An Interracial Party – Weird vibes & one Solid fuck

 

We’re always at the mercy of childcare, and currently my husband’s mobility, when it comes to getting away to a club. But one Friday night, the stars aligned. The club with the best accessibility was hosting an interracial party. So we went.

It was a weird one.

On Black Men & My “Vibe”

Let me start with this:
I have a strange relationship with black men.
If you've read my blog, you’ll know I’ve probably played with more than my fair share. If black people make up approximately 4% of the UK population, then about 40% of my playmates have been Black which is well above statistical average.

But it’s not because they’re Black.
I’m not attracted to someone because of their race.
I’m attracted to men who are confident, charismatic, and make me feel wanted. And yes, Black men often approach me more, seem more confident, and tend to have bodies to die for - but that’s not the why. I’m pulled to the energy. The attention. The desire.

And apparently, I give off a vibe they like. Or maybe it’s the huge boobs?

Pre-Party Check-Ins

Once we’d decided to go, I messaged everyone I knew who would be appropriate for an interracial party.
Two previous playmates said they’d be there:

• Damo (6ft6 bodybuilder)
• Simon (from the mini-gang bang)

Husband and I arrived. Danced. Chatted.
But the vibes were off.

The “Wanking Dead” & the Rapey Vibe

This is hard to explain, and Mr completely disagreed with me that it felt this way, but I felt it.
At most parties, there’s usually a moment when a scene kicks off, and suddenly, a circle of men gathers. Towels half-on, hands inside, wanking as they wait for a turn. You’ve probably seen it.

There’s a name for them: The Wanking Dead.
And they’re not just awkward. They’re desperate.
They haven’t spoken to the woman, haven’t made any connection, but want to use her body like a public service. It’s gross. It’s a huge turn-off.

And at this interracial party, it was amplified. The groups were larger. The men were gorgeous and would have no problem hooking up with women but they didn’t talk. They didn’t try.

Some touched me as I walked past. Some asked, outright, if I was DTF right there and then.
No warmth. No seduction. Just entitlement.
Big. Fat. No.

Standing by the orgy room, I exchanged words with one man while another put his arms around me.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I pulled a face. “Ehhhh…”
The first man said, “Yeah, not sure she likes that.”
I replied, “If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a hell no.”

And he still kept touching me.
So I left.

Damo? Not It.

I’d seen Damo in the hot tub room, fingering a woman. He’d messaged earlier saying how excited he was to see me but hadn’t even said hello before diving in with someone else. It gave me the ick.

Walking back past the bar, I felt that strong get me out of here energy…
But then I saw Simon.

Simon to the Rescue

I smiled. Hugged him.
He was warm, kind, respectful - safe.
Isn’t it funny how you can barely know someone but feel like you can be safe with them?

We went to the dungeon just to talk but the vibe was right and a very brief conversation turned to kissing. Then touching.
He hadn’t even gotten his condoms from his locker yet. Didn’t matter.
He kissed my boobs, my neck, my body - gentle, present, attentive.
But no oral. (Interesting choice and one that I am keen to understand why it’s so rare in the club when men EXPECT blowjobs as standard)

Crowds, Cocks, & Cushions

I moved from my knees on the dungeon floor to between his legs on the bed, sucking his cock. A crowd gathered which was no surprise. Jordy was most visible, smiling and nodding along like a horny hype man.

I asked Simon if he wanted to fuck and if he had a condom. He didn’t - but I did.
Large one. On it went.
I climbed on and rode him. His cock? Thick. His build? Solid. Perfect between my legs.

I came. Hard.
Then we switched positions, played around. Moved to a weird cushion for missionary.
He was sweating like mad in the stuffy humid heat and physical exertion.
It felt good. And he checked in with me the whole time. All good things but the ick remained.

The Ick Strikes Again

Other men trying to touch me while I was being fucked.
One even asked Simon if he could join in. He didn’t ask me, he asked Simon.
I don’t care if I’m married to the guy or not, you ask me, or you don’t touch. Full stop.

These moments pulled me right out of the experience.
Men treating me like a toy on display instead of a woman mid-connection. Massive turn-off.

The Finale

Simon finished while fucking me. Those final desperate thrusts? Absolutely my favourite.
Far better than the men wanking on to my face. (But hey, to each their own.)

We showered. Cleaned up. We danced with Simon for a while but then started to head out.
At the front, Jordy finally approached me.
Wanted to know why I was leaving as he’d been watching me all night and wanted a go.

Too late, pal.

I laughed. Told him he was off with others all night and didn’t choose me.
He was 21. Sweet. Too young. But a respectful guy and a flattering end to a strange night.

Final Thoughts: Interracial Vibes? Hmm.

Some beautiful moments.
Some gorgeous men.
But also, some of the worst energy I’ve felt at a club.

The entitlement. The non-consensual touching. The “pick me” desperation without any actual effort.

Thankfully, Simon reminded me what good play feels like.
But yeah… that party? Definitely weird vibes.