You wasn’t no good for me but I loved you

You got the best of me and gave me scraps that

seemed monumental

Just thinking of things you said and all that you never could

Think of how the rarest “I love you’s” never made eye contact

Think of how it was always rough while I didn’t hate made me wonder

why it was never tender

Did you not see my softness, my weaknesses, how badly I wanted your

strength and your bravado to be mine

We were at our best when I ain’t have nothing

when you was only friend, the only one checking on me on the daily

with a “Peace, Queen, Goddess, Beloved, Bae” but never my name,

my name that I only heard once escape from your luscious lips

Insecurities and Pretty Politics

I am insecure. This is a statement that one is not supposed to admit. It’s a statement that is followed up by inputs from others on why this is an asinine take and why I am supposed to know that I’m the baddest bitch I can be. Whatever I am insecure about, I am told that it is something I can get over and should get over. The consensus I get from the world is that insecurity is a state that will happen but that should be actively avoided and/or worked on by attaining whatever I am insecure about.

I told someone that I don’t watch trans porn. I said that watching trans porn made me compare my body against the actresses and in that typical ” trans goddess” appearance these girls tend to have, I feel like my body ain’t shit compared to theirs. The someone I told, a man ,followed up with you can work out, you can get surgery that pulls fat and places it in the boob areas, you can become the girls you are insecure of. And honestly its a take I’ve heard a thousand times and each time it falls flatter and more insincere every time I hear it and I roll my eyes. I can love my body yet still be conscious that a body like mine will not grant me the social acceptance that other types of bodies would. I can find beauty in my shape and still be cognizant that there is an indictment that my body is wrong. I can see where these so called areas of improvement can happen while still not wanting or feeling I need to change. The problem is the pervasiveness of messaging and messengers that promote some types and castigate others. The problem is people being bamboozled to feel like certain types of woman are acceptable. The problem is too many of us being unable to resist this detritus and hating ourselves as we try to conform to our oppression.

As a Black transwoman, I am tasked with trying to be my most sexiest self. To aspire to beauty, to aspire to an image of stacked and slayed and laid, to cleave to the worse tenets of Black girl oppression in order to survive. Being sexy and passable is a priceless currency for a Black transwoman . By the set up of this country, the forces of racism, sexism, transphobia , colorism, poverty and all the other fucked up social determinants, to be pretty and to be sexy and to be that sex siren type of Black transwoman is possibly the most potent ammunition needed to stay alive. I don’t knock the girls who have all the surgeries, the implants, the weaves, the expensive clothes and bags, the jewels the whole thing. I get it. But what I do dislike is when these tools are presented as requisites to our womanhood, our transness and our humanity. What I don’t like is how in seeking so much modification, we operate often from places of deficits and feeling like we aren’t good enough. And when you buy pieces to cover up that absence of confidence, you’ll never feel good enough. Confidence built strictly off materials ain’t sustainable. The harsh reality that many of us will never admit is that we often don’t feel as good as cis women. And how could we in a society and a world that has always invalidated and massacred our existences? Transwomen will fight for our womanhood until the day we die because by the constructs of society , we aren’t ” real” women.

I am working on my insecurity problem. I was told by my therapist that part of healing is naming problems. And I am warming up to at least admit that I am insecure and that I don’t like being that way. I am great as I am and I love myself more and more everyday. I wish that I didn’t look at other women both cis and trans at times and feel like I’m not as woman or feminine as them. I wish that sometimes passing those girls with the small waists and big breasts and nice asses and small bellies that I didn’t reflect on my own small breasts and my own well fed gut lol. My existence is resistance and it’s a harder way for sure. I choose to embrace me naturally and I can still admit to sometimes being insecure.


I don’t mean to fall for Fox. I never mean to fall for any of them if I’m being transparent. These things just happen and I am just a woman after all, kill me for having a heart, for feeling tender and soft, for wanting a deeper exchange. Fox , you so slick the way you slip and slide outta my sphere. And though I haven’t seen you in months and although you’re a frequent CASPER , I can’t help but want you. Despite all the ways you showing me you don’t want me. Desperately I ask you to tell me how I can be a better girl, how I can be a hotter woman, how I get you to show up every now and then. You don’t hear me or you choose to lead me on you fucker and I am sick of you for existing and wasting my time with ya texts of ” Hey, Hey” and ” how u doing”. Do you know how I cry from ya withdrawls, from those dates planned with ya chronic absences and demanding work and ya finals and ya tests and all ya reads with no responses. You play with a girl Fox, you be knowing what you do and don’t care. You have to know and I ain’t crazy cause I don’t hit you till you hit me and in the meantime Fox I ain’t twiddling my thumbs waiting on your thick dick and your soft lips and the way you whisper in my ear. I ain’t waiting on the way your muscles hit my fat and squeeze my tits and palm my ass and grip my clit, my normally soft candy that brickens when you touch me. Nah baby mama still playing the game. And striking out usually Fox, they ain’t got ya dick and they ain’t got ya lips and they don’t send me ” HEYHEY” and ” How you doing”. And their sweet voice that ain’t accented don’t hit me the way you do Mr. Man.

I had a realization lately Fox that it ain’t me. That in fact it’s all you with my infatuation , and my need for degradation and my attention compulsive disorder and we have a problem on our hands. Neither one of us wanna look fucked up while being all the way wrong. The passion isn’t one sided but the pursuit is. And you’re locked up and I ‘m locked out and there’s tons of words that won’t ever get said. I love that you been breathing way longer than me Fox, makes me think more of you with your PHD pursuits a custom degree to go along with ya PHD , a sapiosexual nympho’s wetdream. I could cream if I COULD JUST ON THOUGHTS OF YOU. You’re hot asf and you just don’t know Fox how bad I be wanting you to just want me back. Gimme all of you , how you sweat so clean, how does it taste like water. Why are you everything and ignoring me ?

I’m a weak bitch when it comes to ya type Fox. I mistake your quiet , mysterious nature for seemingly deep when in many cases it’s hella superficial. I get smitten by your willingness to perform like a boyfriend ,touched by your obvious acting when you pretend you like kissing or hugging or cuddling. I take your good fucks as enjoyment of me as a person as a woman and not a hole. I never stop to take note that I’m asking all the questions and making all the moves and offering more and more. I don’t dispute my passion and take it as credence of the possibility for more. I violate the sanctimony of casual when I dip into being a human, the robot in me should activate when the dick hits those spots, when the moans are out my control, yelling so loud fuck the neighbors, fuck any allusion that i’m any sorta proper lady .

We at our end Fox. It been this way coming for a while now. I may soon develop enough respect to truly block ya ass for good, delete your name, make you a memory like my others. A name , eventually I’ll forget the nuances of the good sex, I’ll forget how you kiss me like you love me, how I start to love you a bit for making me feel so good. I’ll forget all those initial pangs of hope for more. I’ll forget your power to punish my panties with passion alighted and disregarded. I’ll get to a point where I’ll say fuck you Fox and by then there will be someone new.

Third wind

Stella aint got shit on me   

Sunlight filtered through the window shining light on all the mess caused by last night. Jorge’s movements next to me stirred me awake and to a pounding headache and sore jaw. And then it came to me. It had been Homo Night at Nikki’s bar. The place was packed with gays and lesbians of all ages. I looked debonair in my tight brown suede pantsuit complete with the black fedora. To complete the ensemble a bitch had to throw on the mink. Oh yes, honey I was the shit. I go in the bar and see my man Jorge talking to some dirty yellow bitch, rubbing his ass and touching his lips. I wasn’t having it. It was time to make a scene only the way Ocean could. 

“Um excuse me I believe those hands belong only on one body, mine and I don’t appreciate them being stained by shit”, I said turning towards Jorge. Ms. Bitch gets in my face cutting up, “What?! You old, crusty , chickenhead bitch, I will fuck you up. If Jorge wants this he can get it like he always do. Fuck outta here”, he spat. I’m steaming now so I say, “Outta respect for Ms. Nikki lets take this outside bitch. You gon learn respect for your elders.” I srutted off outside, the whole bar watching. These queers knew I was not the one. At 50 I’d been fighting for some 40 odd years. I spotted my best friend Lija short for Elijah out front. “What’s the tea? Why you so mad?”, he asked. 

“This lil bitch talking reck”-   was all I got out before a fist hit my jaw. I got up to face Jorge who was raging. He yelled, “Get up bitch. Get the fuck up.” I ran to Jorge and started clawing his face. This big nigga picked me up and body slammed me. Lija screamed, “Jorge yall two stop. Fucking police gon come arrest yall asses again. That must’ve shook Jorge up  cause he stopped fucking me up and brought me to my feet. I was so embarrassed because it was a packed Friday night on 125th street. Young niggas and their bitches were laughing at me. This young white girl getting off the train was staring extra hard. “BITCH what you looking at?,” I snapped. She started walking faster damn near running. Jorge yelled, “Shut the fuck up and go home. Always starting trouble.” 

I walked to my crib a four story walkup on 127th and Amsterdam. I pulled out my bottle of Christian Brothers, got fucked up. Around 3:30 am a disgruntled Jorge walked through the door. You gonna learn a little respect. I snapped, “No mothafucka you is embarrassing me I front of all dem people. My beef was with that funky bitch. I know you sexy but them homos know you minez.”                                                                                                                    

  “ Right and if I make a little bank talking to some ugly bitch ,then you need to understand” , he slurred. I looked at Jorge like a star natal fool. “Fucker is you talking stupid. I may be old but a lot of dudes still wanna hit this tight pussy.”I sat back down on my couch heated. “Word” was his only reply. Jorge took off his belt and before I knew it his ass was on me hitting me with the belt and his fists. I couldn’t fight back because my arms were pinned behind.  “Oww George ,I cried, please stop. I’m sorry  baby”, I pleaded his fists hurt so bad. I was bawling like a baby now. Jorge stopped beating me, picked me up, carried me to the bed and battered my rectum with his 10 inch uncut dick. 

