The first lyric to rapper/poet Wale’s Bad asks a question I never thought to ask myself, Is it bad that I never made love? What’s making love when you’re under 25? Hell, does it even matter? Those are the party years, when sex, hopefully safe sex, claims no thought or heart or feeling. But when in the midst of finding your structure as we hit the over 25 mark in our lives, when does “just sex” transition to only seeking love and lovemaking within that company?
Written by: Langston John Blaze
It’s not to say, “Okay, funs over you over 25 person!” but isn’t stability a part of the benefits package once we’ve had our bad fun? I have an uncle, Mike. He’s over 45, a military vet, college graduate and career oriented, whose also been single his entire life. Of course, he’s had the occasional girlfriend or two or three but never anything long term. It’s like his committed relationship was the single life. It got me wondering, are some men and women made to be single and if so, do they ever find love in sex?
I could remember the horror of losing my virginity like it was yesterday. At that point, after wanting love and being curious about what it meant to be in love, I was loved-out! I wanted to experience sex with no meaning or definition. I just didn’t care anymore since every guy I came across seemed to be the negative “one” instead of “the one”.
With that thought process in mind, I stumbled onto a sexy male model’s profile page online. We chatted that night and the next thing I realized, we were on the phone, discussing his DL (down low) secret gay lifestyle. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I was hypnotized by his rapper Common-like looks and sexy voice.
His name was “X”. I didn’t even bother asking what that stood for. I didn’t bother with many things. And as quick as we decided to hook up, it took X a weekend to decide he didn’t want to. I was disappointed. I can’t even get a guy to commit to sex! I thought. It was a bar-hopping night with my best friend Tommy when I got a call from X, saying he was driving home from work and was in the city.
I told him where I was and he immediately started laughing. The Box was a known gay bar in Atlanta where most the older ratchet men over 35 hung out. You didn’t go there to meet Prince Charming. You went to drink and have fun with friends, dancing and singing Whitney Houston songs. “Where you headed to lil’ sexy?” a near toothless fragile looking 5 foot seven-ish man asked my friend, who twirled away from him and was immediately put in front of another Colonel Sanders-looking senior citizen who assured him, “You don’t have to be afraid!”
“Uggghhh!” Tommy yelled, as I died of laughter. I had just gotten off the phone with X who wanted me to meet him outside the bar. I told Tommy and let him know I’d be back shortly. He hated me for leaving him alone with all the vultures. Meanwhile, I found X in a bank parking lot, behind the bar. We had a few laughs and really awkward silent moments. He seemed over confident in his “DL” demeanor, making fun of the many flamboyant gays that entered the club. “At least they don’t hide,” I told him. He was every bit of beautiful I expected him to be. However, X was truly lost. He was thirty-seven, had two kids, and was “divorced”, which I figured was true. He didn’t wear a ring and I saw no ring line. Yes, I checked. There was no way I was going to be planning losing my virginity with someone’s husband; at least not intentionally.
Needless to say, X did not know I was a virgin. I knew how most gay men felt about sleeping with someone who’d never had sex before. I didn’t want to be the Black Plague. Ironically enough, I wanted to rid my 21 year old virginity like a plague. I was tired of love. I no longer desired it. I wanted to know what sex felt like; to have a percentage of what was required to make love. So I lied to X and told him I was not a virgin but that I had not had sex in along time, hoping he’d be considerate if anything went down between us.
One night, after feeling guilty for dumping my friendly date with Tommy, I sat in X’s car with him, talking and listening to some recordings he had made. He sung very well. However, somewhere deep within me, I knew none of this was genuine. I just wanted to experience sex. I knew that he wanted me too. Yet, something said he was growing more genuine. He wanted to do it at my place, a place he didn’t know I did not have. Why did he need to know I still lived at home with my family? There were no rules when getting to know each other hardly applied to the true intentions between us.
Weeks later, alone and waiting for X to pick me up at a local drug store, I bought condoms, smiling but afraid, knowing I was not ready. Yet, I didn’t care. I guess because since I was bubbly and friendly and goofy and playful, the gays put in my head that I was a “bottom” or in layman terms, my sexual preference was submissive and I preferred being penetrated. I let their assumptions of me, be my assumptions of me.
Nevertheless, we didn’t walk into the motel together; the same motel where I’d spent the night after confessing to my mother that I was gay a year ago. Of course, she had confronted me about it, but I did not lie. Here I was, at that same motel with those cheap blankets and a molding aroma. Here I was, finally about to lose my virginity. We sat in front of each other on two separate beds. We had the awkward small talk. Then, he pulled me on top of him on his side. Suddenly, I thought about the first time I asked to kiss him and he said, “no”. It was the same night I dumped my movie date with my best friend for him, as if X really mattered that much.
Now, in this dark motel room with the bad aroma in the air and stiff colorful sheets, I was on top of X with my lips pressed on his. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the taste of his body. I liked how he reacted to my lips and my need to give us pleasure. But then, when he wanted what we both came here for, I suddenly realized, sex was going to hurt. And every time X thrust himself inside me, I knew, he didn’t care about my body or how much his pleasure was my pain. I brought him here to feel good. It had absolutely nothing to do with what was good for me.
I left the motel that night with X as he drove me home. My body was aching and sore and I was filled with regret, thinking about how much I hated the sex. I hated that he had so much control over my body. I remembered shaking uncontrollably as nerves in my body were effected. I told Tommy and he couldn’t believe it. When I slipped and told him it was X, he was upset with me especially after I’d broke our date just to be with this DL dude. He forgave me but it took a lot for me to forgive myself.
I learned the hard way that I wanted to make love. I knew going into the situation with X, it had nothing to do with love but even sex shouldn’t have endured so much hurt, where one is moaning in enjoyment and the other is screaming inside asking, Can’t this just be over?! It sucked learning the hard way, but I knew now how wrong the gays were. I was nobody’s “bottom”. I wanted love in sex. It’s interesting. Most men don’t want to sleep with a virgin yet they themselves are virgins to making love.