My Old Dark Flame

My wife Susan and I walked into the front door of the hall where my 20th-anniversary high school class reunion was being held. It was fun to look around at all my old classmates; we were all still less than 40 years old, and yet it was a hoot to look around and see who'd gotten fat, who'd gone bald, and who was already going gray.

Suzy was being a good sport about it -- we'd met in college, and she didn't know anyone there except me. I told her that, as far as I was concerned, she didn't have to go with me to hang out for a few hours with a bunch of people she didn't know, but she just waved me off. "We've been happily married for 15 years," she said, "and I want all your classmates to know that. If I don't come, it sends the wrong message. There will be plenty of women there 'on the make', and I just want them all to know that you're very much spoken for." I could understand that. And it's not like I didn't want her with me; I was just thinking to keep her from excessive boredom.

We signed in at the registration table, and then wandered into the main hall. As soon as we stepped through the door, I heard a surprisingly familiar voice calling my name. I looked around and saw Keisha, waving us over to the table where she and her husband were sitting. Keisha was one of the utterly memorable people in my class. For starters, she was the only black person in our whole class -- in fact, the only black student our school had ever had. And she was the first real girlfriend I ever had.

*****

Our school is way Up North, far away from the 'urban centers' of our state, where most of the black folks live. Keisha's family had moved to our town in the summer before our senior year, and their presence caused something of a sensation in the town, and the school. Of course, there were a whole set of folks who had always liked the uniform whiteness of our town, and didn't appreciate having that disturbed. There was another set of folks that just thought, in a 'token' kind of way, that it was 'just wonderful' that we were finally breaking some color line, and for them, Keisha and her family were a kind of symbol that integration had reached the Great White North.

I was somewhere in between. It seemed phony to invest Keisha with all sorts of 'racial/social significance', one way or the other. I just took the opportunities I was given to get to know Keisha as a person, apart from all the racial labels.

And perhaps because of that, Keisha and I quickly became friends, and eventually, something more than just friends. For whatever reason, none of the girls I'd grown up with had ever seen me as particularly desirable; certainly nothing like 'boyfriend material'. But Keisha didn't have any of those preconceived notions, and she being the New Girl, she appreciated that I was just willing to be her friend when almost everyone else could only see her as a 'label'.

Still, there was something fascinating and exotic about her blackness, at least from my limited experience -- her deep brown eyes, her luscious thick lips and wide nose, the hair that she wore in a big, frizzy afro. I loved how her dark-skinned hand looked when I held it in mine, and how it felt when I ran my fingers through her delightfully thick, kinky hair. She was so different in appearance from all the girls I'd grown up with, and if anything, her soul was even more beautiful.

*****

So I was happy to see her, and to sit at the same table as Keisha and her husband Artis. She looked great. The slightly pudgy girl with the big afro that I'd known in our school days had grown into a fairly striking woman in her late 30s, with long beaded braids. She looked leaner than I remembered her, but if anything, her breasts were even larger, and she still had the 'black girl's butt' that I'd appreciated back in the day. And she still had the same outgoing personality that I'd fallen for all those years ago.

I introduced Keisha to Susan, and she introduced me to Artis, telling him, "This is that white guy I'm always telling you about". It was interesting - in many ways, Suzy was like a white version of Keisha: similarly built, with beautiful auburn hair, and a similar sanguine personality. I suppose there's some fodder for a psychologist in there, but maybe that's just the kind of women I'm attracted to.

Artis was a massive man -- probably six-foot-four, with a barrel chest, thick muscular arms and huge hands. I'm not a small guy -- six feet, and over 200 pounds -- but when we shook hands, it felt like my hand was just being engulfed in his.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Artis," I began. "I'm glad to meet the guy who could catch a woman like Keisha. Congratulations. I've always thought the world of your wife; she's a very special lady."

"Yes she is," he replied.

"And," I continued, "I appreciate you coming with her; this isn't necessarily the most exciting place for you to spend a few hours with a bunch of white people you've never met."

"It's OK," he said. "Keisha really wanted to come and see her school folks again. And she REALLY hoped she could see you. And just from the way she talks about you, I wanted to meet you, too. She counts you as a great friend. And that counts for a lot with me."