Now as I woke up and looked at Jorge sleeping calmly. I had to admit I was a crazy bitch who was too crazy to keep a man and who went absolutely insane without one. I cleaned up, playing some old Millie Jackson and fixing breakfast for my baby. This had been my routine for 30 years. I worked Monday through Friday at an insurance office. Saturday I stayed home, cleaned, cooked and pleased my man. Hearing his stream of piss I knew Jorge was up. I sat on my reclining chair in the spotless living room. Jorge was walking down the hallway. I was one lucky bitch, I thought as I sized him up. I’d been with Jorge for 6 years after his parents kicked him out. He was 6’3 235 lbs all muscle, lightskin with a goatee and tongue ring I just loved. Completing the package was that large dick he used so well. “Babez ya food in the kitchen. “Thanks mami, he strutted off naked into the kitchen. Oh yeah I forgot this papi had a nice, juicy ass. I was a bottom but it turned me on when a man had a fat butt. I loved Jorge but I was getting tired of the same shit. I took care of his ass and he was creeping with anything. As I got older I accepted a little monetary support was needed to have a young tender in my arms but come the fuck on. He aint do shit but play me for a fool or some ugly bitch. Homeboy had Ocean Andrews totally missed. I’d been a model in the 70’s for a gay magazine. I stood 5’11,cocoa colored, with high cheekbones and pretty chestnut eyes. I didn’t have fat on my frame but I did have nice thighs, hips and ass to be 50 years old. I looked damn good and my shoulder length dyed red hair hid the little gray I’d accumulated.  

The new generation of fags were sickening. These bitches thought they were so smart and slick and that a pretty face or slim body was it. Humph back in my day all queens cute or ugly had a man or wife because they looked at the bigger picture and were a lot nicer. I met my husband Donnie, a fine coffee colored man At Stonewall Inn a year prior to the riots. He was so smooth an auto mechanic and veteran. I didn’t care that he was 10 years my senior. I went uptown to Harlem with him that night and we ever left each other until 28 years later when Donnie had a stroke and died. I was so depressed. All I had were loads of memories and our apartment. I got back in the dating/trade scene with my friend Lija who’d lost his man as well. Shit was different now. A super disease AIDS had hit the gay word hard .It was so scary but I took the risk anyway. I hated being alone. I’d meet a boy, take him home for a couple of months then he’d be gone. I ran through fifteen men in six years until I met Jorge. Now he’d been with me for a while but I wasn’t going to keep getting dissed. I rolled a blunt and switched Millie to Betty Wright’s ‘Cleanup Woman”. Oh yes honey Ocean was about to cause a wave of ruckus. 

 The next day I called out for two days. The first time in 16 years. Today was a new fucking day. I got up around 8 a.m. and looked down at sleeping Jorge. We’d made some good love last night. He must’ve felt the tension. But it was too late. I had already made up my mind. I shook him gently. Tears formed in my eyes for how cute he looked. He was hugging the pillow with his thumb in his mouth. He looked at me groggily, “Hey baby. What you doing here, aint you gotta go to work?” 

“Listen Jorge  get up. I been thinking long and hard and I want you to go,” I said hurt. 

“What!”, he sat up fully awake now. “What happened ma? I love you” 

“Look I’m tired. Please pack your shit and go. I done started packing already. Please don’t leave mad just leave” ,I said looking down at the floor. Surprisingly Jorge didn’t get mad. He just huffed and real tears poured from his eyes. I wanted to soften perhaps fall in his arms. Instead I went to my couch and smoked. Jorge came out the room with his baggage wearing the hell outta this Sean John outfit I bought. He was so handsome it was sickening. I handed him an envelope containing about $1000.”Where’s my keys”, I asked trying to contain myself. Jorge took me in his arms, kissed me sweetly before walking out of my life. I washed my face and left the house. I was going to do me. I saw Denise this Spanish chick who’d been doing my hair for years.I had her touch up my roots, cut my split ends and dye it a nice mahogany. It looked nice with my skin. I went to the Koreans on Amsterdam Ave, got my manicure and pedicure. I took the A train to West 4th.  I had about $35,000 in the bank and a little over $16,000 in a safe at home. It was time to spend a bit.  

On the ride downtown I thought about my life and my brother Freddy who had told me as a sissy I wasn’t shit and I’d die alone. He said fags didn’t do nothing but screw and had no real purpose to live. My mother Teresa had never said no shit like that to me. I was born on Coney Island’s beach hence my name. My brother was born 8 years later. Momma worked as a maid and cook in Manhattan. It was me who’d changed Freddy’s shitty diapers, lied to the landlords, killed rats, protected the house from thieves with a knife and escorted momma to and from the train. I dropped out of school in 8th grade to work and hustle up money. I did Freddy’s back to school every year and to have the nerve. He finished high school, college, owned property all over Brooklyn, married and had three kids. But that didn’t make him better than me. Did it? I didn’t care and I hadn’t seen him for 10 years since my mother’s funeral. I got off the train at West 4th street and hit up a store I saw a lot of young people going into. A cute, chocolate boy welcomed me. “Excuse me honey, I’m a little older and I want to buy what all the young queens are getting,” I said. He cheesed real hard, thinking bout his commission I guess. This chile picked up a whole bunch of shit. Brightly colored shirts, scarves, fitted jeans, loafers, boots and sneakers. All in all I spent about $2000. I didn’t even think about the price ,just slipped sweetie a fifty dollar tip and headed up Christopher Street. I was going to get some tattoos and a piercing, My first tat on my arm read DONNIE 4 EVA. I next got BEAUTY on my lower back and my name on my neck. 

They all hurt like hell but I didn’t really care. I got my tongue pierced as well. I saw some young queens in front of Village Cigars vogueing. “yes honey ,I encouraged real loud, work. They looked at me laughing but these little young bitches just aint know. I put my bags down starting off real slow then just killing it. I had them shocked. “Yes baby old school right here”, I yelled as I did a duck walk. They cheered and clapped. “Yall be safe babies”, I said walking away laughing. Fags had and always will be fierce. You aint know? I walked uptown to Chelsea projects where Lija lived. He’d been born there with his 6 brothers and sisters and after his mother died he just loved the place too much. I banged on his 3rd floor apartment. “Bitch, open up these bags is heavy”, I panted. Lija’s ebony face opened the door,his hair all disheveled and nappy. He smelled of gin hugging me. “Oh Ocean, Pete went back to his wife. Said he was tired of shacking up with a fag. Lija’s body shook and he was bawling. Etta James was singing her song and Lija’s normally neat house was a mess. “Baby, what happened?” ,I asked softly guiding Lija to the couch. “I just lost it O. I gave that bastid my all. When that dusty bitch put him out, I cleaned him up. Now he want to go back, I beat his ass.” I was so proud of Lija. “Yes gurlfriend. That’s how you do it honey. Lija fuck his lame ass gurl.” I told him about Jorge and I, my piercing and tats and my new change in attitude. “Lija you gotta break free baby you still da shit”. And I wasn’t gassing it up. Lija was a pretty, darkskin man with these beautiful gray eyes. “C’mon hon lets get you cleaned up, We going out double trouble”, I said. I brought out a dutch and some weed. “You got Jack Daniels right ?”, I asked Lija cracking the cigar. I rolled and turned on Gloria Gaynor and Sylvster,ol school gay shit. We were singing our hearts out to “I Will Survive’. I washed and conditioned Lija’s thick black hair and put it an afro ponytail. I got dressed in a red v neck and some tight red jeans with a pair of red and black jordans. Lija was more hip to clothes and donned a pink polo, white apple bottom jeans and some pink boots called Uggs.”Lija babe are we fucking gorgeous or what?” I asked. “You already know Caramel and Chocolate what the fuck could happen.” We broke out in giggles over the stupid line we had coined over 25 years ago. Lija had a mint condition white BMW that he rarely drove.  “Yo, I asked before I got on the driver’s side, “where we going?”  Lija answered, “Let’s hit up the Lab in Bed-Stuy. A lot of  them young queens be talking about it.” 

We blasted Lil Kim’s ‘Magic Stick as we drove down 6th avenue to the Brooklyn Bridge. The day was so magical ,I almost forgot it was Monday. We pulled up to the club around 1 am. The Lab was packed wall to wall with men. A bitch got excited. I grabbed Lija’s hand as we made our way to the bar. A young ,extra eager nigga at the front kept trying to get our attention. Hollering out, “Excuse me Ms Black n Red,pretty in pink. What’s good?”. I  finally turned and faced him. He was a shawty around 5’7 150 lbs brownskinned with cornrows. He was young too, around 25 years old but the bank this boy was holding made him more attractive. He was iced out ear to wrist. His friend wasn’t that bad neither. One of those big, lightskin niggas Lija loved. So we sat at a table with these boys talking bout our pretty faces would make them relocate to NYC, blah, blah, blah. Lija was bold and said, “First of all yall aint got no class. “What da fuck is yall names baby?” “Oh Im sorry baby”, shawty said, “I’m Tim and this Rasheed. So I’m saying who yall?”  

I laughed, “I’m Caramel and my baby Chocolate.” Shawty countered, “Well let’s join together and make this Kit Kat and Snickers.” We all bust out laughing. I don’t know how and when it happened but I ended up damn near in Tim’s lap and Lija with Rasheed. I was feeling a lot of heat. That wasn’t so good because I’d fuck around like some of these other tramps getting banged out in the bathroom. A hot old, reggae song came on, I said, “ooh come on let’s dance.” I grabbed Tim’s arms we were dancing so hard. He kept saying, “damn sweetie shake it don’t break it” but I was going in. Fuck that. We had so much fun. Then it became like my own one woman show. Some techno house joint came on. I was killing it. All the fags were screaming my name. I damn near collapsed after the song was over. Going back to the table Lija was kissing dude mad hard. Trying to get his attention he snapped, “What bitch?”. I answered, “I’m tired girl lets go”. To which he replied,  “Nah O I aint ready.” I didn’t notice that Tim had come up behind me with his arms around my waist. “Chill shawty I got wheels. I’ll take you home and I won’t do ya no harm,” he slurred. “Ugh I left my keys at ya house. “Damn Ocean listen here’s a spare, lock up babes and these just some young niggas looking for some older ass. Go do you ma. Live a little.”  

