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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: b-friday.txt (mdom/f, interr, hum)
Authors name: Celia Garr, seegarr@hotmail.com
Story title : Black Friday
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(c) 1999 Celia Garr - This story may not be reprinted
without permission of the author except for reposting
to the alt.sex.stories and alt.sex.stories.moderated
newsgroups. Permission for placing this story on a
web site might be granted upon request, providing that
web site is a free web site and does not charge in any
way for its services, which include paid adult veri-
fication programs.
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Black Friday
By Celia Garr, seegarr@hotmail.com
There was a period in my mid-twenties when I admit to
having been fairly promiscuous. One Friday night when
living in Monterey I went with some friends to a place
called "Le Club." It was still fairly early and we
were talking and drinking around a table, when they
went off to dance or talk with someone else' and a
black man approached me. I cannot remember his name.
He had bright white teeth and very dark skin, he was
very charming and pleasant so I allowed him to sit down
and talk to me for awhile. Beneath the conversation,
however, was a sexual undertone.
I had never been around a black man before.
My upbringing was purely white neighborhoods, Catholic
school upbringing, upper middle class, a father who
worked (after a brief period of military service)
sometimes in government, sometimes in private industry,
a mother who was often gone doing charity work or
involved in whatever momentary hobby had temporarily
taken her fancy. Once there was a scandal where a
teenage girl in the neighborhood was rumored to have
become pregnant from a black man. The baby was
aborted, and she would never admit to it, yet the
rumor persisted.
My father heard me talking about it in hushed tones to
a friend on the phone when he turned to me suddenly and
with rage in his voice, "If I ever catch you with a
black boy - I will disown you." He must have heard the
rumor, too.
It wasn't the point that I expected to be rich if he
ever died, it was that I found out how much he disap-
proved of it. It was a shock. Race was never a
subject brought up in our home except that we were
aware that father had a prejudice against Orientals due
to his experiences in Vietnam. I guess this extended
to blacks, too. Whatever they felt, our parents taught
us that bias and prejudice were not to be tolerated.
Perhaps they were attempting to raise us better than
they had been raised.
At the same time, I remember when my father was gone
to Vietnam I used to sneak into my parents room when
mother was not at home and read some of the books they
kept on their private bookshelf. I was quite young at
the time. Some of the books were sexual books that were
popular in the late sixties, "The Joy of Sex," "The
Sensual Woman," and things like that.
There were also mother's romance novels, which I was
surprised she read. There were a couple of books I
felt that father probably knew nothing about. Romance
style novels that had covers with black men and white
women on them. I remember one of them had a white
woman at the feet of a black man, her hand reaching up
and laid flat, very high on his thigh.
This is probably where my curiosity about black men
began. I read some of those books.
Regardless, it never entered my head that I might ever
date a black boy. As I grew to adulthood, the thought
of dating a black man never crossed my mind. At the
same time, I was never aware of any personal prejudices
at all, at least not because of someone's race.
In my early twenties I suddenly blossomed and men were
after me all the time. Suddenly, men were after me like
I had never experienced in my life and I reveled in it
for awhile. It was during this stage of my life that
I was sitting in the club and talking to a black man.
I don't exactly remember our conversation as I had
probably had a little too much too drink. This was
another of my problems at the time. Later, I remember
that he and I were sitting in the bar and my friends
had returned to the table. What I do remember about
the conversation is that as it went on, he began to
use words like "white" and "black" pretty freely. This
was not the kind of conversation I was used to and it
made me nervous, yet at the same time I was strangely
excited. He could tell. I know he could tell, because
he whispered something in my ear. It embarrassed me
to hear it, but like I said already, I was excited.
Too excited. It was also kind of crude. He asked me
if I had ever had "black dick."
Of course, he already knew the answer. Even though
I didn't answer him aloud, he knew the answer. Yet
he knew I was aroused by his question, too, and he
began using terms like that more often, usually in a
soft disarming voice which was barely a whisper in my
ear.
I was getting very wet.
He said he would set up a mirror so I could watch
myself. He said he knew my "daddy" wouldn't like it,
would he? He said other things, too. My heart was
beating like a racehorse that had just finished running
the Kentucky Derby. It was all I could do to breathe
and to nod or shake my head in response to his
questions.
I left with him, making sure not to look over toward
the table where my friends had been. I didn't want to
know if they had seen me leave with a black man.
We took my car. He drove. As he drove he pulled my
head down into his lap and suggested I kiss my first
"black cock." When I started to unzip him he stopped
me, saying that was "for later." He just wanted me to
kiss him through his pants.
And I did it.
Over and over. Leaning over with my knees in the
passenger seat, my head in his lap smothering his
hardness with my lips and pressing my face against
him. Rubbing my cheek up and down the hard length
of it. And it was very very hard. I left a wet spot
on his pants from my saliva.
This is when the racial comments really began in
earnest. Not only that, but comments about how I
could "barely wait" to get my first "black dick" in
my mouth. He used other words too, like "chocolate
bar." He mentioned how he was going to "feed" it to
me. I don't remember everything he said to me. All
I remember is that I had never reacted this way to
any man before. Ever.
