tagInterracial LoveLetters to Cassie: Pam and John

Letters to Cassie: Pam and John


About a week after I published my story about Kathy, Pat and John e-mailed me about their fantasy. There's a whole other story coming out of this little adventure... you'll read about it in the future... but here's their adventure. It's a Duzzie!

Letters to Cassie: Part 1- Pat Begins...

My name is Pat. I'm a 45 year old middle school mentor teacher in Orchard Park, just off the 219 a little south of Lackawanna, New York. I teach History. My husband showed me Kathy's story and I read about how she was having an affair with a black man and how good it felt having him inside of her on a regular basis. I thought Cassie might be interested in our story, so here it is my part of the tale.

First, let me describe myself. I'm tall, 5'7" and slim, 116. Not skinny, just well proportioned. I have shoulder length brown hair and green eyes. I don't have big "porn star" tits, just a well-rounded 34C with sensitive brown nipples. My husband, John, says I have really long sexy legs and a smile that lights a room. Of course he may be a little biased, but the long sexy legs part is something people have told me since I was in high school.

John and I have been married for nearly 20 years, and we both had a fantasy that became an obsession over the last 5 years or so. Why we hadn't acted on it, I don't know. Maybe it was a fear that it would hurt our marriage- I mean, John's job has him going all over New England for weeks at a time, so there's a little stress to begin with, so would acting on this fantasy add to that? Maybe it was a concern that word would get around at my school, or in John's office- it would be devastating if that happened, especially to me. But those fears and concerns began to erode as the fantasy welled up within us.

Let me explain.

In the late 80's, while I was still in college finishing up my Ed courses and getting my teaching credential, I started dating an African American man from one of my classes. I had always been quite conservative in my social life- a good girl who never really got crazy about anything. But here I was in my first post-graduate year, away from home and living off campus for the first time at a small liberal arts college, and wanting to get a little crazy. Although I'd lost my virginity in high school, I was never promiscuous. Because I was pre-pubescent in the 70's I completely missed the sexual revolution, and chastity seemed to be in fashion again- at least in upstate New York. So if I wanted to get a little crazy, now was the time.

His name was Lester. He was really good looking and a notorious flirt; he was what everyone called "a player". I guess the timing was right because, when he started coming on to me, I let it happen. We went out dancing and drinking one night after classes.

A few drinks always makes me wild, makes me want to do things, makes me want to loose the checks and balances of being a good girl. More than four and I get too wasted and just want to sleep, and I don't like that. But two or three spread out over the course of an afternoon or evening, and anything goes.

Even now I remember how exciting it was and how crazy I felt when I gave him a blow job under the table at a bar on the outskirts of Buffalo, and what it felt like to taste his cum. By the end of our first date, he was in my bed.

He was really good between the sheets. Let me stress that: he was REALLY good! I'd been giving oral sex since high school. I thoroughly enjoyed the control it gave me over men, how it turned them into putty on my tongue. But- hard to believe, I know- I had never received it, so the things he did with his lips and tongue drove me insane. I had multiple orgasms before he ever put his big black cock into my wet pussy. Since he had already cum in my mouth earlier, we screwed for several hours. I let him cum inside of me. It was before AIDS was thought of as anything more than a disease for gay men, and I was on the pill so it seemed like safe sex. I wouldn't take a risk like that today.

I actually started falling in love with him. He was sensuous, physically adventurous, intellectually bright and really funny. He'd made my life fun, made it more than books and tests. He seemed to fill a void, one that I'd never known was there. Apparently my best friend had the same void, because I found out that he'd been filling hers, too, and gotten her pregnant.

I was devastated. It hurt so bad and the hurt was so deep, I didn't know what to do. My response was to stick my nose deep in my books, finish my education, and move on with my life.

I started teaching the following year, and have been at the same place ever since. That's where I met John- or really, where he met me. He worked for a security consulting company and was on campus for a week to explain their program to us; he owns the company now. I hadn't dated anyone since the Lester heartbreak and wasn't sure if I really wanted to put myself in any kind of relationship, period. By the end of the week, though, he got me to go out to lunch with him and the rest, they say, is anniversaries.

