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Excerpt for Going Native with Cherokee (A Hypersexual Diary: The Adventures of Mr. Curvy, Chapter 42) by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Going Native with Cherokee

(A Hypersexual Diary: The Adventures of Mr. Curvy, Chapter #42)


Copyright 2018 Ron Galbraith

Published by Ron Galbraith at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Adult Content Notes and General Disclaimer

This ebook is intended for adults only, and is not suitable for readers under 18 years of age. It contains adult content and themes, including graphic descriptions of sexual activities. All activities described herein take place between fully consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age at the time such activities take place. This ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, place or event is unintentional and purely coincidental. Any mention of any trademarked property is done so without the permission of the trademark holder, and is not intended to imply any endorsement of or by such trademarked property.

Table of Contents

Forward

Chapter 42: Going Native with Cherokee

Postscript

About Mr. Curvy

Special Bonus excerpt from Chapter 50: Teasing Tight Tiffani

Connect with Ron Galbraith

Forward

Hypersexuality is considered by most mental health professionals to be a psychological disorder, in that those who are diagnosed with it typically are obsessed with sex and feel compelled to engage in frequent sexual activity. That’s me.

My name is Ron. I am a straight, white guy, by now solidly in middle age. I’m a licensed architect, and work independently, which gives me a reasonable amount of flexibility and independence, along with a decent income. I’m not rich, by any means, and I pay alimony to both of my ex-wives, but I have enough left over for some fun. I’m fit and reasonably trim- I work out almost daily and I’m careful about what I eat. I’ve been told that I’m better looking than most men my age, with a rock-hard body and sort of a rugged look, emphasized by a beard and tattoos on both arms.

I have been hypersexual my entire life, and by now, I have had sex with hundreds of women in all manner of situations. Over the course of these adventures, I’ve learned something about how to give a woman pleasure, which is heightened somewhat by a congenital curvature in my dick; when it’s hard, it curves upward at a thirty-degree angle, making it a perfect G-spot finder. An old girlfriend bestowed the name “Mr. Curvy” to it, and that name has stuck.

If anything, the pace at which I meet and have sex with girls has increased over the last few years, banging two, sometimes three new girls a week. These stories chronicle some of my more recent adventures. These are true stories; they actually happened exactly as they are described, except that the names of the women and other characters have been changed to protect their privacy.

Going Native with Cherokee

Now, I don’t usually spend a lot of time in bars, even though New Orleans probably has more bars per capita than any other American city. Bars have never been my favorite place to pick up girls- I prefer the nubile young coeds at the community college where I work part-time to supplement my income as a consultant, and I’ve gotten very lucky with some of those girls, banging a new cutie almost weekly. I know that a lot of hot girls could be found in bars, but the bar scene just isn’t my style.

But here I was, in a local bar in New Orleans’ Mid-City neighborhood. It had a cool, funky vibe, with live music on weekends, a decent kitchen, a colorful set of regulars, and a pretty female bartender.

A very pretty female bartender, actually. And she was the reason why I was still there.

I had come into the bar a few of times with an acquaintance from my consulting practice, and this time, we had a couple of beers together before he had to go home to his wife. By then, the bartender had captured my attention, and she was lingering longer and longer in front of my spot at the bar, between serving other customers.

Many female bartenders look a little rough, but not this one. She was probably in her mid-twenties, and her body was maybe a little on the thick side, but still really nice; curvy, with large breasts and short legs. And her face was exceptionally pretty, roundish in shape, with flashing, obsidian-black eyes, smooth, light brown skin, full lips and shiny black hair straight down to her nice, big ass. The girl was hot. She definitely more than met Mr. Curvy’s criteria for fuckability.

So, I stuck around.

The bartender told me that her name was Cherokee, and she had been responding well to my hypersexual banter, joking with me and laughing at my well-placed barbs. It was all the more fun because I knew that this pretty girl had heard it all. Girls who work in bars get hit on constantly. It goes with the territory. It doesn’t take them long to learn how to subtly, or not so subtly, discourage a would-be romeo’s bullshit with a smile. It’s a necessary survival skill.

But there was nothing discouraging about the way Cherokee smiled at me, lingering at my place at the bar, laughing at my banter, and refilling my beer glass. The chemistry was definitely there.

