7 comments/ 91937 views/ 7 favorites Salima the Magnificent By: miskeivitch I was late arriving at Chicago O'Hare, having left Canada late on an airline that always ended up at the bottom of customer satisfaction surveys. I usually avoided flying this outfit but the fare on the weekend was so cheap that I convinced my company to spend the savings on a hotel for the weekend. This suited me since I always hate rushing to a conference or meeting and I try and get there early anyway. My bags fortunately weren't lost this time. My flight was just 4 hours later than I wanted to be, late at night due to the time difference. I gathered my suitcase and my laptop and headed towards the taxis. This trip had been on my mind for some time and not just because the conference would be an interesting one. I live in a part of Canada where there's a distinct shortage of black people. True, my city was a good blues and jazz city and we always gave black performers such a good reception that they always wanted to come back and play again for us. Still, I could only count one black man as a friend and the only black woman that existed in my world was a checkout clerk at my grocery. It was safe to say that I was open to socializing with black people but I never had any real opportunity. That was about to change, the inexperience I mean. So, now I was in the city that was famous for its Blues scene. The other reason I was looking forward to this trip was because my marriage was not going well. I was 48, still married but not happy. To add to my misery, I still got approving looks from young chicks. Obviously, women didn't regard me as on old fart so I didn't need to be trapped in a miserable marriage. It was good to get away from it all, even if it would be for only a week, and hopefully I was going to hear some good music this weekend. I got to the terminal exit and I heard a black woman's voice say: "What hotel you go to?" That was my first glimpse of her; she was black and she was beautiful. She wasn't the white woman in a black skin that seemed so popular on television. Instead, here I was faced with genuine African beauty. She wore no makeup that I could see. Wholesome woman appealed to me more than high fashion models. She was a few inches shorter than me, which was a slight surprise. I had imagined that most black woman would be like African goddesses, towering over me, sort of like a basketball player in drag. I came back to reality, gave her the name of my hotel and she said "13 dollars by the van. Is that OK?" I liked how she looked and talked and I wanted a little more conversation so I started asking questions. "How much is the taxi, anything extra for luggage, how long is the trip?" and so on. The others in the van started getting impatient with my chatting up the driver so I gave her $20. Her hand touched mine and slid erotically along my palm as she gave me the change. I wondered if that had any significance or if she was just in a hurry. I was surprised how easily this woman lifted my heavy luggage on top of the pile at the back of the van. We arrived downtown 30 minutes later and then one by one the passengers were dropped off. It seemed like a roundabout way to go and we passed up and down what looked like the same street again and again. I was the last to be let off and here my hotel was on the street that was now so familiar, having been up and down it so many times. Suddenly the light came on in my head; she wanted me to be last out. She took my luggage out and placed it on the ground and was standing there looking shyly and innocently down. As I said, somehow I appeal to young chicks but I wasn't sure until now if my appeal crossed race barriers. Could she just be looking for a tip or was she actually interested in me? I chose Plan B: "Are you finished your shift for the day?" "Yes, I'm taking the van back to the garage." "Do you have to go home right away or can you join after you leave off the van?" Her shyness evaporated. She smiled and we agreed to meet in the lobby in an hour. Not only had I lucked out and set a date with a good looking black chick but I lucked out at the hotel check-in. The clerk said that they were renovating but they would upgrade my room. The room must have been the Presidential Suite with a separate bedroom and a view of the skyline and Lake Michigan from the main area. I called home to say that I had arrived safely and found that my wife could successfully nag me by telephone. I had a shower to get rid of the travel sweat. I took a few minutes to lounge on my newfound luxury sofa and think about what might happen next. Possibly, the barriers of race, age, education and culture would be too high and we would just have a drink and go our separate ways. On the other hand, there was a chance that we might be compatible underneath all the differences and something wonderful could happen between us. I went to the lobby at the time we agreed to. My African Queen stood near the entrance with a look that betrayed discomfort. She was still in her neat, blue uniform. I walked slowly and deliberately, the same way one would to a frightened animal. I don't know why but I felt that I would intimidate her if I moved too quickly. "Thanks for coming. Why don't we