Hello everyone, my name is Vivian, 37. I would like to discuss and try to understand why many white women out there are attracted to black men.
Before I start, I have to say that mine, is not a random case. There is more to it then any of you may ever be able to understand.
Please note that I have not joined this forum searching for anyone or to have a good time. After scouring the net for a couple of years, and joining a number of sites dedicated to **** victims, I still feel like a broken person inside and all the sweet talk and pretentious compassion people have offered me just makes me more angry rather than solve anything.
I feel the need to talk about (and try to come to terms with) something that happened to me 4 years ago whilst doing volunteer work in Africa.
I want to understand the psychological side of what happened to me and I feel that can only be achieved through total OPEN talk, not conservative methods.
I seem to have found that frankness on here, even though at times, I must admit I do find some of the things I read extremely vulgar. I know many women find black men attractive but unfortunately I am in a situation now where I feel physically feel sick if a black man comes anywhere near me.
I would appreciate it if men (especially black ones) could learn to have more respect for women.
Please note that, what follows, is a true and accurate account of what happened to me, and even though it`s painful to talk about it, I feel other women should know how cruel black men can really be.
5 years ago I joined a charity organisation specialising in providing education to children of the poorer countries. I got involved with the volunteer scheme and ended up travelling to Gabon and then Cameroon working with children as a teacher. Apart from the suffocating heat, I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the first year in Africa and got on well with the locals.
After Gabon and Cameroon, in 2002, I was to accept a third assignment, going East, again with children, this time working in Nigeria. I spent 3 months in a town on the outskirts of Lagos, helping the local school. It was in Nigeria that my life changed (for the worse). I was visiting Lagos on a weekday and midway through the afternoon I had my bag snatched, with all my belongings, monies, documents etc. I was obviously destrought, but was unable to find anyone to help. Compared to the more warm and friendly people form Cameroon, the Nigerians where extremely uncaring.
Lagos has got to be one of the busiest places in the whole of Africa, but I was unable to find anyone willing to lend a hand. As I set off towards the train station, I realised I my return ticket was in the bag.
It was already late afternoon and I must admit I was starting to panic, looking at the tramps and homeless people populating the streets. Once at the station, I jumped on the train without even thinking
about it. To my surprise, about a half-hour later, a ticket-controller boarded the train. An older nigerian man, looking tired and un-cooperative.
To cut the long-story short, he made me leave the train at the next stop, unwilling to listen to anything I had to say. The sun had already started to go down and I had no idea where was. Some tacky old station, in
the suburbs of Lagos. Empty and boarded up. My heart was absolutely pounding with fear, my knees trembling in shock. I just wanted to collapse to the floor and start crying, I almost wanted to throw up. I knew that white tourists in Nigeria, rarely leave their hotels after dark due to all
the muggings.
I left the old station and walked for at least an hour, not knowing where I was going. The smell of the area was revolting. Rubbish everywhere, graffiti. It was some kind of old industrial area, no-one around. Half an hour later, it was pitch dark. I remember, falling to the floor crying my eyes out for at least ten minutes. As I resumed to walk ahead, I spotted the headlights of a car coming towards me.
It went past seemingly innocently, but as it reached the end of the road it made a u-turn and started heading up behind me. As it slowed next to me, two Nigerians started talking to me in a local dialect.
I couldn`t understand what they were saying but they were both laughing. A few steps foward and the car stopped. The one man got out and started shouting at me. His voice was extremely loud. The next thing I knew he had grabbed my wrist and was pulling me towards the car.
I couldn`t even scream, my heart was in my throat. Again, I felt like being sick, and just wanted to be somewhere where there were lights and people. I was pushed into the back of the car and the Nigerian got in with me. He pointed his finger at me and yelled something in a menacing way. After that he grabbed the back my neck and pushed my head into my knees. For about 20 minutes we travelled like this, me staring down at the floor of this filthy car. I remember staring at his big feet. He was wearing some
tacky old thong sandles, dust covering his feet. The smell unbearable. I though I was going to throw up.
I remember thinking "this is going to be the last day of my life". I thought of my family back home, I thought of how I had travelled to Africa.
I tried to think of how I would be able to convince them to let me go, but I couldn`t communicate with them.
It was completely dark. As the car came to a halt, the driver started shouting over to some people, he seamed to be calling somebody over. It was completely dark. The next thing I knew, I was pulled back up.
The car was under an old bridge surrounded by a group of black men
all staring down into the car at me. The driver said something and everyone started laughing.
The group soon despanded, and the car started off again. As we headed forward I heard the engines of two cars starting up behind us, as well as a motorcycle. Their headlights following us. About ten minutes later, we stopped in front of an old building. It was in another old industrial area. The two cars soon parked behind us. I was dragged out of the car with violence, the other men all whistling and yelling behind me. The motorcycle arrived soon after with two more nigerians. There must have been at least nine men
plus the two in the car with me.
