+++ memories +++

Sometimes, you just know.

You can smell it. The way she moves, the confident aura, the use of her looks when she wants something. Like in the Starbucks queue line in LA.

You just know when you meet a young woman and you know she is into porn. And not just OF, no, real porn. She is dressed normally, but she radiates it. Not like a slut, no, she is dressed completely normal, but it just hangs in the air.

We somehow started to chat, and as I introduced myself, she struggled in finding a fake name. At the end she blurted “Barbie”.

I grinned and said “sure!”

She laughed back and said “Rosales”.

“Much better.” I replied. “May I buy you your drink?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, smiling again.

“I am here on vacation, what about you?” I asked, as we sat in a quiet corner upstairs.

“I am shooting.” She said by mistake, and tried to correct it with “Working”.

“I have no problem with that.” I replied, making her feel more at ease. “I am from Amsterdam”, and this always worked miracles. The open-minded folks from Amsterdam.

“But the scared one is me here.” I whispered to her.

She gave me a questioning look so I explained it.

“To be very direct with you, I have no porn star cock. It is nice and thick, but not like a monster. So even if we would land in bed, I am afraid it will be a disappointment to you.”

She smiled and processed the whole thing. And then she tried reassuring me. “Too big hurts. I rather go longer than deep.”

“I am still not sure, even if I have Viagra on me, what would be longer for you?”

“Take one now.” She replied, standing up. “I will show you.”

She took me by the hand and we walked as a couple to the nearest hotel.

The elevator ride was silent in the best way. Her hand stayed in mine, thumb moving small circles on my knuckles like she was already testing the equipment.

The room was nothing special. Beige walls, a window with a slice of Sunset Boulevard, a bed that had seen better decades. She didn't care about any of it. She closed the door with her heel, turned, and put both hands on my chest.

"Stay," she said, and started with my jacket.

She did it slow. Deliberately slow. Jacket off the shoulders, folded over the chair like she'd done it a thousand times. Then the buttons, one at a time, her knuckles brushing the fabric of my shirt each time she went down. She watched my face more than my body, which is how you know someone has done this a lot and gotten good at it. She was reading me.

I fumbled in my pocket, found the little blue pill, and dry-swallowed it while she worked. She caught the motion and smiled without saying anything.

Shirt off. Then her palms on my stomach, sliding down, and her hand closed over the front of my jeans.

She didn't squeeze. She mapped it. Fingers tracing the outline through denim, thumb running the length of the shaft that was still only half awake, finding the head, pressing. Two seconds of that and the thing swelled up under her hand like it had been insulted into attention. The Viagra hadn't even started dissolving yet. This was all her.

She felt it and laughed softly. "There he is."

"You don't need the pill," She smiled..

"Maybe not. But I like the insurance."

She dropped to her knees. Right there, between the chair and the bed, jeans yanked down to my ankles, and she took me in her mouth without any ceremony at all.

And she was good. Not the enthusiastic-but-sloppy kind. Technical. She knew exactly where the nerve endings lived. She kept her lips tight on the way up and loosened them on the way down, taking me deep enough that I felt the back of her throat give, then holding there, swallowing around the head. Her tongue stayed flat and busy along the underside. One hand cupped my balls, the other wrapped the base and twisted on the upstroke in the opposite direction of her mouth.

Half a minute in, and my legs were doing that thing where they forget they're load-bearing.

"Yesterday," she said, pulling off just long enough to speak, my cock resting against her cheek. "I got tested. Yesterday. Just so you know."

Then back down, and she didn't come up again for a while. She was pushing me toward it, backing off right when I clenched, and I understood that she was already edging me and we hadn't even started.

"Okay," she finally said, standing up. "Enough. Lie down."

She put a palm flat on my sternum and pushed. I went back onto the bed, and she peeled the jeans and socks off me like she was unwrapping something she'd paid for. Then she stepped out of her own things in three efficient motions — dress, bra, panties, gone — and stood there for one second so I could look.

Dark skin, warm under the hotel lamp. Small waist, beautiful hips, a body built for exactly one activity and advertising it.

She crawled up over me. Knees on either side of my hips. She reached down, took my cock in her hand, and steered it where she wanted it.

The first touch was just the head, resting against her, and she stayed there a moment, letting me feel the heat and her wetness. Then she pushed down, and I watched her black labia open around my white shaft, slow, slow, spreading around me like they were deciding about me, and then swallowing me an inch at a time until my whole head was inside her and her lips closed snug around the ridge.

She exhaled. A long, shaky sigh, right from the chest.

"Fuck," she breathed, and it was not a performance word. It was relief.

Then she started to move. Nice and slow. Long, patient strokes, but never pulling all the way off — she kept the head buried the whole time, just rocking, working the first two inches of me with a rhythm that made my toes curl into the sheets. Every time she sank down, she'd pause at the bottom and grind, little circles, and I could feel her walls doing something deliberate around me.

It took her a while. Longer than most. She wasn't rushing toward anything; she was building it, stacking it, and I just lay there and let her use me. Her breathing changed first, then the rhythm got shorter and needier, then her eyes closed and her jaw went tight.

And then she came.

It was like an earthquake. Her whole body seized, spine bowing, and the muscles inside her clamped down on me in waves, one after another, hard enough that I could feel each one separately. She made a sound halfway between a moan and a growl and ground down on me through it, chasing it, not stopping.

She didn't stop after. That's the thing. She came, and she kept fucking me — that tight black pussy working up and down my white shaft, sliding slick, the contrast of it right there in front of me, dark skin and pale skin and the shine of her on me. She knew exactly what she was doing to me and she wanted me right on the edge.

By then my balls had gone tight and achy. Genuinely painful. Every stroke pulled a little more out of me, and every time I got close, she'd slow down and hold me there, right on the lip of it, grinding, letting the feeling stretch out until it hummed.

She kept me there. Two minutes. Three. Long enough that I was making noises I don't usually make.

Then something shifted in her face. Her rhythm stumbled, then sped up. Her second one was coming, and she knew it before I did.

She started hammering. Real, hard strokes now, full length, slamming down on me with her hands braced on my chest, tits swinging, breathing ragged.

"Come with me," she said. "Come with me — now."

And she went over. The second orgasm hit her harder than the first, her body folding forward, that low animal sound tearing out of her throat, and the clenching came back around my cock and this time it dragged me with it.

I came like something giving way. Deep, and hard — pumping my white seed, while she was still shaking on top of me, rope after rope, so deep it felt like it was landing somewhere past where I could reach. Her black womb took every drop and held it. She stayed seated on me through the whole thing, riding out both orgasms at once, milking me with slow lazy rolls of her hips until there was nothing left and I stopped twitching.

She finally let her little weight down onto my chest. Sweaty, breathing hard, ear over my heart.

"See?" she said, into my skin. "Told you. Longer is better."

I laughed, and it came out weak. "You win."

"Always," she said, and didn't move for a long time.