White Bitch Chronicles: Episode 1: Yul Meets Ramon
(c)2017 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: this story depicts oral and anal sex between males of different races. If any of these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
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This is the first of five episodes of the White Bitch Chronicles. The entire series covers a time span of nearly two decades. Each episode records the experiences and self-discoveries of a different white narrator who encounters authoritative black masters.
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I parked my car next to the space marked "Reserved for Pastor" and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Glasses? Unsmudged. Teeth? No food bits from the pizza lunch I picked up on the way over here. Tie? Neatly tied. I bowed my head and prayed audibly, "Lord, help me make a good first impression, Amen." I opened my eyes, then thought better of it and prayed again, "Lord, Thy will be done." I took a deep breath and got out of the car. Should I lock it, I wondered. It's a small town, not like the big city Milwaukee where I came from. Might seem unfriendly if someone saw me locking up. I took a chance and just put the keys in my pocket. I walked across the parking lot and into the front door. I spotted the sign that read "Church Office," and opened the door. I introduced myself to the secretary, a no-nonsense woman. The plaque on her desk read Hilda Larson. She told me to sit and wait. Pastor Reynolds would be with me in a minute. I waited. With each passing minute, I grew more nervous. I cleared my throat and got a sharp glare from Hilda. I tried to remember the things I had planned to say in this interview and my mind went blank. Shit! I opened my briefcase and took out my seminary transcript. Of course, I had already sent a copy to Pastor Reynolds, so that wouldn't tell him anything he didn't already know. What should I do? With my eyes open, I silently repeated my prayer. The first version, this time. Pastor Reynolds finally called out to Hilda to send me in. She tossed her head toward his door. I took a deep breath, grabbed my brief case and walked in.
With a firm handshake the slightly gray but otherwise fit church leader welcomed me to his office. "Yul! Come on in. Sit down, Young Man. You don't mind if I call you Yul. We're rather informal here. Call me Tram. The name's really Bertram but folks would do a double take if I said I was Bert Reynolds. So in High School kids started calling me Tram and it stuck. Want a cup of coffee, Yul? Of course you do. You Swedes love your coffee. Hilda, bring us some coffee." He had talked non-stop since I entered the room. I was soon to learn that was his style. As was not waiting for you to answer his questions. As well shouting through the door to Hilda instead of using the phone on his desk. As was assuming a person's tastes in food and drink are determined by their ethnicity. As was assuming all blonds are Swedish. As was assuming Yul was a Swedish name. It's not. It's English, just like Bertram. But his brusque manner somehow put me at ease. I didn't have to answer any questions or even speak for the first five minutes. Hilda brought us cups of coffee. Awful tasting.
"So, Yul, I was very impressed with your resume. Your grades were good. Your references were commendable. You don't have any pastoral experience but that's typical with youth pastors just starting out, so I don't hold that against you. We've been without a youth pastor for nearly two years now and we really want to get the young people involved." I wanted to ask him why the last youth pastor left, but I didn't think that appropriate. I was soon to learn. "In addition, the youth pastor oversees the Sunday School. We have classes from pre-K up through seventh grade. Seventh grade is rather sparse though. After they finish elementary school, kids don't think it's all that cool to have to go to class each week. Some of the girls do, however, continue to attend church with their parents. But few of the boys make it out on Sunday morning. Oh, once a month, I'd like you to deliver a sermon at church. Help you hone your exegetical skills. You know of course, our denomination is very progressive. And our congregation is multiethnic. Keep that in mind when you write your sermons. Let me show you your office."
He led me to a small windowless room in the basement just off the fellowship room. "Good quiet place for counseling young people. When you counsel a girl one on one though, leave the door open. I understand you're engaged to be married. Good. Don't put it off too long. Some people look with suspicion on a single man working with their youngsters. I can help you find an apartment when you're ready. A number of our church members rent rooms in their homes." He went on and on. But at the end of the day, I got the job.
I drove back to my studio apartment in Milwaukee and excitedly called my fiancee to give her the good news. Now that I had a job, we could plan our wedding. I got off the phone and took my clothes off. It had been a long day and even though I was keyed up, I felt I ought to go to bed. I stepped into the shower and thought about my darling. About our getting married. About our finally sleeping together. About finally having sex. With water cascading down over my body, my hand gripped my penis. I was technically a virgin although my right hand had been my faithful partner ever since puberty. I was conflicted about it, but my denomination did not regard masturbation a moral sin, though I still wondered if I ought to wait until I could have sex with her. What would it be like? What would it feel like to insert my penis into another human being? To fill her with my semen? To reach my climax on top of her? As I cogitated, my hand was furiously beating my meat as they say. I sprayed my splooge all over the shower wall. My penis immediately deflated and so did my soul. What had I done? Had I no self-control? I begged God for forgiveness.
