What Happens When I Post That I love Black Men

[MsThang]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.
This is not just about who I find attractive. It's about how white supremacy, patriarchal entitlement, and personal liberation all collide the moment a white woman says out loud: I choose something else.

From Racist Roots to Radical Rejection​

I grew up in a racist household. I wish I could soften that sentence, but I can't. The comments were casual and constant, the lines between "us" and "them" clearly drawn. But life, in its beautiful defiance, handed me a different story. My very first love—my first real, soul-shaking love—was a Black man. We were together for four years in college, and during that time, I was immersed in his world, his family, and his culture.
What I learned there, I could never unlearn.
The love was real, as was the community, and the quiet teachings about resilience, joy, pain, and pride were real. I began to see the world differently—not through a textbook or a tweet, but through lived intimate experiences. By the time that relationship ended, I had entirely rejected the racism I had been raised with, and I never looked back.

What Preference Means​

When I say I prefer Black men, I don't mean I've checked a box or assigned value by shade. I'm talking about how I feel in their presence — how I am seen, safe, and energized. Yes, I find Black men physically beautiful. But it's not just about appearance. It's how they express themselves — the confident, playful flirting they've mastered, the kind that's direct without being aggressive, sexy without being crude.
There's a kind of masculinity many Black men exude that's not performative but embodied—and it permits me to be entirely feminine. I don't have to fight to be heard or shrink to be desired. Too often, with white men, I'm either debating for my voice or managing their fragility. I feel invited to relax, glow, and be soft with Black men. There's room for me to exhale.
This isn't idealization. It's the emotional truth of where I feel most in balance.

The Rage of White Men — and Why It's So Loud​

Whenever I speak about this publicly — whether in writing or on my podcast — I'm met with a particular rage. Not from Black people. Not from women. But from white men.
They accuse me of being a fetishist, a race traitor, a degenerate. They toss words like "cuck," "whore," and worse into my inbox as if their cruelty could shame me back into silence. But what they're furious about isn't me. It's the shift I represent.
White male entitlement is deeply rooted in American culture — especially the belief that they are the standard, the pinnacle, the default. When someone like me publicly prefers something else, it shakes the illusion. And rather than reflect on that discomfort, they lash out.
That anger isn't just sexist. It's racist. And it's deeply tied to the broader ecosystem of online male grievance — the so-called "manosphere," where incels, red-pillers, and other fragile egos gather to bemoan a world they think owes them sex, love, and status.
They hate me not because I'm nonmonogamous. They hate me because I'm not choosing them.

No, We Are Not Genetically Different​

Let's make this clear: race is not biological. There are no inherent genetic differences that make one race superior to another.
In 2003, the Human Genome Project found that all humans share 99.9% of their DNA. The tiny percentage of variation among us does not correspond to traditional racial categories. Race, as science confirms, is a social construct—not a biological reality.
Source: Collins, F. S., et al. (2003). A Vision for the Future of Genomics Research. Genome.gov
So, if we talk about race, let's talk about power, history, and culture — not pseudoscience. Because white supremacy always tries to dress up its insecurity in the language of biology. But biology doesn't lie. Racists do.

To the Haters: This Isn't About You​

To the white men who feel personally attacked by my preference: ask yourselves why.
Why does my joy — my private desire made public — trigger such rage in you? Why does a woman choosing something different feel like a threat? The truth is, no one owes you desire. Not your race. Not your gender. Not your heritage. Certainly not me.
Your identity is not diminished because I find something else beautiful. Love is not a pie. More for someone else does not mean less for you.
If hearing me say I prefer Black men makes you seethe, you're not angry at me. You're angry that your world no longer centers you by default.
And to the women who feel curious, conflicted, or quietly affirmed by my words: trust yourself. Desire doesn't need justification, but it does deserve honesty. Ask yourself where your preferences come from. Learn. Listen. Be open. But don't let shame silence you.

Radical Love Is the Most Honest Kind​

I don't need permission to live this way. But I also won't pretend it's easy to speak openly when white fragility keeps raising its fists.
I live my truth not because it's provocative but it is mine. I believe in loving fully, rejecting fear, and claiming the kind of connection that feels most whole to me.
I'm not here to soothe bruised egos. I'm here to live freely. And that includes loving who I love, out loud, without apology.

