You watch the crowd!

You stood there, as if you were a ghost at the edge of the celebration, the cool bottle of water was by now condensing in your hand. The party seemed like a living, breathing organism of sound and light, but you were separate from it, floating in a sea of your own chaotic thoughts. The low thump of the bass was a heartbeat you couldn't quite sync with, and the laughter and chatter were a new language you were only just beginning to understand.

Your eyes landed first on Taylor and Dior, the two were still by the chairs you left them at. But by now, they weren't just kissing anymore, they were almost fused together. Dior, the mountain of dark muscle, had Taylor backed against the sun lounger, one hand tangled in his shaggy hair, the other gripping his ass through the tight black speedo. Taylor’s head was thrown back, his throat exposed in a silent moan as Dior’s mouth devoured his. Dior’s other hand roamed freely, sliding up Taylor’s exposed stomach to his chest, thumbing a nipple before moving back down to grope the thick muscle of his thigh. They were lost in their own world, a private, very passionate display of ownership and desire that was completely unashamed. You watched, with a strange heat coiling in your stomach, as Dior’s hand moved from Taylor’s ass to the front of his own trunks, subtly adjusting the by now definitely very heavy and visible bulge there, a clear, possessive gesture, that he did not care to hide.

Feeling like a voyeur, you **** your gaze away, only to land on Ashton. He seemed like the complete opposite of yourself and Taylor and Dior. He was the life of a different party, a circle of white guys and girls seemingly hanging on his every single word. He was telling some animated story, his body moving fluidly with every gesture, his laugh cutting through the noise. He wasn't touching anyone, not like Dior was, but he commanded the space in his own way effortlessly. He’d lean in to whisper something to a girl, making her blush. He wasn’t overtly dominant, he just seemed to be magnetic, a center of gravity that the people around him just naturally orbited.

Your eyes drifted from the patio to the pool, where the water glowed an inviting blue. In a secluded corner, you saw Abigail and Darnell. The water lapped at their shoulders as they moved together, a slow, intimate moment. Darnell’s huge dark hands were all over Abigail’s body, one cupping the back of her neck, the other was submerged between her legs. You couldn’t see clearly beneath the water’s surface, but you definetly saw the movement of her arm, the way it was angled down toward his hips. Her top was definitely gone and her bare, pale breasts glistened under the party lights, they were too far away for you to see the tattoo on her brest. Darnell’s head was bent to kiss the sensitive skin of her collarbone, his other hand coming up to palm the heavy weight of one of her pierced nipples. She tilted her head back, a look of pure bliss on her face, her hand still working beneath the water. It was too intimate and incredibly raw. You looked away again, your face feeling hot and your dick stirring in your swim pants.

Across the patio, you caught sight of Mary and Jason talking with a small group of other couples, all interracial. Mary was vibrant and animated, she was doing most of the talking. Jason was standing beside her, a quiet, gentle giant, just smiling and nodding along, his gaze soft as he watched her. He seemed perfectly content just to be in her orbit. Mary had changed into a bikini now. From this distance, you couldn't make out the details of it, but it was white with scattered big, black dots on both the triangles of her top and the front of her bottoms. You squinted, trying to see if the dots formed a specific shape, but they were too far. Jason was just in his swim trunks, his dark, tall and lean, but muscular body on full display. You found yourself noting that his plain white trunks were surprisingly long and baggy, almost reaching his knees, they were a stark contrast to the revealing swimwear everyone else seemed to be wearing.

Your gaze swept across the patio, and for the first time, you truly saw the people that were here. Couple after couple, group after group. They were nearly all mixed. A tall, powerful Black woman with her arm around a smaller, adoring white man. A group of Black football players laughing with a group of scantily clad white girls who looked at them with nothing but something you could only describe as worship. It was everywhere. And in every single pairing, the Black person led. It wasn't aggressive, not always at least. Sometimes it was a guiding hand on the small of a back, a possessive arm around a shoulder, or simply the way the white person’s attention was completely, utterly focused on their Black partner.

Abigail’s words echoed in your mind. 'It’s the best thing a pretty little white boy like you can be.' And Taylor’s: 'It feels like you’re finally in the place you’re supposed to be.' Was this it? Was this really the place? The thought was terrifying, a nausea inducing drop into the unknown. But underneath that fear, that same intoxicating heat from before was spreading through your veins again, a slow, creeping warmth that made your dick twitch against the tight fabric of your trunks. Did you secretly want this? To be held, to be guided, to be... owned by a black man? The very idea made you feel weak and powerful all at once. You don't know how you should place those thoughts, so you continue watching on.

Your eyes scanned the crowd again and found Trent at the bar. Sarah was with him now, tightly pressed against his side. He wasn’t talking to her, it was more like he was claiming her. His hand roamed over the curve of her pale hip, up her side, to boldly cup her sizable breast, his thumb stroking her nipple through the thin fabric of her two-piece swimsuit. He kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss that left her breathless but she still follow his mouth when he moved away again. And right there beside them, stood Justin, holding his drink, his gaze fixed on the scene infront of him. He looked awkward, yes, but also... kind of accepting. He was watching another man fondle his long term girlfriend, and it looked like there was no anger on his face, only a quiet, devoted resignation. Your breath caught as Trent’s hand moved from Sarah’s breast, down her white stomach, and slipped into the front of her swimsuit. You saw the fabric shift and his wrist begin to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, right there in the open. Sarah clearly gasped against his mouth, her smaller body arching into his touch. It was so public and incredibly shameless. It was clearly a marking of territory.

You couldn’t look away. It's like you were frozen, in a mix of shock and a horrifying, undeniable arousal. It was all starting to connect, the pieces clicking into place to form a picture you never could have imagined before coming to the USA.

“Hey.”

Someone said beside you, the voice was deep, close, and it made you jump. You turned your head taking your attention away from the others, and Jamal was standing right beside you, his tall, powerful, dark form blocking out the lights from the party. He held a bottle of beer in one hand and another cocktail in the other, his dark eyes watching you with an unreadable intensity. You must have been paying way to much attention to the others, that you hadn't realized that someone was even approaching.