The Only Black Man in the Room
No white woman can resist wanting him.
All eyes are on him the instant he struts into the bar section of the restaurant. Tall, distinguished-looking, and with an impressive build that bespoke confidence. There is something profound about him that commands presence; even your wife can’t help but glance in his direction. You follow suit, too, admiring the man’s athletic figure. You can feel his dominant aura projecting from his outfit. He reminds you of everything you have always wanted to be as a man.
There is an animalistic magnetism about him that is eerie and arousing: the way he walks, even the wry smile highlighting his face as he blends across the room. He belies the attractive quality of an Adonis. You have no idea who he is, but he’s aware of the blatant stares in his direction, including yours. You assume he’s the sort of man who could commandeer any woman in this room. He could approach your table and demand your wife’s time, and you won’t offer any form of protest if that happens.
Your wife is alone with herself at the bar. The black man orders drinks, and then subtly converses with your wife while you lurk in the background, watching.
You would eagerly anticipate that happening right now. This isn’t a careless wish you would grant to any man — you would rather fight to the death to uphold your wife’s honour, including yours, in the face of this crowded room. But that won’t bode for this handsome gentleman. For him, you would do whatever is necessary to fulfil his wish. Most other husbands in the room, too, would offer similar treats. Neither their wives would dare decline to go over and share a table with the distinguishing-looking black gentleman.
For a majority of husbands, their ideal seduction permeating in their minds involves envisioning their wives being courted and seduced by a black gentleman at a bar, or maybe even a restaurant she frequents. They envision their wives sitting alone, perhaps waiting for a companion to arrive when suddenly, the unknown black man appears and starts conversing with her. The wife would appear aloof initially, but that feeling only lasts a short while after the black man introduces himself and is polite enough to keep her company until her eminent date/husband arrives.
The woman/wife’s aloofness automatically disappears, realising the night is about to take on a new meaning. She is willing to see how things play out.
He pulls your wife into his firm grip, starts sucking each pair of her breasts, and then kisses her neckline as she inconsolably melts in his arms.
Your wife is alone with herself at the bar. The black man orders drinks, and then subtly converses with your wife while you lurk in the background, watching. You are so ecstatic, yet composed so as not to lose your cool. Never would you have imagined such unexpected opportunity to happen before your eyes. Your wife, who you naturally assumed would be most disrespectful to being approached by another man, is seemingly chatting with a black stranger doesn’t look upset by his approach.
You can’t help recalling the multiple times you expressed your desire about going out on her own to make new friends. You often told her not to worry about looking after the kids, since you can handle that while she’s away. How often did she shoot down such requests, claiming she was least interested in meeting new people? You still remember her admonishing you against raising the subject again, as you even declared there was no chance of ever convincing her to see things your way.
Yet here she is, laughing and acting casual with a stranger. You want to believe this is nothing but a dream. You even pinch yourself, hoping that would compel you to awaken, but not a chance. Your wife is connecting with a black stranger in more ways than you could imagine. You do your best not to get overly excited — won’t want to go over and spoil things now, would we? — best to see how things are going, and hopefully things will progress positively from here.
You are clueless about who the black man is, and you cannot help speculating whatever could have drawn him towards your wife — you scan the room and observe a peculiar displeasure in several of the women who cannot help turning their attention towards the black man. But you cannot help the feeling of high esteem bubbling in your head, knowing that someone worthy finds your wife attractive enough to approach her.
Perhaps he won’t mind doing more than merely chatting her up: he could ask if she has anything to do, and talk her into leaving the bar. Possibly, he has a slick car parked outside. Your wife won’t mind climbing inside while he guns the car and screeches off into the night, wherever he’s bound to take her, probably to a hotel somewhere, or a high-class apartment of his.
What would happen when they arrive at their destination? Your mind drums up arousing scenarios: you conceive them hurrying to get out of their clothes, clawing and kissing, as the man takes charge. He pulls your wife into his firm grip, starts sucking each pair of her breasts, and then kisses her neckline as she inconsolably melts in his arms. They barely make it to the bedroom, where he then gets busy fucking the shit out of her.
He fucks her in ways you can only imagine. He fucks her like he doesn’t know her, and doesn’t care whether she is married; all he is after is his pleasure, and the need to inject his dominance into her. Even now, you can picture the rampant cries coming from your wife as she succumbs to the black man’s lust. You picture her lying on the bed, holding her legs apart while the man grunts with each momentous thrust of his cock. His body is like a hot rod engine, the way he slides inside your wife, the way he holds her down from wanting to escape his sexual punishment. You picture yourself standing beside the bed watching, observing their feral bonding, jerking your cock to the rhythm of their sexual encounter.
You suddenly pull out of your trance as the black man passes something to your wife. It looks like a business card — at least, you hope that’s what it is — which your wife covers in her palm. She finishes her drink, shakes hands with the black man and waves goodbye to him as she leaves the bar. Your wife retains her smile as she approaches your table; you cannot help but smile back. You both decide to take your leave, but you quickly notice her slip the man’s business card into her purse.
Driving home, you inquire about the black stranger she had been gisting with at the bar. She mentions how he had approached her and remarked about her dress, and how it looked good on her before introducing himself as an out-of-towner who had arrived in the city on business.
“Really? What sort of business did he say he was into?” you ask.
“Shipping, honey.”
“Okay. Did he say anything about how long he’s going to be around?”
“I don’t know, darling. I didn’t ask him.”
There is a slight hesitation in her voice, and she doesn’t make eye contact with you when she says that. This can only mean one thing — your wife knows more than what she’s saying. This makes it certain she had accepted a business card from the man. You could decide to press her about the subject, but you decide on a different tactic instead.
“He looked like a handsome bloke,” you remark. “What do you think, honey? Didn’t he look cute to you?”
Your wife laughs and you take note of the rosy colour that suddenly highlights her cheeks.
“I wouldn’t know, darling. I swear I wasn’t noticing.”
“Oh, stop playing, honey. You were talking with him for a long while; I even forgot why you went to the bar in the first place.”
“You wanted to smoke a cigarette, darling,” she retorts. “You know I cannot stand the smell coming from you when you do. Anyway, let’s head home, and maybe I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
“I like the sound of that,” you smile as she then caresses your crotch, letting you know what she intends on doing once you get home.
You cannot shake off the thought of the black man being alone at that bar, and it makes you wonder how relieved the other women must be since your wife left. You imagine one of them coming to take your wife’s place. The chances are unlikely that he would quit that bar alone.
