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are purely fictional and intended for the entertainment of persons over the age
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Living Together

I met her on a flight from Florida to the west coast. She was ahead of me in line as we left the departure lounge. A bright orange dress and black fishnet stockings. It would have looked garish on a white woman but on her it merely celebrated her café au lait complexion. Crab walking down the plane's aisle I saw with pleasure that the seat next to her was still empty. I put my carry on and my alpaca overcoat in the overhead rack and sat down.

The flight lecture was given. Drinks and dinners were passed around. Finally the cabin lights went out and the babble died down. Here and there a reading light glowed. Our section stayed shadowed, quiet save for the slight sounds of people shifting in various attempts to sleep. Through all this, I had said not a word to my seatmate. We sat in silence, she gazing out her portal where the jet pod occasionally sparked the dark, and I, aware of her every breath.

I felt, rather than saw, her shiver. I stood and retrieved my long overcoat from the rack. Without asking I spread it over her. She smiled in thanks and faced away once more to the porthole. I sat and began to search for a conversational gambit that would not sound like a pickup line. I wanted something that would seize her interest. I rejected one thing after another. It dawned on me then that I had not had any conversation with an African-American. It never occurred to me that she was like any other woman. She seemed exotic to me.

Somewhere along these thoughts I must have drowsed. I awoke to find that my hand had come in contact with her thigh. I felt her heat through the mesh of her stocking on the back of my hand. Looking at her in the dimness, I saw that her eyes were closed. I detected the sleep rhythm in the rise and fall of her breath. Without a thought for the consequences I slowly rotated my hand until my palm was cupping the warm curve of her thigh. I sat frozen, waiting for my pulse to slow lest my pounding heart be transmitted through that touch. Minutes passed with my every nerve concentrated on the pattern of her breathing and my gaze through slitted eyes focused on her eyelids. She slept on and soon my hand relaxed and began to feel quite at home on her leg.

With a will of its own my hand began to creep, a millimeter at a time, higher. Each tiny opening in that fishnet texture was magnified to my touch. After a seeming age of this torture, I felt my pinky finger make contact with the hem of her skirt. Sanity and caution finally asserted themselves. Up until this point, had she awakened, I could have feigned a sudden awakening on my own part. Passed the whole thing off as accidental contact. I had gotten my cheap thrill. The sensible thing now was to withdraw my hand and thank my lucky stars that she had remained oblivious to the liberties I had taken. If I went any further she was bound to awaken and all hell would break loose. There would be no explaining a hand under her skirt.

As if in a trance, I ignored all reason, my pinky pressed into her stocking just firmly enough to slide under the edge of her dress. I resumed my cautious advance. At last I arrived at the top of the stocking and my fingers identified the clip of a garter belt. My fingertips were now grazing smooth, naked skin. The heat seemed to increase and I was forced to pause as my heart began to hammer again.

As the blood receded from my ears, I heard a subtle change in her breathing. Beneath my touch her muscles tensed. I knew instantly that she was awake. I remained frozen. I was lost now; this mad game I had chosen to play would end in shouting, evil glares and cops. Miracle of miracles, her breathing resumed its prior steady pace. The leg under my hand relaxed. She was asleep again. Thank God. Ever so slowly, I began my withdrawal. All I wanted now was for my stupid fucking hand to be safe in my own fucking lap. I had retreated as far as the stocking top when her thighs opened and then closed trapping me between them.

"No."

Very softly but distinctly, she uttered the only word that had passed between us. A long moment passed while that short word echoed in my panicked mind.

" You like this?" I whispered.

No answer. Instead her thighs squeezed my hand again and then fell open in invitation. She wanted this! My already rampant prick spurred me past my paralysis. Using the same slow stealth with which I had begun my mad adventure, I crept back up her leg until once again I felt the silkiness of skin. An eternity of sensations assaulted me before my touch arrived at the shiny fabric enclosing the springy texture of her pubic hair. I had to lift my hand to extend my index finger. With just this one point of contact, I gently pressed into her cleft and stroked upward. The instant I made contact with her clit she shuddered. With both hands she pressed me to her cunt and I could feel the pulse of her spending. She came in complete silence. I could make out the grimace of her full, moist lower lip in the grip of perfect white teeth. At last she untensed. I tried to withdraw my hand but she held it to her. Under my overcoat, under her skirt, tight to the heat of her damp crotch. With her head back she turned to face me. She made no sound but I read the words thank you from her lips. Her right hand emerged from under my coat and went behind my neck. She pulled my lips onto her open mouth and with just that kiss my sperm erupted into my trousers.

