Frederique was born in Georgia. When she was fifteen she met a forty-year old man who she had always liked for what she perceived as his wealth and good breeding. Frederique's family was poor. It was always an occassion to celebrate when Alan visited her family. He came like a knight in shining armor, to save Frederique and take her to a life she never dreamed of, in a world she had never known.
When they married, Frederique was set up like the queen of a castle, in his grand house which was secluded in the woods. Beautiful black women waited on her and Albert treated her like a precious possession.
He did not fuck her on the first night, nor the second. He said this was an indication of his love, to hold his passion in check and not thrust himself on her like a wild beast. He wanted to stoke the fires of her passion ūso she would be wet and ready to be possessed when the time was right.
He came to her every night but offered only gentle caresses. They kissed. He touched her breasts, ran his hands over her hips, her ass, between the gap of her legs, along the smooth wetness of her nether lips. They lay under the mosquito net as though under the white veil of a virginal bride. Frederique felt like she was drugged. He was making her into a sensual woman. When he left her, as he inevitably did, night after night, Frederique lay wide awake, her clitoris throbbing painfully, the muscles of her vagina constricting and relaxing like the mouth of a hungry anemone.
She was pleasurably tormented like this for many nights. She was a virgin, and consequently, had no idea how to bring about a culmination of her desires with Alan. Alan seemed blissed out by her moans as he lit fires with his lips, all over her body. He found the soft skin under her arm at the junction of her breasts, the rippling flesh that ran along her abdomen between her nipples and her clitoris, and between the lips of her mouth and those of her moist cavern. He stimulated the roots of her hair and the roots of her spine. Every spot on her body, from the firmness of her ass, to the arch of her back that threw her ass outwards - "like a black woman's" he said - he made sacred and holy with blessed words.
Her eyes were exotically almond shaped, like a Japanese geisha. Her mouth was full and slightly parted like a pouty vagina. Her breasts were two mountain peaks heaving with seismic movements as he ran his teeth over her shoulders. When she moaned for more he left abruptly, slipping through the white net and leaving her like a precious gem in a glass case in a museum; to be looked at and admired, but not touched.
One night, after he left her, she sat up naked in the bed, with her juices oozing from between her legs. As she climbed down off the bed and put on her kimono and slippers, a drop of dew rolled down her leg onto the white carpet. Frederique cursed under her breath. She was confused by Alan's ability to walk away from her. It angered her. How could he, she wondered, sleep, when his kisses had lit an unquenchable fire in her soul? How could he stop himself from taking her? After all these nights, she still had not seen the hardness in his pants; the hardness he had pressed into her belly night after night.
She decided to walk in the garden to cool herself off. She could feel her cheeks and her ears burning. She also had a slight headache from the buildup of tension in her body. She was a coiled spring, ready to break if release did not come soon. She glided down the marble staircase and out into the backyard garden. The scent of the flowers in the warm heavy air was intoxicating. Tree branches caressed her cooly as she walked down moonlit paths and the moss under her feet was a thick soft carpet. All was silent. She felt like one in a dream.
She was not sure how long she walked, but suddenly, she was startled by a sound. It was the moan of a woman in pleasurable pain, the kind of sound she made when Alan caressed her. The light of the moon shone between the branches of a low tree and exposed Alan wrapped in the arms and legs of a black woman. Her moans were the soft moans of ecstacy. Alan was pounding against the woman relentlessly, uttering rough cries and guttural moans that mingled with those of the gentle sounds of the woman. Frederique stood transfixed. It was as though her limbs were frozen. She didn't blink once. She stood there until Alan and the woman were convulsed in a paroxym of ecstacy and they cried out together, then lay spent, his head cradled in the crook of her neck, looking away from Frederique.
She tiptoed away, paralyzed by the scene. Then she felt pain. And she ran. She ran all the way back to the house filled with anger and bitterness and self-doubt. Wasn't she beautiful enough? Sexy enough? For him. What did he get from the black woman that he didn't get from her?
The animal scene played itself over and over in her head like a horror movie. She felt it had been her fault for not demanding more, for letting him lull her into complacency. She vowed to show him her womanliness. To become a woman for his sake. To save herself and her marriage.
The next night she took especial care with her toilette. She made up her face and did her hair up wild to look like what she believed a temptress would. She left her body unwashed, applying musk to the soft inner thighs. She wanted to smell like an animal.
When Albert came in she was sprawled on the bed, a light teddy over her body, her legs spread to reveal the pink within. She commanded him to remove his clothes. He did so, a little startled by her forthrightness, but obedient. She enjoyed the look of his muscled body, saw the tool that he had used last night like a weapon on that woman. She took it in her hand and put her mouth on it, sucking it as though it held the elixir of life. He moaned as his cock grew under her ministrations. Then he pulled her head up abruptly and said, "No. You mustn't act this way. You are a lady."
Suddenly, the anger of the night before swept over her and she sat up straight and said, "I'm not a lady. I'm poor. You've made me a lady, but I'm not. I want you to fuck me like I'm a woman."
Again, he was surprised by her words, but said nothing. Instead, he tried repeatedly to enter her that night, but to no avail. Every time he put the head of his penis at the entrance to her vagina, it would wilt. That was the saddest night of Frederique's life.
-Inspired by Anais Nin