Misconceptions (Part 1)

I ask: “Where have you been?” And I receive a blank stare and then a frown in return as if I don’t have the right to wonder where he goes in the middle of the night. Ladies, let me tell you: a man who don’t stay home when it’s time to stay home is out there doin’ something he shouldn’t. Oh…you think I’m one of those? You know what I’m talkin’ about. One of those women who can’t keep a man happy so I’m bitter and lonely all the time? That’s who you’ve labeled me as, right? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news honey, but there are two things wrong with that assumption. One, I aint a woman who can’t keep a man happy—I am a man who can’t keep a man happy. Two, assuming makes an ass out of ‘u’ not ‘me’.

Look, and listen (rather read) real close: I’m not bitter but I am mad. I’m so tired of women lookin’ at men like me and claimin’ that all the good ones are either taken or gay. That is one of the biggest lies I’ve heard since some fool said McDonald’s burgers were 100% beef. For one thing, the ones that are taken are out doin’ God knows what. And honey, you need to show me where the gay good guys at cuz I sure as hell aint seen one. Unless he was hidin’ behind a shady motha fucka.¬¬d Now back to what I was sayin’.

I asked this nigga, “Where have you been? It’s 3 in the damn mornin’ and aint nothin’ open in this little ass town.” Two things happened once this question came from my mouth: 1) Mr. Man stopped dead in his tracks 2) His pocket started tremblin’ and it wasn’t because he was happy to see me either.

Of course, instead of bein’ a “man” he decided to get mad instead of actually actin’ like the twenty-four year old adult that he is. “What the fuck you mean where I been? What are you? My daddy now? I gotta send you a memo when I go to take a shit?”

Look at me (dramatic pause) you see the knowing look in my eyes? I thought so. Men start talkin’ crazy and vulgar like that because they think that if they get all hateful you will just get tired of it and leave it alone. Maybe that works with some women (and/or men) but not this one here.

“No motha fucka, but next time you have to why don’t you send me a text message so I will know up front that I need to put on a damn gas mask to walk in the bathroom. You don’t gotta cuss all the damn time. I just asked you a simple question that calls for a simple answer so where the hell you been at? Its 3 in the damn mornin’!”

This time he decided to keep walkin’ as if his stankin’ ass didn’t hear my question. If he was smart, he woulda had a lie already prepared OR he woulda just told the truth and we could be done with this particular conversation but NOOOOO he wants to drag it along by bein’ a jackass.

“Oh, so you gonna act like you don’t hear me right? Ok, I got your number and I’m gonna call that number one day. Ignorin’ me like I’m a fuckin’ fly on the wall. Beyonce’ said it best: You must not know ‘bout me, god dammit.

I could have handled that conversation better. But it really ticked me off to see his fine ass just walk into the bedroom while his phone vibrated in his pocket like my question had no merit. It aint but so much you can take. Some woman called here askin’ why he was runnin’ late to meet her. See, he don’t know that. But like I said, I got his number…or better yet, I got her number.

Murphy Me Part 2 (see Intro. of Murphy Me for Back Story)

So, it was 5 years ago. I was getting ready for my last year at Yancey University. Yancey was a quaint but prestigious little university. Though it was centered around religion it dared you to think beyond childhood upbringing and Sunday sermons. And it was actually very liberal when it came to over-night visits between males and females in their respective dorms. But as you have probably guessed, I didn’t have to worry about this at all because they did not prohibit the male students from having social time together. The joys and freedoms of same gender loving. Who woulda thought?

Anyways, I had been leaving my advisers office after discussing concerns I was having about careers that I could pursue after graduation. I wasn’t really wanting to go to Grad-school. Frankly, I was over and done with school once I graduated with my Bachelors in English. My mind was made up about that so I had to find some way to make money.

While I was trying to shove my crinkled transcript into my book sack somebody bumped into me. That would not have been noteworthy if was a very stable person. Unfortunately, I had the balance of an amputee. No offense meant. I teetered and I tottered on the edge of total embarrassment until hands grabbed me by my shoulders to steady me. When I averted my gaze from my presumed final destination on the floor, I saw the most disgustingly beautiful man I could ever imagine. Well…that’s sort of an exaggeration but you get the point. He was damn near painfully attractive.

Now I’ve never been one to hide my inner thoughts because my facial expressions were like a standing nude behind a white curtin with a bright light shining behind you. There was mystery, yes, but you saw enough to know that someone was naked. Same principle remains. Not only did my face show some unfathomably dreamy light, but I gasped from the shock of this guy touching me.

He was shorter than me, 5’7” or 5’8”. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail. It was textured, you know, one of those negroes that has the nerve to REALLY have Indian in their family. So many boast it and you can’t see a trace of it but with this guy, I didn’t have to wonder. It was still poofy, but it was so dark and it glimmered like the Atlantic in the dead of night. Next thing I saw were his eyes, they were brown. Nothing spectacular about brown eyes, especially when I’ve been used to seeing gray eyes when I look in the mirror. It wasn’t the color of his eyes, it was the lace of lashes that made them seem so feminine. They were like a gossamer frame to soften the brown of his eyes and made me want to stare into them until the sun fell from the sky. Ewww, I hate when I sound all mushy like that. It’s really quite disturbing.

As I stood there staring at the man, who was undoubtedly a student, I realized he was no longer touching me. There was a bit of a smirk on his caramelized face for some reason. The perfect smirk, surrounded by a well-trimmed goatee. I’m not really a big fan of facial hair, but on him, it seemed so appropriate. As if he had been carved from a painting with the perfect face. When he smirked I also noticed that he had one dimple on the left cheek, and the diamond studs that blinded me from his earlobes only reiterated the effect he had on me.

I was standing there, holding my bag in suspension with my transcript even more wrinkled than it was before. After getting myself together and regaining my wits I wondered why he was standing there smirking in his basketball shorts and white T as if he hadn’t almost knocked me down. If there was nothing else about me that was true, its that no matter how pretty a face, Murf can find some way to forget about it if he needed too.

“What you standing there smiling for? You gonna say ‘scuse me?” I asked with aggravation, finally getting my poor transcript in my bag.

“Maybe you should be the one to say ‘excuse me’,” was his response. I frowned at him.

“What?”

“You should really be careful about your thoughts. Sometimes they find a way to come out.” And with that cryptic statement the guy turned around and swaggered away. And I happened to notice a very nice ass in those baller shorts.

Standing there puzzled, I couldn’t understand what his last statement could have meant. Be careful about my thoughts because they can find a way out? I know my facial expression told a lot but damn. A tap on my shoulder twirled me around to my friend Jayla. A pretty young lady with one of those Halle Berry haircuts, which I think suited her. She was wearing some nice black heels, a simple knee-length skirt which told all her secrets, and a white blouse that let you know she was undoubtedly a woman no matter how short her hair. Jayla always gave body…always.

“Hunni, you have no idea what that guy was talking about do you?” There was humor in her voice.

“No! What did I miss?” I hate being in the dark.

“Murf, hun, when the guy grabbed your shoulders and you first saw him you said: ‘Damn. Take me’ in a not too silent whisper.

I gave her googly eyes. “I did WHAT!”

If I were anything closer to being Caucasian I would have been cherry red. I mean damn, I knew my face told a lot but I had the nerve to speak too? I collapsed in one of the officer chairs.

Laughing Jayla said: “Well, at least you’ve already expressed your interest in him so he won’t have to guess.”

The look I gave her would have frightened a bear but Jayla was tougher than Yogi on any given day and she just laughed harder.

“Jay, that dude was not checkin’ for me at all. He said that cryptic ass statement and walked away shaking his head probably wondering what the world was coming to.” Distress was not even a big enough word to express my inner turmoil.

“Murphy, love, if it’s one thing I do know—its men. Just wait. You’ll see him again. Trust me.”

Jayla and I walked out of the J. Tokes Building, which is where all advising occurs, in laughter. I laughed because I royally made a fool of myself and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dimples was not checking for me in the least. If anything, I figured he would be checking for Jayla. I hoped I was wrong and that she was right but I would never admit that to her. Not even now. That was the beginning of something that I never thought I’d gain in my life. And to be honest, I wish I hadn’t have gained it for then I could not have had it taken away from me either.

Myan's Truth (Episode 6)

“Do you trust me?”

It was that one question, that one simple, innocent question which got me to do the one thing I wasn’t ready to do. I call it a trick of the enemy. Christians would say that “the enemy” is Satan. But I say it could be Satan, Fate, Chance, Irony, and countless other entities responsible for the path that I walk. What does one say to that question when it’s asked by the one that you are in love with? There is only one answer that you and I both know is the ideal one and that is:
“Yes, baby. Of course I do.”

I knew from the smirk on his well sculptured face that I had just signed myself over to something evil. My heart sunk and I began to pray.

“Two tickets for “Brokeback Mountain,” please.” Said Zye to the teller at the theater. This was a theater that played movies released a year to a few years ago. It was cheap and relatively relaxed. I gave Zyiah Johnson the look he deserved for tricking me like that. He simply gave me that dynamite smile and paid the woman. I didn’t even notice the entertained glint in her eyes.

“Now you know you wrong for that.”

“My, it really isn’t that serious. It’s a good movie and you told me to choose. You shouldn’t be delegating tasks if you not gonna man up and accept the outcome.” The smirk never left his face.

“Fine, we gonna go in here and look like some damn fools seeing this movie. A film about two white men who cheat on their wives and cowboy it up in the mountains. Yeah, this just screams “Oscar”.” Sarcasm literally dripped from my mouth. Zye only smirked harder and went to order the popcorn.

I felt so out of place. We were the only black people going to see this damn movie. Hell, most of the people here were coupled up heterosexually. Aint that a trip?
“Baby, it is definitely not too late to just slip into one of the kiddy movies or Rush Hour 3.”

“Yeah, it isn’t too late but we aren’t gonna do that.” I loved it when he got all bossy and imperative with me. I sucked in my breath in an exaggerated sigh and bit the bullet.