I gave Lija a hug, Rasheed, a warning and walked out with Tim trailing me. As we walked out to his car on dark ass Decatur St, I shivered. Two dark figures came out of a black alley. I grabbed Tim’s arm as he cocked his gun. “Easy shawties I will lay yall asses out.” The two figures ran up the block. Tim took me to  red range rover with  the tinted windows and 24’’ inch windows. Typical youngin, I thought. Jay Z blueprint c.d. came on as we drove off. Making a stop at Lija’s before going uptown I had a feeling I was going to be fucking. Tim parked the car, held my bags and opened the door for me. I didn’t want him to come in but he insisted he get me home safe. Tim said as soon as he walked in the door, “you got a nice place”. I laughed, “what did you expect , the slums”. He grabbed my arm, “Yo come here, you so feisty and argumentative . That shit is so fucking sexy.” “Boy leave me alone”, I giggled. “I’m old enough to be your pappy.” 

“But you aint ,he said, I want to make ya my woman,” Tim was serious now taking me in his arms. “Ugh let me go. I was fighting against him. I had underestimated his lil ass. He was strong as fuck pushed me to the ground. Sweet kisses to my neck and lips made moans escape my mouth, Ooh baby damn. He ripped my shirt off, pulled down my jeans. Started to lick all up and down my body. Tim’s tongue found its way to the top of my dick. I hadn’t gotten head in years. Jorge never did it and I never forced him. Ooh I couldn’t help it. I pushed his head down. That shit was feeling right. He got up breathing real hard looking at me hungrily. When he next turned me over and stuck his tongue inside, I was on cloud nine. “Um Um .This pussy taste good,” Tim moaned. I heard a wrapper rip and screamed like hell when a fat, long dick entered me. “Oh God damn. Take it out”, I cried trying to ease that shit out.  

“No baby take it all.” He put his hands through mine and was forcing his trunk through my cavity. It hurt real bad but after a while my walls opened up. Smack, smack as the dick went in and out. “Damn don’t make no sense your shit being this wet.” He pulled it out. I looked at this 13 inch long 6 inch wide Hershey bar in shock. “Come on baby”, he grinned, “show me how an old bitch ride”. That crack about my age got me. I got up walking funny and pushed him on the bed. This fucker just didn’t know. Riding was my specialty. We did that for about a good half hour till he nutted. He looked at me then down at his dick as I climbed off him. Oh yeah baby you the shit. The next morning I woke up looked over at Tim and said a prayer. Life was so funny sometimes but my thing was to live till I die. I looked in my closet at the portrait of Donnie I hung as a daily reminder I was worthy of love and commitment. I looked over at the p.y.t. I shared my bed with. From how comfortable he was I knew he wasn’t leaving no time soon. I hadn’t figured out his bullshit or games but in due time I would. All these queers had tricks up their sleeves. But as stupid or used as I may be at times I was sure of one thing. The sun rose and that shit set. I may be getting old but I ain’t done yet.

Champagne’s Conflict

Champagne woke up wanting somebody. It had been a minute since she’d had that touch that said,” You’re special,you’re sexy, you’re woman”. Had been a minute since she had even heard the words despite a rather robust sexual life. She assumed the position of easy to please and adjustable for any pose or position. The men were just happy she didn’t have her hand out and took the dick and sucked it and sucked their assholes and kissed too. How she’d let them pull her hair till the wig clips relented , snatched off bald. How they could choke her even throw in some smacks. Champagne loved it all, the more he did , the hotter she got for them.Didn’t make a difference how disrespectful or vile it was ” supposed to be , Champagne didn’t give a fuck.It turned her on to be used and in turn to use these men for requited lustful fun. For them it was a nut , future jack off material. For her it was validation, it hit somewhere spiritually, it was proof of her womanhood, to be fucked like a nasty bitch. So this morning, when the sky is that icy blue, not quite sky and gleaming with sun, when the brightness pierced her cunt cave, she vowed to get some. To get that touch.

She got up went to her bathroom, took a shit , lit a blunt and turned on the shower to steam up her thoughts. Decrying the vapid predictability of her venue or venues depending on the desperation. It had been about a week since her last validation and that itch assuaged by nightly or sometimes twice a day visits to Pornhub. It all made the mens so enticing . ” She loved some “mens”, laughing at her grandmother’s word. The mens with their bestial energy and all that ferocious sexiness capped by a hard point.

It did something to her to bless those points, to make them spit out happy juice to allow them to beat out the frustration and sickness and ego strokes and freakiness and fantasy . All of it was a go for Champagne. She’d lost count of how many points sh’e had the pleasure of blessing. It made her no nother mind, she owned her crown as a whore.

It was an ownership that was constantly changing , that became harder to act out with her rise in living standards.She wasn’t rich by any means but she had transcended the broke days of her past. She had a few dollars now, she took trips and she delighted in excess, food, clothes, alcohol and jewelry. She had some things going for her and that elevation from her past made it harder to justify the deviance of her present. Things like the walks that led to pull ups , that led to convos. that led to dick in her mouth and /or ass no questions or names exchanged or asked. It made it harder to consider the bummy dudes with big bulges, the desire in passing motorist eyes, the entertainment through that culturally endemic stare of the Latin papis. The kind she once was putty for but now avoided like the plague. Nah her hoe-ing, her searching, her flirtations became mainstream like everyone else’s and she used them apps religiously.It was a socially misplaced idea of safety for she was a Black transgender woman. One who depending on the day , the audience, the outfit seemed to pass enough. Or at least enough to not be called man to her face

So what was up? She just had to admit that she was a hoe. And she had feelings. Hoes had feelings too and it was a shame that it went against the rules to admit that, to own that , to still push forward as an oxymoron. A hardened bitch nursing some soft shit for a dick that never would. It brought to mine all those talk shows and all those life coaches and posts on Instagram or Twitter with some bitch talking about the key to happiness and love is within you. Or her favorite ,” When I stopped looking or I started to take care of me, my Mr. Right just appeared.” Privileged Pussy holders. She wasn’t consciously a hater, just envious in how oblivious they were to the world, who was chosen, who gets passed over, who literally disappears in the world if she doesn’t yell ,” I’m a woman too.”

The hot water kissed then burned Champagne’s skin. She let herself take the heat, need it , consume it although in truth she liked her water lukewarm. She soaped up and scooped up her penis making sure to catch the cracks of her pelvic area, under her belly , between her thighs. All the cracks and all the juicy fatness was covered in white suds. Let her mind drift to her type. She went for hard men. You know that uncouth, tough, hood educated shaggy pubes, holes in boxers types with rocky meats. She didn’t know what it was but that type usually gravitated to her and they usually were anatomically blessed. Bovine tools with big hands that delighted in her hot fudge and Entemmans body, a body fed by fried chicken, greens, a body built to be beat on. A body that reminded them of their momma and grandmomma minus the penis. The body type these new men ran from in favor of Kim Kardashian and Nicki Minaj prototypes. Champagne always a Black man apologist, someone who put their pain and pleasure over her own attempted to borrow from the desirables; a lightness, a compliance, even down to her wigs that were always light colored. That was a recent switch up. She’d lost count of how many guys had started calling her ‘exotic’ or interesting for the many styled lighter tresses. Even her own natural hair was dyed blond. Skin bleaching was too extreme for her but she made sure that Sephora foundation was at least two shades lighter than suggested. It was always bout moderation.

Of course the mind fuck of it all was that secretly she still had thoughts of more. Still pined for her King, her boo, for a friend. It’s something that she had obsessed over time in the world and socially , how folks became lovers and lost or destroyed the friend part of it. In her mind, the two should be one in the same. And if one didn’t love their friends, what was the bond based on that held them together? It was her private, unwinnable struggle exploited on national tv and reality shows with caricatured puppets looking for “real” love. It was the source of sermons of preachers, hoteps, church ladies and around the way girls. What was love and how to get as close to a version as reality would allow. The onus on one to prove their loveability by any number of socially sanctioned edicts regardless of the pain incurred or the lack of’s and trauma and rationalizations and simply how love amongst oppressed people never quite lives up to that picket fence ideal. Champagne understood that plus all the baggage she wore, owned and inherited. She wasn’t high on anyone’s relationship goals. Her acceptance of this social norm and configuration and normalization of being a whore kept her friend list short. Bitches was critics period was her mind state. They spent their life seeing themselves as Cinderella woke and for sure marketing and rating their glass slippers as something worth attaining. The fallacy really in how precious and easily glass breaks. Love was something else she thought as she toweled off her body, the sun now out gleaming into her cunt cave. She reached for a blunt and signed onto her tinder account. ” Time to play”, she said aloud to herself filled with the familiar anxiety and resignation that searching for comfort with strangers produced.

“Break My Soul” and My Pride

Beyonce’s song ,” Break my Soul” dropped on me like a wake up smack this morning. I got my whole life hearing the heavy house themes and Mrs. Queen Bey and Big Freedia. It activated every juicy Queer bone in me and made me echo a ” Yass” out loud. It took me back to my teenage years and exploring my then Gay identity. A big part of that was my discovery of House and Deep House music and the many Queer artists who dominated the genre. Specifically the Black Queers, the Mothers and Fathers who gave life to their gay and straight brethren with the spirit of sauce and sass and bass and resistance. I lived for it. From Everybody, Everybody, Mr. Frankie Knuckles ” Tears” and the Whistle song. The hits by Ms. CeCe Peniston, Robin S, Sylvester, Junior Vasquez and more. I kept them songs downloaded on my Ipod during my forays into the Village. It was almost like I was time traveling in my ears prowling the places my Gay and trans ancestors made themselves their fiercest selves and these songs immortal in the present time.

It has always been bigger than music. Hearing that song today made me acknowledge the absence of Gay and trans people in my life. If I’m being real , I’m estranged as fuck from my community. And I have always been. I swear that this isn’t intentional as much as it’s circumstantial and situational and the formula for bonding just didn’t always fall in my lap when it came time to connect with my Queer people. There’s always esoteric aspects of cultures and in the cases of marginalized people there is layers and layers of things intrinsic to the experience. It is easy to fall through the cracks of connection if you lack the talk, the walk , the look. If you are without that year book and ignorant to events and the who’s who and literal words, you can easily be left out the loop. And I am one of those kinds of community members. Common in this NYC area is the association of Black and Latino Gays and Trans people being associated with houses and Mothers and Fathers. By extension, is a whole other cast of people who become associates. It becomes a everybody kinda knows everybody deal except when it ain’t. I never found my Gay family. Never had a Gay mother or Father. I don’t consider it a loss as much as I just wonder if I had had those kinds of elements in my life, how would that influence the woman that I am today? I bet I wouldn’t have these feelings of estrangement of acknowledging I’m trans but also sometimes not feeling “trans enough”.

