By Lorenzo
Last month, this handsome, burly guy in his early 40s hit me up on one of the apps. (I won’t say which one.) We moved from general greetings to dirty talk with ease. We wanted each other and I could almost taste how his body would feel against mine.
Then reality hit. It’s 9pm and this man lives in Baltimore, 30 miles away. I had no intention of traveling to see him so I offered to host at my place, but he said he wanted me all alone. I was scared of disappointing him so I suggested we get together over the weekend.
He hit me back yesterday after a month of no conversation with, “I guess you lost interest.’’ And honestly, I had. But I couldn’t tell him that. History has told me that had I responded, he’d end up sending me passive messages and guilt tripping me for not responding sooner.
And eventually I would give in and apologize, even though I’m not sorry for what I did.
While I’ve had sexually liberating experiences with older men, I often feel pressured to entertain them even when I’ve told them I don’t have the energy to do so. They feel entitled to my time, body and affection once I show a slight interest in them. I don’t mind when they’re close to where I live, but putting my life on hold to make room for someone I don’t know is not a priority for me. And I don’t need another parent.
I’m twenty seven and I’ve only been out for four years. And yet, everything I learned about queer intimacy were from men who were 7-10 years older than me.
(Granted, the majority of the men I’m referring to were either closeted or have come out in the last five years.)
I was dating this guy for a few months after he moved closer to me. He had a nice apartment and a few degrees but gave unsolicited career advice, often echoing the voices of my older family members. He’d tell me what I should do with my life instead of asking what I wanted to do with it. On top of that, he only suggested jobs that would make money, not ones that would fuel my passion.
He didn’t like using condoms because he was on PrEP and though I offered to wear a condom, he refused. So I called it off. I couldn’t take the pressure and was already depressed and miserable about not finding a job in my field. I needed someone who wouldn’t make me second guess my life decisions.
Now I realize that his preoccupation with how many guys I’d been with and whether or not I’d used protection wasn’t about safety, it was about control.
In 2004, Karamo Brown became the first Black gay man to appear on reality TV. And though we now have shows that depict Black queer relationships like RuPaul’s Drag Race, Queer Eye and Pose, we’ve been here. There’s a gross connection with how folks consume Black queer relationships on television, but don’t nurture the sustainability and presence of queer relationships off screen.
I’ve had the luxury of being openly queer in my twenties but some of my partners have never experienced it. They’ve had to hide and lie and lust behind closed doors. They’ve been exposed to violence and murders. They haven’t been able to explore their relationships as fully as I have and sometimes hold resentment towards me for it. I get it.
The time limit society places on love and relationships doesn’t do Black queer men justice. Older friends have called me in panics, concerned about hitting 40 and still not finding anyone. Of waking up one day and realizing that they are all alone and tired and un-married.
My experiences with dating older Black men have taught me that though some of their actions are inappropriate, they’re often misplaced reactions to the world we live in. They’re responding to a world that says they have to find the “one” soon before they dry up and if they can’t find them, they must create them.
I found polyamory in my exploration for sexual freedom. In the beginning of my journey I made the mistake of not disclosing that I’m polyamorous to folks with whom there was mutual interest. And then when I was finally honest about how many people I slept with regularly, the responses I received mirrored those I’d gotten from older Black men and it made me anxious.
Most of the folks I’ve been with prefer monogamy. I have been shamed for my choices and encouraged to convert back. I was and am told I’m “throwing” my life and chances away, sleeping around “like that”. But I’ve also learned who I am, what responsibility I hold in dynamics such as these and how fulfilling transparency can be.
Monogamy, like heterosexuality has been another box society, family and sexual partners have tried to shove down my throat. And I reject it.
I enjoy the expansiveness of sharing my desires, boundaries, intimacy and friendship. Polyamory ensures that my partners and I receive the affection we desire without the confines of traditional monogamy. It expands my friendships, desires, love and support. And I now know that I will not tolerate anyone telling me how to live.
I want Black men to live. I want us to have fun in the dating world and know that we deserve more than what this world has offered.
I want us happy. Happiness sometimes comes from a right swipe on an old broken phone. Sometimes it’s grey sweatpants. Sometimes it’s dinner or tears. Our lives are for us and beyond consumption.
So thank you to all the older Black queer men in my life who have found me and held me and allowed me to do so in return. I hope we experience more reciprocal and caring relationships that aren’t reliant on control and fear.
I want all of us free.
Reading Suggestions:
“Sexual Liberation is Necessary for Black Liberation,” Angry Black Hoemo (2016)
“On Andrew Caldwell And How Many Christian Sects Torture Queer People In The Name Of White Jesus,” Son of Baldwin (2016)
“Only Fags Bottom: Recreating Toxic Masculinities in Queer Communities,” Anthony Williams
