tagInterracial LoveWhy I Love Black Men

Why I Love Black Men

byblacklovr©

I've had sex a number of times with black men, several of these in the company of my husband, who enjoys seeing and taking pictures of me sucking a monstrous black cock. I have a collection of favorite pictures and videos of women, mostly white or Asian, sucking black men with huge cocks. I will admit it's a fetish, but perhaps those of you who don't understand the attraction that white and Asian women have for black men need an explanation.

Someone once asked me why it was that so many white and Asian women fantasize about being fucked by black men. I can't say if I'm like others, but definitely it has to do with the taboos any young girl in America who is white or Asian learns without even being conscious of it. From the moment we're little, subtle and not-so-subtle hints and proscriptions are given to us about the "danger" of black men, and how they are sexually aggressive and we need to be careful or we will be "raped." Even the most sheltered girl (and perhaps even more so the more you are sheltered...), will begin when thinking about black men to feel the fear, and thus the excitement that comes with fear.

It's that physical, visceral sense of excitement and fear that is unconscious and uncontrollable which I think accounts for the sexual attraction. It's not just the breaking of taboos and transgressing social norms--the mundane and common source of so many sexual fantasies and fetishes. There is something extra powerful about the web of representations and images of black men as rapists and violent sexual monsters that leads to the excitement.

Is it racist? Utterly. And so any woman who has a conscience must question her own ethics in playing out her fantasies, but in other ways the primal nature of fear and excitement, its very irrationality, shifts sexuality into a different kind of existence from morality as a set of choices and commitments. And so how does one respond?

I respond by embracing the fear, embracing the fetish for black men as dangerous sexual beings. I want to be fucked by a black man. I want to suck his cock. And hopefully I do it well enough that whoever is on the receiving end enjoys it. And if a black man has a little Oriental flower fetish and fucks me that much harder because I represent a Geisha or massage parlor fantasy, then maybe we both get some pleasure at least out of these larger structures of fear and hate that I can't control. It's not very empowering, and perhaps even deluded, but pleasure is often fucked up...

Are we the only couple who likes to see videos of interracial sex between black men and Asian women? We can't be, because why would there be such a demand for these videos (there are so many!)?

One of our mutual fantasies is for my husband to be tied helpless in a chair while a tall black man with a cock the size of a small baseball bat fucks me in every way--choking me by shoving it down my throat, and alternating splitting me open by ramming it into my pussy and ass. We have a humongous black dildo (about 18 inches long and almost four inches wide) that we bought at a gay sex shop that we often use in our fantasy, and a number of favorite porn videos to watch to get us in the mood.

My favorite fantasy involves imagining myself as a young prostitute during the Vietnam War. I've created an elaborate back story for the character I inhabit, so that with little effort I am effortlessly her in variations of this fantasy.

I'm from the country, a small village that has been destroyed by the fighting, and I have gone with my family to Saigon in order to find work so we can survive. My father has been killed by the Vietcong and I need to support my mother and my two younger siblings. Being the oldest child, it is up to me to bring home money because my mother has been crippled by a booby trap. After weeks of looking for work to no avail, I am approached by a well dressed woman who sees me begging with my brother and sister and asks if I want to work. I eagerly say yes and she tells me to meet her there at dawn the next morning.

The next day I come back to the spot dressed as well as I can and cleaned and groomed. She meets me and takes me several blocks to a small doorway that leads into a room that is nicely decorated with Vietnamese art. In couches and chairs a dozen beautiful young Vietnamese women sit in their traditional long silk dresses.

They wear their hair down, so their tresses reach to their waists. They are chatting and laughing and the place seems happier than any home I have ever visited. One of the young girls, who looks no older than I am, stares at me until I look down at the floor, averting my gaze, ashamed at the poor peasant clothes I am wearing and aware that I am ugly in comparison to these women.

I am taken to the back and told that I will clean the floors and wash the girls clothes each day. I will be paid an advance for the week, but then will receive wages minus the food I eat and the cost of a new set of clothes that will replace the ugly ones I am wearing. I thank the woman profusely and begin work immediately.

Within hours, I realize that I am working at a brothel. Young soldiers, all of them black, come into the main room where the girls sit and after looking them over, they choose one and pay the mama-san, an older Vietnamese woman dressed in the same long silk dress as the girls. She tells the girl which room in the back to take the customer to, and hours later the man walks out by himself or chooses another girl and pays the mama-san again. Sometimes the black men choose and pay for two or even three girls, and they giggle as they accompany him to the back.

At first I am shocked and ashamed to be working in a house of ill repute, and I consider going home, but my family is desperate for money and I decide not to tell my mother where I am working, only to pass on my earnings to her and pretend that I am working as a maid in a house.