Now back to the original question. Do I trust him? Apparently I trusted him enough to drag me into a film that toyed with the emotions of various types of people. Be they homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, or even asexual. The film was in fact, a love story. Not that I agree with adultery, especially with the same sex, but it was nonetheless a love story. I might just trust Zye to pick a movie the next time as well.

We were sitting there, minding our business. Zye was cuddled in against me. I was sipping on a big ass coke and then I heard whispers. Whispers directly behind the two of us. All my concentration was given to the huge screen. My questions of whether Zye had heard the whispers was answered as I felt him tense in my arms.

A little girl walked down the stairs beside our seat. She gave us a look as her mom coddled the girl to her side as if a deadly creature was near them. The heat of my anger flared just a little before my mind could even completely gather what had just happened. A few more people began to leave but the whispers never stopped.

Apparently, some people didn’t get the synopsis about what kind of backs were gonna get broken in this movie and by who. Excuse the innuendo, I couldn’t help myself.
Zye gave me a look in the dark. It was the tiredness of people’s ignorance and the burden of enduring every day held all in one glance. Then I heard it…loud and clear. “Are those two guys? What the fuck?”

I didn’t even turn my back. I just sat there…contemplating what I should do. They weren’t talking about the picture on the screen. It was one of those moments where no specificity was needed and implication was an understatement. Gasps and more whispers accompanied the question of “she who was ignorant and obnoxious.” I was really beginning to get agitated with this shit.

I turned my back and took a breath to say something when I was interrupted.
“Lady. Are you serious? This is a fucking gay movie. This movie is based on the premise of two men having an affair. How idiotic of you to make a scene about it being two guys, two GAY guys in a theater when, clearly, this movie is of a homosexual nature. So are you mentally handicapped or is stupidity your only achievement in life?” All this came from Zye. I turned back to look at him because it was as if my words had been transported to his mouth. It was almost scary. The look on his face was still one of weariness.

“Excuse me, but wh—“ the random lady began. She was two rows behind us. The seats beside her were empty so it looked as if she ventured out to the theater alone. She stopped in mid-sentence because someone cut her off and it wasn’t Zye or myself.

“Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you? It is the NEW millennium. It aint even entertaining anymore. Your ass is sittin in a theater watching a movie about what you see every damn day. No wonder your dumb ass is sittin in here alone clogging your arteries with all that popcorn. Get a life and get the fuck over it already.”

The woman who said this was about eighteen and biracial. The man sitting beside her was white and handsome in the conventional way. He was trying to contain a laugh. The eighteen year old, whose name I later found out to be Brooke, looked dead at Zye and me and shook her head with incredulity. The older woman that had pointed us out got up from her seat and breezed past us in a huff. It’s quite interesting how people get offended by the outspokenness of others so easily but when the shoe is on the other foot they can’t take it.

Brooke winked at us and her boyfriend, I am assuming, smiled at us. Zye and I exchanged a look then smiled back and a few seconds later laughed our asses off. We heard an echo of our laughter a few seats back and we didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Brooke and her man. For once we didn’t have to justify ourselves or cuss anyone out. For once a fellow American stood up for us. Could she be a good Samaritan? I think so. But I doubt that religious freaks would agree with me. But who really gives a damn what they agree with? Jesus didn’t.

I Learned From The Best

Hmmmmm...Whitney, with this song, is taking me there! I dont know where there is! But I'm there! I learned from the mf'n best! I know how to break a heart now. But I dont want to use that skill. Never want to put anybody through this.

Lessons Learned

“Mistake overturned so I call it a lesson learned.”

Alicia speaks so much truth in this one line. The entire song is prolific. If nothing else I have gained from these past experiences with love, it is that I am a survivor but not strictly because I’m so resilient. It’s primarily because God placed something in me that is determined to bounce back. I don’t always see it but then, that’s what friends and family (and sometimes even strangers) are for.

I’ve been heartbroken a couple of times in my life. But this recent hurt is not something I consider heartbreak. My heart aches, yes, but it is not broken. I’m not in pieces and this must be all to the grace of God. I am imperfect and anyone that I may come to love in the future will be imperfect as well. However, I pray that together, we have a semblance of perfection. Together we would be stronger than a part.

I call everything that I’ve been through in the past couple of months a lesson learned. It may not be appreciated just yet, but it is a lesson nonetheless. I’ve learned that love conquers much…but it doesn’t conquer all. I know that may seem a bit blasphemous to some of us but love, itself, is so multifaceted. Perhaps certain kinds of love conquers all, but not ALL love conquers all.

I’ve also learned that anger, though it has its place, is not beneficial. For at the end of the day, at least in my case, my anger comes from hurt. Especially when it comes from those who are prominent in any way in my life. When I’m angered it’s because something was done to me that I do not feel was justified. It hurt my heart but with that hurt came something less “weak.” I’ve been happy in anger before, but now I’d rather not thrive in it. It’s much healthier, I believe, to thrive in love even if it’s nothing but the love of oneself.

I could go on and on about the lessons I’ve learned but I will not wary the patience of all those who may read this…at least not in this one post.
When I look back, a part of me wants to feel regret (and I may really feel that) but a greater part of me is…satisfied. Not content, no, but satisfied. Everything did not work out the way I wanted it to, but in the end, as always, Rakeem is coming out DOIN’ JUST FINE.

Jaylen's Journal: Entry 1

March 23, 2010
2:47AM

Most people don’t think men love as much or as hard as women. And most men would agree. But for me, it’s so not the case. Right now, at this moment, I sit here writing and crying because I’m loving so hard. Loving someone with my entirety which is uncharted for me.

I’ve been walled in, gated. I’ve been assaulted by cynicism and heartache and then all of a sudden, this strange and powerful love infiltrated every barrier. Every defense mechanism that my years had afforded me. I was suddenly ten years old again, naïve, hopeful…open.

But again, here I sit crying. Crying because it hurts terribly to love and feel loved, yet not be able to be with that person. The waiting, the questions, the uncertainty is at many times beyond unbearable and I wonder if one man is truly meant to carry such emotion. How does my body contain the fire of it all? The inferno of love, lust, passion? It’s not logical in the least. I’m even starting to wonder if it’s healthy.

Sometimes I wish I could just sleep the pain away, and the thoughts. Fade away until I can be with the one that I love. I’m not talking about suicide, not in the least. I’m talking about emptiness, apathy. Feeling nothing would have to be more peaceful than feeling every possible facet of love all at once and not being able to express it adequately.

I write in this journal because I had to do something. I needed to find an outlet, short of drugs and alcohol, to escape. And if not to escape, to cope.

At times I stand in the mirror. I stare at myself and I say, “Jaylen. Why love so deeply? Why feel so unsensibly?” And I never have the answer. I don’t know why, I just know how. Although, even the knowledge of how is not knowledge in the traditional sense. It’s more a feeling, an emotion. I know how because of the fact that I am familiar with love. Love does not answer why in most cases. Love is the answer to how.

How is it that I, a dashing young man if I do say so myself, can wait on another human being for an undetermined amount of time? How is it that I can smile even through all the hurt that this affection has caused? How is it that even as I sit here weeping and feeling a chasm form in my heart I still know that this person is who I want to be with?

Looking back at the last paragraph, I guess you could replace how with why but I rather not. For truthfully, how and why are not all that different. In most cases, if you find out how you can also determine why and vice versa. In my case, the answer to both questions is pure unadulterated love. Simple isn’t it? Not really. Love is a four letter word with an infinite amount of intricacy.

Is it not love that makes a Romantic hopeless? The search for the seemingly unattainable. The desire for the reality of fairy tales. But even fairy tales had their hardships. Before the Sleeping Beauty found her prince she had to be poisoned and near death. Before Rapunzel was rescued, she was enslaved in her own home. Disney movies show you the journey to love, but all we seem to remember is the “Happily Ever After.” Love does not stop at the wedding, that’s when the true test begins.

Anyway, I’m babbling now. I should be getting to bed. I have to wake up early in the morning. I’m going to go lay down now and hopefully I won’t drown in my tears. Alicia Keys sings a song called “Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart”. It’s not really all that difficult once a broken heart is all you're used to.

Is Love Worth It?

Due to recent events I am lead to ask this question:

Is love enough? And is it worth it?

I ask this question not out of anger but out of genuine curiosity because the answer could influence a decision I will have to make. I am undoubtedly in love. I'm so in love that I find it hard to let go and anyone who knows me KNOWS that if you do me wrong you are DONE without the batting of an eye.

Ask me if I believe in love and I will tell you yes. I have faith in it and that is why I believe I am going to do something that is uncharted for me. I'm going to give a second chance because I love and I'm in love. I hope it doesnt come back and bite me in the ass. But love is the greatest weakness AND the greatest strength.

Last Offence - They Don't Like Me

Quarrel

“I can never tell you what’s on my mind. Every time I do you make me feel guilty about it. As if, I should just shut the fuck up and keep my thoughts to myself. And then, when I do that…you’re still mad because you think I am keepings things from you. Can I win?” The last sentence was yelled a little, and was emphasized with Daye slamming his book on the table. Tony just stared at him blankly. A bit stunned.

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, then.” Tony muttered drily, walking to the fridge.

“See! That! That right there! The sarcasm. Do you take me seriously or am I just some elaborate joke to you?” By this time Daye was standing up. The emotion on his face couldn’t decide if it was outraged or sad. Daye tended to have that polarity about him. He hardly ever looked like one particular thing, never sounded one particular way. His mom used to joke and tell him that no matter what he was Daye, and his emotions were night.

“No, you are not a joke. Clearly, I wouldn’t be with a joke for going on a year now.” Tony tried really hard to make his natural dryness a little bit less..well…dry. But he could never really take the sarcasm out of his voice. It always held tones that seemed deriding in some way.

