Black New World Order-Lee

"I grab his dick and I start stroking it, not even for a millisecond thinking about trying to use the techniques I had just seen, I go right into my tried and true techniques, the sterile, perfunctory, mechanical way I had always done it and then I start sucking it and, WHAP! Right across the face. His hand connected with my face so loudly, everyone gasped. The whiteness in me loved it. I was being humiliated and that pushed all my buttons. I associated pleasure with humiliation and I loved being humiliated."

"Bhaiya, who had just told me his story, now goes around and lubes up and starts fucking me, slowly. Innnnn, and ooooout. The next guy comes up, starts telling me about how his friend died in a drive-by shooting when he was in high school. Swear to God, in my mind, while he's telling me his story, while I'm getting deliciously fucked, the whole time I'm thinking, 'Yeah, he was probably a gangbanger who deserved it.' The story lasts about 10 minutes so I'm getting this slow fuck the entire time, making my little clit drip like a faucet. Scottie, comes up, This time. I'm prepared with my answer. I answer without even really listening to the question she asked me. 'He felt frustrated and scared in a neighborhood with violence all around him."

"I'm like, 'BOOM, Yeah buddy, I got that one!' I'm high-fiving myself internally. I'm super confident. I know I nailed it."

"Then Scottie says, 'OK, but the question I asked was what was his friend's name?'"

"It knocked the wind out of my sails. I panicked. I had nothing. I was so busy trying to figure out what I should say, what they wanted me to say that I didn't listen to the story, certainly not the details of what anyone's name was. I'm feeling trapped and unfairly persecuted in that moment. And to add insult to injury, she informed me that even if she had asked me about what he felt, that my answer didn't come close to being sufficient."

"At this point, I'm insulted. I feel like my answer was perfectly fine and she was just being a bitch. I swear to you, right now, I can hear myself saying, 'This fucking stupid bitch!' in my mind while I my mouth was saying, 'I'm so sorry. I will try to do better. I've never done anything like this before. I'm trying. I'm trying really hard.' I was being dishonest with myself. I was being white."

"And so it began, the process of getting the racism fucked out of me. I was to give a Black man a sensual and erotic blowjob or get slapped in the face, and once his dick was hard, I was to get slow fucked while listening to another Black man tell me his tale of Black life and I was supposed to empathize and explain what it felt like to be Black. Rinse and repeat."

"Next guy comes up and, slapped again. Next question, wrong again. After 5 or 6 guys, I'm getting pissed because I'm not satisfying people like I want to. That's my whole deal, I'm the guy who wants to satisfy others, that's my role. I want nothing more than to suck a dick and get cum pumped down my throat, I want to feel useful. After 8 guys, I'm angry and I'm pissed and start screaming that I quit. I'm throwing a whole temper tantrum. I get up to leave and go pout alone in my room."

"Scottie says, 'Lee, healing from racism and the fallacy of white supremacy is mandatory in this timeline. You can do it here, now, with us, or you can go out in the world and live your life and face this challenge at some other point, under other circumstances. You are not obligated to stay but you are obligated to find the part of you that resonates with the Goddess. If you feel like we are doing something offensive or wrong, and you don't like the way we are going about fucking the racism out of you, you are welcome to suggest some other tactic, or protocol, or any other way we can get you to generate at the frequency of Love instead of whiteness.' I looked around at everyone and they are all looking at me, I felt so small, so judged, and I was so angry and I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I wanted to say something, something that would show them, prove that I was a good guy but I couldn't form any words because I had no faith in myself that I was a good guy at all."

"I felt so small because I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted them to tell me what a good boy I was. I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted things to be back like they were when white men were exalted as the greatest thing since sliced bread and they all bowed to the institutions and beliefs that lifted me, the white man, up on a pedestal."

"Thus, the cycle began. Every day, from 2-6 pm I would have these Black men try to fuck the racism out of me and every day, I would fail miserably at both being sensual and being empathetic. Dinnertime after my sessions were always like the post-game wrap up. Everyone would share their insights and observations about me, my progress, my lack of progress. It was humiliating and not in the way I wanted. Sometimes, someone would come up with a new idea or suggestion and we would go back to the after dinner session and do it all over again."

