Black Man One Ch. 02

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White wimp marries, remains insecure around black studs.
5.1k words
3.85
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Part 2 of the 27 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 10/11/2011
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My military career was challenging. The workouts were exhausting but somehow I got through it. For a period of time I even learned the sport of boxing, which was basically pushed upon many of us by our staff sergeant. I was 28 at the time. Staff Sergeant Williams seemed to have a way to persuade us to do anything. He was really tough on us. Generally, he "picked on" the ones that needed "additional conditioning," to use his own words.

I was one of those pushed into Boxing Training because I would become fatigued so easily half way through even the basic workouts. In a sense, it felt like more of a disciplinary action although I am quite sure his intentions were all good. The others in the Boxing regimen volunteered because they all loved the sport as much as our Sergeant did. And, they would compete against other military divisions and keep score.

To them, it was friendly competition amongst men to prove their masculinity. The matches were only 3 rounds each, which doesn't sound like much to anyone who has never been involved in the sport. But, it is tough to do. For me, it became yet another source of humiliation and feeling defeated by the black man.

After 6 weeks of training with weights, sparring and conditioning I was told that I was ready to have my first "real" boxing match. One of the trainers had always tried coaching me to use my taller 6'4" height and long arm reach to my advantage, especially against the shorter boxers.

That first boxing match was against a 22-year-old black soldier who was about 5'9" tall, but powerfully-built. He beat me soundly. The one-sided fight was humiliating, but the trainer tried to encourage me.

"It takes a lot of time to learn this. Keep trying. Keep learning." he always told me.

Under the pressure of the Sergeant, I continued trying this sport but things were basically the same. All the boxers I would fight against were much shorter than I was. Unfortunately for me, though, they were all physically-gifted black men between the ages of 18 and 25.

In a period of 14 months I ended up losing all 19 of these 3 round boxing matches, ending my military boxing career with a 0-19 record. It ended mercifully when the black Staff Sergeant Williams was reassigned.

Some of his last words to me were, "You best give it up, boy." He said.

Thankfully, I did. I still kept in shape throughout my military career, though. I learned a great deal about nutrition and computer programming. I was fortunate to be able to travel to other parts of the world during this time. I lost my virginity in Germany, and even had a few relationships along the way. None of them were as serious as I had hoped for, but they were experiences that made me feel good about myself for awhile.

In my 14th year, I broke my collarbone in a routine obstacle course drill. I couldn't believe my luck when I was given the option to heal and then retire with a full pension. I was 34 and returned home, where I took a position in the private corporate sector of computer programming.

Things went very well in that area. I was making a great deal of money and didn't have anyone in my life to spend it on. But, it wasn't for lack of trying. I joined a dating site and spent the next 4 years on it trying to find "the right woman" for me.

Between the ages of 34 and 38, I had written to and looked at profiles of thousands and thousands of attractive white women in their 20's and 30's. However, I had only actually met and "dated" about 20 of them. None of them would last more than a few dates before they stopped answering my calls.

With half of them, it seemed like the dating stopped after the first or second time we had sex. I didn't fully realize this until much later. In my mind, I was pretty good at sex and possessed an average 6 inches with an average thickness. I wasn't really "small" down there.

Of course, I talked myself into believing there had to be other reasons why things didn't work out with these attractive women. I am sure there were in most cases. Still, I continued.

The more humiliating part of this whole online dating site was the ever-increasing number of white women who would designate their preference in a man's race as "any" or "black." In those first two years, the number of them seemed to double. In turn, the number of women with a straight preference for "caucasian" men seemed to be diminishing at an alarming rate.

"Gosh. Things are really changing in the world." I often thought.

"Why are there so many?" I would ask myself.

In my third year on this huge online dating or meeting site I began to expand my search to other women too. Previously, I had always looked for women who were single with no children between the ages of 25 and 35, which was closer to my age. Now, I was turning 37 and starting to look at women who were single or divorced "with" or "without" children between the ages of 21 and 40.

