Shades of White

Ren asks:

I know this is old, but I’m very curious about this topic. You grew up with significant exposure to predominantly black environments, so it makes sense, to me, that you like black men and/or black women. But I’ve been noticing more and more that many white lesbians are interested in black women, which is stunning to me because I thought white people were…racist (in the US)…and thought most of us are unattractive. And still think that, which is probably the reason why I am really struggling to understand the attention I get from white women and the reason why I’m pretty much always very suspicious of it.

I wouldn’t doubt it if you’ve experienced some suspicion, especially from black women. Black men usually just turn flips when a white woman is interested, but black women are hardly that simple. But considering that white women have never really seemed interested in even being friends with me as adults and almost never showed that interest while growing up, I can’t fit that and the experiences I had with white people growing up with the fact that probably 80% of the interest I get and have gotten all of my life has been from white women sexually/romantically, a little more than 10% has been from Asians (generally Indian women and usually not from the US, i.e. online) and less than 10% has been from black women. I mean, 10 years ago when I tried to chat with white lesbians online they didn’t want to talk to me 95% of the time, especially after finding out my race! Basically, I’m looking for plausible explanations as to 1) if these white women seriously are interested in/attracted to me, 2) if so, why, and 3) why don’t black women seem to be interested in me (because, honestly, I prefer black women).
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<br />I’m not asking you, but that’s how I got to this post. It’s very easy to find tons of articles and videos online about why white women like black men–there’s tons of focus on that. But you can’t find the same thing for lesbians, really, and what you do find is usually something like “race doesn’t matter,” “there are attractive black people, attractive white people, unattractive black people and unattractive white people,” and “I don’t know why I like black women, I just do” (i.e. your post). I don’t know–looks like I need to consider white lesbians since that’s who I attract in my country, but, at the same time, I don’t really want to start dating one and find out it’s all a huge joke, a big sex experiment, a fetish or they’re bringing me to the KKK for a hanging…sorry, but being real, and if you’ve seen Donald Trump and his supporters, you should understand, lol.

I know you’re “not asking” but you kind of are, so here’s my answer as best I can give it:

First of all, I see what’s going on with Trump and it’s terrifying. I’m writing this right now because I need a break from my FB and Twitter feeds.

Secondly: racism is a spectrum. Racism is so woven into the fabric of this country that everyone is racist to some degree, even if that racism is a form of self hate.

White women are also a spectrum. Now, we know 56% of white female voters voted for Trump. Let’s break that number down: 64% of the elligible voters in the country voted, and if we assume that half of them were women that puts the white woman Trump voters at 28% of the country. Still fucked up, but that’s a little perspective. (Hashtag #NotAllWhiteWomen)

Now, while it’s possible that these white women approaching you are white supremacist fetishists looking to tie you up and call you their “dirty negress”–it’s pretty unlikely. 

It’s much more likely that the white women expressing interest in you are on the left side of the spectrum. Probably somewhere between “I don’t see color” beige and “woker than you” white.

As to why are they attracted to you? Probably because you’re attractive. Why now and not before? I have no clue.

I spent a lot of years thinking that no one could be or was attracted to me–until one day I realized that almost everyone I’ve ever been attracted to reciprocated my feelings to some extent. I’m not saying everyone has a that experience (I’m certainly not attracted to everyone who’s expressed attraction to me) but attraction is weird, and many people are attracted to characterizes far different than the ideals the media feeds us.
So should you try dating a white woman? Only if you mean it. If a white woman approaches you who you genuinely find attractive and seems like a good person, then why not go for it? Could you get hurt? Absolutely. But isn’t potential hurt intrinsic to the beginning of any relationship?

Now I’m not saying that these white women wont ever say something ignorant, but chances are that that just by being interested in you they’ve self sorted to be someone who genuinely is trying to not be racist and has made it a good distance down that path.

As far as experiments go: won’t she be your experiment? Life is about experimentation. Some experiments are a success, some fail, but that doesn’t mean the intentions aren’t good.

Many of the black women I dated were at best experimenting with me, or at worst using me until they could find someone of their “own kind”. Ouch. That hurt! I still don’t regret trying though. 

As far as black men go. Maybe more conventionally attractive women get backflips, but most of the black men (my sweet late BF excluded RIP) who have dated or expressed an interest in me had a kind of entitled attitude that I owed them sex and money. The title of this blog arose from those moments when MOC I dated reduced my hurt feelings (at their bad behavior) and legitimate perspective to being “just another white woman.”

