Heaux Confessionals: Whisper In My Ear

~ CHAPTER I ~

Whisper In My Ear

“Once you go black, you can go back...you just don’t want to!”

(Heaux Confessionals, verbal slap #54 – Black History Month, special edition)

And what is it like to be a big-dicked, beautiful black buck of a man in Berlin?

Not that I would have to anyway, mind you, but the predatory instincts which I’d like to believe I possess within me, are not necessary in this environment. I am prey in Berlin like no other. With the right calculations, a sexually deviant mind can be a terrible thing to waste. You, the reader, will only be privy to the general overview of my sexual existence in Berlin. Feel free to ask me personally; if you are brazen enough, far be it from me not to answer in depth. I have no secrets. Where to begin this sordid overview?

My first week, of course.

The very day I descended upon the Sodom and Gomorrah that is Berlin, I was sexually booked for the week. Sightseeing plans were combined with the sexual excursions, as I criss-crossed the neighborhoods of Berlin on pure carnal instinct.

The Palast der Republik, The Wall, Alexanderplatz?

These historical landmarks were but mere blips on my mental register as I sexually surveyed the Berlin scene. With every passing day, I was testing the theories of the Kinsey reports to boundaries previously unforeseen. Completely safer sex, of course. No city could ever fashion me that delirious. If you want those stories, ask another muthafucka because I’m not the one.

Oh yes. the rendezvous week of sin consisted of some of the best (and relatively fresh) that Berlin has to offer. Because contrary to popular opinion, I am not a slut. But, that being said, I always prefer quality over quantity any day.

But not this day. Not this week.

This was the week of the lust connection. I made the brash decision to combine both quality and quantity. Not because I’m greedy. The truth is, I like to multi-task and stay busy whenever possible. Besides, quickly thereafter I discovered that in Berlin, sex was just that: a thing to do...

But back to the story at hand.

Let me tell you. When quality and quantity combine to produce just the right mix, it can be a very beautiful thing. You probably want names. You may want numbers. Whisper in my ear and I’ll whisper in yours. Believe me when I say the sunsets and sunrises were blurred like never before. I don’t remember a single meal. I don’t recall which clubs exactly. But I do remember every position.

It was easy to fulfill so many of my fantasies so quickly because in Berlin I fit the description of the black mystique. I fulfill the part of the bargain because I want to, not because it’s what they think I have to offer. Everyone secretly desires to be someone’s fantasy. Justify your lust, I say. I would be more specific but I am considered a keeper of the mystique. Fret not, however.

I am always searching for eligible members.

About Triston

Triston is an American performance artist, writer, and activist based in Europe. He has been featured in The Huffington Post, New York Times, Vogue Italia, Washington Post, Turkish Huriyet and other on-line and print magazines in the U.S. and internationally. As a performer, he has toured in some of the world's most renowned clubs, simultaneously maintaining an underground renaissance, blurring the lines of all that is traditional and leaving his indelible, and ultimately unforgettable impression.

There is no divide.

Brace yourself.