I'm an anglo homo.

[raybear]

On Saturday morning, DYA went downtown to volunteer for the Louder Than a Bomb bouts. We ended up judging the second bout, which was amazing and intense, but the first bout was canceled because a team didn't show, so they just had a few people get up and read, and this one young poet, with purple hair who was mostly spitting about how she loves God, but the poem wasn't trite and there was a line, I probably don't remember it exactly, but it was essentially: we all experience loss, so you might as well make it a sacrifice. I've been thinking about this idea a lot since Saturday.

But that's not what this entry is about. This is about faggotry!

Later that day, after a ridiculously long subway ride and a ridiculously long wait at the rental car counter, we packed 6 of our friends into the mini-van and drove up to Racine and ate Chick-Fil-A. We made dommeyourass cry with our group gift, as I had promised to all donors involved in the giving process. We were all slightly devastated that the Steve & Barry's was temporarily closed, but it was maybe just as well since we only had 30 minutes before the mall closed. Just enough time for me to find a $3 shirt on the clearance rack that was the gayest thing I'd seen that I would also wear (because I've certainly seen gayer, they just would never appear on my body). But this was something I could do. It was a tight thin black t-shirt with practically a scoop neck (the masculine equivalent of it, I suppose, it doesn't really go any lower than a v-neck t-shirt would) and on the left shoulder was a gold lame screened print, that was an anatomical heart, surrounding by the rays of light similar to the Sacred Heart heart images, and in nearly indistinguishable font said: Warning, enter at your own risk. So I bought it and immediately went into the men's room to put it on and there I was, wearing my gay heart on my sleeve. Or, my shoulder, really. I made a comment as we were walking out to leave that I wish I had some flouncy sheer H&M type scarf to go with it, and then moments later, DYA pulled out the silky work shirt she bought on clearance that was black, silver, and gold circular pattern, and it came with a sash tieback, which she immediately removed and then wrapped around my neck. Perfect.

We went to Jo'Dee's International LLC, aka the only gay bar in Racine, Wisconsin for a drink. All of us were straining our eyes out the window, trying to read the address number, trying to read signs and wondering if we accidentally passed it, but then we all looked up at the same time to see the faded rainbow wood sign with a pink triangle on it. Oh, there it is. Inside the bartender said, wow, there's a lot of them. Our arrival made the bar population quadruple. Unfortunately someone had just put $5 in the jukebox (25 songs!) so we had to sit through a mix of ok songs and not-so-ok songs. We passed the time by playing several rousing games of pool, learning who were the hidden sharks of our group. They didn't have Titty Touch, but they had other erotic games, including the one I played which was basically a timed jigsaw puzzle with pictures of scantily clad men -- like, men with moustaches and leopard thongs and a tattered t-shirt actively being torn off their sweaty pecs. I have the high score on that game, by the way, should you ever find yourself in Racine and want to stop by for a drink and see "RaymondJ" in the number 1 position.

Finally our songs came on the jukebox and we listened to them while also packing up to go -- time to move on to livelier pastures, namely Club Icon in Kenosha, Wisconsin. If you have ever driven up 94 to Wisconsin, you have passed it -- its on the frontage road on the right, just past "Little Europe Restaurant" and right before the Harley Davidson store with the giant elevator tower of motorcycles. Club Icon doesn't have a rainbow sign, but it did have a logo that looked like 85% of the 'tribal' tattoos one would see at any gay event. Exhibit A: http://www.club-icon.com/

We walked in, and it was packed. Which we knew, because we had to park on the side of the road when we arrived. A giant cloud of cigarette smoke and small town desperation billowed out when we opened the front door. Ok, that sounded meaner than I meant, because really, who among us queers wouldn't feel a bit stifled at times in such isolated places like Wisconsin small towns in the dead of winter when we are all aching for freedom in some form.

