Daddy's

by Helen Goodman

  "Yeah, well, you should try getting her to brush her hair in the morning," I said.

  She didn't say anything for a time.

  A large blond boy approached. He wanted the frisbee from his mom so he could toss it with his friend in the field. She gave it to him, then he ran off with his friend into the soccer fields.

  "You seem like a good dad," the woman said. "Do you raise these kids all by yourself?"

  I started to tell her about myself--my wife who works long hours, how I take care of the kids most of the time. I tried hard to hold back the torrent of frustration and loneliness lurking just below the surface. Did not mention the torturous nights next to a woman who does not want to be touched.

  She introduced herself as Mary, mother of three, one of whom, Jacob, swung as high as he could then let go to careen through the air and then to the ground, where he posed like an olympic gymnast.

  "You seem like you need someone to talk to," she told me. Why don't you call me sometime and we'll talk, or we can arrange a playdate for the kids or something.

  No one had been this forward with me for a long time. This possibility of connection with another human being--another adult--filled me with joy. I watched her walk away. Her round ass swayed as she walked, her kids running back and forth around her.

  I didn't want to call too soon, but I also didn't want to wait. Two days was about all I could handle, then I called and left a message, asked if she wanted to meet at the playground again.

  She called me back in a few minutes. She asked me more about myself. I asked her more about herself. She was so much more open on the phone then in person. Her voice was confident and tender, sweet and husky... enchanting. I could listen to her talk for minutes and get lost in her words, let my imagination wander.

  Her husband worked long hours too, a doctor to my lawyer. She loved him and appreciated his steadiness and hard work. She provided him the home that he needed to come home to, the stability his children needed.

  Somehow we didn't mention the playdate again. We just talked. I called her again. She called me. After a long conversation in which we each confessed our loneliness and dissatisfaction, we agreed to meet at a hotel the next night.

  I waited until the kids were both in bed. I told my wife that I had some errands to run, and went out. As I peeled down the driveway I was washed by a sense of liberation I hadn't felt since adolescence.

  As planned, we met in the bar of a local hotel.

  This was the first time I had seen her without sunglasses, and she was so much more beautiful than I had even imagined. Her ample breasts filled a floral, sleeveless dress. Her shoulders were strong, but still conveyed a delicacy that sparked my desire. Her brown eyes were large and inviting.

  "Mary..." I said, not sure if I could say anything that wouldn't spoil the moment.

  She held a white wine between thumb and forefinger. I noticed her wedding ring. It was so much larger than the modest ring I had bought for my wife, which she wore only occasionally, but she told me it was all she wanted.

  "Mary... you are so beautiful," was all I could sputter out, and it was true. I wanted her with an intensity that had built up in the days since I'd met her, but much more, it had built up over years of loneliness and unmet desire.

  I stared at her and she stared back, smiling. She finished her drink.

  "I think we should go upstairs," she said.

  When we arrived at the room, I shut and locked the door. She walked to the window and peaked at the view of the parking lot followed by a neat row of bushes and landscaped trees.

  I reached for her shoulders and then kissed her--soft and tender, then deep. I pulled her hair back; my mouth wandered to her ear, her throat, and her other ear where I buried my tongue.

  My right hand was in her dress, gently pinching a nipple, cupping the breast in my hand. My other hand at her back, holding her close.

  We fell on the bed.

  Her arms were around me, her lips parted. Her mouth was warm, her flesh salty. I was voracious.

  I positioned my thigh between her legs. I pulled out a breast and began to nibble. She was panting, her fingers running through my hair.

  We paused for a moment to take off our clothes and were at each other once again. My belly was against her belly, my feet wrapped in hers. The touch of her flesh quenched a thirst in my throat, filled a hole in my heart.

  My throbbing cock dribbled wet lines on her thigh. She giggled and reached for it.

  She slowly slathered me up and down with her sweet hand, her thumb circling my cock head.

  I nibbled her areolas one at a time, almost crying in joy and relief and I lost control and released into her hand.

