After I parted ways with Susan, the pendulum of my sexual appetite swung in the opposite direction away from white girls and I assimilated a bad case of jungle fever. I had always been partial to females with darker complexions but never really found a liking toward jigaboos. But when I was introduced to Honey at a local college campus while visiting one of my friends, the chemistry between us was immediate. My swagger had made a favorable impression on her and I was most certainly interested in tasting her chocolate crack.

Honey was probably the most sensual black girl that I have ever tasted. She was eighteen-years old, a freshman in college, and didn’t have a hint of ghetto in her. Not in her speech or mannerisms. Honey had golden-brown eyes and ebony skin but she was all pink inside. Her toned body came complete with an onion ass that was so delectable that it made me cry just from looking at it. Her breasts were so firm that they never bounced or swayed, even while she rode me. Honey’s most desirous sexual idiosyncrasy, however, was that she could move her hips in ways that white girls could only dream about doing.

Honey lived in a college dormitory that had strict regulations about dudes being in the rooms with the female residents after hours. The Resident Assistant never questioned me about what business a grown man had on the girls’ floor of the dorm, but she was definitely stern about making sure that I left before midnight. Occasionally, after I kicked Honey’s roommate out of their room so that I could polish my black pearl in peace, I would stay well past the appointed curfew hour. When these contingencies transpired, I would usually have to creep down the opposite end of the hall after the Resident Assistant passed by Honey’s room on her nightly rounds. These escape attempts were sometimes foiled by the other dorm girls glaring at me as I walked out of Honey’s room while zipping up my pants, with my hair messed up and my clothes badly wrinkled. I never got angry with the hater hos, though, because I figured that the other girls were just jealous that they were not sexy enough to get a piece of Keaton too.

While making a house call to Honey’s dorm room one particular evening, I encountered congested traffic when I pulled onto her university campus. Once I finally made it through the front gate of campus, after enduring several minutes of delay behind rows of cars ahead of me, I spotted one of the campus security guards. Rolling down my car window, I asked the guard, “Hey, what’s going on here? What’s with all these damn people?”

“Are you here to meet the Colts?” the guard asked me.

I wrinkled my face in response. “The who?”

“The Indianapolis Colts.”

“Fuck, no,” I said. “I’m here to get my swerve on with my female. What the hell do I want to see some baseball team for?”

The security guard laughed at my comments. “It’s a football team, sir. If you’re not here to watch them practice then you can pull on down that road and take a left. But don’t park in the dormitory lots. Those are reserved for the players.”

“What do you mean?”

Looking somewhat annoyed at this point, the security guard said, “The team is staying in one of the dorms back there. Students can’t park over there.” Waving me along, the security guard began addressing the movements of the other cars behind me. I followed his instructions and traveled down the designated campus road, away from the congested traffic piling into the first few parking lots that were located next to the highway.

Making my way toward Honey’s dormitory, I found the adjacent lot full of luxury import cars and massive SUV’s with ridiculously large, chrome wheels. I was not sure if there was a rap concert taking place somewhere nearby or if one of the brothers on campus was throwing a drug party. After thoroughly searching the parking lot over, I located one, lone space that was between a 7-series BMW and an E-Class Mercedes-Benz. I backed my Nissan into the spot, got out of my car, and proceeded to walk toward Honey’s dormitory, which was immediately next to the building that was apparently being occupied by the football team.

Before I made five steps away from my vehicle, a Lincoln truck had pulled up in front of my path. Two very large, black guys stepped out of the truck and confronted me. They were clearly players for the Indianapolis Colts but I did not know who exactly they were and I did not care to ask.

“Hey, cat, what’s going on?” one of the NFL players said to me.

I looked at the towering man in front of me, witnessing the several pounds of gold and diamond-encrusted jewelry that he had hanging around his neck, wrists, and stuck into his earlobes. “I’m just walking over there,” I replied, pointing to Honey’s dorm.

“How did you get back here?” the other NFL player of equal stature and commensurable attire asked me.

“I drove,” I blandly responded.

The two guys laughed and slapped each other in the chest. “This dude thinks he’s hard or something,” the first one chuckled to his teammate. “Alright, guy, you’re slick. I’ll give you that. So you want an autograph or what?”

A blank look was bestowed upon my face, my countenance innocent. “No,” I said with a bored tone.

“What you back here for then?” one of the hulks inquired.

“I just parked here to go see my female. I got some fuckin to do.”

“Well, this is our lot, guy,” the other man stated. “Students can’t park here and, see, you’re in my spot.”

