I was having dinner a few nights ago with an old girlfriend I had not seen in some time. One of those Facebook invitations to meet that actually wound up happening. We giggled and laughed and shared stories of our respective families. Wine was consumed, and in the end, we were feeling little pain. That was when the bomb dropped.
"You've been with black guys ever since I can remember... Why? For that matter, how did you wind up with a white husband? Surely with your wants, and looks, you could have waited, blah, blah, blah..." (At least that is how I remember it.)
I gave some sort of semi-believable answer at the time, because I wasn't exactly sure why my life and ****** had gone the way it had. But her question bothered me, because there was no "right" answer. At least at the time. So after some more pondering, here is what I have come up with:
1. The Taboo. Yes, it is trite, even cliche`, in our enlightened times. Interracial couples are far more accepted today than they were even 5 to ten years ago, not even considering the back-then times where marriage had become a priority to me. But the thrill of doing something that was, in essence, forbidden, was an added high to the sexual thrills of a black man taking a white woman to bed, or in the car, or at the park, or in the elevator, or the alley, or whatever place suited him.
1a- It was so VERY against my parent's wishes. To my knowledge, they were not openly bigoted or prejudiced, but they wanted their ****** to have matching babies, and so on... My parents were also a bit domineering, over-controlling, and micro-managing. Call it my middle-finger to them. The darker the man's skin, the bigger finger they were getting.
2. The Risks. On top of that, I never have used birth-control. Call me dumb, call me stupid, but the extra risk of possibly being impregnated by a black man creates far more sexual tension, and ultimately joy, from each encounter. Sure, there were many times when I had no idea exactly who was attached to the other end of the black cock doing his best to fuck me stoopid (That tended to happen a lot), and not knowing who he was gave me an added thrill. I was living in the then and there, and such things were just passing trivial details to be dealt with after the spur of the moment potential Mr. Right became Mr. Right-Now. I was, and am, an adrenaline junky, only my thrills were not from jumping out of airplanes, or jumping off cliffs without a parachute. I get off on strangers who would be helping me break "all" the rules. Yes, several times things blew up in my face. I got pregnant a few times, and got an STD, which I was cured of. But the risks drove me, and drove me hard.
3. The sex was just plain old better. I'll probably catch some heat for this, but screw it, it is the truth as I see it, for me. To me, black guys are better lovers, in general. No, they do NOT all have 12" cocks. No, they can't go for hours and hours before putting their baby into you. No, they can't climax, stay hard, and give you three more rounds without tiring. That is one of the things I hate about the stories and tales written in erotica-land, here and in other venues. Black guys are still guys, and they all need to recharge after getting their rocks off. Sure the resting time varies, but they all need a break. But make NO mistake about it. Black guys are, for me, better lovers. Call it something primal, call it something messed up in my own head, or call it what you will. But it has been my experience that black guys tend to be more dominant in bed. I like that. A lot. They don't ask, they just do. They don't ask me to spread my legs, they grab my ankles and spread me open for them, or bend me in half, or whatever. They don't ask if 'this feels good', they observe my body's cues and reactions. If I am wailing at the top of my lungs, lips gaping and eyes glassy, then they know they are hitting hot buttons in me. They also have no qualms about manhandling me into the position that feels best for them. Usually, that is a great position for me, too! They are also more intense. They don't worry about hurting me as they take me. They hammer away with a fury few white guys have ever used with me, and that includes my present husband. They simply consume me, and I've had multiple climaxes in a single time with black men, but never more than one with a white guy.
4. Love versus Sex. My husband is the single, most important man in my life. He owns my heart, and I could not live without him. He is my most important focus, even more than my k**s. He is kind, caring, thoughtful and a great provider. He is my rock when I am torn, and a great spooner, too! Making love with him is 99% of the time awesome, but in a different way. Making love with him is just a natural extension of my heart. I strive to make sure he gets as much or more from me that he gives. I want him to know he is a great man, because he is. He is a greater man than I am a woman. But it has taken us a very long time to get to this point. Anniversaries, shared tender moments, the arguments, and bitching, whining, pissing, and moaning (I can hear my daddy's voice as I type this.. he said that a lot), they all meshed into the sharing of lives. Love and Marriage takes serious effort. Sex doesn't.
