Chance Encounter--A Marlon Jackson Erotica

 

I’ve always liked how accessible Marlon Jackson seems to be. Unlike most celebrities, it appears you can meet him in the most mundane and normal of places--walking in a park or eating at a local McDonald’s. He does his own grocery shopping, pumps his own gas; the sort of thing you wouldn’t expect of a noted personality. With that idea in mind, I have penned a story in which a girl meets Marlon under the most ordinary of circumstances. A meeting that leads to a rather extraordinary experience.

 

 

 

“Chance Encounter”

 

 

A Marlon Jackson Erotica By:

MJsLoveSlave

 

Providence, New York

Spring, 1977

There were just some things that could turn a good day into a great day.

It had already been a relatively good day for Jacqueline Bow.

That particular Saturday in late May had dawned and become a wonderfully mild and pleasant day. Though the sun shone brightly and the sky was a clear, sapphire-like blue, the weather was not yet blistering, as it could get as summer continued to come closer and closer.

The temperature was barely cresting at eighty degrees, and every so often, a cool, skin prickling breeze would blow.

It was the sort of day that begged to be spent in the out of doors, and that was exactly what Jacqueline planned to do.

A short jaunt from the cottage she called her own--Providence was a small, coastal, country town, nothing like the round-the-clock, bustling metropolis of New York City, some thirty miles south--led the young woman to one of her favorite spots in town: Alexander Hamilton Park.

Hamilton Park was the heart of Providence, the general gathering spot for all. On any given day there were elderly couples tossing stale bread bits to the pigeons, young men playing touch football in the open, expanse fields, young ladies stretched in the grass sunning themselves to skin cancer, and small children skateboarding and using chalk to draw hopscotch grids.

Yes, it was a good day to be able to sit on one of the many wooden benches dotting the park, crack open a trashy romance novel and enjoy a day of doing nothing.

The good day became great, when a vendor went by with a pushcart and enabled Jacqueline to buy her favorite snack: a large, soft pretzel, brushed with spicy brown mustard and an ice-cold bottle of Diet Coke.

Spreading her vittles and herself casually on the bench--she had no intention of sharing it--and picked up her book, a small, thick tome.

Holding it up, she stared at the cover.

It read as The Conquistador by Tiffeny M. Bailey in brilliant gold lettering against a plan, emerald green background.

Tiffeny M. Bailey was Jacqueline’s favorite authoress and since discovering her books a few months ago, had read just about all seventeen of her novels. Everything from Florence’s Fantastic Folly to White Marble. It made Jacqueline’s heart sing to pick up books that concerned fantasies of African-Americans. That women who looked like her graced those gilt-edged pages and could have breathless, torrid affairs with an enchanting variety of men. Some black as midnight, and bald heads that shone like a fresh oil slick. Some were golden-skinned with haunting green eyes. Others were a soft mocha brown, with backsides so well rounded, it was as if they had been sculpted by the very hands of God.

The Conquistador was no different.

According to the summary on the back, the story was that of a Black Spanish nobleman who, on a trip to Paris, in the late nineteenth century, falls for a Cancan girl he meets at The Moulin Rouge.

Jacqueline

Flipping the first page, Jacqueline, with her free hand was breaking a piece of pretzel and gnawing on it, was instantly absorbed in the tale.

 

CHAPTER ONE

“Born into one of the premiere families of Spain, Sir Rodrigo Montalba physically appeared as noble as he had been bred to be. The son of a full-blooded Spanish father whom could trace his lineage back for nine generations, and an Ethiopian mother, his unorthodox appearance placed him head and shoulders above his contemporaries. Rodrigo was of average height, but a swarthy sort of man, with skin the color of a smooth, light bronze. His face, though rather flat, boasted a wide, broad nose, and below it, protruding, thick lips that were the result of his mother’s pure African blood coursing through his veins.

