For a long time, I had been a mentor to Jeffrey, a promising young British PhD student. We would meet on Facetime and I would guide him in his chemistry research. We shared a common passion for the fine-structure of carbohydrates, and Jeffrey's doctoral advisor was my regular co-author. It was a natural fit. I became almost like Jeffrey's father figure. So when Jeffrey and his girlfriend flew to Chicago for a conference, OF COURSE my wife and I hosted them.
"You have a really pretty belly," said Jules, my wife, to Jeffrey's girlfriend Cynthia. "How far along are you?"
Cynthia rubbed her belly and smiled. "Exactly four months now," she said.
"Congratulations, Jeffrey," I said, clapping my protege on the shoulder.
"Oh, it's not Jeffrey's," said Cynthia with a giggle. Jeffrey's face went a little red.
"Wait," I said. "I thought you guys had been seeing each other for..."
"Two years now," said Jeffrey, adjusting his collar nervously.
"I better go check on the cooking!" said Jules, trying to diplomatically change the subject.
"Hey, it's alright," said Cynthia, "We aren't hiding it or anything."
"Yeah," said Jeffrey, though I could tell from his voice he was a little embarrassed. "I guess it's time you found out about Cynthia and me."
We listened to Jeffrey with undivided attention.
"It was early on in our relationship," said Jeffrey. "Our sixth date, to be exact." He went over behind Cynthia and started affectionately kneading her shoulders.
"We'd had a few drinks and Jeffrey was a little touchy-feely," said Cynthia, beaming.
"We went back to my flat," said Jeffrey, "and we were fooling around. I was thinking to myself: finally I'm gonna score with this beautiful, gorgeous girl!"
"Things were getting hot and heavy. Clothes were coming off," said Cynthia. "That's when Jeffrey saw my tattoo."
"Your tattoo?" said Jules.
Cynthia tugged on her blouse, giving us all a glimpse of her bra. On the side of her left tit, peeking up from under the bra, Cynthia wore a Queen of Spades tattoo with the letter "Q" in the middle and some hearts floating around it.
"What's that?" I said.
"That's exactly what Jeffrey asked," said Cynthia.
"Cynthia explained to me that when white girls get a Queen of Spades tattoo, it means they're sexually reserved exclusively for black men," said Jeffrey. "I suddenly realized I wouldn't be getting intimate with her on the sixth date, or the seventh date, or on any date, forever."
"That's right," said Cynthia. "We continued making out, and I assured Jeffrey I really liked him. 'I really like you and I'd love to continue dating you,' I said, 'But you have to accept I'll only ever have sex with black men.'"
"I was shocked," said Jeffrey. "I had grown quite fond of Cynthia over those six dates. I couldn't bring myself to break things off with her! But I couldn't answer her, either. I guess a part of me kept stupidly thinking if I just kept on kissing her and touching her, I could wear down her defenses and she'd break her black-men-only rule for me."
"I was really fond of Jeffrey too," said Cynthia, "and I really meant it when I told him I wanted to keep seeing him. At the same time, I understood how frustrated he must be. So to have mercy on him I reached down and unzipped his pants. Long story short, I used my hand to help with his pent-up tension. When I felt he was just about to cum in my hand, I leaned close and whispered to him: 'Imagine your girl is fucking a huge black cock right in front of you'. Jeffrey started groaning and spraying cum everywhere. I felt a wave of relief because I knew right that moment, Jeffrey and I were gonna make a nice couple."
"So for the two whole years you've been together you've never once... you know... done it?" said my wife Jules.
"That's right!" Cynthia beamed like she was proud of herself.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Although we didn't know about the Queen of Spades, my wife Jules and I weren't entirely innocent either.
Like Cynthia, Jules was also very fond of coloured gentlemen. She had dated a number of them before me. Neither was she ashamed of it; she kept pictures up on her Facebook archive from back when she was dating them. 'No worries,' she would always assure me, 'Jamal has an amazing cock, but I could never imagine MARRYING him!' Or: 'With Kendrick it was purely physical, honey, you have nothing to be jealous about.' Or, 'Tyrone? Don't be silly, honey, Tyrone sleeps with so many girls, I doubt he would even recognize me!'
Nevertheless my worries WERE valid, because, sure enough, I caught Jules cheating on me with one of her black ex's early in our marriage.
There was all sorts of bitter crying and shouting. To be honest, we came THIS close to separating. Finally, after all kinds of promises that the guy meant nothing to her; that I was everything to Jules and that she would never ever cheat again; we reconciled.
Life slowly went back to normal. By the time two years had passed, I almost forgot all about my wife's extramarital affair.
That is, until one day I caught her cheating with ANOTHER black guy!
We repeated the whole almost-breaking-up thing once again, and then we repeated the whole promises-and-reconciling thing. That second time, it only took half as long before Jules fell back into her adulterous ways. One year after we reconciled, I caught her in bed with a THIRD black guy.
By that point I pretty much resigned myself to the fact I was going to have to just accept my wife needed some black cock every now and then, if our marriage was going to survive. I faced the truth: there was no stopping Jules from cheating on me with black men.
