I Remember Bethany
Gozaimashita Rondori
Published by Gozaimashita Rondori at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Gozaimashita Rondori
ISBN: 0011890118
I REMEMBER BETHANY
By the Piano Man
CHAPTER 1
I don’t think we liked each other at first. Even though I thought Beth was pretty, I assumed she was a dumb Midwestern redneck and she thought I was some Uncle Tom because of my white dinner jacket and my smooth demeanor. It’s funny how memory works, sometimes you can’t remember what happened last week but things that happened nearly forty years ago you remember as if they actually were yesterday.
The first time I saw Beth she was working as a waitress in the Denver bar where I played piano on the weekend. She was from Iowa. You might describe her as ‘perky’ and hardworking. You’ve seen a thousand like her every four years when the media descend on Iowa for the Primaries. Her limbs were long and her waist was slim; small, high breasts, ample hips and a nice round butt completed the picture. Straight hair hung to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She showed her Welsh ancestry in her jet black hair, porcelain skin which freckled in the sun and her cornflower blue eyes. I used to think she looked like Jackie Kennedy (yeah, I’m old enough to call her Kennedy) but now I think she looked like Juliette Binoche (who was probably about 5 then). When I first saw ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ I was just overwhelmed by old memories of Bethany.
Beth
, 1970
Like any good waitress, she moved quickly and lightly on the balls of her feet and she also had a tendency to bounce up and down in place when she was excited. I often saw her move through a crowded bar carrying four plates of food or two trays of drinks without a mishap or even spilling a drop. There was an air of competence about her; she was often smiling and laughing even when everything was chaotic. When Beth laughed, her cheeks pushed up into her eyes and gave her an almost oriental look. She often spouted old ad slogans or movie clichés or used Midwestern rustic sayings like “I’m going to see a man about a horse” when she went on a bathroom break. And yet, despite her corny exterior, there was something about her in the quiet moments that suggested a great depth and high passion.
My day job was as a medical specialist at Fitzsimons Army Hospital. I had come back from my second tour in’ Nam’ as a Platoon Sergeant with the 101st Airborne. I had switched my MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) because I was tired of leading my men into firefights, death and maiming for no discernable purpose. Now I was helping to save what was left of their lives in rehab. I still had to coax and yell at them, but I felt much better about it. Besides that, I could go home every night and forget about my work.
I was about 6’-5”(old age and old injuries have shrunk me an inch or two since then) and when I was in the airborne, I made it a point of pride to be fitter and faster than anyone in the unit. I was balding and my mustache was starting to show some gray but I still ran every day and did pushups, chin-ups, squat thrusts and worked out at the Karate Dojo.
Being home had its own set of problems, though, and my family was not used to having me home all the time. My wife and daughters had evolved their own system and she resented my attempts to alternately discipline or spoil the teen aged girls. The loss of jump and combat pay was also a problem so I took a second job as a piano man at the Goldrush Bar. That also got me out of the house. The drinks were free, the tips were good and I enjoyed watching people. Besides that, I could play anything from R&B and boogie-woogie to classical, and had a natural ear for picking up a tune.
I was a long way from East Saint Louis and the life of trouble that I was headed for as a teenager when I joined the Army. Back then, there weren’t a lot of careers for young black men. The judge told me that if I enlisted, the charges (and a couple of angry fathers of my girlfriends) could be avoided.
The Peacetime Army of the Fifties was good and I got to see a lot of Europe and Asia. I got off base as much as could. With my natural ear I easily learned languages. Thanks to my way with the ivories, I could make myself popular almost anywhere. There were a lot of women who wanted La experience de’sirs noir, and Die Schwartzer orgasmus, and I sure experienced a lot of them, especially the Frenchwomen. Even with all of that, I ended up marrying one of my old girlfriends from East St Louis and settling down (partially).
Of course, Beth’s butt caught my eye and her natural friendliness helped to break the ice. I found out that she was a German/French Major fresh out of College and she was teaching High School during the week. One night, I surprised her by playing Mon Dieu by Edith Piaf and Lillie Marlene (an old soldier’s lullaby). When she found that I was fluent in both French and German, she started practicing her languages with me. I told her bawdy jokes in Low German and risqué stories in Parisian French.
It turned out that she was working as a waitress to pay for a trip to Hawaii to meet her fiancé on R&R. She had worked as a waitress all through college to pay for her education (you could do that back then).
After we became good friends, she began to talk about her relationship with her fiancé. I guess she thought of me as a father figure and a good friend. Someone who she could open up to and not have put the make on her. I tried to be that person.
