Softer. More gentle. It's nice. I taste myself on her mouth and trace my tongue against her lips making her open them to me. We let our tongues tangle... playing for a while. She pulls away and whisper in my ear: "Let’s put on a little show for him." With eyes twinkling she pulls me to my feet and starts pulling my top off. "You're beautiful," she tells me. Stroking my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my ass. She unzips my skirt and let it fall to the floor. Unhooking my bra and filling her hands. Respect. Love. Money. Sex. And I don't care who knows it.When I met Jackson Hall during my freshman year at Winston College in Boston, Massachusetts, we didn't look like we'd mesh. Hell, we didn't look like we'd hook up either. I was the heavyset young woman whom Winston College practically drafted onto its women's varsity rugby team. He was the six-foot-tall, good-looking, muscular and totally sexy black stud who played baseball for Winston College and was absolutely worshiped by sexy black. More

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