“The certificate on the wall.” He follows my finger and returns his gaze with a crooked smile and a shrug.
“Deb Donovan.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Donovan?”
“I’m interested in joining.”
“A trial membership?” he asks, pulling a form out of one of the drawers.
“No, no,” I assure him. “A full six-month membership.”
He frowns, his pen poised over the form.
“Can I ask your reason for joining?”
“Joining a gym?” I ask. “Let’s call it a New Year’s resolution.”
New Year’s Day is two days away.
“Then let’s call it a trial membership,” he says. Now it is my turn to raise an eyebrow.
“This time of year, I get a lot of people in who have very good intentions. But when January’s over, or spring comes, they ask for their money back. And if they’ve only signed a trial membership, it just makes it a lot easier on my accountant.”
I laugh. I lean forward and drop my voice to a husky alto.
“All right, Ben Stone. The reason I want to join is that when I go to my high school reunion in May, I want the bitch who stole my prom date to stand there with her jaw hanging down to her doctored boobs.”
He burst into laughter of his own, and pulled another application from the desk. As I filled it out, I remembered that that was the only part of my last meeting with Andy that had gone well. Her eyes had lingered on my chest. It was just for a moment, but it was clearly a moment longer than necessary. She wanted me to be the geeky girl from high school again, not the tall, well-proportioned woman standing before her. A month later, I had heard from the grapevine that was still active back then, she’d gotten her new husband to buy her a set of implants.
“So what do I do first?” I ask, pushing the completed application back to Ben.
“Two problems there. Before you do any weight training at all, I’m going to recommend that you do aerobics and maybe a Pilates class, to strengthen your core. And Carrie, who does those classes, is a grad student at the U. So she’s off on break ’til the fifth.
“She’s very good at it,” he hastens to assure me. “She’s doing a master’s in physio-therapy and coaching the women’s gymnastic team. That’s why the place is so quiet now. Our lifters generally come early or late.”
“And the second problem?”
He blushes, a very becoming scarlet that only adds to his cuteness.
“When we get a new client, we like to take a picture of them and then develop a computer model to help them chart their progress and reach their eventual goal,” he murmurs.
“And?”
“We, um, usually ask the clients to strip down to their, uh, underwear,” he continues, “so maybe you should wait until, um . . .”
“Wait until next week?” I ask. “Because you don’t know how to use the camera, Ben Stone?”
“Of course I know how to use the camera.” I have wounded his pride. “It’s just that I usually do the guys and Carrie does the, uh, women. And she won’t be here until the fifth, for her classes. The Pilates is first, and then cycling. But she can do it when her classes are done.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to try, Ben. When I come back in here, it’s going to be to start aerobics, not wait around for another hour afterward to have my picture taken. I’m sure a handsome guy like you has managed to talk plenty of girls out of their clothes.”
He flushes even deeper, but agrees to take my “before” shot, and motions me into a small room off the back of the foyer. After a while there is a soft knock at the door.
“Are you, um, decent, Ms. Donovan?”
“No, I’m not decent, Ben,” I say with a giggle. “I’m standing here in my bra and panties. Do you want me decent?”
“Uh, no. I guess not.” He slips in the door and has me stand against a blank screen while he trains a fancy computerized camera at me. “There. That’s great, Ms. Donovan. When you’re dressed, you can come back to the desk and take a look.”
“Thanks, Ben. Oh, and Ben?”
“Yes?”
“If after I’m dressed you’re still calling me Ms. Donovan and not Deb, there’s going to be trouble. Capisce?”
“Yes, ma – I mean, sure, Deb.”
He scurries out of the room as I begin dressing. I find him at the desk, staring into the computer screen with an odd expression on his face.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, Benjy?”
My voice snaps him out of his reverie. He jerks his head up to see me and, after quick looks in either direction, turns the monitor around.
It is me, a me I haven’t seen since high school. My waist has been magically shrunk, my thighs and arms toned, my abdomen tightened. I look pretty damn good, if I say so myself. But apparently I didn’t have to.
“Say, Benjy. Guess this thing lets you play around with my hair style too, huh?”
My sharply cut blonde style has been replaced with a softer look that frames my face perfectly, enhancing my cheekbones and highlighting my own blue eyes. I look up to find Ben blushing yet again.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t be sorry,” I whisper back. “What are you, twenty-five?”
“In December,” he stammers.
“Plenty old enough. I’ll tell you what. If I really look like that in six months, I’ll let you take my picture again. So you’ll have a real one. See you on the fifth, Benjy.”
I toss my bag across my shoulder and sashay out the door. Sitting in the car outside, I throw my head back and laugh once more. This reunion may not be such a bad thing after all. I haven’t flirted like that in twenty years.
Carrie turns out to be a first class bitch, but she knows her stuff. She puts me on a much better diet, and over the next three months the pounds start melting away. In February, when I needed a haircut anyway, I had Ben print out the picture he’d doctored, and took it to my stylist. She was more than a little surprised, having tried to get me to soften my look for years. It turns out she had been right. I look ten years younger.
I feel ten years younger too. With the better body has come more energy, and by early March I am pressing Ben to start me on a weightlifting program. It turns out that his reluctance stems not from my needs so much as his own. I want to come in the middle of the day, when he is the only guy around available to spot for me. I can tell his needs from the bulge in his pants as he stands above me, looking down at the sports bra and lycra shorts I’m wearing to my workouts now. Not yet, Ben, I think to myself as I replace the bar in its holders. Not quite yet.
The time is right in early April. Carrie is off on spring break, her classes cancelled for the week. I arrive a half hour early on Monday morning. By now I know the routines well enough to know exactly what I’ll find. As I enter, I silence the bell that usually would announce the arrival of a visitor. Instead, I turn and lock the door behind me. I bypass the women’s changing room. This is strictly a business call, and I am dressed appropriately. I have on a short pinstriped jacket over a scooped black blouse, and a black skirt that’s just a little too short for my next call, although the guy is a bit of a horndog. I usually don’t wear heels at hall – most tall women have no interest in looking taller – but I don’t think it will make a difference, at least on this call. I have a pair of flats in the car for the next stop.
