Nigga ya black

Lynch one. They will all remember.

Fear, the master of all growth

Fear makes you strong

Fear tightens your desire to go beyond

Fear makes you impetuous, courageous

You defy the challenge

You reify the dare

You submit stoop conquer

The hurdle the barricade

Like Rimbaud in Paris in 1871

Like Jean Valjean saving Cosette

In the sewers under the upheaval

Under the revolution and its blockade

MS in Slavery

Every night

Go out in the corridor

With the vast dark staircase

Three floors deep

To the door at the end of this corridor

Into another darker passage

With some gaping doors at the end of it

To go into the dark toilet

Luckily with a lock

Every night before going to bed

And during the night if necessary

Dear fear that you conquer

Close your eyes

Close your ears

Walk tall and fast

Do not think

Do not imagine

Just go there

And then come back

Day after day

Night after night

Evening after evening

Always the same fear

Always the same steel in your nerves

Learn how to submit subserviently

To the fear that becomes your friend

That courts your mind into an escape

No danger can come under its protection

Fear the savior of the braves

Fear the force of the meek

Blessed are the meek

For they will inherit the earth

And some nights

His elder brother followed

To be serviced in the dark

A hut for twelve

Never fight with those who menace you

Evade them or submit

With just a shade of resistance

It will titillate them

But they will take you for granted

Hardly worth their time and effort

Certainly not their consideration

Even Emancipation turned into a lie

“Hey boy, pick that sheet of paper!”

Kinshasa Ngiri Ngiri

The fizzling fainting fading flickering fog-colored

French Fat Frog

Ordering a student

To pick some paper

The wind had blown from his desk

And Peter humbly bent over

To pick the paper

And the French Fat Frog

Slipped his right hand

In Peter’s pants

And a couple of fingers

Into his backside

Slavery is possession of the body, hence sexual perversion

“Hey Peter my sizzling Pants,

Go get me a cup of coffee!”

“With no milk and two sugars?”

“Why do you ask, Pants darling?

You should know by now!”

And Peter ran to the coffee machine

Ignoring the secretaries

Taking one of their perpetual breaks

And Peter came back and delivered

And his boss put his right hand on his ass

“Nice ass! I should try it one day!”

Peter knew it was a lie

His boss had tried it over and over again

His boss looked at him in the eyes

He nodded his head down slightly

Peter knew what it meant

And he did it

He just enjoyed the taste

As much as his boss enjoyed his tongue

And who cares!

When he was finished

And had rezipped his boss

His boss gave him a light slap

And push a greenback in his shirt pocket

“Thanks! And don’t tell about it!”

Meekly Peter nodded

“Of course! All my pleasure!”

And that was true indeed

That was sexual harassment

But there is sweet pleasure at the tip of it

Creamy and sugary like honey

Better be harassed with it

Than deprived of it

The chain has more value than the slaves

It was late

It was dark

Peter was too young for this dark night

In an unknown neighborhood

In fact perfectly known

But in the day time

And it was now full moonless night

Two men came up

Out of a door recess

“I have nothing of value!”

“That’s not your purse we want!”

They took him inside

In a drab room with just some rags on the floor

Peter knew that situation.

He had often faced it and escaped

He had often discussed it with friends

Who had not been as lucky as he had been so far

But things change don’t they

This time he was taken

Fight it to the violent finish?

Submit to the rape?

And avoid the violence?

Submit he did indeed

“Get your pants down!”

“Get on your knees and suck!”

“Lift up your backside!”

And raped he was

It was not so bad after all

He preferred his elder brother though

And they did not beat him up

“You’re a sweet boy!”

“Do you want some more?”

“What about tomorrow!”

That was not a question

That was an order

“Yessir mister master sir!”

“I will any time!”

He was thinking of avoiding this street corner

This time this place altogether

But he knew he could not

He lived half a block away

And he often worked late

And he let them do it

Night after night

Over and over again

And they even became tender

Nice sweet even attentionate

Though never affectionate

He was a sex slave but he was an easy prey

And there came a time

When he moved to another part

Of his city and that was over

He kept an after taste

In both orifices they used

He was always surprised for months

How honey-like it felt on his tongue

How energizing it felt in his backside

Beg for mercy till you die

But life has to go on

With its surprises and its servitudes

Canned slaves on a transatlantic ship

Mary was such a sweet girl

His student actually

She was in love

But in Dunn there was no leeway

Court as much as you want

But marriage first before anything else

And her father

Did not exactly like it

Time went by

She went to college

He stayed in his small city

He saw her from time to time

She sent letters and tapes

He sent letters and tapes

The words were soft and mysterious

The ideas were strong and fantastic

The feelings were powerful and expansive

The sentiments were hushed up and restrained

Cancer came one day

And Mary more or less disappeared

Out of shame?

