White Cock Boys
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White Cock Boys
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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.
Until white boys prove to me they’re worth more than a faded fuck, I refuse to take these fuckboys seriously anymore.
Copyright © 2022 The Daily Californian, The Independent Berkeley Student Publishing Co., Inc.
All rights reserved.
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Use desktop site by default.
Mobile site.
Donate
We're an independent, student-run newsroom. Make a donation to support our coverage.
More stories to check out before you go
As an independent student newspaper and the paper of record for the city of Berkeley, the Daily Cal has been communicating important updates during this pandemic.
Your support is essential to maintaining this coverage.
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.
Until white boys prove to me they’re worth more than a faded fuck, I refuse to take these fuckboys seriously anymore.
Copyright © 2022 The Daily Californian, The Independent Berkeley Student Publishing Co., Inc.
All rights reserved.
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Use desktop site by default.
Mobile site.
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Sex. Celebrity. Politics. With Teeth
Sex. Celebrity. Politics. With Teeth
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Jezebel's Crush of the Week: Jennette McCurdy
We're not size queens or anything but the HBO comedy Hung —about a man (Thomas Jane) with a large penis—premieres in June, and it got us thinking about big penises, the ultimate status symbol for men*. After the jump, a list of famous ones.
1.) Rasputin** The Russian mystic's disembodied penis is on display at the Russian museum of erotica in Saint Petersburg, in a tall jar, measuring 11 inches—flaccid.
2.) Liam Neeson In her autobiography No Lifeguard on Duty , Janice Dickinson wrote of her ex-boyfriend Liam Neeson, saying he had "the biggest penis of any man alive. He unzipped his pants and an Evian bottle fell out."
3.) Jay-Z Accounts from several different groupies say that Jigga is well endowed, "The biggest dick you will ever see in your life, but boring. Huge. Like a one-liter Pepsi bottle. What do you call those things? The 20-ounce bottle. It's beyond huge. It could block the sun."
Unfold your phone's potential The Z Fold4 is Samsung’s premiere Galaxy smartphone, featuring a 6.2" cover screen that unfolds to a wide 7.6" display on the inside as well as an under-display camera. Ordering one today will grant you $150 in Samsung credit to be put toward additional accessories.
4.) John Holmes Even though he had one of the most celebrated dicks in porn history, due to its size, there's no real documentation of his measurement. His manager claimed he was 13.5 inches, but Holmes' first wife said he measured it in front of her, before he started doing adult films, and it was 10 inches.
5.) Vincent Gallo Have you ever seen Brown Bunny ? (Link NSFW)
This rumor about how large his dick was has been around for a while, and at his Friars Club memorial in 2002, his friends joked about his size.
7.) Wilt Chamberlain His nickname was "Big Dipper." He claims to have gotten a lot of use out of it.
8.) Tommy Lee Thanks to the sex tape with then-wife Pamela Anderson, everyone has seen Tommy's peen . It's guesstimated to be about 8 inches, erect. (Link NSFW)
9.) Frank Sinatra Ava Gardner once said of her ex-husband, "He only weighs 120, but 100 pounds is cock."
10.) Alexis Arquette Some years before her sex reassignment surgery, Alexis had a lot of taping to do. (Link NSFW)
10.) President Johnson "He was a lifelong exhibitionist who in college had dubbed his penis ‘ Jumbo .'"
11.) Errol Flynn He was notorious for his cock, which he once used to play the piano . A classical pianist!
12.) James Woods That's the rumor, anyway, but we don't really care to find out definitively.
13.) Colin Farrell It looks like a baby's arm . (Link NSFW)
Glamor model Jordan aka Katie Price says that her husband's penis is the size of a large television remote control.
15.) Anthony Keides The girls on Metal Sludge —a site where groupies compare notes on the rock stars they've fucked—say the Red Hot Chili Peppers front man is a "very large" penis that is "beyond gorgeous."
16.) Tony Kanal The girls on Metal Sludge also say that the No Doubt bassist—who is Gwen Stefani's ex—measures about 10 inches.
17.) Tony Danza He's uncut and long. (Link NSFW)
18.) Ray J Don't all guys with sex tapes that "leak" have big dicks? (Link NSFW)
19.) Dan Rather The report on Rather is that "he is as hung as he is handsome and intelligent."
20.) Simon Rex It's no wonder why he used to do porno.
*It is the personal opinion of the writer that big penises hurt. **This list is not compiled by size order.
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