Inspiration from the Piney Woods

"You're beautiful, Carla," I blurted out, taking in the curve of her ribs and the flatness of her abs flowing down to the soft honeycomb-colored bush just below the raspberry-colored birthmark.

The sentiment seemed strange at that moment, but I felt it just the same as I watched the rise and fall of those previously hidden orbs, now out of her blouse. Why did women hide them? I found that curious thought floating around in the back of my mind. Of course, I knew the answer: men would be all over them all day long; they'd never get any work done.

She smiled in response. "Hush, Whip," she scolded, "pay attention to my pace."

With that, I watched her caress her breasts with one hand while the other flowed like silk down her ribs and found the apex of her loins. It made slow circles around the fully distended clit peeking out from her hood. I tried to mimic her and pulled back my foreskin, smearing the pre-cum that leaked out over the head of my dick and teased it the way she did. But it didn't take long for that dab of pre-cum to dry in the heat and lose sensitivity.

"It's too dry now," I announced, tightening my grip around the circumference and beginning my usual stroking style.

"I can help with that."

Carla dipped two fingers inside her engorged lips and pulled them back out. Bending up on one elbow, she reached out and smeared the lubricity onto my cock. God, did that feel good. It was so good that I was tempted to stick it in the source it came out of until she huffed out, "Go ahead, Jesse. Whip your dick into a frenzy, beat off, and let it fly all over me!"

She was begging me; it seemed as if she'd picked up her pace; her fingers were coated with ooze from within that mysterious pulsing orifice as she frapped her pussy.

Then, suddenly, her hand furiously jiggered between her wide-spread stiffened legs, eyes closed, and finally jerking in her release. I was mesmerized and shocked as she gasped, and her body shook with tremors; her stomach muscles even rolled several times as her legs twitched to her toes. Nobody I listened to about sex with girls ever said a woman behaved like that in my conversations. I smirked as she opened her eyes and focused on me. Her heavy breathing came down a notch.

"I thought you said to come with you," I grinned, as I tried to catch up to Carla and enjoy that release level.

"Sometimes a girl can't wait and needs it more," she responded sarcastically, gasping for air.

She lay there watching my hand pummeling my dick so fast, I couldn't follow its jerking easily.

Appeased for the moment, she was overcome with the urge to see what I was doing and pulled herself upright onto her elbows. She looked up to see my face again. I watched the arousal burn and flow through her as a pink-rose flush glowed from her face to her — gaping cunt.

My mouth gaped open, and that smile on my face evaporated, erased by lust, as I reached a point where I'd beat my meat so hard, I'd failed to attain climax. Yet, I tried to maintain my strokes and regain them anew while watching her and unconsciously licking my tongue across my lips.

I groaned softly. It rolled up from somewhere deep in my throat as I struggled to rekindle the lust to come. My legs locked and jerked as I tried desperately to come. Carla recognized my sexual overload, I guess, as I slowed my stroking to watch her body tremble and then become like jello.

"Please, don't stop," she whispered hoarsely, parting her legs so I could see her wet, matted hole seeping milky-white foam. Her pussy moved like a tiny mouth, echoing her exact words. "I'll help you," it seemed to be mouthing the words.

"I'll start again," she huffed out.

Dropping back down, she caught a nipple between her fingers and squeezed it firmly.

Her fingers roamed back between her thighs and soon were stirring her juices again as they delved deeper into her opening with every pass. The squishing sounds and her gasps re-energized her. Her legs quivered more frenetically than the first time, and her breathing turned quick, then into bursts of hard panting with a high-pitched squeal added.

"You can do it again?" I breathed out heavily, in amazement.

"Jesse, women aren't like men. They can come a lot more times than men! It don't have to be one quick fuck and done for them. Women can go through ten men and come ever'time."

"Damn, Carla. That's a good lesson, right there."

I watched Carla's fingers match my increasing pace, stroke for stroke plunged inside her, and, as she pushed her fingers into her opening, she teased her tits. I think that as her wide-eyed look locked onto my hand stroking my dick — in her mind — we was a fucking.

"You feel like we're a fucking, Carla?" I gasped. The image of that happening was driving me to a madding pace as I pummeled my dick again.