I felt myself blushing, in spite of myself. And Keisha held all sorts of huge significance in my life, as well.

As we sat down and settled into our conversation, Artis turned to me, smiling, and said, "Keisha tells me you're the first guy she ever fucked."

I chuckled to myself - this guy gets right to the point, doesn't he? And knowing Keisha, I could easily imagine her telling him that. I looked around the table, first at Artis, wondering if this was some sort of male-competitive thing, or just his version of a conversation-starter. Then I looked at my wife. Susan and I both knew that neither of us were virgins when we met, and neither of us carried any particular baggage about the other's sexual history. But how would it hit her to be sitting at the table with the woman who'd been my first?

"I suppose I probably was," I answered. "Anyway, she was certainly my first. You never forget your first one, do you?"

Across the table, Keisha was looking down at the table, shaking her head and grinning.

"I don't know," I continued, smiling ironically, "but it does seem funny that, out of the whole world, Keisha's first time having sex was with a white guy, doesn't it?"

And everyone at the table laughed.

*****

Keisha's birthday and mine were only about a week apart, and we both turned 18 in the late winter of senior year. Not long after that, our school had a basketball game at a school about an hour away from our town. Keisha and I got together with five other kids from school and drove to the game. Keisha and I, and another couple, sat in the back seat (and four of us in the back seat was a tight squeeze, which none of us minded); a third couple sat in front, while the 'odd guy' drove. I was smiling to myself, recalling that, before I met Keisha, I would have been the 'odd guy' doing the driving, while everyone else in the car was paired off with their girlfriend/boyfriend.

Our team lost the game, and we all piled back into the car for the hour's drive home. It was well after dark, and all three couples were no doubt looking forward to some serious making-out during the drive home. But, at least at first, the other guys all wanted to talk about the game, and shots made or missed, bad calls by the refs, and whatever else. I was eager to finish with the talking and turn my attention to Keisha, but the other guys seemed more worked up about the game.

Then, in the darkness of the back seat, while the other guys were warbling on, I felt Keisha grab my hand from around her shoulder, and drag it down to her breast, inside her coat. I looked down at her, making eye contact in the darkness; she looked back at me with a shy smile. I gently squeezed her breast, the first time in my life that I'd actually felt the real breast of a real woman. I savored its soft firmness, its size and heft, even through the layers of her clothing. She wriggled in her seat against the movements of my hand, savoring my touch. Finally, the other guys stopped talking (or maybe their girlfriends shut them up similarly to how Keisha had grabbed my attention), and I leaned over and kissed Keisha deeply, while continuing to massage her breast. She wasn't the first girl I'd ever kissed, but she was the first girl I'd ever kissed like that -- with tongues and teeth, and everything else. And her thick black lips made it even more exciting, sending electric jolts all through my body. By the time we finally arrived back home, I had a hard-on in my pants, and nothing to do for it.

Over the next few weeks, Keisha and I looked for more opportunities to make out like we had in the car that night, and she would always let me feel her tits.

One warm Saturday in the springtime, Keisha called me on the phone. Her parents had to go to a wedding out of town, but she had to work that night, so she hadn't gone with them, and she wondered if I'd like to come over and hang out with her until she had to go to work. She didn't have to ask twice, I promise you.

I ran over to her house, and within minutes, we were making out on the couch in the family room, as we'd done many times before. I raised my hand to cup her breast, and lo and behold! She wasn't wearing a bra! I could feel her full breast through the thin fabric of her T-shirt! That was about the most exciting thing I'd ever experienced, and I turned toward her, and began kissing her more deeply, and more urgently, as my arousal grew.

After a few minutes, she grabbed my hand and shoved it up under her shirt, so I was feeling her naked breast. So full, so firm, so delightful. I found her nipple and rolled it gently between my fingers, while both of us were breathing heavily. With my free hand, I probed down the back of her jeans, teasing the crack of her magnificent black ass with my fingertip, and that seemed to whip her arousal up even higher. I was painfully aware of my own growing erection.

