From the very first moment I laid eyes on Doreen Shields she became an obsession; something about that big, beautiful, mature woman just grabbed me and made me notice her charms, shaking all thoughts and images of other females out of my mind. I immediately closed my little mental black book -- that is, all other females that I'd been admiring, pursuing or thinking about pursuing simply disappeared off my 'to do' list. I was between girlfriends at the time and I made an instant decision about who I wanted to fill that void.
I'd been living in the new neighborhood for about a month before I discovered that a guy named Stan who was employed at the firm where I worked, also lived there, not far from my new home. After the discovery Stan and I soon started hanging out together. In the mornings we both got a lift to work, he from his mother, and me from my older brother; but because both drivers' knock-off time was an hour later than ours Stan and I would often take a bus home in the afternoons, together, except on the days when I have university classes in the afternoon; I'd been juggling work and classes for two years.
I had dropped by Stan's home one Saturday morning to collect a DVD when my eyes were pleasantly shocked by the sight of an absolutely stunning vision of loveliness. She was a big woman, more than six feet tall, maybe six two or three and looked to be about two hundred-twenty pounds, if not more. As I looked at her the words, buxom, voluptuous and amazon came to mind. I settled on amazon.
She was a caramel colored black woman of indeterminate age and big in all the right places -- boobs, hips, thighs and ass. She was wearing a white stretchy tube top without bra for support of what must be size thirty-eight or forty knockers. I could clearly see the stout, brazen nipples, looking like they wanted to jump right through the tube. I could also see the areola imprint on the left breast because it was wet -- she'd been washing her car. An added attraction was that the top stopped short of her navel -- a mouthwatering dent in the amazingly flat stomach. That belly reminded me of women I'd seen in the Southern African countries, who in spite of being big, even fat, had these nice flat stomachs.
Below the top she wore light blue spandex tights that snugly hugged a massive lump of feminine glory between thick, round thighs. The tights stopped about six inches above her shiny-smooth knees and I found myself staring longer than was decent and also thinking indecently that if I got my face between those thighs I'd eat that pussy till she bawled. Although she must have noticed my inappropriate staring she didn't seem embarrassed or annoyed, and when she fixed her big hazel eyes on me I simply melted.
I'm not usually timid around females, but that woman's unique beauty and raw sexuality was so aggressively intimidating that I found myself feeling like I was pimply faced, socially awkward high school boy. I was actually feeling shy.
Her greeting was warm and full of interest as we introduced ourselves. My fingers melted in adoration of her soft warm clutch as we shook hands and it wasn't until I felt her gently withdrawing hers that I realized I hadn't let go of her hand. I don't know what got into me but I simply blurted out an awkward question that had to do with her physical appearance.
"Mrs. Shields do you know if your fore parents are from Southern Africa," I asked.
She smiled and said, "I don't, but I doubt it. The slaves brought to this part of the world were primarily from West Africa. ... Why do you ask?"
I was feeling even more awkward now as she looked at me, waiting for my answer.
I stammered, "I ... I ... can't help noticing ... how flat ... your stomach is ... just like the women in those countries ... even the fat ones"
"Are saying that I am fat?" she asked, seemingly amused, the nostrils of her long, straight nose flaring.
"No ... no mam ... not at all ... you're not fat, you're big ... I mean ... thick ... I ..."
"I know what you mean ... it's alright, and I'll take it as a compliment, thanks ... also, thanks for that bit of info about black women's body type in another part of the world," she said, and laughed sweetly, looking at me like I was some strange specie.
She added, "Seeing that you're so observant, does any other part of me look like that of women from anywhere else?" she asked.
She looked at me, standing with hands on ample hips, chest stuck out. I felt my usual boldness stepping out of the brief shell of shyness that it had creeped into.
"I can tell you about the entire package, Mrs. Shields ... there is no other woman like you ... you're amazingly beautiful," I exclaimed, letting my eyes travel all over her body.
"Thanks, again," she said with a little giggle.
She continued, "You're sweet, and I like the bold way in which you express yourself ... boldness is an admirable quality ... Stan is finally keeping good company. Feel free to drop by anytime, he could learn a thing or two from you."
She turned and walked away to get back to washing her car. Looking at her retreating body it felt like her rolling ass was attached to my cock by some invisible string, for I felt it jerk and stretch out as if being dragged by the big, beautiful woman. As I stood waiting for Stan to come out I found myself glancing at her every few seconds, and every time she smiled, my heart lurched.
She was indeed beautiful, and everything about her was big and challenging. Her mouth was wide and full lipped, the sides curved upward in a template of a permanent smile. Her short cropped, curly, brown hair had generous streaks of grey that looked great but caused confusion about her age.
One day about a month later, Stan and I were walking in from the highway where the bus had put us off. Sometimes we used the short drop taxis that took persons from the highway into the housing area, but at other times depending on the weather or our funds we would do the fifteen minute walk-in to our homes. We had been walking for about three minutes when a vehicle pulled up alongside us. It was Stan's mom in her bright red Nissan x-trail SUV. This had happened a couple of times before, when she'd come home earlier than usual.
"Hop in guys," he said cheerily.
I quickly opened the door and jumped into a back seat. Stan kept on walking.
"Oh, oh, somebody is still mad at me ... we had a little disagreement this morning ... he can be very stubborn at times," she said, a bit of worry in her eyes.
She drove the vehicle and stopped alongside him.
"Come on Stan, get in the car," she pleaded, but he kept on walking.
She continued to drive slowly alongside him.
"Stan stop being so stubborn and get into the car ... why do you have to embarrass me like this," the beautiful woman said, looking defeated.
"I will get out," I said, starting to open the door.
"No, you take the lift, I will walk." Stan said.
"No, you stay in the car honey," Mrs. Shields said at the same time.
"Let him be miserable and stubborn all by his damn self," she added.
She stuck out a pretty pink tongue at him and drove off. I would have liked to latch on to that tongue with my mouth.
"He's just like his damn father ... I'm glad that he, at least, is out of my life ... as for my baby, as infuriating as he is, I couldn't do without him around, especially now that I'm single and my other child, his younger sister is abroad studying," she said looking around at me.
It was the first time I was hearing about Stan's father and sister. He'd never mentioned his dad before and I never asked. I also thought he was an only child. So she and her husband are separated, I said to myself -- good news.
She mashed brakes suddenly.
"Come up front, I don't like talking behind my back," she said.
The moment I opened the door and looked in, my heart lurched at the sight of her big, creamy thighs, exposed generously by an up-riding skirt. I used the excuse of putting on the seat belt to get a good look at them. As I sat down I found myself leaning forward a bit and glancing through the side of my eye to get a look further up the skirt. I felt that if I leaned far enough I'd get to see her crotch.
"Sorry about that little outburst about my ex-husband ... please forgive my indiscretion ... I shouldn't be airing dirty family laundry like that, but Stan's attitude just upset me," she said softly.
"It's alright, we all lose control at times when angry ... and like everything else in life, one thing leads to another ... and please, you are much too beautiful to be carrying such a pained look on your face, so crack those pretty, yummy lips and give us a smile." I said confidently.
She laughed, and said, "You like to flatter this old girl, don't you ... but thanks, I appreciate it ... you're so sweet, and you seem so wise for your age."
"What's my age?" I asked.
"I don't know, you tell me."
"Twenty-five," I informed her.
