Darkside Rainbow

Death of a Gay Soldier - ABC News

Major Alan Rogers was an intelligence officer who trained Iraqi soldiers. An IED in Baghdad killed him while he was out on patrol. On March 14, he was buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

The Washington Post reported at the time that Rogers’ commanding officer wrote to his family: “As God would have it, he shielded two men who probably would have been killed if Alan had not been there.”

According to the Washington Blade, Rogers was also treasurer of the D.C. chapter of the American Veterans for Equal Rights, which works to overturn the ban on gays and lesbians serving openly in the military.

Because Rogers, it turns out, was gay.

Some, such as Andrew Sullivan, have been quite critical of the fact that Rogers’ orientation has been omitted from media accounts of his death.

Writes Andrew: “to enforce the closet even after his death cannot be explained except by a view that somehow being gay is shameful or private. I can see why outing someone who is alive and closeted is unethical; inning someone who is dead and was out is a function of utterly misplaced sensitivity, rooted in well-intentioned but incontrovertible homophobia.”

It may seem strange, but at first I took the other side. Gay or straight doesn’t matter when you gave your life in defense of your country and to save the lives of others; to act as if being gay somehow made his act more noble than it would have been if he was straight is a bit of a double standard, even if it does take a bit more gall to willingly lay down your life for a country that says “I don’t want you.” But he could have gotten out at any time. He could have publicly outed himself beyond his participation in a group striving for equality and been dismissed, and he didn’t. He chose to remain quiet, stay, and serve his country. That, along with how he lost his life, makes Major Rogers someone to be respected.

And it was that line of thinking that turned me around and made me think, “Then maybe yes, people do deserve to know; it was a part of who he was, and it shouldn’t be omitted from his life after his death.” But I still balk at this; maybe it’s my views that we’re so much more than our orientation, and I’m sick of us being boxed in as gay first and everything else after. Major Rogers was far more than a gay man and activist, and yet were those things to be mentioned in his obituary, that’s all that many of the general public would see. They wouldn’t see an honorable man who fought for others, a son, a brother, an uncle, a friend, a compatriot - whatever he was to so many people.

All they would see is a gay man, and the stereotype flung over that like a cloak to hide everything else that he was.

Is it right? No. Does that change that it’s a popular perception that too many of us perpetuate? Unfortunately, no. And would everyone think that about Rogers if his obituary had made mention of his sexuality? Of course not. America isn’t a hive mind and people have diverse perceptions and beliefs, and many people know that being gay isn’t something that you have to hide or be ashamed of - just as many people are violently opposed to it. So I can’t agree or disagree with the decision to leave his sexuality and activism out of his obituary. On one hand it would have given hope to other gay servicemembers, and maybe even shown some of those “don’t ask, don’t tell” proponents that he didn’t ask, he didn’t tell…but he still gave his life for them, and a gay man was just as good as they are.

On the other hand, it could have brought down unnecessary prejudice on his family in a time of grief when they didn’t need to deal with anything more. And in the eyes of many, it would have demoted him from a brave, honorable soldier to “just another fag.” Maybe mentioning it in his obituary would have been an act of defiance against the prejudiced. Maybe it would have been pointless. And maybe it would have just been another nuance on his life, that didn’t make a wave at all.

So I don’t know what to think. I don’t know which way to stand. The only thing I can say for certain is this:

Rest in peace, Major Rogers, and thank you.

Just don’t start playing “Taps”.

It’s 11:34a, and I’m sitting in the food court of the Sharpstown Center a few blocks from the library. Today was my first day walking the nearly three miles from my apartment to the library; I thought, carrying the laptop bag, that it would take me about an hour and a half. It took me fifty minutes, and here I am killing time until the library opens at noon. My shoulders ache a little; the laptop’s heavy. My eyes sting from walking on a major street for almost an hour with dirty air blowing into my eyes and irritating my contact lenses. My hair is a mess, but this time I had the sense to use better gel. My nostrils are full of the scent of wild onion flowers, more potent than I’ve smelled since childhood summers playing in my grandmother’s backyard in Ponchatoula, Louisiana.

For some reason those years and that place were on my mind today - likely because as I walked, I passed dozens of children and teenagers. Everyone’s out on break and enjoying the sun paired with the cool spring wind; it’s a lovely day. Arrogant boys with that swagger that owns the world jerked their chins at me in passing on the sidewalk; harried mothers shepherded their children along and smiled in acknowledgment when I stepped onto the grass so they could pass without hindrance. Most of the children looked happy, chattering gaily with their friends. A few isolated themselves, held back from the others and keeping, for the most part, quiet. They didn’t seem miserable; just…separate, as if there was something that set them apart from their friends.

I want to say that I remember that feeling, but in truth, it’s barely a shadow of recollection, faded by time. I’ve said before that I didn’t even know what homosexuality was until my early teens; I had no idea what the word was for why I felt just a little different from my peers - why when one of my closest neighborhood friends started noticing girls, I subtly started noticing him. The thing was, I didn’t care. Although I have a bad history with my family, I didn’t have an unhappy childhood despite being poor. I wasn’t a miserable outcast, isolated at an early age by my sexuality; that didn’t come until my preteen years, and that was more caused by my surly attitude, smart mouth, and budding misanthropy. It wasn’t because of any inner knowledge of difference, isolation. Many people say they knew, from the moment they became self-aware. I didn’t. And I didn’t need to.

What I knew, as a child, was that I could catch dragonflies by the wings, holding them carefully until they got used to my touch and would settle on my finger without coercion, only to start and fly away if I moved too fast. I knew that pine trees were all wrong for tree houses, but for ground-level clubhouses it was always best to layer a thick sheaf of fresh green needles over the outside of the structure and stick it in place with the thick, resinous sap, so that water would sheet off and it would be safe to take shelter from the rain. I knew that if you plucked the stems of wild clover flowers and tied them around each other, you could make a necklace that would leave pollen all over your shirt and fill your nose with its sweet, musty scent all day. I knew the smell of thick swamp mud, the faint bubble that pops to the surface right before a mud turtle comes floating up to stumble into my grip, the wet squish of a crawfish’s mud cone as I kicked it over with my sneakers. I knew skinned knees and Sega on a rainy day at O’Neil’s house, and going home to the soft, homemade sugar cookies that my mother always baked no matter how tired or angry she was.

I knew all I needed to know, as a child. I didn’t know that I was gay, and I wouldn’t have wanted to - not in this world, in this time. I was a child for as long as I could be, blissfully unaware and wearing my heart on my sleeve, unaware of the hurt and the wonder, the struggle and the beauty, that could come from one single word that has, in many ways, shaped my life since then.

And no matter how many people proudly proclaim that they’ve known since they were toddlers…

I wouldn’t change that. Not for anything.

Make up your own tags. It’s like a Choose Your Own Adventure book.

