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.

MyAn's Truth (Chapter 2)

“Faggot.”

Yeah, that was said to me. “Faggot.” Just bright and simple. It was at a nice restaurant. Zye and I had stopped to get our grub on. We were holding hands while waiting to be seated and finally the not-to-nice waitress sat us down at a fairly intimate table in a little cove, so to speak. Zye flashed his smile and the waitress’s hard-as-nails look instantly disappeared. It’s rather amusing actually, seeing Zye’s affect on people. But I think it definitely hit me the hardest.

He and I were talking. Laughing at the waitress for one thing and then our convo settled into more abstract subjects such as our future as individuals and what not. Aspirations…dreams…hopes. All that good stuff was thrown over the table in between sips of this rather robust wine. Robust? Don’t exactly know why that describes wine but hell, it came out so…deal with it. Annnyyyywaaayyyss…the wine worked its way from my throat to my groin area (sorry for the graphics) but basically, I really had to go. Sort of like that commercial. You know the one? “Gotta go gotta go, gotta go right now. Gotta go gotta go gotta go.”? Yeah…that’s the one. I had to pee.

Being the politically correct and discreet guy that I am I announced this to Zye who gave me a look and sniggled at my “courtesy.” I slid from the tiny booth and headed toward the huge but rather artistic sign that flashed “Restrooms”. Hmmm…I wonder what that means?

Now…I know it’s not just me, but do you know that feeling you get when you are being watched or noticed or whatever? It’s that prickly sensation on the back of your neck? Or that uneasiness that pervades the entire atmosphere? Well anyway, I felt that. But, I’m a nice looking guy. Not as eye-catching as my man [did I just say that?] but definitely noticeable. Strange enough, though, the feeling never subsided. I walked into the door conveniently labeled “GENTLEMEN” with a rather detailed painting of a man in an expensive suit. My guess? It was Armani but I’m subject to be incorrect at times.

The door opened to the restroom and I had to look back to make sure I entered the place where people are supposed to urinate. The damn bathroom was so…so…clean and inviting. I almost felt like I shouldn’t let the rain fall in here for fear it might ruin something. Was there really a practical reason for having velvet and gold and other choice material in a place where people do one of two things? One of those things being very nasty and rude to the sense of smell? I think not.

As uncomfortable as it was, I still had to pee really badly. While I was standing at the stall someone opened the door. I didn’t check to see who it was. I had much more important things on my mind such as AIM. I did NOT want to be the messy individual to piss on the nice, marble floor. I did the magical shake that has become characteristic of men everywhere and fixed my clothes to bump into another guy. I smiled an “Excuse me” and proceeded to walk away from him. And that’s when I heard it. Barely audible yet brazen as a son of a bitch. He said, “Faggot.” Slowly I turned away from the direction of the sinks.

“Pardon me?” I said with a question.
“You’re a fuckin’ fag.” Said the guy whom I didn’t know from Adam.

I just kind of stared at him. You know those moments that are so small and short but they seem to be the most impressionable and memorable? The ones where you remember the fly buzzing around you and the scent of hand lotion in the air? Well, this was one of those. The guy wasn’t bad looking. He was Caucasian, maybe with a little something darker mixed in his hereditary soup. “Class” seemed to be written all over him from his tailored grey suit to his manicured fingernails and his snake skin dress shoes. He wasn’t a redneck or a wannabe thug. He was educated, “cultured,” business-like and he let that word utter from his lips…to me!

Its funny that I had been dating a guy but I had never considered myself gay. Zye and myself had been going strong for about two months when this happened and it never occurred to me that I was remotely homosexual. It was just another love to me. A warm body at night and a comforting voice on the phone. All of a sudden it was revealed to me how I was portrayed in the eyes of others. I was another “gay guy.” I was suddenly a “sissy” and it shocked the hell out of me. As sarcastic and mouthy as I am, would you believe what I had to say? I bet you won’t.

“Faggot?” I asked dubiously. Disbelief surged through every invisible wave of my voice.

