WPC.06
The next class day came and they both played it cool, as agreed. o. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to advertise what went on between them in the class. The gossip would be enough without any hints by them. The other guys would be all over her if they got a hint that she was putting out for Bob. She didn’t need that. She knew he was bursting with desire to tell the bro's e about her giving him road head. Was her warning stern enough, convincing enough that he’d be frightened into keeping his mouth shut? Only time would tell.
Professor Brown was giving them the eye and looking or signs that his student had scored with a white girl he'd fixed him up with. She’d spotted them in the canteen, him crying the blues about something and Professor Brown obviously trying the cheer him up. Was she the subject of discussion? Was the entire “special assignment” just a dodge for him to set up his depressed black student with a white girl?
The mystique of the black dick was widely discussed, widely accepted. Black boys were confident, secure and less reliant on so called “approaches” to girls, the approaches so heavily relied upon by white boys. The black dick mystique was exciting and even thrilling, but it also gave many black guys a dangerous sense of entitlement with white girls. Some black guys were too confident, too sure of themselves, acting as though they only had to unzip and whip it out and wait for swooning white girls to drop to their knees.
It annoyed her that so many white girls were so easy. Lots of white girls did swoon and lots of them did fall to their needs. It wasn’t just a suspicion or an urban legend. It was a fact. Amateur interracial porn videos on line confirmed it. There were thousands of them showing white girls of all ages sucking black dicks. Mostly teens and twenty something white girls on their backs on all fours or on their knees, sucking and fucking with abandon, with energy, passion and enthusiasm. That kind of thing couldn’t be faked.
Interracial porn was a huge force battering at the taboos on interracialism, but the amateur interracial porn was the best. Of course professionally produced porn was....professionally produced. Perfect stars, flawless white girls, statuesque black male stars with breathtaking cocks, and great sound and camera work. Works of art. But professional porn was professional. Professional porn was paid actors and actresses doing what they were paid to do.
Amateur interracial cinema was crude, unscripted, spontaneous, sometimes grainy and unprofessional. Even so, it was exciting, spontaneous and authentic. Really authentic. Regular everyday white girls giving their all for black boyfriends. It was as though amateur Interracial porn turned things upside down between the genders. Usually it was the guys who were eager, desperate and needy with the balance of power between them clearly on the side of the girls who held the veto power over everything. The boys were desperate and the girls just sat back and deigned to confer their favors if they chose.
Amateur interracial porn was completely different. It was the black guys who were cool, who were confident, who leaned back and enjoyed the moment while eager white chicks were bobbing up and down and back and forth and enjoying as much as giving pleasure. In most boy girl relationships it was the guy who was grateful for getting some, but in amateur interracial porn is was the girl who seemed grateful for the opportunity to be with the black guy.
Amateur interracial porn not only documented the relegation of white guys to second class male hood, it documented, in breathtaking form, the shift in the balance of power between boys and girls away from girls to guys....to black guys.
Amateur interracial porn make something very clear, unmistakably clear: The black penis was both a symbol and an instrument of power. It was racial, sexually charged power over white men and over white girls.
The mystique of the black dick, the mystique of black male power excited and thrilled her, but at another level it frightened her. Cool, confident black guys with big dicks were sometimes a little too cool, a little too confident, a little too entitled. They not only liked to partake of white girls, but to talk about it and share their adventures with their peers, which frequently led to an even greater sense of confidence and entitlement.
At one level black cool and confidence were exciting but at another level they made her wary. She didn’t want to be taken for granted and passed around among black guys and then tossed aside when they grew bored or when another white girl came along. White girls had their own power, their own bargaining power in interracial relations, but the balance of power could easily shift away from the white girl who was too easily swept away by the black male mystique.
Black men had a devil may care attitude about pregnancy, relying on the ease of abortions to protect them. Exciting interracial sex was one thing but being pregnant with a black baby was quite another. She didn’t want to spend the next 18 years chasing down a black father of her black baby for child support and didn’t want to destroy her college prospects either. She planned a career after college and a black baby, well any baby really, would complicate that immensely.
