9 comments/ 15614 views/ 6 favorites Michael Jackson Masquerade Surprise By: andtheend Caucasian man fools a black princess into believing he's black, too. Had he not worn Michael Jackson's trademark sequined gloves, she would have known from the color of his hands, no doubt, that he wasn't a black man, but a Caucasian man impersonating the late, great Michael Jackson for Halloween. Compared to black men, much in the way that white men can't jump, white men can't dance either. Yet, he could. Starting with the Moonwalk and finishing on his tippy toes, he had all of Michael's moves down perfectly, even the split, when sliding across the dance floor on his inner thighs and buttocks. Good thing there wasn't a nail protruding from a loose floorboard. On the surface, aren't they all, it was a match made in Heaven and love at first sight, when seeing one another from across a crowded dance floor. The fact that he was dressed as Michael Jackson and she was dressed as Janet Jackson was what made her first notice him. The fact that he could dance, boy could he dance, was what attracted her to him. Oh, yeah, there's nothing like a symbiotic brother getting together with his surrogate sister for some romantic rubbing and horny sweating on the dance floor. As if doing a sexually explicit, ritual dance around the imagined lustful fire that burned inside her, he was shaking his ass on the parquet in the way that any woman would fantasize him shaking his ass in bed. Wild thing, I think I love you, screamed through her brain, while watching him dance. "Look at that man dance," said Desiree to her friend, Venus. "He moves almost as good as Michael." "Hmm, hmm, I've been watching him all night. If you don't move on him, sister, I will," said Venus to Desiree with a lascivious laugh and a forward jerk of her head, as if she was inserting a visual exclamation point. With his style and fashion, by his walk and talk, he had all the moves and swagger of a fine, black man. He was good, real good in making all the women want him, when he was strutting his stuff on the dance floor. Every women's eyes were upon him and shining for him, just as every women's pussy, no doubt, glistened with the imagined touch and gleamed with the imagined lick of him. He had his pick of women. Tall and lean, he had a tight, little ass that Desiree appeared enamored with, that is, whenever not staring at the bulbous bulge of his cock. He was fine, so very fine and, a done deal that she just needed to sign his contract with a kiss, she had already made up her mind to claim him. "You'd better not put any claims on that man. That man is mine, Venus, all mine." Whenever he spoke his sexy, suggestive words to her, his voice reminded her of Barry White whispering sweet nothing not on his record but in her ear. She imagined him sweet talking her, before making passionate love to her. His voice was as deep and as sweet as brown sugared molasses that poured out over her dark chocolate skin. Beneath his Michael Jackson mask, she imagined his skin as dark as Don Cornelius of Soul Train and, at least, as dark as her skin. They'd make beautiful, dark chocolate babies, a color so pure, her ancestors would be proud that she maintained the bloodline without being tempted to taint it with white blood. The imagined thought of rubbing her naked breasts against his black, muscular chest, while he rubbed his big, black cock against her soft belly, made her wet with desire for him. Cooing in anticipation of it, she imagined reaching down to take him in her hand, before taking him in her mouth. With a body like Shannon Sharpe, the ex-tight end for the Denver Broncos and Baltimore Ravens, the imagined feel of his muscular thighs, his tightly defined stomach, and his big biceps and rock hard shoulders, she could almost feel what it would be like to be naked and in bed with him. Already sexually aroused with the thoughts of him holding her, touching her, feeling her, caressing her, kissing her, and pounding her proud, black ass, while feeling her big, tits and fingering and sucking on her dark chocolate nipples, it was love at first sight alright, at least, for her. With her back turned to him, she pretended she wasn't paying him any mind, when he walked across the dance floor directly to her, as if she had a GPS up her ass. Venus, facing him, was her commentator. "Oh, girl, here he comes, as if he's hungry and you're the main course. He hasn't taken his eyes off your big, black ass." "I don't have a big ass, Venus," she said giving her shoulder a shove. "You know what I mean, Desiree." She could feel him looking at her and her desire burned hotter with his imagined stare. She imagined him wanting her, as much as she wanted him. She imagined he was undressing her with his eyes, as she had just done with hers. With his cock pressed against her ass crack, she imagined