Wedding Day No. 08

I said nothing but held my arm out straight, forefinger pointing straight down, twirling, directing her to turn around.

And yes, that mass of pubic hair ran up her asscrack and spread over her cheeks.

"Bend over and spread your cheeks, girl," I said.

She did.

And sure enough, that thick hair surrounded the rosebud of her anus. Her asscrack, her gluteal cleft to be proper about it, was smooth and I assumed that was from constant rubbing. She obviously never used a razor.

"Turn around, girl, and get on your knees," I said.

She did and I took another long drink of my beer, looking at her, and watching the change.

Latitia, the college professor, was no longer there.

I don't know that I can describe the changes, they were so subtle. A slight shift in the set of her shoulders maybe? Or the tilt of her head? Or a sort of, well, a blank look on her face?

Whatever it was, I could see that I wasn't talking to Latitia, I was talking to Eliza.

"What are you?" I asked.

"I's jus' a nigger slave girl," she said, and something about the change, the language lost, returned to something from the antebellum South, that got to me. I SPRANG erect. I got hard like I hadn't in decades.

"What is your job?" I asked.

She smiled then, somehow a blank smile, and reached for my belt.

"To make mah massuh happy," she said.

"Do you like white cock?" I asked.

"Oh yassuh," she said, "Ah hates when niggers fucks me. Whaht men is so much bettuh."

I pushed her away.

"Take my shoes off, girl," I said.

She scooted back and took my right foot in her lap, took my shoe and sock off, and began kissing my foot.

"Oh, Jesus CHRIST," I snapped, "do it right, girl."

Her tongue got busy then, probing between my toes.

"That's better," I said, leaning back. Actually, it was better. This was a VERY pleasant sensation.

She looked up, meeting my eyes for just an instant before looking back down.

"Maht ah do yo othuh foot, suh?" she asked, her antebellum slavegirl accent so thick I had trouble translating it into English.

"Sure, girl, do the other foot," I said.

And she did.

I could smell her growing excitement.

"Latitia," I said, softly.

I watched her. Her eyes got big and she actually physically shook her head before she focused on me.

"Latitia," I said again, just as softly.

"Yes," she said, her diction clear again.

"Look at me," I said.

She slowly lifted her head until our eyes met.

"Latitia," I said, being careful to use her real name, "do you want this?"

Her eyes went to the floor

"Say it," I said.

She didn't move.

Like every one of my generation, it was a struggle to use the dreaded "N-word," but I did.

"Look at me, nigger," I snapped.

She was crying as she looked up at me, tears leaving makeup streaks on her cheeks and thick clear mucus hanging from her chin. Her eyes were big.

And the womanscent of her excitement was thick in the air.

"Say it," I said, "or put on your fucking clothes and I'll take you home."

"Please, no," she said.

"Okay," I said, leaning forward to get up, "put your clothes on. I'm not a rapist."

"No suh, please," and Latitia was gone, the slave girl returned as she wrapped her arms around my calves and laid her cheek against my knees.

She was almost babbling now.

"I's yo nigger. I's yo slave girl. I's a good girl. Please, suh, don' sen' me away," she was saying. Or things like that. She was babbling and crying and that damn accent was so thick it was hard to understand her.

I stood and she sort of wailed, "Nooooooooooo, please."

I dug my fingers into the thick, kinky cap of her hair and pushed, forcing her to look up at me.

"Take my pants off of me," I said.

"Yassuh, thank you suh," she was babbling again as trembling fingers tugged at the tongue of my belt, freed the prong of the buckle, and then found the button and the tab of my zipper.

I was hard, surprising me since I hadn't taken my Viagra, and as soon as she had my cock exposed she started to lean forward.

I jerked her back with my fingers in her hair.

"Don't be in such a hurry, girl," I said, "There's a hanger in my closet, go hang my suit and get your black ass back here."

She smiled then, a happy smile, gathered up my suit and walked out of the front room.

While she was doing that I went into the bathroom and found my little pill bottle, popped a Viagra, peed, and was back on the couch when she returned.

God DAMN she looked good walking back into the room. Oh, she was a mature woman, not some young model, but to me that made her even more attractive. Her heavy breasts swayed a little rather than jiggled as she walked. The soft little pouch of her belly added rather than detracted from her allure.

And that body hair. God, I couldn't look away from the mass of pubic hair that ran from her belly to her thighs.

