White Boys Can Hump by WickedWorlds
Jamal stood by himself on the side of the road, looking at his feet and thinking about his plans for the weekend as he waited for his ride home. A little further down the road was the bus pickup location which was crowded as always. Jamal was glad to be seperate from it, even if he was aware it made him stand out more than he already did. As the only black kid in his school, Jamal didn’t really blend in with the crowd. Being alone or being in the middle of things made no difference, so Jamal chose to be alone. He didn’t like crowds, even though part of him did want to be involved. He looked over the mass of students, all of them either White or East Asian, and briefly considered going over to join them. Then he thought better of it and turned away, looking back his feet.
Jamal knew what his weaknesses were: social skills and physicality. He was a brain, he told himself. A straight A student who could compete with any of the other kids in class, but who completely sucked at anything involved with talking or sports. It was this that prevented him from making friends and had made him a target of bullies. That, and one other thing…
‘Hey, loser,’ came the voice of Jamal’s most frequent bully, Clyde.’ Waiting for your mom again?’
Jamal ignored him. Clyde was a pain in the ass but he was a coward too and had never touched Jamal. Clyde just liked to provoke and Jamal refused to let himself fall for it.
‘Since you’re so smart,’ Clyde continued. ‘I had a question’.
Jamal braced himself for whatever stupidity was about to be thrown his way.
‘Why is it your mom only dates White guys?’ Clyde asked.
Jamal was stunned for a moment. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, me and some of the guys just noticed it. We’ve seen your mom out a few times and she’s always with a White guy, never Black. Why’s that?’
Jamal didn’t want to answer that. He knew that Clyde was right and wasn’t making it up, and even knew why his mom only dated White guys, but it was a sore point for Jamal. That fact that Clyde knew about it and would undoubtedly spread it around school only made it worse.
‘Is it ‘cause white dicks taste better?’ Clyde laughed.
Jamal balled his fist, thinking of how easy it would be to smash that laughing prick in the middle of his face.
‘Or maybe she’s just really into slave roleplay? Oh, massa’ give me some cum to drink, please?’ Clyde burst into laughter.
That was too much for Jamal, he threw a fist at Clyde before the other boy could react and manage to hit him in the chest. The pain Jamal felt in his skinny wrist must have been worse than whatever Clyde felt because the other boy just absorbed it and ran off, laughing, while Jamal had to clutch his wrist until the pain subsided.
‘Fucker,’ Jamal muttered, shaking his wrist.
What Clyde had said was true. Jamal knew that his mom only dated White men, and had done so as long as he had been around. The reason why, which she had told him, was because she didn’t trust Black men after one of them, Jamal’s father, had abandoned her when she became pregnant. That, his mom said, was the last time she ever considered dating a Black man and had been strictly Whites Only for the last sixteen years. While intellectually Jamal knew that his mom’s dating preferences were none of his business and if she chose to exclude men of a certain race it was her right to do so. On an emotional level, however, it bothered him. It was a strange feeling and it annoyed him every time he thought about it, but he couldn’t deny that his feelings were at least a little hurt knowing that his own mother didn’t find him, a 100% Black young man, to be attractive. As if, if she wasn’t his mother, he wouldn’t stand a chance with her because she would rather date any of the other boys in his school. He was, in fact, going by her racial criterion, the only man in school she wouldn’t date. Jamal wasn’t sure what his mother’s thoughts of East Asians were, but he felt that if she had the choice between a Chinese man and a Black man, she’d choose the former. She had been very clear on that many times. Another thing that bothered Jamal, that he kept to himself, was that despite his mother singing the praises of her White dates, none of them seemed to stick around either.
Jamal’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of his mom’s black BMW pulling up in front of him. She was sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling broadly at him through the open window.
‘Hey, baby!’ she said.
‘Hi, mom,’ Jamal mumbled back, opening the car door and sliding into the passenger seat.
Before the car could move, someone appeared by Jamal’s window, looking in. He recognised them at once, Clyde. And he’d bought his friend, Eric, with him this time. They were both peering into the car, directly at his mom.
‘Hi, Miss Jackson,’ they said, smiling.
‘Hi, boys,’ Jamal’s mom said, smiling broadly and waving her hand at them.
Jamal knew what they were doing: acting friendly and polite so they had a chance to leer at his mother. Jamal knew his mom was hot. One of the few benefits of a teen pregnancy was that despite having a sixteen year old son, his mom was still in her early 30s and looked good for her age. The boys at school never missed an opportunity to remind Jamal of that fact. Racists, Jamal thought, but not so racist they wouldn't lust after a Black woman. Assholes.
‘Mom, let’s go,’ Jamal said impatiently. Obviously, he had no desire to let Clyde or Eric perv on his mom.
‘Have a good weekend, boys,’ his mom said, waving at them as she gently pressed the gas and pulled away.
Jamal watched in the car’s side window as Clyde and Eric started talking to one another, knowing at once just what the topic of conversation was. It disgusted him. Worse, as a sixteen-year-old, he completely understood them. He knew what they were looking at because he saw it himself. His mom, Monique Jackson, was fucking gorgeous. Jamal knew in his heart that maybe if she hadn’t gotten pregnant with him at such a young age, his mom could have had a job modelling, or even acting. Her figure was the sort of thing R&B starlettes paid thousands for. The hips, the tits, the ass, the waist… She was the pinnacle of African-American beauty. Lighter skinned than Jamal, she had long, thick hair that had been bleached white halfway down, then dyed light pink. Her face was youthful, heart-shaped and smooth, with full lips that framed a wide, white smile.
‘So how was your day, sweetie?’ his mom asked after a few moments of quiet driving.
‘Fine,’ Jamal replied flatly. ‘Same shit, different day’.
Monique scowled slightly at her son’s language. ‘Yeah, well, it’ll get better,’ she said. ‘You got much homework?’
‘Did it already,’ Jamal said, watching the green lawns and colonial houses of his affluent and very White neighbourhood pass by.
Monique stroked the back of Jamal’s head affectionately. ‘That’s my boy’.
The black BMW made its way through the suburb while Jamal and Monique listened to whatever was playing on the local R&B and HipHop radio station. His mom sang along quietly, moving her seat and she danced to the rhythm of the music. Jamal sat still and imagined the comfort and peace of being at home. When the BMW turned off the main road that would take them home, Jamal noticed at once.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked, sitting up in his seat.
‘I got you something,’ Monique replied, smiling mysteriously.
‘What?’
‘You’ll see’.
A few minutes later they pulled into the parking space of the local park, just outside the basketball courts. The park was large and in summer it was one of the most happening places around. For that reason, Jamal didn’t come here often, but was relieved to see that it was quiet today.
Monique reached into the back seat and pulled out a basketball. Brand new, bright orange, Nike branded. She handed it to him, smiling broadly.
‘Here you go, baby,’ she said happily.
Jamal took it, a little confused. He watched basketball sometimes but had never given any hint he wanted to play. He held the ball, feeling the little bumps across its surface and wondered if he was meant to feel something more. Like, as a Black man, he was meant to feel some kind of automatic connection. Instead, all he felt was rubber.
‘I’m going to be busy for a few hours,’ his mom started. ‘So rather than just take you home and leave you in your room all day again, I thought you could do with some exercise. Fresh air, and that. You know?’
Jamal didn’t like the idea of being left alone in the park for a few hours to play by himself, but he couldn’t think of a good reason not to either.
‘You said you’ve already done all your homework,’ his mom said, as if preempting any complaint.
Jamal felt like he had no choice.