It was late in the afternoon when she came silently through the back gate, through the back door and into the house. She’d come through the alley because her car had stopped for no apparent reason about a block away and she had decided to walk home and leave the dormant car where it stopped. It was a benign neighborhood and there would be plenty of time to call for help after her husband arrived home in a few hours. He’d either fix it himself or call a tow truck and have it transported to someone else who could fix it.
It was late afternoon and the house was totally silent. Her husband would not be home for a while and her kids were probably still in school or involved in one or more of their many extra curricular activities. The house seemed empty.
Even so, even though it was her house, she turned the key in the back door lock as noiselessly as possible. She liked the silence for some indescribable psychological reason. It was almost as though it had a presence all its own. She knew the reason for it. In her single years, the last of which were very lonely before she met and married him, her loneliness was accompanied by a silence that seemed to have a noise and a presence all its own. She noticed it. It was her most intimate companion during that otherwise miserable years before she met him, before they married, and fell in love. It had all happened in that order. Marrying and then falling in love much later.
The marriage saved her life in so many ways. His love, his presence, their intimacy. They’d replaced the silence and given new meaning to her life and a reason to continue it.
Still there was something intimate about the silence. It had been like a friend that comforted her when she’d been alone. The silence provided a backdrop against which she could hear the approach of threatening things and threatening people. It was like a white, snow covered winter field, against which an approaching enemy, an approaching threat of any kind, would be silhouetted for easy recognition.
Her white lover received his inheritance and they got married, settled down together, had children and lived in the nice, upscale neighborhood...an all white upscale neighborhood. Diversity was a great slogan but not very desirable in real life. Everyone knew it but on one had the guts to say it. For more than ten years, having moved there when their children were under ten years old. Now their white son was eighteen and their white ******** was seventeen.
They were in high school now. He was a senior and she was a junior. Both were attractive. Both were very popular. Both were successful. Thankfully, neither were interested in interracial relationships. Their school was almost all white. Both were interested in white people, she in white boys and he in white girls.
She’d realized, intuitively, if not explicitly, that her white children regarded blacks and other non whites as the “other.” Neither was attracted to black people. Not at all. She and her husband both were grateful for their white children’s racial good sense. They both disliked race mixers with their mixed, mongrelized offspring. Ugh!
Sometimes she’d just sit alone in the silence and in the late afternoon semi- darkness of the house, waiting for them to come home. Sometimes she’d feel the silence in the middle of the night and contemplate it as her white husband slept silently next to her and her white children slept silently in their own rooms down the hall. For her the silence was a warm reminder of a happy ending, without which none of her present happiness would ever have been possible.
That was the reason, one of the reasons, she entered the back door of her own house so stealthfully and silently. She knew it was silent inside and she wanted to show that silence the proper respect. When her ****** was there it didn’t matter and she could just open the door as noisily as she wanted, but when the house was empty, it was a different feeling she had.
Mostly she came in through the garage, but having her car broken down on the next block she came through the back door, stealthfully through the back door, as silently as possible. She closed the door slowly and quietly as if not to awaken any sleeping spirits. She stood there an pondered it all. That night so long ago. Her marriage. Her children. Now the car broken down.
She just stood there meditating, reflecting. Then she heard it. It was the sound, the unmistakable sounds of people. They were human sounds. There was a muffled human voice. It was unmistakably human. Not just one human voice. At least two. Muffled as they were, she couldn’t make out words, only sounds.
Her body stiffened and she froze. It was too early for anyone to be home yet. Her husband would be home for hours. Her children had at least another two hours of school. Was there a break in? Had a burglar gotten in to her house?
Then she heard two voices. They were muffled and she couldn’t make out any words. Maybe someone came home from school early. She balanced the impulse to exit the back door and call the police to report an intruder. The gun she’d used against another intruder so many years before was in the opposite side of the house. It would be reckless and foolhardy go any further when she had the opportunity to exit the house through the back door through which she’d entered it.
Against all reason, she decided to look. It was early afternoon and a burglary at this time of day seemed unlikely. She tiptoed to the door to rest of the house, opened it a crack and looked out into the living room. She heard nonhuman sounds. Like furniture creaking. She moved into the dining room from which she would have a better field of vision of the adjacent living room.
The curtains were drawn and the light was low, but she could see the people in the next room. There were two of them. One was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace and was reflected in the large mirror mounted above the fireplace. She could see both figures clearly in that large mirror. She could clearly see a young teen aged boy on the couch, leaning back, with his eyes half closed and his legs wide open. He was moaning softly and breathing heavily and the reasons for that were obvious. Between his open legs down on her knees was her ********. As she was positioned on her knees, kneeling in front of the boy who was obviously lost in a world all his own, her head bobbed slowly and rhythmically up and down. No wonder the boy was breathing heavily and moaning. There was no mistaking what was going on. Her teenaged ******** was performing fellatio on him.
She could tell from her ********’s movement, her rhythm and her moderation of her speed and attention to detail that this was not her first time. She’d obviously done this before. A woman would just know it. She would just know. Instinctively, intuitively she knew. Most teen aged girls new to oral sex bobbed up and down as fast as they could, as though running a frantic and pointless race. Maybe they were trying to get it over with because they didn’t like it, or maybe they just didn’t know better. There were girls who went through the motions and girls who knew what they were doing. With mixed feelings, she knew instinctively that her ******** knew better. She knew the ropes when it came to giving head. At one level she felt proud of her ********, at another level she felt sick.
