Posts Tagged ‘relationships

30
Aug
13

Doe Eyes

If I’m upfront about the lack of chemistry or attraction; clearly staring into what could only be described as “doe eyes”, I’m presumptuous. “What if I just wanted to be friends?!” (But you didn’t…)

If I assume platonic friendship, and you make a move that I block, I’m a tease? “You could’ve said something sooner…” (Or you could take a hint)

What’s the right balance to strike when someone’s head won’t let him comprehend non-verbal communication, and simultaneously blocks his ability to engage in verbal communication?

I’m out there in this dating game just like you. Trying to wade through all these crazy heifers looking for some kind of meaningful, two-way, Pixar type of love connection with a side of HBO. But let’s face it: every date is a gamble. And if we aren’t a fit, I’m still going to try to spare your dignity so you can keep your head up enough to stay In the game! Its not a courtesy that’s common, at least not one that is typically extended to me – so be grateful. I’m doing it for you.

No more sympathy extensions. Dragging the one-way courtship out to “spare” your feelings. And no more pity sex either. Don’t get me wrong; I think you’re valuable, worthy of being loved, and destined for greatness – even if its not with me. But not being a romantic fit doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. community. brothers. Contrary to popular belief, some homo friendships do start, evolve and come to their sunset without sex.

But a lot of guys don’t see it that way. Ego, cloaked as Rejection, that old bitch, rears her ugly head. “Fuck you too.”

I guess. But why would either of us hold the other back from getting closer to the men out there just waiting to be the perfect compliment to each of our unique brands of crazy?

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13
Aug
13

You’ve Got Male

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So, I got a text today. I know, interesting right? But seriously this isn’t the kind of text I get everyday. Although it is the kind of text I should get everyday:

Hi Carnelious, (sp?)
I just wand to apologize for my behavior yesterday. While you were the perfect guest I was sorely lacking as a host. Not only that your prowess as a top was impressive plus you were fun to be around, period. Your visit was a nice surprise and very enjoyable. Thank you again for your graciousness.

Crazy, right? The text that would redeem at least 75% of the 90% of dates that go horribly wrong (the other 25% of botched dates might be my stuff, I’m willing to admit that) finally arrives in my inbox. And (despite my misspelled name) it made me feel, well, proud. Proud that I am indeed secure enough in myself to maintain my grace and humor in the face of cynical gay minutiae. Proud that I can control my urge to either curse out, punch or angrily yelp about the elitist and judgmental gay who doesn’t want to be judged. And I guess, I might as well admit it, proud that someone finally “got” that regardless of their previous conviction – they’ve never really bottomed until I was inside them. i mean…as a sensitive, “Politically Correct”, mild mannered activist recently exploring his inner kink – it’s nice to have your inner stud verbally validated (in addition to whatever it is they usually yell into the pillow, that is.)

The only catch? I didn’t mind this particular guy’s hosting. Didn’t Even register it. He owed me no apology. Granted I’m a bit numb to manner-less gays, as to take offense to all of them would leave little time in my day. But there was no “continuation chemistry”. I was perfectly fine walking out that door with a familiar and hollow “call ya later.” And then this. He tells me what I’m staring at the phone, craving to hear from anonymous guys 1 – 9. And I’m not sure if I’m the Ass or the Hole. Or which is worse.

But beggars can’t be choosers. So ill take the compliment, politely refuse the second date, and revel in the fact that it is indeed possible to fuck some sense into someone.

Oh, by the way, I know what you’re thinking. And yes, I did sleep with him on the first date. Its not like I could afford to wait after all. If we were going nowhere fast, I at least wanted to enjoy the ride.

13
Feb
13

Thoughts on the A Train

In preparation for a friend’s birthday party, whose theme was celebrating personal transformations, I wrote this piece. Having agreed last minute to MC this event (I was in NyC for work coincidentally), I wanted to come prepared to share as the invitation requested. A transformation of either the past,the present or the future. The party was a celebration in 3 Acts – quite an intimate and engaging community building event. But I’d expect no less from the one of a kind host 🙂

Jammed into a Saturday night crowded A train, armed with my Holiday Inn Express pen and pad, trying my best to look cool and prepared for East Coast winter – I scribbled. A current transformation; to embrace my spirituality and sensuality in the same breath and not as isolated sides of a torn and searching soul. Embracing that both are at my core. Of course, this was prompted by the irritation (and rejection) I was feeling from my, well, um hook up apps. I had been on the road 7 days at this point with no booty. Criminal, right?

It is rare that I recite something raw, but I didn’t have time to edit – so herein lies the first draft version I shared under the candlelight in Birthday Act 2. Of corse I can start more easily trapped in rhyme, but it opens up towards the middle…when I got a seat on the train 🙂

……….

As I’ve begun to explore my inner freak,
I’ve assumed my spiritual future would be less than bleak.

That God is nowhere to be found
As I find pleasure round after round…

The Preacher’s Son that deep inside
Is being forced to duck and hide.

And it’s frustrated me time after time
To encourage everyone’s exploration, except for mine.

Stuck between the rock and hard place Of Spiritual and Freak.
Yet feeling a divine voice remind me that I, am unique.

I know a secret I’m all too glad to share,
My Divine Spirit follows me everywhere.

She doesn’t sit idly by waiting to be praised,
Or sit in judgment as many of us were taught as we were raised.

But when your brain is so forcefully taught that something is real –
I becomes easier and easier to ignore what your spirit feels.
And easier and easier to incorrectly name
The source, of that increasing shame.

Is it that I dare to love someone with anatomy like me?
That I believe love can exist in couples of more than 3?
Or that I have church in unlikely places
And find the beauty in those we should deny embraces?

