by Diane Charles Linford
I’d been jittery and on pins and needles for two days last week as my significant other told me on Wednesday that he’d purchased tickets to a professional wrestling match for Friday night. A friend he went to college with…”Harris” [who wrestles under a different name] was a champion collegiate wrestler and football player. He now works the pro-wrestling circuit, and he came to do an exhibition match on a professional card at Michigan State some two hours away from home.
Jake told me we’d be attending the match, hanging out with “Harris” for a late dinner, and then staying overnight in a hotel. I don’t mind telling you I never ever thought of myself as any sort of wrestling groupie, but since we managed to get a baby-sitter to take care of my kids, a night out is a night out, after all.
What I didn’t realize until much later was that the three of us would end up sharing the same hotel bed on Friday night–Saturday morning…so as you might guess, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Now it turns out Harris is a Big Black Man…6 foot 4 inches and 290 pounds. Apparently he played the defensive line on the college football team. I cannot tell you how engrossing the whole experience was from a sheer size point of view. The big black man absolutely dwarfed me.
During dinner [this was well after 11:30pm when the matches ended] I was informed that we’d be sharing the hotel room…and much more. My significant other always had a healthy respect, admiration, and affection for “Harris” which pretty much meant taking a “what’s mine is yours” attitude for the whole rest of the night. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was a little.
At least, I wasn’t totally shocked. And I was gratified by Harris expressing the same attitude toward my body as my boyfriend did. The man savored every inch of my white body with his fingers, his tongue and eventually, his cock.
Mostly I remember a sexy voice [think of a gravelly Barry White deep voice]whispering in my ear as he topped my body and moved inside me. “Ohh, I had no idea your pussy would feel so smooth and fine down under me…” [I'm sure I must have moaned at that moment because I went totally wet] Soon that was followed by: “Oh shit, gal you just soaked my black cock…Hey Bro! She just went sopping wet!
I think you married a squirter!” [I went wet at those words too] “Dayum! This lady is one delicious fuck.” [He followed those words with a long grunt, a shudder, and a spray of pure liquid ecstasy–the first of what became several that night between Harris and my significant other. As you probably know the presence of more than one man seems to bring out the competitive instinct in both of these black men.
Like I said–there was no way either of them would let me alone from around midnight until seven or eight AM. Finally, much later that night, my man fell asleep for a few minutes.
Harris’s throaty deep voice murmured into my ear as we lay close together: “How many black children have you given to your men?” I answered four. “You think something special might come out of tonight’s fuck?” I shrugged my bare shoulders. “Umm…hadn’t thought about it.” He chuckled: “Well, I’ve thought about nothing else for the last couple of hours.”
Naturally, that thought made me quiver. Then I asked Harris if he was up for another shot at making a baby. Needless to say, my big black man needed very little encouragement. I dozed off afterwards totally caked with sticky fluids slowly drying everywhere at the junction of my thighs. We woke up in what seemed like minutes to me and I showered. Was I sore.
I remember the people who have indicated to me that multiple interracial partners at the same time were totally addictive. Heaven knows, they were absolutely right.
Big naked kisses to all of you out there,