“Hey dudes!”
“Dudes.” That’s what they called themselves. "Dudes."
Three young black guys joined together by ties of race, feelings of personal strength and ambition and by a common history and a common destiny in a rapidly changing world.
Although unrelated by blood they looked remarkably alike, so much so that they were frequently mistaken for twins. Not necessarily identical twins, but at least fraternal twins. They were not. They weren’t even brothers, at least not biologically. No. They were “dudes.”
They were tall. At sixteen none was an inch under six feet. Their shoulders were broad, their waists were narrow, their arms were muscular, well formed and well defined. They weren’t muscular in the bulging biceps muscle man sense, but in the taught, wiry well defined sense. Their well defined muscular arms were things of envy in the eyes of admiring guys and things of beauty in the eyes of admiring white girls.
The short sleeves of snugly fitting pocket Tees or polo shirts provided a generous view of broad, muscular arms and shoulders Their large hands were ideally suited for round objects whether large ones the size of basket balls or the smaller ones like round firm hips of shapely white girls. They joked about what great practice playing basketball was for filling their wide palms with the round firm curves of girls’ hips.
As fate would have it, one of them led the way with his two fingertips and traced a path up the bare calf of a girl standing next to him while he was seated at chair at a table in the school library. From her lower leg he went all the way up the back of her thigh under her dress and then expertly slipped under her panties to feel the weight of her bare buttocks in the palm of his hand. Right there in the library in front of a group seated at the table, the girl moaned, stiffened, gasped and looked down at him with a look of stunned, incredulous surprise on her face.
By the rise and fall of her opulent chest her deep breathing was readily apparent. Everyone could tell that her heart was pounding. Unsteady on her feet, she put one hand on the table top to steady herself and keep her balance.
He spread out his fingers and cupped her hip as if it were a basketball. She stiffened and inhaled again. He could hear her heavy breathing, so close was she stood beside him while he reached up under her dress. Seated impassively at the table, he felt her edge closer to him. She glanced sideways down at him and their eyes met. She swallowed and bit her lower lip.
He turned his hand around and smoothly inserted two fingers into her. She was soaking wet. She gasped again, closed her eyes and leaned against the table for support. Her chest was heaving and she squirmed as he pushed his two fingers in as far as they would go.
A muffled squeal came from deep in her throat and she shifted, spreading her feet slightly further and spreading her legs more widely, even if only just a little she enabled him to achieve at least another inch of penetration into her with his fingers.
Her message to him was clear. Manically, he wiggled his fingers, deep as they were inside her.
Her body trembled. She gripped the table to maintain her balance. Her lower torso was slowly gyrating.
He looked up at her face. Her eyes had kind of rolled back in her head. Her knees bent slightly as she instinctively lowered herself further down on his fingers, trying to force them deeper inside her.
“Wow” he thought to himself, startled by his own boldness as much as by the white girl’s reaction. “Not bad for a beginner,” he silently congratulated himself.
In the field of his peripheral vision he could see the others seated at the table, mesmerized by what was happening before their very eyes. His two buddies were there but also several white kids, who just sat and watched. The white boys knew better than to interfere. He felt a rush of excitement. It wasn’t just reaching under the white girl’s dress, although that was exciting enough. It was also having so spontaneously just done it right there in front of all of them, in front of white kids, and them all knowing what he was doing, even though they couldn’t see his hand under her dress or his fingers inside her. By his position right next to her, the eye contact she made with him and her physical reaction, everyone at that table knew exactly what he was doing. It was unmistakable.
“Hey!” It was his buddy’s voice. “Hey. Somebody’s coming. Pull out dude. Pull out.”
‘Pull out?” How did his buddy know he was inside the white girl’s vagina? Was it that obvious? He wiggled his fingers even faster and the white girl’s torso gyrated even faster.
“Hey!” His buddy said it again, this time with even more urgency in his voice. “Pull out of her!”
His friend jerked his head sideways toward the other end of the library. Mr. Lasky, the librarian, was striding purposely toward them from across the room, a grim look of determination on his face. It was apparently obvious to him what was going on between this black dude and the squirming white girl standing next to him.