I think the number of white women who notated their racial preference in a man as "any" or "black" quadrupled. This is not an exaggeration at all.

Even more humbling was the fact that there were so many white women with a child or children from a black man. There, staring me right in the face were their photos proudly displayed for all to see. The prettiest and most polished blonde, brunette and auburn-haired white women with one, two or three black children. I swear to all that will read this story that there was even a few white women in their late 20's who had 4 or 5 black children.

"Geez! Doesn't any white woman prefer us white men anymore?" I thought.

"Have all women dated black men these days?" I wondered.

By this time, I had already began to realize that it was impossible to compete against a black man's masculinity and win the affection of a beautiful white woman. Like most of us white men, we know this as the humiliating truth. Many of us tend to ignore the fact that black men intimidate us, and make us feel like "pussies" around them. We avoid the subject entirely and pretend that it doesn't exist.

This search continued on for another year before I came across an amazing-looking blonde woman who was 26 years old. Her name was Juliana, and her profile was a sight for sore eyes.

Juliana was 26. Her profile described herself as somewhat of a computer geek, too. She was 5'4" tall and 120 lbs., with brilliant natural blonde hair and a 34D-23-35 figure. Her preference in a man was "white" and she was from Kentucky, but now living in the same state as I was.

I literally stopped dead in my tracks as I viewed her profile and continued to read more.

She named the town she was raised in, in that state, and mentioned she had just moved here near the city a month ago. She had attended only two years of college, and she was a struggling model and waitress with no children.

Julie mentioned she got along best with older men, and was looking for a "better life" with a successful man who could afford to travel and show her the world.

"Wow. That sounds like me?" I thought, hopefully.

As I continued reading, I saw that young Julie also preferred "strong, very masculine men" but she also buffered that phrase to say that this was not the most important quality in a man as far as she was concerned.

"Gosh, I can be that too." I thought.

I grew more anxious to read about her as I began to look up the demographics to the city she mentioned growing up in, and where she attended school. Embarrassingly, I will admit that the main reason for this inquiry was to see if Julie had grown up in a white or black region. After all the profiles I reviewed and the experiences I had, I just "had to know" if this beautiful blonde woman had ever dated black men.

Defeatedly, I knew deep down inside that if she had dated black men in the past then I would stand little to no chance of impressing her.

The demographics for that entire region was overwhelmingly white. More than 98 per cent, actually. I felt a since of relief as I clicked onto the section to view her other photos.

Julie was even more gorgeous in those next dozen pictures. One of them was her as a 21-year-old cheerleader, which was taken 5 years before. Most of the other photos were current, but the few in her little frilly cheerleader outfit sent chills down my spine.

"She is the perfect woman!" I gasped.

Yes, Julie was perfect to me. I can also guarantee that there is no man alive today that would not be attracted to her. She was that beautiful.

She seemed smart, cheerful, friendly and loved computers. Her petite, trim waist and incredibly large breasts made my jaw drop. Her shapely legs, perfect smile and pale complexion were right out of the pages of a Scandanavian Model Magazine. Her soft, bluer than blue eyes in those photos made me "sigh" in utter disbelief. More importantly, she liked slightly older white men who were successful.

"I have to go all out for her." I thought.

"I have to meet her!" I told myself.

So, I did what most white men would do in order to gain the attention of a beautiful white woman. I exaggerated and even flat out lied.

Many would not understand why us white men in our 30's and 40's feel compelled to "fib" about ourselves to get a younger woman. But, it really is the demoralizing truth. Black men seem different. They could care less. Their natural boldness, confidence and aggressiveness combined with their natural physical superiority and dominance are enough for them. It's like they know they can easily get any white woman to kneel before them and worship their black cocks like they were gods. It is more difficult for us white men.

