Hmm…I’m feeling a bit cheeky…
Why do white people own so many pets?
Because we’re not allowed to own people anymore.
What is the scariest thing about a white person in prison?
You know he did it.
how many Chicago cops does it take to change a light bulb? None, they just beat the room for being black.”
A good looking 50 year old white man is trying to get laid on reality TV. What show are you watching?
To catch a predator.
Why do white girls travel in groups of three or five?
They can’t even
What do you call 64 white people in a room? A full blooded Cherokee.
at dinner last night, a coworker was talking about hanging out with his white friends and getting fed up with the racist jokes, and asked them to tell a white people joke. nobody had any, so he googled and found these. after a few of them, people were a lot less comfortable.
white folks, next time you hear a racist joke, maybe lead with one of these in response. tag this “I’m white” when you reblog it, if you are.
I’m white, and I think they’re funny…
I dunno if I can really get across the feelin’s I caught hold of as I walked down that street. The tingle of my jeans an’ shirt not…not rubbin’ but whisperin’ against my thighs an’ pecs an’ tits an’ ass, makin’ me feel like I could cum without a thought. The cool night air movin’ round my face. The breezes whipped up as busses an’ cars zipped past me in the opposite direction. The sounds of silence over long stretches of the street, where the cars an’ trucks an’ busses were stopped at one corner or another. It all added to the moment. I was startin’ to feel…I dunno, light headed, I guess.
I passed the “pink” part of Santa Monica an’ headed into the red-light area. Passed tired lookin’ kids waitin’ by bus stops in hopes of makin’ fifty bucks for the night. Most of ‘em looked like the junked-out tossed-aside runaways that they were an’ it almost hurt to see ‘em. But some of ‘em were still kinda fresh. Kinda still with an attitude. An’ as I passed ‘em an’ they glanced me over to see if I was gonna be their next John, I’d think, “I could take you back into an alley an’ make you give me what you charge for, no problem.” An’ it’d give me a jolt that shot from behind my heart an’ into my balls an’ spread over my thighs to make me even crazier.
Then I passed Highland an’ zigged up to Sunset, since my crib was up near Franklin an’ Cahuenga. That brought me past the “A Club”, an’ I saw these sleek neat Young Hollywood guys in their clean pressed shirts an’ hundred dollar jeans bouncin’ in an’ out of the place, all tryin’ to look hot for these tiny Hollywood sluts with inflatable tits who had zero interest in ‘em unless they had cash enough to buy ‘em more than a leaf of lettuce to eat. I stopped across the little side street an’ watched a group of guys by the entrance, laughin’ an’ clappin’ each other on th’ back an’ actin’ like a bunch of frat boys an’ I thought, “I could wipe those smiles off your faces, punks, one right after the other. Punk you out, one after the other. All in one night. All together. An’ I’d have the time of my life doin’ it.”
An’ then one of ‘em headed right for me. A big blond buck with perfect teeth an’ perfect hair an’ still perfect shirt, even after hours of playin’ pool an’ downin’ beers. He looked like he probably played football in college. Tight end or half-back or somethin’ that called for speed an’ agility. But he wasn’t keepin’ himself up. He still had broad shoulders but they couldn’t hide the gut he was startin’ to get. But he was wearin’ these black jeans that made his ass look inviting. An’ when he turned away from me an’ headed up the side street, I followed him.
I dunno why I did, I have to admit. Nothin’ hit me in th’ form of a thought as to what I was gonna do. I just saw how happy he looked, an’ how easy his life’d been an’ how perfect it would be from then on. So I followed him. Watched him jaunt towards this three-year-old Dodge parked halfway between two street lights. Watched his ass move under those jeans. Even th’ way he walked screamed at me how happy he was, an’ I knew I had to kill that walk.
Chapter 3 — How To Rape a Straight Guy
To make a long story short (one that took place over the space of nearly two months), one day I got a charley horse in a calf in the middle of my cardio, and I went limping back to my locker. Woody noticed and followed me.
"Muscle seize up?" he asked as I sat by my locker. I just nodded, so he squatted before me and took my leg and began kneading my calf. "Oh, yeah. This is a mean one.”
I almost screamed from the pain of it. He chuckled. That should have told me something.
"Let’s hit the massage room and I’ll work it out," he said.
I just shook my head. "I think I’ll try the Jacuzzi, first."
He stood and took my arm. "C’mon, Alec, I got an ointment that’ll cut the pain. It’ll work lots faster.”
I let him drag me into a tiny room with nothing but a tall padded bench and table topped with bottles of lineaments, and no windows, just a door. I lay on the bench, still in pain, and he closed the door and set the lights to dim.
"Face down," he said. "Gives me access to the muscle."
I rolled over. Gladly. Just having him rub my leg in the locker room had given me a hint of a woody (pun intended), despite the pain. He had good hands, too. Strong. Well shaped. Light wisps of dark hair dancing over his skin. I knew the second my leg stopped hurting, my dick would be raging from his touch. I was so happy I wore briefs.
