All characters in this story are over 18 years.
*****
Late one night in early summer Roy Samson parked his Toyota Celica at the far end of Robe Street and walked to a single-fronted cottage on the opposite side of the road. He had been given this address by one of the senior partners in the solicitors' office where he worked as an articled clerk.
The twenty-one year old entered the gate and rang the doorbell of the house. He was greeted by a compactly-built black woman wearing a loose-fitting multi-coloured shift. Smelling slightly of body odour laced with Jean Nate. One of her front teeth was capped with gold. She had very dark skin and her braided hair was gathered in a bun.
Roy followed the woman into a narrow hallway. She then opened a door on her right.
'The bedroom's this way,' she said, leading him through a comfortably furnished sitting-room that had a lived-in feel despite its austerity. Reaching the bed she turned to face him.
'What can I do for you, white boy?' she asked with an earthy grin.
Roy smiled self-consciously. 'I'm looking for a girl.'
'Aren't we all. How much money you got, boy?'
'One hundred dollars.'
She caught his nervous look and smiled.
'One hundred dollars! I can only give you a hand job for a hundred bucks.' Her voice took on a no-nonsense authoritative edge.
'You're the girl then, are you?'
'Sure I am. You got any objections to a bit of black stuff?'
'Not at all.' The white boy smiled at the black woman.
'You'd better sit here, next to me.' She patted the mattress.
She then crossed her legs, showing quite a lot of thigh as he sat beside her. She realised she had allowed her skirt to side up, but she made no attempt to straighten it.
Instead the dark-skinned woman allowed her bare knee to touch against the young man's thigh. He was exactly the type of submissive male she craved to appease her own dominant sexual tendencies, she thought.
She leant towards him, her breasts almost in his face. The musky odour of French perfume invaded his nostrils. Her dress showed-off her ample breasts perfectly.
She wore no bra, he thought, and her longish, slightly sagging tits had big nipples moulded to the cotton fabric of her dress. He was feasting on her body with his eyes, she saw his face flushing hotly.
It excited her to know a much younger man was checking out he body.
'It'll cost you,' she said, uncrossing her long legs. He was entranced. Such silky smooth legs with muscular curves.
He continued to stare at her athletic legs, and was imagining her thighs wrapped around his neck.
But at the same time he was shy, awkward, nervous. He broke eye-contact, and was now staring down at the floor.
She looked at him steadily.'You a bit nervous?' she asked.
'Yes ... um ... I'm a bit nervous.'
'There's no need to be nervous, boy,' she purred.
She stood up, arched her back, her bottom protruding.
'You sure you got no more money, white boy?'
'Quite sure. You can check my wallet if you don't believe me.'
'You trust me with your wallet?'
'Sure. Why not?'
'This your first time, boy?'
'Sort of.'
'How old are you?'
'Twenty-one.'
'Twenty-one? You look sixteen to me.'
'Twenty-one today, in fact. You can check my driving license if you like.'
'Twenty-one! Your birthday today? Happy birthday, boy. I guess I'm to be your birthday present to you from yourself.' Taking his hand she squeezed it gently. 'You are twenty-one and I am forty-two. Exactly double your age.'
She smoothed her dress with the flat of her hands.
'Yes. What's your name?' he asked
'Esmeralda. And you are?'
'Roy. Roy Samson.'
She looked at him, taking in the strong chin that complimented his fair-skinned boyish features. She stroked his hair and smelled the scent of soap. She was pleased he was clean.
'Roy. That's a nice name. Can I take the hundred from your wallet?'
'Yes.' He hands it to her.
Esmeralda opens the wallet and takes out the money as well as a photo of a naked girl.
'And who is this?' she eyes him curiously.
'Give me that!'
He made a grab for the photo but Esmeralda holds it out of his reach.
'Woman troubles?'
'Yes.'
'She your girlfriend? She your bitch?'
'No,' Roy says sorrowfully.
Esmeralda leant forward, lowering her voice several notches. 'What's her name?'
'Rowena ... I don't want to talk about her.'
'Like that is it?'
'Yes.'
She made a disagreeable snorting sound through her nose. 'You carry the torch for some worthless female?'
'Not any more.'
'Cheer up. We all live lives of quiet desperation.'
He is surprised. 'You've read Henry Thoreau?'
'Nah. Read that in a woman's magazine, only last week,' the black woman clarified.