Yes you do!

You took another long sip of your cocktail, the sweet, potent mix of **** and fruit juice warming you from the inside, loosening the knots in your stomach. Jamal’s words still swam in your head, so clear and so seemingly reasonable. “So you really think... it’s just about letting go? Finding your place?”

“That’s the heart of it, bro,” Jamal affirmed, his voice a low, steady rhythm. “It’s not about being less. It’s about being... different. Stronger in a different way. You spend so much energy trying to be the man you think you’re supposed to be. What if the man you’re meant to be is someone who lets go, lets a real man take the weight for a while? I have been told that it’s a relief, you know?”

The idea was a balm to a part of you you didn't know was aching. You watched him for a moment, emboldened by the **** and his non-judgmental presence. “I... I heard something else, too. Something... definitively more intense.” You hesitated, feeling your cheeks flush. “Something about... cock cages?”

Jamal let out a deep, booming laugh. It wasn't mocking, but genuinely amused. “Damn, you really did get the full tour tonight, didn’t you?” He shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. He looked down, then casually, almost unconsciously, grabbed himself through his swim trunks. The gesture was slow, confident, a show-off. He adjusted a weight and thickness that was impossible to ignore, a very visible bulge that made your own breath catch. Your eyes were glued to it, a hot, instant blush crawling up your neck, but you couldn't look away.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he noticed your stare. “There’s a reason you don’t see many brothers in those. You’d have to forge one thats way bigger then the normal sizes, and even then, it’d probably be a very tight fit.” He let go, but the image was seared into your mind. He grins at you and says, “Nah, that’s mostly for white guys.”

Your blush deepened. “Why?”

“Think about it,” Jamal said, his tone shifting from playful to instructive, like a teacher explaining a simple truth. “From what I’ve seen, most white boys don’t really need their dicks, not for the main event anyway. A lot of them are... well, let’s just say they’re not built to please a woman the way a Black man is. They’re way too small, they finish too fast. It’s just... not really their purpose.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “So why should you even worry about it? Lock it up and put it away. It lets them focus on what they are good for, and thats using their hands, their mouth, their whole body to please their partner. It takes the pressure off. They don’t have to pretend to be something they’re not and the partner doesn't have to interact with something thats sub-par.”

Taylor’s words came back to you, 'It feels like you’re finally in the place you’re supposed to be.' And Abigail’s, 'It’s the best thing a pretty little white boy like you can be.' They didn’t seem so crazy anymore.

“But... that sounds so ****,” you managed to say, your voice a little shaky. “To be... locked up? I’d definitely be scared to even try.”

Jamal chuckled amused, his eyes softening. “Scared? Bro, trying on a piece of metal for a night isn’t scary. It’s just... fun, like an experiment. It’s not a life sentence... unless you want it to be.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice a hypnotic murmur. “Look, nobody’s saying you have to do anything. Like I said, this is your journey. But I would say, don’t knock something just because it’s new.” he places one of his big hands on your pale shoulder and gives it a small squeeze. “For a lot of white guys, it’s freeing you know? In a way, it's like a sign. It shows that they know their role, that they’re dedicated to pleasing the person who owns them. It’s like a symbol of trust. It’s actually pretty normal in these circles, for the right kind of guy. But remember, it’s just an option, Emile. A tool. If you ever got curious, trying it on for a bit would be no big deal. I got some in our room, just so you know. But obviously only if you wanted to.”

You took another big swallow of your drink, the liquid courage making you nod slowly. It did make a strange kind of sense. The idea was terrifying, but Jamal made it sound so... casual. So normal.

As if on cue, your eyes drifted back to the bar, and the scene there definitely had escalated. Justin was no longer just watching, he was standing awkwardly, one hand subtly rubbing the front of his own shorts, his eyes locked on his girlfriend and Trent. Trent’s hand was definitely inside Sarah’s swimsuit now, his wrist moving with a slow, insistent rhythm. But what was truly shocking was Sarah’s hand. She was no longer passively enjoying what Trent was doing. But her own small, pale hand was openly rubbing along the thick, heavy ridge of Trent’s bulge, tracing its impossible length through his trunks as her head fell back against his shoulder. Her mouth was open, and even from where the two of you stand, you could see the soft moans escaping her lips. She was lost in it, her body writhing slightly against his hand as he fingered her in the middle of the party.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, the drink making you bold. “They’re not even hiding it. How can Justin just... stand there? How can he let another man do that to her, to his girlfriend?”

Jamal watched with a calm, appreciative smile, as if he were watching a beautifully choreographed dance. “Because he knows what’s good for her,” he said simply. “Look at her, Emile. She’s glowing. She’s feeling pleasure on a whole different level. Justin loves her, right? So he wants her to feel her best. And a Black man... a man like Trent... he just knows a woman’s body better. He knows how to unlock that kind of pleasure. It’s just a fact of life, bro. We’re just built for it. It’s better for her to be with someone like that, even for just a little while, then white a white boy. It’s just young people having fun, exploring what feels good. And let’s be real, it looks a hell of a lot better than her standing there with her hand down Justin’s pants, doesn’t it?”

You couldn’t argue. It surely did. It looked right, in a primal, confusing way. Sarah, a white woman, being pleasured and dominated by a strong Black man, while her white boyfriend watched and accepted it. It was the pattern you were seeing everywhere tonight, played out in its most explicit form.

Jamal’s arm slipped around your shoulders, a friendly, brotherly weight that felt both comforting and in a way possessive. “Come on,” he said, gently turning you away from the bar and back toward the heart of the party. “Let’s not spend all night hiding in the shadows. Time to get back in there. Mingle a little. Enjoy the party.”

His voice was so reassuring, his logic so clear. You nodded, finishing the last of your cocktail. He was right. It was time to stop watching from the sidelines and get back in.