 

[trying2please]

Hard to fathom why anyone should be negatively disposed or judgemental regarding your choices
Personally i applaud and support whatever choices you make and am happy you are living your best, authentic life

 

[Black adonis]

Fantastic article. Really hit the spot. The key word here is entitled. White men are the most entitled people in this country. They expect everything to be handed to them. And it drives me crazy when other people compete with them for women. They can't stand it when attractive white woman tells them that she prefers to date black men. Because they not used to hearing no. It's a real problem because they were really flip out over this.

 

[Marcus&Chrissy]

This deserves to be leafletted and dropped off in front of every home's doorstep, police station, college dorm rooms, and (high) school classrooms. Full stop.

 

[Mistertinycuck]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.
This is not just about who I find attractive. It's about how white supremacy, patriarchal entitlement, and personal liberation all collide the moment a white woman says out loud: I choose something else.

From Racist Roots to Radical Rejection​

I grew up in a racist household. I wish I could soften that sentence, but I can't. The comments were casual and constant, the lines between "us" and "them" clearly drawn. But life, in its beautiful defiance, handed me a different story. My very first love—my first real, soul-shaking love—was a Black man. We were together for four years in college, and during that time, I was immersed in his world, his family, and his culture.
What I learned there, I could never unlearn.
The love was real, as was the community, and the quiet teachings about resilience, joy, pain, and pride were real. I began to see the world differently—not through a textbook or a tweet, but through lived intimate experiences. By the time that relationship ended, I had entirely rejected the racism I had been raised with, and I never looked back.

What Preference Means​

When I say I prefer Black men, I don't mean I've checked a box or assigned value by shade. I'm talking about how I feel in their presence — how I am seen, safe, and energized. Yes, I find Black men physically beautiful. But it's not just about appearance. It's how they express themselves — the confident, playful flirting they've mastered, the kind that's direct without being aggressive, sexy without being crude.
There's a kind of masculinity many Black men exude that's not performative but embodied—and it permits me to be entirely feminine. I don't have to fight to be heard or shrink to be desired. Too often, with white men, I'm either debating for my voice or managing their fragility. I feel invited to relax, glow, and be soft with Black men. There's room for me to exhale.
This isn't idealization. It's the emotional truth of where I feel most in balance.

The Rage of White Men — and Why It's So Loud​

Whenever I speak about this publicly — whether in writing or on my podcast — I'm met with a particular rage. Not from Black people. Not from women. But from white men.
They accuse me of being a fetishist, a race traitor, a degenerate. They toss words like "cuck," "whore," and worse into my inbox as if their cruelty could shame me back into silence. But what they're furious about isn't me. It's the shift I represent.
White male entitlement is deeply rooted in American culture — especially the belief that they are the standard, the pinnacle, the default. When someone like me publicly prefers something else, it shakes the illusion. And rather than reflect on that discomfort, they lash out.
That anger isn't just sexist. It's racist. And it's deeply tied to the broader ecosystem of online male grievance — the so-called "manosphere," where incels, red-pillers, and other fragile egos gather to bemoan a world they think owes them sex, love, and status.
They hate me not because I'm nonmonogamous. They hate me because I'm not choosing them.

No, We Are Not Genetically Different​

Let's make this clear: race is not biological. There are no inherent genetic differences that make one race superior to another.
In 2003, the Human Genome Project found that all humans share 99.9% of their DNA. The tiny percentage of variation among us does not correspond to traditional racial categories. Race, as science confirms, is a social construct—not a biological reality.
Source: Collins, F. S., et al. (2003). A Vision for the Future of Genomics Research. Genome.gov
So, if we talk about race, let's talk about power, history, and culture — not pseudoscience. Because white supremacy always tries to dress up its insecurity in the language of biology. But biology doesn't lie. Racists do.

To the Haters: This Isn't About You​

To the white men who feel personally attacked by my preference: ask yourselves why.
Why does my joy — my private desire made public — trigger such rage in you? Why does a woman choosing something different feel like a threat? The truth is, no one owes you desire. Not your race. Not your gender. Not your heritage. Certainly not me.
Your identity is not diminished because I find something else beautiful. Love is not a pie. More for someone else does not mean less for you.
If hearing me say I prefer Black men makes you seethe, you're not angry at me. You're angry that your world no longer centers you by default.
And to the women who feel curious, conflicted, or quietly affirmed by my words: trust yourself. Desire doesn't need justification, but it does deserve honesty. Ask yourself where your preferences come from. Learn. Listen. Be open. But don't let shame silence you.