As we continued whipping each other up to higher and higher levels of excitement, Keisha did it. Casually, almost 'accidentally', she laid her hand on the bulge in my pants. No one had touched me there since I got out of diapers, and it drove me wild. I began grinding my groin against Keisha's hand, and she began to grip my erection more purposefully, tracing the outline and gently stroking along its length.

She sat up abruptly. Still gripping my erection through my pants, she said in a husky voice, "I want you."

"I want you, too," I croaked, my arousal overcoming my vocal cords.

Instantly, we were engaged in a flurry of peeling each other's clothes off. Keisha raised her arms so I could peel her shirt off her. Her firm, round breasts were wonderful to behold, the first time I'd actually laid eyes on them. I was mesmerized by the way they jiggled and bounced when she moved, and the chocolate-brown color of her skin was utterly fascinating, with dark, almost purple-gray nipples, and I couldn't help but bury my face in their fullness, nuzzling and suckling them, while Keisha held my face tightly against herself.

She stripped my shirt off me, and we embraced tightly. She rubbed her breasts sensually on my bare chest, while we kissed passionately, our tongues probing against each other, and to the farthest corners of each other's mouths. The sensation of her naked skin against mine drove us both to an even higher level of arousal.

She moved to straddle my lap as I continued to suckle her. Soon, she was fumbling with the button on my pants and pulling down the zipper. My stiffly erect cock sprung up from its confinement, making a tent in my underwear, with a wet circle spreading from the tip. I raised my hips off the couch so Keisha could strip my pants off me completely, and then she resumed her position astride me, my cock sticking up between her legs.

I fumbled with her pants as she began to grind herself against me, and eventually, I got them unzipped. She groaned in frustration and desire when I had her stand up again so I could strip her pants off her. I saw that the crotch of her panties was wet, and I wondered if that was a similar thing to the fluid oozing from the tip of my cock. When Keisha sat back down on my lap, only the thin fabric of our underwear stood between my throbbing cock and her hot, eager pussy.

For a while, we ground against each other, still in our underwear. The sensations of her groin rubbing against mine were intoxicating. I could feel my shaft sliding against her cunt-lips, and all I wanted was to be inside her.

Once more, Keisha stood up. Looking directly into my eyes, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and silently commanded me to do likewise. Then we both peeled the last remaining article of clothing off ourselves, revealing ourselves completely to each other's open gaze.

My eyes were fixed on the triangle of her tightly curled pubic hair, with her puffy brown cunt-lips peeking out. The way that her skin tones blended and changed, from her belly to her hips to her ass, to her pussy, was utterly fascinating to me. I could just begin to see the pink folds inside her.

For her part, Keisha looked down at my stiff cock, engorged and throbbing, and smiled. She muttered to herself, "a white one," with a chuckle, perhaps at the irony of our mutual first time being an interracial coupling. She lovingly stroked it for a few minutes, then proclaimed once more, "I want you." Looking again into my eyes, she placed the tip of my cock against her engorged cunt-lips, and then slowly lowered herself onto me.

We were both breathing heavily as I felt my cockhead nestle between her pussy-lips, her smooth, wet warmth enveloping it. Then slowly, she continued downward, a millimeter at a time, grinding her hips ever-so-slightly as she worked me into herself. My head was reeling with the sensations of actually being inside a woman for the first time in my life. I glanced down at where our bodies were joined, and I smiled at the contrast of my white cock penetrating her black pussy.

When I was not yet all the way inside her, Keisha seemed to stop her downward progress, and grind in place. A small grimace flashed across her face.

"You OK?" I asked.

She nodded. "It's OK. The first time is supposed to hurt, just a little."

"I don't want to hurt you."

She smiled at me, and her grinding on my cock started to become more urgent. "It can't be helped," she said. "I want you, and that's all there is to it." With that, she gave a little gasp, and drove herself completely onto me. I felt her pubic bone bumping against mine, and I felt my balls against her ass, while the tip of my cock strained inside Keisha, probing to the deepest reaches of her sultry womanhood.

"Ooooohhhh," groaned Keisha, as she ground herself on my erection. "Ooooohhhh, that feels soooo goooood. Ooooohhh, baby, you feel so good inside me. . ."