The plane landed and we exchanged numbers. She called me and we went out dancing. She told me that I was a pretty good dancer for a white boy. We laughed and by the time we arose from her bed, race was no longer an issue and the sun had come up.

Her place was much nicer than mine, so I moved in with her. It turned out that she was an attorney. At first she was excited at my being a writer. Her schedule was very hectic. I had restyled my technique and my old publisher only wanted the tried and stuff the old me had written. I was having a hard time finding the right niche and the rejection letters piled up while she paid the bills. She became irritable and even more so when I refused to fight with her. I felt guilty about her supporting us. I began to take time from my writing to make sure the apartment was cleaned and began preparing meals.

Yesterday evening when she came home from the office she threw her shoes in a corner. I could tell she was in a foul mood.

" I made us your favorite dish. A nice bouillabaisse and have a bottle of that wine you like chilling. "

She ignored me. She walked past the candles and crystal I had set out on white damask. I heard her in the shower as I set the tureen of seafood stew on the table. I worked the corkscrew into the bottle of Pinot Blanc and thought how I might jolly her out of her temper.

I poured two glasses and went into the bedroom. She was at her dressing table. I set a glass at her elbow and went and stretched out on the bed with the pillows propped behind me. She was in fresh black underwear already. She bent forward and began to roll on a stocking. Black fishnet, as chance would have it. I suddenly remembered the first time I had seen her and how exotic I had thought her. As I watched her now I saw a much plainer package. Leaning forward as she was accentuated the slight roll of skin around her middle. Her mood showed faint lines in her face. The coffee colored skin was flat sepia with no glow.

" Sorry you bothered with dinner. I'm going out tonight." She said without looking at me.

I noted the " I " as opposed to "we" and realized she wanted to provoke me. I have always detested argument. My father and mother had always been at each other that way.

" Can't we go out after dinner? I spent all afternoon on this Bouillabaisse. "

"I don't want any goddamned bouillabaisse! I'm going out now. Alone. "

Suddenly, I was released. I don't know why this time was different, but it was. My rage poured forth like lava. I believe I was actually out of my mind for the moment.

" You don't want any GODDAMNED BOULLIBASSE! You don't want to share any GODDAMNED WINE with me! Well you will you bitch. You by god will! "

By that time I had leaped to her and pulled her from her stool by the hair. I drug her across the floor, legs flailing. One goddamned fishnet stocking on and the other hanging from her foot. Through the apartment to the dining room I hauled her and flung her in a heap there.

" DINNER IS SERVED! " I bellowed.

With that I scooped a handful cod and shrimp from the steaming tureen and stuffed it dripping into the front of her panties.

" AND NOW YOUR FAVORITE PINOT BLANC! " I screamed.

I snatched the bottle from the ice bucket and emptied it over her head with a flourish. Not satisfied I dumped the ice water from the bucket onto her as well. As she looked down at herself….at the mess I had made of her, she began to sob. I contemplated her ruin with great satisfaction. I unzipped my fly and pulled my cock out. I dropped down astraddle her chest. Seizing a hank of her hair, I held her to it.

" KISS IT! ", I demanded.

She tried to turn away but I held her face in place. Finally, with tears streaming, she touched her lips to its angry helmet. I considered fucking her then but jump up instead. I leapt to the kitchen and snatched the plunger from under the sink and was back at her in a flash. With my prick still flapping and my stick slapping, I marched through her like a marauding Mongol. There was little left of her by the time I had my fill. I stood and rearranged my trousers.

" I'm going out now. Alone. " I said calmly. I stepped over her and left, closing the door quietly behind me.

My first instinct had been to find a bar and erase her with scotch. Instead I walked for hours through the park. There were lovers strolling and seeing them made my situation seem even more ironic. A chill finally drove me out of the night air. I went into the bar of one the posh hotels that face the bay. With her money I ordered a bottle of Pinot Blanc and savored it. I supposed that in the morning I would pack my few things and move out. Probably it would be a relief for both of us.

Sometime in the wee hours I let myself in. She had cleaned up the mess. She was in bed with the light out. I undressed quietly and slid under the covers on my side. As I closed my eyes, I felt her crawl over to me. She took my hand and pulled it between her thighs. My impulse was to pull it back but I left it there. After a bit I heard that small contented sound that only a woman can make. Her small hand wormed its way into my shorts and began to gently squeeze my cock.

"May I kiss it again?"

"You may."

After I came, I fell asleep with it in her mouth.

(Copyright 2004 by Estaban Bacca