The Sex Chronicles

I pulled my shirt and bra down and flung my coat over my arm while Wendell got himself together real quick, ripping the condom off and making a nothing-but-net shot into the trash receptacle.

We rushed out the bathroom, and I noticed there was now a little crowd of people outside the enclave area. I really didn’t give a fuck though, because I got mine. Wendell grabbed my duffel bag from the seating area and hurried behind me outside to the bus loading area. I located the bus that had a sign for Orlando, handed the driver my ticket while Wendell flung my bag underneath the bus in the luggage area, and then got on.

I didn’t have a pen on me anywhere and asked the driver for one so I could scribble my number on the envelope my ticket had been in. I wrote it down, handed it to Wendell, gave him a long wet kiss, and told him I would be home on Monday.

As the bus was pulling away, I waved at Wendell and drew a heart with my finger in the dew that had gathered on the cold window. I fell asleep before the bus made it thrity miles from the depot. I dreamt about him and woke up with his scent all over me. I could still feel his saliva on my lips and breasts.

I got home the following Monday afternoon, and Wendell called me that evening while I was doing the dinner dishes. I was thrilled, because I wasn’t sure he would call. We talked for hours on end, and he told me how he wanted to get with me all through high school as well, but didn’t know how to approach me.

Wendell and I spend at least one weekend together a month now, sometimes more. He and I catch the bus back and forth from D.C. to NYC to see each other. Every time we pass a bathroom in the bus depot of either station, we remember the time we did the wild thing in Charlotte. I told Wendell one day I want us to take a long cross-country train trip and get a private compartment so we can fuck in about ten states all in one shot. His reply was, “Hell, boo, why not?”

The Bachelore

tte Party

I knew my gurls were gonna throw me a party the night before I jumped the broom, but dayum. They went all out for my bachelorette party. After the rehearsal dinner, I figured they were going to take me to one of my bridesmaids’ houses and have a stripper or something. I couldn’t have been farther off base if I tried.

Instead of taking me to a house, we drove about an hour out of town to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. However, there were tons of cars outside and people walking in and out the front doors, mostly women.

When we went inside, it was the wildest shit I had ever seen. Dick for days! Days, I tell you! I had been to my share of strip shows in my day, but I had never been to one where all the men were dancing butt-naked. There was no sign on the door, but once inside, there were neon signs everywhere with the club’s name, the Black Screw, on them.

The gurls and I, about ten of us altogether, found a couple of tables in the rear, since all the tables up front had long been taken. A waiter came to take our drink orders, and the man was fine as all hell. I wanted to lick a piña colada off his ass, but I refrained from my nasty thoughts. After all, I was marrying the love of my life the next day, and faithfulness was a must. It was hard to keep the faith with the waiter’s big, juicy dick dangling in my face, though.

A few minutes later he returned with our first round of drinks while this other fine-ass guy with about a ten-inch dick was sitting in my maid of honor’s lap, blowing in her ear. I was totally shook and couldn’t believe I never knew the place existed. It had to be some undercover club because mad laws must have been thrown out the fucking window in order to have all that dick floating around the room.

The Black Screw was huge, too. Imagine a warehouse turned into a big-ass fuck palace, and then you are halfway there. “Doin’ It Again” by LL Cool J kicked in, and this fine-ass guy (hell, they were all fine) took center stage and began to do some of the most amazing acrobatic fuck moves I had ever witnessed. The way he was pretending to grind his dick in some nana made me wanna scream, Have mercy! He continued with the grind moves until the song ended, but when “Big Daddy” by Heavy D came on next, he got buck-wild and buck-naked. Dayum shame all those big dicks were in the house.

The gurls and I got tore up by the third round of drinks, and by the fifth round, we were all horny. I was sitting there wishing I could get my hands on my fiancé’s ass right then and there, because I would have fucked him like I hated him. I’m not quite sure who was wilder, the male dancers or the women patrons. There was some truly freaky shit going on up in that place.

Men had women bent over tables, grinding their dicks up against their asses, they were palming tits, sucking toes, fingering pussy even. As for the women, aw shit, they were even worse. The women were pulling their shit off too, jacking dicks, riding dicks with their clothes on, everything except actual fucking, but don’t take my word on that. I didn’t exactly do a panty check or anything of that nature.

