A pride story
You can’t make a person feel pride. I think it’s illegal. Pride for me is not starving myself, mentally, emotionally or physically. I thought it was my best idea ever. For my 2001 New Year’s resolution I decided that I would do all the major black gay prides. I lived in Chicago and was a healthy 195 pounds at six feet. The winters were brutal and some fat was necessary and I did love my JJ’s catfish, Ms. Field oatmeal raisin cookies, Cheesecake factory, Hudson’s Bar-b-que, Popeye’s chicken and many boxes of cheap wine. I had a gym membership at Bally’s but I only used it if I was stuck downtown and needed to use a bathroom. I figured I probably should lose some weight thinking of all the sex I was going to have.
My first pride would be Philadelphia. My friend who lived in Boston said he would rent a car and drive down. I was so excited. I got to Phili and after I checked into my room and decided to go down to the lobby for a cocktail. There were so many good looking black men. I felt insecure. I was also lonely and sober. I went to the hotel bar and ordered a vodka and cranberry. Hotel drinks sucked. It was too late to go to a liquor store. I ended up spending like fifty bucks on cranberry juice with splashes of vodka. As I got drunk, I noticed everyone was so much skinnier than me. I felt like Oprah interviewing an anorexic. I kept comparing my thighs. The first bullshit. My good friend got into a car accident on the way to the hotel. He wrecked the rental car. I only heard that I didn’t have a ride to the club. I decided to take a cab. The thing about black clubs, taxi cabs were an urban myth. The club cost like twenty five dollars to get in. I also needed to find a ride home. The trick was to find Bob: the lonely, older, unattractive guy who looked like he had a car and a job. The problem was that every young, slender, really good looking queen kept coming up to me and flirting trying to get me to buy them a drink. That made me nervous. I didn’t want to be Bob. I was looking for a Bob. After the club, I found myself standing in the parking lot looking like a damn drunk fool. I had no idea where I was. Finally, a slightly overweight guy hit on me. He asked me if I knew where the good weed was. I was desperate and he was my only hope. I lied to him. I told him I had a bag at my hotel room. The ride back to the hotel he kept touching my inner thigh and licking his lips. I kept looking for something familiar so that I could jump out the car and run. Finally I saw the sign of the hotel. I checked my pocket to make sure I had my wallet and hotel key. When he slowed down to turn into the parking space, I opened the door and ran. I ran like a prostitute who just got a knife pulled on her. I was so scared he'd run after me like a pissed off werewolf. I didn’t even take the elevator. I took the stairs, seven flights. I got to my room and slammed my door. I kept looking at my door thinking the fat bastard was not too far behind. I felt like an idiot. I told myself when I got back home I was going to lose some weight. I spent rest of the trip in my hotel room ordering room service. My hotel bill came to like five hundred dollars.
The next pride was Splash in Houston, Texas. I was from Texas. I needed to lose twenty pounds in eight days. When I got to Houston I was starving from over-exercising and a liquid diet but I finally got the attention I was craving. I squeezed at size 33 into a size 30 bathing suit. My legs looked like squeezed dough. Sunday after the events I was invited to a hotel room sex party. I was young and horny. I figured I had nothing to lose. I got to the room and it was packed full of naked black men. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Somebody gave me some pills. It was two Viagra and ecstasy. I took them all. An hour later I was feeling so good with a really hard dick. I had a really great time. The following morning I caught the red-eye back to Chicago. I was still high and my dick was still hard. I made the mistake of not taking off that Monday. I had to go straight to work with a hard dick and high. When I got to Chicago it hadn’t gone down. I decided to put on an extra pair of underwear to hide it. After lunch, I made some excuse to take the rest of the day off. I got to my apartment and figured I needed to do something about my dick. I got out my best porno. I fixed myself a cocktail. And I went to work. I kept jacking it. But it wouldn’t go down. I got off like five times and when it started to hurt I decided to stop. I was so young and stupid. I decided to go to sleep. I woke up the next day and my dick was still hard. I wanted to cry. It was like a nightmare. I could barely pee. I decided to tape it to my leg and went to work. The problem with a hard dick I could feel the pull on my heart. I was at my desk with tears in my eyes because I couldn’t believe I was going to die at twenty four years old from taking a Viagra pill. Finally at lunch time, when I went to use the bathroom it had gone down slightly. It wasn’t limp but it also wasn’t rock hard. It stayed that way for the next two days. I refused to go to the hospital. I was just going to die.
