After a steady diet of weed and sex, the weight started to fall off without much effort. My friends started to notice and the compliments gave me the additional confidence to be bold and brash when approaching men. See, I have always preferred the hunt to the chase. I like to go after the men I want instead of waiting for a man to “choose” me. To me, that’s like waiting at the train station with a free ticket to anywhere the next train goes. But you don’t know where it is going until it arrives. Your choice is to wait for the next train (possibly New York City!) or get on this one (Bumfuck, USA). Or, you can just buy your own damn ticket to wherever you want to go. It really takes someone with advanced skills to turn my head. I prefer to be the predator; the irresistible seductress that lures with words and convinces with touch. That is how I met Diego.
Avi was the beginning, the man that introduced me to what pleasure really was. He allowed me to be free to express myself sexually without judgment and to explore everything I was curious about. He encouraged my sexual deviance in ways that I had never thought to verbalize. Every man who came after Avi had to meet a very high standard of pleasing me. But the upside was that Pandora's box was wide open when I left Miami, but most of the things Avi encouraged was too advanced on the freak scale for the men I met until recently.
When I decided to put myself out there on dating platforms, I wasn't sure where I would fit in. I wasn't looking for love or a companion but I didn't want to just be out there offering pussy either. What is a girl to do when all you want is to be bent over by the waist and instructed to just take that DICK while he palms a hand full of hair forcing your back to arch perfectly to accept the shock of his dominion? Thinking of it caused phantom vibrations leaving me in an orgasmic past. I felt so ridiculous, walking around like a horny teenager wanting to hump every beautiful man in sight. It was like I was growing a penis and sweating testosterone. All I wanted to do was FUCK, someone, anyone, BUELLER?
CL was like a new frontier for me. At first, the ads were entertaining, because I could never see myself answering one. I mean what kind of person puts an ad in an online classified in search of a person to satisfy whatever longing one can conjure? One day, I stopped judging others, and I was able to identify what I needed and crafted an ad to post.
Within hours, I found Carlton. Carlton was unexpected, short, clean cut, proper, but a total sexual deviant. It was a Sunday afternoon and my toy was no longer doing the job. It had been some months since my encounter with Jackson and I was in serious need of more services. It may have been why I was so bold as to compose such words. Never before had I expressed myself so self-assured and audaciously in writing.
Carlton's first email was short and to the point.
From: iMakeBank <CL9000@xxx.comt> Date: November 21, 2015 at 5:08:53 PM EDT To: Junk Mail <CL889088u08@xxx.com> Subject: TAG
Hello, I read your ad and I think we have some things in common. I think we should talk.I currently have an ad up-
Dominate Blk Male Seeks Sub- Race and size unimportant, must be willing to submit and enjoy aggressive manhandling such as choking, biting, slapping.
It wasn't long before he responded with a phone number. We exchanged heated text before setting a date to meet. He wanted to stop by that night. I agreed and then thought better of it. WTF was I doing? Was I really willing to risk my safety for some dick? I mean who was this dude? He could have been a serial killer waiting for some desperate fat girl to invite him into her home so he could slice her up without any interruptions.
I texted him back with a, "hey, I don't think I am ready for this yet," do you mind meeting for coffee first?"
"Sure, can you talk right now?" I stared at the cursor blinking as if it was waiting for an answer. I hated talking on the phone to strangers. I have always been socially awkward and never mastered the art of small talk. Besides, I had no interests in "talking" I just wanted to…
My phone rang while deciding if I wanted to talk to him. Unknown Caller…it was Carlton.
Anxiety clouded my thoughts and I wondered if I were being self-destructive? After all, what kind of woman answers an ad like that and does NOT expect to be PAID? And why was I going THIS far to seek out strange men for sexual satisfaction when I had plenty of male friends sitting on the bench for these types of emergencies?
"Hello," I answered unsure of what to say next.
"Anji?" his voice was medium and modulated, like a financial reporter.
"Yes," I forced myself to speak.
"How are you doing?" he asked, "Is this a good time?"
"Yes, I was just…"My voice trailed off.
