I lived with my grandmother during the first twelve years of my life. She was a very demanding woman, and she made no greater demand of me than that I spent every Sunday morning at church. We were Methodists, and she was a lay minister for the congregation. She had me read the Bible when I was old enough. Whether we are speaking of my Grandmother or God, I knew I would be punished if I sinned. While I loved my Grandmother, I feared her. The same is true of God. I was taught to love God, but at the same time — based on my readings of the Bible and often the words I heard from the pulpit — I also learned that loving God was not enough. I also had to fear God. My devotion to God at this young age was a blending of love and fear.
The year is 2022 and the black population of Spokane (where I live) is less than 3% black. Approximately 84% of the population is white non-Hispanic. However sixty years ago, Spokane was a much more white population. My first significant and regular interaction with a black male was when I began working for KMart when I was eighteen. The staff was all-white when I was hired, but I had only worked there a few months when a young black man was hired. In other words throughout my entire childhood, I never had any real interaction with anyone who was black — or of any other ethnic group other than white Caucasian.
This is however not to say I went my childhood having never seen a black man. In fact, my Grandmother often had black men stop by to do yardwork and other chores around the house. While I would not say black men were commonly hired by my grandmother, over the course of seven years, while I was living alone with Grandma as my family had move to a nearby farming community, she did so several times. On these occasions, I was to stay inside while they were working out side. And after they were done, I was to play outside (or at a neighbor’s house) while Grandma fed them and paid them their wages. Sometimes when I knew it was relatively safe to do so, I would sneak back into the house. Whereas I often watch Grandma with her ‘gentlemen callers’ late at night, in the darkness, when black men came over I could spy on Grandma and clearly see what was happening.
I love the big black cock. And I also fear the big black cock. These two emotions are not contradictory. My only exposure to black men as a child — beyond television and movies — were those black men who came to our home. By keeping me inside, I felt Grandma was protecting me. I saw black men as different. However at the same time I knew my Grandmother did not fear the black man. Did my grandmother prefer big black cock to the white cock she got on a more regular basis? I cannot say. However, as a young girl who felt somewhat fearful of black men, I felt their was something more — for lack of a better word — animalistic to the sex. Maybe it was the difference of daytime vs nighttime fucking, but something about ‘everything’ I saw suggested to me that she did.
As you watch the video, I tried to capture in the first half of the video that I am fearful of the black male and his big black cock, but I also want to worship his cock and serve his cock — despite my fears.
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