My Suicide Note

Like many midwestern white girls off to university for the first time, I made a lot of mistakes. The biggest was my relationship with Devon, a black man I met at a frat party. I let him fuck me that night and it was life changing. Devon strung me a long like the stupid shit I was. I really thought he loved me more that the dozen other stupid shit white girls he was fucking. If I got angry about something, like the taste of another girl's pussy on his cock, he simply tell me to fuck off.

I always ended up crawling back to him, literally crawling back as his friends laughed at the stupid white slut. In my sophomore year he scheduled Monday mornings as my time to enjoy his cock. It didn't matter that I had classes at that time and the rest of his week was occupied with other stupid white girls. I never passed up on my Monday mornings and had to drop two courses so I could be with him.

Sometimes there would be another girl leaving as I came into his room and I knew he would make me suck his cock and taste her before he would fuck me. It seemed there was another act of degradation every week. Taking pictures of his cock in my mouth or cunt or my face covered with his come. Then I had to share him with another woman. By the end of my sophomore year, he was sharing me with his friends.

"What did it matter to me," he said, "I was a slut for black cock, and it didn't really matter whose body that cock was attached to."

In the beginning of my junior year, he dumped me, told me I was boring, and I wasn't fun anymore. He gave me a goodbye fuck. Three weeks later I was at a clinic being treated for a venereal disease and I listed Devon as my recent sex partner. He was furious.

There was a funk over me for the rest of my junior year. Devon had played me and played me well. I was ashamed of myself for being so stupid, for not having enough pride in myself not to crawl back to him. I ignored every black man I met after that, and most white men didn't want anything to do with one of "Devon's Girls." I was fine with that. I had to make up the two classes I dropped in my freshman year, so I threw myself into my studies.

In my senior year, Devon and all of his cronies had graduated or left school.

That's when I met Mark, a good looking and well-built white guy. He was a grad student in his final year.

I was drinking coffee at a café on campus and he sat at my table and introduced himself. I really enjoyed his company; hell, I would enjoy any company. Almost all my girlfriends disowned me when I took up with Devon and the ones who still talked to me were still chasing black cock. While talking to Mark, I realized how lonely I had been.

That coffee turned into another coffee and then almost daily coffees. The coffees turned to movies and dinners and sex. I was afraid he wouldn't satisfy me, but he rocked my socks off. We were dating for three months when Mark sat down across from me at the café with a serious look on his face.

"Gwen, we should have a serious conversation," Mark said to me.

"We both have pasts that maybe we're not proud of. Mine involved serious drug use. Fortunately, I stopped it before the heroin could really sink its claws into me. Even when I smoke pot, I begin craving it again. I know the next time I pick up a needle is certain suicide."

"I know that you used to be one of Devon's girls. I don't want to know the details and I'm not one of those white guys who gets off on stories of his girlfriend's adventures with some black guy. I'm not judging your past, but I need to know about the present and the future. I promise you my attraction to heroin is a thing in the past. Your attraction to black men must be a thing in the past. If you can't promise me that, then lets end this relationship now before we go any further and we can continue to be friends."

That I was stunned was an understatement. I knew we were getting serious and I never considered that Mark was aware of my relationship with Devon.

"Mark, my relationship with Devon is the biggest mistake of my life, like heroin, I consider another black man certain suicide."

The topic was never discussed again. Two years later we were married and had landed decent jobs in a city in the next state. Our relationship was great, after three years of marriage, we began talking about children and what did that look like. Did I want to be a stay at home mom, or did he want to be a stay at home dad. I couldn't imagine going to work and leave my newborn with some day care center.

Mark completely supported that idea.

But before I could go off the pill, I went out with the girls from work on a Friday night, something I rarely did.

A black man walked up to me and handed me a drink and began talking to me. He reminded me a bit about Devon, the muscles and smile.

As we chatted he said, "You've been with a black man or black men before. I can tell by how comfortable you are talking to me and my closeness."

I didn't realize how close he was until he said that. He got closer, almost touching me when I smelled his scent. My pussy was wet, and I could feel a heat rising in me that I haven't felt in a long time.

"You haven't been with a black man in a while. I can see the passion building in you, the lust you've experienced many times before."

His arm was wrapped around me, and he pulled me in close, his hot breath was on my neck as he whispered in my ear. I didn't resist when he took my hand and placed it on his cock.

"Go ahead and feel what you've been missing."

Like a robot I did as he asked. I could feel him getting hard and wanted that cock inside me. There was no conversation, he took my hand and led me out the door and the two blocks to his apartment. When we entered, he pushed me to my knees, and I began to suck him off. He came all over my face and dress.

He fucked me all night in all my holes coming on my clothes or face. When we woke up Saturday morning he told me to strip and started all over again.

He was fucking me doggy style, calling me his slut and his whore, and I agreed. I licked his ass and balls and whatever else he told me to do. Like Devon, I let him take pictures of his cock in all my holes and his come pouring out of them. I masturbated for him, fucking my self with my hairbrush.

Sunday morning was the first time since Friday that I thought about Mark. I got in the shower and was horrified with what I saw, there were love bites on my neck and tits, handprints on my ass. In the shower I tried to get all of his come off me. He was standing there when I got out of the shower.

"I have to get home to my husband," I said.

"Not without my come on you. I want him to know he's a cuckhold to a black man."

He pushed me to my knees and proceeded to fuck my face. It didn't take him long to come, the first squirts were on my tongue and the rest were on my tits. He wouldn't let me clean up and insisted I put my blouse and skirt on over his cum. He kept my panties and bra as souvenirs.

An uber took me home, the driver kept looking back at me and I knew I looked like a whore.

The house was quiet when I got home. I tiptoed upstairs and saw Mark in our bed. He loved his Sunday afternoon naps. It gave me a chance to shower again and toss my cum stained clothes into the trash cans. I dressed in something that would cover most of the love bites but resigned myself that there was no way I would be able to hide this from Mark. Fuck I was gone for almost 48 hours, and I never contacted him. I was crying as I climbed into bed with Mark.

I wondered if Mark tried to contact me. I had turned my phone off when we left the bar. I don't know why. While lying next to Mark I turned my phone back on. There were several messages from my coworkers asking where I was and did I really leave with that black guy. Then several from Mark, asking where I was and if I was okay. Then there were messages from my phone to Mark along with pictures and videos.

It couldn't have been worse, a picture of my hand wrapped around a black cock with come dripping off my face and over my wedding and engagement rings, pictures of a black cock in my ass or pussy. And then the video of me promising to be his whore and a slut for his black cock as he fucked my ass.

Maybe the worse was his text to Mark saying, "Sorry cucky, it appears your wife has rediscovered her true calling to be a whore for black cock."

Tears were running down my eyes, not just for what I did, but for how much it must have hurt my Mark. The man I wanted to father my children.

I was crying pretty loudly and was surprised that Mark hadn't stirred at all. I climbed under the blankets thinking I would snuggle up next to him, maybe for the last time. That's when I smelled something. Pulling back the blankets, I realized that Mark had peed himself, then I notice his color was off. After running to the other side of the bed I saw the needle hanging out of his am. There was no pulse, his body was ice cold and stiff.

I killed him, as if I shoved that needle into his arm myself.

The sun had gone down, and I realized that I was still sitting on the floor next to Mark. There was a baggy lying on the floor next to him, I knew what was in it. I pulled the needle out of the one track mark on his arm. Not really knowing what to do, I used the spoon Mark used to melt some of what I thought was heroin like I'd seen on TV and refilled the needle.

I had killed the most wonderful man in the world, all my dreams were gone, we would never have babies or grow old together. But we could still be together.