him stepping up closer to her and leaning down to kiss her neck, while feeling the sides of her breasts, before reaching around her to cup her big tits in his strong hands. Then, she imagined him reaching down to cup her sweet ass and grabbing her about the waist and giving her a little hump to show her by how hard and how hot he was for her and how much he wanted to make love to her. Kissing her, taking her, stripping off her clothes, and fucking her hard, so hard that all her ancestors could hear them fucking in Africa, she imagined him fulfilling all her sexual desires. Then, when he leaned down to whisper in her ear, so that she could hear him over the loud music, the sound of his deep, sexy voice was a verbal love potion that made her swoon, before she melted. "What's your name, baby?" She turned and looked at him, his face covered with the image of Michael. Still, she didn't have to see his face to know he was the one. She just had to see his eyes to see the reflection of his desire for her. Looking deeply into the man, she recognized his look of love and passion, as if she was looking in the mirror at herself. When fate steps in, as if struck by lightning, dizzy with desire and sparking with sexual electricity, she could sense the fireworks of passion they'd soon have and the beautiful babies they'd surely make. In the way that he looked at her, undressing her by his focused attention, she swooned when he called her baby. That one word, baby, was all he needed to say and all she needed to hear. Just as Renee Zellweger, as Dorothy Boyd, told Tom Cruise, as Jerry Maguire, in Jerry Maguire, that you had me at hello, he had her when he called her baby. Baby! Baby, baby, baby, she was already his baby to have and to hold for better or for worse. She imagined him falling to one knee and calling her baby, when he presented her with a big, diamond ring and asked her to marry him. She imagined him calling her baby, while he made hot love to her, before cumming in her pussy, in her mouth, and in her ass. She imagined him calling her baby, when he carried her over the threshold of their new house. She imagined him calling her baby, after she gave him a baby of her own for her to call baby, one that was just as beautiful and dark as they were. Love at first sight, in deep within a minute, she was already his baby to take, to live with, and to love, happily ever after. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride," she imagined her Reverend saying to them at the altar. She heard the bells. She saw her beautiful dress. She saw the church with her dressed in white and her father walking her down the aisle to give her away on her wedding day. Where would they live? Where would they go for their Honeymoon? How many children should they have? "Desiree," she said flashing him her sexiest smile and batting her long eyelashes that her abbreviated Halloween mask did little to conceal. As if they were polished, shiny black onyx, her eyes sparkled with real interest and, as if he was the only man in the room, she took him all in with focused attention. Already changing the way he walked, talked, and dressed, she'd make him over in the image of her Ebony and Esquire man. As if she was Eve in the Garden of Eden, she looked as if she was a ripe piece of fruit to be taken from the tree of life and devoured, while treasured by the right man, that is, so long as he was a dark, black man. "Desiree. That's a perfect name for you," he said with a bright, white smile. "Only, I'd be more apt to call you desire, instead of Desiree, baby." Desire? Oh, baby. Not only did he call her baby again, but he called her desire. Just as she was already desiring him, he was desiring her, too. No black man had ever sweet talked her in such a way. All the black men she ever knew were rough and crass around the edges. They were more ready for sex and than for love. It was apparent to her from the start that this man wanted to take his time with her and was there for the whole meal and not just there for dessert. He wanted to linger with her and take her all in, as if she was a fine wine and he was a connoisseur. She imagined him holding her, smelling her, taking her in his mouth, as if she was the most expensive glass of champagne. He called her baby, as if she was already his baby. She wondered if he was as taken with her, as she was with him. "Ask him if he's married," whispered Venus in her ear. "Shh," said Desiree with a wave of her hand. "Ask him if he has a brother," persisted Venus. "Didn't you say you were going to the lady's room to powder your nose?" "Pardon me," said Venus. "I need to use the lady's room." "You know just how to make a woman blush," she said giving him her sexy smile again and making sure he received the look that told him she was interested, now that she was free to make her moves without her friend