Tina has written several stories posted here. Recently, she asked each of us who love her, to tell our stories. Rod and Brianna have done so, and I guess that leaves me as the last of our love-quartet to tell my story.
My name is Ted. I know that Tina has talked about me here, as have my girlfriend Brianna, and Tina’s boyfriend Rod.
Being of African-American heritage in historically racist but rapidly liberalizing Georgia has had its positives and negatives for me.
My father had it far worse than I ever did; although I do worry what lies ahead for me now that the forty-fifth occupant of the White House has made Klan membership popular and respectable again.
My father grew up poor, on a small rural Georgia farm, where his entire family’s combined salaries barely kept a roof over their heads, and rarely kept his parents and his siblings from borderline starvation.
As dad got older and stronger, he was able to make slightly higher farm wages than he had as a boy. But after a certain age, back-breaking farm work becomes nearly impossible for the body to sustain.
Those lucky enough to escape farm poverty often use the construction trades as their next career move. And dad was no different, finding work manually helping crane operators to guide heavy steel girders into position in high-rise office buildings in Atlanta.
Dad and some of his coworkers eventually reached an age where even construction work was too punishing on their bodies. Several of them, including dad, pooled the good money they had earned in the construction trades, and started their own construction company. Thy hired others to do the back-breaking work. So with my dad a successful Atlanta businessman, I grew up in a family that was never wanting for money.
For some reason, my parents decided to give me, a black man, a Greek name: Theodus. Other black kids thought my name was too pretentious. White kids wondered why black kids always had to have weird names. My parents wanted to nickname me Theo, like the kid from the old Cosby show. I decided very young that, to fit in with all my classmates, white and black, I would go by the name Ted.
AS with all aspects of my life, being black has also had its advantages and disadvantages in terms of dating.
Some black women are very nice and sweet, and I’ve enjoyed dating them. But all too many single black women buy into the stereotype that 1) all young black men hold up gas stations and liquor stores at gum point, and have served prison time for it, or 2) if they haven’t done time, it’s only a matter of time before they get caught, and they deserve what they get, or 3) if they really haven’t committed a crime, they aren’t being black enough.
I could usually tell by the end of the first date, or latest by halfway through the second date, when a black girl had such an attitude and treated me like the scum she assumed I was. Many hinted, or even stated outright, that I should feel honored that she even lowered herself to dating a slime like me.
Such women rarely got a second, and never got a third, date with me.
Then there was the type that pretended to get all ghetto and called me the n word all the time. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, and their fellow revolutionaries fought hard to get us away from that. I am a man, not an N.
And then there were the white girls. Oh, man! “Is it true that all black men are a tree trunk size in their jeans?” “Do all black men make women come like Niagara Falls?” They wanted to know if they go black and would never go back. They practically threw their panties at me – come to think of it, most didn’t wear panties at all when they went out with me! Mist dates with white girls were guaranteed to get me laid, and I did try to send them home with big happy smiles on their faces.
The stereotype isn’t true, of course. From high school locker room talk, I knew that most guys – white and black – were clueless about how to pleasure a woman. And I had seen my fellow black students naked in the locker room. Very few were as well-endowed as the 9 inches Nature blessed me with.
After a while, the white girls wanting their first black cock got old to me. As with black women who assumed I was a criminal, I wanted to be wanted for me, not for a stereotype.
After I turned 21, I became very picky about who I dated. I didn’t date much, but when I did, the quality of the date was always extraordinary. The conversation, the companionship, and yes the sex too, always way above the ordinary experiences of most guys.
Fast forward to January, 2018. I was a few months shy of turning my current age of 25. My cousin Dolores kept yammering at me about an upcoming Valentine’s Day singles party. She was pressuring me to stop being a stick in the mud and go to it. If nothing else, there would be good food and good music. And maybe one or two interesting women to talk to and dance with. “Who knows?” Dolores joked. “You might even find THE one there? You’ll never find her if you sit home.”
After several days of this, I finally reluctantly agreed that I would go to her damned Valentine’s Party.
The first (black) girl I danced with that night invited me to sit down and share dinner and wine with her. But she kept calling me the n word. So I excused myself and got up and asked a shy white girl sitting in a corner to dance with me.
The white girl and I sat and sipped wine for a while, and got into small talk. Then she asked me if it’s true all black men have oak tree sized cocks.
