The funny thing about traveling alone to Negril is that none of your stories begin with “I”, they're all “we” stories. You always meet people.

Clinton was one of those people. I met him at a beach bar. The beach is the first place anyone goes when they arrive in Negril.

His lifestyle was inevitable. It came naturally from a combination of his hard physique along with his tremendous sexual appetite and skills, and his poor background.

At the age of twenty-two, he was already 6’ 1” and 200 pounds. A strikingly handsome young black man, he had wide shoulders, a V-tapered torso down to a small waist, a high, prominent tight ass, sculpted legs, and long beautiful dreadlocks.

He also had a history of providing intense, life-changing sexual encounters for the many foreign women who holidayed in Negril. Clinton was, like the jungles that surrounded us, heart-skippingly sexy and carried a similar threat. If you get lost, you're dead. I was helpless and probably hopeless.

An adventure with strong interracial themes, black magic and one big, beautiful black bamboo.

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Rafbók: 1 juni 2017