They were having a show. A pageant, specifically, to determine Mr. Gay Southeastern Wisconsin (guy) and Miss Gay Southeastern Wisconsin (drag queen/transwoman). Our party immediately scattered, to get money, to check coats, to get drinks, to survey the joint. At one point I realized it had been 5 minutes and I lost my entire party and I felt totally okay with it. It was a safe space, and hell, I was getting cruised really frequently. On stage was Mr. Gay Tenneessee, lip syncing to a country song. Not singing, lip syncing. And he wasn't a drag king. I think we had missed the 'talent' portion of the pageant and now we were in the intermission show while the contestants were off changing into their formal wear. After Gay Tenneesse was Mr. Gay Wisconsin, who actually sang. Specifically he sang the song Come What May from Moulin Rouge. (Of course.) I was besides myself. I kept threatening to jump on stage and sing the Nicole Kidman parts with him, but didn't want to get 86ed so early in the evening. I did vow to make out with him. He was so dorktastic, and not bad looking, but not that hot to me either, but hello, I would be making out with Mr. Gay Wisconsin! I'm not sure why I had the bug in me. I don't usually go to dance clubs actually thinking or wanting to get any action. But that night, not only did I want it, I just intuitively knew it would happen. Maybe it was my gold shirt and silk scarf.

The show goes on a bit longer, its weird and fascinating and finally the tally the votes while the judge reads this outrageously long goodbye letter from the former Miss Gay Southeastern Wisconsin, Miss Jasmine, and then she 'performs', which is a loose term, since they all just sort of wander slowly around collecting dollar bills from people while sort of lip syncing. I remember at the time I was excited by the second song in her medley, but hell if I can remember it now (I was drinking that night, but not excessively -- two rounds at Jo'Dee's, two at Club Icon, just enough to remove any few inhibitions I might have in a given moment). They announced the winners, they cleared the floor, the music started, and most of us took the floor. It was pretty good fun stuff, mostly B96 type, or almost like the video bar at Spin, which I always prefer to the back room, except people don't dance in the front room. Here, people danced. I was mostly keeping to myself and my friends, but occasionally roving the room, thinking that if Mr. Gay Wisconsin stepped on the dancefloor, I would immediately get to work on my campaign. While looking, I noticed this tall guy dancing near me, dark wavy hair, wearing a brown blazer over a button down shirt and jeans, and I thought he looked good. He seemed to maybe be dancing with me. So I maybe danced with him a little. Then I maybe stopped. But moments later, he came over, got right up next to me and said, "what's your name?" So then we were definitely dancing together, having hilarious bar small talk except having to kind of yell it in each other's ears. What's your name, where are you from, why are you here. He was a hairdresser in Racine. I said, you probably can't do much with my hair. He rubbed my head. No, except for some wigs! I told him I've worn some wigs in my time, that I did more drag before I grew a beard and got attached to it. He said something about making the right decision (more that he liked the beard, not that he was anti-drag). His name was JR. I said, what? Jarrod? He said, no, how old are you? There was a show in the 80s that was popular....oh yeah, I get it. I can't believe he referenced Dallas. And he's a hairdresser. Next he's going to talk about being the lead in a musical about Madame's Place, I swear. He also asked, are you jewish? Um, no. He pulls back and examines me. You look jewish. What nationality are you? I'm white. That's okay too.¹ And then at some point, he stopped asking questions or answering mine and he kissed me and I liked it. He was a great kisser. We were making out and dancing for awhile, and then he stopped and said, do you know this song? Its a line dance. Everyone around us was lining up, so we stopped and joined in. Afterwards they played Cha Cha Slide, and I was all, oh I'm from Chicago, I know this! He didn't dance it, just stood to the side watching, then came over to me and said in my ear, I'm going to go get my drink on, I'll see you later. And patted my ass. I was amused. I kept linedancing, except then it got excessive, they had a whole block of linedancing songs, so I took a break.

