After the sex club experience I was sent an invitation to a private party where the main meal was billed as….black men. Yes my precious, I had stumbled across an appreciation society for black men and it was on Saturday!

Curious and being semi control freakish I emailed the organiser and wanted to check if the fan club was open to black women or was it an interracial thing. Well she told me that absolutely was it not just interracial and that they had a great mix of black and white and her email went on and ok ok chica! I said I’d be there.

It was really cheap and that should have alerted me but what with it being in a home county I figured that this was without the London weighting. After a futile argument with the cabby who had decided on taking the scenic route I jumped out at the private house and he zoomed off still arguing. I turned towards the house and was greeting by ……police tape, 2 police cars with flashing lights and a bunch of black men waiting outside?

Turns out that the organisers had had an argument and a physical fight had broken out. The private party was now a police crime scene. I wasn’t impressed and judging by the men outside I REALLY wasn’t impressed but something told me that I wasn’t about to see that particular cab driver again. I had no choice but to venture in.

The place was barren and there was no heating. They were using the gas cooker rings to light spliffs and cigarettes. Tonight was not my night. I kept my coat on because carelessly I hadn’t worn much and it was bloody freezing. I must have looked miserable because some stomach with a man attached said, “Cheer up princess, it might never happen.” It had happened. I’d landed in a chav like nightmare

So what’s a girl to do but to latch on to the least offensive looking man in the room and appoint him my body guard whilst I called a cab to take me back to London. Bruce was a black cab driver whose wife thought he was out earning money not attending sex parties. He proudly told me it was his 2nd.

I looked around and noticed that most of the black men didn’t look like the hot specimens on the website. The majority were dads and uncles to people my age. They stood around drinking Guinness and swapped war stories of parties gone past high fiving each other. But, where were the women?

Then the women arrived. I suddenly felt like I was in an audition for Shameless. Surrounded by sagging breasts and bellies that had clearly seen more cock than I have chocolate I knew this was my cue to exit stage left.  Besides, the uncles were starting to look really hungry.

So that was a shameless night out my precious but thank goodness I’d found the one black cab driver in the mix.

Chelsea Black is a writer. Romantically seeking her Fubo (future boyfriend) she often gets distracted by misadventures. She is currently working on her second book, first baby (sperm to be confirmed) and first real career. Chocolate and cocktails are food groups