Black male escorts are addictive

black male escorts

My name is Regina. I love my men strong and energetic. I have read a lot of posts and watched a lot of movies that portrayed black guys as the Hercules of romance. For sixteen years I have been trying to nail a black man. It took me five years for that dream to come true and it’s thanks to black male escorts.

You would hardly find a black man in my neighbourhood. Even when you see them, they are only visiting and usually do not spend enough time for you to try to know them. I have met a couple of them in the club too, but they were always with somebody else – and I don’t want to start a fight with another b**ch over a man.

I have used escorts in the past, but all the agencies I use don’t have any black male escorts. Then, one cold winter morning, I was surfing through escort agencies looking for someone to hire. Then I came across this escort agency that had black male escorts on their list.

I could not believe my eyes. I was like, “What the f**k?”

I had to wipe my eyes to make sure they were not playing pranks on me. I clicked on the men, and it opened to another page with pictures of black male escorts brandishing their muscles. I scanned through the archive and picked this young man that I guess should be in his early thirties.

I picked him because he appeared strong and his chest muscles just as big as medium-sized breasts. He was also darker than all the others. I wanted to have an unadulterated taste of a black man, and I believed my choice was just perfect.

It was probably the first time I will be close to a black guy besides the regular handshake. I was a little nervous. Nervousness isn’t new to me. It happens whenever I am expectant, but there was a certain degree to this one like I have never experienced before. It made me wet, and I could feel the internal walls of my vagina pulsating. The feeling was both strange and enjoyable.

When the black male escort knocked on my door, I was already hungry and was in the kitchen trying to cook something for myself. I knew that probably he would be the one on the door when the bell rang. He stuck out his hand to shake me, but I hugged him instead. Breast to breast. He smiled.

I ushered him in and served him lunch. We chatted and moved from one topic to another. He praised my cooking and suggested we had a little rest. We moved to the sofa in the sitting room. I sat beside him with my head resting on his shoulder.

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