In spite of all that foreboding, all that caution, she was coming more and more under the spell of the black male mystique. Bob was not so confident and cool as other black guys, but his confidence with his first white girl was growing. It was obvious. At first he was a little nervous, a little awkward, a little unsure of himself. Now his confidence and ease with her was growing. Appearing together socially in churches and driving around together inevitably made them more comfortable together. As their comfort levels grew, his confidence grew and her comfort level grew as well.
So many black guys came on strong and expected oral sex and anything else they wanted right from the start, but they’d worked up to that kind of tension, that kind of desire gradually over several weeks. Traditional and old fashioned as it seemed, it worked. She liked it that way.
Over those weeks her feelings about interracialism had changed, dramatically. Before her time with Bob she was curious and fascinated by the black dick mystique. Now she was more comfortable with it. She’d seen it in action, watched it, heard it, experienced it. Patient gradualism had worked well for both of them.
At first he was stunned by her proposal, her invitation to him to spend Christmas with her ****** and to go to the white church with her ****** the next day, but their time together made him more confident about venturing out into enemy territory...a white ****** and a white church all by himself and completely outnumbered.
From his perspective, it was one thing to get head or pussy from a white girl on campus, in his car, on a date, at a party, but quite another to go into the home and ****** and the church of the white girl who was putting out with white head and white pussy. Of course her ****** would guess their ******** was sucking and fucking with this cool black guy she’d brought home for Christmas. Of course they’d be told the story line about a class project, blah, blah, blah. Of course. Of course the pretext of a class assignment, however true, was just that: a pretext. Everyone would know that.
Of course he knew that just driving up to her parents’ house in the suburbs for Christmas would be a new experience. Of course walking into the white ******’s home as a lone black guy would be unlike any other experience of his life. Of course the whole atmosphere would change when everyone realized the ********’s guest was a black guy from college. There would be no fooling anyone after that, not really. They could keep on with the front, but everyone in the room would know it. Everyone would know.
After the initial surprise of seeing him walk through the front door everything would change. Her parents. Her brothers and sisters. Extended ******? What about them? Would they be there. Would white aunts and uncles be there? Maybe. Would it make a different? Well of course it would. Her bringing her black boy friend, whatever their front story, to the major holiday of the year and parading him to her entire ****** was different from just a quiet dinner, a quite debut of her interracialism to her immediate ******. Her parading her into Christmas dinner with the whole ****** was really a shot across the bow of her white ******’s sensibilities. His presence would be an acid test of their demeanor, their composure, their manners, their sense of hospitalities. It would test their commitment to their platitudes about “colorblindness”, about ignoring the color of someone’s skin and just considering the “content of their character.”
God! That old Martin Luther King quote. Whites loved that quote. They wrapped themselves in it, used it as a sword and a shield against accusations of their racism. Would he hear that quote from her ******? Would she use it? Would he use it? Of course the issue of the color of his skin was right there in their faces. Hard to conceal his blackness and impossible for them to block out all the old mystiques about black penises and other blackness. Most parents assumed their ********* were being fucked by their boyfriends. In the modern world sex was almost inevitable. But those boyfriends were white. He...was black. He was black and there was no getting around that.
How would her parents, her entire ****** for that matter, deal with the “content of his character” issue? Of course they would. Of course they’d go down that path if for no other reason than to have something to talk about.
Of course they’d try to steer around the most obvious question: his blackness. How to do that? Well, steer the conversation into what’s his major? What books does he read? Where’s he from? What does his ****** do? How long before graduation? Will he go to graduate school? Does he have any job prospects yet? Does he want to travel?
Travel? That’s a good one. Hopefully he’s older, at least a couple of years ahead of the white ******** in school, and hopefully he’ll graduate first and go his separate way and move on to some place far, far away...hopefully on the other side of the world.
Of course there will be the private conversation between her and her mother. They’ll arrange to be alone, even if only for a few moments. What will her white mother say? Will the white mother ask how “serious” is her white ********’s relationship with this black guy? Will she ask if their dating? Will she ask about his ******? Will she ask....will she ask if her white ******** is carrying his black baby?
Of course other questions might be raised openly. Will they be staying overnight in town? Will they stay at a hotel? How long? Or maybe they’ll just try to ignore the issue of how long their white ******** is going to be with her black date. Maybe it’s just too painful for them to raise, at least openly.
