Black, Undestroyed, Overjoyed

Updated: Oct 24


My name is Mrz. Neptune Violet. I’m a mattress actress who describes myself as “America’s Next Thot Model” and a “gender-fluid cool fun girl.” Instead of another Black man being destroyed, I – when presenting myself as a femme-embodying cross-dresser Mrz. Neptune Violet – consensually put my body on the line to destroy social conventions to create a space where everyone can enjoy the freedom of being alive. In short, here’s how my life, undestroyed, overjoyed, and on the edge, can serve as an inspiration to you.

Thirty seconds after the latex-clad Domme tightly wrapped the clear plastic bag around my matted, bone-straight blonde-wigged head and plastic ball-gagged mouth, my cherry-red Rimmel “kissproof” lipstick formed a seal with the bag’s filmy polyethylene surface. My eyes were closed, and I was near finished counting backward from 30 after taking in a deep breath and settling into zen-like submission. Soon, I exhaled, feeling my breath leaking out the sides of my bag-sealed mouth and floating – along with the sound of my jagged, deep exhaling – into my ears.

The full, deep exhale was followed by a long, laborious inhale. I tried to summon all the oxygen coursing through my blood into my lungs and chest as my body was tightly bound in ropes. . That feeling would give me a greater peace of mind to sink deeper into the pleasure of submission in a most seemingly unpleasant scenario. I felt beads of warm sweat forming on my latex dress-clad chest and in the cracks of my toes— straining in red Louboutin pumps that were as tight and restrictive as they were luxurious and ostentatious. The extreme heat caused by the bag conspired with the predicament bondage and stiffening arousal to make it all a very hot experience.

In the midst of this, my pleasure was not found in being called a “slut” or a “good girl”. Instead, it was the meditative bliss of being physically overwhelmed as a cross-dressing, edge-playing fetishist.

A tiny voice repeated the following quote to me:

“In America, it is traditional to destroy the black body – it is heritage.”

I was courting my own destruction, my little explosive death. But, unlike most Black men, I would emerge unscathed. I was greater than my circumstance. I felt so proud. I felt so good. I was whole and undestroyed.

The poignant words quoted above are from Between the World and Me, a book published in 2015 by peerless author and Black intellectual Ta-Nehisi Coates. The book centers itself on the struggle of how he gives his teenage son coping mechanisms for being a “conscious citizen” of a “terrible and beautiful world.” This is a world where African-Americans are 25% more likely than white people to be “killed,” “murdered,” or “die of natural causes” —destroyed.”The bittersweet dichotomy that exists when snatching life from the jaws of death in that statement is profound. It also lies at the crux of what will motivate me and my body for the rest of my life.

Like Coates, I am a Black man in America who has accepted the nation’s destructive aims against me and is afraid of death. Unlike Coates, my fear developed somewhere between growing up as an intelligent, motivated African-American male and barely emerging from the Obama administration, Donald Trump’s Presidency, and the murder of George Floyd psychologically unscathed. Because of my fear of death, need for life, and desire to find peace in my existence, I began to evolve my love of women, cross-dressing, femininity, BDSM, D/s, porn, and pleasure into a tantric body that bears fully aligned men’s parts and a woman’s intuition. Over time, it has allowed me the ability to feel as though I have, for periods, successfully rid myself of the murderous toxicity of my stereotypical Black masculinity.

This discovery, when being erotically asphyxiated, does not separate terror from beauty to achieve positive consciousness. Rather, the energy of the scene collides terror into beauty while having my consciousness saved – at what feels like the last possible second – from the jaws of destruction. It’s an energetic exchange that – in judging levels of pleasure – makes the male orgasm feel almost inconsequential by comparison.

In my life, everything social and experiential impacts all that is sexual. Thus, engaging in this type of edge play as a cisgendered heterosexual-presenting Black man – sans makeup, sans latex skirt, and six-inch pumps – would be too close to reality. Even deeper, to engage in this play with a dominant, cisgendered, hetero, or homosexual man is a step too far, too. However, as a femme trying to present “ultra-femininity” to the world engaging with another femme (cishet or otherwise), a super-human yet balanced and focused feeling emerges when engaging in sexualized play that pushes what, for many, are boundaries. Something wild happens when my play partner connects with and dives into the abundance of energy that I’m presenting at or past where I am physically and psychologically. The alchemy of the estrogen, testosterone, oxytocin, adrenaline, and pheromones that exist in that space feel like they supersede the American heritage of my body being destroyed.

So call me Mrz. Neptune Violet. Because of how I define myself and some related notions, I am miraculous – in a time where it’s a struggle to remain so – a free, Black, undestroyed man in America, no longer afraid that I’m going to die.