Whiteboy And The Black Psychiatrist

Dustin sat anxiously in the waiting room for his first meeting with the psychiatrist. There was a free counseling center on campus, but the twenty-one year old senior needed to keep his "problem" a secret, even if that meant paying $200 a session. Dustin would have to drop out of school if gossip got around. He would never survive the humiliation.

Dustin was a clean-cut with wholesome good looks. He didn't seem at all like someone with a problem only a shrink could solve. Longish dark blond locks dangled over his large green eyes. Dustin had a slight cleft in his chin, dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, soft pink kissable lips, perfect teeth. He was fairly tall with broad shoulders, not especially muscular but well-shaped and well-proportioned with a slim waist and narrow hips. He wore a white Polo shirt tucked into a pair of pressed khakis hugging his perfect round butt.

Dustin desperately needed help. His problem was too embarrassing to admit to anyone but a professional. It would be difficult, but he was prepared to confess everything to the psychiatrist. Life couldn't go on this way for him.

"Dr. Ezinwa will see you now," announced the receptionist.

The door to the doctor's office opened. A tall, strikingly sharp Black Man with a Brooklyn fade and goatee, sporting an expensive black wool suit with matching vest, stood there smiling. He was one of the handsomest men Dustin had ever seen. His skin was very dark, a deep rich brown. He had penetrating eyes.

"Come in, Dustin," said the psychiatrist in a warm, deep baritone with an unplaceable foreign accent. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

Dustin gulped. Admitting his problem to Dr. Ezinwa was going to be a lot harder than he expected.

Dr. Udeme Ezinwa offered Dustin a seat on the sofa. He sat opposite Dustin in a large armchair. The office was lined with books. There was a well-organized desk with a framed picture of a beautiful Black woman and two young boys, evidently his wife and children. Diplomas hung on the wall. The only light came from the large windows hung with plants. It was a relaxed and comfortable setting.

"You don't look old enough to be a psychiatrist," said Dustin.

"Thank you for the compliment," chuckled Dr. Ezinwa. "I happen to be 28 years old. I was born in Nigeria, but I was educated in this country. Let me assure you, however, that I am completely qualified to help you. On the surface, you appear to be a normal, red-blooded American boy. Tell me, what is troubling you?"

"I don`t . . . I don't know if I can tell you," Dustin faltered. "It's hard for me to talk about. I'm afraid you won't understand."

"Anything you say in this office is kept between us," Dr. Ezinwa assured him. "And trust me, nothing you say will shock me."

Although this man was only seven years older than he was, there was something in his deep, strong voice that steadied Dustin and lent him confidence. Dr. Ezinwa looked youthful, but his voice was resonant with sincerity and wisdom. Dustin felt he could trust this man.

"Tell me about yourself," suggested the psychiatrist. "Just relax and take your time. There is no problem so big that we can't deal with it."

"Okay, I'll try," said Dustin. "To begin with, I suppose that I should tell you I'm gay."

"I see," said Dr. Ezinwa thoughtfully.

Dustin looked into the Nigerian's dark eyes to gauge his reaction. He was struck again by how youthful and handsome the doctor appeared. Dustin couldn't help but wonder what the doctor looked like without the suit. If Dustin had passed Dr. Ezinwa on campus, he would have taken him for an athlete. Or maybe a model. Ezinwa could have been either.

The irony of having to tell his problem to a Black doctor was oppressive, but Dustin reminded himself that Dr. Ezinwa was a professional. He had to trust him, no matter how embarrassing.

"Is your sexual orientation significant to the problem that has brought you here?" asked the doctor, gently.

"Yes, it is," sighed Dustin. "I'm afraid it has everything to do with my sex life."

"Explain," said the doctor, whose professional request somehow echoed in Dustin's ears like a command.

"I'm gay, OK? " said Dustin. "I've known that about myself since as early as I can remember. It's like I've always had this attraction for men. For cock, actually. I like to suck cock. I'm not ashamed of that."

"That's good to hear," Dr. Ezinwa consoled. "There's nothing for you to be ashamed of. Homosexuality is no longer considered a psychiatric disorder. You were born into it. In fact, homosexuality is actually more prevalent among some groups than was previously understood. Please, go on."

"It's like this. I've been sexually active since I was sixteen. I've sucked a lot of cocks since then - mostly pick-ups and one night stands, but only once a week, usually on Friday or Saturday night."

