Don't forget to put your ring back on!  

BlackAndPacking 42M
3 posts
10/6/2005 7:12 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Don't forget to put your ring back on!

... And I wish I never met her. That's rigth I might as well start at the end. Now let me back up a bit. She knew how to flirt. I have to give it to her. She brushed her hair behind her ears, ever so slowly. She wasn't afraid to look me in the eyes. She was sexy and she knew it. She had light and fluffy shoulder length hair that could see yourself grabbing and yanking as you fuck her from behing. She had very thin lips, that when she puckered them up she Marilyn Monroe sexy. Her body was two noches over thin. It was almost muscular, as if she used to be a pro tennis player back in her day. Today, she was showing she could still compete with the skinny, low ride jeans wearing, lower back tatoo having, tongue periced, 20 somethings.

Why she choose me I don't know. I really wasn't in the mood. I wasn't looking. I wasn't flirting. I was minding my own business, sipping on Absolute Vodka, and fruit. For was ever the reason (maybe its because at Mirage on Wednesdays, a black man sticks out like the olive in my Vodka). All I know is, I was what was on the menu, tonight. Now I know that pussy, just doesn't fall on your lap, especially, good looking, sexy pussy. If it does, its usually drunk pussy, that the guy with the broom is litterally pushing out the club. ... Therefore, I was not going to play the fliting game.

Now that I think back, she had tried to get my attention before. She had ordered her drink, next to me, and the came back a second time to ask the bartender for a lighter(or something). Each time she tried to get me to glance in her direction I didn't bite. Not by choice but because I was half way to MagarittaVille.

Her opening line was, "let me guess, Black men can't dance." Then with a snap of the neck her whipped her hair out of her face and off to the side. The line wasn't impressive, but before I could come up with something smart to say, she continued. "Don't worry, we've all got that problem." She tried to lighten the situation. However, experience tells me that beautiful women who approach first usually want something.
"Let me ask you a question Madam Comedian."
"Jackie. The name is Jackie."
"What do you want, Jackie."
"Just converstion, man. What's your problem?"
"A woman like you, can get conversation anywhere? Jackie, what do you really want."
"I want to dance and have a litte fun!" She exclamied, rocking her shoulder from side to side so that her breasts would giggle. I stopped looking into her eyes and returned to my vodka and she knew then I wasn't interested in euphemisms. "I also want to be fucked. I mean really fucked. You know what I mean, Mr. Vodka man?"
When I didn't react to her strong language, she seemed alittle off balance. "So, Jackie, how can I help you?" I asked, and stared directly into her eyes, with a devil's grin on my face.
"I was wondering," she stuttered, "if there was any place else you'd rather be, and if you'd be willing to take me." The 'Take me' at end was cute. I smiled, dropped some bills on the counter and we left.

Before we left the parking lots we set out the rules... No complications. Need to know honesty. No Promises. The nearest Motel was the Motor Inn off Old country road. Sex was intense. She surrended her body to me. I worshiped it. I punished it. I satisfied it. I can all over it (twice and once her lips, because she begged me to - nicely).

On the way back to her car she broke all the rules. She talked about past boyfriends. Cleaverly mentioned her husband. She also talked about sexual desires, childern ... lawyers... yada yada yada ... SHUT UP. Women are such emotional waterfalls after good sex. I want. I like. I love. I want. SHUT UP. I can deal with ugly. I can deal with drunk. But, I can't deal with CRAZY. I was happy to finaly see her car drive away. I was left with such a strange feeling. I just had great sex with a beautiful woman, and all I could think about is that ... I wish I never met her!

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