Black Friday


There was a period in my mid-twenties when I admit to having been fairly
promiscuous.  One Friday night when living in Monterey I went with some
friends to a place called “The Club.”  It was still fairly early and we were
talking and drinking around a table, when they went off to dance or talk
with someone else and a black man approached me.  I cannot remember his
name.

He had bright white teeth and very dark skin, was very charming and pleasant
so I allowed him to sit down and talk to me for awhile.  Beneath the
conversation, however, was a sexual undertone.

I had never been with a black man before.

My upbringing was purely white neighborhoods, Catholic school upbringing,
upper middle class, a father who worked (after a brief period of military
service) sometimes in government, sometimes in private industry, a mother
who was often gone doing charity work or involved in whatever momentary
hobby had temporarily taken her fancy.  Once there was a scandal where a
teenage girl in the neighborhood was rumored to have become pregnant from a
black man.  The baby was aborted, and she would never admit to it, yet the
rumor persisted.  My father heard me talking about it in hushed tones to a
friend on the phone when he turned to me suddenly and with rage in his
voice, “If I ever catch you with a black boy…I will disown you.”  He must
have heard the rumor, too.

It wasn’t the point that I expected to be rich if he ever died, it was that
I found out how much he disapproved of it.  It was a shock.  Race was never
a subject brought up in our home except that we were aware that father had a
prejudice against orientals due to his experiences in Viet Nam.  I guess
this extended to blacks, too.  Whatever they felt, our parents taught us
that bias and prejudice were not to be tolerated.  Perhaps they were
attempting to raise us better than they had been raised.

At the same time, I remember when my father was gone to Viet Nam I used to
sneak into my parents room when mother was not at home and read some of the
books they kept on their private bookshelf.  I was quite young at the time.
Some of the books were sexual books like were popular in the late sixties,
“The Joy of Sex,” “The Sensual Woman,” and things like that.  There were
also mother’s romance novels, which I was surprised she read.  There were a
couple of books I felt that father probably knew nothing about.  Romance
style novels that had covers with black men and white women on them.  I
remember one of them had a white woman at the feet of a black man, her hand
reaching up and laid flat very high on his thigh.  This is probably where my
unknown desire for black men began.  I read some of those books.

Regardless, it never entered my head that I might ever date a black boy.  As
I grew to adulthood, the thought of dating a black man never crossed my
mind, either.  At the same time, I was never aware of any personal
prejudices at all, at least not because of someone’s race.

In my early twenties I suddenly blossomed and men were after me all the
time.  I had always been considered attractive, but I had a plastic surgeon
do some work on my Sicilian nose, and later had a slight breast enlargement.
Suddenly, men were after me like I had never experienced in my life and I
reveled in it for awhile.  It was during this stage of my life that I was
sitting in the club and talking to a black man.

As for a physical description of me, I was five feet six and a half inches
tall, 120 pounds, a dark-haired brunette with very dark brown eyes.  My
eyebrows arched high above my eyes, and I had quite prominent cheekbones.
My lips were not quite as full as I would have preferred.  I had attractive
legs and a slim lean shape with smaller than average hips.  Men looked at
me, I liked to have them look at me, and though I dressed professionally, I
dressed so that they would definitely look.

For a living, I was holding down a minor professional position at one of the
major hotels in the area that catered to the tourists.  Tourists coming to
listen to the annoying seals bark at the pier, to visit the famous Cannery
Row and do all the obnoxious things that tourists do.

Which brings me to the night in question.

I don’t exactly remember our conversation as I had probably had a little too
much too drink.   This was another of my problems at the time.  Later, I
remember that he and I were sitting in the bar and my friends had returned
to the table.  What I do remember about the conversation is that as it went
on, he began to use words like “white” and “black” pretty freely.  This was
not a kind of conversation I was used to and it made me nervous, yet at the
same time I was strangely excited.  He could tell.  I know he could tell,
because he whispered something in my ear.  It embarrassed me to hear it, but
like I said already, I got excited too.  Too excited.  It was also kind of
crude.  He asked me if I had ever had “black dick.”

