Inter-racial
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Dirty Slut
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Writing interracaial stories...
The hard part about writing any story is getting the character perspective of life out in the open, and making the story interesting enough for people to continue reading it all the way through to the end no matter what the subject is. In writing an interracial story one has to hit on the major differences between the two races, as well as the two people involved, and what brings them into the same bed together. The author also has to deal with reality based conclusions if they are to have any realism to their story, and so often the author may get caught up in stereo types as well as their own outrageous imagination. Anything else becomes pure fantasy to the reader's own imagination, and thus causes them to read elsewhere. To start with most men are, or try to be domineering in one way or another, and in interracial situations they tend to be even more so. And I'm not just talking black and white here either. Indians, both Native American, and those from India, hispanics, and most of Eurasian men are this way according to their cultural background. What I think Sweetnpetite is talking about is a simple love story with an interracial twist to it, and that can be accomplished easily enough by leaving out any racial connotations until the very end of the story. Then go back and edit them in as you please with more than a little common sense.
DS
The hard part about writing any story is getting the character perspective of life out in the open, and making the story interesting enough for people to continue reading it all the way through to the end no matter what the subject is. In writing an interracial story one has to hit on the major differences between the two races, as well as the two people involved, and what brings them into the same bed together. The author also has to deal with reality based conclusions if they are to have any realism to their story, and so often the author may get caught up in stereo types as well as their own outrageous imagination. Anything else becomes pure fantasy to the reader's own imagination, and thus causes them to read elsewhere. To start with most men are, or try to be domineering in one way or another, and in interracial situations they tend to be even more so. And I'm not just talking black and white here either. Indians, both Native American, and those from India, hispanics, and most of Eurasian men are this way according to their cultural background. What I think Sweetnpetite is talking about is a simple love story with an interracial twist to it, and that can be accomplished easily enough by leaving out any racial connotations until the very end of the story. Then go back and edit them in as you please with more than a little common sense.
DS
Colleen Thomas
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Very well spoken DS.
As a side bar to this conversation you could also carry out a parallel, but alternate theme to the story. Perhaps a black musician and white music lover meeting in the heart of blues land, or a soldier stationed in West Germany during the cold war or a pair of interracial couples meeting in harlem durning the harlem renisanse and possibly swapping partners. The possibilites are endless, but by adding a paralell theme you could concentrate on it to move the story along rather than the race of the couples where depending on just their race as a theme might become heavy handed.
While this approach lends itself to abuses (consider the numerous white slaveholder/black soldier durning the civil war and black panther era stories) it does provide a medium that allows you, the author, to downplay racial differences where you want and still have a theme to drive the story along until you reach a point where you are comfortable picking up the racial aspects.
-Colly
As a side bar to this conversation you could also carry out a parallel, but alternate theme to the story. Perhaps a black musician and white music lover meeting in the heart of blues land, or a soldier stationed in West Germany during the cold war or a pair of interracial couples meeting in harlem durning the harlem renisanse and possibly swapping partners. The possibilites are endless, but by adding a paralell theme you could concentrate on it to move the story along rather than the race of the couples where depending on just their race as a theme might become heavy handed.
While this approach lends itself to abuses (consider the numerous white slaveholder/black soldier durning the civil war and black panther era stories) it does provide a medium that allows you, the author, to downplay racial differences where you want and still have a theme to drive the story along until you reach a point where you are comfortable picking up the racial aspects.
-Colly
sweetnpetite
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According to Audre Lorde, racism, sexism, classism, and homophobia and so forth, stem from the same root- "an inabilityto recognize the notion of difference as a dynamic human force, one which is enriching rather than threatening to the defined self, when there are shared goals"
To that end, I think there is nothing wrong with speaking of "white culture" and "black culture" or "east end" and "west end" culture, or whatever other divisions may occure in a particular society.
I am *certainly* not occusing you of racism, svensaflicka, I think we all know how ludacris that would be. But I don't understand how on one hand you seem to be saying that you are 'colorblind' and on the other, you say that you prefer black men.
In every nation there are cultures and subcultures, and I don't think that in and of itself that is a bad thing. (obviosly and outlaw subculture would be considered a bad thing, but sometimes a 'deviant' subculture is viewed with equal distain, simply for not conformng to the mainstream or accepted norm.)
I think that race is more than skincolor, it carries certain baggage, weather people want to admit it or not. By virtue of race, people are statistically more likely to have certain experiences, therefor race does shape who you are.
You said you are human first, woman second, and scandinavian third. but do identify with being scandinavian. And I think that if you where to be transplanted to America for a year or two, you would begin to be much more "aware" of being scandinavian. That is, it might move up your list of how you identify yourself, when you came face to face with a day to day contrast of what it meant to be Scandinavian verses American (in an 'American world'). IN the same way, if I were to come and visit you for a year, I would become much more aware of my "American-ness" as I gained the status of 'outsider' in a 'Scandinavian world." Does that make sence?- cuz I'm not really sure if I said it right!
To that end, I think there is nothing wrong with speaking of "white culture" and "black culture" or "east end" and "west end" culture, or whatever other divisions may occure in a particular society.
I am *certainly* not occusing you of racism, svensaflicka, I think we all know how ludacris that would be. But I don't understand how on one hand you seem to be saying that you are 'colorblind' and on the other, you say that you prefer black men.
In every nation there are cultures and subcultures, and I don't think that in and of itself that is a bad thing. (obviosly and outlaw subculture would be considered a bad thing, but sometimes a 'deviant' subculture is viewed with equal distain, simply for not conformng to the mainstream or accepted norm.)
I think that race is more than skincolor, it carries certain baggage, weather people want to admit it or not. By virtue of race, people are statistically more likely to have certain experiences, therefor race does shape who you are.
