Black New World Order-Lee

True to his training as a sensual artist, Lee didn't just rub around his asshole once or twice and jam his finger in. He explored every wrinkle, every spot.

He teased. "I don't want you to get it twisted. I have been trained to be sensual, to take care of my man. I am skilled in the erotic arts. But you need to know, my nature, is nasty. Really nasty. There's nothing you can ask of me that I won't do, and I promise you, I'll beg for more." With that, he inserted the tip of his finger in Marvin's ass and started making small circular movements with just the tip.

Marvin was stroking his own dick now and making sounds he had never heard come out of his own mouth before. It seemed like Lee had an extra set of hands as he kept caressing and stroking his chest and stomach and thighs while his finger explored deeper in his ass.

"Stop. I mean, can you stop?" Marvin sat up.

This time, Lee was a bit confused. He knew he wasn't hurting him and he didn't sense that he was expressing some sort of homophobic guilt and shame, not with his dick as hard as it was.

Lee grabbed a towel, dried off his hands, and sat back on his heels. "Is everything alright?" He was genuinely concerned and confused.

"Oh, everything is more than alright. It's just that I'm sitting here, and my mind is racing. I need to know how you got here. I want to hear the story of your evolution. I have to know. I don't care if you don't think it's erotic. I want your truth. I want to hear all about the ugly parts of you. It felt good to know that you could share the dark parts of yourself with me and I want more. I want to hear your story; I want you to let me in. I want to hear about how nasty you are. I want to hear about your transformation. I want the truth, your truth."

Lee smiled. "Look at you! A veraciphile," a word coined by Scottie that meant someone who is sexually aroused by the sharing of one's most intimate truths.

Marvin enthusiastically agreed. "Yes! Just like in the book. I want everything you have to give, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I've never felt like this before but I don't want to sit here and regret not speaking up and asking for what I want. I love the way you make me feel and I'm dying to get down and dirty."

"I swear, I have never said this before in my life. I've never felt this sensation before in my life, but I want to wait. I don't want to rush, want to get to know you better before I. Fuck. The. Shit. Out. Of. You."

Lee tried to stand but his knees buckled slightly. He went to the shower and turned it on, adjusted the temperature, and came back and extended his hand to Marvin. Standing, and he was covered in rich, foamy bubbles. Stepping out of the tub, Lee walked him to the shower. He slid his white bikini briefs down his legs, revealing a hard 5" dick that was just slightly angled upward.

They both stepped in the shower, and, in silence, Lee rinsed the bubbles from Marvin's body. Turning off the shower heads and stepping out, he dried Marvin from head to toe. He presented Marvin with a navy-blue, thick terry cloth bathrobe and house shoes. He, too, put on a robe, only his was made of silk with a subtle floral pattern on it.

"Why don't you join me in the hot tub and we can talk. I'll tell you anything you want to know, I'll answer any question you have."

As they walked through the closet, Marvin caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror. He stopped. He looked, no, he FELT like Eddie Murphy in Coming to America. He felt regal and strong and powerful. Lee stopped beside him and Marvin looked at his image alongside his own. Lee wasn't a sissy: he wasn't wearing 7" stiletto heels and a blond wig and a pink stripper outfit. He wasn't feminine in any way, at least not in the way society had defined feminine in the Old World. His mannerisms and his movements, even his speech patterns were of a man who was confident and sexy, like his sexuality existed beyond the traditional definitions of straight and gay. But yet and still, he was wearing a robe that Marvin could never in a million years see himself wearing, not in front of anyone at least.

Lee could sense Marvin's conundrum. "You and me, we grew up in a world where we both felt ashamed of the way we felt when we used to wear panties. It was our dirty little secret. We would put them on and immediately get horny because we felt so naughty, like we were doing something wrong. I don't know about you, but I loved the feel of panties since I was a little boy. I would steal my mother's panties and hump them under the covers in my bed at night. So, in your mind, you're saying, 'Oh my God! I did that too! We are both damaged. Let's fuck!'"

He resisted the temptation to say, "How did you know?" because he understood that many of the secret thoughts he had were common and shared by many.

