Home Pop Culture Heaux Confessionals: Traispsing the Heaux-rient Bangkok’ed, Deutschmarked, and Blacked Out

Heaux Confessionals: Traispsing the Heaux-rient Bangkok’ed, Deutschmarked, and Blacked Out


It’s New Year’s Eve, and as per my tradition, I am in a city I have never celebrated it in. This year?


And after momentarily straddling the fence on whether or not to go out, I threw caution to the wind and decided that someone would be straddling me a few hours after the clock struck midnight. And not just anybody.


Possibly plural.

Because the only way to ring in a new year right is with hot elements involved. I consider it a sin to begin a year with second rate goods! And as the devil is my witness, I plan to Earth, Wind & Fire my way to full-fledged fuckery!

How sure am I that tonight someone is getting this pipe laid on them? I get my hotel room trick ready, re-packing my luggage, ordering fresh towels from the front desk, and putting my sex accessories on the night stand. For added measure, I blow my mohawk out even more.

Peacock the plumage!

Vanity sufficiently appeased, I strut out in vintage couture courtesy of Rowan, with a pre-festivities cocktail of Jack & coke, and a cigarette before I head out of my hotel. Tonight will be the last time I smoke cigarettes again. I’m quitting.

Unless they’re laced with weed, of course.

After fifteen minutes of bartering with taxi drivers, one of them finally relents and takes me to ALFA Club. As soon as I walk in, all eyes are on me and why shouldn’t they be?

I’m the only Negreaux in the room.

Or so I thought. After checking my fur hat and jacket at the coat check, I immediately head for the bar. As soon as I turn the corner, I see that I am not the lone Negreaux in the bar. And on first inspection, I immediately think to myself.

Go on that!

After nearly a decade (go ahead, cry heauxz!) of not having another black man to count among my conquests, I was more than ready for some black-on-black crimes of passion. This specimen at the bar fit the bill to a T(rick). At six-three, he was slightly taller than me, buffer than me, and darker than me. Oh yes! He definitely had heauxtential.

But could I let him know that right away? Hell to the naw! A true heaux always keeps their options open. I had just gotten into a club filled with potentially hot men just waiting to ring in the new year with a hot man by their side. I had to consider all the cards on the table before I selected my prey.  As it turns out, for the entire night, I was the prey.

Armed with a Long Island iced tea in one hand and a Marlboro in the other, I positioned myself between the bar and the dance floor to check out the offerings available to me this evening. Surely in a club filled with hundreds of men, I could find at least one to traipse the Heaux-rient with?

A scan across the room shows me there are enough foreigners in this sea of Chinese men that I don’t have to worry about a lack of diversity. If I played my cards right, it could be a United Colors of Benetton heaux-down. But before I can make a mental note of exactly where to position myself on the dancefloor for maximum sexposure, a black shadow descends upon me.

“Hello”, the voice says into my right ear. I instantly pick up the accent.


Bingo! It’s the black man. Black and French?

I have hit the trick jackpot!

“Ca va?”, I reply back, ever the cunning linguist.

“Are you French? What’s your name?”, he asks me, looking down on me. He has already won bonus points because he is looking down on me.

“No, I am not French, but I speak some”, I say. But what I really want to do is cue that LaBelle song and what I really want to say is, “I speak enough French to get you to my hotel room and ravage the hell out of your body“, but I withhold this truth…for now.

“My name is Aziz. What are you doing here?”, he asks, smiling intently at me. I really could just club him upside the head and drag him back to my hotel now. Really, I could. And before I can allow my mind to drift further into the deep ditch of dickery, we are interrupted by what else?

A German.

Because as usual, anywhere I go in the world, Germans are there, and as usual, anywhere I go in the world, they have this unfettered appetite for black men that just cannot ever seem to be quenched. More than likely, he had been watching us from somewhere in the room and had decided to swoop down to double his pleasure.

“Happy new year!”, Germany yelled at both of us, raising his glass to celebrate.

“Happy new year!”, we both smiled back at him. And with that, Germany sashayed right between the two of us, a smile on his face from ear to ear. Invited or not, he was obviously there to stay. I knew I had to step up my game to protect my game. And even though I was not even absolutely certain that I wanted to pluck this black buck (ha! who am I kidding?!), I knew that I had to at least stake a claim beforehand just in case. So when black beauty went to the bathroom, I turned to Germany and had a small conversation with him.

“Where are you from?”, he asked me, that same smile on his face.



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