Ben has just finished replacing the bar on its holder when I announce my presence.
“Somebody has been a naughty boy, haven’t they?”
“Jesus, Deb. You scared the shit out of me.”
I saunter up to the bar and put my hands on top of his. Over the last three months, our flirting has become more and more outrageous, but this is the first time that we have touched. It is an electric moment. I rub a thumb across his sweaty fingers, and inhale his fresh, masculine scent. His eyes open a fraction as he watches my gaze travel down his body and then back up, until we are staring at each other, a knowing smile on my lips, a nervous smile on his. He is still lying back on the weight bench, looking up at me.
“Deb?” he asks, his voice full of hesitation.
He moves his hand, to get a grip that will allow him to pull himself up to a sitting position.
“No,” I tell him with a shake of my head.
“I’m sorry?” he asks.
“Bad Benjy didn’t have a spotter, did he?” I ask.
“It wasn’t that much weight,” he protests. He remembers, however, his own counsel. It doesn’t matter how much weight you have. Be safe.
“Benjy needs to be punished.”
His eyes grow wider still.
“How?” he whispers.
I tighten my grip on his hands. He could easily pull them free, but by now he is bewitched.
“You have to promise to keep your hands here at all times,” I explain. “Or your punishment will only get worse.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Good boy.”
I move around him slowly, watching his eyes drink me in. I am no doubt a taller glass than he has ever sipped from before. I swing one of my newly toned legs up and over his, seating myself on his thighs. He stares at me, the young fly caught in the web of the older spider. Placing my hands on his thighs, I slide them up slowly toward the loose fitting shorts that he is wearing.
“You want this, don’t you, Benjy?” I ask.
His reply is the merest nod of his head.
“You’ve wanted this ever since I came through your door, haven’t you? You like tall girls?”
He nods again.
Continue next page ………..
“Was your mommy tall, Benjy?” I ask. By now my hand is underneath the shorts, sliding up toward the waistband as my thumbs just graze the already erect dick that he has sprouted in his briefs.
“No,” he says, his voice a choked gasp.
“But I’ll bet your Daddy likes tall girls,” I guess with a grin. He nods again. I turn my hands outward and grab the waist of his shorts, slowly pulling them down his thighs.
“Well, then today is your lucky day, isn’t it?”
His briefs follow his shorts, and a beautiful cock springs into view before me. My hands leave his clothes and reach for it, the fingers of my left hand curling around it as my thumb slides up the shaft, the fingers of my right hand cupping his hairy balls. As it reaches the crown, my thumb slips from side to side just underneath the glans, teasing the sensitive skin that Ben’s erection has tightened like the face of a drum.
He groans. I slide off his legs and down to my knees, keeping his eyes locked onto mine until he feels my breath on his cock. He blinks, and his eyes slide down, watching my full lips part and then seal around the head of his dick like it was a beautiful, ripe, juicy peach. He feels my teeth, ever so lightly scraping along the shaft as my mouth opens to take more and more of him inside. And he groans as I retreat, my tongue flicking here and there before it finally begins circling the tip, laving the spongy flesh in a warm, wet bath.
I rapidly pick up the pace, swallowing the shaft, sucking the head, and then licking his balls as I slid my hand up and down his spit-slicked cock. A previous boyfriend had taught me the trick of keeping the thumb of my other hand pressed against the spot at the center of the base of the cock, and as I gently put that into practice, I hear Ben groan.
I feel his hands cupping my head, and I immediately pull my mouth off of him.
“Ben,” I say harshly. I give his balls a not-so-gentle squeeze with my fingers. “Hands.”
His hands fly back to the bar.
“Good boy,” I tell him. I take a long, slow lick up his cock as if it were a melting ice cream cone and I am a little girl determined not to let a drop fall to the ground.
With a twinkle in my eye, I recapture his dick with my lips. I circle the head again, a series of quick pulses on and off, and then take the whole thing into my throat, deeper than I’ve had it so far. It is a gorgeous cock, short but thick, nested in a thatch of thick pubic hair that tickles my chin. I hold it there, lifting my eyes to look at Ben, and then slowly drawing back. I let my lips drag along its length, having taken special care this morning to coat them in a shade I consider “Pornstar Red.” I will definitely have to replace before my next appointment, or I’ll end up shooting the guy with my pepper spray.
Ben moans again as I begin stroking the base of his cock with my thumb. The skin is taut under my touch, the ridge in the middle beginning to twitch. It is time. I pull off and begin fisting his cock as quickly as I can. His pre-cum is leaking out, coating my hand to make the job that much easier. He holds the bar in an iron grip now; despite the weight on it, I can hear it quivering in its holder as his muscles tighten in anticipation of his coming explosion.
“Oh, fuck!” His grunt accompanies the first spurt, the one that reaches all the way to his chest, with the second right behind it. And then a smooth, viscous flow begins to seep from the tip of his dick, drenching my hand, splashing on his stomach. I milk him dry, his cum finally puddling around his cock, and threatening to drip off the side of his hip onto the floor.
I stand, and finally release my hold on his dick.
“Debbie,” he gasps. “That was . . .”
“I know, Benjy,” I say, quieting him by placing a cum-covered finger across his lips. “Gotta run. Be back tomorrow.”
I grab his towel and wipe my hand off before leaving, letting him wonder whether I have just made him a promise or given him an order.
It is both, of course. When I return the following morning, the place is once again deserted, except for the sound of Ben in the weight room. With the door once more locked behind me, I stop in at the changing room this time.
“Hi, baby.”
Ben is startled by my purr, as if he had momentarily forgotten. Or perhaps it is the leotard. An orange-red monstrosity from the early 1980s, I discovered only last week that it has apparently followed me from one closet to the next, as I moved from college dorm to city apartment to suburbia. I tried it on immediately, and I was delighted to see how well it still fit. It is a little tight in the bust, perhaps, which delights me as well. Ben’s goggle-eyed reaction to it simply adds to my pleasure.
