The Many Victories of Professor Knight
Part I
Part I
Eugene and Samantha McNeely were delighted to be hosting a meet and greet at their home for Okoro Knight.
They first became aware of Professor Knight's work through his best-selling book White ********: Tomorrow's Answer for Today's Problems. As the book’s dustjacket explained, Professor Knight was born Roland Knight in Detroit, Michigan, but adopted the Igbo name Okoro, which means greatness. He opted to maintain his ******’s American slave name, Knight, because he had come to view himself as a knight at arms, fighting for the rightful supremacy of his race. He held several degrees from the nation's highest-regarded universities, demonstrating his eagerness to conquer white hegemony from within its tainted systems.
Academics themselves, the McNeelys were so impressed with Okoro Knight’s book that they flew to Toronto to attend a TED Conference at which he spoke. Afterward, backstage, the couple introduced themselves to the eminent authority on racial issues and invited him to speak at the university where they both taught, Eugene in the History Department and Samantha in the Women's Studies Department. Professor Knight agreed.
Although the talk was protested by several alt-right and white supremacist groups (mostly comprised of flabby, bearded, white male incels), Professor Knight drew an impressive crowd, filling the auditorium. The McNeelys had arranged for him to stop by their home afterward to meet a select group of deans, faculty, and graduate students, mostly from the Ethnic and Gender Studies Departments, those who had expressed interest or enthusiasm for the Professor's work and ideas, about twenty-five guests in total. He accepted the gracious invitation, always eager to spread his message to a receptive audience.
Sometime following the lecture, guests began arriving at the McNeely's in anticipation of meeting Okoro Knight. As the catering staff served champagne and hors d'oeuvres, the guests chatted among themselves about the Professor's bold ideas and controversial solutions regarding the future of race relations in the United States. "Tell me, Samantha," inquired Andrea Glade of the Sociology department, "is it true that he walked on stage accompanied by a nude white woman on a leash at his TED Talk?"
Samantha grinned at the memory. "Oh, he certainly did," she said. "It was quite provocative. The astounding thing was that he did not explain or even acknowledge her presence during his entire lecture. Occasionally, he would pat her head, almost absently, the way one might a dog. It was both fascinating and, well, to be honest, erotic." The other guests, even the head of the Women's Studies Department, nodded their agreement that for a black man to treat a white woman as a pet was sexually compelling.
Shortly, Professor Knight arrived at McNeely's large colonial-era brick home in a white limousine, accompanied by two, dark-suited black bodyguards, the bulge of holsters just visible beneath their jackets. Eugene and Samantha greeted him at the front door with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Thank you so much for accepting our invitation, Okoro," Samantha gushed. "Do you mind if I call you Okoro? We are such fans of your work."
"I'd prefer that you address me as Professor Knight, Samantha," he replied. "You are white, after all. Your academic credentials aside, it is only proper that you display proper deference to a black man such as myself, don't you think?" As he spoke, the Professor ignored Eugene's proffered hand, looking at it with distaste, as if someone held out a filthy dishrag. Rather than taking offense, both Samantha and Eugene found the haughty superiority of the strikingly handsome academic perfectly understandable and even appealing. Samantha apologized, while Eugene lowered his head demurely, and invited the distinguished gentleman in.
While the bodyguards assumed positions near the front door, the McNeelys ushered Okoro Knight into the parlor, introducing him to their guests. Barely a couple of inches under six and a half feet tall, the Professor was a striking man by any measure, He wore his dark hair in high, sponge-twist curls, and his short beard neatly trimmed. Beneath the black Armani suit, his body gave an impression of tautness, of sinewy power. He wore a collarless Hermes white shirt buttoned to the neck, with a heavy gold chain resting on his broad pectorals. The Professor's appreciation of fine jewelry was further exemplified by the diamond studs he wore in each ear and the gold, bejeweled rings on several fingers. He was a successful, wealthy man, and had no compunction about displaying that fact. The McNeely's female guests, faculty and students alike, were particularly enamored with the Professor's physical presence.
Professor Knight nodded politely as Eugene and Samantha guided him around the room, introducing him to their guests. He refrained from physical contact with any of the white or Asian guests, but happily took the hands of the handful of black guests, even telling them to refer to him as Okoro, a familiarity he denied to other races. The Professor was a Black Supremacist, a fact that he made abundantly clear. He refused a flute of champagne, telling Eugene that he would prefer a scotch, the older the better. His host scurried off to pour the eminent scholar his drink of choice.
