Southern Hospitality Ch 03

Fall, 1967

‘Remember to study the notes from chapter five, because there will be a quiz on Monday,’ I’m making a futile attempt to project my voice as my students noisily file out of the room. I watch them as they leave, wondering how they’ll actually spend their respective weekends, and how many of them will actually study anything before Monday morning. I notice that one student lingers, Jeffrey Wilson.

‘Miss Logan, could you explain the assignment to me again? I want to make sure I got it right, so when my Mom asks, I won’t look stupid.’

He leans in close to me as I’m explaining the instructions, his dark arm almost touching my pale, freckled one.

‘Is that better?’ I look up at him.

‘Well, there’s just this one part here that I still don’t get…’

Mr. Martin, a teacher from down the hall, enters the room. ‘Boy, don’t you know that it’s Friday? Get your ass out of here. Go on, get!’

Jeffrey rushes out as Mr. Martin playfully swats at him with a folded newspaper.

‘You didn’t have to do that, Marty,’ I complain, as he locks the door, pulling the shade down.

‘He’s starting to make me jealous. He was awfully close to you, you know…’ he stares down at me, stroking his goatee. ‘Makes me wonder if my ‘fro isn’t big enough…’

‘Don’t be silly, Marty,’ I blush, admiring the way his black turtleneck accents his mocha colored skin.

He pulls me to him, kissing me, gradually backing me into the chalkboard.

‘Not here,’ I complain. ‘Remember I had chalk all over my back, last time.’

‘Well, pick a place. Hurry up, because I’ll have to get to going in a few.’

I choose the desk, our normal place to get a quick fuck before leaving school.

‘My dick’s been hard all day, thinking about you in this wild-assed miniskirt. You got on panties under there?’

‘Of course, I do,’ I reach down to take them off, handing them over to him.

‘I bet you give the boys wet dreams. They’re probably all rushing home right now to jack off to visions of Miss Logan in her brown mini. How many clumsy fellas did you have today? I bet they were dropping pencils every two seconds…’

‘Marty, don’t be obscene…’ I kiss him, rubbing my hand over the tent in his crotch.

He raises my panties to his face, inhaling my scent and noting the dampness of the cloth, before placing them on the desk. He motions for me to turn around, leaning me across the desktop while he unzips his pants. He’s behind me, but I can still picture his long black cock as he strokes it, preparing to put it in me.

He gropes me first, pulling my shirt up so that he can fondle my breasts. He slaps my ass cheeks until they sting, then soothes me by rubbing his cock head along my slit, spreading my wetness around before he plunges in. He’s grunting already, working for a quick cum, because he’s running late for his second job tutoring at a nearby church. His dick is consistently hitting my spot, making the sensual pressure build at a furious pace. I cum with a gasp; my pussy grips his dick, and my body shudders with pleasure.

I know what he wants now. He’s been stewing all day, staring at me from across the table in the teachers’ lounge as he playfully flirted with Miss Jackson, admiring her new afro. He’ll probably be fucking her, too, in a few weeks, but I wouldn’t care. As long as he still comes to me every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night, I don’t care about what he does with the rest of his time. He’ll probably want to ram it into my ass, right here in school, as I lean across my desk. Marty gets a real kick out of that; he says that his wife won’t let him do it to her, so of course, he can’t get enough of it when he’s with me.

He’s priming my ass now, fucking my pussy again, but with a finger slipped into my anus. I can’t help remembering the first time I’d ever done this; that night in Mississippi, five years ago, in the backseat of John’s car. John had been gentle with it; I guess he should have been, since it was my first time. Marty’s never gentle, though; I always seem to have bruises when I leave him. He’s not abusive; he's just exuberant.

He pushes in unmercifully, making me squeal, a reaction that never fails to make his cock jump. His hands are sliding over my triangle, his long fingers teasing my clit. He’s moaning now, almost sounding cartoonish, going wild over the tightness of my ass.

‘Oohhh, your shit is so fucking tight, girl. Ah, ah…’ he moans in a strange falsetto, making me giggle.

I know that I can bring him home, now. I start squeezing him, working my anal muscles, stroking his cock to a climax.

‘Oh, fuck…oh, God!’ His cock spurts into me, making a hot, sticky mess of us.

He pulls out, panting, wiping his cock with a handkerchief. He kneels down to kiss both my ass cheeks, before fixing his clothes, and grabbing his paper.

‘So I’ll see you later tonight, right?’ he asks.

