message to the blackman in america

From the Journal of Jaxon King,

by Skorpio


Part One

I knew Zach had potential the first time we met back in high school when I was just a freshman and he was a senior.

I had a book in my lap and was smoking reefer on the rickety old bleachers by the baseball diamond that wasn’t used much anymore. I often hung out there by myself when I wanted to get high.

“Smells good,” said a soft voice.

Looking up, I saw him: clean-cut, fresh-faced, short brown hair, with big puppy dog eyes and a cleft in his chin.

“Cop a seat,” I said, offering the blunt.

He took a drag and coughed, expelling a cloud of fragrant smoke.

“Good shit!” he exclaimed, once he caught his breath.

“Yah, my mom gets it for me. She doesn’t want me drinking until I’m eighteen, but she says there’s nothing wrong with a little herb now and then.”

“Your mom sounds cool.”

“She definitely is.”

“I’ve seen you around. You don’t hang out much with the other kids, do you.”

“Nope. Name’s Jaxon, by the way. Call me Jax.”

“Zach,” he said, taking another toke before handing back the blunt.

We shook hands.

“I’ve seen you too,” I said. “Some jock was picking on you in the locker room. What’s up with that?”
“Oh,” he sighed. “That was Scott. He’s an asshole.”

“It looked like he wanted something from you.”

“If I tell you, promise you won’t laugh or feel sorry for me?”

“Word is bond,” I assured him.

“He’s a bully. Shakes me down for my lunch money sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Every day.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Pretty much since middle school. What can I say? It’s better than getting beat up. Been there, done that.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know, right? But I graduate in a few months, so it’s not gonna go on forever.”

“There will always be another Scott,” I pointed out. “Why don’t you stand up to him? You can’t go through life being bullied.”

Zach shrugged.

“What are you reading?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Something by Elijah Muhammad.”

“Nation of Islam, right?”

That surprised me since most whiteboys don’t know shit about such matters.

“You know who he is?”

“Not really,” he said, apologetically. “But I read a lot, and random information gets stuck in my head.”

“Still, I’m impressed.”

Zach blushed with such a look of appreciation, I had to resist the temptation to run my fingers through his hair.

“What’s it called?”

“Message to the Blackman in America.”

“Sounds interesting. Is it any good?”

“Interesting is not the word,” I averred. “Would you like to borrow it?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “Let me know when you’re done with it.”

“I’ve read it a few times. My mom gave it to me when I was thirteen.”

“Did I mention your mom is cool?”

“Yeah, I think you did.”

We sat together for the next few minutes in silence, passing the blunt and forth. There was something about Zach that made me want to trust him. Maybe his air of innocence, or his eagerness to please.

Not to mention he was kind of pretty. Not like a fag, if that’s what you’re thinking. On the other hand, he wasn’t the most masculine guy in the world. In any case, I took an instant liking to him.

“If you’re not doing anything Friday night,” I suggested, “why don’t you meet me here? Say midnight? I’ll bring some herb and we can get high.”

“I’d like that,” he replied. “I’ll have to sneak out of the house, but my folks go to bed early.”
“By any means necessary.”

“Malcolm X!”

“Damn, Zach! You never cease to amaze me!”

He blushed again. I could read his thoughts: proud to have made a new and unlikely friend.
As for me, well, I did not see Zach as a friend. Not exactly. But I liked him. He was different from the other whiteboys at our school. Racist assholes for the most part. In any case, something had brought us together, and I wanted to take that to its logical conclusion.


Part Two

Friday, midnight, Zach was waiting at the bleachers when I showed up. There was a full moon overhead, and a chorus of crickets and peep frogs filled the air.

“I read the book,” he declared, giving it back to me as I lit two fat blunts, one for each of us.

“What did you think?”

“To be honest,” he admitted, “I’m not sure what to think. Is it true? What he says about white people?”

“That all depends,” I smiled. “Truth can be relative.”

“What he wrote about whites being created as servants to the Original Man…”

“I’ll tell you what I think if you’re sure you can handle it.”

“I’m just curious.”

“I don’t suppose it’s literally true,” I explained. “Basically, it’s a myth.”

“A myth?” he pursued, looking almost disappointed.

“Not like that. Myths don’t deal in actual facts. Myths are eternal truths. They’re stories that explain why things are the way they are.”

