Black men have something white guys don't have anymore: confidence in
their masculinity, their
sexuality. They clearly know they're men. White men appear to be waiting
for the latest
sociological research study to let them know if they are men or not. Yet
black men are gentlemen,
something else white men no longer are. They make me feel like a woman,
both respected and
desired. I can let go of my inhibitions, my need to control, when I am
with them. How many white
men can treat a woman like a lady and ravish her too?
I often felt in my White Period that only during heated sex does that
little layer of air bubbles
between me and the world pop and disappear, leaving me open to intimate
connection. It takes a
lot of friction for two white people to get that close. These black men,
so alive with erotic
electricity, cut through the bubbles with a touch, a caress, a kiss�and
they free me�and I can
truly touch them. I am like a pampered passenger in a Porsche with an
expert driver at the wheel.
I know I could suggest a route change, but I never really want to do
that. On the other hand, the
last time I had sex with a white man, we slogged along a bumpy road in a
really old VW, the
driver like the typical bumbling tv husband who would neither ask for
nor accept the directions
he badly needed.