See My Humanity

 White people don’t see Black people as human. White people are, in fact, incapable of seeing us as human beings. White people don’t empathize with our pain because they don’t see us as equals. White people see us as sex objects, as minimum wage workers, as entertainers and athletes, and as inherently inferior, a sub-human species. That’s been the programming for centuries. We have darker skin and fuller features, our hair is different so they can look at us an see something other than what they are, a human being.

What’s always astounded me is the fact that white people can have such empathy and compassion for animals and yet the same white people who shed actual real tears over a dog in a dog fight or an animal killed on safari will cheer, they will openly applaud a Black person being killed by the cops. As much as it pains me to state the obvious, animals are a truly a different species to homo sapiens. There’s no way you can confuse an animal for a person yet white people will fall apart at a video of an animal being abused. When a Black person is murdered for the unforgiveable crime of being Black, white people donate money to the killer and go on full troll mode, purposefully seeking out Black people online who are outraged and hurt, only to inflict more hurt, to taunt and torment them by saying that that Black person’s life DESERVED to be taken for driving with expired tags or for smoking a cigarette or whatever lame excuse white people use for slaughtering us.

Not all white people love animals more than Black people though, right? Some white people torture and murder animals. See what I did there? You were expecting me to talk about the great white people who aren't racist. That's the programming. You expect whiteness to be exalted as superior. More to the point, it’s not like the animal killers love Black people. They are the ones who are torturing and killing animals, practice for killing Black people. How can I say that? As much as it pains me to say, I’m Black, I know white people. I know how evil they are, I know how much they hate us. I know white people in ways white people can never possibly know us because you are our predator and we have to know you in order to survive. White people, without having read one book by a Black author, without having seen a play, never having any exposure to blackness whatsoever, white people are convinced they know everything about us, our lives, our motivations. Black people have a deeper understanding of white people because you force your culture and norms down our throats and because if we don’t know exactly what type of white person we are dealing with, it could be fatal. It's like how Black people know to distrust cops because there are far more bad apples than white people acknowledge. We know that the TV shows and movies that show white people as the heroes and saviors, saving the day with their inherent goodness are all BULLSHIT.

This new wave of anti-racism is interesting. First and foremost, just like saying, “I’m not racist,” saying, “I’m anti-racist,” doesn’t make it so. “Woke” white people, the infinitesimally small and rare occurrence of them, are CONVINCED, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they are not racist because they follow Black people on Twitter and they proclaim how horrible it is to see those videos of Black people being murdered. And it is. It’s heart wrenching to see Black people’s lives being snuffed out because society says our lives aren’t worth anything. But for me, when I see those videos, Black people begging and pleading for their lives, terrified, I see me. I see my family, my cousins, my uncles and aunts, I see my brothers and sisters. I could easily be a hashtag. All day, every day, I’m in danger of being hashtagable because my skin is melanated. White people, even the ones who proclaim to be anti-racist, can never be hashtagable in this society because this society is set up to see them as the norm. White people see a Black person being murdered and they don’t see their loved one being murdered, they see “other.” They say, “Oh, it’s such a tragedy and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it before.” The key sentiment is that before ". . . I hated Black people and looked down on you previously but I wasn't overt about it but now I’m a good person.” And then when they close their laptop, social justice is done, back to white reality where they don’t have to think about Black pain and they certainly don’t feel it.

Should they? Should white people feel the pain of Black people who have been murdered like animals in the street, their lifeless bodies on display as a message to other Blacks, “Stay in your place or you’re next.” No, no one should have to feel that sensation. I want a life where I don’t have to feel that dread, that ache, that hopelessness. That’s what the cops want us to feel, the fear that we are next, it’s paralyzing and debilitating and that’s the entire purpose of slaughtering us for minor infractions. The power structure knows that we will be forced to hide our pain, suppress our fear, alter our behavior in order to survive our next encounter with the police. Whiteness wins every time a video of a Black person being murdered is shown because no matter how empathetic and woke white people are, they aren’t inviting anyone who looks like Rayshard Brooks or Amhad Aubrey to their dinner table. To their bed? Sure, Blacks are great at sex. But are those white people hiring more Blacks at their jobs, or standing up for the inherent injustice that is built into the very fabric of out society? Not at all. But every Black person who sees those videos wonders if they could be next.

When white real estate agents start outing the racism in their industry, when woke white people who work at Jiffy Lube or Just Brakes or the electric company expose the blatant racism built into their policies, when white people put themselves in jeopardy, when they have skin in the game, that is when their activism is authentic. When white people start calling out their bosses, the people who sign their paychecks, for the inherent racism built into their workplace, then I’ll be convinced of their sincerity. Now, it’s all empty platitudes and lies. Where are the woke nurses calling out the racism inherent in hospitals? Oh no, can’t do that. That would threaten their livelihood. It’s better to just be woke online, on a profile that doesn’t have your name or picture, where you pretend you are horrified at racial injustice and you go to work and you contribute to the disease of racism with your actions and your silence.

The other side of the table are the white people who hate Black people and blackness and they will scour every word I write, finding one sentiment that perhaps I didn’t articulate well or, more likely, find offense at one fact that they think they can dismantle because they believe themselves to be intellectually superior. Of course white people believe that they are smarter than Blacks, it’s how you’ve been conditioned. You feel it’s your responsibility to come on my page and critique and dismantle anything I say about racism or whiteness because I can’t possibly be as smart as you and you can’t let me think I’m smarter. We can’t have those negroes thinking that they can talk shit about the system that allows white people to work less and get paid more, that allows them to commit crimes and then act self-righteous and indignant at a Black person committing a crime to survive.

I’ve yet to meet the Wall Street exec who had to steal to put food on his table but I promise you that I’ve had a half a million of them tell me how criminal Black people are with no sense of irony whatsoever. And he commits more crimes before noon on a daily basis than I’ve committed in multiple lifetimes. White people who do drugs, commit crimes, have criminal delinquent children and are in the most dysfunctional relationships possible will come on this very post and proceed to tell me that I’m wrong about my perception of racism and whiteness because they know more than me. Promise.

I’m not asking white people to love me. I’m not asking for special favors or privileges. I want the exact same special privileges and favors white people get. That’s it. I want Black people to have the exact same privileges, points, perks, bonuses, and rights as white people have. We deserve to have the exact same things that you have because we are human beings, just like you. And the irony is, white people don’t have to give up a damn thing for that to happen. White people don’t have to give up any privileges and favors, they don’t have to become the unwanted of society, they don’t have to trade places with us and become the inferiors. I want to know that my skin will not cause me to be a target. I want to know that my life, my talent, my contributions have value in this society. That’s not asking too much.

Even if I don’t make a mother fucking contribution to society, my life still has value. I want white people to feel pain when they see yet another hashtag and not say, “Oh, it’s so bad that happens to Black people,” but rather say, “Why is this happening to US, why is this happening to me?” See me as a human being. See me as the same as you. Feel my pain. Feel it as your own. Feel the death of . . . whoever the latest Black person murdered was today, as a member of your family. They are. We are all human beings. We deserve more respect than a dog. We cry, we feel pain, we suffer challenges, we are fucking human beings.

The inequity that white people have created in this society is most highlighted by the homeless. I’ve never lived in Idaho or Wyoming, I don’t know what the racial makeup of those places are. I have lived in NYC, Baltimore, sort of Philly (an hour commute away) and Atlanta. I’ve visited a dozen or more other major metropolitan cities in my lifetime, nationally and internationally. The overwhelming and vast majority of homeless people are Black. Not by accident. Not because of any individual or collective choice that they’ve made. Black people are disproportionally homeless because white people don’t see us as humans.

White people make mistakes. They are forgiven. No, that’s not accurate. They are not forgiven, that implies some level of remorse or accountability. White people don’t normally have to feel remorse for their mistakes because society has told them that they are the alpha and the omega. Mistakes don’t define white people. If a Black person is homeless, we say it’s because of their poor choices. Is it? Did they decide to be born Black in a society that despised Blackness? Did they choose to be born poor in a country where a person’s wealth determines their worth as a human being? Did they choose to be undereducated by a system that wants to keep Blacks poor and uneducated? No, they didn’t. Did they choose to seek housing in a real estate market where white men think nothing of cheating, lying, and manipulating to build wealth as the expense of Black people’s safety? No, of course they didn’t make those choices. They were pawns in a game that hates Black pawns. Every facet of society is intended to CREATE Black homeless people, to step over them with an air of indignation and superiority. “I didn’t make the poor choices you made so I’m better than you.”

