The Muse

I had lived next door to Nafula for over ten years. Originally from Kenya, she had been met her future husband Ken whilst he was vacationing in Africa some ten years previously and then moved back to England with him in the early nineties. We had all been friends for a long time, dining at each other's houses quite regularly and even sharing a holiday together one time when Nafula took my wife and I on a tour of her native homeland.

But things had changed. My wife and I had split up some two years ago, and it became hard to operate the friendship in the way we had grown accustomed. I was no longer part of a couple and that made things unbalanced so inevitably Nafula and Ken had gone on to develop friendships elsewhere. In an unfortunate twist of fate, however, Ken had subsequently fallen in love with the wife of one of his work colleagues, a couple with whom they had also been on holiday with, and as of six months ago, Nafula too was now on her own. Since then, we had had one of two coffees together and commiserated with each other over our changed circumstances, but Nafula had been very withdrawn. Understandably, the loss of Ken to another women she thought she could trust had changed her whole outlook on life.

That was until a couple of weeks ago. By chance we found ourselves chatting over the garden fence one Saturday morning and Nafula had asked me about my work.

"How's the writing going Jim?" she asked, "are your still working for that magazine?"

"Afraid not," I replied, "they let me go end of last year. I'm just doing occasional freelance stuff now and the odd bit for myself." At the time, I'm not sure what possessed me to add that last, throwaway comment, but now in retrospect I can see that my sub-conscious had already set an idea in motion.

"For yourself? What sort of stuff? You writing a novel or something?"

"Um, yes, something like that."

"Sounds very secretive. Do tell. You know how I like reading."

"It's nothing really. Anyhow I seem to have lost my way with it."

"Writer's block?"

"Kinda. I was seeing a lady for a while and she gave me inspiration..."

"You mean like a muse? You're writing a romance?"

"Yes, sort of. But things cooled off with her some months ago and ever since then I have been unable to get my passion back."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"Oh yes. It happens a lot with writers. My friend at work has actually written a book, about her difficult upbringing in the Caribbean - but she admits it was only because she had the urge to do it and was writing from her heart. You know, get it out of her system."

"That's funny."

"What?"

"Well, the women I was seeing was from there."

"You were going out with a black women?" the raised tone of her voice registering her acute surprise.

"Well, not going out exactly, just a very intimate friendship."

"Oh I see, so sorry" said Nafula with genuine concern.

"No its fine."

"Doesn't sound like it to me. You no longer have your muse."

"True."

"I don't like to intrude, but maybe...perhaps you would let me read a little bit of your writing. Maybe I could help you? I can give you that female perspective."

I looked away to gather my thoughts.

"Sorry if I've offended. I shouldn't have said that. It's personal and none of my business," she added hastily.

All at that moment I realized our relationship had reached a turning point. I could say no, emphatically, right there and then and kill the conversation dead. Or, I could take a chance and explore her interest a little.

I looked back at her, directly into her eyes and said: "I'm not offended, really. I do need some help because I want my stories to appeal to women. But you may not want to Nafula if you knew what sort of stories I write, I'm not sure it's up your street."

"I hate war and violent stories, even romantic ones - it's not like that is it?"

"It's, err ...erotic. I write erotic stories."

A look of shock came over her face. "Ah, oh, I see..." she blurted.

"Sorry, I've embarrassed you."

"Err, no, no, not really." It was now Nafula's turn to collect her thoughts. "Well I suppose I am if I'm honest..."

"Honest about what?"

"A bit embarrassed." She looked down for a moment. "I mean I do actually read quite a lot of erotic literature."

"In books, or on-line?"

"On-line."

"That's what I do. I post my stories on-line."

"I may even have read one then, without even knowing. I assume you write under an alias?"

"That would be telling." I said.

Nafula though for moment. "How about you send me a link to one of your finished stories and I can take a peek."

"I'm too embarrassed to do that. I'm really afraid what you might think. I mean about me, after you read it."

"I'm a big girl Jim... but in any case I need some serious cheering up. It will be fun, and I promise not to be offended."

