The thing that makes it different and interesting is that white couples and single, white men and women come here to have sex with the black men.” W... were seated in a small booth near the dimly-lit, back of the room just as the DJ was starting a new set of music. I saw black men going up to white couples and taking the wives to the dance floor. There were also tables where black men were sitting with single white men and women. Kevin ordered us drinks as the black men danced with, kissed and. Unfortunately Jen wasn't old enough to go out on the town with us yet. We used to come home after closing the last club just before dawn and I would immediately crash. Jill was in college and had a few more years of heavy duty drinking on me; I tried to keep up with her but usually failed miserably.One morning after one of these long nights of drinking, I awoke with the strangest feeling...I tried to think back to the details of the night before for something that could explain it. My memories. I’m a big and tall young Black man of Haitian descent living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. I attend the University of Massachusetts in Boston, having transferred there after graduating from Massasoit Community College a year ago. I’m twenty four years old. And I’m a closeted bisexual. This is my life, I guess. A drama-filled existence, that’s what I seemed destined for. Being bisexual and Haitian simply don’t mix, for the most part. I’ve been lucky, though, especially when compared to. Her fleshy round arse hangs like as perennial provocation from the small of her back. It sways when she walks and spreads when she sits. If her butt doesn't drive blood into a fellow's cock the roll-up-my-prick fold beneath her ample tits would. A second fold runs across her belly splitting her pubic hair from her cat eye navel.Her preferred position is on her knees with her shoulders square and her spine vertical. A rust brawn trail of hair runs from her belly button south, gets lost under her.