I have always been attracted to black men. When I met "Ron"he was single, but I was the one who was engaged. We had a hot affair that lasted for a few weeks, and then I broke it off, right at the same time I broke off my unhappy engagement.Then, several years later, we ran into each other in an American bookstore here in Paris. Damn. He was looking hotter than he was the last time I saw him. His beautiful black skin...nice white teeth...But “I’m married now, he tells me”…and I hated it. I’m single and free and was ready to jump his bones again right in the bookstore. The chemistry has always been dangerous between us. Not only was it physical, but mental, even spiritual. But I knew that if I played this game, it would be dangerous. But I wanted him. I needed him. I didn’t care about his French wife named Sophie. I cared about us, getting together…and soon.

A week later it happened. He called and I took the plunge. We met for drinks. It would just be drinks, I told myself. Conversation. I won’t sleep with him, but deep inside I knew I would. I had to. After three rounds of martinis we ended up in the bathroom of the bar tearing each others clothes off. It was fast and hard, and I loved every second of it. Every time I close my eyes I see our bodies pressed together, and now I have the problem of yearning for him nonstop. Sometimes the longing is so bad I hate I ever had him again. Now I see him once a week, or more if he can get away. Our relationship is a mixture of joy and pain at the same time…with a little bit of regret thrown in. Addiction at it’s worst. If only I hadn’t been in the bookstore that day.

*Submitted by H. S.

Be first to comment on this article

Only registered users can write comments.
Please login or register.