Best Black Women's Erotica

by Blanche Richardson

  “Sure,” Peter said, “we can strip down.”

  Carolyn could hardly keep herself from grabbing Peter’s nice chunky dick. And knowing it was still warm from Sara’s pussy made her want to hold it and stroke it that much more.

  “I don’t think so,” Carolyn found herself saying, more to caution herself not to reach for Peter’s dick than in response to what he had just said.

  “What about you two putting on some teddies?” Ahmed suggested.

  “Oh, you just happen to have some teddies?” Sara asked. She was sitting up, but left her skirt hiked up so her crotch was still visible.

  “As a matter of fact,” Ahmed said, “yes.”

  “Well, why don’t you two put on the teddies,” Sara said playfully.

  “Why not? I’ve always thought I would look good in one of those,” Peter said without skipping a beat. He and Ahmed turned and disappeared into a back room. Carolyn looked at Sara.

  “Girl, that was seriously hot. That boy can fuck!” Sara said. It surprised her that she didn’t feel any embarrassment knowing what Carolyn and Ahmed must have seen. In fact, the thought of them watching was sustaining her feeling of arousal.

  “I saw. Are you up for this foursome thing that we seem to be moving toward?” Carolyn was definitely interested in jumping on Peter’s dick, but she wanted to make sure her friend was comfortable with it.

  “Maybe so,” Sara said. “Why not? How was Ahmed? Does the boy know how to crunch the noonie?”

  Before Carolyn could answer, they heard Peter and Ahmed returning. They looked up in anticipation, aroused by the possibility of fucking en quatre. Instead, they had to look away to keep from bursting out laughing.

  “Clunky clothes?” Carolyn asked.

  The two guys stood there in all their manliness, with their broad shoulders, muscular calves, and rusty knees. They were bursting the seams of the teddies, their dicks poking against the sheer material, making little tents in front of them. Ahmed had gone the full nine yards and wore a garter belt that matched his maroon teddy with lace trim around the leg openings. But the garter belt was too small and couldn’t stretch enough to get over his calves. It was stuck in the middle of his legs, causing him to waddle like a duck when he tried to walk.

  Sara began to snicker. She covered her mouth to try to control herself, but the snicker was fast becoming a chuckle. “You…you two, look…” Sara pointed first at Ahmed, then Peter. And then she lost it.

  “What?” Peter asked, feigning offense, “You don’t like this color on me?” Peter’s teddy was lime green with a forest green bodice that didn’t quite cover his massive hairy chest and erect nipples.

  Carolyn was laughing just as hard as Sara was. They tried to control it, but then Peter said, “We could try stretching again.”

  “I think there’s enough stretching going down already,” Carolyn said, and the two women lost it completely. The more they laughed and the harder they laughed, the more Peter knew he had gone too far down the path of no return. There would be no more pussy tonight.

  “How did I make such a major miscalculation?” Peter said to Ahmed. “Shit, not only did I blow the four-way, I won’t even get a second round in Sara’s sweet nookie pot.”

  The guys sat down on the floor and their balls fell out of the lacy leg holes of their teddies. Ahmed’s fell out to the right, Peter’s to the left. Carolyn and Sara took a look at the pitiful sight and their laughter became uncontrollable. Every time they looked at Peter in his green and Ahmed in his garter belt, they broke out in a fit of laughter more riotous than the last.

  All these years later, Sara fingered the garter belt her friend had sent in the mail. She couldn’t believe it had brought back such detailed memories, or that she’d forgotten that very hot and very funny night. Remembering the sight of those two in teddies, she laughed so hard she started crying. She used the garter belt to wipe the tears from her eyes.

  Peter had indeed been right. The laughter ruled out any more sexual activity. The hot foursome evaporated in the women’s irrepressible spasms of laughter. It had taken them close to an hour to stop laughing and crying and slobbering. When they got themselves together, they accepted Ahmed’s offer of a cup of coffee before they gathered their purses and jackets. Ahmed gave Carolyn his garter belt as a souvenir and the women thanked their hosts and left.

  “I know, man. I know.” Peter said when the women had gone. He wouldn’t even look at Ahmed, who was glaring at him.

