Prelude.
My graduation class from grade school was two-thirds female. It was also one -third African American. The only racism in it was when I was tormented now and then by two of the Blacks. At the time I was not the least bit interested in girls, boys, or sex with anything but my hand. I went to a different high school than most of the class and we never had much, if any, contact after that.
The story.
About ten years after grade school I was standing at a bus depot for the local commuter buses looking for a pretty young, or old thing, to get close to in the crowd when I heard, "Patrick, Patrick ------ ," (I'm not gonna tell you my full name!) and this voluptuous African American woman came running up to me, threw her arms around me and gave me a big wet kiss right on the lips.
I thought, "What the Hell," and stepped back to see her. Dawn came as I recognized Carrie Baker from my old grade school class. She had changed from a skinny, wild haired little girl to a beautiful dark skinned woman.
To make a long story short, we went to a nearby bar, had a few drinks and caught up on the last ten years. She had seen me from the opposite end of a bus a few days back and was waiting for me to pass through again. The conversation worked around to my love for the sounds of small jazz combos that were found in bars and lounges near 63rd and Cottage Grove. That was a 95% Black neighborhood that most of my white friends wouldn't go into for love nor money. There was a lot of other ethnic music in the various areas of the city, but I wasn't into polkas or clog dancing. We made a date to meet at one of the clubs that Friday.
The club was small, dark, smoky, and packed on Friday nights. There were others in the neighborhood and we hit a few more before parting for the night. Neither of us had driven since the transit system was so good and parking was always a problem. I accompanied her to her door with only being shouted at by a group of teens driving by one time. You can guess what they shouted, just two words, the last was, "lover."
No goodnight kiss, no butt pats, just, "See you next week."
The next week we met on a Thursday night. Carrie said the groups were there trying out new arrangements and going over most of what they had in mind for the coming weekend, and the customers were waiting for payday on Friday. The downside of Thursday was that sometimes on a Friday or Saturday night, actually it was the wee hours of the following morning, some big names like Sonny Rollins, Ornette Coleman, and even a rare Louis Armstrong doing something other than Dixieland, would stop by to jam after a gig downtown. We met again the next Thursday and then on Friday. We danced quite a bit, drank enough to get mellow but not enough to get wasted.
That Thursday night was a little different. We were dancing to a real slow number when our lips brushed and we kissed, once, twice, and once again. Each kiss being longer and hotter. The music stopped, the sax man hollered, "Shit man, ya'll better get a room �fore ya mess up the floor," and they burst into a hard, driving version of "Night Train" that outdid Jimmy Forrest. They ended up shifting the tempo into the slowest, sexist version of it I've ever heard.
I walked Carrie home and after a chaste goodnight kiss, she said, "Patrick, if you don't stay the night, you don't see me no more."
I was a little scared. Here was this woman almost as tall as I, built like a brick latrine, probably had cocks twice as big as mine fill her up, and she was telling me to, "Stay the night."
We went up to her apartment and after the necessary bladder draining started kissing. She could kiss sexier than anyone I had ever kissed. She reacted to my kisses with such felling I lost my fear of inadequacy and we were naked in no time. She was more curvaceous than any woman I'd ever been with and had muscle tone most women would kill for. Her skin was as dark as dark chocolate; her breasts were firm and real with nice big nipples that were super sensitive. I kissed and sucked them and she was so wet and slippery I just had to taste her. My finger found her pussy and I slowly rubbed it in and felt her clitoris harden. I licked my fingers and had a great taste of her. She was both sweet and sour; I was probably too hot to know the difference.
"Put it in Pat, put it in and fuck me. She was on her back and I took hold of my hard dick and rubbed its head all across her swollen labia. I slipped it in a little and she moaned in ecstasy. I did my own moaning and thrust it in with all of my 180 pounds driving it. If giant black cocks had fucked her she must have had great muscle control down there because she was tight. I could feel her squeezing and releasing me as I slowly worked it in and out. I was having one Hell of a time keeping control. The orgasm was building in my body from my knees on up. I could feel the electric tingling in my back and my thighs were quivering. My dick felt like it was going to burst inside her. She was meeting me thrust for thrust. We went faster, we went slower, we both held back as best we could. It was so good we didn't want it to ever end, as we knew it would. When it did my whole body shook uncontrollably and she cried out like a wild animal and I think we both sort of passed out for a few seconds because the next thing I knew we were lying side by side on a sheet wet with sweat and the juices of sex. I stayed the, night and took Friday off.
We did the lounges again the next night and went to her place and did it again. This time I not only just tasted her juices by licking my fingers, I by-passed that middleman and went down on her before the final act. She said she had never known a black man who would willingly go down there, and she loved my kisses and my tongue exploring the regions down in her wild bush of hair. Her pussy hair was coarse and thick. Her pussy lips would swell up and I would suck them like they were small tits. She wanted to shave it all off for me but I told her I loved it and licked away. She came and about broke my neck. It was worth it.
After she came I did the hand held thing and rubbed my dick all over wet lips and into the dark recess of her cunt. That's what she called it, either a cunt or a twat. She said a pussy had four legs. Before long I was really into her and was even hotter than the night before from my oral excursions. I was able to last long enough so she had another orgasm; not like last night's though. Mine was just as powerful.
By the time next Thursday rolled around we were just as hot for each other and both Thursday and Friday nights were a repeat of the previous week with a little more exploration onto different ways of doing it. One time to celebrate our first date she put on a record of "Night Train," which we fucked to the beat of, hard, driving, and totally cool. She was fascinated with the whiteness of my cock entering her dark patch of hair and dark outer cunt lips. I would position myself so we both could watch the melding of black and white, which increased the heat of our activity even more.
We lasted six weeks before she got a "Chance-of-a-Lifetime" transfer to NYC. We called a couple of times and relived our fourteen nights of ecstasy and then it was over as we each found replacements.
You can find "Night Train" by Jimmy Forrest on YouTube and have the fuck of your life. Tell 'em Pat sent you; be sure to set the player on repeat and enjoy! Every time I hear it I get hard.
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pathar
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