Race and Sexual Fantasies - The Reality of Race Play

Chupoo is not anti-BDSM. In fact, for seven years, she's been a submissive in a master-slave relationship with a black man. So, she's delighted, for example, when in an erotic context, he calls her a "bitch." "I can accept other people are able to rise above their sexism," she says, adding, "The race thing is really a lot deeper. I guess it's easier for me to deal--he understands that we have a partnership ... I feel like my master respects me. I cannot imagine feeling that with someone around race play."

Those who engage in race play are quick to say that they keep politics outside of their bedroom (and dungeon). But their own relationships to race are telling. Chupoo sees race as central to her life; Mollena, not as much or not in the same way. Chupoo refuses to do BDSM with anyone who's white and she says that when someone at a BDSM party ignores her partner, or pretends to not know his name, it's disrespectful and has to do with racism. For Mollena, it's most often the other person's problem, and she's had relationships with white men. Whatever trajectory brought the two women to these different conclusions, it may also inform what they do in the dungeon, making race play either titillating or disturbing.

The Turn On Many presentations on race play, if not all, follow a similar format: personal history, explanation of race play, demonstration and time for questions and answers. The explanations vary.

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Vi Johnson, the black matriarch of BDSM, has presented on race play at kinky conferences and she believes the appeal is different for each person. "When you're being sexually stimulated, you're not thinking that what's stimulating you is a racist image," she says. "You're just getting turned on."

So, for some, she says, race play is about playing with authority and for others, it might be humiliation.

Well-known dominatrix Midori, who is Japanese and German, often presents her theory that humiliation in BDSM is linked to self-esteem. Take the woman who likes it when her boyfriend calls her a "slut," Midori says. Perhaps the woman internalized the idea that "good girls don't," but she enjoys her sexuality. Because the boyfriend sees her in all her complexity. Midori says, when he calls her a slut, "he is freeing her of the social expectations of having to be modest." That's different than having some stranger (and jerk) calling you a slut. The stranger doesn't see the full woman. It's similar with race play, Midori says. By focusing, for example, on a black man's body, while he's bound as a slave, she's bolstering his own perception of himself as strong and powerful.

Of course, race and gender have a different history. So does that make it easier to play with the word "slut"? Midori tells me to not take it the wrong way but it's a question of my youth. She's known women of other generations, for whom the word slut is painful to hear.

Her workshop demonstrations have included full auction scenes mimicking those of the Old South. In them, she is the plantation mistress inspecting a black man for "purchase." He's in shackles and "I slap him on his face and push him down on the ground, make him lick my shoes," she says, emphasizing that she only does the demonstration after the "psychological" talk.

The audience's reaction? "Everything from horror to sighs of relief to uncomfortable arousal to validation to hooting and hollering, including people walking out." Midori stresses again that race play is "advanced play."

Advanced players have had their reservations. Master Hines, a black man, joined the BDSM community in the early 90s. He's a sadist who's more than comfortable flogging his white submissive. But with race play, "I thought I'd feel like I was being racist. I thought it was very extreme." He changed his mind when someone likened it to people playing out a rape fantasy. In that case, he wouldn't consider that person a rapist because reality and fantasy are different.

While most workshops focus on black and white, every color line is up for grabs. Williams facilitated a workshop in Washington, D.C., three years ago where a Mexican friend helped her. When it came time, she mentioned "wetbacks" and her friend who was sitting in the audience burst out, "What'd you say bitch?" The scene that followed was an erotic struggle, verbal and physical, between him and Williams. When he had her down on the floor, he barked, "Now what? Now what bitch?"

"Now we stop," she replied, and they both started laughing and hugging. Williams adds that even for kinky people, the race play is still so new that it's important for them to know that she and her partners are real friends.

Williams stresses the emotional care in race play. Because it is psychological, "no one knows that you're hurt," she says. So, she advises seeing it before trying it and having a go-to person for comfort after engaging in race play. She reminds the audience to think carefully before doing it in public. "You're putting your reputation on the line--are you prepared for that?"

The Reality of Play

A curious thing about race play is that it is pursued by people of color but often consumed by whites. The BDSM community is largely white, so those watching a public scene are more often white people. The community itself is not free of racism. Chupoo sees this evidenced in the men who approach her. "I get more white submissive men hitting on me than anything else," she says. They're hoping she'll be a big, black dominant woman. "It's their thing. It's their racist fantasies of what black people are."

Bond has had similar experiences but he and others note that the white people they do race play with are not racists. "Truth be told, you have to get a white woman to like you before you can get her to beat you or call you racial names," he says.

However, discomfort in saying the word "nigger" during race play doesn't make someone racism-free. A related concern is the relationship between the sex industry, much of which operates on race as fetish, and those who do race play. But white men flying into Havana for morena prostitutes reduce those women to racial and gender stereotypes. It's not a consensual relationship (or any kind of relationship). They don't have to consider that woman's needs. By contrast, Williams only does race play with about four people she's come to trust.

Still it is tricky matter, race play. Williams says that in considering a partner for it, you have to ask yourself, "Do you know in your guts of guts that [racism] is not their point of view?" Even knowing the answer to that, she says, you have to be ready for that moment, that quick second perhaps in which you might find yourself doubting the person's motives. It's like wondering if a boyfriend would cheat, Williams says. The moment should ideally pass quickly but if it doesn't, she says, "Are you ready for that moment?"

by Daisy Hernandez
Daisy Hernandez is a senior writer and editor at ColorLines.

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