The really good ones understood the importance of going slowly, sensuously and, above all, deeply. She could tell by the length of her ********’s up and down strokes that she was taking the full length of the boy’s penis all the way into her mouth and down her throat. She could tell from the length of her ********’s strokes, from how much she moved from the bottom to the top of each stroke, that the boy was obviously well hung.
The boy. The teenaged boy. He wasn’t just any teenaged boy. It wasn’t her boyfriend as she’d have expected. Her white boyfriend. She’d thought he was the perfect boyfriend. Always polite and courteous. Always dropping her off on time. Never staying out too late. No tell tale signs of his ever having taken unfair advantage.
Unfair advantage? What was an unfair advantage? Did sexually charged teen aged males even understand the concept? Probably not. Some, however, like her regular boy friend at least gave the impression they did.
This wasn’t him. It was definitely not him. Even at a distance, even in the low light, she knew it wasn’t her boyfriend. Her regular boyfriend was white. This teenaged boy whose dick was being sucked by her white ********...was black. Black!
Her precious white ******** was sucking a black boy’s dick, right in their living room. Right on their couch. Right under their own roof. What was she thinking? What the hell was her ******** thinking?
She recognized the boy. He was the quarterback of the school’s football team, tall, broad shouldered and very well built. They d seen him play at games, passing and running the ball sometimes the length of the field for touchdowns. They’d seen his strength, his stamina, his courage and leadership on the football field. Thousands had seen it. Thousands had applauded him.
He was a great player, a great athlete. Now this. Now on her living room couch in a shear form fitting polo shirt and jeans pulled off, his legs spread wide and her white ******** on her knees in front of him. His arms and shoulders were breathtaking. They were well muscled and well defined. His stomach was flat. His cock was incredible. More than eight inches long. Circumcised. Thick. Veined. Glistening.
Her ******** pulled all the way up and brushed the swollen, glistening ebony shaft lightly with her lips. The boy’s eyes widened and he gasped for breath.
With mixed feelings of anger and admiration, she marveled at her ********’s complete control of the situation. This black athlete was over six feet tall, very athletic, very powerful. Yet, as between him and her ********, her ******** was in complete control and this black football player was the one prostrate before her, moaning, writhing and gasping breathlessly. His lower torso was like a run away train, thrusting and undulating as though being powered by an invisible force of nature.
She resisted the impulse to act on motherly indignation and boldly enter the room, making the most of catching them red handed. She was at the same time angry with and proud of her ********. It’s hard for most mothers to accept their own ********’s passion and the realization that, sooner or later, they’ll be pressured into sucking some boy’s dick, whether they want to or not. Boys are always pushing. Her husband had warned her about her boyfriend. But this... now this. Not the danger they’d seen, but the danger they’d never suspected, the danger of a strong, sexually charged black athlete.
“He seems so nice,” she’d said to her husband after her white boyfriend picked her up one Friday night for a date and they drove away in his car.
“Nice? Get real. As soon they turn the corner she’ll be sucking his dick. Five minutes later he’ll be cumming in her mouth. Twenty minutes after that they’ll be at a party and she’ll be down on all fours between two guys totally nude. She’ll be sucking the cock of the guy in front of her and being fucked by the guy in back of her. Hopefully they won’t video all of it.”
She took a deep breath as her heart sank. Deep down, she knew he was right. She just hoped their ******** wouldn’t get pregnant. Despite what her husband had said, however, there was never a hint of any impropriety.
Now....now this! She comes home early and catches them in the front room with her down on her knees in front of a black boy and him gasping and flopping around like a fish out of water.
Watching silently from her concealed position, she was impressed by her ********’s skill and her technique. The black boy was moaning and writhing around, but her ******** was smoothly ministering to him.... smoothly, calmly and expertly working her magic. She performed like an expert. She was totally in control. Clearly the balance of power between them was on her white ********’s side. The “balance of power.” How many times had she used that expression to describe her relationship with her husband and with other people.
The “balance of power” was a constant in the human condition and it was apparent to her as she watched her ******** and the black football player. He was moaning, panting and writhing as though out of control. She was calm, patient, measured and very relaxed. She was savoring every second, every minute. She was savoring ever stroke. She turned her head to the side and brushed her ripe lips up and down the length of his cock. His lower torso thrust up and down as though he was having convulsions. Then she licked his balls and went back to deep throating him, while he moaned more loudly and thrashed about more convulsively.
She realized she was enjoying watching her white ******** overpower and dominate a powerful black football player. She took a sense of pleasure, of racial pride in her making him lie prostrate before her and flop around helplessly like a fish out of water. He was so tall, so muscular, so strong, and yet he was totally helpless and totally under her control, even though she was so much smaller and weaker.
She wished she’d had a camera to film it. Not your usual home movies of course, but it would have been a breathtaking video, a cinematic masterpiece. Like a father who reveled in his son’s athletic skill, she was reveling in her ********’s sensual skills.
Remembering a discussion with her husband, she felt the satisfaction of an “I told you so” moment. After he expressed his worry that boys would take advantage of his ********, she’d explained that if a girl played it cool and knew what she was doing, the girl would have all the power. It was their ******** who would have the power in the relationship if she wanted it. He was skeptical.
Now, watching this black boy’s breathless reaction to her white ********’s breathtaking mouth, she knew she’d been right all along. Her ******** had the situation with her black companion well in hand... ah, well in mouth, actually. She took a deep breath and pondered whether or not she should tell her husband about catching their ******** this way. Thankfully he wasn’t here and that decision would wait. There was plenty of time to think things through.
However proud of her ******** she was at the same time she was worried about her. She obviously had a fantastic mouth and boys talk about girls with fantastic mouths. Word of her amazing ability would spread at school, if it had not already spread.
