My name is Ben Washington Jr. and I have a confession to make. While I might look like your average race-conscious, positive brother, I am not. I have a wild undercover sex life. I have had many crazy, sexual adventures that have taken me to unbelievable places.
Like a lot of brothers, I grew up with a single mother. Mom had gotten pregnant with me when she was 18, and my father was killed fighting in Vietnam. I grew up only knowing my father through pictures. My first memory of dad was a picture of him looking all handsome in his Marine uniform. Mom also decorated our little apartment with picture of her and dad in Afros and dashikis.
Dad's death caused mom to get political. She dabbled with the Black Panthers in the '70s and always stayed active with the cause, whether it was pushing for affirmative action, opposing the death penalty or fighting apartheid. And she always took me along with her on her protests. I started carrying a placard before I was old enough to actual know what the words meant. Mom eventually went to law school, and got a job as a public defender in Washington, DC, helping protect desperate brothers from the Man.
Since mom was politically active she made me a reader. She would take me to the library every weekend to check out a book. She realized that black children often didn't get any education about their people in white-run schools and wanted me to know there was more to black history than slavery and Martin Luther King. I learned about the many different tribes of Africa and of African kings like Mansa Musa and Shaka Zulu. I realized that black people had a rich history before slavery,
However, Mom did her job too well. I fell in love with reading and preferred staying inside devouring books instead of riding my bike or playing sports. I became a nerd. Now there is nothing more loathed in the black community than a nerd. You can be a drug dealer, wife beater or ex con, but god forbid you are a black nerd. Black nerds are rejected like they have herpes. Young women simply weren't attracted to boys who could quote Malcolm X, they liked guys who slung dope and starred on the football field or the basketball court.
Mom did her best, but she was clueless about navigating the minefield of teenage dating. All she said is "Always treat women like queens." That shit might have sounded good on paper, but it didn't work in a world where women threw themselves at hoodlums and jocks who treated them like dirt.
Mom saw I was struggling and decided to bring in a mentor. I started getting closer to my Uncle Brian, who was Mom's older brother.He was a dark-skinned brother who was always sharply dressed. He had been in the Air Force, then became a commercial pilot. He drove a Corvette and had been married a few times, but finally became a playboy. He always had a different woman on his arm, black, white or Asian. And considering this was the '70s and the '80s, this was kind of of scandalous. Mom didn't approve of his interracial dating, She wanted him to settle down with a strong, righteous sister, but after two ugly divorces that was never going to happen.
One Saturday, Uncle Brian turned up in his 'Vette and took me to see a movie and get a burger. As we ate our food, I told him about my problems with girls. He was sympathetic,
"Don't worry, young blood. Young girls are crazy, they love them thugs," he said."Things will get better when you go to college. The pussy will be falling from the trees. Meanwhile, have this."
He handed me a copy of Playboy. Now this was before the Internet, so porn was hard to come by in those days. I had seen some kids handing crumpled copies of them around at school, but I had never had one of my own.
"Don't tell your mom," he said with a wink.
I took the magazine home and hid it under my mattress. When mom had gone to bed, I would pull out the mag and look at the pictures of gorgeous, naked bodies. I had started experimenting with masturbation in the shower, but armed with the Playboy magazine and some lotion, I learned how making myself cum. Afterwards, I felt relieved. I could deal with the girls at school, who gave me no play, now that I had my right hand.
Of course I didn't tell mom about this. She was a dedicated member of the local black Baptist church, which was the center of the community. We went every Sunday and watched the preacher holler and sweat as people got caught up with the holy spirit. I didn't buy it and like most kids fidgeted through church. Mom had done a great job educating me. She had made me learn about the history of Africa and read books by Frederick Douglas and Frantz Fanon. I came to realize the Christianity was not the religion of our ancestors. Christianity had been beaten into us during colonialism and slavery. And along with the images of a Caucasian Jesus, Caucasian angels and a Caucasian God, it was just another way of reinforcing white supremacy.
The black church could also be quite hypocritical too. They never talked about sex and as a result a lot of church girls ended up getting pregnant. There were also rumors of the preacher running around with several women in the congregation and fathering a couple of kids out of wedlock. Of course, his wife suffered in silence and Mom would never say anything bad about a man of god.
I talked to Uncle Brian about this. He had started taking me to the local gym to work out and pack muscle on my scrawny frame. Uncle Brian rarely went to church and I asked him why.
"Shit, I gave all that stuff up when I was flying planes in Korea," he said as we lifted weights. "Man, you didn't know if you were going to make it through the next day, so I decided to live for the moment. When I wasn't flying, I was either getting drunk or screwing hookers."
"What was it like?" I asked eagerly.
"The girls were freaks, I mean they were professionals," he said with a smile. "They would do this one trick where one of them would climb into a cage and lay naked face down. Another girl would use a rope to hoist the cage in the air. I would be lying down on the bed with my dick hard. The girl in the basket would be lowered onto my dick, then the other girl would spin it around. I wouldn't last more than a few seconds. Man, those Asian hookers ruined me. When I got back home, I could never be happy with regular pussy." His story thrilled me!
