I am black, twenty-two, and boyishly cute (according to a lovely woman I work with, who is ten years older than me). I earned a B.A. in political science recently, and am using it well – as a junior high school English teacher. This is not bad except that I wanted to fly with the Air f***e. (I’m a frus-trated fighter jock.)
Okay, that out of the way, I have a fetish which forms the basis of my favorite fantasy.
I fantasize being ****d – by a woman. I have heard of it, but don’t know how the victims got it up and kept it up. Any-way, my r****t is a young lady who works in the guidance office; she’s my age, quiet, sweet looking, and she has one maddening quirk – we’re the same height shoeless, but she wears platforms. (I spent some time as a cadet in a paramili-tary search-and-rescue unit as a teenager, so I habitually wear black low-quarter shoes). I hate platforms) We’ve never really done anything together; she’s not a bit like what myself and my buddies find, feel, fuck and forget on the singles bar scene we usually prowl. I like her too much to think of her that way, which is a happy first for me. We are so busy in our separate jobs that we don’t even see each other much.
One other thing; she is hard to talk to; this is because I’m a victim of the good old all-American male double standard; she’s no pickup, so I get tongued-tied around her. To her, I must be the picture of studied indifference.
In the fantasy, we’ve been on our first date, a rather nice evening of quiet dinner, movie and conversation afterwards in a favorite cocktail lounge. Now, we’re at her doorstep, and I kiss Evelyn (her name) good night. Her door is opened as I turn to walk away – and suddenly, I feel hands on my shoul-ders and a shoe kicking my knee. My balance is gone and I’m falling, victim of a perfect rear takedown. As I fall, I’m sort-ing things out; where’d he or they come from, and I better start fighting back; they’ll hurt her!
In the split second before I respond, I see who did it – sweet pretty Evelyn! What the fuck is this!
She gets me in a full nelson, drags me inside, closes her door; we’re in her hall. “Get up!” I do.
“Now,” she says, smiling, eyes shining, “now I get my chance to see if what’s in your pants is as good as what’s in your head!” I’m too shocked to reply, and she grabs my shirt collar and takes me to her room, still a bit shocked but feeling old Lucky Seven growing in my pants.
She pushes me onto the bed, kicking her shoes off and re-moving mine, not quite so gently. The rest of my clothes come off, and soon I’m lying on my back, wearing a half-unbuttoned shirt as she skins out of dress, bra, and panty hose, never taking her eyes off the cock sticking out of the shirt, smiling, nipples erect, licking her lips as she slinks onto the bed and unbuttons the shirt. I’m not so shocked now that I don’t like this more than a little! My cock feels like it’s going to burst, but she doesn’t slide onto it – she keeps moving up me and the last thing I see is her pussy before it ends its move up my body – and lands on my face. And she smells just the way I like a woman to smell – herself! 100 percent natural soap-and-water woman! Hey, this is fun!
I lick along the lips to her clit repeatedly, trying not to touch it even though she’s rocking her hips against my face. Her thighs come off my ears and I hear her moaning, breath-ing really hard. And I’m really caring about pleasing her. I touch her clit with my tongue and she cries, “There, there, lick it there!” And I do; she’s not touching my cock and it seems like it’s going to explode, but it doesn’t, she does, and I get to watch! My tongue’s working her like a pencil eraser gone mad, and suddenly she comes, tears in her eyes, hands behind my head pushing my head hard between her legs re-peatedly as she gasps, moans, screams and finally, after a seeming hour of inhaling her, she lets go, moves off my face, grinning a salacious, horny grin that tells me it isn’t over just yet. And I’m smiling, too.
She mounts me like a horse – not down on my cock yet – but teasing. And I want her to, I don’t want to move. She puts it between her legs, the bottom resting between the lips of her pussy, not moving, just sitting, arms out, teasing my nipples until they’re just as erect as hers. And she talks to me, for the first time since we got into bed.
“Look, Michael. I’ve been working with you for four months now. And I’ve wanted you to talk to me – beyond simple hellos and line-of-duty dialogue. I wanted you to take an interest in me, but you kept walking on by whenever we both had a chance. You know that I sat in my office wishing you could stop by and talk, wishing that you’d ask me out?” She rocks her hips and I grow stiffer as I feel her clit moving along the big vein.
Then she lifts herself a little, moves me to the entrance (oh, God, she’s so wet!) and slides onto me, bending over to rest full-length on me, lips nuzzling my neck as we thrust at each other. And soon we’re both on the verge of coming, her lips leave my neck and cover my mouth. Her nipples bore through my chest and I feel her pussy contracting around my cock, hard, again and again, and I want to watch her come so I pull her lips away and see them curve into a smile as she opens her eyes, staring at me as I begin to come, nothing like the joyless singles-bar balling – it rumbles inside me and I feel it, it’s so hot, spurting up and out of me, each new shot triggering another and oh, God, I feel so empty – it’s as if I really have given myself to her!
At this point in the fantasy (which, strangely, is a recurring wet dreamt) I have the orgasm I describe – in my sl**p! Sometimes I lay in my room, stoned, reliving my fantasy and masturbating, sometimes I relive it when I’m balling a pickup, but never – NEVER – do I think of it in school! The results would be too embarrassing. Besides, I think that for me, the time has come to stop bar hopping, gather my cour-age and ask her out so we might work on making that fantasy reality!