Salima the Magnificent

I was late arriving at Chicago O'Hare, having left Canada late on an airline that always ended up at the bottom of customer satisfaction surveys. I usually avoided flying this outfit but the fare on the weekend was so cheap that I convinced my company to spend the savings on a hotel for the weekend. This suited me since I always hate rushing to a conference or meeting and I try and get there early anyway. My bags fortunately weren't lost this time. My flight was just 4 hours later than I wanted to be, late at night due to the time difference. I gathered my suitcase and my laptop and headed towards the taxis.

This trip had been on my mind for some time and not just because the conference would be an interesting one. I live in a part of Canada where there's a distinct shortage of black people. True, my city was a good blues and jazz city and we always gave black performers such a good reception that they always wanted to come back and play again for us. Still, I could only count one black man as a friend and the only black woman that existed in my world was a checkout clerk at my grocery. It was safe to say that I was open to socializing with black people but I never had any real opportunity. That was about to change, the inexperience I mean. So, now I was in the city that was famous for its Blues scene.

The other reason I was looking forward to this trip was because my marriage was not going well. I was 48, still married but not happy. To add to my misery, I still got approving looks from young chicks. Obviously, women didn't regard me as on old fart so I didn't need to be trapped in a miserable marriage. It was good to get away from it all, even if it would be for only a week, and hopefully I was going to hear some good music this weekend.

I got to the terminal exit and I heard a black woman's voice say: "What hotel you go to?" That was my first glimpse of her; she was black and she was beautiful. She wasn't the white woman in a black skin that seemed so popular on television. Instead, here I was faced with genuine African beauty. She wore no makeup that I could see. Wholesome woman appealed to me more than high fashion models. She was a few inches shorter than me, which was a slight surprise. I had imagined that most black woman would be like African goddesses, towering over me, sort of like a basketball player in drag.

I came back to reality, gave her the name of my hotel and she said "13 dollars by the van. Is that OK?" I liked how she looked and talked and I wanted a little more conversation so I started asking questions. "How much is the taxi, anything extra for luggage, how long is the trip?" and so on. The others in the van started getting impatient with my chatting up the driver so I gave her $20. Her hand touched mine and slid erotically along my palm as she gave me the change. I wondered if that had any significance or if she was just in a hurry. I was surprised how easily this woman lifted my heavy luggage on top of the pile at the back of the van.

We arrived downtown 30 minutes later and then one by one the passengers were dropped off. It seemed like a roundabout way to go and we passed up and down what looked like the same street again and again. I was the last to be let off and here my hotel was on the street that was now so familiar, having been up and down it so many times. Suddenly the light came on in my head; she wanted me to be last out. She took my luggage out and placed it on the ground and was standing there looking shyly and innocently down. As I said, somehow I appeal to young chicks but I wasn't sure until now if my appeal crossed race barriers. Could she just be looking for a tip or was she actually interested in me? I chose Plan B:

"Are you finished your shift for the day?"

"Yes, I'm taking the van back to the garage."

"Do you have to go home right away or can you join after you leave off the van?"

Her shyness evaporated. She smiled and we agreed to meet in the lobby in an hour. Not only had I lucked out and set a date with a good looking black chick but I lucked out at the hotel check-in. The clerk said that they were renovating but they would upgrade my room. The room must have been the Presidential Suite with a separate bedroom and a view of the skyline and Lake Michigan from the main area.

I called home to say that I had arrived safely and found that my wife could successfully nag me by telephone. I had a shower to get rid of the travel sweat. I took a few minutes to lounge on my newfound luxury sofa and think about what might happen next. Possibly, the barriers of race, age, education and culture would be too high and we would just have a drink and go our separate ways. On the other hand, there was a chance that we might be compatible underneath all the differences and something wonderful could happen between us.

I went to the lobby at the time we agreed to. My African Queen stood near the entrance with a look that betrayed discomfort. She was still in her neat, blue uniform. I walked slowly and deliberately, the same way one would to a frightened animal. I don't know why but I felt that I would intimidate her if I moved too quickly.

"Thanks for coming. Why don't we go inside, have a drink and some conversation. First we should give each other a name; for instance, I'm Steven but you can call me Steve if you want."