Or perhaps it is the animal desire writ on my face. I walk slowly over toward him, watching his eyes watch me: the sway of my hips, my the swell of my undulant breasts beneath the worn fabric, the muscled tightness of my thighs. He has not moved since he saw me, still lying back on the weight bench where he was working with a pair of dumbbells.
As I approach, I take a long deep breath, filling my nostrils with the aromas of sweat and male arousal. There is more than a hint of female arousal too. I can smell it, at least. Ben is another matter. My experience is that men have little “nose” for the more delicate aromas that life offers them. They often fail to take notice, in fact, until they have their faces rubbed in them.
That works for me, too. When I tried on the leotard, I realized that its crotch had become dangerously frayed. I had been ready to toss it in the trash. But a smile played across my face as I realized that the leotard was intended, after all these years, for a different fate. With a pair of scissors, I had made the seam even weaker.
Continue next page …….
Once again, I move to straddle Ben on the weight bench, this time ending atop his chest. He has lowered his arms to the floor, seemingly unwilling to drop the weights until I expressly allow him to do so. I press my fingers against my abdomen, and slowly slide them down my belly as Ben unconsciously parts his lips. They slide down, past my navel and over my pubic mound, each finger appearing to find and stimulate a wholly separate set of nerve endings. Finally, my fingers meet at the juncture of my thighs. Ben’s eyes nearly bulge out as he watches my fingers take hold of the fabric, stretch it, and then suddenly tear the seam that ran across it. I hold the front of the crotch in my right hand, the back in my left. My left hand snakes back, across my ass, and grabs the back again. I pull the two ends apart slowly under Ben’s rapt gaze, teasing him with glimpses of my sex.
He gasps when I finally lift the two pieces and begin pulling them up. I expose my thick, swollen lips, my trimmed blonde thatch, and my flat, gently rounded stomach. I pull the fabric up beneath my breasts, and then pause. I drink in Ben’s disappointment as I tie the ends together on the right hand side of my ribcage, leaving my ersatz bra in place.
I return my hands to my stomach, this time letting them glide over the smooth skin before coming to rest amid the curls of hair. I push my right hand even further, the three middle fingers following my curve as the thumb and little finger splay out to each side. Ben’s eyes follow them in, follow my forefinger and ring finger as they gently tugged the lips of my pussy apart, follow my middle finger as it fills the slick furrow between.
I hum in satisfaction, noting through half-closed eye lids that Ben’s eyes flick up, to study my face, before returning to my fingers less than a foot in front of his chin. I curlethe middle finger, letting Ben watch it enter me, up to the first knuckle and then to the second. His nostrils flare; he has no trouble scenting his quarry now.
He continues watching as a ripple of the muscles in my abdomen expelled the all-too-welcome invader. He watches me extend the digit, glistening with oil, toward his face, but as it gets too close for him to maintain his focus, he closes his eyes and feels me trace the outline of his lips with my manicured nail. When I return to the center, his lips part, almost involuntarily, and he sucks my finger inside his mouth. In and out, as if I were finger-fucking my eager young friend, I let him clean me before finally pulling free of his suction with an audible smack.
“Ready for the soup course?” I ask, my husky voice deep with desire and anticipation.
Without waiting for his answer, I thrust myself forward. I watchehis chin and then his mouth disappear beneath me. I feel his hot breath on my slit and slowly lower my lips to his.
His talent, I discover, does not lie in cunnilingus. He is eager – little Benjy is always eager – but it appears that none of his previous women has taken the time to tell him what they like. We have time to fix that. For now, I content myself with what he has to offer, knowing that what I have to teach him will make him even better.
After several minutes, I pull myself off. I look down at his wet, shining face, his smile covered in my juice.
“And now the main course, darling,” I whisper. I move off him and quickly pull his shorts down his leg. Kicking off the cheap sneakers that I’ve been wearing, I grab the condom that I stashed in one of them. There is a flash of disappointment in his eyes as he watches me tear open the foil wrapper. I raise an eyebrow and he grins in acknowledgement. He knows full well that it is too early in our relationship to take any chances.
I straddle him once again. I watch his eyes light up as I undo the tie holding my tattered leotard in place. With a waggle of my eyebrows and a devilish smile, I pull it up and over my head, tossing it aside and giving him his first full glimpse of me.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.
“Thank you, Benjy. You’ve helped me get there.”
“No,” he says, “I just –”
“Hush,” I tell him, reaching down between my legs to grab hold of his cock. I lower myself down and rub the head back and forth against my slit. Purring in anticipation, I finally hold it upright and put it into position.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as I take it inside me. It is not a large cock; God knows I’ve had bigger. But I have been exercising my internal muscles as well, and the warmth that envelops him holds his dick in a tight clench. I begin to ride the carousel, holding myself in place with my hands on his abs as I suck him in and then pull off. It feels delightful. It has been way too long.
It has been too long for Ben too, apparently. He lasts no more than five minutes, barely long enough for me to claim a climax of my own. I assure him afterward that he was fine. I assure him that we will do it again, and that it will be even better the next time.
Six weeks later, I am asking him to fasten the clasp on the back of the Michael Kors dress that I have decided to wear to the reunion. He looks very suave in his charcoal gray suit with a powder blue shirt and a perfectly dimpled tie. It has been a fair trade, it seems to me. Over the last month and a half, I have made him into a better dresser. I have taught him how to pleasure a woman, with his fingers, with his mouth, and with his cock. I have loaned him money, a trifle really, to expand his business.
And all I have asked in return is that he accompany me tonight. As he drives my car there, he laughs and tells me that the last time he talked to his mother, she mentioned that she was going to a high school reunion this weekend, too. Isn’t that a coincidence, he asks. I smile and pat him on the knee, telling him how much I’m looking forward to this evening.
The dress? $469.95 with tax. The gym membership? $300.00. The look on Andrea’s face – Andrea Phillips Stone Staunton’s face – when I walk into the gym with her son walking a step behind me like the proper little boy toy that I’ve made him? Absolutely priceless.
The End
That’s All For Tonight !!!
Luv~ the write-up on “The Rule of Blowjobs for Women”, Bro birdie8819!
