I’ve been pent up for weeks. Not going to lie: a few swinger parties in the summer isn't enough. Vacation seemed non-existent, concerts got canceled, and Covid is still looming around. 

I worked a lot in the last few weeks and fought a few times with my spouse over stupid things. I felt like shit. What I needed was something I don't get often — and better than what I get now.

I called Jackie and she had a ton of referrals. I wrote a few down and started chats with some of them. A few seemed cool.

I thought I could meet one of them when I next had ‘Me time’ — but that didn't look as though it would ever happen. I couldn't get away for a vacation on my own and, anyway, everywhere was triple the price or without vacancies. 

So, I'm kind of screwed. Plus my stepson is an asshole. Okay, let’s just say I'm going insane!

~~~~

Like most weeks I had to food shop and go to Target after work. I cut out a few hours early on a quiet day but Market Basket was, of course, packed with rude people are everywhere. 

Midway through my shopping, I heard, “Excuse me.” I was taking up too much room in the aisle and I pulled over to let a tall man pass. The first thing I thought about was comedian Lisa Lampagneli who yells out, “Look at this Hot Chocolate daddy here.” I giggled as I watched him stroll down the aisle. Of course, my head was filled with black cock thoughts and how I could use a romp with one. Jackie had me on a few guys’ radars but sometimes a fresh kill I get on my own is what I need. I hadn't met anyone like that since my Bike Ride (see earlier journal entry).

The next aisle over, I saw him again. I’d say in his forties, over six-foot, in good shape with traces of grey in his hair. He had a goatee beard and was dressed better than most people in that store. I hoped he’d catch me staring and, on the second pass, he did. I even got cereal I didn't need.

He smiled at me but we passed without speaking. The next aisle was different. “We need to stop meeting like this,” he said 

Nervously, I said, “Why? I kind of enjoy it,” and he laughed. 

With other shoppers walking past us, he said, “I hate this place. It’s always full and nobody has any common courtesy.”

“That’s true… but I moved when you said ‘Excuse me.”

“Well, I guess not everyone’s bad.”  We smiled, continued to push our trollies, and exchange funny comments until he said, “I’m Jamal.” 

After introducing myself, I said, “You’re not from around here are you?”

“I was born in Botswana and raised in New York Long Island.”

“I meant Salem.”

“Oh… no, I’m teaching at the University. What about you?”

“From a few cities away,” I said, “but I'm here now.”

With that, we shopped on. He was good company, funny all the way till we parted ways at the registers. I made it through first and smiled at him as I walked by. I thought I’d seen the last of him but he came up to my car and asked if I needed help.

“No thanks,” I said. “I got it.”

He nodded, stood silent for a moment, then asked, “ Would you like to get a drink or something sometime?”

“I would love a drink and some something.”

He laughed. “I also would love something too.” 

“Hmm… when?”

“My schedule is free.”

“Well, I’d say right now if I didn't think my food would melt in my car.”

He asked for my number and when my phone rang, he said, “That’s my number. Call or text me when you know you’re free.”

“Oh, I will.” 

We said goodbye and I watched him drive away. Thinking it would be fun to text him, I sent: ’Do you even know how to cook that meat you bought?’

He quickly responded. ‘I like my meat well done.’

‘I like my meat rare and big.’

‘Then you’re in luck.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Please don't make me show you. It may scare you away.’

I smiled at that, then sent: ‘Oh, there’s things you don't know about me.’

‘I hope to find out.’

‘Okay. Text me 3 questions and I will return 3 after I answer.’

‘Sounds good,’ he wrote then asked if I lived in Salem and I said ‘No’ 

‘Where then?’

I told him and the third question took a while to arrive. ‘Do you like black men?’

‘Yes, men not boys,’ I answered and got a smiley face in return. 

At home, while putting away the groceries, I thought he would be waiting for my three questions. So, I sent my first one: ‘Do you always hit on married white women at supermarkets?’

‘Not just at supermarkets.’ 

‘Do you live alone?’

‘Yes in Salem.’

‘What do you teach?’ 

‘I’m a history professor.’ 

My husband came home and he turned on the TV to watch sports. Immediately, I sent another text to Jamal: ‘What is your favorite bar to get a drink?’

‘Fantasy Island,’ came a quick response.

‘How fast can you be there?”

‘10 minutes.’ 

We agreed to meet and I told hubby I was going out with a work friend for a much-needed drink. 

“Have fun. Don’t get pregnant,” he said and that made me mad. He still seemed annoyed at me for our little fights during the week.

As I got in my car, Jamal texted, ‘Have you ever been with a black man?’

‘Yes. That’s a long discussion.’

‘Does your husband know you’re meeting me’ 

‘Not you. But he knows I'm going out.’

‘See you in 5 minutes.’

I parked and then watched him arrive. I waited for him and he hugged me before we walked to the door. 

“What if somebody in here knows you and sees us?” he asked. 

‘I haven’t a care in the world,” I said and he held the door open.

