Indian Babe

‘Are you sick?’ Grace Burdon stared at the man she’d been married to for fifty-two years and tears filled her eyes. She remembered the skinny fifteen-year old that had asked her to a school dance, the young man that had gone to war, the father that had put three children through college and the soft-hearted older man who rescued animals. This man held her heart in his hands. And he was a nigger. ‘No, no. I’m fine.’ She said shakily. ‘Finish your notes.’ ‘They can wait. Are you sure you’re okay?’ ‘Yes.’ She watched him sit back down and he patted the arm of the chair, holding his arm out. It was his signal for her to come and keep him company while he made his financial notes. She had always adored sitting with him, his arm curled around her ass and slyly rubbing a firm globe. Heart in her throat, she slowly walked over the chair and sat on the edge. His dark-skinned arm wrapped around her, his wide fingers splaying over her hip. Grace fought the revulsion that burned in her throat. ‘Party! Whoop!’ **** Once the door to our room was locked, we somehow ended up in a tangled mess of limbs across the carpet in the middle of our room, rolling around like kids and belying our age.I stole a few kisses from Anne, who alternated between groping and tickling me, and I finally ended up on my back, my girlfriend sitting across my stomach, bent over me and holding my hands above my head. That’s when, with tears of laughter in my eyes and giggles shaking my stomach, another realization hit me like a freight train and took my breath away in a very uncomfortable way. Suddenly the tears weren’t those of laughter anymore, but it took Anne a moment to become aware that something was wrong with me. ‘Bunnie?’ I looked up at her beautiful face, those cute, swollen lips, the needy look in her eyes, and a knot formed in my stomach. ‘Bunnie?’ The worry in her voice grew. ‘Talk to me! What’s going on?’ I stared into her eyes and tried to find the right words for the sudden desperation.
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