“I’ve really got to meet my quota,” she pressed. She asked if I was willing to go to an automatic teller machine. I really wasn’t interested. ... could tell my turn down was frustrating for her.“Is there any possible way.” she pressed, “we could work this out?”Damn!“Well...” I replied, “you tell me.”She smiled. It was pretty obvious what I wanted. Her eyes darted towards my crotch and then back to mine. I smiled.“So you don’t have any cash?” she pressed.“No,” I repeated.She bit down on her lower. At one point, I even went into a gay bar that was near the campus with the hope of meeting up with someone, but walked out not too long after I went in.By the time we graduated college it had become an obsession. I would see black men and picture myself on my knees, pleasuring them. I'd picture myself being forced to suck them as I feigned innocence and disgust. I would think about how long and thick their dicks were, and obsess over BBC interracial porn. My girl and I had sex less and less at. More

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