AbrahamLincoln's Blogs

 I love black bodies and cocks. Something real special about them. Maybe lots of things. The sizes are legendary. Muscular, wiry-haired bodies - underarms, chests, bellies, pubes, buttcracks. Loads of hot, creamy cum.

I was watching a vid about a white guy in a fuck club with five black guys. I envied him so. Got so horned up I decided I had to go get me some right now, this night. I had heard of an all-black club - a bar - in the rural countryside and determined to go find it. That was not much of a problem.

It was the only building on a lonely stretch of road near the coast. Nothing elaborate, just a wooden building with a big, gravel, sand and shell parking lot. No exterior lights, shaded windows. I parked my van at the end of a row of other vehicles.

Went into the club and straight to the bar like it was home. The club was busy. About a dozen guys, three hot looking women. A small elevated dance floor with a couple of poles at each end. A honey, naked as the day she was born was doing her stuff to one of the poles, then across the floor in many postures, lots of hand touching of herself, to the other pole, to the edge of the stage, back, all around to the beat of the music.

I noticed right away most of the guys were ignoring her. The club women weren't getting much attention either. One was at the bar between a couple of guys, obviously pumping them for drinks and offering her wares. The other two were at tables; one sitting with three guys, the other with two guys.

The bar served only beer and mixers for BYOB customers. Several bottles were in view - brandy, some flavored, gin, vodka, whiskey. I perched on a bar stool with one on either side of me and ordered a Bud. As I drank my beer I turned to watch the dancer, my legs apart, package on display, lips and tongue working the head of the beer bottle.

Didn't take long. A middle-aged guy came to the bar on my left hand side as I faced the center of the room, still watching the dancer. He stood beside the stool, close to me, close enough I could smell his nice cologne. He leaned on the bar and ordered a Sprite (tm). When the glass of ice and bottle of Sprite was served, he poured two fingers of vodka into the glass and topped it off with the bubbly, clear soda. Took a drink, then turned to me.

"You looking for some pussy, man?" he asked. "Like that black girl?"

Smiling at him, I answered, "No sir, not, but she is okay."

"Whaddaya want then, man?" he grinned back at me. "We don't get white dudes in here much."

"Well, I guess a good answer is, I want what the ladies in here want," I answered.

"Alright," he said. "You ain't no more subtle than me. Let me buy you a drink." Without waiting for my answer, he ordered another set up - a glass with ice and a Sprite. The bartender brought it over. My benefactor poured the two fingers of vodka from his bottle. I added the Sprite and took a swallow.

He let his hairy arm brush against my arm between us. "I ain't got much time, man. I got a bitchy wife at home, her mother and a houseful of kids. You wanna get what you came to get now?"

"Sure," I said.

"So let's go to the john," he suggested, draping his arm around my shoulder.

"I have a better idea," I countered, "let's go outside to the parking lot. I have a van with a mattress in the back."

We gulped down our drinks, sat the glasses on the bar. I got off the stool, picked up my bottle of beer. We walked out his arm around my waist. Everyone appeared to be going on about their business or pleasure, but they were looking, trying not to be obvious about it.