"Mmmm..." I purred with pleasure, like a sleek black panther drowsing in the sunset. "Just think Rodney, after were married we'll get to do this all the time."
"Yeah, Kylie ... Fuck yeah..." His rich voice was soft and I smiled at the sound of it.
"Shhh ... Don't talk, Rodney ... Keep licking..." I nodded happily as my big black stud went back to his happy task.
Big black stud, yeah right.
I had to stifle a giggle as I mentally corrected myself. Rodney had seemed imposing at first, when my father had introduced us and especially a few weeks later, when the man had asked me out on our first date. Rodney was tall, over six feet and solid, if not exactly muscular. He was trim and well proportioned, enough so that all of my female friends took quick notice and expressed their envy. His face was handsome enough, black with dark brown eyes and thick, soft lips. He had a nose that was neither too broad, nor too flat, thank goodness. I don't know why, but I have a thing for noses and most black people have ugly noses, I think.
Yes, Rodney did give the appearance of a big black stud, and he had something of a reputation. The word does get around and my best friend, Janisha, is a bit of a Nancy Drew when it comes to checking out boyfriends, hers, mine, anyone's really. She likes that sort of thing, and so I'd gotten the full report. How Rodney had some eight or nine different girlfriends in college, all of them pretty, all of them black, but they just hadn't worked out for some reason. Of course Janisha, being Janisha, wasn't go to stop without a reason but try as she might, all she could get out of Rodney's old flames was that the man was sweet, gentle, and passionate.
That wasn't much of a reason and Janisha had been decidedly unhappy.
It didn't matter though, I knew the reason now. I'd learned it on our third date, which is the one where most men, even the sweet ones, try to get a little more than a kiss goodnight. I was a virgin, but I wasn't entirely innocent and I'd been prepared to make out a little, to let Rodney have a little skin, albeit briefly and only after we were parked in front of my parents' house. I'd let him touch my breasts if he really pushed for it, but Rodney had been much more interested in touching me someplace else.
I'd dressed nice, being the 19 year old college coed I was, and some people would call me a Black American Princess probably, but I didn't care for that stereotype a whole lot. I came from middle class suburbia and I think my attitude and morals reflected that. I'm pretty, even beautiful now as a young woman finally, with my long black hair straitened so that all the tight curly kinks are at the ends. I like it that way and it suits my high cheeks and upturned nose. I have a heart shaped face and lips which are full and sensual, rather than just thick. My pout is only slightly ruined by the smile that plays perpetually at the corners of my mouth, and mirrors the playful humor of my bright brown eyes.
I wore an angora sweater for my date, soft and blonde; it hugged my body nicely, showing off my 34C breasts and the narrow 22 inch waist beneath them. A modest skirt, black and hemmed two inches above my knees, was fitted around my 32 inch hips. It was just tight enough to prove to the world that all black girls don't have huge booty. My ass is tight and round and nicely firm and I can do magic tricks with it, like making men walk into parked cars at the mall as I saunter past. The skirt showed off plenty of leg too, because I have some long ones, smooth and brown like the rest of me. They're the secret of my five foot nine inch height and I do like the view from there.
So, I have a nice body and I'm proud of it and I was offering it to Rodney as we sat parked in his car after a pleasant evening out, or at least some of my body. I'd already made it clear that I was a virgin and determined to stay that way until I was married. It was an idea planted by my parents at a young age, nurtured carefully and soon to be harvested, I knew. I was nineteen and with my looks and personality I wouldn't remain single for long and that was fine with me and my parents. Our difference of opinion was something else, something as plain and obvious as the difference between black and white.
But that's getting ahead of myself.
"Goddamn, you're fine as hell, girl..." Rodney breathed, stroking my bare thigh with one hand while he cradled me with the other.
"Don't swear." I chided him with a giggle. "It isn't nice."
"Sorry baby." Rodney leaned his mouth close to mine for another kiss and I closed my eyes, accepting his thick wet tongue into my mouth and teasing it with my own.
His hand moved a little higher and I murmured my muffled protests, putting my hand on his and moving it back to my knee where it belonged. He wasn't going to force me, I knew that. Rodney was a good boy, but like all boys he wanted to get his fingers into the cookie jar. I could control him though, which had surprised me a little. The few black guys I'd dated previously had been a little too aggressive, a little too eager, and when I'd shut them down it had made them unhappy. I hadn't gone on a lot of second or third dates with those guys.