Sex is the simple satisfying of needs. I can satisfy my husband any time he wants, but sadly, he can't always do it for me. Call it technique, call it physical build, call it a heart of gold and the fear to tarnish his treasure. But he will not give me the raw, hard fucking I sometimes desperately crave. I've asked him to be rougher with me, to be demanding, to be insistent. I've even tried to resist him when he gets amorous, hoping to spur him into a hotter burning need. We've had many talks about how to do better for each of us, and I even asked him to grab me up by surprise and **** me. He won't do it. To be fair, he has had his own share of horrific realities, as he used to serve in a combat zone when he was in the military. Perhaps it has scarred him for life in that regard. Maybe it was the way he was raised, I don't know. But a black guy? I can usually get him all excited and wanting by a loose miniskirt, fuck-me heels, and a plunging neckline. Letting them discover I am not wearing panties and a bra, and I am a tempting target. Then go up and see #3 above. Tease them, and wait for them to reach the boiling point.
5. Why did I marry a white guy? Simple. At the time, there was no real alternatives. Yes, I have dated black guys, and even entered into a serious relationship with one. I had even seriously considered marrying him, despite all of the hazards with ******, etc., until I found out he was more interested in conquering white women more than in a single, forever relationship. When I found out he was screwing my then best-friend, I was so hurt that I swore off black guys. That lasted for 6 weeks. By then, however, I had met a new man. A white guy who somehow knew the best way to break me down, and then build me up. He knew, and still knows, the best ways to hold me accountable, and still support me in my goals and ambitions. I have a successful career because of my husband's support.
So to conclude, because I know I'm going to catch a load of shit from some people over this... Yes, I am married, happily, to a white guy. Yes, I have sex with black guys. I do, sometimes, feel guilty about it. But with black cocks, it is all about fulfilling a biological need. It isn't love, or giving my heart away. With black guys, it is all about the intense carnal knowledge and the fury of a hard fuck, between Mr. and Mrs. Right-Now...
"You've been with black guys ever since I can remember... Why? For that matter, how did you wind up with a white husband? Surely with your wants, and looks, you could have waited, blah, blah, blah..." (At least that is how I remember it.)
I gave some sort of semi-believable answer at the time, because I wasn't exactly sure why my life and ****** had gone the way it had. But her question bothered me, because there was no "right" answer. At least at the time. So after some more pondering, here is what I have come up with:
1. The Taboo. Yes, it is trite, even cliche`, in our enlightened times. Interracial couples are far more accepted today than they were even 5 to ten years ago, not even considering the back-then times where marriage had become a priority to me. But the thrill of doing something that was, in essence, forbidden, was an added high to the sexual thrills of a black man taking a white woman to bed, or in the car, or at the park, or in the elevator, or the alley, or whatever place suited him.
1a- It was so VERY against my parent's wishes. To my knowledge, they were not openly bigoted or prejudiced, but they wanted their ****** to have matching babies, and so on... My parents were also a bit domineering, over-controlling, and micro-managing. Call it my middle-finger to them. The darker the man's skin, the bigger finger they were getting.
2. The Risks. On top of that, I never have used birth-control. Call me dumb, call me stupid, but the extra risk of possibly being impregnated by a black man creates far more sexual tension, and ultimately joy, from each encounter. Sure, there were many times when I had no idea exactly who was attached to the other end of the black cock doing his best to fuck me stoopid (That tended to happen a lot), and not knowing who he was gave me an added thrill. I was living in the then and there, and such things were just passing trivial details to be dealt with after the spur of the moment potential Mr. Right became Mr. Right-Now. I was, and am, an adrenaline junky, only my thrills were not from jumping out of airplanes, or jumping off cliffs without a parachute. I get off on strangers who would be helping me break "all" the rules. Yes, several times things blew up in my face. I got pregnant a few times, and got an STD, which I was cured of. But the risks drove me, and drove me hard.