While Eugene was searching for a bottle of Oban Scotch that he had received as a gift when he was awarded tenure a few years back, Jackson Brandt, a professor of Medieval History from Eugene's department, who had wheedled an invitation to the party, asked, "Professor Knight be honest now: you can't possibly be advocating white ******** in a literal sense, can you?"
The Professor turned to the overweight, rather slovenly white teacher, and replied, "Do I envision a future entirely free of the scourge of the white race? Yes, most certainly. But I do not favor anything as crass as ovens or mass graves. No, I prefer a Final Solution in which white males simply absent themselves from procreation, from the gene pool. This can take the form of abstinence or vasectomies or castration, either chemical or surgical. But the result will be the same as racial extinction: no more white lives plaguing the planet." Approving nods and whispers followed the Professor's declaration.
Professor Brandt went on to challenge Okoro Knight’s assertions. “And why exactly,” he asked, “would white men voluntarily participate in their eradication?”
Professor Knight smirked. “What makes you think that white women would give them any other choice?” he queried with some derision. Many of the women in the room, including Samantha, giggled at the Professor’s parry, even as many of the men flushed in embarrassment.
He continued, “But even white men, that most decadent, hedonistic, and profligate of creatures, will come to recognize that it is for the best of the species for him to absent himself from reproduction rather than pass on his corrupt, debased DNA. White males have grown weak, effete, unnecessary.” There was general agreement throughout the room.
When Professor Brandt began to object that such ideology was implicitly racist, Samantha shushed him for being rude to her guest of honor. “Please, my dear, do not trouble yourself,” Okoro Knight stopped her. “The temerity and insolence of white males never surprise me. They quite understandably fear a future in which they are obsolete, in which even their women and children reject them.” Professor Brandt fumed but did not respond.
Okoro Knight took a seat on a large, cream-colored, linen-upholstered sofa, spreading his arms along its curved back. “White boy,” he said, addressing Jackson Brandt with a contemptuous sneer. “Kneel before me. Apologize for being white.”
The white man in his cheap corduroy jacket grew apoplectic, sputtering, “I most certainly will not.” Most of the other guests booed at his obstinate defiance. Another white professor, Chad Lincoln of the Queer Studies Department, stepped forward, saying, “I will, Professor Knight. I’ll do it. I would be honored to!”
Professor Knight considered the offer. “Ah, a faggot,” he noted. “Yes, white faggots usually prove much more compliant than their heterosexual counterparts. Yes, faggot, you may take your place on your knees. I am certain it is a position with which you are quite familiar.” The other guests sniggered at the black man’s blatant homophobic jibe, an unpardonable offense from a lesser personage. Chad himself only grinned at the insult, as he lowered himself to his knees before the regal, reclining black man.
At just this moment, Eugene entered the room, carrying a tumbler of scotch for Professor Knight. He gasped at the sight of Chad Lincoln kneeling before their guest. “What’s going on?” he whispered to his wife.
“Chad is going to apologize for being white, honey,” Samantha explained. “Isn’t it just beautiful?”
“Go on then,” Okoro Knight instructed the wispy, middle-aged, gay academic kneeling on the floor.
“Professor Knight,” Chad Lincoln offered, keeping his eyes lowered, “I am sorry for being white. I apologize for all the sins that my race has committed against yours. I humble myself before you.”
Seemingly satisfied with the display of abject contrition, Professor Knight slid a foot toward the kneeling white man. Needing no further instruction, Chad bowed his head toward the black leather shoes and pressed his lips to the calfskin Ferragamos in a display of racial submission. Most of the onlookers nodded their heads in approval, the red-faced Professor Brandt a notable exception. Professor Knight looked around the room. “Who’s next?” he asked.
One by one, all the white guests took a turn kneeling before Professor Knight, Jackson Brandt excepted, apologizing for their race, and kissing his shod feet. The mostly Hispanic catering crew rolled their eyes and sniggered at the sight of highly-educated white people willingly debasing themselves. After each submission, each supplicant, like Chad, remained on his or her knees, simply moving aside to make room for the next. As this ceremony of sorts progressed, Professor Brandt snorted in indignation and stormed out of the house. Observing his exit, Okoro Knight smirked. “So easily conquered,” he said to himself.
Eugene took the opportunity to approach the seated academic and offer him the tumbler of scotch.
“What is this?” Professor Knight asked, looking at the glass with distaste.
“Your, uh, drink, Professor,” Eugene explained. “It’s an eighteen-year-old Oban Scotch,” he added, trying to impress.
“There is ice in the glass,” Okoro Knight said. “Did I request ice?”
Eugene stuttered. “O-o-oh, I’m sorry, I thought….”