"One night at dinner, Janquil, asks me, in a very polite way, "Can you tell me anyone's story at this table? Can you point to one man and tell me the story he told you?"

"When I tell you, anger boiled up inside me like nothing I had ever felt before. I was seeing red. I snapped. I said, 'You know what, I don't fucking know. I don't even fucking care. I'm sick and tired of this shit. I'm done. I don't need this shit.' I started screaming at the top of my lungs. I lost it. I was yelling all kinds of crazy shit. I had never allowed myself to ever get that angry or frustrated in my life and I had never allowed myself to express my emotions in that way before. A lifetime of rage and fear started to come out of me. I wanted to hit her, I wanted to choke her, I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and choke the life out of her. I wanted to make her feel as stupid as I felt. It was evident that she was not only smarter than me in ways I couldn't access, but that she was more in control than I had ever been and I felt it. I felt it in that moment that this woman that I looked down on and hated, this woman I despised because she was ghetto, because she was superior to me."

"Just that fast, I broke down and my rage and anger, my yelling and screaming turned to crying. I started weeping, crying uncontrollably. I was filled with this profound sadness and I was letting out tears for the hatred I felt inside . . . for myself, I hated myself for being racist, for not caring about all these stories, I hated myself for only focusing on my need to get fucked on my terms. I hated my whiteness. I hated how it made me look at Black people as things for me to use to get off on. I hated not being able to access my sensuality like Black people could, Black people who had endured more fucked up shit in their lives than I ever had, and they were able to fuck and suck and be authentic, they were able to laugh and connect and feel things I couldn't feel. They were able to ask me fucking questions that threw me off my game and I couldn't answer and I hated myself for being so one-dimensional."

"After I cried out all these tears, after I cried out a lifetime of feelings of inadequacy and inferiority, I was broken. I went back to my room and passed out from mental exhaustion. When I woke up, I felt lighter, less burdened. I went to breakfast and Janquil was already there. I was expecting her to curse me out and she asked me if I was up to trying again today or if I needed a day off. She's telling the chef to give me food that has no cannabis or aphrodisiacs because I didn't need any extra stimulation today. She's fucking showing me empathy and concern, she's showing me that she's capable of seeing and sensing my needs without even asking me. The same woman I wanted to kill a day ago."

"For the duration of my three-week training, I equally dreaded and looked forward to my four-hour sessions. I was addicted to the sensation of being fucked slowly but I wanted more. I wanted them to cum in me. I wanted to make them cum with my mouth. I wanted them to desire me, I wanted those Black men to find arousal in me like they did when they were being bathed and washed by those Black women. More than anything, I wanted Scottie to be pleased with me. I was failing on all fronts. I felt like I was being psychologically tortured."

"After a couple of days, I somehow got up the nerve and asked to see an example of a sensual and erotic blowjob so that I could know what I was doing wrong. I can't even say for sure why I asked. I had this anchor on my soul, this knot in the pit of my stomach that made me believe I was incapable of being as sensual and as erotic as I had seen Black people be. They weren't just sensual in the erotic sense of the word. They were sensual in the way they ate, in the way they walked, in the way they just flowed so smoothly. I didn't think that . . . whatever that was that they had in spades, whatever that magic was that was inside of them naturally so comfortable and grounded, I didn't believe it was in me."

"With the snap of Scottie's fingers, a couple comes up, they lay on the bed next to me. Follow me. I'm listening to the story or racism, I'm getting fucked, slow and deep, Scottie is standing over me, watching me, and this woman, inches away from me, this Goddess is giving a blow job like her tongue is Leonardo DaVinci and his dick was The Last Supper."

"I swear to God, she's swirling her tongue and using her lips, these big, full, lips, she is kissing his dick, this woman is making Love to this man's dick with her mouth in ways I had never even imagined doing. It was the same sensation I had watching porn with Black men fucking white women and KNOWING deep down inside that I was incapable of fucking anyone like that. I knew I would never be capable of sucking a dick the way she was doing."

"I wanted to cum, I wanted to get fucked, I just wanted to answer one fucking question right. What I wanted more than anything was for this guy to shut the fuck up with his story. I was sick and tired of hearing about white men being assholes, listening to story after story of white men saying offensive things, doing asshole shit. I was sick and tired of stories that showed exactly how privileged I was because I had never experienced anything horrific or terrifying in my life."

