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Black Lovers are Better

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The year was 1888. My name is George Braun. At the time of this story, I was a young Black man traveling on horseback from Georgia to Boston, Massachusetts. Twenty years old, a strapping and muscular lad, that’s who I was. I wasn’t alone on this trip, folks. My father only let me go on the condition that I had suitable traveling companions. I picked two of the best men I knew to accompany me. I went visiting some family members across the country. It had been decades since the Civil War and although slavery was now illegal, the South was still filled with racist folks. We had been duly warned. I suppose it always will be. I was a young man from Boston and I knew to stand up for my rights no matter where I was in the world.

Most of them Black folks down in Georgia weren’t doing too well. They lived in poor, all-Black towns and villages. They still followed the ancient way of kowtowing to white folks. Especially wealthy Southerners. Men and women who expected the world to bow down to them because of what they happened to be born into. The way I see, race and sex are just accidents of birth and don’t make one person better than another. Up North, decades after the Civil War, Black folks were working as miners, peacekeepers, soldiers, farmers and industrial workers. We owned our own homes, and many of us had our own businesses.

Any way you looked at it, we were a people on the move. Going to better places. Out of slavery and into life as red-blooded Americans just like everybody else. Black men and Black women were doing alright in the North. Many of us had jobs during the Reconstruction Era and the skills we acquired stayed with us. We put them to good use by starting our own businesses. Black Northerners were ahead of Black Southerners by at least a decade. Yeah, we were leaving them in the dust. Maybe it’s because the North saw the light and did away with slavery long before the South did. Oh, well. At this point, I was done with the South and all I wanted to do was go home to Boston where the world made sense.

My traveling companions were a pair of young Northerners. James Verde, a tall, somewhat chubby, chocolate-skinned fellow from Dorchester. His father Michael Verde owned a small store in South Boston and worked as a tailor. He did pretty well for himself, designing clothes worn by some of the city’s most fashionable gentlemen and their lady friends. His mother Ellen Verde worked as a nurse at an institution for the mentally ill and the insane. I don’t envy anyone who works in an asylum, surrounded by crazy people all day, but she made good money. Yeah, James came from good stock. Like me, he was a college man who wanted to accomplish great things in life. I love it when my people are smart and doing well.

My other companion was Alan Brown, a golden-skinned biracial brother. He was the son of a Black Civil War soldier and a white woman. Alan Brown’s father Luther Brown was the minister of a fast-growing church in Boston. Many in our fair city saw him as a leader of the Black community. When I told Alan and James that I wanted to head down South to meet some family members, they were the ones who helped me raise the money. We traveled by train, and also by boat. When we got to the South, we bought some horses and used this mode of traveling to reach our destination, the fast-growing city of Atlanta.

We had a lot of fun along the way. Why wouldn’t we? Here we were, three young Black men from the North traveling through the post-Civil War South. Fortunately, we didn’t run into much trouble. We didn’t run into marauders, gangsters or Klansmen like some paranoid fool thought we would. Overall, the South was beautiful country. Densely populated, and a lot cleaner than any Northern cities will ever be. Still, so many of the folks down there were living in the past. Especially the Black folks. They were not exactly living up to their full potential as newly freed men and women. A world of opportunities opened up to them, yet most of them weren’t taking advantage of it. They could learn trades, overcome obstacles and grow as individuals and as a community. Unfortunately, most of them had their heads in the clouds. Those who didn’t were always whining about how unfair life was. I hate people who play victim and expect rewards for it. The world is a better place without them.

I was born the son of a freedman. My father raised me to never back down in front of anyone. I knew my worth as a young Black man and I would not allow anyone to make me feel inferior because of my roots. Kowtowing to any person was not in my nature. I tried my best to avoid trouble but you know there’s always got to be some fool somewhere who thinks they can mess with you just for the hell of it. It happened one night. We had been riding all day and didn’t feel like staying in the woods or the prairie. We decided to look for a hotel. When we got there, the clerk told us that they didn’t take Black folks. I looked at the smirking clerk, a canlı bahis şirketleri pasty-faced woman, and briefly considered many ways of removing that smirk from her face. I’d like to give her something to remember me by. My friends calmed me down and we walked out. We slept in the prairie and although it sucked, what with the cold and the bugs and all, I was glad that I didn’t give one dime to any racist white woman or her stinking hotel. I had better use for my money.