“Then why is it that every time I point out something that bothers me I am met with this...this...nonchalance. And if it’s not nonchalance then it’s this victim act. Acting like you’re all hurt because I had the balls to tell you something isn’t cool.” Daye said critically. Bottling everything in had really began to take its toll on him. He tried really hard not to always come at Tony with something that he didn’t like but lately, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Look, I’m sorry that I make you feel bad. But you make me feel bad too. How would you like it if I gave you a constant reminder about how imperfect you are? I just deal with it because I have found that it’s you. And it’s YOU that I love.” Tony declared leaning against the counter.

“Don’t even do that. Just because I bring stuff to you does NOT mean I don’t love you. The reason I tell you is because I love you. If I didn’t give a rat’s ass about you then I wouldn’t care what the hell you did or didn’t do.” Said Daye in a controlled voice. He didn’t like screaming.

“Why you got to use all that profanity? Why can’t you just talk to me instead of cut me down?”

“Cut you down? Really, Tony? Okay, since cussing bothers you I won’t do it. See how easy that is? Now did I do a guilt trip on you? Or did I just take your constructive criticism in stride?” Daye questioned triumphantly, he knew this argument was his.

“That’s just it. I’m not a contestant on some reality TV show. I don’t need to be critiqued. I need to be accepted. And I don’t understand why you can’t do that. I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.” Daye watched as Tony headed for the door.

“A walk, babe, it’s really close to midnight. You don’t have to do all that.” Resigned, Daye flopped back in the kitchen chair.

“Yes. I do.” Tony said as he stepped out the front door leaving Daye to think about what had just occurred.

For the past week or two they’d been arguing like this off and on. And for each argument Daye had been left to wonder what had just happened when he was the one who had initially been upset. Why wasn’t he the one storming out the door in a hissy fit?

While he sat there, thinking about all this with his hands holding up his head as he looked at the tiled kitchen floor there was a loud noise. It didn’t really alarm Daye at first; there was always a noise of some sort in this neighborhood. Then he heard it again and realized it was a gun shot. He sat bolt upright and ran to the front door because he had a heard a male voice cry out in pain along with a second gun shot.

Prayer for Mercy--My Testimony

This is an excerpt from my life. Some of the characters are fictional but based on real life people. The main character is a younger me. Afraid, scared, and in love but conflicted. Comments are expected and welcome.

Prayer for Mercy-My Testimony

Sittin in church squirmin ‘cuz my pastor won’t stop talkin about me. He keeps goin on and on and on. God make him stop! Next subject please…I can’t believe this. I hear various “Amen’s!” and such from those in the pews behind me and in front of me. I just look at the pulpit silently prayin for pastor to move on. “The bible said that, a-ha, seek ye first the kingdom of heaven and all these things—a-ha—will be added unto you. It said ALL things—a-ha—not some things. Can I get a witness? I said can I get a witness?” Brother Wilkins yells out, “Yessir, Hallelujah! Preach Bishop!” I smile. Pastor finally got off my case. Thank God.

I relax a little, just a little. Thinkin about callin my boyfriend when I get outta church. I smile again, thinkin about his grin. I think about the way I feel when he holds me. My first true love, I feel so blessed! He always tells me that he loves lookin in my eyes, he smiles every time I take my glasses off. If I were white I’d be red all the time from blushin.

“Now turn with me to…first Corinthians chapter six—I want to start at, uh, verse nine. Can somebody read for me?” Asks pastor as he adjusts his glasses. “Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God…?” reads Brother Wilkins. I groan inside, Lord why this verse? I can’t never get a break. Ugh…

“…Be not deceived: neither fornicators…” (Ha, that’s not me. I aint sleepin with nobody.) “Nor idolaters” (still not me) “nor adulterers” (I almost laugh, I’m only seventeen Lord knows I aint married) “nor effeminate…” I tense: effeminate. What does that mean? It can’t mean what I think it means, can it? Naw, I aint no sissy. I don’t act like a girl. My boyfriend wouldn’t like me if I acted too girly. Could it mean…gay? (Gasp) Of course not I proclaim, not believing my own self.

“Nor abusers of themselves with mankind,” continues Brother Wilkins. “Paul writes, a-ha, under the inspiration of God that no unrighteousness, a-ha, shall enter the kingdom of God.” Pastor begins walkin across the pulpit. (Oh Lord, he bout to get into it for sho now.) “The bible says neither fornicators, a-ha—you can’t pull down your britches or lift up your skirt, a-ha, without bein married. Don’t you know saints, a-ha, that a man or woman that fornicates, a-ha, does so with God’s temple? You sin against your own body, a-ha, not your sister’s body but your OWN body. Can I get an amen, a-ha? Hal-le-lujah!”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Good he’s gonna talk about fornicating; sex before marriage. I aint doin that, still got my V-card. “You can’t worship idols, a-ha. An idol is anything, a-ha, that you cherish more than God, a-ha. Don’t you know…” (Pastor wipes his face with his towel) “that God is a jealous God?” Maybe I should go to the bathroom or something before he goes any further. I look around…dang, Sister Etheridge is right at the door to the lobby. She won’t let nobody go to the bathroom durin the sermon. Lord have mercy!

“Read on Brother Wilkins.” Pastors says goin back to the podium. “Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God—” pastor cut Brother Wilkins off saying, “God said ALL unrighteousness! Some people try to make—a-ha—one sin greater than another, but God—I said GOD! A-ha!—God covered everything from sex before marriage to homosexuality” (my heart skipped a beat and I feel a little queasy) “to liars and money launderers, a-ha! None of you, a-ha, shall inherit the kingdom of God. And if u not on your way to heaven, a-ha, then you got to be on your way, a-ha, to hell.” Nervously, I look around stealthily. Nobody is lookin at me. I relax a little bit more. Where did he see homosexuality at? I must have missed that one. Wait—would that be ‘effeminate’?

“Read on brother,” says Pastor as I hear many people say ‘amen’ and ‘go head, pastor’. Brothers Wilkins reads on promptly, “And such were some of you—”.
“Aw, wait a minute here. I know the bible didn’t say that.” Pastor stepped back in feigned disbelief. “Yes it did, haha,” exclaims Deacon Watson.

“And such were some of who? Such were some of you,” he says pointing at the crowd. “Did ya’ll catch that? Such, a-ha, WERE some of you. Read on brother.”

“…But ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God.”

“It says we are washed, a-ha, sanctified by what?” Pastor asks the crowd they respond ‘The Spirit of our God.’

“And that spirit is, a-ha, the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost cleanses, a-ha, the Holy Ghost justifies. That’s what the Word says, a-ha, and you can’t deny, a-ha, the Word of God. So Sister So-and-So, you don’t have to sin no mo’. When you have been baptized in the name of Jesus, a-ha, and when you receive…a-ha, the precious gift called the Holy Ghost, a-ha, you are justified.” Many shouts rose up. Here I am with the Holy Ghost, how am I justified or sanctified? Does that mean it’s okay to be with my boyfriend?

“Brother So-and-So, you can’t judge Sister So-and-So because the bible says, a-ha, ‘and such were some of you.’ And that goes both ways, a-ha. Don’t look down on your brother, a-ha, because they went through what you were blessed not to go through. Jesus is a deliverer, a-ha, for he delivered me. I was out in the world; drinkin and messin around havin a good ‘ol time in my mess, a-ha. But Jesus, a-ha, I said JESUS, lifted me out of my sin and filled me up with His Spirit, a-ha, after I was baptized in the name of Jesus Christ, a-ha, for the remission of MY sins!”

I was havin a serious inner battle. The Lord couldn’t possibly want me to give up Max, could he? How can it be wrong to be loved by someone that loves you back? I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want to be gay. I don’t know what to do. I was baptized; I spoke in tongues and received the Holy Ghost. I am saved, aint I?

“If you are in sin, if you are in mess, a-ha, God told me to tell you, a-ha, to fight your flesh. Resist the Devil, and he will flee. Call on the name of Jesus; tell him to ‘rescue me.’ Be not deceived, for God is not mocked, a-ha. God told me to tell you to REPENT of your sins, a-ha, and turn away from it. Turn to Jesus, turn to God, turn to the only one, a-ha, that can keep you. Turn to Jesus, and deny yourself.”

Well, if it was wrong it would have left when I got saved. I can’t give up Max, I just can’t. We love each other, we really do. Surely, God wouldn’t want me to give that up?

“When you walk the Christian walk, a-ha, you have to make tough decisions, a-ha. You have to decide, a-ha, For God I live and for God I’ll die! You have to trust in Him, and believe in His word. There comes a time in our life, a-ha, where we have to give up, a-ha, what we love the most. Be obedient, a-ha, make the sacrifice. For He loved you and me, a-ha, before the world was. He loved me, a-ha, even in my sin. He loved me, a-ha, when I didn’t want to win. Look at me now, a-ha. I am servin the Lord, a-ha. And you can’t stop me. You can’t make me quit. I got Jesus on my side, a-ha, so please don’t touch me. Touch NOT His anointed, says the Lord. My brother, you have to make a choice, a-ha. Do you wanna serve Jesus, a-ha, or do you wanna serve your flesh? It is up to you. But God wants me to let you know, a-ha, that the wages of sin is DEATH, a-ha, but the gift of God, a-ha, is eternal life.”

I have to make a choice. I…meaning ME? How am I supposed to do that? Lord, I don’t know what I should do. Please have mercy on me. Help me Jesus for I do not want to die and be lost.

MyAn's Truth (Episode 5)

I swung with all my might, hoping I would destroy that smile he so cherished. He lucky that—oh. Wait…I jumped way too far ahead didn’t I? Haha. Let me slow down and start somewhere with some foundation.

Zye, as I mentioned many times before, is a very nice catch. So of course, he had been caught by many people before I came along. Compared to his past, my past doesn’t really exist. He’s had relationship after relationship, love after love, but one of those relationships tried its best to jump the broom. Let’s just say the broom had a nasty attitude and both of their asses [the grooms] ended up on the floor instead of the bed of a nice honeymoon suite.

