I’ve always been curious about black chicks.

Recently, I’ve been looking at a lot of black porn online and been seeing some SEXY ass chocolate beauties.

They’re so fine, black girls, with their sophisticated faces, their big bouncy tits.

But the best is their juicy asses, all protruding and begging to be fucked from behind, slapped silly.

As a lover of doggystyle, WOULD I EVER like to pound an ebony ass from the back...

Fuck, not only black porn, but I’ve been jerking off a lot to famous black babes, too, like Beyoncé, Cardi B. Holy shit, those chicks are hot. And I recently watched the classic film Clueless. Stacey Dash back in her heyday was practically flawless. What a goddess!

I’ve definitely developed a taste for chocolate ... Love me some ebony honeys...

But, sadly, I’ve never been in the sack with a black chick; mostly I’d dated within my race, dated white girls, though I have been lucky enough to tap a couple Asian asses, and a few fine Latina lovelies too.

Never had I been with a black girl before, though, and these past few weeks, it’s become my fetish. I’ve gotten a serious chocolate craving...

Honestly, I have to admit that I’ve never met an attractive black babe that was also interested in me. Only matched with a Lizzo or two on Tinder, and that’s not my bag...

All the dime-piece, hottest of the hot black chicks I’ve ever seen were with basketball player tall type dudes and super-rich or famous dudes, and me, I’m not tall, only about 5’10, but muscular, and not rich either, although I’m no broke fuck. I do alright working freelance IT.

Girls do tend to like me, say I’m handsome. I’m of mixed Greek and British heritage, and people often say I resemble a young Dustin Hoffman.

I’m still sort of young, I guess, just hit 29, and have been living alone since I broke up with my nagging drama queen ex-girlfriend. I’d lived with her for a short spell, and I’d initially thought she was the one, but, sadly, it wasn’t meant to be, and I’ve been feeling much better, really, since I obviated the bitch from my life.

I’ve been trying to get back into dating, too, trying online dating, but I’ve only been matching with blubbery bitches and cock-eyed chicks, so mostly I’ve been jerking off. I think that’s where my black fetish has emerged. It’s been the only thing I’m looking at, black bitch porn, mostly amateurs (which I prefer, a real chick, a chick on the street is way hotter to me than a polished starlet) but there are a couple professional, pornstar black chicks whose work I rather admire such as Amber Rose, and the legendary Vanessa Del Rio...

I’ve been reading sex stories, too, about white dudes like me, stabbing into hot and horny ebony ass. Squeezing fat black ass, rough riding the black ass...

I’ve been watching lots of rap videos on YouTube, captivated in my appreciation of the twerking ebony beauties in bikinis and thongs, cavorting in pools, or dancing like strippers, bending over a Bugatti, and I’ve been pausing, looping video frames and spanking off to the thump of their mesmeric clapping jiggle asses...

Perhaps I needed to take a trip to Atlanta or Los Angeles to find a fine black chick to fuck. Here in this part of Florida, we don’t have many black chicks. Shit, I’ve not been seeing many chicks of any sort, in real life, for a looooong stretch, as I’d been working from home since before, during, and after the pandemic ... Been trapped in my concrete box, studio apartment for months, feeling like a fucking hermit.

I mean, I’m not out in the sticks or anything like that; my place is in town, and it’s big for a studio and has gigantic floor to ceiling windows, sweeping lake views, and a spacious balcony overlooking a row of swaying palm trees lining a canal. It’s a pretty dope pad. But it is isolated and there aren’t many people my age around, or many people at all living in the community’s squat, stucco-roofed rows of buildings anymore...

Aside from work, weightlifting, TV, movies, gaming, reading, there’s not been much else to do other than spank off to black chick porn.

And I’d gotten so bored with sitting around the house that I decided to start working from the public library, this creepy gothic building with massive Grecian pillars in its portico. Fucking place looking like it came from a horror movie.

Inside the colossal building, on each of the 7 floors, there are research areas, parallel sets of rectangular tables and carrels, that bisect the endless rows of bookshelves.

