2 comments/ 10854 views/ 12 favorites The Sexual Adventures of Ben Washin By: afolabi70 My name is Ben Washington Jr. and I have a confession to make. While I might look like your average race-conscious, positive brother, I am not. I have a wild undercover sex life. I have had many crazy, sexual adventures that have taken me to unbelievable places. Like a lot of brothers, I grew up with a single mother. Mom had gotten pregnant with me when she was 18, and my father was killed fighting in Vietnam. I grew up only knowing my father through pictures. My first memory of dad was a picture of him looking all handsome in his Marine uniform. Mom also decorated our little apartment with picture of her and dad in Afros and dashikis. Dad's death caused mom to get political. She dabbled with the Black Panthers in the '70s and always stayed active with the cause, whether it was pushing for affirmative action, opposing the death penalty or fighting apartheid. And she always took me along with her on her protests. I started carrying a placard before I was old enough to actual know what the words meant. Mom eventually went to law school, and got a job as a public defender in Washington, DC, helping protect desperate brothers from the Man. Since mom was politically active she made me a reader. She would take me to the library every weekend to check out a book. She realized that black children often didn't get any education about their people in white-run schools and wanted me to know there was more to black history than slavery and Martin Luther King. I learned about the many different tribes of Africa and of African kings like Mansa Musa and Shaka Zulu. I realized that black people had a rich history before slavery, However, Mom did her job too well. I fell in love with reading and preferred staying inside devouring books instead of riding my bike or playing sports. I became a nerd. Now there is nothing more loathed in the black community than a nerd. You can be a drug dealer, wife beater or ex con, but god forbid you are a black nerd. Black nerds are rejected like they have herpes. Young women simply weren't attracted to boys who could quote Malcolm X, they liked guys who slung dope and starred on the football field or the basketball court. Mom did her best, but she was clueless about navigating the minefield of teenage dating. All she said is "Always treat women like queens." That shit might have sounded good on paper, but it didn't work in a world where women threw themselves at hoodlums and jocks who treated them like dirt. Mom saw I was struggling and decided to bring in a mentor. I started getting closer to my Uncle Brian, who was Mom's older brother.He was a dark-skinned brother who was always sharply dressed. He had been in the Air Force, then became a commercial pilot. He drove a Corvette and had been married a few times, but finally became a playboy. He always had a different woman on his arm, black, white or Asian. And considering this was the '70s and the '80s, this was kind of of scandalous. Mom didn't approve of his interracial dating, She wanted him to settle down with a strong, righteous sister, but after two ugly divorces that was never going to happen. One Saturday, Uncle Brian turned up in his 'Vette and took me to see a movie and get a burger. As we ate our food, I told him about my problems with girls. He was sympathetic, "Don't worry, young blood. Young girls are crazy, they love them thugs," he said."Things will get better when you go to college. The pussy will be falling from the trees. Meanwhile, have this." He handed me a copy of Playboy. Now this was before the Internet, so porn was hard to come by in those days. I had seen some kids handing crumpled copies of them around at school, but I had never had one of my own. "Don't tell your mom," he said with a wink. I took the magazine home and hid it under my mattress. When mom had gone to bed, I would pull out the mag and look at the pictures of gorgeous, naked bodies. I had started experimenting with masturbation in the shower, but armed with the Playboy magazine and some lotion, I learned how making myself cum. Afterwards, I felt relieved. I could deal with the girls at school, who gave me no play, now that I had my right hand. Of course I didn't tell mom about this. She was a dedicated member of the local black Baptist church, which was the center of the community. We went every Sunday and watched the preacher holler and sweat as people got caught up with the holy spirit. I didn't buy it and like most kids fidgeted through church. Mom had done a great job educating me. She had made me learn about the history of Africa and read books by Frederick Douglas and Frantz Fanon. I came to realize the Christianity was not the religion of our ancestors. Christianity had been beaten into us during colonialism and slavery. And along with the images of a Caucasian Jesus, Caucasian angels and a Caucasian God, it was just another way of reinforcing white supremacy. The black church could also be quite hypocritical too. They never talked about sex and as a result a lot of church girls ended up getting pregnant. There were also rumors of the preacher running around with several women in the congregation