Jackson Morris. That’s his name. The love of Zye’s life. The only background info I had on Jacky was that he was attractive, almost unbearably so. He could sing and he wrote his own songs. He’d laid down a few tracks and he even co-produced some music for some local artists who made it big. He was the dream guy, the guy that had people [men and women alike] fawning all over him constantly but he’d always ignored them until he met Zye on a rainy day in October making his way to a music studio while Zye had just been dumped by this rude bastard who left him on the corner of Main Street. I would beat the shit out of him too if he were still able to function without assistance from a machine. Karma is a tyrannical mother-you-know-what and it don’t play. Hahahaha. Oh, sorry. I did not mean to laugh at another’s misfortune.
Jackson took Zye by force. By the force of his words, his demeanor, his drive, and of course, his weapon of mass destruction—also known as—his voice. Those who had heard him sing compared him to a mix between Brian McKnight, Usher, and Jon B. That’s a killer mix if you ask me. Umm..oh, yeah. Back to the story…

Jackson and Zye had been dating for about seven months when Mr. Morris decided to make Zye his wifey [or hubby]. This nigga proposed to Zyiah Johnson and gave him this beast of an engagement ring. The proposal was worth an Oscar for its larger-than-life romance. Jackson sung to Zye at the wedding of a mutual friend of theirs. The song was supposed to be for the bride and groom only, but the soon-to-be newlyweds had decided to allow Jackson to propose as well as help join them in holy matrimony. Jackson walked down the aisle during his performance and grabbed Zye from his seat and bowed down on one knee while singing “He Proposed to Me” by Kelly Price. Don’t ask me why he was singing that particular song but that’s what he was getting paid for. While he was singing it he pulled out the ring and opened it while the entire church was holding their breath. Zye gave him a tearful yes and they embraced each other. Jackson Morrison and Zyiah Johnson were engaged to be married.

Marriage. A foundation deemed exclusively heterosexual by many supposedly open-minded individuals who sing the “Star Spangled Banner” with a straight face yet, have no problem frowning upon same sex individuals who deign to have the same delight of a wedding and an exchanging of vows amongst their families. Call me rude if you want. Call me blunt or what have you but I think these people are extremely idiotic. Claiming that America, this America, is a Christian nation which holds Christian values. This is not a home of the Christ-like, this is the home of the free, the home of the brave. And excuse me, but I find it brave for a people deemed morally inept and sometimes downright perverse to strive for something so outlandish as marriage in this fair country. [And by fair I mean totally incapable of knowing what fair was even if it bitch-slapped them across the oceans.] Cry religious freedom all you want, scream fairness and equality for all if you so choose, but if you have a lick of sense and eyes to see you will know these lies when you hear them. Two out of fifty of the “united” states of America uphold same-sex marriage as a legal institution. That’s pretty damned ludicrous if you ask me, and even if you don’t my opinion still stands.

Zye and this Jackson guy took on this task head on and made plans to head to either Massachusetts or California to make their love official and holy in the eyes of a God whom I don’t believe is as concerned with penis and vagina wars as religious fanatics would like us to believe. Weddings are already expensive but adding travel expenses to that makes their cost outright preposterous. But of course, Jackson had the funds to take care of the financial feat. Jackson could even afford to pay for those who weren’t financially endowed to fly to California for the wedding. Note: I really don’t like this guy. Just thought I should make that clear in case you did not notice.

The plans were in order. The wedding coordinator was Jackson’s sister so expenses were cut. Zye’s aunt was a caterer who loved charity work so they were pretty much in the clear with that too. Everything was set until Zye caught the illustrious Jackson Morris with his pants down—literally. Two weeks before their grand flight to holy matrimony Mr. Morris was caught red handed with a minor. This twenty something year old man was getting it on with a seventeen year old fella in the music studio that Zye frequented quite often to visit his fiancé.

There was music in the air alright. Music and high pitched screams that had nothing to do with harmony and such things. The seventeen year old had been a mentee of Zye’s and he had even introduced the boy to Jackson in hopes of getting the boy on to something positive. Irony is a hateful, conniving thing isn’t it?

Now the cheating isn’t the worst part. Here is the kicker…Jackson had no remorse. This arrogant negro had the nerve to even blame Zye for his infidelity. Asking him “How could you leave me alone with someone that fine and fit?” It was apparently Zye’s fault for not trusting a grown ass man around a high school senior. The teen never pressed charges so Jackson didn’t face any legal backlash but it left a mean scar on Zye’s heart. A blistering scar if you ask me. When I heard how bad this guy had treated Zye I wanted to hunt the cheating bastard down and just beat the living hell out of him for old time’s sake. Zye had been so hurt at the betrayal that his anger never sat in. The rawness of his love and pain caused him to shut down for a little while. He even went into therapy to help get over the contempt and enable him to move on. And move on he did. He took so many steps into the future until one warm summer night when he and I were on a date and we saw the pompous Jackson Morris riding up in a very nice Benz.

[For the rest of this particular chapter in my life, it might be best if the kiddies were told to go play with their toys or something. Parental Guidance is strongly, and I do mean strongly, encouraged.]

“Bay, I love the way your hand fits mine. Our fingers always interlace so…so…easily. Like they were meant to interlace.” Zye said this to me as we were walking on the sidewalk. In our city, just like in many cities, we have a strip full of stores, clubs, restaurants and all that stuff. The streets are always lit and people flood them, friends, teens, adults, club-hoppers, everyone with a nightlife.

We were heading to a nice lounge spot. Clubs just weren’t our thing. We honestly didn’t see the point in clubbing because most people go to the club to find someone and, well, I had who I wanted. We were about to cross the street when this sleek Benz pulled up. Rims were all ablaze, soft R&B music blaring. It caught the attention of many of the drunks and what have you who were going about their mess. I just stared…because I’m nosey. And that curiosity caused me to overlook Zye’s sudden stillness. He had even stopped talking.

The driver’s door opened and this tall, light skinned black guy steps out. He did absolutely nothing for me but if I had been a woman or a “regular” gay guy I would have gawked just like the people around us. Dude was very attractive. I heard a couple of people, both male and female, say ‘damn’. But I heard one distinct voice say “Fuck.” That was the voice of Zye. I looked at him then.

His eyes had gotten wide. There was even a tear [of all things] in one of them. My hand was holding his more than his was holding mine. I looked from Zye to the mystery guy and I suddenly knew. I had this psychic moment, a moment of clairvoyance. The guy was Jackson.

“Zye, honey, how have you been?” The cheerfulness in this bastard’s voice was sickening. For some reason he stayed near the car. Leaning on it, profiling—almost like there was a photographer and a dressing room waiting for him. He suddenly wasn’t as attractive as he had been at first.

“You.” Said Zye, and it seemed like that took a lot out of him.
I was in a limbo. I didn’t know whether to say something or walk over and stick him in his jaw so, when uncertainty is around, do nothing. I just stood there watching the scene unfold.

“Yes me. So you gonna act like you don’t know me now, baby? Am I suddenly strange to you?” I looked at the bastard then. I gave him my full on gaze because I was getting heated. Patronization is my thing, I knew sarcasm as if it were my own little baby that I had nurtured and cared for.

“You…you fuckin’ piece of shit!” Zye took a step toward the asshole. I held him back. It was like I wasn’t even there. Jackson simply smiled and gave this innocent face.

“Oh, don’t be like that. Zyiah, you know me. Its me…Jackson. I know you remember the good times we had. You remember…” I could tell he was insinuating sexual memories. This let me know that he didn’t know Zye. Zye wasn’t a sex fiend. You couldn’t appeal to him sexually unless you already had him emotionally.

“Fuck you, Jacky. Just go straight to hell.” Zye turned, grabbed my hand and pulled me with him. “My, let’s just go.” I almost protested but I went along with it.
“Oh, ok. Is this your new flavor of the weak Zyiah? Some dick on the side? You know I am really the one you want. This broke nigga can’t do nothing for you.” Broke? Me? I’m not rich but poor I am not in the least. I kept walking. We were going further away from the drama but sometimes drama has a habit of following you. Jackson left his car and walked after us, talking rather loudly.

“Zyiah. Boo, you know what it is. You remember the screams? The moans in the night. You remember? Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me!” Jackson was trailing us by a few yards. Zye didn’t respond or turn around. His force of will was ironclad unlike mine. But I followed his lead.

Do you know that this man started singing? Like…what the fuck? Who does that? He started hitting all kinds of notes singing, “Boy, I know you hear me talking,” his voice was sultry and strong, “so how you just gonna keep on walking.” Zye never lost his stride but I did see him wince slightly, as if he had been struck by invisible hands. My rage flared with that wince.

“Now you deaf. You can’t hear me when I’m clearly talking to you. You always had the mindset of a bitch Zye. Even that kid knew that and that’s why he showed me what a real man was.” Zye stopped and I looked at him. He was crying. I know ya’ll are getting tired of something in me snapping but once again, that is exactly what happened. This tipsy chick walked by me at this moment with a bottle of some type of liquor in her hand. Without thinking I grabbed it.

Zye was crying and his back was still turned to Jackson. By this time, since we had stopped, Jackson was only a couple of feet away from us. With the bottle in my hand I faced him.

“So you gonna speak for Zye now? He doesn’t have a mouth? Or do you wanna fight me? Is that it? You a thug, nigga?” Taunting me does one of two things; it annoys me and/or it causes me to react. At that moment it simply annoyed me. But I did take a step closer.

“Jackson, right? Let me tell you something. You, my friend, are the BITCH. You are the bastard, the child molester, the perverse motha fucka that gives gay men a bad name. YOU are the asshole, the callous arrogant piece of shit who only has himself to blame for his losses in life.” My teeth were clenched. I had borrowed my boo’s will power. It took all my might and then some not to crack that bottle on his head just for smirking at me the way he was. Zye’s tears were fresh in my mind too.

“I’m all that? Hmm. I may be but what I am not is afraid of you. I took classes in self defense. So come at me if you want to, be brave if you want to, but I promise you. I promise you that one of us is going to be on the ground and it won’t be me. ” Jackson Morris proclaimed this with the utmost surety.

