Black Man One Ch 23

As I peered through the darkness of the parking lot and towards the bushes where the other white husbands were hiding, my feelings of curiosity grew even more intense.

"Richard? Come on already." one of the weaker, white husbands yelled in a heavy whisper.

"Yeah. Hurry up." another whispered voice shouted from the darkness.

Tentatively, I minced my way towards the group as I looked over my shoulder with every other step. I couldn't understand the reason why this group of 8 white husbands were cowering behind the bushes at the edge of the parking lot and wanting to speak to me at this particular time of the night.

By now, there were only nine of us white husbands left in the condo community. I realized this and the ultra demoralizing fact that it was now 4 of the other white husbands who had already fled our once peaceful small community. It truly felt as if this ONE dominant black man was "picking us off" one by one, like some sort of Black Sniper would be picking off his weak, white prey. Only, he was doing so with his superior black masculinity and using our fear of him to add an even more demoralizing exclamation point. He was doing so by intimidating each and every one of us white husbands and taking our beautiful wives for his own.

It was a humbling, humiliating and revolting thought as I began walking towards the bushes.

As I reached the shadows of the large bushes that framed the parking lot entrance leading to the pool area I noticed that it was Kevin at the front of the group doing most of the talking.

"K-Kevin?" I squealed.

"What are all of you doing out here?" I asked, nervously.

Suddenly, I grew even more scared. The looks on all the other white men's faces were ones of panic and fear. We were now a group of 9 white husbands cowering together behind some bushes in the middle of the night. We were cowering and talking like a bunch of sissy school girls.

"What are you guys doing out here?" I repeated, adapting to the same heavy whispering tone.

"The meeting. The investors meeting. Didn't you get the memo?" Bradley spoke out.

"W-What meeting? What are you talking about?" I asked, concerned yet rather annoyed.

"I didn't hear about any meeting, and here at this time in the middle of the night behind some stupid bushes? What the heck is going on?" I stammered.

"No, no the meeting isn't here. It''s in the gym." Kevin said.

It was then that Kevin explained.

He explained that Tra'mon had called, what he termed "an investors meeting" precisely at 1:00 a.m., and this meeting was to be held in the small workout center of the condo building. I glanced down to the expensive Movado watch on my left wrist to see that it was 11 minutes before one. Suddenly, I felt very nervous.

"W-Well, I didn't know about any m-meeting?" I quivered.

"I-I didn't get any memo." I cried.

"W-Why are we all standing out here then?" I probed.

Kevin continued his explanation.

"Well, we thought we'd get together and talk about it first. Ya' know, talk before we go into this meeting. I mean, we just don't know what to expect." He said, worriedly.

"I-I don't want to go inside there." one white husband cried.

"Me neither." another husband chimed in.

"I'm not g-going." a third husband stated, nearly crying out loud.

"Gosh! I, uh, I really do not want to face him. Not tonight. I'm scared." yet another husband sniveled.

Kevin went on to say that the memo instructed all of us white husbands to bring our check books. He added that they all felt that the young, black stud would be asking for more money. They were all very confused about what to do. The group had no desire to invest again, yet they all felt like they were going to be "pressured" into it by Tra'mon.

"M-More money?" I asked, in utter disbelief.

"H-He ... Well, I just d-don't know? Are you sure?" I asked in a panicked tone.

"I don't know. Maybe?" Bradley returned. "I just don't know what he will want from us now."

That is when I looked into the fearful eyes of the other 8 white husbands. We were all quite intimidated and afraid of this young, black man. We were literally just like a bunch of "pussies" hiding in the bushes. We were like big cowards huddled together and talking about what to do when the "school bully" came around. None of us had any desire to face him, nor did we want any part of his so called "investment opportunities" for his new business. Not anymore. Not after he had been intimidating us and taking our wives out all the time. Not after we had all but known that he had fucked all of our wives before, or was still fucking them. We just didn't know. I was quite sure that all of us wanted to "bow out" of our investment by now.

Yet, we were all scared and timid creatures that felt less like men. Even as a group, all of us white wimps were quite aware that this one much younger black stud could very easily beat us up. There seemed to be no resistence or fight left in any of us in this group. There was just talk.

