My Baby Is Black (1961)
“When you looked…”
—Don Charles,
Comfort (1991)
________________
“When you looked and—
Saw my dinge dick
Didn’t it make you
Feel uncomfortable?”
“Didn’t you wanna—
Look away from me
And not wanna see
A black man’s dick?”
______________
“Didn’t you feel a—
cold shiver go up &
down your nelly spine
wantin’ to suck it?”
“Hadn’t you ever—
seen a young dude
with 10” soft and him
getting’ even bigger?”
_____________
“C’mon, tell me—
Tell the fuckin’ truth.
You wanted it bad—
Wanted to suck it!”
“Halloween candy—
Black licorice for you
Plus my nice big pink
Uncut cheesy head?”
__________________
It’s true. I didn’t wanna admit it—even when I came back, pleading for it, begging for it & wanting it some more. He just smirked at me—‘cause he had my queer number. Playing hard to get—smoking a doobie. Then shrugging in bed—saying “Well, okay take it....”
My Baby Was Black!!!—my own little wise-ass kid brother. He had me right where he wanted me—in the sweaty palm of his greasy K-Y hands. He closed his eyes—his arms behind his neck. Smoking a doobie—wantin’ to feel it good. He had some nude chicks on the wall—from some dirty magazines. They gave him the eye—ogling at his huge ugly thing.
But that was just to give him something to look at—while he fucked my lips but good. He took his time—worked it all the way down there. Tickled my tonsils—made me groan & moan for it. Made me wanna puke—made me swallow it all down in one awful runny gulp.
____________________
My baby kid-brother liked it that way—how could an innocent natural-born hetero 16-year-old punk gangster kid brother be so fuckin’ mean & cruel? Dominating his pushy, know-it-all, superior older brother—like I was just a piece of shit. Getting even with me—for all those years of ignoring him. Making me swallow my pride—along with his 12” thick black dick. Plus a lob of young Mandingo meat—enough skanky spluge to gag a maggot…
It was just awful—awfully nice. It was simply downright shameful—Dwayne Jerome was surely God’s gift to fags. I couldn’t help myself—I was nothing but a nelly queer piece of faggy white-trash. Straight from the trailer-court—right outta the bowling alley. And everybody knew it was true. The last one to find out was me, of course—gobsmacked by my own cute kid brother but good!!!
I’d put up this hoity-toity astute scholarly façade in high school—getting ready for college & all that jazz. Pretending I wasn’t interested in such lowly skanky things like sex—acting like I was above it all. Even though guyz like R.H. & C.W. knew the ugly truth—the young athletes that had big ones & weren’t bashful about it. I cruised them like a dainty queen in gym & in the showers—but they had my number.
__________________________________
In the gym locker-rooms & showers—some of them I’d known & cruised since junior high. I’d seen it grow—their physiques become mature & masculine. They knew—and I knew…I was just a nelly little fuckin’ closet-case size-queen. They were all like my kid brother—they knew me better than I knew myself back then. I just didn’t wanna admit it that’s all—the awful queer truth…
But Dwayne Jerome was different—we lived under the same roof, we slept in the same bedroom. Half of him was like our mother—but the other half of him was like his Chicago stud loverboy father. The jazz player in the nightclub band—they guy mother had fallen in love with during that long lost summer. When she ran away from home—and got a divorce. Coming back pregnant—with DJ her love-child to be my young kid brother. And fatal demise…
Growing up in a small college town—down by Kansas City. No big deal back then—it wasn’t segregated real bad like down in Mississippi. DJ was just my so-so ho-hum punk kid brother—just a little pest to put up with like all kid brothers. I ignored him—I treated him like shit. Even tho everybody in school—those especially in the showers. Saw that he was a young mulatto stud growing up—with a huge Mandingo penis down there between his basketball player legs. It was simply pure unadulterated moody manly Mapplethorpe meat—from the seventh grade on. And I didn’t know it…until that night I got it.
______________________
That’s when the Snake came home to roost—the seminal dinge genealogy of mother’s love-affair with the young handsome black saxophone player. Dwayne’s hormones kicked in—he suddenly got even more moody & sullen for some reason. Mother had ditched her first husband—that’s when she went black. She loved Afro-American jazz & Hoodoo VooDoo sex—she was a size-queen like me.
