Tim Gunn's Gay Word of the Week

Today I'm starting a new segment called Tim Gunn's Gay Word of the Week. He managed to pull out one even I didn't recognize. This week's word is Ebullient:

e·bul·lient
-adjective
1.overflowing with fervor, enthusiasm, or excitement; high-spirited: "Well that was an ebullient departure!"

Close, but No Cigar

Okay, let's just get it out of the way first this time:

I'm not actually gay. I'm transgendered.

Yes, as in "I'm a straight woman trapped in a man's body," though I hate to use a stereotype.

Wow. Hold up. I know. It's weird.

The truth is I can't begin to describe how weird it's been pretending my whole life to be something everyone else thought I was. For the longest time I felt like a stranger in my own body because I have never really seen myself as a boy. At all. I acknowledge what's between my legs, in my head, and in my genes do not match up. I've known ever since I discovered what the word "transgendered" meant when I was in elementary school, but I was too worried about how hard it would be, how scary, how alienating. I kept putting roadblock after roadblock in my way, finally hoping that being an effeminate gay man would be an acceptable option. But it backfired. Being out about just one aspect of myself made me realize that pretending to be something I'm not is the most painful thing I could ever do to myself.

No, I am not a cross-dresser, transvestite, or gender-bender. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I guess the best way to describe it is with a superhero metaphor. (God, I'm going to make one nerd a very happy wife.) We trans-girls are a lot like Superman. We were born different, but assume the "secret identity" of a boy early on in life. The rest of the gender-queer are kind of like Batman. They were born a normal person, but developed a feminine personality later on. So now you know. (And knowing is half the battle.)

So what does all this mean?

No, you don't have to refer to me as "she" or "her" yet but you might as well get used to the idea. On December 8th - or what was my "gay birthday" - I will begin living as a woman full-time. This will involve therapy, taking hormones, laser or electrolysis hair removal for my face, and eventually surgery to turn my penis into a vagina. No, I will not be changing my name, thankfully "Dorian" is unisex.

For the longest time I worried the most about what everyone would say, but I've been out at home and work for the last two weeks and everyone's been very cool about it. Already my friends have done everything in their power to not only make me feel comfortable, but to help me get all the resources together that this journey is going to take. I can't believe how lucky and blessed I am. At long last I'm happy to be who I am. And I got to tell you, it's the greatest feeling in the world.

Bite Back.

At this point Friday was easily my favorite day of the week. For one, it meant a weekly class trip to the library and thus a new book. And if I was lucky, it was mom's weekend to have Kei and me. But this particular Friday was not one of them, and seemingly just to drive the point home it rained all morning. However, we were "allowed" to play outside during recess anyway. I had my new book, so I found a dry piece of blacktop next to the PE building and got comfortable. Unfortunately, the boys decided they'd play basketball since the field was muddy. I went unnoticed until Hunter decided to change up the sport a little.

"What you got there, Shorty?"
The others guffawed stupidly, but I kept my eyes on my book and didn't move. Hunter became bolder as the crowd of boys around us began to thicken.

"Didn't you hear me? Why ain't you skipping rope or something with the girls over there?"
I didn't move or say anything, didn't even look at him. Just kept my eyes on my book. The crowd was starting to get restless and bored. My plan was working. At least it was until Hunter threw his basketball at my book, knocking it to the ground. The crowd was roaring with laughter once again. Without my book I couldn't hide my face, and thus couldn't conceal my anger. I was so angry that tears began to stream from my eyes, which only made matters worse.

"Cry for your book, nerd!"

"He's crying! Oh my god!"

"What a girl!"
I stood up to get my book and leave, but instead Hunter shoved me into a nearby puddle, and before I could even begin to stand my book was kicked into my face. My stomach twisted, my heart began beating a war drum inside me, my teeth clenched up, my muscles tensed, and my mind was gone. The only way to describe it comes from one of my favorite superheroes at the time; someone else who was extremely short, got picked on for it, and got even for it. Images of Wolverine in one of his "berserker rages" went through my head as I launched myself at Hunter. Hunter the athlete, who was at least a foot taller than me and probably had at least 50 pounds on me, not to mention a crowd of supporters. But that didn't matter, I butted his stomach with my head and he fell onto the wet concrete. I was on top of him, punching any part of his body I could find and cursing a blue streak even my grandmother could be proud of. The boys were laughing again, but I didn't know why until Hunter's fist connected with my head. I fell off of Hunter and now he had me in a sleeper hold. He stood up and pulled my feet off the ground with him. I could feel my face redden with anger and partial suffocation. I couldn't get out, I just struggled and dangled as the boys redoubled their cheers in the seeming victory. I had to get free and get out of here. My arms were useless, my legs were useless, I couldn't even move my head and my mouth was covered by Hunter's arm. So I ripped into his forearm as hard as I could. He yelped and dropped me, and this time there were no cheers or laughter. Just the sound of me gasping for breath while Hunter stared at the blood dripping from his right arm. Trent and the others rushed to his side and started migrating back to the school building. I didn't know if they were going for a teacher or the nurse, but I knew I was in serious trouble.

I don't know that there's anything more frustrating than being a kid talked down to by self-righteous adults.

"Why were you fighting, Dorian?"

"I wasn't fighting, I was reading a book until they came along."

"Well, I've got 20 boys outside who all say you started it.

"And they're all Hunter's friends. What does that tell you?"

"I don't appreciate your attitude, young man."

"Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but I was just minding my own business when they came over and shoved me in the mud."

"You should have told a teacher and let them handle it."

"I couldn't. I was surrounded by 20 boys."

"Well it doesn't matter. It takes two people to start a fight, so you're both in trouble."

"What was I supposed to do? Let him choke me?"

"I don't want to hear any more about it. I'm calling your parents and sending you home."
She began to dial her phone in the most menacing way possible. I wasn't worried, because I knew I had done nothing wrong. I would accept any punishment because it was worth it just to see that look on Hunter's face. The injuries hadn't been serious, we were only kids after all, but for some reason the fact that I bit someone was a very serious matter.

"Can I go talk to the counselor, please?"

"No, you need to sit out in the hall and wait for your parents to get here. Why do you want to see Mr. White?"

"Because he listens to me."

Boys are stupid.

I've always made friends easily in life, just usually not the ones I was supposed to. The first school friend I can remember making was Donny in 1st grade. I was so short people often thought I was still a toddler and I could already read and write so I ruined the class dynamic right away. Donny was black, deaf and retarded. I had been learning sign language with my mom over the summer while she tutored the deaf for her college. So when I actually saw someone my age signing I was thrilled to have someone to "talk" to and he felt the same way. I honestly can't remember much about our friendship. We both liked Batman and playing on the swings at recess. I quickly began to doubt the "retarded" diagnosis. He was a little slow sometimes, but he was just like any other kid out there. Most perplexing was the praise I was given for being his friend. He didn't tease me and I didn't tease him, that's all you need for friendship when you're 6.

By the time I made it to 4th grade I had really hit my stride. All the short jokes the kids could come up with had already been done over the years and I was finally getting attention from a teacher who didn't punish me for being ahead of the class. Her name was Miss Funk. She had a great teaching style that only a new graduate can bring: a combination of kindergarten togetherness and participation along with an adult amount of respect and interest. We'd build chains of paper that represented strands of DNA. We acted out short stories and then sat in a circle and discussed them. Even multiplication tables were done with a couple of game show buzzers and bite-sized candy for prizes. But then, the divorce happened. All I had left of my favorite class was a giant piece of butcher paper in my favorite shade of robin's egg blue. "We'll Miss You, Dorian!" it said in a big rainbow of color across the middle. Everywhere else in black marker were words of encouragement, compliments, and goodbyes. "You're so smart and funny." "Make lots of friends at your new school!" And underneath Miss Funk's pep-talk were four words I had heard but never put together before: "Don't worry. Be happy."