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Glen2712
Luv~ the write-up on “The Rule of Blowjobs for Women”, Bro birdie8819!
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Originally Posted by
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Gd morning bro glen……n bro birdie, tks for the nice write up……..cheers
Thanks And Glad That You Guys Like It , well I do hope I can find more of this .
Her Name Was Miss Mary
In the summer of 1980 I had already completed my active duty time in the Marine Corps and was a member of the Marine Corps Reserve. While I loved being a Marine, I was not sure a career on active duty was what I was meant to do as I had always wanted to be in law enforcement. So I had came back home and was settling in to a career as a police officer.
As most people know, law enforcement officers are not paid that well and many of us have to supplement our income by working off-duty security jobs. I was no exception and contracted my services to a local convenience store chain to work at their “combat stores”. These stores were located in areas that had high crime rates or were stores that had had more than their share of incidents. The pay was excellent so I readily accepted one of the high crime area stores.
The neighborhood around my assigned store was a melting pot of races and cultures. There were blacks, white, American Indians, Hispanics and even an Asian or two. It was a lower economic based area to be politically correct, but in those days we just said it was just a plain old poor area. There was only one grocery store in a 5 mile range of the place and it had it’s own set of problems due to the clientele and area. Now don’t get me wrong. The majority of the customers who came into the store were good, honest people. They were just plain old poor with many living off of food stamps and welfare. But, there were the others. The bums, hookers, drunks, dopers and dealers. They were why the services of guys like me were needed. I dealt with everyone fairly but firmly and had no problem taking the malcontents and trouble makers to jail.
I, of course, wore my police uniform while doing these extra jobs. For weaponry, I carried a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum as my service revolver. I also carried a black, old-fashioned wooden nightstick on my left side. I was trained to use it and must admit I was very skilled in it’s use.
I have always been attracted to black women, who I affectionately call “brown girls”. I flirted with many who came in, being careful to not step over the line into what today would be called sexual harassment. Most of the ladies enjoyed the attention I gave them and I had a great deal of fun chit-chatting with them. At 6'4" and then weighing in at 225, I cut a pretty lean figure. The ladies especially liked my short dirty blonde hair and blue eyes.
I became the local counselor and attorney to many as it seemed someone always had a “police question” they needed to ask or wanted advise on what they should do about so and so who did this and that. As the area began to calm down due to my and the other security officers presence the store, business began to pick up and the area became much safer. Occasionally, one of the ladies would bring in a plate of chicken or some other food dish for me and the on-duty store clerk to nibble on. One nice older black lady brought me a homemade fried sweet potato pie. I hate sweet potatoes. But I ate it and I know when she left I had made her believe it was the best thing I had ever tasted. I was good at keeping the peace, but I was much better at public relations. I was prayerful though she never brought me another fried sweet potato pie!
One of the women who came in caught my attention from the first time I saw her. Her name was Mary. Oh, she wasn’t beautiful like Halle Berry or anything like that. But there was something about her. She carried herself in a dignified, proud manner but not in the way that looked like she was stuck-up or better than anyone else. Her speech style was soft and succinct with a distinctly southern drawl to it. The first time she spoke to me it was as if butter were melting from her lips.
Mary, or “Miss Mary” as I would come to call her (and she called me “Mr. Rick”) was then 41 years old. The years had been very kind to her as she did not look her age but more like a woman of 30 or so. She wore her hair in a coiffured fashion, similar to what Jackie Kennedy used to wear when she was in the White House. That style was out of fashion at the time for any woman, especially a black woman. The style though seemed to accentuate and soften her face. She was strikingly beautiful to me, with dark chocolate brown skin. Funny…her skin tone reminded me of the chocolate cocoa gravy my mother used to make for my breakfast when I was growing up. It was a smooth, creamy chocolate color, sinfully sweet and rich and you would pour it over large “cat-head” biscuits with a side of bacon or sausage. Yep, sinfully delicious. Mary’s face was too, sinfully delicious. Well, not delicious but sinfully sweet. Her smile was radiant with a set of teeth a movie star would die for! I have met many women in my life but her face was so striking that it is hers I see to this day when I think of natural beauty!
Mary’s dark brown eyes were large and an almond shape that she accentuated with black eyeliner that made them almost look oriental. I would later stare into those beautiful eyes as if hypnotized. They had that kind of effect on me and I have never been so enraptured with any woman’s eyes since.
Mary’s body was a little on the heavy side by most men’s shallow standards. Oh, she was not fat or overweight, not by a long-shot! She stood about 5'5" and weighed about 175 to 185 but the girl was solid. She had had two children and there was a small amount of tummy but it was not unattractive. She had a very nice figure and looking back I would guess her measurements were about 40D-30-38 or something pretty darn close. Yeah, she was a “woman size” and not some skinny fashion model. And it was exactly the kind of look I liked on a woman. Especially those big brown breasts. Mercy but they were wonderful to look at!
Mary and I had chatted on several occasions when she would come into the store. I always had to divide my attention between her and keeping a watch on the comings and goings of the other customers at the same time which made an in-depth conversation with her in that environment very difficult. I didn’t miss too much that was going on around me and tried to not miss anything she said though I know I did from time to time as I would have to ask her to repeat something she had said. She would just smile that sexy smile of hers followed by a “Never mind. You’re busy and I should leave you alone” or something similar to that. I hated it when she would leave. Mary was my “island in a sea of insanity” at that store and I would look for her to come in every day I worked there. But, I usually only saw her once a week, twice at the most.
