by Diane's arms, which were very toned. Her skin was creamy smooth, and her forearms had a little sprinkling of the palest blond hair imaginable. Diane's breasts appeared quite small - obviously no surprise - but that was fine with me.

The night was slightly marred by a comment from a "sister" as we were leaving. It was directed at me, and I ignored it, but Diane had noticed the woman say something to me, so when we got outside and got into my car, she mentioned it.

"Was that a friend of yours?" she asked innocently. "You could have stopped to talk if you wanted."

"No, she was no friend of mine," I assured her. "Never saw her before, but she didn't like the company I was keeping."

"Me?"

"Not you in particular, but this," I explained, touching the back of her hand and the stark difference in pigmentation.

"Oh."

"I'm sure you'll catch some of that yourself," I mentioned.

"Not so far," Diane said. "If I do, too bad."

"For the record, I like the company I'm keeping very much."

"Good," Diane said. "Me too."

I took Diane to her apartment complex, hoping for an invite in, but was not surprised when we ended up on the steps of the entrance.

"I had a wonderful time," Diane said. "I loved that band."

"They were good," I told her. "Maybe we can go there again sometime."

"I'd love that!" Diane said happily, and went up a step. "See? Now I'm as tall as you, almost."

"I guess that would make it easier to do this," I replied, and moved close to her.

To my delight, Diane moved to me and put her arms around my neck. My lips met, and as we kissed I pressed my body close to her, enjoying the feel and the aroma of a woman once again. So soft, and so tiny that I had to restrain myself from hugging her too hard for fear of hurting her.

Diane showed no such restraint, and the hold she had on my neck was very impressive. If I wanted to get loose, I could have, but why in the world would I want to?

"That was nice," Diane said softly after we came apart.

"You're stronger than you look," I said.

"Want to feel my muscles?" Diane said, and flexed her right arm to show off her bicep.

"Very impressive," I commented, reaching up to feel the little bulge in her bicep.

Unable to resist, I wrapped my thumb and index finger around her muscle, completely encircling her bicep, which caused Diane to pretend to pout by sticking out her lower lip.

"Guess I better work out some more," Diane mused.

"No, you're beautiful just as you are," I assured her.

"You're sweet."

"Am I sweet enough to be able to see you again?" I asked.

"I was hoping you would ask."

"What would you say if I asked you out tomorrow?"

"I would say yes," Diane said.

"How would you feel about coming to my house and having a cookout?"

"I would say two things; yum, and what can I bring?"

"How are you at making something like a salad?"

"You'll find out tomorrow. What time?"

"Two or so, I guess. And bring a bathing suit, if you'd like," I suggested before heading back to my car.

*

Chapter Six: My house.

My house is a neat little split level on a quiet street in a suburb outside of the city I work in, and I was very pleased when Diane arrived precisely at 2. She came armed with a prepared potato salad and the makings of a tossed salad, and was full of compliments on the house.

"We sold ours and split the profits, which weren't much," Diane said as she looked out to the back.

"I paid my ex off, just so I could stay here," I offered. "Besides, the way she was going, she didn't need a place of her own to call home."

"It's really private back there," Diane said. "What a cute pool."

"Now that the leaves are on the trees, the only neighbors that could see back there, can't"

"Gee, you should have told me," Diane said with a laugh. "I wouldn't have had to go by a bathing suit! Been a long time since I've been near the water to be needing one."

"Well, you can always return it and go naked today."

"Then all this food would go to waste, because you'd lose your appetite for sure," Diane snapped.

I loved Diane's self-depreciating sense of humor, but sometimes it almost seemed that she believed the things she said about herself. Maybe that was a result of a husband that had stopped caring, or never really had, but I was not going to be any part of that.

"Why do I know you're very wrong about what I would think?" I asked.

"Because you're very sweet, and we're still on our honeymoon, so to speak," Diane said.

"Well, it's hot out, so I'll see soon enough."

After we got the cookout stuff put away, we decided to both get changed so we could get into the pool. I had mine on in a second, and after I emerged from my bedroom, I went out onto the patio and waited.

For me, the swimming attire was a choice between a speedo type thing which was even a bit snug a few pounds ago, or the conservative baggy trunks I eventually decided on. No sense scaring the poor girl before we got started.

When Diane finally made her way outside, she was so scared that I had to laugh.

"Told you!" Diane said.

"I'm laughing at the expression on your face," I informed her. "You look like you're going to the gallows."

"Sorry," Diane said. "This isn't easy for me. Besides, I thought there was more to this suit than there really is. I just looked in the mirror inside and - oh brother!"

"If it would make you feel better, I've got a suit that's a lot less modest than this one here is," I told her, shrugging at my trunks.

"No, that's okay," Diane said. "You look really nice as you are."

"Well, how about if I promise not to look?" I offered.

"What do you have crossed?" she asked with suspicion in her voice.

"My fingers," I admitted, showing my guilty hand.