Although I was gaining muscle, things didn't improve much in high school, When prom rolled around I didn't even have a date. But I didn't care. Uncle Brian took me to the local strip club. So while my high school buddies, were dancing awkwardly with their dates, I was getting a pair of big ol' titties smashed in my face! I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
When I was in high school my life consisted of studying, chess club, hanging out with Uncle Brian and fighting the good fight with Mom by going to marches and NAACP meetings. Mom figured if I was busy I would stay out of trouble and since it was DC during the crack wars there was plenty of trouble around. Her plan worked. Since I hit the books so much, I got really good grades and was able to get a scholarship at a large state university in the South. Mom and I were reticent about me going down South, but we decided that I couldn't pass up a full ride.
To describe going to school in the South as a culture shock was an understatement. It was an eye-opening experience being a minority after growing up in majority black DC. The college's student body was 85 percent white. And a lot of the students were straight up gun-toting rednecks who chewed tobacco and drove pickup trucks. There were a handful of black students, mainly athletes, and a large number of international students from Asia, the Middle East and Africa.
At first I felt like a fish out of water and wanted to come home. But I thought about the scholarship and decided to knuckle down. The college had a strong academic reputation, so I found the classes rigorous, but academically challenging. I learned that several white professors were surprised to have a black student who sat at the front of the class and paid attention. The only other students who did that were the African brothers who I soon became friends with. The professors were used to having jocks who never showed up for class and were given automatic passing grades.
It was great to meet people from countries I had only read about in books. I became friends with an African brother called Samuel, who was from Ghana and he told me he had also learned about Mansa Musa in school.
I soon learned that there was a pecking order in school. At the top of the food chain were the athletes, who got the pick of the best black and white pussy, next came the black frat boys, who got their share of pussy from the black sorority sisters and then there were the others,.That's where Samuel and I fell. We didn't fit into any of those other categories, and unfortunately there weren't a whole lot of women throwing pussy at smart brothers.
I never got to hang out with the jocks, but from what I heard they had some wild parties, especially after victories. They had groupies and I heard stories of women hanging out in the lobby of their dorms looking to hook up with them. I guess it was easy come, easy go, because the jocks generally treated women like shit. When you get that much pussy you tend to not value it. I had also heard stories of jocks doing gang bangs or insisting a woman who was interested in one of them have sex with his buddies first.
The campus authorities also colluded to make sure the jocks got their share of pussy too. The school would organize welcoming parties where potential recruits were shown around campus by pretty coeds who were expected to use their feminine wiles to convince the recruits to sign. The jocks also got their cream of the hottest white women on campus. It might have been the South, but people didn't seem to mind if their daughter was fucking a black guy as long as he was scoring touchdowns or sinking three pointers. However a lot of these relationships didn't work out. When the jocks eventually got kicked out of school, for flunking classes they were never capable of passing, or didn't make it to the NFL, the relationships would end abruptly. Sometimes when the jocks went pro, they would dump their college girlfriend for higher-grade pussy. As a result of this there were a lot of single white women with mixed-race babies in that small college town.
There were repercussions for white girls who decided to date interracially. Some of these girls were threatened with being cut off by their parents, and when daddy was paying for your car note, tuition and rent, that had a way of working. But some girls didn't care, they went ahead and dated brothers even if it meant they were ostracized. I guess the dick was that good.
I thought of ways to get closer to women. I toyed with the idea of pledging a fraternity, but I really didn't want to cough up all that money and I wasn't into that group-think mentality. Plus, I had heard they did some really crazy shit to newbies during initiation. There was a big scandal when a pledge almost died from a beating he took during an initiation. I also heard there was one black fraternity that would brand members. I wasn't going to put up with that slave shit. The white frats would do even crazier, homoerotic shit, like making pledges do the "elephant walk," where newbies would have to strip naked, bend over and walk in a line while grabbing each other's dicks.
I was left to hook up with girls at college parties and bars, and there were plenty of opportunities there. Even though it was the South, once women were tanked up on cheap beer they would practically do anything. The first girl I hooked up with was a plump white girl who was drunk and had been grinding on me all night. When the club, closed, she took me back to her Toyota Corolla and blew me in the back seat. Looking back, I didn't know what I was doing and I probably didn't last more than a minute. But I didn't care, I was having sex.
It was then I discovered that sex was political. A lot of the sisters would get mad, especially at the athletes, who were fucking white girls. They claimed that they were sell outs and had abandoned them. Some sisters even claimed that white girls gave the jocks money and let them drive their late-model cars, things the sisters couldn't compete with. That was the first time that I realized that black men were a desirable commodity. The sisters were mad because they had to compete with white women for a limited supply of black men. This was the 1990s, not the 60s, and people were free to date whoever they wanted. Sisters didn't have automatic rights to black dick no more.
I continued to hook up with drunk girls in bars. Hey, you take it where you can. One thing I noticed is that a lot of these women would fuck you and not even ask for your name or number. It was frustrating because there was little chance of these flings every turning into something meaningful. After I graduated, I learned that many of these party girls would later get married move to the suburbs, vote Republican and become bible thumpers.
I was mainly screwing white girls though. The sisters didn't really do the bar scene, they mainly hooked up at frat parties. A lot of them were holy rollers, so they would at least pretend to play hard to get, but they would eventually give it up. I knew a girl who sang in the gospel choir at church, but still had reputation for giving the best head.