“That was your first mistake. Thinking is not a thing that whites should do. They are not particularly good at it. Bring me a fresh glass…boy.” Eugene scurried off in compliance, as Samantha watched, amused at her husband’s unquestioning subservience to the dominant black man.
Once her remaining white guests had prostrated themselves before the unapologetic black supremacist, Samantha stepped forward and knelt before him herself. “I also apologize for being white, for my white privilege, and for my white ancestry.” With that, she kissed Professor Knight’s shoes.
Pleased with his host’s debasement, the Professor inquired, “Tell me, Samantha, have you had any white children?”
Samantha shook her head. “Eugene and I have discussed it, but we never seem to find the time.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he assured her. “It pleases me that you have not spoilt your womb with white life.” Samantha was thrilled at the Professor’s approval. Stealing a glance, she saw that his hand gently kneaded the crotch of his Armani slacks.
Noting that all the white men and women were still on their knees, Professor Knight observed that Steven Woo of the Asian Studies Department remained on his feet. “And what about you?” he inquired. “You remain standing. Have you nothing to apologize for?”
Professor Woo appeared confused. “But…but I’m not...white."
“Clearly,” Professor Knight conceded. “But do you mean to tell me that you have never harbored an ill-thought, said an ill word, about the black race, never benefited from the anti-black racism of this country?”
Professor Woo hesitated for just a moment but then dropped to his knees, feeling the judging eyes of his peers on him. “I apologize for every bad thought I have ever had and every bad word I have ever spoken about the black race, sir,” he said, before putting his lips to Professor Knight’s shoes.
The only guests still on their feet were black, three teachers, and two graduate students. Professor Knight asked, “How does it make you feel, brothers and sisters, to see your white colleagues on their knees, to hear them apologize for the sins of their race?”
“Just fuckin’ amazing, sir,” replied Teyana Blythe, a graduate student in African-American Studies. “Long past due.”
“I have to concur,” said Professor Coleman Ross of the Divinity School, a distinguished-looking black man in his early forties, with a goatee and wire-rimmed glasses. “It is a curious thing to savor an apology that one did not even know that one required, and, yet, I look around at this room of contrite white faces, and I find I agree: it is just fucking amazing.”
“Tell me, my brother,” Professor Knight asked the theologian, “are you able to reconcile your religious beliefs with my advocacy of white ********?”
Coleman Ross considered the question for a moment, then answered, “I see no contradiction, Okoro. I find the extinction of the white race as you propose to be rather…elegant. My theological beliefs do not conflict with the theory of evolution, and, in the end, isn’t that all that you are suggesting? Natural selection. Survival of the fittest. Anyone would be a fool to deny the inherent superiority of the black race, the biological benefits of melanin, to say nothing of the demonstrable perfidy of the white race.”
Okoro Knight nodded in agreement. “You state my position most eloquently, brother,” he said. “Tell me, as a theologian, do you lend any credence to the Nation of Islam’s belief that the white man was the creation of the misguided black scientist Yakub?”
“Well, no, not in any literal sense,” Coleman replied. “But as an allegory? Perhaps. Humanity originated in Africa, after all, and whites evolved as people moved north, eventually mixing with other hominid species, such as Neanderthals and Denisovans. The genes of Africans are far less corrupted than that of the other races of the world. Purer. The myth of Yakub’s eugenics efforts may just be a way of interpreting the anthropological record.”
“An interesting thesis,” Professor Knight said. “And if accurate, my goal to breed the white race out of existence…?”
Professor Ross smiled. “Why, you would simply be correcting a genetic anomaly, an anthropological error, diluting the amount of non-African DNA, and welcoming the original diaspora back into the genetic fold. It is brilliant.” The two academics continued this fascinating exchange for several minutes, much to the fascination and education of the white on-lookers.
During this discussion, Eugene returned with a fresh tumbler of scotch, this time without ice. "Your drink, Professor Knight," he said, proffering the glass.
Okoro Knight regarded the drink absently, without taking the glass. "I must be going, now," he said simply, ignoring Eugene. "I hope you were all serious about your apologies. As educators, you are in a position to influence young whites about their responsibilities to the superior black race, to persuade them to contribute to the noble goal of white ********, including, but not limited to, opening their wombs for black breeding." He stood from the sofa still not acknowledging Eugene. Turning to Coleman Ross and the other black guests, he suggested, "My brothers and sisters, would you care to join me at my hotel to celebrate furthering our message of racial superiority?"
