(I was doing some reno work for a super hot black babe, and after sharing a few drinks during a break, she started to tell her story of true love. I was really mesmerized. You will be too. This is what she said.)
*****
James lips were warm and sensual, pouring over my face, neck and shoulders, turning me on and sending my pulse racing.
Should I or shouldn't I?
His white mouth was next suddenly pressed to the edges of my generous black cleavage, sweetening the temptation.
He tried to nudge my halter top lower with his chin, but I held my ground, holding it in place like a shield over top my perky breasts with long, determined fingers.
His hands ran the gauntlet of my sexy hips and thighs, mesmerizing my mind with thoughts of going all the way. But I was afraid. What if he got me pregnant?
We had been sending emails for just over four long weeks, and everything I needed to know about him had been found out and stored within the percolating confines of my inquisitive mind.
He was beyond charming, and married to a sickly woman that could not give him sex. He spoke about wanting to find a nice black girl to make love to, someone who would be willing to give him the kids he wanted and to cook and clean for him while he earned the daily bread. He wasn't a big believer in making his wife work, and so I got the sense he was advocating his future bride becoming perpetually barefoot and pregnant as though that was something any lady might cherish.
I would always try and nurture his fantasies about his future wife puttering about some really nice house with a vacuum in one hand and a baby bottle in the other. It made him fall all the more for me whenever I would tell him I loved children and loved the saying, 'the more the merrier.'
Peter also would ask me constantly about my dreams and aspirations in terms of what kind of house and area of the city I wanted to live in, and what kind of car I wanted to drive. It was as though he was wanting to help me attain the highest financial and social status that I possibly could.
In some ways he was too good to be true, and in other ways he seemed to have a hidden dark side that was just simmering under the surface without actually boiling over. It was that dark side that kept me on my toes, not allowing my body to commit through lovemaking until I was one hundred percent sure of his intentions, and one hundred percent aware of any well buried secrets he may be hiding.
Still, he was very adamant about any wife of his agreeing to have those six kids and be a stay at home mom. I myself had no problem with avoiding the troublesome workplace, but had at the same time always envisioned having just four children, and so the discrepancy in offspring was something we'd have to hash out before I might accept any upcoming proposal he'd care to make. I supposed, that in the end, we'd probably just both compromise at the number five.
As far as Caucasian guys went, he was by far the most handsome and sexiest I'd ever come across. Still, before Peter, I had never dated a white guy, and so I really had nothing to compare him to in terms of how he fared against others of his race. I had, nonetheless, heard some real horror stories about white guys who were worse than damn sharks, and could take massive bites out of your heart and soul if you let them. Peter didn't seem to fall into that category. He really wanted to get married and start working on those half a dozen lookalikes, and so the fear of being played or used merely for sex, was minimal in my mind.
What wasn't so clear, was why Peter seemed to prefer black girls over white ones? Was that assertion by him just some kind of scam on his part to make me think he was all wrapped up in me, only to dump me the minute after I might yield my body to him like I was leaning toward?
After all, giving up the farm after six long months was nothing to be ashamed about. Most of my girlfriends had no qualms about letting guys get naked with them after only a month or two. Others had even less lofty requirements, settling for just a week or two, perhaps after only the first and only date.
By those loose standards, I seemed to be more of a nun than a hot girlfriend. Still, he never complained about my half year long celibacy. If anything, I think it actually merely solidified in his mind that I was exactly the kind of girl he should be taking home to his momma.
Still, now that I was wallowing sweetly in his persistent, horny arms, and now that he was indicating, with steamy kisses and roaming fingers, that he finally wanted to get it on, I had a split second decision to make. Should I take a chance and spread my fully aroused legs for the supposed man of my dreams, or should I continue to make him wait to get up close and personal with my quivering vagina?
A part of me was definitely ready willing and able to let Peter plunge right on in, but a part of me was still sifting through the facts. As much as he had talked about being a family man, and about how he thought I would make him a terrific wife, he hadn't actually come right out and popped the question. I suppose some girls might have found such a verbal declaration on his part, a mere formality to be brushed aside, but for me, it was the proverbial thorn in my flesh. Why hadn't he made his supposed desire to marry me a foregone conclusion by handing me a ring and putting the 'will you marry me' question to me clearly and concisely.
