My wife Susan and I walked into the front door of the hall where my 20th-anniversary high school class reunion was being held. It was fun to look around at all my old classmates; we were all still less than 40 years old, and yet it was a hoot to look around and see who'd gotten fat, who'd gone bald, and who was already going gray.
Suzy was being a good sport about it -- we'd met in college, and she didn't know anyone there except me. I told her that, as far as I was concerned, she didn't have to go with me to hang out for a few hours with a bunch of people she didn't know, but she just waved me off. "We've been happily married for 15 years," she said, "and I want all your classmates to know that. If I don't come, it sends the wrong message. There will be plenty of women there 'on the make', and I just want them all to know that you're very much spoken for." I could understand that. And it's not like I didn't want her with me; I was just thinking to keep her from excessive boredom.
We signed in at the registration table, and then wandered into the main hall. As soon as we stepped through the door, I heard a surprisingly familiar voice calling my name. I looked around and saw Keisha, waving us over to the table where she and her husband were sitting. Keisha was one of the utterly memorable people in my class. For starters, she was the only black person in our whole class -- in fact, the only black student our school had ever had. And she was the first real girlfriend I ever had.
*****
Our school is way Up North, far away from the 'urban centers' of our state, where most of the black folks live. Keisha's family had moved to our town in the summer before our senior year, and their presence caused something of a sensation in the town, and the school. Of course, there were a whole set of folks who had always liked the uniform whiteness of our town, and didn't appreciate having that disturbed. There was another set of folks that just thought, in a 'token' kind of way, that it was 'just wonderful' that we were finally breaking some color line, and for them, Keisha and her family were a kind of symbol that integration had reached the Great White North.
I was somewhere in between. It seemed phony to invest Keisha with all sorts of 'racial/social significance', one way or the other. I just took the opportunities I was given to get to know Keisha as a person, apart from all the racial labels.
And perhaps because of that, Keisha and I quickly became friends, and eventually, something more than just friends. For whatever reason, none of the girls I'd grown up with had ever seen me as particularly desirable; certainly nothing like 'boyfriend material'. But Keisha didn't have any of those preconceived notions, and she being the New Girl, she appreciated that I was just willing to be her friend when almost everyone else could only see her as a 'label'.
Still, there was something fascinating and exotic about her blackness, at least from my limited experience -- her deep brown eyes, her luscious thick lips and wide nose, the hair that she wore in a big, frizzy afro. I loved how her dark-skinned hand looked when I held it in mine, and how it felt when I ran my fingers through her delightfully thick, kinky hair. She was so different in appearance from all the girls I'd grown up with, and if anything, her soul was even more beautiful.
*****
So I was happy to see her, and to sit at the same table as Keisha and her husband Artis. She looked great. The slightly pudgy girl with the big afro that I'd known in our school days had grown into a fairly striking woman in her late 30s, with long beaded braids. She looked leaner than I remembered her, but if anything, her breasts were even larger, and she still had the 'black girl's butt' that I'd appreciated back in the day. And she still had the same outgoing personality that I'd fallen for all those years ago.
I introduced Keisha to Susan, and she introduced me to Artis, telling him, "This is that white guy I'm always telling you about". It was interesting - in many ways, Suzy was like a white version of Keisha: similarly built, with beautiful auburn hair, and a similar sanguine personality. I suppose there's some fodder for a psychologist in there, but maybe that's just the kind of women I'm attracted to.
Artis was a massive man -- probably six-foot-four, with a barrel chest, thick muscular arms and huge hands. I'm not a small guy -- six feet, and over 200 pounds -- but when we shook hands, it felt like my hand was just being engulfed in his.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Artis," I began. "I'm glad to meet the guy who could catch a woman like Keisha. Congratulations. I've always thought the world of your wife; she's a very special lady."
"Yes she is," he replied.
"And," I continued, "I appreciate you coming with her; this isn't necessarily the most exciting place for you to spend a few hours with a bunch of white people you've never met."
"It's OK," he said. "Keisha really wanted to come and see her school folks again. And she REALLY hoped she could see you. And just from the way she talks about you, I wanted to meet you, too. She counts you as a great friend. And that counts for a lot with me."
I felt myself blushing, in spite of myself. And Keisha held all sorts of huge significance in my life, as well.
As we sat down and settled into our conversation, Artis turned to me, smiling, and said, "Keisha tells me you're the first guy she ever fucked."
I chuckled to myself - this guy gets right to the point, doesn't he? And knowing Keisha, I could easily imagine her telling him that. I looked around the table, first at Artis, wondering if this was some sort of male-competitive thing, or just his version of a conversation-starter. Then I looked at my wife. Susan and I both knew that neither of us were virgins when we met, and neither of us carried any particular baggage about the other's sexual history. But how would it hit her to be sitting at the table with the woman who'd been my first?