I’m busy and working my head off, so you know what that means: it’s survey time again! Normally I do an “Ask Adri” when I’m busy or the news is slow, and gods know I’ve got a backlog of reader questions, but right now I’ve got work coming out the effin’ culo and don’t even have time for that. So…

We all know that I make no secret of the fact that I’m gay, even when it isn’t blatantly obvious. I don’t bring it up as a point of introduction (”Hi, I’m Adri, I’m cranky, and I’m gay!” …I think not) or walk around with a rainbow flag stuck in my hat, but if someone asks, I don’t try to hide it. Hell, I write this column under my real name, and on my public writing blog I make no secret of the fact that I’m a gay author who likes to focus on minorities (whether by sexuality or ethnicity) as protagonists. Sure, sometimes it gets negative reactions, but thankfully in my line of work I have the freedom not to worry about job security because I don’t have to deal with my employers face to face and they don’t care as long as I don’t make them look bad all over the internet - and as far as social situations, well, I don’t really want to be around anyone who’d have a problem with my sexuality anyway, so it works as a good screen-out factor to catch 50% of the human drek. When it comes to family…well, we just won’t go there. Suffice to say I stopped caring what my family thought of me a long time ago.

There is the fear factor, wondering if anyone would cause me bodily harm out of prejudice, but…screw fear. I just don’t care. I am who I am, and that’s the way it’s going to be, for better or for worse. But not everyone feels that way, and some people are less open than others. So survey says…

Gay, Bi, Lesbian, or Transgendered: How “out” are you?

        (a) I’m so far in the closet I can’t even see the light.
        (b) I’m out to a few close people, but no one else.
        (c) I’m out to my friends, but not to my family or in the workplace.
        (d) I’m out to friends and family, but not in the workplace.
        (e) I’m all over the place, baby. Out and proud and just a little loud.
        (f) I’m out, but not declaratively so; I make no efforts to hide it, but
           don’t announce it, either.
        (g) I’m straight. The only closet I worry about is the one with my
           clothes in it.
        (h) I’m straight, but closeted anyway because for some reason I
           decided to pretend to be gay/bi/lesbian/trans/etc. (Hey, this
           happens.)
        (i) I’m asexual, you insensitive bastard.
        (j) Other/will explain in comments.

My answer’s mostly F, but with a little of E when I start to get defiant about it. Although maybe I wouldn’t be so open if I ever had to fear ending up featured in a homophobic Polish political speech…

Erk, I’ve gotta run. ~flees~

P.S. Hikaru, I swear to gods if you respond to this before you’ve had at least eight hours of sleep, I’m flying out there to shiv you. Rest, you psycho.

I’m overly fond of my shiv to the trachea line, methinks.

To start off the morning, Kaine won the 1,500 comments contest and is now the proud owner of a horribly pink 1GB Sandisk Sansa MP3 player with FM tuner and voice recording capabilities. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but Kaine, I’ll be e-mailing you (I owe you one anyway, and got a little sidetracked) regarding where you want the MP3 player sent. Poor Lessa; missed it by just one.

This weekend, we’ll be having a comment party. Yes, a comment party, as weird as that bloody well sounds. The basic idea is this: at midnight CST on Friday, I’ll put up a post solely for the sake of commenting, explaining the full rules of the party…ish…thing. The purpose is to hit 100 comments to that post alone (comments to other posts won’t count) over the course of the weekend. You can’t just spam the hell out of the post, but like I said, the post itself will explain the rules. Whoever gets the 100th post will get a t-shirt in the Cafepress style of their choice with either the pink/blue or red/blue design posted in yesterday’s comic. There may be a runner-up prize for #101. I’d say if we really wanted to, we could hit 100 posts in one day; hell, if Hikaru and I start bickering, we can manage 50 of those ourselves in just a few hours.

Moving on to the usual mini-discussions of news that occur when Adri just isn’t in the mood for a high-blood-pressure sermon:

Arthritic, sporty, gay? Your finger ratio may tell you: Although it’s pretty common knowledge that apparently the lengths of your fingers in relation to each other can determine whether or not you’re good at math, researchers have also found a correlation between various other traits and the lengths of particular fingers. Long ring fingers indicate a likelihood for osteoarthritis; “male” finger ratios hint at lesbianism. I keep surveying my hands looking for “female” finger ratios to see if that’s supposed to be an indicator of my status as a fabulous king (one queen comment and I skin you) of gay snark. Funny how this one finger in the middle keeps popping up a bit higher than the others…

Gay bar’s straight bouncer wins discrimination suit: A straight woman who worked as a bouncer in a UK gay bar often dealt with harassing comments about her sexuality - a reversal of the usual harassment of homosexuals. She also claims she was fired for it and that her employer often called her a “breeder”; while the court determined that her firing had nothing to do with her sexuality, she was still awarded a settlement for facing discrimination in the workplace - and right well she should be. I still don’t know where we get this idea that because some heterosexuals are nasty to us, that gives us the right to behave in an equally bigoted, discriminatory fashion towards them. Two wrongs don’t make a right, more cliched BS, blah blah, the point is that no one’s sexuality gives anyone the right to behave like a complete douche towards them. It’s not all right to place the shoe on the other foot and “show them how it feels”. It just makes you as bad as the people that you mock and loathe.

Wasn’t asked, told anyway: In a refreshing change, a gay servicemember (who, if you follow the link, is not only brave but quite attractive) came out on public television and wasn’t in any way rebuked or confronted about it by his unit or his commanding officers - and he’s discovered that he’s not alone. Hundreds of gay servicemembers serve active duty with their sexuality fully known by their units. Their fellow servicemembers just don’t care. Out in the field, one’s sexuality doesn’t matter. What matters is capability, and whether or not the people in your unit can put their skills to use saving your life and the lives of the soldiers and civilians around you. Too many highly skilled individuals with knowledge and experience that could be valuable in avoiding bloodshed have been barred from service for the most idiotic reasons - the top reason being that the Pentagon somehow thinks that open homosexuality in the military will foster dissent in the ranks.

Funny how people keep proving them wrong.

don’t ask don’t tell, gays in the military, gay servicemembers, darren manzella, straight harassment, heterosexual discrimination, sharon legg, finger ratios, osteoarthritis, finger lengths

Dear Adri,

I have a friend (let’s call her Kate) who I am pretty sure is gay. Being ridiculously curious (and also harboring a slight crush on her) I would love to know if I’m correct or not. However, she’s remained very tight-lipped about topics of a sexual nature - she’s never mentioned any crushes she’s ever had and I’m know she’s never dated or even kissed anyone before (we’re college students, by the way, which makes that a little more unusual). Kate has recently been telling me about someone else we know (Molly) who is pursuing her pretty aggressively, and while Kate has made it clear she’s not interested in this other person, she hasn’t said “because I’m straight” or “because I’m asexual” or anything, just that Molly is “kind of freaking her out” because she keeps showing up in Kate’s suite uninvited.

Recently one of her suitemates, someone who I think is even closer to Kate than I am, mentioned to me that none of the suitemates know whether Kate is gay, either. (She said this to me in the context of telling me about how Molly showed up in their suite one day and asked Kate’s entire suite whether Kate was gay when Kate got up to go to the bathroom!) Is Kate’s clear avoidance of the subject a sign that I should let sleeping dogs lie? Is it possible that she just doesn’t know whether she’s gay or not? I’ve had people tell me to “just ask her!” but I get the feeling she might not respond well to a direct “You sure like the Indigo Girls a lot! So, are you gay?” type question since she’s so private, but it seems like the only way to get a straight (ooh, ignore that horrendous pun) answer out of her. I’ve tried to sneak it out of her with leading questions such as (I think this was my most recent attempt): “Wow, Kate! Your Halloween costume is so hot, who are you trying to seduce? It would totally work.” but she just laughs and says “No one!” or something else equally vague. I also haven’t told her that I’m bisexual - could that be a good lead-up to some sort of let’s-all-confess-our-attraction-to-girls talk of some kind? Whether or not I figure this out, I like her enough so that I don’t want to make things awkward.