"Yes-s-s," she hissed in concurrence as her fingers flew like a sewing needle pulling thread.

I figured so; it seemed the image grew clear and vivid in her mind and almost pushed her over the edge again; she moaned and arched her back, fighting against it.

"I want to see you come," she croaked. Her voice was strained; her face taut with lust lines drawn beside the corners of her mouth.

"Ahh. Umm," my voice broke out of its own accord. I had no control over it as the sweat poured out of me, trickling down my ass crack like the walk home today from the charcoal pits.

"Yes, oh, Jesus... soon, Jesse," she whimpered, her hips gyrating against her swirling fingers. She was doing it as if she sat at the table with a tall glass of iced tea, watching the cubes circle the straw as she stirred them viciously.

The nearly hundred-degree heat in the room was stifling. The singular fan drone only stirred it around without any effect, 'cept to move the smell of Carla's sex and our combined sweat around. It reeked of the two of us — and with our mutual groans, it was messy, gritty, and like two animals going at it in a box stall. Raised up on my knees, her on her back, and me between her legs, I was close enough to stick it inside — but I didn't.

"Fuck!" I cried out, as my knees started to wobble, and my legs tensed as I felt the rise of the oncoming spray surging within my balls. I flogged my dick with greater intensity down to the last few frantic strokes.

"Now — give it to me!" Carla groaned, recognizing I was about to explode.

I convulsed. Shudders took over my body as hot jizz streamed up and out of me to jet spectacularly beneath Carla's chin; another milky surge landed between her breasts, and two more laced her belly and lay like white ropes mixed in among those curly, coarse pubic hairs. I gasped out the breath I'd held back and grunted in exhaustion. I felt light-headed and wobbly as I hunched back on my legs and leaned forward on my elbows beside Carla's viscous-coated mons for support.

I breathed in her scent, the first scent of pussy in my life, different from anything ever before experienced. Cousins always talked about getting some pussy. Then, I knew they didn't know what the fuck they were jawing about based on their descriptions.

'Cept for the sounds of our heavy breathing, the drone of the old swaying fan, and the occasional popping sounds of the heat expanding the old tin roof above us, things was quiet. I lay next to her, catching my breath with my mind a blank after a massive coming effort. Carla was near right; it almost felt like we were a fucking. Almost.

Carla breathed deeply and let it out a couple of times, then swirled her fingers through my mess upon her body just like she stirred up two massive waves of sexual feelings between her legs. She propped herself up on an elbow and moved two fingers with a gob of me to her lips and licked them. I watched in awe as she tasted my spluge.

"Whip, that was to get your mind cleared and your dick at rest and over that firestorm of being naked with a woman, so now pay attention to the lessons I'm about to share with you ..."

I'd always been a good listener at school. Turning, I touched Carla's slick inner thighs and traced the curvature to find the spot her fingers had furiously frigged. She began her lessons, teaching me about women and women's needs ... and I found that hands-on experience, as my hands and fingers roamed her body, seemed to be the best way to learn — better while listening to her husky, heavy-breathing voice tell me things that drove a woman wild.

Like I said, Whip, "Don't know when I'll be back again," Carla repeated her — not so veiled offering as added impetus. She stood there with her halter top up over her hooters, waiting.

It didn't take many brains or smarts to figure out I was being stupid, hunkered down on the wooden slatted platform beneath the showerhead. A week ago, she'd seen every inch of me and me of her. She was right, a man aughta not be embarrassed about exposing his own skin. But still, I was anxious about knowing she was here. Grandma was just a hundred feet away, and at any minute, Grandpa would come driving in from work.

There really wasn't much time, and as usual, Carla seemed to be right. I overcame my 'shyness' and stood up to rinse off the soap, knowing she had more in mind. My 'mule dick' was already hard by the time the soapy water ran off into the grass.

"Three minutes, Jesse. Just three minutes of eating my pussy, and you can get me off," she said, seeming to be able to read my mind.

We had ten before Grandpa drove in. She was close about the first three minutes.