A few people turned to look at us but we got a table for two along the wall. I ordered a Mai Tai and fried Rangoon while he ordered cognac and egg rolls. We continued our question game as we drank. 

He asked, “Shaved, bald, or trimmed?”

I grinned. “Look under the table.”

It was awkward because of his height but he managed and I hiked up my skirt. “No panties, either,” he laughed.

“My turn,” I said and asked the same question

“Trimmed.”

“Have you ever met a drunk married white female and taken her home?”

“Regularly when I was younger.”

“Are you married?”

“Divorced with one kid,” he said. ”But now it’s my turn. What would your husband say if he knew you were with me?”

“Ah, well, we have a don't ask don't tell rule,” I said and explained our lifestyle. When he was about to ask another question, I said, “Hey my turn,” and laughed before ordering another drink. The first had gone down too fast.

“Do you keep any nudes or trophy pictures on your phone?” I asked. He smiled and nodded. “Can I see your most recent pic?”

He texted me a photo of a heavy black woman naked on her stomach. “Who's that? I asked and he said it was his last girlfriend. 

I anticipated his next question. “No trophy nudes on my phone,” I said, “just me.”

I sent the Lush selfie of me in the mirror, the phone blocking my face. “Wow, god damn,” he said. “At a guess, how big was the biggest dick you’ve had sex with?"

“I can’t remember… but very, very big. Why do you ask?”

“Well, most women won’t have sex with me when they see it. Others try their best—” He shrugged and I laughed. “Shall we get out of here and go back to my place?”

 “Yes,” I said. “Tell me, do you like submissive women?"

“Oh yeah,” he said and we left the bar. I followed him, driving slowly for a couple of miles to a new condo complex near the university.

Walking to the door, he said, “Any limits?”

“No poop or pee or snuff.”

He laughed again. “I can live with that. Are you protected?”

I told him I wasn’t and, as we rode the elevator, said it was up to him whether he used a condom. In his apartment, he poured cognac and said I could have three more questions. “Then you'll have three,” I said, “and that’s it.”

He agreed. I slugged the cognac and asked for water which he got it from the fridge and I asked if he had lube? He grinned and said, “Yes. Now you have only one more question.”

I dropped my skirt. “See anything you like?” 

“Oh yes. Now take the rest off." I did while he watched, sitting on the couch and sipping his cognac. “Kneel before me.” He was very stern and I liked it.

He unbuckled his belt and slid his shorts down his thighs. I could see the shape of his cock in his boxers and my heart was pounding when he removed his shirt. His hairless chest looked great — and then he unleashed the monster. I gasped. It looked like a baby arm holding a peach and Jamal grinned as I looked up at him. He slapped his semi-hard cock on my nose and tongue. ”Is your husband’s cock this big?”

“Fuck no,” I said.

“Right… be a good girl and suck it.”

And I did, eagerly licking his shaft then shocking him by gobbling his balls. He told me to slow down. “Trophy pic time,” he said and photographed his vast cock on my smiling face. 

I wondered if he ate pussy and soon found out when he picked me up and we enjoyed a sixty-nine on his couch. He licked me like a pro and occasionally fingered me, muttering, “I love this married white cunt.” 

Jamal stretched me with his fingers and I groaned when he stopped and stood, his cock covered in my drool. “How much time do we have?” he asked and I told him about an hour. “Okay, lean over the end of the couch.”

I obeyed and he turned the air conditioning before telling me, “Here’s the lube.” He poured it on the crack of my ass, let it run down, then rubbed it around my holes and put some on the head of his cock.

I’d have to say he was at least eleven inches long and very thick. So, when he guided it home, he opened me up like I hadn't been in a long while and I moaned loudly. He slapped my ass and said, “Time to work on this pussy.”

And so it began. He thrust in deep and I cried out, loud enough for his neighbor to hear but I didn't care.

He really liked pounding me and I think I came about three times in about fifteen minutes before he grunted and pulled out. He spurted over my ass and I turned to milk him dry. Jamal was very happy, saying, “Damn… holy shit.” 

I said I needed to shower to clean off the evidence. He watched me and insisted that he could have lasted much longer if it hadn't been a while since his last fuck — or if I wasn't so hot. That made me feel good even though I was sore. 

“Next time,” I said, drying with a towel. He got excited and I set out ground rules while I dressed.  Looking fine to go home — and now sober — I said, “I've had a great time and we should shop again sometime.”

He laughed and said, “Text me.”

The drive home was under five miles and when I got there hubby was still watching TV. I told him I was a little drunk and going to bed. I wore my robe so he wouldn't get any ideas. I mean, if he’d tried he'd have realized from the smell of different soap that I’d been playing  — and, possibly, from how stretched out I felt. Even though I was sore down there, thinking about it made me happy.

In the morning, I sent a text to thank Jamal ‘for a lovely time,' and he sent me the trophy picture. ‘Send it to your best friend for me,’ I wrote.

We plan on meeting again when I have more time.