Edited by: Sixty-nine
We were only friends. We worked together and found out we had compatible natures. If she had been white, I would have asked her out. If I had been black, she would have accepted.
I certainly had nothing against black women. I found them very sexy and typically, while not always, more sassy and self-assured than white women. I'd always thought the whole race thing was over-emphasized, not that it didn't play a role in my fantasies. I've always had this thing for exotic women.
Rachelle was a "righteous sister," as she called herself. She always downed black men who thought they looked better with a white woman, especially a blonde, on their arms.
Going through a magazine, she'd often say with heated agitation, "Why is it always these skinny, little white girls with their big-haired blonde selves that our men want to parade around with when they think they've finally made it? Why can't a brother be proud of a fine, black woman on his arm? Answer me that."
"Couldn't tell you, babe," I'd usually reply, then if we were out of everyone else's earshot, I'd often add, "maybe its that nice, wide plump ass your women have."
"Shit, you love this ass! I've seen you looking at it enough."
And I guess I did in a completely casual, totally friendly, obsessive sort of way. Rachelle never took that personal though, because I looked at every woman's ass and often made suggestive comments, once I knew she wouldn't take me seriously.
"Nice hips on that one," I'd say as we walked through the mall on the way to getting something for a quick lunch.
"Too skinny," she'd reply, no doubt because it was a white girl.
"Nothing wrong with skinny, either, once you're horizontal."
"Larry, it's been so long since you been horizontal with a woman you'd take anything."
"That's true, babe, but a man can still have his dreams."
Sometimes when we were eating at the food court together, she'd get disgusted and throw down her napkin. "She's looking at us again."
"Let her look, Rachelle. It's just ignorance. Any fool could see that a gorgeous sista' like you wouldn't be involved with a geeky, whitebread like me."
"It still pisses me off," she'd mutter low and under her breath. "When is it going to be when two people can eat together and not be gawked at?"
"Preach on, girl!" I'd say in friendly mockery. "Power to the people, and all that shit! You want some more soda? I'm gonna get a refill."
"You are one geeky cracker," she said, bursting into a fit of girlish laughter. "'Power to the people?' Shit, I haven't heard that in ten years. You been watching VH1 again or something?"
We worked in the same small department of the company. Our schedules were coordinated and often we'd have to work on heavy projects together. That meant a lot of face time one-on-one. It hadn't taken us more than six months or so to start falling into the easygoing banter between us. After a couple of years, we were beyond the point where we had to worry about stepping on toes.
"You know that's bullshit," she'd tell me in her frank manner that I had come to appreciate.
"No, really, it would sound better if this paragraph goes first and then this one."
"That's the same fuckin', EuroCentric, linear thinking crap they taught you in college, Larry. Break the mold, baby! Write something different for a change to go with this spicy graphic! Why do I slave so hard so that white boys like you can just dumb down my work with "See Jane run!"
"See, that's just your prejudice talking," I'd smile back at her. "You'd never appreciate any writer, even if Denzel wrote your copy."
"Not true, little brother," she'd say, Rachelle's highest compliment. "The forever righteous Mr. Denzel Washington studied journalism at Fordham before he took up acting. Man can write, now."
Rachelle had seen every Denzel Washington movie ever made. She even personally dragged my white ass (as she put it) to see "Malcolm X" when it was out. Anytime I wanted to get a rise out of her, all I had to do was "dog" Denzel.
"Besides," she'd say all dreamy eyed, "A fine man like Denzel wouldn't be just writing words in this little ol' office."
"Sure he would," I'd cackle at her. "He's happily married, remember."
"Of course, he is," she'd say indignantly. "To a fine woman, too. A fine, black woman!"
Then, she'd throw my words back at me. "Still, a girl can have her dreams."
One fateful, slow Friday afternoon, Rachelle came back from lunch at the mall by herself. I'd been delayed because I had one last deadline to make and she was supposed to pick me up a Subway sandwich while she was there. I'd finished up the offending copy and e-mailed it to the printer just as my office mate came storming back into the room, clearly pissed off.
"I can't believe that son-of-a-bitch!" she fumed, throwing her canvass tote bag onto her chair. "I can't believe that fucking Paul!"
"Paul? The guy you've been dating? I didn't know you were seeing him at lunch."
"He didn't either, that motherfucker! Him and his white trash, trailer park little bitch of a girlfriend. I can't believe he would do this to me! Steppin' out on me with a white girl!"
