I hate to reveal how naive I was at 18. Here I am now,
48 years old, loving husband I cheat
on, and financially well off so I never have to worry
about when the bills are going to be paid. I am 5’6″,
around 125-130 pounds, a 36C bust and mousy blond hair.
The rest of the measurements are 36-30-40, a far cry
from the 34-25-35 I was at 18.
But now a lot wiser and well worn, I can look back with
a smile and tell you how it began. No, I was not raped
by my brother, father, uncle, or any other relative. I
was a virgin until I was married and just a happy teen-
ager in an upper middle class neighborhood.
Of course, I knew what a penis looked like (at least
soft) and I’d heard stories from the “girls who knew”
what sex was about and really, I didn’t care to go any
further.
That was until that fateful day in June when I went on
a walk to the local riverside park. It was a beautiful
spring day and in the evening was very restful to sit
and contemplate the day’s activities.
I was dressed in a thin yellow jumper dress with noth-
ing under it but a bra and sheer nylon panties and
while sitting, had pushed up the my skirt to the tops
of my thighs to cool off a bit.
I guess I was a little more exposed than I should have
been, but never thought anyone would see anything but
my pantied crotch. Heck, I showed off more than that
in my bathing suit.
My legs were spread slightly, the cool air felt good
against my slightly damp panty crotch. Damp from sweat,
mind you. Nothing else.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, just thinking
how wonderful it was to be alive and well this beauti-
ful the day had been, when I heard a noise over by the
willow tree beside the water.
I looked over there and saw nothing but, still thought
I would take a quick look anyway.
I pulled my dress down to my knees and stood up and
went over to the tree. There sitting on a bench over-
looking the water was a black man. His age was
indiscernible, I would imagine around 25-30. He was
wearing only a short pair of rather sheer nylon running
shorts and was sweaty, as if he had just finished
exercising. Which I found out later, he had.
“Hi,” I said as I glanced down at him, “Are you from
around here?” I didn’t recognize him as a regular from
the town and was curious about who he was.
He replied, “No, I am visiting the Hudsons.” They were
a black family on the outskirts of town and I found
them to be very nice. I had played with their kids
while growing up. “I just thought I’d take an evening
run around the river and see what was going on,” he
said.
That’s cool,” I said, “Do you mind if I sit down on the
bench with you?”
“Go ahead,” he said and motioned me to sit. As I moved
toward the bench, I glanced down at his crotch and
saw what looked like a small log running down his leg
and the tip of it poking from the leg of his shorts.
“I was watching your show over there,” he said, glanc-
ing at where I had been sitting. I followed his glance
and sure enough, he had seen me sitting with my legs
uncovered and spread.
I was immediately embarrassed and started blushing. It
was humiliating to have a man (especially a black man)
see my panties.
“As you can see, it has affected me and I need some
relief,” he sort of chuckled, “What are you going to do
about helping me out?”
I could see more of the “log” protruding from the leg
of his shorts now.
“What do you want from me?” I nervously asked, glancing
down at what I now knew was his engorged penis, a dark
purplish mushroom shape was starting to appear from the
edge of his shorts, the skin folding back to expose it
in all its glory.
Here was a man with an erection, and I had given it to
him. It was all my fault and I guess I had to do some-
thing to help him out.
“You little white slut, you sit around showing off your
cunt and panties for all to see and then take no re-
sponsibility for the consequences.
I was sitting about two feet from him at the time and
he said, “Get over here next to me.”
I slid over right next to him and he put his left arm
around me and cupped my breast. “Nice tits for a slut.
Feel like they’ve never been used. So firm but soft.”
He had his hand inside my bra now and twisted my nipple
until it was erect and firm. “Nice nips too. Bet you
would like them sucked.”
He slid the shoulder strap of my dress and bra off over
my shoulder and bent over to take a nipple in his mouth.
I gasped at the feeling. Never had I felt that way be-
fore, but I felt I was his to use. Any way he wanted.
I had been “felt up” by other boys before, but there
was a feeling that went through me — I tingled all
over. He could use me, rape me, degrade me; I wanted
it like never before.
And he knew it. He was playing me like a taut string.
Rubbing, sucking, caressing…
He took my right hand and placed it in his lap. “Take
a hold of my cock you white whore,” he said as I wrap-
ped my hand around the tip of the shaft pulling the
foreskin back and forth over that mean looking purple
head. It was covered in sticky slime and was very well
lubricated.
He pulled his shorts leg up and there it jumped up for
me in all its full 7-inch glory. A sight I had never
seen before. An excited erect black cock (or any cock
for that matter — remember, we are talking 1969. Porn
wasn’t anywhere in decent society yet.)
“Come on white cunt,” he said, “Stroke that black
beauty. You love it and you know you do. You were
born to service black cock, now get to jacking me off.”
So how did I know he was right? Here I was, an
eighteen-year-old attractive white girl sitting on a
park bench with a black stranger, his arm around me
feeling my bare breast, and me jacking him off right
there where anyone could see me if they passed by. How
did it look? To most people, it would be gross, but
to me, it was beautiful. It was right. I belonged here
worshipping his black cock.
“That mouth of yours looks like it needs a black cock
to fill it,” he said, and put his hand on the back of
my neck and roughly pushed my face down towards his
magnificent manhood. It got bigger and bigger as it
got closer (I can see how some imagine a 10 or 11 inch
cock — his looked two feet long at that moment!)
“Now slut, open your mouth and take my cock into your
slutty red lips and show me what all white bitches are
good for — servicing black cock, heh heh.”
He jerked his hips and at the same time he pushed my
head down and in one shot, he had lodged five inches
in my surprised mouth. He pulled back out and went
right back in, going a little deeper. In three strokes,
he was all the way in and my nose was rubbing his wet,
sweaty, wiry pubic hair (it felt good). He let it sit
there for a couple of seconds and as I did not gag, he
began fucking my mouth in earnest, (I knew I was made
for this) while I sucked and licked every inch of his
cock.
It was getting late, and I could tell he was up to
something as I tasted a funny salty tasting substance
coating the inside of my mouth and leaking out of the
corners. (I found out later it was called “pre-cum”.)
But then, all I knew was that he tensed drew out and
plunged all the way in as deep as he could go.
I felt the surging and flexing of his cock as it left
its load of sperm deep in my throat.
He pulled out leaving a string of semen stretching
from his cock to my lips, then shot two more slimy
white ropes of cum splatted right on my face.
“Like that, cum slut?” He said as he rubbed his cock
around my face and mouth.
I was too busy greedily licking off his cock and
cleaning it to hear him or to even care what he had
said.
Then he grabbed me by my hair and jerked my head up,
looked right into my cum covered face and painfully
twisting my hair, shouted at me. “You filthy scumbag
white whore cum slut, when I talk to you, you answer.
Now once again, did you like that, bitch.”
Tears running down my face streaking with cum, I looked
directly into his eyes and said. “I loved it MASTER.”
And that was my first time. There were many more times
after that, first with him, and then with other black
men. All my life seems to have been consumed with the
need to have black men in my life.
I don’t know why I married a white guy, other than the
convention of the thing, because I think I’ve made it
with more black men during my life that I have with
my husband.
Even my daughter looks very tan, much darker than
either myself or my husband, but thankfully, only her
skin is dark, her features are almost mirror images of
mine.
I wonder sometimes if she will have the same urges as
her mother…