No one from our small east coast town had any idea one of our classmates would be coming home on military leave to attend our belated fifth year high school class reunion. Having come all the way across the Pacific Ocean from the Indian Ocean and immediately flying home across the United States this classmate easily won the gag gift for traveling the longest distance to attend our reunion. A whirlwind courtship followed his unexpected return for our class reunion and the weekend before the end of his month vacation we were married.
Completing five years of sea duty my new husband's shore assignment for the next two years was only one and a half hours driving time away from home. Even though now married, except for three weekends a month my life changed very little. I still lived at home with my parents, worked at the same job since high school, attended night classes and hung out with friends on the one weekend each month my husband had to remain at the base.
Rotating back to sea duty he opted to return aboard ship on the west coast. This would be my first time away from family and life-long friends. Finally we were able to enjoy a real honeymoon while driving across the United States to the military base. We found a reasonably priced apartment complex catering to transient military families. The wives arrived and departed too quickly to form any significant friendships. I was shocked and dismayed wife swapping seemed so prevalent after noticing several wives and their husbands leaving weekend parties with someone else's spouse.
Knowing very little about military life the base family service was a big help. The center's orientation program emphasized monetary savings at the base department store (exchange), grocery store (commissary) and gas station in comparison to shopping on the local economy. Marrying a rapidly promoted enlisted combat veteran put us near the top of the base quarters waiting list.
Even though married almost three years, I still felt like a deliriously happy newly wed moving into base housing. Six months after the arriving on the west coast I found myself facing the unwelcome prospect of our idyllic life being interrupted. My husband's ship leaving for at least nine month and possibly longer deployment to the Western Pacific and Indian Oceans tempered my wedded bliss. Leaving me alone far away from home and life-long friends I had always hung out with I couldn't help wondering whether or not marriage with a career military man was a mistake.
It didn't take long after my husband was gone to realize I had too much free time on my hands. Attending a Family Services Center seminar designed to assist displaced wives in transferring acquired work skills motivated me to apply for civil service job openings on the base. Since boredom was eating me alive from the inside out I completed and submitted the cumbersome federal civil service application.
Within a month I was interviewed for a clerk position at the base administration office and a week later was offered an entry-level position. Male and female military and civil service personnel staffed the offices. The division director was nearing retirement and my immediate mentor was also a military wife.
Boring days were a thing of the past. However, I absolutely hated sleeping in an empty bed every night instead of once every four nights. Each lonely night I fitfully tossed and turned in that empty bed too well aware of the irony that I was an attractive blonde living without intimate companionship on a military base among so many physically fit men.
Not having been sexually promiscuous before marriage my naiveté enabled me to remain aloof with sailors coming to our office for assistance. My mentor, Debbie, couldn't believe I seemed unaware of them checking me out. Likewise outside of work I habitually ignored lecherous sailor's lewd and crude comments.
A few weeks before my husband's return Debbie invited me to the base Acey-Duecy Club. We were celebrating her husband's last night as a First Class Petty Officer. His promotion to Chief was bitter sweet due to being transferred aboard one the ships in the carrier battle group scheduled to relieve my husband's group.
My married co-worker's husband's ship left two weeks later. Four days later Debbie surprisingly suggested we go to Happy Hour at the Acey-Duecy Club. Naively I failed to consider how much attention two unescorted, attractive women would attract in a club full of senior petty officers.
While I habitually ignored lecherous sailor's hitting one me, I admired the much more experienced Debbie fending off many sailor's overtures. Much to my chagrin Debbie outwardly seemed unruffled by flirtatious black sailors hitting on us at our table. Upon realizing my discomfort, she leaned over and asked me, "Why make yourself miserable ignoring them?"
Interrupting my feeble, "but we're married" response, she countered with, "Openly bantering with black sailors keeps white wolves unwanted attention at bay." Seeing my confusion Debbie astonishingly clarified, "Especially since white wives with black men is such a forbidden taboo, what's wrong with letting white men wondering about whether black men are bigger and better is myth or truth work for us?" Imagine my shock upon Debbie suggesting, "I'm willing to bet you'll not be able to help getting really turned on by incomparably well-hung black sailors sooner than you think!"
