Bedtime Archives

Bedtime Stories Archives

Copyright Notice: The short stories in "Bedtime Stories" are properties of the author(s). Any duplication or copying via any medium print or electronic, without the author's written permission is strictly prohibited.

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A Hard Man is Good to Find! by James Lewis: This interesting, erotic yet VERY funny short-story was submitted by one of our Rundu.com site guests. A Hard Man is Good to Find is a humorous take on the dos and don'ts of making love to a man with an oversized penis. Michelle is about to get to know her new friend, Daryl very well. Usually during your visit to Rundu.com we want to get your sensual soul stirred up. This story will stir your soul and tickle your funny bone! James welcomes your feedback and his email information follows his story.

Rescue Me by Deardria Adri Enne Nesbitt: Another hot excerpt from Deardria Adri Enne Nesbitt. This really hot (and we mean hot) tidbit comes from Deardria's book, "Back in the Day". Rescue Me features a riveting threesome between main characters Islande and CheyAnta from the "Girls Around the Way" series and the voluptuous waitress from their favorite nightspot.

A Hard Man is Good to Find!

by James Lewis

Girl, let me holla at you ‘cause I got some serious issues … actually … one issue. You are going to look at me like I’m crazy after I tell you this. Just chill out for a second and let me spill it, a’ight? Cool.

My "issue" comes in the form of a thirty-two-year-old, six foot two, two hundred and five-pound, milk chocolate man. He is built like a pro athlete with all muscle and four-percent body fat, has never married and has no kids, and works as a computer analyst with a damn near six-figure income. So far, so good, right?

He has all of his teeth, a sexy baritone voice, and the smoothest dark-skinned baldhead I’ve ever had the pleasure of rubbing my hands on. Quite simply, the man is a walking orgasm. All that, and I’m debating on seeing him again. I just don’t know if I can stand him no more! That, girlfriend, is the issue. Before I tell you why, let me tell you how I met him. I was walking out of my apartment one Saturday morning around nine. I’ve stayed there alone for the past four months since I kicked my lazy ass ex-boyfriend of two years out. His ass ain’t even worth discussing. Let’s just say that he was allergic to work, and I became allergic to him.

Anyway, my apartment complex has a gym with free weights, cycles, and treadmills, and I like to go every Saturday morning to get my workout on. I normally do the treadmill for thirty minutes and lift a few free weights. You know, to maintain this salacious figure. I was carrying a bottle of Gatorade, a towel, and wearing my cute navy and red sports bra and matching biker shorts. The spandex hugged my 38 DD’s and a booty Jennifer Lopez wishes she had. Yes, this sista was looking good, if I may say so myself. On my way there, I saw this lean, muscular brotha walking down the metal ramp from the back of a medium-sized U-Haul truck. I figured he was moving into the apartment building across from mine. He was carrying a television that looked like a twenty-seven inch. I didn’t get a good look at his face because he was wearing a baseball cap, but I definitely saw those arms. He was wearing the hell out of a white tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants. His muscular arms glistened with sweat from the seventy-five degree morning heat. A sista was like dayum!

He walked down the ramp and turned to set the TV down in the small patch of grass next to the sidewalk. I was a few feet behind him when he stood and stretched his back. As he turned in my direction, he took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his clean-shaven head with his shirt. I caught a glimpse of his well-built six-pack. Double dayum, I thought.

When I got a good look at him, you know I had to stop ‘cause he was so fine! Our eyes locked for a few seconds, and we both stood there in silence. It was a little comical how we looked each other up and down before either of us said a word. I could feel my heartbeat increase as this beautiful, sweaty man towered over me, and I struggled to find the right words to say to him. "Heavy TV, huh?" I managed to say. That was some corny shit. I wanted to kick myself for sounding so idiotic.

He put the cap back on his head, backwards this time. "Uh, yeah," he said. I was taken off guard by his voice. Its depth definitely added to his appeal. "This is the last of it, as you can see," he said, pointing to the back of the empty truck. From the looks of him and the empty truck I gathered he’d been hauling stuff for hours. "You going to the gym, huh? That’s one of the reasons why I moved here."

I definitely liked the sound of that. I was already thinking about me in the gym with him standing behind me–-spotting me, of course.

"Well, it looks like you’ve gotten a pretty good workout already," I said, attempting a flirty smile.

"No doubt. I’m Daryl, by the way. I would shake your hand, but I’m pretty sweaty."

I extended my hand anyway. "That’s all right," I said. He wiped his hand on his shirt and enveloped my hand in his. I still felt some sweat, but I didn’t care; I just wanted to touch him.

