It was one of those serendipitous moments confirming that nothing in life occurs by chance. I was on my way to a conference in New Orleans, a favorite place for fun and frivolity. While it rarely happens, that day the plane was over-booked and they accepted volunteers to wait for a later flight through Miami. As I wasn't expected in New Orleans till that evening, it was no loss and some airline travel dollars gained.
Several hours later we landed in Miami and transferred to the New Orleans flight. As I had volunteered for re-routing, the airline bumped me up to first class. Those who travel know there are advantages to that first class seat. You get on early and have a drink before take-off; you get off first, and there's a chance you even get a meal. So there I was, coolly sitting in first class, sipping champagne watching the passengers go by.
I'll admit I'm a people-watcher. I love to watch people and take great delight in the diversity they present. Whether you're a man or woman, you've probably experienced this yourself – an attractive person walks by, you share momentary eye contact and there's an immediate connection. She was a pretty, young, black woman, plainly dressed in a white golf shirt and khakis. Her hair fell softly in curled strands to her shoulders, charmingly framing a glowing face. She had a wonderful smile and an aura exuding sensuality, despite her business casual attire. But she filed passed me to the nether regions of coach while I remained comfortably sipping bubbly up front, nothing exchanged between us but a smile.
Now, I'm not the kind of man who looks at an attractive woman and thinks, "Man, I'd love to take her to bed." But something in that fleeting glance had me flush with lustful feelings. I dismissed them, knowing I would be off the plane and busy at a conference and never see this woman again. I love being wrong!
The next days passed uneventfully. I attended conference sessions, chatted with contacts, visited exhibitors, collecting T-shirts and other equally useless items. It was Tuesday evening and a software vendor was taking a group of clients to dinner. It was a marvelous meal with good wine and quiet conversation. After dinner we wandered Bourbon Street, taking in the great jazz and drinking a bit more than the evening required.
New Orleans will do that to you. It is a city of excess, where it seems perfectly natural for women to bare their breasts in exchange for a fifty-cent string of beads and men to consider topless clubs fine entertainment. You either love New Orleans or it frightens you, but there is rarely an in-between. I love it for its joie de vivre, its in-your-face sensuality, and the never-ending party.
Finally, I had reached the point where bed and sleep beckoned far more than another round of drinks. I left the group and headed down Bourbon Street in the direction of my quaint little hotel on Chartres. The air was still as I walked the cobblestone road, a few stars peeking through the night sky. The noise of the revelers was receding and I’d left the stale beer smell of Bourbon Street behind. As I'm walking along – well, you’ve probably guessed who is coming in the other direction but my close encounter of the best kind from the plane! She is being harmlessly pursued by one of the New Orleans street people. While he’s loath to leave without getting his dollar hand-out, he’s eyeing me with some caution. I’m not a big guy, but some people have that ‘you don’t want to mess with me’ look. I guess I’m one.
Ever the gallant gentleman, I stopped to say hello as we caught each other's eye. She smiled and took my arm saying, "Let's get a drink!" Wonderful! All thoughts of sleep vanished in roused memories of our sensual connection.
We wandered into a little corner bar where three musicians played sweet jazz. I love a guitar trio, and these guys were liquid music. Their soft, melodious tunes made a perfect background. We sipped our drinks and chatted about the conference, about life, old loves, all the while moving physically closer. She would touch my hand as we talked. I would reach over to brush something from her hair. Small intimacies that promised more.
"How old are you?" I asked. I am almost fifty, but have been told I don't look it. Still, I'm no Adonis and was surprised by the attention of this attractive woman.
"I'm thirty six. Why? Does it matter?" she responded.
"No, I was just curious. You look much younger. You know, when you walked past me on the plane I hoped we would meet again. I felt an inexplicable connection."
"I was drawn to you as well." she replied, "There was something in your eyes and your smile that attracted me."
Now we were close to each other, fingers gently caressing hands on the table as soft music swirled seductively about us. Thank goodness it was New Orleans and 1997, where a white man and a black woman quietly becoming intimate with each other are less likely to draw intolerant stares and ignorant remarks.
