Bringing Out the Real Me

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains elements of reluctance/non-consent, feminization, slapping, spanking, small penis humiliation, drug use and more. If you don't want to read those topics, you have been warned.

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Fuck me, another disappointing date. I know she didn't actually have to let her cat in, they never do. But what could I say? "No please don't leave, you're the only girl who's talked to me all month. The only one who doesn't run away when she sees my scrawny frame and 5'6" height."

Sitting at a random bar after I realize I'm nobody's type. At 24, my virginity is proof enough. I mean who the fuck can't get laid in college? Jeez! I reflect on the few awkward make outs I've attempted and of course that time I almost fingered a girl.... In the end I couldn't even get to second base. Good grief, I'm pathetic.

I look left and see a guy on a stool in the corner. Not just a guy but a Man, a real Man, one that girls surely fawn over. He's big, probably over 6'3" with shoulders twice my width. His bright white teeth and polo contrast sharply against his deep black skin, and his Herculean arms look like they might burst through his sleeves. With his solid gold watch and matching Cuban link, he's masculinity personified.

I can't help but stare as I note how totally opposite we are. My slim, pale figure, often compared to a girl's, is puny next to this ebony giant. I'm sure if my date followed me in here she'd have gone home with him and gotten her brains fucked out. And dammit how can I blame her!

"Oye! What are you looking at, white boy? You got a problem?"

The black man is snapping at me and I shake out of my daze.

"Uhhh... N-no.... Sorry...." I've always hated confrontation, especially with tough guys.

"Nah, I think you do," he unfortunately follows up. "Come here."

"N-no, man, really....." This can't be good...

"Come here!"

I instantly dash over, always reverting to politeness when intimidated. Even sitting he's still bigger than me and I feel like a total sissy as he looks me up and down.

"You sure we don't have a problem?" His severe expression and exotic accent add to his authoritative aura.

"Y-yes, sir, I was just-"

The guy suddenly cuts me off with a cheeky grin. "Haha, naaah, I'm just messing with you, kid. We're cool."

"Haha... Uhh... Okay...."

I'm still shaking as he gives me a bro handshake with a masculine deftness I never acquired. His gargantuan hand dwarfs mine and when he pulls me in I come flying.

"You looked like you were about to shit yourself! You afraid of me or something?"

"Ummm... N-no... I'm not-"

It's an awkward question. I don't want to come off as some racist white dude but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. I never got along well with manly men, and to be honest even less so with black ones.

There's a certain kind of macho black man -- a true Man who doesn't take shit from anyone, who sees submission as weakness -- that's always seen right through me. They have zero respect for me and acknowledge me not as a man, but as the pussy I truly am.

And the worst part is that I can't refute them. I'm afraid of pain, I constantly apologize, I can't win a fight... I'm a total pansy and they know it! And again, I don't mean this in a racist way. If anything I say it with the utmost respect.

"It's okay if you are," the guy jokes, his big hand still holding mine. I try to take the stool to his right but he insists I sit on the more secluded left. "What are you drinking, boy? An old fashioned?"

I wince as I take another harsh sip. "Yup...." *cough*

"Bah! No need to play tough with me, I don't care. Here, let me get you something you'll actually like. Bartender! Another whiskey for me and a strawberry martini for the boy."

I blush at his insinuation that I'd prefer a fruity cocktail but accept his offer nonetheless. After our awkward introduction it feels rude to decline, plus who says no to free drinks! The beverage is pink and comes in a little glass with a strawberry garnish. I'm embarrassed to hold it.

"Cheers!" the man says, and we clink to new beginnings.

"What's your name?" he asks me after I take a sip. My eyes light up. "It's good, right?"

"Jesse," I answer with a wide grin. "And yeah! It's delicious!"

"Good! I knew you'd like it. Plus the glass looks much better in your hand."

I'm not sure what to make of his comment but laugh it off and go back to drinking.

"What's your name?" I ask him. "And where are you from, if you don't mind?"

"Haha, not at all. You noticed my accent, eh? My name's Chibuike and I'm from Nigeria."

"Woah, that's so cool...."

Raised in rural Wisconsin, I hadn't met many black people. Now in the big city I've been trying to branch out, experience new things, sick of the small world I grew up in. Of the girls who all want the same quarterback husband and white picket fence. I know I'll never be that guy and need to forge my own path.

