The story that follows is meant as satire. It was written to poke fun at the racist base that supports our current president, whose name must not be mentioned. I failed to point this out when I first posted it and someone was kind enough to point that out without raking me over the coals. (Thanks, Tony.) I do find that the fascination with interracial sex is indeed laced with a healthy dose of racism. To consider black men to be fundamentally different as lovers from anyone just because they’re black is pretty telling. And I know I suffer from this as well, to some degree. Still, find that exploring the “wrongness” of interracial sex is stimulating for me, and so I’ll keep writing stories that do that. (Among other “forbidden” subjects.) I hope that this story makes more sense now.

Tracy

“Case Study One” by Nawty Tracy

The Politics of Miscegenation How the Current Political Climate Is Becoming Counterproductive. A Case Study

During the most recent presidential campaign, we who have long sought political validation for our pursuit of an all white America found in candidate Trump the partner we thought we wanted. Our views were no longer relegated to the silent fringes. We had a real hope that we might at last eliminate the nigger scourge from our midst, not to mention the wetbacks and gooks.

As long as the campaign persisted, things didn’t really change, but we were sure that they would once Trump was elected. They did, but not in the way we’d expected.

Almost a year after candidate Trump stunned the political elite and sent that bitch Clinton into early retirement we have enough data to conclude that instead of driving negroes into submission and onto boats headed for Africa, the birth rate for coon babies will in fact increase. What is worse, the increase is entirely accounted for by nigger babies about to be born to white women.

It has been difficult to determine the precise reason for this, but it is undeniable that the relegation of the white male to minority status in the United States has only accelerated since November of 2016. Under the cover of lab coats and research grants, members of White American groups have infiltrated various pre-natal clinics to conduct interviews so that we might determine how best to reverse this trend.

Several case studies will follow. While the information is still only anecdotal, it is hoped that it will assist White Americans in reclaiming the ground that has been lost since Trump was elected.

Case Study One: Carol

Subject is a 34 year old married female. She is 5’6” tall, and weighed 124 pounds prior to becoming pregnant. Examination of older photos (shared with the researcher from her phone) suggest that, while she was already the mother of two children (white!) she had retained what any male would consider a “nice figure.” While a bit broad in the hips, her waist was narrow enough and her chest full enough (she wore a 34c bra before her pregnancy) that the “hourglass” effect was readily apparent. Indeed, the researcher reports that, even pregnant, many men around Carol still take second looks.

It is clear from external facts, then, that Carol was not in any desperate need of male attention. Some much less attractive white women, especially those grossly overweight, have turned to niggers for attention in the past. Carol cannot have been one such. Instead, it is clear (as you’ll read in the interview that follows) that her dalliance with an African male was almost entirely due to the current political climate.

Interview: For purposes of confidentiality, the interviewer’s name has been changed. We find no need to change the names of race-traitors like Carol. Please keep in mind that the subject does not know that she’s being interviewed. For this reason, the interview may seem unduly informal. The reported interview follows weeks of contact in the clinic designed to establish raport and sufficient trust to elicit truth.

Ann (interviewer): Wow, so, Carol! So um, you got pregnant by a black guy, huh?

Carol: Yep. (nodding) I got fuckin’ black bred. And now I got no husband. Just me and my kids and my crappy job.

Ann: “Oh, that’s terrible!” (interviewer had to stifle her glee at learning that the race traitor had been abandoned.)

Carol: Yeah, well, I shoulda known better. My husband kept tellin’ me niggers was only interested in one thing, white pussy. I guess he was right. Still... (Carol’s voice trailed off.)

Ann: (after a pause) Still?

Carol: (Face reddening, subject leaning over conspiratorially, speaking in a hushed tone) Yeah, well, it mighta been worth it. I mean, I never got fucked so good in all my years!

Ann: (not having to feign shock) Oh, my!

Carol: It’s not like I meant it to happen! Don’t look so shocked!

Ann: You didn’t? Then, how did it happen?

Carol: You sure you got time for me to go through the whole story? Might take a bit?

Ann: I’m here for you honey. You just get it all off your chest.