When I entered the male-dominated, God-centered world of the seminary, I thought it would be easier for me to stay on the straight and narrow. It was just the opposite. At times, it seemed that sex was the only thing these guys talked about. They made lewd comments about the few females on campus. Some of them freely admitted having pre-marital sex with their girl friends. Some even patronized prostitutes. They considered me a prude. They didn't know what I did when I was back in my dorm room alone.
But now finally, I could get married and put all that frustration behind me. In the two weeks following my interview, I gave notice to my landlord, I packed up my few belongings and my many books, and with Tram's guidance found a room to rent in one of his parishioners' home. It would be temporary of course. When I got married I would get a nice apartment somewhere in town. I rented a U-Haul and moved. The next day I started getting acquainted with the town: the pizzeria, the bowling alley, the drug store.
I started taking over the Sunday School, but the teachers there had been teaching their classes for decades and didn't seem to need or want my guidance. I discovered that when Tram had told me the church was multiethnic, what he meant is that about a fourth of the congregation was African American and the rest middle American whites. I gave my first sermon, appropriately based on Isaiah 6:8. I explained when God calls you, be ready to answer. Be ready to serve. This doesn't apply only to the clergy. All God's people are called to be servants. At the end, as I stood by Tram and shook hands with the parishioners leaving, they gave me polite approval.
I considered my biggest challenge to be the teenage boys who were skipping church. I set up a meeting just for them in the fellowship room outside my little office. I ordered four pizzas. A dozen boys showed up. I listened to their reasons for not coming to church: sports, part time jobs, etc., but what they were really telling me is that there was nothing there to induce them to come. I explained I wanted to set up a club just for them, a biracial boys' club, where we could meet each week and continue this discussion. We could also do things like go bowling, see a movie, take a hike, whatever they wanted. I also asked them would they come back to church if they had a special area they could call their own. I suggested the unused balcony. They seemed to like both my ideas. Tram gave his approval and the balcony became the new hangout for high school boys on Sunday mornings. However, during the offertory, I noticed the black boys were clustered on one side and the whites on another. The usher passed the plate up there but I could tell he wasn't getting any contributions.The boys' self-imposed segregation gave me the idea for my second sermon. I preached how we were all alike, whether black or white. We all faced the same challenges, had the same fears, needed the same love. We are all in this boat called life together. On the way out of church, the approvals I got from the congregation seemed a bit more authentic.
Next, I made plans for the BiRacial Boys Club. I decided to call it the BRBC. I sent out a notice for our first Saturday night meeting. One afternoon the week before the meeting, Hilda told me Ramon was coming by to see me. I had pegged Ramon as a particularly difficult case. Black. Chip on his shoulder. So I was happy he was willing to talk to me. He came into my office and closed the door behind him.
"OK, me and my bros, we're gonna come to yo meeting Saturday. Yo so-called BRBC. But I need to set some things straight beforehand, so yo get the whole picture."
"OK. I'm all ears."
"In my book, yo's all shit."
I tensed up. "What do you mean?"
"Well, first yo preached we was all supposed to be servants."
"Yes, that's..."
"Look, we's through being servants fo yo honkies. We done with all that."
"What I meant..."
"Then yo preached we is all the same, black and white."
"Well, sure."
"Hold out yo arm." I did. So did he. "Look at that pasty looking skin next to mine. "Now, yo's tell me yo and me got the same skin, that we's the same."
"What I meant was..."
Ramon stood up and sat on my desk. He ruffled my hair. My long blond hair. "Here, Preach! Feel my hair, my kinky hair. Yo know, yo always wanted to. All honkies are curious about how black hair feels. Go ahead, feel it." He grabbed my hand, stood me up, and put it on his afro. It felt so strange. "Now, yo's tell me yo and me got the same hair, that we's the same."
There was lots I wanted to say, but as I was gathering my words, Ramon unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. It was blacker than his arm. And it was circumcised. And it was long. And it was fat. I turned red.
"Does yo puny little white dick look anything like this, Preach? Come on, let's see it. Let's compare dicks." He reached over to my crotch and gave a squeeze. "What's wrong, Preach? Yo embarrassed by what yo got in there? Now, I told yo I want to see it. Don't make me say it again." He glared at me. I couldn't help myself. I unzipped. I pulled my briefs down and showed him what I had. He laughed. "Now, yo's tell me yo and me got the same dick, that we's the same, Preach." He grabbed my cock and balls in his big hand and held them. "Drop yo pants, Preach. Show me yo ass."
