By the Piano Man
I don’t think we liked each other at first. Even though I thought Beth was pretty, I assumed she was a dumb Midwestern redneck and she thought I was some Uncle Tom because of my white dinner jacket and my smooth demeanor.
The first time I saw Beth she was working as a waitress in the Denver bar where I played piano on the weekend. She was from Iowa and you might describe her as ?perky’ and hardworking and you’ve seen a thousand like her every four years when the media descend on Iowa for the Primaries. Her limbs were long and her waist was slim; small, high breasts, ample hips and a nice round butt completed the picture. Straight, black hair hung to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She showed her Welsh ancestry in her porcelain skin which freckled in the sun and her cornflower blue eyes. I used to think she looked like Jackie Kennedy (yeah, I’m that old) or maybe Audrey Hepburn but now I think she looked like Juliette Binoche (who was probably about 11 then).
Like any good waitress, she moved quickly and lightly on the balls of her feet and she also had a tendency to bounce in place up and down in place when she was excited. I often saw her move through a crowded bar carrying four plates of food or two trays of drinks without a mishap or even spilling a drop. There was an air of competence about her and she was often smiling and laughing even when everything was chaotic. When Beth laughed, her cheeks pushed up into her eyes and gave her an almost oriental look. And yet there was something about her in the quiet moments that suggested a great depth and high passion.
My day job was as a medical specialist at Fitzsimons Army Hospital. I had come back from my second tour in’ Nam’ as a Platoon Sergeant with the 101st Airborne and I had switched my MOS because I was tired of leading my men into firefights, death and maiming for no discernible purpose. Now I was helping to save what was left of their lives in rehab. I still had to coax and yell at them, but I felt much better about it. Besides that, I could go home every night and forget about my work.
I was about 6′-5″ and when I was in the airborne, I made it a point of pride to be fitter and faster than anyone in the unit. I was balding and my mustache was starting to show some gray but I still ran every day and did push ups, chin-ups, squat thrusts and worked out at the Dojo.
Being home had its own set of problems, though, and my family was not used to having me home all the time. My wife and daughters had evolved their own system and she resented my attempts to alternately discipline or spoil the teen aged girls. The loss of jump and combat pay was also a problem so I took a second job as a piano man that also got me out of the house. The drinks were free, the tips were good and I enjoyed watching people. Besides that, I could play anything from R&B and boogie-woogie to classical and had a natural ear for picking up a tune.
I was a long way from East Saint Louis and the life of trouble that I was headed for as a teenager when I joined the Army. Back then, there weren’t a lot of careers for young black men and the judge told me that if I enlisted, the charges (and a couple of angry fathers of my girlfriends) could be avoided.
The Peacetime Army of the Fifties was good and I got to see a lot of Europe and Asia. I got off base as much as could and with my natural ear I easily learned languages and my way with the ivories, I could make myself popular almost anywhere. There were a lot of women who wanted La experience noir, and Die Schwartzer orgasms, and I sure experienced a lot of them, especially the Frenchwomen. Even with all of that, I ended up marrying one of my old girlfriends from East St Louis and settling down (partially).
Of course, Beth’s butt caught my eye and her natural friendliness helped to break the ice. I found out that she was a German/French Major fresh out of College and she was teaching High School during the week. One night, I surprised her by playing “Mon Dieu” by Edith Piaf and “Lillie Marlene”. When she found that I was fluent in both French and German, she started practicing her languages with me and I told her bawdy jokes in Low German and risqué stories in Parisian French.
It turned out that she was working as a waitress to pay for a trip to Hawaii to meet her fiancé on R&R just as she had worked all through college to pay for her education (you could do that back then).
After we became good friends, she began to talk about her relationship with her fiancé. I guess she thought of me as a father figure and a good friend who she could open up to and not have I put the make on her and I tried to be that person.
Beth was engaged to a lieutenant who had gone over to Nam that summer. He was a year older than her and even though this was the swinging sixties, she had been a virgin until they got engaged. Once they started and she was on the pill, they screwed like rabbits in order to capture as much of each other as possible in the face of his looming deployment. She confessed that she didn’t enjoy the sex as much as she thought she should and that he complained that she was repressed and inhibited. Beth also experienced few orgasms in their often hurried lovemaking and it left her vaguely wanting more.