"I’m Michelle. Yeah, I’m trying to get a good workout today. I haven’t been to the gym in a while because I haven’t had a partner to go with. Just been going by myself lately." I was lying my butt off and was surprised that even came out of my mouth, but I was glad I was bold enough to say it. Besides, it had been four months since I’d been out with a man. I pretty much wrote them off for a while to focus on my life, especially after my nasty little breakup. But now, I was ready to get back into the game.

Daryl definitely got the hint. "I try to go as much as I can. I would go today, but I have to take this truck back and get my apartment set up." It hadn’t dawned on me this man had more important shit to do. I guess I was thinking he would drop all his business and come be with me all day. I thought about how ridiculous and desperate I must’ve sounded.

I was just about to apologize for the implication when he added, "But, I’ll definitely check it out tomorrow. You go on Sundays, too?"

Hell no, I thought to myself. I usually didn’t work out on Sundays, but best believe I did this time. "Uh ... yeah," I stuttered, "I usually do the...uh...treadmill on Saturday...and dumbbells on Sunday." Shit, I was proud of myself for thinking up such a good lie, although I was stuttering my ass off. I wasn’t going anywhere that Saturday night, so I’d be well rested. Besides, I wanted to see his muscles at work. Maybe my fantasy of him spotting me would become a reality after all. I already decided I would need his help.

"Cool," he replied. "You go there around this time?"

"Um...Usually around ten. I sleep in just a little late."

"All right, then. I’ll see you there tomorrow."

I felt this explosive giddiness that was hard to contain, but, somehow, I did. "All righty," I replied, maintaining my cool. "Well, I’ll let you do your thing. See you later." I waved as I walked by, giving him a prolonged look and smile before turning around. Of course, I had to put a little wiggle in the booty, like ol’ girl did in Waiting to Exhale. As I turned the corner around his building, I saw him still standing there looking my way. I think the wiggle worked.

The next morning we both worked out, and I got to see his flexing muscles. Homeboy had a bo-dee! At least an upper bo-dee--I wanted to see his legs, but to my slight disappointment he was wearing loose sweatpants again. Aw hell. Nevertheless, you know I made sure to wear the same kind of sexy workout gear I wore the day before, though. I was working it, girl!

We were in there for about an hour just chatting away about everything; his apartment, his job, my job, school, our plans, etc. I was surprised at how easily our conversation flowed. I hadn’t had an intelligent conversation with a man in a long time. We were definitely hitting it off. And of course, while doing curls I made sure I couldn’t lift the dumbbells all the way without his help. It was all good.

In fact, it was so good we went to dinner and the movies that night. He wore a tan colored muscle shirt with a pair of slacks, looking like a man who had no business walking around without a modeling contract. I had it going on too, now. I styled my hair real fly and wore a black mini dress that hugged my petite frame well in all the right places. We looked so good we had everybody staring, girl!

He was the ultimate gentleman: holding the door for me, pulling out my chair, and all that romantic stuff. It felt pretty damn good. After three weeks of going out, though, I felt that Daryl was taking it too slow for me. I wanted him to get with him the day I met him. Oh, please! Girl, you know you’ve felt that way before, don’t lie. We kissed a few times, but that was usually at my front door after coming home from dinner or wherever. He even refused to come into my apartment when I invited him in a few times. Although I was the one rushing, I respected him for that. For a while I was thinking something was wrong with me or, worse yet, with him, but then he surprised me at work one Wednesday afternoon by inviting me to his time-share in Palm Springs for the weekend. He called and told me it was reserved for that Friday. Shit, I had my stuff packed that Wednesday night.

After packing his Blazer with our bags, we took the 15 Freeway that Friday afternoon after work. The drive was only a couple of hours from where we lived in La Jolla. Once again, we were laughing and chatting away, having a good time with each other. He was blasting old school hip-hop and R&B, the kind of shit I loved listening to in high school, like Doug E. Fresh, Heavy D, and Guy. I made him rewind "The Show" I don’t know how many times.

When we got there, it was so freakin’ hot! For some reason, although I knew Palm Springs was in the desert, I didn’t think it was going to be that hot. I was amazed at how nice his time-share condo was when we got there. It had a kitchenette, dining room, living room, and a large bedroom with one king-size bed and an adjoining bathroom. I was relieved to see that it was a one-bedroom time-share. It wasn’t my intention to roll up in there with this man and sleep in another room, you know. We didn’t say a word about who was sleeping where, but I gave him a big hint when I put my clothes next to his in the bedroom closet. He did not protest at all.

