tristane

I would like to make a statement.

There is a lot of good things about Ireland. The streets are narrow and pitoresque, people you meet on the street are friendly and keeps asking you how you are and nobody keeps count on who is buying who a beer down at the pub. Still, there are some things that, no matter how hard you try, you just can't get.
Right below me on Barrack Street there are place after place that do afro hair. I was in one of them a couple of weeks ago. The room was full of the smooth chocolate skin and vuloptious lips you as a Swede otherwise rarely see other than in movies. The only man in the room was a big middleaged man who mostly resembled an egg, both his face and his body shape, and was about as appealing as a four day old raw beef, but it did remind me about somthing I have missed for so long now. Something I haven't had for years. Something I have never been able to forget.

A thick, black cock.

The idea of writing that all you want is a big black cock seems a little presemptious, but I can't get that thought out of my head. Having watched three seasons of Sex and the city might have helped too.
The best dick I ever encountered was a twenty-six year old guy from Tanzania that I met at a party a couple of years ago. We met through a mutual friend, who had been talking about this "black guy" for weeks, claiming that I would "love that guy". My first impression was not that good however. Neck up he was not very impressing, nor was his conversation - or lack of it - but, as I would discover, his rethoric was not his lips greatest skill, and neither was his face representative for the rest of his body.

He could have been born a bronze statue. A elite runner with abs you could grate cheeze on and a dick that confirmed everything I had ever heard about black men. It was perfect. As thick and hard as it was it would have made me come if he hadn't been so skilled with his mouth. His lips nibbling on my nipples was almost more than I could bare. We almost didn't even reach the next part.
His body may have been carved out of rock, but so was his ego. I dumped him about a week later when I got a text at two in the morning stating - literally - what a hunk he was. I never heard from him again, except from a text last winter. Sent by mistake of course, but at least it told me he still had my number.

Nevertheless, I never encountered anything like it ever again. I even think about him sometimes. To this day I have never had better sex.

And I miss it.