Ten or fifteen minutes passed, I chatted with friends, I started dancing again, but then I thought, you know, we aren't really going to be here that much longer. I want to find him and makeout with him again before we go. Let me stop and say, even at the point of sounding privileged, I'm not really at a point in my life where I'm in want for makeout action. I have a partner, which doesn't necessarily guarantee anything, we know long term relationships flucutuate, but we are currently not in an ebb, we are having fun, good sex on a regular basis. I've had my dates with Cupcakes even in the past couple months. Plus, I have enough random queer, flexible, open friends in my life I could easily get drunk/high and propose a makeout session for fun with a handful of them, if I were so in need (even though I'd probably never do this, I'm just not in that mindsent for 99.9% of my life right now). So when I say I wanted to make out with him, this wasn't just because I was bored and randomly curious or horny. There was heat. I mean, its pretty rare that you meet a strange and instantly like how they smell, feel, taste, and they feel the same about you. So I wandered through the bar and didn't see him and was about to go to the front porch, when I saw him leaning against the wall on the other side of the bar, furthest from the door. I headed toward him, but didn't make direct eye contact, I just walked right up to him, almost as if I didn't see him, but then turned and stepped up to him and started kissing him. He said, "why'd you come looking for me?" I said, you're a great kisser. Isn't that enough?

We made out some more, than I felt a tap on my shoulder. A very intentional, pointed tap. A "may I cut in" tap. My first thought was it was someone from my group, saying they were waiting on me to leave, but it had only been 5 minutes, that didn't make sense. I turned around, and there was Miss Jasmine. The now-former Miss Gay Southeastern Wisconsin. Excuse me, but I need to borrow him for a minute. I smiled and shrugged and said certainly. JR grabbed my wrist and didn't let me walk away. 'Stay here -- she's just buying me a drink.' So they stood and did their shot of tequila and spoke for a moment, then he turned back to me and we resumed making out up against the wall. In between, we would converse a little.
Are you single?
I giggle.
Why are you laughing?
Uh, its complicated.
Oh, that means no.
I'm in an open relationship. So I'm no I"m not single, but no I'm not cheating.
He rolls his eyes, in this way of, damnit, I can't believe I'm making out with someone who's unavailable.
I coerce him into continuing anyway.
He bites my neck and says in my ear, if you were with me, you wouldn't need an open relationship.
This is, of course, ridiculous. But hot at the time.
We kiss more. He asks where "he" is.
I shrug and nod my head towards the dancefloor.
He's HERE?!?
I laugh.
Which one is he?
Before I can answer: the guy in the glasses? The only guy here??
I am slightly stunned. Uh, yeah. [I mean, DYA is wearing glasses. Wow, I can't wait to tell her she passed as a guy!]
We make out more, he says I'm handsome, I whisper dirty things in his ear, I thank him for being forward, for the making out, I say I should go I might be leaving soon. We make out a bit more. I go back towards the dance floor.

And in that moment, I realize, oh wait, he thinks my boyfriend is broqued. Who is also wearing glasses. Of course, I go right over and tell her all about it.

So now the night is maybe winding down for our group, and some guilty pleasure comes on, probably Souja Boy, and I decide to dance a bit longer. Who should come up behind me? Mr. Ewing.

Why'd you come looking for me? I countered.
He didn't even bother indulging my coy joke, he went right back to kissing. And groping. He was more aggressive this time, straddling the line between hot and sort of overeager too much. So I turned around and kept dancing with my back up against him, grinding into him. Before he'd start with just a hand barely under the hem of shirt. This time he went straight up and started grabbing my nipples, then with both hands, practically pulling off my gold lame shirt. I turned back around, guiding his hands elsewhere. I wasn't drunk enough to be showing my business to the entire gay southeastern wisconsin, even if it was only second based. We kissed a bit and then I said, ok, I gotta go.
You said that before.
But now I mean it.
Can I have your number?
I pulled out my wallet, fished out a card, and slid it into the chest pocket of his blazer.

