Put It In and Let It Soak

Like many women, I was something of a “groupie” in my teens and early 20s. I had pictures of musicians plastered all over my walls, stood in line for hours to see certain bands, and once I even sneaked back-stage and actually kissed one. I was equally enthralled by local musicians – almost any guy with a guitar in his hand invariably turned me on. People say, “There’s something about a man in a uniform,” but for me, there’s always been something about a man in a band.

Jody Mason had three things going for him: He was a musician, he was my first black lover, and he was the first man l ever had an orgasm with during intercourse. I was 21 when I met him; though I’d been fucking since I was 16, my previous experiences were child’s play compared to sex with Jody.

I first met him when my girlfriend Ellen, who’d gone out with Jody a couple of times, took me to a local club to catch his act. We walked in on the middle of a set and sat down at a table; my eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing figure on stage: Jody stood 6’3″, weighed around 220 pounds, and was somewhere in his early 30s. He dominated the stage completely, his guitar slung almost toy-like across his mountainous shoulder. He wore a multicolored dashiki and a beaded cap, and his velvet voice boomed out funk tunes as well as soulful ballads, backed by a four-piece band.

Ellen and I barely spoke, both of us totally captivated by this musical African god. At the end of the set, the band broke into an extended rendition of “Let’s Groove Tonight,” and several girls hopped onto the stage to dance; one of them shook her big tits right into Jody’s face. He responded by playing to her and her alone, flirting outrageously for all the world – and Ellen – to see. Feeling sorry for Ellen, I turned my face and was surprised to see her laughing and clapping along to the music, apparently without a shred of jealousy.

“Ellen,” I said when the song ended, “what are you doing with this guy? He’s obviously a womanizer.”
She blinked, uncomprehendingly. “That’s Jody,” she said, nonplused. “I’ve learned to accept him the way he is.”

Suddenly I sensed a looming shadow beside us. Looking up, I saw Jody towering over the table.

“Hey, babes,” he said to Ellen. “How’s it goin’?” He pulled up a chair, kissed her lightly and turned to me, extending his huge, black hand. “Jody Mason.”

“Diana,” I mumbled, thrown by the electric charge that raced up my arm at his touch. For a split second his eyes assessed me in a penetrating gaze, before he turned his attention to Ellen. I noticed that while he talked to her he tuned out everyone else in the room, keeping his attention totally focused on her. Maybe he really did care for her. Only later did I learn this was a skill Jody had developed, one that made every woman feel special and kept them permanently hooked on him.

The following week, Jody was playing at another club and Ellen was out of town. She’d told me that she and Jody had no kind of commitment, that they both saw other people, hinting that I was free to try him myself. In fact, she seemed almost eager – in a sisterly way – for me to do so. Thus it was without any guilt that I dressed in my sexiest outfit and headed for the club to hear him play.

I arrived early, took a corner table and sipped a glass of wine while the band tuned up. Jody didn’t notice me – all his attention was directed toward getting the band together, in the same way that he focused his concentration on a woman. But once the show started and he was facing the room, he spotted me, acknowledging my presence with a slight nod and an almost imperceptible smile.

The band opened with a very a very sexy fast song during which Jody’s eyes never once left my face. He seemed to be playing exclusively for me. Warm tingling sensations rushed through my body as his booming voice and guitar caused the walls of the club to reverberate with melodious rhythms. This musical foreplay – for that’s exactly what it was – continued for nearly half an hour. Whether belting out hot funk or crooning a mellow love song, Jody kept his eyes fastened on mine. I tried to be cool, sitting absolutely still, acting like I was just another member of the audience, but my facade broke down completely when Jody, after briefly conferring with the band, launched into the old tune “Diana.” He even changed the words slightly, from “I’m so young and you’re so old,” to “You’re so young and I’m so old.” I nearly fell off my chair; everyone in the club would have to had been blind and deaf not to know what was going on.

During the break I remained seated, knowing that Jody would soon be at my side. “What’d you think of the set?” he asked when he sat down.

