There is a stereotype of bull: an athletic, manly, dominant, assertive and well-endowed black male. Not all blacks fulfill these high standards, but the lucky ones that fit with this sterotype are probably the men who more easily find sex in all the planet. Many women want to try the experience of ‘going black’ at least once in their lives, and most of them assume a rough treatment and a submissive role they wouldn’t accept with a Caucasian man. It is amazing to see that many young girls want to have sex with Africans just to prove they are not racist. Having a black boyfriend has became a political statesment.
It is not only about women. Racism is still rampant and in the IR Lifestyle there is a great component of transgression, but progressive men are stripping themselves of their sense of territoriality or sexual competition over ‘their’ women. One of the best examples I know is a nerdy workmate that started to gallantly harass me when he discovered that my marriage was collapsing. He was a feminist. That kind of feminists that are outright predators who employ a bare-bones knowledge of feminist discourse to target any woman at their sight.
Being 42 years old, my bookish workmate was still single, very needy and clearly demanding a feminist-sanctioned blowjob. At some point I had to stopped him: “You surely think I’m a desperate, emotionally vulnerable woman with low standards and lack of self-esteem, something that allows you a remote chance to have sex. Right?”
He apologized for his inherent patriarchal wrong-doing. But the real change took place when he saw me with a black lover and his attitude immediately shifted from a parody of lady-killer to a female ally. When he asked me about “it” in private (something that all white people inevitably do when they discover that their female friend / family member / workmate has as an athletic, manly, dominant, assertive and well-endowed black male as a lover) I decided malevolently not to hide details about the many ways my black bulls fuck me.
After my first report, he congratulated me for being a lucky mature, educated, middle class woman who periodically has her rosy cunt properly filled, used and abused by a true BBC. As I always have loved to be escorted by erections, and a man without ******* in the brain is easier to manipulate, I decided to adopt him as a pet feeding his masturbatory fantasies with my day-to-day sexual anecdotes.
The actual turning point took place when I had to give an lecture at a cycle of conferences in other town. In the hotel room, I had decided to wear a suit of jacket and skirt with a suggestive neckline, becoming a Queen of Spades among a heard of nerdy white losers, including my dear friend. The presenter of the four speakers (three men and me), instead of talking about my academic resume, made a quite inappropriate comment about my cleavage. It was like opening Pandora’s box. At dinner, I was almost harassed by a ******* asshole. I rejected him by saying “you’re not my type” and then he made a racist comment about my sexual preferences. In response, my lovely friend automatically praised the superior black masculinity and presented my sexual choice as the most logical decision that a white woman can ever make.
There is another factor in the cuckold subculture: the hate to racism. Well, I would specify that the hate to racists. A lefist guy can be a feminist that scorns the sexual objectification of women. But if he believes that a racist will feel threatened by the intercourses between white women and black men, he will not hesitate to present all white women as authentic sluts begging for black dicks.
After dinner, in the hotel room, I considered various outfits. Led by resentment, I chose a particularly scandalous short dress that I had only worn once before, made of slinky fabric that clung to my every curve and left very little to the imagination. The hotel bar was about half full, with many of the stools free. I had just been served my ******* when my friend entered. He stopped and scanned the room, as if he were looking for someone. His eyes briefly settled on me and then he came smiling.
We were chatting when the glances of a group of black men to me became umconfortablel. My friend looked at them to perform an ancestral rite such as life: the male facing other males who dispute his female, all very sophisticated and sublimated but perceived by the most primal parts of our brains.
Then, he motioned to my wedding ring and asked: “So, your husband doesn’t mind you going out dressed like that?”
“Dressed like what?” I said, looking down at my dress.
“Well, dressed like you’re on the prowl, I guess,” he said, not backing down from his comment. “Like you want some attention from these guys.”
“A white girl needs some kind of attentions from time to time.” I decided to be ironic.