He called me at 3 am, right around the time DYA and I walked in the house. I played the voicemail on speakerphone. He said he hoped I got home safe and that I was very handsome and he enjoyed tonight. Likewise.

I wasn't sure if I'd call him. I mean, he lives in Racine. And, oh yeah, the trans thing. On Sunday I woke up feeling fine about it -- not embarassed but not especially invested either. Except after my writing group and when driving the van out to the airport to return, I kept thinking about him and kissing him and that electricity and I said, fuck it. I'm calling him, I'm outing myself, and I'm going to work it totally differently that I have in the past.

So I called and it went straight to voicemail, which I was sort of hoping would happen actually. I left a long message, that said basically, "hey, that was fun, you were hot, I do want to fuck you but there's something you should know first -- no, I'm not Jewish, but I am a trans man. Which means basically, I was born female, but as you know, I know longer look, live, or identify as a woman. It also means basically that I am a man with a cunt² who likes to fuck men with cocks. A lot. And I have been told by some of those men with cocks that....[um...some dirty stuff...]. So anyway, I know its sort of uncommon, and if it doesn't interest you, that's cool, but if it maybe does, you have my number."

He called back 10 minutes later.

I was on the rental car shuttle at that point, missed it. He left a message that was basically "wow! weird! I would have NEVER guessed. Call me when you get this."

I kinda doubt he wants to talk and process how he never wants to see me again. We've been playing phone tag today. I might try him at work tonight if its empty and nothing to do. I might never see him again, and that's fine, because I have two great things from this: one, the night itself, of feeling sexy and finding someone with chemistry and acting on it in a hot and playful way; and two, a new strategy for coming out as trans to men I want to fuck, which is basically to be as dirty and filthy as possible about it. No psychological or sociological handholding about the ordeal, no treating it as a liability. Just straight up laying out the assets of the situation and then walking away for them to figure out if they are up for it. So to speak.

Oh, southeastern Wisconsin. Who knew?

___________

¹: First off, JR is, I'm pretty sure, latino, but I'm not sure of what specific nationality and I didn't clarify -- I was too busy with the issue of wanting to kiss him. I mean, I knew nothing else about him really anyway. But this incident was extra hilarious to me because the first night I was in Miami, only a week earlier, I was having dinner at a diner and this Puerto Rican fag from the Bronx who vacations in Miami every year chatted me up and asked if I was Spanish. You mean, from Spain? I said. He nodded. Uh, no. He asked what I was, and I said white. Well, you could have said caucasian. No, I'm not caucasian. I don't really believe in that as an authentic ethnic category - I'm white. I might say anglo, but not caucasian. We are both laughing. He apologized and I said that was unnecessary, I don't mind at all that he thought that, but I did wonder how many beers he had drunk. Later in this same conversation, when I asked what clubs to go to, he said, well I'm gay. I said, me too. He said, I didn't want to assume. I said, you're not, I'm telling you. I'm gay. And I'm white. I'm an anglo homo.

When I mentioned JR's comment to me about asking if I was jewish and how I just had the previous experience, DYA posited that perhaps men are picking up on the trans thing in some way, but just aren't sure what to pin it on. Which kinda makes sense in a weird way, like my masculinity is expressed just differently enough that it is ascribed to ethnicity, rather than gender of origin. Hahahaha. Gender of origin. That just came out accidentally while typing. But anyway, I already think about masculinity and how that plays out regionally, so this is interesting to me.


²: This phrase is still a bit tricky for me, I'm sort of cautiously exploring ways that it does work, but so it can be used that don't either squick me out or make me think of Buck Angel. But there is a part of my sexual identity for which its true, but its mostly in the dynamic of engaging specifically with men. I'm saying this to let you know (in case you didn't already) that one, this phrase should not be tossed around among transmen in general and assumed its okay, and two, this phrase should not be tossed around ME in general, especially in a teasing context, but anything light-hearted really, because it will genuinely upset me and make me uncomfortable. And now that I've given this spiel, I will probably also be angry at you since I just told you to know better.

