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" She hopped off of the cupboard and bent over it. I knelt down again, kissing the inside of her thighs and working my way up towards her arse. "Remem...er how you said you would make it up to me, for squirting on me" I hinted "yes" she replied "do you want to?" I asked. "you're so naughty, I love it" she said. With that I began licking around her arsehole, sticking my tongue deep inside, it tasted like sex but more bitter than her pussy. Then I stuck my middle finger in, her arse was tight but I. I want to hear your voice. I look only at the screen as I write, because looking at my body reminds me that I am something more than the letters forming on the screen: Finger tips, clothing, a temperature to this body, and the itch on my left arm. These are the things that help make up for me. If I’m to be completely honest, there is a lump in my throat, and a tension to my core. These mediocre words are only forming the distraction from the things which I beg reality to release me from. I. I remember when I met her. I had seen her before. She was a cute girl walking around. I saw cute girls all the time. So, I wasn’t interested. Not really. At the time, I had other things to deal with. I was a young black man in college. It had just begun to dawn on me that I might be ‘different’ and I wasn’t okay with that. I was born and raised in a Christian household and I was a tall, somewhat good-looking, big and tall black man. I came to college and there were so many cuties around. White. I felt bolts of lightening shot through my body, I felt alittle light headed and without thinking, found my eyes drawn back to his manhood. I don't know how long I had been standing there staring at him, but suddenly I was aware he was looking back up at me. I was so embarrassed, all I could say was, "dude, your naked." I began to think that maybe he was interested in being more than friends.Afew days had gone by, and neither of us talked about that morning. I however, couldn't stop thinking.
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