Beaver Valley was the most popular spot on campus. It got its name from the male students who regularly hiked back and forth through there during the miniskirt era, admiring the scenery, the wildlife displays, and collecting a few mental "pelts" to be found there. Even today it is an ideal place for viewing that treasured furry animal, the American College Beaver. Female students would sit on the benches or the cement retaining wall that surrounds the quad, reading (or pretending to), their feet together under them, knees slightly apart. Those sitting on the three foot high concrete barrier would brace their sneakers beneath their butts, their skirt hems pulled tight across their thighs, their knees either close together (those to timid to show what they knew we were there to see) or delightfully apart, just enough to show us what we were there to see. We males constantly strolled by testing the capacity of their peripheral vision.
I'm not sure which of us gave her the name Shooter, but one particular female of the species was our favorite occupant. She sat there nearly every day in the same spot, obligingly taunting us, delighting all comers, giving our eyes a treat that allowed us to endure the dreadful boredom of the classes we were trying to avoid going to. Those boring classes punctuated our regular visits to Beaver Valley, and we'd return religiously every fifty-five minutes to our favorite habitat to see the lovely pelts displayed there and the one we affectionately called Shooter.
She was there just for us, we figured, for hours at a time, and we gave her the name because this particular young female mammal always wore really short skirts with no panties. She could have sat, as a few demure residents did, on the steps and on the three foot high concrete wall around the walkway, with her knees together, tauntingly guarding the fertile glen between her thighs, but not Shooter. She obligingly held those lovely knees far enough apart, sometimes nearly twelve inches, to grant us a good view of those shadowed nether regions.
Other than her parted knees, Shooter was the all-American girl, with long, straight blond hair, the sweetest Michelle William's face, creamy skin, with a petite young body that all college girls aspire to and most guys fantasize about.
When I discovered her sitting two seats up from me in my English class the next semester, my heart went nuts. I got a hard on the moment I recognized that sweet face and those long, bare legs. During class all I could think about were those parted knees and that shadowed slit between them, and I couldn't wait to tell my friends I had a class with Shooter. Even the back of her head was sexy, and my class notes turned into blank pages.
Halfway through the semester, I worked up the nerve to ask Shooter to have coffee with me after class, she accepted, and that turned into a real date the following week. I was in a constant state of arousal whenever she was near. Besides during class and in Beaver Valley, I began seeing her at the campus coffee shop, every day. I could think of nothing else but the pantiless quim I become so accustomed to peeking at on the retaining wall in Beaver Valley. Finally, we started going to my room, petting after dates, and entering into the most sexually exciting relationship I had ever dreamed of. After months of dating and hours and hours of mind-blowing sex, we were married the following year.
She still liked to sit on the wall and "study and read" in Beaver Valley, but I threatened all my friends that I'd kill them if I caught them eyeballing the girl previously known as Shooter. They protested indignantly, saying, "You can't expect us not to ogle the furry pelts in Beaver Valley anymore, just because you're engaged to Shooter."
"Her name is Karen," I'd say, but I said I didn't care if they spent all their time there gazing upon as many beavers as they wanted as long as they kept their binocular-eyes off my girl's furry patch.
Karen, by the way, agreed to become my wife after I proposed on the last day of school. "I know you and your friends used to call me Shooter," she said with a sly grin, "and I'll not tell you how I know, but you should also know I enjoy my time in Beaver Valley. I like going there, I love the attention, and I'm sure you know I like showing off."
I had just proposed to her, and she smiled, then went on. "Before you ask me for real, before you decide whether you actually want to marry me, you need to understand that I'm a girl who likes to please men, lots of men." My heart felt like it stopped, but I nodded and smiled, afraid of what I was about to hear. She continued. "I will marry you only if you won't try to change me. I am who I am. If you can handle that, deal with the fact that I'm not a one-man woman, between the sheets at least, then we can be a happily married couple and I'll fuck you every day of your life. She went on to say she knew guys were scoping her out, loved having them admire her wares, especially the black guys.
"They don't hold anything back," she said, explaining her preference for soul brothers. "Black dudes look brazenly, not like you timid white guys who try to sneak peeks at my pussy out of the corner of your eyes. Brothers just bend down, turn their heads my way, and look, smiling all the time.
"I also like the way they make love," she said emphatically. "I should also tell you I don't intend to stop. I love being fucked by big, black cocks. Can you handle that?"
Her bawdy language stunned me. I didn't know if I could accept her conditions and it scared the hell out of me, but I repeated my proposal and decided I better try. We were married two months later.