"What am I going to do with you?" Diane asked, hands on hips and smiling sweetly.

"Anything you want," I suggested.

Diane was wearing a yellow and orange cotton cover-up which covered her from neck to mid-thigh, and while she debated with herself when to take off the outer wrapper, I pretended to look around for something.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her take off the cover-up, and when I casually turned around to face her, Diane was standing there with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"That's a delay-of-game penalty," I informed her. "If you're a football referee, I mean."

It was an orange bikini, and the bottom of it was cut very severely, making it obvious that Diane was one of these women who wax or shave down there, given the smoothness of the exposed sides of her delta not hidden by the little bikini bottom. This was not the kind of thing a 44 year old woman usually wore, but judging by the look of her perfectly flat stomach and shapely arms and legs, Diane was not your average 44 year old woman.

Diane finally shrugged and put her arms down, revealing the skimpy top whose cups cradled a pair of breasts that seemed to be even smaller than I had imagined.

"When life hands you lemons," Diane said with a shrug, looking down at her chest.

"I love lemonade, and so much so, that I think," I said, quickly turning and going over to the pool, "that I'd better get into the water."

Seconds away from having my trunks tent outward in a most embarrassing manner that would give new meaning to the phrase, "a picture paints a thousand words", I hopped right into the pool and let the cool water take care of my problem for the time being.

Diane was not as brave as I was, which gave me more time to unabashedly stare at her. What an incredible little body she had! Diane was a 44 year old woman with the figure of a teenage girl, and to my great relief she finally got that body into the water before I exploded.

*

Chapter Seven: Lotion up.

We splashed around like kids for quite a while, and we made a lot of contact in the water. Diane was feeling more comfortable with me every minute, and less self-conscious about herself as well, and when she said that she had to get some suntan lotion on, I followed her up the steps and onto the patio.

"I'd love to help you with that," I confessed, and to my surprise, Diane handed me the tube of lotion and gathered up her hair and held it off of her neck.

I squeezed some oil into my palm and began rubbing it into her shoulders. She had a few tiny freckles on the tops of her shoulders, and when I began working it into her, Diane writhed a little bit.

"That feels so nice," Diane said, while I moved my hands around her neck.

"The pleasure is at least half mine," I assured her. "Your skin is so soft and flawless."

"Mmmm," she cooed, and as I worked downward I was tempted to undo the top as I did. "Are you for real?"

"For real?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," Diane said deliberately. "You seem too good to be true. You say the nicest things, and you're being so sweet to me. You aren't rushing me or anything, yet you make me feel like a real woman. Haven't felt like that in a long time."

"Well, I don't know about all that," I admitted. "I'm not perfect, but I enjoy being with you, and I haven't told you any lies so far. Don't intend to either. I'm too old for that nonsense."

"Good," Diane replied. "I guess I must feel the same way, because I can't believe I'm letting you do this without running away."

I had moved around to her front, oiling her upraised arms as I admired her moist underarms, the recesses so creamy smooth I was tempted to lick them. I oiled her collarbone, being careful to avoid the little swells in their orange cups, and then worked down to her tummy.

"Not to be nosy, but are you a waxer or a shaver?" I asked while sliding down her hips to her thighs. "Typical guy curiosity, I guess, but you're so smooth all over, at least as much as I can see."

"Neither," Diane said. "I've never had to buy a razor in my life. For some reason, I'm pretty much hairless. I used to have a couple of hairs under my arms but I always just plucked them out and I guess they finally gave up. Isn't that pitiful? Also, I can't believe I'm actually telling you this stuff."

"I actually love hearing all this fascinating information. Women have such an exciting world of their own that us guys can only fantasize about. Plus, you're blushing, and that only increases your cuteness factor even more " I said with a chuckle. "I'm done now anyway."

"Well, I should get to lotion you now," Diane said. "Ask you all sorts of personal questions."

"Fine by me!" I agreed. "Oil and ask away."

I sat down on the bench, partly to make it easier on Diane, and partly to hide the fact that I now had an erection that was very obvious despite the modest baggy trunks I was wearing.

This erection was not going away either, as my heart started to race while Diane's little fingers began working the lotion into my neck and shoulders.

"You have magic hands," I said in almost a moan.

"I'm glad I got a big bottle of this stuff," Diane said as she squirted some more on my back and dug in. "I thought my ex was a big guy, but you - boy, all muscles too."

"Not quite," I admitted, staring at Diane's collarbone as she moved around to my front and rubbed the oil into my chest. "I'm afraid that I'm starting to develop love handles as I'm getting on in years."

"For the record, you are a real hunk. You've got just a little bit of grey in there," she commented as she rubbed the sparse hair on my chest. "Makes you look distinguished. Now stand up so I can finish you."

I protested, but got up reluctantly when Diane grabbed my arm and tried to pull me up.

"There! Now I can do the rest of you," Diane announced. "Don't want any part of you to burn, because that sun is..."