I quickly looked at the two professional football players and announced, “I’m not a student,” and then walked away. With poo-faced expressions on their mugs, the two NFL players momentarily stood in place, looking after me. As I reached the front steps of Honey’s dormitory, the teammates got back inside their Lincoln truck and drove off, searching for an alternate parking space.

A jiffy later, I made it upstairs to Honey’s dorm room and gave her a proper greeting: a full embrace with a thickening erection protruding inside my pants. While Honey babbled about her experiences on campus from being the only black female in a nearly all-white male institution, I stripped naked and jumped inside her bed. I called the jungle bunny over to the bedside with a ‘come hither’ gesture of my index finger. As soon as her luscious ass hit the mattress, I went to work with shedding off her clothes.

Over the next twenty minutes, Honey’s soot-colored skin was beneath me, wrapped around me, and pressed up against me. Her dark flesh quickly became salty, glistening with sweat. My piss pump penetrated her sweltering snapper with little resistance. Although Honey claimed that she was a virgin before she met me, her vaginal receptacle remarkably accepted my sex piston with ease. I donated to her my full nine inches of Keaton stake, causing her to moan loudly.

Atop the dorm room bed, Honey twisted and gyrated her hips into me. She fondled my sack while straddling me with her taut thighs. I took healthy handfuls of her breasts as Honey flagellated her hips into my pelvis in such a manner that I swore that she had an extra vertebrae or two in her back that allowed her to contort how she did. During her skin-to-skin throes of pleasure, Honey whisked her body backward and then quickly leaned forward into my chest. As she was doing so, flocks of her hair landed in my eye. I suddenly became blind.

“Ouch, what—what was that?” I said, trying to blink away the pain. Honey continued to oscillate her hips back and forth on top of me while kissing my neck. I moved the spook’s head to the side and tried to rub my left eye with my hand. The pain intensified. “Wait… wait,” I stated, trying to slow Honey’s luscious ass movements. “Hold on… I got something in my—damn that hurts.”

Honey sat up, still straddling me. “What is it?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

With my hand clenched into a fist, I tried to rub the stinging sensation away from my eye. “No, it’s just that… there’s something in my eye. And it hurts—bad!” I moved the young girl from off top of me, got out of bed, and staggered over to Honey’s closet. “There’s something in your hair,” I said while vigorously rubbing my eye with a towel from Honey’s hamper. “It burns.”

“That must be my straightener,” Honey replied.

I looked at myself in the wall mirror with my remaining, good eye. “Your what?”

“It’s straightener,” Honey repeated. “It’s a chemical, like a shampoo, that makes your hair straight.”

“Is it supposed to blind people after you get naked with them?”

Honey laughed. “No, but it does hurt if you get it in your eye. I’ve had it in my eye before.”

“Well, that stuff’s gotta go,” I said, walking back to the bed, holding the towel to my eye.

“I tried telling you that black girls are different.”

I cleaned out my burning orbital the best that I could and then threw the towel over a chair. “Yeah, but I thought you meant in bed.”

“See, most people don’t realize what black girls gotta do with their hair,” Honey explained. “You can’t just wash it every day like other girls do. If you do that, it frizzes all out.”

Raising an eyebrow to this revelation, I stood at the foot of her bed, looking at Honey, and asked, “So how often do you wash your hair then?”

“About twice a week. And in between washings, I use straightener.”

“Oh, so is that why it’s all shiny and stuff?”

Honey smiled and sprawled out onto her back. “It’s not all shiny,” she said, spreading her legs to reveal her scraggily nun bush. Her hands made their way toward her inner thighs and then converged upon her clammy box. My gaze followed.

“Well, look,” I commented, staring at her afro pubes, “I’m all about going down south but, ah… not unless you get a trim first.”

“I don’t use straightener down there!” Honey stated.

“I can see that but choking to death on a hairball is a close second to going blind!”

“Why don’t you come over here and show me how sexy you think I am,” Honey responded.

I shirked off my concerns over chemical blindness and then proceeded to hide my white sausage inside the black coed.

In the days following this event, I could not get over the fact that Honey’s hair was quite bothersome to me. She finally shaved her nun bush as I had requested but it did little to bolster my arousal. Honey still maintained a nappy scalp. Nevertheless, I laid pipe into her as often as I could, right up until the time that Honey left for a summer internship. Although I promised to wait for her to return, my loyalty lasted for approximately two days before I was stuck inside some other knee-walking, gutter-crawling slut. Honey and I never hooked up again but she had left a spicy taste in my mouth that no white girl could totally satisfy.

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