Part 2: John's Story.

She laughs it off when I tell her that her smile lights up a room, but it's true. The first time I saw her I was the speaker at a teacher's assembly the first week of school. It was that smile that drew me to look her in the eyes, but it was her eyes that said she wanted distance.

It took a few days but I finally asked her out to lunch. We hit it off. Liked the same movies, had read some of the same books, and were both rabid Bills fans to the end. Our company had season tickets so I asked her if she wanted to go. Now, I didn't actually have any tickets but figured I could get them easy enough from my boss- he liked me. I figured wrong: my taskmaster boss made me do all kinds of extra stuff- all but shine his damned shoes- but I got them.

The game was a few weeks after our lunch, the first Sunday in October, against New England. The Bills kept them to a field goal the entire first half, and cleaned their clock at 31-10 but I really didn't pay that much attention. We talked, and that's when she told me about an ex-boyfriend that got her ex-best girlfriend pregnant. It put a lot of things together in my mind, answered a few questions, like why she had initially seemed so reluctant to go out with me, and how she just seemed so detached. I just let her talk and didn't press. That afternoon she never even told me his name, and said nothing about him being black.

And we also drank a lot of beer. That's when I found out about how playfully uninhibited she gets when she drinks. It started out silly enough- feeding each other chili fries, wings, and all the other bad for you food they serve at a football game. The spice all had to be doused with beer so, by the end of the first half she was getting real romantic, cuddly, and downright bold. We left late in the third quarter and, by the time we were out of the parking lot, she was giving me one of the best blow jobs I'd ever had. When she told me she liked to swallow, I was hers forever. Trust me, it was almost that easy. We got married about a year later.

I don't remember now exactly when the subject was brought it up, but it was about 5 years ago. I think we were watching a pay-per-view movie or maybe a TV show and there was a scene of an interracial couple in the bedroom. They were still in the process of getting naked. She was unbuckling his pants and he was working on unsnapping her bra, close-ups of tongues and lips. Even the music was saying they were going to screw. Solo saxophone with long guitar riffs intertwined. Definitely was going to be something not necessarily explicit but tending toward an R-rated steamy.

"Turn it off," Pat said softly, beneath her breath. We'd been snuggling on the couch kissing a little, touching each other. But she sat up as the scene opened. Her arms were across her chest and she looked upset. It was not like her to express racial prejudice- ever- she just wasn't like that. And heaven knows we'd seen more that this with some of the porn we'd rented. Whatever mood was starting to happen was broken.

"What is that about?" It wasn't worth getting angry over something so insignificant, but it was annoying.

Her arms were still crossed. "It was just boring," she replied. "Boring!"

I looked at her. "Just drop it," she added a moment later. I just kept my mouth shut and waited for the worm to turn.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"It isn't like that," she finally sighed, waiving vaguely at the screen. Her hands dropped to her side. "It wasn't like that at all"

Then she opened up about Lester. How she'd gone from just having casual sex with him, to actually making love. And that he was black. How good it felt, and how he used his lips and tongue on her clit to make her orgasm before he ever put his cock deep into her pussy. How she relished their sex life, how she lusted after his throbbing manhood. Those were her words, not mine.

But mostly the story was about how he'd cheated on her with her best friend and how he'd knocked her up. It hurt me to hear her tell the story, but now it was my mind in which the worm was turning.

My wife had taken black cock and liked it.

Part 3: The End of Semester Party

Let me explain what I do as a mentor teacher. Every September students in their last semester of their teacher certification program have to go through a teacher training internship. These teachers intern through their college with a local mentor teacher. The mentor takes these young men and women into their classroom and teaches them the 'tricks of the trade'- how to control students, how to put together a lesson plan, attendance, discipline- all that stuff. The internship lasts for one semester; after that, they can go to work as a certificated teacher.

