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Remembering Bethany : Part 2

(I which I taste Bethany’s Schwarzwalder-Kirschtorte and she samples my Schwarzschlange-Honigschlag)
Beth had given me her car keys and I brought my toolkit and mechanic coveralls to the bars’ parking lot. When I popped the mustangs’ hood, I found what I expected: a broken distributor cap. A quick trip to the parts store, a short tune-up and I had the ‘tang’ purring like a kitten, abet a large and deep throated kitten.

Beth was just getting off the bus and she ran up to me and hugged and kissed me in thanks as I was getting out of the coveralls.” I thought I would have a big repair bill that I couldn’t afford.” Then Beth playfully asked me if I thought she was hip now. “You know, like those wasp chicks balling spades that Jack Kerouac writes about.”

I laughed “yeah, you’re hip and I’m a regular beatnik”

While I was washing up and changing into my working clothes, Beth came up to ask me if she could pay me back by cooking dinner for me. I told her that she had already paid me back in spades last night and I didn’t need any compensation, this was just friendship.

“Spades, eh? Well, I was the one who got the spade last night and I think I came out ahead so I still owe you one. Please, I’ll make you Schwarzwalder-Kirschtorte (Black forest chocolate cherry cake).”

“How did you know my weakness? Well, I accept but we’ll probably have to do it tomorrow. Sundays are always dead and Jimmy will let us both go because he doesn’t like to have a lot of staff to pay on dead days.”

Jimmy was the only other brother who worked the bar and he owned the place. He was also airborne except he had been in the triple nickels (555th Parachute Infantry Battalion) in WW II and was part of the 2nd Ranger in Korea where he got shot up in a combat jump. We met when he came into rehab at Fitzsimons and he needed a piano player. I once saw him take on six drunk rednecks who came into the bar looking for a fight and made the mistake of trying to push Jimmy around. Before I could even get my jacket off, all six were on the floor

When I brought taking Sunday off up to Jimmy, he looked at me and winked. “You say Dinner, eh? Well, you be careful brother, remember, your wife is a razor packin’ mama outa East Saint Louie and she’ll only put up with so much. I’ll cover for you if she calls, cause Beth is worth it, but don’t let this get back to your wife or it’ll be my nuts too.”

“Don’t worry; I’m just helping her through a rough patch.”
“No man, you just got a whiff of that white girl pussy.”
“Well, there’s that too. But thanks for your advice.”

The next evening I showed up at Beth’s apartment with a nice Rhone Riesling. She met me at the door and nervously smoothed her hair while taking off her apron. The smell of cooking filled the air and she looked radiant. I complemented her while I opened the wine and we stood on the porch in the late November sun while dinner finished cooking and the sun went down.
The apartment was small with high ceilings. A glass bead curtain hung in the doorway to her bedroom. The walls were covered with oriental art and travel posters. I complimented her Hiroshige prints and I said the rest looked very college and hopelessly romantic. She said that she hoped to see most of those places one day and I told her that I had; and some were fantastic and most weren’t that great.
“I still want to see them for myself.”

“Good, at least you won’t have to carry a rifle when you do it.”
It turned out that she had traveled by Eurail Pass all over Europe and worked in a French restaurant in Zurich for one summer as a cultural exchange student that she likened to indentured servitude. The Swiss don’t tip and the owner refused to pay at the end of the summer, claiming that she should be satisfied with the room and board. We traded Swiss tightwad stories and then it was time to eat.
The table was set beautifully with candles and what was probably her only matching set of plates, wineglasses and silver ware. She had prepared Cornish game hens in a Romertoff oven and baked potatoes with a fresh garden salad. The wine went well with the hens and her choice of Mozart’s’ Die Zaberflotte for background music. When she got up to replace Mozart with Billie Holiday and some Django Reinhart she asked me what I thought of the meal.

I put on my best Missouri farm hand. “Well, miz Bethany, these here are the tastiest chickens I ever et but they do seem to be a mite on the puny side.” When she reached over to administer a playful dope slap on the back of my head, I cried “I allies knowed you wuz the type to go round beatin’ on poor colored folk.” When she laughed, I opined “Les aliments répondent au rêve de notre âme quant à l'appétit de notre estomac.

“Food responds to our soul's dream as to our stomach's appetite.” She replied.

“And your cooking matches your beauty.” I told her that I detected truffle in the hens and she told me that she had liberated the truffles on her way out of the French restaurant in Zurich.
With coffee came the four layer Kirschtorte and she had used a very fine Belgian chocolate icing and Rocky Ford cherries along with chocolate cake layers soaked in fiery kirshwasser. When I finally pushed back from the table, I said “If I weren’t married, I’d be down on bended knee.”

“Thank you, but I’ve already had someone do that and you saw how that turned out; how about a kiss instead?”

“If I kiss you, I’m going to want to fuck you again.” I warned her.