  She laughed. "I hope you can get going again soon," she said as she wiped her hand on the sheet. She took off her ring to clean it.

  "I'm just getting started," I said.

  I lay in her arms for a moment, a feeling of deep satisfaction washed over me.

  I moved to her thighs and tasted her flesh, savoring the salty flavor. I ran my lips up one and down the other, then approached her flower. I paused for a moment to take in the rich aroma of life. I licked from the bottom to top of her slit. Opening the folds, I searched for her button and flicked my tongue across. My arms wrapped around her thighs so I could press my face deeper and deeper into her. I lapped her again and again, tasting her succulent juice on my tongue, savoring her scent in my nostrils. I wanted to drink her down.

  Pulling away for a moment, I heard her moan and knew that she could feel my passion, that it was affecting her. Her thighs squeezed my head in close. I moved in again and lapped at her with my tongue, again and again and then with my tongue at her button and inserted my finger and worked on her more until she erupted in ecstacy. Her thighs wrapped around me, hands on my head, she pressed me deep into the wetness of her sex as I felt her writhe with joy. I wanted to drown there in her wet folds.

  Then we stopped and rested.

  "You'd better wash your face," she said.

  I cleaned with a wet towel in the bathroom and then we were back to holding each other, flesh on flesh, thighs pressed, fingers tangled, lips moving. My cock was full once again, full of life and ready to create.

  So easy now, I slipped between her folds. Our ankles wrapped around each other, our fingers locked, I pulled my body above hers and rocked, rocked, rocked... pelvic bone pressing meaningfully against hers. Diving deeper with every stroke, building rhythm, I tried to reach the bottom of her.

  Her sighs became groans. Her arms wrapped around me and pulled me in. I pressed purposefully against her pelvis. Her groans became cries and I lost control and released deep into her, collapsing on her sweaty chest. I felt the rhythm of her heart and her breath. Her fingers stroked me tenderly. An hour passed, and she got up, reaching for her ring on the night stand.

  I knew that we would see each other again, that Mary's desire was a match for mine. Here was a woman who could match me in loneliness and lust, and who knew the value of a generous human touch.

  The End.

  The Professor

  This is autobiographical about how I came to appreciate and love black women. I grew up in south Texas with all the bias and prejudice that could be taught to a kid. I attended a large public university during the 1960s in the days before student loans. I was a commuter student because I couldn't afford to live in the dorms or apartments. My parents told me I could live at home if I went to college but they couldn't pay for my education so I held down several part-time jobs and took course loads of 19-21 semester hours just to graduate from college before the military draft grabbed me without any choices. One of the jobs I had held since I was nine was mowing lawns. I kept my lawn mowing gear in the trunk of my car along with a change of clothes and an empty gas can. I needed to be ready to make a few dollars when the opportunity presented itself.

  As usual between classes at the university I was in the student union building basement checking the employment opportunities
for any short-term employment that gave me the flexible schedule I needed to study. I ran my fingers down the 3"X5" index cards pinned to the bulletin board and pulled the one looking for someone to mow a lawn for a sociology professor. The card listed the office hours, office locale and telephone number to contact. I looked at my watch I had an hour to catch P.C. Wright, PhD., in the office to follow up on this lawn mowing job. I always wore tan chino slacks, Weejuns and a blue oxford cloth button-down collar shirt -- I guess I looked like a typical white frat boy -- I wasn't I couldn't afford the dues, the booze and the sorority girls. I worked, studied and went to class -- I slept when I could -- at nineteen I was ten feet tall and bullet-proof. I no longer had time to lift weights or run like I did in high school -- my part-time jobs kept me in good condition. I got to the Liberal Arts building and sprinted up the stairs to office 214D, the name plate on the door listed, 'Phylissia C. Wright, Ph.D.' "Okay," I shrugged, "I didn't expect a woman but that's okay money is money." I knocked on the door and in a moment it opened, "Yes may I help you?"

  "Yes ma'am, I'm Steven Edwards responding to this ad for someone to mow a lawn," I explained.