"No, Ramon, this has gone far enough," I implored.
"Look, I ain't lettin' go 'til yo show me your lily white ass, Preach. I don't fuckin' care how long it takes."
I unbuckled my belt and let my pants drop to my ankles. Then I pushed my briefs down to my knees. "There! You satisfied now, Ramon? Can we please just stop this now?"
He let go of my junk, spun me around, and bent me over my desk. "Just as I thought, Preach. A lovely lily white ass." He stuck his finger into my sphincter. "Wow, Preach, yo is sho tight! Nice! I'm gonna have fun poppin yo cherry."
"You're gonna what?"
"Yo heard me, Preach. That's the only thing yo white boys are good for. Yo gonna be my bitch. Get down on your knees, Preach." I didn't move. "I said get on your knees, white Boy. Show me a little respect. Yo said yo was here to serve. Well, serve me then. Serve my cock." I had no argument left. I fell to my knees. "Go on, Boy. Kiss my cock. Open yo mouth and suck me off, Boy. Make me good and hard so I can fuck yo lily white ass. Go on, yo know yo want to, Yo wants to know what it's like to taste dark meat. Well, now yo chance, Boy. Open yo lily white lips and give me head."
I was disgusted with myself, but at the same time extremely curious. I had never seen a man's cock up close like this, and certainly not a black man. It was jet black. It had bulging veins on the shaft. It had tight black curls of hair on the ball sack and a kinky black patch of pubic hair above it. The piss slit was glistening, invitingly. I licked it. New drops of clear liquid appeared. I kept licking. The taste was intoxicating. I took the whole helmet into my mouth. I felt his hands on the sides of my head. Big hands. Controlling hands. He turned my face up to look at him. His pearly white teeth were showing. "Yo doin' just fine, Bitch." I felt my face flush again. He had complimented me. For the first time as Youth Pastor, I somehow felt proud of myself. I kept sucking. He pushed his cock deeper into my mouth. I kept looking up at him. I was entranced. I wanted to please this man. Yes, that's what Ramon was to me at that moment, a man. Not a boy. I had become the boy seeking the adult's approval. As I kept sucking, my lips kept advancing further down his shaft. His cockhead was pressing my uvula now. I gagged. He pulled back. "Hey, Boy, slow down. Yo is gonna choke, Bitch, gobblin' up this delicious black meat so fast." He pulled out. I frowned. "Here, Boy, lick it a while." I looked and his shaft was glistening, a mixture of my spit and his precum. Voraciously, I licked. I licked it from helmet down to ball sack and back up again. I licked all sides. "That's a good Bitch, Boy. Now try again, slowly this time." I engulfed his tool again, more deliberately now. He held my head and slowly advanced until he was past my uvula, into my throat. I didn't gag. His black pubic patch was pressed against my nose. I thanked God for allowing me to enter Heaven.
Suddenly, he pulled out again. "Huh?" I said out loud. He picked me up by my shoulders like I was a rag doll and bent me over on my desk. He kicked my legs apart, then bent down and spit into my asshole. In a moment, his cockhead was pressing on my sphincter.
"Loosen up, Boy. Don't clamp down 'n' keep me out. It'll only hurt worse if I gotta force it in, Bitch." I didn't know what to do. I wanted him to fuck me. I really did. But I was so inexperienced, my asshole, my boy cunt, didn't know how to welcome him in. "Relax, Boy." I tried. "Yo's my Bitch, now. Accept it." I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how to open my shit chute. That was it. I started to grunt like I was shitting. Suddenly, I felt his cockhead push into me. Fuck, it hurt so much. My eyes were watering. My body was sweating. He grabbed my hips and held me tight. He penetrated a little further. "Damn, Boy, yo got the tightest ass I ever did fuck. Sweet!" He kept pushing. I felt like screaming, but I knew where I was. I knew Tram could be nearby. I bit my lips. Ramon pulled back a little, then rammed me harder. Back and forth. Back and forth. He set up a pounding rhythm. Did I really feel his big black balls knocking against my taint? Then he must be all the way in me. I was delirious. Holding my hips, he tensed up. I knew what that meant. Back in seminary, when I jacked myself off, I always got tense just before shooting my jizz. That's what was happening now. I was the receptacle for Ramon's Man juice. I knew he was shooting inside me. Over and over again. He was quietly muttering. He too knew where he was. He too didn't want Tram bursting in interrupting him. He whispered over and over, "fuck, fuck, fuck." I began mouthing the word as well.