The guy sneered and decided to brush past me snickering and silently whispering “Damn faggots.” I was left there. Slightly dazed and still in some sort of shock. My head was cocked to the side and I mouthed that word to myself and tried to imagine how it applied to me. There was no feminine sway in my step. I didn’t wear makeup. Hell, I didn’t even arch or pluck my eyebrows. I was not guilty of any of the things I considered “gay”.

Revelation hit me then. It struck me stupid for the second time in that five minute trip to the restroom. Dare I say it…I had an epiphany. People don’t just see mannerisms as gay. The fact that I was with a man, without any bold feminine attributes was enough to label me. I don’t agree with that word in any case but it just felt all types of wrong for me to be called that. I realized for the first time in the two months that I had been with Zye that I was considered a gay man by those around me. Who would’ve thought? Certainly not me.

My anger, as you can see, was not immediate in the least. But after a moment of reflection and shock my rage came. Who the hell was he to address me as anything besides a man? Who the fuck gave him the authority to attribute slurs to any damn body? Especially me? I burst out of the restroom, my urge to eliminate germs vanquished by emotion. I searched for the ignorant asshole. I saw him seated at his table with a couple of guys, all who had the look of businessmen. I made my way to that table, nothing else was in my vision but the blonde guy who had disrespected me.

None of his friends noticed me, his back was turned so he didn’t notice me either. For some reason that made me angrier. He didn’t think I’d react or respond to his asshole-ness. I’d be damned. I’m not that type of guy in the least. The last few steps to his table went by in a whir of thoughts. I nicely tapped him on the shoulder. By this time, I had the attention of the two guys sitting with him. He turned to me with a question mark tattooed on his face and then I saw a flinch of something else. Something remotely like terror. Let’s just say that that little flinch of fear satisfied the sadist in me.

“Mother fucker, I got your faggot.” I calmly stated as I took his plate of food and shoved it into his face. It was a wonderfully garnished plate of pasta with marinara sauce and cheese sprinkled on it and little slivers of chicken to top it all off. I was saddened by the fact that it had been sitting there for a while so it wasn’t all that hot. But it definitely ruined his face and expensive attire for damn sure. He sat there with sauce and noodles dripping from his chin. The same shocked look reflected on his face that I’d had in the little boys’ room. I walked back to my baby and noticed the appalled expression on his face. I grabbed my jacket and walked out with him behind me looking back at “pasta boy.”

“What the hell was that!” Zye said heatedly.

“That ass wipe called me a faggot when I went to the bathroom. I didn’t appreciate that shit at all. It probably won’t stop him from being an ass but it sure as hell will make him think twice before sharing his stupidity.” Tranquility was thrumming throughout my body. The recent rage disappeared with the satisfying taste of retribution. Am I a badass? No, but I sure as hell have my moments.

“And that excuses the way you acted in there? That was downright uncalled for. I’m surprised at you. I have been called that, among other things, and I didn’t react that way. All my fuckin life My, people have murmured around me or done stupid shit to me. You can’t fight ignorance with ignorance!” I was surprised at how angry he was. I felt embarrassed all of a sudden and that, of course, made me mad again.

“You know what? I don’t give a damn. I know I can’t fight everyone or react that way every time but it was a first for me. ‘Forgive me father, for I have embarrassed you.’” Sarcasm is my greatest friend.

We were standing at the car by now—quietly screaming at each other. I knew I was taken by him because even while he stared at me with disapproval and concerned anger he was stunningly beautiful. Again, this fed my anger.

“Him being an ass doesn’t mean you have to be an ass back. And you sure as hell do NOT have be an ass to me! You didn’t embarrass me so much as embarrass your damn self.” He sighed heavily while opening his door to get in the car. I stood outside for a moment longer, wondering why no one had come to stop me from leaving after what I had just done. I was prepared to pay the cost. I had expected to but no one had batted their eyes at all as we had marched out of the restaurant. Maybe they were familiar with his knack for getting on people’s bad side.