And now it was back—slithering into our bedroom like a Congo Curse from the Heart of Darkness itself. DJ let me see it that night—pulling back the sheets. He was stoned on some pretty decent Mexican weed—he was bored, cross-eyed & pretty much out of it. It was impressive when soft—10” of young adolescent black meat. But when erect it was an angry King Cobra—he told me to come & get it.
The Congo drums beat into the Night—the kid’s Python snake seduced me good. From that first night on—I was a helpless Cobra Queen caught up in forbidden incestuous love. Forget all that white boyz shit I’d lusted after—even the hung ones who’d been heartbreakin’ my heart all those crummy years in the closety dayz of don’t ask, don’t tell. They just couldn’t compare with my Skanky Anaconda Kid—weaseling his way into heart each night. Letting me strangle it with my greedy hands & lips—right there in our very own innocent indecent bedroom.
_______________________
Dwayne pealed back his nice chocolate foreskin—told me to suck his big pink swollen head. It had an inch-long slit like the Eden serpent—with an oozing forked tongue of snotty zombie-boy babypaste. He turned away & looked at the girlz on the wall—grabbed my hair & stuck his thumbs down deep into my ringing ears & throbbing head.
Something buzzed inside my reptilian brain—suddenly I saw Fourth of July stars & cumly sky-rockets. Something went “SPRONG!”—inside my stupid whitey brain. What a dumb fuck I’d been—why hadn’t I got down on him ages ago? Now I couldn’t get enough—like I followed him home like a dog from school. I skipped the fuckin’ homework—we got loaded instead & got down, baby.
No wonder mommy dearest loved Chicago cock—no wonder she got herself fucked silly up there in the “Windy City” of Chicago. Her swollen, fuckin’ pussy knew the deep dark secret of dinge love—suddenly my faggy lips began to wise-up fast & I needed my baby bad too!!! There’s only one thing that mattered after that—it’s like that French flick we saw that weekend at the Lavender Cinema. “My Baby Is Black!” (1961)—no fuckin’ doubt about it, honey!!!
“When you looked…”
—Don Charles,
Comfort (1991)
________________
“When you looked and—
Saw my dinge dick
Didn’t it make you
Feel uncomfortable?”
“Didn’t you wanna—
Look away from me
And not wanna see
A black man’s dick?”
______________
“Didn’t you feel a—
cold shiver go up &
down your nelly spine
wantin’ to suck it?”
“Hadn’t you ever—
seen a young dude
with 10” soft and him
getting’ even bigger?”
_____________
“C’mon, tell me—
Tell the fuckin’ truth.
You wanted it bad—
Wanted to suck it!”
“Halloween candy—
Black licorice for you
Plus my nice big pink
Uncut cheesy head?”
__________________
It’s true. I didn’t wanna admit it—even when I came back, pleading for it, begging for it & wanting it some more. He just smirked at me—‘cause he had my queer number. Playing hard to get—smoking a doobie. Then shrugging in bed—saying “Well, okay take it....”
My Baby Was Black!!!—my own little wise-ass kid brother. He had me right where he wanted me—in the sweaty palm of his greasy K-Y hands. He closed his eyes—his arms behind his neck. Smoking a doobie—wantin’ to feel it good. He had some nude chicks on the wall—from some dirty magazines. They gave him the eye—ogling at his huge ugly thing.
But that was just to give him something to look at—while he fucked my lips but good. He took his time—worked it all the way down there. Tickled my tonsils—made me groan & moan for it. Made me wanna puke—made me swallow it all down in one awful runny gulp.
____________________
My baby kid-brother liked it that way—how could an innocent natural-born hetero 16-year-old punk gangster kid brother be so fuckin’ mean & cruel? Dominating his pushy, know-it-all, superior older brother—like I was just a piece of shit. Getting even with me—for all those years of ignoring him. Making me swallow my pride—along with his 12” thick black dick. Plus a lob of young Mandingo meat—enough skanky spluge to gag a maggot…
It was just awful—awfully nice. It was simply downright shameful—Dwayne Jerome was surely God’s gift to fags. I couldn’t help myself—I was nothing but a nelly queer piece of faggy white-trash. Straight from the trailer-court—right outta the bowling alley. And everybody knew it was true. The last one to find out was me, of course—gobsmacked by my own cute kid brother but good!!!