You said you are human first, woman second, and scandinavian third. but do identify with being scandinavian. And I think that if you where to be transplanted to America for a year or two, you would begin to be much more "aware" of being scandinavian. That is, it might move up your list of how you identify yourself, when you came face to face with a day to day contrast of what it meant to be Scandinavian verses American (in an 'American world'). IN the same way, if I were to come and visit you for a year, I would become much more aware of my "American-ness" as I gained the status of 'outsider' in a 'Scandinavian world." Does that make sence?- cuz I'm not really sure if I said it right!
Svenskaflicka said:
Pornofan420
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Greetings, all. Just got caught up on the thread. Fascinating read.
Thought I'd toss this out. The two stories I've written so far (linked below) are based on actual events. I generally refer to myself by a variety of terms: half-breed, mutt, mestizo, hapa, and part of the "Bulworth" solution;1/2 Filipino, 1/2 Irish.
Almost by definition, sex with me is interracial. The ladies I was with in both stories were full-on caucasian, as is my wife (who's so pale and Northern European she doesn't tan, she just bursts into flames if she goes out wihtout sunscreen). Me, I'm sort of a cafe' au lait complexion when I get enough sun. None of my lovers were at all fazed by boinking a mutt.
If the sex was technically interracial, but it was more about the hot and sweaty and not really at all about melanin count, does it count as an interracial story? Does it make it any more interesting to read a story knowing that one participant is darker than the other but where that particular issue isn't a factor one way or another?
Just tossing out ideas. And glad to see the subject being discussed.
Thought I'd toss this out. The two stories I've written so far (linked below) are based on actual events. I generally refer to myself by a variety of terms: half-breed, mutt, mestizo, hapa, and part of the "Bulworth" solution;1/2 Filipino, 1/2 Irish.
Almost by definition, sex with me is interracial. The ladies I was with in both stories were full-on caucasian, as is my wife (who's so pale and Northern European she doesn't tan, she just bursts into flames if she goes out wihtout sunscreen). Me, I'm sort of a cafe' au lait complexion when I get enough sun. None of my lovers were at all fazed by boinking a mutt.
If the sex was technically interracial, but it was more about the hot and sweaty and not really at all about melanin count, does it count as an interracial story? Does it make it any more interesting to read a story knowing that one participant is darker than the other but where that particular issue isn't a factor one way or another?
Just tossing out ideas. And glad to see the subject being discussed.
OnlyInTheMind
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I began writing a story last night I'm happy to say is turning out pretty good for a rough. Its about an loving older couple that experiment for purely pleasure outside their marriage. I wasn't sure what to do with some of the characters, but after reading this the first few posts of this forum I had some ideas for adding a more diverse range of characters.
Because my main characters are stable loving adults and well educated, the people that 'enter' the scenes for whatever purposes (Its all a secret
) are almost just like them. So even the second level characters, who I have decided to will non-white, are going to be decent professional people who just are in the scene or portion of the story for any number of reasons.
bah, its complicated it explain, but I'm happy about how its turning out so far.
Only problem is, should it be submitted under loving wives, or Interracial? It has a little of both, and I want it to get as much reading as possible. Any ideas?
Because my main characters are stable loving adults and well educated, the people that 'enter' the scenes for whatever purposes (Its all a secret
) are almost just like them. So even the second level characters, who I have decided to will non-white, are going to be decent professional people who just are in the scene or portion of the story for any number of reasons.bah, its complicated it explain, but I'm happy about how its turning out so far.
Only problem is, should it be submitted under loving wives, or Interracial? It has a little of both, and I want it to get as much reading as possible. Any ideas?
sweetnpetite
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A quote from Camille Paglia:
"And you know what's so ridiculous about this is that these people want "multiculturalism," they want to talk about various ethnic groups. At the same time they want to deny there's any difference between those ethnic groups. This is insane! It's illogical. It's incoherent. If you're going to have the ethnic groups and if you're going to draw a firm line separating those groups, then surely those groups have characteristics that separate them and that should be the subject of comment. "
"And you know what's so ridiculous about this is that these people want "multiculturalism," they want to talk about various ethnic groups. At the same time they want to deny there's any difference between those ethnic groups. This is insane! It's illogical. It's incoherent. If you're going to have the ethnic groups and if you're going to draw a firm line separating those groups, then surely those groups have characteristics that separate them and that should be the subject of comment. "
It has been our experience, that most swingers enjoy well endowed African-American men to please their wife. The group we hang around with, had several couples who would meet single men on a regular basis. At the local swing club one guy was well know for his endowment. When it came to size no one, even came close to him.
We were introduced to him by some friends. We talked to him ocassionally, and my wife commented about how he wasn't pushy like a few of the single men we had encountered. I told her that was because he knew, he would end up leaving with a woman before the night was over. Because he had the reputation of being a real lady pleaser, and he always got lots of attention.
Later my wife and him got together, and we invited him to join us with other couples. None of the women seemed disappointed with his preformances. For several of the women including my wife it was their first interracial experience.
So I would guess most swingers, don't see race as a barrier. And it seems most couples like well endowed black men.
We were introduced to him by some friends. We talked to him ocassionally, and my wife commented about how he wasn't pushy like a few of the single men we had encountered. I told her that was because he knew, he would end up leaving with a woman before the night was over. Because he had the reputation of being a real lady pleaser, and he always got lots of attention.
Later my wife and him got together, and we invited him to join us with other couples. None of the women seemed disappointed with his preformances. For several of the women including my wife it was their first interracial experience.
So I would guess most swingers, don't see race as a barrier. And it seems most couples like well endowed black men.
OnlyInTheMind
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??
Um, you do know thats a myth right? In that "well endowned" range, only 24% of black men are in the category, while 23% of white men are in that category.
If I can find this study I will post it.
Um, you do know thats a myth right? In that "well endowned" range, only 24% of black men are in the category, while 23% of white men are in that category.
If I can find this study I will post it.
