Our little plan was, that I should get out about seven the next morning (which I could readily promise, as I knew where to get the key of the street d...or) and he would wait at the end of the street with a coach to convey me safe off; after which, we would send, and clear any debt incurred by my stay at Mrs. Brown’s, who, he only judged, in gross, might not care to part with one, he thought, so fit to draw custom to the house.I then just hinted to him not to mention in the house his having seen. However, many of them don’t. They’ve got black men believing that white women are better than black women. That is a bold-faced lie. What makes me a good woman is my kind heart, my ironclad principles, my stern upbringing and my intelligence. It’s got nothing to do with skin color. Go tell that to the young black men of America. By the droves they’re dating white women and turning their backs on black women. And black women aren’t exactly helping their case. I admit that many of the black women. They kept talking about everything but business, I started daydreaming and had to pull myself back to reality a couple of times. In one of those moments our waiter, who I kept stairing at, came over to see if there was anything else I wanted. He was so pretty, I guess handsome is a better word. He was about six feet tall, wavy blond hair, a really hard body, at least it looked like it, and the cutest little ass you could imagine. I had to ask him "what did you say?" He repeated himself,. " I didn't," Summer protested. "I really didn't mean to."She was getting wet already, her stomach in knots at the thought of him finally taking her. Pushing inside her. It was almost too precious to think about. He kissed her again, his tongue inside her mouth, wet and hungry. Closer. She wanted to be as close to him as humanly possible. Her nipples felt swollen, grazing against the cotton of the t-shirt. He still hadn't touched them. She wondered why. It always made her whimper when he caught.