My initial impulse was to get away from Debbie and leave the club. Although astounded by her audacity, it just wasn't in my upbringing to be so rude. For the rest of that first night together at the Acey-Duecy Club I quietly observed her provocative interactions with several black men stopping by our table.
Not yet establishing a close relationship with any new neighbors left me unable to confide the unnerving concerns over the blatantly sexual interest shown toward Debbie and me by black sailors at the Acey-Duecy Club. Having been raised in a predominantly white rural setting I was equally unable to discuss their unwanted attention with friends back home during calls.
Throughout the next week I equivocated back and forth over whether or not to go to another Happy Hour with Debbie. Yet when the Friday afternoon invitation came, I didn't think twice about accepting. Having become familiar the prior week with what to expect, I found myself being congenial whenever she introduced me to a few of the black sailors stopping by to chat.
By the third Friday I cautiously bantered with a few black sailors whom I remembered being introduced to the prior week. The presence of a live band helped encourage me to accept invitations to dance fast numbers with some of the black men. However, with my mind on my husband's return the next week I declined every request for a slow dance and left the club before the closing set of three slow numbers.
Months of long, fitful nights alone in bed were over as I saw my husband coming down the gangway onto the pier. With my husband home we resumed our normal passionate sex three out of every four nights and three weekends each month. Ten months later my husband's battle group received deployment orders.
All too soon my husband's ship was ready to leave. With a saddened heart I once again stood on the pier. I couldn't hold back the tears of despondency as I watched his ship until it was a haze gray speck on the horizon.
Even though Debbie tried hard to console me, I couldn't help being bitter knowing within a month her husband would be home. Neither of us had any qualms about going to Friday evening's Happy Hour reprieve at the Acey-Duecy Club. Not only did I enjoyably fast dance, but also the occasional inadvertent pubic contact, at least on my part, while slow dancing with obviously very well hung black sailors seemed to indicate black men are bigger and I couldn't resist wondering whether or not bigger is better.
Slow dancing more often the next Friday evening assured me Debbie was truthful about black men being better hung than any white man with whom I had been sexually familiar including my husband. Just like my husband's prior deployment I fitfully tossed and turned in the lonely bed each night. Only that weekend and every night thereafter I couldn't seem to resist increasingly fantasizing about sailors with big black cocks.
During a lunch break at work a month after my husband's departure I admitted to my mentor and co-worker she had won her bet. Unsure of what I meant, I reminded Debbie last year she had told me, "I'll not be able to help getting really turned on by black sailors being so well-hung sooner than I think." The very next day at lunch Debbie presented me with a beautifully gift-wrapped present instructing me not to open her special gift until I got home that night.
For the remaining months of my husband's deployment my sexual arousal steadily increased anticipating Friday's Happy Hour at the Acey-Duecy Club. Provocatively I tightly pressed my pubic mound to every black slow dance partner's unmistakably big cock bulge. Afterward I went home alone to salaciously enjoy Debbie's beautifully gift-wrapped nine-inch black dildo not only ecstatically alleviating my sexual frustration, but also steadily eradicating any remaining inculcated racial prejudice.
Never having actually forsaken our marital vows for those long months I was elated to see my husband coming down the gangway onto the pier. Operational demands on the Pacific fleet necessitating unusually long in port working hours, including Saturdays more often than not, were not the only devastating news for our reunion. Because I loved my husband, and that's what counts, our marital sex should have been as good as before this last deployment. In spite of my upbringings once ingrained racial aversion flirtatious black sailors at base administration kept me feeling attractive and desirable with flattering attention I should have been getting from my husband. Subtly I encouraged the lecherous interest of intriguing black sailors hitting on me at work. Months of secretly alleviating sexual frustration with Debbie's gift conditioned me to accept prior passion with my husband could no longer be matched unless fantasizing our marital sex was a black fucking.
