From the Journal of Jaxon King - 2
by Skorpio
Part Four
Next day at school, Zach hunted me down between first and second period to ask if I would meet him in the cafeteria for lunch. His big brown puppy eyes beamed with devotion and stupidity.
"I don't think so," I said. "I can't be seen hanging out with you. It's not my reputation I'm concerned about. I know that's what you're thinking. It's for your own good."
"I don't understand."
"I know you don't, so let me break it down to you. If a brother sees me with you, believe me, he's gonna know exactly what's up and he may want a piece of you."
"How's he gonna know anything? I see lots of black guys with white friends."
"Damn, I feel like I'm schoolin' you the facts of life. It's like this, Zach. Sooner or later any whiteboy who hangs out with a bunch of black dudes is gonna be doing what you did for me last night. It's not inevitable, but it happens more often than you think."
"I had no idea."
"My point, exactly. I'll explain it better some other time. Right now, I don't want some bull moving in on you, aiiight? We got to keep this on the DL."
"But, y-you'd protect me, right? Like you did with Scott."
"Scott was a punk. If a brother wants you I have no right to stop him. That is, unless..."
"Unless what?" he inquired.
"Unless you claimed me as your Master."
"Your Master."
"Master or Owner."
"Owner?"
"If I have no claim on you, you're up for grabs. Once word gets out that you do what you do, every nigga in school gonna want a piece of that."
Zach turned white as a sheet. His thick brown eyebrows crumpled with consternation.
"But, if you officially become my bitch, I won't have to protect you. Once I claim you as my own, no one will mess with you. We can talk about this later. Tell you what, come by tonight. Nine o'clock."
Color returned to his cheeks. His thin, pink lips opened with a smile that brightened his entire face.
The rest of my day went pretty much as usual. Classes were a drag, except for gym. Played ball with the fellas. Marcus asked who was the whiteboy he saw me talking to earlier. Some senior, I said.
By the time nine rolled around, I was playing a video game when Mom showed Zach to my room. My avatar was Luke Cage from the New Avengers, and I really didn't feel like being interrupted.
"Dag," I jumped up. "Forgot you was coming over. Maybe we can hang out some other time."
The look of disappointment was priceless. "Nah, just kidding!" I laughed. "What do you wanna do?"
Almost added the words "for me," but contained myself.
"I don't know," he mumbled.
"I've got have an idea," I said. "Remember last night?"
"I remember."
He hung in head. Out of shame or to hide delight, I could not tell. Both, I concluded. According to books I've read, being conflicted by opposite feelings is a Caucasian trait. Like an inner schism. One of the reasons so many, if not most or all, whites are sexually aroused by acts of humiliation and domination.
You very rarely encounter a brother or sister who goes in for that sort of thing. Then it's a sign something has gone seriously wrong. But with white folks, it's business as usual.
I studied Zach, let him feel the weight of my eyes. He squirmed nervously. It felt good having this kind of power over a whiteboy three years older than me. Like he was twelve instead of eighteen.
"Careful, J," I advised myself. "Don't let this go to your head. You're just fifteen. Imagine if you have this power now, what you're going to be like when you're his age. You're gonna have to beat whiteboys off with a stick! Whitegirls too!"
While I was lost in thought, Zach must have felt more confused than ever. I know he enjoyed blowing me. That much was obvious. Maybe not so much the sensual pleasure, but the idea of blowing me. Yes, it was that, yet something else. Something stronger.
The answer came to me like an epiphany. Zach was experiencing me vicariously, drinking in precisely what he lacks. My healthy drive, fierce self-confidence, virile sensuality, raw masculinity, and straight up power.
In short, my Blackness. When I let Zach blow me, I was giving him a taste of Blackness. The flavor of my essence as a Black Man, my Nubian Soul. I realized in that moment it is a sacred gift, like the ambrosia of the gods.
Clearly, it had a transformative effect on Zach. He was in love with me, only did he not understand how or why. There was no way I wasn't going to take advantage of this situation.
"I'm not horny right now," I shrugged, "but if you want, as a favor to you, you can always blow me again. Would you like that?"