‘Yes, of course. The key’s in its usual place,’ I stand up, walking him to the door so that I can lock it behind him.

---

I still dream about him. I’ve been wondering, all this time, where he is, and if I’ll ever see him again. I thought that I’d be able to forget about John, and move on, but I haven’t. He’s always in my thoughts, and stubbornly, I keep imagining my future life with him in it.

I haven’t seen him since the night that he drove me to Memphis, after Wade kicked me out. I went crazy with worry, wondering if someone would kill him before he managed to make it to safety, feeling incredible guilt about all of the damage that I’d caused. I caught a train back to New York, refusing to see my parents until my wounds healed. I still have a scar on my temple, from when Wade knocked me into the corner of the table, but it’s faded now, only visible up close.

I moved to New York, permanently, taking a job teaching in a high school in Harlem. I rent an apartment in the Village, and the daily trip uptown is like traveling to a different world. I had a hard time of it at first, but once the students, all of them black or Puerto Rican, discovered that I wasn’t afraid of them, they grew to like me. Many of the teachers are suspicious of me, most of them expecting me to be condescending and elitist. Mr. Martin was immediately cordial and welcoming, surprisingly so, considering his militant appearance and his brash manner.

When I first came back to New York, I’d tried to find someone to distract me from my painful memories of Wade and John, someone new and different. I’ve had horrible luck with men, quickly losing interest with most of the guys that I dated. I thought of my lingering feelings for John, and I figured that I just had a fascination with black men, so I roamed the Village from week to week, seeking out any decent looking black guy who’d take me to bed. This tactic didn’t work out, either; I was almost at my wit’s end when I finally decided to take Marty up on the offer of a few drinks one Friday night.

He said that he’d known there was something different about me; I was much too comfortable in my situation, and he was curious to find out what my story was. I didn’t tell him much, but I told him enough to satisfy his curiosity. He told me up front that he was married; his wife didn’t like sex, and he thought that she was really a lesbian, who just hadn’t yet realized it. He told me that he was attracted to me; that he’d never thought of being with a white woman, but I intrigued him because I was different. I took everything he said with a grain of salt; I still do, but I was so lonely and horny, that I took him to my apartment with me after just one drink.

He’d never had his cock sucked; he said he’d never met a woman who would agree to do it for him. I showed him what he was missing, making him cum so fast that he was embarrassed; he insisted that he usually lasted much longer. I put him at ease, finally, by teasing him mercilessly. He proved it to me when he fucked me, making me cum several times, almost wearing me down after a while. After this, I let him have his way with me, telling him that he could do whatever he wanted. When he warily told me that he wanted to fuck me in the ass, I didn’t bat an eye, giving him directions to the bathroom so that he could find the vaseline. It was horrible at first; I thought I’d never be able to walk again, let alone sit, but it felt rather pleasant after the first few times. I soon learned that he preferred to cum that way, and because of this, he always worked long and hard to please me.

Of, course, we’ve kept our tryst a secret; aside from him being married, we just don’t want to invite any trouble. I don’t want a replay of my experience with John, and Marty doesn’t want anyone to find out that he’s fucking a white girl. He has a reputation in the community that he doesn’t want to tarnish, so he always meets me late at night, using the spare key to my apartment, and always leaves before dawn.

---

‘Jeffrey, come on!’ the teenager’s friends called to him, standing in the hall outside my classroom.

‘Wait a minute… I just had one more question…’

‘It’s okay, Jeffrey. I think you’ll do fine,’ I smiled at him. ‘You just need to remember to take the right book home with you.’

‘All right. Thanks, Miss Logan,’ he rushes off, dropping a few stray papers in his dash to catch up to his friends.

‘Slow down!’ I yell after him, picking the papers off the floor.

As I stack his wrinkled papers together, I notice a small card on my desk. It’s an appointment card, dated for next week, with Jeffrey’s name on it. I shake my head, silently laughing at Jeffrey’s persistent lack of organizational skills. Pulling out a paper clip to attach the card to the papers, I notice the name on the back of the card: John Porter, M.D.

I stare at the name, wondering if what I’m thinking could be possible. In all the time that I knew John, I never found out what his last name was. I shake my head, realizing that I’m just grabbing at straws. John’s probably in California, or some other place a world away; he’s forgotten about me. He has a wife, and children. I consider running to catch up with Jeffrey, but he’s probably long gone by now. And the appointment written on the card is far enough away for me to wait to return it to him.