And that’s where I’ve been recently, camped out at a table, up on the top floor, the 7^th floor, working on my laptop, punching in code, reviewing directories and spreadsheets. The place is quite chill and slumberous, its only audible sound the sibilant hiss of the central AC vent.

I’d carved a nice 7^th floor nook, gazing out the big wrap-around windows with their panoramic view of the city and sailboats in the bay, and I especially enjoyed soaking up the golden sunshine flooding in and admiring the varying colors of sky, its shades of blue and tinges of red and pink, and here and there I’d daydream while staring out at the clumps of creamy cloud formations floating lazily by...

It was rare to see anyone in the library, aside from homeless people, or retired people in Hawaiian shirts doing crossword puzzles, and mostly they’d stay on the first or second floor. Almost no one would climb the stairs or ride the elevator up here to the 7^th floor. Well, other than the few desultory people who’d actually come to read or check out one of the 7^th floor’s vintage sets of encyclopedias, the books so gargantuan they could be used as weights in a gym.

But it was generally deserted, so much so that I could jerk off freely in the bathroom (didn’t need to use the handicapped bathroom as I usually do to jerk off when the urge was too much) and I never had to worry about anyone showing up to interrupt my random perversions...

I’d been enjoying my solitude and was getting hella work done without the home distractions, tedium of my apartment. But then, all that changed.

When she arrived...

Like I said, it was rare to see anyone up here, so my eyes sprung up quickly from my silver laptop, when she walked in, emerging as I was listening to the opening riff of the classic Guns N Roses tune Welcome to the Jungle.

I was taken aback, and my eyes opened wide. It was like an alien stepping off a spaceship, seeing anyone come in here...

But this was no alien, fortunately; no, it was a FUCKING BAD chick, a fucking HOT BLACK CHICK!

She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and caramel skinned, around 5’5 and thick, with ample, healthy thighs that danced and shimmered like mini-movements of sea as she strutted into my world, her arrival proclaimed by a bugle call of clanking platinum red bottom heels.

Wearing this sleeveless, one-piece leopard print tiny dress that was so tight it could have been painted on, I immediately noticed how fucking enormous her ass was, but not a bad big, a good big. Her ass having these immaculate, supple, congruent, wiggly, spherical set of delicious cheeks- two round, firm, bulging cakes the defied every law of physics and gravity the way they stood that high, being that large and pronounced.

Her stomach was perfectly flat, and her tits were gigantic, D-cups, but not saggy at all. They hung like twin cantaloupes, filling out ever centimeter of her frilly bra that was clearly outlined through the thin fabric of her dress.

(The bra was so enormous I could make an umbrella or parachute or shelter in place under the fucking thing... )

And oh my, her face was gorgeous, model gorgeous. She had these outrageously high cheekbones and huge dreamy green eyes (probably contacts, but who knows). Her look was sort of like a slightly bitchier Beyoncé, and she had this tiny mouth with thick red pouty lips shaped like a heart.

Her hair was shiny, wavy and dyed cherry red, was shoulder length, and combed, sleekly, to the left...

We made immediate eye contact; seeing as that we were the only two people there, like it’d been weird if we didn’t acknowledge one another...

She smiled at me demurely and nodded and I smiled back.

Sitting down a couple tables away from me, she pulled out a phone from the purse she’d placed on the table, and cradled the device, bowed her head to it and began to play a mobile game.

Annoyingly, though, she wasn’t using earphones, and it was loud, the game. Obnoxious, repetitious techno music blaring, faux booming bomb sounds. It was so noisy that I could hear it even over Asshole Rose banshee-screaming “SHNENENE KNEES!” into my earphones...

It was becoming hard to focus on my work; first of all, because of how hot she was, and then second of all, because she was making a racket with the stupid fucking phone game.

Didn’t she respect the sacred code of the library? To SHUT THE FUCK UP?! What kind of animal struts into the library, looking like a whore and whips out a phone game, blasts it loudly, disturbing everyone (or even just the one other person around)?!

Bitch was really fucking with my equanimity...

