A friend invited me out to a gathering put on by an interracial meetup group for White and Asian men interested in Black woman (and vice versa). Initially, I was somewhat open to the idea but the more I thought about it…not so much.
Black men are all I have ever known – the good, bad, and the oogly. Even though I’m from the up the way, I’ve never even had a Latino Papi on the roster. Until recently, I never gave much consideration to dating outside my race. Since those pull out posters of Christopher Williams and Al. B Sure came off my walls, it has been all about the taste of dark chocolate. (Occasionally a piece of caramel sneaks his way in.) By and large, black men are the only ones that have caught my eye.
Now don’t get me wrong. Every once in a blue moon, Brad Pitt’s distant cousin might turn my head. But I’ve had problems hanging around white boys in the past so I usually smile and keep it moving.
In recent months, I’ve decided that my old ass needs to make the transition from keeping a starting lineup with a couple coming off the bench in a pinch to having just one franchise player. However, to find the “one,” I know that I need to expand my horizons a bit and keep an open mind. My married friends and family members are always telling me that he may not show up in the package I expect. I’ve always had a vision of Mr. Vivrant as being a big ole brown man and of us bringing a couple of little brown Vivrants into the world to run around tearing up shit. However, it’s always been a foggy vision – such that it allows for the possibility of…something else. So I decided it was time for me to spread my wings a bit and consider becoming an international lover.
A couple of weeks ago, I went out with a Latin man from Bolivia. He was a cool guy – outgoing personality, smiled a lot, seemed comfortable in his skin, very well-traveled (which is always attractive to me). We had one of the best dates I’ve been on in a while.
We ended up hitting two different spots. At the first place, we engaged in the getting to know you banter over margaritas and Spanish appetizers. I could tell he was digging me and I was having a nice time so we decided to continue the date in the Adams Morgan area of DC. He suggested the spot (major points for that). We ended up at a very cozy lounge with walls the color of the sunset and plush red couches. Turns out it was also a hookah bar. I’ve always been curious about smoking hookah so I didn’t hesitate to try it. Turns out I loved it. More martinis flowed. Conversation was good. I learned all about his country, his diverse group of friends and some of his dating experiences.
At some point while he was talking, I realized that I had been staring longingly over at the tall, chocolate loc’d man sitting alone writing and smoking hookah. I had the very strong urge to go over and ask him what he was writing. I also found myself glancing over at a black couple sitting across from us. At the time, I didn’t quite understand why. I was having a great time despite that fact that he was a bit too affectionate for my taste on a first date (although a friend reminded me I had been quite affectionate on first dates before – but that’s another post).
After some reflection, I realized that I just wasn’t that into him. He sensed that before I did and when we parted ways, I could tell that was the last time I would hear from him. And that was okay. But was it him or the whole idea of becoming an international lover? It was one thing for me to stare at the foine dude. I’m not dead. But the way I was staring at that couple kind of disturbed me.
I did have a great time on the date. It was a breath of fresh air in a sea of never-ending staleness. So likely I will saddle up and try to ride that horse again should the opportunity present itself. However, the experience made me wonder whether I’m truly “cut out” to be an international lover? Maybe this is one time it’s okay for me to be closed-minded.