International Cowgirl - Sex Stories

International Cowgirl

... utter worthlessness. If all she was good for in life was to position herself above a man’s prick and let it thrust into her, what value was there to her life at all? She was almost agreeing with those from her college in Nairobi and, of course, her parents and family, who told her she was stupid to put all her efforts into cowgirl sex and to abandon a promising but dull career in the Civil Service. If all those years of effort, exercise and semen-swallowing were to culminate only in this—to feel wretched and miserable in a hotel room in Munich—what then had the point of it all been? Eventually, it became too much for Lulu. She decided to leave the hotel and the accompanying stadium grounds and mooch around Munich. After so many days and nights of constant nudity, it was hard enough even to find any clothes, let alone decide which ones to wear, but she put on a modest tee-shirt and jeans, with black trainers, to look as plain as she could. And, of course, as little as possible like a sexual athlete. Even with her street map, it was easy to get lost in the city. There were sufficiently many black faces that Lulu attracted rather less attention than would a white face in Nairobi. She enjoyed walking anonymously through the city. If only they knew that she was one of those who everyone was excitedly watching on television screens in bars, restaurants and living rooms. Would anyone recognise her? Probably not, since most of her that had been displayed to the German nation had ...

... been her nether orifices and when her face was displayed it was mostly obscured by an ejaculating penis. Lulu soon tired of wandering the streets, gazing in shops and standing at traffic lights. She needed to rest her feet and where better than at a Starbucks, of which she was pleased there was at least one in Munich. Here she could be certain of a reasonably comfortable place to sit. She got her coffee, handed over a ten Euro note and received the change: a transaction conducted in English. It seemed that everyone in Germany spoke a few words. However, she wasn’t to be quite as solitary as she hoped. The armchair she sat in was by a table shared with a lanky young man who recognised her when he turned his head, even though Lulu couldn’t place him. “It’s Lulu Chenebe, isn’t it?” he said in English, but lightly accented by his native German tongue. “I hardly recognised you with your clothes on.” He studied Lulu quizzically, while she wondered how she might tactfully move to another table. “You don’t recognise me though, do you? It’s Joachim. I’m one of the Press Officers for the International Sex Olympics Committee.” “Oh. Joachim,” said Lulu, still not sure whether she wanted to stay sitting where she was. “So it is.” “I was with you all yesterday afternoon,” Joachim continued, “helping you with the media.” “Oh yes,” said Lulu, remembering him at last. It was dreadful to admit but white people often looked the same to her, especially the blond, tall variety you found in Germany. ...