 

His eyes were that of his European father’s. Large and bright, his eyes were a queer shade of pale gold touched by the merest hint of hazel when caught in the right lights. His hair, tinged a deep reddish brown and unlike other men, was worn out extravagantly, with its natural, kinked curl, circling his head as something of a follicular halo.

Rodrigo’s figure was refined, slim, sleek and toned and was draped in only the finest silks that passed through from China. He was one of the best-dressed individuals in all of Spain.

A soft-spoken, vividly intelligent gentleman, he was, whom excelled in all the manly pursuits: horseback riding, hunting, holding copious amounts of liquor with a cool head and courting all the young ladies of the upper echelon of society…”

Pulling another piece of pretzel loose, Jacqueline nibbled on it thoughtfully, closing her eyes, and doing her best to try to imagine this Sir Rodrigo Montalba.

She did this when trying to envision every last one of the male heartthrobs in Tiffeny Bailey’s novels.

Jacqueline had never heard of a person with golden eyes. Brown, hazel, green, blue and even violet, like actress Elizabeth Taylor, but never gold.

Lifting that cold, no-calorie soda to her little lips, she wondered if gold eyes even truly occurred in nature or was merely a characteristic dreamt up by Miss Bailey just to make her leading man all the more intriguing.

Either way, Sir Montalba was something that she could dream about. He was just the kind of guy she could go for…if a guy like him even existed.

Popping the last bite of pretzel into her mouth and savoring it, it was so soft and buttery, with the kick of that hot mustard, she considered hunting down the pretzel man and throwing another seventy-five cents at him.

And that’s when she felt it.

Something warm and furry, and rather heavy pressing down on her left foot.

Eyes popping open, Jacqueline was startled to see that a large dog was at her feet, its head resting on her foot and staring up, as though he belonged to her.

It was beautiful beast. Its appearance, wolf-like in that he was a strong looking animal, with a thick coat of dense grey and white covering him. His eyes, a crisp shade of blue remained calmly up at the woman, as he panted lightly.

Leaning over, Jacqueline went to pet its head; he didn’t appear to want to take a chunk out of her.

“Champ! Bad dog! Bad dog! Get off that lady’s shoe! Get off, Champ!”

A voice nearing her demanded sternly. The dog remained planted.

A set of feet, wearing dark leather loafers and attached to deep brown flared denim trousers appeared beside Champ.

Still looking down at the animal, she watched as a set of long, manicured, caramel colored hands began fastening a collar, made of black leather, with a silver name tag dangling from it around the dog’s thick throat and attached a chain-link leash to it.

“Bad dog!” The voice repeated and a finger wagged. “I left you to get my camera and you run off and bother this lady! Bad Champ!”

The dog seemed unaffected at the scolding, but rose when his lease was tugged.

Then, much softer, the voice questioned,

“Did he ruin you shoe? If he did, I’ll pay for a new pair.”

Jacqueline had been wearing an expensive pair of navy leather, platform espadrilles, but Champ had only laid his head on her foot.

At least he hadn’t raised his leg and peed on her!

She lifted her head to tell Champ’s owner there was no harm done and was struck dumb.

Standing at her side was a man.

He was of average height, and slim, with a figure that was shown off by the dark trousers and a plaid top. A plaid of dark and light brown, interwoven against a background of white.

Colors that only helped to enhance the man’s light bronze complexion.

Her breath caught in her throat the longer she gazed at him.

He had a wide, broad nose, and thick, pouted lips that stuck out prominently. The sun dancing through the trees, showed his hair, arranged in a large afro, as being tinged with red.

And as he returned her gaze…his eyes! Jesus Christ!

His eyes were gold!

For a second, Jacqueline’s eyes fell to her book.

This man was the living, breathing embodiment of Sir Rodrigo Montalba!

Staring at him all over, she noticed his lips were flapping.

 

“…what?”

“I said, I’m sorry he came over to you…” The man repeated, his speaking voice as mild as the day. “He’s trained better than that. I spent six weeks having him trained in English and German. Cost a pretty penny, too.”