“Oh God!” he hissed under his breath. “Oh God!”
He pulled his fingers out of her and pulled his hand down and out from under her dress before wiping them against his jeans, out of sight under the table. Thank God he was seated and his hands were under the table, out of sight.
The librarian couldn’t actually see what was happening but the girl’s wide eyed, star struck look and her tell tale behavior made it pretty obvious she was being...well she was enjoying herself more than the library rules allowed.
Drawn abruptly back to reality by the sudden withdrawal of the black boy’s two fingers, and her awareness of the approaching authority figure, the white girl’s eyes widened and she straightened herself up.
By the time he arrived at their table the white girl had regained her fragile composure. Her panties were soaking wet, but thank God the librarian couldn’t see them, nor even demand to see them. Thank God!
“Is everything OK here?” he demanded, using every ounce of authority he could muster.
The three black guys looked at each other and kind of shrugged. The white kids just sat mutely, looking off to the side, trying to avoid being questioned. The white boys sat silently, nursing feelings of excitement, envy but also resentment that a black boy was openly fingering a white girl, right out in front of them. Viscerally and instinctively they knew, from their own racial perspective they knew, it was wrong, it was terribly wrong, but none dared say or do anything about it, so completely taken by surprise were they and so completely intimidated by the three virile black guys.
No one spoke. The seconds were ticking away and finally the silence became unendurable.
“Well?” Mr. Lasky snapped.
“Everything’s fine,” one of the black dudes said politely. He hadn’t wanted to speak, but someone had to. The white boys knew better than to snitch so they were just going to sit and watch and play it safe. White boys were getting good at playing it safe where black dudes were concerned. He felt confident enough to take the lead. If nothing else it would draw attention away from his black bro who’d almost gotten caught red handed...uh, bare handed...with two fingers up a white girl’s pussy.
“Yeah.” This time it was the white girl’s voice. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” The panting white girl forced a smile. She’d finally regained sufficient composure to speak. She was still breathing heavily and something had obviously happened, but she said everything was OK what could he do? She was obviously lying. They were all obviously lying. But if they held firm, the white librarian was powerless to prove or to do anything.
Mr. Lasky looked down at the two white boys sitting silently and trying, at all cost, to to avoid making eye contact with him. The white boys were on the other side of the table from the girl. Why were they acting so guilty? Why were the two most innocent guys there behaving as though they were guilty, as though they’d done something wrong?
He swallowed. Outwardly, everything was normal. Everyone was fully clothed. Of course the white librarian knew the black boy had reached up under the white girl’s dress and penetrated her with his fingers. The librarian had seen this before in his years at the school. Kids making out was one thing. But a black student, a black boy fingering a white girl? Rage boiled up inside him. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with any white girl who would allow a black boy to do that to her?
The year before he’d caught a couple...an interracial couple... back behind the shelves at the far end of the building. It was a white girl down on her knees in front of a black boy who was a popular athlete. What else. Black athletes were the worst. Tall. Broad shoulders. Classically sculpted muscular shoulders and arms. A boundless sense of confidence.
He’d caught them. Peeping around from behind a book shelf he just stood and watched the whole thing. She was down on her knees and her head was going slowly back and forth. No mistaking what she was doing. Neither was there any mistaking her obvious passion for it. More than passion, much more it was ...was...enthusiasm. She was obviously putting her heart and soul into satisfying the black guy. Obviously enjoying her incredible performance, the black guy stood there, breathing deeply, playing it unbelievably cool. With one of his hands he reached down and tenderly touched the side of her face. Her body trembled at his touch and a muffled, animal like sound came from deep in her throat. Most teenaged boys are grateful for anything they get, but the tall black athlete exuded a sense of entitlement and aplomb, as though the white girl should be grateful to him.
Instead of confronting them and putting a stop to it, he just stood there hidden in the semi-darkness, watching breathlessly, his heart pounding with his own mounting state of sexual excitement. He lost track of the time. How long was it? Five minutes? Ten minutes? The girl seemed to go on endlessly. Then she pulled up and bushed her lips lightly up and down the full length of his penis. He shuddered and gasped. He’d seen lots of teen blow jobs in the dark corners of the library but never anything like this.