I’m still fussing at myself as I leave the building, walking north instead of south, steering myself through the littered maze of Harlem streets until I reach the address printed on the card. I race up to the office, not surprised to find a waiting room full of black people, mothers and their children, an old man dozing in the corner, a few younger ones, one of them sniffling with a new cold. I can feel the stares burning into my back as I talk to the receptionist. She’s suspicious of me, loudly announcing that Dr. Porter doesn’t handle abortions and things of that nature. Fighting my embarrassment, and my anger, I calmly ask if I can see him this afternoon. She says that his afternoon is full, but after I pull out a ten-dollar bill, she agrees to ask if he’ll see me after the last patient.

I wait, for four hours, as the waiting room gradually empties out. I haven’t seen the doctor yet, haven’t even heard his voice. I’m beginning to wonder if I was mistaken; I’ve wasted an afternoon sitting in some strange man’s office, while people give me dirty looks and even one old man makes an embarrassing attempt to proposition me.

The nurse calls me in, leading me to one of the examination rooms. Laying my coat and purse on the counter, I hoist myself onto the table, crossing my bare legs at the ankles. The doctor steps in, flipping through a folder, his starched lab coat hiding the shape of his body. He’s tall, just as I remember him, and when he lifts his head to return something to the cabinet, my heart jumps at the realization that I’ve found him.

‘I’ll be with you in just a second…’ he leaves the room, questioning the nurse about another patient. When he returns, he finally looks at me, stopping in his tracks, staring.

He’s just as beautiful as ever. I bite my lip to hide my eagerness. I fold my hands into my lap, silently waiting for him to say something. I want to appear calm and collected, but my heart wants me to leap into his arms and kiss him.

‘Ingrid?’ he looks confused.

I smile at him with tears rolling down my cheeks. He moves toward me, putting his arms around me.

‘Don’t cry,’ he holds me tight, stroking my hair and my back with his strong hands, kissing my forehead with his plump, warm lips.

‘Where did you come from?’ he sounds incredulous.

‘Down the street, around the corner,’ I manage to say. ‘I teach at the high school, a few blocks from here.’

‘We’ve probably walked down the same street at the same time, and never saw each other,’ he mutters. ‘How did you find me?’

I hand him the appointment card.

‘Jeffrey.’ He shakes his head. ‘He’s one of your students?’

I nod.

‘That boy would lose his head if it wasn’t attached…’

‘I took a chance. I didn’t think I’d find you,’ I admit.

‘You sat here all this time?’ he looks at me. He laughs.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I’ve had a very long day… when the receptionist told me about you... well, let me just say that the nurse and I have been trading insults about you all afternoon.’

I laugh.

‘I’m glad you stayed. Will you come to dinner with me?’

‘I’d love to.’

He takes me a few blocks away, near the high school, to a soul food kitchen.

‘This place reminds me of my mother’s cooking,’ he says. ‘It’s not as good as hers, but it’s close enough.’

‘How is she?’

‘She’s great. She’s living in Chicago.’

‘Is that where you went? After…’

‘Yeah. I stayed there for two years. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t much different from Mississippi, in my opinion. Plus, it was too damned cold.’ He chuckles, looking at me. ‘How have you been?’

‘Okay, I guess…’

‘Just okay?’

‘I’ve missed you, everyday, since I left.’

He looks down. ‘Have you seen Wade?’

I nod. ‘I saw him on Broadway, one day a few years ago. He was with his wife, and his two kids.’

‘Did he say anything to you?’

‘No; he didn’t see me.’

‘You haven’t been happy?’

‘No, not really. I’m happy to see you, though.’ I pause. ‘You were right, you know.’

‘What about?’

‘About Wade. I never did love him…’

---

We’re rushing downtown to get to my apartment, but oddly, once we’re there, it seems as if time has stopped. We just stare at each other for a long time, standing in our coats, panting from the sprint up the stairs. He’s in shock, not even bothering to look around him at the humble décor of my living room. He hasn’t even taken his gloves off.

I perform a sort of strip tease for him, taking a step away from him with each piece of clothing that I take off. By the time I’m completely naked, I’m in the bedroom, calling him to come to me, beckoning him to follow the trail of my discarded clothes. He obeys, stepping into the room, still in his outerwear, standing in the doorway, staring at my naked body.

I stand in front of him, slowly disrobing him myself, starting with his gloves, working my way down to his shorts, running my face up and down his hairy legs, making my way to his erect cock. He stands above me, only moving to stroke my long red hair, massaging my scalp, and stroking my hairline, until he runs his fingers along the scar at my temple.

