This is a fantasy about my high school track coach. I hope you enjoy...
I saw him across the room, dancing closely with a woman I didn't know. He was behind her, the backside of her body enticingly close to him, and I could tell he was enjoying it. He didn't see me come in, and I felt the thrill of anticipation as my friends and I moved toward the other side of the room. We grabbed some drinks and moved to stand near the dance floor by some people we knew. I, seeing Jimmy, separated from the group and went over to surprise him.
I slapped his ass as I drew near him and said, "Hey, Coach."
He turned to me and smiled. "What are you doing here?" he laughed. "I thought you were out of town."
"Yeah, my plans changed." I replied. He was looking at me mischievously.
"What?" I asked him. He only smiled more broadly as he replied, "Nothing. Nothing at all."
I was a voluptuous woman of about 5'9" with green-gold eyes outlined heavily in liner and promising but not overly full lips that were naturally a pink-red I had to constantly work to sedate. My hair was naturally a dark blond that I highlighted a light golden color to add depth. I am on the thick side, but carry my weight well. I have large, round breasts and a flat stomach, full hips and thick thighs that curve into my nice ass. I was wearing a green wrap-around silk dress with long sleeves split up the sides, a low cut bodice cut to my belly button, and a wispy A-line skirt. My strappy sandals and long, flowing hair completed the outfit with a few small touches including my hoop earrings and glistening costume rings. I also had added a new accessory -- my thick, silver armband that shone on one of my upper arms. I, I must say, was a knockout.
That night we had a lot of fun. He doesn't drink, but he paid for all of mine. I had always wanted him, and had had him once, but circumstances were such that it was a one-time affair. He was about 5'10", with blue eyes and long, full lashes. He almost looked Hispanic -- the color of his skin was a tanned olive, but he was just a nice mix of black woman and white man. He was built like an athlete -- large upper body, muscles big enough to make any woman cream. His hips were slender and calves rounded, and he had an ass that made you want to bite into it. He had large, well-formed lips like most black men do and well-placed cheekbones that set up his eyes to seduce. His only fault was his teeth -- the front two on the top were in the shape of a "V" and one was longer than the other. But it was really rather minor; even as a "teeth person" who was kind of anal about nice teeth in men, I was able to overlook that flaw. He didn't have a flat stomach -- it was rock-solid muscle, but his physique was just not made to entail a washboard under his chest. It, along with the broad, thickly muscled shoulders and pecks, made him look bigger than he was.
Personality-wise, he was a bit of a gamer. He could charm little girls, crones, and women alike, but never left them feeling like he was a player. He was a nice guy; always helpful, thoughtful, happy. He said a lot of what he thought and not too much all at the same time. Even to those women practiced in the art of not melting by sweet man-words he was atrociously charming and unassuming.
He was a black man, but not a thug, and highly educated as well. He really seemed quite simple until he opened up to you, then he let you catch a glimpse of his depth and it was very surprising. He coached and taught at a medium-sized high school and had degrees in history and recreation. He was really the full package: smart, educated, good-looking, charming, fun, and affectionate. But there was always the feeling that he was holding something back. That he was watching you and gauging you to see how you would react to the small tests he threw out. That for all his sincerity, he was not totally honest.
I think that's what drew me to him. The ever-elusive mystery. It was a challenge and I wanted to play him the way I knew he was playing everyone else. I would crack the lock.
At some point that night, a slow, sensual song came on, and he pulled me to the dance floor. He turned my back into his front and brought my hands down to my sides as we swayed to the music. His hands glided down the outsides of my arms and I leaned back against him, eyes closed in sensual overload. His hands approached my wrists and his fingers intertwined with mine as his chin came to rest on my left shoulder. I could feel his breath on me, moist and hot, blowing over the little hairs at the intersection of my shoulder and neck. He started lifting his hands, taking mine with his, raising my arms slowly until they were up over my head. He forced my fingers to twine with each other like hands held in prayer. Then he again trailed his fingers down my arms, this time on the undersides, over the thin skin of the inside of my elbows and the tender spots near the joining of arm to torso. He gave me goose bumps and my nipples had hardened. He was making love to my body, paying homage to it, in a public place. But it was anonymous there, in that club. No one cared who we were or what we were doing -- there were dozens of other people doing dirtier things on the dance floor than we.