Beth was engaged to a lieutenant who had gone over to Nam that summer. He was a year older than her and even though that was the swinging sixties, she had been a virgin until they got engaged. Once they started and she was on the pill, they screwed like rabbits. They tried to capture as much of each other as possible in the face of his looming deployment. She confessed that she didn’t enjoy the sex as much as she thought she should. He complained that she was repressed and inhibited. Beth experienced few orgasms in their often hurried lovemaking and it left her vaguely wanting more.
Her fiancé had written that in his visits to the Saigon Cultural Exchange, he had found the Vietnamese women to have a much more open outlook about their sexuality and that he admired their attitude. Of course, I had been to the “Saigon Cultural Exchange” and it was a cluster of bars and bordellos, but I didn’t tell her that.
The glamorous vacation in Hawaii she was planning on would obviously involve sex and she was hoping to lose some of her repression before they met again. Her fiancé had suggested she try some porn. Beth had purchased some magazines and even gone to a porno movie in a desire to please him. But she said that they just left her cold and she wondered if something was wrong with her.
I told her there was nothing wrong with her and that stuff also left me a little cold. I gave her my copies of Delta of Venus and Little Birds by Anais’ Nin. Beth read Nin in college but didn’t know that she wrote erotica. I said, “Yes, in addition to being his lover, Nin also paid for the publication of Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.” When she brought the books back, she blushed a little and said she liked them very much.
I mentioned that the story about the hypnotist was my favorite, because he was black and I could identify with him. In addition, I knew a redhead like the woman in the story back in Paris. Beth blushed even more but didn’t say anything else.
Later that night, Beth asked me how she could become sexier and I told her that it’s kind of like a mirror, if you think you are sexy, and then you are sexy. “However from my experience if a woman wants to feel sexier she usually starts with her underwear. If you want, you could also wear a tighter skirt and you might try unbuttoning a button or two”.
She said “I will think about that, at least the underwear.”
I said “I’ll think about that too.” And gave her my best Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle and she laughed and blushed again.
Saturday, she smiled and said that she had purchased some French intimates and they did make her feel sexier. She also asked me if I had any more erotica. I told her yes, but she would have to take very good care of it, because it was very rare.
On Sunday, Beth showed up in a tight black skirt that hit her at mid thigh and when she bent over, it really accentuated her great ass and legs. When she brought me my drink, I noticed that the top two buttons of her white blouse were open and when she leaned forward, I could see a lacy French cut bra and the curve of her breast and her nipple from the side. I looked up and smiled and said “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” To my delight, her cheeks flushed and she smiled again and told me that she did feel much sexier and her tips were even better now.
After
work, I gave her the book which was written in French but intended
for the barely literate people of French colonial Africa. I believe
it had been designed as a Recruiting tool. It was an anti-German,
Pro-colonial cooperation in defense of the motherland piece of
propaganda. It dated from the First World War and I had picked it up
in a quiet little book store in Clichy, it had somehow survived the
Vichy government, the Nazi occupation and the postwar De Gaul
censorship. The book was a set of photographs with short captions in
French and Senegalese. It was done with a high quality silver gel
sepia process which showed great skin tones and high contrast. The
whole book is done with extreme pantomime as if it were a silent
movie.
The book opens with an obviously drunk German officer attempting to rape a pretty young Frenchwoman. Suddenly, a very large, very black, French Senegalese soldier with mud still on his puttees and trench-coat dramatically bursts into the room. He seizes the officer and knocks him out with one punch. Together, the girl and the soldier defenestrate the German into the street several floors below. The girl then turns to the soldier with her clothes still torn and in disarray, declares him “My Hero” in large block letters and kisses him in the forth picture. The colonial soldier is at first startled but then returns her embrace and then lifts her easily on to her bed. In the next two pictures, she quickly divests him of his clothes and expresses happy astonishment at the size of his manhood in the ninth picture.
What follows is a series of sexual postures both on and off the bed. I found it unusual in that they displayed great pleasure in the sex, including smiles, sweat and flushed skin across the face and chest. The final picture in the series shows them in post-coital bliss, him on his back with a large grin, one hand thrust between her legs and the other resting on her head which lies on his abdomen. Her face has an equal smile with her glazed cheeks and lips nestled against his tumescence, still gleaming from the fruits of their lovemaking. The final two pictures are what make the book unique for the first shows the fiercely proud soldier in full dress uniform bedecked with medals and his beaming and very pregnant bride standing outside the parish church. The books’ final illustration is of the soldier complete with paterfamilias mustache, pipe, evening paper and easy chair while his still smiling wife is setting the dinner table with several mixed race children playing at their feet.
