STORYTIME: The time I (unknowingly) dated a Neo-Naz!

You read that correct. I had the misfortune of accidentally dating a Neo-Naz! when I was sixteen. God, I wish I was joking. 😖👎🏼

Hey, everyone! Welcome to my blog or welcome back to my blog. My name is A.A. Walker - certified weird girl - and I post blogs every week, ranging from storytimes, photo dumps, Q&As, the works. If any of that interests you, be sure to leave me a kudos, comment, friend me, subscribe to my blog, do all the things!!! Anywhooo, let's get into it.

This week, I'm doing a story about the time I, unbeknownst to me, dated a NeoNaz!. When I say NeoNaz!, I mean the subcommunity of alternative boys who are bigoted asf. Take Matt Healy, Axl Rose, and Ronnie Radke for instance. Keep in mind I WAS SIXTEEN, AM HALF-BLACK, AND BISEXUAL, so don't try to cancel me for this. I also don't condone naz!sm, overwise I wouldn't be telling this cautionary tale. Trigger warning: racial slurs, naz!sm symbolism, curse words, gender slur (i.e. b!tch), homophibic slur (i.e. f@ggot), fatphobia, alcohol, and family conflict. If any of that is triggering for you, by all means skip this blog and go check out my PG-rated content.

I want to preface by saying, while I don't support Naz!sm, I definitely don't support z!onism either. Though I do acknowledge that the small hat mafia run the world, have tons of white privilege, are Islamaph0bic, exploit the fuck out of the Black community, and have personally experienced racist / Islamaph0bic encounters from them, the Holocaust was an atrocity and should have never happened. Point, blank, period. Many things can be true at once: I don't support Naz!sm, z!onism, racism, or Islamoph0bia. If you disagree, go drive off a bridge. May Palest!ne be free and justice served. I also don't support anything bigoted discussed in this story time and I highly, highly, HIGHLY advise if you know someone like this to cut them off immediately. Okay, cool.

Strap in, folks, because it's gonna be a wild one. Alright, let's go!!

RED FLAG #1: I Met Him in Alabama

It was 2020, coronavirus was getting real, and all the other hot girls were indoors. Prior to this, I had never dated a boy before. I had two girlfriends in middle school and rejected more boyfriend offers than I knew what to do with. I just didn't like boys my age. I only wanted people that were as cool or cooler than me. No boy fit that mold.

That all changed in the summer of 2020.

I had been in Alabama for four months at that point, having moved from the peach state. My stepmom was a grueling b!tch, my biological dad was barely home, and our pet parrot was my own friend in our dollhouse of a mansion. I had but one human friend, Khloe, but she didn't live in our neighborhood and only came when her mom and my stepmom hung out (or if Khloe begged her mom to let her sleepover). So, being two bored girls tired of binging Vampire Diaries and iZombie, we went to the public pool. Now, gated communities have different pools than the YMCA or something. It's suburbia, so there's moms with floppy hats sunbathing in loungers, a DJ playing Ocean Eyes and Ride With Me on rotation, and clean bathrooms. If you're lucky, the dad who brought popsicles and a grill of burgers with share.

That's where I met Duncan.

Well, actually, I met his little brother, Ethan, first. Ethan was a chubbyish kid who swam up to me and Khloe, seeing how much fun we were having, and asked to join us. He seemed chill and harmless, so we agreed. After that, Ethan, Khloe, and I became a trio. Like, we did almost everything together. My main hangout was that pool. God, I miss that pool sometimes. I mean, we'd be there from noon to nighttime, just swimming and talking. I never pruned like I did that summer. Khloe was mixed (korean & white), I was mixed (black & white), and Ethan was fully white, so being around white people wasn't new to us. However, Alabama white people are different than Georgia white people. So, when Ethan introduced us to his family at the pool one day, I clenched my throat. Waiting for the ball to drop.

Suprisingly, his family was really kind.

His grandma told jokes in between her power naps. His mom seemed fond of me for taking her son under my wing and was respectful asf (when we ordered pizza, she confirmed I couldn't eat pork and ordered beef only), and his oldest brothers was a like shirtless, liberal-preaching cowboy with tattoos. Between laughing at his grandma's jokes, talking with his mom, and asking his brother about his tattoo sleeves, I laid eyes on his quiet brother. The middle child, who sat apart from his bustling family, always wore the same black hoodie (yes, in summer temperature) and trunks, and read the Communist Manifesto.

