The Frenchman Who Loved Me. (Part 1)

It felt good to be around him. He was so kind and too nice. Perhaps my emotions were over-riding my sense of reason. This, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I was strongly attracted to this man. Seated on the couch with him in his house, trying to make small talk. I felt a bit nervous…which was so unlike me. My heart was racing with anticipation. It’s too soon, I inwardly told myself. We should both hold out for a while, try to be friends first and really get to know each other, I was thinking. My eyes were focused on the wide screen before me but I wasn’t really looking. I was full of uncertainty. Then suddenly his hand lay on mine and my eyes darted back to him. He flashed his lazy smile, his moustache curving upwards along with his lips, revealing shiny white teeth…his eyes looking at me closely with intent as he leaned in to kiss me. I shifted on the couch to face him and my hand flew to his beard and caressed it….he paused, and we both just stared into each other’s eyes. Maybe it was the rugged look that had drawn me in, I didn’t know. Perhaps it was the French accent. Or was it his satin smooth olive coloured skin tone which left no questions about his ethnicity. His beautiful extra wide chest….the veins all over his strong hands….the hands of a hard worker. I knew then that I was floored. I was infatuated with one of God’s creations and he was right in front of me. Ready for the taking. I couldn’t hold back anymore. And even as he got up, his tall, well-built majestic self standing before me, getting hold of my hand, silently leading me to the bedroom…..I knew there was no turning back.

He lay on top of me. His thrusts came quick and hard, his engorged self pounding into me, I bit back the screams, he paused, brushing a hand over my mouth, muffling my screams in the process. Then he lowered his head and his lips replaced his hand, hungrily kissing me …a long sensual dripping kiss. I tightened my grip on his back. I could feel him between my legs, big, long and hard, in my most private of places…throbbing with desire. I looked into his eyes, arched my back and raised my hips to receive him, closed my eyes and let my head draw backwards….I offered myself to him to do as he pleased. It was going to be a beautiful thing. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Would I be able to walk out of here?

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Response to Dr Warren Smith Kizza Besigye Kifefe’s False Claim on Dialogue

Dear Rich 30 years from now,