When I was a senior in undergrad, I'd been living at home mostly during the time I was enrolled to save money, but I had begun to quarrel regularly with my father and demand more independence for myself. The cheapest possible way to accomplish what I wanted was to live on campus. I found that I'd been spending more on tuition and books than I was comfortable borrowing, but felt taking on a little bit more wasn't too terrible for what it provided me.
Naturally, I picked the least expensive and oldest dorm on campus, a place I didn't realize was populated mostly by eighteen-year-old Freshmen until I moved there.
It was, in hindsight, perhaps too much of a good thing. I began to understand the popular kids in high school who'd had cults of personalities built around them. I was twenty-three then and they were four or five full years younger. As a result, I drew a lot of attention to myself from younger women. One of them had several male suiters comprised of a variety of older men, of whom I was only one. She wasn't especially attractive, but she put out, so that explained why she never lacked for male company.
She and I made out only once, in my dorm room. I remember that she was only comfortable taking her top off. Grateful for whatever I could get, we made out for a while, I felt up her tiny tits, and then we parted ways forever. Whenever she saw me again in the halls or by the mailboxes, she put on a look of extreme discomfort and from that point onward I ignored her, pretending like she didn't exist.
But, oddly enough, where I really got a lot of attention was from the black girls. I'd been raised in the almost all-white suburbs, so African Americans were a novelty to me. What was also a novelty to me is that they would be interested in me romantically and sexually.
Part of it is that I was a good guitar player and possessed a strong voice. They would crowd around me in the lounge downstairs and sing along with me. I could have probably had my way with any number of them, but I was pickier than some men. I really wanted this slightly geeky smart girl named LaTonya who wore glasses.
I go for smart women and always have. After making introductions, and getting to know each other a little, we began a flirtation that always went a little bit further each time. Often she was accompanied by a friend who was also interested in me, but there was just something about the friend that didn't appeal to me, so I maintained her as a friend, while continuing to make my overtures elsewhere.
Eventually, the inevitable happened. We were seated in a common area downstairs, our chairs directly across from each other. I remember she was wearing red satin pajamas that accentuated her black skin. Feeling bold, I impulsively placed my hand against the top of her pubic hair, which had a much coarser dexterity to it than white hair. I wasn't anticipating the way it felt. It fascinated me, frankly, and it didn't stop me from keeping it up.
Playfully, she'd slap my hand away each time. This happened on at least four separate instances in a row. Following that, I was certain we'd end up in bed together, finally.
But at the last minute she began to have second thoughts. First, she answered a question that had apparently been circulating around the female population of the dorm: namely, what sort of woman was I interested in? Answer: a smart one.
"I'm not sure I can do this," she said. "If we keep this going we're going to end up doing something freaky in my room."
"What's wrong with that?" I replied.
"I'm just not sure. I've never been with a white boy before."
And I confessed, "I've never been with a black girl before, too."
She took a deep breath and then assented. "Okay, but we've got to make sure that my roommate is not going to walk in on us. And why aren't you more interested in my friend. She really wants you."
I spoke the truth. "She comes on a little too strong for me. You're the one I want."
I didn't know it, but our interactions had attracted some attention from other residents. Before accumulating more, she quickly made her way up four flights of stairs with me following madly behind. We then entered her dorm room, closed the door resolutely behind us, and began stripping clothing.
To some, she might have come across as a little plain, but she had a nice figure. Very slender, small-breasted, but not as small as the woman I'd been with before. I'd never seen black pubic hair up close and personal before, and the texture of it, as I said above, was an curiosity.
I dove between her legs and began to lick her out with great enthusiasm. After I'd stripped off the red silk pajama bottoms I found she was wearing black cotton bikini panties. I pushed them aside with one hand as I went to work. She half-screamed, half-moaned as I performed for her, smothering her face with a pillow to contain herself and perhaps keep the volume down a little. With eyes closed, she lay on her back on white sheets with a white pillowcase.
Before long, she began making grunting sounds, moving the pillow across her face, back and forth.
And then she let forth what she really wanted from me and had wanted for quite some time, as I learned later.