But those words were easier said than done. Especially in this new town. The school consisted of two separate buildings, each one a long hallway with classrooms on either side. The smaller building was for the Kindergarten and 1st grade classes, and was were my sister went to school. The bigger building had 2nd-5th grade classes, generally with just one or two teachers to a grade. There was also the cafetorium, where good students were allowed to eat on the stage with the principal during lunch and the library, with one of the nicest librarians I had ever met. The two buildings ran parallel to each other until the kindergarten building ran short. The remainder of this space was filled with the playgrounds and the new PE building. I quickly learned that the main difference between an inner-city school and a small town school is viciousness. In the city, kids weren't too concerned with your problems because they had plenty of their own. But here everyone knew everyone. Unless they didn't know you, in which case you were not to be trusted. But somehow, they still had a knack for finding out your personal business. "See that short kid? He lives down the street from the school." "I heard he was too smart for The City to teach him so they had to move here." "If he's so smart, why hasn't he already learned cursive?" "His grandma goes to my church and my dad says he's from a broken home." "I heard he doesn't even have a mom." "No, he does, but she lives with another woman." "My dad says that's evil."

The boys of my class all played together under the rule of Trent and Hunter, the two "cool" kids who always knew what was best because they were the best athletes. The boys played soccer during recess and when I turned down the offer on my first day I became an instant outcast. So I spent much of my recess reading books from the library and sitting in places where other kids weren't likely to bother me. Today I was in the middle of the merry-go-round reading Ramona the Brave. I'd already finished all of the Roald Dahl I could find, and since I told her that Matilda was my favorite the librarian had lead me to Beverly Cleary. Deep in my book, I was surprised to find two blond pigtails reading over my shoulder.
"I have that book! Do you like it?"
I was still in a state of shock, but when I realized it was just Elizabeth from class and not someone else I relaxed.
"Yeah, it's really funny. This is my 3rd Ramona book so far."
She looked over at the blacktop nearby where several other girls were waiting, including Amy and Amber who I recognized from class. They must have been waiting for Elizabeth to scope me out because they quickly joined us once she waved them over. The merry-go-round had 6 handles and was divided into 3 colors: red, blue, and yellow. I sat in the middle with Elizabeth on the red slice behind me, Amy sat down on blue, Amber on yellow and a few more girls filling in the gaps who I didn't recognize.
"Why are you reading a girl's book?" Amber asked just as she sat down. I clutched the book to my chest for fear they might take it, "Just 'cause it's about a girl doesn't mean I can't read it, too!" Amy let one of her legs drag through the dirt as the wind lazily spun us.
"Why don't you play soccer or basketball with the boys?"
"Because boys are stupid. And I hate sports."
"But you are a boy!"
"So? I'm not stupid."
This proclamation seemed to hang in the air just as Trent scored a goal over at the soccer field. The boys all cheered, despite the fact that there was no goalie and no actual "goal" to speak of, seemingly proving my point.
"Do you want to help us push?" Elizabeth was off the merry-go-round, her hands on the rails and ready to go.
"What do I do with my book?" I asked. The girls giggled until Amy replied, "Why don't we set it down over here where it can't get dirty?" indicating the edge of the dirt-box we were in.
"Okay."

We spent the rest of recess running, spinning and laughing, particularly at the boys. For the next few weeks life was good, on the playground at least. I couldn't do anything that was strictly "girls only" such as eat lunch together or hang out after school, but I was the only boy they ever allowed to play with them and I took it as a great compliment. I was always willing to be the dad when we played house, I was the best at hopscotch, and I knew just as many clap-songs as the rest of them thanks to my sister, such as "Miss Mary Mack", "The Baby in the Bathtub" and the mildly explicit "Hell-o Operator." Of course, none of this went unnoticed by the boys. Now I was the short sissy kid who read too much and played with girls.

Something was bound to happen.

Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Maybe it's the laziness brought about by the summer air, maybe it's the unity shared after going through a wedding together, or maybe our weed's just gotten a lot better, but for whatever reason there's been a lot of philosophizing going on in our house. I've never really tried to explain my spirituality to anybody before, not even myself. It's always just been something I've known and felt, but I feel like writing it all down will really help me tie it all together. So here goes:

I guess the best place to start would be the beginning of Everything. Some call it The Big Bang, some say that God spoke, but for whatever reason the Universe sprang into existence. Out of all the planets and stars was at least one special planet where Everything aligned just right. Over millions of years of chemical reactions water and oxygen hit just the right level. And then, Everything aligned just right again and Life was born. It wasn't a lot, just the most basic of cells, but millions of years of evolution eventually led to the world and all the species we know today. Yes, I believe in evolution. I also believe in creationism, though I would never actually phrase it that way. It's just my belief that the odds against it all are just too astronomical to not believe there was some kind of divine guidance. But I also don't think the human race or the earth or even the Universe for that matter are nearly as important to this "God" as we like to think. It all feels more like a science experiment to me, an infinitely complex and fascinating experiment that none of us can even begin to comprehend...yet.

I don't worship or depend on a God, despite the fact that I believe He exists. It is my belief that it is up to the Human Race to redeem itself. The first spark made by the first early tools that gave way to Fire have benefited all of the Human Race from that moment forward. Who's to say that "God" didn't put that funny shaped rock in front of that particular human who just last week saw a lightening bolt strike a tree and noticed the heat coming off the resulting fire? We know that Moses, Jesus, Mohammad, Buddha and all the rest of our "prophets" were all genuine, in-the-flesh people. Moses was a man who freed his people from slavery. Did God really talk to him from a burning bush? Did he really part the Red Seas to make his great escape? It doesn't matter, but what does matter is that from that day forward the Jews were their own people. Jesus was a hippie who walked the earth preaching love, forgiveness, and redemption. This pissed some people off and he was killed. Did he really rise from the dead three days later? Was he really the son of God? Again, it doesn't matter. His existence has caused more love and more destruction across the world than anyone else to date. But what about the men of science? Can we not learn just as much about Life from them? Leonardo da Vinci, Isaac Newton, Benjamin Franklin, Charles Darwin. All these men have advanced our species by leaps and bounds just from their thoughts and ideas. Darwin serves as the best example because he was fully aware of what his discovery would mean to so many people. Here's this kid fresh out of college who goes on a cruise and writes his observations and sketches down as they go from island to island. At some point, something clicked and he started putting it all together and interconnecting it all and suddenly Life all made sense. And he was terrified. Who wouldn't be? But he sucked it up and published his book and sure enough, all hell broke loose. But because of that idea we've been able to build more and more ideas on top of those, including the thoughts going through my head and onto this screen right now. His theory of Evolution was another stepping point in our Evolution. Which brings me around to what this whole mess really all boils down to.

Nirvana, Heaven, Enlightenment. There's a lot of different words for it but it all boils down to the same thing, death. What happens to us after we die? Does our spirit live on or do we just rot in the ground? We don't know. It's just that simple. It's my personal belief that we are reincarnated, but not in the traditional sense of trading out your old body for a new one. But instead, I believe our actions and our thoughts and our ideas all continue to live on long after our bodies. It's the reaction that other people have to you that causes reincarnation. People take your ideas and build on top of them until they come up with their own ideas, which are passed on to other people and so on and so forth. It evolves and changes but the root of it all is still there. Eventually with enough time and enough inspiration and enough ideas I believe we will ultimately create Heaven. Life isn't about what happens in the afterlife, it's about Life!