"Oh good, are you enjoying your Sunday?" He certainly didn't seem like a serial killer as he went into a short story of his life and why he was on CL. Carlton was a Commercial Real Estate Executive for a reputable firm in the DC area. He was the second half to a beautiful and ambitious woman who had better things to do than entertaining her husband's insatiable sexual appetite. She knew he was involved in extramarital affairs for sexual satisfaction and was fine with it as long as it did not interfere with his fatherly and husband duties. It was different; meeting a married black man who claimed he was married to a black woman but in an open marriage. I was intrigued and wondered if I could be the wife that allowed her husband to roam as long as he came back. The thought had crossed my mind while married to husband #2 after months of going without sex, but he was not receptive to the idea of ME roaming. Men can be so selfish.
After a few minutes I warmed up to Carlton, we were not that different. Two people seeking kinky gratification from strangers. We agreed to meet Tuesday evening at a nearby Starbucks but our text exchanges started to read like BDSM porn. By 5 PM Tuesday, we both knew there was no reason to meet at Starbucks. He showed up to my house in a Thomas Pink dress shirt under a sweater vest. I opened the door in his requested attire, a t-shirt with panties on.
He walked in and barely said hello before his tongue was down my throat and his hand around my neck, asking me if I wanted to be his slut. I refused to answer,he struck me across the face without hesitation and then licked my lips while he held them puckered, teasing and sucking the softest part of my bottom lip that felt more like the lips swelling between my thighs. I was stunned but freakishly turned on. Seconds later I found myself on my knees with a firm grip behind my head swallowing a fat shaft of meat; its head punching my tonsils with each slurp. I loved it! "Is this what you wanted," he pushed deeper and I gagged for air as he clutched my neck with both hands. It was messy, sloppy and perfect.
The first stroke always feels the best after a long break without, it's like putting a Q-tip in your ear to scratch that itch you could not get with your finger. My back arched in the proper angle to get the best strokes, he proceeded to please. The first strokes were firm and deliberate,each penetrated the fear and relaxed my body enough to allow the condom to glide with ease. After a few strokes in the condom became slippery and he began to beat up my pussy for the next 7 minutes until he forced me onto the carpet on my knees, ass high in the air as he kneeled behind me and commenced to drilling as if he would never get to again. I could not keep quiet and covered my mouth with both hands. "I want to hear you," He pulled my arms until they no longer covered my face. I moaned deeply as he pumped harder and my pussy cloaked his cock in creamy jewels.
"I'm about to…." I inhaled deeply as every dirty little thought painted the inside of my eyelids in fairytale colors. He did not miss a beat as my body pulled away from him in pleasure. I felt his hand on my clitoris, rubbing softly as he slowed down his pace to a circular wind and we lowered to the floor. He flipped me onto my back and mounted in a scissor position.
"But…" I tried to back away from him, I wasn't sure I could take another round of shagging.
"You aren't done," I stared at this unassuming man who lustfully studied my body while he caressed my right breast. He was precise and skilled. Three minutes in the scissor position and his short and stout hand choked me into orgasm, "Tell me," his gaze deep and intense before his grip tightened to command obedience, " whose pussy, is this?" his dark, complex eyes made me want to submit. But I was not ready to hand over all my power however, he persisted.
. "Whose pussy is this?" The pressure around my neck intensified just like his lower movements. The blood vessels swelled in my face and I could feel the explosion coming again just as he immersed himself in a surge of my carnal transformation. There was nothing I could do to keep quiet, and I blurted out his name. At that point, I knew my neighbors were irritated with all the shrieks and squeals that escalated from muffled to concert hall level. I had NO shame.
After that night, Carlton and I had a weekly dick appointment for over four months until it became inconsistent due to real life. Eventually, one month turned to 3 and then I became disinterested because my options became more interesting.
After my 1st marriage ended, I met a Cuban one summer night in South Beach, Miami. I don’t remember why I was at a bar alone or what I was wearing; what I do remember was that I was immediately drawn to his confidence. He sweated testosterone, walked like Denzell, and spoke Spanish with an uncompromising accent. I noticed him as soon as he strolled into the bar. He signaled to the bartender and ordered Vodka with cranberry. It was the 90’s when people still danced but before designer Vodka and bottle service.
