*Inspired by an IRL conversation I had with a good long-time friend of mine/my current white roommate. Long story short, recently walked-in on him masturbating to M2F/’wishing he was suddenly a woman’/X-Change Pill type porn (gotta lock those doors people, even during quarantine).*
*In any case, asked him about his deal, and he let me in on some of his… deeper* ***kinks*** *that I’ve since grown to enjoy as well. So, this whole thing’s written from the perspective of what I, from the outside, would gladly tell y’all if I thought you was in a similar boat as him.*
*If you don’t enjoy gender bending, race play/stereotype play, and some degradation elements, this ain’t gonna be for you. You have been warned.*
*Enjoy fam.*
***______________________________________***
I’ll repeat it again for the readers in the back:
I.
Know.
What.
You.
*Motherfucking.*
*White.*
*Boys.*
***Need.***
***______________________________________***
Bold claims out the way, ima just go ahead and introduce myself.
You can call me Tyrell. Let’s just say who I am beyond that, where I’m from, the endless small talk bullshit: it doesn’t really matter right about now.
**What’s important is what I can do for you.**
You see, I’ve been keeping tabs on the average, bland, *timid as fuck* dilemma known as your sad, Caucasian ‘male’ /s existence for a while now.
I’ve been watching how you go about doing things. Listening, evaluating, silently drawing conclusions.
Frankly paying much closer attention to your *minor league life* than most would ever care to.
So trust that I’m not coming at this like some sort of tourist in nosiness, a voyeur hobbyist.
No: consider me more like a low key *academic* when it comes to all things *you.* And let’s just say that this *researcher* has drawn a few. fucking. conclusions.
***______________________________________***
For one, I don’t think you’re gay. Or at least, not in the typical sense.
What’s increasingly been *getting you off* in private, the brewing, carnal, **gender bending desires** our modern world has let y’all further explore online, may have gotten you questioning that default sexuality lately. Your place on the spectrum, so to speak.
But nevertheless, the *idea* that you can be acutely defined, in the most specific of senses, as a *purely homosexual dude*, open and shut case, doesn’t strike me personally as capturing the **full goddamn picture.**
***______________________________________***
Let’s start with your porn usage. I know you watch it. I know you read it (like you’re feverishly doing now)…
And I know you do so *constantly.*
Don’t lie. At this point, I don’t think you could go a week off the stuff without literally shaking with uncontrollable, dripping, weak, impulsive *e-horniness.*
In contrast, your conventionally successful **Black Superman™** over here too busy making *$fat stacks$* to habitually jerk it alone.
We hit the streets for *real pussy.* Fake screen girl ain’t need this *virile Mandingo seed.*
Anyway. Unlike everyone else though, I actually *get* **why** you resort to *XXX* so much.
No judgements here.
**Only truth.**
***______________________________________***
Hypothetically speaking, let’s take a brief moment, and *imagine* that you and I were to go out on the town.
Of course, first I’d have to drag you out the apartment (I know you prefer being alone with your Netflix and video games then be at the packed-house bar scene) to make that happen.
After that is said and done though, I’d have us meet up with some of my righteous work brothas (#salesteamkillas), for a *baller squad night* of chasing tail and picking up ***Insta thot deets*** (COVID don’t exist in this fictional example, don’t worry about getting sick now).
So we walk into a banging place, right. Music going, everyone’s shoulder to shoulder it’s so popping.
And we catch a *pack of honeys* getting drinks. There’s four of them: they’re all single, hot, and open for the swoop.
So, *what happens next?*
**What would** ***always*** **happen next for you?**
***______________________________________***
Well, to answer that, let’s take a moment to see what *they see.*
What the Beckys are looking at is a group of normal mates, a couple **tall, strong, Black & Proud (us)**, and one **slightly shorter, bit nervous, lily livered white (you)**, clearly on the prowl.
Supposing that the girls are interested in getting pulled tonight, we’d assume that they’re occasionally eyeing us up, looking out for a few potential matches.
Therefore, sales crew and I clearly *prepared* for the possibility of being their lucky Friday mistake(s)… and I’m not talking about, like, just wearing on-point threads and spritzing some cologne on to do so.
You see, these easy rules of thumb (i.e. “Be clean, be nice, be yourself, dress well”), while obviously important, *unfortunately for you* aren’t the kinds of things that make us genuinely *stand out* **as men** to babes in a situation like this.
It ain’t gonna seal the deal.
The ‘prep’ I’m talking about refers to how my friends and I *instinctually choose to live our lives,* in no small part to *maximize our success* in these types of raw, real encounters.
