My First Interracial Experience

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Please note the story tags.

I'm writing this to tell you about my first (and so far only) sexual experience with a black guy. His name was Yemi and it happened six summers ago, about a year before I met my now husband Steve.

I wouldn't say that I was overly promiscuous, although I'm not particularly prudish either, but I can count on both hands the number of lovers that I've had and there were periods in my twenties where I didn't have sex for months - even a year on one occasion. This was was one of those occasions.

Yemi was originally from Portmore, Jamaica but moved to Brixton with his family when he was three. It is a Caribbean tradition (so I have learned) to throw a house warming party when you move somewhere new, so, as was his family's custom (his parents had always wanted the family to stay in touch with their Jamaican roots), they arrived in Bristol on the Wednesday and by Thursday afternoon had invited the the whole street over on the Friday for food and drinks.

I lived in Bedminster at the time with my best friend Coop, half way along a row of faded old terraced houses, and, as it happened, right next door to the house Yemi moved into.

I'd had a lousy day at work. I'd had a lousy week at work to be truthful and Coop had to practically beg me to go with her. I text her at lunchtime when I finally relented:

Fine, okay, we can go. Think I could use a night out actually...

We turned up at number twenty-nine just after half eight with a tray of nibbles and a bottle of wine each. I had a heavy fringe at the time and I'd straightened my hair. I wore a scarlet dress; the short, figure-hugging one I usually reserved for special occasions and wore red heels (I have to, I'm 5'2). I'd done my lips and nails to match. I wouldn't say I'm sexy in the traditional sense - I don't have big breasts or long, tanned legs - but men have always found me attractive and I get a fair amount of attention when I make an effort.

The house was positively overflowing with people. Every room was crammed and the party had already spilled out into the garden and onto the street. Everything was alive with the beat of some funky music I'd never heard before and as the front door was open we let ourselves in. We squeezed between throngs of people having a good time; some people I knew, but most I didn't, and I felt strangely guilty for not having gotten to know as many of our neighbours as I thought I had. I'd have to make up for that, I thought, returning the smile of a bespectacled guy I recognised from somewhere but couldn't place.

The house was almost the exact same layout as ours and while Coop headed into the lounge to mingle I went to the kitchen to open the wine. I placed the bottles on the counter and immediately noticed a tall, slightly gangly young black guy wearing a 'colourful' collared shirt (to put it mildly). He was talking loudly and animatedly in a heavy Caribbean accent and handing out cubes of pineapple on sticks.

He's cute, I thought, although it was actually the way he came across - his presence - that struck me rather than his looks. It was the way the people he spoke to hung on his every word; the almost magnetic aura that he exuded. As if on cue, the people gathered around him burst into laughter and he turned around and caught my eye. I found myself smiling dumbly at him and it wasn't until he smiled back that I realised what I was doing and looked away.

Subtle, I berated myself, feeling my cheeks flush with heat, and I busied myself trying to find a corkscrew. A few moments later someone held one out in front of me and I turned around to find him standing beside me. He leaned over the counter, regarding me with an amused sort of expression on his face.

"I'm Yemi," he said, in a deep, rolling voice, and he smiled widely.

Even in my heels he towered over me and enveloped me in his presence. I found myself looking up into his big brown eyes, and by now my cheeks had turned the same shade as my dress.

"Hi. I'm -- I'm Becky," I flustered, trying hard to compose myself.

"Becky... well hey Becky. Nice to meet you."

His eyes roved over the modest swell of my breasts, down the plunging neckline of my dress to the curves of my bare legs and all the way down to my painted toenails. He smiled at me again and I immediately felt my heart start to race, as though an electric current had pulsed momentarily through it. It was so intense that it stole the breath from my lungs and the after-effects of attraction jangled my nerve endings, turning my nipples suddenly, painfully hard.

"Lemme get you a real drink," he said, rolling his R's, and as I watched him turn away I caught sight of myself in the mirror that hung over the breakfast bar. I was still grinning like an idiot and I didn't even realise it. I straightened my dress and did my best to stop smiling, but I was suddenly very glad that Coop had convinced me to come...

*

A few minutes later Yemi slid a drink into my hand. It was a cocktail of some sort; it smelled like pineapple.

"So you just moved here?" I asked.