go inside, have a drink and some conversation. First we should give each other a name; for instance, I'm Steven but you can call me Steve if you want." She smiled and showed her white even teeth. "I'm Salima but if you shorten that to Sally, I'm out of here." "I hear you, Salima. I would get angry if anyone called me 'Stevie'." We sat down, ordered and started to talk. My fears about barriers faded. Salima lacked education and polish but she wasn't stupid and she was articulate. Best of all, she only acted shy. When Salima talked, she wasn't shy at all, something I needed in a woman at that moment. I was in a new situation trying to put the make on a woman I had just met and I was in a foreign country as well. We talked of our families and how we grew up, poor in both cases. Being black and female, Salima was not so fortunate as her poverty forced her to drop out of high school and work. I was able to go to university on scholarship despite our family's poverty. Our families were much the same and we had the same good and bad relationships with brothers and sisters, had been bullied in school the same way. Yes, we talked and talked about everything and some might say about nothing. We had sat at a booth and Salima placed herself around the corner from me. As our conversation became more detailed and intimate, exploring more inward things such as our outlook on life and values, we moved closer in the booth. I never noticed the physical closeness pacing the intimacy of the talk. Finally our hands touched and Salima's eyes looked down and it was the same shy expression I had seen when I asked her to meet me. "I've never met a white guy like you before, Steven. Most white guys never look at a black woman in a way that acknowledges she's a woman, never mind ask her what she might think about anything. I like you. What do you think about me?" "I just never had the opportunity to be friends with a black woman in Canada. Now that I've met you, I like what I see." "I've been dropping off people at this hotel for a year and this is the first time I've been inside. What are the rooms like?" I surprised myself with how easily the right answer came out:: "Why don't you come with me and see mine. I managed to snag one of the luxury suites." Here I was in an American city for just a couple of hours and already I was inviting a beautiful black woman to my room. As we entered my room, Salima walked down the short corridor into the palatial room and let out a low whistle. "Never seen anything like this before." "Actually, neither have I. My company usually puts me up in the cheapest rooms." I walked up behind her, put my arm around her waist and breathed in the scent of her hair. A healthy woman's hair must be chock full of pheromones because the scent of a woman's hair always excites me. I concluded that Salima was a healthy woman. "I've had two bits of luck tonight. Getting this room and meeting a beautiful and intelligent woman." "Nobody's ever called me beautiful before. Are you putting me on?" "No, in my part of Canada you would be considered exotic and highly desirable. I am a typical Canadian and I do desire you." Salima didn't resist my taking her hand and leading her over to the sofa facing the city, We sat like that, looking out over the city for some time, thinking our own thoughts. I broke the mood, reached up and moved the hair that had so aroused me aside. Her neck was long and slender. I kissed that neck and Salima turned and held me. I looked down into Salima's warm brown eyes and discovered they communicated more than the cold of blue eyes. It seemed that her eyes could conceal nothing from me. We kissed, first slowly and gently and then more passion. One thing about wholesome women is that they are not concerned about their makeup during lovemaking. I unbuttoned her uniform jacket and was able to placed my arm around her back. Salima responded with a hand underneath my shirt. We were still shy and proceeding slowly. I think that it was because neither of us had quite met anyone like the other and we had to savor every step on this journey through new territory. Slowly, we removed each other's clothing to reveal more and more of the other's body and prolong enjoying the enchanting contrasts between our colour as well as the wonderful differences between a man and a woman. Finally, we were naked except for underwear and I sat back to take a better look at my black beauty. Salima's underwear wasn't at all sexy. Salima was a real woman with a real job and no use for skimpy underwear. It was working woman's underwear, sensible and bore the mark of many washings. If Salima had set out to get laid tonight, she would have prepared her underwear better. She shyly tried to cover her semi-nakedness. I had to set her at ease. "Don't be shy, Salima. You're beautiful. I want to see more of that beautiful black body. I've never seen a black woman with her clothes off. "I'm not shy, Steve but the air conditioning's cold. Can you hold me again so I can warm up." "I can do better than that. Let's get under some blankets and we'll be more comfortable.' I led Salima to the Presidential bedroom. Salima gave a soft gasp at the size of the bed. I pulled aside the covers for her and she gracefully