Bon Voyage!


Our ship, the Carnival Pride.

Morgan and I are celebrating Christmas and New Year’s by taking a seven-day cruise to Florida and the Bahamas.

So early this morning I took my children to brunch to celebrate early Christmas. I gave them their gifts and took them out to buy a gift for their mom.  It was nice to hang out with my babies, even though they are as tall or  taller than me now.

Then in the afternoon Morgan and I visited two friends who are celebrating birthdays today, including my good friend Andre. We have made up since that disastrous weekend I wrote about in Snowed In In the City more than a year ago. He had a great birthday party at his new apartment, it was great to meet his beautiful family, and the food was slamming.

I packed my two bags for the cruise in about 45 minutes but it took Morgan like two hours! Yep, he is definitely gay. Too many clothes to choose from LOL!

I doubt I will write on the cruise because I don’t feel like lugging a laptop and paying exorbitant fees for Internet access onboard ship. And really I just want to relax. But maybe I will have something interesting to say when I get back.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas readers and may you have a blessed New Year!

— Immanuel

Jealousy


Okay, Morgan and I were  mainly tops before we embarked on a relationship earlier this year. And not to brag but we both have big dicks.

So you know we were getting a lot of play. Shit, in Washington, D.C. you can get ass just walking down the street.

So whenever we go out, especially to gay spots, it is inevitable we run into somebody I banged out or somebody Morgan banged out. And every once in awhile somebody we both banged out.

Last Friday night was no exception. Some friends of ours were in from out of town so we decided to meet up at the Fireplace, probably one of the better known gay spots in the city. While our friends socialized Morgan and I sat up on the second-floor risers, watching the crowd. A handsome, beefy, dark-skinned guy glanced our way.

“Oh, I fucked him years ago,” Morgan said. “He was really hot back then, just 18. He had a lot of muscles. But he really has gained a lot of weight.”

The guy looked more keenly at Morgan and a look of recognition crossed his face.

I’m not usually the jealous type but a twinge of unease came over me. Plus I had been drinking vodkas with cranberry juice. Liquor makes me talkative and boisterous. Okay, let me be blunt. Liquor brings out the ghetto in me. And I wasn’t liking the look in dude’s face.

A few minutes later Morgan had to go to the bathroom. Wouldn’t you know fat ass got up and followed him into the bathroom.

One of the friends hanging out with us that evening was the Mentor, a 50-something black guy who has turned into one of my closest confidants. Morgan and the Mentor are also close in age and hit it off. So he socializes with us from time to time.

“Did you just see that motherfucker follow Morgan into the bathroom,” I said. “I need to go in there.”

Mentor looked at me sharply and his eyes crinkled up with laughter.

“Boy sit your black ass down and act like you have some sense,” he said. “Don’t make a scene negro.”

A few minutes later Morgan returned. Yes the guy had followed him into the bathroom and asked whether he remembered him. So Morgan had said yes and invited the guy to come over and meet me, his new lover.

“How many years ago did you fuck him,” I asked.

“Man that was like 15 years ago when I first came to D.C.”

I wasn’t buying it. Dude was acting like he was in heat. Like Morgan’s dick was still fresh in his mind. So I got sarcastic.

“That must have been some good dick for him to still be sweating you 15 years later,” I said, talking loudly over the music. “Are you sure it was that long ago.”

Morgan looked me with puppy dog eyes. “Yes, it was a long time ago and I’m happy with you.”

But that wasn’t the end of it. Big Boy came back out of the bathroom and sat at the end of the bar just 25 feet from us. And proceeded to stare at us from time to time. He never even came over and said hello.

We had a good time that night. One of my buddies got so drunk he started stripping by the bar bar. We made new friends and caught up with peeps we haven’t seen in awhile. And it was good to hang out with old friends like the Mentor.

Still, I think it would have been a better night if I had walked over to that bar stool and knocked that dude’s fat ass right off of it.

Out in Africa


Gay African men.

I go to a cruisy gym in downtown D.C., but believe me when I go there it is to keep my 40-something ass tight and not to cruise for sex.

But I notice things going on, the guys who you never see exercising on the floor but always seem to be in the sauna and shower, stealing furtive looks at your dick or ass.