It's because of this ultimate goal that I believe in complete freedom of speech and thought. Who are we to say that anything is worthless? Your Life is part of the Universe and Everything else whether you acknowledge it or not. There is no such thing as a "bad" or "evil" or "sinful" experience when you look at the bigger picture; Hitler was one of the most sadistic people to walk the Earth, but in uniting against him the Earth came together. There's no sense in wondering about why bad things happen, but instead just accept that they have happened and build on top of it. Never deny yourself, because you never know when your contribution to the Human Race will present itself. Open your mind and accept everything that goes in there and don't be afraid of what comes out. It might be ugly at first, but don't try to force your inspiration out. Give it time, patience, and just a pinch of faith. The real irony is, most of us will probably never know what our contribution to society is. That's okay. Just take pride in the fact that your Life does matter, as does Everything in the Universe.

Opportunity of Equality

When was the last time you can remember your preacher railing against inter-racial relationships? Have you ever seen a daytime talk show try to cure someone of their religion? How about a constitutional ban against the handicapped? Of course not, this is the land of Equal Opportunity. Nobody can be discriminated against, regardless of age, color, creed, disability, race, religion, or sex. And if they do, they'll have a lot of people to answer to. But you know what my boss can do to me at anytime? Walk right up to me and say, "I just heard you're gay. You're fired." And I wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on. Why?

People say it's because nobody really knows whether sexual orientation is genetic or learned. I mean, we only just discovered that it isn't a psychological disease! After all, maybe people just choose to alienate themselves and go through hell and back just trying to feel like a normal person. Well, even if that is the case, what about religion? If I can't fire you for being Christian, then you can't fire me for being gay. It is as simple as that. And since we have separation of Church and State, and there's nothing outside of religion that makes homosexuality "wrong", what exactly is the legal conundrum here? Last time I checked, this country was about protection for everyone, no matter how hated or weird they might be. So tell me, why have I seen the President of this great country lead a personal attack against me and 1/10th of the country? Does he actually think that us getting married and living happy lives together is really going to destroy the Breeders next door? Perhaps he's just worried about the biggest, scariest monster the Religious Right has ever seen: The Homosexual Agenda.

Since I've come out of the closet, I've been expecting my communist literature and anarchist cookbook to arrive any day now. In the mean time, though, I have my own agenda.

I will conspire to be a good person, and prove to people on a one-on-one basis of my humanity.

I am prepared to rebel against any law I see as unjust or hateful.

I am dedicated to making tomorrow a better day for us all, no matter how many religious nuts I piss off along the way.

There you are, the conspiracy is over. Now can we all act like adults and at least respect one another if we can't agree? You keep your religion out of my government and I'll keep myself out of your church.

Hidden History

Today I saw a documentary about Bayard Rustin, a non-violent political activist who arguably started the civil rights movement with his actions in the 40s. This man did the same move as Rosa Parks back in 1947 and was the man who taught Martin Luther King, Jr. how to fully embrace non-violence. He also organized the 1963 March on Washington, the largest gathering of it's kind where MLK gave his famous speech. So I have to ask, why have I never heard of him until now?

The sad truth is this man has been kept out of the history books because he's gay. Even back in the 40s he was occasionally forced to work in the background because he was open and proud. But the fact that someone so inspiring can nearly disappear from memory because of one aspect of his life is not unusual. It's a trend I've noticed throughout my public education. Were it not for my name and theatre teacher, I would never have heard of Oscar Wilde, let alone about his works or trials. Leonardo da Vinci is too big to be ignored, but his "alleged homosexuality" is still controversial. Same thing goes for Shakespeare and Alexander the Great among who knows how many others. Even more modern events like the Stonewall Riots are impossible to find literature on. But even if I had to wait 21 years to hear about Bayard Rustin, I'm glad I did. He bridges the gap between race rights and gay rights, even saying in 1987 "The barometer of where one is on human rights questions is no longer the black community, it's the gay community. Because it is the community which is most easily mistreated." But that doesn't mean we wait around and hope for a better future. He also said that when you see an injustice you must act, against any odds, and you must act with your body to get things done. If you say "There's nothing I can do, I'm just one person," then you've accepted it and allowed it to happen. It all goes back to what I've been thinking about symbolic support, it may make you feel better but it accomplishes nothing. If we want equal rights we can't ask for it timidly and politely, we have to demand it. And if they refuse we have to react.

Bayard explained non-violence in a way that really clicked with me: The idea is not to avoid conflict, but to confront it; to turn a violent conflict into a creative conflict is the ultimate goal. I realize now that I have a responsibility to my community to never be ashamed of who I am, to stand up and fight injustice, and to ensure that my voice is heard. No matter what barrage of controversy, hatred, scandalism or misguided morality. Because it's going to take a lot more people like Bayard to get him into the history books. Perhaps then it will be easier to admit that a gay man can do great things.

Full Frontal Prudity

While it may seem like dull college work, selling comic books can be more dangerous than expected. This month in Georgia a case was finally dropped against a comic shop owner who let a mature comic fall into the hands of minor back in 2004. The comic in question had a panel of an angry, naked Picasso answering the door in a true story of the artist's life, and was unfortunately put into a box of free comics that were handed out at a local parade. Even more unfortunate, the comic was given to a family of two boys, nine and six-years-old. As soon as the parents saw a penis in their boys' comic, they phoned the police, and the owner was charged with two felonies and five misdemeanors when the parents wouldn't just accept a formal apology. Luckily for Gordon Lee, the owner in question, the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, a non-profit group made for just such occasions, came to his rescue to cover all legal expenses, which reached nearly $100,000 in the battle. After plenty of delays and re-trials the case has finally been dropped and Legends Comics is still in business. It hit me pretty close to home for a number of reasons. One, my boss is the director of the CBLDF, a man who I never knew I had anything in common with besides a fondness for comics. Two, I know how easily a mature title can get mixed up with kids books. There's a lot of stuff in storage and it's a mess, and in the years I've worked there and all the parades I've been in, I know I've probably handed at least one "mature" title to a kid, but thank God it didn't have male nudity. Which brings me to my last point.

The legend of "fan-service", up-skirt or down-shirt shots of girls for the teen male audience, is not unfounded, especially in superhero comics that are acceptable for any age. Personally, it's always been amusing to me and it's perfectly harmless as long as you don't mind the demeaning of women. Recently Alan Moore, the eccentric comic-writer god, published a very controversial but highly praised comic called Lost Girls, that he himself has plainly described as pornography, a realm that he explored the same way he did with superheroes in Watchmen, and terrorism in V for Vendetta. And despite the fact that the three girls in the comic are 14-16 years old, no one but the odd kook seems to have a problem with it and it's generally stayed under the public radar. And yet, I can remember a comic that came out less than a year after called Spider-man Reign. The story takes place in the far future, where widowed 80-year-old Peter Parker must wear the mask one last time in a battle against the totalitarian dystopia of New York. The years and Mary Jane's death haven't been kind on him and his glory days are gone and forgotten. Yet as he falls asleep in a rat-infested hole, he sees only his angelic wife sleeping beside him. But when morning comes he wakes up alone, cold and naked. As he slowly aches out of bed you see a tiny, non-descript, flaccid 80-year-old lump. Because Marvel received so many complaints, the title became mature and the offending penis was removed from all future prints. The fact that enough people, primarily men, were determined to change a sad old Spider-man into a Ken Doll truly frightens me. I mean, is the human body itself really pornography? Doesn't the context have any say? Would we take off David's penis if we got the chance or clothe the Spirit of Justice without giving thought to why she's naked to begin with? (That last one was a trick question, John Ashcroft already did!)

