Damn, she’s got a fat-ass pussy!
I was sitting at my desk at 10:15 a.m. with some morning wood that wouldn’t go away.
Shit!
This chick, Nadine, was making my blood boil. If I actually ever got my hands on her, she was getting the dick-down of the motherfucking century.

“Wes, you there?”

Aw hell, now she was bending over so I could view her pussy from the back.
Umph! Umph! Umph!
Wes Holmes pressed over some pussy? Never that, but …
damn!

A tap came at the door. “Wes, you there?”

It never failed. Whenever I was locked away in my home office, trying to watch my morning virtual pussy, here Lisa would come.

“I’ll be right out, Lisa!” I yelled, though that wasn’t even necessary. As thin as our walls were in our crib, I could’ve whispered and she would’ve heard me. That’s why I always kept my speakers on mute. Lisa and I had enough damn drama without her knowing about my computer pastime.

Nadine was now sitting on her bed, playing in that fat pussy for me. She had her head thrown back and was holding her pussy open with one hand while digging herself out with the fingers of her other hand.

Yeah, pull all that juice out, baby!
I licked my lips once … twice … three times. I wanted to taste all that, suck on that thick clit, and bury my nose in between her juicy pussy lips.

I desperately needed to jack off real quick and release my built-up nut but Lisa wasn’t about to leave me alone for another ten minutes and whatnot. She was excited about going to pick out a wedding cake.

I understood it was fucked up. Engaged to my college sweetheart, planning a big wedding because she insisted on one, and sweating Nadine’s pussy on the Internet all at the same time. It was never my intention but shit, reckless behavior rarely is intentional. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t doing any harm. It’s not like I could get to the pussy. Nadine lived in Jamaica and there wasn’t a chance in hell of me running into her ass in the dirty Bronx.

“Wes, the baker insisted that we be there by eleven. We need to go.”

I could hear the irritation in Lisa’s voice. I loved her and never wanted to hurt her but, truth be told, Lisa’s pussy couldn’t hold a candle to Nadine’s. Even though I got to fuck, suck, and lick all over Lisa’s pussy every night, Nadine’s was calling my name all the way from Negril. What was a horny Negro supposed to do?

“Give me two minutes, Lisa. I swear, I’m coming.”

Nadine was sucking her pussy juice off her fingers and I damn near could taste it through the computer screen. My eyes were as wide as saucers.

I wanted to tell her how I envisioned nailing her against the wall and pumping my dick into her from the back, but I couldn’t risk saying it out loud so I typed it.

BIGWES6969: Damn, you got a fat pussy. I wish I could take all that shit doggy-style.

Nadine must have heard a beep or something on her computer because she stopped playing with herself, licked her fingers again, and then typed back.

PHATNNEGRIL: Funny you should mention that. I’m coming to NYC next week for my job.

I damn near busted one right then and there. My dick got even harder as I scooted up closer to my desk. I took my dick out of my sweats and started working one hand up and down the shaft while I typed back with the other. Lisa was going to have to wait.

BIGWES6969: Damn, for real? When you going to be here? I’ve got 11 inches calling out your name.

PHATNNEGRIL: I know all about that horse between your legs. I’m coming to get it.

True enough, Nadine had seen my dick plenty of times. When Lisa was fast asleep, I’d be in my office jacking off on the cam and exploding all over the laptop screen. I couldn’t explain it but for some reason this chick had my nose wide open. Maybe it was the fact that she was out of range. A lot of my buddies were feeling the same shit; wanting to conquer some pussy that they couldn’t realistically get to.

It’s not that men are bad; it is the nature of the hunt. When we already have a woman that we used to think was the shit before we got her, then we want the next one. Let me try to explain. A man sees a Lamborghini Superleggera and says to himself, “Damn, I gotta have that sexy motherfucker!” He sacrifices and
saves up to put a down payment on it, even if it takes years, and then he is beaming like a lighthouse when he pulls out of the lot. All eyes are on him as he cruises in his whip and every woman wants to fuck him because they think he has money. He gets so much pussy that he has to drink a gallon of water twice a day just to keep himself hydrated.