Last week was no exception. I was sweaty and hot from an hour of treadmill, weights and ab work and just wanted to take a shower. The usual suspects were there, haunting the shower room like faggety ghosts. 

 The middle-aged Ethiopian guy who stared at guys’ dicks as if they were his last meal. The beefy, probably married black dude with the sad eyes that seemed to beg, “Fuck me.”

And a new one. A tall, dark skinned guy a little pudgy around the middle. He had almost finished showering when Ientered but he found a reason to stay as I soaped up in the stall across from him. He walked by several times, trying to make eye contact. I kept right on showering, trying not to return a look.

When I finished showering and got back to my locker there he was, walking by and staring again. So against my better judgment I nodded back in greeting. And that was that.

My partner “Morgan” was on the way home and texted me to let me know he could pick me up a few blocks away if I needed a ride home. So I sat at a Metrobus stop waiting for my ride, Amel Larrieux singing on my iPod.

And then the guy from the gym, the one who had stared at me, appeared out of nowhere. “Damn, did he follow me?,” I thought.

“Hello,” he said in a thick, African accent. And he smiled. I noticed for the first time he had a gap between his teeth. And a broad gold wedding band on his finger.

“Hey man, wassup?,” I answered.

“I noticed you didn’t talk much in the gym. Are you always so quiet?”

His eyes looked me up and down appreciatively.

“Man, I was just there to work out.”

“Well maybe we can see each other sometime,” he answered. “I’d like to hang out with you.”

I knew where this was going so I changed the subject fast before he asked for my digits and inquired whether I liked to fuck, be fucked, or flip.

“Hey you have an interesting accent. Where are you from?”

“Senegal,” he said, grinning.

“Cool, well if I’m in the gym say hello man. I’m waiting for a friend to pick me up.”

He looked puzzled for a second, then shrugged.

“Okay, take care,” he said and ambled off. Before he was a block away I noticed he was on his phone talking, probably trying to arrange another hookup before he had to get back home to wifey and the kids. I chuckled. It was so ironic an African man was hitting on me at a time like this.

A few days before my interaction with the Senegalese dude in the gym Secretary of State Hillary Clintonmade her historic address to the United Nations on global LGBT rights. And the news was abuzz with the fact Uganda would again consider a law to outlaw homosexuality, possibly making it punishable by death. In fact, I think one African official had even gone on the news saying the United States could not impose its culture on theirs.

That’s why I laughed. Africa has millions of LGBT people — the guy from Senegal was just a drop in the ocean. Africa has always had LGBT people. And until the human race blows up itself or dies off from an asteroid hit, killer plague or just plain boredom Africa will continue to have LGBT folks.

A 2010 gay pride parade in Johannesburg, South Africa.

In fact, it is documented that homosexuality existed in Africa thousands of years before Europeans arrived on the continent, way back to the days of ancient Egypt. Women in Lesotho were able to enter into long-term romantic relationships called “motsoalle.”  Azande warriors in the northern Congo took younger male lovers into their households. And in ancient Angola gay men known as “jimbandaa” were given an honored place in society, that is until the uptight Portuguese arrived and jailed and harshly punished them.

So all this fuss about whites bringing homosexuality is bullshit.

Still, I feel sorry for gay men of Africa. Apart from South Africa, being gay on that continent must be hell. And it isn’t much better for Africans who migrate here.

A few months ago a Nigerian buddy called me. Like me he was married with children but now divorced. His children were grown but word was getting out in the relatively small and close-knit Nigerian community in Washington, D.C. that “Amadi” likes to bang male ass. In fact, what they probably didn’t know is that Amadi liked to take dick as much as he gave.

“Immanuel, my kids are starting to ask questions. And my ex-wife is spreading stories about me. What should I do,” Amadi asked. His voice usually sounded so happy and carefree but this time it was tinged with fear and worry.

“Look Amadi, your kids love you no matter what. Just be honest. Tell them you prefer men but please don’t go into all the details. You don’t know their personal sex lives and yours is none of their business either.”

“Okay man, thanks so much for talking to me,” Amadi answered, sounding better but not fully relieved. We made more small talk and then he hung up.

Amadi hasn’t called back so I don’t know whether he took the advice.  I hope he’s okay.