badrelationships

In The Desperate Hour

Oblivious. That’s what I was the first time I let him climb my back. I wasn’t aware of his commitment to another man. Why would I? I didn’t know his name. I was in a hotel in a big city  belly empty backside on fire for something Black and tall. He was number four of six that night.

A few months later over Thai in a dimly lit restaurant he says “I thought you were stupid but attractive. I thought you were a hoe and I’d never see you again.” I think it baffled him that he had a crush on a harlot. By this time he had mentioned his live in boyfriend it was massaged on me that they were at the end of their relationship. Their commitment was only in name because they shared a lease. What-the-fuck-ever: I could not care less; I had already fucked him. As I ate my green curry, he talked about casually dating me after they ended. Maybe after he gave himself some time to self evaluate and heal.

I enjoyed my free meal.

By all means he is a nice guy. Said he only stepped out on his old man after they stopped having sex. Rejection is a hard thing to take from someone you share a home with especially when there are others that are willing to do what your partner won’t. We did a couple cool things platonic friends would do together: worked out at La Fitness, watched the VMAs together, and a midnight diner run or two.

At some point while they were still leaving together, but may or may have not been a couple, he invited me over. I know it was to fuck so I drunk some darks hoping I could be tipsy while it went down. I was was extremely uncomfortable in his place. I’m always sorta awkward it’s just in my nature, however; I felt I shouldn’t have really been in their space. Although they were no longer a couple, I think, or maybe just not happy, they were co-habitating.

I stood. He told me I could take a seat on the living room couch. I was like some new born child not knowing where to go or where exactly where to sit or how to do gracefully. I plopped next to the arm of the couch holding on to it like some security blanket. He tried to make me feel comfortable but I had to go to my car because I left my charger. Really? I had to go take a shot of a mini I had in the glove compartment. I thought I’d take one, but I took two.

When I came back in I told myself I’d be this aggressive power bottom and take control. I made sure he knew what I came for by throwing my ass in his face. First he ate my ass on the couch then he took me to a their spare bedroom.  I recall him saying he wouldn’t be that trifling as to take me into their actual marital like bed.

In the spare bedroom as we were having sex he says, “tell me you love me.” I obliged. And while he said afterward it made the sex better; I thought to myself: how desperate can one person be.

But I remember a similar situation when I said it during sex only months early with someone in an attempt to make a connection — to make the sex better. In that moment as well, I said to myself “how desperate can I be?”

Men Have Always Shared Me.

Men have always shared me. They’ve never put their size 10-12 shoes down and said “no we won’t bring someone else into the bedroom.”

Men have always thought it was fun to watch me spread my body in a room full of 3-4 niggas. They’ve never threatened to leave.

Recently, I went on a date. No, not after a sexual encounter, but before it ever happened. Living in different states, I specifically came to his city to go on a date. The date was fun: dinner, a boxing match, bar hopping and teasing. The earth didn’t tilt and the stars didn’t shine brighter, but I was content. This is what he meant when he said, he was glad when he heard I wasn’t from his area that way he could get to know me before fucking me.

I had only planned on seeing him Friday. Saturday passed and I didn’t see him. I stayed in the city. Saturday I met a man or two. A man wanted a date or two wanted sex. I am booked up on Saturday. I had friends (platonic) to meet up with. I scheduled the man or two for Sunday.

Danny. We’ll call the date from Friday, Danny. On Sunday, he says he wants to see me before I left. I had a lovely time with him on Friday, but it didn’t stop me from riding dick on Sunday. And as me and the stranger from this place rinsed ourselves off, Danny said he had just parked. I’m not one to cause a scene. I didn’t rush my visitor out. I let him take his time. Then there was knocks on the door as Stranger 1 was in the bathroom.  As he enter the room and he exited the bathroom they spoke cordially. Danny says I could have just told him to wait.

Me: we all grown.

Danny took me to dinner. I ain’t pretty. I had bone in hot wings. I don’t eat to be pretty; I eat to sustain. And for fun. We went back to my hotel room after dinner. I brushed my teeth. I lost my floss.

I have always shared my body with men. If my boyfriend put his foot down I’ve always lifted it.

