Black Guy Fucking Teen
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Black Guy Fucking Teen
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We were friends. Nothing more. Just two kids from Jersey traveling abroad who happened to bump into each other by stereotypical mistake. His White European friends dared him to go and talk to that Black Brazilian girl sitting on the beach, who was really a Black American girl in disguise. After listening to his tired pick up line in American-accented Portuguese, I cut him off and bluntly asked him in English where he was from. Shocked, he laughed and said, “I totally thought you were Brazilian.” He wouldn’t be the first to make the assumption.
Nonetheless, he invited me back to meet his friends, who were staring at him in disbelief thinking he’d actually succeeded in picking up this Brazilian girl. He broke the ice immediately and said, “She’s American.” And once again, I got the line, “We thought you were Brazilian!” After watching the sunset together, he invited me to meet up with them to salsa that evening. I wouldn’t give him a definite answer because I had articles to finish and work to do. But he was persistent and followed up by Skyping me that evening again extending his invitation. I still politely declined.
A few days later, he was headed to a nearby island and invited me to come along to explore. I was looking to get away from the city, so I accepted, of course, booking my own hotel room and arriving days late on my own schedule. We spent the following days hanging out, walking the beach, but still keeping things platonic. He had met and pursued a local Brasilian girl who was beyond sweet. And frankly, I just wouldn’t let my guard down to the idea of hooking up with a White American guy when there were so many Afro-Brazilian men in my surroundings. I was prejudiced, or in kinder words, had a preference for brown beautiful men.
Eventually, our vacation ended and he headed to the south of Brasil to start his new job. I returned to the city to continue living my life, and we kept in touch through semi-frequent Skype chats about our lives as Americans in Brazil. He told me to hit him up when I came to his city. And when I finally made the trip, I did. It had been almost six months since we had first met, and I certainly had changed.
I had opened a different chapter in my dating life, one that included more interracial dating than relationships with Black men in Brazil. So when we hung out, all of the sudden our platonic friendship transformed into a prospect, even though it had likely already been a prospect for him months back. I was sick, blowing my runny nose, and coughing, but he still wrapped his arms around me, made me tea, and made sure I was comfortable in his home.
What followed was a “first” to remember, as we took our time kissing and exploring each other’s bodies for the first time. While I know I wasn’t the first black woman he ever had sex with, he was the first White American that I had ever let into such an intimate space. Prior to that, I had shared my body with White Brasilians and Argentineans. But this was different. This made me feel like my growth had come full circle, as I struggled growing up in a predominately White Jersey suburb to feel like interracial dating was an option for a young Black woman. While young Black men certainly enjoyed relationships with young White women in my town, Black girls rarely were seen exploring the same types of relationships. Part of it was prejudice; part of it was reality. But the opportunities weren’t equal or treated the same.
I grew up believing a number of stereotypes about non-Black men, especially when it came to sex. If you asked most of my friends, their packages tended to be small unless they were of Latin or Italian descent, but they made up for it in the oral sex arena. So when I finally allowed myself to sexually enjoy and explore men of other races and cultures, I found these stereotypes blatantly untrue, just as several of the Black men that I had shared my body with didn’t live up to the Mandingo standard.
My first time with this White kid from Jersey was intense. The sex was focused primarily on my pleasure, and he wasn’t lacking in anyway to be able to deliver it. But it did make me reflect on why I had limited myself for so long to just having sex and dating Black men or never challenging the popular stereotypes.
Janice Rhoshalle Littlejohn, co-author of the soon-to-be released Swirling: How to Date, Mate, and Relate Mixing Race, Culture, and Creed, put it best in the chapter called, “Let’s Talk About Sex … and Stereotypes”:
“We think we have evolved into new-millennium modern-day thinkers, but black women all over the country, regardless of education and socioeconomic status, are living with age-old ideas when it comes to our consideration of the ideal sexual partner. We yearn to embrace our sexual bliss, and yet have allowed what our mothers, grandmothers, aunties, and sister-friends have said about “them” keep us from pursuing something new. We know how hard it is to fight against the stereotypes of black women as lascivious, innately promiscuous, and even predatory, deviants— and yet we feel more than justified in projecting our own labels on others, unfairly sizing up men and defining their capabilities between the sheets (or lack thereof) based on what so-and-so- said instead of considering the realities of the individual that just might be the guy who can makes your toes curl.”
My toes curled, more than once. I screamed, a few times. And even though I doubt me and this kid from Jersey will ever be more than just friends due to our chosen life paths (he’s ready to settle in one place and pursue a serious relationship, I want to keep traveling and find a partner who is willing to go with me), it was still worth giving us the opportunity to share intimacy, a deeper level of connection, and now, a stronger friendship.
I don’t know what color my husband will be, or what culture he’ll be from, but I will say this. It’s amazing what I’ve learned in life when I’m open to more than one possibility. I’m no longer limiting my options in love or sex.
Have you ever tried sex with someone outside your race and found it went against popular stereotypes? Did you enjoy yourself or did you want to ‘go back home’? Share your story .
Arielle Loren is the Editor-in-Chief of Corset, the go-to magazine for all things sexuality. Find her on Facebook and Twitter . Download Corset’s inaugural issue now and join the community’s daily discussions .
Since 1945, EBONY magazine has shined a spotlight on the worlds of Black people in America and worldwide. Our commitment to showcasing the best and brightest as well as highlighting disparities in Black life has been, and will always be, cornerstone to EBONY.
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I suggest you keep it to fantasy. Apart from the real risks of f-ing up your marriage and devastating you husband, you are more than likely to be disappointed. There's really nothing that different about a black man. Skin colour is not a reflections of ability in bed. It's probably got more sexual charge as a fantasy than a reality.
