I have an attraction to black-skinned men even though I am a Caucasian. Is that all right, or is that wrong or does it matter?
I LOVE BLACK MEN.
And want to get the correct way of being gay, now does it matter that I am attracted to Black guys?
Dear Confused Caucasian,
Why so loud and proud?
We get it. Black History month is your favorite. But in the bedroom, it doesn’t matter if you’re “Black or White.” There is nothing wrong with sucking dick to the smooth stylings of Michael Jackson. Even if in the end they don’t really care about us. But Black dicks matter!
People use race to divide. Don’t be misguided. But there’s a thin line between practicing once you go Black and fetishizing Black men. I liken it to a perverse prison fantasy epitomized in porn. At this moment there are a coterie of caucasians on dating apps harassing black men for their private parts.
Don’t be a douche bag by chasing big Black cocks because you can’t find them watching BBC. It’s both racist and stupid. Not all Black men are equipped with big dicks and bloated balls. I’ve had plenty, and plenty surprises. Why the sudden craving to have someone stuff all of my orfices? Winter is coming and the loneliness is palpable.
With our current White House resident, whose overextended stay has our country more divided than ever. There are people reverting back to the racist relics of our past. And there are those who are so hopeless they will tolerate anything to get food on the table. Relying on a deranged dotard, masquerading as president of the free world, to feed you would have you Waiting to Exhale.
But back to black, would you actually date someone Black? Or do you just want to fuck someone Black? And why does it matter so much? Are you ashamed? If your passions and intentions aren’t pure then I think you should stick with your race.
But I think we all would do better by forming deeper relationships with the people we have sex with (regardless of race). And not just focus on our differences.
My eat, pray, love, binge started after America elected the wrong President. I prayed, drank, and cried and I still couldn’t cope. The floodgates of racism rippled through like those hurricanes.
In these precarious times, I looked to our gay community for refuge. While sipping our Sangrias at a neighborhood bar, we discussed our ideal men.
“I want a white man, who’s blonde, 6’4 with blue eyes,” Ryan said as he took another sip from his cocktail.
“What in the Hitler!” I said.
Ryan who thinks he’s white although he’s blacker than a Black in Mild. I wondered why certain dark skin Blacks go for the whitest men in America. He’s like the gay Taye Diggs. He needed to sit his ass down and order a white Russian because that was the closest he will get to that description.
Does being the black sheep of his family contribute to his white ways?
Ryan tried to steal CJ’s white man a couple of weeks ago. CJ, also a friend, has more instant relationships than a cup of noodles. He chose guys not by their race but their bank accounts. I’ll take a gold digger over a self-loathing racist.
Ryan and I are no longer friends.
I hated that Ryan had the same taste in men as Hitler. Drunk off this delusion called white supremacy popularized by cowards in white hoods, who think burning up churches is a sign of strength. Who you choose to date says more about you than the person you’re coveting.
Interracial dating is still taboo in certain red states. I’m not anti-interracial relationships, but only dating outside of your race is a form of racism.
I dated and fucked a few white guys with and without white drugs. And some really liked me for me.
While some white men, who contacted me on Grindr, were looking to star as a stereotype. They were looking to suck my “black cock,” or slide their cocks in my “sweet chocolate.” I rebuked them fetishizing me and crossing me off your black bucket list.
But not all whites are the same. Once, I went out for ice cream with this white guy to get to know him better. He just moved to DC, by way of Boston, to get out of his Lilly white city. He craved diversity like black students in Ivy League schools. Now, he only lives in type of neighborhoods where gunshots and food stamps are ubiquitous like durags and dime bags.
We met in front of Dunkin Donuts on a hot summer afternoon. The sweltering heat competed with my all back ensemble. It was your typical interracial exchange. His accent was peppered with a hood affectation while mine was salted with a vocal fry.
We grabbed our cones and sat upstairs. Unfortunately, he did most of the talking. “More white people are trying to move here,” he said while licking that cone like it was a coming attraction. “How annoying, I want to be the only one. I want to be known as the white dude with the two scary dogs.”
Keeping myself from gagging, posed more of a challenge than squeezing my stomach in while having sex. You never want to be the “thick one” during a threesome. But that’s another story for another column.
I hope Confused Caucasian this gives you perspective on what it’s like on the other side of the potential fetish. So don’t start going around donning fitted caps and uttering “sup” to every Black profile in the vicinity. And don’t be some tactless, Craigslist “cum dump” bent over in a hotel room waiting for 12 Black men to come in and reenact the slutty version of the 12 days of Christmas. But with the right scented candle and Christmas couture, I would haul out the holly like a ho, ho, ho.
No one should be ashamed if they have a type. But we can’t choose people like we select our wine.