Beverly

First, thank you for making my submission of Killing Me Softly number one in the IR category for the month of October, it's the third time one of my entries in IR has been number one.

Second, this is another story where two people from different cultures fall in love. It would easily fit in the Romance category, but I felt the cultural differences were significant enough to warrant it being submitted in IR.

Beverly

All my life I've heard people say, "black guys don't like to eat pussy", being a black girl who's dated black guys I know that statement is false. My older sister and some of my married girlfriends talk about their husbands "dining at the Y'. Of the four serious relationships I'd had with black guys only one was willing to do for me what they wanted me to do for them, in other words, oral sex. I had been smart enough to know if they weren't willing to do it for me there was no way in hell I was doing it for them. There were grope and feel sessions for sure, I let one of the three masturbate me after having given him a hand job. He wasn't good at it, nor would he listen to what I told him, I had to finish myself off.

The other two I let feel and play some, but because they were so pushy and demanding after we'd been dating a short while, I wouldn't let them in my panties. Their attitude after that was "fuck you bitch", which suited me fine. Then there was the fourth guy, he was kind, gentle, doted over me, showed preference toward me if we were with others, to put it plainly, he was romantic. Flowers, cards, surprise dates, he was also the only one willing to use his tongue on me. It was him I surrendered my virginity to at the ripe old age of twenty. Most of my friends laughed at me because I was still a virgin, I could give a rat's ass. They were all known as loose, even slutty, one of them was referred to as butter legs behind her back because they spread so easy.

The night I gave myself to Kenneth he made sure I was wound tight as a spring before taking me, lots of kissing and caresses, then came the oral attack. Having never had a man's mouth on my pussy I freaked when I felt his warm breath across the vulva. When I tried to push him away he gently moved my hands to the side and licked from bottom to top, stopping to flick my clit with his stiff tongue. I recall thinking, "oh fuck, I'm his" as that tongue continued to explore. With my hips bucking, one hand grabbing the sheets while the other squeezed and pulled at my tit, I pushed upward into his face and screamed.

My ass was off the bed, he held on for dear life as my body convulsed. I was lying still, attempting to recover as he moved up enough to align his cock with the opening of my vagina. I knew it was gonna hurt and I didn't care. He could have told me an elephant was going to fuck me and I'd have said, "bring it on." To his credit he talked me through the entire process, the second the thick gnarly head of his cut cock began to enter I felt the hymen break and a sharp pain. Being the gentleman he was he stopped and let me relax before going on. By the time we were finished I was sore, but it had begun to feel better.

Over the next two weeks we were going at it every other day, usually late afternoon or early evening and always at my place. I began thinking I'd found mister perfect, and then the other shoe dropped. I was with my older sister leaning on the fence watching my niece play soccer on a Saturday morning, eight-year-olds are a hoot to watch, all the drama. Looking across to the other side my heart stopped, there stood Kenneth with a stunning dark-skinned beauty on his arm and two gorgeous little girls next to him. Scanning the field I saw what I was looking for, a girl with Kenneth's last name on the back of her jersey. That son of a bitch, he'd been cheating on his wife, and I had been an active participant.

When sis saw the look of anger on my face she asked, "What's with you Beverly? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I pointed to the guy and said, "He's the one I gave my cherry, and the fucker is married. He doesn't wear a ring, but that's his wife and those are his kids."

She knew what I meant, she was well aware that I thought I'd found mister wonderful. The truth was, I had, except he belonged to someone else. That was the end of my dating days for a few years. I basically reached a point where I began to question the habits and behavior of my so-called friends. Out with a different guy having unprotected sex every other week or less, no consideration as to disease or reputation. They were all on the pill, as though that was the be all and end all. To some of them reputation meant nothing, to me it still did. I would tell myself that I may not be a virgin when I get married, but I can also say I haven't slept with half of the seventh fleet.

I don't have a Halle Barry complexion or the beauty of my all-time favorite black model, Gabrielle Union, I was no more than an average everyday ordinary woman. Shit, I didn't even have one of those cool names like Brianna, or Beyonce, or Halle, no I was named after my great-grandmother who was an emancipated slave named, Beulah. Through the years I've been able to convince people to call me Bev. What I do have going for me in spades is that somewhere in my ancestry someone had soft hair, instead of mine being tight and frizzy it was softer and more like ringlets. It's not that I didn't have hair issues, but they were nowhere like some of my girlfriends.