I’ve been homeless several time in my life. Well, I’ve been without shelter a few times in my life, I’ve lived with friends, slept on sofas, I’ve lived in hotel rooms for weeks on end because I didn’t have an address but I don’t consider that homeless. I’ve had two occasions where I had no residence, no place to go for several days. It was terrifying, not in the physical safety sense. That was draining and stressful. The terrifying part was the voices in my head that told me that I was flawed as a human being because I wasn’t living in a four-bedroom McMansion with granite counter tops and his and hers walk in closets. Wanna take a guess how man woke white people are living like that right this minute and have no concern or care for the homeless? More than can be counted.

In the early 90s, I remember I had just separated from my husband, I was depressed and scared; he had just told me he had one woman pregnant and he was in love with another woman and that he never wanted the reconciliation that he had told me he wanted for two months. I ended up on a 72-hour psych hold because I got drunk as hell and I was walking the streets crying and screaming like a crazy woman. When I was released, I didn’t have a place to go. My best friend was without an address and sleeping on someone’s floor at the time. He offered to let me sleep on her floor while she was at work for a few hours a day until we could find an apartment and move in together. For three ofr four days, I walked the streets of NYC all night, waiting to take the train to Brooklyn in the morning so I could I get a little rest. You can’t rest. When you don’t have a place to lay your head, your brain doesn’t stop working, telling you that you’re a failure. My friend was an immensely talented, brilliant Black man. (He died.) I am an immensely talented, brilliant Black women. Did we both end up without an address because of some inherent flaw within us. NO! The system is built to foster whiteness and neither of us was born with that benefit.

The other time was when I was living with a . . . man I had loved for 7 years. He wasn’t a boyfriend, we weren’t even in a relationship. He was an individual with whom I had a complicated and dysfunctional relationship that consisted mostly of me loving him and him loving light skinned women and him loving how I made him feel for two weeks a year . . . for 7 years. After the two weeks were over, he would say something hurtful, leave, and come back a year later. Whatever one calls that, that’s what we had. I moved out of his place in Chicago, drove back to Atlanta, and didn’t have a place to stay for a few days. I ended up sleeping in my car in the parking lot of a 24 hour Home Depot for a few nights. I honestly can’t even tell you where I ended up living after that. I can tell you that being without shelter didn’t define me. I had just finished writing what will be (or what may be already in another dimension) the most amazing stories of my life. I knew I was an amazing writer with a voice that deserved to be heard even while I was trying to hide from the cops to get me to move my car. Me not having a home in that moment didn’t change any of those things. I didn’t automatically become stupid, or untalented, or lazy because I didn’t have a home. Nothing about me changed other than the fact that I didn’t have a support system or an income to provide for the basics. Being homeless didn’t mean that I made bad choices. It means that society is built to keep me, all Black people oppressed. Period.

Every homeless person has a story. Every homeless person is a human being deserving of respect and an opportunity to provide for themselves. The American system is set up to keep homeless people homeless because they are the plague that everyone loves to decry is so unfortunate but you don’t lose a minute’s sleep over it because you have a bed, you have a car and a fridge full of food so you NEVER have to think about homeless people if you don’t want.

We, collectively, as a society, look at homeless people in the exact same way white people see Blacks. “It’s their fault they are in that situation and it doesn’t affect me, it’s not my problem. It’s sad and unfortunate and I have to pretend to be concerned because I know that society expects me to show compassion but in all honesty, when I don’t see them, I don’t give a fuck about them one way or the other, they never enter my consciousness, their existence doesn’t change my reality.”

The white people who think they are anti-racist and oh so woke don’t care about Black people, they care about the perception that they are racist. They don’t see the humanity of Black people all of a sudden, they see their shame that they were virulent racists and didn’t realize it. There is so much narcissism in white people proclaiming their wokeness and posting about Black Lives Matter.

I’ve said it 1000 times. The worst thing you can call a white person is racist. There is no greater insult. White wokeness is a response to that, it’s the way white people can say, “Look at me, I’m not racist.” Ask a woke white person to invite a homeless person into their home for dinner, give them a place to stay, let them sleep on your couch for a few months and help them get on their feet. You’ll get the, “It’s not safe . . . mental issues . . . my job . . . my children,” all those arguments.” Without knowing one homeless person, without knowing if they had a fucked-up husband who cheated on them or a racist employer who fired them, white people will blanketly disparage homelessness and blackness because they don’t see us as human. No human being deserves to sleep on the street or in a shelter where the admins are going home to huge houses and profiting from their pain.

I’ve done it. I’ve had homeless people stay with me in my home to help them. One was an extraordinarily gorgeous man, one was a mentally ill woman who could sing like an angel. They didn’t rape me or steal from me. I never felt in danger because I see myself in them. I saw them as human beings deserving of help. I’ve fed homeless people out of the trunk of my car at midnight because I worked as a concierge at a luxury condo and I would take the food when I got off at midnight and go to the church around the corner from my apartment. When I lived in NYC, one brotha named Carlos was in love with me because I would give him money every day, stop, and talk to him. He went to jail once for a few months and I was panicked. I asked every employee in the bank where he slept what happened to him, I asked the newspaper guy who literally was 5 feet away from him every day. No one even knew who he was, let alone his name. We treat the homeless like lepers, like they are deserving of living like that because we are a heartless, shallow, self-centered nation. A racist nation on top of that which looks at Black people as is their skin is a crime. The crime is whiteness and what it’s done to create the belief that only people with white skin deserve respect, accolades, pleasure, and opportunity.

As long as white people don’t see Black people’s humanity, nothing is going to change. Until you see that we laugh, we cry, we bleed, we fear, we love in the exact same way as you, until you have compassion and empathy for our unique and individual stories, until you see our HUMANITY, until you acknowledge that we deserve to have everything that you have, a life with minimal, third world stressors like your water heater broke or you have to carpool with your spouse because your car is in the shop, then nothing is going to change.

My ideal white submissive

 

I now know on an intrinsic, or at least I’m trying to accept on some level, that it’s not possible for me to get what I want.  I’m a pawn in a fucked up, racist game, not a special pawn, just a piece on the board.  They can’t stop me from dreaming though.  I know I’m an extraordinary Domme and I deserve someone compatible with me who appreciates and values all that I bring to the table.  I’m holding out hope for the great Black reset and a new consciousness however manipulated by the powers that be my perspective on that may be.  If BDSM still exists in my new reality, I want a submissive of my own, long-term, who fits me perfectly. 

My ideal submissive is approximately 55 years old.  I’m not interested in anyone significantly younger than that and for me to consider anyone in their late 40s they would have to not only meet but far exceed every other criteria.  I need him to be single or divorced.  He should be 6’ tall and I’ll get him in shape physically if he’s not already.  He should be attractive.  So, it’s a little slippery slope to say I want a white submissive to be attractive because, first and foremost, attraction is subjective.  I am not generally attracted to white men so it’s sort of disingenuous and hypocritical for me to say that I want one who is attractive.  I need someone who is attractive because I need him to represent me.  I’m elegant, sophisticated, I command attention wherever I go and I need someone who can withstand that sort of scrutiny.  His primary role will be to attend to Black men and I don’t want to offer up someone who immediately turns them off with his appearance.  I’m not averse to minor plastic surgery for teeth, dermatologists, spa treatments, a true makeover but nothing major.  If Black men look at him and they aren’t aroused, if they can’t see someone worth fucking, then he is of no use to me. 

He will NOT be regularly dressing as a woman, his primary role will not be that of a sissy faggot crossdresser;  he will dress and present as a man the vast majority of the time.  I’ll be responsible for picking his wardrobe for his dates with black men and he will be dressed according to my tastes and that includes suits, expensive, tailored suits and far more than casual khakis and golf shirts.  I will train him to crossdress and be appealing as a man who presents as female for the occasions that is requested of him but his default mode will be a white man who satisfies, pleasures, caters to, and submits to Black men. 

