We moved into the grey concrete slab of flats on the notorious Kensal council estate when I was thirteen years old. Life was difficult enough, but the fact that my Mum's fiancé was black didn't help matters in the racist stakes. Apparently, a white woman with a black guy was frowned upon in the seventies.

I loved Jermaine, though. He was fun to have around and always defended me if Mum was being critical. His voice was as smooth as dark chocolate, and his eyes reminded me of chocolate drops.

If Mum was hormonal — or just being a tetchy bitch — Jermaine would make her laugh and bring her out of that mood. She’d soon forget why she’d been pissed off in the first place. I loved that he made my Mum laugh. As a teenager, I saw it as one of Jermaine's strongest points because he could dissolve any tension like an aspirin being dropped into water. He certainly saved me a good few headaches!

So, yeah, apart from the frowns from racists, my mum, Jermaine, and me were all happy together. He was the best stepfather any girl could want.

On a warm summer’s day in 1976, Mum married Jermaine at the registry office. He looked so smart in his beige flares and red satin shirt. Mum looked beautiful, too, in a white flared suit with her long dark hair pinned up, a daisy chain draped across her forehead. My bridesmaid dress was a chiffon floral affair and that day I truly felt like a princess.

The day Jermaine and Mum got married was the happiest of my life. My biological father had been a feckless loser, waltzing out of our lives when I was three months old. I'd always wanted a father so when Jermaine married my mum, I felt like he was officially my dad. When he said he wanted to adopt me, I was over the moon.

I was sixteen when I saw Mum and Jermaine having sex. I'd arrived home early from school because there was a teacher’s meeting. Obviously, I wasn’t expected, and they hadn't even shut their bedroom door. I caught a glimpse of Jermaine fucking Mum from behind and I thought how good his dark skin looked against my Mum's pale porcelain flesh.

I quickly and quietly retreated to my bedroom, tiptoeing across the landing. However, I couldn't get the image out of my head. Being honest, I had a mixture of emotions. In the first place, guilt that I'd seen them in their most intimate of moments. But the brief sight had excited me, too.

Anyway, they carried on fucking, oblivious that I was home, and their groans and moans of pleasure filled the air, turning me on a little bit more than it should. I confess that I did stroke myself to orgasm as I heard my Mum announcing her own “arrival".

I was in my first year at college when Mum was diagnosed with cancer and given three months to live. To say we were all devastated is an understatement. When she passed away, I felt that my heart had been punctured and it fluttered to the pit of my stomach before reforming its pieces into a lead weight that didn't shift.

After the funeral, Jermaine sat me down on the tapestry sofa in our lounge and vowed that he would always look after me. He said that when he adopted me, he‘d taken that particular commitment very seriously indeed.

For weeks after Mum's death, I was lost and I knew that Jermaine was struggling in his own way. However, eventually, we managed to get into some kind of daily routine while we dealt privately and individually with our loss. After six months, we were becoming accustomed to life without Mum. Not having her around was still strange and painful, but at the end of the day, death is one thing in the whole universe you can't reverse.

One day at college, however, as I was trying to focus on a particular passage from (To Kill a Mockingbird), I felt a wave of grief overcome me. It completely pole-axed me, leaving me breathless. And, as if they had a mind of their own, my eyes tipped tears of sadness over my book.

I hid my face with my hair so no-one would see me so upset. Finally, to my relief, the class was over, and I picked up my bag and ran from the room, desperate to get home so I could grieve privately.

At home, I was relieved that Jermaine was out. We'd moved into a realm where we cried privately and went about doing our own thing. We didn't cry in front of each other: somehow sharing our tears would have made the whole nightmare even more unbearable.

Having undressed, I put on my bathrobe before flopping onto my bed where I sobbed into the pillow until there were no more tears left. It felt like sand had replaced moisture in my ducts. Grief is exhausting, and crying always made me tired as well as providing the mother of all headaches.

I fell asleep at some point, sheer exhaustion overtaking me. My mind shut off, like a window blind being pulled down to block out the dark of the night. Self-preservation, I suppose.

Anyway, I awoke to Jermaine's knock on my door. ‘Are you ready for something to eat, Tabitha?' he asked, tentatively opening the door. ‘I've made your favourite, Jamaican chicken with rice.'

‘I'm not hungry,' I managed. ‘But I might fancy some later, just leave it in the fridge.’ I felt slightly ungrateful because his voice sounded so soft and caring and, of course, he’d made the effort to prepare a meal despite his own depression.

