Transatlantic Tryst

I'd often joked about having 'a bit of black.' Not remotely racist, I suppose I never really thought seriously about the issue. I know I should never have been upset if my teenaged daughter had come home with a black guy. So the happenings I am about to relate shouldn't have come as a surprise to me - but they did, in a way.

I flew out to Toronto, for my fortieth birthday present to myself, to see my aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks, leaving my wife at home working - and sulking, probably because we were not enjoying a particularly good relationship around that time. (It didn't last much longer, but that's another story)

I sat in the departure lounge, herded into a sort of waiting-pen with all the other sheep about to board a 747, with the one vacant seat in the place alongside me. It was soon occupied by a young black girl, who first asked me if the place was taken. I shook my head no, and she sat down gracefully. She looked as if she did everything gracefully, in fact, and had the manner of a natural athlete. I glanced sideways at her for as long as it was polite to do, and saw a girl in perhaps her late twenties (though I was hopeless at ages) with a proud, West African, aquiline profile, showing evidence of some European involvement in her ancestry (one grandparent?) as she was not coal-black, but a rather lovely shade of dark oak. She had short hair and was neatly dressed in a denim suit, with a short skirt, showing off shapely knees when she sat beside me. I've always had a thing about nice knees, and having hers to look at as I waited to be called was better than reading the paper!

The wait was long, and I was startled by her voice, 'Would you mind watching my bag while I go to the loo?' said a Midlands accent, and she plonked her flight-bag on the seat, got up and skipped off, her skirt flouncing prettily around her slim legs as she did so. She was soon back, all white teeth and long pendant ear-rings as she thanked me unnecessarily for guarding her bag. When she picked it up I noticed that she had long, well-manicured nails, and hands that didn't do a lot of housework.

After an interminable wait, we were called forward on to the aircraft. What followed was one of those moments which can only be described as pure happenstance. I found that I had been allotted an aisle seat, one of three outer places. My dusky friend from the lounge was seated across from me, in the centre seats, of which there were five. But her neighbour was most anxious to sit next to the people who had been placed next to me, in the window seats, as they were supposed to have been travelling together. Would we do a swap? I shuffled around, and found myself sitting next to the black girl from the lounge! If I had tried to engineer it, I couldn't have done better. She turned and smiled at me, saying, almost theatrically, 'So, we meet again! My name's Sally, by the way, as we're going to be neighbours for seven hours.'

'Hi,' I said, 'Andrew, pleased to meet you, Sally.'

We chatted about this and that throughout the journey, without ever really learning too much about each other. She seemed reluctant to tell me what she did for a living - I understood she was some kind of office worker - but I did find out she was single, had a little boy, who was being cared for by her mother in Leicester, and was going to visit family in Toronto. She was easy to talk to, though, and laughed a lot, which I liked. We poked fun at the stewardesses, airline food and other passengers, and the journey passed all too quickly.

When the pilot announced we were over Canadian airspace, I felt impending loss start to crowd in on me, and knew she was thinking the same when she suddenly slipped her hand into mine, and said, 'I've really enjoyed talking to you, Andy - it's made the trip pass ever so quickly.'

I squeezed her hand and said, 'Thanks, Sally, I've enjoyed talking to you too - it's been a breath of fresh air for me, and I mean that.'

She fell silent for five minutes, then we both started to talk at once, and laughed, just like they do in films.

'I was wondering,' she said, 'where you're staying, in Toronto, I mean?'

'Near Brampton,' I said, 'my folks have a house not that far from the airport. And you?'

'Mississauga,' she said, 'that's not far away, is it?'

If it had been a hundred miles I should have replied in the negative. Those knees had got right to me - seven hours in close proximity to them. I knew my aunt and uncle would expect me to disappear for days' sightseeing and suchlike. The difficulty was arranging a meeting place, but I dug out a city map and we found a Metro station that looked handy, and fixed to meet three days later, at eleven in the morning, to spend the day together. I told her I could hardly wait, and meant it.

