I’m back…and I’m more focused than ever. I started this blog as a SBF (single black female) seeking SBMs(single black males). I strayed away from that last part…and haven’t been writing because I didn’t even know where or how to begin telling those stories, but I’m back. I’m back to seeking SBMen and I’m back to writing about my experiences in that journey. So here are the tales of what happened when I strayed away from my target and looked to the left and to the right.
The left…White men. I have flirted with the idea of dating white men many times in the past. As a little black girl who attended both a predominantly white high school and a predominantly white college, I was presented with opportunities to date white men. Though I followed some of those paths pretty far, I never could find myself completely attracted to any of those men. Yet, there are several white men in Hollywood who I proclaim could get it. So I often wonder if I could ever actually be totally attracted (mentally, physically, spiritually, fill-in-the-blank-tually) to a white man. I was in Toronto recently (at a conference, of course) and the opportunity to test the this question fell in my lap:
I was in the hotel lobby working on my laptop and lost track of time. When I first sat down, there were other hotel guests in the lobby with me. When I finally looked up, there was no one there but me and this attractive man who’d just walked up to bother me. He’d sat his half empty beer down on the table next to me and asked me what I was working on. That question led to friendly banter about what we were both doing in Canada and ended with his sitting a hotel room key on the table and directing me to use it when I was done with my work. As we’d talked, I’d noticed this man’s pretty green eyes. He was tall and slender with dark hair and impeccably dressed in a well-tailored suit. I thwarted his advance, but apparently unconvincingly…because this turned into a tit for tat discussion, with me providing all of the logical, rational, practical reasons I couldn’t go to his room and him countering with all of the impulsive, spontaneous, pseudo-fateful reasons why I should. As he half-heartedly attempted to shut my laptop down so that I could accompany him upstairs, the (free) wireless internet connection in the lobby went down. Seeing his opportunity to pounce, he quickly grabbed up my things and insisted that I come use the (paid) wired internet connection in his room to finish my work. To convince me, he gave his vow that we’d just talk and that we’d both end up with no less clothes that we were already wearing. Against my better judgment, I acquiesced.
On the elevator ride up and the walk to his room, I kept wondering what the hell I was doing. When we arrived, he unhooked his computer, set up mine, and disappeared into the bathroom. By the time he reemerged, I was already frustrated with the wired internet connection and he was shirtless (still wearing an undershirt…just no button-down). He asked me how it was going, stood behind the chair I was sitting in, and began to massage my shoulders. As I continued to wonder why the hell I was in some strange man’s room and why he took an interest in me and how the hell he could possibly be attracted to me when I imagined that I was clearly not his type and knew that he was clearly not mine, he continued his attempts to convince me that his room was the best place to be. Soon the claim he made in the lobby that we’d just talk, turned into a proclamation that we wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. Understanding that I was preparing for my exit, he suggested we swap massages before I left. As someone who understands that this is one way men attempt to trick women into fewer and fewer garments and eventually nudity and sex, this didn’t sound appealing to me. I again stated that I should go. In the lightly forceful way that men do, he routed me towards the bed, sat me down, sat down next to me, and continued to unconvincingly argue for me to stay. This is one of those moments where men to whom I’m attracted normally win. When I’m truly attracted to a man, all of their silly reasons I should stay seem to somehow sound logical and I willingly fall into their trap. This man had no such stronghold on my mind, imagination, or body.
Me: I need to leave.
Me: This is not something I do.
Him: What? You don’t hook up with guys?
As he was laying me back on the bed and kissing my neck, I was sitting up and strongly proclaiming that it was indeed past quitting time. In one final attempt to squelch my concerns, he announced that he had an idea.
Him: I’ve got an idea, I’ve got an idea, listen, listen. You don’t hook up with people, right? So how about…you hook yourself up and I hook myself up and we hold hands while doing it.
Me: [ummmmmm, did this man just ask if we could co-masturbate?! What the hell?? Is that even something people do?!!] No. I’ve definitely got to go. I’ll just disappear, nameless and faceless as if this never happened.
I stood up, gathered my things, and headed quickly for the exit. He tried to stop me, but I put the kind of seriousness and authority in my voice that I know scares men in these situations. As intended, it caused him to back off a little. Attempting to lure me back in after I’d crossed the threshold (freedom!), he asked if he could at least have a hug. Refusing to re-enter his room, I told him the best I could do with one arm full of computer and such was a one-armed hug/pat of the back from outside the door. In an absolute final attempt to get me to stay, he gave me the age-old man argument: “I can’t believe you’re walking out. Are you really going to leave me like this?” as he grabbed my free hand and placed it on his crotch…which, by the way, was all soft and squishy. For some unknown reason, I apologized, as I again wondered what the hell I was doing there and why the crap he was trying to get me to stay when he clearly wasn’t attracted to me. After all that foolishness, he wasn’t even erect…what the hell? I can’t explain it. As I walked hurriedly down the hallway towards the elevators, I just kept thinking how blessed I was to have escaped stranger danger unscathed and how much men are alike…white, black, or otherwise they all have the same goal and the same tired ass lines. Lesson learned.
NEXT POST: What I found on the right