Wondering in Worcester

Oh, honey, I know it’s probably driving you nuts to sit on your feelings and your curiosity this way, but asking Kate directly is definitely not the way to go. You’ll end up making her as uncomfortable as that creepy stalker-child Molly (who sounds like she needs a few lessons in common courtesy, tact, and social graces - preferably from my grandmother, who’d happily enforce them with a wooden spoon across the knuckles).

I can’t really hazard a guess as to which way Kate might lean just based on the described behavior, as actually she sounds a lot like one of my sisters - who’s 100% hetero, but for the longest time was extremely reserved and uncomfortable around men to the point of being defensive and wouldn’t talk about anything related to sex or sexuality in any capacity. She didn’t date in high school or in college because she didn’t know how to act with boys, and remained staunchly single until her late twenties, when a close male friend made the first move and approached her carefully enough not to make her skittish. (She’s a very intimidating munchkin. Very intimidating. And yet she’ll bolt at the first sign of aggressive male attention.) People wondered if she was a lesbian, too, and she deflected the question because it embarrassed her. So the fact that Kate hasn’t had a boyfriend by now, or those other behavioral signs, may not really mean much.

At the same time, as you said, she may not be sure of her own sexuality. She may have just started to question; college is an environment that lets you explore these ideas that may not even have occurred earlier on in life. If she’s at that stage she’s probably doing a lot of thinking, and wrestling with herself internally. She won’t be willing to openly admit anything until she’s really sure that she wants to take that step.

But yet again, she may know quite well that she bats for the girls’ team and just doesn’t want to expose herself. She may have many reasons for being discreet; they could involve family, her potential career, even fear of losing her friends. Sometimes people want to stay in the closet for a while, so even if your suspicions are correct, she’ll deny them until she’s good and ready to come out.

There are so many possible interpretations for her behavior, and I don’t want you to get your hopes up because you’re seeing what you want to see and hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might be open to your advances. Don’t press her; you may end up losing a friend and getting slotted into a category with a crazy woman. You’ve already given yourself the best advice anyone could give; let slip about your own sexuality in a relaxed, non-aggressive way so she knows you’re supportive if she wants to come out to you, but don’t beat her about the head with the issue. Let her take her time.

If you really have to, if it’s just eating you up inside…you can even tell her about your crush, but don’t tell her about any assumptions you’ve made about her. Don’t pry at her to return the sentiment, or even tell you definitively if she’s remotely interested in girls. I wouldn’t even ask her to tell you yes or no on whether she’d date you just as a hypothetical; just tell her you wanted her to know how you felt, that you’re not expecting her to do or say anything about it, and that you’re not expecting anything to change because of it. If you really feel brave enough to put yourself out there and risk potential rejection, then it’s all right to reveal information about yourself as long as you don’t make her feel cornered or try to drag information out of her. That way you aren’t pushing at her personal boundaries too much.

I know “just leave it alone” isn’t the advice you wanted to hear, but that’s honestly the best thing to do. Find subtle ways to let her know you’re open to the idea if she wants to talk about it, but beyond that just let it rest. If she wants you to know, she’ll work up to telling you. Otherwise, just respect her privacy. I’m sure it wouldn’t make her feel very good to know that her sexuality is a common subject of gossip.

Best of luck to you,
~Adri

P.S. Sorry this is late, everyone. I wrote this last night and set it to drip today, and apparently WordPress didn’t publish it. I, being a stupid sod, didn’t notice until this afternoon.

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

ask adri, gay advice column, coming out

I probably shouldn’t be doing an “Ask Adri” column in my current mood. You can’t see me right now, but I’m making my pain face. Why? Because I’m in pain. I don’t know what I did to my right arm yesterday, but I woke up this morning feeling as if a few members of the WWE had been using it as an illegal blunt object in the ring. With it still attached to my body. So I’m kind of cranky. But the news is alternately boring me or pissing me off with arseheaded reports that now the LGBT community is pushing for a non-trans-inclusive ENDA (what the hell happened to solidarity, people? I bet we wouldn’t be so willing to ditch them if it was the G or L getting left out), and this letter’s been sitting in my inbox for a couple of weeks now, so I really shouldn’t neglect it any longer. (Also, to two people who e-mailed me asking for private responses: I’m not ignoring you. You’ll hear from me some time tomorrow.)

Hello Adrien.

I am 37/gwm/FL. [Note from Adri for those who don't do netspeak: He's a 37-year-old gay white male who lives in Florida.] My wife and I have three lovely children. I am gay. I knew I was gay when I married her but I thought I could live a normal married straight life. I have been happy with my children and I love my wife, but I am very unhappy with myself. I can no longer pretend attraction to my wife and would like to explore my homosexual side. I do not want her to find out. I would like to have a relationship on the side with another man. How can I meet men without coming out publicly? We live in a small town and if I go to the gay bars nearby I will be recognized. Someone will tell my wife. I need to meet a man who can be discreet. Can you tell me how I can do this?

Sincerely,
Frustrated Florida Fag

Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute. Hold up and slow your roll, Holmes. Are you asking me to help you figure out the best way to cheat on your wife with other men?

Oh, I don’t think so.

Let me tell you something, son. You are going to do this right, rather than in the way that’s the most comfortable for you. You are going to inform your wife, properly and politely, of this particular turn of events in your life. You are going to take responsibility for the years of your marriage, and you are going to make this as easy for her as possible, because none of this is her fault and she’s going to feel hurt and betrayed, almost as much as she would if she caught you cheating. I know this isn’t easy for you, either, and I feel for you, I really do - as while some of this situation is your fault, not all of it is. But you are not going to make it worse by being a reprehensible human being and sneaking around behind your wife’s back like a dog, do you hear me?

You and your wife are going to talk about this. She may leave you, but for the sake of your children, she may not. If she stays with your sorry behind, she may even be willing to come to an agreement. You stay married as parents, but not as sexual partners, and then with her permission you can slip around on the sly all you want as long as you don’t bring your sexual partners home and trip the kids off as to what’s going on. It’s not an ideal situation, and later when the children are older and not as likely to be affected emotionally by their parents breaking up (for whatever reason, sexuality has little to do with how kids are affected by divorce), they will need to be told the truth. Frankly I don’t like the idea of hiding your sexuality from your kids, but it would just be too confusing for them to understand, in their formative years, why Mommy and Daddy have separate bedrooms and Daddy brings men home to spend the night.

And you know what? Your wife may take the kids and leave you. There’ll be a custody hearing; it may be ugly, it may not, but as long as you’re not declared unfit then you’ll get to spend plenty of equal time with your kids. You can even come out publicly and explain a few things to your kids, about how Daddy is gay but Daddy’s still Daddy and still loves them, supports them, etc. - and yes Daddy still loves Mommy, just not in certain ways.

Or you can stomp down your urges, stay miserably in the closet, and keep your family exactly the way it is. It’s an unfortunate situation, and there is no easy answer, no right answer, and no answer that’s going to make everyone happy.

Except you screwing around behind your wife’s back, and that you will not do. Not with my help, anyway. When you get caught, I want no part of this.

And you will get caught. Men always do; I know this from experience, not from cheating myself, but from dealing with cheating men from ex-boyfriends to my own father. You always get caught.