None of this is helped by my introvert inclinations and the Pandemic was a doozy. So Ima show myself a little grace and for this Pride month and going forward Ima try to connect more with my people especially my Black trans women. I am fortunate to live in the NYC area home to at least 20 million bazillion Queers of all kinds. I’ve really no excuse besides my own anxieties , my own shames , my own bullshit wiring that makes it too convenient to run from myself and my people at times. Happy Pride to all and may we all take a page from Bey and never let them Break our soul!!!!

Note: I use Queer as an encompassing term for the LGBT + community .



Ring, Ring, Ring. Damnit. I slammed my Nextel down so hard on the dresser pissed off at my once again stupid ass boyfriend Craig. Fuck him. I steamed hugging my teddy bear. Ugh I’m Kamila Rice, National Honor Society, Mayor’s Youth Council,3.5 GPA as well as admission to Princeton in the fall. Not to mention I wasn’t ugly either. Around 5’4, 125 lbs, honey colored, high cheekbones and some pouty pink lips, straight teeth and my well managed weave I got done about once a month courtesy of my aunt Iesha. I also had nice c-cup breasts and a nice ass that made many men disbelieve I was only 17.And up until prom still a virgin. Fucking Craig, who I’d started going out with in September after paying his ass no mind after four years at Stamford High. But Craig who was tall, darkskin, basketball player body had stepped up his dress game a tenth fold. All throughout the year we’d been trying to fuck because he was surprisingly still a virgin as well. The roadblocks were our 50 year old mothers, real old fashioned and both of us had full houses denying any privacy especially since my dumb ass sister moved back home. 

Nevertheless prom night we got it popping in my mom’s car. But ever since then a week ago, Craig was ignoring me, paying more attention to his boys than me. Fuck him I knew my pussy was good. As I reminisced over Craig’s dumb ass and all the boys I used to date, I was hit with the desire to go out. Damn! I wish I lived in New York or some big city. Stamford, CT a suburb about 45 minutes from Manhattan wasn’t exactly the type of place for a night on the town. However it was June, nice outside and bound to be some cute boys out with an honest to Pete hard dick. I didn’t really care. I washed, douched, shaved my legs, oiled my body and picked out a pair of daisy dukes and a baby doll tee. On my feet were a pair of Coach sneakers and my gold ankle bracelet that made my skin sparkle. I threw on some lip-gloss, nothing serious because makeup should be used sparsely. Tonight the house was quiet. My mother and sister had gone upstate to see my grandmother and would be there overnight.                                                                       

Before leaving the crib ,I packed my mace, condoms, money and pack of Newports. Walking the street, I saw cars pass by some with all niggas, or a couple or sometimes dudes just by themselves. Each and every one of them had a different length, different strokes, different sex. A bitch like me was going to find it. I just didn’t want my rep ruined. A small city like Stamford everybody fucked everybody. Girls were dissed crazy, everything you did was put on blast. Not to mention ,Black girls were put in a tough situation. In Stamford, black boys tended to flock to white and Spanish girls saying they were better in so many ways to sistahs. To compete, black girls had to go to lengths. In the process, our reputations were turned to shit later. There was this one girl Sharia who fucked over 50 dudes. Apparently there was a list of her conquests that got stolen by her friend and posted on Myspace. There were also videos and photos of this chick. Damn near the whole town had seen her ass, titties and pussy. Now she messed around with girls since no dude would be caught dead talking to her ass. 

Damn, I thought about all this as I stopped in front of McDonalds. About a hundred teenagers were outside and inside the restaurant. I saw an acquaintance Shamika and a few other girls posted up. I didn’t really have any friends especially this year when I had gotten on my grind with school. However they were chilling, passing a blunt and attracting a lot of boys. Looking down at me I knew these hoes were no competition. Now I narrowed my eyes on potentials. There were quite a few honeys out tonight, most of them from outta town.  There was this slim, lightskin thang with cornrows, real pretty, total slut. I liked this tall Hershey bar with dimples but I wasn’t feeling how tight his jeans were. Damn. I needed a hard, bad boy. I finally came to that conclusion.  I was pulling from my second blunt, keeping an eye out for the cops when my eyes beheld him. A man. He was no boy, this was a man. 6 feet, real slim but hard, the color of caramel, face covered with facial hair and an eyebrow piercing. Not to mention he was real ruggedly dressed jeans hanging off his ass, oversize white tee and some white uptowns. I was staring him down as he clowned and joked with some dudes. I drifted off a bit staring blankly into space imaging what his dick looked like, how or did he eat pussy and what was his favorite position. I must’ve been really out of it cause next thing I knew a presence was in front of me talking. “Yo shawty,ayy girl,yo,” someone said. I snapped out of it only to face Mr. Mystery. He was cheesing real hard. I faked annoyance, ”Dag boy can I breathe?” 

“Chill ma I was just gonna tell you ,ya roach so low it;s gon burn ya pretty fingers.” I looked down to see my blunt on its last pull ashes sprinkling amongst my shorts. I grinned,” Thank you.” He just looked open-mouthed quiet. At first I thought it was me but then I heard a ruckus, saw boys scrapping and girls screaming. He finally snapped out of it  and ran over to join in. Shamika and her peoples had  got in a car and asked if I needed a ride but I shrugged them hoes off. I was still feeling Mr. Nameless. Through the ruckus I kept my eyes peeled on him. I was not letting that boy get away. 

He finally disengaged his fists from some poor boy’s face and looked around for his friends but it was deserted. “Shit”, he cursed kneeling holding his face in his hands. I approached cautiously, “Get up yo we need to get out of here”. He looked up snickered, “Aiight ma we out”. My nipples got hard just hearing this boy’s voice. We were silent for a while as we walked away from the ruckus. “I’m Kamila”.                                                        “Allen sweetie”, he pulled out  a clear bottle from his jeans.” Want some vodka?” “Sure why not?”. We sat on a bench in this deserted park laughing, talking just chilling. Allen was a real rebel bad ass. He told me stories of being locked up fighting, raising all types of hell. And as farfetched and crazy as some of these tales sounded I was even more enthralled with this boy. When he started telling me about robbing some poor fuck one night I knew I was going to give him some pussy. I finally interjected a little tipsy, “Can I feel your abs?”. He laughed, “Only if I can feel your ass.” “Well in that case”, I added, “I want to feel something else.” For a good twenty minutes or so we fondled and kissed. I was squirming like hell when he stuck his middle finger in my twat. He’d basically pulled down my shorts and was finger fucking me on a park bench. I was soaking wet. “Sweet Jesus ya pussy tight girl”, Allen moaned kissing my lips, “You got my dick brick. I looked down and saw his big meat about to bust out of his plaid boxers. I was about ready to mention the condoms in my bag when we saw two drunken Mexicans stumbling and shit our way. “Come on nigga”, I stood up pulling up my shorts, “we going to my crib”. “Word”, he cheesed. The whole walk home Allen kept his right hand in  the back of my shorts gripping my ass. My pussy was so wet my panties were slipping and feeling like a pamper.  

Rushing through the door and running to my room, Allen and I wasted no time getting down to business. His dick looked prettier and bigger than it had in the park. He forced me onto it. “Ride it girl, ride it ma come on thoroughbred”, he yelled. And ride that shit I did. Allen was full of energy and beating my pussy out the frame. When I complained and asked him to take it out and bust, he said, “Shut up bitch .Turn over.” Those words forced me to my stomach and take them backshots. Allen was the man. “Who pussy is this?, ”he asked. “Yours nigga”I answered . I was going crazy making  inaudible sounds. Allen finally nutted. I just looked up at him as he lit a Newport. I couldn’t help what spilled out, “I love you”. “Sure”, he laughed his body shaking dick semi erect. “Come here baby blow me”. Now if Craig would’ve ever said some shit like that I would’ve bit his dick off and chewed his ass out with all types of vernacular. But oddly enough I was crawling across my queen size bed and  blowing Allen like a chocolate blow pop. “You love this dick girl. You love the dick.” I was throwing that shit because his eyes were rolling in the back of his head.  

He finally pushed my head off him. “Turn over”, he commanded. I was expecting him to fuck again so I asked him to use a condom to which he told me to shut the fuck up. It was quiet for a minute then I felt the soft wet exterior of a tongue. Allen was licking my pussy so sweet tears came to my eyes. Then that tongue moved up. Baby whoever said ass is nasty is a fucking liar. That tongue in and out of my asshole felt blazing.Allen was going in eating ass out. He started spitting on it then I heard a condom rip. Before I knew it Allen had his fat dick in my ass. It was like being a virgin again. It hurt so bad nothing could escape my mouth. I was tensing up trying to squeeze it out. “Chill boo I got you “,Allen moaned. He went slower and steadier till I got used to it. I actually started to like it, the way his dick felt right in my stomach. He finally stopped. “What happened?” I asked looking back at his sweat drenched body beads rolling down his 6 pack. He laughed,” I nutted. I looked back at him a little disgusted. He laughed again at my puzzled expression, “Ass is tighter than pussy” He pulled out and I could’ve cried when I saw the condom caked with shit. It didn’t seem to faze Allen who just shrugged and said, “shit happens. You a virgin. Besides a little shit wont hurt this big dick.” We went to the bathroom to wash up and fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

I was tingling all over. I woke Allen up around 6 am and told him he had to go I gave him my # and made him promise to call me. He cheesed, “You aint gon neva forget me. I beat that pussy right. Opened up new tunnels and all.” I tried to give him a kiss but he just moved away and said, “Save it for someone special. Im’a holla. And he was gone. Damn was I not the biggest  slut or what. I’d just fucked  a boy who I’d known less than 24 hours. Didn’t know his last name, where he lived, nothing. Sucked his dick and took it in the ass. But you know I didn’t feel the least bit guilty or nasty at all. I waited for Allen to call but he never did. I started going downtown to see if I could run into him. But nobody knew who I was talking about or if they did said they hadn’t seen him in a while. This was almost a week now so Thursday I went to the mall to see about an outfit for graduation. I spotted Allen all hugged up with some stank looking trick with a crazy shape. I peeped her Louis bag, Gucci outfit and jewels and called it for what it was. He was using this bitch. I was expecting him to stop, say hello but this Negro looked me in the face and kept it pushing. 