Once again I stood on the pier and watched his ship until it was a haze gray speck on the horizon. Only this time I didn't have tears of despondency knowing I would provocatively slow dance with black sailors at the Acey-Duecy Club on Fridays. As soon as well hung first and second class black petty officers have my married white pussy hot and wet enough to fully enjoy my favorite black fucking substitute I intended to leave the Acey-Duecy Club in order to remain faithful to my marriage vows.
Discovering an unfamiliar carton in the carport storage shed I naively believed we somehow overlooked opening a box during our move. The contents astounded me. Presuming my husband hid this box while the ship was in port, undoubtedly in his hasty departure he forgot to take his until now secret stash of pornography.
Initial repugnance and slamming the offending carton into the storage shed gave way to curiosity over the course of the next week. Retrieving the carton after my commissary shopping Saturday morning I took the small box into our bedroom and emptied the contents. Eight well-worn paperback novels fell out into a pile on the bed.
Rifling through the pile I couldn't help finding the lurid covers offensive to my naïve sensibilities. Titles that shockingly jumped out at me seemed to be about marital infidelity. Nevertheless, I couldn't seem to stop myself from organizing the sex novels alphabetically by title. Lying back on our bed with Afternoon Delight I noticed several dog-eared pages. Totally forgotten was my normal fare of evening and weekend mind-numbing television as I immersed myself in skimming through Afternoon Delight, Closing Hubby's Deal, Pool Party Swap, and Sex in Suburbia dog-eared pages over the next week. Refusal to imagine myself in place of the portrayed wives being steadily supplanted by arousal was first evident in spiked nipples I couldn't seem to salaciously resist caressing. As my vaginal cleft became profusely wet I didn't hesitate to insert my trusty black dildo for needed relief.
Every evening after work I found myself too intrigued to resist resuming where I left off the prior evening. The only time my free hand ceased pushing and pulling the big black dildo into my hot pussy was to turn another page. Empathy for those wives at the apartment complex we lived in replaced disdain when first arriving on the west coast as I read the extramarital scenarios.
Monday evening I finally picked up Social Worker's Dilemma and was intrigued to find it contained interracial extramarital sex between a white wife and black male clients. Unlike prior novels skimming dog-eared pages of Social Worker's Dilemma, Straying Wives, Wanton For The Boss and Wives Secrets was far more pleasurable imagining myself in place of the white wives featured in each novel. Leaving Friday Happy Hour after only two drinks I found myself completely caught up in the interracial eroticism for the entire weekend.
Over the weekend the ebony phallic substitute ecstatically enhanced salacious images of each black cock fucking me as the white wife as I read each plot of the four interracial extramarital novels from cover to cover. Monday through Thursday evening after work I induced multiple orgasms equating my big thick black dildo to the phallic descriptions while rereading each of the four interracial extramarital novels. Each night's vivid interracial dreams left me increasingly disposed toward satisfying my desire for erotic excitement.
Friday Debbie was leaving to accompany her husband to Bremerton Shipyard. During our office farewell luncheon I publicly expressed my appreciation with, "Your on the job tutelage made you a wonderful professional mentor for me." After the luncheon I quietly informed my most trusted confidant she was instrumental in instigating my sexual open-mindedness. The astounded look on her face was priceless as I whispered, "Tonight will be my first black fucking!"
Obviously those last four favorite novels compromised once tenacious refusal to commit adultery for desperately needed sexual gratification. A full week of interracial extramarital erotic scenarios not only enabled me to envision myself as a white wife receptive to extramarital flings with black sailors, but also preferring no strings attached sex with big black cocks. Overindulgence in libations provided the necessary excuse for a sober black dancing partner to drive me home.
Jamal kissed me and I relished his thick, soft lips against my lip-glossed ones. My first kiss with a black sailor felt fantastic as his tongue danced with mine, deepening the kiss; making it more urgent. "I love the way you kiss," I moaned into his mouth, "and your lips taste so good." He answered by kissing me deeper still. I felt the same sexually induced urgency and let my fingers roam up and down his broad back. I could feel his well-defined muscles through his shirt.
