Gay racism runs so rampant, there’s one question I must always ascertain first when playing the dating game: is he into black guys? Because if he’s not into black guys, I don’t stand a chance, no matter how I look, what I say, what I do or what I have to offer.
When it comes to online dating, some people will come right out and tell you in their profiles: “Whites and Latins only, no blacks, no Asians, sorry, just a preference.” It’s like putting up one of those signs in the old South: this here is for use by white people only, colored people, don’t even bother.
That hurts (each and every time), but there is some practicality to it; the more time to spend looking for those who haven’t already pre-judged me as undesirable.
As for the rest of the dating pool, I have to feel them out, get a sense of how they respond, not so much to me as a potential mate, but whether or not I’m even a warm body to them.
This kind of routine vetting is necessary for the entire dating pool, because no matter their color, there’s one color (above all other colors) that all colors have deemed least desirable.
That’s right, it’s not only whites and Latins that prefer whites and Latins only. Every race is guilty of gay racism.
Grow up in a country where you’re constantly exposed to images and messages about the black man’s lack of worth and you’re bound to be influenced, implicitly or explicitly.
Gay racism means always having to ask: is he into black guys?
Once I get past that hurdle, the next question becomes, is he into big black cock or the men attached to them? Big difference. And please note: wanting a black man for his big black cock isn’t much better than hating a black man for his big black cock.
But if I can get past being prejudged as undesirable simply because of the color of my skin, or, only desirable for the color and size of my appendage, I can finally get to trying to meet someone for love, sex and romance.
And believe me, the odds of even getting that far are not very good.
They’re kinda like “becoming a professional athlete out of all the ten-year-old boys playing Little League sports” kind of odds.
That’s my world, the world in which I live and breathe every single day. It’s a world full of reasons why I’m automatically disqualified from intimacy with most people because I fit into a category that was constitutionally designated as what we now commonly referred to as black.
Once you’re black in America, you ain’t nothing but black in America.
But I hear all sorts of reasons why my being prejudged as undesirable isn’t gay racism or prejudice.
“Why do I like German cars or Columbian coffee? Why don’t I hit on Indian women? I like what I like. Why do I like men over women?”
I can slay them all like dragons with my light saber of logic, but why? They’re still not going to love me, have sex with me, date me, remove me from the category of pre-disqualified, as in prejudged, as in prejudice.
I’m not going to change the minds of the people I meet in my racist gay world. I’ve just got to wade through them and look for those who haven’t pre-judged me as being not worthy of their love and affection, find someone who is attracted to me, not because of a stereotype, but because I am awesome human being.
And the first step of that process is always gleaning an answer to the question, is he into black guys?
If he is, then we can get to the question: is he enlightened enough about AIDS?