0 comments/ 11690 views/ 2 favorites The Blues By: LadyBlueMoon The wipers beat their steady, mesmerizing cadence as the car moved down the street. Her hands gripped the wheel, her foot was on the pedal, but the car was on its own, bound for only it knew where. The night had called her. The feelings, intense, dark, powerful, had wakened her as so many nights before. She had dressed, not thinking, not comprehending, simply reacting. The car slowed, entered a lot, and stopped. She looked up, only vaguely recognizing the location. The door opened. She put one leg out, the long thin heel of her shoe touched ground. She stood and looked down only just aware of her appearance. Why had she dressed this way? She could not fathom the answer. Skirt, much too short for being out alone. Top, so low cut her breasts practically spilled out the front. The silk of her stockings stretched into the straps of the high heels. She smiled. Something was happening. There was a logic behind this, she knew. It was just not possible to comprehend it yet. She entered the building, the strains of a mediocre blues band filled the smoky air. She moved to a booth, isolated from the small crowd gathered closer to the stage. Why was she here? She smoked and drank little. Generally, she avoided such places as this like the plague. Yet something had brought her here, tonight. A waitress approached, she ordered water. The disapproving look she received in response did not surprise her. This was not an order the girl could handle, yet she moved off, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her eyes scanned the room. No familiar faces, just bodies, people she did not know. No one returned her gaze. Some were lost in concentration, others in drink. She waited. Her water arrived, bottled, a pleasant surprise in such a place. She opened it and sipped. The music came to her, familiar. She gazed at the stage. Yes, this was why she was here. She knew the instant she saw him. Tall, lean, hair on his shoulders. The harmonica moved across his lips, the mournful wail, the sadness it evoked. She watched as he played, black shirt damp from perspiration. The orange-red lights obviously hot. His solo ended, he stepped back into the shadows as the guitarist took over. She paid him no attention, her focus still on the man in the shadows. She sipped again, and waited. The set ended, taped music replacing that which had come from the stage. The lights brightened slightly, illuminating the dinginess around her. The tall man left the stage. She felt, rather than saw, his eyes take her in. She did not look up as he approached. He stood in front of her booth, waiting, expectant. She did not acknowledge his presence. Finally, after several agonizingly long moments, he spoke. "I knew you would come. Felt it… here." He touched his chest. Without invitation, he sat across from her, his eyes wandering across her body, lingering on her cleavage. She looked up, at last, no trace of emotion on her face. "Yes," she said, "I am here. Do you know why?" "No," he replied. "Should I? There is no reason. The fates, they make things happen, they offer no explanation. We must accept that. Does this bother you greatly?" She noted the hint of a smile through the hairs of his beard. She felt a tingle deep within her, rising from her groin. The ache she felt so often in the night was receding. His presence was a difference. Perhaps, she thought, this is why I am here. "Do you have another set coming up?" she asked, masking the questions she really needed to ask. He laughed gently, the sound thrilled her ears, lit up her soul. "No, I don't play in the band. There are times, such as tonight, when I need release. I come here, they let me play with them. It helps." She smiled then, the first time that night. Her hand moved across the table, a finger traced along the veins of his hand. Beneath the table, she crossed her legs, her foot brushing against his leg. "Then you are free?" "Yes." "Mmm. Good." She smiled again. "Come with me?" Without answering he rose, helping her to her feet. She led, he followed, out into the rain, and the night. They drove in silence, the rain on the car's roof the only sound. Her hands were glued to the wheel. She stared straight ahead. His eyes did not leave her breasts, which jutted prominently from within the front of her jacket. His breath was warm. He felt the rush of his heart. "Turn here." He told her. She responded without answering, guiding the car down a narrow side street. "Pull over anywhere along here." Again, she complied with his directions, not questioning his intent. She knew his intent. It was her own as well. They exited the car, walking quickly through the rain to the large building that loomed ahead. He opened the door and led her to a freight elevator. "Spartan, I know. But it suits me," he said, closing the grate and pulling the lever. Slowly they rose, stopping at the top, the third level. It opened onto one large, single room. A kitchen stood off to the left, several pictures, mostly of musicians or sorcerers adorned the brick of the walls. A small table with a lamp stood by the low bed, which was centered under the massive skylight. A stereo, a couple of overstuffed chairs, a desk with a computer completed the furnishings. Sparse. Open. Stark. He crossed the room, leaving her by the elevator. A spark, then he began lighting candles. Soon, the room was ablaze in their glow. He turned on the stereo and music filled the room. She did not recognize the singer. Soft, haunting, female vocals. She felt a shiver along her spine. He approached her, slipped her jacket from her shoulders, pausing, again, to gaze at her. Unconsciously, she thrust her breasts farther out, allowing him a better view of her cleavage. He slipped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the center of the cavernous room. She heard the patter of the rain striking the skylight overhead. His finger slipped under her chin, tilting her head. His face lowered to meet hers. Their lips touched. Yes, this was the need, the desire. She surrendered to it. She had come too far, she felt it was time to go the rest of the way. Her arms encircled him, pulling him into her. The kiss deepened, their tongues met, tasted. She slid hers deep into his mouth, savoring his flavor. His hands slid to her rump, fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing. She felt the moisture between her legs dampening her panties. She pushed hard against him, her breasts crushed up against his chest, his hardness burning through his pants, onto her stomach. The kiss did not end. As one, they moved to the bed. She fell back, pulling him onto her. His weight excited her, she felt covered, encompassed. She moved a hand to his shirt as he continued to stroke her legs, his fingers running over the top of her stockings, along the little strap that held them in place. The heat of his hand exhilarated her. She began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it open, exposing the grey and black hairs of his chest. Finally, after an eternity, she broke off the kiss, and buried her face in his chest, nuzzling the hairs, licking a nipple, running her hot lips along his skin. His hands slid under her panties, grasping the cool flesh of her buttocks. A knee went between her legs. The pressure of his bone against her pubic region caused her to practically swoon. Yes. This was what she wanted. She pulled at his shirt, tearing it from him. Her hands moved to his belt, fumbled momentarily with the buckle as she fought her desire, then pulled it free of the loops. She unfastened the button of his pants, found the zipper tab, pulled. His cock sprang free of the fly of his shorts, its purple head jutting from the opening. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him up to a kneeling position. His cock erect and throbbing in front of her. His hands found the zipper of her dress and undid it. She shook herself out of it and sat on the bed in front of him. Her red bra matched the garter belt, panties, stockings, and shoes. Even though she had not been aware of it, she had dressed for passion. His eyes glowed in the candlelight as he looked at her in awe. His penis bobbed in front of him, demonstrating his appreciation of her. She rose to her knees, steadied herself on one arm, reached out the other, and took his hot member between her fingers. She bent down and gently blew along the head of his cock. His eyes rolled to the back of his head in anticipation. But she hesitated. Her fingers moved along the veiny shaft as she savored his feel. Her eyes took in the little bumps on the head, so smooth, so red. She stared for a moment at the slit, already wet from his precum, his excitement. She knew what he wanted, but she would make him wait. She dropped her head still lower, the breath from her nostrils causing his balls to move within the hairy sack as she examined every minute part of his genitals. Finally, her tongue snaked out, slowly, tantalizingly, and ran along the very bottom of his scrotum. He moaned in pleasure and anticipation. She knew he wanted her to take him into her mouth. She would make him cry for it. A hand in her hair, His fingers entwined, pulling her towards him. She resisted, looked up, met his eyes. She smiled at his want, his need. "Please?" he whispered Yes, he had said it, had asked. She would give him what he sought, she would.. please… him. She took the head of his cock between her lips and gently, oh so very softly, began to suck. His fingers tightened in her hair as she did so. Her mouth began to move down the length of his shaft, slowly taking him deeper into her moist warmth. She felt the glow building between her legs as she did so, as his hand began