Rodney was different, he would test the waters and when I told him no, he'd just smile and nod and go back to wherever we'd been before. Either he really did respect me, or he just didn't have the courage to assert himself, and I wasn't exactly sure which. Obviously I was rooting for respect because as much as I'd gotten annoyed with those other guys, I did like a man who knew what he wanted and was willing to push the envelope to get it. That didn't stop me from dropping them like rocks though and I suddenly wondered if maybe Rodney hadn't checked me out too. That was a little scary, but men aren't that devious and I put it out of my head.
We kissed a little more and it was getting warm inside that car, the windows were fogging up and I could feel my body responding. It was nice and I was waiting for Rodney to make a move for my tits when I felt his hand moving on my leg again, but not up, not towards my skirt and the forbidden treasure beneath; Rodney was moving down, massaging my calf and lower, twisting his body and breaking our kiss as I looked at him in the dim light.
"What are you doing?" I smiled and Rodney had found my left foot and he was slipping off my shoe slowly.
"I just want to touch your feet." He said softly. "Okay?"
He sounded as though I might actually say no, which made him seem guilty somehow. I've been accused at times of reading too much into a person's tone of voice, or choice of words, but believe me when I say I'm very good at deciphering such signals. It's where my woman's intuition lives and my closest friends know it. Some of them refuse to even speak with me on the phone if they're trying to keep a secret from me, like a surprise party or whatever. Rodney was hiding something and there was a tremor in his fingers to match the flutter in his voice.
"You want to give me a foot massage?" I asked, thinking it was a little odd perhaps, but there were certainly worse ways to end a date.
"Oh, God yes." Rodney licked his lips and I giggled, turning and moving away so I could lean against the car door and present the man with both of my feet in his lap.
"Okay, sure. I'd love a good massage." I grinned and watched the man remove my other shoe, inspecting it for a second, even lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply before setting it carefully aside.
"No tickling." I warned him.
"What?" Rodney grinned and I realized he wasn't teasing me.
This, I quickly discovered, was a man who loved feet. As pretty as my face was, as perfect as my body seemed to most people, Rodney's infatuation lay squarely across his thighs. My size six feet, all brown on top, pinkish between the toes, and rather light along the soles. He massaged them one at a time, using both hands to knead and squeeze my foot, not tickling me at all, but making it feel delightfully wicked. This was a sexual thing, there was no mistaking it, and I could feel the bulge of Rodney's straining cock trapped in his trousers. He was getting off on it and I was growing moist and my nipples burned just watching him.
"Is that what you like best, Rodney?" I asked him, coaxing the man gently to tell me the truth. "Do you love my feet?"
"I ... I don't know why." He looked at me and I had a sense that this was probably about the place so many of his previous relationships had abruptly ended.
"Use your mouth." I suggested after a wonderful five minutes of foreplay, because that's how it seemed.
"You mean it?" Rodney swallowed thickly and he smiled at me with such gratitude that I felt like I was ten feet tall suddenly.
It was the look in his eyes that affected me most. The sheer adulation I witnessed there was unmistakable. I probably could have suggested nearly anything and Rodney would have done it. He wanted to please me and for whatever reason worshipping my feet was the key, the ritual the man needed to perform in order to gain satisfaction sexually. I didn't pretend to understand it and I could see how a girl might be a little freaked out by it. It's one thing to have a man's respect and admiration, but to have him literally groveling at your feet? It's unexpected and not always what we're looking for.
"Tell me what you want." I told him, wondering how he'd respond. "Tell me your fantasy, Rodney."
"My fantasy?" He looked at me, clearing his throat and Rodney seemed so much smaller just then. "I just ... I want to..."
"You can tell me, I don't mind." I promised him. "I want to understand, okay?"
"I want to make love to you." He kissed my foot then, pressing my skin to his face. "I want to make love to your feet, Kylie. You have the most beautiful feet I've ever seen."
"Hmmm..." I nodded, but I was just buying time while I tried to sort this out.