Jacqueline didn’t care if the dog could recite Mein Kampf by itself, she’d damn near forgotten it was there.

This man…she’d never seen a man like him. She had to know him.

She couldn’t just let him walk off and out her life.

“What…what kind of dog is he?” Was all she could muster and the man’s face brightened at her interest.

“Champ is a Siberian Husky. He’s about a year old. I got him when a neighbor of mine’s dog had puppies and he was giving them away. Raised him from a pup. You can pet him if you like, he‘s really docile.”

Reaching down, he was scratching Champ behind the ear.

Enjoying the scratch, Champ’s mouth was open m with him panting and grunting happily.

Petting at the top of the canine’s furry head, Jacqueline glanced at the man. He was so proud of his dog, he was puffing up in the chest.

“I know your dog’s name is Champ…” She spoke in carefully measured tones. “…do you have a name, too?”

“Oh!” The man gasped and a hand was jutted out. “Excuse my manners! Champ got me loony. I’m Marlon! Marlon Jackson!”

Marlon Jackson. It wasn’t as colorful as Rodrigo Montalba, but when he was that gorgeous, who truly cared?

Taking hold of his soft hand, Jacqueline snickered.

“I’m Jacqueline Walcott, My friends call me Jackie--”

“I can’t call you Jackie!” Marlon swiftly refused, shaking his head, hair swaying. “My big brother is named Jackie!”

At the mention of his brother, Jacqueline gasped,

“Jackie Jackson is your big brother? The same Jackie Jackson that owns Kay and Jay’s restaurant?”

Why, everyone in Providence knew of Kay and Jay’s. It was the most popular eatery in town, that, against the backdrop of an opulent setting, served down home, Southern comfort foods, like fried chicken and green bean casserole.

She celebrated her four birthdays in the restaurant!

Jacqueline was talking to one of the wealthiest men in town!

Marlon nodded, “Yes, it was named after our parents, Katherine and Joseph….well me and my siblings all have partial ownership.”

He paused, then questioned meekly,

“May I call you Linnie, instead of Jackie?”

Eagerly she nodded. He wanted to call her names!

That meant he wanted to talk to her some more!

A sweet smile came to that face and those pale eyes sparkled.

Jacqueline wanted to pass out. She wasn’t used to having handsomeness of this magnitude so close to her.

“I was going to film Champ doing some tricks, would you like to come watch?”

He was asking her along! By golly, he wanted her company!

Rising to her feet, Jacqueline discovered she was taller than Marlon, with the help of a five inch platform, that matched the navy, short, shorts romper on her body.

It wasn’t lost on her that those golden eyes took in her adequately sized bust--with just a touch of cleavage showing out of the zip-front of the romper--and her long legs. He was checking her out.

And by the touch of a smirk on that plump mouth of his, he seemed to like what he was looking at.

“Sure, I’d love to!” She grinned, hoping he noticed her pretty, smooth brown face, the dark eyes adorned in blue eyeliner with gobs of mascara and the small, thinnish mouth painted a glossy red. Noticed how her shoulder grazing jet black bob had been feathered and flicked from her face attractively.

Snatching up her book, she fell in step with Marlon, Champ obediently trotting out front, as they started off down the side walk.

As they passed other people on the pavement, Jacqueline wondered if people thought she and Marlon were a couple. Did they look good together? Look like they belonged together?

Noticing the book in her hand, Marlon commented with a chuckle.

“You read those stories by Tiffeny Bailey, too? My little sister loves those!”

“Yeah” Jacqueline commented as he hooted,

“I don’t know how Janet--that’s my sister--gets her hands on those books. She’s only eleven, and I picked up one of them when I was visiting my folks. I started peeking at it---Lord, my hair went bone-straight!”

Crowing, Marlon wagged his head.

