Don't ask me what I am. I wouldn't be able to tell you. I've been given many names since I've started to do what has become my passion. I know only one thing: I fuck. Hard. A lot. I have no use for a woman, except for that precise act. Or maybe I don't feel the need for relationships since that thing happened, which I won't tell. Not yet, a least.
Anyway, I guess I should give you a name, or maybe something to call me, at least; I've been called many names, but I guess you could call me a ladies's man. I chase women. I wouldn't say that I have a type, because I would go to bed with any physical kind of women. Long, Thin, Short, Fat, big/small Tits/ass...you name it. Call me a freak or a manslut and I wouldn't be able to deny, just because I know I really do sleep around. Although I do have preferences. And this actually brings me to that one time I've slept with a married woman: My preacher's wife.
I tend to stay out of the way of women in relationships. They are a pain to read, and Sometimes they drag the emotional hole their husband is failing to fill with them, hoping that you might be the guy so fucks them senseless but also loves them. No. But I couldn't stop myself, the first time I saw my preacher's wife. It's the only time I've said to myself, "I gotta have that woman".
And maybe it's because of that promise, that she is in my room, standing in front of me, while I'm laying on my bed, contemplating her. "Okay, now that I saw your room, can we go?" she says. I don't answer right away. Instead, I look at her, directly in her eyes. She knows why we're here. And she certainly agrees to it. Why would she be in my room if it wasn't the case? But I choose to play the game.
I pat the spot on the bed next to me. "Sit next to me", I say. She instantly arches her eyebrows, in that sexy manner that makes me hard all the time. She pouts her mouth a little.
"Why?" she asks.
"Why not?" I answer, my face a perfect mask of innocence.
"I don't trust you."
"You're mean. I don't think I could hurt you even if I wanted to..." I say, with the mask of innocence suddenly changing into one of hurt. She gets scared.
"I...I'm sorry..." she stammers, a look of worry on her beautiful face. "I didn't mean to..."
I grin, jokingly. "Come, sit."
I pat the spot on the bed, again. She looks shocked, but then she mutters something and she sits next to me. I try to touch her but she moves a little, like she wants to get out of my reach. I smile, and without warning I put my arm around her waist, gently squeezing her hip. She lets out a little gasp of air, but doesn't say anything.
She has the perfect body, I think for the hundredth time. She is a thick woman but not to the point of obesity, really. She has a large ass, put in evidence by her wide hips and her stomach who has a little bit of fat. I like her that way, even though she says she has to lose weight. And the part I like the most: her huge breasts who always seem so full and flexible, but must be so firm to the touch. And her lips, with that natural shade of black who looks so well on her dark honey skin. She sees me looking at her, and she smiles, a little. "What are you looking at?"