And when you get caught, those hot messes that I described above will be ten times worse.

So just don’t do it.

I know I was a little stern there. You needed it. You need a hard look at the reality of what your decision entails, from an outside perspective. This entire time you’ve probably been focusing on your own misery, and your own potential happiness. When you create a family, you can’t just think of yourself alone anymore. Your decisions deeply affect other people, and you have to consider that before every choice you make. I know you feel trapped by a decision you made years ago, and wish you could go back and undo it. You can’t. Unfortunately, part of adult life is living with the consequences of your past actions, and sometimes there just isn’t a way to wipe the slate clean and start over blameless.

Unless you’re Catholic, but don’t even get me started on that.

Despite my harsh words, I do wish you the best, and I hope that the difficulties along the road ahead are eased by mutual understanding between you and your family. You have a lot of tough choices to make. Good luck with them all.

See this? This is my problem with the whole “sanctity of marriage” crap. Heterosexual marriages break up all the time, for just about any reason; it’s not uncommon for someone to go through two or three spouses on average in their lifetime. How sacred were those marriage vows again?

But this situation in particular, oh, this one gets under my skin. If homosexual marriages were acceptable and legal, this man might not have felt the need to get into a heterosexual relationship and later marriage, in order to conform to the pressures to live the picture of the societal norm. He might have married a man and lived happily ever after, while the woman who - in this alternate future - is not his wife would have married a different man and moved on to have several fat, shiny babies. Instead we’ve got a tangled mess in which the husband is miserable, the wife is oblivious and just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the children could very possibly have a previously happy home torn apart.

Oh, but that marriage is between a man and a woman, so hey, it’s just fine.

George W. Bush, you can suck my middle finger.

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

ask adri, gay advice column, coming out, sanctity of marriage, gay marriage, heterosexual marriage, ENDA

This article doesn’t really discuss anything that isn’t evident to anyone with eyes and common sense, but it does bring up some points that I’ve touched upon before and would like to discuss again.

Study: Gay Couples Becoming More Visible in U.S. - KCBS

SAN FRANCISCO (KCBS) — The number of declared same-sex couples in the United States has quadrupled in the last 17 years, according to a recently released UCLA study.

Demographer Dr. Gary Gates of the Williams Institute at the UCLA Law School says the spike is due to growing acceptance around the country, and more couples willing to self identify. The analysis of census data shows the number of gay couples jumped the most in conservative states.

“We looked back at election results from the 1992 election and basically places that voted for George Bush Sr. had the biggest increases. Places that voted for Bill Clinton had the smallest increases,” said Gates.

He added that the numbers could be an indication that gay couples are becoming more mainstream and their homosexuality is perceived by the public as part of who they are, rather than their entire identity.

I have another theory behind the increase. I don’t think it’s right to the point of invalidating the reasons presupposed in the article, but I think the overall effect seen could be a combined result of all these varying factors.

I think, frankly, that we’re sick of hiding. The atmosphere of fear fostered in the homosexual community, that constant wariness of discovery and its repercussions, begins to wear on you when you live in a nation where, frankly, it is absolutely ridiculous that anyone should be judged for something as basic as their sexuality. People will accept BDSM before they’ll accept homosexuality. It’s enough to eat at the nerves until the sheer idiocy of the contrast can quite easily rouse a defiance that could make just about anyone stand up and say, “I am gay. That doesn’t change that I’m your neighbor, your coworker, your tennis partner, the guy who took the photos at your wedding, the girl who watches your kids until you get home from work in the evenings. You accept me as all of those things; integrate my sexuality into that picture, accept it as something as normal as the brand of tennis balls I prefer, and get over it.”

I’ve often ranted on the subject of blatantly blaring one’s sexuality in a desire for acceptance and acknowledgment. It can foster a perception of the GBLTQ community as obnoxious people who only identify as gay without a single other defining personality trait. For some people, that is their life. But for the rest of us…we’re just like the people described in that article. We don’t want to be known as “that gay guy” or “that lesbian” or “that transgender”. We speak loudly now because we ask, we beg to be acknowledged, but in the end we want that acknowledgment to be quiet, calm, as part of everyday life as we ourselves are. We want to be able to say “my husband” of a same-sex partner in a conversation without stirring a ripple. We want to be able to live our lives openly, without loud proclamations but without making any effort to hide. We want to be able to walk down the street in our suburb, holding hands with our boyfriend or girlfriend, and not draw any more notice than a mother pushing her child in a stroller.

I want to still always be known as “that writer” - that guy who’s trying to get a book published, and maybe in my dreams one day I’ll be known as that bestselling author. That misanthropic, whimsical, batty hermit who can do four loads of laundry separated by “whites” and “blacks” with not even one color load. That guy who makes bad jokes about his mixed ethnicity. That guy who’s always got a book with him, no matter where he goes. That socially awkward guy who pretends to be witty and well-spoken in text, but who trips over his tongue with hideous, blushing shyness when he actually has to talk to people other than his close friends face-to-face. That somewhat lonely guy who wonders if he’ll ever be able to put aside his pessimistic pragmatism to commit to a relationship beyond the bounds of practicality.

That guy who, appended to all of that, just happens to be gay. That guy whose sexuality is but a nuance that adds a shade to that overall tapestry, but doesn’t color it entirely…but who doesn’t have to paint over that color with another for fear of offending anyone’s sensibilities, either.

I want to be just Adrien, and not have to fear that my nation’s politics and prejudices will condemn the many aspects of who that is.

coming out, gay visibility, gay couples, coming out

[facepalm] I’m so not into Harry Potter. Don’t ask me why; I don’t have a problem with J.K. Rowling, I respect her talents and her accomplishments, I think she wrote a very good series with engaging characters…that somehow failed to engage me anyway. I guess it’s just not my thing. However, I just couldn’t pass this up. Half of my fandom-enamored friends are just about wetting themselves over the news that apparently, Rowling has announced that Albus Dumbledore is/was gay. (Is? Was? Series is over, so I guess “was” is appropriate.)

That’s right, the revered headmaster of Hogwarts was gay - and now it’s canon. As someone who adores seeing strong gay characters in fiction who aren’t wholly defined by their sexuality and whose sole point in the story isn’t just to be gay, I love this revelation. I also understand why Rowling would wait until the end of the series to make this announcement; I doubt Dumbledore’s sexuality had anything to do with the story, and if it had been known before he end of the series, he might have been seen as the token gay character. (…it might also have encouraged even more Dumbeldore/Harry fanfic than there already is, although I shudder to think that there may be a sudden upsurgence in such fics now that fandomers have this to work with. Scary.)

Now as someone who doesn’t quite get the obsessive nature of fandom…I’m just staring in wonder as certain corners of the internet practically explode with the buzz. Hell, I had to skip reading half of my LiveJournal friendslist because all they were talking about was this.

So there. If you’re a Potter fan, now you know, and I’ve done my duty by reporting on gay news in an one of my areas of personal interest: popular fiction. Incidentally, no, Richard Harris (pictured above) - the actor who played Dumbledore in the Harry Potter films - was not gay.

Everything’s news to someone, I guess.

harry potter, j.k. rowling, hogwarts, dumbledore is gay, gay characters in fiction

Continuing my “I refuse to rant about the news because I don’t want to spoil my mood” trend this week, I’d like to tell you guys the little story that I mentioned in yesterday’s post. Yesterday we talked about Chelsea’s father; today we’re going to talk about mine. I’m going to get a bit personal, but I’ve done that before. I’m probably going to embarrass the hell out of my family, but I’ve done that before, too. And I’m going to embarrass myself a little, but…well…that’s definitely nothing new.