So it was that in September I became mentor to Ervin, a 22 year old African American intern completing his teacher credentialing program through the University of Buffalo.

At first I though he was gay because he didn't have a girlfriend and seemed to hang all over Cooley, another Buffalo student interning with Ralph Sachs, a math teacher on the other side of the campus. But as we started working together I found out more about the two of them. They were cousins and their birthdays were only a few days apart. They were more like brothers but, even though he was the younger of the two, Ervin was always the leader.

They had moved from Cincinnati to Buffalo when both had been accepted at U of B on baseball scholarships. Most people think of pitchers as the star of a baseball team. Actually, all he does is throw the ball. Everything else is called by the catcher; he is the defensive quarterback on the field. Each pitch, where every player stands, is controlled by the catcher. Ervin is a catcher, Cooley a pitcher. Cooley had never lost a game and had pitched no-hitters in both their sophomore and junior years, all with Ervin catching. It was easy to understand why they had been taken as a duo. Whether they would actually become teachers was an ongoing discussion between them. Cooley wanted to "Go Pro", Ervin liked teaching. Cooley also knew that he would be 'just another promising pitcher' if Ervin wasn't there to call the game.

Actually, Ervin doesn't like teaching, he loves it. He is a natural. Normally an intern is given class control maybe one day a week and not given control of an entire lesson until well into the second quarter. That's the way it was for Cooley. He could handle a few days of teaching but Ralph told me that his soul wasn't really in it. He was good at math but didn't have the spark needed to make it fun for his students. He would eventually become competent, but right now- at least according to Ralph- he needed something he didn't have and wouldn't ever get in a college classroom.

On the other hand, Ervin lives, eats, and breathes history. I let him put together a 10 day lesson plan for slavery and the Underground Railroad; it blew me away. He tied literature, geography, astronomy, and math together in such a personal way that one would think he had actually been there. He read part of Toni Morrison's Beloved and tied it together with passages from ex-slave narratives written during the Great Depression and Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, then tied those together with maps of the rivers between Kentucky and Ohio, pictures of Underground Railroad 'stations' into Detroit and up into Canada, and photographs of chains and shackles used by bounty hunters. From the moment he took the podium, the students were absolutely captivated.

But that's how I got caught up in the situation between Ervin and Cooley, and that's how the three of us became friends. I became somewhat of a sounding board for their dilemma; not that I could solve it, but that they could talk about it with someone who could look at it dispassionately. Then, I have to admit: after a while I came to the conclusion that it would be a real waste to lose Ervin as a teacher.

By the beginning of the second quarter we had become close, very close. Not intimate by any stretch of the imagination- no stolen kisses, caressing, that kind of stuff. It was all about long talks, an occasional touch of the hand while we talked about his dilemma, and a lot of goofing around before and after class. As we moved deep into the second quarter a sensual intensity evolved into a sense of sexual tension. One of my students even asked if we had kissed yet; truth be known, it had never entered my mind until that moment.

Even though it was now mid-January, John had never met Ervin. Not that there was a concerted effort to ever do that; it was just that, by now, he'd usually have met my intern. He came in after school one afternoon and found Ervin and me in the teacher's lounge talking. We were quiet but laughing. A group of boys in fourth period had decided it would be real funny if they all belched at exactly the same time.

"Yeah," he laughed, "I saw that one coming."

"So how?" I asked, "how did you know what they were up to?"

"'cause that's what I used to do!" he chuckled. "You gulp down air." He puckered his cheeks together and made his full lips into an "O" then started gulping. He looked like a fish out of water.

"You swallow it... then you belch. When I saw Henry, Michael, and Smitty looking like fish in a bowl, I know wazzup."

I laughed, and started retelling the story to John. Cooley came in just as I finished telling the story to John, so after I introduced them, I replayed it again- embellishing it a little each time. All four of us ended up laughing. John and I said our good-byes, and the two interns started talking about the upcoming season- their senior year. Training was to start a few weeks after the end of the semester and they had some decisions to make.

