I enjoy comments on my stories, both the public ones and the private ones. Suggestions and opinions are welcome. But some comments on my past stories suggest that there should have been some warning about the theme. This is an erotic story involving interracial play and married women straying from their husband. If the idea of a black man fucking a married white woman bothers you, you should move on to another story.
As an Introduction, I'm Devon, a 33 year-old black man now living in Chicago, the city where I was born and raised. I work for a mid-sized investment bank and travel a fair amount. I'm 6' 4" and a good athlete, all city in high school basketball and all state in football. I received a scholarship to play college football on the west coast, where I was an all conference tight end freshman year, but a severe off the field injury curtailed my career. So I hit the books got a degree in economics, and then an MBA, and I now have a pretty good life.
My weakness, or at least my kink, is married women. Specifically, white married women. No use psychoanalyzing the motives, but there are aspects, which I will over time describe, that just make married white women much more of a sexual turn on than more "normal" relationships. My other kink is I'm a dominant man -- not that I enjoy inflicting pain or wearing weird attire, but I know what I enjoy and clearly communicate my desires and expectations. Typically, my playmates are older than me, but not always. Sometimes I meet them on line (which I prefer) before we meet in person, but sometimes the original meeting is in person. Most of these experiences have been during the past five years, although there are some exceptions. I'm not telling these experiences in chronological order -- just the order of what's in my head when I'm writing.
It was noon on a Thursday in April, and I was flying from Chicago to San Francisco on a combination business and pleasure trip. The next day I had a couple of meetings with clients, and then I was spending the weekend with some friends from college. I had my typical seat on the plane -- 2D -- the 2nd row because I hate bulkheads, and the aisle because even in first class, my legs need more room to stretch out. I almost always board early -- that way there's none of the jostling on the jet bridge. After most everyone had boarded, I noticed the window seat next to me was still empty. I had hopes that it would remain that way, but that's seldom the case. Then just before the doors closed, a cute blond woman walked on and stopped by my seat. My guess is she was in her late 40s, slim, average height, wearing a dark jacket and pants, with a white silk blouse. She was very good looking.
She said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but that's my seat next to you."
I replied, "It's my lucky day." I started to stand up to let her in.
"Oh, I need to put my bag up first. You need not get up yet." She started struggling to lift it.
"I got you" I took the bag from her in one motion and started to put it in the overhead bin.
"Careful it's heavy"
"Not really," as I finished putting it in the bin and closed it. She scooted over to her seat and we both sat down.
"Hello Melissa, I'm Devon. Are you going home or beginning your trip.?"
"How did you know my name?"
"If it was confidential information, you shouldn't have put it on your luggage tag."
She laughed. "I see."
"Are you avoiding the question?"
"What quest -- oh! I'm returning home. I was at a conference. And then had dinner with a former colleague last night. Why is it so hot in here?"
"A rare sunny day in Chicago. Hopefully once we start moving the cabin will cool down."
She took off her jacket. Because I was much taller than her, the top of her cleavage showing. She looked like she had large breasts, but she kept herself wrapped tight. I became more intrigued.
"What about you, Devon, do you live in the Bay Area?"
"Used to. This is a work trip, but then I'm spending the weekend with my college friends." What do you for work?"
I'm a psychologist."
"In the city?"
"No, in Mill Valley. It's just over the bridge from --"
"Melissa, I used to live in the area. I know where Mill Valley is. Although when I lived there the border patrol wouldn't let me in."
She laughed. The flight attendant came by and asked if she wanted something to drink before take off.
"Can I have a glass of white wine?"
"Of course." And the flight attendant left.
"I didn't know if I could order wine. I'm not used to flying first class."
"I'll teach you to get used to it. What type of patients do you see?"
"Mostly couples, but some individual women patients"
"Good. So you won't try to fix me."
"Do you need fixing?"
"Depends on who you ask. I think I'm perfect."
The flight attendant returned with her wine.
I asked, "So how long have you been married?"
"How do you know I'm married?"
I softly grabbed her hand and held it up "Melissa, when you're wearing a ring with a rock like that, you might as well be wearing a tattoo on your forehead saying 'MARRIED'"
"You notice everything."
"I try to be observant."
"That's a good quality."
"So, your answer?"
"We've been married for 15 years. He's my second -- I had a son with my first hub."
"Well he's a very lucky man"
She laughed "That's what I tell him."
"Does he believe you?"
"I'm not sure."
"Give me his number -- I'll text him."
We continued with small talk through the taxiing and take off. Then after takeoff, she ordered another glass of wine. She was a little looser and friendlier.
She said "So tell me about you."
I started to talk about work. She cut me off. "No, more personal things. Dating? Serious relationship?"
"You don't want to know the details -- it might scare you."
"I'm a professional -- you won't shock me."
"A man shouldn't tell his secrets."
"I'm safe -- I'm just curious about your type. I don't see single men in my practice -- call it professional research."
"How are you safe?"
"I'm sure I'm not your type."
"Actually you're exactly my type."
"You date interracially?
"Exclusively"
"Interesting. But certainly you date women your age."
"No. More frequently I date women your age -- or older."