That night when I got home I was very quiet. I didn't have much to say, plus I was still in shock over all that had happened that day.
Andy, getting out of the shower, began questioning me on what happened at work that day. Finally, I casually mentioned that I went to lunch with Amos.
There was a long silence and then Andy walked over to me and said "What?" in a very loud and very shocked tone of voice.
"What the hell are you thinking about!?!" he yelled, standing over me in an almost threatening way.
"Well, he's very, very persistent," I said. And I said it in a casual, almost teasing, tone. I guess underneath it all I was really very angry. Angry that my husband wasn't man enough to keep me satisfied and at home. Man enough to keep other men at bay. After all, I thought, I had told him this man was making advances and he did nothing. Nothing to protect and defend me—and my honor. An honor that was now gone—taken forever.
Taken by a black, 65 year old janitor.
"Why didn't you just tell him no!?!"
Andy's voice was rising now. He was almost becoming hysterical. Like a woman, I thought. And he looked so ridiculous again, standing there shouting, naked, with his little genitals flapping and bobbing around like someone had grafted a five year old's privates onto a 30 year old man.
What did I ever see in this man was all I could think. He now seemed so ineffectual, so weak, so impotent...so white.
I just got up undressed and walked into the shower leaving him there saying, "Well...well...are you going to say anything?"
From the bathroom I answered as I shut the door. "No."
I ran the shower, but before stepping in I noticed what my husband must have seen as I disrobed. My back was scraped red from all the rubbing on the back room's cot that Amos had fucked me on. Also, my pussy was red and sore from both Amos' bruising dick and from my own constant masturbating throughout the day as I kept recalling the black man's taking of me.
Andy had to know.
My slight bit of pussy hair was matted with dried semen. In short, I was a mess with recent sex. And even smelled it too.
You could smell the sex all over me, I thought. He knows Amos fucked me. He knows and yet all he does is stand there and get hysterical asking me to say something.
I stepped into the shower and let it rain down on me. As I sat down on the ledge and felt the water splash on my breasts, belly and inner thighs, I began to get horny again.
"God," I thought, "I can't seem to get enough!" I wanted more of something, I kept thinking. As I closed my eyes and let my fingers rub along my once again swollen pussy lips, I dreamed of being taken by an African tribe of huge black men. I imagined them forcing me to do all kinds of unmentionable things. Things I had never before actually done with a man. At least, with a white man. But they were things I was now thinking I would do. At least, do with a black man.
And there was one particular black man, much older, and very persistent, who I thought I might be persuaded to do all of these things with...
His name was Amos.
That name now sounded like music to me. I wanted him, and his body, so, so much.
As my fantasies about the old janitor continued...I came. Very strongly, almost violently.
"OH...Oh...oh..ooooohhhh. Oh, Amos, Amos, Amos," I mumbled over and over.
That night in bed Andy climbed on top of me and tried to mount me. But couldn't.
No matter how much he tried, he couldn't even get close to getting hard. It seemed pathetic, as he started just rubbing his limp genitals against my pussy. Then suddenly, rolled off me and began whimpering in our bed.
I thought, does he expect me to comfort him! He disgusts me!!!
How strange, it seemed, that here was a man who laughed at another man approaching his wife, but who now found her being taken from him by this very man. And now this 'laughable' old man was, in effect, emasculating him through the seduction of his wife.
Who is laughing now, I thought.
The next morning as I dressed for work Andy started in again.
"Look I'll forgive you, Ok? But from now on you tell him, 'No'. Understood?"
I looked at him with loathing, "Why don't you come down to work and tell him 'No' yourself. And be a man—for once!"
"Fine. I might do just that!"
"I won't hold my breath...," I said as I walked out.
At work each day, I waited for Amos to find a reason to come up to my department to fix something. I thought for sure he'd find an excuse to see me. But as the days passed, no Amos.
Finally, I began inventing phony reasons to call maintenance to try to get him up in my department. But each time another man would show up. "Damn," I'd find myself thinking, all these sexy outfits, but he doesn't even come up to take a look.
As days passed I began to get angry. "What, does he think he's too good for me!!!!" I would find myself totally distracted and furious.
"He's a damned, black janitor," I'd think racistly. "He should feel so lucky to have had what I gave him!"
But then, as happens with women, I'd begin to lose my confidence. Maybe I wasn't that good on the cot that day, I worried. Maybe other women he's been with pleased him more. Maybe I can do better next time if I read books on what men like or ask other women. Maybe I should ask some of the black women here at work what they do to please their men.
My thoughts went on and on until I worried myself into knots; convinced that I didn't measure up to the kind of woman that could keep a man like Amos.
But maybe it was true, I just wasn't good enough for him.
Soon I found myself thinking of excuses to go down to the basement to visit the Maintenance Dept.
One Friday I decided I would do it. I would go down to the Maintenance Dept and find out why Amos never followed up and called me again. Find out why this old, toothless, black janitor...dumped me.
I went down to the Maintenance Dept dressed in a tight knit dress. Very short. With very high, high heels. I wanted to be dressed to kill.
When I knocked on the door I heard Amos' voice say, "C'mon in!"