His hands continued their descent to rest on my hips, using them to drive my body to the music's rhythm. Back and forth he moved them, his fingers burning holes in my body, melting me in time and forcing me to be his alone. I couldn't feel anything else. I had no sense of time, no thought besides a primal yearning for him. My arms came down to twine around his neck behind me. He gently nibbled on the soft skin behind my ear, tongue softly dragging around the outside of my ear. My neck and nipples were a desert of goose bumps, and my breathing was becoming harsh and inconsistent. His lower body was not grinding into me, but I was aware of each and every movement he made with his pelvis; every brush, every touch ignited my lust more. The swooping circles my hips were making allowed for an intense contact in both of us. I was quickly dying a slow, hot death. I knew I needed him that night.
All of a sudden, the song ended. I guess I knew that it couldn't last forever, but it just seemed so abrupt... I felt lost for a moment. My arms fell from around his neck to my sides and I leaned up from his body, standing straight and on my own once again. I turned to look at him and found myself pulled into his arms, one of his big hands on my face, turning my head to accommodate his mouth. It was slow and enveloping, like being thrown into a bed of pillows. He used his lips well, taking my lower one between his big ones and holding it hostage to his tongue. He bit softly into the tender flesh, sending a spark of electricity through my body, eliting an animal need in me I had never felt before. I clutched at his shoulders, my legs no longer deeming to hold me. He put both arms around me for support, wrapping them around my waist with one of his hands splayed out on my back. He didn't stop kissing me for a second. His mouth continued its magic path of lust, and I could not think clearly for all the gold in Egypt. His kisses gradually became smaller and less enveloping, his arms relaxed their grip, and his body began its slow pull from mine.
I opened my eyes and he was looking at me. I was blinking rapidly, trying to get my bearings and make his face focus. His expression was a mixture of confusion and awe. I'm sure mine was a mirror. We looked at each other, oblivious to anything around us, trying tocome to terms with what had just happened. A sound penetrated my consciousness -- I jerked to reality, looked up, and saw a cluster of people around us, applauding. I felt my face flush and I raised my palms to my cheeks. Jimmy had the puffed-up look of a man who was just caught doing something very masculine. His hand came up to rest on the small of my back and he led me off the dance floor. My face red with embarrassment and my mind and body still shaken with current events, I went with him easily. I would have gone wherever he had taken me at that point.
He guided me out of the club and we walked down the street toward where I assumed he had parked. Slowly my mind was clearing and I started to come around.
"Jimmy! I don't have my purse or my phone and I didn't tell them where I was going..." I was quickly becoming overloaded, hands gesturing frantically.
"Hey, babe, it's ok," Jimmy's soothing voice was calm and reassuring. "Your friends saw you leaving and brought me your stuff on the way out. I have your purse and your phone and also your sweater. Everything's okay."
"Oh..." I said, suddenly feeling awkward. I took a deep breath and tried to decide how I was going to talk to him about what had happened. I felt such a connection with him on the dance floor -- our body chemistries must be perfect for each other -- but I didn't really know him. I didn't know what I was getting into and I knew that after sleeping with him once with no strings attached he might think he was in for the same thing. But I didn't want that anymore. I was done with loveless relationships and physical pleasure without intimacy. Besides, I was quickly deciding that I was more than in lust for this man. This man, who showed me how intelligent he was but how he had to hide that intelligence. The man who had made me love myself all through high school with his pretty words and affections.
As we reached the car I knew I was running out of time.
.... There is more of this story ...