Oklahoma summers can be quite hot and stifling. July of 1980 was no different. The evenings were very hot and sticky and on nights like that you can almost bet there is going to be trouble of some type in every inner-city/lower income community. Alcohol flows heavy and tempers get short. Because of the stores location in the center of one of these types of neighborhoods, I was primed for a busy night. I had hoped for a quiet evening but by 9:00 PM three people in two separate incidents at the store had already gone to jail. I arrested the first two for attempting to steal a couple cases of Budweiser Beer. The third arrest stemmed from a guy who was reaching into his pocket to draw out some folded up one dollar bills to get himself some cigarettes when he dropped a bindle of cocaine on the floor. I remember he looked at the dope on the floor, looked up at me, looked down at the dope again, mumbled “Aw shit” and then placed his hands on the counter. I almost let him go but drugs was too big of a problem in that area and I had to maintain a tough stand on the matter to keep control. I had worked very hard to run the dealers off of that corner and I could not afford to show a soft side when it came to dope. By 11:00 PM I thought that maybe my excitement for the night was over. The store traffic had slowed down and I stepped to the backroom to grab a quick bite of dinner and drink a Pepsi. I was about halfway through my sandwich when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a drunk in the store. I looked out and saw a man who stood about 6'6" and was pushing 350 pounds and he was very angry about something. He had his back to me and I saw him grab a couple packs of smokes off of a counter display and put them in his pocket and was yelling at the clerk to give him $20.00. Shit! That constitutes strong-arm robbery! While I’m no lightweight myself, I knew this was going to be trouble. I quietly walked out of the backroom and began to creep up behind the guy.
During the course of my employment at the store doing security, I had had to draw my weapon on several occasions. But if at all possible, I tired to only talk people down without having any weapons involved. Ninety-nine percent of the time that worked well for me. But I knew from past experience that a large drunk man who is obviously ticked off about something was not going to listen to the voice of reason. I did not see any weapons on him or in his hand. So, it was time for my nightstick.
As I positioned myself to the rear of the yelling man, I placed my stick parallel at my side; one hand to the rear of the stick and the other about two-thirds up the shaft. I then spoke in a loud, commanding tone, saying “Excuse me dumbass!”
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The man whipped around and as he did so, I thrust the business end of my nightstick as hard as I could into the blubber of his solar plexus. The air rushed out of his lungs (phew!) and as he began to double over, I stepped to the side and using my stick for balance pressed him forcefully down to the floor. I used my stick to put him in an arm bar and within about 30 seconds he was in cuffs. Oh, and he puked which, while gross, probably did help me in getting him cuffed so easily. As I stood up I looked around to ensure no one was coming to the idiots aid, I saw Mary by the fountain drinks. Her hand was over her open mouth and her normally almonds eyes were large and round in surprise. She seemed to stare at the man on the floor forever but after only a few seconds she looked at me and smiled, saying “Damn baby!” I was embarrassed.
Mary stayed around along with a couple of other customers to give statements to the police since there had been a use of force and an attempted strong arm robbery. It was a “cover your ass” thing on my part. As things returned to normal, Mary was commenting to me how impressed she had been on how I handled myself. I made a lame comment about how I could handle myself in other types of situations as well, a comment with obvious sexual overtones. Well, I know I had blown it. What a stupid thing to say to a woman who you really do not know!
Mary looked at me briefly and I know my face must have turned crimson as I felt myself flush. She then sheepishly looked down at my nightstick and ran her fingers up and down the handle and smiled.
“I bet you do Mr. Rick. Do you handle other sticks as well as you handle this one?”
What? She said something quite obviously sexual back to me! I didn’t blow it after all!!!
“I’ve had no complaints Miss Mary. Why do you ask? Are you wanting to see me handle my stick some more?” Oh, I was so slick. Looking back on it I can’t believe how lame it must have sounded.
“Actually,” Mary said, “I would like to see you and your stick”.
Damn! I nearly spackled my trousers. It was agreed that I would follow her home in my car as it was by that time the end of my shift. My relief, Officer Stu Carter, had arrived while the police were taking statements and I was only still there because I had wanted to talk to Mary. Stu gave me the “thumbs up” as Mary and I walked out the door. Stu was such a moron. Likable, but a moron.
Mary only lived about four blocks from the store in an old wooden duplex she shared with her youngest child, a daughter who was 14 but away for the night at her grandmother’s. As we entered her living room, I could tell a light incense stick had recently been burnt and I was stuck at how clean and nicely furnished it was. I had figured considering the area, that her furnishings would be run-down or someone else’s castoffs. I removed my gun belt and night stick and placed them on an easy chair. Mary came to me as I did this and without saying a word, reached her arms up around my neck and pulled me down to her waiting lips.
I was in nirvana! While I had been kissed by many a woman up to that time, I had never experienced a kiss like this. The term “soulful” comes to mind and I hope that doesn’t sound too dumb to the reader or like a sterotype. But it was exactly that; soulful. Her thick, moist lips and tongue set me on fire; a fire I felt down to my toes and back up to the nape of my neck. And as she sucked my tongue into her mouth, capturing it there, I felt I was being raptured in pure sensual bliss.
We continued to kiss as our clothes fell around us and as she led me to her bedroom. She backed herself to the bed and then sat down and without a second of time passing took my turgid white cock into her warm, wet mouth. My hands went to her shoulders and my head fell backwards as a gasp escaped my lips. My friends, no one has ever preformed oral sex on me better than what I experienced at that moment. It was soft, it was sweet, it was loving. Oh yeah, there were the slurps and other suction noises one associates with a blow job. But it was just different I tell ya!
As Mary sucked my cock, she caressed my balls and lightly rubbed my ass cheeks. After a few minutes, she pulled her lips to the head of my cock and began to flick her tongue over the underside of it in between some serious sucking, while jacking my cock with her other hand. I’m no dummy, I knew what she was telling me by these actions. She wanted me to cum and I was glad to oblige. As my orgasm built, I asked her if I could cum in her mouth. I mean after-all, I am a gentleman!
Mary looked up at me with those beautiful eyes (to hell with Helen of Troy! Here is a woman who’s face could “launch a thousand ships”) and nodded her head in acceptance. And, within seconds, I erupted. As I blasted my thick cum into her mouth, Mary continued to massage my balls but moved her mouth down my organ to allow me to come directly into her throat.
As my orgasm abated, my knees weakened and I moved to the side of her and fell to the bed, my cock popping form her still sucking mouth. Mary moved up and laid next to me. She rolled over on top of me and bent down to kiss me and for the first time in my life I tasted my cum on the tongue of a woman. As we kissed and she shared my gift with me, I remember thinking to myself, “Hey! This isn’t so bad. But I’m sure not gonna start taking warm showers with the fellas!”
