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St Louis Man

My first visit to St Louis is a convergence of coincidence and strangeness and weather. Within one hour of arriving a friend I’ve just met who is hosting me, and who becomes a brother to me, is crying with me about our mutual friend who hung himself the year before. 

RIP Kang.

Within three hours I have met the mayor.  My brother through tragedy is a successful St Louis man who owns a local restaurant that hosts a political event. He makes sure to get a photo of me with the mayor. It’s awesome.

A giant snowstorm hits and I move to the top floor of the Hilton for better walking access to downtown. I enjoy a nice room with two beds about two thirds of the way up the building, which thanks to my bro’s hospitality connections is priced at less than half the rate. It has a view of the arch, which I go up, sitting in the strange eggs that kachunk a stairway pattern through the curved steel. I love it, for having no real purpose except symbolic.

Photo from below looking up at the arch

And a powerful symbol it is, The Gateway to the West…

Seven years earlier I’m angry at The Madman for not making time to see me during a visit to Los Angeles from Northern California. I am standing, leaning on the rail at the Venice Beach boardwalk, staring at the Pacific Ocean, trying to see how long it takes me to pick up a guy by wearing a tight shirt and saying nothing.

The answer is just about 11 minutes, and it’s 3 guys.

I spent the night driving around giving a tour in their rental car to three black guys from East St Louis, and another blonde they manage to pick up comes on the ride for a bit. I’m the one that knows the lay of the land. They want to go to Compton. So I take them to Compton

They’re freaked out about how deserted it is. I had the same reaction the first time I saw it. Rows and rows of houses with chain link fences around patches of turf. It’s not like the East Coast, where there’s no space between… brownstones and row houses mean you’re sharing a wall with your neighbor. Not here. Isolated units, mostly.

One of the St Louis men, V, is the one that initiates the conversation, and that I kiss goodnight. He’s affable and eager and bright and fun, but I don’t feel deeply attracted to him and one kiss is all I want and need. But another one of St Louis men, K, is quiet and deep, he only speaks when he has something worthwhile to say, and it’s always charged and meaningful.K the St Louis man is shorter than I am, and small framed, with almond shaped eyes the most beautiful shade of brown and skin the most beautiful shade of brown. When he and I talk there’s sparks and sparkles and little zaps between us. I know he’ll be my St Louis man.

Afterwards I reach out to him, to make sure we stay in touch. I tell him I was attracted to him. He replies.

“I knew you was feeling me. I felt you feeling me, and I felt you feeling that I was feeling you.”

St Louis Man

Following my St Louis man on social media teaches me that he sells cars for a living. I like seeing him make sales, and I notice that upper middle class black women like buying from him. He goes to prison for a some years, four or five. I assume it’s drugs or street crime. It’s not. It’s white collar. Yay racist assumptions

Seven years later, pulling into St Louis, I find my St Louis man through the third friend, who has kept a steady social media presence throughout and gladly abets my seduction. K and I arrange for me to come pick him up at his job.

He’s fresh out of prison and embarrassed to be doing industrial maintenance management for his family’s company since nowhere else will hire him currently. I still think he’s doing pretty well according to my awful racist stereotypes that I can’t get rid of even though I know better. I push them away, I’m disgusted by my conditioning and unconscious mind.

He’s full of energy when I pick him up. We are both excited.

We hug that awkward car hug where the wheel keeps me from touching him the way I want. He’s short, and strong. He pumps iron. He’s stacked, and ripped. He has sculpted himself into a work of art. Later he tells me the trick of his chiseled abs.

“I just eat a tiny bit when I’m hungry. Then, I wait until I get hungry again, and eat another small meal. The trick is never eating too much, never eating more than my body wants. Everybody’s different, but that’s what works for me.”

“It WORKS.” I say, unable not to stare… but I’m getting ahead of myself. Racing into the eye of the storm.

The snow is dumping at this point. It’s a full-on blizzard outside. Everything in St Louis is shut down. We are driving a few miles back to the Hilton, and once we get off the highway onto the city streets we’re sliding more than driving. There’s a couple points where K has to get out of the car to push me through a drift because the wheels are just spinning. He does a good job for a St Louis man. We make it, treacherously. 

Photo of downtown St. Louis from the Hilton, arch half visible, with a dusting of snow

We check in and it’s cute and shy, spending time with him lying in the bed and looking at me as I sit on the edge and we catch up. Then he props himself on his elbow and kisses my neck, tracing underneath my jawline with his lips. His soft lips making their way to mine.