I
gave the book to Beth and she handled it gingerly and with mixed
emotions, promising to take good care of it. She brought it back the
following Friday and told me that she had been both aroused and
fascinated with the book, but it had obsessed her imagination and
even bothered her dreams. Much later, Beth told me that the image she
couldn’t get out of her head was of the blissful Frenchwoman with
her lips wrapped around the soldiers gleaming ebony shaft buried deep
inside her mouth.
After she gave the book back, Beth asked with hesitation if I didn’t think the soldier was unusually large and I responded that I didn’t think so. She stammered with her cheeks reddened and said that she meant his “thing”. I again responded that I still didn’t think he was all that large. Her eyes widened and I saw them drop to my lap. She quickly looked up with her cheeks crimson and her nipples stiffened and then started to apologize.
But I cut her short and told her “Thank you, it’s not often that an old married man gets a compliment like that.” She bashfully smiled again and quickly went back to work.
For the next few weeks, Bethany was bubbling with excitement as she planned her romantic trip with her new bikini and see-through baby-doll nightgown. Once, while she was a little drunk, she confessed to masturbating with a vibrator and she could hardly wait to try out some of her new sexual ideas on her betrothed.
Then one day, she was really down in the dumps and when I asked her why, she told me “My fiancé’s leave was cancelled and he’s being sent up-country and that he will be out of touch for a couple of weeks.”
I thought that sounded a little bogus but I told her “Don’t worry, his R&R wiil soon be rescheduled and you will soon be in Hawaii. The airline will re-schedule your tickets if you tell them now.” She cheered up and was soon back to her normal self but still slightly subdued.
The next Friday I found her in tears and she showed me a letter from her brother who was in the Signal Corps in Thailand. He wrote that he had seen her fiancé’s name on the manifest of a Saigon to Sidney flight and went down to the Bangkok terminal to greet him. Instead what he saw was her very drunk beloved with an Australian nurse hanging off him bound for two weeks of R&R (or I&I, intoxication and intercourse as her brother put it).
I told her “I’m so sorry. Perhaps your brother simply made a mistake.”
She replied “My brother would not have written unless he was absolutely certain”. She began to weep bitterly against my shoulder.
I fought the urge to mouth platitudes about “tomorrow is another day.” and “There’s more than one fish in the sea.” Instead, I just held her and stroked the back of her head until she stopped crying.
I gave her my handkerchief and she thanked me for just being there. She said “You’re a good friend, George” and kissed my palm before returning to work. However, I could tell that she was just going through the motions.
Later, after closing time, as I was headed out to my car, I spotted Beth sitting in her old gou-shi <beat-to-shit> mustang with her head on the steering wheel and tears streaming down her face. I knocked on her window to ask if she was ok and she rolled it down, sobbing “My brother left me this piece of junk two years ago and tonight it won’t start. I spent all my money on a plane flight I can’t use. The busses have stopped running, my fiancé is a louse and I’m freezing.”
I told her “Get out of the car and to lock it up. I will drive you home and look at your car in the morning.”
She responded “You don’t need to do that; I can just sleep in the car.”
I said “No, It’s only going to get colder and this is not a good neighborhood for a woman by herself. I’m telling you that you need to get in my car and let me take you home. Here, take my coat.” She finally agreed and locked up the mustang.
Back then, I was driving an older model Mercedes s300, used, that I picked up in Germany on my last tour and that I kept up myself. The car had bench seats and a huge interior and very useful when the kids were small for long trips and you had to keep them at least three feet apart. When Beth climbed in and I had the heater running, she noticed the broad plush seats and the fine woodwork and remarked on how nice the car was. I replied “It’s like me, built for comfort, not speed; quoting a song by Willie Dixon that I had been singing earlier.
She laughed and replied “You’re in great shape.”
“You mean, for my age.”
“No, for any age.” And then her frost red cheeks reddened even further as she realized that it sounded like a come on.
I smiled and handed her my hip flask of 180 proof homemade plum brandy and she thanked me and took a swig, coughed and exclaimed “Whoa, that’s strong stuff, but it sure warms you up.” Beth then gave me directions to the walkup over a liquor store she rented. We were sitting in the parking lot in back when she asked if we could just sit and talk for a while.
I said “I understand” and pulled out a joint and fired it up. As we talked, I handed it to her and she took a toke and began coughing violently. I said “Be careful, this isn’t your weak college shit, this is grade A Nam ‘Boo’ mixed with black tar opium.”
She replied “That’s ok; I could stand to get really stoned.” so I offered to use my mouth to cool the smoke off for her.
