SHELLS

I'm 30 years old.

In gay years, that might as well be 50. I had gone for seeing every guy as a possibility. Now it was about hoping some guy saw me as a possibility.

It was juvenile thinking. Sadly, it was thinking that the gay community practiced. Heaven forbid if you were gay AND black. You were lucky if anyone looked at you that you actually liked.

I stood in line at San Diego's airport. It was extremely busy for 5:30AM. Of course the hours before that had been worse. Months of trying to get a connection between Cancer Boi and I had crushed and burned like buildings toward a forest fire. My mind was full of anger, confusion, sadness, and pain over what had gone down between him, me, Barback, and Barback's boyfriend. Add on to the lack of no sex the night before that. Then add on to that Bradley...after much of chasing me...then deciding I was 'too cute' (his words) to date.

Gay men and their games. I was tired of them. I was no longer a spring chicken who could bounce back after having mental and emotional scars branded on me by gay white society. The lies, betrayals, and games shattered me.

At least I headed on vacation. I would see family and friends in Arkansas. From there I would hang in New York City for two weeks. That would help me get a feel for the place and hopefully meet some nice gay people.

But...would I be able to let down my shell?

ARKANSAS SHELL

It was a shell that I popped up as a gay black man in Arkansas. It was constructed to protect the fragile brain within. Arkansas gave me plenty of time to use it. My repetition among gays when they cared was either immature kid or ice queen. Mostly ice queen.

But even the hardest shell...wanted to be melted.

I saw her. Over the last two years, I had seen her once. And my friend Lee still walked toward me in Barnes and Nobles looking like Jennifer Connolly. It was so different than the punk girl I knew during my early college years.

So we caught up. Lee was determined to go to a graduate school in Oregon. Naturally, her military boyfriend's life was in the military life in Arkansas. It had put a strain on their relationship. So much of a strain the two had considered inviting a third into their relationship.

Lee frowned. "What?"

I guess my look said it all.

"Nothing," I lied.

Of course, Lee knew me better than that. And she knew I had an opinion. And Lee, like me, valued honesty...no matter how blunt...or bias.

"Well...damn," I said, "I've gone from Jonesboro for years and the whole place turned swinger."

I went on to explain my drama with Cancer Boi before I left San Diego. Open relationships were not a good thing and smelt of having your cake and eating it, too. Given Lee's history with guys, I deserved the best.

Then again...so did I.

Did wanting the the best mean settling for less?

***
Carl was another of my close friends from my early college days. We had gone through a lot. Of course, that meant when I asked if I could crash at his house when I was in Jonesboro, it was an a-ok.

I laid on the bed in the garage. I stared at the personal ad on Craigslist. I was bored and curious.

Over the years, Jonesboro had become big enough that it now had its own section on Craigslist. However, it was what was to be expected from Jonesboro gay life. Everyone looked for sex...blacks need not apply.

The more things change...

I frowned. I would leave for New York soon. Two weeks in Jonesboro and while it had a bigger gay presence, I still had not had sex. Maybe New York would be what I needed to relax and unwind.

To open my shell...

ARKANSAS SHELL IN NEW YORK CITY

I laughed. It was the wine I was drinking. And having Cor in front of me at this lovely restaurant.

Cor happened to be in New York for a day before he was off to Germany. I was excited since like most of my friends Cor and I had not see each other in years. He thought I would love this restaurant's vibe so here we were.

The waiter passed by. He looked cute in his little black vest and tighter black pants. I stared after him, loving what I saw.

Cor wanted to give me a crash course in New York gay life. He had good stories and bed. Mostly bad, but he hoped it would be different for me. So he showed me the ropes.

***

He was goofy. With a small little black top hat on, he headed from customers to customers with a smile. It did not hurt that he only had on jeans and red suspenders with a nice body. Such was the crazy life of the bartender.

And then he started to give me free drinks. I frowned. Was he trying to keep me there?

He would fail. The lounge was like something out of THE HILLS, with lounge seating, its colorful lighting, and postmodern design. That was a plus.

The deciding factor was the crowd. The crowd, as Cor had shown me my first night, was interracial. Again, a plus. However, no one paid any attention to me.

