This was Sandy's big night. She prepared carefully -- a bubble bath followed by a touch of Chanel 5 on her ear lobes and another down south where the action would take place. Then she made a light dusting of scented powder between her breasts.
That was it for the parts of her body which would not be exposed after she dressed. Then she slipped on her dress, and hoped it would be worth the price she and her husband paid for it. The Vee neckline plunged so much that her titties, unfettered by a bra, could be seen to jiggle when she walked. She selected a pair of thin panties, then decided to leave them in the drawer. As she walked she could feel the thin silk dress rubbing against her bare buns. The crack of her derriere would be discernable to those walking behind her.
Sandra was a strong believer in the axiom "to be sexy, a woman should look and feel sexy." She knew the clothes made her look sexy and as soon as she felt the thin silk material against her skin she knew she was positively sexy.'
And it showed! Greg, her husband of fifteen years, looked at her proudly, and walked her to the door. Then he backed off a bit and looked at his wife. "You'll drive them crazy down there darling. I hope to see you back here very soon with a prize, a very big prize,"
Sandy blew a kiss to her husband, then walked out the door. She was off on the biggest adventure of her life, and her husband would share in it.
Outside the posh hotel she caught a cab. When she announced her destination to the cabby, "The Rhapsody in Black and White" in the Village, the cabby give her a knowing smile and said, "Party time eh? I'm sure you will have a good time. That place is a popular destination for so many lovely women."
The game was afoot! She wondered if the cabbie thought her a cheap tart or a beautiful woman. She felt a slight thrill at being a cheap tart. Her visit to the Big Apple was growing more exciting every night.
At her destination, Sandy paid the driver and walked past the sign which read "Exotic pleasure for mature people of all colors," Inside, it was obvious the message was understood. Many other women were already there. Most, like herself, were white. Their ages ranged from thirty to fifty. So far as she could see, the male clientele consisted of nothing but black men.
This was not a Sunday School meeting. Sex was in the air, and Sandy was a part of it. A voltage meter would surely have detected a highly charged current running between her and the men who watched her as she made her way to an open spot at the bar.
She took a seat and ordered a Chablis which she held it in her left hand as she sipped it. It drew attention to the large, expensive wedding ring Greg had put on her finger this date fifteen years earlier. He agreed it should stay on for their adventure this evening. Both recognized that a married woman was special in a singles bar. Most of the patrons go there to hook up with a woman, and a married woman was considered a premium. Even the married men felt fucking another man's wife especially exotic.
Whether it was the ring or not she had her first offer immediately, "Hey, white mama, Y'all like to dance with a hot dude?" The invitation was from a guy who looked so young he surely had been carded before he got into the joint.
Young dudes were not in her plans. She opted to reject the offer and hope for something containing less of an age gap and a culture gap. She couldn't imagine spending an evening trying to both fight off the titty groping and decipher the jive talk. Sandy gave him a sweet smile and said, "No thanks."
The kid tried again, this time in a more plaintive voice. "Aw come on white mama' if'n y'all tried black you never go back."
He heard "No thanks." again, this time with a bit more emphasis.
"Awwww comeon. . . "
His pleadings were interrupted by a buff, fortiesh guy who cleared things up. "You heard the lady and you know the rules. "No" means no and that's your clue to cool it bro. Now behave or I'll have you eighty-sixed." The young man uttered "Sheeeit," but it was muted. He walked away, obviously disgruntled,
Sandy felt a bit sorry for him. She too had been lured into the place by an advertisement which promised an exciting tryst. But her disappointment was short lived. Her protector sat down beside her and asked, "White mama' doesn't do it for you eh?"
Gloria could not help laughing. "I'm afraid 'white mama' is not the image I wanted to project."
The big, black, buff guy said, "White mama, whatever image you wanted to project was one which hit the spot with most every dude in here, including one of the owners of this joint."
"And who is this owner?"
"At your service maam. I answer to the name, Tyrone Harrison, but it's Ty for short. The name and the skin color make me a natural for bouncer as well."
Sandra looked up at Ty, smiled and offered her hand "I'm Sandra visiting town from the hinterlands. I'm honored to meet you."
Ty said "Thank you. I hope to keep you interested until at least one customer of your choosing puts a move on you."