Some call me skinny, I prefer petite, I'm five foot seven with hips, waist and a chest to match my slender frame. Since guys seem so obsessed with breast size they tend to overlook me. Though I measure 33 at the bust I can generally make a 32-A cup work if the bra is of higher quality than the two for one sale priced variety. My panties are a size two (or small) just like my dresses, my waist is 26 and my hips 31, so there you have it boys. No legs that go on forever, no juicy ass, (whatever that's supposed to mean, just the thought of juicy and ass together in the same sentence makes my skin crawl). My tummy is flat but mostly because I'm slender in build, I certainly don't spend time at the gym.

I'm 26, making my way through life as a dental hygienist, hoping I'll meet that special someone soon. Another phrase I'd heard most of my life was that white guys have little dicks. I'd never dated a white guy, but I have to admit, there have been plenty I would have liked to. It wasn't about culture or any of that nonsense, I happened to be attracted to white guys. I dated black guys because it was expected of me. I often found myself wondering why white housewives and girlfriends looked so satisfied if the men they slept with had little dicks. Little did I know the little dick myth would be destroyed over the course of the next six months.

My world changed the day a guy came in for a cleaning and I couldn't pronounce his name. When he sat, I asked how to pronounce his name, it was spelled Yngvar, I had no idea how it was supposed to sound and didn't want to embarrass myself. His last name was Matilla, pronouncing that wouldn't be a problem.

He smiled, "It sounds like it looks, ing-var, it's Finnish. I'm originally from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan which has a large Finnish population. My grand dad was adamant about all his grandkids having Scandinavian names. One of my sisters is named Inga, imagine trying to fit into American culture with a name like Inga, or for that matter, Yngvar. What's your name?"

"Please call me Bev."

I found him to be very interesting as well as charming. As I worked on his teeth I commented that I saw no fillings at all. His response surprised me.

"I've never had a cavity, nor has my youngest sister. The other kids have, but not us."

I wanted to know this man better, he wasn't brash or ostentatious. Rather he was soft spoken and humble, which was probably mistaken for weakness by some, something about his average size solid body told me he was anything but a pushover. He wasn't movie star cute, his hair was cut nicely, it was obvious he'd shaven before coming in for a cleaning, he was neither short nor tall, he was average. Following the cleaning we were waiting for the dentist to come in for a quick exam when I got bold.

"So tell me. How long have you lived here? I don't think I've ever seen you around town or at any of local haunts."

"I've been here almost two years. I don't come into town much, only for groceries and stuff like this."

Just as the dentist walked in I asked him what he did for a living, his answer was interrupted by the dentist walking into the room. When the dentist was finished Yngvar sat up swinging his legs to the side.

"I'm a logger. I bought the old Patterson farm on River Bottom Road, it had been empty for quite a while. It's amazing how much harvestable pulp and hardwood there is on those 380 acres. I haven't had a lull since I got here. And before you ask, yes, I logged where I came from. I'm here because I got sick of the ice and cold, not to mention several feet of snow every year."

"Well we have some ice and snow here."

He chuckled, "Yes, but it's gone in day or two, up there it lasts seven months."

I laughed, "I'd better let you go Yngvar, I have several more patients today. Maybe I'll see you around."

He smiled and nodded as he walked down the hall. I smiled to myself, did I dare even consider getting to know him better? I did a second evaluation as he walked ahead of me, nice ass I thought, he wasn't a big man per se, maybe five foot ten or somewhere in that range. His body was average size but appeared to be rock solid, I estimated his weight to be somewhere around 180, I snuck a peek at his chart and noted that he was 28. Hmmm, the perfect baby making age. He was climbing into his truck as I escorted the next patient in, it looked to be a late model something or another, when he turned the vehicle I thought I recognized the emblem but wasn't sure.