“Some of that stuff is off the walls. Not the kind of stuff Janet should read, but if I told on her, she’d get noisy. I ain’t never met that Tiffeny chick, but she got the kind of ideas that can scare a dude…”

Looking down at Marlon’s bobbing afro, Jacqueline was already developing some ideas of her own.

Some that maybe, Tiffeny Bailey could write about, provided the book didn’t burst into flames!

 

Sometime Later

“…play dead! Come on boy! Play dead for Daddy!”

Marlon commanded, standing a few feet from his dog, a small, gun-like video camera up to his face.

Sitting in the shade of a grand oak, Jacqueline was a happy spectator, looking on as Marlon a few yards away was trying to film his pet.

Champ stood at attention, panting, pink tongue out, staring up at his master.

“Play dead for me! Damn it! I spent two grand on you to learn tricks!” Marlon, exasperated, cried, and stamped a foot.

The view from behind Marlon Jackson was glorious. His strong lean legs and plump backside were hugged perfectly by his tight jeans.

Had they been painted on?

“Fine, don’t play dead!” Marlon whined and began pointing at the ground. “Sit down! Sit down!”

Much to his displeasure, instead of sitting, Champ rose up and placed his paws on Marlon’s shoulders.

“Oh shit! No! No! What the hell? Down Champ! Down!”

A dance broke out as the dog refused to let go of Marlon and his tongue lapped his nose.

“Aaaah! Dog breath!” He shrieked, flailing helplessly.

Jacqueline would have lent a hand, had she not been curled in the grass laughing so at the spectacle.

“NEIN!”

Marlon screamed and instantly, Champ released him.

Staggering around, he grumbled,

“You mean to tell me, I gotta talk to you in German? I ain’t German! I’m a Brother and I’m gonna kick Michael crooked for ever telling me to have you trained in two languages! A Husky is Russian anyway!”

Jacqueline sat up, awed, when Marlon started doling out commands in the language of lederhosen and cold lager.

And with studied training, the Husky obeyed his master.

 

“Sich aufritchen!”

Champ sat.

 

“Umdrehen!”

He finally rolled over on his back, legs in the air.

A third, he was sitting again.

A fourth and he barked brightly.

Marlon spoke a sentence Jacqueline didn’t understand and Champ trotted over, picked up a well-chewed tennis ball on the ground near the woman and trotted back out to Marlon, where he took the ball and flung it.

Champ was a memory, off to retrieve it.

With the dog running after a piece of rubber, Marlon sauntered over to Jacqueline, joining her in the grass.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with that mutt.” He lamented, sitting Indian-style beside her. “He usually responds to English commands…but no, today he wants to be German. Ugh.”

Impressed that Marlon was bilingual, and wanting to hear that soft voice of his some more--he sounded like he was singing when he spoke, Jacqueline inquired,

“How do you know German, Marlon? Did you learn it when training your dog?”

“No…” Marlon tried to lean back against the tree and bumped his head. “Ow--I studied abroad when I was high school. Foreign exchange program. My parents insisted all of us kids study abroad, to make us more well-rounded. Spent a year in West Berlin. Ate so much bratwurst, sauerkraut and strudel, I gained thirty pounds! I won’t touch the stuff now. I don’t even like beer.”

Smiling, Jacqueline looked over Marlon. He was so gorgeous. If he had gained thirty pounds, it had been worked off and produced a svelte body. Damn it, he was hot!

“My brother, Tito, spent his year in Paris, and he STILL hasn’t lost the weight he gained eating all that rich French food and pastries…”

Marlon paused abruptly, and stared at Jacqueline.

“Am I talking too much? I run off at the mouth sometimes…” He commented, a soft redness coming to his cheeks.

“I don’t mind…you can talk all you like.” Jacqueline encouraged him, staring at his beautiful mouth.

She wondered what it would like to kiss such lips, so big and cushiony looking.

Marlon, setting up, reclined against the tree trunk next to her, the scent of a salty, oceanic smelling cologne mingling in her nose. He smelled so good.