A redheaded white girl walked up to our table. “Don’t mind her,” the redhead told me. “She loses all sense when she’s had wine.”
The other girl took offense at the redhead’s comment, and she left. The redhead slid into her seat, facing me.
“I‘ve had a few cocks,” she laughed. “Some might say more than my fair share!” she laughed again. “Some have been big, some have been small. Some have been white, and some have been black. There’s nothing magical or mysterious about a black cock. They’re the same as white cocks, except for the color.”
“Finally!” I smiled. “Someone who understands that. Someone who doesn’t buy into stereotypes. Someone – “
She cut me off. “Someone named Brianna. Someone who’s pleased to meet a handsome man named – “
I stood up and extended a handshake to her. “Ted. Pleased to meet you, Brianna.”
Brianna told me that she had watched me dance, and I seemed to have good moves on the dance floor. “Another false stereotype is that men who move well standing up, also move well lying down,” she winked.
”I saw you dancing too. You move well. And maybe once we get to know each other better, we’ll both find out how well we move together horizontally.”
“Are you flirting with me, Ted?”
“No more than you’re flirting with me, Brianna.”
Brianna told me about how she had lured her first boy under the high school football bleachers when she was 16, and they stole each other’s virginity.
She told me how she and a girl named Tina had been lovers for the past seven years.
She told me that Tina had a hot boyfriend named Rod who fucked Tina twice a day and fucked her once a week. She told me she liked that arrangement and didn’t plan to end it anytime soon, if ever.
She told me about the boyfriend she had recently dumped, who was a dud both in and out of bed. And how she had come to this party hoping to replace dud with stud. She said she enjoyed Rod, but he was Tina’s man, not hers.
She had come to this party tonight hoping to find a man she could call her own. A man she might eventually share with Tina, but he would be her man, not Tina’s man.
As we talked, I could tell this is one very sweet girl. But not one to ever let anyone push her around. Not that I would ever try to push her around. Or ever want to push her around.
“Do you think you could date a woman as frankly and as openly sexual as I am? Would you even want to?”
“You don’t scare me,” I smiled. “I like a woman who knows what she wants, and goes for it.”
“Well,” she winked, “I knew I wanted to sit did and talk to you and get to know you. So I sat down, and now I’m trying to get to know you. And to let you get to know me.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “You know what you want, and you go for it. And I feel honored that right now, you seem to want me, and you’re going for it.”
We talked until the party closed down at two in the morning, with only brief pauses to dance in each other’s arms. It felt really nice to sway together like that. And every time we held each other on the dance floor, her face lit up.
As we were leaving together, Brianna sked, “Well, Ted, are you ready to take me home now, and see if we move as well together horizontally as we do vertically?”
I told her, “I want to know if I can make you smile as much naked, as you smiled when we were holding each other fully clothed.”
Every second in bed with Brianna that first night was wonderful and amazing.
From her determined but playful way of tugging open my belt, to the slow way she sucked my hardness into her mouth and down her throat, to the way her hips moved under me as I fucked her hard and deep, to the eager way she straddled and rode me, to her highly erotic “mmmmmm” the entire time we made love, to her ear-piercing shouts of YES every time she came hard all over me.
It was all so good. Her soft and pale skin. The red hair on her head, matched by the red of her bush. Her twinkling eyes. Her genuine joy over every sexual moment we shared. The way she made me feel so loved and so desired. Her relaxed, unhurried lovemaking. Her seemingly endless sexual energy, which constantly renewed my own sexual energy. Her playful eroticism. Her intelligence and ready wit and her complete charm. Her lack of pretention or game-playing, just total honesty and raw sexuality personified.
Brianna and I didn’t leave my bed for the next three days, except to pee and to eat. We never got dressed that whole time, either. I’m not sure whose face, hers or mine, was smiling more radiantly throughout that whole time.
There were frequent showers together, too. To wash off the last round of orgasms, and to touch e=other erotically under the warm shower spray, before starting on the next round of shared orgasms.
And one final very sexy shower together, before we had to finally part company.
When Brianna had to finally reluctantly leave to go to work, and I had to return to my own job after three days together, I called my cousin Dolores. “Thank you, cuz. You were right.”
“Right about what?”