Sex is normal. And not just normal but natural and beautiful and pleasurable. The human body is a marvel of engineering and architecture, and another sign of the beauty of nature or God's own image. Most children see a naked member of the opposite sex before middle school, whether it's their sibling, parent, or just from playing doctor. Nearly everyone already knows the story of the Birds and the Bees before their parents actually tell it. And unless you're married, you probably lost your virginity before your parents accepted it, even if you were 40. These are all universal moments of discovery that cannot be stopped or unlearned, so kids should be allowed to experience it and talk about it, especially with their parents. But the only way that's ever going to happen is if all taboos are open for discussion and not judgment. I know because my parents were on opposite sides of the spectrum. My dad was a paranoid schizophrenic born and raised Baptist, while my mom was a self-confessed nymphomaniac. My dad talked to me once about sex and once about homosexuality, the entire context of which can be summed up in 3 words, "Don't do it." So I'd talk to my mom instead, and while her openness would probably bother others, I'd say it's one of the reasons I'm as normal and fairly well-adjusted as I am. I could talk to her about anything, and I did, something that a lot of parents only wish they could say. Because my mom taught me about sex and all it's benefits and risks, I never had unprotected sex or got anyone pregnant or anything stupid. But because of my dad's overt reactions to sex, I spent years of confusion and pain trying to come up with any answer to my sexuality other than the simplest, I'm just gay. Luckily, because of my mom's open mind, I was able to slowly chip away at years of hatred to reveal my true self. And while the thought of a gay son may terrify some, at least I'm also a happy, loving, and trusting son.

It may just be my perception, but anti-porn rules usually end up being used to enforce anti-gay sentiment. My first encounter with this was in my home town of less than 30,000. The only real book store was two miles from my house, but well worth the trip. It was huge, had a coffee house to read in, and a more diverse selection than the local library. Around the same time that Pokemon Tournaments filled the cafe every Saturday some new titles were added that got the attention of the church and myself. In the Erotic section were two books about homosexuality. Books, meaning with little or no pictures. A week later in church we got to hear about the "pornography" that was being peddled by the Books-A-Million, and urged to boycott them until they removed it. Just think of the children! And Books-A-Million did, they moved the Erotic section to an area of the store that could be roped off for adults only, but it turns out that wasn't enough. That's when the real ugliness came out. It wasn't ever about the Erotic section, they just wanted those faggot books out of their town. But the book store didn't budge. They refused to be bullied or censored. They defiantly stood up for their customers, even if they were hated in this tiny town. So, of course, they shut down a few years later. It was the first time I can ever remember actually hating a church. Books were my lifeline, and all because of one belief they took them away from me and everyone else, just to protect us from the gays. In Indiana a new law has been passed that makes it a felony to sell "sexually explicit material" to anyone under 13. Not just pornography, but theoretically sex-ed books, books on Greek mythology, the law has no concrete definition. Nobody's been hit with it yet, and the local booksellers are already taking it to the Supreme Court, but you can bet that if some kid sees a penis, some heads are going to roll.

I can't force anyone to accept sex as a normal part of life. And I would never want to, it should be something you discover on your own. But on the same side, don't tie up our courts over trivial bullshit and start a witch hunt over people who appreciate literature and respect individual choice. If you're really worried about what your kids are reading then why not talk to them about it. Explain to them with solid arguments why something is unacceptable and then let them defend it. If it's forbidden it'll just be more tempting to defy you and read behind your back. I suppose if your goal in life is to raise sheltered, naive, sexually-neutered children that's your business. But it's not the government's job, it's not the publisher's job, it's not the clerk's job, it's your job. And if you find your son looking at a penis despite all your efforts, it's your own damn fault.

A brief discussion with God.

Dorian...Dorian...Dorian! Are you listening to Me? It is I, God, your Lord and Creator.

Wow! God? Like, capital G God? I always figured You were really just a creation of Man.

Would you put that bong down for two seconds and listen to Me or am I going to have to start burning bushes?

Okay, I'm sorry. What is it?

Well, frankly it's this whole "gay" thing. See, according to scripture I'm afraid that you're a sinner.

Well of course I am. We all are. You're the one who created me, aren't You?

What did I just finish telling you? Yes! All of the human race was created in My image.

Well then, I have to ask, why did You make me gay? Why did You make a tenth of the world gay for that matter?

Shit! I mean, that's no different than babies that are born addicts. You see, it all goes back to Original Sin...I think.

Sorry, but it's going to take more than that to convince me.

Well, you just better hope I don't go Sodom and Gomorrah on your ass! After all, they were gay! Weren't they?

I don't know. The Bible's so vague that they could be anything. The only specific thing I've ever heard mentioned is that they were hellbent on raping people, not that they were gay. Don't You remember? You were pretty biblical with them.

Not really. That was all so long ago. And I had a lot of anger issues before My Son was born. Oh, but what about "Thou shalt not lay with a man as thou lay with a woman?" That's in the Bible, isn't it?

Yeah, something like that, but I've got news for You, God. The way I lay with a man is completely different from the way I lay with a woman. I don't even lay with women. Seems to me that You're just telling the bisexuals to make up their damn minds.

Watch your language.

Sorry, God.

Anyway, that's not the point. If you have sex with a man than you can't have babies. And without babies how are we going to populate the earth? It's a waste of seed, and I know that's a sin.

Uh, God? Give or take, how many people were walking around when You wrote the Bible?

I don't know, maybe a few hundred million? Why, how many are there now?

I think we're on our way to 7 billion right now.

7 billion! How did you even fit that many people on there?

Well, we crammed a lot of them into China and India. So what are You saying? We've successfully populated the earth?

Populated? Of course. It's over -populated! No wonder I've always got a headache, all those people down there...

So would You say that my seed is probably unneeded at this time?

Unneeded? It's downright dangerous! I didn't make enough resources to support that kind of growth. We don't need seed, we need a harvest!

Well, before You start declaring the Apocalypse, how about this? Since we can't make kids, we'll adopt the unwanted ones and try to even things out. That is, as long as You don't mind that the kids are growing up with two dads.

Honestly, I can't even keep track anymore. There's kids with no parents, kids with one parent, kids with two pairs of parents...They're all equally screwed up, so what's the difference?

Wow, thanks God! So it's okay if I'm gay?

Sure, have sex with men. What do I care? After all, Eve was just a last resort I pulled out of Adam's--

Well, I'm sure You need to get going soon but I just have one more question. Is it okay for me to get married too?

Well, I would hope you at least try to for the sake of the child. Look, Marriage is a commitment, not some magical ritual that's going to make everything alright. If you're not meant to be married than you won't be for very long.

Sorry, God. Just one last question. What about AIDS? Did You make AIDS to kill gay people?

Look, that thing came from somebody having sex with a monkey. If you have sex with someone who has sex with monkeys, then at least protect yourself. I didn't create you people to be stupid.

Well actually, a lot of people say that protected sex is a sin. You know, goes back to that whole "waste of seed" thing.

Ugh. Give Me strength. Look, Dorian, I hate to show up, condemn you, forgive you and leave; but it looks like I've got my work cut out for Me for a while.

Oh no, I understand. Thanks for clearing everything up. I'll try to pray more often and go to church if You want.

It's no problem. Just be good and try not to be a dick to anybody and we're cool. Later, man.

Later, God.

Double Standards

"There are an awful lot of gays in comics these days."