It was incredible. More than incredible, it was breathtaking. It was at least nine inches fully erect. At least. It was thick, circumcised. He could see the veins, the throbbing veins that went the full length. No wonder the white girl was with him. Then suddenly, abruptly, she swooped down the full length...the full length of it all the way down her throat. All the way. Of course he’d heard of “deep throat.” Who hadn’t? But this. This. To actually see it. To actually see a teen aged girl perform that way, taking down the full length of a cock that big, so smoothly, so effortlessly, so skillfully.
He moaned and started breathing even more heavily. Sensing his change, the white girl pulled up, smiled and stroked his penis with her fingertips. Oh God! He held his breath, waiting to see what he knew was coming next. Suddenly a gush of sperm spurted into the girl’s face. Thank God he hadn’t drained his big heavy, sperm bloated balls inside the girl. Thank God! With that much penetration and the power of that stream, the white girl would most certainly have become pregnant. Pregnant. A beautiful white girl pregnant with a black baby! A black baby for Christ’s sake. It was so primal. So natural. It was also revolting, but, at the same time, exciting, so exciting and so thrilling, as much for him as for the passionate couple.
He just stood there, watching. Paralyzed. They were....the interracial couple...they were so natural, so natural. So completely natural. It was like natural forces of nature acting in accordance with nature. God help him...God help him! However repulsive was the sight of a delicate white girl and this black boy, it just seemed so natural...so natural and healthy. So right.
That was the worst of it. The worst of it was that it was disgusting and repulsive but at a primal, natural level it seemed so natural and so right. Deep down inside, he knew that white girl belonged with the strong black athlete instead of with a white weakling.
Instead of confronting them, as he’d done to amorous couples so many times before over his career, he just stood there hidden from their view. With her delicate hand, the white girl wiped the black boy’s sperm off her face. The black boy zipped up his pants and took her in his arms and kissed her. It was a long, lingering passionate kiss. The white girl had just fallen into his arms, like she belonged there.
The silent witness shuddered at the sight of the embrace and kiss of the interracial couple. They were obviously well matched. That was probably the worst of it, the very worst of it. After seeing her passion, her performance, and the size and power of the black boy’s cock, he knew she’d never be with a white boy again. Never. He knew this white girl was forever lost to the white race. If ever she had a baby, that baby would be black.
After the couple pulled themselves together and left, he remained behind, alone in the silent, musty semi-darkness of the library’s hidden corner. He was trembling. He should have stopped it. He should have confronted the black boy. But he didn’t. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the boy would have gotten violent or anything. It just didn’t feel right. He felt too weak, too docile, too intimidated. It was as though he was suddenly afraid, suddenly afraid that they would have caught him, caught him sneaking around, caught him watching them silently. It’s almost as if he felt he was violating their rights, violating their privacy, violating their right to be together. Why did he feel like the voyeur? Why did he feel like the trespasser? Why did they make him feel as though he, not they, was doing something wrong?
Later that night he lay awake in bed, looking up at the ceiling in the darkness, replaying the whole scene over and over in his mind. Thank God! Thank God they hadn’t caught him watching them. Thank God no one knew he’d seen them. Thank God!
Now this. Not seeing another black boy violating another white girl, this time right out in the open, for Christ’s sake. At least the other black boy had the decency to hide in a far corner to have sex with his white girl friend. Now this. Now this guy...this guy just stuck his fingers into a white girl’s vagina right out in front of everyone.
Instinctively he’d recognized what was happening. It was obvious. Another white girl mesmerized by a tall, broad shouldered muscular black guy. And the white guys. The white guys just sitting there and watching with stupid looks on their faces and doing nothing. Doing nothing! Doing nothing white a white girl was molested by a black guy right in front of their eyes. They just sat there stupidly, totally overwhelmed, totally intimidated. What were they afraid of? He swallowed and blinked in the darkness. He knew what they were afraid of and why they did nothing.