Carol: Well, ain’t you just the nicest thing! Okay, so um. Here goes.

At this point Carol and Ann shifted from the table in the interview room to a love seat along one wall to get more comfortable. We have found that a less clinical setting often draws out more detail. Please know that, as repugnant as the story becomes, we felt it necessary to preserve Carol’s words exactly, so as to keep the most accurate record possible. We apologize in advance for any discomfort this may cause the reader.

Ann: So, where did you meet this n ... this black man?

Carol: Oh, he’s the produce manager down at the supermarket where I go most of the time. You know, that place has the best produce this side of Atlanta! I think they get it local. Oops, sorry, so um, yeah, met him at the store. They got this nice cold room where they keep it all, and he’s always in there, puttin’ out new stuff, or rearranging what they got, you know how it is. My husband hates that most of what we buy there has been touched by them niggers, but way I figure it, if they wasn’t puttin’ it out, they’d be pickin’ it anyhow, so no harm. You know?

Interviewer comment: At this point, it was apparent that the subject had been ingrained with appropriate racial loyalty and integrity. It makes what follows all the more surprising.

Ann: Yes. I suppose they would, though at least it would have been washed between the fields and the store.

Carol: (subject pauses) “Yeah, guess you’re right. Maybe Danny had a point after all. So anyhow, I been seeing this guy, his name is James, right there on his name tag, I been seein’ this nigger in there for months at least. Never really noticed him much, though.

Ann: Why didn’t you notice him?

Carol: Oh, you know, seemed like he knew his place, didn’t talk to me much unless he could tell I couldn’t find something. Then he could be real helpful-like. He’d smile and all, and find what I was wantin’ for me. I do remember he always had a nice smile, like them house-niggers we used to have back in the day. You know, you seen ‘em in the old black and white movies. The real friendly ones, always callin’ us “Miss” or “Missus” and smiling all big. He seemed like he still had some of that in him.

Ann: He must have been very, I don’t know, handsome, for you to wind up like this?

Carol: (after a short laugh) No, you know, he weren’t ... or he ain’t. I mean, he ain’t changed any from then, has he? He’s right plain, really. Not a lot taller’n me. Not even as tall as Danny. Maybe a couple inches shorter, so he musta been about five foot ten. Not built like one o’ them jocks, neither. Just a reg’ler fella. Real darky, though. You know how some niggers got so much white blood in ‘em they can almost pass? Not him. He looked like he coulda come right off the boat. I do remember noticing that even before all this.

Ann: nods encouragingly without speaking to see where interviewee will go next.

Carol: So anyhow, yeah, I met him at the supermarket, in the produce section, where I seen him like a hundred times before.

Ann: Ah, so then he approached you, did he?

Carol: (shaking her head) No, no, I was looking for some dill for a salad, I remember. It comes in them little bitty plastic things, and I couldn’t find it. He had it tucked up between a couple other things where I couldn’t see it, so I went to ask him where it was. He pointed up to the top shelf in this one section. I went to get it, but it was too high for me to reach, so he like, stepped over behind me and takes it down. When he did, his arm brushed my shoulder. I musta looked funny when he touched me, ‘cause he got all upset lookin’.

So I look over at him and see him looking upset and say, “What?” and he says, “Oh, so sorry Missus, I din’t mean no disrepect.” “Ain’t nothin’ of it, James. don’t you wory yourself none about it. It was an accident, I’m sure.”.”

So he goes on, “Oh, surely it was, Missus. Surely. I din’t mean to touch you, no ma’am. I’m just glad you ain’t like some o’ them other white ladies, get all uppity and call the store manager on me if somethin’ like that happened.”

And I says, “Well, no, accidents is accidents, ain’t they?”

And he nods and says, “Yes, Missus, they is, but sometimes folks act like even just a little touch is a crime. And you know, since we got that new president, that can be dangerous for us black folk. But you don’t seem like you one o’ them types?”

And I says, “No, James. No I ain’t.”

And he goes on, “Ah, so you’s one o’ them more modern ladies! You ain’t a nigger-hater like some o’ them folks voted for the new president?”