As I took a mouthful of smoke and blew it into her open mouth, she inhaled and held it. When she exhaled, Beth remarked that it felt as if the back of her head was floating away. I told her that was just her neck muscles relaxing.
About the third time I leaned in to blow some smoke into her mouth, Beth just looked me in the eyes, closed hers and kissed me. Our mouths joined and our tongues pushed into a wet embrace. When we broke, she apologized “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I responded “I have wanted to do that for some time” and pulled her into another deep long kiss.
When we broke our kiss the second time, she was running her fingers inside my open shirt collar on my pectoral; “Your skin is so smooth but your muscles are so hard.”
I followed suit and slipped my hand into her blouse to cup her small upturned breast. “And this is so soft and beautiful.”
“Thank you, George, for letting me feel pleasure again.”
“If you want pleasure, try this.” And I reached inside the glove box to pull out my special mix of Xing qu shi and K-Y jelly, opened her blouse and began rubbing it on her chest, pushing her bra over the top of her breasts. As the mix of warmth and cooling took effect, she sighed, closed her eyes and her nipples turned into pebbles as she kissed me again.
Beth then unbuttoned my shirt and started rubbing the mix on my chest and abs, “You’re so big and firm”.
I thanked her and as we were making out again, I was running my hand back and forth on her thigh and ass. When I slipped my hand between her thighs, they parted and I could feel the dampness in her panty hose.
Beth groaned and her hand dropped down onto my lap and she started to massage my johnson. When she felt its size, she exclaimed “Oh Lordy, now I know what you meant when you said you didn’t think that soldier was that big.”
I found a small hole in her pantyhose and I worked my finger into her wet folds as my tongue found her nipple. She arched her head backwards and pulled me on top of her. “Please, George, I need this.”
I pushed her skirt up and started to pull her pantyhose down and she lifted her butt to accommodate while tugging at my belt and zipper. I kicked of my trousers and boxers but left my shoes on (old habit from my teen years-in case I needed to run). As I climbed up between her knees, my open shirt held my thighs and abdomen in shadow. As she stared at what was looming at her out of the darkness, I drank in the sight of her wide open, well-muscled, thighs, smooth stomach and magnificent bush. It was thick and full and had a wispy trace that extended up towards her belly button.
Now I know that the latest fashion dictates that women should shave their nether regions smooth, but as a father who has diapered his infant daughters, I find it to be a complete turnoff. Perhaps after Brittany Spears latest display, more people will agree.
As I found and stroked Beth’s slick button with my thumb, I inserted my fingers into her wet and swollen trench and began to massage the back of her clitoris. I noticed that she was still mesmerized by what was bobbing below my belly. “Last chance to back out.” I broke her spell and she looked up with lust lidded eyes.
“Shut
up and kiss me, you fool.” She joked and pulled me toward her.
I applied the mix to our genitals and she guided me with trembling fingers to the furled rose petals of her labia. As I encountered her tightness and began to enter, I saw her grimace and bite her lip. As I worked myself into her warmth, Beth just pulled me tightly towards her. I paused after about seven inches to let her get accustomed to being so full and then I backed out until just the head was in and I rocked back and forth with just a few inches of penetration. When she gasped and clutched at my ass I buried the whole nine inches into her until my balls were up against her perfect cheeks and I could feel her cervix.
“Oh my god, it’s so big inside me.” She cried out and wrapped her legs around mine, rocking her ass back and forth against my thighs while her eyes opened wide and lost their focus. I kept just the head in her for a while, teasing her vagina with short jabs and then delivering deep long slow dives into her wet and swollen channel.
I found myself patterning my long and short thrusts on a R&B beat from an old raunchy song that I learned from ‘Tuts’ Washington in New Orleans. “If you see Kay, tell her, tell her, tell her…” It was one of those infectious tunes that won’t leave your head and since Beth had heard me singing it earlier, I began to sing it softly to her. “If you see Kay, tell her, tell her, tell her…”
At first Beth was silent, but gradually the words began to subliminally burn themselves into her brain until she softly began to moan “Fuck; oh fuck… oh fuck me.”
“That’s right, let it go. Think about this big black dick inside you, think about how it makes you feel, imagine about how much it wants to please you.”
As I pulled back with each thrust, I could feel the walls of her vagina tugging at my shaft. I rocked back on my knees and pushed her legs toward her chest so that I could see the joining of our flesh. As I worked in and out of her, the shining coral of her inner lips turned to violet. First they disappeared and then stretched out about a half inch following my coal black piston gleaming with her juices. The rosy crucifixion spread across her chest as I looked down at her. With Beth’s knees bent back practically to her shoulders her gaze was also locked on the workings of our lovemaking.
