textfiles/sex/EROTICA/L/lafterdk.txt

L.A. After Dark
by R. Mendosa

My leave is almost over. I've managed to fuck Anna twice; I've seen 
most of my old friends; but mostly, I've just been hanging around the 
house. I am getting anxious about what lies ahead of me after I leave 
L.A. I want to break out of my old life and get on with my journey. 
Fortunately, my best friend Phil, breaks my lethargy by inviting me 
out with him after he gets off work on Saturday night.

Phil picks me up in his dark blue 51 Mercury pussy car. We smoke a 
joint and then head downtown. We have heard of Fifth and Central as a 
place to pick up whores. I have never been with a whore, so I have no 
idea what to expect. I have read about whores, but they've been 
romantic ones like Robert E. Lee Pruitt's whore, played by Donna Reed 
in the movie From Here to Eternity. I guess, that depiction, of 
whores, was underdone in the movie; but James Jones' book didn't help 
me out either. I just could not imagine the give-and-take socializing 
of the New Congress Club as a required prelude to getting fucked. Who 
needs that?

We cruise around Fifth and Central, going around the block several 
times, seeing some *negras*, black women, who could be whores, looking
out at the cars driving by. They don't appeal to us, so we keep on 
cruising. 

We spot a young good looking woman. Phil slows down and pulls up to 
the curb. She knows that we are interested because just as Phil rolls 
down his window and has barely started to utter "How much," the whore 
speaks. 

"Five and one for the room." 

The whore is nice looking up close, even more enticing than from a 
distance. I wonder, as Phil parks the car, if we are both going to 
fuck her? 

She is waiting for us and guides us into the hotel that she apparently
works out of. There is an older *negra* leaning against the wall, 
looking at us, fingering her pussy through her dress. 

"Do you want her?" the younger whore asks me. Seeing my negative head 
movement, the young girl transmits to the older whore via body 
language the news that she is not desired by me. 

"I got a hot pussy," the old whore says to me, as we pass, looking
directly into my eyes, suggestively licking her thick lips. "A really 
good hot pussy," she reiterates. 

For a moment, I wonder if I am not passing up something good. But, she
looks too used up, too old, probably over 40, for me. After Anna's 
fine sixteen year old body, I want someone a little better looking 
than a tired old Negro whore. 

I look over at the young whore, but I realize that because Phil is 
driving, he expects to be allowed the choice of the cathouse litter, 
and I agree, even if we have not discussed it. He is driving. It is 
simple courtesy.

Then mine arrives, wearing a business suit. She could be a school 
teacher, or something like that. She doesn't look like a whore. I like
that. She is about 30, maybe more. I can't tell age. I am too young; I
think that 30 is old. But, she isn't bad looking. She is about 5'5, 
maybe as much as 145 pounds, with dark skin, the way I want a *negra* 
to look. I am not interested in an African woman that looks white. She
has decent size lips too, African lips, but not ugly, and an African 
nose, but again not ugly. Just African right. I agree to go with her. 

In the hotel room, she takes off her skirt, but leaves the top of her 
suit on. She is an efficient business woman, I guess. Maybe she 
figures that because I am young I am going to blow my wad in a minute,
so why bother removing the top? In a way, I don't mind that she leaves
on her top because it kind of reminds me of fucking Anna with her 
dress on. I won't get to suck her black tits, but I like the idea of 
sex with clothes on. There is an aspect about it that appeals to me.

She lays back on the bad, spreads her dark thick thighed legs and 
calls to me, "Come on honey, I'm ready for you." 

I take off my trousers and am amazed that I do not have a hardon. 
Obviously, there is something about this situation that is keeping me 
deflated. I have the urge, in my mind to fuck her, but my cock is 
saying otherwise. Being an experienced girl, she reaches to me, 
playing with my cock with her brown fingers, urging me to get between 
her legs. I move myself onto my knees between between her split 
thighs. She massages my prick, and in a few seconds I have achieved a 
reasonable though not terribly exciting hardness. She pulls me into 
her, gripping my cock like a short hose, and sticks me in. I thrust at
her, feeling my cock inside of her pussy, and my tan belly slaps 
against her dark one. I lean on my hands, and watch my cock fucking 
into her kinky haired pussy. I am mildly astounded that I am not 
feeling that same wonderful overwhelming eroticism that I had felt a 
few days earlier with Anna.

"I'm cumming" she says but I just know that she isn't. I have read 
about whores saying those things, but I still find it incredible that 
they can be so stupid to say those things. But, I am hearing it, so I 
am wrong about that. Maybe some guys like it. But, I don't; in fact I 
think that it makes me even less hard. 

It takes me a long time to cum, but she is a dedicated worker, and 
sticks to it until I gush. I collapse on top of her clothed breasts 
where she lets me rest for a moment. 

"Honey, I got to get up." 

I get off of her. 

As she walks away, legs bowed, one hand between her thighs, stemming 
the flow, I see, between the crack of her big chocolate ass cheeks, my
semen dripping from the curly hair. It's a sight that I know I will 
never forget. Totally worth the price of admission, the phony "I'm 
cumming," and the black tits I never got to suck. This night will 
remain a night I will never regret, a night I will always remember, a 
moment in dark L.A. when my white cum oozed from a Negro whore's 
pussy.


*** stories by RAM.