Appropriations

I heard them before I saw them.

"Guurrl yer just trippin, you just mad that I make these look good like you can't."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about - I haven't seen you since high school and you are totally different. Who changes their whole accent in just three years? This cultural appropriation shit has got to stop."

Turning the corner, I am greeted with a very pleasant sight: Two fantastic young women, guessing twenty or twenty-one by the mention of high school. On the right, a very flustered ebon skinned beauty in a well tailored grey pantsuit that did its very best to make her voluptuous figure less than lewd. Her short hair fastidiously relaxed and ironed into a pixie cut and an attaché case on the ground next to her brilliantly shined boots featuring a heel that traded the discomfort of a decently sized heel for the ability to look most men in the eyes. The suit, the case and the boots each alone were probably worth over a thousand dollars - not surprising in this neighborhood.

Standing to my left was the obvious source of her frustration. Five foot two inches of blonde sex on display. Toned but thick tanned legs erupted out of her leopard print converse, only ending at the crescent of cheek peeking out from pink velour running shorts. Unlike the black girls suit, those shorts and the straining SUPREME shirt above them did everything to accentuate the globes of both behind and bust. Bracelets and bangles adorned her arms, looking like cheap plastic but I guessed that they were more likely a defiling of real gold. Her lips and nails were falsely exaggerated and painted a wet delicious pink. A tilted flat-brim hat finished the look.

These two could use a little intervention, lucky for them they ran into me.

"Excuse me ladies, I'm sorry to interrupt - but you seem to be having a misunderstanding. I happen to be a professor and appropriation is one of my specialties, I think I can help you." being a professor and specializing in appropriation were two unrelated things for me but I let them infer a connection. On the periphery of my hearing, I was greeted with a dull buzz that confirmed they were paying attention but as of yet, they were closed off from real instruction - my talents would have to be used brutishly at this stage - and so I did manage a brute force command "Listen". It was simple enough and broad enough that they shouldn't notice it had come from my thoughts rather than theirs.

The dark one responded first. "Ok, Professor...?"

"Hadrin"

"Professor Hadrin, if you think you can get Chelsey here to understand how wrong this is, we'll listen."

I looked to Chelsey (god what an awful name) with a questioning brow. "Will you stay and listen to what I have to say? Could only help your friendship."

"Yah I'll listen, but you just start taking her side and I'm out of here."

"Agreed," Turning back to the businesswoman I asked her name - Veronica (not as bad as Chelsey but definitely needing an adjustment). "Veronica, why don't you start with telling me what about your friend strikes you as appropriation." The buzzing from her direction began to change tone - the opportunity to speak her mind opened her mind up a bit, if only in a one way communication. I listened through the static to hear anything she was holding back as she spoke.

"Well just look at her, back in school she was with the skater crowd, which fit her just fine. Yeah, I was a nerd but I knew who she was and it isn't this" Though she was still a slut, her skinny ass spent so much time on her knees she didn't need to buy pre-ripped jeans.

"Now her whole fashion is black - looking like she robbed Nicki Minaj" Took her ass too, I wonder if those are implants or if she worked for them. I took the opportunity that her focus on Chelsey's sexual characteristics presented and forced a small but simple loop to keep her going over the subject just under the surface.

Chelsey's mind hummed away, she was listening just as ordered. More receptive than Veronica, so I dropped a small suggestion mixed in with her own take on what was being said. Namely a powerful desire to prove she deserves to be included in the culture we were talking about.

"Hold up, why does this have to be 'black fashion'? What makes it yours?"

Veronica let out a defensive gasp. Pulled out of her thoughts, she was slow to answer but with a little push she was quick to take her suitcoat off in a huff. I answered for her as she folded it over her briefcase neatly. "An excellent question Chelsey, and one I can explain. Neither of you mind a little history with your social education." Still at brute force levels with Veronica, I decided to play it safe and give them both just a strong "Learning from him is good" message to both rather than go for more at this point and risk losing one. They both just nodded slightly in response but I could hear it had taken.

"You see the 'Black fashion' she is talking about really began as a counterculture fashion for everyone. In the free love era of the sixties, sexuality was freed of its restraints - where it used to be hidden behind prim dresses and suits, it became a cultural touchstone to be exposed." I made sure to suggest Veronica noticed her own dress as she became more receptive by listening. Her hand drifted up and let a couple buttons loose, exposing a deep dark crevasse adorned with a thick gold omega necklace. I paused long enough to listen in and confirm that she was still looping sexual thoughts of her friend, and the tingling chimes that greeted me meant it was beginning to turn her on.