I liked what he was doing, it felt good, but I just didn't understand what Rodney was getting out of it. I'd never had a man love my feet before. I'm a quick study though and what I lacked in experience I made up for with my outgoing personality, which often demonstrates itself in strange ways of its own. In this instance, when Rodney brought my left foot to his lips, kissing the soft arch of my foot gently, I pressed my right foot against his swollen member, rubbing his cock through his pants and making the man jerk with pleasure as much as surprise.
"Take out your cock, let me see it." I told him and it wasn't a request at all.
I was telling him to do it, commanding him, and just like that our relative positions were established forever. Our relationship had just taken a large step forward and there was no going back.
Rodney opened his fly with one hand, refusing to let go of my foot as I moved it, brushing the tops of my toes lightly across his rough cheeks. I was playing with the man's face, stroking him with my foot and he turned his head this way and that, kissing and licking at me while his hand cupped my heel gently. He freed his prick blindly and I immediately pressed my right foot against it, feeling it thick and hot the way a man should be.
I pulled my foot from his mouth, because it was getting late and a little voice in my head was telling me it wouldn't do to spoil the man. I didn't say a word and Rodney seemed almost incapable of speech by then. I brought both of my feet to his cock, bending my knees and catching it in the natural gap created as I pressed my feet together, heel to heel and toe to toe. His cock was caught between the soft pale arches and I began working the soles of my feet together, up and down Rodney's rock solid shaft.
It was slightly awkward and a minor strain on my thighs, that unusual motion in the cramped space of Rodney's car, but I was able to do it easily enough and Rodney just stared at me, at my feet as if hypnotized. His cock was stiff and straight as iron, hot and thick and not huge, but normal and average as most men are. I was jerking him off with my feet, working the soft insteps up and down, sometimes together, and sometimes separately. I was teasing him and giggling as precum spilled out from his circumcised glans, running thin and watery in the yellowish light of the streetlamps outside.
"Do you like this Rodney?" I breathed, because I was enjoying it very much and my excitement was building.
"Yeah ... Yes..." He nodded.
"You love my feet, don't you?" I smiled and he nodded emphatically, pressing his palms against the seat so he could lift his body, pushing up with his cock in an effort to fuck my feet.
"Are you my foot slave now?" I wondered, stopping all movement and actually pulling my feet away from him slightly.
"Kylie ... Yes, please, I'm your foot slave." He agreed and he was reaching for my feet, needing them once more on his aching cock, but I stopped him.
"Don't grab my feet." I warned him, sounding stern and Rodney's brown eyes went wide with fear, that's the only word for it. "Never, ever grab my feet, Rodney. I don't like it."
"They're my feet, not yours." I told him. "This is my body, all of it."
"I know, Kylie ... I'm ... I didn't mean to..."
"And don't lie to me either." I snorted. "When I want you to touch me I'll tell you where and when and how, understand?"
"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, I..."
"I know, we're just learning." I lowered my voice and rewarded him with a smile. "Go ahead; you can hold my feet now."
"I'm sorry, Kylie. Thank you." He gave me a look of genuine affection and my heart lurched. Honestly, it was something I'd never seen in a man's eyes before and it made me warm all over.
"Put my feet back on your cock, Rodney ... Yeah..."
I reached between my thighs, under my skirt and rubbed my pussy through my panties, not caring anymore what Rodney might or might not see. He didn't care what I was doing between my legs anyway, he just wanted my feet.
"Rub your cock with my feet ... Uh-huh ... Jerk yourself off, Rodney ... I want to see you cum on my feet..."
I spoke softly, telling the man exactly what I wanted him to do, what I expected to see, and it was precisely what Rodney himself wanted. For the first time in my life I found myself compatible with a man of my own color, sort of. I had plans and ideas, even then, although I hate to admit that. It's true though because Rodney was so vulnerable, like a child really, and almost any woman would have understood immediately how easy it would be to take him for her own. It's instinctive and in our sex, it has nothing to do with who we are personally. It's a woman thing.
"Keep jerking off ... Fuck my feet, Rodney ... Fuck yourself with my feet..." I pulled my panty aside, unable to resist the need to rub my fiery clit.
"Kylie ... Oh, please ... I'm going to cum..."
