|
Amy had a bad taste
in her mouth. It wasn’t from the mediocre spinach and artichoke
dip getting cold in front of her as she picked at it. It
certainly wasn’t from the third glass of Pinot Grigiot that she
was nursing either. No, the wine was Amy’s attempt to wash away
the unpleasantness that lingered in her mouth left by one of her
arrogant coworkers.
“Would you like
another glass, Miss?” The bartender brought her back to reality
as Amy was mumbling under her breath, going over the day’s events
in her mind, trying to rehash what she should have done better,
and saying the things she wished she had said to make her position
perfectly clear.
“No thank you, I
think I might have had one too many as it is.” She reached for
her purse to pay the tab and collect her senses. She glanced at
her watched and then around the bar and noticed that the late hour
had left her the last person there. Tuesday nights weren’t
particularly busy at Avanti’s, it had more of a noonday crowd as
it was located in the heart of downtown and most people headed to
the chain restaurants of the suburbs on weeknights to stay close
to home. At 9:00, it was relatively deserted except for the few
random busboys that shuffled around, filling up salt and pepper
shakers and a few waitresses that were counting tips and talked
about the best and worst customers of the night. She fumbled with
her wallet, not really wanting to go home and unsure of what to
do, where to go. She sat there, dazed and confused.
“Here, this one’s on
the house. Looks like you could use it.” The bartender poured
another glass of wine to her relief and went about his duties of
breaking the bar down. Amy picked up her cell phone and called
her husband to tell him that she was fine; she just needed some
time to herself. He questioned her, asking if everything was
okay, if there was something she wanted to talk about, and she
kept repeating that she would be fine, she just had a bad day at
work and it was something that she was going to have to work out
on her own. She said the obligatory, “I love you’s” and “see you
later’s” and hung up the cell phone before he asked too many more
questions. This wasn’t something her husband could help her with;
it was outside of his realm of expertise.
“In my years of
experience, I’ve found that your local bartender/therapist is the
best person to talk to when your husband won’t understand. I
didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I’m here for you if you want an
objective ear.” The bartender didn’t stop wiping down the bar,
but made it clear that the troubled lady at the bar could unburden
her heavy load if she so chose.
Amy stumbled, “You
wouldn’t understa . . .," her voice trailed off as she looked at
the bartender. For the first time in three hours, she realized
that the bartender was a black man. She hadn’t even paid
attention to him before, or perhaps she did but it didn’t register
in her consciousness. She felt funny, faced with her particular
dilemma, and not even sure how to express it, especially to the
man that might be able to lend some insight into her situation but
the words wouldn’t come out. Amy wanted to ask for his help but
she felt paralyzed.
The bartender
noticed her discomfort and backed off. “Take your time, finish
your wine, I’m scheduled to be here until midnight whether there
are customers here or not. We probably won’t get another person
in here for the rest of the evening.” Amy looked at him hard,
studying him for the first time. He was more than twenty years
younger than she, easily in his late 20s or early 30s and she
noticed that he was very good looking. His eyes sparkled with
warmth and charm and his dark skin of his forearms looked like
velvet in comparison to the stark white shirt he wore. The muscle
definition in his chest was apparent even through the material.
He looked to be about 5’10” from her vantage point but even that
was a good 10 inches taller than her 5’0” petite frame. For a
very brief second, her mind flashed to all those interracial porno
movies her husband had “hidden” in the family room, and how many
times she sneaked a peek at them on Saturday mornings when he was
out playing golf. She had always wanted to ask her husband why
his collection of erotic material always consisted of black men
with white women but she was afraid to confront him with the fact
that she knew about his secret stash so she kept her mouth shut.
“I’m not racist,”
she blurted out, regretting that she hadn’t tried to start the
conversation in some other way as she heard the words come out of
her mouth.
The bartender
smiled, as if amused, and went back to his duties of counting
liquor bottles without acknowledging her comment.
Amy felt flush, she
picked up the glass of wine and held it to her lips and took a big
slug. She had a slight buzz but she wanted more. She wanted to
get this off her chest and it was now or never. She set the glass
down and stared at it as she began telling her tale. She had been
raised in a very typical Southern home without much intimate
contact with anyone of color except those people she encountered
at a distance in her daily transgressions. She told of how her
mother always told her to treat people equally and always quoted
Martin Luther King’s words to her about judging people by the
content of their character and not by the color of their skin.