I love my father dearly; I really do. I love both my parents; I’ve just always had problems getting along with my mother, and went through a period where we didn’t speak for almost five years until Hurricane Katrina scared my butt silly and had me thinking she might be dead. We’re only now starting to deal with each other as adults, rather than snarling at each other like twelve-year-old girls fighting over a Hello Kitty handbag.

My Dad, though…we’ve always gotten along. He’s the quiet type, says little but thinks a hell of a lot, has a bit of an obsession with Billy Bob Thornton (Slingblade) and sometimes acts a little too much like him. He’s the kind of guy you can sit on a back porch with for hours, drinking a beer or two and quite comfortably not saying a damned word to each other. Just watching the mosquitos, watching the bayou, watching the Louisiana sky fade from a hard blue-white shell to a soft, deep rose that bleeds into twilight like watercolors running together.

It’s probably no big surprise that when I had The Talk with my parents about my sexuality, I was more comfortable telling my father than my mother. Even so, it wasn’t easy; first I had to get them to actually listen to me because they really didn’t want to know and deal with the whole “having a gay child” problem, and it was a long time before things settled down and my mother stopped nitpicking at me and making me feel like crap about it. My mother and I still have some small tiffs about it, though overall she tries to be supportive now. My father, in the end, took the news the same way he takes everything: quietly and calmly, thinking it over for a while before saying anything. In the end he told me if that’s what makes me happy then it’s my life, and I’m still his son and he loves me - and that’s been his stance ever since. I was and still am grateful.

Nonetheless, even now they still have those talks with each other. Those talks where they talk about me and my sexuality and ask where they went wrong, not really understanding that my sexuality has nothing to do with them or how they raised me, and I’d have been gay whether they abused me (they didn’t) or if we were the bloody effin’ Cleaver family - or even the bloody effin’ Addams family. They also can’t get this “wrong” concept out of their heads, but…they’re trying. [deep sigh] They’re trying as best they can, bless their nappy little heads.

Still, I wasn’t really surprised when, during a phone conversation with my mother the other day, she mentioned that she and Dad recently had another one of their little talks about “where did we go wrong with Adrien?”. In between making a few comments about my sexuality that set my teeth on edge (not out of malice, just unfamiliarity/ignorance), she started to tell me something that my father had said while a few beers under - then abruptly cut herself off. As blunt as my mother is, I should have taken that as a sign that no, I really didn’t want to know what my father said. She even said that I didn’t want to know.

In hindsight, I think she was right.

I finally pried it out of her, and when I did, I couldn’t believe that those words had come out of my quiet, slow-speaking, even-tempered father’s mouth.

“The only reason that boy’s gay is ’cause he ain’t had a good f***.”

…

Um.

Dad?

No.

I don’t think I’d ever really realized just how old-fashioned my father is, until that moment.

And I don’t think I’ve ever been more disgusted with my father in my life.

At first I was horribly angry when I heard that. One, I didn’t think my father was the kind of person to think like that even when drunk (that’s a Mel Gibson cop-out anyway, and we’ve all heard variations on the adage that alcohol makes a man honest), so I was horribly disappointed in him. Two, what does he know about my sex life and my experiences? I don’t talk about sex with my parents, unless my mother’s asking me uncomfortable probing questions and I give her just a touch too much detail to get her to shut up. It’s just not done, not where I come from. Talking about your sexual exploits and experimentations with your parents? Totally not on.

So my mother and father don’t know that yes, I experimented a little trying to get myself sorted out. Yes, I even tried being with girls to see if I liked it, and maybe I was just confused. And yes, Dad, I have in fact had many absolutely stellar f***s.

They just haven’t been with women.

I’m not attracted to women, and sex with a woman isn’t going to change that. It horrifies and hurts me to think my father would even think that way. Last I checked (now granted, I don’t spend much time rooting around down there), labia don’t secrete magical straight-making pixie dust that causes all men who come into contact with them to suddenly crave women - just like sampling a little cock can’t automatically make a lesbian want men. (Actually, it’s probably just going to make her want women even more. A lot of things come out of the tip of a cock, but they’re quite a bit messier and not nearly as pretty as pixie dust, and I doubt a lesbian’s going to find those things particularly enticing.)

To me, my father sounded just like your average chauvanistic straight male who will happily leer at a lesbian and tell her that the only reason she likes women is because she hasn’t met the right man to make her feel like a real woman, nudge-nudge wink-wink.

Yyyeah. Ha. No. I really don’t think so. Ladies? You want to chime in on that one?

I’ve never dealt with that sort of thing from a male perspective before, and to have it come from my own father just left me flabbergasted; apparently he thinks that I need the right woman to make me feel like a real man. I laughed when my mother told me, even if some of the laughter was sheer incredulity; more, I didn’t want her to know how angry I was.

I’m not so angry now, but I am at a loss, and deeply hurt. The worst part is that I know I’ll never bring it up to my father. My parents don’t really read this column; my mother glances at it now and then, but my father’s barely computer-literate enough to check his e-mail once a year, and I don’t think he knows I even write this thing. (He knows I’m “a writer” and I can support myself; that’s good enough for him.) The fact that I have a different last name from most of my family even preserves their anonymity, which is why I don’t feel so bad openly discussing these things here.

But I will feel bad if I confront my father about what he said. I love him too much to start a fight by telling him that I was angered, hurt, and deeply disappointed in discovering this side of a man that I’ve looked up to and adored for my entire life. It’s all he-said, she-said anyway, hearing it secondhand through my mother. You know family politics; if you act on something you heard from one family member about another family member then suddenly all three of you are in a mess, and drama comes raining down.

So I’m stuck with this. I’m stuck with the knowledge that one simple statement has changed my perception of my father so deeply, and it’s going to take a lot to change it back and make me believe that he really is the man I thought he was and the man that I, in a few small ways, wanted to be. Even worse, I’m stuck feeling as if his sentiment is somehow my fault, even though I know better and I’m not even the slightest bit ashamed of being gay. It’s one of those annoying, irrational guilt things that comes with family, and with love.

And you know what?

It absolutely sucks.

coming out, sex and sexuality, gay life, parents of gay children, mother, father

Thanks to everyone who participated in yesterday’s survey. The results were about as (welcomely) diverse as I expected, even though a largely female sample demographic may have slanted things a little.

I’m really not in the mood to trawl the headlines looking for something to get pissed off about today; I’ve been in a good mood all week and I’d like to keep it that way, so in the tradition of Dear Abby, I’m going to pull a letter out of the Ask Adri bag today.

Dear Adri,

My name is Chelsea, and I’m 18. I am fairly sure I’m bisexual. My I’ve talked to my father, with whom I’ve always been very open and who has always been very open with me. I am lucky to have someone so accepting to support me, however, I’m afraid it’s made our already strange relationship stranger. The dynamic of our relationship has always been different from most father/daugther relationships because my mom passed away before I was two years old. Gradually I’ve taken over, in some sense, the role of the woman of the house. I’ve also always reminded my father of his late wife, my late mother. He supports me and doesn’t seem to be upset about my sexuality, but he seems, at times, to feel betrayed. I only wonder if it is normal for a parent to feel betrayed or if it has to do with my rather odd role in his life. Was I wrong to say anything? Any opinions or advice would be greatly appreciated.

