Shattering the Myth (18 page)

I knew my gurls were gonna throw me a party the night before I jumped the broom, but dayum. They went all out for my bachelorette party. After the rehearsal dinner, I figured they were going to take me to one of my bridesmaids' houses and have a stripper or something. I couldn't have been farther off base if I tried.

Instead of taking me to a house, we drove about an hour out of town to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. However, there were tons of cars outside and people walking in and out the front doors, mostly women.

When we went inside, it was the wildest shit I had ever seen. Dick for days! Days, I tell you! I had been to my share of strip shows in my day, but I had never been to one where all the men were dancing butt-naked. There was no sign on the door, but once inside, there were neon signs everywhere with the club's name, the Black Screw, on them.

The gurls and I, about ten of us altogether, found a couple of tables in the rear, since all the tables up front had long been taken. A waiter came to take our drink orders, and the man
was fine as all hell. I wanted to lick a piña colada off his ass, but I refrained from my nasty thoughts. After all, I was marrying the love of my life the next day, and faithfulness was a must. It was hard to keep the faith with the waiter's big, juicy dick dangling in my face, though.

A few minutes later he returned with our first round of drinks while this other fine-ass guy with about a ten-inch dick was sitting in my maid of honor's lap, blowing in her ear. I was totally shook and couldn't believe I never knew the place existed. It had to be some undercover club because mad laws must have been thrown out the fucking window in order to have all that dick floating around the room.

The Black Screw was huge, too. Imagine a warehouse turned into a big-ass fuck palace, and then you are halfway there. “Doin' It Again” by LL Cool J kicked in, and this fine-ass guy (hell, they were all fine) took center stage and began to do some of the most amazing acrobatic fuck moves I had ever witnessed. The way he was pretending to grind his dick in some nana made me wanna scream, Have mercy! He continued with the grind moves until the song ended, but when “Big Daddy” by Heavy D came on next, he got buck-wild and buck-naked. Dayum shame all those big dicks were in the house.

The gurls and I got tore up by the third round of drinks, and by the fifth round, we were all horny. I was sitting there wishing I could get my hands on my fiancé's ass right then and there, because I would have fucked him like I hated him. I'm not quite sure who was wilder, the male dancers or the women patrons. There was some truly freaky shit going on up in that place.

Men had women bent over tables, grinding their dicks up against their asses, they were palming tits, sucking toes, fingering pussy even. As for the women, aw shit, they were even worse. The women were pulling their shit off too, jacking
dicks, riding dicks with their clothes on, everything except actual fucking, but don't take my word on that. I didn't exactly do a panty check or anything of that nature.

One man after another took the stage and did his thing. I must say there is no way any woman who even remotely loves herself some dick wouldn't be drowning in her own pussy juice up in the Black Screw. There was a stage right smack in the middle of the club, like a boxing ring in the middle of an arena, with tables surrounding all four sides of it so all the women could get a little look-see. In addition, there were circular risers in the four corners of the club with male dancers, who had already performed and taken it all off, on them getting mad freaky. I'm telling you, the shit was all that! They were so naked the only place they could put the dollars women tipped them was in their boots. I noticed they were all wearing some sort of boots, mostly cowboy ones. Cash-and-carry, I suppose.

As much as I loved it, it was getting pretty late. Two
A.M
. was rolling around, and the wedding was at noon sharp. I told the gurls we should bounce and thanks for taking me there. My maid of honor, Shari, told me the party wasn't over and then called the fine waiter over and whispered something in his ear. I sat there nervous as all hell because I figured they were planning on having some guy come over to the table and freak me or something. I had managed to keep my hands to myself all night, even though the temptation was killing me.

About five minutes later, the waiter returned with three other waiters and a cake. While our waiter set the cake—which, by the way, was chocolate and shaped like a huge dick—on the table, the other three clapped and recited some rehearsed congrats-on-your-wedding verse. I was relieved that the cake was the surprise and loosened up a bit.

My relief turned to panic when the finest guy in the place
walked up to me. If Mother Nature made anything better, she kept him for her dayum self, because the man was hitting. He was about six-foot-four tall, 210 or 215 pounds, dark-skinned, with jet-black curly hair and deep brown eyes. He stood out in the club because he was clothed with stonewashed wide-legged jeans, a suede vest, and of course, cowboy boots.

He leaned over the table, reached for my hand, and I was likely to faint. Shari told me, “You better get your ass up!” I asked her, “What the fuck is going on?” She replied, “Just a little something extra I have planned for you! This is your last night of freedom. Now, GET THE FUCK UP!”

You could tell from the expression on her face that she could barely prevent herself from breaking out into a full grin. I was drunk, and his hand was still reaching out for me. I threw caution to the wind and took it.

A couple of minutes later, he and I walked through a set of double doors into the rear of the Black Screw. He had yet to say a word to me. I figured Shari had paid him to give me a private dance, sort of like a male lap dance. To be honest, I was still nervous as shit, though. If he had been just average, cute, or even remotely fine, I would have had no problem whatsoever. The problem was, he was past all those, and I was tore up. My pussy was throbbing and shit for him just by the hand-holding alone. I was getting the distinct feeling my ass might get in some serious trouble once he did his little show. I should have stopped it right then. I should have told him I felt uncomfortable and was about to rejoin my friends so we could leave. But I didn't, and before I knew it, we reached our final destination.

