0 comments/ 12494 views/ 1 favorites Loving By: wildsweetone I know exactly when the end began. He gave me a great hint when he said, "I'm sorry love, I just don't feel comfortable doing this anymore." Not a bad hint eh? He kept speaking, carried on for several more minutes. I never heard anything else he said. Right at that moment, my heart shattered. Shards of glass seared painfully through my body. I bled to death internally, but my lungs continued taking in air. We met online. A fast friendship that sprang out of nowhere. I told him things about myself I'd never said to another human being. He told me personal things also. We talked about our pasts, our families, our likes and dislikes, even our wants and needs. When the ICQ logging on sound rang from my speakers, my heartrate tripled. Excitement filled my day. I smiled at everyone all the time. I found myself grinning into the saucepan of vegetables cooking on the stovetop for no reason other than my happiness was overflowing. I was completely and utterly head over heels in love. Even the moon, on my twilight dog walks, looked huge and beautiful, and glowed like the massive sphere it really was. I felt I could just step across the glistening sky and walk around it all night long. I wrote poetry. Pretty amateurish poetry at that, but when I sent him some, he loved it. He met every need I had. I felt that I met his needs too. We had an unconditional love. We could stand naked in front of each other and be unafraid of what the other would think. How many people can admit to receiving that kind of loving? How many of us can say we haven't judged another person at some point? We never judged each other. Nothing else existed unless I wanted it to. My family, my own children and husband... they were all completely secondary to my online love. But still, I met their needs too. I gave my job all my attention and love, I gave my family all my attention and love, and I gave my love everything of myself that I had to give. I held nothing back. Oh yes, I went through a difficult time. Having to accept that we'd never be able to meet, was so hard for me. But I got past it. I accepted it. It seems though, that he couldn't. He couldn't deal with the 'other' woman in his life. His cyber mistress. Me. He couldn't deal with the guilt he felt when he was with his pregnant wife. Oh, I haven't mentioned he was married? Yes, I knew that much when we began chatting. But I didn't realise she was pregnant. I didn't realise that he was looking for some kind of sexual release because his wife wouldn't, or couldn't, accommodate his needs. I just didn't know. I'd found the unconditional love I was looking for. I'd found an ability to be able to return it. My mind blanked out every other aspect, every other possible problem, every other realistic event. I lived totally in the moment. And then it ended. Like the click of a locked door on a jail cell. To say I was devastated sounds so trite. I couldn't stomach food for three weeks. I couldn't stand to be in the kitchen cooking dinner for my family. My stomach kept heaving. I picked at pathetic morsels I'd put on my plate so my family wouldn't notice. I lost weight rapidly, my cheeks became gaunt and my hair and skin looked lifeless. I went for my nightly walks, taking the dog with me. I sat on the bank's edge by the creek and bawled my eyes out. My family needed me, but I couldn't give them anything of myself. I had nothing to give. Why me? Why the hell me? Why let me fall in love so deeply, only to take it away from me? I couldn't come to terms with the loss at all. At any point in any day, I would burst into tears. The loss of control I felt when these tears smothered me, scared me to death. I could be in my car driving in traffic to work, and suddenly this overwhelming ache would move up my shoulders, up the back of my neck and culminate in floods of tears. I'd arrive at work only to tell them I couldn't cope and then drive home. I'd be working with the kids in the classroom and suddenly tears would stream down my face. I'd go home and sit on the couch in the lounge, with a cushion in my lap. Staring at nothing. Sitting there for hours. Until my family came home. Then I'd go into automatic pilot mode and cook and clean and help with homework and all manner of mundane day to day things a wife and mother does. Along would come walk time again, and off I'd go with the dog. He must have thought I was stark staring mad. All I'd do is walk and cry. Looking up at that huge moon I'd just let my whole body tear itself into little pieces. Now, three years down the track, I've finally stopped crying. I've accepted what happened and what could not happen. I've begun to care about my own