Out of fear?

Out of hopelessness?

On his side?

On Mary’s side?

On both sides?

Life killing life

Cancer killing love

Disease killing desire

Mary vanished and hid in memory

Peter vanished and hid in memory

But it will never disappear

Love remains alive when it dies

It haunts the lovers with frustration

An everlasting feeling of deprivation

You will always feel that urgency

That will never be satiated

Even in the most intense moments

Of exploding climaxes

Buy yourself a black body

Peter fell for two men at a time

A ménage à trois

And he was the third wheel of the cart

Every night Farid took him to nirvana

While Bachir just enjoyed the show

With both hands and his tongue

Every morning Bachir took him to exhaustion

While Farid enjoyed Bashir’s backside

That was always burning hot

For Farid and his magic wand

Days and nights went by like that

For weeks and months

They possessed Peter

He was their toy their object their thing

A submissive doll that did not require inflating

But one-day Peter fell very sick

He could not submit

They dared not take him

They became vegetables

Irritable unstable insatiably

Thirsty hungry and fiery

They could do this or that

With each other

But Peter was missing between them

Under them

Responsive

And titillatingly exciting

He had transformed his submission

Into total possession

His tongue was a divine miracle

His back side was a cavern of Ali Baba

His front was an oasis in the desert

And for weeks he was feverish

Sick and unable to provide

The service they were dying for

Their hand-made climaxes were dry and cold

Their solitary flow of cum was sour and bitter

“Bring me some water, please,”

He would ask and they nearly fought

Definitely competed to respond

But after a month of this disease

They just disappeared

Never to come again

Peter managed alone

Little by little recovering

Camels are resilient

With no friends for sure

But with the phenomenal recollection

Of the power of his pleasure

that had enslaved his masters

He had enjoyed every single moment

Of this dependence

Now ready to try other adventures

Buy twelve, the thirteenth is offered

He fell this time for a couple

Lila and Lionel, his lie-lie and company

Lila loved men and two were never enough

Though she satisfied herself

With Lionel and Peter

Most of the time

Lionel, like Peter, was ambisextrous

He loved being in between

And any dildo made Lila

A suitable penetrating lover

Peter enjoyed it too

One day Lila came back home with Philip

A young man who was definitely not of age

But willing he was to get it all

And he got it all

Double penetration, triple penetration, quadruple penetration

With the dildo — or should I say the dildos — as a fourth actor

Lila became vicious at a certain point

They tied Philip up and they used him in the roughest possible way

Covered with melted candle wax

Generously forced to drink

All the fluids the other could produce

Creamy or golden

In a glass or directly poured in his mouth

They shaved him

Pinched him

Tickled him

Scratched him

Scarified him

Drew some of his blood

Squeezed his privates

Made him scream

Made him beg for more

And beg he did

Over and over again

Spraying himself with his own water

Suffering hell and blazes

With his skillfully delayed orgasms

Blue pill after blue pill

To stand and spit

Over and over again

Philip was never satiated

Philip always asked for more

He was the master of the game

And the three who were no musketeers

Finally got tired and untied Philip

Took him naked down in the boot of their car

And dropped him naked in some distant forest

Philip was grateful for this last adventure

“Can we do it again, please?”

He asked.

They locked up a dildo in his backside

With a padlock on the belt that hold it

And they threw the key away in some muddy ditch

Peter never heard from Philip again

And soon after he moved to another city

His longed-for slavery

Had become his luxury

His longed-for domination

The more he was possessed

The more he controlled his possessors

The landowner owns the land

But the land controls the owner.

Proper slave jewelry

Peter was now twenty-four

He could choose one partner

To share with him

Because it was a him he preferred

The finesse and the delicacy of love

He had learned in brutal and ruthless

Physical appropriation

Now he could be free

And his partner could be his accomplice

In love and ecstasy and apotheosis

Shared equally in freedom and dependence

He remembered then his fear

When he was eight or nine at night

In the dark corridors of his youth

His elder brother in his backside

He had learned that this fear was the key to enjoyment

He did not fear anyone in the street

But he feared his partner in a frightening way

What if he could not bring him to the climax

They both mutually desired in themselves and each other.

Fear of this age when these moments

Of satisfied and satiated pleasure

Will become rare and more difficult

But at the age of twenty-four

That was a phantasm of precocious senility

Stay there till your bones are naked

They were young enough — still — and for some time indeed — to forget that fear, and to fearlessly enjoy their love, though Peter from time to time felt nostalgic about women and pugilistic orgiastic self-oblivion in submission to others. But isn’t there a time for every fear and a fear for every time?

Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

Whip him down to the bones