It's not quite how I would put it but my customers are right. Ever since we've been allowed to get married and be on television, comic characters have started coming out. Nobody famous and obvious, like Batman or Wonder Woman, another rant for another time. Instead, DC created Batwoman, the love interest of Renee Montoya, a former cop for Gotham City. Marvel's biggest gay names are Wiccan & Hulkling and the Ultimate version of Colossus. When I first learned about all these gay characters in comics I became excited and started grabbing any appearance I could find. But something was seriously off. The relationships are far from physical, romantic, or even normal. Not once have I seen two gay characters say, "I love you," or kiss or even hold hands. Lesbians can get away with physical affection, but only because it's considered a "fan service". It seems to me that either there are no gay writers (*cough, cough*) or the public is trying to include the homo without the sex.

There's plenty of gay characters on TV. They fix hair, act effeminate for cheap laughs and occasionally get angry at the world, but no one seems to want to let the cat out of the bag that we're actually surprisingly normal. No, just focus on the stereotypes. Nevermind that we date, love and, yes, fuck just like everyone else. That makes some people uncomfortable. So instead, we become some kind of creepy, neutered, sexless gender. If a boy and girl kiss it's not even worth a PG rating at the box office, but as soon as two boys get involved it's lucky if you can keep it at R. Flash all the girls' boobs you want, we'll make sure the 17-year-olds get their fill. But if there's any male nudity, you'd better be ready to start promoting at venues with "Adult" in the name. It takes me back to high school, when our theatre caused an uproar by producing a gay farce. One of the boys pretends to be a girl so his parents won't know he's gay, hilarity ensues, etc. We were allowed to do it, but under strict guidelines from the school board:

1. No physical contact lasting more than 3 seconds.
2. No kissing of any kind.
3. No hands allowed below or on the waist.
4. Hugging is acceptable, provided that both pairs of arms are kept at shoulder level.
5. While seated, a hand may be placed on the knee, but not around the shoulder.
6. No distasteful gesturing of any kind will be tolerated.

Now, was any of this enforced on the straight couple? Of course not. Hell, they had a make-out scene on top of the kitchen counter if I remember correctly. Though that was partly our director's way of getting a dig at the school board. And did they have any objections to dressing in drag? No, because it's funny. Well, I've got news for the world. Not only do gays do everything, and I mean everything, that breeders do, we do more than most would dare to even dream. Just something to think about when you start feeling progressive just for having a minor gay character. We're not impressed and you're not learning anything until sex is allowed to be a part of homosexuality.

Biblical Ravings

When asked about Christianity I always say, "I love Jesus, just not religion." God has had a powerful impact on my life whether he actually exists or not. The belief that there was always someone who would love me for who I was got me through some hard times in childhood, but the Church and it's goers have always pushed me away for one reason or another: divorced parents, playing an instrument, asking questions and of course, being gay. The mob mentality of churches and organized religion in general seems counter-intuitive. Let's not forget that Jesus was a rebel, hated by many of his own faith for questioning old ways, rejecting obsolete rules, and establishing a personal relationship with God. Whether or not he was actually the son of God is irrelevant; we are all the son of God, after all. But saying so made him a blasphemer and a heretic and a dead man. And the sad thing is we're still crucifying each other every day.

The most fundamental and important story of the Bible, in my opinion, is often glanced over as merely a creationist fairy tale with no real lessons to be learned. Adam and Eve are used to teach about the evils of temptation and the consequences they carry. God said don't eat the fruit, Eve did anyway, God got mad and threw them out. The real lesson, however, is that we are not fit to label sin. When Adam and Eve were first created God literally gave them the world. The only catch was they were not worthy to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Right and Wrong. Pretty soon Satan appeared in the form of a snake and tempted Eve, "Why should God be the only one with moral judgment? If you knew what was Wrong in the world you could make everything Right, and wouldn't that make God happy? Surely it's the Right thing to do?" Contrary to popular belief, that was the moment Eve gained the knowledge of Right and Wrong. The fruit and it's violation are merely a symbol to drive the point home. By going against God in order to please him she had become the first Evangelist, next going to Adam and converting him. Then they decided that nudity, the symbol of sex, freedom and truth, was a sin. Which was how God found out and became so furious he cast them out of the Garden forever, because they had become their own gods, but wouldn't commit to it. Never did they say I believe nudity is wrong. It's always God who gets everything declared in his name. God hates fags. God bless America. It's God's will. Here's an idea. If you believe in something, be it good or bad, then just own up to it.

Throwing Bible quotes into an argument does nothing to get your point across because, like any other book, we all interpret the Bible differently. There are already hundreds of different translations in English alone. Whatever part of the Bible may have been written by God, it has long since become unrecognizable. It is written by man and should be treated as such. Who's to say that God and happiness can't be found elsewhere? Personally speaking I've found Love with Jesus, Acceptance with Taoism, Serenity with Buddha, Inspiration with Odin, Self-Reflection with Divination and Prayer with Romany Magic. I don't know that any of them are "real", and anyone who claims otherwise is too scared to admit all the possibilities that are out there. But it's not only religions that have made me a better person. "Sins" have helped me too, just as they've helped everyone. I learned to stand up for myself from Anger. Sloth keeps me relaxed. Greed motivates me to better myself. Envy gives me something to work for. Gluttony keeps my eyes open. Lust has revealed my true nature and Pride keeps me looking and feeling good. No matter what the experience, I acknowledge it and I learn from it. To do otherwise is an injustice to yourself and everyone around you.

Oscar Wilde said it best, "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." Within reason, that is. Take alcoholism. Say drinking makes you happy. Really happy. So happy your family and friends become concerned. So you go to rehab, attend AA meetings, don't touch a drink for 10 years, and everyone congratulates you on your hard work. But the fact is, if drinking makes you happy then completely avoiding it gives alcohol just as much control over your life as it had before. You stop going to bars or any parties with alcohol. You judge those around you that do drink and try to convince them to give it up too. And eventually you steal a drink, alone and ashamed of what you've done, and pretty soon you're right back where you started. If having a beer now and again weren't out of the question, you'd be able to enjoy what you like without going off the deep end. Calling something evil or sinful doesn't make the temptation go away. It only adds feelings of guilt, shame, secrecy and self-loathing to the mix. Instead, try to expand the vocabulary a little. If you can't replace "wrong" or "evil" with something else, then it's probably safe to scratch that sin from the list. Drinking can be irresponsible, murder is hateful, you get the idea. The point is if we could just back down from this whole you/me, black/white, good/bad view of the world we were given we might be amazed to see just how much is there. This is our Garden of Eden. God created us to tend to it and use it and love it. All he asks, is that you don't eat from this one tree. Talk about resisting temptation.

Faggot.

I wear high heels and makeup, carry a purse and have sex with men.
To put it bluntly, I am everything that's wrong with the world today.
I am corrupting your children with purple dinosaurs, teletubbies, and two puppets living together.
I am going to destroy the institute of the American Family by getting married and raising children.
I turn Senators into Sinners and Priests into Pedophiles.
The right to my existence is a controversy
And the mechanics of my lovemaking are enough to cause fits among the Church,
But I figure if God wants to say something he knows where to find me,
Because I'm not leaving anytime soon.
No matter what you say,
No matter what you do,
I am always here.
I am the third sex.
I am achieved desire.
I am unrepressed joy because I don't care.
I don't care if I threaten your gender roles,
I don't care what the constitution says,
And I don't even care if the first words in the Bible are "God hates queers."
And if you don't like it,
Then you can kiss my faggotty ass and choke on my boyfriend's dick.