"May I kiss you?" I asked, as our hinted intimacies grew bolder.
"Uhhmm, I would like that." she replied and leaned over to me. I tenderly brushed her lips with mine, kissing softly but with feeling. She responded and placed her hand on my thigh, pulling closer and letting her tongue play inside my mouth.
In spite of what you've read, women don't usually like the "trying to taste my lunch" kisses men so often think is passionate. A woman's passion builds more slowly. A gentle kiss encouraging her to be the aggressor will often raise her level of excitement. Willy was ready for this role and her kisses foretold sweet things to follow.
We stayed a bit longer, now holding hands, occasionally leaning closer to let our lips and tongues explore. "Come to my room with me?" I asked tentatively. She smiled and got to her feet, leading me by the hand into the nightly tumult of Bourbon Street. As we walked down the side streets toward my hotel we held each other close, letting the heat of our bodies meld us together. I could feel her voluptuous breast against my arm and found my body responding to the thought of this beautiful woman naked against me.
The hotel was small, wonderfully decorated eighteenth century building with an open-air courtyard. In the late evening, candles played light on the trees, gracing the faces of other lovers enjoying a nightcap. Reaching my room we entered and kissed passionately behind the closed door. The mood was romance and warmth; the courtyard candles tossing dancing shadows on the walls. Breaking our embrace, I lit a candle before the mirror so soft reflections could caress her ebony skin. Then I removed my clothes as she watched intently. The lust in her eyes told me she too was feeling the lust for sexual pleasure. As I stood naked she began to remove that dowdy golf shirt and her khaki pants, revealing her fine, full, feminine form. She sat on the bed wearing a blue lace bra that barely contained her swelling breasts, and equally scant panties.
I crossed to her. "Can I take these off?"
"I was hoping you would," she said as gently her fingers ran the length of my swelling penis.
I reached behind and unsnapped her bra, releasing her gorgeous breasts. While at the moment I wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of her breasts and gently tease her nipples, I stopped briefly, knelt and removed her panties. As I slipped them off her long legs I was lost in the wonder of her vagina. She was clean-shaven and the folds of her sex were swollen in expected pleasure, her dark clitoris rising from its sheath in anticipation of my kisses.
She reached down and took gentle hold of my face, raising my mouth to her waiting kiss. Her lips pressed mine and our tongues intertwined in the waltz of pleasure. Our febrile passion mounted as fingers and mouths explored and tasted, each seeking to outdo the other in offerings of sensual delight. Her body encompassed the fullness of woman, her perfectly symmetrical hips balancing her overflowing breasts, her brunet flawless skin contrasting the fairness of my own. Her eyes spoke of passion and lust, piercing my soul as our bodies intertwined on the bed.
I closed my mouth around her dark nipple and teased it gently, flicking my tongue back and forth like butterfly wings brushing her erect sentinel of pleasure. A gasp escaped her lips and she reached again for my penis, stroking my hardness, further inflaming our lust. I gave equal attention to her other breast, swirling her nipple with my tongue and biting ever so gently.
"Let me take you in my mouth!" she moaned and tried to pull me to her hungry lips.
"No. I want to taste you first."
I left the rising and falling mounds of her breast, running my tongue over her stomach toward the center of her heat. I paused for an instance, swirling her navel and placed warm, wet kisses along her hips. Then, teasingly, I brought my face to her vagina and gently let warm breath caress her lips, her clitoris. My tongue traced the outline of her sex and flicked just once across her engorged clit. She arched her back and tried to pull my face to her wanting sex. I resisted her pull and slid down between her thighs, caressing her legs with my hands from behind while playing my mouth and tongue along her inner thighs.
"Please!" she moaned, "Oh God, please!" as I kissed back up her thighs to the epicenter of desire. My tongue again traced the outline of her sex, this time lingering, allowing my lips to kiss and pull her into my mouth. I gently pushed my tongue into her vagina and tasted her sweetness.