Radical Love Is the Most Honest Kind​

I don't need permission to live this way. But I also won't pretend it's easy to speak openly when white fragility keeps raising its fists.
I live my truth not because it's provocative but it is mine. I believe in loving fully, rejecting fear, and claiming the kind of connection that feels most whole to me.
I'm not here to soothe bruised egos. I'm here to live freely. And that includes loving who I love, out loud, without apology.

Not here though. Not in this place. Right?

 

[MacNfries]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.

Fine, talk all you want. Just so you know THIS white male doesn't give a rat's ass who or what you LOVE.
Knock yourself OUT.

 

[Red Pharaoh]

Fine, talk all you want. Just so you know THIS white male doesn't give a rat's ass who or what you LOVE.
Knock yourself OUT.

Yes you do. This bothers you to your core.

 

[Jacktone]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.
This is not just about who I find attractive. It's about how white supremacy, patriarchal entitlement, and personal liberation all collide the moment a white woman says out loud: I choose something else.

From Racist Roots to Radical Rejection​

I grew up in a racist household. I wish I could soften that sentence, but I can't. The comments were casual and constant, the lines between "us" and "them" clearly drawn. But life, in its beautiful defiance, handed me a different story. My very first love—my first real, soul-shaking love—was a Black man. We were together for four years in college, and during that time, I was immersed in his world, his family, and his culture.
What I learned there, I could never unlearn.
The love was real, as was the community, and the quiet teachings about resilience, joy, pain, and pride were real. I began to see the world differently—not through a textbook or a tweet, but through lived intimate experiences. By the time that relationship ended, I had entirely rejected the racism I had been raised with, and I never looked back.

What Preference Means​

When I say I prefer Black men, I don't mean I've checked a box or assigned value by shade. I'm talking about how I feel in their presence — how I am seen, safe, and energized. Yes, I find Black men physically beautiful. But it's not just about appearance. It's how they express themselves — the confident, playful flirting they've mastered, the kind that's direct without being aggressive, sexy without being crude.
There's a kind of masculinity many Black men exude that's not performative but embodied—and it permits me to be entirely feminine. I don't have to fight to be heard or shrink to be desired. Too often, with white men, I'm either debating for my voice or managing their fragility. I feel invited to relax, glow, and be soft with Black men. There's room for me to exhale.
This isn't idealization. It's the emotional truth of where I feel most in balance.

The Rage of White Men — and Why It's So Loud​

Whenever I speak about this publicly — whether in writing or on my podcast — I'm met with a particular rage. Not from Black people. Not from women. But from white men.
They accuse me of being a fetishist, a race traitor, a degenerate. They toss words like "cuck," "whore," and worse into my inbox as if their cruelty could shame me back into silence. But what they're furious about isn't me. It's the shift I represent.
White male entitlement is deeply rooted in American culture — especially the belief that they are the standard, the pinnacle, the default. When someone like me publicly prefers something else, it shakes the illusion. And rather than reflect on that discomfort, they lash out.
That anger isn't just sexist. It's racist. And it's deeply tied to the broader ecosystem of online male grievance — the so-called "manosphere," where incels, red-pillers, and other fragile egos gather to bemoan a world they think owes them sex, love, and status.
They hate me not because I'm nonmonogamous. They hate me because I'm not choosing them.

No, We Are Not Genetically Different​

Let's make this clear: race is not biological. There are no inherent genetic differences that make one race superior to another.
In 2003, the Human Genome Project found that all humans share 99.9% of their DNA. The tiny percentage of variation among us does not correspond to traditional racial categories. Race, as science confirms, is a social construct—not a biological reality.
Source: Collins, F. S., et al. (2003). A Vision for the Future of Genomics Research. Genome.gov
So, if we talk about race, let's talk about power, history, and culture — not pseudoscience. Because white supremacy always tries to dress up its insecurity in the language of biology. But biology doesn't lie. Racists do.

