tagInterracial LoveLove Knows No Color Pt. 11

Love Knows No Color Pt. 11


Shavonda and I looked carefully at the cake topper. It really was an ingenious design. The bride and groom pieces were cast separately, and could be snapped apart. It was designed to be customized. That would explain the variety of options on the web site. For example, the black brides came in thin and thick versions, with 4 hair styles on each. The white grooms had a variety of hair colors and styles, including a long pony tail. I could picture the factory, with rows of bins filled with different bride and groom figures. Our order comes in. "Hey, Frankie, got another one for ya. Thin black bride with afro, white groom with brown tail." Frankie picks the two pieces out of their bins, snaps them together and throws them in a white box and they're on their way to us.

"I'm so glad you were able to find this," Shavonda said softly, with tears in her eyes. "It's perfect."

"Anything to make your day special," I replied.

"Don't you get it, Jason?" Shavonda said with a hint of irritation in her voice. "This isn't MY day. It's OUR day. This day is about US. People are coming to celebrate our love for each other. That's what makes it so special. They are celebrating both of us, not just me. I may have dreamed of this for a long time, but it's not just about me."

I nodded. I'd never thought of it like that. When I'd married Rose, she was anal about every detail. I felt lost in the shuffle. Just stay out of the way and play your role when the time comes. This was different, because Shavonda herself saw it differently. For her, it wasn't about being the center of attention, it was about sharing the spotlight with the man she loved. We were in this together. And, like she had so many times before, she gently nudged me to see her vision. And I loved it. I loved the way she always did that. When she wanted you to see her point of view, instead of yelling at you for being so stupid, she took the time to explain what she wanted or saw, and let you make your own decision. More often than not, you'd decide she was right after all. And, because she hadn't tried to emasculate you, there was no shame in giving in to her. She was very persuasive.

Occasionally, in the discussion it would turn out that you were right. Shavonda would quietly admit you had a point, and do things your way. Because we kept ego oi]out of it, we rarely had the arguments that other couples had. Our relationship wasn't being strained from within. All stress came from outside forces.

Exhausted, put the kids to bed and crawled into our own. We were too tired to even remove our clothing, which was different because we usually slept nude. I still had to get up at 3:30 in the morning for work, so we cuddled spoon style as we fell asleep.

I awoke when the alarm went off, and got out of bed in the dark, with just the streetlight outside illuminating the room. Shavonda's dress had hiked up to her waste, reveling the prettiest pair of hot pink panties. Against her dark skin, in the dim light they seemed to glow. They were cut to perfectly accentuate her womanly curves. I stood there a minute in awe of her beauty. It was sobering to realize that this goddess, snoring softly in her bed, was who I was destined to spend the rest of my life with. I wanted to yank those panties down right then and take her in her sleep, work be damned. Instead, I planted a kiss on the brown skin of her waist, just above the panties, and let her sleep. She moaned when my lips touched her. It took all I had to walk away and take my shower.

After work, we had an appointment at Oakmont bakery to taste cake samples. Because of this, Shavonda, who'd spent most of her time at the Carson Street store, was working the Ellsworth Avenue store. It was easier to get to Oakmont in the evening rush hour from Shadyside than it was to get from South Side. Althea had once again agreed to pick the kids up and babysit them at our house. Our house. I loved the way that sounded. I knew I'd miss my old house, and especially the Zuccheros, but we were building a life together and some things had to be sacrificed. We made sure the Zuccheros were invited to the wedding.

I picked Shavonda up at the store, and we drove in pretty bad conditions up Allegheny River Blvd. The weather had turned much colder, and the rain was freezing on whatever it touched. Due to traffic and accidents, it took us over two hours to get to the bakery, and we'd missed our appointment. They were gracious, however, due to the weather, and we were able to sample the cakes and pick out what we wanted. I fell in love with the chocolate cake, but Shavonda insisted on red velvet. In the end, we compromised on a cake with some chocolate layers and some red velvet. The cake itself would be 3 tiers. I'd remembered to bring the cake topper along, and the baker said it would look great on the cake we'd chosen.

On the way out, I couldn't resist, and bought a chocolate cake with white icing.