and fathering a couple of kids out of wedlock. Of course, his wife suffered in silence and Mom would never say anything bad about a man of god. I talked to Uncle Brian about this. He had started taking me to the local gym to work out and pack muscle on my scrawny frame. Uncle Brian rarely went to church and I asked him why. "Shit, I gave all that stuff up when I was flying planes in Korea," he said as we lifted weights. "Man, you didn't know if you were going to make it through the next day, so I decided to live for the moment. When I wasn't flying, I was either getting drunk or screwing hookers." "What was it like?" I asked eagerly. "The girls were freaks, I mean they were professionals," he said with a smile. "They would do this one trick where one of them would climb into a cage and lay naked face down. Another girl would use a rope to hoist the cage in the air. I would be lying down on the bed with my dick hard. The girl in the basket would be lowered onto my dick, then the other girl would spin it around. I wouldn't last more than a few seconds. Man, those Asian hookers ruined me. When I got back home, I could never be happy with regular pussy." His story thrilled me! Although I was gaining muscle, things didn't improve much in high school, When prom rolled around I didn't even have a date. But I didn't care. Uncle Brian took me to the local strip club. So while my high school buddies, were dancing awkwardly with their dates, I was getting a pair of big ol' titties smashed in my face! I thought I had died and gone to heaven. When I was in high school my life consisted of studying, chess club, hanging out with Uncle Brian and fighting the good fight with Mom by going to marches and NAACP meetings. Mom figured if I was busy I would stay out of trouble and since it was DC during the crack wars there was plenty of trouble around. Her plan worked. Since I hit the books so much, I got really good grades and was able to get a scholarship at a large state university in the South. Mom and I were reticent about me going down South, but we decided that I couldn't pass up a full ride. To describe going to school in the South as a culture shock was an understatement. It was an eye-opening experience being a minority after growing up in majority black DC. The college's student body was 85 percent white. And a lot of the students were straight up gun-toting rednecks who chewed tobacco and drove pickup trucks. There were a handful of black students, mainly athletes, and a large number of international students from Asia, the Middle East and Africa. At first I felt like a fish out of water and wanted to come home. But I thought about the scholarship and decided to knuckle down. The college had a strong academic reputation, so I found the classes rigorous, but academically challenging. I learned that several white professors were surprised to have a black student who sat at the front of the class and paid attention. The only other students who did that were the African brothers who I soon became friends with. The professors were used to having jocks who never showed up for class and were given automatic passing grades. It was great to meet people from countries I had only read about in books. I became friends with an African brother called Samuel, who was from Ghana and he told me he had also learned about Mansa Musa in school. I soon learned that there was a pecking order in school. At the top of the food chain were the athletes, who got the pick of the best black and white pussy, next came the black frat boys, who got their share of pussy from the black sorority sisters and then there were the others,.That's where Samuel and I fell. We didn't fit into any of those other categories, and unfortunately there weren't a whole lot of women throwing pussy at smart brothers. I never got to hang out with the jocks, but from what I heard they had some wild parties, especially after victories. They had groupies and I heard stories of women hanging out in the lobby of their dorms looking to hook up with them. I guess it was easy come, easy go, because the jocks generally treated women like shit. When you get that much pussy you tend to not value it. I had also heard stories of jocks doing gang bangs or insisting a woman who was interested in one of them have sex with his buddies first. The campus authorities also colluded to make sure the jocks got their share of pussy too. The school would organize welcoming parties where potential recruits were shown around campus by pretty coeds who were expected to use their feminine wiles to convince the recruits to sign. The jocks also got their cream of the hottest white women on campus. It might have been the South, but people didn't seem to mind if their daughter was fucking a black guy as long as he was scoring touchdowns or sinking three pointers. However a lot of these relationships didn't work out. When the jocks eventually got kicked out of school, for flunking classes they were never capable of passing, or didn't make it to the NFL, the relationships would end abruptly. Sometimes when the jocks went pro, they would dump their college girlfriend for higher-grade pussy. As a result of this there were a lot of single