Last Friday was my birthday. My girlfriend Neef (my nickname for her) is an ex-sprinter. She’s tiny (5’2”), tight (120), curvy and muscular – with glorious chocolate skin and a perfect ass. We’ve been together for some time now. A few weeks ago, she told me she had placed a Victoria’s Secret order specially for my birthday, which of course got my mind curious. I booked us a corner room in the Industrialist (here in Pittsburgh) and packed a few toys. We checked in around 5, got a drink, did the ghost walk tour for fun, and walked to Ruth’s Chris for great steaks, sides and drinks. We always draw disapproving glances (50s white guy, shaved head – 30s black girl long braids) from the chubby wives who we know are asking their jealous husbands what our deal must be (we know they think she’s a professional, but she has her Masters in Computer Science from Carnegie Mellon).
After dinner, we walk the short block back to our hotel, and she presses up against me in the elevator. “Will you shower first?” “Of course”, i reply.