“Think about how much your pussy excites my cock. Your pussy is so hot and wet and wonderful. Tell me how it feels.”
“It’s
so beautiful.” She whispered with a husky moan and pushed her head
back against the armrest. Her heavy lidded eyes locked on mine and
she pulled me down on her. “Oh god, George, you’re so big: I
can’t believe it. You’re so deep inside me.” Beth pulled my
shirt off over my head and clawed at my back. Her face was flushed
and her eyes rolled back with fluttering lids. “You’re filling me
up; it feels so good. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god!” Beth began to buck
wildly until with a violent spasm, she gave out an inarticulate
“Shit, oh, oh, ah, ah…AAARGH!” and I felt a gush of liquid
flood against my testicles.
The beautiful slapping and squishing of our thighs and genitals filled the car along with a heady musk and the windows steamed as we continued to bend our backs against that cold November night. With my fingers between her cheeks, I could feel her juices running down the crack as she panted and jerked against me. I slowed and kissed her neck while she caught her breath. “Thank you, George: that was wonderful.”
“Hold
on little girl, we ain’t finished yet.” And I sat up on my knees
and lifted her left leg so that her ankle was on my shoulder. I
kissed the sole of her foot and I began to pull her leg back and
forth against my chest and abdomen. My neck was jammed against the
car roof but I could watch Beth with her petite
tetons jerking
and her eyes rolling as she clutched at my ass and thighs. Beth, as
she reentered her
climax,
had her right foot braced against the mahogany steering wheel and I
was afraid she would break it when she came groaning and jerking
before her le
petite mort.
I paused again to lay down behind her on the seat while we caught our breath. As I did so, I popped out of her and she, trembling and panting, asked “Did you come yet?”
“No; do you want to quit?”
“No, I want to feel you coming inside me.” With that, she reached down to grasp my slick member and thrust it back into her equally wet love channel.
I grabbed her left thigh lifted it up, and began to really slam into her from behind. I asked “Do you like my old ‘nigger cock’?
She turned her head to look me in the eyes and said “Oh yes.” as she reached back to pull my ass into her.
“I want to hear you say it. Unh-unh! I want to hear you say that you love being fucked by this old nigger cock. Unh-unh-unh!" She hesitated out of her shyness and basic repression about the racial epithet. "Say it! Tell me you want my cum inside you!" as I thrust her wet red ass against my loins. I felt an animal lust and I wanted her to her to express the same level of basic emotion.
Finally she cast loose all her inhibitions. “Oh god, yes! Fuck me George. Fuck with your big nigger cock, I want you to come in me. Fuck me hard! Come! Come for me baby!” she screamed.
“Yeah!
Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m gonna cum. Open up and
take this old nigger cock. I’m gonna cum. Unh-unh-AAARGH!” and
with that, time seemed to stop as her cries echoed mine as we spasmed
against each other and I pumped myself into her.
I continued to work myself back and forth in her and I looked down to see her pubic hair plastered to her thighs and mound with sperm frothing out with her fluids. When I started to pull out, she whispered “Thank you, I never knew it could be that beautiful. ” as she looked down to see me imbedded in her center.
When my dick finally came out with a soft plop, a torrent of cum followed it down her ass and on to the seat beneath. Beth looked down in horror; “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’ve ruined your seats!”
“Don’t worry, I‘ve been Scotch-Guarding the seats since the kids were little.”
Suddenly the color left her face “Oh no, that’s right! You have a family and now I’m a home wrecker!”
“Relax, my wife expects me to cheat a little and I expect she’s been off the rez herself a few times while I’ve been deployed. Besides, if she knew your situation, she would agree that you needed a good screw and she might have loaned me out herself tonight.”
“Oh, great, does she charge a stud fee?” and we both laughed and she leaned her head against my chest. “You know that picture book you loaned me? Well, right now I feel just like that French girl. I don’t think I could feel any more satisfied.”
I noticed that her gaze was still locked on my opalescent fluid covered member. “Well how about it? Do you think you could fit that on your mouth? You could always try” she looked at me to see if I was serious and I could tell she was tempted but then she noticed that it was getting light outside.
“Oh
god, you better get home. I don’t care how open minded your wife
is. I don’t want her asking questions about me!” with that she
sat up and put on her shoes and started to straighten her skirt out.