What happens at Theatre Camp stays at Theatre Camp.

The truth is when I was 13 I should have known I was gay, but denial has always been my greatest defense. Why 13? Well, apart from the obvious beginning of puberty there was plenty. I'd never kissed a girl, nor had any real desire to, despite the fact that I'd been in Summer Love with the same girl for three years in a row. I was in band originally, but added choir onto my list of extracurriculars after a year. Hell, the first erection I ever had was from wearing a thong. I had no idea what my body was doing at the time, I just knew that it felt good. It was because of this that I thought I was just a transsexual for the longest time. I figured I was supposed to be a girl because that was somehow a lot easier than just being gay. But, if you take a girly-boy and send him to a month-long Fine Arts camp, things are bound to come out.
It was a state-sponsored program that accepted kids based on their talents, not who could afford to go. My English teacher suggested I apply with an essay, and a month later I was accepted. It started in July, so I spent as much of June as I could with my sister Kei and my summer girlfriend, Angeleena. We'd originally met when we all went to the same day care two years ago, but now we just spent most days at one of our houses. The night before I left we all spent the night at Angeleena's house. Her mom seemed to worry that me and Ange would lock ourselves in her room, but for the most part we were happy with holding hands, love letters, and making fun of unattractive strangers together. Once the girls had decided that we were having a slumber party, they decided to "torture" me with makeup, nail polish, hair products, and tweezers. I let them. The next morning I washed everything off, but decided to keep my toes red. I claimed I didn't know how to take nail polish off, and so the girls squealed and ran to hide the acetone. I feebly tried to stop them, but later claimed it was so I'd be marked as Angeleena's. This way, no other girls would try anything. They were happy and I was going to camp with cute toenails and perfect eyebrows.

The camp, AEGIS, which may have stood for Arts & Enlightenment for Gifted and Intelligent Students but don't hold me to it, was like heaven for a fine arts whore growing up in a Christian college town in Arkansas. We were divided into four groups; Art, Dance, Music and Theatre. Although I had no experience on stage and had two years of band and a year of choir under my belt, I somehow talked my way into the Theatre department, along with one other boy, Jonathan. Jonathan was 18, taller than me, black and openly gay. I'd met plenty of gay men thanks to my mom, but he was easily the youngest one so far. And he was cute. Milky brown skin, slender frame, almost a girl if it weren't for his shaved head. He had little black glasses when I first met him, but later found out he only wore them if he didn't feel like bothering with his contact lenses, which was really a shame, for me anyway.
Being the only two guys in a class of 30 girls, we tended to hang out a lot. When we first met he asked me if I was gay, but I said no and for some reason offered my toes as proof that I had a girlfriend. Now, on top of being the only "straight" boy I was also the youngest and the shortest. A baby in the eyes of the Seniors who took up most of the population. This suited me just fine as I'd never had any older brothers or sisters and it was nice to be taken care of for a change. The camp itself was at a college campus, and because we were there for so long it ended up becoming like mini-college. We'd all go grocery shopping together, hang out in our dorms, loaf around the middle of the quad or just sit in the student union and gab between classes. I felt even cooler because I was so young and hanging out with all these older kids who were actually intelligent and interesting, a big change from my home town.
It was two days before the end of camp and my mom had called to say that her and Kei would be there on Sunday for our big show and to take me back to Dallas. She also mentioned that my dad was supposed to see me on Saturday, the official parents' day when we actually show them around, as opposed to the Sundays before when our parents were allowed to take us out for a few hours if they wanted. On this particular Saturday I was already feeling a little deflated. Yesterday we had all gone to see an opera in Little Rock, followed by a trip to the mall and dinner at a restaurant. For some foolish reason or another, I had decided that not only was I in love with my classmate Rebecka, I was going to spend all day with her and make her fall in love with me. This turned out to be a pretty common practice of mine to win girls, and it worked--sometimes. Rebecka was 16 and she let me down very easily, being the sweet girl that she was, but I was still pretty upset about it. This was all going through my head as I waited in the common room for my dad to show up.
Other parents showed up and were ushered out by their children. The room had been full of people laughing and talking and telling stories two hours ago, but now the room was empty and silent. I knew that my dad wasn't coming, but I couldn't move off the couch I had planted myself on. All I could think about was being rejected by everyone, feeling unwanted and uncared for, an inconvenience that just couldn't be bothered with and eventually I started to cry. Not a lot, just a couple of drops before I could stop myself. It must have been enough to show though, because the next thing I knew Jonathan was sitting next to me rubbing my back and asking, "What's wrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing," I said as I tried to hide the evidence that said otherwise, "It's just--" And in that instant I decided that if anyone would understand what I was feeling, it would be him. "It's just that my dad was supposed to come see me today and he hasn't. He does this all the time."
Jonathan didn't say anything, so I kept going, "I know it's because he wanted a son on the football team or something like that, but I can't help that I can't catch or throw to save my life. I just do what I'm good at, you know?"
Jonathan laughed and moved in a little closer as he continued to stroke my back, "I know exactly what you mean! My dad thought I was going to play basketball. He took me to games and workshops and training camps and everything else so we could 'work on my game.' Finally one day I just told my dad I didn't want to do it anymore."
"What did he do?" The fear in my voice must have made me sound like such a kid, but Jonathan didn't laugh, he just stretched his arm across my shoulders and relaxed.
"He didn't do anything. That was it."
I was a little surprised to find his arm around me, but he was pretty touchy-feely anyway and I'd just got caught crying. Besides, it really didn't bother me, it was actually pretty comforting.
"It's just--I don't know what I'm doing wrong! I go to church, I get good grades, I play in the same marching band he did and none of it's enough! He doesn't bother taking an interest in anything I do and I doubt he'd even know my name if my step-mom didn't remind him!"
I was starting to get emotional again and could feel the hot sting behind my eyes, but I didn't cry this time. Instead I turned and caught eyes with Jonathan who was looking right back. I closed my eyes to keep the tears back and he leaned forward and kissed me. It was a quick kiss, a test, and I had apparently passed.
"Listen," he said in a soft voice, "Me and some of the girls are having a little party tonight. How about you come with and you can blow off some steam?" I was still dumbfounded by the kiss. It was so fast I wasn't sure what it meant.
"Sure," I said in my most nervous 13-year-old voice, "that sounds like a lot of fun."
Jonathan gave me a little squeeze on the shoulder as he stood up, "Screw your dad, man. He doesn't know who he's missing out on. I'll pick you up tonight, okay?"
"Sure," I said again, wishing I could think of something cooler to say, "Thanks for cheering me up."
"No problem, Big D. Now go on and get out of here. It's too depressing to sit in a big empty room by yourself." And with that he was out the door, and I was even more confused than when I started.