family again. There is a glimmer of hope which hasn't quite died that has me thinking, I may even love them again as I used to. I've learnt a lesson that not too many people get to learn. And do you know what? I'm thankful that I've had the chance to learn it. I know what unconditional love is. For that few months in my life years ago, I had it. I know how to receive it and how to give it. One day I may even forgive me for letting myself fall in love. ...maybe. Loving A Maasai Warrior Black. Biracial. Mixed-race. At some point, I've used all of these terms to describe myself. Today I am only me. Wanda Beaumont. Friends call me W.B. for short. I was born in the City of Toronto, province of Ontario, to a Haitian mother and Irish-Canadian father. My biological father Sean O'Leary never married my mother, and in fact, he had to be forced by the Canadian court system to provide for me. He really didn't want anything to do with my mother and I. A lot of White guys will fuck a Black woman if given the chance but they're not looking for marriage, contrarily to what a lot of Black females tell themselves. My White father wasn't anyone's idea of a knight in shining armor. Far from it. In fact, he once told me I'm the result of a one-night-stand, and nothing more. Yeah, my biological father is a sure-fire contender for the Father of the Year award, isn't he? I wish I could say that my mother was much better but I'd be lying. I wasn't raised by a Black superwoman, that's for damn sure. My mother, Mina Beaumont, had some serious issues. As a plump, dark-skinned Haitian female immigrant living in Toronto, surrounded by Whiteness and opulence, she developed some serious self-hatred. My mother hates Black people, especially Black men, whom she consistently referred to thugs, hustlers and impregnators throughout her lifetime. The fact that she had me with a White man who didn't love her and didn't want anything to do with her or me doesn't seem to register with her. Hailing from such a dysfunctional pair, it's a miracle that I lived to a relatively normal adulthood. Mom used to say that Black people were lazy and useless, yet she didn't see any irony in her saying that given that almost every few months she went to the Social Services agency with a sob story. She would squeeze out them crocodile tears and get a welfare check. The rest of the time she worked as a hair stylist. I couldn't understand why she couldn't get a regular job. Seriously. A lot of people work the nine to five to take care of themselves and their families. Why couldn't my mother do it? She had no criminal record and no physical disabilities. Sure, she stuttered a bit but so what? Toronto is a town full of immigrants and everyone down there talks funny! It took me a while to realize that my mother was lazy, just like she accused other folk of being. I grew up to be a six-foot-one, slim and fit young woman with caramel skin, long curly Black hair and pale green eyes. Sometimes people ask me if I'm Hispanic and once upon a time I would have said yes because I felt ashamed of my Blackness. Not anymore. Today I am happy to say that I am proud of my African heritage. I consider myself a Black woman through and true. Never mind that my mother raised me to hate myself and other people of African descent. Never mind that in my mother's twisted way of looking at things, White people were perfect and Black folk were less than nothing. I have learned to love myself. I owe it all to one amazing man I met in the most unlikely of places. After high school, I enrolled at the University of Toronto, where I earned a bachelor's degree in business administration. I wanted to become a high-powered businesswoman, work for a Fortune 500 Company. The summer after graduation I started volunteering for a humanitarian organization known as Salvation And Hope Ministries and went to Kenya to help some poor downtrodden Africans. My plane went down over the vast plains of Kenya and I was the only survivor. I was pulled from the wreckage by Kapalei, a young Maasai warrior and the son of Chief Lemashon, leader of the Lolkerra tribe of the Maasai people. It's one of life's supreme ironies. I came to Kenya with my White friends from Canada to help the poor African savages and they ended up rescuing me. A tall, dark and handsome young Black man named Kapalei carried me out of the remnants of the plane and into the bush, where he brought me to the hut of Naramal, the medicine woman of the Lolkerra tribe. This wizened old Black woman did everything she could to save me, and though I sustained scars on my arms, legs, back and sides, I lived without any permanent injury. I must say that I knew next to nothing about the Maasai people