Incognegro Boyfriend
__________________
“A mixed person who has
a mixed parent and a white
parent therefore the person
is very light-skinned (even
white-looking). They are
secretly black, that is they
don't look black but they are.”
—The Urban Dictionary
Lamar and Meshawn were a pair of really cute brothers—even though they had different fathers. I’d bump into them on the 107 bus that used to go downtown—stopping at the welfare housing shacks on Othello Street in Seattle across from the Safeway.
They’d put in the light-rail system and tore down all the WWII housing that they used to stuff all the poor black folks in—gentrifying what was once a ghetto into a more upper class whitey layout of apartments and welfare homes.
Lamar was jet-black but Meshawn had a lighter complexion and could pass. Meshawn was a lighter shade of beige, tan, honey and fudge. He gloried in his coffee, pecan, almond, taupe, cinnamon, milk chocolate & mocha brown hues.
His brother Lamar would dish Meshawn on the bus, saying Meshawn was going downtown “incognegro.” Concealing his identity as an African-American and being sneaky about it. There were advantages for passing as white that Lamar couldn’t enjoy.
This supposed disguising of one’s Negritude amongst all the various & sundry whiteys like me on the bus going downtown—was a game Meshawn and Lamar played with each other & everybody else on the bus. It had a kinda gansta twist to it too—when it came to dealing drugs. People trusted white guyz dealing—a lot more than they did with blacks. Meshawn would be the front man.
I had the hots for both of them—whether vanilla or chocolate. They tolerated me & sometimes we got down. Not everybody wants to be recognized dontchaknow—I can dig that for sure. Passing as str8t with me—was like doing the incognegro thing with them. We were all trying to maintain a low profile for obvious reasons in Seattle then.
Yeah, I was there—but nobody saw me being a fag ‘cause I was incognegro. The same with Lamar and Meshawn. With Lamar it was like being so dark that he’d blend into the dark shadows and streets and alleys when they were dealing and having an advantage over the cops and prey.
Meshawn being albino was sure as shit right there standing out like a sore thumb in an dark alley—while Lamar being black could come out of nowhere incognegro if he had to. Nobody would touch Meshawn. If they did, death ensued shortly after.
Anyway Meshawn was so light skinned it was really crazy. If he permed his hair he’d surely be truly incognegro. In fact, he’d be like Ellison’s Invisible Man—nobody would even know he was even there. He’d just kinda blend into Whiteyville.
When I went to bed with Lamar and turned the lights off, he just seemed to like disappear, you know what I mean? “Holy crow, where did you go, Lamar?” Whenever the lights went out, Lamar would go incognegro. I had to feel my way—to feel him up.
But when I went to bed with Meshawn, it was completely different. I didn’t want to turn off the lights, I wanted to just look at him he was so beautiful. He could do the incognegro fine if he wanted to with the whiteys—and without even trying he could look more like a dirty whiteboy than me.
But Meshawn couldn’t do one thing—when it came to doing the incognegro. He couldn’t do it nude—not in the showers after gym or at the YMCA or making love with a white girl in bed with the lights on.
‘Cause even though Meshawn could pass as just another a white boy—there was a fly in the ointment. A big black thick horsefly buzzing around. Meshawn could do the incognegro okay—but he had this big black Mandingo dick that revealed the 12” gawdawful truth.
Meshawn’s dick was midnight black—blacker than even his brother Lamar’s ebony Congolese cock. It was like a big thick black veiny piece of Halloween uncut licorice candy—with a nice big bulging pink head when I slid back his pouty foreskin.
There was nothing incognegro about it—Meshawn’s slithery Zimbabwe thang. It was his Negro Family Tree—revealing his true African genealogy. In fact, it was just like that Harlem classic novel by Wallace Thurman—“The Blacker the Berry.”
Oh, Lordy, Lordy—it was so exquisitely true. It was like that old Negro folk saying—from outta the Deep South. “The darker the berry—the sweeter the juice!!!”