She was angry, but she was also starting to cry. As she vented the anger, the hurt got even worse, swelling up inside her until she was almost bursting. Without even thinking about it, I got up from my chair and held her, consoling her in the same way that she had consoled me a year ago when I'd gotten the call that my Dad had died of a heart attack. "It's okay, babe," I whispered into her ear, rubbing her back gently as she started to sob on my shoulder. "He doesn't deserve you, Rachelle. He never did."
"Damn straight, he doesn't," she murmured, rubbing her cheek against the top of my arm. "What's she got that I ain't got, Larry?"
"A dumb-ass for a boyfriend, apparently," I said earnestly, causing us both to chuckle. Rachelle's amusement was short-lived, though. She hugged me tight to her as she weeped softly.
"He is a dumb-ass," she muttered, her clutching need pulling our bodies closer. Then again, barely discernable, I heard her say, "A fine woman like me."
The smell of her was intoxicating, spicy and sensual, just like her graphics. With her firm breasts pressing into me, there was no doubting that Rachelle was all woman. My body, despite my consciously pure motives, began to react to her grieving, feminine nature. I pulled her deeper into my arms, to protect and comfort her, even as my erection started to dig in a little to the softness of her stomach. Rachelle's hips seemed to curl against me ever so slightly. Her back bowed just barely perceptibly as I rubbed it gently.
"You think I'm a fine, woman, don't you, Larry?" she asked sadly, seeking reassurance.
"The finest woman I know," I replied sincerely, breathing in the warm fragrance of her hair.
She rubbed her nose against the top of my chest, nuzzling closer. I looked down at her dark brown forehead and the delicate turn of her ear. I had the desperately crazy urge to lick that ear, to pull her even tighter, and to tell her how beautiful she really was. Rachelle turned her head slightly and raised her chin as though to say something. The words were so soft and inaudible, they slipped past me. It didn't matter, though. All I could see was her lips.
I found myself kissing her without even thinking about the consequences. The only way I knew what was happening was because of the most incredible softness that pressed against my lips. When my anxious tongue reached out, I traced the satin of the inside of those familiar lips. The lips I had studied eating food every afternoon. The lips that I was only just then willing to admit to myself had haunted me for two years in my dreams.
Rachelle's lips, the lips of the first black woman I ever kissed.
"No, baby," she moaned into my mouth. Her pelvis rocked against me, pressing my firmness deeper into her belly. "We can't, Larry."
I kissed her again, firmer this time, my fevered brain not wanting to take no for an answer. Her breasts bored into my chest as my tongue bored into her mouth, searching out, and then finding her own sweet tongue. Coaxing it out, I curled just the tip of my tongue under the smooth underside of hers. Soon enough, our lips were grinding together gently, just as her hips were grinding against mine.
My left hand found the back of her neck. I felt the coarse, black hair against my palm. I dug my fingers into her loose hair, bracing the back of her head so I could kiss her harder. At the same time, my firm right hand cupped one of the breasts I had longed for. Her black silk shirt felt slick and warm as I molded the underside of her heavy breast to my palm. Whatever bra she was wearing must have been light indeed. As my thumb traced higher, I could feel the thick ridge of her areola and then the hard, erect nub of her nipple.
"No, baby," she moaned sensuously into my ear when I just couldn't stand to look at that sexy ear any longer without kissing and licking it. As I nipped her savory lobe, she moaned again and leaned heavily back against her desk as she murmured, "We shouldn't."
Even as I stepped forward, Rachelle spread her legs and her short skirt rode up higher on her lovely thighs. My palms traced the firm warmth of them on both sides, from knee to skirt as I kissed her again. Her lower legs rose up, squeezing my waist, as she locked her ankles behind me.
Then I returned my right hand to the light grip of that wonderful breast I had come to dearly love. I caressed it to the rhythmic dance of our tongues together. When she would press her tongue firmly against mine, I'd squeeze my fingers into the soft flesh of her breasts. When she'd ease up, so would I. Together, we moved, even as the hard bulge of my trousers pressed into the slick warmth between her legs.
Rachelle's palm rubbed across my stomach. She leaned back on the desk, breaking our kiss. Her dark brown eyes were smoldering as her hand slid the length of my erection, gauging its contours with her artistic sense of proportion.
