What is lust? No, I will not be citing Merrian-Webster or Oxford English. It's a feeling I know all too well, so much so I haven't the foggiest what "love" is. Love for friends, love for family, sure; but is that love or loyalty? Where's that head-over-heels, giddy about falling down a hill because you know they'll be there to catch you and joke about it kinda love? Yeah, I think I only know lust. The lust that makes you act like the most primal version of yourself until you get what you want or walk away disappointed wishing things could have been different.
A post like this requires emotional maturity and rawness, awareness. Yet it also takes a certain bit of messiness. That's the problem with autobiographical works: they help all the strangers but what of the others mentioned. I feel as if the statute of limitations has run up on all but one or two of them, and for the sake of art, self-reflection, and applause, I can take the figurative and literal chin checks. The mental pain was always worse, anyway.
Obviously, I won't be reflecting on all 151 men (and some women) I've ever lusted after; that would take far too much time and effort, and this isn't a manuscript for my non-existent editor and publisher to read (yet). Rather, I'll be running down a list of my greatest hits, the most impactful, the top ten or so. The ones that taught me lessons, that helped me grow, that helped me not become as sinfully lustful as I could have become if I existed within a vacuum. With names changed to things only I will find funny, please come with me on this journey of self snitching. We can all use a little humor and "romance" in our lives. Oh and if you recognize yourself on this list, no you don't.
Waynehead
I was a silly high school sophomore when this kid transferred into my all boys preparatory. He wasn't necessarily the smartest or the most handsome - in fact I thought he was funny looking - but he had charm and charisma that surpassed the class clowns I was familiar with. Any class we shared, my head would ring, "I wanna be his friend. I wanna be his friend." It wasn't until after I came out and five years separated from my last spotting of him that I realized I had a crush. I still laugh at myself when my social media timelines decide to unearth him.
To Waynehead, thank you for teaching me how to identify my attraction to men.
Raphael
You know how most teenage boys would be scared to share a bed with a gay guy? Well, I'm not sure I was out on this trip, but I'm sure my simping was apparent to anyone who cared to observe my antics. During a school trip for a school activity, I shared a hotel room with three good friends. Through some suggestion of the mind, I managed to pair up with the friend I developed a crush on after learning he had great abs and biceps for a geek. The movie Inception was actually inspired by me. After an evening of freedom, we grew tired of waiting for midnight and went to bed. My teenage hormones kept me awake until Raphael started to lightly snore. Making sure the patrons of the other bed were also asleep, I turned over and watched him sleep. Occasionally, he would fidget or roll over and touch me. My skin felt electric. I braced myself for shock therapy and gleefully endured each brush Raphael graced me with. I wanted more, but at that age, at my experience level, that was enough. I didn't give in to becoming a creep.
To Raphael, thank you for unconsciously teaching me restraint.
Fez
As a college freshman in a strange new land - re: Maryland - among so many white people, Fez was a slice of home. A Dominican from the Bronx, fast talking, clever and conniving, thin and handsome with thick rimmed glasses; I didn't stand a chance. He would come over almost everyday to hang with me and my suitemates; he was basically part of the family. Any time he wasn't over, we would message via mobile AIM. (2007 was a hell of a time to be in college.) Eventually, my subtle hints of crushing became obvious and obnoxious. Everyone knew but didn't speak on it, probably fearing alienating the recently out token gay black kid who would go running to the girls across the hall. One night, probably my fourth or fifth time ever being drunk, I saw his trademark sweater, size small, on the floor of my apartment. Inspired to be closer to him, I wrestled it onto my body. When I modelled it for him, he yelled that I was stretching it out and for me to take it off. Sure I had gained a Freshman 20 or so, but I was still a medium. Hurt and embarrassed, I threw the sweater back on the ground and hid in my bedroom. I apologized to him via mobile AIM. I forget what he responded, but we definitely weren't as close after that. He transferred and vanished offline before Freshman Year was over.
To Fez, thank you for teaching me to respect other's boundaries.
Buddy Holly
Ah yes, my first white boy crush, but far from my last. All teenage daughters are warned to beware the charismatic guitar player on the quad, but no one told me to stay away from the one strumming down the hall from me my Freshman Year. 6 foot, brown hair that looked good at any length, huge eyes and mouth, the voice of a suburban angel, and causal muscles I was privileged to gawk at any time he had his shirt off. This being the height of Guitar Hero and Rockband, I would often find myself in his suite singing lead to Weezer songs I never heard before while he scored high scores on guitar. Over the three-four years I knew Buddy Holly, everyone also knew I had a crush on him, and they would occasionally joke about it. This is how I knew they (and he) were my friends. The first time I ever got drunk, I puked in my bathroom, rallied, and tried to run down the hall shirtless to return an inflatable shark my side of the floor stole from him. I was unsuccessful, but I went to his room afterwards anyway to show off how bare-chestedly drunk I was - a sober bitch no more. He was always amused by my antics. He enjoyed the attention, and I enjoyed the view.
