Year of the Slut: #21

When I think of this number ..

All that comes to mind is shots of glistening white teeth wrapped in golden skin grinning with my panties in tow. All that comes to mind is shots of that same golden skin wet from my kisses as I nibble my way down to the treasured addiction.

This boy.

Is a demon.

I was in another country, the original plan was to stay for the weekend & someway, somehow the days kept on adding up & then the weekend we finally all made the decision to leave the Vegas of Africa;

I met #21.

By the pool, of one of my favorite clubs on that Island. He walked up to me, very direct, gave me his number & said.

“I don't want to make too much of a fuss. Just know I'm feeling everything I see.”

Skinny boy is skinny slacks? What? Of course. You look like a model. Do you model? You do?!

Noted.

I went back to my hotel that night with a grin on my face, I wasn't actually that attracted to his face myself to be honest, but I certainly didn't lose any points with lesser opinions so it mattered not.

Besides, his body, his style, his seriousness was just intoxicating. So intoxicating, how could I resist vacation sex?

I find myself saying that a lot.

“How can I resist?”

He came to my hotel room the next day, as soon as I opened the door I felt the game was afoot instantly. This pretty ass boy came to fall in love. I felt his desire for me. It crackled in the air.

I don't even remember how it happened to be honest, all I know is suddenly everybody was naked, suddenly his mouth was everywhere, suddenly all these gorgeous adlibs were raining down on me & suddenly my panties were being torn off by a perfect set of model teeth.

Absolute demon.

His penis makes me think of a Dragon, ancient & powerful, commanding, yet benevolent if loved correctly. Every rumor I had ever heard of the stereotypical African man presented itself in my face that day. I felt like the knight who instead of slaying the Dragon, wooed it to get to it's treasure.

To even compare it to my forearm would be incredulous.

& I took all of it.

I fucking bruised it. He got drunk off of my ability, no one had ever taken over his body like that. It's been years & he still calls, he still wants, he still needs, he still must have...

Me.

But he is a fool. Absolutely beautiful, to some, stunning body, to all, but very little mental capability. I don't know what he'll do when his looks run out. I always suggest that he finds himself another sugar mother to nestle a home for him somewhere in the years to come. He retired his previous one for the sake of his manhood.

Or so he claims.

He thinks I joke.

& in a way I do.

With our entire relationship.

I just wanna fuck.

But even then, at some point I got sick of him, it became too much, after his Doctor suggested he not involve his penis in any sexual relations until it healed, he still came round just to please me. The pleasing was simply disgusting. He had me climbing the wall to get away from his tongue.

While smoking a blunt.

As much as I profess to not like him as much as he may he, I am proud of that specific find. He is exotic & loved by quite a lot of girls, if there is no personal emotional pleasure in it for me it at the very least feeds my pride.

Everybody has a purpose.

You just have to find the balance.

So #21 will remain.
Until I'm sick of him or he becomes generally unfuckable.
We don't love these hoes.

We fuck 'em.