Time Never Answered Back

It was just me, warm beer, the phone and a clock as I sat there in the dark spotlights of loneliness. A Friday night and I was sitting alone staring off into the past wondering if I said the wrong thing or maybe it was something I didn’t say. The beginning years of my thirties led me to this new discovery of confidence. Maybe it was being in better shape or a deeper self-awareness but I believed in what I represented and that I had something great to offer to that someone out there. In my middle to late twenties I lacked that confidence and it chased a few good men away because they believed if you couldn’t love yourself how can you love someone else and I knew they were right. And the more and more I experienced the gay world, I realized how much of that self love was missing; not just inside my own soul but others out there. Many of us are so often rejected by the world out there that we come to expect it in some cases want to do the rejecting to save ourselves the time. And as I sipped my beer watching the phone refuse to ring, I started wondering what I did to get blown off and suddenly I was back in that phrase of no confidence having a conversation with time asking questions that had no known answer.

I met him on a Saturday night in a dance club in Hartford. My friends were the outgoing ones as they were older, confident and experienced. I was use to them getting all the attention although they claimed I got plenty. But I didn’t see it because I was lost inside a self-image that refused to showcase my attractions. As the music played I watched everyone around me sell themselves freely and I stood there in the corner trying not to be seen but he saw me and I looked back. His body language waved at me and my eyes shyly waved back. He was manly, handsome with a shine of intelligence to him and when he finally came over our smiles clicked and we were strangers who seemed to know each other forever. It was unexpected but that early-thirty confidence flourished out of me asking for his number and a time to hangout away from the noisy smoke of the dance floor and away from my friends cheering me on from every corner of the bar. I felt good about the situation because for the first time I took the imitative and I was the aggressor and a phone call later in that week confirmed a date on a Friday night.

He said he couldn’t wait to see me because I was everything he looked for in a man. And I smiled as I put on my polo shirt and sprayed a little bit too much cologne thinking about how I felt when he said those words just a few hours before; a call that ended with him saying he would call around 6:30 before he left. By 6:45 I figured he had lost directions and it gave me time to change into a different pair of jeans. The fragrance of the night seemed just right but by 7:00 I called his phone and no answer. So I sat with a little bit of worry and a whole lot of wonder. Things do happen I told myself but things don’t just happen when someone is two hours late and at 8:30 I figured I experienced being stood up for the first time. It was after my second beer that I stopped wondering what I did wrong and recognized that it was him. It was his fear, his insecurity and his loss but I still looked up at a slowly clicking clock asking time what could’ve happened. But the clock just kept ticking, fading into new hours of disappointment but a new moment of discovery called a learning experience.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Faggot

Do you see me?
      Do you hear me?


Do you understand
this feeling suffocating my mind, my heart and my emotional
stability every time you spit the hatred of your
misunderstanding
                    in the face
of my name by calling me…a faggot.

I was born this way so how dare you say
I’ve chosen to live this way; why would I chose
               to be abused
by the fists of the confused
who can’t grasp the fact that my genetics
formed the molecules of my heart

                and how dare you call me queer
just because I stand here
                  on the corner where
tears have marched for equality and where
the rights to love has stood in protest
for the freedom to wed/so why don’t you care?

There is no amount of force that can keep me
hidden and smothered inside a closet
with no air; there are not enough chains that can strangle
me inside a chamber afraid to be who I am
so go ahead and stare or is that your fear
                           calling me a faggot.

You called him a faggot; an eleven year old
with a happy smile who played on the playgrounds
of judgment with no protection from the laugher; no one to protect
him from difference giggling at his reflection.
He was so young but you told him he couldn’t
be because he was not what society wanted to see
                   so he hung his life so he could be free


and you called him a faggot; a college student
with a future giving in to his attraction.
He could’ve been/should’ve been a leader
an inventor or the first gay president
but all his dreams drowned when your ridicule
           and embarrassment took precedent
evicting himself from being a resident
in your shelter of hostility.

