I just sat down and composed this response to a series of questions posed by Miro Collas on his fucking HOT blog ...
Here are the basic questions he asked about interracial sex:
Tell me why - why does it turn you on? What about it makes your cock hard - or your ass tingle?
When did you first realize that it was a turn-on, something you wanted to do, to experience?
And what about your first interracial experience? How did it come about?
Wow, I stumbled on our blog while searching for bareback tops to follow on Twitter, and I feel like I've found a soulmate, someone who understands exactly what it is that turns me on to black tops. I was also surprised/shocked/titillated (choose one) to find that you and I are both INFJs, the rarest of all personality types. I'm not 100 percent sure how those 16 types work in terms of relations with each other, and doubt it's like the interconnections you hear about with zodiac signs in terms of one sign getting along great with another but clashing with a third, but I hope to hell two INFJs can get along with each other. lol...
My feeling toward black on white sex is exactly how you describe it. It's an amazingly evocative juxtaposition, and other than male vs. female, it's the starkest contrast in the human form. Black and White. Robert Mapplethorpe understood it best, I think, and I can only imagine how psyched he'd be today if he were around to read your blog. I stumbled on his "black and white" photos long after he'd passed, and it was like I had found someone who knew my secret addiction. It's the key to unlocking the sexual beast inside of me. Black cock just gets my juices flowing like nothing else. When I see a black man in public, I take him in through my eyes. It's not staring, it's respectful worshiping. My mind races a million ticks a second at scenarios ranging from whether he's uncut, whether he's got sweaty hairy pits, whether he fucks whiteboi hole raw, whether he'll go on to one day become president. I've never returned a look from a black man without a smile, or a sexy smirk, or at the very least, warm welcoming eyes.
Like you say, it's not about race. It's about being intrigued by someone who is as different from you as you can possibly get. I am fascinated by black skin color. Growing up in a white middle-class environment, I didn't have black friends until high school, and that is probably where my initial lustful desires first began to stir. Sports teams, gym class, the community pool and even some organized camping trips slowly introduced me to the beauty of the black male form. I'd lie in bed fantasizing about it. Flipping through magazines, I'd pause at erotic photos of black men in ads, or even just photos of fully-dressed black athletes in their uniforms. So mine is a healthy attraction, born out of curiosity and fed by a building desire that has transformed into almost instant lust.
Now, at the ripe age of 31, I crave, seek out and worship big black cock.
And being a powerbottom, I truly get off on the domination factor: I get turned on by being dominated by a top, and the imagery of that top being black makes it complete. Him being raw and unwrapped makes it natural and true. And the combination of all these things makes it perfect. Beautiful. Hot.
Of all the sexual hookups I've had with men, the absolute hottest, the ones that have gotten my heart beating the hardest and my juices flowing the thickest, are the times I've been dominated by big black cock. Perhaps the best way to describe it is to compare it to the effect you get from poppers: Kneeling in front of a black phattie unlocks neurons or electrons or all sorts of electrical stimuli in my brain, which in turn gets my nipples rock hard, which in turn gets my penis stiff and standing at attention, which in turn gets my mouth watering for the initial contact inside my mouth and into my throat if possible. From there, animalistic instinct takes over, always mindful of whatever it is my top wants, getting off mentally by getting him off physically, serving him the best way I can, priding myself on how well I can stand up to and hold myself steady and/or push myself back against his brutal onslaught, over and over and over, until my 'ceps are hot and bulging, the pucker of my slightly hairy hole is ripped out like an exit wound from a flared-out missile, my ass cheeks are red from the raw rubbing of a black man's brillo-like pubes (one of my all-time favorite sensations) and my thighs and calves have gotten a gym-like aerobic workout...
When we are finally finished, when his precious seed is either inside my ass or in my belly or all over my face or any combination of the three, I take huge pleasure knowing when I leave that he wants me again as much as I want him again. That, my brother, is pure harmony.
I'll save the story of my first time with black cock for another post.... I haven't thought about that experience for a while, and I want to go back in my mind and savor the memory so I can write something worthy of my initiation into the brotherhood of black-on-white. I carry on the spirit of that first encounter every time I bend over for my black fuck bud Robert, whom I have realized I truly love, faults and all. He is the one who has broadened my horizons, so to speak, with the joys and pleasures and stimulations of servicing a coal-black cock. I've written about this before on my blog, but today I was reminded of all that turns me on about black cock from your fucking awesome blog, which I'll be visiting regularly from now on. I always get turned on by tips and advice for bottoms like me.
thanks for getting me hard today, bro.
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