Mary and I rolled around on each other and I trailed kisses down to her hairy pussy. It was thick and bushy and while I always liked a well trimmed or even bald pussy, I liked this for a change. Her clit was very plump and pronounced and as my tongue hit it she let out a squeal. Her “little man in the boat” was very sensitive and I capitalized on that fact by sucking it between my teeth and capturing it there as my tongue went to work. Now I have to confess, my cock is only “white guy average” at 5 to 6 inches. But let me tell you, I know how to please a woman’s pussy with my tongue. For at least 30 minutes, I sucked, flicked, nipped, bit, kissed and blew. You name it, I did it to that woman’s succulent, sweet pussy. And Mary was in an almost continual state of orgasm as not only did she have a large sensitive clit, but she was truly multi-orgasmic! Everyman’s dream - touch your girl’s clit and make her cum! Well, it wasn’t THAT easy but you get the picture.
My jaw was getting sore so I let up on my pussy munching and scooted up next to her. I kissed her as she had done me earlier, sharing her cum with her and sucking on her tongue. Mary reached down and grabbed my cock which was so hard by then that a cat couldn’t scratch it. She rolled me over onto my back and straddled me, placing the opening of her pussy on the head of my cock and slowly slid down. I’m not sure but I think she had a mini-orgasm just doing that. Damn but it made me feel like a stud!
I’m not going to go into the details of our love making. Suffice it to say I came three times that night all together. Mary had at least five screamers and I have no clue how many little ones. Understand this though, we never fucked. We made love…wonderful, romantic, tender love. We eventually went to sleep curled in each others arms, both more than sexually satisfied.
At around 6 AM the next morning I got up, showered and dressed. I had to be at work at 7:00 and while my uniform was the same as the day before, it seemed to still be wearable. Mary was still sound asleep as I got ready to go. I bent down to kiss her on the forehead and she smiled peacefully. I went into the living room and slung the gun belt over my shoulder. I picked up my stick and looked at it, remembering Mary softly touching the handle the night before. I turned to look back at the bedroom door hoping she would be standing there, asking me not to go. But, there was no one there. No sound, no movement. I quietly walked out the door, locking it as it closed behind me.
I did not see Mary for at least a week. I did not have her phone number to call her and I did not want to just pop up at her duplex door uninvited. About two weeks later, she finally did come in and acted her normal, shy self. We chit-chatted as we had always done but with an occasional intimate touch of a finger here and there. No mention was made of our evening together nor of her “disappearance”. Damn! Was I that bad in bed?
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I began asking Mary out on a real date and about a month of me continuously bugging her she finally agreed to dinner and a movie. She had been very hesitant for some reason but I just brushed it off as her being nervous because I was a cop.
I remember very clearly the excitement I felt as I showered and dressed on the day the date was to happen. Finally I was going to be with her again away from the job! I drove my 1955 Chevrolet (yeah, I’m an old car nut) to her house and went to the door to knock. But before my knuckles could strike wood, she opened the door and stepped out. I saw a young girl’s face peek through the curtains and Mary shooed her away from the window.
“That was my baby, Sharonda. She’s just being nosey to see you. She’s going to her grandmother’s house in a bit.”
I waived at Sharonda and she darted away from the window. I could not recall ever seeing her at the store and asked Mary about it.
“Oh no! I never let her go there” she said in that sweet southern drawl of hers. “It’s much too dangerous. Well, at least it used to be until a certain young white boy came on the scene.”
We laughed at her comment as we walked arm in arm to my car. She was absolutely stunning, even though she was just wearing blue jeans and a flowery print blouse with a pink scarf belt and sandals. Hell, she could make an old burlap tote sack with a rope belt look good! I was decked out in blue jeans as well with a long sleeved white dress shirt, heavily starched, and my cowboy boots. I also wore a custom made western belt with my name on the back and a silver championship bull riding buckle I had won when I was a teenager. She got a kick out of the buckle and teased me about being a cowboy. I didn’t mind as I had heard it all before in my life.
I took Mary to Steak and Ale for our dinner as it was my favorite steakhouse at the time. We garnered quite a few stares from the people around us, both black and white. Remember, it was 1980 and seeing a middle-aged black woman with a 25 year old white man was not the norm or as accepted as it is most places today. I’d catch them looking or hear a whisper and a quick look from me would end the issue. I could tell it bothered Mary somewhat but she would smile and take my hand and say something about them being jealous of her being with such a fine looking man. I of course would jokingly agree. I also remember telling her how beautiful she was and no other woman there could hold a candle to her. Then I would speak French to her like I was some romantic French guy trying to steal her away from her boyfriend.
“Mon du Mary! Vous êtes si beau. Venez loin avec moi à mon appartement ainsi nous peut faire l’amour passionné.” I said in my best campy French accent.
Mary would giggle and soon the others around us were forgotton. She would ask me what I said (“My Mary. You are so beautiful. Come away with me to my apartment so we can make passionate love.”) and I would tease her into trying to guess what the words meant. Then I said to her, “Je t’aime, Mary. Je vous adore”. She smiled and looked down at her plate.
“I know what that means”:, she said. “And you don’t mean that”.
I laughed and jokingly told her maybe I didn’t love her (Je t’aime) but I did adore (Je vous adore) her.
The attitude of the people at the movie theater was pretty much the same as it had been in the restaurant but once the lights went out we were just two people holding hands in the crowded theater. Afterwards, we went back to my apartment for an evening of lovemaking and it was even grander, more erotic than our first time. I was beginning to think I might actually be falling in love with this very special woman. I hated to see the date end but end it did when I took her home early the next morning. I couldn’t wait to see her again! I had no idea there would not be a second date.
Mary never came back into the store. She did not have a phone (thus the reason I didn’t have her number) so I could not call her. My time doing security at that particular store was coming to an end and I wanted to continue seeing Mary, possibly as boyfriend-girlfriend. Frustrated at not seeing her, I waited about a week and went to her duplex. To hell with my being a gentleman! I knocked several times but no one answered. I went by three more times and even left a note in the next several weeks. On the last trip I saw that her duplex was empty. The note I had left on my last visit was gone, too.