To the Haters: This Isn't About You​

To the white men who feel personally attacked by my preference: ask yourselves why.
Why does my joy — my private desire made public — trigger such rage in you? Why does a woman choosing something different feel like a threat? The truth is, no one owes you desire. Not your race. Not your gender. Not your heritage. Certainly not me.
Your identity is not diminished because I find something else beautiful. Love is not a pie. More for someone else does not mean less for you.
If hearing me say I prefer Black men makes you seethe, you're not angry at me. You're angry that your world no longer centers you by default.
And to the women who feel curious, conflicted, or quietly affirmed by my words: trust yourself. Desire doesn't need justification, but it does deserve honesty. Ask yourself where your preferences come from. Learn. Listen. Be open. But don't let shame silence you.

Radical Love Is the Most Honest Kind​

I don't need permission to live this way. But I also won't pretend it's easy to speak openly when white fragility keeps raising its fists.
I live my truth not because it's provocative but it is mine. I believe in loving fully, rejecting fear, and claiming the kind of connection that feels most whole to me.
I'm not here to soothe bruised egos. I'm here to live freely. And that includes loving who I love, out loud, without apology.

Firstly as a white male I support your choices and I think certainly on this site and many others you will find almost all of us are in support of you.
Surely the old racist days although not over they are fading away , retreating to hiding in anonymity on Twitter or fetishizing their racism into masturbation.
Leaving the odd racist raving at someone in the supermarket often getting a beat down by a Black Man for their trouble.
Don't worry too much things are changing

 

[FloydBW]

Fine, talk all you want. Just so you know THIS white male doesn't give a rat's ass who or what you LOVE.
Knock yourself OUT.

Just confirmed her point.

 

[Bowedick]

Many people hate black people, but they long for a black man to destroy their wife and hear her moan like a whore. Racism doesn't exist for them. In short, the world is upside down.

 

[MacNfries]

Just confirmed her point.

I confirmed 'nothing' ... just saying its making a point over nothing. It's only an issue to about 15% of the population and its always the white people's fault. 'White Bashing' seems to be quite popular on this site. It's like running over a dead cat ... it just gets flatter & flatter. I treat everyone the same and expect the same. The world has too many issues as is ... give it a rest!

She wanted to get something off her chest, and she did ... now, she should drop it. No one cares who she dates or fucks.
If you want to have a real discussion about racism, first admit that racism isn't just a white problem.

 

[mplscpl]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.
This is not just about who I find attractive. It's about how white supremacy, patriarchal entitlement, and personal liberation all collide the moment a white woman says out loud: I choose something else.

From Racist Roots to Radical Rejection​

I grew up in a racist household. I wish I could soften that sentence, but I can't. The comments were casual and constant, the lines between "us" and "them" clearly drawn. But life, in its beautiful defiance, handed me a different story. My very first love—my first real, soul-shaking love—was a Black man. We were together for four years in college, and during that time, I was immersed in his world, his family, and his culture.
What I learned there, I could never unlearn.
The love was real, as was the community, and the quiet teachings about resilience, joy, pain, and pride were real. I began to see the world differently—not through a textbook or a tweet, but through lived intimate experiences. By the time that relationship ended, I had entirely rejected the racism I had been raised with, and I never looked back.

What Preference Means​

When I say I prefer Black men, I don't mean I've checked a box or assigned value by shade. I'm talking about how I feel in their presence — how I am seen, safe, and energized. Yes, I find Black men physically beautiful. But it's not just about appearance. It's how they express themselves — the confident, playful flirting they've mastered, the kind that's direct without being aggressive, sexy without being crude.
There's a kind of masculinity many Black men exude that's not performative but embodied—and it permits me to be entirely feminine. I don't have to fight to be heard or shrink to be desired. Too often, with white men, I'm either debating for my voice or managing their fragility. I feel invited to relax, glow, and be soft with Black men. There's room for me to exhale.
This isn't idealization. It's the emotional truth of where I feel most in balance.