"Maybe you didn't steal your mother's panties, maybe you put a finger in your butt and you liked it. Maybe you put your finger in your ass because you got turned on by the smell or even the taste of shit. Whatever you did, you were extremely convinced that you were alone, that none of your friends did what you did because they were all normal, that there was something very abnormal about you. You were convinced something was wrong with you."

"We were told only girls could like silky, frilly things. We were told that if we did like them, we were a sissy, a fruit, a faggot, and we deserved to get our asses kicked for being anything other than a real, macho, masculine, alpha man. That was our understanding as men in that society. That was the law of being a boy. You knew that liking something up your ass was wrong before you were even old enough to know that liking something up your ass should be wrong. Ya feel me?"

"You weren't the only one. Everyone did it. Every boy, every girl. We all did it. We all experimented sexually, it isn't abnormal, it didn't make us morally bankrupt or damaged, or sex addicts, or wrong or nasty. None of us was wrong for it, they told us we were all faggots and freaks and we believed them. We internalized our shame and tucked it away, afraid to share our secrets with anyone because we had this fear that we were the only person alive who liked something different. Even as adults if we see communities of people online who share our fetishes, there is still a part of us that is convinced that we are the only person in the whole world who is sexually aroused by something not mainstream. We all believed that something was wrong with us. We all believed that everyone else was normal and we were the only freaks."

"Meanwhile, you want to know what 50% of white people in America were doing behind closed doors in the Old World, before The Shift? They were doing gangbangs with neighbors who were gay, bi, trans, anything but straight, in hedonistic scat, piss, and blood ritual orgies. They were going out in the woods and killing people for entertainment. They were inflicting self-harm in ways that would make you sick to your stomach.

"They were doing things melanated people could never imagine because melanated people have a soul, white people had nothing where there soul was supposed to be. None of their crimes were under the radar, they had a free pass to do whatever they wanted to do because they were white, and under white jurisdiction, white people were free to do anything they wanted with no repercussions. The richer they were, the more depraved they were. They had no remorse or a shred of respect for human life. It went on for generations and generations, further back in time than time itself."

"Millions of white people were openly perverts and rapists and murderers and sadists and I was feeling guilty for wearing panties and liking things in my ass. After I rid myself of that guilt, of those lies, I could no longer feel guilty for wearing underwear in a fabric that men . . . real men . . . were supposed to inherently know should only feel good to women, real men weren't supposed to like the feel of silk. Get the fuck outta here! Somebody is being played for a Fool."

"I can no longer be ashamed if I like the way silk or nail polish makes me feel. Let me tell you something, when I shave, and I get my makeup done, I can look good, I'm very passable. Mad props to the Black women who guided and coached me on how to carry myself like a Queen. I appreciate the looks and comments I get when people tell me I'm pretty as much as I like when they tell me I'm handsome. There's no way that liking the way I feel when a person compliments me, regardless of whatever garments I'm wearing, makes me a bad person, or abnormal, or a freak. I call bullshit. I call social programming to enslave me, bullshit."

"And with that revelation, I stopped needing to play a sissy or feminine role when I wore something not considered masculine. I'm a person wearing a robe. My gender happens to be male. I do not expect a woman to sashay and prance around if she wears a silk robe just like I don't expect her to fart and crack open a beer if she wears a navy-blue terry cloth robe. Fabric does not and cannot change who I am, how I walk, how I talk, or how I navigate the world. It's fabric. Nothing more."

And doing his best Willy Wonka impersonation, he sang, "Come with me, and you'll see, I live in a world of I don't give a fuck, bitch!" With that, he turned and headed to the balcony.

Marvin stood there in awe. He loved the empowerment of feeling like a King. There was a part of him, however, that longed to find the level of confidence and freedom that Lee exuded, he wanted to know the sensation of a piece of fabric not defining his identity or self-worth, whether it be denim and wool or silk and satin.

The mosquito-free, New World night air was perfect. Lee opened yet another case and offered Marvin a selection of individually packaged edibles in an array of shapes and sizes. Again, he identified the options and made a suggestion and Marvin trusted his judgment. Marvin also asked for a bottle of water to stay hydrated and there was a mini fridge disguised as a planter within reach, fully stocked with a host of beverage options.