"That isn't what's bothering you, is it," asked Dr. Ezinwa, rhetorically.

"No, sucking a different cock each week didn't bother me," replied Dustin. "The thing is, I was always attracted to men who were -- this is so hard for me to talk about."

Dr. Ezinwa assured the patient, "You will feel better if you just tell me everything."

Dustin hesitated, then summoned his resolve and went on: "The only guys I had sex with were white men like myself. Then, about six months, I went home with this. Black guy. I met him at a gay bar. After that, everything changed."

Dr. Ezinwa nodded with understanding. "Go on, Dustin. Tell me what changed."

"I never had anything against Black Men for sexual partners," elaborated Dustin. "It's just that I preferred white guys. I only went home with Curtis that night because I was so horny, but it turned out to be the best sex I ever had."

"What was it like with this Curtis that made it so different from the white men you had been with?"

"That's just it, I don't really know," said Dustin. "He had a really huge cock, and I spent the night blowing him. He really enjoyed the experience. He talked dirty to me. I guess that really turned me on, because the nastier he talked, the more demanding and crude he became, the more I just wanted to give him the blowjob of his life. Does that make me a slut, doctor?"

"Not at all," said Dr. Ezinwa in his deep, reassuring voice. "It simply means that you have a healthy libido for a gay man. But think back upon this incident. Was there anything else that struck you as unusual at the time?"

"Well, there was one thing," said Dustin. "It was his body odor."

"His body odor?"

"Yes, the way he smelled when I had my face pressed to his crotch. I'm sorry, doctor, should I stop? Is this awkward for you?"

"Dustin, nothing you say can embarrass me. I've dealt with all kinds of human conflicts. Tell me about your reaction to his body odor."

"It was so intense, like I never smelled a real man before. It was like a hundred locker rooms distilled into a concentrated aroma. His crotch smelled like musk, but sweeter and stronger. I can't describe it. It was an exotic perfume. I know it sounds crazy, but it made me want to suck his cock even more than usual. I couldn't get enough. The white guys I'd been with usually came quickly and silently like they were in a hurry or something, but Curtis just took his time. He told me exactly how to pleasure his cock, when and how to suck, where to lick, that sort of thing. For the first time in my life I actually felt like I was truly worshipping a cock, that his pleasure was more important than my own. When he finally had an orgasm, I never swallowed so much cum before. I never needed it so badly. It was an incredible experience."

"Then what happened?"

"The next weekend I went home with a white bodybuilder. He had a fantastic body with a seven inch cock, but after sucking him off, I wasn't satisfied. I needed more. It happened again the weekend after that. Another white guy with a decent sized cock, but no real satisfaction. I felt incomplete."

"What did you do?"

"From that point on I have only had sex with Black men," Dustin sighed. "I don't know why, but I don't get the same feeling from sucking white guys any more."

"You Americans have a saying, don't you?" said Dr. Ezinwa, with the barest hint of amusement. "Once you go Black..."

"...you don't go back," finished Dustin. "I guess it's true, huh? The problem is, now I can't get enough Black cock. I went from giving blowjobs once a week to needing it every single night. Ever since that time with Curtis, only Black cocks seem to satisfy me. Every night I get so horny that I go out looking for more Black cock to suck. I've ended up in dives, train stations, the park, just hoping some horny Black Man will come along needing a blowjob. I've even paid for it. Two nights ago I gave a homeless Black Man $100 to suck his cock because I had to have it. It was like a craving."

"I see," said the doctor matter-of-factly, almost indifferently. "Is that all?"

"There's one more thing, I guess," said Dustin, gaining confidence. "When I'm with a Black man, my cock doesn't get hard anymore. I'm horny as hell, but for some reason my cock goes soft. It's only after the encounter that I'm able to masturbate."

"Let me ask you a very personal question," said the doctor. "Would you say that you have a large penis?"

"No, not really," said Dustin. "I'm about six inches hard, maybe six and a half on a good day."

"And the Black Men you've been with, would you consider them, shall we say, more generously endowed?"

"Oh, definitely," said Dustin. "Most of them have been at least 8 inches long, some even larger. I guess the rumors are true."

"The rumors?"

"That Black Men have bigger cocks than whites."

