Interracial Profiling Gone Wrong

A successful, law-abiding black man get's fed up with being racially profiled and goes off the deep end.

I'm a black man. I'm not a thug. I don't sell d**gs. I won't hurt you.
I'm actually a doctor. Went to college and medical school. I help people.
But none of that matters when you're a black man, you see. White people only see you one way.
I've been pulled over by the cops too many times to remember. Questioned. Harassed. It's humiliating.
And it's not just the authorities. It's regular people too. You can try to ignore it, but you can tell. When you're walking down the street, white ladies cross to the other side or or they hold their purse tight to their chest while they look at you with fear or suspicion. They don't even know me, but they think I'm some stereotype. I used to try to put people at ease. You know, I would try to smile or whistle some Disney song. I mean how dangerous can a man who is whistling the theme song to “Frozen” be? Doesn't matter. I'm just a black man to them. Well I'm done with trying to be the nice guy. You think I'm some bad ass nigger. Fine. I'll play your game.

It all started one day when I was at a medical convention in Atlanta. It'd been a long day and I finally got back to the hotel and needed to take the elevator up to the 8th floor. I saw at the end of the hall the elevator door was closing. Two white ladies, mid-thirties were in the elevator–one blonde, one brunette. They were dressed like they had been out on the town on a girls night out. I called out “Hold the door, please!” I was moving quickly toward the door to catch it, but it was too far away. The girls had a look of sudden fear in their eyes. They didn't hold the door. I got there in time to stick my hand in the door, but it wouldn't reopen so I snatched my hand back and it closed as the blonde and I looked into each other's eyes through the closing crack from just a couple feet apart. After the doors closed, before the elevator started ascending, I could hear them talking through the door.
“Jesus, did you see the size of that guy. He was trying to get us!”
“He scared the shit outta me!”
“My momma always said watch out for the black thugs in downtown Atlanta…”

Damn it! I thought. If you only knew I was a damn doctor who saves lives and heals people. I was tired, I wasn't in the mood for being patient with people's unfair biases. But there was nothing I could do. I waited for the next elevator. It took five minutes.

Back in my room I decided to unwind with a little hotel porn. I ordered up an interracial flick to watch some big dicked nigger fuck some white bitch. I thought it might make me feel better. But before I started the movie, I realized I needed some ice. So I threw on a robe and headed out the door and down the hall. As I turned the corner to a little room with a snack machine and ice dispenser, guess who was there? It was the brunette. She was facing away from me, bent over retrieving a bag of chips from the snack machine. She was wearing a tight fitting club dress that showed off her curves and left her legs exposed all the way up to her upper thighs. She had on a pair of heals that almost looked like stripper would wear while she danced around a pole on a bar in some shady club. It never ceases to amaze me who these women pass judgment on me, thinking I'm some degenerate who's going to **** them when they are walking around dressed like a whore you might see in a porn movie. I;m thinking she's probably got a k** or two at home, and a husband, and she's going to church on Sunday to sing in the choir. But on Friday night she's dressed like a stripper out gyrating her hips in some dance club for fun, constantly pulling down the hem of her dress trying to keep panties showing. If you didn't want your panties to show bitch, put on a longer dress. At that moment, as she was bending over the snack machine, she wasn't doing a good job keeping herself unexposed.

It startled the hell out of her to turn around and see me standing there. She gasped as the dropped her bag of cool ranch Doritos on the floor. She leaned back against the glass of snack machine and averted her eyes slightly while her lips quivered. “Jeez!” I'm thinking, “Am I that scary standing here in my robe?” I slowly bent down to pick up her bag of Doritos and started to hand them to her. She drew back as far as she could and without even looking at me said almost crying, “You can have them, just please don't hurt me.”

On any other day, I might have tried to explain myself or just turned around and walked the other way. But not today. I had had it. I didn't feel sorry for this white bitch. I didn't care. The preview of that white actress getting pounded from behind in the porn movie by a hung black man flashed in my mind. The look on the actresses face mimicked what I saw on this brunette's face–a mixture of fear and desire, partly wanting to escape, partly wanting to submit to a powerful alpha male.

Slowly, I pulled back my hand and opened the bag of Doritos and said. “You know something. You don't even know me. All you see is a black man. I think, you don't want to see anything else. You want me to play this part.” I put a chip in my mouth and chewed it up. “Look at me. I said look at me.” She turned her eyes toward me. They were blue. Looking at ehr closer now, I could see she was definitely a brunette with neatly trimmed brown eyebrows, but she had blonde highlights streaked through her hair. Sh';d painted her lips a deep red for her night out on the town and they made her teeth look perfectly white.

I untied the knot on my robe and it swung open. I did not have my boxers on underneath (as I had just been preparing to masturbate to a porn movie in my bed a couple minutes ago). The white slut's eyes dropped down to my hanging black cock and her breath caught in her throat. It was not erect, but it was probably still a good 7 or 8 inches. I am well-endowed and I was previewing porn just minutes earlier. The girls gaze was transfixed. It reminded me almost exactly of that porn actress's stare. She wanted to run away, but I was blocking her. But something else was keeping her in place and I knew it for the first time. As much as she feared me, she was also drawn to something forbidden and dangerous. She had never had sex with a black guy, never wanted to–she thought. But there is something so powerful about forbidden fruit. You don't even know you want it, don't even know you've been avoiding until one day the desire hits you and it unleashes years or even decades of longing like an overwhelming flood.

I non-nonchalantly ate another chip. “You see, you want me to fuck you, don't you? To f***e you to break your own taboo. You're too weak to do it it yourself. You need me to do it for you. All this time you've been thinking you're afraid of me. But really, you're afraid of breaking the code you grew up with. You've been afraid of black men because you knew they were strong enough to shatter your inhibitions, to make you face your racist fears and move past them. Well today princess, your wish has come true. Kneel.”

Her tiny feminine frame shivered involuntarily, but her pretty blue eyes were locked on my cock, which was beginning to grow from my new-found sense of power.I was going to rule this woman. She was going to be my personal white bitch tonight. I placed my right hand on her tiny white shoulder. “Kneel.” I repeated. And she did.

She didn't need any more coaxing. Kneeling in front of me, here skimpy club dress now riding up her slightly parted thighs, she reached out and took my cock in her hand. It looked heavy in her skinny white fingers. Her little hand could not encircle my shaft all the way. She reached up with her other hand, huge diamond ring and wedding band on her third finger. Her hands felt cool and slender as she moved them up and down my length as my cock grew harder.

She leaned forward, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and took my cock in her mouth. I pushed it all the way to the back of her throat. I was not in the mood to be gentle…