As far as fetishization goes–that’s kind of a hard one. Where exactly is the line? If I’m attracted to women with big foreheads and wide noses–is that a fetish? Or just a preference? 
I felt the most fetishized when a white trans man I was dating showed me a picture of his ex–and she looked almost identical to me. That was creepy!

So should you date a white woman?

If you want to? If you are genuinely attracted to her. If you can put aside your preconceptions. If you can be prepared to possibly have to do some educating. 

Who knows, the love of your life could be an amazing white woman and you’d never know it without exploring it!

Or not. I wouldn’t fault anyone for preferring to date black women. Y’all are so beautiful! I don’t know what the “scene” is like where you live, but there’s a small but vibrant black lesbian community here in Boston that I wish I could introduce you too!

As far as why BW aren’t expressing interest in you: maybe their shy? Maybe they’re waiting for you to make the first move or don’t think *you’re* interested?

TL; DR: if you’re interested in someone–regardless of race, give it a try! Go get em! No reward with out risk! 

I Married a White Woman

White hands with wedding rings.

Well not really married…who can afford to lose free health insurance and food stamps by getting married? Committed to, living with, what have you.

Although I have been open to dating all races, for years I lowkey thought I’d end up with a black woman. But when I found myself falling hard for a kind, smart soft white butch. She gets my jokes, she puts up with my faults, and she pays most of my bills. (Nothing + nothing equals nothing, ok?)

I tried to tell myself she’s not “white-white.” her Guayanese co-worker calls her “one of those hood-ass white girls.” She was one of the only white girls in her school growing up, her 20+ year best friend and her ex and her son are all black. But her outlook…it’s still very white.

The first worrying moment was fairly soon after we moved in together: we were trying to choose a movie, and for whatever reason I was feeling the black cinema offerings (out of the admittedly crappy selection on Netflix). She confronted me afterwards, referring especially to a movie I lingered over about drug dealers in the Hood.

“I’m white. I don’t relate to the hood” She told me angrily. “It’s not my experience!”

I was flabbergasted. First of all–she basically did grow up in the hood, if not the drug dealing part. (Although her sister sure is an addict) And second of all–it’s the point of a movie to bring you into things outside of your experience. I’ve never been to South Africa, but I was able to enjoy White Wedding I’ve also never been to space, or the distant past, but I was able to get into Star Wars.

Then recently she asked “who’s Floetry”

Increduous Face

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Followed a few days later: “Who’s Nina Simone?”

Really Incredulous Look

“Do you even hang out with older black people?” I asked.

Her: “No why would I?”

Me: (why wouldn’t you?) “Let me learn you something!”

So I made her watch What Happened Miss Simone

Ok, so our shared black media experience starts when we fell in love with Hip Hop in ’92. I could get used to that.

But then I made the mistake of talking to her about Sandra Bland.

Photo Of Sandra Bland

Now, it took me a day or two to even click on a link to find out what happened to Sandra Bland. She was just so beautiful, I couldn’t bear to think of her life ending pointlessly in a Texas Jail cell. When I look at her I see someone I would have wanted as a friend. I see my aunt. I see my cousins. I see a vibrant intelligent soul. I see one more victim of the horrible scourge of white supremacy that gives police near impunity to kill black people and get away with it.

I was so depressed after reading the details of her arrest and death that I could barely get out of bed. Barely made it to physical therapy.

Despite my melatonin deficiency, this video sums up how the news and my Facebook/twitter feeds have had me feeling lately.

So I made the mistake of talking to my Boo about Sandra Bland. She agreed that Sandra’s death was wrong and the fault of the cops. But apparently HER facebook feed was full of different stories from mine. HER feed promised “incontrovertible” “video evidence” that Sandra took her own life.

I still haven’t read one article that backs this claim, but the most striking thing from our conversation was this: she’s not angry. She doesn’t feel the deep, abiding anger in her bones. Just this overwhelming violent angry rage and sorrow as black person after black person gets modern-day lynched for the most imaginary of offense.

When I asked: “What if this was your son?” She asked:”Why did you have to take it there?”

Because she doesn’t look at Sandra, Treyvon, Tamir, and see her son. Even though the cops sure as hell will one day. She sees all these incidents as wrong, but ultimately as single incidents.

She sees these incidents as a white person, a white woman.

I married a white woman.