He slopped some cold lineament on my calf and started kneading it, again…and he was right – the ointment combined with his fingers rolling into my skin and his palms rubbing around my muscle made the hurt vanish. The one and only time he ever did that for me – killed the pain, I mean.
"Wow," was all I could say.
"Yeah. Helps to know what you’re doing. I’m surprised you haven’t had one of these before now.”
"I have. I just walked them off.”
"You could keep ‘em from happening if you stretched more and had a massage every now and then."
"I’m too broke, right now," I muttered, finally getting into the rhythm of his massage. "I can barely afford the gym."
"Been there. Done that. Lemme check something.” Then his hands shifted to the back of my thighs, one on each of them. His fingers played harsh on my skin, digging deep in a way that was guaranteed to make my dick hard as a rock. "Yeah, you’re getting tight here, too."
"I…I’ll get back to stretching," I muttered, not sure exactly what the hell was happening…other than the fact that every motion of his fingers was sending explosions through every nerve in my body and every damned one of those nerves was suddenly hard-wired straight to my crotch. He had me so on edge, even the slightest movement of my long loose shorts across the hair on my legs was setting off little jolts.
Then his hands shifted to my butt, the kneading motion rubbing the fabric of my shorts against the fabric of my briefs, which rubbed against my scrotum…which was now on fire.
"Hmph," he said, "firmer than I thought. Not bad.”
I looked at him, startled. He smiled.
"Looks like I’ll have to make the first move," he said…then leaned down and kissed me. And, dear GOD, what a kiss. It was the whisper of peppermint drifting from moistened lips. It was warmth of the sort you dream of at home, glowing and cool like the energy of existence. It was the passing of life along conduits made of nature’s purest gold. His lips gently melted into mine as his chin and nose caressed mine and heaven seemed to open for a moment.
Chapter 2 — Porno Manifesto
He kissed me, long and deep, then did exactly the same thing to me as I’d just done to him — but where I’d pulled down only his pants and left his boxers around his hips, he slid my board shorts completely to my ankles, revealing my manhood in all its glory (a goofy way of putting it but I was feeling goofy at the time), even though I was nowhere near as big as him. And where I’d licked and kissed the head of his dick, he swallowed mine whole and used his tongue to swirl around it like he was sucking on a popsicle, his hands gripping my ass tight and needy and in complete control. And where I’d rolled his balls with my hands, he used his ever-growing dick to push against them and my scrotum, adding sensations I’d never known existed and taking me closer and closer and closer to the point of madness before I began to explode. And where I’d backed off after he began to cum, he swallowed every drop of mine and kept sucking at me until I was about to lose it.
But he wasn’t done then. He still had hold of my ass, and as I clenched and squirmed under his touch and his still-steady sucking, he pressed his head against it. I don’t usually let a guy fuck me till I really know him, so I tried to push him away then realized somewhere during his fellatio of me, he’d slipped on a condom and had it greased up and he was raring to go.
He took his mouth off my dick, lay his body atop mine, and pressed his dick next to mine. I could have thrown him off without any trouble, but the hair on his chest made my skin sing with sensation. Made my tits shriek from joy. So I let him take control. He kissed me, deep and full and whispered, “Okay? Okay?”
“Slow,” I nodded. “Slow.”
He shifted into position. Moved my legs to over his shoulders. Cupped my ass and somehow found my hole without the use of his hands — and began to push in.
I gasped from the pain, mainly because I’d only been fucked a couple of times due to my standards, the last being by that quarterback and he was nowhere near as big as Collie, and even then I’d all but kicked the guy out of me the moment he started pounding into me like I was a dog or a blow-up toy. Jerk.
But Collie wasn’t like that. He slipped in by stages — slow, steady pushing with moments of rest as I adjusted to it then a bit more pushing, all the while caressing my ass and my legs and pinching at my tits and tickling the little hair on my abs and kissing me…and soon he was completely inside me and sliding almost all the way out and it was feeling so nice, I was grabbing his ass to bring him in closer to me — deeper into me — grinding against him to make him one with me.
He pumped faster and faster and deeper and deeper and I wrapped my arms around his powerful shoulders and he leaned on his elbows and gripped my hair and held my face and went faster and faster and he jolted and slammed harder against me and I gripped tighter with my ass and felt his whole body shake and shudder and I ran my hands down his back to hold his butt and it was clenching like you wouldn’t believe and suddenly I felt a surge and gasped, “Collie”, and he gripped my dick with his right hand and gave me two yanks and I exploded and I think — no, I’m pretty damned sure I passed out for a second.
Moments later, I was looking at Collie’s beautiful face, so wet with sweat, hair matted to his forehead, a look of profound surprise in his eyes and I realized my board shorts were still around my ankles, binding me partially into the position he’d put me in. And I felt like such a wanton slut, I laughed.
His expression grew uncertain. I wiped at the sweat on his skin. Brushed the hair away from his forehead. Held his face in my hands. And kissed him. And said, “Of course you know, this means marriage, mortgage and more of the same.”
