It's difficult to say whether my story is a happy or sad one. Like everyone's life I have had my ups and downs. There are some sad parts, there are parts that some people would find wrong and immoral, but it's my story, and I am happy now, as are all the people who matter, so for me, I consider it a happy one.
First a bit about myself. My name is Celine, and I'm originally from Hawaii and of Chinese and Filipino descent. I have been around enough to know I am considered pretty. My genes have dictated that I be on the short side, have a plump behind and thick thighs and b-cup breasts. As guys used to tell me, my beauty wasn't the kind you put up on a pedestal, but the kind you want to roll around in bed with, meaning I had the type of body that men liked to have sex with. Men can be such pigs. From all my time outdoors in Hawaii, my hair turned a dirty blonde and my skin turned a golden brown.
I moved to California for school, and despite the hype, Hawaii spoils you and the beaches in California just aren't the same, so my beach bum days are over. That and university plus nursing school left me with very little free time. I started artificially bleaching my hair as the roots came out. In Hawaii blonde haired Asian women aren't uncommon, but in California, they are a bit more unique, and I liked that. My skin lightened a bit over time, but once again I could thank my genes for keeping me just a lighter shade of gold.
I can be a bit of a flirt, people have described me as 'free-spirited'. It's gotten me in trouble at times, but nothing I couldn't handle. I dated a little in high school, but I left the islands with my virginity, but lost it in about a month on the mainland. I wouldn't say I was wild in college, but who didn't cut loose a little? In Hawaii people didn't really pay much attention to race, and I just dated guys who I thought were cute and who showed interest in me. That's how I approached dating in college. When I look back I can see that my black boyfriends got in my panties quicker, but I didn't know if that was because I liked them more or they were just more aggressive.
Right out of school I got hired as a nurse in an emergency room. About a month in, we got a call about an incoming motorcycle accident and the rider was a little banged up. That's when I met Stan, the man I'd eventually marry. He was white, 15 years older than me, but he was from Hawaii too. He saw it in me and we just hit it off. He was a software engineer somewhere, I didn't care much about that. He surfed, skateboarded, such a young at heart and spirit and I fell in love fairly quickly.
He broke his leg and got some bad scratches, but he'd be okay. After he left the hospital, he called back for my number, we started dating and within six months, we were married. We wanted to have kids, but we wanted to get established in our careers and make a little more money before we did. He worked for a start-up, and I was putting in my hours to build up seniority so I could get a little more comfortable job.
One of the nurses I worked with was named Sandra. She initially came from Malaysia, and she always said "us island girls need to stick together." I looked on the map once and saw that where she was from was actually a peninsula, but I never bothered to correct her. As short as I was, she was even shorter. Though she had a very pretty face, she had a bit of a girlish figure and made up for it by dressing rather provocatively and having a promiscuous attitude.
We became friends quickly, and would talk about everything. I did envy her a little bit, even though I loved my husband, I lived vicariously through her rather promiscuous life. She had a lot of boyfriends and had no interest in settling down any time soon. She would tease me at the end of her shifts, saying things like "going to a club tonight where hot guys are packed in like sardines. You should go with me - oops, forgot you are married." I seriously doubted she slept with as many guys as she said, but she was funny and fun to be around.
Eventually, the hospital hired an orderly (sorry, 'patient care assistant') named Duane. Duane was black. Like, literally black. I had never seen a black guy as dark as him. You'd honestly have to ask him to smile to spot him in a dark room. But when he walked into a room and the lights were on, you could hear girls' pussies moisten. He had one of those physiques that looked like a cobra ready to strike, his shoulders were three times as wide as his waist, you could bounce quarters off his ass, his biceps like softballs. If I was single, I probably would have been interested in him, except for one thing - he was probably one of the biggest assholes I ever met. He wasn't mean, just arrogant, always reminding us how good a lover he was and one day we'd all 'succumb' to his 'manliness'.
He was personally responsible for the update to the dress code we called the 'Duane Amendment' - (male and) female staff must wear undergarments (with proper support if necessary). He would walk around in loose fitting scrubs and no underwear and you could see his penis bouncing around in there like 'Kunte Kinte trying to be free.' Sometimes he'd be standing in front of us and if he caught you looking he'd make it twitch. He'd wear these thin white scrubs sometimes and if you caught him at the right angle in front of a lightsource... look, I said he was an asshole, I didn't say he wasn't hot, and I said I was married, not dead.
Besides his attitude, his other flaw was that he was short. Another black guy said he could be Kevin Hart's body double, if he wore lifts. While shorter than most other guys, he was still taller than Sandra and I. That was probably why he pretty much only showed interest in Asian girls, and he pestered Sandra and I every chance he got. He'd drop comments about how big his dick was, how loud his latest sexual conquest screamed and so on. I threatened to talk to the manager, it was textbook sexual harassment, but he always seemed to know when he went too far because he'd back off and apologize and say he couldn't help it because we were so beautiful, etc. I could tell Sandra kind of enjoyed it, so I didn't say anything. After awhile, it began to get silly, there's only so many sexual puns and innuendos you can come up with, so we started giving it back to him and it became more lighthearted.
The thing about Sandra is that she could run away from dick, but just not very far or for very long. Like I said, Duane was a very handsome man, and the inevitable happened one night when they both worked the night shift. When she came to me the next day with the biggest grin, I knew something happened. She told me at about 3 in the morning things were really slow, and Duane started running his mouth again. This time Sandra was bored and horny, so she called his bluff. Then she told me she took him into a supply closet and fucked him, I squealed so loud I drew looks from everyone in the room.