The week after the wedding Karen introduced me to a broad-shouldered six-foot-six black man named Charley who stopped by to see her, kissed her passionately at the front door, then nodded at me. "Charley's one of my friends from school," she said, which I knew translated to "one of my fuck buddies," and he and I shook hands. His hand was enormous and my fist felt like a child's hand in a boxing glove. He intimidated me, but the thought of her fucking him was less intimidating than exciting.
Charley was a likable dude, easy to talk to, with a smile as broad as his shoulders, and I began to like him right from the start. I understood this immense athlete would be taking my wife that night to somewhere private so they could renew their friendship, intimately. I knew he'd be fucking her, and as I looked at his thick, strong hands, I wondered what else about him was that large and thick. She gave me one of those looks. A 'You're-not-going-to-get-up-on-your-high-horse-and-go-back-on your-word-are-you looks. I kissed her and told them to have a good time. It was at that moment that I had accepted Karen's unconventional terms. She then smiled, relieved that I was able to accept this tall, athletic, black man as one of her lovers. I meant it, but my pulse was echoing in my temples and I felt as uneasy as I ever had before. I didn't know if I could pull it off, but I was at least willing to try.
That first night Karen went out with big Charley wasn't easy for me, I nervously fidgeted the whole time she was with him, tried to watch television but couldn't concentrate, but the fucking I got when she came in at three in the morning made it all good. I guess that was what turned it all around for me. "You're okay with Charley fucking me before you get yours, aren't you?" We made love furiously until we both fell asleep in an exhausted heap, then we slept nearly all day Sunday. If I had to let her fuck other guys to get loving like that, then I knew I was about to completely change my way of thinking.
He had taken her to a motel in town, near the ocean, and continually slid his monster cock into her until nearly two, then both of them went to the beach and took a midnight skinny-dip. So Shooter had fucked nearly all night. At first it was with Charley thrusting that big black cock in her pussy numerous times, then she finished up with her horny husband until just before the sun came up. That afternoon, when I hinted around about how big Charley was in the manhood department, Karen just smiled and sighed, then she put her hands about a foot apart. "Holy shit," I said. My wife rolled her eyes and nodded happily. "Yeah, it's nice and big.
"I can't get him all in," she said that first day after being fucked by Charley nearly all night. I guess you know by now that Karen loves fucking and showing off her pussy. Of course, she adores big black dicks: in her hand, her pussy, or between her lips. It turns out that her little slit not only got viewed by many at the school, but it also got quite a workout as well, especially by Charley and the brothers.
How I ever won Karen as my bride is beyond me, but my needle dick must give her some satisfaction, because she agreed to be my wife and finishes with me every time she goes out with one of her big-dicked guy friends. I asked her to tell me what all she and Charley had done that first night, but she merely shook her head and said that some day maybe I could watch and see it for myself. "Until then," she said with a wicked grin, "you'll have to just imagine it." Of course, I've done a lot of that.
Whenever they're together, I can't help but picture his huge, black dowel sliding slowly into my wife's pussy, stretching her labia to two thin strips that grip his girth like a hand, his ebony cock covered with her white, foamy lotion, its thickness filling her completely. Every sex video I watch, every magazine photo spread I look at, I imagine it is my wife and Charley in each scene, relishing the sight of them making love. I envision her with Charley's ebony rod in her mouth, her pink tongue curling around the dark skin of his enormous erection, pleasuring him with the flat swipe of that tongue. I have grown to love those mental images, but I would like it even more to be able to see it in the flesh, to watch her take him in her mouth, to see him sliding into her pussy.
About six months later I finally got the chance to see Karen in action for the first time with one of her boyfriends. It was with Charley, and although at first, when we started dating, I was jealous of every single guy, but after a while I was eager for her to tell me about another lovemaking session. I was glad my first experience watching her was with the big black man, but at first, if someone even looked at her I got uptight, but reality began to set in slowly and I realized I had her, they didn't, and if I was going to keep her I needed to adjust my thinking.
Charley had taken her out and they got in around eleven. "Man, I hear you want to see this little lady being filled by a man-sized black cock," he said with a proud grin. I nodded, nervously, and he took my young bride into his arms and kissed her, leaving no part of her body unexplored. His tongue reached for hers and she complied, willingly. As they kissed, Charley undressed Karen, lifting her dress over my lovely wife's head. Not having to be concerned with panties, my bride was naked in his huge, black arms within seconds.