Immediately, I went to my profile and edited it more in the direction of the beautiful blonde woman's pereferences. I added to my already high salary, and mentioned my days in the military. I added that I was a successful boxer to show my false strength and masculinity, and I exaggerated my toughness in other sports, where I used to date cheerleaders. Yes, I wanted to show her that pretty cheerleaders would date me, which was another lie. I even mentioned that I was "well-traveled" more than just my days in the military. I described myself as a former athlete turned computer geek who was a chivalrous gentleman with a passion to protect a woman and defend her honor at all costs.

In reality, I was a big white sissy who had become intimidated by black men. I was a timid weakling who had lost the only date he ever had with a cheerleader to an aggressive black man. And, I was a tall white wimp who had lost every boxing match he ever had to a stronger and more masculine black man.

I was also a white coward who had to look up the demographics where a woman was raised to make sure she hadn't ever dated a black man before.

"She didn't have to know all that." I reasoned.

Pathetically, I altered my online profile in an attempt to compete with any black guy that might see hers. I wrote a note and asked her if she would like to meet. Hopelessly, I hit the "send" button.

And, it worked.

The next day, she responded with a return email. She wrote that she couldn't believe how perfect I sounded in my profile, and she suggested we talk on the phone that night.

My hands quivered as I dialed her number. Here was this beautiful blonde woman wanting to talk to me. We talked for hours as I continued to overstate my obvious athletic ability.

"Oh my god. You were a boxer? That must have taken a lot of strength?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. It did. It was quite a workout. Especially in the military where there is much harder competition." I answered.

"Really? Were you good at it too?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. I was very good. I never lost a fight." I bragged, lying through my teeth.

"Wow, that's great!" Julie said.

"How many fights did you have back then?" she asked.

My thoughts were running rampant. I couldn't believe how much she was interested in sports and athletics, and my former military boxing career. To me, she was talking entirely too much about the subject. But, wanting to impress her I continued along.

"Well, over 50 I would say." I lied, as the humiliation of my 0-19 boxing record crossed my mind.

Julie seemed impressed as she asked me if I had been into any other sports. Again, I lied to the beautiful younger white woman. I mentioned that I was involved in some martial arts and played a little basketball. More lies.

"That's great." she said.

"Yeah, I can see basketball in you since you're so tall." she commented, reading from my profile.

"You're 6'4" right?" she asked.

"Yes, well 6'4" and a half but I just used 6-4 for my profile." I answered.

Julie continued talking. She stated that I looked younger than my 38 years at the time, and asked if I still worked out alot. Of course, I answered that I did as often as I could considering my career.

All in all, the beautiful blonde woman was impressed. We talked for hours that first night, and for an hour everyday for a week before we decided to meet. She told me how excited she was and especially liked the fact that I loved to travel, and could afford to.

I spent the next 9 months in this courtship, taking Julie on an extended weekend vacation every month, and 3 longer ten day vacations outside the country. I lavished her with gifts and worshipped the ground she walked upon. She was treated like an absolute princess and I spent many thousands of dollars on her bills, clothes and old student loans. I even paid for her younger sister's college tuition that school year.

I didn't mind. I had the money. A lot of it, in fact. I saved a great deal and was getting a military pension while working in a field that paid outrageous salaries. I had convinced Julie to quit her waitress job after only 4 months of dating and return to school to finish her degree. Financially, I had made her the happiest woman. She didn't have to worry about a thing. Physically, things seemed to be going okay as well.

Looking back, it was probably only moderately satisfying to her. In my mind, though, I was her knight in shining armor and a sexual dynamo. But, I am sure this was far from the truth.

Early on, Julie wasn't able to have an orgasm. She always said that was "okay" because it just takes awhile to feel comfortable with someone. For the first two months, there were only a few orgasms that were "small ones" in her own words.

"Oh, they're great though. I always have small ones anyway. They're still intense small ones." she would say.

Back then, her words pleased me. I was so proud of the fact that I had worked my way up to having sex with her 3 times a week for 15 minutes each time. And, she conveyed a satisfaction that made me happy at the time.

During this entire courtship, I continued living those little white lies about my athletic prowess of the past and how I still managed to stay in shape. Julie seemed impressed and would talk about it more than I felt comfortable with. But, I couldn't go back now. It was too late.