Hot kisses accompanying mutual fondling in the car motivated me to verbalize how difficult it had been to overcome former marital fidelity and racial hang-ups. Looking directly into my escort's eyes I decreed, "Jamal, there's something I need to say before we do anything. I've never cheated on my husband and I don't know how to feel about you being here or about what we're going to do, or not do."
"I understand. The way I look at it, you are a gift given to me tonight. I want you to feel comfortable about whatever we do. So anytime you want to stop, just say the word and we will."
Jamal's perfect answer erased any clinging doubts. I smiled, feeling my erotic dreams not only had been granted, but also presented as a gift to open and enjoy. My eyes drank in his smooth dark skin, his long hands and fingers, his perfect body. Then I sensuously ran my fingers up and down feeling the muscles in his arms and his smooth ebony skin.
We were making out in my car parked out of sight in the enclosed carport. While running my hands up and down his chest and abs my hands couldn't resist straying lower. Although recent erotic dreams couldn't really make up for what I lacked in experience, I was no longer quite as shy after reading the last four erotic novels. Fondling the huge bulge in his pants I couldn't resist fulfilling one of my fantasies as I coquettishly asked, "Would you like me to suck this big thing?"
He chuckled good-naturedly as he responded, "I don't know if you really ought to do that. If you put a lip-lock on my black mamba, then it'll undoubtedly spit at you."
With unabashed lust I exclaimed, "Oh yeah! I think I can handle that."
To say how wrong I was has to be the understatement of all time! As soon as I got his pants open his big black cock emerged and immediately enthralled me. My hot white married pussy got so wet just looking at the amazing midnight hued cock in the dimly lit carport. It was thick with protruding veins and was getting harder and longer as I held it. With open-mouthed amazement I watched it grow in my hand while feeling his big thick black mamba getting as hard as a steel pipe.
"Are you mesmerized?" He asked me as a joke. He unknowingly hit the nail on the head. I had to be honest with Jamal.
"I've never seen such a big cock. Have any other women doubted they could handle it inside of them?"
"Most gals are intimidated at first. They don't know how much they can handle until they try. Honestly, I thought a woman as beautiful as you would have her pick of well hung guys and naturally presumed you preferred black guys."
"I haven't until this past week. But you make me so glad I am now." And with that I bent over and took my first swollen ebony cock knob into my mouth. Hot, hard and huge, sucking on his luscious black cock was amazing. He leaned back and moaned while I licked up and down his midnight hued magnificence, all the time looking up into his eyes looking down at me.
After a few minutes of freely bathing his black boner with my saliva I slid the top of my dress off to let my unfettered boobs swing free. Squeezing his big thick black cock between my boobs I began to tit fuck my first extramarital lover. Pushing my boobs down to the base of his meaty monster and driving my mouth over his cock knob, I was able to fit over half into my mouth and throat.
Jamal evidently was in heaven, moaning, holding my hair and spreading his legs while he arched his back. He was obviously turned on just letting me continue to get him off. I wanted to feel him come in my mouth.
Suddenly I felt his cock stiffen. "Oh my God, Girl." accompanied a blast of his cum into my mouth. Spurt after spurt hit my tongue sliding on back into my throat. As I drove my face onto him as hard as I could I felt his cock knob push into my throat deeper than I thought possible. His buff body shook as he held my hair keeping my mouth on his blasting cock. His climax was amazing.
"I loved sucking your cock, Jamal." The truth was that he could have left right then and I would have been satisfied. Giving my first black cock oral pleasure turned me on as he had such a gorgeous long and smooth cock with a big, plum-shaped dark knob. I had never had a black cock in my mouth before and it was incredible. He tasted and felt better than the interracial eroticism had made me anticipate. Sucking my first black cock made me feel ecstatic and my interracial extramarital fling had only begun.
Once he regained himself, I invited Jamal to spend the rest of the night with me. I couldn't wait to get him inside me. I had to know if a big thick black cock sliding in and out, stretching my pussy lips felt even better than the fabulous dildo. Already aware the dildo was bigger than my husband's cock, I knew Jamal's big thick black cock would be a far greater challenge.