Her father wasn’t so visionary. He didn’t like anyone that didn’t
look or think like him and he didn’t hide that fact. Fortunately
for her, she didn’t have to deal with him that much because he was
always at work so his influence on her perspective was minimal.
When she went away to college, she was exposed to more people of
color but she never really befriended any Black people or got to
know them on a very intimate basis. By the time she was married
and in the work force, she realized that Black people had the
lowest paying jobs and it registered somewhere in the back of her
mind that that was probably unfair, but she never questioned it,
that’s just the way things were and she couldn’t do anything to
change it.
She downed the last
little bit of wine and continued with her story. The hospital had
just hired a new head cardiologist, a woman in fact. She was
known to be the best in the business and was sure to bring a lot
of positive publicity to the hospital, and good PR meant more
money. More money meant better care for the patients, so Amy was
excited to welcome her to the staff. All Amy had wanted to do
with her life was be an RN and she prided herself with that fact
that she had the best reputation for her bedside manner of any
nurse in the hospital. During her first encounter with the new
doctor, Amy was caught off-guard. Amy had been emptying a bed ban
for one of the elderly African American patients on CICU when the
doctor walked in and said, “Why are you cleaning the bedpan for a
Black, get one of the orderlies to do it. Whites shouldn’t be
cleaning up after a Black. Why do you think their skin is that
color? So you can’t see the . . . .” Her sentence fell off to
laughter, apparently thinking her joke would be funny to all.
Amy was sick. “A
Black.” The words rang in Amy’s ears. They sounded so empty, so
dehumanizing when she heard the words fall from the doctors lips.
Why couldn’t she have said a black patient or an African American?
She was outraged that the doctor would say something so cruel, so
blatantly racist, in front of a patient and she was appalled that
the doctor hadn’t had any sensitivity training to know that those
sorts of comments were inappropriate. Amy was speechless and she
looked in the eyes of the patient and saw the hurt and pain that
the words had caused. The doctor apparently didn’t notice the
discomfort of either one of them and she checked the charts and
went about her business. Amy continued on with her duties, taking
extra care to provide comfort to the patient and even to sing to
her to distract her from the pain, both physical and emotional.
“What do I do? If I
report her, I might lose my job and if they find out that she is
racist and she’s fired, then the money that she might bring to the
hospital will go with her. Maybe it was a joke. Doctors just
aren’t supposed to say that sort of thing. What if she treats
African American patients differently than white patients?” By
the time Amy had finished spilling her guts, she was breathless
and in tears and rambling on in disconnected sentences.
The bartender had
made his way to the other side of the bar and sat himself next to
her. He listened intently to the story and made copious notes on
a napkin. He placed his hand on Amy’s shoulder and promised her
that everything would be okay. Amy looked at him with a puzzled
look on her face.
“Let me introduce
myself. My name is Akil Galanta, I’m in medical school, and I
just work here at nights because it’s so slow it’s like getting
paid to study. I’m going to take care of this so that this woman
is dealt with in the most appropriate way. Let me do some
research, contact the other hospitals that she used to work for,
speak with some of the other black nurses and doctors she’s worked
with to find out the real deal and I’ll make sure that your name
isn’t involved in this at all. I’m going to contact the
appropriate governing bodies of the hospital and you won’t have to
worry about this anymore.
Amy felt relief for
the first time in hours. She took a deep breath and felt the
weight of his hand on her shoulder. She was electrified by his
touch and the strength with which he seemed to know exactly what
to do. Instinctually, she wrapped her arms around his neck and
hugged him, grateful that she felt like she had told the right
person to handle the situation. Her joy, her relief, came out in
her enthusiastic hug. He hugged her back it was more than
apparent that there was some sort of chemistry going on more than
just two people sharing a common agenda.
Akil let the wait
staff out and locked the door behind them. He turned down the
lights in the bar and returned to Amy. “I think it’s okay to
close a little early tonight.” Amy didn’t feel threatened or
afraid; rather she was comforted by his gesture. He turned her
barstool towards him and, without notice, he kissed her. Amy
didn’t fight it for a second; she let herself go in his kiss,
seduced by the feel of his full dark lips against hers, his soft
tongue dancing against hers. She closed her eyes tightly and
blamed it on the wine and her highly emotional state. She was
allowed to have a minute of bad judgment in the arms of her sexy
hero.