As the plane came in to land, Sally turned to me, and said, 'Just in case you have second thoughts, Andy,' and she quickly snaked an arm around my neck and kissed me full on the lips, opening hers just enough so that I could feel suction and the very tip of her tongue running along the edge of my teeth.

'I'll be there,' I said, when I came up for air, 'count on it.'

Toronto was as I remembered it - friendly people, a bit boring, lovely summer weather - and my aunt and uncle were very happy to see me, so I passed a couple of pleasant days visiting with their neighbours, walking their two dogs and generally socialising, but thoughts of Sally, and that kiss, were never far from my mind.

The morning came, and my uncle lent me his massive Buick for the day, so I drove in gingerly fashion the short journey to the station where I had arranged to meet Sally. At first I thought she had got cold feet and decided to give it a miss, but then I spotted her stood at the corner by a news-stand, a white bag in her hand. I took a moment to look at her. She was dressed entirely in white, which contrasted amazingly with her dark skin. She wore a pleated white cotton summer skirt, just above knee-length, and a cropped white top, leaving her midriff bare, so that I could see she had a discreet stone glinting from her navel. She wore simple white sneakers, and her jewellery consisted of silver pendant ear-rings, several silver bangles and a silver ankle chain. I hadn't really had the chance to have a good look at her before, on the plane, and hadn't realised what a great body she had - slim, but by no means skinny, and with lovely long legs. I congratulated myself on my good taste, and went over to her.

It took us some time to get clear of Metropolitan Toronto, but then we headed out along the 'concession' roads, seeking out some of the nice, surprisingly old, quaint villages which abound in Ontario, shopping for curios, and walking hand-in-hand around a botanical garden.

But the memory of that kiss was eating at me, and, when we stopped to admire a nice fuchsia, I slipped my arm around her narrow waist and drew her close. She sensed what I wanted to do, and offered her full, luscious lips to me, this time completely without reservation - we were in a corner where we were not overlooked at all. Our tongues met and entwined, and her breathing increased in tempo, as I'm sure did mine. I could feel her breasts pushing against me as hard little points, as she let herself be pulled in towards me, and I could feel a growing erection tenting my trousers - she cannot have failed to notice it.

Suddenly, she pushed me away, and skipped a few paces back, saying, 'You are a naughty boy, Andy - what would your wife have to say?'

'Frankly, I don't much care,' I said, 'she may very well be doing something similar for all I know - or care.'

'Oh, hush my mouth,' she said, 'touched a tender spot, haven't I?'

'Not really, it's just that.......'

'No, Andy, don't tell me any more. Let's enjoy the day, shall we?'

'I'm all for that,' I agreed.

We carried on around the little paths, our arms now around each other's waists, her head against my shoulder, in silence.

When we got into the car, she slid along the bench seat - I've always liked automatic American cars for that - and sat up close, her thigh warm against mine, as we drove along the quiet, leafy lanes of Ontario. We stopped at a tacky bar for lunch served by an even tackier waitress, and held hands like teenagers under the table. Just before we left, I let my hand wander to Sally's knee, and stroked it slowly. She looked down at my hand then back into my eyes, then lowered her eyelids very slightly, opened her lips just the merest fraction, and the very tip of her tongue darted out between her teeth, playing along them for just a moment. It was a gesture as unmistakeably erotic as if she had stripped naked.