"Not sure how you can promise that, but OK, I'll text you the link on one condition."

"What condition's that?"

"Well to make good on that promise that you won't be offended, I expect you to go through with your offer of help."

"This is getting very mysterious indeed! How will I be able to help do you think?"

"It will be very obvious when you read the story I'm going to send you tonight."

"Deal then," she said. "There's never anything on the TV on a Saturday night anyhow so I'll look forward to it."

"I really hope you're not going to be offended."

"I promised didn't I? I'll text you back with my offer straight away after I've read it."

And with that she turned way and went straight back into the house, perhaps deliberately, giving me no further opportunity to back out from my commitment to let her read one of my stories. I immediately started to read through each one of them in my mind, and as I did so, I found myself substituting Nafula for the leading lady in each of the humiliating scenarios I had created. I think maybe, over the years, in the interests of preserving both my marriage and our good friendship, I had tried consciously to erase any sexual thoughts I might ever have had about Nafula. But now, having eased open the floodgates slightly, I found myself overwhelmed in a tide wave of very erotic and explicit imagery with Nafula taking centre stage.

Later that evening, as promised, I emailed Nafula a short story I had written about a black women who attends a very unique, secret club for what can only be described as 'pervert couples'. Their common interest, at least amongst the male members anyway, is a fetish for humiliating each of the female partners in the group by making them take turns in undressing in front of their co-members and showing their private parts and by request, any other unpleasant areas of their bodies deemed of interest by the men. This was bad enough, but the main element of the humiliation was to instruct the women to display themselves in the most undignified positions imaginable, one at a time, in front of each and every person in the room. The voyeur was allowed to look, stare, sniff, photograph and on special request actually touch and taste any part of the woman's anatomy he or her wished.

In the past, I had received a great deal of 'fan mail' from enthusiastic readers of the website, especially ladies from India and of African descent, several of them offering to provide me with intimate details of themselves so that I might write fully genuine and accurate descriptions of their exotic genitals and breasts. Only they know who they are, and one such was my recent muse. After some weeks of correspondence, and with considerable trepidation, she eventually agreed to a meeting. After a pleasant evening out, chatting quite normally and politely over a nice meal and glass of wine, we repaired to a nearby hotel where she agreed to bend over for me and let me smell her ass. Having read all of my stories and learned of my enthusiasm for inhaling a woman's festering genital odours, she had thoughtfully not washed between her legs for several days. The sweaty, shitty stench of her dirty black anus combined with the stale piss and vaginal discharge that had been absorbed into her three-day old underwear was just disgusting. For fear of spooking her completely, I complemented her on the pleasant, musky scent of her ass and asked if I might also be allowed to look between her legs.

At a complete loss for words, though shame and embarrassment, she just nodded and allowed herself to be guided by my instructions. From that point onwards, she obligingly pulled down her panties and let me examine her dark, wiry haired cunt and her anus from every conceivable angle. First she squatted patiently on the dressing table with her knees held open wide while I sat before her and played with the little wiry coils of her scratchy pubic hair. She involuntarily looked away as I parted the hairs and unfurled her crinkly, inky coloured labia. I pulled them out, stretched them open, looked up her hole then bent them over to one side. I then peeled back the hood of her enormous pink clitoris to sniff it. I dabbed at the white bits of smegma that appeared under the folds of her hood, scraped out the paste that coated the innermost creases behind her lips, ran my index finger around the hairy rim of her pouting little anus and each time I sniffed the repulsive looking slime that coated the tips of my fingers.

Next I her asked her to climb down and kneel down on the end of the bed with her bottom in the air; big fat buttocks resting on her heels; the light coloured soles of her feet turned out towards my face, and her head and chest buried deep into the duvet. With my stomach churning with excitement, I knelt down on the floor below her and looked up at the incredible menu spread out before me - a veritable feast of stinking, hairy black genitalia.

