Big Sissy and Little Sissy


Collector Trent Kelley has gathered photos of black male couples dating back to the 19th century. Experts say some of the couples could have been gay although many were likely relatives and friends.

My maternal grandfather “Hezekiah” was a big landowner in South Carolina back in the 1940s and 50s.

He had more than 200 acres of land planted in cotton, tobacco, rice and corn — a big deal for a colored man then.

He was one of the few black men who would look at white man in the eye and tell him to kiss his ass if he felt like it. Believe me he paid the price — he was almost lynched once and had to run to Washington, D.C. to live with his brother until things cooled off.

I am out to my mother and she tells me stories about how nothing is new under the sun. There were gay men down South, living out in the country when she was a little girl, too.

Two of them were field hands who worked for my grandfather.

The masculine one was nicknamed “Big Sissy” and the more effeminate one “Little Sissy.” I guess they were top and bottom although hey, you really could never tell. Maybe Big Sissy was giving up that ass, too.

They lived in a little cabin together off in the piney woods, real private like. People tended to leave them alone. Their story fascinates me. How did they meet? How did the community treat them? What became of them?

My grandfather hired them every year to bring in the harvest but my mother said sometimes her father was mean, especially to Little Sissy.

Little Sissy switched out in the field one day and my grandfather walked up behind him and kicked him in the ass. “Stop switching like a woman and walk like a man, muthafucka,” Hezekiah growled.

Little Sissy just rubbed his behind where the boot hit, gave Granddaddy a mean look and kept right on switching that ass.

My mother was working in the fields that day. Granddaddy had her driving a plow by the time she was nine years old. She said she giggled but hushed up fast. Young folks were not allowed to disrespect elders then, whether they were a sissy or not.

Granddaddy was a tall, light-skinned man with gray “cat” eyes and women fell all over him.

He had 13 children with my grandmother and at least three others with various women around town. To this day folks still talk about what a womanizer and drinker he was.

But they also said he was a straight talker and helped out folks in need, even cutting and hauling free firewood for poor families to keep warm in the winter. He always had packages of cookies and crackers in his pockets for his many grandchildren, who he loved dearly.

But my mother wonders whether he had bisexual leanings. Maybe he gay-bashed Little Sissy because that open and proud gay man made him feel uncomfortable about something he was hiding. Or maybe the sissy couple had the 4-11 on Granddaddy.

“Immanuel, you know there was a young preacher who used to live in town who never got married,” my mother told me one day when I visited her. “He was very handsome, almost pretty.”

“And you know, my father and his best friend Robert McElvain and a lot of other men used to go hang out at that preacher’s house all times of night. There were never any women there — always just men.”

“Now that I look back on it that preacher acted in a way we would describe as gay now. But back then we didn’t have a word for it. But it was whispered he liked men.”

“Sweet Tea” cover

“I bet Daddy and a lot of other men were going over there to do you-know-what.”

“Ma, you have got to be kidding,” I said, surprised she would be so honest with me about what some would consider an embarrassing family secret.

But I had to laugh. Granddaddy did sex parties? The more things change the more things stay the same. Maybe I am a chip off the block.

There is a book out about gay black men in the South called “Sweet Tea” by E. Patrick Johnson. I’ve only read excerpts of it but I heard it’s a good book.

Hollywood Swinging: Part III


His ass was getting looser and wetter, thanks to the lube and Rush he was inhaling. His phat ass cheeks beat out a freaky rhythm against my thighs.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

“Ohhh, it’s sooo good. Y’all have such big dicks. Ahhh,” Demarcus said, moaning. I swear it sounded like he had started crying.

While I was fucking Demarcus my partner Morgan had kneeled beside us, watching the show and every once in a while encouraging me to fuck that ass harder.

Told you he had a phat ass.

He reached over and hugged Demarcus, a cute brown-skinned guy who is a little pudgy but cute as hell with a plump behind that can take dick.

“It’s alright,” Morgan said, cradling Demarcus’s head in his arms and stroking his curly hair. “Take that dick. You know you like it.”

It was Saturday (yesterday) and it our final day in Los Angeles. I had a business meeting/lunch in a few hours and set up a threesome with Demarcus so Morgan and I could have a little fun on our last day.

I had met Demarcus two years ago when I came to Los Angeles — he is a mellow dude about 35 years old who loves sex and is good at it.

Demarcus got to our hotel in Studio City at 7:30 and we fucked him for so long we took a break, turned on cable television and watched the last half of the “Green Lantern.”

Demarcus lay between Morgan and me, jerking Morgan’s dick with his right hand and squeezing mine with his left while we watched the Green Lantern (actor Ryan Reynolds) conquer the soul-eating villain Parallax.

