It was a Sunday morning. I woke up to the smell of bacon. No one had a spare key for my dorm room except her so I knew exactly who it was. I forced myself to get up from my cozy, warm bed and went straight to the kitchen. I saw Ilya flippantly cooking bacon–the one I bought just yesterday–on my non-stick pan. She looked out of focus so I snapped my fingers to get her attention. She stared at me, startled by my sudden presence. I spoke, “That’s enough already. I don’t like them crunchy.”
Ilya looked at me incredulously. “Who said they were for you?” she retorted.
“Your conscience. You should listen to her for once,” I replied before yawning. I got a cup of coffee and leaned on the ledge of the kitchen and stared at her. Ilya was wearing my apron over her casual clothes.
She chuckled and said, “Okay. I lost that one.”
“You always do,” I stated.
“Excuse me?” Ilya rhetorically asked with an offended look.
“You are excused.”
Ilya clicked her tongue out of mock-irritation, “Damn it. I fell right into that one, huh?”
I smiled. Silence ensued into the room. Only the the sound of sizzling meat remained.
“I broke up with Ethan,” she declared casually as she flipped the bacon one by one.
I took a sip of my coffee calmly before saying a simple, “I see.” It tasted bittersweet.
This has always been our dynamic. We’ve been friends since we were children. My family moved in the neighborhood and she was there, playing with the sand every single day on a very grand scale. I approached her first and since then, we’ve been best friends.
She grabbed a plate and took the bacon out from the pan. Ilya laid it on the table and I took a seat.
“These are all toasted. I told you I didn’t like them that way,” I said begrudgingly.
“We can’t have everything we want, Peter.” She grinned.
You mean like I can’t have you?
I forcefully suppressed the thoughts and just grabbed some bread.
Ilya smirked before placing another plate on the table. It was bacon cooked exactly the way I liked it. Where it came from and when exactly did she cook them, I didn’t know.
I blankly stared at her as she casually ate her portion before grabbing some of mine. I took a bite. They were still warm, but not too hot. It indicated the fact that she prepared them first. I wasn’t really all that hungry.
In the end, I finished it all.
“What happened anyway?” I asked after we were both finished and cleaning up.
She replied, “I don’t know. I mean, like. Hmm. Yeah. I’m not sure, really. I guess he just wasn’t right for me.”
After a pause, I said, “So, do you wanna drink and talk about it?”
She asked, tilting her head, “What kind?”
“I have tequila.” I shrugged.
“Sounds pretty good,” she replied.
“I’ll get it.” I went to my room and opened the drawers under my bed. I had plenty of alcohol, actually. I usually drink tequila for the more casual sessions though. They don’t typically come with hangovers, though I’m careful never to get one anyway. If I wanted to get fucked up, I’d just snort coke or something. I rarely want that, so weed was mostly my recreational drug. More mild. And legal.
I took the bottle of alcohol in my hands and closed the door. Not before Ilya followed me in the room and comfortably allowed herself to fall on my bed.
I asked, “You wanna drink here?” It was mostly for formalities. Knowing her, she’d love to drink here.
“Yes, please,” Ilya replied as she made herself comfortable wrapped around my blanket.
I turned on air-conditioning before going into the kitchen and grabbing two shot glasses along with salt and sliced lemons. When I returned, Ilya was sound asleep. I chuckled. I’ve always been amazed by how quickly she could sleep anywhere, as long as she trusted whoever was with her.
I hated that audacity, but I loved it when she did it with me.
I crouched and leaned in close to her face. I twirled the few strands of her brown hair resting itself on her forehead before brushing it lightly behind her ears. She looked a lot more bright when she was sleeping. My heart twinged.
Before I continue, you probably need a little background on us.
I’m in love with this girl. I want to say I’m only kind of into her or something to downplay my feelings, but that seems a bit pathetic–even from me. Plus, I’d like to say I’m pretty open about it. Except to the person involved. You see, I never liked lying, but I am pretty darn good at it when necessary. This is one of many instances where it was. I made sure I hid my romantic feelings well from her.
So, yeah. I’m very much in love with my best friend. I can’t quite get enough of her.
