Once You Go Black: Sex and Stereotypres
Honestly, I can’t say that I know for sure where to start with this one. I’m not a big fan of stereotypes, and I’m even less a fan of people that seem to go out of their way to exacerbate an already negative image, like minorities, foreigners, and women that don’t tip. On the other hand, there are other stereotypes to the contrary, like the one we have all heard about our ladies of color: “Once you go black, you never go back.” I can’t confirm or deny anything for certain, but I can tell you what I know…
In my travels in California, I happened upon one of the most beautiful young women to grace this planet. Only about 23, she was innocent enough, but totally capable of adult conversation. She was quite tall at nearly 5′10″ (which made her +6′ in heels), and perfectly proportioned. Lovely dark mocha skin and a wonderfully refreshing attitude complemented her phisyque nicely. I knew that it probably wouldn’t last in the long tem, but not checking it out just seemed senseless.
As an aside, this would only be my second experience with a black/african-american woman to date. The first of which was a total disappointment. I had some pretty big expectations for a number of reasons, especially since this particular girl was a former gymnast. The end of that story, however, is nothing short of disappointing: After totally rocking her world, she says to me, “I never bring my A-game to the first meet.” What? Wow. Why would you even have a second-string? Especially knowing that she would be my first sister, one would think that she would have tried to totally ruin me for any other woman that would follow. No such luck. I digress…
Back to the story, she met me at my place, then I took her to a concert that sucked so bad we had to leave early. On the way back, she asked me if I ever smoked (pot, of course). I told her the truth: I only smoke about once ever six months or so. It keeps me from sleeping, and when I’m stoned, I’m good for eating and sex — and not in that order.
Knowing what she was getting into, she breaks out the pipe first thing when we got back to my apartment. “Fuck it. I warned you,” I thought. Pretty sassy stuff she had, and my girl-scout tolerance for Mary Jane just ramped up the effect. Within minutes we were in a low-orbit, clawing at each other with savage intensity. Everything about her was lovely, from her perfect features to her perfume, and my heightened senses gave me more than enough motivation to show my appreciation.
I went down on her, kissing and caressing every inch of her body. I teased her until she practically forced me to lick her flawless lips. She was wet and delicious and perfectly clean. As I passionately kissed her, I gently stroked her thighs, then slowly started to put my finger inside her.
This was her breaking point, I guessed, since she forcefully pulled me up to her mounth and flipped me on my back. Strong, I thought, as she grabbed a condom out of her purse. It was kinda hot being pushed around — definitely not something I’m accustomed to, since I’m nearly twice the weight of most of the girls I’m with. She put the condom on me with such skill I don’t think I could have been smoother about it myself. By this time, I’m in the firm grasp of the grass, and thigs are getting a little hazy. For sure, it was intense, and seemd to last for hours…
To me, what makes sex particularly good is one’s enthusiasm. My father told me many times that, “when you enjoy what you do, it shows in the quality of your work.” To this day I wonder if I should have nominated her for an award of some sort for her performance thus far — but this isn’t even the good part. I’ve had some pretty phenomenal sex in my time, and I’ve been with some pretty motivated women, but NEVER have I experienced what follows:
Round one being pretty much a tie, I wanted to settle this thing. As misfortune would have it, no more condoms (we cashed 3 in round one already). What now? I’ll tell you what now:
“Relax,” she says.
With an unbelievable combination of gentleness, intesity, and caress, she went down. I wish I could articulate her technique, but I would undoubtedly be selling her short. The only way I could hope to give you an idea of how good this was is to give you the results:
I warned her. I was getting close, and getting there fast. She didn’t hesitate for even a second, nor break stride. She had a tight grip on my thighs and my attention, and clearly wanted to please me completely. For the first time in my life, I kid you not, the already dim candle light started to darken. I gripped the mattress like a life raft in a hurricane. Seconds later, I’m out. Out-out, like when you stand up too fast and you almost pass out, but this time I actually passed out. Needless to say, I would not credit a woman with such a feat were it not 100% factual, but there you have it, kids — out. Blown totally unconcious. I wasn’t out for more than a few seconds, but when I came to, she thought I was trying to be funny. Nope — I’ll leave funny to the comedians. I wanted to explain why I checked out, but I was way too dizzy…
She left me that night with a hint of her perfume that lingered on my sheets and low enough blood sugar to warrant an I.V. I was exhausted, dehydrated, a little sore already. This more than made up for that last little encounter. Never before and not since have I been so utterly — schooled. Frickin’ wow.
In that, I leave you to question the stereotype for yourself. Is there something to it? Are darker women just natuarally more passionate or skilled? Personally, I did “go back” — but not without a newfound respect…