My search for family members down South was not a good one. I mean, in those days, a lot of Black families were torn. So many sons and daughters had been separated from fathers and mothers by the Civil War. People had been fleeing from the South and moving up North. They had been chased by Southerners with guns. They didn’t stay in any place for long. How in hell was I going to find any extended family members? If any kinfolk of mine survived in the South, I didn’t find them. Without further ado, we decided to head home. The faster we got out of the hellish South, the better.

Yeah, we had our fill of the South and wanted to go home. We had quite a dilemma. Having blown a good chunk of our money in the trip to the South, we were in danger of lacking enough funds to get out of it. To save money, we decided to ride horses rather than take the train, for as long as possible. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Yeah, right. The idea was Alan’s, and he may have been sampling some Rum when he came up with it. One night, things took a turn for the worse. We were caught in the prairie during a thunderstorm. It was not a pleasant thing. So, we sought refuge at a nearby farm. The women farmers greeted us with odd stares. I bet they didn’t run into well-dressed, traveling Black businessmen from the North too often. Oh, well. For whatever the reason, they agreed to let us stay. I told them that I was more than happy to buy my way but the Southerners lived up to their legendary hospitality and let us stay the night.

Me and my guys stayed in the barn. The farm was somewhat odd. For starters, where were the men? We had been greeted by the farmer’s wife. A tall, plump, matronly woman with long blonde hair and pale green eyes. I’m guessing her age to be around forty five if a day. She had introduced herself as Miss Sylvia Hawthorne. There were two other women with her. A tall, heavyset, pretty-faced Black woman who was their servant. The Black woman called herself Nicole Jade. She looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and indifference. The other woman was Miss Sylvia’s ward. A young lady whom she was distantly related to came to live with her after her parents perished. The war had taken the parents of this woman, who answered to the name Emily Johnson.

Miss Johnson was kind enough to offer us some food, as well as some sheets for the night. Emily was plain of face, plump-bodied and rather ordinary-looking but made up for it by rather fine-bodied : Large-breasted, wide-hipped and big-bottomed. The young woman was in her twenties. Not someone I’d call beautiful but at her age, women were usually married. Oh, well. That’s her problem and not mine. I noticed her looking at me funny. I was used to people looking at me, both men and women. I was a tall, good-looking young Black man. I had an athlete’s body and an angelic face. Who could resist me? Back in Boston, I had lots of women. Black women, white women, and even a couple of Mexican chicks. Yeah, I was a real ladies man.

While eating some of the food she offered, I had a chat with Emily. She told me that she lost her father in the war. He was a confederate soldier. I nodded sympathetically, though I wasn’t sorry. Confederate soldiers fought to keep Black people in chains. Emily told me that she hated the life of a farmer. She was originally from New York and she hated Georgia. Also, she dreamed of one day going to Boston to find herself an educated man to marry. Boston was still the city with the best colleges in the nation, even in those days. Lots of educated men and women moving about. Myself, I attended an educational institution in the Boston area. I was going to be a teacher. It was my dream one day to start an organization that would train teachers and send them to Black communities to teach my people how to read and write. Isn’t that a wonderful dream?

I went on and on about my plans. I noticed Emily looking at me adoringly. Meanwhile, my pals Alan and James ate in silence. They had heard horror stories about white folks from the South and were polite but chilly when Emily asked them any questions. She gave up after the first try. I tossed Alan and James some whiskey. Those fellows needed to relax, seriously. I didn’t trust people of any color or sex. Men and women were all evil in my book. Still, that’s no excuse not to talk to them. We are a civilized country, after all. We’re all Americans, aren’t we? Outside the barn, the storm raged. The horses in the barn whined. Yeah, this place canlı kaçak iddaa would be hell to spend the night in. oh, well. The faster we got out of the South, the better. I heard rumors about the Ku Klux Klan and what they did to Black people. Yeah, I needed to get back to Boston, where it’s safe. With that in mind, I wished Emily a good night and went about trying to get some sleep.

