I’m a Slave for your Lust
Picture this. It’s 1858, the place is a cotton plantation in the Antebellum South of Mississippi, America. As usual is been a sweltering day. The slaves work the field, singing their gospel hymns. The foremen, atop their horses keep watch, rifles in hand. In the distance, just outside the big mansion, the Master of the plantation, observes the progress and alongside him seated under an umbrella held up by a slave girl, is his wife. She drinks her Tea and biscuits, her eye on Kwame, one of the slaves in the field. The heat wont allow him to wear a shirt, his chest is like two mountains with a valley in between. His stomach, rock hard. His muscles ripple every time he throws the cotton into the big basket strapped to his back. The lady of the house shifts in her seat, she hatches a plan. A plan to quell the hunger in between her thighs. In the evening, when her husband has gone to the drinking dens, where their inebriation leads them to sample the bushy vaginas of the prettier slave girls, she sends her chamber maid to the slave quarters to call Kwame to come play the violin for her. When Kwame arrives and starts to play for Master’s wife, she stops his timid performance. She stands from her bed and unbuttons her night gown and stands there, nude as the day she ventured from her mother’s womb. Kwame immediately looks away. She senses his apprehension. She steps forward and tells him in that Southern drawl, “Make love to me or I will tell Massa that you climbed through the window and tried to have your way with me.” Kwame’s decision isn’t that hard to make. He puts aside his violin and removes his clothes. She is startled at the massive rod that hangs in between his legs, her lady lips moisten. Kwame’s dark staff is already engorged. He walks toward her and scoops her in his strong arms and puts her on the bed. With his left hand he parts her thighs and his right hand guides his dick into her aching hole. Kwame rams away at her pussy, tears have already started streaming down her face as wave after wave of orgams ripple through this Southern Belle. Fast forward 200yrs. The frozen foods aisle at Nakumatt Nyali, I’m there to pick a yogurt when a muffled moan draws my attention towards the Meats seaction. This dreadlocked young black man is holding tightly onto a young white girl, his hand under her skirt. She is biting her bottom lip, struggling to keep her cool, but it wont be long before she loses it. I left them to their own devises. This was Mombasa after all, it was the most sane thing I’d seen all day. Its been 200yrs,from the cotton plantations to the beaches of Nyali, nothing has changed, it’s just evolved. One thing that remains the same though, is the love, no wait, lust that white women have for black dick. Every year they throng our beaches, befriend our local men and spend the nights satisfying their wanton desires. This cultural phenomenon isn’t relegated to the coastal area, even in the estates you find young girls hand in hand with young muscular men, who are almost always deadlocked come to think about it! Why though, do these women travel thousands of miles to these shores? Are there no virile men in their home nations? I’m sure a whole nation can’t lack a few young men with strong backs who can fuck you unconscious. For one these respectable suburban belles desire anonymity. Away from prying eyes, they can screw as they please. the second reason, is less obvious to the casual observer. Allow me to take you back those two hundred years, let’s return to the plantation. The American South, is renowned for its gentlemen. Men of high moral standing who above all go out of their way to make a lady comfortable. In that era, and to an extent now too, they put their women on a pedestal. They adored them to a fault. Their women were not to be defiled. What they forgot though is that a woman has needs. Sexual needs. Yes they made love to their women but only for the sake of producing heirs. The women couldn’t complain. Sex was dirty, no respectable lady would dare like it. In came the black slaves. Portrayed as savages from a dark continent. They must have seen and done more disgusting things than these pure white ladies would ever ask of them. That is exactly what they needed between their legs. A man to ravage them to an inch of their lives. The slaves were there to provide any service the household required of then. Servicing the Mistress of the house was only part of the job. That’s what most men forget today, that a woman needs to be objectified sometimes. They need to feel like sexual creatures, couple that with some tender love and care, and you have a woman in love. A few months back there was a story in one of our dailies, about a Dutch woman who married a guy from Mombasa. This guy couldn’t read a single word from a book. She had to read him his vows! Good dick will have you doing things like that! Another stereotype is that all black men are big dicked Lotharios. Is it right? Of course not! Not all of us are blessed with a donkey’s genitalia, but a fair number are. This stereotype had been handed down through the generations. The white women who indulged in some slave love probably came across some Mandingo dicks and now the rest of us have to live up to this racial typecasting! There are probably some white men who carry impressive tools in their boxers who won’t get some because of they got the short end of the stick in this stereotype business. Today this perception of Africans remains. That within our savagery lies wanton thoughts and deviant sex acts that would shock the world to learn about. Genetics have been kind to us of the darker complexion. The aggressive nature of our forefathers who were real warriors and had to wrestle lions, has been embedded into our genetic code. So when we fuck, for a brief moment, it’s like going to war.