One day, upon a dare by Ethan and Khloe, I got out the pool and sat beside him in the shade. The dare was to bug him, but I didn't really know where to start. I never heard him talk or seen him look up from book. So, I asked if his hair was really that blonde. He had earplugs in and didn't hear me, so I tapped his arm. He rolled his eyes then flinched when he saw I wasn't his mom. I said something like, "Hi. Is your hair naturally that blonde?" He said something like, "Uh, yes?" (which I later discovered was a lie, as his brunette roots started showing). I was like, "Cool, I was wondering because it looks platinum like Justin Bieber's in, like, 2018, but his hair was dyed." He scoffed and said something that made my skin boil, "Justin Bieber sucks ass." I was huuuge Belieber growing up, so I was about to rip him a new one. We spent the next few minutes arguing over Bieber's discography, influence, and who was better, him or Andy Biersack. Somehow, we came to the consensus that Shawn Mendes was gay asf (I'm bisexual and later found out he was, so shhhh) and laughed in our ceasefire.

Believe it or not, that's how I got my first boyfriend, Duncan.

Duncan was a boy of no promise and much mystery. He hated just about everyone, and that's why I loved him. Even when he was happy, he rarely smiled. His mom bought him a guitar for one of his birthdays, but I can't recall him ever playing it. I just remember him holding it sometimes when we facetimed. He must've though, because he uploaded music on Soundcloud (not about to plug his EP because fuck him). He was into things that I grew up pretending not to be (because my mom thought rock music, horror movies, and such were of the devil). We bonded over that shit, and he introduced me to stuff like Gregg Araki's Teen Apocalypse, A24, Metallic's greatest hits, and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Black Sheep by Metric was our couple theme song. "You're Envy. I'm Todd," he texted me late one night. "Punch a hole in the moon for me," I texted back. He sent a gif of the iconic moon with a spaceship in it's eye and said, "Done."

Duncan was also a contrarian - any way of thinking that was popular, he'd swerve around, which we had in common.

To paint a picture, Duncan had near-platinum blonde hair, cut to his shoulder. His nose was my favorite thing about him, because it had a hump in the middle. He said it made him ugly, and I always told him it was beautiful and flick it or something. He had that annoying blue-eyed, blonde-hair combo and was about my size, which was something because I was short asf. He always slouched, which his grandma nagged him about. Maybe if he hadn't, I'd remember him being taller. I remember him being skinny and pale as hell to the point I could trace his blue veins, his knuckles always red. He wore makeup sometimes and dressed in colors that never fit. Duncan dressed like he was uncomfortable all the time, like it was a goal. He wore fingerless gloves, nail polish, and inked words on his hands; dirty jeans or sweatpants; heavy sweatshirts or hoodies; flannels or graphic tees over long-sleeved shirts; and the same doc martens every time I saw him. You'd know he was around from the jiggle of his necklaces and bracelets. Duncan had this one rainbow gummy bear necklace that I always thought was psychedically cool. He gave it to me, but I don't know where it is now.

No confederate flags, KKK masks, or racist undertones in sight.

RED FLAG #2: His Cousin had a Swastika Tattoo

The trio became a quadruple of Ethan, Khloe, Duncan, and I. As summer turned to fall, we traded the pool for the community playground (our gated community was huge, okay? I think we had a tennis court and golf court as well). We'd talk on the swings, chase each other around the playground, see who could hang upside longer on the monkey bars, chat some more in the playground house, and go on the round-able until one of us fell off. I was labeled the mother of our group because I was the most responsible, which was a 180 moment for me growing up being known as the bad seed of my mother's offspring. I was always avoiding my stepmom at home, so we'd only go back to my house to eat the pizza, wings, or other food we'd ordered. She was on her best behavior when they were around, especially Ethan and Duncan. Duncan once called her a b!tch to her face, and she laughed like he'd told a joke. She'd go from loving him in his face to telling me that I could do better. I could write a book on all the awful shit that whittling wench did to me.

I liked that Duncan hated her as much as I did.

Eventually, walks back to my house became staying at my house. Duncan and Ethan couldn't stay overnight, though, because my biological dad forbid it. Despite that, they began to stay just until the sun vanished. Hours before one sunset, Duncan and I were playing Uno in the sunroom and talking about shit when there was a knock on the door. I answered and came back with his older cousin, Terry, in tow. 