I gave her the glare, the stink eye, thinking it might make her take out the earphones I was wishing she’d use.

But no luck. She didn’t notice or budge.

Alright, I’m no beta male bitch, and I had a deadline to meet on a project, so it was high time to put a stop to this insanity.

I got up, lifted off my earphones, closed my laptop, and, strolling over to her table, I stepped up to her, my shadow hanging over the chestnut colored tabletop.

Although I stood directly behind her, she remained tapping away at the game, with her thumbs, moving a Zelda looking character that was shooting neon pink lasers at a ferocious red dragon creature on a mountain ... Fuck, she was immersed in it, shaking with each blast...

I cleared my throat loudly.

ERRRRRMMMPPHHHHHH...

Still no response.

“Hey,” I spoke up, “could you please use your earphones?” I asked her in a forcefully polite tone that oozed of asperity.

“You could have said ‘hello,’” she replied, in a heavy African accent, and her voice, comically, reminded me of the impression Eddie Murphy did of a “bush bitch” from his ingenious special Raw ... Yeah, I fuck with that classic shit...

I chuckled, initially at her accent, which I wasn’t expecting, and then in utter confusion about what she’d said, and I raised an eyebrow like The Rock and muttered, “Excuse me?”

“Why do you not say ‘hi’ or introduce yourself?” she asked, still glued to the game.

“What? When?” I asked, my eyes narrowing and voice raising an octave.

“You do not like girls?” she asked, swinging her angelic ebony face towards me, finally ungluing her gaze from the dragon, looking away from her game for the first time.

“I, yes, I do like girls, but that’s...” I was saying when she cut me off.

“In my country, when a man sees a woman and smiles, he then says ‘hello’, tries to talk with her. If he does not, then, maybe he does not like the women.” Her eyes were dead serious as she spit these words at me, and when she concluded this, unusual, statement, she shifted her moue and attention back to her phone game.

“In my country, this one, we don’t play games or loud music in libraries. See the sign over there, it says ‘PLEASE KEEP QUIET.’”

I pointed over to the sign hanging next to the doorway, its all-caps red letters making it unambiguous.

She ignored me, kept at her game.

I had three options. I could try to argue with her, snatch the phone and risk a fight. Probably not a good idea. She was from Africa, after all, and had probably grown up fighting hyenas and lions and shit. She could probably tear my lilywhite ass apart.

Or I could go snitch her out to the librarian. And be a bitch. Nah, I’m no Takeshi69.

Or I could demonstrate my alpha, and maybe try to get some pussy out of this situation, use this as a way to hit on her, try to get a date with this crazy bitch.

I chose the alpha route.

“So where is your country, darling?” I asked her, changing up my tone to one of conviviality.

“Niger,” she said, and a grin twisted over her juicy, big lustrous lips, which I noticed were caked in sparkly fire red lipstick and a lip gloss that glimmered like diamonds.

“Is that near Nigeria?” I asked. I don’t think I’d heard of Niger, but I had heard of Nigeria. There’s been lots of people emailing me from there, especially from their royal family.

She shook her pretty head and snickered, then switched her phone screen from her game to an internet browser and Googled, found the Wikipedia page for Niger. She shuffled sideways in her seat, stared her gorgeous green eyes intently at me, raised her thin, plucked eyebrows and held the phone up for me to see, so she could educate my ignorant American ass.

“Ni...” I started to say as I read the name and caught myself before I said the next syllable.

She immediately exploded into a delirious fit of laughter.

“I know what you were going to say! It is pronounced Nhy-Jer!” she said between laughs. “You Americans...”

She then caught her breath, told me, “You know, you are cute, for a whiteboy.”

“Oh yeah?” I said to her, beaming a ten thousand-watt smile.

“Yes, in my country, we do not have many whiteboys, but I always saw them on TV and movies. I like them ... I think I like you...”

Well, alright. That escalated fast. Since the end of the epidemic, people had been more forward, easier to fuck, many fucking like alley cats, Africans included, I guessed ... Why not...