When I look back at that night, I like to think of it as My Complete Loss of Innocence. I pushed the kiss out of my mind for the rest of the day, but spent two hours getting ready for Jonathan anyway. I wore my black combat boots under my best looking pair of jeans and paired it with a white tank top under an unbuttoned black dress shirt. It was the beginning of a look I would adopt all through high school and it was almost flattering, I just hadn't learned how to find proper fitting clothes. But, when Jonathan met me at my dorm at 8, the first thing he said was, "Aw, you look cute!" This wasn't really anything new; Jonathan told all of us when we were looking good, but this time I actually agreed with him. We didn't say much on the way up to the fourth floor, one of the girls' wings and Jonathan's unofficial home. Officially, Jonathan shared a dorm with another boy three doors down from mine. Boys were also officially forbidden from the third of fourth floor, but we'd heard from Jonathan's roommate that he almost never came home because he was always spending the night with the girls. There was always a counselor at the stairwell waiting to catch the curious, so we could never figure out how he did it.
As we approached the fourth floor I realized that I was about to become privy to the secret the boys had all agonized over. Was it a secret passage, a disguise, bribery, what? We walked through the door and looked around for the counselor on duty. It was one of the male Art counselors, I forget his name, but he'd always had a real chip on his shoulder toward me before. But tonight me and Jonathan just walked right past him, he even gave us a nod as we passed! I was so baffled by it that as soon as we were out of earshot I blurted out, "What was that all about? I thought we couldn't come up here?" He laughed and put his hand around my waist as we walked, "Well, Theatre boys don't count. I suppose Dance boys wouldn't either if we had any." There was no denying what was going on anymore. There was plenty of time to back off, say something, get out of this and just run away. But I couldn't. I was just too damn intrigued and curious for my own good.
We arrived at the girls' communal bathroom, an indignity that the boys were blessfully spared due to our sparce numbers. I thought Jonathan needed to use the facilities before we went to the party, but he knocked on the door and said, "Girls, it's us!"
I heard a click on the lock, then Jonathan pushed me through and quickly followed, locking the door behind us again. It certainly wasn't what I'd expected! The girls had covered the cold tiles in front of the three free-standing shower stations with blankets and pillows. Looking around I saw most of the girls were in PJs of some kind or another, even if it was on the closer side of lingerie. I knew that technically I had just walked into one of every boy's fantasies, but frankly I just felt overdressed. I told myself I wasn't staring because I had been raised to be polite and respect women, but everyone else seemed to know otherwise.
Rachel, one of my favorite big sisters, was the girl who had answered the door.
"Come on in you two! Take your shoes off and get comfortable." My boots clunked next to Jonathan's Converse sneakers. Then, perhaps fixing my overdressed issue, Jonathan came behind me and pulled my dress shirt off, leaving it with the shoes. The girls cleared a spot for us and we sat down. Rebekka was sitting across from us and already I could feel my cheeks starting to blush. This only grew worse as she said, "Aw, look! You guys are twinkies!" It was true, except his tank top was black. The girls giggled, I blushed, and the girls giggled again. Finally Rachel came over and handed us two plastic cups. She hesitated as she handed me mine, "Dorian, have you ever had alcohol before?" The truth was I had never even contemplated it. Our church didn't even serve real wine. But I knew that I wanted to try it now, and if I said no to Rachel she would mother me. So I just said yes and that was enough for her.
"What is it?" I asked as I sniffed it.
"Vodka and Kool-aid. I've had better, but for smuggled booze it's pretty good," Rachel smacked her lips, satisfied. I gave it a quick gulp and was surprised to find it pretty much tasted like grape Kool-aid. The only difference was a warm sensation as it went down your throat. "Thank you," I said while raising my cup.
"Welcome to the last slumber party girls!" Rachel cheered.
Maybe it was just the alcohol, but I started to loosen up after my second drink, which was much stronger than the first. Once we'd run dry on conversation and vodka the party turned to Truth or Dare. Jonathan reached into his pocket and pulled out three fat, hand-rolled cigarettes.
"Let's make it a little more interesting. We'll flip a coin for truth or dare. If you do it, you get a hit. Sound good?" Now don't ask me how an innocent little Christian boy from Arkansas instantly knew that we were smoking pot, but I had always wanted to try it. I didn't want to make a fool of myself, so I leaned in to Jonathan's ear and whispered, "I don't want to sound stupid but I've never smoked pot before. How do I do it?" He didn't laugh, he just whispered back, "Be sure to breathe it in. Don't suck it like a straw or the smoke won't get in your lungs and you won't get high. And coughing is okay, it gets you higher."
"Since it's Dorian's first time let's let him go first." Rachel presented the joint to me and flicked her lighter. Jonathan flipped a quarter, "Truth."
Thank God. I never do dares if I can get away with it. One of the girls blurted out, "Have you ever been kissed?" I took a puff on the joint, coughed and hacked for a second and as the smoke escaped I said, "No." The girls giggled, I blushed, and the girls giggled again.
Since a lot of the girls wouldn't play or smoke, the joints went around pretty fast. I didn't really pay attention to any else's truths or dares for awhile until I heard Jonathan's first Truth come up. "When did you know you were gay?" And his response? "When I was 13." But I didn't have much time to react before my toss came up Dare. This time Rachel took command of the floor. "I dare you to kiss Jonathan," the girls squealed with excitement, "If you do you get two hits and I'll even kiss Amber." Well, what's a pressured, stoned, drunk 13-year-old to do? I took the joint in my hand and already everyone was cheering. I took one big puff, coughed it out and took another. "There's no backing out now, Big D! And I want a real kiss or me and Amber are out of the picture." Rachel took the joint away from me and I turned to face Jonathan. "Okay," I said, "but you start." The "Oooos" had already started when I closed my eyes. First I felt him scoot up in front of me, then his arms were around my belt, then I felt myself begin to shake. Jonathan pulled me to him and we were kissing. This was nothing like the peck from this morning; Rachel got exactly what she wanted, a show.
What can I say about my first kiss that hasn't been said hundreds of times already? His breath tasted like grape Kool-aid, I couldn't hear anything for the girls, and I have no idea how long it lasted. In the back of my mind I kept hearing, "This is my first kiss. My first real kiss. My first kiss is with a boy!" But the excitement and the inebriation and the kiss itself drove all my concern away. When we finally did pull apart Rachel and Amber were already making good on their promise, but I honestly wasn't paying too much attention.

Truth or Dare seemed pretty pointless after that, so we just wrapped up in the blankets and finished off the rest of the weed, and for once the voice in the back of my head was silenced and I was having the time of my life. We talked about everything; our families, sex, drugs, more sex, and of course the show tomorrow. It was past midnight when we'd finished the weed and the booze and nearly everyone had settled down for the night on top of blankets, in sleeping bags, and even a few went to their rooms, despite the protests. I myself was trying to figure out the best way to get back downstairs without anyone noticing. The high had been great, but now my head was floating and my stomach uneasy.
"I'm kinda sleepy," I slurred to Jonathan, who had been playing cards with Rachel. For the first time since I'd got there I stood up -- and then immediately sat back down. Rachel started laughing and I couldn't help but laugh with her as Jonathan wrapped my arms around his shoulders and lifted me off the ground.
"Rachel, can I put him in your room?" She tossed him the keys and dealt another hand to Amber as we stumbled out the door.

"How are you feeling?" He looked worried and I probably looked drunk.
"I'm happy," I stumbled and hugged onto him in response.
"Careful, now. We're almost there." He kept one arm around me as he unlocked the dorm. We sat on the nearest bed and I flopped onto my back, looking up at the back of his head.
"Would you mind if I asked you something personal?"
He turned around looking puzzled, but consented, "What do you need to know?"
I was beyond the point of subtlety. The buzz had doubled from all the movement and without inhibition I blurted out, "How do you know if you're gay?"
It was so quiet all I could hear was his breath as it quickened slightly. The only light came from the window outside, which silhouetted his profile in a bright, silver glow. He turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow at me, "There's not a checklist to go through or anything. I'd say it's pretty easy to tell if you are."
But it wasn't easy to tell. Between the two kisses and the intoxication I couldn't tell what counted and what didn't. I had no idea where either of us were standing.
"I wanted to ask one more thing," I said with a raised eyebrow of my own, "Was I a good kisser?"