"Uh-huh. Wednesday."

"Well, you've certainly got a full house," I remarked, struggling to keep my eagerness from showing; "half the street's here."

"That's Jamaican hospitality for you; an open house. Everyone's welcome! My parents are here; over there -- and that's my brother -- and my cousin. My Aunties are... there -- although that's Aunt Pat who's not my real Aunt, y'know. But she's practically family so we all call her Aunt."

I giggled, deciding right then that he was dangerously charming and that I'd need to watch myself with him.

"You know, I didn't think I'd be this lucky though..." he said, "to have such a beautiful neighbour living in our street..."

"Next door neighbour, actually," I corrected, "and perhaps I'm the lucky one". I reached out and laid my hand on his bicep, smiling at him as I sipped my drink through a straw. It was dumb, flirtatious -- but I wanted to send him a signal, a signal that said: I like you; I like you a lot; I want you...

Yemi smiled and licked his top lip.

"Well I certainly hope I get to see a lot more of you," he said.

I gave a flirty shrug and sipped my drink again. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a woman's voice called sharply from across the kitchen.

"Yemi hun - you goin' easy on that rum there? You ain't bothering that pretty young lady none are you?"

Yemi burst out laughing. "My Mother for you," he said, shaking his head in mock-exasperation. "And just as I was getting to know you." He blew out a sigh. "Looks like I gotta go do the whole hosting thing then... Stick around though Becky. Like I say, I'd like to see more of you..."

I watched him breeze across the kitchen, beguiled by his confidence, his swagger, and I couldn't agree more.

*

Yemi did "the whole hosting thing" as he'd put it; chatting away, saying hi to everyone, topping-up drinks and laughing loudly. I swear I could hear him wherever I went, and although I didn't get to speak to him face-to-face again for some time I occasionally caught his eye from across the room and each time felt that scintillating, electric spark; that flash of desire that ignited little fires in my core.

It was those dark brown eyes, the way they sparkled in the low light and told me in no uncertain terms exactly what he was thinking; exactly what he wanted to do me. I finished my drink, scarcely listening to Coop, all the while thinking how much I wanted him to.

*

I actually thought we'd missed our chance because I didn't see him again for a couple of hours. The house had slowly emptied; I turned down a few offers to go to clubs; Coop hooked up with John (again) and left without saying bye, so after a while (and after more to drink than I probably should have) I resigned myself to heading home.

A few people still hung around, picking at food in the kitchen or draped across sofas in the lounge, listening to music. There was another group of people huddled outside the front door smoking weed and talking, but I couldn't find Yemi.

Disappointed, I decided to call it a night. I headed upstairs and used the bathroom, rummaged in my bag for my keys and opened the door to leave --

-- and that was when I bumped into him again.

"Oh - " I stammered, the soft beat of the music drifting up the stairs.

"Hey," he said in his deep Caribbean voice. "I was worried you'd gone."

I smiled tipsily and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "I... haven't. Yet. My housemate's already gone though so I should probably, you know..."

Yemi nodded in the dim light of the landing, failing to mask his disappointment, but moved aside so I could pass nonetheless. I stepped past him. Or rather, I sort of did. As I did I thought: What am I doing? I don't want to go. So instead I hesitated, pausing beside him, and looked up into his dark eyes.

He looked much younger up close and I remember breathing in his scent. I don't remember if he said anything though because he pulled me toward him until I was straddling his thigh and all thoughts flew from me when I felt the unmistakable bulge of his penis - hot and huge and heavy - press against me.

I felt the familiar fluttering sensation tugging at my insides and opened my mouth to tell him that I wasn't the sort of girl to have a one night stand; that we should get to know each other before we did anything like that. But I was kidding myself - for him I would be that girl. He held a strange power over me that seemed to compel me, and did something to me that I couldn't explain or deny.

So instead I glanced along the landing to ensure we were alone and pressed back against him, slowly grinding my crotch, so that my dress bunched at the hem and rode up my thighs.

"You are by far the most beautiful woman here tonight," he whispered and kissed me softly on the cheek. I was still smiling when he kissed me again, this time on the mouth.