It wasn’t long before he noticed that I wanted his attention so he sent me a drink. I was impressed, because I was barely 21 and GREEN as hell. “Thank you for the drink,” I smiled at him with starry eyes not really knowing what else to say. “No problem, I am Avi, and you are?” he held out his hand as if he wanted me to shake it. But when I extended it, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. How cliché yet, I blushed like a school girl and could not meet his gaze. I balanced my ass on the bar stool next to him, leaning in so I could take in his essence. He kept the conversation going by asking me questions as if he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. I was intrigued.
We moved to the lounge area when the bar gathered a crowd. We sat on an orange crushed velvet sofa tucked away from the dance floor but not out of view. We spent the night talking about nothing. At 2AM he asked if I wanted to come back to his hotel room. I had no idea how that worked or if I should say no when I really wanted to say YES! I was just “playing” grown, but at that moment I knew that I really wasn’t because I could not make the choice I wanted without feeling like I would be judged. He did not seem bothered by my indecision nor did he try to convince me, he just yawned a bit and said casually, “I am about to get out of here, are you coming with me or no?” He extended his hand and looked directly in my eyes as if he knew I would not say, no.
“When was the last time you been fucked?” His breath quickened as his voice became more menacing yet seductive. “Feels like no one has been taking care of this pussy” His hand brushed against the wettest part of my panties while his middle finger explored inside. “Dame tu lengua,”his finger, the same one that had been frolicking around in my pussy moments before was suddenly in my mouth. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the sweet and salty taste of my excitement.
I felt my panties roll down below my knees as Avi palmed my ass and planted his face between my firm butt cheeks. My knees buckled when his tongue met my clitoris for the first time while I scratched at the wall paper. Without any relief his tongue danced on the surface of my clitoris while he banged my pussy with his finger. It sent me into a stupefied orgasmic dreamland that made every little touch, more pleasing. It was already 2:45AM and that was just foreplay.
“You want this dick?” His raspy voice deep in my ear vibrating in places I never expected. “Do you want this dick, tell me what you want…Tell me,” his chest pressed hard against my back, heart pounding like some hip hop beat with heavy bass. My body was convulsing uncontrollably and nothing I said made sense. “Tell me,” he repeated firmly with his hand gripped firmly around my neck.
Whoa…I had seen it before in a Red Shoe Diary on Showtime. The woman initiated the choking by requesting her mate to choke her with a satin sash. It didn’t end well for her but that thought was too far from my head to tell him to stop. His hard grip around my throat accelerated my anticipation of him entering me. I felt the rise in his jeans rubbing against my bare ass. He was hard and I wanted him like no other man before. “FUCK ME,” I whispered between gasps.
His grip around my neck tightened, “say it again,” he nibbled on my ear and licked the outer edge while he prepared to slide in.
“Fuck me,” I repeated in desperation. The shock of the size of him spreading my walls into a woman was too much; I swooned like a sea Siren tempting him with each note to ravage me. I wanted every inch of him again, and again. He carried me to the bed where he spread my legs and teased my wet outer lips with the tip of his cock. My back arched as I slid upward, he grabbed my thighs and pushed his way into me. Avi stretched my legs high and back towards the headboard as he milled deep and precisely on the spot that forced me to scream his name, “AVI!!! OH MY GAWD!!!” nothing could control me after that. I wanted to run; I wanted to scream, I wanted MORE! it wasn't the first time I had ever experienced an orgasm, but that night I reached another level of ecstasy.
“Are you going to let me have this pussy again?” His eyes met mine and I looked away, the connection was too strong and I had no defense against his power. He could have asked for anything, social security number, paycheck, WHATEVER. After a second of no response from me, he intensified his stroke clutched my neck and repeated without hesitation, “Are you going to let me have this pussy again?”