who lived in the Kenyan wilderness. You see, the Salvation and Hope Ministries was building churches and hospitals throughout Kenya in an effort to boost the Christian community of that African nation since conflict with the Muslim population seemed imminent. I grew up a proud Catholic. Indeed, it's my Christian faith that enabled me to get through the madness and prejudice that filled my life with my mother. The Maasai people didn't adhere to mainstream religions like Judaism, Christianity and Islam. They had their own ancient faith, and they were polytheists. Kapalei, the tall and handsome brother who saved my life became my guide among the tribe. He introduced me to his mother Simaloi, a tall, curvy Black woman in her early forties. He looked so much like her. I nodded respectfully and offered her my hand to shake when we met. The older woman smiled, batted my hand away and gave me a hug. I forgot to mention that the Maasai people are really friendly and open. And they're quite religious. Their head deity is Olapa, the Goddess of the Moon and she is married to Ngai, a powerful spirit. Olapa and Ngai are the progenitors of a race of immortal entities known as the Enkai, the guardian spirits. Like the Angels of Judaism and Christianity, the Enkai are spiritual protectors for the Maasai people. The Maasai people enthralled me with their loveliness, and their purity of spirit. In the village, men and women walked around, smiling at each other fondly. Couples walked hand in hand. They were friendly, generous and open. Not at all what I'd first thought when I met them. Even though I am half Black and half White, I wasn't immune to the prejudices that White society and White culture disseminates about Black people. The Lolkerra tribe of the Maasai were peaceful nomads who watched their herds of cattle like hawks. They fought fiercely against lions and leopards as well as rival tribes to protect their land and their cattle. The Maasai people's bond with their bulls and cows was amazing. They guarded them with their lives and had such affection for these animals. Kalapei was particularly fond of a calf named Nataana, a White and brown little cow that followed him around the way a dog would. I must say that the more time I spent with the Maasai, the more I became fascinated by them. This tribe was one of the most isolated ones. Like many Westerners, I'd seen documentaries about Maasai tribesmen on Discovery Channel and one thing I remember about them is the practice of female circumcision. What the Discovery Channel reporters left out is that not all Maasai tribes have this practice. When I learned enough of their language to ask Kalapei's mother Simaloi about it, she assured me that they didn't practice such a thing. For females, they had a rite of passage called the Test of the Spears. For among the tribe, both men and women were trained in combat. The feminist in me was immensely pleased. By my own estimation, I had spent about eight months with the tribe and I honestly couldn't get enough. I wore the traditional dress of the Massai women, and even got the famous earlobe-stretching earrings. One night, as I helped the women cook, Simaloi approached me and we had a woman to woman chat. She told me that her son Kapalei was fond of me, and wanted to know whether I had a husband or not. I happily waved all ten fingers in front of Simaloi and told her that nope, nobody had put a ring on it yet. Simaloi smiled, and assured me that would change soon. The next day, I was approached by Kapalei, and the smiling young man offered me a bouquet of flowers. I smiled and took them, then hand in hand we walked into the bush. He confessed to me that he'd been fascinated by me ever since we met, and his heart thundered in his chest every time I came near him. I smiled and told him I felt the same way. Then I kissed him. We were married in a big ceremony attended by the entire tribe three weeks later. On our wedding night, I wore a shiny White robe, and Kapalei wore a magnificent lion's pet costume. We retired to our house, and lay on a straw mat. For hours on end, we made hot, passionate love. My gorgeous African husband was gentle with me, kissing me deeply and taking great care of me. He licked my breasts, caressed my face, kissed my butt, sucked my toes, licked my pussy, fingered my butt hole and licked my earlobes. Not necessarily in that order, of course. When he inserted his long and thick ebony cock into my pussy, I wrapped my arms around him and urged him to fuck me. Kapalei thrust into me, and I cried out in pleasure as his big bushman's cock filled my tight cunt. Kapalei made love to me like I'd never been made love to before. This six-foot-four, midnight-skinned