I'd met Terry a handful of times, mostly moving stuff around my stepmom's boutique shop. We somehow convinced Terry to not pickup Duncan yet and play cards with us instead. The three of us ended up having a conversation about something boring. I dozed off and stopped responding after a bit. Terry brought up some dead body found on the news and I, perking up, went, "Suddenly interested." I just remember both of them getting a real kick out of that. "I'm going to start saying that from now on," Terry said. Terry and I had a full-fledged conversation about popular crimes. We swapped facts about the Columbine basement tapes, the backstory of Ted Bundy, theories about the Black Dahlia murder, whether or not Charlie Manson had ever killed, and if Sid did kill Nancy.

Somehow, that got into an exchange of Terry and Duncan jokes. Duncan would call Terry fat, and Terry would call Duncan broke. "Fat hillbilly," "broke-ass b!tch," and "fucking bastard" were said in playful banter amongst mother insults. One fat joke hit too close to home, I guess. Terry, who had apparently got a Planet Fitness membership, unbuttoned his flannel shirt to show his progress. What I saw - amongst flab and matted hair - was a Swastika on his ribcage. I froze. Gawked. Stopped laughing immediately. He buttoned his shirt back and went on laughing with Duncan like nothing had happened. While they tried to figure out whose turn it was, I bore into my deck of reds and blues. I asked myself if my eyes deceived me, or if it was really a Swastika. I had gotten a good look at it - burned into my memory - and was sure. What do I, a 16-year-old black girl, say in that moment? I was outnumbered, two white guys to one me. Even if Duncan did take my side, our evening would be ruined. Right? 

Sucks to say, I didn't say anything about it, and I kick myself for that to this day.

Now, you may ask, "Well, why didn't you dump Duncan?"

To that I say, because I was stupid. I thought, "His cousin had the tattoo, not him." "But he knew his cousin had the tattoo and didn't object to it?" "Which is exactly why I called him out on it during our facetime that night." I told Duncan it was fucked up, and he told me that he agreed. His excuse was basically, "Oh, come on, Kiki (his nickname for me). All of our families are fucked up. You told me your dad said f@ggot the other day." Which was true, so I said, "True, but I said that he was wrong." "Okay," Duncan shrugged, "and I'm saying my cousin's wrong. But I'm not him and you're not your dad." I wanted to scream, "THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL OUT YOUR COUSIN AT THE TABLE!" but instead I sighed and muttered, "Cool." He pressed his lips and murmured, "Cool," let an awkward silence come, then said, "hey, you want to see my new hiding spot in my bathroom?" I said sure. From there, he took the phone to the bathroom, put it on the counter, and showed me the tile he pried out from the bathtub wall. He showed me some stuff he'd hidden in there, like a dead roach he'd found and mummified with paper and tape (which he was really stoked about because there were no roaches in our side of town). "Little guy must've came been left by martians or something," he joked. I chuckled, I'll admit.

I'm breaking down why I liked Duncan so you understand why it was easy to ignore the red flags. When I was depressed and being mentally abused by my stepmom, Duncan was there for me. He had gone through similar stuff with his dad and was diagnosed with mild depression. When my dad refused to put me in therapy, Duncan would get advise from his therapist about my issues and bring it back to me. I hate how nice he was to me, because it made the red flags look like a faint orange.

"It's not him," I told myself, "it's his cousin. Besides, we're both kids. If we're fucked up, blame the adults around us."

RED FLAG #3: He Wanted to Have Demon Baby with Me

Duncan was a strange boy. Said he felt like a demon sometimes. I told him I once got called the devil by a cop (that's another story). This got brought up one night when we were facetiming. He told me I was more human than most people, and that he was the real demon - in a sad, self-deprecating way. Told me he and I would make a hot half-demon baby. That I reminded him of Doja Cat (this was 2020, before her Demons era). I remember feeling so cool that we were embracing each other's darknesses. I won't divulge too much of what we did that night, but it involved sexting about having the anti-christ. Don't ask, but shit got weird. The gist was we'd have an anti-christ baby and let it destroy the world, leaving him and I in the wreckage to rule a world now empty and ours. I was teenager, okay? And we both hated humanity, so keep that in mind.

Looking back on it, having an anti-christ with a demon is not attractive or sane. It's gross and weird asf.

RED FLAG #4: He listened to Guns N' Roses

I can still hear Ethan singing Rockstar by DaBaby ft. Roddy Rich. Damn, that boy kept singing the chorus like he needed it to breath.

