Thinking with My Dick Ch. 01byTimAndre©
Okay, everybody I know eventually gets around to telling me that I think with my dick. I can't help it if so many of my fantasies go straight from my brain to my cock. You know how it is when you find a decent site on the web and it's all filled with thumbnails of voluptuous looking women or maybe it's the same woman for six or eight marvelous pages. You get the picture.
Lee, a friend of mine, pointed out the Yahoo portrait of a woman he decided he had the hots for and wanted to write to her.
I had to laugh. "Don't you recognize her? This picture was taken from a porn star's web site."
"No!" Lee's jaw dropped.
"Sorry, bro. She's a fake." I shook my head. How could he be so gullible? Then I realized that maybe I spent too much of my time surfing the web and studying my kind of trivia. Maybe I'm the one who really needed to get a life.
After I graduated from technical school, I got to tell you I'd spent the short span of my years between the ages of twenty-two and twenty-six trying to maintain the lifestyle of a playa, a dawg--a swinging bachelor. However, I suddenly found myself thinking seriously about becoming a father. Jeez, where did that come from?
"You're just thinking with your dick, man." Lee snorted out a laugh after I told him that. "You're just wondering if you can score some serious pussy by using that technique."
I laughed too and agreed with him. "Think it'll work?"
Of course, deep inside I'd been dead serious, but I decided that this was something I didn't want to share with anyone else after all. Better to be a playa--one of the gang.
I have to admit, that pick-up technique doesn't work with girls my age, especially when you factor in my little fetish. I preferred that my candidates for motherhood be white. Not that black women were any easier to convince. Most young women don't want to throw away their lives over a pregnancy and a newborn baby.
I told them that soon I'd be in a position to keep them at home and taken care of, but I don't think any of them really bought this. Most of them told me to come back when I had something more solid. Even if I was an assistant service manager for a large automotive dealership, they weren't buying my story.
Anyway, there I was surfing the net again and checking my interracial groups when the plight of a woman who'd had her child kidnapped by his biological father attracted my attention. The first thing I did was to check her Yahoo portrait to see if she'd posted a fake picture.
Well her picture was an ordinary snapshot scanned as a .jpeg. Good sign that she was real. I went back and read her posting once more. Now what I'm going to tell you has been encapsulated from a number of letters and IMs between us.
Her name was Diane. When she graduated from college, she and her white husband had gotten married. The two of them never had any kids. Their marriage lasted seven years until he knocked up some other gal from work. So, on an impulse, she went back to graduate school. At the university, she met a graduate assistant instructor from Ghana. They became fast friends and quickly developed a mutual attraction.
Was it some form of loneliness on her part? Something else? I know what the attraction was on his part. I have the same thing.
At first Diane figured that since her Ghanaian man looked so different from her white husband, he would be totally different. I think we all do that with new people we meet. However, much of what plugged into her psyche weren't his differences, but what rang true back to old habits. Her white husband had been a minister's son and he knew every button to push when it came to manipulating her emotionally, physically and morally. Her grad instructor drove her down the same avenues. After all, since Jesus blessed their friendship, it was only fitting that their physical union would be blessed as well.
Yep, she fell for the old "Jesus wants us to go to bed" line. All right, maybe it wasn't that bad. After all, she'd just divorced her husband of seven years about a year back. Could have been she was more than ready for sex.
They began a long term relationship, and she discovered the ultimate truth. Often, once a woman changes her sperm donors things happen quite differently. Diane got pregnant with the Ghanaian's baby within a few months. Naturally, she was thrilled to be carrying his child. However, for her family it was a mixed blessing at best. They hadn't expected their white daughter to bear a black baby.
Her son, Emil, was born when she was about thirty-two or so. Happily her parents did an about face when he was born and accepted him into their hearts.
It took about five years for the Ghanaian father of her baby to complete his doctorate and post doctoral work in whatever the hell his major was at the time. Then the time came for him to tell his parents that he wouldn't be going through with an arranged marriage that they'd planned for him when he was very young. Diane and the father of her baby came up with enough money to send him and Emil to Ghana so he could tell the boy's grandparents he wouldn't be going through with an arranged marriage. Besides it would give the boy a chance to meet his African grandparents.
