Mine is not the typical story you would expect here. I am not some innocent housewife corrupted by big black cock. That corruption happened long ago; when I was a freshman in college. Since that time, I have had nothing else. Admittedly most of that big black cock belongs to my husband of over a dozen years.
DeShawn is everything you would imagine a stereotypical African-American professional athlete to be. We met right after I finished college. I tried out for cheerleader with the NFL team near where I lived. The moment I saw him the sparks flew; I like to think for him as well. He was a running back and one of the top draft picks that year.
Confession time; we ended up back at this place after drinks that first night. I dropped out of cheerleader try-outs a week later at his request. In return, we became exclusive. At the end of that winning season, we hopped a flight to Vegas and were married in the most ridiculous ceremony with an Elvis impersonator officiating. Within a year, our first son was born; followed by two more within the next five years.
But this is where DeShawn breaks with stereotypes. Despite a career ending injury while still in his prime; DeShawn was not just a great athlete. He is a damned smart business man and a hard worker; sometimes too hard. Even while playing in the NFL, he personally oversaw the investments that his business manager made. He had heard too many horror stories of players cheated of millions by unscrupulous agents and managers. He was determined that would not be him.
To understand why money is so important to DeShawn, you should know that he was raised by his elderly grandmother. No, his parents did not abandon him for drugs. It was a simple case of them being killed in a car accident along with his baby sister. Thanks to that accident, DeShawn bore a rather nasty scar that marred the almost perfect ebony skin over his impressive chest. I have often run my fingers down that scar and thanked God that he did not take DeShawn that night as well.
But that night changed everything for that ten year old boy. His parents had been hard-working, but like many young middle class families did not think much about the issue of life insurance. So when they died that night, so did his comfortable lifestyle. The only relative that Children's Services could find to take him in was his maternal grandmother. She lived in abject poverty in an isolated, rural area. After her social security, his measly survivor's benefit and the food stamps ran out, he would go to bed hungry more than occasionally. His grandmother's only comfort was her faith that she regularly beat into the angry young boy, who blamed her God for everything that had happened to him.
From the moment that he stepped onto the football field on the first day of junior high school, DeShawn had a plan. Like everything else in his life, DeShawn was dedicated and worked hard; both on the field and the classroom. By the time, he graduated high school, he had several scholarship offers from top universities. He selected one as far away from his grandmother and the poverty as he could find. He would escape it all. His life would be different. He would have enough money that his family never had to worry if something ever happened to him.
And we didn't either. Even with the economic downturn, we were more than comfortable. Unfortunately, the economy seemed to only drive DeShawn harder. If before he had worked twelve hour days managing our impressive investments and building his reputation as an up-and-coming sports caster, now he worked more like twenty. He would be up well before dawn to run through our exclusive suburban estate or work out in our gym in the basement. He would be out of the house before the boys and I were even up. Most nights I would be fast asleep when he finally drug himself to bed after midnight.
You might wonder if perhaps my husband was engaged in extra-curricular activities himself. After all he was both rich and still an amazingly handsome black man. I won't lie; the idea occurred to me as well. I even went so far as to hire a private detective, but all he found was legitimate business trips. He really was working that hard; so that the boys and I never had to worry about losing it all, the way he had as a child.
Let me say now, I love and respect my husband more than I can say. He is absolutely gorgeous; probably the hottest man I have ever seen. He is also the smartest; not in some impractical geeky or Ivy-league way, but practical street-smarts that makes him the great business man he is. He is also a great father; when he is around. And he always seems to be around for the important stuff. He has never missed a single one of our boys' games, parent-teacher conferences or birthdays. He is a damned good fuck too; but again...when I can get it.
Of course, that is no excuse for what happened. There is no excuse or reason to cheat. I made vows and I intended to keep them; especially since I love DeShawn so deeply. Still, sometimes the road to hell is paved with good intentions as they say. And this road certainly was.
It all started innocently enough. Marcus was the son of our neighbors. Over the past decade, we had watched him grow up from a lanky kid through a couple of years as an angry and troubled young black man. Eventually he had arrived on the other side of those troubles as a rather driven if somewhat still angry young man. He had moved away to study at one of the bastions of traditionally black colleges. Where DeShawn had always felt that the best way to fight racism was to ignore it, Marcus carried the proverbial chip on his shoulder. Considering his upper-middle class background, it was something I never fully understood.
It was during the busy summer holidays that it all began. It started as an innocent flirtation. For weeks, I would notice Marcus watching me as I ferried the boys to friends or camp. He always seemed to be staring at me. I admit I was faltered. What woman my age would not be to have an admirer so much younger? It was a band-aid to my fragile ego that had suffered for months from DeShawn's indifference.
That day the boys were spending the night at various friends. I had been sick with that horrible Swine Flu for a week, so I felt pale and rather blah. So I was enjoying the break to relax by the pool. Thanks to a tummy tuck and breast augmentation at thirty-six my figure was even more impressive than it had been when I first met DeShawn.
Yes, I am vain; terribly vain. That is what hurt most about DeShawn's abandonment. Despite hours in the gym and turning more than one male head, I relied upon my husband's adoration and sexual prowess to re-affirm my own identity as a woman; a desirable one. So I was more than a little susceptible to Marcus' attention.
I still am not sure how he managed to get into our fenced in backyard, but I became aware of someone's presence when I felt a shadow blocking the hot Florida sun. I used my hands to shield my blue eyes as I looked up. Marcus towered above me. Of course, at less than six feet tall that term hardly applies, especially compared to DeShawn's six feet five inches that once allowed him to pick off passes that most others would have missed. But since I was laying on the lounge, Marcus seemed taller.
'Want some oil on your back?' was his deceptively innocent words.
But from this position I could see that the black cock in his shorts was at least half hard. I should have screamed or at least sent him packing at that point. But I did not. Instead I simply nodded my acceptance of his offer and turned over to offer him the view of my long tanned legs and firm ass.
In complete honesty, Marcus really is not my type. He is too thin, too light-skinned and too militant in his African-American heritage. But none of that registered at that moment. The only thing I felt was warm, firm hands caressing my body in ways that DeShawn had not in some time. I remember actually trying to think of when we had last made love. But in the end, I had given up trying to think when I felt those hands slip around to the front of my swim suit and cup my 38D breasts.
'The doctor did a nice job with these,' he pronounced a tad too coolly. But his fingers tweaking and playing with my erect nipples were sending another message to my muddled brain.
I felt his hot breath on my neck a moment before I felt his less than substantial weight press me further into the lounge. But it was his hard cock throbbing between the firm cheeks of my ass that registered most.