Eventually, I learn how the business operates from watching and from cleaning the rooms in the back after the customers leave. As soon as the man leaves I come into the room and help clean the girl. The room usually smells humid and musky, as if dozens of people had been dancing or wrestling in the room, and my duty is to help wash off the girl before she dresses again and returns to the front room for more customers.

Some of the girls treat me badly, as if I were not even worth speaking to as I rinse between their legs and wash their sweat covered bodies. The woman who stared at me as if I was scum treats me like I am worthless, spitting at me and calling me trash and an ignorant country girl. Other girls are kind to me, calling me "little sister" in Vietnamese and asking me about my family and what village I am from.

Some of the girls are in pain afterwards, even bleeding because of the "size" of the men who are using them for sex. The soldiers are almost all black, and it is explained to me that this club, called "Down Home" in English, is known for catering to them, and that the black men have very large sex organs that the Vietnamese girls, who are almost all thin and tiny, have trouble taking inside.

The girls are taught tricks to help them take these men inside. For instance, they use their mouths to try to make the men finish before they get to the point of putting themselves inside their womb, or they use their mouths to lubricate the male organs until they are slippery and easier to take inside.

One girl in particular befriends me because I am from the same region of Vietnam as her family, and she says I remind her of the baby sister she left behind when she came to Saigon. Although she tells me to call her "Older Sister," she is no more than a year older than me, but she seems so much older because she knows so much more about the world, this world of the brothel, than I do.

She gives me treats whenever I come in to clean her and her room, and she is the one who explains how everything works and all of the little tricks she uses. For instance she says she is known for giving the men full body massages with coconut oil where she rubs her oily breasts and thighs all over them.

Her breasts are as tiny as her but they also sit on her chest like plump fruit. I admire them every time I rinse and wash them off with a wet cloth. She has plump and full breasts, with dark round nipples, and I want to hide my much smaller breasts every time I see hers.

She also tells me that if she rubs the men's sex organs between her oily thighs, they will often get to the point of excitement where they spray their sticky white fluid and then lose their hardness and get sleepy. This, she says, is the goal, to have the men finish as soon as possible so that she can work on another customer and before she suffers too much damage inside from the often violent pounding that the men tend to give the girls when they use them.

The soldiers are often angry at Vietnamese, even the girls they have bought, because they have lost friends and fellow soldiers to the Vietcong. Some of the men even beat the girls or rape them, not even allowing the girls to help relieve them or give them massages. Even though they have paid and the girls would have serviced them, they prefer to violently rape them. But as long as they pay, my friend tells me, they are welcome to come again as often as they like.

Even if a man is not violent, the work can be painful. Sometimes no matter what tricks she tries the men do not finish early and this is when she can be so physically hurt that she can barely walk. She says that one soldier who visits the brothel often has an organ that is larger than her forearm, and no matter how hard she tries, she can not make him finish using her mouth and hands. Not even using her whole body to rub his enormous sex organ worked. The first time he bought her, she tried for almost an hour to get him to shoot his pleasure by using her hands and mouth, but eventually he insisted on putting her on her back and spreading her legs with his hands.

He held her by the ankles and stood on the floor next to the bed where she lay, her feet pointing to the ceiling. When he pushed inside her, even though she had made him as wet and slippery as she could with oil and her saliva, she felt like a fish being gutted by a knife. I sat and listened to her horrified as she showed me on her own arm how large his sex organ had been, and I thought about the oxen that tilled the fields at home, and how their sex organs were not even that large.

She said that he had pumped in and out of her for what seemed like hours, his sweat raining down on her like a monsoon, until finally he thrust one last time hard inside of her and began pumping his sperm deep into her belly. She said that he could feel each contraction of his monstrous organ inside, and the splash of his fluid as he spurted.

His sperm was so deep inside that she was sure that she would not be able to wash it out afterwards and that he would impregnate her with a black baby. After he had left her room, she realized that there was blood running down her legs and soaking the bed sheets, mixed with the thick white fluid the leaked from deep inside her. She had not been able to work for almost a week afterwards, and her lost wages meant that her family went hungry that month.

I was horrified by her tales of the men who visited her, but she also was proud of all the beautiful things that she had been able to buy with the money they gave her. The girls were allowed to keep the tips that the men gave above the price given to the mama-san, and although not all men gave tips, many of them were generous if the girls treated them well. She sent most of this money home, but she also kept enough to buy things to reward herself for her hard work.

I had worked at the brothel for three months when the mama-san asked me one day while I was sweeping the front room if I would like to work as one of the girls. All of them laughed and sneered, teasing me and saying why would any of the men want to sleep with an ugly peasant girl, but my friend angrily cursed them, saying that all of them were from the same humble background that I was, and that whores should not be so proud. They glared at her but taunted me no more.