"Both whites and blacks carried it into the seventies where the culture changed - no longer the casual freedom of the body, but the hypersexed desperation to stay free, the cornerstone was that sexuality could be owned and they were showing off that ownership of it. But this is where the racial divide took fashion down two different paths again. Whites had never really been in a world where they didn't own things and so they drifted back to more practical symbols of empowerment like suits - though they saved bits and pieces from way back in the sixties with the popularity of things like jeans and sundresses." The white girls mind was very harmonious with the ideas of hypersexualization and was pleasantly leading itself to the right conclusions for the most part, she shifted in a way that pulled her already tiny shorts into the crack of her ass - they looked more like body paint at this point and her aroused nipples were clearly visible through her tight shirt.

Turning my attention fully on Veronica now, I dropped hints and suggestions every chance I could manage to smooth over the dissonance with reality as I went on "Blacks, on the other hand, had something they thought special - something they didn't want to forget. So they carried the spirit of hypersexuality and the notion of ownership of one's sexuality forward with them - along with the joggers shorts and bodysuits, the ring jewelry and the talon nails that embodied those ideas." When I heard the busty negress question her own blackness in her mind, I knew she was soaking in the implications rather than concentrating on the words. Another button came undone and the silvery grey fabric of her bra cups came into view.

I smiled as I heard Chelsey emit a pleasurable sigh in her mind. Glancing over, I could see the blush on her neck disappear under her shirt collar. My words and getting a view of her friends ample tits were turning her on to a degree that what little care she already had for the fact she was in public faded away, and she was getting nice and receptive by this point so I ensured the thought of owning sexuality was not only a turn on but quite unlinked to it being self-ownership. That's what Ronni really needs, just ditch the uptight act and put it all out there. Let it get owned.

"I know you hadn't brought it up, but I couldn't help noticing you had gotten on Chel about the way she was talking - that too has historical roots and it is not a tough nut to crack at all. You see, keeping blacks uneducated stretches all the way back to slavery - and even much much later, when education became available - blacks knew that being smart just wasn't compatible with being black. Being 'black for real' means making fun of those trying to improve their minds, keeping your kids focus on sports and out of the useless classroom. There's a reason a successful looking black woman like yourself could be said to 'have gone white'. I'm sure you have heard it." I have, she thought back at me. My dad says I'm just chocolate coated. Dylan can't even figure out the gas bill and its him that makes fun of me for going to the office while he plays his damn XBox. Is being stupid really just part of my culture?

There was one of the keystone thoughts I was trying to bring out from her and I looped that thought in her subconscious with a steadily rising affirmation it didn't matter that it was an easy idea to argue, her own mind would keep her on the right side now. I was just thankful that her mind had chosen 'stupid' instead of repeating my safer choice of 'uneducated' - saved me a lot of work.

"Slavery really is the pillar that black American culture is built on, that shared cultural event is what was ignited in the fashion of the seventies - the desire to be owned so strong it got caught up in your primal sexuality. It is what keeps you from feeling right when you succeed in a thinking person's world Roni. Even the body Jellybean here either tried so hard or paid so much for is something that would have saved a slave from the harshest work - made her a breeder for sure." I was spewing nonsense now but it was getting me where I wanted to go. Both girls were openly groping their breasts. I pushed the sounds of post orgasmic bliss - the truest satisfaction they knew when I spoke of the desire to be owned - and again with the idea of a slave becoming a breeder. Their minds were buzzing in harmony now - no more words, just the dulcet tones of utter submission. I let them share their fixations and both were now convinced that being stupid and owned were hot and more importantly, part of who they were. They were finally fully receiving my suggestions and only putting back out what I had set them up to think.

"So to sum up, your culture - the thing you are trying to protect at the risk of your friendship - is the culture of stupid, hypersexual slaves. I can't say I blame you, it seems to suit you better than that white woman costume you were wearing. Isn't that right... I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name?"

She was squirming, soaking the front of her slacks as the final explanations sunk into her core "Slaves take on whatever name their Masters give them. I don't have a Master yet, but what you say sounds perfect Professor."

"And you? You don't have the history behind it but you obviously want to earn your place in that culture. I think first hand experience is just the thing."

"That sound guuud Prof. Sir. Just need ta find a Master ta give it up to."

"Well you are both in luck, as it's my culture to own slaves like you. Appropriation as I said is one of my specialties. Pick up your things slaves and follow. Be good - I am not one to spare the whip or the rod."