“I see,” he said, with uncertainty.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s probably too deep for you to grasp. I get that. I’ll do your thinking for you, aiight?”

“I guess so.”

“See? You understand more than you realize.”

“Jax, can I ask you a question?”

“What’s on your mind.”

“Ever since I told you about Scott, he’s left me alone. In fact, he’s been avoiding me. Did you have something to do with that?”

“Let’s just say I took Scott aside and had a little talk with him.”

“You didn’t pay him off, did you?”

“That was your way, and it didn’t work, did it.”

“No…”

“I simply told Scott it was in his best interests to stop bothering you. I told him you’re my friend, and I don’t like my friends being hassled.”

“But he’s a senior… And he’s bigger than you.”

“Bigger. Not stronger.”

“It’s because you’re black, isn’t it.”

I answered with a smile. Our eyes met. There was a spark of understanding between us.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Zach.

“Well, there is one way.”

“Name it! Anything!”

“Tell you what. Let’s go back to my place. We’ll be more comfortable there.”

I took Zach by the hand. His soft palm trembled, moist with nervousness, but he did not pull away.


Part Three

When we got to my house, my mom was still up. She gave Zach a knowing look when I introduced them and said we were going to my room.

“You boys have fun,” she said.

I shut the bedroom door behind us and removed my tee-shirt.

“Go on, get comfortable,” I said. “Let’s get naked.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t I tell you that isn’t necessary? Hurry up now. Take off your clothes.”

“But…”

“Just do it!”

Once we were both naked, I laid down on my bed, and put my hands behind my head. My dick was rigid, pointing straight up toward the ceiling.

“You can repay me with a blowjob.”

“But I’m not g-gay,” he stammered.

“So what? Neither am I. But I’m horny and you owe me.”

Gay or not, his eyes were focused on my dick. I was only fifteen, so it was not yet as big as it would get in the next few years. Seven inches, I guess.

Of course, a seven inch black dick looks a lot bigger than a seven inch white one. Not that Zach’s cock was anywhere near that. His was flaccid, thin, useless looking, really.

“Suck my dick, Zach.”

After a moment of hesitation, Zach did as he was told. He got between my thighs and wrapped his lips around my meat.

His mouth was warm and wet. I loved how it felt on my sensitive flesh. His tongue flicked instinctively like a tender, eager flame.

“You’re doing great,” I told him. “You’re a natural at this! That feels really good.”

The more I complimented Zach, the more he got down to business. Soon, his head was bobbing up and down, like a zealot worshipping his god.

“I think we understand each other now, don’t you?”

He murmured something, trying to reply or expressing pleasure. Or both. It didn’t matter. All that I cared about was my own satisfaction.

“Don’t try to speak,” I murmured, closing my eyes as my nuts began to churn. “I can read your mind. You’re grateful for what I did. You want us to be friends forever, don’t you.”

He took my throbbing dick into his tight throat until my nuts banged his chin. Slowly, up and down he went. Saliva coated my ebony shaft, making it gleam.

“Suck that black dick, baby,” I urged, affectionately. “You’ll get better with practice!”

Zach was so immersed into giving me head, I don’t think he heard me. Once or twice, he choked a bit, but that did not slow him down. Like I said, he was a natural cocksucker.

All whiteboys are when you come right down to it. All they need is the opportunity to prove themselves. Maybe if I was white, Zach would have bolted. But black dick is hard for them to resist.

That’s when I noticed his pallid, little cock had gotten stiff. Not that I was surprised.

“Suck it!” I demanded. “Yahhh, baby, suck that dick!”

For maybe twenty minutes he blew me steadily, greedily, desperately, until I felt an explosion in my nuts and I ejaculated, filling his mouth with sperm.

“That was great!” I told him, afterwards. “I can’t wait to write about this in my journal.”

We got dressed, and I walked Zach home. The warm night air embraced us. The moon glimmered.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I inquired.

“I was hoping to hang out with you.”

His big brown eyes shone with devotion. Specks of dried cum were on his lips.

“Cool,” I said, kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was the beginning of a perfect relationship, the only kind we could have. We could never be friends, but I didn’t want to confuse him with the truth. Not then.

True friendship is not possible between my race and his. You have to be equals in order to be friends, and Zach was never going to be that.

Still, I had feelings for him. I looked forward to getting my dick sucked over and over again. And I knew that he did too.

THE END

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