Queer Kid of Color

Carrie was Standford’s fag hag on Sex And The City, Charlotte was Anthony’s on Sex And The City, Tracy is Shawn’s fag hag on Christopher Street, Grace was Will’s fag hag, Karen was Jack’s fag hag, and the list continues. Every gay man has their fag hag. And every girl who has a gay best friend is proud of being a fag hag. What is a fag hag? It’s simple: a straight woman who has a gay best friend. I have a fag hag. Sorry for putting you on blast Val. Either which way fag hags are the straight women who accompany us and gives us that minimal 1 percent of hetero-curiosity. Without a fag hag a gay man’s world can only be but so much. Thus, fag hags are the women who keep us on check, give us our flamin’ spice [even if we aren’t flamers at all], and on our sick days take us out to the clubs [um, Val hurry up and take me!]. Fag hags: the women we can’t live without.

My first visit to Christopher Street was on July 21st 2005. I was excited. I was craving queerness. I wanted to explore my sexuality in ways I haven’t before. And that was by seeing and meeting other gay people. Actually, I didn’t know what Christopher Street was until I got to the actual street. I just knew I was in the village with two of my lesbian friends. That’s it. When I turned the corner of Christopher St and 7th I not only saw diversity but I felt it. I saw AG’s, beautiful butch women, fem queens with the best looking features, feminine boys, masculine boys, feminine girls, masculine girls, transgender people, people of all different races, of all different labels, of all different capacities, troubles, issues, and people who differentiate in their look. It was beautiful. And as cheesy as this may sound. It felt like a piece of heaven.

I first learned of this haven when I saw the documentary “Fenced Out” and was eagerly awaiting my opportunity to visit. Five months later I did. And I was happy. For that moment there was no paranoia, no hiding the fact that I was Queer, no calling of the mimes. I was there. I was Queer. And for 2 hours-I was not in the closet.

I hate the word homo thug. As much as I do the word “down low”.- Correction the word “downlow”. I was prompt into writing this article under some extreme circumstances. Okay, maybe they weren’t that extreme. But either way, someone messaged me on myspace with a message that he’s a homo thug and wanted to talk. Um, eww. I keep my myspace on private. So, there’s no way this guy could have seen all my pictures but my profile pic. Actually, there’s no way he could have known that I was GASP gay. Or perhaps my pic invisibly says gay on it, maybe he read a comment I might have made to a gay friend? How he find out, I’m still trying to guess. I went on to his profile and checked out his picture. And thought to myself, “he’s no homo thug” Now, I’m not trying to be stereotypical, give in to misconceptions, or give in with delinquency. But in one of his pictures he was wearing a wig, in the other he had his hand to his hip in a very feminine position. The only thing “thuggish” about him was that he was wearing baggy clothes-we’ll get to that later. I scroll through his profile and it said he was bi. Hmm. Yeah, I know. I decided to forward my friend his profile and paste the message he sent me-the whole thing. I asked her what she thought. In which she replied, “total fem”. Out of a bad approach I denied the boy the friend request. Firstly, I don’t know him. Secondly, his approach was terrible. It was not because he was wearing a wig. I can care less about that. But either which way I denied his request, trust me he’ll get over it.

Today or rather yesterday [its 12:27AM now], I made a visit to my friend Camden’s house. Camden is straight. I haven’t seen Camden in a long time. We never got the chance to hang out together because he’s afraid people might think he’s gay. Although I never advertise or broadcast my sexuality to the world [except for this site of course] he [oh wait there’s myspace too] just doesn’t like to chill with me on the regular basis. So, FOR ONCE IN THREE MONTHS, I had nothing to do on a Saturday. So, I decided to ring Camden up and ask if I could come over. To my surprise the fucker had the nerve to ask me “why?” Are you kidding me? Perhaps, I just want to chill, see how you been, catch up since last year you’ve ditched me because I’m gay. Perhaps, because I’m tired of IM’s and emails. Perhaps, because I’m tired of trying to add you to my mother fucking myspace and you keep denying me that right because you don’t want someone accidentally clicking on my profile and seeing [even though its barely visible] that I’m queer! That’s why. Anyways, my response to this rather trivial question was “I just want to chill with an old friend,” I said this with a crackle in my voice. It was a crackle of disappointment and I knew he understood it. The crackle consisted of me wanting to tear at that “why” question, of nervousness, a crackle of me not knowing why he would ask “why?” Anyways, he heard that crackle and said, “iight son”. No seriously, he did. So we made up the time I was to come and he asked if I could bring over some films to watch. I brought a bootleg copy of Inside Man (which skips chapters) and I also brought a $2 bootleg copy of the play Madea’s Family Reunion (with special features).

I knocked on Camden’s door. I was extremely nervous. Camden’s little sister answered the door. Her little self gave me a tight hug and welcomed me inside. His mother was in the kitchen cooking up some stuff. She was very happy to see me, “Steven!” She exclaimed, “it’s been so long.” She wrapped her arms around me, kissed me on both cheeks and asked how the family was. Of course, the family is great. She asked me was I hungry and I said no. Now, that’s great hospitality.

