I Am Not My Black #$&*!

For many GWMs in Europe, what they don’t see is all they see.

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A visual excerpt from the cover of my book, “Is It True What They Say About Black Men?”

At the beginning of 2018, I went out with Filip, a Czech guy in Prague, and had, if not the dinner date of a lifetime, one of the best I’d have all year. He picked me up at my rental apartment in Smíchov and drove us to a Thai restaurant in the Staré Město (Prague’s Old Town), where we shared a meal, two bottles of wine, and some excellent conversation.

After dinner, he drove me home, and we made out in his car and on my couch. He didn’t spend the night because he had to work the next morning, and I was leaving even earlier to catch a train to Bratislava in Slovakia.

It was such a happy ending to my week in the Czech capital that I didn’t even hold our conversation about the C-word (“colored”) against him. I’ve forgotten how and why it came up, but when it did, he said he didn’t understand why black people hate when white people call them “colored.” He once dated a black guy in New York City who gave him the silent treatment for an entire day because he managed to slip it into a casual conversation.

I wondered how a well-travelled grown-ass man in his mid-thirties could be so ignorant. How could a European guy who speaks fluent English and has actually lived in New York City and dated a black American still not have a grasp on black American culture?

I gave him a history lesson about black Americans and the C-word. He seemed to be listening, but I could tell from his blank expression, the lack of Aha! in his eyes, that we wasn’t really processing what I was saying.

I wondered how a well-travelled grown-ass man in his mid-thirties could be so ignorant. How could a European guy who speaks fluent English and has actually lived in New York City and dated a black American still not have a grasp on black American culture?

So I dropped it. Things were going well otherwise, and he was tall and sexy, and I was stupid in like.

We’ve kept in touch over the past year, and a few weeks ago, before my return to Prague, where I’ll be spending most of the holiday season, I let him know I was coming soon. He said he would be out of town in Moravia the first few days after I arrived, but he’d get in touch when he returned, and we’d make dinner plans.

Hello, again

Six days after he got back, I finally heard from him, via a message he sent at 3.34 on Saturday morning. He didn’t text me on WhatsApp, where we’d been communicating, but on Grindr.

Hey handsome

I had a bf of colour in NY and I miss that big cock :))

What are tou up to? Got more pics?

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I figured he must have been drunk when he wrote the message, but unlike his inability to understand the black significance of the C-word (or his lack of interest in trying), this was a dealbreaker. Over the past year spent traveling through Eastern Europe, I’ve learned a lot about myself, about gay white European men and how many of them use size to diminish black men, about subtle racism disguised as innocence and ignorance.

Had Filip and I met a week ago and had the same conversation about the C-word that we had in January, I would have cut him off right there. My tolerance for racial bullshit is now at an all-time low after a year of constantly stepping in it.

I’ve been chased by so many white European guys to whom I was nothing more than a big black cock — at least based on their stereotypical assumptions — that, for the most part, I’ve stopped giving all of them the time of day… or night.

That has meant putting sex on the backburner and sticking to less revealing activities. I figure it’s the best way to weed out the horny boys from the men who are interested in me as a person and not just as the exotic black penis. I edited my Grindr profile to reflect my new attitude.

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Clearly, Filip didn’t bother to read it. I debated whether I should respond on Grindr or on WhatsApp, or whether I should respond at all. I decided that I had to. I’d let his ignorance about the C-word go, but this, too, shall not pass. I figured that since he’d messaged me on Grindr, that would be the appropriate place to respond.

Wow. Are men of colour so interchangeable to you that you don’t even recognise one you’ve already met? Disappointing.

Thirteen minutes later, he responded: Jeremy is that you?? :)))

He still didn’t get it. He still didn’t understand a thing about racism and objectification and how to approach a talk dark stranger. After an hour of radio silence from me, he sent two more text messages and two photos, a close-up face pic and one of him standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Hello :)

You got a name?

Silence.

I already had dropped Filip in the discard pile with all the other guys who are so hungry for/curious about big black c — k that they fail to see the men behind them. I may stand out. They may notice me because I stand out. But I never feel more invisible than after they’ve approached me.

Written by

Brother Son Husband Friend Loner Minimalist World Traveler. Author of “Is It True What They Say About Black Men?” and “Storms in Africa” https://rb.gy/3mthoj

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