He will be my intellectual equal; we will be able to enjoy cocktails and discuss many subjects for hours. That presents a unique problem in that anyone who is my intellectual equal holds an advanced degree and I am not interested in anyone whose loyalties lie elsewhere or who is obligated to lie to me. No civil servants, no military personnel , no jet-setting rich playboys who inherited wealth. Ayahuasca, DMT, acid are fine, but if I get to pick and choose my perfect sub, I would say he should smoke weed, he is open to plant medicine and psychedelics in moderation, but he stays far away from chemical drugs.  So, if I get to create my dream submissive, he is someone who was raised in a family that valued education but placed more value in a person’s character, their intrinsic value, not their salary or title.  I would love it if he dropped out of college because he was too liberal and thought outside the box and has remained somewhat of a loner . . . like me.  I know!  That limits my potential submissive pool to a needle in an infinite universe of haystacks. I said it would be virtually impossible for me to find what I’m looking for in a white man but this is my dream list so I’m putting everything I want on it. 

I’m unwilling to consider taking the oath myself or drinking the juice or whatever you people do for a multitude of reasons at this stage in my . . . whatever this is . . . reality?  I’m not going to say that I won’t ever but with my convictions and my perspectives, I would feel like a traitor at this stage in my life, it would be like saying that I’m better than the people who I’m striving to lift up plus I’m a pathological truther so it’s not a good fit for me anyway. 

He will undoubtedly be progressive politically and he will be both, artistic, talented, and creative, as they mean distinctly different things.  My perfect submissive will be a jazz enthusiast and being bilingual is a plus.  I will be able to go to jazz festivals and concerts with him without being ashamed or embarrassed.  He will certainly get extra bonus points if he likes neo soul and rare grooves, salsa, etc., but it’s not a requirement whatsoever.  I need him to be a feminist.  I need him to be comfortable with his bisexuality.  I need him to be respectful of everyone’s differences and challenges. 

Europeans and white men raised outside of the US move to the head of the line please as I am going to imagine that re-training individuals not born into the racist hellhole that is AmeriKKKa will be easier.  I will not debate my submissive about race so she should come to the table as anti-racist as possible and I will work with him to train him to navigate the world as my submissive, and that means he will understand and be as articulate about race and racism as I am.  My plan to divest him of racism is intense and no one has ever attempted anything like it.  He will be subjected to sexual, psychological, and cultural instruction from a team of Black men and women who will incorporate pleasure and pain as incentives to learn how to be antiracist. 

He will be mine exclusively and we will see each other three or four times a year. The first year of training will be intense and extensive.  I’m going to reprogram and completely break him down and then recreate him in my image:  culturally, mentally, emotionally, socially, and sexually.   I intend for our relationship to span years, my prayer is that I will only have one submissive for the rest of my life so we will travel together and be comfortable in each other’s presence.  I will genuinely like him, like our time together as he will be courteous and polite in public and insatiable and ravenous behind closed doors.  His tastes will be similar to mine in that he will appreciate the finer things in life but he will not be too good to eat at Applebee’s nor will he think he’s too good to volunteer to work in the hood to do the real work of lifting people’s consciousness out of the ghetto. 

He should be financially secure and generous but I’m not looking for a sugar daddy.  I abhor the concept of blackmail.  If someone feels they need to be forced to worship and adore me because they’re afraid I will destroy their life, move on, I’m not cut out for them.  I want someone who recognizes me for the unique entity that I am and who feels privileged to belong to me and will show me with signs of his appreciation and love.  There is no dollar amount required but there is also the acknowledgement that I’m exceptional and you can not expect to belong to me for free. 

Ideally, I would love to find someone who would finance the creation of some of my cutting-edge interracial erotic content without the expectation of a ROI but rather just as a testament to his devotion to me.  I understand my worth.  I know what an honor and privilege it will be to say that you belong to me.  Investing money in creating groundbreaking, breathtaking, controversial, fucking sexy ass interracial erotica seems, to me, like it would be an honor.  I’m not white and I don’t have the same relationship with money as white men do, I don’t base my self worth on my bank account and white men do.  White men, who monetize and capitalize off of AIR, they think they have rights to make money off of air, who think nothing is wrong with stealing land and then profiting from it, tend to expect domination for free as, if it’s an honor for me to dominate them.  I don’t belong to that school of thought.  I’m not looking for material possessions, I could care less about purses or red bottom shoes.  I want community gardens in Black neighborhoods.  Finance that and get the keys to my heart.  I want experiences and memories, not material things.  More than anything, I want a submissive who feels honored to spoil me and does so because he truly loves me. 

Eventually, my ideal submissive will get access to me sexually.  That means, that one day, after he has proven himself, proven his loyalty and trustworthiness, after I’ve transformed him into the submissive of my dreams, he will have access to licking m pussy, tonguing my ass, to sucking my tits like a baby in my arms.  That is not something any white submissive has ever earned but I’m not looking for someone average.   It’s not something that will happen any time soon but he’s not average and he is going to get exceptional benefits if he belongs to me. 

In terms of things that will be off limits for him . . . My philosophy is simple, it has not and will not change.  If he doesn’t want to do something, he will not have to do it. Ever. If he says no, stop, anything even remotely close to taking his consent away, things come to a halt immediately.  I’m not here to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do or to facilitate his rape or anything of the sort.  It is my jog as a Domme to create a space for you where you can be uninhibited and insatiable, where you crave stimulation like a junkie.  I

I identify as a veraciphile, a word I created that means I’m aroused by the intimacy of sharing one’s most darkest secrets, however evil they might be.  A great many white men can’t understand that my arousal is from being the source of intimacy in your life, the person with whom you can share anything, any deeply depraved and sick secret.  White men almost always assume that means that I want them to do deeply depraved and sick acts for me, to arouse me.  I’m repulsed by the deeply depraved and sick acts that white men confess to me, I’m intensely aroused by them being forthcoming, sharing, opening up, and being honest with me.  My dream submissive will understand that, he will NOT be deeply depraved in fact.  He’s not a psychopath hiding in plain site, he’s someone with insatiable passions who desires to unleash them in private with select partners whom I choose and who wants to make me proud. I will train him in the things that arouse me and they will be options on the ala carte menu when he offers his services to Black men. In fact, he’s not driven by his sexual lusts whatsoever.  I know, impossible to find in a white man.  But I can dream. 

Now that I’m thinking about it, I may want two submissives.  One will be my equal, my perfect pet and another will be my toy to abuse and destroy, one who will be nastier and filthier who only performs for me when I need someone disgusting.  I would have a different relationship with him.  Finding that submissive is not a priority for me.  I’m sure I could create him if I took the time to go through all the offers I get currently but he’s almost a backup in my mind.  My priority would be to find the white submissive created for me. 

I Truly Feel Sorry for White People

 What empty, meaningless, superficial lives white people lead. This entire reality was created for you, for your ego, and you’re still not happy, it’s still not enough for you. I don’t know how reincarnation works, but knowing what I know now, I would never knowingly choose to come back to this reality as a white person. You are completely unoriginal, petty, and devoid of substance. You, you advanced degreed, oath-taking, compact-signing, mead-drinking, Limitless, legacy mother-fuckers know the truth. You know you have stolen EVERYTHING. You know that Black people invented everything, created everything, you know that we are the master architects of science, technology, arts, civilization, medicine, of every damn thing under the stars yet you STILL arrogantly think you’re superior. The Munchkins, the dumb fucks who don’t know the truth, they believe lock, stock, and barrel in the big white lie, but I’ll be damned if they don’t benefit from the fallacy of white supremacy and they’re just as arrogant as the ones who know the truth.

In this fake reality white people have access to better education, access to better jobs, housing, healthcare, loans, even healthier food. Damn near every movie, book, and song is written about your experience from your perspective. This world was created so you could have access to better everything. You’d think you’d say, “Hey, we are the imposters in this scenario, let’s try to be as humble and respectful to Black people as we can be since, ultimately, we really aren’t in control here and they got the shitty end of the stick and we know it.” Nope. That thought never crosses your mind. You make everything about you. About your desires. Your wants. You believe your own lies.

White people have an entire justice system created to isolate you from any ramifications, responsibility, or accountability of any of your wrongdoings and crimes and that’s still not enough for you. You live in a reality created to perpetuate the lie that white men are the source of all that is good and right but are you happy with that? No! You have to protest Black people kneeling. You send money to cops who murder us. You can’t even fucking acknowledge that black lives don’t have as much value as yours in this stinking fake reality. You fucking stalk and harass Black people online for standing up for ourselves and demanding the same rights that you take for granted every day.