"Fuck me!" she screamed.
"Oh, fuck me!"
And as she took sharp inhales of breath, she demanded, "Get the fuck in me now!" In so doing, she used her right hand to quickly slide off her panties, leaving her totally naked on the bed.
I was glad to oblige. We kissed with great force as I pushed into her. My hairy chest rested heavily against her smooth chest, and her legs wrapped around my hips. We kept up the frantic kissing.
"Oh shit," I said to no one in particular, processing what she had just said. It was so hot I could have shot my load simply by hearing it. To be desired that heavily and, apparently, for so long was amazingly arousing.
For a woman who seemed to be the very portrait of self-restraint most of the time, she certainly wasn't acting like it. I stuck my tongue in her mouth and she sucked on it gently, before resuming her moans and groans. I took my right arm and involuntarily wrapped it around her left leg, pushing it upwards into the air.
"Oh, I'm cumming," she said. She would cum quite a bit during this fuck session, and this was just the first time.
A few minutes later, she repeated herself. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming hard. All over your cock."
We resumed kissing. Her arms wrapped around my back. Her now sweaty neck was cradled under my chin. We continued fucking in the missionary position. My hands slid off her back onto the sides of the pillow upon which her head was resting.
She kept having orgasm after orgasm. "Oh, you feel so good."
I agreed with her. "Oh yes. Oh shit."
Now her hands were cradling the back of my head.
"Oh, my God. Right there." I tried to comply, to remember to keep doing whatever it was that was causing her so much pleasure in that one spot. Her eyes had remained closed the whole time and her mouth was wide open, panting.
I shifted position slightly, pulling both her legs back across my hips.
"Does that feel okay, baby?" I asked, seeking confirmation.
Her eyed still closed, she nodded up and down to indicate that it did.
"I'm going really hard this time!" She screamed this, but tried once more to stifle it midway through.
We'd been at it around fifteen minutes, our bodies had grown sweaty, and I was beginning to feel my strength get depleted a little bit. Noticing we were both thrusting away at the same relative rhythm, I could tell that she felt the same way I did.
But then I picked up a second wind and started up again.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," she repeated. Her eyes opened suddenly, enough for me to see that they had rolled back in her head.
She repeated herself once again. "This feels so fucking good!" Sex talk is not known for its creativity. It's mainly the repetition of a few crucial sounds of inherent pleasure. She gritted her teeth briefly and then opened her eyes again for a second or two. By now, her legs were splayed open completely, entirely open for my cock, making it very easy for me to take her.
We were both beginning to get tired again. We slowed the pace down. I paused briefly, for a couple seconds, before starting back up.
We resumed kissing. "Not too much," she noted, but I wasn't quite sure what she meant. Interpreting it to mean that I needed to slow down a bit more, I complied.
"I'm getting so close," I confided in her. Then I kissed her deeply again.
She smiled. "You've been rubbing my clit, too."
She rubbed her hands up and down my back appreciatively.
"Don't be sorry you got me so wet," she said gratefully.
"Trust me," I said, a little cockily, "the pleasure was all mine."
I made a decision to finally shoot, so I pulled out and let four or five jets of semen pulse halfway up onto her stomach. We continued to dry hump at about quarter speed for a couple minutes after that before stopping altogether. We were spent. And for ten minutes we held each other in complete silence before she stood up from the bed. She had one tiny problem. Communal showers.
The dorm was old and had been built before each room was equipped with one. She knew she'd have to sneak around into public quarters, but, pulling on her silk pajamas again, peered down the hallway and noticed that no one was out and about. I put my clothes back on again and headed down to my own room and my own communal showers, two flights down.
To this day, I've never been with another black woman. Cultural differences always got in the way when I'd express interest in an African American lady when it came to romantic relationships. But for plain, raw, sex, I imagine it doesn't really matter who you fuck. God, the creator, or whomever put human beings on Earth made it one of the most pleasurable experiences a person can feel. I think it's we human who screw it up, not our biological drives and desires. Or, at least that's my opinion.