New to New York, Bessie Hawthorne and Matilda Winford missed their men back home in Tennessee. Both were twenty-one-years-old and married for three years. "Matty, I miss it. I don't know if I can go without it."
"You mean sex," Matilda whispered as they got off the train in Grand Central Station. "Bessie, it's only three months."
"Three months seems like a lifetime. Harold gives it to me almost every night. What about you?"
"That's not something I'm comfortable talking about, but I can tell you this, in about three days, a broom handle will be looking good," Matilda giggled. "Max and I do it all . . . like I said I don't want to talk about it."
"I heard of a place, where a girl could find some male companionship if she's interested."
"I don't want to hear about it," Mrs. Winford answered.
"I'll give you a few days."
Bessie Hawthorne wasn't wrong. Less than a week later, Matilda knocked on her friend's hotel room door. "Bessie, I could use some male companionship."
"Told ya'. Now, let's get dressed in our finery and find us some cock."
"Bessie, don't talk like that. It's not lady-like."
"Matilda, tonight, I don't want to be a lady. What about you?"
"Well. . ."
Bessie Hawthorne handed the cabbie a slip of paper with an address on it. "Ladies, are you sure this is where you want to go. I don't think you're the kind of girls to be seen in such a place."
"Just take us there. We may be new to New York, but we're not babes in the woods."
Actually, yes they were. Both girls didn't really know what to expect.
When a waiter came to their table and explained that tonight they were only serving Bourbon, after all it was Prohibition, Bessie, asked as she'd been instructed, "do you have anything extra special?" She placed a dollar in his hand.
"Ma'am, tonight we do have something extra special, but I'm not sure it's what you want."
"I think we're old enough to decide that for ourselves."
By this time, both Matilda and Bessie would admit that their knickers were damp in anticipation.
Ten minutes later, a black man, or as they were known at the time, colored, and a black woman joined them. "We heard that you ladies were looking for some companionship. It's two dollars for our company."
Matilda might have died right there. Bessie was speechless, but they reached for their purses.
Neither of them could explain why. Why two young white women from the South would want the company of a colored man? Or why, when they were looking for male companionship, they'd have any interest in a woman?
"Why don't we dance?" The colored man asked.
Before she knew it, the black man took Bessie by the hand. "My name is Jerome, and I must say you are one beautiful woman."
"Th-thank you." She was stunned. Back home in Tennessee, this just wasn't done.
Meanwhile, "everyone calls me Freddie." The black woman said as she led Matilda, who was in a fog, to the dance floor.
"I-I-I'm Matty." This black woman, Freddie, was blonde. Matty had never seen anything like it, and it looked natural.
"You might be Matty, but tonight I'm going to call you sweetie." One of Freddie's hands was firmly on Matty's ass. If they were in public, even her husband Max didn't do that when they were dancing. Matty doubted he was as old as her.
"Bessie," Jerome whispered, "I'll bet you came here, hoping that some handsome boy would sweep you off your feet and whisper sweet nothings in your ear." Jerome might have been twenty-five.
"Ummmm."
"I can do that. I'll just bet that under that dress you have the finest, softest titties a man could ever want."
They were dancing slow and cheek-to-cheek, although Bessie tried to make sure there was a little distance between her and this colored man.
"Jerome, please."
"And between your legs," he continued, "I'd almost guarantee that a man couldn't find anything sweeter."
She was shocked. On Saturday nights after she took her weekly bath, Harold would do unspeakable things down there and then tell her how sweet she was. Later, the loving was more than a girl could expect. Sometimes, he'd convince her to do him like that, and sometimes, but only during her monthly she'd accommodate him.
Sunday mornings at church, she couldn't pray hard enough for her sinful ways. Now, her knickers were drenched and she could feel herself leaking uncontrollably.
Meanwhile, "Sweetie, I'm guessing you've never danced with a girl like this." What Freddie meant was romantic dancing. When she was in junior high, the boys were too shy to ask girls to dance. So, girls would dance with each other, but NOT like this.
Freddie, not only had her hand on Matty's ass, she was pressing hard against her breasts. "You sure seem like you've got big ones. I'll bet back home the boys' hands are all over them."
"I'm married."
"I'll bet your husband has a good time with them, but sweetie, I have to tell you, a man can't make a woman feel like a woman can."
Like Bessie, Matilda's knickers were wet. She never thought . . .
That's when Freddie kissed her on the mouth with her tongue.
Jerome and Bessie were still dancing. "Why don't I take you upstairs and we can discuss your sweetness in private?"
"I don't think I'm ready for that. Remember, I'm married."
"If you were happily married and getting everything you wanted, you wouldn't be here. Do I have to whisper in your ear some more?" Like Freddie, he kissed Bessie on the mouth with his tongue, and at the same time, took her hand and placed it on his crotch.
Bessie was stunned by this colored man's brazenness. She was shocked by what she was holding. Her husband Harold, was the only man she'd been with. His was nothing like what she was holding. Surprising, even herself, Bessie, didn't let go.
Instead, she found herself exploring. "That's a good girl. Just imagine how that big piece of meat would feel somewhere else." In the semi-dark Speak-Easy, Bessie and Jerome continued to dance with his hand on her ass and hers on his crotch. She noticed that whatever it was that she was holding was getting bigger and bigger.
Bessie shocked herself. She shocked herself because Jerome was colored; she shocked herself because she was married. She shocked herself by what came out of her mouth. "Jerome, does that offer still stand to take me upstairs?" Later, she'd blame it on the alcohol, but she'd only had one drink, which she hadn't even finished yet.
"I don't know. In my experience, a girl's really got to want it."
Bessie Hawthorne removed her hand from Jerome's crotch. Putting both arms around his neck, she began to grind against him; against his hard cock. At the same time, she pressed her breasts against his chest. "Jerome, I want it." She kissed him on the mouth with her tongue.
Minutes later, Jerome was leading her to his room on the second floor.
TO BE CONTINUED
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