I breathed deeply as well, kind of mimicking what Zye had just done before entering the car. I decided to face this maturely. Maturity was always on the backburner to sarcasm but I loved him and I knew it and he melted my cynicism away by just staring at me the way he did. I got in the car.

“Look, I apologize for how I made you feel or look. I apologize for letting my anger get the best of me. But what I don’t apologize for is what I did to that jerk. Dude deserved what he got and I’m glad I was the one to give it to him. Yes it was rash. Yes it was immature, maybe. Yes it was uncalled for but I did what I felt and damn it, I don’t regret it at all.” There. That was my maturity speech. Pretty good, huh?

Zye turned away from the window to study me in the dark. Oddly enough, he was smiling. I was definitely not expecting a smile. And to top it off this son of a bitch burst out laughing. The frown lines in my face had to look like ditches.

“Why the hell are you laughing?”

More laughs. A couple of coughs then, “Oh my God. I can’t believe you did that!” Laughter spilled from him like a broken faucet. His laugh was like most of him—beautiful and surprisingly charming. Despite myself, laughter crept up on me and I joined in with him.

“You know, I guess I’m kind of mad at the fact that I never did something to at least one of the closet cases that called me shit like that.” The sparkle in Zye’s eyes was dazzling even in the shadows of night.

“What do you mean?” The funny receded slowly.
“I always turned the other cheek when what I really felt like doing was beating the hell out of them. I guess I’m jealous that I never did that. I always just let stuff slide.”

“No, I got that. What do you mean by “closet case”?” I asked more specifically this time.

“Oh. That. I mean that guy that you plated was really a man fighting his attraction to men. He messed around with one of my cousins, who is a guy, a couple of months ago. He probably said that to you because he wanted to deflect speculation that he was indeed a “fag” himself. That’s the reason that most of these straight guys say shit like this to men who like men or appear to.” He did the little finger quotations on the word “straight”. It seems my sarcasm was bleeding into him.

Well damn. Looking back at the moment when I saw the fear on him I realized, yet again, that he wasn’t afraid of what I would do to him physically but what I could do to his reputation. What I could do to his mental and emotional dilemma. I realized all this but I still felt no remorse. I hadn’t had to deal with this all my life. Zyiah is the first and only man to ever win my attraction. I don’t even look at other men in that way. But if that guy was really gay and hiding from it by being a bitch to others then he definitely deserved what he got. He’s a punk and punks should either lay low or get the shit beat out of them for trying to be something that they are not.

So…faggot or no faggot. I’m not the dude to fuck with and now, neither is Zye. He wants to make up for lost opportunities. He promises not to be violent or extreme in the way that I was but he aint gonna keep quiet the next time someone says some ignorant shit to him. That night in the car, after our first fight, we laughed and had a rather passionate kiss to make up for it. I wish pasta boy could have seen that. I bet it would have did a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for him. No, really, I am laughing hysterically at the thought.

MyAn's Truth (written by me)

See…I was the guy who always came off as the friend type. The “he’s cute and sweet but I don’t wanna fall in love with him” type. Do you know how freakin frustrating that is? Ugh…you can’t even imagine. To wear your heart on your sleeve is to get it snatched away and stumped on. Do I seem cynical? What the hell do you think years of being the “good but not good enough” guy will do to you? Don’t judge me for my pessimism and my lack of faith in human intention. But trust me…I’m not bitter. I’ve got great friends, a loving family, many events to occupy my social life. However, what I don’t have is the warm gushy feeling that annoys the hell out of everyone until they never ever can feel that feeling again. I don’t have that and I want it so bad…so bad that I’d trade almost all of it for that one person to tell me they love me and mean it. I want to be more than good enough…hell, I want to be exceptionally wanted.

This aint a sob story though. What kind of a story is it then, huh? It’s a story about me: MyAn Sample. Weird name isn’t it? Haha. I had to deal with stupid nicknames such as “MyAn Simple” or “Simple Sample”. Cruel ass kids. Its funny how those little names used to embarrass and hurt me so much but now, when I reflect on them, I wonder what the hell was wrong with me that made me so damn sensitive. Childhood…who needs it?