Lately, it’s been a joyous occasion to share sexual chemistry in a multiple body situation (I.e. threesum). As we sat there with Orange is The New Black season 4, a stranger, Stranger 2 knocked on the door. Danny, put on his close. He wanted no parts of a multiple person fuck-fest. Danny left. We text. I apologized. We had talked about these situations before and how we enjoyed them. He said he just wasn’t in the mood for it. He said we were good. We still text to this day. He wants another date.

I guess he really did mean it. He was glad I didn’t live in the area so he could get to know me first. But there is nothing special about me. He’ll be disappointed, he’ll regret not staying. I’d rather  have had the threesum than for him to get to know the real me. 

Why am I not Good Enough to get my Dick Sucked?

you are not good enough

‘Being good enough’ is a common motif in my life as a Gay Black man; I think it’s innate for us all. While I hail from Southern California, my family is southern–religious, some more or less devout. While the Bible has taught us a White man and his family can be forgiven, forge and ark and sail the seven seas for forty days and forty nights, those Sodomites and citizens of Gomorrah (never largely depicted as Anglo-Saxon) aren’t even offered the olive branch of repentance. As Black and, more devastatingly, Gay my need to feel good enough is insensatiable. As a child and through adolescents, I always felt subpar to my older brother. He was normal, athletic, handsome, and popular; I was the runt in appearance, athletic ability, and all this forced me into reclusive practices.

I’m handsome and thick now, have my own set of people I call friends, and have a talent for creative writing that has garnered me my fair share of praise and accolades. Of course, I still have insecurities; they are almost symmetrical to my child. As a Gay Black man I must be muscular or athletically built, handsome, clothes on point, hair cut every five days and above all else be masculine.

I’ve learned that even when we’ve found someone to be with, we still wonder “am I good enough,” and this question doesn’t necessarily emerge because of infidelity; as a friend of mine says, it starts with mama and daddy. But, what does one do when you’ve moved on from parental disillusions and you are now in a relationship that also makes you feel insignificant?

I’m fully verse, but I must admit I do position myself to play the sexual role of bottom by the men I’ve dated. To sound stereotypical, I prefer a masculine man (but I also like it when they let me call them bitch and girl); I like that tug-o-war of sexual prowess in and out the bedroom and I haven’t found that connection and fun with those that identify sexually as bottoms or fully verse. Ideally the love of my life will be a Vers/Top, but nothing is ideal in reality.

I use to self inflict pain on myself. I wasn’t a cutter, but I did inflict mental and emotional pain on myself. I would date men who I knew were clearly tops and be upset when the willingness to be penetrated wasn’t reciprocated. I now know that was me being immature. Someone’s willingness to be penetrated by me, especially when they had declared their sexual role as a top had nothing to do with my worth. Of course, at that time I perceived their willingness to compromise sexually as a marker for my self esteem.

While, I have grown out of my own self-deprecation the scenario has reincarnated itself: Marcus sucks everyone’s dick except for mine.

Marcus is a gentleman I’ve known for a year and we’ve been spending more time together as of late. Because we are both consenting adults, we engage in ménage à trois and ménage mores at times.

Marcus has given me plenty of speeches about how he only sucks dick in our group sessions, because he doesn’t want things to be awkward and he believes everyone just needs to be engaged. It’s bullshit. He enjoys sucking dick. He should just admit it. However, it’s the fact that knowing I’m fully verse and I’m the only one left with a dry dick when there is another top in the room that leaves my feelings hurt. In these moments, I see myself as a kid again in the barbershop writing my mother letters about how I don’t feel good enough and how I feel like she loves my more talented, masculine, archetype eldest brother more. I’ve tried to pacify this for myself, but when someone, as Marcus has said, loves you, it is devastating that they are willing to please someone else in ways they don’t see you worthy of (even if it is subconsciously). I’m handsome, my body is better than 90% of the guys dicks Marcus is sucking, everyone is naked so clothes aren’t the issue, so the only thing that is left is that ever evasive Golden Snitch: masculinity. I’m not masculine enough to get my dick sucked. And all of sudden I feel too small like Alice in Alice in Wonderland after she drinks the mysterious bottle; I, too, like Alice can’t seem to reach the key to unlock that door of being ‘good enough’.

Dawn Richard’s “Billie Jean” + “Castle” a Soundtrack to my Cheating Ways

blackheart head piece
Billie Jean

 

I met him during a threesum with then boyfriend, Lucas. He was short, but I still invited him over. I’m a groupie for brown and dark skin, so I gave him the “pussy cause his tatts looked great”. For the most part we kept it about the bass and the rhythm of three bodies intertwined trying to pulsate together. I was the kick drum they took turns on.

