When I was 21, I met my first Black girlfriend. For this story, I’ll call her Leanna.
We met at a nightclub in downtown Toronto. She was working as a go-go dancer in a cage.
Her body could stop a clock—T&A for days. I was pretty shy back then. I kept watching her dance in the cage, 20 feet off the ground. The way she moved spoke to my body… and my body wanted to talk back.
After a few hours, she had a break. I was standing at the bar, 20 feet from the cage. She walked over to me and said, “You’ve been watching me all night. I noticed you kept looking at me.” She laughed, and my blood ran cold—I thought I was about to see the bouncer.
She said, “My name is Leanna. You’re cute—what’s your name?”
I said, “Thomas.”
“Will, Thomas, this is your lucky day. I love white guys.”
She laughed again. Only this time, my heart was pumping out of my chest. Why did she want me? I’d never been with a Black woman.
Yes—it was something I desperately wanted to try. She took a bar napkin and wrote her digits on it.
“I expect you to call me tomorrow afternoon. 1 PM. Don’t be late or early—1 on the dot.”
Then Leanna reached down and grabbed my thigh. My dick nearly popped out of the blue suit I was wearing. She knew she was making me hard. Then she laughed, finished her drink, and went back to her cage.
The sexual tension between us grew all night. I knew the rest of that night she was dancing for me.
The next day, I called her at 1 on the dot. We met for coffee that afternoon. Sitting outside the coffee shop, we talked for hours.
The more she talked, the more I was hers for the taking. She knew it too. We were both pretty young—she was 19, I was 21. She had long black hair and a striking dark brown skin tone. Sexy lips and eyes you could get lost in.
She said, “I had you pretty horny all night last night.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. Then she whispered in my ear, “I got no panties on, Tom. I dare you—eat my pussy right here.”
I shook with fear. We were in public. My cock was harder than it had ever been. I kept thinking, I can’t do this… I can’t do this.
“DO it,” she whispered. “Eat my pussy now.”
It was getting dark so quickly. I dropped to my knees and gave her what she wanted. I can still taste her on my lips.
She said, “You’re mine now. Don’t forget it. Your white ass is mine, and no one else’s.”
We went to a cheap motel and fucked all night long.
Next morning:
“Okay, baby,” I said. “Time for me to go home.”
Leanna said, “Okay, but remember—your white ass is mine now.”
“So we’re a couple?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve tasted me, I’ve tasted you. We’re bonded.”
For the next few months, we fucked like rabbits—everywhere. She was my soul. Her family (mom and dad) did not like me; they wanted her with a Black guy. But she loved me, and I loved her. Nothing could break us apart.
Two years went by. She started working at a strip club. Her folks had tossed her out because she was dating me—they disowned her.
I was still living at home but never spoke about her. My dad didn’t care for my dating habits. I spent weekends at her place and was home the rest of the week.
She asked me to move in. I wasn’t ready for that step. Because I failed to take it, she started cheating with the strip club owner. I had no idea this was happening.
She started doing coke, drinking, partying hard, and missing our dates. Finally, I had enough and broke it off. I told her why I was leaving. She said it didn’t matter.
“I’ve been fucking my boss for months.”
I had never hurt so much as when I found out about her cheating. My heart stopped beating that day. She went off with him to Calgary to open a club. We lost touch.
Years later, I ran into her sister at a local shopping mall. We had coffee and talked. She said, “Leanna loved you, but the drugs made her weak. She got help, but it was too late, Tom. She’s gone.”
Leanna came home two months before she died. She wrote a letter for me. Her sister said, “Come by the house and I’ll give it to you.”
I won’t say what was in that letter—but Leanna still haunts me today. I miss her. She was very special.
I am now 45, single, and still searching for the one—the lady who will capture my complete soul. I know I am being watched over by a very special lady. She won’t let just any woman have me. She has to be very special.