Be Careful What You Wish For – Emilia Blythe

Best-interracial-erotica.

‘Be Careful What You Wish For’ the story of a mature, dosage married woman’s explosive journey across the boundaries of interracial sex.
We have all had one of those moments when we wish for something else; perhaps a sexual adventure that will ignite the humdrum routine of our sometimes monotonous lives…

It is normally always a harmless distraction, just an innocent daydream or fleeting fantasy! And so it is for the middle aged, but still gorgeous, childless, Peyton. Approaching 40 she is becoming more and more disillusioned with her tedious existence, her repetitive marriage and her fading, uncouth husband who has become but a shadow of the person she married so many years ago!

Peyton and her partner foolishly believe that they are better than ordinary folk; that they are a part of a rich elite, W.A.S.P society, and they harbour expectations of more prestigious things to come. Although in truth they are quite deluded in thinking themselves ‘better’ than others. And their ingrained racist beliefs and attitudes get all mixed up with their ideas of their own superiority. A harsh lesson is waiting to be learned…

As Peyton lays in the sun on her 1st class cruise and exclusive, second honeymoon, the only thing she knows for sure is that she is unsettled, bored and so terribly hot; she simply wishes and craves for something intangible, ethereal and irresistible to happen and shake her world upside down.

13503694_lcAnd what she finds is the very last thing she expected…

EXTRACT:

Another lazy, gentle morning was dawning; the roll and swell of the ocean was almost undetectable and the light came through the paper thin slats in the port holes like tiny white shards of brilliant glass to disturb my rest and much needed snooze and contemplation.

As holidays went, the cruise had been wonderful and especially fine; it was almost impossibly hard to criticise or complain about, as the multi floored ocean liner out of Miami was spectacular, fantastical, gargantuan and huge and filled with every comfort and distraction you could possibly want or ever imagine.

However as a second honeymoon? Well let’s just politely say, it could have been better or perhaps a little more romantic!

My husband, John was still snoring, irritatingly loudly and definitely unattractively in his building and falling breath and wind that every few seconds exploded into a disturbing cacophony of sound that just made me want to scream at him in annoyance and exasperation to… Shut Up!

Big John, because that is what everyone called him, was the man I married or then again perhaps not; he had changed a lot since those former carefree halcyon days when he had been a Quarterback at Northwest and me, a not so innocent, nubile cheerleader, at Georgia State, University.

John was a huge man, 6 feet tall, broad and strong like an ox although, through too much beer and frequent copious amounts of fast food, a lot of his former muscle had now unfortunately and disappointingly turned to unsightly, hanging flab.

He was still quite handsome though, in his own unique way, with his dark hair and ruddy cheeks but undoubtedly the gloss and flush of our original, special relationship had gone, to quote a nautical term, drifting south a while ago!

The first honeymoon after we had married so rashly at only 20 years of age, had been in Florida…mostly at the amusement parks which we both enjoyed immensely although, in retrospect, it had been somewhat juvenile and not in keeping with our eternal aspirations and intentions of a more refined and elite way of life.

We had never quite made that step, yet, to join the real WASPs of Oakland County, but we were Detroit residents through and through and getting there.

John was now doing increasingly well in the building trade and he had organised this 20-year anniversary treat for us, on a very expensive and very exclusive, ocean cruise.

It seemed somehow surrounded by this elegance and opulence that I had found my true place in the world and had finally arrived!

We’d never had children, John never wanted them and I never complained loudly enough that I did, and now at 39 I had well come to terms that such an event was now disappointingly, extremely unlikely ever to happen!

However I had grown to accept that fact, although I often peculiarly felt the loss of something I had strangely never possessed; but we now had some money and I undoubtedly enjoyed the luxury life we were living without the burdensome expense of any offsprings.

I was definitely feeling middle aged or old; rapidly sensed, I was losing my flush of youth and good looks and had to unfortunately acknowledge and accept that I was definitely no spring chicken anymore.

Instinctively I knew my appearance was not too bad as I still exercised and was careful with food, but the sags, bags and indications of experience were recognisable to me everywhere I looked and inspected, on my tall, slender body.

Even my face was increasingly lined but thankfully I still retained something of my former glory and was still pleasing and attractive to the eye.

We’d been on the water for over a week and there was only a further 7 days to go before we returned to Miami and flew back home to the good old centre of the USA’s formerly thriving, car production business.

Our hometown of Detroit had experienced a tough time but we were on the way back and my, Big John was playing his part in rebuilding the old factories and staking our claim in a better future for us there.

There were some wealthy, upper class and elite people on board and it was such a relief and blessing to be surrounded by our own type; unfortunately however there was also a huge, ethnic selection and mixture of people on the boat as well.

Most of the 1st class passengers were really interesting, friendly and well bred, but to be quite mean, brutal, frank and honest a few too many Africans for my liking!

Although they appeared, on the surface, to be wealthy, well to do and even amiable, highly educated and intelligent I knew of course it was just a façade.

I’m not sure if they were real Africans or, to be politically correct as you had to be nowadays, African Americans, but I am sure you understand what I was referring and alluding to and of course the overall, unfortunate picture!

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