She smiled and showed her white even teeth. "I'm Salima but if you shorten that to Sally, I'm out of here."

"I hear you, Salima. I would get angry if anyone called me 'Stevie'."

We sat down, ordered and started to talk. My fears about barriers faded. Salima lacked education and polish but she wasn't stupid and she was articulate. Best of all, she only acted shy. When Salima talked, she wasn't shy at all, something I needed in a woman at that moment. I was in a new situation trying to put the make on a woman I had just met and I was in a foreign country as well.

We talked of our families and how we grew up, poor in both cases. Being black and female, Salima was not so fortunate as her poverty forced her to drop out of high school and work. I was able to go to university on scholarship despite our family's poverty. Our families were much the same and we had the same good and bad relationships with brothers and sisters, had been bullied in school the same way.

Yes, we talked and talked about everything and some might say about nothing. We had sat at a booth and Salima placed herself around the corner from me. As our conversation became more detailed and intimate, exploring more inward things such as our outlook on life and values, we moved closer in the booth. I never noticed the physical closeness pacing the intimacy of the talk. Finally our hands touched and Salima's eyes looked down and it was the same shy expression I had seen when I asked her to meet me.

"I've never met a white guy like you before, Steven. Most white guys never look at a black woman in a way that acknowledges she's a woman, never mind ask her what she might think about anything. I like you. What do you think about me?"

"I just never had the opportunity to be friends with a black woman in Canada. Now that I've met you, I like what I see."

"I've been dropping off people at this hotel for a year and this is the first time I've been inside. What are the rooms like?"

I surprised myself with how easily the right answer came out:: "Why don't you come with me and see mine. I managed to snag one of the luxury suites." Here I was in an American city for just a couple of hours and already I was inviting a beautiful black woman to my room. As we entered my room, Salima walked down the short corridor into the palatial room and let out a low whistle.

"Never seen anything like this before."

"Actually, neither have I. My company usually puts me up in the cheapest rooms."

I walked up behind her, put my arm around her waist and breathed in the scent of her hair. A healthy woman's hair must be chock full of pheromones because the scent of a woman's hair always excites me. I concluded that Salima was a healthy woman.

"I've had two bits of luck tonight. Getting this room and meeting a beautiful and intelligent woman."

"Nobody's ever called me beautiful before. Are you putting me on?"

"No, in my part of Canada you would be considered exotic and highly desirable. I am a typical Canadian and I do desire you."

Salima didn't resist my taking her hand and leading her over to the sofa facing the city, We sat like that, looking out over the city for some time, thinking our own thoughts. I broke the mood, reached up and moved the hair that had so aroused me aside. Her neck was long and slender. I kissed that neck and Salima turned and held me. I looked down into Salima's warm brown eyes and discovered they communicated more than the cold of blue eyes. It seemed that her eyes could conceal nothing from me. We kissed, first slowly and gently and then more passion. One thing about wholesome women is that they are not concerned about their makeup during lovemaking. I unbuttoned her uniform jacket and was able to placed my arm around her back. Salima responded with a hand underneath my shirt. We were still shy and proceeding slowly. I think that it was because neither of us had quite met anyone like the other and we had to savor every step on this journey through new territory.

Slowly, we removed each other's clothing to reveal more and more of the other's body and prolong enjoying the enchanting contrasts between our colour as well as the wonderful differences between a man and a woman. Finally, we were naked except for underwear and I sat back to take a better look at my black beauty. Salima's underwear wasn't at all sexy. Salima was a real woman with a real job and no use for skimpy underwear. It was working woman's underwear, sensible and bore the mark of many washings. If Salima had set out to get laid tonight, she would have prepared her underwear better. She shyly tried to cover her semi-nakedness. I had to set her at ease.

"Don't be shy, Salima. You're beautiful. I want to see more of that beautiful black body. I've never seen a black woman with her clothes off.

"I'm not shy, Steve but the air conditioning's cold. Can you hold me again so I can warm up."

"I can do better than that. Let's get under some blankets and we'll be more comfortable.'