She expected him to be all talk, figuring at least she would shut him up, but as she put it, he was being modest. He had the biggest, hardest cock she'd ever seen, and had the best technique and control she'd ever experienced. She said he was like a conductor leading an orchestra, she couldn't believe he could play her like he did in a cramped supply closet with her scrubs pulled down and panties pushed aside. What could he do in a proper bed with time and loudness not being issues? She couldn't wait to fuck him again.
One thing to note, from what I have said so far and where this story goes, if you get the impression that hospitals are just these big orgy houses with everyone sneaking off and fucking everyone else, you are right. You put enough narcissistic, over achieving and horny 20-30 year olds in an environment where periods of high adrenaline and stress are interspersed with periods of mind numbing boredom, they are going to fuck. So, if that cute blond nurse of yours is sharing a funny look with the handsome black guy who just dropped off clean bedsheets, they just fucked. Get over it. Doctors do it too but they have private offices.
Where was I? Oh yeah, she couldn't wait to fuck him again, and they did and did and did. I'd always catch them coming out of a storage room with Sandra retying the waistband of her scrubs or wiping the corners of her mouth. A few times I had to point out a drop of sperm that had gotten on her face or stuck in her hair or dripped onto her top. Duane drove a black SUV with dark tinted windows and spinning rims, and he had the back set up like a little bedroom with fold down seats and a disco ball. He called his car 'Black'. Why? Because once you go Black, you never come back. Ugh. Before, Sandra would make fun of it and thought it was tacky and stupid, now she spent most of her breaks in there staring up at the ceiling with her legs in the air. I sometimes went out to the parking lot and saw his SUV not so gently rocking.
Though she professed their relationship was nothing serious, she quit having sex with other guys simply because she was usually too sore from the latest round with Duane. If you saw how small and petite she was, and the dimensions she used to describe Duane's cock, you could understand why it would be so taxing on her.
I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Sandra would always tell me about their exploits, how hard she came, how long he lasted, tricks he did, how his tongue was like one of those hentai tentacles winding its way into her stomach. At first I was disgusted by the whole thing. I mean, really. Have some professional pride. It's a hospital, not a whorehouse.
Dreams don't lie, and one night I had an intensely sexual dream where Duane took my hand and led me out to his SUV where he did to me all the things Sandra described. That changed my whole perspective. Now I started looking at Duane differently and started feeling a bit jealous of her. Rarely do you find a girl who's completely sexually satiated but had none of the confinements of a serious relationship. That would be Sandra. Who wouldn't be envious?
The night I met my soon-to-be husband, Sandra was assigned to the room the paramedics took him to. When I relieved her she told me how hot the motorcycle accident guy was, and if I didn't fuck him, she would. One night early on in our relationship I let that story slip to my husband, and he got all giddy and it kind of pissed me off at the time - 'Sandra wanted to fuck me?' I eventually let it slide. My husband and I always talked about our days, and his ears always perked up when I mentioned Sandra. When I started telling him about Duane and Sandra, his head nearly exploded. back then I couldnt help but think he was a little jealous Duane got to fuck her and he didn't, but did enjoy hearing about her in a sexual context.
The tales of her dalliances became a regular part of our sex life. He'd never fail to get a raging boner and give me a thorough fucking. The whole time I just assumed he was fantasizing about her, so I figured if he was cheating on me in his mind, I would cheat in mine, so I let my imagination go and started fantasizing it was Duane fucking me, not my husband. Who would of thought we were actually fantasizing about the same thing - me having sex with Duane, that is.
It went on like this for a few months. Sandra and Duane seemed to be becoming a regular couple, she even started spending the night at his place every now and then. I continued to secretly fantasize everything Sandra described was happening to me, and became more and more sexually frustrated. Sometimes Duane would catch me watching him and say to me, "don't worry, I'm saving some for you." I got so horny sometimes I contemplated inviting him to the storage room, but I was married, and I couldn't help but see him as Sandra's man.
Honestly I don't know if I would have resisted him if things didn't turn out the way they did. I really started to contemplate all my previous black boyfriends and I came to the conclusion that no matter how good my husband, or previous white boyfriends made me feel, sex with a black guy is so different its not even really the same act. A girl could go her whole life without having sex with a black guy and be totally fulfilled, happy without the knowledge of what could be. Once you finally do have sex with a black man, however...
But tragedy struck and destroyed every plan I had for my life and made me feel like a monster for even contemplating cheating. My husband got in another really bad motorcycle accident. For about a week doctors weren't even sure he'd survive, and I was a wreck. He did recover though. His upper body had some broken bones and scrapes, but they'd be okay. The worst damage was to his legs and below the waist. I don't want to get into detail about the injuries, but lets just say he would eventually walk again, and he'd one day be able to have sex again, but he was never going to be able to have babies.
The car that hit him was a company truck, my husband was obeying all traffic laws and the driver was drunk. We had lawyers out the door wanting to take our case, so we'd be set for life, but I'd much rather be able to have babies, but I was happy he had survived. The company agreed to pay medical bills right away, but were delaying on any other kind of payments or income replacement, so I had to continue working and things got pretty tight moneywise.
Time passed as time does, and my husband showed progress, eventually he started walking again. He actually had to take medication so he couldn't get an erection because it could rip the stitches. That meant I hadn't had sex in a long time, and I felt horrible even thinking about it.
Sandra was my rock. She showed me a whole different side of her personality and was so supportive and good to talk to. Duane stayed at bay for a while, but a dog will hunt, as they say.
One day he came up to me and said, "I feel bad about your husband, if you need any help around the house, or in the bedroom, just let me know."