I didn’t get mad. I actually laughed. But I took that as a lesson. I was going to treat niggas the way they treated girls. Fuck a feeling. Relationships were too complicated and besides sex with no strings attached was the shit. I was free unbound. Society deemed me a whore, I was sexually liberated. And unlike these other broads I wouldn’t fuck friends, do threesomes or fuck people from the same hood. Hell I was actually looking for  a grown man to teach this young girl some new tricks. I knew I was on some whole other level. 

Friday rolled around again. I dressed with care, smelled nice, and smoked a fat blunt, looked over my room, college acceptance letter, and honor roll certificates. Who said you couldn’t be a fun nerd? The house was empty this week as well, my family off at some fucking crab fest in Maryland. Fat bitches. I laughed as I left my house. I stopped a Target before I reached McDonalds, bought an enema, condoms and lubricant. The heat of the night hit me and like every other Friday night in this dead ass town McDonalds was the spot for the under 21 year olds. Time to go get it popping! Mama was long overdue. 

Bald and Beautiful

I cut my hair on Sunday March 27th. It was something that had came to me to do in spurts over the last two years or so. It would be this wild idea that popped in my head after the frustration of dealing with my myriad of hair issues and the mixed feelings I held about wearing wigs. Cutting my hair is similar to what it felt like when I stopped wearing wigs religiously and just wore my natural; bad assed and necessary. Black women and our hair is always a thing. No matter how we wear it , no matter how long or short, it always comes with some shit . It is at once a measure of pride as well as a source of constant pressures. It is a force amongst us and the complicated history of being a Black woman means that our hair remains a very hot topic no matter how we wear it. I ,must add being a large bodied, darkskin transwoman, it is bold as fuck of me to break away from conventional measures of beauty. Most transwomen’s first foray into womanhood is through how we wear our hair. Hair is seen as one of the quickest ways to fem yourself up. In this Eurocentric society, long ,straight hair is the ideal. Hair itself should be long whatever your texture. It is seen as the mark of beauty and of womanhood itself. Much like when I initially went natural, I used it to measure my own womanhood. The reasoning was ,” Am I a woman because I wear my hair in styles endorsed by conventional femininity or am I woman in spite of it?” I’ve come to find that I still felt beautiful and womanly with my natural hair. I’ve always loved natural hair and as a Black woman it is necessary for my own sense of self. By discarding white supremacist fixtures(i.e. wigs and styles not African), I could find a way of healing myself. Existing as one’s self should not be predicated on self hate.

I feel like to be a transwoman, you are forced to accept yourself in so many ways as never being good enough. The pressure to conform to models that we will never genuinely meet leaves us constantly feeling the need to nip and cut and adorn and embellish. And I’m not knocking it because privileges are real and for some women their only way of being seen as a woman in the world is to conform as much as possible. This includes cis women too. Magnify it by a 1000% the pressure for Black women who barely get seen as women in this country period. I’ve found that cutting my hair has been like a major fuck you to the systems that be. I’ve found a peace in just being myself without the baggage of hair. I’ve found it restorative to show up in the world as I am.

I cut my hair on Sunday March 27th and later that night the Oscars aired. The next day, I’d find out about the slap that had everybody in their feelings. It’s past time that people stop playing with Black women and taking us for fucking jokes. It’s past time that our hair ,our bodies and our lives become pieces for everyone to consume, mimic and discard as though we are nothing. We are just as good as any other race of women. We are as much of women as any other race of women. They attack us cause the shine is too great. They beat us down cause still we rise. And they try to clown us cause they envy that which they can never be. Beautiful Black Women.

I’m not sure where my hair story will go from here. I do feel like I won’t ever be afraid again to cut it all off. I do feel as though I won’t be beholden to any style or length especially in textures not my own. I have to re-learn a lot of things. I have to continue to find ways to purge the harms I’ve absorbed as a Black transwoman and a lot of that is battling the messages and messengers who say I shouldn’t exist or that my existence is predicated on a conformity that endorses self hate. My work will never be done . I , along with millions of other Black women are doing the work and I love it. We owe it to the ancestors, our descendants and ourselves .


The haircut suited her. It allowed for no pretense, took away any shred of allegiance, declared her a forever rebel by the audacity of the thing. It had been years in the making that moment when those clippers took away that tortured crown. A breakthrough moment, a permanent and temporary fix to a problem never solution-ed.

It was never ending the plight of her hair. All the stages she took it through, all the styles she tried, all the baggage she’d accumulate and all the dips and dives of esteem. How it never blossomed. How it would reach one point and not proceed and always fighting some element. Its poor state a reflection of its’ owner all beaten down shred of a bitch who fought her hardest every day to retain some dignity, to own herself flaws and all . Forced to be in the competition, forced to resign herself to her place on the totem pole, to from the bottom look at all the rest in their varying degrees of baggage and self hate, extolling and praise.

The haircut suited her. It forced her to trust her face, to love her body with thrusts of a can’t be stopped. It took away their version of woman. It removed the idol of femininity they forced her to pray upon. She became her own god. She became her own woman.


The young brown skinned thing was a queer sight walking up and down West 10th street. The cold winds wafting off the Hudson chilled her neck. She hoisted up her skirt and flashed her brown glory hole to passing cars with willing johns. At this time of night , most of the johns were old white guys from Jersey looking for forbidden fruit nestled in brown and black bodies. The young girl was strikingly beautiful with a baby face caked with makeup to add years to her age. She had long black hair, fierce peanut brown eyes framed by the longest lashes. Her body wasn’t all that developed but she had that look that suggested in a few years she’d be a brick. 

One particular black BMW pulled up to honey who was sitting now in a deserted bus stop. Oblivious or perhaps hardened to the cold she bent her ass over into the face of the driver. He smiled and grinned. Young bitches in New York were easy. He was a country bumpkin from N.C. with a little money in the ban and a penchant for young gals. It was making up for his own little dick women his own age ridiculed him for. “Say shawty” he drawled, “what’s ya name?’’ The young girl laughed, cleared her throat and answered Nay Nay. “Come on honey” she peered out at the dark Village streets. “Aiight girl ,I’m Ralph. “

They drove for a while listening to 2pac.Nay Nay in her own thoughts thinking he was sort of cute. But the worst about black johns was that they had the tendency to have a big dick loosening her grip or trying to beat her outta her money. Ralph kept checking the pretty girl out unable to figure out what was up. Something just wasn’t fitting. Nay Nay glanced at the clock on the dashboard now reading 2:02 a.m. Ralph asked, “How old are you?” Nay Nay paused because she had forgotten to ask the cop check questions but the smell of weed in the car reassured her. “I’m 15” ,she answered truthfully. Ralph cocked his head back and laughed. “Yeah Ima have a whole bunch of fun”. Nay Nay just rolled her eyes thinking of the money she’d make. It cost $100 to go to a hotel plus outta borough was another hundred dollars extra. They drove for the next half hour in complete silence finally reaching a roach motel on the Bronx-Mount Vernon border. Ralph guided her to the second floor and pushed his key in the door. The smell of weed, cheap soap and over bleached sheets greeted them. Ralph wasted no time finding his el laced with coke and dust. 

It would get him high as cloud nine and his dick as hard a priests’ in a room full of boys. Nay Nay peeped a Louis Vuitton suitcase under the bed and some watches and rings that could fit Mr. T thrown haphazardly around the room. She was still standing because it was her nature to let the man make the first move. Ralph smoked his lah checking out his brown vixen. “Gal c’mere and lay some mouth love on me.” Nay Nay walked across the thin red carpet and got on her knees. Ralph’s jeans and boxers were already on the floor. Nay Nay was able to deep throat Ralph’s 5 inches easily. She made slurping, choking sounds that men liked. Ralph’s eyes were going to the back of his head as if he was retarded. “Yeah suck dat shit baby girl”. As he placed his hands on Nay Nay’s bobbing head she began to get angry. He smelled like Otis, Nay Nay’s first also one of her mother’s boyfriends. Otis was 34 and Nay Nay just five when he decided she was old enough to take some dick. Ralph’s rough hands on Nay Nay’s ass took her out of her trance. Ralph felt the baby soft skin and removed her tight jean skirt and white panties. He was feeling for her nice tight clit when he felt the rough solid exterior of two growing testicles. “What the fuck,” he yelled.” You sick psycho faggot little bitch”. Nay Nay woke out of her trance not even realizing Ralph was screaming at her. She’d been too busy reminiscing about Otis, being a sweet little girl the way he liked and making money on the hoe stroll for crack headed ass Aunt Cookie. Ralph stood up little dick still hard, eyes blazing red. He smacked the shit outta Nay Nay. “You nasty little freak.” He grabbed her by her hair pulling it so hard he was ripping it out her roots. “Oww stop,” Nay Nay yelled, “please let me go. I’m sorry. “With that sorry Nay Nay took a punch to the gut. Smack, boom, faggot, nasty bitch. Slap boom. All of this as Ralph forgot he was beating on a defenseless fifteen year-old 130lb boy. When his hand caught on Nay Nay’s tooth he was satisfied and dropped her to the floor. He huffed, “stupid faggot bitch. I ain’t no fucking homo” he spat at Nay Nay who looked up at him with the utter hatred and disgust of every gay man ever abused or attacked. Nay Nay got up no longer pretty with her face bruised and purple, hair half ripped out bleeding from the edges. When Nay Nay went to the bathroom and saw her face she blacked out. 

Meanwhile in the bedroom………. 

Ralph continued to muse about what just happened. Pedophile he was, fag he wasn’t. He felt bad about roughing the pretty little boy up but maybe that’s what he needed, a man to beat the sissy out him. He laughed when he thought of this. The coke and dust was messing with his mind. Nay Nay walked out the bathroom holding a steak knife. She stopped in front of Ralph who looked at the disheveled drag queen laughing. “Sissy put dat knife down for I shove it down ya throat. Pussy ass, shit eating dick suckin”-was all Ralph got out before the knife jutted across his larynx. Nay Nay backed up watching Ralph stutter and sputter up blood trying to get his words out. Nay Nay now had tears streaming down her face.   Otis had finally gotten his due. Nay Nay looked under the bed and grabbed the suitcase. Just as she thought it was full of money. She wasn’t stupid though grabbing up all the jewelry, cash in Ralph’s pocket and anything else he liked. Her final duty was taking the knife out of Ralph’s throat and wiping down the doorknobs. Ralph had ceased struggling and charged it to the game. His final moments on earth were spent watching a pretty young boy rob him of his all.  