You want to be sexually submissive to Blacks behind closed doors with your pitiful need to pretend you are being forced and blackmailed and then you go back to being racist the second you go back to your vile, co-opted, white life. The second I say that I’m not interested in dominating you, that I don’t want to play your contrived game where I conform to your delusional concept of what it means to be a dominant Black woman, you revert to your true nature, your racist, offensive, arrogant selves. You lust after Black women but you marry white women because they have the power in the magical realm, and you exist in your loveless marriage of pretense for . . . what . . .? The promise of money? For what? More power? You don’t have enough currently? I will never understand. No wonder you are all aroused by being cuckolds. You don’t have a choice. White women don’t marry you for love, they marry you for blood, for I’m assuming some sort of power and status. Of course they want dick from Black men. Who wouldn’t want a real man, a man capable of sensuality, capable of authenticity, a man capable of doing everything better than you? If only we had the same access to magick as you.

You lie. You all lie You don’t know how to be honest. You’re incapable of telling the truth. Everything is a calculation, everything is a manipulation, there is nothing authentic or real about you. I feel sorry for you. I’m real. I’m honest. I’m FREE. I can express true passion; I don’t have to lie or pretend I’m something other than what I am. I don’t have to live by absurd superstitions and rules of morality that were created from the beyond insane and egotistical psyche of whiteness and you still think you’re superior. Pathetic. Truly fucking pathetic. I’d rather be Black and enslaved by the power hungry wizard in this false reality than be white and inauthentic in any other dimension.

Your OFFICIAL AfroerotiK “Fallacy of white Supremacy” Primer.

I’ve encountered the exact same situation too many times to count.  White men, average white men in their typical arrogant and ignorant fashion, usually minutes after they offer me their unsolicited and undying allegiance to New Black World Order, a mythical place white men think exists where Blacks sexually dominate whites as a form of reparations, will INSIST that racism doesn’t exist and that there is no such thing as white privilege, all while simultaneously and erroneously declaring that everything good and right in the world came from the mind of a white person and that Black people are inherently lazy and criminal.  The transformation takes seconds.  They go from proclaiming themselves unworthy of eating my shit, they go from BEGGING to be a Black-only sissy faggot cum dump party favor for my amusement to calling me a racist nigger bitch and hurling as many racist and offensive stereotypes at me as they can before I block them. 

Racism, a word 99.9999% of white men can’t define correctly, is not the same thing as the fallacy of white supremacy.  Think of racism like Covid-19, it’s affected everyone in different ways even if it hasn’t infected us individually. Its effects are deadly, its long-term and far-reaching impact is devastating, but it absolutely can be eradicated.

Think of the fallacy of white supremacy like the OZone: a toxic, unstable, inorganic, (meaning not derived from living matter) gas that exists everywhere.  There is no avoiding the poisonous gas that traps us in this earthly dimension, there is no place on this earth that is not surrounded and poisoned by the chemical compound O3 that makes up the Ozone layer.  Each and every thing on the planet, seen and unseen, is influenced by OZone. Fun facts about ozone: it’s been present since 1865 and it is seemingly inescapable. I have to admit that I’m not as knowledgeable about ozone as I should be.  I’ll have to do some more research to see if I can grasp how its use in water treatment plants and in creating oxidizing, bleaching, disinfecting, and deodorizing products has so greatly negatively impacted our atmosphere and climate.  Think of the fallacy of white supremacy in the the same light as OZone, ever-present, invisible, and more structurally and systemically debilitating and destructive than can be imagined. 

Fox’s Tucker Carlson can be heard asking over and over again, “What even is white supremacy?”  I can say, unequivocally, without a millisecond’s hesitation, that there is no such thing as white supremacy.  There is, however, the fallacy of white supremacy and very much like the OZone, it’s omnipresent.  There is no person, Black, white, red, yellow, brown or any other color, no person, place or thing not infected with the lie of white supremacy.  The fallacy of white supremacy can be defined as the false belief that white men/the Caucasian race are the origin of every technological, scientific, artistic, political, and cultural advancement, invention and innovation ever created.  Science has been manipulated to distort the truth to deny the African origins of civilizations and reframe Caucasians as the source of all things good.  History has been manipulated to make it appear as if white men are the source of all knowledge. 

The fallacy of white supremacy can be found in the false belief that white men can’t be questioned about their motives and intentions, that they are above the law, beyond reproach, that they get to have the last word, that they are the inherently benevolent.  They’ve fashioned themselves as masterful creators, divine, holy. The fallacy of white supremacy manifests in white men being able to lie, cheat, and steal and proclaim themselves morally superior. Who are the moral arbiters of the world?  White men. The fallacy of white supremacy distorts reality to make it seem as if white men applied their hard work ethics and ingenuity to build industries and dominate the world. The fallacy of white supremacy infects every living being, every atom in our atmosphere.  It denies and distorts the contributions of Nile Valley Civilizations.   I will consider compiling an extensive bibliography of texts to be read in the future but for now, a YouTube video should suffice as a starting place to do more research for the intellectually curious and those sincerely interested in the truth of African greatness.  The fallacy of white supremacy has manipulated, time, space, and magick to convince the world that white men are deserving of more life, liberty, happiness, justice, power, and money than the lowly people of color, the cogs in the machine, who do all the work that create their undeserving power and wealth. 

The US socio-political-economic system has never worked for Black people in this country. Not before or since Emancipation. In this country, it’s always been Black and brown’ish people who’ve done the back-breaking, labor intensive work that white people don’t want to do; it's always been people of color who create the wealth; we just don't get to keep any of it. The truth is, white wealth is the result of scientific colonialism, slavery, magick, inherited wealth, nepotism, good-old-boy networks, defaulted loans, stealing, cheating, lying, kickbacks, bribes, manipulation, insurance fraud, extortion, shell companies, Ponsi schemes, gerrymandering, vote tampering, insider trading, political favoritism, kickbacks, bribes, manipulation, fraud, extortion, shell companies, bankruptcy, Swiss bank accounts, and tax breaks up the wazoo. An ally sisterfriend, @SummerBunns, reminded me that the fallacy of white supremacy includes them being able to commit acts of genocide without consequence, the perpetual destruction of Earth-based cultures everywhere, the intentional plunder & destruction of Earth's ecosystems, the slaughter of other species, pollution & misuse of water (which is Life) & air, & runaway colonization (which is now extending into outer-fucking-space!) I gotta say, little limp dicks might not have much use anywhere else but in the perpetuation of the fallacy of white supremacy they rock because possession of one of them seems to be the Golden Ticket, the key to untold wealth and power. 

So, right this very second, white men are reading my words and foaming at the mouth, pink-faced and sweaty, OUTRAGED at the very suggestion that their supremacy isn’t a real thing, that I’m stupid, they are screaming that they don’t have any privileges whatsoever.  To suggest that not EVERY white person got their wealth as a result of the fallacy of white supremacy is foundation of the illusion.  The falsehood is that some white people pulled themselves up by their bootstraps to build their local, independent, family-owned business and Black people aren’t ingenious or hardworking enough to be able to do it like that mighty white man.  To deny that the fallacy of white supremacy effects everything is to deny the fact that everything is connected.  The fallacy of white supremacy doesn’t exist in a vacuum, only benefitting those with Germanic-sounding last names who sit back inflicting chaos on the world from their remote resorts with their evil plans of world domination. Nope. 

The white person who starts their small business from the ground up is still the beneficiary of a system built on the fallacy of white supremacy.  The winner of the scraps thrown to them from the 1% who benefit most, are the white men who SWEAR that they don’t have a racist bone in their bodies.  White business owner gets perks, benefits, and privileges that Black people can never get under the current system.  Banks that give loans operates under racist and criminal Federal Reserve policies and rates that originated with the belief that only white, land-owning men were worthy of rights in this country so they are more forgiving and understanding when someone who looks like them needs a loan. The “average” white man’s mortgage, their car loan, their credit cards are financed by a system created to perpetuate the false belief that white men are inherently superior. The stock market, the tax laws that they use, the zip code they live in, the schools they attend were all created for the benefit of white people.  It doesn’t stop there.  The vendors and suppliers who make their business go, the cell phone network, the internet provider, the lawyer and accountant he retains . . . there is not one aspect of this country that is not infected with the disease of the fallacy of white supremacy, racism, and privilege afforded to white men that gives every white person collateral benefits.   There is no way to be white in this world and not benefit from the fallacy of white supremacy.  It’s like a poisonous gas that has brainwashed us to believe that white is right.