Yours truly,
Chelsea

In my opinion, it’s never wrong to be honest about your sexuality. Now as to whether or not it’s actually wise? That’s another matter.

In this case, though, I don’t think it was particularly unwise. Parents are funny things (and on that note, I’ve got a story to tell you kids about mine, but that can wait until tomorrow), but they’re also the people we turn to first for acceptance and understanding, and often those upon whom the most hinges. Regardless of what kind of relationship you have with your parents, reactions can and will vary vastly.

Your father may be less betrayed than confused. Nine times out of ten, a parent’s first question on discovering that their child is gay, bisexual, or anything other than straight is “where did I go wrong?” Hell, my parents are still asking each other that, and I’ve been out for years. It takes a while for them to get past that hurdle, and there are many more hurdles still to follow.

You need to understand that what’s been obvious to you all this time as you worked it out for yourself may not have been obvious to him, and he’s probably puzzled and thinking back over the years looking for signs that he missed - and probably kicking himself and thinking that he should have known. He’ll be studying you with a touch of bemusement, rethinking his perceptions of your mannerisms and habits. He might even be wondering why you didn’t tell him sooner, if you have such a close relationship and he’s openly supportive; and that may be contributing to that sense of betrayal that you’re picking up.

Even more, he’s having to reevaluate your relationship, and this is where your current role in the house may have some influence on how he responded to your coming out. Discussing your sexuality with him places him in the firm role of a parent, rather than a platonic companion. You’re suddenly his little girl again, turning to her father for acceptance. That’s going to upset the comfortable daily routine for a little bit until he gets settled with bisexuality as a part of your identity, realizes that nothing’s really changed, and things drift back to normal. He may also have questions, but not be sure how to ask them or if it’s even appropriate to ask them.

The best thing to do is just ask him about it. Since I don’t know what kind of person your father is, I don’t know if he’d take the direct approach best or if you should build up to it subtly, but I’m sure you can work out the best path. Just find a way to ask him, “Hey, Dad? Is there anything about my sexuality that makes you uncomfortable? Were there any questions you wanted to ask me? I’d be happy to talk about it and clear up anything that’s bothering you.”

Hope that was at least a tiny bit helpful.

Taking a stab in the dark,
~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

ask adri, gay advice column, bisexuality, coming out, coming out to your parents

Even though I’m not particularly flamboyant, people usually pick up on the fact that I’m gay. I don’t really know what my tell-tale markers are, honestly; my mannerisms and body language are pretty gender-neutral. Maybe it’s the hair, or something about my style of dress; maybe it’s the rose sunglasses (which, believe it or not, I wear to cope with painful photosensitivity and not for style), or the piercings - though the latter I doubt as plenty of straight men wear earrings now, too.

Maybe it’s that I can occasionally be caught giving a second glance to a guy whose aesthetic catches my eye. Maybe it’s that I generally don’t even give a first glance to the classic magnets to the male eye: the nearest T&A. Hell, maybe it’s just pheromones and chemistry.

Either way, there’s some signal that I give off well before I even let a “my boyfriend” slip in conversation that sets off people’s gaydar with that distinctive little blip. I suppose I’m so comfortable with myself that it’s wholly subconscious, but some people are a bit more deliberate - and a bit more wary. Some people have their own personal code of body language and carefully-chosen words, subtle ways of letting people know that they’re gay, carefully feeling out the territory around them…while others may be out and loud, proclaiming themselves proudly to anyone who’ll listen and making sure that everyone who even glances their way can tell in an instant that they’re fabulously queer. The hanky code isn’t so popular anymore…but we’ve all got our own ways about us, and different signs that work in different situations. We’ve all got our way of waving our little gay flag.

So if you’re gay…how do you out yourself? Do you let it all hang out, or maybe feel your way tentatively along, throwing out careful phrases like “my partner” to test the waters in your social environment before edging slowly out of the closet? Do you not out yourself at all, carefully covering your tracks to make sure that no one can figure it out? Or do you, like me, not even think about it unless it somehow accidentally comes up as part of regular interaction?

And what signs do you watch for in others? Say you’re wondering if that hottie is gay and maybe just keeping things on the down low; what signs do you watch for to try to tell even in the most “straight-acting” of girls or guys?

Hell…what is “straight-acting”, anyway? I’ve known straight guys who could flame me right out of the water.

This has been your daily interrogation, coming from a very sleep-deprived and coffee-deficient Adri. Let me know if you make any sense out of it, because I sure can’t.

Signing out.

P.S. Remember when I was griping about Dinah Matos-McGreevey being a little gold-digger? Well, she got what she wanted. Absolutely ridiculous.

gaydar, out status, sex and sexuality, gay-acting, straight-acting, butch, femme, governor james mcgreevey, james mcgreevey, dinah matos, dinah matos mcgreevey, mcgreevey, matos, gay nj governor, gay new jersey governor, jacqueline mcgreevey

Oh, man, I haven’t done one of these in a while, have I? I’ve had a bunch of letters sitting on the back burner and they kept getting pushed aside for various current events. Well, it’s a bit of a slow news day (or it’s the Friday of a long week and I’m feeling too lazy and burnt-out to trawl the headlines or create my own), so let’s root around in the mailbag and see who today’s victim topic is.

Adrien,

I’m not sure, but I think I might be gay or bi. I’ve dated girls all my life, but keep looking at men. It’s not that girls turn me off, but men turn me on more sometimes. But sometimes they don’t. I get confused there. The men I’m attracted to are feminine and very pretty. Maybe I’m straight and attracted to feminine things. But I like dick too. I’ve experimented a little and girly guys get me off but I like butch girls. I don’t like butch guys. I’m really confused and don’t know if I’m gay. How did you know you were gay?

-Mix in NY

Weeeeeell, that’s kind of a funny story that I’ll try to keep brief so we can focus on you instead, mmkay, Mixy m’boy?

My best friend told me.

I sh*t you not.

I was thirteen years old and my best friend was this girl named Trish. Pretty, popular, annoyingly perky as all hell with a tongue that could cut like razors. Me? I was working my way towards being a teenygoth, bad poetry and all, although I never went for the makeup and the spikes (that phase came later). Just the dark clothing, long hair, sullen looks, and the floridly awful “my soul is dark” writing. She belonged out in the light. I belonged pressed up against the wall glaring at everyone who tried to talk to me because I was utterly socially maladjusted and far too shy for social interaction, so I hid it behind defensive anger. We’d never have been friends if she hadn’t decided, one day in P.E. class, that we would be. Just like that, she sat down next to me and said that she liked my attitude, and we were going to be friends.

Trish…was not someone that you said no to. And I tried. Oh, gods, did I try. The girl practically stalked me until I gave in, and you know, we turned out to get along really damned well once I stopped being a surly arse and she stopped nattering at me all the time. And that was when she told me “hey, you. I think you’re cute, so we’re going on a date.”

Again, Trish was not someone that you said no to. And so despite my absolute flabbergasted confusion and reluctance, we went on a date. We went to a movie, we held hands, she dropped a million hints at me to kiss her in the movie theatre and I missed every last one of them until she smacked me upside the head with a cluebat and kissed me.