We had less than ten minutes before the scheduled meeting and we were all huddled closely together talking about this one single "bully" type of a black man who had been so "mean" to us. All of us felt so defeated by him and his bold, in your face actions since he arrived in the community. It was almost surreal how pathetic we all felt.

During this group conversation by us cowardly white wimpy husbands, I discovered or reaffirmed that Tra'mon had "bullied" or "slapped" or "beaten up" all of us at one time or another. This humiliating fact was confirmed now.

Furthermore, he continued to intimidate every one of us consistently and had "fucked" all of our wives. Or, so we overwhelmingly suspected he did. The others did not know how many times this might have occurred, yet they were all convinced that it did. I can only speculate the others had "very good reason" to believe this. It had to be true.

"Maybe they really did know?" I asked myself.

Even more defeating was the fact that the wives of the 4 white men who had already departed were pregnant with Tra'mon's child, and the wives had decided on their own to stay behind. I had a difficult time comprehending this at the time. I had only known about two of them. But, Kevin confirmed this. He knew. Others knew too.

He also knew that these husbands were literally "told" to leave. They weren't asked to leave, nor did they leave on their own. Kevin explained they were "told" to leave as it would be best. They were told to leave by Tra'mon Smith.

The remaining eight husbands, excluding myself, confessed that they were afraid of the same thing happening to them. They actually believed it was already happening now, and they had no idea how to handle the situation.

At this time, my feelings of utter defeat consumed me. I decided to confess to the group what was going on and how I was feeling. I broke down and told the group that Julie was 8 weeks pregnant with the black stud's child. In defeat, I finally admitted this horrifying truth.

"Oh, no. Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Richard." one of the husbands moaned in humiliation.

"Yeah, Richard. I-I'm sorry too." another added.

"We're all sorry, Richard. We all know how tough he has been on you, beating you up all the time and all those things." Kevin said.

"Yeah. We saw how mean he was to you by the pool yesterday. It's, well uh, just that we really didn't know what we could, uh, do to help you? We didn't want to step in or interfere." Michael added, chiming in.

"Oh, gosh! Doesn't he already have 7 children with 7 other white women?" Charles finally chimed in, asking in a more desperate tone.

"I heard he has nine." Bradley pouted.

"Yeah, I heard nine too." Michael added.

"Nine? And now there are 4 others pregnant by him?" Charlie returned.

"Five others." Kevin said. "Richard's wife, Julie, is pregnant now too. He just told us."

"Oh, Geezuz." Bradley said, nearly in tears.

That thought, alone, made me shiver in humiliation. But, I was thinking back to the time when I was "bullied" by the young black stud by the pool. I was not aware the others had noticed.

The humiliating fact that all 8 of the other husbands had witnessed how Tra'mon had degraded me so badly by the pool now crossed my mind. They were all afraid to "step in" or "come to my rescue" as they watched some or all of his demoralization of me from a distance in utter shame. They watched from the windows of their condo apartments, peeking out in fear of being noticed themselves.

"It's okay, I guess I, uh-understand." I replied.

"He's such a bully." another husband whispered, crying.

"Yeah." Bradley added in a faint tone.

"Yeah, h-he really is." Kevin added, his face looking even more worried.

There was a long pause from within the group as we stood around feeling like a group of big "cowards" and "wimps" hiding from this one younger athletic black stud. That is when we heard the sound of Tra'mon's black Bentley car racing into the dark parking lot. The headlights "glared" brightly away from our position as he pulled in, and he was completely unaware of the group of "white pussies" hiding behind the bushes talking about him.

"Oh, Gawd! He's early! What are we all gonna do then?" Michael yelped, the fear in his voice ringing through the night air.

"I-I don't want to get beat up again. I'm going inside. I th-think we better all go inside?" Bradley added.

"Yeah, we b-better just go inside." Kevin said, worriedly.

Suddenly, the entire group of white husbands turned and began slithering their way past the bushes and towards the back pool area where the cross walk met the workout center.

I simply stood behind in awe of just how intimidated we all were. No, I didn't blame them at all. I was, perhaps, the most intimidated of all of us. But, seeing them scurrying towards the workout center a few minutes before one o'clock in the morning sent another shiver of disbelief and humiliation through my veins. I realized that I was not the only white husband terrified to confront the young black man.