The fallacy of white supremacy, the false belief that white men invented, created, and mastered everything in the known Universe, that they are omniscient and omnipotent, is a lie.  History is a lie.  Science is a lie.  The truth is a lie.  It is the Big Lie. It’s not a little white lie, it’s the Big Black lie. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, manipulating things, trying to convince us that white men are the source of all that is good in the world, he’s just a two bit loser from Atlantic City who couldn’t get elected as a dog catcher without cheating.  IN THIS DIMENSION, the white men is all powerful.  In reality, he’s a thief and a liar, a second-rate magician who has convinced himself of his innate worthiness and divinity.  He has convinced himself of his own lies, he now believes that he is inherently superior, forgetting that he stole, manipulated, and suppressed the greatness of Africans since he began to manipulate this time and space continuum.  He’s nothing but smoke and mirrors.  His power is illegitimate.   

SCIENTIFIC COLONIALISM: DECEPTION, DISTORTION AND EMPIRICAL IMPRISONMENT

 

            African-centered psychologist, Wade Nobles, in his work entitled African Psychology: Toward its Reclamation, Re-ascension and Revitalization, introduces the reader to the concept of scientific colonialism.  He asserts that scientific colonialism is a three-pronged process by which politically manipulative entities distort the African origins of information and ideas and intellectually usurp those thoughts in an effort to appear intellectually superior.  That act only not only renders the true authors of said information the unwitting victims of theft but also of a diseased perpetuation of deception that creates the false perception of their intellectual inferiority.  People of European descent have incorporated this ontological distortion for millennia thus destroying and distorting volumes of knowledge and wreaking havoc upon the legacy of greatness that belongs to people of African descent. 

            It is in the epistemological translation of information that the greatest wealth of African knowledge has been lost. Europeans’ quantifying and calculating minds could not conceive of the spiritual, symbolic, and metaphysical elements of the pilfered ancient Kemetic materials so they simply discarded or kept hidden those elements that did not resonate with their linear consciousness.  Transpersonal keys to transcendence, axiological truths of the universe, intangible secrets of the body, mind and soul became waste products in the process of integrated modificationism whereby Europeans commandeered and re-authored African wisdom. The belief that only that which can be measured and seen is real stems from the perpetuation of European distortions. Even in the recent reclamation of a more metaphysical reality, Caucasian people now assert themselves as the keeper of the “New Age” keys.  It seems that even now, they want to dictate that they alone possess the knowledge of spirit with their workshops and expo’s on other realms. For Europeans to maintain their position of power, they must continue to perpetuate their lies and falsehoods.

It is entirely plausible that some of the ancient truths of Kemet escaped westward and were maintained in remote villages through the spiritual practices of the indigenous Black peoples of West Africa.  Europeans, in the form of colonizers and slave merchants encountering these practices thousands of years after their original theft, and fully indoctrinated to believe that only that which originates from white skin could hold any validation, dismissed the rituals and practices of the Africans and labeled them barbaric.  The psychological enslavement of Black people created a paradigmatic shift in consciousness that rendered them susceptible to the notion of these traditions and practices were to be considered heathen, uncivilized, and “of the devil.” Today, even the most Afrocentric scholar must speak of “beingness,” the soul, even of masculine and feminine energies as essentially foreign concepts that have a vague ring of familiarity that resonates from within.  The eastern-bound dissemination of Kemetic information mirrors itself in the shamanic temples and practices of the Far East.  The brown peoples of Asia now stake claim to knowledge that is inherently African in its origin and hold dear its secret tenets.  They too have been convinced that African peoples are inferior, not even acknowledging the origin of their own melanated skin as coming from the base of the Nile. 

The far-reaching and deleterious effects of scientific colonialism created a conceptual incarceration, or a mental imprisonment, for both the descendants of Europeans and Africans, as well as world citizens that have been subjected to the imperial domination of the oppressive colonizers.  Collectively, our minds have been grafted to think that Europeans are superior and Africans are inferior.  The ancient Kemetic adage, “As a man thinketh, so is he,”[1] speaks well to the fact that Europeans now believe themselves to be so superior that they feel that they can dominate the world from their own megalomaniacal pedestal of power.  Africans, and their Diasporic descendants, now conceptually embrace their status of inferiority and navigate through the universe as victims of this diabolic manipulation of truths.

It is quite one thing to steal information from someone to appear to be as intelligent as they are.  It is quite another monumental task altogether to steal that information and then to depict the original authors as being infantile and moronic.  To even conceive of such a reality one must be steeped in a sense of inferiority that is so overwhelming that it perpetuates the diabolical and systematic oppression of other human beings.  It is that diseased perception that has ruled and controlled the wisdom of the ages for centuries.  It is also that very perception that people of African descent must vehemently deny to reclaim our spiritual heritage, to re-ascend to our position of intellectual power, and to revitalize our current state of consciousness, as the title of Nobles’ work implies.

Copyright 2004 Scottie Lowe

[1] This is a prime example of integrated modification in that the verbiage and content of ancient African thought has been distorted to appear that the material originated from some sort of Shakespearean sage.

A Kinder, Gentler Cuckoldress

 Once upon a time, in an enchanted forest in a distant, far-off land, there lived a rare mystical, magical, creature, part human, part scarab, that possessed the keys to eternal life; legend held that it would grant immortality and untold riches to anyone who could clear their mind of all thought for 17 seconds. This is not a story about that legend however. It is a story about an equally rare creature nonetheless. This is a story about Erick Fairlie, a cuckold of distinction.

One can suppose that any tale pertaining to Erick should start off describing him. Erick is an anomaly in a sea of conformity. From all outward appearances, Erick looks rather average. There is nothing particularly remarkable about his countenance, you could meet him and a half hour later not be able to pick him out of lineup. Ex-military, his body is fit but he is not going to stop traffic with his physique by any stretch of the imagination. His mother considers him attractive so take that for what it’s worth. Is he a captain of industry, is that what makes him so unique, an entrepreneur with a cutting edge new business concept that is poised to change the world, or a billionaire mogul commanding power and influence around the globe? Nope, Erick will never make an impact in commerce as he is decidedly more comfortable being a cog in the machine as opposed to being the precision engine that drives the vehicle. Add to that he has a certain social ineptness that makes him habitually shy and there you have the composite portrait of a man with deep secrets and lacking the requisite skills to form any sort of healthy, mature relationship.

For those with salacious minds, here is where it should be noted that Erick has a more than adequate sexual appendage. It’s important to declare that he doesn’t have a particularly little cock or a particularly large one either. That point is essential to the telling of his tale because Erick Fairlie is sexually submissive, he derives the greatest pleasure in pleasing his partner and that is usually perceived as the domain of white men who are anatomically deficient below the belt. It’s not his submissiveness that makes him so unique either. In fact, his submissiveness makes him pretty average.

Submissive white men are ubiquitous. Despite society doing their level best to perpetuate the false belief that white men are the original Alphas, that their inherent nature is to dominate and subjugate, that white maleness is the epitome of sexually-conservative heterosexuality, the reality, in plain sight for all the world to see, is that the overwhelming and vast majority of white men are bisexual, hyper-sexual, perverted, and submissive in numbers far greater than, well, certainly the media would ever dare to acknowledge. Yes, mainstream media depicts interracial relationships all the time. What mainstream media doesn’t do is address the truth. The truth is that white men desperately lust after Black sexuality in pandemic proportions.

Before the internet, before the age of porn at our fingertips, people were largely left to their imaginations and speculation about what happened in other people’s bedrooms, about what sorts of fantasies and desires other people had. There was more than enough room for conjecture that no one else in the entire world had the same erotic proclivities as you, that you were alone in your desires and curiosities. The internet, smart phones, tube sites, social media, and dating apps changed all that. One didn’t have to feel alone any longer, isolated in that they were the only person who is aroused by a particular kink that seemed obscure or abnormal. What didn’t change with the advent of daily porn consumption was the secrecy, shame, and lies that surrounded the very mention of the word sex in larger society.