Giving alcohol to people who aren’t very bright to begin with is really not a good idea. Oh, and mixing alcohol with lust is not a good idea. I should have thought about that when I gave James and Alan the whiskey. When I woke up, there was a lot of noise all around me and it had nothing to do with the damn storm. I was alone in the barn. I went about trying to investigate. So, I went to the house and knocked on the door. A drunken Alan opened the door. Oh, and he was minus his pants! I looked at the brother, from head to toe. He was wearing only his shirt and had a bottle of Rum in one hand and someone’s breast in the other. The person the breast belonged to was none other than Sylvia Hawthorne, the lady of the house and the whitest woman I’d ever seen. Oh, did I forget to mention that she was naked too? What in hell was going on? When I went to sleep, the world made sense. I left Alan and James sleeping in the hay of the barn. Now, they were in the house, drunk and partying with white women? Had the world gone mad? Sylvia Hawthorne smiled at me, then kissed Alan on the mouth before taking the bottle of alcohol from him. She gulped down a long draught then stroked Alan’s cock gently. He grinned, then they went back inside. I came in, and what I saw further amazed me. It wasn’t just Alan and Sylvia who were indulging themselves with alcohol and sex. James Verde was in it too, and he was getting busy with Nicole Jade.

I looked, and saw Nicole on all fours, as she was being taken from behind by James. He had one hand on her smooth brown buttocks, and the other was grasping a bottle of Rum. I looked at him, wide-eyed. He gave me an idiotic grin, then gulped down some more Rum before focusing on what he was doing. I looked at him, mesmerized. He and Nicole seemed to be having the time of their lives. They changed positions. Now, he lay on the wooden floor of the kitchen while she straddled him. I looked at this large, gorgeous woman as she began to ride him for all he was worth. As for James, he was shouting like an urban hooligan. He held Nicole by those fine, wide hips of hers and thrust his cock into her.

Nicole rested her hands on James shoulders and began riding him for all he was worth. I watched that voluptuous body of hers shaking and bouncing as she rode her lover to kingdom come. James grunted as he fucked her, hard. She screamed, loudly too. I’ve never heard a woman scream so loudly, not even in the best brothels of South Boston. Nicole and James did their thing, bucking wildly on the floor. I can’t tell you who was the loudest. Truth be told, the sight of the two of them caused my cock to harden. It had been some time since I got laid, and I was starting to seriously miss the dames of Boston. It looks like the Southern femmes knew how to please a man too.

I watched, fixated and unable to move. Nearby, Alan and Sylvia were also sexually occupied. The mulatto brother lay on a conveniently placed pile of clothing on the floor, and his hard cock was sticking in the air. Sylvia Hawthorne knelt beside him, and she held his cock with both hands. Her large breasts seemed to thrust forward, moving in a very sexy manner. She leaned over, and took him into her mouth. Alan smiled and gently stroked the older woman’s hair as she sucked on his peter. I watched Sylvia as her blonde head bobbed up and down on Alan’s cock. He noticed me looking at him and gave me a wink, if you can believe that! I shook my head, not believing this. And they say Southerners opposed racial relations! looks like certain Southerners were doing just fine with integration. Above and beyond, I’d say.

I was so fixated upon watching all the sex going on that I didn’t notice Emily Johnson sneaking up next to me. She startled me when she put her hand on my butt. I turned around, ready for whatever. Emily smiled at me. I noticed that she was also nearly naked, wearing some lady’s undergarments. I grinned at her. She smiled at me and came closer, kissing me on the lips. Her breath smelled of alcohol, and tobacco. Emily’s surprisingly quick hands went from my butt to my crotch. She noticed how hard I was, then smiled. She patted my groin, and grinned wickedly. I saw the look of lust in her eyes, and knew exactly what she wanted. This woman wanted to feel my Black Man Power.