The Rage of White Men — and Why It's So Loud​

Whenever I speak about this publicly — whether in writing or on my podcast — I'm met with a particular rage. Not from Black people. Not from women. But from white men.
They accuse me of being a fetishist, a race traitor, a degenerate. They toss words like "cuck," "whore," and worse into my inbox as if their cruelty could shame me back into silence. But what they're furious about isn't me. It's the shift I represent.
White male entitlement is deeply rooted in American culture — especially the belief that they are the standard, the pinnacle, the default. When someone like me publicly prefers something else, it shakes the illusion. And rather than reflect on that discomfort, they lash out.
That anger isn't just sexist. It's racist. And it's deeply tied to the broader ecosystem of online male grievance — the so-called "manosphere," where incels, red-pillers, and other fragile egos gather to bemoan a world they think owes them sex, love, and status.
They hate me not because I'm nonmonogamous. They hate me because I'm not choosing them.

No, We Are Not Genetically Different​

Let's make this clear: race is not biological. There are no inherent genetic differences that make one race superior to another.
In 2003, the Human Genome Project found that all humans share 99.9% of their DNA. The tiny percentage of variation among us does not correspond to traditional racial categories. Race, as science confirms, is a social construct—not a biological reality.
Source: Collins, F. S., et al. (2003). A Vision for the Future of Genomics Research. Genome.gov
So, if we talk about race, let's talk about power, history, and culture — not pseudoscience. Because white supremacy always tries to dress up its insecurity in the language of biology. But biology doesn't lie. Racists do.

To the Haters: This Isn't About You​

To the white men who feel personally attacked by my preference: ask yourselves why.
Why does my joy — my private desire made public — trigger such rage in you? Why does a woman choosing something different feel like a threat? The truth is, no one owes you desire. Not your race. Not your gender. Not your heritage. Certainly not me.
Your identity is not diminished because I find something else beautiful. Love is not a pie. More for someone else does not mean less for you.
If hearing me say I prefer Black men makes you seethe, you're not angry at me. You're angry that your world no longer centers you by default.
And to the women who feel curious, conflicted, or quietly affirmed by my words: trust yourself. Desire doesn't need justification, but it does deserve honesty. Ask yourself where your preferences come from. Learn. Listen. Be open. But don't let shame silence you.

Radical Love Is the Most Honest Kind​

I don't need permission to live this way. But I also won't pretend it's easy to speak openly when white fragility keeps raising its fists.
I live my truth not because it's provocative but it is mine. I believe in loving fully, rejecting fear, and claiming the kind of connection that feels most whole to me.
I'm not here to soothe bruised egos. I'm here to live freely. And that includes loving who I love, out loud, without apology.

The negativity likely comes from others insecurity.

 

[Jimsopen]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.
This is not just about who I find attractive. It's about how white supremacy, patriarchal entitlement, and personal liberation all collide the moment a white woman says out loud: I choose something else.

From Racist Roots to Radical Rejection​

I grew up in a racist household. I wish I could soften that sentence, but I can't. The comments were casual and constant, the lines between "us" and "them" clearly drawn. But life, in its beautiful defiance, handed me a different story. My very first love—my first real, soul-shaking love—was a Black man. We were together for four years in college, and during that time, I was immersed in his world, his family, and his culture.
What I learned there, I could never unlearn.
The love was real, as was the community, and the quiet teachings about resilience, joy, pain, and pride were real. I began to see the world differently—not through a textbook or a tweet, but through lived intimate experiences. By the time that relationship ended, I had entirely rejected the racism I had been raised with, and I never looked back.

What Preference Means​

When I say I prefer Black men, I don't mean I've checked a box or assigned value by shade. I'm talking about how I feel in their presence — how I am seen, safe, and energized. Yes, I find Black men physically beautiful. But it's not just about appearance. It's how they express themselves — the confident, playful flirting they've mastered, the kind that's direct without being aggressive, sexy without being crude.
There's a kind of masculinity many Black men exude that's not performative but embodied—and it permits me to be entirely feminine. I don't have to fight to be heard or shrink to be desired. Too often, with white men, I'm either debating for my voice or managing their fragility. I feel invited to relax, glow, and be soft with Black men. There's room for me to exhale.
This isn't idealization. It's the emotional truth of where I feel most in balance.

