Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The Angry Sense Of Entitlement

It is both annoying and frustrating when I run across black lesbians who feel I should date solely within my race. When I tell them I’m not attracted to most black lesbians I run across they start getting emotional and looking at me crazy. “Well, you haven’t met every black lesbians,” they often say.

“I’ve met enough to know if I ever want to find peace and happiness I need not look in the direction of the average black lesbian” is the reply they usually get from me. 

“You sound just like black men. They say the same thing you’re saying when they talk about us,” black women say.

“If I’m noticing the same thing from black women as black men maybe some of you should start listening. Too many black women are damaged, carrying a lot of baggage, and confused about too many things,” is my typical response. 

“You should desire a black woman because you are a black woman,” is what I’m told.

“You’re right and I also desire a beautiful, in shape, childless, hard working, natural woman, who is comfortable with her sexuality as a lesbian—and nothing else. Care to go out and find me a black woman who fits that description?”

Silence.

I don’t know where black women get off thinking they are entitled to an individual because they share their race. I view myself as an individual. I refuse to limit my dating pool to black women. The smartest thing I ever did was branch outside my race.

Lynn is a woman I’ve been dating for the last four weeks. I’ll just go ahead and tell you she’s white. We met at Applebee’s where she was drinking at the bar. Our relationship is a work in progress. As I write this I can say she’s a close friend.

Last week Lynn and I hit the club. I took her to a lesbian club that’s dominated by black lesbians. At some point in the night she went to the bathroom and I went to the bar to order us drinks. While at the bar a pretty black woman approached me and started making conversation. The conversation was going good until Lynn found me at the bar and wrapped her arm around my arm—a sign that we were together. The expression on the black woman’s face did a 360-degree turn around—she literally went from smiling to scolding. “Oh, so you went that route,” she said and walked off.

I looked at Lynn—embarrassed because I knew she heard the woman’s comment. “What was that all about?” Lynn asked me. “I have no clue,” I said playing dumb.
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