“Well, you know I own a restaurant--we’ll open more soon--but what do you do, Linnie? You know, aside from sitting and looking cute in the middle of public parks?”

Jacqueline’s ears perked up at the compliment. He thought she was cute!

Unable to help giggling, her cheeks flaming, she stammered,

“I’m a teacher’s aide. It’s helping to pay for me to take classes at NYU to become an elementary school teacher.”

A hand came up, stroking his chin and Marlon mumbled,

 

“Wow, smart and cute! That’s nice.”

Hot all over, Jacqueline had to look away.

Champ returned with the ball and as soon as it was released to Marlon, it was flung across the field again.

The dog was gone once more, chasing after it.

Jacqueline’s hot body broke out in a mist of cool sweat, when something warm and damp brushed her rouged cheek.

Turning, she stared and found Marlon gazing at her through the lush lashes on his oddly-colored eyes.

A smirk was curling that mouth of his.

Had…had he just kissed her?

His hand, smoother than any man’s she had ever touched, gripped hers warmly.

Those eyes, those golden eyes burned into hers passionately for a moment, before closing, as his head drew nearer.

Seconds later Jacqueline found out just what it felt like to kiss Marlon Jackson.

Something close to Heaven…his mouth tasted of peppermints strongly, and just the right amount on moisture; his mouth was as pleasant as the day itself. His lips were as soft and supple as the clouds themselves.

She became so dizzy, overtaken and overwhelmed, she didn’t know which way up.

This man!

She sagged, weakened with lust as he pulled his lips slowly from hers.

Those same lips brushed her ear lobe as he whispered, his breath steamy against her lobe,

“Why…why don’t we get out of here, Linnie? My home isn’t far from here…”

Home! He wanted to take her home! Jacqueline wasn’t the type to just run off with a man she had known only a few hours, but there was something different about Marlon. Something sweet and genuine about him that made it alright. Made it alright for her to go with him.

And even if it wasn’t, he was so fine, she would have followed him any way!

Her gaze dropping to her lap, Jacqueline managed to question hoarsely,

“And what do you want to do at your home, Marlon?”

Fingertips brushed her arm playfully as he replied,

 

“Something we’d get arrested for if we did it here in the park…”

“Oh, God…” Jacqueline stammered as Champ returned with the ball, panting loudly from his run.

Taking the ball, Marlon stood and held a hand out to her.

She stared at it a moment.

She was really going to do this. Going to go with this man, simply because he looked like a storybook character.

It was crazy. This was so crazy. Too crazy.

Reaching up, she grasped his hand and was helped to her feet.

She then draped his arm around her hips and the two, led in front by Champ, started away.

She was going to be crazy…

* * *

 

“…this is a Manzanilla…it’s a type of sherry…”

Marlon was explaining, as he entered his living room, a tall, dark bottle in one hand, and a long, crystal flute in the other.

“I have other wines, but they’re down in the cellar. This was already chilled in the fridge. I prefer my wine cold.”

Taking a seat beside Jacqueline, he began pouring the pale yellow liquid.

Marlon Jackson lived alone, in a cottage, much like Jacqueline’s, that was only a short walk from Hamilton Park. The only difference was Jacqueline’s house was to the north of the park, and Marlon’s, to the south.

Though most of the houses on the block looked like the ones in Jacqueline’s--modest, one story cottages painted a variety of colors--it was clear Marlon’s neighborhood was filled with affluence.

Large, luxury sedans sat in many of the driveways and all over, gardening trucks were tending to the well-kept, lush green lawns.

Marlon’s cottage, in the center of the block on the left side, was a nice, white-washed, bungalow style residence, with a small, black Ferrari parked in the driveway.

Champ was out back, resting in a dog house that matched his master’s home--in smaller form. A custom creation Marlon mentioned he’d had made in Canada.

And the two-legged folks were in the living room.

It was a neat, wide room, with lots of windows allowing warm sunshine in.

The room was paneled in rich, dark woods, and appeared to have a classic look to it.