At first, white men were satisfied to merely look at interracial porn to, you know, “see if the myth is true.” Their initial interracial curiosity evolved, however. Eventually white men started imagining themselves in place of the white women getting fucked by big, thick, long, strong, Ebony dicks. They began lusting after the big, black cock for themselves.

But white men are not supposed to be gay, and they are certainly not supposed to be gay to Black men so in order to compensate in their minds, in order for their own homosexual lust for big, Black dicks to make sense to them, they started to embrace being sissies and crossdressers in staggering numbers. White men have embraced dressing and acting like white women in outrageous numbers in order to validate the fact that they want to be degraded, humiliated, used, and abused at the hands of Black men in the same way they have fantasized about their wives and girlfriends being objectified for years. They have co-opted transgenderism to excuse their homosexual lust for Black men.

What sort of white man would ever admit that he wants his wife to get fucked by a Black man, or that he wants to look at a Black man’s foot-long cock going in and out of her well-used asshole, or that he wants to suck that big black cock clean after she gets rammed hard and deep, let alone that he wants to get fucked so hard by a Black man that his asspussy gapes open like a blooming onion at . . . well . . . the chain of restaurants that sells blooming onions? None of them will admit it in public but all white men want that and more. White men are OBSESSED with Black sexuality despite being raised, socialized, and brainwashed to believe in the inherent inferiority of Blacks. That’s how deep racism runs in this country. White men are socializing and interacting with their friends and family, their coworkers and associates, telling racist jokes, degrading any efforts for social equality from Black people, and CONVINCED beyond all reasonable doubt that they are the ONLY white male, the only one in existence in the entire Universe who obsessively lusts after the larger than average genitalia of Black men.

In commercial porn, white men are always depicted as dominant and aggressive, white women are always the objects for men’s pleasure, little more than receptacles for cum. Commercial porn shows white men spitting on, slapping, choking, and violating women, not riding big black dildos the size of fire extinguishers or begging to be gangbanged by groups of well-hung ghetto inhabitants. Amateur porn shows a more realistic and accurate version of white male sexuality, it is replete with homemade videos of real white men showing how deviant they really are. Commercial porn appeals to white men’s false sense of superiority and masks their insecurities and low self-esteem by portraying white men degrading and using women as if women are genetically predisposed to being submissive. Commercial porn is little more than white men’s lame attempt to hide their shame in not being well-endowed like Black men, at not having the charisma, stamina, and inherent sensuality and sexuality of Black men, and obscuring their inherent need to experience sex at its most base, vile, and filthy level. Commercial porn reflects the sick need for white men to portray themselves as oppressors when they actually desire to be objectified.

Because society is incapable of having informed, realistic conversations about sex and race, white men are left to create their own online dialogue about the nature of sex and to create a narrative where they are able to validate their preferences without any pesky reason or logic interfering with their quest for sexual gratification. It is white men who are creating the gifs that call for the extinction of the white race, it’s white men creating the New Black World Order memes, promoting white slavery, and it is most assuredly white men creating videos hypnotizing white men to be pussy free and become cross-dressing sissies.

So, in that way, Erick Fairlie was vastly different than his peers. He didn’t want to see his girlfriend abused and violated by Black men, he wanted to see her pleasured. He didn’t want or need to dress up in lingerie, makeup, heels, and a wig in order to validate his lust for Black dick. He was comfortable, at least within himself on some level, that he was bisexual. He still had a need to hide his identity online lest he be discovered however, afraid that someone will find out that he isn’t straight and that he is attracted to an “alternative lifestyle” as they say. He didn’t want to be degraded or humiliated, he didn’t want to be left sexually unsatisfied or merely be an observer while his lady friend was pleasured by her Black lover. What Erick wanted was a loving relationship with a beautiful woman who just so happened to be addicted to pleasure from having sex with hung Black men. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

Well, Erick must have found that magic beetle to make all his wishes come true because he met the woman of his dreams one Friday night when he was having dinner and a beer and the local restaurant. He was by himself sitting at the bar, he wasn’t looking for anyone, well, not intentionally. He was watching the game and minding his business when the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen in his life sat next to him and ordered a gin and tonic. She was stunning. She had so much thick, curly, light brown hair that he was sure the people sitting in the booth behind them couldn’t see the TV after she sat down. Her hazel colored eyes were captivating and she had an olive/tan skin tone that accentuated her pouty full red lips that were begging to be kissed. She looked to be about 5’4” and she had small breasts, barely a B cup, and smooth, sexy, toned legs that ended in the sexiest feet framed by sexy little sandals.

“Hi, I’m Arianna,” she said, “do you come here often? Can you suggest anything good on the menu?” She had a sexy accent that Erick couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t British or Australian, maybe it as a bit of both but whatever it was, it sounded sexy as hell.

Erick wiped his mouth with his napkin and extended his hand. After introducing himself, he said that menu wasn’t that extensive but that the burgers were the best. He had no game whatsoever so it was a good thing that Arianna seemed intent on maintaining the conversation. She said she was new in town, in fact she had just gotten an apartment not too far from the restaurant a few weeks ago and was finally unpacked and trying to get a lay of the land and was starting to venture out to make new friends. She had just finished grad school and was working at a research facility for the government.

“What are you,” Erick blurted out? It was an unsophisticated question but Arianna had heard it a million times in her life. Ethnically, she was a rare mix. Her father was German, straight out of the Aryan playbook with blond hair and ice blue eyes, and her mother was Native American and Indian, as in India Indian. No one could ever guess her ethnic makeup and she was often confused for being Latina or a light skinned Black woman and mostly people assumed she was Middle Eastern, but almost every nationality had claimed her as their own at one point or another in her life. Luckily for Erick she wasn’t too offended by his question and she continued to engage with him. She was born and raised in post-apartheid South Africa and had moved to the States 8 year ago after college for her career. She was some sort of scientist who specialized in algae . . . maybe she said fungus, or was it bacteria? Whatever it was, it sounded way too gross for a hottie like her to work with.

Everything about Arianna was captivating to Erick. She was beautiful, she was smart, she was confident; it was his perfect woman. He tried to make his life sound interesting to be more appealing to her but he wasn’t that creative. None of that seemed to matter to her, she seemed to like him despite his mediocrity. By the time the restaurant was closing, she was touching him softly on his arm, smiling, and she suggested Erick walk her back to her apartment so she would be safe.

She lived about two miles away which was perfect for a late night stroll. They stopped at a little park and sat on a bench and people-watched for a while as they continued to flirt and get to know each other. Erick had just about worked up the courage to go in for the kiss when her phone rang. From the second she answered, her face lit up. She was smiling ear to ear, giggling like a little girl, thrilled with the news she had gotten from the person on the other end of the phone.

“Really? When? July? Wow, that’s great, I can’t wait to see you,” was the last thing she said before she hung up the phone. “I’m sorry about that. My ex-boyfriend is finally coming to the States for a visit. We haven’t seen each other in 3 years and . . .” her voice trailed off, her sentence unfinished. She went on to explain that she and her ex, Thato, had known each other since they were 5 years old in Cape Town. They were each other’s first love. He was in the military and couldn’t leave South Africa when she moved to the States so they decided to part ways with the understanding that they would always love each other but they needed to live their lives so they wouldn’t grow to resent each other and maybe one day they would reunite.

Erick’s heart was pounding. He wanted to ask if Thato was Black but he knew enough not to, he wanted to know if they were going to fuck when he came to town. Mostly, he wanted to know if Thato had a big Black African cock. Arianna pulled up pictures on her phone of their last meeting in Aruba and Erick gasped out loud. He tried to play it off by saying he had swallowed a bug but his eyes were glued to the phone. Not only was Thato Black and handsome, he was so dark his skin looked like charcoal. He had muscles on top of muscles. His stomach was an 8 pack of ripples, his chest, arms, legs, everything was supersized. Not like Mr. Olympia on steroids but more like a well-built stallion.

His smile was blinding his teeth were so white. He looked like he towered over Arianna in the pictures by almost a foot. In picture after picture, they were kissing and touching and his hands were resting on very intimate places on her body. The contrast in skin tones was dramatic and it drove Erick insane. And it was more than evident from their beach photos of Thato in his bathing suit that Arianna was accustomed to getting a lot of big hard cock.