slid between the covers. I snuggled in beside her and we began a slow exploration of each other's body. I could tell I was with a woman like none other I had known. Her neck was slender and long and I planted kisses all over it. I breathed in the clean, sweaty smell that surrounded Salima's body. The smell intoxicated me. It was fresh perspiration accumulated in who knows how many hours of work she had done that day. Salima's skin felt fuzzier than a white woman's but pleasing. Her hair even though straightened had a wiry feel. Salima's body felt soft and feminine to me. I like that feel although I was surprised after the strength she showed with my luggage. Women who are too hard-bodied intimidate me. Salima wasn't shy about putting her hands all over my body as well. I've made love to a few flatbackers in my life but Salima was definitely not one of them. I unclipped Salima's bra with the one hand that wasn't busy caressing her delicious body – it's a skill that I picked up as a teenager during couch rugby sessions and I was happy to see that I still had the touch. In the dark, I could feel that Salima's breasts were not overly large but rather shapely and firm. I could feel large, erect nipples that I gently stroked between my fingers. Salima's uniform had effectively disguised her breasts but I was on a mission of discovery tonight. According to D. H. Lawrence, small breasts are the mark of a passionate woman. The way Salima was responding to my hand on her breasts, I wasn't about to argue with D. H. I gently moved my free hand over her breast, firm enough so that I didn't tickle but not so firm as to hurt. Every woman will respond to the firm but gentle approach and if she wants more firmness she will ask. Salima didn't say a word All she gave out were animal-like noises as I felt and then tasted those black breasts. My secret for handling breasts is to caress all around, kiss all around and only then to kiss the nipples. Salima's noises went up 10 decibels in reaction to my tongue on her nipples. Salima grabbed my wrist and tried to push it downward on her stomach. Slowly, I said, I want to make the moment last. In my own good time my hand moved over Salima's soft and slightly rounded stomach. My hand passed over the mound of Venus guarded by her underwear and caressed Salima's thighs. Simultaneously, we slipped our hands under the back of each other's underwear. Salima's buttocks were bigger and firmer than what I was used to from white women. My hand couldn't hold even one cheek. I could just caress them. Salima was more aggressive at this point and put her hand gently on my pecker. Most women don't realize that a man's dick is as sensitive as a woman's pussy and should be treated with the same consideration. Need I add that my African Queen knew what I needed and gave plenty of it. My hand gently rubbed her womanhood directly, unguarded by cotton gussets. Her hair went around her lips and a little way down her thighs. It felt tight and wiry just as I had fantasized it would. Salima's beaver hair and the space between Salima's thighs were wet. Salima panted: "I want you now, NOW!". I ignored her and slowly pulled down her working woman's panties, revealing the essence of the black woman I had met. Again I heard Salima say "Now!" Sorry, woman, but I still had something more urgent before my dick got into action.. I approached Salima between her legs, put my arms around her thighs, spread them apart and began a slow muff dive. I'm good at muffing I think it must be my French ancestors – that DNA comes in handy when needed. My tongue penetrated that magnificent curly black furburger, up and down, over the inner lips, between them and to just below the clitoris, never on top of it. You can drive a woman wild by not putting pressure directly on the clitoris, always on the bottom side and never on the top. Not that Salima needed encouragement to be wild. It was a good thing I had hold of her solid thighs or all that thrashing might have kept me away from my "work". I finally heard the screams of an orgasm. This is the right moment for me. A woman's internal muscles tighten during an orgasm and it doesn't matter where she's been or what she's done. I'm average in size but the lady thinks I'm a horse as I enter her slowly, pushing those muscles aside that have just tightened from the orgasm. I work my pecker in slowly, pushing, withdrawing slightly, never in a hurry. Salima must have had the orgasm of the century just then because the process took 10 minutes to just get me all in. Some young chicks actually go for older guys because we're patient enough to take the time to turn the woman on. Once we get the dick in,, we can last forever. Salima was obviously enjoying me but even the best of us can't last forever. After several of her orgasms that increasingly clamped on my dick, I couldn't stand it any longer and had a full body orgasm. A full body orgasm in a man is the one where the tips of the toes to the tips of the fingers tingle just like the dick and the inside of the head feels like it will explode. Not many women know how to give a man that kind of orgasm and, by luck I had found the one who could do it to me. When you've just been where Salima and I had been, it takes