“Yes,” I could not shout it loud enough. I lost myself in his eyes as he drilled determined to make me his sex slave for a short term of eternity. “Yes!” I wanted to be sure he knew I wanted more of him. He flipped me over and slapped my ass for novelty purposes before he went in again, the red digits on the hotel room clock read 3:31AM, I knew I needed to leave because I had to be back on the beach for work at 6AM. But I could not make him stop even if I wanted him to, my body defied my brain and kept pulling him back in with moans of pleasure.
WHO WAS THIS MAN??? My husband never did ANY of this and he certainly never spoke to me while we were “making love”. For the first time, my mind was present and in sync with my body. It was like he was conducting some complex symphony with my body, and he played all night.
It wasn’t long before he owned me. My body belonged to him without question or hesitation. Any thought of him immediately escalated into a sexual fantasy that I could not wait to share with only him. We spent 14 months fornicating all over Miami trying to outdo the last. On the 25th floor of my balcony: in the stairwell of various parking garages on South Beach, in the alley behind Versace’s house, on beach during the day, in the phone booth at Glam nightclub, in the back of the limo while the driver watched, in my building elevator while security watched and so on. He devoured me every opportunity and groomed me, to be his perfect slut for any occasion. What Avi did was expose me to my inner freak and allowed me to express myself sexually without judgement. He encouraged debauchery and sexual exploration with him and others. I will always love him for that. He was certainly a hard act to follow.
When Avi and I separated it broke my heart, not because I would never see him again but because I knew I would never meet another man that would allow me to be that FREE.
When I was 18, I thought I knew who I was going to be and what kind of life I actually wanted to build. I was going to graduate from UNLV in Hotel Management in 3 years and become a hotel manager for Marriott by the time I was 25. I would travel the world for work and eventually marry an extraordinary man that I could not live without by the time I was 30. We would marry on a yacht in the French Riviera, and fly home in first class from our honeymoon in Bali.
Exactly one year after high school graduation, I had been expelled from a community college after an on campus “altercation” that ended with a football player in stitches and my eye black and blue from his fist. A few weeks later I was married to my last high school boyfriend and on my way to boot camp. We met and started dating in high school when I was barely 15. I don’t recall many details of this teenage love but it was definitely one I could have skipped. He was controlling, hypercritical, and sometimes violent. I still have a scar on my back and knees from the time he refused to let go off my arm while he accelerated in his car after I would not agree to go back home with him.
For me, Teenage love was all encompassing, like being dunked in a tank of water and only being let up for air when he came around. My first mistake was making him the center of my world without obligation and allowing him to isolate me from my friends. This tactic worked so well to maintain my blissful ignorance and willful obedience. But eventually the truth came to light and I broke up with him and went away to college. The fact that I FUCKED UP and was kicked out of community college made me more willing to forgive him when he asked. Somehow I convinced myself we could start over somewhere else together so I busied myself making a new plan for us to move.
I guess I thought marriage would change him and make us instant adults. I thought marrying him would prevent him from chasing a criminal life that he was apparently no good at. It didn’t take long for me to understand he did not want to be “saved” he wanted to be taken care of. Maybe I always knew he was the kind of man my father was trying to warn me about. I wanted this boy to be better than my parents said he was, I wanted him to be better than he thought he was, I wanted him to be as awesome as I believed he was. But, he could only manage to disappoint me in more ways than before. The union resulted in a quick divorce upon discovering he had no intentions of remaining employed or faithful.
What I learned from that experience was that you can take a man out of a bad situation but you cannot make him create a better situation for himself. I tried, to be the dutiful wife and “support” and stand by his side. But I did not grow up like that, my father ALWAYS had some type of income coming in the house. I was not going down like that, getting knocked up by an unemployed leach who could never keep his dick to himself. After four months of disappearing funds from our shared checking account due to him entertaining other broke ass men who he befriended, I set some wheels in motion to end the marriage by shipping him back to his mother on Greyhound.
Thinking back on it now, it was the best decision I could have made. That marriage had no chance of success because he had too little ambition for a man who wanted to control me. We met and started dating in high school when I was barely 15. He represented rebellion to me because my parents did not approve of our relationship. I married him as act of independence and out of pettiness to keep him from being with that trashy ho Shameka. He ended up with her anyway.