“Uhmmm, you aren’t jealous, are you?” Arianna had busted Erick looking way too intently at the photos.

“What? No! No way! I was just . . . you know, I was just . . . I’ve always wanted to go to Aruba is all.” Erick didn’t have the ability to be honest and say that he was turned on by the idea of her having sex with her ex while he watched.

“Good. I can’t deal with jealous guys. Come on, let’s go.”

They walked the rest of the way back to her apartment. When they got to her building she didn’t seem like she was anxious to have the evening end so Erick insisted he walk her all the way to her front door. When they got to the front door, she asked him if he would like to come in. The minute he walked in her apartment, she said it was too late for him to walk back to his car alone and that he might as well stay until the morning. Erick, used to lying about what he really wanted out of habit, tried to play it off like he was a big strong guy and it was no big deal, that he could walk back to his car with no problems at all even though he wanted nothing more than to stay. Arianna blew his mind and said, “That’s fine. If you’d rather go home and masturbate thinking about fucking me rather than actually fucking me, that’s alright with me.”

Rather than say anything, Erick decided the best thing to do was to be quiet. Arianna led him to the bedroom and told him to undress. She inspected him, circled him. She didn’t exactly say that she liked what he was working with but she nodded and sounded as if she was pleased. Erick was sure he was dreaming. Stuff like this just didn’t happen to guys like him, not with women like this.

They fucked that night. Arianna pulled no punches, she asked for exactly what she wanted. She was verbal, explicit, and seemed to have a confidence about her beyond any woman he had ever been with before. Erick was smitten.

In the morning, Erick woke to find Arianna already up and dressed. Well, she was wearing panties and a t-shirt and she was eating a bowl of cereal and checking her emails. “Hey, you’re awake! Cool. I have a long to-do list to tackle with the new apartment and all, wanna hang out today and help me?” Erick was almost too enthusiastic in his affirmative response.

They showered and dressed and headed out to get his car and then head to a couple of different home improvement stores to buy paint and patio furniture and fluorescent light bulbs and closet organizers and bookshelves. Erick spent the afternoon with a drill and a hardon. That evening, they fucked again. This time she was even more enthusiastic. She wanted her toes sucked and her ass licked. She decided when they changed positions and she rode Erick to several orgasms with little assistance from him. By Sunday morning Erick had to go home and take care of a few things at his place but he was back at her apartment that evening as soon as she called and told him to come over.

For the next several weeks Erick spent four or five nights a week with her, either at her apartment or his house. She enjoyed being in control, telling him what to do, dictating their sexuality. She introduced a strapon into their play without even asking him if he was interested in it. She sat on his mouth and pissed on him without even asking permission. It was clear she was in charge and as long as she didn’t start playing with knives or fire or some dangerous shit, Erick was down for almost anything. Then there were some nights when she would text and say she had plans and that they could see each other the next day. There was never any further explanation and Erick didn’t dare ask anything more because it was clear she was in charge and he didn’t want to mess up this good thing they had going. Besides, he loved jerking off imagining her with other men anyway.

Erick was too immature to approach the subject of Arianna’s ex coming to town but he was painfully aware that she hadn’t mentioned him since that first night. They had been seeing each other for just shy of two months. He was in love with her, in many ways, it was the first time he had really been in love, at least it felt different with her than any time he thought he had been in love before. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

Finally, the day came when she brought up the subject. She had excitedly called Erick and told him that she needed to go shopping for lingerie. Erick jumped at the opportunity because he loved when she wore sexy outfits for him and he was anxious to see her in something new that he bought for her. As Arianna floated about the store, picking out really provocative items: garters, stockings, corsets, and teddies, she gushed and wondered out loud if Thato would like them. Erick couldn’t respond. He was too distracted. This woman, the woman he loved, knew his secrets without him even telling her. She had to. There was no way she would be so blatant, so bold if she didn’t know.

After lunch and with a few hundred dollars’ worth of shopping bags in tow, he drove her back to her apartment to drop her off. Arianna said nonchalantly, “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight. Thato’s flight gets in a couple of hours and I would love for you to meet him. I think you two will have a lot to talk about. I think you will really like him.” Erick didn’t really have a choice, he had to say yes. His hard cock wouldn’t let him say no.

Nervously, he dressed for his “date.” He was uneasy about what would happen. He knew Arianna well enough to know that she loved to be in control and that she knew how to push his buttons but he regretted that he had never had enough courage to address his particular brand of cuckold desires before. He didn’t want to be degraded or humiliated, he just wanted to be a voyeur. He wanted to watch and participate actually. He worried that she would view him differently, think less of him if she knew he wanted to suck off her lover . . . and more.

Erick arrived exactly at 6. Arianna answered the door and he almost didn’t recognize her. She had straightened her hair and she looked . . . white, well almost. Usually, with her gigantic mop of curly hair, it would have been impossible to think she was Caucasian but with it straight, she almost looked like she was white with a tan. She looked great, just different. Erick sat on the sofa in silence. Was it too late to bring up the subject of cuckoldry with her? Should he just take a chance and see what happens and hope for the best? All of his questions were to go unanswered as the doorbell rang.

Erick sat frozen to the sofa, he couldn’t move. He could hear the door open and he could hear Arianna’s squeals of delight. What he didn’t count on was the fact that they would be speaking a different language, they were speaking Afrikaans and he didn’t understand a word of what they were saying to one another. For what seemed an eternity, they kissed and hugged each other and made small talk until they finally made their way to the living room.

Arianna looked like a school girl, holding his arm and looking up at him with stars in her eyes. She introduced them. “Erick, I would like you to meet Sergeant Major Thato Dlamini of The South African Army and the true love of my life. Thato, this is Erick.” For the first time since they had met, Erick felt humiliated and it was a conflicted feeling. He had expected her to introduce him as her boyfriend or at least give more than his name. There was a part of him that actually felt jealous of how she seemed to gush over him, how enraptured she seemed to be in his presence. He wanted her to feel that way about him but deep inside he knew she would never be able to love him the way she loved Thato. And on a deep, twisted level, that fact was intensely arousing to Erick.

Erick stood and saluted him. “Sir, Corporal Erick Fairlie, at your service, Sir.” Being a true submissive, being of service was Erick’s raison d'etre and in that moment he wanted to be subservient and obedient to this African god. He stood erect, awaiting inspection.

“At ease Corporal, you did hear her say The South African Army, right? I’m on leave so no work talk.” Thato said, his voice sounding like the melody to a song.

Thato made himself comfortable on the sofa and Arianna climbed across his lap and put her arms around his neck, her back to Erick. They talked of South Africa and family and personal things that Erick knew nothing about. Their conversation went back and forth from English to Afrikaans and he was quite sure they were talking about him as they would say something, look at him and laugh from time to time, and resume their conversation. Erick wanted to be angry but he couldn’t. Arianna was in heaven and that was all he ever wanted. If he had to be made to feel insignificant and inconsequential in front of her lover, then so be it. Thato was taller, he had a better body, he outranked him, he was almost sure that his dick was significantly bigger, by just how much he wasn’t exactly sure but he would have dropped to his knees to pull it out and measure it in a heartbeat.

They ordered takeout. Arianna said, “Be a dear and run and get the food for us, will you?” She didn’t make an effort to reach for her purse to pay him for the food or even contribute to the meal. Erick felt like a dunce. Here he was going to pay for food for his girlfriend and her . . . boyfriend? Lover? He wasn’t even sure how to refer to himself any longer. Erick wanted to get back to the apartment as soon as possible because he didn’t want to miss anything. He had no idea how Arianna felt about being watched and he was terrified that Thato might kick his ass if he realized that Erick was a cocksucker but he was so aroused that he was willing to take that chance.

Erick returned with the food and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, this time louder but still there was no answer. He called her cell phone and after four rings she answered, out of breath, and said she would be right there, no apologies offered. She opened the door and he half expected to see her clothes disheveled and awry but they weren’t. Her hair did look at bit curlier but considering he had never seen it straight before he didn’t know if that was normal for her after a few hours or not. Bi-racial women’s hairstyling and hair textures were not his area of expertise so he was content to imagine that she was sweating in the throes of passion with Thato and that’s why her hair was going back to Africa in its natural state.

