So I knew I would need to use my own charms to get her to relax enough to make my move. I worked on her a little at a time and even got her to have a ...rink that relaxed her some. After some time I asked her if she wanted to come back to my place to talk, nothing else. I was surprised when she said yes right away without question. On the trip there I tried to think of ways I could get her into bed again. I feel like I wasted all that time since only a few minutes after getting in I was already. I came up with a plan. I would pretend to be asleep and run my hand over his rod. If he woke up and was angry, I would claim I had been asleep and didnt know what he was talking about. It was risky! But I HAD to touch it. I turned on my left side and lay by him. It seemed like forever. I just kept thinking about it and thinking about it. I somehow worked up the courage and went through with it. At long last, I ran my had over him. He was firm and in good shape. I found his bush and ran my hand. "Michael, 'African-American' is a politically-correct term for a politically-correct segment of the population. The 'African-Americans' you have seen do not represent the world your slut lives in, nor do they want to be associated with it. Remember what I said about Perception? THEY speak the way their peers speak; that is, the people whom they PERCEIVE as their peers - and wish to be perceived as PEERS OF. THEY are on their way UP. YOU, on the other hand..." She kissed me lightly on the. The fragrant night air whips through her long red hair, which is tousled from a day of lounging on the beach. She sits down, feeling the fine grain of the sand scratch against her naked cheeks. Untying the sarong, she lets it fall out, baring her lower body. The tide is coming in. A daring wave crashes to shore, wetting her. She opens her legs wider, as the next one makes it way to her. The luke warm water tickles her pussy, but it’s not enough. Instead of putting the flames out, the teasing.