Unlike you, we prioritize the *grueling* pursuit of corporate money over artistic/frivolous (even if potentially personally fulfilling) hobbies. We don’t care about fandoms, entertaining outrage, or read pussy self help commentary. We *grind*, at the office, at the gym, even here at the bar, while seeing all elements of our day, from food, to drink, to *time itself*, as **fuel for our hustle.**
We don’t get exhausted by the daily demands of the chase: we don’t wish for a more relaxed set of responsibilities. We *thrive* in our 8, 10, 12 hour workdays. We *like* being financially active, and find quick boredom in the home/domestic sphere.
We also, to your chagrin, goof under *unspoken masculine guidelines*, set up to continuously, *subconsciously*, promote Darwinian hierarchal competition amongst the pack: we rip each other to pieces on the daily for fun, merely to see if we can get a rise out of a homie, to practice that spitting and peacocking for a *fucking fight.*
You know, the type of classic *guys-shitting-on-each-other* that you really hate, suck at… and, at least on-the-down-low, are well and truly *intimidated* *by…*
…like some **punk ass bitch.**
This is the *attitude,* the *draw away from softness*, to lifting weights instead of watching Twitch streams, to listening to filthy rap instead of ‘in-your-feels’ alternative music, etc., that, deep down in our **Black genes**, we were born to naturally gravitate towards.
We thereby clearly and directly signal exactly what we are to *any room* of our choosing: **blunt, brutish, ballsy Black Men, with a capital-B, and a capital-M.**
The kind of guys that chicks would actually *want to fuck.*
***______________________________________***
The difference between *Us* and *you* quickly extends further onto the more *superficial* side of the equation too.
You see, we brothas were *bred* to pump iron: our **colored Kingmaker blood** *beats* with a **primal affinity** for hard, heavy, dangerous, *hypertrophic muscle building.*
This ‘war-drum’ *thrum* towards *hardcore activity* has allowed us over generations to absolutely *mop the floor* with you soft, scared, ‘socially-anxious’ Caucasians in the realm of motherfucking *sports.* You know this to be true.
You ever notice, white boy, how when *you* go to the gym, no matter how hard you work, your body never seems to really improve all that much? In the traditionally **masculine** sense, that is.
Far from being able to get that big, broad V-look you’ve desperately wanted since your teens (well, maybe *up until late*, but we’ll get into that in a minute), the magazine build so coveted, so respected by society on a brotha, you’re almost *triangular in physique.* Decent looking, but…
Bottom heavy.
**Thicc** in the *wrong places* for a *man.*
Your *butt* and *thighs* seem to be **juicy** enough to preclude you from wearing so many sizes and shapes of pants (shopping for trousers must be a nightmare for you bruh), and even so, somehow, bizarrely, *miraculously*, none of that fat or *fullness* seems to have found its way towards your *forever skinny* arms and *noticeably bony* shoulders.
Pair that with the exaggerated *curve of your back* stemming from a total lack of core strength/APT/probably genetics, and we’ve got ourselves an individual who’s *svelte* where they should look *strong*, *voluptuous* where *hardness* should be, and, overall, *backwards for their given gender* as far as *desirability* is concerned.
Assertive physical aspects (chest, back, etc.) barely seem to ‘pop’ in comparison to the more ‘gifted’ dudes at your local fitness center.
In comparison to *Us.*
And that’s not even getting around to **cock size…**
***______________________________________***
This *final ingredient* will thoroughly explain *once and for all* just *why* things have always, *always*, been so **difficult** for you, so *mediocre*.
Why you’re fighting a *losing battle.*
Why you’ve always been *swimming upstream* in life. Frustrated, antsy, *uncomfortable beyond belief* in greater society.
**We will explore what I have to offer you. How to fix things. Permanently.**
***______________________________________***
I know you know that my **dick** is *fucking huge.*
It’s okay. We’re both adults here. We can at long last admit these things.
Whenever I get back from basketball with the lads… I can see that you ogle rather unmistakably at the enticing *throb* of my adrenaline fueled, deliciously *pulsing…* no doubt *vein-dilating* **Black package.**
Swinging like a goddamn meaty, *girthy,* **pendulum** just beneath my bulged-out shorts.
My **rock hard BBC**, even clothed, is no doubt the sort of sight that could very easily inspire a kind of *animal lust* in someone of the *genetically submissive persuasion.*
Look. When you think you’re cleverly, inconspicuously stealing a quick peek at this **Black bitchbreaker’s bold outline**, slapping proudly all the way down my dark, burly thighs… just know that I’ve always noticed where your gaze has gone.