Rodney was squirming, holding my small delicate feet in his big black hands, sliding them around his penis, up and down and my skin glistened with his precum. It was between my toes and covering the soles of my feet. On my ankles and running down his dark shaft.
"Cum on my feet, Rodney..." I rubbed my clit harder, moving two fingers around it in a tight quick circle, getting closer as I stared at the man in front of me. " ... Cum for me, darling ... Show me how much you love me, Rodney..."
"Kylie ... I love you ... Oh God..." Rodney arched his back, pressing my feet hard against his cock as it jerked suddenly, sending a jet of creamy semen arcing though the air to land on his stomach and chest, staining his Lacoste polo shirt.
I was cumming then as well, my legs straining as Rodney held my ankles tight, but I didn't mind. I was rocking my hips, rubbing my clit hard with one hand while digging the fingers of my other hand into my breasts. It was insane, jilling myself off like that in front of the man, watching him get off on fucking my bare feet. It wasn't normal at all, but somehow that made it even better. We'd just had sex, I vaguely realized. I was still a virgin, he hadn't penetrated me or anything, but what we'd done had been sex. There was little doubt of that and as I came down from my orgasm I felt every emotion you can think of.
I was self-conscious and a little embarrassed, even slightly confused because this wasn't exactly what I'd planned on, and how we'd reached this point wasn't absolutely clear. As I looked at Rodney, at his semi-hard cock wet with his orgasm, and my own feet covered with his spend, I felt a little anger, or resentment is a better word. I wasn't angry, I just felt like he'd used me somehow, although clearly it had been my decision. I'd allowed it to happen, but I did feel tricked and it was bothering me because I knew I hadn't been.
"Clean it up." I told him, and that was how I was venting my emotions. "With your mouth."
It was my revenge, possibly, or something ... Sadistic? I didn't think I had a sadistic bone in my body. The words were coming out of my mouth however, unbidden and unplanned, but voiced through my lips and Rodney looked at me for a long heartbeat.
"Lick that mess off my feet, right now." I told him.
I expected Rodney to laugh at me, or tell me I was crazy perhaps. But maybe he'd been through this before with one of his previous girlfriends and she'd dropped him then, took her beautiful cummy feet and walked away from Rodney and his perverted desires forever. Whatever had happened previously, whatever the reason in his mind, Rodney didn't refuse me.
He lifted my right foot carefully to his mouth and licked his cum from my foot slowly. I watched that pinkish tongue extend from his black mouth and gather the sticky mess slowly at first, but soon he became almost eager and after several minutes I was surprised to see his penis growing hard again, standing stiff as he sucked all five of my sperm covered toes into his generous mouth.
"I guess you do love my feet, don't you?" I giggled. "Are you my cum eating boyfriend now, Rodney?"
"I don't ... know." Rodney looked unsure of himself, but the milky stain on his lips and the hardness of his cock told both of us all we needed to know. He'd enjoyed licking his orgasm from my feet.
"Yes you do." I smiled at him, pulling my feet away and leaning close to him.
I reached for his face tenderly, stroking his skin and rubbing my thumb over his lips, gathering what little remained of his cum and pushing my thumb into his mouth like a small brown cock. He suckled it for me, his eyes locked on mine as I worked my thumb in and out so that there was no mistaking the symbolism of the act.
"We need to talk about this." I told him. "If we're going to keep seeing each other."
"Do you want to?" Rodney asked and he cleared his throat, putting his shoulders back, as if attempting to regain reassert his maleness, his strength and size.
"Yeah." I smiled at him. "I do. I like you, Rodney."
"I love you." He said but I shushed him with a tiny shake of my head.
"That's sex talking." I laughed lightly and he frowned, casting his eyes down briefly. "We don't know each other well enough for that."
"You're right." He agreed quietly, but it was obvious he didn't doubt his feelings. "You won't tell anyone about ... this. Will you, Kylie?"
"What?" I rebuked him with a look. "Of course not. It was nice and it was ours, nobody else's business"
"Okay." Rodney smiled. "Can I call you tomorrow?"
"Yeah." I nodded. "You can call me."