to stroke the back of her head. She pulled back, just the tip of its head still resting on her lips. Rapidly, she began to bob, her fingers working in time with her mouth, manipulating the base of his penis as her lips worked over the upper half. Her tongue began to roll along front of the head, the slit, the glans. He moaned and pulled her head hard onto him. She fought back a gag as his cock went deep into her mouth, almost touching the back of her throat. She increased the tempo, bobbing faster, rocking on her knees, her weight straining against her supporting arm. Her eyes rolled up to meet his again, his cock deep in her mouth. He smiled, a look of pure bliss. She felt him begin to enlarge, to throb. She sensed he was near explosion. Should she give him release, or torture him more? The feeling of power she had was stimulating. Her panties were now soaked from her own excitement and desire. She made a decision, and increased the speed of her oral stroking. He groaned. She tightened the grip of her fingers on his base, delaying his orgasm, then released, allowing the first strong spurt of his salty semen to hit the back of her throat. She felt it slide as she swallowed. He shot again and again. Her fingers moved to stroke him, her mouth released the spurting head. His jism splattered along her cheek, up the side of her face, into her hair. She moved his hot, pulsing shaft along the softness of her cheek, feeling the last few squirts of his cum ooze out onto her face. Only then, when he had finished, did she release him. She looked up again, her face splattered with his whiteness, and licked her lips. His fingers went to her face, wiping up the sticky residue. He touched her lips, letting her taste him again. She went to his cock again, licking him clean. He leaned down, his lips met hers, his tongue moved deep into her mouth, tasting himself there. At long last, he broke free of her mouth. Gently, he pushed her back onto the bed, smiling at the darkness of her panties between her legs. "You were…. Wonderful," he whispered. "Now it is your turn." She smiled in reply and lay back, awaiting his touch. He knelt by her side, his hands moving slowly, lightly across the skin of her stomach, just above the waist of her garter belt. She closed her eyes and smiled, confident in the knowledge that she looked devastating. She spread her legs and smelled the odor of her desire, strong and hot. His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing the soft globes through the fabric of the bra. She raised her arms above her head, stretching up and out. She felt the stiff wrinkle of her hair where his semen had hardened. She smiled inwardly at the thought. She didn't care. It was his, let it stay. His fingers found the snap of the bra, separating the cups. He opened it, allowing the fullness of her breasts to spill out. His intake of breath bespoke his appreciation. He lowered his lips to a nipple and sucked gently, pulling the pliant flesh in his lips, away from her body, stretching it as it hardened yet more. His fingers moved around the soft flesh, pushing more of her into his mouth. He sucked, his lips warm and moist. A tingle went straight to her crotch and she spread her legs wider, stretched her arms higher above her head, forcing even more of her flesh into his mouth. He nursed liked a babe, taking her nipple and working it until she wanted to cry out in delicious pain. His large hand moved between her legs, the back of it stroking along her inner thigh, the fingers playing at the elastic in the fold of her leg. She moaned from the pressure of his lips on her breast. His fingers curled up and under the fabric of her panties, gripping the waistband. He pulled. Slowly it slid down. She brought her legs together closer, allowing him to pull the confining undergarment away, over her knees, her ankles, the heel of her shoes, which she still had on. He straightened, digesting with his eyes the look of her. The shining shoes, the red stockings attached to the garter belt, her nipples, one distinctly more reddened than the other. Her lips, her eyes, the wave of her hair. He reached above her, pulling a pillow to him. With one hand, he lifted her ass from the bed, slipping the pillow underneath her with the other. Her hips were elevated, her cunt, as she spread her legs, angled up towards him. He smiled again, and licked his lips. He moved around, his limp penis hidden between his legs which now were next to her side. She saw his ass rise up as he lowered his face to her crotch. His breath hot on her pubic hair. His teeth lightly grazed the tuft of hair, pulling gently but painfully at the curling black strands. He reached both of his arms forwards, fingers touching her inner thighs and spread her wide. His tongue slid out, gliding down her pubic bone, to the beginning of her slit. Her clitoris began to throb as the tip of his tongue touched her. She spasmed as it slid along the sensitive bud, jutting from its protective fold of skin . His fingers forced her wider, more open, the cool night air on her opening. She pictured the steam rising from her heat. He slid his wet, wet tongue down, along the folds of her labia, pushing into her vagina from above, lapping like a puppy at her inner softness. She moaned aloud, oblivious to everything but the touch of his tongue as he probed and lapped, her juices flowing now, the floodgates open. She felt the wetness roll down the crack between her buttocks, and his tongue followed, stopping at her rectum. He spread her legs again, allowing his tongue to just enter the tight puckered hole. Her head spun from the delight of this new sensation. His fingers of one hand entered her vagina. First one, then a second, and a third. His tongue lapped at her rectum, softly fucking it. She felt the first wave of orgasm spread out and over her body. She arched her back, grasped a breast in her hand, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger as she came… the orgasm sweeping her away. His fingers and tongue worked in tandem to build n and extend her pleasure until she felt she would pass out. She bucked her hips, the last of the indescribable pleasure washing over her. Then she relaxed. He raised up, his fingers still softly stroking the lips of her pussy. He smiled, and licked his lips. His hand took hers and moved it to between his legs. She laughed in delight. He was hard again. She smiled with delight. The rebirth of his hardness triggered an uncontrollable urge in her. She knew she should be sated. Never had she experienced quite the feeling he had just given her. But she wanted more, she wanted it all. She pulled on his shaft, hot and firm in the palm of her hand, guiding him towards her. He shifted to between her legs, her pelvis still elevated by the pillow. She led his erection to the entrance of her heat, feeling her wetness moisten the tip of his burning cock. Slowly he pushed forward, supporting his weight above her on his arms, the veins in them standing out in exertion. His cock parted her hot swollen lips. She sucked in her breath at the feeling as he began to fill her. The void, the emptiness she sometimes felt, replaced by this feeling of fullness, of being completed. Her lubrication, still flowing thickly from her vagina, eased his entry. As his hips pushed forward she let out a gasp of delight. She swung her legs up and around his buttocks, pulling him in, as deep as he could go. Tightly she held him there, deep, not allowing him to move. His eyes locked on hers, his lips spread into a grin. He leaned forward, lips to hers, tongue entering her mouth. Moving about in opposition to the stillness of his cock. She reached up her arms, sliding hands along his sides, feeling him. Long moments passed before she released the pressure of her legs, allowing him to move. Methodically he began to stroke, pulling his hips back then pushing forward, back and forward, establishing a rhythm. Her butt moved off the pillow as her legs continued to grip him, then fell back on its softness. Up and down, in, almost out, seconds to minutes…. Time seeming to stand still. His eyes closed, his face strained, yet still smiling. He increased the tempo, sensing her need. Faster and faster, still without words, his cock filling her, easing the ache that lay deep inside. Then, surprisingly, he stopped, pulling out. Her face fell with disappointment. Not now!! Not when she was so close. He rolled off her, next to her. His hands reached out and turned her small body away from him, onto her side. He slipped in close to her, his chest and stomach pressed against her back. His hand reached down, slipped under her thigh, lifted her leg into the air. She felt his cock pressing against her cunt lips, spread wide by the pull of her leg. He was in her again. She gasped at the feel of him from that direction. So different than before, yet just as good. He began to buck his hips, slapping skin against her. The sound rose above the music, his breathing faster, hot in her ear. His hand slid over her hip, found her clitoris, his finger beginning to play with it as his cock continued to zip in and back, the rhythm causing waves of pleasure to coarse through her body. She strained to reach her hand down, past his, touching his shaft as it moved in and out of her, so slick, so hot. Her fingers grazed his balls. A single word escaped his lips, "Yesssssssss." He hissed. She felt him grow, felt her own desire peak. Then, as one, the orgasm, his release, hot, gushing, filling, timed perfectly with hers. She saw stars, cried out she knew not what, jerked, spasmed, arching her back away from him. He slowed, still moving, but softly, within her. His lips grazed her shoulders. She closed her eyes, squeezed her legs