__________________
“A mixed person who has
a mixed parent and a white
parent therefore the person
is very light-skinned (even
white-looking). They are
secretly black, that is they
don't look black but they are.”
—The Urban Dictionary
Lamar and Meshawn were a pair of really cute brothers—even though they had different fathers. I’d bump into them on the 107 bus that used to go downtown—stopping at the welfare housing shacks on Othello Street in Seattle across from the Safeway.
They’d put in the light-rail system and tore down all the WWII housing that they used to stuff all the poor black folks in—gentrifying what was once a ghetto into a more upper class whitey layout of apartments and welfare homes.
Lamar was jet-black but Meshawn had a lighter complexion and could pass. Meshawn was a lighter shade of beige, tan, honey and fudge. He gloried in his coffee, pecan, almond, taupe, cinnamon, milk chocolate & mocha brown hues.
His brother Lamar would dish Meshawn on the bus, saying Meshawn was going downtown “incognegro.” Concealing his identity as an African-American and being sneaky about it. There were advantages for passing as white that Lamar couldn’t enjoy.
This supposed disguising of one’s Negritude amongst all the various & sundry whiteys like me on the bus going downtown—was a game Meshawn and Lamar played with each other & everybody else on the bus. It had a kinda gansta twist to it too—when it came to dealing drugs. People trusted white guyz dealing—a lot more than they did with blacks. Meshawn would be the front man.
I had the hots for both of them—whether vanilla or chocolate. They tolerated me & sometimes we got down. Not everybody wants to be recognized dontchaknow—I can dig that for sure. Passing as str8t with me—was like doing the incognegro thing with them. We were all trying to maintain a low profile for obvious reasons in Seattle then.
Yeah, I was there—but nobody saw me being a fag ‘cause I was incognegro. The same with Lamar and Meshawn. With Lamar it was like being so dark that he’d blend into the dark shadows and streets and alleys when they were dealing and having an advantage over the cops and prey.
Meshawn being albino was sure as shit right there standing out like a sore thumb in an dark alley—while Lamar being black could come out of nowhere incognegro if he had to. Nobody would touch Meshawn. If they did, death ensued shortly after.
Anyway Meshawn was so light skinned it was really crazy. If he permed his hair he’d surely be truly incognegro. In fact, he’d be like Ellison’s Invisible Man—nobody would even know he was even there. He’d just kinda blend into Whiteyville.
When I went to bed with Lamar and turned the lights off, he just seemed to like disappear, you know what I mean? “Holy crow, where did you go, Lamar?” Whenever the lights went out, Lamar would go incognegro. I had to feel my way—to feel him up.
But when I went to bed with Meshawn, it was completely different. I didn’t want to turn off the lights, I wanted to just look at him he was so beautiful. He could do the incognegro fine if he wanted to with the whiteys—and without even trying he could look more like a dirty whiteboy than me.
But Meshawn couldn’t do one thing—when it came to doing the incognegro. He couldn’t do it nude—not in the showers after gym or at the YMCA or making love with a white girl in bed with the lights on.
‘Cause even though Meshawn could pass as just another a white boy—there was a fly in the ointment. A big black thick horsefly buzzing around. Meshawn could do the incognegro okay—but he had this big black Mandingo dick that revealed the 12” gawdawful truth.
Meshawn’s dick was midnight black—blacker than even his brother Lamar’s ebony Congolese cock. It was like a big thick black veiny piece of Halloween uncut licorice candy—with a nice big bulging pink head when I slid back his pouty foreskin.
There was nothing incognegro about it—Meshawn’s slithery Zimbabwe thang. It was his Negro Family Tree—revealing his true African genealogy. In fact, it was just like that Harlem classic novel by Wallace Thurman—“The Blacker the Berry.”
Oh, Lordy, Lordy—it was so exquisitely true. It was like that old Negro folk saying—from outta the Deep South. “The darker the berry—the sweeter the juice!!!”
No comments:
Post a Comment