some time to come down. It takes a well-fucked woman even longer to return to reality than a man. I just held her in my arms and her breathing slowed down to normal. We lay there for half an hour, not wanting to break the spell of what had just gone on between us. Finally, Salima stirred and said: "Honey, it's been wonderful but I have to go now." "Don't go Salima. You're the first black woman I've ever made love to. It's been so great that I want you to stay here all night." "Steve, you're the first guy who ever ate my pussy. You're the first white guy I've ever been to bed with. In fact you're the first guy I've fucked except for my husband." "You're married? I've been holding your hand all night and I didn't find any ring." "We're just po' black folks and po' people can't afford fancy things like wedding rings. Yes, I'm married and that's why I have to go home. My husband might be in a mean mood if I get home late. But don't you worry. He's my problem and I can handle that. But how will you handle your woman. I saw you've got a wedding ring on that white hand of yours." "Salima, she's thousands of miles away but you're right here with me and we've discovered great things about each other tonight. I'm asking you again if you can stay." "Don't start getting serious about me. Here's what I'll do. I'll try and get away tomorrow and meet you here for brunch. Is that OK?" I agreed, Salima quickly put her uniform back on, kissed me and left. I relaxed in the now-empty bed and went over the wonderful evening. I wasn't certain if I should have agreed not to get serious about her. I was beginning to love her and it might be a promise I had any hope of keeping. I just prayed that she could "get away". She did but that's another chapter in my story. I slept well into the morning as a result of the previous night's workout I had with Salima. Waking up, I went over the previous evening to see if a clearer head would change what I thought and felt about this woman who had suddenly come into my life. I went over every word, every action and I still felt the same as the moment she had left. Here I was in a strange city and falling in love with a woman who would be considered exotic where I came from. There was a knock at the door. I hoped it wasn't the management complaining about the noise of our lovemaking last night. I put on my robe, opened the door and there was my new lover, now out of uniform. Her dress was not fashionable but it suited her figure and her features in every way. "Well, don't just stand there looking, invite me in" she said. "Did you get any questions from your husband about why you were so late?" "No, I just told him that a driver didn't show and I had to work a little 'overtime'. He just said 'fine with me' and rolled over. When I woke up, he was heading out the door. I said, 'Where you going?' He just said 'I'm going have a few beers and lunch with the guys and then we're off to the Cubs game. Oh, after that, we're shooting some pool so don't wait up.' Well, I'm not sitting around the house for him. So, what are you waiting for? let's get going." she asked. I said that I had to have a shower and coffee, but that shouldn't take long. I was wrong because, just as I got the water temperature adjusted right, I was attacked by a bar of soap sliding over my back. I turned and saw that a naked Salima had climbed into the shower with me. I don't know if the hotel manager figured out why his water bill was so high that day but there was nothing that we didn't wash on each other. As I saw, washed and adored every lovely part of Salima's black body, I could feel my dick stiffening. Finally I soaped up Salima's bush and then parted her pussy lips. As my soapy fingers glided between her inner lips and up towards Salima's black clitoris, she dropped to her knees and swallowed half my dick. That made me really stiff and Salima backed my dick out. Keeping her hand on my now stainless steel dick, she turned the water off and said: "Come with me white boy. I'm going to show you what a black girl can do." Salima led me by the dick to the living room and told me to sit down on the couch. When a woman has a man by the dick, he'd better follow her orders. Salima knelt over me, lowered herself, inserted my dick between her soapy legs and gave out a half-gasp, half sigh. Salima wasted no time in taking me all in. Salima felt incredibly tight, despite all the soap and her own lubrication. As she drove my dick further and further in, I thought she would tear the skin off it or crush it into pulp. Finally Salima's curly black bush tangled with my brown pubes. Salima's gasp/sighs turned into moaning as her first orgasm mounted, washed over her and then subsided. Salima tightened even more around my dick but I was able to hold on. I knew from our first night that Salima was hot, relentless and multi-orgasmic. I would be giving her much more pleasure before this was over. Salima the Magnificent I reached up and began to touch Salima's breasts. In the daylight, I could see the large circles of her areolas surrounding long, fingerlike nipples. Salima's nipples stood firm and erect, her twin erections keeping my stiff dick company. My hand glided smoothly over Salima's wet breasts and she began