"I suppose I probably was," I answered. "Anyway, she was certainly my first. You never forget your first one, do you?"
Across the table, Keisha was looking down at the table, shaking her head and grinning.
"I don't know," I continued, smiling ironically, "but it does seem funny that, out of the whole world, Keisha's first time having sex was with a white guy, doesn't it?"
And everyone at the table laughed.
*****
Keisha's birthday and mine were only about a week apart, and we both turned 18 in the late winter of senior year. Not long after that, our school had a basketball game at a school about an hour away from our town. Keisha and I got together with five other kids from school and drove to the game. Keisha and I, and another couple, sat in the back seat (and four of us in the back seat was a tight squeeze, which none of us minded); a third couple sat in front, while the 'odd guy' drove. I was smiling to myself, recalling that, before I met Keisha, I would have been the 'odd guy' doing the driving, while everyone else in the car was paired off with their girlfriend/boyfriend.
Our team lost the game, and we all piled back into the car for the hour's drive home. It was well after dark, and all three couples were no doubt looking forward to some serious making-out during the drive home. But, at least at first, the other guys all wanted to talk about the game, and shots made or missed, bad calls by the refs, and whatever else. I was eager to finish with the talking and turn my attention to Keisha, but the other guys seemed more worked up about the game.
Then, in the darkness of the back seat, while the other guys were warbling on, I felt Keisha grab my hand from around her shoulder, and drag it down to her breast, inside her coat. I looked down at her, making eye contact in the darkness; she looked back at me with a shy smile. I gently squeezed her breast, the first time in my life that I'd actually felt the real breast of a real woman. I savored its soft firmness, its size and heft, even through the layers of her clothing. She wriggled in her seat against the movements of my hand, savoring my touch. Finally, the other guys stopped talking (or maybe their girlfriends shut them up similarly to how Keisha had grabbed my attention), and I leaned over and kissed Keisha deeply, while continuing to massage her breast. She wasn't the first girl I'd ever kissed, but she was the first girl I'd ever kissed like that -- with tongues and teeth, and everything else. And her thick black lips made it even more exciting, sending electric jolts all through my body. By the time we finally arrived back home, I had a hard-on in my pants, and nothing to do for it.
Over the next few weeks, Keisha and I looked for more opportunities to make out like we had in the car that night, and she would always let me feel her tits.
One warm Saturday in the springtime, Keisha called me on the phone. Her parents had to go to a wedding out of town, but she had to work that night, so she hadn't gone with them, and she wondered if I'd like to come over and hang out with her until she had to go to work. She didn't have to ask twice, I promise you.
I ran over to her house, and within minutes, we were making out on the couch in the family room, as we'd done many times before. I raised my hand to cup her breast, and lo and behold! She wasn't wearing a bra! I could feel her full breast through the thin fabric of her T-shirt! That was about the most exciting thing I'd ever experienced, and I turned toward her, and began kissing her more deeply, and more urgently, as my arousal grew.
After a few minutes, she grabbed my hand and shoved it up under her shirt, so I was feeling her naked breast. So full, so firm, so delightful. I found her nipple and rolled it gently between my fingers, while both of us were breathing heavily. With my free hand, I probed down the back of her jeans, teasing the crack of her magnificent black ass with my fingertip, and that seemed to whip her arousal up even higher. I was painfully aware of my own growing erection.
As we continued whipping each other up to higher and higher levels of excitement, Keisha did it. Casually, almost 'accidentally', she laid her hand on the bulge in my pants. No one had touched me there since I got out of diapers, and it drove me wild. I began grinding my groin against Keisha's hand, and she began to grip my erection more purposefully, tracing the outline and gently stroking along its length.
She sat up abruptly. Still gripping my erection through my pants, she said in a husky voice, "I want you."
"I want you, too," I croaked, my arousal overcoming my vocal cords.
Instantly, we were engaged in a flurry of peeling each other's clothes off. Keisha raised her arms so I could peel her shirt off her. Her firm, round breasts were wonderful to behold, the first time I'd actually laid eyes on them. I was mesmerized by the way they jiggled and bounced when she moved, and the chocolate-brown color of her skin was utterly fascinating, with dark, almost purple-gray nipples, and I couldn't help but bury my face in their fullness, nuzzling and suckling them, while Keisha held my face tightly against herself.
She stripped my shirt off me, and we embraced tightly. She rubbed her breasts sensually on my bare chest, while we kissed passionately, our tongues probing against each other, and to the farthest corners of each other's mouths. The sensation of her naked skin against mine drove us both to an even higher level of arousal.
She moved to straddle my lap as I continued to suckle her. Soon, she was fumbling with the button on my pants and pulling down the zipper. My stiffly erect cock sprung up from its confinement, making a tent in my underwear, with a wet circle spreading from the tip. I raised my hips off the couch so Keisha could strip my pants off me completely, and then she resumed her position astride me, my cock sticking up between her legs.