He went home, married the girl in an arranged marriage and both families rushed through Ghanaian citizenship for Emil to keep him there permanently. Thus, Diane had been pursing legal and monetary action for two years trying to get her son back when I first wrote to her.
This was where things stood when first I met Diane.
She told me up front that her picture happened to be a professional portrait she'd had done. She also said she was five years older and several pounds heavier than her official portrait. Now I'd gotten curious. I told her I'd send some shots of me her way, if she wouldn't mind sharing some recent photos of herself. Diane agreed and I discovered that she hadn't changed that much from her portrait at all. She still looked like a lovely, sexy lady hardly approaching the age of forty to me.
She told me I was handsome, but asked what did I want with an old lady like her? Now, let me remind you, her picture doesn't look old at all. In fact, everything about her intrigued me, and when I'm intrigued, I start thinking about how much I'd like to do some major interior exploring with my dick once more. Did I want to spoil my chances and tell her what I really desired or was it better to shut up and take a chance on getting laid by a fine looking woman? Damn! That's a hard one. Okay, the pun just slipped out. But, the point is, did I want to be accused of being lead by my cock again? No, some little strain of honesty forced me to be up front about my desires with her.
Her answer came back: "Well, I guess that's something I can think about."
My joy went into overdrive. The only thing left now was to meet her in person. We chose neutral ground--the parking lot of a national chain restaurant. I got off work, went home to shower, shave and dress appropriately for a hot date. I arrived a few minutes early and kept an eye out for her car. Was it this one? No. That one? I watched for ten or fifteen minutes until she pulled into the parking lot.
I have to tell you the sight of her sucked my breath right out of my lungs. I waved and began to walk over to where she parked. As she got out of the car, I noticed two distinct strong points from a distance. One, she had damn good long legs. Two her abdomen, hips and ass were well upholstered to my taste. Thank goodness she hadn't bought into that white woman's need to be some anorexic model from the fashion shows. She'd worn a small black jacket over an elegant sleeveless cocktail dress.
So anyway when I met her and first looked into her beautiful blue eyes, I realized that I wanted her. I knew my dick begged to stand up and salute her intimately. I wanted to mark this woman the way males marked all important females in their life.
I escorted her into the restaurant for dinner. I'd made sure to reserve a table ahead of time. Even then it took a couple of minutes for us to be seated. We spoke pleasantries. Nothing of any particular concern. It was obvious we were still checking each other out.
I loved what I saw. Sparkling eyes. Classically mature features and flawless skin. No doubt about that. Great figure, too. When she slipped that jacket off her bare shoulders, I was hooked--not to mention her rear end. I reveled in following behind Diane until we'd been seated at our table.
However, I wondered what she made of me? In fact, I kept asking myself at what point would it be okay to ask her, Diane, when can my dick come and linger luxuriously inside your pussy? No doubt about which part of my body tended to lead the conversation at this very moment. Would you mind very much if we primed the pump together for a while? At least until I get the water of life flowing good and strong. Then, you and I can intimately discuss babies--nonverbally, of course. How subtle was that?
Again I looked into her eyes and grinned.
"What?" Diane wiped her hands nervously on her napkin. "You're staring!"
"You're very beautiful."
She screwed up her face in jest. "C'mon, you're just teasing me. Everyone probably thinks I'm old enough to be your mother."
"I doubt that very much," I replied. "Speaking of that, did you bring that picture of your son along with you?"
Her face brightened up. "As a matter of fact, I did." She dug into her purse and came out with a wallet sized photograph of a slightly younger version of herself holding a preschool aged biracial boy. "This is Emil."
I looked at the picture and then looked back at Diane. Yep, same woman all right. It was true! The sexy white lady across the table from me had borne a black baby a few years back. Okay, here it goes. "Diane, have you thought any more about what I asked you about in my emails?"
She flushed. "Ohh! That was unexpected."
"Forgive me for rushing things. But, I've thought about little else since I began corresponding with you."
There was a short pause. Then she whispered, "Me too."
This time I know my face reflected my surprise. "Really?"