Akil broke off the
kiss and apologized. “I’m sorry. I know you’re married but I was
so moved by the sincerity of your feelings and your desire to do
the right thing. Often times, white people let this sort of
racism go, ignore it, or agree. The fact that you were stirred so
strongly but her outrageous behavior means you were willing to
challenge the status quo. That’s sexy. At least to me it is.”
Amy only heard every
other word; she was so turned on that she couldn’t grasp all of
what Akil was saying. She was caught up in the fact that her son
was older than Akil and that her husband was probably waiting for
her to walk through the door any second. She was distracted with
this lack of morality she felt and how much she wanted him to take
things further, of how much she had enjoyed the brief kiss. She
couldn’t get over the fact that this very sexy young Black man
found her attractive. Sure, she knew she was attractive for her
age and that she kept herself in great shape, but she never
expected that she would be the object of desire from a gorgeous
black man, let alone one young enough to be her son. His
attention was intoxicating. Well, the wine was intoxicating and
his attention made her feel alive.
Akil spoke in soft,
hushed tones; his melodic and rich voice was like music to her
ears. Amy was watching his movements, making note of his
demeanor. His voice was comforting to her and her head was
spinning out of control. The electricity in the air, the dimmed
lights, and his smooth-as-velvet skin were all distractions. Akil
was equally as aroused and made moves to let his customer know
that, above all else, he was a man. He was a very confident,
secure, intelligent man with very strong desires. His desire at
that moment was directed at the woman sitting before him. He let
his hand rest on her knee; she made no effort to move it, to
retreat. He intentionally placed his thigh against hers, to see
how she would respond, and she didn’t even flinch. Their’s was a
dance of seduction. Akil was leading and Amy followed expertly.
Akil leaned in
slowly and whispered seductively in Amy’s ear. “Ma’am, you aren’t
listening to a word I’m saying. What has you so distracted?”
Amy, snapped back to
reality, stumbled for words. “I . . .uhmmm . . . no, I’m paying
attention . . . I . . . I heard every word . . . it’s just that I
was so angry at what Dr. Walter said. I’m sorry . . . I . . .”
She laughed at her own attempt to cover her thoughts. She took a
deep breath and collected herself. “Akil,” she said as she was
reaching for her purse, “I want to thank you very much for being
so kind and for all your help in this situation. Truth be told,
I’m old enough to be your mother and I am very happily married.
No matter what sorts of fantasies I might be having about you, and
I am, there’s nothing I can do about them.” Amy felt empowered;
she was regaining control of her out of control libido as she
stood to leave.
“How will I contact
you again? How should we communicate about this issue? I’m not
going to let it go and I won’t let that woman get away with
discriminating against patients of color. I need you as an ally
in this fight.” Amy felt a sigh of relief that the connection
wasn’t just lust and that this was the person that could help her
with the situation.
Amy pulled out a pen
and scribbled her name and email address on a napkin. She was
going to give her email address at work but decided against it in
case the hospital monitored her emails. She slid the napkin
across the bar and Akil rested his hand on hers for a brief second
and held made eye contact with her. “Okay, Mrs. Roland, Mrs. Amy
Roland . . . we’ll be in contact. That’s for sure.”
Amy made it home
safely even though she was too tipsy to be driving. She and her
husband made love like passionate teenagers that night and she
fought like hell to shut out the images of the young Akil out of
her mind. Amy made love to her husband every night for a week.
After day three, her husband asked her if she was having an
affair, why there was such an increase in their lovemaking. Amy
played it off and said she was taking new herbal supplements and
that she was just incredibly horny. She would exchange emails
with Akil during the day; plotting and planning their agenda. In
each email, Akil would reveal a particular insight or perspective
that would make her in awe of his intellect and rush home to her
husband to unleash her newfound passion. She looked forward to
opening those emails, to rereading them over and over, looking for
some indication that he might be thinking of her in the same way,
looking for some sign of flirtation.