Beautifully unhinged in a neutral, mysterious kind of way, Ilya was a gorgeous Latina woman with a brilliant mind and the most incredible sense of humor I’ve ever come across in my life. She was witty, nice, charming. Not in the perky way either–which I personally find tiring to deal with. I could engage in a conversation with her for the longest time without getting bored Demetevler Rus Escort for a minute. Meanwhile, one of her smiles can power a solar panel for days.
She isn’t without flaws; Ilya can act pretty childish sometimes, but she gives great advice when it’s necessary. She considers pretty much every side so she’s mostly neutral. But she’s also pragmatic in that she’s aware there are correct choices, although not necessarily right by today’s standards. She hates dancing, raisins, and warm pillows. On the other hand, she loves drinking, singing, and watching the trashiest movies in creation.
All these tiny details made up Ilya, the individual whom I love very much. I’m way past that embarrassment in admitting it to myself.
I knew almost everything about her after all these years. I’m also painfully familiar with her dating habits–in that she basically dated different guys every month. Every time she breaks up with a dude, she barges into my house the next morning and proceeds to eat my food for the next week. Whenever it happened, I always uncontrollably wondered why she never touched or considered me. Especially when we get along so well.
Now mind you, I’m an attractive man with nice eyes and a well-built stature. God, it sounds narcissistic when I say that, but it’s true. I’ve been told I take after my mother–who was popular for being really pretty back then. So I think I’m pretty blessed in that respect.
Many girls (and boys) constantly express their interest in me. When they do, they always either mention my green eyes, my curly dark-brown hair, or my tall, lean physique. In fact, for the better part of my college life, I was known for being that “smoking freshman.” It actually got pretty annoying. Sure, the compliments were new and exciting. After all, no one’s actually been forward enough to tell me I’m attractive before except my family.
But weird stuff kept happening around me constantly, and it became harder to do casual stuff. Plus, college girls were terrifying to me then, with all the confessions and the giggling and the flirting. Until now, the quality I love and fear the most about them is their unabashed, transparent honesty. They’re among the most straightforward people I have ever met in my life, hands down. I’ve been told I look like I don’t have a personality by a pretty girl (ouch), and that I should watch my back lest my clothes be ripped off the moment I let my guard down by another on the same fucking afternoon. They’d just greet me, saying the damndest, most unfiltered things. This continued on for the whole semester during my first year. They insistently flirted and stared at me from afar until an upperclassman, Imani, asked me out and I agreed.
Imani was a beautiful black woman who was well-known around campus as the ace of our varsity team in tennis. Honestly, despite my popularity, she felt way out of my league. I wasn’t socially inept, but I was introverted so I didn’t really make new social circles–which, by college standards, was pretty lame. Imani, on the other hand, was pretty friendly. Coupled with her skills in tennis, she was famous even around other neighboring universities. She basically had a shiny halo above her head. Those type of women don’t usually go for men like me, no matter how handsome they were.
But I didn’t question it much. I was plenty attracted to her; Imani was pretty damn mature and composed. She was polite to the people around her too, no matter who they were.
She had a bit of meat (especially on her thighs), which I really liked. Her arms were pretty toned from varsity training. Tennis was no fucking joke. Her body was really maintained down to every fiber of fat and muscle. I remember blankly staring at her once when she was training. Back then, I was a bit ashamed to admit I had a thing for women in sportswear. It’s just so fucking typical of me as a man to find that attractive, you know?
I couldn’t help it though. That shit is hot to me even now. The only difference is I hid it then.
Every day during training, Imani wore a white racerback top and tight shorts that showcased her cheeks to the brim. God, she looked so fucking hot. I couldn’t take my eyes off her–more specifically, her fucking ass. Watching it bounce for ten minutes straight makes your mind numb, I tell you. It’s literally a fucking work of art. Jesus. It was so round and big, but not in the unnatural, plastic surgery kind of way–which I don’t really hate or mind at all. It’s just not my thing.
Her buttocks laid perfectly well onto her meaty thighs–simultaneously looking practical and beautiful. You could easily tell it was a result of hard work, training and sadly, genetics. It wasn’t something anyone could achieve–at least not in the same, shapely way. It really was one of a kind. The type of ass that could turn heads in a mall.
The type of ass that could figuratively make an atheist look up and give God a fucking thumbs up. Man, just remembering the first time I ever saw it Otele Gelen Rus Escort naked still got my mouth watering even now.