“Right about the party. Her name‘s Brianna and she’s a keeper.”
Brianna called me at lunchtime that day. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she said. “About us.”
“I can’t stop thinking about us, either,” I replied.
“So does that mean I’m invited back into your bed tonight?”
“Oh HELL yeah!”
“I love your enthusiasm,” she giggled.
“Mine? I seem to recall some pretty enthusiastic moaning from a certain very pretty redhead these past three days.”
“What can I say?” she giggled again. “You bring out the enthusiasm in me!”
“Brianna, you have to stop giggling.”
“Oh, I do, do I? And why is that?”
“Because it’s raising a tent in my pants that I won’t be able to explain to my co-workers.”
“Well…” Brianna began slowly. “If you’ll have lunch in my apartment today, I think I can get that swelling down for you.” I could almost hear her wink at me over the phone.
She gave me the address, and we met at her front door, not fifteen minutes later.
As she unzipped me, Brianna giggled, “Screw lunch! This is all I want in my mouth right now.”
She knelt on the floor and began a long, slow, adoring lick me from my balls to my cock-head.
I scooped her up in my arms, and asked her which way to her bedroom. She pointed the way, and I set her on her bed. We got into a 69 position, and we enjoyed multiple helpings of each other’s creaminess, as our only lunch sustenance that day.
After we both went back to our jobs, I realized Brianna was right, she had eliminated my swelling when she had eagerly and hungrily drained my balls down her throat.
After work, Brianna knocked on my apartment door promptly at 5:30 p.m. that night.
I’ve been to a few strip clubs in my time, and every one of those pole dancers and lap dancers could take lessons from Brianna in how to strip erotically for a man, in such a way as to cause maximum hardness.
Brianna started to strip me naked, too. But I asked her to let me put on a show for her, the way she had done for me.
I was down to my boxers, and I was just starting to remove them, when she lifted her sweet little ass high off the bed, moaned very loudly, and began to flow slow and thick onto my bedsheets.
I tossed my boxers on the floor, knelt between her pale soft thighs, and began to eat her delicious pussy, one lick and one nibble at a time.
Her dainty hand encircled my hard, throbbing nine-inch cock, and she began slowly pumping me up and down. I let out a long, low groan of satisfaction, and she asked me if I was ready to come.
I groaned again, and her hand guided me into her mouth. Her tongue licked me as I entered her throat, and I exploded harder than I had in years.
“Oh GOD that was good!” Brianna moaned.
“You’re amazing, my love!” I agreed.
“I need to be fucked,” she smiled.
“That’s good, because I really need to fuck you.”
I climbed on top of my redheaded goddess, and I slowly slid into the tightest, wettest pussy any man could ever even dream of.
Brianna trembled and moaned. And then her pussy clamped down tight. “I’m determined to never let you go,” she giggled.
Her sexy giggles made me throb hard inside of her. My throbbing tightened her pussy even more constrictively around me, and she began to moan.
With a loud, deep groan, I fired deep into her. My orgasm triggered three of her own, in rapid succession.
“Oh FUCK yeah!” she screamed. “Yes, yes, YYYYEEEESSSS!”
And with that, she flooded her juices all up and down my deeply buried cock, even harder than she had come the first three times.
“The stereotype may not be true,” Brianna smiled joyously, “not all black cocks feel amazing. But YOURS sure does!”
“I’ve heard that redheads are sexually insatiable. I can’t say, since you’re my first redhead. But I’m not going to stop until you’ve had enough. However long that takes.”
We did fellatio, we did cunnilingus, we did 69, we did missionary, we did cock riding, we did reverse cowgirl, we did various versions of doggie (kneeling and completely horizontal and even with her standing against a wall with me standing behind her), and we even did anal sex.
And I got my answer, as to how long it takes an insatiable redhead to actually be sated. In Brianna’s case, at least on that night, it took nine hours of non-stop sex before her sweet pussy was too sore to let me bang her any more. Honestly, my balls were completely drained by then, too.
That’s when we finally fell asleep in each other’s arms. And I think that’s when we first said I Love You to each other. I meant that first time, and I still mean it now. And I know she meant it and means it. We love each other and we completely trust each other and we care deeply about each other. It’s not just the mutual lust – although obviously, that’s a key ingredient in how we feel about each other and what we feel toward each other.