Akil was playing his
cards very close to the vest. He knew all too well that he and
Amy had an attraction for one another, that the chemistry between
the two of them was magnetic. With every email, he revealed more
and more of himself, of his struggles, hoping that Amy would see
him not as a child but as a man, an equal. His studies kept him
distracted from fantasizing about her. That and the fact that he
was intent on taking this racist doctor down and he wasn’t about
to let lust get in the way of doing that.
Amy sat at the
nurse’s station desk and opened her email. It had become her
morning ritual to read his email and think of him all throughout
the day. This morning, there was no email. She refreshed her
inbox and checked her bulk folder to see if it had been
misdirected. All day long she checked, to the point of it
becoming obsessive. Just as her shift was about to end, she
checked again. She logged off, disappointed that she hadn’t heard
from Akil.
“Hey lady, I was
hoping you would be getting off now. I have some news I want to
discuss with you and you aren’t going to believe this.”
Amy almost jumped
out of her skin. Akil was standing right in front of her, wearing
a navy blue turtle neck sweater and jeans, looking particularly
collegiate, speaking in hushed, clandestine tones, smiling
seductively. He explained that he had compiled enough evidence to
present against the good doctor and wanted to go over it with
her. He had put on his best cologne, trying not to appear too
obvious, but wanting to make sure that Amy would be distracted
with thoughts of him nonetheless.
Amy grabbed her
purse and called her husband and left a message that she would be
home late. She turned off her phone, aware that she was setting
herself up for the unspeakable, the unthinkable.
They walked to his
apartment, not far from the hospital. Akil’s apartment was small
but atypically well furnished for a med school student. It seems
he had gone back to med school after climbing the corporate ladder
for a few years and had accumulated some very nice things with
which he wasn’t willing to part yet staying in a meager apartment
to offset his expenses.
Amy sat on the sofa
while they poured over pages and pages of legal papers, statements
for other doctors, nurses, patients, and newspaper articles about
the “good” doctor. Akil had done his research and written a
letter to the board at the hospital presenting them with a plan to
get Dr. Walter temporarily removed from the staff, to have her get
sensitivity training in exchange for not having her lose her
license and have the hospital the litigant in a class action law
suit. If med school didn’t work out, Akil had a future in law.
Amy was exhilarated, she felt like a child being shown the wonders
of the universe through Akil’s eyes.
As the evening wore
on, and the city’s night lights became their backdrop, they moved
closer and closer to one another. Akil offered Amy a beer and she
accepted, they sat back as he moved the papers out of the way. He
turned on the stereo and Duke Ellington serenaded them. Amy
looked puzzled. Akil assured her that not all young black men
listened to hip hop. “Some of us enjoy an aged, more mature form
of stimulation.”
Amy blushed. He had
made the first move and the ball was in her court. Her heart was
pounding and she was unsure of how to proceed. She leaned back
into the softness of the leather sofa and closed her eyes. Akil
pulled Amy to him and slid her between his legs; wrapping his arms
around her and stretching out. Amy laid her head back against his
chest, her eyes closed tightly. She felt his hands begin to
caress her body and she purred her approval. She had felt his
caress many times in her mind, the reality of it was that much
more exhilarating.
“Maybe you should go
now, because if you stay, I’m not making any promises about me
being a gentleman.” With those words, he gyrated his hips against
her to make sure she was aware of the beginning stages of his
erection. Amy moaned, obviously aroused, and didn’t make a move
to leave. She threw her head back and placed her hands on his,
directing them to take further liberties with her body. His lips
brushed her neck and she began grinding back on him. They had
gone from zero to sixty in no time at all. Amy knew that there
was no turning back; she didn’t want to turn back. It was full
speed ahead.
Akil placed his
hands under Amy’s sweater and caressed her bare flesh. Amy was
alive with sensations she hadn’t felt in a lifetime. Her panties
were soaked and she was breathing erratically. She could feel her
heartbeat pounding in her head and her nipples were aching to be
touched. Akil’s hands moved closer and closer to her breasts, and
she was paralyzed for a moment, afraid her sensible bra and
panties wouldn’t be arousing for a man raised with Victoria Secret
models.
Akil massaged her
breasts, gently squeezing them and softly playing with her nipples
through her bra. He began whispering in her ear the naughty
things he was thinking, the ways he wanted to pleasure her body.
Amy’s clit was throbbing and she, instinctually, subconsciously
maybe, moved her hand to her stimulate herself; caught up in the
fantasy of the events, not realizing she was masturbating in front
of Akil.