The roads hadn't improved much by the time we left, so rather than stop for something to eat on the way home like we'd intended, we got a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket. It would have to do. The ride home was dangerously beautiful, with the ice-covered tree branches sparkling under the streetlights.

Because of the icy conditions, we insisted on Althea staying overnight. In the morning, road conditions had improved. The temperature had risen overnight and the ice had melted. Shavonda drove me to work, dropping me off next to my truck. As I loaded my backpack into my truck, she came out of the car and hugged me. "You be safe out there. I worry about you," she said, kissing me.

Robbie, one of our other drivers, wandered over. "Hey, Jason, who's the fine ass sistah you got there."

"This is my fiancé, Shavonda. We're getting married next month," I replied. Shavonda proudly showed off her ring.

"Pleased to meet you, pretty lady," Robbie turned on the charm. "Congratulations on your marriage."

My day was mercifully short. I never left suburban Pittsburgh, and was off the road by 3:00 pm. When I entered the lot, I could see the Cruze in the parking lot, but no Shavonda. Parking the truck< I went to the office to turn in my waybills. Shavonda was there talking to my boss Nick. "Hey, baby," she said as I entered. "How was your day?"

"Great, now that I am with you," I said. Turning to Nick, I asked, "You've met my soon to be wife?"

"Yeah, she showed me her ring," he replied. "So, she is the reason you've missed so many days lately?"

"No, not her." I told Nick. "My ex took an instant hatred to her and caused us no end of trouble. She's had us involved in no fewer than six legal proceedings. Not all of them have gone to court yet. We have another hearing next week."

Nick was not happy to hear that, but he understood. He'd been covering for me with corporate, we hoped this would soon all be over. My work history had been excellent for years, and I'd banked quite a few vacation days, which I was slowly using. But they were running out. Soon, we'd be taking a financial hit for any days I had to miss work. Luckily, it looked like we had enough days left to cover a week's honeymoon.

We'd settled on the wedding party. Ziggy was to be best man, Tamika the maid of honor. Danny and Brian were also there on my side. Shavonda's friends Patty and Edie, who were both regulars at Shavonda's card games, were the bridesmaids. Ethan was ringbearer and Brittany the flower girl.

One thing that really surprised me about Shavonda was her practical frugality. A good example was that when her father and mine offered to split the cost between them of a honeymoon trip to anywhere we wanted to go, her first choice was Bedford. She couldn't be dissuaded by Jamaica or even Africa. Both were offered by her father as options. She insisted on 8 days in Bedford over a sea cruise or a trip to the motherland. "I want to relive our first road trip," she said. "Those trips we made are very special to me."

We had a wrinkle in the finances though. Rose's medical bills were more than we'd anticipated, and I had to refinance my house to get the money to pay them, so we didn't have to sacrifice anything having to do with the wedding. I was damned if I was going to let Rose ruin our day in any way. Rose had offered to get a home equity loan on her house, but I refused. She had inherited a debt free house, and I wanted to keep it that way. This was one of those times where we butted heads, but she quietly admitted I was right. We had discussed several options regarding my house, including outright sale, or using it as rental property once we were married.

The railroad was another concern. Shavonda was willing to clear space in her basement for it, with room for some expansion on one condition. "You have to build me a model of Ray Tunnel and KR," she said. We'd visited those two spots, only a few miles from my parents' farm, last summer on the way back from grandma's birthday party. Shavonda had fallen in love with those spots, especially KR. I told her that in order to do it right, we'd have to build another mountain for the trains to cross. But the immediate concern, to be tackled soon after the wedding, was how to move the existing railroad out of my house and into hers. It would have to be disassembled into at least 5 pieces in order to fit through my cellar door. It could then be loaded on a rental truck in the alley and transported to Shavonda's Once there, it could easily be walked into her basement through the garage. We could reassemble it, patching the scenery where we'd have to cut it into sections.

Tamika ended up with the perfect solution to our problem, once she heard. She was still living with her mother, but she wanted to find a place for her and Brian. His apartment was way too small for the two of them. She suggested renting my house from us, until they could get the financing to buy it outright. The railroad could stay there until we could move it. That night, we gave her and Brian a tour of the house, to see what they thought. Brian was impressed by the railroad, especially since it was also train night and he got to see it running in its full glory. I ended up inviting him to come and participate in our train nights.