However, before treating myself to a good close-up look at her asshole, I decided to feel her tiny feet and explore the texture of the skin around her soles and heels. This, as I suspected, was hard and scaly to the touch and a little unpleasant to look at. After looking between her toes and sniffing her feet, I gently reached up to feel her ass cheeks and then proceeded to pull them wide apart for proper close look inside. It was indeed an amazing sight, dark hairy, dirty and very, very smelly. As I knew from my earlier experience, the combination of odours from her ass were indeed very strong, but nevertheless, I leaned right in and dragged the tip of my pointy nose right down the length of her deep sweaty ass crack, all the way from the base of her spine - pausing briefly to sniff in amongst the stiff little hairs that grew around her anus - right round to the hairless, shiny, spotty area of translucent skin between her two stinky holes.

An hour or so later, after following my every instruction and without once flinching or pulling away I had finally satiated my curiosity about the look, texture, colour, hairiness and smell of her dark West Indian genitals. It was at this point that I spontaneously ejaculated without ever having touched my cock, and collapsed on the bed from exhaustion. When I awoke, she was sat dressed and ready to say goodbye, hoping that I had enjoyed the experience and suggesting that if there was anything else about her body I was interested in, then perhaps she would consider showing me another time.

I thanked her enormously and said that my final wish for tonight was to go to sleep with my nose wedged firmly up between her buttocks - preferably right against her anus. She nodded quietly, stood up and took off her skirt and panties again. Then climbing right up onto the bed, she positioned one foot each side of my head, pulled open her ass cheeks, and slowly sank down onto my face. Just before bearing her full weight onto me, she paused briefly to allow me to wriggle my nose into position directly under her anus and then pushed down firmly so that her sphincter released itself and my nose was able to glide smoothly up inside - lubricated by the horrid yellowy slime that was her shitty ass paste. The little ring of coarse anal hairs that I knew to be growing around her hole tickled me as she squirmed her ass over on my face to allow my nose to burry in as far as possible.

While breathing nothing but the stink of her asshole, she pulled down hard at the base of my fully erect cock and waited patiently to watch me to ejaculate again, this time right in front of her face. After I'd cum, she eased up on her knees and, with my nose still pushed firmly into her anus, we gently rolled over together on the bed. Without saying a word, which she had hardly done since we entered the room some hours ago, she intuitively curled herself up into a fetal position and I retracted my nose so that her anus was left fully exposed to my gaze and I could lean in to sniff it at my convenience. There lying ass to face, with the bedside light clearly illuminating the inside of her ass crack so that I could admire every detail of it, we both drifted off into sleep.

Now in a semi dreamy state, my thoughts turned straight to Nafula. She was from Kenya so her genitals would be equally interesting to examine, and, not unlike my good friend, she was of medium height and build with a large bust, very shapely legs, smallish feet and the type of prominent, pert round bottom that is common amongst ladies from the African continent. She usually wore her long hair in braids which tended to hide the ribbon of coarse black, frizzy hair which grew like sideburns - petering out to nothing more than a slight fluff - down alongside the entire length of each ear. Her face was quite manly, though still highly attractive, with a very striking bone structure, wide nose, slightly flared nostrils, thick purple lips and large round brown eyes capped by luxuriously thick eyebrows. Although long suppressed in my imaginings, I now started to mentally undress Nafula. Every indicator I could bring to mind, including the time on holiday - some five years ago - when I had seen her lounging by the hotel pool in her swim suit, was that she was a very hairy lady.

Just as my mind immersed itself in a reverie of lustful thoughts about seeing my next door neighbour undressing herself for me, I heard the familiar 'ping' of my iPhone alerting me to a new message. I returned instantly to the present, my heart pounding and my stomach turning somersaults as I reached for the phone. Part of me was saying 'don't look, you won't like the answer, she will never look at you again in the same way, your reputation is destroyed'. But the urge to read the message was just too inviting.

I flipped open the cover, and read ten simple words: "Which part of me would you like to see first?"

I was astounded. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined she would actually say yes - certainly not in such a firm and positive manner. At least I assumed it was a genuine 'yes' and not an attempt at sarcasm. How should I respond?

"Do you mean it? Did you like the story?"

