I always have to walk through a sketchy neighborhood to get from my apartment just off campus to the building where my last class on M-W-F are held. There are always a group of guys gathered in a parking lot I pass, always gathering around tricked out old cars, looking under the hood or showing off their motorcycles. Most days, there are just half a dozen or so, but on Friday afternoons the crowd is bigger and most have already started drinking, getting ready for the weekend.On Mondays and Wednesdays, they'll usually just smile and nod, but on Friday's they'll say things. At the start of the semester, they were just trying to make me laugh and more often than not, they succeeded. But as the weeks went by, several of the guys started making bolder comments, trying to make me blush. More often than not, they were successful at that, too.
I'm not sure at what point I started noticing they would take their shirts off when I walked by, but I'd try not to stare too much at their incredible, muscular bodies. Sleek, strong, chocolate brown muscles rippled in the warm sun and despite some of the things they said to me, I couldn't help myself but be attracted to them. Their cockiness and their confidence struck me as sexy and I was drawn to them in a way I'd never been drawn to men before, not any of the white guys I'd dated in high school and especially not my boyfriend back home. "Yo, blondie, whassup?" they'd yell. "Party startin' here, baby and I know ya wanna start ya weekend.."
"Dayum, girl, y'all be lookin' fine," one would say. "You be lookin' good on the back of my ride and you be lookin' even better back at ma crib..."
I started dressing sexier for my Friday classes, shorter skirts, briefer, tighter tank tops, occasionally a bare midriff. As I walked past, the hoots got louder, the wolf whistles sharper and the comments cruder and if any of my girlfriends teased me that I love the attention, I would've protested loudly, but inside I would've had to admit it was true and that one Friday when I walked past them, then stopped and to their utter amazement, turned around and started walking back towards them, I'm sure they half expected me to bitch them out. But when I smiled and just said "Hey, what's up? My name's Krista" I could see the shock on their faces. About a dozen guys crowded around me and started talking. It was easy chatter, laughing, joking, teasing. They were friendly and polite and curious about why I didn't run off like so many other white girls.
A latecomer walked up to the back of the gathering and, curious about the crowd, asked what was going on.
"White bitch come over here with her game on," said one. "Bitch is down with the brothas."
They showed me their cars and motorcycles, bragging about their own and teasing the others about their rides. After about 20 minutes, one guy, Marcus, said I looked like I needed something to drink. I smiled and said "sure, whatcha got?"
"Babygurl, I got whatever you want." That caused some snickering among the guys gathered around.
I tried think of something they would respect. Not a girly-girl drink, but something serious.
"Gin and juice?" A murmur went up among the crowd.
"Yeah that's what I'm talkin' about..."
"White gurl likes them 'hood drinks, don't ya?"
"My crib's right over there," Marcus said. "C'mon, I'll fix ya up.'
"Sounds good," I said, smiling.
Let me just say I didn't have any illusions about what might happen if I followed Marcus back to his apartment. I knew he'd make a play for me, I just wasn't sure how I'd respond. Would I be putting myself in a situation I couldn't control? Would Marcus be content with some heavy touching and a promise of more later?
Would I be content? I have to admit I was surprised when the question popped into my mind as I followed Marcus along the sidewalk back to his apartment, staring at his muscular back and gorgeous, sexy ass. Was I following this man I'd met less than an hour ago because I wanted to be fucked by him? My mind swooned slightly.
Ohmigod, I thought. I just realized I'm going to fuck this guy!
When we got inside his apartment, Marcus turned and looked at me. "Gin and juice, right?" he said. "That is what you came here for?"
"Um, yeah," I said, snickering. "That'll do for now." Our eyes met, locked in on each other, staring. I figured I'd probably have to wait for that drink.
Marcus walked closer. "Well, now, all you got to do is name what you want, babygurl," he said. "I definitely want to make sure you're satisfied."
I laughed as he brushed my hair with his hands. "Yeah," I said. "I can see your all about makin' me satisfied."
Sliding his hands down my shoulders and sliding gently up and down my arms. "If you don't believe me all you got to do is try me out," he said. "I know you'll be back if you do." He leaned down and gently kissed me, a soft, probing kiss that gradually grew harder, his tongue pressing against my lips, then pushing gently into my mouth. I started wondering if he was this good of a kisser whether he'd be equally as good in bed. I was determined to find out.
I playfully pushed him away, then grabbed the front of his low slung jeans and began pulling him out of the kitchen, down a long hall to a bedroom at the end. It was very much a "thug boy" bedroom, minimal furniture, a poster of Tupac and a Scarface movie poster on the wall. As I turned to kiss him again, he started pulling my tank top up over my head. I reached between my breasts and unsnapped my bra, tossing it to the floor. I hooked my fingers in my denim skirt and pushed down, sliding off my skirt and panties in one motion. As I stepped out of my clothes, he took my hand and pulled me onto the bed.
"Ah'm gon' fuck you girl," he said. "You down wit' 'dat?"
"Uh huh" I said.
"Ain't gon' be like fuckin' those white boys back home. You fuckin' a full grown brotha now, baby and you gon' do what I tell ya."
"Okay."
"Good girl," he said, sliding onto his back. "Now show me how much you love suckin' a black man's dick."
I knelt between his legs and bent over, then started slowly licking around the head of his cock. His skin felt warm and smooth against my tongue. Flicking my tongue across the slit, I lapped up little pearls of pre-cum oozing from his cock, the salty, bitter taste of his semen filling my mouth.
I gazed up at him to see his reaction, his head was back, eyes closed. Slowly, he opened them and looked down at me, smiling, caressing my hair with his hand.
I look at his face and I wonder: could I make him react like this? Do I have what it takes to please a beautiful, black man? To make him swoon as I kiss down between his legs, kissing and licking, making love to his gorgeous, thick cock? 
