After the Loving

(I was doing some reno work for a super hot black babe, and after sharing a few drinks during a break, she started to tell her story of true love. I was really mesmerized. You will be too. This is what she said.)

*****

James lips were warm and sensual, pouring over my face, neck and shoulders, turning me on and sending my pulse racing.

Should I or shouldn't I?

His white mouth was next suddenly pressed to the edges of my generous black cleavage, sweetening the temptation.

He tried to nudge my halter top lower with his chin, but I held my ground, holding it in place like a shield over top my perky breasts with long, determined fingers.

His hands ran the gauntlet of my sexy hips and thighs, mesmerizing my mind with thoughts of going all the way. But I was afraid. What if he got me pregnant?

We had been sending emails for just over four long weeks, and everything I needed to know about him had been found out and stored within the percolating confines of my inquisitive mind.

He was beyond charming, and married to a sickly woman that could not give him sex. He spoke about wanting to find a nice black girl to make love to, someone who would be willing to give him the kids he wanted and to cook and clean for him while he earned the daily bread. He wasn't a big believer in making his wife work, and so I got the sense he was advocating his future bride becoming perpetually barefoot and pregnant as though that was something any lady might cherish.

I would always try and nurture his fantasies about his future wife puttering about some really nice house with a vacuum in one hand and a baby bottle in the other. It made him fall all the more for me whenever I would tell him I loved children and loved the saying, 'the more the merrier.'

Peter also would ask me constantly about my dreams and aspirations in terms of what kind of house and area of the city I wanted to live in, and what kind of car I wanted to drive. It was as though he was wanting to help me attain the highest financial and social status that I possibly could.

In some ways he was too good to be true, and in other ways he seemed to have a hidden dark side that was just simmering under the surface without actually boiling over. It was that dark side that kept me on my toes, not allowing my body to commit through lovemaking until I was one hundred percent sure of his intentions, and one hundred percent aware of any well buried secrets he may be hiding.

Still, he was very adamant about any wife of his agreeing to have those six kids and be a stay at home mom. I myself had no problem with avoiding the troublesome workplace, but had at the same time always envisioned having just four children, and so the discrepancy in offspring was something we'd have to hash out before I might accept any upcoming proposal he'd care to make. I supposed, that in the end, we'd probably just both compromise at the number five.

As far as Caucasian guys went, he was by far the most handsome and sexiest I'd ever come across. Still, before Peter, I had never dated a white guy, and so I really had nothing to compare him to in terms of how he fared against others of his race. I had, nonetheless, heard some real horror stories about white guys who were worse than damn sharks, and could take massive bites out of your heart and soul if you let them. Peter didn't seem to fall into that category. He really wanted to get married and start working on those half a dozen lookalikes, and so the fear of being played or used merely for sex, was minimal in my mind.

What wasn't so clear, was why Peter seemed to prefer black girls over white ones? Was that assertion by him just some kind of scam on his part to make me think he was all wrapped up in me, only to dump me the minute after I might yield my body to him like I was leaning toward?

After all, giving up the farm after six long months was nothing to be ashamed about. Most of my girlfriends had no qualms about letting guys get naked with them after only a month or two. Others had even less lofty requirements, settling for just a week or two, perhaps after only the first and only date.

By those loose standards, I seemed to be more of a nun than a hot girlfriend. Still, he never complained about my half year long celibacy. If anything, I think it actually merely solidified in his mind that I was exactly the kind of girl he should be taking home to his momma.

Still, now that I was wallowing sweetly in his persistent, horny arms, and now that he was indicating, with steamy kisses and roaming fingers, that he finally wanted to get it on, I had a split second decision to make. Should I take a chance and spread my fully aroused legs for the supposed man of my dreams, or should I continue to make him wait to get up close and personal with my quivering vagina?

