I, like most Americans, have an obsession with black men and their mythically large cocks. Yes, believe it or not, America has entered into a communal subconscious frenzy for black men. I am just one of the few, but ever growing, number of people who have begun to admit it. But even that is a bit of a lie. Most of my family and friends don't even know my "dark" secret, clueless to my addiction. It is not difficult, but only a few women open themselves up to the raw power of black men. If you are reading this, I am probably correct in assuming that you are one of those people. The story I am going to tell you is all true, even the names are unchanged. I am proud of what I am doing, and I hope you enjoy my story.
Let me start at the beginning. My name is Katherine, but everyone calls me Kat. It was one and a half years ago when I started on my new life, and I have not looked back since. I was 18 years old and a senior in high school. I attended an affluent suburban high school outside of Atlanta. I was your average, all-American girl next door. My parents were divorced, and I lived with my recently remarried mother and her new husband who had a daughter of his own. Her name was Britney, and she was 22, and was absolutely the wildest girl I have ever known. In comparison to her, I was a successful model younger sister. I had good grades, was popular and involved in cheerleading and other sports, and I had a squeaky clean reputation. But I was not as sweet and innocent as I seemed.
For the longest time, I had been obsessed with black men. Lean muscular gods carved from ebony. Some of my earliest memories of sexual awakening were attending games with my father to cheer on the predominantly black football and basketball teams of Atlanta. These events were intensely sexual to me, watching the muscular, physically perfect black athletes compete against each other on the field. I, like so many Americans, was entranced by the power of the black form.
And it was everywhere to see. Black rappers flaunted their overwhelming sexual appeal as much as their lifestyle. You had only to listen to the music, watch the games, or look through a magazine to be affronted by the powerful erotic taboo of the black man. And I, my mind an eager sponge, sucked it all up.
I had harbored my urges since the earliest days of puberty, when my body was awakening to its growing sexuality. The idea of submitting to a strong black man was ever-present, but frustratingly elusive. I knew I was quite attractive, 5'8 and 120 pounds, sexy blonde hair and a tight body honed by my own athletic activities. You see, I was quite keen on sports throughout school, especially basketball and cheerleading, as it allowed me constant proximity to sexy, sweating, muscular black men in prime physical condition. I would always steal glimpses across the gym into their open dressing room, catching flashes of strong ebony backs and taught, muscular abs. I imagined their long cocks hanging under their towels, swaying as they walked. When I would stand close to some of the players, I found the urges and steaming sexuality to be almost intoxicating and overwhelming. I had become hopelessly obsessed with black men, and I knew it would only make my life more complicated.
Part 1
I was getting dressed as fast as I could. I was sitting in front of my vanity, hastily applying makeup. It was Friday night, I was a senior in high school, and spring was in the air. I was upstairs in my large bedroom in my parent's home, and in a matter of hours I would be light-years from this protected world of pink sheets and teddy bears. As I was tracing my full lips with a dark red lipstick, my cell phone rang.
"Um, Hello?" I asked, distractedly, trying to finish my makeup.
"You ready yet Kat?" My best friend Brandy asked me. I could tell she was in her car, driving.
"Yeah, just getting my lips done." I replied, smacking them in the mirror as I closed the lipstick.
"Good. I'll be at your place in 5 minutes." She told me.
We were headed to a party that promised to be one of the coolest of the year. Erin Davis was throwing a huge bash with drinking and everything. So many people were going to be there and I definitely wanted to make a splash. I was wearing a pair of tight black pants and my butt had never looked better. My white top was sheer and silky, and pulled my firm breasts high and showed a great bit of cleavage. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, except for some golden strands that hung down the side of face. I was so proud of how I looked. I had a passing premonition that tonight could be the night my dreams came true.
Brandy showed up and she was also dressed in her best. She had on a shimmering, revealing black club shirt and a pair of tight jeans that showed off her curvy ass. She had dark brown hair, also pulled back. She looked great. We piled into her BMW and headed to the party. As we pulled out from my driveway, I knew this would be a night to remember.
Brandy had her music up and we laughed and talked with giddy excitement as we headed toward the party. Brandy was usually wilder than I was, and had hooked up with a couple of different guys on other occasions.
"So are you gonna get laid tonight or what?" She jokingly asked me over the bouncy hip-hop beat coming from her stereo.
"You think I'm some sort of slut?" I asked in a mock defensive voice.
"I know you are. I think Andre and the rest of team are going to be there, so maybe you can finally do it tonight."
Brandy was the only person I had told of my fascination with black men, and especially Andre. He was an offensive lineman for the football team and absolutely the hottest, sexiest black guy at our school. I had always been fascinated by him, even in Middle school. Now that we were seniors in high school I knew my time was running out. Maybe Brandy was right...
"I don't think so. I was drunk when I said that, I didn't really mean it." I lied to her. I had meant every word of it. But I felt funny talking about it, even with Brandy. I felt like I should be ashamed of it or something, but deep down I knew it was who I was.
