# Contact info submission url: exile-blog.blogspot.com site_owner: address1: address2: city: state: country: postal_code: phone_number: display_email: site_name: site_description: The Exile

E-Mail Me

My Twitter

Top Blogs

LeftWing2

Campaign 4 Public Ownership

FASO

FASSIT

Mothers For Justice

Ian Josephs

UKSecretCourt's Videos

Unity-Injustice




Chris Paul

David Lindsay

Heresy Corner

Machetera

Martin Meenagh

Neil Clark

Organised Rage

Renegade Eye

Serb Blog

Splintered Sunrise

Star of Vergina

Unrepentant Communist

Agitprop

British Politics

Censorship 01

Collaborators

Gimlet

Imperialism

Memories

Mexico

New Britain 01

New Britain 02

Sleaze

Social Work Industry

Wankblogs

Working Class

Atom Feed

XML Feed





24 March 2010
Oxford sex with a Zulu


I have only ever gone horizontal jogging with one Zulu and that was at Oxford. . .

We went for a drink in the Bear, one of Oxford's better known hostelries, and I can remember that she could pour beer down her neck as if it were going out of fashion. Pints to boot, as there was none of this ladies' glass nonsense for that African Violet.

I took her back to my room and commenced to undress her. I tend to like a slow build-up to the copulatory ritual but madam was having none of that. Before I know what was happening she had shrugged off her kit and was scrambling into bed with a lascivious grin on her face. I climbed in next to her and she grabbed hold of my chopper and started to rub it until it assumed the correct rigid dimensions. Then she literally pulled me on top of her, placed my porker in the entrance to her body and off we went. I have heard that Irish foreplay involves saying "Brace yourself, Bridget," but that's more then we did that night.

By my arse she was ready for a good riveting! Her nails lacerated my back and it seemed as if I was coupling with a roll of barbed wire. Every time I tried to slow down to a good poking rhythm she would dig her forefinger into my ribs and with her tongue in my ear she would encourage me to faster exertions. I kept on banging away until the tightening in my balls told me that my wad was about to be shot. Try as I might I just couldn't hold it back and I was convinced that some of my teeth were working themselves loose as I pumped my spunk into her.

What can I say? A lovely lady who went on to get a fucking blue and about whom the Magdalen Tower joke was told. You haven't heard the joke? It goes like this:

What's the difference between (Insert name of suitable female here) and Magdalen Tower?

Not everyone in Oxford has been up Magdalen Tower!

As for me, I wished her luck and was not all that sorry to see the back of her. Put simply she just wore me out.

Labels:

2 Comments:

This series is getting better and better. I've never been with a blackie so thanks for showing the way that they differ from our women. Still sounds like a good poke that you had so don't grumble.

24 March 2010 at 11:47  

No, my experience is that they go the same way as a white girl does. This one was probably a real goer because she had just been released from prison by the old South African government on the understanding that she left the country. I think she wanted to make up for lost poking time...

24 March 2010 at 14:28  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home