He’s sensual and slow and strong and I close my eyes and breathe him in. Running my hands over his muscles, cupping his shoulder, feeling his breath through his skin. Every time my eyes fall open it’s his inky, beautiful skin on the paper white sheets and the contrast makes everything look so clean even when it is so dirty.

He suckles my clit with his lips, using his tongue in soft, slippery strokes. He takes his time like I’m a meal he’s been waiting for for a long time. I have to know.

“Have you been with anyone since you got out?” I ask, breathlessly. He shakes his head no into my cunt not breaking rhythm and I shudder and moan and call his name knowing I’m the first woman he’s given an orgasm to in half a decade.

He’s the only black man I’ve been with that doesn’t ask me if I’ve ever been with a black man before. If we have to classify him that way, then he’s also the hottest black man I’ve ever fucked.

He’s on his knees, looking at me, slightly stroking himself. His chest muscles ripple with the motion. 

Time for condom?” I ask him. He smiles and eagerly nods his head yes, looking at me. I grab one and hand it to him. He looks down at his cock, half hard, and sheepishly back at me.

“A little help?” he asks, shyly and sweetly. I’ve recovered from the intense orgasm and his cock looks delicious. I waste no time.

I love the feeling of him getting hard in my mouth. I’m not out to tease him, to edge him. I’m here to get him as hard as he can get, as quick as I can get him there.

I suck him firmly, wet and slurping. He moans, surprised at the shift in voracity from me, and puts his hands on my shoulders, massaging them and tracing the side of my neck and face with his hand. It isn’t long before he stops me and rolls the condom on.

Our eyes are locked and we’re kissing, lying down into the missionary position. I knead his glutes while he fucks me slowly, smiling at me. He feels good, but I feel him getting softer. He stops.

“I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m not into you. I’m an ass man. I been waiting 7 years since we met on Venice Beach just to see your ass move while I’m in you. Could we?” he backs out of me and extends a hand. 

“Actually doggie style is better for me too.” I say, taking his hand. In one motion he pulls me by the arm and scoops the other arm underneath me, using those rock hard abs to effortlessly flip me into position. 

“Oh yeah Zoe you are so fine” he says, entering me again. I’m looking over my shoulder and can see him staring at his cock disappearing into me. He runs his hands over my back and my ass, massaging, stroking, pulling, kneading. 

He’s giving me medium strokes, moving his whole body in a long snaking motion. Over my shoulder again the contrast between our peach and brown skin and the white sheets is breathtaking, and the movement of his dancing muscles delights me. Behind him is the window overlooking the arch, now almost lost in the whiteout of the snow squall, with thick white curtains framing the view. Everything in my view is white except for him. It is a canvas to him as a work of art.

“You look so hot. Your body is amazing. I love the way you’re fucking me.” I pant.

“Yesssss.” he says, stroking my hips and giving me a light slap on the ass. “Mmmm I better slow down, you got me all worked up.” 

“You don’t need to if you don’t want to.” I wink at him.

“Yeah?” he says looking at me, grinning. “I don’t think I can, actually.”

And with that permission he grabs my hips and fucks me fast. He’s careful not to drive deep and keeps his angle upward and the motion feels so good. Sweat beads on him and he’s staring at my ass jiggling with the motion, moving me as much as himself, moaning. I love that he knows how to fuck me with abandon, but without hurting me.

His brow furrows and his face tightens, his body strains towards his climax, but he doesn’t lose grace. He leans over my back, his chest is so warm. He whispers in my ear as he cums.

“I spent 4 years thinking about what it would be like to be with a woman for the first time after prison, but you are better than my wildest fantasies.”

There’s a short recovery, but I have to drop him off because he’s still on probation and can’t be out after curfew, even if the sky is frozen and falling.

After I make it back from doing so I have a drink at the hotel bar to calm my nerves – the drive was harrowing and I nearly slid into other cars. St Louis is not ready for this kind of snow. While I’m there, a news crew comes in and asks if anyone seated there wants to be interviewed.

And so I go on the local news, covered in sweat and spit and K’s scent, disheveled and rosy, to talk about what it’s been like for me to have to change my travel plans due to the storm. The lights blind me but I keep my eyes wide and smile big for the camera.

“I mean, actually, St Louis has been so kind to me, I don’t mind staying!”

View of St. Louis from the arch

More about the US Midwest/Plains:

South Dakota

Rapid City



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