Carrera’s First BBC Experience

There is always a first-time experience for a woman of Asian descent wanting to have sex with a black man. I can only speak for myself, as I attempted it and came away with a fulfilling result. Whether or not my confession differs from that of Caucasian women or others of different origins who chose to ‘go black’, as the saying goes, is left for readers to decipher. I can only indulge in how mine began and how it ended for me. Whatever lessons you glean from it are for you to decide.

My parents won’t be happy to know I have had sex with a black man. I might as well deem myself ostracised if they ever find out. But that’s me speculating. I am double-minded about letting them know, especially since I have fallen in love with him.

My name is Carrera. I am in my mid-twenties, born and raised in California, though my parents are from China. I have only been to their homeland twice since my existence to visit old relatives. My parents haven’t gone back in ages, content that America is where they prefer to be.

I attended a predominantly mixed school in San Francisco, where I lived. I had friends from all backgrounds and got along with almost everyone. I saw white girls interacting with black men. I heard gossip and tantalising girly-talk about what happens once a girl ‘goes black and never comes back’. It was like urban myth; one seldom knew how real it meant, if seriously it did. 

I would have loved to date a black guy to know if the myth had any truth to it, but I was afraid. What would happen to me if it truly did? What sort of shame would I bring to my home, to my parents, if they found out I’d become loose like Caucasian girls? How would I live with myself?

I fought hard not to succumb to the pressure; it was tough.

I made it out of college, got a job as a paralegal with a Los Angeles law firm, and life went on like nothing could derail my plans. The dream was to get settled in the city, find myself a handsome gentleman to date and possibly marry, start a family, and live life like any American woman would. I don’t subscribe to any of that feminism bullshit a lot of women like to uphold, although I knew my clock was ticking fast. Even my Mom wouldn’t stop hammering home to me that I needed to get married before I got to thirty or risk becoming a Sheng nü (leftover woman). The thought of that gave me countless sleepless nights.

My dreams told me I would end up getting hitched to a white caucasian man–what Asian mother wouldn’t love to have a baby bearing a blue pair of eyes? But sometimes, life throws you a curveball that often swings you in a different direction, in a direction you never thought to go but later realise it’s best for you.

His name is Wale, and he’s from Nigeria. I bumped into him at a coffee shop I often frequented. He was carrying a takeaway coffee and I accidentally spilled some on his jacket and my blouse. We went to separate restrooms to tidy ourselves. I apologised for my clumsiness and asked to buy him another coffee, but he politely declined. Who would have thought that I would bump into him a second time later that week; what are the odds of that happening? It was obvious that fate was bringing us together. 

We introduced ourselves, and he asked me out on a date. That inherent worry did occur to me that I was daring to date a black man, something I ought to have done back in college. But now I’m an adult, so there wasn’t much of a fuss. Wale is a sweet gentleman. He noted my slight nervousness around him but was patient and courteous not to take it against me. For my part, I couldn’t stop blushing whenever we made eye contact. Inevitably, we had our first kiss. I expected something calamitous to occur, except nothing happened; the world was still spinning, and I felt butterflies afloat in my gut.

Wale invited me to his place for a drink; I had no intention of saying no.

The evening felt long. It felt like it wouldn’t end, and I didn’t want it to either.

Wale kissed the sides of my neck while he stripped off my clothes. I reached behind and felt his burgeoning hard-on; I grabbed it and felt it pulse in my grip. I wanted it badly. Wale knew what I wanted and simply needed to take his time.

We fell into his bed, and I turned and waited for him to get out of his clothes. I didn’t want to miss the sight of him becoming naked before my eyes. I wanted to see what I’d only imagined in my dreams but never in reality. 

Wale was oblivious to my action as he kept slurping my pussy like he was feasting on seafood.

My mouth fell open upon seeing his erection. It was my first time beholding a black cock. If I’d expected it to have the outlook of a dragon, I was so mistaken; it was black and beautiful, and I wanted it inside me. Wale kicked his clothes to the side before joining me in his bed. He resumed kissing me while I jerked his cock in my hand, willing it to remain hard; his penis squirted pre-cum on my hand, which I took as a good sign. 

I lay on the bed, and Wale spread my thighs like a seashell. His tongue fell on my pussy before I’d even felt ready to receive him. A roaring tremor burst upon my body that got me shaking unlike I ever had before. I was climaxing before I’d even realised it. Wale was oblivious to my action as he kept slurping my pussy like he was feasting on seafood. I pleaded, I protested, and willed myself to make him stop, but every attempt went dead. He came up for air, his cock brushed against my hairy vulva; I grabbed his cock and tucked it inside my cunt, and instantly, my world exploded.

I heard myself scream. It sounded like an out-of-body scream. I kept hearing myself scream even after I felt Wale comfortably inside me. His cock felt immense, incredible and delightful. My body arched like it wanted to lift off the bed; Wale wrapped his arm around me while still thrusting deeper. His cock was drilling me. It felt like he wanted to drill further toward my heart.

“Ohh… Ohhh… Aawwhh…” I couldn’t stop gasping from the pain, from the joy of what was happening. 

I fell asleep in Wale’s arms and slept the sleep I could only have in dreams.

Wale sucked my breasts; I caressed his shoulders, raked my nails across his arms, and whimpered into his ear. I heard myself cry. My eyes welled up with tears, but what were the tears for if not for the incredible love overwhelming me suddenly? I craved more; Wale gave me more and more.

In the midst of my joy, I found myself climaxing again. 

I don't recall what happened the remainder of the night besides the sex being so incredible and as memorable as any I’d ever enjoyed. I fell asleep in Wale’s arms and slept the sleep I could only have in dreams. I was lucky to wake up on Saturday, so I had the remainder of the weekend to cherish what had occurred. I returned home that morning and felt like I had transformed into a new woman. New and improved. I called Wale after I’d finished having my bath. I wanted to see him again, I said to him. This time, I didn’t want him to make love to me, no, I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to use me, to make me into his bitch.

Wale laughed and told me he would be home all day. 

I returned to his place around noon. We didn’t bother with niceties this time, as I fell into his arms the minute he let me into his apartment. He nearly ripped my clothes off, bent me over his couch, tore off my panties, and shoved his cock into my vagina. I experienced a similar shock as when he first entered me. The shock reverberated across my body, but I was capable of mastering it this time as I grabbed the couch’s headboard and didn’t quit squealing while he slammed and pounded me.  

I screamed.

I whimpered… I died. 

In my death, I became reborn.

Wale carted me to his bedroom, and we didn’t come out for another hour. 

Addiction is real, and it consumed me in the most amazing way. I expressed my love toward Wale, and told him how much I desired him in my life, in my world. I have told my parents that I’ve found the love of my life. Such was the beginning to the start of a terrific friendship.