The Fear of a Black Fetish
Are men of other backgrounds only attracted to me because of my race?
I vividly remember the moment when I began to fear being fetishized. My mind goes back to an amazing date — a moment of butterflies and complete infatuation. I was being treated so well by this super-cool white guy. The boy was fine, too. I don’t quite remember everything he said on that date, but I recall my ears perking when he mentioned his ex, whose name telegraphed his race.
I couldn’t help but ask. “Was your last boyfriend Black?” He paused. “Oh, yeah, he is,” he said. “White guys to the back of the line, please!”
I chuckled along with him — he had one of those infectious laughs that make you reflexively join in — but internally my heart was in free fall. Fuck, I thought. Was this guy, who thus far had seemed mesmerized, only into me because I’m Black? Is that a thing?
It’s not that I’d never thought about fetishization before, but this did not feel like a drill. And once I started to suspect it, I couldn’t stop the thought from popping up in every subsequent conversation.
What did that mean?
Oh shit, was that also a story about a Black guy?
Are ALL of his friends Black?