Seconds later, I decided that it was in my best interest to follow suit. Although I never did see any invitation for this so-called investor's meeting, I simply followed behind with the most timid and worried feelings possible. I began thinking about whether I was invited or not. Maybe, I was not invited on purpose? I just didn't know.

I was so afraid to move that my feet felt like heavy boulders as I walked. Somehow, I managed to bring myself to the workout center and I opened the glass doors to see the other white husbands standing around very quietly.

Nervously, I entered the condo workout center room and waited with the rest of the group for the young black thug to arrive. The tension in the air was thick as we waited around in a near dead silence.

Unbelievably, we waited at least 10 minutes for Tra'mon to finally arrive. It almost seemed that he had gone back to his condo apartment to change first. It occurred to me, and even felt as if the young black ruffian was making us all wait for him "on purpose" just to add to our anguish, our intimidation and our uncanny fear of the unknown.

Finally, at 1:10 a.m. Tra'mon entered the workout center room.

I could almost hear the air coming out of everyone. The deflated feeling he caused all of us was unimaginable as we stood around worried and concerned. We had no idea what to expect.

With complete and total arrogance, the commanding young black man had changed into a more "casual" outfit that revealed himself, disgustingly. He was wearing a pair of his typical black nylon spandex bikini speedoes suits with the thin sides. Our faces turned beet red seeing the ominous and insultingly large bulge his massive cock caused in the front pouch of those flimsy things.

This new pair of flimsy bikinis he wore had the black panther head logo insignia on the left front side, a mere half dollar sized logo patch in a white print with the letters "Roar" beneath. The white print contrasted with the darker, shiny black silkened material of his little suit. A crisp, tight white "wife beater" tee-shirt adorned his dark torso as he strolled inside with the most supreme confidence anyone can imagine. Tra'mon was holding a small pile of black envelopes with a gold circle sticker to hold eaach of these envelopes closed.

"Why don't cha' all line up over there." he commanded, pointing towards the wall that was closest to the heavy boxing bag.

Passively, and in complete silence, we simply obeyed and took our positions standing near the wall. My nerves were "frazzled" as I was quite sure the others were too. I could feel it. That is when Tra'mon began to speak and explain to the group his purpose for the meeting.

In disbelief, the young black stud began handing out the envelopes one by one. He handed each of us one envelope with our names on it and told us not to open them yet. All nine of us stood there confused as we looked down at the envelopes in our trembling and weakened hands.

Then, Tra'mon began to speak to our small group.

"My new workout center is doin' fine and I've already made some money back. Most of dat' is due to a new sponsor for athletic gear." Tra'mon began to explain.

"For starters, in y'all pussy hands is a cashiers check wit' your initial investment plus anutha' 10 per cent for all your trouble." He stated.

"It's all good. Open it and sign dat' letter of acceptance, too, whiteboys!" He shouted as he tossed a handful of pens onto the floor before us.

His tone of voice seemed quite aggressive and stern for this particular event. The others bent down to grab the pens as I stood there unable to move. There were only 8 pens in the handful he tossed to the floor anyway, and this fact worried me as well.

There was a sense of awe in all of us as we timidly opened our envelopes to see a cashiers check with the accompanying letter. It was shocking that this young, black stud had not only returned our initial investments, but he had made each one of us a profit.

In only a few short months he had turned our rather tenuous investment into a profit, and I waas sure that we were all in a complete state of shock and disbelief.

The silence in the room was deafening for a moment as Tra'mon stood before us with his ripped black arms crossed in a commanding stance.

"What up? Y'all pussies didn't think a nigga could run a business all legit n' shit?" He asked us loudly and sarcastically as he noticed our surprised expressions.

The young black man took slow, calculating strides towards us and he seemed to be doing so with great authority. He stepped towards the group until he stopped and stood before Bradley.

"Huh, boy? Is that what 'ya think?" He asked in a sudden increasingly stern tone.

Bradley was noticeably affected by Tra'mon and I could see his pale face turning all sorts of red shades.

"Um, N-No Tra'mon, Sir. No S-Sir." he replied with terrified and pleading eyes.

"What about you, boy?" He asked Michael, taking another strong stride to stand before him.

