Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist [FM]

*(Just a note: This is relating an experience that ended up involving some racially charged language about Latinas. I’ve personally had worse said to me, although not in this context, but if you’re very sensitive to that maybe skip this story.)*

College was a weird time for me. I’ve written up some of the exploits before, but the long and the short of it was that for a couple of years when I first got there I was anxious about class and stressed about growing up and also at the same time free from the constraints of having to live at home. I was on my own and free to act out a bit, and that led to some questionable encounters, led to me managing my anxiety about school through anonymous sex. It was simultaneously a hell of a lot of fun and also probably not the healthiest way to handle things; I wouldn’t change the fact that I had those encounters, but looking back I might have changed the reason I was having them.

Still, not all of my college hookups were older strangers in hotel rooms; it was college, after all. There was plenty of sex around campus, and just a little sex helped me manage the fact that I was too anxious to attend classes most days. Sometimes I needed a whole thing; other times, it was enough just to wake up in a strange room the next day. You can’t go to class if your pants are under this guy you fell asleep next to, after all.

This is all just setting the stage for my state of mind. The other things you should know, I’m Cuban, I’m 5’3″, my tits are 32A and I weigh 135 lbs., most of which is ass. I’m not from a Cuban part of the country so I’ve been mistaken for everything from Italian to Lebanese, but mostly I read as “some kind of Latina” when you see me. I’m 26 now but the incident in question took place about seven years ago.

There was this guy who was in one of my poli sci classes, a course on sexuality and politics in the Middle Ages that, frankly, I didn’t really attend often enough to remember anything about. He and I traveled in some of the same circles, though, and when I’d bothered to show up I would sit by him. We had mutual friends, he was in a fraternity that was friendly with the sorority I was half rushing at the time.

He was attractive in that way that a dickhead guy can be attractive. There’s not a better way to put that. He was clearly very impressed with himself; there was an entitled air to him that nettled me but on some other level impressed me. I don’t think he even realized it; it was the kind of self-important douchery that could only come naturally, from a life of entitlement that almost made it not his fault.

Plus, to be fair, he was a physical specimen. I saw a picture recently of him and he didn’t stop drinking or eating and he’s filled out into dad bod territory (which, frankly, is also a turn on for me, but that’s a different topic for a different time) a bit since, but at the time he had a full head of hair and a chiseled jawline and a vaguely athletic body that implied that he wasn’t unfamiliar with the inner workings of a gym even if he didn’t reside there 24/7. And he was funny; he was the kind of guy that was a dick, but it was kind of fun to be around him as long as he was on your side.

So when he and I were a little buzzed at one point mid-spring semester “sophomore” year (because honestly I was probably still a freshman based on the number of credits I’d completed) and he and I started making out and he insinuated that I go back with him to his room (“invite” being the wrong word because his demeanor implied that it was kind of a foregone conclusion that this would happen, which frankly wasn’t really that far from the reality of the thing), I wasn’t against it. I was kind of into the idea. Yeah, he was an ass, but he was hot, I was trying not to think about an upcoming paper I had due, and he would take my mind off that for the night.

We got back to his room; the usual fumbling, drunken make out session occurs, hands wandering to where they were previously forbidden, parts that you keep to yourself shared. You know without me telling you how it went; his shirt, then my shirt, then his hands in my pants, then me trying to figure out his belt why he tried to figure out my bra. I figured I’d blow him, because his cock seemed to match the rest of his body, it seemed to explain his sense of entitlement. It was *just right*, not too thick, not too long, everything proportionate, everything straight and trimmed. It’s still one of the most visually appealing cocks I’ve ever seen, and I knew I was going to put it in my mouth the second I got his belt off.

It was while I was on my knees, head between his legs, him reclining on the side of the dorm bed, the Christmas lights he’d wound around the room twinkling and giving off a weird surreal mood lighting that he said the thing that probably should have made me stop. I should preface, I’m used to dirty talk, I’d had a few experiences where men I didn’t know at all said awful things to me while we were engaged in our acts, that those things didn’t repulse me like they should have. I knew that about me. But those people were fucking a version of me, not ME; I was a stranger to them, too, where as with Derek (not his real name but a name that captures his essence fairly well, frankly) he knew me. He and I had drank before, we’d hung out, he’d been around. He was an asshole but he was a friend, too, in that way that any member of your collegiate extended family could be considered a friend.

His talk at first was the usual. “Mmm.” “Yeah, right there.” “Don’t stop.” It’s just static, really. Almost a reflexive response. I’ve heard other things, too (this was not my first or last fellatio experience); “You like how it tastes, don’t you?” “Take it all the way down.” Sometimes they’ll throw in a “bitch” or a “slut” to qualify it, as if they’d be talking to some phantom person NOT in the room whose dick was NOT in their mouth, too. You get used to this. This

What I was NOT prepared for was what he actually said: “Suck it like your green card depends on it, slut.”

Now, okay. I was actually born here. I’m Cuban but I don’t have an accent and actually can’t speak Spanish very well. My name (my real name, not Brooke, which is my middle name) is not really that Hispanic. But he KNEW I was Cuban; he knew that he was white and that I was other and at that moment, with my head bobbing on his perfect cock, he felt the need to remind me of that. To remind me that I was, in some fucked up corner of his privileged mind, somehow less than him.

A lot of girls would have stopped. I thought about stopping. I thought about stopping at the same time that I kind of whimpered, and I felt him tense, almost like even he knew he might have gone a little too far here. But I didn’t stop. I kept going. I sucked that cock like I was trying to prove a point, like I was trying to redeem myself, to have some value to him. When he pulled out of my mouth I got in bed, on all fours, and let him fuck me from behind. When he came he pulled out and shot all over my back, a good amount of it ending up in my hair and on the back of my head in a way that couldn’t have been accidental. And he kept talking. I won’t repeat all of the things he said, and I knew as I was doing this that my impression of our relationship, that he was a friend of mine somehow, was wrong; we weren’t friends. I was the Latina that he had been keeping on deck for a chance to sport fuck. But the things he said both repulsed me and prodded me to do better, to push back on his cock more; his objectification of me made me want to be the best object I could be.

After we fucked I went home; there was no walk of shame the next morning, I was already ashamed enough of myself to do it right then. And he and I still saw each other, and he acted like none of it had ever happened, and I tried to, too. But part of me, the part of me that gets into trouble, loved the things he said, loved the clarification on the way he saw me; it wasn’t that I was happy that he had reduced me to that, I just found it honest. And I’d be lying if I didn’t spend a few weeks remembering his degradations and remembering his gorgeous cock when my roommate would leave and I would masturbate through class.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/eyc4le/everyones_a_little_bit_racist_fm