Free The Not So Invisible Woman by Suzanne Portnoy

most men of his generation, he could keep it up for hours. He was sweet, devoted to my pleasure. Perhaps that's why his most memorable act in the bedroom was holding my ass open while watching himself take me from behind. He would rise up, push away from me with his arms, and position himself for a better view. That was as kinky as he got, and even that wasn't particularly kinky – not on my tricks continuum, anyway – but at least it was a diversion from the constant sweetness and attentiveness. His body was gorgeous and fucking him felt great, but there's only so many times I can do the missionary position with someone before I grow bored. Dark on the outside, vanilla between the sheets.
    Still, he was a welcome stand-in for Karume, my ex-boyfriend. Karume, another sexy African, had called himself a one-woman man but his lies, I eventually learned, were as long as his dick. He lied regularly ('I'll be home by seven'), cheated on me ('That's not lipstick'), stole my car ('I just moved it closer to the house'), couldn't hold a job ('My boss is an asshole'), and then lied some more. He was trouble. But I stuck with him for a year, on and off, and even let him move in for three months, because he was kind of kinky, so the sex was always fresh. After Karume, I wanted a break from brain damage and welcomed being with a person who was happy to just be with me, without having to say a word.
    One night I sat on Kafele's chest and stared down at him, taking in his youthful face and body. I stroked his broad shoulders, his rippled chest, his narrow waist. His hard body, along with the contrast of his brown skin against my own pale flesh, was arousing. I pinched his nipples playfully. He stared up at me with his big brown eyes.
    'You are very beautiful,' I said.
    'Merci. Thank you,' he said. Then he laughed and thrust his pelvis playfully into me.
    I moaned. 'That feels too good,' I said. 'If you don't stop it, Kafele, you're going to make me come. I don't want to come just yet.' It was only fifteen minutes after we'd climbed into bed. 'Can you eat my pussy?' I said.
    He squinted his eyes and looked at me. The furrow of his brow made clear his lack of understanding.
    'Eat ... my ... pussy,' I repeated.
    'Pardon?'
    'Eat.' I stood up on my knees and began inching up his chest. 'My.' I moved closer. Then I thrust my pelvis to make my point. 'Pussy.'
    'I am sorry,' he said. 'I do not understand.'
    I'd never had to play sexual charades before and felt a little self-conscious sticking out my tongue. 'Eat,' I said, pointing to my tongue, moving it left and right. Then I pointed at my pussy. 'My . . .'
    'Ah!' he said.
    'Yes!' I said.
    'Oh,' he said. 'OK.' I climbed off him and lay on my back. Kafele crawled between my legs and began gently rolling his tongue around. 'Like this?'
    'Yes,' I said. I was relieved that I didn't have to explain the bow of it.
    I felt myself getting wet within seconds, and then the urge to be filled took over. I climbed back on top of him.
    He pushed into me again and within a minute my pussy started to pulsate around his cock. I came. Then Kafele turned me over and moved on top of me one more time. The aftershocks of my orgasm were still lingering as I felt his cock harden, felt his breath quicken.
    'Oui! Oui!,' he said. 'Ouais!' His come poured into me.
    Kafele lay on top of me a few minutes longer and buried his face in my neck. Then he rolled over and wrapped an arm around me. We kissed. It was a sweet and gentle moment, as all moments with Kafele were.
    'You are lovely,' he said. 'Tu est belle.'
    'So are you,' I said. 'Lovely . . .' My last words before falling asleep.
    Although Kafele had lived in the UK less than a year, he came off like someone who'd stepped off the plane just a day before. It was refreshing being with someone who had never heard of Donny Williams, didn't read lad's mags or follow Big Brother or even know what Desperate Housewives was. It didn't matter that he didn't understand the cultural