"I see," smiled Dr. Ezinwa. "Well, most rumors have a basis in fact, although to be sure there is room for exaggeration."

"What's wrong with me, doctor?" pleaded Dustin. "My grades are suffering. I can't sleep. All I think about anymore is sucking Black cocks and swallowing Black sperm. It's like I can't get enough! What is wrong with me?"

"There is nothing wrong with you," said Dr. Ezinwa, calmly. "This is a fairly common occurrence when there are sexual relations between white males such as yourself and Black Men."

"Can you help me, doctor?" begged Justin. "I want to stop. I mean, I like sucking cock, but this has got me out of control. I can't help myself."

"You must try to understand," said Dr. Ezinwa, "that this compulsion you feel is unavoidable. The societal injunction against sexual contact between the races is based on something more than mere racial prejudice. There is a reason why white people should not encounter Black Men sexually. In my own country, there is a clear understanding of this problem, but unfortunately in America where Black and white men live side by side this problem is doomed to constantly recur."

The Nigerian psychiatrist explained further: "You see, it was never meant that caucasians such as yourself should be exposed to African Men, not on sexual terms. There are too many cultural and physiological differences to go into, but to be brief, white males like yourself are totally unprepared for the consequences. There happens to be a pheromone in the Black Man's sweat glands that induces sexual surrender. You probably don't know that the white race is a subsidiary, genetically impoverished line descended from Black Africans. Inhaling the scent of Black Men you fell under the biological imperative usually experienced by women. The Black Man's pheromones have the effect on women of making them sexually submissive. It's simply Nature's way of assuring the procreation of the strong."

Dr. Ezinwa concluded, "So you see, after inhaling your friend Curtis's pheromones and ingesting his biologically superior seed, you found yourself addicted, if that is not too strong a term, to Black Men."

"But it's ruining my life," said Dustin, almost in tears. "I can't think of anything else but sucking Black cock. I want it all the time."

"It's sad, really," said Dr. Ezinwa. "There actually is no cure."

"Isn't there anything I can do?" begged Dustin. All he wanted was to be free of this compulsion, haunted night and day by pornographic thoughts of big Black cocks spilling with hot African sperm, driven to seek out Black Men for sexual relief.

"There is no cure," said Dr. Ezinwa. "All that I can offer you is temporary relief from your insatiable cravings."

It was then that Dustin saw that Dr. Ezinwa had unzipped his pleated woolen slacks. The doctor slowly pulled out a large, but soft, uncircumsized Black cock, some five inches long.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" inquired Dr. Ezinwa. His deep accent was almost hypnotic, but no more so than the sight of his exposed, soft, thick, velvety black penis. "Do you consider my bura to be large?"

"Your bura?"

"I'm sorry," apologized the doctor. "Bura is the term my people use for penis."

"Well, yes, your bura is plenty big," said Dustin.

"Do you feel the desire to suck my bura right now, adabesi?"

"Adabsi?"

"Again, I apologize," said the doctor. "Adebesi is what my people call a man who sucks penises like a woman. It is also a term we sometimes use to refer to Europeans and white Americans, such as yourself. Tell me, do you feel the desire to suck my bura, adebesi?

"Yes. . . I do," admitted Dustin. He couldn't take his eyes off that velvety, Nigerian cock.

"Then, I suggest you come over here right now and see how it feels in your mouth," said the doctor.

It was not a suggestion. In any case, Dustin couldn't help himself. He was on his knees before the doctor at once.

"Kiss the head of my bura," instructed the doctor.

Dustin planted a sloppy wet kiss on the huge sheathed phallus. He felt it quiver and swell at the touch of his lips. There was so much vibrant power contained in that pipe of ebony flesh.

"Now, I want you to lick the shaft up and down like you were licking a lollipop, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," said Dustin.

"You called me Sir, do you realize that?"

"You're a doctor," Dustin replied.

"Have you addressed the other Black Men you've serviced as Sir?"

"Yes, I guess so," the whiteboy acknowledged.

"That's good, adabesi," said Dr. Ezinwa. "It's a sign you know your place."

"My place?" asked Dustin.

"Your place, what?" demanded the Nigerian.

"My place . . . Sir?"

"That's a good boy," said the doctor. "You're learning."

