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Interracial Loving

My first dating experience years ago with a black girl was a positive one.  She was really cute with a penchant for wearing stiletto heels and a habit of flaky behavior that I found endearing.  I remember the reactions we got walking down the street together holding hands.  Most people let their glances linger a fraction of a second longer than they otherwise would have.  In hindsight, I understood why this might’ve created some curiosity in people; a white man with a black woman is one of the rarer combos.  Onlookers naturally want to figure out what’s bringing us two together, so they examine us for clues, maybe like matching shoes or to see if I was acting black or she was acting white.

I don’t give these things too much thought when I’m out with a girl of another race because I like to throw all my mental energy into enjoying the woman rather than overanalyzing the societal implications of our pairing.

But while we were dating some things did catch my attention.  The black guys we passed on the sidewalk stared at us longer than other people did and made Hmm mm damn sounds which I can only describe as a mixture of disapproval and respect.

The black women we walked by, on the other hand, had a much stronger reaction.  Curious and aroused, they eye loved me like I was the filet mignon of manmeat.  I think I could have given every one of them an open invitation to join me and my date later in the evening for a night of 50 on 1 group sex that would have qualified for the Gold Edition Penthouse Forum.

I recall the sex pretty vividly because she was exotic new territory for me.  I’ll admit I was intimidated when we started banging because I figured most of her experience was with black guys and their huge schlongs.  She climbed on top and a wave of relief swept over me when I hit her cervical wall.  I was big enough for her.

This next part I’m about to describe is a little racy, so those with small children may want to cover their kids’ eyes with their hands.  After a while we barebacked raw dogged it (thanks, roosh) and the money shots were incredibly stimulating for me.  I loved how aesthetically pleasing was the contrast between the white jizz and the black skin.  Like modern art, the geometric arrangement and bold ejaculatory strokes set against the dark canvas of her smooth skin prompted me to admire my handiwork like I was pausing in front of a particularly abstruse painting in a museum to contemplate its majesty.  Plus, it made finding the mess easier for cleanup.

We drifted apart quickly, but it was the age difference — or maybe my poor bump and grinding dancefloor skills — not the race difference, that was primarily responsible.  Though in thinking about it, I wonder if we had stayed together the racial differences wouldn’t’ve intruded at some point.  We didn’t date long enough for any “race issues” to potentially become a factor.  Nevertheless, I have fond memories.  Actually, I have fond memories from almost every girl I’ve let into my life.

Except the lawyers.  *shudder*

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