"You really are a filthy pervert."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I really enjoyed the story. But if you write about me, then I want you to take it slower," came back the reply.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean the best parts of your story are the predicaments you place the women in, the wonderfully descriptive passages and the multiple assaults on the senses. I think those are the elements that most appeal to women readers like me."

"OK. So what do you propose?"

"I suggest each week we concentrate on one part of my body. I will show you whatever you request, and I mean anything at all, and you have to describe it in as much detail as possible and using all your senses. We can start tomorrow night if you like."

"No argument from me," I typed straight back.

"What would you like me to show you first?"

"Let's start with your...

"Silly question I know. Thought maybe you would like to start slowly."

"Can I give you a list?"

"Ok."

That wasn't going to be difficult. My mind was instantly overwhelmed with a thousand lurid images of Nafula stripping and spreading herself before me. I started to type out hurriedly, my fingers falling over the letters as the predictive texting struggled to cope: "under your arms, your belly button, bottom of your feet, places like that which are normally hidden." I tried to avoid the obvious in my first attempt.

"Is that all?"

"and your breasts your nipples obviously. I can't wait to see them."

"Of course. Would you like to see my vagina as well?" came back the surprising response.

"I am desperate to see it Nafula."

"If you come round tomorrow tonight at 6pm I will show you some of those things. But only if you promise to write about me like you write in your stories."

"Are you very hairy down there? Can I see your black asshole?"

There was a pause of around a minute and for an anxious moment I thought maybe I had overstepped the mark.

"I have short wiry curls all round my vagina. My anus is also surrounded by little hairs. Would you like to see that first?"

"Very much."

"Would you like to see it clean or dirty?"

"Dirty."

"Ok. Be here on the dot of 6, don't be late!"

"I will, you can be sure of it."

The six o'clock appointment seemed to take forever to come and there was no chance whatsoever that I would be late! Dead on the hour, I nervously walked up to her back door and knocked gently. My stomach was churning madly with anticipation.

"It's open, come on in and lock the door behind you."

As I pushed open the door, I was amazed to find Nafula crouched down, fully dressed, on the kitchen table in front of me. She was facing away. The soles of her shoes were hanging off the edge of the table and pointed right at me; her lovely round bottom resting firmly on her ankles. It was all I could see of her really. She wore a mid-length white cotton skirt which contrasted vividly with the light mahogany colour of her shapely lower legs. Up top, she had nothing on but a black bra which was straining somewhat to contain her ample breasts. Her head was resting low down on her forearms so that I could not see her face at all, but lying out in this position caused her armpits to be spread out wide. I was immediately drawn to the two damp, ragged clumps of black, wiry hair nestling deep in each of her pits.

"I want to you to look at me like you do in your stories."

She had obviously been reading about my fantasy fetish club 'EWAC' and gone to some trouble to arrange herself in exactly the right position. She had even, thoughtfully, positioned a chair right behind her bottom.

"I am," I replied, "I'm just admiring your sweaty armpits."

"That's not the only part of me that's sweaty Jim. It gets much worse. I haven't washed since we spoke. You may need to sit down."

I pulled out the chair and sat down.

"You can take off my shoes and smell my feet if you like."

I grasped the heel of each of her cream coloured ballet shoes with both hands simultaneously and pulled them off. Compared with the colour of her ankles, the soles of her feet were extremely light coloured, quite hard looking but surprisingly smooth under the arches. Elsewhere it was not so pleasant. Her heels were quite yellow and calloused, with a sharp ridge of a very white, dried up skin around the backs with slight cracks starting to show at the edges. The pads of her heels and on the balls of her feet were dirty and flakey. I leant in to sniff them but they were not nearly as bad as they looked - very slightly cheesy but not overpoweringly so.

"Can I touch?"

"Only my feet."

I gently felt all around the rough skin on her heels and spread each of her toes apart to look in between. Here the skin tone went lightly darker and there were bits of dirt lodged in the creases behind.

"What do you think of my feet?"

"Not very attractive underneath Nafula. A bit filthy and smelly."