Suddenly, after a very short ride, he was parking the
car. I had not even asked where we were going. It
turned out he was in the military, attending some
special school they had up on the hill above Monterey
and he lived in one of the barracks there in a two man
room. I remember the embarrassed feeling as other
military men saw me walking in with him "a black man,"
obviously going to his room. A white woman with a
black man. Luckily, his room mate wasn't there.
Once we got inside his room he held me, folding me up
in his long muscular arms pressing me firmly against
his lean muscular body. His whole body felt hard and
I wanted him. I wanted to kiss him all over and run
my white hands all over his dark body. The contrast
of my tanned white skin against his dark coloring was
erotic all by itself.
We kissed and it wasn't but a moment later I felt him
unzipping my dress down the back. It fell down and
he began unbuttoning his shirt as I nuzzled against
his neck, standing on my toes. Then he took a step
back, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks,
undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. I
was waiting for him to remove his underwear, but he
did not. There was a large bulge and my imagination
was running rampant. So was the rest of my body. All
I felt was excitement, arousal and desire. It was
pure unadulterated lust, and I wasn't even thinking
about the consequences.
Then he motioned that it was my turn. The dress was
already on the floor around my feet. I removed every-
thing else very slowly while he watched. My bra first,
then the rest. I wanted him to want me as much as I
wanted him. I undressed slowly to tease him. And I
could tell he liked what he saw. I knew how men
reacted to me. I could see the bulge in his briefs
begin to grow.
I stepped forward and rubbed my whiteness against his
blackness. I liked the way my pale breasts smashed
against his chest. I liked the way my hands seemed to
glow against the darkness of his skin. It was pure
vanilla and very very dark chocolate. He placed his
hand on my shoulders and very slowly pushed me down.
As I glided downward, I traced my lips and tongue
across his skin until I was on my knees, my face
pressed against his cock which I could feel through
the thin cotton material of his briefs. I nuzzled it
and kissed it and loved it. I felt like the woman on
the cover of my mother's paperback novel. On my knees
to a black god.
"You want to get your fist glimpse of black cock, don't
you?" he asked.
"Yes," I whispered, head bent forward as I kissed his
strong thigh. Then I began to pull his shorts down.
His cock "his black cock" sprang free, fully erect and
leaning against my forehead. I pulled back so I could
look at it for a moment. I had never seen one before.
It was beautiful. Proud, black, beautiful. I kissed
it near the base. As I did, he leaned over and pulled
open the door to a sort of closet type piece of fur-
niture standing along the wall. On the inside of the
door was a long full length mirror. I could see myself
kneeling in front of this black man, my face only
inches away from his hardness. I kissed the tip of it,
and looked at myself in the mirror. It is impossible
to explain the erotic reaction of seeing my white body
kneeling before a black man. Then I watched myself
take him into my mouth. I felt...nasty.
I slid my mouth down very very slowly, savoring the
image of myself in the mirror. It was almost as if
there was no one present but me. Just me with him in
my mouth, no man attached. That is how it went for
awhile. No talking, no movement but my very slow
sucking on his cock, savoring it, loving it, on my
knees to it, watching myself do it. If he said any-
thing at that time, I don't know what it was. I was
lost...gone.
Then I took it out and stood up. I wanted to get in
his bed with him. I was wet and needed him. I wanted
him. I wanted to feel him inside me. I wanted to feel
his weight above me. I wanted to be close to him.
That is when I received my first surprise.
He said, "No."
He said he didn't ordinarily "fuck" white women.
Sometimes, but rarely. He preferred black women.
However, since white women seemed to like "black
dick" so much, he didn't see any problem letting them
"get a taste." And he didn't actually say "white
women" this time, either. He said, "white bitches."
I began to protest, thinking he led me on. Thinking
why did he bring me here thinking one thing was going
to happen, when he never intended for it all along.
But he let me say none of this. He knew what I was
going to say. He began to explain it to me as if it
made perfect sense. He explained that white women
were too slim in the hips and their butts were too
small. How our faces weren't as attractive, our lips
not as full. He stood right there telling me how white
women weren't as good as black women, implying that I
was not as good. That I wasn't good enough to "fuck."
But because "white bitches" were usually "pretty good
cocksuckers" he would often "let" them have a "taste."
This should have left me stunned. I should have slap-
ped his face, got dressed and walked out of there. If
it was a white man, I probably would have. But he also
intimidated me, and I was a little bit scared. Plus,
the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, with a smile
on his lips and a slight chuckle, it had a totally
opposite reaction. No one had ever talked to me that
way before. Every guy I ever went out with wanted to
go to bed with me. But this guy didn't. This guy even
practically told me I wasn't good enough.
It turned me on even more.
Not a normal kind of excited, but something more. I
couldn't talk. I couldn't breathe. I could feel the
wetness dripping down my thigh. I could only stand
there and take it. Then he began pushing me to my
knees again, and I let him. I let him. That is when
he really began talking, saying nasty things and
calling me names. No one had ever done that to me
before. The things he said...
