I was ecstatic with the sensation, she took time to rub every drop that emerged over the helmet of my hard cock until her fingers and my manhood were ...lippery. Her palm rubbed the lotion of my making over the tip of my cock and then she started a long, slow stroke up and down, pausing on each slow stroke to slide her finger around the bulging head to drive me insane. With grace she moved her body forward, raising her hips and positioning her body over my swollen, tingling penis, never letting. Man! That was something! We kept talking for a while until I realised that it was the hostel landline. I said I needed to hang up, but she wouldn’t allow me to do so. She hinted that she would like to get my mobile number. I understood the hints and I happily obliged!To be continued in case you wish to. Mail me at: ()The number game…After having given my mobile phone number, I quickly hurtled back to my room to check whether any text message or missed call had arrived on my phone. Yes! To my. Yeah, that’s what I thought. I thought there were a lot of women at Brockton Community College. I was wrong. The campus was filled with harpies, hussies and bitches. I’m not exaggerating, and I’m not bitter. I’m simply telling the truth. Back in Haiti, I knew plenty of educated, intelligent and sophisticated black men and black women. These were the people who headed my country’s businesses, schools, corporations, churches, etc. I thought the black men and black women of America would be the. The money involved might not be great in Hollywood, but in West Georgia it was some truly serious coin!Being a technical consultant was hilarious. I made no friends with the wardrobe people when I informed them that lady cops didn’t wear spandex and spike heels. They wore body armor, showed no cleavage, wore flats, and took pains to not look sexy. It wasn’t just because the sleazeballs they were arresting were assholes. The sleaziest people they had to deal with were their fellow police.