I struggled for something intelligent to say, but in my nervousness could only mumble, “I liked it.”

“Which songs did you like best?” Jody persisted. “Did you like ‘Silver Sandals?’ I just wrote that. Is it too slow?”

I remembered that Jody had done the same thing with Ellen, seeking reassurance about his performance, and I had a sudden insight about him: He needed to have adoring women in the audience to bolster his ego. As big, hot and talented as he was, underneath the stage persona, Jody Mason was unsure of himself. Once I saw his vulnerability, I relaxed. I was able to make intelligent comments and give him constructive criticism, a role I was to continue to play for some two or three years, even after we’d stopped sleeping together.

Jody went off to do the second set, but his attention never left me as he repeated his practice of singing directly into my eyes. For his final number he sang a ballad he’d written called “First Night,” about the sweetness of new lovers. It was slow and sensual, and I watched his nimble fingers caress the guitar frets, imagining them all over my quivering body.

I did not have to imagine for long. Jody took me home after the show, to condo uptown. Without much ado he led me up a the stairs to the bedroom, where he proceeded to undress me. Slowly he removed my clothes, then his. Moonlight showed through the window, illuminating his ebony skin. He laid his head between my legs, his hands holding my hips. I had never seen black skin against my own pale flesh, and the contrast took my breath away. Very soon, though, visual delights became subordinated to sensory pleasure as Jody buried his head in my pussy and proceeded to eat me. His tongue was, I swear, the Eighth Wonder of the World.

He burrowed his head deep within me, his woolly hair tickling my thighs. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the best tongue-fucking I’d ever had – before or since. I tried to turn around and return the favor, but Jody pushed me down and gripped my hips firmly. I gave in to the pure ecstasy of receiving. It went on and on for what seemed like days – Jody licking my mound with total lust and concentration. My clit twitched with a series of mini-orgasms; my body ached to be invaded, but Jody did not put so much as a finger inside me.

When he’d satisfied his thirst for my nectar, he slowly slid himself on top of me and, with his hard cock lying along my nether lips, kissed me full on the mouth, letting me taste myself. I sucked his tongue passionately, moaning and writhing under his huge, solid body, and his cock slid effortlessly inside.

I gasped as his hardness filled my dripping tunnel and arched my back to meet him. Jody raised himself slightly so he was looking down, watching my face intently from above. He held himself perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside me, his hard belly pressed against my clit. He didn’t move a muscle. I ground myself against him, squeezed my inner muscles around his cock, and with no thought or effort, I came. Huge spasms began in my cunt and coursed up my belly and through my limbs. My face crumbled in ecstasy as I closed my eyes and gripped the back of Jody s neck.

It was the first time in my life I had cum during actual intercourse. I opened my eyes in wonder and saw Jody’s face looming above, laughing – not in derision, not unkindly, just laughing. I don’t know why, but his self-satisfaction turned me on even more, and I frantically bucked my hips against him. This time he moved. Lord, did he move!

He fucked me hard and deep, raising my legs and wrapping them around his shoulders. He moved my limbs around as if they were rubber, plunging all his bulk and weight into me. He was touching me so deeply that I kept on cumming until, finally, his cock exploded and filled me with his seed. I later told Jody that this was the first time I had ever cum while actually fucking.

“It’s like my mama used to say,” he laughed, “ya gotta put the meat in the fat and let it soak awhile.” We giggled together and started all over, but this time I ate the delicious meat.

It’s been nearly 7 years since I first fucked Jody. I’m married with a kid and a house in the suburbs no. I rarely go out to hear music anymore – my husband and I tend to stay home and rent videos. But on those rare occasions when he’s gone, I put on my sexiest clothes and head out to the music clubs and relive my glory days with whatever hot rocker is playing that night. I know I’m leading a double life but I’m addicted. And in those occasional nights of sweet sin, I’ll whisper into my lover’s ear, “put it in and let it soak awhile.”

~ Diana, Seattle