Chapter 1
White men invented clothes to cover their shame, this I am sure is true. Maybe one day a European man ventured too far into Africa and was horrified by what the men had to offer. He scurried back to Europe and spent the next hundred or thousands of years inventing clothes. He came up with elaborate lies about modesty and 'displays of wealth' to justify the fabric. How many layers does a white man need between his penis and the world? For centuries, European men drowned themselves in undergarments and pants and sashes, for what? Clearly, he is hiding a fact that we all know. Maybe it has been too long since a naked white man first encountered a naked black man and sent the species into a spiral. The modern-day white man seems to have forgotten.
...
It was just a local meet so I didn't know why I was so nervous. I ran track for my college, got here on a sports scholarship, and we were having a 'casual' meet with some of the other colleges. There were no medals, no publicity, just a simple training session that happened to have other college teams arriving in waves. It was meant to be casual but all the students knew it was really a pissing contest between the coaches. They all thought they had the best team or star and they wanted to show off. Or maybe they were sizing up the competition.
The field was full of groups. The students stuck within their own college groups; it was early on a Thursday morning before classes, no one was in a social mood. Even within colleges, the students stuck to their events: the hurdlers, the sprinters, the long-distance runners. Off by the stands were the coaches who all greeted each other with a handshake. The tension underneath the 'casual' meet was evident in their firm, white-knuckled handshakes. Not that you could easily see white knuckles on their white hands. Each one of the coaches as white as the next, each student as white as the city they lived and studied in. Studded through the field were a few black guys, all on scholarships.
The black guys always won, nearly every event. At the last competition, in the events where a white boy came first, there was always a reason. One of the black hurdlers had a knee injury. One of the black distance runners had booked a spot at the regional level and couldn't attend. One of the black sprinters had been signed up for the relay instead. That black sprinter was me.
The only people to cross college lines at these events were the black guys: being black bound me to them more than to my white colleagues. I loved and respected them, they were my friends, some I had gone to high school with. But seeing another black man in an ocean of white always brought a calmness to me. We would have a chat before, between, and after events, cheer each other on, but still stick to our teams.
I stood with the other black-and-yellow clad guys, waiting for my closest friend to arrive. Another black guy who had gone to my high school but got a scholarship to a different college. Finally, the bus pulled up that carried the boys in sky blue; that was Trey's college.
Immediately something was off and I could tell everyone noticed, too. We all stood around in how running skins: tight body suits, sleeveless and short pants above the knee. A few particularly insecure guys would also wear running shorts on top. Everyone knew it was an insecurity thing because they only just covered your junk and they did nothing but slow you down with drag. But here they were, a whole team filing out of the bus with shorts over their skins. It wasn't some big explosion that draw everyone's attention, but as each guy looked up to see the new arrivals, each one of them did a double take as they took notice.
And then finally, Trey stepped out of the bus and it all made sense. Not only was he the only guy not wearing shorts over his skins, he clearly wasn't wearing anything underneath either. As clear as day, I could see every detail of his cock and balls as the skins clung to its considerable size. He had obnoxiously tucked it down one of the legs of his pants, hanging down further than anyone's should. Well, it wasn't his fault; without underwear, it had nowhere else to go.
"Waddup, boys?" Trey's voice carried through the completely silent air. He made his way over to our group of black guys and shook each of our hands in turn. "What's new?"
"Um... that," Jordan laughed and gestured to the literal elephant in the room. We all burst out laughing.
"What?" Trey shrugged as if he had no idea what we were talking about. "It's more comfortable, it's freeing! You boys never let it hang out?"
"Of course, but everyone is staring," I said, subtly nodding to the scattered crowd of white boys looking in our direction. When Trey had emerged, a wave of whispers and gasps erupted in the crowd and hadn't stopped since.
"Yeah, you get used to it, the team have adjusted," he casually motioned over to his college, a group of boys in blue. If you stared long enough, it almost looked like they were ducking their heads in embarrassment. "Didn't take them long to start covering up, did it?" Trey laughed. He genuinely seemed unphased but it all.