I looked at her. Emily was something else. A voluptuous dame of the South who offered herself to me. She might not have been most people’s ideal of a great beauty but she looked good to me. I took her hand, and we went back to the barn. Laughing and giggling, we undressed. I looked at her canlı kaçak bahis in all of her naked glory. Her plump, fine body beckoned me. Tentatively, I touched her. Her face, her neck, her chest and finally, my hands firmly cupped her smooth, round bottom. She let out her breath, and gasped as my hands slipped between her legs. My fingers slid into her, and I felt warmth inside her tight crevice. Her hand lay on top of mine, and she held me there. Without a word, we fell on the hay, giving way to our passions. I climbed on top of Emily, feeling her soft, wondrous body underneath mine. She wrapped her arms around me and spread her legs, welcoming me inside her. Looking right into her eyes, I thrust into her. My first sensation was one of warmth and tightness. Emily did not scream as I thrust into her but softly gasped. I smiled, and continued. My length and girth often have that effect on the women I bring to my bed. I placed my hands on her hips, and continued fucking her. Emily held me tightly, and urged me on. Harder and faster, she pleaded. And so I stepped it up. I thrust harder and faster into her snatch, loving the feel of it around my cock. We went at it, romping happily like there was no tomorrow.

Emily climbed on top of me, and I held her by the waist, she began to ride me for all I was worth. I thrust into her snatch and looked into her face as I fucked her. Laughing wildly, Emily continued to ride me. We acquired a nice, easy rhythm as our passionate tryst continued until our sweat-soaked bodies lay side by side in the way. I slowly let out my breath. Emily looked at me, and grinned wickedly. I rolled my eyes. This wild woman was still not done with me. We tried yet another sexual position. I looked at her fine bottom, and a delightfully wicked idea sprang to mind. I rubbed myself against her suggestively. Emily turned around, and looked me straight in the eye. She smiled naughtily. Yeah, she knew what I wanted. She said nothing, but rubbed my cock before gently pushing her sexy butt against my groin.

Grasping her butt cheeks, I spread them wide open. I spat in my hand and, taking the spittle, rubbed it against her tiny back door. Slowly, inch by inch, I guided my cock into her ass. Emily did not make a sound as I entered her. I took my sweet time with it. Although I’ve been with many women in my day, this would be a first for me. My first time experiencing anal sex. My first time penetrating a woman’s back door. It was fabulous! Grasping Emily’s hips with hands almost trembling with excitement, I leaned forward and thrust into her. My first sensation upon penetrating her was once again one of warmth and tightness, albeit one far more intense than I’d ever experienced before. With my cock lodged up Emily’s ass, I could feel her blood pulsating through her body. I held her in my arms, feeling her shaking under the force of my thrusts and hearing gasps and moans and sometimes outright screams emanating from her mouth. It was the most intense thing I’d ever felt. When I came inside her, I think I actually saw the stars. Emily did not scream, but her body trembled. I held her tightly until the moment passed.

Afterwards, Emily and I lay on the hay, without speaking. There was nothing to be said. We had a passionate tryst, but now it was over. When morning came, she was gone. I got up and looked for her. When I saw her, she was once again properly attired as the dutiful Southern lady that she was. I looked her in the eye, and saw that the passionate dame who rolled around in the hay with me was gone. The other women of the house seemed to be in prim and proper attire as well, nothing like the sexual banshees and wondrous nymphs my companions and I bedded the night before. It was almost as if the light of day made them feel ashamed of their recent nocturnal activities. I thought about it, and experienced one of those oh-I-get-it-now moments. These prim and proper, lily-white Southern ladies couldn’t have the world know that they lusted after the bodies of gorgeous Black men such as myself and my companions. Although they screamed our names passionately last night, in the morning, they were cold as ice. In fact, in no uncertain terms, they asked us to leave. Well, we didn’t want to linger anyway. I found Alan and James well-rested, dressed for travel with beaming smiles on their faces. I wasn’t the only one who had a hot night! Thus, we took our leave of the farm. We rode off into the sunset, and never looked back.

When I got back to Boston, I was greeted by my father. I told him and the rest of the family all about my travels. All the things I had seen and done. Our exploits in the South became the stuff of legends in the small Black community of Boston. When I do look back on my experiences from time to time, I tend to smile. All human beings have an animal side deep inside them. It’s just waiting to get out. We’re all slaves to passion at the end of day, man and woman alike. It’s not something that will change anytime soon. Men are men. Women are women. Regardless of race, we’re all the same underneath it all. Slaves to our passions, no matter what they may be. Accept that, because it’s the simple truth. What was true in my time is also true in yours. Farewell, folks.

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