Oh, looks were given. I was even sure a few guys thought I looked good-looking. However, they did not have the guts to break away from their clique to see if I was worth it. It was reminiscent of Arkansas gay men who came out to the clubs to only sit in a corner and pick on how other guys dressed, not to actually have fun.

And yet for all the Mean Girl-ness, I found the New york crowd to be very real. There was no games being played here. No illusions as they sat around or ordered drinks. They really did not care for me.

I simply sighed. I finished off my drink. My eyes took one last look at the bartender, my insides flip-flopping over how into him I was. Then I headed for the door.

Same story, different cast.

I knew I would have to be cautious when I was in the Big Bad City. However, I expected to be able to open up a little bit. If I could be in an interracial gay bar, and get NO play, I really wondered if I would ever find anyone.

AND IT WAS A SMOOTH SHELL

I went back to the gay bar a few more times. Unusually it was the same way that bartender usually being the highlight. And as I stood there with a vodka tunic. I couldn't help but wonder...did 'The Community' act this dismissively in all of the United States?

I finished my vodka tunic. then I headed out. My mind had been made up. I decided it would be this way wherever I went. And in my mind another question came to mind.

What was the point then?

***

Another place where I found this question resonating quite well was the chat rooms. It was pretty funny. I expected that since it was a city of 4 million people, that a chat room would be busy. Even San Diego's chat rooms were more lively than New York's chat rooms. Ironic New York's chat rooms were like chat rooms in Arkansas.

Countless people stared at the white screen. No one said nothing. Hours dragged on. A few people posted looking for penis. No talk about anyone's day. No talk about trivial things. Nothing was going on, but a white screen.

SO WHAT IS THE LOWER EAST SIDE LIKE? I typed.

Surprisingly...someone replied. They described how the people were, where to go to eat, and other little things. I talked about things my friend Glenn told me in the area. Even better, more guys started to join in.

It was a nice refrain from the white screen with no talking.

***

It was my last weekend in New York. The plan was to find as many dance floors as possible. The plan was to have some fun.

I made it to Therapy. the other bars appeared to not have Coronas. And the bartenders appeared to be uppity. Worse...no dance floors.

I leaded against the railing. At least Therapy had Coronas. It was also packed for a place with no dance floor. The DJ was in his booth, playing remixes on his laptop. He was in his element.

My eyes looked across the railing. They focused on all the hot guy men. They were dressed to impress and drinking. And as I realized, none of the men were looking at me. And that...made me feel out of my element.

But what was my element now? That was the question that continued to haunt me as the night went on. It popped up when I saw one club was really a restaurant. It resonated again when I walked to the club where Lady Bunny was to find you had to be on a guest list to get it. The question finally sunk in as I was back at the bar I was at with Cor.

The bartender was still as adorably goofy as ever. The crowd was still as dismissive as ever. It turned out there was Coronas there as well. I stood by the bar with my Corona, watching some overeagered gay guy go all touchy-feely on Bartender Goof. I frowned, the question in my head. Then it occurred to me.

This just wasn't my element anymore.

I would never be happy with it. No matter what city I was in, I would always be the undesirable...ironic since I wasn't ugly, could hold a conversation, and was a sexual being. But...no one wanted me. And that made me ugly.

I headed for Splash to at least dance. Dancing had never let me down. I guess it was my boyfriend. Like a boyfriend, dancing allowed me to let down my defenses. Dancing pulled the shell down, allowing me to be free.

I turned left. I spun right. The tribal beat took me. Everyone gave me my space. They respected my moves enough to give me that space. And I knew. No one wanted me...except for the music. It and writing would be all I had.

I could not let down my shell. Everyone wanted to tear out my 30 year old fragile heart. Even the ones like Kos who promised not to...lied. It was all men did. Lied.

I stumbled. A little drunken grin was on my face. I had discovered the meaning of gay life: you never let down your shell. It was all right to be a cold-hearted bitch. Everyone played games. So why open up? Never let the shell down.

I expected more from humanity.

I was wrong.

No wonder people cared more about animals than people.

I knew in that moment...I would be a social monk. I knew I would die alone.

Diego


 

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