I wouldn't have said he was the best kisser, and he wasn't especially gentle. But the same jolt of electricity I'd felt earlier in the evening coursed through my insides as his lips pressed against mine and I practically had to remind myself to keep breathing. The feeling was so wonderful and so intense that I suddenly realised it was making me very, very wet.

I drew back and looked at him, wondering if he could tell, and after a breathless moment where my eyes searched his, he leaned forward and kissed me again; harder this time, his mouth demanding and strong and I kissed him back - hungrily - our lips crushing together, and I thrust my tongue inside his mouth.

"Mmmph," I murmured, feeling wetness leak into my underwear. This was so very unlike me, so out of character; but I hadn't felt this way for such a long time and it was so utterly, overwhelmingly intoxicating.

"I don't normally do this," I panted between kisses. "Maybe it was all those cocktails..."

Yemi laughed and nibbled my bottom lip. His hands slid down to my stomach and hitched up my dress so that the the pale cheeks of my bottom were partly exposed making me glance around in alarm. There was no one there of course and satisfied that we were still alone, I didn't resist when he eased my legs apart.

By now my underwear was completely saturated; wetness had spilled through the fabric and my thighs were slick with the evidence of my arousal. Yemi didn't seem to care; he tugged aside my sodden gusset and exposed the glistening folds of my hairless vagina. I gasped and stared at him wide-eyed, the air suddenly filled with the scent of my pussy.

And then I was clamping my hand over my mouth as he pushed two long fingers indelicately inside me, thrusting them in as far as they would go until I was piratically squirming in his grasp.

"Ungmph!" I cried out, throwing my arms around his neck, my right cheek pressing against his while he explored my tightness.

Thankfully, after a few initial probes he settled into a rhythm and began to slide his digits backwards and forwards, in and out of me, in and out, gradually quickening his pace until I was gasping with pleasure and the landing was filled with the wet, sucking sounds of his fingers plunging in and out of my vagina.

I don't recall how long he did that - I was too lost in the moment; too focused on the orgasm building inside me. But presently I realised he had grown hard against me and I could feel the burning heat of his penis straining against his jeans.

Wow! I thought, suddenly conscious of the sheer size of the thing, and he must have noticed my expression because he slipped his dripping fingers from me and guided my hand to his fly.

"Oh my God," I whispered when I found my voice, and he grinned sheepishly. "Oh. My. God," I repeated, squeezing his impressive bulge softly. This time it was him that glanced along the landing and when he saw no one there, he unzipped his fly and tugged his penis free.

It was so big. I mean, so big. I've never seen anything like it before or since. It felt like a club in my tiny grasp and I couldn't even get my hand fully around it. The skin was soft and smooth, except for where a thick vein ran along the right side and I slid my hand along its impressive length to his heavy, hooded foreskin. It felt beautiful and perfect, amazing in my hand, and it twitched softly when I reached the tip. I eased back the wrinkled black skin and his cock began to grow hard until I was clutching it in both fists, slippery precum drooling into my palms.

I started jerking him off slowly; not taking my eyes off of his, moving my hands up and down in long steady strokes, delicately gliding up and down his thick shaft while his taut flesh grew as hard as iron.

It was like rubbing my hands up and down a greasy fire pole. A part of me couldn't believe I was doing this; alone on the landing, my dress hitched over my thighs, giving a handjob to a guy who I'd known for only a few hours. I shifted my grip so I could cup his balls, massaging them softly while I twisted the palm of my right hand around the head of his cock and smeared slick precum along his shaft. Yemi let out a long, delicious breath that did something to me so I picked up the pace, pumping him faster, my inner slut ascendant.

I was looking right into his eyes, playing with the largest penis I had ever seen, practically in heaven. "You are so hot." I told him. "I love your big dick so much. I want to - I mean, can I... can I give u a blow-"

But just then, before I could finish the question, a heavy foot thudded onto the bottom stair. Wide eyed, I stepped back and Yemi turned and fumbled with his jeans. I straightened my dress and he zipped himself up and we both took a step back, trying out best to appear casual.

"The bathroom free?" a voice slurred.

"Sure," Yemi managed, moving aside, and a figure, hardly more than a looming shadow in the darkness brushed drunkenly past us.

The door closed, the lock clicked and the light pinged.