There was a long hallway in the back of the club with several rooms. All the rooms had neon signs over the doorways. He led me to one called “The Red Light District” and held the door open for me to go in.

The room was dimly lit with red lightbulbs, and there was a slow jam playing. Much to my surprise, there were four couches in the room, one on each wall, and two of them were occupied. I tried to pull my hand loose after I saw what was going on in the room, but he held onto it tightly and spoke to me for the first time: “Don't run away, baby. At least let me do my dance for you. Don't worry about them!”

He had the deepest, sexiest voice, and when he looked at me with them there eyes, I was at his beck and call. So, I didn't worry about
them
and went and sat on the couch farthest from the door while he walked over to the compact shelf stereo system and changed the CD.
Them
referred to the two other female customers in the room with male dancers. There was absolutely no dancing going on, and when my private dancer was putting on his performance music, I could hear
them
moaning and shit. Not to mention the fucking and sucking noises.

You see, one sister was over on the couch by the door, and her ankles were pressed up over her shoulders while a big, mandingo-looking brother was fucking the shit out of her. The other was not quite as bad. However, she was sitting on the couch on the left wall sucking another brother's dick like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. Apparently, the lap dances they received were slamming, because they were all about knocking boots.

All sort of shit started going through my mind faster than the speed of light. I know I should have been thinking about my baby, my boo, my husband-to-be, but he never crossed my mind. In fact, looking back on it now, I don't feel guilty because I know about all the shit that goes on at bachelor parties. His ass probably fucked some hoochie that night too.

He put on his music, “My Body” by LSG, and began his dance. He told me, “My name's Warren, by the way. What's yours?” I told him, “My name's Mira,” as he began to do his
thing, grinding all in my face while I sat there on the couch with a serious case of locked knees.

Warren slowly removed his vest, and like I had suspected, he was perfect. I tried to keep my eyes fixed on him, but it was hard with all the other shit going on. The other two couples had done some shifting, and the one who had been sucking dick was now bent over getting fucked doggy-style. The other one, who previously was shaped like a pretzel, was now in the sixty-nine position getting her freak on.

I began to feel light-headed as Warren started to break out of his jeans. I recuperated fast when I saw his dick protruding out his black thong bikini. Just like I like them: big, long, thick, and chocolate. That was the very moment I knew I was gonna fuck him if he was down. Judging by the way he was looking at me, I suspected he was.

Warren confirmed my suspicions when, once naked, he knelt down and pried my knees open with his strong hands, exposing the black lace panties I was wearing underneath my black knee-length skirt. I wore no stockings with my heels because it was midsummer and extremely hot out, so it was easy for Warren to run his fingers all over my smooth, creamy thighs. He began to kiss my kneecaps. All I could do was look, being I was overcome by a desire I had never known, a desire to make love to a complete stranger. A desire, it appeared, I was destined to fulfill the night before I married the man of my dreams.

That is exactly what I did. I fulfilled the desire to make love to a stranger, and I have not regretted it a moment since. In fact, I think the night with Warren has significantly helped my married life. I know that sounds sick, but I was able to open up more sexually with him than I could previously do with my boo. Because of the events of that one night, I have become a much better lover for my man.

Warren started running his tongue up and down the inside of my thighs, spreading my legs wider with his hands. My pussy was soaked by that time. He pushed me back on the couch, so I was lying down, pulled my panties off, and then lifted one of my legs up so it was resting on the headrest of the couch.

He wasted no time getting his eat on with my pussy as the main course. I thought I had died and gone to heaven because I came like crazy. The wild part is that I didn't even give a fuck what the other people in the room were doing. That's totally uncharacteristic of me, because I tend to be very inhibited. At least, I was before that night.

His warm, thick tongue played magnificent tricks within my pussy walls, and I got lost in the music and the red lights while he did the thing he does so well. He reached up, with his head still buried between my thighs, and caressed my tender breasts through the white poplin-sleeve blouse I was wearing with the black skirt. I took the initiative, unbuttoned it for him, and unfastened the clasp in the front of my bra, letting my hard nipples escape their prison.

Warren moved his tongue from my pussy, over the material of my skirt, which was up around my waist at the time, and started sucking on my nipples. I went fucking berserk. I'm not sure whether it was the liquor or the fine-ass nucca licking me all over, but I just kept cumming and cumming.

I'm not sure when the other couples got up and left the room. I didn't see them because I was too busy sucking Warren's dick, which was, by the way, extremely pleasing to my taste buds. I sucked him so good he exploded in my mouth twice before we moved on to the main event—the main event being knocking boots.

The man fucked me every which way but upside down. If
time had permitted, we probably would have gotten to that position eventually. I needed about three days to fuck him the right way. Instead, I only had about three hours. We made good use of them, though, and he tore my coochie-coo up. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “dick-whipped.”

Never before, or since, have I ever begged a man to stop fucking me because it was too much for me, but I begged his ass to stop grinding his dick into me in such a fashion. Warren didn't let up, though, and ended up giving me the fuck of a lifetime.

When I rejoined my friends, after quite some time, they were about the only ones left in the entire club. Some of the gurls had left already. The only ones remaining were the ones I was riding with, including Shari, my maid of honor. They were all laughing and grinning at me. I didn't even attempt to fake the funk because there was no way they would have believed I had been back there talking for the past three hours plus.

I did the next best thing and told them all about it on the way home in the car, blow by mother-fucking blow, and they were all ears, probably envisioning every second of it the way I related the story to them.