She Missed Her Period: Interracial Love Blossomed

By Emma Jones

Amy was a 40 year old woman having a mid life crises. She was intrigued by black men and desired to have sexual experiences with them. One fine day, she meets a handsome black man. They hit it off and that is where their sexual journey begins. As the story progresses, Amy meets more men and enjoy a wide range of sexual experiences. Read all about them in the full eBook. Happy reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma Jones
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005938086

Emma Jones

I am a freelance erotic writer who loves writing stories under various genres of erotica

Book preview

She Missed Her Period: Interracial Love Blossomed

By Emma Jones

Published by

Cougar Publications at Smashwords

[e-mail]

Copyright 2022 Cougar Publications

Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entire coincidental

Authors Note:

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are at least 18 years old or above. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1: First Meeting

Chapter 2: Familiarity

Chapter 3: Missing Her Period

Chapter 4: More Guys

Chapter 5: The Divorce

Chapter 6: Love & Commitment

Chapter 1: First Meeting

Mrs. Madison, welcome back. Will Mr. Madson be joining you soon this year? Old Mr. Carson was always so polite. He has been looking after our cabin in the off-season, such as it is in the deep South lake country of Mississippi.

No, I sighed, perhaps revealing a bit much more personal frustration than appropriate. It looks like another summer of quiet and tranquillity for me.

Mr. Carson must be close to 80 years old by now but still gets the place opened up for me in the spring, closes up in the late fall, and gives the place a security check periodically when we are not scheduled to be using it. He is shaking his head softly, not wanting to show too much either. With soft eyes he finally comments, Not good. A man like Mr. Madison needs to learn to relax sometimes before he blows a gasket. Everything with Mr. Carson is mechanically related in his expressions. It's why you folks bought the place to begin with, right?

I, of course, could only nod and agree with the man. Sage advice falling on the wrong set of ears. I watched Mr. Carson climb into his ancient pickup truck that still ran smoothly thanks to his constant tinkering. He gave a final wave before driving down the long double-rut trail leading to the gravel and dirt road a half-mile away. This was a secluded location and what we had been looking for those years ago. Just the spot to relax and wash off the stresses of civilization, just as Mr. Carson had said. The lake isn't huge but is large enough to boat on and is said to be great for fishing. The surrounding land is mostly Forest Service land and the nearest private property is a quarter-mile away and seldom used.

I stood on the large front deck that overlooked the lake. Mr. Carson had insisted on helping taking my luggage into the bedroom and the groceries I had stopped for in the closest town to the kitchen. I had a lot of unpacking to do and getting the cabin ready for what looked like another solitary summer.

I loved the cabin, the lake, the boat, and the woods. Mostly, I loved being away from the city. I had even come to associate the cabin with NOT having Harold, my husband, around. The man had been a 'good provider' as the previous generation would say and it sometimes felt like that was when we were living. The man was always working. I mean ALWAYS. Undoubtedly, it was the reason for his success. We had a nice home, clubs, social contacts. But I've come to realize we don't really have a life. Not really. Despite talking about having kids, it never happened. We even talked about adoption but he always seemed too busy to spend the time required for the process.

So, here I was... again... another summer. Amy Madison, 40 years old, and feeling my biological clock ticking to a depressing stop. If I only had a child. I would be an amazing mom. My mom was and I have always been drawn to them with friends. A child to love and mother would be everything to give my stay-at-home with no responsibility suburban life real meaning. I tore myself from the railing of the deck to unpack my clothes. As I moved clothes from suitcases to the closet or dresser, I stripped off my driving clothes for more comfortable loose shorts and tee-shirt.

After stripping off, though, I am caught by my image in the full mirror fastened to the door. On impulse, I strip off my panties and bra. I've just turned 40. What a miserable time for a woman with so many yearnings still consuming her. No children to have ravaged this body and a husband who seems to have no interest in it. Not bad for 40, I think. My white skin is still pale but the summer sun will produce a golden bronze in no time as I always do. My long blonde hair will lighten as my skin darkens. My body is a trim 5' 4" and 100 pounds, a weight I am compulsive in maintaining. My 34-26-36 body is not only trim but still tight from a religious effort at yoga, jogging, and swimming.

Then, there's the rest... the fine points of me. How can they not entice that man? My blonde pubic hair is trimmed so my pussy lips are teasingly visible with my legs parted a bit. My breasts are D-cup and not the D-cups of some women. These are natural. These hang when I bend over, jiggle even in a fashion bra and bounce and sway when I run. Is the man dead, I muse in frustration? Why don't I have a dozen children by now? No, I wouldn't want a dozen, but seriously...

It started easy enough, innocently enough, too. The first few weeks seem to be the busiest with getting the place ready for spending the summer. Getting the real groceries with replenishing all the stock basics for cooking; gas and oil for mowers, weed trimmers, and the boat; opening what will be the vegetable garden with planting and enough care; and airing out and cleaning the cabin from the months of not being used.

I was outside working in shorts and tee-shirt, sweat opening my pores and soaking the shirt. The temperature already seemed to spike... early it seems... and the humidity suggests a possible storm building out in the Gulf. When I went in for a glass of water, I made an impulsive decision. I stripped off my bra before putting the damp shirt back on. Back outside, my breasts were unusually free, it felt freeing to me. At that moment, I committed to myself this summer would have more things that felt freeing for my soul.

My bra drawer became untouched after that except for going into town. That would have been too much. I lived in shorts with tee-shirt or sleeveless button blouses with several of the buttons left undone or old house dresses that I cut shorter. The feeling was wonderful, especially when buttons were left open top and bottom of the old dresses.

Then, another thing happened. I was toiling in the garden at the side of the cabin. I had managed to turn it over properly after several days of effort and busy seeding and planting. Tomatoes, peppers, carrots, lettuce, spinach, and herbs. I was wearing one of the dresses. They were cut shorter so when I knelt to work, the hem wouldn't get in the way.

Excuse me. A voice, deep and masculine from behind me. I turned in surprise to find a tall, very black man in cargo shorts and shirtless standing at the end of the dock at the shore end. I don't mean to frighten you, ma'am. I just wanted to introduce myself.

I stood and turned fully toward him. I bent to wipe my hands on the grass, unaware after several weeks by myself how the partially unbuttoned dress might gap as I did it. You are? I asked. I don't think I've seen you around in other years.

No, ma'am, he confirmed. I was hired to do a major remodel of the Johnson place down the lake some. I knew the place. It had been several years since I had seen the Johnson family and now wondered if they might be planning to sell it. I'll be here most of the summer tearing out and rebuilding much of the interior and fixing up the exterior where it needs it. I nodded. Without anyone using the place, it probably needed repairs. "I... ah... just figured... since I'll be around