I was born this way and so were they;
so how dare you say we choose to live this way
and be murdered every day by the bullets
of closed mindedness flying array. But I will stand strong
for them; I will be strong for them;
I will define strength for them

and I will never surrender to your ignorance
so I dare you to call me a faggot.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Moments Of Connection "Vol. 8"

Sometimes you just meet that one right person at that one right time in life. It’s that voice you feed in the many crowded spaces of silent that reminds you that you are not alone. And as I sat in my sunlit apartment on an early Saturday afternoon I wondered about myself. I wondered if there was any chance of connection for me as I was newly discovered in a new world that had yet to know my name. I was too quiet and hesitant and the kind of person who waited around for things to happen to me. I found myself unhappy and lost all ambition to believe in the gay world. I felt alone in an empty crowd. Apart of it but yet very disconnected until I found a gay chat site on the internet. It was there in this cyber space that I found many like me; many just opening their eyes to new visions of discovery so I began to communicate. After about an hour or so I found myself in this continuous conversation with a guy who had much in common. He was just a screen name but the individuality in him quickly shined through and after a couple more hours that online conversation transferred to a phone conversation where two the common voices of strangers connected in familiarity.

A bond is a connection between two souls discovered.

I never expected this kind of interaction. And I never believed it possible from that sort of venue but there he was talking and sounding so real. As that afternoon turned to early evening a phone conversation turned into a possible meeting. The hesitance resurfaced inside me and all the doubt bullied my thoughts for just a moment. But something told me to meet this man for dinner so I did and at that time was never treated with so much respect and gentleness than I was when our eyes met and a new connection began. It was beginning to feel like one of those lifetime movies where two people meet out of fate. He was a couple years older, taller, well built and very real. We continued to talk over Chinese dumplings and a glass of wine. He was changing the way I viewed this new world; this gay world and for once in long time I felt a constant smile on my face. And a once lonely Saturday afternoon turned into a warm night of walking and having ice cream. We traded our experiences and continued to connect until the night had to finally end. It turned into a few months of dating and an eternity of an experience. I was in my mid twenties back then, lost, alone and pessimistic about this life until that moment of connection set me on a new path of possibility.


The people we meet help write the chapters of our definition.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Exposed ~ Diary Of A Gay Black Man Vol. 7

Sometimes I sit and stare out my window wondering about how different life would’ve been for the reflection staring back at through life’s mirror. What if fate didn’t shine it’s flashlight on my hidden reality? Where would I be, who would I be, how would I be living? As a child I observed everything around me and quickly knew the life I was meant to grow up to live. But somewhere the recognition turned into confusion as my feelings weren’t cooperating with society’s definition of a boy like me. But then, society really didn’t know a boy like me; a boy who decided to remain hidden and shield himself from feelings and thoughts that were exposed to be sinful. I decided I would be who society wanted me to be even if that meant exposing me as a fraud to myself.


I was comfortable in a secured closet with no one knowing my secret. But I was quickly drowning in paranoia and stress of people around me finding out. Family, friends, co-workers and people I barely knew. I was afraid of the judgments, the resentments, the neglect…so frightened that I lost my sense of self and at one period even turned my back on me. People wondered and I turned away, people asked and I denied. I was covered by my own fear not ready to be stripped and left naked to those I felt wouldn’t approve. I never wanted to be pointed at and called a faggot or pointed at with insane assumptions. I didn’t want to be defined as a lesser man because of who my heart decided to love. I was not opening my closet door and exposing myself to the non-accepting world.

It happened on a sunny morning close to my twenty-forth birthday. It was a day I opened my eyes and realized I had to live for myself, challenging those around me to accept and understand who I was. To challenge them to see the value in me as an individual and show them that I was not a different man, just one who wouldn’t live a life of lies. Many found out as I no longer held back who I was and luckily for me there was acceptance. The closet door swung open and I walked out with feet of pride. I created my own exposure realizing that it was important for me to do so for others in my same situation. To see strength is to be encouraged and to be encouraged is to live life the way that makes you happy and whole. Yesterday I was unrevealed, hidden in a world of confusion and shame. Today, I’m a man content with who he is because now it is happiness that is exposed.