“Well, you better take these if you don’t want her asking questions.” And I handed her pantyhose to her. She laughed happily and stuffed them into her purse, kissed me and got out of the car and headed up the stairs to her apartment. As I got dressed, I watched her until she was safe. She paused on the landing to wave before going inside. I can still remember her wistful smile, her disheveled clothing and the tiny stream of jizz running down her leg.
CHAPTER 2
(I which I taste Bethany’s Schwarzwalder-Kirschtorte and she samples my Schwarzschlange-Honigschlag)
Beth had given me her car keys and I brought my toolkit and mechanic coveralls to the bars’ parking lot. When I popped the mustangs’ hood, I found what I expected: a broken distributor cap. A quick trip to the parts store, a short tune-up and I had the ‘tang’ purring like a kitten, abet a large and deep throated kitten.
Beth was just getting off the bus and she ran up to me and hugged and kissed me in thanks as I was getting out of the coveralls.” I thought I would have a big repair bill that I couldn’t afford.” Then Beth playfully asked me if I thought she was hip now. “You know, like those wasp chicks balling spades that Jack Kerouac writes about.”
I laughed “Yeah, you’re hip and I’m a regular beatnik”.
While I was washing up and changing into my working clothes, Beth came up to ask me if she could pay me back by cooking dinner for me. I told her “You already paid me back in spades last night and I don’t need any compensation, this is just friendship.”
“Spades, hunh? Well, I was the one who got the spade last night and I think I came out ahead. So, I still owe you one. Please, I’ll make you Schwarzwalder-Kirschtorte (Black forest chocolate cherry cake).”
“How did you know my weakness? Well, I accept but we’ll probably have to do it tomorrow. Sundays are always dead and Jimmy will let us both go because he doesn’t like to have a lot of staff to pay on dead days.”
Jimmy was the only other brother who worked the bar and he owned the place. He was also airborne except he had been in the all-black ‘triple nickels’ (555th Parachute Infantry Battalion) in WW II and was part of the 2nd Ranger in Korea where he got shot up in a combat jump. We met when he came into rehab at Fitzsimons and he said he needed a piano player. I once saw him take on six drunk rednecks who came into the bar looking for a fight and made the mistake of trying to push Jimmy around. Before I could even get my jacket off, all six were on the floor with two trying to crawl towards the door. His technique was pure Camp Darby Fairbairn commando style: sharp, fast and nasty. The one who had managed to get a knife out had his arm both broken and dislocated. Jimmy casually walked over and kicked one of the crawlers in the ribs and I said “Hey, take it easy Jimmy.”
“I did take it easy; they’re still breathing ain’t they? If I wanted them dead, we’d be looking for a pig farm ‘bout now.” He paused “These boys weren’t nothing: back in early ‘46’ two brothers from the triple nickels and I got jumped by five ex-SS troopers outside Frankfurt when we were headed back to the barracks. Now that was a real fight and we fed those dead Nazis to the pigs afterwards.”
When I brought taking Sunday off up to Jimmy, he looked at me and winked. “You say Dinner, eh? Well, you be careful brother, remember, your wife is a razor packin’ mama outa East Saint Louie and she’ll only put up with so much. I’ll cover for you if she calls, cause Beth is worth it, but don’t let this get back to your wife or it’ll be my nuts too.”
“Don’t worry; I’m just helping Beth through a rough patch.”
“No man, you just got a whiff of that white girl pussy.”
“Well, there’s that too. But thanks for your advice.”
The next evening I showed up at Beth’s apartment with a nice Rhone Riesling. She met me at the door and nervously smoothed her hair while taking off her apron. The smell of cooking filled the air and she looked radiant. I complemented her while I opened the wine and we stood on the porch in the late November sun while dinner finished cooking and the sun went down.
The apartment was small with high ceilings. A glass bead curtain hung in the doorway to her bedroom. The walls were covered with oriental art and travel posters. “I like your Hiroshige prints and the rest looks very college and hopelessly romantic.”
She said “I know and I hope to see most of those places one day”
“I have; and some were fantastic and most weren’t that great.”
“I still want to see them for myself.”
“Good, at least you won’t have to carry a rifle when you do it.”
It turned out that she had traveled by Eurail Pass all over Europe and worked in a French restaurant in Zurich for one summer as a cultural exchange student. “It was like being an indentured servant. The Swiss don’t tip and the owner refused to pay at the end of the summer, claiming that I should be satisfied with the room and board.”
We traded Swiss tightwad stories and then it was time to eat.
The table was set beautifully with candles and what was probably her only matching set of plates, wineglasses and silver ware. She had prepared Cornish game hens in a Romertoff oven and baked potatoes with a fresh garden salad. The wine went well with the hens and her choice of Mozart’s’ Die Zaberflotte for background music. When she got up to replace Mozart with Billie Holiday and some Django Reinhart she asked me what I thought of the meal.