There was no longer merely a hint of amusement. Dustin could hear the irresistable authority in the Nigerian's deep, masculine voice. "Now, show me how much you want to please my bura. Start sucking."

The Nigerian's cock swelled up and stiffened inside Dustin's hot, wet mouth. It grew so big that Dustin had to stretch open his mouth as wide as possible. The girth of Dr. Ezinwa's cock crammed his mouth entirely. It had to be at least nine inches, probably more.

As the huge, thick Black cock forced its way down into Dustin's throat, the whiteboy's face came close to the doctor's pubic hair. The musky scent was overwhelming. Dustin's own cock was soft, but his horniness increased a thousand-fold. For the next forty minutes all Dustin did was suck up and down on this huge phallus. Time seemed to stand still.

The doctor leaned back in his chair and issued instructions. His accent became more pronounced.

"Suck my bura, whiteboy," he commanded. "Suck it for me good. Show my bura the respect it deserves. That's right, suck it hard, use your mouth, lips, and throat to respect my bura. Take all of it inside you. Suck on it. This is what you need, my little white American boy. There is no turning back."

Dustin sucked furiously. It hurt his jaw and throat taking so much cock in his mouth, but he persisted. He had to have it. The Nigerian's delicious body odor seemed to possess him. He had to have this bura. He had to earn its reward. He wanted more than anything else to please the tall, muscular African in his expensive suit.

After forty minutes of intensive fellatio, Dustin felt the Nigerian's bura begin to throb until it exploded with one burst of sperm after another. The hot, foamy cum filled his mouth.

"Swallow my seed, adabesi!" said the doctor. "Swallow it!"

Dustin did as he was told, forcing the copious ejaculate down his esophagus.

"You did a good job, little whiteboy," said Ezinwa, breathing heavily after his orgasm but still maintaining a professional composure. "Yes, that was very good, but there is still room for improvement."

The doctor rose and zipped up his pants. Dustin was still on his knees, looking up at the man he had hoped would help him with his problem.

"As I informed you," said Dr. Ezinwa, "there is no cure for your condition. What matters now is that you become reconciled to your proper place in life. You will always be a cocksucker. There is no changing that. Only now you understand, I think, that cock sucking is not for your selfish pleasure alone. We will have to work on your acceptance of this fact."

"Then there is no hope for me?" asked Dustin.

"Hope? There is much hope for you, my little aibu." That last word was pronounced `oyee-bo.' "I'm sorry, that is another word used in my country. Aibu means a caucasian. Perhaps in time you will prove yourself to be of much use to Black Men, but much more practice is required. Tell me, did you enjoy sucking my bura and swallowing my seed?"

"Yes, very much," said Dustin, relishing the taste of Dr.Ezinwa's sperm lingering in his mouth.

"Many more treatments are required before you can reach your full potential. You are only beginning to learn what it means to worship a real Man," said Dr. Ezinwa. "Pay the receptionist on your way out. Your next session will be tomorrow at 10 AM, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Dustin complied. "But my classes, Sir. I'm doing terribly in school right now because of this obsession. All I think about is Black cock."

"Don't think of it as an obsession. You must learn to make priorities in life. In the long run, which is really more important: how well you perform in school or how well you perform for Black Men? I want you to give that some serious consideration. However, for the time being, the only bura I want you to think about is mine, do you understand? I want you to focus on my bura from now on. If you see another Black Man, I want you to resist submitting to him. I expect you to bring your desires to me. Do you understand me, aibu?"

"Yes, Sir," said Dustin.

"There is one more thing," added Dr. Ezinwa. "I don't want you to masturbate until we meet again. In fact, I don't want you to masturbate until you have permission from me, do you understand? There are other ways in which your Caucasian body can be of use to Black Men, but we will explore those possibilities at another time, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir, I understand," said Dustin meekly. His rectum tingled and perspired like a cunt lubricated with desire, anticipating the Nigerian's intentions.

"Then, I will see you tomorrow, aibu."

Dustin left the doctor's office, feeling for the first time in months that there was hope. Distanced from the Nigerian's masterful presence, Dustin felt his inadequate white cock begin to stiffen, but he was going to take the doctor's prescription and wait for permission to relieve himself. He looked forward to the next session with extreme anticipation.

After Dustin left, the handsome Nigerian doctor sat behind his desk and muttered to himself, "Typical American faggot."

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written by jeromeskorpio