We also stopped in to see the Zucchero's and introduced them to Tamika and Brian. We told them that Tamika would be moving in around Memorial Day, and told them we would miss talking to them. They were welcome to visit us at Shavonda's house anytime they wanted. Mr. Zucchero said, "Well, that explains why we haven't seen you around much. Good luck on your marriage, and we are looking forward to Tamika and Brian as neighbors."

Friday, Shavonda again picked me up at work. She had a surprise for me, but wouldn't tell me what it was. The weather had turned warm again as we headed north on 79, then east on 80. We took 8 north to Franklin and cut over the hills to Titusville. There I found out what the surprise was: Shavonda had booked us for the weekend into the caboose motel. We stayed in a car from the old Pennsylvania railroad. And yes, I got to play with her caboose as well.

The next day was sunny and warm, with temperatures expected to be in the mid-70s. Shavonda wore a strapless yellow sun dress, with her usual summertime sandals. I wore my usual jeans and t shirt. After breakfast at a local diner, we decided to take a drive through the national forest and into New York state. We headed for Tionesta then followed 62 north along the Allegheny River. Traffic was light on the highway and we had the road to ourselves. At Tidioute, Shavonda said, "I like that name. Can we stop? I want you to take my picture in front of the sign."

And so, at the far end of town, we pulled over and Shavonda took her place in front of the sign saying 'Welcome to Tidioute.' I honestly swear I had no idea what she was up to but knowing her warped sense of humor I should have guessed. The first couple of photos I took were normal, then she said, "I want to take one more special photo, just for you." She quickly looked around to make sure there were no cars or people nearby, then pulled down the top of her sun dress, exposing her breasts. Welcome to titty out. I happily snapped the photo.

We continued on north and east, eventually ending up in Salamanca. I drove through the Seneca reservation, saddened by what I saw. My people had sold their souls for a casino.

"Jason, please," Shavonda said irritably. "At least you know where your people came from. At least you can visit your roots. Mine are lost forever. All I know is that mine are in Africa somewhere. Am I Nigerian? Kenyan? Zimbabwean? I'll never know. Africa is a big place with many cultures, and I have no idea where I came from. We were property, and nobody cared about our culture or heritage. You at least still have yours." I felt sad for her, and sad for my people as well. Both had been mistreated by those who considered them savages because they didn't want to understand who we were.

On the drive back to the motel, we once again stopped at a diner in Warren. Shavonda ordered liver and onions, while I had a greasy hamburger and home fries. She'd been eating liver about twice a week, something she'd never had a taste for before. This time, she carefully scraped the onions to the side, saying they gave her heartburn.

We rode back down 62, passing through Tidioute again. Shavonda laughed hysterically as we passed the sign where she'd posed earlier, tears running down her cheeks. I wondered if I was losing her. She'd been on an emotional roller coaster lately, crying one minute and laughing the next. And she couldn't tell me why she did either one. She simply didn't know. I needed her to hold up under the stress we were under. I couldn't lose her now. We had a future to plan.

Arriving back in Titusville, we stopped at the grocery store at Shavonda's request. You guessed it, she wanted fudge ripple. We sat in our caboose, feeding each other ice cream.

Later, when we'd gotten out of our clothes, she lay on the bed stroking my manhood gently, her dark hand and bright red nails contrasting against my pale skin in a way that always turned me on. "Jason, remember when I told you I never wanted you to come on me?" she asked sweetly. I nodded my head. "Could we make an exception tonight? I've never actually seen a man come before. It's always been inside of me somewhere, or on my back or belly where I couldn't see. I'd like to watch you come if you don't mind. Just this once."

"Okay, if that's what you want. We can do this any way you like," I said. I thought it odd that up until this point, she'd never wanted to waste a drop of my essence. Now all of a sudden, she wanted me to erupt all over, well who knew where it would splatter. But I was game, strictly for the novelty. Not that sex of any sort with Shavonda was ever boring. But sometimes a little variety can turn a fire into an inferno.

