Up until this point I had kept my track record within two ethnic groups- White men and Mexi-man. Time to expand my horizon…
We met online (surprise) and talked on the phone for about a week. To my bewilderment, I receive a lot of attention from African American men. It must be my love humps, bumps and curvature.
It was a new type of attention that I wasn’t even aware of! Anyway, Mr. Stallion worked construction (there is something about a working man’s hands)- his luscious lips, and creamy dark skin. I was mesmerized. There was a bit of culture shock.. if you will allow me to call it that- he always had me on speaker phone, the phone was always in his pocket rustlin around when he tried to speak to me- I could not decipher the words most of the time. He also had kids. Which was a NO NO in my “rule book”- but what did I have to lose? We finally found a kidless night to meet up. I offered to pick up dinner on the way to his apartment which was about 45 minutes of a drive from my house..
REMINDER: I am new to the dating scene at this point and am very naive. FYI- Visiting someone’s home is not the smartest “1st date” activity.. Also, I come from a very safe conservative suburbia area so anything in the city is “rough” for me. Yes, ages 0-21 I lived a very sheltered life. This Stallion lived in a ROUGH part of town. I was afraid to leave my car on the street… let alone get out of my car! However, I was a trooper. I took a deep breath and headed inside. Expecting a great date to come out of the experience. AGAIN- IF YOU ARE GOING TO HIS HOUSE TO “HANG OUT” FOR YOUR FIRST FACE TO FACE MEETING…. THIS IS NOT A DATE. I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DATE!
I knocked on the door and was happy to be greeted by a familiar face. Whew.. not a catfish*
** If you somehow have been living under a rock for the past 10 years- Catfished is a term used to describe someone who presented themselves as looking or being a certain way (usually online) and then turns out to be NOT what was presented in person.
We sat in his tiny kitchen to eat dinner *which I had provided* and then I was asked to join him in his living room to watch a show. There was no couch, no furniture, no decorations. Just a TV and a blow up mattress. RED FLAG- RED FLAG
After getting situated on this blow up mattress.. things started heating up. Mr. Black Magic- He went into the dirty business real quick. As he took his pants off, I quickly looked at his “equipment”. As a white woman… you always hear the “jokes” about once you go black you don’t go back. Up to this point of my sexual journey, I have always said “size doesn’t matter”… all that matters is how you use it. However, in my sexual life I had been dealing with average caucasian men and mexican micro penises.
ATTN: NOW I UNDERSTAND SIZE DOES MATTER. This doesn’t mean that a cock the size of a baby arm is a good thing. I was quickly realizing that I was about to experience the other side of the penis spectrum.
Ladies and gentlemen; There is such a thing as too big. Some women may disagree and scoff at me. Saying that I am not “woman” enough to handle a black man. Say what you want.. There is no way in hell anyone who has a normal body anatomy can enjoy her bladder or diaphragm being jabbed by a cock the size of a forearm. Not to mention that this particular man didn’t give a damn about my satisfaction. NO foreplay, no lube, not a damn thought was given to my poor va-jj. No, in case you are curious- I am not naturally as dry as the Sahara desert but to expect me to open up wide and wet for that kind of package.. Well it just isn’t possible.
At first, I was so distracted by the way his skin felt.. It was like velvet. His whole body felt like a foreign substance. Nothing like I had ever felt before. I quickly snapped back into reality and forgot about his textured self- as he got down to business.
Let’s just agree that it was quick and painful. Fucker didn’t even make eye contact! The least he could do, as he was puncturing my bladder and Lord knows what else; is give me a little smootch or ask how it felt. Nada, zilch.. Nothing.
Shortly after the geyser had blown- The bed (unfortunately the only piece of furniture he had) had crumbled- no deflated- under pressure. I politely excused myself after the deflation and had a 45 minute drive of shame and pain. I even thought about stopping by a gas station to get some ice for my crotch. At least my Doctor has a great sense of humor and laughed as she treated me for a bladder/UTI later that week. That is when I decided not to be ashamed of my experience but rather — Make others laugh and use it for entertainment.
PS. I am contemplating posting an article about after sex routine to diminish side effects. Thoughts? What are some tips and tricks you have heard of or used?