Like so many white guys, I first got into the interracial thing via a direct
personal experience that, at the time, I really struggled to deal with, understand and
make sense of. Now, with perspective and hindsight, I understand the immense influence
it had over me.
I was dating a stunning white girl called Jo. Jo had been a model as a
teenager. Now, in her early 20s, she was working for a PR company in Victoria, South London and we met at a
party thrown by a mutual friend, Fiona, who worked in PR. As soon as I saw Jo I fell
madly in love with her – she was stunning!
Jo was tall and model-like – about 5 foot 10, with a cascade of long flowing light
brown hair and the biggest bright blue eyes.
She had the most beautiful face
and amazing skin – but best of all were her long long legs – the best legs I’d
ever seen in fact, so perfectly shaped and so silky smooth to the touch! Yet
the strange thing was that it seemed that Jo didn't understand just how
gorgeous she was - she had a charming innocence about her. I fell for her
totally.
It was summer and Jo and I began dating and she invited me to the flat
she shared with a girlfriend in Willesden, North London.
It was then that I met her flat
mate – an attractive, sexy, busty blonde, quite different to Jo in look and character, who,
I soon discovered, was dating a big, dark-skinned Black guy in his 30s.
It soon became clear that this girl had a real thing for Black guys –
and to my surprise I found that every time I went round to their flat the
boyfriend was hanging out there – sometimes with his friends, all of whom were
also big Black guys.
I found this a little difficult – partly because I felt
"outnumbered" and out of place, mainly because Jo was so outstandingly
and eye-catchingly beautiful and these guys always had their eyes on her and I
felt they were always trying to chat her up.
Knowing Jo she probably didn't
even notice - she always greeted everyone openly and with a big smile. Perhaps
I was a little paranoid, but looking back I think I was just struggling to deal
with a situation I had simply never been in before.
I remember one Sunday afternoon that summer sitting in the front room
with Jo and her flatmate and three of these big Black guys. I felt out of place
and not at ease. Then, quite innocently, Jo got up to put a DVD in the player.
She was wearing a short, light, silky mini-dress which rode right up –
revealing as she bent over more and more of her bare and beautiful long legs,
right to the very top.
I genuinely believe that Jo was unaware of it – as she always was - but it was the
sexiest thing I had ever seen – the smooth milky white curve of the back of her
long thigh, and the silky material of her skirt raised up to just cover her bottom
- and as I looked out of the corner of my eye I could see all three of the Black
guys taking in the view, looking at her legs and bottom raised in the air and
then looking at each other and grinning.
I felt threatened - but what on earth
could I say in that situation?
The other problem emerged over a series of
Friday and Saturday nights when I stayed over with Jo. Making love to her was
an absolutely sublime experience - with her long, lithe, smooth body like a
tall glass of water underneath me or above me - those long legs and her remarkable puffy-pink nipples, almost saucer-wide and super sensitive.
At night, we were often interrupted by her
flatmate who would be indulging in very long and very loud sex sessions with
her Black boyfriend. They would go on for hours and she was so noisy it seemed
like the whole house was trembling.
Jo seemed to be used to this - she
would lie next to me and smile about it – even fall asleep - but I couldn’t
ignore it and would lie awake listening to it and imagining what was going down
in the room along the corridor. Lord knows what the neighbours must have
thought!
There were a couple of weekends when I met up
with Jo in central London for afternoon drinks - and one occasion is seared
into my memory. I still think about it now.
I was due to meet Jo at the Windsor Castle Pub in Notting
Hill. It was mid-summer and there were tables set out front - and as I walked
up the street I could see a group sat at one of these tables. There was Jo and
her flat mate - and at least six big Black guys sat at the table with them.
As always,
Jo was looking gorgeous, relaxed and at ease, laughing as she talked with this
group of Black guys, any of whom I knew would not hesitate to make a move if the
moment was right. I joined them at the table, feeling completely outnumbered
and out of place.
I wasn't with Jo for long that summer. The
final straw came one evening when she asked me to meet her at a basement
nightclub on the Charing Cross Road in central London. All she told me
was that a friend of her flatmates boyfriend was DJ-ing. I had some idea what
to expect and so I was nervous about this - but the truth was I would have done
anything to make Jo happy.
When I arrived and descended the stairs into the
basement club, it was even worse than I had thought. I was virtually the only
white guy there.
The room was pumping hip hop and r n' b. And
it was full of the most stunningly beautiful white girls all surrounded by big
Black guys. This wasn't the first time - or the last - that I would find myself
in a club like this in London, and I suppose moving to the capital, my eyes were opening to the scene
that was evolving in the London clubs where the Black guys were creating
and controlling their own scene - and the most beautiful white girls were
providing the decoration.
As I scanned the place, it seemed like every
girl my eyes fell upon was more beautiful than the last, like some sort of
underground modelling convention. Then I saw Jo at the bar and just stopped and
stared. It’s another sight seared into my memory that I will never forget.
Jo was stood facing the dance floor and
either side of her stood two dark-skinned Black muscle-guys in designer
clothing.
Jo was looking absolutely stunning - wearing a cropped white t-shirt,
tiny denim micro skirt that was more like an over-sized belt and knee-high
black leather high heeled boots. Her long, creamy legs glistened in the lights
from the dance floor. The three of them were talking and laughing. There was no
denying it - these guys were clearly trying to chat her up. And there, as I
looked harder, one of the guys had a muscular arm circling gradually around Jo's waist,
his dark skin contrasting the smooth pale skin of her smooth exposed midriff.
I can't begin to explain the wave of emotions
I felt in that moment - anger, jealousy, fear and yes, I confess, I was
strangely turned on. These emotions were all completely new to me and overwhelming and being unable to
process or cope with them, I pulled myself out of my trance, turned and fled.
As I did so, I had to go back around the dance floor and once again take
in just how many beautiful white girls there were in this club full of Black
guys, all of them seemingly more sexually open and at ease than in any white
club. On my way out of the club I passed one of the most gorgeous blondes I’ve
ever seen in the arms of a big Black guy locked in a passionate kiss. She was
the last searing image I have of that night.
After that night, I never saw Jo again. There
were a few text messages, but that was it - I was shut down.
Ever since I have
wondered about Jo and where she is now, still bewitched by her extraordinary
unforgettable beauty. Jo - and the personal evolution that I went through during our short time together - is still completely dominant in my fantasies, right up to the present day.
No comments:
Post a Comment