Never Date a Black Woman

rather insightful piece by CH reminded me of my liberal past. About two years ago now, while still in college, I was in a relationship with a black girl.

The profiles CH gives of the types of white guys and black girls who willingly date each other made me laugh, maybe because I saw a tiny sliver of my past self in there.

The White men drilling for oil are usually big nerdy galoots. They are tall and burly, but walk with an ungainly lope. Nevertheless, they could probably win a few fights if their lives depended on it.

Though never a nerd, I certainly was a complete twat. The Blue Pill of equality was part of my morning regimen. And any bigoted, anti-white comments this girl made were allowed quite a bit of slack. The part about winning fights rings a bell as well. A lot of “street” black guys would shout abuse at the pair of us, but would be cowed by one look from the 6’1 mesomorph with “one of their women” in tow.

The black women in WM/BW couples aren’t particularly facially pretty, but they are all thin. And they don’t have steatopygous ghetto glutes. Their figures resemble the bodies of well-muscled, athletic White women.

She was a pretty girl, 20 years old with indeed, a body type that wouldn’t be uncommon among athletic White women. In fact she was half White, half Afro-Carribean. My circle of friends were quite impressed. What put me off her eventually, and all black women, was her complete lack of a drive to be feminine.

Part of this was down to me being a liberal cuck; picture the average liberal couple. You get a tall string-bean of a man with an ugly, materialistic, often pudgy girlfriend. He is hardly the epitome of masculinity, so you can expect his partner to mirror him on the opposite side of the spectrum. That’s why you see straight couples that are entirely androgynous. Or look like lesbians.

I was marginally better off than the average cuck. Slowly as the relationship progressed, the issues began to arise. Better-looking white women even glancing at me had her sinking into jealousy and bitterness. Black women are at the bottom of the totem pole, in terms of their dating options. Mixed race women have it tough as well, with a greater propensity for mental illness.

At one point, she decided to be discernibly more feminine, wearing dresses instead of skinny jeans, filtering out profanity and being more submissive generally. But we both knew (however much cucked-me would have refused to say it out loud) that even with her effort she couldn’t compete with a white woman.

A lot of people reading my blog probably aren’t too bothered about race. And in many ways, this isn’t about skin color. What does bother me is that I have no idea what I was thinking. She was easier, maybe. Other than that, everything about the relationship seemed uncomfortable. I was on the precipice of throwing liberal values to the winds and Red-pilling up. This waste of a relationship might have been the death throes of my white guilt and regressive conscience.


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