Akil, aroused beyond
belief by Amy’s wanton display of lust, grabbed her by the hand
and stood with her. He placed her face in his hands and without a
word, kissed her. Amy kissed him back, passionately and wrapped
her arms around his neck. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him and she
got lost in his full, sensuous kiss.
He led her by the
hand to the bedroom and she stood in silence as he moved
sensuously around the bedroom like a panther, lighting candles and
removing his shirt. A lump formed in her throat as she saw his
magnificent body and she again wondered if she could arouse a man
half her age.
She saw the fear in
her eyes and took her to the foot of the bed and stood before
her. “I’ve wanted you from the first night we met. This is
bigger than both of us. Make love to me tonight. Let me make
love to you.”
Amy swallowed hard
and answered with a kiss. Her hands roamed freely over his smooth
brown chest, enjoying his muscular body, giddy with lust. Akil’s
hands held her by her waist as they kissed, his instinctive male
nature taking over. He sat her on the foot of the bed, and knelt
of the floor, making himself eye level with her tiny frame. He
lifted her sweater, Amy raising her hands like a child being
undressed. He reached behind her and released the closure on her
skirt and worked with her to maneuver the garment down her legs.
He stood, undid the belt on his pants and unzipped them. He slid
his pants down his legs and stepped out of them. He stood before
her, oblivious to her insecurities, proud to show off his sculpted
body, to make her want him.
Amy was mesmerized,
Akil was wearing nothing but tight fitting boxer briefs, and
obviously aroused. “Lay back,” he instructed her and she followed
his instructions. Akil climbed on the bed and kissed his way up
her body, licking the tender and sensitive flesh of her tummy,
maneuvering his body between her legs. The only thing that
separated them was the thin material of her panties and bra and
his boxers. Akil began whispering to her as he kissed her
gently. “Amy, I want you to feel good tonight, I want to pleasure
you.”
Amy was on the verge
of orgasm without any direct stimulation. Akil undid the clasp of
her bra and lowered his mouth to her nipples. He was licking and
gently sucking them as Amy watched him in awe. His skill was that
of a man that had known her body for a very long time. She
marveled at the contrast in skin color. Her legs encircled him as
they began grinding their bodies on one another. She reached down
to feel his thickness. She took the initiative and placed her
hand in his boxers, anxious to move one step closer to the
experience she’d been fantasizing about for over a week. His cock
was leaking precum and he held very still, assuring that she could
move at her own pace, she would be comfortable with every move.
Amy began awkwardly stroking him inside his boxers, and Akil stood
to remove them. Amy stared wide eyed as his cock sprang into
view. It was everything she had dreamt it would be and more. It
looked like an Ebony column of flesh, reaching up to his navel,
the head glistening with moisture. It was long and thick and Amy
wondered if she could take it all. She had to know, she had to
have him. This was much more than a case of jungle fever; it was
two like energies, exploring a passion that could not be denied.
Akil stroked himself
while Amy watched. He then reached down and pulled of her panties
and stared at her naked form. “I have to taste you,” he said and
didn’t wait for her permission before he lowered his mouth to her
sweet center. Amy made a very futile and transparent attempt to
stop him, but it didn’t last long. The second she felt his tender
and soft lips licking and kissing her aroused clit, she lost all
pretenses. His tongue lapped at her pussy, tasting her juices.
She grabbed his head and held him close, feeling the soft texture
of his hair as she guided him to all the right places. Akil used
his fingers to finger her and lick her at the same time. Amy
began chanting, “Yes, oh God, yes, that feels so good.”
Akil glanced up at
her momentarily and licked her juices from his fingers to show her
how much he loved her essence. Amy didn’t remember the last time
she had felt so desirable. Akil went back to his feast, fucking
her with his tongue, bringing her to the edge of orgasm by gently
sucking her aroused clit. Amy began begging him to let her cum.