"If you want," he equivocated.
"Zach, if you wanna suck my dick, it's up to you."
"Isn't there something else we can do together?"
"Zach, listen up. I like you. Well, let's say, I feel sorry for you. Last night, you did me a solid. I appreciate what you did. Now I want to return the favor. If you wanna blow me, just say so."
"Ok... I guess..." he hesitated, eyebrows scrunching.
My adorable, naïve, conflicted whiteboy. Playing head games with him was too much fun to resist.
"You didn't like sucking my dick?" I pressed.
"It's not that... But I told you: I'm not gay."
"I get that, Zach. But you ARE white."
"Y-yes," he stammered.
"Well, that's what whiteboys do for brothers when they wanna be friends. Like I explained before. Let's be real, Zach. There isn't much else you have to offer, is there?"
"I guess not," he admitted, reluctantly.
"Cool. Get your clothes off."
"Do I have to?" he rejoined. "I mean, can't I do it with my clothes on?"
That pissed me off. Didn't I just tell him to do something? And he was gonna fuss with me?
"Zach, let's get something straight. If you wanna be my friend, you are gonna have to do what you're told. No questions asked."
Without another word, Zach tugged off his tee shirt and dropped his pants and drawers.
To be honest, I am not sure why I insisted on that. Not like I had any interest in his body. To make him feel helpless, I suppose.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I told him to remove my cargo shorts and take out my dick.
For a straight guy, Zach went down like an expert cocksucker. I loved the way his lips throttled my meat and how he worked his tongue.
Slow, then fast, then slower, then faster, per my instructions. When I told him to lick my nuts, take them in his mouth, he was only too eager to comply.
"You're doing good," I told him.
"How much longer?" he asked, pulling away from my dick.
"What's your hurry? Let's make this last. Back to work!"
I grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV, surfing channels until I found a movie, Half Baked, with Dave Chappelle, which was funny as shit! I actually laughed while Zach was blowing me.
I was in no mood to bust a nut any time soon. I just liked feeling Zach's warm, wet, obedient mouth on my dick. When the movie ended and the credits rolled, I held Zach's head with both hands and thrust my hips, pounding his throat until I skeeted.
"You should see yourself," I chuckled. "You look like a bukake whore! My bukake whore!"
Running my hand through his hair affectionately, petting his head like a puppy dog, brought a lop-sided smile to his face.
"You might not be gay," I said, "but you sure as hell know how to suck a dick!"
I swear, Zach blushed like I was paying him a compliment. In a way it was, sure. In another way, not so much. Telling a guy he sucks a mean dick is the same as telling him he isn't a guy at all. Isn't that the truth!
"What you said earlier about being my Master and all," said Zach. "Did you mean it?"
"That it would keep you safe? Yes, I meant it."
"Marcus approached me this afternoon."
"Did he?"
"He wanted to know what I was talking to you about."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I was just saying hi because your mom knows my mom."
"Did he believe you?"
"I'm not sure. It felt like his eyes were looking right through me."
"He knows you're sucking my dick."
"But how?"
"Trust me, he figured it out. You whiteboys have no idea what you're dealing with. Know how we out jump you, out run you, out dance you, out fuck you? Well, we out see things too. There's a world of shit going around you got no clue about. Question is, what are you going to do about it."
"That's what I've been thinking about," he sighed. "I want you to be my Master."
"Are you saying that because you're scared of Marcus?"
"No," he insisted. "It's the way I feel about you. I know I'm not good enough to be your friend, but I want to be around you, and there's only one way that can happen. I've read the books you loaned me about Black Superiority and it totally makes sense. I get it. I want to be your slave."
"Sure you're not just in love with my dick?"
"There's that," he admitted. "I wasn't sure at first, but it makes me feel so close to you, it's a little addictive really, and you enjoy it."
"Oh, yes," I agreed.
"It only makes sense I become your slave."
"Don't you get it?" I said. "You were mine from the moment we met at the bleachers. Now you know what I have always known."
To be continued...