Her fiancé had written that in his visits to the Saigon Cultural Exchange, he had found the Vietnamese women to have a much more open outlook about their sexuality and that he admired their attitude. Now I had been to the “Saigon Cultural Exchange” and it was a cluster of bars and bordellos, but I didn’t tell her that.
The glamorous vacation in Hawaii she was planning on would obviously involve sex and she was hoping to lose some of her repression before they met and her fiancé had suggested she try some porn. Beth had purchased some magazines and even gone to a porno movie in a desire to please him but she said that they just left her cold and she wondered if something was wrong with her.
I told her there was nothing wrong with her and that stuff left me a little cold too. I gave her my copies of “Delta of Venus” and “Little Birds” by Anais’ Nin. She had read Nin in college but didn’t know that she wrote erotica. I said “Yes, in addition to being his lover, she also paid for the publication of “Tropic of Cancer” by Henry Miller”. When she brought the books back, she blushed a little and said she liked them very much.
I mentioned that the story about the hypnotist was my favorite, because he was black and I could identify with him and I knew a redhead like the woman in the story back in Paris. Beth blushed even more but didn’t say anything more.
Later, Beth asked me how she could become sexier and I told her that it’s kind of like a mirror, if you think you are sexy, and then you are sexy. However from my experience if a woman wants to feel sexier she usually starts with her underwear. If you want, you could also wear a tighter skirt and you might try unbuttoning a button or two. She said that she would think about that, at least the underwear. I said I would think about it too and she blushed again.
Saturday, she smiled and said that she had purchased some French intimates and they did make her feel sexier. She also asked me if I had any more erotica. I told her yes, but she would have to take very good care of it, because it was very rare.
On Sunday, Beth showed up in a tight black skirt that hit her at mid thigh and when she bent over, it really accentuated her great ass and legs. When she brought me my drink, I noticed the top two buttons of her white blouse were open and when she leaned forward, I could see a lacy French cut bra and the curve of her breast and her nipple from the side. I looked up and smiled and said “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” To my delight, her cheeks flushed and she smiled again and told me that she did feel much sexier and her tips were even better now.
After work, I gave her the book which was written in French but intended for the barely literate people of French colonial Africa. I believe it had been designed as a Recruiting tool and an anti-German, Pro-colonial cooperation in defense of the motherland piece of propaganda. It dated from the First World War and I had picked it up in a quiet little book store in Clichy, it had somehow survived the Vichy government, the Nazi occupation and the postwar De Gaul censorship. The book was a set of photographs done with a high quality silver gel sepia process which showed great skin tones and high contrast.
The book opens with an obviously drunk German officer attempting to have his way with a pretty young Frenchwoman. Suddenly, a very large, very black, French Senegalese soldier with mud still on his puttees and trench coat burst into the room. He seizes the officer and knocks him out with one punch. Together, the girl and the soldier defenestrate the German out and into the street several floors below her window. The girl then turns to the soldier with her clothes still torn and in disarray, declares him “My Hero” and kisses him. The colonial soldier is at first startled but then returns her embrace and then lifts her easily on to her bed. She quickly divests him of his clothes and expresses happy astonishment at the size of his manhood.
What follows is a series of sexual postures both on and off the bed. I found it unusual in that they displayed great pleasure in the sex, including smiles, sweat and flushed skin across the face and chest. The final picture in the series shows them in post-coital bliss, him on his back with a large grin, one hand thrust between her legs and the other resting on her head which lies on his abdomen. Her face has an equal smile with her glazed cheeks and lips nestled against his tumescence, still gleaming from the fruits of their lovemaking. The final two pictures are what make the book unique for the first shows the fiercely proud soldier in full dress uniform bedecked with medals and his beaming and very pregnant bride standing outside the parish church. The books’ final illustration is of the soldier complete with paterfamilias mustache, pipe, evening paper and easy chair while his still smiling wife is setting the dinner table with several mixed race children playing at their feet.