Pornofan420
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The science of cock size
My wife and I were listening to A Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman on tape recently. In it, she spoke of a scientific study that found that the gene that causes sickle-cell anemia (prevalent amongst those of African heritage) tends to cause the penis to appear semi-erect while at rest. The authors of the study were nervous about publishing their findings because of fears about any racial accusations hurled their way. I can see that easily squaring with the above reported percentages.
The erection, much like Sam Colt's .45 revolver, seems to be the great equalizer.
OnlyInTheMind said:
My wife and I were listening to A Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman on tape recently. In it, she spoke of a scientific study that found that the gene that causes sickle-cell anemia (prevalent amongst those of African heritage) tends to cause the penis to appear semi-erect while at rest. The authors of the study were nervous about publishing their findings because of fears about any racial accusations hurled their way. I can see that easily squaring with the above reported percentages.
The erection, much like Sam Colt's .45 revolver, seems to be the great equalizer.
Pornofan420
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UC Prof makes Asian-Themed Porn
I love this article from Salon.com.
Professor Darrell Hamamoto is a professor of Asian-American studies at U.C. Davis and has made a porno movie. But not just any porno movie. It's a porno with an Asian female and <drumroll............> an Asian male lead.
Yes, you read that right. An Asian male lead in a porno.
From the article:
Fascinating article. Upon reading it, I realized that I had in fact seen endless parades of Asian women in porn but next to no male Asians, and then only in tapes imported from overseas. I think this is a great idea and I'm looking forwward to a chance to see the film, although I don't think I'll be able to make it to Hawaii for the film festival. But there's also a documentary about the making of the film by one of the Prof's student's titled "Masters of the Pillow."
I love this article from Salon.com.
Professor Darrell Hamamoto is a professor of Asian-American studies at U.C. Davis and has made a porno movie. But not just any porno movie. It's a porno with an Asian female and <drumroll............> an Asian male lead.
Yes, you read that right. An Asian male lead in a porno.
From the article:
He goes on in the article to mention the only time you see Asian males in porno, they're gay and a bottom. Big props on out to gay male bottoms, but there's more to Asian sexuality.
Fascinating article. Upon reading it, I realized that I had in fact seen endless parades of Asian women in porn but next to no male Asians, and then only in tapes imported from overseas. I think this is a great idea and I'm looking forwward to a chance to see the film, although I don't think I'll be able to make it to Hawaii for the film festival. But there's also a documentary about the making of the film by one of the Prof's student's titled "Masters of the Pillow."
Svenskaflicka
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Snipped quote
Yes, I'm aware that it sounds like I'm contradicting myself, but nothing in life is black or white (no pun intended!). Things are often both. I can be chicken and brave at the same time. I can be kind and evil at the same time.
I try to be color-blind in my way of treating other people. I strive to keep an open mind. For instance, I don't go around thinking that all gypsies are crooks, just because one group of gypsy boys stole money from me once. I think that THOSE boys were crooks, but other gypsies are just as honest or dishonest as Swedes.
I can find men of all colors and origins attractive. Black men and middle eastern men more often than blond Europeans, yes, but is that a race issue? Not the way I see it. If it had been a race issue, I would ONLY find these types of men attractive, and no others. I've had many Swedes as boyfriends, too. I'm like a goat; I eat anything!
In the 1800, people said that christians (ie white people) were better than other people because of their enlightened religion (compared to the "savage" superstition of the tribes in Africa).
In 1930-40, people said that white people were better than black people because of their race. White people were just born more intelligent, more honest, more virtuous.
In 2000=>, we say that white people are not BETTER than black people (or asian people, or middle eastern people, etc), we just have different cultures, that's all. *coughHINTcough* "You just CAN'T mix such women-oppressing, violent, brainwashed cultures with our fine democratic-oriented culture!"
I don't like to press on different cultures, different races, etc, etc, because no matter what you call these differences, they will always be interpreted as "we are good, they are less good". Instead I'd like to press on all the similarities, to make us feel more like One People; The Human Race, just with different languages and physical appearances.
Yes, I feel more Scandinavian abroad, because that's when I notice the differences between Scandinavia and the rest of the world.
But I think it's better that I strive to be a Human living in Scandinavia than a Scandinavian creature occasionally remembering to be human.
It's by trying to be what you want to become, that you become who you want to be!
sweetnpetite said:
Yes, I'm aware that it sounds like I'm contradicting myself, but nothing in life is black or white (no pun intended!). Things are often both. I can be chicken and brave at the same time. I can be kind and evil at the same time.
I try to be color-blind in my way of treating other people. I strive to keep an open mind. For instance, I don't go around thinking that all gypsies are crooks, just because one group of gypsy boys stole money from me once. I think that THOSE boys were crooks, but other gypsies are just as honest or dishonest as Swedes.
I can find men of all colors and origins attractive. Black men and middle eastern men more often than blond Europeans, yes, but is that a race issue? Not the way I see it. If it had been a race issue, I would ONLY find these types of men attractive, and no others. I've had many Swedes as boyfriends, too. I'm like a goat; I eat anything!
In the 1800, people said that christians (ie white people) were better than other people because of their enlightened religion (compared to the "savage" superstition of the tribes in Africa).
In 1930-40, people said that white people were better than black people because of their race. White people were just born more intelligent, more honest, more virtuous.
In 2000=>, we say that white people are not BETTER than black people (or asian people, or middle eastern people, etc), we just have different cultures, that's all. *coughHINTcough* "You just CAN'T mix such women-oppressing, violent, brainwashed cultures with our fine democratic-oriented culture!"
I don't like to press on different cultures, different races, etc, etc, because no matter what you call these differences, they will always be interpreted as "we are good, they are less good". Instead I'd like to press on all the similarities, to make us feel more like One People; The Human Race, just with different languages and physical appearances.
Yes, I feel more Scandinavian abroad, because that's when I notice the differences between Scandinavia and the rest of the world.
But I think it's better that I strive to be a Human living in Scandinavia than a Scandinavian creature occasionally remembering to be human.
