Obviously from my login, wife2hotblk, I have a thing for interracial love. Honestly, I should have known this at six, when I thought Michael Jackson was cuter than Donny Osmond. But being raised in the Deep South during the 1970's just a few years after the Civil Rights Act passed, my family were actually very stereotypical racists. My step-father not only physically looked like Archer Bunker; he acted like him as well. So even from a young age, something told me to keep this part of me quiet.
In fact the only time that I even hinted at my tendencies was disastrous. I was sixteen and two of my best friends from high school were identical twin brothers, who were black. Back then, before the Internet and cable TV that offered hundreds of channels, our family had the tradition of spending Friday evenings at the local mall. My mother and brother would window shop while my step-father and I would sit on a bench, talk, and people watch. On this particular Friday night, I saw the twins walking towards me. I thought nothing of running to say hello; or even the brief friendly hug that I gave each of them. I did though notice an odd look on my dad's face. When we got in the car to go home though, all hell broke loose. My dad roared at me, 'If I ever see you hug another nigger, I will knock you across the room.' I was so deeply hurt and conflicted by this comment that it would be almost twenty years before I gave into my fantasies and experimented with a black man. This is the story of that first time.
It was the summer after my divorce. My fourteen year marriage had ended acrimoniously. I had moved to my dream city, Los Angeles, which had always held a mysterious sense of liberal acceptance and freedom for me. My children were spending this summer with my ex-husbeast while I got settled there. I was trying my wings sexually, after the past eight years as the wife of a non-denominational preacher. I dated several men at once. I had fuck-buddies. Basically, I was trying to live out every torrid fantasy that my ex and the church had condemned me for having.
It was through one of these fuck-buddies that this particular fantasy was to be fulfilled. Jay-Jay was the typical Southern California surfer-type Peter Pan, who would never grow-up and had deep-set commitment issues. He was also a good-friend and great person to talk to. He had always wanted to try swinging, but his girlfriends had never been interested and most swinging clubs are not open to single men. So we agreed to try this as well. We had gone to a couple of parties before this night.
This group was the smallest that we had attended; only about six to eight couples on this night. In fact the night started so slowly that we were both a bit disappointed. Then they came in: the most stunning young black man and his older white partner. He was about six foot three and his body definitely betrayed his profession as a personal trainer. He was chiselled, not body builder bulk, but well proportioned muscles. His partner was pretty and well-toned, but definitely several years older than my thirty-five. I think the appropriate term would be 'well-preserved' in the LA silicon boobs and botox fashion.
It soon became obvious though that for her this was an exercise in teasing; to show off her boy-toy without others touching. They moved from room to room watching others engage in sex, while only engaging in foreplay with one another. Jay-Jay though knew of my dark fantasies. He was, although older and white, every bit boy-toy's match. Imagine Sly Stallone and you have a good picture of him. He felt in some ways that he owed me; for making the fantasy of swinging come true. So he used his considerable skill at seduction to distract her.
By this time though, I had moved to the BDSM room. The room was more dimly light than others in the house. There were chains against one wall and an array of paddles and whips. There was also a mattress opposite the chains; so that couples could enjoy the show. They had hired a Dom and sub to perform that evening. But anyone that knows Los Angeles traffic can appreciate that nothing is ever reliable; even late on a Friday night. The Dom arrived on time, but no sign of the sub even as the appointed hour rapidly approached. Now while I would not describe myself as definitely submissive, I do have those tendencies. This time in my life was about exploring; so I was happy to volunteer for the role.
So I was strapped to the wall with my arms stretched above my head and my legs spread open and secured with cuffs about the ankles. The dom, who happened to be an older gay man that simply enjoyed bondage and had no sexual designs on me whatsoever, began the show with several whacks from the most horrendous sounding paddle, which could be heard throughout the small house, but which barely stung at all. So I used what little acting skills I have to writhe, moan, and scream.
Then I noticed him walk in. It would be hard not to notice him. Not only because of his size, but there was some indefinable quality of power that clung to this young man, which commanded your attention. He took a place just inside the door and began to slowly stroke a very impressive black cock. As the show continued his eyes never left me. By the time, the Dom took the small whip and ran it between my legs I was wet from his eyes upon me. Now the first slap of that whip got my immediate attention. Thankfully there were only a few to follow.