  “Teddies are permanently crossed off the list of get-in-their-panties routines,” Ahmed said. “I mean, draw a picture of one, put a circle around that bad boy, and put a thick red line through it. As a matter of fact, put two thick lines through it!” He pulled off his teddy, tearing the lace. “That shit was all up in the crack of my ass and squeezing my balls. Man, I sure hope I didn’t do any permanent damage.”

  When Carolyn and Sara got in the car they started to chuckle.

  “Don’t start again, girl. I’ve got to drive. Do you realize it’s almost daylight?” Carolyn said.

  “How time flies when you’re with the Teddy Boys,” Sara said, leaning over and holding her stomach as she collapsed into hysterical laughter all over again.

  Bring On the Bombs: A Historical Interview

  Nikki Giovanni

  “It was tense all over the South all the time and not just because of the Brown decision. It was tense well before that. Things like the Depression didn’t help but, my goodness, things like freeing the slaves didn’t help either.” She laughed. “I guess if we could have gotten rid of the tension, put it to a vote, don’t you know, a lot of folk might, just might, have said Well, Let’s Go Back to Slavery and Everyone Will Be Happy.” It was a throaty laugh, deep like a kitten purring. “But you know those folk who live with us who really hate us would never be satisfied. Not ’til the last one is dead or so totally humiliated. What did Mrs. Parks up in Montgomery say? Why Are You All Always Pushing Us Around? Now that’s my kind of woman. It just had to stop!

  “We were running the newspaper. That’s all he had ever really wanted. He loved journalism. We pushed real hard when the New Orleans bus boycott happened. We really tried to get the word out. Funny. Everyone remembers Montgomery but most folk have forgotten New Orleans. We always thought that without New Orleans, Montgomery would have been twice as hard. And, Honey, it was hard enough as it was.

  “Course the main difference was King. Rosa Parks was the candle, was the light, don’t you know, but King was the flame. Oh, that young man used to stop by our home to talk with L.C. We always presented him as the fine young savior that he was. Everybody talking about King was unsure and unworthy and all those terms people use when they are in the presence of greatness and don’t know how to react. Hhhhpf! I never knew a man so comfortable in his skin. He knew exactly who he was and what he had to do. And was smart enough to let everybody think they were teaching him. He and I used to sit here some evenings waiting for L.C. and he would start in with questions so I knew he knew what had to happen. Martin, I would say, don’t work me over. I know the drill. I’ve watched you. And he would just crack up. Lots of folk think he got it from Daddy King but if you ever saw Momma King work a room you’d know exactly where he got it from. We’d have a mint julep, which everybody knows isn’t really a drink, and wait for L.C.

  “We didn’t travel much during those days. I’m partial to trains because I’m from a teeny tiny town and the train would go through in the morning and come back in the evening, that’s the way I looked at it then. It was coming and going. I don’t know where I thought the tracks ended but it was like this great big play toy rumbling through and all I could think is I want to be on it. After Momma was killed and Daddy left town, but you know, we never did see Daddy again and I always thought they were together somewhere. I would dream about them and they would be all dressed up and happy. They would be smiling at me telling me to be a good girl. I guess I always thought they were together. I would cry in my sleep some
times but now I know what I thought is they were dead only when you’re a little girl you don’t know that so I just saw them together. The man who killed my mother lived in town. I used to see him when I went to the store. People would talk and nudge and whisper. I always stared at him. He drank a lot but lots of folk drink a lot, and they didn’t kill my mother. She was pretty. I used to hear folk say he ‘forced’ her. It took me the longest to understand what that meant. The people who reared me were good people. They didn’t want to talk about it much so I didn’t talk about it. One day my father, my adopted father, took me for a walk and told me everything. We never talked about it again. What could anyone do? Momma was dead. The white boy did it. And that was that. I must have been twelve, thirteen years old. I know now he told me because I had become what is called ‘a woman.’ They wanted me to be careful. I wasn’t the one who was not ‘careful’ but that’s the way we looked at things then. What they wanted was for me to be ugly and to carry myself in an ugly way so that nobody would think of me as...Well, you know. So I tried all my life to be unattractive. Clean. Neat. But unattractive. Wouldn’t you like a cup of coffee?”