It's by trying to be what you want to become, that you become who you want to be!
sweetnpetite
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tin cans and the like...
You dirty girl you!!!!
Svenskaflicka said:[B I've had many Swedes as boyfriends, too. I'm like a goat; I eat anything!
[/B]
You dirty girl you!!!!
sweetnpetite
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why did all my smilies turn out green??????
softonhardness
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Re: UC Prof makes Asian-Themed Porn
great. I'll check it out
Pornofan420 said:
great. I'll check it out
This "interracial" string sometimes seems to be stereotyping the "dominate black male/white female slut" stereotype. And some want only politically correct or "nice" romantic interracial stories. But the site is full of various kinds of unusual, outrageous, and even violent sex stories that have nothing to do with interracial, in other words a bunch of not "nice" and unromantic stories. Why should interracial sex stores be restricted to "nice" and romantic? The large number of interracial porn sites should say something about a need and a demand. Race is a big factor in America. Most cities, like Cleveland where I now live, are physically divided by race. In a better world there would be no categorizing people by race. But we writers draw our characters and scenes from our realities and experiences in a race-conscious world. Nudemodel
fallen lover
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Nudemodel said:
I think American racial sensibilities dominate the type of IR stories published on the site, and those sensibilities tend to be negative, to the extent that non negative representations are the exception to the rule.
fallen lover
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Svenskaflicka said:
I'm uncomfortable with that too, because there's no such thing as 'black culture', it's as ludicrous a concept as 'yellow culture' regarding chinese or japanese people, you just never hear about 'yellow identity', such a term would be clumsy and in fact demeaning. Same with 'white culture', only meat-head white racists are dumb enough to speak of white culture and white identity. Color-coded culture is for dummies, and people with a basic world view, people don't reffer to culture by color if they credit that culture as real and deep and varied. Black-American culture is valid though, because Black Americans do have a particular historical experience that can't be identified in any other way. But 'black culture' doesn't reflect the vast variety, differences and subtleties of African cultures, very different from one part of the Nile to the next, let alone the whole friggin continent. To sum the hundreds of cultures of Africa up, and the cultures of black people in the Americas and the Carribean, with 'black culture' has always seemed to say 'blacks are simplistic and samey, once you meet one group of them- you've pretty much met them all, just lots of drums and shouting'.
Which sucks, furthermore Black Americans ARE part of the same American culture that some might like to think as 'white', where in fact they both share the same culture, both understand the same codes and sensibilies and refferences, they're all part of American culture. A white Russian has less in common with a white American then a Black American does... and people from Madagascar would probably not see whow they're culture is in anyway represented by hip-hop (apart from maybe now, with globalization etc) supposedly a stronghold of 'Black Culture'.
In fact the more 'black culture' is used across oceans and continents, the more one is actually discussing globalization, like the globalized image of the young disadvantaged black male, a common themer in American culture, now being spread across the world as a model for all young people to aspire to, the 'ghetto lifestyle' image, another powerful American cultural export where people outside America buy (foolishly) into ideas of guns, money and power, even though they live in neibourhoods that haven't been brutalized and repressed in the same way.
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fallen lover
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Well, thas some of my thoughts on the matter anyway.
grumpymann
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sweetnpetite said:
Just wrote ome snd sm doing the final edit on it now. it's not "Erotic", it's more romantic but I think it's good.
marriedpervs
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Agree entirely -I am white woman
I am a married but always swinging white woman. I adore the attention black men pay to me when we make love. I also am happy that the rumours are often true about their greater size. I find them gorgesouly erotic and sensitive, and am often offended by the way black men white women stories are portrayed! I have had many adventures with black men and have always wrriten about them in an a positive and exciting way - just as the sex was for me!
love, DEE
I am a married but always swinging white woman. I adore the attention black men pay to me when we make love. I also am happy that the rumours are often true about their greater size. I find them gorgesouly erotic and sensitive, and am often offended by the way black men white women stories are portrayed! I have had many adventures with black men and have always wrriten about them in an a positive and exciting way - just as the sex was for me!
love, DEE
grumpymann
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As I walked across the parking lot the rain fell on my shaven head and down across my darkened features. As I stalked towards the club my ears were assailed by peels of laughter. I gazed over my shoulder to see two girls’ heads covered by a coat running in the rain. One was clothed in a white button down shirt and plaid skirt. A “naughty School Girl” uniform, one of the standard costumes worn to a fetish ball. I wondered to my self if she really was a naughty girl, if she had in the total package, including the white cotton panties or even, underneath her swaying skirt clad only in air. For a moment I felt the familiar stirring of lust rising in the pit of my stomach. I just laughed it off. I don’t come to these things to find playmates; I come here just to feel normal even if only for a few hours.
As I get to the door I bypass all the people standing in line shrived in everything from full body harnesses and smiles to full medieval garb. Some of them are here to play in public, others to see and be seen and still others to gawk at the freaks. It crosses my mind how many of the later will leave with a new religion.
I walk straight up to the doorman who is explaining to a suburban couple out to walk on the wild side, here in the dark, dirty, mean city that no way they are getting in here without fetish gear on. I incline my head to him he is an old friend from my hazy crazy days of drugs and all night parties. He turns away from them for a second and looks at me. “Hey, man long time no see!”
“Yeah haven’t seen you sense the Limp show.” I give him a hug and a friendly slap on the back. “How’s it look in there?”
“It’s jumping! Go on in.” He waves me past the couple.
“All right I will catch up with you later then.” I slap him on the arm. And slide inside, where I’m enveloped in the music, something with a dark driving back beat with a rhythmic almost sexy tempo.
I hear the man asking my friend why I’m allowed in with out a costume and they aren’t.
His answer is at once surprising and angering “He’s black, I don’t think there are many people inside with a fetish for an overweight couple still stinking of the burbs. Now go, get a costume or get gone!” But I let it slide off me. It is true after all and I have known him for many years. I guess it’s good to have friends in low places.