Perhaps you find it blasphemous when
I denounce the saint who loves the sinner but hates the sin.
An ethical slut. A holy fuck.

A mind warped freak that believes in both grace and luck.
Doomed as an outcast from the stylish yet incredulous boxes of saints and sinners alike.
Searching for a community that won’t reject me for loving God or loving man.
I’ve yet to find it.

Amazed, by all the distance we create
In our convenient technological ways to stay close.

Do I really need to know that 250 men within 5 miles of me only fuck white guys?
O hate fate, fems, brown folks (even being brown themselves)
Or have a crazy definition of masculinity?
That my looking for something “more” Is offensive?
That my compliments are insulting?
That I’m your exception because I “don’t even look black!”

It is easy to internalize this wall of hate and return it.
But who, then, will teach the baby gays what fucking social skills are?

Dick sucking isn’t dirty, but wanting to laugh with you is.
Flogging you free of your childhood trauma isn’t as controversial as wanting to know your name.
Loving you because that’s my choice, not because you have to earn it. That’s crazy of me?

My sexuality scares my religious community.
My compassion scares my dating pool.
Where then do I go?
Where do morality and ethics exist in this lonely place?

How do I get the holy roller to embrace their freak
And the slut to nurture his spirit?

By being the sexiest fucking martyr you ever met.
By taking that confusion, misplaced fear and hate,
And returning it with love.
Compassion.
And good sex.

By remembering, always remembering
That I am not alone in this lonely space
Just aware.

And committing to reflect the beauty I see in you,
No matter now ugly you know yourself to be.
Now that’s hot.

14
Jan
13

Night School

“Innovation is my whore fetish.”

I was sitting in SF Citadel, an event space in San Francisco that caters to the Bay Area’s Leather/BDSM community. I’d never considered this cohort of folks a “community” per se. When I think Leather, it evokes images of whips and nipple clamps, busty dominatrix ladies and human urinal guys. My take away message: More important than the idea that there are folks out there who find pleasure and release in an act you find despicable, is the idea that there is a community that seeks to understand, educate and support these folks.

This particular evening’s course, “Beginner’s Dungeon”, seemed right up the alley of my friend and I. We are both Queer folks raised in very Christian households, and both fairly experienced sex educators. And while we advocate for a range of sexual freedoms and rights for a variety of folks, we are seeking to deepen our own personal experiences through exploring our sexualities and challenging ourselves. We are newbies who talk a good game but wanted to engage with the community more and see what these scenes and events and folks were really all about.

So we grabbed Panda Express from the mall and brought our ad hoc dinner into the play, I mean educational, space. We settled in next to the wooden crosses, suspension supports, aftercare couches ( the whole concept of aftercare blew my mind with how common sense it was, and how none of us “vanilla” sex folks are invested in it.) and an amazingly cool retro disco dance floor that I would personally love no dance naked on. For the next 3 hours, this would be the setting for our kink u cation. I was encouraged by the diversity of my classmates. Older white couples and younger brown ones, friends and individuals representing a range of genders. All of us coming together on a cold San Francisco winter Thursday night to see if there was indeed something kinky about us, or if our partners or perhaps the alcohol had just gotten us all wrong.

It is critical for me to remain sex positive in my field. I can’t be a Black gay man working in HIV prevention and a judge folks for living their lives. And since my best friend recently began working in the adult industry, my liberal theories have been put to the test. I mean, I want her to be free and put those 36 Ks to good use, but I also want to stab her fans when they get out of pocket. So I’ve been facing sexuality on several fronts lately and am unsure of where I stand. It is a constant battle between the Church of God in Christ boy in me and my blossoming Radical Queer. I’m on a constant journey of figuring out how to be an ethical slut. Figuring out love and lust. Figuring out how to communicate from my head, my heart and my hard on.

It is also challenging to be a loving gay person in the Bay Area, where so many Mo’s bring their hang ups and projections. Caring is considered weakness. Optimism mistaken for naïveté. But I have at least begun to find a few magical folks who are proud of their spirituality, celebrate their sexuality and engage with their community. Thoughtful freaks, I call them. And a I grow stronger in myself, I notice something inside me longing to get out. I am not sure if this something is my inner freak or not, but I figure I can afford to let it out since I’d be thoughtful about it, right? Maybe it’s that wild macho top stud muffin porn star. Maybe it’s another layer of nerd I’ve yet to uncover.

I had always thought of top as referring to cock in ______. ( I’ll let you decide which openings work better for your imagination.) I didn’t really conceptualize the top as scene builder and mover, as making a space where a bottom could let go of control and be subject to the control of a top who could push his limits in the most sexy and innovative ways.

So much of my work intersects with trauma; folks surviving assault, hate and identity inspired violence, self-loathing, survival sex, and the list goes on. I am a commitment to loving and caring for these communities. But all too often, my hyper sensitivity to boundaries and consent interferes with the sexiness of “the moment”. Even when my bottom says yes, I find myself double and sometimes triple checking. I suspect this is because I know what it’s like to have a top who doesn’t respect the limits. That is something that sticks with you, and that I never want to re create. But I’m not that top.

I deserve, and my bottom(s) deserve the full-on, hot, deep, rich f*ck that comes from truly letting go and trusting your partner. But I’ve never formally played with sexual power. So 2013 looks like an informative year! I will be interesting to engage in kink education and become an active participant in my own sexual liberation. I’ve taken the step of joining FetLife.com,a kinky community that is helping me give language for this experience and offer insight on why some people do what they do. And this “Beginner” series seems like a good route, so I think I’ll stick it out. Maybe you’ll join me?

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