All of the furniture was upholstered in a deep red leather, and faced a large console television.

Scattered about, were portraits of Marlon and his family.

Above the television, a large, silver framed photo showed the entire family, Marlon, his parents and his eight brothers and sisters.

Jacqueline watched as Marlon tilted the flute to his mouth, lips covering the rim, and took a deep sip.

“Hmm…that’s good stuff…” He said more to himself than to her and lifting the bottle was replacing the sip he’s taken with liquid.

“Here, try some….” The glass was held out to her. “…I had to taste it first, I’d never want to share anything that didn’t taste right.”

Though Jacqueline wasn’t much of a drinker, she did accept the glass and take a sip.

Not a connoisseur of wine, as Marlon appeared to be, she didn’t quite like the dry, unsweetened, and mildly salty flavor of the sherry.

At least, not to the extent of Marlon’s enthusiasm.

But she did manage to swallow what she had put in her mouth.

Taking the glass from her, Marlon finished what was left, and set the empty flute on the top of the highly polished coffee table.

“Linnie…” Marlon paused and chuckled, almost in an embarrassed fashion. Leaning forward over his parted legs, he linked his hands together. “Before we go any further, I want to tell you something.”

Jacqueline’s heart instantly tied up.

What was he going to say? Did he have a girlfriend? A wife? Did he have children?

(A venereal disease?)

“What is it, Marlon?” She whispered, frightened of what he might say. Maybe her perfect man wasn’t so perfect after all.

Looking forward at the dim television, Marlon chuckled again.

“You know how Champ came up, and laid his head on your foot?”

“Yes…” Jacqueline eyed him curiously.

“Well, that was no accident, Linnie. It took me three solid weeks to teach him to do that. You wear shoes similar to my older sister, Latoya, and I trained Champ using her…you see…”

Marlon’s head turned and he glanced back at her.

“You go to the park a lot. And I noticed you one day. Just like you were today, sitting alone, reading a book, eating a pretzel. I’ve been looking at you for about a month, trying to figure how to come up to you. Talk to you. At first, I was scared--”

“Scared? Of me?” Jacqueline snickered, feeling special that Marlon had been attracted to her for quite a while, and had to work up his nerve. Girls liked hearing things like that from men who seemed so in control.

“Kind of. As pretty as you are, I kept expecting somebody who looked like Apollo Creed to come up and throw his arm around you. But he never did. All I saw was you, with a book in your hand, reading, and sitting there. And so I trained my dog. You saw how loony Champ was today, I didn’t even think he’d go up to you, since he wasn’t used to you. But he did…”

A pleased, almost sleepy look crossed Marlon’s face.

“You’re here with me…right now…and I don’t want you to go…”

Reaching up and patting his smooth cheek, Jacqueline, touched and overwhelmed he’d gone through so much just to be near her, assured him,

“I’m not going anywhere, until you say so…”

Marlon’s face flushed again, and teasingly pinching his cheek, Jacqueline heard herself talking before she was fully aware of it.

It was her suddenly rampant emotions, all falling and tumbling over one another--love, lust, want--that made her say,

“You brought me here, saying that whatever it was you planned to do would get us arrested in the park. When are we going to start breaking laws around here?”

It wasn’t naturally in Jacqueline to be that forward and spunky, but something about Marlon was drawing it out of her.

Standing up, Marlon took her hand.

“We become outlaws--right now.”

And Jacqueline was snatched clean off her feet.

* * *

“Oh! Oh! OH! Stop! Marlon! Stop--please!”

Jacqueline screamed weakly, gripping a large, down-stuffed pillow to her bare bosom.

That damp, slightly rough sensation that threatened to drive her to erotic madness never stopped its flicking for one instant and a muffle chuckle was heard.

Jacqueline lay nude, nestled in the center of the stark white bedroom of Marlon Jackson, her body draped on the silk sheets.

The only bits of color to the room where Jacqueline and Marlon themselves.