It was my first time, and the sensations of being inside Keisha were rapidly overwhelming my consciousness. I could feel my balls beginning to contract. I didn't want to come; I just wanted to hold onto the incredible sensations inside Keisha forever. But I couldn't help myself. "Keisha. . ." I groaned, and then, with an involuntary primal grunt, I shot my sperm into her. Spasm after orgasmic spasm wracked my body, each one sending a fresh jet of my thick fluid essence surging into Keisha.

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh, are you coming? You're coming inside me? Oh, yeah, baby, you're coming inside me! I can feel it! I can feel your cum in me! Oh, yeah. . ."

When I had finished coming, Keisha fell forward, and rested herself against my body. We lazily stroked each other, kissing each other deeply and gratefully.

"Oh, baby -- thank you," Keisha purred. "Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my first. No one else can ever be my first; I'm glad it was you. No matter what happens, we're connected forever, aren't we?"

"Yeah," I drawled in my very first post-orgasmic bliss, "we are. And I'm glad. I don't want to be connected to anyone besides you."

We sat together like that, cooing, kissing and stroking each other, my limp penis still snugly inside her, for a long time. Eventually, I could feel myself beginning to get hard again, still inside her. As my erection grew again, I could feel it once again sliding against Keisha's smooth, warm vaginal walls, burrowing into her as it grew, which only served to accelerate the renewal of my arousal.

Keisha sat up and looked at me, wide-eyed. "You're getting hard again?"

"I guess I am."

With that, I began to leisurely thrust up into her again, enjoying once more the delightful sensations that had ended too soon the first time. And the second time, the sensations weren't quite so overpowering, so Keisha and I found we could just keep fucking for virtually as long as we wanted. Besides which, I had 18 years of pent-up horniness; I doubted that even twice in one day was going to burn it out.

We fucked until my cock buzzed with a warm erotic glow. Keisha ground her pussy on my erection, while time seemed to stand still. I savored the sensations of being inside her, my cock plunging in and out of her, binding us to each other in the deepest, most intimate possible way, no matter what color we were.

Finally, Keisha began to move more urgently on me, rolling her hips and clenching her cunt-muscles on my shaft. "Oh my god," she cried out. "Oh my god, I'm coming! I'm coming on your cock! Oh my god, how incredible! I'm coming on your cock!" Soon, her hips were a blur as she ground herself onto me at a furious pace, moaning and whimpering as she came and came and came. Finally, I couldn't help but give in to my own climax. I leaned my head back on the couch, and sent my cum surging into her again.

When we finally came down from our awesome mutual orgasm, Keisha kissed me and looked into my eyes. "Thanks for making me a woman," she whispered. "I will never forget you for this."

The rest of that spring and summer, Keisha and I got together for sex as often as we could, which wasn't nearly as often as we'd have liked to. Our opportunities to be alone together in a suitably private place didn't come along every day, or even every week. But the sex we had was always fun and exciting, and as we did it more often, we even got better at it.

In the fall, alas, I went away to college. Initially, Keisha stayed at home with her parents and got a job, but eventually, the Great White North just wasn't a terribly happy place for a young black woman, and she left for a place far away, where hers wasn't the only black face for a hundred miles. I couldn't blame her, but I was heartbroken to lose contact with her like that.

*****

As the four of us talked over dinner and drinks, I found myself repeatedly having uncanny 'flashes of recognition'. I hadn't seen Keisha in nearly 20 years, but again and again, something she would say, or some gesture, or just the way she laughed, would prompt some long-buried memory, usually to the effect of, 'Wow; that was one of the things I loved about her'.

After dinner, there was a live band and dancing. When the band broke into one of our favorites, I grabbed Suzy and headed to the dance floor.

"You having a good time?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"What do you think of Keisha?"

"She's sweet. I can see why you liked her. But. . . my god. . . her husband. . ."

"What about him?"

"He's HUGE! I mean. . ."

I chuckled. "How do you mean, Sweetheart?"

"Well. . ." she paused, pondering how to say what was on her mind. "The girls are always talking about what big dicks black guys have. Do you think that's really true?"

I burst out laughing. "Really?" I asked. "That's what you're wondering -- how big his dick is?"