It was a bitter sweet memory of her husband’s fear that she would get lots of dates because she had the best mouth in her school. Her response, joking at the time, was that if she had the best mouth in school she deserved to get dates.
It was one thing for her to fellate her white boyfriend. That was probably inevitable. But how...how did this black boy get into the picture? How?
She was haunted, however, by her husband’s description of their ******** at a party, down on her hands and knees, totally nude with white guys in front of her and in back of her. Now she was haunted by the image of her nude ******** with black boys...black football players no less...in front of her and in back of her.
The image of her ******** at a party like that in her mind excited her even as it terrified her. Maybe best to say nothing for the moment. At least she didn’t have to make that decision now.
“Oh...Oh God!”
She was jolted from her thought as the black boy cried out. She knew instinctively what that cry meant. He was going to cum. Wow! She wanted to see that. She leaned forward and her eyes strained in the semi-darkness. She wanted to see how her ******** would handle him cumming and she wished again for an video of the scene that had unfolded so unexpectedly before her. She’d never realized her ******** was so charismatic. She’d realized her ******** was cute, good looking and, in the parlance of teen aged boys, “built.” But she displayed more than cuteness. She displayed charisma. She displayed a kind of aura.
“Ohhhhh,” he moaned as his chest was heaving up and down from heavy breathing. “Ohhhhhh God!!”
Her ******** paused, motionless, with his penis deep in her mouth. It was obvious he was cumming in her mouth, She received every drop without flinching or making any effort to pull away.
His eyes opened and he looked at her.
“Oh God baby! Oh God baby.” He was gasping, clearly out of breath. “Oh God I never had anything like that.” He swallowed and caught his breath. “I’ve never had anything as good as that. I never dreamed anything could be that wonderful.”
She’d pulled up and wiped her mouth.
“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you,” she said modestly.
“Oh God!” he gasped again and shook his head. “You didn’t disappoint me. Believe me. You’re wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”
“I’m going to remind you you said that.”
“Oh. You don’t have to remind me of anything. You’re the greatest.”
She rose up onto the couch next to him, hugged him and kissed him deeply and passionately. He responded. It was obvious she’d swallowed every drop.
“Wow,” she whispered to herself under her breath. “Wow. That was pretty heavy for a teenager.” Many mature, fully experienced women did not have that kind of oral skill and presence of mind. She was in complete control of the situation and she didn’t lose it, she didn’t give up anything when he came in her mouth.
It was obvious the boy was completely, physically spent. He was exhausted and out of breath. That meant no intercourse. Not this time. No getting pregnant. Not this time. At least not for now. They were next to each other, enjoying a quite, treasured moment in each other’s arms after coming down from the heights. Every woman, and every man, knew that feeling.
She wondered. Had they been to bed? Had they had intercourse? Instinctively she knew her ******** had performed fellatio before, but she sense that this was her first time with him, based on his comments. She was too good at it for a first timer. That worried her. That meant he was not the first, not by a long shot. How many others had there been? How many guys had she sucked off like that? Obviously a number of them for her to be so good at it.
Had he shared her with his friends? She thought not. It seemed more likely that one of his friends was sharing her with him. Or, if not one of his friends, someone was sharing her with him. She was two years younger than him, yet as between them she seemed the most calm, the most efficient, the most smooth. He behaved like a teen aged boy being seduced by an older, highly experienced woman, even though she was the younger of the two.
She shook her head. There was something bigger here. There was an invisible hand here. He was Mr. Big Man on Campus, Mr. Football player yet her younger ******** had dominated him completely. She felt the nagging sense that her ******** was using him. But why?
Maybe she just liked it. Maybe she liked him. Somehow she didn’t feel that way. There was a maturity, a sense of charisma about her ******** that took her by surprise. She’d never seen that side of her ********. He ******** always came across as the sweet innocent girl. Most girls play that role, noting unusual there. But there was something unusual about how the sweet innocent girl became such an expert in fellatio. It took most women years of experience and practice to get that good. That would mean her ******** had been doing it since she was thirteen or fourteen. Was that possible?
She strained to think of how and when her ******** would have, could possibly have become such a seductress. No, it couldn’t have been that long. Maybe she was just a natural. Some girls were. Not many. But some.
Should she confront her white ********? Should she tell her husband? She dreaded how he might react. He was ok with the idea that his son would do what boys do, but was not reconciled with their ******** performing fellatio in the living room.
The boy was pulling up his pants. She breathed a little more easily. They were going to leave. Thank God! That would be all for the moment. No need to force a confrontation before it was necessary. She decided not to confront them. He wasn’t going to fuck her, thank God. That would really have forced a decision.
She wondered. What would she have done if the black boy and her white ******** had started to fuck. What would she do? Cry out? Go upstairs and get her gun and shoot him? Call the police?
“How about some pussy next time?” the black boy asked her white ******** matter of factly.
“...some pussy!” “Oh God,” she groaned inwardly. Here it comes. The inevitable. The p-word. “Some pussy.” A black boy asking her white ******** for “some pussy.”
Her ******** just smiled and answered him. “We’ll talk about it next time.”
He tried to conceal his disappointment by putting on a brave front, but you could tell he realized he’d been shot down. She could also tell he was used to white pussy and not used to being turned down. He’d tried to negotiate for “pussy” and she’d smoothly brushed him off. Her ******** seemed to know that if she held out, he’d keep calling and dating her, hoping against hope. Some things never change. Some things are eternal. The tension between boys and girls and men and women were among them.