As I went down to my knees, he said I knew my "place."
White sluts belonged on their knees in front of black
men and he liked seeing them when they knew that. On
their knees with black cock in their mouth. He said
we were good at giving blowjobs, that we all sucked
like sluts. Then he told me to show him I could suck
like a slut. He told me to watch myself in the mirror
so I would know what a slut I was, that I should suck
faster, that I should be noisier. He said I wanted to
impress him, didn't I? He wanted the people in the
next room to hear. He wanted me to slurp and slobber
all over it and he told me to rub it on my face, to
slap my face with it, to eat it like a greedy little
white pig. He said my "daddy" would love to see me
now, wouldn't he? He went on and on saying such
things, hardly ever stopping. It drove my lust over
some cliff of abandonment, disengaging my brain, and I
no longer was in control of my body.
I held onto him by his hips and did everything he said.
I went fast, I sucked loud, I slurped and made sloppy
noises as I sucked, I rubbed his slobbery gleaming hard
black cock all over my face and slapped myself in the
face with it. I squirmed my legs together because my
pussy was so needy. I touched and rubbed myself. I
watched how nasty and dirty and whorish I looked in the
mirror. I listened to everything he said. I made
animal noises in my throat. I was crazed, full of
lust, wanton, eager to please. I was insane, lost,
beyond control. I was soaked, swollen and inflamed.
I wanted to be fucked so bad!
He grabbed my hair and just began ramming into me, into
my mouth. He pushed his black dick back into my throat
so far I gagged. He didn't care. I didn't care I was
there for him to use. He laughed when my stomach
convulsed. Then he pulled out just as I could feel the
first throb and he spurted onto my face as he held me
by the hair. All over my face it went. Forehead,
eyes, cheeks, dripping and oozing down. I held my
mouth open trying to get some in my mouth but he
steered my head to wherever he wanted it to go. He put
his nasty black cock back in my mouth just as his last
few pumps went off.
But he wasn't done. He told me to hurry! "Hurry!" he
said, "Wipe it off your face and rub it on your cunt!
Try to get some of that black seed up your pussy! Do
it white bitch, do it now!" And I did it, not even
thinking at this point. I did it quick and in a hurry!
I wiped it off my face with my right hand and rubbed it
in my pussy hair! I wiped it off and tried to put it
inside my so-soaked cunt! I did it, whatever he said,
and I rubbed myself, still on my knees, wanting to come
so bad!
He pulled me as he moved closer to the bed and he lied
on his back on the bed, his feet still on the floor.
He pulled me up to him and placed me so I was strad-
dling his thigh. "Hump me," he said. "I know you need
to come. Hump me like a dog."
And I did that, too, pressing hard against him. So
hard! Rubbing and grinding away at his thigh. Getting
his thigh wet with my juices. His juices. Both com-
bined. Sliding back and forth. Then I reached down
grabbing the back of his leg and just pushed myself
tight against him as the shudders began to go through
me. I moaned. I groaned. I felt like I was dying.
My heart was beating like thunder in a storm as waves
of pleasure washed through and through me.
When I feel forward off to his side, my head face down
on the sheets, all I was conscious of was the hammering
of my heart and a totally drained feeling. Tired.
Unmoving. Dead to the world. Beat, beat, beat, thun-
dered my heart.
He let me lie there a moment, both of us silent. I had
never had an orgasm like that in my life. I did not
think they were possible.
He got up and put some pants on. I continued to lay
there until he told me I had to go. I didn't want to
go. I thought he may have thought I was something
special. We could sleep together and maybe he would
relent so later he would let me feel him inside me.
I was in total awe of him and what he had done to me.
He said maybe another time. Maybe tomorrow I could
come and suck him again. He asked if I wanted to.
Actually, I wanted more, but weakly I said, "yes."
He said once I got home I would change my mind. I
said I wouldn't. He said right now I didn't think so,
but later I would be ashamed for going so crazy over
"nigger dick" that I wouldn't want to come back, but
that if I wanted to make sure I would come back, he
could work that out. I asked how. He said, he would
keep my purse and all my keys except my house key and
car key, and I could come back and get them tomorrow.
It was the only way he would believe me when I said I
would come back and do it again.
I had just had the most powerful orgasm of my life and
the only thing I was thinking of right then was that I
wanted such a climax again. I was unsure about letting
him keep my things, but in the end, I relented. He
asked me if I was a "nigger whore" now.
I said, "Yes."
And I got dressed and left, with his phone number to
call him tomorrow.
He was right. As I lay in bed that night, all I could
think of was how I could have possibly let a man treat
me that way. I thought of what he must think of me. I
thought of how being with a black man was totally
against all my upbringing. And I was ashamed of how I
had acted, how much I had lost control. I couldn't
bear the idea of facing him again with him knowing what
I had done and how I had been. With him calling me all
those names, and me letting him...even wanting him to.
If he had not kept my things, I would not have gone
back.
But he did keep my things.
And I did go back.
The end
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
strangers. But it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex
with strangers!! You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 9