One man after another took the stage and did his thing. I must say there is no way any woman who even remotely loves herself some dick wouldn’t be drowning in her own pussy juice up in the Black Screw. There was a stage right smack in the middle of the club, like a boxing ring in the middle of an arena, with tables surrounding all four sides of it so all the women could get a little look-see. In addition, there were circular risers in the four corners of the club with male dancers, who had already performed and taken it all off, on them getting mad freaky. I’m telling you, the shit was all that! They were so naked the only place they could put the dollars women tipped them was in their boots. I noticed they were all wearing some sort of boots, mostly cowboy ones. Cash-and-carry, I suppose.

As much as I loved it, it was getting pretty late. Two A.M. was rolling around, and the wedding was at noon sharp. I told the gurls we should bounce and thanks for taking me there. My maid of honor, Shari, told me the party wasn’t over and then called the fine waiter over and whispered something in his ear. I sat there nervous as all hell because I figured they were planning on having some guy come over to the table and freak me or something. I had managed to keep my hands to myself all night, even though the temptation was killing me.

About five minutes later, the waiter returned with three other waiters and a cake. While our waiter set the cake—which, by the way, was chocolate and shaped like a huge dick—on the table, the other three clapped and recited some rehearsed congrats-on-your-wedding verse. I was relieved that the cake was the surprise and loosened up a bit.

My relief turned to panic when the finest guy in the place walked up to me. If Mother Nature made anything better, she kept him for her dayum self, because the man was hitting. He was about six-foot-four tall, 210 or 215 pounds, dark-skinned, with jet-black curly hair and deep brown eyes. He stood out in the club because he was clothed with stonewashed wide-legged jeans, a suede vest, and of course, cowboy boots.

He leaned over the table, reached for my hand, and I was likely to faint. Shari told me, “You better get your ass up!” I asked her, “What the fuck is going on?” She replied, “Just a little something extra I have planned for you! This is your last night of freedom. Now, GET THE FUCK UP!”

You could tell from the expression on her face that she could barely prevent herself from breaking out into a full grin. I was drunk, and his hand was still reaching out for me. I threw caution to the wind and took it.

A couple of minutes later, he and I walked through a set of double doors into the rear of the Black Screw. He had yet to say a word to me. I figured Shari had paid him to give me a private dance, sort of like a male lap dance. To be honest, I was still nervous as shit, though. If he had been just average, cute, or even remotely fine, I would have had no problem whatsoever. The problem was, he was past all those, and I was tore up. My pussy was throbbing and shit for him just by the hand-holding alone. I was getting the distinct feeling my ass might get in some serious trouble once he did his little show. I should have stopped it right then. I should have told him I felt uncomfortable and was about to rejoin my friends so we could leave. But I didn’t, and before I knew it, we reached our final destination.

There was a long hallway in the back of the club with several rooms. All the rooms had neon signs over the doorways. He led me to one called “The Red Light District” and held the door open for me to go in.

The room was dimly lit with red lightbulbs, and there was a slow jam playing. Much to my surprise, there were four couches in the room, one on each wall, and two of them were occupied. I tried to pull my hand loose after I saw what was going on in the room, but he held onto it tightly and spoke to me for the first time: “Don’t run away, baby. At least let me do my dance for you. Don’t worry about them!”

He had the deepest, sexiest voice, and when he looked at me with them there eyes, I was at his beck and call. So, I didn’t worry about them and went and sat on the couch farthest from the door while he walked over to the compact shelf stereo system and changed the CD. Them referred to the two other female customers in the room with male dancers. There was absolutely no dancing going on, and when my private dancer was putting on his performance music, I could hear them moaning and shit. Not to mention the fucking and sucking noises.

You see, one sister was over on the couch by the door, and her ankles were pressed up over her shoulders while a big, mandingo-looking brother was fucking the shit out of her. The other was not quite as bad. However, she was sitting on the couch on the left wall sucking another brother’s dick like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. Apparently, the lap dances they received were slamming, because they were all about knocking boots.

All sort of shit started going through my mind faster than the speed of light. I know I should have been thinking about my baby, my boo, my husband-to-be, but he never crossed my mind. In fact, looking back on it now, I don’t feel guilty because I know about all the shit that goes on at bachelor parties. His ass probably fucked some hoochie that night too.

He put on his music, “My Body” by LSG, and began his dance. He told me, “My name’s Warren, by the way. What’s yours?” I told him, “My name’s Mira,” as he began to do his thing, grinding all in my face while I sat there on the couch with a serious case of locked knees.

Warren slowly removed his vest, and like I had suspected, he was perfect. I tried to keep my eyes fixed on him, but it was hard with all the other shit going on. The other two couples had done some shifting, and the one who had been sucking dick was now bent over getting fucked doggy-style. The other one, who previously was shaped like a pretzel, was now in the sixty-nine position getting her freak on.