"N-No, Sir. Th-that's not what I, uh, think. N-Not at all, Sir." he answered timidly, a small tear forming in his left eye.

"And, you boy?" He asked Kevin in an even firmer tone.

"Oh, gosh no. No, Sir. No, Sir." Kevin quivered.

The young black stud only needed to look at Charlie from a distance to get a reaction. His stern eyes simply glared towards him.

"N-Not me either, Tra'mon. N-No, Sir. I, uh, wasn't thinking th-that at all, Sir. Oh my gosh, N-No Sir." Charlie feebly replied.

Tra'mon turned and began slowing stepping down this uneven line of us white husbands standing around. he began looking each one of us dead in the eyes. His silent glare was stern, intimidating and dominating as each one of us felt weaker in the knees when he approached the remainder of the group one by one.

All of us basically "caved in" by answering the young black man's rather curious question with a "no, sir" reply. He even "tapped" some of our faces gently and mockingly added the words "good boy" as we responded in compliance. I was one of those who got their faces "tapped" with such arrogance and disdain.

Satisfied with the responses by us nine white "wimp" husbands, Tra'mon simply strolled back to the front and center of the group then faced us.

"Dis' thug nigga did well for y'all pussies, didn't he?" he asked with obvious sarcasm.

He stared me straight in the eyes and my head immediately bowed in shame. I knew he was referencing the insolent comments I had made to my blonde wife when I was feeling upset and angered. The mere thought that he had overheard me saying those things to Julie scared me to no end. Now, he was referencing them again in front of our small group. I began to cowardly tremble even more.

"Now dat' we're done with this investment business and it's all legal and shit there's somethin' else, whiteboys." Tra'mon Smith announced.

Again, all of us looked up with a confused look upon our already blushing and reddened faces. The intimidation we all felt waas immeasureable. At this moment the tension could be felt in the room as many thoughts ran through my head.

"Maybe this was all too good to be true?" I asked myself.

Deep down, I could easily detect that the other white husbands felt like I did. The money being "legally" returned to us didn't seem nearly as important as what this black stud was doing to us, and how he had been controlling our beautiful wives. I believe all of us would have easily accepted losing the investment money over losing our wives and losing our dignity. We would rather lose our money and not feel so intimidated or get slapped around by the young black man. The returned money simply seemed insignificant to all of us at the time as all nine of us cowered before him in a fearful silence. There didn't seem to be an ounce of elation over the money we had just made from an investment, an investment that we were all "bullied" into making in the first place.

But, that is when this powerful black stud began to talk about an "organization" that he had just created. Yes, an organization.

He called it a "charitable organization" and described it as a foundation for Black professionals in the athletic and fitness fields. He told us that it was created by him and for black athletic instructors who wanted to start up their own business someday. He said this organization would "help "da' brothas" as he termed it, and it would be helping them with everything from equipment to property to child care to transportation and designing fitness programs.

He called it B.O.A.S., which he described getting the name from the boa-constrictor snake tattoos on both of his strong, muscular dark arms.

B.O.A.S., or Black Organization for Athletic Supremacy, was a charitable organization that Tra'mon had just created. Now, he was standing before us and stringently "requesting" a donation or a "tribute" to his cause. Only, his requests were more non-verbal and intimidating for us white husbands.

We looked at each other in utter disbelief, then we instantly looked back down to the floor. It was like we all knew, deep down, that this so-called charitable organization was simply a means for the tough black stud to get us white wimp husbands to support his fitness lifestyle. Or, at least we strongly suspected this.

I certainly had these thoughts.

Yet, all of us were so intimidated by the young black stud that we just stood there frozen in a near panic. Our heads were bowed and totally ashamed by our own cowardice.

"Y'all white pussies don't think it's a good cause to help us niggas whip some asses into shape, do ya? Huh?" Tra'mon added.

I glanced upwards for a moment to see the others faces deeply red and blushing. Not one of us could answer. Not one of us could find the strength or courage to contest him in any way, or to ask him any questions about this organization of his. In a sense, he was intimidating us into providing a "tribute" for black men as they continued to start up their own businesses and even take our wives from us. This feeling of defeat swept over me like a swarm of locusts eating away at my lack of feeble masculinity, inch by inch.