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Race: the fast food of phone sex

This is going to sound a little weird…

Try me, I said, trying not to laugh. The young man on the other end sounded shy, and I didn’t want him to startle and disappear into the forest.

I really want to fuck those tits of yours…

Okay.

Can you just make sure to say “big white tits” and “big black cock”?

Sounds easy enough, right? I do have big white tits, and I can imagine wrapping those suckers around a decent-sized dick of any color. He said he was African-American, so hey, let me drop that rack all over you. But after about 10 minutes into his half-hour block, in the middle of a ritualistic, impressionistic, stream-of-consciousness narrative of black hardness and big-white-tit-ness, I am a) running out of ways to say ‘big white tits’ and ‘big black cock’–which makes me feel inadequate as a professional wordsmith–and b) wondering, yet again, what is it about this combo of white and black that turns many people on, so very much?

He seemed to be getting off on the visual of it, the idea of that contrast between his dark cock and the expanse of soft creamy white flesh. Every repetition of those words made him shudder, and when I said once, just to take a break, “you like how that looks?”, his response was, “Oh my god, it looks so amazing!” It is a striking contrast, for those who don’t see it often or only in carefully staged porn, so I imagine that it’s part of it.

But the taboo aspect is more interesting, being more difficult to untangle. White folks have been placed as sexually off-limits for people of color in American society, enforced by centuries of slavery and lynchings and laws, so to be able to have that flesh might feel, in some way, to some people, like a release or a challenge. (I’m not saying it’s a conscious thing. We’re all fucking soaking in this shit…) And for the white men who call up looking for that experience from the other side, perhaps the act of being done by a black man is the easiest line from A to B, owing to how marginalized, feared, and hated African-American men are in our culture. “I want 7 minutes of violation and degradation” = “quick, get a black man raping my ass”.

Now that I think about it, race-based fantasy is kinda like the fast food of phone sex. A lot of people like it, although they may be ashamed to admit it. It’s quick and easily accessible and doesn’t require a lot of thought, either as a provider or as a consumer. The whole fetishistic package uses images and emotions and cliches and stereotypes and ingrained gut response to go straight to the libido and satisfy it, for a time. And then, well, they’re hungry for more.

Like my titty fucker. He’s now a regular. I guess he likes the way I serve it up. I’m into it, he says, and describe it so well. But really, every time it’s the same damn meal.

Big white tits. Big black cock.

And always a milkshake to wash it down.