Up till now, the extent of his intentions had rested on statements such as 'baby you know I'm crazy about you.' He was also fond of saying, 'baby, I'm gonna make you mine forever and ever.' Such sentences would seem to bare his soul for my heart to see, and yet, in the back of my mind, I was remembering all the men in my past who had made similar promises, just to eventually leave them laying unclaimed on the bedroom floor. After the loving I rarely saw them again, and when I did, it was usually just so they could take another turn at lighting up my enraptured body.
And, up till now, all such men had been black. Peter was the first Caucasian to grace my condo, and so I was woefully lacking in just what the expected norm might be with a hot blooded, sweet talking white guy. Still, there was only one way to find out.
I let go of my halter top and his pressing chin tugged it down over my giant breasts.
His eyes widened at the sight of them and my toes curled as his lips kissed them frantically and passionately.
A burst of wicked pleasure shot up through my delighted chest and my spirit soared at the knowledge I was going to taste of the pleasures of the flesh and finally bask in earth shattering orgasms again after so long an abstinence.
I shivered as his wet tongue licked wildly over my nipples, stiffening them mightily and making me so hot I thought I was going to pass out with rabid excitement.
His hands were now emboldened that I had let him bare my impressive chest to his sweet mouth, and they gently pulled off my panties, discarding them onto the floor.
I was panting like crazy, and lift his face momentarily off my breasts, staring into his wonderful blue eyes, as I pressed our mouths together before letting him suck fiercely on my nipples once more.
I looked down and was stunned to see his pants and underwear laying next to my panties. He was certainly moving fast, perhaps too fast. I was, however, far too horny to turn back now. Six months worth of admiration and lust for Peter was now boiling over and sending my remaining resistance into a tailspin. Still that sixth sense was gnawing at my mind. He still hadn't officially asked me to marry him. I had assumed he was going to, and I was convinced he was going to, but what if he didn't? What if, after the loving, and after he had gotten his earth shattering thrill out of my tight pussy and big breasts, he just should up and decide he didn't want to see me anymore? Such a scenario seemed unlikely, and yet, I had to admit to myself that up to that point, I had been picking losers and players and guys only interested in one thing.
His stiff large cock was hot to the touch and hard as tempered steel. It pressed against my vaginal lips and made me moan with exquisite pleasure, and yet, he still hadn't rolled a condom onto it. There was no way I wanted to risk pregnancy with some guy who obviously wanted to marry me but technically had not yet made it official.
I wrapped my black fingers greedily around the white shaft then gently pulled my enraptured breasts off his glorious mouth.
"No glove, no love," I whispered, certain he was going to have at least one condom in his wallet. What guy with such seductive intentions didn't bring a condom to the seduction?
"It's better bareback," he whispered to me, still pressing the tip of his cock head hard against my throbbing clit.
I pulled away. As hot as I was, and as unbearably turned on as I was, I simply was not willing to take a chance on getting knocked up the first time making love to this serious hunk, even if I was certain he was the marrying kind. What if, after filling me with baby making sperm, he decided to marry somebody else? I had spent my life forever being a bridesmaid, but never a bride. If this guy wanted to risk making me preggo, then I wanted a lot more out of his lips then vague assurances he was wanting to get married to the right girl. I needed him to at least give me a ring to clarify that I was indeed that girl.
Breaking free from his sexy body, and staying free despite my intense arousal, was something I absolutely needed to do in order to reclaim a clear head and unbiased review of the facts. He was desperate to make love to me for the very first time after six months of dating, and yet, my belief I was to one day become his cherished bride was actually based on little more than supposition, guesswork, wishful thinking and an uncanny sixth sense that allowed me to believe I had attained someone that didn't technically belong to me yet.
"You still haven't officially proposed," I argued, adding, "and you still haven't given me a ring."
"You know I love you," he offered, trying to whittle away at my resistance to his seductive charms and outlandishly sexy body.