interfering. "And what's your name, honey?" She imagined her calling him honey, when his breakfast was ready in the morning. She imagined calling him honey to watch the kids, while she took their youngest one to the emergency room for an ear infection. She imagined calling him honey, when he filled her up with his big, black cock and they spooned, before falling asleep, after making love. She imagined him having a strong name, a manly name, and a name that transcended the generations that passed between a black man coming here as a slave, being freed, and succeeding in life and in America. She imagined his name being Denzel or Will or Muhammad or Tyler or Morgan. "Anthony." "Anthony? You don't look Italian to me," she said with a laugh. She thought he was African-American in heritage. She thought he was as black as a star filled night. She didn't know he was the color of homogenized milk. Careful of her hair, she removed her Janet Jackson mask and, not much of a change in appearance, certainly much younger, she was every bit as beautiful, if not more so, than Janet Jackson. With not a wrinkle or a mark on her ebony skin, her face was flawless. With that face, she could have been a model and with her body, she could have been a cheerleader. "Janet Jackson wished she looked as good as you, baby." Suddenly, she felt flushed. He knew all the right things to say. Suddenly, she felt like Samuel L Jackson, as Jules Winnfield in Pulp Fiction when he told Brett that if he said "What" one more time, he'd shoot him. Only, in her case, if Anthony called her "baby" one more time, she'd blow him. Go ahead, I dare you. Call me baby one more time and I'll fall to my knees, unzip your fly, and take your big, black cock in my mouth and suck you, right here, right now. She imagined her mouth stretched with the girth of him, while sucking her man. She imagined him exploding his passion and desire for her in her mouth and her swallowing all that he had to give. "You know all the right things to say, Anthony," she smiled her sexiest smile. From the first second she saw him, she knew he was the one for her. Women know such things instantly. Usually needing a baseball bat to the back of the head, along with constant and continual nagging to remind him and convince him, it takes a man much longer to figure out his doomed reality and his forever future, whenever a strong, black, beautiful woman enters their lives and takes control of their destiny, as if it was their own. A black woman knows immediately that he's her man. A black man just wants to score with one, before moving on to the next. Yet, Desiree already had the ball and chain wrapped around his big, black cock with an indelible stamp that read, "Bitches beware. Stay away from my man or I'll kick your ass. He's mine." Not even giving it a second thought or a doubt of suspicion, she thought Anthony was her dream, black man. Then, when he removed his Michael Jackson mask and looked as pale as she was, after the blood drained from her face to make her look nearly as white as Nicole Kidman on a feverish day. His porcelain skin shriveled her heart and widened her eyes, as wide as Buckwheat of Spanky's Little Rascals or Roscoe on Jack Benny. She couldn't believe he was white. She couldn't believe he wasn't black. Half expecting him to remove his Caucasian mask to reveal his real black self, she was crushed. Got milk? The milkman is here, she thought and wanted to say, but didn't. Jive, honky, cracker pretending he's a black man is not funny, it's just not right. Damn fool to think he could trick me. Okay, he did deceive me, but I knew all along he wasn't black. Lord almighty, I thought he was a black man. Why did you do me like this Lord? Why didn't you make Anthony a black man and give him a respectable black name like Denzel. As if a brilliant lighthouse light that warned her of the impending doom of a sandbar dead ahead and to reverse direction full speed to steer clear, before beaching herself with a white man, her gut told her to return to the deep ocean, as fast as she could to look for other fishes in the sea. Without wading out any further in his sea of sweet talk and getting in over her head, her need to be with a man as dark as she was drowned in her unrelenting desire for him. Help! SOS. If only Venus was there to save her. Someone through her a line. Lifting her head above his ocean of compliments for her to see other, real, black men across the room, she finally had a view of the shore. Now that she saw her safe harbor, she wanted nothing more to do with him. Never is when she wanted him to call her baby again. She needed to don a lifejacket as protection from drowning in his ocean of dialogue by launching her own diatribe. Sink or swim, she needed to get back in her boat to motor away and leave him there to drown in his unrequited desire for her. He