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“I was kind of hoping that.” She murmured as she stepped into my arms. Within minutes, we were making out and polishing each others tonsils like teenagers on her couch. I was pleased to find that she was wearing panties and not pantyhose. While she massaged my old ‘nine iron’ I had my fingers into her forbidden folds and was working her clit from the outside and inside. When she began to moan and shiver, I took off her panties. She abruptly stood up and led me into her bedroom. “Stay here while I slip into something more comfortable.”

While I waited, I stripped down to my boxers. I was starting to remove my wedding band when she looked out of the bathroom. “Leave your wedding ring on, I need to remind myself that all pleasures are fleeting and forbidden pleasures are sweetest.”

“Ah yes, Camu; in that case, I want you to wear your engagement ring while we cuckold your fiancé.” She laughed and picked the ring up from the sink. When she came out, she was wearing a filmy baby doll nighty with no bottom that barely covered her ass and pubes. Behind her the bathrooms’ stained glass fixtures light softly lit the bedroom.

This was the first time I had ever seen her naked and she was breathtaking. I know that some men like big boobs but I prefer small handfuls (and mouthfuls). Her nipples were prominent and dark, her waist small and her stomach flat sloping down to the dark mystery between her well shaped thighs. Her feet and ankles were long and delicate while the calves and thighs fit together in a classic symmetry that supported the perfectly round globes of her ass. With every move the play of her muscles under her porcelain skin was like poetry as she pirouetted with her long black hair swinging over the long curve of her spine.

“Well what do you think?”

“If you mean your nightgown, it is very pretty, but if you’re talking about what’s underneath, that is amazingly beautiful.” Her cheeks reddened and she stood there clutching her hair with one hand and she looked so innocent, I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her. I stepped forward and swept her up in my arms, she turned her face upward and we were suddenly over caught up in an overwhelmingly passionate kiss.

She pressed against my abdomen and smiled “I see someone is happy to see me.” And Beth reached into my shorts to grasp my Johnson. When I dropped my boxers down and she fished it out, Beth shivered. She suddenly sat down on the bed staring at my manhood.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up at me and back down at my middle leg that was pointing at her in a gentle arc ad bobbing slightly with each breath. She looked up again. “I’m frightened.”

“Frightened: of what?”

“Of how it makes me feel: of how much I want it.”

I sat down beside her and put my arm around her. I lifted her head to kiss her and to stroke her breasts, giving each half –inch nipple little tweaks and twists before moving down the gentle swell of her abdomen to the silken black curls below. I began to kiss and lick her sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of her nighty and she moaned and parted her thighs. I pushed my fingers into her nether folds to find her flowing. Gently pressing and rolling her clitoris between my thumb and forefinger elicited little jerks and shudders. When I pushed my middle finger between her now wet and thick labia into the silken passage of her interior to press up against the back of her clit, she arched her back and clamped her legs together and sucked my tongue into her mouth. Moaning with abandon, she reached down to work her hand on my shaft from the sack to the bulbous head of my old ‘nine-iron’.

I reached over to pick up the tube of K-Y that she had thoughtfully placed beforehand on the nightstand and put some on her fingers. “That is, unless you would like to lubricate me in some other way?” I teased her. She blushed and shook her head, but I could tell that she was torn between her repressed libido and her desire to wrap those beautiful ruby lips around my throbbing cock.

“All things in good time little girl, all things will come in good time.” I thought as she carefully coated my ebony piston until it glistened in the dim light. I laid her on her back and pushed her back so that her knees were against her chest. As I lay down on her, I began to rub the length of my rod against her equally gleaming lower lips and cheeks. Carefully teasing her button with the tip, I asked her between kisses if she still liked this ‘old nigger cock’ and if she still wanted it in her pussy.

She quickly nodded, but “Uh-huh.” was all she could manage.

“Do you want this? Do you want this nigger cock in you?” I worked the tip back and forth on her opening. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh yes, George, I want your big fat nigger cock in me!” As she thrust her hips up at me, I pushed into her wet tight opening. She groaned “Oh god, it as big as I thought it was!” She arched her back and grabbed my ass to pull me further into her small but welcoming canal. I noticed that she had a rare attribute, her vaginal temperature was much higher than her outside skin and she felt like she was wrapping a warm wet cloth around me. I had thought it was the Xing qu shi the last time but this was all her and it felt heavenly.

I settled into a nice slow fucking rhythm that alternated short fast jabs with long, slow thrusts that gradually deepened into the accommodation of her slowly widening passage. When my balls were slapping against her ass cheeks, I pushed back to admire her loveliness. She had a ‘deer in the headlights’ look on her reddened face and her chest was heaving while her breasts rocked with every thrust of our genitals. Her wide flung legs suddenly clamped onto mine to assist my plunging penetration and pulled me down into a deep and hungry kiss.



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