Friday night we drove around a little and checked out a couple of clubs. We decided our fun day would be Saturday, so around ten we went back to the condo. I guess I was dead tired from the heat and drive because I dozed off in the car. I don’t remember much after getting in except going into the bedroom and changing into a Palm Springs tee shirt and shorts. Daryl crashed on the living room couch, and I was soon knocked out on the bed.

I woke around seven the next morning, and, to my dismay, Daryl was not beside me. I remembered he slept on the couch, so I walked out into the living room to see if he was still asleep. He was not there, but I heard running water from behind a closed door across from the bedroom. I walked over to the door and opened it. I was pretty surprised to find a small office. I hadn’t even notice it there before.

The office actually had another bathroom and what I heard was the shower. I won’t lie; I was tempted. I wanted to tiptoe my sneaky ass over to the bathroom, creep open the door, and salivate over the chocolaty silhouette through the shower curtain. I am so pitiful!

After debating for a good minute or so, I shook my head, closed the office door, and went back to the bedroom.

I showered, made sure my short hair was cute, and changed into a pair of black nylon shorts and a pink halter. I wanted to show off as much skin as possible so Daryl would have no choice but to want me that night. With the kind of body a sista like me got, I was looking too good and he would know it.

After I left the bathroom, Daryl was already dressed, and guess what the man was wearing? You guessed it: another pair of sweatpants! As hot as it was, I didn’t understand why he refused to wear shorts, but I didn’t push the issue. He was still looking good as hell, though, with that fine chiseled upper body of his peeking from his black tank top. After putting on my tennis shoes and grabbing my sunglasses, we were out and on our way to IHOP. I know, I know. I’m dragging on, right? Hold on, it’s about to get good. After breakfast we did a few tours, rode horses, went to a couple of museums, and took a trip up the dirt hills. We must’ve walked a hundred miles and drank tons of water all day. While we were walking, I noticed that Daryl walked with a kind of sideways limp that I hadn’t noticed before. I couldn’t tell if his leg was hurting or if it was one of those pimp-walks brothas do. I didn’t ask because I found it sexy. Shit, everything that man did was sexy.

We were pretty tired and sweaty, but Daryl wanted to check out the casino that night. After being out in the sun all day, we decided to go to the room to shower and change. It was a little after eight when we arrived.

He showered and changed his clothes in the office bathroom. Once again, I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to see him naked right then and there--at least a quick peek. I just went with the flow and got ready. "Don’t rush, Michelle," I told myself, "you’ll get yours." I was anxious as hell to get the dry spell over with. They have a saying in Virginia that says, "Virginia is for lovers." Well, my "Virginia" was definitely in need of some good lovin’.

When he came out of the bathroom, I was baffled to see that he wore a different pair of sweatpants--again! I couldn’t understand it. Did this man own anything other than sweatpants? He was looking delicious, but damn. I really wanted to see more skin from him. Then again, I guess I did have the pleasure of seeing his chiseled upper body all day, so I chilled. I’m sure he knew I had been staring at his shoulders and arms, but he played it off like he wasn’t paying attention.

The casino was only five minutes away on foot, so we ignored the lingering heat and walked. We arrived at the casino and sat down in those small, uncomfortable seats in front of two slot machines next to each other. We both inserted twenty dollars into our machines and started pulling away. Within minutes, an older white woman with too much makeup and no business wearing a miniskirt walked up to us and took our drink orders. Daryl and I answered simultaneously, "Whiskey sour, please," and smiled at the coincidence. We were just smiling and chatting away, having a good ol’ time with each other. I forgot what we were talking about, but I know it was a good conversation. That man could be talking about geometry and still make it sound good.

After three whiskey sours and winning a little money then losing it all, my focus damn sure wasn’t on no slot machine because a sista was feeling a little tipsy. Constantly pulling on that slot machine handle was getting annoying as hell, especially since I was more anxious to pull on his handle. Daryl wasn’t winning that much either, but much to my chagrin, he went to the bar to break a hundred. I saw him and that sexy chocolate head of his five minutes later, strolling toward his seat with that lopsided limp, which really turned me on. Bowlegged men usually turn me on with that cowboy walk, but Daryl had his own thing going on. He flashed a smile at me, and I got shivers all over.

Since I knew I was going to be there a little while longer, I had already found another twenty in my purse and inserted it into my machine. I rested my head in the palm of my hand and pulled the handle.

"You getting bored?" he turned to me and said.

I turned and lazily responded, "Just getting tired of losing. Feeling a little tipsy, too."