Chibuike's wine smooth voice describes a colorful childhood in Lagos, followed by a journey to America at 24.

"I've been here 18 years now, almost as long as you've been alive!"

"Hey! I'm 24!" I pout. "Same age as you when you got here!"

"What! Nooo... You don't even look like a man yet! I thought you were no more than 19!"

"Well I am! And as for you, you don't look a day over 35!"

"Haha, thank you. I do try to stay fit." Chibuike flexes his veiny bicep and winks.

Wow. I can't believe how strong he is. A true Man's man. I look down at my own twiggy appendages and feel emasculated.

"We could get you in the gym," he offers, wrapping his hand around my skinny bicep. His fingers touch.

"Haha, sure... Maybe then I'll get a date...."

"Oh. Girl trouble?" It seems I've piqued his interest.

"Yeah...."

I explain my predicament, going into way too much detail on account of the martinis. Every time I finish one Chibuike orders me another, and before long I've let him in on the terrible secret that I'm still a virgin.

"No...." He looks genuinely surprised, though it may just be a polite feign.

"They never seem to like me, I don't know... I'm just not what they want....." Dejected, my head in my hands, I add with a hint of jealousy, "I bet you have no problem getting girls."

Chibuike's eyes twinkle and he replies, "Ha! Let's not focus on me. But if you must know, I can getwhoever I want into bed." He puts his hand on mine and peers into my soul.

"As for you, I think you've just been looking for the wrong person. You're a cute boy, if you don't mind me saying," I didn't, "and there's bound to be someone who likes you. For who you are, Jesse, not who you're trying to be."

I'm stunned by the profound advice this random man has just given me. Talk about a quarter-life crisis! Chibuike senses my discomfort and squeezes my thigh.

"Don't worry, you'll find someone soon enough. Someone who appreciates the real you. Helps him grow." He lets his prophecy linger before ordering us another round.

Our conversation goes on for hours and I lose track of time. Though Chibuike is generally pleasant, there are a few red flags. For one, he's pushy about drinks and that I only have what he orders. At one point I ask the bartender for a beer but Chibuike cuts me off.

"No," he says forcefully, "you'll have a martini."

He's grabbing my wrist so hard it hurts and cow towards him, wincing.

"A-actually... Make that a martini please..." I whimper.

The bartender looks at the two of us and smirks, then hands my beer to Chibuike.

"I don't want you drinking that stuff, Jesse, it'll give you a gut. A boy like you needs to stay nice and tight."

He relaxes his grip and glides up to my shoulder, squeezing it gently before traveling over to my delicate neck. From here he traces down my chest, all along the flushed skin exposed by my unbuttoned shirt. At the bottom he slips under and caresses my twink tummy. I giggle uncontrollably as he puts his arm back around me.

"Your martini."

The bartender has been interacting with me in a way men reserve for females. With Chibuike still on my hip and the tacit agreement he's paying for drinks, I feel a new type of discomfort. It's a uniquely queasy sensation, one I've never experienced, that comes from being the "passive" partner.

As the night goes on this vibe of being Chibuike's date intensifies. Men come over to chat and each time it's the same. They shake Chibuike's hand and discuss matters with him while I sit meekly by his side. They often don't even acknowledge me, but it's almost better that way because when they do the humiliation is palpable.

Chibuike doesn't introduce me by name but as his "friend", leaving me under his moniker, his ownership. I'm not Jesse to them, I'm just the slim white boy in the corner drinking strawberry martinis. The one with the limp wrist and weak handshake. "Chibuike's friend."

"When did you meet?" one asks me.

Chibuike answers, "just tonight. But we're already really close."

His hand still hasn't left my waist and he's rubbing my side. Evidently our distance is too far though so he stands, picks up my stool -- which I'm still on by the way -- and moves it closer to his. My jaw hangs open as he sits back down and returns his muscular arm, this time even more intimately. Chibuike's friend laughs and calls him a show off.

"Hey! You can't blame a guy for trying!" Another not so subtle jab.

Though I've never really done either, it feels more like we're flirting than shooting the shit. This is all brand new territory for me and I'm lightheaded as I stand to go to the bathroom.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Chibuike pulls me back down onto the stool.

"I have to pee," I hiccup.

"It's polite to ask first," he scolds, then says he'll come too.

He grabs my hand and doesn't let go as he leads me across the bar. He opens a door and pushes me into a private room with one toilet and one urinal, no divider. I'm gun shy but Chibuike has no shame as he unzips at the urinal. He stops when he sees me doing the same.