  The kitchen was not the kitchen of a woman who cooked. There were fresh cut flowers on the counter, a dishcloth with wonderful little birds on it, a rack for stacking washed dishes, an oval rag rug on the floor, a round mahogany hand-planed table with six chairs. “If this table could talk,” she continued. “Oh, so many people passed through this kitchen, sitting at this table, discussing how we were going to change the country. Thurgood Marshall was a regular and you know, there was never a nicer fellow. No matter how bad things looked he could spin a story and have all of us laughing. Wily Blanton, too. Wily had that twang so white folks never knew they were talking to a colored man until they actually saw him. Wily was a total crack-up. But brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Those men taught all of us how to get through tough times. Some music, some laughter...and well, some strategy, too.

  “My father, my adopted father, died just before I finished high school. There was never any question of going to college anyway. L.C. used to come by the house to sell insurance. When things were going well he would take us all to the movies. But he would sit next to me. And hold my hand. I have an old friend who used to always say to me: if an older person wants a younger person, the younger person doesn’t stand a chance. I never thought like that. I was thrilled back then. But maybe I didn’t stand a chance. Kind of like old Uncle Ernie always putting his hands in the wrong place. Who could you tell? What kind of sense could you make of it? You just worked very very hard on never letting him get you alone. Of course, the grown-ups are so strange. Don’t they notice anything? Don’t they see how uncomfortable, no, distressed, you are? But they just drink and laugh and leave you out there by yourself to try to figure it out. L.C. wasn’t like that so maybe that’s why I trusted him. Anyway, after my father, my adopted father, died and I graduated from high school I married L.C. Seemed like those were my choices: marry L.C. or get murdered.” That laugh again. “Well, maybe not exactly but women have really tough decisions to make. You know who I admire? Mrs. Parks. I guess the world admires Mrs. Parks, but the older she has gotten the more feminist she has become. She’s one tough old bird. People were jealous and tried to act like she didn’t know what she was doing but she damned well did. She knew ever since Emmet Till that somebody had to do something. Talk about a wake-up call. The horrible murder of Emmet Till rang a resounding bell to everybody. The Brown decision was in but the South was having none of it. As Roy Wilkins said It Was Because He Was a Boy. Those men murdered Till to show all the parents what they would do. But Till put some iron in our backbone. Everybody had to stand up. I’m not a mother, at least I didn’t birth children, but can you imagine the pain of Till’s mother to go reclaim the body and then open the casket?

  Jet and Ebony ran the pictures, as did The Afro-American and The Pittsburgh Courier. So did we. We ran a special issue. So the tension was high and getting higher. Then came Rosa Parks and King and Montgomery.

  “We really thought Little Rock was, well, different. There was talk but most people were for obeying the law. Ike wasn’t much of a president no matter how you cut it and his remarks about the Supreme Court were regrettable but still nobody thought it would come to what it did. The school board reassigned the students; they went to register for Central High and we thought everything would go smoothly. There was an election going on but no one thought Faubus would have a chance. George Wallace down in Alabama had said when he lost his first election that he would never be ‘out-niggered’ again. Well, talk about ‘out-niggering.’ Faubus just stirred up the hate but he couldn’t stir what wasn’t in the pot. I have never understood the depth and breadth of white hatred. I’m glad I know it’s not all of them. But something so crazy happens. All of a sudden normal-looking people start to spitting at you and tearing your clothes. Normal-looking people start to kicking children and pushing them down stairs. Normal-looking people are so incensed they are calling for blood. No one ever had to tell me what it was like that Friday on Gethsemane. Everyone was screaming for His blood except for a few of His friends. The crowd was so bad He told John to take His mother home. People were calling to release that thief Barabbas. But what did He do? What had He done? I always knew what it must have sounded like. The crazy screaming. The hatred. People haven’t changed all that much, have they? The city started to go crazy. You could feel the tension. Still we thought everything would go smoothly. The police chief was suppose to take care of things. We did hear rumors that people were coming from Mississippi, Louisiana, Memphis but we weren’t expecting what we got. Mobs hanging around. The national press, thank God, started to report so we weren’t alone but it was frightening. Reverend Taylor was the NAACP head but he was an elderly gentleman and he thought with the coming troubles we had better get a younger person in the leadership position. He proposed that I run—which I did, and I was elected. Now, I was the one to find a way.