He’d pulled up and fastened his pants, smoothed and tucked in his shirt, and brushed his hair with his hand in the mirror. After another long, lingering deep kiss, they both left together. Through the front door she could hear him start his car, parked in front of the house, and drive away.
Now she was completely alone. At least she thought she was. What if she went upstairs and caught her white husband with a black woman? She swallowed. Of course there was no way that could ever happen. Even if he decided to cross the racial line he’d never bring his black girl friend home. Never. At least she had that to be thankful for.
At the moment there was no reason for her ******** to know her mother had watched her performance. There would be plenty of time to play that card later. Her instincts told her she needed to find out more about how far her ******** had gone and with how many other boys. Intuitively she believed this boy...this black boy... was neither the only one nor even the first.
It was never easy for a mother to come to grips with her ********’s sexuality, but that was the cycle of life. The best thing about teenaged sexuality is that they were only teenagers for a limited number of years. It seemed like an eternity at the time, but actually it wa a very short time. She was grateful to have a husband to talk things through with. She wondered what his reaction would be. He could be very volcanic, but for the most part he was measured and reflective. That being said, Thank God he wasn’t there with her when she walked in on them. Thank God.
Another problem loomed...another question. What if the black boy showed up some evening to pick up their ******** for a date? OMG! How would she deal with that? How would her husband deal with that? A black boy dating...openly dating...their white ********. That would be bad enough even apart from her sucking his dick.
She looked at her watch. It was getting later and she still had the problem of her broken down car to resolve. No need to force something so inflammatory when it could be delayed.
The whole ****** gathered at the dinner table hours later that night. Everyone was relaxed and it was a usual ****** meal.
“So how did your day go,” she asked her son.
“My day?” He seemed startled, off balanced. She knew that reaction. He was about to lie to her.
“Usual day. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Of course he was lying. God knows what he really did. Probably cut class or something. She and her husband exchanged glances. They both knew their son was lying. Of course he was. But he was a boy. Boys always lie. Boys always lie and maybe she didn’t really want to know what he was doing. He was a boy and if her husband didn't pick up on it maybe she should just accept it. They'd talked about it before. The old double standard. Boys don’t get pregnant.
“How about you dear?” she turned to her ********. “How was your day?”
“Same old boring day."
"You were late getting home."
"Yeah. Well, I stayed late at school.”
“Really?” Of course her mother knew her ******** was lying to her, having caught her red handed sucking off the black football player in their living room.
“Really? Why late? What did you do?”
“I had some time with my algebra teacher. I’m having problems with algebra.”
“So how did it go?”
“Good. He was very patient with me. He’s a great teacher.”
The mother marveled at how casually her ******** lied. No one else at the table detected anything unusual. Her husband was absorbed in eating. He knew his son lied and didn’t care. He thought his white ******** was telling the truth and he didn’t care. Would she’d have known her ******** was lying if she hadn’t actually caught her ******** in their living room earlier that afternoon and knew she most definitely was not being tutored by her algebra teacher.
“Well that’s very good to know. I’m so glad we have such good schools.”
“Yeah mom,” her ********. “We have great schools.”
She turned to her husband.
“So how did your day go dear?”
“What?” Her husband looked startled, disconnected as if lost in thought while she was subtly cross examining their lying, race mixing white ********.
“How was it?”
“How was what?”
“Your day? Your day?”
“My day?”
“Yes,” she took a deep breath, surprised by her husband seemingly being caught off balance by such a mundane question. “Your day? How was your day?”
He shrugged. He shrugged and swallowed and cleared his throat and everyone at the table noticed it. The son and ******** exchanged glances. He’d been caught at something. He was stalling for time. Pretending not to understand the question.
“It was just like every other day actually,” he said flatly. “Just usual stuff. Making calls. Returning calls. Reading mail. Shuffling papers.”
He shrugged again.
“That was it.”
She knew intuitively, reflexively, instinctively. She knew. She knew her husband was lying. She knew his day was not like every other day. Something very unusual happened today and he was lying about it, covering it up. She knew.
She’d expected her teen aged children to lie. Obviously her white ******** was going to lie to her. She could hardly admit to everyone at the table that she was sucking off the school’s star black quarterback.
But her husband! Her husband for God’s sake. The most stable thing in her life. The one absolute in her life. He was lying and deceiving her. Now the whole issue of revealing her ********’s interracial adventure with her husband became irrelevant. She wouldn’t say anything about that, not now. It would only give him cover, give him a chance to shift the gravity away from himself.
Suddenly the discovery of her ******** sucking a boy’s dick in the ****** living room...even a black boy’s dick...was the last thing on her mind. Her husband, her lying husband was now the center of her focus.
She took a deep breath, got up and helped herself to a second helping of food from the kitchen stove. No one noticed it, or if they did no one said anything. She never had seconds. Never. Now she had seconds of everything and neither her children nor her husband noticed, nor said anything if they did. The message was clear. All of them, including her husband, the love of her life, were relieved that she did anything other than question them, anything other than put them on the spot and force them to lie about some forbidden thing they’d done that day.
She slowly ate the seconds she’d piled on to her plate. A sense of dread came over her. Now she’d have to go to bed with him, with her husband and lay next to him in the silence and the darkness and wonder what other lies he’d told and what other lies he would tell in the future.
Now deep inside, laying their silently in the dark...she almost wished her husband would answer the door to a black boy who'd show up at the door to take their white ******** out for a date. It would be worth it to see his surprise, his anger, his rage at his precious white ******** dating a black boy.
She smiled. After what she'd seen that afternoon and fully knowing what her white ******** would be doing later on with her black date, she was beginning to get used to the idea of her white ******** with a black boy, especially if it would enrage her lying cheating husband. How quickly her feelings had changed for him, about him,...about her whole white ******.