He lucky that jail is not a place I am willing to go over foolishness. But I am willing to go to jail and back for the one I love. I needed him to come at me first. I needed it to be self-defense so I’d be less likely to face charges. He wanted to taunt me to move first but I needed the same thing so I said the only thing that came to mind. I said:
“Yo momma.”
“What the hell?” Jackson responded.

“Yo momma is a stupid bitch for raising a demon of a son like you.” I hit the mark and apologized to his momma. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know that she had raised Lucifer himself. He came at me in anger and some crazy looking fighting stance.
With all of his tae-qwon-whatever I never seen someone hit the ground so fast. I barely tapped him with the bottle. I struck him right across the face. It didn’t even break but he went down on the sidewalk…hard. The impact was so crucial that he just laid there groaning. He could barely turn on his back, blood on his face. His expensive clothing marred and torn. I took a certain amount of gratification from it.
“Next time you make a promise Jackson, make sure you keep it. You broke your promise twice motha fucka, and next time the ground might be six feet deep instead.” I said this and grabbed Zye who had a satisfied expression on his face. Jackson was left there, in all his glory, moaning. No doubt his pride hurt more than he was.

“Baby…I can’t believe you did that…for me. Jackson just affects me in such a way. I thought I was over it but…” Zye trailed off while we sat in The Lounge, the spot for the grown and sexy. I wiped his tears and smiled at him.

“Sweetheart, I’d do that and more for you. I don’t ever wanna see you cry and if I do then I’ll do what I can to stop it.” We stared at each other while a sexy soul song played in the background.

I rubbed his cheek and saw the hurt in his eyes melt away. The pain and embarrassment that Jackson Morris’s betrayal had left him with. I saw it take flight like an adolescent eagle, leaving the nest never to return again. When it was completely gone I cemented the importance of that moment with a soft kiss on the lips. Nothing lingering and sexual—just a chaste touch of lips. Closure is a beautiful thing, especially when it ends with the beginning of something that will never need to be closed.

Poker Face (Chapter 2)

Barry sat down on his bed, exhausted, once Lisa left. He was numb and glad that his roommate was MIA. The tears strolled down his face, gently at first but then they came violently like an internal maelstrom. So many feelings, so much emotion that he could not account for: anger, embarrassment, sorrow, remorse, but mostly there was just pain. An anguish that fluctuated inside day in and day out. He was a bisexual and he felt it was the greater curse.

It didn’t seem that any one person could keep him truly happy. The women had something he desired, something he needed. The curves, the beauty, no man could imitate no matter how androgynous. And then, on the other hand, there was the hardness, the strength, the familiarity of a man that no woman could master no matter how masculine she was, she was always a woman.

Barry loved Lisa. Loved her more than anyone in his past yet she could not satisfy him. Mathias, one of his aces, whom he thought was straight came on to him and suddenly he could barely remember Lisa’s name. He forgot himself for a moment and once he forgot himself, how could he remember her? Mathias was attractive but nothing to sing about. Lisa was gorgeous. Her dark brown hair with its natural high lights and her complexion, so clear and brown. Like being in a pond but looking through the liquidity to see the sun shining down through the murkiness. But she did not have the hardness of a man, and never could.

Lisa was hurt, he understood that; probably more than most people. He just had to get her to hate him because she would have been hurt either way. Eventually he would have come to a point in their relationship where nothing she did was enough because it wasn’t in her nature to do. He hoped he cut her deep enough for her to hate him, but not deep enough for her to forsake all men. It was not Barry’s goal to damage Lisa, he was trying to protect her blindly, not considering the consequences of his words which replayed in his mind: “Mat fucked me just fine.”

The scream that came from his body was ragged, like it was ripped from his throat. Mathias had not had sex with him. They had only engaged in oral sex, no intercourse but he wanted Lisa to see the potential, to really understand the possibilities and to run from them. It hurt that he couldn’t trust himself and he left the bed to stare into the mirror at the riddle that he was. A man cursed to always want more and have no one that can ever truly fulfill the void. Rage came over him.

The mirror shattered as he recoiled his hand, bloody and sore from punching his reflection. Standing there, both his soul and his body crying, all he could do was bleed.

Introduction of: "Murphy Me"

I’m convinced that romance doesn’t exist. And that fairytales are really stories of fake love instead of true love because the love I have seen doesn’t do any of the shit that Disney claims it does. No kiss has awoken me from unwanted sleep, no knight in shining armor has swept me off my feet, no dwarves have saved me from an evil bitch—oops, I meant witch—in order to live happily ever after with some fine ass prince. So I’m convinced that I don’t have a prince and this is how I get through life. We all have our coping mechanisms—this is mine: un-expectation. If you don’t expect something then you can’t be disappointed when you don’t get it. At least…that’s the theory. I’ll let you know if it really works or not once I actually apply it. Basically, no matter how much I pretend I always expect some prince or knight or hell, even a serf, to come and give me that fairytale romance. Hasn’t happened yet. And I’m not really hopeful that it will. Call me cynical. I won’t disagree with you.

I could go into so much detail about my life and about how this bitterness or this unfaith in love grew to this extent. I could…but I won’t because you really don’t need to know all of this to understand. Only one chapter in my life, one long ass moment in time, defined me as this beautifully cynical person that you see before you.

My name is Murf. Well not really, my real name is Murphy Blake. I think my mother was high when she signed the birth certificate but don’t tell her I said that. I’m 27, 5’10, medium brown skinned, bald with grey eyes, and ears that have a little point at the top. No elf jokes or we are gonna have complications.

Those pretty much sum up my physical characteristics. Oh wait, I’m not buff, I’m not scrawny either. Let’s just say I was blessed with a body that looks like I work out but not strenuously. Plus my abs kind of started fading away when I hit 23, but my tummy is still nice to look at. I’m not ugly, not in the least. I’m not psycho or overemotional, well I wasn’t any of those things when my heart got obliterated and I lost faith in the myth of true love.

Right now, I’m lonely. Not just alone. I’m lonely as hell and I’m not in denial about it. One contributing factor to my singleness might be that gay men are not any better than straight men, they just stereotypically dress better and look a bit more taken care of. To go along with the fact that I’m gay, I’m not a stereotype. I have no idea what the latest lingo is unless I read it on Facebook or some other community website. I don’t consider myself a top or a bottom…let’s just say, I am what I am. I have feminine moments and masculine moments, so does everyone else. I’m not into labels as you can see.

Despite all that I just said, I’m not picky. You don’t have to be damn near DL for me to be attracted to you—DL meaning damned and lifeless. That’s what I call those dudes who won’t step into who they are for fear of society or enjoyment of being another trifling man with no regard for his life or the ones who he’s screwing or being screwed by. Neither am I against the Little Richards of the world, granted I do not have a thing for Little Richard. Make-up, when it looks like a mask, is not a turn-on for me. Nothing personal, just fact.

Wow…I’m babbling now. Well not really. I just wanted you to see that there is really no reason for me to be a hopeless romantic with no faith in the future of my love life all because of my past. My friends, oops, I meant friend (no plurality), tells me that I’m gonna get over it. She tells me that somebody is gonna sweeten the bitterness out of me. Let’s just say that I’m not waiting for it.

Anyway, I guess I can go ahead and get to the point…or rather the story that has made me the sparkling bundle of sunshine you have before you right now. Perhaps I shouldn’t call it a story, it’s more than that. It’s a painful reality that I try not to revisit consciously but it’s always there…mocking me. The one time I thought love had found me. The one time I thought I had one of those chick-flick loves, I realized it was just a bunch of bull. Well…go ahead, sit back. It’s time to go there. I hope it doesn’t leave you as jaded as I am.

MyAn's Truth (Episode 4)

“I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chapstick. I kissed a girl just to try it, hope my boyfriend don’t mind…” Yes, I am singing that song. Am I getting gayer? God I hope not. The point of that song is the fact that there was one girl who didn’t turn me down. She was before Zye of course. Nyani might have even loved me. Yep, MyAn and Nyani. We were made for each other, right? Uh, WRONG!

Chick was too damn independent. She was so independent that one night I had dropped by her apartment to surprise her with roses and a night of wining and dining and got a surprise of my own. Am I romantic? Shhh…don’t let Zye know. But in any case, Nyani was so independent that when I arrived at her place I saw another car there. A rather nice car if I do say so myself. Either girly was dumb as hell or evil as hell because she had given me a key. And I used the S.O.B. to see what the fuck was going on in my girl’s house…without me.

I lost it. I don’t quite know if I ever had it all but if I did I lost every damn bit of it when I saw her with another man. A man who she had promised was only her best friend. Maybe it’s just me but none of my best friends have ever had their hands all under my britches…yes, britches. I’m allowed country moments.

Nyani was on the kitchen counter breathless and obviously about to get to business with Ron, her alleged best friend. After I saw all that the rest was a blur of screams, punches, and broken relics in her apartment. To cut the story short we broke up. It hurt me so bad because I was very close to being in love with that woman and then she did some janky shit like that. Hence…my cynicism has been well earned.

The point of all that extra knowledge was the fact that this trick tried to come back to me. Surprising how commonplace it is to go to a grocery store but never expect to meet with someone you knew, especially someone that had cheated on you and incinerated your heart. Zye and I had been looking for something to try out on the grill that I had just bought. It was a nice grill. Had the latest everything on it. We’d been official for about three weeks at this time and the love was there from the moment we met.

There was a good sale on a variety of steaks so Zye and I were debating on which steak would be the best to try first. Then, I saw her. Walking towards us with a smile on her face and it was all for me.

“Oh shit.” There was feeling with that too. It caused Zye to look up from the beef.
“What? What is it?”
“You’ll know in about 3-2—” I started the countdown to a big ass scene in the middle of Foodlion.
“Hey MyMy!” Nyani called me by my pet name, one I hadn’t heard in about two years.
“Yo…how ya been?” I asked. I hate awkward situations. Nyani didn’t seem to notice as she stood there holding a gallon of milk.
“Oh, so its like that? I can’t even get a hug?” She gave me the pouty face that used to make me feel like a mindless zombie.