I moved on to another combat store to work in an area that was even worse than the one I had came from. The company who owned the store was going to shut it down due to how bad it was there as the employees were in danger of being hurt just trying to do their jobs. Word had got out into the neighborhood that the store was closing and the volatile nature of the job seemed to go from bad to worse. Within two weeks of starting to work there, I was shot at on two separate occasions and nearly killed another man myself during an altercation that escalated to him reaching into his waistband for a weapon. Thankfully he stopped midway in his draw as I had already un-holstered and had my .357 magnum stuck in his face. Stu Carter was moved over to the store to help me out. I had not worked with Stu for about a month and it was good to have a partner I knew I could trust in a pinch. He may have been a moron when it came to women, but he was very good at being a police officer. About midway through our first shift together, he said he had something for me that had been dropped off at the other store with one of the day clerks. It was a sealed envelope addressed to me with a note inside. I opened it and saw it was from Mary.
I read the note then folded it up and put it in my pocket. It was short, to the point. Mary told me she had enjoyed our time together talking at the store and loved our “times” together away from there. She commented on how nice our date had been and what a gentleman I was, something she said she was not used to. She also mentioned that she was amazed that I did not “see color” and that I was so gentle and loving considering how I handled myself at work. But the main kicker, the gut-wrencher as it were, was the simple fact that we could not see each other again because I was white and she was black. The looks and whispers we had heard or received on our date bothered her greatly and she could not deal with it. She added that if we continued to see each other she could easily fall in love with me but that we would eventually experience nothing but pain and regret.
I worked the rest of my shift that night never letting on that I was upset. Stu asked me what the note said but I just waved him off, telling him it was just another love letter from my vast fan-club of ladies. But inside, my heart truly was hurting.
Maybe she was right. I don’t know. But I do know that I would have liked to of at least given it a chance. A beautiful woman had entered my life and all too quickly exited. I could have cared less that she was black or I was white. I felt we could have dealt with it and I was devastated she did not feel the same.
I kept that note folded neatly in my wallet for about 15 years, just in case I would ever run into her. I wanted to give it back. Just walk up, hand it to her and walk away. But I never got the chance and eventually the note began to tear and I took it out and put it in my dresser. Eventually, it disappeared from my belongings, probably with my wife’s assistance.
I never saw or heard from Mary again. Today she would be going on 68 or 69 years old and me, 53. I wonder about her, pray for her and even though I have been happily married for 24 years to a wonderful woman, I inexplicitly still ache for her. If it had been 2008 instead of 1980, I think we would have made a go of it.
Au revoir Mary. J’espère que vous avez eu une bonne vie. Goodbye Mary. I hope you have had a good life.
Now I have closure.
The End
The Perfect Homecoming
She sat at her desk after lunch, typing a memo and listening to the quiet murmur of the office around her. It was a quite day, a long day, and the pecking of her fingers on the keyboard faded from her mind as she allowed her thoughts to wander. There was a knot insider her, a tension that demanded release. A release, she thought as she typed, that she would not find today. It was, after all, just another day.
The receptionist came to her desk and handed her a Fed Ex envelope containing, she was sure, another mundane task that would help her to fill the hours of the afternoon. Picking up her silver letter opener she sliced the top of the cardboard envelope, looking inside to see a single piece of sand colored stationary. Immediately her heart began to beat faster, even as her mind was telling her that no, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. And yet, as she slipped the paper out of the envelope, saw the words, she knew it was happening.
Come to me.
Three words, scratched in fast, angular strokes of blue ink burned into her mind. Her hands trembled as she picked up her desk phone, punching the key pad with quick gabs of her finger. The office manager answered sounding bored and tired.
“I have to go downtown for the afternoon.” She said, a slight tremor in her voice betraying her sudden excitement. “Do you need anything brought to the courthouse?”
The answer was no, there were no filings to be made. She hung up her phone, flicked off her computer, and reached under her desk for her bag. Standing, sure that everyone in the office could see right through her, certain they could feel her body tremble through their office doors, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the ladies room.
Slipping into a stall, she stepped out of her demure red heels and set her bag on the toilette seat. She eased her dark skirt up over her hips and slid her pantyhose down over her thighs, pulling them off and tossing them into her bag. Again she reached under her skirt, this time removing her comfortable, sensible cotton panties and pushed them into a crumpled ball at the bottom of her bag. Straightening her skirt she ran her hands through her hair, combing her tresses with her fingers, leaving it full and wavy. She sprayed a fine mist of perfume over her throat and zipped up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stepped back into her heels and walked to the elevators in front of the office.
It seemed like an eternity until the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Stepping inside, oblivious to the men in suits that filled the elevator car, she stood holding her bag in front of her, dangling from her fingers, looking like a little girl on her way to school. She gently bit her bottom lip as she watched the numbers light up, descending slowly until finally the doors slid back and released her into the lobby. Walking quickly to the front door of the building, her heels echoing like gunshots through the lobby, she spun through the revolving door and stepped out into the cold autumn afternoon.
Sometimes she felt guilty on days such as this. She thought of her life, how different it was now, and how the people that surrounded her, the ones that were there for her every day, would never think of her doing what she was doing. She was violating their trust. She knew this, and yet she could not stop herself from responding to the sudden appearance of the notes on sand colored stationary. Not any more than he could stop himself from sending them. She clutched the note in her hand as she flagged a taxi on Madison, settling into the back seat and instructed the driver to take her downtown.
Watching the city slide by her window she realized she was slowly rubbing her thighs together under her skirt. Her entire body was suddenly alive, suddenly charged with a lightening that she spent her days searching for in the sky. She dreamed of these days, lived for them in a way that she knew should make her ashamed. She was not, even though she told herself she should be. She could not feel that, not on these days. Not when the lightening would strike, causing her world to tilt and swirl and become something other than what it was. Not when he would call for her. By Canal Street she felt she was losing her mind, her thoughts a patchwork of images, voices echoing in her mind. She slipped a compact out of her bag and flipped open the little mirror, dark red lipstick coating her lips before she touched her hair with her fingertips. The cabbie glanced at her in the rear view with a look that was curiosity tinted with hunger. She told him where to turn, stuffing a wad of singles into his hand as he pulled to the curb. She opened the door and stood in the autumn wind for a moment, feeling the cool breeze and smelling the sea before turning to enter the hotel.
