“Is somebody gonna match my freak?”
– Tinashe –
Sometimes I wonder if being gay comes with a membership to the Promiscuity Club. My journey of self-discovery has turned me into a referee of my own thoughts—constantly blowing the whistle on self-doubt and red-carding guilt out of my mind. Picture me on one of those lonely nights: prayers start with “Dear Universe” and end with “Sincerely Confused.” Those prayers turned into tears and guilt turned into self-hatred, and I was forced to grapple with my own thoughts and emotions. Why should I waste my energy condemning the part of me that makes me the happiest?
Hating myself to the point of exhaustion, one day, I decided, enough is enough. If they want to call me a sinner, I’ll embrace it unapologetically. There will be no path to heaven, so I might as well plunge into the deepest layer of hell.
And let’s face it, the thought of putting my junk anywhere near a vagina? That is my idea of hell.
SquirtTale 