Of  course, he already knew the answer.   Even though I did not answer him
aloud, he knew the answer.  Yet he knew I was aroused by his question, too,
and he began using terms like that more often, usually in a soft disarming
voice which was barely a whisper in my ear.

I was very wet.

He said he would set up a mirror so I could watch myself.  He said he knew
my “daddy” wouldn’t like it, would he?  He said other things, too, and my
heart was beating like a racehorse that had just finished running the
Kentucky Derby.  It was all I could do to breathe and to nod or shake my
head in response to his questions.

I left with him, making sure not to look over toward the table where my
friends had been.  I did not want to know if they had seen me leave with a
black man.

We took my car.  He drove.  As he drove he pulled my head down into his lap
and suggested I kiss my first “black cock.”  When I started to unzip him he
stopped me, saying that was “for later.”  He just wanted me to kiss him
through his pants.

And I did it.

Over and over.  Leaning over with my knees in the passenger seat, my head in
his lap smothering his hardness with my lips and pressing my face against
him.  Rubbing my cheek up and down the hard length of it.  And it was very
very hard.

This is when the racial comments really began in earnest.  Not only that,
but comments about how I could “barely wait” to get my first “black dick” in
my mouth.  He used other words too, like “chocolate bar.”  He mentioned how
he was going to “feed” it to me.  I don’t remember everything he said to me.
All I remember is that I had never reacted this way to any man before.
Ever.

Suddenly, after a very short ride, he was parking the car.  I had not even
asked where we were going.  It turned out he was in the military attending
some special school they had up on the hill above Monterey and he lived in
one of the barracks there in a two man room.  I remember the embarrassed
feeling as other military men saw me walking in with him…a black
man…obviously going to his room.  A white woman with a black man.  Luckily,
his room mate was not there.

Once we got inside his room he held me, folding me up in his long muscular
arms pressed firmly against his lean muscular body.  His whole body felt
hard and I wanted him.  I wanted to kiss him all over and run my white hands
all over his dark body.  The contrast of my tanned white skin against his
dark coloring was erotic all by itself.  We kissed and it wasn’t but a
moment later I felt him unzipping my dress down the back.  It fell down and
he began unbuttoning his shirt as I nuzzled against his neck, standing on my
toes.  Then he took a step back, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks,
undid his pants and let them fall to the floor.  I was waiting for him to
remove his underwear, but he did not.  There was a large bulge and my
imagination was running rampant.  So was the rest of my body.  All I felt
was excitement, arousal and desire.   It was pure unadulterated lust.

Then he motioned that it was my turn.  The dress was already on the floor
around my feet.  I removed everything else very slowly while he watched.  My
bra first, then the rest.  I wanted him to want me as much as I wanted him.
I undressed slowly to tease him.  And I could tell he liked what he saw.  I
knew how men reacted to me.  I could see the bulge in his briefs begin to
grow.

I stepped forward and rubbed my whiteness against his blackness.  I liked
the way my pale breasts smashed against his chest.  I liked the way my hands
seemed to glow against the darkness of his skin.  It was pure vanilla and
very very dark chocolate.  He placed his hand on my shoulders and very
slowly pushed me down.  As I glided downward, I traced my lips and tongue
across his skin until I was on my knees, my face pressed against his cock
which I could feel through the thin cotton material of his briefs.  I
nuzzled it and kissed it and loved it.  I felt like the woman on the cover
of my mother’s paperback novel.  On my knees to a black god.

“You want to get your fist glimpse of black cock, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, head bent forward as I kissed his strong thigh.  Then I
began to pull his shorts down.