And I felt nothing. Except a little panic, maybe, but my toes didn’t curl, my little budding teenage hormones didn’t bubble and froth, my little…well, you get the idea. I tried to kiss her back, but she might as well have been kissed by a cardboard cutout. I just wasn’t into it. It had been something I’d run up against rather often when other boys were talking about girls as they started growing out of their “girls are icky” phase. I didn’t think girls were icky, but I wasn’t that interested in the blossoming contents of their training bras, either. I wasn’t quite sure what I was into, and although I’d glanced at a few boys before, I was too sheltered to know that it was even possible to be attracted to other boys. I thought I was just looking at them because they might be nice to draw, sometimes. I had sketchbooks full of profiles.

Well, Trish shattered that illusion. She kissed me once, she kissed me twice, then she gave up in frustration and said, “I knew it. You’re gay. Damn it, I had to try anyway.”

“I’m…what?”

That’s right, kids, I had no idea what homosexuality was. At thirteen years old, in the early nineties. I told you I was sheltered. Trish had to explain it to me, while I squirmed and blushed and tried to deny it even as I thought back to the number of other boys I’d quietly studied and conceded that she was probably right.

I didn’t accept her verdict blindly; I spent a long time thinking it over, and for years after tried to remain flexible about the idea until my hormones stabilized and I knew what it was that I was really attracted to. It took a little experimentation on the side, too. Kiss a few more girls, kiss a few boys, see which one set off the butterflies in the stomach. But Trish was the one who opened me up to the idea, and made me stop and take a good look at myself to realize.

So there you go. There’s your answer as to how I knew; now let’s talk about you.

Yours sounds like a very iffy situation in which I don’t want to concretely tell you that I think you swing one way or the other. Most solid and safe thing to go with is bisexual - in other words, stop worrying about if you’re gay or straight and just do what you want with the people you’re attracted to regardless of gender. We place too much importance on sticking ourselves in one box or the other. Forget the bloody effin’ label, man, seriously. You like what you like. Stop worrying.

I mean, c’mon. I say I’m gay, because mostly I’m into men. But every once in a while a girl can turn my head, and it doesn’t rock my world because the adhesive on my label may be peeling just a little bit. If you need the label of bisexual to help stabilize your world so you can come to grips with the fact that you’re not 100% hetero, that’s fine. It helps some people to have a specific way to identify themselves until they get comfortable with their own identity and can stop focusing on it as a world-turning issue. But don’t cling to that label so hard that any tiny shift of it causes your world to go completely off-kilter.

Date your girly boys. Date your butch girls. Enjoy whatever it is that draws you to either of them. If you’re worried about one day settling down with one gender but being worried that you’ll still have a desire for the other, thus making your long-term relationship inadequate…9/10, you won’t face that problem. If you’re comfortable enough with someone that you settle with them for the long term, then they’re most likely fulfilling your needs adequately enough that unless something in your relationship dynamic changes drastically, you won’t need to seek fulfillment elsewhere.

And you know, maybe you are gay and you’re just starting to find your way towards that, leaning away from women and taking slow, progressive steps towards men, and the fact that you’re attracted to more feminine men is confusing you there. If that’s the case, that’s fine, too. Just keep in mind that you don’t have to jump in with both feet and you can keep playing both fields until you’re 100% sure exactly what it is you want. No one’s judging you but you, so it’s okay to be a bit lenient on yourself, be a bit confused, experiment a bit, and change your mind if you feel like it…but do have a bit of consideration for those that you experiment with as you try to find yourself. Don’t break too many hearts on your way to learning your sexual orientation.

The basic gist of all of those is to just let things happen naturally. Destress, Mix. Don’t worry about issues of attraction until you’re faced with someone you’re attracted to, and then take it on a case-by-case basis. Deciding something arbitrarily is just going to confuse you even more, anyway, because no matter what your head says your body’s going to make up its mind without consulting your primary thought processes - and then you’ll be stuck in a war between the two, trying to force your cock to adhere to what your brain has decided when it really doesn’t want to.

Most women will probably kill me for telling you this, but y’know…sometimes it’s okay to let the little head lead. It knows what it wants even when you can’t consciously figure it out.

Still confused? Yeah. So am I. It’s a brain-burning issue, trying to sort out what goes where and with whom, and it’s different for everyone. The bottom line is that it doesn’t matter at what moment you know that you are or aren’t gay, because you and your life are changing every second and something might just come along to rock that later.

So don’t worry about that defining moment. Worry about this moment, right here, right now…and just live in it.

Have a good weekend, because I am out.

~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

I’m not in the mood to be pissed off about gay news today. Being a blog columnist with a topic so political and divisive can be damned depressing sometimes, and today I refuse to do that. It’s my day off from my other jobs and I have all I need to relax right here: a huge mug of coffee, Haagen-Dazs flavored like Bailey’s Irish Cream (no, it’s not alcoholic), and some serious boy-toy eye candy to look at:

That, my friends, is Wentworth Miller, star of Fox’s Prison Break. I’ll confess, I had never taken more than a passing glance at the boy until now; I don’t watch TV, really. It’s just not my thing. I’m a book-nerd, I download a few hundred gigabytes of movies at a time on Vongo and love going to the movie theatre across the street from my apartment, and when I’m not reading I’m working on the novel or bumming around with the boyfriend. (Yes, I have one now. Long story.) But oh my, that piece of pretty right there might just change that when season three rolls around. I’m allowed to be shallow every once in a while, and I’d watch the show for him even if rumors weren’t floating around that he’s definitely gay and dating Luke McFarlane. That boy sets my adrenals off almost as much as Hugh Laurie or Vin Diesel. Yes, Vin Diesel. Every once in a while I get the hots for a big dumb lunk of smooth, bald-headed, gritty-voiced muscle.

While my mind is firmly entrenched in the gutter, though, let’s take a serious second to divert and talk about something sexual that’s not so sexy: STDs. You know it’s a serious issue in the gay community, unless you’ve had your head firmly buried in the sand. And it’s getting more serious:

U.S. tracks serious form of syphilis in gay men - Yahoo News

A particularly serious form of the sexually transmitted bacterial disease syphilis has been detected in gay and bisexual U.S. men infected with the AIDS virus, federal health officials reported on Thursday.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention tracked 49 HIV-infected gay and bisexual men who had “symptomatic early neurosyphilis” from January 2002 to June 2004 in four cities — Los Angeles, San Diego, Chicago, New York.

The CDC cited the report as further evidence that gay and bisexual men, many also infected with HIV, are the driving force behind increases in U.S. syphilis cases this decade.

The findings also indicate that these men are engaging in the same risky, unprotected sex that can spread the human immunodeficiency virus, which causes AIDS.

I can not stress enough that no matter how invincible you think you are, no matter how much you might think it’ll be okay “just this one time” because hey, what are the odds: always practice safe sex. I have too many friends, my generation and older, who are just too careless and reckless - in fact, it’s an unfortunate stereotype of the gay community that too many of us reinforce. Indiscriminate and unsafe sex. Why do we do it when we know the risks? Because it feels better that way?

Yeah, and I’m sure dealing with whatever disease you picked up, every day for the rest of your life, feels great. Guys: please, please make sure you use a condom. It’s not just there to prevent pregnancy, as that sure as hell ain’t a concern when you and your partner have the same junk ridin’ around in your jeans. Guys and girls: get tested regularly, whether you’re frequently sexually active or just have a one-nighter here and there, and be careful whose bodily fluids go where if you’re with someone that hasn’t been recently tested and that you don’t trust implicitly. Even if you’re in a long-term relationship and you trust the other person enough to have unprotected sex with them, both of you should be tested regularly not because you don’t trust each other, but for your own health. Sexually transmitted diseases are not to be taken lightly; they can infect you for life, and shorten that life expectancy severely.