This time I didn't wait for him, we just wrapped our arms around each other and went at it. This wasn't a dare or a friendly sign of affection; this was hot, this was dirty, this was forbidden but God did it feel right! We pulled our shirts off and tossed them on the floor, knocking his glasses off in the process. He pushed me back onto the bed as he straddled me. He began kissing my neck and then slowly working his way down. Around the nipples, down the stomach, even further until I heard a zip and then my pants were pulled off and thrown as well. That brought me back to the present.
"Wait!" I pushed him off of me slightly so I could see his eyes, "I think I'm gonna have to keep it above the waist."
Jonathan put his finger to my mouth and shushed, "Don't worry, honey. I wouldn't expect you to lose your virginity the same night as your first kiss." Then he took off his pants and added them to the pile. We started kissing again and I was now very aware of his fully erect penis. And more to the point, mine. The shock was enough to start regaining sobriety, and soon enough I could hear the doubts and thoughts in my mind again, pulling me away.
"What's wrong?" We laid side by side looking at each other in the moonlight.
"Nothing. This has been great, but I don't think I'm gay. Or I don't know." I didn't move or push him away, but it was all so difficult to tell what was going through my head, even without the weed-vodka haze still floating around. I mean, if I get a hard-on from kissing a guy who looks like a girl while I'm trashed, then what does that make me? "I don't want you to go or anything, but I just don't think I'm ready to figure it out yet. I've been going out with this girl and--"
"Hey! It's okay. Sexuality is confusing for everybody. And some of us never figure it out. Besides, it's already 2:30 in the morning, we should probably go to sleep. Okay?"
"Okay."

We fell asleep next to each other in that tiny twin size bed, and when I woke up we were spooning. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and my head was killing me. I carefully lifted his arms away and slunk slowly out of the bed. While I looked around for my clothes I noticed that Rachel and Amber had made it into the next bed together. Luckily the girls had gathered all our clothes next to our bed, so I dressed silently and made my way back to my dorm. When I snuck in my roommate was still singing Korean pop music in his sleep and the clock said it was just past 6 in the morning. I set the alarm for 10 and went to sleep in my own bed fully clothed.

Apart from being on stage together, I never talked to him again. On my way out for good I stopped for one last goodbye to everyone. As I gave hugs and promises to keep in touch I noticed Jonathan on the other side of the hall with his mother and younger sister. We caught eyes, but I looked away and pretended not to notice him. When I looked back, I could see sadness in his eyes that said he was disappointed, but a grin on his face that said he understood.

What Does Gay Mean?

I believe the main reason I ever denied my nature was my father. For the first nine years of my life he was practically non-existent, then my parents got divorced and we moved to Searcy, Arkansas to live with my grandma while my mom got a house in the same neighborhood with another divorced mother. He had a part-time job at UPS and the rest of his time he spent sleeping. We started out living back and forth between houses, but eventually my dad got a house and scared my mom away by stalking her. It was just me and my sister with him after that, but his sleeping habits hadn't changed. I tried my best to make the most of the bad situation; I took care of dishes, laundry, trash and cooking. I had unceremoniously become a house wife for a paranoid schizophrenic, though I didn't know it at the time. I can remember perhaps the only time my sexuality has come into question and I denied it. I had just come home for the school year and was still desperately in love with my first girlfriend, Angeleena. I believe I was 11 or 12 at the time because I had just started middle school. My dad was awake this afternoon when I got home from school, already a bad sign. He told my sister to go play in her room while he had a talk with me.
"Dorian," he said, "I just wanted to clear up a few things now that you're getting older. I hear you've been getting teased a lot in school."
This wasn't anything new, but I guess my future stepmother must have said something. "Yeah," I said, "but it doesn't bother me, they're all idiots."
"Well then, why not stand up to him? What's his name?"
There were honestly plenty, but I went with my most hated: a tall boy with a stupid bowl-shaped haircut that was very popular at the time, "Trent."
"Well, what does he do? Push you around? Tease you?"
"He just calls me names, I guess. Honestly I don't really care."
"I've heard he's been calling you gay!" my dad blurted out.
This surprised me, because of all the things I had been called, this was not one of them. "What does gay mean?"
I lived in Arkansas, okay? Sue me.
"It's a sin that's committed when two boys are together instead of a man and a woman. That's not you, though, is it?"
The truth is, I had no idea it was even an option. But I could hear the accusation and fear behind his voice, and luckily I had an easy comeback. "Well, no. I'm dating Angeleena."
My dad let out a sigh of relief and put his hand on my knee, "Well, there you go then. The next time Trent calls you gay just say, 'Well, Trent, at least I have a girlfriend.' After all, you can't let people think you're gay."
And so was the beginning of my dad's obsession with my masculinity, and my half-hearted attempts to keep him appeased. Angeleena and I remained friends for quite some time, we still are as a matter of fact, and this seemed to always be enough to steady his nerves. I did my best to appear as normal and straight as possible to the rest of the world, so my queerness just came out in secrecy.

Ballet is for Girls

Lately I've been giving a lot of thought to the age-old question: What makes you gay? I know, I know, nature vs. nurture, it never ends. But, looking back on my life I've been finding little "signs" that weren't so strange then, but explain an awful lot now. It's led me to believe that my roommate Greg has come up with the perfect answer. We were talking about how gays and lesbians still end up sticking to gender roles for the most part, we just happen to be the same sex. He just cracked open a beer and said "Here's the way I've always thought of it. Your genes determine whether your gay or straight, but your upbringing determines whether you're the man in the relationship or the woman." Okay, sure there are probably a few flaws, but the logic of it is certainly appealing, and it all makes sense. I've been very close to women all my life, from being watched by my aunts, grandmas and mom as a toddler to the girls I played with in elementary school. This was even considered a warning sign in my school, who put me in an after school class with boys who either played with girls or themselves. They seemed to fear that I was gender-confused, but that's never been the case. I've always known I was a boy, but I didn't know why I liked to do things girls did. Perhaps the best memory to bring this to light is my little sister's first ballet recital. I've always loved ballet since I first saw The Nutcracker in kindergarten. So much, in fact, that I made my mother take me to see it again. But a few years later when I saw my sister and all the other girls leaping and dancing I realized that normal people could learn ballet. It wasn't some great secret, just a class that you could take instead of soccer. But then, I heard another voice say, "Boys can't take ballet." And God help me, I started crying. I was a 9-year-old boy bawling in the middle of a theatre, and my poor grandma put down her camcorder and asked me what was wrong. Between the sobs all I managed to get out was, "I wish I could dance like that." And yet, somehow my grandma seemed to know exactly what was really going on. "Well, of course you can," she said while leaning down to hug me, "Boys can learn ballet too. Otherwise, who would throw the girls?" I settled down after that and watched the rest of the show. I never did take the class, and my grandma never brought it up again. It's the first time I can ever remember denying myself of anything just because it was "for girls". But unfortunately it was the first of many.

Welcome!

Hello, my name is Dorian and I'm gay. As a matter of fact, that's what this whole blog is about. It's just a journal about all the crazy, sexy, wild, and twisted shit that goes with being openly gay. I guess I should go ahead and tell you a bit about myself. I live with two roommates and two cats, Greg and Heather; and Rikku and Baby, respectively. I live in Dallas and work at a local comic shop while working on a teaching degree. I've only recently come out of the closet, and have noticed that it's hard to find information anywhere about what it's like being an average gay man in America. All I've ever had to go off of before I came out were stereotypes in media and the few out gay men I've met briefly in my life. Neither were all too helpful, and so it seems that when it comes to role models and examples, I'm on my own. But hopefully we'll figure it all out along the way.