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked her, upbeat, my tone showing how happy I was to flirt with this exotic beauty, and I pulled out the chair next to her, sat in it, and leaned an elbow on the table, fixed my eyes and focus solely her way.

“No, I do not want a boyfriend. Too much trouble. But I do want a boy...”

“How about a man?”

“Do you know any men?”

Oh, this chick was a cheeky one...

“Me. I’m a man. A man’s man. And a ladies’ man. A REAL man. And I can show you how manly I am, if you’d let me...”

“And how would you plan to do that, whitey?” she inquired in a wickedly devious, husky tone, bulging her eyes, making them a size too big for her face.

“We can go back there, behind that bookshelf in the corner, and I’ll show you. Give you a special demonstration.”

Now, I said this in jest. I thought she’d laugh it off, maybe I’d get her digits, chat with her online, buy her dinner, woo her, do the usual courtship routine, but nah, this was a foreign chick, a chick from the jungle. They must do things differently there, in her country...

“Okay, we go then.” She responded, standing up and slipping her phone into her small fake Gucci purse, and then she slung the faux golden purse chain over her shoulder and slinked quickly, clacking her heels, making a beeline to the corner of the room I’d pointed out.

It took me by surprise that she’d moved so fast, literally and metaphorically. I sat frozen for a second, but quickly thawed when she stopped in her tracks, peered over, rested her chin on her shoulder for a second, winked at me, then shot me a serious glance and mouthed with her lips “COME NOW,” peremptorily, and swung back around, proceeded in the direction of the bookshelf, vanished her sweet jiggling ass behind it.

I stood up and followed her, briskly, like a soldier on a mission. My head on a swivel, I checked to see the coast was clear. No homeless, elderly, librarians, or actual book browsers were in sight.

Walking fast but inconspicuously as possible, I turned right, and found myself in an alcove between two towering sets of bookshelves filled with fat faded walnut brown encyclopedias from yesteryears.

She stood with her back to the wall. Upon seeing me, she smiled deviously and slipped out of her heels, dropped her purse to the floor, and extended her right arm, signaled me forth with her pointer finger flipped upside down, bending and curling an invisible lasso, drawing me in for some fun and games ... Come hither...

Ah fuck, I realized I’d left my stuff, my laptop and backpack on the table, hadn’t brought it with me. Dammit, there was no time to run and grab it. I had to chance a bum running in and stealing my shit. Laptop had GPS, at least.

FUCK IT, there was only one thing to do at this point. And that was to hit some equatorial ass.

In my head I heard the rhythm of drumbeats and tribal chanting as I approached. I felt as though my entire body was shapeshifting into a lion, a predator stalking, about to devour my prey.

“You come fuck me, whiteboy!” she hissed at me, and crossed her arms, reached down and hooked her hands on the hems of her dress, drew it up and over her head, tossed the garment down to the cool of the lemon tile floor, and then reached back, unhooked and slipped, teasingly, out of her white lace bra, right cup dropping first, a massive ring-shaped tit spilling out, making me exhale and whisper WHOA!, and then she giggled, released the left cup, and her second big round funbag fell out into plain sight ... Double WHOA!

Then, with the flick of her wrist, she let the bra fall to the floor, and she stood facing me, completely nude.

It must be a habit for her, going commando, no panties. Probably was too ass hot in her 3^rd world country, motherfuckers there with no AC, living in the jungle and that. I’d likely do that too or wear a dashiki, robes, tunic or toga or whatever they wear. Yup, everyone there I bet was like that, going bare ass, so it must be a usual thing to her. Doubt she only went to libraries commando, I thought, not minding at all, and I was quite enamored by the vision of black busty beauty that stood in my presence.

Her hefty melon tits wear huge and round, equally full, from top to bottom and had dark purple, flat, circular nipples roughly the size of espresso cups.

Her form was thick but toned, cut, and her sleek, sensuous fleshy thighs shimmered in the licks of sunshine slicing in from a window above, her thick thighs like two big bars of chocolate ready to be ravaged...

Between her legs was a sweet brown pussy, shaved to the skin, cunt looking like a triangular slice of chocolate mousse.