Camden came to get me. He didn’t even say hi. Picture someone just walking inside the kitchen, looking at you, and walking back out, assuming that you already know to follow. Well I did follow. I followed him into the room and he asked me to close the door behind me.
“Which movie you want to watch first?” He asked. Fucking asshole.
“Whichever you want,” I said while taking a seat near his computer desk.
“Lets watch Inside Man.”
“Alright.” I concurred.
“I don’t know why you ni$$e%$ like to put on dresses.” He was referring to the cover of the Madea’s Family Reunion DVD. And referring to gay men as ni$$e%$.
I kept quite. He went on to inserting the Inside Man DVD. Sat on his bed and asked “you heard what I just said?”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING?

First of all those who are reading this excuse my cursing. I usually don’t write curse words in my blogs but I’m still disturb at the fact that he asked me “did you hear what I just said?” Of course I heard. Shit I’m in the room. I looked over at him, “yes I heard.”
A few minutes into the film, the DVD began to act funny; skipping scenes, freezing on some instances, it even skipped a few chapters. Well what do you expect from a $2 copy?
“Damn now we got to watch this faggot ass shit.” He removed the DVD of Inside Man.
I guess the faggot ass shit he was referring to was Madea’s Family Reunion. Hmph. I didn’t stay silent this time.

“You know what Camden. Perhaps you need to check your insecurities. Ever since I came out to your dumb ass, you been treating me like a piece of shit.”
“Yo stop getting loud with me son. I hate ya n()()))) ya all going to hell for being gay. You black, you aint suppose to be gay.”

I didn’t say a word to this. I simply gathered myself, looked at him one last time, and left his bedroom. I went through his kitchen infuriated and exited his home. His mother calling out after me, I ignored her.

And finally, this is why black gay men are going to hell…because black people can’t be gay.

I took a break the other day, from my usual tired schedule and headed to The Village for some much needed queerness. I haven’t been to The Village in so long. So I met up with some friends. As usual it was the same tired talk amongst the gays. Nothing ever political, social, or economically exciting. It was the same tired talk-relationships. I’m not one to talk about relationships. Trust me, I’m not. I like to be vocal and join in on mature discussions. Anyways, somehow relationships scattered into this discussion about being on the down low. NOW LET ME MAKE THIS CLEAR. My definition of the word, is a closeted person. There definition is a “homo thug” who just happens to have girlfriends and happen to sleep with men. I also think the down low is a system [ugh let me shut up]. Anyways, this young lesbian went on to saying how she was in a relationship with a guy and just so happened to be “romancing other women.” She said it just like that, “romancing other women.” No joke. Now moments later, someone spit out there mouth and said, “women can’t be on the down low.”

Enough said.

By Queer Kid Of Color

It’s ironic how sexual incompatibility means everything when you’re in a relationship. It means who would be the aggressor or the passive one. The one with the more emotions and the one who is expected to be grounded. I don’t like to put labels on people and I don’t agree with sexual roles. That’s why I’m doing this particularly featured blog to see what exactly are the roles that come with being a top and a bottom. And if there is more to it then it just being just a sexual thing.

I recently read Get By: A survival guide for black gay youth written by Jonathan W. Jones. I think that the author offered a simple yet thorough explanation on what it means to be a top and bottom. The definition are as followed:

A top- the Person who is penetrating on top
A bottom- the sexual partner who is the recipient of the penis during the anal intercourse

I think we can all agree with Jonathan’s par-take on what being a top and bottom means. But has being a top or bottom grown to be just more then penetration or receiving. Is there more to this toll? Well, I think its gotten to that point. Something I completely disagree with. Being a top and bottom has now grown to the stigmatization of someone’s character; fem, masculine. Many people believe that bottoms can only be fem and tops can only be masculine and versatile are a mixture of both masculinity and femininity [dont get me started]. I find that oblivious.I have met masculine bottoms and I have also come across feminine tops. And there’s no such thing as a ‘mixture of both’. Meaning, I don’t think a person can be both masculine and feminine.Either which way, the portrayal of one’s character means nothing to me. In a recent telephone interview with my friend, K, he tells me, “I’m masculine and I’m a bottom. I’m more masculine then my shorty. But that’s the way I like it. It’s about what you like.” I asked him had his boyfriend been a bottom would he be with him in which he replied with haste “No. I like to be receiving. That’s just me. And if no one can handle it then oh well.” So basically no sexual incompatibility, then there’s no relationship.

I also interviewed my friend W online. He gave me his reflection on what a bottom is to him, “A gay male that is usually the more feminine in the relationship that receives the sexual pleasure…or penis. Also the more emotional of the two..” So, now we’ve come to know bottoms as emotional and feminine. Flabbergasted right? I asked my friend E what makes a top. In which he replied, “ to fuck a guy, get head, kiss if he’s into that” it gets stranger “a real top is about sex not love” So, let me gather this information. Bottoms show emotions, you can only date someone if they don’t have the same sexual role as you, and tops like “to fuck a guy”. I’m guessing that everyone has their own interpretation of things.

I do have two friends who are dating and they are both tops. How they’re going to work that out I don’t know. They told me, when the time is right, then they’ll make the decision then. Which brings me to my next questions: is sexual incompatibility really important? Do bottoms have to date tops? And what is it that makes someone a top, vers, or bottom?