DC pride was three weeks after Houston. I was tired. I didn’t feel like it. My great idea had quickly become irritating. I had already bought my ticket and reserved my room. I got to DC Thursday afternoon. I wanted to relax and take my time. I wanted to see the city. It wasn’t just going to be about clubs, drinking and men. I didn’t want any stress. After I checked into the hotel and decided to go cruise the lobby, it already seemed like it was going to be a great trip. A couple of friends from Chicago had also decided to come up. I was happy to see them and didn’t feel so alone. We decided to go to Georgetown for dinner and shopping. I was having the best time. For the next couple of days it was all fun. I visited the national cemetery, saw the monument, went to Jamestown, VA, danced and laugh. I bought a couple of new black gay books. Yet, I hadn’t gotten laid. I could feel the time counting down. By Sunday, I started to feel a little desperate.
On Sunday, I met a really cute guy at the bar called Fireplace. He bought me a drink. We talked and flirted. He seemed perfect for my “black gay pride” out of town fling. I invited him back to my hotel. We started kissing on the elevator. My pants were already unbuttoned before I got my hotel room door. He was so damn sexy. And we did it every where. In the shower. Against the hotel window. On the floor. On the desk. We went through like four condoms but he wouldn’t nutt. I had gotten off like three times so I was satisfied. Finally after we laid in bed and he was still rock hard and I was trying to be considerate. He asked me if he could jack off on my face. I only agreed to get him off and to get him out of my room so I could go to sleep. He got on top of me, his dick leaning towards my face. And for a second it was sexy. I closed my eyes and mouth. I figured it was just drip down on my cheek like a gentle rain and I wipe it off with a nice white towel. It didn’t take him long to reach climax. I heard his orgasmic moan and readied myself and then it happened. He busted. It was like I thought it would happened, a couple of drops on my cheek but it wouldn’t stop. The light gentle rain had become a rainstorm. And he kept coming. I mean it wouldn’t stop. It was like a fire hose had gone off in my face. It wasn’t speckles of lust anymore but a flood and I was drowning in it. I had my eyes closed and I was just waiting. I didn’t want to yell because it would’ve gotten all in my mouth. Finally, he fell to the bed. I was so traumatized. I grabbed the comforter and wiped the thick layer from my face. I felt like I had just been on some kinky Nickelodeon show and was just slimed. And then it also had a strange smell to it like he eaten bowls of asparagus. It started to burn a little. I ran to the bathroom and immediately washed my face. When I came out he was gone. I scrubbed my face until it was sore.
The next morning, as I packed to leave I noticed I didn’t have my wallet. I immediately started to panic. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I didn’t think I lost it. I immediately thought of that guy but he didn’t seem like the type to steal. I had an extra identification. I always carry an extra identification because I needed to get on the plane to get home. The only problem, I didn’t have a dime to my name. I checked my pants pockets and I only found like seventy five cents. I had no money for a taxi. It was also a Monday, the holiday, which meant all the banks were closed. I was fucked. I called home like a little child, almost crying because I was so far away and didn’t know anybody. I also tried calling my friends from Chicago room but they had already checked out. I made a new rule to never leave my pants unwatched with new tricks. I told myself I was just going to go to the Metro Station. When I got to the station, a family walked up to me and gave me a metro card. They all bought a day pass and didn’t need it anymore. It was a godsend. The next issue was the bus. I had to take the train to Vienna and then a bus to Dulles airport. I told myself I was just going to get on the bus and look sad. Just my luck again, the bus was free. The change machine wasn’t working so he was just letting people on. I never felt so lucky. I got home but a very narrow string.
I was back up north a week later for a friend’s college graduation from NYU. It also just happened to be New York Pride. I guess the normal pride or white pride. I didn’t feel any pressure. I went to the gym but I didn’t over do it. I ate normally. It was going to be my least expensive trip because I was staying at my friend’s apartment. After my friend’s graduation we went to the gay Pride parade. It was like a carnival. The bigger difference was that white pride was a lot more visible. It was on television. It was in all the major newspaper. It took to the streets. The feeling I got standing on the side of the street watching the parade that celebrated my gayness was like coming home. It actually felt like pride. I was proud.
Chicago black pride wasn’t really that big of deal since I lived in Chicago. I did have the option to attend the pride in L.A. which happened on the same weekend, but I didn’t feel like over-excising and starving myself again.
The last pride, the big bang was pride in Atlanta. By the end of the summer, I had gone from 195 pounds to 163 pounds. I had gone from a size 34 to a size 31.