I was dragged up two flights of stairs, into this filthy derelict place.
All I could smell was urine. I remember spotting syringes on the way up as well as empty bottles and cigarette butts everwhere. Graffiti on the walls, rubble on the floor. I was literally terrified.
We reached the third floor and I was ****** into a room, behind a metal door. The men quickly gathered inside laughing and yelling. I was placed up against the wall as the Nigerians stood looking at me. One of the men entered the room with a tacky old mattress, and roughly threw it to the floor.
As they all stood staring at me and laughing, one of the blacks stepped forward and and made a loop hole with his fingers, he put it in front of his mouth and began simulating oral sex whilst laughing at me as all the others cheered.
This was when I realised that these men were going to **** me. One of the Nigerians then yelled something to the rest of them and they all began undressing in front of me. I stood there, up against the wall as the black men pulled their pants off. My heart was thumping again. I just wanted to get away, as far as possible from that place. I started crying like a child, begging in English for them to let me go. It was the most afraid I have ever been in my life. I remember screaming "Please let me go!". But the more I cried, the more they made jokes and laughed at me.
What followed next, still haunts me to this day. I really dont want to go into too much detail as it is still extremely painful for me to recall. All I can say is that I was dragged over (still crying) to the mattress and thrown on the floor. The men pinned me down and surrounded me. My clothes were completely stripped of my body and I was spread out on the mattress totally naked. I remember them all kneeling down around me and rubbing my body over and over again.
I cried and cried. But nothing, they were like animals. The first man penetrated me, whilst a second grabbed my neck almost choking me, forcing me to take his penis in my mouth. After that I lay there for hours being **** over and over again. My body was abused like a piece of meat.
The men left the building in the early morning and I eventually made it back to the charity home. Although completely distraught and in a state of shock.
As a consequence of this ordeal, for the past few years now I have suffered acute physical, emotional and behavioral problems. Together, these symptoms are known as ****Trauma Syndrome (RTS), a type of post-traumatic stress disorder. They can include shock, nausea, insomnia, eating problems, listlessness, crying, nervousness, compulsive washing,
poor concentration, mood swings, memory loss. I can honestly say that the majority of these problems have been part of my every day life for the past few years.
To this day I cannot understand how women can find Black men attractive. The way I was treated 4 years ago and some of the stuff I read on this board from black men who think it`s ok to treat women like meat astonish me.
To all the women out there, who think its great to act out being abused by black men, you need to understand that it is also mentality problem which encourages these men to treat women in certain ways. They surely do not need encouraging.
Before I start, I have to say that mine, is not a random case. There is more to it then any of you may ever be able to understand.
Please note that I have not joined this forum searching for anyone or to have a good time. After scouring the net for a couple of years, and joining a number of sites dedicated to **** victims, I still feel like a broken person inside and all the sweet talk and pretentious compassion people have offered me just makes me more angry rather than solve anything.
I feel the need to talk about (and try to come to terms with) something that happened to me 4 years ago whilst doing volunteer work in Africa.
I want to understand the psychological side of what happened to me and I feel that can only be achieved through total OPEN talk, not conservative methods.
I seem to have found that frankness on here, even though at times, I must admit I do find some of the things I read extremely vulgar. I know many women find black men attractive but unfortunately I am in a situation now where I feel physically feel sick if a black man comes anywhere near me.
I would appreciate it if men (especially black ones) could learn to have more respect for women.
Please note that, what follows, is a true and accurate account of what happened to me, and even though it`s painful to talk about it, I feel other women should know how cruel black men can really be.
5 years ago I joined a charity organisation specialising in providing education to children of the poorer countries. I got involved with the volunteer scheme and ended up travelling to Gabon and then Cameroon working with children as a teacher. Apart from the suffocating heat, I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the first year in Africa and got on well with the locals.
After Gabon and Cameroon, in 2002, I was to accept a third assignment, going East, again with children, this time working in Nigeria. I spent 3 months in a town on the outskirts of Lagos, helping the local school. It was in Nigeria that my life changed (for the worse). I was visiting Lagos on a weekday and midway through the afternoon I had my bag snatched, with all my belongings, monies, documents etc. I was obviously destrought, but was unable to find anyone to help. Compared to the more warm and friendly people form Cameroon, the Nigerians where extremely uncaring.
Lagos has got to be one of the busiest places in the whole of Africa, but I was unable to find anyone willing to lend a hand. As I set off towards the train station, I realised I my return ticket was in the bag.
It was already late afternoon and I must admit I was starting to panic, looking at the tramps and homeless people populating the streets. Once at the station, I jumped on the train without even thinking
about it. To my surprise, about a half-hour later, a ticket-controller boarded the train. An older nigerian man, looking tired and un-cooperative.
