’ ‘I admit, I’d wondered a bit about that,’ he said, dropping a kiss against her shoulder. ‘I wondered about that moron, Arlen Morton. I’d...worked it out in my mind that, if you had been intimate, he’d have never let you go.’ ‘That’s a very chivalrous thing to say,’ Rose smiled, letting her fingers roam through the hair on his chest. ‘I’m not sure that it’s true, but it’s chivalrous.’ ‘I don’t know that that’s the correct word to describe the man who’s just taken your virtue,’ Jake said in a. I’ve joined an African church and I’ve made friends with my long-lost brothers and sisters. Black folks from the New World are quite curious about their African origins these days. We want to reconnect. And I am no exception. Speaking of reconnecting, I am making a connection of my own with a pretty Congolese lady named Linda Mulenge. She’s something else, folks. Six feet tall, beautifully dark-skinned, with long Black hair, a curvy body, and a big round booty. Just the way I like them. I met. " I just don't want you to feel like I'm ... settling ... for second best or anything. Dawn's right. You and I haven't spent any significant time alone together since ... well ... ever."Brooke giggled and slipped her hand into mine. "Yeah. Well once we get back home, we'll have a lot more time alone."Her comment started my brain churning. While I'd been constantly thinking about my impending separation from Dawn, I hadn't given serious thought to what would happen between me and Brooke once we. I sort of startled. Waiting to take my order was a statuesque black haired woman of maybe twenty-five. She had short shorts on and seemed to have endless legs. I hate fuck-me shoes (apparently unlike most men) and she had Roman sandals on with straps that went around her ankles. Other than hating fuck-me shoes, I have no feeling either way for shoes in general; shoes are shoes. Except for Roman sandals. Maybe when I was sixteen years old a teenager in Roman sandals played with my willy and now.