white women with mixed-race babies in that small college town. There were repercussions for white girls who decided to date interracially. Some of these girls were threatened with being cut off by their parents, and when daddy was paying for your car note, tuition and rent, that had a way of working. But some girls didn't care, they went ahead and dated brothers even if it meant they were ostracized. I guess the dick was that good. I thought of ways to get closer to women. I toyed with the idea of pledging a fraternity, but I really didn't want to cough up all that money and I wasn't into that group-think mentality. Plus, I had heard they did some really crazy shit to newbies during initiation. There was a big scandal when a pledge almost died from a beating he took during an initiation. I also heard there was one black fraternity that would brand members. I wasn't going to put up with that slave shit. The white frats would do even crazier, homoerotic shit, like making pledges do the "elephant walk," where newbies would have to strip naked, bend over and walk in a line while grabbing each other's dicks. I was left to hook up with girls at college parties and bars, and there were plenty of opportunities there. Even though it was the South, once women were tanked up on cheap beer they would practically do anything. The first girl I hooked up with was a plump white girl who was drunk and had been grinding on me all night. When the club, closed, she took me back to her Toyota Corolla and blew me in the back seat. Looking back, I didn't know what I was doing and I probably didn't last more than a minute. But I didn't care, I was having sex. It was then I discovered that sex was political. A lot of the sisters would get mad, especially at the athletes, who were fucking white girls. They claimed that they were sell outs and had abandoned them. Some sisters even claimed that white girls gave the jocks money and let them drive their late-model cars, things the sisters couldn't compete with. That was the first time that I realized that black men were a desirable commodity. The sisters were mad because they had to compete with white women for a limited supply of black men. This was the 1990s, not the 60s, and people were free to date whoever they wanted. Sisters didn't have automatic rights to black dick no more. I continued to hook up with drunk girls in bars. Hey, you take it where you can. One thing I noticed is that a lot of these women would fuck you and not even ask for your name or number. It was frustrating because there was little chance of these flings every turning into something meaningful. After I graduated, I learned that many of these party girls would later get married move to the suburbs, vote Republican and become bible thumpers. I was mainly screwing white girls though. The sisters didn't really do the bar scene, they mainly hooked up at frat parties. A lot of them were holy rollers, so they would at least pretend to play hard to get, but they would eventually give it up. I knew a girl who sang in the gospel choir at church, but still had reputation for giving the best head. There was also a lot of hooking up in the dorms. When you put a lot of young, horny people together and throw alcohol into the mix, it's like mixing gasoline and fire. A lot of the drinking was underage, but there were always ways to sneak alcohol past the resident advisors (RAs.) One of the RAs was much cooler than the rest. Her name was Sylvia. She was different from the other students, because she was much older than us. She had been a housewife for several years and when her kids went off to college, her marriage had broken down and she had been forced to learn new skills for the job market. While most of us were out partying, she stayed in her room studying. Even though Sylvia was about 20 years older than most of the other girls, I found her attractive. She had short, spiky, red hair, full breasts and wide hips. She was kind of thick for a white girl. She had traveled extensively through Africa with her parents who were missionaries. I told her I learned about ancient African empires when I was a kid. One night we were alone in the common room sharing a pizza. She said she had seen me coming back from parties drunk, and had some good stuff up in her room. We retreated to her room and sat on the floor eating the remains of the pizza. Sylvia had found a bottle of wine and we were soon halfway through it. I asked Sylvia how she ended up back in college with kids half her age. "I got married young," she said. "I never really loved him, but my parents approved. Young men from our high school were also being sent to die in droves in Vietnam. We basically got married so he wouldn't get drafted. It wasn't a bad union, but there was no passion." Sylvia rummaged in a closet and pulled out a joint. She lit it and offered me a puff. In spite of all the Just Say No campaigns, DARE messages and warnings from mom, I eagerly grabbed it. I had seen plenty of people high, but had never tried drugs. I took a hit off the joint and coughed loudly. The weed combined with the wine made me feel mellow. Sylvian was loosening up too. She started talking about her sex life. "You know in 