"I was starting to get it, I was starting to consciously realize from a place that I felt in control of, that I was addicted to having different conversations in my mind than the sentiments and words I was expressing with my mouth. I was starting to realize how inauthentic I was, how much of a liar I really was. I was starting to realize that I was racist in ways that had never even occurred to me before."

"I'm listening to about four or five stories an hour, four, sometimes even up to eight hours a day and we're deep into the third week at this point and I haven't made anyone cum with my mouth or answered one question correctly. But I'm starting to get used to the disappointment, the frustration, the feeling of being inadequate as a part of my identity. I'm starting to get comfortable with the frustration. I am coming to accept that I deserve to be slapped because I am a complete failure, worthless, I can never be as sensual as Black people, in my head, I've accepted that I'm doomed to a life of inferiority that was to be colored in lifeless Grays, while they were living in a world of loving color."

"We are nearing the end of the three weeks and I still haven't had any sort of breakthrough. Scottie stepped up and it was her turn to share her story about the racist white man she dealt with on Nite Flirt, she wanted me to hear the stories that she had heard. Let's not forget. I've been on a constant diet of aphrodisiacs for almost three weeks. I'm horny in every pore in my body, around the clock."

"She asked Bhaiya if he would fuck me because he seems to have the most control of eveyrone. This time, however, I'm seeing all of him, I'm remembering his stories, I'm seeing him for the first time as a man, not a male, not a person with a dick, but a man. I see the complexity in him, the pain, the journey. I've never felt anything like that before and I take his dick in my hands and I cradle it, holding it like it's more precious than gold. I don't just want to suck his dick, I want to suck HIS dick, the person, the man, the composite of all experiences and choices he's made that made him the unique individual that is him."

"I start sucking his dick and this time, I don't get slapped. I was waiting for it. I was expecting it, and I could hear him moaning. I could feel his dick getting harder and harder in my mouth. That inspires me to do more. I'm trying my best to replicate what I saw the other Black woman do."

"Scottie starts off telling me how one guy confessed that he belonged to a group of white men, including cops, who routinely kidnapped, raped, tortured, and killed Black women for fun, for entertainment. Standing over me, she tells me that he was turned on, jerking his worthless dick, confessing to her that he murdered Black people, that he loved inflicting pain on Black children, seeing them scream. She tells me how he had no remorse, no guilt, how he felt no sense of irony that he had sworn his love to her for years while killing Black women for pleasure."

"I can't even form words. She knows exactly what she's doing to me. She knows I'm putty in her hands when she talks about how fucked up white men are. I'm CONSUMED with shame. I'm embarrassed for myself. I'm ashamed of my race. I'm so hyped up from not getting slapped that I'm thinking I might be able to answer the question right today and I'm nervous I'm going to fuck up. I was hyperventilating with so much stimulation."

"She tells me how one man lured poor Black women to fall in love with them only so he could beat and humiliate her. About how he would go to Walmart in the hood and hang out in the baby section, offer to babysit for any tired, overworked, poor Black woman just so he could take gain her trust and then violate her. The stories don't stop. She's telling me how a white man confessed to being a serial killer, and he had no problems sharing explicit details of how he loved raping, torturing, and killing entire families and burning their houses to the ground and knowing that the cops wouldn't do anything to him. AND, get this, he goes on to insist that she had romantic feelings for him and she just refused to acknowledge it."

"I'm sweating. I was in a tornado of emotion. I'm horny as fuck because I'm high on Do-Si-Dos, this hellacious weed strain that pushes your libido into hyper drive. I'm getting sexed up with, Bhaiya, this incredible Black man fucking me and his dick is hitting all the right spots, and I'm listening to these horror stories about the true evil of white men. Not even whiteness, I'm hearing her tell me about white men and the fucked up shit they did. I felt like my mind was being tossed around like a rag doll, swirling like a spinning top and for the first time, I'm disgusted by the pathologies of white men, how we've been able to get away with these behaviors with no punishment for so long."

