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Author’s note: I saw a girl at a museum. The rest is my creation.
A Taraji
Henry
I first saw Nia on a Sunday afternoon in a shopping mall. She was about my height at 5’10”, a tall woman. Her clothes were striking. She was dressed in a dark blue cape over a print Taraji. Under the Taraji were a light orange tunic and pants. Her clothing did not conceal the magnificent figure underneath, but it did conceal much of her beautiful amber skin.
I was not usually attracted to women of color, but she was different. I followed in her wake, like a moonstruck adolescent. “What could I say to her?” After all, I was a writer. I would ask her for an interview regarding her amazing outfit.
She stopped to admire a blouse in a clothing store.
I opened with, “Hi, I’m Henry. I’m a writer. I wanted to find out more about your outfit. Can I ask you a few questions.”
She turned toward me. I hadn’t realized how striking her face was. She looked at me and smiled. Her penetrating gaze made me feel like she was looking at my soul.
“You can ask me a few questions, but is that all you want?”
I was thunderstruck but trying to rise to the occasion. “Can we go somewhere? Can I buy you a drink?”
That look, penetrating but funloving. “Over there,” she gestured toward a small bar a few doors down. “I’ll have a sweet white wine.”
“You aren’t Muslim?”
“I am, but I belong to the funloving branch.”
“What does that mean?”
“I try to follow most Islamic teachings, but I consider it all right to pick and choose. I figure what the imams don’t know, doesn’t hurt them.”
“So, it’s a sort of pick and choose branch of Islam?”
“Right. I practice moderation in alcohol and .”
It seemed like she was completely selfassured and spoke without artifice or subterfuge.
We sat at a small table and ordered our drinks.
“What should I call you?” I asked.
“You can call me Nia since that’s my name.”
“Nia, the more you talk, the more interesting you seem,” I told her. “You must have an interesting background.”
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Were you born here or in Africa?”
“I was born in East Africa. My family came here about eight years ago.”
“Did you have to undergo many hardships?”
“The last few years in our homeland were very bad.”
“Of course, I don’t know you, but you seem to be in a good place now.”
“The bad times are in the past. I dealt with them, and I think I have been able to go beyond them.”
“Can you talk about them?”
“I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to hear about them, and how you dealt with them.”
“We had a longlasting civil war. Twice the soldiers came to our village and raped me.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It was. Worse yet, the second time they took me away for several weeks until I was able to escape.”
“How did you get away?”
“We moved around a lot. Eventually they came close to my village. When the camp came under attack, I was able to run away.”
“Did you have a plan for your escape?”
“I just ran away when the camp came under attack.”
“I can’t imagine how you must have felt, as a prisoner in the camp.”
“I don’t think you could. As a young girl, it was very difficult. I finally was able to disassociate myself from what was happening to me. It was a way to sublimate the constant degradation and humiliation. When I finally was able to go home, I had to deal with it all. It took me a few years.”
“Is that when your parents brought you to America?”
“That’s when my parents started preparing to leave. It took about two years before we were finally able to leave home and come to America.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Eight years ago.”
“You seem like a happy, upbeat person, now.”
“Thank you for saying that. I still think about it occasionally, usually for only a short time. I have been able to treat the bad times as something bad that happened to me, but not something that should ruin the rest of my life. Now that I can talk about it, it is easier to deal with.”
“That’s remarkable. The more I listen to you, the more amazing you seem to be. Are you an actual model?”
“Sort of. I do swimsuits and lingerie, part time. I’m too curvy for high fashion.”
“Does your religion affect your modeling?”
“A little bit. If what I’m wearing is too revealing, I ask them to take my head out of the picture.”
“How does that work?”
“Usually pretty well. No one has connected my headless bikini and thong shots to my full onepiece shots.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“You’re hesitating.”
“Because I’m not sure. I have two boyfriends, sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“I guess they’re really more like fuckbuddies.”
“So, can I ask you to dinner?”
“Sure, what time?”
“I was thinking like as soon as we’re finished here.”
“I’m finished shopping, but I was thinking I might change since I have a real dinner date!”
“Only if you want to. But I wanted to ask you about your outfit. You’re such an amazing person, I forgot about your clothes.”
“Ask away.”
