Morocco
- 1 year ago
- 12
- 0
Thoughts From Club Med: Morocco free porn video
[ For my very good friends A&T. This one's for you (again), and anyone else who finds the cuckold/interracial lifestyle an appealing one. ]
It felt good to masturbate. It always did. Though perhaps difficult to explain to someone else, I preferred masturbating to having intercourse. This was not new. Before I had ever met Mara and we began dating (and later when we got married) masturbation was my primary preference for sexual release, instead of intercourse. There were various factors for this. I suppose that the biggest factor had to do with that I had a rather small cock (somewhere just under five inches when erect, and much small than that, when flaccid). Before I met Mara I'd dated some. But when it came to having sex---my considerably undersized cock wasn't especially inspiring to the women I knew then; and then there was the issue that when I did have intercourse (rare though that had always been), I couldn't seem to 'last' more than a few moments, at the most before I'd ejaculate---and leaving the woman disappointed, and more than a little frustrated. To say the least, I tended to dread the moment when sex was a real possibility, and that, in turn, created a negative feed-back loop that you could rightly call 'performance anxiety!'
So, it was with tremendous relief (for me) when I met Mara and started dating her, because she said she fully understood my anxiety about sex (and my personal preference for masturbation). Furthermore, she said she liked me a lot, and that we didn't really need to have sex to date; and that's how it applied (eventually) to when we decided to get married. It might sound strange that I'd be relieved to no longer fret over my sexual performance issues (nor over the small size of my cock), as well as seriously consider marrying Mara; but for me, it was the most perfect situation imaginable!
But when I say that I was relieved to no longer worry about being sexually disappointing, that doesn't mean that Mara and I had no sexual contact. We did, but to understand what that meant for us, you have to try and understand that sex is not necessarily the most important and significant aspect of a marriage relationship; though it often is, there are many other aspects that go to make up a loving, committed relationship. For Mara and I, there were many other intimacies that we shared; but sex was rarely one of them.
Mara has always been completely open and honest with me that though she loved me, she still found herself attracted to other men (and to African men in particular). She had apparently always found African men very intriguing. What was more, she confided to me that she'd always wanted to be pregnant by an African man. Mara was very determined to oppose racism wherever it was. She knew a considerable amount about the subject. It was interesting to me. I learned a lot about the history of Africans, and the despicable things whites had done to them for many centuries. For Mara, having an African man's baby (or even many such c***dren) was the one, perfect solution to combating racism. As long as 'whites' had 'white' babies, and blacks had black babies, the races would forever be separated. There was no such thing as 'separate and equal' as far as Mara was concerned; and I agreed with her.
Even before she and I were married, I already knew that Mara wasn't inclined to have yet another Caucasian baby. There were already more than enough of them in the world; which, in one way, was part of the perpetual problem of racism. So, the day Mara and I were married, I knew, even as we exchanged our vows, that none of the c***dren that would one day live under our roof were going to be 'mine', in the biological sense, but that of a strong African male. In fact, I knew that Mara was determined to have more than just one black c***d. She wanted MANY! Of course, none of our families had any idea about our decision. It wasn't anyone business anyway. If they liked it, or didn't, it was clear that Mara was definitely going to give her womb, and her reproductive abilities, to the birthing of African-fathered c***dren...and I was determined to support her in that, as well!
On our wedding night, we engaged in some physical playfulness together. We kissed. We cuddled. We were happy to be married; but sex wasn't part of that honeymoon night; and that was fine! When we switched off the lights and went to sleep, I remained awake for a long time. I was so happy that Mara and I were married. I was so lucky to have such a young, and truly beautiful wife, as Mara. My heart was so full of happiness. But later on in the night I woke up with a hard on. I'd been having a dream, that involved Mara in the strong embrace of a very well-built, and very beautifully black African man; and they were having sex. I laid there for a while recalling certain details, and then I got up, and as quietly as I could, so that I didn't wake Mara, I made my way in the dimness of the hotel room to the restroom. I went in, and then closed the door quietly behind me.
My cock, and though quite small, was poking up and outward against the fabric of my baggy undershorts. I pulled the elastic waistband down far enough to let my cock spring out into the open air. I silently began stroking it. Up, and then down, up, and then down; and as I did, there came that tingling, exciting pleasure, that I enjoyed so much. I watched myself in the large mirror above the sink in front of me; my small cock head bobbing slightly, up and down, as I held it loosely in my hand.