To cut the long-story short, he made me leave the train at the next stop, unwilling to listen to anything I had to say. The sun had already started to go down and I had no idea where was. Some tacky old station, in
the suburbs of Lagos. Empty and boarded up. My heart was absolutely pounding with fear, my knees trembling in shock. I just wanted to collapse to the floor and start crying, I almost wanted to throw up. I knew that white tourists in Nigeria, rarely leave their hotels after dark due to all
the muggings.
I left the old station and walked for at least an hour, not knowing where I was going. The smell of the area was revolting. Rubbish everywhere, graffiti. It was some kind of old industrial area, no-one around. Half an hour later, it was pitch dark. I remember, falling to the floor crying my eyes out for at least ten minutes. As I resumed to walk ahead, I spotted the headlights of a car coming towards me.
It went past seemingly innocently, but as it reached the end of the road it made a u-turn and started heading up behind me. As it slowed next to me, two Nigerians started talking to me in a local dialect.
I couldn`t understand what they were saying but they were both laughing. A few steps foward and the car stopped. The one man got out and started shouting at me. His voice was extremely loud. The next thing I knew he had grabbed my wrist and was pulling me towards the car.
I couldn`t even scream, my heart was in my throat. Again, I felt like being sick, and just wanted to be somewhere where there were lights and people. I was pushed into the back of the car and the Nigerian got in with me. He pointed his finger at me and yelled something in a menacing way. After that he grabbed the back my neck and pushed my head into my knees. For about 20 minutes we travelled like this, me staring down at the floor of this filthy car. I remember staring at his big feet. He was wearing some
tacky old thong sandles, dust covering his feet. The smell unbearable. I though I was going to throw up.
I remember thinking "this is going to be the last day of my life". I thought of my family back home, I thought of how I had travelled to Africa.
I tried to think of how I would be able to convince them to let me go, but I couldn`t communicate with them.
It was completely dark. As the car came to a halt, the driver started shouting over to some people, he seamed to be calling somebody over. It was completely dark. The next thing I knew, I was pulled back up.
The car was under an old bridge surrounded by a group of black men
all staring down into the car at me. The driver said something and everyone started laughing.
The group soon despanded, and the car started off again. As we headed forward I heard the engines of two cars starting up behind us, as well as a motorcycle. Their headlights following us. About ten minutes later, we stopped in front of an old building. It was in another old industrial area. The two cars soon parked behind us. I was dragged out of the car with violence, the other men all whistling and yelling behind me. The motorcycle arrived soon after with two more nigerians. There must have been at least nine men
plus the two in the car with me.
I was dragged up two flights of stairs, into this filthy derelict place.
All I could smell was urine. I remember spotting syringes on the way up as well as empty bottles and cigarette butts everwhere. Graffiti on the walls, rubble on the floor. I was literally terrified.
We reached the third floor and I was ****** into a room, behind a metal door. The men quickly gathered inside laughing and yelling. I was placed up against the wall as the Nigerians stood looking at me. One of the men entered the room with a tacky old mattress, and roughly threw it to the floor.
As they all stood staring at me and laughing, one of the blacks stepped forward and and made a loop hole with his fingers, he put it in front of his mouth and began simulating oral sex whilst laughing at me as all the others cheered.
This was when I realised that these men were going to **** me. One of the Nigerians then yelled something to the rest of them and they all began undressing in front of me. I stood there, up against the wall as the black men pulled their pants off. My heart was thumping again. I just wanted to get away, as far as possible from that place. I started crying like a child, begging in English for them to let me go. It was the most afraid I have ever been in my life. I remember screaming "Please let me go!". But the more I cried, the more they made jokes and laughed at me.
What followed next, still haunts me to this day. I really dont want to go into too much detail as it is still extremely painful for me to recall. All I can say is that I was dragged over (still crying) to the mattress and thrown on the floor. The men pinned me down and surrounded me. My clothes were completely stripped of my body and I was spread out on the mattress totally naked. I remember them all kneeling down around me and rubbing my body over and over again.
I cried and cried. But nothing, they were like animals. The first man penetrated me, whilst a second grabbed my neck almost choking me, forcing me to take his penis in my mouth. After that I lay there for hours being **** over and over again. My body was abused like a piece of meat.
The men left the building in the early morning and I eventually made it back to the charity home. Although completely distraught and in a state of shock.
As a consequence of this ordeal, for the past few years now I have suffered acute physical, emotional and behavioral problems. Together, these symptoms are known as ****Trauma Syndrome (RTS), a type of post-traumatic stress disorder. They can include shock, nausea, insomnia, eating problems, listlessness, crying, nervousness, compulsive washing,
poor concentration, mood swings, memory loss. I can honestly say that the majority of these problems have been part of my every day life for the past few years.
To this day I cannot understand how women can find Black men attractive. The way I was treated 4 years ago and some of the stuff I read on this board from black men who think it`s ok to treat women like meat astonish me.
To all the women out there, who think its great to act out being abused by black men, you need to understand that it is also mentality problem which encourages these men to treat women in certain ways. They surely do not need encouraging.