My silence was taken by the mama-san to be a sign of interest, and she told my friend to prepare me to be sold. My virginity, she said, would fetch a high price, and it could be sold again and again for quite a while until I stopped bleeding. This made her laugh, but my friend looked pained, as if she remembered what it had been like for her. She asked me if this was really what I wanted to do. I thought of my mother and siblings and how the little money I was making as the cleaning girl was barely keeping them alive, and even though I was scared of the men and of sleeping with them, I said yes.

My friend helped the seamstress who came in measure me for a new silk dress, and she showed me how to bathe and groom my hair, as well as how to bite my lips until they were red and puffy. She said that I wouldn't be able to afford to buy make up for awhile, until I had made some money, but she would share hers with me until then.

The morning that my new dress was delivered, she spent the time bathing me instead of me bathing her. She showed me how to splash on the flowery scented water that she had made by soaking lotus petals overnight in a bowl of water. She cleaned every part of me just as I had been doing for her the last three months. Just before she put on my undergarments and dress, she told me one last trick. She licked her fingers in her mouth until they were glistening with her saliva, and then she put her hand between my legs and began rubbing the area where I pee.

At first I was shocked, but then I realized that she was showing me something important. "Always wet yourself as much as you can before a man puts himself inside you," she advised. "Use your saliva, but also rub yourself until you are swollen and the wetness starts to come from inside. Make sure to put your fingers inside as deep as you can in order to spread your water inside and out."

She slipped her fingers deep inside me as she said this, and I gasped because I had never had anything inside of me before, but also because her gentle rubbing was beginning to make me feel tingly. She rubbed me for long minutes, whispering that I was so pretty now and that I would learn to enjoy a man's love. All the while her fingers slipped in and out of me, until my legs fell open and my eyes closed with pleasure. I could hear the wetness of her saliva as her fingers smacked against my skin, but it was growing louder and I realized that I must be getting wet on my own, just as she had promised.

She whispered to me that I was going to be a woman, and that her fingers would be replaced by a man's much larger sex organ, but for me to relax and think back to how her fingers felt, and to remember what it was like to be with her when I felt scared or when I didn't want to be with a particular man. "Remember me, little sister, think of how it feels right now."

I heard her gentle voice as I melted into her other arm, my face buried in her soft breasts and my eyes fluttering closed. I could smell the beautiful scent of the lotus petal water in her dress and on her warm skin, but also the room began to fill with the musky smell that I always noticed coming into the girls' rooms after the men left. The musky smell would be different for each girl, but always the unique heat and humid odor was similar, and now I realized that the scent in my nostrils was my own musky smell.

"Fly my little sister, fly like a bird away from here to a far away tree. Leave the muddy water and perch among the lotus blossoms and the branches full of beautiful flowers..." The tingling that her fingers had created between my legs was now full of ocean waves crashing down my legs and up through my stomach, so that my body began to tremble and then it seemed like I was a puppet on her hand, moving in the jerky spasms of a dying animal being slaughtered.

I heard a moan and realized it came from my lips, and for long minutes I trembled with every slight movement of her fingers, until I could hear my breathing filling the room. As the pleasure slowly ebbed from my clenched muscles, I realized that her tears were dripping down onto my face. I was still nuzzled between her ample breasts, and I felt like a baby held to my mother's bosom.

We lay for what seemed like forever, her gentle caresses and whispers calming me. Her fingers still lay inside of me, moving slightly and stoking the warm feeling that still remained, the wetness slowly drying just as the trails of her tears on my face.

"I will wash you again, Little Sister, and prepare you to be the most beautiful bride, and then you will go outside and be sold to the highest bidder. No matter what the man does, and what the other men do over the next few weeks, remember that you are my Little Sister, and that after they are gone, you will always be able to come share my bed, and I will hold you just like this..."

End of Part I

That's my fantasy. I masturbate and imagine my Older Sister's fingers inside of me, and then if I am still horny, I imagine the next part of the story when the black Army sergeant from the American South buys me and takes my virginity. I use my huge 18 inch black plastic dong for this, so that I can feel what it would be like to be torn open by a monstrous cock, just as the little Vietnamese country girl would be that first time. I pound the huge dildo in and out until I scream with an orgasm that mingles pain and pleasure. If you liked this part of my fantasy, let me know and I will tell you Part II, about how I imagine being used by a string of black soldiers who take me in every opening one after another, and then a squad of them at the same time, fucking me like a small rag doll being shoved back and forth and tossed between their huge hard cocks.

I love to be fucked by black men. But I also imagine their rough violent hardness softened by the gentle touch of my Vietnamese sister, the black beast who I long to rape me tamed by the submissive desires of Oriental women...

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