My First Time With a Black Man

My First Time With a Black Man

When we are living our lives, we don’t always see things clearly. It is only after the fact that we realize that there is a before and an after. We know what chemistry feels like: butterflies, sparks, and smiles, and then someone unexpected walks into your life. The flame ignited one day at a business mixer. It was the first time a black man had stepped into my private bubble. Not because I hadn’t been around or aware of others, but nothing had ever sparked like this.

Over a few weeks, we continued to see each other in our business circles, other functions, and mutual friends; each time we talked and smiled and maybe flirted a little. The chemistry was a slow burn, and maybe a little shyness on my part kept it in the slow lane. This man was beautiful and confident. He never had to be the center of attention; he just was, and his smile turned my knees to butter.

When I finally dared to test the waters to see if maybe he might want to spend some time with me outside of the confines of the events we kept meeting at, he immediately said he would love to take me to dinner. We checked our calendars and set a date… like a real date. I was so excited and nervous.

This was to be my first time with a black man.

When the night came, and he showed up on my doorstep with flowers in hand, my knees almost buckled. This man was so handsome, and his smile made my heart skip a beat.

Because I was so nervous, I probably had overcompensated with my classy but very sexy outfit. Tight, shorter pencil skirt, thigh-highs, with some very high heels. Partnered with a cute loose blouse that slouched over the shoulder. I knew the second he looked me over, he was just as excited as I was, and I knew the thong I was wearing couldn’t contain too much of that excitement of my first time with a black man.

The food was excellent, and the company even better. The evening went swimmingly, each bite of food, each drink of wine feeding that flame. The suggestive looks, the sexy, shy smiles, I was about to come undone. It was a relief when the check was paid, and his car was brought around. Even if the evening didn’t end as I was hoping, I was excited.

When we pulled up to my house, he walked around to open my door and helped me out. He walked me up the path, and as we were awkwardly trying to say our goodbyes, he leaned in for the kiss, and the dam broke. I opened the door hurriedly and closed it even faster.

Our clothes began to hit the floor. This was a familiar occurrence, but it was also different. This was my first time with a black man, my first flirting, my first date, my first flame. What came to mind first was the beautiful art of our bodies, not just tall and short, or my soft, feminine, and his hard, masculine, but a study in contrast. It was texture and an overload of new but familiar passion. I realized my imagination hadn’t even come close to the reality of this man.

The intensity of his touch caught me off guard, my first time with a black man.

His touch, his kisses, and his hands exploring my body were intentional. His energy was grounding as my fire threatened to spill over again and again, each time he brought me back. Until he allowed the flames to consume us both.

We spent hours that night, and he made me feel so feminine and precious while stoking my passion. This felt different, I felt different. After we were both spent, I realized my first time with a black man was something special, not because of the color of his skin or the preconceived ideas of his “stats” but because he brought all the flame and fire I needed.

If you want to hear all the romantic, naughty details about my first time with a black man or my forbidden office sex, give your perfect fantasy girl a call!

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