The hug was awkward and uncomfortable. The tension was so thick I felt like I was encased by it. Nyani’s eyes flicked to Zye. I saw the question in them. Zye wasn’t standing intimately close to me but we were a couple and he wasn’t a mile away either. Nyani didn’t know about my new relationship because last I’d heard she’d moved to another state after our little altercation.

“Oh...Nyani, this is Zye—Zyiah. Zyiah this is Nyani.” She smiled flirtatiously and shook his hand. For the first time Zye didn’t try to dazzle anyone with his charisma. Something was wrong. God, why me?

“MyAn, you never told me you had such a cute friend.” She playfully pushed me but her eyes were all for Zye. Do you see the problem with this broad? She was a bit too widespread for me if you know what I mean.

“Uh...yeah. I guess I didn’t.” I had one of my premonitions again. This was about to get really bad really quickly. Looking back on it, I should have just ducked out of there or something before she got to us to avoid the whole situation.

When I said that Zye made a noise. It was something like a cough, or more like a sarcastic grunt. When I heard that I knew my premonition was dead on the money.
“So that’s what it is?” I looked at Zye when he said this and the anger was all but concealed. Damn it! He was heated and at that moment I didn’t really understand why so he proceeded to explain it to me.

“I’m the friend you never introduced. Is that right?” He went on and on. Nyani was looking perplexed and I was feeling like someone had punched me in my stomach. I never thought Zye was the jealous type or the type to make things flair up from nothing.

“What is he talkin’ about, MyMy?” Nyani scrutinized me very carefully. The wheels in her head spinning out of control. They both were staring at me. I felt like I wanted to die and reincarnate into something that could dip out of that store without being noticed.

“Nyani…Zye is…well…” I couldn’t even finish.

“I’m his boyfriend, bitch. And I don’t appreciate the way you were all up on him when you hugged him either.” That was it. Zye dropped the bomb and it blew the hell up too. I suddenly had a bit more empathy for Hiroshima and the whole Pearl Harbor incident.

Nyani stood gaping at Zye. Her eyes looked like golf balls and her pretty little face was twisted in utter confusion. Zye’s face was blank. The anger was hidden behind that beautiful mask of nothing. I knew he was waiting for me. Waiting, fearfully no doubt, to see if I would deny his ass or be a man…his man.

“First of all, who the fuck are you callin’ a bitch, motha fucka!” Nyani began the neck rolling thing and I simply put my head down. People were walking by looking like “Oh Lord, there go some more angry black people making the rest of us look bad.” I had given people that look before. I knew it quite well.

“Damn it, nigga you gonna answer me. And what is this bull shit you talkin’? You his fuckin’ boyfriend? Is that so?” She averted her fiery gaze to me. “So you a fuckin’ fag now? I fucked you up so bad that you had to go get on somebody dick, is that it?”

Time stopped. Not literally but it slowed down or something. Nyani was a loud person by nature. When she got pissed that was magnified by a hundred. I was not in anybody’s closet but that does not mean I want it announced to the general public, especially worded that way.

“Nyani—”I began.

“What My? What the fuck is it? I know he aint lyin’ cuz you aint beat the shit outta him for sayin’ some shady shit like that in the first place. So what the hell you got to say, huh? Let me know. I want to fuckin’ know why you don’t like pussy no more? A bitch aint good enough for you? Tell me.”

“Why the fuck you gotta make a scene?” My lips were clenched. I tried my best to contain my anger.

“A scene!” Her voice got impossibly higher. She was almost squeaking now.
“Yes, a scene.” It took heaven to keep my voice low.
“Oh, no. You aint seen a scene yet motha fucka. I got your scene.” She turned away from us. “Can somebody tell me how a nigga can leave a bitch to be with another nigga? When does ass beat pussy? Somebody tell m—”

That was it. I snapped. The reason she didn’t finish her sentence is because I snatched her. I covered her mouth with my hand so she’d shut the fuck up. People were staring and it pissed me off even more.

I whispered in her ear, “I’m gonna let you go now. I want you to be calm. Can you do that?” She nodded a yes. I let her go. BIG mistake.

“I can’t believe you!” Tears were flowing from her eyes. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you!”

All I could do was stare at her, trying not to show anything that would make her angrier. I had not expected her to cry. Zye began to pull me away…carefully and slowly. The way you’d back away from an escaped tiger or something.

“Oh my God! And you’re gonna leave with him? So the shit is true? You on dick now?!” Nyani’s anger had leaked away to pure hurt. Weariness overcame me and I just let Zye pull me away.

“You know, if what you claim were true I could definitely see why he would leave a crazy bitch like you for a man.” Zye said this to Nyani. All she could do was stare at him. For the first time in her life she was speechless.

Once Zye and I were home he came and apologized to me. I accepted. And I apologized to him as well for not standing up for him, for us. It seems that seeing her made him feel insecure because he knew I had never been with a man before. He hadn’t liked the way she’d touched me all possessive and stuff. His bitchiness came from a good place…love.

“Baby, you don’t have to worry about that. You got me. That bitch sure as hell won’t have me again. Especially not after screaming like a banshee in public. I can’t believe how psycho she is. She seemed to conveniently forget that I left her cheatin’ ass cuz she was fuckin’ her best friend when she was supposed to be with me.” We were cuddled together on the couch.

“Hahaha. I guess so. My…I love you so much.” That made me smile like a damn clown. He had that affect on me.

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything.” We stared in each other’s eyes for a minute or so and then we kissed. Duh! What else would we do in such a passionate moment? In the middle of the kiss Zye grunted. I thought I was just getting to him because I’m so damn sexy then I realized he was trying to talk.

“Say what bay?” I whispered.

“I said…We never got the damn steak. I’m hungry as hell.”

That night was finished with laughter. I never thought I’d have drama. My past doesn’t usually come up all that much because I don’t have that much of a past. I couldn’t hold Zye’s actions against him when he met the only person who had ever returned my affection besides him. I had to forgive him especially after what I did when I met one of his exes, the one whom he’d damn near married.

Offering

On my back, I lay there wondering how we had gotten this far. I was shirtless, almost to my underwear. And I would have been if it not had been for the basketball shorts. He was on his knees on the bed, his gray eyes intent. I gasped because his eyes were the color of a stormy dat. They were the color of peace before the rain and thunder. And I knew there would be thunder as he pulled his shirt over his head. His hair was as black as the blackest night and it was woven into intricate braids. Not cornrows. I stared up at him, from his hair to his still clothed lower half. My heavy gaze appraised his complexion, a golden brown. That skin, it reminded me of honey and I knew the taste would be similar. The trail of hair that started at his navel and traveled to unseen places tugged at my lower self. He didn’t have washboard abs yet there was no fat. He just was, and I was anticipating the softness of his stomach. I left my eyes take me to his chest and his nipples which were just slightly darker than the rest of him. His chest was visible, he was skinny yet it seemed like he was blessed with the chest of an athlete despite his lack of obvious muscle. I wanted him.

Finally settling on his face, the angles softened by the dimple in his chin. A tuft of beard nicely outlined that chin and it made me smile. Lips shapely, yet not all that thick but I knew what they could do. He had brought me to a moan with those lips on my neck prior to this very moment. Finally, I settled onto his stormy eyes and decided that I was going to ride the storm no matter how windy and wet that it became. The storm was mine.

Crawling towards me, he was almost feline. Seductive and dangerous with a tinge of playfulness. He kissed me. But ‘kiss’ doesn’t adequately describe what he did to me. He fed upon me. Feasted on the lust that made me kiss him fiercely as my body reacted to his touch. He caressed me, caressed me through the basketball shorts and all I could do was moan. My back bowing because it had been a while since I had been touched.

The smirk that crossed his face scared me. It was a good fear though. A fear of the intentions that hid behind that smirk and those thunderous eyes. This close to his face, the gravity in his eyes was impossible to fight. I would give myself to him, he would have no need to take it. I was a willing sacrifice and it didn’t matter at the moment which gods would receive the offering. I just wanted to be taken.

Kissing my lips, he let his kisses flow to my neck, my chest, my stomach in liquid motion. It was so graceful, I stopped feeling his lips and simply reacted from the sight of him; almost otherworldly. Those magical lips of his stopped just at the elastic of my gym shorts and he lifted his gaze to me as if asking permission. Suddenly he just yanked them off, underwear and all and I was naked. A moment of shyness crept over me.

I had always been self-conscious about my size because society taught you to be. Wasn’t that I was small, but I did not have a 9 incher. My anxiety eased when I saw the sparkle in his eyes. There was no complaint there, only excitement and anticipation.

Standing up, he began to unbuckle his belt and let his jeans fall to the floor. My lips parted because I hadn’t realized that he was walking around naked under his jeans. My eyes settled on his erection. It throbbed, and I could see its pulse from a few feet away. And I also noticed that the trail of hair that started at his navel met a forest, a trim forest, but a forest nonetheless.

I was blessed with another smile and then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it faded into something darker. Something a little bit more dangerous. Touching himself, I watched as he caressed the pulsation of his need for me. I stared, entranced as his free hand began to lightly touch his balls. I swallowed. My heart thudded in my chest and its beat immediately traveled to my own erection.

Before I could fully appreciate the simple sight of his nakedness before me he crawled back onto the bed. The last image of him seductively masturbating for me burned into my mind. This time, he didn’t crawl up to where my lips were. He stopped at my feet and he looked at me, almost asking permission once again and not waiting for an answer he kissed my foot from toe to heel. It tickled so I laughed just a little. Then his kisses ventured to my ankle, then to my calve, thighs and he took a U-like motion and grazed my balls. Kissing me from thigh to foot on the opposite leg.
The foreplay was driving me crazy. I didn’t think it was possible but I wanted him more than at the beginning of the night. I wanted him so bad that I needed him in order to survive and as I thought these things I felt his mouth on the hardness of that need. My back bowed as he licked and sucked over every inch, slowly at first, then faster. I made incomprehensible sounds and I silently prayed that they were sexy.