Nay Nay backed outta the room and booked it up the street in her Jordan’s which were peeling from over wear, jumping outta cars, running from police. She chucked the knife in a sewer drain before hopping the 2 trains downtown to Chelsea Projects where she lived. Nay Nay walked to the back of the empty train platform. At night NYC with its millions of lights shone beautiful, magnificent, proud. So many people, so many stories. As usual the train was empty. Nay Nay had no knowledge of time. She knew Cookie would be mad but she’d have to get over it especially once she saw all the money. As more people got on the train ,Nay Nay got a little self-conscious. She was usually gorgeous. Few people male or female, straight or gay could tell she wasn’t a real girl. The way Ralph worked her over she looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Sugar Shane.  But the people on the train paid her no mind. In NY no one gave a fuck or a second look especially at this time of the morning when only workingmen, crackheads, freaks or night people like Nay Nay were on. It had started to snow as the train descended to 149th and 3rd avenue. Nay Nay slowly drifted off to sleep almost missing her stop at 23rd street. 

Walking up the block slowly to see if her evil, light skinned, red-haired, fat ass aunt was outside. But Chelsea Houses were empty. The snow felt cool on her scalp. When Nay Nay felt that he knew it was bad, her hair was her pride and joy. Getting in the building’s piss stenched elevator Nay Nay’s heart beat a mile a minute. She crept down the hall and knocked on herdoor. Aunt Cookie stood there in a thin flannel nightgown no bra on ,nipples hard and all. Cookie used to be a dime before she let the world take over her. She and Nay Nay’s mother Sonya were top-notch whores at a madam house till it got raided. Now woken up at 5 in the morning she looked like a raging bull especially seeing Nay Nay all bruised up. “ How in the hell would she go on the stroll later,” Cookie selfishly thought. Nay Nay had brushed past Cookie and gone to her room with the suitcase. 

“Where ya simple ass been? You know 3:30 is ya cutoff time. What the fuck is wrong with you? And you all busted up?” Cookie asked 

“Aww leave me alone”, Nay Nay yelled as she attempted to disrobe. 

“What bitch?!” Cookie looked crazed. The dime of coke she sniffed before bed was showing its side effects. Cookie ran at Nay Nay who looked unfazed. But instead of crying or cowering like usual Nay Nay stood firm. Cookie threw an uppercut that Nay Nay ducked. She tried to reach down and grab Nay who was 100 lbs. smaller. Nay Nay kicked her in her mouth stunning Cookie who couldn’t rebound. Two hits to the dome by a paperweight knocked Cookie the fuck out.” Oh shit” Nay Nay said out loud,” I ain’t mean to kill her.” But a few seconds later she heard light snores erupting from the obese body. Still in a trance Nay Nay hobbled off to the bathroom. To be such a dirty bitch, Cookie kept a spotless house. The irony wasn’t lost on Nay Nay when she stepped in the shower full blast. The hot water was like an elixir reawakening the 15 year old who’d seen and done so much. Life was always so hard. Nay Nay was short for Naymond, the only pimp Sonya had ever loved. From now on, Nay Nay and Naymond were both dead. Freedom would be her new name. Freedom reached for the scissors sitting on the sink and started to chop off her remaining pretty black hair. Chop, Chop as the stank hair fell to the floor. Freedom cried harder. She kept cutting until nothing else would go. 

Freedom got dressed in a pair of skintight jeans she lifted from the G.A.P., a dark purple sweater and Cookie’s black snow boots. Finally she dabbed on a good amount of cover up and lip-gloss. She looked real nice she thought. Freedom got the Louis duffel she took from Ralph counted out about $8,000 in various denominations not counting the 3 g’s Ralph had on his person and his jewels. Freedom got a few papers she’d need and bounced closing the door lightly. A few inches of snow had fallen. In the dark purple morning Freedom walked up 8th avenue towards Penn Station. She didn’t know where she was going. A blue Impala pulled up beside her as she walked. The driver side rolled down a young darkskin man hollered, “Yo shawty get in. You wifey status. Get ya sexy ass in.” Freedom peered in and was like fuck it. She had money, a .38 she took from Cookie and a newfound sense of freedom. Furthermore the driver was cute and had wheels. “Aiight cowboy where we going?” she asked as he got in. “Chicago, shawty rock” he answered. The sounds of Bonnie and Clyde 03 by Jay –Z sprinkled the air as the pair pulled off in the early New York morning, 

The Chat Line 


“Chicken Noodle Soup, chicken noodle soup, chicken noodle soup with a soda on the side. Let’s get it ,lets get it”, the new single from Harlem rapper DJ Webstar blared from Hot 97. “What girl that fool did what?”, I laughed out loud at my best friend Asia’s story. She was dancing and telling me the story about her 27 year old boyfriend fucking her in the ass. “Yes Ty, Ty and you know I always been scared to do it in the booty but girl he eased that big shit in and I thought about my girl Lil Kim. Like what I’m a bad bitch”, Asia giggled stupidly. 

It was a nice March day ,sun shining,60 degrees, mofos outside getting ready for  spring and summer.  March was a funny month in NY . Somedays it would be cold as fuck others you’d swear it was summer. “Ty Ty could you braid my hair?”, Asia asked real nicely. I was laying back on her queen sized bed relaxing. Asia was one lucky bitch. She lived in a brownstone with just her mother and father who were never home. Her big bedroom was cute painted torquoise and purple with a canopy bed, flat screen T.V, P.C, and a phat ass closet with all the latest fashions. Asia was about 5’3,lightskin,chinky eyed, full lipped with nice c-cup breasts and a big butt. The only thing was she was bald as fuck. And lucky for her I knew how to braid when she didn’t have money to get her curly weave sewn in. 

“Ugh aiite bitch. Come here”. Asia got up and sat between my legs. I was parting her hair and greasing her scalp. “You know Ty you should call the line, they have a gay part too”, Asia pleaded. “For real boo aint nothing really wrong with you, you gotta get out and live.” “Uh, uh Asia”, I said starting a cornrow, “I will wait till that boy come and want to be with me.”  

Asia sucked her teeth, ”Bitch please. We 16 years old and Im’a keep it real. Mothafuckas aint shit boo. Most of them don’t want no relationships and that’s just straight boys I’m talking about. Think about the gay ones. Remember that time we went to the Village and no dude would even talk to you.” I sighed, ”I’m saying though Asia I hear you but this is NY niggas is wild crazy. What if I get cut up or something? God forbid I mean I wanna get sexed but shit.” Asia shrugged, “Yo sometimes you just gotta take a risk. I met Isaiah off the line and now this nigga wanna be my man, putting money in my pocket, buying me weed, gifts and shit. I  say live life to ya fullest.” Asia got quiet and started rolling up. I was braiding her hair  but a few tears came to my eyes as I realized the truth in Asia’s words.                                                                                                    

  I’d been a closet freak forever, a house boy never really went out or had any close friends except Asia. I went to a good high school Trinity Prep with mostly white kids. The few minority kids that went there weren’t from the hood. I’d been dealt the blow of being too black, too feminine and too fat for guys I tried to talk to. Where the fuck did I belong? Who would love me? Sometimes I raged mad at Mark the childhood friend who took my virginity one night in a stairwell. But I couldn’t really blame him. I’d been gay since kitty was a cat. To make it worse that was around three years ago and after a few more times in the stairs Mark up and moved to Virginia. “Ta da I’m done,” I finished Asia’s hair proud of my expertise. She looked in the mirror at her zig zag design beaming. “Oh that’s why you my favorite fag.” she joked “Nah for real you need to be on 125th with the Africans. Who taught you again?” 

“No one”, I answered, “I just used to watch my mother with Trea and I’d practice on her when no one was around. Ugh what time is it” 9:00 pm the cable box read. “Aiight girl I’m out. Listen give me that chat line #.” She grinned wickedly, ”Its….” 

I hit the streets hard body walking on my usual crack head pace. I lived all the way on the East side but I’d still walk. I loved walking the streets of Harlem. You never knew what you’d see. Not to mention the men. Lawd have mercy. Fresh to def, swaggers outta this world. I’d be turned on sometimes I could only think of SWV’s song “Weak” . I got home around 10. “Nigga where you been at:?”, my stepfather Jeffrey screamed. “Ya moms called ya phone about two times. What the fuck I pay ya bill for” Jeffrey was real yellow with freckles and his face was now dark red. I chuckled a bit,  “My bad. “Ya bad always ya fucking bad”, Jeff taunted.  Angry I responded, ”My bad, dag its only 10 be easy.” I was still standing in the door. Jeff got up and pushed me into the it rocking the pictures on the walls. “What pussy” he got real florid. “I will fuck you up.” I must’ve really bumped my head cause I continued, “Come on damn ain’t you got nobody your own age to bother”. “Jennifer, he yelled “come get this mothafucka.” He popped me in my mouth with his fist. I yowled in pain. My mother came out shaking her head. “Tyrone I done told you about ya smart ass mouth. Now this is between you and ya father.” I screamed, “He my stepfather besides my curfew ain’t till 10:30.” “Mothafucka”, Jeffrey screamed, “its whenever I say it is you faggot bastard. Now take ya punk ass to bed before I catch a case”. I stomped down the hall to my room, the whole way my mother screaming, “stop’ fore you wake up ya sister.” I went to the room I shared with Jeff’s 17 year old son Travis who as usual wasn’t home. I hated both them mothafuckas. It was me who got good grades, cooked, cleaned, stayed outta trouble and they’d bitch and moan. I cried myself to sleep. 