He kissed me on the lips and I even opened my mouth for a little of his tongue, but I can't say it excited me. The idea of tasting his sperm was slightly repulsive, but that had nothing to do with Rodney specifically, it was just me. He deserved the kiss anyway and I was happy enough to give it to him. It would restore his confidence, I hoped, strengthen his trust in me and in what we'd shared. I very much wanted his trust, you see. I'd need every bit of it that the man could give me if I was going to realize the vague plan growing in my head.
If Rodney would love me that selflessly, with the adoration and devotion I'd witnessed earlier, it would be the answer to my dreams. Maybe. I puzzled over it as I lay soaking in the bathtub at my parent's house. Dad had been waiting up for me, of course, and doubtless he'd noticed Rodney's car parked outside for that long while, but he held his comments and questions and I just smiled, wishing him goodnight. Daddy liked Rodney a lot, both of my parents did, and I already knew they thought he'd make me a fine husband.
But would he?
Our fourth date and I don't think I'd ever had four dates with one man before, so this was virgin territory, so to speak. I'd dressed a little different for it, a little sexier than I usually did, and Rodney seemed to appreciate it, especially the white fishnet stockings I wore. They had tiny diamond shaped holes and wide lace tops hugging my thighs, hidden just above the hem of my black mini-skirt as I stood there and becoming all too visible when I sat down in the passenger seat of his car. They made my legs seem even longer than they really are and it was outrageously sexy. I wore a tight fleece sweater above the skirt, sans bra for a change, and my nipples, which are perpetually hard anyway, protruded against the soft fabric like long black bullets. It was a warm, itchy sensation that was going to drive me crazy all night.
The real eye opener for Rodney though was my shoes. He took in my ripe tits with a wide smile, and my hips and ass beneath the tight skirt, and my impossibly long legs, he liked that look just fine. When he saw my shoes though, the black leather slings with their open toes, delicate ankle straps, and three inch stiletto heels, Rodney forgot to breathe. His mouth fell open and he trembled with excitement and I wondered how the man ever made it through a day with such an intense fetish.
I felt only slightly underdressed as Rodney had shown up ready for a real date, in a casual suit and tie. He did look nice that way, I had to admit, and if I'd been the sort of girl who went for black guys, Rodney would have really turned my head. As it was I merely appreciated his appearance, more than I was attracted to it.
I teased him mercilessly through dinner. While we talked pointedly about innocent things, safe topics like my university studies and Rodney's new job as an accountant for my father's plumbing company, I had my stocking feet in his lap under the table, wriggling my toes against an erection that must have been excruciating for the man. He said very little while I smiled and talked incessantly, aware of the admiring looks and lusty stares of the other men around us as we sat in the restaurant.
They were white men for the most part, sitting with their wives and girlfriends and families, but glancing at me, wanting me, and it was intensely exciting for me. This was not the Kylie anyone else knew, this deliberate sexuality on display for the world to see. Beautiful was one thing, but I was playing the sexual predator just sitting there, and that was new. It made my heart pound and I was working hard to live up to my appearance, sitting upright with my shoulders back, head high and looking around occasionally to catch the eye of a man, staring at him with a small smile until he'd turn away. It was a power I'd never fully appreciated before and I was enjoying it.
Poor Rodney was enjoying it as well, eating slowly and shifting every few minutes, sometimes dropping a hand to his lap as if he might touch my feet, but I'd give him a small shake of my head, perhaps a soft word...
"Don't." I warned him, feeling Rodney's fingers brush over my toes.
"Sorry." Rodney breathed, bring his hand back up, above the table and I rewarded him with a hard push of my left foot against his hidden cock.
"Did you see my father today?" I asked him innocently. "Did he ask about us?"
"Your dad?" Rodney lifted with his hips, wanting more pressure and I dug my toes between his thighs, spreading his legs so I could press my foot against his balls.
"Yeah." I giggled. "Daddy. Did he ask about our date last night?"
"He ... Yeah, I talked to him a little." Rodney blinked as I worked my toes up and down, rubbing the base of his cock through his thin wool trousers.
"What did he say?" I wondered, taking a small bite of my veal.
"He, uh..." Rodney licked his lips. " ... He asked me if we talked about marriage."
"Marriage?" I laughed at that and Rodney glanced around nervously as a number of men took advantage of the excuse to look at me openly.