just wouldn't do, not for her, a white man taking charge of her black life. Uh uh, oh no. No way. As if a needle that ran the width of a record to ruin a romantic Lionel Ritchie song, while her long fingernails scratched the length of a chalkboard, a cat caterwauled outside, and a car screeched to a grinding halt from 100 miles per hour, the shock of his white skin ran through her black brain with panicked disappointment. Without doubt, this white boy was just as sexy and desirable as any proud, black man she knew, but she didn't do Caucasians. Nope, uh uh. No way. She wasn't about to have herself a bunch of malato children that had problems in school and all throughout their confused, mixed race lives. Proud of her dark, chocolate color, she'd rather pick one color and stay with that, rather than to go digging through the Crayola crayon box to mess with various shades that don't favor either race but, instead, mixed them in a beige porridge of pain, hurt, and suffering. She couldn't believe her dream man was as white as the ghost he'd surely be, if her brothers ever saw her walking home with him. "You're white," blurted Desiree with a look of astonishment that quickly turned to shocked sorrow. Trick or treat, his costume of Michael Jackson played her this Halloween trick but she wasn't about to fall for him and treat him to anymore of her sweet nectar. As if a bee passing by a plastic flower to pollinate the real rose in her garden of weeds, she was done with him and was already searching the dance floor with her eyes for a real, black man, her Romeo of color, a quality gentleman and someone without outstanding felony convictions. No more looks, no more flirting, no more sexy smiles, no more suggestive innuendoes, and no more interest, he was already history, done and finished. Bye, bye. Even though he was still standing there hoping, no doubt, to score with her, he was already gone from her mind and she was checking out who else she could target with her love arrow. She just needed a polite excuse to leave and find herself a real, black man and not some carnation white imitation. Chocolate was her favorite flavor and not vanilla. "I know," said Anthony with a laugh, "I've always been white. Sorry. And you're beautiful." "Yeah, well, thank you," she said, already tired of his compliments and giving him a look that translated as yeah, well, fuck you, not interested, you jive turkey. Yet, suddenly doubting her rash decision to pass him by, she paused to take another look at him, as if trying to make certain of her choice to give up on him and flee. Definitely, without doubt, he was handsome, as good looking as Denzel, sexier than Blair Underwood, and with a better body than that black hunk of a model, Tyson. If only he was as dark as T. O. She wouldn't even care if he had a mug like Joe Frazier. "I was wondering, if after the dance, you'd want to accompany me to--" "I don't date white men. Sorry," she said with a wave of her hand. In a huff, she turned up her nose with her sudden and steadfast disinterest and rejection of him. Trying to change the mind of a proud, black woman is like trying to move a stubborn donkey, when the animal has had enough of carrying your load of shit and was done with walking down your crooked ass path. Hee haw, hee haw, hee haw. For sure, this white boy won't be braying or strutting his stuff like a crowing cock, after he's had sex with her because it ain't never gonna happen. She'd have none of that, not with him. They'll never be a white cock in her black pussy or his cum in her black mouth. "You've danced with me for an hour and I thought you knew that I wasn't black," he said with a seemingly uncomfortable laugh. "How could you not know?" He gave her a look that told her he wasn't trying to deceive her. "Besides, what does it matter, anyway, the color I am. I thought we made a connection," he said looking at her, as if she was the most valuable jewel in the display case and she was, when it came to the women at this party. There was no comparison. She was in a class of one. Beauty, brains, and substance, she'd make him a good wife and they'd make for a great couple, if only she could see past his skin color and give him a chance to redeem himself for something he didn't do, but for something that was merely an accident of his birth. As if the whole room had stopped to take a breath, everyone watched their interaction. Every black man in the room was watching them, while waiting for their opportunity, no doubt, to score with her, after she kicked his white ass to the curb. Every white woman and some black women had their eyes fixed on him, while waiting for their opportunity to make a love connection with him. "You danced like a black man and when you were rubbing that big, hard cock up against my belly, you sure felt like a black man. We made a connection, sugar, because