“Oh shit, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
Akil, wanting to
prolong her pleasure, wouldn’t let her do any such thing. Amy,
insane with lust, took matters into her own hands. She maneuvered
Akil onto his back and prepared to return the favor orally. She
studied his cock, holding it in her hands, looking at every vein,
every black inch. Her tiny hands looked strange against the dark
flesh. The reflection of her wedding ring sparkled in the
candlelight. Tentatively, she began to lick his hard cock. She
placed her mouth over the head and began softly licking him while
he groaned in appreciation. She wanted to give him as much
pleasure as he had given her, so she began playing with his balls,
rolling them around in her fingers, stroking him with her other
hand, her mouth enveloping him, sucking him. She wanted this to
be her time to shine, to give this young, brilliant man pleasure.
She began giving him the best blow job she had ever given in her
life. She was inspired by his moans and verbal appreciation. “Oh
shit, suck my cock, damn that feels so good.”
Akil, at his
threshold for pleasure, grabbed his cock and squeezed it tightly.
He had to maneuver this temptress away from his cock or else round
one would be over too quickly.
He pulled her body
up and she straddled him. For a few moments, his cock, slippery
with her spit and his precum, slid between the slippery folds of
her wet pussy. The soft lips of her pussy slid along the shaft of
his rock hard prick. She rhythmically rubbed the ridge of the
head of his cock on her clit, getting lost in the sensations. The
lovers teased each other, the heat building to a frenzy. Amy
grabbed his cock and steadied it. She placed it at her core and
waited for a signal that she should continue. Akil licked his
lips and pulled her to him and they shared another passionate
kiss. “Fuck me,’ he said and Amy cried out like an animal,
overwhelmed with lust.
Amy had to be on
top, to control the penetration. He wanted her to experience
nothing but pleasure and he was willing to let her steer the ship
so she could accommodate as much of him as she wanted. Amy
positioned the head of his stiff cock at her hole and took a deep
breath. It was a night of firsts and she gave pause only for a
few seconds, and she made her descent.
It was pure ecstasy;
Amy was filled with pleasure in every inch of her body. She
worked hard to get her body to accept all of Akil’s stiff meat.
She had never felt so full, so penetrated in her entire life. She
placed her hands on his chest and steadied herself. She began to
ride him harder, grunting every time his cock penetrated her more
deeply than before. Her pussy was lubricating his cock, making it
glisten in the soft lighting.
Akil wasn’t one to
lie back and do nothing. He used his hands all over her body,
stimulating her, touching her, caressing her. He filled his hands
with her ass, he played with her tits. He stuck his fingers in
her mouth and Amy licked them seductively. Amy was using Akil’s
cock like a dildo, riding him hard, bouncing up and down. The
walls of her pussy were stretched like never before. She was on
her way to her first orgasm of the night. She started babbling
incoherently and chanting and moaning.
Akil thrust his hips
upward and buried every inch of steely cock deep inside her.
Amy’s pussy spasmed and constricted and gripped his dick tightly.
She closed her eyes and the lights danced behind her eyes. She
came hard, coating him with her thick and sweet honey.
Akil held off his
orgasm, not ready to end the night of pleasure. He grabbed her in
his arms flipped her over on the bed, staying deep inside her the
entire time. She was still in the throws of pleasure as he laid
his weight on top of her. Amy struggled for air, crushed by his
brown body, enveloped with pleasure like she’s never known. Akil
grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist.
“Fuck me, Akil. Fuck
me.”
Akil went into
overdrive and began thrusting deeply. A healthy sheen of
perspiration coated them. Amy dug her nails in his ass and pulled
him deeper. They were one unit of pleasure, no color, and no
taboo. She received every thrust and he poured every ounce of his
being into her. His nuts drew up closer to his body. His cock
grew harder and his head expanded. They kissed more passionately
and the heat emanated off their bodies and their limbs were a
tangle of black and white lust.
“I’m going to cum.”
The words came out in stereo. They were about to reach their
crescendo together. Amy’s walls gripped Akil tighter. He thrust
deeper, she moaned louder. He coated her insides with his cum and
collapsed, exhausted and drained from their emotional tryst.
Amy held her purse
tightly as she looked down at the floor. Akil was dressed only in
pajama bottoms as he brushed the hair from her face and comforted
her with words of reassurance of how much he had enjoyed the
experience. Again, Amy couldn’t hear his words. This time she
was lost in reflections of pleasure and regret. The taste in her
mouth was bitter sweet now. She would leave to go back to her
normal life, her days of activism and adultery behind her. She
was a better woman for her experience, more empowered, more
pleasured.
Copyright, Scottie
Lowe
|