Surprisingly, if I had to choose my favorite part of Imani, however, it would probably be her light-brown eyes. They just really fucking glowed when paired with her beautiful, black skin. It was effortlessly surreal.
We went out on a date on this high-end restaurant. I had tons of fun–spending the better half of our little meet-up just looking at the way her eyes popped with the warm lighting. Imani was pretty nice the whole time. She even paid in the end. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she said she asked me out so it’s her responsibility to pay. I felt pretty bad, so I ended up buying her the pair of shoes she obviously had her eyes on to make it even.
We ended up making out on her couch then. She lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of an all- girls dormitory with a roommate. Judging from that, I’m sure you can tell how hard I worked just to sneak in across the gate. Because they sure as hell wouldn’t have allowed a guy in there, no matter how nicely you ask. Thankfully, my sneaking didn’t end up as a waste; her roommate was at her parents’ house at the time and the place was all ours. I still remember the conversation we had back then.
“Wanna fuck me in the ass?” Imani asked suddenly.
I spat out the glass of water I was drinking after our intense make-out session.
“Shit. I’m sorry. Uh, wow. That was not–I didn’t see that coming. Fuck. I’m sort of speechless. Really sorry for this. Do you have a tissue?” I asked, almost incoherent.
She laughed at my pathetic, bumbling reaction. I blushed furiously.
The gorgeous black girl complimented as she gave me a tissue, “You’re really cute. I almost feel sorry for teasing you.”
“Thanks for sugarcoating it,” I replied sheepishly.
“No problem,” she replied back with a grin.
She continued slowly after a silent pause, “I wasn’t joking with the offer though. I’m clean. I did a little prep before our date just in case.”
I gulped.
“So…you wanna?” she asked, twirling her hair around her finger. My dick twitched at the sight. You have to understand that back then, that gesture was basically a universal “fuck me.”
I nodded to agree, realizing I was kind of sweating.
She smiled brightly at my positive response and gently led me to her room by hand. I blankly followed her, her genuine happiness over being butt-fucked by a guy on the first date was turning me on so damn much. It actually became pretty hard to walk with the raging boner. I also couldn’t believe I was fucking ass for my first time. Wasn’t it too much for a virgin? It felt a lot like having to fight the final boss on an opening intro or something.
I honestly still don’t know whether that was a lucky break or not until now. Back then, however, I was definitely leaning more towards the former. Anal wasn’t exactly an experience most people would go through. Sure, it was less frowned upon now compared to before, but not everyone wanted to try it.
I wasn’t everyone.
Imani let go and ran ahead towards her room and I followed. Her room was pretty cozy. It was pretty small, air-conditioned, and it smelled great–probably because of the purifier I saw in the corner. I saw Imani sitting on her bed as she slowly, seductively took off her shirt and threw it at my face.
I took the fabric on my hands and inhaled the scent like a fucking pervert. She laughed again. This time though, I wasn’t blushing. I was unabashedly looking at her body like it was my favorite candy bar.
And eating your favorite candy bar was something to be serious about.
Imani seemed startled that the cute boy was suddenly gone, replaced by a man who knew what he wanted. She grinned as she jiggled her tits with her hands. My breath hitched.
I quickly took off my shirt in return and I could tell from her occasional glances that she liked what she saw.
I enjoyed working out for no specific reason so I was pretty fit. I emulated her seduction–using my hands to knead and play with my own pecs. She seemed to get the joke because she heartily laughed before biting her lip sexily. I slowly slid the belt off of my toned waist (definitely something that would be put to use very soon), never taking my eyes off hers as I stripped myself completely of any clothing.
I stood there, completely on her judgement. She seemed quite shocked with my size. I was actually slightly nervous. Plenty girls have been intimidated by my size.
But I saw the way she kept glancing at it despite trying not to. That was when I realized I didn’t have anything to worry about. Imani was a competitive woman; maybe she took it as a challenge.
Next thing I know, the beautiful woman was laying flat on her stomach with her ass up towards me. She shook it sideways and said, innocently sultry, “You get to unpack this, big boy. It’s only fair after you gave me a view of that Balgat Rus Escort pussy-drenching cock.”
Since then, I have had an obsession with women calling me “big boy.” I don’t exactly know why it was such a big turn-on for me. It felt…..emasculating yet validating at the same time, I guess.