And I think to myself, I guess I ain’t that bad, no. And I kinda liked bein’ called modern, you know? So, yeah, while I ain’t never touched a nigger on purpose or anything before, yeah, I guess he’s right, so I kinda put on some airs and nodded and I told him, “Yeah, I ain’t like some o’ them, who just lose it if they get touched by a nigger. I mean, a” black man.”

So then, he looks at me all friendly-like, you know, that big wide smile in his darky face, and he says, “Oh, it’s okay, if you wanna call me a nigger. I’m used to it. I ain’t all hifalutin like some niggers, either. I’m just a man tryin’ to get by!” And when he says that, I’ll be damned if he don’t put his big, black hand right on my shoulder, like we was friends or sumpin. And I looked at his hand, and he took it away, lookin’ all sheepish. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean nothin’. I guess I forgot my place. You bein’ such a pretty white lady, an’ so, you know, modern, I din’t think you’da minded. Guess I’s jus’ too nasty for ya afer all.”

And I don’ know, it’s like, here we was gettin’ along so good, and he was really bein’ the way a nigger oughta be around a white lady, and now it’s all fucked up, and so all of a sudden, I’m sayin’ I’m sorry, I din’t mean nothin’ by it, and of course that was okay. An’ he looks up, an’ his face kinda brightens up, and he says, “Really? You mean you really ain’t that kinda hater? An’ if a nigger was to, you know, put his hand on you, you wouldn’t go callin’ the Po-leece like this?”

An’ then he puts his hand on my side, kind of. just above my hip here? And he leaves it there, just leaves it there, this big nigger hand right there on my sundress, which is kinda thin, so’s I can almost feel him on my skin, an’ all of a sudden, my heart’s slammin’ like it wants to jump outta my chest and my head is screamin’ he shouldn’t be doin’ this, but I don’t wanna fuck this up again, and besides, he’s bein’ so nice about it, how can I get mad? So I’m not thinkin’, but I say, “No, I ain’t one o’ them haters, and yeah, that would be okay.”

Then before I can move away or anything, his hand, it slides down, and actually back some, so now he’s kinda cuppin’ my ass on one side! An’ I’m thinkin’ this ain’t right, but at the same time, he’s bein’ so nice about me not bein’ one o’ them haters and all, so I don’t say nothin’ an’ then well. he got these real big hands you know? Big palm, long fingers, so’s his hand is like, well, he’s got one whole half of my butt in one hand and well, I hate to admit it, but it felt real nice, you know? All kinda cuddled up in that big hand? Weren’t like I could see it back there, behind me, so I’m not seein’ his nigger hand on my ass, just feelin’ it, and well, it was nice, real nice. So, I’m tryin’ to keep chattin’ with him so I says. “Oopsy ... seems like your hand is on my backside down there. Isn’t that funny!”

And he says, “Oopsy! Looks like it is ... and ain’t that a wonder, that you ain’t screaming for the poh-leece like one o’ them haters! And ya know what’s even funnier? I gotta tell you Missus, that your bottom, well, it feels mighty fine to this old nigger, yes it does!” And he gives me that nice smile you know, so I smiles back at him. And he’s got this happy look. You know how them older niggers got all those creases in their face, and he’s got about three on each side, he’s smilin’ so big, an’, an’ I don’t know, but all of a sudden I’m sayin’ this, an’ I don’t even know why, “I’m glad it feels good to you James. I wonder if my nice white titties would feel so good.”

An’ let me tell you, his face it just lights up, you know? So like, I tell him, “Since I’m one o’ them nice white ladies, what don’t yell and scream every time a nigger accidentally touches her, I don’t see why you shouldn’t accidentally touch my titties, do you James?” An’ he says back, “Why no, Missus, I don’t see why not!” an’ he puts that big ol’ nigger hand right up on my tit, right on my cute lil daisy-print sundress, an’ he gives it a lil squeeze an’ he looks right at me the whole time, like he’s afraid I’m foolin’, an’ I’m really gonna scream and get him in trouble, but I don’t.

