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Antoine was a cute dark-chocolate 'Bama Slammer, my afternoon delight and midnight snack; my ever-ready-Freddie whenever I was inclined to step out on Maurice. Built like he chopped trees for a living, Antoine's body seemed chiseled from stone or maybe even granite.

Theres something about a soldier!

But Antoine was a super-freak. Always talking about how he wanted to, "sop me up wit a biskit." Those country boys are a mess! He'd have kept me barefoot, pregnant, and spread-eagle on the kitchen table if I'd let him, because to Antoine, sex was a national pastime.

And talk about a tongue? I could've sworn he had two! That boy could work his tongue six ways to next Sunday.

Antoine popped poontang like it was a delicacy, which of course I thought mine was. I tell you ole' boy had such an outstanding technique he should've been granted an honorary doctorate in the Art of Good Head!