  "First of all Mister (with emphasis) Edwards I am not ma'am I am Doctor (with emphasis) Wright and you will address me as such," her tone was inciting and caustic.

  I held up my hand, "I beg your pardon - my parents raised me to respect anyone that I don't know personally with sir or ma'am especially individuals who have earned titles such as doctor or reverend or attorney and I don't know you but I will tell you this I won't work for someone I don't respect and you just made my list. I came looking to mow a lawn not to be chastised for being respectful and courteous. I don't need this kind of headache to cut one lawn -- here's your card ma'am you'll probably want to repost it. Good afternoon ma'am." I turned and walked away.

  In a fast second I head the clicking of heels on the concrete hallway as they echoed louder coming toward me. "Great I need this like I need a third eye," I thought. Then I hear, "Mr. Edwards...Mr. Edwards...please wait a minute."

  I stopped and turned around and watched Dr. Wright managing to 'run' to where I had stopped. Her skirt was tight and the heels weren't made for running and she really wasn't accustomed to chasing down anyone with her attitude. As she got closer I could see that she was clearly upset -- I guessed correctly my words stung her into reality of her behavior and bias toward me. She was a bit breathless, "Mr. Edwards please forgive me...I...uh...I jumped to a conclusion...I never expected to see a white boy...uh man answering my job card." This was an awkward moment. She was vulnerable because her academic position dictated that she be open to any circumstance in social norms, mores and customs and our exchange shattered that perception of openness.

  "You're forgiven ma'am. Is that all? If so I need to get to the library ma'am."

  She shocked me as she extended her hand, "I am sorry for my rudeness and I do need someone to mow my lawn. I just bought this little house and the grass is almost knee deep - would you be willing to come look at it and see if it is a job that you could do?"

  Her apology and softened attitude caused me to rethink her situation and it also caused me to look at her in a kinder light. No doubt she was intelligent. She was the first black woman I ever shook hands with. She was tall -- 5'8", from what I could tell very well proportioned, her hair was piled up on her head, her skin was flawless, her nails long and manicured no polish, her lipstick if there was any blended with her skin tone. It's funny what we notice when we're not being attacked. "Yes ma'am I'd be happy to come take a look at your lawn," I smiled politely to her, "when would be a good time?"

  "Well this afternoon or Saturday morning -- is either time okay?"

  I nodded, "Yes ma'am, what time this afternoon?"

  She looked at her watch, "I have office hours for another thirty minutes if you're free after that Mr. Edwards you could follow me to my house."

  I agreed, "Okay. Where are you parked and what color and make of car do you drive?" We worked out the details and within a half hour I was driving to the faculty lot to follow Dr. Wright to her home. She was driving a fire engine red Triumph TR-6 convertible with the top down, Ray-Ban horn-rimmed sunglasses and driving gloves. 'Nice. At least she has good taste in cars and how to drive them.' We traveled to the acceptable section of the fashionable Heights section where professional blacks lived in middle class comfort. I surveyed her lawn as I pulled in -- it was a disaster -- really overgrown.

  "Are you scared by this jungle Mr. Edwards?" she smiled and it did her face a good turn -- she went from being shrewish to gorgeous with one smile.

  "No doc. I've handled worse I can assure you. Let me walk around and look this job over and I'll give you a fair price." I took a careful assessment of the work to get the 'yard' under control and respectable enough to call it a 'lawn.'

  Dr. Wright had gone inside to change while I walked around and then she came out onto the porch that wrapped completely around this Victorian-era bungalow. She was sitting on the porch swing as I finished. "What do you think about getting control of this mess," she asked.

  I told her it would take two or three cuts otherwise a onetime cut would kill off the St. Augustine grass if too much was lopped off.

  "So how much for the first cut Mr. Edwards," she asked.

  "Ten dollars each cut which includes trimming, raking, bagging and sweeping," I stated.

  She nodded and seemed to calculate what that meant, "How often between cuts?"

  "Once a week ma'am," I told her.

  "Okay. When can you start," she was in a hurry to get the yard cleaned up.

  "I can start now I just need to get a can of gas and a place to change into my work clothes," I told her.

