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Southern hospitality interracial sex

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Wade has brought me to Mississippi to meet his family, to unofficially announce our engagement.

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He first met them back when we were classmates at NYU. I Southern hospitality interracial sex on to Cornell from there, studying History, and he moved over to Princeton, to study law. He often spends holidays with my family; my parents already treat him as a son.

His family, on the other hand, seems to be having a difficult time getting used to me. I knew that it would be a little strange, me coming down from New York, visiting the South for the first time. Wade has told me a lot about his relatives: He detailed all of their quirks and strange practices to me long ago, reiterating everything the week before our flight, making me more nervous about the trip than I had originally been.

He said that they were country people, rarely leaving the farm, as Southern hospitality interracial sex called it, and on those rare occasions, only venturing to the smaller southern cities like Vicksburg or Montgomery.

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People often wonder what Wade and I have in common. They wonder what a middle class girl from Connecticut can see in a farm boy from Mississippi. We still wonder about this ourselves sometimes; some days I can catch Wade staring at me in disbelief, as if I am a stranger to him. Harper is still confused by the whole Swedish thing. I can tell already. I Southern hospitality interracial sex look him Southern hospitality interracial sex the eye, and I speak my mind. I should be married by now.

Wade and I have tried to steer clear of the house. He loves to drive around; we go for a long drive and a picnic lunch each day, exploring some new territory and frolicking in the grass before trudging back to the fortress that the Harpers call a house. I can see the way that his family has rubbed off on him. This morning, he was practically buzzing with anticipation. I could only stare at him after he made this odd request, but he looked so excited at just the thought, like a kid on Christmas Eve, that I had to do it for him, just this once.

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Tillie, the cook, is known for her superior cooking. Wade pulls me into the dark, stuffy pantry, his handsome face grinning from ear to ear, and his ocean blue eyes twinkling. I close the door behind us, insisting on some small bit of privacy, just in case Tillie comes back early from her shopping. I giggle, watching him carefully unscrew the top. He sticks a finger in, offering it to me first. I lick it with relish, giving him a teasing prelude.

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He opens his pants, pulling his shorts down enough so that his firm cock points Southern hospitality interracial sex at me. I slather it with the preserves, making a sweet, sticky mess with my hand, trying to be careful not to get fruit all over the place. The preserves are delicious; I spend a long time just savoring the taste of the strawberries.

He gasps when I lick the head, slowly twirling my tongue around his hole, before sinking down on it with my open mouth. I can hear him moaning now, over the sounds of my sucking. He grabs my head, stroking my long red hair in his hands, guiding me to where he wants me to go. Wade has stopped breathing; I can feel his stifled heartbeat in his throbbing penis.


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