His cock…his black cock…sprang free, fully erect and leaning against my
forehead.  I pulled back so I could look at it for a moment.  I had never
seen one before.  It was beautiful.  Proud, black, beautiful.  I kissed it
near the base.  As I did, he leaned over and pulled open the door to a sort
of closet type piece of furniture standing along the wall.  On the inside of
the door was a long full length mirror.  I could see myself kneeling in
front of this black man, my face only inches away from his hardness.  I
kissed the tip of it, and looked at myself in the mirror.  It is impossible
to explain the erotic reaction of seeing my white body kneeling before a
black man.  Then I watched myself take him into my mouth.  I felt…nasty.

I slid my mouth down very very slowly, savoring the image of myself in the
mirror.  It was almost as if there was no one present but me.  Just me with
him in my mouth, no man attached.  That is how it went for awhile.  No
talking, no movement but my very slow sucking on his cock, savoring it,
loving it, on my knees to it, watching myself do it.  If he said anything at
that time, I don’t know what it was.  I was lost…gone.

Then I took it out and stood up.  I wanted to get in his bed with him.  I
was wet and needed him.  I wanted him.  I wanted to feel him inside me.  I
wanted to feel his weight above me.  I wanted to be close to him.

That is when I received my first surprise.

He said, “No.”

He said he didn’t ordinarily “fuck” white women.  Sometimes, but rarely.  He
preferred black women.  However, since white women seemed to like “black
dick” so much, he didn’t see any problem letting them “get a taste.”  And he
didn’t actually say “white women” this time, either.  He said, “white
bitches.”

I began to protest, thinking he led me on.  Thinking why did he bring me
here thinking one thing was going to happen, when he never intended for it
all along.  But he let me say none of this.  He knew what I was going to
say.  He began to explain it to me as if it made perfect sense.  He
explained that white women were too slim in the hips and their butts were
too small.  How our faces weren’t as attractive, our lips not as full.  He
stood right there telling me how white women weren’t as good as black women,
implying that I was not as good.  That I wasn’t good enough to “fuck.”  But
because “white bitches” were usually “pretty good cocksuckers” he would
often “let” them have a “taste.”

This should have left me stunned.  I should have slapped his face, got
dressed and walked out of there.  If it was a white man, I probably would
have.  But he also intimidated me, and I was a little bit scared.  Plus, the
way he said it, so matter-of-factly, with a smile on his lips and a slight
chuckle, it had a totally opposite reaction.  No one had ever talked to me
that way before.  Every guy I ever went out with wanted to go to bed with
me.  But this guy didn’t.  This guy even practically told me I wasn’t good
enough.

It turned me on even more.

Not a normal kind of excited, but something more.  I couldn’t talk.  I
couldn’t breathe.  I could feel the wetness dripping down my thigh.  I could
only stand there and take it.  Then he began pushing me to my knees again,
and I let him.  I let him.  That is when he really began talking, saying
nasty things and calling me names.  No one had ever done that to me before.
The things he said….

As I went down to my knees, he said I knew my “place.”  White sluts belonged
on their knees in front of black men and he liked seeing them when they knew
that.  On their knees with black cock in their mouth.   He said we were good
at giving blowjobs, that we all sucked like sluts.  Then he told me to show
him I could suck like a slut.  He told me to watch myself in the mirror so I
would know what a slut I was, that I should suck faster, that I should be
noisier.  He said I wanted to impress him, didn’t I?  He wanted the people
in the next room to hear.  He wanted me to slurp and slobber all over it and
he told me to rub it on my face, to slap my face with it, to eat it like a
greedy little white pig.  He said my “daddy” would love to see me now,
wouldn’t he?  He went on and on saying such things, hardly ever stopping.
It drove my lust over some cliff of abandonment, disengaging my brain, and I
no longer was in control of my body.

I held onto him by his hips and did everything he said.  I went fast, I
sucked loud, I slurped and made sloppy noises as I sucked, I rubbed his
slobbery gleaming hard black cock all over my face and slapped myself in the
face with it.  I squirmed my legs together because my pussy was so needy.  I
touched and rubbed myself.  I watched how nasty and dirty and whorish I
looked in the mirror.  I listened to everything he said.  I made animal
noises in my throat.  I was crazed, full of lust, wanton, eager to please.
I was insane, lost, beyond control.  I was soaked, swollen and inflamed.  I
wanted to be fucked so bad!

