Equitable Attraction

I don’t fuck with boxes. There’s no neat list to define me and I live my truth unapologetically. Outspoken and free. Having grown up around secrets and abuse taught me to never restrict my right to be. I feel fortunate to have this as a reality when countless others are consumed and silenced by such upbringings. After all, I once lived in that shrunken place. So anyway, me and categories don’t agree usually as I’m subject to change. How I dress, what I think, say, believe, and who I crave aren’t up for debate or critique.

So that last one, let’s stay there for this post. As a perceived masculine of center queer woman (mainly because society doesn’t really push past the sexual or gender binary despite proof of the fluidity and variety), I struggle to just be me without constant declaration. Having dated men exclusively in my teens and early 20s, it’s interesting to witness how it’s now unfathomable to many people that I did so willingly, frequently and exceptionally. Yes, I was gay then and not out in my queerness. No, I didn’t sleep with men to hide or front, though that’s a common narrative in people’s coming out stories. Nor did I feel repressed. I lived my truth, which constantly changes with time and experiences. I wanted men and had no problem acting on that, quite skillfully, for my twerk freak team who knows what I mean. Nothing about that desire was fabricated or placed on me. I wore dresses, panties, doobies, and owned a flat iron and makeup. Now that I rock boxers, bowties, wingtips, and A-shirts under crisp button-downs with cufflinks, braces and/or blazers, I get side eyes from too many alleged “woke” queer folk, brown ones especially, when I casually talk about this as part of my history, a possible reality for my future or when I swoon over a good lookin’ brotha. You’ve got to be kidding me! Aren’t we queer and here?! Aren’t we, the queer and progressive, able to hold that?! And real talk, my desire and appreciation for penis and the cis men and occasional trans men with them has not waned or faded just because at age 22 I decided to open my life to romantic exploration with women. It’s frankly tiring and disheartening to define and redefine myself in hetero communities (like in ’03 when I cut my hair and it automatically signified that I switched teams) to then have to deal with this same shortsightedness in gay spaces (like people not understanding why I don’t bind or how I could love penetration). We’re not on opposing teams and this is not a race to sexual superiority. I don’t need to disavow dick to prove my right to my vagina or my intense love of pussy. Let me be great. Let me be.

The gender piece is equally frustrating. I accept the “boi” term and he/him/she/her pronouns to describe myself because it’s all true. I also consider myself feminine. I like to subscribe to the gender-blend that has always been a part of my story. At first glance, I get called “sir” more often in public bathrooms and restaurants now and while in earlier years it irritated me, it doesn’t now because I get it. A certain kind of fade, plaid or color has the tendency to make us do that because of how we’ve been taught, indoctrinated. What irks me is when it’s assumed that I don’t wear pretty bras, eye shadow or nail polish. Or when boys’ night is all I’m relegated to. What?! Again, these are in queer spaces where this limitation commonly occurs. When did we get so narrow, so passé? Have we just decided to stop growing our reconciliation of the complex and fluid? I’m actually grateful to my earlier straight spaces where my gender or perceived gender has not revoked my access to fulfilling and holistic spaces like fucking spa day. C’mon fam. And if I get asked again who will get pregnant…

Perhaps this seems petty or like low-hanging fruit to some of you in the grand scheme of this painful existence we sometimes bear. Maybe you can’t relate, and that’s ok. My truth ain’t for everyone until it is. But these hateful and diminishing microaggressions are constant and overbearing. They incense and sadden me too regularly, especially because they appear to be unconscious and because they’re ubiquitous and seem to morph. Considering the violence we fight against personally and politically, and how I battle my own toxicity at times, it’s important to underscore this kind of categorical nonsense as a significant way that hate and indifference persist. As a teacher and student of life who inscribed the tattoo “LoveChangeLove” (read change twice to get it) on my arm, I am aware of our need to learn and inform to arrive at greater understanding with one another. As a black queer woman I never stop coming out. That’s alright. There is a difference though between clarifying and justifying. Honestly, I’m waiting on the real evolution which may primarily require folks to actually live in their truth instead of frontin’ behind these masks, whether gay, straight or whateva. Rid ourselves of the othering, groupthink, us v. them cycle, and fancier cages in which we willingly remain trapped. Equity for me means not having to ascribe myself as the man in my marriage or as the lesbian gold-star (look it up). It means I can want who I want in straps and crinoline and not be less me. All things require balance and I just hope we can exist openly, freely and without parenthetical qualifiers.