I led Salima to the Presidential bedroom. Salima gave a soft gasp at the size of the bed. I pulled aside the covers for her and she gracefully slid between the covers. I snuggled in beside her and we began a slow exploration of each other's body. I could tell I was with a woman like none other I had known. Her neck was slender and long and I planted kisses all over it. I breathed in the clean, sweaty smell that surrounded Salima's body. The smell intoxicated me. It was fresh perspiration accumulated in who knows how many hours of work she had done that day.

Salima's skin felt fuzzier than a white woman's but pleasing. Her hair even though straightened had a wiry feel. Salima's body felt soft and feminine to me. I like that feel although I was surprised after the strength she showed with my luggage. Women who are too hard-bodied intimidate me. Salima wasn't shy about putting her hands all over my body as well. I've made love to a few flatbackers in my life but Salima was definitely not one of them.

I unclipped Salima's bra with the one hand that wasn't busy caressing her delicious body – it's a skill that I picked up as a teenager during couch rugby sessions and I was happy to see that I still had the touch. In the dark, I could feel that Salima's breasts were not overly large but rather shapely and firm. I could feel large, erect nipples that I gently stroked between my fingers. Salima's uniform had effectively disguised her breasts but I was on a mission of discovery tonight. According to D. H. Lawrence, small breasts are the mark of a passionate woman. The way Salima was responding to my hand on her breasts, I wasn't about to argue with D. H.

I gently moved my free hand over her breast, firm enough so that I didn't tickle but not so firm as to hurt. Every woman will respond to the firm but gentle approach and if she wants more firmness she will ask. Salima didn't say a word All she gave out were animal-like noises as I felt and then tasted those black breasts. My secret for handling breasts is to caress all around, kiss all around and only then to kiss the nipples. Salima's noises went up 10 decibels in reaction to my tongue on her nipples.

Salima grabbed my wrist and tried to push it downward on her stomach. Slowly, I said, I want to make the moment last. In my own good time my hand moved over Salima's soft and slightly rounded stomach. My hand passed over the mound of Venus guarded by her underwear and caressed Salima's thighs. Simultaneously, we slipped our hands under the back of each other's underwear. Salima's buttocks were bigger and firmer than what I was used to from white women. My hand couldn't hold even one cheek. I could just caress them.

Salima was more aggressive at this point and put her hand gently on my pecker. Most women don't realize that a man's dick is as sensitive as a woman's pussy and should be treated with the same consideration. Need I add that my African Queen knew what I needed and gave plenty of it. My hand gently rubbed her womanhood directly, unguarded by cotton gussets. Her hair went around her lips and a little way down her thighs. It felt tight and wiry just as I had fantasized it would. Salima's beaver hair and the space between Salima's thighs were wet.

Salima panted: "I want you now, NOW!". I ignored her and slowly pulled down her working woman's panties, revealing the essence of the black woman I had met. Again I heard Salima say "Now!" Sorry, woman, but I still had something more urgent before my dick got into action.. I approached Salima between her legs, put my arms around her thighs, spread them apart and began a slow muff dive. I'm good at muffing I think it must be my French ancestors – that DNA comes in handy when needed.

My tongue penetrated that magnificent curly black furburger, up and down, over the inner lips, between them and to just below the clitoris, never on top of it. You can drive a woman wild by not putting pressure directly on the clitoris, always on the bottom side and never on the top. Not that Salima needed encouragement to be wild. It was a good thing I had hold of her solid thighs or all that thrashing might have kept me away from my "work". I finally heard the screams of an orgasm.

This is the right moment for me. A woman's internal muscles tighten during an orgasm and it doesn't matter where she's been or what she's done. I'm average in size but the lady thinks I'm a horse as I enter her slowly, pushing those muscles aside that have just tightened from the orgasm. I work my pecker in slowly, pushing, withdrawing slightly, never in a hurry. Salima must have had the orgasm of the century just then because the process took 10 minutes to just get me all in.

Some young chicks actually go for older guys because we're patient enough to take the time to turn the woman on. Once we get the dick in,, we can last forever. Salima was obviously enjoying me but even the best of us can't last forever. After several of her orgasms that increasingly clamped on my dick, I couldn't stand it any longer and had a full body orgasm. A full body orgasm in a man is the one where the tips of the toes to the tips of the fingers tingle just like the dick and the inside of the head feels like it will explode. Not many women know how to give a man that kind of orgasm and, by luck I had found the one who could do it to me.