I thought you were black," she said with more self-assuredness and a bit more attitude this time. "We made a connection," she said explaining herself more, "but my Daddy would kill me and you, if I brought home a white man. He doesn't like white people," she said with some awkwardness, before making a face and slowly shaking her head side to side. Michael Jackson Masquerade Surprise No doubt, an understatement, her face confessed that her Daddy hated white people and she feared for their safety, should they become a couple. She lived in a neighborhood where the only white folk were police, firemen, and EMT's. There was an assumed sign surrounding the perimeter of where she lived. Trespassers beware because, if you ain't black, you're white ass ain't comin' back. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" He gave her a big, Cheshire cat smile and wink. "Say what?" As if he had just insulted her, she took a step back, put a hand on her hip, and flipped up her pretty head to glare at him. Her big, ebony eyes that sparkled in the dim light like precious jewels before, now stared at him, as if they were shark eyes and he was dinner. "What do you mean by that remark?" Even though she wanted to, she controlled herself from calling him a derogatory name. "Shouldn't it be my family that disowns me, if I was to date a black woman?" "I can't believe you're saying that to my face," she gave him a look that transcended Abraham Lincoln, the Civil War, slavery, apartheid, and Africa and moved her head, as if she was a bobble head doll. "I'll have you know that I'm a college graduate with a successful career in real estate," she said laughing, when he suddenly started to laugh, too. Finally, after stumbling, he had found the switch that illuminated him in a different light with her, a colorless glow devoid of race that only showed a man and a woman enjoying one another's company at a costume Halloween party. It was then that she realized he was playing with her to get her to relax and it worked. She liked him. She really did, even if he was white. Without doubt and without exception, he was the coolest Caucasian man she's ever met. She could imagine herself getting with him, if it wasn't for that fact that she'd have milk chocolate and, perhaps, white chocolate babies, instead of dark chocolate ones. Still, one who loves chocolate, no matter what the color, she was warming to his vanilla flavor and it wasn't until his next move that she melted. "Damn, woman, you're so hot when you're mad," he said with a laugh, before looking at her with a softness in his eyes that told her that he was sincere. "Isn't this ridiculous? What color we are has nothing to do with who we are inside and how we feel about one another," he said taking her hand, as if asking her to dance or to marry him. "It's been a long while, since I've felt the excitement that I have for a woman, as I'm now feeling for you. We should see where this goes and give us a chance at love. Just because I'm white and you're black, shouldn't make a difference in the equation, when it comes to falling in love." "Have you dated a black woman before?" She suddenly had a vision of a hooker giving him a blowjob in a back alley or him putting a dollar in the G-string of a black stripper, before patting her ass and hoping for a lap dance later. Without regard to who he was, just as too many white people treat her because she's black, she automatically discounted him because he was white. She figured he just wanted to get some black pussy, a color, he's never experienced before and knowing the sex kitten she was, she couldn't blame him for that. She'd rock his world. Oh, yeah, once going black, he'd never go back to those white skinny hoes. "No, you'd be my first, but I dated an Asian woman." Asian? Say what? Ain't no little, yellow, rice eating woman as good as a big, barbeque eating, black mamma, she thought to herself. "Even though you're right about the color on the outside not making a difference, I'm sorry. I still can't date you," she said this time with worn conviction, more indecision, and some inner reflection, while hoping he'd be the type who wouldn't take no for an answer. What would Martin Luther King, her secret adviser, do, she thought? He'd march, while thinking of his next speech. He'd say white, black, red, or yellow, we're all the same inside. It's the effects of life that have changed us to hate one another and now looking at him for who he was, when not hiding behind a Michael Jackson Halloween mask, she could love him. "Why not?" Why not? Beaten to a red, bloody pulp, before being stabbed and shot, she imagined the police finding his unidentified, dead body in the alley behind her house. She imagined the police questioning her brothers and her father, as suspects, in his murder. We don't know nothing, she imagined her