Black New World Order-Lee

Marvin was keenly aware that if Lee had presented as the man in the picture, he would have felt ashamed and his behaviors would more than likely have been radically different, like hiding upstairs until Cam was gone so he wouldn't have been seen at all. Rather than having that conversation in his head, he spoke truth to his feelings. He couldn't be sure that if Lee looked like the man in the picture and still came with the same insights and healing that this version of Lee had, how he would feel. He'd never encountered anyone who expressed things the way Lee did before so it was impossible to know how he would react and he felt comfortable enough in his own skin to voice his thoughts and concerns without feeling ashamed. In front of a third party no less.

After breakfast was done, after the kitchen was cleaned, Lee suggested that they go pick out some new clothes and then head to the park. Marvin suggested that the two of them stay in and get naked and share more with each other as an alternative. Lee had never heard a better suggestion in his life.

As he started to ascend the stairs, Marvin said, "Hey!"

Lee turned and before he could say, "Yeah, what's up?" Marvin pulled him close. Time froze. Their breathing started to sync up and sparks began to fly. Lee leaned in and Marvin placed his lips on Lee's. Ever so gently, he used his soft, full lips to suck on Lee's lower lip. The tip of his tongue darted out and softly entered Lee's mouth. Lee inhaled Marvin's very life force. It was the sort of kiss that needed violins to accompany it, maybe a few doves being released as well.

Marvin said, "OK, I have been wanting to do that since you opened the door.

Lee's knees almost gave out on him. He'd never had a kiss like that in his life. It truly was Love's First Kiss. He'd been in his 20s the last time he kissed a woman other than his wife. What he did with his wife, back when they were in their most passionate phase, what they did, with their lips, it couldn't be considered kissing. What they did was clumsy, it was sterile . . . it was actually pretty fucking gross in comparison to what Lee just experienced.

Black men, in the Old World never once thought of kissing him, they barely stayed long enough to exchange names. In the New World, Lee intentionally maneuvered himself to veer away from any sort of physical exchange where he would be in any sort of position to be considered a switch or have a Black man show him any sign of affection. In his mind he was a submissive and a bottom and he still very much felt undeserving of anyone being attracted to him. It became all too evident to Lee in the now that his journey of self-discovery and healing was far from over.

Lee made his way up the stairs, albeit on unsteady legs, with Marvin close behind.

Marvin and Lee were like two preteen boys who had just discovered that they could shoot cum and they wanted to make a fort under the covers and play with each other's dicks. The pair undressed and got in bed, kissing and making out for a while. In one swift movement, Marvin flipped Lee on his back and positioned himself between his legs. Lee was staring up at him in awesome wonder. Wrapping his legs around Marvin, Lee felt like a fairy princess. The tension was so thick that it could be felt. Both of them wanted to fuck and both of them were committed to doing things differently than they had ever done before.

They spent the next hour or so in a hot and heavy entanglement. Eventually, the two got settled and comfortable and Marvin asked Lee for more details about his transformation. He was captivated with this thrilling drama that Lee had shared. He loved this "getting to know you" stage that he'd never experienced before.

Lee began the story of the second stage of his evolution. "The second leg of my journey towards healing is . . ." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He sat up and took a sip of water. Facing away from Marvin, on the edge of the bed, he said, "I still struggle to this day with my behavior on this leg of my journey and I have genuine shame for my actions and I haven't forgiven myself for it yet. I know this is a journey and I'm going to continue to grow and heal through all the stages of healing we have yet to face, it's just. . ." Tears welled up in his eyes and it felt like a knife was cutting his throat.

Marvin put his hand on Lee's arm and gently pulled him back under the sheets with him. He was providing him a safe space for him to tell his truth, just like he'd learned from In Loving Color. He took Lee's dick in his hand and started stroking him. "It's okay, just speak your truth. I'm not going to hate you for being honest about your mistakes." Marvin had never been more proud of himself. He really was displaying maturity and evolution, like a fucking character in an In Loving Color story, but he was doing it in real life.