The next day school was dry as usual. My mind was still on last night. I was heated. Life never seemed fair. I cut early right after 3rd period English. I went to 34th street just window shopping. Everything was hectic and busy, typical pace of NYC.  finally made my way to this ice cream parlor on 8th Avenue. Sitting outside eating a double scoop of butter pecan. I was chugging this shit down when two beautiful brownskin boys came walking up holding hands. They looked at me. The shorter one whispered  to the taller one who bust out laughing talking bout stop being mean. Who the fuck did them skinny bitches think they were? They came back out with the shorter one kissing the taller one. The shorter one turned to me,”Oh honey just for advice frozen yogurt tastes just as good and has half the fat.” He strutted off with his man trailing behind him. A few young white people in suits bust out laughing behind me. I grabbed my books and couldn’t control the hot flood of tears that came to my eyes. I looked at my refection in a glass door. I was 5’10,200lbs,ebony colored with a low Caesar haircut. Asia and my mother always said my eyes and lips were my best features. I didn’t feel ugly, I’d seen plenty of ghouls but the way guys acted with me, I just didn’t know. I sighed oh well and jumped on the train, made it uptown about twenty minutes early. No one was home or so I thought when I ran through the door to go to the bathroom. I opened the bathroom door and ran straight into Travis. He looked just like Travis with dimples. He was also currently naked body dripping, package swinging. “Oh sweat I’m sorry I aint-“,I stammered trying to look away from Travis’s big dick. He just glared at me, shook his head and walked out the bathroom muttering, “Fucking homos can’t even escape em in a own house.” I couldn’t resist, I just had to look at his nice, muscle ass dripping wet. I went in the bathroom, handled my biz, walked down the hall to my room. Travis had on some basketball shorts and a white tee about to go out again. All he did was sell drugs, play ball and come and go as he pleased. We never talked or hung out even though we were only two years apart. I lay on my bed and watched him lotion his legs. His Nextel chirped. He picked it up, “yerp”. A female voice came through “Travis I got dis pussy wet. Come through. He laughed, “Aiight shawty rock, I want it steaming. I’ll be there in 5.” He turned to me, ”See Ty get that bitch shit out ya life and you might be able to bag a bitch.” He strutted off slamming the door behind him.  

It was only 2 and I’d have the crib to myself until 6:30. Usually I’d go to sleep but today I was stepping out. Asia had told me the chat line was free so I dialed the number on my house phone, pushed 1 for the gay side. To leave a message for others to hear I simply said, “Yo this is a bottom in Harlem looking for a young top with a nice dick.” The messages other callers left were crazy like ‘I want to get fucked by two or three dudes’ or ‘Yo who have stories of molesting  a younger brother, cousin?’. It was wild. I didn’t receive any messages for the first half hour I was on it. I grew tired of hearing the same shit. What shocked me was the large amount of dudes from Brooklyn and how masculine and sexy they sounded. The automated voice finally said, “You have received a message from” then a voice with an accent said, “ Davis’. “Yo what up you sound real cute. I’m across the bridge in the X. Holla back with your age and descript.”  So I responded back my making myself 30 lbs smaller, milk chocolate complexioned and 18 instead of 16. He responded back, “Yo 37,tall, slim, darkskin cat with a heavy long dick. Call me at 646-555-3906.”. I called him. “Yo who dis”, he answered. “Um this Ty from the line, we just met,” I answered. “Oh hi darling”, his accented voice was real funny. “So where you at?”. “I’m home and you?”, I asked. “Yeah me too listen you know where Castle Hill is?” 

I was scared as hell when I made it to Davis’ door. As he opened the door I almost had to bite my tongue to avoid hurting his feelings. He was an old fucker at least 50 years old, a dull copper color, with salt n pepper hair, large sort of cockeyes and a thin mustache. He had a slight beer belly as well and that’s all I got to examine because he said, “Are you just going to look or leap?” Too weary and horny to leave, I stepped in. The house was dark and cold. I was standing in the living room with my heart in my stomach. “Go into the bedroom straight ahead”, he breathed. I pushed through the door into a maze of lavender, there was even a lavender candle burning. A firm squeeze on my ass took me out of my thoughts. “Damn sweetness, I like dat”, he whispered. He had returned wearing just his white boxers with a hard pole that more than made up for what he lacked facially. He pulled it out and commanded, “Get on your knees”. I did as I was told, started sucking, keeping my head down because ol boy was hella ugly. That accent was aggravating as well. He finally told me to stand up after damn near a half hour. Stripped, bare naked with my ass in the air I couldn’t contain my self, nor was I prepared for Davis’ large dick. My hole was super tight. “Oh damn good pussy baby”, Davis moaned. He was pumping for about five minutes when a horrible smell began to emerge. 

“Ugh damn”, he pulled out and ran to the bathroom. He returned, ”Babez follow me. On the sink in the bathroom was a small bottle filled with water. “Sweetness this is a douche, use it.” I was so embarrassed once I realized what happened. He put his hand on my neck. “Its okay baby ,it happens to everybody.” I took the green cap off, sat on the toilet and inserted the fleet. After I cleansed I made my way back to the bedroom. He was dancing against his dresser, drinking,  He handed me a glass. I  took it to the head like I was a pro but in reality the shit burned. “What’s this?” I sputtered. He answered, “Vodka, rum and cranberry juice.” Damn I drank some more finishing it letting a light weight descend on my stomach. “Lay back”, he commanded. He got on his knees, pushed my legs up and pulled me to the edge of the bed. “Do you know my name?”, he crooed. “No what is it ?”I asked. ”David and soon you will be screaming it”. He started to tongue my tender hole. “Oh, oh, Damn. please shit. David that feel so good. Oh damn baby”, I moaned. He was doing some things with his thick tongue moving in and out. I was going insane from how good it felt. He lifted his tongue from my ass and started twirling it around my dick. He topped me off lovely working his strong jaw muscles. He finally reached for a condom and in one swift motion the monster was inside me pounding savagely. I was in ecstasy the way David commanded me for the next 45 minutes until he finished off with a big sloppy nut in my mouth. 

Later that night on the stoop I called Asia. ‘He did what girl and it was that big was all she kept saying. “Yeah girl”,I said smugly, “ he talking bout he wanna do it again. He ain’t husband material but he do know how to work it. Okay. I got home about an hour ago. But Asia let me holla at chu later. Jeff coming up the block.” Jeff walked up the block  dirty, exhausted, carrying  a liquor bottle and a big ass walkman like it was 1995. “Wassup Ty”, he said very calmly. “Wats good Jeff ?”, I responded equally calm. He reached in his pocket and handed me $20. “What’s this for ?”,I asked surprised at the outburst of generosity. “Just because”, he answered and walked past me in the building. This was a sign of change to come. For the next two months, David and I fucked every three days. It was cool but starting to bore me with David’s insistence on the same position. His ugly face was also stressing me out.  I decided to hit the line up again one warm May afternoon. Met up with this tall brownskin dude from the Polo Grounds. We fucked in the stairs and when he nutted, he zipped up his jeans and kept it pushing. I wasn’t stressing it though. He wasn’t David. For the summer I’d be working doing maintenance in Foster Projects. My mom decided to send Trea down south with my grandmother and visit her sister in Philly. Travis had moved with his girlfriend so it was just me and Jeff. It went like this I’d work, come home and call up the chat line. Jeff would be who knows where. Over the course of two months I met up with six different guys, three of whom I fucked. My first was this big, Spanish guy Derek from 149th .His dick was little but his tongue game was bananas. My second was also my third two young hood dudes who lived in the Dunbar on 150th. We smoked mad trees and got it popping on the roof. I fucked with them on two different occasions. And throughout the summer if I was really horny I’d continue to see David who enticed me with a few dollars here and  there. Jeff and I didn’t interact at all. We just breathed the same air. The other guys I didn’t fuck put me on to something I hadn’t thought of, my image. All three who I hadn’t fucked told me I was too dark, too chunky or too gay. Too gay meant I’d make their shit hot. I’d feel real bad afterwards because here I was thinking I looked alright and these niggas made me feel like shit. By the summer’s end, I was ready to meet that one. I wanted to meet that man who was real, who wanted a shawty to fuck with on the regular. 

Most of the guys on the line lived in Brooklyn and I heard Flatbush Ave and Prospect Park mentioned frequently. So one day I came up with the brilliant idea to go to Prospect Park and call up the line. I was scared as fuck because I’d never been to Brooklyn by myself. I took the hour fifteen minute ride on the D train. Coming outta the station it was dark and deserted. The big park loomed in front of me. I went inside found a bench away from the bikers and joggers, made a sweet message real low so no one could hear and put the system on hold. While I waited for a reply, I thought about why I put my life in danger? Why did I desire sex? Was I disgusting for just being a teenage boy? I mean straight boys fucked as many girls as they wanted. In fact, they were encouraged to. I was no different than them except I messed with my own sex. I clicked back on the line. “You’ve received a message from Black. “Yo shawty hit that three so we could talk one on one. I did. “Yo why you in Prospect Park?” a gruff, masculine voice asked. I answered stupidly, “I don’t know just looking for fun.” He cut in, “You bugging boo. Listen I want some good tight young boypussy. I laughed,” I have a tight young pussy.” He laughed, “That’s wassup. Listen take the  shuttle at Prospect Park to Franklin. My number is 718-555-8945.Jason.” He clicked off. I hung up the phone programming Jason’s# into my phone. I hurried out the park to the train station. Something had jumped off because the block was crawling with 5-0. Waiting for the shuttle was a bummer because it took long to arrive and long to depart. I got off at Franklin a brief 10 minute ride  and hit up Jason. “Yaww”, he picked up “where you at?” “I just got off the train”. “Aiite walk up the block, then make a left, come down Atantic for two blocks and my house # is 434. Matter fact, call me when you get there.” I made my way through the dark Bed-Stuy block acutely aware that I didn’t belong there. People from any hood in NYC can usually tell when somebody isn’t from around there. They’d ice grill you and check you out for various reasons. Boredom/interest, making sure you ain’t affiliated with the NYPD and also to see whether you had beef with somebody from that block. I stopped in front of 434 a black renovated brownstone and called him. “What # I dial?”, I asked anxious. “None. I’m coming out”, he hung up. Out of the downstairs portion a gate opened and I lay eyes on Jason. He was a tall slender glass of chocolate milk, wide nosed and full lips dark from smoking, sucking or both .His large afro extended like a mane. He was the shit. 

