I was immediately enthralled. Her big brown eyes, her warm smile on a beautiful dark face framed by neatly trimmed, streaked shoulder length hair captivated me. She entered gracefully with an air of confidence, dressed and groomed perfectly. My being a 55 year old, white male and she a mature, black woman did not lesson my delight at sighting a most beautiful woman.
We didn’t sit together that first day in our high-rise office building’s smoking room. It wasn’t until later that we shared one of the three tables and began our friendship. It grew from the special camaraderie existing between smokers in our building.
When warmer weather came, we moved outside to take our breaks in the designated area adjacent to our building. Escaping from our winter confinement, we enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors and the added privacy. Our friendship deepened.
Her name was Patricia. She was 47 years old, married and worked for a company that gave seminars for professionals. Besides our nicotine addiction, we shared similar tastes in foods, music and movies. We grew to know each other well and I asked if I could buy her lunch. She accepted.
Halfway through our lunch, the topic of our spouses arose. We began with both of us professing our marriages were good, turned to how we’d resolved some marital difficulties and felt we’d both reached the comfort stage with respective our partners. Our exchanges got personal when we progressed to how marital intimacy had waned over the years. Just as it was time for us to leave, we each casually dropped comments on how we missed the excitement of the early years.
Two weeks later, Patricia told me that one of the seminars she’d planned was concluding later in the day. As a job perk, she had the use of the seminar’s hospitality suite for the night and invited me to come by for a drink.
I was surprised when she let me in for I’d expected her husband or even some of her co-workers would be joining us. But, it was just the two of us. We finished one drink and then started on another as we talked while sitting on a sofa. There was a sudden awkward pause in our conversation, broken when she asked, “Jack, you ever sleep with a black woman?”
I froze, my body overwhelmed by disjointed thoughts racing in rapid succession through my mind. Her candid delivery, the privacy of the room, our lunch conversation, the lure of her enticing beauty within my reach, the nearness of the king-sized bed, the smell of her perfume flashed by to influence my reply, “No, I’ve never had the opportunity. Would that I’d ever been so fortunate...and the lady was as lovely as you, I’d be a fool to let it pass.”
She smiled at my answer then leaned forward setting her glass on the table saying, “I’ve never been with a white man. In fact, you’re the first one that I’ve ever felt comfortable with and attracted to.”
I placed my glass next to hers and the two of us embraced and kissed. Her warm, larger lips heightened my own pleasure and parted to let our tongues touch and explore the other’s mouth. Desire flared between our pressing bodies.
She didn’t resist when I wedged my hand between us to cover and caress her firm breast. Our kiss ended, reluctantly giving way to our need to breathe. We eased back, allowing the cool air between our heated bodies and space for my hands to fondle her ample pair. We took turns showering the other’s face with pecking kisses. Our eager hands swept over the other’s chest and shoulders in excited discovery. Patricia suddenly rose to her feet. Smiling down and unbuttoning her blouse, she said, “Getting a little warm in here.”
I quickly stripped off my tie, shirt and undershirt along with her. Planting her feet on the floor, she hiked her skirt and knelt on the sofa cushions straddling my thighs. Using my shoulders for support, she crawled forward and sat resting her bottom just above my knees.
She gave me a short closed-mouth kiss and I circled my arms around her. My hands clumsily fumbled in undoing the three clasps of her lacy bra. She slid the straps off her shoulders saying, “I’ll let you do the final honors.”
With a swift unveiling, I had my very first close-up view of a half naked black woman. The contrast of her dark brown crests against the lighter surrounding skin was exquisite. Raising my hands slowly, I glanced up at her approving smile and she said, “I can see you like my black ‘tits’, Jack.”
I blanketed her two mounds with my palms and replied, “Your black tits are beautiful.”
As soon I got the words out, I felt it. Already excited by one first time experience, I enjoyed another. I’d never had a partner that both used and liked dirty talk. It must have shown on my face, causing her to continue, “Good Jack, I liked hearing you say ‘tits’ as much as my saying it. Gave me a little extra kick. If it’s OK with you, let’s use dirty words. And, we can use black or white too. It’s what we are.”