Lee took off his robe and placed it on the lounge chair and Marvin nervously looked around to see if anyone in nearby apartments or buildings could see them. He remarked how comfortable Lee was with his nudity in public and he responded by saying that the naked body is nothing to be ashamed of nor should it trigger feelings of arousal or lust like a teen looking at a Playboy for the first time. "Every adult in America has seen countless nude bodies in porn, hundreds of thousands. If they are driven to spy on me or call the police because they see my naked body, that, ultimately, is their problem of sexual immaturity, not mine. With that Marvin took off his robe and joined him in the hot tub as that made so much profound sense to him.

For a while, they sat in silence, waiting for the edibles to kick in. Marvin was nervous but he didn't have the emotional vocabulary to identify why. This was all new territory for him. The characters in In Loving Color lived by a different code than he had lived, they were all in various stages of healing where they could all access their feelings and articulate them in ways he couldn't. To him, Lee seemed just like one of the characters in the book.

After the weed had kicked in, Lee broke the silence. He was clearly in a head space of deep contemplation. "I owe the Black woman my life. This, this is life! The Old World, whiteness, that was death, it was decay, it was misery. To say that I owe the Black woman a debt, a debt that spans lifetimes, for all the torture and pain she endured, is not an exaggeration. Being trapped in whiteness was a nightmare. It was pure hell. There is no sufficient way to show gratitude for being freed from that prison."

The two sat in silence for a while longer, soaking in each other's energies. Something had shifted between them. Without any conscious effort or thought at all, the two moved towards a deeper connection, a place beyond words. In another dimension, their etheric bodies, their souls were fucking: savage, primal, and passionate. While their physical bodies luxuriated in the warm bubbling water, the parts of themselves that had known each other in many lifetimes recognized their eternal connection and they were languishing in the throes of ecstasy.

Marvin could feel a hunger, a need to fuck Lee, to be inside him, to sweat and scream and to cum together; it was a sensation unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He didn't know what was happening but he felt it energetically. He felt a need to fuck like an animal, and kiss, and he desperately wanted to build a life with Lee.

There was, however, a tiny seed of doubt inside him, a parasite that made him doubt any of these feelings he had were real. He thought that the Universe was playing a harsh trick on him, showing him these new sensations, allowing him to understand all these wild and crazy concepts, allowing him to feel all these amazing sensations and he was going to wake up, and life would be the same. He thought he was going to have the rug pulled out from under his feet, and he would be back in his world where he never got what he wanted, and where he felt profoundly unlovable, and ugly and trapped. He wasn't accessing these feelings consciously, he couldn't have spoken them outload if you had paid him, they were feelings stemming from his whiteness.

What Marvin didn't know, was, that voiceless voice, that nagging feeling that never left him, that feeling that nothing was ever going to work out for him, that feeling of dread lingers in your mind all the time . . . those feelings were the last embers of whiteness within him dying. Whiteness manifests as something totally different in white people than it does in melanated people. The purpose of whiteness in Black people is to make them feel alone, cut off from Love.

Marvin's soul contract was to learn to love the remnants of whiteness within himself to heal that part of himself that felt unworthy and unlovable, separate. The irony being that he was a true God, a King, he was the human manifestation of the Divine Consciousness made to feel like he was nothing and white men were . . . well, the suffered from the opposite affliction. The only way to unchain that burden from your soul, from your true identity, is to love it unconditionally. Marvin had to say to that little voice inside him, "I see you. I know that you want me to believe that I'm average, that I'll never be anything, that I'll never accomplish my dreams." Marvin needed to say to that voice, "I was born to rule this dimension. It is my destiny. Nothing but God can keep me from it! Nothing!"

Marvin was beginning to understand that we are all God. There is only one God. Everything that exists can only be made the same stuff that is God. There is nothing that can exist that is not God. The programming of the Old World had humanity convinced that God is in the sky, not inside you. We were programmed to believe that your heavenly father is going to punish you for being bad because your earthly parents beat you for being bad. All the things that we learn from religion are meant to keep us from knowing our true selves. Religion was invented to keep humanity, specifically the Black woman, enslaved in an eternal system of oppression.