to sigh again. Salima lifted herself slightly and then slammed into me, slamming my dick into her mass of internal contracting muscles. Salima pulled herself up and then slammed me in again. Salima picked up the tempo and started to play with her clitoris at the same time. "Grab my ass Steve. Dig those white fingers of yours into my black ass!" I tried to oblige but Salima's ass was bouncing up and down that it was hard to hold on. Even if I could grab black buttocks, her muscles were so tense I had no hope of digging in. Finally, she took her hand from her pussy and jammed my dick all the way in. Now, I dug my fingers into that magnificent round black ass. Salima did some small fast shuddering strokes as her insides tightened around my dick. We both screamed in passion as our orgasms came simultaneously and rushed furiously through our bodies. Salima leaned forward and placed a breast on my mouth, as if she realized that she had denied me something during our love-making. I kissed one and then the other. She reluctantly withdrew me and white semen flowed over her black legs and on to my lap. "Let's clean ourselves, Steve. I don't want to give a sister more work cleaning pecker tracks off the sofa." Salima left, started the shower and I washed my dick at the sink. I dressed and waited for Salima to dry her hair. When she was finished, I discovered that a black woman is no different from a white woman in at least one way. Salima took the rest of the towels for herself. Fortunately, the breakfast brunch was still open. I felt that all the eyes were on us as we were the only interracial couple in the dining room. Salima said she had never been in the hotel before but I was surprised she had never been to a breakfast brunch before. She seemed to be suspicious of anything she encountered before, such as blintzes and lox. I explained what everything was and suggested she try a little bit of what was new. I told her to shun the scrambled eggs as they were always rubbery and tasteless in a buffet. When we sat down, I said: "Salima, you have to tell me why you're cheating on your husband with another married man." "OK, if you tell me first why you come here all the way from Canada to chase black pussy" "That sounds fair. Yes, I am married but my wife seems to talk to me only when she wants to criticize me or to tell me to do something for her. When I've done it, she never show appreciation. She's never civil to me and the sex has become so routine and lifeless that I don't feel I've been really laid for a year. So, I came starved for love and when I met you at the airport, you were so exotic and beautiful that I wanted to talk to you. In Canada, we don't have many black people so I really had never had a black woman even as a friend. When we talked, you weren't intimidating or aggressive and I began to want to know you in the Biblical sense. I never imagined that sex with a black woman would be like it was last night or this morning." "Well Steve, you've been kind, shown me some respect, really the first time any guy, black or white, has treated me like a lady. You don't know how many jerks I drive around. It's like having a van full of my husband. Now, he ain't too bad a man. He shouts at me a lot but he never beat me. He just don't pay attention no more to me. He come and go and hang around with his drinking buddies. So, I guess I was ready for any one who said a kind word to me and it was my luck that it was you. You were nice to me last night so I let you get into my pants. No, actually I wanted you in my pants. The more we talked, the more I hoped you would ask me up to your room. So, I got no complaints about the bed work you've done. I don't have any experience other than my husband but you're great. You're gentle and patient and you let me have it just the way I want it, every time." "Salima, I thought it was you who was giving it to me the way I wanted it. I want it that way the rest of my life." "Don't you go getting stuck on me Steve. Enjoy every moment we have together and watch what happens." As we talked about what we liked about each other and our superb love-making, I swear that I heard the piano player launch into "Ebony and Ivory." We agreed to talk only about what was developing between us and never mention our spouses. Any further whining about our bad marriages would ruin our encounter. I agreed that we would enjoy each moment to the fullest. One rule that I said I would not consider was Salima's order not to get stuck on her. I said that my feelings were mine and she couldn't tell me what emotions I could or could not have. We left the hotel restaurant and started a tour of Salima's Chicago. We walked through beautiful parks and marinas, something I thought couldn't exist in a large city. Salima suggested we look at some shops. I was about to explain that I hoped she wasn't looking to be her sugar daddy but she cut me short: "I hate shopping for junk. Anyway what would I tell my husband when I got home with something new? I just like to look." Since we weren't interested in buying, we developed a game with snobbish clerks. I would let Salima start looking at something and I would watch from a distance. When I suspected that a clerk was putting Salima down, I