Waiting for Mr. Right

It was my very first time. I had never even pressed too hard on my hymen. I wasn't exactly saving myself for marriage. I just didn't want to end up like a lot of women in family and my neighborhood. I grew up without a father, and the very worst thing I could think of was having a child without a stable home.

Years have away of flying by, and my convictions had turned into a cause. Admittedly, I was a terrible date and way too sarcastic. I deemed a guy; loser or player, before he could get "Hello" out of his mouth good. Most men just never called back.

A few guys rumored that they had me screaming for more of their huge dicks. I let it go unchallenged, because it kind of took some of the pressure off. I did not confirm nor deny their fantasies of having sex with me.

My nights had been spent alone. I partied with my girlfriends, but I never had a man in my bed. It was just me, a bottle of Merlot, my finger, and my clit. I could bring myself off to a series of orgasms. I often masturbated in my office during lunch, and actually did it once during a boring meeting.

In my apartment, I had a collection of porn that I kept well hidden, because my girlfriends were so noisy. I love seeing huge black dicks. I get so horny just thinking about them. I get asked out a lot because I get caught staring at men crotches. I flirt and let them grind against me on the dance floor. I couldn't say how many orgasms I've had while dancing.

I knew it was time for me to give myself to a man when I ran into an old high school friend. He was even finer than he had been, back then. He had just come back from Europe, and said that he'd been their since he graduated college. He added that black men were treated much better over there. He wasn't married and didn't have any kids, but that wasn't all that got me. He didn't ask me out after I told him that I wasn't married, had kids, or was dating anyone at the time, and he didn't give me that, "I want to fuck your brains out" look.

He told me where he was staying and that he was headed to the café for lunch. I had to practically invite myself. He even pretended not to notice when I looked at his crotch. I knew that there was nothing wrong with me, and there was no way I would be believe that he was gay, but he didn't even check me out.

I started to feel a bit desperate as he fanned away my obvious attempts to flirt with him. I showed off an unholy amount of leg, but he was being way too respectful. He kept his eyes on my mine and listened to what I had to say. I wanted to say, "Check out my legs, my ass, and my tits....don't you want to fuck me?" Instead, he was a perfect gentleman.

"I'd thought you'd be married by now," he said.

"I guess I just haven't found the right man for me," I said.

"That's too bad," he said.

"How about you?" I asked. "Why haven't you married?"

"Because, I always wanted to marry you," he said.

I was floored. I smiled and I knew there was no way he couldn't see how excited I was. I don't recall a thing he said until I was staring at the bed in his hotel room. Up until that point, I had been walking on air.

A wave of red hot blooded fear washed over me. I dawned on me that I had never actually had sexual intercourse before. I was going to do it. There was no way I was going to let this guy get away from me. But what if I'm a lousy lay? I've heard men and women talk about it. I felt moisture build at my arm pits. I felt like I was about to panic, and then he touched me.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. I fell back into his arms. I didn't realize that I was trembling. His warm lips were like a soothing massage on my neck.

"I've been want to do this since we graduated high school," he whispered.

That was the last gentle word I heard from him. His fingers tighten around the back of my neck and then he forced me face down on the bed. He snapped my thong off from under my skirt as if it was made of paper. It was rough and shocking, but kind of exciting. He kicked my legs apart and then I felt the head of his dick.

At first, it felt like my pussy was being split open, and there was a sharp pain, but then I felt an orgasm like I had never experienced before. It just kept building and building every time he shoved his big black rod in me. More and more, and over and over, I was electrified by his magical cock.

I needed it hard and rough, just like he gave it to me. He grunted and cursed. It took me a little while for me to realize that he was swearing at me. But, he could have called me a whore and I would have agreed with him. I could have kicked my own ass for missing out on that, all those years.

He flooded my pussy with his thick cum, causing his seed to spill out on my inner thighs. I wanted him to do it again, to keep fucking me like a bitch in heat, but his dick shrunk and fell out. I was a bit disappointed, and I guess he was too, because he rushed me out.

I had wondered for years, why would a woman with kids risk getting pregnant again. I found out. The joy and pleasure of sex can be addictive and over powering. It is worth the risk of getting pregnant to have a big black juicy dick pumping in and out of my pussy.

It didn't dawn on me until I was staring at the plus sign on the pregnancy test that the only difference between my Mr. Right, and all the other guys I dated, was that the other guys were still around.