I hand over my coat to the girl behind the counter, she is dressed as a pony girl she has a smile that lights up the cramped cloak room, I slide a five in her jar.
“Thanks! And I hope you enjoy the Ball!”
“I’m sure I will.” I say as I turn the corner to see the crowd of flesh, leather, lace and lust.
This is always a strange time for me, when I enter a club. I search out the crowd for a familiar face, be it friend or foe. In all my years in the “alt” seen I have had few problems because of my race but the ones I have had were all bad. Fortune favors the prepared. I let my feet lead me to the bar and wait in line for my turn, as the tension of the day begins to easy out of my body. I order a whisky-n-sour a hard drink for any bartender to screw up.
As I make my rounds around the club, silently slipping past the sweaty and in some cases sweet smelling bodies, I drink in the world around me. Here in these dark places I can relax a bit, most of the time people are more than willing to let me be. If I am noted at all it is only because I stand out, the only black face in a sea of white skin. I often wondered if it’s because the people here have their own secrets or maybe things have changed maybe people have left racism to die the death it so richly deserved. But then the couple from the door pass into my vision both wearing collars bought from one of the many vendors here at the Ball and I remember the reason I could so easily walk in with out even that much. And for a moment I can’t seem to blend into the crowd. I’m reminded of how I stand apart from the mass around me. I begin to step back trying to place my back against the wall till the feeling passes.
I stumble into a few people gone for the moment is the grace I have cultivated over years of moving through an abundance of people be it at a club or a show. But I take no notice of them as I mumble my excuses.
I back right into a couple heavy petting on the arm of a couch. That is just what I need to relieve myself of the feeling of being behind enemy lines. To bring me back the realization that here I am home. I raise my drink to my lips and drink in the sour lemon tang and let the bite of the whisky wrap me in its embrace. I look at the face of a woman her eyes heavily lidded mouth slightly parted a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. She rubs her partner’s back up and down slowly. In my minds eye it’s me and this woman who lay in the darkness her creamy white hand caressing the ebony smoothness that is the skin of my back. Head thrown back hair flowing moans escaping her mouth as my lips taste her skin.
For a moment I’m lost in my minds eye as the chaos of where my body is falls away. Flashes cross the screen in my mind, the top of her head nestled between my thighs as my hands grip her hair. Her hair falling across her back, sweat pooling in the curve of her spine. Her laying beneath my arms under hers my hands griping her shoulders as I drive myself into her, grunts forced from between my lips as I lead us both head long into that most exquisite of places.
My reprieve is broken as I feel a hand on my shoulder; I turn my head in a flash to look at the owner of the hand only to stare into the eyes of someone I would have never expected to see in a place like this. And in those eyes I see the look that put a gulf between us that it seemed nothing could span, not even Love. It was a look of fear. It was a look I have become familiar with. I see it almost every day. Coming around the corner, when the elevator doors open, any time I startle anyone, they don’t see me a man like any other, just passing, like the hundreds they have passed that day, and how can they? All they see is a six foot; shaven headed, black man, ear-rings studding his ears, coal dark eyes hovering over a perpetual scowl. In short how can they see me past the thing that stands out amongst all the other things I am? How can they see the man past the buck?
The look fades with a practiced speed to be replaced with one of joy. “My God it is you!”
Her mouth wares the smile I remember eyes of the deepest green, so green I can even see the color here in this dark smoky club. Her rosy cheeks flecked with small red freckles and dimples to die for shine with blush. Her long dyed black hair is splayed over her shoulders and down her back.
We embrace then she presses her cheek to my chest I hope she can’t hear my heart pounding in my chest. I fold her in my arms remembering how she felt in my arms the slow swell of her hips. The smell of her perfume wafting in my nose making me heady. How her mire presence use to send my spirit soaring.
God how I miss her.
As I get to the door I bypass all the people standing in line shrived in everything from full body harnesses and smiles to full medieval garb. Some of them are here to play in public, others to see and be seen and still others to gawk at the freaks. It crosses my mind how many of the later will leave with a new religion.
I walk straight up to the doorman who is explaining to a suburban couple out to walk on the wild side, here in the dark, dirty, mean city that no way they are getting in here without fetish gear on. I incline my head to him he is an old friend from my hazy crazy days of drugs and all night parties. He turns away from them for a second and looks at me. “Hey, man long time no see!”
“Yeah haven’t seen you sense the Limp show.” I give him a hug and a friendly slap on the back. “How’s it look in there?”
“It’s jumping! Go on in.” He waves me past the couple.
“All right I will catch up with you later then.” I slap him on the arm. And slide inside, where I’m enveloped in the music, something with a dark driving back beat with a rhythmic almost sexy tempo.
I hear the man asking my friend why I’m allowed in with out a costume and they aren’t.
His answer is at once surprising and angering “He’s black, I don’t think there are many people inside with a fetish for an overweight couple still stinking of the burbs. Now go, get a costume or get gone!” But I let it slide off me. It is true after all and I have known him for many years. I guess it’s good to have friends in low places.
I hand over my coat to the girl behind the counter, she is dressed as a pony girl she has a smile that lights up the cramped cloak room, I slide a five in her jar.
“Thanks! And I hope you enjoy the Ball!”
“I’m sure I will.” I say as I turn the corner to see the crowd of flesh, leather, lace and lust.
This is always a strange time for me, when I enter a club. I search out the crowd for a familiar face, be it friend or foe. In all my years in the “alt” seen I have had few problems because of my race but the ones I have had were all bad. Fortune favors the prepared. I let my feet lead me to the bar and wait in line for my turn, as the tension of the day begins to easy out of my body. I order a whisky-n-sour a hard drink for any bartender to screw up.
