We talked for two hours that Sunday afternoon, the air heavy with her words. Sophia laid it bare: she'd discovered something in Vegas, a craving she couldn't ignore. She called it her "love for huge black c*ck."
The words landed like a slap, but her voice was calm, resolute. She'd gone to a club with her friends that September, and four men had swept them up. They'd swapped partners, again and again, until satisfaction and flight schedules pulled them apart. Her solo trip confirmed it-she needed this, needed them. She loved me, she said, and wanted to stay married, but I would no longer be her only lover.
