Tales of a messed up existance Part III

While I consider myself to be 100% Heterosexual, over the course of my lifetime I have encountered several experiences of a gay nature. The following is a full accounting of my gayness. Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent...and the guilty.

4 Years old--I grew up with two sisters, four aunts and four female cousins. Being surrounded by estrogen 24 hours a day eventually began to take a toll on my young impressionable mind. In a brief moment of weakness I picked up my sisters Barbie doll and learned how to braid hair. My father upon seeing this immediately sprung into action and purchased a full set of Tonka trucks and GI Joe action figures while introducing me to my male cousins on his side of the family. But the damage had already been inflicted with the repercussions to be felt for years to come.

9 Years old--At the time my mother was still picking out my clothes to wear to school, most of which were of the second, third or fourth hand nature. One morning I awoke to a blinding yellow light coming from the top of my dresser. In an act of unspeakable evil, my mother had decided that I would be wearing skin tight, bright yellow corduroys to school that day. Hours of protesting, feigning illness and going into convulsions were all for naught. I was sent to school and forced to endure 6 hours of non-stop insults, snaps and ranks from the entire school. I nearly developed a urinary tract infection as I did not get out of my seat once the entire day to go the bathroom.

At one point my best friend at the time pulled me aside and told me "You know...you look really gay in those pants"

While I really didn’t know what being gay meant, I was fully aware of the horrible fabric wrapping itself around my young legs. Once I got home I immediately changed clothes and buried the pants in the backyard garden before my mother got home from work.

15 Years old--I was living a few blocks away from the playground when one day on my way to play Basketball, a van pulled up beside me. A young Indian looking gentleman leans out and asked me for directions to Astoria Blvd. After telling him, he casually asked where I was going and if I wanted a ride. Without hesitation I jumped in the van. He started asking me some general questions as we headed to the Basketball courts.

How old was I?

What school did I go to?

How big was my penis?

The final questions signaled to me that it was time to go, so directing him to the corner I jumped out and ran the rest of the way to the park.

16 Years old--I was on my way to school when I felt someone come up behind me. Turning around, I saw a tall thin black man in his 40`s wearing a tweed trench coat. He asked me for the time and after I told him he responded with "You ever been shot before nigga?"
An object protruded from behind his coat that was clearly his finger in the shape of a gun. Thinking that he was kidding I laughed and started to resume walking to the train station. He whirled around grabbed me by the arm and started to drag me towards an empty ally all the while pointing his finger gun at me.

I yelled at the top of my lungs "Get the F*CK up off of me!!" while I fought back resisting being pulled into the ally. He suddenly let go, gave me smile and took off in the opposite direction.

19 Years old--Late one night I was coming out the Columbian brothel house when I spotted a familiar face from the neighborhood sitting inside his car. I didn’t know him by name, but he was one of the people you see in the neighborhood from time to time and say what’s up to. He motioned me over and asked about the girls in the Brothel. I told him that they were decent, cheap and generally odor free. He then asked if I wanted to get some weed and 40`s and cruise around looking for girls. I was in his car before he finished his sentence.

We went to the weed spot and copped a 20 bag of some potent Jamaican Marijuana. After getting two 40`s of Old English he convinced me to go upstairs to his apartment while we smoked and drank instead of taking a chance by partaking in his car. He had a small one bedroom apartment that was clean and sparsely furnished. He sat down on the couch while I sat on one of the chairs at the dining room table. We cracked the beer and began telling college stories of all the women we had banged in college. At one point after smoking a blunt he asked if I wanted to see his bedroom. While I thought the request was weird, I declined and thought nothing of it.

A 40 OZ and two blunts later I’m sufficiently high and drunk and ready to go. I’m catching a weird vibe from this guy and in my altered state felt it better to be outside at the time. Seeing I was ready to leave he said that he would drive me as soon as he finished his beer. With that he turns and asked me how tall I was.

"6-1" I respond.

"Nah.." He says incredulously. "Stand up"

I stand up and so does he. Moving closer he brings his shoulder to mine in an effort to compare height. While he’s positioning himself I feel his hand tweak my Johnson. I push him in the chest and back up in a state of weed induced heterosexual panic.

"What the F*CK are you doing??" I yelled.

"No???" He asked me, as if to say "What are you saying...you dont want to F*ck me?

"Hell No" I respond while I reach for my jacket and make my way out of the apartment. My dramatic exit is then nullified when I have to ask for his assistance with the complicated apartment lock he had on the door.

26 Years old--I had just broken up with my girlfriend and was feeling very depressed. I was on the crowded F train heading to school when I felt someone grab my crotch. Looking up I saw a sceevy looking white guy in a business suit reading the NYtimes. Figuring it was just incidental contact caused by everyone being so pressed up against each other, I shifted around in an effort to better protect my private parts from accidental groping. Right before the next stop I felt the hand again this time in a way that was clearly no accident. Bubbling over with rage from being molested and dumped on the same day I went for his throat with one hand while punching him in his face with my other.

"Man I’ll KILL you...you fu*ckin sick fu*ck!!" I screamed as he tried to make his way out the door.

The other passengers seeing what looked to be an unprovoked attack on a white man by some black guy intervened and pulled me off of him while he ran out the station. Before they called the cops I took off not wanting to get arrested for assault, or having to explain getting violated by some random white guy.

According to a friend of mine, five gay experiences fully qualifies you to be homosexual. I’ve had six, so apparently I am gay on paper. While I don’t have sex with other guys, work-out or dress well, don’t say anything if you see me marching in the gay parade braiding the hair on a Barbie doll. Its all about gay-on paper-pride y`all.