The embattled young woman could scarcely remember what had happened.

All she knew was that Marlon had grabbed her hand, quite literally flown down the hallway of the bungalow, to the master suite in the rear of the house.

His suite was a white wonderland, with everything the color of a cloud inside. The walls, the shag carpet, the king-sized bed draped in silk.

Even the television, set off in a corner, was white.

It was something of a blur from there.

There was kissing, copious, obscene amounts of kissing. Lips smacking carelessly. Tongues flopping in and out of mouths that didn’t belong to them.

Bodies pressing against one another, rubbing and caressing wildly.

Then clothing came off.

Jacqueline’s romper, and panties off and tossed on the floor, out of the way.

Marlon had knelt before her, kissing at her ankles as he unbuckled her sandals and removed them.

Then his clothing had come off.

The plaid shirt, the white undershirt, the brown trousers and socks and shoes.

All that remained, as far as Jacqueline knew, was a pair of skimpy, bikini-cut underwear, that were bright red.

One long hand, with one decisive push, had sent Jacqueline off onto her back so rapidly her head had swam.

By the time she figured what was up from what was down, Marlon Jackson was making his next move.

Gently, how Marlon went from rough to soft with such ease amazed her, he parted her legs and had stared at the little slit of flesh that was her pussy. Adored with a single stripe of hair.

(Author’s Note, this is the 70s, but I’m not sending Marlon into an overgrown bush!)

A slit that now was obscured, as ‘Linnie’ looked down over her body, by a large, red-tinged afro.

“Ah!” She gasped sharply and twisted as Marlon’s tongue, continued to plug away at her, flicking off her “love button” rapidly.

It was a sensation she had felt before, but not with the expertise with which Marlon was showing.

In and out, in and out, one long lick, then the flicking, then in and out of her again…

Was the man a porn star in his spare time?

“Marlon, stop! No! No!” She begged hoarsely, and went to grab at his hair to pull him away.

He was making her feel too good, too fast.

With a loud pop, Marlon withdrew his mouth from her and gazed sneakily up through his lashes.

“Why do you want me to stop, Linne, Honey? Gonna come?”

He taunted, rubbing at her with one hand and starting to suck on his fingertips.

 

 

“Yes--”

 

“I can’t just do that…” Marlon’s tongue, pink and wet, lapped at his pinky finger. “You’re too delicious!”

With that, he placed warm hands on her cool thighs and pushed her legs open as far as he could get them.

Again, half his face disappeared.

“Ah! Marlon! Marlon! Baby! Stop! Please!” She pleaded, her voice escalating in decibels as he used his fingers to sweep in and out of her, tongue flicking faster and faster.

Forcing herself forward, she grabbed a hold of his hair, and started to tug at his kinked strands in an effort for mercy.

She didn’t want to come…not this quickly.

She wanted the moment to last as long as possible.

“Ow! OW! Okay! Okay, let go, Linnie! Ha! Let go!” Marlon conceded and withdrew his mouth, stopping long enough to kiss the inside of her inflamed right thigh.

Gazing up at her secretively again he laughed,

“And what would you like now, Sweetie…would you like for me to um…”

He trailed off and stood. His body was a glorious wonder of thinness and well-defined muscles all over, from his six-pack abdomen, to his pectorals, waving tiny brown nips, to the beautifully outlined thighs and legs he possessed.

Jacqueline didn’t know exactly what Marlon did, but he kept his form in excellent shape.

She did know if he didn’t touch her, she’d burst into flames.

That’s when the red satin that had been containing Marlon’s bits and pieces fell away.

And that’s when Jacqueline sat bolt upright, her eyes widening in awe.

Sprouting from a modest fluff of gleaming black pubic curls, was Marlon’s penis.

Long and thick, with about an inch of pink in the tip protruding from the uncircumcised halo of foreskin, his dick had to be knocking on at least ten inches if not more so.

Jacqueline had never seen a man with such an endowment.

