On race and sex and skin types

January 16, 2008 at 12:31 pm Leave a comment

I haven’t known where to start with all of this. So I guess I’ll just start in the middle. Actually, let’s start by talking about race. I met a woman on Craigslist a while ago. She sounded pretty awesome via email and her photo was promising, but in person she was just a little… weird. When did gainful employment become a turn-on for me? Probably around the same time that I got my own gainful employment. Probably because I realized it means a person has a certain groundedness, a sense of responsibility. I envy people who have traveled all over the world, but I’ve never been able to wrap my head around how they just pick up and leave. I mean, who pays the rent on their home when they’re gallivanting all over the world? It’s a quality I admire, but I’m not so sure I want it to be in my life.

How this relates to race: this woman (sexily butch, but unsexily fat and not in a curvy/delicious sort of way) was raised in Northern New England totally surrounded by other white people. A couple of things she said to me clearly indicated racism. Not that “I hate black people” kind of racism, but the “black people are weird and alien and we are better because we’re white” kind of racism. New England specializes in undercover racism. It drives me insane.

I consider myself somewhat fortunate to have been raised in a more integrated sort of setup. I mean, it was still painful. Segregation still existed in the town where I spent most of my childhood. But I spanned the divide between the people of color who (mostly) lived in the projects and the white kids who (mostly) lived in places that had grass and trees that didn’t look stunted from living in little blocks of dirt between concrete. We moved to the projects when I was about five years old. Long story, maybe I’ll tell it some day, but the upshot is that my dad was a fucking asshole and we moved three thousand miles to get away from him and his grabby parents. We stayed with my Mom’s aunt for a while in a leafy, blue-collar suburb and then Mom got semi-subsidized housing in a high-rise downtown.

My best friend in MLK Towers was a girl whose name is definitely not Rita Calderone. She was mixed-race. I never really had much of a concept of that fact, or that her last name indicated either Spanish or Latino heritage. She was just Rita. We used to play in the hallway together, and in her parents’ room. We found a dirty book that belonged to her mother and read all the salacious passages together. We played a game called “R” (for rape, I think) where one of us would abduct the other and tie her up in the bedroom, and then go out, the the other would try to escape and get caught and dragged back. We knew something was supposed to happen in the bed, but we didn’t know exactly what. I think Rita must have witnessed some sort of bed-grappling in that tiny apartment, because when it was her turn to abduct me she blew me away with all the writhing and moaning and hair-pulling on top of me. Me, I think I mostly lay on her and wiggled around a little bit.

Later, a black boy and I sniffed around each other a bit. He was really cute, but it didn’t go very far, because we were both very aware of the race barrier. See, not only was I a white girl, I was a white girl who wasn’t really tough enough for the PJ’s. They called me a Momma’s girl because I cared about things like books and my clarinet lessons and not about hanging out in the playground and learning the latest dance moves. Later, it meant that I went to college and Rita had a baby while she was in her teens.

I didn’t really have a concept that I enjoyed privileged status because of my race. That’s probably because I was so lonely and alienated and sad and traumatized. White, suburban kids were mean to me because I didn’t have the right jeans, and the kids in the PJs were mean to me because… well, see above.

It wasn’t until college that I really got white privilege. And it was because of my black girlfriend and her black friends. Of course, the black kids at my small, liberal-arts college weren’t much like the black and Latino kids in the Towers. They were “the talented tenth,” the result of Nixon’s affirmative action program. You know, the one that made some black people rich instead of making all poor people not starving. But still, I got it. And I also experienced the joys of sexing up a black person. I realize that this might sound racist, but there really are physical differences between white people and black people. And — duh! — it has to do with the skin. The black men and women I slept with had this lovely, smooth, sort of extra-impermeable quality to their skin. I loved it. In all other aspects, they were exactly the same. The men didn’t all have ten-inch cocks. The women didn’t all have huge, high bootys. Oh, wait, yes they did. And that was okay with me.

So when this white butch from New Hampster made these not-so-subtly racist comments, I felt simultaneously pissed off and sorry for her. She just didn’t know what she was missing.

Entry filed under: arousal template, childhood awakenings. Tags: , , , .

The omnivore’s dilemma Enormous cock, box of rocks

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