As he walked back to his desk at the other end of the library, he walked by himself, all alone except for his anger, his rage, his resentment, his jealousy, his impotence. Who was he to judge white boys who did nothing. Hadn’t he watched a beautiful white girl suck a black boy’s cock from start to finish and done nothing. Nothing! So who was he to judge those boys? He was a man and they were boys. He was a member of the faculty and they were just students. They were powerless, powerless to compete against cool black guys for white girls and he was powerless to stop it.
He sat down at his desk. Had anyone seen him walk over to that table and walk back without doing anything except be made a fool of? Had anyone seen him faced down by a black boy? Had anyone else there seen his shame? His timidity? His cowardice? God, he hoped not. He hoped no one had seen him, a powerful authority figure, faced down by black students.
He looked down at his watch. He looked down. Usually he looked up at the clock on the wall, but he was afraid to look up, and to expose his face to anyone who might have seen him. Looking down, looking down at his watch to tell the time, pretending to review papers on his desk....looking down was a way of hiding his face, hiding his shame, hiding his white man’s impotence in the face of a confident black guy no more than half his age.
Something seemed so natural even as it seemed so wrong. He’d caught a black boy with his fingers deep inside a white girl’s pussy right out in front of everyone, but the black boy faced him down and made him look like a fool. Worse than that, the black kid made him feel guilty for confronting them. The black kid was wrong and he was right, but he’d been made to feel guilty. Him. The librarian was made to feel guilty for interrupting interracial sex right out in the open. He, a white man, was made to feel guilty for interrupting a cool black guy with his fingers up the vagina of a wide eyed white girl.
Increasingly he was beginning to realize that his world, the traditional white man’s world, was being turned upside down. The balance of power... the balances of power between adults and students, between the rulers and the ruled, between white man and black guys, between black guys and white girls. That balance of power was changing. Now everything was different. Now he, the white authority figure, the white man, was the one afraid. Now he was the one who backed off from black guys, even those half his age. It was not just him. It was not just the school. It was the whole world.
Back at the table, the students just sat silently and breathed a collective sigh of relief as the librarian retreated back to his desk, powerless to do anything about what had gone on.
“Shit man,” one of his buddies said, barely above a whisper, that was close.
He nodded. “Thanks bro.”
“Hope I see you again some time.”
It was the white girl. She turned and walked away. The white boys just sat there and nervously exchanged glances.
They’d almost gotten caught and they’d faced down the white man. Just three black guys. No. Dudes. Black dudes. Three Black Dudes. That had a cool sound to it. Later they’d talk about it. Thank God for the Three Dudes.
Every young person fantasizes about defying authority, but the three black guys had not only defied authority, they’d gotten away with it. Anyone can throw themselves on the tracks in front of a train, but they’d made the train stop while the crossed the tracks. They’d won. They didn’t realize it at the time. They just felt they’d gotten lucky and dodged a bullet. To them, at the time, it was pure luck.
Over time, however, they came to realize it wasn’t luck that saved them but rather young black men coming of age in a new age and learning to exercise and rely on their mutual trust and power. It was no accident that their first important victory over a white authority figure arose from an encounter with a white girl.
They were also developing an affinity for white girls and, more important, white girls were developing natural affinities for them too. It was part of a shift in the centuries old balance of power between the two races and the balance was shifting in their favor.
Thank God for civil rights. Thank God for racial equality. Thank God for racially integrated schools which delivered impressionable white girls on a platter. They were learning that civil rights laws worked two ways. As black boys were now free to hit on white girls, white girls were free to respond and act on their strong natural attraction to black boys. With their muscular builds, their broad shoulders and tight jeans, they’d become accustomed to glances from admiring white girls. So many white boys seemed like skinny, four eyed dorks with bad complexions or fat, overweight repulsive slobs. There were a few decent white guys, the athletes mostly, but even they were nervous when cool black dudes were around them, especially in the presence of white girls. White guys, even the cool ones, in the presence of black guys were like sheep in the presence of wolves.
It was as tough whites had only two genders. One was female and the other was...well, it wasn’t female, but neither was it really male. Not really.