As I make my rounds around the club, silently slipping past the sweaty and in some cases sweet smelling bodies, I drink in the world around me. Here in these dark places I can relax a bit, most of the time people are more than willing to let me be. If I am noted at all it is only because I stand out, the only black face in a sea of white skin. I often wondered if it’s because the people here have their own secrets or maybe things have changed maybe people have left racism to die the death it so richly deserved. But then the couple from the door pass into my vision both wearing collars bought from one of the many vendors here at the Ball and I remember the reason I could so easily walk in with out even that much. And for a moment I can’t seem to blend into the crowd. I’m reminded of how I stand apart from the mass around me. I begin to step back trying to place my back against the wall till the feeling passes.
I stumble into a few people gone for the moment is the grace I have cultivated over years of moving through an abundance of people be it at a club or a show. But I take no notice of them as I mumble my excuses.
I back right into a couple heavy petting on the arm of a couch. That is just what I need to relieve myself of the feeling of being behind enemy lines. To bring me back the realization that here I am home. I raise my drink to my lips and drink in the sour lemon tang and let the bite of the whisky wrap me in its embrace. I look at the face of a woman her eyes heavily lidded mouth slightly parted a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. She rubs her partner’s back up and down slowly. In my minds eye it’s me and this woman who lay in the darkness her creamy white hand caressing the ebony smoothness that is the skin of my back. Head thrown back hair flowing moans escaping her mouth as my lips taste her skin.
For a moment I’m lost in my minds eye as the chaos of where my body is falls away. Flashes cross the screen in my mind, the top of her head nestled between my thighs as my hands grip her hair. Her hair falling across her back, sweat pooling in the curve of her spine. Her laying beneath my arms under hers my hands griping her shoulders as I drive myself into her, grunts forced from between my lips as I lead us both head long into that most exquisite of places.
My reprieve is broken as I feel a hand on my shoulder; I turn my head in a flash to look at the owner of the hand only to stare into the eyes of someone I would have never expected to see in a place like this. And in those eyes I see the look that put a gulf between us that it seemed nothing could span, not even Love. It was a look of fear. It was a look I have become familiar with. I see it almost every day. Coming around the corner, when the elevator doors open, any time I startle anyone, they don’t see me a man like any other, just passing, like the hundreds they have passed that day, and how can they? All they see is a six foot; shaven headed, black man, ear-rings studding his ears, coal dark eyes hovering over a perpetual scowl. In short how can they see me past the thing that stands out amongst all the other things I am? How can they see the man past the buck?
The look fades with a practiced speed to be replaced with one of joy. “My God it is you!”
Her mouth wares the smile I remember eyes of the deepest green, so green I can even see the color here in this dark smoky club. Her rosy cheeks flecked with small red freckles and dimples to die for shine with blush. Her long dyed black hair is splayed over her shoulders and down her back.
We embrace then she presses her cheek to my chest I hope she can’t hear my heart pounding in my chest. I fold her in my arms remembering how she felt in my arms the slow swell of her hips. The smell of her perfume wafting in my nose making me heady. How her mire presence use to send my spirit soaring.
God how I miss her.
Last edited:
grumpymann
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2004
- Posts
- 144
We stay like that for a moment, longer that a friendly hug for a friend not seen in a while. And just before she lets go I felt as well as hared her sigh. In that moment I realize that she too, has missed me.
We make small talk, both ignoring the stinking body that lay in the middle of the floor between us. I slid between the mass of humanity around us and got a seat not far from where we were she went off to powder her nose and get us a couple of drinks.
I am once again alone; I can’t seem to focus on anything. My mind keeps slipping back to the last time I had laid eyes on Laura.
She and I were leavening a restaurant after a wonderful romantic dinner, head swimming with wine and the excellence of her company. Her hand in mine, we were passing another couple as obviously in Love as we were.
I stopped, letting go of her hand to open the door them and wish them a good day. It started with a look, moved on to an accusation, then came the words.
“No I wasn’t staring at his woman’s ass. No I didn’t care who he was.” I told him what my name was and that it wasn’t pronounced nigger.
Finally came the insult that took away any chance I had of walking away from this without a fight. He insulted Laura… my escort for the evening and the woman I Loved.
No warning, no mercy, no escape.
When it was all over I straightened up my jacket, bowed to the lady friend of my vanquished enemy and turned to my own companion. And the hit I took then was worse than any I took in that or any fight. It was the look….
With her hand held limply in mine we walked to the car, driving in silence she left me alone in the car with out traditional good night kiss.
After that night she seemed to be too busy with one of her two jobs to see me. That lasted for a week or so till I finally got up the courage to suggest that maybe we were better off friends.
Friends…..
To this day I wonder what hurt worse, the look of fear or the fact that we both let it dig a hole between us.
I down the drink that I am swirling unconsciously in my hand in a single gulp. It was watery though still a bit cold and the warmth that I felt from it had a different feeling than it had only a few moments ago instead of sour it was bitter.
I see her weaving through the crowd heading straight for me hips a sway short black leather mini so tightly covering her hips it looked pained on. Her red lacy barely containing her breast, leavening her shoulders bear in the colored lights of the club, as they give way to her swan like neck. So different from the neo-concretive dress she wore when we dated so long ago. And for the first time I noticed her collar, scrolled across it in shinny letters was the word bitch. This Laura was so different in every way from the woman I knew maybe she had grown in the intervening months sense we last saw each other. But then I remembered the look….
It is still good to see her.
She plops down next to me on the couch as we toast to our past. The pleasantries continue. Till she asks me a question that I guess has been burning in her mind for some time, though not the one I had expected.
“So hon what are you doing here?” she asks a bit tentatively.
I throw back my head and laugh. “I’ve been in “the life” on and off for a few years now, I came out tonight to relax.”
I can see confusion in her eyes, how could I come here to relax with all the sex hanging in the air pressed in so tightly with the bodies and loud music? But she just accepts it and I let it stand.
“Well that said mind if I ask you a question?” her voice is hesitant, quite almost unheard against the back drop of the background conversation and driving music.
“Have I ever minded? No? Then why start now? Go right ahead.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this side of you? Or were you going to let it be a surprise?”