‘Is it okay if I come in?' he asked. ‘I don't want to infringe on your privacy, but I think we should start talking to each other. We wander in and out of the house like total strangers. I don't think that’s very healthy.'

I nodded and sat upright on my bed, folded my arms across my knees and pulled them up to my chest.

‘Shall I put the light on?'

‘Not the main light,' I said. I didn't want my swollen eyes and tear splattered cheeks on view. Instead, I turned on the bedside lamp and its soft hue cast a glow around the bedroom: a soft lighting to hide the harshness of my grief and despair.

Jermaine sat on the edge of the bed and clasped his hands between his knees. His broad shoulders and back were evidently rigid with tension.

‘I know it isn't easy,' he finally started. ‘I guess we both have days where we need to try and muddle through and make the best of the cards we’ve been dealt. You know, don't you, that your Mum wouldn't want us to be so sad and disconnected. I know it's easier said than done, but it was her last request after all, wasn't it? For us to carry on and be happy. Get on with our lives.'

As I heard Jermaine mention my Mum's last request, I unravelled like a poorly crocheted rug. I burst into tears, hot horrid drops of sadness burning my cheeks.

My outburst must have been too much for Jermaine. He wrapped his strong arms around me and pulled me to his chest. He smelt good, a mixture of musk and citrus with just a hint of garlic on his fingers from the meal he’d lovingly prepared for me.

After a couple of minutes, I extricated myself from his embrace and looked up at him. Dark eyes gazed down at me before he kissed the top of my head, a light feathery kiss as soft and sheer as gossamer. He put his hand under my chin and then wiped away my tears.

‘We'll be okay,' he murmured.

Quickly, I melted, and I don't really know what possessed me, but I kissed his lips. They felt as soft as cushions and, in that split second, I could tell he didn't know what to do. We were equally as shocked by my boldness. I sat back, severely embarrassed. (What had possessed me?) Grief causes people to act out of character, but this was the height of silliness. I'd really taken the biscuit — yet I wanted to kiss him again and, as Jermaine stared at me, his lips homed in on my mine.

This time, I kissed him more ardently, just slightly, and his breath smelt sweet. We shared a proper, adult kiss, his tongue moving tentatively into my mouth. I responded. It was naughty, forbidden, and as decadent as a kiss could possibly get.

I felt a hand slip inside my bathrobe, fingers brushing against my breasts. I know I shouldn't have allowed it, but his hands felt so good, and I tingled all over. Undoing the belt on my robe, he exposed my body and suddenly I didn't care whether this was right or wrong. I wanted him. I wanted to feel his hands on me and, more than anything, I yearned to feel him inside me.

Jermaine looked at me, his eyes asking if this was what I wanted. Slowly, I slipped the robe off my shoulders. That was my answer.

He stood, and I watched him take off his t-shirt. His chest was furry, like a teddy bear, and I found it strangely comforting. When he removed his jeans, I realised that he was far removed from a teddy bear. His thick thighs were there in all their splendour and his cock was erect. I'd only seen a cock so big in porn movies and I'd had sex only once before — and that had been a major let down. I’d assumed that the first time would be a bit shitty because that seemed to be the consensus among my college girlfriends.

As Jermaine pulled back the bed covers, I suspected he was going to be the real deal with a capital R and D. He lifted the sheets over us and slipped his hands around my waist, pulling me close. I felt his hard cock against me as he kissed my neck. I shivered with delight.

My reasoning about our coupling had completely flown out of the window like an errant moth. I felt his hand encompass my pussy before a finger delicately brushed up and down the strip of my core being.

‘Are you sure this is okay?' he murmured, warm breath tickling my neck. I pushed against him, a silent but obvious agreement. It was all the encouragement he needed to slide his finger inside me.

‘Oh baby you feel so good,’ he groaned. ‘This is the perfect way to forget our problems.'

Before I could answer and think about our shared ‘problem’, Jermaine eased me onto my back and taking me by surprise, his head was quickly between my thighs where he licked up and down my pussy lips before taking my clitoris in his mouth. He gave it a gentle suck before I again felt fingers inside me. My legs started to involuntarily shake as I built up to an orgasm.

I’d only achieved an orgasm in the privacy of my bedroom. But a sudden rush of intensity overwhelmed me, and it felt like my insides were shattering in a spectacular, pleasurable fashion. I pressed my hands onto Jermaine's head to steady myself as I thought my insides were going to explode into his mouth.