brothers and father telling the police. We were in church praying for you honky ass souls for being the bigots that you are for rousting peace loving, innocent, black citizens. "My brothers would kick your ass and then kill you or they might kill you first and then kick your ass. They don't like white people either." She laughed to herself over the imagined thought of introducing Anthony, Mister White to her brothers, Tyrone and Leroy, Misters Black. "What do white people have to do with me?" Say what? Is this Dude serious? Is he on crack? Hasn't he ever looked in a mirror or maybe because he's as white as Michael Jackson was, he thinks he really is Michael Jackson and a black man. Just 'cause this cat can dance like a black man, has the moves, the swagger, and the walk and the talk of a black man, and just because Mr. White has a cock that equals Mr. Black, doesn't make him my dream black man. Oh, no. "Ha! You're white, silly." She laughed. "White people gave us a home mortgage loan they knew we couldn't afford to pay back. Then, when they raised the rate of interest on our mortgage so high that they threw us out in the street and we were homeless with nothing but the clothes on our backs, well, we have plenty of reasons to hate you white folk. So, don't get me started on you white people, sugar," she said taking a step back to climb up on her soapbox. "Oh, oh," he said with a laugh. "You white folk? Should I put up my heat shield to protect my white ass?" He looked at her and smiled. "Don't lump me in with that bunch of greedy bankers." "From the cradle to the grave, from jobs, education, opportunity, even diet, we are denied, prejudiced against, redlined, blackballed, despised, hated, and targeted. The only time they want us is when we buy whatever it is they're selling or voting for whoever they are hoping to put in office to put us asunder," said Desiree. "That's tragic that the bank took your home, but the banks, the same banks we all bailed out did the same thing to white people, too. Color is not the only thing that people are prejudiced against and target, so let's not even go there," said Anthony "Still, nothing has changed, since you white people brought us here from Africa. We're still your slaves and you're still the masters." A lifetime of anger, she couldn't believe she was taking out all the prejudice used against her on him. "You white people?" He laughed. "You're still so very pretty when you're angry, but you're prettier when you smile." "Thank you," she beamed. "I'm sorry," she said looking around her. "Here we are at a Halloween party supposed to be having a good time and I'm being the bitch that I never knew I was." "It's okay. Listen, Desiree, I have an idea." "What?" "What if we took to heart the words of Michael Jackson's song," he said taking her hands in his and looking in her eyes, while singing, "But, if you're thinkin' about my baby, it don't matter if you're black or white." "See, now, had you sung to me, instead of danced with me, I'd immediately know you were a white boy," she said with a laugh. "Stick with dancing because you're a terribly singer. When American Idol comes callin' to your city, stay home," she said with a laugh, while moving her head like a bobble doll again and pushing a finger against his chest, "because you're as much Michael Jackson, as I'm Janet Jackson." "Sorry," he said, "but it was the lyrics more than my singing voice that was my point. It doesn't matter if we're black or white, when it comes to love. And I think you're much prettier than Janet Jackson ever was." "Say what? So now you love me? Is that you're game? Pretending to love me, just to bone me? You don't even know me, yet you're already saying all that I need to hear to take your white cock in my mouth, before taking it in my pussy," she said not responding to his compliment, but swooning with the thought that he thought she was much prettier than Janet Jackson ever was. Wow. "No, of course I don't love you. You're right, I barely know you. Yet, how can I grow to love you, if you don't even give me chance to discover all that you are, a proud, beautiful, intelligent, and articulately vocal, black woman," he said with a laugh, while stepping forward, putting his hands on her hips, and giving her a peck on her lips. With the adage of sometimes a little means so much more in the peck that he gave her, she looked at him with shocked surprise that he kissed her. As if she had just been plugged into a wall outlet, she surged with desire for him. "So, what's your idea?" "What if we just ate together and didn't call it a date. There's already a buffet at this Halloween Masquerade Ball. Let's grab some food, sit somewhere, and talk." "I can do that," she said. He escorted her to the buffet table and they took their food to a quiet corner where they talked and got to know one another