Her posture was an antebellum slave owner's fantasy. Her back was straight and her shoulders were back, proudly showing her breasts to her owner.

But her face was blank. There was no desire there, no hint of love. She was broken, nothing but a nigger offering herself for her owner's pleasure.

And I knew I couldn't do it. I just couldn't help her in this degrading fantasy.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I still wanted her. My cock was harder than it had been in years. My balls ached with my craving. But I just couldn't participate in her fantasy. Or maybe, by now, it was her compulsion, beyond fantasy.

But I couldn't participate in it anymore.

I stood as she came to me.

She smiled, but a blank smile. "Massah wan' his nigger's mouth then?"

"Latitia," I said softly.

"Who dat?" she asked, seeming to really not know.

"Latitia," I said again.

"Ah'll make you happy, suh," she said and started moving down, pretty obviously ready to get to her knees.

"Latitia," I said again, my hands on her arms, not allowing her to do what she was trying to do.

"No," she said, looking up and meeting my eyes, tears overflowing and her nose running.

Her eyes got big when I bent, moving slowly, to kiss her.

"No," she said softly, turning her head away, "Niggers can't."

I pressed my palms against her cheeks, not allowing her to look away, and looked into her eyes. The tears were flowing and she looked almost scared as I bent forward again.

My palms didn't allow her to turn away and my lips met hers.

And nothing happened.

Well, nothing happened for several seconds. Her lips didn't move under mine. She didn't return the kiss at all.

I was about to give up when I felt her respond. Her lips moved, just a tiny bit, but I knew I had won.

It wasn't a particularly good kiss. She was still fighting it and the slickness and salt taste of her running nose got in the way.

But it wasn't a bad kiss either as she finally surrendered and put her arms around my neck.

I was the one who broke the kiss and leaned back to meet her eyes.

"Latitia?" I said, but this time it was a question to be sure she was all the way back.

Her smile was weak but real.

"Phillip?" she asked.

So I kissed her again and it was a better kiss.

"Phillip," she said, "this isn't right. White men don't give to niggers, white men just take what they want."

I held her eyes.

And then I began getting to my knees.

I did it slowly, kissing my way down. I kissed her snotty chin and then the hollow of her throat. I kissed each breast and sucked each nipple gently.

What I wanted to do was to make this such a slow process that she'd have trouble breathing by the time I kissed her between her legs.

But that damn three-quarters of a century got in the way. My knees just wouldn't support me in that position. So I kissed quickly, her belly and her belly button where that thick, wiry hair started.

And then I was on my knees before my Nubian Goddess.

That thick hair was damp with her excitement, and her womanscent was heavy in the air. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but I got even harder as the pheromones worked on my system, old but not dormant.

The next couple of minutes before my aching knees made me stop were like an old joke I remembered from, oh, probably junior high school.

"Don't," she breathed as I gently moved my head back and forth so I could penetrate that thatch of hair with my mouth and nose and then my tongue.

"Stop," she breathed although I did notice that she made no attempt to push me away.

My tongue found skin and tasted the oily saltiness of her excitement.

"Don't," she breathed weakly.

I kissed.

"Stop," she sort of whimpered.

My hands found that ghetto round ass and pulled her to me.

"Don't," she whispered almost too low to hear.

I licked slowly.

"Stop," her voice was a barely audible wheeze.

I licked for a few seconds in that position, on my knees, my face buried in that insanely thick pubic hair, licking and tasting her.

I stopped.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

I chuckled and stood, both knees popping loudly.

"Fuck me, white man," she said.

"No," I said, kissing her, "I'm going to make love to you."

And Latitia was completely back.

"Phillip, do you mean it?" she asked.

I kissed her, five times quickly, lips, forehead, eyelid, eyelid, and lips again. Then, I took her hand and started toward the bed.

I made love to her as slowly, as thoroughly, as carefully, as I ever made love to any woman.

I told her she was beautiful and kissed her face over and over, drawing a long, "ewwwwww" when I licked her upper lip. I kissed her palms, fascinated with the pale skin there, along with the soles of her feet the ONLY pale parts on her. I kissed her arms and when I got to her armpits I inhaled deeply, the scent of clean sweat and just a hint of the pheromones that permeated her entire body by then.

All the while she was moaning, those soft little protests turning into acceptance and even direction.