I gave the book to Beth and she handled it gingerly and with mixed emotions, promising to take good care of it. She brought it back the following Friday and told me that she had been both aroused and fascinated with the book, but it had obsessed her imagination and even bothered her dreams. Much later, she told me that the image she couldn’t get out of her head was of the blissful Frenchwoman with her lustrous and dripping lips wrapped around the soldiers gleaming ebony shaft buried deep inside her mouth.
After she gave the book back, Beth asked with hesitation if I didn’t think the soldier was unusually large and I responded that I didn’t think so. She stammered with her cheeks reddened and said that she meant his “thing”. I again responded that I still didn’t think he was all that large. Her eyes widened and I saw them drop to my lap. She quickly looked up with her cheeks crimson and her nipples stiffened and then started to apologize. But I cut her short and told her “Thank you, it’s not often that an old married man gets a compliment like that”. She bashfully smiled again and quickly went back to work.
For the next few weeks, Bethany was bubbling with excitement as she planned her romantic trip with her new bikini and see-through baby-doll nightgown. Once, while she was a little drunk, she confessed to masturbating with a vibrator and she could hardly wait to try out some of her new sexual ideas on her betrothed.
Then one day, she was really down in the dumps and when I asked her why, she told me that her fiancé’s leave had been canceled and he was being sent up-country and that he would be out of touch for a couple of weeks. I thought that sounded a little bogus but I told her not to worry, his R&R would soon be rescheduled and they would soon meet up in Hawaii. She cheered up and was soon back to her normal self but still slightly subdued.
The next Friday I found her in tears and she showed me a letter from her brother who was in the Signal Corps. He wrote that he had seen her fiancé’s name on the manifest of a Saigon to Sidney flight and went down to the Bangkok terminal to greet him. Instead what he saw was her very drunk beloved with an Australian nurse hanging off him bound for two weeks of R&R or I&I (intoxication and intercourse) as her brother put it.
I told her how sorry I was and that it might be a case of mistaken identity. She replied that her brother would not have written unless he was absolutely sure. She began to weep bitterly against my shoulder and I fought the urge to mouth platitudes about “tomorrow is another day.” and “There’s more than one fish in the sea.” Instead, I just held her and stroked the back of her head until she stopped crying. I gave her my handkerchief and she thanked me for just being there. She said “You’re a good friend, George” and kissed my palm before returning to work. However, I could tell that she was just going through the motions.
Later, after closing time, as I was headed out to my car, I spotted Beth sitting in her old gou-shi (beat-to-shit) mustang with her head on the steering wheel and tears streaming down her face. I knocked on her window to ask if she was ok and she rolled it down, sobbing “My brother left me this piece of junk two years ago and tonight it won’t start. I spent all my money on a plane flight I can’t use. The buses have stopped running, my fiancé is a louse and I’m freezing.”
I told her to get out of the car and to lock it up and that I would drive her home and look at her car in the morning. She responded that I didn’t need to do that and that she could just sleep in the car. I said “No, It’s only going to get colder and this is not a good neighborhood for a woman by herself. I’m telling you that you need to get in my car and let me take you home. Here, take my coat.” She finally agreed and locked up the mustang.
Back then, I was driving an older model Mercedes s300 that I picked up in Germany, used, on my last tour and that I kept up myself. The car had bench seats and a huge interior and very useful when the kids were small for long trips and you had to keep them at least three feet apart. When Beth climbed in and I had the heater running, she noticed the broad plush seats and the fine woodwork and remarked on how nice the car was. I replied that it was ok; it was like me, built for comfort, not speed. She laughed and replied “You’re in great shape.”
“You mean, for my age.”
“No, for any age.” And then her cheeks reddened even further as she realized that it sounded like a come on.
I smiled and handed her my hip flask of 180 proof homemade plum brandy and she thanked me and took a swig, coughed and exclaimed “Whoa, that’s strong stuff, but it sure warms you up.” Beth then gave me directions to the walk up over a liquor store she rented. We were sitting in the parking lot in back when she asked if we could just sit and talk for a while.
