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Dear Diary,
His dick was curved. Not a huge curve but curved just enough to work my pussy in all the right spots. When a man’s dick is too straight, it can be painful. A sister needs a brother to be able to move with her groove. I remember my ex-boyfriend, Tony. His dick was like a wooden plank. It would not budge for anything and even when I tried to get on top and maneuver to get some serious action going, it was too much damn work. He would leave me sick, unsatisfied and feeling like I had gone through an OB/GYN examination with that duck lips tool.
Back to the one with the curved dick. I licked it last night, like it was the most delicious chocolate ice cream cone in the world. No, not a cone, a Popsicle with chocolate on the outside and vanilla cream on the inside. I wanted that cream, too. I wanted him to shoot it down my throat like a human geyser. I wanted him to cum so much that I could gargle with his sperm. I know all this sounds nasty but I am simply a woman who loves dick. Now the men that dicks are attached to are another question. There is Darrell. He’s nice enough. We met at the grocery store the other day. He seems like a brother who is about something other than trying to see how many pairs of panties he can get into. We will have to wait and see what happens.
Anyway, back to last night. I was standing on a balcony, the wind blowing the curtains outward and teasing my hair as I overlooked the skyline. I could sense his presence as he walked—no, glided—up behind me. I could smell his cologne. Mmm, he smelled like heaven. He was wearing all white. A doubled-breasted suit with no shirt. His chest was chiseled, like the rest of him. His skin was moistened—his deep dark skin. His bald head was shaved smooth, like his face, and his thick lips encased perfectly straight white teeth.
“Did you miss me?” he whispered in my ear, after joining me on the balcony.
I could not answer. I only managed a whimper. My entire body, from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers to the babyfine hair of my pussy was calling out his name. Strange as this is, I still do not know his name. I know every inch of his body, his voice; his dick, but not his name.
He comes to me every night now, no matter what city I am in, no matter what time zone. I cannot wait to get through the performances at work so I can rush to be with him. Our favorite fucking song is “Do Me Baby” by Prince, followed by “Fire and Desire” by Rick James and Teena Marie. Both of those songs make me so fucking hot. My pussy stays drenched from merely thinking about being with him. Once we are together, we ignite. I am surprised the bed has not caught fire from all the serious fucking we engage in.
He always gives me a serious dick down and I do mean dick down. I can hear the sound of his balls slapping up against me as I type this. Mmm, damn, I wish he was inside me right now. I wish that I was sitting on his dick, with my back to him, rocking back and forth as I sit here at my computer. A sister can get a lot of work done that way. When he fucks me, a feeling comes over me that I cannot quite express. I shiver, but I feel calm at the same time. No man has ever made me feel so desired, like he is so pleased by my efforts.
He eats my pussy until I detonate all over his tongue. It is such an amazing feeling. I only wish that I could fuck him twenty-four seven, but life intervenes. If I could, I would walk around with his dick in my ass; in my pussy; in my mouth. Ooh, yes, definitely in my mouth.
Damn, I am getting fired up just writing this. I hope he comes back tonight so we can “cum together” and fornicate under the consent of the king. I know he’ll be here. I need to go bathe and get ready for him, so he can bury his dick into me balls deep and put me to sleep like a baby.
Kisses,
Kiss
NEGRIL, JAMAICA
SEPTEMBER 1987
ALECK
“Man, there are a ton of fine women over here,” Mike said to me as we headed to the beach in the late afternoon. “We should have had our asses over here years ago.”
“You are such a pussy hound.” I swatted him on the back with my beach towel. “We’re here to relax and take a break from a hectic work schedule. Not to get laid.”
“Shit, you might not be here to get laid, but I am. If I don’t get pussy every day, I feel sick. It’s my medicine. It keeps me alive. I’m trying to see as much pink meat as I can before we head back next week.”
“You are so damn nasty. Better watch out with these Jamaican women. You might try to fuck one that has a man slinging a machete. Then the only color you’ll be seeing is red and I’ll be carrying your body back in a bag. Imagine that, me having to explain that you got murdered in Jamaica because you were trolling for pussy in another man’s marked territory.”
Mike waved me off and started flexing his muscles. “Aleck, please. I know how to handle any motherfucking thing that comes my way. If a man can’t fuck his woman good enough to keep her at home, that’s his damn issue. Women don’t cheat when they’re satisfied.”
“That’s complete bullshit,” I said. “Men can have the best woman in the world. Perfect in every way and some will still cheat.”
“The key word was satisfied.” Mike glared at me. “A real man is never satisfied. Not when there are more varieties to be sampled.” He pointed in the direction of three women sitting on lounge chairs near the tip of the ocean. “Speaking of which… Damn, check them hookers out.”
“What makes you think they’re hookers?” Mike really disgusted me sometimes with the way he referred to women. I glanced at the women and all of them were drop-dead gorgeous. “They don’t look Jamaican. They’re probably vacationing here from the States; like us.”
“That’s even better. We can fuck them over here and then collect some more ass when we get back stateside. I have a shit load of frequent flyer miles. I hope they live in one of the cities where Delta flies. “
I chuckled. “I see that you’ve got it all figured out.”
Mike rubbed his chin and gloated. “I always do, my man.”
“What about Candace?”
“Who?” Mike asked sarcastically.
“Candace? Your wife?”
“Oh, her…” Mike sighed. “Look, Aleck. I realize you think that I’m wrong for cheating on Candace, but she knew what she was getting when she walked down the aisle. I’m a man and men are going to do what men do. Candace saw that writing all over the wall. Shit, I practically spelled it out for her. Like most women, she decided that my feelings were more important than her self-respect and I ain’t mad at her. She wanted a husband, a bad crib, kids, all that. She has it and as long I’m paying all the bills, I can do whatever the hell I want.”