She nodded and then looked down into her water glass. "I don't quite know what to say to all of this, but I can't say I'm not...flattered, Tim. I'm just so...flustered."
"I'm glad. I'm really going to have to check with my doctor, you know. Women over forty at risk and all that..."
"There's an easier solution you know." I thought I'd take a chance and watch her reaction. "All we have to do is fuck every night and see if my seed catches."
"Tim!" Diane's face went beet red, and her jaw dropped. "People all around us could be listening."
"Not likely..." I reached out and took her hand across the table. I wondered if she'd protest. But she left her hand in the clutches of my own. "Are you enjoying your salad, Diane?"
"What?" She pulled her hand away and began to cut her lettuce leaves into tiny bites. "You are something else, you know that?"
The rest of dinner was as unforgettable as what had gone before. "So can we see your apartment tonight?"
Diane looked into my eyes for a few minutes and then answered. "I think I'd rather see yours."
This time I was caught by surprise. "My place?"
"If you don't mind..." She looked down at her plate again. "I mean the Heights are much closer to the restaurant than my apartment."
"Uhh...my duplex kind of looks like a bachelor's crib, is the mess gonna bother you?"
She shook her head. "No."
I raised my eyebrows. "Okay then, my place it is." I wrote down my address on a paper coaster and slid it to her. "I want you to follow me home in your car, but if you lose me, here's the address."
I learned something important when I took Diane back to my duplex in the Heights. Something I hadn't expected. Since girls my age and younger tend to wear bikini panties and thongs, I am used to seeing those tiny strips of cloth covering a woman's loins. Especially after a formal date.
Diane wore black panties fully appropriate for a woman her age and her size. You know how panties fit on those retro centerfold shots from the fifties and sixties? I don't think she'd planned on being in a situation to have me scrutinize them so closely. On the other hand, it had been a while since I'd gotten any woman stripped down to where I could examine the way her panties fit on her hips, abdomen, and pubic mound. Turns out it had been even longer since Diane found herself in the same position with a man.
As I said before, the place looks pretty much like a poor man's bachelor pad. Décor is early Salvation Army and curbside pick-up. I'm afraid all I've got in my bedroom is a twin bed. However, Diane agreed that even a twin bed would provide more than enough room for what we had in mind.
I helped Diane out of her black dress, her strapless bra, and peeled off her black panties in a short time. Once those panties came off, everything between us changed. The aroma of the woman smelled glorious. Damp, musky, feminine and inviting. I left my nose centered right where her pubic mound and curly hairs were and intentionally sniffed her pungent fragrance. I sensed I'd get a chance to play with all the folds of her labia lips in a matter of just a few minutes. Needless to say, I could hardly wait.
Now it was my turn to disrobe. Needless to say I still saluted her close proximity with my erected saber.
Diane smiled. "Okay, I'm impressed."
Against my better judgment, I asked her if she wanted me to find a condom.
I could see the thoughts churning in her brain for a moment. Then, shaking her head, Diane walked up to me and stepped into my arms. "That's not in our agreement, is it?"
This time as I grinned, she dropped to her knees from a standing position and her fingers began to caress my erected cock. Her tongue ran a slow delicious slide up and down the shaft, enticing me even more. As if my impulsive substitute for a brain could stand up any straighter. Oh yeah, I was definitely doing all my thinking with my dick. I tangled my fingers up in her dark, shoulder length hair and pulled her head against my groin. What an incredible intensity Diane ignited for a forty year old woman. Who would've believed it?
I threw my head back. I wanted to climax; yet, I didn't want to ejaculate into her mouth and waste a full load of potent sperm. I moaned out a gasping "No..." and then forced her head back away from my penis.
Her blue eyes twinkled, as Diane looked up into mine. "Almost had you." Her tongue flicked out and slurped a small drop of milky liquid from the aperture at the end of my cock. Her action caused me to shiver.
"C'mon. Up on the bed, you," I insisted as I helped her back to her feet, and then guided her naked body into a sitting position on the bed. "You understand that once we get started on this course, there's no stopping us."
Diane nodded. "You've made that very clear."