How delicious it would be for the high school's star black quarterback to show up at their house to take their white ******** out for a date.
It was late afternoon and the house was totally silent. Her husband would not be home for a while and her kids were probably still in school or involved in one or more of their many extra curricular activities. The house seemed empty.
Even so, even though it was her house, she turned the key in the back door lock as noiselessly as possible. She liked the silence for some indescribable psychological reason. It was almost as though it had a presence all its own. She knew the reason for it. In her single years, the last of which were very lonely before she met and married him, her loneliness was accompanied by a silence that seemed to have a noise and a presence all its own. She noticed it. It was her most intimate companion during that otherwise miserable years before she met him, before they married, and fell in love. It had all happened in that order. Marrying and then falling in love much later.
The marriage saved her life in so many ways. His love, his presence, their intimacy. They’d replaced the silence and given new meaning to her life and a reason to continue it.
Still there was something intimate about the silence. It had been like a friend that comforted her when she’d been alone. The silence provided a backdrop against which she could hear the approach of threatening things and threatening people. It was like a white, snow covered winter field, against which an approaching enemy, an approaching threat of any kind, would be silhouetted for easy recognition.
Her white lover received his inheritance and they got married, settled down together, had children and lived in the nice, upscale neighborhood...an all white upscale neighborhood. Diversity was a great slogan but not very desirable in real life. Everyone knew it but on one had the guts to say it. For more than ten years, having moved there when their children were under ten years old. Now their white son was eighteen and their white ******** was seventeen.
They were in high school now. He was a senior and she was a junior. Both were attractive. Both were very popular. Both were successful. Thankfully, neither were interested in interracial relationships. Their school was almost all white. Both were interested in white people, she in white boys and he in white girls.
She’d realized, intuitively, if not explicitly, that her white children regarded blacks and other non whites as the “other.” Neither was attracted to black people. Not at all. She and her husband both were grateful for their white children’s racial good sense. They both disliked race mixers with their mixed, mongrelized offspring. Ugh!
Sometimes she’d just sit alone in the silence and in the late afternoon semi- darkness of the house, waiting for them to come home. Sometimes she’d feel the silence in the middle of the night and contemplate it as her white husband slept silently next to her and her white children slept silently in their own rooms down the hall. For her the silence was a warm reminder of a happy ending, without which none of her present happiness would ever have been possible.
That was the reason, one of the reasons, she entered the back door of her own house so stealthfully and silently. She knew it was silent inside and she wanted to show that silence the proper respect. When her ****** was there it didn’t matter and she could just open the door as noisily as she wanted, but when the house was empty, it was a different feeling she had.
Mostly she came in through the garage, but having her car broken down on the next block she came through the back door, stealthfully through the back door, as silently as possible. She closed the door slowly and quietly as if not to awaken any sleeping spirits. She stood there an pondered it all. That night so long ago. Her marriage. Her children. Now the car broken down.
She just stood there meditating, reflecting. Then she heard it. It was the sound, the unmistakable sounds of people. They were human sounds. There was a muffled human voice. It was unmistakably human. Not just one human voice. At least two. Muffled as they were, she couldn’t make out words, only sounds.
Her body stiffened and she froze. It was too early for anyone to be home yet. Her husband would be home for hours. Her children had at least another two hours of school. Was there a break in? Had a burglar gotten in to her house?
Then she heard two voices. They were muffled and she couldn’t make out any words. Maybe someone came home from school early. She balanced the impulse to exit the back door and call the police to report an intruder. The gun she’d used against another intruder so many years before was in the opposite side of the house. It would be reckless and foolhardy go any further when she had the opportunity to exit the house through the back door through which she’d entered it.
Against all reason, she decided to look. It was early afternoon and a burglary at this time of day seemed unlikely. She tiptoed to the door to rest of the house, opened it a crack and looked out into the living room. She heard nonhuman sounds. Like furniture creaking. She moved into the dining room from which she would have a better field of vision of the adjacent living room.
The curtains were drawn and the light was low, but she could see the people in the next room. There were two of them. One was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace and was reflected in the large mirror mounted above the fireplace. She could see both figures clearly in that large mirror. She could clearly see a young teen aged boy on the couch, leaning back, with his eyes half closed and his legs wide open. He was moaning softly and breathing heavily and the reasons for that were obvious. Between his open legs down on her knees was her ********. As she was positioned on her knees, kneeling in front of the boy who was obviously lost in a world all his own, her head bobbed slowly and rhythmically up and down. No wonder the boy was breathing heavily and moaning. There was no mistaking what was going on. Her teenaged ******** was performing fellatio on him.
She could tell from her ********’s movement, her rhythm and her moderation of her speed and attention to detail that this was not her first time. She’d obviously done this before. A woman would just know it. She would just know. Instinctively, intuitively she knew. Most teen aged girls new to oral sex bobbed up and down as fast as they could, as though running a frantic and pointless race. Maybe they were trying to get it over with because they didn’t like it, or maybe they just didn’t know better. There were girls who went through the motions and girls who knew what they were doing. With mixed feelings, she knew instinctively that her ******** knew better. She knew the ropes when it came to giving head. At one level she felt proud of her ********, at another level she felt sick.
The really good ones understood the importance of going slowly, sensuously and, above all, deeply. She could tell by the length of her ********’s up and down strokes that she was taking the full length of the boy’s penis all the way into her mouth and down her throat. She could tell from the length of her ********’s strokes, from how much she moved from the bottom to the top of each stroke, that the boy was obviously well hung.