together, holding him in. They stayed as one, not moving, breathing slowly, easily, as sleep overtook them. They lay, naked, beneath the skylight, the rain still pattering above them, until the dreams came. The Blues Club Fran was hurrying to get ready. She had a dinner date with her man and didn’t want to miss a moment. It seemed like an age since they had been out for the night. He was so busy with his work lately. When they did finally get together, it was usually at her place or his and time for a quick roll in the sack and then he would be gone again. “I am starting to wonder would I appeal more to him if I turned into a computer program. Maybe then he would show more interest” she said to herself sighing. “Well tonight is his last chance” she thought. She hopped into her shower. The water was warm and felt so good after a long day at work. She stood there for a while just letting the stream wash over her. The water glistened on her pert breasts. She looked down at herself and noticed a few droplets of water on her nipple and flicked them off with her finger. Her nipple sprang to attention from the interest. She gave a slight moan and poured some bath wash into her hands. Starting to rub it into her shoulders and arms forming a lather on her milky skin. She moved to her breasts and was really enjoying the sensation. She took her nipples between her finger and thumb, rolling and tweaking them. Another moan escaped from her as she felt herself getting excited. Her hands moved slowly over her stomach, around to the small of her back and then her buttocks. “Oooooooh” she moaned out loudly. Her hands moved around to her loin. She moved with slow firm strokes further down to her hot pussy that was throbbing for some consideration. It felt so good, so smooth from the shave she had just had. She lathered up her snail trail, wanting to make it soft and clean just in case they had time tonight for some serious love making. “Certainly not the wham bam thank you ma’am I have been getting of late” she told herself. “If that’s all he wants then he can take himself in hand. I want time, I am sick of being rushed” she reflected. Her hand had reached her clit and she started to rub it, a little harder as she was getting so excited. Her finger moved down to her entrance, just poking a little in before moving back to her bottom and swirling around that hole. Another moan escaped her. She bought her finger back to her pussy and she opened her legs a little wider. Her finger delved in to the first knuckle. Then the second. Her juices were flowing over it. Her other hand had returned to her nipples and she was soon working away at both. Her finger moved into overdrive as she felt an orgasm coming on her. “Oh god I wish Barry would show me this attention” she told herself. Soon she had reached the pinnacle and was flooding her finger with her sweet creamy cum. After she had collected herself she continued to wash herself all over. She then hopped out to dry herself and dress. First her cream gstring and bra. Then the matching camisole. Stockings. And finally her favourite burgundy dress. She loved the way it highlighted her strawberry blonde hair. And the feel of the silk clinging to her body was luxurious. Then she applied a little makeup. Just some blush, mascara and finally her lipstick. That done she brushed her hair until it shone and went into her room to retrieve her black stilettos and handbag. Taking one last look in the mirror, she smiled approvingly and ran out the door to the waiting taxi. Once she reached the restaurant, she quickly entered and scanned the crowd looking for Barry. Not seeing him she told the maitre d that there had been a table booked and gave him Barry’s name. He advised her that her companion had not arrived yet and asked if she would like to sit at the table or at the bar. “At the table will be fine and I would like a Black Russian and the menu while I wait for my friend please” she answered. Seated and with drink in hand, she perused the menu half heartedly. “Damn him” she said to herself. “I am late so he should have been here thirty minutes ago.” She looked up at the entrance, willing him to walk through it, but to no avail. Just then her attention was caught by the sound of a man laughing. She looked around to see who it was that sounded so happy. Her eyes fell on a handsome distinguished looking gentleman talking to another man at his table. “Damn, he is probably gay” she thought. Just then the man looked up and seeing her watching him, raised his glass to her and smiled. She quickly averted her eyes as she blushed furiously. She peeked up again only to see him grinning at her embarrassment and showing more than a passing interest. “Mmmm” she thought , “perhaps I was wrong in that judgement”. She returned her look to the menu and drummed her fingers on the table with impatience. Deciding her boyfriend would not likely show up now, she called the waiter over. “Looks like my friend is a no show. I may as well order” she tells him. “Certainly ma’am. What can I get you?” he replies. “I think I will have the grilled coral trout with a garden salad. A little French dressing and a glass of riesling, thank you.” Fran orders. “Would you like the wine now?” he asks. Fran tells the waiter that she would and sits back finishing her drink. She looks across the room and notices the handsome stranger glancing at her as he talks to his dining companion. She gives him a coy smile and holds her drink up in salute, amazing herself with her brazenness. “Well why not,” she tells herself. “Barry is now a closed chapter. I have had enough of his inattentiveness, time to move on.” Her wine arrives and she sits sipping it and surveying the room. But her look always returns to the stranger. Just as her meal arrives, she notices that his companion is getting up to leave and he is staying seated at the table. She watches the other man walking out of the restaurant and returns her look to the handsome man. As she looks back to him, she sees he is getting up and walking towards her. He reaches her table and asks her with a deep sexy timbre to his voice, “Hello, I hope you don’t mind but I hate to see such a lovely lady dining alone. Would you mind if I joined you?” Fran nods her head in agreement, not quite trusting herself to speak. He holds out his hand and introduces himself. “My name is William” he says. “I am Fran,” she tells him, “please sit down.” He sits and asks her if she would like another glass of wine. She agrees so he calls the waiter over to order a bottle. Turning back to her, they make small talk. He tells her that he is an architect up here on business and that he is divorced and has two children. She tells him about her business and her children. He asks her if there is a man in her life. She confesses to him that there is but not for long, explaining how she was fed up with him not turning up. They continue chatting over the wine as Fran finishes her meal. He then asks her if there are any good blues clubs in town. Delighted that she has found someone who shares her interest in music she tells him where her favourite blues bar is. William then asks her if she would care to accompany him there for an after dinner drink and some music. She quickly agrees. The restaurant settled, they grab a taxi and head towards the city. As the taxi pulls up, the sound of a piano being played wafts across the curb to them. “Sounds good,” he tells her as they enter the bar. Finding themselves a corner table, he orders them a cognac. They sit back sipping their drinks, occasionally talking but mostly letting the music fill their senses. A slow tune begins and William asks her to dance. Leading her across the floor, he takes her in his arms and they begin to sway to the music. Their bodies seem to fit so well together. He bends his head to hers, breathing in her unique sexy scent. They continue to slow dance till the song finishes and are both reluctant to stop and go back to their table. Later in the night after more drinking and dancing, Fran tells him reluctantly that she must leave for home. He takes her hand as they leave the bar. Hailing a taxi, he insists that he see her home safely before he returns to his hotel room. They hold hands and she lets her head rest on his shoulder on the trip to her home. He is intoxicated by her perfume and feels a stirring in his groin. As they near her home, she asks if he would come in for coffee. “We can call another cab or I can drive you later,” Fran says, not wanting the night to end. Feeling the same, he quickly agrees. Once inside, she tells him to get comfortable while she makes the coffee. “Where are your children?” he asks. “It is their weekend with their dad.” she tells him. William finds her CD player and asks if she minds. When she agrees, he puts on an Ottis Redding CD. “That’s my favourite.” she says. “Mine too,” he answers her, though Muddy Waters runs a close second.” She smiles as she thinks how much they have in common. Bringing in the coffee, she places the tray on the coffee table and sits on the lounge next to him. She leans back into his arm and his hand comes round to rest on her shoulder. They sit, letting the music wash over them, both comfortable with their silence. After a while he turns to her and says “Fran I normally don’t like to rush these things but I am only here a few days. Would you think me a cad if I kissed you?” Fran answers by lifting her head to his. He finds her lips for a gentle kiss, his hand coming behind her head to hold her there. His tongue gently enters her lips, running along her teeth then finding her tongue. She moans with delight as she kisses him back. Her hand rests on his manly chest. He moves to her ears and nibbles on