better. After some food, a couple more drinks, some deep and light conversation mixed with plenty of laughs, it was obvious that they had the start of something that could develop into a meaningful relationship. Unsure of what to do, she prolonged giving him the go ahead look to kiss her, until the Halloween dance was nearly over. They danced every other dance and during one of the dances towards the end of the evening, she gave him the look and he kissed her. Then, with that one, real, first kiss, they were nearly making out on the floor. While kissing and kissing her, he was feeling the round, firm contours of her ass with one hand and feeling her firm C cup breast with his other. He wasn't the only one taking sexual liberties, as she was feeling the hardness of his cock with one hand and grabbing his ass with her other. So hot for one another that if they could have made love right there, they would have. "I don't suppose we should go back to your place he said, knowing how your family feels about white people," he said with a laugh. "Not unless you have a death wish," she said with a smug laugh. "If you'd like to see where this goes, we can go back to my place. I mean, only if you want. There's no pressure." "Okay," she said. "Just let me tell Venus that I'm leaving with you and won't be needing a ride home," she said reaching in her purse and pulling out a pen and paper and handing it to him. "What this?" "Write down your name and cell phone number. If I come up missing, my brothers will know how to find you," she said with a serious look and a half laugh. "Okay, sure, no problem," he said with a nervous laugh. "I don't mind. That's smart," he said writing his information. "Thank you," she said handing the paper to Venus. "Only, I could have given you any name and phone number," he said with smugness. Then, his cell phone rang. "Excuse me a minute," he said pulling his phone from his pocket and answering it. "Hello?" "Hi Anthony. This is Venus." Anthony looked across the dance floor and returned Venus's wave with a laugh. "Good thing I gave you the correct information," he said to Desiree. "I wouldn't be going anywhere with you, if you hadn't. A girl can't trust anyone nowadays." They walked out to the parking lot and once inside the car, they started making out again, as if they were horny teenagers at a prom. "You'd better take me to your place because I don't want to do it in the car," she said and embarrassed that she confessed to him that she was ready to go all the way, instead of playing the coy diva. Anthony drove her to his place, a one bedroom, one and a half bath bachelor's pad that had a living room, office, and a small balcony that overlooked the city. He took Desiree by the hand to his bedroom and to his bed, where they made out as if their parents weren't home. She allowed him to touch her wherever he wanted and she unzipped, unbuttoned, and unbuckled his pants to give her more access to his stiff prick. He kissed her with more passion than any man has ever kissed her. He was pushing all of her buttons and she knew she'd be sucking and fucking him silly soon. While he worked to unbutton her blouse and remove her breasts from her bra, she fondled, caressed, and rubbed his cock through his underwear. Finally, with her breasts free, as soon as he started fingering and sucking on her nipples, is when she removed his cock from his underwear. "I've never seen a white cock, before," she said staring at it. "It's so pink." "Do you like my cock?" "I love your cock, Anthony," she said staring at his cock, while stroking him, before looking up at him, leaning into to him and kissing him. "Tell me what you like, baby." For sure, she'd be sucking on this white boy. Every time he called her baby, in the way he said the word, as if chewing on it before saying it, in the way that Elvis used to do, she melted. "My nipples are what do it for me, Anthony," she said breathlessly. "If you keep fingering, pulling, twisting, and sucking my nipples in the way you are, I'll be sucking your cock." Slowly she stroked his cock stopping only to finger the head of his big prick. "That feels good just what you're doing, Desiree," he said looking at her. "I can't believe you're here with me. You're so extraordinarily beautiful, baby." "You're not so bad yourself, Anthony. You're a handsome man," she said sliding down the bed to take him in her mouth. "Oh, baby," he said. "Suck my cock, baby." There it is. There's that word. Desiree sucked his cock, as if he was a giant Sugar Daddy all day sucker. Licking and twirling her skilled tongue around the head of his cock, she took him deep in her mouth, while stroking him faster and faster. "I love sucking your cock, Anthony, but call me baby," she said removing his cock from her mouth to speak. "I like it when you call me baby," she said looking up at him with his cock