Fast forward a few months and the thrill is gone. He sees a Bugatti Veyron dip past him going 85 mph on the highway and all of a sudden, his Lambo might as well be a hooptie. He no longer feels like the man. So what does he do? He decides that he has to have a Bugatti and starts figuring out how much he can get for a trade-in. Or he desires to have them both; one to keep in the garage and the other to sport around in, depending on his mood of the day.

It’s the same way with women. Most men want a main chick or, like they say in pimponics, a bottom bitch. But we also want something in the garage to toy around with when the mood strikes us. And it is always, always about the hunt. When I was little, my mother made me read “A Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury, a short story about men who always wanted to hunt the next big thing, so much so that they paid to time travel and go back in history to hunt dinosaurs. They had hunted, and killed, every modern animal in existence. They had to stay on a path and not disturb anything or it would fuck up the equilibrium of history. So they could only kill dinosaurs that were about to die anyway, from fallen trees or whatnot. One dude, Eckels, fucked up big-time and caused a snowball effect that changed the course of history upon their return.

I mention that to say that I realized good and damn well that making plans to fuck the snot out of Nadine when she came to New York could upset the equilibrium of my relationship with
Lisa. As I sat there, whacking off, common sense told me that holding on to the Lamborghini that I had sacrificed so much for was the right thing to do. But glancing at the screen, Nadine had gone back to playing in her fat pussy … that damn Bugatti.

I could feel my cum building up, like a balloon expanding in a wooden box, and Lisa was tapping lightly on the door again.

“I’m coming!” I yelled out, telling the damn truth. I was coming, all right.

“I’ll go wait in the car. Hopefully, we’ll get there in time,” she responded through the door. I heard her huff off down the hall and, a few seconds later, the front door slammed.

I took that opportunity to turn up my speakers and microphone.

“Nadine …” I could feel it about to spurt out and grabbed a golf towel from on top of my set of clubs so I wouldn’t make my typical mess on the screen. Then I stood up and starting jerking off right to the cam, so she could see it. “Come see a man about a horse!

“Awwwww!” I came like a clap of thunder as Nadine giggled with delight. Even her laugh was sexy. “Shit! Look what you do to me,” I said as I caught about a pint of my nut in the towel.

“I wish I could swallow that down the back of my throat.” She touched the screen like she was trying to get ahold of my dick. “What a damn waste.”

“So what day you getting here?” I stuffed my dick back in my sweats. “I need to run. I’m headed to the gym.” It was a lie but I couldn’t say, “Thanks for letting me jerk off to your fat pussy. Now I need to go check out wedding cakes with my fiancée.”

“I’ll be there to ride that horse next Wednesday. Make sure you’re ready for all this.” Nadine spread her pussy lips open so I could get a clear visual of her clit. “I hope you can back all this
talk up. I can see the dick is big, but I hope you know how to use it.”

I chuckled. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t ever want to leave me.”

She grinned. “You might be right.”

I cut off the cam real quick before I started talking too much shit. I didn’t want Nadine catching feelings. It was all about the Bugatti and once I tapped that ass, she could head back to Jamaica and never hear from my ass again.

• • •

I was a pitiful excuse for a man; I’ll admit that. On the day Nadine arrived in New York, I was scheduled to go get a tuxedo fitting with my groomsmen. I told my best man and road dawg, Tony, to cover for me. If Lisa asked him how it went, he was all set to tell her that it went great and the fellas and I decided to go get some beers after the fitting, allowing me to stay out until bar closing time. In the Bronx, that could vary from one a.m. to all night. Matter of fact, Tony and the others did hang out that night, so I later discovered. They went to a new titty bar, though. I wasn’t mad at them. If I didn’t have a booty call waiting for me at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square, I would’ve been right up in there getting some lap dances my damn self.

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