He grabbed my hair and just began ramming into me, into my mouth.  He pushed
his black dick back into my throat so far I gagged.  He didn’t care.  I didn
’t care.  I was there for him to use.  He laughed when my stomach convulsed.
Then he pulled out just as I could feel the first throb and he spurted onto
my face as he held me by the hair.  All over my face it went.  Forehead,
eyes, cheeks, dripping and oozing down.  I held my mouth open trying to get
some in my mouth but he steered my head to wherever he wanted it to go.   He
put his nasty black cock back in my mouth just as his last few pumps went
off.  But he wasn’t done.  He told me to hurry!  “Hurry!” he said, “Wipe it
off your face and rub it on your cunt!  Try to get some of that black seed
up your pussy!  Do it white bitch, do it now!”  And I did it, not even
thinking at this point.  I did it quick and in a hurry!  I wiped it off my
face with my right hand and rubbed it in my pussy hair!  I wiped it off and
tried to put it inside my so-soaked cunt!  I did it, whatever he said, and I
rubbed myself, still on my knees, wanting to come so bad!

He pulled me as he moved closer to the bed and he lied on his back on the
bed, his feet still on the floor.  He pulled me up to him and placed me so I
was straddling his thigh.  “Hump me,” he said.  “I know you need to come.
Hump me like a dog.”

And I did that, too, pressing hard against him.  So hard!  Rubbing and
grinding away at his thigh.  Getting his thigh wet with my juices.  His
juices.  Both combined.  Sliding back and forth.  Then I reached down
grabbing the back of his leg and just pushed myself tight against him as the
shudders began to go through me.  I moaned.  I groaned.  I felt like I was
dying.  My heart was beating like thunder in a storm as waves of pleasure
washed through and through me.

When I feel forward off to his side, my head face down on the sheets, all I
was conscious of was the hammering of my heart and a totally drained
feeling.  Tired.  Unmoving.  Dead to the world.  Beat, beat, beat, thundered
my heart.

He let me lie there a moment, both of us silent.  I had never had an orgasm
like that in my life.  I did not think they were possible.

He got up and put some pants on.  I continued to lay there until he told me
I had to go.  I didn’t want to go.  I thought he may have thought I was
something special.  We could sleep together and maybe he would relent so
later he would let me feel him inside me.  I was in total awe of him and
what he had done to me.

He said maybe another time.  Maybe tomorrow I could come and suck him again.
He asked if I wanted to.  Actually, I wanted more, but weakly I said, “yes.”
He said once I got home I would change my mind.  I said I wouldn’t.  He said
right now I didn’t think so, but later I would be ashamed for going so crazy
over “nigger dick” that I wouldn’t want to come back, but that if I wanted
to make sure I would come back, he could work that out.  I asked how.  He
said, he would keep my purse and all my keys except my house key and car
key, and I could come back and get them tomorrow.  It was the only way he
would believe me when I said I would come back and do it again.

I had just had the most powerful orgasm of my life and the only thing I was
thinking of right then was that I wanted such a climax again.  I was unsure
about letting him keep my things, but in the end, I relented.  He asked me
if I was a “nigger whore” now.

I said, “Yes.”

And I got dressed and left, with his phone number to call him tomorrow.

He was right.  As I lay in bed that night, all I could think of was how I
could have possibly let a man treat me that way.  I thought of what he must
think of me.  I thought of how being with a black man was totally against
all my upbringing.  And I was ashamed of how I had acted, how much I had
lost control.  I couldn’t bear the idea of facing him again with him knowing
what I had done and how I had been.  With him calling me all those names,
and me letting him…even wanting him to.  If he had not kept my things, I
would not have gone back.

But he did keep my things.

And I did go back.