To my surprise, he said, "We can go back if you want after I lose my twenty."

I feigned a half-hearted protest, but he knew I was ready to go. About twenty minutes went by, and I lost all my money. Daryl had about five dollars left in his machine, so I turned to watch him play.

Damn, I love the way his bicep flexes every time he pulls that thing, I thought to myself. I pretended to watch him play, but I was actually watching every move he made. I found my eyes fixating more and more on him, scanning his every inch, especially his smooth scalp. It was flawless--not one scar. His head is so nicely shaped, I kept thinking. I was so into this man’s head, I forgot everything around me. He had a tendency to do that to me. The three whiskey sours might have had something to do with it, too.

Damn, his head looks like a nice, round...milk dud. I love me some milk duds, too. I bet if I lick his scalp right now he’ll even taste... "Michelle," he said, scaring the hell out of me, "are you staring at me?" If he hadn’t said anything, I probably would’ve licked his head. That alcohol was creating some crazy fantasies, boy. I was a little embarrassed, so at first I tried to play it off.

"Oh no," I started, "I was just daydreaming about...," but then I paused. I was pretty tired of playing games with him, so I decided to let him know straight up ’cause a sista couldn’t take it anymore. Then I said, "About what the rest of our night will be like." I winked at him, too. Alcohol can take the jitters away, too, you know.

I could see the initial onslaught of surprise forming on his face, but he didn’t turn away. Homeboy knew what was up.

"Is that right?" he replied all sexy and stuff while leaning toward me. "Well, let’s go back to my place and see how it goes." He planted a quick, body shivering peck on my lips.

FI-NAL-LY! Shit, I barely remember our walk back to the room, but I know by the time we got in it was on! Yes, girl! From the front door, we were wrapped up in each other’s arms and slobbering all over each other. After bumping into furniture all over the living room, we got to the bedroom. I wanted him so bad, and I was feeling so drunk-sexy-horny that I tried to touch between his legs to get this party started right. To my shock, he pushed my hand and then me away. Everything came to a screeching halt as I sobered up.

He walked over and stood in front of the large dresser. I noticed a solemn look on his face, a quick change from the hungry look just seconds before. I was standing in front of him with the bed behind me, awaiting our imminent union. He put a quick stop to our lust, and I was pretty damn confused.

"Wh--what are you doing?" I panted. "Why did you stop me?"

"You’d better sit down," he sighed. "I have a ... uh ... little problem."

Aw hell! By the time I sat down on the edge of the bed, I slapped my hands on my knees, and I already decided he was too good to be true. I knew something had to be wrong with this man, and he was about to tell me. I didn’t wait for him to speak so I said, "What, are you gay?" My flame was still lit, but the fire was getting doused pretty damn quick.

"No, no, it’s not that," he replied, looking down at the floor. He seemed to have trouble talking, and I was getting increasingly irritated. "You have an STD, don’t you?" I knew it! He was too fuckin’ good to be true.

"No! I ... I..." he stuttered, but then he took a breath, exhaled, and said, "Well, let me just freakin’ show you."

"Show me? Show me what?" I was really confused when he said that. What is his damn problem? Then, all of a sudden he took his sweatpants by the waist and eased them down to his ankles. Girl, when he stood erect I found out what his "problem" was. Shit, I didn’t even know it could even be a problem. Any law of physics I believed to be true was demolished in that one instant because that man had the longest dick I ever laid eyes on!

That thing was so long, I swear he could have tied that bitch in a knot. Because of the length, now it made sense why he wore sweatpants all the damn time and why he seemed to walk with a limp. He even used some kind of medical tape to affix it to his leg so that it wouldn’t flop around when he walked.

Girl, it took me a moment to gather my senses. For a second I stared in amazement at the base of this man’s yardstick where his two dangling buddies hung, but then my eyes slowly followed the rest of this anaconda down. Not stopping until damn near between his kneecaps. I kid you not. After he took the tape off, it swayed like a pendulum from side to side, then rested in a straight but limp position between his legs with its head pointing toward the floor. Yes, I said he was limp, and the dick was still crazy long. It took me a moment--a long moment--to register the ridiculousness of this man’s length.

Girl, I swear nothing else was in the room; I was too fixated on that thing. I poked at the large head with my index finger and watched it sway back toward the dresser. It swayed back to me. I got all excited–-I think I even clapped like a little girl. I poked at it harder and again it swung to the back then calmly landed in the palm of my hand. His dick was giving me so much inebriated joy!

