Recently, New York City-based rapper Mykki Blanco and longtime geek and LGBT cultural writer Viktor Kerney (both Black queer artists) took to Twitter with the hashtag #GayMediaSoWhite to call out the perceived mainstream gay media’s obsession with whiteness.
The hashtag comes soon after the controversy over the lack of diversity in Oscar nominations met with the irreverent, viral #OscarsSoWhite hashtag. Blanco and Kerney are part of a tradition of queer people of color who emphasize the issue of diversity and demand greater racial inclusion in gay print.
How can you see this shit and feel “apart of the community” or even Progressive???? pic.twitter.com/024gitCZYZ
— MYKKI BLANCO (@MykkiBlanco) March 28, 2016
— Ira Madison III (@ira) March 29, 2016
— Viktor T. (@wondermann5) March 28, 2016
— Viktor T. (@wondermann5) March 29, 2016
As a Black same gender loving man, I know the struggle of self-love and dating in a community that prizes White bodies above all others. The first gay movie I ever saw was Beautiful Thing, a tale of two English teenaged boys caught up in the midst of a gloriously musical Mama Cass love-affair. It’s a seminal teen film about love and at 13, it was my perfect vision of what gay life would be like.
The image of those two white boys became my image of what it meant to be gay and the pinnacle achievement of a happy life. Granted, none of this was conscious; our preferences are rarely shaped by conscious decision making. I was a ’90s latchkey kid with childhood TV as a huge after-school teacher (and don’t even get me started on Buffy. I totally lived in Sunnydale for a good chunk of my youth).
It didn’t help that I spent my formative in Sherman, Texas which isn’t a bastion of diversity. I was the only Black kid in most of my classes, and during my awkward adolescence I fell in love with the quintessential white jock who was captain of the football team; his dad was a lawyer and he was always drinking Starbucks (which was a sign of cool back then in small town Texas). It was all very white; White as the cum of the white boys who I spilled my teenage seed fawning over.
After coming out, I spent nearly a decade chasing one unattainable white guy after another whose preferences were undoubtedly thin and pale. I was never into scrawny prepubescent looking twinks; I loved beefy corn-fed white boys with furry bellies and big asses. I got into the bear community as a fat Black youth thinking that I would find acceptance there.
There were bars that catered specifically to Black guys, but I felt much too good for that sort of place. I had absorbed the pasty gay pathology of Black men only being “ghetto thugs” who one might fuck behind closed doors but should dispose of when the fun was done. I wanted to be a “real gay “and a “real gay” considered white as superior and wanted the achievement of an attractive, successful white partner.
I got to a certain place in life where I’d been so repeatedly rejected by White dudes and so bitter about how they did not give me a “fair chance” because of my race that I started to really look at myself and consider there might be an issue with me. Why was it that my heart was always being broken by some unavailable White boy? I decided that I would no longer pursue white guys to find out what contributed to my pathetic hunger for creamy white dick.
In the days before porn sites Pornhub and Xtube, you had to actually go to your local adult video store to find just the right thing to get your rocks off. It was a weird time when you could casually walk into a store and ask, “Where do you put your bareback, double-penetration, piss, fuck videos?” It was there in the annals (anals?) that I came across a porn actor named Ali.
Ali was a burly, hairy-chested, wild bushed, caramel complexioned, Boricua bear-type dude who upon first sight made my dick trip. I’d never seen another chubby Black man who I found so incredibly attractive. I took the video home and I stroked my ball sack empty and ruined my carpet.
Suddenly, I felt desirable and empowered to determine my sexual destiny when I found out how many videos Ali had been featured in. I felt overjoyed when guys in bear chatrooms ranted on about how hot he was. His body, complexion, body type and thick Black cock looked similar to mine which offered a boost in my confidence and kinky narcissistic lust for guys that fit the profile he and I shared.
Ali made me pay attention to other Black men and the irresistibility of beautiful Black men with big Black cocks. I went out and got my first big burly Black bear boyfriend and had my first truly great romance. As my desire opened, I embraced an attraction that mirrored itself back at me — my heart opened to recognizing my own value.
Currently, my willingness to attach my heart and mind to a white boy does not exist. I am not pleased by the thought of it at this point in my life. I just don’t get that same tickle in the pants. Whiteness is plastic, artificial and tastes like pennies in my mind.
I do not care how often the gay media litters its pages with boring white boys. I do not give a fuck. It means neither life nor identity for me. My complaints are in retrospect and I do not give much thought to white gay men in any capacity in my present life.
I get hard seeing Black men grinding against Black men, slamming each other’s holes and swallowing slick oiled dicks. I dream of copper-skinned Mexican men with long, dark ravenous hair riding my cock and mixing our browns together. I would not at all mind a sexy Asian boyfriend with thick lips and a nice ass to bring home to meet my mom.
I am defining my own sexuality – unrepentantly unbothered. Who I choose to fuck is no one else’s business. My love life is an exclusive club; no white boys allowed.
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