**a piece submitted to @controvershiL, enjoy**
It was 3 in the morning on a humid, summer night. I was
sitting in a yellow cab across from this gorgeous, confident black woman with a
glowing face, wearing a gold sequined dress revealing her long thin and playful
legs, no purse, no past. She leaned toward me and threw her left leg across my
lap. She was wearing matching flats. She spoke in a casual voice as if we were
chatting it up in a café.
“You seem nervous. Have you been with another woman before?”
My first thought.
‘How the hell did I get here? I must be the luckiest
bi-curious girl on earth, because I just landed the hottest girl in the bar.’
Earlier that night, I was hanging out with my surfing
buddies when one of them, a dude who I was chasing, tried to branch out and hit
on this girl at the bar. From out of nothing, I grew this confidence, and drew
from my lips the most badass lines that made her abandon her drink and follow
me home. Of course I don’t remember any of it.
Now back in the cab, the sobriety found it’s way back quickly,
stripping me of all certainty of anything. Yeah, I’m nervous, but I couldn’t
lose my chance of embracing her slip away by being my babbling self.
“Yeah I have, I just don’t believe in PDA.”
Back at my apartment, she retreated to the bathroom and came
out naked asking for a towel. I handed her one, but not before squeezing her
breasts first. They were much firmer than mine. She showered and I grew bored
and tired. It was fucking 3 in the morning. Every few minutes, I took a piece
of clothing off while reading a magazine and by the time I was in my panties,
she finally emerged.
We lay naked for a while, talking, and I realized her
stories contradicted the ones from before. I threw myself on top of her and we
made out for a while. Her kisses were slow and in rhythm with mine, something
every guy I had been with needed training to accomplish. I reached down to
prepare my self-proclaimed signature finger-fucking moves, and she stopped me.
She took charge and rotated us until she was on top and her tongue
went straight to my clit. Shaking, jittering, quivering in complete pleasurable
agony, I felt the obligation to hold her free hand when I remembered, to let
her know that I acknowledged her being responsible for my euphoric state, which
she couldn’t possibly have shared. We weren’t fucking each other, together.
When there’s oral involved, there’s sacrifice, and the unspoken promise that
the eaten will soon eat. We kissed some more, and I knew it was time for me to
give her the mind-blowing time I think I promised her at the bar. My trigger
fingers reached down, and I was preparing to motion her to come here like a
speed-laden metronome until she did.
“No penetration.” She corrected me by pushing my hand away.
What? I was shocked by this revealed truth that all girls were different—that
the move that gets me to the moon in seconds is shunned away by someone else.
So I went down and tried not to let her know that I had
never seen a black pussy before. There was no pink plushy insides—just a
monochromatic throbbing, oozy black pussy ready to release…I engorged myself in
her world, starting slow, finding my footing until I clicked in and sought
patterns within patterns as the metronome ticked faster. She breathed heavier
and let out a moan. A fucking fake moan. Of course I recognized it. I’ve done
it so many times with the guys I’ve dated. It was the primary reason I decided
to start hitting on girls.
“That was…great.” Fucking liar. She threw her head back on
the couch and in a moment’s time, she was out cold. I retreated to my bedroom,
and the next thing I knew, I was awoken by a stir in the living room. I cracked
the door open enough to see a pair of feet stumble out the door when it shut.
Still half asleep, I texted my friend, “dude, I brought a
girl home last night. I told you I was bi. You owe me dinner.”
Late into the next morning, I woke up again. Did this really
happen? Was I dreaming? I walked into the living room. A pair of gold-sequined
flats, size 11, had been left behind. The girl, who arrived in almost nothing
had left barefoot en route to Brooklyn.
The beginning.
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