This is an opinion piece sought by The Daily News in accordance with its open-door policy regarding submissions from our readers around the world. The views held in this article do not directly align with those of The Daily News, and should be questioned solely at the hands of the originating author.
BY: Stephen Williams
As a 30 something African American male, I’m pretty certain of what I want. Charismatic; funny, adventurous, and generally open minded. After more than a decade of dating strictly men of color, I, recently decided to step out of my “zone” and see what it was like to date someone who was different: essentially white.
At first glance, er, I was horrified at the idea. I had no idea what white men like to talk about on a date, let alone, what they were like on a romantic level with another person. I had never ventured down that doorway, and, it was frightening. I had questions, so many questions, that I was forced to seek answers.
And I did.
As an advertising executive in New York City, I, usually find myself attending white-oriented parties that are more often than not rather boring. But one night over the holidays last year, I, decided that a particular incident was worthy of exploring. Mostly, er, because of the effort that was presented and that it had caught my attention.
“Hi’ I’m Marcus” this noticeably charismatic and well dressed gentleman said in his deep voice as he approached me. Little did I know, he, had already seen me on Grindr from when I had logged in an hour ago that night. He knew his agenda, but I, was unaware of such.
We hit it off almost instantly. We talked; we laughed, we shared conversation over some wine at the party. Before I knew it, we had exchanged numbers and the rest was history.
Until, he called.
It was later that night in December, rather cold and snowy actually. I wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere, but, when my phone rang and his picture came up — I was intrigued.
I answered confidently. “Hi Marcus, what’s up?”. He wasted no time in inviting me over for drinks and what he had claimed was a card game with some buddies from his job. Little did I know what I would actually walk into despite his indications that he was interested in dating would actually be something similar to that of a sex party you might find in Atlanta. As Rihanna might say chains and whips excite me, no?
About an hour after that phone call, I found myself walking up to this well lit and awfully well presented brownstone near Park Avenue. I was stunned. I had no idea that I had come across someone who lived this sort of lifestyle. I was a little nervous given that I don’t and didn’t at the time often associate with anyone who felt that they were “Park Avenue Types”. I had heard horror stories of men with money on streets like Park, and now, had found myself in what would become just that.
I knocked. He quickly answered. I couldn’t help but notice his chiseled chest, rather, because he had no shirt on. It caught me off guard, getting invited for drinks and a card game with others doesn’t usually equate to shirts being off. I proceeded with caution.
By the time I had made it to the foyer, my ears, were alive and well and listening to the chatter in the living room. Mind me, I, had no idea what “a golden shower” was but had swiftly heard the term come out of the chatter in the living room. Weirdly, I still proceeded out of mere curiusity of what that was.
What I found in the front-room will forever be a sight that I will never be able to forget. 5 Forty something white men preparing themselves to urinate on three barely legal African American college students bare-ass naked tied up in handcuffs and constraints at the feet. It was like a scene out of a racially charged movie from the 50’s.
My jaw was collectively on the ground. I had now realized that I had been invited over into some weird kinky sex game that I would soon find out was all too common among white men in New York City. Taking unsanitary advantage of younger men for their “Daddy Pleasures” in the most unethical and unusual ways possible. I’ll always remember the sight of the boys, mostly, because they were dressed in assless aprons and nothing else except they were bound and lined up against the front of the couch.
My stomach started to turn. As fast as my mind would catch up with my body I turned and raced for the door to grab my jacket and my shoes. By the time I had reached my shoes, Marcus, could be heard through the hallway asking me if I wanted to join. Particularly, if I was ready to “gift” these three young boys with my “seed”. That he had actually invited me over to in all prospects “gang gang” these three boys leaving them helpless and “with insides full of seed” (for those that aren’t aware, that’s a term used by white men to describe when they ejaculate into a younger man).
I had to put my foot down. “NO!” I said. I would later see Marcus one more time the next day while working on a new campaign. He attempted to apologize and told me he should have been honest about why he wanted me to come over in the first place, but, that wasn’t enough.
Ever since I encountered Marcus and visited his home, er, white men have been a no-go for me. The disgusting feeling left in my head and mind after what I saw has indefinitely damaged any chance of me actually venturing into “that race”.
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