We all have a “type” we go for – like you see them from across the bar and you’re like “DAMN! I don’t know your name but excuse me miss/sir/non-gender-specific pronoun, I saw you from across the room…and I’ve got to admit that you’ve got my attention. You’re makin’ me wanna say yo!’”
For me, if I spot a dark-skinned fella (and I mean dark, like Akon, the midnight sky, dark) with saggy jeans, an earring, and a flat-brimmed hat with the stickers left on, OH IT IS ON. This is no secret. My friends know it, my family (I think) knows it, and now, the internet knows it. If a black guy talking to me at a bar asks if I’ve ever been with a black guy before I will chuckle and say “oh, you clearly don’t know me.”
That being said, it’s not exactly something I lead with when I first get to know people (unless they’re a cute black guy; then I make sure to lead with it 😉 ). So when people find out they tend to be shocked, maybe because I’m 5’2” and dress like a hipster—I like high-waisted bottoms; sue me. This in turn tends to bring with it a few common occurrences and assumptions, so I’m just going to get to it.
1. White guys put you in the friend zone so fast your head spins: Seriously, I have witnessed this phenomenon first hand. One minute, some Sperrys-wearing preppy bro in seersucker shorts has his hand in the danger zone between your waist and ass, trying to get your number like he’s a Russian spy going after a secret nuclear launch code, and the next minute he’s packed his bags and hit the road faster than a middle-aged dad who just found out they’re building a MARTA line through his neighborhood. That came off as vaguely racist but I don’t actually think my vagina is a prime example of “white flight.” I think what it really boils down to is that white guys lose any inclination to even try since they assume their lack of melanin translates to an automatic shut-down. Which brings me to the next thing…
2. They assume you’re only attracted to black guys: Yeah okay I know, “once you go black…” and like while that does hold true to a certain extent, at least for me it’s not an end-all-be-all type rule. Like, if I met a cute, albeit pasty-faced guy who loved live music, kept up with up-and-coming rappers, could make me laugh, and was all-around a good guy, I wouldn’t be like, “ohhhhh sorry, you must have this much pigment to ride.” Despite what my friends think, I’m not actually shadily racist against my own race. Just because I have a preference doesn’t mean I never branch out from that preference. The problem is that whole package I mentioned above tend to be less common among men of the fairer race (and I mean fair in the literal sense not like I think white guys are better looking because…see title^^).
3. They ask if you’re a freak / about your bedroom preferences: First off, a lady doesn’t freak and tell, and I am most certainly a lady in the streets. Second, isn’t that all relative anyway? To some people, having sex at all puts you on the freak spectrum, and to some people that means “I’m going to shove my whole fist up your ass and then pee on you afterwards.” But for the record: I’m not about that wet work. In the sexual sense or the murder sense.
4. They accuse you of having daddy issues: I’m not trying to hook up with black guys as a way to subtly piss off my dad, mainly because I am fortunate enough that my parents would not be fazed if I brought home someone of a different race. On the contrary, I love my dad. He’s your typical goofy Jewish dad and all my friends love him and he’s generally fun to be around (Ira FTW). However, the last guy I dated fit the “goofy Jewish” mold, too, and would often tell the same exact jokes my dad tells. This made for some awkward times, so I’m not trying to repeat that experience for the time being. If anything, I have reverse daddy issues because I’m trying to date as far away from my dad as possible.
5. They think you must love rap: Uh….well…that one happens to be very true in my case.
In conclusion, let’s maybe stop assuming so much about each other, k? Cause you know what they say about what happens when you assume: some random bitch writes an article about it on the internet.