*** The Present ***
I am in ecstasy as her full lips plunge slowly down over the length of my hard cock, the sensations of her warm tongue tickling the shaft as she rhythmically increases and then decreases the intensity and speed of her suction. Her mouth is so dripping wet, I feel my sensitive balls soaked in her drool as she takes them in one palm and tickles them with her long fingernails.
Her eyes light up the darkness of the bedroom on this early summer's night, brilliantly bright in contrast to the darker shade of her ebony skin, though she shines with a vitality that defies her age, her body curved and reflective of the setting sun behind the curtains like rolling mountains capturing the last rays of twilight on the verge of full dark night.
I cannot control my breathing, letting out sharp gasps of excitement with every pleasurable sensation I feel; every nerve ending standing to attention as the unseen tension rises between us. With one painfully deliberate and most delicious slurp, as she withdraws me from her insatiably lustful mouth, she smiles at me with her eyes and purrs that she is so fucking turned on.
'I love to feel you swell up in my mouth, I'd love you to spunk down my throat sometime,' she says.
'I nearly just did,' I told her, panting and dripping sweat, 'but right now I know where I'd love to shoot my spunk...'
*** History ***
Fifteen years ago, Patricia Williams was my history teacher in High School. The first black woman I'd ever had the pleasure of getting to know when black people in my part of England were as rare as snow in summer, I found a special place in my heart for her almost instantly. Little did I ever expect we would much later in life share a brief and solely sex-based relationship upon being reintroduced after those fifteen years had passed.
Miss Williams was first introduced to the pupils of our High School when I was sixteen and studying for my final exams. Back then she must have been in her late twenties. Near the beginning I found I could not deny the cutest of cherub faces with the most entrancing, big kissable lips and lovely warm brown eyes. I say near the beginning because at the beginning she was so strict, it scared me, but after a few weeks she warmed to her pupils and we warmed to her, me especially.
She was a voluptuous woman of short height that always hid the majority of her curves beneath long flowing dresses but those dresses had always been very low-cut at the neck and since she was never so shy as to deny her favourite pupils a hug for good behaviour, it was plain for all to see the red-faced joy the other kids got from those special hugs whenever they were helplessly drawn into those massive rounded tits and commenced to have the life squashed out of them in front of the whole class.
What we also loved about her, those of us that had so little time to really get to know her, was her hilariously frank attitude. Miss Williams was never above anybody and liked to remind us that neither were we, though she liked to make fun of us nonetheless, though no one was safe and god help anyone that tried to be funny right back in her face.
She was also a woman of common sense and clearly very finely tuned to the social politics of a time that naively claimed to be one of unconditional equality and fairness. Her colour had clearly taught her otherwise during her own childhood and she had hinted this on many occasions whenever issues of discrimination were raised in the classroom.
Admittedly, I was a "late bloomer" and not only did I only start to pay females any sort of attention that didn't involve calling them silly childish names, I only started to have crushes on older women, our new history teacher here being a perfect model for my fantasies at the time. She was young enough to be in her prime and old enough to be experienced, she had a body that made it very hard for me to stand up straight in class – unless that involved standing to attention while sitting hidden beneath the desk – and thanks to my hyperactive imagination and her knowing too well about shy teenagers and their imaginations, she sometimes preyed on me because of it.
The day she told us how well we did with our pre-exam coursework, I came out on top of the class by a mile. Unbelievably, as the object of my affections told me this, watching the grin spread across my red face, she slyly remained straight-faced before asking me if I wanted to go home with her...
What the fuck? I screamed silently somewhere deep within, and I felt myself blush so hard that I almost broke a sweat. At that very moment the class turned to face me and I didn't know the answer. Hell. I didn't know the meaning of the question, but my pubescent nuts took a shot at guessing for me and nearly puked up in my pants there and then.
'Maybe another time, Mrs Williams,' I said with what was probably the most ridiculous smile ever displayed spread right across my spotty face, 'I already have a lot of homework...'
She just looked at me as if to say, 'yeah, whatever,' as did the rest of the class, most of whom hated me anyway and the class went on, the other kids getting shot down with their poor grades.
How I cringed at remembering that moment every time it came back to me, and yet I never understood what she meant. I also remembered quite fondly, though cringing equally as much, the amount of masturbating material that one question had fuelled. Being invited back to the home of the one older woman I'd fuck over any other girl in my teenage wet dream collection, even Pamela Anderson from Baywatch; it was impossible for me to get out of the bathroom that evening.
So sixteen years later, after having grown up some, not just physically (a lot) but even mentally (I know, scary), after having battled my way through countless meaningless jobs, relationships and personal identity crises, I found myself surfing the chat and date sites, looking for women to share my sense of humour with and hopefully even meet for drinks, dates, no strings fun... whatever...
I had a few specific types I'd hunt for and it really should have come across as obvious that after all this time, my history teacher Miss Williams had made a lasting impression on me. In between the women my own age, the girls with shallow personalities and low senses of self esteem, I was trawling the chat rooms for both mature women and busty black women, though not often daring to mix the two as the area I lived in, it was rare to find such a type, especially one that captivated me like Miss Williams.
Call it fate, call it chance, luck or whatever the hell you want to call it. Did I ever expect I'd come across her in a million years? Did I ever expect her to look anything like she did back in the day?
You tell me!
She had changed some, of course. Her hair, platted into cornrows as it always had been, was slightly salted now with the odd grey patch, she had cultured a few laughter lines and by the look of some photos showing a bit more body than the typical head and shoulder pics, she had lost a little of her curvaceous frame, if I recalled well enough. But essentially it was her, I was sure of it. I had read her profile just to be sure.
It read:
I'm Patricia, a 47 year old teacher from the North of England. I'm just here to look and chat, not looking for a relationship and not looking for a pervert either. Only come and say hi if you can think of a better way of saying hello than 'what are you wearing?'
I don't know what I was thinking but I dared to send her a message that said more than, 'hi, do you remember me? I was one of your students in 1996. By the way what are you doing here?'
Instead, I told her my name, asked if she taught history at a certain High School from 1996 onwards and then confessed, if so then she was the object of the biggest teenage crush ever.
I didn't expect a reply, in fact, cringing like never before, I expected she'd probably delete her account without hesitation. I was shocked rigid the day I got back onto the chat and date site to find quite the suggestive reply.
It read:
Oh my God, I'm sorry if I upset you when I say I can't remember just yet but yes I did teach history in that school from 1996 to 2001. And you say I taught you? Shame you're not a teenager anymore, I do miss those teenage crushes, though you do look quite the hunk if you don't mind me saying so xxxx
