The year was 1985. I was walking on Third Avenue in New York City, probably going to the store for no good reason. It was a gorgeous day. On the corner, a cab stopped at the light. The car was free and the driver smiled at me as I passed in front of his vehicle. I couldn't help but notice how drop-dead gorgeous he was: exceptionally handsome face, long, raven-black hair. I was immediately attracted to him. I raised my hand to hail him down, and he pulled to the curb to let me in. I sat in the front seat. The sexual magnetism between us was break-the-Richter-scale material. I wasn't there to be his fare and he wasn't there to be my driver.
Bear in mind, this was the '80s. Right before things like AIDS and safe sex became part of life as we now know it — the idea of casual sex and instant sexual gratification were not only considered normal, but appropriate for the times. It was cool to have sex with anyone you wanted back then and we did it freely, happily and without conscience. While the '60s may have been the era that ushered in the concept of free sex, it wasn’t until the '80s that we really got our freak on. As soon as HIV hit the scene, we all knew that the game had changed forever. As it grew into an epidemic, our days of unsafe sex slowed to halt — for those of us who were using our brains, anyway. I'm just saying that back then — as stupid and reckless as we truly were — we had a damned good time of it.
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So there I was, in a stranger's taxi on a beautiful day. Turns out that the driver — whom I will call Nile — was hilarious. Not only adorable, but a comic genius. His sense of humor was so off the chain that I just decided to drive around with him all day long. We picked up passengers and drove them everywhere. And, as the day got on, we decided to go to a motel — and I mean a real, vile, disgusting 'one-hour' motel somewhere in Queens.
I'd never done anything like that in my life, but I was unafraid and willing to take a chance. Sure, these days, the thought of such a thing is enough to give you five heart attacks in a row, but back then, we were all fearless. And I was absolutely fearless, and in some odd primal way, it paid off.
I'd never been with a guy who was mainly interested in pleasing me. In fact, every guy I'd ever been with had turned out to be an "I get off, you don't, and then I fall asleep" type of lover. Why I ever went back for more was always a mystery to me, because my experience until that point had shown me that guys enjoy sex to get off, and they don't really care about the woman's orgasm. Anyway, all that changed with Nile.
Nile had no qualms whatsoever about going down on me, right there, first thing. I don't even think I took my clothes off. I don't even think he took his clothes off either. All I know was that by the time we reached the bed, he was nose-deep in my stuff. And let me tell you: it was a calling for him. This was no regular ol' guy; this was The Cunnilingus King. There was no one higher than Nile when it came to this specialty. He set the gold standard for goin' down. If an award could be given for this act, then Nile would be able to fill mansions with hard-earned trophies. I went from a slightly inhibited free spirit to a screeching sex banshee in a matter of a few wondrous, slowly paced minutes.
In fact, I'm fairly sure that this was what he needed to be doing with his life. After being with Nile several times, I really believed that every woman on Earth would benefit from a night with this incredible lover. No woman should be denied a night with Nile. It was just how I felt. And if every single heterosexual man could just study this guy in action, the world — all of it — would be a happier place to live.
And, to boot, he really didn't care about much else in the sex department. Oh sure, he liked to be pleasured as well, and the act of coitus was just as lovely to him as anything else. But nothing brought out the best in this guy like bringing a woman to a full throttle, massive overhaul orgasm with the simple use of his tongue and his fingers.
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I stayed with Nile for almost five years. The funny thing was, we really couldn't stand each other after a while. We were in love, but not so much. We fought all the time, but I'm pretty sure that was all so we'd have a good excuse to get to the make-up sex, which was all about — you guessed it! — pleasing me. Phew, the things I did to keep the peace. Keep reading...
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