A part of me was definitely ready willing and able to let Peter plunge right on in, but a part of me was still sifting through the facts. As much as he had talked about being a family man, and about how he thought I would make him a terrific wife, he hadn't actually come right out and popped the question. I suppose some girls might have found such a verbal declaration on his part, a mere formality to be brushed aside, but for me, it was the proverbial thorn in my flesh. Why hadn't he made his supposed desire to marry me a foregone conclusion by handing me a ring and putting the 'will you marry me' question to me clearly and concisely.

Up till now, the extent of his intentions had rested on statements such as 'baby you know I'm crazy about you.' He was also fond of saying, 'baby, I'm gonna make you mine forever and ever.' Such sentences would seem to bare his soul for my heart to see, and yet, in the back of my mind, I was remembering all the men in my past who had made similar promises, just to eventually leave them laying unclaimed on the bedroom floor. After the loving I rarely saw them again, and when I did, it was usually just so they could take another turn at lighting up my enraptured body.

And, up till now, all such men had been black. Peter was the first Caucasian to grace my condo, and so I was woefully lacking in just what the expected norm might be with a hot blooded, sweet talking white guy. Still, there was only one way to find out.

I let go of my halter top and his pressing chin tugged it down over my giant breasts.

His eyes widened at the sight of them and my toes curled as his lips kissed them frantically and passionately.

A burst of wicked pleasure shot up through my delighted chest and my spirit soared at the knowledge I was going to taste of the pleasures of the flesh and finally bask in earth shattering orgasms again after so long an abstinence.

I shivered as his wet tongue licked wildly over my nipples, stiffening them mightily and making me so hot I thought I was going to pass out with rabid excitement.

His hands were now emboldened that I had let him bare my impressive chest to his sweet mouth, and they gently pulled off my panties, discarding them onto the floor.

I was panting like crazy, and lift his face momentarily off my breasts, staring into his wonderful blue eyes, as I pressed our mouths together before letting him suck fiercely on my nipples once more.

I looked down and was stunned to see his pants and underwear laying next to my panties. He was certainly moving fast, perhaps too fast. I was, however, far too horny to turn back now. Six months worth of admiration and lust for Peter was now boiling over and sending my remaining resistance into a tailspin. Still that sixth sense was gnawing at my mind. He still hadn't officially asked me to marry him. I had assumed he was going to, and I was convinced he was going to, but what if he didn't? What if, after the loving, and after he had gotten his earth shattering thrill out of my tight pussy and big breasts, he just should up and decide he didn't want to see me anymore? Such a scenario seemed unlikely, and yet, I had to admit to myself that up to that point, I had been picking losers and players and guys only interested in one thing.

His stiff large cock was hot to the touch and hard as tempered steel. It pressed against my vaginal lips and made me moan with exquisite pleasure, and yet, he still hadn't rolled a condom onto it. There was no way I wanted to risk pregnancy with some guy who obviously wanted to marry me but technically had not yet made it official.

I wrapped my black fingers greedily around the white shaft then gently pulled my enraptured breasts off his glorious mouth.

"No glove, no love," I whispered, certain he was going to have at least one condom in his wallet. What guy with such seductive intentions didn't bring a condom to the seduction?

"It's better bareback," he whispered to me, still pressing the tip of his cock head hard against my throbbing clit.

I pulled away. As hot as I was, and as unbearably turned on as I was, I simply was not willing to take a chance on getting knocked up the first time making love to this serious hunk, even if I was certain he was the marrying kind. What if, after filling me with baby making sperm, he decided to marry somebody else? I had spent my life forever being a bridesmaid, but never a bride. If this guy wanted to risk making me preggo, then I wanted a lot more out of his lips then vague assurances he was wanting to get married to the right girl. I needed him to at least give me a ring to clarify that I was indeed that girl.

Breaking free from his sexy body, and staying free despite my intense arousal, was something I absolutely needed to do in order to reclaim a clear head and unbiased review of the facts. He was desperate to make love to me for the very first time after six months of dating, and yet, my belief I was to one day become his cherished bride was actually based on little more than supposition, guesswork, wishful thinking and an uncanny sixth sense that allowed me to believe I had attained someone that didn't technically belong to me yet.