To Buddy Holly, thank you for teaching me about the straight white male ego.
Speedy Gonzales
By the start of my second year of college Theatre, it became a running joke that I would hit on just about any fellow male actor in hopes that he was gay. I tried to go after one out actor at our first theatre party when we were too drunk and he turned me down, so maybe I was a little scarred and returned to the closet hunting I was used to. Sue me. After one Theatre party my senior year, another actor was kind enough to give me a ride across campus. Short and kind and gentle and playful and slightly effeminate, everyone thought he might be a lil swishy, me being no exception. When we parked in front of my dorm, I wasted no time and planted my lips on his. His stubble was scratchy, yet nice. The kiss lasted maybe two seconds before he pushed me off. As was my custom, I apologized profusely for being out of line. Luckily, he didn't take it personally, and we more or less carried on like it never happened. I'm glad to still call him a friend, and he's more flamboyant than ever.
To Speedy Gonzales, thank you for teaching me acceptance and freely living in your skin.
And now, for the hard ones...
...the ones that truly deserve a whole chapter each.
Troy Barnes
Picture it: Baltimore, Summer 2010. I'm between my junior and senior years of college, turning 21 years of age. Depression has yet to rear its ugly head. It's my second summer working on campus, and I'm given the responsibility of leading a team. Of the three newbies I get to instruct in the art of folding blankets and stuffing pillows, Troy Barnes is one of them. Two years my junior but we get each other. We have similar taste in music, tv, movies, dumb jokes. Anytime it's time to pair off, I make sure he stays with me. Both being minorities with curly hair, awkward walks, speech impediments, and slight bellies from the college cafeteria, it's as close as to falling in lust with myself as I've ever been. Like most of my crushes, this one was also apparent. However, one night during a Italian-style family dinner for the whole student work crew, I pull Troy aside. We go for a walk. I confess my "love" for him. Like Speedy, he lets me down as gently as he can; he has a girlfriend after all. I cry - bawl actually. It must be five full minutes. We continue to work fine together, but Summer 2010 is also the summer Adele's "Someone Like You" premieres, and I take that summer haze personally. Later that summer, when I put a too drunk Troy to sleep after a party, I award myself a pair of his clean boxers as a consultation prize. It was years before I threw them away. At least I can take comfort in knowing that he and that girlfriend are still together.
To Troy Barnes, thank you for teaching me the meaning of heartbreak and Adele songs.
Rocket Raccoon
Finally, someone who's actually gay! A lot of my friends considered Rocket Raccoon loud, annoying, self-centered, overly-comfortable... but I always saw them as a nerdy, awkward goober that I found attractive. Maybe it was my want for a close male gay friend that didn't live solely online, but I took Rocket in after he experienced a few hardships. I understood how the world was cruel to him; it was my privilege to let him unload on me. He being gay and us being friends, I figured it was an easy lay-up when I asked to court him, but he too let me down gently. Though he said it was because he wasn't attracted to me, I always figured it was because I had an awkward date with one of his best friends before I had the nerve to ask him out. Through the roughly six-seven years of our friendship, we were nearly inseparable - even becoming roommates for four of them. Through his boyfriends, breakups, ho-tations, and loneliness, I was always there for him. At one point he made the mistake of calling me his "stand-in boyfriend," and I took it to heart. Soon after, I tried to court him again and was rebuffed. How he put up with my bi-annual advances, I'll never know. Maybe like Buddy Holly, he liked the attention. When I finally started to break myself from his spell, he would ask while I didn't invite him when I visited other friends. Partly because they didn't like him, but mostly because I knew I needed space to reconnect with my other people. When I finally obtained a boyfriend, he became possessive again - not directly, but it was evident enough. Over the last couple of years, we've gone through breaks and reconnections of friendship, but in the end - or currently - we are back on the outs. I'll always have love for him, but sometimes staying apart is the healthiest thing.
To Rocket Raccoon, thank you for teaching me about platonic gay friendships and the challenges that come with them.
Groot
Speaking of, amidst the first half of our friendship, Rocket Raccoon had a handsome, tall, quiet boyfriend. He was only in town for a year fulfilling a residency, but the impact he had on me and Rocket was unimaginable. We understood each other's reserved natures. Once Rocket and I moved in together, the three of us were inseparable. It was hard for me to not feel like a third wheel around them, but more often than not, I felt like the unofficial third in their relationship. I would fantasize about joining them in bed and being one big happy family. One night, I drunkenly tried my best. I convinced Rocket to let me sleep on the couch in his room while they shared his bed. At some point, I tried to play footsy with Groot, but Rocket called it out and put an end to it before anything interesting happened. Again, I'm shit at being coy and sneaky. Through all that, any time Groot and I shared alone, he would share secrets or thoughts with me, things I felt even Rocket didn't know. I felt let in, special. When the time came for Groot to move on to his next adventure, he shed tears over me, knowing our quiet natures wouldn't allow us to keep up via social media. From time to time, I still think about him, wondering if fate put him in Rocket's life to put him in mine.
