It's not that I had fallen out of love with Dusty. In all honesty, I'm not sure I really loved him in the first place. I probably only ever really loved Dusty's black and gold Firebird. We were friends, and we got along well. We looked good in our senior prom pictures, and he was reliable. That's why I married him right out of high school. He was safe, and that's what I'd been told to want.
See, Daddy always wanted me to marry a man like him. Someone who can take care of me, someone who was safe. I guess that's what all fathers really want deep down inside. Daddy thought that a man like Dusty could keep me secure. Daddy also thought that being secure was the same thing as being happy, but it wasn't. My bills were paid, I wasn't hungry, there was a roof over my head and I had spending money. But that's not what being happy is all about, there's layers to that sort of thing. It's less concrete than that, satisfaction is too complicated to be summed up so simply.
I wasn't happy to begin with, but things got worse two years into our marriage when Dusty really started getting fat. Dusty had started gaining weight senior year, when a torn ACL put the brakes on his so-called football career. I say so-called because Dusty was probably the only person in the world who thought that dream was coming true. The truth was, Dusty was always going to leave sports and work in my Daddy's car shop. That's just the way things work in our town. So, with football out the window, Dusty lost all interest in staying in shape. We'd been growing apart basically since we started dating, unfortunately, he hadn't noticed. I wish I could say it wasn't his fault, and in a way it really wasn't, but I was what you would call 'sexually starved'.
Dusty, despite his best efforts, had never been able to get me off sexually. I don't blame him, not completely, Dusty had no control over the size of his dick - did he? When I met Dusty he was packing a four-incher. While it didn't quite get me off, I could at least feel it, sorta. The part I do blame him for, is when he got fat. The fatter Dusty got, the harder it became to even find the thing, let alone feel it in me.
That was just the tip of the iceberg thought. When we could still have sex, I had to get myself off after he fell asleep. At least then there was some intimacy between us. But the fatter Dusty got, the less he felt like making love, and the less I could feel his lovemaking. Life has a way of spiralling, problems stack on top of one another, and over time you lose track. You lose your grip and you're just drowning. We hadn't had sex in almost six months, and I hadn't felt it in over a year, when I realized that I didn't know which way was up anymore. It was bad and I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know what to do, so I became desperate.
Now before I go any further, I want to clarify something. I did try talking to Dusty about this, several times, but he just wasn't interested in changing anything. Dusty was content, and once a man becomes content, there's not much you can do about it. He had no interest in sex or staying in shape. Maybe it was depression from the football thing, or maybe it was low testosterone, but either way, despite my long, wavy blonde hair, natural double-D's and admittedly pretty great ass, Dusty wasn't interested in me. I worked hard to stay in shape, for my own sake mostly, but also to stay pretty for my husband, but he didn't care. I worked hard to seduce him, to make him want me, but he didn't. I was pushed away. I was pushed to the edge. Eventually, I decided to find someone to fulfill my needs. Someone who would want me.
I started online. I guess that's where most people go, not to mention I was already on the web a lot anyway trying to relieve the issues that my dead sex life was giving me. I learned a few things about myself during those first few weeks, chiefly that I had an addictive personality and that can be dangerous when dealing with internet porn, but also that there was something out that that got me hotter than I would have ever believed possible. Something so incredible, so absolutely wonderful that discovering its existence made my life feel empty without it. Something that was so entirely antithetical to my real life, that in contrast it had to be perfect by definition. Something that was the exact opposite of Dusty. I'm talking about Big, Black Cock.
The forum that I'd joined called them BBCs for short, but they were anything but short. Most of the time, I would cream my panties just looking at them, but the more I saw, the more I noticed a hollow, emptiness growing inside of me. It wasn't long before I realized that I had to have one. I had to experience it at least once. Or maybe two or three times. I wasn't greedy, but there had to be enough to go around. I could just imagine what it would feel like to be filled like that, to be stretched to my very limits by a Big Black Monster Cock. It wasn't good enough to look at pictures. It wasn't enough to watch videos, no matter how hot they were. I needed to know what it was like to get down on my knees and worship something like that, to feel it grow in my hands and wrap my lips around it as it throbbed in my mouth. To be taken by a big, strong, confident Black Man and be made to feel like a real woman again. I just needed to feel that way, I needed it more than I had ever needed anything in my life. I needed it so bad that my pussy ached and my heart raced.
