This night has been months in the making.
I don't know really when I started liking black guys, it just sort of happened. I'd always been a bit nervous around them, but I chalked that up to a kind of internalized racism. I didn't know a lot of black people so I figured that was it. Now I realize that thudding in my chest whenever a black man was near was the same thudding I got whenever an attractive woman talked to me. Lust, nervousness and a little bit of terror. As a straight white guy, these feelings are pretty alarming.
I started watching interracial porn online and then wound up moving to interracial specific sites. I chewed through everything they made in probably under a month. They were the first porn sight I subscribed to and, so far, the last.
They weren't making videos as fast as I was consuming them so I looked elsewhere. Then I learned about the entire Queen of Spades scene; women who only slept with black men. It was hot. Really hot. Eventually it was all I could get off to. After a while, I started to admire those women. Not 'admire' in the way you admire someone's beauty but in the way you wish to be them, or at least in their position. I dreamt up with elaborate ways to seduce a black man and have him dominate me. But that's all they were, fantasies. At least at first.
I had started browsing an interracial sex blog. They mostly posted porn but sometimes they would post general lifestyle stuff. I was scrolling through the blog with my cock in my left hand and the mouse in my right when I saw a post about temporary tattoos. Queens of Spades often have tattoos that subtly hint they want to have sex with a black man, a 'Q' inside of a black card-suit spade. I hovered over it for a minute and thought about my fantasies. "What the Hell." I thought, "Worse case scenario i throw them out."
I clicked the link and the page blinked to an online store. There were the usual Queen of Spades tattoos at the top and some more extreme stuff at the bottom. I chose a black, curly spade with a white 'J' in the center. For Jack. I was about to head to the checkout when I started thinking about the stuff further down. I could feel my cheeks get hotter as I thought about them. Maybe... just a peek...
I was largely disappointed by what I saw, most of it seemed over the top and grotesque. Then I saw one and my heart leapt. This one, this was one. I slammed on the 'add to cart' button and went to checkout. They cost a pretty penny but after I bought them I came harder than I had ever cum in my entire life.
A few business days later they arrived and I totally forgot about them. It was one of those things that's really hot when you're horny but you're immediately ashamed of when you cum. I considered throwing them away but I couldn't, it would be denying a part of myself. Also they cost a ton. "Maybe I'll go into the city and wear them at a bar or something?" As soon as I thought it my stomach tightened. What if I run into somebody I know? What if the guy I meet knows someone I do? What if he knows family? No. No way I'm risking that. I couldn't keep them, but I couldn't throw them away. Then I had a stroke of genius, I'd keep them in my travel suitcase, that way if I'm ever out of town alone I've got them right there. I pulled my silver suite case out of my closet and slid them carefully into the small front pouch, too small for even my hand.
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Six months later I won some concert tickets in a radio quiz ('name the 5th planet from the sun', I kid you not) and so took a flight to Chicago. I offered to bring a few of my friends but I only won one ticket and no one wanted to shell out for another. So I went to Chicago and got a cheap motel room by the stadium. My room was red carpeted with sheets the color of pea soup and curtains heavier than I was. I changed into some sweats and a tee shirt and watched TV. I was midway through Some kids movie when I got a hankering for a coke. I counted out a couple bucks in quarters and headed for the ice machine.
Standing in front of the ice machine was a man straight out of my dreams. His skin was the color of Mahogany and he looked as sturdy, dense muscles stretching beneath hairless skin. He was huge, easily 6'4" with broad shoulders and huge pecs all barely hidden under a grey hoodie and blue jeans. "Hey," he said, "You have a quarter I can borrow?" I realized I was staring and stammered out some kind of affirmative before handing him a quarter. "Thanks." He had a tattoo of a four leaf clover on his collar. I smiled and walked back to my room, conscious of every step.
My heart pounded in my chest and I swallowed hard. I'd always had a reaction around tall black men but nothing like that before! Then I remembered the tattoos. I opened my door a crack and peeked out. He just entered his room; 12b, right next to the ice. This was it. This was the perfect moment. I yanked the tattoos from my bag and ran to the bathroom. I put the smaller one, the Jack of Spades, right where the back of my neck meets my hairline. I put the second, larger one on my right butt cheek. It needed all the room i could give it. After a few dozen times checking them in the mirror I took a deep breath and knocked on his door.
"Just a sec." He opened the door and rose an eyebrow at me. "Hi." I said, I could feel my cheeks getting hotter. "Hi." He responded a little sarcastically. I swallowed hard and put all my effort into not shaking. "The phone in my hotel room doesn't work and I was planning on ordering a pizza tonight. Mind if I barrow yours?" He looked me up and down and shrugged, "Sure, come on in." I murmured a thank you and and walked directly to the phone and started dialing.
His room was a carbon copy of mine, down to the cream-colored walls and gleaming bathroom tiles. Whoever cleans this motel deserved an award. I put my hand to the receiver and turned to him, "They put me on hold."
"Makes sense," he said, "It's Friday night. Probably a lot of pizzas getting ordered."
