THE GIVENS

The cell phone beeped.

Glenn looked at it. His eyes widened. Shock was definitely on his face.

"Oh my," Glenn said.

"What?" I asked.

"I thought he was just joking," Glenn said. "But...he really just sent me a picture of his penis."

It had been a nice sunny day. Glenn and I were on the backyard deck at the house. While we were talking life, he had been getting texts from a married acquaintance of his. Apparently, texting and mild joking had Married guy wanting sex with Glenn. Glenn taken aback was WTF.

That...in a nutshell...was Arkansas for you.

Five years later...nothing had changed.

A PAST REVISITED

I've never been a fan of Arkansas.

Unless you were a white guy with some well off connections, living was hard. I was black. I was also gay. everywhere I went in Arkansas with those two labels, it was the same ole thing.

In Jonesboro, I have my innocence ripped away. In Little Rock, I was awaken to the idea of love only to be denied because of first my own low self-esteem and later the backwards thing of the gay community white and black. The white gay people would be damned if they see one of their members in question was happy. And that went ditto for the gay blacks.

Not that it was much different in San Diego. If there was any difference, it was the fact that I came to San Diego a determined person. Then I moved to New York with a strong confidence in myself.

Only...to be back in Little Rock again.

Five years. Five long years where I've been to a place with different gay politics. I had gone through tragedy and trauma. I've found and lost love with Frenchman. I've grown in my confidence and conviction as a writer and a gay man. I've lived.

Yet here I was back in Little Rock. Five years. While Jonesboro had grown somewhat progressive in my absence from what I've seen, I looked at Little Rock and saw nothing, but the same.

On Craigslist. In the Gay.com Arkansas Chat Room. The very fact there was Adam4Adam.

If you were gay, black, and were into interracial dating, you might as well be dead. No one was looking at you no matter how good-looking you were or even if you had a job.

You...did not exist.

WHAT I KNOW

"What? Seriously?"

I looked at James in complete surprise. He had free time. I had free time. So here we were at Dugan's Pub catching up and bitching about the gays. At the moment, he had dropped a bomb on me.

Apparently, it was cool for gay black men to post online, whether it was Whore4Whore (my name for Adam4Adam), gay.com, or whatever, asking for sex favors for money.

Not professional escorts. Not prostitutes. But an everyday guy.

Damn. Was the economy that bad?

"Yep," James said with a nod.

Even more shocking were they were able-bodied (if a bit queeny) gay black men. Able-bodied men who could find jobs. Gay black men who were willing to be trained like how gay white men have always seem to see gay black men: as sex slaves.

If you were in a relationship or straight: BONUS!!!

I rolled my eyes.

As if it wasn't hard enough to find somebody...

***

And if it wasn't that, it was something else.

Like...

I frowned.

It was another day at the Gay.com chat room. As in...wow, I sure was getting a lot of stuff done...writing, typing, reading, cleaning...EXCEPT for chatting.

When I was in New York in their room...or even San Diego's...there would at least be some talking going on. Whether it was what happened last night or the best place to find an excellent brunch on Saturday. In the Arkansas chat room, all there was...was silence. Even when there was people in there. If it wasn't hat, it was the trolls.

Ugh.

***

Or...it might go something like this...

I ran into the local coffeeshop. It was 90+ degrees. Sweat poured off me. I was making good time to make it over to the films being screened at the Little Rock Film Festival. However, I needed something cool for the walk down the stiff hill I had to walk down. I knew the hill back from my Disco days, but I was older now.

While I waited...I saw him.

Gym rat. That was what I got from the plaid shorts and cut-off sleeves. And let's not forget the big muscular arms with barbwire tattoo. As I waited, I found it was hard not to stare as he idled on Facebook. I was a sucker for arms.

All too soon, he got up and left. I chatted to the cashier about the heat. Then my drink was done, and I was off.

He was on the other side of the street.

It was a fair distance away, but it was him. I recognized those arms. He headed in the direction I was going. I thought that was nice. It gave me something to look at before I made it to the hill.

He made it to his apartment. It looked like he had dropped something. Then he went inside.

I took in the apartment complex he lived in. I had always wondered about when I used to live in the area. I always got a New Orleans vibe from the architecture. As I looked at the structure I noticed it.

He was on the staircase inside looking square at me.

Oh.

We locked eyes. A moment passed. Then a car shot by, reminding me I had a film to watch.

Still...wow.

Was that all there was?

HOW I FEEL

Glenn's cell phone vibrated. He looked at it. A little shriek came out.

"Who was it?"

It was Friday night. Glenn's friend Tracy was over. Some hours of talking and wine later, we had taken a break on the couch. The wine flowed freely.

During the night, Glenn had been getting texts. He replied here and there. Tracy and I had both noticed. And finally, Tracy asked.

Glenn looked over at her. "It's this married friend of mine. He's been wanting to have sex with me."

"Oh," I said, a frown on my face.

Then Glenn sat there and tried to talk him up like he was the Second Coming. I stared at him, the buzz I had making my mood. It wasn't long before I said what came to mind.

"Are you going to sleep with him?" Tracy asked.

"I don't know," Glenn admitted.

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean you don't know? He's married."

"But he's dying," Glenn said.

"I feel his pain," I continued. "But dying is not a get out of jail free card. Doesn't he have kids? A wife? I would think with so many things he could be doing having sex wouldn't be one of them."

"I've known him for ten years," Glenn protested.

"Ten years where he did nothing," I said. "If he wanted to have sex with a man he should have did it before he got married. Definitely before he had kids."

Glenn took what I was saying like a bitchslap to the face. He tried to throw out excuses for this and that. I didn't care.

People fought for their right to love every day. To be out and open. If he had doubts, he...and yes, I knew it was hard to do...should had did what he wanted to do.

Still, Glenn kept trying to rectify it. Tracy attempted back up. Drunk Little Me was in no mood to play.

So...I cut Glenn off at the knees.

"So you talked to Karen about this?" I shot the question out at him.

"Yes," Glenn shot back.

And what did she say?" I challenged.

Dead silence.

"Exactly," I replied. "And did you tell her immediately."

"No," Glenn answered.

"Exactly. If it wasn't wrong at all, why hide it? from me?" I continued. "You told me you stopped talking to him."

We eventually hit a denouement.

Still, the fact I had to throw cold water in there at all made me wonder.

Was that the only options here in Arkansas?

The guy was either married, wanted sex and just that on their sloppy 'I have a boyfriend' timetable, or nothing at all.

Those were my options?

Where was the single gay guy option?

IT'S A GIVEN

Who was I to say anything?

I've lived in Arkansas most of my life. At this point, all of these obstacles to being a happy gay black man in the South...were givens.

If you wanted sex, the person who you were having sex with was either:

1) married or 'straight'

2) gay but in some type of relationship

3) gay, but you were handy...meaning there was no whites, Asians, or Mexicans around.

And before anyone even thinks that was all in my head...simply look around online.

Who's wrong now?

Not me.

One of the most popular questions I got asked whether it was a friend or stranger was where was my boyfriend.

I usually looked at them. Then I let loose with a laugh. You could hear the bitterness in it.

Five years. I accepted it then. I accepted it now. I was not going to find anyone here for dating, being in a relationship, or even sex. I no longer believed otherwise.

I was black.

I was gay.

That meant...I was no one.

It's a given.

Diego


 

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