An eternity of pleasure went by and just as I felt the beginning of rain, he slowed down and let the tip of his tongue travel from the head to the base and to other things. I clenched the bed. His tongue was a forced to be reckoned with and he attacked me with it, gently because otherwise, it would have been pain. But gentle doesn’t mean less pleasurable.

I felt his tongue journey to that tender place and he lifted my legs. The strength in his hands made me moan once again. As my bare feet dangled in the air I whimpered for him, just a little bit and something in his changed. His gentelness became a little bit more forceful as his tongue found the place where no man had gone before. I gasped.

He ravished that uncharted place. The strength in his arms never wavering as his mouth and tongue did things to me that I wouldn’t dare mention outside of the bedroom. With quick flicks of his tongue he brought me to a point where I could no longer be silent and I loudly whispered his name. “Nasim…damn.” Was all I could whisper. He groaned and I felt the vibration of that groan which made me call his name once again. With one final stroke of his tongue he let my legs down and came to kiss me, and as he did I felt the head graze me and I whimpered again for him but he hushed that whimper with a kiss that was more powerful than the last.

I began to wonder if I could truly go through with being the sacrifice. And as the thought finished I seemed to hear the voice of Nasim whisper in my mind: “The gods await.”

Keke Wyatt - Who Knew

KeKe Wyatt is back! Im so glad, I was wondering where she went. Well..here she is looking amazing with those hips. She gonna hurt somebody! Hahaha Enjoy

Poker Face (Chapter 1)

“Fuck you, Barry. I’m through. I’m just done.” Lisa said tiredly, as she tried to brush past Barry without crying. She almost made it but then she heard him say, “Mat fucked me just fine.” The weather changed in her soul and she erupted in tears as she burst through the door of Barry’s dorm. Betrayal was the seed of her hurt and her tears only gave it more water to grow. But before she could let the hurt manifest she had to ride in her favorite vehicle; anger. Not just anger but rage. She had trusted this man, trusted him when he said that a woman could be enough for him. She believed him despite her instincts and she fell for him…sadly the rocky bottom wasn’t that long a fall.

The fact that he could even flaunt his sexual escapade like she had done something to hurt him only made her angrier. He treated her as if she had attacked him in some way but all she did was love him. As she briskly walked past all of the students congregating outside for some type of mini-concert, the tears could only fall. Her cup was filled and it was over flowing.

Stupidity kept repeating itself in her mind. But even through the thoughts of utter stupidity she rationalized her actions. She had messed around with a girl before, she even liked it. But she knew her heart lay with men. So she didn’t discriminate against Barry just because he was bisexual. She would have felt like hypocrite.
While these thoughts ran a marathon in her mind, she unconsciously went to her best friend’s dorm instead of her own. She looked at the letters spelling out “Simpson Dorm”. She took out her cell and texted her best friend that she was outside in tears. It took about three blinks for the door to open to let her in.

“What the hell happened?” asked RayRay, also known as Raymone.

“He slept with Mathias, Ray!” All of her emotion seeped out of her with those words and she collapsed into RayRay.

“The hell? Oh, gurl. I’m so sorry.” Raymone carried her weight to the elevator, pressed the button that would take them to the fourth floor and to room 410. His roommate wasn’t on campus this weekend so they could talk indiscreetly.

“Lee, tell me what happened?” All of the sympathy he could muster was in his voice as she lay in his lap on his bed crying silently.

“He fucked Mathias! That’s what happened! How could I have been so damn dumb?” Lisa began to sit up, trying to wipe her shoulder length hair out of her face. She loved her hair, it was the color of pecans, not exactly one shade of brown but naturally multiple shades of her favorite color. But as she touched it to move it out of her face she couldn’t feel the joy she usually did.

“Mathias?! I thought that nigga was straight? Lord, I shoulda known. So he just trade, huh?” RayRay said absently, then he realized that the issue wasn’t that he was gay or straight.

“Sorry girl, you know I get distracted easily.”

Lisa only barely smiled at him and shook her head, “You always manage to make me see some type of humor in the most serious situations.”

“Hey, it’s a talent, eh? Haha. Anyway girl, tell me what happened. What that half-cocked negro do?” Lisa smiled at the phraseology. Raymone always had some colorful expression to describe bi guys. He had a bad experience when he was in high school and it left him a little less than friendly towards them.

“I saw him. I walked in on him givin’ head to Mathias. Ray, they aint look uncomfortable at all. I’m tellin’ you, it’s been going on for a while. Why did I trust him?” Lisa’s voice was getting a little broken around the edges, as if she were fighting back another episode of sobs.

“Let me tell you somethin’ boo, men aint shit. It don’t matter if they gay, straight, or asexual. Barry wouldn’t be worth a damn even if he was straight because then he woulda cheated on you with a bitch. I know it hurts you, hell, it hurts me that it hurt you. But you gotta keep your head up. You can’t let this one dude screw you up for the next guy.”

“RayRay, how do you do it? How do you see the positive even after all the shit you been through?” Lisa looked at him with obvious consideration. Almost as if seeing him for the first time.

“It’s not easy, child. All these niggas that be trippin’, passin’ up on my sexy ass because they doin’ stunts and shows and I eventually see through that mess. It hurts but I can’t let it beat me because if I do, I won’t be able to see a good man if he showed up in my dreams.” RayRay got up to get Lisa and himself something to drink.
“I have to see him again. We have a class together. And so help me, I still love his trifflin’ ass.”

“Uh..duh. You’re supposed too. Love don’t stop just because people mess up. Not real love anyway. I don’t know what to tell you, to be honest. Do what you feel is necessary to make sure YOU can go on. As far as I’m concerned, Barry’s black ass don’t need no special attention.”

The conversation seeped into Lisa as she drank her soda wondering how she was going to face Barry in class the next day. There was one thing, however, that she didn’t have to wonder. She was going to get over this even if it killed him. That wasn’t a typo. They say that hell has no fury like a woman scorned…well…it seems people forget that God has anger too. Sometimes anger is righteous, if you know how to play your cards right. And let’s just say, Lisa is a pro at playing poker face.

MyAn's Truth (Episode 3)

Now, like I’ve stated before—I’m no atheist. Hell, I aint even an agnostic. I consider myself to be rather Christian. I believe that God sent his Son to die for all our sins and all that good stuff. You know already. I was raised Baptist. But as I grew I became very fed up with the closed-mindedness that I observed in the church. Being holy and sanctified does not mean one has to be naïve, scared, and downright ignorant sometimes. I love them to death, but DAMN I got tired of that mess every Sunday. So of course, this step to be with Zye invited the religious fanatics to my doorstep like the proverbial Jehovah’s Witnesses, only, these witnesses happened to taste of all flavors of Christianity. Hell I was even
approached by a Muslim. But once again, that is a story for another day as well.

I mean, I really don’t know what it is. Is it concern for my soul or is it more a concern for the sensibilities of a society that decrees that anything, and I mean anything out of the ordinary, is devilish? Do those preachers really care about whom I’m with and what that means for my spiritual life? Maybe they do. But they didn’t seem to care when I was getting turned down by all those heterosexual women. Where the fuck are they at when members of their congregation are beating the living hell out of their children for no good reason? Where the hell are these insightful eyes and spiritual voices when their elders are sleeping with the sisters [or the brothers] in the congregation? Where is all their holy conviction and tongues of fire then?

Look, I aint a heathen by any means—not in my own eyes at least, but I just can’t get down with it. Maybe they are right, maybe I am sinning somehow but God didn’t send an angel to tell me that. I don’t feel like God ignores my ring-tone when I call on Him. That could mean a whole lot of things but if you ask me I will tell you that it means that me and G-O-D are on the up-and-up.

Well, we are except for the one time I had to give this preacher a piece of my mind. He was one of those church people whom Lyfe Jennings must have been singin’ about. You know that song? “Made Up My Mind”? Now that is a song that speaks volumes. Lyfe rags on the hypocrites that need more prayer than they are offering for the “sinners” of the world. It’s a damn shame.

Anyway, this preacher guy, a minister by the name of Dr. Thomas Isaiah Joshua Pendle Jr., is the subject of this little episode known as my life. What a name, right? I mean DAYUM! His parents got a little happy with the Bible names. This guy irked the hell out of me, not because he was a practicing Christian, but because he made it his duty, his “divine” assignment, to get on my last nerve. For one thing, he was obsessed with the little doctorate he had. No one could address him without acknowledging the fact that he had spent a few years in a seminary. I mean, education is great. I can’t knock being a theologian but the very notion of theology perplexes me beyond recognition. To break that word down theology means, literally, the study or science of God. I mean…doesn’t God work in mysterious ways? Doesn’t science damn near try to disprove his existence? Anyway, that’s an argument for another day, trust me.

Dr. Pendle had a church. A church with all of like twenty members. Ten of which consisted of his wife and kids. Small beginnings are fine and dandy but this dude has had the same amount of members for the whole ten or so years he’d been pastoring. When you are with God, or better yet, when God is with you, growth should occur. No one walks with God and doesn’t experience something greater, ya know? That ought to have told him something in the first place but, of course, it didn’t.

The “good reverend” knows Zye. But he doesn’t really know Zye. He basically is aware of the fact that Zye is a gay man and loving it. Therefore when Zye invited me to his parents’ house on a Sunday evening the pastor was there enjoying a meal that Mrs. Johnson, Zye’s mother, had prepared. We walked in holding hands, no doubt, because the Johnsons’ loved their son despite what they believed and besides, Zye was a grown ass man by now.

As soon as we walked into the kitchen Dr. Pendle’s eyes lit up with that appraising glint that some men of the cloth seem to acquire. I felt the weight of his judgment almost like an invisible garment around me, smothering me. Zye simply smiled and kissed his mother and father hello.