Of course there will be the conversation between her white mother and white father after it’s all over, after Christmas day when they’re alone together in their bedroom. Of course they’ll be freaking out, each in their own way, over the sudden appearance of a black guy dating and now traveling with their white ********, and the possibility of an interracial pregnancy. How late will they lay awake that night? Talking. Trying to console each other. Trying to re assure each other. Trying to avoid acknowledging that this was the worst Christmas of their lives. It was much worse even than those sparse Christmases when they were first married and had kids but not much money. Not much money was such a source of anxiety back then. Now. It was nothing. Now....this. Their white ******** and her black boyfriend out of the blue.
How could she do this? How could she just destroy their Christmas? Of course she knew their views on race? How could she parade in front of them this black guy and the obvious implication that she was sleeping with him. How could she parade him like that not just in front of them, but in front of the whole ****** as well? What the Hell was wrong with her?
So many issues. So may questions. It will be a new experience for him as much as for her white ******. How about her white friends? White girl friends?
White girl friends? White sisters? White cousins? He perked up at the thought. Lots of white girls were crossing the line, just like she did. Would other white friends, white girl ****** members possibly be ready to cross traditional lines and explore for themselves the black mystique.
They’d both sat through the class that day, pretending not to know each other, pretending not to be involved at any more important level than classmates in Black Studies, she a white girl and he a white guy.
The atmosphere was so much easier for her than for him. She had him hooked. He’d walk on burning coals to get his dick sucked and to get some white pussy. Apart from the black dick mystique, there was the timeless mystique of the “power of the pussy.” Moreover, there was the mystique of the power of the white girl’s pussy in interracial relationships. He wanted her, very badly. She knew it. He knew it too, but both played it cool. Both knew she could get cool black guys with big dicks a lot more easily than he could get white girls. He wasn’t the only black guy in the class that gave her the eye. It was different now though, of course. Their working together on their class project, pretextual though it was, gave her a certain claim on her. Would the other black guys in the class respect it or would they view it as a challenge to be taken against him?
So far none of the other black guys had moved on her, but they were giving her the eye. Unstated was the question: Was she sucking his dick? Was he fucking her?
She looked at the clock on the wall. The class was ending. Thank God. Just a few more minutes of sitting there pretending to give a shit about Black Studies when what she really wanted was black dick. If knowledge of their sucking and fucking became known or ever suspected, would she have to drop the class? Of course he wouldn’t, but it was different for her.
The class was officially ended and everyone got up, started gathering up their stuff to leave.
“Bob.” It was Professor Brown. “Uh...Bob?”
“Yes sir,” Bob dutifully replied.
“Can I see you in my office later.”
“When?”
“Now if you’ve got the time. Would that be OK?”
“Sure Professor Brown,” Bob replied dutifully, but clearly aware of how awkward a position he was in. Why could Professor Brown just have called him on the phone if he wanted to know about Bob’s progress with her.
“Sure. Sure. Be right there, sir.”
“Sir?” What a fawning asshole. Never before had any black guy in the class called Professor Brown “Sir.” Now this bullshit. Now Bob trying to put distance between him and Brown, between him and another brother and trying to pretend that they weren’t going to talk about her.
Bob looked nervous. She’d warned him. A word of her sucking his dick to Professor Brown and she’d cut him off. Completely. Now Professor Brown was calling him into his office. What bullshit. Who did they think they were fooling? Of course Brown wanted to know. He’d set the whole thing up between the white girl student and his poor black student who, for whatever reason, was weeping and wailing about something. Of course some white girl head and white girl pussy would cure all that. Now Professor Brown wanted to see him.
What a fucking ass hole.
Bob nervously glanced In her direction and forced a smile. She just responded icily, gathered up her stuff and started out the door.
“What now?” she wondered as she walked down the hall. “What now?”
She’d threatened to cut him off if he told Brown anything about them. Or anyone else for that matter. Professor Brown could be very....very impressive, very charismatic when he put his mind to it. Very persuasive. Very intimidating. How bad did he want to know all the spicy details about Bob and her? How much did he want to know? How far would Bob have to go for Brown to pull back and leave him alone? Could Bob withstand the power, the persuasion of Brown and keep his mouth shut? Brown had the power over his grades. Over all their grades for that matter, but the only one he really cared about was whether Bob got sex from her.