The Rage of White Men — and Why It's So Loud​

Whenever I speak about this publicly — whether in writing or on my podcast — I'm met with a particular rage. Not from Black people. Not from women. But from white men.
They accuse me of being a fetishist, a race traitor, a degenerate. They toss words like "cuck," "whore," and worse into my inbox as if their cruelty could shame me back into silence. But what they're furious about isn't me. It's the shift I represent.
White male entitlement is deeply rooted in American culture — especially the belief that they are the standard, the pinnacle, the default. When someone like me publicly prefers something else, it shakes the illusion. And rather than reflect on that discomfort, they lash out.
That anger isn't just sexist. It's racist. And it's deeply tied to the broader ecosystem of online male grievance — the so-called "manosphere," where incels, red-pillers, and other fragile egos gather to bemoan a world they think owes them sex, love, and status.
They hate me not because I'm nonmonogamous. They hate me because I'm not choosing them.

No, We Are Not Genetically Different​

Let's make this clear: race is not biological. There are no inherent genetic differences that make one race superior to another.
In 2003, the Human Genome Project found that all humans share 99.9% of their DNA. The tiny percentage of variation among us does not correspond to traditional racial categories. Race, as science confirms, is a social construct—not a biological reality.
Source: Collins, F. S., et al. (2003). A Vision for the Future of Genomics Research. Genome.gov
So, if we talk about race, let's talk about power, history, and culture — not pseudoscience. Because white supremacy always tries to dress up its insecurity in the language of biology. But biology doesn't lie. Racists do.

To the Haters: This Isn't About You​

To the white men who feel personally attacked by my preference: ask yourselves why.
Why does my joy — my private desire made public — trigger such rage in you? Why does a woman choosing something different feel like a threat? The truth is, no one owes you desire. Not your race. Not your gender. Not your heritage. Certainly not me.
Your identity is not diminished because I find something else beautiful. Love is not a pie. More for someone else does not mean less for you.
If hearing me say I prefer Black men makes you seethe, you're not angry at me. You're angry that your world no longer centers you by default.
And to the women who feel curious, conflicted, or quietly affirmed by my words: trust yourself. Desire doesn't need justification, but it does deserve honesty. Ask yourself where your preferences come from. Learn. Listen. Be open. But don't let shame silence you.

Radical Love Is the Most Honest Kind​

I don't need permission to live this way. But I also won't pretend it's easy to speak openly when white fragility keeps raising its fists.
I live my truth not because it's provocative but it is mine. I believe in loving fully, rejecting fear, and claiming the kind of connection that feels most whole to me.
I'm not here to soothe bruised egos. I'm here to live freely. And that includes loving who I love, out loud, without apology.

I think those may just be the 4 most beautiful words in the English language - “ I love black men “. Jim. White cuckold.

 

[FloydBW]

No one on this site has any true love to give to black men, you all are lying to make yourselves feel grounded with your unhealthy plantation/supremacist fetishes, i've been on this damn site for about a couple of hours now and looking at all the black men dehumanization and none of you people actually SEE US, it's just your fucked up kinks you try to justify with b.s like this. You are the racist lady, hell you literally just said you were, all it did was just evolve into whatever this website and this QoS/BNWO thing is, you and people like you. But you and people here somehow convinced yourselves you aren't. "Radical Love Is The Most Honest Kind" see what I'm saying you are trying to reframe harmful behavior. Loving black men in 2025 isn't radical this ain't 1855 it's basic human decency, and if you truly did love us why here of all places HERE, ain't no love here for no black man. "Desire doesn't need justification" here you're not speaking to empathy, reflection or accountability, you're weaponizing feelings to override ethics. Like are black men here so brain washed and attention deprived y'all cant see through this sh*t. (And I ain't a white dude so don't even pull that card)

You are correct..the cucks move is to contunue plantation racism, akin to breeding farms and sexism in his fobidling relationships between black men and white women...

Contemporary times is to USE these 2 people for his own purposes..his kink..he claims to love her yet wants her mind destroyed by endless gang bangs for his edification..he does not love her he wants to maintain possession of her for non sexual purposes..he want to use the black cock as slave as fetish to satisfy his wife because he can't, to induce her to stay with him..often she goes along because of the stolen black resources...there is no love here, just exploitation by cuck...couples need to see the cuck for who and what he is..a vampire.

 

[MacNfries]

FloydBW ... you might wish to make an appointment with your proctologist soon to get that 'burr' extracted out of your ass. What you have is inbreeded "hate". Not your fault, you were raised that way. I wouldn't think you'd want to live with that pain very long. While you're still young, try to get rid of it so you can enjoy life.