would roll up and start to play the part of her old sugar daddy. It was a complete riot watching the store clerk and sometimes even the manager undertake racial damage control. Then we would walk out completely insulted, stifling our giggles until we were out of sight of the store. People on the streets must have thought we were an old married couple, complete idiots or both, the way we would suddenly change from angry to laughing. In a sense, we were a couple as we had already lived a lot together even though we hadn't been together 24 hours. Salima then said she was hungry and asked if I wanted to find out what soul food was all about. Of course I wanted to and that's how I got to go to my first soul food restaurant. The restaurant had seedy tables and chairs but a very modern buffet table, clean and inviting. I sampled everything, the chitlins, the greens and other things I can't recall but Salima was my guide. She told me that I must be the strangest white guy in the world because I enjoyed soul food. I told her that poor people were ingenious at making cheap ingredients taste good. I promised her that I would show her what poor white people did with cheap ingredients. After supper, Salima took me to some jazz and Blues clubs. She liked traditional Blues just like me. Could she dance? Salima was such a natural dancer that she made me dance and enjoy it, even though I am far from natural. Salima was polite and said I was quite a good dancer for a "tight-assed white guy". I noticed that everyone was polite but not particularly friendly to us. Salima put it this way: "Think of how people would treat your sister and a black man if they went together to a white club." When the clubs closed, I asked Salima to come back to my hotel. I said that I had to have her again. This time there were no games, no shyness. As soon as we entered my room, Salima wasted no time on preliminaries. She took off all my clothes, dropped hers to the floor and pulled me to the bedroom. "Tonight I'm going to show you as good a time to pay you back for the good time you've shown me. I'm going to fuck your white brains out right now." As I wondered what could be better than what we had already done, Salima shoved me roughly to the bed and pinned me down. Salima started making love to me like a woman possessed. I think it was the evening of dancing and the erotic sounds of the Blues that sent her over the edge into uncontrollable passion. Salima smothered me with kisses up and down the body. Her luscious soft lips found spots on me I never knew were erogenous. Every time I tried to get involved, she would gently say: "Just enjoy it. Not many men ever get this treatment from their lover." She was right, as usual. So I enjoyed but I wondered why Salima deliberately avoided the dick, the #1 erogenous zone. Then I found out. Slowly and gently, she closed in on it and then kissed, licked and gently stroked the shaft, never kissing the tip. This was agonizing pleasure, please forgive the oxymoron. Finally, when I thought I couldn't stand it any more, she got on top of me and started to rub my dick up and down between her pussy lips. I thought I would go off but it was Salima who had a shuddering orgasm. Then she came down on my dick and grunted. "Man, I've never been as tight as this. Do you ever get me horny." Normally, I'm not a fan of the woman on top as that's usually the position favoured by dominating ballbusters and that type of woman doesn't know how or care how to take care of a man. Salima was different. She knew what I wanted and she knew how to get what she wanted out of me. When she finally took me all in, Salima began to stroke me in and out, long and slow, extending the pleasure of the moment. She knew exactly how to keep us both on the edge. Yes, Salima was on top of me and on top of her form tonight. Finally, when Salima had enough, she reached behind and gently took my balls. She tightened inside around my dick and we both screamed as we had an orgasm together. We collapsed, exhausted and perspiring. "You're magnificent," I said. "Nothing more than you deserve after what you've done for me", she replied. Then Salima started to become restless, just like the night before. "I see you want to go. Can't you stay with me just one night?" Salima said "I've got to work tomorrow and I can't show up in party clothes. I have to go home and get my uniform. Don't worry lover, I'll get away early tomorrow." Salima kissed me and made me stay in the bed. I could hear the soft rustling of clothes as she found the clothes that she had dropped on the way to the bedroom. Finally, the door opened and closed and I drifted off to well-laid slumber. I was sleeping peacefully, dreaming of my newfound lover when I heard knocking at my door. Was that the housekeeper because I had forgotten the "Do Not Disturb" sign? I got up, grabbed the houserobe and opened the door. There was Salima in her uniform with that smile I had grown to love. "Hurry up my sleepyhead. I have to go to work this afternoon and we don't have all day." I had a quick shower but today, I didn't have any company. Salima made coffee, which I definitely needed, given my lack of sleep. Salima was cheerful and kept telling me to hurry up. "Woman, don't you