"I had just had my first major breakthrough and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I spent the next few weeks in constant sensual training. It wasn't a part of the planned protocol but Scottie loved seeing my development. She wanted me to become the embodiment of AfroerotiK, sensual and complex, sophisticated and alluring."

"And she did a damn good job of that," Marvin felt like he had to add that part.

Lee beamed with pride. "At this point, I'm on cloud nine. I'm feeling like I can't be stopped. I'm relating to people, I see them, I see them as human beings for the very first time. I can strike up conversations with people, I am even coming up with ideas at this point. Nothing groundbreaking but I'm, at least to me, feeling like I'm contributing more. Then I get a note under my door saying that Scottie wants to meet with me. Man! I'm thinking she's going to promote me or some shit. I'm thinking I'm going to get an award."

"I go to her office and she says that she wants me and Janquil to refine the psilocybin and ayahuasca protocols for the community. The look on my face betrays my truth. I'm busted. I know I can't say anything other than, 'Why?'"

"Calmly, she reminds me of my little outburst at dinner and the clear evidence of my animosity for Janquil. She's not angry, she's not reprimanding me, she simply explains that she can see my aura and she can see the vestiges of whiteness lingering in me and she needs me to work on them with Janquil. Oh, and she wants it to be just the two of us, ALONE. She added that she would have included her other daughter Ray Ray as well, but she was pregnant and she wasn't going to take any chances until the truth of biology had been revealed."

"So, at this point, I've had a genuine breakthrough, I'm not the same one-dimensional asshole I was when I first got there, I'm now able to see the toxicity of my whiteness and I have gained some ability to speak my truth. I'm able to recognize the humanity in Black people, I can see how the system handicapped them, I recognize their divinity, right?"

"All that shit went out the fucking window. It was like I had unlearned how to ride a bike. I was back on a tricycle. That is how powerful the addiction to whiteness is. I could feel this sense of superiority, this rage, this anger consuming me. The one person I hated the most, I had to spend 8 weeks with her, alone: a week of prep and three weeks of testing dosages and monitoring reactions times two. On the inside I was dreading every second. It was my idea of hell. I'm saying shit in my mind like she's lazy. I'm calling her a welfare queen, I'm disparaging her for having four kids. Check it. My whiteness had suffocated whatever healing and progress I had made and I was back to square one. I was consumed with hatred for her because my mind was telling me that I was superior to her."

"I remember saying to Scottie, 'Thank you for this opportunity and I'll do my best."

"Day one, we take a trek out to the edge of the resort, a cabin that hadn't been used in years, far from the main buildings. In fact, I think it had been part of a neighboring property that Scottie acquired at the same time she bought the resort. I'm not sure. Anyway, we walk in and I'm in shock. It's covered in spider webs that were clearly made from prehistoric spiders the size of my head. It's dusty, it's dirty, there's no furniture. I immediately start complaining, whining like a bitch. 'Oh my god! There's no furniture! There's no bed, no refrigerator! There's not even an oven for God's sake! What are we going to eat? Is there even any electricity. Fuck, is there even a bathroom? Where are we going to sleep? I can't sleep on the floor, I have a bad back!' I was having a full-on panic attack."

"Janquil, mind you, who didn't graduate from high school, who had been disadvantaged by life in ways I couldn't even comprehend, looks at me and says, 'Calm down! Please. She didn't say we have to rough it and live like we was on Survivor, we don't have to forage for our food and rub two sticks together to make fire. She said we had to do this alone. We are less than a five-minute walk to the kitchen and we are a five-minute drive to town. We have access to more money than God. We can make this place into anything we want in the next week."

"Once again, that whiteness made me feel this all-consuming rage on the inside. I hated that she was so level-headed and rational and so fucking logical and she was supposed to be dumber than me. I wanted to punch her in the face. But whiteness had me saying shit like, 'Oh, wow. You're right, I'm so sorry. Are you sure? I mean, do you think we should ask first? No, no, you're right. I'm sorry. Yes, Goddess. I'm your servant and I'll do whatever you tell me to do.' That was clearly my old white submissive façade coming through. I was just saying anything that I thought she wanted to hear. Trapped in the same pattern."