Carla leaned against the back of the tin shower wall, putting her hands on my head as I kneeled and roughly shucked her shorts off. She spread her legs as I buried my face without any prelude and commenced to tongue her forcefully the way she taught me when a woman wants it rough. She was wet — wet from desire when I hit her clit with my tongue the first time — slamming her head back against the tin with a bang. Moments into it, she was a quivering mess of groans and gasps and cries of, "Fuck, this feels so fuckin' good!" It was probably loud enough for Grandma to hear, but neither of us cared as thoughts of getting off again took over.

"God damn! You're getting good at this ..." she cried out as I drove my tongue inside her. Spasms seized her core and shook the rest of her body like a ragdoll. After she squealed in ecstasy, she slid down the tin wall like jello, unable to stand.

In the following minutes, as she tried to collect her senses. She asked me a question as she circled me, wrapped her hand around my waist, and began to stroke my cock from behind. I leaned against the shed, my hands spread and my legs splayed for balance. Her earnest efforts soon had me shaking. Spreadeagled I groaned and trembled with pleasure, kind of like leaves shaking in the wind, then yielded up my jizz with some wolf-like snarl.

"Jesse," she announced, as she watched me shake from a massive climax, "Imma leaving tomorrow before you get home from old man White's. I'm sorry about that. So, do you have someone from school in mind — to be your first?"

I was breathing so heavily after shooting cream on the wall that I barely got an answer out.

"No one, in particular, that I knows about," I hissed. It came out like somebody hit in the nuts.

My thoughts all week had been focused on pokin' Carla. After last week's sessions, I was sure I didn't care if we were kin.

I lied to my aunt and myself I guess.

I didn't feel guilty about it. As Carla expertly stroked and overcame the last vestiges of resistance from my dick, wanting to keep her pumping me up forever, I did bust both nuts and sprayed the wall — probably like a mule though I'd never see one erupt. I'd barely had time to rinse it off the tin wall when we heard a familiar sound coming down the dusty red-chert road. A quarter mile away, we could hear the tires crunching on stones; the Plymouth started to slow down. Grandpa was a coming home.

Carla scooted into her shorts and pulled down her halter on the run as she made off for the back porch before he drove in.

I dried myself quickly, took a swipe at my mule-sized dick to clean it again with the damp towel. Then, I paused to study it for a second. It didn't seem like it was mule-sized, but then Carla has a vivid imagination and lies about things like that, too.

I shook my clean overalls to check for widow spiders thinking about my lie about not having someone for my first fuck in mind. If not Carla, then another came to mind as she told me she was leavin' tomorrow.

Just in time, I strolled to the back porch to greet Big Daddy for supper and sat across the table from Carla. Our eyes barely met as we all talked about the heat, the canning, and being extra hungry workin' at the pits.

Listening to the supper chatter gave me time to consider Carla's question. My kin wouldn't have approved my thoughts about my first — conquest — a girl with bright white teeth and skin as dark as a cured reddish-brown tobacco leaf as a conversational item. Perhaps I should have told Carla I had a girl in mind who was part Cherokee and left out the tobacco part; that might have gone over. Being part Indian was somewhat acceptable in these parts. I probably wouldn't have told a complete lie if the rumors were right. Iffin' I'd a told her, Carla would have brought up me starting to date an Indian at the supper table conversation. With my lie, it was just 'Bama chatter.

That following Monday, I was back at old man White's charcoal pits, covered in dust and as dark as Bacca. By the time she came up to tally my first chits, with my newfound knowledge, lessons from Carla, and experience, I had more to say than just, "Morning Bacca."

"Bacca," I said, as she came round that morning with her tally sheets, "my Granddaddy has a nice big pond out in the pasture with a diving board. It'd be cooler there in the water after this blistering heat. The water's clear and ... no one goes there 'cept me. I could teach you how to swim."

I guess it caught her by surprise 'cause she didn't answer at first, just seemed to not hear and turned to count my bags and pivoted to go. I figured my approach wasn't right. Perhaps I should have been more direct — asking her to be my first fuck. But then she turned back, studying me a bit, her lips parted open as if she had something to say but couldn't get it out.

"Mr. Jesse," she finally managed, speaking softly, "I swims, but don't have no swimming clothes, if ya understands, mostly I swims — alone. And we'd be filthy with char dust by then, leaving your clean pond dirty."