  “We started meeting with The Children to work out how this would go. I didn’t want them caught off guard if I could help it. Of course, everyone knew who I was so there were phone threats and all. Still, we weren’t too worried. Well, the night before The Children were to go to Central, the mob was getting frantic. You could feel it all over the city. Faubus called out the National Guard and forbade The Children from entering the school. We didn’t realize until too late that Elizabeth Eckford who didn’t have a phone had not been notified. That’s the picture you always see of the girl trying to walk away with the mob screaming for her blood. God, that was awful. But we pulled through. Still the calls, hanging me in effigy, all the threats were really bothersome. We had our guns, we’re country people so we know how to hunt, and our neighbors had their guns watching the block for us. We had this really beautiful picture window in the living room. I think a lot of houses had them, that 1950s-type GI housing. I used to love to turn off the lights and watch the stars through that window. Well, when the trouble started we pulled the curtains. But the second or third night we heard the glass break and a brick came sailing through. I was coming down the stairs when it happened but I wasn’t struck. The glass was flying and L.C. came running in. I think I may have been cut a little but mostly my nerves were frayed. There were too many people in my house, there was too much hatred in my hometown, there was too little possibility of help coming. Well, just everything came together or I guess I should say fell apart. You asked me what was the most thrilling part of my participation in history? I can tell you it wasn’t just The Children integrating Central and being safe. Ernest’s graduation was mighty satisfying. No, it wasn’t the awards we all received. If a low spot was losing the paper, a high spot was reopening it even though it took ten years to do it. It wasn’t even the President’s Medal which never in my wildest dreams had I thought I would receive. No.

  “I started crying and it just escalated on me. I went, I guess, from tears to sobs to some kind of hysteria. I just could
n’t control myself. L.C. put his arm around me and started for the back of the house. That bathroom there, in fact. Reverend Taylor was at the table with some people and Chris said to him: Daisy and I Need to Be Alone. I learned later Reverend Taylor just pulled his chair up to the bathroom door with his rifle across his lap. Chris pulled me into the bathroom and looked around for the candle. We kept candles in each room because of the storms. I always like good-smelling candles in the bathroom so he lit them and the scent of lavender flowed. Chris put the stopper in the tub and ran a hot bath. He started unbuttoning my blouse and he was talking real soft, like you do to a crying baby or a wounded animal. He was kissing me and whispering to me while he took my bra off. I had chill bumps but I knew I wasn’t cold. He was brushing my hair back while unzipping my skirt. He kept rubbing my back and my skirt fell on the floor. He pulled my half-slip over my head taking my arms way up high. His mouth was all over me, his fingers were playing inside my ears, then his nails were softly grating down my back. I tried to push his arm and found my fingers in his mouth so I traced his teeth then his lips then his chin. He pushed my panties aside and took control. I don’t know if I screamed or dreamed that I did but it seem as if he lifted me by my middle and put me in the tub. He pulled my panties off as he settle me in the tub. We had the old-fashioned claw-footed tub so I was mostly sitting while he took the Sweetheart soap and rubbed under my arms, over my breasts, on my legs, and then he put it right next to me. I got to tell you my teeth were rattling. Chris was my husband and I liked him and didn’t mind doing my wifely duty but this was something else again. He practically made me sit on that soap and I broke out in a sweat. I never thought it would have been possible to want anyone as much as I wanted him right then. I was trying to pull him into the water but he just kept going over and at me with his mouth and the soap and the water. His shirt and tie were dripping and his pants were wet. I stood up because I couldn’t take it anymore and when I stood he took both his hands and opened me and whipped my middle with his tongue. I felt like I was on a boat riding a fifty-foot wave. I tried to step out of the tub but I needed him to put his hands in my front and back to keep me steady I was trembling so much. As he lifted me down my hands were on his zipper. I didn’t want to wait to get his pants down I needed him then. I don’t know how we ended up in the chair but Chris was sitting there and I was on top of him. Lord, what we must have sounded like. When he didn’t have any more to give I unbuttoned his pants and thanked him properly. We both just trembled and trembled. You know, Chris was much older than I was and always very solicitous of me. But this time he owned me, possessed me, made me feel the power of his love without apology. He took my head in his hands and guided me back to him. He let me know how much it meant to him. We moved back to the floor where he took his pants off but the shirt and tie were too wet and too much trouble. He lifted my legs over his shoulders and all I could say was Yes. Chris said, Daisy. I Want You to Remember This When the Mob Hollers Tomorrow. I Want You to Remember to Come Back Home to Me.