Hey, That Looks Like A…

I saw a picture today of Hong Kong, the International Commerce Center stood prominently in the photo. At the base of it, something that looked like a Ferris wheel. Right?? At this point it’s just a big ole dick and balls! So I comment on the photo. And I wasn’t brazen or crass. In essence I asked if anyone else saw it. The one reply to my comment shocked me: “Are you in psychoanalysis? This is a textbook example.” I deleted my comment moments after I read that.

I’m sure that I’m overreacting, because that response set loose a terror inside me that I barely contained. I sat for the last few hours of my work shift feeling emotionally paralyzed. Why the big fuss?  She doesn’t know me, and I cannot possibly be the only person that saw it. Psychoanalysis is fucked up, micro-focused, and only questionably of value. (My fear and contempt for anything that challenges my comfort zone allows me to be dismissive and condescending. Fox News taught me that.)

My older brother, one of my heroes to this day, used to question anything he disliked by asking, “Homo no?” It meant was I or it, the subject of his query, gay. Obviously, gay is bad. Homo no???

My religion growing up made it very clear that homosexuality was a sin. So did the media.

I heard my parents make disapproving comments about a gay person in our congregation. They cared about him. They worked with him closely and respected what he brought to the table, but they really couldn’t get passed the reality that he was gay.

I listened to my high school students throw out the ubiquitous “that’s so gay!” slander. Of course I jumped all over them for doing it. And in college I heard so many disparaging and casually hateful remarks about the gays.

I’ve always been very sensitive. I absorbed what people said and how they said it. Hurtful things became lessons to me; avoid xyz at all costs.

So how was I supposed to handle being in college with gay men? How was I supposed to know what to do when I had feelings for them? How the fuck could I cope with being alone with them and wanting to fuck or be fucked by them? What if I loved them? Hurtful things must be avoided at any cost. It was the only answer I had, and definitely the saddest answer possible.

When I was teaching and singing I began to let more of my feminine side show. I was pretty flamboyant at times. I think it scared the shit out of my ex-wife. I got hit on quite a bit. Many people would ask me when I was coming out of the closet. I think that I thought I was reaching into my divine feminine, which would,no doubt, explain the dick-in-mouth dreams. Mmmmmm. Divine dick. I would pay money to hear Homer Simpson say that.

In December I turn 40. I have no experiences with men, just regrets. Do I think I’m gay? I don’t know.  I know I’m attracted to the beauty of women. And the women I’ve loved, I have loved earnestly. Am I physically attracted to men? Sometimes. Emotionally, though, the attraction can be so strong. Why must so many men be users and predators and so very, very selfish? That alone explains why I don’t have many close male friends. I don’t trust them.

I don’t believe that my family would understand. I certainly don’t believe that they would support. They would still love me, but with the same disapproval that I’ve seen in the past. So I’m afraid. That fear is out there.  Acknowledging this gives me so much respect and admiration for my gay friends. They’ve been through it all.

If I’m putting this out in public, I’m taking a risk. I have accepted that risk. It’s so scary. I suppose that if I’m going to live from the heart, I’d better get used to it.

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