brother was a lion in my bed! He was forceful and gentle at the same time, if such a thing makes any sense to you. We kissed passionately as he thrust his cock deep into me. We rolled around on the straw bed, and I got on top of him. He fondled my tits and I arched my back as he thrust into me, stabbing my pussy with his hard dick. I grabbed his hands and put them on my hips, then locked eyes with him, urging him to give me his all. The sexy bushman didn't need to be told twice. He slammed his cock into me like there was no tomorrow. We continued with our fun well into the wee hours of the morning. When morning came, it found Kapalei and me, husband and wife, entwined in love. My sexy husband smiled at me and told me that he wanted to build me a house much bigger than the one in which we just slept. I smiled and told him that among my people, husband and wife build everything together. One body, one soul, that's what we become in marriage according to the Christian tradition. Kapalei smiled at me and told me he liked my Christian traditions very much. Grinning, I kissed him and pulled him closer. We're still on our honeymoon and it's my duty as a new bride to hump my husband till he can't remember his name. It's a time-honored Haitian tradition, holler! Loving a Man A lustful, loving, sex-positive ode to men everywhere. * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (26.5 min/mp3) * * * * * Loving a Woman For an outsider, I am a high-living successful career woman, with a glamorous job - with frequent globe trotting sponsored by the company, of course. But in reality, I must confess I was fed up with my lifestyle. It's the stress and the rat-race that's driving me crazy. By the way my name is Susan but everyone calls me Suzy. So, here am I, packing to leave on my much awaited annual two-week vacation. I chose an exotic sounding island in the Pacific to relax and unwind and get myself "back together." I am single, by choice; early 40s, but a lot of people tell me I look half that age (thanks to my family genes I guess); 5'5" medium build, with a little fat around my waist and hips, nice legs, big brown eyes. I've had a succession of boy friends, lovers, live-ins, etc. etc, but nothing actually worked. I have indulged in all kinds of sex acts with my many partners, but somehow I was never fully satisfied; there was always something missing, which I could still not fathom. So, in order to satisfy my sex urge, masturbation became a daily routine for me. I usually think of some kinky sex act, while rubbing my clit vigorously. Since of late I've been also watching some lesbian DVDs and it really turns me on. Just last week - with a jar of face cream beside me, to lubricate -- I had a day-long marathon session of watching some sexy sluts fuck each other. While rubbing my erect clit vigorously -- going on and on.... while I open my legs and insert two well oiled fingers into my wet hole and move them up and down, up and down, with my legs raised high up, until I came -- really hard. Next day my clit was red, swollen and tender -- but it really unwound me and helped to get a lot of pent up frustration out of my system. I have never been with a woman, although I always found some types of women very attractive. Like those with large boobs and wide hips. I don't like skinny women. I am not really concerned about looks either. But, like I mentioned earlier, certain types of big built women, makes my panty wet. When looking at such a woman, I wonder how she would look when naked in bed, and that was a real turn on. Anyhow, I boarded a plane and arrived at my destination. The island really was exotic, so green, warm and inviting. The weather was perfect to laze around in the sun, or take a dip in the warm sea water. I changed into a two piece swim suit and went down to the beach. My boobs were partly exposed and my bikini bottom was hugging my buttocks. I was walking along the beach, slowly, enjoying the sun, sea and sand, when I happen to spot this woman, lying on a breach—mat under the palm tree. She was alone and what attracted my attention was that she had loosened her bikini top, and the two straps were down and most of her boobs were exposed -- and the boobs were huge! I strolled towards her and sat down a little away, under the shade. She turned her head in my direction and smiled --I acknowledged. She would have been in her late twenties or may be in the thirties; blue eyes and short blond hair. But as for me, I couldn't take my eyes off her round, half naked boobs. I glanced at them from time to time and may be she noticed. I don't know. Anyhow, I thought I would make the first move. So, I said: "Hi, isn't this place really great." She was a friendly