I aree with Ken, though, if you have to cheat you might as well end your marriage so you won't be breaking your vows.
@George :
Present company excepted. You're a great guy, and a bit of a hero.
Give up on your marriage, get divorced and have at it.
If you want to be free to indulge every sex fantasy that enters your mind, if you want to be free to bang whomever you wish, the solution is simple. End your marriage first.
end your marriage and don't hurt him at least. Oh one more thing, they ain't all that like you think, its all a myth !!
We dont do everything that we think about. These people rob banks and do other acts that damage others. Grown people have self control. You, not your thoughts or urges should consider carefully before you act.
If you want to destroy your marriage.
go head but do not date any black guy. That may destroy your marriage.
hmm. Call me weird.. but I generally want to bang someone because I'm attracted to them, rather than because they are a certain race.
As a woman that until recently has been faithful to my husband, I had a similar fantasy which nagged me for over 12 months. A friend who had been seeing a black man and had said it is the best sex she ever had. He had told her he would love to go to bed with me so she made the suggestion and after lots of butterflies I did it, it was the best sex I have ever had. Comparing him with my husband 6" long, black man a little bigger not much but o so much thicker, my husband would last about 1/2 to about a minute, black man I lost sense of time. My husband, never gave me an orgasm it was always up to me after, black man I lost count. I would say try at least once otherwise you will always wonder, what your husband never needs to know wont hurt him.
only and I repeat only if your husband is okay with the situation. he may want to watch and be with you when it happens and if that is what it takes to make him happy then by all means you should give him that. On a different note, I dont advise couples engaging in this type of activity. It will not be healthy for your marriage in the long run.
@Justright :
Did you just assume (if this post is real) her man is a cuck?
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It was about 2 a.m. when Sam and I walked down the empty hallway, passing by the painted murals and the bedrooms of my snoring housemates.
We had been eye fucking each other all night, and the sexual tension had built to a point where neither of us could contain our cheeky smiles.
As we turned the corner, we met face to face. Already knowing the answer, I put my arms around his neck and bluntly asked, “Could I kiss you?”
What happened next was an instant exchange of sexual desire — without a thought, our lips and pelvises pressed up against each other as we made out against the thin co-op walls.
I led the way to my bedroom as we quietly snuck past the room he was supposed to be staying in, past the housemate he was supposed to be fucking. Was it luck that she had conveniently left him alone for a couple hours, or had I really mastered the art of seduction?
It didn’t matter because on my flowery bedspread, under the twinkly string lights, it was a race to get naked. I untied my white blouse as he helped unbutton it. We pulled off his sweater, and as I sat on top of him, feeling his stiff, denim jeans, I relished in the success of my sexual pursuit. It wasn’t until I began to unbuckle his belt that I noticed the hesitancy in his big blue eyes.
He revealed to me that he had been hooking up with my housemate, and while they hadn’t talked about labels, he supposedly didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
Exasperated by his timing, I removed myself from his lap, taking a moment to formulate my response.
Several weeks before, I confronted my housemate after I found out that we had both slept with Sam. In our rather casual conversation, we marveled at how his fuckboy reputation didn’t seem to match his quiet, passive demeanor. Although we were both warned by our friends that he had a history of being shitty to girls, we were, after all, cooperative and sex-positive housemates. We encouraged the other person to “go for it” — even though I knew her “quirky” Wes Anderson aesthetic meant she was more likely seen as girlfriend material.
Obviously, I knew about everything, so I was a little confused as to why he was telling me all of this; was it my responsibility to stop him from hurting my housemate?
I decided that it wasn’t, and I simply told him, “I really don’t fucking care.” I’ve seen my fair share of assholes, and if he was going to be a fuckboy, I wasn’t going to be the one to comfort his guilt.
Maybe this turned him on because despite his earlier hesitation, we promptly continued hooking up. My fixation with pleasing him turned into this endless cycle where Sam would stop and tell me that he “felt bad” even though we would continue to touch each other anyway.
I eventually grew bored of dry humping, and as I became increasingly aware of his faulty understanding of loyalty — and his blue balls — the whole situation became kind of humorous to me. I cynically told him that I didn’t know he had feelings, to which he responded he was trying to have fewer of them. I told him he had such a great moral conscience.
I didn’t waste my time trying to be nice anymore because I was aware of what I had become: the irrelevant Asian girl in a budding Scott Pilgrim-esque romance. From the countless times that I’ve been rejected for a white girl, I’ve been taught that my desirability was only a fleeting moment whereas a white girl was the one worth getting to know, the one worth bringing home to parents and the one worth being treated as a human. I was the sexual object, whereas my housemate was the one who had feelings worth considering.
Eventually, I showed Sam out the door, and he asked for my number, suggesting that maybe we could “hang out” next semester when our lives were a little bit different.
Fuck that. I’m wise enough — or have been fooled enough times — to recognize that this “maybe one day” trope was a fuckboy specialty. To objectify women like they’re library books, pulling them on and off the shelf whenever it’s convenient — and for women to be OK with that — is a clear example of male privilege.
It’s depressing to realize how much women of color compromise in their relationships with white men. I recall the number of times that my non-white girlfriends and I have praised a white guy for having listened to us, for having genuine interest in us, for seeing us as a real people instead of objects. It’s fucked up that these are exceptions and not expectations.
When society has made the white person the ultimate pursuit, it teaches non-white women to be OK with feeling inferior, to be OK with being submissive and to be OK with being treated like shit.
Contact Maggie Lam at mlam2+opinion@dailycal.org
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