"I've already put out a bar of Ivory at the pond, Miss Rebecca. The catfish won't mind a little charcoal dust. And I didn't leave a swimsuit there either. Someone recently told me a man ought to be proud of being in his own skin; I suppose that goes for a woman, too. Are you comfortable just a wearing your skin, Miss Bacca?"

I could see she was mulling that thought over and the consequences of coming to swim — alone — sans swimsuit.

"Does ya want me to accompany you — or follow you aways back?" she asked, as her eyes looked around. There was plenty of concern for that divide among Southern Whites 'bout appearances like that.

"By my side," I answered without hesitation. My mind was way down the road and envisioning getting some pussy. Perceptions weren't a concern at all about then in my impulsive answer.

Bacca Washington smiled and then nodded. In that knowing nod and demure smile, she acknowledged and understood why this eighteen-year-old was inviting her to a sequestered pond. She had been at that point in her life before I would learn as I got to know her so much better.

I didn't give it much thought about leaving the charcoal pits that afternoon, strolling down the red chert road homeward with Rebecca at my side, though I was mindful of the look from Preacher White as Bacca met me at the driveway. I suppose he had some inkling of what was on my mind seeing us standing together by the road home. I was mindful that she certainly couldn't come all the way home with me. That was a firestorm and tempest that would have killed us both, probably. My grandma would have been livid, and Grandpa had several guns at his disposal, though I never heard about him using one other than for hunting and shooting a snake now and then in the garden patch.

"Mr. Jesse, I knows your Grandpa Moses," Bacca said, after some moments of silence as we walked along.

"Suppose you do," I responded, "Most know the Moses family, hereabouts."

I'd been at a loss for meaningful words to tell her what was on my mind. Bacca broke the silence first. As it turned out, I didn't have to worry much. Like Carla had said as she coached me, "Just be gentle and kiss her first, then don't let go. Don't let her out of yer arms, Jesse. Keep lookin' her in the eyes like ya really want her. She'll understand and do the rest." According to Carla, most girls would. It would happen with Bacca, just like Carla said, though Carla wasn't thinking about someone other than White girls.

"Don't know if you knows it," Bacca mused, as we walked side by side, "but your grandpappy makes a visit in my neighborhood some nights."

"Moonshine?"

She smiled, adding some enlightenment, "A lot more than that." And glanced down with a wry look that said there was more to her answer than meets the eye.

As comprehension set into my puzzled mind, she grinned at the look of consternation wrinkles on my face when it registered about a White man in a colored neighborhood at night. She chuckled and added, "It ain't me; he's a visiting."

Instantly, I acquired another chunk of family history: Carla wasn't the only one messing around outside the family.

Reaching the back pathway to the pond, I stretched the barbed wires, and Bacca slipped through them. I swung my long legs over the top, pinching the top row down just a bit — I didn't want to get any damage between my legs. Being so close to getting some would not have been very pleasant.

Bacca stood looking out over the broad pond dug into a hill. She took in the cable run up top with a pulley attached for an aerial ride down, letting you drop off of it fifteen feet up in the air to the deepest part of the pond. Another one of Uncle Joey's toys came with serious risks. Opposite the cable was the diving board anchored with road grader blades to hold the plank down — not like at the pay-to-swim place on the highway, but just as much fun. By the shallow end, the minnows swam away as we approached.

Bacca spotted the bar of Ivory and smiled.

"You wasn't lying about the Ivory," she remarked, picking up the fresh new bar.

"My word is my bond," I responded, a matter of fact. A prominent phrase that would one day find its way on every campaign flyer I put out.

"Un-huh," she shot back. I could detect a slight disbelief in her words, like Carla's smirk.

I stepped closer, feeling the soft mud squish between my toes at the water's edge. With a gentle touch, I stroked my fingertips down her arm -- a sense of realization, I believe, set in at that point. Being alone with some eighteen-year-old guy she had little in common and with whom she agreed to go swimming alone in her own skin turned her a bit on edge. I was in her comfort zone, the closest to a Black woman I'd ever stood.

"Do they call you Bacca at home?" I asked, keeping her attention as I ran my fingertips down her arm to her elbow and held out my hand. In response, she placed her hand in my palm as a reflex action. It seemed Carla was pretty good at predicting human reactions during our lessons about coaxing a girl out of her comfort zone.