Tarringo T Vaughan
Photo courtesty of bubbaclicks.net

Levels Of Loneliness ~ Diary Of A Gay Black Man Vol. 6

Lanky, skinny, black boy, age of sixteen years; shirt from k-mart, pants from sears. He sits alone at a cafeteria table with no one to occupy his time. They giggle, they whisper, they point at the toe exposed from the hole in his sneaker, they barely know his name. He's so quiet, shy, can't look anyone in the eye. And thinking back to my high school days, I can't believe this boy was I. Yes this was me. And I remember sitting at that table alone, standing in corners of playgrounds alone during my early years of high school because for me it was easier to keep to myself rather than face the name calling, the insults and jokes sure to be thrown my way. Or perhaps this was all paranoia on my part. Deep down inside I always knew I was different, I just wasn't sure how. It was easy to believe it was the clothes I was wearing or the way my sneakers squeaked as I walked. But I knew, yes I knew even then there was something different about me.

Nothing about me as a teenage boy was all that different in appearance besides the clothes my mother got off lay away that I wore. I had crushes on girls so I thought; I played sports, loved junk food and watched wrestling on Saturdays. But in school I still refused to allow myself to open up. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it's because by doing so I would be exposing that inner secret. A secret that even I didn't know existed. The way I looked at Eric, the way I got along with Miguel was weird feelings. And the fact I couldn't keep my eyes off of naked boys in the shower told me something I was afraid was true. It told me I was gay. My secret became my loneliness.

An unbelievable transformation took place as I entered college. That lanky, skinny, black boy, now nineteen years of age became popular. It was like being away from home just opened up my humor, my intelligence, my being. That empty lunch table now surrounded me by many different kinds of people who sought out to know who I was. And they say college is a place we find ourselves, and I'll say that's true. Not forgetting who I was, I extended my hand to any kid I saw as a loner. I became the life of parties, the social organizer, and the kid no one could stay mad at. But still, there was ridicule and certain people I went back into my shell around. It became a different kind of loneliness because I had to be the person everyone expected me to be, there was no way I was gay in their eyes. How do I tell my best friends that after dancing with girls at parties, that behind closed doors I was looking at gay porn? How do I tell people I hear using the term "faggot", that indeed they were hanging with one? Popularity brings loneliness when no one sees behind lonely eyes.

As an adult and someone you all have read as a very open person it all started with levels of loneliness. That feeling that no one will understand, no one can understand helped me realized that in all reality there's always someone who will be there to offer a hug. As a man who has defined himself, I still have that loneliness because once again people see me and assume I got it going on. I must have tons of men knocking down my door. But the problem is they all assume the same so no one is knocking. As some of you know, there is someone lightly tapping and he has been for over a year. When I look at him I see an older version of me, we've probably traveled different roads but along the way we've experienced similar experiences. We are two lonely guys who choose to be lonely instead of hurt. The gay world, the world in general can really injure a heart to the point where it may take a transplant to fix. And the way families abandon children who they find out are gay ends up being grown men and women eating Thanksgiving alone and no gifts under Christmas trees; lonely because of non-acceptance.


My words as a writer become my friends in those moments I feel that loneliness. To have someone just to lie next to and wake up with is fulfilling sure. There are some weekends I do have that, but to just know there is someone out there who puts you number one is the ultimate feeling of importance. So I end this volume in saying that we can't be loved until we are ready to show the world who we are. And we can't love until we face our levels of loneliness.


(c) 2008

Tarringo T. Vaughan
Diary Of A Gay Black Man

Vol. 5 Tales Of The Downlow

I guess I was afraid….

….of being seen as anything less than a man.

          I felt trapped inside the walls of societal expectations, inside my family’s vision and inside my own hope to be normal. I didn’t want to be the one slurred at and pointed at as different. I didn’t want to be called a sissy or queer for being me but as reality set in; my inner feelings had to learn to accept this life. And as I watch them almost every weekend in a local bar I understand them because I see through them what I life could’ve been if I remained hidden. Like them I could’ve been married with kids on the outside but on the inside living on the down low, lying to manufactured life hurting those who think they know me all the while betraying the honesty of myself. I sometimes wonder where their wives think they are when they are out exploring their temptation and when they are out having drinks with their only companion known as the truth. As I notice them, they seem to be enjoying this only time where they can be themselves. I pay attention because I could’ve been them if I didn’t embrace myself just in time.