I said I understood and pulled out a joint and fired it up. As we talked, I handed it to her and she took a toke and began coughing violently. I said “Be careful, this isn’t your college shit, this is grade A Nam Boo mixed with black tar opium.” She replied that it was ok; she could stand to get really stoned, so I offered to shotgun her.
As I took a mouthful of smoke and blew it into her open mouth, she inhaled and held it. When she exhaled, Beth remarked that it felt as if the back of her head was floating away. I told her that was just her neck muscles relaxing.
About the third or fourth time I leaned in to blow some smoke into her mouth, Beth just looked me in the eyes, closed hers and kissed me. Our mouths joined and our tongues pushed into a wet embrace. When we broke, she apologized and told me that she shouldn’t have done that. I responded that I had been wanting to do that for some time and pulled her into another deep long kiss.
When we broke our kiss the second time, she was running her fingers inside my open shirt collar on my pectoral; she marveled that it was so broad and firm. I followed suit and slipped my hand into her blouse to cup her small upturned breast. “And this is so soft and beautiful.”
“Thank you, George, for letting me feel pleasure again.”
“If you want pleasure, try this.” And I reached inside the glove box to pull out my special mix of Xing qu shi and K-Y jelly, opened her blouse and began rubbing it on her chest, pushing her bra over the top of her breasts. As the mix of warmth and cooling took effect, she sighed, closed her eyes and her nipples turned into pebbles as she kissed me again. Beth then unbuttoned my shirt and started rubbing the mix on my chest and abs, again marveling at how fit I was.
I thanked her and as we were making out again, I was running my hand back and forth on her thigh and ass. When I slipped my hand between her thighs, they parted and I could feel the dampness in her pantie hose.
Beth groaned and her hand dropped down onto my lap and she started to massage my Johnson. When she felt its size, she exclaimed “Oh Lordy, now that’s a hunk of meat.”
I found a small hole in her pantyhose and I worked my finger into her wet folds as my tongue found her nipple. She arched her head backwards and pulled me on top of her.” Please George, I need this.”
I pushed her skirt up and started to pull her pantyhose down and she lifted her butt to accommodate while tugging at my belt and zipper. I kicked of my trousers and boxers but left my shoes on (old habit from my teen years-in case I needed to run). As I climbed up between her knees, my open shirt held my thighs and abdomen in shadow. As she stared at what was looming at her out of the darkness, I drank in the sight of her wide open, well-muscled, thighs, smooth stomach and magnificent bush. It was thick and full and had a wispy trace that extended up towards her belly button.
Now I know that the latest fashion dictates that women should shave their nether regions smooth, but as a father who has diapered his infant daughters, I find it to be a complete turnoff. Perhaps after Brittany Spears latest display, more people will agree.
As I found and stroked Beth’s slick button, I noticed that she was still mesmerized by what was bobbing below my belly. “Last chance to back out.” I broke her spell and she looked up with lust lidded eyes.
“Shut up and kiss me you fool.” And she pulled me toward her.
I applied the mix to our genitals and she guided me with trembling fingers to the furled rose petals of her labia. As I encountered her tightness and began to enter, I saw her grimace and bite her lip as I worked myself into her warmth, but Beth just pulled me tighter towards her. I paused after about seven inches to let her get accustomed to being so full and then I backed out until just the head was in and I rocked back and forth with just a few inches of penetration. When she gasped and clutched at my ass I buried the whole nine inches into her until my balls were up against her perfect cheeks.
“Oh my god, it’s so big.” She cried out and wrapped her legs around me, rocking her ass back and forth against my thighs while her eyes opened wide and lost their focus.
As I pulled back with each thrust, I could feel the walls of her vagina tugging at my shaft and I rocked back and pushed her legs toward her chest so that I could see the joining of our flesh. As I worked in and out of her, the shining coral of her inner lips turned to violet as they followed my gleaming coal black piston. The rosy crucifixion spread across her chest as I looked up to find her gaze from between her knees locked on the workings of our lovemaking.