I was so into this thing that I leaned my head a little closer, eager to examine it. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the result of a birth defect where this man was born with another leg because it damn sure looked like one. I held it with both hands, surprised at how smooth it was. I moved it all around, feeling like a detective investigating a crime scene. I caressed it and felt it up and down. Seconds later, I watched it rise right before my eyes. I felt a throbbing sensation as it stiffened in my hands, and it didn’t take long for it to feel like brick. My God, this thing was now poking its Darth Vader-looking head right at me! Now that it was hard, for a second I had the insane thought of finding a ruler to measure it.

His dick stuck out like a diving board, so I tapped the "head" and watched it bob up and down. "Hee hee, haw haw!" I laughed, acting all goofy. "Bong! Bong! Bong! Look at it go! Look at it go!"

"Excuse me?" his baritone voice scared the hell out of me. "Are you having fun?"

I burst out in laughter and covered my face with my hands. I was embarrassed, but I couldn’t help it. This magnificent piece of flesh had me so mesmerized I totally forgot about Daryl standing over me. I looked up at him, and he stared down at me with a silly grin on his face.

"So, you think you can handle this?" he said.

Still tipsy and obviously not thinking straight, I said, "Uh ... sure." "There’s a condom in my pocket."

As I bent down to reach his pants, I bumped my head against his "head." I burst out in giddy laughter again. I was acting like a girl at a Ginuwine concert.

I probably took less than five seconds to find that condom. Hell, I was anxious to get freaky. Shit, I ain’t lyin’! I wanted to have the pleasure of spreading the rubber on that brontosaurus’ neck.

I tore off the condom wrapper, pulled out the lubricated glove, and rolled that bad boy on until that thing couldn’t roll any more. I was pretty surprised to see the condom actually covered the majority of it.

I know you don’t want to hear about how that freak of nature fit in the condom--you want to know how that big ol’ black ding-dong fit in me, right? Well, it wasn’t too long before we were butt naked, rolling around on the bed. It did, however, take me a little longer to realize that man was going to stick a twelve-inch rod between my legs!

I tried to say, "hold up" to stop him, but at that moment, he carefully wedged his bat inside my already lubricated love hole. Girl, after that nothing came out these lips that made sense. "Hold up" came out sounding like a garbled "Hoodiehoo," like I was chanting some song by Master P. The sensation of that huge python slithering inside my body paralyzed me. I think I even went into shock for a second.

Plus, you gotta remember I ain’t had none in four months prior to that and here I go breaking my long dry spell by knockin’ boots with a man hung like an elephant. What a way to jump back into the game, huh?

With every penetrating stroke, there weren’t enough synonyms in a Thesaurus that could explain the wild sensations ravaging my body. Ol’ boy was hittin’ spots down there that even I couldn’t touch with my trusty vibrator. Damn, that man had me sounding like I was trying to talk underwater. Talk about speaking in tongues.

Yes, it hurt, but damn it felt good! To prevent fatal injury he made sure to raise his torso higher so that he wouldn’t jab the whole thing in me. He was so careful and nervous, more concerned with my well being than his own pleasure. What a sweetheart.

That shit didn’t matter, though.

That man still had me flopping around that bed and kicking like a fish out of water. I was rubbing all over this head and screaming at the top of my lungs. If he‘d gone all out like a seasoned porno star my sister would probably be making arrangements for my funeral right about now.

My elongated dry spell combined with the length of this man threw civility right out the fuckin’ window. I didn’t even know I had that much cavewoman inside of me. Curse words flew out of my mouth like that man’s sick wife in The Green Mile. "Shit! Fuck! Damn!" In between my garbled screams, I think I even made up a word, something like "fuckalicious."

His accelerated pace caused prickly shots of pain that created an insane pleasure within me. My breasts flopped around like water balloons and my legs were numb. It didn’t take long for my whole body to be soaked in sweat. Weird gurgling noises resonated down below from the friction, his stroking, and my moisture. Damn, I was wet! Now I’ve been on the treadmill for thirty minutes and jogged in the sun before, but my body ain’t never produced that much sweat. Shit, I think even I dropped a few pounds from that there workout.

I gripped my nails into his back, unaware I was digging so deep. I thought the sounds he was making were grunts of pleasure, but I found out later that my nails were making mincemeat out of his massive back. I was pulling off pieces of flesh, but he didn’t stop me. I know it must have hurt, too. But, I guess if you think about it, the amount of scratches on a man’s back is a good indication of how good the rump shaking was.