  "Sounds great just let me know when you're finished," with that she went inside with the screen door banging closed behind her.

  I went back down the street to the corner Esso station and got a gallon of gas and changed into my work clothes in the men's room. In a few minutes I was unpacking the lawnmower from the trunk and proceeded to fill the gas tank. It would take a gallon of gas to get this mess mowed. I walked around and picked up junk so as not to ruin the blade. After about three hours work the lawn was mowed, raked and trimmed. I parked the lawnmower in the shade in front of my car to cool down -- I had run it out of gas so I could close the trunk without worry about it blowing up on me. The front porch was now in the shade and I was sitting on the bottom step wiping my sweaty face on a towel when Dr. Wright came onto the porch. I stood and turned to face her. She was barefoot, wearing a sleeveless cotton dress with her long wavy black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked like a teenager -- in fact she was beautiful. "Dr. Wright the first cut is finished," I told her as she surveyed the yard's first trim in a while.

  She walked around the porch looking over the yard, I followed her. She turned and faced me, "It's beautiful."

  "Thank you doc," as I wiped my face. It was hot and I was sweating a lot.

  "I'll be right back Mr. Edwards," she went inside and in a few minutes she came out with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. She handed me fifteen dollars, "I owe you much more than this but you said ten and it's too cheap for your work. How about some iced tea?"

  "That sounds great," I smiled as I sat down on the first porch step. She patted the empty spot on the porch swing next to her, "Come sit here it's cooler."

  "Ma'am I'm sweaty and dirty and well, you're freshly scrubbed -- I don't want to get you or the swing dirty and sweaty," I protested. S he wasn't taking no for an answer, "Please Steven?" When she called me Steven it was sweetly innocent and endearing. She had coaxed me over.

  I put my towel on the swing and sat down as she kicked the swing to a slow start, "Thank you for the fifteen dollars doc, there are some books I need to buy and this will sure take care of that," I confessed.

  We talked for a long while drinking tea and cooling off when finally she asked me an interesting question, "Have you ever kissed a black woman?"


  I felt my face flush, "No ma'am. The truth is I haven't kissed many girls...so I guess I'm inexperienced in that department."

  She smiled, "Steven you're a handsome man I find that hard to believe."

  I shook my head, "It's true doc. I haven't had much time to date and such. I have to pay for my college so...socially I'm a bit out of the swing of things."

  "It's Phylissia -- we can drop the 'ma'am' and 'doc'. Okay Steven?"

  I nodded, "yes ma'am...uh...Phylissia."

  I stared at her and she smiled sweetly, "What is it?" "Well...it's just...uh...you're a beautiful woman," I nodded and looked at my hands.

  "I'm black," she announced.

  "I noticed that about you," I smiled.

  She grinned and grabbed my forearm, "Thank you that was generous."

  "I wasn't being generous I was trying to tell you I don't care what color your skin is -- you're beautiful. Probably the prettiest woman I've ever been around and certainly one of the most intelligent," I complimented her.

  "Steven about this morning when I was so ugly to you I watched my parents get treated badly and disrespectfully by white folks and they took it by smiling and saying 'yes sir' and 'yes ma'am'. It has always made me angry how they were treated," she confessed.

  "I can see why it would. I hope you know that I respect you as a professor and a woman," I smiled to her.

  She leaned toward me and kissed me. At first it was a sweet kiss on the lips and she didn't draw back she kept her lips near mine so I kissed her this time like I would a girlfriend and it was amazing. There was something boiling inside of us that we didn't see coming. A part of it was 'jungle fever' -- part of it was our work ethic of driving hard to succeed and missing out on real relationships and the other part was lust. As I pulled back and looked at her, "I'm not sorry for kissing you like that. You are a very sensual woman you caught me completely by surprise -- I've never been kissed like that," I admitted.

  She was breathing hard, "Come inside Steven. I need more than a kiss."

  My face flushed hot and red, "Okay...uh...Phylissia?" She turned and extend her hand to me, "Come with me baby."