Maybe she could cancel her Christmas plans and dump him and move on. How to punish him if he ran off at the mouth of her giving him road head and the day in Palos Verdes? How to punish him? Throw herself at some other black guy in the room? Some other black guy on campus? There was no shortage of cool black guys with big dicks. None of them ever said no to white girls. That much she’d learned. After spending time with him she was confident enough to handle them. Now she was more sure of herself and more comfortable with the idea that she had appetites too.
Would he call her tonight? Would he come clean about his conference with Professor Brown? One way or the other, she’d know. From his nervous reaction in class she knew Brown was going to put the screws to him behind closed doors. Had anyone else figured it out as well?
Maybe she’d been wrong to have any kind of relationship with any black guy on campus, at least any one in any of her classes. Those relationships were impossible to hide, at least for very long. The problem is that once word got out she was with one black guy, a stampede might follow. Handling one cool black guy with a big dick was one thing. Handling a bunch of them....that was a very different challenge, a very different reality.
She looked at her wrist watch. Ten minutes since class ended. Should she hang around and wait for Bob to appear? Should she let him know she was that eager? That insecure? Of course if that ass hole Professor saw her there would be no denying they were more than just students working on a class project. She couldn’t endure that.
Best to get off campus and wait for his call. Wait for his call. Wait. Wait. Wait. Just like a teen aged girl waiting for a call, waiting to find out if she was going to be asked to the prom by Mr. Right, or by some other jerk...some other white jerk with his clumsy white behavior, clumsy come ons and embarrassing antics. Now she had her cool black boyfriend, with his black cool and black confidence. Why not hold on and wait a little longer. Time was on her side. The balance of power was still on her side. Time was not on her side though. Time was too short for her to meet and establish enough of a relationship with another cool black guy to bring home for Christmas with her.
She looked at her watch again. Two more minutes had passed. Time to go home and wait it out. Even if Bob sold her out, there was no reason not to take him home for Christmas. She took a deep breath, exhaled it and swallowed. Hang in there, she told herself. Just wait and see and don’t let some black Professor make her panic before she had to.
She looked again at her watch. One more minute. Hang in there. Just be patient and hang in there.
The next class day came and they both played it cool, as agreed. o. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to advertise what went on between them in the class. The gossip would be enough without any hints by them. The other guys would be all over her if they got a hint that she was putting out for Bob. She didn’t need that. She knew he was bursting with desire to tell the bro's e about her giving him road head. Was her warning stern enough, convincing enough that he’d be frightened into keeping his mouth shut? Only time would tell.
Professor Brown was giving them the eye and looking or signs that his student had scored with a white girl he'd fixed him up with. She’d spotted them in the canteen, him crying the blues about something and Professor Brown obviously trying the cheer him up. Was she the subject of discussion? Was the entire “special assignment” just a dodge for him to set up his depressed black student with a white girl?
The mystique of the black dick was widely discussed, widely accepted. Black boys were confident, secure and less reliant on so called “approaches” to girls, the approaches so heavily relied upon by white boys. The black dick mystique was exciting and even thrilling, but it also gave many black guys a dangerous sense of entitlement with white girls. Some black guys were too confident, too sure of themselves, acting as though they only had to unzip and whip it out and wait for swooning white girls to drop to their knees.
It annoyed her that so many white girls were so easy. Lots of white girls did swoon and lots of them did fall to their needs. It wasn’t just a suspicion or an urban legend. It was a fact. Amateur interracial porn videos on line confirmed it. There were thousands of them showing white girls of all ages sucking black dicks. Mostly teens and twenty something white girls on their backs on all fours or on their knees, sucking and fucking with abandon, with energy, passion and enthusiasm. That kind of thing couldn’t be faked.
Interracial porn was a huge force battering at the taboos on interracialism, but the amateur interracial porn was the best. Of course professionally produced porn was....professionally produced. Perfect stars, flawless white girls, statuesque black male stars with breathtaking cocks, and great sound and camera work. Works of art. But professional porn was professional. Professional porn was paid actors and actresses doing what they were paid to do.