ever sleep?" I asked. "Not when I've got a great day planned like this one. You're about to learn more about your religious African-American but you've got to drink your coffee and get going. Hurry up, Steve." We hurried to the Elevated and caught a train that was headed to a part of Chicago Salima hadn't shown me yet. "OK, where are we headed?" I asked. "We are going to Black Church" "Church? Salima darling, has it occurred to you that we are a pair of cheating adulterers and maybe we shouldn't go to church? Besides, what if one of your friends see you show up with a white guy that isn't your husband." "Steve, if people who done wrong stopped going to church, even the preacher wouldn't be there on Sunday. Anyway, I picked out a church where they don't know me at all, never mind some white guy from Canada." Salima's church of choice that Sunday was a Pentecostal church with lots of hugging, amens and dancing in the aisles. Did they hug a lot in this church? Well, I pressed more black flesh that morning than I ever did before or since. Could they sing? They sang all the old time gospel favourites for those of us who may be a little older but the teenagers sang what they called "urban gospel". To me, urban gospel was just rap with clean lyrics but what did I know then about Black church. When you're new at something, go with the flow. Want to know something? I actually liked it. Compared to white church where the minister is up front doing all the work, in Black Church everyone gets involved in what's happening, singing and dancing along. Even the preacher was peppered with comments and encouragement from the congregation as he gave his sermon. Why am I telling you about a church in what is supposed to be an erotic story? When I was studying the poems of John Donne, my English teacher made the comment that there was a fine line between the religious and the erotic. I had to wait until I went to Black Church to see just how erotic religion could be. My Salima was at her most sexy when she was singing in the church and her hands were in the air. When we got back downtown, I said "Now you get to find out how poor white folks eat." I had in mind a Polish restaurant I had spotted when we were on our fantasy "shopping spree". The first thing I ordered was flazcke. Salima said "That's soup made out of chitlins." "Salima, when peasants in Europe were not much better than slaves to the nobility, they had to eat what the lords threw away. They made the best of it and developed food that looks a lot like soul food." I showed Salima that most of the menu was what a poor Polish peasant would eat and not much different from what the slaves ate. By the time we left, Salima agreed that poor white and black people had to do whatever was needed to survive. We went back to my room at the Hotel. Housekeeping had by now restored some order there. I wasn't sure if I could make love knowing that this could be our last time. We became shy with each other again and slowly started lovemaking. We moved around the suite, partly dancing and partly taking off each other's clothes. The music for the dance was inside each of us but we had become so close that it was the same for us both. Once completely naked, we moved towards the bed and made love slowly, with subdued passion. Salima was not in a frenzy as she was the previous evening but I sensed she was more confident. As we made love, I moved my hands down her body and played with her soft stomach. This is an erogenous zone that men miss too often when making love. From the reaction I got, Salima had missed it too much in her life. She became noisier and noisier as I awoke her passions and lust for the last time. My hand then moved over her curly beaver and clasped her womanhood gently. I massaged her bush, bringing out more noises. Remember the talkative psycho from Sling Blade? I'm a bit like him because I like a big bush and Salima had what I liked. A big bush makes for a little cushioning of the hand when massaging the beaver and the soft touch drives a woman crazy. Salima's arms were around me and held me more tightly as the noise level increased. I made my way through that magnificent bush, spread her lips and placed my fingers inside her pussy lips for the first time. Fingers actually require more skill than tongues as the strength of a finger can actually numb an erect clitoris. The secret is to lubricate the finger (and the passionate Salima made this easy) and slide it between the lips. Never rub dry lips or you can end up cut off for the night. Also, avoid touching spicy food with the fingers or you're on the road to a sexual disaster. Another secret for fingers is to start well below the clitoris and move up, along the sides but never directly on top of the clitoris. Salima responded to this treatment and nearly broke my back and my eardrum as she exploded in an orgasm. At this point, Salima and I almost had our first fight as we both wanted to go oral on the other. I calmed things down by suggesting that 69 was the solution. Besides being part French, I have another secret for 69. I don't think I mentioned my beard, but it's handy to have for 69. I don't know if that is what attracts the chicks to me but a beard will tickle the inside of