I let that one sink in trying to find the right way to answer it. But before I can answer. She hits me with another.
“And are you Top or bottom?” There it is, I can see by the look in her eyes that that was the question she really had for me.
I answer them in order. “Firstly, I’m not in the closet, I’m a freak and I don’t care who really knows it. But unlike a lot people I don’t go around advertising it. And as to when I was going to tell you … well it is only a small part of who and what I am. If we ever got to the place where it had been important I would have told you.”
She is quiet for a while taking it all in. I guess she understands I had no idea she was into “the life” as well. Maybe she is wondering if I would have said something if we ever ended one of our many romantic dates in her or my bed. Maybe I would have maybe not we never got that far so I guess it doesn’t matter. The looked at me to answer the last question.
“And”
But before I can answer some girls came and rush her off. Them saying she “will be late” and her saying we will talk later.
We make small talk, both ignoring the stinking body that lay in the middle of the floor between us. I slid between the mass of humanity around us and got a seat not far from where we were she went off to powder her nose and get us a couple of drinks.
I am once again alone; I can’t seem to focus on anything. My mind keeps slipping back to the last time I had laid eyes on Laura.
She and I were leavening a restaurant after a wonderful romantic dinner, head swimming with wine and the excellence of her company. Her hand in mine, we were passing another couple as obviously in Love as we were.
I stopped, letting go of her hand to open the door them and wish them a good day. It started with a look, moved on to an accusation, then came the words.
“No I wasn’t staring at his woman’s ass. No I didn’t care who he was.” I told him what my name was and that it wasn’t pronounced nigger.
Finally came the insult that took away any chance I had of walking away from this without a fight. He insulted Laura… my escort for the evening and the woman I Loved.
No warning, no mercy, no escape.
When it was all over I straightened up my jacket, bowed to the lady friend of my vanquished enemy and turned to my own companion. And the hit I took then was worse than any I took in that or any fight. It was the look….
With her hand held limply in mine we walked to the car, driving in silence she left me alone in the car with out traditional good night kiss.
After that night she seemed to be too busy with one of her two jobs to see me. That lasted for a week or so till I finally got up the courage to suggest that maybe we were better off friends.
Friends…..
To this day I wonder what hurt worse, the look of fear or the fact that we both let it dig a hole between us.
I down the drink that I am swirling unconsciously in my hand in a single gulp. It was watery though still a bit cold and the warmth that I felt from it had a different feeling than it had only a few moments ago instead of sour it was bitter.
I see her weaving through the crowd heading straight for me hips a sway short black leather mini so tightly covering her hips it looked pained on. Her red lacy barely containing her breast, leavening her shoulders bear in the colored lights of the club, as they give way to her swan like neck. So different from the neo-concretive dress she wore when we dated so long ago. And for the first time I noticed her collar, scrolled across it in shinny letters was the word bitch. This Laura was so different in every way from the woman I knew maybe she had grown in the intervening months sense we last saw each other. But then I remembered the look….
It is still good to see her.
She plops down next to me on the couch as we toast to our past. The pleasantries continue. Till she asks me a question that I guess has been burning in her mind for some time, though not the one I had expected.
“So hon what are you doing here?” she asks a bit tentatively.
I throw back my head and laugh. “I’ve been in “the life” on and off for a few years now, I came out tonight to relax.”
I can see confusion in her eyes, how could I come here to relax with all the sex hanging in the air pressed in so tightly with the bodies and loud music? But she just accepts it and I let it stand.
“Well that said mind if I ask you a question?” her voice is hesitant, quite almost unheard against the back drop of the background conversation and driving music.
“Have I ever minded? No? Then why start now? Go right ahead.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this side of you? Or were you going to let it be a surprise?”
I let that one sink in trying to find the right way to answer it. But before I can answer. She hits me with another.
“And are you Top or bottom?” There it is, I can see by the look in her eyes that that was the question she really had for me.
I answer them in order. “Firstly, I’m not in the closet, I’m a freak and I don’t care who really knows it. But unlike a lot people I don’t go around advertising it. And as to when I was going to tell you … well it is only a small part of who and what I am. If we ever got to the place where it had been important I would have told you.”
She is quiet for a while taking it all in. I guess she understands I had no idea she was into “the life” as well. Maybe she is wondering if I would have said something if we ever ended one of our many romantic dates in her or my bed. Maybe I would have maybe not we never got that far so I guess it doesn’t matter. The looked at me to answer the last question.
“And”
But before I can answer some girls came and rush her off. Them saying she “will be late” and her saying we will talk later.
grumpymann
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2004
- Posts
- 144
I finish my drink trying to drown out the taste of anger rising in my throat. Who was I angry at, her for letting our Love go the way of the dodo? Me for the same? What was I angry about her for not telling me about her? Me for the same? Or us both for not even making Love when we had the chance, when we were in Love. I guess it doesn’t matter. I just sat and watched the freak show play on past me.
After another trip to the bar to down a shot of 151 rum to drown out the yelling in my head I walk away with another whiskey sour. Then the DJ announced it was time for the “Live Entertainment” I make my way to the stage. Pressing my way right to the front. It had become a tradition to put on a fashion show/public play. Nothing to ruff or even intense just a teaser to titillate the crowd. I am lost in my own thoughts I must admit if I hadn’t been I may have noticed what was going on in front of me. I hear a voice I recognize it cuts through the fog of the drink and my own thoughts like a knife. When I look up there stands Laura in all her glory, majesty, beauty and charm!
“On your knees!” she yells in a commanding voice shrill with authority. To punctuate her point she cracks a wicked looking whip.
I watch the show with my heart pounding in my chest, I see things in a new way, the show takes on a shine with a savage beauty it never had before, at least the parts I saw I can’t really say what’s paraded on the stage because I only have eyes for her…. I also see her a new as well, and I also feel my blood rush in my veins, my breathing deep and raspy in my chest. And for a brief time I fall for her again.