_______________



Whoa, that was long. Thanks for tuning in. After I do laundry, I will reward you all later in the week with a picture of the super-gay t-shirt.

Comments

[vfc.livejournal.com]

Aw. Faggotry is fun!

[raybear.livejournal.com]

want to go to kenosha next weekend?

[vfc.livejournal.com]

Heh. I have no money. Otherwise I'd probably say yes.

[raybear.livejournal.com]

Keep next Saturday night (the 15th) open anyway.

[wearemany.livejournal.com]

i fucking love this (of course). but especially this: And I have been told by some of those men with cocks that....[um...some dirty stuff...].

NOW you get shy. xoxox.

[raybear.livejournal.com]

Hahaha. I think it was 1/2 shy, 1/2 wanting to save a few of my aces. I can't spill EVERYthing here. 99%, but not everything.

[freakysparks.livejournal.com]

Exactly!! <3

[raybear.livejournal.com]

hahahahaha. thanks!

gender of origin

[crafting-change.livejournal.com]

picking up on the trans thing in some way, but just aren't sure what to pin it on. Which kinda makes sense in a weird way, like my masculinity is expressed just differently enough that it is ascribed to ethnicity, rather than gender of origin. Hahahaha. Gender of origin.
That makes a lot of sense... from cultural expectations and experiences to the varying assumptions culture makes of men from different ethnicities. If someone is eager to 'place' a person, I could see those assumptions being made.

[dommeyourass.livejournal.com]

actually the message on speaker phone was that you were a hot kisser "but of course you knew that already."

hot.

[raybear.livejournal.com]

hahahahaha. I forgot that part! Thank you. This is why it was a good idea to play the voicemail on speakerphone!

[ex-fish.livejournal.com]

This entry was exactly as long as my quesadilla. Thanks for the study break, anglo homo.

[freakysparks.livejournal.com]

SHOW ME UR PIX!

[freakysparks.livejournal.com]

PS - I have spent some time in Wisconsin and it can be hard to be queer in - I am delighted that you went up there and showed them a good time!

[raybear.livejournal.com]

hahahahaahahahahahahah

[dommeyourass.livejournal.com]

hahaha!

[unscrambled.livejournal.com]

I like that you gave him your card. This is my favorite part of the story.

I think white people who are not freaked out (or really excited) by POC are often asked if they're __________ (something non white, or at least ethnic).

I've met several handfuls of white Cubans who describe themselves as Spanish. This is complicated, of course. That might have been at play on vacation.

Also, you have a prominent nose (though, not Semetic at all in my assessment). But do they know from Semetic noses in Wisconsin? I'd say no.

[raybear.livejournal.com]

Also, I thought of you after the "are you spanish?" moment, because my first thought (but not said) was "like Nina Garcia??" Who we now know is Columbian, but I still think of standing in your kitchen discussing Project Runway and you saying, "wait, is she a Spaniard?!?"

[unscrambled.livejournal.com]

EXACTLY.

Speaking of Spaniards, have you seen Jose Andres' new PBS series about the snacks of Spain? It is great and cute. He is great and cute. I think that he should have Bittman on the show, because their schtick is so adorable. Huzzah, the burly mens!

[whirledpeas.livejournal.com]

Hot my friend. Hot.

Now I want that picture.

[mintwaster.livejournal.com]

you had to go and mention buck angel....

[gotmce99.livejournal.com]

"A giant cloud of cigarette smoke and small town desperation billowed out when we opened the front door."

That's just some damn fine writing. Save it for a story.

[live-laugh-love.livejournal.com]

I spent the majority of my life in NE IL/SE WI, and I never would have guessed there was that much fun to be had out there. Dude, you are a party in a box!

Sometimes I miss the midwest.