Anyway, I don’t want to continue to bore you with the “Biography of MyAn”. Basically, the gist of this story is this: I was living my life, enjoying my friends, the occasional bar adventure, the once-in-a-while party and what not when this guy [yes a freakin GUY] swept me off my feet. Now, I was never one to bash gay people but I was NOT a fag—I mean a homo—either. I was the guy who went after the girl and got pushed aside because I wasn’t a hard ass. I wasn’t a man clinging to the darkness of some metaphorical closet. I simply was…

Somehow, I guess all the rejection and disappointment opened me up to new possibilities. I mean, I think to a degree, we all have some mild attraction to the same sex. For some it’s stronger and it causes them to be gay and flamboyant and what not. For others it’s half-and-half or less even. And then for me, well, it’s dormant until the right person comes along and fucks with your emotions and catapults society’s ideals into oblivion to leave you all mushy and gushy inside. Even those words sound embarrassing as hell.

Some might argue that I was gay to begin with, some might say that love knows no limits [I must disagree, one limit is definitely species if nothing else], and still some might say that I’m some poor soul frolicking his way to some place of eternal damnation for choosing to like bananas more than oranges. To be quite honest…as I tend to be…I don’t really give a rat’s ass what “some say”. Because SOME did not bring me into this world, SOME isn’t taking care of me, and SOME sure as hell aint living the life I’m living. So those SOME can go straight to fire and brimstone in my humble, loving opinion.

Now…so the guy. What was so…so…alluring about him? Like…what kind of a guy could turn a relatively good looking heterosexual male into a fairy? Well, I don’t know what it takes for everyone else but for me it took Zye. Full name: Zyiah Johnson. This man, this dude, took me off guard. So far off guard that when my lips touched his I damn near wet myself from confusion. He’s gorgeous, Zye is, but I mean, he aint the prettiest thing. He’s just…well…Zye. Average build, loving warm brown eyes with a slight tint of green, and cappuccino colored skin. Our complexion is about the same but our auras...well, let’s just say if auras were different types of stars Zye’s aura would be a supernova and mine would be a brown dwarf. If you don’t know about astrology go look it up.

Zyiah is one of those people who commands attention not because of how attractive they are [though his fineness sure isn’t hurting him]. Zye’s power comes from his presence, his sheer force of will and determination. It’s the subtle intelligence in his eyes that seems to strip you of all the masks that life has designed for you. Instantly, Zye saw passed my cynical worldview and told me what I needed: someone to love me hard as hell and erase the years of rejection and shit that left me a shade short of gothic and cynical. If one were to just look at him…well…they wouldn’t know that he was a gay man. Women still molested him with their eyes but he never encouraged them. Hell, even some known and very comfortable straight men have found themselves lost in his luster. He was just one of those people. They probably wouldn’t quite understand why they stared at him so bemused. They’d probably even claim that it was his style or something. You know? It’d go something like…he had some nice shoes on or some other lame shit like that.

With all my strength and might I tried to hold on to my straightness. I tried my best to convince myself that I wasn’t “this way” and that I shouldn’t feel what I felt towards him but hell, all that talking to myself left me crazy and my throat dry. He took me, overpowered me with his gentleness, with the understanding in his eyes, with the magic in his touch, with…with his Zyeness (yes, I said Zyeness, get over it.)

I had a thread of control. I had enough power to deny him entrance to my undeniably heterosexual heart when suddenly the son of a bitch smiled. He smiled and that did it. He unraveled every chain, unlocked every door, demolished every wall, ransacked every single thing that he could to get to that small dwelling place known as my heart. Zye did it all with a smile and I hated myself for how easy it was. But the more I hated myself for it the more his ass loved me and as much as I hate to admit it—I couldn’t fight him anymore. I gave up, gave in, and sacrificed it all for the one thing that I never had: a hand to hold through it all and this one wasn’t going anywhere. I went from not good enough to “What did I do to deserve all this?” Who would’ve thought?