He laughed and rolled onto his side, taking me with him. And we held each other tight. And he whispered, “Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, anyhow.”
And we had nearly eight months of that beauty before all hell broke loose.
Chapter 2 — Rape In Holding Cell 6
Bang! I tried to crash into struggle-and-kick-and-scream-your-fucking-mouth-off mode, but the fumes shattered my brain and I couldn’t figure out how the hell to do it. I felt like the time I was body-checked in a hockey game and wound up face down on the ice with two players piled on my head, and I was telling myself I couldn’t move till they’re off me. But they never had really piled on me; I’d just been given “a nice mild concussion,” according to the doctor, and only thought they had. And I had to give my brain a chance to accept that.
And that’s what happened here. I wanted to struggle, but all I could do was sort of flail about. Very ineffectively, too. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was moan or croak or jabber or something that made no sense. I almost think I was laughing. Or giggling. Or grunting like an ape or something. Which was ridiculous. Because the next thing I knew, I was face down on a mattress and my hands were tied behind me and my ankles were tied together and a third guy was putting his fingers over my eyes, forcing me to close them, while trying to tie a bandana around them. And clarity returned for an instant.
I rolled away from him, rasping, “Hey, hey, hey — !”
“Shut up!” And my head slammed against floor of the truck.
The pain wasn’t so much intense as brisk and surprising. I froze. And I let him blindfold me. Then I let him shove some cloth in my mouth and tape it shut. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t really scream. Hell, could barely breathe. In the space of maybe ten seconds, I’d been immobilized.
What’s weird is, I wasn’t really scared, at that point. It may have been the stuff I’d inhaled, but it was more a case of where I just plain couldn’t believe this was happening; it was too bizarre. I mean, I honestly could not understand why they’d tied me up. My brain was still too fuzzy to connect with anything coherent. And it stayed that way in a spooky surreal fashion that reminded me a bit of some crappy drug I’d tried it in college (a classmate gave me a snort; called it Special K), but I hadn’t liked the loss of control that it brought to me. Or the brutal depression, afterwards. But it hadn’t smelled like this stuff. Hadn’t smelled like…like dirty socks mixed with a solvent of some kind, really.
So I was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on when Low Voice, who was one heavy son-of-a-bitch, lay on top of me. Crushed me into this filthy mattress that carried whiffs of sweat and piss and vomit. Molded himself against me. And I felt him open his pants. And press himself — press his dick against me. Right on my butt. And he said, “Oh, yeah. You feel good.” And man, if I’d been cold walking in the rain, I was fucking freezing now.
Eric - Chapter 2 — Bobby Carapisi
Y’know, on their six-month anniversary, Tad picked Daniel up after work and drove him straight to The Hamptons. To a five-thousand square-foot “cottage” on the beach. That’s when we found out his real family name is Little-Lord-Moneybags.
Now, Daniel’d already taken the weekend off to spend at Tad’s million-dollar condo, treating him to nonstop massages (something the twerp loved to receive from my guy) and sex in every which way you can imagine, so this sudden change in plans took him by surprise. As did entering this bungalow to find it bursting with baskets of fruit and cheese and baguettes and wines and meats and candies enough to keep them powered up for the whole weekend. Then he’d swept Daniel up in his arms (like Rhett did to Scarlet in Gone with the Wind … just before he raped her) and carried him into a bedroom drenched in honeysuckle.
“Like around your grandmother’s home,” he’d whispered.
My guy couldn’t speak; he just breathed in as deeply as he could, remembering lazy summers on her back porch as a breeze passed over the tiny flowers and smothered him in their aroma, and bringing back the tenderness he’d received from the one person he knew had loved him, unconditionally. So when Tad lowered him to his feet and wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his neck, from behind, with complete affection, Daniel’d started weeping, he was so happy.
Of course, Tad thought he’d fucked up and started to whine about how hard he’d worked to get everything right, but Daniel stopped him with the longest, tenderest kiss he’d ever given anyone. Okay, so maybe I’m prejudiced, but seriously – my guy knows exactly how to do that to the max effect. None of this chewing-of-the-mouth crap, just lips barely touching. Noses softly shifting from side to side. Hands caressing up, up, up Tad’s back to mingle fingers in his hair. Nine times out of ten, not one damn thing more was needed to get any guy ready for … oh, let’s just say, the main event.
He’d started to undo Tad’s shirt, but after one button, the guy stopped him and, for the first time, undressed my guy, slowly, slowly, lingering in areas they both loved, providing him with sensations almost as intense as he’d been giving, bringing both of them to the point where even the softest breath from one or the other sent shock waves through their bodies.
They only left the cabin once, that weekend, and that was just to splash about in the icy, gentle surf, naked and laughing – until a cop appeared, and they had to scramble back inside. And on the drive back to the city, Daniel was completely at peace.
Chapter 4 — The Lyons’ Den
Ouch…almost too hot to touch…
Sweet dreams are made of this…