Housewifes Friend Fucks At Hotel

Initially, in his presence, I felt like he was going to reject me at any moment; I felt like he would prefer someone with a name like Ausar Nut Ma'at Imhotep, who wore locs and constantly smelled of patchouli oil, and who carried around incense and shea butter in the red, black, and green backpack that she had crocheted by hand. I just knew in my heart that he could never really love a woman who wrote about sex and sexuality and whose opinions on race and gender were so outside the norm, who loved wearing high heels occasionally, and who showed signs of insecurity and doubt openly. Luckily, I was wrong. He saw me as infinitely talented, grounded, inspired, and beautiful and he felt the pull of my African centered consciousness and saw my ability to free the descendents of slaves from our mental and psychological bondage with my words.We vibrated on the same level in so many ways. While not identical in our every thought, we shared similar master numerological energies, spiritual. I touched her neck with my lips. “Baby, I love you...”“I love you, darlin’,” she said, holding me back. “Gracie ... you have lotsa boyfriends, back in the states?”I wondered why she cared. Was she just making conversation? That part of my life was over, over and gone. I no longer cared about stupid boys. A little part of my brain thought about Darren, and made a slightly rushed prayer that someone, someday would appear to give him this, this happiness I’d found.“Yeah,” I said. “A few. You?”“Just one...” she said. Our lips touched again.“Just one?” I said. “You only ever had one boyfriend?”She laughed silently. “Yeah. Weird huh?”“Not weird ... but unusual. For real, just one?”“Yeah, for real. His name was Russell. I called him Russell-Dubby.”“What ... what happened?”She was silent for a few moments. I opened my eyes to see tears streaming down her face.“Oh, baby!” I said, squeezing her even tighter. I held her, and nuzzled her face with mine. I tasted her tears, tasting the salt in.
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