Z-Rated (Chocolate Flava 3)

Richard Burns

Columbus, Georgia: April 1979

I was training as an infantryman in the U.S. Army at North Harmony Church, Fort Benning, Georgia. I was seventeen years old and regrettably at the time, still a virgin. We were two weeks from graduation, and my buddies Ed Bristol and Juan Garcia took a weekend pass to visit Columbus, Georgia. A typical GI town of the late seventies, Columbus offered an endless selection of strip joints, tattoo parlors, and pawnshops. They catered to young inexperienced soldiers like me from Tinytown, Kansas; Nowhere, Oklahoma; and Jerkwater, Nevada.

We checked into a cheap, dreary motel near the cornucopia of strip joints, eager for our weekend of fun and freedom. Juan left to get “supplies,” while Ed and I unpacked. The motel was a dump located on Victory Drive, with threadbare carpets, thin walls and drapes, and even thinner towels that felt as comfortable against your skin as twenty grit sandpaper. I would say it was clean, but the roaches would probably take offense. We were watching one of those pathetic seventies sitcoms when Juan abruptly returned. Grinning, he immediately began unbuttoning his shirt. Following Juan was a surprisingly beautiful black woman. I was caught completely off guard.

She closed the door behind her. I watched intently as her breasts swayed and jiggled ever so delicately. Her eyes were downcast as if she was embarrassed. She followed Juan into the room. At the sight of us her eyes went wide and she gave a shrug of her shoulders and a tip of her head, as if to say, “Oh, well…” To me, it all said: bashful.

Instantly I was captivated, and a little intimidated by both her age, which appeared to be almost thirty, and her luscious beauty. The woman—and she was a real woman, not a kid—had a pleasant round face with high cheekbones that gave it depth. She was tall, but still several inches shorter than my six feet, and I was struck by her very dark, coffee-brown complexion, which seemed at odds with her flowing, shiny curls of gorgeous shoulder-length hair. My palms were sweaty at the thought of getting them on her beautiful, perfectly proportioned breasts. Those breasts seemed to call to me with each sway and bounce. Her soft white cotton dress fit her form sensationally, hugging her upper body alluringly, accentuating the breadth of her torso before tapering down to her narrow waist, then loosely flowing over the graceful, but sweeping curve of her hips. My arms wanted to encircle that narrow waist, to lay my hand atop that scrumptious, perfectly developed ass, and then pull her body to mine. To press our chests and hips together; to meld into a single being; to feel her softness pressed against my hardness. To feel the slope and curve of her back as those glorious breasts press against my chest. She was perhaps the most beautiful black woman I had ever met. All of these thoughts vanished quickly with my growing anxiety at my impending moment.

Still frantically undressing, Juan said, “Hey guys, I need the room for a while.”

“Hey ya’ll.” She gave us a wave of her hand. “He and I have an … arrangement. If you guys want to make a similar arrangement, we’re talking about forty dollars. Apiece.”

Until that moment, I had no idea she was a hooker. This intimidated me also. After all, she was a professional, while I was the most rank of amateurs. I was seventeen, remember, and a virgin.

Ed and I both jumped to our feet. Ed was first out with his wallet. “Well, that sounds like a fair price to me.” He handed over the money. I was fast on his heels with two twenties.

“Okay, now if you guys don’t mind waiting outside?” Juan groaned.

We grabbed a beer each and left to wait on the balcony. We drank our beers, smoked, and waited our respective turns. I was actually very, very nervous. So I let Ed go before me.

Having never been away from home for longer than a two-week summer camp, I was naïve. Ed, Juan, and I had decided to share a motel room on our first weekend pass. As a private in 1979, my take-home pay was about 287 dollars a month, so we decided to share the expense.

Now, standing out on the balcony, I wished we weren’t sharing a room. I feverishly wished I had my own room. I wished desperately for privacy.

Juan came out after twenty minutes or so and joined me for a beer and a smoke, while Ed went in for his turn “at bat.” When Ed came out, the girl was peeking out from behind the door and gave me a wave of her hand. “Okay, you’re next.”

As I sat and bent over to untie my shoes, she dashed for the bed and promptly sat down. Strangely, she covered herself. Somewhat. Shy? Is all this for real, or just an act? Surely, a hooker would’ve gotten well beyond being shy?

She was already naked. She leaned against the headboard and smoked, with one leg bent and raised on the mattress. Her arms were hooked around her knee, effectively concealing her breasts from my gaze. Her other foot was on the floor; her luscious leg leaned against the side of the mattress, concealing the elusive, mysterious opening to her center. I could see the top of the sparse, neatly shaven hair on her pubis, a very narrow strip about two inches wide. The remainder of her sacred region was as smooth as glass. This was the era when women were just starting to groom themselves that way. And what a Great Day it was!

In an effort to hide my anxiety, I tried to make small talk. “What’s your name?”

“Trisha.” She sounded surprised. “What’s yours?” She smiled at me, seemed genuinely glad for the conversation, and was suddenly more relaxed.

“Rick.”

For some reason, it all seemed very conspiratorial. Or perhaps it was an unintended intimacy to the moment, but we still spoke in whispers.

“Hi, Rick. I’m happy to meet you.”

She surprised me by putting her hand out; I shook it. It was then I was treated to my first glance at the bounty of her breasts. They were so perfectly proportioned, they were … mesmerizing. Oh, dear God. They were so beautiful, so large, so firm, so high … gravity defying, and capped with bright pink, nearly red nipples. I expected a shade darker than her very dark, brown complexion. Such a contrast.

“Likewise, Trisha.” I did my best to sound relaxed. Once I was naked, I asked, “So where do we begin?”

She gave me a wry grin and opened her legs slightly, patting the mattress between them. “Have a seat.”

My eyes ravaged her body while I moved in. I was nervous beyond belief.

She said to me, “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

I feebly replied, “Oh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m just … really nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?”

Still not ready to let my secret out, I replied, “I’m just … new to this …”