“I was thinking I might follow you home and ask while you’re changing.”
“I’m not sure about that. It’s a small apartment.”
“I could wait in my car while you’re changing.”
“Okay, are we going to talk about clothes before or after I change.”
“How about before? Then I can just wait for you to come out.”
“Okay. I’ll give you my address and phone number in case we get separated.”
“Great.”
I followed her home and into her apartment.
“Nice pad,” I complimented her. “What is your outer garment called?”
“It can be called a kitenge, but that has two meanings. It can refer to the robe, or it can refer to the fabric the robe is made from.”
She took it off. “You can feel it. It is very nice.”
I felt it. “It is very nice.”
She took the coat off next. “This can be called a Taraji; like kitenge, Taraji can refer to the fabric or the coat.”
“And next?” I prompted her.
“The rest of the outfit is called tunic and pants, and I’m not taking them off until you’re on your way to your car. If I took them off, I suspect I would get a different treat than a nice dinner.”
“You wouldn’t have to call your fuckbuddies,” I suggested.
She smiled and confessed, “I like my fuckbuddies.”
“You are very direct,” I told her.
“When I wasn’t sure I would survive my rapes, I decided I would always tell it like it is, unless there was an immediate danger or harm to someone.”
“I’m not recommending rape, but I think you are a very unique person, and it’s partly due to what happened to you.”
“Perhaps but I try not to dwell on it.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m glad to know there’s still a sensitive little girl inside you.”
“Maybe I’ve been too open with you.”
“I sincerely hope not. I have to believe that you’re not taking any more clothing off until I leave, so I’m on my way to my car.”
“I won’t be long!”
“Bye for now!” and I walked out the door.
In a few minutes, she came out dressed in a little black dress. She filled it up nicely. Clearly, she had the right stuff in all the right places.
“Is this okay?” she asked, giving me a full 360.
“You look fantastic!” I couldn’t believe I was talking to such a beautiful woman. I could tell she was attractive when her body was obscured by the Taraji, but now I felt like her body was saying, ‘Love me! Love me!’ “Would you like Italian?” I asked.
“Something lighter,” she replied. “Got to keep my model figure!”
“Of course,” I suggested, “how about French?”
“Sure,” she said, “I’m hungry, but I still have to eat light.”
I knew of a French restaurant in a converted house in a transitioning neighborhood: older houses, newer apartment and condo buildings; newer still lowrise office buildings; no parking garages yet.
When we arrived at the valet parking spot, she shared, “I’ve heard of this place, but never been here. Thank you for bringing me here.”
All that, and good manners, too. What an amazing woman! I already had my hopes up as to what I would find when I began to unwrap this package.
When the maître d showed us to our table, there was a hush. I don’t think it was because of a mixedrace couple; I think it was because of the astounding assets barely concealed in the little black dress.
Nia
I went to a mall to pick up a few things. I wore some traditional clothes because they’re so comfortable, and they’re somewhat concealing. Unfortunately, it seems that there’s no peace, anywhere. There’s always a guy hitting on you. This guy didn’t seem too bad. I didn’t go out with many Anglo guys, but he seemed to be a bit OK. When he asked me to have a drink with him, I agreed.
I couldn’t believe that this guy had me talking about the bad times in only a few minutes after I met him. Even the African guys I dated weren’t that direct. Maybe it was a good sign. I liked directness and might as well get the difficult conversations out of the way early. I also made it clear that although I liked , my fuck buddies were taking good care of me, so I didn’t need his help in that department.
He asked me out for dinner, and since I only had the vaguest plans for having one of my fuckbuddies over, I accepted. I could still get one of my fuckbuddies to come over, after I sent this guy home.
He followed me home; his excuse was to learn more about my clothing. I did a partial strip, taking off my cape and robe. He showed an appropriate interest, so I was already considering him a viable option for later in the evening.
I couldn’t decide what to wear for dinner; it sounded like he was taking me somewhere nice, so I decided on my little black dress. It covered everything but showed every curve. I enjoyed the reaction it usually got, both from dates and casual onlookers.
When I rejoined him at his car, he showed an appropriate interest, which was a good sign. He was apparently not gay and not too Christian.