her ear lobe, making her heart race and stirring the passion in her loins. Down to her neck his kisses sending shivers through her body. Her hand goes around to his back and she pulls him closer. Her nipples harden, stretching the bodice of her dress and sticking into his chest. They are both feeling the bent up passion when his hand lightly crosses her breast over her nipple which hardens even more. Huskily she suggests that they go to her bedroom. He doesn’t answer, just stands and takes her hand. She leads him up the hallway to her bedroom. Turning on the bedside light, she turns to him. “I am not normally so forward,” she says “but.....” He doesn’t let her add more just takes her into his arms again. Reaching behind her, he finds the buttons down the back of her dress and starts to undo them. She, meanwhile, is unbuttoning his shirt (he has already removed his jacket and tie when they first arrived). He finally undoes the last button and lets her dress drop to the floor. He removes her camisole. “Amazing,” he says as he lays his eyes on her near naked form. She answers by removing his shirt and undoing his belt buckle. He pulls her close to him and reaching behind her unclasps and removes her bra. He moans as he sees her breast free from constraint and bends to take one nipple in his mouth. Her moaning joins his as he does. Undoing his trousers, they are discarded. All that is left is his boxers and her gstring, which they quickly remove. He pulls her onto the bed and they lay there, exploring each others bodies. His hand traces the outline of her arm, her hip, to come back up her front and run lazy circles around her nipple. She moans and brings her leg up over his hip, pushing herself closer until she felt his hard cock pressing on her pubic bones. He bends his head to take her nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before gently biting it. “Mmmmmm, that feels sooo good” she tells him. He starts to kiss and lick his way down her body, across her stomach past her pubic area, to her inner thigh. Then kissing down to her knee and back up again. she pushes him back and turns around to a 69 position and starts to lick his hard cock. She feels it throbbing beneath her tongue. Meanwhile William is running his tongue across her clit to her folds, past them and all the way back to her arsehole which quivers with the attention. He goes back to her clit, breathing in the sweet smell of her hot wet pussy. His tongue flickers over her clit making her juices run even more. Fran has gone from licking his cock to sucking on his balls. One at a time she takes them into her mouth licking and sucking them until they are tight with longing. William’s tongue has gone to the entrance of her pussy, stopping there to lick around the hole and the lips of it. She groans and pushes her body onto his face while going back up his shaft with her tongue to suck in the tip of this hard cock. She licks and sucks on his knob as his tongue enters her pussy to lick at her juices. His tongue goes into her pussy as she starts to suck his cock with enough firmness to have him straining for her to take it all in. He tongue fucks her as the finger of one hand rubs her clit till it is so hard and the other hand moves to her arse running around the hole then poking in a little. She takes his cue and does the same to him as she sucks faster and harder on his cock. He soon feels her shudder as she reaches a climax, licking up the juices as they pour from her. Pushing her back and removing himself from her mouth, he climbs on top of her. His hard cock , wet from her mouth, rests at the entrance of her pussy as he rubs the tip up her clit and back around to her arse before coming back to her entrance. She wraps her legs around him as her body builds up for a second orgasm. “Please fuck me” she whispers to him. “Fuck me hard.” He enters her, ramming his cock right into her so it is pushing on her uterus wall and his balls slap against her arse. He keeps plunging in and out of her as she matches his movements. They fuck hard and as he feels her reaching her second orgasm. He lets go of his restraint and climaxes with her, spurting his hot wet cum into her as she orgasms around his cock. Their combined juices flowing out of her. He lays back putting his arm around her. She snuggles in, feeling more satisfied than she has for a long time. “Can you stay the night?” she asks him dreamily. He smiles at her and tells her that wild horses couldn’t drag him from this bed. After some time to recover, they start again, trying different positions and discovering things they both liked until they finally fall back into each others arms to fall asleep. Next morning he wakes to an empty bed. But smells the appetising smell of Eggs Benedict wafting though the house. He puts on his boxers and finds his way through the house to the kitchen. Entering, he smiles to see her standing at the stove with egg slice in her hand and nothing on except an apron. “Do you like orange juice?” she asks “and do you come to Brisbane often?” He smiles again and tells her that it will be much more often now. The Blues Man Your man's out prowlin' Baby Thinks he likes his women tall and thin Keep your back door open Cause Baby I'll be comin' in She sat in the back of the small club listening to these words filtered through a voice that sounded like gravel being poured down a steel chute. He was a big man and the guitar in his hands almost looked like a toy but the sounds that poured from the speakers were anything but childlike. They were raw and rich and spoke of a world of experience she couldn't even begin to imagine. She looked around the club and saw a few other white faces but most of the listeners were black. She didn't usually hang out in blues clubs but she'd just turned twenty-one and had been seeking a place to celebrate her coming of age. The notice in the paper had caught her eye: "J.B. 'The Blues Man' Thompson, two nights only!" It was a name that brought back memories. Her dad loved J.B.'s music and, when in a blues mood, would play his records over and over. So here she was. No you don't have to call me I know your man is gone again Keep your back door open And Baby I'll be comin' in She figured she must have heard "Keep Your Back Door Open" several thousand times. And once, a couple of years ago, her dad, his tongue loosened by wine, had explained to her that the song was referring to anal sex. It kind of grossed her out to have her dad bring up the subject. But now, hearing J.B.'s powerful delivery over the driving rhythm of bass and drums, punctuated by his forceful guitar work, the obvious depth of his experience made her curious. She shifted restively in her chair. She didn't have a boyfriend. And would just as soon not think about all that. It was her weight, she felt sure; men just didn't see her. Not sexually anyway. She was a pretty face, a buddy, or a sister. Shit! She was here to have a good time, not cry over all the milk that had been spilled in her life. She sipped her screwdriver, the only drink that came to her mind to order when the waitress asked, and decided that once she'd finished this one she would go home. The set ended and J.B. moved through the audience shaking hands and saying hello. As he passed her table he gave her a look of appreciation and then went up to the bar. Several women, much thinner than she, flitted at his elbow. She emptied her glass and was preparing to rise when he turned, ignoring the women around him, and looked at her again. The waitress came and she ordered another screwdriver. "Are you enjoying the show?" He asked. His speaking voice sounded as if it had been aged in a charred oak barrel. Up close she could see that the years had poured more salt than pepper into his hair. "Oh yes, Mr. Thompson. I think it's wonderful." "Jesus! It's J.B.," he said, "just call me J.B. Do you mind if I sit down?" "Please do." He sat and they chatted for a bit. He asked her about herself and seemed genuinely interested in her life. And wished her happy birthday when she mentioned why she was out on the town. He asked about boyfriends and instantly picked up on the feelings of hurt behind her mumbled response. It was a little scary for her to be read so easily by a man she'd only met a few minutes ago. He was calm and gentlemanly but there was something in his eyes that told her he didn't think she was just a pretty face, or a buddy. Most certainly, she was not his sister. The drummer and bass player were back on stage and had started to jam. He excused himself, began to walk toward the stage, and then turned and looked at her. Something in his glance made her realize that he was hoping she would stay. When the waitress came she ordered another screwdriver. As he launched into his next set she realized she was looking at him with new eyes. She had the feeling, somewhere deep inside her, that this man could very easily become her next lover. She knew it was her choice. And as she watched his powerful fingers roaming with delicate precision over the fretboard of his guitar, the one she'd heard he called "Doreen", she could feel her body saying yes. Oh yes. Oh God yes! "Are you okay?" She jerked up as she comprehended he was speaking to her. "I think I dranktoomush," she said, knowing she was slurring her words together. From a distance, filled with cotton balls and blurred images, she heard his full, but not unfriendly, laughter. "Have you got a way home, girl," he said. "I druvv. I wanna go home wichew," she tried to enunciate. More laughter. "I don't really have a home here. But I've got a motel room with a bed big enough for two." "Thashsoundswonderfl," was her response. She never could remember getting from the club to a taxicab. She