"Good." I hadn't had any woman at all since well before I'd begun corresponding with her in early August. Now you could count the days down until September arrived and here a naked white woman sat on my bed, tempting me with her smile and a body that simply wouldn't quit. "Because this won't be our last night together, if I can help it."
Her body excited my primal needs, no doubt about that. But I wondered what it was about this forty year old woman that really appealed to me--besides her race. Then I realized that her face reflected the kind of quiet acceptance that told me that she was willing to give into my demands. Demands for sex, for long term companionship, my demands for a biracial baby--she looked willing to accommodate each one.
Like I hinted before, I could see that willingness in her smile, her face--her eyes. Once again I'd come to point where I was leading with my dick. My dick needed to be nestled inside a warm, wet woman, and my mind specifically wanted that woman to be Diane. I moved between her knees, ready to top her pale thighs with no hesitancy. But I fought that impulse with the desire to taste the essence of the mature woman before me.
I dropped my lips down to engage the standing jut of her nipples one at a time. My tongue circled each nipple leaving a little trail of saliva. When I blew gently on her areole, I saw tiny goosebumps appear on the light brown flesh. Diane gasped softly.
Soon I dropped my mouth two feet lower, taking her labia and spreading them with my fingers and probing Diane's lower lips with my tongue. She didn't taste like honey or sweet wine. No, if anything, Diane tasted like black olives and dressing. I enjoyed the flavor and aroma of her natural nectar mixed together when my lips pushed deep into the cleft of her cunt. Her moan vibrated like a purr deep in her throat, while I tried my best to concentrate on the entire delectably sensitive surface of her pussy lips.
I could tell from the sound of her groans that it had been a long time since she'd had a man's lips and tongue fully buried in her cunt. I loved everything about the experience as well. By this time she'd gripped my scalp with both hands in order to keep my head and mouth close in between her thighs. As I watched and listened, I held Diane's hips down against the bed while my lady flushed beet red and had what must have been a deeply satisfying orgasm.
Finally she protested. "Tim, stop! Please! It's time to move forward, okay?"
"Do you mean it?" I asked as I crawled up onto the bed and straddled her. Smeared with her intimate juices, my face had to have smelled quite musky.
However, she kissed me anyway. "Of course, I mean it." I stabilized myself along her naked thighs and abdomen, and she used her hand to guide my cock into position to meld with her splayed loins. "Do it, Tim!" Then she grunted, catching her breath, as I thrust forward with my hips.
This lovely forty year old white woman and I were conjoined sexually. Now my dick was definitely stuck somewhere I wanted it to be. Diane shuddered and closed her eyes as I penetrated her sloppy wet tissues. The squishing sounds of her pussy interacting with my cock sounded like another conversation between us happening right where we conjoined.
I watched her face carefully until she opened her eyes again. Then I smiled. "You feel beautiful. I love the way your pussy sucks me right in."
She came up to kiss me once again. "Thank you. I didn't realize how much I missed being held in a man's arms." What she didn't say was something I could read all over her face: Having a man's cock thrusting up inside of me.
"Like I said, this won't be the last time." It took us a while to establish a comfortable rhythm.
Once we did, Diane began to moan sensually. Her voice actually seemed to sound younger and more girlish as we continued to make love. "I love the way you fit inside me, Tim. Just like you were made for me."
"I was," I answered trying to maintain our rhythm. "I knew that from the moment we met."
Long minutes went by where my erection explored and examined every internal inch of Diane's cunt. We'd generated so much natural lubricant between us that the slurping sound of our togetherness echoed through my bedroom like primitive percussion layered with the beat of the mattress springs playing in counterpoint. The whole sloppy mix heightened our excitement.
Nevertheless, the strongest tingling sensations came when I began to churn the pliant tissues deep inside her. Alternating between a circular motion and a plunging, pounding motion, I let every inch of my penis bathe in the natural juices of Diane's vulnerable vagina. Jesus, life was good at this moment!
Closing her eyes again, Diane's cheeks flushed. Her neck and the top of her chest over her breasts reddened and her breathing became very erratic. Her climax surprised me--gladdened me--and ignited my own. I hadn't expected this at all. There was so much more I wanted to do to her, but my body had taken control and my mind couldn't stop any of it.