Disclaimer: For those readers with discriminating tastes when it comes to interracial sex, this story will only piss you off. So, any anonymous flamers please do us both a favor and skip this story.
"A woman's dress should be like a barbed wire fence: serving its purpose without obstructing the view." –Sophia Loren
As it happened, my sister-in-law and I were having a girls-day-on-the-town when a tantalizing subject came up again in our conversation. I'm sure it's not out of the ordinary for two mature white women, sipping cocktails at a local bistro at four on an autumn afternoon; to reminisce about the sizable male genitalia they've been treated to throughout the years. However, the fact that the two of us could speak truthfully from real-life experience made the dialog unique.
"You can see they're fakes. I mean they have to literally hold on to those (obviously lifeless) two-foot honkers the whole time. And those tiny, white stick sluts they always show paired up with them, being so shocked and amazed... I mean, give me a break!" Debbie recounted after viewing some outrageous website she stumbled upon.
"What's it called again?" I laughed.
"I don't know... Crazy Cock Boys dot com, or some shit," she shook her head.
"Hmm, I'll have to check it out," blankly taking another sip from my Mimosa.
"You look a little preoccupied Baby," she said, gently touching my hand. "Is everything okay?"
Of course, whenever Debbie brings up the subject of big cocks, especially extra-large black ones, my thoughts are instantly transported to memories of Hubby's surprise trip for us to Minneapolis a few years back.
"Just another Minnesota flashback... our anniversary, ya know."
"That's where you scored that cute little black sequined dress wasn't it? Ooh, and that sexy bustier... you never did tell me the whole story," Debbie prodded.
"Well, I guess there isn't a lot to tell," my eyes shifted from hers to refocus on the blurred rim of my glass.
"You know Barb; I can always tell when you're lying. You get that sneaky subtle smile."
"What smile?" I toyed, letting my fingers feel the sleek, frosty form of my martini glass.
"That one there... SEE!" She pointed. "Now spill it girl, or I'll just bug the hell out of Donny, 'til he tells me."
"Hmm, that probably wouldn't be such a good idea; especially if you're aiming for accuracy," I laughed.
"So then, why not save me the trouble, and just TELL me, damn it! It has something to do with big black cocks, right?"
"I suppose we... I mean you and I, don't have much to be secretive about, do we?" (New readers can refer to my "Security Room Gangbang" story regarding that comment.)
Not getting a verbal response, I gathered from her determined expression, she was serious. I quickly thought back and re-assembled one of the more erotic episodes that hubby and I have ever shared.
The Perfect Little Black Dress +++++
It had been quite some time since Donny and I ran off on an adventure of any kind. So, when he suggested that we head to Minneapolis under the guise of celebrating our anniversary, I was pleasantly surprised. I figured it would be an excellent chance for us to shake the dust off our libidos and, in his words, "have a sexy, fun time." This was our first trip to the Twin Cities and the Mall of America. Needless to say, that even made me more anxious to do some major shopping.
Shopping has always meant two different things to the two of us. As with most couples, the man is characteristically quite ready to call it a day, about the time his lady is getting her second wind. This particular outing was different. He didn't put up even the slightest stink when I drug him to the eighth shoe store.
"I hope you're still planning on picking up something special to wear for tonight," he suggested.
"Does that mean you're taking me dancing?" I nudged.
"You bet! A great meal, some fancy dancin', a swanky hotel, and perhaps a few surprises. You're getting spoiled tonight, for sure," my hubby proudly smiled.
"Sounds like somebody wants to make sure he gets laid," I smirked and squeezed his ass.
Draping his arm over my shoulders as we walked, he admitted, "Well sure. I just know you're not a cheap date. Besides, there's no sales tax in Minnesota on clothing; betcha didn't know that?"
"Oh really! Well then you can buy me something pretty in here," I stated, pulling him by the arm into a rather upscale dress shop. Always strike when the iron is hot.
Thumbing from one clothes rack to another, among cocktail gowns and prom dresses, I pulled a black sheath dress off the rack. Donny remarked how full of sequins it was, and that he wasn't completely sold on the upper portion of the knee-length, expensive little number.
"Oh Honey, you're always having me wear those low neck things; I think this one could be very sexy too. Here, let me try it on." My excitement must have been sufficient for him to let me scurry off to find a dressing room, without his normal eye rolling.
The sleeveless, black sparkling dress came up to a halter-type choke collar that hooked at the back of the neck. Though it thoroughly covered my chest, the back zipper only came up far enough to cover my rear. This left my back and arms totally exposed. As I couldn't very well wear the dress without a bra, I'd have to come up with some sort of support. Making my way from the dressing room, Donny's wide eyes and smile told me he approved of my selection, at least on one level. The sexy, black dress fit my 36-26-35 shape wonderfully. For once it made my legs, not my d-cupped boobs, the focal point. I knew this fancy rag didn't accentuate how he generally preferred to show me off, but after stepping into a sleek pair of spiky 5-inch pair of black pumps, he was instantly pleased with my selection.
That was the good news. Unfortunately the store didn't carry a selection of strapless corsets, which the dress desperately needed. The sales girl suggested a certain downtown boutique that carried such frilly garments. After having Donny treat me to a pair of CFM pumps, a shiny new dress, and a beautiful set of dangling silver earrings, I was feeling mighty special–even a little sexified.
