This all started in the late summer of 2020. America's racial reckoning was in full effect and things were pretty heated out there in the world. And our house was no exception. My wife and I have been having arguments over all sorts of things. Both of us were spending a lot of time at home in our apartment, working from home and locked down. The stress was getting to us.
One night her friend was over and we were all having a few drinks. Talk of current events led to discussions about the pandemic, and then racism, and somehow the topic of having black friends and being a good "ally" came up. Long story short, her friend more or less accused me of being racist for not having any black friends, or even black people that I regularly talk to. It's not that I didn't know any black people, it's just that all the black people I knew from college or high school were either no longer around or radio silent. It didn't matter, nor did it seem to make a difference that all three of us having this conversation were very white.
The dynamic felt weird for a bit, but after a little while it seemed back to normal. The night went on and my wife's friend left after a few more drinks. I had a buzz going and thought I would get ready for bed and crash. I was wrong. As soon as my wife closed the door she turned around and glared at me, her face flush with anger and alcohol.
She told me that she was mortified and berated me, echoing some of the things her friend said earlier. I was hurt and insulted. I wasn't racist, and I thought she knew this. We argued for a bit and she basically told me I needed to make some black friends.
Fast forward a few months and a bunch of white-guilt-ridden Facebook messages to former friends and acquaintances and I have some plans to hang out with a friend from college that recently moved into the downtown area by where we live. His name was Howard and we had a few classes together years back. His new apartment was a few blocks from the bar he suggested, and he recently got divorced from a girl he met after college.
A few hours and a bunch of drinks later, and we are having a great time. We were not close in college but that night we were really getting along and having fun. Howard said he was doing good after the divorce, and was talking up his new bachelor pad in the area. He looked good too, and it was obvious that he kept himself in better shape than I had the past few years.
I ended up sheepishly telling him the reason why I ended up hitting him up. He laughed and shrugged, saying that I wasn't the only one to do this recently. When I asked what he meant he said that a lot of white people sent him messages to be, and he made air quotes, allies, checking in if he was doing ok and the like. Signs of support in these trying times. He then made a joke about the guilty white girls making it easier to go through the divorce. I laughed, but felt a weird pang of sexual jealousy. My wife and I have barely slept together in the past few months.
A bit later he asked if I wanted to go to his place to smoke some weed. I haven't smoked in a long time, but I was pretty drunk and loose at that point. I said yes and we walked the couple of blocks to his place. We stumbled through the small lobby, laughing about something or other, and went up the elevator a few floors. His apartment was a few doors away from the elevator.
It was a nice apartment. Big open floor plan, massive windows, and a new television hung on the wall. He gave me a little tour before sitting down on the couch with me. He put on some internet videos on the TV before excusing himself to use the bathroom and change real quick.
I texted my wife that I would be home late and what was going on. She replied back quick and seemed happy with how my night was going so far. After a few minutes Howard came back out, now wearing gym shorts and a wifebeater tank top, with two beers in one hand and a little box in the other.
He passes me a beer and pulls out some marijuana from the box, quickly and deftly rolling a blunt. He puts it on the table then walks into the kitchen, putting the box down and grabbing an ashtray. In my drunken stupor I watched him walking around. He seemed to be holding his alcohol better than me. I could see his back muscles through the tank top as he walked into the kitchen, and found myself wondering how much he worked out. When he turned around to walk back, I remember thinking that he must have a six pack under there. His arms were huge, way bigger than I remembered. I felt like I was staring, so I quickly turned away and took out my phone, feeling embarrassed and out of shape. If he noticed, he didn't say anything.
We smoke a blunt and watch some more videos. Random stuff, from music videos to funny video compilations. I quit about halfway through the blunt. I was feeling pretty messed up.
After a little while it gets quiet and we zone out into our phones. The algorithm is picking out our next video when suddenly it cuts off and is replaced with what I quickly realize is amateur porn, featuring a hung black guy fucking a hot blonde girl from behind.
"Oh shit," Howard laughed, "I didn't mean to do that," he laughed again "My bad."
"What, were you just watching porn on your phone there?" I asked, incredulously.
"Maybe," he shrugged, "So what if I was?" he said, making no effort to stop the video from playing on the big screen TV.
You could hear the girl getting absolutely railed. The slap of his hips on her ass, her moans as he fucked her good. The light from the TV of their ebony and ivory skin illuminated us in the room.
"It's just weird, I guess," I said.
"You don't watch this stuff?" he laughed, "I figured you did. I didn't mean to put it on the TV, for real."
The rhythmic sound of the couple fucking on the screen continued. I felt my face turn red.
"Yeah, but not with other people around," I protested, feeling embarrassed by the whole situation.
He laughed again. You could hear the blond girl moan with pleasure, screaming about big black dick.
"I think you do like what you see," he snickered, "I know I do. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'll turn it off. My bad again."
I felt my face go flush. I mumbled something about it being weird. He laughed again and said he guessed I was right.
"Just one second," he said with a smile, "I just want to see the end."
A minute later the guy on the screen pulled out his big black dick and ejaculated on this woman's ass and back. She arched over and shook her butt back and forth while the guy in the video came. His big, thick black dick shot out a few loads before he grabbed it by the base and slapped it against her cheeks. I stared at the screen. I felt like I couldn't help myself. Then the next video autoplayed. This time with a brunette.
"I thought you were going to turn this off," I whined, "Maybe I should get going."
"It's alright man," he said while he sparked back up the half of a blunt that was in the ashtray. "A lot of people like this," he gestured at the screen. "Black guys, white guys, white girls, I dunno... But I didn't mean to put it on the TV. Let me turn it off."
"You keep saying that," I mumbled. The girl on the screen was on her knees, two white hands around a massive ebony dick, slurping and gagging on it.
"Sorry, but I do like what I see here," he laughed again, "I'm not that into blondes. Besides, its good racial harmony, you know? Moving forward. Together." The girl on the screen gagged, loudly. "I know you like black dicks in white chicks. I can tell. We all do. It's good to see, right?"
"No, I mean, yes, I mean, I do, but..." I stammered, face feeling redder than ever, "It's just with somebody here and..." I trailed off.