Despite my erratic thoughts, I didn’t actually waste any more time lightly pulling on her shorts, completely focused on the sexy arch of her back and waist and further down her perfect, round buttocks. What I saw the next second shocked me to my core.
Imani wasn’t wearing any underwear. What she was wearing, instead, was a butt-plug. It was pink in color–the flat, circular handle resting neatly on top of her asshole. Written on the front were black letters spelling, “Exclusively For Cock.”
Fuck.
Since when has she been wearing…..? She grinned at my reaction and spoke, “Heard the boys talking. They said you had a horse-cock, and they were right.”
I was speechless.
Imani exclaimed, “I just had to, baby. I couldn’t help it! God, it’s bigger than I thought it would be though. How thick and long is this monster?” She bit her lips before reaching out and slowly stroking it. I hissed at the first skin contact my dick has ever felt with another person’s hands. I couldn’t focus. Even if I did though, I couldn’t have answered.
I never actually measured. It never really seemed to matter–most girls said no at the sight of it, and I had no experience to actually talk them through it.
I said with gritted teeth, “I never–shit..! I don’t really know because I’ve never m-measured, and I don’t want other people to know either.”
She replied, “Don’t worry. No one else knows about this. I only found out because some of the boys saw it in the shower…and they only tell me because I let them fuck my ass.”
I chuckled in relief. I decided then that I was going to completely avoid showing my junk off in any way after that. Why?
Because “smoking freshman” honestly seemed way more appealing as a nickname than “horse-cock” back then.
That said, I suddenly grew curious on the number of men Imani’s offered her ass to. What about her pussy? My eyes were then drawn to her lips. It looked positively wet and delicious.
“Has anyone ever fucked this?” I asked as I gently slid my finger over her labia.
She moaned, “No. I love taking it in the ass. Plus, I’m saving my pussy for someone special.”
“Wow. Never expected you were that type,” I remarked with wonder, focusing back on her ass as I kneaded her sweet cheeks like dough.
“I have always been a romantic. My first time is only for future hubby,” Imani said with a wink.
I didn’t question it any further. I pulled on the plug and watched her gaping asshole squeeze tightly as if it didn’t want to let go. I bit my lips. The sides of her puckered entrance were a couple of shades darker than her ebony skin, which I found really hot.
Fuck physics, this is the black hole I wanted to learn about.
I saw her gaping asshole slowly close…open…close back…before opening again. Repeatedly doing so in varying speed. It looked as if it was breathing–taking in deep breaths–as it prepared for what truly belonged inside.
A big, fat cock.
My dick twitched at the erotic sight. Imani was grinning; obviously, she was doing it on purpose.
“Fuck this slutty ass, baby. Punish me for taking cock up my chute? God, I’ve always wanted to try big cock,” she moaned.
Of course I obliged.
An hour later, I found myself furiously driving myself into her as she screamed in ecstasy. At that point, I already came twice–once in her back, once in her breasts.
But goddamn, I didn’t want to stop. She didn’t either, thankfully. Orgasms seemed to be rippling through her body as she drove herself deeper against my cock. I grunted out loud as I looked at her bouncing ass with my hands on her waist. The contrast of my skin against hers was strangely erotic.
My pale hands on her waist.
My white dick on her black ass.
It’s probably got something to do with the actual color because the obscene sight of my white cum on her beautiful, black breasts awhile ago? Now, that was a sight I wouldn’t forget anytime soon. The sight of her dark skin completely highlighting the globules of white cum I spurted on her tits appeared in my mind like a replay. I felt like I was marking her; marking my territory. The thought made me fuck her ass harder. She grunted periodically at my every thrust.
Aside from her constant moaning, there were occasional moments where her squeals turned very high as her insides shook with intense vibrations. Whenever that happened, toe-curling tremors massaged my whole damn length. It’s happened about five times over the course of the hour. I almost had a heart attack when it first happened too; I was pretty big after all. I may have accidentally hit something that shouldn’t be prodded at. When I asked if she was okay though, she screamed at me to keep going. I realized then that I was hitting sweet spots from the other side, and that those contractions were what people meant when they referred to anal orgasms. It felt great knowing Imani was having fun. I gained a bit more confidence knowing I was nailing her good. Subsequently, I remembered a discussion board I read the other day on the internet. Women in there said that funny faces were how you knew you were giving it good to a girl.