He didn't feel as tight any more. I knew his cock was starting to deflate. I felt sorry. I wished he could have kept it hard and erupting forever. Eventually, he pulled out. I felt something oozing down the insides of my thighs. Something warm. Something creamy. Something wonderful.
I heard his zipper close, but I stayed there bent over my desk, my ass, my boy cunt exposed. "Yo is never gonna be that tight again, Boy. Believe me. Once yo get ripped open by a big black cock, yo is never gonna be the same again. What do you say, Bitch?"
"Thank you, Ramon."
"Yo can call me Sir Ramon now, Boy."
I pulled my pants back up. I was sniffling like a baby. "Why yo cryin', Boy?"
"I'll have to quit the church."
"No, yo won't."
"When word gets out that I..."
"Who yo gonna tell? I sure as hell ain't gonna tell nobody."
"Really?"
"On conditions, of course."
"Anything? I'll do anything."
"Course yo will. 'Cause yo's my bitch now! OK, Number one, yo gonna go ahead and have yo little meeting with the what yo call it, the BRBC." He chuckled, like the acronym was somehow funny to him. "I'll make sure my bros is there. You make sure the white boys come. Yo hear?" I nodded. "And my little brother, Marcus, yo know him. He only in grade eight, but yo gotta let him come too. 'Cause I want him there." I nodded. "And long 'bout ten o'clock, yo gotta make up some flimsy 'scuse to leave, and yo will leave Denton 'n' me in charge, 'cause we's the oldest, and we'll close up the meeting and lock up the place. Got it?" I nodded. "Now 'bout that there balcony. Yo said it was just fo us, right? So what business that old dude got for comin' up there and askin' us fo money. We don't gots money to just throw 'round like that. Tell him to stay the hell off our turf. All right?" I nodded.
On Saturday the BRBC held its first meeting. There were five black boys (Ramon, Denton, Reuben, Therston and young Marcus) and four whites (two sophomores, Alistair and Mike, and two eighth graders, Kenny and Teddy). I was glad Ramon made me open it up to eighth graders in order to admit Marcus. Attendance would have been awfully slim otherwise. We are pizza. We went to a miniature golf course where the white boys outscored the blacks, who said we should shoot hoops next time. And back at the church we talked. I told them how proud I was; they had behaved like perfect gentlemen out in public. I told them about Martin Luther King and his dream. I gently urged them to try mingling the next day when they went up to the balcony. Then at ten, I said I had to leave, that Sunday was a busy day for me and I needed to get some sleep. I put Denton and Ramon in charge, and I left.
I felt pretty good. The new club seemed to be working out. This was confirmed the next morning when I glanced up into the balcony and saw the black and white boys alternating in their pews. I noticed a couple black boys even had their arms around their white neighbors' necks. I smiled at Ramon. He grinned and gave me a thumbs up with the hand that was wrapped around Mike, who also looked content. It must have been a late night for the BRBC because throughout the service, I noticed some of the boys' heads disappear from view, and I guessed they had fallen asleep in the pew. White boys. The black boys beside them also looked tired for I saw them close their eyes and open their mouths. Then after a few minutes they'd return to consciousness and the white boys would sit up again with drool on their mouths. But I figured even if they had to get their rest, at least they knew they could come to church and not be bothered up there in the balcony, and the two races were together.
After church, as I shook hands with the congregation, I asked each of the boys if they liked their new club. They nodded but didn't commit themselves beyond that. Typical teenagers. They didn't volunteer any information. Denton however asked if they had locked up ok, and I assured him they had. He told me he and Ramon encouraged everyone there to come back and bring their friends. I was pleased. Finally, I shook hands with little Kenny. He was more forthcoming than the others, when I asked him. He said, "Yeah, I liked it a lot. Yeah, I learned a lot; I learned a lot of stuff about black men; and most important, I learned stuff about myself." Wow! I couldn't be happier. For a fleeting moment, I remembered my encounter with Ramon down in my office. There I had learned a lot about myself, that I was a black man's white bitch. Of course, I knew that wasn't what Kenny was talking about. "I'm glad you found it enlightening, Kenny."
The next Saturday, there were 24 kids at BRBC, equally divided between the blacks and whites. The club was more fully integrated than even the church. We ate pizza and shot hoops. Guess who won! Again, I left at ten telling the new boys, "Now you listen to Ramon and Denton. They're in charge. You do what they tell you."
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In the next episode of White Bitch Chronicles, which takes place four years later, you'll discover what BRBC really means and what really happens at their meetings after ten. As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.