My husband asked me, "Have you ever had sex with an African American woman?"
My answer, yes, sort of. She was African but not American.
I was about 25, and a friend from high school, Ashley, asked me if I wanted to go to go to a party with her in New York City. She told me that we would go dancing and then run over to the party in Greenwich Village. My friend was known for partying pretty hard, but I was game. How could I say no?
On Saturday morning, I packed up for the weekend and took the train to see Ashley. By the time I made it to her apartment I was a little tired. I took a nap, she made a little dinner, and we started getting ready for going out. I slipped on my bright red thong and then my tight black leather pants that accentuated my round ass. No bra tonight. I wore a tight red camisole with spaghetti straps that would hold my breasts in place with a sheer black blouse on top. I could expose my cleavage and full breasts by just opening the blouse. Ashley wore a tight, black mini dress that loved her hourglass figure. We were ready.
When we went inside the club it didn't take long for us to scope out the crowd, sip a few drinks, and reach the dance floor. We danced with each other, then with a few cute guys. It felt great to let loose. The DJ was incredible.
At about 2 a.m., we left and grabbed a taxi to get us to party. In 10 minutes we were there. The party was in a brownstone house and the host had a rooftop that everyone was enjoying. Alcohol flowed like water. I met a few of Ashley's friends. They all seamed to be in the financial industry. As the night wore on, I began talking to a woman from London. Joyce was a professor who was born in West Africa. She had a great sense of humor, and we both were getting rather tipsy. In no time we were talking about ex-boyfriends and sex. I asked her if she ever slept with any African men. She told me that she dated a few African men in London. She said that their egos were difficult to deal with but still had fun with one or two of them. I pressed her for more information. Joyce explained how one man's washboard stomach and long cock were difficult to resist. It had a slight curve to it but hit her in just the right spot. I asked if he was circumcised, and she told me of the joys of clean uncut cocks. She was very convincing. I told her that I would have to find one soon.
Joyce went to get me another drink, and I realized that Ashley had left, probably with that financial advisor she was flirting with. She sadly had the keys to her apartment, but I didn't. Joyce came back and I told her about my situation. She said that she was staying in really nice hotel on the East side and I could crash there. I thanked her profusely.
After further talk about men and cocks, we left the party and headed to the hotel. The cab ride was fun. We kept sharing stories and laughing. Joyce loved my stories about my ex-boyfriend who had the biggest tip to his penis. It truly was a mushroom tip and tough to get your mouth around. The cabbie must have enjoyed overhearing our conversation.
When we reached the hotel and took the long ride up the elevator, I noticed how attractive Joyce was. The elevator light was stronger than the light at the party or in the cab. She was a few inches taller than me, maybe 5'7", with very short-cropped hair, big brown eyes, wide lips, dark skin, long toned arms, a long trim torso, and a little bubble butt. She really had a sense of style and wore beautiful jewelry.
By the time we reached her room, we were still talking about sex. I let it slip that I had a girlfriend before. Joyce asked me more about my experiences with women, and I was happy to oblige. She had never had sex with a woman before. It was taboo when she was growing up. She did have a lot of questions for me.