John held my hand as we walked down the hallway to the parking lot. "I guess Ervin is your intern this year?"

I started telling him about what a great teacher he was, about the lesson plan he had created, and how I hoped he wouldn't go into professional sports.

"You really like him a lot, don't you?" John said as he opened the car door for me.

It struck me then as I strapped on my seat belt. I really did like him, not just as a colleague but as a person. He was just a really nice young man. I remembered the innocent question my student had asked me, and realized that he was really good looking, too. John got in and turned on the ignition, then smiled at me quickly as he backed out of the parking stall.

"I think it's time to go to fantasyland," he said. All I could do was sit there silently as John put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic. "Let it happen," he whispered, "it's ok if you let it happen."

Whether it was a conscious act on my part, I don't know, but I became keenly aware that the semester would be over in about two weeks and that fantasyland would be gone after that. I didn't go out and buy an entire new wardrobe of provocative sexy clothes. They would have been inappropriate on campus and besides, it was still winter. I did buy some really brief bikini underwear and a few thongs; they were clearly outlined on the days I wore slacks or jeans- especially when I wore jeans. When I wore a blouse, it would have the second button unbuttoned at the top until class started, then I would button it up when he was watching. I started wearing bras with less padding. While it was impossible to actually see my nipples, they did tent up the cotton material when the door opened and a blast of cold air came into the room. That happened at the beginning and end of every period.

Ervin noticed. I caught him looking down my blouse a few times before class and he would actually look in my direction every time the door opened. Our talks became more intimate without being overtly sexual. Our body language became more subtle, more sensual. What had been professional contact, things like shaking hands or slaps on the back, became covertly familiar, like me brushing against his shoulder with my fingertips or him running his palms over my hips when we passed through the doorway.

I told John that, if it happened, it would probably be the last Friday of the semester. It was the night the mentor teachers took their interns out for a celebration. There were ten of us. We would all take our interns to a local pub, have a few drinks, dance a few dances, talk about the year that was, then everyone would go home- usually by eight. It's just that I hoped to bring Ervin home with me.

John made arrangements to have a business trip for the weekend. Not just for Friday, but the whole weekend.

Part 4: It Happens

It was cold but clear on the last day of the semester. It took the better part of the afternoon but final grades were in and it was time to party. We'd decided to go to Bracken's, a sub and pizza joint a few blocks off campus run by Phil Bracken, a retired high school principal from a neighboring district. Phil made it well known that it was always Happy Hour for teachers so we knew it wouldn't cost us a fortune to treat our interns.

I was the last one to arrive. I'd gone home immediately after turning in my grades. John was still there so we took a shower together and fucked like porn stars. I couldn't believe how great it was to have his cock deep inside me knowing that, in a few hours, there might be another to take its place. I came three times before he filled me with his spunk. I decided to go braless and wear the skimpiest thong I had. It would be warm in the pub so I thought I could get by with a long-sleeve cotton blouse and a tight fitting pair of jeans. I pulled on a pair of boots, a sweater, wool scarf, parka, gloves and hat, then got in the car and took off. I parked behind Bracken's and left the keys on the visor.

Ervin and Cooley were playing air hockey when I came in and started taking off my outer garments. I kind of made it into a strip-tease, first pulling off my gloves with my teeth, throwing off my hat, turning around as I unwrapped my scarf, then pulling my parka off each shoulder. I undulated my hips as I slid the sweater up my waist and over my head. By then Ervin and Cooley were hooting and whistling and Phil, Tom, and Donna came over to see what was going on.

The cotton was thick enough to hide the pinkness of my areola but not enough to contain the pucker of my nipples as Ervin looked at them. He was looking at them, not me. He turned his head quickly when he knew he was caught gawking.

"Is there even one gentleman here that will get me a beer?" I lamented, looking Ervin straight in the eyes. He smiled and brought me a schooner. "Jesus Pat, you are really looking great tonight," he whispered to me as he passed me the glass, "hope John didn't see you dressed like this before he left."

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