Sandra gave him the "come hither" smile she'd been working on for just this moment, "Suppose I've already spied exactly what I want?"
"I'd say a guy named Ty just found himself the luckiest man in the world. Let's dance while we discuss the details."
Soon Sandra found herself on the crowded dance floor and in the arms of a black man twice her size. Although it was breathtaking, she wasn't sure whether she was the hound or the hare, but things were going her way so far. Her heart was beating faster. No daylight showed between the couples, most of whom were engaged in fondling, kissing, rubbing their partners.
She too moved in close. Then, "You sound somewhat different from what I expected."
Effecting a nasal whine, Ty answered, "Y'all spected I'd go on an on a talkin about mah big twelve inch pecker?"
Sandy smiled and said, "I suppose a white woman on the make might make that inference, and is it true about the twelve inches?"
"Nah, I only got just what I need. Also I know about the visceral effect of jive talk and can turn it on when it's called for. You'd be surprised at how many husbands dig ravish the idea of their wives being ravished by a semi-literate street nigger.
"I personally outgrew the argot at a fancy college where I carried a football. It was a good school, one which offered a real education for football players willing to take advantage of it. A professor pointed out to me that black pride was one thing, being a successful black business professional, another, He told me I would fare better if I used standard English and avoided the patois of the ghetto. "
A urbane black, bouncer who could turn on the patios and had "what was needed in his pants" fascinated Sandra. Somehow this incongruity figured to raise imaginative sex to its highest level.
They were dancing even closer as Ty continued his narrative, "That part of education came in handy after college. I had signed for a ton of money in the NFL with a three year salary guaranteed. I lasted two games. In the third, a bigger guy than I jumped on my legs and knocked me out of the league. But I had my guaranteed salary, and I knew the language and a lot about business and marketing. The jive talk comes in handy with the gals who dig it. This bar is where my money went. It has been paying off well both monetarily, and otherwise."
Sandy was now absolutely sure she wanted him to be the prize she would bring back to Greg.
Soon, with a bit of help from the close dancing, he addressed the situation more obviously. His hand moved down to her ass. She moved in even tighter and felt his erection pressing against her. And it got hotter as his hand fondled her ass in an attempt to learn if she was wearing panties. She was glad she'd left them in the dresser drawer back in the hotel. This was an exciting game! Ty felt nothing but bare skin through the thin silk dress as he groped. To make sure he knew she was playing the game knew she deliberately rubbed against his erection.
Then Sandy closed her eyes and imagined she was naked and lying under his naked body. Her pulse quickened. It was an exotic form of foreplay and it was working. Sandy made a big move, "This is getting more and more exciting," she whispered, "But let's clear one thing up. If I invite you to come back to the hotel with me, would you accept."
Ty replied, "Yes, but we have to discuss a few details first. Let's sit an a booth and make sure we're both on the same track."
By now the booths were filling up, but he led her to one in a darkened corner. It bore a sign RESERVED. Ty removed the sign and he and Sandy moved in, still close together.
They sat close together. He put his arm loosely around her shoulder and said, "I understand you and I are going to get it on Sandy, but please tell me what to expect."
"I'll be glad to answer. Greg and I are in town celebrating our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Early on we agreed that while we loved each other we didn't own each other. What we decided was we would not let an affair by either of us destroy our marriage, as it had done so often for others.
"Ironically neither of us have ever tested that freedom, but now things are changing. Our anniversary trip to the Big Apple has been one where we expressed our undying passion for each other. To help emphasize it, Greg booked us into the notorious and expensive Libido Arms at the Park where we're staying."
Ty interrupted, "Yes we get many of our patrons from that place. We hit the jackpot by catering to interracial dating. Women love it and several meet a brotha here and take him back for some sort of threesome with their husband." "
Sandy continued, "The visit to the Libido Arms distinctly led to my visit here tonight. I have never had another man, or even thought of it, until a few nights ago.
"As you know that hotel is designed around the motif of sex -- unbridled, often esoteric, sex. Our room is designed with mirrors on the ceiling and around the room. We could even select muted, alternating, blue, red, and mauve lights. The effect was overwhelming, and sex was scorching hot.
