“What are you doing?” I whisper harshly as he hooks his index fingers around the thin straps of my undies. “We can’t do this! Not here! Everyo...e knows we’re in here! All your family is out there! Are you insane?”“Everyone’s probably already thinking we’re getting busy,” Mason says, and then roughly yanks my panties off my hips, snapping one of the elasticized straps that hold them on hips in the process. “They probably all wish they were joining the mile high club.”“You’re insane!” I cry, as he. For a while, of course, that's all it was. But as Bobby became more abusive, particularly after a night of heavy drinking, I found myself escaping by replacing the unattainable movie stars I fantasized about, with the black strangers I saw all around me in real life.My obsession grew to the point where in my mind, I practically undressed every black man I saw. I fantasized about them fucking me anywhere, anyplace, anytime. I guess part of it was that my husband didn't want me anymore; he liked. More

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