1st Glimpse of D

 

Boy and girl cartoon looking in underwear

The 1st time I saw an erect penis I burst out laughing. It looked so bizarre and bulbous, protruding purple and brown from between his legs like some weird discolored mushroom.
I covered my mouth, playing it off like I was nervous. In fact I felt the opposite. I felt completely comfortable naked with Joe, comfortable in a strangely non-sexual way. More like friends who happened to be naked. One of whom happened to have a very strange physical defect.

Joe had been my “crush” the year before as a freshman in high school, the boy I trotted out as the object of my affection every time my friends talked about boys. I knew I couldn’t say that it was the gorgeous big-boned Anya that I longed for, with her wide hips and long red hair…

In fact I had spent hours in science class staring in fascination  at his hair. His kinky hair and olive skin stood out in my Lilly white suburban high school. Especially his hair: forty individual braids spiraling up up like exotic underwater sea plants from his tan scalp.

Later I learned the braids were done by his mom, certainly no African American hairdresser would create braids so unruly. I always kinda wondered what trick of genetics produced this swarthy, kinky haired, thick lipped boy from his two rather ordinarily Jewish parents.

By the time we “dated” his hair was in a neat short fro, and I was officially out as bi. I dated him after being rejected by  the main focus of my affection: Judy who I was hopelessly in love with, but whose affection was sadly fixated on the unusually tall and Giselle-like Chloe.

Up to the point where we rather casually removed our clothes in his bed room our entire relationship consisted of passing dirty notes in class.

“Are you sure this is ok?” I asked, thinking of his mom downstairs.
“Don’t worry, my mom trusts me. She won’t interrupt”
We undressed without fuss, talking comfortably.  His grossly engorged member a sign that he was much more sexually engaged than I.
“So do you wanna have sex?” he asked, stroking my arm tentatively.
“What?” I looked down in surprise, scoping his member, contorting my bewildered amusement at its strangeness into shy embarrassment. “But…” I cast about for an excuse–there was NO WAY I wanted to touch that thing! “We don’t have a condom.”
“That’s alright, I can pull out.”
“Pull out?! I raised my eyebrows as I started putting clothes on, taking one last glance at the bizarre growth sprouting inexplicably from between his legs. “Do you pay any attention in Sex Ed?” I laughed even harder. Did that line actually work on anybody? Especially from his 15 year old self?

We didn’t “date” long after that. In some bizarre bid for Judy’s affection he attempted suicide a couple weeks later, and I learned that this was the first time (though far from the last) that the biggest thing a boy I was dating and I had in common was a crush on the same girl.

Sun Burst Pt 3

Start the night.

Sun pressed her soft wet pussy into my mouth, clutching my arms up in the air. For five, ten minutes I was in heaven sucking and licking on her savory second lips. Eating pussy has to be right up there at the top of my favorite things in the history of ever. Words can’t express how much I enjoy eating pussy!

I was going at it with a passion. But then my neck started twinging.

The way Sun had my arms positioned I was unable to get the relief I should have had from this position. I could have kept going and going but instead the pain once again mounted.

I tried to move my arms to get more comfortable and that’s when I realized that she had me in a submission hold.

I struggled to free myself but she had me locked down, immobile. Gripping me tight even as I struggled to break free, she pressed her pussy into my mouth as wave on wave of pain shot from my spine through my forehead.

I tried to cry out but she smothered me with her pussy. I was helpless underneath her.

“Shut the fuck up!” she grunted.

My whole neck and face seized up in pain and panic as my whole body fought, thrashing and sobbing for freedom and an end to pain.

“Shut up!” She humped me angrily,

My mouth opened to its widest involuntarily and then tried it’s best to close. It took every inch of will power not to bite hard on her clit, but even with the pain she was putting me through I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her or damage that glorious pearl.

And then she let me up. She looked almost surprised at the naked agony on my face.

I lay, traumatized in her arms. Somehow still wanting her to touch me. Wanting her to hold me. But most of all wanting her to care enough not to hurt me.

I had liked her dominating me in the past, but I thought underneath it that she cared on some level. That if I wanted to stop she would let me. I guess I was wrong.

I went home determined to never see her again.

 

Sun Burst Pt 2

Bootylicous

 

Start the night.
Sun closed the door and stripped to her purple silk bra, presenting her donk to me imperiously. It was a true thing of beauty: her thin waist opening up to a thick, round chocolate heart.

Gazing at her thick brown ass all that I wanted to do was press my lips against it. After being celibate so long it was almost startling to realize that  I could act on my desires.

