This Cougar Ate Some Black Chocolate

I have never had myself a black chocolate before. Not even when I was young and naive and innocent. Now I’m approaching sixty, and my life has suddenly changed unexpectedly in ways I never could have foreseen. Several of my friends have tried it and loved it. They kept telling me, urging me to give it a try.

“Trust me, Diana. Once you taste black, you won't want anything other than that.”

It is like being reborn, except this time I can’t pretend to be naive or innocent. Back then I had parents who looked after me. I had siblings, friends, and the community that watched out for predators taking advantage of young women like me. Now I’m mature, and I realise the people who once watched over me are now the ones I least want bothering me, whereas the ones who desire me now are the ones I was taught to steer away from.

I likely would have stayed dumb and naive had not my friends goaded me into attempting my first taste of black cock-chocolate. Perhaps it was meant to be that I should wait this long before attempting one, even though I had witnessed signs around me for years. My first daughter got impregnated by a black man. My husband and I tried to talk her out of having the baby. She refused and eventually eloped with the man. Years passed before she returned home to introduce us to our first grandchild. I’ve had four children—that’s three girls and one boy—with six grandkids. Two of my daughters have black men as husbands. If that was telling me that I was bound to get some black chocolate in the future, then I’m surprised my eyes stayed closed until now.

It wasn’t long before the music changed, and a large background curtain parted ways to reveal four male strippers. They were hunky, athletic and oiled up to showcase their muscular figure.