My Pocketbook

Mama always told me that my pocketbook is my most prized possession, and to keep it with me at all times. Don't let just any ol body touch it. I carried those words with me all these years.

I knew that my pocketbook was my lifeline, I could lose everything if it got into the hands of the wrong person. I protected it with my life. Until one night, I met a man.

He was tall, dark, and handsome. Or as my mother would also say, "like a cup of coffee, hot, black, and strong." He was in shape, about 6 feet tall and 200lbs. I know my chocolate very well. And I wanted a piece of that chocolate.

We were in bar, by the way. Lucky for me, the area I occupied was lit so I knew exactly what I was about to get myself into. And I wasn't drunk so I didn't have on a pair of beer goggles. I asked him if he ever fucked a random stranger in a bar restroom. And when he responded "no" I asked if he'd like to. Without any hesitation he said "if that stranger is you then most def." And with that he followed me to the men's room.

Mr. Goodbar was built like a snickers bar, milk chocolate and veiny. Thick. Creamy. It felt even better than it looked once he bent me over against the wall behind the toilet. And with that strong, hard thrust he took my pocketbook. He took everything out of it until it was dry and empty. Bar patrons came and went but it didn't deter either of us from producing sounds of good fucking. Only security could stop us.

Fifteen minutes later I was adjusting my dress and heading out the restroom and past the crowd to my vehicle. My pocketbook full of condoms in the passenger seat.....