To Groot, thank you for teaching me how to live in the moment.
Aristotle
At some point in my post-collegiate career, I decided it was worthwhile to complete some sort of community service to 1) finally connect to Baltimore's queer black community and 2) pad my lackluster resume. Who would have guessed in my search for gay black men I'd run across Aristotle? In truth, Aristotle didn't initially catch my eye. I thought he was too young and quiet for me, so the other white man intrigued me instead. However, after learning he had a live-in boyfriend, I backed off. At some point, Aristotle and I got paired off to expand the project's presence online through video. We would congregate in his artsy apartment and throw ideas at the wall. Eventually, I recognized his beauty and talent, becoming less helpful in our creative endeavors. Shortly after, his birthday rolled around and I made a move. To my surprise, I was successful. In the months that followed, we would continue to brainstorm though we had become less vital to the organization. When we were mentally exhausted, we would either make out or he would make me a bowl of rice and a cup of tea. Soon, I realized he was pulling away from me, hoping to keep me as a friend. Then he had to leave town for a family emergency. I thought of him often while he was gone. During the less restrained days of the pandemic, Aristotle returned with new philosophies and new hair. I expected him to change, but he seemed... off. He vanished for another year before emerging again, more himself and perhaps his most communicative. We enjoyed each other's bodies one last time before he drew a line. Months later we had a very mature conversation about intentions and futures, deciding it was for the best we remain friends. To this day, he inspires me with his drive and natural talent while he worries about his place in the world. Don't we all.
To Aristotle, thank you for teaching me how to focus on the craft at hand, though it took years.
Popeye
I actually met Popeye when I met Buddy Holly. They lived in the same six-person suite our Freshman Year. (Yes, my school's dorms were better than yours.) We were friends, but I was blinded by Buddy Holly's shirtlessness. Over time, Popeye spent more time away from the suite, so I saw him less. I saw him even less when he left college. It was a shame; I liked hanging out with him. He had good taste in music and could be pretty goofy when he let his guard down. Well, to my surprise, the Summer I spent chasing after Troy Barnes, he spent chasing Olive Oyl. I was fairly aloof to his endeavors since Olive Oyl had a boyfriend at the time. But when the heart wants what it wants, lust finds a way. Being unaware of their courtship, one night after a party, Popeye and I shared a sheet-less bed. It was Summer and we were 21yo men; we didn't care. I woke up first. The sun glistened off his skin thanks to his farmer's tan, but with his shirt rising up, his pale, flat stomach blinded me into paying attention. I don't know what happened in five years time, but the restraint I showed with Raphael did not appear that day. I lightly grazed Popeye's stomach and waist for minutes, hoping not to wake him. I had never seen him as a prospect before, but for some reason something activated in me that day. Luckily his phone alarm rung before I could get anymore ideas, and he sprung up to sprint to work. I, of course, played dead, ashamed of what I had done.
Four years later, he and Olive Oyl marry. I'm lucky enough to count myself as one of his groomsmen. A year or two later, our friendship growing even stronger, Popeye and I share a drunken moment of honesty. We talk about that fateful morning; he was actually awake for most of what happened, unsure about how he felt about it. He'd recently been considering himself pansexual, and I felt honored to most likely be the first and only person he told about it at the time. Perhaps we got too close that night, because we shared a brief kiss, though it felt more friendly than anything. However, that was enough to reignite the spark for me. Like Rocket and Groot, I would spend time figuring out how to lightly suggest to Popeye and Olive Oyl that I could be more for them. Over the years, the three of us naturally grew tighter, and at one point they called me their "emotional third" or something to that effect. I don't know why that title held so much weight and promise to me, but it did. I mean, two is better than one.
Often, during these hangouts, I would cuddle with Olive Oyl to avoid leaning on Popeye. Then I would switch to him as soon as she went to sleep, always staying respectful, but I could tell sometimes it would make him feel uncomfortable. So I backed off. One night he told me he didn't see me in a romantic way. I knew this. Olive Oyl was his endgame. I backed off even more. Funny though, the pandemic had a funny way of making people re-evaluate things. During that time, Popeye reneged - there was a slight strain on their marriage, but those come and go, right? For a few stolen nights stretched over months, we would talk and lightly make out after Olive Oyl retired. I felt like shit for hiding it from her, often suggesting that Popeye discuss his feelings with his partner. At least it was better to keep the infidelity in house ...right? Alas, we were found out before either of us had the chance to confess. Olive Oyl rightfully cast me out while Popeye plead that I took advantage of him to save face. It hurt to lose two of my best friends all for the fleeting chance to play a jezebel. But that's the power of lust, I suppose; it makes you do foolish, dumb things that hurt people.
To Popeye, thank you for your friendship, hospitality, and the closet case experience I always wanted to have. Now it's finally out of my system.
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