So then, after a bit, now, he still got his hand on my tit, right? He looks at me and says. “I wonder if you’re really as nice as I think you are? This ol’ nigger gotta wonder if you would get mad if a nigger like me gave you a little kiss?”

Well, right then, I’m thinkin’, “What the fuck. He done already got to second base” (the subject laughs at this point, as if this were really funny) “Why not let him kiss me?”

So I says, “Well, I don’t know if I’d let just any nigger kiss me, but since you’re so nice, I’m sure you could, if you had it in you.”

I’m thinkin’ he’s gonna smile and say something nice again, but instead, he just leans in and kisses me. Nice-like, not hard, but them big lips niggers got, they feel really different when they kiss you. An’ he left em on my lips for a long time, and I start getting a little dizzy, and finally he pulls back an’ says, “Well, ain’t that just all. I ain’t never kissed a white lady before, and I gots to tell you, that was about the nicest kiss I ever had!” an’ he beams at me.

So, I don’t know much what I’m up to now but I look at him and say, “Oh, James, that weren’t no kiss, that was like a brother-sister kiss ... this is a kiss.” An’ this time, I lean in and kiss him. Tongue and all! An’ I’m moanin’, an’ he’s holding both sides of my ass now in them big hands, and I’m thinkin’ somebody’s gonna walk right into that cold room any time, an’ I get goosebumps, an’ not from the cold, neither!”

At this point, Carol sits back and catches her breath. It is clear to the interviewer that she is enjoying reliving this awful experience.

After a few moments’ silence, Carol continues.

“So, there we are, kissing away in the produce room in the supermarket. An’ finally we stop to breath, you know? An’ James, he’s breathin’ hard, an’ so am I, an’ he says to me, he says, “You know Missus, I’m all outta breath, and I kinda need to collect myself, if you understand. I’m gettin’, well, a bit too excited. I think I better go on back to the break room an’ see if I can cool down some. I don’t know if you need to cool down some, too, but you’d be welcome, if you ain’t afraid to be alone with some old nigger you hardly know.” An’ he looks kind of all bashful.

An’ I’m thinkin’ I don’t wanna go out in the store like this, neither. I mean, my face musta been all red and probably my chest too. I get all red in my cleavage and up my neck if I get um, excited, you know? So I says, “I ain’t afraid. Remember, I ain’t one o’ them who’s scared o’ niggers. Right? So, yeah. If you got a Coke or somethin’ back in that break room, it might be just the thing.”

An’ he nods and tells me they got a soda machine back there, keeps ‘em cold as ice, just the thing, so we go through the back door of the cold room, back to another storage place thats REAL cold, and I get goosebumps all over, but this time it makes my nipples get all stiff, you know how the cold does that? So then out another door in the storage an’ down this long hall that has boxes of all kinds of stuff stacked on one side. An’ he says to me, “Don’t pay no mind to all this stuff. We don’t got room for all of it in the back no more, so we gotta stack some of the extra somewhere.” An’ he smiles and we go on, an’ I’m thinkin’, “What the fuck am I doing followin’ this ol’ nigger down a dark hall in the back of the store. Danny would warn me he’s gonna fuckin’ rape me. That’s what niggers want, to rape white ladies!”

But then I think, “Nah, if’n he was gonna do that, he’d a just done it already. He’s nice, and besides, I need this break room.” And I follow him into this room, and it’s pretty nice. It has this old couch, an’ a couple nice chairs, an’ a soda machine an’ a table with pull out chairs so’s you could sit at it to eat, an’ a counter with a microwave, an’ some cabinets. I don’t know what they had in the cabinets though.

So James goes over an’ asks me what I want to drink an’ I tell him a Dr. Pepper, an’ he gets two, an’ I sit on the couch, an’ he sits beside me an’ opens ‘em for both of us an’ hands me one. We just sit there a bit, sipping the sodas and catching our breath, you know, then he looks at me an’ says, “You know Missus, that was the nicest kiss I ever done had, and I been married 32 years! I don’t suppose you’d let an ol’ nigger have one more? Or is that a nigger goin’ too far?”