Anniversary

That night, after the kids went to sleep Todd took me atop of the camper and screwed me silly on a blanket. We did it beneath a million stars with a million mosquitoes sucking us dry. I looked like a smallpox victim the next morning, but I was happy.

In Tennessee we stopped at a nudist campsite and had a very interesting overnight stay. Especially for Sarah, who refused to expose her developing body until the cute eleven year old in the next camper came by.

In Georgia we picked peaches, saw Todd's grandparents, visited Civil War landmarks, treated Todd to a much deserved, mobile blow-job while the kids took a nap, and saw me have sex with my first real southern black man. This happened just outside Macon, where Todd's parent's live. We were at a Texaco gas station, off Route 41, filling up. This enormous black man had a shaved head, wore a black tee-shirt beneath his bib-overalls, had huge muscles straining his shirt-sleeves, and labored beneath the ferocious sun trying to repair a gas pump. I took one look at him and knew. "Please?" I asked Todd. The kid's were at his grandparent's.

The gas pump was on the far island. The man squat with his hands busy in its innards. I climbed down to the pavement, crossed the forty feet of intervening distance, stopped a respectable distance away and said: "Excuse me?"

The man looked up.

"We're kind of lost." I gestured toward the Gulfstream, where Todd sat behind wheel, looking convincingly lost. I stood in the hot sun with my hand shading my eyes, the top three button's of my blouse undone, my hips cocked to one side in an innocently suggestive manner, and the most "I'm sorry to bother you" look on my face.

In bear's growl he asked, "Where you headed?"

"Columbus," I lied.

He shook his head. "No easy way to get there." He stood up. He was eight feet tall. Seven feet when he stepped down off the curb. I felt like--well, like Sarah standing beside her father. "Come with me," he rumbled.

I faltered, looking back at Todd, who grinned widely. Your mess, your cleanup, he liked to say. I scurried off after the man, like a duckling after its momma. Inside the building, he pointed to a map. "This is Macon." He slid his huge black fingertip left, to the Alabama border. "This is Columbus." No major roads connected the two. I felt suddenly lost for real.

"Ya gotta start out on 80," he began. "Pick up 19 right here at Thom--"

"Would you like to kiss me?" Right out of nowhere. Blurted. Totally flustered.

"What?" He eyed me like a cop eying a potentially armed and dangerous drunk. Distrust rolled off him in waves. I gulped and went on.

"I like some men on sight. Black men, white men . . . ." I shrugged apologetically. "My husband lets me have sex with them when I like them." I couldn't believe what I was saying, how stupid I felt. "I saw you out there--" indicating the broken down pump, "--and something just clicked in me. I want you to have me. I know how stupid that sounds. I'm sorry, but there it is."

There it was, all right. From the mouth of an idiot. I thought he would hit me.

Instead, he took me by the hand, lead me into the back office, locked the door and took my clothes off. He then showed me the way to Columbus with his cock.

I typed: "So, here we are, on our twelfth wedding anniversary, you in Detroit, me in bed with a large object in my ass. Examine this picture carefully."

"LOL. You know I'm sorry. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't really important." HP stood on the verge of loosing a major contract with General Motors. I couldn't blame him for being there. It was our livelihood. "I promise you next year," he wrote, "a night you'll always remember."

"I'll always remember tonight," I said, looking at the clock. It was midnight. "Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary to you. I guess it's time."

"Oh, I don't know," I typed. "I kinda like it there. Like the George Washington Tunnel after a major traffic accident involving tractor-trailer trucks."

"LOL. Leave it then."

"For a while."

We chatted for another twenty minutes, then signed off. I closed the lid on my iBook computer, sat it carefully on the nightstand, then interlinked my fingers and lay my chin atop them. I smiled. I felt really good. Content. I ached inside, my anus promised to make me very sorry in the morning, but it could have been worse.

"I'm ready," I said.

The chair behind me creaked and my visitor stood up. He stretched and yawned mightily. "About damn time. Damned key-clicking. I could have fallen asleep, except for that."

"I didn't want you to fall asleep," I said, wagging my tail at him. "I wanted your full attention."

"Oh, you got my attention, all right." He climbed behind me on the bed. "This ready to come out?"

I gripped the huge black shaft one last time, sighed, and said, Yes, take it out, which he did, very slowly, and set it upright atop my iBook. He then took the dildo's place inside me and began making my insides ache even worse. I watched the glistening black shaft sway silently in the dim light as we rocked the bed, until I closed my eyes and joined him.

THE END

Note to the reader: This is not one of my better efforts and I apologize for that. I just started writing one evening with no clear notion where to go, and the narrative shows it. Each anniversary should reflect the ongoing conversation; instead, they come out disjointed sounding and confusing. I can only say that they reflect my own disjointed and confused thought processes, LOL.

M.H. 11-14-04