"Then, she says, 'I want to tell you about oooone other white man.' She takes a dramatic pause and says, 'He was average.' Instinctually, I know she's talking about me, without her even having to say it. She tells me that this man didn't have any tragic or repulsive stories to tell. 'He so easily could have been forgotten save the fact that he kept coming back over and over, growing, learning, and really showing that he wanted to be a better human being.' I'm feeling like I want to explode. I'm panting like a dog. I'm making sounds I've never made before."

"She continued weaving her tale. 'He started out,' she said, 'when we first met, being very generous. He loved showing his appreciation with money because he thought that impressed me. But when I was in need, when I was struggling financially, he became stingy, he didn't want to be so generous with me anymore. He had the money, he wouldn't have faced any hardship to give to me like he had done when he was manipulating me to his ends. I didn't ask him for any specific amount, I certainly didn't ask him to empty his bank account, I didn't threaten to blackmail him. He just didn't want to give it to me. He wanted me to degrade and humiliate him and for that, he would give me a tribute, a way to placate me. He only cared about me getting him off. He resented giving me money when I was in need and his way of humiliating and degrading me was to throw me just enough, but it was tied to his inability to say no when I asked, not his genuine respect or concern for me."

"She had often talked about her psychological dick, how a man would never be the same after she had fucked him with her psychological dick. I was being pounded by her psychological dick and it was brutal."

"At this point, it's taking every ounce of strength, every fiber of my being not to slam my ass back on that dick and ride it like a bucking bronco. You know that, right, Marvin?"

Marvin was snapped out of his trance when he heard his name. "Wait, were you talking about me, or the story?"

Lee rolled over and they were laying face to face. "I was talking about you. I want you in ways I've never wanted anyone before. I've never felt anything like this before. I

Catching his breath, Marvin inquired, "What question did she ask," proving an awareness and a connection to Lee and his story that exceeded anything he had ever felt before?

Lee didn't want to wait a second more to get fucked, in real life and in the retelling of his story. "King, before she asked me a question, she took me to another level of pain that I'd never experienced before. I was dripping, with sweat, with precum, with desire. I had never in my life, not in any lifetime or reincarnation wanted to get fucked as hard as I wanted to be fucked in that moment. I felt like I was going to pass out."

"Next thing I know, Jesse is standing right next to her. They start kissing. I'm looking up at them. His hands are gently caressing her throat and her fingers are playfully exploring his goatee. Their love, the love of a lifetime was glowing, it was like a fire raging. I felt so defeated in that moment. I knew I would never experience a kiss like that, I knew that my inherent whiteness would forever keep me from tasting a kiss of that magnitude and that sensation filled me with a grief that consumed me, it swallowed me up like a black hole had just swallowed not just a dwarf star but the entire Milky Way."

"He gently lays her back on the bed, right next to me. Bhaiya starts fucking me faster. He can't help himself. He feels that energy too. He's doing his best to maintain his steady rhythm but the erotic tension in the room is at an all time high. He's shoving his dick in me and rotating it around and smacking my ass. He grabs my hips and he pulls me up and his dick starts hitting my spot and I'm literally screaming like a barely-legal 18 year old on a Rocco Siffredi porn set."

"Jesse starts undressing Scottie and I almost lose it. Kissing was one thing. Watching them fuck? No way. No fucking way! I know I'm out in turbulent waters and I'm begin pulled down by the tide. I've resigned myself to just let go, I can't fight the current anymore. They're both naked and he gently lays Scottie down on the bed right next to me. He kneels in front of her and spreads her legs. From my position, I couldn't see her pussy directly, I couldn't see her pussy lips or her clit, I wasn't at an angle to see anything but her but stomach heaving up and down. I couldn't see her pussy but I could fucking smell it."

"The high I felt from that aroma was like . . . it was like inhaling the fragrance of a blue lotus flower, it was like gaining insight into the secrets of the world and unlimited power after ingesting the heart-shaped herb. It was like a memory I had, the feeling you get after the Nile River had overflowed its banks and brought signs of life and abundance back to the valley, when the persimmon trees yielded fruit so juicy that it ran down your chin, your arm, and you knew joy in your soul." Lee's newfound eloquence, his articulation was quite natural to him, having released all his whiteness, he had access to the poetry in his heart."