"Larry! We can't, baby!" she groaned as her solid thighs pressed against me on both sides. Rachelle laced her own fingers into my soft, curly red hair and drug my head down for a kiss that she controlled, sassy in spirit, and with a hint of roughness as she bit into my bottom lip erotically. My hips began to rock unconsciously against her. My left hand found it's way under the stretched-taut skirt, rucking it up higher into her lap and out of the way.
I heard as the pressure miraculously eased at my groin. Glancing down, I saw Rachelle's cinnamon colored hand drag the zipper of my tan Dockers all the way down and then reach into the gloom to pull out my hard, straining cock.
Her brown fingers wrapped around my rigid, mauve hued shaft. The dusky rose colored crown of my cock grew darker as she gripped it, compressing the thick shaft roughly until her finger briefly met her thumb.
"Oh, baby! You can't just stick this in me!" she murmured, looking down at her dark hand on my stiff pole as she pumped it. Pulling back just enough, I hooked my thumb into the left edge of her black panties. I tugged the slick fabric roughly to the side, gouging her thick labia accidentally so that Rachelle winced a little.
She mumbled inaudibly, shaking her head as she guided the thick head of my cock to the center of her core with one hand and pulled me in for another kiss with the other. As our lips met, my stiff prick slid into Rachelle's hot wetness in one fast, easy stroke. She groaned, biting down hard on my upper lip and didn't let up until I had stroked in and out of her several more times.
"Oh, you motherfucker," she said, nipping tensely on my ear as I pumped strongly into her. "You're just like every other man, aren't you? Just out to fuck me anyway you can."
"Yes, baby," I gasped hotly into the conch of her ear. "I've always wanted to fuck you."
"And all that shit about being my friend?" she asked, racking her long fingernails into the meat of my sides.
"All true!" I replied, biting her ear back just as hard as she was gouging me with her claws. "Doesn't mean I don't want to fuck you!"
"Just like a man, always thinking with what's between your legs."
"Just like a woman, always beggin' to be fucked over!"
We kissed roughly, our tongues wrestling each other for supremacy, neither winning. I fucked into her as hard as the tight grip of her strong thighs would let me. My balls slapped against her as I drove Rachelle hard into the desk with every powerful thrust. Her fingernails kept me from really concentrating on the warmth of the velvet wetness into which my swollen prick was repeatedly plunging in and out.
So it was Rachelle that climaxed first. She gripped the base of my neck with her left hand and, leaning back heavily as she raised her legs as high as she could, she reached between us with her right and started fingering her mound fast and steady. Her fingernails scratched into the base of my cock as she trapped me tight against her with her thighs. As she threw her head back and stretched her long brown neck out, Rachelle gave a low, sustained grunt as she orgasmed. I pressed deep into her as her tight cunt gripped me spasmodically, gritting my teeth against the scraping of her nails against my tender flesh. Finally, after forever, she eased up and came back into my arms to let me start pumping her again.
"Didn't know a man could reach that deep," she mumbled against my cheek as she ran her fingers into my hair again. Every time I bottomed out she gave a short, exhausted groan. Then, incongruously, she murmured, "Your hair is so soft."
As I thumped inside her accepting softness, Rachelle's arms around my neck made us lean over even more. Her body cushioned my blows against the hard desk better that way. We continued leaning until I was practically on top of her.
"Don't cum in me," she moaned as I pumped even harder. Her thighs wrapped back around me with renewed vigor, clutching me as tight to her as before. Somehow, I found the strength to deny them and continued to pound into her with long strokes. Each thrust was a battle though, my strong masculine thighs to thrust in and out, her strong feminine ones to clench me tighter.
"Don't cum inside, not without a condom," she strained in a low whisper. As I grunted hard, nearing the end, she laced her ankles behind me and only held me that much closer.
"Cumming," I warned her, holding back until the last possible blissful moment. "Cumming deep!"
Like floodgates restraining a torrent, when the dam burst, I felt a rush that swept through me and roared like thunder into the deepest depths of my dark lover. I pumped her sweet, wonderful pussy full of my hot, molten seed. Her eyes widened every time my cock leaped to pump her full. Every time my balls clenched and spurt out fresh juice she moaned, as though each spasm was another opportunity to rejoice.
As I settled down, I braced myself on wobbly arms and continued pumping lazily into Rachelle's soft, brown body beneath me. Her eyes looked so warm and inviting, I wanted to dive right into them and never come out. Her lips canted in a smug, satisfied way as her pelvis rocked up against me with each gentle thrust. The way she pressed her elbows together, squeezing those big, juicy tits together looked so feminine too.