type of person and we got to making small talk. After a little while we walked up to the hotel bar and ordered drinks and continued our chatting. She was tall -- about 5' 8" and was big built and athletic, but not manly, with wide swaying hips. She was alone. I kind of hinted about the many failed relationships I had and she too spoke about breaking up with her long time partner and how she came here to get over it. Then, suddenly she looked directly at me and said: "you know my lover was a beautiful woman." I was taken-a-back at her direct-talk. In fact she was a lesbian. I just could not believe my luck of having found this woman. Her name was Loretta, and to make a long story short, after a little chatting, we ended up in her bed room. We were both a little tipsy. The moment the door was closed Loretta grabbed me by the waist and pulling me closed to her and started kissing me. "Oh, your lips are so big; I wanted to taste them the moment I saw you," she was saying while she explored the inside of my mouth with her tongue. I returned her kisses and sucked on her plump bottom lip. It was the first time I kissed a woman and never expected to feel so good. It was so erotic. I kissed all over her face and neck and pulled off her bikini top and grabbed her huge boobs. . I squeezed and pulled her huge round boobs, really hard..."Squeeze harder darling.." she mumbled while she pushed my bikini top down and found my nipples and started sucking on them. Mmmm, it felt so good We were now lying side by side in bed -- fully naked. Our lips were locked in a deep kiss. We kissed each other for a long time, while pressing and rubbing our bodies together, in a rhythmic movement. the kissing was urgent. My hand now moved between her thighs and her cunt was dripping. I was now fully turned on, and my juices too were oozing out. Loretta was now kneeling between my open legs. "Open your legs wide, darling, I want to see your wet hole," she said with lust written all over her face. I opened my legs wide and raised them high up, opening my cunt lips with my fingers, exposing my large, dripping hole. She inspected my wet cunt-hole for a while, while rubbing her clit. I watched her second finger move like lightening on her erect, big clit. Suddenly she pulled my wet cunt towards her mouth and started licking my flowing juice. Ahhhhhhhh, it was heavenly; it felt far better than a man's mouth. She sucked on my clit, while licking my juice -- like a dog. She went on and on, while I moaned, "Ahhhh don't stop darling, don't ever stop." After licking for a long time, she pulled a pillow and kept it under my buttocks, raising my wet cunt. Loretta then climbed between my open legs and started to rub her wet cunt on mine. "Oh, my darling, ahhhhhhhh, it feels soooo good, ahhhhhhhh." I moaned. She was now banging her wet cunt on mine -- moving up and down, up and down...the movement was like a man fucking, but it was her cunt that was slamming down on mine and it felt fantastic...I was on fire - she rode me hard and fast, harder, harder, faster,faster, "faster, darling, don't stop..ahhhh harder, harder," I moaned. The bed was creaking, while she fucked me like she was crazy,her eyes were closed and her face was distorted with lust,my whole body was on fire. She was now moaning loudly, "I am coming, you slut, I am coming....ahhhhhhh..ahhhhhhhhhhhhh." She was lying beside me panting. But I was still burning -- as my release didn't come. I need a lot of hard stimulation, for a long time, in order to cum. So it was my turn to get between my lover's legs and fuck her still wet cunt.....I moved my hips up and down, up and down, slamming her cunt, while she groaned...ahhhhhhhhh and moved her contorted face from side to side. Finally, my release was near, my hips were moving faster, faster.....my cunt was slamming on her wet cunt, faster, harder, harder, faster, faster, faster..fuck, fuck, fuck,.."ahhhhhh, fuuuuuuuckkkk ahhhhhhh, ahhh, ahhhhhhhhh," finally, I gave one hard thrust, shuddered and lay still. It was so electric. I have never cum so hard. Ever. I lay panting beside her. We embraced and gently kissed each other. We fell asleep in each other's arms. We fucked every day and night -- many, many times. Always, the fucking was rough, hard and full of lust. But we also enjoyed cuddling and caressing. We walked hand-in-hand along the beach. We exchanged kisses under the stars. We got drunk every night. And we fucked, like two over-sexed animals. And one day, after a long, hard, fuck session, my lover said: "I love you Suzy." The words sounded so sweet and genuine. We both knew we were meant to be long-term lovers. It was the best vacation I ever had. For now, I call myself a lesbian.