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“Where you going, baby?”
Her firm, brown behind bouncing away from me was her only reply. I really wanted doggie-style now. Instead, I poured a glass of cabernet sauvignon, the sound of the red liquid filling the room. Horace Silver’s compact disc was already loaded on the machine and when I punched play, Hank Mobley was soloing. The more wine I sipped, the more I became one with the silk sheets and puffy pillows. The whole room was soft, powdery, and smelled of perfume the way a woman’s room should smell. Two scented candles flickered from the nightstands, adding another dimension of sen
suousness to the ambiance.
Suddenly, out of the darkness in the room, a thought illuminated my mind. What did Sharon mean, did I like fruit? She knew I ate fruit for breakfast every morning. Hell, the birthmark on my ass is a strawberry. What was that all about?
Lying there with a furrowed brow, my thoughts swirling around imported wine, jazz, and inebriated smells, I could hear light switches flipping off and the sound of bare feet slapping against kitchen linoleum. She entered the room with a bowl of fruit in one hand and a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She lay beside me, taking a succulent wet strawberry and feeding me until I nibbled gently upon her fingertips. Then she grabbed another berry, slid down in the bed, spread her legs, and pushed the red fruit inside her vagina.
“I like lobster, too,” I said. “You think that’ll fit in there? Damn. You played me, girl.”
Starting deep within the valley between her breasts, my tongue avalanched down her stomach, over her navel, inside the thigh of one leg, around her ten toes and back up to the inside of another thigh, and then I was face-to-face with a fruit cunttail.
“Wait, wait.” She rose on one elbow, sipped some wine, and then motioned me to proceed. Like a kid forced to eat brussels sprouts, I held my breath, inhaling deeply the smell of wetness and excitement. As if she were a chocolate ice cream cone, I licked and licked and licked until my tongue was going in circular motions, coming to a rest like a roulette wheel on her clitoris. Sharon began to moan and purr and rotate her hips and stroke my bald head as though it were a penis, all the while murmuring, “Oh, James. You make my pussy feel so good.” Then, with her hands still on my head, she began to thrust against my tongue deeper and faster, each thrust punctuated with oohs and ahhs until I sucked the strawberry into my mouth and she screamed and convulsed from orgasmic fury.
I rose to my knees, chewing the fruit meticulously, savoring its taste, licking my lips for any remaining juices, swallowing every morsel. And it was good, too.
Before the night was through, I had devoured five strawberries, half a pound of grapes, two pears, sliced peaches, three plums, a banana, half an apple, two oranges, a kiwi, and something called a kumquat (whatever the hell that is).
“You got any pineapple, baby?” I asked in all seriousness, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Hours passed as we made more love and drank and giggled and stroked one another and rested. She cuddled in the crook of my arm, both of us basking in ecstasy’s afterglow. Thelonious Monk was playing now.
“James.” Her voice sounded far away, dripping with sugar.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Is there any more fruit left?”
“I think so.”
“Can you lick my ass?”
I bolted from the bed, scooped my clothes up in a ball, tossed a hat on my head, and tried to balance the act of running while stepping into my pants simultaneously, but not before stubbing my toe and smacking my forehead against a wall.
“Hell, naw!” I shouted, before closing the front door behind me, stepping out into the cool pink dawn, barefoot, then slowing my gait and reminiscing about the remaining grapes and oranges I had left by the bedside. What a nutritional waste it would be for them to spoil. After all, breakfast is indeed the most important meal of the day.
First Time Blues: A Real-Life Tale of Lost Virginity
Fredric Sellers
Fresh out of boot camp at Parris Island, I was more than ready to face the world as a tried and proven man…a U.S. Marine. This was my first time being on my own, away from home. I was nineteen and still had my virginity, not to say that I haven’t experienced sex. I’ve had many near hits, but was headed off at the pass, so to speak.
Believe me, I knew what blue balls were, oh, how many times. The girls in my day allowed you to feel their forbidden parts and even on occasion, to dry fuck…but they seldom went further than that. They would send you home harder than times in ’29. Thank God for Bayer aspirins and hot water. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that the girls were getting their cookies and sending us boys home hurting.
On with my story. Upon graduation from boot camp, I was transferred to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. After a short time there, I went on my first long weekend leave with my new buddies to Wilmington. We traveled by bus, anticipating having a much-needed sexually fulfilling weekend. Upon arriving in Wilmington, our first order of the day was to find the train tracks and do the crossover into black land.
The three of us finally found a party that was going on at a house on the main drag. People were out on the porch talking, drinking, and some doing weed. They didn’t pay much attention to us as we passed them and entered the house. We walked down a long hallway with rooms on either side. At the end of it, there was a large room where a crowd was dancing to the music from a huge jukebox over in the corner. A few tables and chairs were positioned along the walls.
The room was dark, with the exception of one blue light bulb in the ceiling. You could barely see who you were dancing with, or talking to. We split up to do our own thing, which was all right with me because I’ve always been a loner anyway. I just stood at a spot close to the wall, which gave me a good vantage point from which I could see at least a little of the crowd. I didn’t want to be too quick in making a move on any of the women. I was told once that the people down in these southern towns weren’t too cool about strangers hitting on their local women. I definitely wasn’t looking for war…I was looking for love.
I was in luck. I was approached by a foxy, full-figured woman. I mean, she was filled out nice: full bosomed, big shapely legs, and an ass as tight as a window seal! She was on the dark side and with long straight black hair. She had the prettiest smile I’d seen in a long time and light gray eyes to boot. This combination was strange to me, but she was beautiful in her own odd way.
Her name was Pearlie Mae. I’m serious! Talk about a fitting name! Well anyway, she came on strong to me. We talked for a while, and danced on every slow drag that came on. I was really getting a taste of that southern charm I’d heard so much about. This creature was a real joy to talk to. I felt comfortable with her right away.
It wasn’t long before she started turning up the heat on me. I could feel her stomach muscles rippling when she pressed her body into mine as we danced. She buried her face under my chin, breathing deep and hot. The fragrance of her warm body filled my nose, causing me to feel warm and lusty. Damn, this woman was turning me on big time. I got bold and embraced her with both arms, with my hands lightly gripping both of her cheeks. I got no resistance from her. Man, I was in my world. My dick was hard and poked into her big time, and she responded by pressing closer. This was one time I was glad the lights were practically nonexistent. Pearlie Mae was the only person I danced with or talked to that night.
After much talk and belly-rubbing, she asked me if I was staying the weekend and where. I told her I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. She just came out and told me that it wasn’t necessary to spend money on a hotel, when I could stay with her. I couldn’t believe I was having that kind of luck!
