A chaste couple’s epiphany of pleasures.

From the Awakening, By Estcher  Listen to thePodcast at Steamy Stories

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My name was Emma Mary Fiore Amato. Now I proudly carry my husband's name: Emma May Fiore Williams. My brand new, gorgeous, and sexy husband is Daniel Christopher Williams. He's African American and I am Italian American.

We met in the University of California San Diego (UCSD) as freshmen. We dated despite my reservations of dating a black man. I was not a fan of unwanted attention and being seen with him at school and downtown caused eyes to stare. The United States is rampant with racism. It's everywhere and palatable and real in every sense. It vibrates across social norms and in the media and sometimes openly on the street.

But I was attracted to Daniel right away. We shared a class together and the first time I walked into the classroom, and I saw him, my heart had skipped a beat. He had felt the same way. It wasn't until a month later that he summoned the nerve to ask me out. We went to a dinner down at Liberty Station and then walked the boardwalk past where the San Salvador replica galleon was being made and along the inner harbour.

It was a lovely first date. Afterward, he kissed me outside my dormitory, and I kissed him back and told him I would like to go out again. He was so pleased.

Daniel is gorgeous. He's my height but very slim. He keeps his hair short and has a short-cropped beard. He wears black rimmed glasses. He does a little gym and a little cardio. Not a lot, but just enough to keep him fit. He's strong. His ass is golden.

I was first attracted to his eyes. His glasses have a way of making them larger than life and they pulled me in. His dark skin enhancing the white of his eyes and his lovely teeth past his full lips. That first kiss outside my dorm had melted me.

On our second date I admitted I was a devout Catholic, being a proper Italian American girl. Sex was not allowed outside the marital chamber. I could tell he was devastated. We could both feel the attraction to one another. A look from him would get me all tingly. I was a regular at the confessional at my church, admitting my sin and lust. I would accept my penance and say my prayers kneeling at a pew, gazing with adoration to the figure