The Black Girl Fetish

Rose Water Magazine

My first romantic rejection, at aged 8, consisted of a younger somewhat more confident me approaching a cute white boy that went by the name of Oliver. He was two years older than me, had blue eyes and was probably completely out of my league. We used to exchange awkward smiles and waves probably every day for weeks, until I walked towards him and asked simply: “Will you go out with me?” to his response of “No, sorry.” His friends surrounding him tried to hold in their laughter, went on playing their game of football, and acted as if they hadn’t just watched my delicate 8 year old ego crash and burn right in front of them. It was bruising to say the least, I had already named at least 3 of our future children and imagined what his last name would sound like in conjunction to my first.


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