I drive down the Boulevard and enjoy the warm and sunny weather. A man catches my attention. He is wearing a pair of white sneakers, denim shorts and a white sleeveless shirt that hugs his muscular physique. He has tattoos - a bad boy, maybe.
I pull up to the bus stop and roll down my window.
“Hello, my name is Nina,” I say. “Is there some place I can take you?”
“Do you always pick up men who you don't know?” the man asks.
“Only the ones who I find irresistible.”
He smiles, displaying white teeth.
“You haven't answered my question," I say. Is there some place I can take you?”
The man thinks to himself for a moment.
“I need to go to 69th street,” he finally says.
“Hop in.”
“Thank you sexy. By the way, my name is Patrick.”
As I drive him to where he needs to go, I can feel his eyes on me. I glance at Patrick and I notice him staring at my long bare legs, and then I observe how his eyes feast on my succulent breasts. He licks his lips.
“So Nina, tell me a little bit about yourself.”
“What is it that you would like to know?”
“Whatever, you think I should know.”
I formulate my thoughts before giving an answer, and then I say, “I enjoy riding stick, deep penetration, rough sex, watching porn, and masturbating while being watched by my lover.”
“Interesting,” Patrick says, after taking a gulp.
“So tell me about yourself?”
Patrick is silent for a moment.
“Well, I like to stamp packages that leave my signature behind. So the proof of my delivery can always be confirmed.”
“That’s cute.”
“I bet you wouldn't be able to handle it.”
Before I can reply,
“It looks like we're here,” he says.
He opens the door, and begins to step out of my car. I tell him to wait a minute. I reach over and open the glove compartment, retrieving a pen and a piece of paper. I write down my number, and tell him to give me a call.
“Now, why would I want to do that?”
“It will benefit us both.”
He takes the paper from me.
My hormones are raging, and I know when I get home I will have to change my panties.
It is a Friday night. I am lying in my bed and watching television. My phone rings and it is Patrick. This is the first time I have heard from him in a week.
“What did you say your name is? I ask. “How did we meet again?”
“That’s very funny,” he says. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner. I have been very busy. Please let me make it up to you by taking you out this evening. I'll pick you up at ten o'clock. What is your address?”
“Excuse me,” I say. “Don't you think you are getting ahead of yourself? I didn't agree on going out with you.”
“But I know you want to.”
I am quiet for a second.
“I guess I can rearrange my plans.”
Patrick arrives at my house at a quarter to ten.
I am wearing a short, red and backless halter dress, with red stilettos. No panties. No bra.
When I open the door for him, Patrick takes my breath away. He looks very different from the man I had picked up at the bus stop. The casual look he wore at that time is replaced with a more refined one. He is wearing a pair of black dress pants, designer shoes, a blue and short sleeve fitted shirt that is slightly sheer. Lustfully, I stare at his muscular chest and arms.
“Please come in.” I say to him. “I just have to get my purse.”
When he steps into my house, he kisses me on the cheek and then he hugs me. He presses his body, so closely, against mine that I can feel his excitement. But he is not the only one who is aroused. My body resembles the fourth of July. There are sparks everywhere.
I am wearing a short, red and backless halter dress, with red stilettos. No panties. No bra.
When I open the door for him, Patrick takes my breath away. He looks very different from the man I had picked up at the bus stop. The casual look he wore at that time is replaced with a more refined one. He is wearing a pair of black dress pants, designer shoes, a blue and short sleeve fitted shirt that is slightly sheer. Lustfully, I stare at his muscular chest and arms.
“Please come in.” I say to him. “I just have to get my purse.”
When he steps into my house, he kisses me on the cheek and then he hugs me. He presses his body, so closely, against mine that I can feel his excitement. But he is not the only one who is aroused. My body resembles the fourth of July. There are sparks everywhere.
We manage to make it out my house. We head to a reggae lounge. Once we arrive there, we head for the bar. I order an “orgasm.” He orders a “screwdriver.” We take our drinks to a table that is in a secluded area of the lounge. The lights are very dim.
“How deep does your river run?” Patrick inquires.
“Very deep,” I say. “And if you're not careful, you will drown.”
“I'm a great swimmer,” he replies. “Let me show you my tongue stroke.”
Patrick goes underneath the tablecloth.
“What are you doing? There are people around.”
“Well, I guess you're going to have to find some way not to draw attention to us.”
With that said, he puts his head underneath my dress.
Then he begins to tease my clit with the tip of his tongue. I hold on to the edge of the table for dear life while I swallow my moans, and fight my emotions in an effort to control myself.
But once he starts writing the letters of the alphabet on my pussycat with his tongue, my kitty purrs uncontrollably which only motivates him to do more to it. I am thinking that a restraining order against my cherry pie will be the only way he'll stop eating it.
My head becomes dizzy and my body begins to convulse. I release my sweet love overflowing with affection for his tongue.
Within minutes, we arrive at my house. As soon as I close the front door, Patrick grabs my hair from behind. Then he pushes me up against the closed door.
“What happened at the lounge was only an appetizer,” he says. “My dick is a chef. So let it serve you its main course.”
My body starts to tremble. The movement produces friction from my ass against his love stick causing it to shift into gear.
Patrick turns me to face him. He kisses my lips hard and with urgency. Ripping my dress from my body, using just one of his hands, he starts caressing, sucking, and licking my welcoming breasts.
We end up in the bedroom where I take off his clothes. After the last article of clothing is removed, he pulls me down to the floor. His missile is ready for take off. It enters me through the back entrance. He works me in the doggy style position skillfully. His thrusts are long — slow — deep — fast — hard.
He takes me past my limit of sexual endurance. I scream and moan. I am in sweet agony. After many strokes delivered with precision, he pulls himself out of me. I get up from the floor, and move away from him. But I can barely walk. Patrick chuckles at this sight. “Do you need some help?” he asks.
I look back at him. The fatigue my body was feeling is rejuvenated. I walk back to him with pep in my step. He is thrown off by the sudden change in my movement. I drop to my knees. Before he can utter a single word, I begin to blow his instrument. I play it fast and slow and slow and fast while I enclose one of my hands around his masculine power, sliding up and down.
Once I'm done, I push Patrick into the bed where he lands on his back. I jump on top of him. I smother his lips with a deep and passionate kiss. I bite, lick and dig my nails into his chest. A deep sigh escapes his lips.
Thereafter, I sit on top of his happiness to see me. In the reverse cowgirl position, I move my waist round and round, back and forth. I do this repeatedly meanwhile I look over my shoulder to get a glimpse at his face. His eyes roll back inside of his head. He cannot hold back any longer. He releases his excitement inside the walls of my flesh.
Within seconds, Patrick falls asleep. I lie next to him, knowing our roles are over, and the script is finished. Then I glance at a picture sitting on the nightstand of a woman and man dressed in all white. I smile before turning out the light.