She shifted her position on the bed so her head was right next to her hand, which was still stroking me. "You'll let me know when you're ready, won't you?" she asked. I nodded my her yes. She quickened her hand movements, and I felt the desire start to well up in me. There is nothing like having an absolutely beautiful black woman laying naked in front of you, handling your manhood, telling you she wants to watch your rocket explode.

But stroking it alone wasn't quite enough to get me there. After awhile, Shavonda gave up on just the stroking and gave me an assist with her soft full lips and wicked tongue. "You still tell me before you pop?" she asked before taking me deep into her warm mouth. I nodded. She concentrated on that special spot just under the head, working her lips and tongue on it with a frenzy. That was it! That was the missing stimulation I needed to get off. I felt my muscles begin to contract as I tried to hold back the inevitable.

"Von!" I screamed, "Now! Stroke it hard!" She quickly pulled her head away and stroked me just as quickly with her hand. She pumped up and down as I let loose. My seed shot at least a foot in the air, before landing mostly on my belly. Spurt after spurt arced through the air, each one with a little less force than the previous one. Shavonda stared transfixed.

"Wow," she said, "That was amazing. I've seen it in porn but never in real life."

"It's also messy," I said, watching her lick up what had dribbled on the back of her hand.

"And tasty," she said. "I never get tired of your taste. Don't worry, I'll clean you up." She licked the puddled streaks of goo from my body, as I moaned in delight, then took my head back into her mouth, sucking while she stroked the last few drops out of the pipeline.

"What got into you?" I asked, curious. "You've never been interested in that before. Last time we tried, you hurried up and put me in your mouth before I could erupt."

"I don't know. I've been getting these strange urges lately. It's weird. I can't explain. I'm just horny all the time anymore," Shavonda said, uncertainly. I had noticed that a normally freaky woman had gotten extra freaky lately. She had never been shy about her body or her sexuality before, especially around me. But lately, it was like she couldn't be embarrassed. Kenny and Sally had tried at my parents' place a week ago. We were probably family legends now. But Shavonda had answered every embarrassing comment they'd made nonchalantly with one that confirmed what he was trying to embarrass her with, without a hint of discomfort. The kicker was when Sally had said we'd taught Grandma about race mixing, Shavonda had simply said, "Long live the swirl."

I returned the favor by going down on her until she begged me to stop. By that time, I'd recovered enough to penetrate her, and we made leisurely love in the scissors position, with her on her back and me on my side, pumping into her while laying at a right angle to her. We could continue for a long time in that position, as all our energy was spent thrusting into each other, and none spent propping ourselves up or holding our balance. An added bonus for me was that I could watch those delectable chocolate globes bounce and jiggle with our movements.

When we were finally sated, we cuddled, face to face, until we fell asleep. Later I awoke to find she'd shifted position so that she now had her back to me, ass ground into my crotch, and my arm thrown over her body cupping her tit.

In the morning, we packed our bags and left for the diner, where we discussed what to do with the rest of the day. Since it was going to be another warm day, she suggested Lake Erie. It sounded good to me, though I warned her that this early in the season, the water would be ice cold.

We would up walking barefoot in the sand, on the edge of the surf, letting the waves wash over our feet. It was too cold to go more than ankle deep into the water. We found our special spot, with the lone pine tree, and sat in the sand for awhile. There were too many people wandering the beach to get frisky, though we were sorely tempted. I promised her we'd come back in the summer. She could wear a skimpy bikini or a halter top, and we'd go out neck deep in the lake and make love under the water, with a beach full of people in plain sight but totally clueless to what we were doing.

The next week, we had the hearing for the civil suit for the vandalism of the Carson Street store. It went pretty much like the other vandalism case went. The judge admonished Rose on her behavior, and gave us the full amount we'd sued for, plus 10 percent as punitive damages. At this point, Rose was financially ruined. She had to pay both child support and child care costs out of her meager paycheck, and probably had little left over for anything else. Added to that, she'd been arrested a couple of weeks back for the 17 phony phone calls, the charges added to her impending criminal case. Surprisingly, in addition to the 17 counts each of making false statements to police and harassment, they'd also added another 17 counts of ethnic intimidation to the list. Each one of the ethnic intimidation charges increased the severity of the underlying charge by one level. It would, for example, turn a summary offense into a misdemeanor.

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