I knelt behind her, pressing my mouth into her squeaky clean ass. OMG it was good! I worked from the back to the front and she moaned softly as my tongue grazed–then enveloped her clit. I felt a kind of shock as my mouth fitted to her pussy–as if it wasn’t so good. It tasted good, but the vibe was a little off. I prayed silently to myself that I wasn’t making a mistake.

I worked and worked on her, licking and sucking her sweetness until my neck sent me a warning twinge and I realized I could not do this position long. (I have chronic neck pain, and have to switch often, but I will go for as long as it takes!)

She was just getting into it when the pain got to great for me .

“Can you…ride my face..?” I panted. She glared at me but reluctantly got up and bestrode my face, holding my arms up awkwardly…

Sun Burst Pt 1

Ghetto Booty Cartoon

Check out my earlier adventures with Sun.

Sun texted me out of the blue.

I knew what she wanted and knew from the instant flood of blood away from my brain that it was what I wanted too. Angry at my lack of control in the face of my New Years Resolution, I drove from my white suburban hide-away to back to one of Boston’s “black” neighborhoods.

This time the street was empty as I approached her house. Three story apartment complexes crouched together to form a wind tunnel and the cold breeze bit into my skin.

The front door lock was busted so she told me to come on up, light turning on with my step.

Sun was a hot mess at the door: 2 inch army-style stilettos, curve hugging jeans barely maintained by her belt which hung sloppily over and her belly hanging out of her tight camouflage shirt. She gave me a look that was barely a smile and waved me in.

Seriously? She couldn’t even fix herself up a little bit  knowing I was coming? And why was she dressed for the club if she asked me over hours ago?

Her friend was there: thick, brown skinned with a black weave. She was dressed for the club too.

“Man fuck all that standing in line.” She complained bitterly about not getting into the club.

Sun nodded and rolled a blunt. We passed it as they dished about the night and their mutual acquaintances. I despaired of getting any quality time alone with Sun and low-key hated myself for wanting her so bad, but even dressed sloppy ghetto her body shined: her ass cleavage was hypnotic, as was the curve of her breasts as she sucked in the pungent smoke.

I felt powerless in the face of my desire. Wanting her more than anything but fearing she would dismiss me, afraid to ask. My tongue tied from speaking by the presence of her friend and Sun’s closeted status.

And then her friend left.

To be continued…

I Don’t Wanna Be A Playa No More

A dapper white butch licks a burlesque white femme.

I wrote this in January. Shortly before the new year. It’s taken me this long to publish it but I stand by it. Have been working at standing by it.

What goes on in the mind of a playa?
Well, she’s always talking to at least a couple of women, with two or three more “prospects.” Every outing & event is an opportunity to get more digits.

Each “relationship” is a delicate balance of sexual intrigue and studied indifference. The party who cares or communicates more looses.

Life becomes a dance of texts and dates and quick replacements. A date cancels or is on her period? Quick, pick up the phone and you can be in another’s arms.

Hot sexual encounters are brief pinnacles of pleasure against stark valleys of emotional distance, the feeling that the women you are dealing with really just don’t give a fuck.

Casually broken dates, text messages not returned, lovers turned cold, each rebuff is a cue to go back into your contacts for the next conquest.

Lust and a deep, unquenchable loneliness coupled with hurt and anger that these women–the ones you won’t let close to you–also treat you with casual indifference.

That and a deep uneasiness that you will never find “the one.” That the acts you go through to keep these women as placeholders in your bed while you search for “the one” are changing you to make you someone “the one” wouldn’t want.

All this is in the mind of a playa. All this has been in my mind.

No more. I’ve let my contacts lapse. Every day I fight the urge to text women who have expressed an interest in me.

Like a fiend in withdrawal my lips long for clit and kisses, my breasts for caresses, my pussy for tongue and penetration…

My fingers remind me that women are out there…that with the right combination of words and circumstances we could be climbing that mountain of ecstasy…

But then my head reminds me of all the hurt and loneliness that surely will  follow.

I know that I’m weak, that one DM, one text, one “extra” smile, and I might just jump foolishly back on that wheel. But I’m trying not to.

I didn’t set out to be a playa. I didn’t become one over night, but I can stop the cycle.

I will.

My apologies, dear readers, if my blog dries up but…

I don’t wanna be a playa no more.

(Time to invest in sex toys…)

Just Because: (Dirty Version)