After a while, I was getting used to the pain, so I managed to say "deeper" in a shrill voice. Shit, talk about the next frontier. "Wooooo!" I screamed. I thought I was already screaming loud enough but the decibel range of curse words and "Daryl this, Daryl that" reached a whole new level, along with my kicking and flailing around. Linda Blair in The Exorcist had nothing on me. I don’t know if I was feeling a sense of empowerment or having an "I am woman" episode, but all of a sudden I felt invigorated. I used my newfound strength to swing him around on his back and ... and ... damn ... I cringe every time I think about. Daryl slid out of me, and I found myself on top. I remember struggling for air and glaring at him with a devilish grin. I rested my sweaty palms on his meaty chest. While resting, beads of sweat dropped from my forehead into Daryl’s eyes. He cringed from the salty discomfort, but I ignored his eye rubbing. For some reason, I felt like I had something to prove. I was ready to get prehistoric on his ass.

To my amazement, super dick was still rock hard. It lay against his equally rock hard chest like a python, and the condom was still snug tight. Without thinking, I grabbed that piece of steel and held it up at attention. I felt like I was ready for war! Daryl was still trying to get sweat out of his eye, so he didn’t see what I was about to do. Like an idiot, using my feet and hips to raise myself up, I pushed myself down on him. And I mean, all the way down on him. Girl! Girl! Girl!

Shit, I didn’t even know I had skills like that. As for the rest of me, I could not move. I remember my mouth was wide open, but nothing would come out except stunted snorts. My body twitched with each shot of pain coursing through my insides. I think the blood rushing to my head and my desperate need to breathe and talk almost forced my eyeballs out of their sockets. Before I knew it, Daryl put both hands on my hips and gently pulled me off of him. Doing this caused the condom to roll off and everything. I lay on the bed gritting my teeth and trying to catch my breath, cringing from the pain. I was balled up in a fetal position with my hands between my legs. What the hell was I thinking? Trying not to cry, my eyes were shut tight. I didn’t know what to say to Daryl, so I lay there alongside the edge of the bed with my back to him, my lips sealed. When I slowly opened my eyes, Daryl had on his sweatpants and was knelt down in front of me, stroking the side of my body. His gorgeous face was inches from mine, and I could see his coffee colored eyes clearly.

"Why did you do that?" he asked with genuine concern in his voice.

It took me a moment to respond, but when I tried to say something, I realized I was shivering.

"I ... I ... d--don’t know," I managed to say.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head.

"Damn, it happened again," he mumbled. "Need me to get some ice?"

I didn’t think ice would’ve helped, so I said no. I really just wanted to lay there and eventually fall asleep. I hoped that sleep would take the pain away.

"You are drenched. I’m going to the bathroom to get a towel to wipe you off. I’ll also bring back a glass of water."

Soon after he left the room I heard the toilet flush; I assumed to flush the condom. I don’t think he climaxed. Shit, I still don’t know. I know I didn’t, but I’m kind of glad, believe it or not. I probably would have messed myself then. Minutes later, he came back with a dry towel and a tall glass of ice water. I wanted to stay in my fetal position, but a sista was thirsty. He knelt down next to the bed as I slowly raised myself up and rested on my elbow.

"Thank you," I gasped.

Loud gulping sounds from my throat soon followed as I tilted my head back to swallow. I didn’t stop until the glass was empty.

"Damn, you were thirsty," he said with a funny face.

I placed the empty glass on the nightstand, a little embarrassed to face him. I smiled a little, but I still didn’t want to move too much, so I rested my head on the pillow. Strands of hair stuck to my head from the dried sweat. I’m sure I looked like a mess at that moment, but I just didn’t care.

Daryl got back in bed behind me and the soft feel of cloth soon caressed my arms, back, and neck. I was still hunched in a fetal position as he gently rubbed me down. When he dried me off as much as he could, he massaged my back and shoulders with his large hands. I was surprised by his soft touch. That felt really good, enough for me to forget about some of the pain.

"I’m sorry," I said, feeling guilty and not knowing why.

"No, baby, I’m sorry," he replied, with that deep sexy voice. "We just have to work around this. I’ll buy a year’s supply of KY Jelly."

I chuckled a little but the pressure in my belly made Virginia hurt a little more. Shit, it even hurt to laugh. The "year’s supply" comment made me feel good, though, knowing this man wouldn’t mind maybe spending another year with a crazed woman. However, at that same moment, I had a crazy thought: Damn, I’ve never been screwed so hard before in my life. We didn’t go on for more than thirty minutes, but it felt like thirty hours. Boy, that was some serious shit. And now I’m laying here sore as hell and crunched over with this beautiful man stroking my back, and I can barely move. This is so humiliating, and this shit hurt. I know he can’t help being that big, but can I handle this? Is he worth it? I don’t know how long he stroked my back but the next thing I knew I was struggling to open my eyes trying to figure out where I was. It took only a second to realize I was in the bedroom in Daryl’s time-share. The pain between my legs was magnified, like a person who hadn’t worked out in a while but went all out at the gym after a long break. I was alone when I awoke, but I heard the toilet flush soon after I opened my eyes.