Every.
*Fucking.*
***Time.***
***______________________________________***
At least at first, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. It seemed like you considered my **Big Black Cock** not so much with open *arousal* as *envy.*
Which was, of course, perfectly understandable.
From the limited data I could gather from your (few) previous hookups… it seemed as if your own, *white* **burden-to-bear** lied more on the, ahem… ‘average’ /s side of things, I reckon.
*”I was totally cool with it…” she would say.*
*”He’s completely normal down there… four, five inches hard is what all the studies say is fine…” she would remark, barely remembering your time together.*
*”He’s so sweet and caring… size doesn’t matter all that much to me…” she would yawn, lying politely to yours truly after the fact… and deep down, to herself.*
**How many of them called you back for a second date?**
***______________________________________***
All this is to say that we have an *existential difference between us.*
The brimming **testosterone**, the source of my predatory height advantage, my deep, chocolate voice, my large, paw like hands, my size 15 feet, hell, even my effortlessly full beard…
This arrogant Mandingo *swagger*, the delineating line between *what we are*, all comes down to the sloshing, cum-filled, musky **nutsack** I’ve got hanging, like a pair of *suckable black coconuts,* beneath this *monster African anaconda*.
**Big, Black Balls that no amount of effort could ever allow you to possess for yourself.**
***______________________________________***
And so. My existence is *not swimming upstream.*
Judging purely from all the God-given, brotha rich attributes I have been given freely at birth, it’s safe to conclude that I am, by the rules of the game, a *peak physical and mental specimen…*
…for the *gender* I was born into.
*And this is where we can flip the script for you.*
I believe your **millennial Caucasian DNA** has been holding you back in life… *as a man.*
You suck at being ‘one of the guys’, you always have.
If you’re being totally honest with yourself, you prefer the company of the *opposite sex.*
It’s safer, more agreeable there. They build you up, share your interests more, and don’t tear you down without a thought. Your *joie de vivre* isn’t constrained by the requirement to *talk in a low, gruff voice* and *contain your excitement* in said circles.
I mean… have you ever, *ever*, really enjoyed the company of ‘bros’ like me, in the *platonic sense?*
***______________________________________***
You’ve been drained for so long, trying fruitlessly to compete *against Us*, attempting to stand out as an abnormally unlucky, pale, runt of the litter in a world full of literal **Black Achilles’**.
All of your *unchangeable masculine defects* mean that you will be forever *hopeless…* in *this* body.
In the bar, in the *boardroom*. In the **battlefield…**
*…you don’t stand a chance in hell.*
So why even continue trying to be *some stoic warrior* like us?
You weren’t made for it. Someone else can do that for you.
*You were meant for something else.*
Something more than the constant anxiety, rejection, and simply *being forgotten in a crowd* that you have so sadly come to expect from life.
Your physicality, your mindset, your **being** *does* have **value.**
You can finally be a *main character*, a **protagonist** in this story called Earth.
Noticed. Appreciated. *Longed for* and **remembered.**
The *white,* **curvy…** and face it, downright **feminine** card you were dealt can be your ace in the whole after all…
That is, if you breath, let go, and allow yourself to finally become the **pursued**, instead of the **pursuer.**
You and I both know you don’t want to really be an *Achilles.*
You don’t care for the glories of manhood, and certainly not the responsibility therein.
Even **Domination** in the bedroom is not a perk for you:
You don’t want the headaches that come with control.
You want to be the *object of desire* for a change.
You want to be *free.*
You want to be a white, jaw-dropping, head-turning, cover-model worthy, slim thicc **Helen of motherfucking Troy.**
You want to be a **hot ass white woman.**
You want to be my **trophy.**
My **snowbunny.**
**My happy little bitch.**
***______________________________________***
See. Didn’t I tell you.
**I know what you want. I’ve known it all along.**
Now. **Take this pill. It’s for your transformation.**
**We can finally get started.**
***______________________________________***
*So that’s it… for now. Turned out longer than I anticipated it to be. Happens sometimes.*
*Thinking of making a Part 2. It’d probably center on what happens after you take the pill, which would instantly turn you into the babe of your dreams.*
*If you enjoyed this, I’m sure actually getting to the meat of things* ***post-transition*** *would make for a* ***sexy follow-up.***
*We’ll see. Depends if folks care for this sort of thing.*
*Anyway. Tyrell out.*
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/kzhdrn/mf_mm_i_know_what_you_want_aka_black_mans_take_on
Love your writing style! The amount of enunciation you convey makes each section read like some slam poetry, lol.