I put on my best Missouri farm hand. “Well, Miz Bethany, these here are the tastiest chickens I ever et but they do seem to be a mite on the puny side.” When she reached over to administer a playful dope slap on the back of my head, I cried “I allies knowed you wuz the type to go round beatin’ on poor colored folk.” When she laughed, I opined “Les aliments répondent au rêve de notre âme quant à l'appétit de notre estomac.”
“Food responds to our soul's dream as to our stomach's appetite.” She replied.
“And your cooking matches your beauty. I detect truffle in the hens”.
“I liberated the truffles on my way out of the French restaurant in Zurich”.
With coffee came the four layer Kirschtorte and she had used a very fine Belgian chocolate icing and Rocky Ford cherries along with chocolate cake layers soaked in fiery kirshwasser. When I finally pushed back from the table, I said “If I weren’t married, I’d be down on bended knee.”
“Thank you, but I’ve already had someone do that and you saw how that turned out; how about a kiss instead?”
“If I kiss you, I’m going to want to fuck you again.” I warned her.
“I was kind of hoping that.” She murmured as she stepped into my arms. Within minutes, we were making out and polishing each others tonsils like teenagers on her couch. I was pleased to find that she was wearing panties and not pantyhose. While she massaged my old ‘nine iron’ I had my fingers into her forbidden folds and was working her clit from the outside and inside. When she began to moan and shiver, I took off her panties. She abruptly stood up and led me into her bedroom. “Stay here while I slip into something more comfortable.”
While I waited, I stripped down to my boxers. I was starting to remove my wedding band when she looked out of the bathroom. “Leave your wedding ring on, I need to remind myself that all pleasures are fleeting and forbidden pleasures are sweetest.”
“Ah yes: Camu; in that case, I want you to wear your engagement ring while we cuckold your fiancé.” She laughed and picked the ring up from the sink. When she came out, she was wearing a filmy baby doll nighty with no bottom that barely covered her ass and pubes. Behind her the bathrooms’ stained glass fixtures light softly lit the bedroom.
This was the first time I had ever seen her fully naked and she was breathtaking. I know that some men like big boobs but I prefer small handfuls (and mouthfuls). Her nipples were prominent and dark, her waist small and her stomach flat sloping down to the dark mystery between her well shaped thighs. Her feet and ankles were long and delicate while the calves and thighs fit together in a classic symmetry that supported the perfectly round globes of her ass. With every move the play of her muscles under her porcelain skin was like poetry as she pirouetted with her long black hair swinging over the long curve of her spine.
“Well what do you think?”
“If you mean your nightgown, it is very pretty, but if you’re talking about what’s underneath, that is amazingly beautiful.” Her cheeks reddened and she stood there clutching her hair with one hand and she looked so innocent, I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her. I stepped forward and swept her up in my arms, she turned her face upward and we were suddenly over caught up in an overwhelmingly passionate kiss.
She pressed against my abdomen and smiled “I see someone is happy to see me.” And Beth reached into my shorts to grasp my johnson. When I dropped my boxers down and she fished it out, Beth shivered. She suddenly sat down on the bed staring at my manhood.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up at me and back down at my middle leg that was pointing at her in a gentle arc ad bobbing slightly with each breath. She looked up again. “I’m frightened.”
“Frightened: of what?”
“Of how it makes me feel: of how much I want it.”
I sat down beside her and put my arm around her. I lifted her head to kiss her and to stroke her breasts, giving each half–inch nipple little tweaks and twists before moving down the gentle swell of her abdomen to the silken black curls below. I began to kiss and lick her sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of her nighty and she moaned and parted her thighs. I pushed my fingers into her nether folds to find her flowing. Gently pressing and rolling her clitoris between my thumb and forefinger elicited little jerks and shudders. When I pushed my middle finger between her now wet and thick labia into the silken passage of her interior to press up against the back of her clit, she arched her back and clamped her legs together and sucked my tongue into her mouth. Moaning with abandon, she reached down to work her hand on my shaft from the sack to the bulbous head of my old ‘nine-iron’.
I reached over to pick up the tube of K-Y that she had thoughtfully placed beforehand on the nightstand and put some on her fingers. “That is, unless you would like to lubricate me in some other way?” I teased her. She blushed and shook her head, but I could tell that she was torn between her repressed libido and her desire to wrap those beautiful ruby lips around my throbbing cock.
