Frances And Drago: The Color Of Love Is Black
The Meeting
He was black; possessed a commanding look like a handsomer young Sidney Poitier; intelligent. He was also the vice president of the corporation. He exuded a magnetic figure in the confine of the room where now he stood totally at ease among his colleagues...and Frances. His powerful ebony body towered over the other men present and his gentle smile charmed the women...and Frances.
She could feel Drago's eyes on her as she walked. She could feel the blood rushing to her face. The minute Drago entered the room, Frances seemed to feel his energy. The room seemed to vibrate as he walked over and leaned down hesitantly to plant a welcome kiss on her cheek. Drago was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his huge body and smell the scent of his ebony skin. He smelled clean and very healthy with no cosmetic scent to hide the odor of human black skin. Frances looked up at him, expecting to see gentleness, surprised instead, to see desire too. Neither one of them was comfortable with that, yet it seemed too stilted to shake hands. He sort of grabbed her hand as he kissed her. They both laughed and pulled away a little too quickly.
"I'm Drago and you're Frances. Right?"
"Yes."
The conversation and the laughter rose and ebbed in the rhytmic characteristic of cocktail parties everywhere. Frances was conscious of Drago, conscious of being watched. Frances laughed, she smiled, she spoke only a little, never quite closing her mouth entirely. She was being admired and desired by Drago, and she abandoned herself to the sensation. The slow sweet music blared through the loudspeaker. Frances was startled when a hand took her wine glass away.
βI've waited a long time for this. Would you like to dance?"
It was Drago. She followed Drago' lead. He was an accomplished, well-taught dancer. He was attracted to her, and unlike the men Frances had known who made a point of hiding their feelings, he made no attempt to conceal them. Frances, too, was attracted to him, but she was disturbed by the feeling, distrusting its immediacy. Nevertheless, his unconcealed admiration made her very pleasantly aware of herself and the moment. She enjoyed the feeling of her clothing against her body, the scent of her own perfume, Poison, with the increase in the warmth of her body at the emotions she felt, suddenly more noticeable. They danced in silence, Drago at ease with his feelings, Frances uncomfortable with hers, yet unwilling to relinquish them.
The party finished early. Drago escorted her to her room. They said goodnight awkwardly. They were both conscious of a holding back, of a growing tension and uncertainty between them that were far more electric, far more compelling than a giving in to the enormous sexual excitement both felt.
Alone in his room, he undressed and, naked stood in front of his bed. Drago wished she was with him, but he had been afraid to ask too soon. He almost forgot that she was a married woman. He was afraid to be rejected. He did not want her to think he was lonely. Instinctively, his hand wrapped around his fully erect cock and started to rubbed it violently as he kept saying Frances' name. "Frances!" he shouted as great gobs of cum kept spurting almost endlessly out of his ebony cock. He felt limp because he never did come like this before. Until Frances.
In her room, Frances' mind was on Drago. He intrigued her. She found Drago' obvious attraction to her. She was immediately drawn to him when they met. There was something challenging. She had thought she would never arouse a man, and a black man at that, like Drago; a man like that would never be interested in someone like her, a married woman. And, for sex alone? Surely, there were a lot of attractive women. Yet, he obviously was in some way. Maybe he was just playing up to her because of the business plan, but she did not think so.
For the rest of the days, Drago became their personal escort which was most unusual. He seldom did it and only when their visitor were special. But Frances was special to him.
Frances found herself waking up daily in her room to the sight of red roses from Drago. There were those casual touches, the constant attention, the small gifts. All from Drago.
Friday:
They took her boss Albert to the airport, leaving Frances with a week more to spend in Ottawa.
"I guess you will now have a personalized tourist guide."
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
"Will you have dinner with me? "Anywhere you like." Drago asked knowing she had the power to hurt him by refusing. It was risky, dangerous, thrilling. He waited for her answer.
"Anywhere?" Frances asked.
"Yes. Whatever your pleasure."
"Yes."
The Friday Evening:
"I'm absolutely in awe of you."
"Drago, I can't..."
"I'll be insulted, Frances. For friendship sake."
"It's beautiful," Frances said. Drago stood up and went behind her.
"May I?" as he fastened them around her neck. The emerald necklace was the first gift Jacques had ever chosen for her, and she interpreted them as a sign that she was special to him. Still standing behind Frances and his hands holding her neck, he whispered:
βIβll be more than happy if you will wear it always. . . . like a wedding ring.β
βI promise Iβll wear it always,β Frances said jokingly.
βReally. I really mean it.β Frances was suddenly quiet. Frances sipped her wine. She could smell his smell again, even thought they were not that close. It was not bad. Frances did not even know what he smelled like. They made small talk. He told her all about the good old days. She was thinking how handsome Drago was when he looked up over his glass and caught her eye. There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her, but when they caught each other's glance they both became serious.
"Frances."
"Yes? What is it Drago?"
"I have something to tell you...something you should know." Drago looked directly at Frances' eyes. Frances suddenly became conscious of his gaze.
"About the business?" Frances asked timidly.
"No." Frances became silent for a while.
"What is it then, Drago?"
"Frances... you should know that...I love you." Drago got hold of Frances' hand and held it tenderly. Frances was stunned, not knowing what to do, just feeling the soft touch of Drago.
"Ever since I met you, I've never been the same...in my heart, mind and body.
"Drago..."
"No, Frances let me express what I feel. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to say what you feel...nor am I asking you to have an affair with me, much as I would like that to happen. I want you to know...to remember always that there is another man who loves you very much." Drago held her hand tightly as he continued to talk, "I just keep on feeling this love for you. You know men will always be taken in by your feminity, what appears to be your pliable nature, your soft seductiveness. But you are never totally able to surrender. It's like the fog. No man can ever conquer the fog. You will always elude him. That must be party because you want it that way. You feel more secure when you are never totally possessed." And with that, Drago released her hand.
Frances looked at him. Neither one of them smiled. Drago had a questioning look in his eyes. Frances could not look at him this time. For some reason, she wanted to cry. They kept looking at each other. She was unable to break the gaze. Instead, she heaved a large sigh, then whispered:
"Drago, it's getting late. I have to go." They were outside the door to her room.
"Drago, thank you for the wonderful dinner." As she turned towards the door, Drago held her elbow and: "Frances." And as Frances turned to him, Drago embraced her and kissed her gently. Frances was unable to resist. She stood stiffly in his arms uncertain what to do. She was shocked by his touch, shocked by the intimacy of his body so close to hers. Her initial impression was of warmth enfolding her. She was aware of the texture of his clothing, of his scent. His hands were strong, yet gentle. Drago took his mouth just far enough away from Frances' lips to be able to speak. "May I come in?" he asked, indicating the door. Then reason reasserted itself.