Can you help me back to my apartment?” He replied by putting each hand in my arm pits and effortlessly helping me to my feet. “Oh, man,” I replied, “I think I sprained my ankle. “Yo, dude…you need some help and shit?” He sounded a little bit stoned. After all, I had just “sprained my ankle”…and he was destined to become my thug in shining armor.Īfter about ten seconds, this sexy dude began walking over to me. I developed a plan in record time, and about ten steps after our brief exchange, I fell to the ground squealing in pain. He acknowledged me with an ever sexy, “Sup,” at which point I effeminately replied, “Hi,” and began more noticeably sashaying down the pathway. His t-shirt flattered his sizeable biceps immensely. His hair was styled in cornrows, but the back was longer than the front giving the impression of several little braided ponytails. He was wearing a pair of dark colored sweat pants and a white wife beater t-shirt. Two days later, I went to “check my mail” and noticed a lone sexy black guy sitting on his porch smoking a cigarette. After about six blocks, I decided to head back. Apparently, it was the kind of night designed for heterosexual coupling…not for the good ole-fashioned gay kind. I passed by a Ford Taurus with some black chick clamping down on her man right outside the same apartment that the SUV was parked in front of. After about twenty minutes, I decided it was time for another walk. I returned to my pad and decided to regroup.
Oh, the lengths I would go to for some sizeable black cock…ĭespite my best lip licking efforts, the foxy black lads did not bite at my not-so-subtle offer. On my return, the fellas continued talking as I passed by, only this time I looked over in their direction, held their gaze, and noticeably licked my lips.
I decided to pretend like I was headed to the mailbox and did just that.
However, moments after stepping out onto my porch, I noticed a maroon SUV with a foxy African-American driver and a foxy African-American non-driver leaning up against the drivers side window. Not really looking for a hookup (despite my abundance of black neighbors), I decided to simply go for a stroll. Drunk and horny, I threw on my Skechers, grabbed my keys, and headed for the door. I, fortunately, was not just some average person. When I find myself drunk, I tend to say and do certain things that might get the average person shot, stabbed, or beaten. The day after I moved in, and after I revisited said delicious porn, I found myself drunk. No access to any of my normal channels of hookups…only me and my tried and true porn. Without my precious internet, I was screwed. Unfortunately, I was left to improvise when the new gang consisted of one 64-year-old man who would not have been described as alluring at any point in the last three decades. The day after I moved in, I thought of recreating a repeat performance of the cable incident of 2003…me being used by a gang of roughnecks. Unfortunately, it lacked a room of virile, young, curious, straight black men willing to receive blowjobs at no cost or consequence. My place was plenty spacious two bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, living room, toilet.
The apartments in this particular community were odd in that it was really a mass sea of duplexes…two-story apartments attached to other two-story apartments with other similar structures surrounding it on all sides. I moved into my new apartment just this past Monday. I had no internet access…I had no connections. So there I sat in NascarVille, two weeks before class and my assistanceship began, and I was craving some of the dark meat like it was nobody’s business. But in the meantime, there was this wicked jungle fever that was hindering my thought processes.įor the sake of anonymity (and realism), we’ll call my new location NascarVille. That’s right, I’m on track to becoming a doctor. You’ve obviously happened upon the wrong page…Īfter my last few exploits…alright, who am I kidding…after my last several dozen undocumented exploits, I found myself graduating from graduate school, quitting my waiting tables job and leaving my sexy, drug-addicted, occasional bootie call, moving in with my parents, and then moving again to a small, quiet, we’re-big-fans-of-NASCAR southern Illinois community to continue my education even further. If this type of story offends you, or if you are not allowed by law to continue, then please don’t continue. The story involves sex between two consenting adults. The events depicted are entirely true, but because I didn’t record it, some of the dialogue has been embellished a little – but only some. Alright fellas, the following story is the latest edition in my often torrid sex life.