Clinton

As his limousine pulled away from the curb, he speed-dialed Tiffany's number. When she answered, sounding, he thought, a bit the worse for wear, he scheduled another "date" with her, on the day following his return to New York.

After another session with the worthless whore, fucking her in the ass and making the honky shemale eat her own shit, he'd feel like a new man. He'd feel like a million dollars. He'd feel reborn, his Black skin an asset rather than a liability, which made him superior and dominant and a power to be reckoned with in this white man's world.

The honky bastards who ruled the world could try to strip away his dignity. They could try to steal his identity. They could humiliate and abuse him. But there was one thing that no white man could ever do, and that was to take away the mighty Black penis with which God and nature had blessed him and most other Black men. Every time he shoved his mighty man meat up some white chick's pussy or ass or down her throat or did the same to a white shemale bitch like Tiffany, he asserted his true superiority and dominance as much as any Black athlete did on a football field or a basketball court.