In Atlanta, I had plans to be a straight up unapologetic slut. And Sex came easy in Atlanta. It was ever where I turned. I was so damn skinny. I wore the scantiest clothes. At the beginning of the year, my clothes were button up shirts, slacks and khakis for casual Friday. When I packed for Atlanta my clothes were tight tank tops, see-through shirts, the tightest pants I could find and I stopped wearing underwear. I didn’t even pack underwear. I packed liquor, condoms, lube, sex toys, and chewing gum. And sex was everywhere. I slept with a guy I met on the plane. I slept with the bellhop. The hotel lobby might as well been a bathhouse. I jerked a guy off in a bathroom at the club. I then left with another guy for a threesome. Every time I got on the elevator to go to my room, there was sex.
The only problem, I wasn’t eating. I had gotten so afraid to eat maybe because all my clothes were so damn tight. I had to basically lube up to get in my jeans. I had been surviving that entire four day weekend on fruit and vodka and various men spit from kissing. I went to the park that Monday and the smell of bar-b-que almost made me kill somebody I was so hungry. I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel and to get out those tight clothes. I couldn’t wait for pride to be over so that I could eat again. I didn’t care about sex anymore. I just wanted to eat.
I was at IHOP that evening after Pride. I was so damn hungry. I remember there were tears in my eyes because the damn waitress was taking so long to bring me my pancakes. My stomach felt like it was trying to cut itself free from my body and find a new home and body that like to feed it. My dick was tired and didn’t want to be touched anymore. My brain was telling me that I probably should pay a visit to a free clinic when I got back home to Chicago. But it was my stomach that was making the most noise. It growled. It screamed. My friend tried to hold a conversation with me and I resisted the urge to jab the butter knife into his forehead instead I decided to sample all the different varieties of syrup. I drank it straight from the bottle. Finally my pancakes. The waitress said something smart like “I didn’t think skinny boys like you ate.” I started to cry. I mean crocodile tears. Maybe it was all that liquor in my system. I yelled at her, “I’m not skinny Bitch. I’m hungry” I then grabbed a fist of pancakes and shoved them in my mouth. I didn’t stop eating until I gained all my weight back.
In the end, I learned nothing. Men will do anything for sex. I spent ten thousand dollars that year. I don’t think I felt proud once. Isn’t that pride. LOL. Happy Pride. Be Safe.
You can’t make a person feel pride. I think it’s illegal. Pride for me is not starving myself, mentally, emotionally or physically. I thought it was my best idea ever. For my 2001 New Year’s resolution I decided that I would do all the major black gay prides. I lived in Chicago and was a healthy 195 pounds at six feet. The winters were brutal and some fat was necessary and I did love my JJ’s catfish, Ms. Field oatmeal raisin cookies, Cheesecake factory, Hudson’s Bar-b-que, Popeye’s chicken and many boxes of cheap wine. I had a gym membership at Bally’s but I only used it if I was stuck downtown and needed to use a bathroom. I figured I probably should lose some weight thinking of all the sex I was going to have.
My first pride would be Philadelphia. My friend who lived in Boston said he would rent a car and drive down. I was so excited. I got to Phili and after I checked into my room and decided to go down to the lobby for a cocktail. There were so many good looking black men. I felt insecure. I was also lonely and sober. I went to the hotel bar and ordered a vodka and cranberry. Hotel drinks sucked. It was too late to go to a liquor store. I ended up spending like fifty bucks on cranberry juice with splashes of vodka. As I got drunk, I noticed everyone was so much skinnier than me. I felt like Oprah interviewing an anorexic. I kept comparing my thighs. The first bullshit. My good friend got into a car accident on the way to the hotel. He wrecked the rental car. I only heard that I didn’t have a ride to the club. I decided to take a cab. The thing about black clubs, taxi cabs were an urban myth. The club cost like twenty five dollars to get in. I also needed to find a ride home. The trick was to find Bob: the lonely, older, unattractive guy who looked like he had a car and a job. The problem was that every young, slender, really good looking queen kept coming up to me and flirting trying to get me to buy them a drink. That made me nervous. I didn’t want to be Bob. I was looking for a Bob. After the club, I found myself standing in the parking lot looking like a damn drunk fool. I had no idea where I was. Finally, a slightly overweight guy hit on me. He asked me if I knew where the good weed was. I was desperate and he was my only hope. I lied to him. I told him I had a bag at my hotel room. The ride back to the hotel he kept touching my inner thigh and licking his lips. I kept looking for something familiar so that I could jump out the car and run. Finally I saw the sign of the hotel. I checked my pocket to make sure I had my wallet and hotel key. When he slowed down to turn into the parking space, I opened the door and ran. I ran like a prostitute who just got a knife pulled on her. I was so scared he'd run after me like a pissed off werewolf. I didn’t even take the elevator. I took the stairs, seven flights. I got to my room and slammed my door. I kept looking at my door thinking the fat bastard was not too far behind. I felt like an idiot. I told myself when I got back home I was going to lose some weight. I spent rest of the trip in my hotel room ordering room service. My hotel bill came to like five hundred dollars.