"I think about that a lot. I think about how in that moment I felt hatred on the inside and my words and my posturing was the exact opposite of what I was feeling. I think about how easily these words poured out of my mouth, words of humility and respect, and what I felt inside was hatred and rage. I was lying. I didn't have to think about it, I didn't calculate in my mind what lie to tell, it wasn't like I told a lie that was covering up something I had said or done. I was lying because the words coming out of my mouth were disingenuous."

"That's what Scottie was talking about all those years when she would call me a liar and I would SWEAR up and down, I would go through so many changes, so many stages of arrogance and denial, and I was lying the entire time. I was the lie. I was this white man, feeling superior on the inside, resentful of the true Goddess, and I completely fell apart at the mere appearance of struggle and she had survived more real pain and struggle in her life than I had ever imagined."

"God damn! You broke that shit down."

The fear of being judged was lessening, he felt safe in Marvin's hands and he felt more empowered to speak his truth. "So, again, I was the water boy and she was the head coach. She started planning and strategizing in ways I would have never thought about. She had the resort maids come and clean the cabin from top to bottom. She had everyone pitch in and haul furniture from vacant rooms down to the cabin."

"She was online looking up natural insecticides to put in the walls in case any giant spiders had set up camp. I mean, she even ordered netting to go over the beds; she had ceiling fans installed. I would have never thought of any of those things. She had outdoor furniture delivered, brand new, a gazebo, dining and seating furniture, a fire pit, and had it set up and made it look really nice. She even had the landscapers come and put in garden beds all around the house with beautiful plants and flowers. I asked her how she knew how to do all this stuff, how she knew how to see the vision and make it a reality. She said she had been watching Scottie and learning. Like it was simple. Like anyone could do it."

"The whole place looked like a resort hotel room in less than two days. She took the bedroom and she set up some room dividers to make a make-shift bedroom for me in the living room and I was . . . making the bed, washing dishes, and saying a lot of, 'Yes, Goddess.' The resort, when it was finished with renovations wasn't going to have ovens in the rooms so she ordered a grill for outside and she had the kitchen print out menus of what they were going serve every day. She was sourcing the best magic mushroom strains from around the world, having them overnighted, bringing in people from all around the world who were experts in psilocybin, asking them questions, and I was sitting there, completely out of my element, with nothing to contribute and nothing of substance to offer to the process other than my standard, 'That's a good idea.' And, 'I agree.' I was useless and it felt like all the progress I had made with my sensual breakthrough was gone."

"After consulting with several experts and having them make all sorts of dried, liquid, and oil versions of the mushroom, and she set up the living room with two huge beanbag chairs because they said that comfort was essential if we were going to be taking heroic doses of the psilocybin. That's like the largest, safest, amount you should take. I forget how much the heroic dose was, but let's say 5 grams, that sounds about right. That's the dosage you take when you become separated from your body or some crazy shit. Anyway, when all was said and done, she decided that we were only going to use one type of mushroom, Amanita Muscaria, that much I do remember, so that we could track our observations and progress based on one strain and we wouldn't fuck up our insights by taking different strains. She suggested that other teams, going forward, should experiment with other strains and record their results so that the results wouldn't be contaminated. I thought that was a great idea. Inwardly, every waking moment I was in an inner state of rage because I felt so fucking inferior, it was so evident I was inferior in every way. I couldn't hide from it."

"That must have been uncomfortable. I'm guessing there is a happy ending to this story because the man sitting before me now is not the man you are talking about."

"There is. Every night, it would just be the two of us. She avoided me. I can't say that I blame her. She would go in her room and watch YouTube videos she had downloaded and do research about what we were going to experience. I was in shock at how seriously she was taking all this research. She really wanted to get a good understanding of everything that we were going to experience and I just wanted to get fucked again. While she was learning everything she could about the effects of psilocybin on the neurological systems in the body, I would look at porn and masturbate in silence, dreaming about when I could get to have another round of sexual training."

