The First Time 172

This was the first time. Since then I've seen other guys. More than one of them have become regular meetings that aren't relationships just sex and the satisfaction of a need I have now. A part of me I never knew I had but I now acknowledge as part of me. A part of me I never knew I had for so long, but now I love and cherish. A fundamental, true part of me that defines me. That's right. I know this because of how it makes me feel. How it completes me.

I know I had to share my experience. This is how it all started.

I had seen Eric many times since my boyfriend and I had moved into our apartment. He would always look at me in the hallway and smile. Call me "white girl," and ask what I was doing later. It didn't matter if my boyfriend was with me or not. Of course, Michael was furious with him, but he never said anything besides glare at Eric and put a hand around my waist, turning me away from him.

Secretly I liked it. I felt sexy the way Eric looked at me. If my boyfriend was with me I'd smile back, politely. On the rare occasion I saw him alone I'd weakly say, "hi," and scurry off. Michael was jealous and I didn't need to hear any more of his nonsense about black people than I had to. Inside though, I thought about talking with him, what he'd be like. Eric was handsome, tall, and built well. Muscles rippling under his shirt. A firm ass and thick legs. Of course, that led me to think about other things! I never thought it would ever lead to anything.

I was a good girl. Michael and I had been together for two years. We had been living together for eight months. We were in love despite his shortcomings, but he was like most guys I had been with. Like my dad and brothers. It was familiar, and I guess just what I always expected my life would be like. I never was a sexual person, I guess. I had always been faithful and never really done anything crazy. Just a plain blonde-haired girl, pretty but not beautiful, kind of skinny, with small breasts and not much for curves. I never slutted it up even when I was single or hooked up with random guys on one-night stands.

One night I was up late. Michael had passed out in bed after drinking and playing video games. I was watching Netflix in the living room and figured I might as well do something useful with my time and took a load of laundry down.

I was almost finished with our clothes. I was folding and neatly putting the little squared and bundles of shirts, pants and socks in the laundry basket when his voice made me jump.

"A little late to be doing laundry isn't it?"

I jumped, turning to the door and seeing that lean, handsome dark face with his wide smile and shining teeth.

"Oh my god, you scared me!"

He laughed, "Don't worry, you're safe with me. I'm just glad to get a sentence longer than one word out of you finally."

I blushed, embarrassed for him calling out my rudeness, "I'm sorry-"

"It's ok. I get the impression the boyfriend doesn't care for me."

"He's just kind of jealous."

"He's kind of something. He upstairs?"

"Yeah, in bed. He had a few drinks."

"I had a few myself, just getting back from a night out. I don't drink too much at home. I do smoke. You want to join me?"

I had smoked marijuana before a few times with friends before I met Michael. I was curious what this stranger lived like. How he decorated his home.

"I could stop by for a little bit. I shouldn't stay long in case, you know."

"Here, let me help you. I'm Eric by the way."

I knew his name now. "I'm Mckenzie."

"Nice to meet you, Mac."

We made small talk for the remainder of folding my clothes. Asking about each other's work and hobbies. He was nice and friendly. Asking me how to fold my bras and panties, and gently putting them in a neat stack in my basket.

My heart was pounding furiously as the unfolded garments became less and less. I didn't know what was going to happen.

He picked up my basket of clothes and we walked up the stairs, me following, trying to breath watching him stride before me like a smoke blowing up a hill. He was on the floor above ours.

His place was very neat and tidy. Well furnished. He had African décor of masks and tribal decorations among record albums mounted to the walls of 70's soul artists and some more contemporary hip hop and rap musicians and groups.

He set the clothes basket by the door, "Don't forget this," he said seriously, "no matter how fucked up you get," then smiled and chuckled a little.

I laughed, "Oh my god, is it that strong."

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. Take little puffs."

I didn't know if he was teasing me or not.

It was surprisingly smooth and relaxing, and I found myself sinking into the couch after his deft fingers rolled a joint and we smoked while listening to some classic R&B.. Both of us with cups of honey and tea. My body was floating, and his arm was around me suddenly, and I was snuggled up to him somehow without even realizing I had done so, my head on his shoulder.