Daryl came out the bathroom moments later wearing a robe, smiling when he noticed me awake. I wanted to smile, but my grimace kept me from doing that.

"Good morning," he said. "I have a robe for you. How are you feeling?"

I sat my naked body up very slowly. I could feel shots of pain with every inch of movement.

"I am so damn sore," I said in a hardly audible voice. "Will you help me up?"

He came to my side of the bed and held my hand. I raised up and he wrapped the robe around me. I felt like a damn eighty-year-old woman.

"Thank you," I said as I walked past him toward the bathroom, my feet sliding across the carpet instead of taking actual footsteps. Of course, it hurt like hell to pee. Yeah, I was pretty damn miserable. Matter of fact, I was so miserable, we came home early that day. My whole body was sore, even my arms and legs from flinging around so damn much. I was kind of embarrassed for how crazy I acted the night before. I even apologized for making him come home so early from our little vacation, but Daryl was very understanding and caring. He took care of me from the time I woke up until we got to my apartment hours later. I really didn’t want his help–-I was doing somewhat all right with my hunched over walk–-but he insisted on helping me to my bedroom. He even went back down the two flights of stairs to get my bags from his Blazer. I guess he felt as guilty as I did. I really wanted him to leave because I didn’t like him seeing me like that. He gave me a goodbye kiss and told me he’d call later on. I say this because here I am in my bathtub twelve hours after he left with the suds covering my body and the warm water soothing the sore spots. It’s a little after ten at night and I barely did much today, besides lazing around the house and taking some painkillers. I’m glad I took Monday off because I would hate going to work like this.

Daryl called a little while ago, but I just couldn’t reach the phone in time. Quite honestly, I didn’t want to speak to him, though. Which is what I was talking about earlier: my issue. Should I still see a man who can literally demolish my insides after making such a man of myself? I can’t say enough about that man. He is just too perfect, and I’m sure a lot of women wouldn’t mind being with a Mandingo-type like him. Shoot, men I’d been with in the past had shriveled up dicks looking like extra belly buttons. Daryl, Daryl, Daryl. That man had my head spinnin’! Shit, and that dick, boy … wooo. The eighth, ninth, and tenth wonder of the world, you hear me?

I loved stroking my hands around it, caressing it. I couldn’t get enough of it deep inside of me. And to think of what it made me do… Uh, you know what? I need to shut up. Shit, I hit the fuckin’ jackpot. Here I am complaining about the most perfect, handsome, stable black man I’ve ever encountered, and I’m talking about maybe dumping him? Shit, girl! I must be outta my damn mind! Am I dumping him? Hell naw! That’s like giving away the winning lottery ticket! And you know black folks don’t hit the lottery too often!

All right, girl, I’m gonna let you go. It’s funny, though, when I was really into it–-I mean, when it was really into me--I remember thinking about doing it in my favorite position: doggy style. I am so glad we didn’t. Probably would have hurt like hell! Ha! I can’t think of a better way to leave this world, though. Can you?

Aw hell, I’m going to call that man back right now and let him know I had a wonderful time in more ways than one. We definitely will have more weekends like that. I just need to find a way to get out of this damn tub and crawl my ass to the phone.

James Lewis, the writer of this intense, but funny story, welcomes your feedback. You may email him at biglew@hotmail.com

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Rescue Me

by Deardria Adri Enne Nesbitt

"You know you've got to kiss me when you're undressing me, Chey," Islande played. CheyAnta kissed her lightly on the lips. "Where is she?" Islande slurred. CheyAnta shrugged. Islande was amusing. "She likes you, Chey. You gonna fuck her?" She asked.

"She likes you too," CheyAnta replied. "You wanna fuck her?" CheyAnta surprised Islande into partial sobriety. CheyAnta was on her knees in front of Islande unbuttoning Islande's shirt. When she exposed Islande's breasts it immediately turned CheyAnta and Islande on to the point of embarrassment. They searched each other’s eyes for an answer to both their problems. It was in there somewhere.

"I want you, Eece. Are you going to deny me?" CheyAnta asked softly yet bold. So enthralled with the mixed aromas of the liquor and Islande's own sweet scent, any other time she would've aggressively taken Islande. For some reason, she felt to ask.