did vaguely remember him telling the cabbie to stop and opening the door as she leaned out and threw up into the street. She could feel his strong fingers holding her and his voice. His warm rough voice telling her it was alright. It was cool. The next thing she remembered was waking up. She was lying on her side. The wall of a room she'd never seen before in her life was staring her in the face. Someone, and at the moment she couldn't recall who, was making soft snoring sighs behind her. Oh shit! Very cautiously she felt herself. She was naked. Oh shit! Damn! Her head ached as she tried to recollect what might have happened. All she could find was blankness. Oh Jesus Lord! What had awakened her was a bladder that insisted on being emptied. She wished she could shrivel up and disappear. How did she get into this? Very cautiously she pulled the sheet and blanket back and slid her legs out till her feet touched the floor. She pulled herself up and leaned over, her breasts squashed against her knees, and gazed at the floor. Her head was swirling; her stomach was very unhappy with her. Oh shit! The maid had missed a few spots when she vacuumed. Little bits of grit. "I think I'm in Hell," she thought. Without warning a large hand was on her ass. She jumped. "Are you okay?" A huge voice rumbled. "Hmmyeahi'mfine," she said. She turned and found herself gazing into a face she'd seen so often on LP album covers. "Oh shit. Oh God in heaven!" She cried. She was appalled as the memories of the previous evening came stampeding back into her consciousness. "It's okay. It's cool, Baby." The warm, rough, and familiar voice said. "I didn't take advantage of a poor white girl in distress." "I'm naked. Where are my clothes?" "You puked on your dress, honey," the voice from her dad's record library said. "I didn't think you'd want to sleep in it. And once I got your dress off I figured what the hell." She looked into his eyes. He looked straight back at her. Suddenly she felt calm. "Thank you," she said. "Girl, you're more than welcome. Now take that piss like I know you need to." She laughed as she sat on the toilet and let go. She laughed knowing he could hear her laugh and the flow of her urine. She laughed knowing he accepted all this human stuff and still wanted to fuck her. She laughed because something inside herself felt free. "Well, look at what the pussy dragged home," she said, posing in front of the bathroom door. Her head throbbed and her tummy was mumbling cuss words. "Hmmmm. Pussy's an excellent judge of what I like," he said. "But let's get some breakfast first. It's only eleven o'clock and no one's expecting me to be anywhere until eight in the evening or so." She was somewhat amazed at how free she felt being naked around him. And it touched her deeply to realize that he'd very carefully washed the vomit out of her dress and hung it over the curtain rod, something she'd hadn't noticed while she was peeing. Which wasn't surprising, considering the state she'd been in. They interacted as if they were they'd been married for many years. She peeked in while he was shaving and enjoyed the sight of his bulky blackness in front of the mirror. He, fully dressed, and talking with one of his music business contacts on the phone, watched her as she slipped into her lingerie and somewhat wrinkled dress. "Well, I do alright," he said, in response to the question she'd posed at the the breakfast table. "I make a living. I'm no B.B. King but I do alright." Then, with clear seriousness, he said, "I love what I do," he held up his fingers and moved them as if playing a guitar. "And I love to fuck. It works out. I wouldn't trade it for anything." After they were back in the motel room, the food and a short nap making her feel somewhat back to normal, she felt those fingers playing her as if she were some fine instrument. As if she were Doreen. He traveled effortlessly up the octaves until she was crying out for him to stop. And then it was his cock. She was gazing up into his eyes, eyes it seemed she'd always known, feeling him move inside her as she opened her legs as wide as they'd go. He held himself above her, careful not to overwhelm her with his weight, and slowly slid back and forth. His motions were easy and deliberate and it was obvious to her that he was feeling a great deal of pleasure. She put her hand on his thick arm and marveled at her whiteness against his blackness. He smiled down at her. "Does it feel good, Baby?" He asked. "Oh, God yes, J.B." They both looked down to watch his black length sliding between the lips of her sparsely haired pussy. "You're the first black man I've ever been with." "I'm just a man, girl, not all that much difference." "We're different colors," she said. "I like seeing the contrast." "Oh, yeah, there's that. I like it too. I like your body," he said, supporting himself on one hand and reaching out to touch her left breast with the other. "I'm too fat," she said, her soul shrinking. "I like your body, like I said," he stated with a bit of an edge. "You've got a beautiful body and some of the sweetest skin I've ever touched." She wasn't convinced but felt herself relax, though not completely. And then he was moving in her powerfully, the earlier finesse transformed into an exuberant all out physical engagement. His big hands clasped her ass cheeks as he plunged into her. He moaned into her neck, reporting his progress towards orgasm. It excited her. She felt herself pulled along. She felt pleased to be able to give him this. And then they were there. She could feel him coming inside her. And moments later she was crying out to him that her own climax was crashing through her. He held her, making gentle comforting sounds. Almost as if she were a fearful child. He held her for a long time. Longer than any other man she'd been with. When he finally pulled away she could see a big grin on his face. "Oh, that was good, Baby. Thank you." "Thank YOU, J.B.," she said. She touched herself and felt the thick slickness of his semen. Then she reached out and grasped his cock which showed only slight signs of engorgement. "Are we going to be able to do this again?" He laughed. "Yeah, Baby," he said. "Just give me a little time. I'm not as young as I used to be." A little over an hour later, after she'd treated him to the loving attention of her mouth and tongue, he was hard once more. "My back door's open too, J.B.," she said. He looked at her with his large heavy lidded eyes. "You know what that song's a talkin' about?" She rolled over on her tummy and wiggled her butt. He threw his head back and laughed his deep smoky laugh. "Yes, I guess you do." He sat up and opened the drawer next to the bed and pulled out a small bottle of lube. "Goodness, you came prepared," she said. "I have a certain reputation to maintain," he growled, and then laughed. "I want you to do me in my behind but I've never done it before," she said anxiously. He looked at her. "You want me to be your first?" She nodded. He spread her cheeks and stared as if he wanted to see inside her. Then she felt his big tongue tickling her anus. "You've got to relax, girl," he said after a few minutes. "It's not going to feel good unless you relax." Several minutes later he poured lube on her and began opening her up with his finger. Finally, as she felt how gentle and careful he was, her sphincter muscles began to loosen. "Oh yeah, Baby, that's it." He called. "What would your Daddy think a you havin' a black man's cock in your ass?" He asked, slowly entering her. "He's got all your records," was her reply. "He was the one who told me 'Keep Your Back Door Open' was about anal sex." J.B. roared. The bed shook with the force of his laughter. Tears ran down his face. "Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! Well, he sure raised a sweet girl child." "Is this the kind of thing a sweet girl child would do? A sweet fat girl child, at that?" She asked, moving her butt against him, a little surprised by the bitterness in her voice. Suddenly he was dead serious. "Girl, this is as sweet as it gets. Don't put yourself down. You're a beautiful woman, a loving woman. Don't be afraid to shake your ass at the world and make it pay attention. Nobody be thinking you're somethin' till you think you're somethin' yourself." Several moments later he said, "I'm old enough to be your granddaddy so I know a thing or two." They both laughed at the incongruity of an older man saying this to a young woman he was fucking in the ass. "Ok Granddad," she said. "I'll remember that." "You better," he replied, giving her a couple of good hard strokes. "Will this help your memory?" "Oh yeah. Oh yeah!" She cried, as a kind of orgasm she'd never experienced before flowed through her. Volcanic heat centered around her rectum, flowing like lava through her bowels. "Oh shit! Oh shit!" "You're gonna make me cum, Baby, you keep yellin' like that," he called in his powerful voice. "Oh yeah, cum in my ass J. B. Fill me with your hot cum," she moaned. She felt him clench her ass cheeks in his two strong hands and then bury himself. "Here it comes, Baby! Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus!" And then, deep within her body, she felt his pulsing. Dim sparks of warmth. But what she felt most were his arms clenching themselves around her, moments later, tight against her breasts, holding her as they both rode the waves of intense pleasure. And his big belly against her back. He held her, just as he had before; it made her realize that when she found her life partner she wanted him to do this. They rode together to the club where she picked up her car, drove home to take a shower and change her dress, and then drove back to the club. This time she only drank soda. When he finished his last set she took him back to the motel and they made love again. They said goodbye over breakfast and hugged just before she climbed into her car. "Now remember, nobody be thinking you're somethin' till you think you're somethin' yourself," were his final words. She repeated them to herself often. She began to follow his touring through the Internet and the next time he was in town she took her dad and her new boyfriend Earl to see him. He recognized her immediately and between sets came over to sit with them. Earl and her dad were astounded. She told them that the last time J.B. had played here she'd spent a little time with him. Neither man cared to inquire further. She could see that her dad was awestruck to be in the presence of a man he'd admired for so many years and, consequently, a little in awe of his daughter who could hobnob with his idol with such ease. Just before they left J.B. caught her as she was coming out of the ladies room. "You look happy," he said. "I am," she smiled. "Well, you deserve to be. Keep workin' it." He kissed her chastely on the cheek. And then, much less chastely, squeezed her ass. She walked out into the club to find Earl and her dad. A warm giggle bubbled inside her. The Blues Revisited If you start me up I’ll never stop. Yeah, I know what song that comes from. And it’s kind of appropriate that my story starts this way. I don’t remember what year it was. The world was coming apart at the seams and my family held the hem ripper. For me, rock and roll was the answer to an unposed question. I was a 14-year-old hooligan hell-raiser with a second-hand Apollo hollow-body electric guitar whose parents insisted he leave the room when playing anything but “Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds.” Yeah. Like that song would ever come up on somebody’s play list. My parents were well-to-do deep south neo-Democrats who hoped to appear liberal without actually having to make any concessions to their wealth or positions. We lived in Little Rock, Arkansas in a house on a bluff overlooking the Arkansas River. You can see it on the south side as you drive down I-430, rising above the treeline like an A-Frame cabin with a hyperactive thyroid. Feel free to extend your middle finger as you pass. I do. Dad was really into the whole Democratic Party experience. He and Mom were always hosting parties attended by some up-and-coming mucky-mucks. Bill Clinton once took a whiz in my toilet. I opened the door and there he was. He seemed startled, but at that time in history there were still a few people in the state who hadn’t seen his penis and I guess he was still shy about such things. I can’t remember if it was before or after he was elected Governor. I’ll have to check on that. It would be an indicator if my folks were merely stepping-stones for new candidates, or if they were really important to the political scene. I tend to believe the former. See what I mean? Start me up and I’ll never stop. Anyway, in order to make sure the house was always ready for the impromptu social gathering, and to show all in attendance that they really did care about minorities, my parents hired Cassandra as a live-in domestic. I know she barely made book money from the job, but she got the spare bedroom off the kitchen and they let her have Friday night to Monday morning off. Cassandra was a college student at the time, working on a double major in history and sociology, but to my puberty-addled mind she was all woman, with beautiful dark skin that gleamed like polished mahogany. She was all about appropriateness. She never did anything to encourage me or give me hope that she had any kind of feelings for me beyond what she might have for a little brother. She didn't need to. It was all in my mind. Her full lips and dark eyes made her all the more unapproachable and mysterious. Her hair was long and she wore it pulled back most of the time, just to keep it out of the way I guess. And since her work clothes consisted mostly of T-shirts and tight Levis, the mere sight of her was enough to give me agonizingly embarrassing hard-ons. I started hiding behind my guitar, keeping it on a neck strap everywhere I went. My parents, of course, hated the guitar as well as most of the songs I tried to play on it. I was never allowed to plug it in to my amplifier, and had to go to the basement utility room when I wanted to play. And that’s just where I was one warm June afternoon, sitting on the washing machine and trying to play “Brown Sugar” when Cassandra walked in with a laundry basket full of dirty clothes. I didn’t see her right off because, let’s face it, to play rock and roll you have to screw up your face and close your eyes. When I opened them, there she was. She was wearing cut off jean shorts and a Razorbacks T-shirt. Her legs were smooth and shiny, the color of Pepsi Cola when light shines through the bottle. Her pockets extended about a half inch from the bottom of the cutoffs and the denim had begun to fray into white threads. The T-shirt was snug but not tight and I could tell she wore nothing under it. Her breasts were perfect and round and firm and I was so fucking glad I had the guitar sitting on my lap. “Don’t stop on account of me,” she said. I was all too aware of the song I was playing and felt self-conscious about it. “Ummm..I’m done I think.” “You like the Stones?” she asked. “Fuckin’ A!” I said automatically. Then I heard myself. “I mean..yeah.” She laughed. I’d never heard her laugh before. I liked it and wanted to hear her laugh more. “You ever heard of Muddy Waters? Elmore James? Howlin’ Wolf?” I shook my head. At that time, if I couldn’t hear it on Top 40 radio, I’d never heard it at all. “Well they’re the guys that the Stones listen to.” “Cool,” I said, more to keep her talking than anything. “Come by my room later,” she said. “I’ll let you listen to some. Right now I need to get my hands on what you’re sitting on.” “You...huh?” She laughed again and my hard-on pressed into the back of my guitar. “I need the washer, honey.” “Oh. Yeah. Right.” I slid off the washer careful to hold my guitar close and backed out of the utility room. “Later, huh?” She gave me a womanly smile and nodded. For the rest of the summer, Cassandra shared her collection of blues cassettes and even checked some out of the University library for me to enjoy. I was turning on to Magic Sam, Sonny Boy Williamson and B.B. King, trying to get that same sweet sound out of my guitar that B.B. could coax out of Lucille. Cassandra was my private audience, often closing her eyes and tilting her head back as I played as if she was escaping to some faraway place inside herself. I loved watching her like that. She’d breathe in and out deeper and her nipples would strain against her shirt, regardless whether she was wearing a bra or not. Sometimes I’d ache to touch her and that feeling would be translated through my fingers, into the strings and I swear it was communicated to Cassandra sitting across the room from me. She sighed deeply. “Boy, you need to be playing for an audience.” “I thought I was,” I said, making her laugh. That beautiful sound. “You know what I mean.” I shook my head. “I’m just not black enough to sing the blues.” Cassandra stopped smiling. “You bigot,” she said. “I’m not a bigot,” I said, getting defensive. “What do you think a bigot is?” I thought a second before answering. “Someone who hates someone else because they’re different.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Hate is a whole different thing that mostly stems from fear. Bigotry comes from ignorance.” “So now I’m ignorant?” I said. “My situation isn’t improving.” She laughed again, all pretense of anger gone. “You’re too smart for your own good,” she said. “But you don’t have to be black to sing the blues. What the hell you think country music is?” “Crap mostly,” I said. “It’s just rural white blues.” “Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds is a blues song?” “All popular music stems from blues.” “So where do the blues stem from?” She looked at me a minute to see if I was serious. “You really want to know?” I nodded. “You have church clothes?” Now it was my turn to laugh. “I’ve got some ‘Oh-Shit-Somebody-Died-And-We-Gotta-Go-To-The-Funeral’ clothes.” “Put them on Friday evening and meet me at the curb.” Cassandra’s VW didn’t have air conditioning. I felt the sweat drawn by the late August sun run down my back and into my Jockeys. I kept tugging at my tie until Cassandra slapped my hand. “Quit fidgeting. You look good.” She was dressed in her Sunday finest -- a long sleeveless violet dress and high heeled sandals. Her makeup was perfectly done and understated, with just enough mascara and eyeliner to set off her dark almond eyes. Her lips were a deep, glossy red. They looked wet. Her hair was down and fell about her shoulders in thick curls. I confess, I spent so much time sneaking peeks at Cassandra that I had no idea where in the hell she was taking me. I know we went west on I-40 because as we passed Toad Suck Park, Cassandra giggled musically. “Ever had your toad sucked?” she asked, laughing. Then her face went somber. