I encountered Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes during my first year in college. This man had it all; he was a Que, his swag was tough, and he had hazel eyes. His smile was wicked and nice: causing spontaneous eruptions for many of the women who crossed his path. I heard around the way that his dick credentials were fly…he possessed width and length along with several tricks of the tongue. Of course, this bitch was not too eager to succumb to his playful ways. Why be one of many in his stable? Yet one of my home girls said that the boy was tasty and I had to have his “juice”.
During homecoming, we connected….. First, I never had to use my hands for anything. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes used his tongue, teeth, and mouth to remove all of my clothing. Shit….I had chills from his breath heating the back of my knees...the curve of my ass...the dip of my back. Ohhhhhhhh lawd! As I bent back and spread my legs to receive his “Mr. Peter”, he told me “No”. (Yeah, this dude had a name for his dick). Instead, he knelt down and blew ever so softly on my lips. He kissed my lips. He told me that I would never find another who could kiss those lips like him. He French kissed and licked my lips and eventually spoke every letter of the alphabet with his tongue on my clit. Oh….this bitch almost choked on his pleasures. Once he rose to enter my wet walls, he told me to kiss myself. Ahh..shit, this brother talked like the HNIC. That night was only the beginning of a regular fuck-a-ffair. Despite his smooth moves, I always managed to take the helm. I talked shit and backed it up. I also kept dude guessing on my limits. I was new in town. I did not want to share all my tricks to the first guy who matched my sexual aptitude, but dude had me wondering what tricks he had up his sleeve. Well, this bitch would find out soon enough.
During spring, my college and his college had several events to mark a good basketball season, fly fashion, and of course good partying. We decided to link up after the spring fashion show. I wore my freakum’ clothes and had on my fuck em’ boots. My toes were suckling good and my body was bootylicious. When we connected, we continued to maintain our perfect rhythm. When I bent over to receive Mr. Peter, he grabbed my hair and told me to “get up”. As I licked and sucked Mr. Peter, he moaned in tones I never knew existed for a Que dog. When I rode Mr. Peter, I explored new positions, angles, and rhythms. I made an Olympic Gymnast jealous with all of my flexibility. In fact, Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes shed a tear as a result of the pleasure I caused. When we moved into round 5, I laid down on his dorm bed. I spread my legs into a wide “V” and raised my hips to receive him once again. I used my fingers to trace the gentle scar on his abs leading to Mr. Peter. When I felt my walls begin to shake, he would slow down and talk nasty. He asked me if I was his porn star, his freak bitch. Of course, I said yes, but next he asked me to prove my freakiness. Of course, I said, “Whatever you like”. I took his statements as nasty talk; nothing serious. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes proceeded to pick up his cordless phone; dial a number, and talk to his homeboy about his “freak bitch”, and when I began to erupt…he placed the phone near my face. When I moaned, purred, and screamed, he smiled and told his homie, “Yeah that’s my freak bitch”. Of course, I was surprised, curious, and well...turned on. I'd just become an amateur phone sex operator, his personal porn star. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes literally got this bitch all twisted.
Had I become a porn star? Was I a “crazy bitch” for succumbing to his games?
P.S. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes-I am still quaking!