A cross-cultural misunderstanding - Sex Stories

A cross-cultural misunderstanding

A cross-cultural misunderstanding I was at the supermarket when I saw a beautiful black woman with two young girls. The woman was very dark, and the girls had brown skin, one a lighter than the other, who was the color of milk chocolate. The girls were short, with tiny breast buds, just “mosquito bites,”really. But I was looking at the mother, who was a tall, beautiful woman with full breasts. I should tell you that I'm white. I timed it so that I got my shopping cart behind theirs at the checkout line. “Very pretty girls,” I said to the woman and smiled at the two girls. “Pretty?” the woman asked. She had a strong accent. “The girls, PRETTY,” I said, and waved at them girls. “Oh, pretty,” she said and laughed. “Your daughters?” “My girls. Twins.” “Twins?” I said, surprised, only because you don't see many of them. The girls didn't look alike, but there are two kinds of twins, of course. “Twins,” she said, “father American.” “American?” I asked. The girls were looking at me, but they were silent, perhaps because they had been taught good manners, or maybe because they were shy. “Gone. California.” I think she said California, anyway. “He's gone?” I asked. “Gone.” She waved her hand, suggesting a bird in flight, or a plane, maybe. “Do you have a boyfriend?” I felt shy asking her, so I was looking at the taller of the two girls. “Boyfriend?” she asked and looked like she didn't understand me. “A man. Girls should have man around, you too,” I stressed the word, “a man.” I meant ...

... that it's better for young girls to have a father figure. “Oh, a man!” she said and giggled, “for my girls.” “Yes, a man,” I said. The lighter skinned girl seemed blush, and both of them giggled. Her sister leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and they both had a giggle fit. I picked up two Reese's double packs, my own favorite, and gestured to the girls, asking permission to give the candy to the them. “Both?” the woman asked and looked doubtful for a moment. “Both,” I said and switched so that I was holding the packages in separate hands. The woman looked down, but she nodded. I thought that I was doing something wrong, but I didn't know what it was. The girls giggled when I gave them the candy, and looked up at me, their black eyes wide. “The man, like the milk,” she said and touched her breasts, “he has enough for two.” I thought that it must be a saying from her country, her culture. “Where are you from? Africa?” “Yes, Africa,” she said and laughed. “You too?” I asked and pointed to the candy, “you can pick.” She nodded and picked a Mounds bar. I held up my cellphone. “Can I get your number?” She took my phone and punched in her number, and then I heard a buzz come from her big pocketbook. I assumed that she'd called her own phone, because the buzz stopped, before she handed my phone back to me. She looked at her girls. “No man.” “You need a man,” I said. “Girls need man,” she said. I nodded. I do think that kids are better off with a father figure. A few days ...