She scanned the dark lobby as she walked to the reception desk, quietly giving her name and feeling that familiar rush through her body as she asked for the envelope she knew would be there. The desk clerk smiled politely and handed her a small red packet which she took with a quivering hand. She turned and walked to the elevator, her heart pounding in her chest. The only sound she could hear was the rushing rhythm of her blood in her veins, rushing thick and hot from her heart, warming her body as she pressed the button for the top floor. The numbers seemed to light in slow motion, the lift taking what felt like an eternity to reach her destination.
In the hallway she opened the red envelope and slipped out a room key, glancing at the number written on the packet before tossing it into a trash can. Her breathing was fast and shallow, her mouth dry with excitement, her body warm and flushed and ready. She reached the door and considered knocking, forgetting in her excitement that she held a key. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply before sliding the key into the lock and twisting the door handle.
Her heart threatened to explode in her chest as she walked into the room. It was dimly lit, the drapes drawn closed, the only light coming from candles that flickered from every table in the room. She let the door close behind her, the smell of sandalwood in the air, her skin alive with anticipation as her eyes grew accustomed to the low light. Something caught her attention and she looked to a chair in front of the window.
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He stood, tall and lean and dressed entirely in black. His hair was longer than last time, his skin looking tanned and tight. He walked toward her with an intensity that she would have found frightening had she not been crazed with excitement. Still, his predatory advance caused her to step back in spite of herself as she heard her bag thump to the floor.
In an instant, without a word, his hands were holding her face, firmly but with a gentle warmth, and his mouth was on hers. His lips, soft and warm and moist, caressed hers with a natural ease. Like they belonged on hers. She opened herself to his kiss, her mouth accepting his tongue greedily as her hands went to his hair, fisting uncontrollably.
His hands were on her then, a low moan, a growl, drifting from his chest, reverberating through her body as he took her into his arms. His hands, big, strong, demanding, and somehow still gentle, reached for her curves as he kissed her deeply. His nostrils flared as he took as sharp breath through his nose, unwilling or unable to break their kiss as she pressed her body to his. He was shaking, a tremor rippling through his body that emanated from his very core as his caress drifted from her back to the flare of her hips. He pulled her to him, pulling her against his arousal as she kissed him with months of pent up need, her blood red nails grazing the back of his neck, his grip on her growing stronger with every passing second.
He pulled her forward, still not speaking, and she gripped the edge of a wooden table as he stood behind her. His hands went to the sides of her thighs, gathering her skirt in his hands and quickly slipping it up over her hips, grinding himself against her as he pushed her skirt to her waist. She felt him then, sudden and insistent, sinking into her wet folds, wet since touching his note in her office, filling her in one smooth motion.
She cried out, her voice choked with need until she could no longer recognize it as her own. Her gasps over his animal moans, his hips thrusting as she pushed herself back onto him, her skin searing under his vice like grip on her body. Crying ‘Yes!’ as he gripped her hair in both hands, not pulling so much as holding tightly, brining her head back toward him, exposing her throat, causing her moan to break in her throat until she uttered it like a sob. The table shook under her own trembling body as he thrust hard, taking her over and over, the familiar feel of him inside her sending hot waves through her body.
His breath came in great rushes, sucked in through clenched teeth, expelled in deep moans and brutish grunts. He took her deeply, always, touching the entrance to her very core like nothing ever had, ever could. He kissed the side of her neck, sucking her skin into his mouth before releasing her hair from his grip, his hands pushing under her blouse, his hips never ceasing their demanding thrusts.
‘More’ she whispered through desperate gasps, feeling his hands cup the fullness of her breasts, squeezing to the point of pain, her nipples feeling the heat of his palms through her sheer bra. ‘More’ she gasped again, feeling him push harder, somehow finding her deepest, softest place with the iron tip of his shaft. He cried out, a seething growl of lust and desire as he slipped his fingers into the sides of her bra, holding her like it was a harness, driving into her, claiming her as his. The heat in her body was sending blinding explosions of white light through her mind, eviscerating every thought but the need for more of him, more of this. More of whatever would entwine their souls.
He growled louder, his hands twisting in her bra, the straps biting into her shoulders, the cups of lace tightening around her luscious breasts. The tremors in her body turned more violent, turned to spasms as he found her deepest entrance, his wide tip stretching it until he was holding himself there, frozen, feeling her push back onto him with quick, stabbing thrusts. She shuddered, his hips held tight to her, his cries growing louder, matched by her squealing, desperate moan as felt him become part of her, his body fusing to hers as her muscles began to spasm, clenching him, holding him deep inside her body.
His breathing stopped, caught in his chest, his jaw locked, eyes on her face as she looked over her shoulder, their eyes meeting, both dark with passion, as she felt her entire body melt into a simmering mass. His breath came from his chest in a long, loud cry as he felt her body convulse on him, and he exploded in time with her, bathing her quivering walls in thick heat, a burning stream jetting into her deeper than she had ever dreamed possible. They lurched together, uncontrolled, boiling over in a storm of heated gasps and feverish caresses.
Her trembling legs refused to support her and his arms wrapped around her in a warm cradle, easing her to the floor as he slipped out of her. It would not be for long, she knew. It was never for long. He kissed her temple softly as he laid her down on the floor, holding her tightly to his broad, heaving chest as they felt the familiar warm glow settle around them.
He stroked her hair, kissing her forehead with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes, his lips soft and warm as he covered her face in a slow rain of kisses. They held each other there in a tangle of arms and legs and clothing, not allowing an inch between them. Together. One. A slow smile spread across her lips as she felt, at last, again, like the woman she was meant to be. He moved to speak, and she slowly pressed her fingers to his lips, halting his words before he could utter a sound.
There was no need for words.
The End