The next pride was Splash in Houston, Texas. I was from Texas. I needed to lose twenty pounds in eight days. When I got to Houston I was starving from over-exercising and a liquid diet but I finally got the attention I was craving. I squeezed at size 33 into a size 30 bathing suit. My legs looked like squeezed dough. Sunday after the events I was invited to a hotel room sex party. I was young and horny. I figured I had nothing to lose. I got to the room and it was packed full of naked black men. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Somebody gave me some pills. It was two Viagra and ecstasy. I took them all. An hour later I was feeling so good with a really hard dick. I had a really great time. The following morning I caught the red-eye back to Chicago. I was still high and my dick was still hard. I made the mistake of not taking off that Monday. I had to go straight to work with a hard dick and high. When I got to Chicago it hadn’t gone down. I decided to put on an extra pair of underwear to hide it. After lunch, I made some excuse to take the rest of the day off. I got to my apartment and figured I needed to do something about my dick. I got out my best porno. I fixed myself a cocktail. And I went to work. I kept jacking it. But it wouldn’t go down. I got off like five times and when it started to hurt I decided to stop. I was so young and stupid. I decided to go to sleep. I woke up the next day and my dick was still hard. I wanted to cry. It was like a nightmare. I could barely pee. I decided to tape it to my leg and went to work. The problem with a hard dick I could feel the pull on my heart. I was at my desk with tears in my eyes because I couldn’t believe I was going to die at twenty four years old from taking a Viagra pill. Finally at lunch time, when I went to use the bathroom it had gone down slightly. It wasn’t limp but it also wasn’t rock hard. It stayed that way for the next two days. I refused to go to the hospital. I was just going to die.
DC pride was three weeks after Houston. I was tired. I didn’t feel like it. My great idea had quickly become irritating. I had already bought my ticket and reserved my room. I got to DC Thursday afternoon. I wanted to relax and take my time. I wanted to see the city. It wasn’t just going to be about clubs, drinking and men. I didn’t want any stress. After I checked into the hotel and decided to go cruise the lobby, it already seemed like it was going to be a great trip. A couple of friends from Chicago had also decided to come up. I was happy to see them and didn’t feel so alone. We decided to go to Georgetown for dinner and shopping. I was having the best time. For the next couple of days it was all fun. I visited the national cemetery, saw the monument, went to Jamestown, VA, danced and laugh. I bought a couple of new black gay books. Yet, I hadn’t gotten laid. I could feel the time counting down. By Sunday, I started to feel a little desperate.
On Sunday, I met a really cute guy at the bar called Fireplace. He bought me a drink. We talked and flirted. He seemed perfect for my “black gay pride” out of town fling. I invited him back to my hotel. We started kissing on the elevator. My pants were already unbuttoned before I got my hotel room door. He was so damn sexy. And we did it every where. In the shower. Against the hotel window. On the floor. On the desk. We went through like four condoms but he wouldn’t nutt. I had gotten off like three times so I was satisfied. Finally after we laid in bed and he was still rock hard and I was trying to be considerate. He asked me if he could jack off on my face. I only agreed to get him off and to get him out of my room so I could go to sleep. He got on top of me, his dick leaning towards my face. And for a second it was sexy. I closed my eyes and mouth. I figured it was just drip down on my cheek like a gentle rain and I wipe it off with a nice white towel. It didn’t take him long to reach climax. I heard his orgasmic moan and readied myself and then it happened. He busted. It was like I thought it would happened, a couple of drops on my cheek but it wouldn’t stop. The light gentle rain had become a rainstorm. And he kept coming. I mean it wouldn’t stop. It was like a fire hose had gone off in my face. It wasn’t speckles of lust anymore but a flood and I was drowning in it. I had my eyes closed and I was just waiting. I didn’t want to yell because it would’ve gotten all in my mouth. Finally, he fell to the bed. I was so traumatized. I grabbed the comforter and wiped the thick layer from my face. I felt like I had just been on some kinky Nickelodeon show and was just slimed. And then it also had a strange smell to it like he eaten bowls of asparagus. It started to burn a little. I ran to the bathroom and immediately washed my face. When I came out he was gone. I scrubbed my face until it was sore.
