I have been making a lot of jokes; I am a highly sexual person from the topics I indulge myself in. I utter some of the most provocative messages and well everyone knows that I can turn a very modest & innocent conversation into something highly sexual, something adult, something PG 18. I don’t even think about it, these words spill out of my lips supported by my brain like bullet shots from a gun. I don’t premeditate it. I am a highly sexualized conversationalist.
As a closeted gay man who is trying to achieve the 5th level of Acceptance moving away from the 4th stage Depression (using the Elisabeth Kübler-Ross model), making his way through the maze of heteronormative values, principles and practices, the repression that one has endured for years, I have learned fight against the bullshit heteronormative dogma. I am still living largely in the very straight world which required and still requires certain ways of living, certain ways of being, of existing: our movement hasn’t achieved everything. There is still no equality we all want to see and experience in the different versions of what we define as freedom.
Why am I an over-sexualized conversationalist?
Part of me is revolting-evolving against the system, against the status quo, against the oppression, one that I have been experiencing it for the longest time.
I am the revolutionary with an over-sexualized conversational tone.
However, what I find interesting is the manner though which this revolutionary-evolution is taking shape.
I am highly sexual in my narratives of things. I imbue imagery language that is full of sexual anecdotes, sexual innuendos and the like. My humor has become recognizable for its copious amounts of sexual energy and its tongue-and-cheek sexualized undertones. Even my jokes and ways of retaliation reference this.
For example, let me let you in a little.
A straight guy friend joked after shaking my hand. ‘Hey shake the hand like a real man.’ After realizing he has sweaty palms, I responded ‘I see you are terrified by my presence of gorgeousness to the point of sweating, you can dry your palms on my crotch.’
Another straight guy friend might say, ‘hey speak like man,’ to which I will respond ‘let me put my dick up your mouth and you repeat that sentence cause I didn’t hear you well.’
He might say, ‘did you see any guy you liked,’ and as meanie I will say ‘yeah, not you.’
He might say, ‘that guy is super feminine,’ to which I will respond, ‘I can smell your femininity and cheap perfume from miles away or you are so feminine that guy will win an Oscar portraying you.’
I see this as a manner of dealing, the method of revolting-evolving, the platform to exercise that which is mine, that which shouldn’t have been taken away from me. I exercise it as I breathe, speak and articulate the ideas in my head. I don’t shy away from making a comment, from joking, from being honest and say what is in my mind. That is just the way I am.
So I know of the different stages of coming out and how this is affecting me personally and things around me. I choose to be this because that is the only way I know how to be.
So I am a highly sexualized conversationalist.
Then again, I find this to be a pebble in my thoughts, a manner of attacking the heteronormative world. I am all out in war with those who don’t even suspect it, those who might wonder why this narrative spills out of my lips. Why this world becomes mine. I am on the attack for the years of repression. I said that before, already. Then again, in this paragraph I am trying to drive something different, deeper. What I am saying is, I am on the attack, one that makes me dangle the carrot of homosexuality and all its merry in the eyes of the heterosexual. I have become the political entity that seeks to challenge and madden the world, driving this conversation in tiny rooms, bigger rooms, along pavements, online where no one might read it; everywhere that this conversation seeks its way. I am dangling the reality of what this life is all about.
But sometimes I slap myself on the head when I go back to my room, for not having done enough work. For not having communicated better than I should have. This makes me even angrier, more political, more conversational, more childish in a way because of the way I revolt-evolve. I get angry with myself because someone in the group said something like,
‘I am okay with gay people just not those who are effeminate.’
How dare he says that!
Of course he said that and that is what I am fighting against, this reality of us being put into boxes that were created by the heteronormative world, for the oppressive regime of man. This is what I call dangling the carrot, my life is political and I seek to be that. So when I bang my head against this tiny table in my room, this claustrophobic space, something takes shape within me. It augments the pieces of me to become more political and so the next time I am on the attack, harder than yesterday, from the way I walk to the way I articulate myself. To the way I am. I have become this smoldering pot of poltical-ness. I fight harder and bang harder.
But let me tell you why I let it happen in the first place. Why I let this articulation of ‘I don’t like the effeminate ones’ slip without challenging it the first time someone says it because there have been instances where someone said it and I kept quiet.
You see a part of me has undergone this transformation of acclimatizing, of pacifying this political-ness of my bones. So at times, most times, I have become the person who tries to understand where people are coming from.
- I understand that my mother and father will carry the stamp of homophobia because they don’t understand instead of ‘they should make efforts to change it.’
- I understand that sometimes some gay guys can be a bit too much to the heteronormative world instead of ‘everyone needs to be accepted by the way they are.’
- Let’s have the conversation about this even though you might be a teeny tiny homophobic cause I understand where you are coming from instead, “go to fucking counseling and deal with your homophobia.’
Of course this understanding springs from my upbringing, from the way the sperm of my father met the egg of my mother to the way I was brought into the world. As a child I was trained to appease, to pacify and avoid conflict. I was told to listen and nod my head, to be the cute little boy and cute I was. Of course that cannot be said for the ugliness I have carried now for becoming less of the appeasing, and pacifying that my raisers would have wanted me to become. But this stamp was driven hard into my bones, into my marrow to the point that I couldn’t articulate anything else apart from that perspective for many years.
So the point I am driving here is that I have been someone who wants to become more understanding and maybe I fail to define what that is, failed to draw the line when understanding becomes slavery to the heteronormative bullshit. But rest assured that I have taken quite enough punishment for that with my head banging and the guilt eating me up like termites on wood.
So I am a highly sexualized conversationalist who seeks to outrage, drive the message, that although you might be straight and think highly of yourself, I am not interested in you because to be honest you are not sexy enough, that you are not intelligent enough, that you are not special enough because you are a bit homophobic. That you represent the reality of many gays in the world, discrimination, being driven to the fringes of the society, being led to committing suicide, being rejected, being made feel different and inferior, in a world where sexuality shouldn’t be the thermometer, where sexuality it shouldn’t be that thing that the gods hate.
When I was starting this the process of Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Acceptance, I didn’t understand why some gays create shock value based on their sexuality. Maybe this is what they were or simply they were driving a message, creating a conversation. I might not wear high heels nor dress provocatively, but I have learned my own ways to take down the homophobic drivel with my over-sexualized undertones.