"There you go, white girl. Just go with the flow, so to speak."

I could feel the music in my body flowing through me. I closed my eyes, when I opened them, I saw he had taken a long, hard thick black dick out of his slacks and was stroking it softly in front of me. I felt myself take a sharp intake of breath, but I didn't move, watching his hand glide up and down the stiff shaft slowly. Every vein stood out starkly, it was so hard it looked like the skin would burst.

He slowly took his hand off and put it on my own then put my hand around it. It was hot and rock hard. Guiding my hand, he slipped it up and down, my soft hand smooth and gently. I thought he had to feel my heart pounding in my chest now. He took his hand off, but I didn't stop stroking him.

"That's a good girl," he purred to me.

I kept stroking him, and a small glisten of wetness blossomed on the tip of his dick. With one finger he carefully lifted it off, then brought it to my mouth rubbing it on my lips. It was sweet, better than I had ever thought semen tasted. My tongue licked forward touching his finger.

"You like that, white girl?"

"Yes."

"There's more in there for you to get."

I had never liked giving oral before. Never liked how a penis felt in my mouth or the bitter watery feel of sperm in my mouth, but I felt like my mouth was almost watering. I wanted to do it, and when I felt his hand on the back of my head gently pushing me forward, I let him. My mouth opened, and I was wrapping it around him sucking, feeling it hard and hot inside my mouth.

"That's good, Mackenzie. I knew when I saw you that you were a dicksucker. Here you are, haven't even kissed me and you're sucking my cock."

I felt slutty but sexy, instead of feeling insulted I felt turned on. My hand was wrapped around him under my lips chasing and leading my mouth as I sucked feeling my hand wet with my saliva.

"Play with them balls some and make sure you get all that nut out of them."

My other hand grabbed his balls rolling them and pulling gently. Soon I could feel my spit dripping down onto them as well as I could hear myself slurping and sucking. I felt like I was making love to him through his dick.

He put one hand in my hair rubbing my head and gripping my hair as I felt him in ecstasy. Loving that I was doing this to him, I was making him feel this way.

"Ahh that's right, you love that black cock don't you? You need to get that nut. That little white mouth was made for sucking black cock."

As he told me this I believed it, and I did want to feel him orgasm in my mouth. I did want to feel his cum explode and fill my mouth. I sucked harder and with even more passion as I felt him swelling and pulsing, getting bigger in my mouth because he wanted to cum in my mouth.

When he did cum, I thought he'd never stop. It kept pulsing and shooting out, filling my mouth dripping out onto my hands, and when he told me to swallow it, I did, feeling it warm and thick going down my throat, as if I could feel it going right down into my stomach. Wave after wave as I swallowed, salty and sweet, not good, it would be a while before I started to like cum, but loving how it felt. Loving that I was making him do that for me. That I was doing it for a man other than my boyfriend, letting him use me and loving how it felt.

When he finally subsided I got up feeling my spit and his cum dripping off my chin and on my hands.

He looked at me dreamily, relaxed and drained.

"Get all that, lick them fingers clean."

I did, feeling slutty and dirty like a porn star now, but liking it.

He reached forward and scooped the last drops off my chin, feeding it to me. I hungrily licked it off his fingers.

"You like that, Mackenzie?"

"I loved it," the words rushing out before I could even think.

"Good. Cuz you gonna get all kinds of this nut from now on."

And I think at that point I might have not come back. I might not have kept going to where I am now, but the last little bit of my old self gave up then, when he told me to say it.

"Say you a dicksucker."

I hesitated for a moment, but then I said it, "I'm a dicksucker."

"Say you love sucking black cock"

"I love sucking black cock."

He'd make me say this every time I went to him. I started saying it without him asking me to. And it went on from that. To him having other men over when I'd go to him, to him telling me to find guys on my own.

I had discovered a new side of me. A secret side I never knew I had.