I was excited by his choice of restaurant as I had heard of it, but never been to it. I complimented him on his choice. When the maitre’d showed us to our seats, the little black dress got its usual response. When conversation resumed, I asked him, “I told you about my religion, what’s yours?”
“Good question,” he replied. “I guess the easy answer is Unitarian, although I sometimes go to the Methodist Church.”
“But what do you believe?”
“I guess I’m a little like you, I consider myself to be a Christian, but there’s some parts of traditional Christian orthodoxy I can’t accept. What I like about Unitarians is that they don’t say they have the answers, but instead they say that we’ll help you try to find the questions.”
Things seemed to be going nicely. We could talk about religion, even though we didn’t have the same beliefs. Why not politics? I asked him, “Do you follow politics?”
“Yes, I used to be a Republican, at least as far as fiscal policy was concerned, but when they began to cater to the religious right, I started to vote Democratic.”
“But what do you believe?”
“I believe government should help and protect the people, as help and protection are needed.”
“So, do you believe in welfare programs?”
“Yes,” Henry replied. “I do believe there should be protections against fraud, and there should be incentives to go back to work, but some people can’t help themselves. It’s very unusual for a single mother to be able to make enough money to afford childcare, particularly, if she has three or four children. Some people are incapable of supporting themselves because of disabilities, physical or mental.”
“My family was on welfare when we first came here. After we learned some English, my father went to work fulltime, and my mother did some parttime work while my siblings and I were in school.”
“An excellent example. As I understand your family’s situation, you needed welfare for a while until you were able to support yourselves.”
“How do you feel about the taxes here?” I asked him.
“I’ve always felt that if the economic system provides you with the benefits, you should be willing to pay your fair share. There are two issues: ‘Is your share fair?’ and ‘Is the money being spent wisely?’ If that is met, I’m happy with paying taxes, or at least willing to pay.”
I told him I agreed, if you make the money, you should be willing to pay the taxes. After that, we talked about modeling. I told him some funny stories about modeling. Almost too soon, dinner was over. Henry paid for my dinner, and we drove back to my place. I invited him in for a nightcap, hoping there would be more.
Henry
I can’t remember ever having such a delightful dinner companion. We were able to discuss religion and politics without ill feelings, although this was helped by being mostly in agreement on politics. I couldn’t believe my good fortune in finding a woman who was beautiful, and such a pleasure to hang out with. I was hoping the same standards would apply if I was able to join her in her bed.
She seemed to enjoy the evening and invited me in for a nightcap. I decided to take it slow at first and see what happened; I could always speed things up later. She poured two glasses of white wine. We had a couple of sips and chatted a little about the entrees we had enjoyed. I decided to lean in and see what happened. She didn’t lean toward me, but she didn’t lean away, so I gave her my best imitation of soft lips to lips.
I leaned away, and when I leaned back in, she leaned in, too. I added a tongue caress to her lips. She opened her mouth, and I began to caress the inside of her lips, while still kissing her outer lips. I reached for her bra catch, but there wasn’t any because there was no bra. Rookie mistake! I settled for pulling down the top of her little black dress down far enough for her boobs to pop out.
She didn’t object so I sucked on the left boob while stimulating her right nipple with my index finger. I could hear her breathing more deeply, so I knew I wasn’t the only one enjoying this. She was just full of surprises.
“I don’t want to wrinkle my dress, so why don’t we take this next door,” she told me.
“I wouldn’t want to wrinkle your dress,” I concurred.
She took off her dress and her hose, while I took off my pants, shoes, socks, and shirt, leaving her in her panties and me in my shorts. She laid down on the bed, and I was happy to join her. I was hoping I was on my Agame, because I wanted this to be a night she would never forget. I started kissing her again, this time with my left hand on her pubis. After a few circles of her clitoris, I stuck my hand inside her panties. She seemed to be enjoying this as she was kissing me back in between moans. I kissed her once more on her lips, then her throat, then each of her boobs. I ran my tongue down her upper abdomen, then her lower abdomen, and then I pulled her panties over her hips to midthigh and went after her clitoris and labia.