The boy. The teenaged boy. He wasn’t just any teenaged boy. It wasn’t her boyfriend as she’d have expected. Her white boyfriend. She’d thought he was the perfect boyfriend. Always polite and courteous. Always dropping her off on time. Never staying out too late. No tell tale signs of his ever having taken unfair advantage.
Unfair advantage? What was an unfair advantage? Did sexually charged teen aged males even understand the concept? Probably not. Some, however, like her regular boy friend at least gave the impression they did.
This wasn’t him. It was definitely not him. Even at a distance, even in the low light, she knew it wasn’t her boyfriend. Her regular boyfriend was white. This teenaged boy whose dick was being sucked by her white ********...was black. Black!
Her precious white ******** was sucking a black boy’s dick, right in their living room. Right on their couch. Right under their own roof. What was she thinking? What the hell was her ******** thinking?
She recognized the boy. He was the quarterback of the school’s football team, tall, broad shouldered and very well built. They d seen him play at games, passing and running the ball sometimes the length of the field for touchdowns. They’d seen his strength, his stamina, his courage and leadership on the football field. Thousands had seen it. Thousands had applauded him.
He was a great player, a great athlete. Now this. Now on her living room couch in a shear form fitting polo shirt and jeans pulled off, his legs spread wide and her white ******** on her knees in front of him. His arms and shoulders were breathtaking. They were well muscled and well defined. His stomach was flat. His cock was incredible. More than eight inches long. Circumcised. Thick. Veined. Glistening.
Her ******** pulled all the way up and brushed the swollen, glistening ebony shaft lightly with her lips. The boy’s eyes widened and he gasped for breath.
With mixed feelings of anger and admiration, she marveled at her ********’s complete control of the situation. This black athlete was over six feet tall, very athletic, very powerful. Yet, as between him and her ********, her ******** was in complete control and this black football player was the one prostrate before her, moaning, writhing and gasping breathlessly. His lower torso was like a run away train, thrusting and undulating as though being powered by an invisible force of nature.
She resisted the impulse to act on motherly indignation and boldly enter the room, making the most of catching them red handed. She was at the same time angry with and proud of her ********. It’s hard for most mothers to accept their own ********’s passion and the realization that, sooner or later, they’ll be pressured into sucking some boy’s dick, whether they want to or not. Boys are always pushing. Her husband had warned her about her boyfriend. But this... now this. Not the danger they’d seen, but the danger they’d never suspected, the danger of a strong, sexually charged black athlete.
“He seems so nice,” she’d said to her husband after her white boyfriend picked her up one Friday night for a date and they drove away in his car.
“Nice? Get real. As soon they turn the corner she’ll be sucking his dick. Five minutes later he’ll be cumming in her mouth. Twenty minutes after that they’ll be at a party and she’ll be down on all fours between two guys totally nude. She’ll be sucking the cock of the guy in front of her and being fucked by the guy in back of her. Hopefully they won’t video all of it.”
She took a deep breath as her heart sank. Deep down, she knew he was right. She just hoped their ******** wouldn’t get pregnant. Despite what her husband had said, however, there was never a hint of any impropriety.
Now....now this! She comes home early and catches them in the front room with her down on her knees in front of a black boy and him gasping and flopping around like a fish out of water.
Watching silently from her concealed position, she was impressed by her ********’s skill and her technique. The black boy was moaning and writhing around, but her ******** was smoothly ministering to him.... smoothly, calmly and expertly working her magic. She performed like an expert. She was totally in control. Clearly the balance of power between them was on her white ********’s side. The “balance of power.” How many times had she used that expression to describe her relationship with her husband and with other people.
The “balance of power” was a constant in the human condition and it was apparent to her as she watched her ******** and the black football player. He was moaning, panting and writhing as though out of control. She was calm, patient, measured and very relaxed. She was savoring every second, every minute. She was savoring ever stroke. She turned her head to the side and brushed her ripe lips up and down the length of his cock. His lower torso thrust up and down as though he was having convulsions. Then she licked his balls and went back to deep throating him, while he moaned more loudly and thrashed about more convulsively.
She realized she was enjoying watching her white ******** overpower and dominate a powerful black football player. She took a sense of pleasure, of racial pride in her making him lie prostrate before her and flop around helplessly like a fish out of water. He was so tall, so muscular, so strong, and yet he was totally helpless and totally under her control, even though she was so much smaller and weaker.
She wished she’d had a camera to film it. Not your usual home movies of course, but it would have been a breathtaking video, a cinematic masterpiece. Like a father who reveled in his son’s athletic skill, she was reveling in her ********’s sensual skills.
Remembering a discussion with her husband, she felt the satisfaction of an “I told you so” moment. After he expressed his worry that boys would take advantage of his ********, she’d explained that if a girl played it cool and knew what she was doing, the girl would have all the power. It was their ******** who would have the power in the relationship if she wanted it. He was skeptical.
Now, watching this black boy’s breathless reaction to her white ********’s breathtaking mouth, she knew she’d been right all along. Her ******** had the situation with her black companion well in hand... ah, well in mouth, actually. She took a deep breath and pondered whether or not she should tell her husband about catching their ******** this way. Thankfully he wasn’t here and that decision would wait. There was plenty of time to think things through.
However proud of her ******** she was at the same time she was worried about her. She obviously had a fantastic mouth and boys talk about girls with fantastic mouths. Word of her amazing ability would spread at school, if it had not already spread.
It was a bitter sweet memory of her husband’s fear that she would get lots of dates because she had the best mouth in her school. Her response, joking at the time, was that if she had the best mouth in school she deserved to get dates.