I took her hand and led her out to the car, again in silence, and we drove along until I spotted a sign declaring a 'Nature Reserve, and Trail' which seemed to consist of a walk along an abandoned railway line. This being a weekday, there were no cars in the car-park, so we walked out into the dappled shade of the woods in solitary peace. After a while the track led to an area of fields and an old barn with a shady tree beside it stood off to one side, long abandoned. I led Sally to it, and threw my jacket on the rabbit-cropped grass. Not a word came from her lips as she knelt on my jacket, but her eyes never left mine. She lifted up the bottom of her tank-top, revealing her bra-less, small, pointed breasts, with their mahogany nipples thrusting forward. She cupped her breasts briefly in her hands, tweaking her own nipples, and letting out a sharp little moan as she did so. Then she started to lift the hem of her skirt, infinitely slowly, sliding it up her long, dark, slender thighs, while I stood and merely watched, spellbound. The white skirt contrasted with the darkness of her flawless skin, and she paused, teasing me when she reached the very top of her thighs, before slowly revealing that not only was she without panties, but she had a completely shaven pussy. Her eyes still riveted to mine, she sank back on her heels, opened her thighs slightly, and very deliberately placed a hand over her pussy. With it, she quite suddenly parted her labia with forefinger and second finger, so that the startling pinkness of her cunt was as sharp a contrast as had been that between her clothing and her skin.

I gasped at the sheer beauty of her, and started to drop to my knees, but she held out her hand like a policeman, 'Not yet, Andy!'

I could only stand and watch as she lowered the same hand to her now glistening cunt, and pushed two fingers deep within. Her mouth open, breath coming in gasps, she finger-fucked herself until she was writhing, and I could bear it no longer.

I fell upon her then, and she yelled so that I was afraid lest anyone overheard, 'Oh yes, Andy, fuck me now - yes, yes, yes!'

I needed no further invitation, and was inside her, up the hilt, in no time, fingering her erect clit as I drove in and out the very few times I could endure before I was forced to cum, in great convulsive, hot spurts, right into her very soul. For once in my life I had that rare experience of total synchronisation, and Sally bucked and tensed as her orgasm came simultaneously with mine.

'Oh,' she said, 'Andy, that was fantastic.'

'I do hope you're on the pill,' I said

'Bit late for that,' she said, 'but yes, I am, as it happens.'

We lay spent on the warm grass, insects buzzing, a curious Chipmunk sniffing close by, and then we made our way back to the car, arm in arm, comfortable in post-coital silence.

When we were driving back into civilisation, I said, 'I've never had a black girl before.'

'Are we very different?'

'I don't know - I suppose you're all different,' I replied.

'That's a nice answer, Andy,' she said, 'because I don't think you'd like to think all white people were the same, would you?'

'Precisely,' I agreed. I'd never thought about it until then.

We drove back then in silence, while I tried to pluck up courage to ask her out again, then: 'Er, Sally,' I said, 'can we.....I mean......will you, see me again?'

'I thought you'd never ask,' she said, to my enormous relief and joy, 'day after tomorrow OK?'

'Sure,' I confirmed, and we arranged to meet at the same time and place. I dropped her off at the same Metro station, receiving a quick peck on the cheek, and then she was gone, skipping off in her characteristic manner, her white skirt flouncing around her lithe figure as she went.

Again, time couldn't pass quickly enough until I met Sally again, and I was like a nervous kitten when I drove up to the station again at the appointed hour, on a dull, damp morning, thinking we should never be able to have an outdoor 'fixture' in the weather that was forecast.

I spotted her straight away, and was mildly disappointed to see her in jeans, even though I had to admit she filled them beautifully - I've never been a lover of the garments and she had looked so good in her very feminine outfit the other day. She was carrying a flight bag, which I recognised as the one she had carried on the plane.

'What's in the bag?' I asked, when we had kissed and said hello.

'Surprise,' she said, 'and there's more. Park up - there's room in the multi-storey; I've just checked. We're going a couple of stops by Metro.'

Wondering what she had in mind, I parked the Buick, and Sally produced a couple of tickets for us to catch a train. Once aboard, and sitting alongside her, her warm thigh pressed against me, I asked her something that had been on my mind: 'Do you make a habit of going without panties?'

She laughed lightly, 'I took them off in the restaurant at lunchtime. I thought you'd like that,' she whispered, 'but I sometimes go without them, yes - it makes me feel sexy.'

'You're certainly that,' I said, 'but where are we going?'