We lock eyes several times during the show. At the final bow she rushes to the edge of the stage sliding to her knees she bends downs to me with a wild fury in her eyes and a desperation that can only come from lust, she grabs my shirt collar and pulls me forward and plants a hungry kiss on my lips. Our tongues sliding past each other battling, first her mouth then mine. My hands reached up into her hair grasping it and pulling her to me. A kiss to end all kisses. When we both brake the kiss reluctantly we are breathless our sweat is mingled on each of our skin I look into her eyes, those eyes I Loved, needed with a hunger that feels insatiable, I see the fire of passion that wouldn’t be easily quelled. In those eyes I see … me, my feelings for her hers for me I see the hunger of a predator, I see my own reflection. I see a fellow Top.
The gathered crowd erupts in a frenzy of jubilation maybe to them it is all part of the show, maybe they had gotten it right and figured that the energy had gotten too much for the both of us and we had to show it, it doesn’t matter one way or another they didn’t care and we didn’t care what they think. Laura is pulled away from me then by the hands of her fellow performers. As distance is put between us I yell to her, I answer her question, the answer you already know.
“I’m a Dom…!” Then I see a look from her one that sends a pang to my heart almost as bad as the one from that fateful night so many months ago… her face falls.
When I see it I turn away to hide the pain and disappointment. I won’t give her the chance to see what I saw in her eyes, a reflection. In the middle of the slaps on the back and hand pumping I stalk to the bar, it has been a long time sense I have tied one on but I figured I am due.
Two more shots later the fire is quelled, I have gotten enough of a buzz and enough time has passed to let the intensity bleed from me. No I’m not going to drink myself into a stupor. Its not worth it I just got caught up is all, yeah that’s it, I let the show get to me.
But it wasn’t the show that got to me it was Her.
I spend the rest of the night in a fog, I can’t tell you what I did or saw. The next thing I know I hare the DJ yelling out for “Last Call”. I have had enough, I slink out to pick up my coat.
When I look up I once again find myself looking into the eyes I have fallen for two times in my life.
“Hey.” She says. Dropping her eyes to look at her shoes.
“Hey yourself. Heading home?” I ask, somehow managing to keep my voice level.
“Na just getting out of here.” She looks up at me. “So what did you think of the show?”
I smile a rueful smile. “Exciting. I really loved the curtain call.” I say trying like hell to lighten the mood.
I fail.
“You BASTARD!” she spits at me from between clenched teeth. And whips around, turning her back on me.
After another trip to the bar to down a shot of 151 rum to drown out the yelling in my head I walk away with another whiskey sour. Then the DJ announced it was time for the “Live Entertainment” I make my way to the stage. Pressing my way right to the front. It had become a tradition to put on a fashion show/public play. Nothing to ruff or even intense just a teaser to titillate the crowd. I am lost in my own thoughts I must admit if I hadn’t been I may have noticed what was going on in front of me. I hear a voice I recognize it cuts through the fog of the drink and my own thoughts like a knife. When I look up there stands Laura in all her glory, majesty, beauty and charm!
“On your knees!” she yells in a commanding voice shrill with authority. To punctuate her point she cracks a wicked looking whip.
I watch the show with my heart pounding in my chest, I see things in a new way, the show takes on a shine with a savage beauty it never had before, at least the parts I saw I can’t really say what’s paraded on the stage because I only have eyes for her…. I also see her a new as well, and I also feel my blood rush in my veins, my breathing deep and raspy in my chest. And for a brief time I fall for her again.
We lock eyes several times during the show. At the final bow she rushes to the edge of the stage sliding to her knees she bends downs to me with a wild fury in her eyes and a desperation that can only come from lust, she grabs my shirt collar and pulls me forward and plants a hungry kiss on my lips. Our tongues sliding past each other battling, first her mouth then mine. My hands reached up into her hair grasping it and pulling her to me. A kiss to end all kisses. When we both brake the kiss reluctantly we are breathless our sweat is mingled on each of our skin I look into her eyes, those eyes I Loved, needed with a hunger that feels insatiable, I see the fire of passion that wouldn’t be easily quelled. In those eyes I see … me, my feelings for her hers for me I see the hunger of a predator, I see my own reflection. I see a fellow Top.
The gathered crowd erupts in a frenzy of jubilation maybe to them it is all part of the show, maybe they had gotten it right and figured that the energy had gotten too much for the both of us and we had to show it, it doesn’t matter one way or another they didn’t care and we didn’t care what they think. Laura is pulled away from me then by the hands of her fellow performers. As distance is put between us I yell to her, I answer her question, the answer you already know.
“I’m a Dom…!” Then I see a look from her one that sends a pang to my heart almost as bad as the one from that fateful night so many months ago… her face falls.
When I see it I turn away to hide the pain and disappointment. I won’t give her the chance to see what I saw in her eyes, a reflection. In the middle of the slaps on the back and hand pumping I stalk to the bar, it has been a long time sense I have tied one on but I figured I am due.
Two more shots later the fire is quelled, I have gotten enough of a buzz and enough time has passed to let the intensity bleed from me. No I’m not going to drink myself into a stupor. Its not worth it I just got caught up is all, yeah that’s it, I let the show get to me.
But it wasn’t the show that got to me it was Her.
I spend the rest of the night in a fog, I can’t tell you what I did or saw. The next thing I know I hare the DJ yelling out for “Last Call”. I have had enough, I slink out to pick up my coat.
When I look up I once again find myself looking into the eyes I have fallen for two times in my life.
“Hey.” She says. Dropping her eyes to look at her shoes.
“Hey yourself. Heading home?” I ask, somehow managing to keep my voice level.
“Na just getting out of here.” She looks up at me. “So what did you think of the show?”
I smile a rueful smile. “Exciting. I really loved the curtain call.” I say trying like hell to lighten the mood.
I fail.
“You BASTARD!” she spits at me from between clenched teeth. And whips around, turning her back on me.