An old country song goes, “The girls all get prettier at closing time.” And by last call, Cherokee was looking very pretty indeed. Not that she hadn’t been pretty all along.

I finished my beer, and pulled out my credit card.

“Thanks, Cherokee,” I said as she picked it up. “It’s been really fun getting to know you.”

“You too, Ron,” she said, smiling. “You’ve made my night. You’re fun to talk to.”

She ran the card, and brought it back to me in a leather folder. I signed the paper slip, adding a generous tip, and slid it back to her across the bar.

“Thank you,” she said. “I hope I see you again.”

“I hope you see me again, too,” I said, smiling into her eyes, and she laughed. “Maybe somewhere that’s not here,” I continued.

She smiled again. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“What do you do in the daytime? Or are you like a vampire, and only come out at night?”

She laughed, her black eyes flashing into mine. “Yeah, during the day, I sleep in a crypt in the basement,” she said, and laughed again. “No, I do stuff in the daytime too,” she said. “Like normal people.”

“Normal’s good, at least most of the time.” I returned her smile. “So, maybe we can get together sometime during the day.”

She nodded, with another smile. “Yeah, sure, okay... I’d like that. You’re fun.”

“So are you. Let’s be fun together.” I took out my phone, and handed it to her. “Call yourself.”

She laughed, and after a moment’s hesitation, she tapped a number into my phone and passed it back to me.

“What about lunch tomorrow?” I suggested. “Maybe something a little different than what y’all have here.”

She thought a moment, curling her lips in an expression of concentration. So pretty.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, and then smiled. “Sounds like fun. What do you have in mind?”

“I live in the CBD. Close to the Quarter. There’s at least a hundred good places within a ten minute walk of my place.”

“So, I should, like, meet you there, and then we can figure it out from there?”

“Something like that.” I grinned. “There’s gotta be someplace close by, with anything you could possibly like.”

“I usually have a pretty good idea of what I like,” she said, smiling into my eyes. It felt like electricity was sparking.

“Mm, nice! I like a girl who knows what she likes.”

“Said the spider to the fly.” She smiled.

I nodded, with another grin. “Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”

She laughed again, and then turned away. “See you tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll call first.”

My place was still in decent shape from last Thursday, when the insatiable nympho Avril had visited me again. It had been two hours of wall-to-wall sex, in every imaginable position, Mr. Curvy spurred on by Avril’s incredible sexual energy. But by the third time I came, this time in her mouth, I was worn out. She reluctantly left, with a promise to return in a week. Or maybe it was a threat. I couldn’t tell.

I had already washed and changed the sheets on the bed, so it was easy to prepare for Cherokee’s company. I took a long shower, and she called as I was drying off. It was a quick conversation, confirming the time of our date, and my address. Her voice was light and flirtatious, and Mr. Curvy was wide awake by the time I tapped the call off.

I made sure to wear my lucky red shorts as I dressed- who knows, I thought, I might have a chance to get lucky with Cherokee. I really had no expectation of anything more than a casual lunch with a pretty girl, but something about the way she had been smiling into my eyes made it seem like a possibility, and maybe my shorts’ amazing pussy karma might make the difference. I almost always seemed to get lucky with a girl when I was wearing them. So, I wore them a lot.

I turned on some soft jazz, made sure the Veuve was chilled, and at 11:30 I went outside to wait for Cherokee. A few minutes later she called.

“Hi, um, where is your place again? I’m at the corner.”

I looked across the street, and saw a short, curvy girl with long, dark hair, wearing black leggings and a blue top. She was holding a phone to her ear, looking around the street.

“Uh, are you wearing a blue top?” I asked.

The girl looked up, and then she smiled when she recognized me. She crossed the street to meet me, and when I saw her face-to-face, I noticed that she was a little thicker than I remembered, but her face was even prettier in the daylight, her light reddish-brown skin almost glowing, and her big, dark eyes sparkling

She came into my arms for a hello hug and a chaste cheek-kiss. Her soft body fit into my arms like a glove, and she squeezed me for a moment before letting go. Mr. Curvy woke up.

“Hi, Cherokee,” I said. “Welcome!” I turned toward my building. “Nice to see you in the daylight!”

“Hey… thanks!” she said, laughing. “This place is cool! I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before.”


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