‘It’s okay,’ I scratch my fingers along his scrotum. ‘I’m all right, John.’

I hold his cock in my hands for a moment, feeling it, inspecting it, remembering how it felt inside my mouth, hot and hard, jerking around, and how it felt in my pussy, tantalizing, filling. I’m intrigued all over again, by its blackness, and it’s girth, and I can feel my mouth watering, just looking at it. He’s chuckling now, looking down at my amazed face and playfully scratching my head.

‘I guess you’ve missed this, too,’ he grins.

I slowly stroke his cock with my tongue, tasting the length of it, rolling a bit of his precum around in my mouth. I’m savoring his saltiness, bathing his penis with my wet and ready mouth, sliding my lips over it, preparing my throat to devour it. I take him by surprise; he moans when I take him down my throat, grabbing my hair, grunting slightly. I can feel his balls stirring, ready to fire his thick semen down my throat, but John is resistant; he’s trying to hold off, but I won’t allow it. I move faster, stroking and squeezing with my hands at the same time that I’m licking and sucking. He hisses as I suck harder, and I can tell that I have him now, because his precum is flowing nonstop.

‘Oh, God, Ingrid… what do you do to me?’ he breathes, pulling my hair as he explodes in my mouth.

I drink him in, slowly cleaning his cock, making him moan as I lick him again. He pushes me away, desperately trying to catch his breath. I watch him as he collapses onto the bed.

‘Are you married?’ l ask, licking my lips as I admire his athletic physique.

‘No.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ I crawl over him, straddling his legs.

‘No.’

‘Are you dating anyone?’

‘No.’ He grabs me by the hips, pulling me up to his face.

Taking my cue, I position myself over his mouth, gripping the headboard, holding my breath in anticipation of the most magnificent ride of my life. He just breathes at first, gently blowing on my lips, tickling me with little rushes of air. My pussy lips are itching for his touch, and just as I’m about to smash it into his face, flicks his tongue at it, fluttering back and forth like butterfly wings. He starts a sawing motion with the narrow edge of his tongue, making me extra wet, and causing my hips to sway forward and backward, mimicking his movements. When we build a steady rhythm together, he flattens his tongue, grinding it into my clit on an up stroke, and poking it inside my pussy on the down stroke. This drives me wild, and I’m soon bucking my hips and holding the headboard for dear life, because my heart feels as if it’s about to stop.

It’s when he starts sucking on my clit that my heart turns flips. My back arches sharply, and my body thrashes around so much that he has to hold me by the hips. After a minute or two of this, I’m crawling away from him, begging him to stop, because the feeling is too intense.

I’ve collapsed across the bed, this time. He’s fully recovered now, stroking his hands up and down my body, holding my breasts in his palms, teasing my nipples. He sucks my nipples hard and fast, sending shock waves down my stomach, straight to my energized clit. He nibbles my skin, lightly pulling with his teeth, leaving little red teeth marks all over my body, running up my arms, across my stomach, and along my neck and collarbone. All I can do at this point is to stroke his back. He stops for a while, smiling at me, running a finger along my jaw line, kissing my mouth every few seconds.

‘You’re still just as gorgeous as you were when I last saw you,’ he breathes.

I slowly climb into his lap, straddling him, and whisper into his ear, ‘I need your cock inside me, John. I’ve been aching for you…’

He watches me as I slide down onto his black pole, smiling at me as I whimper a little from the glorious stuffed sensation I’m feeling.

We watch each other, sitting face to face, kissing and grinding slowly, his hips moving up to mine, and mine moving down to his. He rocks me to a plateau of delight, moving his stiff cock in and out, and sucking my swollen nipples. I’m holding his head, smothering him with my breasts, bouncing faster to match his rhythm. I feel him slide a finger into my ass, causing me to rock my hips more fervently. My pussy seems to be dripping more than ever before, soaking his lap, and dripping down to my ass, easing his finger in.

I’m climbing; my body has taken over, moving for me, my brain only working to continue the feeling. I’m panting, now, from the effort, but I can’t stop rocking, I can’t stop grinding into John’s wonderful cock, his thick finger pressing into the wall of my ass. I’m whimpering again, louder, this time, and before I know it, I’m screaming and shuddering, my body performing a slow motion bounce for him, bouncing on his cock like the horses on a carousel, moving up and down to the rhythm of the motor.