I’m on Candler Road shopping in the Service Merchandise store for a countertop microwave oven. This dark-skinned sister catches my eye. She’s a beautiful black sister. Her hair is done well. The whites of her eyes are clear with dark brown pupils. Her eyes make her look blacker. Her make up is flawless, the little that she wears. Her skin is radiant and her nails are perfectly polished on slender feminine hands. She’s wearing a skirt and jacket business suit with a blouse buttoned to the neck, stockings, and business type wide heel pumps to match. Her jewelry is carefully chosen to accent her hands and attire. She’s about 5’6” in height and a little under average weight for her height. She’s stunning and I’m just looking at her. She’s working as a manager in the store and I strike up a conversation with her about the microwave products they’re offering. When she begins to speak, her voice is warm feminine vocal tones with perfect diction, charm school level. When our eyes met we both sort of softly glanced away in sinful guilt for what we felt. I did purchase a microwave oven that day. I also returned to the store over the next weeks to see her under the guise of shopping. Her name tag said “Brigid” but I never addressed her by that name in the store. She seemed too professional to be on a first-name basis and I hadn’t told her my name although I’m sure she could feel I had an interest in her.
Violet pushed me back 'til I was laying down on the bed. I held her tight, as I was determined not to break the kiss. She pulled back and took off her top, tossing it to the side. Even though I built her, I felt more excited seeing her breasts now than when she was still being built.
I never knew her, only knew of her. She was a loner. Every day she would eat lunch by the fountain, alone. Just her and a rye sandwich. It was not interesting nor peculiar, it was just fact.
I don't have the best of luck with men, having few sexual partners under my belt. Of all the ones who've come and gone, only two have given me actual pleasure. Out of those two stood a man of six feet, three inches who was a strange yet titillating gentleman. As young love goes, we were off and on quite often. When we were off, I wrote bitter poetry and listened to sad music on Windows Media Player. When we were on, I spent a lot of late nights in his arms, sweating and throbbing in ecstasy from head to toe. I would sneak him in, strip him down, and we'd pretend we were married. Sometimes Prince would serenade us, and sometimes the heated breathing of two horny 20-somethings was all we needed.
"That was really fun! It's been a long time since I've been salsa dancing."
It was a Thursday. It wasn’t just a regular Thursday, something was different. For one it was raining heavily; so bad that windows in the cabin were shaking from the strong wind - a storm was coming. Matt was outside cutting up woods to last them through the storm. Marie was in the kitchen preparing some dinner for the two of them. But something was in the air. The sound of the axe against the wood made the hairs on Marie’s body stand up. She needed Matt’s touch. She finished up with dinner and stood at the front door to call him in. The sight of Marie’s open shirt made something stir in Matt’s lower pants. He needed to touch her; now.
"Hi, I'm G. How are you?"
We found this strip club called Nikki’s on Stewart Ave and went in. It was just like we had heard, the sisters were butt-booty naked and popping pussy close in our faces. There were several sisters in the place, but this one sister really caught our attention. She was a pretty, tan-skin sister with long, black, dookie braids. She had nice breasts with perfect baby bottle nipples. Her waist was tight and small; it led to an incredible ass, powerful thighs, hamstrings, and calves. She was wearing a thin top with her stomach out and a G-string that disappeared in the crack of her fat ass. She had on combat boots and was drinking beer out of a long neck bottle. Edwin called her over to table dance for him, and while Edwin was looking at her fat pussy, she was bent over, looking back at me and winking. Her name was Adrienne. It was daytime, and the club was kind of slow, so Adrienne sat and talked with us for a while. I really liked her. She was street level and straight forward. Edwin and I left there and kicked it around Atlanta the rest of the day. That night, we went to a place called Fantasy Fare and they gave us a tour of the place. There were fine women, black and white, whips and chains, cages and nipple clamps for a price. It was the first time that I had seen a fully stocked sex dungeon.
My sister Katrina’s second son Nathan came down to Atlanta from Detroit to stay with me for a while. He had been getting into a little trouble in Detroit and we thought maybe a change of scenery and a little male mentoring could do him some good. Yeah, me as a mentor. I don’t have a criminal record. I go to work, take care of my family and have some experience from life that I could impart to him. Nathan is 18 years old. He’s dark-skinned, about 6’0” with a thick muscular build. I’m 39 at the time. He’s supposed to be finding employment, stacking a little money and starting school. Nathan is good company. We talk a lot, lift weights together and do a little partying on the weekends. The club we party at the most is Café Echelon in Stone Mountain. It’s a nice club with lots of pretty women.
Yes that is exactly what I need. A hot bath, candles, a glass of wine and a good book. That is what I wanted and I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Wednesday night at home alone. It had been a brutal day and I needed to relax.