Amateur interracial cinema was crude, unscripted, spontaneous, sometimes grainy and unprofessional. Even so, it was exciting, spontaneous and authentic. Really authentic. Regular everyday white girls giving their all for black boyfriends. It was as though amateur Interracial porn turned things upside down between the genders. Usually it was the guys who were eager, desperate and needy with the balance of power between them clearly on the side of the girls who held the veto power over everything. The boys were desperate and the girls just sat back and deigned to confer their favors if they chose.
Amateur interracial porn was completely different. It was the black guys who were cool, who were confident, who leaned back and enjoyed the moment while eager white chicks were bobbing up and down and back and forth and enjoying as much as giving pleasure. In most boy girl relationships it was the guy who was grateful for getting some, but in amateur interracial porn is was the girl who seemed grateful for the opportunity to be with the black guy.
Amateur interracial porn not only documented the relegation of white guys to second class male hood, it documented, in breathtaking form, the shift in the balance of power between boys and girls away from girls to guys....to black guys.
Amateur interracial porn make something very clear, unmistakably clear: The black penis was both a symbol and an instrument of power. It was racial, sexually charged power over white men and over white girls.
The mystique of the black dick, the mystique of black male power excited and thrilled her, but at another level it frightened her. Cool, confident black guys with big dicks were sometimes a little too cool, a little too confident, a little too entitled. They not only liked to partake of white girls, but to talk about it and share their adventures with their peers, which frequently led to an even greater sense of confidence and entitlement.
At one level black cool and confidence were exciting but at another level they made her wary. She didn’t want to be taken for granted and passed around among black guys and then tossed aside when they grew bored or when another white girl came along. White girls had their own power, their own bargaining power in interracial relations, but the balance of power could easily shift away from the white girl who was too easily swept away by the black male mystique.
Black men had a devil may care attitude about pregnancy, relying on the ease of abortions to protect them. Exciting interracial sex was one thing but being pregnant with a black baby was quite another. She didn’t want to spend the next 18 years chasing down a black father of her black baby for child support and didn’t want to destroy her college prospects either. She planned a career after college and a black baby, well any baby really, would complicate that immensely.
In spite of all that foreboding, all that caution, she was coming more and more under the spell of the black male mystique. Bob was not so confident and cool as other black guys, but his confidence with his first white girl was growing. It was obvious. At first he was a little nervous, a little awkward, a little unsure of himself. Now his confidence and ease with her was growing. Appearing together socially in churches and driving around together inevitably made them more comfortable together. As their comfort levels grew, his confidence grew and her comfort level grew as well.
So many black guys came on strong and expected oral sex and anything else they wanted right from the start, but they’d worked up to that kind of tension, that kind of desire gradually over several weeks. Traditional and old fashioned as it seemed, it worked. She liked it that way.
Over those weeks her feelings about interracialism had changed, dramatically. Before her time with Bob she was curious and fascinated by the black dick mystique. Now she was more comfortable with it. She’d seen it in action, watched it, heard it, experienced it. Patient gradualism had worked well for both of them.
At first he was stunned by her proposal, her invitation to him to spend Christmas with her ****** and to go to the white church with her ****** the next day, but their time together made him more confident about venturing out into enemy territory...a white ****** and a white church all by himself and completely outnumbered.
From his perspective, it was one thing to get head or pussy from a white girl on campus, in his car, on a date, at a party, but quite another to go into the home and ****** and the church of the white girl who was putting out with white head and white pussy. Of course her ****** would guess their ******** was sucking and fucking with this cool black guy she’d brought home for Christmas. Of course they’d be told the story line about a class project, blah, blah, blah. Of course. Of course the pretext of a class assignment, however true, was just that: a pretext. Everyone would know that.
Of course he knew that just driving up to her parents’ house in the suburbs for Christmas would be a new experience. Of course walking into the white ******’s home as a lone black guy would be unlike any other experience of his life. Of course the whole atmosphere would change when everyone realized the ********’s guest was a black guy from college. There would be no fooling anyone after that, not really. They could keep on with the front, but everyone in the room would know it. Everyone would know.
After the initial surprise of seeing him walk through the front door everything would change. Her parents. Her brothers and sisters. Extended ******? What about them? Would they be there. Would white aunts and uncles be there? Maybe. Would it make a different? Well of course it would. Her bringing her black boy friend, whatever their front story, to the major holiday of the year and parading him to her entire ****** was different from just a quiet dinner, a quite debut of her interracialism to her immediate ******. Her parading her into Christmas dinner with the whole ****** was really a shot across the bow of her white ******’s sensibilities. His presence would be an acid test of their demeanor, their composure, their manners, their sense of hospitalities. It would test their commitment to their platitudes about “colorblindness”, about ignoring the color of someone’s skin and just considering the “content of their character.”