"Yeah." Rodney nodded and then smiled sheepishly.
"What did you say?" I prompted him.
"I told him that we ... we're taking it slo-oh!" He leaned forward as I pressed the ball of my foot hard against his penis.
"Slow, huh?" I nodded. "That's a good answer."
"Yeah, I thought so." Rodney nodded, making a little face as he recovered. "I think he expects me to, um ... propose soon."
"Daddy likes you a lot." I agreed.
"I noticed." Rodney took a sip of his wine. I was only nineteen, but Rodney was twenty-three, and so he liked to try and impress me with things like expensive wine with our dinner. I wasn't sure my dad would approve of that, but I wasn't going to tell and I drank very little of mine anyway.
"So ... Are you?" I teased him and I was wondering if I couldn't make Rodney cum just sitting there.
"Am I what?" Rodney smiled at me.
"Going to propose soon?" I giggled.
"I don't know." Rodney was lowering his hand again because he couldn't help it. "It depends..."
"Depends on what?" I asked innocently and then wagged my finger. "Uh-uh-uh, Rodney..."
"Yeah, okay ... Whew." He laughed and brought his hand back where I could see it.
"You were saying?"
"What, oh, well I'm not going to propose until I know that you..." He paused and I waited with a smile. " ... You know, uh, that you love me too."
"Ahhhh..." I nodded. " ... I think we still have a lot to learn about each other before that happens, don't you?"
"Yeah." Rodney nodded, not wanting to believe that probably. He was in love with me already, I knew, and it wasn't just infatuation with my feet.
"I have to go back to the college." I told Rodney once we were in his car, an old BMW 325i that he'd bought his senior year in college.
It was a black guy thing, in my opinion, like the bling Rodney was wearing underneath his button down shirt and striped tie. I'd seen it before, when we'd first met and he'd tried coming onto me like a reformed gangsta from the hood. Maybe a lot of black girls were impressed by that charade, but I wasn't and I'd let him know immediately my opinion of pimp wanna-be's and black inner-city counter-culture in general. I was doing him a favor too, believe me, my dad had worked hard to get a nice white house in a nice white neighborhood and black was good, my dad liked to say, but nobody likes a nigger.
Rodney had dropped the nigger act quick after that.
"Back to your dorm?" Rodney sighed. "I thought maybe you'd like to hit a club or something."
"I can't." I shook my head as he started his car. "I have early classes tomorrow. Friday we can go dancing if you want."
"You want to go out on Friday?" Rodney smiled at that and it was the first time I'd actually suggested a date.
"Well, if you're going to be busy, I guess..." I teased him with a theatrical sigh.
"No ... Nooooo..." Rodney grinned at me. "I'm not busy, baby."
"So how many girlfriends have you had before?" I asked him, thinking maybe the fourth date was a good time to get personal, but I was probably being rude.
"Girlfriends?" Rodney glanced at me. "A few, I dunno. I don't keep score."
"No notches on your belt?" I giggled.
"No, nothing like that. I went on a lot of dates in college." He shrugged. "Nothing was ever serious."
"Okay." I shrugged. "No kids?"
"What?" He laughed. "Damn, girl, you jump on a man with both feet, don't you?"
"Well, I just don't like surprises and nowadays ... You know..."
"Yeah, I mean no." Rodney said seriously. "I don't have any kids."
"Good." I nodded. "Me neither."
"Do you want kids?" He asked me.
"Yeah, someday." I smiled. "Not now. I have to finish school but in a few years, maybe, if I find the right guy."
"You haven't found the right man?" Rodney looked at me for a second as he drove, making it obvious he thought I had.
"Maybe." I gave him a speculative look. "I haven't decided yet."
"If you do, will you tell me?" He wondered and I giggled.
"You could be the first to know." I shrugged.
"Well, you could be the last to know, too." I laughed at his little scowl.
It wasn't far to the university since we were already downtown and Rodney pulled up in front of my dorm.
"You can park over there, if you want." I nodded toward the parking lot.
"Uhhh..." Rodney smiled, trying to figure out what I was suggesting.
"I mean if you want to come up to my room for a little bit." I offered and my heart was stuttering because this was going to be a little strange if he said yes.
