Chapter 1
White men invented clothes to cover their shame, this I am sure is true. Maybe one day a European man ventured too far into Africa and was horrified by what the men had to offer. He scurried back to Europe and spent the next hundred or thousands of years inventing clothes. He came up with elaborate lies about modesty and ‘displays of wealth’ to justify the fabric. How many layers does a white man need between his penis and the world? For centuries, European men drowned themselves in undergarments and pants and sashes, for what? Clearly, he is hiding a fact that we all know. Maybe it has been too long since a naked white man first encountered a naked black man and sent the species into a spiral. The modern-day white man seems to have forgotten.
…
It was just a local meet so I didn’t know why I was so nervous. I ran track for my college, got here on a sports scholarship, and we were having a ‘casual’ meet with some of the other colleges. There were no medals, no publicity, just a simple training session that happened to have other college teams arriving in waves. It was meant to be casual but all the students knew it was really a pissing contest between the coaches. They all thought they had the best team or star and they wanted to show off. Or maybe they were sizing up the competition.
The field was full of groups. The students stuck within their own college groups; it was early on a Thursday morning before classes, no one was in a social mood. Even within colleges, the students stuck to their events: the hurdlers, the sprinters, the long-distance runners. Off by the stands were the coaches who all greeted each other with a handshake. The tension underneath the ‘casual’ meet was evident in their firm, white-knuckled handshakes. Not that you could easily see white knuckles on their white hands. Each one of the coaches as white as the next, each student as white as the city they lived and studied in. Studded through the field were a few black guys, all on scholarships.
The black guys always won, nearly every event. At the last competition, in the events where Mersin Escort a white boy came first, there was always a reason. One of the black hurdlers had a knee injury. One of the black distance runners had booked a spot at the regional level and couldn’t attend. One of the black sprinters had been signed up for the relay instead. That black sprinter was me.
The only people to cross college lines at these events were the black guys: being black bound me to them more than to my white colleagues. I loved and respected them, they were my friends, some I had gone to high school with. But seeing another black man in an ocean of white always brought a calmness to me. We would have a chat before, between, and after events, cheer each other on, but still stick to our teams.
I stood with the other black-and-yellow clad guys, waiting for my closest friend to arrive. Another black guy who had gone to my high school but got a scholarship to a different college. Finally, the bus pulled up that carried the boys in sky blue; that was Trey’s college.
Immediately something was off and I could tell everyone noticed, too. We all stood around in how running skins: tight body suits, sleeveless and short pants above the knee. A few particularly insecure guys would also wear running shorts on top. Everyone knew it was an insecurity thing because they only just covered your junk and they did nothing but slow you down with drag. But here they were, a whole team filing out of the bus with shorts over their skins. It wasn’t some big explosion that draw everyone’s attention, but as each guy looked up to see the new arrivals, each one of them did a double take as they took notice.
And then finally, Trey stepped out of the bus and it all made sense. Not only was he the only guy not wearing shorts over his skins, he clearly wasn’t wearing anything underneath either. As clear as day, I could see every detail of his cock and balls as the skins clung to its considerable size. He had obnoxiously tucked it down one of the legs of his pants, hanging down further than anyone’s should. Well, it Mersin Escort Bayan wasn’t his fault; without underwear, it had nowhere else to go.
“Waddup, boys?” Trey’s voice carried through the completely silent air. He made his way over to our group of black guys and shook each of our hands in turn. “What’s new?”
“Um… that,” Jordan laughed and gestured to the literal elephant in the room. We all burst out laughing.
“What?” Trey shrugged as if he had no idea what we were talking about. “It’s more comfortable, it’s freeing! You boys never let it hang out?”
“Of course, but everyone is staring,” I said, subtly nodding to the scattered crowd of white boys looking in our direction. When Trey had emerged, a wave of whispers and gasps erupted in the crowd and hadn’t stopped since.
“Yeah, you get used to it, the team have adjusted,” he casually motioned over to his college, a group of boys in blue. If you stared long enough, it almost looked like they were ducking their heads in embarrassment. “Didn’t take them long to start covering up, did it?” Trey laughed. He genuinely seemed unphased but it all.
“You mean you’ve been doing it for a while?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah, basically since the last comp. I was sick of it, it’s uncomfortable all tucked away,” he gestured to his cock, as if tucking it between his legs. I went to high school with Trey and saw him in the showers a lot so I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually had to tuck it between his legs. “These white men put us in these ridiculous outfits and pit us against each other. Well, if they want me to wear it, then I’ll wear it!” He laughed loudly, not carrying for the teams close by to hear or not.
“As so,” I started hesitantly, “the other guys…”
“Yeah, after a couple of training sessions, a few of them covered up. All the better for me, slows them down.”
“And you’re allowed to -” Jordan started.
“Allowed to what? Wear clothes? Of course, it’s not my fault if my big cock doesn’t fit in their white-man-sized clothes!” Again he bellowed. “Coach called me into his Escort Mersin office one day and tried to dance around the topic. Told me the other boys were concerned about what I was wearing. “The uniform, sir?” I played dumb, of course. I wanted to hear him say it. He said “it has come to some of the boys’ attention that you’re not wearing proper underwear and it is making them uncomfortable”. I just laughed and left, told him it was none of my business if they wanted to have a look at what I got.”
I was shocked, I’d never thought about this. We all looked him up and down and he was as good as naked. The skins were tight for a reason; they helped you run faster. They clung to every crack and crevices of the body. Sometimes you could even tell what brand of underwear someone wore, you could read the writing.
“And the girls,” Trey mocked panting.
“What?” Kyle asked.
“You think the girls like track stars now? You see ’em at every comp, those chicks in the front row wanting to find a guy. They’re not subtle. Well, I have to fight them off since I’ve let the snake out of the cage.”
We all took in what he said, not questioning or mocking. This thought truly intrigued me. It was true: there was a stereotypical type of girl that would look for a sport star boyfriend, hanging round the track like a groupie. But if what he was saying was true…
Trey went on to win every race that morning. I stood with my college friend and watched on in disbelief as his ‘snake’ continued its very present appearance. As he ran, it flopped around, bounced up and down the side of his leg. I looked around at their faces when we zoomed past us. Some of them were open-mouthed in shock, other’s shook their head in disapproval.
“Come on, it’s got to be fake,” Mikey offered, “there’s no way!” Some of the other white boys mumbled their agreement.
“What? Of course it’s real,” I defended. I looked at Mikey and then the other boys. Mikey opened his mouth to quip back but stopped. And there it was, a moment I had experienced so many times in my life: a group of white boys suddenly realising that a cock like that might be considered ‘normal’ for a black guy, and me remembered that it wasn’t normal for them.
…
I’d really appreciate any comments or feedback on my writing. I’m hoping to use these stories as an opportunity to improve so any feedback is welcome.