When I ran my tongue around the entrance to her pussy, I got the taste of East Africa. I paused a second to enjoy it, and then went after more. I stuck my arms under her legs so I could massage her boobs while going around and around the inside of her slit. Now, she was groaning ‘Oh!’s. I knew I was in business. Only a couple of minutes more, and her hips were bucking as her pussy contracted in a light orgasm and then relaxed.
There was no question of my readiness, nor of hers. I pulled her panties the rest of the way down, and quickly yanked my shorts off. She compliantly spread her legs wide, and I began rubbing her inner and outer labia with my cock. Then I slowly slid it into her womanhood. When our pelvises met, she groaned out, “Oh, Henry!” Music to my ears. I begin to slowly stroke her in and out, then I gradually increased the tempo. Her heavy breathing gave way to moans, and then she began groaning ‘Oh!’s and ‘Ah!’s. I increased the speed and power of my strokes and listened to her cries of ‘It’s good!’ ‘It’s so good!’ and ‘Oh, Henry!’. Her body convulsed as she orgasmed. “Ohmigod! Ohmigod,” she cried.
I rolled her over and she raised her hips in preparation for doggy style. I found her brown butt to be very stimulating. I was determined not to disappoint her. I massaged her pubis with my cock and then penetrated her. She felt so good; this would be a struggle not to cum before we were both ready. Again, I started slowly, gradually increasing the tempo and force of my strokes. I had no doubts about her enjoyment of my efforts, as she repeatedly cried out. Again, her body shook, as she orgasmed, and I felt the contractions of her pussy. I rubbed her boobs with my hands, and kissed her at the top of her back, just below her neck. That was good for another groan.
I pushed her down into the flatiron position and began pounding her bottom. She cried out her joy, as I again gradually increased my strokes. She could only take so much and again her body shook as she climaxed. “Oh, God, Henry, that is so good.” She told me nothing that I wasn’t already experiencing.
She had turned her head partway to me, I pulled it a little further so I could kiss her lips. She responded enthusiastically, exploring my mouth with her tongue. I released her head and began stroking her again. I hoped she was going to be satisfied because I couldn’t hold back much longer. Too soon, I began filling her with my jism. She apparently liked it, because I could feel the spasms in her buttocks, indicating that she had had one last orgasm.
I slowly withdrew, and then rolled her over, so I could kiss her face to face. “Oh, Henry,” she told me breathlessly, “That was so good.” I could feel her sincerity in the strength of her embrace. After a few minutes of kissing, she pulled away. “If you keep doing this, you’ll get me going again,” she confessed.
“That might not be all bad,” I replied. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. In the early afternoon, I had had no idea of her existence. I was able to talk to her for a while, and then have a dinner date with her. She was not only extraordinarily attractive, but fun to hang out with. Then, I found out that she was a marvelous lover. It seemed that the most imperfect thing in her life was me.
I decided to kiss her again. She smiled at me. “Are you trying to replace my fuckbuddies?” she teased.
“Not at all,” I replied, “I will be applying to be your livein lover, not your fuckbuddy.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that,” she chided me.
“Yes, I haven’t applied yet, but I will in a few days,” I replied.
“What will I do with my fuckbuddies, then?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure if she was joking or serious. She was smiling, but that could mean several different things. After all, she had just had a fantastic and could still be feeling that. “At this point, everything’s negotiable!” I replied.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “I’m usually a good hostess, but you took my breath away.”
“Nia, I think you’re wonderful!” I exclaimed. “You don’t need to worry about anything!”
“I do worry sometimes. Like right now, can I touch your dingus?”
My dingus? Give me a break! Of course, I knew what she meant. She was always surprising me. “Of course.”
She started touching me in different places on my cock. She surprised me again when she touched my balls. She could tell what she was doing to me. My ‘dingus’ started getting harder. Then, she began sucking it. I started to sit up, she cautioned me, “Leave the driving to us!” Apparently, she was satisfied with her handiwork, because she inserted my cock into her pussy. I wasn’t completely hard before, but the warmth of her wet cunt quickly fixed that.
I wanted to get up for some reason, but she pushed me down and began sliding up and down on my cock. God, she was good. Up until now, I had been confident that I was seducing her. Now, I was no longer sure who the seducer was. I knew that her stroking was delightful. After a few more strokes, she gasped as her body shook in orgasm, and then she leaned down and kissed me.
ero