"You still haven't officially proposed," I argued, adding, "and you still haven't given me a ring."

"You know I love you," he offered, trying to whittle away at my resistance to his seductive charms and outlandishly sexy body.

"I'm not stupid," I managed. "You can go to the drugstore in town and pick some condoms up."

"We won't be in the mood anymore by then," he argued.

His resistance to my demands for a properly wrapped cock was the only thing spoiling my mood. I was puzzled he was not ecstatic that I was finally going to spread my legs for him.

I was getting angry. Why risk a swelling belly? What was that, some kind of fetish for him? Making dangerous love? Seeing if he could knock up his girlfriend? I needed space from him to think things over. I was loathe to be pushed into sex just because it would feel so very, very good. But what would the consequences be? And even if I did cave just this once? There was no assurances he would bring a damn condom next time, either.

"You're right, I'm not going to be in the mood anymore," I asserted sternly. "I need time to think. I have a headache. I'd like you to go for now, please."

"What? You can't be serious! You build up my hopes then just freeze like that?"

"Don't twist the facts," I said calmly but disappointedly. "I never froze. I merely asked you to get a condom and you refused. Maybe if we were married, or even engaged, then sure, why not? But while your lips show you're committed, your actions don't technically reflect that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe if you were to ask me to marry you and hand me an engagement ring, then that might show me you mean business, and allow me to back off my condom request. I've been lied to before, and taken advantage of before, and had my heart broken before. You're a really sweet and wonderful guy, but I need to know, that after the loving, you'll still be there for me, and not merely moving onto some other good looking girl. I don't see what the big deal was just now that you couldn't follow my simple request. I agreed to make love to you if you would simply go out and fetch a condom. But you won't, so I won't. Simple as that!"

"Didn't dating me for six months prove to you of my true and honorable intentions?"

"It proved to me that you were a good dater. It didn't prove to me you were going to turn that into becoming a good husband for me. The truth is that I do love you. I'm certain of it, but you're asking me to cross lines and break my own rules. I won't have sex with a boyfriend anymore unless he is wearing a condom. And if I do agree to no condom, then it will have to be to a man who is either my husband, or who has at least given me a ring for a wedding date that is very close. Sorry, no exceptions."

The stunned look on his face said it all. Still, I was determined to hold my ground. A happy girl was a smart girl and a foolish girl was one that took chances for no good reason.

XXX

I was certain he was going to call me the next day, but he never did. Neither did he call me the day after that as well. He had never gone two whole days without at least phoning me, so when he didn't call by the end of the third day, I decided to give him a call myself.

It went into voicemail. He didn't pick up immediately upon seeing my number as he usually did. I was now in a full blown panic. By ignoring me was he trying to scare me or send me a message?

"Hi Peter. Daphne here. I miss you. I think we should talk. Please give me a call back as soon as you get this." I then hung up and mulled over my choice of words. I had confessed that I missed him, and I had told him that we needed to talk. It was only now, in the furnace of anguish, that I was realizing just how very much I had fallen so hopelessly in love with him over the last six months.

In some ways, during that time, Peter had come across as being the man of my dreams. I was very much in love with him, only it dawned on me that he may have been insulted by how I talked to him just three days prior. I certainly didn't think I had been unreasonable in my request, which merely was, to make a long story short, "no glove, no love." But the fact he was cooling things off between us, seemed to suggest he had an issue with how I talked to him. For six long months I had never once asked him to leave, but now things were different. The exact words I had used to him in the heat of angry passion, were "I'd like for you to go now!" And he had indeed gone, only now, he was acting as though he were never coming back. Weren't men supposed to be chivalrous and cut their pesky, pestering women some slack? Didn't the famous book about relationships once say that "love is never having to say you're sorry?" And if she did make a mistake in talking to him rough, or not allowing him to get physical with her, wasn't it a man's job to be compassionate, understanding and flexible?

Certainly Peter wasn't suggesting by his actions that he and I were through? How was that possible? For six long months he had stuck to me like glue even without any sex, only now...only now...he was being aloof, distant, petulant, mean, stubborn and unforgiving. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't deserve me if that was the case.

