Order Copy of American Messiah
Jernel Pearson, afro chopped short, was a Nubian goddess with a flawless chocolate complexion and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. In her early twenties, she owned and operated her own business. She ran a temp service and sold office supplies on 125th Street. We met when I had her office type my term-paper. I pursued her for about a semester; using humor, guile and an unwavering persistence, before she agreed to go out with me.
I considered it a small miracle, considering her stunning good looks. The mercury was boiling over on the day of our first get together. I was afraid that she might cancel, but she didn’t. I took it as a good sign. Mother was away visiting my Aunt Louise on Long Island leaving me with the house to myself. Since it was during daylight hours, I decided on a picnic. I packed a straw basket that included: an assortment of finger sandwiches, super sweet ice tea, and flute glasses filled with wild strawberries topped with whip cream.
I laid out a blanket under a shady tree on the edge of the giant common that provided us with a gentle summer breeze. There we laughed, joked, and flirted away the afternoon. A stalk of sunflowers set in a wicker vase topped off an idyllic setting. I couldn’t stop admiring her nubile beauty, set under a straw bonnet adorned with a yellow band. Waiting for just the right moment, I leaned over and softly kissed those tangerine-shaped lips, still sweet from the ice tea. When it was time to leave, with some gentle prodding, she agreed to help me carry the cooler and basket.
I had forgotten to pull the drapes, and my room was like an oven. After fetching two tall clinking glasses of ice tea, I joked about shedding our clothes and lying naked under the fan. She looked at me oddly for a second, long enough for me to regret my suggestion. Then, without batting an eye, she slowly started to undo her sky blue denim blouse. Watching her undress was like watching a masterpiece being unveiled. When she unhooked her bra, her breasts popped like twin champagne corks. Her perfectly bulbous breast brought to mind mounds of sweet chocolate ice cream.
As she laid there on her back, I plucked an ice cube from the glass and started painting the peaks and valleys of her upper body. Watching her smile and squirm, I worked my way down pass her bellybutton. Without me saying a word, she lifted her bottom allowing me to slide her panties down pass her ankles. Then, popping a cube of ice into my mouth, I cooled her burning inner thighs with my frozen tongue. Using her gentle moans like a locator, I probed until I found her sweet spot. It wasn’t long before she was summoning me inside her.
The sweat from my body dripped down onto her chest, mingling with the melted ice and rendering down her firm dark body. As the slippery sex intensified, our bodies melted together like bars of gold in a blast furnace. During what felt like a sexual marathon, we journeyed across the sea of karma sutra, landing exhausted on the isles of serenity.
Covered in sweat and still panting heavily, we laid motionless under the swirling air, sweet with the pungency of visceral sex. Afterwards we soaped and lathered each other in the shower. Then, after drying one another, we curled up on a set of cool, dry sheets and slept like newborns. We must have shed ten pounds each that lust-filled afternoon. I would see Jernel once more, but we couldn’t recreate the magic of that steamy hot afternoon.