There I was, newly married, my new and lovely bride was in the bed just outside the restroom, asleep, and yet I wasn't engaging in the typical honeymoon night sex as most other newly married couples did at this time. Instead, I was masturbating, and as I masturbated, I was feeling incredibly excited, and more than a little exhilarated at the thought of my wife having sex with some other man, and an African man, especially; but the real thrill was that she would conceive a baby with him, rather than mine!
The particular thought sent a strong wave of sexual energy through me, and I knew that it wouldn't be long at all before I was at the point of ejaculating my sperm (that would never find it's way into my young brides womb)! It didn't take long. When I felt the orgasm rising upwards fast, my hand automatically sped up, and suddenly, as I began ejaculating, I watched, fascinated, as my semen spurt outwards, the first three came quite forcefully, and was followed quickly by four or five other spurts of sperm.
The pleasure was so exquisite! My heart was pounding like mad in my chest, and in my neck, as my hand kept stroking my throbbing cock until I had no more sperm to expend! I wanted to groan out loud with the deep, and very satisfying pleasure, but I didn't wish to disturb Mara's sleep; and so I leaned against the edge of the sink, staring down at the sperm I'd just ejaculated. There, as it slowly dripped down the curving side of the sink bowl, was my genetic history---going to waste---and almost more than anything else, it was that precise thought that thrilled me so very much. None of my family's genetics was ever going to go beyond me. They didn't realize that, of course; or not at that point in time, but they would eventually understand the significance of that. When Mara's belly grew bigger and bigger, and the time of her delivery arrived, and she gave birth, then our families would understand!
I kept looking down at my sperm in the sink. I felt no regret at all that I'd just 'wasted' my own genetic potential. If anything, I felt...proud that I had. I would step aside and make way for another man's sperm, another man's genetic history, become part of Mara's; and I'd leave mine (my genetics) to waste away; like it was in that hotel room sink. If Mara's contribution to fighting racism was giving her womb to an African man's sperm, then my contribution was to make sure that not a drop of my sperm every made to Mara's womb. That, as far as I was concerned, was the ultimate way of bringing to an end the white racist narrative at long last.
The End
It felt good to masturbate. It always did. Though perhaps difficult to explain to someone else, I preferred masturbating to having intercourse. This was not new. Before I had ever met Mara and we began dating (and later when we got married) masturbation was my primary preference for sexual release, instead of intercourse. There were various factors for this. I suppose that the biggest factor had to do with that I had a rather small cock (somewhere just under five inches when erect, and much small than that, when flaccid). Before I met Mara I'd dated some. But when it came to having sex---my considerably undersized cock wasn't especially inspiring to the women I knew then; and then there was the issue that when I did have intercourse (rare though that had always been), I couldn't seem to 'last' more than a few moments, at the most before I'd ejaculate---and leaving the woman disappointed, and more than a little frustrated. To say the least, I tended to dread the moment when sex was a real possibility, and that, in turn, created a negative feed-back loop that you could rightly call 'performance anxiety!'
So, it was with tremendous relief (for me) when I met Mara and started dating her, because she said she fully understood my anxiety about sex (and my personal preference for masturbation). Furthermore, she said she liked me a lot, and that we didn't really need to have sex to date; and that's how it applied (eventually) to when we decided to get married. It might sound strange that I'd be relieved to no longer fret over my sexual performance issues (nor over the small size of my cock), as well as seriously consider marrying Mara; but for me, it was the most perfect situation imaginable!
But when I say that I was relieved to no longer worry about being sexually disappointing, that doesn't mean that Mara and I had no sexual contact. We did, but to understand what that meant for us, you have to try and understand that sex is not necessarily the most important and significant aspect of a marriage relationship; though it often is, there are many other aspects that go to make up a loving, committed relationship. For Mara and I, there were many other intimacies that we shared; but sex was rarely one of them.
Mara has always been completely open and honest with me that though she loved me, she still found herself attracted to other men (and to African men in particular). She had apparently always found African men very intriguing. What was more, she confided to me that she'd always wanted to be pregnant by an African man. Mara was very determined to oppose racism wherever it was. She knew a considerable amount about the subject. It was interesting to me. I learned a lot about the history of Africans, and the despicable things whites had done to them for many centuries. For Mara, having an African man's baby (or even many such c***dren) was the one, perfect solution to combating racism. As long as 'whites' had 'white' babies, and blacks had black babies, the races would forever be separated. There was no such thing as 'separate and equal' as far as Mara was concerned; and I agreed with her.