Yemi pulled a face. "That was close," he hissed, "maybe we'd better -"

But I wasn't about to let some drunken stranger interrupt us. I was unbearably horny after playing with his huge Jamaican manhood and I wanted desperately to feel it again. So, much to his surprise, bathed in the light coming from under the bathroom door, I sank to my knees and tugged him free.

His heavy black cock slapped imperiously against his thigh. I gazed at it again, intimidating and perfect and hefted his heavy shaft to my lips.

"Becky-"

The words died in his throat when I rolled his foreskin back a little and licked the clear globe of precum that gathered at his urethra.

"We haven't got long," I whispered, kissing all along his huge dick, savoring the flavour and the smell of him. "I want to make you cum."

I didn't know how long the stranger would be - I could hear him bumbling around in the bathroom so knew I had to be quick. I opened wide and took him in my mouth, more turned on than I'd ever been. His cockhead was so huge that I could scarcely fit him all in, but I strained my lips around his girth and forced him in as far as I could. I did this a few times, each time taking him deeper, until soon his shaft was shiny with saliva and I started sucking in earnest.

I haven't given too many blowjobs, but I wanted to please him more than anything else so I sucked him furiously, greedily slobbering over his flesh, jerking him with both hands into my mouth while my head bobbed up and down.

Soon slippery saliva and sweet precum were drooling down my chin and Yemi's breathing grew ragged. He grasped my hair and thrust each time I swallowed him, fucking my mouth while I swirled the tip of my tongue over his swollen cockhead.

It didn't take much longer. "Oh fuck," he gasped. "Wait, Becky, I'm gonna-" and he grasped his length in his right hand and started jerking.

There was a noise from bathroom - the sound of a tap - but I was focused on Yemi's hand flashing up and down his shaft - so fast it was almost a blur - until his balls sucked up into his body and I realised he was about to cum.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could, sticking my tongue out like a spoon.

"Yes... yes... here it comes..." he groaned. "Here it comes Becky... keep that mouth open."

He lined the tip of his cock up with my tongue and unleashed a huge load of spunk into my mouth. A second rope shot straight against my tonsils, making me cough and splutter, but didn't close my mouth, and he filled it with spurt after spurt of warm salty sperm. It splashed onto my tongue and dribbled out onto my chest before I tilted my head back to keep it from overflowing. I didn't succeed; a huge wad spilled out and it trailed down my chin - sliding down my neck and underneath my dress to my breasts.

I swallowed what I could while he milked the last of it from his tip and when I heard the lock of the bathroom door click I barely had time to get to my feet.

The stranger brushed past us without so much as a glance and headed downstairs. It was a good job he did. If he had stopped he would have seen me standing there in the gloom, lipstick smeared, hair and makeup a mess, and strings of semen clinging to my chin.

*

It was all I could do to stop myself from going over to see Yemi the next day. I thought about him a lot; replayed our encounter over and over in my head, and I masturbated fiercely thinking about him on the Sunday morning and had to change the bed sheets.

In the end I didn't hear from him all weekend, so on the Monday, after he still hadn't called, I decided to drop by after I'd finished work.

I rang the doorbell but it wasn't Yemi who answered. A large-bosomed woman wearing a bright orange calico dress and matching headscarf opened the door instead. I recognised her as the woman who'd yelled at Yemi to stop bothering me at the party. It was his Mother.

"Oh. Sorry," I stammered. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"You didn't? This is my house."

"It is? Oh. I didn't - I mean; I thought..." I could feel my face crinkle in confusion. "Is Yemi around?"

"Yemi?" she answered, surprised. "Naw, that boy ain't back from sixth form yet."

My heart skipped a beat. "Sixth form?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh. You know, school." And then it was her turn to frown. "Why'd you want to speak to Yemi any-"

Realisation slowly dawned on her. Her mouth dropped open into an almost perfect 'O'.

I stood there, stunned, feeling as though the world had suddenly dropped out from under me.

"Six form?" I eventually managed, and and Yemi's Mother nodded slowly.

She regarded me with a mixture of pity and amusement and disdain while memories of the things I'd said, of the things I'd done with this woman's son swirled unbidden into my head.

"I guess he didn't mention that none?"

I shook my head, mortified, wishing I was anywhere but there; wishing I could somehow turn back the clock. I was so embarrassed I couldn't speak. I was so ashamed. What a fool I had been.