When my mouth latched onto her nipple and began nursing she stroked my hair and whispered, "That's right, Baby."

She would hum softly, an "MMMMMMMmmmmmmm" sound from deep in her throat as I kissed or licked to just touched a new spot with my fingertips or my tongue.

She giggled when I probed her belly button, first with my tongue then a finger.

When I got to her pussy she had, pretty obviously, accepted what I was doing. Anyway, she was saying, "Yes, baby, right there."

Her body had been busy, preparing her. The mucus membranes lining her vagina joined with the Skene's and Bartholin's glands deeper inside and her luxuriant hair had captured the thick, white natural lubricant of her arousal. It was oily and salty with a hint of an undertaste that I couldn't identify. It was delicious and I lapped at it like a thirsty dog before beginning to use my tongue like a cat.

"Oh JESUS," she cried, and came. I felt the sudden tension in her body and pushed deeper, my mouth covering her, drinking the orgasm as her heels drummed on my ass lightly.

"Oh Jesus," she whispered as she relaxed and I started kissing my way farther down her body. I kissed the thick hair high on her inner thighs and then the lighter hair at her knees before the thick hair at her shins.

I kissed her feet, using my tongue to probe between each pair of toes and almost getting kicked in the face as she jerked when my tongue slipped between her big toe and the next one and I took her big toe into my mouth and sucked.

I rolled her over, very gently, urging her but not forcing anything on her. This was her night and I didn't want to push anything too hard.

Once she was on her belly I started kissing and touching my way back up her body. Her heels were hard and callused and her calves showed that thick body hair that I enjoyed touching and then licking.

Her ass was amazing. She had the junk in the trunk of her race and that thick pubic hair was thick at her gluteal sulcus, that line where a woman's ass meets the top of her thigh. It wasn't much thinner as it covered the sexy hemispheres of her buttocks and when I spread her cheeks, the hair was as thick as over her vagina except for a small circle around the rosebud of her anus.

I licked, bending my neck painfully and almost reaching her clitoris with my tongue and then slowly, very slowly, licking all the way to her tailbone. I did that a half dozen times, enjoying the soft scrabbling sound of her fingernails against the sheet.

I kissed and licked my way up her back, fascinated by the soft, almost downy hair I found across her shoulders.

As I was kissing her shoulders I felt her back arch and that firm ass press against my erection.

She didn't move but her voice was clear even if muffled by the pillow.

"Gonna pack some nigger fudge," she asked, moving her ass, hell, offering her ass as she said it.

I rolled off of her and pushed her up onto her side.

"No, Latitia," I said, "I'm going to look into your eyes as I enter you, and I'm going to kiss you about ten thousand times while our bodies are joined. We're making love tonight."

"You mean that, don't you?" she asked.

I kissed her and gently pushed, rolling her onto her back.

I held the kiss, awkward but worth it, as I worked around until my knees were between hers.

"Yes," I said, reaching down to guide myself and slipping inside where she was so slick and hot and ready.

Her eyes got big but she held mine as I slowly entered her, one long, slow, movement until our pubic bones touched and her breath caught with a quick little gasp.

I can't really say how long that moment lasted. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Some measurable fraction of eternity? All are possible.

It was more than just our bodies merging. Our eyes held each other and for that moment we were truly what the poets would have you think lovemaking is. We were one perfect body where two parts had been before.

One of the good things, hell, about the ONLY good thing I can think of, about reaching the age of 75 is that you're not hair-triggered anymore. I didn't have to struggle to make it last.

And we made this last.

My rhythm was slow as she spread her legs and her heels dug into the small of my back.

I would push in, slowly, and then pull out just as slowly. About every fifth one, I kissed her. The first few times I did that she was timid but after that, she kissed me back as hard as I kissed her.

She came the first time, and it was spectacular. Her back bowed, her heels dug into my ass, and it turned out she's a squirter. Her body tensed, her mouth opened in a scream but all that came out was a whistling, wheezing sound.

I held that position as deep into her as I could get while the first wave of her ecstasy passed.

And I started my rhythm again as soon as she relaxed.

Her second orgasm was more powerful. This time she did cry out, but I smothered her cry with a kiss. Again there was the sudden wetness, that amazing tension, and her squeezing so hard where I was inside of her.

I started my rhythm again as soon as she relaxed.

