After I read some of the stories posted here, I felt that I’d found some kindred spirits in people I’d never met. I’m a forty-one year old white wife and mother who recently decided to move close to the university where my youngest son attends, so that we could share an apartment.

I’d been married to the same man since the age of eighteen. By now, all of our children were either away at college or out on their own. Although my husband wasn’t my first man, and we’d been affably married for twenty-two years, Ray and I recently divorced a few months back. This was why I’d asked to move in with my youngest son.

Before then, I’d been working for a privately funded social service agency as a caseworker for about nine years, when everything in my life changed. As you well know, the majority of those who apply for help in this country are mothers at or below the poverty line. Most of the time, these mothers are black.

Naturally, we’ve had mothers as young as thirteen or fourteen and grandmothers as old as eighty come to us for help with their rent or their heat or merely to ask us to lend an ear to a problem or a question.

One day, Bette, an African American woman in her late forties, brought one of her sons along with her. My heart nearly stopped when I met him. Tyron was about twenty years of age and absolutely the epitome of a young masculine black. He’d just gotten out of prison for a drug related felony, and he was on parole for at least another two years. But I was taken by his self- assurance and his drive to want to put his past behind him.

The three of us talked for an hour and a half in my office that morning, and I literally melted every time my light blue eyes met his deep dark brown eyes. Finally I pulled out my card to give to each of them.

After the two of them left, I ran to the ladies room to see if what I’d thought had happened to me was real. My panties were totally, thoroughly soaked--almost too wet to wear any longer. I coated the inside with toilet paper and went back to my desk. I kept thinking that I had to be walking funny, and my walk would give my strange discomfort with what just happened away to my co-workers.

A little while later, my phone rang. It was him! He started by saying that he’d called to thank me. I told him he was welcome, and that it was all part of my job. He asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink with him sometime, and I told Tyron that I couldn’t as long as he was on my caseload--that if I did, I’d lose my job.

“If I wasn’t on your caseload, would you go out with me?”

I didn’t even think before I answered. “Yes, I would,” I told him.

“I’m glad. Well, the reason I called is I need to set up an appointment with the state employment service as soon as possible,” he said. “Is there any possibility that the agency could provide transportation?”

I told him that we did that all the time. He just had to set up a time when he wanted to go, and we’d try to accommodate him. Ty asked me if I’d be the one to drive him, and I said I’d be happy to.

Two days later, I picked Tyron up in one of the agency’s transport vans. He brought a small duffel bag, something like an airport flight bag, which he tossed it in the back of the van. I asked him what the bag was for, and he said we needed to go to the Salvation Army store and pick up a few items first.

I was puzzled, but I drove him there. He told me that he wanted to pick out a number of items which all together might cost between five and ten dollars, and would either the agency or I pay for it? I told him that was done all the time; we just needed to keep the receipt for agency records.

We walked through the thrift store together for about fifteen minutes while Tyron collected a couple of pillows, a comforter, a blanket and few other odds and ends. I figured that he must have needed extra bedclothes for home, now that he’d moved back in with his mother. I stayed very close to him as we roamed the store.

I was surprised at how comfortable I felt strolling next to him. Every now and then he’d take hold of my arm and pull me over to see one thing or another as if he were getting my opinion. Eventually I paid for the articles out of my own money, kept the receipt for reimbursement, and told him that it would be best for us to go on to the employment service.

He laughed. “We’re not gonna have time for that,” he replied. “Not today.”

I looked at him. “Why not?”

“Because I need time to line the floor of this van with these blankets and comforters. I don’t want your back hurt by that hard surface on the van bed.”

“My back?”

“Your back, your butt, your thighs--get the picture?”

Like a fool, I shook my head.

He looked at me and smiled that big wide lipped smile of his. “Did you think I wouldn’t see what’s been happening with you, Lynda? Tell me, did you ever fuck a black man before?”

I looked at him as if he’d said some word in an alien language. “Fuck?”

He shook his head and smiled again. “Lock up the van.”

I made sure all the doors were locked, and by the time I turned back toward the transport area, he had it all prepared. The blankets were arranged, the pillows were set down, and Ty had his shirt wide open, so that his beautiful mahogany colored chest was bared directly at me.

“We’re wasting time,” he said. “Take off that dress.”

“But I--” I started.

“Take your clothes off!” he demanded. “Right now! I don’t plan on telling you again.”

That was it. For some unknown reason, I immediately did exactly as I was told. No, wait. I guess I couldn’t really say the reason was unknown. I’d been enthralled with his presence all morning. His bearing, his voice, even his odor—in fact, all of Tyron’s essence had been calling out to me physically; so I began to squirm out of my dress. It didn’t take long for me to finish disrobing. I knew I wanted Tyron.

In about three minutes, I found myself on my back with my legs spread, Ty’s body carefully jackknifed between my thighs, and a massive black dick wonderfully jammed straight up my pussy. This young African American man was the first man I’d had besides my husband in twenty years. For the first time in my life, I understood the real magic of what a large black cock could do to a woman. After a year or so in prison, Tyron was more than ready for a woman as pliant and accommodating as I was--and as white as I was.