          One is an older gentleman who hides his eyes just enough to reveal his stare. He stands in corners, gives false names and knows how to play the game. Sometimes he is just a whisper but other times his voice is heard when he finds his comfort; married with four kids, a city worker, taking a chance just by being there. Taking a chance by exposing himself in a world he knows he belongs by risking the years he built to be who he felt he had to be to become his identity. Every time I see him I think about the life his wife thinks she has lived and how her own health is a risk every time he allows a stranger in his car. But this is the road where closed mindedness and the fear of non-acceptance have led him. A destination where he can only be who he is on a weekend night, on a bar stool rubbing the thigh of a man he can only meet once.
          And the other is slightly younger, more vocal and doesn’t mind exposing his life. He says he has a great sexual relationship with his wife but he desires that closeness with other men for those moments during his few hours out. He doesn’t openly hide because he’s a people’s person and enjoys the company of those he feels he connects with. But he also lives a lie that disconnects him from the great relationship he claims he has. And perhaps he does but that fear of revealing himself to her demonstrates knowledge within himself that he is not fully happy with the path he has chosen. He is an undercover man lover stuck in a world he believed in. He followed a road that told him the only definition of a man was being with a woman. A destination that has him running to his car at 11:59 pm to get home five minutes before his wife so she thinks he’s been home all night.

          They are two of many living a separate life because of that fear of non-acceptance and they are two of many living this reality. These are not just tales, this is real life. These are husbands, boyfriends, priests, politicians, celebrities on the down low because they are afraid for people to know. And any one of them could’ve easily been me if I didn’t recognize the path my life was taking by hiding.

I guess I wasn’t afraid…

…to be seen as More than a man.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan
Diary Of A Gay Black Man:
The Volumes Of A Life Exposed

Civil Union

This is a ceremony of celebration
to never again neglect my own heart
because it has been held hostage by the ignorance
of closed minded views; it has been torched
as a sinner by the same bible that says God
loves all its children and it continues to be called a faggot
through the yells of belligerent eyes
who are afraid of difference; afraid to watch two men
kiss on the lips of their own natural emotion.

I stand on the altar of freedom with a lifelong devotion
and as a symbol of love and strength
against those who wear homophobia as their chosen fashion.
But for them I still have compassion
because I see their hatred as a disease
of distorted views which causes them
to fear same sex companionship.

So here I am sliding a ring upon this finger
and saying “I do”.
And thus, I am not allowing anyone to dictate
who I love or who I value.
Because in this hand I will strongly take his love
to have, to hold and to stand connected with pride
as we fight for civil liberties side by side
until death indeed shall we part.
I will be his shelter through our greatest weakness
and his shield of healing through our toughest sickness.
Together we will become the monument of love
proudly mounted on the plateau of human rights.

I make these vowels that I will no longer be attacked and shoved back
into a closet where the air of expression is a closed vent
of shame; I will no longer be guided to hide
the definitions of my soul behind facades
of emotional insecurities and I will no longer be afraid
to love because this is my civil union to the man
I stand here before; a man who will never again
wear the veil of loneliness as together we are pronounced

Free.

And with these words, I thee wed internal happiness.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Vol. 4 A Wrong Turn In Northampton

They all seemed so strange.







Northampton, Massachusetts wasn’t a place I’ve ever heard of before until I went to college in a nearby small town of Amherst. It was close to where I lived but yet so far away as far as atmosphere goes. My first travels to this town had me looking around at all the difference and feel a fear; a fear that I was a part of that difference and at that time in my life I wasn’t ready to embrace it or even acknowledge it. There were tree huggers and Goths, friendly musicians on sidewalk curbs translating the music of life and there were men holding hands with other men and woman embracing the open arms of other women and all I could tell myself was that I wasn’t ready for that kind of exposure. But college life did change me as far as opening a mind that was stuck in its own ways. I was around people of many views and backgrounds and people on the voyage of exploration. The overall experience helped me realize there was something inside of me needing to get out.