the woman's thighs during 69. Done right, she will go crazy as all the curly hair gets tangled together. Salima's bush went down her thighs slightly, increasing the contact with the beard. Salima had an uncanny ability to respond to what I performed on her but never forget her part of the job. I thought I had the tongue of death but Salima was awesome, the way her tongue went up, down, around my balls and up again, never touching the tip of the dick. After Salima came, I got up, told her to get on her knees and I took her from the back. She was even tighter from this direction and I checked if I was dipping the wick in the right spot. Salima was terrific that Sunday but I decided I would make this last as long as I could, stroking in and out slowly. Salima wasn't much of a conversationalist during lovemaking and, to tell you the truth, talkative white women are really covering up the fact that they aren't having a good time. I prefer my white women quiet during sex. Salima's talked all right but it was right to the point. Salima started giving out specific directions for the doggie position, telling me how deep, when to slow down, when to speed up. I think it was good for her but I can tell you it was perfect for me. Finally, I was in as deep as I could get. The tip of my cock was way past her cervix. I had my hands on Salima's wide hips and I was giving her the short strokes. My stomach was slapping on her ass cheeks and, as my balls swung between her thick thighs, I felt my ball hairs catching on her bush. Salima's moaning became louder as the short strokes came quicker. With loud screams and groans, we both came simultaneously. We collapsed and Salima kept her back to me, holding my hand to her firm breasts. We lay together until Salima's breathing slowed to normal. I felt that restlessness I had come to hate and Salima got up and dressed quickly and tidied her hair. "I have to go to work now, Steven and we can't see each other any more. I don't regret anything we've done, except that I made you too serious about me. Remember I told you not to get stuck on me. You taught me what real love is like and I want that now with my man. You taught me that it can work between a man and a woman but I have to go back to my man and make it work." 'Salima," I protested. "We're perfect together" "Yes, I love to be with you. I always dreamed as a teenager about what the perfect man for me would be like. I never imagined the man for me would be white, almost 20 years older than me and live thousands of miles away. Really, you've made me happy this weekend but one thing about this weekend that I learned was that I just don't fit into white society. You had fun at the club and the church but I don't think you would fit in with my friends, either. Besides, if we had children, you're older than I am and you wouldn't be around when the kids were going through their most difficult years. They would need a father because they wouldn't be black or white. If you think black kids have problems growing up, interracial kids have more problems combined than black or white kids. Plus, you and I are still just as married as when we met two days ago. Can you see that it's too complicated to try and get together? So, please don't try and look me up. I'll miss you but I'll be fine. I want you to enjoy your conference and learn a lot. Please go back to your woman and make it work with her." With that, she was gone. She was going to give strangers a ride in her van after giving me the ride of my life in my bed and on the sofa. I respected Salima's wishes and resisted the temptation to track her down. I was miserable all week, longing for Salima's companionship, love and for a return of the best sex I ever had in my life. My misery only increased when a couple of white women at the conference hit on me, implying that they wanted to find out what had been so fascinating to the black lady that I was seen with. Salima the Magnificent When it came time to leave for the airport, I hoped that it would be Salima's van. I noticed that it was the same taxi company that Salima worked for and a black face was at the wheel. For a moment, I thought Salima had come back for me. My face fell as a young black man got out and placed my bag in the back. On the way to the airport, I decided to go against Salima's wishes one more time and I asked the driver: "Do you know a woman driver by the name of Salima? She drove me in from the airport." "Must have been another company that drove you in. We got lots of women drivers but I don't know of any Salima working for us." So, she gave me a wrong name because she knew I wouldn't listen to her and would try to look her up. Not only was "Salima" smart, beautiful and great in bed but she displayed a real strength of character in her determination not to meet again. I often wonder what would have happened if she had allowed me to find her. Would I have ended up shot by a jealous husband or would I have brought her to Canada, divorced my wife, married my black beauty and lived happily ever after? Probably Salima was right and it would have been too complicated. I wrote this story to tell the world what a remarkable woman I met in Chicago. My weekend with Salima was the happiest of my life.