As for his brother, Duncan, he preferred actual rock music. We had that in common. BVB. Pretty Reckless. Nirvana. Metallica. Deftones. Sonic Youth. Set it Off. Skillets. Smashing Pumpkins. MCR. Slipknot was our favorite. To Duncan, Guns N' Roses were gods, especially Axl Rose. This is why I don't subscribe to separate the art from the artist.

Gross.

Axl Rose is... let's just say, he has an awful rap sheet. R@pe. Racism. Domestic violence. Homophobia. Attempted murder. B&E. Battery. The man is a habitual jackass. Duncan still liked him. To any poser, that wouldn't be a big deal because they don't actually do research on people they listen to. I did, as did Duncan. That's what made the flag all the more red.

RED FLAG #5: His Dad Crashed our Hangout

I had met his dad but once, briefly in the kitchen when I finally went to Duncan's house. His mother being an accountant made sense, because their house was luxurious as hell. I'm talking koi pond in the backyard, dirtbikes in the frontyard for him and his older brother, Aaron, a bunch of jeeps with foreign names in the garage, and the longest house tour I'd ever been on. I also met his toddler sister, whom they'd adopted and had non-verbal autism. She had a whole room customized for her needs. I grew upper-middle class and always lived in nice houses, but this was something else. I say all of that because Duncan acted like he was brokest boy on earth. I think he just wanted to the earth know how broken he was.

That's when I realized that money truly couldn't buy happiness.

Like I said, I only met Duncan's dad in the kitchen while looking for the sodas. His dad ended up joining me in the living room and mansplaining Mission Impossible to me as it played on the TV. Thankfully, Duncan came out of the bathroom and pulled me away to his bedroom down the hall. Duncan's parents were undergoing a divorce. My parents divorced when I was 11 going on 12, so I was his source of comfort and relatability. Duncan's dad lived with them despite the ongoing divorce, which was such a red flag for his mom. The cherry of top was the night his mom, Duncan, Ethan, my stepmom, and I were at my house watching some horror film. Tell me why his dad showed up uninvited and demanded his mom come outside to talk. Said she'd been ignoring his texts, which apparently involved sexting and drunken rants. What blew me away was she actually went outside and talked to him. Duncan wasn't phased at all. It was like he didn't see the issue. That red flag for me.

FINAL RED FLAG: "It's Just a Word, Babe."

We'd Facetiming at night while he's expecting a call from the manager at Arby's. We had both applied for jobs at the same Arby's. If we had to work, we'd work together. His mom made him apply for jobs; I applied because I was saving up, needed to get out of the suburbs, and enjoyed making money. I got an interview, and Duncan was waiting to hear back. Tell me why the boy checked his other phone, tsked, and had the audacity to say, "Bro, when is this n*gga gonna email me back?" 

I gawked.

I was appalled.

My brain started to buffer.

Duncan looked up and saw how shocked I was. He said, "What?" I told him that he can't say that because he's white. Duncan shrugged, "I don't give a fuck. It's just a word, babe. It's not like I'm calling you a n*gga. You're only half anyways, so, no big deal." I hung up immediately. If only it stopped there. He texted, "Don't even worry abut (actual typo), babe, we're good." Told me there were rumors of an independent record label called deadAir Records that he was interested in. It was clear he wanted me to encourage him. Instead, I refused to be his partner-in-crime another time and blocked him. I texted his brother, Ethan, since we were still friends and told him what just happened. Ethan understood and agreed that it was wrong. Said, and I quote, "I was wondering when you two were going to fall out." I told Ethan to keep Duncan away from him. From that September night until I moved to college in January, I never saw him again. 

To this day, I don't know where he is or if he ever signed to deadAir Records, but I hope everything he ever does goes to shit.

LESSON LEARNED: Stay Away from Alt. White Boys

Take this as a warning. Duncan wasn't openly bigoted - nobody is ever as they seem. Duncan was alternative / emo - belonging to a poser-polluted alternative subculture is a red flag. Duncan was queer - queerness doesn't dilate racism. Queer whites especially as known to be racist; so, to my BIPOC people, if you are near the white queers, watch them like hawks and don't trust them. To my black girls, heed my warning especially: STAY AWAY FROM WHITE BOYS. They will disappoint you at best, endanger you at worst. If you don't believe me, don't say I didn't warn you.

That's my TedTalk, ladies and germs. Cheers! To the tears! And mental health issues I've had for years! Duncan, if you somehow come across this, fuck you and your cousin, Terry. Should I be petty and upload photos of him, lmao? TBD.

Hey, neo-naz!s don't deserve peace.

published 2/20/26

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