As quickly as my orgasm arrived it abated, but Jermaine continued to lick and suck at the entrance to my pussy. He couldn't get enough of me. Eventually, he stopped and leaned over to kiss me. His face was so wet with my juices, absolutely soaking, and then I felt his cock pushing inside me. I could barely breathe as I enjoyed how he seemed to fill me both on a sexual and emotional level. He was right — this was the perfect way for us to forget our problems and get over our grief.

He fucked me slowly, stroking my face and murmuring words into my ear in his native tongue. That drove me crazy. It sounded like a lullaby, and I gasped as Jermaine buried his cock deeper inside me while he gently stroked my hair.

‘This feels so good, baby,' he whispered. ‘I’ve wanted to do this for months. It’s sure driven me crazy.'

My moans filled the room as I grabbed his ass, urging him into my depths, and that simple act caused him to stop. ‘Oh God, I nearly came then,' he gasped. ‘I don't want to cum yet. I want this to last as long as possible.'

To my disappointment, he withdrew his cock and lay beside me.

‘Lick it, baby, taste your juices, and then I want you to suck me. Is that okay?' He gazed into my eyes. ‘It's okay if you don't want to,' he added.

I'd never performed fellatio, but I was overcome with a desire to please Jermaine. After all, he was soothing away my pain and had given me the best orgasm I'd ever had. I slid down the bed and lay on one side with his cock adjacent to my face. I licked his length and tasted the tang of my pussy juices that had started to dry around the base of his cock. I took the tip into my mouth and started to suck.

Jermaine put a hand on my head. ‘That is so nice, keep on sucking like that… it feels so good.'

His words spurred me on. I wanted to suck him better than he’d ever been sucked, and I was going to give it my all. Truthfully, I'd never desired to suck a cock but, at that moment, I truly wanted to. I sucked in a little more of his length and Jermaine's groans told me that I was doing something right. A thrill zinged through me. Let’s be fair, Jermaine was thirty-eight-years-old and hot, so he must have had his cock sucked plenty of times. The fact I was making him moan with pleasure was a massive turn on for me.

I went even deeper and that appeared to drive him crazy. He moved my head in a rhythm that he obviously wanted me to suck, and I imagined that my mouth was my pussy.

‘Jeez, that's good,' Jermaine said, shifting his body as if making himself more comfortable so that he could fully enjoy the magic of my mouth. I admit I was getting well into it. If I didn't get anything more out of it than a feeling of some achievement, well that was enough for me. I leaned up on all fours and Jermaine moaned louder. I glanced up at him, my mouth full of his cock, and I watched his eyes scanning my body. His huge brown eyes were thick with desire.

‘You look so beautiful,’ he mumbled, closing his eyes. His face contorted in pleasure and, as I watched him bite his lip, I tasted something salty in my mouth. I knew it was cum, but it was so delicate, not full on and not what I’d assumed the full throes of a man's cum would taste like. Admittedly, I wasn't experienced, so maybe I had gauged it completely wrong.

‘Stop baby,' Jermaine gasped, lifting my head off his erection. ‘You nearly made me cum then and I want to fuck you. Stay there in that position.'


Jermaine got up and moved down the bed behind me. I felt him spit on my pussy hole before a finger slid inside as gently as earlier. Then he gripped my hips and slowly entered me. He held me the same way as he’d done with my mother all those years ago. That thought excited me and I gasped as Jermaine got deeper inside me. But his slow strokes didn't last long. Instead, he gripped me tighter and increased his pace until my eyes watered. The sheer power of his thrusting cock had me grunting like a pig and I felt he would split me in two.

He fucked faster, picking up the pace like a car going from thirty miles an hour to ninety in a millisecond. He put one hand on my waist while the other reached for my hair and he tugged hard, a rider pulling the reins in a bid to slow down the horse. Except Jermaine didn't slow down. Harder and faster, he drove into me until he shouted loud, in a deep guttural tone, ‘I'm going to cum.'

And he did, filling my pussy full of his cum, spurting and throbbing in my depths. Finished, he waited a few moments and then withdrew. Cum seeped out of me, dripping down my inner thighs and onto the sheets.

We both lay down, sated and satisfied. My body was all aglow, every sinew on fire. Jermaine put an arm around me and pulled me to him so I had no choice but to lay my head on his chest. He stroked my hair, then my back, tenderly running fingers up and down my spine.

‘We will always look after each other, Tabitha,' he said.

His warm lips found mine and, as I kissed him, I knew that I would enjoy him looking after me — very much indeed.