Life went on as it normally does. Up at seven, a light breakfast, drop my panties in the laundry basket, a quick shower, dress in my official dental hygienist attire, jump in the Civic and trudge onto work. If I had early patients I'd be up at six. I'd gotten into a routine where when I picked out my undies for the day I would spend time while in the shower imagining what my knight in shining armor might want to see on his princess that day. Of course, I had no knight in shining armor, nor was I a princess of any sort, but I loved to dream that today might be the day. Maybe I'll meet the right guy and want to show him what I was wearing beneath my scrubs.

I had sexy two-piece ensembles, individual pieces of racy almost raunchy stuff, bikinis, boy shorts, I even had a few thongs, although I couldn't get used to a strip of cloth up the crack of my ass. At some point I bought a pair of crotchless panties, only god knows why, and no one but me had ever seen them other than me. Bras that pushed up and together, bras that were barely there, bras that were simply worn for comfort and bras that left half your tit exposed, what little bit of tit I had. As my mind whirled about in this imaginary world reality would eventually set in. It didn't matter, I sure as hell wasn't going to let anybody see me half naked the first day I met them anyway. However, feeling sexy underneath somehow gave me a boost in confidence and appeal.

I would tell myself, "I could be that girl", I just needed to find the right man, the one I wouldn't mind showing my underwear and sharing my body with. You hear of all the hook up sites, tinder and all the rest, that wasn't who I am, that thinking was foreign to me. I can remember my granny's words, "Beulah, find yosef a good man and den you treat im right". She may have never gotten past eighth grade, but she was smart as a whip. Her knowledge was not from books, it was from life. She had instilled in me something different, so that at the age 26 I was different than many of my school friends and acquaintances. While bars and clubs were a way of life for them, they didn't do anything for me.

Oh yeah, there was the occasional girl's night out bash, yet even at those I would be subdued, the automatic designated driver because I never drank to excess. I damned sure didn't sneak off into the men's bathroom and blow some guy as my longtime acquaintance Sheera was known to do. I've known her since third grade, I don't call her anything more than an acquaintance because we tend to live in two different worlds. I'm looking for mister right, she's looking for all the cock she can find. If they're cute and she likes them she fucks them, plain and simple. Black, white, yellow, red, brown, pink with green polkadots, she didn't give a damn. If they had a dick and she liked them, she screwed them.

It was close to a month later that I bumped into Yngvar, I mean literally bumped into him. I was pushing my cart down the grocery aisle looking on the upper shelves for something and never noticed someone was stooped down reading a label. Yes, I ran into him, knocking him sideways onto the floor. Picking himself up I watched as the frustration of having been knocked over left his face only to be replaced with a smile.

"Bev, we have to stop meeting like this, it's more than I can stand."

Normally that kind of humor escapes me, I find it foolish and unappealing. Yet somehow it made me laugh, or was it him who made me laugh? At any rate it didn't matter, I stood next to him belly laughing, something I hadn't done in a very long time.

"I'm so sorry Yngvar, I wasn't paying attention. I was trying to find the French-Fried onions, you know, the ones you sprinkle on top of the tuna casserole."

He grinned, turned to the right, reached across the aisle to the top shelf and brought down a bag of what I was looking for.

"You mean these little rascals?" I nodded. "Yeah, I like them that way too, sometimes I'll put them on scalloped potatoes. They add that little bit of punch to an otherwise mundane dish. So, Miss Bev, now that we've met outside the dental clinic, would you like to have lunch with me?"

I hemmed and hawed and stammered until he put his hand up, the grin never left his face.

"That's alright. I know I come on kinda strong sometimes. Maybe I'll see you around again before next year's cleaning."

Before I could gather my thoughts he was down the aisle and around the corner. I didn't see him in the store after that until I went to check out, he was walking out the door. Thinking I had screwed up and completely missed my shot at something that may have been nice I dragged my sullen looking face and deflated ego out the door headed for my car. Then I saw it, the dark blue truck he'd driven the day he was at the clinic, a Toyota Tacoma, I knew I'd seen that emblem before. Just as he finished loading his bounty into the truck he turned with his cart and headed toward the cart rack. As luck would have it, I reached the same area, only my cart was still full.