Her eyes were big, meeting mine.

And she was smiling, an honest smile of pure happiness.

"Jesus Christ, Phillip," she breathed, and pulled me down to kiss me, "trying to fuck a nigger white?" She asked when she was done with that kiss.

"HELL no," I said, chuckling, "that would just ruin my Nubian Goddess."

I set up my rhythm again and by now she was tired.

The third orgasm was weak, not as much body tension, not as liquid, and she kissed me through it.

And a fourth.

And a fifth, at which point my own cry joined hers as I spent, deep inside of her.

Afterward, exhausted, we lay in each other's arms, kissing softly, touching lightly, tasting each other, inhaling each other's scents, just enjoying the afterglow of love well made.

We drifted off for a while.

"That's nice," she said, waking from her drowse, as my lips nuzzled past the thick hair at her armpit to her breast, working my way up to her nipple.

I latched on, nuzzling against her, wishing for her milk as my fingers played with her body hair, her armpit, and that big diamond low on her belly, twisting and tugging, making her giggle.

"I got my first period and first sprinkles of body hair at ten," she said, "and I was ashamed of it. God, I must have spent 10,000 hours with razors and wax and depilator creams and all of that trying to get rid of it. Then, that first time at the 1619 Club I saw that none of the slaves were smooth so I threw away my razor and here I am."

I chuckled, played with that ridiculously thick thatch between her legs, and said, "If you were mine I'd bathe you in Rogaine."

She giggled at that.

"Silly white man," she said, and kissed me before saying, "Let's see if we can coax a second round, shall we?"

She started kissing her way down my body but I stopped her.

"Only if it's mutual," I said.

She looked at me quizzically, almost as if she couldn't believe it, before she took a deep breath, said, "You is one seriously strange white man," and squirmed around so that she straddled my shoulders before she took my soft dick into her mouth.

She was dripping, leaking a combination of my semen and her natural lubricants. It was thick and white, making me think of the hair conditioner I use. And her scent was powerful perfume. I felt a stirring in my groin as I pulled her down, covered that thick hair with my mouth, and began using my tongue to pleasure her.

It was another of those timeless times. I felt the stirring, but didn't get hard. That didn't stop me, though, from giving her a final orgasm with my tongue as I tasted the heady brew of semen and mucus and secretions from those deeper glands.

When the tension left her body for the last time I patted her back and she pulled off my still soft dick.

She squirmed around, and surprised me by saying, "I'm sorry."

I chuckled. "For what?" I asked.

"I should be able to give you a second," she said, and she looked, well, forlorn is one of those words you see written but never have to use, but it fit.

"Latitia," I said, "what you've given me is more than I've had in decades."

I smiled, kissed her, a slick kiss from what I had been doing, and said, "Thank you."

We lay like that for a while, noses touching, lips brushing, tiny kisses being shared. When I felt her stir I knew this special night was over.

"Will you go back to the 1619 Club?" I asked.

"Of course I will," she said, talking as if that was just about the stupidest question she had ever heard.

"But," I started but she stopped me with fingers to my lips.

"Phillip," she said, "this has been a nice, well," and she hesitated, eyes up and right as she sought the proper words, "a nice interlude," she finished.

She kissed me, a soft kiss, I thought a goodbye kiss.

"But the 1619 Club," she went on, "is where I can be natural. Phillip, it's what I am. I'm a nigger, suitable to pleasure white men. I accept it."

She smiled, a wan smile I thought, and kissed me.

"Hell, Phillip, I love it. When a white man has me on my knees making me suck his little dick, or even when I'm getting my black ass strapped, something deep inside of me welcomes it," she said.

And the way she said it, so casually, so matter-of-factly, made me realize that there was nothing I could say to dissuade her.

"Maybe I'll come to your Club," I said.

She grinned then, not a smile, a full-on grin.

"Lookin' fo' a bed nigguh, white man?" she said.

And I gave up.

"I give up," I said, smiling and kissing her for the last time.

She was up and dressing before I managed to get out of bed. She was that much younger than me.

"Come on," I said, dressed in jeans and a shirt now, "I'll give you a ride to your hotel. I wouldn't want Taylor to come after me with a shotgun."

She giggled and said, "Thank you."

The ride back to her hotel was only about ten minutes, and it was in silence. When I pulled up to the entrance to the hotel she turned to me and spoke for the last time.