It was one thing for her to fellate her white boyfriend. That was probably inevitable. But how...how did this black boy get into the picture? How?
She was haunted, however, by her husband’s description of their ******** at a party, down on her hands and knees, totally nude with white guys in front of her and in back of her. Now she was haunted by the image of her nude ******** with black boys...black football players no less...in front of her and in back of her.
The image of her ******** at a party like that in her mind excited her even as it terrified her. Maybe best to say nothing for the moment. At least she didn’t have to make that decision now.
“Oh...Oh God!”
She was jolted from her thought as the black boy cried out. She knew instinctively what that cry meant. He was going to cum. Wow! She wanted to see that. She leaned forward and her eyes strained in the semi-darkness. She wanted to see how her ******** would handle him cumming and she wished again for an video of the scene that had unfolded so unexpectedly before her. She’d never realized her ******** was so charismatic. She’d realized her ******** was cute, good looking and, in the parlance of teen aged boys, “built.” But she displayed more than cuteness. She displayed charisma. She displayed a kind of aura.
“Ohhhhh,” he moaned as his chest was heaving up and down from heavy breathing. “Ohhhhhh God!!”
Her ******** paused, motionless, with his penis deep in her mouth. It was obvious he was cumming in her mouth, She received every drop without flinching or making any effort to pull away.
His eyes opened and he looked at her.
“Oh God baby! Oh God baby.” He was gasping, clearly out of breath. “Oh God I never had anything like that.” He swallowed and caught his breath. “I’ve never had anything as good as that. I never dreamed anything could be that wonderful.”
She’d pulled up and wiped her mouth.
“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you,” she said modestly.
“Oh God!” he gasped again and shook his head. “You didn’t disappoint me. Believe me. You’re wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”
“I’m going to remind you you said that.”
“Oh. You don’t have to remind me of anything. You’re the greatest.”
She rose up onto the couch next to him, hugged him and kissed him deeply and passionately. He responded. It was obvious she’d swallowed every drop.
“Wow,” she whispered to herself under her breath. “Wow. That was pretty heavy for a teenager.” Many mature, fully experienced women did not have that kind of oral skill and presence of mind. She was in complete control of the situation and she didn’t lose it, she didn’t give up anything when he came in her mouth.
It was obvious the boy was completely, physically spent. He was exhausted and out of breath. That meant no intercourse. Not this time. No getting pregnant. Not this time. At least not for now. They were next to each other, enjoying a quite, treasured moment in each other’s arms after coming down from the heights. Every woman, and every man, knew that feeling.
She wondered. Had they been to bed? Had they had intercourse? Instinctively she knew her ******** had performed fellatio before, but she sense that this was her first time with him, based on his comments. She was too good at it for a first timer. That worried her. That meant he was not the first, not by a long shot. How many others had there been? How many guys had she sucked off like that? Obviously a number of them for her to be so good at it.
Had he shared her with his friends? She thought not. It seemed more likely that one of his friends was sharing her with him. Or, if not one of his friends, someone was sharing her with him. She was two years younger than him, yet as between them she seemed the most calm, the most efficient, the most smooth. He behaved like a teen aged boy being seduced by an older, highly experienced woman, even though she was the younger of the two.
She shook her head. There was something bigger here. There was an invisible hand here. He was Mr. Big Man on Campus, Mr. Football player yet her younger ******** had dominated him completely. She felt the nagging sense that her ******** was using him. But why?
Maybe she just liked it. Maybe she liked him. Somehow she didn’t feel that way. There was a maturity, a sense of charisma about her ******** that took her by surprise. She’d never seen that side of her ********. He ******** always came across as the sweet innocent girl. Most girls play that role, noting unusual there. But there was something unusual about how the sweet innocent girl became such an expert in fellatio. It took most women years of experience and practice to get that good. That would mean her ******** had been doing it since she was thirteen or fourteen. Was that possible?
She strained to think of how and when her ******** would have, could possibly have become such a seductress. No, it couldn’t have been that long. Maybe she was just a natural. Some girls were. Not many. But some.
Should she confront her white ********? Should she tell her husband? She dreaded how he might react. He was ok with the idea that his son would do what boys do, but was not reconciled with their ******** performing fellatio in the living room.
The boy was pulling up his pants. She breathed a little more easily. They were going to leave. Thank God! That would be all for the moment. No need to force a confrontation before it was necessary. She decided not to confront them. He wasn’t going to fuck her, thank God. That would really have forced a decision.
She wondered. What would she have done if the black boy and her white ******** had started to fuck. What would she do? Cry out? Go upstairs and get her gun and shoot him? Call the police?
“How about some pussy next time?” the black boy asked her white ******** matter of factly.
“...some pussy!” “Oh God,” she groaned inwardly. Here it comes. The inevitable. The p-word. “Some pussy.” A black boy asking her white ******** for “some pussy.”
Her ******** just smiled and answered him. “We’ll talk about it next time.”
He tried to conceal his disappointment by putting on a brave front, but you could tell he realized he’d been shot down. She could also tell he was used to white pussy and not used to being turned down. He’d tried to negotiate for “pussy” and she’d smoothly brushed him off. Her ******** seemed to know that if she held out, he’d keep calling and dating her, hoping against hope. Some things never change. Some things are eternal. The tension between boys and girls and men and women were among them.
He’d pulled up and fastened his pants, smoothed and tucked in his shirt, and brushed his hair with his hand in the mirror. After another long, lingering deep kiss, they both left together. Through the front door she could hear him start his car, parked in front of the house, and drive away.