When you've just been where Salima and I had been, it takes some time to come down. It takes a well-fucked woman even longer to return to reality than a man. I just held her in my arms and her breathing slowed down to normal. We lay there for half an hour, not wanting to break the spell of what had just gone on between us. Finally, Salima stirred and said:

"Honey, it's been wonderful but I have to go now."

"Don't go Salima. You're the first black woman I've ever made love to. It's been so great that I want you to stay here all night."

"Steve, you're the first guy who ever ate my pussy. You're the first white guy I've ever been to bed with. In fact you're the first guy I've fucked except for my husband."

"You're married? I've been holding your hand all night and I didn't find any ring."

"We're just po' black folks and po' people can't afford fancy things like wedding rings. Yes, I'm married and that's why I have to go home. My husband might be in a mean mood if I get home late. But don't you worry. He's my problem and I can handle that. But how will you handle your woman. I saw you've got a wedding ring on that white hand of yours."

"Salima, she's thousands of miles away but you're right here with me and we've discovered great things about each other tonight. I'm asking you again if you can stay."

"Don't start getting serious about me. Here's what I'll do. I'll try and get away tomorrow and meet you here for brunch. Is that OK?"

I agreed, Salima quickly put her uniform back on, kissed me and left. I relaxed in the now-empty bed and went over the wonderful evening. I wasn't certain if I should have agreed not to get serious about her. I was beginning to love her and it might be a promise I had any hope of keeping. I just prayed that she could "get away". She did but that's another chapter in my story.

I slept well into the morning as a result of the previous night's workout I had with Salima. Waking up, I went over the previous evening to see if a clearer head would change what I thought and felt about this woman who had suddenly come into my life. I went over every word, every action and I still felt the same as the moment she had left. Here I was in a strange city and falling in love with a woman who would be considered exotic where I came from. There was a knock at the door. I hoped it wasn't the management complaining about the noise of our lovemaking last night. I put on my robe, opened the door and there was my new lover, now out of uniform. Her dress was not fashionable but it suited her figure and her features in every way.

"Well, don't just stand there looking, invite me in" she said.

"Did you get any questions from your husband about why you were so late?"

"No, I just told him that a driver didn't show and I had to work a little 'overtime'. He just said 'fine with me' and rolled over. When I woke up, he was heading out the door. I said, 'Where you going?' He just said 'I'm going have a few beers and lunch with the guys and then we're off to the Cubs game. Oh, after that, we're shooting some pool so don't wait up.' Well, I'm not sitting around the house for him. So, what are you waiting for? let's get going." she asked.

I said that I had to have a shower and coffee, but that shouldn't take long. I was wrong because, just as I got the water temperature adjusted right, I was attacked by a bar of soap sliding over my back. I turned and saw that a naked Salima had climbed into the shower with me. I don't know if the hotel manager figured out why his water bill was so high that day but there was nothing that we didn't wash on each other. As I saw, washed and adored every lovely part of Salima's black body, I could feel my dick stiffening. Finally I soaped up Salima's bush and then parted her pussy lips. As my soapy fingers glided between her inner lips and up towards Salima's black clitoris, she dropped to her knees and swallowed half my dick. That made me really stiff and Salima backed my dick out. Keeping her hand on my now stainless steel dick, she turned the water off and said:

"Come with me white boy. I'm going to show you what a black girl can do."

Salima led me by the dick to the living room and told me to sit down on the couch. When a woman has a man by the dick, he'd better follow her orders. Salima knelt over me, lowered herself, inserted my dick between her soapy legs and gave out a half-gasp, half sigh. Salima wasted no time in taking me all in. Salima felt incredibly tight, despite all the soap and her own lubrication. As she drove my dick further and further in, I thought she would tear the skin off it or crush it into pulp. Finally Salima's curly black bush tangled with my brown pubes. Salima's gasp/sighs turned into moaning as her first orgasm mounted, washed over her and then subsided. Salima tightened even more around my dick but I was able to hold on. I knew from our first night that Salima was hot, relentless and multi-orgasmic. I would be giving her much more pleasure before this was over.