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.” We turned north on 65, and drove for at least a half-hour. Actually, with the wind whipping at Cassandra’s hemline and my fantasizing about what she was wearing under the dress, I pretty much lost track of time. I found myself hoping I wouldn’t be asked to stand and walk too soon. She slowed as we approached the Zion Grove Baptist Church, just north of Greenbriar. A huge tent had been erected on the lawn and I could see lots of people milling about the church and tent. None of them were white. The parking lot was nothing more than driveway chat, and we kicked up rocks under the fenders as we came to a stop. “Church?” I asked. “Uh-huh. My church.” “You drive this far just to worship?” It sounded bad immediately after I said it. Cassandra took the keys out of the car and looked at me. “When you put it that way, no, I guess I don’t. Faith is all you really need to worship and I got faith so I guess I can worship anywhere. And religion is nothing more than the commercial side of faith.” “So what do you come here for?” Outside the car, good friends were getting reacquainted. There were lots of handshakes and hugs and kisses being exchanged. Cassandra watched the people through the VW’s windshield. “I guess you’d call it fellowship.” She smiled at me and reached over to adjust my tie. “You spend too much time by yourself. Good looking man like you needs to experience life.” I got out of the car and walked around to open the door for Cassandra, but she had already opened it and was getting out. If I had ever wondered what it felt like to be a minority, I now knew. Mine was the only white face in the crowd and Cassandra made a point to introduce me to as many people as possible. A large matronly black woman in a flower print dress walked toward us. She was fanning her face with a cardboard fan stapled to an oversized Popsicle stick. The fan read McNutt Funeral Home, Conway, Arkansas. I could only assume that all the people in Conway had died and McNutt was looking to expand into a new market. “Cassandra, sugar, what you got here?” Cassandra smiled. “This is my date.” She looped her arm through mine and I tried to act nonchalant and mature, while my heart was tripping out like a Charlie Watts drum solo. “Woman, you robbin’ the cradle, hun!” They both laughed and I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to laugh too so I just smiled. As we moved through the crowd I began to feel less and less conspicuous. If they had a problem with a white boy being there, no one showed it. In fact, this crowd was more hospitable than my mother’s family reunions.. A we picked up our fans from our folding chairs and sat down, I leaned over to Cassandra’s ear and whispered: “What do they do here?” “You asked me where the blues come from,” she said. “You’re about to find out.” For the next two hours, I was enthralled by the raw energy and excitement generated by the congregation at the tent revival. If blues reflected the sadness, gospel accented the joyous. I could hear the roots of bluegrass, country, and -- yes -- even rock and roll. It was over too soon. In the car, waiting for traffic to clear so we could pull back onto the highway, Cassandra’s skin shone from a combination of perspiration and inspiration. “So tell me,” I said, trying to sound mature enough to be considered a real date, “what do you feel is the main difference between gospel and blues?” Cassandra chewed her lower lip as she thought. “Good gospel males me feel renewed. Invigorated.” Her eyes closed to a narrow slit. “Righteous.” “And the blues? How do good blues make you feel?” Her eyes opened wide. “Wet,” she said. “You mean sweaty?” “Mmmm. If I’m lucky, baby.” She accelerated onto the road. “I’m sorry, honey. That was inappropriate.” My parents were waiting for us when we got home. “Thank God you’re OK,” my mother said to me. “Now go to your room and stay there.” I waved goodbye to Cassandra and she smile and waved back. In my room, I stripped out of my sweaty clothes and stepped into a lukewarm shower. My mind ran back through the events of the night. The music. The people. My best friend. When I got up the next morning, Cassandra was gone. She’d taken all her possessions, packed them in the night and left. My parents sipped their coffee as if nothing had happened. “Where’s Cassandra?” I asked. “We won’t speak of her again,” my mother said. But she did. I overheard her several times in the next few weeks, telling her friends why she had to “let Cassandra go.” “Imagine,” I heard her telling someone on the phone when she thought I wasn’t listening, “taking a 14-year-old boy to a darkie revival.” I wondered if Cassandra would hold steadfast in her belief that bigotry grew from ignorance and not plain old hate. OK, it’s your fault I’m this deep into this. I warned you about starting me up. But if you’ve stuck with me this far, I promise from here on in it gets really good. As good as a story like this can get, anyway. Just a few weeks after Cassandra went away, I started prep school. Prep, you know, like preparation for me to go to the old man’s alma mater. Problem is, I didn’t want to go to the old man’s alma mater and I sure as hell didn’t want to be in prep school for it. When I came home for Christmas break, I carried a message to my father from the headmaster asking that I not return. I was expecting a screaming fit from my father, but he didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t say much of anything to me for the next couple of years. When I graduated from public school, my parents gave me $1,500 and told me they were changing the locks on all the doors. I took the hint. I bought a Dobro guitar just like Robert Johnson’s and an ‘87 Ford Escort hatchback wagon to carry it around in. I was 18 years old and was as free as I'd ever be. I debated where to go and thought about heading north to Branson. Only problem is that Branson isn’t particularly known as a hotbed for blues. I figured I’d end up playing “Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds” for some washed up country singer who was one third cowboy hat, one third teeth and no thirds talent. Besides, I didn’t think the Escort would make it through the mountains. Memphis was an option. I could pay my dues on the same streets that Bukka White and his cousin Riley B. King once played. Or I could turn south to Shreveport, home of Ledbelly. I opted for Shreveport. My car broke down in Benton, just 20 miles outside of Little Rock on I-30. So I found a cheap apartment and started working as an assistant manager at a Radio Shack store. OK, there were only two of us working there, so I was sales clerk, janitor, display builder and -- by default -- assistant manager. The pay sucked, but it left me time to play whatever bar would let an underage blues apprentice work for tips. And let's face it, I was lazy. I was two weeks shy of my 21st birthday and still at the Shack, working on an end cap display of Where-Is-As-Is sale items, when I heard a sweet voice ask, “Sugar, could you help me find this battery?” I looked up and there she was. Cassandra. The intervening years had made her a little leaner and more toned, but all the right curves were still there. She put her hand over her mouth as recognition set in. “Oh my God, look at you!” And then she did. A slow take from my feet, lingering at midsection, and then back to my face. “You are all grown us and somethin’ special.” She asked about my parents and I told her we didn’t really speak anymore. “Probably for the best, hun,” she said. “Still playin’?” “Of course,” I told her. “For an audience, whenever one is available.” She was quiet for a moment, as if two teams were debating something in her head. “Why don’t you let me make you supper tonight?” It had been a long time since my last home-cooked meal. I quickly accepted. “But bring your guitar. This isn’t a free meal.” I laughed. “You expect me to sing for my supper?” “You know it.” Cassandra was a hell of a cook. Fetticinni and white sauce, home-baked bread and a Romaine and tomato salad with a nice red wine. Over dinner I found out she had been married and then divorced when she found him cheating on her. She was teaching history in a middle school in Benton and hoped to save enough to complete her Master’s in a couple years. Her home looked like her -- very simple, yet classy in its own way. She had no TV in the living room, but several bookcases overflowing with hardbacks. A small stereo system fed two bookshelf speakers that were playing soft jazz in the background. One bedroom she used for her den, and it was cluttered with papers and a desktop computer and more books. The other bedroom was where she slept. “OK honey, supper’s over. Time for you to do your thing.” Cassandra was sitting on her love seat, her legs pulled under her. She was wearing a cotton summer pullover and its light color made her skin seem even darker. The dress was short to start with, but the way she was sitting made it rise higher on her thighs. She had her arms wrapped around almost hugging herself and the dress was low enough in front that I could see her breasts pulled together and thrust up by her arms. I was glad I had already taken my guitar out. I launched into “Dust My Broom” and “Blues Before Sunrise.” I even did some obscure blues tunes like “Play With Your Poodle” and “Fat Woman Blues.” Through it all, Cassandra sat at rapt attention, her eyes sparking and her breathing making her breasts rise and fall much too quickly. I have a bad habit of sweating when I play. After a dozen songs, I stopped to mop my forehead with my shirtsleeve, but since I was wearing short sleeves, it didn’t work too well. I ended up smearing sweat on my bare arms. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I’m not, baby. Remember what I said about good blues?” I smiled. “That it makes you wet?” She walked across the room, took the guitar off my lap, sat it carefully on the floor, then straddled me and took my face in her hands. “That was some good blues.” She kissed me so sensuously that I was immediately sure she felt my response pressing against her at the point where her crotch met mine. I was also sure I didn’t care. My arms went around her, pulling her tighter against me as her tongue pressed its way into my mouth. She was still holding my face and when she pulled her mouth away momentarily, she looked deep into my eyes. Her hips were moving slowly on me and my cock was pressing hard against her pussy. My jeans were hot at the juncture of our bodies and she closed her eyes and moaned softly as her hips rocked on me. I was so hungry for this woman. I pressed my lips to the base of her neck and kissed the soft V of her collarbone. Her head went back. Eyes closed, face tilted toward the ceiling, she leaned closer as my mouth moved lower. My tongue explored the deep cleft between her breasts and her hands went behind my head to pull me tighter. I slid my hands from her back and brought them up to feel her breasts through the fabric of her dress. So full, yet soft. Her nipples were pressing through the material and I let my fingers trail over them. Cassandra shuddered, turning her face back down to look at me. Her dark eyes clouded, her hips bucked, and she collapsed against me, pressing her face into my shoulder as she climaxed. I wasn’t a virgin at that point, but I’d never had anyone orgasm with such intensity before. Especially a grown woman. Especially with my pants still on. Cassandra leaned against me for a few more seconds, breathing deeply in my ear and stroking the back of my head, my hair damp from sweat. She sat up slowly and looked at my face. Then she kissed my lips and slid off my lap. My jeans were damp and my erection was straining against my Levis. The Blues Revisited Cassandra took my hand and I stood, following her into her bedroom. She stopped at the end of the bed and pulled her dress over her head, dropping it to the floor. All my masturbatory fantasies could never compare to the beauty standing in front of me. Her ebony skin shone in the room’s single lamp. Her nipples were like Hershey Kisses -- dark chocolate resting against the swell of lighter cocoa. Her full breasts were heavy, but firm, their weight causing the nipple to thrust upward and outward, as if being sucked by invisible forces. Her stomach was toned and smooth and her pubic hair had been trimmed to a heart-shaped patch of dark curls that glistened. As she stretched out on the waterbed, her breasts relaxed into two round shapes against her chest, but the nipples were ever vigilant. Cassandra softly patted the bed beside her. I started to crawl next to her, but she pushed me back. “A little overdressed for my taste, hun.” I pulled my shoes and socks off and threw my shirt onto the floor next to her dress. When I pulled my Levis and briefs off, my cock slapped up hard against my belly. “Mmmmm. Yes baby. How you’ve grown up.” I lowered myself on Cassandra, feeling her black velvet skin against mine. I kissed her from her lips to her neck and worked my way to those beautiful breasts, licking the nipples with the flat of my tongue. I noticed her breasts were lighter than her arms and shoulders. The lighter skin had the shape of a bikini top. “Something wrong, hun?” “No,” I said. “I just never realized that you could get a sun tan.” Cassandra slapped my bare bottom. “Bigot,” she said smiling. “Who me?” “Yeah, and you pretty well-hung for a white guy, too.” It was fun to be laughing in bed with a gorgeous woman underneath me. I started kissing Cassandra’s breasts, running my tongue between them, when I felt her hands squeezing my ass and pulling me up. I raised up on my elbows and Cassandra began kissing my neck, pulling against my ass and working her way down while edging me up. She slowly tongued my nipple, biting it and sucking much like I had done to her. All the time those dark, gorgeous eyes were on mine. “Raise up, baby.” I scooted up and put my hands on the headboard, watching Cassandra’s dark hands circle my cock. She rubbed the head against her nipple, leaving a glistening trail of precum on her skin. Then suddenly, as if teasing was no longer tolerable, she put her mouth over the head of my cock. I felt her tongue on the bottom of my shaft as she drew me deeper, then slowly let me slide out. The skin was so tight over the head of my cock that it looked like a ripe plum against her lips. Looking in my eyes, she sucked my cock deep in her mouth, and then started moving back and forth, essentially fucking her mouth with my hard penis. I was too young. She was too beautiful. It was too much. I was holding the headboard, looking down at this incredible woman with my cock going in and out of her mouth. I could feel her hands on my ass, pulling me in deep then releasing me. I didn’t even have time to warn her. Cassandra stopped moving and took the first surge of cum with her lips closed over the head and her tongue pressing against the underside. She blinked several times, her cheeks drawn in as she swallowed. Then she wrapped her hand around my cock, pulling it from her mouth, and pumped two smaller blasts against her neck and breasts. “Mmmmmmm, yes baby,” she purred. “My sweet, sweet baby.” I was breathing heavily, my hands white-knuckled against the headboard, looking down into the smiling face of my ebony goddess. My cum glittered like mother-of-pearl against her lips, chin and breasts and she made no attempt to wipe it away. I slid down, pressing her body under mine. I only hesitated a second before kissing her cum-coated lips, tasting myself on her tongue. When I realized it wasn’t so bad, I let my lips move on, using my mouth to smear my semen into her breasts. Cassandra arched her back and moaned, but didn’t take her eyes off me. It was as if the act of watching me taste my own cum was turning her on even more. I licked her hard nipples and kissed my way down her belly. “Oh baby...yes,” she said, moving her hips against my face. “Please, baby...” I moved down to her ankles, kissing my way up the inside of her leg. I was right in my earlier judgment. Smooth as black glass. As I kissed, I raised her leg, tonguing the inside fold of her knee, bringing her thigh to rest on my shoulder. I used my fingers to part her dark labia. Her clit was swollen and wet and I made my mouth into a small O and blew a stream of cool air over it. Cassandra moaned and bucked her hips, reaching down to grab my hair and pull my mouth onto her. I kissed her wet pussy, then circled her clit with my tongue. When I sucked it between my lips, I pressed the flat of my tongue against it and wiggled it. I pulled her other leg over my shoulder and began tongue fucking her pussy, but Cassandra pulled me tight, holding my head motionless against her. “No, please...” she said, breathing heavily. “...like before.” I turned my attention back to licking and sucking her clit, remembering her orgasm from dry humping my crotch. She obviously liked clitoral stimulation and I wasn’t going to let her down. I slid my hands up her impossibly smooth legs and began flicking her clit, strumming it with my tongue like her clit was a guitar string and her climax was a blues rift. I slid a finger deep inside to feel how wet she was and she responded by moaning and calling my name. I worked the finger in and out slowly as I tongued her and it didn’t take long to earn my reward. Cassandra made a sound something like “Shhhhhhh...” and then all hell broke loose. The quiet climax she’d had with me in the living room was a thing of the past. Bucking, straining, pulling my hair and all but screaming, Cassandra bore down against my finger inside her and came hard. I wasn’t sure what I should be doing, but with her death grip against my skull pulling my face into her, I kept flicking her clit with my tongue until she pushed me away. She was trying to catch her breath and shaking so hard it scared me. I slid up, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight against my body. It was a few minutes before she caught her breath. I kissed her and asked if she was OK. “Oh yesss,” she said, pushing my damp hair off my forehead. “I’m much better than just ‘OK.’” Cassandra ran the her fingernails down my back, over my ass and swept them around my hips. She grasped my hard cock in both hands. “Already?” she asked in a deep, dreamy voice. I shrugged. “Sorry.” “Shhhhhhh,” she put a finger to my lips. “No. I’m not sorry and neither are you.” She rolled me over to my back. Then she threw a leg over my pelvis and settled slowly on to me, enveloping my cock in her wet heat. I remember thinking how beautiful her breasts were as she leaned back, one arm behind her, the other flat on my stomach. I could see my cock going in and out of her. I reached up to cup her breasts and she put both of her hands on top of mine. I was looking in her dark eyes, moving my hips under her, thrusting as much as I could as she ground her hips into me. “What are you thinking?” she asked me, still moving on me. “I was thinking that I might be too happy to ever sing the blues again,” I told her. She giggled. So did I. Then she laughed. I did too. I was like trying not to laugh in church. The harder we tried, the more we laughed. Everytime she laughed, her pussy would clench, gripping my cock. I watched her face quickly turn from mirth to desire as her climax took her by surprise. It was so incredible that I lost all control and orgasmed with her, spraying hot cum deep inside her clenching pussy. She pressed herself against me, breathing deeply into my shoulder. I could feel her slick breasts against my heaving chest. “That...” she gasped, her lips touching my neck, “Was fan-fucking-tastic.” “Well, you know what they say?” She raised up on one elbow so she could look in my eyes. “What’s that, hun?” “Once you’ve had white, you’re set for the night.” She sighed and pressed her cheek against my chest. “Bigot,” she said. Then softer, “Am I set for the rest of the night?” I laughed. “If you start me up, I’ll never stop.”