Romantic Short Stories...love stories for interracial couples and singles
Romantic Short Stories
Love Stories
September's selection is from Fantasia.
WHO'S THAT LADY?
by Fantasia
"Sniff . . .'" Ohno, not my sinuses, not tonight! Am I going to sound like a drowning goose?
A twelve-hour allergy capsule will do me up fine.
Panties were a powerful portent of tonight's events. First my pantyhose were the wrong
shade of black. Okay no sweat colored girl your honey-toasted gams will shimmer in the summer moon.
But, the lacy confections I wear as underpants creep down as I walk as the imagined
horror played out in my over-active brain. Quickly, I tear them off and into the hamper.
Now to try on this black indulgence I've saved for an occasion such as tonight. Ostensibly
it's a lacy slip of a dress with long sleeves; but it drapes my curves perfectly,
and tonight, I am the Black Cat.
* * *
Asking to dine with me seemed "do-able" at the time. Now I'm drawing courage as well as rum
from the pretty Pina Coladas; surely two of these beauties won't effect me, will they?
I knew I hadn't a head for alcohol, but first-time-meeting nerves were on me bad.
This great guy and I had corresponded online for sometime; I found him sweet, hysterically
witty and a touch vulnerable.
* * *
Right on time, you step from your hotel's elevator and I feel butterflies being born. You're so warm
and personable, I should feel at ease with you, online I'm such a wicked tongued punster,
and you usually play straight man for the latest installment of Renee's ribald repartee.
Where is my online persona Naughty NeeNee when I truly need her, of all things, I will not be a mute dullard for a dinner companion.
"May I get something for you from the bar?" Nine words that changed my life!"
WDinner turned out to a continuation of our online bantering, I am in rare form tonight; the double-entendres have the wicked bonus of my languid body language and mysterious half-smile. We are non-pulsed at the arrival of the pastry cart! The meal may be over but surely not our
evening!! Exiting the hotel's premier restaurant, I spot that rooftop dancing is available in The Orion Room; now I'm not much of a dancer, but I'm a Moon-Child and I welcome the magic panoply of the stars.
Well, this totally unexpected; instead of cool, cerebral blues or jazz, Orion spins in an orbit of sultry R&B, ala Luther, Arethea et al. The natural ceiling and minimal lighting creates the intimacy of privacy coves for seating. When I step into your arms first dance; lyrics are a
redundancy, all we need is the beat, the pulse, the throb, hum in our veins, synapses; our very souls.
My libido has kicked in, and of course in hyperdrive; my co-pilot Miss Ina Bishions, was left behind in the bottom of an emptied cocktail glass. When I dropped my napkin, I fully intended for you to see that I was "sans coulottes."
As your hand traveled slowly up my thighs under the table, I could barely await the wonder of your mesmerized tongue and mouth. My liberated self erupted into orgasmic song that only the amplified instruments of the musicians just out-decibeled me by mere degrees.
The couple nearest our table will long remember my cries of "Sweet, Sweet Jesus" and " Lord a mercy" well into their dotage. We have to leave this too public place or I will surely get us arrested tonight!!
What is happening to me, my mom's dream of an angel-girl sprawled in public view hosting an all-you-can-eat feed between my thighs and egging on others to share their bounty! My orchestrated plans to impress my online friend have struck a miscue; instead of my practiced "safe speech" I'm riding your trousered thigh feverishly on the bench of the hotel's Conservatory. So much for angel-girl points this evening!"
I want this conservatively dressed, outwardly mild-mannered man writhing wildly among the Conservatory's botanical displays highlighting our contrasting skin tones and providing an appropriate backdrop for our "Jungle Fever". My moist thighs augment the earthy musk of fertile loam and peat moss as the ardor of my heightened sexuality provides more than sufficient humid heat for the exotic blooms displaying their succulent petals tonight, mine included.
Sidling past the pre-occupied gardener; we meander past horticultural wonders that mutely witness your slow, simmering seduction of my mouth. I need the sturdy trunk of some rare Egyptian Palm as you recklessly grasp my dress by the shoulders to expose my aroused nipples
to your admiring eyes and inquisitive tongue! Ah, the wondrous nature of so articulated a moving marvel, we have only to decide which bower in bloom will serve as our libido rest stop when I spot a chaise strewn with towels outside across the pool.
"Please, we have only tonight; let's make it special, under the same stars that help ignite the flames coursing through our veins; I want you out in the Nocturnal Primeval!"
At this juncture of your male physiology, I could have stated "separated by a brick wall", you can
handle ANY obstacle with your hard-as-titanium phallic thrusher, just no more delays!
Simply exiting the Conservatory and skirting the pool was the matter of seconds spent unbuttoning and unzipping various articles of clothing that are making fast friends with the marble pool deck and then....
"My God, your writing didn't do you Justice, a full-bodied Chocolate Countessa! You are a Goddess! This unworthy supplicant stands ready to give worship to your heavenly body."
Tenderly and cautiously you lay me on the towels as I feel the contact of our bare skin for the first time. Warm patches of connected flesh radiate a sensual heat that has traversed us so quickly that your hand reacts as if scorched by the pointed nipple of my left breast, but
I believe it to be the spark of electric sex; hot, elemental and transitory; this one night stars shall rain down us and crown us Lovers of the Night.
Fantasia ©2003
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Last revised on 03-13-03