The face that I had always considered too plain, now looked bright and full of life. The hair that I had always tried to tame, looked wonderfully curl...y. Was this James’ doing? Or stranger still, was it mine? Had these features always been there, and I had just never noticed? I looked over the jean shorts and t-shirt I was wearing, wondering if I needed to put more effort into my outfit. This was me, James had known me most of my life, and he had never complained about my clothing before. I. "What are you talking about?" Your mom, she's black and so she's a cock hungry slut," Michael shrugged, watching me suck my finger clean. "If you think she isn't, put your money where your mouth is." You're going to get seriously slapped in a second," I told him. "That's my mom you're talking about." So? If she's a slut then I'm not lying," he said. "If she isn't, I'll apologize and make it up to you." You really want to bet?" I asked."Yeah, let's bet on it." Bet what?" I giggled because this. He was tall, six foot three, and muscular. He had curly brown hair, that if not well kept would end up in an afro look. He was the typical American athlete, football, wrestling, and cross country, along with track and field. I was smitten with his country boy charm. He was complemented me perfectly. I was five foot three, slender bodied, reddish brown hair, and brown eyes.We sat there for hours. We were cuddled up watching the fields. We drank coffee from the thermos, keeping our minds and eyes. She dug her high heels into his kidneys, scratched her nails into his arms and the back of his neck barely just holding on. As the muscles in her crotch clenched, she felt every swollen inch of his cock as it passed in and out of her. “Come on, Mia,” Miguel urged with a deep, raspy breath, “Up.”He withdrew for a moment and pulled Mia up from the sofa. Moving her at will, he repositioned her, bending her forward over against the back of the sofa. Mia's breaths quickened then strained as she.