And I went through five years of college developing friendships and emotional bonds that began to confuse me. I started to wonder why I had the type of closeness to male figures that seemed a little too close. I developed jealousies that I couldn’t control because I was experiencing crushes on these other male figures that held me in a shame and ultimately shaped me into pretending to be someone I thought I was. And what really triggered this inner conflict I started to have was the way I had to force those same feelings to the opposite gender. There were girls I had much in common with until it came to any hint of physical contact which resulted in an instant injection of discomfort. The confusion turned into a curiosity which started to turn into real feelings and I couldn’t fight any longer. It was time to pay attention to what my heart was telling me.


One weekend afternoon I decided to go home for the day. I took a bus to Northampton and waited for a connecting bus that would take me to the next town before getting back home. I always felt awkward there and with this strong feelings swirling around within me, I felt like I was in a place that was going to expose me to the world. There were more people parading around town than usual. Rainbow flags hung in the front of storefronts and people lined the street. I wasn’t quite sure as to what was going on but I remember telling myself not to make eye contact. There was an extra laugher in the air as smiles shined and a sense of love seemed to orbit around everyone within the organized crowds. And then as I sat at the bus stop I started to hear the music and the crowd cheer. Hands were waving and more rainbow flags were gently massaging the air. People were hanging out of high rise apartment windows and a symphony of voices collided with echoes of “happy pride”. Back then I didn’t know what it was all about but I knew it was a filled with homosexuality and I watched without trying to be interested. But I was and they didn’t all seem so strange anymore as it became obvious to me that I took a wrong turn into something right. It was all about pride and at that moment I knew I could no longer hide.



© 2010


Tarringo T. Vaughan

Diary Of A Gay Black Man Vol. 3 "The Myth"

I cringe just writing about this but here I go. The most annoying and frustrating question I’m asked is guess?



“Is it true what they say about black men?”



Now how do I answer this question? My usual answer is we’re just like other men, there are different shapes and sizes and we’re not all twelve inches! I guess all myths stem from some reality but you must remember that all myths are myths because they have some exaggerated truth about them. Now I’m not going to discuss my dick size because that’s simply not important. Well put it this way, I haven’t had any complaints. But as far as the gay world goes, it’s a pressure put on us black men. There are some men who are size queens who seek the biggest “cock” they can find and to them that’s going to come from a black man.

It happens in the straight world also because all through college, my roommate, who was very straight constantly asked to see my supposedly monster “cock”. He always said cock, but I’d rather it be called dick. But I’m sure you all have your own name you call it. Whatever is fine with me. I entered the gay world very naïve and I felt any guy who liked me would like me for who I was and not what was between my legs. Unfortunately I found out that some guys do measure there man by the number of inches they have. I understand part of that because they just want to be “satisfied”. But far does that really take someone in a relationship? I don’t like feeling and wondering if the guy I’m with is only with me because I must be “hung”.

When I get emails on online sites some of the first responses I get are “how hung”, “you must be hung”, “love hung black men”. It makes me shake my head when I read these emails because first of all I don’t get a “hello” or a “how are you”, just straight to what counts the most, my size! It really puts a pressure on me because if I was to meet any of these guys I have to well….represent. I know for a fact there are white men definitely bigger than me, a couple of you may even be reading and I also know for a fact that there are some smaller. But I’ll tell you that doesn’t even enter my mind when first seeing a hot guy on the street or even chatting to someone online. Eventually the topic may come up but I really do try to get to know the guy a little bit before asking what’s in their pants.

And I don’t want this to add to the stereotype that all gay men are just sexual, just 95% are just don’t assume you’re going to get something the size of a snake when I drop my pants. Who started this myth, what started it? I really don’t have a clue. Like many myths I’m sure a black man ran around naked somewhere and someone figured “they must all be like that”.

You know I used to be proud of the myth but somewhere in growing up it became annoying because I really don’t want to be defined by what I’m packin’, I want to be defined by how I can use it. I’m kidding but you know that’s important and ladies can even agree to that one. So if you’re a size queen please don’t take offense, if you’re well endowed don’t brag too much, and if you’re not blessed below just learn how to use it. But just let the myth die please.





© 2007

Tarringo T. Vaughan