The trio dined in the living room and half-heartedly watched Netflix. Thato seemed to be extraordinarily interested in discussing Trump and politics and he was proving himself to be as intelligent as he was attractive. Before long, the Kush came out and was passed around and everyone got more comfortable. It was relatively early in the scheme of things but Thato was tired from his flight and Arianna moved the ball down the field. “Erick, Thato and I are going to shower and retire to bed. Would you like to join us?”

Erick was speechless. He had never mentioned anything about being a cuck to her before. He had never mentioned anything about being submissive either but she seemed to instantly know his true nature so he figured that she had some sort of clairvoyant powers that tapped into his innermost thoughts and secrets.

For a brief second, Erick’s white maleness reared its ugly head. He acted offended, outraged that she would even suggest something like that. Erick could feel himself pretending and he wanted to stop because there was an intrinsic part of him that did not want to be seen as submissive or bisexual in that moment that caused him to lie and deny his true feelings. Yes! He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay and watch and participate and more if they would allow him. That part of him that had been socialized to believe that white men were superior to Black men kicked in and he went into arrogant mode. Erick tried to force his hand. He stood up to leave, acting as if his every sensibility had been offended, trying to play the “forced bi” card and absolve himself of his guilt at lusting after this extraordinary Black man. The saddest/funniest part is that in his head, Erick had always visualized himself a willing participant, a voluntary cuck that encouraged his mate to find pleasure with Black men. Here, in the midst of the reality, he was behaving in ways that actually confused him.

“Sit down,” Arianna said calmly. She and Thato started speaking in Afrikaans again and laughing every time they glanced in his direction. Erick felt truly inferior in that moment. She continued. “You really think I couldn’t tell from day one that you were hot for Black dick? Really? Sweetie, we were born the year apartheid ended. We’ve spent our entire lives around white men who wanted to fulfill their dark continent desires with Thato. You think you are somehow unique or different? Give me a break. Just like I didn’t have to ask if you wanted to be fucked with a strapon, or lick my ass, or drink my piss, I didn’t have to. You are a white man. You’re all the same. Don’t get it twisted. I might not be Black but I’m 100% African. I might look like I’m white, you might see me as exotic and ‘other’ but I’m a woman of color and I’m WAY more informed about race than these silly ass American white women. I don’t see having sex with Black men as a fetish or a novelty. I’ve been in love with this man since we were 8 years old. He is not some one-off fantasy I have, this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. We don’t have time to play games. Do you want to stay or not? It really doesn’t matter to me at this point if you are going to act like a little white bitch.”

Erick wanted to be angry but he couldn’t. He wanted to object but everything she said was right. He desperately wanted to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness but he couldn’t manage to do that either. He simply looked at the ground and said, “Yes, I want to stay.”

The threesome moved to the bedroom. Erick wheeled Thato’s luggage to the bedroom like the bellboy at a hotel. Arianna undressed slowly and seductively down to her undergarments. She undressed Thato as well, revealing his blacker than midnight skin with each piece of clothing she removed. She left his white briefs on. They could barely contain what looked like a boa constrictor hiding in them, they were stretched out of shape obscenely by his engorged prick. She rubbed it through the thin white material and made him moan.

“I’ve missed you,” he said to her and kissed her softly. “Are you sure you want to have him here, I haven’t been inside you for three years. Don’t you want to be alone so I can make love to you the way you really need it?”

Everything that Erick wanted in life hinged on the next words out of Arianna’s mouth. He held his breath. “Beloved. I want to experience the fullness of you, taste you, to become one with you. But you have to understand that in your absence I need companionship. Erick is my lover. He’s going to be my lover when you leave in a week. He is more than likely going to be my lover until one of us decides that we are going to move to make our relationship more permanent. I want him to stay. I want him to participate and see all of me. He does things for me that you can’t do and vice versa. I want to feel all of that.

You don’t want to deny me that pleasure, do you?”

Thato and Erick answered in stereo even though the question was only posed to one of them. “Noooo.”

Erick undressed himself. He wanted to feel proud of his body but it was hard to do in the same room as Thato. That turned him on.

The three made their way to the bathroom where they left their underwear on the floor. Never in his life had Erick seen a penis the length and width of Thato’s. It was breathtaking. His balls were equally as enormous and Erick’s mouth watered at the thought that he might be able to suck Arianna’s pussy clean after being fucked by that enormous cock. He immediately knew why Europeans were so mesmerized by Africans when they first landed on their shores. He wasn’t trying to justify slavery but he immediately understood that it was about far more than money and labor, it had to be based on sexual lust. There was no way a white man could see something that magnificent, that intimidating and not be moved to experience it first-hand, especially not a white man with a pathetically inadequate cock. That thought made Erick more ashamed of being white than he had ever been.

The bathtub was too small for all of them to fit comfortably so Erick made himself content to watch as Thato caressed and bathed this incredible woman. Her moans seemed more intense under Thato’s manipulations, more than they had ever been with him and Erick stroked his cock to full erection.

Back in her bedroom, things heated up quickly. The couple obviously had experience with threesomes and submissive white men before because they seemed to move fluidly, like a choreographed pair and they weren’t at all uncomfortable or awkward with a third party being there. Erick took a few more hits of weed and made his way to where the action was starting to take place.

Thato welcomed him to the party by grabbing Erick by the waist and pulling him close and kissing him on the lips, his tongue pushing in his mouth. Erick responded in ways he had never imagined himself. He wrapped his arms around Thato, the contrast in skin tones making him giddy, and he kissed this strong, gorgeous African man like he was the Homecoming Queen at prom and Thato was the captain of the football team. He felt feminine and submissive and ashamed and aroused at the same time. He was sweating and hyperventilating. He looked over to see what Arianna thought and she was casually fingering her pussy and watching with intensity. Erick responded by wanting to kiss Thato even more but he was afraid to initiate it less he be considered a faggot. Kissing was for gay men, he was only bi, he only wanted the dick. At least that was what he kept trying to remind himself.

“Come here, Erick, get my pussy wet and aroused so I can take that big dick.” She spread her legs and motioned for him to get his mouth, lips, and tongue to work on her wet swollen pussy. Erick feasted on her cunt. He licked and sucked and tongued it. He wanted to make her feel pleasure. Thato had been away from her for too long so he told Erick to get out of the way, that it was his turn to experience her treasure.

Thato took his place between her thighs. Arianna cried out. Her legs wrapped around his head and her back arched. She was chanting something. It could have been another language, it could have been total gibberish. Thato and Erick then proceeded to give her an endless string of orgasms, one after the other. Erick sucked her nipples while Thato fingered her pussy. He sucked her toes while she sucked Thato’s dick. He sucked Thato’s dick while she rode his face. For hours, they played.

Finally, Thato could take no more and he pulled Arianna to her knees and positioned himself behind her. Erick maneuvered himself beneath her so that his mouth was directly beneath their intersection of light and dark. He licked her clit as Thato slid himself deep within her. Her moans were so loud they surely woke the neighbors. He could see her juices coating his cock. Thato stroked her expertly. He had a rhythm that was unparalleled. Erick stroked his cock in time with their fucking.

Arianna was on the verge. Erick had witnessed her orgasm too many times to miss the signs, she was ready to explode. She was groaning and fucking him back and working her pussy on him. She reached down and started stroking Erick’s cock and he almost lost it. He had to wait. He couldn’t cum before Thato, he had to prove his manhood was comparable. He started fingering Thato’s balls and licking his shaft as he pumped his girlfriend full of obsidian dick. Erick was high but not from the weed. He was smelling sweat and pussy and ass and cum. He was desperate to get fucked. He wanted to be used. He started spurting cum and crying as he felt Thato grab Arianna’s hips and start driving his dick deep inside her in places his dick would never and could never touch. They came in succession. Erick first, Arianna next, and Thato pumped more cum in her than he could have ever imagined.

For the rest of the week, they fucked. They fucked in every possible pairing with no inhibitions or hangups. They fucked right up until Erick had to drive Thato back to the airport. He didn’t know what he future held for him and Arianna or for Thato and Arianna for that matter but Erick was damn content that he had achieved nirvana in his expression of cuckoldry and that was something special, unique, and treasured. Who needs immortality when you have self-actualization and the realization of your dreams cum true?

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