Rita The Reader

I am a black man in his 40s. A bit jaded now, in the year 2024. But this story is about a time in my life when I was just 20. The world was a different place then. The 21st century hadn't yet arrived. Race relations weren't where are now. To make matters stranger to the modern reader, I was in a small town in Texas. I was all of 20 and heavily built, a student on an athletic scholarship.

For some extra dough I used to work evenings at a private book club, For a monthly fee, the establishment rented out books to members.

It was a quiet, boring gig. But I was happy because it gave me time to catch up on coursework, Sometimes, I got time to read for pleasure as well. The assortment was an eclectic mix. There were classics of the western canon, American literature - Cormac and all that, but also romance novels.

Inevitably, the patrons of romance novels were middle aged, somewhat matronly ladies.

There's one in particular who caught my eye though. She was about 50. Petit, Barely 5'2". But that frail frame hosted two jiggly juicy breasts, which were inevitably covered by tight sweaters.

She was a real connoisseur of romance novels, and those titles were the only kind she ever took home. One evening, right after a semester I ended up going through her records and picked up several books she had borrowed in the past.

I spent the weekend going through the titles. Several things became known.

The books this mysterious white lady liked were all raunchy. They weren't really romantic in the conventional sense. But about some big, Übermensch style guy fucking a woman in every hole.

The second thing I learned was that the books were all the same - variants of the same theme, a conservative church lady finally submitting to her impulses. The man fucking was never the husband.

The third thing I learned was that the books were really been read, plenty of covers that had seen better days and dog-eared pages.

The fourth was more a conjecture. Perhaps the books were read by a second person possibly someone younger. There were annotations and comments in the - often pairs of hearts drawn in red ink, all tiny.

Without fail, the hearts appeared against the raunchiest of passages.

I was 20 years old then, By the time sun rose on the skies of Nowhereland, Texas, I had jerked off three times and was very intrigued by this lady. It was a memorable night, spent in total isolation except the company of a few very smutty paperbacks.

I looked Anita up on our database the next day. Her entry lacked a last named, which the system had flagged as non-compliant.

The next time she came over, I walked up to her and explained that we would need a last name.

Put it down as 'Carl', she said.

I did as told.

I watched out for her henceforth, attempting to make small talk. Anita was polite, as she always was, with everybody. but rarely made eye contact.

One day, I made the bold step of recommending a book to her. It dealt with interracial romance set in the antebellum period. She graciously accepted.

The day Rita returned book, she was all smiles, looking at me straight in the eye.

I, with the recklessness of youth, upped the stakes. I slipped in my number in the next title she borrowed.

Unbelievably she called. getting straight to where I lived.

As luck would have it, I wasn't living in any ghetto, but a respectable part of town, leased by a professor emeritus who had seen some promise in me.

She called again on a Saturday morning, and knocked on the door an hour later.

To my 20 -year-old's eyes, she looked both matronly and sexy. Somehow.

She stepped in and said, "look James, I know what you want. I have never done such a thing before. I am a church-going mother of three grown up kids. All older than you. Do what you want to do before I change my mind.

So we had the wettest kiss for long, even as I kneaded her plump ass cheeks like dough. She blew me. I fucked her cunt hard, for hours. Around the fourth or fifth time, as she assumed the all fours position on my rickety bed, I proceeded to enter her very wet pussy again, she said something that blew my mind.

Anita Carl said,

"put in the bung hole, luv."

Which I did, her butt was glorious.

It was - at that point - the most memorable weekend of my life. She had entered my humble abode at eight in the morning and left at six in the evening.