"I told you not to cum inside," she continued to play with me while her mouth and eyes told a completely different story. "I'm not on birth control, you know, though we ought to be okay right now. At this time of the month anyway."
"But maybe not?" I asked, feeling torn between whether I wanted the chance to succeed or the opportunity to fail.
Rachelle reached a hand out, lightly caressing my cheek. She looked at it appraisingly. Rachelle was an artist and I wondered whether she was noticing the contrast of our skin together, black on white. As much as I had grown to love the woman inside, it seemed all I could notice as well.
"You never really know, lover," she sighed sensually. Then, obliquely, she added, "Nature sometimes just finds a way."
"Like when you came into my arms?" I said, smiling down at her.
"Yeah, like when you forced yourself on me," she responded, smiling that cocked smile of hers.
"You put up quite a struggle, too. First time I've ever seen anyone get you to do something you didn't want to do," I smirked.
"You think I want to be laying across this hard desk with some skinny white boy's cum running out of me?"
"Yes, I do!," I said firmly, smiling down at this warm, soft girl that tried to be so hard all the time. "Should I stop and clean you up?"
"I guess you better," she smirked softly, but squeezed me hard one last time with her firm thighs.
"Yes, Ma'am," I said, pumping my softening cock as deep as I could once, then pulling back and thrusting one last time again. "Anything you say, ma'am."
After she loosened her hold, I pulled back. Rachelle made as if to rise with me, but I pushed her gently back until she lay flat again. Then, pulling out completely, I sat back heavy into her office chair and then scooted it into position between her thighs.
Rachelle looked down between her legs at me curiously. Giving her a wink, I slowly pealed off her tight black nylon panties. As I did so, Rachelle cooperated by raising her legs. Pulling her panties slowly off, I draped her calves across my shoulder and then slid forward to bury my face in her wet sex.
"Oh, Larry!" Rachelle gasped, not expecting me to do such a thing. Her crotch smelled pungent and depraved, soaked as it was with our love. I'd never been tempted to eat a woman so quickly after having had her, not that I'd had many opportunities to test it. For some reason I just had to taste Rachelle. Even more, I had to taste us both, together.
"Oh, shit!" she whispered as I scooped up her fleshy labia into my mouth and sucked them. Rachelle had dark, puffy lips that fanned out thickly on both sides of the mouth of her sex. Her vagina was slick with our spendings. As I nuzzled into her, the slick lips spread wide as I tried to get my whole face up inside her as much as I could.
I spread her lips out with my thumbs and licked deep. Rachelle was a rich pink inside. She looked like a well-cooked steak that was dark on the outside and a rich, crimson shade on the inside. I licked in and around the folds of her sex, nuzzling her large, fleshy clit with my nose as I did so.
"Shit, that feels good," Rachelle groaned after she had adjusted to the shock of my white face between her thighs. "Lick me deeper, baby. Hurry, before someone comes and finds you eating my pussy."
There was always a chance, of course, just like the chance that she could get pregnant, but the risk of someone wandering down to our department was more than outweighed by the joy of being between Rachelle's thighs. As long as we didn't get caught, that is.
Looking down, I noticed that a thick glob of semen was draining out of her. It looked so white against her dark folds of her labia. I scooped it up with my finger and smeared it onto her mahogany thigh. As I rubbed it in, the creamy white semen dissolved and disappeared, absorbed into her brown flesh.
As I knelt once more to lick her, I started to concentrate on her prominent clitoris. Rachelle's clit was a blood red knot of slick, glistening flesh that sat atop her dark flower as though enthroned. As I licked around it, coming toward it in wide, concentric circles, I also let me fingers start in wide circles going around the edges of the entrance to her vagina. Rachelle moaned, then dug her fingers into my hair again and pulled my tongue violently into contact with her throbbing clit.
The shock of that meeting, my probing tongue and her raw, aching clitoris, made us both wince for a moment, then redouble our pursuit of her pleasure. Rachelle's legs pulled the chair I was sitting in closer, snugging me up tight between her legs until I had no place to go but forward. Not that I would have ever pulled back. With my tongue, my lips, and my fingers I pleasured her. I sucked and licked and fingered her until her back arched off the desk. With another straining groan, Rachelle climaxed for the second time, pressing my face deep into her middle as she allowed herself the luxury of release.