Even before she and I were married, I already knew that Mara wasn't inclined to have yet another Caucasian baby. There were already more than enough of them in the world; which, in one way, was part of the perpetual problem of racism. So, the day Mara and I were married, I knew, even as we exchanged our vows, that none of the c***dren that would one day live under our roof were going to be 'mine', in the biological sense, but that of a strong African male. In fact, I knew that Mara was determined to have more than just one black c***d. She wanted MANY! Of course, none of our families had any idea about our decision. It wasn't anyone business anyway. If they liked it, or didn't, it was clear that Mara was definitely going to give her womb, and her reproductive abilities, to the birthing of African-fathered c***dren...and I was determined to support her in that, as well!
On our wedding night, we engaged in some physical playfulness together. We kissed. We cuddled. We were happy to be married; but sex wasn't part of that honeymoon night; and that was fine! When we switched off the lights and went to sleep, I remained awake for a long time. I was so happy that Mara and I were married. I was so lucky to have such a young, and truly beautiful wife, as Mara. My heart was so full of happiness. But later on in the night I woke up with a hard on. I'd been having a dream, that involved Mara in the strong embrace of a very well-built, and very beautifully black African man; and they were having sex. I laid there for a while recalling certain details, and then I got up, and as quietly as I could, so that I didn't wake Mara, I made my way in the dimness of the hotel room to the restroom. I went in, and then closed the door quietly behind me.
My cock, and though quite small, was poking up and outward against the fabric of my baggy undershorts. I pulled the elastic waistband down far enough to let my cock spring out into the open air. I silently began stroking it. Up, and then down, up, and then down; and as I did, there came that tingling, exciting pleasure, that I enjoyed so much. I watched myself in the large mirror above the sink in front of me; my small cock head bobbing slightly, up and down, as I held it loosely in my hand.
There I was, newly married, my new and lovely bride was in the bed just outside the restroom, asleep, and yet I wasn't engaging in the typical honeymoon night sex as most other newly married couples did at this time. Instead, I was masturbating, and as I masturbated, I was feeling incredibly excited, and more than a little exhilarated at the thought of my wife having sex with some other man, and an African man, especially; but the real thrill was that she would conceive a baby with him, rather than mine!
The particular thought sent a strong wave of sexual energy through me, and I knew that it wouldn't be long at all before I was at the point of ejaculating my sperm (that would never find it's way into my young brides womb)! It didn't take long. When I felt the orgasm rising upwards fast, my hand automatically sped up, and suddenly, as I began ejaculating, I watched, fascinated, as my semen spurt outwards, the first three came quite forcefully, and was followed quickly by four or five other spurts of sperm.
The pleasure was so exquisite! My heart was pounding like mad in my chest, and in my neck, as my hand kept stroking my throbbing cock until I had no more sperm to expend! I wanted to groan out loud with the deep, and very satisfying pleasure, but I didn't wish to disturb Mara's sleep; and so I leaned against the edge of the sink, staring down at the sperm I'd just ejaculated. There, as it slowly dripped down the curving side of the sink bowl, was my genetic history---going to waste---and almost more than anything else, it was that precise thought that thrilled me so very much. None of my family's genetics was ever going to go beyond me. They didn't realize that, of course; or not at that point in time, but they would eventually understand the significance of that. When Mara's belly grew bigger and bigger, and the time of her delivery arrived, and she gave birth, then our families would understand!
I kept looking down at my sperm in the sink. I felt no regret at all that I'd just 'wasted' my own genetic potential. If anything, I felt...proud that I had. I would step aside and make way for another man's sperm, another man's genetic history, become part of Mara's; and I'd leave mine (my genetics) to waste away; like it was in that hotel room sink. If Mara's contribution to fighting racism was giving her womb to an African man's sperm, then my contribution was to make sure that not a drop of my sperm every made to Mara's womb. That, as far as I was concerned, was the ultimate way of bringing to an end the white racist narrative at long last.
The End
Myra
- 17.04.2021
- 21
- 0