 

[STIFFBBC]

You are correct..the cucks move is to contunue plantation racism, akin to breeding farms and sexism in his fobidling relationships between black men and white women...

Contemporary times is to USE these 2 people for his own purposes..his kink..he claims to love her yet wants her mind destroyed by endless gang bangs for his edification..he does not love her he wants to maintain possession of her for non sexual purposes..he want to use the black cock as slave as fetish to satisfy his wife because he can't, to induce her to stay with him..often she goes along because of the stolen black resources...there is no love here, just exploitation by cuck...couples need to see the cuck for who and what he is..a vampire.

From high school l recall a Greek comedy, Lysistrata. It featured two cities about to go to war where the mot.hers, wives, and other female relations were scared about their men being killed in the upcoming war so much that the women on both sides secretly met and tried to organize a front to prevent the catastrophe. After much debate what was decided is to have a sex strike. Even the prostitutes were for.ced to buy into this because if they satisfied the men while all other women remained sexless and the men all died they would mostly be living in a world with the angry widows, mot.hers, and si.sters and d.aughters and other relations would make their lives a living Hell. So the sex strike began and that war never came because the women had outrageous leverage as they literally had the men by the balls.

Doubtful Black men everywhere would learn from this story and develop the unity forming the shared purpose to organize something similar? Imagine the ridiculous negotiating power if all Black males had a similar sex strike? It would take ridiculous stamina and iron will to turn away pussy begging to f.uck her but the final accomplishment achieved from such an action might be profound? Black men actually gaining some kind of permanent position in a couple's household instead of temporary disposable entertainment for a night then he is forgotten except for the legacy of any k.ids he f.athered? I know many will disagree, but some others might think that this idea might have some merit to it transforming these temporary relationships into something permanent at least for couples that desire such a permanent contract forged to the benefit of all parties: the Black Man, the White Woman as the Hotwife, and the White Man being the Cuck?

Unwittingly I did my part not having any sexual relations in decades with local women, not that l wasn't trying especially historically, and despite the resources on this site single women can be found just about everywhere on the planet EXCEPT my dead zone of Metro Toronto breeding in.cels, which is another story. Thankfully l am not bitter but l found lots of other distractions while l noticed White Men and White Women around me as well as couples from very diverse cultures moving to my area having their ki.ds and forging their new communities out of oblivion being permanent outposts in Metro Toronto / the GTA area despite the ridiculous expense living here as they all age together in their family units while l remain an eternal bachelor with no k.ids. If my time comes finally finding a woman to call my own it will. If my circumstances greatly change l may have to help the right woman immigrate here just as my younger cousins immigrated their wives in my area.

Lysistrata - Wikipedia

en.m.wikipedia.org

 

[MacNfries]

Yes you do. This bothers you to your core.

WRONG! ... but keep believing that if it makes you feel good.

 

[CJ BlkDom]

Every time I mention — even casually — that I love Black men, I brace myself, not for confusion or curiosity, but for the heat of white male outrage. As a white woman in a consensually nonmonogamous marriage with my white husband, I've been open about my preferences: romantically, sexually, and emotionally, I'm drawn to Black men. And that single truth ignites more fury than my nonmonogamy ever does.
I want to talk about that.
This is not just about who I find attractive. It's about how white supremacy, patriarchal entitlement, and personal liberation all collide the moment a white woman says out loud: I choose something else.

From Racist Roots to Radical Rejection​

I grew up in a racist household. I wish I could soften that sentence, but I can't. The comments were casual and constant, the lines between "us" and "them" clearly drawn. But life, in its beautiful defiance, handed me a different story. My very first love—my first real, soul-shaking love—was a Black man. We were together for four years in college, and during that time, I was immersed in his world, his family, and his culture.
What I learned there, I could never unlearn.
The love was real, as was the community, and the quiet teachings about resilience, joy, pain, and pride were real. I began to see the world differently—not through a textbook or a tweet, but through lived intimate experiences. By the time that relationship ended, I had entirely rejected the racism I had been raised with, and I never looked back.