Now she was completely alone. At least she thought she was. What if she went upstairs and caught her white husband with a black woman? She swallowed. Of course there was no way that could ever happen. Even if he decided to cross the racial line he’d never bring his black girl friend home. Never. At least she had that to be thankful for.
At the moment there was no reason for her ******** to know her mother had watched her performance. There would be plenty of time to play that card later. Her instincts told her she needed to find out more about how far her ******** had gone and with how many other boys. Intuitively she believed this boy...this black boy... was neither the only one nor even the first.
It was never easy for a mother to come to grips with her ********’s sexuality, but that was the cycle of life. The best thing about teenaged sexuality is that they were only teenagers for a limited number of years. It seemed like an eternity at the time, but actually it wa a very short time. She was grateful to have a husband to talk things through with. She wondered what his reaction would be. He could be very volcanic, but for the most part he was measured and reflective. That being said, Thank God he wasn’t there with her when she walked in on them. Thank God.
Another problem loomed...another question. What if the black boy showed up some evening to pick up their ******** for a date? OMG! How would she deal with that? How would her husband deal with that? A black boy dating...openly dating...their white ********. That would be bad enough even apart from her sucking his dick.
She looked at her watch. It was getting later and she still had the problem of her broken down car to resolve. No need to force something so inflammatory when it could be delayed.
The whole ****** gathered at the dinner table hours later that night. Everyone was relaxed and it was a usual ****** meal.
“So how did your day go,” she asked her son.
“My day?” He seemed startled, off balanced. She knew that reaction. He was about to lie to her.
“Usual day. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Of course he was lying. God knows what he really did. Probably cut class or something. She and her husband exchanged glances. They both knew their son was lying. Of course he was. But he was a boy. Boys always lie. Boys always lie and maybe she didn’t really want to know what he was doing. He was a boy and if her husband didn't pick up on it maybe she should just accept it. They'd talked about it before. The old double standard. Boys don’t get pregnant.
“How about you dear?” she turned to her ********. “How was your day?”
“Same old boring day."
"You were late getting home."
"Yeah. Well, I stayed late at school.”
“Really?” Of course her mother knew her ******** was lying to her, having caught her red handed sucking off the black football player in their living room.
“Really? Why late? What did you do?”
“I had some time with my algebra teacher. I’m having problems with algebra.”
“So how did it go?”
“Good. He was very patient with me. He’s a great teacher.”
The mother marveled at how casually her ******** lied. No one else at the table detected anything unusual. Her husband was absorbed in eating. He knew his son lied and didn’t care. He thought his white ******** was telling the truth and he didn’t care. Would she’d have known her ******** was lying if she hadn’t actually caught her ******** in their living room earlier that afternoon and knew she most definitely was not being tutored by her algebra teacher.
“Well that’s very good to know. I’m so glad we have such good schools.”
“Yeah mom,” her ********. “We have great schools.”
She turned to her husband.
“So how did your day go dear?”
“What?” Her husband looked startled, disconnected as if lost in thought while she was subtly cross examining their lying, race mixing white ********.
“How was it?”
“How was what?”
“Your day? Your day?”
“My day?”
“Yes,” she took a deep breath, surprised by her husband seemingly being caught off balance by such a mundane question. “Your day? How was your day?”
He shrugged. He shrugged and swallowed and cleared his throat and everyone at the table noticed it. The son and ******** exchanged glances. He’d been caught at something. He was stalling for time. Pretending not to understand the question.
“It was just like every other day actually,” he said flatly. “Just usual stuff. Making calls. Returning calls. Reading mail. Shuffling papers.”
He shrugged again.
“That was it.”
She knew intuitively, reflexively, instinctively. She knew. She knew her husband was lying. She knew his day was not like every other day. Something very unusual happened today and he was lying about it, covering it up. She knew.
She’d expected her teen aged children to lie. Obviously her white ******** was going to lie to her. She could hardly admit to everyone at the table that she was sucking off the school’s star black quarterback.
But her husband! Her husband for God’s sake. The most stable thing in her life. The one absolute in her life. He was lying and deceiving her. Now the whole issue of revealing her ********’s interracial adventure with her husband became irrelevant. She wouldn’t say anything about that, not now. It would only give him cover, give him a chance to shift the gravity away from himself.
Suddenly the discovery of her ******** sucking a boy’s dick in the ****** living room...even a black boy’s dick...was the last thing on her mind. Her husband, her lying husband was now the center of her focus.
She took a deep breath, got up and helped herself to a second helping of food from the kitchen stove. No one noticed it, or if they did no one said anything. She never had seconds. Never. Now she had seconds of everything and neither her children nor her husband noticed, nor said anything if they did. The message was clear. All of them, including her husband, the love of her life, were relieved that she did anything other than question them, anything other than put them on the spot and force them to lie about some forbidden thing they’d done that day.
She slowly ate the seconds she’d piled on to her plate. A sense of dread came over her. Now she’d have to go to bed with him, with her husband and lay next to him in the silence and the darkness and wonder what other lies he’d told and what other lies he would tell in the future.
Now deep inside, laying their silently in the dark...she almost wished her husband would answer the door to a black boy who'd show up at the door to take their white ******** out for a date. It would be worth it to see his surprise, his anger, his rage at his precious white ******** dating a black boy.
She smiled. After what she'd seen that afternoon and fully knowing what her white ******** would be doing later on with her black date, she was beginning to get used to the idea of her white ******** with a black boy, especially if it would enrage her lying cheating husband. How quickly her feelings had changed for him, about him,...about her whole white ******.
How delicious it would be for the high school's star black quarterback to show up at their house to take their white ******** out for a date.