"You need to sit," he orders with a straight face, just as I ready to spray.

"Huh?" I ask, not sure if he's kidding again.

Forgetting I'm half-naked, I turn to him with my little dick dangling. Like most people, Chibuike looks down and laughs. My teeny peeny has always been my deepest source of shame. It's only about 3.5 inches when hard and looks like a gumdrop when not. I usually hide in the locker room but right now I'm sloppy. He sneers and repeats his command.

"The seat doesn't lift and it's rude to pee on it. You need to sit."

He stands there with his big arms crossed, black jeans unzipped, black briefs visible. His bulge is as big as his body which makes sense, but I didn't want to assume. Just because he's black doesn't mean.....

Realizing he's serious, I daintily take a seat on my porcelain throne. To hide my small cock, I push it between my thighs and squeeze like a girl. With my trimmed crotch (I swim!) I really look like one.

Satisfied, Chibuike proudly unravels his 6 inch soft serpent in front of me. It's not even hard yet is longer and thicker than mine at full mast. The specimen would be comical if Chibuike wasn't a mammoth Man, but it fits him perfectly -- the God's holy spear -- and further cements my inadequacy.

"Make sure you wipe after. We don't want your panties getting wet."

I can't tell if he said "pants" or "panties" but blush either way. My tinkle only lasts about 20 seconds, after which I fold a few squares and dab my tip dry. I flush and stay seated, expecting Chibuike to finish soon, but he doesn't.

His firehose piss stream has been blasting for more than a minute and shows no signs of stopping. I sit with my underwear around my ankles like a proper schoolgirl until he's almost finished. When he finally stops, after an interminable series of drips and drops, he zips his meat in as best as he can. It barely fits.

"Wash up now, Jesse, I like clean boys."

He stands close behind me at the sink, turning it on for me and pressing the soap dispenser. He massages my shoulders while I rinse, and although I'm drunk and nervous I'm also titillated and strangely excited.

It's all been such an adventure. Making friends with a black man, and one from Africa! Drinking martinis. No, better, having them bought for me! Getting doors opened, my waist held. Being passive, and of course sitting to pee... For most 20 year old guys this would be a nightmare but I've been really enjoying myself.

I look up for approval and smile genuinely when I receive it. It feels so good to make Chibuike happy. I wait like a puppy dog while he washes off then retrieve his paper towels as requested. He holds the door open and brings me back to our seats, pushing mine in before taking his own. Chibuike says I've had enough booze and orders me a water. I'm glad he's looking out for me because otherwise I'd have kept drinking.

The night is winding down and I'm sad because realistically I'll never see my new friend again. He's 20 years older and lives across town. But on the other hand I'm okay. As fun as it's been, Chibuike can be kinda weird... He's so bossy and treats me differently than he does other guys. The alcohol has me riled up and I abruptly decide to leave. With the grace of a baby deer, I wobble off my stool and bid my friend adieu.

"Immm gunna go home now..." *HIICK* "Thanksss for the drinksss!!"

"You? Leaving? Ha!" He belly laughs. "No, boy, sit back down. You don't go until I tell you. I bought you a lot of drinks and you need my permission."

Permission? The fuck?? He chose to buy me those drinks, I don't need permission for shit! I stand up and thank him again, fully intent on leaving, but Chibuike follows. He's so much fucking bigger than me, like another species, a demigod on Earth.

"You leave when I tell you!" He grips my thin wrist and throws two $100 bills on the counter. "Thank him for your drinks."

"Thank you...." I mumble to the chuckling bartender, so humiliated by this public display.

A few guys snicker but I do nothing to change their perception of me. I'm the only man in here who'd let another treat him like this and feel so demeaned. Chibuike holds my hand as he says goodbye to his friends, individually I might add. The process is a grueling gauntlet full of ominous winks, smirks and laughs, the meaning of which, at this time, I can't even imagine.

It's freezing outside. The Milwaukee winter cuts through my shabby coat as I shiver in place. In an act that likely seals my fate, I accept Chibuike's offer of his giant puffer jacket. It's a kind gesture as he's now in just his shirt, but he's promised me he doesn't get cold. When he puts it on and hugs me I feel strangely secure, even after all the weird shit at the bar. Between my lifetime of rejections, the dozens of drinks and Chibuike's domineering attitude, who am I to say "no"?