God! That old Martin Luther King quote. Whites loved that quote. They wrapped themselves in it, used it as a sword and a shield against accusations of their racism. Would he hear that quote from her ******? Would she use it? Would he use it? Of course the issue of the color of his skin was right there in their faces. Hard to conceal his blackness and impossible for them to block out all the old mystiques about black penises and other blackness. Most parents assumed their ********* were being fucked by their boyfriends. In the modern world sex was almost inevitable. But those boyfriends were white. He...was black. He was black and there was no getting around that.
How would her parents, her entire ****** for that matter, deal with the “content of his character” issue? Of course they would. Of course they’d go down that path if for no other reason than to have something to talk about.
Of course they’d try to steer around the most obvious question: his blackness. How to do that? Well, steer the conversation into what’s his major? What books does he read? Where’s he from? What does his ****** do? How long before graduation? Will he go to graduate school? Does he have any job prospects yet? Does he want to travel?
Travel? That’s a good one. Hopefully he’s older, at least a couple of years ahead of the white ******** in school, and hopefully he’ll graduate first and go his separate way and move on to some place far, far away...hopefully on the other side of the world.
Of course there will be the private conversation between her and her mother. They’ll arrange to be alone, even if only for a few moments. What will her white mother say? Will the white mother ask how “serious” is her white ********’s relationship with this black guy? Will she ask if their dating? Will she ask about his ******? Will she ask....will she ask if her white ******** is carrying his black baby?
Of course other questions might be raised openly. Will they be staying overnight in town? Will they stay at a hotel? How long? Or maybe they’ll just try to ignore the issue of how long their white ******** is going to be with her black date. Maybe it’s just too painful for them to raise, at least openly.
Of course there will be the conversation between her white mother and white father after it’s all over, after Christmas day when they’re alone together in their bedroom. Of course they’ll be freaking out, each in their own way, over the sudden appearance of a black guy dating and now traveling with their white ********, and the possibility of an interracial pregnancy. How late will they lay awake that night? Talking. Trying to console each other. Trying to re assure each other. Trying to avoid acknowledging that this was the worst Christmas of their lives. It was much worse even than those sparse Christmases when they were first married and had kids but not much money. Not much money was such a source of anxiety back then. Now. It was nothing. Now....this. Their white ******** and her black boyfriend out of the blue.
How could she do this? How could she just destroy their Christmas? Of course she knew their views on race? How could she parade in front of them this black guy and the obvious implication that she was sleeping with him. How could she parade him like that not just in front of them, but in front of the whole ****** as well? What the Hell was wrong with her?
So many issues. So may questions. It will be a new experience for him as much as for her white ******. How about her white friends? White girl friends?
White girl friends? White sisters? White cousins? He perked up at the thought. Lots of white girls were crossing the line, just like she did. Would other white friends, white girl ****** members possibly be ready to cross traditional lines and explore for themselves the black mystique.
They’d both sat through the class that day, pretending not to know each other, pretending not to be involved at any more important level than classmates in Black Studies, she a white girl and he a white guy.
The atmosphere was so much easier for her than for him. She had him hooked. He’d walk on burning coals to get his dick sucked and to get some white pussy. Apart from the black dick mystique, there was the timeless mystique of the “power of the pussy.” Moreover, there was the mystique of the power of the white girl’s pussy in interracial relationships. He wanted her, very badly. She knew it. He knew it too, but both played it cool. Both knew she could get cool black guys with big dicks a lot more easily than he could get white girls. He wasn’t the only black guy in the class that gave her the eye. It was different now though, of course. Their working together on their class project, pretextual though it was, gave her a certain claim on her. Would the other black guys in the class respect it or would they view it as a challenge to be taken against him?
So far none of the other black guys had moved on her, but they were giving her the eye. Unstated was the question: Was she sucking his dick? Was he fucking her?
