Hangovers aren’t really feelings you ever want to return but every now and then, I just might entertain the idea of being entertained. It’s been several years since I’ve been seen the one called The Black Russian, but we have both been in and out of the online dating scene so we have chatted briefly a time or two.
Yesterday he decided to reach out via telephone and before I share the how his life has been since we met, here’s a little throwback post to reintroduce or introduce him to you. If you want to read about how that first encounter ended, click here.
And now on to The Date with The Black Russian, Part 1…
Okay, do you want the short version or the tale with all the goodies because Friday night’s date with the one I’ll call “Black Russian” ended with a few laughs, moans, a few groans and quite possibly a few tears. In fact, this guy’s name should really be “Almost 10” or “Ovary Killer” and by the end of this post, you’ll understand what I mean. It is not my intent to be a writer of erotica but hey, the purpose of the blog is to share my experiences so boys and girls, here we go!
A few details about my latest hangover candidate include the obvious – this amalgamated specimen is the product of a black father (the black man is always tapping into other oceans) and a Russian orthodox mother. I joked with him that he was the first his kind for me and was the first person I was meeting off of Plenty of Fish this second time around.
Yeah, I know I said I’d given up online dating months ago but I really just signed up for this service with no intention of meeting anyone. Honestly, most dating sights are pure comic relief with the photos and profiles alone, but I signed up to get articles and thread posts for blog material. Anyway, back to our guy. He’s quite handsome, towering over me with 6’4, thin to medium build frame, with beautiful teeth and has a complexion of a latte with two tablespoons of cream. I hate hate hate having a type and as much as I try to escape from it, he was my typical looking guy.
Setting the Date After a few phone conversations and texting, Black Russian finally said how it would be cool if we finally met up so we agreed on Friday; the destination was up in the air. Now let me say this – I normally like a guy to do all of the planning and just give me an idea on what attire I should consider, I like to be surprised but understanding that has probably backfired a time or two, I was okay that we didn’t have a “where to” set in stone. The plan was to meet up at his house, though I made it clear I would wait for him OUTSIDE his place and we’ve go from there.
Hooray!!!! He looks like his profile and the follow up picture and not like a ninja turtle and yay!!! He wasn’t dressed like he was going to shoot pool with the homeboys (remember Ghetto 2Pac?). Dressed in a date-appropriate outfit consisting of a dark v-neck, jacket, jeans and black shoes and smelling great he drove us to our destination for dinner and drinks. Black Russian’s a nice guy, converses well and has manners so I enjoyed our time out. Fireworks, moments of WOW and thoughts of this might be a connection? No, I didn’t feel any real chemistry and it was likely mutual so if anything, we both had probably figured we could become friends at best. The night was going well until we did the unthinkable on a first date – started talking about sex.
Sometimes you meet a person and you have absolutely nothing in common. Sometimes you have many things in common but you just don’t like the person. Sometimes you are so-so, nothing that knocks your socks off about the person and you make do. Sometimes you meet a person and find you are on the EXACT SAME PAGE, especially when it comes to something you both really enjoy. Sex.
Alright, so dinner and a few drinks combined with talks about past relationships, what worked and what didn’t. Does size matter, conversations you should not have after sex, crazy women and all that good first date stuff is how we closed out dinner. Once I’d mentioned the inadequate size of an ex’s tool, Black Russian seemed shocked that a woman could tolerate such a small, pitiful, disappointing piece of— okay, I digressed. Anyway, he asks me with the grin of a Cheshire cat “8+inches enough for you?”
Needless to say, while waiting for our pitifully sorry waiter to come with the check I don’t think either of us was ready for the night to end. I know this is really an invitation to get some booty, but when he asked me if I wanted to come back to his place and “chill” for a bit over some drinks, I really didn’t care. I did not PLAN on things happening the way they did, but after the vodka (what else would a Russian drink!) and cranberry, small talk about friends and living space, reminiscing over old slow jams we loved and agreeing that a Prince concert is a must see, as we sat on the sofa he went in for the kill. My neck.
Ladies, I don’t know how many erogenous zones you may have but you know that one really gets you going and for me, it’s my neck. It seems like it is the most sensitive area at times, because I’m extremely ticklish in one way but the right touch, kiss or lick sends me well – not laughing, that’s for sure. So the kiss on the neck goes to the cheek, to the lips and oh, the lips. Soft, succulent, moist, full, powerful. Black Russian had made this comment about his mouth days ago when I asked him if his bong and cannabis hobby left him with dry, chaffed lips. Not only did he fire off an adjective laden reply, he topped it off by telling me those same lips could elicit orgasm after orgasm. How’s that for a little pre-meeting foreplay?
So after a really intense necking, kissing, nipple sucking & breast massaging session he comes at me with what is probably the cheesiest line EVER – “Come on, I want you to see how soft my bed is”.
Really? We just this heated you’re-making-me-moist grinding session and that’s the best line to get me in your room? Well I’m sorry, you must think I’m the most naïve, just got off the turnip truck type of girl you can say anything to because…. Because… It worked! LOL!!!!
Through the black curtains and to the bedroom we go and shortly after I met Bragada. Slow down pervs, not another woman or anything but the bed – this guy wasn’t kidding because this memory foam with a dash of heaven was the most comfortable bed I’ve ever laid my body on. We lay there talking and laughing about me now being a believer when suddenly he says he wanted to show me what else was the softest.
Enter the “Hey, what are you doing” as he pulls quickly manipulates through the belt loops and zipper of my jeans, followed by the “oh no, you’re not doing that” as he’s telling me exactly how he’s going to get multiple orgasms out of me ending with the inaudible “Oh my GOD” and some other things I said that I simply cannot remember.
The Black Russian delivered. Orgasm after orgasm, back to back. Knee shaking, spine tingling. Damn, and this is after just the first date? I felt weak, pleaded for him to give me a break but he was relentless. So of course, you know what happens next…..
To be continued…
Until there’s a cure…