"It would be an honor, Okoro," replied Professor Ross with enthusiasm, the others nodding their agreement. They accompanied the Professor out to the limousine, followed by the two bodyguards. When Samantha and Eugene tried to follow them out of the house to wish the Professor farewell, the bodyguards dissuaded them with a stern shake of their heads. The McNeelys and their guests stood around bewildered, almost overwhelmed by the experience of learning from and submitting to such a profoundly accomplished, intellectual, and dominating black man.
Samantha shook her head. "I cannot believe Professor Brandt’s outrageous conduct," she exclaimed. "To insult such an honored guest in our very home. I have a mind to speak to the Chancellor about his behavior." Several of the guests voiced their agreement, quick to assert that there could be no room for such blatant white racism at the university. One by one, they thanked Samantha and Eugene for hosting such an enlightening event and took their leave.
Finally, alone with his wife, Eugene, still rather stupidly holding the tumbler of scotch, said, "It was as though I barely existed, Sam. He hardly acknowledged me. He barely spoke to me. I didn't even get the chance to apologize for being white. He seemed to hold me in utter contempt."
Samantha gasped. "You're not complaining, are you?" she admonished him.
Eugene sat on the sofa, rather shaken. "N-no," he tried to explain. "You don't understand. I'm not complaining, not at all. It felt...it felt right. Right and proper to find myself beneath the notice of such a great man. Such a great black man. It was eye-opening." Eugene took his wife's hand in his. "Professor Knight is correct: we need to do more. We need to help ensure that the future is black. We have to do our part to bring about…a white ********."
Excitedly, Samantha gave her husband a platonic kiss on the cheek. "I'm so happy to hear you say that, sweetie! I have just the idea!"
The next day after classes, Eugene McNeely walked across campus to the Divinity School, Ever since hosting Professor Knight's visit, he had found herself observing black men with much more interest. He had naturally always had an interest in them politically and socially, but now he found himself appraising them physically, even sexually. He noted how much stronger and athletic they were than white men, carrying themselves with more confidence and self-assurance. Black people, in general, struck him as more vibrant and alive than his own dull, uninteresting race. Black men were usually louder and brasher, too, as if they instinctively understood what Professor Knight asserted, that this world was rightfully theirs and they deserved to rule over it.
As Eugene entered the faculty offices of the Divinity School, he realized that he had never had cause to visit here before. He hardly even knew Coleman Ross. He and Samantha had invited him to the party because they had read a paper he co-authored on Black Liberation Theology and thought that Professor Knight's ideas might resonate with him. Judging by the course the night took, their instincts were correct. Eugene consulted a wall directory to locate the Professor's office, which was at the far end of a quiet, third-floor corridor, with windows overlooking the campus green.
He discovered Professor Ross' door ajar and found the man himself seated at a large, old-fashioned oak-top desk, covered with stacks of books. Professor Ross looked up. "Ah, Eugene," he greeted his visitor. "This is a surprise. Come in, have a seat. I'm pleased you came by. I wanted to thank you again for inviting me to such an enjoyable get-together. I had a wonderful time."
"Well, from what I understand," Eugene smiled, "everyone particularly enjoyed the discussion between you and Professor Knight. Samantha described it as quite eye-opening."
"I'm glad to hear that. We continued our discussions, as well as some less…academic pursuits, if you will, well into the night, back at the Professor's hotel. It was quite an evening for me and the others to hear so many of our white colleagues apologize for being white while on their knees. I cannot tell you how much that meant to us. To me."
"Well," said Eugene. "That gets to what brings me here this afternoon. You see, I, well, I never got a chance to apologize directly to Professor Knight. It was an oversight on my part. I was hoping...I was hoping that I could offer you my apology…for being white, for the benefits of my white privilege."
Coleman grinned, almost smirking. "You are more than welcome to apologize to me, Eugene. But don't you think you should show me the same courtesy that your wife and the others demonstrated for Professor Knight…on your knees before a black man?"
Standing, Coleman moved around the desk, positioning himself directly in front of Eugene. "I think that is the only way I might seriously consider your apology to be sincere."
Eugene knelt before Professor Ross. "Of course, sir," he said. "How thoughtless of me." Bowing his head, he continued, "I most fervently apologize for being white, for all the unearned privilege that being white has provided me, for any prejudices and stereotypes I may have expressed, for not doing more to help the black race."
"My shoe," Professor Ross indicated, sliding his foot toward Eugene. The debased white man lowered his lips to the toe of the black theologian's leather shoes. Professor Ross raised his other foot and placed it on the back of Eugene's head. "I have a feeling, Eugene, that you are not being completely honest with me. That, perhaps, you want to offer me something...more than just an apology. Am I right?"