“Ryan Reynolds is hot,” I said. “Damn, he has a nice body.”

“Nah, he looks goofy to me,” Demarcus said.

After awhile Demarcus turned to Morgan and started sucking his dick. And the sex was back on.

My partner Morgan loves to fuck. He put Demarcus in a missionary style and started pile driving him, his long dick rapidly sliding in and out of Demarcus’ ass. It was hot to watch.

“Damn you’re beast,” Demarcus moaned. “You are fucking this ass.”

But the morning was ending and it was time for Morgan and I to pack and for me to hit my last meeting. So we jerked off and busted our nutts.

“Y’all are so sexy,” Demarcus said at some point. “Do you guys fuck each other?”

“Yeah, we do,” Morgan answered.

“I would love to watch that.”

I just smiled. Having a threesome and banging out a bottom together from time to time is hot and just recreation. I love to watch Morgan and he loves to watch me.

But some things are just for Morgan and I to do with each other.

I’ve had some great times in Los Angeles. Read Hollywood Swinging Part II, about a previous visit, by clicking here.

They beat me and raped me…


Remember Manuel, the cute hottie Morgan and I did in Puerto Rico?

He has kept us with us on Facebook and through cellphone texts. He really comes across as a sensitive soul — you can see him in Facebook photo posts posing with his chubby baby nieces and nephews, hugging his elderly mother tight and cuddling with his pet cats and dogs.

“I love black men,” he will write sometimes. “You two were really hot.”

“Well, if you ever come to Washington, D.C. come visit. You are welcome,” I say.

But a few weeks ago Manuel, who is 25, revealed some troubling facts about himself that don’t fit in well with the warm and fuzzy photos he posts on Facebook.

In 2011 New York City resident Damian Furtch, who is gay, was beaten outside of a McDonalds by two men yelling homophic slurs. The violence committed against Damian remind me of Manuel’s story.

Three years ago he went to New York City to make a better life. His English is not too good — when us mainland Americans talk fast and use slang he has trouble following us  — but he wanted to make a go of it.

He is not alone — Puerto Ricans are one of the largest groups to immigrate to the mainland United States. There are now more than 4.6 million Americans of Puerto Rican descent living in the continental United States and in states such as Connecticut, New York, New Jersey and Florida they account for more than five percent of the population.

So Manuel came to gritty, cold New York City, got a room in the house of a family friend, and landed a job at a fast food restaurant. Sure the pay was low but it was a start. Soon he would enroll in college, get a degree in criminal justice and perhaps become a detective or forensic lab specialist.

But the man Manuel came to live with was not a friend. He took one look at the slight, incredibly handsome man with the slightly feminine ways, and saw victim written all over him. Plus, he wanted some of that ass too.

In the rough streets of the Bronx some people believe if you want something just take it. So that is what this man decided to do. But he had to get some help.

“He got some guys and they came over and beat me up,” Manuel instant messaged me on Facebook. “And they took turns fucking me. No condoms, no nothing on.”

“And a few months later I ended up HIV positive.”

I noticed Manuel’s upper lip, which is full and has a delicious curve, haa a scar that shows it was split. I thought it was just a harelip but now I think I know how it ended up that way.

“Well, life goes on,” he wrote. “I came home and am in college in Puerto Rico. I still hope to come back to the U.S.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Manuel’s story is not as unusual as you may think. According to the Justice Department about nine percent of rapes that occur in the United States are male-on-male. The actual number is probably much higher because many males — and even females for that matter — are reluctant to report a rape.

Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender teens who run away and end up incarcerated are especially vulnerable to being sexually assaulted by other inmates and even jail staff, recent studies show.

I wish I could say something to make Manuel feel better. Saying sorry just didn’t seem like enough.

To read how Morgan and I met Manuel read “Sex, Puerto Rican Style” by clicking here.

Boyz n the Bar


Back out in Los Angeles for business and partner Morgan tagged along.

Friday night rolled in and the hotel room walls were closing in so we decided to go out and get some fresh air. So we went to Micky’s, a gay go-go boy bar and dance club in the heart of L.A.’s very gay friendly West Hollywood.

Here are some guys we dropped a few dollars on:

Micky’s sign on Santa Monica Blvd. in WeHo.

This cute black dude was dancing so hard his underwear got soaking wet. How do we know? Morgan slipped his hand down there when he tipped him a dollar.

Black dude couldn’t dance very well but who gave a damn. His body made up for it.

The Asian guy was very cute. And straight girls who go to gay bars are much more forward than the gay patrons. This chick tried to put her tongue down the dancer’s throat.

Do you think dude’s dick was big? You should have seen that ass!

You know I had to take another shot of that.

Morgan and I made some friends. Vodka and cranberry juice makes everybody friendly.