A Load of Bull: White Supremacy and Big Black Cock

RV
Updated March 29, 2016 4:41pm PDT
Spades

When you’re an army boy in upstate New York, you have your choice of two hobbies—drink in your room with friends, or drink in a bar to find people to maybe bring back to drink in your room. 

If you were really lucky, maybe there was some fucking!

Getting to the nearest bar was an adventure. It was an eighteen and up club, which runs the gamut of it’s own problems—ten thousand other army boys, to start. When a friend told me about the wild world of online hookups, I was curious. And relieved. 

So imagine: it’s Friday night. Maybe you struck out at the bars. Maybe you never went to the bars. Perhaps you just sat up with a specific sort of craving. You take to one of several sites with very specific sections on the hunt. The internet makes finding a last night booty call extremely simple in 2016, but this is 2012. You definitely have no idea what you’re doing.

So you pop into Craigslist and you hit the casual encounters section and click go. You sift and you search and whatever nothing jumps out at you. You’re a man —let's assume you’re a man—of particular taste.

You’re about to logout when a title catches your eye. “Hot wife for BBC.” 

You do a quick google search for what BBC could mean —or maybe you don’t; you’re a savvy guy!— and read the definition aloud. Big black cock. Well, you say to yourself: you’re black. Your cock is pretty sizable. And hey, if the wife is hot, well, that’s a bonus! You write up an email and send a reply.

“Hello, my name is Strongback Fuckgood,” you type. “And I would be delighted to fuck your wife.”

The reply came pretty quickly. There was some back and forth, a few pictures were swapped, and in a very short manner of time I was taking a taxi across town. Wow, I thought. This was way quicker than going to the bars. I’m gonna fuck tonight, golly!

It didn’t particularly surprise me to see the couple was white, given the tagline. They seemed like pretty nice people during the initial process of conversations.

"So how are we gonna do this?" I asked. "I mean, what's off limits, I don't wanna do butt stuff if you guys aren't into that or--"

"Oh. Oh no," replied the husband. "No you're gonna fuck her. Also I'm gonna record it, is that okay?"

"Wait, like in front of you?"

I'd done threesomes before but this was kinda new. He nodded, asked if I was fine, and I agreed. It was kinda too late to back out here and I didn't want to reveal Strongback Fuckgood as Camerashy Fucknot in disguise.

"I wanna warn you, I have a filthy mouth," she said.

"Oh, I mean that's cool," I shrugged. How bad could it be? "On a scale of 1 to 10 how filthy are we talking?"

The answer turned out to be a solid "Fuck me with that nigger dick" outta 12.

As a black man, I'm not a stranger to being fetishized by white people. Many of my relationships wound up with white women, and later white men, due to the general proximity of them in my life. When it came to going on dates or having casual hookups, there was always a sort of doomsday clock until the white person in question said something wildly inappropriate and I had to pack up and go.

I found a number of situations where find myself subject to all sorts of wild things. I’ve had white partners step on toes and stumble here and there—more than one person I’ve dated has told me they "didn’t find black bodies attractive before" in an attempt to flatter that went terribly wrong.

However, with cuckolding it was a little more charged, from requests for "nigger dick" to straight up citing enslaved ancestors and fucking the slave master’s daughter.

Excuse me? No, absolutely not.

A lot of Hot Wife/BBC cuckolding fetish seems to stems from nearly 200 years of white men feeling incredibly threatened by black masculinity. If you throw a rock through history, you'll hit something like twenty instances of laws and culture alienating black bodies due to the belief that the black was a insatiable sex monster, and that black men in particular were always at all times ready to pounce on defenseless white women.

The "flattering" stereotypes don't help—sometimes you catch yourself exhausted of the hundredth white person sliding next to you to ask if all black men are really the horse-dicked monsters with endless stamina and virility they hear about. It all sets a terrible precedent; the only reason to be with someone who's black is cause they fuck good.

There's an instinctual hackle raising when groups of white women with Queen of Spades tattoos brag how much they love the dick. The sheer name of the tattoo is mind-boggling: why you would wear a tattoo with a name born out of racial slurs thrown at black people is beyond my understanding.

It's a unique instance of sexual false advertisement–on it's face, cuckolding is no different from any other humiliation based fetish. It's no more insidious than, say, being into scenarios where your mom fucks your bully. There are plenty of couples who engage in consensual non-monogamous relationships where another man comes in and fucks your wife and there's playful banter about how much better he is than you.

Queen of Spades culture is, simply, a thinly veiled way for white supremacy to manifest in the bedroom—intentional or no. The husband being a limped dick so and so falls by the wayside when there's an insistence on how much better black men are at satisfying the Queen in question.

You would never willingly say you’re into the idea of owning black men. And there is absolutely a thrill to be had in being courted by a handsome young black man in a bar surrounded by white men—but when your thrill loops back around to calling said black man slurs mid coitus and bragging with your friends in matching tattoos about it, a line is absolutely crossed.

This otherwise harmless kinks makes a convenient means to exert white dominance over black bodies.

I guess there a consolation prize though. You get that small voice that says "Well, you're fuckin a dude's wife, aren't you?"

I’m not oblivious to the hypocrisy, mind you.

For every moment I felt uncomfortable there was still that little voice. At a certain point I made it a point to address what was and wasn’t okay by me. There was a nice feeling of taking charge of my life whenever I stated something like racial slurs weren’t my thing and there was no way whatsoever I was going to “breed” your wife.

The sense of agency behind it was refreshing but I still found myself wondering a lot. Were these people gonna be low-key racists? Were they the type to probably go on and on about how black people were bad and lazy, but it’s okay cause my wife has a tattoo that says she fucks black men?

In the end, that’s why I called it quits. The line between what was a fetish and what was actual bad racial politics was so blurred I didn’t want to think about it. I wasn’t going to be the guy who contributed to that, even if it meant my dick got to get a workout from time to time.

Let’s put it this way: for every instance where I walked into a bar and hit on a woman whom was married, I had to think about how that looked. What did the people who saw this think? Sure, it was a prearranged thing, but to everyone else I looked like a pushy black guy trying to get a sweet white lady to break her vows. That’s not a good look. That doesn’t reflect well, right? It was all good fun and we’d have a good time, but appearances matter, right?

On the other hand, it was better than being in a packed eighteen-and-up bar any day of the week.

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