3. The sex was just plain old better. I'll probably catch some heat for this, but screw it, it is the truth as I see it, for me. To me, black guys are better lovers, in general. No, they do NOT all have 12" cocks. No, they can't go for hours and hours before putting their baby into you. No, they can't climax, stay hard, and give you three more rounds without tiring. That is one of the things I hate about the stories and tales written in erotica-land, here and in other venues. Black guys are still guys, and they all need to recharge after getting their rocks off. Sure the resting time varies, but they all need a break. But make NO mistake about it. Black guys are, for me, better lovers. Call it something primal, call it something messed up in my own head, or call it what you will. But it has been my experience that black guys tend to be more dominant in bed. I like that. A lot. They don't ask, they just do. They don't ask me to spread my legs, they grab my ankles and spread me open for them, or bend me in half, or whatever. They don't ask if 'this feels good', they observe my body's cues and reactions. If I am wailing at the top of my lungs, lips gaping and eyes glassy, then they know they are hitting hot buttons in me. They also have no qualms about manhandling me into the position that feels best for them. Usually, that is a great position for me, too! They are also more intense. They don't worry about hurting me as they take me. They hammer away with a fury few white guys have ever used with me, and that includes my present husband. They simply consume me, and I've had multiple climaxes in a single time with black men, but never more than one with a white guy.
4. Love versus Sex. My husband is the single, most important man in my life. He owns my heart, and I could not live without him. He is my most important focus, even more than my k**s. He is kind, caring, thoughtful and a great provider. He is my rock when I am torn, and a great spooner, too! Making love with him is 99% of the time awesome, but in a different way. Making love with him is just a natural extension of my heart. I strive to make sure he gets as much or more from me that he gives. I want him to know he is a great man, because he is. He is a greater man than I am a woman. But it has taken us a very long time to get to this point. Anniversaries, shared tender moments, the arguments, and bitching, whining, pissing, and moaning (I can hear my daddy's voice as I type this.. he said that a lot), they all meshed into the sharing of lives. Love and Marriage takes serious effort. Sex doesn't.
Sex is the simple satisfying of needs. I can satisfy my husband any time he wants, but sadly, he can't always do it for me. Call it technique, call it physical build, call it a heart of gold and the fear to tarnish his treasure. But he will not give me the raw, hard fucking I sometimes desperately crave. I've asked him to be rougher with me, to be demanding, to be insistent. I've even tried to resist him when he gets amorous, hoping to spur him into a hotter burning need. We've had many talks about how to do better for each of us, and I even asked him to grab me up by surprise and **** me. He won't do it. To be fair, he has had his own share of horrific realities, as he used to serve in a combat zone when he was in the military. Perhaps it has scarred him for life in that regard. Maybe it was the way he was raised, I don't know. But a black guy? I can usually get him all excited and wanting by a loose miniskirt, fuck-me heels, and a plunging neckline. Letting them discover I am not wearing panties and a bra, and I am a tempting target. Then go up and see #3 above. Tease them, and wait for them to reach the boiling point.
5. Why did I marry a white guy? Simple. At the time, there was no real alternatives. Yes, I have dated black guys, and even entered into a serious relationship with one. I had even seriously considered marrying him, despite all of the hazards with ******, etc., until I found out he was more interested in conquering white women more than in a single, forever relationship. When I found out he was screwing my then best-friend, I was so hurt that I swore off black guys. That lasted for 6 weeks. By then, however, I had met a new man. A white guy who somehow knew the best way to break me down, and then build me up. He knew, and still knows, the best ways to hold me accountable, and still support me in my goals and ambitions. I have a successful career because of my husband's support.
So to conclude, because I know I'm going to catch a load of shit from some people over this... Yes, I am married, happily, to a white guy. Yes, I have sex with black guys. I do, sometimes, feel guilty about it. But with black cocks, it is all about fulfilling a biological need. It isn't love, or giving my heart away. With black guys, it is all about the intense carnal knowledge and the fury of a hard fuck, between Mr. and Mrs. Right-Now...