There is nothing like the taste of a woman. Nothing in the world gives me greater delight than to pleasure a woman this way. Perhaps my long years of trapped in the cult-like grasp of the Christian Right left within me the conviction that it is better to give than to receive.
My tongue seemed drawn as if by compulsion back to her clitoris, and I held her pleasure dome in my lips, letting my tongue alternately flick and tenderly caress the throbbing bud. She moaned in delight and placing her hands in my hair, pulled me harder against her hot flesh. Her climax was accompanied with a quiet, joyful scream as she arched her back, thrusting into the hardness of my tongue as I lavished her clit. I stopped only when she pushed me gently away, saying again, "Let me take you in my mouth."
This time I did not resist but turned over and let her play kisses across my nipples, down my stomach to the rigid hardness of my cock. She ran her fingers over me and caressed my balls while her lips slipped warmly around my throbbing penis. She too must have learned to give, for her lips and tongue seemed determined be ruler over my cock, pushing me toward orgasm. While the heat of her mouth was intensely pleasurable, as she stroked and pumped my cock intermittent with her sucking and kissing, I am no longer a teenager. If I came now it would be some time before I could return to fullness and penetrate her, as I so urgently desired. Gently I pulled her mouth from my cock and bent forward to kiss her lips. She frowned slightly and tried to again consume me.
"I want to be inside you." I said.
She relinquished her hold and moved up my body, sliding her body against mine. She held my cock and squeezing her breast, rubbed her swollen nipple to my penis, letting it stroke the length of my erect cock. The sight of this was so overwhelmingly erotic I almost came immediately. As she moved up my chest, her tongue flicked across my skin. I ran my hands along her back, caressing and kneading her butt. Then, rising over me, she lifted and positioned my cock to slide into her waiting warmth.
She enveloped me like rose petals on a warm spring day, her tender heat searing my penis and holding me tight. She squeezed my cock with her vaginal muscles and began to slowly slide up and down, stroking my hard cock, pulling it deep within the well of her being. Leaning over, she kissed me hard on the mouth as the rhythm of our blissful strokes grew in intensity. Pushing her body down so my cock was upright inside her, she pressed her swollen clit against my pubic bone then let it ride up and down the length of my shaft. All the while her hard nipples grazed my chest and my hands roamed her beautiful ass, pulling and pushing her hips in time with our movements.
Watching me, she increased her tempo, with each stroke tightening her hold on my cock. A smile joined with the lust in her eyes as she recognized her complete control over my soon approaching orgasm. She moved faster now. Pushing herself upright over me, she pulled my hands to her breast. I gently squeezed her nipples and let the warmth of my palms hold as much of her fullness as possible, all the while knowing I would come before her as she wished. My orgasm grew and the mounting pleasure was evident in my face, my body tensing, my breath coming ever faster. She was determined to win this race to climax, though I could see the flush of her own approaching orgasm as my cock stroked against her clit and filled her completely.
She won! I was gloriously enthralled, vanquished, an ever-willing slave to this goddess queen as shockwaves of my orgasm shot over and over deep inside her. Still she moved on the pillar of my throbbing penis, her hunger consuming every drop of my cum, driving on to her own orgasm. This time her scream was less gentle. As she climaxed, every muscle tensed and rippled as wave after wave of delicious pleasure washed over her, engulfing us both in sweetness and warmth. She fell across my chest and we lay still for several moments, relaxing in the after-glow of incredible sex.
She moved ever so slowly off me, the sensation of her warmth still gripping my softening penis and titillating me with after-waves of pleasure. I wrapped her in my arms as we disengaged; gently kissing her face, her eyes, her neck, her breasts. Turning her back toward me, we fell asleep, my penis resting in the crevice of her warm firm butt, my arms cradling her against my chest.
While this story involves a black woman and a white man, I chose not to categorize it as interracial. Their coming together had nothing to do with the color of their skin, and everything to do with attraction and the plain, human desire for sexual connection.