"Yngvar? Does that invitation still hold? I was lost in thought when you walked away. What do you have in mind for lunch?"

The grin was back, "How about that little pancake house over on Pine Grove Dr? Been there a few times and really like their chow. Another thing I like is that you can get breakfast all day long."

I wasn't quite sure what to say, I had perishables in my cart and didn't want to chance them going bad while I frolicked at a restaurant. My apprehension must have shown, he smiled, waved politely and turned. As he turned he looked back.

"That's strike two. Not doing very well with you am I? See you around."

Dammit, dammit, dammit. I was beating myself as I pondered why I didn't open my stupid mouth and make other arrangements. I got the groceries into the car and was pushing the cart to the rack when his truck pulled alongside. I watched the passenger window roll down, he leaned toward it.

"I'm gonna give it one more try. I may strike out, but here goes. I figured you've got perishables just like I have, it was kind of foolish to suggest lunch when we both need to get these groceries put away. Can I entice you with an invite to supper? Nothing fancy, unless that's what you want. Maybe Cracker barrel or some innocuous place like that. I've been told there's a new Chinese buffet on Lincoln."

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so excited about a simple date. My entire body tingled and I felt light headed. No, I didn't have wet panties, my clit wasn't throbbing and my nipples weren't hard as pencil erasers. Instead it was a soft wonderful feelinginside, tender and somewhat innocent.

"I'd love that Yngvar. Chinese, I've been wanting to try that place. Will you pick me up or should I meet you there?"

"A gentleman is supposed to pick up the lady, so if you'll give me your address, I'll be there at... what time should I pick you up?"

I typed my address into his phone, "Five thirty. That way we miss the dinner crowd. I'll be out front waiting."

"Mmm, not supposed to be that way Bev. I'll come to your door and knock. It's only right. Five thirty, I'll be there. Casual wear?"

"Absolutely, I'll be in jeans."

"Groovy."

With that he was off. I chuckled to myself, "groovy", when was this guy born? He looked far too young to be using slang like groovy. It didn't matter, he was polite, he seemed tender hearted, I was soooooo glad he didn't give up after the first try. Nor the second for that matter. With the groceries put away I proceeded to start laundry and my normal weekend cleaning. Throughout the afternoon my mind would not stop wondering about Yngvar. I finished my weekend routine by four, then took another shower just to freshen up and get ready. Rifling through my panty drawer I debated on which set of debauchery laden underwear I should choose.

I settled on a pair of dark green bikini panties and a matching soft bralette, the lacy cloth covered me but that was about it, then again when you're a 32A you don't need much for support. The bouse was a solid green and nothing would show, but I felt sexy and desirous as I finished dressing. My apartment is on the second level which afforded me the ability to watch him stride toward the entrance of my building at 5:25. I loved the way he strode with his head held high, not in arrogance, but with confidence and a knowing of who he was.

So many people walk with their head hanging down anymore, not him. His physique alone told me he was someone for whom hard work was not a rarity. I laughed to myself while looking at his flannel shirt and snug blue jeans, geez, he looked like Paul Bunyan. Then I laughed out loud wondering to myself where he keeps the blue ox. The doorbell rang, I scurried to answer. Opening the door he stood staring at me. His sentence shattered the uncomfortable silence.

"Gosh, you're pretty. The blouse and jeans do a lot more for you than the scrubs at work. Shall we go?"

He extended his arm, I took it and followed to his truck. Opening the door for me I blushed, not that he would have noticed with my darker skin, but I was certainly flustered. It had been a very long time since a date treated me like a lady. Not that I'd had very many dates to begin with since I'd left school. This man was ticking all the right boxes, I felt that if the evening continued being pleasant I would like to know him better.

Who knows, maybe my knight in shining armor is a lumberjack? The following thought wandered through my mind, "can you see me, a skinny black girl strolling down the aisle joining myself to mister stud muffin?" Then my immediate inner answer, "you damned right I could." In my fervent imagination I could see his body hovering over mine as we watched his beige cock sliding slowly in and out of my succulent brown pussy. Or me on top riding him like a woman possessed as we raced toward a perfect orgasm. Him sucking my tiny nipples into his mouth sending electric shock waves throughout my body.