"We're going to my house now, Jesse, I'll get us a cab."

My teeth are chattering so Chibuike holds me with his free arm while he hails a car. One eventually drives by and he opens the back door for me. It's this constant chivalry that has really made me feel like I'm being wooed. I didn't buy any drinks, there's no way I'm paying for this cab, it's all so fucking easy! Sure, he chose my cocktails, and yeah I sat while I peed.... But those feel like small concessions for what has frankly been the best treatment in my 24 years.

Chibuike removes the coat and keeps me warm with his big body. I lay back on him drunkenly, glancing at the driver who's also black. Homosexuality is not socially accepted, especially our odd pairing, and he glares at us with a furrowed brow. Chibuike responds with his own hard stare and quickly settles any tension. The driver respects him as a fellow man, not a wimp like me.

When we accidentally make eye contact my entire manhood goes on trial. What does he think of me? A slim white boy laying back on his brother. More importantly, what do I think of me....? There's no time for these introspective questions right now. We've arrived at an apartment complex and are getting out.

"Stay close to me," Chibuike says, again handing me his coat.

I gratefully oblige, not comfortable in this part of town. Unlike my quiet neighborhood, tons of people are still awake. Men are rolling dice and smoking cigarettes while prostitutes wander car to car. There's even a few kids slinging baggies even though they should be safe in bed. I'm the only white person in sight and completely out of my element.

I get as close as Chibuike will allow, figuring our PDA must be cool here. Oh god... Did I really think of it like that? Like we're on a date and he's showing me off??? But that's how it feels as we walk past gawking men, the flickering street lights illuminating our contrasting figures. It's felt like that all night. Me, the quiet one, the polite one. Me, the girl......

His front door differentiates itself with a black cross. He opens it and ushers me in, revealing a humbly furnished two bedroom. Most of the decorations are from back home which resonates with me. I appreciate that he takes pride in his roots, and as someone who's never met an African it's a unique cultural experience.

"Take your shoes off. I keep my home clean."

"Of course, sorry...."

I remove them and my socks just because, then pad barefoot onto the soft carpet in the family room. I run my fingers over the velvet couch and look at my reflection in the glass table and television. Woof.... I look smashed. Chibuike also removes his shoes but replaces them with a pair of house slippers. He looks at me after with impatiently crossed arms.

"The shoes go over there," he says, his tone more instructional than annoyed, almost like he's training a dog.

I run over like a chastised maid and put both our shoes away. He points to his coat and in an instant I hang that up too. A bizarre combination of discomfort and genuine desire to please has me working double time. Satisfied, he simply nods. Mmmm... That gooey feeling that only comes from making Chibuike happy melts over me.

I follow him to the couch but before I can sit am told to get him a Red Stripe. Wandering down the hall, I question whether it's odd for a guest to be getting drinks. In the end though I barely think twice. To be honest it feels normal.

When I get back I hand him his beer with a subconscious little bow, which he likes. Chibuike is patting the couch so I settle in next to him, ready to watch a movie or whatever activity he has planned. I've never made it to this part of the date before -- not that this is one! -- so I'm not sure what comes next. Like always, Chibuike leads the way.

"I had a nice time with you at the bar tonight, Jesse."

His big hand is a blanket on my skinny thigh. The warmth is serene.

"Yeah... Me too..."

My heart pounds as I turn my head away and smile coyly. It's surreal to be the other partner in the dance, so to speak, yet feels so much more natural. Chibuike brings his other hand up to my hairless face and cups it. His black skin looks incredible against my unblemished flesh, both aesthetically and erotically. It's all so taboo, not just a man but a black one, something I previously feared.

"Why'd you come home with me tonight, Jesse?"

It's such a loaded question. To answer it is to admit to everything.

"Umm.... Well it's just... I like spending time with you a-and..."

Chibuike's giant thumb begins tracing around my pink lips. I pull away out of nerves, excitement, everything, but his other hand cradles my skull. Holding me still, albeit gently, Chibuike continues to circle my lips, dipping in to touch my teeth as he pleases.

I don't know what to do. My face goes scarlet and I look around as best I can in his vice. I chuckle uncomfortably thinking that might help but my seducer doesn't stop. His thumb is slowly pushing past my teeth, opening my jaw slightly. I laugh even more nervously. Do I bite him? What the fuck!