Sitting at my desk at work today (procrastinating), I started to reflect on what a surprise this year is turning out to be. My co-blogger and I comment on this from time to time. Early last year, I never would have foreseen this sexual bent to my life - the explorations of hook up sites and anonymous sex. Many people in my everyday life would probably be shocked to learn of what I do when I'm not hunched over a computer or facilitating a workshop. In fact, maintaining this double existence (and let's be real, it is a double existence) can be quite taxing. When people at work share their dating stories, I'm usually mum. The most I can offer is, "yes I did have a date last night and it was...nice." Instead of moving on to the next topic, they become even more intrigued and unsuccessfully try to get more information out of me. Over time I've discovered that my vague responses have the opposite effect: they just bring on more questions.
Not that I feel ashamed of what I do on my free time. There just never seems to be the right time to say to your co-workers, "oh last night? I met some dude off the internet. We fucked in his apartment and then I had to scurry out of there before his roommates got home." Maybe this just means I'm not super close to my coworkers. After all, a few of my good friends know. 1 or 2 actually read our blog. But I don't talk about my sex life at work and maintaining this double life is certainly the least enjoyable part of this journey, especially when I want to do the complete opposite. I actually do want to talk about my sex life every chance I get. I do want to find out how other people feel about sex, what they enjoy the most, what they're not into, and what they secretly want to try but feel too shy or ashamed to mention (feel free to share your responses to these questions in the comments section!) I want to be able to share how allowing myself to enjoy sex, without being limited by guilt or shame, has unveiled this whole new me that can appreciate the beautiful imperfection known as my body.
For years I internalized messages that told me I was ugly because I am black, have a wide nose, big lips, etc. Now I can look in the mirror and know that my nose looks like my mother's nose and hers, in turn, looks like her mother's, and so on. I can cherish my lips because my father had these same lips. In fact, my face is a manifestation of the interplay between numerous genetic and cultural legacies. I did these histories a huge disservice by buying into those messages that equate blackness or trans-ness or queer-ness with "undesirable". My salvation hasn't been sex per se. I'm not saying that you should go fuck around so that you can feel good about yourself. I'm merely pointing out that, taking control of my sexuality and my body, not allowing them to be defined for me, was my saving grace.
I also don't want to give the wrong impression that I walk around always feeling good and happy about life. There are certainly days when I feel heavy. I wish I didn't have to live paycheck to paycheck. I would love to just meet someone and not have to do a trans 101 discussion. I would love to not have to encounter the particular type of racism black men face. On the train the other day this white woman took one look at me and, rather than take the empty seat beside me, chose to squeeze into another already teeming with bodies. I want to be able to tell her I'm not the monster society has concocted and stamped into her subconscious. And I would most definitely love the stares to stop. God, how I want those damn stares to go away. Sometimes that shit can just weigh you down. There are still a lot of these moments…
But all in all, fucking around for the past year has been an incredibly rich and multifaceted ride and through it all I can be thankful that I feel alive, in more than one sense of the word.
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