White “males?” Really? They looked like males. They wore boy’s clothing. They played boys’ games. They were attracted to girls. But...they were awkward, uncoordinated, nervous. They were weak, timid, easily startled, easily frightened. They liked the same games as real boys but couldn’t really play them. They liked girls, stared at girls and got turned on by girls, but they didn’t know how to act around girls. They didn’t know how to approach them. The presence of girls made them nervous, sweaty and uncomfortable. They pretended to be confident, but confidence can’t really be faked. Real “cool” can’t be faked. You either have confidence and cool or you don’t. Everyone knows that. Everyone except emasculated white boys dressing and talking like and pretending to be real males, pretending to have confidence and pretending to be cool, but fooling no one except themselves.
It was like watching gender neutrals acting like males, pretending to be males. Like wearing boys’ clothing and talking tough and pretending to be cool would make them real boys. Well of course, it wouldn’t.
Everybody knew it, at some level. Everybody knew or just guessed they were pretending and faking. The black boys certainly knew it because they brushed aside the white neuters in any contest, whether physical or intellectual. There were a few white nerds who were good at math and science. White nerds with their acne, their thick glasses, their slide rules and their small dicks. As one cute white girl reacted to a flirtatious white boy, “The thought of your small pasty white dick makes me want to puke.”
White females were fleeing across racial lines to find real males on the black side. What could be more natural than in the absence of white males worthy of the name that white girls would be attracted to cool, virile black dudes?
Of course it took some getting used to. Black men for centuries lived in the shadow of white domination, white privilege. Now they were equal in the eyes of the law. Now white girls, traditionally off limits to them, were ready, willing and able to respond to virile black men with their broad shoulders, sculpted physiques and their unbounded confidence.
Black men just had to get used to the idea and take advantage of new opportunities, of natural good fortune. Generations of oppressed black men fought and died for this moment in history. To exercise the power bequeathed to them by black ancestors was not just their right. It was their duty. It was the duty of young black men to flex their muscles, show their confidence and snatch fertile white girls right out of the arms of faltering neutered white men.
In the days that followed their white girl adventure in the library, the school buzzed with gossip. Only a hand full of white kids had seen it, but that was enough to spread the word. It was like that for days afterward.
They’d walk across the campus, either together or individually, and passing kids would stop and look at them with awe and other black guys would smile broadly and give them the thumb’s up.
White guys would look too, only they weren’t smiling. They were sullen and almost cadaver like, like the living dead or something.
White girls were the best. They looked, some shyly, some more openly. The idea of interracial relations was still kind of off limits to many white parents. No white father wanted his white ******** fucked by a black boyfriend, but the attraction of white ********* for black boys made interracial fucking inevitable.
There was another issue. Over time the convictions of many so called “pro life” conservative White Christian parents would be sorely tested when their white ********* turned up pregnant with black babies.
Black babies!
It was weird how things suddenly changed. White girls who were formerly pro abortion now fought to keep their black babies and white parents, formerly pro life, were now strongly for abortion.
There was something about sex with strong black guys that made white girls want to be pregnant. Girls found that having sex when they were trying to avoid getting pregnant was uncomfortable and nerve wracking. Would the condom break? Would the pill fail? Would the guy pull out in time?
The pleasure , such as it was, was fleeting and underscored by anxiety and fear. Black boys were strong, passionate and vibrant. They were full of life and energy. Sex with black guys was exhilarating and life affirming. They had breathtaking cocks and heavy sperm bloated balls that made smacking sounds when they swung forward into the girl with each powerful thrust. Not only white sexual novices, but sexually experienced white girls were overwhelmed by black carnal power.
After sex with her black boyfriend, one white girl exclaimed, breathlessly, to her friends, “God! It was like Superman and Lois Lane.”
To have a black guy as far inside her as a man could go in a woman, with no birth control, with nothing between them...for him to come and for his heavy balls to drain into her. It was nature’s highest form of fulfillment. It was what real sex was supposed to be.
The small, brief interracial encounter in the school library that rocked the campus foretold of more interracial tumult to come as the centuries old balance of racial power shifted slowly but inexorably from falling white men to rising black men.