In the beginning, there was a lot of 'missed connections'. Times when I would set up to meet some young, built stud at a bar and then not show. The nerves kept getting to me. It didn't matter that my body needed this, my mind said it was wrong and I had a lot of trouble getting past that. That was until I the luckiest night of my life, the night of my twenty-fifth birthday. Dusty and I had been married for seven years that year, and he had already ruined basically every birthday so far by inviting all of his old high school buddies, getting drunk and eventually throwing up. I told him I was going out with my girlfriends that night, which wasn't entirely a lie. I did meet up with a few of them and have a couple of drinks to get my courage up, but I told them I had to be home early and left after an hour or so. My true birthday party was going to be something special, a Big, Black Birthday Present to myself. His name was Darnell, he had a small recording studio in his apartment where he produced music for local artists. He had a business, moderate success and he understood the importance of discretion. Or at least, I thought he did, but that was back when I cared.
Only one person other than Darnell and myself knew of my birthday plans, my best friend June. She was the best, the only person I felt like I could talk to about my problems with Dusty.
To say that June was supportive would probably be an understatement. Part of me thought she was trying to live out her own BBC fantasies through me, but even that part didn't care. I was just happy to have someone to talk to. To be honest, doing it on my birthday was her idea. She said I deserved a real present, and that we both knew I wouldn't get what I needed from Dusty anytime soon. She was right. That's why I was driving all the way into the city to meet a man I had only talked to online, with every intention of getting my holes stuffed with his big cock. It was crazy. I was crazy. I knew that then and I know it now, but the danger of it was a key part of the excitement and by the time I made it to his apartment, my white lace panties were already soaked through.
I was lightheaded from fear and excitement and maybe even a touch of shame as I walked to his door. My hand shook as I reached for the doorbell and I stopped for a moment, gazing at my wedding ring. I faltered, thinking about the vows I'd taken, thinking about hard Dusty worked to build our life. I faltered, but only for a moment. I had driven all the way here. I was tipsy, horny and the emptiness was welling up inside of me stronger than ever - I was far beyond the point of no return. Without I pushed my reservations out of my head, pushed up my bra, and rang the bell.
My mind was racing. I couldn't decide what I wanted to do first, part of me wanted him to take control, to use me up and make me feel wanted, but another part of me wanted to jump his bones, to take him as mine and own that Big, Black Cock. I was so conflicted, so wrapped up in my most basic desires that I couldn't stand it. Without even thinking about it, I slid my hand down the front of my blue jean short shorts and slipped two fingers into my dripping pussy. I slid them in slow and deep, pulling them out just to rub over my clit before diving back beyond the lips. I was panting, breathing loud and heavy. All I could think about was that picture Darnell had sent me before I left the house, the one of his massive, meaty, ten-inches. At that moment, my mind was almost a perfect blank. I knew only one thing, I had to have that inside of me now. I was third-knuckle deep and starting to moan when the door swung open and my heart stopped.
Who knows what went through his head when he saw me mastubating on his porch. There I was, one hand down my pants, half-drunk and moaning, embarrassed and ashamed. My face flushed and my cheeks burned. I started to stammer out an apology. I couldn't figure out how I'd gotten to this point, how I'd gotten this desperate, this stupid. I considered bolting for my car, but before I could, he spoke up.
"Looks like you're starting without me. That's cool, but if you want to come on inside, I'll help you finish up." He said with a grin.
His voice was deep, heavy and commanding without being crass, it had a bassy, natural assertiveness to it that I wasn't used to. Something about it drove me over the edge. The moment he stopped speaking, whatever part of me that was still a rational, mature adult disappeared. Whatever part of me that had the good sense to be ashamed of myself had either died of embarrassment or drowned in the rolling baritone of his voice. My hands released themselves from their previous occupations and found his beautifully sculpted abs. I ran my fingers down his ebony flesh as I dropped slowly down. My bare knees hit the cold cement of his porch but I didn't care. I brought my hands to the impression of his huge cock, stroking it through his pants. I pressed my face against it and felt the warmth against my skin, but the aching between my legs only intensified.
Darnell started to say something, but stopped as I pulled his long stretch of meat from its cotton confinement. It hung there in my face. Huge. Thick. Black. A perfectly awe-inspiring affirmation of every BBC porno I had ever seen. A monument of ebon beauty. I wrapped one hand around the shaft and felt it pulse and throb, growing erect right before my eyes. If it was huge before, the touch of my hand made it grow to an almost impossible size. It was ten inches easy, and at least six in its circumference. My jaw dropped, I couldn't help it, it was a reflex of pure astonishment. Looking at it, I was in a trance. Without thinking, I gave in to another reflex .