15 years of marriage, I never had an orgasm," she said, with a slight slur. I was quiet, in all my furtive hook ups with drunk coeds I had never really noticed or even cared about women's pleasure. Sylvia became even more revealing. "You know the real reason why I got married was because my parents forced me to," she said. "I grew up around all of these beautiful, black men and I fell In love with the son of the pastor of a church my parents helped found. They were furious that I had sex and packed me off back to the States where I met my future husband at a church camp. They said I was lucky he would have me, because I was impure." She added,"If I had my way, I would have married that African and settled down over there." She sounded genuinely sad and she started to cry. "Hold me, Ben," she said. By now I had consumed so much booze and weed, that I was already in a highly suggestive state. She wrapped her slender arms around me. "I'm sorry, I am just being an emotional woman," she said drying her her eyes. Her lips brushed against mine. Then they rested on my mouth and gave me a deep kiss. I felt tingles go through my body. I felt her hands cradle the back of my head as we kissed. I couldn't believe that I was making out with a woman my mother's age. Sylvia began to paw at my shirt and run her hands over my chest. "Ooh, you got muscles, I noticed you working out," she said. She pulled the T-shirt over my head and whispered, "Let me see your cock." She tugged at my belt buckle and pulled down my jeans. She yanked at my boxers until she exposed my raging erection. "Ah, you got a nice one, just like my first African love," she said. My dick was already rock hard and she caressed it gratefully. She stood up, staggered a little and pulled off her sweatshirt to reveal a pink lace bra. She snapped off her bra and showed that her nipples were already hard. Sylvia dropped her jeans and revealed she was wearing white panties that had Tuesday written on them. It was funny, because it was Saturday. She had a neatly shaved muff framed by red pubic hair. It was the first time I had actually seen one in real life outside a porn movie or a magazine. I admired her shapely nude form. "You like what you see?" she asked. I nodded silently in awe of her beauty. She pushed me down and straddled me. In my limited experience I had never had a woman ride me before. "Just stay there and let me do all the work," she said huskily. "This is a good position for women to cum because they can control the motion of the dick against their clit." She sighed as she impaled herself slowly on my cock, her knees resting on my chest. "Oh God," she muttered. "You're in so deep." She started to rock back and forth all the while grinding her clit against my shaft. Whatever she was doing was working, because she started to breathe heavily and clutch her chest. I just lay there enjoying the show she was putting on. Sylvia thrust her hips quicker and panted heavily. She reared her head back, let out a piercing moan and came hard. I suddenly felt my groin covered in wetness. "What happened?" I asked. "I squirted," she said. "That always happens when I ride a dick." This was another first for me. The few coeds I had been with had never done anything like that. She lay next to me on the floor and stroked my cock. "You have a beautiful dick," she said as she rubbed my shaft. She traced her tongue down my chest, stopping to play with my navel. Then she licked lovingly at my balls. She was teasing and taunting me and I thought I was going to blow my load. Finally, she took me in her mouth, sucking lightly on the head of my cock. I gasped and thrashed my head from side to side. I had been given head before, but nothing like this. These older women had skills way beyond college girls. I couldn't take this much longer. "I am going to cum," I croaked drunkenly. She kept her mouth on my dick and stroked my chest. I let go and spurted what felt like a gallon of hot cum into her warm mouth. She continued to suck greedily on my cock and milk me dry. "That was incredible," I said, afterwards. "Well you learn a few tricks when you get to my age," she said. "One thing I learned is never marry an uptight son of a preacher. Those men are awful in bed. I had to educate myself with videos. And when I got divorced, I kind of went wild. I guess I was making up for lost time. Being in college is like my second adolescence." The Sexual Adventures of Ben Washin We lay there for a while, and eventually moved to the bed. Sylvia wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my chest. I was surprised she wasn't throwing me out. "So did you just take advantage of me?" I asked. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," she said, smiling up at me. "But we both had fun." We spent the rest of the night drinking, getting high and fucking. When daylight broke, she finally fell asleep and I was able to slip out and return to my dorm room to get some much-needed rest. I was hung over and my groin ached. Sylvia was a tiger in the sack. We became regular fuck buddies. Sylvia had an insatiable appetite and after years of marriage was excited to experiment. She essentially gave me a sexual education. She taught me how to bring women to orgasm and even how to give head. This was back in the 1990s when a lot of brothers had a reputation for being reticent to go down on women, but I soon got the hang of it and enjoyed licking and slurping away at her fire crotch. She was a good teacher and would give me explicit instructions on where to lick and how to suck on her clit. I was happy to follow her advice, my reward was watching her amazing orgasms. They were intense. She would moan, throw back her head, clutch the bed sheets and howl like a banshee. All of the other women on her floor must have her heard her screaming, but she didn't care. Women's orgasm seemed to be more intense than men's and I took pleasure in watching Sylvia in the throes of passion. She also liked to be theatrical. One day she bought a cheerleader's outfit and let me fuck her while the game was on. And on Black History month I would dress up in African attire and play an African king who seduced her demure missionary. We had such fun knowing that we were playing with taboo issues. In between marathon love making sessions we actually talked a lot about history, race and religion. It turns out Sylvia was an atheist. I found that strange her being a preacher's kid. "It's all bullshit, there is so much hypocrisy that goes on in the church," she said bitterly. "When my parents stopped me from getting with my first love, that was the beginning of the end for me. For all their work in Africa, my parents still held some pretty racist views. They thought they were saving souls, but they were very patronizing. They honestly believed they were civilizing Africans, they were into that white man's burden shit. They never saw that Africa had a rich and ancient culture which had existed long before Westerner's arrived." She also told me that there were many sexual shenanigans that took place on missions. She would hear stories of missionaries who seduced local underage girls and would be shipped back home when the girls got pregnant. There would also be stories of missionaries who had abused boys, but that was also hushed up. The missionaries would be sent home and never prosecuted. "It's all about image and control," she said. "There is not a lot of love there." While Sylvia and I continued our affair, I never shared the details of it with my mom. I don't think she would have been thrilled with the idea of her son fucking a white woman her age. Mom wasn't racist, but she believed that, with all the single sisters out there brothers should stick with their own. She had also grown up in the 1950s and witnessed the Emmett Till murder. I think she worried about the safety of a black man dating white women, especially in the South. The only person I could talk to was Uncle Brian. He wasn't phased. "Yeah, that kind of thing happens a lot," he said. "A lot of these older white women want black dick. When I was in the service, I was fucking the base commander's wife." "What?" I said. "Yeah, he recruited me," said Uncle Brian. "One night he invited me over to their house for dinner and we were all drinking and he brought it up. He said he liked to watch his wife fuck black guys. I was shocked, but I was drunk, about to go on a bombing run the next day and his young wife was hot, so I did it. He just watched. And this was back in the '60s." Uncle Brian even told me a story of a white couple who would cruise black areas of DC looking to recruit brothers to have sex with the wife in the back of their van. Shit was crazy. America had a crazy, convoluted history with race and sex. White men could screw anything that moved, including having their way with female slaves and house help. On the other hand black men were killed for so much as looking at white women. However, this had not stopped white women from lusting after black men. I guess it was the whole forbidden fruit thing. The more you told white women to stay away from black men, the more curious they became. This was before the advent of the Internet, so there was no way for me to research this. The school library didn't have many books on interracial sex. I would later learn that there was a whole subculture based around white men who enjoy seeing their wives fuck black guys, but that's another story. Uncle Brian told me to me enjoy my time with Sylvia and look at it as a learning experience and that's what I did. Sylvia was a senior and soon got close to graduation. I watched her walk and she introduced me to her daughters who were closer to my age. I don't know if they ever discovered my affair with their mother, but they were very friendly. That night Sylvia had a huge graduation party where the booze flowed like water. When all the party goers had finally departed, we made love. Sylvia had a special outfit for our last night. She had somehow found a nun's habit and a priest's costume for me. I lifted up her skirt and fucked her doggy style, while we got high on weed. It was hot steamy, sacrilegious sex. Sylvia eventually got a job teaching English in Togo. We stayed in touch through ancient technology like long-distance phone calls on land lines and snail mail. I will always remember Sylvia as the woman who initiated me into a life of kinky sex.