What Preference Means​

When I say I prefer Black men, I don't mean I've checked a box or assigned value by shade. I'm talking about how I feel in their presence — how I am seen, safe, and energized. Yes, I find Black men physically beautiful. But it's not just about appearance. It's how they express themselves — the confident, playful flirting they've mastered, the kind that's direct without being aggressive, sexy without being crude.
There's a kind of masculinity many Black men exude that's not performative but embodied—and it permits me to be entirely feminine. I don't have to fight to be heard or shrink to be desired. Too often, with white men, I'm either debating for my voice or managing their fragility. I feel invited to relax, glow, and be soft with Black men. There's room for me to exhale.
This isn't idealization. It's the emotional truth of where I feel most in balance.

The Rage of White Men — and Why It's So Loud​

Whenever I speak about this publicly — whether in writing or on my podcast — I'm met with a particular rage. Not from Black people. Not from women. But from white men.
They accuse me of being a fetishist, a race traitor, a degenerate. They toss words like "cuck," "whore," and worse into my inbox as if their cruelty could shame me back into silence. But what they're furious about isn't me. It's the shift I represent.
White male entitlement is deeply rooted in American culture — especially the belief that they are the standard, the pinnacle, the default. When someone like me publicly prefers something else, it shakes the illusion. And rather than reflect on that discomfort, they lash out.
That anger isn't just sexist. It's racist. And it's deeply tied to the broader ecosystem of online male grievance — the so-called "manosphere," where incels, red-pillers, and other fragile egos gather to bemoan a world they think owes them sex, love, and status.
They hate me not because I'm nonmonogamous. They hate me because I'm not choosing them.

No, We Are Not Genetically Different​

Let's make this clear: race is not biological. There are no inherent genetic differences that make one race superior to another.
In 2003, the Human Genome Project found that all humans share 99.9% of their DNA. The tiny percentage of variation among us does not correspond to traditional racial categories. Race, as science confirms, is a social construct—not a biological reality.
Source: Collins, F. S., et al. (2003). A Vision for the Future of Genomics Research. Genome.gov
So, if we talk about race, let's talk about power, history, and culture — not pseudoscience. Because white supremacy always tries to dress up its insecurity in the language of biology. But biology doesn't lie. Racists do.

To the Haters: This Isn't About You​

To the white men who feel personally attacked by my preference: ask yourselves why.
Why does my joy — my private desire made public — trigger such rage in you? Why does a woman choosing something different feel like a threat? The truth is, no one owes you desire. Not your race. Not your gender. Not your heritage. Certainly not me.
Your identity is not diminished because I find something else beautiful. Love is not a pie. More for someone else does not mean less for you.
If hearing me say I prefer Black men makes you seethe, you're not angry at me. You're angry that your world no longer centers you by default.
And to the women who feel curious, conflicted, or quietly affirmed by my words: trust yourself. Desire doesn't need justification, but it does deserve honesty. Ask yourself where your preferences come from. Learn. Listen. Be open. But don't let shame silence you.

Radical Love Is the Most Honest Kind​

I don't need permission to live this way. But I also won't pretend it's easy to speak openly when white fragility keeps raising its fists.
I live my truth not because it's provocative but it is mine. I believe in loving fully, rejecting fear, and claiming the kind of connection that feels most whole to me.
I'm not here to soothe bruised egos. I'm here to live freely. And that includes loving who I love, out loud, without apology.

KEEP UR WHITE HUB FOR FINANCIAL PURPOSES ONLY 4 UR WELL BEING. U SAID IT RIGHT! WHITE. FUCKING. FRAGILITY AND LOVE US TIL UR LAST BREATH WITH OUT ZERO APOLOGIES Ur invited to EVERY BLACK PERSONS COOK OUT! SAYS ME!

 

[Red Pharaoh]

WRONG! ... but keep believing that if it makes you feel good.

Ma

Making Passionate Love to Beautiful White Women is what makes me feel good…….I will keep doing that.

 

[Jacktone]

FloydBW ... you might wish to make an appointment with your proctologist soon to get that 'burr' extracted out of your ass. What you have is inbreeded "hate". Not your fault, you were raised that way. I wouldn't think you'd want to live with that pain very long. While you're still young, try to get rid of it so you can enjoy life.

Maybe going off topic a bit here but I have always wondered who chooses to be a proctologist?