For many years I kept the secret from my husband, but I finally slipped up. We had a great sex life and one day we decided to visit a sex shop because I was curious what one was like inside. All the raunchy videos and sex toys were really pretty laughable. Then my husband asked which sex toy I wanted, he would buy me whatever I wanted. I blushed and laughed. Those latex penises are incredibly life like I said. He made me pick one and I chose a moderately large black one. Not the color black, but an African American cock.

He kidded me about it and wouldn't let it alone. He liked watching me suck on the black cock during our sex play. Finally he goaded me into admitting that I had been with a black man before I met him. He seemed fascinated with the idea. How did I like it? Did it happen more than once? He wouldn't let it alone, so I finally ended up telling him the story of my experience with black men.

I had just graduated from high school in Marin County and it was the Summer of Love in San Francisco. My friends and I had been traveling over to SF for months and were full fledged hippies. I didn't really leave home, I just started spending more and more nights in the city until I realized I lived in an old house in the Haight with a bunch of other kids. I was as naïve as I could be, still a rosy cheeked virgin at 18.

At the time I had no idea how blessed I was. I was tall at 5 foot 8 and slender as a reed with the kind of breasts that only 18 year olds have. My hair was light blond, very long and straight. I wore it hippie style with two thick strands pulled back from my forehead in a loose sort of headband. I often tucked flowers in my hair even. When I see old pictures of myself, I look I belong on a Norwegian tourist poster. I was the perfect pretty blonde hippy chick.

The Summer of Love meant sex too. My introduction to the new attitude about sex came early. It was really late and I was sitting in a living room with 4 other people, music was playing and the joint was being passed around. Incense was thick in the air. The lights were dim, but colorful. Everyone was quietly stoned, bobbing their heads to the music, Jimmy Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver. My head floated in a languid haze and my skin tingled with warmth from the grass. Everything seemed cool and good.

I was slouching on the couch next to a guy I knew only slightly, who was called Prairie Dog, I guess because was from Kansas. I remember thinking he was cute. He turned toward me and stared at me smiling in the dimness. He reached over and began to stroke my cheek. "Do you realize how beautiful you are?" I blushed, but I liked it. His touch on my cheek seemed wonderful in my stoned condition. I leaned into his touch.

When he kissed me I thought for a moment that I hardly knew him, then my doubts washed away. It felt good. It felt wonderful, actually. Why not enjoy it? I didn't object when he began feeling my breasts through my peasant blouse. This too felt wonderful and natural and right. The pot made me incredibly horny and I responded strongly to him. Just when I thought I might orgasm just from him squeezing my nipple, he whispered in my ear. "My pants are too tight and my dick is hurting. Will you take it out?"

Not thinking very straight, I actually took him at his word and thought he was in pain. I unbuckled his hand-made leather belt and fished out his erection. It wasn't the first time I had touched a cock. I had given a boy a hand job once on a hot date. The grass on my brain made me fascinated with texture of his cock and I stroked it slowly, absorbed by the contrast of the thin soft skin over the stiff shaft underneath. I thought the spongy pointed little helmet on top was cute as could be. When the guy moaned, it reminded me how sexual this was and a flood of warmth flushed my skin and between my legs. "What's your name?", he said.

"Julie", I answered, not thinking it was strange that I was holding his cock, but we hadn't exchanged names yet.

"That feels so freakin' good, Julie. They call me Prairie Dog, cuz I'm from Kansas." We alternated kissing and listening to the music, but I kept stroking him slowly. He caressed me all over, but especially my hair and breasts. I was drifting in warm languid sensual haze. I noticed two others in the room were kissing and groping too. Every so often, Prairie Dog would moan softly and his breathing was deep and aroused.

"Julie, would you?" His hand was behind my head and stroking my hair, but also very gently pressing. It WAS cute and I found myself wanting to get closer to it. What the heck? I lowered my head down into his lap and pursed my lips and planted a chaste little kiss on the tip of his cock. It was definitely cute, like a sturdy little soldier standing at attention. I kissed it again, with more feeling, my lips softly wrapping the helmet on the little guy. I massaged it with my lips and then sucked my breath in slightly as I pulled back resulting in a kissing noise. The noises I heard from Prairie Dog's mouth told me he liked what I was doing.

My drug warmed brain focused all my desire and attention on his cock now. I kissed it again, lips engulfing the head and this time, my tongue roamed over the tip, rubbing it and poking at the little hole. I had heard of oral sex, but never done it before. It felt so good, so loving, so tender. His hands were softly stroking my head as I kissed his cock.

"Oh, wow, Julie. You give the best head I've ever had." I used to think that "giving head" was nasty, something prostitutes did. Now I realized how nice it was, how loving. Oh my gosh, I thought, I'm giving head! "Don't stop, Julie. It feels like heaven."

I felt giddy with delight. I was making him feel good. I was giving love. I slid my lips down on him until my mouth was filled with him. This was a new and pleasant sensation of being filled with his manhood. "Oh that's it, Julie, suck me." My God, I was sucking him. It was like a revelation. Sucking was supposed to be evil and wicked. It wasn't. It was wonderful, it was pleasurable, it was making love with your lips and tongue.

I was consumed by the sensuality of it, the warm, wet, slippery cock and my cheeks covered with saliva. My hair everywhere. The little soldier in my mouth, simultaneously hard and soft. His fat balls moving loosely in his scrotum. It wasn't nasty or dirty, it was love, it was human.

Then the noises from Prairie Dog made me realize that he would come soon. I lifted up and looked at him. "What do I do, when you... , you know... ?"

"Let it flow into you and nourish you. It's my essence, it's love."

I knew he was right. I went back to sucking him, now anticipating his orgasm. I knew it was unlikely to taste good, but I didn't care. His cum was an offering of his essence. I would take it inside me and it would become part of me.

He grunted and shook as his orgasm hit him. I clamped my lips tightly around his cock and tried to continue to stroke it as he thrashed. His cock pulsed and my mouth filled with thick semen. It was thrilling to experience his ejaculation along with him as his cock thrust in my mouth and each throb seemed to add to the pool of cum under my tongue. It was salty and bitter, but I gloried in it, savoring the distinctive taste. It was the flavor of love and sex.