"Well sure, yeah." He nodded, just like he had to. No man was going to turn that down and I hoped I knew what I was doing.
"Here we go..." I said softly, unlocking my door and reaching for the light switch. It was the moment of truth and probably I should have waited a few more dates, but I was in a bit of a rush, the way I too often am.
"Alright..." Rodney cleared his throat, walking in and looking around, naturally.
It was a typical single room, not very large or anything, but comfortable enough. I had my bed against on wall, a desk and bookcase, both piled high with books and notepads and papers. My laptop was sitting there and near my bed I had a little nightstand. I had a mini-fridge with a small aquarium sitting on top of it, my three angelfish swimming around lazily. Some clothes scattered around, but I was usually kind of neat anyway and I had a dresser and closet and I knew how to use them. I turned on my desk lamp and then the lamp on my nightstand, giving the room a much more pleasant and warm glow than the fluorescent bulb on the ceiling offered and I turned that off.
What was catching Rodney's eye, and what I was feeling nervous about, were my choice of decorations. It was my dorm room and in it I was safe and private and my parents weren't ever going to see it, and so I'd put up some posters. Pictures of white men mostly, well built and beautiful and posing as lifeguards in their tight red Speedos, or as half-dressed policemen and firemen, that sort of thing. I had a few centerfolds too, real ones with gorgeous men posed nude, showing off their hard bodies and long thick white cocks. I had those near my desk and I'd spent a lot of time smiling at those guys.
"Oops." I giggled and pretended like I was embarrassed as Rodney took in my small collection of softcore porn, which wasn't hard to do since I was more than a little self-conscious right then.
"Nice room." Rodney said slowly and whatever he might have been thinking about his beautiful black girlfriend having a bunch of pictures of white guys in her bedroom, Rodney didn't say anything.
"Thanks." I smiled. "It's my home away from home. You want something to drink?" I looked at my fridge. "I have some diet Pepsi I think, some water..."
"No, uh-uh." Rodney was looking at me now, taking in my legs and breasts, but his eyes always returning to my feet.
"What do you want to do?" I asked him softly, licking my lips as I stood there, posing for the man.
"Shit, Kylie..." He breathed, shaking his head like he wanted to do everything.
I giggled, feeling myself trembling inside because I'd never had a guy alone in my bedroom before, which was what my dorm was, after all. I sat on my bed, finding my Ipod on the nightstand and it was connected to some small speakers on the floor. I thumbed it, crossing my legs for Rodney, letting him see the tops of those white stockings and some smooth brown thigh above the lace. Trevor Jones started playing softly, the 'Last of the Mohicans' soundtrack, which is my favorite movie of all time and the music is so beautiful. So romantic.
"Why don't you sit down?" I stared at Rodney who was still standing in the middle of my room.
He looked at my desk chair and started to pull it out, but I stopped him.
"No, sit down here, Rodney." I pointed at the floor near my feet.
"You want me to sit there?" Rodney licked his thick black lips and I nodded slowly.
"That's where you belong, isn't it?" I tilted my head inquisitively. "At my feet?"
"Yeah." He looked embarrassed and I wished I knew what I was doing.
"So?" I laughed lightly. "Sit down, I want you to show me how much you like me."
"I love you, Kylie." Rodney said softly as he moved, kneeling in front of my bed and my left leg was over my right, my black leather shoe off the floor in front of his face. I moved my foot up and down, teasing him with it.
"That's what you keep saying." I said. "But how do I know you mean it?"
"Kylie, please." Rodney looked up, into my face. "I've never known anyone like you and last night ... Right now..."
"You like it, don't you?" I agreed, drawing a deep breath. "You like it when I tease you, don't you?"
"Yes." Rodney nodded and I moved my foot left and right for him, as if I was trying to hypnotize him.
"Why do you like my feet so much?" I asked him reasonably. "Is that all you like?"
"I don't know." He shrugged helplessly, trying to keep his eyes on mine, but my foot kept stealing his attention. "I like women who are..."
He sighed, searching for the words and perhaps frightened that I'd laugh at him, but I had no intention of hurting the man's feelings.
"Do you like strong woman, Rodney?" I asked him. "Do you want a woman who can put you on your knees, the way you are now? Who tells you what she wants?"