 

As it happens with open relationships at times. Connections are made with the third party, those moments of harmonies and stacks. Those moments, like in “Billie Jean” by Dawn Richard off her latest release Blackheart, must be sparse and brief akin to a 20 second chorus. Though the moment, much like the sound of the chorus, seems more devoted to traditional structure, and even soft compared to the drums that have fallen by the wayside in the production, our eyes were doing nothing, but merely fuckin the gateway to the soul.

 Dawn Richard booklet

My goal was to keep it nasty — to keep this live action version of “Billie Jean” nasty, filthy, and to make him want to come back for more. Instead, I committed infidelity and went to him four days later, solo.  My goal was not intimacy. I needed to explore the sexual connection that began that chilly Wednesday evening. I told my self one or two orgasms with him would suffice, I wanted to be like “an assassination [and] leave without a trace, except for the mess he made when he came all on my face” (Bille Jean).

 

With a failing relationship grinding on my back like a monkey, I decided it needed company without the obligation. I employed Lucas to make me feel good, in dire times. Much like the lyrics of Billie Jean, I never wanted to stay too long with him; it was all about the orgasm of the mischief and the remedy from heartbreak sometimes being under a new guy brings.

dawnheadpiece 

I got to be “Billie Jean” with Lucas: a sex fiend (as Richard writes in the lyrics). A bumpin yet grindin’, soft and rambunctious piece of ass.

 

This relationship with my then boyfriend ended in July. Around the same time Lucas and I found one another again. He text me, asking for pictures, ass shots, wanting to parlay our conversations into phone-bones. However, while I was free to do anything I wanted to do with him in the open, he was the one in a committed relationship now. During these text sessions, I always refused to send him pics and engage in sexual talk with him. I’m sure I may have failed one time or two, but if my memory serves me right 99% of the time I refused.

 

Now out of his relationship for a few months and me still single, we have found ourselves spending a lot of our time spent together. And while I’ve heard, “I love you,” and “I care for you,” and friends and strangers have inquired about our relationship status together, I don’t believe we can be together . . .

Castles

 

. . . because “we built castles out of sand” (Castles). “Castles” by Dawn Richard off the January 15th, 2015 aforementioned album is the best way for me to describe this relationship with Lucas. The track described by some publications as electro-R&B is chaotic and sensitive as is this relationship for both of us. Richard originally wrote the track for the 2014 October released DK3, but it did not make the cut. So the track finds its birth on parent album Blackheart and I see similarity in the lyrics and production to what began as a tryst for me, a cheater, and has spawned this relationship of confidant, friend, and sexual partner. Because of the foundation our relationship was founded on, I, like Richard, see a doomed end although we are currently “so high we could see clouds under our feet” (Castles).

 

I recall a time when he texted me asking what I wanted from him. I replied as writers do, vague. He said good; he would just enjoy the ride — we could stand in the breeze “say our c’est la vie” (Castles). The electro ballad begins in chaos: synths, bass, vocal samples techno’ed up to be used as an instrument, and when Dawn’s head voice is introduced to us, she is calm and peaceful as if she ‘knows it all’. Yet, the moment when the track gets a moment to breathe (nothing really goes away, it just softens) she states “please don’t let us fall”. In this moment, Dawn’s vocal delivery is monotone, almost lazy. It’s as if her and I both know pleading will get us know where.

 

It is not until the second verse is divulged that you can hear how distraught she is, but I for one don’t believe that it is because she doesn’t want it to end; instead, I believe this new emotion in Richard’s voice is due to her feeling damned that she was a part of this faulty foundation to begin with. This is an emotion, I believe I will encounter in this relationship sooner or later, the both of us. While I cheated with Lucas, he never actually met me to cheat on his boyfriend although he asked me to meet me several times. Numerous attempts were made to get drinks, but he would cancel when his boyfriend couldn’t make it. Because his boyfriend was not into threesums and they weren’t in an open relationship, I’ve tried to communicate to Lucas that the behavior is still damaging. I wouldn’t want to date Lucas and have to wonder if this friend we are having drinks with is secretly a nigga he is communicating on the side with to get some ass.

 

This castle is very sandy.