Would…would he even fit?

Toying with that mammoth mass, and patting at his hairy little scrotum, Marlon inched his way onto the bed.

Once he was settled beside her, he tucked her hair back behind her ears, and silently began to stare at her.

He stared so long, Jacqueline became uneasy.

“Is…is something wrong?” She asked, worried he didn’t like her body.

“No…“ Marlon huffed. “I just wanted to memorize how you look at this moment, before we share each other, that’s all.”

Leaning over, Jacqueline pecked at his lips.

Moments later, Marlon was lowering himself onto her, his mouth covering hers as he was easing that girth of flesh into her.

His sweet kisses muffling her cries of pleasure and pain.

Slowly tentatively, he began grinding those powerful little hips of his, bumping into Jacqueline over and over and over again.

Jacqueline’s crimson nails found their way into Marlon’s back and were greedily gripping at him and after his round, globe-like ass as he continued to pick away at her.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes….Oh, aw!” Marlon whimpered taking his mouth from Jacqueline’s and hugging closely to her, pressing her bosom against his own.

The two people were becoming one and it couldn’t be figured where one ended and the other began.

“Oh…oh Marlon…Marlon….Marlon!” Jacqueline lost for speech at the way Marlon was…was loving her…could only call his name.

Marlon wasn’t fucking her…he was making love to her.

“Oh…oh my God…damn…oh my God, Linnie…Ugh, ugh, ugh….”

Hugging Marlon closer to her, Jacqueline sucked along his neck, which was starting to perspire, salty little beads of sweat leaking into her mouth.

Marlon’s face, which had been watching her intently during the sex, was now starting to squinch, as throes of ecstasy were starting to wear on him.

“Linnie!” There was urgency in his voice. “I can’t hold it much longer! I cant--I can’t--I can’t--I can’t!”

His eyes closed, mouth puckered and he collapsed forward, his hips starting to flail and flop harder and harder.

“Ah, MARLON! Ah, MARLON! Ah, MARLON!”

The sudden increasing of the momentum was starting to pull Jacqueline on home in the very same instant.

Curled together, in a ball of chocolate and caramel colored flesh, bodies damp from their exertions, Marlon’s hands, which had been firmly planted on Jacqueline’s slim thighs, holding her open for himself, moved.

And found their way to cupping her face.

Less than an inch above them, Marlon was staring again, and breathing loudly, sweat streaming from his brow,

With one final, piercing thrust, both man and woman locked eyes and shrieked, as in unison, one gave up to the other.

Hotly, wetly, and messily.

‘Marlon…” Jacqueline whined as he laid on her, his chin falling onto her shoulder.

“I…I…I love you Linnie…” He whispered sweetly and kissed at her damp forehead as he gingerly withdrew himself from her and wrapped his arms around her.

His head went down and he sucked lightly at one of her nipples.

“I love you too, Marlon.” She replied, breathless, a feeling of love like she had never known permeating her down to her bones.

It seemed much too strange. Much too odd.

To feel so strongly about she had met in the park and had only known so briefly.

But life is strange like that.

Sometimes it takes only a chance encounter…just as it did for Jacqueline.

 

 

In a Marlon Kind of Mood...

Hey Y'all!

I just wanted to pop in and post a little update. I am currently trying to work on a new all Marlon Jackson erotica again. Don't fret, I haven't forgotten about Michael. It's just at the moment, I have over a DOZEN MJ stories in my head and in an effort to clear my mind and to think more clearly, I'm tossing my focus off on the OTHER sexy Jackson. Marlon.

I don't want to give away the entire story, but I can say this, it does involve a younger Marlon. After A Grey Suit, which featured Marlon in his fifties, I wanted to go back to an earlier time. A time when Marlon was an adult, but still had his afro.

Okay, that's all I can say. I'm working on it and hope to have it up relatively soon!


Thank you so much, all my wonderful readers!


Something like this, but not quite so...PINK.