Islande stood. Sliding her exposed torso against CheyAnta's face and without a word, left the room. It baffled CheyAnta to no end. She knew Islande would never leave her hanging without a good reason, but Islande's reaction was odd.

In the room alone, CheyAnta slowly undressed completely in front of her Victorian mirror. She examined her body and noticed she was losing the sculptured features she was known for. Especially her stomach. She wondered if her weight gain turned Islande off. For the moment, she promised she would make more of an effort to fit the gym in her busy schedule again. She slipped on her pajama pants over her bare bottom and slid her top over her bare breasts. The graze of the cool, silken material felt especially good over her hardening nipples. She shut her eyes at the affect. She was definitely aroused. She left the top open (as usual).

Monica came out the bathroom with nothing on but a dark green towel wrapped around her. CheyAnta smiled at Monica's boldness. She was always direct and to the point. CheyAnta liked that about her. Monica didn't waste any time slipping her cold and wet arms around CheyAnta's body. They kissed deeply. It soothed CheyAnta's brain into libidinous bliss. It also got her accustomed to Monica's temperature until they were both warm.

"I like your bathroom," Monica bantered to CheyAnta's amusement.

"Hmmmmmmm. That's right. You've never been up here before," CheyAnta moaned pressing Monica's body against hers into a slow grind and kissing her repeatedly.

"You never invited me," Monica tried to speak but CheyAnta's passion was engulfing her quickly.

She just closed her eyes and tried to give CheyAnta what she wanted and ended up pushing CheyAnta against the wall. It didn't stop CheyAnta one bit. Loving to kiss, CheyAnta was so deep into Monica's mouth, she could've touched her tonsils. But as though she knew CheyAnta wanted her, Islande came back into the room and quietly watched until CheyAnta noticed her standing on the door.

Still engrossed in an intensely passionate kiss, CheyAnta's smoldering eyes met with Islande's sexual concern. CheyAnta could tell from all the signs written all over her baby's face. Islande's pouty lips parted slightly; she was catching her breath. Islande's hands caressed the contours of her own shapely body, nude underneath one of CheyAnta's pajama tops; she was yearning. Her sexy, light brown eyes went low and cat-like; Islande was waiting on a signal to make her move toward them. She hesitated. CheyAnta motioned her to come forward. Monica was totally unaware of Islande's presence, which charged CheyAnta even more. Islande still hesitated. Monica began to kiss, lick and suck on CheyAnta's neck and while pinching her nipples, until she hungrily began to suck on them. CheyAnta was slowly losing control but she tried to seduce her beautiful Islande over to rescue her. CheyAnta's eyes closed for a second. She had to catch her breath. She was slowly losing composure. Monica was devouring her body, pleasurably.

When she opened her eyes she could see Islande's nude body at the door. Islande licked her fingers and slipped her them down between her legs. CheyAnta wanted more than anything for Islande to come to her without disturbing Monica's feast, so she resorted to pulling the towel off of Monica and letting it drop to the floor. Once again CheyAnta extended her hand to Islande. This time, without hesitation, Islande approached them shedding the pajama top altogether. Islande pressed up behind Monica comfortably. Her crotch perfectly equal to Monica's round ass. The pressure made them all moan with pleasure. Islande's eyes never leaving CheyAnta's sexy gaze, they both smiled before they engaged in a loving kiss.

As their slow grind intensified so did their love sounds. Islande's hands moved freely along Monica's smooth body with intensity at the same time she was trying to get as much of CheyAnta as she could. Monica being sandwiched between two towering women, was the loudest that tickled Islande into kissing her to quieting her. Never doing this before, Islande became so intense she almost lost her bearing so CheyAnta slammed the door shut and moved her to the bed where they all continued to search, fondle, observe, bite, tickle, lick and kiss each other feverishly. Their sweaty bodies mingled for an hour before both CheyAnta and Islande decided

to deviously and selfishly double-team Monica until she climaxed at the point of exhaustion.

When Monica fell asleep, Islande and CheyAnta fell into each other’s arms as though that was their original plan. Their urgency to be there for each other was evident as they again fought each other sensually to be on top. Although CheyAnta ended up on top, it was Islande who made her shutter uncontrollably to tears. Islande wasn't far behind when she quaked in CheyAnta's loving arms. Although depleted, for the first time, they both lied awake for an hour in silence. Their bodies practically glued together and a lot on their minds, they held each other tighter than they ever had before and drifted off to sleep.

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