“It’s so beautiful.” She whispered with a husky moan and pushed her head back against the armrest. Her heavy lidded eyes locked on mine and she pulled me down on her. Beth then began to pull my shirt off over my head and claw at my back. Her face flush and her eyes rolled back with fluttering lids, she began to buck wildly until with a violent spasm, she gave out an inarticulate “AAARGH!” and I felt a sudden gush of liquid flood against my testicles.
The beautiful slapping and squishing of our nether regions filled the car along with a heady musk and the windows steamed as we continued to bend our backs against that cold November night. With my fingers between her cheeks, I could feel her juices running down the crack as she panted and jerked against me. I slowed and kissed her neck while she caught her breath. “Thank you, George: that was wonderful.”
“Hold on little girl, we ain’t finished yet.” And I sat up and lifted her left leg so that her ankle was next to my ear. I kissed her sole and I began to pull her back and forth against my chest and abdomen. My neck was jammed against the car roof but I could watch Beth with her petite Tetons jerking and her eyes rolling back and forth as she clutched at my ass and thighs. Beth had her right foot braced against the steering wheel as she reentered le petite morte and I was afraid she would break it when she came groaning and straining in her orgasm.
I paused again to lay down behind her on the seat while we caught our breath. As I did so, I plopped out of her and she, trembling and panting, asked if I had come yet. I replied to the negative and asked her if she wanted to quit.
“No, I want to feel you coming inside me.” With that, she reached down to grasp my slick member and thrust it back into her equally wet love channel.
I grabbed her left thigh, and began to really slam into her. I asked if she liked my old ?nigger cock’. She turned her head to look me in the eyes and said “Oh yes.” as she reached back to pull my ass into her. “I want to hear you say it. Unh-unh! I want to hear you say that you love being fucked by this old nigger cock. Unh-unh-unh! Say it!” as I thrust her wet red ass against my loins.
“Oh god, yes, fuck me George. Fuck with your big nigger cock, I want you to come in me. Fuck me hard. Come! Come for me baby!” she screamed.
“Yeah! Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m gonna cum. Open up and take this old nigger cock. I’m gonna cum. Unh-unh-AAARGH!” and with that, time seemed to stop as her cries echoed mine as we spasmed against each other and I pumped myself into her.
I continued to work myself back and forth in her and I looked down to see her pubic hair plastered to her thighs and mound with sperm frothing out with her fluids. When I started to pull out, she whispered “Thank you, I never knew it could be like that. Isn’t that beautiful” as she looked down to see me embedded in her center.
When my dick finally came out with a soft plop, a torrent of cum followed it down her ass and on to the seat beneath. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’ve ruined your seats!” I told her not to worry, I had been Scotch-Guarding the seats since the kids were little.
Suddenly the color left her face “Oh no, that’s right! You have a family and now I’m a home wrecker!”
“Relax, my wife expects me to cheat a little and I expect she’s been off the rez herself a few times while I’ve been deployed. Besides, if she knew your situation, she would agree that you needed a good screw and she might have loaned me out herself tonight.”
“Oh, great, does she charge a stud fee?” and we both laughed and she leaned her head against my chest. “You know that picture book you loaned me? Well, right now I feel just like that French girl. I don’t think I could feel any more satisfied.”
I noticed that her gaze was still locked on my opalescent fluid covered Johnson. “Well how about it? Do you think you could fit that on your mouth? You could always try” she looked at me to see if I was serious and I could tell she was tempted but then she noticed that it was getting light outside.
“Oh god, you better get home. I don’t care how open minded your wife is. I don’t want her asking questions about me!” with that she sat up and put on her shoes and started to straighten herself up.
“Well, you better take these if you don’t want her asking questions.” And I handed her pantyhose to her. She laughed happily and stuffed them into her purse, kissed me and got out of the car and headed up the stairs to her apartment. As I got dressed, I watched her until she was safe. She paused on the landing to wave before going inside. I can still remember her wistful smile, her disheveled clothing and the tiny stream of jizz running down her leg.