With Professor Ross's foot pressing the side of his face to the floor, Eugene was unable to nod his head in the affirmative, so he replied, "Yes, sir. Yes, there is something that I wanted to…to ask...that I wanted to, uh, offer...you."
"And what exactly is that...white boy?"
"Well, sir, my wife, uh, she, I mean, we...."
"You want to offer me your wife, don't you, boy?"
Still unable to move his head with Professor Ross' foot pressing down on it, Eugene answered quietly, "Yes...yes, sir. I do."
Professor Ross smiled to himself. "Just as Okoro predicted."
"Predicted, sir? Y-you mean that he...."
"He knew that you would, that perhaps others from the party last night, would come to me. Would want me to fuck their wives. Would likely ask me to breed them. He is quite an authority on the perverse psychology of the white animal. Quite impressive, wouldn’t you say?" When Eugene agreed, Coleman Ross applied a bit of extra pressure to the weight of his foot on Eugene's face. "Tell me something, Eugene, and be honest: was it your idea or Samantha's to ask me to fuck her?"
"It was my wife's idea," Eugene admitted.
"And how do you feel about it?"
"It's what I want, too," Eugene said. "It is. I promise."
Professor Ross considered Eugene's assertion. "I believe you. Of course, it should go without saying that I will only fuck your wife with my bare cock. I will fill her full of my potent African sperm. Are you prepared for that? Will you remain complacent if I knock your white bitch up? Will you raise my black bastard child as if it were your own, knowing that even as a racial half-breed, he or she will be superior to you?"
Eugene was almost blubbering at Professor Ross' words. "Oh, yes! That is exactly what I want. Professor Knight helped me recognize just how worthless I am both as a white man and as a white husband. Helping raise a black child would give me some purpose, something worthwhile to contribute to the future."
"If I agree to fuck your wife until she is knocked up with a black child," Professor Ross warned, "I cannot take the risk that she might become pregnant with a worthless white life, can I?"
"Certainly not," agreed Eugene. "I promise to abstain from...from sex with Samantha...until she is pregnant."
"Not good enough, white boy," Professor Ross sneered, enjoying his role, his power over the sniveling white pig. “Ideally, as Professor Knight suggested, white males such as yourself would be castrated. As that may not be a realistic option, at least not yet, I will agree to fuck and breed your wife if you enter into chastity, if you cage your white cock…and entrust me with the key. What do you say…white boy?”
Eugene had long known that sex was not something at which he was particularly adept. He had not even lost his virginity until he was a sophomore in college. He knew that Samantha deserved better. The idea of entrusting another man, a black man, with the privilege of determining when or if Eugene should ever enjoy an orgasm somehow felt proper. “I would be honored to enter into chastity at your instruction, sir,” he acceded to Coleman Ross. “And for you to become my keyholder.”
“Very well,” Coleman said. “I will email you my home address. Bring Samantha to me tomorrow night at eight o’clock. I expect her to be dressed like the white whore she is, the sluttier the better. You will wait in your car in the driveway until I have finished with her. We will do this twice a week until she conceives my child. After that…we’ll see.”
Eugene’s heart raced, and his breathing was heavy, raspy. “Yes, sir,” he agreed.
With that, the black theologian removed his foot from Eugene’s face, allowing the history professor to raise his head. To Eugene’s shock, he saw that Coleman had removed his black prick from the fly of his slacks at some point. Even semi-flaccid, it was obscenely long and thick, sheathed in a rubbery foreskin. The scent of musk was strong and dizzying. “One last thing, boy,” Coleman Ross said. “I need you to kiss my nuts; I need to hear you thank them for producing the superior sperm that will give you your first child.”
Still, on his knees, Eugene leaned forward and pressed his lips to Professor Ross’ scrotum. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, for agreeing to impregnate my wife and providing us the honor of raising your offspring.”
Professor Coleman Ross smiled. “Good boy.”
The following week, the newspapers reported that Professor Jackson Brandt had been placed on unpaid leave and that his tenure at the University was in danger of being legally revoked. Several witnesses had come forward stating that he had indulged in a racist tirade against the eminent visiting author and lecturer, Professor Okoro Knight—some even claiming he had used the n-word—which would place him in violation of the morals clause of his employment contract with the university. Setting the paper aside, Okoro Knight, sitting in his five-star hotel room in Brussels, where he was scheduled to give a lecture that evening, smiled to himself at yet another victory for the black man. Between his legs, knelt a collared blonde woman on a leash, naked, slurping contentedly on the Professor’s long, dark brown erection. He ejaculated down her throat at the thought of the ruin visited upon the upstart white man who had dared to challenge him. One victory at a time, he thought to himself. They will all eventually fall.