I felt the tear dribble down my cheek and then I sighed.

"What the fuck?" I whispered to myself in great consternation. Surely he wasn't suggesting by his absence that we were through? More tears began to flow. Peter had always been resolute in his daily comments and actions that he felt I was the only girl for him. Had that all changed merely because of some silly argument?

My phone rang suddenly. The sound of it made me leap. I had supposed he would continue to play this heart wrenching game of cat and mouse with me to bring me to my knees. And in that respect, he really had me over a barrel. I couldn't imagine, try as I might, having to live without him in my life.

"Hi Peter."

"Hi."

"I was worried about you. You haven't called in three days."

"Yeah, well last time we were together," he said, without emotion, "you told me that you wanted me to leave. You refused to have sex with me even after six long months of celibacy dating. I'm not going to force you to want me. There are other women that would find me attractive, and not use me for taking them out on endless expensive dates without-"

"Is that what you think? That I was just using you to take me out on expensive dates? Using you for free dinners at fancy restaurants?"

"That's what it seems like."

I was ready to explode. He had somehow gotten a false image of who I was and what my intentions had been. Still, I had to keep my cool. Hanging up in disgust would only alienate him further. I seemed to be losing him, and somehow, someway, I just had to get him back. But a part of me was sifting through the confusion to ask me the question why? Why would I possibly want to go back to a guy who was purposely misrepresenting the facts? He was petulant over me refusing to have sex with him, when that clearly wasn't the case. I had asked him to fetch a condom first. The drug store was only five minutes away from my place. His refusal to do even that for me seemed ludicrous and strange. But if he was obsessed with getting me pregnant, then that would not be something I would be opposed to if he were even willing to slip a ring on my finger and set a close date for a wedding. But I still didn't have any ring, neither a set date for a wedding of any kind. For a guy that was always talking about his honorable intentions, he didn't seem to be showing them off too well.

"I have some condoms," I said temptingly. "I bought some while at the supermarket yesterday. So if you'd like to come over and-"

"Relationships are about trust," he shot back. "We both talked about our desire to be parents and to have kids. I told you I was a hundred percent committed to you, and yet you seem not to want what we talked about."

His logic was driving me insane. What was he, brain dead?

"I never said I didn't want what we had talked about. I only said I'd like to be married first or at least be engaged before I started having children. I think every woman wants that."

"You act as though I'm some kind of player, only out to scam you for sex. Trust is a two way street. Where's your trust in me if you think I would simply abandon you if I did get you pregnant. I'll have to think about it," he said. "I'll get back to you tomorrow."

The phone went dead, indicating Peter had hung up. Get back to me tomorrow??!! Was he fucking kidding me? I was offering to make love to him for the very first time with no conditions attached and he had to think about it? All he had to do was wear one of the condoms I had bought. Was I missing something here? Had I misheard him? His comments were infuriating, and yet his words had succeeded in ripping my heart out of my damn chest to the point where I now blubbered like a waterfall.

I picked up a vase and flung it off the wall in a rage. It didn't make me feel any better. It had been a family heirloom that had belonged to my grandmother.

The room began to spin. I began to hyperventilate. My temperature was rising and my pulse was rocketing out of control. He had caused me to fall so gloriously deep in love with him, and now he was yanking the rug out from under my feet! I now viewed him as a cold, heartless and gutless bastard, who just had to have his own way or else. Still, a part of me disagreed with my own logic. He hadn't had to have his own way for the six months we dated. If anything, I was the one making all the rules and denying him sex for an entire half a year. Only now, when he had finally insisted we get it on, he felt it only fair that it be his turn to set some lofty expectations. But sex without a condom? Risk getting pregnant before we were even officially engaged, much less married? The whole thing seemed so strange and irresponsible, and yet, every guy was different. Every guy had his own thoughts about what lovemaking should and should not entail. And yet, trying to look at it from his point of view didn't make it look any less infuriating or nonsensical.