“All things in good time little girl, all things will come in good time.” I thought as she carefully coated my ebony piston until it glistened in the dim light. I laid her on her back and pushed her back so that her knees were against her chest. As I lay down on her, I began to rub the length of my rod against her equally gleaming lower lips and cheeks. Carefully teasing her button with the tip, I asked her between kisses if she still liked this ‘old nigger cock’ and if she still wanted it in her pussy.
She quickly nodded, but “Uh-huh.” was all she could manage.
“Do you want this? Do you want this nigger cock in you?” I worked the tip back and forth on her opening. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Oh yes, George, I want your big, fat, nigger cock in me!” As she thrust her hips up at me, I pushed into her wet tight opening. She groaned “Oh god, it’s as big as I remember it was!” She arched her back and grabbed my ass to pull me further into her small but welcoming canal. I noticed that she had a rare attribute, her vaginal temperature was much higher than her outside skin and she felt like she was wrapping a warm wet cloth around me. I had thought it was the Xing qu shi the last time but this was all her and it felt heavenly.
I settled into a nice slow fucking rhythm that alternated short fast jabs with long, slow thrusts that gradually deepened into the accommodation of her slowly widening passage. When my balls were slapping against her ass cheeks, I pushed back to admire her loveliness. She had a ‘deer in the headlights’ look on her reddened face and her chest was heaving while her breasts rocked with every thrust of our genitals. Her wide flung legs suddenly clamped onto mine to assist my plunging penetration and pulled me down into a deep and hungry kiss.
As I could feel the excitement rising in her, my strokes increased in frequency and intensity until she clasped me close with her face and chest flushed. Her eyes screwed shut, her brows furrowed together and upward. She gave a great groan and spasmed around me and I felt a torrent of liquid bathe my gonads. I kissed her and then sat back on my heels to survey our loving work. Still inside her, I lifted her legs into the air by her knees and began making a series of deep slow thrusts that made a beautiful squishing sound.
She looked down to stare in fascination at my glistening ‘nine iron’ pistoning between us. I asked her “Do you like to look at that?”
“Oh yes!” as she pulled at my thighs.
“Does your pussy like this?”
“My pussy loves your cock.”
“My cock says je t'aime votre minou.”
“Je t'aime mon amour! Please come inside me, give it to me, oh god, oh god!” She grabbed the headboard behind her and began to push her self against my rapidly increasing thrusts
With that, I really started to slam into her and fell forward into her arms as our genitals went into overdrive. As I started to come, she tightly clutched my ass, pulling me deeper into her. With an incoherent cry I pumped my essence into her and I could feel her vaginal walls milking me dry. When we slowed down, she laughed in release and we continued to kiss and embrace, not willing to stop until the last drop had been drained from our mutual ecstasy.
As
we lay there we continued to fondle each other. I got up to turn on a
small lamp in order to appreciate her beauty and I noticed that she
was staring at the glistening and sperm smeared length of my ebony
rainbow. She was still leaking my essence from her sex when she got
up to get a washcloth.
“Come back and clean this up.” I playfully waived my licorice stick at her.
“But that’s what the washcloth is for…oh, I see.” She laughed.
“Do you think this will fit in your mouth? You could always try.” She just smiled and pulled her nighty over her head and knelt down next to me and lowered her face to my lap.
As she bent to examine the black prize in front of her she exclaimed “Tell me what to do, I’ve never done this before.”
“Just taste it.” She hesitated for a second before extending her tongue to touch the white opalescent fluid.
“It’s sweeter than I thought it would be; and salty too.’ She continued to lick at the thick liquid.
“Put it in your mouth and suck on it.” She complied without hesitation to suck and engulf the glans and began to bob her head up and down on my member. “Lightly nibble the shaft. Now lick it, especially in front at the base of the head.” The sight and feel of her perfect soft mouth on my manhood was incredibly erotic. When she took it out and was licking at the base of my shaft again, I kidded her “You know, once a white woman has tasted a Blackman’s sperm, she’s hooked for life.”
She looked up in all seriousness. “I believe it.” My jaw dropped and she resumed trying to cram as much of me as she could into her eager mouth.
As she sucked me back into a turgid state, I began to moan with pleasure as she worked my member with obvious enthusiasm. At times I could clearly see the outline of my cock head in her cheek and occasionally taking me deep into her mouth to her tonsils. Beth gagged a little but that didn’t stop her, I think she was trying to impress me with her enthusiasm. When Beth came up for breath she stopped to state “I really love sucking on your dick but it’s making me incredibly horny and all I can think about is having you inside of me.”
“Well go ahead and climb on board little girl!”
“You got it.” And she rose up to straddle me.