'Next stop,' she said, by way of an answer, and got up, pulling me after her. I was none the wiser.

As we emerged from the Metro into drizzle, she enlightened me.

'My cousin has lent me her condo for the day. She's in New York. Come on!'

She led the way over a footbridge and through a small park to the entrance of an impressive looking tower-block, as little like a tower block in a British suburb as you could imagine. She slotted a card into a high-tech entry system and we were into a foyer full of tropical palms and running water, from where we took a high-speed lift to the fifteenth floor. Sally used the card again to gain entry to an apartment - which I had by now learned to call a 'condo' - and she showed me into the lounge, installing me on a soft leather sofa, and putting modern jazz on the CD.

'Now just wait, Andy,' she told me, and disappeared through a door, with her flight bag. I got up and wandered around, inspecting the trappings of luxury, and was just looking at the music collection, of which I approved, when I heard Sally open the door and return. I looked around, and almost fell back onto the sofa. She was dressed in a completely sheer long white negligee, under which she wore a white platform bra, which merely held her pointed breasts out so that their tips thrust at the thin nylon of the negligee, and a white satin garter belt, supporting by its long straps white, lace-top stockings. Around her slender waist she had cinched a heavy silver chain, and she had put on matching pendant ear-rings. She walked towards me on the highest stilettos I had ever seen, with shining metal heels and platform soles.

'Do you like me, Andy?' she asked.

'Oh Sally,' I said, hardly trusting myself to speak, and then she was kneeling in front of me, pulling down my zipper with her white teeth. Her long-nailed fingers adroitly released my weapon from my trousers, and her eyes came up to watch my face as she licked pre-cum from my crown.

I sought her hard nipples with my fingers as she took me into her lips, and her tongue ran up and down my shaft, then she suddenly wanted my whole length deep within her throat, and I gave it to her, fucking her face for all I was worth.

'Oh, oh, I'm going to cum,' I shouted, and she didn't flinch, but pulled me into her bodily, embracing my arse tightly as I shot my load into her throat. She made sure to swallow every drop, licking me clean afterwards.

We lay quietly on the sofa together for a while, but soon I felt her leg creep over mine, and she said, 'Andy, can we go to the bedroom, would you mind, darling?'

'Not at all,' I replied, and, before I could say any more, she had gone, leaving me to find my own way. My bladder needed attention first, so I took a moment or two, first finding the bathroom, then the appropriate door.

When I got there, Sally was on the bed, but not in the pose I might have expected. She had pushed aside the negligee, and was now face down on the bed, her head on one pillow, another pillow under her stomach, and her legs wide apart. As I walked in, she put both hands behind her and pulled her arse-cheeks as far apart as she could, showing me her arsehole. I had an erection like a stallion, despite having cum so recently, and got onto the bed behind her, first running my fingers the length of her slit. She was sopping wet, and when I flicked her clitoris, she moaned, and said, 'Oh, please, Andy, fuck me, fuck me now, fuck my arsehole.'

I had only ever had anal sex a couple of times before, and it had hurt, but I knew that this was no virgin anus, and Sally was more than ready, so I thrust into her without delay, and, thanks to the blow-job, was able to keep it going for long enough for her to reach a screaming, writhing climax, as I cupped her breasts and rammed her arsehole brutally. When she came, I was ready too, and shouted out in triumph as I creamed my hot wad right into her bowels.

Later, we sent out for a pizza, then had a gentle fuck, both naked, me enjoying her black flesh and pink cunt. We both went home exhausted.

'Hard work, walking around the zoo,' I explained to my aunt.

I saw Sally twice more before it was time for me to fly back to England. She stayed on for another week. We discussed briefly meeting up again, but decided it was really a question of 'ships that pass in the night.'

When we eventually parted - and it was a bit tearful, on both sides - I said to her, 'Sally, you never did tell me what you do for a living.'

'Oh, I'm a prostitute,' she said, 'I like my job.'