Still, I felt intimidated by black men and I went way out of my way to keep my new girlfriend away from seeing too many black men. In public, I would "steer" her sight away from the multitude of interracial couples I would notice in the malls, restaurants or clubs. All of them were masculine black studs with the prettiest white women any one of can imagine. At home, when a show or a movie on television depicted a black man and a white woman I would do my best to change the channel quickly.

Once, when flipping through the channels and a boxing match came onto the screen to show a black fighter against a white fighter, I changed it desperately.

"Wait. Don't you want to see that?" she asked.

"Didn't you used to fight like that?" she questioned.

"Oh, yes. Of course, but I don't wanna watch that now." I told her, my face turning red like a beet.

The truth was that I didn't want to watch the white fighter getting beaten up by the black fighter, which seems to happen 100% of the time. I didn't want my beautiful, blonde girlfriend to see it either.

Admittedly, I continued to shelter her young and impressionable eyes from the obvious manner in which so many black men were with white women, and defeating us white men in the process.

After 9 months, I purchased a 2 carat diamond ring for Julie and proposed. She accepted. We would be married within 6 months and all seemed right in the world. It was for the time being.

But, being married now meant that I could lose my new wife to a black man rather than just losing another girlfriend, or fiancee. I continued living my lies of masculinity as I worked hard to please Julie as a husband and provider.

Our honeymoon was brief because of work restraints as we spent only 5 days in England. But, we agreed to take a vacation within a few months later at a more tropical resort. My new blonde wife loved the beach and laying out by a pool. Despite her paler skin tone, she did not burn. I suppose some people are like that.

It was great that Julie wanted to go to the Virgin Islands, and to a beach resort. I remember thinking that not too many black men went to the beaches, as far as I knew. But, the last time I had actually been to a beach was probably 15 years beforehand. It was a fleeting thought, but one that did cross my mind back then.

I was not prepared for what I was about to see when we checked into this exclusive beach resort.

My new wife of 4 months was anxious to get to the beach, but she wanted to unpack our things and put them away before that. She also wanted to do her beautiful blonde hair and trim herself before she put on her new bikini.

That is when Julie pulled out the swim trunks she had purchased for me before the trip.

"Here, put these on and I'll just meet you down there in a few." she said.

The beach trunks weren't very masculine at all. As a matter of fact, they looked more "pansy" to me than anything else I ever wore. They were a pastel shade of orange with a bright yellow face of Bart Simspon on the fronts and backs.

"Geez, honey. These aren't very cool." I complained.

"Oh, stop fussing. They're cute." she said.

I changed and headed down to the beach entrance to wait for my new 27-year-old wife. Being 39 now, it would be nice to have such a beautiful young blonde wife on a beach with me for the first time in my life.

As I exited the hotel I passed the edge of the pool area where it met the beach entrance. This entrance was merely a small, wooden gate leading to the beach front. I stopped there and waited, holding our beach towels over my arm.

When I glanced towards the pool area just 50 feet off to my right, there were about 7 couples sitting and hanging around the pool and pool bar area. Three of these couples were very athletic and darker black men with the prettiest young white women one can describe. Two of those black men were dressed in speedoes and the other in a more masculine pair of black shorts.

"Geezuz. Here too?" I thought.

When I peered out to the vast beach area there were at least another 6 couples of black men with beautiful white women. Granted, there had to be more than 50 couples scattered about this large part of the beach, but the interracial couples really stood out from the rest. They stood out blatantly.

One couldn't help but notice how demure these pretty white women were around their black boyfriends. It felt humbling to witness this on a beach in the middle of a resort, and nearly in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, Julie arrived from the hotel room.

"Hey, you. Ready?" she asked, standing there in her snow white bikini and smaller beach bag.

"Oh, sure. Let's go this way." I said, steering her in the direction furthest to the left side of the beachfront.

We walked for a few moments before Julie stopped.

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