"So, Day 1 of our mushroom protocol, she has smoothies delivered first thing in the morning. We both put in three drops of a tincture and drink it down. About an hour or so later, I am feeling mellow, not so full of hate. That inner voice that was constantly, constantly chattering in my head is quiet, well quieter than normal, and I'm still moving and functioning normally. We repeat at lunch and dinner. Sleep is great and the voices in my head are muted."

"Around Day 3, I start looking at her differently; I start looking at her like I want her to dominate me. I start seeing her in a sexual light, wondering how it would be to have her shit on me or torture me with needles or whips, maybe fuck me with a giant strapon, or beat me up like we were in a ghetto street fight."

"OK, and I'm going to guess she wanted nothing to do with that."

"I kept those thoughts to myself. I couldn't have asked her. I thought she was beneath me, asking her to dominate me would have been like the slave master asking permission to rape the slave. It's obviously not the same but my whiteness was telling me that I shouldn't have to ask her for anything because white men were the masters and Black women were the slaves. In the moment, in my truth, I was just too scared to ask her or to even approach the subject with her. I had already had a thousand different conversations in my head about how she was going to reject me. And the thought of her rejecting me was the only thing that turned me on more than the thought of her dominating me."

"Here's my analysis and insight that I wish I had access to at the time. I was turned on by her because I thought she was so filthy, so ugly, so beneath me, and the thought of having sex with her, you know, delusional submissive white male kind of sex that didn't involve penetration because our dicks never work, was my new obsession. I was addicted to that sort of sex where I got off on the thrill of feeling nasty because I was so conflicted by my attraction to Black people and my feeling that no self-respecting white man would ever voluntarily be sexually submissive to a Black person. The only way my brain knew how to relate to Black people was sexually so I got it in my head that being submissive to Janquil would make me feel as far from what a real white man was supposed to feel as possible and I wanted it."

"It is the paradox of whiteness. You hate. You feel inferior. Your every thought is driven by lust. You feel shame and guilt. You are ashamed of being turned on by Black people and you feel guilty for giving in to your desires. The politically correct part of your brain, the part of you that wants to conform to rules and be a good person, tells you that being racist is a bad thing, and you repeat the party lines. But every time your little dick gets hard, or close to hard, you are pulling it at the thought of being a nigger lover, and to me, she was as close to a real nigger as I had ever experienced."

Marvin had no choice but to interject his feelings. "I have tried to explain that to white men too many times to count, and they never heard me. I would explain to them that they wouldn't be so anxious to have me, quote/unquote, force them, or rape them," he said with full air quotes for emphasis, "unless they considered me inferior to them; I explained that it was their racism that fueled their lust for me. Every fucking one, every fucking one of them would scream, 'I'm not racist, you're the racist!' You just explained it better than I ever did."

"Oh, and one more thing. Don't use the word nigger, nigga, don't use any word that is a variation of that word with me. I don't care how many Black men use it. I don't care how many Black men are okay with you using it in front of them. I don't like it or tolerate it. I don't think it's cute, funny, or arousing. It's disrespectful. If we find out in some future disclosure that the word actually had some sort of positive meaning in an ancient historical civilization, like in Atlantis, it meant someone was regarded as a Hierophant, a master of the mysteries, and we were being deceived about its meaning, and we were lied to about its context, I might consider changing my position on the word. For now, as long as it still means that Black people are inferior, don't use it. Are we clear?"

"I understand that the context you used it in was to describe your diseased thought processes. I also know white men LOVE to have that word thrown around during sex and I am not the mother fucking one. And don't tell me that you never used the word. You did, you have jerked off to that word too many times to count."

"I will not lie to you and tell you that I didn't use it or that it didn't turn me on. I fucking loved hearing Black men say it when I was sucking their dick or getting fucked or when I was jerking off watching interracial porn. I would tell Black Dommes that I hated the word until they showed me that they either liked it or hated it. My social media persona, the representative I flaunted as my true self, HATED the word. White men, the perverts I would talk to, couldn't use it enough. Like me, it was tied to their arousal. And almost every Black man I met up with, with very few exceptions, loved to use it with me and I never once told them not to use it. I would want them to use it but I was too afraid to ask them outright. It was never a problem, though. They all loved using that word with me."