The next morning, as I packed to leave I noticed I didn’t have my wallet. I immediately started to panic. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I didn’t think I lost it. I immediately thought of that guy but he didn’t seem like the type to steal. I had an extra identification. I always carry an extra identification because I needed to get on the plane to get home. The only problem, I didn’t have a dime to my name. I checked my pants pockets and I only found like seventy five cents. I had no money for a taxi. It was also a Monday, the holiday, which meant all the banks were closed. I was fucked. I called home like a little child, almost crying because I was so far away and didn’t know anybody. I also tried calling my friends from Chicago room but they had already checked out. I made a new rule to never leave my pants unwatched with new tricks. I told myself I was just going to go to the Metro Station. When I got to the station, a family walked up to me and gave me a metro card. They all bought a day pass and didn’t need it anymore. It was a godsend. The next issue was the bus. I had to take the train to Vienna and then a bus to Dulles airport. I told myself I was just going to get on the bus and look sad. Just my luck again, the bus was free. The change machine wasn’t working so he was just letting people on. I never felt so lucky. I got home but a very narrow string.
I was back up north a week later for a friend’s college graduation from NYU. It also just happened to be New York Pride. I guess the normal pride or white pride. I didn’t feel any pressure. I went to the gym but I didn’t over do it. I ate normally. It was going to be my least expensive trip because I was staying at my friend’s apartment. After my friend’s graduation we went to the gay Pride parade. It was like a carnival. The bigger difference was that white pride was a lot more visible. It was on television. It was in all the major newspaper. It took to the streets. The feeling I got standing on the side of the street watching the parade that celebrated my gayness was like coming home. It actually felt like pride. I was proud.
Chicago black pride wasn’t really that big of deal since I lived in Chicago. I did have the option to attend the pride in L.A. which happened on the same weekend, but I didn’t feel like over-excising and starving myself again.
The last pride, the big bang was pride in Atlanta. By the end of the summer, I had gone from 195 pounds to 163 pounds. I had gone from a size 34 to a size 31.
In Atlanta, I had plans to be a straight up unapologetic slut. And Sex came easy in Atlanta. It was ever where I turned. I was so damn skinny. I wore the scantiest clothes. At the beginning of the year, my clothes were button up shirts, slacks and khakis for casual Friday. When I packed for Atlanta my clothes were tight tank tops, see-through shirts, the tightest pants I could find and I stopped wearing underwear. I didn’t even pack underwear. I packed liquor, condoms, lube, sex toys, and chewing gum. And sex was everywhere. I slept with a guy I met on the plane. I slept with the bellhop. The hotel lobby might as well been a bathhouse. I jerked a guy off in a bathroom at the club. I then left with another guy for a threesome. Every time I got on the elevator to go to my room, there was sex.
The only problem, I wasn’t eating. I had gotten so afraid to eat maybe because all my clothes were so damn tight. I had to basically lube up to get in my jeans. I had been surviving that entire four day weekend on fruit and vodka and various men spit from kissing. I went to the park that Monday and the smell of bar-b-que almost made me kill somebody I was so hungry. I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel and to get out those tight clothes. I couldn’t wait for pride to be over so that I could eat again. I didn’t care about sex anymore. I just wanted to eat.
I was at IHOP that evening after Pride. I was so damn hungry. I remember there were tears in my eyes because the damn waitress was taking so long to bring me my pancakes. My stomach felt like it was trying to cut itself free from my body and find a new home and body that like to feed it. My dick was tired and didn’t want to be touched anymore. My brain was telling me that I probably should pay a visit to a free clinic when I got back home to Chicago. But it was my stomach that was making the most noise. It growled. It screamed. My friend tried to hold a conversation with me and I resisted the urge to jab the butter knife into his forehead instead I decided to sample all the different varieties of syrup. I drank it straight from the bottle. Finally my pancakes. The waitress said something smart like “I didn’t think skinny boys like you ate.” I started to cry. I mean crocodile tears. Maybe it was all that liquor in my system. I yelled at her, “I’m not skinny Bitch. I’m hungry” I then grabbed a fist of pancakes and shoved them in my mouth. I didn’t stop eating until I gained all my weight back.
In the end, I learned nothing. Men will do anything for sex. I spent ten thousand dollars that year. I don’t think I felt proud once. Isn’t that pride. LOL. Happy Pride. Be Safe.
No comments:
Post a Comment