still in her mouth. "Easy there, baby, or you'll make me prematurely cum, before I even have a chance to enjoy the rest of you." "Okay, honey," she said moving up to find his lips again and to feel his mouth on her nipples. In one fluid motion, he had her panty down and off. His hand found her wetness and his fingers returned the pleasure that she had just given him with her mouth. "I can't wait to be inside you, Desiree." "Well, what are you waiting for? Fuck me, Anthony. Let me feel all of you deep inside me." Quickly, they removed the rest of their clothes and Anthony mounted her. With most men, their passion increases with the removal of clothes, but in the case of Anthony, as it was in the case of Desiree, as if they had already done this a hundred times before, their passion increased from a slow burn, before enflaming to an inferno. A first for both, he had never been with a black woman and she had never been with a white man. To see them in the dim moonlight, he so white and she so dark, a yin and yang of rolling and humping lovemaking, they complimented one another, in the way that a man and a woman can when finally coming together, after they were meant to be. It was obvious with their first kiss, a peck really, that Anthony gave her at the masquerade party that there were sparks and when they kissed, while dancing, their connection reached a higher level. Yet, what was different was, instead of launching a rocket to the moon, their passion built in the way an orchestra builds a crescendo during a symphony, slowly but loudly at the end. He fucked her, as if he had a turbine engine inside of his pelvis. Her tits were bouncing up and down and side to side from the action of his piston like hips. "Oh, Lord. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Anthony. Never have I felt such pure pleasure. Lord Almighty. Thank you, Jesus. I'm cumming. Damn, honey, you're going to make Mama cum. The first time anyone has made me cum, while fucking me," she said out of breath. "Don't stop, honey. Don't stop. Oh, sweetie, that feels so good. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Wow! Yes! Yes! Yes! Ooh, ooh, ooh, oh, honey, oh, sweetie, that was so good." That stayed like that with him on top of her, until she rolled him over and with his cock still in side of her, she slowly and seductively moved her hips, while rhythmically humping him hard again. Then, they made love, real love, instead of fucking. They kissed a thousand times. Never has she felt such sheer pleasure and desire for any man, as she now felt for Anthony. "Did you cum?" She moved off him and took his cock in her hand. "No, not yet," he said. "I wanted to make sure I pleasured you first." "Well, you relax and Desiree is going to take care of her man," she said not quite believing that she already staked a claim on his heart by calling him her man. She made herself comfortable between his legs and took him in her mouth. Immediately, his erection stiffened with her hand and mouth action. "Oh, baby," he said. "No one has ever sucked my cock like that, Desiree." "Yeah, well, just keep calling me baby and I'll give you the best damn blowjob you ever had." "Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby." "Okay, Anthony, you're giving me a headache now," she said taking his cock out of her mouth to talk and to laugh. She sucked him, she stroked him, she sucked him again and again, as she stroked him faster and faster, until as if he were a volcano on an Hawaiian Island, he exploded in her mouth. Even after he ejaculated all the cum he had in Desiree's mouth, she continued sucking him. By the time she was done, there wasn't a drop of cum left in his cock. "Oh, baby, that was the best blowjob I ever had." "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Anthony. I love sucking your cock." They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes. No doubt, they were both thinking the same thing, but it was Anthony who said what she was thinking. "So, now what?" He looked at her. She looked at him, as if looking at him for the first time, but knowing that it wouldn't be the last time they were together. "Well, I know how I feel and I never felt this way about anyone, as I feel about you," she said shocked that she was being so open an honest. Accustomed to playing games, hoping this was the real thing, she wasn't playing games now. "Well, that's what I was hoping to hear, Desiree. I'd like to see if we have a chance at love," he said looking into her deep mahogany eyes before giving her a peck. "What do you think? Can you ask your brothers and father not to kill me to see if we have a chance at love." "I think I can arrange for a pardon, so long as you promise to love me." "I do." A year later, they were married and a year after that, Desiree delivered Anthony identical twin daughters, Angela and Destiny.