Meanwhile, Lee knew exactly what was happening. Lee's soul contract, the agreement he made in order to experience life in physical form, had sentenced him to crave transcendent Love and to never experience it; to embody the sickness of whiteness, and then . . . to transcend it all. His destiny was to find true Love, to cure his disease of whiteness, and to know that he arose from the One Divine Source and that we are all connected. He was fulfilling his soul contract. Lee was breaking his curse, the last vestige of whiteness within him was about to die, he could feel it and he was feeling the sensations of true love.

Under the spell of the Old World, The Black New World Order was supposed to be some sort of grassroots, BDSM movement where Blacks subjected whites to sexual servitude and sadism. That was the choice Scottie was supposed to make, she was supposed to choose the path of revenge and retribution. They knew it was impossible for her to embrace shame of her sexuality so they focused their efforts into manipulating her to being triggered by the baseless empty, taunts of the non-melanated. She was supposed to be consumed with dismantling their absurd arguments, all based on the fallacy of white supremacy. She was supposed to stew in their racism, so much so that she was supposed to be distracted, not write any stories that reflected her vision of a world borne of racial equality and harmony. And if she had chosen that dysfunctional version, they would have won. Fear and separation, lies and manipulations would reign forever.

Scottie was supposed to be ruled by the love of money, the quest for physical perfection, and by a strict adherence to Black religious doctrine, afraid of God and afraid to question the narrative. She was supposed to believe her value as a woman was in between her thighs, but not as a Goddess who could give birth to a New World, but as someone who fucked anyone and everyone with her wet ass pussy. The system needed her to be judgmental and petty, they needed her to obsessively count her followers, and likes and shares, seeking validation from strangers so that she would never recognize her true power. She was supposed to be sucked into depression and low self-esteem with every negative comment. Scottie was supposed to stay in the mirror, trying to hide every flaw and blemish, mastering contouring and makeup techniques that would consume her identity in the hope of being perfect; squeezing her body into shapers that rearranged her internal organs, all with the hopes of getting a rich man to find her attractive. She was supposed to take the blue pill.

She didn't.

The Original Goddess Mother couldn't be that easily deceived. Scottie had always envisioned a New World of Love, equity, creativity, and abundance being birthed into reality. The real BNWO never had anything to do with sexual servitude, or sadism, or using white women as incubators, breeding them to carry melanated children; it was never about castrating and cuckolding white men and making them into sissies. Those were the delusions of whiteness, the pathology that made everything on the Earth plane into a transaction, a power struggle, a manipulation. They based all their calculations on the probability of Scottie choosing that foolishness because they didn't understand the power of her Love for all humanity.

The Black New World Order rendered all contracts made, all oaths taken under duress immediately null and void; any soul forced to choose between the lessor of two evils, fame or poverty, anyone forced between the choice to be the house slave or the field slave, was immediately emancipated. Those without souls, complicit in the willful perpetuation of whiteness and the fallacy of white supremacy, they were infused with neuro-melanin and put in a stasis, a time out, until the collective consciousness achieves critical mass of compassion and empathy.

Those who were once programmed to inflict pain, to hurt, to be a destructive force in the world, whether they were human or some other life form, were rendered neutralized and recoded with neuro-melanin. Their skin tone didn't change, their desire to hurt was effectively leashed and the systems that allowed them free reign to hurt people were dismantled.

They can still be found in ever dwindling numbers, on the internet, crying about how it's not fair that they have to choose love and kindness over hate, and how they should have the free will to murder others if they want. And they do. They have free will and they can choose to do anything they want. The insane can no longer run the asylum. That level of delusional thinking that was dictated by whiteness will not be able to survive for very long in the Black New World Order, a society built on love. They have to work out their karma. That is the big T truth and the racism that fueled the Old World cannot exist in a world of Truth. That emptiness, that void, will eventually be filled with a sense of community, of family, and nurturing.