"Yeah ... yes, that's what I like." He swallowed thickly. "I love you because you're so strong."
"You're so beautiful..." He was looking in my eyes now, desperate to share the truth of his confession. " ... I don't deserve you. No man does and you ... You're better than everyone else."
"Am I?" I wondered and it was hard not to laugh, but only because his words thrilled me. They were so far beyond my own opinion of myself, the way I really was. I was a confused girl, little more than that, lost in my own secret desires and hardly strong at all.
"You're like a ... Goddess." Rodney told me and he almost winced when he said that, as if I'd strike him for being so ridiculous in his praise.
"Am I your Goddess, Rodney?" I breathed, hardly able to contain the nervous energy rushing through my blood.
"Yes." He whispered, lowering his eyes then, past my foot and all the way to the floor.
"Always? Am I your Goddess everywhere, Rodney? All the time?" I asked him. "Or only like this, when we're alone?"
"Always, Kylie." He promised. "You're my Goddess everywhere."
"You don't care what people might think?" I sounded doubtful. "If I told my friends about us, about how you worship me, you wouldn't care?"
"I don't know." Rodney answered honestly and I appreciated that. "All I know is I need you. I want to make you happy, Kylie. That's more important to me than anything else."
I didn't know what I was doing and some of the things we were saying seemed so far out there that I had a hard time believing them. People didn't talk like this, did they? Nobody could be so selfless in their love as Rodney was suggesting. I didn't think I could be, but I didn't know. I'd never loved anyone enough to find out. I almost envied Rodney; if I could step out of our relationship and view it as an outsider, I would have been jealous of his love. It was so complete, it seemed to me, and brutally honest. He'd opened himself and the slightest word from my lips could wound the man deeply and I wondered if he'd been hurt that way before.
I hoped not, I really did. Rodney didn't deserve to be punished for what he felt, nor especially for expressing it. That took real courage, more than I had, and his attentions made me feel like a fraud. I wasn't worthy of them, I knew, and I was using him, which filled me with a sudden sense of guilt, pushing my pleasure aside momentarily. I couldn't let this go further, not without telling him the truth about me. If it hurt him, wouldn't it be better now, at the beginning, rather than later? I hoped so and I prayed I knew what I was doing because I did feel the stirrings of love, not the sort I might have for a husband, or the father of my children, but a love that was beyond mere friendship. Something undefined and in between and I had no idea how to deal with it.
"Rodney ... Look at me. Please." I said gently, waiting until he lifted his deep brown eyes once more. "I have to tell you something, okay? And I don't want to hurt you or make you mad or anything, I just..." I sighed. " ... I have to tell you."
"What is it, Kylie?" He set his face against whatever fear or anxiety he felt, and I found myself admiring his strength.
I was frightened, unbelievably so, but I drew some of that strength from Rodney, believe it or not. He was my example, my inspiration if you will, and I wanted to emulate his honesty and perhaps, by telling him my secrets, I'd somehow be worthy of his love. But that seemed so remote as I composed my thoughts. He wouldn't understand, he couldn't. He'd see this as a betrayal, I was sure, and I hesitated before determining that I had no choice. I had to do it and if I spent the rest of the night crying because of it, I would at least know that I'd done the right thing.
"I like white guys ... White men." I said hesitantly. "I love them. I ... I want to be with them, with one of them, someday. I don't want to marry a black guy. I don't want to have black children, Rodney. I want white babies and a white husband and..."
I ran out of words with my eyes closed, I didn't want to see the hurt I was causing him.
"Why?" Rodney asked and I had no answer.
"I don't know." I shrugged, opening my eyes finally, searching his face for understanding. "I just do and nobody knows. I don't have a white boyfriend or anything. I just ... I dream of it, Rodney. Finding the man I'll love. I dream of him and he's always white."
"Do you want me to leave?" Rodney said after a minute of silence and I realized my eyes were wet.
"I don't..." I blinked and wiped at my cheeks. " ... No. I don't."
"What do you want from me?" Rodney looked sad, but he wasn't angry.
"Rodney, I don't know." I shook my head. "I like you a lot. Maybe ... Maybe I love you, I'm not sure, but..."