“Oh, you got it. Everyone at work thinks you’re hot.” As he said this, he looked at my body again. I laughed, squeezed my breasts together and it was a miracle that neither of them popped out as I leaned forward to answer:
“That’s possibly the impolitest comment I’ve ever heard from you.” I reproached him.
“You still haven’t answered the question.”
“Which one?”
“Whether or not your husband minds you going out to a bar dressed to *******.”
“Honestly, I don’t really care what my husband thinks.” I stated and my friend smiled satisfied.
“Which one do you like the most?” He asked me, and I scrutinized my three admirers before answering:
“The tallest.”
We continue with our spicy conversation. At one point, I excused myself to go to the washroom. As I passed by the bar-gawkers, I perceived a expression of ******* desire. It seemed my friend was no longer a threat because he had shieded away from the visual confrontation. As I was in the toilet, I got a text message from my friend telling me to come out to know a new friend. I did not understand what was happening. When I got back, I saw that he had taken the seat next to the tallest black guy. The dark gentleman introduced himself and extended his hand to me. I reached forward to take it demurely, giving a good cleavage show in the process.
After a few pleasantries, the black man commented that was from out of town and staying in the hotel. The conversation continued and, as we got more engaged, I turned my stool to face the black guy a bit more ignoring my friend. He seemed content to let my sexy admirer monopolize me. By the time my friend went to the bar to order a *******, we were getting along pretty well. The black man touched my thighs playfully everytime he said something funny or sexual, the latter of which was getting more frequent.
“Do you want to have a nightcap in my room?” The black asked me.
“Don’t you like our conversation?” I said looking at my friend.
“Oh no… I’m just greedy and want you all to myself.”
I smiled and seconds later I went to my friend, shook his hand and said my good nights.
“Are you leaving?” My friend asked. “Something I said?”
“No, I’m just going to have a nightcap in his room…” I whispered with a childish voice.
“You’re such a bad girl!” He answered me. I gave him a teasing wink while he smiled knowing what it was about to happen.
The morning after we met in the hotel hall.
“A good night?” He asked me mischievously.
“Mm-hm. As soon as we got to the room, he pushed me down onto my knees and made me suck his big dick. It was nice and long and thick.” I confessed.
“You let him bareback you?”
“Yes. It’s oozing out of me right now.” It was a lie, I had a shower. But I knew that he loved imagining me with my pussy still filled with a hot, creamy load of black man’s sperm.
Why does a white man feel such satisfaction knowing that a woman of his own race has sexually served a black male? When I reflected at home on which of all commonplaces is the defining factor of the so-called ‘Interracial Lifestyle’, I realized that all are secondary except one: the presence of a black male playing a dominant role. In our society there is a underlying belief that, in some way, due their physical attributes and character, in sexual terms black males are at the top of the racial hierarchy.
Our era is dominated by the identity politics, both racial and sexual, within the conception that the only relationship between oposite groups is the dialectic ‘oppressor vs. oppressed’. This racial and sexual consciousness linked to power exchanges is particulary present in the far-right and far-left. But it seems that we are reproducing the hierarchies and struggles of the existing society in the sexual sphere. When Caucasian people imagine a white female having sex with a man of color, the concept of a ‘payback’ or ‘reparations’ tacitly appears in their minds. The historical opression of the black man can only be compensated through white submission.
The Overton window is a conceptual framework created by the political scientist Joseph P. Overton. According to this theory, for any political issue there is a range of socially acceptable positions that is narrower than the range of all possible ideas. Positions within the Overton window are seen as mainstream, while those outside it are viewed as unthinkable or radical. Political activism, the media and the evolution of societies can make the Overton window shift over time, so today’s sexual practices considered ‘depraved’ can be tomorrow’s widely accepted.
Could the IR lifestyle be mainstream in a near future? The success of 50 Shades of Grey has converted BDSM into a popular phenomenom, making the female sexual submission acceptable even for feminists. During the last three decades, the evolution of Western society in all these aspects has been surprising. Considering that just 40 years ago homosexuality was a great social stigma, it is very possible that in just few decades interracial cuckoldry will be socially accepted.
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