So, yeah. I'm very much in love with my best friend. I can't quite get enough of her.
Beautifully unhinged in a neutral, mysterious kind of way, Ilya was a gorgeous Latina woman with a brilliant mind and the most incredible sense of humor I've ever come across in my life. She was witty, nice, charming. Not in the perky way either, which I personally find tiring to deal with. I could engage in a conversation with her for the longest time without getting bored for a minute. Meanwhile, one of her smiles can power a solar panel for days.
Of course, she isn't without flaws; Ilya can act pretty childish sometimes, but she gives great advice when people need it. She considers pretty much every side so she's mostly neutral, but she's also pragmatic in that she's aware there are correct choices, although not necessarily right by today's standards. She hates dancing, raisins, and warm pillows. On the other hand, she loves drinking, singing, and watching the trashiest movies in creation.
All these tiny details made up Ilya, the individual whom I loved for the past ten years. I'm way past that embarrassment in admitting it to myself.
I knew almost everything about her after all these years. I'm also painfully familiar with her dating habits--in that she basically dated different guys every month. Every time she breaks up with a dude, she barges into my house the next morning and proceeds to eat my food for the next week. Whenever it happened, I always uncontrollably wondered why she never touched or considered me. Especially when we get along so well.
Now I know what you're thinking. Mind you, I'm a conventionally attractive man with nice eyes and a well-built stature. God, it sounds fucking narcissistic when I say that, but it's true. I've been told I take after my mother, who was popular for being really pretty back then. Then my father with his height. So, I think I'm pretty blessed in that respect.
Many girls (and boys) constantly express their interest in me. When they do, they always either mention my green eyes, my curly dark-brown hair, or my tall, lean physique. In fact, for the better part of my college life, I was known for being that "smoking freshman." It actually got pretty annoying. Sure, the compliments were new and exciting. After all, no one's actually been forward enough to tell me I'm attractive before except my family.
But weird stuff kept happening around me constantly, and it became harder to do casual stuff. Plus, college girls were terrifying to me then, with all the confessions and the giggling and the flirting. Until now, the quality I love and fear the most about them is their unabashed, transparent honesty. They're among the most straightforward people I have ever met in my life, hands down.
I've been told I look like I don't have a personality by a pretty girl (ouch), and that I should watch my back lest my clothes be ripped off the moment I let my guard down by another on the same fucking afternoon. They'd just greet me, saying the damnest, most unfiltered things. This continued on for the whole semester during my first year. They insistently flirted and stared at me from afar until an upperclassman, Imani, asked me out for a date, to which I agreed to.
Why wouldn't I?
Imani was a beautiful black woman who was well-known around campus as the ace of our varsity team in tennis. Honestly, despite my popularity, she felt way out of my league. I wasn't socially inept, but I was most definitely introverted so I didn't really make new social circles--which, by college standards, was pretty lame. Imani, on the other hand, was pretty friendly. Coupled with her maniacal skills in tennis, she was famous even around other neighboring universities. She basically had a shiny halo above her head. Those type of women don't usually go for men like me, no matter how handsome they were.
Still, I didn't question it much then. I was plenty attracted to her; Imani was pretty damn mature and composed even for her age. She was polite to the people around her too, no matter who they were.
She had a bit of meat (especially on her thighs), which I really liked. Her arms were pretty toned from varsity training. Tennis was no fucking joke. Her body was really maintained down to every fiber of fat and muscle. I remember blankly staring at her once when she was training. Back then, I was a bit ashamed to admit I had a thing for women in sportswear. It's just so fucking typical of me as a man to find that attractive, you know?
I couldn't help it though. That shit is hot to me even now. The only difference is, I hid it then.
Every day during training, Imani wore a white racerback top and tight shorts that showcased her cheeks to the brim. God, she looked so fucking hot. I couldn't take my eyes off her. More specifically, her fucking ass. Watching it bounce for ten minutes straight makes your mind numb, I tell you. It's literally a fucking work of art. Jesus. It was so round and big, but not in the unnatural, plastic surgery kind of way—which I don't really hate or mind at all. It's just not my thing.
Her buttocks laid perfectly well onto her meaty thighs--simultaneously looking practical and beautiful. You could easily tell it was a result of hard work, training, and sadly, genetics. It wasn't something anyone could achieve--at least not in the same, shapely way. It really was one of a kind. The type of ass that could turn heads around anywhere you go.
The type of ass that could figuratively make an atheist look up and give God a fucking thumbs up. Man, just remembering the first time I ever saw it naked still got my mouth watering even now.
Surprisingly, if I had to choose my favorite part of Imani, however, it would probably be her light-brown eyes. They just really fucking glowed when paired with her beautiful, black skin. It was effortlessly surreal.
We went out on a date on this high-end restaurant. I had tons of fun--spending the better half of our little meet-up just looking at the way her eyes popped with the warm lighting. Imani was pretty nice the whole time. She even paid in the end. I told her it wasn't necessary, but she said she asked me out so it's her responsibility to pay. I felt pretty bad, so I ended up buying her the pair of shoes she obviously had her eyes on to make it even.
We ended up making out on her couch then. She lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of an all- girls dormitory with a roommate. Judging from that, I'm sure you can tell how hard I worked just to sneak in across the gate. Because they sure as hell wouldn't have allowed a guy in there, no matter how nicely you ask. Thankfully, my sneaking didn't end up as a waste; her roommate was at her parents' house at the time and the place was all ours. I still remember the conversation we had back then.
"Wanna fuck me in the ass?" Imani asked suddenly.
I spat out the glass of water I was drinking after our intense make-out session.
"Shit. I'm sorry. Uh, wow. That was not--I didn't see that coming. Fuck. Uh, I don't know what to say. I'm sort of speechless. Really sorry for this. Do you have a tissue?" I asked, almost incoherent.
She laughed at my pathetic, bumbling reaction. I blushed furiously.
The gorgeous black girl complimented as she gave me a tissue, "You're so cute. I almost feel sorry for teasing you."
"Thanks for sugarcoating it," I replied sheepishly.
"No problem," she replied back with a grin.
She continued slowly after a silent pause, "I wasn't joking with the offer though. I'm scrubbed clean. I did a little prep before our date just in case."
I gulped.
"So.....do you want to?" she asked, twirling her hair around her finger. My dick twitched at the sight. You have to understand that back then, that gesture was basically a universal "fuck me."
I nodded so as to agree before realizing I was kind of sweating.
She smiled brightly at my positive response and gently led me to her room by hand. I blankly followed her, her genuine happiness over being butt-fucked by a guy on the first date was turning me on so damn much. It actually became pretty hard to walk with the raging boner. I also couldn't believe I was fucking ass for my first time. Wasn't it too much for a virgin? It felt a lot like having to fight the final boss on an opening intro or something.
I honestly still don't know whether that was a lucky break or not until now. Back then, however, I was definitely leaning more towards the former. Anal wasn't exactly an experience most people would go through. Sure, it was less frowned upon now compared to before, but not everyone wanted to try it.
I wasn't everyone.
Imani let go and ran ahead towards her room and I followed. Her room was pretty cozy. It was small, air-conditioned, and it smelled great--probably because of the purifier I saw in the corner. I saw Imani sitting on her bed as she slowly, seductively took off her shirt and threw it at my face.
I took the fabric on my hands and inhaled the scent like a fucking pervert. She laughed again. This time though, I wasn't blushing or stuttering excuses. My eyes were unabashedly focused completely at her body like it was my favorite candy.