I shouldn’t have to tell you that. But considering the statistics of STDs in the gay community, obviously many of us are far too careless, and we need all the reminders we can get.

Be safe. Care enough about yourself, and about others, to take that little extra step.

I am out of here, kids, so have a good weekend and I’ll see you Monday with a new No Style comic.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do before a few tequila shots,
~Adri

wentworth miller, luke mcfarlane, prison break, stds, unsafe sex, sexually transmitted diseases, hiv, aids, syphilis

I’m short on time today, so I’m going to leave you with two things that are definitely worth reading and then flee to ‘handle mah business’, as they say.

First, something heartening: Advocate.com talks to openly gay U.S. military servicemembers currently on duty in Iraq. It discusses the lives of soldiers who have come out in the field, and the impact that it’s had on their units, defying the Pentagon assumption that homosexuality in the ranks would cause the units to collapse. It’s really a great read.

And next, something saddening (with rather strong imagery): The story of Aaron “Shorty” Hall. “Bookshop” tells the story far better than I ever could, so I’ll leave it in her capable hands. (Lyndsey has coverage on it, as well.) Hall’s story is not for the weak of heart or the weak of stomach - he died brutally, painfully. And the worst part?

Hardly anyone seems to care.

aaron shorty hall, hate crimes, don’t ask don’t tell, gay military, lesbian military

I’m still sorting through some submissions for TTT (Thursday’s Transgender Tales) and don’t have an appropriate one for today…so today, it’ll be me telling you a story. I hope you don’t mind.

Before I ever knew her as Kelly, I knew her as Keith. Keith and I worked together at my first job out of university, suit and tie all the way, a corporate hellhole that killed a little piece of me every day that I walked in and plastered on that false smile and listened to the little buzzwords thrown about like sticky, saccharine candy.

Keith and I were comrades in arms, the office queers. Corporate life is a world of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, military secrecy in fine-knit Italian suits, encrypted code and sexual espionage. We’d talk in our off-hours, sleeves rolled up and elbows on the bar at the nearest place to get a good drink, unwind, and gripe about what the weasels on upper decks had passed down to the lowly slums that day. Drinks after work became weekend hangouts, late-night phone calls, inside jokes shared in the office simply by exchanged glances, raised brows, and secretive smiles. After hours we’d be bursting, waiting to laugh, brimming with a dozen “Did you see–?”-s. Camraderie had become friendship, over the course of a few short months. We were brothers, in a way, stationed deep in enemy territory with only each other for support.

It was a few months before he trusted me enough to confide in me, however. A few months of Mai Tais and cigarettes and working weekends meeting deadlines screwed by managerial oversight, a few months of enduring company barbeques and picnics and griping about boyfriends and the local scene before he said, “I’ve got a secret. And you can’t tell anyone at work, Adri. You can’t. Promise.”

I promised, and that was when Keith introduced me to Kelly.

Kelly was a tall woman, redheaded, strong-shouldered, with the softest brown eyes you’d ever see. She carried herself awkwardly, uncomfortable in her skin; under her off-color foundation hints of stubble peeked out, and her clothes never sat quite right, bunched oddly in all the wrong places. Kelly had Keith’s pouting lips, and could have been his sister if Kelly wasn’t Keith peeking out from behind a face that didn’t quite belong to him.

To her.

She was nervous, the first time she showed me. Nervous and shy as a virgin, and even then she was pretty when she blushed, lowering her eyes and afraid to meet my gaze. I don’t know what she thought I’d do. Laugh, maybe. Recoil in disgust. Walk out, refuse to talk to her anymore. All I did was hug her; I didn’t know what else to do, or say. Just because he was now she didn’t change that she was still the same friend I’d known; I was a little confused, yes, trying to reconcile one identity with the other, but over time she taught me to understand, explained to me in the same honest and frank way that she always had.

At first I didn’t understand that she was turning to me for support, and shelter. At first I didn’t know what to do, once she made that fact clear. She wanted to transition fully, and hadn’t the faintest idea where to start – though she was willing to quit her job and start somewhere else anew, to avoid the awkwardness of coming out in the office. That, I knew how to help with. I helped her with her job hunts and dressing for interviews, helped her with looking for transgender resources, went with her to her first meeting of a local transgender organization. I went with her to local trans-friendly bars, made an ass out of myself shaking it on the dance floor with her, made an even bigger ass of myself snarling at the “tranny-chasers” who went after her looking to satisfy a few sexual kinks and use her as a fetish object.

I’ll admit I had no damned clue what I was doing. I’d never seen anyone transition before, and here she was asking me for help – but in the end, she didn’t need my help so much; just the support of a friend. She found her own way, forged her own path, and even when she curled her hand tight in mine while she waited nervously for her first meeting with a doctor about hormone therapy, I knew that despite her shaking fingers she was braver and stronger than I’d ever be.

She was brave enough and strong enough to openly proclaim that she would live her life as she chose to, and unashamedly step from the role that she was born into and into the role that she was meant for. I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard, or bear it so stoically. Over years I watched her change – watched as the estrogen affected her body structure and she softened and curved, watched as she struggled with adapting to feminine behavior, with changing social perceptions towards her, with dressing to flatter her body type, with disappointment on the days when she couldn’t pass convincingly to the general public, joy on the days when she could. Sometimes she was resolute, unwavering.

Sometimes, she was all too understandably human, and fragile. Sometimes she almost broke, almost gave up.

But she never did.

And yet she’d ask me some days, on the verge of tears, “Adrien, am I a freak?”

A freak…she was anything but. Every time I held her and stroked her hair, I told her that she was beautiful, told her that she’d made the right choice, that she was doing what made her happy. I never knew if my words really helped her, if she needed that or just needed someone to hold her while she spent her tears.

But I do know that in time, she stopped asking, stopped needing to be told. In time she began to smile more, began to bud, then blossom, until she was nearly giddy with the relief of discovering life as Kelly, discovering life where Keith no longer existed. Now she’s one of the brightest, most vivacious people that I know, and being in her presence can lift even my dour and humorless spirits. Sometimes I tell her she’s gorgeous just to see her smile, but the best part is that she doesn’t need me to say it for her to know it.

Yet I don’t think even she knows how lovely she really is, or what a triumph her personal struggle has been. To her it’s become normal, as it should be. To her every day is just like any other, a new life and a new world for her to explore, wonderful and yet no less acceptable than hetero life or queer life. I don’t think I even know the words to tell her how much I admire her for that.

But I do know that she’s a beautiful woman, one of the most beautiful that I’ve ever seen. I know that standard conventions of beauty don’t matter when I look at her, because she is every inch what a woman is supposed to be, no matter how she was born, no matter how she looks now. She is a woman’s strength, she is a woman’s resilience, she is a woman’s softness and warmth and dynamic versatility.

But most importantly she is a woman - and to me, Kelly is every inch a goddess.

Are you a MtF or FtM transgender/transsexual/transvestite/crossdresser, or considering/questioning? Want to share your story or motivational anecdote? E-mail your story to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Transgender Tales” or use the Contact Form to send your story in.

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