We conversed. One of us being a bit more nervous and awkward than the others, that one being me…duh. Nothing eventful happened that day besides the invitation that Zye and I received to Pendle’s church the following Sunday. Like I said, I was not a devil-child, I didn’t mind church so I accepted the invitation with no problem. Zye on the other hand decided to decline and I later understood why.

The following Sunday I rolled up in the cozy little white building with a nice suit on and a smile on my face. I knew I looked good. I wore a three piece suit tailored to fit me and only me. It was black with pin stripes and a red vest underneath the jacket. The dress shirt I wore under that was black as well. I was lookin’ right sanctified and sexy that day. Yes, sexy and sanctified—the two can go together.

The service proceeded on as any other service does. A few praise songs from the youth and then a selection from the adult choir. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was even welcomed by a few of the members with a pleasant smile. The usher had seated me near the front, about four rows away from the tiny pulpit. After all the singing and what not the pastor came out. As soon as he stepped through the door I got one of those feelings. I don’t exactly know how to explain it but it was just one of those feelings…kind of like something wasn’t quite right in the universe.

Dr. Pendle began his sermon, welcoming everyone, even the visitors. Or should I say…visitor. I stood and introduced myself and they all nodded their hello or “praise the Lord” and I sat my black ass right back in the wooden pew. Then the good reverend began to preach.

This man started in Leviticus chapter 18. Worked his way to Genesis to animate the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. Then he took it to Romans chapter one. This man danced all over the bible on one subject…that subject apparently being me.
“Sissies and dykes will NOT enter the kingdom of God. Sodomites have no place with the Most High.” Ranted the pastor with the utmost sincerity. His eyes dead set on me.

“God created Adam and Eve,” he did the little cough that preacher’s tend to do, “Not Adam and Steve. Can I get a witness somebody?” The pastor asked the congregation who nodded or yelled in agreement. Some of those members cut their eyes at me.

“They need to turn away from their wickedness. They need to repent and be born again! God don’t like ugly and that is ONE ugly thing to see. One man crawling on top of another man working that which is unseemly. It’s an abomination, saith the Lord!” That was it…I was done. I was not the one. I am a firm believer in not having a respect of persons. I don’t give a crap if you are a janitor or Pope John Paul whatever. No one has the right to disrespect another human being and they sure as hell don’t have the right to disrespect me. Pasta boy learned that the hard way.
Before I came, Zye had informed me of some of the unmentionable things that Dr. Pendle had done behind closed office doors if you know what I mean. There was even speculation that he stole money from the church tithes. All this conveniently surfaced in my mind as I stood up to leave. I had decided to simply hold my peace and let the Lord fight my battles. But the ol’ preacher man had another plan in mind.

“Son, don’t walk out on the Lord. Don’t turn your back on him. He can heal you of your sin. You don’t have to live your life as a faggot. Jesus loves you. Come to the altar and fall on your face before him.” The congregation grew rather quiet. I was in the aisle and I slowly turned to face the pulpit. There was only a look in my eyes. That’s it. I tried to turn away again.

“Satan has given you the spirit of fear. Don’t let the devil win this war. Fight for the Lord. Fight for Him and leave the life of a queer and become a real man. A man that your parents can be proud of!” That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore and I asked forgiveness for what I was about to do.

“Did Satan give you the spirit of screwing your secretary? Did the Devil give you the audacity to put your hands on the Lord’s money? Did you get heaven’s permission to abuse your first wife before she died? As a matter of fact, did Lucifer himself tell you to jack your dick in your office?” All this rushed out of my mouth in a rage of emotion. I was fed up with people like him. Fed up with the bull shit that people kept trying to shovel at me. Pastor or no pastor, he was wrong as hell and I sure won’t afraid to let him know that.

There was an enormous hush over the entire church. The organist, the drummer, all the congregation had stopped in mid-motion. The pastor had dropped his microphone and his mouth was all agape. It was rather funny to me in a cynical sort of way. My sense of humor is quite twisted some days.

Pastor Pendle made a step off the pulpit with something like wrath peeking from his eyes. It seems that I had hit the nail right on the head. He was coming for me and I don’t think he wanted to lay hands on me to do anything holy.

“Pastor, if you put your hands on me I will not be responsible for what happens next. Do you really want your church to see you act in such a sinful manner? The Bible that you just preached from definitely says ‘Be angry, but sin not.’” With that said, I turned and got the hell out of that church.

I don’t really know what happened after I left and to be truthful, I don’t really care. I hope those members left that church as well and found another one because Dr. Pendle was not who they needed to be following. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I may not be right, I don’t really know, but I’m certainly not one to hurl stones at others. I think Jesus ought to have pimp slapped that man claiming to be one of His. Was I wrong for what I did? Maybe. Do I feel bad about it? Kind of. Would I do it all over again? Hell yeah.

"Faggot"

I was just called a "faggot" by someone claiming Christ to be his High Priest...hmmm...what manner of man is it than can claim to have the love of Christ by confessing with his mouth and then turn around with the same mouth and utter a word full of such hate? 1 Corinthians 13:4 reads "Charity suffereth long, and is KIND..." Is there any kindness in sermons and utterances of phrases such as this? How dare one claim to be Christian which is to claim to exhibit the love that Christ exhibited but be so hateful? They are condemned by the very book that they try to use to condemn people like me.

I shake my head and I pity these people because they are so misguided. They call me this for what purpose? Why? To make them feel better? To feel more righteous than I? Well if that helps you to feel like you are doing something right then I will be your "faggot". I will be the butt of your jokes. I will be the pervert because it is not I who appears to be the sinner. It is he who cries "Lord, Lord" but denies the message, the gospel of Christ himself..."the greatest commandment is love."

Corinne Bailey Rae - 'Seasons Change'

In lieu of my last post entitled "Living Single" this song inspires me and comforts me because 'seasons change.' Yes this means that good things may come to an end, but the comfort is the bad wont remain always. Seasons change and never forget that no matter what you're going through.

Living Single

This is an update. A youtube video will be coming as well.

Basically, Keemy is now single after 9 wonderful months. My ex and I are still friends of course. Which is a part of the reason for the break up. In hindsight, we could have probably prevented this had we not been so impatient with the "niggas" of the world. But I believe that we both came out of the relationship with lessons learned.

I'm not rushing myself to be in another relationship because I am young. The past nine months enabled me to realize that I am not ready for the "married" life. I'm also not a casual sex/hook up person either though I have tried in the past. I desire to have what Alicia Keys called "wreckless love". Not that I plan on being wreckless but I want to have that spark, that chemistry, that passion, that connection that being in love can provide. Granted, I don't want to be in love all by myself. So like I said..I'm not rushing anything.

This chapter in my life just helped me to realize that you never know what your future holds...and for that matter, you never know who may hold you in the future.

I love my best friend/ex with all my heart and he will always have a place in my life so long as he wants to be there. I'm doin' just fine ya'll. Thanks for the concern and messages checking up on me. I appreciate them. Much love.

Vertigo's Affection (Written by me)

Sometimes I can’t believe that he loves me. Damn…I bet I sound like one of those insecure guys who could name every Anime character ever created. Well, I’m close but not quite that dorky. I’m just your average guy. Average in the sense that I like normal things, nothing extremely weird. Well maybe except my underwear fetish but that’s not weird…is it?

But seriously, I find it really hard to believe that this particular guy actually holds a torch for me. Not that I’m not worthy or anything. I’m also not delusional. I know I am not the model type. I don’t work out. I’m one of those guys who hardly ever gets noticed by his looks, whether it’s positive or negative. And usually when I am noticed it’s usually because of something I did that was ‘cute’ not necessarily because I was born with high cheekbones or a dazzling smile.

Every time I see Vertigo I feel like I’m walking right into a dream. The smile…it’s always for me. The stars that rise and fall in his eyes are due to me. Sometimes it’s just so overwhelming. With him…it’s like everything I do is spectacular or amazing in one way or another. Even the underwear fetish thing (which I am not prone to divulging).

Vertigo is Puerto Rican, Italian, and Haitian. God paid extra attention when he made this one. He came out the womb looking like a superstar. I’m serious. He should have been a Gerber baby. Tyson Beckford and all those other men who might have made the Top 10 Sexiest Men list have virtually nothing on Vertigo besides fame. His hair was kept short, it was curly and as black as Earth before light and dark were separated. Caramel eyes, a dimple on his left cheek to create some semblance of imperfection. He also hated that his ears were kind of pointed. They made me think he wasn’t human sometimes. Like he was some Elvin prince or something. See? I’m not weird.

He was slender, average height. He worked out but not to get buff. He did just enough to stay fit so he could wear his fitted clothes that flattered every aspect of his body. His facial hair was concentrated on his chin, not yet a full beard but foreshadowing what would come ten years from now when he would be thirty. Vertigo was a man and the beautiful part about him (aside from his looks) is the fact that he is not afraid to allow his feminine side to show. It’s funny that his name is Vertigo because that’s the effect he has on me. He knocks me off balance. Gives me the sense that I’m falling every time he gives me that billion dollar smile and lightly grabs me by my chin to pull me close for a kiss.

Even when I’m told that it’s real I still believe it’s a dream. My friends are as in love with him as I am. Charming is not the word for my guy. I have never met someone with so much charisma. I could just go on and on but then you wouldn’t realize why I find it so hard to believe that he actually loves me. Everything that I have stated previously are reasons that anyone would wonder when being the object of the affection of such a catch as Vertigo.

But the reason I wonder, the reason I question it is because I’m not real. I’m a figment of his imagination and yet he loves me. I’m the guy he dreams about because he’s surrounded by all these men who are nothing more than superficial shells of luxury and store bought beauty. They are not men of substance. Those men are trophies and my man doesn’t want a trophy. He wants a lover.

Vertigo Rodriguez is my Elvin prince but I’m the suitor that he can never find. The peasant that wants to enter into his kingdom but his life prevents that from happening. We exist in two different worlds and sometimes it’s really hard to decide which world is the imaginary one. I’m in love with him and he’s in love with me, yet we can never be because we are worlds apart.