The Dinner Party

I nodded. I didn’t want to push the Sheraton idea so soon after explaining my unexplained absence.

Soon enough, the time came for Kevon and Cynthia to go up to the bridal suite. The entire wedding party followed them up to their room, tossing rice and making lurid jokes about Kevon finally getting his chance to “taste the goods”. Cynthia batted her eyes and feigned embarrassment, but I kept thinking back to the big white boy that she’d fucked into submission on video. If she hadn’t fucked anybody in two or three weeks, Kevon was in for a long night and then a long flight. I couldn’t imagine him seeing any of Aruba’s beautiful beaches. Cynthia’s pussy was going to be in his face each and every minute they were away.

to clarify We all went back downstairs to finish partying. Eddie assembled a Soul Train line. We each cut silly figures while dancing down this line, trying to mimic ancient dances from the seventies. On one iteration Terry and I found ourselves matched up. I did The Robot like that guy from Chappelle’s Show. Terry did The Floss. Both these dances created a great deal of laughter. Even Lisa thought it hilarious.

but Before the night was out Terry pulled me aside and whispered: “Come back up to my room tonite if you can. If you can’t, I’ll understand. But call me anyway. I’m flying out at noon tomorrow.”

OMG, I was torn. In short the span of twenty-four hours, I’d fucked three different women—rawdog. Did I mention Terry’s snapper? Yes, she has one. She’d never bragged about it. In fact, she’d never mentioned it. But once my penis slipped inside her, and the heat and the wetness and silky pubic hair enveloped my pole, I recognized her vaginal fecundity. Nicole was good. Lisa was better. Neither of them had anything on Terry.

I started rationalizing:

“The Dinner Party”

“They masturbate to porn videos!”

“She had that white boy’s dick in her The Dinner Party.”