 “Yo come in,its hot as fuck outside.” I followed behind him admiring his sculpted body and the way his yellow basketball shorts clung to his body. The apartment was decorated in plastic covered furniture with flowered walls,antique lamps and spotless. It looked like an old person’s crib. The large screen t.v. had a gay porno playing,this big black dude was piledriving this white boy. Jason broke the silence. “So wats ya name?”,he asked cheesing at  me staring straight into my eyes . “Tyrone”,I answered. He looked up me up and down as I just stood in the doorway. He grunted,  “Ty you sort of sexy to be off the line. Come sit next to me.” He patted the couch. Sitting next to him, I was weak as hell. Something about Jason just had me mesmerized and when he started to massage the side of my face, I just knew. That massaging turned into sensual touches. I marveled at how hard and soft his body was at the same time. As Jason stripped me down he breathed real hard. Concerned but wondering why he stopped I asked, “What happened?”. He laughed, “ Ya body is da shit.”  

Later on after our good lovemaking as we lay out exhausted and sweaty we got to know each other. Jason cheesed, “You smell real good shawty and I hope you know I want some more . I aint had no good booty like dis since I came to NY.” I sighed thinking of how good the pipe was. “Where you from?”, I asked. “Oakland, Cali baby. This was my grandmother’s crib and she passed away about two years ago.” Something nagging at me also compelled me to ask, “Do you like me? I mean the way we just had sex.” He looked at me incredulously, then exclaimed, “Yo you got it sexy. You nice ,thick, and juicy. Look at that ass. ”He smacked both cheeks. He continued, “ I like that. These lil fags in NY be looking hungry.” I was grinning like a fool turning away not wanting him to see how happy he was making me. Licking me on the back of my neck, I was so happy for it was the first time in my life someone had praised my merits. I put my hand in his hair. “You should let me braid it. Is it always wild like that? What do they say at your job?” He laughed, “No. No and they don’t say shit because I’m one of the few certified electricians without a green card.” I bust out laughing, “You so stupid”. “It’s the  truth”, he added, “Nothing but Mexicans and them islanders.” I put my head in his chest feeling so protected. He kissed my forehead sweetly as he commanded , “Get on top of me.” He slipped on a condom and I got on top riding that nigga like I was born to do it. Later that night  I left. At the door he said, “Ty be careful. Bed-Stuy is crazy.”  I sucked my teeth. “Negro please I’m a g.” “Yeah gay”, he laughed before shutting the door. 

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something new and exciting had come into my life. As the summer came to a close life changed dramatically. My mother and Jeff were breaking up and she decided to stay in Philly. She figured since I was a growing man I needed a man to teach me how to become one. She was right but I don’t think Jeff was the best candidate. He had shifty mood swings, drank a lot and his favorite hobby was fucking with me. My junior year of high school rolled in. My relationship with Asia had somewhat diminished. She spent every waking moment at her man’s house. I continued to see Jason falling for him more and more. Jason was a rebel to me. An actor by trade he was filled with the various histrionics and eccentricities that artists possess. He drank, smoked weed, cigarettes, popped e and was unashamedly 100% gay. Like me, he was an introvert in the fullest sense of the word. I liked him a lot and with the money I made from my job as a dishwasher, I’d buy him weed, liquor, scarves or hats I thought he might like. He was an avid hat collector. Our relationship grew to the point where he’d occasionally let me braid his hair or kiss him. He simply eschewed kissing. One Thursday right before Thanksgiving I discovered Jason’s profile on Adam4Adam,a gay dating website. He’d asked me to take pictures of him. I obliged but I couldn’t front like I wasn’t hurting. I couldn’t be too mad I reasoned considering I met him through a sex line. 

So I strayed away from Jason  and began calling the line again. None of these dudes stuck but they were interesting. There was Scotty,a short lightskin Jamaican who liked to use toys, Otis an old married man with a 12 inch, Jesus a pretty Spanish boy who  just wanted to eat me out. I left him alone when he started wanting to eat my shit and me shit on him.  I met some monsters as well like this big scary dude on West Farms in the Bronx. I was so scared walking in that dark brownstone. Homeboy was wheezing with bugged out pop eyes, real black and these hideous fungus looking lips. He had sounded so good over the phone but in person he was hot shit. And this fucker had the nerve to say I wasn’t his type.  What the fuck I wanted to gag was his type? I also met this one dude who made me want to leave the line alone for a while. Me and this dude Simon had been talking over the phone for about two weeks. I went to his Queensbridge apartment one Friday night. He opened the door an average height clean cut black man. His house was real plain and quiet at first but going into the living room was a shrine with beads, black candles, animal skulls, pictures of different deities and black curtains. Everything was black. Simon started humming from the bathroom where he had gone. “Okay sweetie”, he crooed, “ Lets go.” I looked at the long black robe he now sported and for the first time peeped the black nail polish he had on. This voodoo mothafucka scared me so much I ran as fast as I could from his house. 

Right before Christmas, Jeff told me on one of his sober days that he’d continue to pay the bills and such but he was going to be living with his girl.  This was good news to me since I’d now be able to dodge the seedy looks he threw my way. I had left my enema on the bathroom floor one night that Jeff inevitably found. He confronted me about it,telling me he always knew I was a faggot. He told me to change my ways or dying of AIDS was what awaited me. This reduced me to tears because I had had a few close calls with condoms breaking. I was so depressed and knew I couldn’t go into 2007 not knowing my status. So one day I skipped school and made my way to the AIDS center on  East 11th street. There were plenty of clinics that could’ve tested me in Harlem but you just never knew who’d you bump into. Going inside the Center I became even more depressed and sad. Looking at these people some clearly afflicted with the disease made me realize how stupid I was.  Most of the people there were in their 40’s and 50’s,part of that first generation ignorant to how the disease was spread. They’d seen friends and loved ones pass on. They had an excuse, they didn’t know how AIDS was spread. I on the other hand could only chalk it up to passion and hormones beating using my head. I saw flyers about recreation, cheap drugs, housing, etc all for people living with the virus. Me personally I don’t think I could do it. I vowed if I was positive to jump in the East River and I was dead set serious. My tester was this big black man who looked real hard and tough. That said I was hesitant to answer questions about my sex life. He seemed to sense it and said, “I ain’t here to judge or condemn you and trust that I’ve seen and heard it all.” “Lay it on me”, he added kindly. We took the swab and those 25 minutes were the longest of my life. I was scared shitless saying a million prayers. When my tester came back and said, “You tested negative for HIV antibodies”, I bust into tears.   

My tester handed me my results ,a package containing condoms and lube and wished me well. Jason called me Christmas Day. I was alone of course. I had made a steak dinner  and played B2K back to back. My mother had sent me $300 and Jeff had dropped off $500. I was lonely as fuck. Jason calling took me out of my misery so I invited him over. He showed up about an hour later. Jason looked real nice wearing some fitted black jeans, a faux fur coat and a pair of fresh ACG boots.  He sniffed the air, “Aww shit baby you been cooking for daddy.” “ Shut up clown”, I cheesed taking the bottle of wine he held in his hand. When I returned to the living room carrying his plate and wine, I saw how comfortable honey had became. “Excuse me”, I said pushing his feet off the table, “some manners you have.” “And why are you still wearing them shades?”, I asked taking them off his face. Both of Jason’s  eyes were blacked. I recoiled in shock. “Real pretty”, he grinned. “Who did this to you? Where they at?”, I asked heated. He laughed and told me his bout of bad luck one afternoon. Apparently some big fat bitch was talking mad shit about gays in the supermarket then directed the conversation to Jason who was standing behind her. So he took offense and started going in on this bitch cutting so much ass on her weight, cheap shoes and busted weave. He continued with the story,    “ Somehow she must’ve called someone cause as soon as I got outside holding my bags a fist caught my jaw knocking me down. I saw around 4 people hitting, kicking me, calling me all types of faggot, pussy, punk bitches. I was scared to death Ty and you know fucking security ain’t do shit. The fat whale bitch came walking past me laughing. In pain I picked up my pride and my groceries. I didn’t bother with a police report. I mean come on this is Brooklyn. They could give a fuck about a black homo. “Now leading up to the same incident I let this cute boy Steven live with me. I met him off Adam4Adam and I was real weak Ty. He told me some story about getting kicked out of his grandmother’s crib.  So I let the mofo live with me for three months. I come home from the supermarket and find this bastard getting it on with one of them dirty dick little project niggas in my fucking bed. Do you know these faggots jumped me, robbed me of my cash, laptop, Ipod and my chain? I was real hurt Ty, you woulda never did me like that. The chief reason I trust you is because you a real person. I took this boy to dinner, movies, bought him clothes, sneakers. Just looked out lovely”. Jason shut up at this point focusing on his food. I sat back in the reclining chair lost in my thoughts. I was hurt. I had loved this man, never shitted on him or nothing foul. Instead of  trying to make a relationship try to work with me ,he pampered guys who ain’t give a fuck about him. 

He looked up at me deep brown eyes piercing my soul, lips all greased and luscious. “Come here” he commanded, patting his lap. “What’s the matter?” 

 “Jason”,I whined, “what’s wrong with me? “Nothing boo,just lose a little weight,some skin products, a nice haircut now and then. Lose the glasses and you’ll be good. You’ll find that dude who gon wife you.” He kissed me on the neck. I got off his lap, grabbed his strong, rough hands hard from work and directed him to the shower. I put the water on steaming and we took turns washing each other. Jason had never been so tender even eating my ass. We got out the shower and went to my mother’s old queen size bed. As Jason fucked me from behind, rough and hard the way I liked, he wouldn’t see the hot salty tears. I cried not only for him but for all the other guys I’d ever wanted who didn’t want me. Maybe I needed to just be by myself. The gay life had brought me nothing but pain and heartache. And most of all I was still lonely. I thought about that a lot that night in Jason’s arms. The next morning Jason left my bed and life with a kiss on the cheek and a command for me to call him. I wouldn’t though. I got up ,poured a glass of wine and looked out  the window at the beautiful, rough, ugly realness of Harlem. Only the strong survive. I was worth more and as long as I knew that for now I could play the game and do it well. For that reason I would continue searching and hoping, One day I would extract the real from the fake. A smile came to my face as I watched boys and men walking, fronting, swag at its highest. Wicked thoughts and endless possibilities entered my head. Young , lonely ,seventeen year old homo with a fat tender ass and his own job and apartment. Somebody was going to want this. Those were exactly the words I uttered through the phone hearing the chat line operator’s voice. The rainbow is dipped in shit but maybe there’s a pot of gold somewhere.