I’d put up this hoity-toity astute scholarly façade in high school—getting ready for college & all that jazz. Pretending I wasn’t interested in such lowly skanky things like sex—acting like I was above it all. Even though guyz like R.H. & C.W. knew the ugly truth—the young athletes that had big ones & weren’t bashful about it. I cruised them like a dainty queen in gym & in the showers—but they had my number.
__________________________________
In the gym locker-rooms & showers—some of them I’d known & cruised since junior high. I’d seen it grow—their physiques become mature & masculine. They knew—and I knew…I was just a nelly little fuckin’ closet-case size-queen. They were all like my kid brother—they knew me better than I knew myself back then. I just didn’t wanna admit it that’s all—the awful queer truth…
But Dwayne Jerome was different—we lived under the same roof, we slept in the same bedroom. Half of him was like our mother—but the other half of him was like his Chicago stud loverboy father. The jazz player in the nightclub band—they guy mother had fallen in love with during that long lost summer. When she ran away from home—and got a divorce. Coming back pregnant—with DJ her love-child to be my young kid brother. And fatal demise…
Growing up in a small college town—down by Kansas City. No big deal back then—it wasn’t segregated real bad like down in Mississippi. DJ was just my so-so ho-hum punk kid brother—just a little pest to put up with like all kid brothers. I ignored him—I treated him like shit. Even tho everybody in school—those especially in the showers. Saw that he was a young mulatto stud growing up—with a huge Mandingo penis down there between his basketball player legs. It was simply pure unadulterated moody manly Mapplethorpe meat—from the seventh grade on. And I didn’t know it…until that night I got it.
______________________
That’s when the Snake came home to roost—the seminal dinge genealogy of mother’s love-affair with the young handsome black saxophone player. Dwayne’s hormones kicked in—he suddenly got even more moody & sullen for some reason. Mother had ditched her first husband—that’s when she went black. She loved Afro-American jazz & Hoodoo VooDoo sex—she was a size-queen like me.
And now it was back—slithering into our bedroom like a Congo Curse from the Heart of Darkness itself. DJ let me see it that night—pulling back the sheets. He was stoned on some pretty decent Mexican weed—he was bored, cross-eyed & pretty much out of it. It was impressive when soft—10” of young adolescent black meat. But when erect it was an angry King Cobra—he told me to come & get it.
The Congo drums beat into the Night—the kid’s Python snake seduced me good. From that first night on—I was a helpless Cobra Queen caught up in forbidden incestuous love. Forget all that white boyz shit I’d lusted after—even the hung ones who’d been heartbreakin’ my heart all those crummy years in the closety dayz of don’t ask, don’t tell. They just couldn’t compare with my Skanky Anaconda Kid—weaseling his way into heart each night. Letting me strangle it with my greedy hands & lips—right there in our very own innocent indecent bedroom.
_______________________
Dwayne pealed back his nice chocolate foreskin—told me to suck his big pink swollen head. It had an inch-long slit like the Eden serpent—with an oozing forked tongue of snotty zombie-boy babypaste. He turned away & looked at the girlz on the wall—grabbed my hair & stuck his thumbs down deep into my ringing ears & throbbing head.
Something buzzed inside my reptilian brain—suddenly I saw Fourth of July stars & cumly sky-rockets. Something went “SPRONG!”—inside my stupid whitey brain. What a dumb fuck I’d been—why hadn’t I got down on him ages ago? Now I couldn’t get enough—like I followed him home like a dog from school. I skipped the fuckin’ homework—we got loaded instead & got down, baby.
No wonder mommy dearest loved Chicago cock—no wonder she got herself fucked silly up there in the “Windy City” of Chicago. Her swollen, fuckin’ pussy knew the deep dark secret of dinge love—suddenly my faggy lips began to wise-up fast & I needed my baby bad too!!! There’s only one thing that mattered after that—it’s like that French flick we saw that weekend at the Lavender Cinema. “My Baby Is Black!” (1961)—no fuckin’ doubt about it, honey!!!
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