She looked at the clock on the wall. The class was ending. Thank God. Just a few more minutes of sitting there pretending to give a shit about Black Studies when what she really wanted was black dick. If knowledge of their sucking and fucking became known or ever suspected, would she have to drop the class? Of course he wouldn’t, but it was different for her.
The class was officially ended and everyone got up, started gathering up their stuff to leave.
“Bob.” It was Professor Brown. “Uh...Bob?”
“Yes sir,” Bob dutifully replied.
“Can I see you in my office later.”
“When?”
“Now if you’ve got the time. Would that be OK?”
“Sure Professor Brown,” Bob replied dutifully, but clearly aware of how awkward a position he was in. Why could Professor Brown just have called him on the phone if he wanted to know about Bob’s progress with her.
“Sure. Sure. Be right there, sir.”
“Sir?” What a fawning asshole. Never before had any black guy in the class called Professor Brown “Sir.” Now this bullshit. Now Bob trying to put distance between him and Brown, between him and another brother and trying to pretend that they weren’t going to talk about her.
Bob looked nervous. She’d warned him. A word of her sucking his dick to Professor Brown and she’d cut him off. Completely. Now Professor Brown was calling him into his office. What bullshit. Who did they think they were fooling? Of course Brown wanted to know. He’d set the whole thing up between the white girl student and his poor black student who, for whatever reason, was weeping and wailing about something. Of course some white girl head and white girl pussy would cure all that. Now Professor Brown wanted to see him.
What a fucking ass hole.
Bob nervously glanced In her direction and forced a smile. She just responded icily, gathered up her stuff and started out the door.
“What now?” she wondered as she walked down the hall. “What now?”
She’d threatened to cut him off if he told Brown anything about them. Or anyone else for that matter. Professor Brown could be very....very impressive, very charismatic when he put his mind to it. Very persuasive. Very intimidating. How bad did he want to know all the spicy details about Bob and her? How much did he want to know? How far would Bob have to go for Brown to pull back and leave him alone? Could Bob withstand the power, the persuasion of Brown and keep his mouth shut? Brown had the power over his grades. Over all their grades for that matter, but the only one he really cared about was whether Bob got sex from her.
Maybe she could cancel her Christmas plans and dump him and move on. How to punish him if he ran off at the mouth of her giving him road head and the day in Palos Verdes? How to punish him? Throw herself at some other black guy in the room? Some other black guy on campus? There was no shortage of cool black guys with big dicks. None of them ever said no to white girls. That much she’d learned. After spending time with him she was confident enough to handle them. Now she was more sure of herself and more comfortable with the idea that she had appetites too.
Would he call her tonight? Would he come clean about his conference with Professor Brown? One way or the other, she’d know. From his nervous reaction in class she knew Brown was going to put the screws to him behind closed doors. Had anyone else figured it out as well?
Maybe she’d been wrong to have any kind of relationship with any black guy on campus, at least any one in any of her classes. Those relationships were impossible to hide, at least for very long. The problem is that once word got out she was with one black guy, a stampede might follow. Handling one cool black guy with a big dick was one thing. Handling a bunch of them....that was a very different challenge, a very different reality.
She looked at her wrist watch. Ten minutes since class ended. Should she hang around and wait for Bob to appear? Should she let him know she was that eager? That insecure? Of course if that ass hole Professor saw her there would be no denying they were more than just students working on a class project. She couldn’t endure that.
Best to get off campus and wait for his call. Wait for his call. Wait. Wait. Wait. Just like a teen aged girl waiting for a call, waiting to find out if she was going to be asked to the prom by Mr. Right, or by some other jerk...some other white jerk with his clumsy white behavior, clumsy come ons and embarrassing antics. Now she had her cool black boyfriend, with his black cool and black confidence. Why not hold on and wait a little longer. Time was on her side. The balance of power was still on her side. Time was not on her side though. Time was too short for her to meet and establish enough of a relationship with another cool black guy to bring home for Christmas with her.
She looked at her watch again. Two more minutes had passed. Time to go home and wait it out. Even if Bob sold her out, there was no reason not to take him home for Christmas. She took a deep breath, exhaled it and swallowed. Hang in there, she told herself. Just wait and see and don’t let some black Professor make her panic before she had to.
She looked again at her watch. One more minute. Hang in there. Just be patient and hang in there.
